Disclaimer- I don't own anything that you recognize.

-

I know that there's a point I've missed
a shrine or stone I haven't kissed
a scar that never graced my wrist
a mirror that hasn't met my fist
but I can't help feeling like I'm
due for a miracle
I'm waiting for a sign
I'll stare straight into the sun
and I won't close my eyes

-Thrice

-

Visiting Old Demons

There was a great pounding on the door. Hermione instantly helped Harry off of the floor as they heard a voice carry through the door.

"Hermione Granger, open up. We are Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. We want to ask you a few questions." But Hermione ignored them.

"Harry, you need to listen to me," she said, forcing him to concentrate on her.

"Alohomora!" The Aurors were trying to force their way in. Luckily, Hermione had charmed the door so that even the Unlocking Charm couldn't open it.

"Harry, you need to go somewhere you know you can hide, where no wizards are around—"

BANG! The person was slamming something heavy against the door.

"— I'll contact you there. Apparate out of here, there are wards on this place so that they cannot track you. They'll never know you were here —"

BANG!

Hermione grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from the trunk and thrust it into Harry's arms. "Use this when you must. Do you have the wand?"

Harry nodded and patted his pocket.

BANG!

"Go, Harry. Keep your head down."

BANG!

"Hermione. . . ." Harry started, feeling like he should thank her in some way.

"Just go!"

He captured her lips for a brief moment, before —

CRUNCH! The front door broke open.

"GO!" Hermione hissed.

And the world dissolved around him, colors swirling in every direction, his stomach churning irritably.

He spun through space for a few moments.

And then his feet slammed into solid ground.

-

Vernon and Petunia Dursley of 4 Privet Drive were as normal as folks could get. Their only son was away at University in America, and they were very happy to live in their peaceful suburban home, devoid of any excitement or strangeness.

They denied that a boy other than their own had ever lived in that house, because, in their opinion, Harry Potter had not been human. Their nephew had been full of oddities and quirks that made him a disgrace to show in public.

When he left that final day for his last year at that school for freaks, they were quite glad to be rid of him, and happy that he would never disturb the normalcy of Privet Drive again. They never expected him to appear, right before their eyes, in shaggy long hair, crisp new clothes, with a silver cloak hanging on his arm and a wand clutched in his hand.

It was such a surprise, that poor Petunia Dursley dropped her favorite china cup on the kitchen floor, tea splattering the stainless tiles. Vernon had to grip his wife by her shoulders, so she wouldn't faint. Vernon too appeared surprised, but soon his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled.

Harry returned the glare, and said, "I need a place to stay for a while." He walked lazily over to the kitchen table and kicked out one of the chairs. He sat down, and rested his feet on the table top, his aunt clasping her hand to her chest, gasping for breath.

Vernon let out a low growl as Harry leaned back in the chair, watching his aunt and uncle with laughing eyes.

"I'm warning you, boy," Vernon started.

But Harry had pulled the wand out of his pocket and was now twirling it lazily in his fingers. He smirked as Vernon gulped and backed down, still gripping his wife by her shoulders.

"Yes?" Harry asked innocently.

Vernon gulped again, and walked cautiously out of the kitchen, careful not to turn his back on his nephew. Petunia was still watching Harry's feet with wide eyes as she got dragged away.

Harry summoned a drink to him from the fridge and drank it slowly. His scar gave a small twinge, and he winced. He gazed out through the kitchen window, watching the sun rising up in the sky. Far away in London, Hermione was confronting the Aurors, probably taking her to the Ministry at this very moment. They would question her, and if they found out Harry had been there, she could end up in Azkaban for concealing a known fugitive.

His scar twinged again.

"Stop it," he said, rubbing his forehead vigorously.

No, Hermione was smart, she would find a way out of it.

Harry smiled. Hermione Granger was the cleverest witch he'd ever met. If anyone could avoid the Ministry, it was her.

Harry stood up and started to leave the kitchen, but he stopped. Feeling a slight twinge of pity, he cleaned up the mess on the floor and repaired the cup. As he walked through the lounge, he saw Vernon determinedly reading a newspaper, his face very red, and Petunia wringing a dusting rag in her trembling hands.

When Harry approached his aunt, Vernon set aside the paper with a flourish of movement and stood up quickly from the chair.

Harry held out his hand towards his uncle. "Uncle Vernon, please. I didn't come here to hurt you."

Vernon's hands curled into fists, but he stayed where he was just the same. Harry held out the repaired china cup to his aunt. Petunia pursed her lips tightly, her eyes on the cup, and then looked Harry in the eyes.

"Why have you come back?" she asked, not snobbishly or with a snarl, but with a genuine look of confusion in her eyes.

"If I could explain it all to you, I would, but I can't. If you agree not to bicker me, I'll act as though I'm not even here. In a few days, you'll never see me again," Harry said, his hand still extended towards her.

Harry thought he saw a spark of understanding in his aunt's face, and the next moment she had accepted the cup from him.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he said, a genuine apology. With a brief nod to both of his relatives, he left the room and climbed the stairs to reach the smallest bedroom in Number 4, his aunt and uncle staring incredulously at his back.

-

When Hedwig flew to Harry's window at sunset, it felt like he was still in school, home for the summer, awaiting letters from his friends. He felt, for a brief moment, as though he were just an innocent wizard, eager about the world he belonged to, his life not tarnished by death and destruction.

But when Harry read the letter attached to Hedwig's leg, that feeling washed away, and reality slapped him in the face. He remembered suddenly why he was where he was, where he had been. Hermione's note was short, merely asking him to meet her at Grimmauld Place in a week, and briefly mentioning that everything at the Ministry went well. She also included a package with the letter, and Harry saw that it was a book on Self Transfiguration with a note from Hermione telling him to change his appearance.

Harry lowered the letter and book onto his desk and glanced briefly at Hedwig who had settled herself on top of his dresser. He also unconsciously glanced out through the window, as if searching for suspicious figures. Seeing none, he locked the window and closed the curtains.

He lit the lamp that had been in that room for as long as he could remember, and took a moment to look around the room. When he had first come up here earlier in the day, he was too worried to really notice anything. Now that he knew things would be okay for a while, he began to notice how uncared for this room was. It was obvious that Aunt Petunia hadn't been in to clean since Harry had left, possibly longer than that. There was a cobweb in one corner of the ceiling. A thick layer of dust coated everything, including the bed and the floor. Add to that the smell that lingered in the air, and Harry got the feeling that he was in the Shrieking Shack instead of a suburban home.

Harry pulled out his wand and quickly cast a cleaning charm, and soon the room was spotless. He locked his door, turned off his light, and without a moment's delay, collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

-

The next day was beautiful. The sky was a bright blue color, with a few white clouds scattered across it. The sun was burning hot, yet comfortable. Several kids were out in the streets, riding bikes or playing catch. There was a cool breeze that swirled through tree branches and ruffled Harry's hair as he walked down Privet Drive. The fact that he could do this amazed him now. He had taken Hermione's advice and changed his appearance, and oh, how he changed it..

He swept his now blonde hair out of his eyes, which were now light brown. He had lightened his eyebrows as well, and given himself a bit of a tan. He looked good, he thought, and it was all worth it when he entered the kitchen and Aunt Petunia screamed and dropped her toast, thinking that a burglar had entered the house.

He didn't have the same effect with his scar, however. He had tried the spell to change your skin color on it, but it only disappeared for 10 seconds before returning. The same happened with the spell to remove defining marks. Having no other option, he gave himself some bangs to hide the mark.

Now, as he walked down the street, he had his hands in his pockets, one wrapped tightly around his wand. His ears were pricked for any sign of danger. He glanced quickly at everyone near him. No one seemed to be a posing threat, so Harry continued walking.

He walked for maybe ten minutes before he sensed someone behind him. He flexed his fingers around his wand and turned sharply on his heel, unsheathing his wand.

Fourteen year old Mark Evans jumped and stumbled backwards at Harry's sudden movement. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the wand in Harry's hand.

"Wizard?" he mouthed silently as he looked from the wand to Harry's face.

Poor Mark scrambled in his pockets for a brief moment before he pulled out his own wand.

"Lower your wand," Mark said, his hand shaking slightly, "or I'll curse you." He wasn't lying. After the Ministry had recognized the return of Voldemort just over 3 years ago, they had lifted the ban of students doing magic during the holidays. Now, as long as it wasn't an illegal curse, students were permitted to practice magic.

"Why were you following me?" Harry asked, returning his wand to his pocket, but keeping a grip on it.

"I saw you come out of Number 4. Harry Potter used to live there with the Dursleys," Mark said smartly, keeping his own wand covering Harry.

"So?" Harry asked.

"So, Harry Potter escaped from Azkaban. It figures he would come back to Privet Drive. No wizards around, right? Just Muggles and that squib down the street. I wasn't sure it was you. You did a job on your face."

Harry watched Mark's eyes. Mark obviously knew his true identity, but in his eyes. . . there was a softness there. Somehow, Harry knew that Mark was trustworthy.

The young boy continued to point his wand at Harry, his face contorting with false rage. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and instead, extended his hand.

"Welcome back to the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, I believe in your innocence."

Harry stared dumbstruck at Mark for about ten seconds before shaking his hand.

"Mark, thank you," Harry said, "but now that you know. . . I'm sorry, the Ministry could find you and give you Veritaserum, or Death Eaters could. . . well. . . I'm so sorry."

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the boy.

"Obliviate!"

Harry turned and ran back to Number 4, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself.

-

It was easy to get to London six days later since the Dursleys had kindly called a cab and given Harry money to pay for it. He was in front of 12 Grimmauld Place by noon. Of course, the cab driver couldn't see it, but Harry told him to stop right between numbers 11 and 13, and climbed out.

A woman was watching him from the steps of the grimy building, and Harry immediately ran to her once the cab had left. Hermione stood up and hugged Harry tightly.

"How do you like the new look?" Harry asked, pulling away.

"You may look different, but you still smile the same way," she answered, grinning and looking positively cute. "You look great."

Harry smiled too, and blushed. "How are you? Is the Ministry bothering you?"

Hermione sat back down on the steps, and dragged Harry down with her. "I'm fine. Everything went okay with the Ministry, they pulled me in for questioning, and I guess they believed me. They had a guy following me around, but I'm positive he didn't follow me here," she said. "What about you? Where did you go?"

Harry sighed. "I went back to the one place I never wanted to see again," he said. "I went back and stayed with the Dursleys."

Hermione kept a strait face while looking at him, looking genuinely sympathetic, but then she looked away and smiled.

"What?" Harry asked, slightly hurt. "What are you thinking?"

Hermione shook her head and looked back at Harry. "It's just a conversation Ron and I had in 7th Year. You had just said how glad you were to be away from the Dursleys, and when you left the room, I said that they might help you later on. Ron said something like 'Yeah, I'll play Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons before the Dursleys save Harry's life.'"

Harry was puzzled as to why this was funny.

Hermione slapped her forehead. "Of course you don't know! Ron's the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons!"

Harry stared dumbly at Hermione before he too smiled. "You're joking. . . ."

"No! That's why he left that morning he came to the Leaky Cauldron! He had practice!"

Something like a bubble of jealousy was expanding in Harry's chest. Ron had ended up with the perfect life, the life Harry had wanted, while Harry himself had landed himself in Azkaban and was now a fugitive awaiting a Dementor's Kiss.

Nevertheless, he managed a small chuckle, which seemed to satisfy Hermione, because she turned away still smiling.

His hands were clenching the step he was sitting on tightly, and his knuckles were turning white. Ron had never visited him in Azkaban, Ron had let this happen to him, Harry's once best friend was now no better than his worse enemy.

And as these thoughts seeped through his mind, his scar let out an excruciating stab of pain. Harry gasped and pressed two of his fingers over the small scar.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, turning to face him, her hand closing over Harry's wrist.

As she did this, a surge of energy ran through Harry, ending in his scar, and Hermione let go of him with a yelp of pain.

Harry buried his head in his knees, rubbing his forehead with such an effort that his skin was becoming sore and bruised. His insides were churning, and quickly Harry leaned over to the side of the step and stuck his head in the bushes and retched.

Finally, the pain subsided, and Harry lifted his head, his eyesight foggy, as though he were watching through a pane of glass.

Hermione was cradling her left hand in her lap. It's palm was a shiny red, apparently burned. Harry immediately stood up, and made a movement to help Hermione, but thought better of touching her.

"Hermione," he moaned, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and Harry pulled out his wand, performing a quick healing charm on her hand. As the skin returned to normal, his scar twinged again, and Harry felt something dripping down the side of his face.

He brought his fingers up to his scar, and when he looked at them, they were coated in a bright red liquid. Blood.

He wiped his forehead and jammed his wand into his pocket. He turned around quickly and instinctively started walking.

Hermione called out for him.

"Where are you going?" she yelled.

When Harry turned to face her, his face was screwed up with the effort of trying to keep the howl that was trying to escape down. "I told you I couldn't stay for long, that night in your apartment. I can't keep hurting people. I'm going to turn myself in. Maybe I deserve to be in Azkaban."

"Harry, no!"

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at his own face. "Finite Incantatem!" he said, his voice confident.

He could feel his face molding back into the way it was supposed to be. His hair lengthened and turned black, his eye color changed, his skin changed.

Tears were pouring down Hermione's face. "Harry. . ." she started, but couldn't continue.

Just then there were two loud cracks from directly behind Harry, but before he could turn around he was tackled to the ground.

"How dare you!" a voice hissed in his ear. "You could be seen!"

Slowly, Harry turned his head and saw a curtain of red hair pooling on the ground beside him.

"G-Ginny?" he stuttered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ginny asked, getting off of Harry.

Harry was in shock on the ground. "I can't stay here, Ginny. I'm dangerous."

"You were dangerous in your fifth year too, but we got through that," Ginny said. "Now get up, and keep your face covered."

That wasn't difficult as Harry's long black hair did the job for him.

"Hermione told me that you needed help. I didn't think she meant mental help. If you turn yourself in, you're crazy. They'll send a dementor on you within five minutes. If that happens, your soul will be gone, leaving only V-Voldemort's spirit in your body. You can't get caught, because if you do, Voldemort will return."

Ginny was glaring at Harry with such a fierceness in her eyes that he was sure she was looking right through him. But for the moment, Harry was ignoring Ginny, and instead looking right past her at the source of the second Apparition sound.

Ron stood twenty feet away from them in expensive robes, his hands in his pockets, and was looking at Harry with a mixture of disgust and relief. When Harry met his eyes, Ron looked away, finding a spot in the grass to stare at.

"Let's go inside," Ron said. "I don't want to bother the neighbors."

Harry didn't need to wonder why the neighbors would be bothered. He knew that Ron wanted to yell his head off at him.

Hermione, wiping her face on her sleeve, led the way into the ancient Black house.

Once the purge of the house had ended the summer after Harry's fifth year, the once hateful place seemed almost suitable for human habitation. The portrait of old, crazy Mrs. Black had finally been taken down, along with the house-elf heads and all of the creepy paintings all over the house. New pictures were put up, new furniture was brought in, and the result was a house that showed no sign of it's scarred past.

The smell of cleaning solutions that still lingered in the house had barely reached Harry's nostrils before the door slammed shut, and something hard connected with his cheek.

Collapsing to the ground, Harry clutched his jaw and looked up. Ron was standing over him, massaging his knuckles. Hermione was moving as though to pull Ron away, but Ginny held her back, whispering something in her ear. After that, Hermione relaxed and watched the scene unfolding before them.

Ron was glaring down at Harry, his look of pure venom. "She came out of your wand, Harry. She identified you."

"Ron, wait," Harry said. "You need to understand, I didn't do it!"

"Then why did that poor woman say you did!"

"Because it was my body, but it wasn't me! Voldemort is controlling me!" Harry yelled, aware of how insane he sounded.

"Harry, You-Know-Who is dead! And here you are in front of me, lying to my face. Lying to my sister. Lying to my best friend—"

"I'm not lying!"

"I saw him die, Harry. I saw him with my own eyes."

"But he's not dead!"

"Liar."

Harry got up and launched himself at Ron, knocking him to the ground. Rage was pumping through his veins; rage at Ron, rage at Mr. Weasley for sending dementors after him, rage at the entire world for turning their backs on him.

Both wands lay five feet away on the ground, completely forgotten. Harry's fist connected with Ron's temple, but Ron punched him back in the chest. Harry gasped for breath, and right as he was about to hit Ron again, he was hit in the stomach by Ron's foot.

This time, Harry rolled to the side, clutching his stomach. Ron, meanwhile, got to his feet and was looking down at Harry, a slight sneer evident on his face. He slowly bent down to retrieve his wand, also collecting the one Harry had been using. He pointed both at Harry's chest.

"Ginny, send for dad. Tell him we've got Harry."

"You wouldn't. . ." Harry said.

Ginny, meanwhile, stayed where she was.

"Ginny! Go get dad!"

"No, I think we should hear Harry out—"

"I've heard him out, and I don't believe him. Go get dad."

Hermione had pulled out her own wand and now had it on Ron. "Please, Ron, stop it."

"He lied to us, Hermione! He pretended to be our friend for seven years, I trusted him, I was ready to believe he didn't kill that woman, but then she came out of his wand, and you know what? I realized that it was a waste of time, those seven years. He lied to everyone. He said he was innocent, but he's a murderer. He deserves to be in Azkaban."

"RON! Will you just consider the idea that Voldemort is possessing him?" Hermione cried.

"Can't you see, Hermione? He's playing us. He wants us to help him, then he'll just ruin our lives again."

Hermione glanced frantically at Harry, still lying on the floor. Blood was drizzling from his mouth, but he didn't seem to notice. His head was down, eyes closed, blood still slowly seeping from his scar. He was obviously taking everything Ron said to heart.

"Ron, you're being stupid," Hermione said.

At this, Ron rounded on Hermione and pointed the wands at her. There was a demonic glint in his eye.

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!" he bellowed.

"Stupefy!"

The spell came from near the door, and Hermione turned to see Ginny tucking away her wand. "Stupid prat," he muttered. She then caught Hermione's eye. "Well, it's not like that was unexpected. He wasn't himself tonight anyway, he told me earlier that he might believe Harry."

"Maybe he'll come around later," Hermione sighed. "Just get him in to a bedroom, I'll take Harry down to the kitchen."

Ginny nodded and levitated Ron's body ahead of her as she marched up the stairs, humming a tune to herself.

Harry was watching the spot on the ground where Ron had been, his eyes misty. He looked up at Hermione. "You told me he didn't believe me, but I guess I didn't really hear you."

"Don't worry, Harry, everything will work out," Hermione said, pulling one of Harry's arms over her shoulder and helping him to his feet. He was still clutching his stomach.

Together they walked down to the basement where the kitchen was situated. Hermione sat Harry in a chair, and had him lift his shirt so she could heal him. It was then that she got the real impact of what Azkaban had done to him.

His stomach was caved in, each rib painfully prominent. There were bruises on his body that had surely not resulted from Ron. There was a shiny red burn cutting diagonally across his chest.

Hermione gasped when she saw his body, and looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "All this. . . ."

"From Azkaban," Harry said, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione ran a finger along the burn, and Harry trembled. "That one burns every once in a while."

"Where. . . ?"

"Voldemort would appear in my cell once in a while. I saw him reborn a lot. Each time something different would happen. One time he pushed me towards the cauldron; the rim caught me across the stomach."

Hermione blinked and a tear fell from her eyelashes and landed on his stomach. She leaned her head down, and kissed the burn gently, then performing a spell to remove it from his body.

Once all of the scars and bruises had been removed from him, Hermione sat next to him at the table and dabbed his scar with a wet washcloth. Finally, it stopped bleeding.

"Is there anything you want?" she asked, gripping his hand comfortingly.

Harry shook his head. "The one thing I want, you can't get me."

"Well, then I'll tell you what I want. I want the old Harry back. I want the Harry who used to joke around with Ron. I want the Harry who used to smile, no matter how bad he was feeling."

"I guess I can work on that," Harry said.

"Good," Hermione said, standing up, "because I hate it when you're moping. Want a butterbeer?"

"Yes," Harry said, letting his eyes drop to look at the old table. Hermione didn't move from her spot. Slowly, he looked up at her. She was standing with a hand on her hip, as though waiting for something. Harry smiled, and added, "Please."

Hermione, satisfied, smiled back and strode off to the pantry.

-

A/N Thank you for everyone who reviewed. Once again, enjoy your holidays.

felony melanie