Chapter3
Among Enemies
by Camille
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Disclaimer: This story is based after the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. Adrienne, Mia, Joe, and everyone else whom does not appear in the canon were created by me. All other characters, places, situations, and events are owned by JKR, Warner Bros, and whoever else is lucky enough to have the rights.


NOTICE REGARDING FFN'S DISCONTINUATION OF FREE AUTHOR-ALERTS: I know that I personally rely heavily on Author Alerts to know when stories have been posted, as I don't have time to go and check everyday to see if all the stories I'm currently reading have been updated (though I don't think I'll be reading any fanfiction for a while not until my life settles back down). I also know that I have been irregular in my own updating of AE, something that given the current circumstances, will not improve quite yet. I hope that eventually I'll be able to make and commit to a schedule like I did for the first 25 chapters of the GS, unfortunately, I am unable to right now. Many of my readers have suggested that I make an e-group to serve as an author-alert; however, I currently have no free time (I've been averaging three hours of sleep a night to accommodate homework and other necessary demands) and cannot currently devote any time to running such a group. So, the only thing I can think of is to make a master-list of e-mail addresses. If you want me to e-mail you (it will be in a mass e-mail, will not contain the chapters as an attachment, and will not have a direct link to my FFN page only an alert that I've posted) when I post, please send me your e-mail address, not in the e-mail itself, but instead in the subject heading. I will then copy the e-mails down and send out a mass e-mail every time I post. My e-mail address is: ryesi1@aol.com If anyone has a better idea, I'd be happy to hear it and to consider it.

There will be a few days delay before I post this chapter on my website, due to the fact that I need to find the time to do the HTML

IMPORTANT TIMING NOTE: Hmm.. being the "genius" that I am ::laughs:: I forgot to explain how the chapters were timed. The Epilogue of GS, where Adrienne blows up the South Wing of Salem takes place on Adrienne's first night back to America, which is Harry's first full day back with the Dursleys, and the day that he gets the owl from Adrienne. This chapter, along with the last chapter takes place on the second full day of Holiday. I do not count the day in which they take the Hogwarts Express to be a full day of holiday thus the first day begins when Harry begins work at the dump.

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Chapter Three: Wanted
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The Burrow, with its cluttered yet homey atmosphere, with its own lively assortment of animals and magical creatures, and with the ever entertaining moments that was life with the Weasleys, was Harry's favorite place to spend his time. If he could have lived any other life than that which he did with the Dursleys, living at the Burrow would be second only to living at his own home with his own parents. Never had he imagined that there would be a time when his arrival would be one that he would want to forget, to put in his past and to bury with such force that the memory would never again surface in his mind.

Now accustomed to the various pitfalls associated with traveling via the Floo Network, Harry braced himself for the sudden jolt of arriving in the large stone fireplace that served as the heart of the kitchen. This time he didn't fall forward, nor did he fall into one of the hearth's walls, but instead he calmly brushed the layer of soot that had accumulated on his glasses.

The small Weasley kitchen hadn't changed from Harry's last visit the summer of the Quidditch World Cup, and neither, it seemed, had the position of the occupants in the room. The scrubbed wooden table, which had been magically expanded to fit the entire family without occupying more space than was needed for a family of four, was adorned with piles of tattered and dusty books, mixed with what looked like various back issues of journals, including one that Harry had seen in Professor McGonagall's study: The European Journal of Modern Transfiguration. Grouped around the table, heads bent close to the multitudes of opened texts, were Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie, whom Harry assumed were home for a holiday. They looked up as Harry emerged, still slightly sooty, from the fireplace.

"Harry," Bill said as acknowledgement. Harry noticed that his voice was slightly raised, as if there were ulterior motives behind the greeting. Within seconds Harry realized there were.

"Oh, Harry!" On cue, Mrs. Weasley, her hands wrapped in her apron as if she had been twisting it from nerves, appeared in the doorway from the sitting room, and then in amazing haste closed the distance, untangled her hands, and drew Harry into a tight hug. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, really," Harry replied hesitantly, stepping away from Mrs. Weasley, realizing that Mr. and Mrs. Granger must have told Mr. Weasley that he had fallen ill on their doorstep.

"When Arthur said that you were taken ill this morning, why, I" Mrs. Weasley stopped and again began twisting her hands in her apron and eyeing Harry as if he were about to break at any moment.

Harry had only seen Mrs. Weasley this unsettled twice in his life, and both occasions were during his fourth year. At those times though, he had fully understood her actions, but now, as she stared at him with a pale face, the soft wrinkles of time and motherhood appearing like never before, he had no inkling of what was bothering her.

There was a soft whooshing sound behind him, announcing Hermione's entrance into The Burrow, and just as with Harry's entrance, Bill announced her name. Mrs. Weasley continued to stare at Harry, not at all glancing in the direction of the fireplace, where Fred had jumped up from his station at the table to assist Hermione in extricating herself from below her trunk, as it had fallen atop her when she had toppled out of the hearth.

"Merlin! What do you have in here, bricks?" Fred groaned as he settled her trunk on the floor, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Textbooks," Hermione replied, brushing her shirt as she stood up.

"You're going on a holiday, and you brought your work?" Fred asked in disgust, his freckled face screwing up in horror. "You poor, disturbed child."

"If I start now, then I can enjoy the rest of my holiday without having to worry about completing last minute assignments," Hermione replied in an agitated voice, and then without waiting for Fred to quip back, she spun around. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice low and stern. Her eyes surveyed the table before her, where Bill and Charlie were scribbling on a piece of paper.

"Harry! Hermione!" A new voice had entered into the silent kitchen, which called Harry, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley's attention, but not the four boys: Who were working, Fred and George especially, harder and more intently than Harry had ever seen them work.

"Arthur. You're back all ready? I thought you said it would take a little longer," Mrs. Weasley said in a relieved tone, again dropping her apron and turning to face her husband, who had just Apparated in the doorway. He was wearing faded purple robes, which looked as if they were inside out. In the year that Harry hadn't seen him, Mr. Weasley had continued his progression toward the land of the bald. Harry seemed to remember Ron having mentioned at one time that his father was going to purchase a new potion that claimed to restore one's hair to its full potential, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that such a potion required more Galleons than the Weasleys could spare.

"The Ministry's a zoo, Molly," Arthur breathed. "There hasn't been this much activity since, well, for a while. And to make it worse, it isn't even organized. Everyone from the Minister's Office on down are running around like Hippogriffs with their heads cut off, and no one was intelligent enough to cast an anti-gossiping charm, so who knows how much the story is changing."

"What's happening?" Harry asked, his heart rising into his throat. His mind was churning, piecing together possible reasons for his and Hermione's needing to leave for The Burrow that night, and more importantly, leaving the country that night. Voldemort's done something. He's finally succeeded in regaining the public's attention, and now his latest reign of terror has begun. These thoughts spun unharnessed through Harry's head, which was beginning to ache again, like it had earlier in the morning.

"But never you mind the Ministry right now, Molly: I Apparated as quickly as I could, so I could meet them when they arrived." Mr. Weasley turned his attention back to Harry and Hermione, who were now standing side by side, both concocting horror stories about the public return of Voldemort. It must have been something huge to have finally alerted the Ministry to attention.

"Harry, Hermione, I wish we could be seeing you under different circumstances," Mr. Weasley began, his usually jolly and jubilant face bearing a solemn expression. Mr. Weasley cast a glance at Bill and Charlie, who were watching Fred and George intently mutter spells and flick their wands at an old, blue dishcloth. "Follow me."

Casting a confused glance at Hermione, Harry followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley into the sitting room. Upon entering, Harry's gaze fell upon the large grandfather clock that stood against one wall. If Harry remembered right, the clock had once adorned the kitchen, but for some reason or another, it had been moved. All the Weasley names were positioned at "Home" except for one, Percy's. The arrow bearing his name was pointing at the space labeled "Work."
"Where's Ron?" Mr. Weasley asked, and within seconds Mrs. Weasley had drawn herself from the chair she had just taken, and made her way to the rickety staircase. Mr. Weasley indicated for Harry and Hermione to sit. "First off, I apologize for the abruptness of my request for you to leave on such short notice." Mr. Weasley rubbed an eye and then ran his hand through what was left of his hair. "But given the current situation — "

"What situation?" The unmistakable voice of Ronald Weasley drifted into the sitting room as he descended from the stairwell. "It's about time I'm let out of the attic. The ghoul wasn't pleased to have me moping around up there."

So Ron doesn't know either, Harry thought.

"Oh, hallo Harry, Hermione," Ron said, a large grin breaking across his face as he finally registered their presence. "Mum told me that we would be leaving tonight that's why I had to clean the attic, I guess." Ron shot a withering look at his mother, who had retaken her rocking chair and was rocking too and fro, her lips pursed in either frustration or worry; Harry couldn't make out which.

"Ron, sit down for a moment, you should hear this too," Mr. Weasley instructed, and Ron obediently followed, taking the empty cushion next to Harry.

"What situation?" Hermione asked, referring to what Mr. Weasley was going to say before Ron interrupted him. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and clasping her fingers before her, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.

Mr. Weasley sighed and leaned back in the chair he had pulled before the sofa. "Harry," he started, but then he stopped, swallowing and sighing again.

Mr. Weasley's behavior reminded Harry greatly of how he had acted when he had wanted to warn Harry about Sirius Black before his third year. Remembering that Mr. Weasley sometimes needed prompting to express what he wanted to say, Harry smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"I don't know how to say this, Harry. I don't even know where to begin." Mr. Weasley wiped the back of his hand over his brow, which had begun to glisten from stress. "This morning at 8, two representatives from the Department of Mysteries arrived at your Aunt and Uncle's house. According to their report, they had intentions of interviewing you."

Harry laughed inwardly at how surprised the Ministry must have been to find that he had run away. The tension within Harry eased substantially and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I suppose my Aunt and Uncle weren't too thrilled. And I suppose the Ministry representatives were surprised to have found me gone," Harry answered, relieved that whatever seemed to be bothering Mr. Weasley was the result of his disappearance.

"No, Harry, you're aunt and uncle weren't angry, nor thrilled, nor anything."

Harry felt Hermione shift uncomfortably next to him, and he glanced from her to Ron, who were both staring at Mr. Weasley with confused expressions.

"When the representatives knocked on the door, there was no answer; however, the door wasn't latched, just closed."

Harry's memory flashed back to what he could remember of that morning, as many parts had been erased or fogged from whatever had plagued him. Like a choppy movie image, Harry pictured himself stepping out of the house, shutting the door behind him but not latching it, as the latch was horribly scratchy and he didn't want to wake anyone up.

"I didn't shut the door all the way when I left," Harry clarified for Mr. Weasley. "And if you don't latch it, it would open if you knocked hard enough."

"Which is what happened," Mr. Weasley continued. "The representatives found this odd, as would I. They entered the house to investigate. Harry, your aunt, your uncle, and your cousin were found at the kitchen table, slumped over into their breakfast."

"What?" Harry asked, staring at Mr. Weasley in disbelief.

"It wasn't determined until a few hours later, Harry, but they ingested Nightshade."

"What!" Harry repeated, his eyes widening in misunderstanding, his mind trying to remember everything he had learned about Nightshade in Potions.

"It was in the milk, which they had poured on their hot cereal," Mr. Weasley continued, his face steeled over, as if he were forcing himself to talk.

Harry shook his head. "No," he replied. "They wouldn't put Nightshade in their milk."

"Of course they wouldn't," Hermione answered hotly, her face contorting into a frightful grimace. "So, who did it?"

It was at this point that Mrs. Weasley began to sniffle and again started twisting her hands in her apron, just as Dobby had done to his pillowcase during Harry's second year. Harry found this horribly disconcerting and shifted uneasily in his seat, the slow realization beginning to filter through his mind.

"You mean someone broke into my house and poisoned my aunt, uncle, and cousin with Nightshade," Harry said in a soft voice, his eyes fixating at a point somewhere in the far distance, at a point that didn't find its resolution in the sitting room, nor anywhere on the Weasley's property, but instead at a point where Harry's own mind could safely dissect what he had just been told.

"And Nightshade, Harry" Mr. Weasley began, staring at Harry with concern as Harry's facial expression drifted further and further into oblivion. No emotion traced Harry's pale face, not a trace of worry, regret, or fear, but instead adorning it was an expression of confusion.

"Is deadly. We learned that in Potions," Ron said quietly. He too had paled dramatically, which only served to make his freckles stand out even more poignantly on his face, making him look like some crude rendition of a connect the dots game gone wrong.

Harry was no longer aware of the room around him. All he was aware of was the space in which his mind, and consequently his conscious, had come to dwell. From around him faded the Weasley sitting room, faded the occupants, faded everything, and in its place was a bleak gray atmosphere. Harry continued to stare into this endless sea of gray, his mind pulling at what he had just been told, emotions he never knew nor imagined he had surfacing from inside his chest with a great hitch of pain, as if his heart were being pulled straight through his rib cage. He heaved a breath, his chest feeling horribly heavy, and gasped slightly as he felt a hand come to rest on his leg, and squeeze lightly, not hard, but just enough. Harry didn't see who was next to him, and he didn't turn to look, nor attempt to draw himself back to full consciousness, for he knew exactly whom had just placed her hand upon his leg.

Hermione stared at Harry as the sitting room drifted into an uncanny silence. He had never gotten along with the Dursleys, true, but the fact remained that indeed they had been all he had known since he could first remember. And while they had never progressed to become his favorite people, Hermione had always known that if anything were to happen to them, Harry would blame himself. For, if it had not been for him, then his parents, his friends, and subsequently, the Dursleys, would never be in danger.

"I thought there were security wards up around the house," Harry said suddenly, snapping out of his stupor and staring intently at Mr. Weasley, who was taken aback by Harry's abrupt reentrance into their midst.

"According to Dumbledore, there are. And that, Harry, is raising very difficult questions." Mr. Weasley's face again darkened, and by the way he positioned himself in his chair, Harry had the sinking feeling, that whatever Mr. Weasley was going to say was indeed the true reason for why the Ministry was in chaos, for why Mr. Weasley had braved the telephone, and for why Harry and Hermione had arrived at the Weasleys' a day early.

"But, if there are security wards how would anyone break inside to poison them? We studied basic security wards last year in Defense, and even the basic ones are horribly difficult to disarm," Hermione said softly, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in thought. "And if the basic ones are that difficult to disarm, then think of how strong the wards performed by Professor Dumbledore would be."

"The Ministry considers the Dursleys' home as impenetrable as Azkaban," Mrs. Weasley said between sniffles, cutting off her husband, who had opened his mouth to answer Hermione's question. Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No means of stealth could allow access onto the Dursley property if harm was intended."

"They don't think that the Dursleys poisoned themselves, do they?" Ron asked, aghast. "Because they really aren't that dumb. Sure, they're self-driven, prejudice Muggles, but they hate magic too much to go ingesting magical poisons."

"No, Ron, they don't think the Dursleys poisoned themselves," Mr. Weasley said heavily.

Suddenly, Harry felt Hermione jump and heard her gasp, raising a hand to her mouth in horror. "No," she whispered, shaking her head as if she were trying to banish a horrible thought from her mind. "No," she repeated. "The Ministry takes the stance that an outsider gaining admittance to any distance close enough to kill the Dursleys is basically impossible, and they don't believe it was suicide, which obviously it wouldn't be would it? No. But that only leaves one other choice." At this, all eyes turned to Harry, Hermione's filled with disbelief, Ron's with confusion, Mr. Weasley's with despair, and Mrs. Weasley's with tears.

"I didn't murder Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, or Dudley," Harry drawled in a low voice, his eyes wide. He knew that no one in the room was accusing him of doing so, that from their expressions, they were just as appalled at the very idea as he was.

"Of course you didn't, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley wailed, beginning to rock nervously again, continuing the incessant twisting of her hands.

"The very thought is absurd!" Harry exclaimed, a surge of anger rising inside of him, and he jumped up from the sofa. "This is why you called, isn't it? This is why you're making us leave? Because the Ministry of Magic thinks that I, me, Harry Potter" Harry drawled out his own name with such hatred that Hermione flinched, "would murder what remained of my family?"

"You have Adrienne also," Ron interjected.

"She doesn't count," Harry said in a low voice, his green eyes flashing.

"Harry, from the Ministry's standpoint, it's suspicious. I, for one, don't believe it. But, according to the Ministry, you're guardians were found dead shortly after you ran away. It isn't a mystery that you didn't get along, and that you haven't ever gotten along," Mr. Weasley said softly, "You were the last one to see them alive, Harry."

Harry nervously sat back upon the sofa. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley were dead, murdered in their own home, under conditions that were guaranteed to provide their and his protection. And moreover, Harry began to realize, that the murders had been so methodically planned, that it seemed that the only possible culprit could be him.

Harry's thoughts quickly turned to his godfather: Sirius Black had never been given a trial. He had been sent straight to Azkaban, although he was innocent. But then again Sirius Black had also been believed to be the second to Voldemort, to be the main underling of the most evil wizard in existence. The stigma of his association was enough, coupled with the events and values of the period, to warrant Black's prompt imprisonment, or so some believed; Harry though, did not hold this conviction. Surely, Harry thought, surely that if the Ministry were going to pursue investigating him as a suspect in the murder of his own aunt, uncle, and cousin, they would at least allow him to plead his case.

And if watching a horrible movie, the type in which the audience rise from their seats to protest the course of action taken upon the screen, Harry's mind again changed direction, zooming back in time to when he had fallen into Professor Dumbledore's pensive. He had returned to the circular court room, and before Harry's eyes his memory played a forwarded version of those events. None of the defendants had ever really been given a defense. The amount of defense in the instances Harry saw was directly linked to the attitudes of the wizard in charge to the defendant.

"Harry?"

Harry snapped back to reality. Mr. Weasley was staring at him, a despairing expression still adorning his face.

"The Ministry doesn't believe in 'innocent until proven guilty', does it," Harry said, though it was more of a statement than a question. For, he didn't really need Mr. Weasley to confirm this: His memories, though brief and abridged, served as all the proof he needed. Being accused of murder in the wizarding world was very different than the same accusation in the Muggle world.

"No, they don't," Hermione said in a soft but firm voice, tightening her grip on Harry. Her hand had moved from his leg when he stood up, and when he had returned to a sitting position she had clasped his hand in hers.

"There's so much distrust harbored in our culture, Harry, distrust passed down through generations of hate and prejudice. It's something that we have not been able to overcome on such a scale as many of the Muggle nations," Mr. Weasley conceded, with the air of revealing a closet skeleton. "This distrust has been incorporated strongly into our government, into our lives. Look at the treatment of Muggles and Muggle-borns by some wizards."

Harry knew exactly what kind of wizards Mr. Weasley was referring to. So did Hermione, who's face darkened in response to this.

"But no one would believe that Harry would kill them," Ron exclaimed, nodding his head to accentuate his point. "Dad, no one would. That would be like asking everyone to suddenly love You-Know-Who."

"Ron's right. Harry" Hermione stopped to word her sentence, trying to make it seem as if she weren't about to idolize her boyfriend and best friend, "You've seen how people act when they first see him. He's sorry Harry he's not just some teenager to most wizards, he's, he's almost dehumanized, more like a symbol a symbol of hope for the future. And in the wake of You-Know-Who's wrath, more than anything, or at least from what I've seen, they cling to this symbol, the cling to him, because somehow he redeemed our society and our future. I just don't see people turning around on those beliefs."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "That's what you would think, wouldn't you?"

This comment was met with a prolonged silence.

"Well, if the Ministry were going to come for me, wouldn't they have come by now?" Harry asked incredulously, suddenly feeling very disenchanted with the world as he knew it. This was not supposed to happen. There was enough wrong with his life without him being framed for murder. For, he couldn't deny it, he couldn't rationalize against it: Hermione and Mr. Weasley were right someone killed the Dursleys with the full awareness that the most feasible, though perhaps not logical, culprit would be none other than poor, orphaned Harry Potter.

"Oh, mark my words, Harry. They will be coming, and when they finally do, there will be nothing that we can do to stop them," Mr. Weasley said darkly. "You are lucky, Harry, in the sense that there is much reverence still held toward you. No one in the Ministry will make any move to formally investigate you until every other possible avenue they can dream up has been explored. The problem is, as Hermione's stated it, there are only two other avenues, and come tomorrow, or even perhaps tonight, both avenues will be exhausted, and by the simple process of elimination, the arrow will fall on you."

"So, what do we do?" Hermione asked, biting the edge of her lip.

"We give the Ministry more time," Mr. Weasley said in a slow and deliberate voice, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What?" Ron drawled, his face still pale.

"What do you know about international wizarding law?" Mr. Weasley asked, directing his question at Hermione, who perked up slightly.

"I haven't taken any politics classes yet, but I have read up on it," Hermione admitted, slightly embarrassed that she hadn't enrolled in a class that could have been so helpful.

"Unlike the Muggle world, wizards keep themselves segregated. Nations do not interact with others unless under the gravest of circumstances well, save for Quidditch and trade. There is little tolerance for difference, and like I said at the Quidditch World Cup, there is a large superiority complex among our kind."

The clearing of a throat from the kitchen doorway interrupted Mr. Weasley, and in unison, Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned to see Bill standing in the doorway. He hadn't changed much from when Harry had last seen him. He was wearing a pair of black slacks which were too long for him, and the ends of his black, slightly scuffed, steel-toed dragon-hide shoes peaked from under the long material. He had a white T-shirt on, which Harry thought was slightly tight, accentuating muscles Harry didn't even know existed. There were three more piercings in his left ear, but Harry couldn't make out what adorned the earrings. Bill's hair was now chin length and parted down the middle, tucked behind his ears.

"Dad, we think we have it," Bill announced, his hands shoved into his front pockets. He cast a quick glance at Harry and offered him a weak smile.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Mr. Weasley replied, "A few more things must be explained first."

"When's Percy supposed to be home again?" Bill asked, glancing up at the large clock on the wall. Percy's arrow still read "Work." There was a slight look of apprehension on Mr. Weasley's face before he answered.

"I asked him to look into some matters for me I know it isn't his jurisdiction, per say, but he jumped at the chance at getting to interview prominent officials regarding illegally charming Muggle items. It should take him a few hours I hope," Mr. Weasley said, and then turned back to the three on the sofa. "International laws have been formulated to minimize contact between the countries. This will do to our advantage."

"What sort of traveling charms did you receive last year?" Mrs. Weasley asked, having seemed to awake from her incessant rocking and worrying.

For the Hogwarts students to travel to Salem, every student had to be issued owl-order international traveling charms, or more formally called International Apparation Certificates. Why they were called certificates was beyond Harry. After filling out the forms and having them notarized by an official Minister Department Head (something Dumbledore just happened to be, being the Headmaster of a state school) the forms were sent to the Ministry of International Civilian Relations. And upon processing, the proper charms were sent back to whoever filled out the form. They were sent in envelopes enchanted to open only after being hit with the Alohomora spell from the registered wand of the recipient, and once opened, the charms were self-cast upon the receiver.

All Hogwarts students who didn't already have an IAC received the Student Travel version, which allowed admittance into any magical country that had an upper-divisional magical academy. There were only 50 in the world, the majority being in the Americas, Europe, and Asia.

Why they were called Apparation certificates was also beyond Harry, because they didn't just allow Apparation, but the use of port-keys and broom-flying into a country.

"Student IACs," Hermione answered.

"Both America and Guatemala are included in that certificate," Mr. Weasley said, a slight tone of relief in his voice.

"If I'm suspected of murder, the Ministry isn't going to let me leave the country," Harry said dejectedly.

"They aren't going to like it," Mr. Weasley conceded, "But, like I said, I personally don't know anyone at the Ministry who'd jump at the chance to take you in for questioning about your Aunt and Uncle's murder. They won't be thrilled to see you leave, but wherever you go, Harry, people will know you're name, know you're face. The Ministry will easily keep track of you, and they will never worry of losing you."

"Won't they just come after me well, once they've exhausted all the possibilities. Won't they want to interview me about my last moments with them?" Harry asked, horribly confused. If the Ministry were indeed so worried about the murders of the Dursleys, would they really just let Harry waltz out of the country?

"They can't." It was Hermione who said this, and a smile was now replacing her frown. "That's brilliant Mr. Weasley! Sheer brilliance."

"It was my idea!" Bill called from the other room.

"You, Harry, have been dueling your past year at Hogwarts, have you not?" Mr. Weasley pressed.

"Yes," Harry replied, "but you knew that."

"And so does the rest of the magical world," Mrs. Weasley replied. Harry cast her a withering glance. "Witch Weekly follows up on you regularly," Mrs. Weasley clarified.

"And, one of your friends, which is what the majority of the population know Adrienne as, is participating in the International Dueling Championship. It wouldn't arise much suspicion if you left England to attend the Championship. The Ministry would keep tabs on you the entire time, which is for certain. But if you return to Hogwarts in the fall, all suspicion aroused during your international travels will be erased and you will once again just be seen as a murder suspect, not as one who fled the country," Mr. Weasley explained.

"But why wouldn't the Ministry just come after me. You said yourself that they think I'm the only one possible of well you said that they'd come after me soon. Why would an international barrier prevent that?" Harry asked, confused.

"Because Harry, like Mr. Weasley said, the wizarding nations do not interact regularly. And, the Ministry here knows that there is no way of convincing Guatemala or America to deport you they wouldn't understand the reasoning on why you "have" to be the murderer. The nations would take it as an insult, as if Britain didn't believe that those countries were good enough to house the infamous Harry Potter, and that Britain is so jealous that she would concoct stories pinning the very public death of the Dursleys on you." Hermione said this all very rapidly, and without emotion, as if she were working something else out in her mind at the same time.

"There is so much distrust, Harry, and with the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, all international relationships that had risen during that occasion have all but disintegrated. The governments see no use for interactions other than concerning Quidditch and trade. The Ministry, Harry is very patient. They will wait until you return to take the train back to Hogwarts, and then they will arrest you," Mr. Weasleys said this last part so frankly that Harry shuddered.

"So, if I leave the country and don't come back, it just confirms that I'm a murderer. If I come back to Britain it gives me a little credibility but I still get arrested? That doesn't sound like a winning plan to me," Harry said irritably. "Why don't I just not come back? From what you say, as long as I stay out of Britain, then I won't be arrested."

"If they don't think you're coming back, Harry the Ministry will order your deportation."

"But you said he can't be deported," Ron argued back, thoroughly confused.

"Oh he can it would just cause excess grief for the Ministry. The Ministry can issue trade sanctions. America and Guatemala have many trade interests with us: If the Ministry puts enough pressure on them, they will eventually comply. It would take longer than the summer though, which is why the Ministry would rather wait you out, and it would cause greater international tensions than the Ministry would like," Mr. Weasley explained.

Harry lowered his head into his hands. None of this made sense to him. Could he really trust unspoken rules about international relations to keep him from being arrested for a crime he didn't commit?

"So I come back or the entire country I'm in suffers economically and when I do come back, I'm arrested," Harry murmured.

"Not technically," Mrs. Weasley said. Her voice was low and motherly now.

"Oh my aching mind," Harry moaned.

"You cannot be arrested at Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione said soothingly, fighting back the desire to inform him that if he would have read "Hogwarts: A History," he would have known that. "Hogwarts was developed as a safe haven for magical children. When, as a student, you step foot on the Hogwarts grounds, Harry, you receive a temporary immunity from past digressions. That means, if the Ministry doesn't arrest you before you enter school, they must wait until a holiday to do so. The educational process is valued so greatly in our Ministry, that this law was put into place when Hogwarts was founded. There were people who opposed the formal training of pure-bloods along with that of Muggle-borns, and many magical law enforcers would order, with no pretence at all, the arrest of Muggle-borns who arrived at Hogwarts, only to prevent them from attending school. They would have ordered the arrest sooner, but they didn't always know who the Muggle-borns were until they arrived. The Ministry put a stop to this by declaring the school a political safe haven."

"But, Harry, if someone commits a crime while on the Hogwarts grounds, or during the school term, then they can be subject to arrest," Mr. Weasley interrupted.

"So how do I get from America to Hogwarts without being arrested?" Harry asked. He felt as if his head would explode from all the information, especially as it made no sense.

"That will be arranged by Dumbledore; we just get you out of the country," Mr. Weasley said.

Harry sat quietly in his seat. He felt numb, however, he couldn't tell yet with what. He wasn't exactly scared, nor was he exactly sad, but he was a strange mixture of both, one which he didn't like. He supposed he should be either pacing frantically by now, trying to argue that nothing made sense, and then he supposed he should be crying also, as wasn't that what you were supposed to do when someone you know dies? But at this point, he didn't feel like pacing or crying. All he felt like doing was sitting quietly, which the Weasleys weren't going to let him do.

Mrs. Weasley had taken leave of her station at the rocking chair, and had disappeared into the kitchen, where faint echoes of murmurs emitted. Harry had watched her leave, and his eyes lingered on the doorway, wondering what she had gone to do.

"Harry, are you all right?" Mr. Weasley asked in a tender voice, his eyes fixated upon the boy.

Harry didn't answer for a moment, fighting off the mad urge to yell that of course he wasn't all right he was being framed for murder, his aunt, uncle, and cousin were dead, and now he was fleeing the country, in the loosest sense of the word, as he was intending on coming back. Instead of saying anything, not trusting himself to even open his mouth, Harry just smiled a depressed half-smile.

"Does anyone at Salem know already?" Hermione asked.

"We've sent an owl announcing your early arrival, but the wizarding wireless has reported a storm off the American East Coast, Pig might get caught in it," Mr. Weasley answered.

Ron perked up at this. "What do you mean Pig?" he asked incredulously. "He's my damned owl! You shouldn't be sending him off on international missions without asking me."

"You were in the attic," Mrs. Weasley replied, having just reentered the room, now void of her apron, which Harry thought was a good thing, as all the nervous twisting had just served to unnerve him more.

"And why was thatbecause you locked me in the attic," Ron replied, careful not to yell, but his voice still strong with agitation.

"Because we didn't need you running around the house worrying about Harry all day long." Mrs. Weasley glared at Ron, her facial expression chastising him for whining about his owl when Harry was sitting right next to him, in a far worse predicament, and not whining.

"Are you sure this isn't going to backfire on me I'm not going to get to Salem and find out that my leaving has sent the Ministry into a huge witch-hunt, and suddenly I'm the most wanted person alive," Harry asked, still rather doubtful.

"No one at the Ministry would be thrilled about having to arrest or investigate you. No one is thrilled about the entire affair at all, especially that you have been labeled a suspect. You're leaving will give them a chance to get everything organized, make sure they aren't making a mistake — "

"But when I come back they'll still be waiting to arrest me," Harry interrupted Mr. Weasley.

"And," Mr. Weasley ignored Harry's last comment, "your leaving allows us time to try and figure out who really did kill them."

Harry stared at Mr. Weasley as a new question began to formulate in his mind. What about my Aunt, Uncle, and Dudley? What are we going to tell the neighbors. There'll be a funeral, I should really be there. And then, if the Prophet gets a hold of me skipping the country after my family's been murdered they'll think that heartless, Harry said softly.

to the public, it wouldn't look unseemly if you and your close friends escaped for a holiday, to allow you to come to terms with the latest tragedy in your life. And the Ministry will take care of the relations with the Muggles. The Muggles who knew them wouldn't expect you to attend the funeral anyway aren't you supposed to be criminally insane or something. That St. Brutus' Secure Center for Merlin knows what weren't they spreading that story around? Mr. Weasley asked.

St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, Harry corrected. He stared off into space again. It seemed that Mr. Weasley had everything worked out, but Harry was still horribly worried. Many things Mr. Weasley had said were contradictory, as if he had formulated his plan on the chances of mere luck intervening to make it work. And what was it that he said about when the Ministry finally came for him, there'd be no stopping them, and now Mr. Weasley said it was perfectly fine for Harry to skip the country, like a common criminal would do. But, the longer Harry continued to sit there and work everything through his tired mind, the more hazy his thoughts became, and then, there was really nothing left to do, but to trust Mr. Weasley.

Harry rubbed his face and then leaned forward. "What time should we leave?" he asked softly.

"As soon as possible. Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George have been working on the port-key for several hours now. Usually when we're traveling, I make the port-key, or I ask a friend at the Ministry to do so for me. But, given the circumstances of today, I couldn't do either," Mr. Weasley replied, standing up and motioning the three to follow him back into the kitchen.

Harry and Hermione exchanged horrified looks when Mr. Weasley mentioned Fred and George, both of them thinking the same thing: There was no way they'd ever use a port-key Fred and George made it just couldn't be safe.
Ron must have known what they were thinking. "A lot of their joke products require advanced transfiguration. Seems that they actually paid attention in that class. I wouldn't doubt their ability to make a port-key," Ron reassured them.

Harry was going to ask if Fred and George had said anything about opening a joke shop, as they had plenty of money to do so, but Harry didn't think this was an appropriate time.

"We've set it to take you to the path right before the Salem gates. They don't have their wards down like they did when you traveled there in May, so you can't port-key right onto the grounds," Charlie said as soon as everyone had piled into the kitchen.

There, in the corner, stood someone Harry hadn't seen at all until now: Ginny. She was wearing long pants and a red T-shirt, and was watching the scene before her with a sad expression. Harry knew that Ginny had taken up many political electives, something not even Hermione had done, as she had never been horribly interested in magical politics. Harry wondered how much Ginny understood of the situation.

"Hallo Ginny," Harry said, trying to get her attention. Ginny looked at him and offered him a reassuring smile.

"Hallo Harry," she replied, but she didn't move out of her corner.

The dishtowel that the four Weasley boys had been toiling over when Harry had exited the fireplace now lay untouched upon the scrubbed table. It looked just like any ordinary dishtowel, and could have passed for one that Aunt Petunia would own, had it been not so worn and ratty. The colors were faded and there were holes at the seams around the edges, but there was nothing to indicate that this dishtowel was in fact, magically enhanced. This, Harry supposed, was the beauty and efficiency of using such ordinary and common household items as transportation devices.

"Please be careful. All of you," Mrs. Weasley instructed, her eyes over bright, but her face forced into a composed expression. Harry had never felt the eyes of another as he did that moment. He supposed he had never felt the glare of love and worry, as his own mother never lived long enough to engrain these moments into his memory, and it was that for which he was most grateful for Mrs. Weasley. She may never replace his mother, but her loving actions always seemed to comfort Harry, if only in the slightest.

Harry wondered if Professor Hartel had the same effect on Adrienne. He knew from experience that Mia cared greatly for Adrienne, but he wasn't sure if Adrienne even realized this, or if she appreciated this. Harry had the feeling that Adrienne tried to hide as many emotions as possible, and she was good at it.

"Listen to everyone at Salem, and please, don't go around looking for trouble," Mr. Weasley instructed, and Harry once again found himself trying to control his abashment at realizing that others seemed to think that he often foolishly gallivanted around begging trouble to find him. "Don't answer questions, Harry. Especially those referring to your family."

Harry nodded his understanding, his eyes returning to Ginny, who was staring with a new expression, one of what looked unmistakably like wistfulness. Harry cursed himself silently. None of them had ever thought of inviting Ginny. Ginny was an amazing dueler, of course she'd want to come along. But there wasn't any time, because Mrs. Weasley was already hugging and kissing Hermione, whispering words in her ear that Harry couldn't make out. And then, before he knew it, Mrs. Weasley had wrapped her arms around him and had engulfed him in a horribly tight hug, and then she kissed his forehead, staring into his eyes and telling him to keep a low profile and to be careful.

Harry glanced back to Ginny once Mrs. Weasley had left him and moved on to Ron. Something in Harry's mind told him to offer Ginny to come along. But, suddenly, Harry couldn't even think straight, as the horrible realization had finally truely dawned upon him Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were dead. Dead.

A horrible feeling surfaced in Harry's stomach, and the room began to spin, but no one noticed anything, and Harry was unaware of his hand unconsciously reaching for the port-key, alongside Hermione and Ron. And then, the familiar hooking behind his navel began, and he was thrown forward, all thoughts of inviting Ginny left behind in the kitchen, where seven people stood staring at the place where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had once been.

The port-key reminded Harry greatly of how he felt. His mind completely understood the swirling and unattached visions that were flying around Harry as he continued to travel.

Had they felt anything? Did they suffer? Or was it instantaneous? Had they ever contemplated the idea that by taking in Harry, they'd be placing their own lives in jeopardy, placing their own lives into a game of cat and mouse, which definitely was not going in Harry's favor. And before his mind could draw any conclusions from its troubled thoughts, Harry's feet hit solid land with a sudden jerk, and he fell forward, having been unprepared for the spell's completion.

There were two other thumps, and then, two other figures lying on the ground besides him, their trunks lying behind them, having been let go with the sudden jerk of meeting the unmoving ground.

"There has to be a less violent way of traveling," Hermione murmured, sitting up and rubbing her shoulders, where she had been twisted to the point that she had thought she might arrive at Salem with a dislocated shoulder.

"You just aren't used to them," Ron said defensively, pulling himself up as if he frequently spun his way across half the world and then was splattered upon the ground.

"Harry?"

Harry had propped his head on his hands and was staring ahead toward the wrought-iron gates that read "Salem Academy for Magical Studies." Yet, he wasn't seeing them, instead, he saw an image of the three people he had known longest in his life, lying lifeless upon their table, their lives having been stolen right from under them, right from under himbecause of him.

"Harry?"

Harry slowly sat up and looked at Hermione, who was staring at him with a worried expression.

"I suppose we should go find Adrienne," he murmured, standing up and brushing the debris from his clothes, which had clung to with static electricity generated from the travel.

"Harry, we really need to talk," Hermione said, looking past him to Ron, who was nodding her on.

"Let's talk later," Harry replied, "We should really explain our presence to whoever's in charge here."

Harry reached down and began dragging his trunk behind him, weaving a trail upon the leaf-covered path, his head hung slightly.

Hermione and Ron stared after him. "What do you propose we do, professor?" Ron asked sullenly.

Hermione didn't even express annoyance for his quip about her intelligence, instead she just sighed. "Follow him, I suppose."

And so, with great effort, they did.

The three walked in silence, Harry leading the way, staring intently ahead, as the Salem castle grew closer. He wondered where he'd have to go to find a professor: He didn't fancy walking aimlessly around the castle searching for someone to whom to explain their impromptu arrival. He didn't have to think much about this though, as just then, the front doors opened and someone emerged, someone, who if she hadn't been looking at her feet, would have realized who was approaching.

Adrienne flopped down upon the stone steps and leaned forward, lowering her face to her outstretched legs and stretching her muscles, taking deep breaths and beginning the process of clearing her mind, something she really needed to do just then.

She had been dueling with Professor Hartel, and had never lost so badly to her in her life. Her body was aching from the curses that she had been unable to block, and she couldn't banish Mia's disappointed and frustrated chastises at Adrienne's horrible defeat. Adrienne glared at her legs and then jumped up, deciding that the only cure for her sudden bad mood was a good, long run to clear her mind and to release her frustrations.

This was why when she finally realized that three people were approaching her, dragging trunks behind them, that she didn't give them an exciting nor happy expression, but one that expressed extreme annoyance at her therapeutic run being interrupted.

"I didn't think you were coming until tomorrow," Adrienne snapped, pulling a leg behind her and continuing to stretch, although she knew that she wouldn't be running anytime soon now.

"Nice to see you too," Hermione called, struck by the annoyance in Adrienne's usual happy-go-lucky voice.

"Couldn't have owled ahead, eh?" Adrienne continued, breathing in heavily.

"We tried, seems port-keys are quicker than owls," Ron replied, smiling at her.

Adrienne didn't say anything to Hermione or Ron, but turned her attention to Harry, who had stayed uncharacteristically quiet through the last minute. She tilted her head and then began walking down the steps, staring at him curiously.

Harry smiled slightly as she approached, not because he was happy, but because he figured it was the polite thing to do. She had her hair up in a tight pony tail, which wasn't very becoming, because it was horribly lopsided and there were strands of hair sticking up in unlikely places, as if she had done her hair in great haste. Her face was uncharacteristically flushed, and there seemed to be tiredness around her eyes. She was wearing a pair of soccer shorts, bright green in color, and she was wearing an emerald green t-shirt, the sleeves rolled under at the shoulders. Harry's eyes widened slightly as he read the wording printed across the front, in shining gold letters: Prepare to be Annihilated.

Adrienne glanced down at her shirt, reading Harry's expression perfectly.

"Oh, read the back," she ordered, and then turned around, revealing the words: 1996 Intl Dueling Championship. "Like it?" she asked, having twirled back around, her expression having changed from one of annoyance to one of great excitement and pride. "I have mine from the last two years, and now this one three total." Adrienne smiled as if everyone should stare in awe at her addition abilities.

Harry stared at Adrienne, his eyes fixating on the writing: Prepare to be Annihilated, and he couldn't help but to wonder if at that moment, across an ocean, that same saying was taking on an all too real meaning.

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Author's Note: This chapter was finished Monday September 10, and it was my goal to post it Tuesday the 11th. In lieu of the recent events, I postponed posting until I felt comfortable in doing so. I know that the last few days have been very trying. I know that many of you have been affected in ways much more devastating than I have been. I pray that God gives you peace, and I pray that God guides our country and our leaders in their endeavor to avenge this tragedy. As alawys, thanks again to my amazing BETA-reader, Christine. And I'd like to give a special thanks to METMA-Mandy, for looking over the first half of this chapter as I was writing it.

I do have a request for anyone capable of helping me. I love Latin music, which is why I wanted the Dueling Tournament set in Latin America the problem is, I don't know any Guatemalan music groups and I haven't been able to find any. I do listen to Spanish music in general (as I live a whole hour away from Mexico) but I'd really like to have some knowledge of Guatemalan music so if anyone knows of any groups or any sites that would allow me to learn and listen, please e-mail me.

A big thanks to all who reviewed, including but not limited to:

*Brtiz* (Um.. Guatemala? I don't know how I came up with that I think it was just a random working of my mind. I do speak Spanish though, so that played into it slightly... and the entire Latin music thing),
Airemay (How do I make you mad at the characters? Now I'm interested :) I liked Pete too, and that does seem to be the general consensus from everyone though, he isn't going to be back in the foreseeable future. Anger-management classes for Death Eaters? That sounds hilarious that's something I could see Adrienne telling them too bad you thought of it and not me. And I did love your story, I'm glad my review conveyed that),
Aislinn (How do you say that? Because I love unusual names and always use them in my original stuff and I love how your name is spelt but I can't say it),
Amanda Mancini (Sorry about the wait between chapters, I could give a really long explanation explaining why, but 1. no one would want to read it 2. it would be boring and 3. it would take time away from writing — hehe! I have read P.S., btw),
Arne (YES! I think you're the only person who picked up on that without me giving them hints! Kudos for figuring the framing thing out),
Athena Black (I want you with me next time I go exercising Hurry, Hurry, Hurry! That could come in handy for motivation — hehe),
BabBLGrl (don't think I'll be having any more computer problems, or at least I hope not),
Charlie (I'm sorry about being such a selfish bitch lately. I really am. I have craploads of homework until Friday October 5... I'll try my hardest to finish BtM2 that weekend. K?),
Chrissy (spectacular? You thought chapter one was spectacular? Wow — thanks!),
Colorful (Thanks... GS won an award maybe AE will maybe not who knows),
Crystal Music (Nope, you didn't write me back, but I forgive you I forget to do things all the time too. Harry ate something besides his sandwich and apple it's there just a really short little blurb no one else picked up on it either, so don't worry),
Fallen*Angel (You really think he had the flu? Well, you'll just have to wait and see cuz I've never seen anyone get over the flu that fast either And Adrienne will be back in the story from now on),
Freda Potter (Got part of it right, didn't you? Well, sexy Harry will take quite some time to play into the story, but he'll be there eventually mostly in the final story just a tad in this one),
Hermione (hey — thanks for catching the picture/pitcher thing I can't believe I missed that now I feel dumb. The Dudley underwear model? Well, I have to say that idea can never be fulfilled now),
Hermione A Snape (Now you know what Avery did?),
Jen (I owe you a huge thank you, Jen for putting up with me during the past days. I appreciate your patience and your listening to me thank you),
Jenna darling! (And, I think I'll have to use that Marmoset idea and of course I'll give you credit for it! And again, CONGRATS on your dancing!!)
Katameran (I can't wait until you finish your next fairy tale spoof!! So write away, darling, write away!),
Lady Aquila (Yes, you make perfect sense),
Lauren (Ah as usual, my longest reviewer :) Yup, now you and Adrienne have something in common though I don't know how much of a compliment that is, cuz she isn't the most amazingly able person but still, the same vocabulary I guess. And, to set you straight, my thanks section only takes up a page and a half hehe!!! And, thanks for everything... knowing you're there really helps. Lylas),
Lucky Woods (I can't say for sure when the next part with Mr. Malfoy will be coming up, as all my chapters aren't set in stone until the moment I post them. There will be plenty of Mr. Malfoy through the middle and end for sure though),
Lyndsi (I've been spending lots of time thinking of what kind of child Mia and Joe would have not that I'm saying they will have one it just keeps me entertained during class and I've come to the conclusion that neither Mia or Joe are horribly apt parents, so between them and Adrienne problem child might be an understatement),
Maxwell Coffee House (I'm glad you liked my portrayal of Herm's family, I was slightly worried that everyone would hate it),
METMA Mandy (Thanks so much for reading part of the chapter! I really appreciate it! And about Pete he won't be back, or at least, not in this story maybe in the next one, but I seriously doubt it),
Miss Liss (From now on there will be plenty of Adrienne so don't worry),
Midnight Lady (Everyone tells me I always write cliffhangers but I don't mean to. I guess that's the only way I ever end chapters even in my original works),
Night Owl (I don't think anyone saw Hermione as rich except me but I might just be weird like that),
PixyChick (Glad your b-day was great! I think all your questions as of last chapter are answered by now or at least I think I answered them),
Rachael (It's been so great talking to you!! I wish I could be online more this week... but I have even more homework than last week... if that's even possible. But I'm sure we'll talk soon!! Enjoy your week!) Ravenclaw Filly (I tried to get this out as soon as possible and I'm still trying),
Robbie! (I haven't read your story yet, sweetie.. sorry. I wrote this when I was ill yes again, but you know me, the moment I'm healthy for more than the week is the moment we all run to the newspapers. I just didn't want to read your chapter and then miss something because I didn't feel well. I will edit it this week though, promise! And then I told you I'd edit it before I did my html... but I didn't do my html, a friend in the dorm did it real quick for me... so now I even have more time to edit your story!!!! Good luck with all your classes darlin!!)
Shadow (Ok — so you are the second person to figure out what's happening kudos for you!),
Shadow Dancer (Hermione's parents won't be around for a while I actually can't say when we'll see them next, but they will be in the story at some time, probably a lot later though),
Silver Cat (I don't know if I'd call this a hit but I appreciate your encouragement!),
Smiley Chic (Wow — that first line made me listen hehe glad to know you like it),
Sofie (I'll send you that recipe as soon as I go back home so that will have to be this weekend, but I'll send it then — it's good! You HAVE to make it!),
Tahlya (Hey, did you get my e-mail?),
Too Many Cheering Charms (Again, sorry for the wait but I don't think I really need to explain, as I think it goes for everyone right now),
Veronica Lupin (Would you believe that I NEVER got an author alert saying you'd posted chapter 4!!!!!!! So boy was I ever surprised when I went to your page and saw the newest chapter! It was a good surprise though!... but it won't let me review... everytime I send a review, FFN goes all weird... but I'm still trying to send one... I may just end up writing one and e-mailing it to you... gosh, I swear FFN hates me),
Viv (For a while there when you weren't online... I was so worried... but I'm chatting with you right now... so all is good and I'm happy again!!! :) ),