The Sixth Sense
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K.Rowling and not me. I'm just having fun during my spare time.
A/N: I got severe writer's block and couldn't continue my other fics (at least for now) so I decided to try a new story. Hope you like and enjoy!
Chapter 1: How it All Began
The clouds hung in the sky outside Number 4, Privet Drive in Surrey. It was still early afternoon on that dreary summer day, but Harry could tell a storm was coming soon, probably in the evening. He approached the piece of white paper hung on the wall of that small room that had all the days of the month on it: a mini- calendar he'd made. Sighing, he crossed off August 20th, even though the day wasn't over yet. Only eleven more days: he could make it, couldn't he?
He hadn't gone to the Weasleys that summer; Dumbledore had insisted firmly he was safer here with his relatives. Harry hadn't even bothered to ask the reason of that. Perhaps it was better he was staying here anyway; they ignored him here and these days Harry was in no mood to talk to anyone.
"Boy! Get down here!"
Rolling his eyes, the fifteen-year old trudged down the stairs in answer to his uncle's call and found them all crowded around the tall living room mirror. Aunt Petunia was sitting in a chair, a hairdryer in her hand, her blond hair sitting in rollers and looking too big and puffed out for her long, thin face. Her cheeks were red and her face was smudged with overdone makeup. She wore a flashy black evening gown and was muttering to herself as she tried to fix the makeup, while Dudley screamed at her to come help him with his bow tie, which had somehow got stuck on his pudgy face and was sitting over his nose. Uncle Vernon was proudly trying to comb his moustache with a toothbrush. Harry couldn't help smiling slightly; this family thought wizards were freaks.
His uncle turned around and spotted him. "When we're gone," he barked at him, "I want you to-"
"Stay sitting quietly, without touching anything, calling anyone, or speaking to anyone, and no funny stuff," said Harry in a bored tone. He'd heard this at least fifty times that day.
"Right," growled the beefy man, giving his moustache a final rub. "I'm warning you boy." Harry nodded disinterestedly, and Vernon gave him a last glare before turning to his family.
"Right, hurry it up will you?" he said impatiently. "We can't be late." His aunt nodded, took the rollers out of her hair, and with enormous force, yanked the bow tie off Dudley, who cried out dramatically. "You'll have to go without one, sweetums," she cooed sympathetically.
*Just get out of here, already,* thought Harry. His delightful relatives were leaving for an important dinner party at one of Uncle Vernon's business associates in London, and probably wouldn't be back till early evening. Old Mrs. Figg from next door wasn't there to 'baby-sit' him, as she had left a few days ago, saying mysteriously that she was 'on vacation'. The Dursleys weren't too happy about leaving Harry alone in the house, but finally consented as it was only for a few hours.
Aunt Petunia was smiling as she put on her coat. "Little Dudders (Harry smiled at the 'little') is going to behave himself like a good boy and impress all those men, right honey?"
His cousin nodded angelically then smirked at Harry. The young wizard ignored him; he couldn't give a damn about the Dursleys, and only hoped they would get a good soaking in the storm, if there was one.
"We're locking you in," said Vernon as a way of farewell, before slamming the door in his face. And then they were gone.
Harry sighed and climbed back up to his room, flopping onto his bed. He had already finished all his school assignments, and they were currently under the loose floorboard in his room, along with the birthday presents he'd received that year. His trunk and other belongings were in his room this time, as they had actually let him keep them with him as long as he didn't use anything magical.
He leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. The best thing to do right now was to make use of the peace in the house and take a nap. Recurring nightmares about Cedric and Voldemort had kept him from regular sleep night after night, and a bit of slumber right now would do him good.
His eyelids drooped over the emerald green of his eyes, which were covered with dark circles that contrasted with his pale face. Before long he had dozed off.
**Gray eyes turned to him, flashing dangerously. "It's all your fault! You killed me, Harry! How can you live with yourself knowing what you did? How?!"
"No, Cedric, please, you have to understand, I-"
But the tall HufflePuff was gone. The gray eyes were now red slits, the soft, innocent lips were a thin, cruel line, the skin was abnormally white.
"Where is he?!" screamed Harry. "What did you do with him? What-" He broke off into sobs, and the Dark Lord laughed mirthlessly, his long, skeletal hand pointing to something on the ground. Harry turned and screamed. Cedric lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide, staring, and dead, his face streaked with inhuman scars.
A loud blast of thunder was heard, and lightning flashed, illuminating the body for a second. And Voldemort laughed.
Harry sat up, gasping, his hand reaching out to wipe the sweat from his face and rub his burning scar. Should've known I couldn't have a little snooze without.
The sound of the cracking thunder turned his attention to the window. Outside, the sky was dark, except for the flashes of lightning, and the storm was raging. He glanced at the new watch Hermione had gotten him. It was ten thirty in the evening. Harry frowned; he had slept longer than he'd thought. The Dursleys were supposed to be back by now.
He padded across the room and clicked on the light switch. But the room stayed enveloped in darkness. Oh, great, the electricity's gone. Just what I need. He resisted the urge to use his wand, for he knew it would just land him in trouble.
He crept out of the room and dared to glance inside the open doorway of his aunt and uncle's room. No one was inside. Frowning, he felt his way downstairs, his hands gripping the banister.
"Aunt Petunia?" he called out softly. "Uncle Vernon? Is anyone there?"
His calls were met with silence. They're probably just late. Or they got caught in the storm and are spending the night in London, without bothering to tell me, of course.* He didn't want to consider any other possibilities. He didn't dare.
Thinking quickly, he went back up to his room and felt around for the familiar drawer of the small bedside table. He pulled it open and groped inside, his hands finally resting on the plastic flashlight. Harry clicked the switch causing a beam of light to escape and cast dark shadows on his face. Suddenly all Harry could see were shadows that he wasn't sure weren't part of his imagination. He shivered, images of Cedric filling his brain again.
The rain had lessened and all that remained was the pitter-patter of the water as it hit the ground. There was still the occasional roar of thunder, however; other than that there was an eerie, black silence that Harry found even more unnerving. A shudder quivered up his spine.
**"Kill the spare.kill the spare!"**
He screamed in frustration. **Can't that bastard leave me alone for one damn night?!** And then, as though mocking his thoughts, a white-hot pain seared his scar, and he collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily.
Something was definitely wrong. Harry didn't like the feeling he was getting. He rose slowly from the bed, his left hand gripping the flashlight tightly. Holding the light to his trunk, he opened it with his other hand and rummaged about until he had found his wand. He held it securely, feeling slightly better. Just in case.
*Come on, Potter. You're getting paranoid after.the third task.* He nodded. That was it; Voldemort was back and that was giving Harry the willies. Nothing more. He went downstairs again slowly. Maybe he'd fix himself a cold sandwich.
*Didn't Petunia say they'd be back by eight thirty at the most? It's eleven.*
He shook his head firmly, trying to drive the thoughts from his head, and entered the kitchen. Resting the flashlight on the counter, he got out some toast and was reaching inside the fridge for the butter..
His hand froze in midair. Something told him to get out of the house. Now. Anywhere but here. And as fast as he damn could.
He couldn't send an owl; Hedwig was away delivering a letter to Sirius.
His heart racing fast, he grabbed the flashlight and sped up the stairs. He was gathering his belongings and piling them in the trunk when he heard the familiar pop of wizards Apparating downstairs. Voices floated towards him. He couldn't understand their low murmurs, but one voice he recognized, a silky, arrogant drawl: it was Lucius Malfoy's.
*Oh, shit. I'm dead. Literally. What to do? What to do??*
He thought quickly. Silently, he placed a featherlight charm on the trunk and put on his invisibility cloak. To hell with underage magic.
It would be too risky to go down, even with the cloak. He left the flashlight, said *Lumos,* grabbed the trunk and sped as fast as he could towards his aunt and uncle's bedroom, where the window had a ledge.
The voices came nearer. They were upstairs and in Dudley's bedroom. He opened the window with sweaty fingers, his heart beating so fast against his chest it almost hurt.
"He must be in the other room!"
Without even seeing if the drop would be too high, he was in the air. He was going to make it.
He landed on his feet, his knees buckling from the height. Ignoring this, he ran ahead unto the road, thrusting his wand out.
*Come on; please come, please, please.* Nothing. His heart sank. What now?
But a second later, there it was. Harry could have wept with relief. A large bang, and the three-story bus was there. Harry threw off the cloak, and when Stan Turnpike appeared cut him off before he had barely opened his mouth.
"I'm in a hurry, Stan. I need to get to London." He jumped on. He could see figures by the front door of the house.
Stan stared at him, saw the urgent look on his face, and hopped on behind him, the door slamming after them. And then they were rattling off.
It took Harry a few moments to regain his composure. He leaned against the wall of the bus, breathing heavily. He only relaxed when the bus had left Privet Drive with a bang, and was on a completely different road.
" 'choo lookin' so scared for, 'Arry Potter?"
"Oh, um, nothing. Sorry I barged in like that. Like I said, I'm kinda in a hurry." He smiled nervously.
"A'this time of the nigh'? Hey, Ern! Look' oo's 'ere!"
The driver turned around, looked at Harry curiously, smiled, and grunted in greeting.
"Erm, Stan, I'll be taking a bed, with the hot chocolate, please." He paid thirteen silver sickles and sat down, ignoring the nauseating feeling in his stomach as the bus swerved and banged and scattered everything in its way. He had other things on his mind.
How had the Death Eaters found him? And what had happened to the Dursleys? Harry had a queasy feeling he knew the answer to that one.
And now what? He had to send an owl to Dumbledore as soon as possible. He shivered; the Death Eaters had come so close to getting him. Next time he wouldn't be so lucky. It was only a matter of time..
The bus stopped at a small village and a tall, fat witch wearing an enormous blue hat and an orange dress with green bubbles stepped out, screaming at Stan that she was never taking a ride in that damn bus again.
"Righ' erm..good evein' to you too, Mrs. Legrand!" he called after her.
"Tha's our only passenger other tha' u," he told Harry. "'xpect no one wants 'ta go out on a nigh' like this."
Harry shivered. "So where'll you be goin'?"
"Diagon Alley," said Harry.
Another bang, and again the bus was on a completely different road. The pitter-patter of the rain was still heard coming from the black, starless night sky, and Harry sat quietly on the bed, sipping hot chocolate, lost in his thoughts. He didn't look out the window, for fear of what it would do to his already churning stomach. Stan Turnpike shot him curious glances now and then but said nothing.
After what seemed like an eternity, the triple-decker bus crashed to a stop in front of the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry hastily said goodbye to Stan and the driver, gathered his trunk and stepped out into the cold night air. Behind him the bus disappeared. He was alone.
*They can't get me here; there are lots of people around.*
Nevertheless he gripped his wand tightly in the pocket of his jeans as he entered the tiny pub that hid the entrance to Diagon Alley.
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and bustling, and a merry fire lit the hearth. There were a few wizards sitting and talking or reading the Daily Prophet. They looked up as Harry entered, and he nervously flattened his untidy black bangs over his scar.
Tom the old innkeeper gave him his trademark toothy grin. "Hello there Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"
"I want a room for the next few days, please."
"Certainly." Harry asked how much for a night, paid him (the Minister had probably paid the last time he'd come) and followed Tom, who carried his trunk down the familiar passage to a pleasant room, not unlike the one he remembered staying in last time.
The innkeeper left him after he had bid him a good night, and, exhausted, Harry flopped on the bed, closing his eyes and surrendering to slumber, fully dressed.
*~*~*
The usual nightmares awoke him early the next morning; it was seven a.m. when Harry rubbed his weary eyes and splashed cold water over his face. The events of last night came flooding back to him, and he cursed himself as he realized he should've found a way to send news to Dumbledore as soon as he'd arrived. He had to tell him about the break- in, and soon.
He dragged himself into a muggle shirt and jeans, and when Tom came to bring him his breakfast, he asked him if there was any owl he could use. "I got one, she's out deliverin' a letter, should be back soon. You can use' er then."
Harry thanked him, picked at his breakfast, and decided to head off to Gringotts. He needed more money if he was going to stay here for the rest of the summer and buy his school supplies as well.
He went down the passageway and into the main inn, where he caught sight of a copy of the Daily Prophet on a small coffee table next to a man sitting in an armchair, his legs crossed, reading a large book that hid his face.
He had been anxious about news from the wizarding world since the beginning of summer, and though the letters from Ron and Hermione assured him that there were no appearances from Voldemort, he still felt the need to catch up. He hesitated slightly before approaching the wizard. Something about him seemed familiar.
"Excuse me, sir, are you done with that newspa-"
The man looked up, putting his book down, and Harry froze.
The sneering face of Lucius Malfoy looked back at him.
*Holy shit.* Harry looked around frantically. There were other people in the inn; the Death Eater couldn't do anything to him. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around his wand, which he kept in his pocket at all times now.
"Well, well, fancy meeting you here, Harry Potter," the blond man drawled pleasantly.
Harry narrowed his eyes, his right hand which held his wand leaving his pocket slightly. Malfoy's gaze followed the direction of Harry's arm and laughed softly, then stood up and leaned in closer. He looked down slightly so that his face was level with the boy's.
"I'm not going to do anything now, with people watching," he said, now in a low, dangerous tone, so only Harry could hear him. "You're probably proud of yourself for escaping me last night. However-" There was a threatening gleam in his eye. "I'm going to tell you something, Potter, and it'd do you good to remember my advice. You can run, but you can't hide. The Dark Lord always wins."
His voice had dropped to a menacing whisper. Harry's hand shook slightly, both with fear and anger. "We'll have to see about that, won't we?" he said, his own tone low.
Malfoy chuckled. "We definitely will, Harry Potter." He closed his eyes slightly, and he reached out a slim, pale hand, which brushed the scar on Harry's forehead. A jolt of electricity passed through him, not like the searing pain he had felt when Voldemort had touched him, yet very strange and unlike anything he'd experienced before. It was uncomfortable, and Harry shivered. Malfoy laughed again and removed his finger.
"You can have that paper if you wish, my boy," he said loudly, in a cheerful voice. "I'll be seeing you soon, I hope." He secretly shot Harry a meaningful look, and with that, he was gone.
Harry stood there frozen for a few long moments, his mind racing. Then, forgetting about the newspaper went to Diagon Alley, his strides quick and purposeful. He wondered if anyone could see through him and find out how disturbed he was, and how afraid he was feeling. He didn't even want to think about what Malfoy had meant by that last comment. Maybe a threat. Maybe not.
After he had taken money from his vault at Gringotts, he wandered over to Fluorish and Blotts. He was going to buy advanced books for defending himself, for he knew he would feel much safer knowing dangerous spells that he could protect himself with, and at least he should know a bit more about dueling.
He stood in front of the display window of the shop, looking at the books that were lined up for people who were outside to see.
He caught sight of a large book with a black cover, that had yellow writing on the front: *Attack: The best form of defense, by Laurel De Banc.*
He edged closer, studying the cover, and jumped when he heard a voice behind him. "I would take that if I were you."
Harry whirled around, his wand out instinctively. The dark blue eyes that looked back at him were unfamiliar to Harry. The man looked to be around in his fifties or sixties, he was tall, with rough black hair that had a few streaks of gray in it, and was wearing navy blue robes. There was something strange about his eyes, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"I'm sorry if I scared you," said the man, his lips turning up in what looked like a genuine smile. His eyes twinkled merrily.
Harry reddened slightly and put his wand back in his pocket, but he kept his hand on it anyway. This man was a stranger. "Not at all," he muttered.
"I just couldn't help but notice you looking at that book. I know it very well, and I can assure you it's very useful if you want to know how to attack, as well as always be ready on your feet, even if you're taken by surprise."
"Thank you," said Harry politely. "That's exactly what I was looking for."
"Glad I could help," the man smiled. "I'm interested in defense myself; in fact, I used to be an Auror in my day." his tone was wistful. He cleared his throat. "I'm Robert Mckinnon," he said, holding out a hand.
Harry hesitated slightly before shaking it. "Harry Potter."
"I know," said McKinnon, but he wasn't looking at Harry's scar. "You have Lily's eyes," he said softly. "Your mother was a good friend of mine."
Harry smiled uncomfortably. Suddenly he had remembered the memory of Lily Potter coming out of that wand.
"I've got to go, Harry. It was nice meeting you; maybe I'll see you again sometime." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the man was gone as soon as he had appeared.
*Probably Disapparated,* he thought, absentmindedly watching a couple of witches walk by. The streets were almost empty today.
As he pushed open the door to the shop, he heard a very familiar voice from inside.
".and I'll be needing twenty copies of *Standard Defense Mechanisms for When You're in Need,* and ten of *Quick-to- do Potions that Can Save Your Life* for the library."
"I'll have them at the school by today evening, Headmaster. Anything else?"
"No, that's all, thank you," Albus Dumbledore turned around, and Harry felt truly safe for the first time since last night.
"Harry? What are you doing here?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I- well, it's kind of a long story, sir."
Dumbledore looked at him, fixing him with his penetrating blue gaze. "You've left the Dursleys, haven't you," he said in a low voice, so the shopkeeper wouldn't hear.
Harry nodded. "I had to.Death Eaters," he said quietly, looking away. He wondered if Dumbledore would notice his tired face and the lines under his eyes.
Dumbledore frowned, his eyes clouded with concern. "I didn't hear of an attack."
"There wasn't any. The- the Dursleys were out last night, and I felt that something was wrong. Then I heard people Apparating and recognized Mr. Malfoy's voice. So I ran for it. Out the window. By the Knight Bus. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to be considering something. Then he looked up. "And you're all right?"
"Fine," Harry muttered.
"I'll go back with you to the Leaky Cauldron; we can talk there, alright?" The old man's face was grave.
"Yes, Professor. I want to buy something here first though, if you don't mind."
"Take your time, Harry."
He approached the shelves, found the book the stranger had advised him, and took it to the shopkeeper to pay for it.
"Ah, that's a good choice," said Dumbledore as Harry gave the man a galleon and took the book.
Harry nodded, pleased. "I thought it'd help with, well." He shifted uncomfortably.
Dumbledore nodded understandingly as he pushed open the door and they left the shop. "Harry, you have every right to feel this way. It's all right to be afraid, you know. And it's good you're doing something about it."
"I don't know how much help reading will be, though," said Harry. He walked quickly to keep up with the tall wizard's long strides. "But you said this book was good, and so did that wizard I saw."
"What wizard?" Dumbledore cut him off, frowning.
"Oh, he saw me looking at the book outside and advised me to get it. Maybe you know him professor, he used to be an Auror. Said he knew my mum."
"Did he say his name?"
"Yeah, I think it was.Mc- something or other.oh yeah, McKinnon. Robert McKinnon."
Dumbledore came to a halt on the road. He looked at Harry strangely. Harry stopped beside him, puzzled. "What- what is it?"
"Harry.."
"What? Is something wrong? Is he a supporter of the Dark side?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Harry, Robert McKinnon has been dead for sixteen years."
A/N: Done! I hope you liked it, and please review. I can't guarantee the next chapter'll be this long, though.
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K.Rowling and not me. I'm just having fun during my spare time.
A/N: I got severe writer's block and couldn't continue my other fics (at least for now) so I decided to try a new story. Hope you like and enjoy!
Chapter 1: How it All Began
The clouds hung in the sky outside Number 4, Privet Drive in Surrey. It was still early afternoon on that dreary summer day, but Harry could tell a storm was coming soon, probably in the evening. He approached the piece of white paper hung on the wall of that small room that had all the days of the month on it: a mini- calendar he'd made. Sighing, he crossed off August 20th, even though the day wasn't over yet. Only eleven more days: he could make it, couldn't he?
He hadn't gone to the Weasleys that summer; Dumbledore had insisted firmly he was safer here with his relatives. Harry hadn't even bothered to ask the reason of that. Perhaps it was better he was staying here anyway; they ignored him here and these days Harry was in no mood to talk to anyone.
"Boy! Get down here!"
Rolling his eyes, the fifteen-year old trudged down the stairs in answer to his uncle's call and found them all crowded around the tall living room mirror. Aunt Petunia was sitting in a chair, a hairdryer in her hand, her blond hair sitting in rollers and looking too big and puffed out for her long, thin face. Her cheeks were red and her face was smudged with overdone makeup. She wore a flashy black evening gown and was muttering to herself as she tried to fix the makeup, while Dudley screamed at her to come help him with his bow tie, which had somehow got stuck on his pudgy face and was sitting over his nose. Uncle Vernon was proudly trying to comb his moustache with a toothbrush. Harry couldn't help smiling slightly; this family thought wizards were freaks.
His uncle turned around and spotted him. "When we're gone," he barked at him, "I want you to-"
"Stay sitting quietly, without touching anything, calling anyone, or speaking to anyone, and no funny stuff," said Harry in a bored tone. He'd heard this at least fifty times that day.
"Right," growled the beefy man, giving his moustache a final rub. "I'm warning you boy." Harry nodded disinterestedly, and Vernon gave him a last glare before turning to his family.
"Right, hurry it up will you?" he said impatiently. "We can't be late." His aunt nodded, took the rollers out of her hair, and with enormous force, yanked the bow tie off Dudley, who cried out dramatically. "You'll have to go without one, sweetums," she cooed sympathetically.
*Just get out of here, already,* thought Harry. His delightful relatives were leaving for an important dinner party at one of Uncle Vernon's business associates in London, and probably wouldn't be back till early evening. Old Mrs. Figg from next door wasn't there to 'baby-sit' him, as she had left a few days ago, saying mysteriously that she was 'on vacation'. The Dursleys weren't too happy about leaving Harry alone in the house, but finally consented as it was only for a few hours.
Aunt Petunia was smiling as she put on her coat. "Little Dudders (Harry smiled at the 'little') is going to behave himself like a good boy and impress all those men, right honey?"
His cousin nodded angelically then smirked at Harry. The young wizard ignored him; he couldn't give a damn about the Dursleys, and only hoped they would get a good soaking in the storm, if there was one.
"We're locking you in," said Vernon as a way of farewell, before slamming the door in his face. And then they were gone.
Harry sighed and climbed back up to his room, flopping onto his bed. He had already finished all his school assignments, and they were currently under the loose floorboard in his room, along with the birthday presents he'd received that year. His trunk and other belongings were in his room this time, as they had actually let him keep them with him as long as he didn't use anything magical.
He leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. The best thing to do right now was to make use of the peace in the house and take a nap. Recurring nightmares about Cedric and Voldemort had kept him from regular sleep night after night, and a bit of slumber right now would do him good.
His eyelids drooped over the emerald green of his eyes, which were covered with dark circles that contrasted with his pale face. Before long he had dozed off.
**Gray eyes turned to him, flashing dangerously. "It's all your fault! You killed me, Harry! How can you live with yourself knowing what you did? How?!"
"No, Cedric, please, you have to understand, I-"
But the tall HufflePuff was gone. The gray eyes were now red slits, the soft, innocent lips were a thin, cruel line, the skin was abnormally white.
"Where is he?!" screamed Harry. "What did you do with him? What-" He broke off into sobs, and the Dark Lord laughed mirthlessly, his long, skeletal hand pointing to something on the ground. Harry turned and screamed. Cedric lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes wide, staring, and dead, his face streaked with inhuman scars.
A loud blast of thunder was heard, and lightning flashed, illuminating the body for a second. And Voldemort laughed.
Harry sat up, gasping, his hand reaching out to wipe the sweat from his face and rub his burning scar. Should've known I couldn't have a little snooze without.
The sound of the cracking thunder turned his attention to the window. Outside, the sky was dark, except for the flashes of lightning, and the storm was raging. He glanced at the new watch Hermione had gotten him. It was ten thirty in the evening. Harry frowned; he had slept longer than he'd thought. The Dursleys were supposed to be back by now.
He padded across the room and clicked on the light switch. But the room stayed enveloped in darkness. Oh, great, the electricity's gone. Just what I need. He resisted the urge to use his wand, for he knew it would just land him in trouble.
He crept out of the room and dared to glance inside the open doorway of his aunt and uncle's room. No one was inside. Frowning, he felt his way downstairs, his hands gripping the banister.
"Aunt Petunia?" he called out softly. "Uncle Vernon? Is anyone there?"
His calls were met with silence. They're probably just late. Or they got caught in the storm and are spending the night in London, without bothering to tell me, of course.* He didn't want to consider any other possibilities. He didn't dare.
Thinking quickly, he went back up to his room and felt around for the familiar drawer of the small bedside table. He pulled it open and groped inside, his hands finally resting on the plastic flashlight. Harry clicked the switch causing a beam of light to escape and cast dark shadows on his face. Suddenly all Harry could see were shadows that he wasn't sure weren't part of his imagination. He shivered, images of Cedric filling his brain again.
The rain had lessened and all that remained was the pitter-patter of the water as it hit the ground. There was still the occasional roar of thunder, however; other than that there was an eerie, black silence that Harry found even more unnerving. A shudder quivered up his spine.
**"Kill the spare.kill the spare!"**
He screamed in frustration. **Can't that bastard leave me alone for one damn night?!** And then, as though mocking his thoughts, a white-hot pain seared his scar, and he collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily.
Something was definitely wrong. Harry didn't like the feeling he was getting. He rose slowly from the bed, his left hand gripping the flashlight tightly. Holding the light to his trunk, he opened it with his other hand and rummaged about until he had found his wand. He held it securely, feeling slightly better. Just in case.
*Come on, Potter. You're getting paranoid after.the third task.* He nodded. That was it; Voldemort was back and that was giving Harry the willies. Nothing more. He went downstairs again slowly. Maybe he'd fix himself a cold sandwich.
*Didn't Petunia say they'd be back by eight thirty at the most? It's eleven.*
He shook his head firmly, trying to drive the thoughts from his head, and entered the kitchen. Resting the flashlight on the counter, he got out some toast and was reaching inside the fridge for the butter..
His hand froze in midair. Something told him to get out of the house. Now. Anywhere but here. And as fast as he damn could.
He couldn't send an owl; Hedwig was away delivering a letter to Sirius.
His heart racing fast, he grabbed the flashlight and sped up the stairs. He was gathering his belongings and piling them in the trunk when he heard the familiar pop of wizards Apparating downstairs. Voices floated towards him. He couldn't understand their low murmurs, but one voice he recognized, a silky, arrogant drawl: it was Lucius Malfoy's.
*Oh, shit. I'm dead. Literally. What to do? What to do??*
He thought quickly. Silently, he placed a featherlight charm on the trunk and put on his invisibility cloak. To hell with underage magic.
It would be too risky to go down, even with the cloak. He left the flashlight, said *Lumos,* grabbed the trunk and sped as fast as he could towards his aunt and uncle's bedroom, where the window had a ledge.
The voices came nearer. They were upstairs and in Dudley's bedroom. He opened the window with sweaty fingers, his heart beating so fast against his chest it almost hurt.
"He must be in the other room!"
Without even seeing if the drop would be too high, he was in the air. He was going to make it.
He landed on his feet, his knees buckling from the height. Ignoring this, he ran ahead unto the road, thrusting his wand out.
*Come on; please come, please, please.* Nothing. His heart sank. What now?
But a second later, there it was. Harry could have wept with relief. A large bang, and the three-story bus was there. Harry threw off the cloak, and when Stan Turnpike appeared cut him off before he had barely opened his mouth.
"I'm in a hurry, Stan. I need to get to London." He jumped on. He could see figures by the front door of the house.
Stan stared at him, saw the urgent look on his face, and hopped on behind him, the door slamming after them. And then they were rattling off.
It took Harry a few moments to regain his composure. He leaned against the wall of the bus, breathing heavily. He only relaxed when the bus had left Privet Drive with a bang, and was on a completely different road.
" 'choo lookin' so scared for, 'Arry Potter?"
"Oh, um, nothing. Sorry I barged in like that. Like I said, I'm kinda in a hurry." He smiled nervously.
"A'this time of the nigh'? Hey, Ern! Look' oo's 'ere!"
The driver turned around, looked at Harry curiously, smiled, and grunted in greeting.
"Erm, Stan, I'll be taking a bed, with the hot chocolate, please." He paid thirteen silver sickles and sat down, ignoring the nauseating feeling in his stomach as the bus swerved and banged and scattered everything in its way. He had other things on his mind.
How had the Death Eaters found him? And what had happened to the Dursleys? Harry had a queasy feeling he knew the answer to that one.
And now what? He had to send an owl to Dumbledore as soon as possible. He shivered; the Death Eaters had come so close to getting him. Next time he wouldn't be so lucky. It was only a matter of time..
The bus stopped at a small village and a tall, fat witch wearing an enormous blue hat and an orange dress with green bubbles stepped out, screaming at Stan that she was never taking a ride in that damn bus again.
"Righ' erm..good evein' to you too, Mrs. Legrand!" he called after her.
"Tha's our only passenger other tha' u," he told Harry. "'xpect no one wants 'ta go out on a nigh' like this."
Harry shivered. "So where'll you be goin'?"
"Diagon Alley," said Harry.
Another bang, and again the bus was on a completely different road. The pitter-patter of the rain was still heard coming from the black, starless night sky, and Harry sat quietly on the bed, sipping hot chocolate, lost in his thoughts. He didn't look out the window, for fear of what it would do to his already churning stomach. Stan Turnpike shot him curious glances now and then but said nothing.
After what seemed like an eternity, the triple-decker bus crashed to a stop in front of the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry hastily said goodbye to Stan and the driver, gathered his trunk and stepped out into the cold night air. Behind him the bus disappeared. He was alone.
*They can't get me here; there are lots of people around.*
Nevertheless he gripped his wand tightly in the pocket of his jeans as he entered the tiny pub that hid the entrance to Diagon Alley.
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and bustling, and a merry fire lit the hearth. There were a few wizards sitting and talking or reading the Daily Prophet. They looked up as Harry entered, and he nervously flattened his untidy black bangs over his scar.
Tom the old innkeeper gave him his trademark toothy grin. "Hello there Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"
"I want a room for the next few days, please."
"Certainly." Harry asked how much for a night, paid him (the Minister had probably paid the last time he'd come) and followed Tom, who carried his trunk down the familiar passage to a pleasant room, not unlike the one he remembered staying in last time.
The innkeeper left him after he had bid him a good night, and, exhausted, Harry flopped on the bed, closing his eyes and surrendering to slumber, fully dressed.
*~*~*
The usual nightmares awoke him early the next morning; it was seven a.m. when Harry rubbed his weary eyes and splashed cold water over his face. The events of last night came flooding back to him, and he cursed himself as he realized he should've found a way to send news to Dumbledore as soon as he'd arrived. He had to tell him about the break- in, and soon.
He dragged himself into a muggle shirt and jeans, and when Tom came to bring him his breakfast, he asked him if there was any owl he could use. "I got one, she's out deliverin' a letter, should be back soon. You can use' er then."
Harry thanked him, picked at his breakfast, and decided to head off to Gringotts. He needed more money if he was going to stay here for the rest of the summer and buy his school supplies as well.
He went down the passageway and into the main inn, where he caught sight of a copy of the Daily Prophet on a small coffee table next to a man sitting in an armchair, his legs crossed, reading a large book that hid his face.
He had been anxious about news from the wizarding world since the beginning of summer, and though the letters from Ron and Hermione assured him that there were no appearances from Voldemort, he still felt the need to catch up. He hesitated slightly before approaching the wizard. Something about him seemed familiar.
"Excuse me, sir, are you done with that newspa-"
The man looked up, putting his book down, and Harry froze.
The sneering face of Lucius Malfoy looked back at him.
*Holy shit.* Harry looked around frantically. There were other people in the inn; the Death Eater couldn't do anything to him. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around his wand, which he kept in his pocket at all times now.
"Well, well, fancy meeting you here, Harry Potter," the blond man drawled pleasantly.
Harry narrowed his eyes, his right hand which held his wand leaving his pocket slightly. Malfoy's gaze followed the direction of Harry's arm and laughed softly, then stood up and leaned in closer. He looked down slightly so that his face was level with the boy's.
"I'm not going to do anything now, with people watching," he said, now in a low, dangerous tone, so only Harry could hear him. "You're probably proud of yourself for escaping me last night. However-" There was a threatening gleam in his eye. "I'm going to tell you something, Potter, and it'd do you good to remember my advice. You can run, but you can't hide. The Dark Lord always wins."
His voice had dropped to a menacing whisper. Harry's hand shook slightly, both with fear and anger. "We'll have to see about that, won't we?" he said, his own tone low.
Malfoy chuckled. "We definitely will, Harry Potter." He closed his eyes slightly, and he reached out a slim, pale hand, which brushed the scar on Harry's forehead. A jolt of electricity passed through him, not like the searing pain he had felt when Voldemort had touched him, yet very strange and unlike anything he'd experienced before. It was uncomfortable, and Harry shivered. Malfoy laughed again and removed his finger.
"You can have that paper if you wish, my boy," he said loudly, in a cheerful voice. "I'll be seeing you soon, I hope." He secretly shot Harry a meaningful look, and with that, he was gone.
Harry stood there frozen for a few long moments, his mind racing. Then, forgetting about the newspaper went to Diagon Alley, his strides quick and purposeful. He wondered if anyone could see through him and find out how disturbed he was, and how afraid he was feeling. He didn't even want to think about what Malfoy had meant by that last comment. Maybe a threat. Maybe not.
After he had taken money from his vault at Gringotts, he wandered over to Fluorish and Blotts. He was going to buy advanced books for defending himself, for he knew he would feel much safer knowing dangerous spells that he could protect himself with, and at least he should know a bit more about dueling.
He stood in front of the display window of the shop, looking at the books that were lined up for people who were outside to see.
He caught sight of a large book with a black cover, that had yellow writing on the front: *Attack: The best form of defense, by Laurel De Banc.*
He edged closer, studying the cover, and jumped when he heard a voice behind him. "I would take that if I were you."
Harry whirled around, his wand out instinctively. The dark blue eyes that looked back at him were unfamiliar to Harry. The man looked to be around in his fifties or sixties, he was tall, with rough black hair that had a few streaks of gray in it, and was wearing navy blue robes. There was something strange about his eyes, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"I'm sorry if I scared you," said the man, his lips turning up in what looked like a genuine smile. His eyes twinkled merrily.
Harry reddened slightly and put his wand back in his pocket, but he kept his hand on it anyway. This man was a stranger. "Not at all," he muttered.
"I just couldn't help but notice you looking at that book. I know it very well, and I can assure you it's very useful if you want to know how to attack, as well as always be ready on your feet, even if you're taken by surprise."
"Thank you," said Harry politely. "That's exactly what I was looking for."
"Glad I could help," the man smiled. "I'm interested in defense myself; in fact, I used to be an Auror in my day." his tone was wistful. He cleared his throat. "I'm Robert Mckinnon," he said, holding out a hand.
Harry hesitated slightly before shaking it. "Harry Potter."
"I know," said McKinnon, but he wasn't looking at Harry's scar. "You have Lily's eyes," he said softly. "Your mother was a good friend of mine."
Harry smiled uncomfortably. Suddenly he had remembered the memory of Lily Potter coming out of that wand.
"I've got to go, Harry. It was nice meeting you; maybe I'll see you again sometime." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the man was gone as soon as he had appeared.
*Probably Disapparated,* he thought, absentmindedly watching a couple of witches walk by. The streets were almost empty today.
As he pushed open the door to the shop, he heard a very familiar voice from inside.
".and I'll be needing twenty copies of *Standard Defense Mechanisms for When You're in Need,* and ten of *Quick-to- do Potions that Can Save Your Life* for the library."
"I'll have them at the school by today evening, Headmaster. Anything else?"
"No, that's all, thank you," Albus Dumbledore turned around, and Harry felt truly safe for the first time since last night.
"Harry? What are you doing here?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I- well, it's kind of a long story, sir."
Dumbledore looked at him, fixing him with his penetrating blue gaze. "You've left the Dursleys, haven't you," he said in a low voice, so the shopkeeper wouldn't hear.
Harry nodded. "I had to.Death Eaters," he said quietly, looking away. He wondered if Dumbledore would notice his tired face and the lines under his eyes.
Dumbledore frowned, his eyes clouded with concern. "I didn't hear of an attack."
"There wasn't any. The- the Dursleys were out last night, and I felt that something was wrong. Then I heard people Apparating and recognized Mr. Malfoy's voice. So I ran for it. Out the window. By the Knight Bus. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to be considering something. Then he looked up. "And you're all right?"
"Fine," Harry muttered.
"I'll go back with you to the Leaky Cauldron; we can talk there, alright?" The old man's face was grave.
"Yes, Professor. I want to buy something here first though, if you don't mind."
"Take your time, Harry."
He approached the shelves, found the book the stranger had advised him, and took it to the shopkeeper to pay for it.
"Ah, that's a good choice," said Dumbledore as Harry gave the man a galleon and took the book.
Harry nodded, pleased. "I thought it'd help with, well." He shifted uncomfortably.
Dumbledore nodded understandingly as he pushed open the door and they left the shop. "Harry, you have every right to feel this way. It's all right to be afraid, you know. And it's good you're doing something about it."
"I don't know how much help reading will be, though," said Harry. He walked quickly to keep up with the tall wizard's long strides. "But you said this book was good, and so did that wizard I saw."
"What wizard?" Dumbledore cut him off, frowning.
"Oh, he saw me looking at the book outside and advised me to get it. Maybe you know him professor, he used to be an Auror. Said he knew my mum."
"Did he say his name?"
"Yeah, I think it was.Mc- something or other.oh yeah, McKinnon. Robert McKinnon."
Dumbledore came to a halt on the road. He looked at Harry strangely. Harry stopped beside him, puzzled. "What- what is it?"
"Harry.."
"What? Is something wrong? Is he a supporter of the Dark side?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Harry, Robert McKinnon has been dead for sixteen years."
A/N: Done! I hope you liked it, and please review. I can't guarantee the next chapter'll be this long, though.