Chapter 1
He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap.
Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, Harry got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but where he was he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop -- but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.
A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.
The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass -- and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.
Harry ducked into a large black cabinet standing against the far wall just as Draco entered. The man beside him could be none other than his father -- he had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at items on display, until he reached the counter, where a greasy-haired man had appeared.
"Ah, Mr. Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy in a drawling voice.
"Mr. Malfoy, Draco," Borgin said in a voice as oily as his hair. "So nice to see you again. Let me show you, just in today, very reasonably priced -- "
"I'm not buying today, but selling," said Malfoy smoothly. He pulled a long roll of parchment from the inside pocket of his cloak.
"Selling?" The smile faded slowly from Borgin's face.
"Yes, the Ministry is becoming ever more bold. It's that flea-bitten Arthur Weasely, no doubt."
Harry felt a surge of hot anger.
"I see," said Borgin greasily. He studied Mr. Malfoy's list, and then said, "I think that we can arrange something here."
The two of them began to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale.
Then he turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward -- he stretched out his hand for the handle --
"Come, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy. The two of them left the shop together, Draco sulking slightly.
"Good day to you too, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor...."
After a moment Borgin turned back into the back of the store, and Harry slipped out of the cabinet and through the glass doors.
An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasley's fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.
"Not lost, are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.
An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked suspiciously like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.
"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just --"
"No, you're not," the witch said, leering even more. "You're lost, precious, aren't you?"
Harry shuddered slightly, and continued to back away until he was standing with his back against a shop front. "No, really," he stuttered, "I'm fine, thanks...."
The old witch leaned forward until her face almost touched his. "Scared, are you?" she asked in a delighted whisper. "Yes, I think so, precious."
Harry's breath came in ragged gasps and he drew as flat against the shop front as he could, which wasn't far. Her tray she had set carefully on the ground, and now she kicked it, sending fingernails showering all over Harry's feet. He recoiled, his eyes wide with obvious fear.
The witch cackled hoarsely. "Here's another one for Him," she said softly, then laughed again. Suddenly she shrieked delightedly, and several heads turned. People, human and non, drifted towards the shop against which Harry was pinned, cruel and curious.
"I've got one," the witch shrieked. "One for Him!"
Harry had the vague thought that perhaps she had gone quite mad, but this was soon vanquished with the next turn of events.
Two masked wizards ran up behind the witch, who moved aside. Both pulled out their wands and cried, "STUPEFY!"
* * *
Arthur Weasley, together with four of his red-haired sons, sprinted up the street towards Gringotts. A lone brunette figure stood on the steps, waiting - yes, it was Hermione Granger. Good, she might know where Harry had got to.
"Hermione!" Ron ran up the steps, panting hard. "Have you seen Harry yet?"
Hermione gave Ron a quizzical look. "I thought he was with you," she said slowly.
"No," said Arthur, coming up behind the pair. "He has been staying with us, but we haven't found him since we came here -- Molly's frantic."
"How could he have gotten lost?" Hermione asked with raised eyebrows.
"We traveled by Floo powder," Fred supplied. "He'd never done it before -- we think he might've come out at the wrong grate."
"Oh, Floo powder," said Hermione. "I've read about that stuff. I've heard it's a very unreliable way to travel," she added a bit severely.
"Well anyway, Harry's not here," said George. We've searched up and down the Alley, and so has Mum, and none of us has found anything."
Molly Weasley ran up, Ginny in tow. "Did -- you -- find -- him?" she asked, panting heavily.
Arthur shook his head. "No, and we've looked everywhere," he said exhaustedly. "I think we should tell someone."
"Could he have...started shopping without us?" Molly said doubtfully.
"Probably," Arthur replied, relief evident in his tone. "We can see."
* * *
When Harry came to his senses he was in a large room with no furniture except the canopied bed on which he lay. The only window shimmered with spells -- he was obviously being kept in, whether he liked it or not.
The door to the room opened slowly, and Lucius Malfoy entered, cloak swirling around him and a mask dangling from his fingertips. "I see you've woken, then," he drawled.
Harry did not reply, but he shook with silent fury.
"You like your...room, I hope?" Lucius continued with a sneer. "Prepared especially for yourself."
"You --" Harry spat, his voice trembling. "You idiot, you --"
"Now, now, Mr. Potter," said Lucius in mock dismay, "Control yourself. There's someone who very much would like to see you. Should I admit him?"
Harry clenched his fists, but said nothing.
"Very well," Lucius replied, "Then I shall."
He left the room, and the door swung closed behind him -- but only for a moment. Another man entered, masked, and placed a chair in front of the door. He then left, and for a moment the room was empty of any visitors, until.
"Voldemort?!"
* * *
"Arthur, I can't find him anywhere --"
"Neither can we, Dad --"
"Where do you think he is, Mr. Weasley?"
"Dad, Dad, where's Harry? Where'd he go?"
Arthur ran his fingers through what little hair he had. "I don't know, Gin, Hermione," he said wearily. "All I know is he isn't in Diagon."
"Knockturn?" George suggested timidly.
Molly turned on him ferociously. "Don't even suggest that. You just want to go down there yourself. But -- Arthur, you don't think he's there, do you?"
"No, Molly," he assured her, "It's not possible. I believe Hagrid was down there about the time Harry would've come out of the grate-- no, it's just not possible, thank goodness."
"Hagrid was down Knockturn?" Fred said suspiciously.
"Slug repellent," Arthur added hastily. "For the school gardens."
"Oh."
"Er, Mr. Weasely?"
Arthur turned in surprise to see Hermione. "Yes?"
"What if someone else...found Harry before Hagrid did?" she said in a rush.
Molly paled. "What do you mean, Hermione?" she said shakily.
Hermione turned white also. "What if...someone on Knockturn found Harry before Hagrid could get to him?"
* * *
"I see you remember me, then," the tall man said softly. "I remember you, Harry Potter."
Harry whitened, blind terror now added to his boiling anger. "What're you doing here?" he asked furiously. "And how did you...were you..."
"Restored to a proper form?" Voldemort asked, arching an eyebrow.
Harry nodded angrily.
"With the help of my faithful servants, of course," he replied, sinking into the chair that the second man had placed in front of the door. "Now, Harry Potter, I have a few questions for you."
Harry felt a searing pain through his scar as Voldemort looked at him squarely, red eyes blazing.
"First of all, Harry Potter, and to the point, how did you defeat me -- the greatest wizard since Grindewald -- when you were but a baby?" he spat the last word as if it were poison.
Harry winced as another lance of pain shot through his scar. "I don't know," he said through gritted teeth.
"You don't know?" Voldemort's lip curled. "How can you not know?"
Harry shut his eyes, hoping to ease the pain somewhat. Surely his head would split in two from the pain. "I -- don't -- know" he managed to repeat.
Voldemort laughed. "You don't know," he taunted. "You don't know! Of course. It must not have been by your own doing. You don't know!"
Voldemort's taunts rang in his ears, and for no reason at all Harry covered them with his hands. "Stop it!" he screamed. "Stop it!"
The world began to swirl around him -- he heard Voldemort laughing and jeering -- and then all was black.
* * *
"Hermione?"
Arthur stopped concernedly in the open doorway, watching Hermione's shuddering shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Hermione turned around slightly, and Arthur could see that her face was streaked with tears. "Yes?" she asked.
"What's the matter, Hermione?"
He needn't have asked, he knew -- they were all mourning -- but he felt that she needed it, as her parents were not there -- Hermione had elected to stay with the Weasleys in the Leaky Cauldron, in case Harry was found. All in the Cauldron were subdued at the news that Harry Potter, the famous boy who had defeated the Dark Lord twice, was missing.
"It's just that -- I'm afraid," Hermione said, embarrassment in her tone. "For Harry," she added.
Arthur entered awkwardly and sat down at the opposite end of the bed. "I know," he said softly. "We all are. But...." he couldn't go on, he knew. He hadn't told any of the children yet...he was afraid that it would hurt them too much. Which it would.
"Yes?" Hermione looked up expectantly.
Arthur sighed heavily. "Hermione...." he began again. "I -- well, I haven't told any of the others -- Ron, Gin, Percy, Fred, George...even Molly -- but I think you should know. And they should, too."
He stopped, and Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly.
"I think we will have to leave soon."
Hermione's face lit up excitedly. "Harry's been found?" she cried, preparing to bound off of the bed. "May I tell the others?"
Arthur put out a restraining hand, his face grave. "Hermione, sit back down," he said tiredly. "Harry...has not been found."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "Then you mean..." she breathed.
Arthur nodded unhappily. "Yes, Hermione," he said heavily, "I'm afraid we must leave without him. Remember, school starts in two weeks."
Hermione nodded mutely, and Arthur left the room.
He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap.
Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, Harry got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but where he was he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop -- but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.
A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.
The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass -- and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.
Harry ducked into a large black cabinet standing against the far wall just as Draco entered. The man beside him could be none other than his father -- he had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at items on display, until he reached the counter, where a greasy-haired man had appeared.
"Ah, Mr. Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy in a drawling voice.
"Mr. Malfoy, Draco," Borgin said in a voice as oily as his hair. "So nice to see you again. Let me show you, just in today, very reasonably priced -- "
"I'm not buying today, but selling," said Malfoy smoothly. He pulled a long roll of parchment from the inside pocket of his cloak.
"Selling?" The smile faded slowly from Borgin's face.
"Yes, the Ministry is becoming ever more bold. It's that flea-bitten Arthur Weasely, no doubt."
Harry felt a surge of hot anger.
"I see," said Borgin greasily. He studied Mr. Malfoy's list, and then said, "I think that we can arrange something here."
The two of them began to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale.
Then he turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward -- he stretched out his hand for the handle --
"Come, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy. The two of them left the shop together, Draco sulking slightly.
"Good day to you too, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor...."
After a moment Borgin turned back into the back of the store, and Harry slipped out of the cabinet and through the glass doors.
An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasley's fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.
"Not lost, are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.
An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked suspiciously like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.
"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just --"
"No, you're not," the witch said, leering even more. "You're lost, precious, aren't you?"
Harry shuddered slightly, and continued to back away until he was standing with his back against a shop front. "No, really," he stuttered, "I'm fine, thanks...."
The old witch leaned forward until her face almost touched his. "Scared, are you?" she asked in a delighted whisper. "Yes, I think so, precious."
Harry's breath came in ragged gasps and he drew as flat against the shop front as he could, which wasn't far. Her tray she had set carefully on the ground, and now she kicked it, sending fingernails showering all over Harry's feet. He recoiled, his eyes wide with obvious fear.
The witch cackled hoarsely. "Here's another one for Him," she said softly, then laughed again. Suddenly she shrieked delightedly, and several heads turned. People, human and non, drifted towards the shop against which Harry was pinned, cruel and curious.
"I've got one," the witch shrieked. "One for Him!"
Harry had the vague thought that perhaps she had gone quite mad, but this was soon vanquished with the next turn of events.
Two masked wizards ran up behind the witch, who moved aside. Both pulled out their wands and cried, "STUPEFY!"
* * *
Arthur Weasley, together with four of his red-haired sons, sprinted up the street towards Gringotts. A lone brunette figure stood on the steps, waiting - yes, it was Hermione Granger. Good, she might know where Harry had got to.
"Hermione!" Ron ran up the steps, panting hard. "Have you seen Harry yet?"
Hermione gave Ron a quizzical look. "I thought he was with you," she said slowly.
"No," said Arthur, coming up behind the pair. "He has been staying with us, but we haven't found him since we came here -- Molly's frantic."
"How could he have gotten lost?" Hermione asked with raised eyebrows.
"We traveled by Floo powder," Fred supplied. "He'd never done it before -- we think he might've come out at the wrong grate."
"Oh, Floo powder," said Hermione. "I've read about that stuff. I've heard it's a very unreliable way to travel," she added a bit severely.
"Well anyway, Harry's not here," said George. We've searched up and down the Alley, and so has Mum, and none of us has found anything."
Molly Weasley ran up, Ginny in tow. "Did -- you -- find -- him?" she asked, panting heavily.
Arthur shook his head. "No, and we've looked everywhere," he said exhaustedly. "I think we should tell someone."
"Could he have...started shopping without us?" Molly said doubtfully.
"Probably," Arthur replied, relief evident in his tone. "We can see."
* * *
When Harry came to his senses he was in a large room with no furniture except the canopied bed on which he lay. The only window shimmered with spells -- he was obviously being kept in, whether he liked it or not.
The door to the room opened slowly, and Lucius Malfoy entered, cloak swirling around him and a mask dangling from his fingertips. "I see you've woken, then," he drawled.
Harry did not reply, but he shook with silent fury.
"You like your...room, I hope?" Lucius continued with a sneer. "Prepared especially for yourself."
"You --" Harry spat, his voice trembling. "You idiot, you --"
"Now, now, Mr. Potter," said Lucius in mock dismay, "Control yourself. There's someone who very much would like to see you. Should I admit him?"
Harry clenched his fists, but said nothing.
"Very well," Lucius replied, "Then I shall."
He left the room, and the door swung closed behind him -- but only for a moment. Another man entered, masked, and placed a chair in front of the door. He then left, and for a moment the room was empty of any visitors, until.
"Voldemort?!"
* * *
"Arthur, I can't find him anywhere --"
"Neither can we, Dad --"
"Where do you think he is, Mr. Weasley?"
"Dad, Dad, where's Harry? Where'd he go?"
Arthur ran his fingers through what little hair he had. "I don't know, Gin, Hermione," he said wearily. "All I know is he isn't in Diagon."
"Knockturn?" George suggested timidly.
Molly turned on him ferociously. "Don't even suggest that. You just want to go down there yourself. But -- Arthur, you don't think he's there, do you?"
"No, Molly," he assured her, "It's not possible. I believe Hagrid was down there about the time Harry would've come out of the grate-- no, it's just not possible, thank goodness."
"Hagrid was down Knockturn?" Fred said suspiciously.
"Slug repellent," Arthur added hastily. "For the school gardens."
"Oh."
"Er, Mr. Weasely?"
Arthur turned in surprise to see Hermione. "Yes?"
"What if someone else...found Harry before Hagrid did?" she said in a rush.
Molly paled. "What do you mean, Hermione?" she said shakily.
Hermione turned white also. "What if...someone on Knockturn found Harry before Hagrid could get to him?"
* * *
"I see you remember me, then," the tall man said softly. "I remember you, Harry Potter."
Harry whitened, blind terror now added to his boiling anger. "What're you doing here?" he asked furiously. "And how did you...were you..."
"Restored to a proper form?" Voldemort asked, arching an eyebrow.
Harry nodded angrily.
"With the help of my faithful servants, of course," he replied, sinking into the chair that the second man had placed in front of the door. "Now, Harry Potter, I have a few questions for you."
Harry felt a searing pain through his scar as Voldemort looked at him squarely, red eyes blazing.
"First of all, Harry Potter, and to the point, how did you defeat me -- the greatest wizard since Grindewald -- when you were but a baby?" he spat the last word as if it were poison.
Harry winced as another lance of pain shot through his scar. "I don't know," he said through gritted teeth.
"You don't know?" Voldemort's lip curled. "How can you not know?"
Harry shut his eyes, hoping to ease the pain somewhat. Surely his head would split in two from the pain. "I -- don't -- know" he managed to repeat.
Voldemort laughed. "You don't know," he taunted. "You don't know! Of course. It must not have been by your own doing. You don't know!"
Voldemort's taunts rang in his ears, and for no reason at all Harry covered them with his hands. "Stop it!" he screamed. "Stop it!"
The world began to swirl around him -- he heard Voldemort laughing and jeering -- and then all was black.
* * *
"Hermione?"
Arthur stopped concernedly in the open doorway, watching Hermione's shuddering shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Hermione turned around slightly, and Arthur could see that her face was streaked with tears. "Yes?" she asked.
"What's the matter, Hermione?"
He needn't have asked, he knew -- they were all mourning -- but he felt that she needed it, as her parents were not there -- Hermione had elected to stay with the Weasleys in the Leaky Cauldron, in case Harry was found. All in the Cauldron were subdued at the news that Harry Potter, the famous boy who had defeated the Dark Lord twice, was missing.
"It's just that -- I'm afraid," Hermione said, embarrassment in her tone. "For Harry," she added.
Arthur entered awkwardly and sat down at the opposite end of the bed. "I know," he said softly. "We all are. But...." he couldn't go on, he knew. He hadn't told any of the children yet...he was afraid that it would hurt them too much. Which it would.
"Yes?" Hermione looked up expectantly.
Arthur sighed heavily. "Hermione...." he began again. "I -- well, I haven't told any of the others -- Ron, Gin, Percy, Fred, George...even Molly -- but I think you should know. And they should, too."
He stopped, and Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly.
"I think we will have to leave soon."
Hermione's face lit up excitedly. "Harry's been found?" she cried, preparing to bound off of the bed. "May I tell the others?"
Arthur put out a restraining hand, his face grave. "Hermione, sit back down," he said tiredly. "Harry...has not been found."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "Then you mean..." she breathed.
Arthur nodded unhappily. "Yes, Hermione," he said heavily, "I'm afraid we must leave without him. Remember, school starts in two weeks."
Hermione nodded mutely, and Arthur left the room.