It was dark and wet. It was dirty and murky. The sound of trickling water echoed endlessly, becoming a rolling sound instead of a distinct impulse. It was a cave, or a sewer. Harry couldn't tell which.
Around a corner came a man. He was carrying something carefully wrapped in a dark cloth as well as a lit wand. He didn't walk like a normal person. His footwork was inconsistent and sporadic. He stumbled a few times as he approached the filthy place.
"Is it intact?" said the voice Harry knew all too well.
"Yes, yes master. I kept it intact. I hid it down here after. after you were weakened. Before they caught me I hid it, I knew they would never find it" said the stumbling man.
"You have done me the greatest of services, David. I will make sure that the name of David Lestrange lives forever in my realm. I only wish I could keep you sentient longer" said the man behind Harry's 'eyes.'
"After having your soul sucked out of you, being sentient, even if only for two hours a year, is a remarkable feeling," said the Lestrange.
"Next year I will bring you back along with your wife. Even if you both are insane, you can still produce heirs. Your time is limited, it is time for us to go," claimed the man behind Harry's eyes.
"Yes, Master. I know. Just a few more minutes. I only want to be here for a few more minutes."

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Harry gripped his scar. It was burning more than it had in a good few months of dreams. He was sure it was imprinting itself on his skull. He placed his hands over his entire forehead, pressing down with a large amount of pressure. The pain forced him to stretch and it flew through all of the muscles in his body, his torso started to rock violently until he spasmed too hard and rolled off the bed. He felt a pinch on the inside of his right elbow and the loud clatter of metal as he struck the floor. He grabbed a cloth which made it to his hand, and wiped his brow. For the first time in three days, Harry Potter opened his eyes.
He confirmed his suspicions that he was in a hospital room, and he was currently sitting on the floor. There was medical tape hanging off the inside of his elbow, and a needle attached to it, but no longer in his subcutaneous layer. Blood was creeping out of a vein in his elbow, and his head was lightly bandaged. He noted that he was wearing an all-covering robe, his clothes and all his other possessions he had on him were gone. Then he noticed the slightly overweight man standing in the doorway. The man turned around.
"Kid's awake!" he yelled. Harry unsteadily got to his feet and sat on the edge of his bed as he became very lightheaded. He grumbled as a young man, maybe in his late twenties, and an older woman entered, looking at him with concern.
"Is he alright?" the man asked.
"Yeah, I bloody think so," Harry stated. His eyes were hurting from the light.
"Alright. His accent suggests he's British. He appears conscious and aware. Strong enough to stand."
"Yes, I know all that about myself already. And I was able to hear your bloody rambling while you thought I was asleep, so I know I have some sort of brain damage, just tell me what it is, and what I won't be able to do," Harry said sharply. The doctor glanced at the guard and the nurse.
"Perhaps you would like to get dressed and speak with me in my office," the doctor said. Harry had to admit that he liked the idea. He nodded. The nurse sprung into action and opened the top draw, revealing the clothes Harry was wearing at the time of his attempted suicide. He noticed how odd his fashion sense must have looked to these strangers of the wizarding world. The doctor pushed everyone out of the room, and Harry quickly dressed. He opened the door to see the doctor staring at something with a look of pure concentration. The doctor glanced at Harry, before turning back to his open folder.
"What's your name, son?" the Doctor asked amiably. Harry felt he was nice enough, and for the first time in a long time he remembered that he was just a child. Only fifteen years old and far from home.what home?
"Harry, but that isn't really important," Harry proclaimed without much effort. He was still flexing his arms slowly, watching his body move and work. After being paralyzed, the ability to move was weird and powerful. He felt strong. He followed the doctor through a maze of corridors, and even through one corridor which went over a street. Harry watched a blue car zoom by underneath, and took a few quick steps to catch up to the doctor. In a very short amount of time, they entered a certain area with a yellow stripe on all of the walls. Harry guessed that it was a certain section of the hospital.
He saw a small army of nurses going through the lobby, all opening the windows a crack.
"Sharlene, what's going on?" asked the doctor. Harry stopped as the doctor stopped, and he waited for the doctor to tell him to do something.
"They fixed the heat, Doc," the nurse responded.
"Yeah, I can feel that, why the windows?" the doctor asked. He was clearly more than a little annoyed.
"They fixed the heat, but then need a part or something. If they turn the heat off, then it'll stay off until they get it, so we need air to cool off," the nurse replied. The doctor didn't take this well, and guided Harry into a small office. On the desk was a large amount of unorganized and messy paperwork. Harry sat down, and watched as the doctor opened the window before taking the seat across from Harry, as opposed to the one behind the desk.
"Alright. Harold. Harold, what was the last name?" the doctor asked.
"Harry, and it doesn't matter. Just tell me what's wrong with me" Harry stated. The faster he got out of this place, the better he'd feel. The doctor looked up at Harry and seemed to size him up for a few moments.
"Okay, Harry. Can you tell me how old you are?" the doctor asked.
"Fifteen."
"Where are you from?"
"England."
"Where in England?"
"A suburb of London."
"And how can we contact your parents?"
"Through necromancy," Harry said after a short hesitation. The doctor looked up at this, and his gaze was met with one of the coldest, most helpless expressions he had the pleasure of knowing.
"Alright. Who is your legal guardian?"
"Myself."
"Please don't waste my time" said the doctor, becoming agitated again. "I'm just trying to get you home. We will find out where you go, whether you help us or not." The doctor said.
"No you won't. You had the cop look for a missing person's report from England. My.guardian doesn't even know I'm missing, and even if they did, they wouldn't file a report. They'd be glad to be rid of me. And according to most mug.legal documents, I don't even exist. I was wiped off the planet along with my parents" Harry said, letting his cynicism get the best of him. "Can we cut out the bullocks? And how about you tell me what's wrong with me."
"He wants to get to the facts. As far as we can see, nothing is wrong with you" the doctor said calmly.
"Then what was the entire talk with the nurse about being paralyzed about. About brain damage and such?" Harry asked.
"Oh. I thought that you might have suffered some trauma to your head. But your walking was smooth enough, and you appear to have full control, so I immediately dismissed it. However, the situation from which you came here seems a little unclear. What do you remember from before your coma?" Everything was confirmed immediately. The boy, who had been so straightforward and direct, looked suddenly away. He remembered, and he was embarrassed. Perhaps it was time to bring in someone who was more associated with this field. "You don't have to tell me. I only have one more question for you. Your.stature has been increasingly a concern to us. As a fifteen year old young man, you should be significantly taller. We can't find any evidence as to why this has happened, or even how, and we were hoping that you may, perhaps, have some information-"
"You wouldn't understand. I wouldn't be able to explain it to you," Harry said, returning to his stoic demeanor from earlier.
"Could you try?" the doctor asked.
"I could, but it would be a waste. I said you wouldn't understand," Harry pressed. The doctor appeared very frustrated with Harry. Harry didn't bother with it. He would be out of here as soon as possible anyway. Harry watched as the doctor put down his clipboard and rubbed his temples.
"I understand that this must be awkward, difficult, and embarrassing for you, but I assure you that no one is judging you, and anything you can tell me will help us to get you home sooner. I only want to- Holy Christ!" The doctor yelled. Harry turned towards the window to see a very familiar face.
"Hedwig!" Harry gasped. The owl hopped up and flew to Harry's lap. Harry ignored the doctor, pressed against the wall. Harry began stroking Hedwig as she nipped him, conceivably harder than she usually did. He just smiled at her.
"Is- is this bird yours?" the doctor asked. Harry hated him for ruining his happy moment.
"Yes," Harry responded simply. He held out his arm for Hedwig to leave. She was hesitant. "I'll be out soon. Don't worry," Harry reassured her. The doctor marveled as the bird nodded and flew out of the window. He was out of words.
"I told you that you wouldn't understand," Harry said simply, his eyes staying focused on the open window where Hedwig had just disappeared.

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Harry lay awake, looking at the ceiling. He had no idea what he was waiting for, but he was waiting. The police were more than pleased to find out it was a suicide attempt, so they could loaf around for a few hours before closing their case. Harry had also been brought to a psychologist. The man seemed rushed, and when Harry gave him trouble he up and left, ordering a nurse that Harry get placed back in his room, and that the cop not allow Harry to leave. This angered Harry, as the only thing he wanted to do that instant was leave, separate himself from all the professionals wanting to know why. Wanting to know everything he didn't want to tell them. Harry glanced at his table on wheels. He had finished his macaroni and cheese and pushed the table away. He glanced at the window. It was cloudy outside, and the patter on the window suggested rain. He felt guilty, guessing that Hedwig was waiting outside in this miserable weather. Harry stood up, and walking on his socks to minimize the noise, he approached the open door. He peeked around the corner, and saw that both the chair and the cop in it were gone. "Don't think you're going anywhere," Harry heard a voice say. He turned to look down the hallway the other way to see the cop sitting with his feet up on a stool. He was looking at Harry over a Sports Illustrated magazine. After a brief staring period, the guy went back to his magazine, glancing up occasionally at Harry to make sure he didn't leave. Harry turned back and went back to his bed. He sat down and faced the door. There was only one man, in a sitting position. Harry had a chance to just run for it, but being this short, with such a short stride.it would hinder him. He knew he had always been fast, but judging from the fitness of the man, he wasn't sure he could take him. Even then, any doctor or nurse might try to intervene. If he had his wand, he would have been able to get out easily. But without magic, he was helpless. That would have to change. Harry put on his sneakers, and laced them up tightly. Once he got outside, he figured he have to get into a public place, duck and cover. Maybe a park, or a subway. He needed a place where he could fit in and disappear. He tip-toed silently to within one foot of the door and focused. He figured his best advantage was right off the bat, so he assumed a starting position. He imagined himself at the starting line in the Olympics. All he had to do was run. He stopped. He didn't know what floor he was on, he didn't know if he was on the ground floor. He walked over to the window and looked down. He couldn't tell, but it looked like about four floors. He didn't know which way the stairs were. He got an idea. Walking over to his bed, Harry picked up the little handset connect by wire to the wall. He pressed the red button. He waited patiently, and seconds later an Asian nurse walked in. She saw Harry and looked him over quickly. "What's the problem here?" she asked. "When I talked to the doctor, I think my wallet fell out of my pocket. It would be in the stairwell. That's where we talked" Harry said. The nurse looked convinced. "Which stairwell? The one by the elevators? Or the one down the hall?" she asked as she pointed in a certain direction. Harry didn't like that direction. That meant he would have to pass the guard. But he didn't remember exactly where the elevator was. Now that he knew where to go, he had to get rid of her. "The one by the elevators" Harry responded. She nodded and turned to leave the room. Harry tip-toed back to within a few feet of the door and stretched his legs. He wouldn't allow them to fail. He waited, and took a deep breath, uselessly tried to calm his pulse. He counted back from three, and with his leg placed against the wall, he exploded into a sprint. He was fast, he knew he was fast, and his small body allowed him to be very agile. It helped as he dodged people, a bed and a janitors' cart. He vaguely heard the cop yelling for someone to stop him, but he was too fast. He made it to the end of the hallway, and followed the emergency exit sign into a doorway. He stopped suddenly as he almost fell down the stairs. Gaining his balance at the landing, he leapt down to the next landing, grabbing onto the handrail to steady himself before jumping down to the next landing. He was careful to land well, knowing that injuring himself could be costly. As he neared the second floor, judging from the two above the doorway, he heard the fast steps of the police officer enter the stairwell and echo in the concrete enclosure. Harry ignored it and was soon through the doors on the ground floor. He ran across the open lobby, and ran in the direction where he saw the light of day. A security guard at the entrance noticed him, but was too slow to react to him. Harry was soon outside, and ran across the street. He kept running, dodging people on the sidewalks, trees, fire hydrants, and everything else which lined the sidewalks. He stopped, and checking over his shoulder, stepped into an alley. He was five blocks away, and he was pretty sure he got out without anyone seeing where he was going. He leaned against the dirty alley wall, and took deep breaths. A smile graced his face as he realized what he had gotten away from. He supposed that it wasn't a great accomplishment, but he felt better all the same. The adrenaline rush from the run made him feel better as well. For the first time in a long time it felt as though he was actually using his lungs for breathing. He wiped water from his face, and realized that it was raining. The rain felt good. The water felt good. Life felt good. He chuckled and yelled as he saw a familiar shape fly over the road. The shape returned and landed on his shoulder. He petted Hedwig, and curiously removed a note from her beak. He opened it and sighed. It was the notes he wrote to Hermione, Ron, Sirius, and even Voldemort. He lifted the lid to the rusty green dumpster next to him, and tossed it in. He stroked Hedwig lovingly. "Let's go home, girl" Harry said softly. Hedwig took flight and Harry started walking. He didn't need an umbrella, nor a raincoat. All he needed, was a place to stay.

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Hermione was reading, like she usually was. She was in a room with a large fireplace, burning brightly, and spreading warmth into the large room. She was alone, and was sitting on her favorite couch. She looked around the room. All of the red and gold furniture was empty and inviting. But something was going to happen. She could feel it. There was a knock on the door. She looked up but didn't go to answer it. She didn't know why she didn't move, but it felt like the right thing to do.
There was a second knock; incidentally as the rapping sounded it was accompanied by a flash of lightning and the roll of thunder. Hesitantly, she stood and crossed the luxurious room to the door. She wrapped her slender fingers around the handle, and gave a soft tug, opening the door slowly, and looking at the person on the other side.
The person looked like a stranger to her, but she knew who he was. He was soaked. His was hair matted down against his head, and his skin looked sallow. His clothing was terribly drenched, as were his eyes. But the rain had nothing to do with his eyes which were quite possible the most beautiful part of his body.
He was looking at her sadly, like he had suffered more than his share of pain, but guilt lingered as well. He was looking into her eyes imploringly, begging forgiveness for something which she knew he was not responsible for. She stepped back, and he slowly moved into the room. No words were exchanged, they didn't need to be. She was surprised that he didn't use his hood, which was attached to the cloak she was pulling from his body. Water dribbled on the floor as she hung the cloak next to the fire, giving it a chance to dry. She turned back to him as he pulled off a thick sweater. It was a blue sweater, which she didn't expect him to wear. Green maybe for his eyes, or Red and Gold, his house colors, but not blue. Blue was for Ron. However she had to admit, although the color didn't bring out any of the particulars of his features, he looked remarkably well coordinated in it.
He placed the wet material on the chair nearest to the fire. It was to be dried as well. He stood facing her in his t-shirt. His t-shirt was damp, but not as wet as his other clothing. She looked at his lean body. He had grown over the years, but his body would always remind her of what it looked like to never eat quite enough.
She went back to her couch as he watched her, and she bookmarked where she had left off. She placed the book on a table, and went over to the fire where it was warmer. She became self conscious, and looked at herself. She was wearing a soft, long sleeved t-shirt, and comfortable black pants. She looked over at the young man again. He brushed his black hair out of his eyes, and his glorious emerald eyes were trained on her. She moved to the other chair facing the fire, and it naturally lengthened itself into a wider version of itself with enough room for two. She sat down and looked over at the young man who didn't move. She was inviting him to join her, but he seemed hesitant. He was afraid. He was nervous. He was unsure.
She looked into his eyes, projecting her invitation, and he slowly walked over, his posture never waning. He sat next to her, and stared into the flames. She watched him look into the light of the fire. It reflected off his eyes, giving the illusion that his eyes were on fire. He slowly turned his head to look at her, and their eyes met. He was again asking for forgiveness. He was feeling guilty. He was ashamed. She told him he was wrong, he was innocent. He was not responsible for it there was nothing he could do. He had done his best.
He would not be convinced, but thanked her anyway. Nothing had been said. Their communication was silent. Nothing needed to be said. He apologized once again and let his head fall to her shoulder. His eyes returned to the flame, and she saw tears begin to form. One fell, then another. She brushed them away and kissed his brow. She kissed his scar. She kissed him where his life was stolen from him. He looked up at her as she pulled her lips away. He wanted more. He wanted love. He wanted someone who loved him. She loved him. It was the least she could do.
She brought her arms around his neck as he sat up, and she hugged him. She brought her entire body against his, despite the dampness. She wanted the dampness to leave him, to leave him forever. She wanted him to be happy.with her. She buried her face into his neck, and he did the same to her. She felt a warm wetness on her neck, and she pressed herself against it. She felt a soft sucking and pressed harder against it. She wanted him to not hold back. To let his emotions come out.
He pulled away and looked her in the eyes. She couldn't picture his eyes, but she knew that they were telling her that he loved her. She was happy, but she couldn't smile. She could only look at him, and wish he would touch her. His face came closer and she closed her eyes. She expected an explosion. Love. lust. passion. violent emotions. She didn't get it. She got soft lips that craved her, but moved slowly and intimately over her own. She got a soft pressure against them, as the man behind the lips showed his desire for her. The passion was there, the love was there, the need was there. There weren't any explosions or fireworks. But there was a spark. A slow steady spark, and there was something else, greater than anything she had ever felt. Devotion. He was there only for her, and she wanted to be only for him. The kiss lasted, and their mouths opened. Their tongues caressed each other, wanting them to feel the depth of the love they possessed. Their lips never separated, and the slow passion of the kiss allowed them to continue without loosing breath. It was the perfect kiss. His arms snaked around her and pulled her body against his. He was no longer wet. He was dry and warm, and he loved her. She felt a sharp pressure against her shoulder, but she ignored it. Nothing could break this kiss. There was another poke in her shoulder. She wouldn't leave her lover, he best friend. The man she couldn't stop thinking about. The hero of an entire world. The hero of her world. There was another poke in her shoulder, this one harder, and an appalling coldness crept over her hands. She pulled away sharply and looked at him, but he was no longer there. There was only darkness. "Hermione!" came an annoying voice. Hermione lifted her head to see Ron holding out his finger in the vicinity of her shoulder, and Professor Binns' arm reaching through her hand. She felt a cool wetness near her mouth, and was disgusted as she wiped drool from her chin. "I'm awake, what happened?" she mumbled as her eyes got accustomed to the light. She looked around to see that everyone had left the double History of Magic Classroom. "Class ended, Ms. Granger. I believe it is time for lunch. Do you want me to send for Madame Pomfrey?" said the professor. Hermione blushed in humiliation of being caught asleep during a class. Binns motioned for Ron to leave, and he did so reluctantly. Hermione placed her books and quill in her rucksack, and began to stand. "Ms. Granger. What I am about to tell you is unknown to all mortals, except for a very select few. We ghosts know what the other ghosts feel, and know. We know every feeling of every ghost and we all know what we all know. This may not make sense to you, but I can tell you right now that Moaning Myrtle is in the prefect's bathroom watching Ryan Slzooz rinse his hair. Peeves is attaching a trip cord between two statues of armor, so that they both will fall causing a ruckus. Headless Nick is talking to two second year Hufflepuffs, trying to get them to leave a forbidden corridor. A ghost named Clumsy LuAnn is floating around a house for sale, waiting to scare some muggle children-" the professor said. "Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked, honored to be trusted with such information. "Because.a ghost named Miguel Esperanzo just saw Harry Potter skip down the street, watching as an owl flew above him. He was in good health, and he was having a good time. When I touched you, I saw your fear for his well being. I assure you, Ms. Granger. He is fine." Hermione looked at him like she was dreaming. Was it possible? The ghost turned around and flew through the chalk board, leaving Hermione in peace. She shook her head, and her stomach grumbled. She hadn't eaten breakfast, and decided that today she would eat lunch. Maybe Ginny would forgive her for whatever she did, and they could become friends.

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He was surprised how easy it was to learn how to shoot. It probably helped that he had free rule of the range. Apperating in easily avoided the security systems. He pulled out a few different types of guns and their ammunition. He matched and loaded them. He figured out what a safety did, and he learned how to fire. He had unlimited targets, and unlimited time. He could spend eight hours a night, just training himself. Bullets were much faster than magic, and he figured that soon enough muggles would be pulled into the fray, and it was illegal to do magic to muggles regardless of the situation. Even self defense wasn't permitted.
So he would take a variety of guns, returning to ones he enjoyed and he felt he did well with, and trying out a few different ones. He would send back the target and do his best to hit them where it hurt. After only a few sessions, he began to feel that he was getting good at this. The targets were returning with almost all of the holes near the heart, or head, depending where he was aiming. He did learn quickly not to hold the trigger, as the automatic weapons would pull themselves toward the ceiling. It wasn't long before he was decent with the more difficult challenges he gave himself. Using a pistol for longer shots. Pulling out a gun and shooting suddenly. Even experimenting with a large, heavy rifle, which he noticed had a very large bullet size, and enough kick to make him slide a little backwards, despite the fact he was laying on the ground. The heavy guns were a little difficult for him, and he often preferred the smaller caliber rifles and pistols.
Some of the weapons he could only marvel at. Like one of the smaller automatic weapons. He had no idea what its' name was, but in the clip was thirty rounds, and when he held the trigger, all of them would be out in under two seconds. When Harry finally chose one of each type of weapon which he liked, he used his staff to imprint them into his hand. If he ever needed one of them, all he had to do was think about it. It was faster than any draw he could think of. In his last night at the range, he left five hundred dollars for all the ammunition he had used, and a note of appreciation. At least if he wanted to try suicide again, he would have a convenient way to get it done, but upon reflection, even that wouldn't kill him.

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Harry was looking around the park. It was pitch black, and he felt oddly excited at the thought of being in central park so late in the evening. He was waiting for his contact to show up; a spy who he had gotten on his knees, and who had offered to spy in return for his life. Harry didn't trust the man, but after a certain few spells which incidentally had some painful side effects, Harry felt that having his own spy could be a good thing. How many lives did Dumbledore save by using information given to him from Snape? There was a rustling in the bushes behind Harry. He slipped out his wand and waited patiently. He silently completed the daylight spell, to illuminate his surroundings to only his eyes. He glanced around and saw a figure crouched in the underbrush. It was the contact, and he was obviously scared shitless. "You can come out Gabe.it's only me" Harry said clearly into the night. The man stumbled out, and slowly approached the bench with his wand drawn. "Put it away before you force me." Harry said, ending his phrase for maximum effect. The man seemed unconvinced. "I f-force y-you to what?" the man stuttered. "Cut off your head and use it for a toilet" Harry said. Gabe was always on the edge, but this paranoia was a rare sight, indeed. Gabe visibly sighed at those words, and putting his wand down, he sat next to Harry on the bench. "I'm sorry about my doubts. It's just, just that.they know. They know I'm a spy. He.He killed my little girl. She was only nine. She never did anything wrong. She loved you, though. She wanted to meet you when she went to Hogwarts. She knew me and her mother were in Slytherin, but she always said that she was going to be in Gryffindor like Harry Potter." Gabe said. He had started crying. Harry felt it would be best to let him speak. He really felt for the man, but this was war, a war where emotion was a weakness. Emotional connections were vulnerabilities. "My wife though.I don't know what to think. They killed her, too. But they put all sorts of pictures of her around her body. Pictures of her.with.with Malfoy, and with Lestrange! How could she!?!? She.she was.she betrayed me.she slept with all of them! ALL THE BLOODY BASTARDS!!! I can't believe it...I just can't believe it." Gabe slowly went silent, muttering to himself. Harry didn't know what to say. To say he didn't feel partly responsible would be a lie. All he could think to do was make him a few offers. "Do you want revenge? Do you want to go after Malfoy and Lestrange?" Harry asked. Gabe looked up at him sadly, a fire behind his eyes. "It will not give you peace, and it will not give you closure. It will not make you feel any better, but if you want revenge, I will help you," Harry said quietly. He waited a few seconds, and he continued after he got no response. "Otherwise, I can hide you, I can keep you safe, until the war is over, or until I die. Whichever comes first," The man went back to his teary pondering, and Harry waited patiently. He saw a glimmer in the sky, which was blue to him considering his daylight spell. The glimmer became larger, and he soon recognized Hedwig. She landed on his leg, and looking up into the sky hooted. Harry understood. "You got this off another owl?" Hedwig hooted in confirmation. "What kind?" Harry asked. He watched as the owl spread its wings and fluttered them a few times. The man watched Harry raise his eyebrows in surprise, before opening the letter. He was amazed that the boy could read it in the darkness. Harry slipped the note in his pocket and turned back to the man. "What was that?" Gabe asked. "They want me to come to Hogwarts, to teach a lesson," Harry answered honestly. "Oh, I heard about that," the man said, before they fell into silence once again. After a few minutes, he began talking. His voice was calmer, but still heavily laced with sadness. "My nephew went into Hufflepuff two years ago. He's a third year now. He wrote me a few weeks ago, tellin' me all about the mysterious men in black cloaks who taught lessons while Moody slept." Gabe said with a soft chuckle. "I mean, he's only thirteen. When He finds out that my nephew is in Hogwarts, what's He going to do to him? He's only thirteen. He can't fight Him," Gabe said fearfully. "He's safe at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is a strong wizard, and he will keep Voldemort out. But you will not be safe. You need to tell me what you are going to do. I can help you get revenge, or I can keep you safe. Or you can just walk away as you please, but they just landed in New York, and they will be here in a minute, you need to decide," Harry said quickly, but his words still coming out remarkably clear. "What, what would you do?" The man asked. Harry had to hurry. "Revenge is a dish best served cold. Strike now and we'll be too soon and careless. Strike later, and we will catch them off guard for maximum effect. Maybe Voldemort is untouchable, but his minions certainly aren't. Didn't you even wonder where so many have disappeared to? I am keeping them safe. I am giving you the same option. I need a yes or n." "Yes, let's just do it," Gabe said. A door appeared in front of him, and opened. Harry signaled for him to go through. With one last sad look at the boy, he stood up and passed through. The door closed and disappeared. Harry looked around. Sixteen deatheaters were approaching from all sides thinking they were hidden under the cover of night. Harry waved his wand quickly, and with a quiet pop, he disappeared.

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"Third years and below, enter and take a seat. Fourth years and above go to Quidditch pitch?" Hermione read the sign on the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom door. She was confused by this, and was fearful that whatever they were doing today might involve flying on brooms, which for anyone else would be a good thing, but for Hermione.and Neville, it was certain death. She walked alone down to the pitch, following about five strides behind Lavender and Parvati who were chatting nicely with Dean and Seamus. She gripped her rucksack closer as the blast of cool November air hit her hard as she exited the castle. Everyone seemed to have wished they had brought their cloaks. Hermione was glad that she was wearing hers. She had been cold earlier. It seemed that the group ahead of her had selected Dean to run up to the Gryffindor Tower to get theirs, and they would attempt to explain their lateness to Professor Moody. As she neared the pitch, she noticed another anonymous teacher, in the trademark black robes and covered face. She rolled her eyes. She didn't particularly like these teachers. They had good stories, but they didn't actually teach anything. The one standing next to Moody was tall in the cloak he was wearing. Or she! Hermione's mind screamed. She then noticed the desk sitting in the middle of the pitch, and she was able to see what was on them. Guns. Lots of guns. More guns than she thought there could be in one place at one time. At the other end of the pitch were targets, large diameter bull's-eyes lined up nicely. She gulped. They were going to shoot guns. Why? She had no idea. She was a witch, she didn't need to know how to shoot a gun. It was morally wrong, in her mind, to have such knowledge. The man cut off his chat with Moody and stood in front of the group of shivering Gryffindors and Slytherins, fifth years. "Some of us are missing. Who and why?" the man asked. His voice was monotone from the enchantments on him, but he was scary nonetheless. "Dean went to get our cloaks" Seamus said. "You are all fifteen. You should know to have you own cloaks, not sending one fool for all of yourselves. I will start without him. Today I am.blessed with honor of teaching you blubbering idiots how to fire a deadly weapon with intent to kill, while in the meantime not allowing you to kill yourselves. (Dean arrived, panting with six different cloaks in hand.) In a duel, would you rather have a firearm, or a wand?" the man asked. Hermione noticed that the Slytherins had no idea what a firearm was. He pointed at a slytherin. "Wand." He pointed at the next student. "Wand." "Wand." "Wand." "Wand," sneered Malfoy. "Wand." "Wand." "Wand." "Wand." "Wand." "Wand." He then pointed at Hermione. She had no idea. "Wand?" she said meekly. "Was that a question of an answer?" the man asked. She felt very nervous being put on the spot. "I don't know. I don't really know anything about guns" she said. She was expecting him to berate her for her little knowledge. "I have a feeling this is the smartest person here." the man said, addressing the rest of the class. "You!" he said, pointing to Malfoy. "You seem to love your wand. When Professor Moody says so, I want you to pull out your wand, and as quickly as possible, I want you to strike that tree over there, in that knot on it's bark, with the fastest spell you know of." Malfoy looked pleased with himself, and the cloaked man nodded at Moody before turning in a direction perpendicular to the tree. "NOW!!!" Moody shouted. He was like lightening. His hand flicked awkwardly, and ended facing the tree. There was a sharp, loud explosion, and Malfoy jumped, as did the entire class, and he dropped his wand which was only halfway out of his pocket. A chunk of wood flew off the tree and landed on the ground nearby. The man turned back to Malfoy. "Disappointing, you are a bit slow. Much slower than your father, but I suppose that's to be expected. People who are given everything never try at anything. Pitiful. I just demonstrated what happens with a P-228 pistol in a wrist holster. My draw was average, and my aim was good, and my time was how? Compared to Mr. Malfoy?" he asked. "Fast," said Dean with a little fear, who, growing up in the muggle world, knew what guns could do. "Very fast," said Lavender through a gulp. "Let's try again. Now let's assume that Mr. Malfoy already has his wand out. Pick it up boy! Now lets see that fast spell, shoot it at the knot in the tree whenever your ready," the teacher said. Malfoy, his face flush from embarrassment, picked up his wand and pointed it at the tree. "Siccus," Malfoy said. As soon as the second syllable came out of his mouth another loud explosion went off. More students watched this time, and they saw the wood splinter off the tree a good second or so before the spell ever got there. "I know many of you were asking when you came down here, why do we need to know how to shoot guns? I just showed you how they are useful, but why would you really need to know how to shoot? Anyone?" the man asked. Hermione raised her hand. He looked at her, but didn't say anything. "Um, because You-Know-Who might use muggles to fight us, and they'll have guns?" she said. He didn't remark on her questioning her own statement. "Close. But we can just block the bullets, so why do we need to know how to shoot?" there was a long silence. "It's a lot simpler than you think," he said. But all the faces were just blank. "Wizarding law forbids the use of magic on anyone who is a muggle. Therefore, you can't curse them, you can't hex them, you can't even bloody disarm them. So if a muggle has a gun to your head, and he's going to kill you, and you curse him, bye-bye, see you in Azkaban. Is that clear?" There were muted nods. "Good, also guns are significantly better than wands at killing dangerous magical creatures" the man said. "Wait, these things are made by muggles, aren't they?" said Malfoy, incredulously. "Yes Mr. Malfoy," the man said, his monotone voice not without annoyance. "And it just sends the little piece really fast, right?" Malfoy said, in a rare display of brilliance. "Yes," said the teacher. "So why can't you just block it?" Malfoy asked. "A good question. It is because it gives such a concentrated shock to any shielding, it goes right through. There is only one spell to prevent it. You all do know of the Spargus spell, correct?" There were mostly nods in the group. "You need to put the spell on yourself. What it will do is create a coating around your body. When the bullet hits you, the small piece that goes really fast (he added when he saw the confused faces of the Slytherins). When it hits you, it will stop at the shield around you, but all of it's force will be spread evenly. The muggle laws of physics still apply, so your body will be pushed backward a little, but you will feel no pain, and hopefully you won't trip on something behind you. To demonstrate, Professor Moody will shoot me after I have the spell up, so that you may see it's effects. Spargus" he said. A transparent blue sheath seemed to form around him. He walked away from the students, and asked Moody to proceed. Moody picked up the nearest pistol, and guessing from the demonstration of before he pulled the trigger. The hammer went back, and clicked forward, but nothing happened. "You have to turn off the safety first. It's the button on the left side of the weapon." Moody turned the gun on it's side, and pointed it at the man, all of the muggle-borns became suddenly very tense, as Moody aimed and pulled the trigger. There was another loud explosion, but this one seemed deeper and more powerful than the one the other man used. The shell around the teacher wobbled like the surface of a pond, but he was still standing, and he was unhurt. He signaled for the students to come and have a closer look. They came around him, and he signaled to the ground. In front of his toes there was an area of about a centimeter in which the grass was torn off, revealing the healthy dark soil. "See, I was pushed backwards. It doesn't block it, it lets you absorb it so the it is tolerable. Now, I want to see you all do the spell on yourselves. Lets go, don't dawdle," the teacher said. Hermione immediately disliked him. He was sharp, and randomly explosive, and he seemed to need to be in control as much as Snape did. She did the spell and watched as everyone but Neville succeeded. Neville was falling apart as the teacher neared him and peered down through his dark fabric. "Mr. Longbottom. Calm down, and take a breath. I am not going to kill you if you cannot do the spell, which I am positive you can do with little difficulty. Just focus, and say the words. The rest is a piece of cake." Hermione watched as Neville obeyed, and he completed the spell. "Now that you all have the spell completed, I will shoot you all." he said as the students erupted in yells and screams "QUIET!!! Now, I will shoot you all, and you will all be safe. You need to know what it feels like, or when it happens you will be caught off guard. Why do you think you were put under the Imperious curse last year? Now, just so you know, I will be shooting at your legs, so in the small chance something does happen, it will only be a flesh wound, which Madame Pomfrey." the teacher signaled behind them, and they saw the resident nurse approach with a scowl on her face, "can heal almost immediately. Does anyone have any doubts about what I told you?" The teacher glanced around, and slowly, all the students raised their hands into the air. "Fine. I can see when I'm not trusted. Moody, shoot me in the leg. And if you miss I swear on my life I will skin you alive," the man said. Then a very queer thing happened. Alastor Moody squirmed in nervousness. The man did a Finite Incantem on himself, and his shielding disappeared. Moody gave the man a look which clearly said 'Do I have to?' "Go. Now," the teacher said. Moody took aim, and pulled the trigger. There was the loud bang, and the robes around the teacher whipped about. He fell onto one knee. "Bloody Fucking Hell." He unsteadily turned to the students, whose faces were pale with fear, ".You see, what I am doing to you is non- deadly, assuming it goes wrong, which I assure you it isn't. Madame Pomfrey, if you would," the man said. The nurse rush forward, and taking out her wand, she actually used the summoning charm, and there was a gush of blood staining the grass as a small object flew into her hand. The man groaned in pain. She did a few more spells, and the man stood up, facing the crowd of students, more panicked than they were beforehand. "As you can see, in seconds I'm as good as new." As if to prove his point he did a little hop, skip and jump. Some of the students grinned uneasily. "I will shoot each of you once, please stand in a line facing me, so no one nearby gets hurt." They lined up and watched as he shot a defiant Seamus. Seamus slid back a little, but he smiled as he saw he was uninjured. This eased everyone's concerns, and in no time he was done shooting them. "Alright. Continuing. Now you are going to shoot. No! Not each other. I have targets for you. First, I will teach you how to operate the firearm I am providing you with." He picked one up. It was a, "small caliber hunting rifle." He demonstrated how to turn the safety on and off, described how anyone that pointed their gun anywhere but downrange would be immediately dealt with in the harshest manner possible. He provided them with protective glasses, which felt like cheap plastic. He gave them ear plugs. He showed them how to load the clip, how to aim, how to load a round, how to fire. It turned out that you couldn't just pull the trigger. You had to "squeeze it like if you tugged too hard it would pop." He finally, as an example, had Ron come up and take the first spot at the shooting side of the range. He helped Ron get into the proper kneeling position, and let Ron do it himself, occasionally throwing in pointers and correcting him. When Ron was ready, he told him to shoot. She watched, as Ron took aim, and after a few seconds pulled the trigger. It hit the large target, but it was high and to the left of the bulls-eye. Smoke shot out of the top of the target. It read 'Good Start.' Harry signaled for Ron to put the gun down, and careful to keep the barrel pointing downrange, he signaled for everyone to pull out their earplugs. "Now, I don't want you to just fool around, so we are going to have a small competition. You are to shoot only on your own target. If you shoot on anyone else's you will be disqualified. Here are the rules. Everyone will use fifty rounds of ammunition. The target will record how well you do, and the person who does third best will get twenty galleons." Some raised their eyebrows. That was a little much for a friendly competition. "Second best will get fifty galleons. I believe that's enough for a bit of fun." Many of the students began grinning madly. "And first place will be awarded three- hundred galleons" he said. There were gasps from the students. Even Madame Pomfrey looked rattled. "Wait! I'm not done. The first place shooter will also then challenge me, one on one. If they beat me, they get one thousand galleons, in addition to their three hundred. Don't waste your shots. Take your time. Rushing will only get people hurt. And do your best. I will have a special treat for everyone after class, assuming you all at least put in a bit of effort. Put in your earplugs, and off to the range!" He said. Hermione was stunned by this. As if to encourage them, he pulled a large sack of jiggling coins out of a crate and place it on the table, letting a few slide out. Hermione found the place two to the right of Ron, who had resumed his shooting. It was then that the monotone voice invade her head. "I have charmed these earplug so that I may talk to you through them. Now. First thing is that you pull out and load the clip." Hermione was relieved as he walked them through it step by step. And soon enough, she was ready to pull, no, squeeze the trigger. The first shot was unlike anything she had ever felt. It was the force of it being pushed back into her, which fascinated her. She tried to hold back the grin, as she lifted the bolt action and slid it back, fascinated as the brass shell flew out, somersaulting to the side. Smoke eased out of the recessed area as well, and it smelled like sulfur. The next round popped up into the chamber and she slid the bold forward before locking it down. She aimed, lining the tab up with the valley, and squeezed again. 'Nice Shot. Only inches away!' said the smoke above her sign. She grinned again. This was fun. Forty-eight rounds later, she put down her gun like instructed, and she waited patiently for the others to finish. When they had all fired their last shot, they were instructed to leave their positions, and go to the table where the sack of galleons had changed into four separate sacks. The teacher was holding up a clipboard. "Alright, third place is.target five.Blaise Zabini" the teacher said. Blaise flushed in embarrassment as Malfoy sent her a look which clearly showed his disapproval. She caught the small sack which was tossed to her, and pocketed it silently. "Second is.Seamus Finnigan," he said. He tossed Seamus the slightly larger bag of coins. "And out best shot here is.Dean Thomas. Excellent job," the man said. He lifted the sack on the table, and with a little difficulty, Dean placed it down on the ground. "Now, we're going to make this a little harder. No kneeling, we will be standing. Fifteen rounds each. And to ensure fairness, we will use the same weapon. Are you up for it?" Dean nodded, and looked at the man as if he was crazy. "Because you have never shot standing before, I will give you one courtesy shot," the teacher said. Dean went back to his position, and loaded one round into the gun. He seemed to take a while to aim, longer than he had before. He finally let one off. The teacher handed him a clip of ammunition, and Dean took his time, much to the anticipation and boredom of the rest of the class, in sending them down at the target. Most of his shots received the comment 'Nice Shot, Only Inches Away' from the target. He finished, and handed the gun to the teacher, who seemed very pleased with Dean. He unloaded Dean's clip, and put in his own. The teacher was a lot faster than Dean, and got similar comments, until on his eleventh shot lights started flashing, and the smoke read 'BULLS-EYE!' The teacher was unaffected by this, and continued until he had quickly finished off all of his rounds. He put down the gun, and looked over to Moody. "Sorry Thomas. If it helps any, you weren't so far off him," Moody growled.

"This is such a pointless class," scowled Malfoy in his boredom. Hermione had totally forgotten his existence as she was so involved in the class. "Is that so? I have one more method from which I can prove to you the value of this lesson. I shall be right back, don't go anywhere," The teacher said, before he disappeared with a familiar 'pop.' Ron turned immediately to Hermione. "I thought you said." Ron began. "I have no idea," Hermione cut him off. Everyone was looking at the spot which had just been their teacher. Only a few seconds had passed before he returned at the other end of the pitch, but behind him was something they did not expect. Obviously neither did Madame Pomfrey or Professor Moody; it was a small dragon, probably an adolescent, because even thought it was small for a dragon, it was still many times the size of Hadgrid's hut. Malfoy was jerked to the side by an invisible force, and a pink sphere started glowing, surrounding everyone in it, but Malfoy. It could be seen that the raging creature was chained to the ground, and the teacher marked a visible line between the dragon and where the class was. The line was a bit nearer to the students than to the dragon. "This is what's going to happen. I will release the dragon and Mr. Malfoy over here will have the chance to kill or subdue the creature. Once the creature passes this line, I will intervene. Everyone inside the field will be safe" the teacher claimed. He had gained their trust over the class, but they all agreed he was needlessly reckless with their precious lives. He picked up a large weapon from the table, and placed a clip in it. He pulled back the bolt to load it, and he slid it back forward. Malfoy looked nervous, and his wand was visibly shaking. "Ready?" the teacher asked. Malfoy nodded. The teacher took a scope off of a different gun, and attached it to his wand. He seemed to be aiming with it. He whispered "Fractus" and the chain which held the creature down shattered. Malfoy started throwing random spells at it. A few hit, most missed. Those that hit only seemed to anger the creature more. It charged, flame erupting from its nose in anger. Malfoy was spouting curses as fast as he could think of them The student's watched the teacher, the crazy one, who knelt and picked up that large gun with a large scope. He seemed to be watching it through the scope, and not a second before the Dragon hit the line, there was a deafening blast, and sharp squeal. The dragon dropped from it's running, and hit the ground hard, sliding to a stop, its' black blood pouring rapidly from its' body. Malfoy sighed with relief. "You see what he was unable to do with magic, I was able to eliminate almost immediately. I believe that is all for today's lesson. If you're lucky, I may stay around for another round of classes. Have a nice lunch." The pink shield dissipated, and the students eagerly left for the castle, some sneering at the incompetence of Malfoy, others were cringing at the sight of a dead dragon. As the students left, the teacher used magic to pack the crates he brought with the weapons on the table. He even went over to and made the dragon disappear. He left the targets for later, but made sure all of the guns were accounted for (not good to have one missing with a school full of overexcited kids) and locked away. As soon as he was done, he went towards Hagrid's hut. That's where he would be staying the night.

Sorry this took so long, but it's a long chapter. Hoped you liked it. Leave me a review. If you give me something to respond to, I probably will. Thank you to all of my reviewers. Not A Doctor Yet But Well On My Way- Okay, so you got me. I didn't know so much about the requirements of dwarfhood or any of that. But I still think it fits well into my story. And I want to point out that it isn't the malnourishment which makes him short, it's something else. The imaginary doctor in my story was grasping at straws to try to make sense of it. Sorry for the confusion. Banned42- Harry will stop being a jackass to Hermione when he damn well wants to. Harry is a free spirit with his own unique set of values, and according to himself, he is doing the right thing. TimGold- Why he jumped from the pier? Does the word suicide mean anything to you? Mia- As you have just read, no one finds out. So, for now, Harry is in the clear.

Thanks everyone. Leave a Review, and Happy Reading!