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Prologue

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It was a dark night. Inky blackness had spilt over space, and for a while nothing was visible, save the pale moon, although even this was a mere blur, barely distinguishable from its black surroundings. It stayed this way for hours, and for those hours the universe seemed lost, floundering in a sea of darkness. Then, from nowhere, a single star blazed across the sky, leaving a chalky trail of dust behind it. Momentarily, this one star illuminated the entire cosmos, before disappearing and leaving space at the mercy of the darkness once more. This lone shooting star, although now gone, seemed to stir the rest of the oppressed stellar lights, calling them to arms by its sacrifice. At first, only the brightest stars fought through the haze. These were slowly joined by more, and soon the sky was a sea of glimmering balls of fire, and so light returned to the universe.

Somewhere far below on earth, a boy sat on a stony windowsill, his knees curled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. His face seemed to give a flicker of a smile as he saw the light, but like the shooting star, this quickly vanished, leaving his expression empty and void. He sat there the rest of the night, not moving, his breathing shallow and his eyes unfocussed. By the time the sun rose over the tall hills on the horizon he was asleep, now bathed in warm, gentle rays. The battles of the night were forgotten, and when he awoke he felt content. Gone was the darkness, and now in the light, none feared the next night, although its coming was as inevitable as death itself.

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Chapter One: Into the breach

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It was now past dusk, and all the inhabitants of St. Georges Street had long since scurried back into their terraced houses to avoid the gangs that frequently roamed around the area by night. The only light was from the bright moon for the street lamps had been smashed years ago. The walls that lined off the street from the houses were mostly broken, and those bricks that stood were old and would surely collapse if the slightest pressure were applied to them.

As if tempting fate, a young man was walking casually down the street. He carried himself with a sense of purpose that was in stark difference to the zombie-like fashion in which all the other locals moved. However, half way down the street he stopped. He turned to survey the house he had stopped by. In contrast to the other houses that were squashed together as far as possible, this one stood alone as if the other houses were afraid of it and had left it alone. Its windows had been carelessly covered with wooden shutters that were now rotting, and much of the glass was mashed. Outside, the weeds ran rampant over the once glorious flowers, and as it swung open, the wrought-iron gate creaked loudly as if it had not been opened for centuries. The young man looked at the house with a sense of foreboding, before carrying on down the stony path to the front door, stepping as lightly as possible. There was nothing strange about this scene, perhaps, although no one had visited the old house for centuries. It had been boarded up for as long as even the oldest residents could remember. A woman across the street observed the young mans plight with interest; the creaking had caught her attention as she had walked home from the local shop. Although keen to not be caught in the street after dusk, the sight of the young man drew her attention. She edged up next to the nearest wall, and resumed peering at the unfolding spectacle.

Although it was getting too dark to see clearly, the woman saw the young man reach inside his strange cloak and pull out what seemed to be a wooden rod. He then proceeded to tap this rod against the locked door, and a gentle yellow light appeared from its tip. As if by magic, the lock unhitched itself, and the door swung open. Now spellbound, the woman peered forward to get a better view of the doorway. In doing so, her wavering arm caught a lid of a bin, knocking it off its rest and causing it to fall and clatter loudly on the pavement. For an instant, the young man's attention was drawn to the noise across the street, but this was all it took. A jet of red light streamed into his back, causing him to collapse onto the floor. It had seemingly come from inside the house, although the woman knew this to be impossible, the house had been abandoned for years. Then a hooded figure appeared, this second one also holding a wooden implement. It jumped over the limp body of the first man and then sprinted down the path. Pausing to look at the old woman only for a second, the mysterious stranger carried on down the street, disappearing round a distant corner.

Instead of helping the man, she panicked and took off away from the scene in terror. It was not for several more hours before help came to the man lying on the doorway.

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Harry's eyes fluttered open to find himself on a white-sheeted bed in a brightly lit room. He was very dizzy, but managed to sit up. Looking around him, he saw a tall man sitting on a chair by his bed.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Harry." The man said in a light Scottish accent. It took Harry a moment or two to compose his thoughts, before his brain whirred into action and the name of the man came to him.

"Daniel. What happened?" Harry asked, still not remembering what had caused him to end up in a hospital.

"As you went into the house, some bloody muggle who was watching you knocked off a bin lid, and then someone hit you with a stunning spell before you could block it. The target then took off down the street. I had to alter the woman's mind and then I apparated to the corner to try and catch him, but he was gone."

Realisation dawned on Harry like a splashing of cold water, and he immediately looked annoyed.

"Damn." Was all he could muster. Daniel's eyebrows flickered for a second, and then he turned his head back to the broadsheet paper open on his knee.

"Yes, well, whoever he is, he's already managed to evade the ministry twice. I hear a ministry official has gone missing already, probably 'his' work. This is turning into another Black fiasco." Daniel said absentmindedly. Harry glowered daggers at his partner as soon as he had finished the sentence. The memory of his Godfather still caused him grief, even seven years after his death. Thankfully, before Harry could continue this train of thought a fat nurse bustled up to beside his bed, pointing a wand at him.

"Please lie down Mr Potter." She said as Harry attempted to get out of the bed. "Honestly, you Aurors are all the same. 'I'm invincible'" she mimicked with a heavy Irish accent. Harry smiled in thankfulness that he didn't sound that way, and grudgingly he laid back down and allowed her to check him over. She waved her wand over him a few times, muttering some long Latin words, causing a blue light to shine from its tip. Within a few minutes, the dizziness had stopped and Harry felt relatively normal again.

"Now, you're free to go." She said, and then bustled off to treat a man whose skin had turned green. Harry jumped off the bed and Daniel threw him a spare set of Muggle clothes he had brought with him to the hospital.

"Sorry Harry. I just got word from Lupin. We have got to go and check out the house for any clues your attacker might have left." Daniel stated. Harry was about to ask him when he became so pompous, but thought better of it and kept quiet. He quickly pulled on the white T-shirt and Jeans that lay in a clumsy heap on the end of his bed, and then reached across to the quaint wooden table to grab his wand, before following his partner out of the ward doors.