Disclaimer: Just read!
Author's Notes: Thank you, people who HaVe reviewed, I worship you!
**No you don't… You worship Ryou Bakura, your 'oh-so-perfect-guy**
You're just jealous!
**Hmph**
Thought so. So Bakura's hotter than you, oh well. Get over yourself. Now, onto the fic!!!
Chapter 3
The Psychic Girl
Harry was right on top of the kidnappers. He followed them for hours on his broom, wishing Hermione had never gone to the bathroom. After what seemed like a million years to Harry, the car pulled into a dump full of what looked peach skins. Harry suddenly realized what they were: dead bodies, but with their heads cut off. Harry suddenly felt very funny. Harry felt himself falling, and then felt himself hit the ground.
Harry struggled to open his eyes. Someone had removed his glasses. He felt around for them.
"Oh, are these yours?" It was a girl's voice. Harry felt somebody put on his glasses. He looked at the girl in front of him. She looked about fifteen. Her black hair was cut to her shoulders, and her bangs were very long. She had an orange bandana tied around her head and pretty, bright green eyes. Her clothes looked too small for her. She was very pale and skinny. Harry got the feeling she wasn't very well fed.
Harry looked around. They were in an old cellar that looked as though a tornado had been in here. Papers were everywhere. Old crates were over by the only window, which Harry guessed was twenty feet from the ground. Bits of wood lay all over the place. Harry realized he was sitting on an old smelly sleeping bag. The walls had cracks in them and broken down stairs led to a door that also had cracks. He turned back to the girl.
"Who are you? Where are we? And what happened here?" Harry asked the girl. For a minute the girl was quiet. Then, when Harry opened his mouth to ask her again, she spoke.
She said, "My name is Pan. I have lived here my whole life, and I think my parents are dead. The people that keep me prisoner here kill Muggle-borns for fun. The dead people's heads are gone.
I know I'm a wizard. The people here told me so. We are in their basement. You get two meals a day and not a crumb more. The wreck on the floor is from me. I used the crates to try to reach the window, but it doesn't work. There aren't enough. Oh, and please don't make me mad."
"Why not?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer.
"Well, you see, I'm not like other wizards. I have psychic powers. I don't need a wand like you do, Harry Potter. Yes, I know all about you. Once in a while they give me old Daily Prophets. So I read everything. In a minute I would like you to tell me your whole life story. Tell me everything. Don't forget about how you felt. Oh, here's your broom." The girl glanced at one of the crates and beckoned it towards her. The crate came easily. She got up, let the crate fall, and then sat down on it. She looked at Harry and waited for him to begin.
Harry's head was spinning. A girl with psychic powers. Wizards that kill muggles for fun. Harry felt his muscles tighten. Slowly he began to tell his story. Six hours had passed when Harry concluded with "…and that is why I'm here."
"Okay. Here's what we do." She whispered her plan into Harry's ear.
"But what about Hermione?"
"Well, she'll probably be in the Guillotine Room. That's where they keep the Muggles that they're going to kill. All right, let's get a move on. Dinner is on its way," Pan said with a smile she hadn't shone in years.