Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them. In addition, some of the text in this chapter is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and is the property and creation of JK Rowling
Author's Notes: I really appreciate the reviews, especially after I made everyone wait all that time. I am starting to get better (however slowly!) so getting on the computer isn't so much of a problem anymore. Thanks!
Oh! And to answer a popular question, the dog that barked in the muggle village was completely random, but it triggered Harry's memory of an event with Sirius at King's Cross Station in Book Five. Sorry if I didn't make that clear enough!
The Flight From Death
Chapter X: Anxiety
For the fifth time in a row, Harry thrust out his wand hand into the night air; and for the fifth time in a row, nothing happened. So great was his frustration that a stream of gold sparks shot out from the end of Pettigrew's wand, missing his shoes by inches and setting fire to a patch of weeds in front of the Manor.
Cursing beneath his breath, Harry forced himself to think.
Why wasn't the Knight Bus appearing? He was certain he was doing it right—honestly, there wasn't much to it—and he was fairly certain it wasn't Pettigrew's wand that was malfunctioning...perhaps Voldemort had wards that prevented other wizards from coming too near. The theory sounded off, however it was all he had to go on.
Making up his mind, Harry set off at as fast a pace he dared with an abundance of bruises and breaks in the direction of the muggle village. Surely Voldemort's wards wouldn't extend that far, and while it might be foolish to stroll through the roads with a wand in one hand and looking as though he had recently been run over by the Hogwarts Express, he hardly cared about such matters now.
Harry had managed to make his way to the edge of the Riddle property when he heard it.
At first, Harry was sure it was another Dementor. It had the same, crackling sound as the creatures' rasping breaths. Yet when he turned around, wand outstretched and ready to fight for his life, it was not a Dementor that met his gaze.
A fire was sprouting rapidly from the weeds he had unknowingly set on fire, and it was quickly curling its way upward. The wooden planks lining the outside of the door to the manner went up in flames, and Wormtail lay inches from the growing inferno.
Harry froze, watching in horror, as the blaze grew larger.
"Come on...wake up...come on!"
But Wormtail did not stir.
The decision was not a conscious one—though a part of Harry was cursing Gryffindor nobility—but it could mean the difference in making it out of Voldemort's clutches alive. Stumbling forward, Harry felt as though he were running back into the jaws of a hideous monster. By now, the smoke was furling its way upward into the sky, but Harry still felt himself cough and sputter as he neared the flickering flames.
Reaching Wormtail, Harry lunged downward, grasping the pudgy man about the upper arms. Immediately, Harry felt his bandaged arms scream in protest, but there was no time to get comfortable; the fire was now growing in intensity, and he could feel the sweat begin to trickle down his forehead.
With an enormous lurch, Harry managed to drag the man several paces backward (Wouldn't mind it if he was a rat now, would you? Taunted an amused voice in the back of Harry's mind) leaving him panting for breath. This was simply not going to work, Harry was not capable of any more heroic bursts of strength, his wrists were now searing with pain reminiscent of when they had first been broken, and the smoke was suffocating...
Harry couldn't think, his entire body ached with fatigue and pain. Desperately, he tried to keep his eyes from closing, but it was no use. The last thing he saw before everything went black was a look of panic in a pair of beady little eyes.
"Severus?" Dumbledore glanced up from his plate laden with heaps of Molly's homemade meal, as the door to the dining room slammed open. Remus jumped, following the headmaster's gaze, while seven red-haired persons followed suit.
Severus Snape had gone completely pale—paler then usual, which was quite a task in itself—and had the appearance of a man returning from the fields of a horrible battle. His grimy hair was out of place, and the usually composed sneer was notably absent.
"Albus," Snape beckoned curtly, not bothering to spare a contemptuous glance at the Weasleys.
Albus rose promptly from his chair, glancing apologetically at Molly, before sweeping calmly through the door, which shut with a gentle click behind him.
"Is there a—"
"The Riddle Manor was completely engulfed in flames some hours ago, the only two whom were currently in residence were Wormtail and Potter. Both are missing."
Severus did not need to voice the most probable result that had occurred, Dumbledore understood immediately from the other man's spooked expression.
"Everyone in the Order is to abandon their current task and report to Little Hangleton immediately. If Harry is still alive, it is imperative that Voldemort does not find him first," Dumbledore's weary tone of voice indicated his prediction, "Please ensure that no word of this reaches the Daily Prophet."
Severus offered a curt nod before exiting swiftly to alert the remaining Order members.
Raising his hands to his face, several moments passed before Albus returned to the dining area to speak with several of the occupants.
"WORMTAIL!" Voldemort's wrath was a horrible thing to witness, yet far worse to receive. Several of the Death Eaters who were now busy extinguishing the fiery mansion shuddered at the sound.
"WORMTAIL, YOU BLUNDERING FOOL! SHOW YOURSELF!" The door to the Riddle Mansion was ripped from its hinges, leaving Voldemort to storm through the smoking doorframe.
Wormtail had not died in the fire, of this Voldemort was certain. The rat was alive, fleeing no doubt to avoid facing Voldemort's fury. As for Potter...he too, was alive. Voldemort could sense it in his very being, the bond created when Harry had received his scar would immediately have alerted the Dark Lord if the boy had been killed.
No, both were alive, and while Wormtail hardly had the gumption to pursue Potter without assistance, Voldemort had no doubt that the rat had an idea as to where the boy had gone. He would find Potter and the blubbering coward, and both would be killed.
He had been excruciatingly close to breaking down Potter's will, intoxicating his mind with thoughts of doubt and uncertainty—so close had he been to success, that Voldemort had been more arrogant in the past few days then perhaps ever before. And now? Now it was all to waste. Again Wormtail's stupidity had nearly been his downfall.
"This is far from over." The words were little more then a hiss lost in the soft sizzling of dying flames.
Harry awoke with a roar of pain as his head seemed to split into two halves along his scar, a terrible fury like none he had ever experienced flooded his senses.
It was the want to cause pain, the want to kill.
Green eyes snapped open, and the world spinned precariously before slowing enough for Harry to discern his surroundings. For a moment he lay in this manner, completely exhausted and bemused, until the memories flooded back to him.
Fire.
Drowning in smoke.
Wormtail.
Wormtail!
Panicking, Harry bolted upright, nearly knocking his glasses clear from his face.
My glasses?
Baffled, he reached up gingerly—his wrists felt as though they had caught fire along with the house—and removed the framed spectacles.
How was it that they had managed to survive his frantic actions? And an even better question—how had he managed to survive?
Noticing for the first time that he was trembling, Harry allowed himself to study the area. He was in what appeared to be a cramped room, paint was peeling from the walls. Overhead, a single light bulb flickered occasionally, casting an eerie yellow glow beneath it.
Harry could see no furniture, nor decorations of any kind. It appeared that the place was void of everything, save the walls and he.
As Harry moved awkwardly to stand, his arm brushed over a crumpled parchment to his left. Still shaking, he leaned forward to pick it up, cleaned the lenses of his glasses on robes still covered in ash, and read the only three words on the page before it fell from his hands and fluttered to the ground:
Now we're even.
After Notes: Again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, it was very nice seeing that people continue to stick with the story even while I'm sick like this. Anyway, I'm typing this up at 2 AM armed with three bottles of water and a bag of cough drops. Thanks very much for the reviews, I hope you keep reading! Next chapter will be up ASAP!