Disclaimer: Would you believe that I still don't own them?

Harry stared at Lupin blankly, whose eyes were still fixed on Snape's retreating, black-clad back.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Lupin appeared to come back to himself, and glanced at Harry.

"I have to say, Harry, that I'm not entirely sure. Somehow, you've just blocked your mind to Severus – but how, I cannot say." He looked back at the closed door, his amber eyes clouded by thought, before shaking his head as if to clear it of disturbing visions, and turned to smile at Harry. "Well, anyway, we're free of his presence at least. Now then, I believe Professor Dumbledore wished to speak with you." He grinned at Harry's expression, which was one of horrified resignation. "I believe you'll find him in the study upstairs."

Harry glumly about-faced and wandered towards the door. When he reached the doorway itself, he paused, and glanced back at Lupin.

"Just promise me one thing – if I'm still in there at midnight, come and rescue me?"

They both grinned at each other again, and with a wave of Lupin's hand, Harry had gone through the doorway and began climbing the stairs to the second landing, where the study was situated, as he remembered.

As he climbed, listening to the gentle creaking of the floorboards under his feet, he was suddenly and painfully reminded of another pair of feet that had climbed these same stairs every day, such a short time ago, and which would never climb them again – because of his stupidity, his recklessness and 'love of playing the hero..'

And he had to stop, before the treacherous tears spilled out, had to stop, before he displayed his weakness to everyone. Having got himself under control once more, he carried on up the wide, sweeping flight, tripping on the holes in the moth-eaten carpet, until he reached the wide oaken door with its carved panels behind which he remembered the study lay. He pushed it open, and walked in.

The room was dark and dank, with the faint ray of light slanting through the grimy window only serving to highlight the swirling dust motes that pervaded the air throughout the entire room. A large desk stood at one side, and a huge high-backed chair behind, its once-impressive size now dulled by the many cobwebs that obscured it, hanging limply from it in many lank strands. Bookcase-clad walls seemed to close in around Harry as he walked reluctantly forwards, and the bare boards echoed menacingly with each of his footsteps. Against the high window that covered the back wall stood Dumbledore's tall, thin figure, the dim light shining through his beard and turning it to a web of shining silver filaments. Hearing Harry's grudging footsteps, he turned, smiling as he watched the boy approach.

"Harry. Good of you to join me so promptly. I will not take much of your time."

Harry wondered grumpily why it was that Dumbledore always managed to make him feel so bloody guilty about not wanting to have to spend yet more time in the old man's company. Dumbledore indicated a chair, half-hidden in the shadows in front of the desk. Harry sat down, and the headmaster slipped into the chair behind the desk, steepling his fingers before his face as he did so.

"Now, Harry, to business. As you know, your recently inherited power will no doubt make you an even more attractive target for Voldemort, so we must take extra measures for your protection. The first of these will be..."

As Harry listened, not really paying attention, he became aware of a strange prickling sensation creeping gradually over his skin. The nearest thing that he could compare it to was that of a large electric charge building up over his body. It was...uncomfortable, though not particularly painful. He decided to ignore it, as a probable result of the still, stuffy air in the study. However, the sensation grew stronger, increasing in strength, until it really was becoming painful. When it reached the point at which his entire body felt somewhat akin to a lightning rod, he thought he should probably tell Dumbledore, and opened his mouth to say something.

As he did so, his scar exploded into searing, white-hot flaming pain.

Instantly, the study was gone, and there was nothing but blackness everywhere. He was floating in shadow, and any sense of a body he had ever had had disappeared, leaving simply a feeling of...himself, awash in never-ending dark...

At the same time, he began to feel a curious sensation in what he had to call his mind, for want of a better word. It was as though a hand had inserted itself into his head and was rummaging around his brain, searching for something. Harry felt it sort through his memories, beginning with those of his childhood, and scenes began to flash before his eyes. It was like Snape's Occlumency lessons all over again, except that this time, the scenes were not all-encompassing; Harry kept a sense of where he was at all times, and of the presence going methodically through his mind. The scenes began to get more recent – images of Hogwarts, of Ron and Hermione, of Sirius...and of Sirius falling through the veil, falling with a slightly surprised look on his face, falling to his death...and though the old familiar grief and shame welled up again in his heart (or where, he presumed, his heart would have been, if he actually possessed a body at this moment in time), the presence was not removed, and now the memories were growing ever closer to the present time...

Enough, he thought. With that thought, he concentrated all his mind power on ousting the presence, on forcing it to leave, and gradually, he felt it slipping from him, felt it begin to lose its grip on him. Finally, he knew that the last vestiges of the possession had faded and gone.

Now, he was only left with the problem of what to do now.

Precisely, he was left with the conundrum of how to get back to his body.

When the boy had collapsed, Albus Dumbledore had just finished outlining his plans for Harry's up-and-coming lessons. He'd been somewhat pleasantly surprised by Harry's silent compliance – he'd been expecting a furious outburst at the very least at the news that he was to remain at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the holidays. So, as he finished, he had looked up, to see Harry leaning forward and opening his mouth as if to speak, and had thought to himself that this was undoubtedly where Harry began to yell at him again.

And he had watched, aghast, as the boy had collapsed forward, off his chair.

As fast as a man of swiftly advancing years was able, he had hurried around the desk that stood between him and Harry, and had moved to turn him over, and had flinched as he experienced a sudden and painful shock. Stumped momentarily by this interesting turn of events, he sat back and considered how best to proceed. Then, he swiftly cast an Insulation Charm over his hands, and turned Harry over, moving quickly so as not to allow the shock to eat through the charm.

Harry's eyes were open. Dumbledore glanced briefly at them, before checking the rest of him to ensure that all relevant limbs were still attached – and then looked back at his eyes, and stared.

All trace of green had vanished, and in its place was a tiny circle of deep gold surrounding each dilated pupil. Dumbledore dropped him and stood up, moving hurriedly backwards. If what had happened was what he suspected had happened, then there was nothing that could be done for Harry.

Harry had not yet decided what he was going to do about this unexpected situation. This was not, he assured himself, because he didn't know what to do. He had simply not yet made up his mind as to which course of action he was going to pursue.

Oh, who was he kidding. He hadn't got a clue.

OK. Step one, evaluate the situation.

He was currently floating, disembodied, in what appeared to be a large sea of nothingness.

Step two, think of course of action.

This was where he hit the snag.

Well, he reasoned, he might as well try something. He began by imagining his body, remembering every detail, how it felt to move, to smile, to cry. The feel of his hair under his fingers. The exact shade of green he saw when he looked at his eyes in the mirror. The way that, if he curled his left big toe, it clicked when he straightened it out again. He focused every tiny particle of his mind on himself as he remembered it.

Opening his eyes, he saw...

...exactly the same as he had seen when he closed them.

Bugger.

And this was where the Idea struck him. Later, he would marvel at his own brilliance. At the time, he simply grabbed onto it as the only present hope of salvation.

Closing his eyes again, he did the same, but at the same time he delved back, deep into his mind, to find the very centre of what he considered as himself.

And there he found it. A deep – sense of power. He couldn't describe it, but he knew that he had to use it. Keeping this discovery uppermost in his mind, he reached for the feeling of his body, and poured out the power into this memory.

Light exploded behind his eyes.

He was falling, back through the darkness, falling so rapidly that, although he knew that at the moment he did not need air, it still felt as though he was struggling for breath.

And suddenly, he stopped. Inching open his eyelids, he was blinded for an instant by the brightness of this world. He turned his head, and there, there, there was his body, his hand, and beyond it, the astounded faces of Dumbledore, Lupin and – Mrs Weasley (the latter of which's face was streaked as though with suspect tears)?

He let his head rock back to its original position and smiled. He was home.

AN: I owe you all an apology! I'm so sorry that this has been so late coming, but I hit a nasty little patch of writer's block which obliterated every idea I had for this story. So, I hope this is OK and the block isn't quite so obvious as in a few of the earlier drafts.

A very large, very fluffy thankyou to my lovely beta Juno Malabre who has bullied me for weeks about writing this, whilst simultaneously writing bloody incredible stories which I recommend you read - after telling me what you think of this one!

And of course, if there is anybody out there still reading this, thankyou for hanging on! Please review and tell me what you think - eternal gratitude will be winging its way over to you approximately 30 seconds after you submit that review.

Also, I know that part of this sounds rather like the passage from Philip Pullman's 'The Amber Spyglass,' but I couldn't think of any other way to write it. Apologies therefore.

Fippets xx