Evanesco

Chapter 1

In Which Harry Is Careless and Death Eaters Demolish a Primary School

It was well past midnight when Harry decided it was probably time to go to sleep. He'd spent the last few hours attempting to practice Occlumency, with a certain emphasis on the word 'attempting'. He had been working on the theory that clearing his mind would either help to take his mind off the horrible pit of unfairness that was his life, or give him some answers to the constant questions that plagued his thoughts and invaded his dreams. Unfortunately all it did was give him headaches, a strong sense of annoyance – and occasionally nightmares. It was hard to concentrate anyway as a storm had started thundering its way across Little Whinging, wind whistling shrilly through the air and rain thudding on the roof.

Tap.

Yawning, Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table where he'd put them in case he fell asleep during his practise, which happened quite frequently.

Tap.

He switched on the lamp so he could see to get changed, stretched, and made his way over to the chest of drawers for some clean pyjamas.

Tap.

He heard it that time, over the constant roar of the storm, but he had his huge jumper halfway over his head. "It's open, Hedwig," he said through the thick wool. But the tapping at the window was not his owl. When Harry won the fight with Dudley's old clothing and glanced outside, there was nothing there. Taking a cautious step forward, Harry picked up his wand from the desk, never taking his eyes off the window.

Tap!

Harry jumped as another pebble rapped hard against the glass and fell back. Who on earth…? It came to him as suddenly as the stone had hit the pane. One of the Aurors outside wanted to talk to him. "Damnit," he muttered, pulling the jumper back on and racing to open the window to its full extent, letting in a blast of cold air and splattering his clothes with raindrops.

At first glance, it was so dark outside and so obscured by the sheets of rain that he could see nothing save the houses illuminated by faint light from their windows. The garden was pitch black and the thunder intruded on all his senses. "Hello?" Harry called, as loud as he dared without waking the Dursleys. "Anyone there?"

Silence. Then, as Harry was starting to contemplate going down there and looking for the bodies of dead sparrows that might have crashed against the window in the dark, he heard a small voice from below. "Harry?"

"Yes?" he called, leaning out of the window as far as he could without falling over the sill, his hair dripping water into his eyes. "Tonks? Professor Lupin?"

Then the moon came out from behind a storm cloud. The light spread over the fence and bushes, to reveal…

"Neville? What on earth are you doing here?" The boy was soaked through to the skin and shivering in jeans and a thin shirt. He didn't have any luggage or belongings of any sort with him, and he had his arms wrapped protectively around his chest, flinching against the downpour.

"Harry!" he called up in a strange, desperate voice. "Please…"

Harry didn't stop to think. Tugging a cloak from where it was sticking out of his trunk, he threw it around his shoulders and dashed out onto the landing and down the stairs, no longer caring how much noise he was making. He fumbled with the keys in the front door, trying to work out which of the five fit which lock. It was while he was fuming over the Dursleys' considerable paranoia problem when he realised how careless he was being. This foolhardiness was what had got Sirius killed.

He stopped fumbling with the keys. He took a step back. What was Neville Longbottom doing in his back garden? It was of course, very possible that it was the real Neville and he had simply flown by broomstick to Privet Drive, after looking up Harry's address in the yellow pages and making the decision not to wear hardly any clothes... or not. For one thing, he hadn't been holding a broomstick.

Harry leaned against the door, a faint smile on his face. The very idea of it was ridiculous. Whoever was masquerading as Neville had obviously forgotten to add some necessary details. But now what was he supposed to do? Leave the fake Neville outside to get wet? It certainly seemed like a good idea, but then the impostor might decide to do something a little more drastic, like blow up the house.

Suddenly the details of Dumbledore's little speech about Harry's mother's protection seemed a little hazy in his mind. How did it work again? Was it only Voldemort that it stopped from getting in or was it all Death Eaters? Anyone with the Dark Mark? Anyone even remotely dark? No, that was rubbish, Lupin had got in last year and Dobby wasn't exactly the angel Gabriel. He was pretty sure it was only Voldemort that couldn't touch him here, but what if 'Neville' was really Voldemort? Harry had had his fair share of experiences with Polyjuice Potion, and there had to be dark spells that could cause one to take the appearance of another. Or a glamour spell, or something?

Harry suddenly wished he'd payed more attention in third year Charms and Transfiguration when they'd done appearance spells. Once he'd found out there was no way he could permanently erase his scar or flatten his hair by magic, he'd tuned out and spent the rest of the topic drawing pictures of Malfoy being eaten by a Hippogriff.

Right, he had to focus. Did he go out there and attack? Concentration kept slipping away, just like when he'd been trying to practice Occlumency earlier – why Neville? If they wanted him to act really reckless then why wasn't it Hermione shivering in the rain? The thought made his blood boil, but less than he thought it might have. He had to face the impostor and fight him. He had to find out who was trying to kill him this time.

His head full of fuzz; he took up the keys again and opened the door, stepping out into the torrent of pouring rain. As soon as he lifted his face into the storm, everything was suddenly much clearer.

Wait – what on earth was he doing outside? He couldn't remember making a conscious decision to open the door – it was almost as if he'd been under a compulsion spell…

Harry turned quickly to look back inside the house – half expecting to see a smug-looking Death Eater holding a wand. Instead the hall looked perfectly normal… except… it seemed to be tinged with a subtle shade of red. When he looked down the air near the floor was darker red and seemed to be moving. Red smoke?

"What the-"

A huge roll of thunder brought Harry back to the matter at hand. He didn't dare go back into the house, he had no way of telling what that red stuff was or what it would do to him. So where to go now? His eyes fell onto the gate that led to the back garden. "Only one way to go," he whispered through the rain, pulling the hood of his cloak over his soaking wet hair.

The boy was standing in exactly the same place he had before, in the centre of the garden in front of the petunia beds. He was no longer shivering. Instead he stood perfectly still amidst the pouring rain, staring up at the window. He didn't even seem to notice Harry when he crept around the gate and appraised the situation. Harry took a step closer. Still the figure did not react. Harry's eyebrows knitted under the hood. Something was very, very wrong here. Taking his chances, he crept around the impostor's back without him moving a muscle, then grabbed the larger boy and twisted his arms behind his back. "Who are you?" he yelled over the storm.

Neville's mind was a blissful blank. It was a relief not to have to worry or think. He didn't feel the rain drumming in his ears, nor the harshness of the cold or the wet grass soaking into his shoes. He was in a place of calm and peace. The people who had given him such a good feeling had taken it away for a few seconds when Harry had come to the window. Was it Harry? He was no longer sure, though it wasn't as though it mattered. For those few seconds, the cold, the pain and the sheer panic had come flooding back and he hadn't been able to do much more than beg Harry to bring it back. But Harry had left and the blissful warmth had returned.

Through the calm, he hardly felt Harry's hands tighten on his own arms and pull them up behind him. Neville heard his friend yell, as though from far away, "Who are you?"

"Answer him," said the voice inside his head. "Act normally." And, as Bartemius Crouch had done so many months before, Neville answered. It couldn't be that hard, after all.

"It's me, Harry. It's Neville."

Harry laughed. "You really expect me to believe that, don't you?

"Keep him talking. Act normally," said the voice.

"It's me, Harry," said Neville, unable to think of anything else through the stupor.

"Damn," said the voice, "I should have known I'd have to be more specific." Neville simply stared blankly into space.

"What now?" Harry growled, as though holding Neville's unresponsive arms in a lock was somehow very hard work. "Do we fight?"

"Tell him you don't want to fight," said the voice.

"I don't want to fight," Neville said.

"Good boy."

"So what do you want? Who are you? Who sent you?" Harry fired the questions, but Neville did not have the answers.

"Ask him to help you," the voice muttered.

"Help me," Neville said obediently.

"What?" Even this close, Harry had to yell to be heard over the pounding rain and booming thunder.

"Help me!" Neville yelled.

"Good," said the voice. "Now, fight him off and get him unconscious. He's smaller than you are."

Neville's arm was halfway out of Harry's grip before another voice entered his head – his own. What? Fight Harry? That was ridiculous. Harry was a hero, the saviour of the wizarding world. What chance did Neville stand against him?

"FIGHT HIM!"

Neville ripped his arms out of Harry's grasp and one fist swung around to knock him back. STOP! His inner voice yelled at him.

Harry didn't have time to realise what was happening before he was on the ground. 'Neville' was standing over him, but not making any further movements. With his face up and unprotected by his hood, the rain smeared Harry's glasses and obscured his vision. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, and could just make out Neville through the blur. He was unmoving, but tense, as though struggling with some inner decision.

"Harry-" Neville said through gritted teeth, hardly audible over another roll of thunder. "Listen – it's me – it's a trick – you've got to…" Harry's elbows were thoroughly encased in mud but somehow he managed to scramble backwards. "Harry please… it's me, I swear – they're coming – don't let them…"

Something red and bright came shooting out of the bushes and crashed into Neville's chest. He screamed and fell over. Someone from behind him swore loudly. "GET HIM!" was the next exclamation. Harry couldn't move. He was staring at Neville's body in the mud. Sirius…

"GET THE BOY!!" The words seemed to spur him into action. Getting to his feet and shedding the cloak, he vaulted over the wood fence and sprinted up the street. Over the rain he could hear footsteps behind him, but didn't dare look behind him. He wouldn't be able to see anything anyway… Through the panic he could help but think… where's my Auror? They're supposed to stop things like this from happening...

His old primary school was just up the road, and he knew all the places to hide up there. No one would be inside in the middle of the night, so he wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting hurt.

Getting hurt…. Neville! Harry cursed himself for a million different kinds of stupidity. Even while ducking through the missing plank in the school fence his feet wanted to turn back. But that was stupid – whoever was chasing him was close on his heels and would stop any attempt to double back.

The fence seemed to be slowing them down – his pursuers were apparently too big to fit through the gap.

"DAMN!" he heard one of them yell in a gruff voice.

"Shut up, Crabbe!" yelled another at the top of his voice. This confirmed it – Death Eaters. Harry stifled a laugh at the mental image of Crabbe Senior trying to fit through the gap that Harry had only just managed to squeeze past. He was halfway around the school building when he heard panting from close behind him. One of them had gotten through, and he was sure the others would be in the process of demolishing the fence even as he ran.

At the halfway point, Harry spotted an open window and made for it. All he needed was enough time to turn, gain his balance and draw his wand – and he couldn't do that in mid-run. As soon as he reached it, Harry realised the window wasn't that open. It was latched from the inside. Gritting his teeth he pushed his arm through the gap and fumbled with the catch. He was in a niche behind an out-jutting wall, so with any luck the Death Eater chasing him would simply run right by him before he could realise he had lost his prey. The lock snapped upwards, grazing his fingers, just as a short man in black robes hurtled past.

Harry took his chances and threw himself backwards with the inward swing of the window-frame, knocking several clay models off the sill as he fell. They smashed underneath him and the window slammed shut – Harry got to his feet and turned to see his pursuer behind the glass. What he saw made his blood freeze.

He was face to face with Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion as Malfoy smirked and slowly raised his wand. Harry realised what he was going to do seconds too late. Malfoy took a small step back and yelled; "REDUCTO!"

Harry dove to the side as the window exploded his face. He covered his eyes with his arm, but felt shards of glass pierce his chin and torso. He lay still on a pile of glass and clay as Malfoy, chuckling cruelly, clambered through the shattered remains of the window. He felt as much as heard Malfoy's shoes crunching through the debris to rest near his head, and knew his wand would be pointed straight at his unprotected back. "Not so smart now, Potter," he heard Malfoy mutter.

"Draco?" someone called from outside.

"I've got him father!" Malfoy called back, turning ever so slightly. It was a mistake. Harry swept his arm behind Malfoy's legs and pulled them towards them. Malfoy toppled with an angry yell and Harry sped through the unlocked classroom door into the corridor. The stairs weren't far away, and there was a window in the bathroom on the second floor that allowed you to get onto the roof.

"POTTER!" Malfoy yelled from behind him. Harry was bleeding from a dozen different places and one of the lenses in his glasses was cracked and made the badly painted drawings on the walls look distorted. He'd only just jumped the turn in the stairs before a curse hit the wall where he'd been seconds before and smashed a hole in it the size of his head. He swore and took the stairs three at a time. Somewhere an alarm bell was ringing, which probably meant the police would be here pretty soon, though Harry doubted there was much they could do.

"GET BACK HERE, POTTER!"

Harry's face grew red with anger as his blood surged. Malfoy had some nerve. Harry had always known that Malfoy was destined to be a Death Eater like his father, but hadn't thought it would be this soon. Of course he'd been the only one small enough to get through the gap in the fence. He could have been out of here by now if it hadn't been for Malfoy.

Damn the stupid bathroom window.

Harry banged on the doors all the way down the corridor until he found one that was unlocked and ducked inside. Malfoy must have seen him come in here, but it hardly mattered. Harry drew his wand and hid behind the back of the door until Malfoy rushed in, wand drawn.

"Don't move," Harry ordered him, and Malfoy froze.

"Don't be a child, Potter. There are too many of us."

"Right now, I only see one, Malfoy."

The movement was so quick that Harry wasn't entirely sure that he'd seen it. Malfoy's wand flicked backwards past his shoulder and sent a beam of yellow light hurtling towards Harry's chest. He dodged it – just – and swished his wand twice at Malfoy. "Ossifrango!"

Malfoy screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at his arm. Harry stared. He hadn't expected him to scream like that – Harry hadn't, the first time he'd broken a bone. And Malfoy had deserved it… Harry looked at his wand, dumbly. He was going to get charged with underage wizardry, again – they'd expel him for sure, this time…

"Up here!" The shout from below jolted his dozing brain into action once more. The Death Eaters were on the stairs and Malfoy's screaming was sure to direct them to the right room. The window was two floors off the ground and there were no – wait, there was an adjoining classroom in the direction of the stairs, behind the huge poster of the world. Ripping it down with his fingers, Harry tried to shut out the footsteps…

The door banged open and Harry stumbled into his Year 6 classroom. It looked so familiar and yet so different, but he didn't have time to admire the changes. The Death Eaters were right behind him in the room he had just left, but the corridor door let him double around them and back to the stairs again.

This could go on forever, he couldn't help thinking. I've got to take them all out, somehow. Then go back and get Neville and get the hell out of Surrey.

Another crater smashed into the wall behind him to match the one left on the stairs. It was hard to run in a straight line when the crack in his glasses was showing him two corridors when there should only have been one. The front door of the school was sure to be locked, as well as all the side doors.

I've got to get OUT – I've got to get out…

"Stupify!" someone screeched from behind him. "Impedimenta! Stupify!"

Well, there's one thing, Harry thought. They certainly want me alive. But for how long, he could not guess. Suddenly it came to him. The PE Hall had an equipment room with a sliding door that led onto the sports field, and that was only latched. He made a sharp turn to the left, causing one of the Death Eaters (Harry was almost certain it was Gregory Goyle's father) to swear loudly and crash into a lego trolley left outside one of the classrooms.

He hurtled through the doors to the hall and ducked behind a punching bag that burst in an explosion of sand as the next curse hit it. Then he made one final sprint to the equipment room door, dashed inside, slammed the door and clicked the catch. Unless one of them thought to blast it open, that would hold them for a while.

The sliding door was large, square and made of corrugated iron. It slid upwards instead of side to side, and Harry had to kneel on the floor to feel for the catch in the dark. He was sure that light would not have helped him very much anyway – Sellotape was not going to fix his glasses this time. The door was very heavy, fastened to the concrete with a metal pin that had to be twisted and tugged the right way. In his panic, Harry seemed to be tugging it the wrong way every time.

"You can't run from in there, Potter!" came Lucius Malfoy's voice from outside.

They seemed to have stopped trying – the sign on the door only said 'Equipment' and they didn't know about the door. "Let's blast it!" yelled Crabbe or Goyle.

"Don't be an idiot!" yelled another. "There can't be enough space in there to turn around, you'll kill him!" So they did want him alive. Apparently they were either going to pick the catch or starve him out.

The latch came loose with a crunching sound that told Harry it had not been opened in a while and had rusted.

"What was that?"

"I say we blast it open!"

Harry tugged the pin out and threw it aside. He shoved his bleeding fingers into the gap under the door and hauled it upwards, giving him just enough space to crawl out into the beautifully fresh night air. It had stopped raining. He lay on the ground for a few seconds to catch his breath, cradling his bruised knuckles and ripped nails against his chest.

"Hello, Potter."

His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He looked up. It was still dark and his vision was distorted and blurred, but there was no mistaking the Death Eater standing over him with a wand pointed directly at his chest. It was Peter Pettigrew.

"Stupify!"

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