Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I don't own Harry Potter. (sigh) If only I had a genie to grant me three wishes.

Dear Readers,

This particular story takes place after Half-Blood Prince, so there are spoilers. There's also a bit of a weird prologue at the beginning – but it will become an important part of the story later on. But anyway, have fun reading and I hope you enjoy! (And remember to review!)

Pint of Stella.

"No Draco," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."
- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

– CHAPTER ONE –

A Special Guest

On the northern shores of France there was a little old town.

A town that still remained standing - despite a long history of fires that once threatened to burn it to the ground.

It had large watermills, thatched cottages, and an ancient system of gullies built in the streets.

Indeed, this old town was one of the few wizarding villages left in France.

Constructed over the sheltering cliffs of Normandy, the town had a small harbour and a rocky beach that stretched undisturbed for miles and miles. To visitors, the townsfolk would say it was the most charming place in the world. None of them would ever dream of leaving.

Until there was one, most notable summer. In fact, it was the summer following a violent hurricane that had struck the neighbouring country of England. The usually charming weather of the small village grew inexplicably bitter. The air turned foggy, and the waters turned frigid. Rich green vines withered on the window sills, and the crops refused to grow.

The inhabitants of the village had no explanation for this strange phenomenon, and could only shrug or shake their heads.

Besides, they reasoned, it couldn't possibly last very long.

Unfortunately, after weeks and weeks the weather refused to improve, and if anything, grew worse. A thick fog now masked the coastline and no boats could be seen in the harbour. The schools of fish fled from the cold, and ice spread over the beach like the plague. Vegetable gardens had perished before mid-July, and the usual flower-decked windows remained empty and dark.

The townspeople slowly began to lose heart at the sight of their village changing before their eyes. One by one, they began to apparate to the warmer villages in the south. They would return, they agreed, the minute everything went back to normal and their lovely town was back in its original, lovely state.

So it was only a matter of time before the village grew unusually quiet and only a handful of cottages remained occupied.

One of which, was a modest wizarding hostel built along the footpath of the main street. In the past, this once grand house was handed down through generations of purebloods. But out of the blue, it had been purchased by an old witch one day. A squib, by the name of Madame Baille. She fixed up the building from its original condition in order to accommodate an assortment of visitors.

The hostel had grown popular over the years – but business of course, during this particular summer, wasn't going well at all.

However, it just so happened, that even in the town's miserable state of abandonment, there was one more guest staying at Madame Baille's.

And as far as Madame Baille was concerned, they showed no sign of leaving any time soon.

"Put some wood in the fireplace, would you?"

Narcissa Malfoy glanced up in irritation at the voice. It was the old woman again. The repulsive squib that insisted on ordering her around whenever they were in the same room together. Since the very day she arrived at the hostel, they had been at each others throats.

Scowling dangerously, Narcissa stood from her comfortable seat at the window and flicked her wand once, instantly sending a heavy log into the flames.

The old squib turned at the sound of the crackling fire and nodded pointedly. "That'll do." She muttered. She hobbled from the room without further ado, the sound of her slippered feet shuffling down the hallway.

Narcissa glared hatefully after her. It was despicable enough that she was forced to stay here, of all places - a scruffy cottage in a pitiable fishing town - but to also withstand such terrible company was a nightmare. Swiftly, she turned back to her seat by the window, but froze mid-step.

Someone had already taken her place. A young, almond-haired witch was sitting rather contentedly, waving her wand over a pair of knitting needles which obediently sprang to life and attacked a tangle of yarn. By the look of her uniform, she must have been one of the kitchen maids.

At the thought, Narcissa's eyes narrowed. She moved forward to stand tall over the young girl, her dark silhouette blocking the light of the fireplace.

"You have taken my seat."

The knitting needles froze in midair, and the young witch looked up, questioningly.

Imbecile, Narcissa thought "Leave." She gestured stiffly in the direction in of the door.

The message came across well apparently, for the girl quickly gathered her needles and hurried anxiously from the room. She stole a nervous glance while she departed.

Narcissa smirked in satisfaction, seating herself back down in the seat with the grace of an aristocrat. After drawing a calming breath, she returned her attention to the window.

"I don't think that request of yours was very fair, Miss Black."

Narcissa's eyes snapped to the doorway, where Madame Baille stood, watching.

Yes, Black, she thought. It was the false name she had given for herself. There would be less trouble, that way.

Narcissa sniffed defiantly. "That terrible girl should be sent home if she refuses to work."

Mme. Baille stepped forward without replying. Instead, she lifted a dry log from the wood pile and heaved it into the fire. She brushed her hands on her skirt, and then turned to face her guest.

"Perhaps. Yet, who are you, Miss Black, to decide who is or isn't employed in my own establishment?"

Narcissa glared. "I am a guest here. I will have my say."

"No, you won't." Mme. Baille stated simply.

In an instant, Narcissa was on her feet, wand raised.

Surprisingly, Madame Baille stood firm, hands at her hips. "You will manage to show at least an ounce of respect for the workers here, Miss Black, or I will have you thrown out."

"Do not attempt it," Narcissa hissed; her wand arm trembled violently. "Because I assure you, you WILL regret it." Lowering her wand, she bent to gather up her heavy cloak and stalked quickly past the old witch. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she made her way down the staircase and into the Entrance Hall.

How DARE she. Narcissa thought. That horrible, ungrateful, old HAG.

She wished she didn't have to stay here. She wished to return back to the manor.

If only there was somewhere else to hide.

There was a sudden, dull emotion that caught in her throat, though she couldn't place what it was. It felt alien and suffocating. Angrily, she threw open the double doors and marched out into the cold.

The weather that particular afternoon was dark, and held promise of rain. Light droplets of mist blew against her face, causing her to squint at her surroundings. Giving a great huff, she walked down the uneven steps of the garden, until she was able to reach out and lean over the white fence. She stood for a moment and frowned at the desolate walkway obscured by the fog. A narrow gully lay near by, towards the side of the garden path. She decided to get a better view of it, and peered curiously into the still, green water.

Her anger slowly receded, but the odd feeling still caught in her throat.

After a moment of silence, there was a great bird-like call overhead, as a gull soared past. Narcissa watched it disappear, flying west in the direction of the ocean.

Silently, she wondered how long it would be before Draco would come looking for her.

Harry lounged impatiently on the living room sofa, staring blankly at his reflection in the television set. It was nearly midnight at Number Four, Privet Drive, and the Dursleys had already fallen asleep. He was listening intently to the clock that ticked away in the kitchen, waiting.

At the stroke of midnight, he would finally be allowed to leave.

Harry stole a glance at his trunk and invisibility cloak, packed and ready at his feet. His broomstick leant against the far wall, along with Hedwig's empty cage.

The clock ticked on.

Amid the silence, he noticed a soft scratching and a rustle of leaves among the hydrangea bushes outside. He frowned, and assumed the Order member that watching Number Four was changing shifts. They usually did, every hour or so.

The aurors had been there past month, keeping as much of an eye on him as they were for Death Eaters.

McGonagall's doing, no doubt.

They were waiting for his next move, he could tell. They expected him to disappear – or do something rash.

But in any case, Harry needed to find a way around them. He needed leave as quickly and indiscreetly as possible. If the aurors caught or ambushed him while he tried to leave tonight – well, he rather not think about it. Not to mention, the Weasleys, Hermione and Lupin were all expecting him at the Burrow tomorrow for his birthday lunch, and surely they planned to go through great lengths to keep him out of trouble.

Sighing, he leant back and closed his eyes. Everything was much more complicated these days. He couldn't be in peace.

Nowadays, even his own thoughts irritated him.

Harry anxiously gripped his wand.

The clock ticked on.

Already dressed in wizarding robes, Harry stood and began to pace. At the end of sixth year, he had promised Ron and Hermione he would take them along with him as he went looking for the missing Horcruxes. They were determined to stay with him no matter what. They wanted to support him. They wanted to protect him. They wanted to help him defeat the Dark Lord.

Harry stopped pacing, and frowned darkly.

But couldn't they understand that he didn't want to lose them too?

Harry reached down and took up his father's cloak. He stared for a moment at the silvery fabric before drawing it tightly around his shoulders.

A familiar hum broke the silence, and Harry looked up in time to see a muggle car drive by. Its headlights shone through the windows, casting eerie shadows along the walls.

In kitchen, the clock gave a delicate, muffled chime.

In the darkness of the living room, Harry smiled. He quickly pulled out his wand and pointed it at his heavy trunk.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The old trunk hovered obediently. Giving it a small tap, it turned feather-light and Harry summoned his broomstick.

"Incarcerous." A series of ropes sprouted from his wand.

After binding his trunk and Hedwig's cage to the back of his Firebolt, and grasping it firmly in his hand, Harry stepped lightly out into the hallway. He surveyed the quiet, muggle home before him.

It was pity he had no time to wreak havoc amongst his lovely relatives. Truly.

A fleeting image of the Dursleys transformed into guppies and left swimming in the kitchen sink caused him to smirk. He would surely ask Fred and George for help, as soon as he got the chance.

Grinning as his imagination ran wild, Harry turned and headed for the doorway. But before he reached it, he felt a sudden rush of wind and a sharp bite on his left ear. He whirled around, nearly crying out in alarm. Fortunately it was only Hedwig, who hooted at him exasperatedly, clearly irritated by his jumpiness.

Harry took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"Hey Hedwig." He whispered quietly.

The owl clicked its beak in reply and perched herself on his outstretched arm.

"Look," Harry urgently continued. "You can't come with me. I need you to stay here for a while and be a distraction. Fly in and out of my bedroom window, just like everything's normal."

Hedwig clicked her beak angrily.

Harry sighed. "This has to work, Hedwig. I want the aurors to think I'm still sending letters from my room. We need to keep the Order oblivious as long as possible – which won't be long – but I'll need as much time as I can get."

Hedwig hooted again, still indignant.

"Just keep it up for one day, at least. Then you can fly out to find me."

The owl dug her talons into his arm in frustration, but took off nonetheless. She drifted through the house silently and flew out through the open window in the kitchen.

Harry stared after her sadly for a moment, but then turned his attention back to the doorway.

"Silencio," he muttered, tapping the locks and hinges on the door with his wand.

"Alohomora." The locks turned without any audible clicks and Harry smiled triumphantly.

He then lifted up his broomstick and tapped it with his wand. There was a rather pretty shower of sparks, and the broom handle vibrated.

The smile immediately disappeared from his face.

He was trying to cast a disillusionment charm. It was advanced magic, but he wouldn't be able to leave otherwise. His cloak alone wouldn't be enough to hide both himself and his trunk and broomstick...

Harry took another deep breath, trying to remember the time Moody had used the spell on him. He remembered the strange sensation of an egg being cracked over his head, and the surprise as he felt himself disappear. He concentrated hard on the memory and tapped his broomstick once more.

For a moment, the image of his Firebolt shifted before him, then suddenly vanished, disappearing against the background.

Harry let out a sigh of relief – thankful that his Firebolt hadn't been reduced to a pile of wood chips because of a botched spell. He drew the hood of the invisibility clock over his head, reached for the door knob, and shot one last look over his shoulder.

The house remained utterly still and dark. He could hear the clock ticking on in the kitchen and Dudley's impressive snoring from the bedroom upstairs.

"Well then," He sighed. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

Grasping the handle, he pulled the door open and slipped out onto the porch. It was a clear blue night with the moon half full.

Wonderful quidditch weather, he thought cynically.

Harry turned and peered warily at the hydrangea bushes for any sign of movement.

Fortunately, there was nothing.

Satisfied with results, he tightened his father's cloak around himself and mounted his broom.

Now what? A small voice asked in his head.

A cold rush of uncertainty suddenly hit him. He had left Privet Drive before, but that had been different. He had been furious. Anger had drove him that night, as well as Aunt Marge's accusing words echoing in his head. But now?

Harry gazed reluctantly at the quiet street ahead.

"And now Harry," he heard a familiar voice say, "Let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

Tightening his hold on the Firebolt, Harry leaned forward and kicked off the ground.

At the sudden noise, the bushes rustled loudly and an auror stepped out, wand ready. She glanced at the empty porch in confusion, before reluctantly returning to her hiding place. Little did she know, her young charge was already high in clouds, racing an imaginary opponent all the way to London.