Once again, characters don't belong to me, no harm intended.

Three days out of a long summer is not a considerable length of time, but for Ginny it felt like forever. She didn't know why. It wasn't the first summer that Harry had been forced into staying at the Dursleys, however much the Weasleys wanted him to stay. It wasn't the first time Ginny had wished he could come over to stay, and not only because it got him away from the Dursleys. Although, it would probably be the first year that she could be around Harry in the Burrow and not trip over her own two feet or something equally stupid. Finally, after so long having a crush on him, Ginny had learnt how to just be a friend with Harry. That wasn't to say that the crush had gone completely. Or perhaps the crush had gone, but there were certainly feelings there that didn't strictly fall into a friendship category. She was fairly certain after all, that Hermione, in all the years she had known Harry, had never spent any great length of time wondering what was underneath his robes. (if she had, then Ginny really didn't want to know, anyway.)

But these feelings weren't new; she'd had a crush on Harry since she'd first met him on the station platform, the year before she had started at Hogwarts. Boy, had she been jealous of Ron then. No, they weren't anything new. Different perhaps, but she'd certainly gotten past the shy and awkward phase with him.

She couldn't pin point why she was anxious for the visit. It wasn't like she was going- Ron and Hermione had certainly not included her on any plans they had in visiting Harry. And it wasn't like they were expecting him anytime soon. Dumbledore had made it perfectly clear that Harry was to remain with his aunt for the time being. And Ginny didn't think she'd be feeling like this, if he were coming. She would be a little nervous perhaps, but mostly she'd be looking forward to seeing him again. She certainly wouldn't be feeling like this, like for some inexplicable reason, something was wrong.

Something was always wrong with Harry, after all. Whether it was taking part in school tournament two years too early, or being portkeyed into Voldemort's resurrection party, or dreaming through Voldemort's eyes, or watching your godfather die before you. And that was all in the last two school years. Trouble certainly liked following Harry around, and making his life suitably miserable. Maybe that was all. Maybe Ginny was just feeling especially empathic towards Harry at the moment. And however he had behaved with Ron and Hermione, Ginny knew he'd still be feeling grief over Sirius's death, and knowing Harry, not without a large portion of guilt thrown in as well. She was more excited than either Ron or Hermione as they got ready to floo to Mrs Figg's, although she did her best to remain calm and outwardly composed. She just needed to hear from the others that everything was all right, and then she could get on with enjoying the holidays as they deserved to be enjoyed after the events of the last school year.

Hermione stepped gracefully out of the fireplace, accepting the hand Ron had put out to help her, even if she didn't really need it. She greeted Mrs Figg, who was enjoying her afternoon tea, and they made polite small talk for a few minutes before excusing themselves and walking out into the overcast day. It had yet to rain, but the sky was heavy with potential. Hermione looked skyward, at the dark, scurrying clouds, and wondered what had happened of the summer this year. She tagged after Ron as they made their way down Privet Drive, excited to be able to see Harry again, and after a relatively short time, but also slightly anxious. However much she had tried to ignore it after the last visit, something hadn't been right. Hermione was desperate to believe it was all down to grieving for lost godparents, but something deep down wasn't convinced that that was all it was. And it was this that caused her stomach to clench into a small knot the further up Privet Drive they walked. Ron, for once, appeared to notice her mood, and slowed down so that they were walking side by side. For once he didn't offer words in comfort, or otherwise, but offered her a small smile, and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. It was such a small gesture, but it helped loosen the knot slightly anyway.

Ron was desperate to say something, anything to Hermione. He knew she was starting to feel anxious about the visit, especially after last time, and Ron wanted to be able to tell her not to worry, that everything would work out just fine, and Harry would be back to being a moody git, and life, or at least the school holidays could get back to normal. But something inside Ron wouldn't voice the words out loud. The part of him that didn't truly believe that he was right on this. Hermione wasn't the only one who had noticed that something was wrong last time. But Ron wasn't willing, or perhaps able, to put into words why Harry being in a good mood was bad. So he'd gone with it, tried to enjoy the time with his best friend, willing to over look anything to just having his best friend at least looking ok whilst staying with the Dursleys. Anyway, wasn't it a girl thing to discuss feelings and emotions? He and Harry had never really gone down that road before- Harry wasn't known for sharing any of these feeling with anyone. They usually went down the "yep, this is totally screwed, lets go play some Quidditch" route instead.

It was so much easier being a boy, Ron had decided long ago, and wasn't particularly inclined to revise that statement anytime soon. You knew where you were with boys. Girls were another matter entirely. Ron just didn't get them. Their moods, their emotions, their words that were loaded with subtext. Why couldn't they say what they meant instead of saying one thing, but meaning something else entirely all along? He especially didn't get Hermione. What she thought about him being his number one brooding topic of the moment. He brought his mind quickly back from there as they approached Privet Drive. Now was not the time to start thinking about that. Although in her well fitting jeans, and fitted t-shirt, Ron certainly didn't mind thinking about that.

Number 4, Privet Drive looked as compulsively neat as ever. Like last time, there was no car in the driveway, and they both hoped that Harry would be alone in the house. It would be so much easier to talk without having to run the gauntlet of the Dursley's first. Hermione reached out for the doorbell, which was just like one Ron's dad had in his shed. Ron's dad had had an interest and love for anything muggle for a long time, a passion that Ron didn't share. What was the point in a bell anyway? What was wrong with knocking? He didn't have time to ask this, however, as the door was answered.

Ron had known Harry for five years. Had grown up with him through all the normal, and not so normal, happenings of teenage life. They'd talked about kissing girls, Quidditch, school work, shaving, being killed by Voldemort, and Ron had seen Harry with every emotion he could think of. He'd seen him triumphant at Quidditch, and almost broken by death, but the look on Harry's face now was about the scariest of the lot. There was just no recognition there, not even a spark of remembrance.

'Hello?' Harry asked them, a questioning look coming to his face.

Both Ron and Hermione starred at him. 'Harry?' Hermione finally answered. 'Are you all right?'

The boy appeared confused as to why they were asking him if he was all right, and was even more confused how the two knew who he was. 'Can I help you?' He finally asked, thinking quick on his feet. 'My aunt will be home soon.' He added, just in case that was who these two were really after.

The red headed boy looked round at his brunette companion, seeming at a lost for words. 'Harry?' He tried this time, his voice sparking a slight sense of déjà vu but nothing more in Harry.

Before Harry could ask how they knew his name, though, a car pulled up outside of the house. Harry looked beyond the pair, who were still looking at him like he'd lost his marbles, and grinned as he recognised Aunt Petunia and Dudley getting out of the car. He looked back at the other two, who still couldn't seem to decide what to do, 'that's my aunt there.' He pointed out, trying to be helpful.

'Harry, dear, who are these people?' The slim blond woman called as she walked up the driveway towards them. Ron and Hermione looked behind them and missed the slight shrug Harry gave to his aunt as if to say, don't know, don't particularly care, either. 'Oh. Why don't I see what they want, and you go and put the kettle on dear?' She suggested in what might have been thought of as a warm and motherly way.

Harry complied, turning round and disappearing into the house. Ron and Hermione were looking at Mrs Dursley properly now, an angry look starting to bloom on Hermione's face. 'What have you done to him?' She hissed at the older woman.

'Dudley, go inside and try on your new uniform dear.' Mrs Dursley said, with a more strained motherly tone to it, shoving her son, with no small amount of effort, past Ron and Hermione who were still standing on the doorstep, and through the doorway. Only after he was in, did she turn to the two teenagers. 'You shouldn't have come here.' She said accusingly.

'What. Have. You. Done. To. Him?' Hermione seethed again.

'Something that should have been done a long time ago.' Mrs Dursley stated, looking coldly certain of whatever had happened. 'Harry isn't…abnormal anymore. He will start a proper school in September. And he won't be seeing any of you lot again. Now go. Leave my family alone.'

'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?' Hermione yelled this time. 'If you've hurt him' she threatened.

'Don't be a stupid little girl. I wouldn't hurt my family.'

This sentence only confused them all the more. Since when had any of the Dursley's ever seen Harry as part of the family? And before Hermione could think anymore, Mrs Dursley stepped into the house, and roundly slammed the door in their faces.

'What the-' Ron started, Hermione ignoring him, thinking quickly. They had two choices- to stay and try and get more answers, or go and get help. Harry didn't appear in immediate danger, at any rate, whatever was going on. Hermione knew the only good they could do now, was making sure the right people knew what was happening- which meant Dumbledore had to know. And the only way was to go to him now. Hermione turned, grabbed Ron's hand and took off down Privet drive.

Neither of them noticed Mrs Figg's very stunned look as they ran through her front room with barely a glance. They were both in such a hurry that they were dumped out of the floo onto the living room floor at The Burrow, coughing through the ash that had been dumped with them.

'Ronald Weasley! How many times do I have to tell you to-' Whatever complaint was about to cross Mrs Weasley's lips was stopped dead as the two teenagers in front of her jumped to their feet, Ron so pale that his freckled seemed to stand out all the more brightly. 'What is it?' She asked instead. 'Is Harry ok?'

'No. We need Dumbledore now.' Hermione said urgently.

'That aunt of his' Ron seethed beside her, his face growing red with anger now.

'What happened?' Mrs Weasley asked, still moving far too slowly for either of their liking. 'Is he in danger?'

'Yes!' Hermione exclaimed impatiently, forgetting herself in her worry. 'Please, Mrs Weasley, Harry's in trouble, and we need Professor Dumbledore now!'

'Ok.' Mrs Weasley said, finally starting to rush now, as she walked hurriedly to the floo, taking a pinch of floo power and sticking her head into the fire. 'Albus Dumbledore.' They heard her say clearly. After an agonising wait, they finally heard Dumbledore answer Mrs Weasley. 'There is an emergency with Harry…Ron and Hermione…please come.' She said, missing details that she didn't know. 'Please.' She added in a plea, because she didn't know details, but she knew her son, and she knew Hermione well enough to know that something was very wrong.

They heard only a low grumble in reply, before Mrs Weasley got up from the fire, standing aside to allow Professor Dumbledore to follow her through. Ron found himself suddenly on the receiving end of a piercing stare from deadly serious blue eyes. He gulped. He could feel Hermione shaking next to him, and knew he wasn't the only one who was not only afraid of whatever was happening with Harry, but also to suddenly be stood in front of their extremely powerful headmaster. It was only belatedly that Ron realised none of that was aimed at him and Hermione, but was just a reaction to hearing something was wrong. 'Mr Weasley, Miss Granger…' Professor Dumbledore prompted, the niceties of greeting put aside for now.

Any comprehensible words fled Ron's mind immediately, but luckily he was standing next to Hermione. 'Something's wrong with Harry.'

Ron rolled his eyes at the obviousness of this statement.

'Why don't you start at the beginning?' Dumbledore suggested calmly.

Ron felt Hermione pull in a deep, ragged breath, before starting again, her voice more calm this time. 'We flooed to Mrs Figg's, and then walked down Privet Drive. There wasn't any car in the driveway, and we were hopeful that Harry was alone.'

Ron was silently hurrying Hermione along, but knew better than to interrupt.

'Harry answered the door almost immediately, but…something was wrong, Harry didn't seem to recognise us at all, he just stared at us, and asked if he could help, then said something about his aunt being home soon. At first I wondered if Harry was joking or… I don't know pretending because of his family or something, but it wasn't fake- Harry had no idea who we were. Then his aunt and Dudley came home, and Harry was really pleased to see them, and his aunt got the two boys into the house before turning to us and saying that she had got rid of Harry's abnormality, and not before time, and that he would be starting a proper school in September, and then she said something really weird, she referred to Harry as her family, and said that she would never hurt her family.' Hermione stopped, took a much needed breath, and then her face fell, and tears started falling down her face as she collapsed on one of the sofas.

Mrs Weasley immediately rushed over to her, shushing her before looking up at Dumbledore. 'What's going on?'

'I don't know.' Dumbledore said, for the first time since Ron could remember looking very concerned. 'I must go, immediately. Please put out the word of a meeting tonight, Molly, at the Headquarters. Let's say at eight.'

'Right away.'

And with that he was gone, stepping into the fire and disappearing before Ron could hear his destination. He turned to his mum and Hermione, who was still crying on the sofa, now berating herself for leaving and not doing anything. Mrs Weasley was speaking calmly to her, telling her that she did the right thing, that she got help. That was all she should have done. Ron suddenly looked up, looking over to the foot of the stairs, right into Ginny's shocked eyes. Without asking, Ron knew Ginny had heard every word just said.

For the next few hours, Ron, Hermione and Ginny alternated between long periods of uncomfortable silence, and feverish chattering. Hermione's natural instinct was to turn to her beloved books, to research any possible causes. Denied this, she chatted incessantly at every likely and unlikely cause until Ginny, getting irritated, told her to shut up. Ron had joined in with some of Hermione's theories, but had fallen silent long before Hermione. Now they sat around the kitchen, out of the way of Mrs Weasley who was cleaning in the living room. Ron and Ginny both knew their mother, and that when she was worried, she fussed, and if she couldn't do that (she'd already offered them food and drink and snacks a dozen times) she turned to cleaning to burn off the stress.

'Shouldn't there be some news by now?' Ginny finally said into the silence. Ron agreed. It felt like forever since they'd come back from Harry's. All Ron could see when he closed his eyes, was the lack of recognition in Harry's face. Feeling brave, Ron got up from the table, and walked into the sitting room.

'Do you want something to eat, Ron? Or a drink?' Mrs Weasley asked him, her words coming out sounding very distracted as she polished the side board within an inch of it's life.

Ron didn't think it would be helpful to point out if he did, he'd just come from the kitchen, and was more than capable of helping himself (As he often did). 'No, we were just wondering, is there anyway we could find out some news- it's been hours.'

Mrs Weasley finally stopped working for a moment, looking up properly at Ron, shaking her head. 'But I don't think it'll be long.' She said, trying to sound optimistic.

Ron appreciated the effort. He made to go back to the kitchen, but stopped at the door. 'Something really bad has happened, hasn't it?' He asked, trying hard to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Mrs Weasley ran a hand over her face, and didn't seem able to answer straight away. 'Let's just wait for more information, shall we?' She suggested eventually, forcing a smile to her lips.

Ron stood for a moment, staring at the fireplace, trying to will it to flare suddenly.

'A watched pot never boils.' Mrs Weasley said quietly, watching him.

Ron sighed, and was just about to go back to the kitchen, when he almost jumped out of his skin as the fire suddenly flared, and a face he didn't recognise appeared in the fire. 'Molly, we need you at Headquarters, now. Arthur's already there.' The man said, before disappearing just as quickly.

For a moment, Molly just stared herself at the empty fireplace, before seeming to come to a decision, turning to Ron. 'Tell Ginny and Hermione to be ready to go in five minutes. Pack things for tonight.' She said, not giving him anytime to reply as she rushed out.

Ten minutes later they were standing outside 12 Grimmauld Place, having portkeyed over using a portkey provided for emergencies by Dumbledore. The door had a new coat of paint, and someone had thought to remove the serpent knocker since the last time they were there. Even the windows looked like they had been cleaned. They were let in, after Molly had given a series of passwords. The hallway had also had a new coat of paint since their last visit, the walls now clear of any screaming portraits. Also gone was the damp, musty smell that had seemed to permeate the house; the house seeming lighter now. It seemed The Order had been busy not only in the search of Voldemort, but also in improving their Headquarters somewhat.

No sooner had they taken in the much improved hallway, they were being ushered towards the stairs by Mrs Weasley. 'But mum- we want to find out about Harry!' Ron protested, trying to get some purchase on the tiled floor to push back against his mum's insistent hands.

'You will find out soon enough. An order meeting is no place for children.' She stopped for a moment, her voice more gentle. 'I will come and let you know as soon as I know something, Ok?'

Ron finally relented, and allowed himself to be propelled upstairs by his mother, noting as he walked upstairs behind Hermione and Ginny, that someone had also thought to remove the stuffed, mounted house elves heads from the wall. The girls dumped their stuff in their room, which had hardly changed since their last visit, before following Ron up to the room he usually shared with Harry. And there they sat, listening desperately to any signs of life from downstairs as they waited impatiently for news.

Something very weird was going on, Harry had decided, long ago. And it had started with those weird people's visit that afternoon. They had looked to be the same age as him, and certainly seemed convinced that they knew him, even though Harry had racked his brains for where he could have met them and had come up empty. And then, ever since then, Aunt Petunia had been acting really weird. She looked anxious, Harry decided. She'd taken over the making of the tea, but her hand had shook so hard that she'd ended up spilling the water everywhere and almost burning herself. She started at the smallest of noises, and looked convinced that something was going to burst through the door at any moment. As soon as Uncle Vernon had shown up, Aunt Petunia had dragged him into the lounge, shutting the door on Harry and Dudley, and must have been whispering because neither could hear anything through the door. About five minutes later, they had come back out, making Harry jump back guiltily from the door, but Petunia didn't seem to notice. Uncle Vernon looked very pale now, Harry saw, as Aunt Petunia smiled brightly at them, and told Harry and Dudley to go and put some clothes together for a weekend away. Harry wondered what sort of weekend started on a Wednesday; didn't Vernon have work tomorrow? Neither he, or Dudley he noted, looked happy at the prospect, but their concerns fell on deaf ears as Aunt Petunia forced them upstairs, and started packing for them. Whilst they were upstairs, Harry heard Uncle Vernon talking on the phone, but was too far away to make out any words.

Before they knew it, Dudley and Harry were sat in the back seat of Uncle Vernon's car, as Vernon sped of through Little Whinging, and onto the M4. The two boys had fallen silent, seeing they weren't going to get anymore information, and the car tense with the silence. Harry knew that this wasn't any old weekend away. He had a feeling this was connected to the two people that had shown up on the doorstep that afternoon, but however much he thought about it, he couldn't work out how two strangers showing up could lead to this jaunt across the motorways of England.

He knew they were heading towards London. Traffic was busy, but at this time of night, most of it was heading out of London, rather that in to it. That all changed as Uncle Vernon pulled onto the M25 and immediately hit a traffic jam. Harry could almost see the steam coming from Uncle Vernon as he tried with limited success to weave in and out of the other cars to go just that little bit quicker, swearing more than once as he was cut up, or not let out. At the next junction Vernon suddenly veered off, heading out onto smaller roads in an effort to lose the traffic, Harry quickly becoming lost as village after village past.

Night was falling by the time uncle Vernon started slowing down. Harry, who had been staring at nothing out of the window, glanced over at Dudley, who had long ago fallen asleep. He looked out at the road they were on, which was lined with trees and didn't appear to have any streetlights. Peering past the rows of trees, Harry could just about see the ghostly outlines of some of the largest houses he had ever seen. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to be looking for somewhere in particular, craning their necks to read dim house names, finally pulling into the very dark driveway of a house Harry fleetingly read the name of as "Domus Atrum". Harry glanced ahead, but couldn't even see an outline of a house, as Uncle Vernon drove carefully down the long driveway. The house seemed to sneak up on them, suddenly appearing on their left about a quarter of a mile from the road. Dudley woke up as the car came to a stop, and joined Harry in staring at what could only be described as a mansion, with an open mouth.

For a moment, all four of them gaped at the mansion. It was made of dark grey bricks, and looked foreboding in the darkness of night. A large wooden door dominated the front, flanked on either side by darkened windows. Ivy grew up to the right of door, covering the whole of the right side of the house, stretching around the corner of the house. Two gargoyles stood guard on either side of the door, and Harry suddenly had the feeling that they were being watched. The house looked deserted, and they all jumped when the front door slowly swung open, a man standing to guard in its wake. He glared at them, a not very big welcoming, and Harry couldn't help gulping as he beckoned to them. He broke out in a cold sweat as Vernon opened the door. He realised he didn't want to go in there. Really didn't want to go in there. A sense of acute foreboding filled him so suddenly that bile rose in the back of his throat and he had to swallow it away, goosebumps rose on his arm despite the warm summer evening, and a cold shiver made its way down the length of his spine.

'Mum, I want to go home.' Dudley said, his own face looking fearful as all four of them stared at the man still standing in the doorway. 'Please.' The pleading quality to his voice was unlike Dudley, but Harry was thinking of getting in on it himself. He really didn't want to be here.

Aunt Petunia was sat, stock still, staring at the man with the rest of them, looking pale in the reflection from the half moon above them. For a moment, Harry could almost see the internal battle, as she and Vernon shared a long look. Then, it was as if someone had drawn her up by a string in her spine, pulling her straight. She jutted her chin out, looking firm. 'No, we started this, now it's time to end it.'

'End what? Muuum.' Dudley whined. 'Can't we go home. Get back to normal? Please…' Dudley was looking at him, now, with an accusing look that Harry didn't understand. How was this his fault? He was as much in the dark as to why they were here as Dudley was.

'No. We have to end it here. Get our lives back. We agreed.' She looked back at Dudley, her look hard, fixed. Harry wondered what was ending, and didn't like the sick feeling in his stomach that accompanied the thought.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon opened their car doors almost in sync, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a new, determined crunch. 'Come, you two.' Vernon said, in a tone the two knew not to mess with.

Harry reluctantly opened his own door, stepping out onto the driveway that crunched noisily underfoot, watching his aunt and uncle walking with now confident strides up to the house. With ever slowing steps, Harry set off after them, not understanding this sudden turn in events, why they were suddenly at a deserted house somewhere near London, for a weekend away. How this would end anything. A spark of pain, an ache really, suddenly came to his forehead, Harry shocked to find his scar suddenly painfully flaring. The scar was a remnant of the car accident that had killed his parents, and had never so much as twinged before. Harry slowed even more, as the pressure behind the scar built even more, a warning sign, it seemed, against going any closer. 'Come on Boy!' Vernon yelled at him. Harry looked up at the impersonal term, looking at his uncle, at the sudden ugly angry twist to his face. He took another, reluctant step towards the house, his scar flaring painfully. He pressed a palm briefly against it now, trying to gather his confidence together. He was being stupid- this was just a house, just a house that was a little on the creepy side. His aunt and uncle were both obviously stressed, and needed some time away. And he was now tired, and hadn't had a drink for a while, which explained why he had a headache building; it just happened to be centred on his forehead. But that didn't explain why he was downright terrified of going anywhere closer to that house.

Behind him, Dudley cowered by the car, till he was hastened over by his mother. Uncle Vernon stepped towards Harry, looking threatening now, something Harry couldn't ever remember his uncle doing before. 'Stop meandering, Boy. We haven't got all day.' With that Harry found himself grabbed roughly by the arm, and pulled in the direction of the house, his head now pounding enough to make his eyes water, and for bile once again to rise in the back of his throat. 'Sorry. So sorry.' The sudden meek tone to his Uncle's voice had Harry looking up, catching sight of the man stood at the doorway. It took Harry a moment to realise this was who his uncle was apologising to.

The man was well over six feet tall, dressed to intimidate in all black. Even his hair was black, slicked back from his face to make it shine in the small amount of moonlight. He peered at Harry now, a twisted smile on his thin face. 'We have been waiting.' He announced, his voice silky smooth on the still night air.

Harry was beyond bewildered. Waiting for what? He wanted to ask, but his head was pounding, and his uncle still held on tight to his arm, and he just couldn't seem to make his throat work anymore. The man beckoned them inside, and Harry knew, with every fibre of his being, that he didn't want to go into that house. He didn't want to find out what was beyond the dark doorway the stranger was guarding. He was given little choice however. The pain in his head was paralysing, and his uncle's ever insistent hand was still painful on his arm. Meekly, now, bowed at the head to try and take any of the pressure from the front of head away, he was pulled roughly into the house.

The inside of the house wasn't much brighter than the outside. Harry found himself being led down a corridor lit by a few scattered candles. It was cold inside, much colder than the mild summer evening outside. Off to the right, a staircase ascended to the first floor, but Harry was pulled through a door to the left, finding himself standing in the doorway of what he could only assume to be the dining room.

The room was long and fairly narrow, with heavy wooden panelling on all the walls not helping with the dim lighting of a few more candles. Made up in the centre of the room was the longest table Harry had ever seen, it looked like it could easily seat twenty with room to spare. The table was made of some highly polished wood, reflecting the big silver candlesticks stood down the centre. The table was already set for someone; shining silver cutlery sat waiting beside spotless plates. Harry barely had time to register all this before a door at the other end of the room opened, and his head exploded with a pain that clouded his vision and made him wish for unconsciousness. His knees gave way as he sunk to the floor, his hands trying desperately to push against the consuming pain.

'Already on your knees, Potter? You have learnt something then.' The voice grated inside his head, and although the voice was barely above a whisper, it seemed to ricochet off the walls around him. Harry managed to fight the pain enough to lift his head, see who was speaking his name, and immediately recoiled in both pain and disgust at the man stood in the doorway. He was tall and very thin, robe like clothes hanging from his lanky frame. His head was completely smooth; not a single hair that Harry could detect. Even his face was long and thin, his nose was non-existent, moulded flat to his face, just two nostrils detectable. His lips were thin lines barely discernable from the rest of his pale face. He sneered at Harry, intense eyes almost lapping up the sight of him. Harry wondered how this…man…(for want of a better word) knew his name.

His aunt and uncle, once so insistent on bringing him here, also recoiled, Dudley, stood behind Harry, audibly gasped. The man who had led them here entered the room, walking to the opposite doorway before kneeling before the other man for the briefest of moments. 'Master' Harry thought he heard him murmur.

The master barely glanced down at the man at his feet, his look fixed firmly on Harry. 'You are early.' The man whispered, the voice again reverberating painfully through Harry's head. Harry wondered how he could be early for something he didn't know was going on, but was saved from having to ask by the simpering of his aunt and uncle. 'We are sorry, there was an unexpected complication- they came again.' His aunt said, her voice high pitched, nervous. Why was his aunt suddenly nervous, Harry wondered. And who were they? How did his aunt know this…man?

'You told me all was under control.' The man's voice was eerily calm still, but Harry could detect the accusing undertone, and knew that he was getting angry with his aunt.

'I…I…I thought it was. Their last visit- they've never visited before.'

Harry was getting more than a little confused by this conversation. And his head seemed to be getting steadily more painful.

'You had a simple job.' The man's voice had risen now, definitely not helping the pain in Harry's head, and Harry could almost feel the anger about to be unleashed at someone. 'A simple job, and you failed!'

'But…but…the potion- he got it! His memory has completely changed. He doesn't remember a thing! He doesn't remember them at all.' His aunt was almost snarling now. Her anger, though, was fuelled more by a nervousness that was coming off her in waves.

'And yet, even as we partake in this particularly useless conversation, they' he spat back, taking the same tone as Petunia, 'know something is wrong.'

Harry turned his head slightly, catching sight of his aunt out of the corner of his eye. Harry was surprised to see tears rolling down her cheeks. He'd never seen his aunt cry before.

'You have failed.' The man stated, as if he was reciting facts learned from a book. 'And you must be punished.'

'No!' His aunt's scream of anguish sent a shudder of dread up Harry's spine. 'We brought him to you! As we promised we would! You have Harry Potter, and he doesn't remember a thing! We did all you asked. You said he'd be out of our lives forever. You promised!'

'And yet, you still tipped them off to his predicament.' The countering argument came. Harry was getting dizzy now; trying to make sense of the conversation on top of the pain in his head, which now felt like an ice pick was steadily being driven deeper and deeper into his brain. Harry felt his knees almost buckle, as once again the man's look returned to him. 'But' the man said, presumably to Petunia, 'you did manage to bring him here. You aren't completely incompetent. The great Harry Potter. If only Dumbledore could see you now- his star pupil kneeling at my feet.'

Harry could only guess he was being talked about because of the use of his name. Who was Dumbledore he blindly wondered, and who was kneeling at anyone's feet?

'Nothing to say? Shame, last time you were so chatty.'

Harry looked up at the stranger in defiance. Whoever he thought he was, Harry didn't like the conversation one bit. The stranger merely carried on looking at him. 'Now, Harry, what do you think? What is a suitable punishment for someone not carrying out orders?'

'But you said' Vernon's immediate protest was cut short by a single look, it seemed, from the stranger. Harry watched as his uncle's face turned purple with rage at being stopped in his prime.

'Now, as I was saying. What is a suitable punishment for their incompetence?' the stranger's look was back on him, and seemed to be expecting an answer. Harry was sure that if he so much as opened his mouth, his brain would come pouring out, such was the pressure of the pain in his head at the moment.

'No? No opinion. Oh well then.' And the stranger brought up a thin stick of wood, pointed directly at his uncle, and uttered two words, 'Avada Kedavra.' A shot of green light flew through the air, connecting directly with his Uncle's chest, sending him reeling back into the wall behind him, dead before he hit the ground.

Harry could hear his aunt's hysterical screaming behind him, as he stared in shock at his Uncle's dead body lying at his feet. Even the pain seemed to have retreated in the sudden shock at seeing the big man suddenly lifeless. Harry was shaking now, with terror, with pain, as he looked back up at the man who had killed his uncle. He opened his mouth, but suddenly his entire insides went cold, as if suddenly his blood had turned to liquid ice. His stomach seemed to throw it's entire content up the back of his throat, and a scream echoed through his head.

'No, not Harry, please not Harry.' A man's voice seemed to plead with him, as against a black backdrop of near unconsciousness, another shot of green seemed to streak through the sky, this time only in his head. Harry wasn't aware of collapsing to the ground, or a shrouded figure reaching towards him with a bony hand, as a woman continued to scream, to plead with an unknown enemy to have mercy on her son, to have mercy on Harry, even as another shot of green came unbidden into sight.

'Enough. Out.'

Harry came round to a splitting headache, and uncontrollable shakes. The stranger was now seated at the head of the table, watching him with a look of mild amusement on his face. 'Finished convulsing?' He asked, a wicked glint to his eye at Harry's obvious discomfort. 'Well, I had all these plans, but your aunt and uncle, in their incompetence, have spoilt them. I suppose all that is left is to kill you.'

Harry's eyes flew open, straight to the stranger's, as his terror, which Harry had thought had reached its peak, rushed through him full force. 'Kill me?' His voice was rough, barely a croak, but seemed to echo in the large room.

'Yes, Harry. After all, we can't have the Boy Who Lived continuing to live after I take over the world, can I?'

'But, but I.' Harry didn't have the words to convey how much this conversation didn't make sense to him, couldn't begin to tell this stranger that he must have him confused with someone else, because he couldn't possibly be about to die. He hadn't done anything wrong.

'Well, I suppose the right thing to do would be to explain everything at this point. But there hardly seems any point, does there? I suppose I could try and make you feel better about dying. You are, after all, forever the noble one, are you not? How about I make it a choice. How about if I kill you, I let your aunt and cousin go free? Does that make dying better for you?'

Harry looked behind him, at his aunt and cousin. Petunia was on the floor next to her dead husband, openly wailing now. Dudley was nowhere to be seen, and Harry wondered if he'd managed to escape somehow. So was this his choice? Dying to save his aunt and cousin. The aunt who had raised him from a baby, given him a home, a loving family? Of course she deserved this. Harry loved her as a mother- after all, she was the closest he'd ever had to the real thing. Harry would die for her. Could die for her.

Except, a little voice inside his head whispered, wasn't she just talking about having you out of her life forever? Didn't she know this man? Didn't she just admit to sacrificing you to get rid of him?' Harry was more than a little confused. Here was the woman he believed all his life to be someone who loved him like a son, and yet she somehow knew the man seated before him, knew him enough to beg to have Harry taken off her hands. And the ever-increasing pain in his head wasn't helping his confused state. Harry needed time away from this, time to think, but looking at the bald man calmly sat waiting, he didn't think he was about to get any. Perhaps he could escape, somehow? Get out of this room, get his aunt and his cousin away and sort this out with them. Because surely, surely, his aunt hadn't meant what she'd said. Surely she hadn't been talking about him after all. Surely if they could just get away from here, maybe they could sort this out?

Get away from the man who was able to kill with just a pointed stick and two words said aloud. That was what he had to do. Through his pain and terror, Harry tried to look around him, tried to make out possible escape routes. He knew there was a door behind him, and there was another one off to his right. He knew instantly that wouldn't work. Going forwards would surely be tantamount to suicide. The man, although a stranger to Harry, had not shown any sort of mercy so far this evening. Harry was getting tired now. The pain in his head was wearing him down quickly, sapping at his energy. He wondered what would happen if he just lay down right where he stood, put his head down on the smooth wooden floor and went to sleep.

But Harry didn't lie down. Instead he tried to stand up straighter. He lifted his throbbing head and looked directly at the bald man in front of him. And then dived sideways at his aunt. Adrenaline took over, as he grabbed his aunt's arm, forcing her to stand. He was bigger than his aunt, and easily pulled her to his feet. Behind him, he was dimly aware of an exclamation of surprise, as he pulled his aunt away from the dead body of his uncle, and towards the door. Behind him, he was suddenly aware of something rushing towards him, and looked behind him, seeing a jet of blue streaming towards him. Without thinking, he stuck up his free hand, as if to parry it away, as surprised as anyone when the flash of blue light suddenly hit an invisible screen and rebounded on itself. Harry didn't stop to wonder about it though. He didn't have the energy left to contemplate what the hell was going on. He carried on for the door, surprised but then not so when it slammed shut in front of him. He didn't risk looking back this time. Didn't have time to stop, either, as he ran full force into the door. Except the wooden barrier he was expecting seemed to swallow them both whole, and expel them back out on the other side. They were suddenly back in the empty, cold, hallway, Harry stumbling to the floor with his aunt before he could get back any semblance of balance.

'Vernon…' His aunt moaned, apparently unaware that they'd just walked through a solid oak door. Harry roughly pulled the sobbing woman back to her feet, with some difficulty. As he did so, he looked up and down the corridor, trying desperately to remember from which direction they had come from. He took a random guess, running to his left, dragging his aunt by the arm, not caring at that moment that he would probably leave a bruise.

He'd taken only a few steps when there was a sudden roar behind him, filling his head with another bout of excruciating pain as he once again stumbled, almost falling to the floor. Before he could get back any equilibrium, he found himself flying through the air, no longer holding his aunt by the hand, as he smashed into a solid wall. He was only dimly aware of anything as he saw literal stars before his eyes, and a pain to rival his head exploded up his arm.

'Get Him.' He heard a man's voice snarl, before cold ice once again filled his veins, and he found himself bodily pulled to his feet. The woman's voice was back, screaming once again filling his consciousness, as he relived what he could only describe as the worst nightmare he'd ever experienced. He didn't know if ten seconds had passed, or ten hours, till he regained some consciousness.

He was slumped on the floor, that much he could work out. Still in the hallway, a cold draft washing over him, making goosebumps appear along his exposed arms. He noticed one of arms seemed to be lying at an odd angle, but it felt like he was watching himself on tv, rather than experiencing all this. His brain, for want of a better description, had taken leave of its overloaded senses.

Slowly, he risked raising his head, trying to gage where his aunt had gone, where he had come to lie. Instead, though, he was assaulted with the view of the bald man holding his whimpering cousin by the scruff of the neck, the thin stick of wood held point to his throat. Harry didn't know what the stick was, but he knew a threat when he saw one. Somewhere behind him, a shocked sob sounded, which told him his aunt hadn't completely disappeared. Harry quickly found his head clearing, as he was faced with Dudley struggling to get free.

'Let him go!' He screamed at the stranger.

The man just laughed in his face. 'Do you really think it will be that easy?'

'Let him go!' He screamed again, louder this time, his voice hoarse, tears ready to fall accumulating at the back of his eyes.

'You disappoint me, Potter. You shouldn't have tried to run.'

Harry didn't know what made him do it, but suddenly he found himself flying at the bald man. The man that had killed his Uncle. The man that was holding his cousin hostage. Who was making his aunt make those gut wrenching sobs. Something just snapped inside of him, and he was after the man, clawing at him with his bare hands, screaming at him for everything that he had done that night, in words that were barely English. He didn't hear what was said this time, but he belatedly saw Dudley fall to the floor, the wide eyed stare the same as his fathers. Harry didn't have time to even consider the death of his cousin, as several moments later, he was once again thrown full bodily against the wall, the force making plaster fall from the ceiling as he tasted coppery blood fill his mouth from a split lip and his head threatened to implode.

Suddenly the pointy end of the stick that had been targeted at Dudley, was pointed straight at Harry. The man, who up to then had appeared calm, almost unattached, looked livid. Harry barely had time to register all this when he felt the very air around him suddenly crackle to life and a deep voice boomed around the hall.

'Stop!'

The command made the man pinning him down freeze, look around, enough that Harry, seizing the moment, lashed out, managing to get purchase and get away from the man.

He seemed to barely notice, however, as he sedately got to his feet, seemingly back under control once again as he regarded the new comer. Backing away, Harry got his first look at the owner of the booming voice, and was shocked by the old man in front of him. Only momentarily, however, as he realised this wasn't any frail old man. His white hair might be to his waist, his beard a similar length, fine wrinkles papering his skin; Harry only had to look into his eyes, to know he stood in the presence of someone with power. The blue eyes were as hard, as cold as steel.

'You shouldn't have done this, Tom.' The newcomer stated, finally putting some sort of name to the man.

Tom, however, just laughed at the older man. 'What's the matter, Dumbledore' Tom spat out the name as if it repulsed him. 'Can't stand seeing your precious Harry Potter kneeling at my feet? I might have failed at the ministry, but I will get my revenge tonight.'

'By taking away his memories?'

'Oh, that's just the beginning. Harry here not only doesn't remember a thing, he has a whole other life worth of memories to compensate.'

'It's sad, Tom, that you felt the only way to get what you want is to remove the memories of a child. Ah, but this isn't any old child, is it Tom?' Dumbledore answered himself. 'This is your downfall. What, you felt revenge was needed?'

Tom, stood barely three foot from Harry, once again seemed to be on the brink of losing control. Whatever the newcomer was talking about, he certainly seemed to have hit a nerve with Tom. 'Revenge is owed to me!' Tom hissed back. Harry was barely listening to the conversation; it didn't make any sense to him anyway. Instead he was using the distraction the newcomer was providing to creep along, his back flattened to the wall, trying to put as much distance between him and the pointy end of the stick, which at that moment was far more terrifying than any gun he'd seen on TV.

'It must have seemed so easy- kill a child. Not even that. Kill an infant. Easier to kill a child, for example, than a powerful wizard- one, seemingly, with the power to kill you.' Dumbledore was still talking, his voice eerily soothing to Harry, as he continued to creep along the wall, pressed bodily into it, trying to make himself as small as possible. 'How bitterly disappointed you must feel now, knowing that you still won't get that chance you crave. That you have been forced to remove his memories, and yet you still can't touch him.'

'I can touch him.' Tom growled out. Harry came to a dead stop, as the stick was once again pointed straight at him, the cold eyes of hate once again briefly upon him, sending searing pain through his head.

'I don't think so, Tom.' The newcomer stated, drawing Tom's attention away from Harry. Harry took the opportunity, too scared now to worry about the risks as he took off at a dead run. He took little notice of the house around him, as he took off towards what he could only assume to be the back of the house, skidding through a large, cold kitchen, stopped in his tracks by a large, wooden door. Harry tried the handle, dismayed to find it locked. He rattled the door, desperation building as he tried anything to get the large heavy door to magically open. He risked a glance over his shoulder, grateful that the stranger seemed to be holding the attention of Tom for the moment. He tried the door again, a loud crash behind him startling him badly, the door suddenly opening, almost making him fall backwards. With little thought of how the door suddenly had managed to open all by itself, Harry slipped out into the back yard.

It was pitch black now, very little light from the house filtered out into the back garden, so Harry could barely see a foot in front of him. He had slowed now. Whilst, without a doubt, the scariest thing Harry had ever encountered was somewhere in the house behind, he had been terrified enough of everything in the strange house to not go hurtling into the darkness. Harry had taken only a single step before his terror became well founded. A stick of wood seemed to suddenly appear out of thin air, a muscular hand holding it steady, pointed right at his face. 'Stop right there.' A deep voice told him.

Harry froze in fear.