Disclaimer- I don't pretend to own the characters. They belong to JK Rowling.
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The next interruption came, not from someone climbing the stairs from below, but from an incessant tapping on the window. Ron, at first, put the tapping down to a tree blowing about in the wind, before he remembered there had been no wind outside, and no trees that he could remember seeing. He walked over to the window, startled to see the white outline of an owl, desperately trying to keep a hold on the thin ledge outside of the window as it used it's beak to tap on the window.
Ron opened the sash window, and the owl, momentarily off balance, flew gracefully into the room. 'Hedwig!' Ginny said, before Ron could, for he had identified the owl almost immediately as Harry's too.
The owl was obviously distressed, hopping onto Ginny's shoulder, giving her a rather sharp nip on the ear before hopping to Hermione, then to Ron, then back to Ginny, hooting wildly. Hermione finally got Hedwig to settle down slightly, gently catching hold of her on her lap, and trying to calm her down by stroking her gently, talking softly to her. 'You looking for Harry? He's not here yet.' Ron looked over at Ginny, then back to Hermione. 'If Hedwig's here, where the hell is Harry?' He asked out loud, keeping his voice down, if not keeping the fear out.
'You don't think they hurt her, do you?' Ginny asked, taking in the owl's rumpled features.
'No, I don't think so.' Hermione said, examining the owl a little closer. 'I think she might have been flying around for a while, though. We should get her some water, food.'
Ron left the room to seek out some water, whilst Hermione gently carried on stroking Hedwig's rumpled feathers, smoothing them back down. Hedwig stood still for a moment, seeming to find the stroking relaxing. She turned once to look over her shoulder at Hermione, letting out a single pained hoot. 'I know, girl, I know.' Hermione assured her in a whisper.
Ron crept down the stairs, wondering how close he could get to the kitchen, if he could get close enough to hear anything useful. The unsettled feeling in his stomach was making him feel nauseous. He could, of course, have used any of the bathrooms he'd passed on the way. But he had long since stopped thinking about Hedwig- she was an owl, they were meant to be outside. Ron doubted she'd starved herself. What worried him more was the implication of Hedwig turning up alone, after what had happened at Harry's house earlier. Harry with no memory. Ron couldn't get the blank look he'd had on his face when he'd first opened the door out of his mind. What if he didn't remember anything? Professor Lockhart hadn't remembered anything, either. And he was now a permanent resident at St Mungo's. Was that where Harry was going to end up? Ron rounded the last landing, about to start down the last set of stairs when he heard voices. He paused where he was, listening hard. He couldn't make out words, but the voices were scared. He heard the one name he had grown up to fear above all others mentioned. Ron didn't know why it surprised him- everything that had ever gone wrong in Harry's life could be directly or indirectly linked to He Who Must Not Be Named.
Not wanting to be found lurking on the staircase, especially as his mum had promised to come up and see them as soon as the meeting was over, Ron backtracked to the nearest bathroom, filling a cup with fresh cold water for Hedwig. Without access to the kitchen in the basement, he was stuck on what to get Hedwig to eat. Maybe he'd have some spare owl treats still in his backpack.
The girls were talking softly, Hedwig still on Hermione's lap when Ron got back to them. He placed the water on the low table between the two beds, extending his arm to Hedwig who hopped on it, to the table and started to drink. 'The meeting's over.' Ron told them. 'I saw them all leaving.' He took a seat on the bed next to Hermione.
'Did you hear anything?' Ginny asked.
'They mentioned You Know Who.' Ron told them.
'When will you just say his name?' Hermione asked in exasperation. She seemed to forget her own question though, as she started worrying her cuticle. Ron knew she was worried about Harry, and like him, wishing there was something more they could do to help rather than just sitting there.
Mrs Weasley, as Ron had predicted, knocked gently on the door a moment later. She was pale, her eyes worried, her whole disposition suddenly spent. 'Where is he mum? Where's Harry?' Ron asked first.
Mrs Weasley could only shrug her shoulders. 'They…don't know.' She finally answered, taking a seat next to Ginny on the bed, pulling her close for a brief hug. The contact seemed to soothe her slightly, and she looked over at Ron and Hermione. 'The only thing we can guess is that Voldemort is somehow linked. Dumbledore and many of the Aurors are out there now, looking for him, but…'
The worry for Harry was obvious in Mrs Weasley's eyes, and Ron found it harder to look at her than he had just sitting and waiting. 'It'll be ok mum.' Ginny said quietly, squeezing her mother's hand. 'He'll be back here soon.'
No one wanted to wonder in what condition that might be, though.
They were shaken out of silence by a sudden yell from downstairs. 'Molly! Dumbledore's got Harry- he's alive!'
They all moved as one, running wildly downstairs.
Harry didn't know how long the silence stretched. All his thoughts were centred on the stick of wood pointed at him, waiting, just waiting for the green light to emanate from it, to be struck down dead like his uncle and cousin. It took a moment too long to realise that the wand was moving, but it was lowering down. 'Bloody Hell.' The voice said this time, sounding shocked. Harry risked a glance over his shoulder, wondering if he'd been caught from behind, but all he could see was the empty kitchen.
His attention was swung round again, this time by the sound of a woman's voice. He looked more carefully, but the shadows consumed a lot, and all he could make out was that whoever it was stood to the left of where he was. 'What the hell? It's Harry.'
Another person who seemed to know who he was. 'What the hell's happening?' The female voice said, whispering still, sounding perplexed.
'Dumbledore's in there with You Know Who.' The original man answered her.
'Should we get out of here?' The woman asked.
The man didn't have a chance to respond when Harry felt movement behind him, and quickly moved, forgetting everything but trying to escape from Tom. He moved to his right, disappearing into the shadows, away from the open door. He tried to move quickly but quietly, but his head was still killing him, and now his arm was getting in on the act making his movements rigid, jerky. He hugged the broken arm to his chest, trying to keep silent, even though all he wanted to do was swear up a storm, or better yet scream in pain. Except he didn't think that screaming would do his head any good. He wondered what had happened to his aunt. Hoped that she hadn't been harmed in anyway. The scratchy brick behind him crumbled slightly as Harry pressed his back hard against it as he moved along, listening desperately for the slightest sound, startled into a gasp as he walked straight into a hard body.
The hand was on his mouth a moment later, and a soft whisper in his ear demanded him to be silent. Harry was confused, scared, and in pain, and didn't want to be quiet. He wanted to rant and rave at everything and anything that had so far happened that evening. He wanted to scream till someone gave him some answers, or better yet took him home, took him safely back to Privet Drive so he could forget all about this terrifying night. But the voice took all this from him. The voice, both soft and demanding, stole any thoughts of fighting back, leaving him once again in terrified silence.
He didn't have much time to think, time to consider whether this was friend or foe, good or bad. Partly because in the state he was in, he didn't think he'd be able to tell the difference at the moment anyway. Thinking about anything at the moment, except perhaps how bloody scared he was, was proving too difficult. So when a sudden pull to his stomach made the bile rush back up to his throat, when the air around him chilled him to the bone, when his ears popped suddenly, when he felt he was travelling faster than he'd ever travelled before, and yet couldn't really detect any movement, he hardly gave two thoughts to what exactly was happening. In all truth, he didn't have the energy to care anymore.
All that changed as soon as his feet touched down on something solid. When he was suddenly able to see something other than utter darkness only to find himself staring at a group of people. His thoughts were a sudden whirlwind he was unable to comprehend. He could just about work out he had came to a stop in a kitchen. Glancing to the left slightly, he could see the man who had had urged him to keep quiet. It was the same man who had stepped into the fight with Tom, the one Tom had called Dumbledore. Seeing him up close, he was surprised at how small, how old the man suddenly appeared. Almost completely different to the man he had witnessed facing off with Tom.
Unconsciously he found himself backing up once again until he was once again stood with his back against something solid. He stood there, panting, one arm braced by the other against his chest, his eyes wildly tracking through the people stood staring at him, looking past them, desperately searching for an escape route.
He felt like a cornered animal. He stared wildly around, desperate from an exit of any kind, feeling trapped by a ring of people and beyond them four solid walls of a dark kitchen. He could feel the panic setting in. After the fear of the last few hours, the pain still pounding in his head, and down his shattered arm, the grief of seeing two of his family struck dead before him, he just wanted to go home. A part of his head was still worrying about his aunt, what had happened to her in the end, if she was ok, or hurt, or worse, dead like his uncle and cousin. The white haired man was watching him intently, his blue eyes intense, speaking, it looked like as his lips were moving. He may well have been speaking Latin, because with his pounding head, and the continued pain in his arm, Harry couldn't get his head to concentrate enough to listen. He looked at the other people in the room, and for a moment wondered if he was seeing double because an awful lot of them had red hair. With a jolt, though, he realise he recognised one of them, the tall gangly boy in the middle. He had rung the doorbell just that afternoon, asking for him by name, even though Harry'd never seen him before in his life. And now that his mind had something concrete to concentrate on, he realised that the brown haired girl stood next to him was also the one that had been with him that afternoon. They looked to be about his age, if he had to guess, although the red head definitely had a few inches on him. The girl was shorter, and for some reason had tears falling down her cheeks as she watched at him, looking almost fearful.
Next to her was another girl, slightly younger maybe, although not much. Also a red head, although her hair was long and straight. She was the same height as the brunette, dressed similar in jeans and a jumper. She wasn't crying, but her expression was one full of pain for something; Harry wondered why they all seemed scared of him.
Next to the red headed boy stood a woman, smaller in height, but almost certainly Harry thought the mother of the red headed clan. She too had tears in her eyes, a look of hurt on her face he didn't recognise, something causing her pain that he didn't understand. Harry made a snap decision, looking directly at the slightly overweight motherly figure, and out of all the strangers in the room trusting in her the most. 'Where am I?' he asked, his voice scratchy, barely a whisper. He realised his throat hurt as well. He'd done a lot of screaming.
'You're safe, Harry.'
He visibly flinched at the familiar use of his name by a stranger.
'You're at Grimmauld Place. In London.' She added, looking at the greying older wizard for a moment, asking a silent question. Harry saw him nod slightly. 'Please let us help you- your arm!' She added, desperately, gesturing at the arm Harry still held cradled against his chest. Harry glanced down at it, shocked at the pain once again now that he focused on it, before looking back at them. He was more scared of them at the moment.
'Who the hell are you people?' He asked, watching all of them flinch at the harsh question. Tears sprung afresh from the Brunette at his question, the older woman's mouth formed a silent O
'Harry…' The silver haired man moved towards him but Harry shrunk back, unconsciously forming a barrier between him and the man with his mind that Dumbledore immediately felt, stopping where he was. 'We can help you if you let us.' He finally said.
'Why did you bring me here?' Harry asked, staring straight at him suddenly, his look accusatory. He didn't let Dumbledore answer, though, 'where's my aunt and uncle, Dudley?' He knew of course. He'd seen his Uncle struck down with two words, seen his cousin suffer the same. Seen the life flee from their bodies in a single heartbeat, accompanied by a flash of green. But while that was what the logical side of his brain believed, his heart refused to accept it as anything more than a fantasy. His heart was demanding for it not to be real. That the man with the snake eyes didn't really exist, hadn't really killed them with a simple incantation. He wanted to be told that this was all a dream, a nightmare. That his aunt would soon enter his cosy bedroom at Privet Drive, shake him gently by the shoulder and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that it was time for breakfast. He desperately, desperately wanted to be told that this wasn't real. That this couldn't be real.
The man's voice, though quiet, calming in its consistency, only wanted to make him scream out loud. 'Your Uncle is dead, Harry. Dudley is dead.'
'No!'
The man ignored him, pressed on as if he hadn't said anything. Neither of them heard the gasp of horror that echoed around the room. 'Your aunt is safe. She has been taken to a hospital to be checked out.'
'Then take me to her.' Harry hardly recognised his voice, the child like pleading quality, demanding the stranger. 'Take me home!'
'I can't, Harry. It is not safe.'
Harry suddenly stood up straight, and everyone but Dumbledore gasped at the sudden shock that ran through the room. 'TAKE ME HOME!' He yelled out, forgetting his arm, forgetting the pounding in his head, forgetting his wish for all this to be just a dream if only they would listen and let him go home.
'I can't.' The man was still too calm for Harry, just standing there, his blue eyes piercing in their intensity. 'It is not safe. For you or your aunt.'
Harry couldn't hear him though, was past caring if it was safe, or right, or anything. He'd had enough, his body had had enough, his mind had had enough. Everyone felt the chill in the air suddenly, Mrs Weasley suddenly feeling goose bumps flood her arms. Before she knew what was happening though, a flash whirled past on her periphery, and Harry slumped suddenly unconscious to the floor.
For a split second, everyone was still too shocked to move, finding it too hard to comprehend what the hell was happening. But then Mrs Weasley moved, realising it didn't matter, that Harry was hurt, was unconscious on the cold stone floor. Just behind her Hermione and Ron also hurried over, kneeling down beside the fallen boy.
Dumbledore turned to Tonks, who had stood quietly in the corner, watching the scene with little comprehension of what was happening. First they'd had reports of Harry being kidnapped, and then she'd actually seen Voldemort fighting Harry. Then it was Dumbledore fighting Voldemort, and Harry had walked out right in front of them looking terrified. And Kingsley had made him look even more panicked with his silly demands, and Harry had tried to escape, and then Dumbledore had strolled out, ordered them back to Grimmauld Place, he'd bring Harry. And as if that wasn't enough, Dumbledore had apparated through unbreachable wards, and Harry didn't even remember where he was. It was too much. Tonks was more than glad when Dumbledore issued her a single command. She didn't think she could cope with anymore. 'Go floo Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts.'
Tonks went. As soon as she got back, she heard Dumbledore order Kingsley to take his aurors and make sure The Burrow was still unbreached. Kingsley turned to Tonks, and together with the other Aurors they walked outside to apparate over.
'Why did you have to stun him?' Mrs Weasley asked; her voice more stunned than critical of the action.
'I had no choice.' Dumbledore answered, standing over the fallen body providing a guard.
'Was it him, was it… Voldemort?'
'Yes. I believe he destroyed Harry's memories, replacing them, to lure him from his home.' Dumbledore told them.
Hermione looked up at him, with a frown of concentration fighting with tears that were still falling. Dumbledore held up his hand, averting any questions. Instead they were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey flooing into the house.
As a group they watched in silence as Madam Pomfrey healed the broken arm, before setting to work on Harry's other injuries. Mrs Weasley spoke first. 'Why have you sent people to get The Burrow ready?' She asked Dumbledore.
Dumbledore looked over at her. 'This is no place for a home to be made. And while I have made a great assumption with placing Harry in your care for the rest of the summer, I can't think of anywhere else I could place him.'
Mrs Weasley tried to interrupt, but Dumbledore pressed on. 'Too many of the Order are in and out of here, at all hours of the day and night. It is no place for children to be, in deed, no place to live on a permanent basis. And whilst I must ask to inconvenience you in placing Harry in your care, I won't ask you to give up your home as well.'
'But isn't Grimmauld Place safer?' Mrs Weasley asked. She made no comment about Harry being placed with her. Dumbledore knew that if he'd even tried to place him somewhere else she would have argued with him all the way.
'The Burrow is as safe as here. And I will go before you to add any other protection I can. I won't lie: Harry was meant to be safe with his aunt, and Voldemort still managed to get in. I don't believe there is an impenetrable place left, not even Hogwarts. We just have to get on with things as best we can.'
'How do we do that, Albus?' Mrs Weasley asked in a whisper. 'Harry doesn't remember us, doesn't remember anything about us.'
For the first time that evening, the powerful headmaster that stood before them suddenly looked nothing more than a frail old man. For a moment he simply stared down at Harry's prone body, his blue eyes dull, an expression that could only be described as sorrowful on his face. He finally looked back up at Mrs Weasley, and spoke quietly. 'We do our best.' He sighed, a long sigh of an old man who had too bigger burden on his shoulders. 'Perhaps being back at The Burrow will help spark a memory or something.' He added, not convincing anyone with the words.