Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and so on and so forth…

A/N: Thanks to volleypickle16, Pain Revisited, wolfawaken, Templa Otmena, Mooncheese, The morrigan three, Lista Trudy, ElveNDestiNy, Scorchy-11, Emma Osbourne, Animagus-Spirit, Barneby and padfoot104 for your wonderful reviews. I apologise for the long gaps between updates but I do know what's going to happen so I'll try and get this finished one day!

A Face from the Past

By the time Harry had heard anything apart from his own rumbling stomach, the afternoon had passed into evening. Sitting up slowly to prevent the bed from creaking again, he listened to the shuffling of somebody passing along the corridor outside to his door. Silently, he lifted the heavy mirror off the wall and stood behind the door, ready to bring it down on whoever walked through first. He was sure that using magic to defend himself wouldn't get him expelled, but considering his track record and the display at the Dursleys, he didn't want to push it. He could always use his wand as a last resort if the mirror didn't work.

A key scraped in the lock and Harry tensed, mirror held aloft. The door swung open slowly and eddies of dust rose from the bare floorboards. Harry held his breath, waiting for a masked and robed figure to stride in, but nobody did. Instead, he heard a low muttering from outside the door as though somebody was arguing with himself. Unable to hold the mirror up any longer, Harry carefully placed it on the floor, propped up against the wall, and grasping his wand firmly he peered through the hinges. What he saw made him gasp in surprise, unfortunately making him inhale a mouthful of dust.

Fighting the urge to cough, Harry studied the stooped figure mumbling into his chest. Dressed in very ragged and stained robes, Professor Karkaroff was almost unrecognisable as the smooth talking, conceited Durmstrang headmaster Harry remembered from the Triwizard Tournament. Gone was the curly goatee and immaculately brushed hair, instead his beard was long and straggly and his hair matted with filth. Karkaroff's behaviour was also disturbing, rocking backwards and forwards he was frowning and talking in a language Harry presumed was Bulgarian. Suddenly, Karkaroff stood up straight and looked wildly around, rubbing furiously at his left forearm.

"No! I didn't! They're everywhere, always looking! Master, please no!"

Harry had leapt back when Karkaroff had started shouting and stumbled into the mirror, making it crash to the floor. He froze as the glass shattered and expected Karkaroff to burst into the room, but instead the man screamed and ran off down the corridor. This odd behaviour made Harry wonder even more about Karkaroff's mental state, but he also realised that the door was now open with nobody guarding it.

Swiftly, Harry slipped through the door, locked it behind him, pocketing the key afterwards so Karkaroff would hopefully think he was still in there, and then crept down the corridor in the opposite direction. Keeping an ear out for anybody else in the building, he quickly became convinced that he was in some kind of old manor house, long uninhabited judging by the state of the walls and occasional piece of old fashioned furniture, layered by several decades of dust. He made his way around to the front of the building and eventually walked out into the entrance hall.

The grandfather clock began to grind nine O'clock and Harry used this to mask the squeal released by the front door as he wrenched it open. He took a last look behind him to make sure nobody was following, then hunched his jacket over his head and dashed out into the rain.

Ten minutes later, Harry had reached the bottom of the drive and was stood at the side of a narrow country lane, lined by tall hawthorn hedges. Sheltering under a large Horse Chestnut he muttered "Lumos." Sweeping the beam of light from side to side Harry realised that the lane could go for miles in either direction without meeting a main road or another house. He eventually decided that the Knight Bus was his only option; he'd just have to convince Stan that he would pay him sometime in the future, as, not having his trunk; he didn't have any money either.

Making sure he was stood well to the side, almost in the soaking wet hedge, he held out his arm containing his wand, ready to yank it back in once the bus appeared. Harry knew the state of Ernie's driving and once the triple-decker bus appeared he didn't know how much room there'd be on the narrow track.

Nothing happened.

Harry tried again, even waving his arm up and down a bit. Harry was wondering if he was doing something wrong when a flash of gold appeared at head height and began to form glowing words in the air:

The Knight Bus service has been temporarily suspended until further notice. We apologise for any inconvenience encountered.

As soon as Harry finished reading, the sign faded and disappeared, leaving a few drifting gold sparks that hit the floor with a hiss. Harry stood in silence apart from the pattering of the rain, completely astonished. What could have happened that was bad enough for the Ministry to stop the Knight Bus? Also, Harry was once again left in the middle of nowhere with the attractive choice of either a long walk through the night in a thunderstorm, rain had already drenched his thin jacket and soaked through his trainers, or going back to the house and hiding somewhere until morning. He quickly chose the latter as his stomach protested loudly once again at how long it had been since he'd eaten. Dashing up the drive again and hitting more puddles than he missed, Harry reflected that he'd wanted something to happen that would elevate the boredom of living at the Dursleys, and that something had, which just goes to show that you should be careful what you wish for.

Always when Sirius had dreamed of being with his friends again, it had been through a shadowy forest and under a full moon, the distinctive clack of James' hooves, his own pad falls and the heavier bounds of Remus echoing amongst the trees as they ran through the dark. Instead, as he and James gallop through the mist, the only sounds he can hear are his own breaths and thudding heart. The stag next to him silently runs, fur rippling in a non-existent breeze that reminds Sirius painfully of the veil on the dais. It also brings back memories of the first time they managed the transformation, and the stunned expression on Remus' and Peter's faces, and probably his own as James turned into a stag. Of all the creatures they had imagined, a deer wasn't one of them but looking at the sharp antlers and the silver fur left them speechless. Sirius remembered that he was desperate to find out what he would turn into and the jubilation of eventually achieving his animal form nearly gave them away as his barks rung out into the night. James seemed to be thinking the same thing because he tossed his head and sped up, challenging the dog who increased his speed, laughing into the void.

Harry leant against the front door and pushed it inwards with a wince at the creak. Shaking his head and scattering water everywhere, he shut the door again and listened carefully for any noises apart from the downpour outside. Nothing. He kept his wand alight and skirting the staircase, made his way along a wide corridor. Passing several large rooms he eventually reached the kitchen. Large and stone-flagged the temperature was colder in here than anywhere else in the house and Harry shivered in his wet clothes. Turning a rusted tap in the sink for a drink of water, all he got was a loud clanking. From the state of the house, the water and electricity had probably been turned off long ago. After a fruitless glance through the cupboards Harry left to look for a room to spend the night in. He'd have to use drying charms and light a fire somewhere before he ended up with hypothermia, more magic but it couldn't be helped, he'd also have to figure out a way to contact Dumbledore or the Weasleys and would be highly unlikely that Karkaroff would have an owl, but he might as well look.

On the second floor he found the room the professor was presumably living in, displayed by the clothes and belongings scattered across the floor. Harry also found, to his great relief, various items of food, Karkaroff had either conjured or bought. Opening a packet of biscuits and taking a few, he surveyed the room. There was nothing of interest apart from a pot on the floor containing a pinch of what Harry recognised as floo powder, not enough for a person to floo but it gave him an idea. Taking this, parchment, ink and a quill as well as the rest of the biscuits he walked back along the corridor, getting as far away from Karkaroff's room as possible, and settled himself in the library to wait till morning.

He cast a charm at the fireplace and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the flickering blaze, letting the warmth seep through his clothes. Once he could feel his fingers again he lit a candle off the sideboard and sat down at a table to compose his letter.

Dear Mr and Mrs Weasley,

I waited but you didn't come, I hope nothing has happened. I was kidnapped by Professor Karkaroff and he's brought me to this house. I managed to escape but the night bus isn't working. Karkaroff is

At this point Harry chewed the end of the quill, but suddenly realising what he was doing, spat it out and screwed his face up in disgust. Hoping Karkaroff wasn't the quill-chewing type he carried on scribbling.

Karkaroff is acting really weirdly and I've managed to avoid him so far.

How were they going to find him though if he didn't even know where he was? He'd have to meet them somewhere, but nowhere that Voldemort knew in case the letter ended up in the wrong hands. Harry dropped the quill and ran his hands through his hair, what would Sirius do? This slip made Harry flinch and the familiar guilt and grief came flooding back. If Sirius wasn't dead, perhaps Harry could have stayed with him this summer and none of this would have happened.

Hanging his head, Harry stared through his letter, again seeing Sirius tumble through the air, seeing him laugh, seeing him as a dog living in a cave.

"That's it!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing the quill again.

I'll meet you at Snuggle's Cave, anywhere else is too dangerous and Privet Drive might be being watched.

Hopefully I'll see you soon,

Harry

He pulled over another candlestick and charmed it into a reasonable water goblet, charming water into it before taking a drink. Re-reading the letter again he was satisfied that he had put as much detail as he could without endangering anybody or himself, and folding it as he went, walked over to the fireplace. Scattering the pinch of floo powder from Karkaroff's room into the flames, he watched as they turned green then threw the letter into them, stating clearly, "The Burrow." The letter disappeared with a small whoosh, then the fire died down to it's previous state. Harry hoped somebody would find it, and that the somebody was Ron because only he and Hermione knew where Snuggle's Cave was.

A/N: Sorry for this short chapter but I felt that I should post at least something. More will be coming….eventually. ;D