Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. I love them all. I can't answer them, because it would take too long. Here's the next chapter. Do try and not get used to this. Finals are coming up.

Harry pounded down the hallway, gasping for air in his desperate attempt to avoid the people chasing him. He was unsure of who exactly was chasing him. The only things he knew was that they were almost as fast as he was, they were wizards, and they were not out to kill him per se, but were wishing to stop him from getting away. The spells they were firing were not intended to hurt him. They only wished to stop him. Slowing charms, stopping charms, Petrificus Totalis, and Stupefy were the only spells used. Who were these people, why were they chasing him, and how was he going to get away?

He dashed around the corner and had to dodge away from a man standing in the middle of the hallway. The man reached out to grab him as Harry managed to somehow turn and flee in the opposite direction. The others were closer now. Harry crossed the hallway and fled down a side hallway that was lined with doors. Where was he? He chanced a look behind him to see where his pursuers were. He felt himself slam into a rather hard body. Arms wrapped around him and picked him up before the ringing in his ears could stop from the impact. His glasses slid off his face and fell to the ground to be smashed underfoot by the man who was currently carrying Harry off somewhere. Harry struggled against the man's arms, only to feel that the arms grew tighter the more he fought. Breathing became painful and spots started to appear in front of his eyes. The man made soothing noises as he opened doorways (Harry was not sure how he managed such things. Both of the man's arms were currently wrapped around Harry's rib cage.)

Wherever they were headed, they were going down. Harry relaxed his body the best he could in hopes of gaining more space to breathe. His prayers were answered as the arms loosened the slightest bit, though they still had a firm hold on him. Harry blinked through the fuzziness in front of his eyes. He couldn't really see what was happening around him. The people chasing him had somehow fallen in step behind the man holding him. He knew he was scrawny, but this being picked up and carted about places was starting to tick him off in the extreme. He could walk, thank you very much. He squirmed a bit to look up at the man to tell him exactly that, but the grip only tightened again to keep Harry in position. Harry relaxed again in hopes of saving his respiration. The hold relaxed again and he could breathe normally. Harry tried to talk to the man, but he was only shushed, as a child would be every time he opened his mouth.

The man opened another door without hands and they entered a dimly lit place. Harry couldn't make out any shapes through the murkiness and hoped that nothing would happen where he would need to defend himself. He was basically defenseless. The way the man was holding him prevented Harry from gaining his feet for the purpose of walking, much less running. His right arm was clasped firmly to his chest, and his left was bent at his side. The added fact of his glasses not only missing, but also lying broken somewhere several levels up did nothing to help his confidence. He groaned when his body was shifted and his breathing further constricted for a second. Spots appeared in front of his eyes again as his body was righted and set on something soft. His brain supplied the word "bed," though it seemed different, somehow. He gasped in air, unrestricted for the first time for almost twenty minutes. One strong hand kept Harry in place while the other hand moved to relieve Harry of all his weapons. Harry tried to stand, but the man only pushed him backwards against the wall and pinned him there with a hand around his throat. His airway was not constricted, but the position of the hand was enough to deter Harry from any movement to free himself from the man he could barely make out in front of him. His shoes and socks were slipped off his feet as another figure moved in towards Harry. Heavy objects were fitted around Harry's wrists as the first man stepped back. Horror coursed through Harry as he realized that they were chains of some sort. He jerked at them, only to have the movement stopped by the first man's hand back around his throat. It was a firm pressure, this time, and it was tight enough to make Harry freeze. Something was fitted over Harry's face and buckled behind his head. His wrists were chained to either side of him. He thanked whatever small mercies still existed that he was in a sitting position and the chains had a small bit of play to them. He could stand, if need be.

The two figures backed away to leave Harry alone in the darkness. Harry counted to two-hundred before moving. His thoughts raced. He was chained up, something was over his face, and he was without weapons. And shoes. Great. He moved one hand up to his face and discovered that the thing over it was nothing more than a mask. He tried to move it off, but discovered that it had somehow been locked around his head. He decided to worry about removal later. His hand traveled over it and he realized that it had his scar right were his scar was supposed to be, carved into the material. "What?" He mumbled. Speaking was difficult with the cumbersome object on his face. Light flooded the room at the word. Harry blinked against the sudden blinding light and fought his way to his feet, ready to meet whatever it was on his feet. His eyes cleared and he saw a mirror standing in front of him, only he didn't recognize the face. The scar was there, but the face was not the same he had seen when he had brushed his teeth just a little while ago, before he had gone to bed. It was him and not him at the same time.

Something swept his feet out from under him as a hand pushed him backwards on the bed. Harry blinked through the mask and found his broken glasses fitted over the mask. "We must take care of the Boy Who Lived." Dumbledore's kindly face stared down at him, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes. The voice, however, belonged to Voldemort and so did the body. Only the face belonged to Dumbledore. Harry jerked away from him and pulled hard at his chains. He needed to get away! "Harry?" Voldemort's voice came out of a concerned Dumbledore's face. "What's wrong, my dear boy?" A hand reached out and settled on Harry's hands, trying to keep Harry from jerking. Dumbledore's expression grew frightened. "Harry. Stop this. Just let me take care of you. You're going to hurt yourself." Dumbledore's face, Voldemort's voice. Voldemort's wand appeared in his hand. "I'll make it all better." Harry froze as the wand raised. "Avada-" Harry screamed.

"Evan!" Warm hands wrapped around his already chained wrists and held them down to the surface of the bed beneath him. "I'm not going to hurt you, kid." Who was Evan? "Bug, go get Paul." Harry pulled away from the chains again. He fought them, knowing if he didn't get away, he was going to die. "Evan! Wake up! I'm not going to hurt you." Harry couldn't breathe again. The hand was back on his throat, tightening each second it remained. "Grab the blanket, Mike. It's wrapped around his neck." The hand moved as another voice joined in the clamor surrounding him in the dungeon room.

"Buddy! Wake up!" Strong but gentle arms lifted him from the bed and cuddled him as the chains were released from his hands. "Evan? Can you open your eyes for me?" Harry drew in a shuddering breath and started to cough as he came back to full wakefulness. He collapsed against Paul as he realized that everything had only been a dream. "Evan?" Paul asked in concern. Harry tried to open his eyes, but could not find the strength to do so. "Evan?" A panicked voice called to him. "Harry!" Harry did not hear his real name. He had slipped into unconsciousness.

Snape rolled out of bed when he heard a bell tolling somewhere in his bedroom. What was that? He stood and allowed his eyes to travel around his room in a search for the disturbance. His eyes came to rest on the charmed parchment he had connected to the note he had left behind at Potter's sanctuary. Oh, no. The boy couldn't even go twelve hours without disturbing Snape. It seemed that Fate had other plans for Snape instead of sleep. Oh, only to have Potter missing again! He dressed in his usual robes and ducked into his hallway. He stopped at Draco's door and went into the room to check on the boy. Draco's eyes opened once he felt Snape's stare. "Sev? What is it?" He asked groggily.

"I'm going out. Attend classes and training as normal. A house elf will wake you if I am not back in the morning." He told the boy as he ran a hand through the child's hair. Draco sat up, fully alert at the urgent tone in his mentor's voice.

"Is it the Mark?" He demanded. "You promised."

"No, it's not the Mark. Just something that requires my attention. Sleep well, Draco." Snape ran a final fond hand through Draco's hair before leaving the room and dashing down Slytherin's Escape (another secret passage known to only those worthy enough to be chosen as Head of Slytherin House). He found himself on the far side of Hogsmeade and Apparated to the place he had only visited earlier that day.

The entire place seemed asleep when he let himself in through the front door. The attendant looked up at him, and then away once he flicked his wand in her direction. He swallowed an invisibility potion and made his way towards the boy's room. Potter had better have a Death Eater's wand pointed at his head to have disturbed Severus's rest. He gained the third floor hallway and stepped into the boy's room. Where was the boy? Had the Death Eaters already made off with him? Snape decided to find some answers. Even Muggles who had their memories erased still retained part of what had happened in their subconscious and Snape knew he could break into a subconscious if need be. He swallowed the antidote to the potion and went down the hallway towards the nurses' station.

"Visiting hours are over, sir." Jack told the strange man that approached the desk. "I can show you the way out."

"I'm here for an emergency. Where is the boy in room eight?" Jack stopped and thought of which boy was roomed there. His brain clicked and realized it was Evan, the only boy he had ever known to have people actively hunting him. Paul had called a meeting with the entire staff, alerting them to the fact that Evan James' life was in danger and they should look out for strange people lurking about. Jack knew that the definition of "strange" varied person to person, but this man certainly fit all criteria because of his rather peculiar mode of dress.

"May I see some identification of relationship to the patient and an authorization from his primary caregiver, as well as a release from his doctor stating that you are, in fact, allowed to visit and are deemed a necessary person in case of an emergency?" Jack rattled off. He didn't really need all of that, but in Evan's case, he was willing to ask for a little insurance to keep 007 safe. "If you cannot provide the required documentation, I'm afraid that I'll have to have security escort you from the grounds." Snape growled and flicked his wand at the nurse. Muggles were so annoying sometimes. He snapped his cloak and swept down the hallway. He wanted nothing more than to return to Hogwarts and his exceedingly comfortable bed, but that bothersome thing known as his conscience would not let him leave until he either saw Potter, or had found what had happened to the boy.

"You didn't leave a note in Harry's room?" A voice asked near Severus. Interesting. Harry and note in the same sentence. This could prove fruitful. "I see. No. I'm serious. There was a note in Harry's room that said, 'Emergency Only'. I wrote 'help' on it. I was hoping that it would bring you. Yes, I see. No, we're not sure what happened. Uh-huh. I look forward to seeing you here soon." Snape crept up behind the man and waited for the man to hang up the telephone. The man did as he hoped and turned around.

"Where is Potter?" He questioned the man. The man only took a step back in surprise.

"I'm not sure I know who you're talking about." The man answered in a calm and even voice. What was with the Muggles here? Did they not find him intimidating enough.

"My name is Severus Snape, and I left that note you just mentioned to someone over the telephone." Paul looked him over.

"You are here to help Harry?" Paul asked. So, this was a full-blooded wizard? Sure, he had seen Remus and a few Death Eaters, but Remus looked so different from this one. This wizard looked powerful.

"Yes, I am here to help, Harry." Snape told the man. "I cannot do that unless I am able to see the boy. I trust he is in the hospital wing?" Snape asked. His suspicions were confirmed just a few seconds later by the man's reaction.

"Well, yes. How did you know?" Paul questioned. Snape only motioned for the man to lead the way. "I am Harry's doctor. My name is Paul Lauter. You are his Potions professor?" Paul thought he recognized the name.

"Yes. He has spoken of me?" Snape asked. He wondered what Potter had said to this man about the magical world. It was most likely some blather about Gryffindor house and Quidditch.

"Briefly. I'm not allowed to say what he said, but he has mentioned you." Probably nothing but abuse. Paul opened the door to the hospital wing and motioned towards the only occupied bed. "I'm not sure what happened. Jack, his night nurse this quarter, said that Harry had a violent nightmare and woke screaming. He fought to get away from Jack. He displayed all the symptoms of a panic attack. He didn't really wake up. There was a brief moment of transition between nightmare and this state. I'm not sure what is wrong with him." Paul explained to Snape. "I figured it was something to do with his magic and I found the note you left behind. I guessed that this, if anything, was an emergency." Paul reasoned with himself more than Snape.

"This? An emergency for Potter?" Snape said dryly. "Not likely. I was amazed to see no corpses lying about when I arrived." Snape pulled out his wand and tapped Harry's forehead.

"Are there usually corpses?" Paul asked. What had Harry gone through and not told him about? More importantly, how was this affecting Harry?

"Ever since his first year." Snape paused to consider something he could see, but Paul could not. Paul figured it was magic. "No, wait. I was wrong. We never did find a piece of Quirrell. He disintegrated. His second year, it was a basilisk corpse, and if I can't figure out how to get into the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve some parts, I may have to bribe the boy to let me in." Paul made a mental note to approach Harry about that at a later date. "Hmm. What was his reaction, exactly?" Snape asked. Paul consulted the incident report Jack had just given him not more than ten minutes prior.

"He screamed, which alerted the night nurse. The nurse tried to wake him, but nothing helped. Any kind of touch only produced extreme panic. Symptoms include panic attack, shaking, gasping for air. Nothing else. The brief moment of transition before appearing like this. Exactly as I told you earlier." Paul reached out and stroked Harry's hair.

"Potter is fine, or will be, at any rate." Snape dug out a vial. "A glass of water, please." Paul filled a glass from the nearby pitcher and handed it to Snape. The Potions Master dumped an entire vial into the glass and heated it with his wand. "His scar did not bleed?" Snape asked.

"No. He didn't touch his scar. He seemed most concerned about having his wrists free." Paul told Snape. Snape raised an eyebrow before turning back towards Harry.

"Do you have a cloth?" Paul handed him one of the many washcloths stored in the nearby linen closet. Snape heated the water again to boiling (Paul wondered how he managed to do that in a glass). Snape placed the rag into the boiling water and allowed it to soak for a brief moment. He removed it from the glass, wrung it out, and took a deep breath near the cloth, and moved it away from his face with a slight cough. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of Harry's pajamas and laid the cloth on the boy's chest.

"What is that?" Paul asked, curious despite the stern demeanor.

"Special smelling salts I had to devise for Potter when he started receiving visions from the Dark Lord. The heat helps to distribute the fumes and will bring him back to consciousness slowly, as opposed to all at once, as the Muggle version tends to do to him. His body does not handle shocks well directly after a vision." Snape stopped and considered the boy on the bed. "The headmaster does like to coddle him a bit. Of course, I can see the reasoning behind a gradual awakening. His subconscious will have time to process any memories of the Dark Lord and his actions this way, and starts the healing process." Snape stopped speaking at this point and only sat in the chair next to the bed. Paul reached out and started to run a hand through Harry's hair. Snape had spoken the truth. No one, not even Poppy, knew about this special smelling salt he created. He was often called to the hospital wing to administer it after Poppy had put the boy to sleep with the Cruciatus Curse still affecting his nervous system. This relaxed his muscles, giving them enough strength to rejuvenate themselves without risk of injury.

Potter rarely awoke during these treatments, and if he did, never seemed to remember them the next day. The boy didn't know about it, but if it was some release from the burdens the boy carried, and it could be given anonymously, well, all to the better. Attachments were not the best things in the world to have when you numbered anywhere on Voldemort's wish list. A happily drugged and groggy Potter made a rather entertaining sight at any rate. Snape preferred things kept the way they were.

"Pfessr?" A groggy voice slurred from the bed. Ah, right on time.

"Did you have a vision, Potter?" He asked as he reached out a hand and massaged the boy's upper chest and shoulders, skimming over his neck lightly. The familiar movements must have calmed the boy from his momentary panic (only Snape knew the look he had had in his eyes) and allowed Harry to understand his professor in his slightly drugged state. Harry relaxed as a familiar hand traveled over his chest. The tightness eased a bit and he sighed in contentment. That felt good.

"No." He answered. His eyes drifted shut as Snape repeated the patterns. "M fine." He mumbled as Snape washed his face with the rag. Harry twitched a hand to push the man away. His hand never left the bed. He hated having his face touched.

"Sure you are, Potter. Does anything hurt?" Snape questioned. He motioned for Paul to be quiet when the therapist would have asked a question. It was better for Snape to handle this. Potter knew the questions already and would respond so long as no one else interrupted their conversation. The moment some one else made their presence known, Potter's mask slid into place. Snape dipped the rag into the still hot water and replaced it on Harry's chest. He knew Potter never liked to feel heat again after his skin had been exposed to the cool air, but it helped him to breathe.

"My wrists." He said after taking a deep breath and coughing a bit from the fumes of the salts. "He hurt them." Snape's hand froze in mid-air towards the cloth, ready to start the massage again.

"Who hurt them?" Snape asked urgently. This could have been a visitor from Voldemort, rather than a vision. The follower could still be in the building.

"Dumbdore." Harry answered. Dumbledore? Snape felt his shoulders relax as he realized that the boy's current state was due from a particularly bad nightmare, obviously about the Hogwarts headmaster, that had induced a panic attack, causing his unconsciousness. He had warned Dumbledore that the boy needed treatment for those attacks! Snape reached out and started the massage again, watching as Potter relaxed to the touch.

"You've had a nightmare, Potter. Nothing more. You'll be fine in the morning." Snape told the boy. Only a hand twitched in response. "Will you drink something for me?" Harry nodded a bit without opening his eyes. Snape pulled out a vial and uncorked it. He reached behind Harry's head and tilted it up a bit. "Sip." He told Harry. The boy complied, but didn't swallow. Snape knew Potter's taste buds were rebelling at that moment. He massaged the boy's throat until he swallowed the potion. "You're going back to sleep now." Harry mumbled something in response and fell asleep before he finished his sentence.

Snape pocketed his vials and soaked the rag again. "He'll be fine in the morning. He might sleep most of the day away, but he'll fall asleep normally tomorrow night. I've given him some Dreamless Sleep potion. He won't dream again tonight, though he is still able to have visions. He won't remember the conversation we just had." He wrung out the rag and replaced it on Harry's chest. "You may remove the rag after it has cooled. That's all he will need tonight." Snape dug out a vial and handed it to Paul. "Just in case you need something like this again. Put the powder into a container of cold water. The amount a normal sized glass holds is fine. Heat the water to boiling twice. If the fumes make you cough, then it is ready. Soak a cloth in the mixture and lay it with the top lined up with his collarbones. That is enough to help." Paul nodded and placed the vial in his pocket protectively. "He won't really remember anything when he wakes, but his waking up is not a problem. If he does have memories, they'll be jumbled. He'll sort them out in time. He always does. Just do not allow him to move too much at once first thing. He will retain a bit of sluggishness the first five minutes or so. His coordination might be a bit off tomorrow. It will pass." Snape finished his instructions and turned to leave. "Do try to refrain from using the parchment unless there is a Death Eater holding you all hostage. The slightest mark will alert me." He gathered his robes about him and went for the door. Another person on the other side of the door made him stop. "Wolf!"

"No time, Severus. Where is he?"

"Blissfully unconscious." Snape snapped at Remus as the man pushed past him to enter the infirmary.

"Hello, Paul. I came over as soon as I could." Remus said as he came to a stop next to Harry's bed.

"Wolf, do you mean to tell me that you have known where the Potter brat was this entire time?" Snape eyed the man who had played the entire Order like a violin. Would wonders never cease?

"Most of the time, yes." Remus passed a hand through Harry's hair. Remus prepared himself for an argument with the other Order member. He was surprised when he heard something suspiciously close to laughter from the other's side of the room. "What?" Remus demanded.

"I don't think Dumbledore knows how good you are." Snape told him. "I won't tell him about this. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes he has been duped."

Remus stared at Severus for a full thirty seconds before speaking. "You're not here to take him back?" Remus asked. Snape raised an eyebrow and his air took on a 'how dare you question me' flavor. Snape strode back over to the bed and looked down at the boy.

"I am my own man, Wolf, no matter how many masters I serve." Snape told him. "The boy is getting necessary treatment and has not died yet. In fact, I think he has put on a whole stone and gained a bit in height." Snape mused a bit. "Who am I to wreck the chance that he might become stronger here?" Snape told him.

"Stone and three pounds." Paul said. "He's gained a full three inches in height." Snape looked at Lupin as though saying that Paul had made his point.

"Well, Severus. Glad to have you as part of the PPs." Remus told him. Snape folded his arms and his eyebrow went up again.

"PPs. Dear heaven, I am afraid to ask." He said in a sardonic voice.

"Potter Protectors." Remus supplied for the sarcastic professor.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Of course. I should have known." Snape told him, shaking his head in bemusement. He rearranged his robe and sighed. This boy gains followers as the Pied Piper.

"Yes, who would have thought?" Remus dug into his accompanying briefcase, one that identified him as Harry's mentor and advisor, and pulled out a small book. "Everyone has one of these." Remus told Snape. He tapped it once with his wand and it glowed a bit before appearing normal. "Only members can read it." Snape took the book and looked it over. "It's a Mini-Messenger. Only members have them. They're not due out for the public until Christmas."

"You are his mentor and advisor?" Snape asked. Remus paused for the briefest second before nodding. "I wondered who it was." Snape said. "Congratulations on undermining the laws on werewolves." Snape said with a smirk. He pocketed the Messenger without looking at the inscription.

"The password is light saber." Remus told him. Snape quirked an eyebrow, but nodded his acceptance. "I'll see you later." Snape nodded to Paul and swept from the room.

"PPs?" Paul asked. Remus sat down in the chair next to Harry's bed and held the boy's hand.

"Potter's Protectors. We are a group of wizards and witches, though Severus and I are currently the only adult members that I know of. The rest are a group of Hogwarts students who not only know where Harry is, but work to keep his location a secret from Dumbledore." Remus smiled as he remembered the last note from Hermione. Their pranks had worked out well and they had all enjoyed a day free from classes. Hermione would have preferred to have classes, but she was willing to sacrifice one day in favor of helping Harry.

"Ah, yes. You told me about that searching through the schools plan last night." Remus nodded. He had arrived after Snape, but since nothing had happened, he figured that they were safe. He had guessed correctly. They were safe.

Hermione crept out of bed and went down the stairs. It was six o'clock in the morning, but the entire group of PPs was meeting in the Great Hall and she had to be there. True, it was not an ideal meeting place, but once they had managed to spread out notes and the like, no one would think anything of it. The Protectors did not have a morning session and this was the only time everyone could meet up. Fred and George were planning to sneak into Hogwarts (Hermione did not bother asking how they would accomplish this, nor did she want to know). The new members were coming to their first meeting as well. She felt al little nervous about it, but decided that nothing really bad could happen. There was no evidence, really, of anything they had managed. She checked her Mini-Messenger and saw two new messages from Harry. The first made her pale and then curse herself for not checking earlier, or checking before she went to bed, as she usually did during the week. Why did she have to slack off on the one day Harry needed her most. The second message surprised her. It consisted of only two words: Never mind. She jotted out a quick message to see what had been the trouble and stashed it away.

She now had two Mini- Messengers. One she kept for talks with Harry, and the other was for the group. Mr. Arcane had become the group's unofficial sponsor and had sent Hermione an adequate number for the entire crowd and a few extras for new members. She had sent two to Remus Lupin, just in case he knew someone who was on Harry's side. She smiled as Neville, Colin, and Dennis made their appearance. She heard another pair of footsteps come down from the girls' tower. Ginny Weasley was not at her best first thing in the morning. She motioned for everyone to leave the tower. No one noticed a silent figure making its way after them.

Harry jerked as he woke up. Something was not right. He could feel it. He pushed himself to his feet and noticed that something was on his face. Oh, it was the mask. Why hadn't he been able to remove it earlier? He reached up and tried to undo the clasp, only to be disappointed. That was okay. It wasn't a disaster. Paul could remove it for him later. Now, he had to find a way out of this room. It had nothing in it. It was completely white, which was familiar, but it was not. It was not his room, though how he could tell the difference between one room like this and the next was beyond his reasoning powers. He felt disconnected from his own body. He felt like he had had a vision, but he knew that he hadn't. A voice made him jump. Who are you?

Harry whirled around, wand in hand, as he looked for the voice. Someone could obviously see him, but he could not see the person addressing him. "Harry Potter." He said, wand still raised in case of emergency. The voice chuckled. Harry failed to see what was so amusing. Harry felt the mask tighten the slightest bit, forming closer to his features.

What are you doing here? The voice asked once it got over its amusement. Harry turned and tried to find this oh so annoying omniscient voice. Harry decided that now was the time to leave and tried to locate the door. Disembodied voices were never good things in his experience. His dreams and visions had told him that. Where are you going? The voice asked as Harry tried to walk forward. He tried, but found that he was confined to a three foot square. Harry ignored the voice as he tried to stay calm and figure a way out of this mess. Mirrors appeared in front of Harry. He backed away from one to find that he backed into another. The image in every mirror was different. Who are you?

"I don't know." Harry whispered as he turned from one mirror to another. There were different images in each. He looked like a first year again, being congratulated by Dumbledore. His second year, covered in grime and glory. Surrounded by suspicion. Third year, the protected boy with a murderer after him. Fourth year, the Triwizard Champion. Fifth year, vision laden and distressed. His face as his godfather died. The mask he had slid on once he realized that if he didn't put up a brave front, the others would only continue to treat him as a heartbroken child at Hogwarts. His breakdown at home. His thoughts stopped there. He thought of Privet Drive as home. Odd. He stopped and noticed that the mask continued to tighten around his face.

So many masks. So many spells. So many limitations. The voice said in the air. Harry pulled at the mask. He didn't want to wear this stupid thing! He didn't have to wear it! He pulled his wand out again and tapped it against the mask. Nothing. He tapped it one more time, only to have his wand break. He stared at it in horror. His wand was broken. It dropped from his nerveless fingers and the pieces rolled away from him and under the mirrors. Held by your own limitations. The voice said. Harry ignored it and tried to push the mirrors out of his way. The mask was becoming tighter. The mirrors disappeared all at once. Harry felt elated for the briefest of seconds before seeing what was waiting for him on the other side. The Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort and all of his followers stood, filling the entire room.. The strange thing was, they were not divided. They all stood next to each other, each seeming completely oblivious to the fact that their enemy was right next to them. They were all focused on Harry.

"Ah, the Boy Who Lived." Dumbledore said. Harry stared at the man. Dumbledore had always been the one to call him 'Harry', or Mr. Potter, if there were other people around. "Come here, lad. It's time we got you home." Harry backed away a step or two and glanced at Voldemort.

"Come along, Harry Potter." Voldemort's voice was not pleasant, but it was not menacing either. Harry turned and tried to run in the opposite direction. He didn't get far. A few masked Death Eaters and friendly faces from the Order stood in his way and held him, gently, in place as Dumbledore and Voldemort came up to grab him. You allow them to do this. You limit yourself. The voice told Harry.

"I do not!" Dumbledore and Voldemort took no notice of Harry's statement. In fact, they spoke to him as though they had not heard him scream at something.

Yes, you do. You are allowing them to cart you away now, just as you always do. The voice said. You limit yourself. You tighten that mask they gave you the first instant you met a magical person and knew him for what he was. You cherish that mask and guard it as a dragon guards his gold. Harry shook his head to deny it, feeling the mask grow tighter across his face. You love it, all of the attention and fame, the persona of a wounded hero. You can't bear to give up that mask. It's all you have left and you don't want to give it up. Harry struggled against Voldemort and Dumbledore's hands as he denied the claims the voice made. Chains appeared on his wrists once more as Dumbledore situated him in an armchair, patting his hair all the while. You love being the Boy Who Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Triwizard Champion, Dumbledore's little pet. The voice had spat out the last name, one which Harry had never really heard more than once. You lap it up, all of the attention, the showering of praise. You carry yourself as a wounded martyr and treasure it as your personality. The mask had tightened to the point of constricting Harry's airway.

"I didn't ask for this!" He wailed as Voldemort started lecturing him on wordless spells. "I never wanted this!" He answered the voice.

You allow it! The voice asserted through the din surrounding Harry. Harry felt something build up behind his eyes and rush through his body. A flash of bright light left his body and filled the entire room before coming back to him, leaving him slightly winded. Dumbledore and the Order were gone. Voldemort and his followers had disappeared. The mask fell from Harry's face as the chair and chains vanished. Harry lay on the floor, simply breathing as he tried to figure out what he had managed to do. A slight fog drifted about him along the floor. He wasn't sure why it was there, but it did exist. Once he had figured out the fog, he realized that he was in a forest of some kind. It was not the Forbidden Forest. It felt different. Ancient almost. Well, nothing was eating him at the moment, so he figured that he was safe enough. He was extremely tired and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the amazingly comfortable ground beneath him.

A figure appeared from behind one of the trees. Harry raised his eyes to look at this man, but decided that he wouldn't move until curses of some kind were used. The man knelt down next to Harry and moved his hair to reveal the scar. Harry stared at him. The man had hair that looked like Remus' own hair. "Salt and pepper" Remus had called it once. Dark brown eyes looked Harry over as he laid down the staff he was carrying. The man was magical. Harry could feel it somehow, though he wasn't sure how it was possible. The man rolled up his robe's sleeves before leaning down and picking Harry up. Not again! The man seemed to sense Harry's distress, for he merely chuckled in a deep voice. "Do not fear, child. You have reverted back to your age at which you first discovered magic. You have a lot to unlearn." Harry froze at the voice. It was the voice. The man gave Harry a kind smile, as though he knew Harry had figured it out. Sleep, child. You need your strength. The voice said inside his head.

Harry never heard the frantic voices calling his name as the doctor worked to stabilize his body to keep him from slipping away. Remus dashed off a quick message to Severus on the parchment he had left behind.

SS,

We're losing him. Return immediately.

RL

Author's Note: Do not get used to these intense number of updates. Finals will make me disappear.