Neville's bedroom door burst open, and he emerged in the hall, looking white-faced from the dire message. Neville met Harry's eyes, and Harry could see how terrified he looked.

"The hell was that?" came a groggy voice from above them; Ron emerged at the landing of the stairs, half-awake. "That voice is gonna wake up the whole damn neighborhood—"

As if on cue, Mrs. Black's portrait began shrieking at the top of her voice one floor below them: "FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS, DEFILING THE GREAT HOUSE OF BLACK, MAKING A RACKET IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT…" Ron groaned and bounded down the steps to shut her up. Harry walked down the hall towards Neville.

"I've got to go," Neville said shakily, turning back to his bedroom to grab his things.

"We'll go with you, mate," said Harry at once.

"N-no, you don't have to—"

"Nonsense," said Harry. "We're here for you." Neville nodded sullenly, then returned to his room to change.

Minutes later, Harry, Ron and Neville were hustling down the long, white, sterilized halls of St. Mungo's. Neville took the lead, half-jogging, half-sprinting towards anyone who looked like they could help. He skidded to a stop at a Healer's station. "Augusta Longbottom?" he asked hopefully. The bored Healer behind the counter reached for a clipboard beside him and scanned the list of names. "Fourth floor," he said, and the group sprinted off towards the nearest stairwell.

When they reached the Janus Thickey Ward, Neville began scanning the floor for anyone who could point them in the right direction. But it didn't take long to figure out where to go. There was a loud ruckus happening down the hall, and a group of Healers was converging on the area. Harry, Ron and Neville ran towards the commotion, and they could hear a woman's voice carrying over the din:

"—Absolutely ridiculous, I will not, no, I will not lie down, thank you very much, I am perfectly capable of returning home and sleeping in my own bed! I am three times your age, young man, and I think I know my body better than you do—"

"Gran?" Neville called out in a hopeful voice. The scuffle ceased, and the crowd of Healers made way for Neville to enter the ward, where Augusta Longbottom was aggressively trying to shake off the two men holding her by the arms.

"Oh, Neville dear, I hope they didn't drag you out of bed on my account?" said Augusta, regarding her grandson with annoyance but unmistakable admiration. "This is all such an overreaction, I mean really—"

"You're Neville, then?" asked a nearby Healer. "We've been trying to calm her down...can you please ask her to follow orders?"

"Orders?!" Augusta shrieked. "Who gave you the authority to hand out orders? Your mother was in diapers the last time anyone dared to give me orders—"

"Gran," said Neville, clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed, "won't you please just lie down? We can sort this out; just let them take care of you for their own peace of mind!"

"Hmph," said Augusta. "Very well, I will lie down. But only because he asked me nicely!" And Augusta wrenched herself free of the two Healers holding her, who clearly hadn't expected such a show of strength, and she plopped herself down upon the bed, looking quite like a pouting child.

"We'd like to run a couple of quick tests to make sure there is no lasting spell damage," said another Healer.

"Actually," said Neville, heading off what was sure to be another refusal from his grandmother, "can we have the room to ourselves for a few minutes, please?"

"I'm not sure that's wise—" the Healer began.

"I'm surrounding by three members of the Auror Office," said Augusta, swelling with pride at the three young men standing beside her bed. "I feel perfectly healthy and safe here, thank you." The Healers looked at one another, unsure of what to do, but they seemed to decide that it wasn't worth another fight so they reluctantly retreated down the hallway.

"Are you okay, Gran?" Neville asked, sitting beside her on the bed. "And don't lie to me."

"I would never lie to you, my grandson," said Augusta, stroking Neville tenderly on the cheek. "I took a Stunning Spell to the shoulder, that's all. Bruised my hip when I fell to the floor, but they patched that up in an instant."

"But what happened?" Neville pressed. "Who attacked you?"

Augusta gave a hollow chuckle. "Bloke decided to come back for seconds, it seems like," she said. "I bested him once before, last year, and I guess he wanted to right that wrong."

"Who?"

"Dawlish, of course!" said Augusta. "He came for me last year when you were stirring up trouble for the Carrows at Hogwarts, and I smacked some sense into him then. Not enough, clearly, because he was foolish enough to try it again."

Harry, Ron and Neville shared a significant look. "John Dawlish, the ex-Auror?" Harry asked, stepping closer to make sure he heard right. "He attacked you?"

"Only after I told him to get out!" said Augusta. "He was acting strange, talking fast...I think he was looking for you, dear." Harry expected her to look up at him, but instead she turned to her grandson, who looked alarmed.

"Me?" said Neville. "What does Dawlish want with me?"

"Hell if I know," muttered Augusta. "I told him you didn't live there anymore and that he'd better leave before I put him back in St. Mungo's. Well, joke's on me I guess, because he returned the favor."

"What did he do to you, Gran?" Neville demanded. "Tell us everything!"

"There's not much to tell," Augusta shrugged. "I told him to get out and drew my wand. He drew his and nearly caught me full-on with a Stunning Spell, but I animated the cutlery and they ran him out of the house. He's lucky I didn't get to the china dishes before I fell; I would've loved to smash some antiques over that thick skull of his!"

"But that's all you said to each other?" Harry pressed. "He asked about Neville, then you fought?"

"More or less," said Augusta. "Like I said, he was being shifty, talking fast. Didn't seem all that put together if you ask me. But I can tell when somebody's up to no good, and he gave me those vibes the second he barged in."

"Why would he be after Neville, though?" Ron piped in.

"I wish my Neville had been there to greet Dawlish himself!" Augusta said loudly. "I read all about what my grandson did to those Death Eaters at the raid, how he tormented Snape and the Carrows for an entire school year. I guarantee you it would've been Dawlish back in here instead of me!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gran," said Neville grimly. He glanced over his shoulder; they could see Healers hovering by the door, no doubt anxious to get back in and check on their patient. "Listen Gran, will you please let the Healers do their job? The sooner they conduct their tests, the sooner you can get out of here."

"Oh all right," Augusta scoffed. "I just don't like to be talked down to by people half my age. Don't go too far, will you dear?"

"I won't," Neville promised; he stood and followed Harry and Ron back out to the hall. As the Healers rushed in to attend to Augusta, they huddled together.

"What d'you make of this, Harry?" asked Ron. "Doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"First Ginny, now my Gran," said Neville. "I wasn't buying this Voldemort business before, but I'm open to any theories you have now."

Harry was deep in thought. He began pacing back and forth in front of Augusta's room, mulling this new development over. So far all the puzzle pieces pointed to his Horcrux theory, but this perplexed him. But slowly, recognition dawned on him.

"Neville," he said finally, "do you remember when I told you about the prophecy? How the Chosen One could have been me or you?"

"Yeah," said Neville, suddenly looking frightened by whatever Harry was thinking.

"The last time Voldemort came back," Harry said, still pacing rapidly, "Wormtail used my blood to build him a new body. But it backfired. My mother's protection ran through Voldemort's veins, and it allowed me to come back to life. Voldemort wouldn't make that same mistake twice. But maybe...maybe he would use the blood of someone else significant to him."

"Me?" asked Neville, horrified.

"It would make sense," said Harry. "He might believe he chose wrong – that he should have gone after you instead. And when it comes time to use the scepter to reunite his soul with a new body, he might see you as a proper sacrifice. Considering you killed Nagini and all."

"I dunno, Harry," Ron sighed. "You think Dawlish is smart enough to put all that together?"

"He's smarter than Wormtail ever was," Harry pointed out. "He knew a lot more about dark magic than he let on. He might have figured out the horcruxes on his own and is trying to help Voldemort return."

Ron continued to look skeptical, but Neville was drinking in Harry's words, clearly starting to buy in to his theory. "How do we stop him?" Neville asked worriedly.

"We have to find him," Harry said definitively. "We'll tell Robards, get him to use Auror resources to track him down—"

"Tell me what?" came a voice from down the hall; they turned to see Robards striding down the ward towards them. "Came as soon as I heard...everything alright, Longbottom?"

"Yeah, she's okay," Neville said quickly. "But sir, how did you know—?"

"I called him," said Harry, brandishing the golden bracelet on his wrist. "Listen, sir, I know you don't like this Dawlish business, but it's gotten out of hand. I strongly believe he's a serious threat, and we have to let people know—"

"Whoa, slow down Potter," said Robards irritably. "It's a bit late for this right now. We'll discuss it first thing on Monday."

"We can't just keep sweeping this under the rug!" Harry insisted. "You've got to believe me—"

"I believe you, Potter," Robards sighed, which shut Harry up. "Dawlish has proven to be quite the public menace lately, there is no doubt. But we can't be hasty about this. We'll begin the search internally, but there's no point in causing a panic right now."

"What are we supposed to do then?" Harry demanded. "Just keep quiet and wait for Dawlish to attack somebody else?"

"Why don't you give your friend Rita Skeeter a call?" Robards scoffed. "You clearly have no problem leaking stories to her. See if she can stir up some public interest in the search – just don't tie it back to the Auror Office. Shacklebolt doesn't need another scandal on his hands right now."

"I don't think that's enough," Harry said pleadingly. "Please sir, I can't give you all the details, but I assure you this is a very real threat we're facing—"

"As I said, it's a bit late for all this," Robards said wearily. "I'm here as a courtesy to Augusta. We can hash out the details on Monday." With that, he brushed past Harry and into Augusta's room to give his regards. Harry, Ron and Neville exchanged nervous looks.

Robards left soon after, informing the others that Savage and Jasper were stationed nearby so they could sleep if they wished. Neville told Harry and Ron they could go back home, but they refused, electing to stay with him in solidarity as he sat beside his sleeping Gran. Harry knew trying to sleep would be pointless anyway – his mind still raced with possibilities. He felt like he was constructing a puzzle, but only the outer pieces were fitting into place. There was a gaping hole at its center, eluding him – a hole he suspected Voldemort was lurking within. It was the only thing that made sense, even if everyone else doubted it. He knew Tom Riddle better than anyone alive, and this had his fingerprints all over it...

The Healers finally cleared Augusta for release in the early hours of the morning. However, they expressed concern about having her return to her home alone with her assailant still on the loose, threatening yet another explosive argument, until Harry defused the situation by suggesting that Augusta come and stay temporarily at Grimmauld Place, where there was plenty of room. All parties involved considered this an acceptable compromise.

Harry thought it would be a drag having an older woman around the house, disrupting the bachelor-pad vibe it previously held, but she wound up being a pleasant addition. She made creative use of natural light and potted plants to make even the creepiest annals of the building seem livable, and insisted on cooking for the three boys every night for letting her stay. She even managed to shut up the portrait of Mrs. Black; the first time she awoke and began screaming at them, Augusta shouted right back and chastised her until she was reduced to passive grumbling and scathing looks as they passed by.

Harry had also never realized what an awesome woman Augusta was! Every dinner she regaled them with stories of her youth, traveling the countryside and having adventures, cavorting with wizards and Muggles alike. "I nearly married a Muggle, you know," she told them all matter-of-factly once while Neville blushed in his seat. "Nice fellow name of Adam, up in Leeds. But I had to hex him when I caught him necking a younger girl at the drive-ins. Luckily I met Neville's grandfather soon after, and the rest is history."

"Why the long face, Neville?" laughed Ron, seeing the mortified look on Neville's face. "I wish my grandparents were as awesome as yours. Mine just knitted me ugly sweaters and pestered me about what girls I liked."

"Hey, cool grandmothers can do those things too!" Augusta chuckled. "Speaking of which, Neville dear, who have you been seeing lately? I quite liked that Hannah Abbott girl you introduced me to after the Battle...but I'm sure you have no shortage of callers after your heroics last spring!" If possible, Neville turned an even deeper shade of red at this, sinking lower in his chair in embarrassment.

The house got even more lively the following week, as Hermione came to stay with Ron during spring break at Hogwarts. She looked more frazzled than the last time Harry had seen her, no doubt on account of her upcoming N.E.W.T. exams, but she was nonetheless pleased to see everyone. Despite the busy days at the Auror Office, consisting of fruitless searches for Dawlish and several appeals of the Nurmengard Trials, Harry was glad to have a loud and festive house to return home to every night, to share laughs and stories with. This must be what having a family is like, Harry thought to himself, wishing he could always have this many people over to stay with him…

One such Friday evening saw Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Augusta sitting around the kitchen table drinking and laughing uproariously about whatever scandalous story Augusta had just shared with them. It was getting late, and Harry excused himself for bed. "Oi," said Ron as Harry stood to leave, "don't forget it's your turn to do dishes." Harry groaned; the plates and silverware had piled up high in the sink, and he hadn't yet gotten the hang of enchanting the dishes to wash themselves.

Harry was then struck with sudden inspiration. "Kreacher!" he shouted, and with a crack, the house-elf appeared before him. "Do the dishes for me, will you?" said Harry. Kreacher bowed deeply and walked to the sink to perform the task. It was then that Harry realized that the mood in the room had soured. He turned to see Ron, Neville and Hermione staring at Kreacher.

"Say Harry," said Neville slowly, "I didn't know you had a house-elf."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, realizing that he hadn't summoned Kreacher from Hogwarts in several months. "Inherited him from my godfather. Kind of a nuisance really, but useful from time to time."

"You're really gonna use him for house chores, though?" said Ron tentatively. "After all he's done to help us?"

"Um…" said Harry, still not quite sure what he had done wrong. "I mean, that's his job, right? Take care of things if I ask him to?"

"I dunno if I'm comfortable with this, Harry," said Neville. "It's wrong, making a house-elf do your bidding like that. At least, that's how I was raised."

"Quite right," huffed Augusta. "I'm a bit surprised myself, Potter."

Harry looked to Hermione for help, wide-eyed, but she only gave him a sympathetic frown. "Most wizards don't own house-elves anymore, Harry," she explained. "Usually only the wealthy pure-blood families use them, and it's considered taboo in some circles."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "Mum and Dad always refused to get one on principle, even though it would've been useful to have around to help. Just a step too far, don't you think?"

Harry was suddenly ashamed of himself; he hadn't really considered how it would look to order Kreacher to answer to his every beck and call. "Erm...Kreacher," he said, as the house-elf paused to look back at him, "that's okay. You don't have to finish those."

"As Master wishes," Kreacher croaked, again bowing low; being called Master only made Harry feel more embarrassed.

"Also, don't call me Master anymore," said Harry. "My name will do just fine."

"Very well, Mr. Potter," said Kreacher, which wasn't much better.

Harry again looked to Ron and Hermione for a lifeline. "What should I do then?" he asked. "Set him free?"

Kreacher reacted violently to this idea, throwing himself at Harry's feet. "No, no, no!" he screeched. "I live to serve the House of Black! You mustn't!" Harry threw his friends a look as if to say, You see?

"You don't have to free him if he doesn't want," Hermione said cautiously. "Just don't bother him with basic tasks! He isn't a common tool to be bossed around."

"Right," said Harry, clearly his throat awkwardly. "Kreacher, why don't you go back to the Hogwarts kitchens? You know...if you want." Kreacher looked up at him, a mixture of confusion and relief on his face, and he disappeared with another crack.

"This is a good reminder of what I'm studying towards," Hermione sighed. "I'm gonna try to introduce legislation to ban the use of house-elves as slaves."

"Hear hear," said Augusta.

"I didn't mean anything by it!" Harry protested, feeling attacked. "I just...I thought I'd give him something to do, that's all!"

"You were being lazy," Hermione tutted. "I'm not attacking you, Harry, just...be more mindful, will you?"

Harry was too prideful to admit she was right, though he knew it. He stormed out of the kitchen and up to his room for bed. Truthfully, he had been considering the Kreacher problem for weeks now...what ought he do with his inherited servant? He definitely wasn't comfortable with the idea, even if the benefits had made him temporarily forget those qualms. He also didn't intend to live at Grimmauld Place forever – no matter what attempts were made to spruce up the place, it reminded him of the very ideology he was working hard to scrub out of society. What would happen if he sold this place? What would become of Kreacher, whose only ambition was to die here and have his head mounted on the wall beside his ancestors? He supposed he would let smarter witches and wizards like Hermione figure that out, and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, all talk of house-elves was forgotten when Dora arrived with the Daily Prophet, which bore the following headline:

DAWLISH SIGHTED IN KESWICK; CITIZENS WARNED OF DANGER

by Rita Skeeter, The Daily Prophet

Late last night, suspected dark wizard John Dawlish was spotted on the outskirts of Keswick, Cumbria in northern England. Local resident Azalea Hastings, 63, contacted the Prophet's tip line after allegedly spotting Dawlish outside her residence.

"My dogs started barking in the middle of the night," said Ms. Hastings, who lives alone in a private residence in the small town. "Usually they only do that when there's an intruder near my yard. So I went out back to investigate, and I saw him stealing from my vegetable garden! I recognized him from the papers and shouted at him to go, but he Disapparated before I could draw my wand."

The Prophet wishes to remind its readers not to confront Mr. Dawlish if he is spotted in public. He is a highly-trained Auror and considered highly dangerous, having recently attacked widow Augusta Longbottom and sent her to St. Mungo's. No official warrant has been issued for Dawlish's arrest, but he has been considered a person of interest ever since he was spotted fighting for the Dark Lord during the Battle of Hogwarts.

If anyone has further information about the whereabouts of John Dawlish, they are invited to contact the Prophet's tip line for a handsome cash reward.

The Minister of Magic and the Auror Office could not be reached for comment.

"Northern England?" Harry asked aloud as he finished his copy of the article. "D'you reckon he's heading for Scotland? Back to Hogwarts, perhaps?"

"But Harry, I thought you knew," said an exasperated Hermione. "Don't you know where Keswick is? It's not even two miles from Little Hangleton!"

A jolt of recognition passed through Harry at this. The birthplace of Voldemort's parents, and the site of Voldemort's rebirth in the graveyard four years ago. "This can't be a coincidence," Harry said conclusively. "It has to be connected, don't you see?"

Hermione frowned, but she did not respond right away, which Harry took as a triumph. Ron and Neville also looked nervous; they were both clearly starting to believe Harry's theory more and more by the day.

"It's very possible," Hermione finally sighed. "But remember, Dawlish was a Gaunt too. Maybe he has ties to the area beyond Voldemort—"

"It's so obvious, Hermione, why can't you just admit you were wrong?" Harry demanded. "We need to sound the alarm! Tell Kingsley to make a statement, mobilize the Law Enforcement Office to catch him!"

"The last thing we need is to cause a panic," said Hermione. "Even if you're right, Dawlish clearly hasn't worked out how to do whatever he's trying to do yet. Why make people believe Voldemort is coming back prematurely?"

"They don't need to know all the specifics," said Harry hotly, "but they should at least know that it's serious! I can't believe Robards and the Minister aren't taking my side on this—"

"Clearly they are, they're just keeping it under wraps," Hermione reasoned. "If they make some grand statement about Dawlish, it could spook him into doing something desperate. For now it's just rumors, and that's enough to get people talking."

Harry supposed she had a point, but he was frustrated by how slowly things were developing. Nearly ten months had passed since Dawlish stole the scepter, and this was only the third hint they'd received as to his possible whereabouts and activities. It was maddening! Harry got up from the kitchen table and paced back and forth, deep in thought.

"I'm going to Little Hangleton tonight," Harry announced. "I've got a hunch, and I want to see if it's correct."

"I'll go with you," said Neville at once.

"Me too," Ron piped in.

"What? No," said Harry firmly. "We're not trying to make a scene! I just need to have a look around, look for clues—"

"If there's any chance that the man who attacked my Gran is there," Neville growled, "I wanna be there to hex him myself."

"He attacked my sister, too," said Ron. "I'm not missing out on this either."

"Ugh, boys," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'll have to come too then, to make sure you don't try anything stupid."

"Not to burst anyone's bubble," said Harry, "but the Invisibility Cloak won't be able to hold all of us."

"Ron and I can use Disillusionment Charms," said Hermione. "Flitwick just taught them to seventh-years last month. They aren't perfect, but they'll keep us invisible enough."

Harry was about to argue further, but at that moment Augusta came downstairs for breakfast, so he dropped it. Augusta read the Prophet article for herself soon after and loudly expressed her hope that someone would go smack some sense into Dawlish; the others loudly agreed. They didn't speak of the plan for the remainder of the day, pointedly avoiding one another (and Augusta), finding excuses not to talk to her whenever she engaged them in conversation. Harry still had half a mind to leave the house by himself and travel to Little Hangleton alone, but he knew someone would follow him anyway, and he didn't want to waste what could be their one opportunity to catch Dawlish off-guard.

Augusta, perhaps sensing something was afoot, excused herself for an early bed after dinner that night. The remaining four made hushed plans to leave half an hour later; they went to their separate bedrooms to prepare, then met at the front door, Harry clutching the Invisibility Cloak under his arm. Hermione pointed her wand at Ron's head and wordlessly waved it; a moment later, he began to shimmer and disappear from the top down, as though an invisible egg was running down his entire body. She did the same to herself, and soon both she and Ron were completely transparent. Harry could still vaguely see their outlines if he squinted hard enough, but it would fool anyone who didn't know what to look for.

"Right, to the entrance of the graveyard then," said Harry. He'd only been there once before, but the vivid memory of it still burned in his brain so he could picture it quite clearly. He threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and Neville. "On three. One, two, three—" Harry turned on the spot, Neville clutching tightly onto his arm, and they Disapparated.

They appeared a moment later before the rusty gate of the graveyard, its rows of tombstones partially obscured behind overgrown grass and other foliage. It was clear nobody had tended to this burial ground in many years. "Are we all here?" Harry whispered.

"Yeah," he heard Ron whisper somewhere to his right; Harry thought he saw two shimmering outlines shift their weight nearby.

"Neville and I will circle north," said Harry. "You two go south. We'll meet at the far end, near the angel statue at the east end. Got it?"

"Got it," whispered Hermione. And they slipped through the rusty gate into the graveyard, turning in opposite directions. Harry felt Neville trembling beside him, wand held aloft, scanning the darkened graveyard for movement. Harry did the same, wishing he could cast a Lumos spell to give them some light, but doing so would give them away immediately.

Up the hill, Harry could see the Riddle house – Voldemort's temporary hiding place before he was reunited with his body. It lay dark and dormant, no signs of use in the years since Voldemort's departure. But then Harry remembered the darkened manor during the raid, its true nature obscured to him through the protective enchantments, and he wondered if it was truly empty. "Specialis Revelio," Harry whispered, pointing his wand towards the house, but nothing happened. If Dawlish was indeed in the house, he hadn't set any kind of protections there.

Harry turned his attention back to the graveyard. It was difficult to see through the thick darkness and thicker shrubbery, but nothing caught his eye. Even the wildlife seemed to avoid this place; he could hear nary a bug buzzing or a bird chirping. It was eerily quiet; Harry flinched at the sound of every twig breaking under his footsteps, every breath he was sure the entire village could hear. If Dawlish was indeed here, surely he'd hear them first rather than the other way around.

"Slow down here," Harry whispered to Neville as they reached the end of a row of tombstones. They were close now, Harry could feel it. He had never seen the whole graveyard before, but he sensed that this was the place. They crept around the corner, and Harry's heart skipped a beat: here was the clearing, where Voldemort had been reborn, where he and Harry had dueled. Across the clearing he could see the angel statue where he'd been trapped as a fourteen-year-old, forced to watch, to participate in the gruesome ritual. They sneaked forward; Harry even held his breath, not daring to make any more sound than he had to.

They reached the statue and looked around. It was just as quiet here as everywhere else they'd look. Harry was disappointed – he was sure this would be where they'd find him. He threw off the Invisibility Cloak, exposing himself and Neville to the open air.

"He's not here," Harry muttered, disappointed. "I thought for sure he would be."

"Where are we?" asked Neville, looking around.

"This is where I was transported during the Triwizard Tournament," said Harry. "This is where Cedric died – where Voldemort came back. I thought maybe Dawlish would be hiding out here...would be trying to resurrect him."

"Nothing on our end, either," came a voice through the darkness, making Harry and Neville jump; they could see the outlines of Ron and Hermione nearby, the Disillusionment Charms starting to wear off.

"Yeah," said Ron, "not even a mouse. Spooky how deserted it is here."

"Some wizards theorize that animals can sense traces of Dark magic," Hermione pointed out. "I imagine they wouldn't want to be anywhere near this place."

"Neither do I, to be perfectly honest," Neville chimed in. "Let's get out of here."

There was a sudden, faint crack in the distance. All four turned to look towards the darkened interior of the graveyard. "What was that?" Ron asked, a little too loudly.

"Shh!" Hermione hushed him, pointing her wand in the direction of the noise. "Homenum Revelio." There was a faint whooshing sound as the spell expanded across the graveyard before them. "Someone's here!" Hermione hissed.

Harry took off without warning. He charged blindly towards the interior of the graveyard, wand held aloft, fury in his heart. "DAWLISH!" he bellowed. "Where are you?! What do you want?"

"Harry, no!" Hermione pleaded, but he ignored her. This was his chance...he had to find Dawlish...there may never be another opportunity...

Harry heard another rustling in the darkness to his left. He veered in that direction, leaping over tombstones, blasting through patches of thick grass. He thought he could make out a darkened figure nearby...it was Dawlish, he was sure of it...Harry slashed the air with the Elder Wand, sending a powerful blast of energy in his direction, but then there was a faint pop of somebody Disapparating and the figure was gone. Harry was alone, screaming in frustration. He'd lost him...