Whoo! Yeah. A Harry Potter fic! I haven't done one of these in year, so I'm a little bit rusty. But, well, I'm impatient for book 7 (isn't everybody?) and I had a couple of mental images that just would not go away. Hence this. I'll try and finish it before July 21st, but I'm not promising anything. (In fact, I don't think I've actually ever finished a fic, have I..?)

Anyway, I digress. This is just my version of what will happen in book 7. WARNING: THERE WILL BE SLASH. There. You can't say you haven't been warned, so you can't complain when it crops up. If you don't like that sort of thing, then there's a back button just waiting for you to press it.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish. I'd love some of what JK earns...

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It was a stifling hot July night. The air was still and heavy with the promise of the storm that had been forecast for the following afternoon. In the town of Little Whinging, Surrey, the sulphurous light of the streetlamps reflected off car bonnets that had not been washed in weeks due to the hosepipe ban, and the normally well-kept gardens were also suffering as a result. There was nothing to suggest that this night was in any way special, but it was, for one person at least.

The house at Number Four, Privet Drive, was dark apart from one lamp that was on in the hall. A small, skinny teenager, on the verge of adulthood, sat on the stairs beside a battered trunk and a cage in which a handsome snowy owl was sat. He wore clothes that were several sizes too large for him, his long black hair was messy and unkempt, and his emerald eyes glittered strangely behind round, black-rimmed glasses. No-one who looked at him would realise that he was important.

He checked his watch and tutted irritably. Maybe it was because he was more anxious than usual to leave, but time seemed to be going extra slowly tonight. He could have sworn that an hour had gone past since he last checked the time, but it was still only twenty to midnight.

The boy was important because he wasn't just any boy. For one thing, he was a wizard. For another, he was Harry Potter, the only person ever to have survived an attack by the most feared Dark wizard for a century, Lord Voldemort, the same attack which had killed his parents. And finally, he was what the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper, called the 'Chosen One', the one marked by Lord Voldemort as his equal and the only person with the means to defeat him.

And the night was special because midnight marked Harry's 17th birthday, at which point he would come of age. And at that moment the protection which Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore had invoked when he had left Harry here with his only surviving relatives – his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, and their son Dudley – would cease to operate, and he would be left alone to fend for himself.

Well, not entirely alone... He smiled at the thought of his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who would be coming to meet him at midnight. They would be heading to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon, where Ron's family lived. They would be staying there for a couple of weeks, until the wedding of Ron's eldest brother Bill to Fleur Delacour. And once that was over, he faced a seemingly impossible task.

He had to track down four Horcruxes, objects that contained a fragment of Voldemort's soul. Until all of them were destroyed, Voldemort could not be killed. He had a fair idea of what the Horcruxes were, thanks to Dumbledore, and not for the first time he wished that Dumbledore was still here to help. But Dumbledore was dead, killed by Severus Snape, the former Potions master at Hogwarts, Harry's school, last term. Snape, whom Dumbledore believed was a spy working for them, but had turned out to be working for Voldemort all along. Harry's hands clenched convulsively, as if he were longing to wrap them around Snape's neck...

A noise from behind made him jump, and quick as a flash he whipped his wand out of his pocket and turned in the direction of the noise. He relaxed only slightly as he saw his Aunt Petunia coming down the stairs, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her despite the heat.

"So," said Petunia, after an awkward silence. "You're off, then." Harry nodded.

"As soon as the clock strikes," he confirmed, checking his watch again. Ten minutes...

"Where will you go?" asked Petunia, and Harry hesitated. Was it just his imagination, or did Petunia sound almost concerned?

"I can't tell you," said Harry, speaking quickly. Petunia snorted.

"Can't, or won't?" she asked sharply and Harry had to fight the urge to grin. It was just his imagination, after all. "You're stubborn, just like your father. After all Vernon and I have done for you, I think at the very least we deserve..."

"I -can't- tell you," Harry repeated. "Trust me. You'll be safer that way."

"Safer? How?" demanded Petunia, a note of panic in her voice. "You don't think... he won't be coming here, will he?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But if anyone does come looking for me... if you don't know where I am, they may leave you alone." Unlikely, he added silently; if the Death Eaters turned up here they'd probably destroy the place just for fun. Petunia relaxed slightly, and sighed heavily as she turned a tired, almost worried gaze on him.

"Harry, I..." The clock chimed, cutting her off. Harry felt a strange sensation, almost like a soft breeze, swirl around him, eventually settling into nothing, as the spell invoked all those years ago finally ceased. He tucked his wand into the back pocket of his jeans, tucked Hedwig's cage under his arm and picked up his trunk.

"I have to go," he said, and started for the door.

"Harry, wait!" said Petunia urgently. Harry turned to face her. "Harry, I... I know we haven't exactly... seen eye to eye, but Vernon and I, we thought it was for the best..."

"I know." Harry gave her a tight smile. "Look, I really have to go. It's not safe here any more."

"I just... I want to say..." She trailed off, and Harry marvelled at the thought that she was going to say something nice for a change. "Well, I want you to know... Lily would be proud." Harry's throat tightened at the mention of his mother; swallowing heavily, he nodded.

"I hope so," he croaked. He shifted the cage so that he could open the front door. "Well, goodbye." With that, he stepped out into the stifling heat of the night.

"Take care," whispered Petunia, watching almost fearfully as the darkness swallowed him.

Harry came to a stop at the end of Privet Drive. He set his trunk and the cage down on the pavement and pulled his wand out of his back pocket.

"Lumos," he whispered, the end of his wand lighting up and enabling him to see far more than the streetlights did. He could just make out a couple of dark shapes moving this way; as it stepped closer he could make out the unmistakeable tall, gangling, red-haired figure of Ron and the smaller, bushy-haired figure of Hermione. They appeared to be holding hands, but when they saw him Hermione dropped Ron's hand and ran towards Harry.

"Oh, Harry!" she said breathlessly as she threw herself at him, almost squeezing him to death in a tight bear-hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"Tell you what, mate, these Muggle hotels aren't a patch on the Leaky Cauldron," remarked Ron. "Alright?"

"Yeah. You?" asked Harry, grinning as he looked at his best friend, who nodded. "How are we getting to the Burrow?"

"Apparating. Moody reckons it's safer that way," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "Of course he was all for sending a full guard to come and get you, but we talked him out of it."

"You talked him out of it?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Well actually, McGonagall distracted him with another important mission and told us to hurry up," Ron admitted. "Are you ready?"

"Don't forget – destination, deliberation, determination," chanted Hermione.

"Oh give it a rest, Hermione; we're not at school now!" Ron groaned. "Right. After you," he said, gesturing towards Harry.

"Ron! We're supposed to be going together!" Hermione chided. "So, on the count of three? One, two..."

"What was that?" asked Harry sharply; he'd heard leaves rustling behind them, and before that what sounded suspiciously like the crack of someone Apparating. Ron looked over his shoulder, peering into the gloom.

"Maybe a cat?" he suggested off-handedly. "Come on, Moody will do his nut if we're late..."

"Hang on," said Harry. He lifted his wand, trying to see into Number 54's rhododendron – and as he did so a figure came hurtling out of the bush and cannoned into him, knocking him over. He yelled out as he struck the ground, his wand skittering away from his grasp, and his head exploded in pain as it connected with the kerb...

"STUPEFY!" Harry's attacker went limp as Hermione hit him with a Stunning spell. Harry rolled out from under the body, scrabbled for his wand and rubbed the back of his head, blinking away the stars that were swimming in front of his eyes.

"Bloody hell!" he heard Ron swear. "What's -he- doing here?" Harry's vision cleared and he swore too at the sight in front of him.

Draco Malfoy lay spread-eagled on the ground. His robes were filthy, mud-spattered and torn, and were hanging off his thin, almost skeletal frame. The white-blond hair that had been so perfectly groomed at Hogwarts was lank, and hanging in knots almost down to his shoulders. There were several cuts and gashes on his skin and, on his left arm, the Dark Mark glowed vividly red. He looked terrible, like he had been living rough for quite some time. Harry remembered how Malfoy had been hesitant to kill Dumbledore, remembered how he had felt, for a split second, that Malfoy was going to accept Dumbledore's offer...

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, outraged, as Harry knelt down beside Malfoy. "Are you thick? He's a Death Eater!" Harry ignored him, pointing his wand at the stricken boy.

"Enervate," he said quietly, and Malfoy's eyes fluttered open. He looked wildly around in panic for a moment before his eyes settled on Harry, and he scrambled to his knees quickly.

"Potter! Thank Merlin I've found you!" Malfoy gabbled, grabbing hold of Harry's T-shirt. "I've been searching for you for weeks... you've got to help me!"

"Why would we help you, ferret boy?" sneered Ron. Malfoy shot an irritated glare towards him, but otherwise made no indication that he'd heard him.

"Why have you been looking for me?" asked Harry gently. Malfoy opened and shut his mouth a couple of times as if he was working out what to say, and then the words came out in a rush.

"They're calling you... everyone's saying that you're the only one... after the battle we were supposed to go to the Dark Lord, but Snape got me away, he's probably dead by now, I've been on the run from them ever since, I can't go back to my father's, Dumbledore said something about protection but Dumbledore's gone and I didn't know where else to go, they're after me, Voldemort wants me, because I was meant to do it but I couldn't and now he wants to kill me..."

"Malfoy, breathe," said Harry firmly, cutting Malfoy off in mid-flow. Malfoy gasped for breath, tears running down his face, washing away the grime. "Start at the beginning. Who..."

An explosion sounded from the other end of Privet Drive. Harry jumped to his feet and his heart plummeted as he saw the Dark Mark rising into the sky... It looked suspiciously like it was coming from Number Four... Someone was screaming... He started to run towards the commotion, but Malfoy screamed "No!" and threw himself at Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry's legs and sending him crashing to the ground.

Angrily, Harry rolled to his feet and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded.

"You can't... they'll kill you... if they find me they'll kill me!" Malfoy shouted. "We've got to get out of here!" So saying he snatched Harry's wand out of his hand, grabbed Harry's arm and Disapparated.

They arrived in a country lane in the middle of nowhere. Malfoy sank to his knees and Harry rounded on him, furious now.

"What the hell are you playing at, Malfoy?" he yelled. "My friends are back there! I'm going back!"

"No!" shrieked Malfoy, grabbing Harry's hand. "You can't... please..."

"That's my family being attacked!"

"So what? They didn't care about you, did they? So why should you?" Malfoy asked shrewdly. Harry's eyes narrowed as he viewed the blond with contempt.

"I wouldn't expect a Slytherin to understand," he spat. "And anyway, Ron and Hermione are still there."

"Granger's got brains, she'd get the Weasel out of trouble all right," said Malfoy coldly, a shade of his old self shining through. "But trust me, they're out to kill you and they won't stop until it's done and they don't care how many people they have to get through to get to you... I know it sounds dramatic, but I was there, I heard them talking about it, before... you know..." Malfoy trailed off and shrugged. "It's probably too late for the Muggles anyway. We're better off here." Much as Harry was loath to admit that Malfoy was right about anything, he had to admit he had a fair point. He sighed, snatched his wand back off Malfoy and took hold of the older boy's shoulder.

"We're going to the Burrow," he said firmly. "You can explain yourself there... and not a word about the Weasleys or I'll hand you over to the Death Eaters myself, you understand?" Malfoy nodded, mutely, and Harry Apparated them both back to the Weasleys' home, wondering what on Earth he'd let himself in for this time.