A Stranger in an Unholy Land

by serpant-sorcerer

PART I: Days before his 6th year, Harry Potter is sucked into another universe by forces not of this world. Dazed and confused, Harry finds himself in a world where his parents are alive, where Voldemort has never fallen and he is Voldemort's key enforcer

9. The Last Man Standing

~ ~ ~ ~ Chapter IX ~ ~ ~ ~

The Last Man Standing

"Step by step, heart to heart, left right left,

We all fall down, like Toy Soldiers

Piece by piece, we're torn apart, we never win,

The battle rages on, for Toy Soldiers"

Eminem (Like Toy Soldiers)

Over the last two weeks, Harry had gotten to know Minerva McGonagall a lot better. Far from being the person she showed to the school, she was actually quite warm and friendly, once the ice, and there was a lot of ice, was broken. He had even made her smile a few times. She had been at Hogwarts many years ago and had been taught Transfiguration by Dumbledore himself. She had been in her second year, when Tom Riddle had opened the Chamber of Secrets. As Harry and McGonagall chatted about Tom Riddle as a student, Harry noticed more and more disturbing parallels between himself and the monster he was fighting to destroy. Harry was not keen to continue the conversation, and made every effort to avoid that topic in the future. This conversation did raise one interesting point: in this world, the diary had never surfaced, which worried Harry as it meant it was still out there somewhere, probably in Malfoy's hands. Harry had informed Dumbledore on their next meeting.

His Animagus ability had increased significantly from the first exercises. Now, not only could he extend and shrink his fingers and toes, but he could also do the same with his hair. He no longer needed to meditate to be able to transform. McGonagall set more exercises based around getting comfortable with the change. Harry was eager to get on to the bit where he chose his form. He was really excited about this, though he had no idea what animal he would be. He had read the introduction to the book McGonagall had left him, but, with all the visits, Occlumency classes and Animagus training, he hadn't found time to read the rest. He found that when he did have spare time, he always seemed to end up relaxing or meeting with Ginny and Rose. Since the article in the Prophet had been published, they had been in to see him at least twice a day.

The article had been published three days ago. What followed the next day was an aptly named article,

Can He Be Trusted? with the accompanying, Has Dumbledore Finally Lost It? on page five,

Followed this morning by the rather more provocative

Nation Calls for Dark Knight's Arrest!

Every night, Harry's dreams had been plagued with death and destruction. When he closed his eyes, Harry was forced to relive the crimes he had never committed. He bore witness, as his alter ego killed and tortured his way through Muggle after Muggle, Wizard after Wizard, even entire families, children and all. He saw them through his eyes and could feel the hatred and power flowing through his veins, driving him to make that kill. He could feel the rush as another life succumbed to his power. The papers all had a point; the other Harry did deserve to burn in hell for what he had done. Everyone blamed him, but he and Harry were two different people. Harry was innocent, but he couldn't tell anyone. Usually with criminals, it was the other way around; most people are guilty and can't tell anyone. But then again, Harry was always the exception to the rule.

Judging by what Rose and Ginny had said, the school was mostly against him. There seemed to be a lot of fear and distrust amongst those who they talked to. Everyone seemed to want to know how he could be trusted. They wanted proof. Harry knew that in their position, he would want proof too. He had asked his own Dumbledore on many occasions why he trusted Snape, but he had never received an answer, hence Harry did not trust Severus Snape. The same principle applied here. Here, Harry had a perfectly good reason, but no one could ever find out. Catch bloody 22.

Harry tried to shift these things out of his mind, and concentrate on his Animagus training. His arm was more or less healed now. He still wore the wrist support and had yet to start his duelling training with the Aurors, or even to have his interview with them. That was set for three o'clock that day. Technically, he was still a fugitive. He would be interrogated by the Aurors, and hopefully cleared. Following that he simply had to attend a trial before the Wizengamot, who still had the power to overturn the Aurors and send him to Azkaban, and if he passed that trial, he would be free. That interview was yet another thing on his ever-growing to-do list.

At present, Harry was sitting on a Sun-lounger on a white sandy beach in the Room of Requirement, with hair down to his neck and eight inch fingers, in the midst of his Animagus training. He had spent the morning practicing Occlumency with Professor Flamel, who Harry had taken an immediate liking to. Harry's progress was slow, but he had made significant steps. He could just about expel Flamel from his mind if the professor forced his way in using the actual Legillimency spell. He was in the middle of reorganising his mind, to be able to hide memories from the more subtle eye-contact method. Harry wasn't sure he was making progress, but Flamel assured him he was; it just wasn't obvious to him yet. Following his Occlumency, he had had fifteen minutes for lunch before it was time for Animagus training. After nearly an hour of practice on all of the exercises, McGonagall called the proceedings to a halt.

"Very good, Harry," she complimented him, "I must say I am most impressed that you have come so far." Harry had sat through five years of her classes and not even Hermione had received such praise, at least not in front of everyone. His new found friendship with McGonagall seemed to have melted the ice in her persona.

"Well I'm not fitting it in between lessons or anything, now" said Harry, trying to sound modest. He was always embarrassed by praise. In his early years, he was punished for doing well, especially if he had done better than Dudley. That combined with his experience with the media and Colin Creevey's infernal camera, had made Harry very uncomfortable with praise. "I've had a lot of time to practice."

"And the more you do so, the faster you will progress," said McGonagall. "Though be careful not to strain yourself. Unfortunately, we cannot take your training any further until we know what you are going to become."

"So I get to choose my form?" asked Harry excitedly.

"No one gets to choose," said McGonagall. "Your form will make itself known to you. Until it does you must keep up with your endurance training. This kind of transformation should become second nature to you. Keep practicing; not all the time, but a little each day."

"So how do I find my form then?" asked Harry, struggling to keep his excitement at bay. Images of himself as a tiger, as a dragon, as an eagle and a hippogriff flooded into his mind. He could imagine himself prowling the African planes, or soaring through the air. "Is a trip to the forbidden forest in order?"

"Sadly no," said McGonagall a touch sarcastically. "And all students, including yourself are forbidden to enter the Forbidden Forest, as it is just that: Forbidden. The clue is in the name. Now, back to your training: your form is locked inside your mind. It is a physical representation of your character. Who you are as a person affects your form, your inner animality if that is even a word." Harry understood what she was trying to say. His strengths would reflect an animal. His Gryffindor courage and loyalty would decide. So from their forms, he could work out what the Marauders were like as people.

"So my father, being a stag," began Harry thoughtfully. He was speaking more to himself than to McGonagall. "Is a tad vain and a natural leader. Sirius is a friendly, hyperactive, yet lovable hound and Pettigrew is a dirty little rat?" Harry practically spat the last few words.

"In a way," said McGonagall. "Though they all had to pay a two hundred and fifty galleon fine for not registering. You may have to do the same, should you be discovered. I still believe you should register."

"No," said Harry. "I know you mean well, but I need every advantage I can get. Voldemort is coming for me, because he heard the Prophecy. It doesn't even though it doesn't apply here, though he doesn't know that. That is why he is after me. His every effort is being poured into killing me. I need every advantage I can get."

"It's your decision," said McGonagall. It was clear that she still did not agree with him, but was content to let him have his own way. After a second's pause, she continued. "So, back to forms; how would you categorize me?"

"You have an affection for balls of wool?" suggested Harry with a grin, receiving a glare in response. "A noted partiality to Whiska's cat food, perhaps?"

"Harry," said McGonagall, feigning frustration; at least he hoped she was feigning it. Harry decided it was time to end the joke. He knew full well what McGonagall could be like if he pushed her too far.

"Because you're wise, independent, hate water and have nine lives?" suggested Harry, unable to think of anything concrete.

"Close enough," said McGonagall. She looked like she wanted to explain, but did not do so. She probably didn't want to appear arrogant.

"And what do you suppose I would be?" asked Harry, his whole body quivering with excitement.

"I don't know," said McGonagall. "I see loyalty, courage, cunning, determination, aggression, intelligence…"

"The Sorting Hat had trouble too," muttered Harry. By the sound of it, he was in for a long wait. "Which will mean that my form will take ages to come to me."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said McGonagall. "Don't be discouraged. You have progressed further than I expected, so getting more comfortable with the exercises we have been doing would not hurt. Do not rush it. The more you try, the harder it will be. Just let it come to you. Meditation may help." Harry managed to keep his disappointment off his face. He had been hoping to have discovered his form by the end of the day.

"When it does come, how will I know?" asked Harry.

"You will know," said McGonagall, smiling to herself. Harry didn't know what was so funny, but he didn't comment on it.

"That's not very helpful," said Harry.

"What would you like to be?" asked McGonagall. "It doesn't truly matter, it is only to satisfy my own curiosity."

"Well," said Harry thoughtfully. "I thought at first about something that might be good for spying, like Rita Skeeter's beetle. Then I thought that I'd probably get squashed and spying isn't my strong point, as I proved last week. Maybe something bigger. A dragon would be cool and all that…"

"You have not done any research, have you?" asked McGonagall with a penetrating stare. Harry shifted uncomfortably on the lounger. He had been caught red handed.

"Not as such," said Harry guiltily. "I flicked through that book, but then…" he trailed off, under McGonagall's penetrating stare.

"If you had read it in more detail," McGonagall informed him, a note of frustration in her voice. "You would know that it is impossible to become a magical creature. You cannot become a dragon, or a unicorn or anything like that, only normal, non-magical, ordinary animals. Dogs, cats, even giraffes, or duck billed platypuses, are all fine, but nothing that has magic in it. Combining two forms of magic, animal and human, would have unforeseen consequences. Imagine if the animal instincts or magic took hold of you. Depending on the creature, you could end up like a werewolf. It is entirely possible that that is how the werewolf came into being."

Harry cringed at the thought, remembering Remus' transformation outside the Whomping Willow in his third year. He had described the transformation as incredibly painful and Harry had no desire to endure it. Harry had only seen Remus once, when he had been on the Hogwarts Express. He couldn't help but wonder how his old teacher was doing in this world.

"If you don't mind me asking, Harry," said McGonagall, after a short pause. "Is there something troubling you? You seem a little distracted today."

"I've just got a lot on my mind," said Harry, shrugging it off.

"Anything I can do?" asked McGonagall. "I am your head of house after all."

"What?"

"You were never expelled," said McGonagall, sparing him a small smile. "You simply disappeared, so you are still a pupil, and I was your head of house. You are supposed to come to me with problems." Harry smiled to himself. There was no way she could help.

"I'd be very impressed if you can deal with this," muttered Harry.

"Try me," McGonagall persisted.

"Okay," said Harry, shaking his head. He found the idea quite amusing. There was nothing anyone could do, but for some reason he found himself laughing. After a few seconds, he calmed down enough to speak. "I'm trapped in a world, which, if I leave, my friends here will die, and if I stay, my friends in my world will die. In this world, which I may be unable to leave, I am wanted by the Aurors, whom I am to be interrogated by this afternoon, and the Death Eaters, who want to kill me. No one trusts me and half the country wants me dead, and I cannot tell them why I have changed. Everyone wants me dead, but I am innocent and I can't tell people that. And to top it all, I have nightmares. I see what the other me has done, I see death and destruction night after night. Besides that, there are the usual problems, Voldemort is trying to kill me, the Prophet is out to create a scandal about me, and once I'm healed all I have to look forward to is more fighting and death. Any thoughts?"

As he had been speaking, the smile had melted away from McGonagall's face. Her mouth now hung slightly open and she stared wide-eyed at him.

"Not your average problem," said Harry, bowing his head with a sad smile. "But since when have I ever been normal?"

"Have you tried Dreamless Sleep?" suggested McGonagall, recovering her tongue.

"It's supposed to be really addictive," said Harry. "Besides, I don't want anyone else thinking I am a nutcase; the rest of the world seems to already."

"Well, Mr Potter," she said formally. "You have a meeting with the Aurors later, I believe. I believe this is your chance to get the word out."

"The word already is out," protested Harry. "And everyone wants me dead. I can't even defend myself from the accusations." His situation seemed so hopeless.

"Who is going to be there?" asked McGonagall.

"Moody, Shacklebolt, Dawlish," said Harry, "And Amelia Bones. Dumbledore told me yesterday. Speaking of which, is Bones with the Order? How much should I tell them?"

"Amelia is indeed one of us," McGonagall reassured him. "Everyone you have had contact with is on our side, with one exception."

"Snape?" said Harry instantly, trying not to spit the name.

"Poppy Pomfrey," corrected McGonagall. Then, to Harry's puzzled expression, she explained, "In Med-School, she took an oath, 'to preserve the sanctity of human life at all costs'. She can't fight on either side. She would treat You-Know-Who himself if he were injured. She has no choice in the matter."

"So that explains why she never turned us in," said Harry thoughtfully recalling the times when he, Ron and Hermione had been to her with all manner of injuries and she hadn't even batted an eyelid. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Well, all the things over the years that have ended us in the hospital wing, she never asked questions. Hermione was turned into a cat one time and then her teeth grew to five times their normal size and Pomfrey never asked any questions."

"I see," McGonagall said. "I have tried many times to extract information from her, but she always says the same things. I'm a healer, not a policeman. Catching rule-breakers is not her mandate. Apparently, making students abide by the rules is my problem, not hers, and I am not going to convince her of anything else."

"During the Triwizard Tournament," said Harry, grinning, "She was vocal enough about subjecting me to Dementors one year and Dragons the next. She seemed to stretch her mandate to advise Dumbledore not to let it continue. A tad hypocritical after what you have just said. Is there any dislike between the two of you?"

"Not really," replied McGonagall. "I do not…"

"Speak ill of your colleagues, I've heard."

"Precisely," continued McGonagall raising an eyebrow. "We have differences of opinion, but we all do with each other. I never question Albus in front of people, but I do occasionally find myself wondering if he is sure he is right about something."

"Like what, serious stuff, the war and everything…?"

"Rarely," she replied. "More about the school. Maybe I am just old fashioned. Take those known couples' places for instance. Most are well known by the staff and could easily be charmed or patrolled, but Albus allows them to go unchecked. As he puts it, teens will be teens. He says that if we block off that route, you would all find another way, one which would probably expose yourselves to more risk."

"He has a point, as long as…well….you know…people are educated." said Harry. "Do you disagree?"

"At present, all girls are taken aside in their fourth year and informed of the contraceptive options offered by Madam Pomfrey. It works, I'll give Albus that, but…I can't help feeling that we are encouraging a culture of rule-breakers."

"Better than outlawing it, though, because then it really would take off," said Harry, thinking of Umbridge's attempts to ban the Quibbler. "Just for the act of rebelling, as well as hormones. I reckon, if they made knitting illegal, just to be seen as the bad-boys, and to rebel against the system, I reckon everyone would take up knitting, especially the Slytherins." Harry found himself grinning at the idea of Malfoy sitting in an armchair, knitting a bright pink scarf, the likes of which only Trelawney would wear.

"How on earth did we get onto this subject?" asked McGonagall, shaking her head. She rose to her feet. "Well, I do have essays to mark."

"Is teaching worth it?" asked Harry. He just blurted it out. He had been thinking about it earlier, and his curiosity got the better of him.

"Why do you ask?"

"I have just never heard of a staff social, and being a boarding school, you never seem to go home. I was just wondering. It occurs to me that Muggle Professors go through years of university, doctorates, PhDs and everything to get the title, whereas here, whoever is recruited gets the title. No disrespect, Professor, I know you are a really good teacher, but one year I had Gilderoy Lockhart, who couldn't tell his arse from his elbow. I was just wondering how Dumbledore recruits and if it is really worth the effort you guys go to. You never seem to leave; I'd imagine it would be lonely."

"It can be. But when I see people I taught doing great things, then yes, it is worth it," replied McGonagall, in a voice that betrayed her feelings - she was touched by the question. So Dumbledore must feel guilty over Tom Riddle, thought Harry.

"Good day, Harry," said McGonagall, taking her leave.

<<< >>>

Amelia Bones took her seat next to Kingsley in the interrogation room. To his right was the ever-paranoid Alastor Moody and two places to his left was Dawlish. All of the Aurors wore their customary red robes, while the Head of Department wore robes of a very dark purple, which if it were a wall-paint, would be called Deadly Nightshade. She had been the last to arrive and, after smoothing her robes and windswept hair, sat down in the middle of the table. There was also a glowing orb on a table in the corner of the room. It was a magical voice recorder that would record the interview. In front of all five of the panellists were the usual interrogation tools; a quill and several sheets of parchment topped by the letterhead: Ministry of Magic: Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Each of them had a pot of ink and a self-replenishing glass of water (not to be confused with each other).

Cornelius Fudge, the Head of the Department of International Co-operation, had once made that very mistake, and had swallowed two mouthfuls of black Indian ink before realising his error. He had insisted on being taken to St Mungo's to be checked out and then had tried to silence everyone from telling the tale. Needless to say he had failed and everyone at the Ministry knew the story. Fudge was a bit of a walking joke these days.

Mad-Eye had checked over the room ten minutes earlier and had found no danger or outside means of recording. All five of the panel were members of the Order of the Phoenix. The recording of the interview would be mysteriously lost and the summary edited by Albus Dumbledore before it was submitted to the Ministry. Amelia would report the result to Crouch. Kingsley had brought a vial of Veritaserum, just in case. There was something about the boy that Kingsley just didn't trust. He had seen him before and knew full well what he was potentially capable of. Kingsley wanted to know for sure that Harry was not a danger to others, even if it meant force-feeding the boy the potion. Having said that, if Harry was innocent, why would he object to the use of Veritaserum? Forced use was illegal, but it could be used, with the suspect's consent. The Wizengamot didn't allow it, but for this case it had been authorised.

"Are we all ready?" asked Kingsley. He received nods from the other four. He then pulled a small black box out of his pocket and holding down the button on the side, spoke into it. "Bring him in."

There was a few seconds pause before the steel door opened and Harry Potter entered, with James Potter and Albus Dumbledore on either side.

"Welcome," said Kingsley formally. "Do you concur that the subject is unarmed, and does not carry any hazardous material?"

"I do," replied Dumbledore calmly.

Kingsley nodded. "Professor, Auror, please wait outside. Mr Potter, please sit down." Dumbledore and James Potter exchanged a glance, but after the former nodded, both retreated wordlessly out of the room. The younger Potter stood still for a second, surveying his audience. Kingsley noticed that Mad-Eye had his wand in his hand beneath the table, pointing at Potter. After a second, just before Kingsley was about to repeat his order, the boy walked to the chair and sat.

The interrogation room was fairly large, consisting of one long table covered in a thick blue cloth for the panel. In front of it was a wooden chair for the suspect. The walls were padded like a Psychiatric Hospital's restraint room, making it soundproof, and preventing echoes, which played havoc with the voice recorder. The padding was a pale blue in colour and the floor was black. The panel themselves sat on padded chairs, which were far more comfortable than the suspect's chair.

Potter glanced around the room, taking in the details with those startling green eyes of his. Kingsley had seen them before. Kingsley had been the first Auror to learn the identity of the Dark Knight. He recalled the first time he had met the real Harry Potter…

With a huge explosion, the ornate double doors of Gringott's Bank were redistributed over Diagon Alley, showering the hit squads with rubble. The eruption of debris filled the entrance hall and steps with smoke. Kingsley removed his hands from over his ears. The entrance was clear, but he couldn't see inside. This was it.

"Go!" called a voice.

Kingsley quickly moved up the steps, sparing one final glance behind him at the Aurors in their cover spots, and beyond that, a sea of spectators, barely contained by the struggling MLE officers and flimsy crowd control barriers. Journalists pushed against the barriers, desperately trying to get a few inches closer for that all-important photograph that would make the front page. If they were lucky, they might catch a glimpse of a dead body; that would guarantee them a story. Vultures, thought Kingsley viciously. Pushing those thoughts aside and concentrating on the assault, he stepped through the smoke, keeping his wand levelled in front of him, alert for any sign of movement. He could hardly see five feet in front of him, due to the cloud of dust that had enveloped the atrium. Keeping close to the wall, Kingsley advanced, knowing that seven more Aurors were behind him. Kingsley stepped over the body that lay on the floor in front of him, amidst the rubble. The poor sod had been standing against the door when it blew; he would have been killed instantly. Leaving the body, he crept forward, emerging out of the dust into the main hall of the bank. All the cashiers' desks were empty, piles of coins were strewn over the desks and scattered over the floor. Pots of ink had been spilt, stacks of paper upset and chairs lay on their sides. There had definitely been a struggle, but there were no signs of captives, or captors. The room seemed too quiet. This smelled like a trap.

CRASH!

Kingsley looked up, to see the skylight smash into hundreds of pieces. Ropes was thrown down to the floor, as six more Aurors abseiled into the room. They reached the ground un-hassled and detached themselves from their ropes, with Kingsley's previous team offering cover. The fourteen Aurors under Kingsley's command proceeded cautiously to the back of the main chamber, the footsteps of their thick boots echoing eerily off the walls. The bank seemed deserted, and the silence was unnerving; it felt like a Ghost Ship. Kingsley's instincts told him this was wrong. They should have met some form of defence by now. According to sources, the Dark Knight himself was inside. So why was there no resistance?

"The carts are that way," pointed out Newman, who ironically, was the new man to the team. Kingsley motioned for the abseil team to proceed down to the vaults. He knew that the objective for the Death Eaters had not been the money in the vaults, but rather the records in the upstairs offices. If they could track the transfer of funds between the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts and their agents, they could trace every informant the Aurors had. The Gringott's manager was the only one who had the ability to access the information. If a Death Eater could convince him to part with the access, Voldemort would have a list of every undercover Auror, every tout and every agent the Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix had. It would be a disaster. What the Dark Knight wanted was upstairs. Still, it was be foolish not to check the Vaults; there may be hostages down there, or Death Eaters waiting in ambush. The abseil team disappeared into the shadow-filled corridor that led to the vaults.

Kingsley moved swiftly to the staircase. The lift would ping, and give away their approach, and the Death Eaters could easily cut the wires and remove the safety spells, causing the lift to fall; it was not worth the risk. He kicked open the stairs and they proceeded in. Two Aurors ran up the first two flights of stairs under the cover of the rest of the team, then two more went up the next two flights, and so on. The idea was that they were in two's if separated. They were close enough to cover each other, but not so close that one group of Death Eaters could kill them all at once with one barrage of curses.

They reached the fourth floor and lined up against the wall, next to the door, with two Aurors at the top of the stairs to stop anyone coming up behind them. It was amazing how all the training seemed second nature to Kingsley. Some people thought that becoming an Auror was a matter of filling out a few forms, and doing a quick fitness test. Nothing was further from the trust. Only five percent of applicants who start the training complete it, and only five percent of those who apply are selected to begin the training. British Aurors were the best for a reason.

Kingsley checked that everyone was ready, before grasping the door handle and gently twisting. He opened the door just enough to peek through. The foyer beyond seemed empty. He was about to throw the door open, when he noticed a thread, across the opening, which was pulling taut. It was a booby-trap, and he had almost set it off!

Clever, thought Kingsley. But not clever enough.

With his wand, he severed the thread. He gently opened the door, and on the far side, found a small Magical Incendiary Device, attached to a bottle of purple potion, which Kingsley was sure was some form of poison gas. These bastards had gas!

"Bubble-head charms," he ordered his men. Each erected the spell instantly. They looked quite comical. They all had dragon scale armour, which was jet black over the top of their customary red clothing. Strike teams don't wear robes as during an assault they get in the way and are more vulnerable to catching fire. Instead, they dressed similar to the Muggle SAS, except in red. They wore crimson overalls, with black body-armour over the top. The word 'AUROR' was written in white across the armour. They had stun-batons strapped their right thighs, black gloves and boots, and now what looked like goldfish bowls over their heads.

The Aurors slipped quietly into the foyer. It was smaller than the main hall downstairs, but far more luxurious. These were the executive offices, and so the foyer had to exemplify wealth and luxury and it definitely did just that. If Gringott's billed the Ministry for anything getting broken today, the ministry would probably go bankrupt. It was dim inside, but Kingsley could see well enough as a column of light descended from a skylight, illuminating a circle in the centre of the room around the reception desk, but leaving menacing shadows around the edge of the room. The room was large and square with a marble floor and a pillar in each corner. Along the walls were doors that led to the offices, and on the far side of the room, a huge pair of ornate doors led to the Head-Goblin's office. The room was silent and empty. Kingsley's breathing seemed dangerously loud and his heart was pounding in his chest. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he felt like they were being watched. A shiver ran down his spine. His keen eyes scanned the room, but found no sign of life. Slowly, trying to keep his footsteps quiet, he edged forward. The team started to spread out. They would check each office in turn before moving on.

As the last Auror entered the foyer, the door slammed shut behind them; they were trapped.

"Form up!" Kingsley commanded. The Aurors couldn't see properly, but formed a defensive formation with their wands at the ready as quickly as they could. Kingsley's eyes scanned the shadows, searching for any sign of movement. The only light in the room came from the skylight; the edges of the room were in darkness. They were wasting time, Kingsley realised. They had to hurry. He was just about to cast the Lumos Charm, when light was provided.

A line of fire started at the far end of the room and snaked along each wall, coming towards them. In just over a second, there was a soft whoosh as the two trails of fire joined at the lift behind them, blocking the door and effectively sealing them inside. They were caught in a rectangle of fire. It was not meant to burn them, Kinsley noted, just to prevent their escape. The flames danced menacingly up the wall, crackling softly, and providing light to every corner of the room. Kingsley pulled his black box from his pocket, to call for back up, but received no reply. Someone was jamming them. They were alone in this. The flames lit the room in a sickly orange glow. Kingsley suddenly felt very claustrophobic. The room was becoming unbearably hot, and he found it hard to breath. He was sweating all over, and the flickering flames were causing shadows to dance over every wall. There was movement all around them; he was finding it hard to focus. Suddenly several white masks appeared out of the darkness. The Death Eaters appeared from the shadows, converging on the Aurors. There were ten in all. The Aurors were surrounded, and outnumbered. Kingsley wished he still had the whole fourteen of them, but he had sent the abseil team down into the vaults. There were only eight of them now, and they were surrounded. It had been his decision to split up. Although he knew it was the right one to make, he wished they were here. It was his decision and his fault; such was the price of leadership.

"Aurors," commanded one of the Death Eaters. "Drop your wands and batons and you'll live."

"And if we don't?" inquired Kingsley, glancing around, taking in the layout of the room and the numbers. He was sure that the eight of them were a match for the Death Eaters. Auror training was no walkover; they were the best for a reason.

"Then we will exterminate you one by one," replied the Death Eater, levelling his wand at Kingsley.

"If you get a spell off, we'll take you with us," said Kingsley firmly. He glared at the Death Eater. He couldn't even see if the man was scared because of his mask. He didn't even know who he was. The other Aurors had their wand trained on a Death Eater. They were ready. He didn't even give the Death Eater a chance to respond.

"NOW!" shouted Kingsley. "STUPEFY!"

The jet of red light shot out of his wand at the startled Death Eater, who quickly managed to raise a shield. The stunner rebounded off towards Kingsley's left. He heard the shouts of other spells and duels behind him as the others joined the battle. The air was thick with spells, and Kingsley had to be wary from all 360 degrees, in case a wayward spell from another duel caught him. One on one was simple in that you knew where a spell was coming from at all times. In this kind of chaos, one ricochet from behind could end his duel. They were outnumbered and Kingsley found himself duelling with two Death Eaters.

He raised his shield in plenty of time to block the curse from one of the Death Eaters before diving backwards to avoid the Killing Curse from the other. His reflexes were very good for his build and he landed deftly on his feet, before sending a Paralysing curse at the legs of one the taller of the Death Eaters. The man conjured a small turquoise shield. It was a tiny thing, about a foot across, centred at the end of his wand. The Death Eater moved the tiny shield into the path of Kingsley's curse, batting it away to the side. Before Kingsley could utter another spell, the Death Eater had already sent another Killing Curse towards him.

"ON GUARD!" shouted Kingsley, letting his Aurors know that there was a loose Killing Curse in the air, as he flung himself to the ground. Merlin! This Death Eater was good; he was so fast - probably an ex-Auror. Kingsley expertly rolled and was back up on feet in time to send another curse at each of the Death Eaters. Both sidestepped easily. While the shorter of the two aimed the Cruciatus Curse at Kingsley, the other used his wand to cause a potted tree to fly at Kingsley. The Auror sidestepped the Unforgivable easily, but that put him in the path of the incoming tree.

\

"Reducto!" he roared. The curse blew the plant to smithereens and then continued on to blow a three-foot hole in the wall, showering the smaller Death Eater with chunks of plaster. The taller Death Eater, who by now Kingsley was sure had been trained by the Aurors, took the opportunity to send a Killing Curse at Kingsley, who summoned a chunk of the broken pot into the path of the curse. As the terra cotta exploded, Kingsley charged forward, shield raised.

He surged ahead, sidestepping the next curse and allowing his shield to absorb the impact of the following one with a loud gong-like noise. He saw the Death Eater draw his wand back, ready to cast the Unforgivable.

"AVADA…"

Kingsley's shoulder slammed into the waist of the ex-Auror. As they tumbled to the ground, Kingsley lost his grip on his wand. It had been a rash move. The other man was too fast, and very agile. He was probably younger than Kingsley and was what Dawlish would call a 'nippy little bastard'. He could avoid Kingsley's spells, so the Auror needed to get closer to lessen the time the Death Eater had to respond, and to be where Kingsley's advantages of size and physical strength could be exploited.

As they hit the floor, Kingsley rolled away, back up onto his feet. He noticed a movement to his left and turned just in time to see the shorter Death Eater come at him. Kingsley ducked the curse and subsequent punch. He delivered a hard kick to the stomach of the man and withdrew his Stun-Baton in one movement.

"Stupefy!" he hissed. The baton burst into life, emitting a bright scarlet glow. It was about a foot long and was enough to cause the Death Eater to pause. Kingsley's kick had caused him to lose grip on his wand. There was a second when he knew the inevitable was coming but couldn't stop it. He had no wand, and could not run. Shorty screamed as he threw a punch at Kingsley, who expertly dodged the punch, spinning away and bringing the glowing red baton down hard on the Death Eater's head. The man was launched off his feet by the force of the hit. He did a front flip before landing hard on the floor in a shower of red sparks.

"Crucio!" Kingsley didn't even have time to acknowledge his victory over the shorter, weaker Death Eater before the presumed ex-Auror had unleashed an Unforgivable at him. Kingsley dived backwards, landing painfully on a piece of debris from the wall. He sat up and hurled the Stun Baton at the Death Eater. The man uttered a few well-chosen words and a beam of yellow light blew the baton to pieces, causing an explosion of red and yellow sparks. Kingsley jumped back to his feet, pulling his second wand from its holster. Aurors were the only people in the country licensed to have a second wand.

He pointed it at the Death Eater, screaming "Paralysio!" at the top of his voice. The Paralysing curse hurtled towards the Death Eater, who blocked it easily and responded instantly with a curse of his own. They exchanged curses at a phenomenal rate, which would have even stressed the reflexes of the world's fastest Seeker, that Bulgarian kid, whatever his name was. This man had been trained, and trained well. As soon as Kingsley blocked one attack, there was another on the way. It seemed that he hadn't managed an offensive spell in ages. This man was definitely an Auror, or had been. Kingsley didn't have the time to contemplate that now. He ducked one curse and then another. He replied with one of his own and blocked the response. He opted for the strategy of avoiding curses and blocking them, trying to tire his attacker out. He was attacking so hard and so fast that he couldn't possibly carry on like this. Kingsley wanted to glance around and see how the others were doing, but a second's lapse in concentration would cost him his life.

Just then the Death Eater shot a blasting curse at Kingsley. He instinctively ducked and the curse rocketed above him. The curse blew the wall apart, the force of it knocked Kingsley off his feet. He found himself flat on his face in the rubble. He tried to get back up, but then to his horror a heavy boot slammed down on his wand arm, pinning it down. He looked up to see a wand pointed at his nose. The Death Eater stood over him, glaring down. Malice flashed in his eyes through the holes in the mask.

"And to think you gave me a B- for my duelling," sneered the Death Eater. He was an Auror! noted Kingsley, hoping that that would not be his final thought.

"Shacklebolt!" screamed a voice. Newman was running towards them, his wand level, a stunner already in transit. The Death Eater turned to face him, easily blocking the stunner. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"No!" shouted Kingsley. Newman ducked the curse, but lost his balance, falling to the floor. The Death Eater marched over to him as he tried to get up. Kingsley picked up his wand and aimed it at the Death Eater, was who standing over Newman in victory, on the rug. The rug!

"Accio rug!" shouted Kingsley. The rug was swept from underneath the Death Eater, who landed hard on the ground, his wand rolling away from him. "Stupefy!" the stunner hit the fallen Death Eater on the torso and he went limp.

"Clear!" called a voice.

"Thanks," said Newman, as Kingsley offered him a hand to get up. He picked up his wands and then glanced around to see the rest of the team, almost.

"Where's Scotty?" asked Newman.

"He took an AK to the face," said Keaton. His face was a bloody mess. His nose was bleeding profusely and he had a cut above the hairline over his right eye, which was dripping down his face. "He's gone."

They paused for a moment before Kingsley took control as team leader. He walked over to where Vincent Scott's body lay, and removed the Stun-Baton from his thigh to replace the one Kingsley had lost.

"Okay, we can mourn later, right now we have a job to do. Bind them and let's move out. Keaton, are you alright? That's a lot of blood."

"Fit as a fiddle," said Keaton, wiping it on his sleeve.

After binding the Death Eaters and draping a cloth over the head of their dead comrade, the Aurors approached the door at the end. Executive offices surrounded the great hall, but at the end, beyond the huge double doors, was the manager's office. The tired Aurors readied themselves once more. That was what made an Auror. They were tired, injured, had lost a friend, and were in truth afraid, but still they carried on. They would always fight on, and that was why the British Aurors were the most respected in the world.

"REDUCTO!" bellowed three of them at once. The spells blasted the door off its hinges. The Aurors stormed inside. It was only the outer room, where the secretary worked. It was a small room, but it was filled with Goblins, which were obviously injured and bound, but seemed to be alive.

Kingsley rushed to the nearest goblin.

"Are you alright?" he asked, releasing the banker from his bonds.

"I'll live," coughed the goblin. "He's in there." The creature pointed to the doors that led to the manager's office. "He took the boss and went in there. That was ten minutes ago. We tried to hide him, but he tortured us until we told him. We couldn't help it, sir."

"It's okay," Kingsley comforted the creature. "Keaton, release them, see to the wounded. Have someone bring in back up and healers. I'm going in."

"We'll all go," protested Newman.

"No," said Kingsley. "It could be a trap. Get backup. We don't know how many are in there. We need more Aurors, and we are all tired. Get backup, that's an order!"

Keaton nodded and Kingsley turned to face the huge jewel encrusted door. He pushed the doors open and slipped inside.

The room was mostly dark. One huge window behind the desk cast a bright white light onto the floor, but there were many shadows in the huge office. Kinsley could see the desk with its back to the window. A jewel-encrusted lamp was switched off on one side of the desk. Beyond it he could see a cabinet, which he suspected contained alcohol and around the edges of the room he could see cabinets containing all manner of riches, art and artefacts. The room seemed to embody wealth and power. Kingsley wouldn't be surprised if the room itself was made of solid gold. Kingsley couldn't even see the walls as the shadows hid them. By the desk was a large armchair. Kingsley pointed his wand ahead of him and crossed over to the desk. The seat was facing away from him, towards the window. Kingsley rounded the desk and approached the chair. He put on hand on it and spun it to face him.

He gasped inwardly at the sight that greeted him. An elderly goblin was sitting in the chair, a look of horror on the face of the dismembered head, which was resting in the lap of the headless creature. Blood had leaked out of the neck and dribbled over the goblin's shirt and suit, and then down onto the floor.

"Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'it's my neck if something goes wrong', doesn't it?" said a voice from the shadows. Kingsley whipped around. He couldn't see anything, but the voice was real. It sounded so young, clearly not a man. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty.

"Who are you?" said the Auror.

Kingsley waited for a few seconds before he noticed movement in the shadows. He watched in astonishment as a boy stepped out of the shadows.

He was dressed all in black, from head to toe. He had a thick black cloak which came over the top of his shoulders, right to the floor. Beneath it, Kingsley saw a chestplate of armour similar to the one he was wearing. The handle of a sword was visible over his right shoulder. The boy was fairly short with raven black hair and startling green eyes. He looked so familiar. He looked like a good friend and colleague, a colleague whose son had disappeared a few months back.

"Harry?" asked Kingsley.

"The very same," said the boy bowing slightly.

"What's going on? Where have you been?" asked the shocked Auror. Had he found James' son? What was he doing here, of all places? He had heard rumours of the Dark Knight. Kingsley had thought that he would be here. maybe he was. Had he kidnapped Harry?

"Harry, come on," said Kingsley. "Let's get you out of here."

"I'm perfectly happy here," said Harry coolly. "Though perhaps it is time to leave. I wouldn't want to keep my Master waiting."

"What are you talking about?" asked Kingsley.

"Surely you've worked it out?" said Harry, patronisingly. "Surely you know about the Ministry's little covert payments sceme? You must know the significance of the names in this file?" the boy held up a green loose-leaf file, marked with the Gringotts insignia.

"I know what it is, but what are you doing with it?" asked Kingsley. Harry Potter sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Kingsley was sure the boy wore glasses in the last picture Lily and James had of him, but he didn't have any now.

"Think, Auror," said Harry coldly. "You've gotten past my friends outside, so you clearly have brawn, now use your brain."

"You're with them," said Kinglsey, a sinking feeling filling his stomach. "You're the Dark Knight."

An evil grin spread over the face of the fifteen year old boy. He dropped the file and slowly raised both hands in front of him. Slowly, icily, he clapped once, twice, three times.

"Why?" stammered Kingsley in shock. How could a boy so youg be the Dark Knight? It wasn't possible. No one was so vicious at this age. Voldemort would never trust someone so young as he did the Dark Knight. It couldn't be true. James' son. No!

"Many reasons," said Harry matter of factly, picking up the file and placing it on the shelf next to him. "None of which someone like you would understand."

"What do you mean?"

The boy opened the front doors to the chest, revealing a line of bottles. Kingsley recognised the bottle he picked up as Firewhiskey. The boy poured himself a glas under the gaze of Kingsley, who still couldn't bring himself to raise his wand-arm from where it had fallen limp at his side. The boy offered the bottle to Kingsley as if he hadn't a care in the world. He had a sword on his back and the goblin had no head. He must have killed the goblin. The boy was going to go down for murder; how could he be so calm and remorseless? Kingsley refused the bottle and Potter put it back.

"Because you are conditioned not to think," said Harry plainly. He sipped at the whiskey and shook his head at the flavour, shivering slightly. He didn't cough, but he was clearly in discomfort. Probably his first time with that stuff. "You are trained to follow orders, even if you don't agree with them, correct?"

Kingsley nodded.

"If Crouch was to tell you to march to your death, you would do it. If you thought you would save lives, you would do it, wouldn't you? Don't answer, it was rhetorical, I know you would. You don't think, or maybe you do, but you lack the courage and conviction to act. If you can think, and as team leader you must have favour with the foolish Minister, so I guess that means you can't, but if you can, see if you can follow me. You are content to follow, because you believe that this country is good enough as it is. There is no real need for change. Whereas I and people like me, we see that the world is not good enough as it is. Take a look around, Auror. This country is falling apart and it always has been. The only reason it hasn't is because of people like my Master and Grindelwald."

"Harry, I don't know what you've been told, but…"

"If you shut up and listen you will," said Harry icily. "At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the population boomed. Better healthcare amongst the Muggles, better sanitary facilites, et cetra, caused the Muggle population to boom. Their numbers increased exponentially and naturally, the numbers of Muggle-Born witches and wizards grew as well. Wizards were once in almost equal numbers to the Muggles.

"As you know, any Muggle-Born witch or wizard is identified the first time they perform accidental magic. Memory charms are administered and the child is watched and noted so that they receive a letter when they turn eleven. Now this sudden influx of Muggleborns chokes the system. We can't cope with the numbers. The system was pushed to its limits. And then we get to graduation. Muggleborns graduate, and then what? They either go off to become doctors or lawyers in the Muggle world, completely undermining their Magical education, or they join wizarding society. Here is another problem. Families disown them, treating magic much as they did in the Dark Ages. So what happens? They scrounge off Ministry benefits. Money that should go to bettering Hogwarts, bettering our nation, is spent on those lazy little shites, whose good-for-nothing parents deserted them for being what they are. Do you have any idea how much money is wasted on Obliviators because Muggleborns don't know how the world works? They get into all sorts of messes where a wizards know better. So much is wasted, and then they marry and have children and the genepool of purebloods is diluted. Slowly but surely they are exterminating us. In one hundred years there will be no purebloods, is there no pride left in Wizard-kind?"

"And how does what you are doing help?" asked Kingsley.

"We keep the numbers down," said Harry. "We restore pride to the pureblood nation. Inbred as they might be, but they still marry pureblood and that preserves the genepool. We are much like pest control, when you think about it. And the proof of our effectiveness is there for all to see. Think about it; during the short time Grindelwald was killing off Muggles, what happened? Wizards stayed out of the war, for the most part, except of course for the Grindelwald saga campaign, of course, but we kept ourselves to ourselves. No Muggles were taken to Hogwarts then because of the war. We couldn't take Muggleborn children away from families, or show ourselves to Muggles as demands for magical aid to the war would swamp us. Between 1941 and 1945 Hogwarts grades went up, and the pureblood families grew and grew. Take the Blacks and the Weasleys for instance; they have a lot of children. Arthur and Molly have seven I believe and the Black Family Tree is huge. Up until 1940, the average number of children in a family was 2. The generation that graduated around that time now have large families of pureblooded wizards and witches. During the Sixties and early Seventies, the trait continued; fewer Muggleborns came to Hogwarts and the dying Purebloods repopulated themselves. But now we are getting sloppy once more. More and more Muggles are entering Hogwarts; the average number of purebloods per year is down to six. We are being forced out and if we don't fight, Purebloods are going to die out. Ever heard of the Dartmoor pony? Tiny little ponies that are part of the scenic beauty of the area. Over the years, farmers have introduced loads of different breeds and the inter-breeding has resulted in the near extinction of the Dartmoor pony. Once they're gone, they can't come back, never ever. So now the National Trust raises money to preserve them, to keep the heritage of the moors. Is that wrong?"

"No, but…" began Kingsley, but Harry cut him off.

"And that is no different to what we are doing. We are ensuring the survival of our race. You may well be thinking, 'oh, but there will still be wizards and magic'. Well, there will still be horses on Dartmoor, but the status, the prestege, the symbol of everything the moor stands for would be gone. It is about conservation of the land, but they are still killing off the ponies who are a part of the land, and something has to be done. Same principle here. We are conserving our species, as well as cleaning up a flawed system of government which, if nothing is done, will collapse on itself in a few decades anyway."

"How do you justify torture?" asked Kingsley. The boy was hopelessly deluded. Voldemort must have brain washed him. He was reguritating all that he had been taught.

"A means to an end," said Harry, without batting an eye. "We discourage them from coming to Hogwarts. We remove those who stand against us. Check the records, most of those we kill have links to our world, though they are Muggle. Have you ever met my aunt and uncle? People like them, who treat us like dirt because we are different, are all over the country. We cleanse the way for our own survival. It's not like we want to destroy the world for the hell of it. This isn't some b-movie where the villian wants to destroy the world for no good reason, ignoring that fact that if he blows up the world or unleashes a killer virus he will kill himself as well. We have a cause, and one worth fighting for, and we plan to live to the day when we don't have to fear Muggles, and where Wizards are given the respect we deserve."

"You are insane," snapped Kingsley. "Don't you see that what you're doing is wrong? Don't you know how sick you sound? Come and see your mother. They've all been sick with worry."

"I have a job to do. I am doing this for them," said Harry, putting the glass down and picking up the files again. Kingsley eyed the file carefully. Inside was a list of every undercover Auror, every informant the Ministry had. It had to be destroyed.

"Your own mother is Muggle-Born," said Kingsley. "You don't want her dead?"

"We all have our choices in life," said Harry. "They chose to side with Dumbledore and the Muggles. They may wish to flush our society down the toilet, but I am proud to be a wizard. If they aren't, then they can die with the rest of the Muggles."

The boy was insane. He had to be stopped. He had already killed the goblin. If Kingsley could bring him in alive, Dumbledore might sway a vote of insanity. After a few months in St Mungo's, he should be happy as ever.

"But enough talk," said Harry. "I have a deadline to meet." He strolled casually towards the fireplace. Kingsley moved to stand in his way.

"Let me pass," said the boy calmly.

"You know I can't do that," said Kingsley raising his wand. He glanced down briefly and realised he was holding his second wand and his primary wand, the one that had brought him through Hogwarts many years ago, was in his holster. He had picked up the wrong one after his duel with the Death Eaters. He had been too tired to check which was which. Still, it should not matter; this was only a boy after all.

"I'm going to count to three," said Harry in a bored voice. "One…two…"

Kingsley prepared himself. The boy couldn't do anything to him. He had only three complete years of schooling, he was certainly no match for an Auror. But then again, what of the rumours? If he even was the Dark Knight…what if it was a bluff and he wasn't the Knight. Too late to contemplate that now, he had to bring the boy in, preferably alive.

"Harry, don't! I'm warning you!" said Kingsley firmly, aiming his wand.

"Three." Harry sighed and shook his head. "So be it." Kingsley never saw it coming. The boy moved so fast he couldn't react. In a flash of steel, the boy had grabbed the sword from over his shoulder and swung it, slicing Kingsley's second wand cleanly in two, then, spinning again, he slashed at Kingsley's arm. The sword left a deep yet clean cut in his right tricep. Kingsley clenched his teeth, determined not to let his pain show. He clutched his arm in pain as blood flowed between his fingers.

With a flick of his wand, Harry launched Kingsley across the room. The Auror slammed into the double doors, which held, but bent slightly under the impact. Kingsley landed on the floor hard and glared up at the boy, who stood calmly by the fire. Kingsley was up on his feet in an instant, his primary wand drawn.

Expelliarmus!"

Harry sidestepped easily, and levelled his own wand at Kingsley's throat.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "I'm in a rush and more than happy to just leave."

"Stupefy!" Kingsley sent the stunner right at the boy, who sidestepped. Next thing Kingsley knew, two more spells were zooming towards him. The Auror dived to the side as the curses smashed into the shelves, spreading their contents over the floor. He rolled and was back on his feet in a second, only to find that the boy was right in front of him, less than two feet away. Kingsley hardly had time to react before the boy's foot connected with the side of his face.

Two more kicks were delivered to his stomach before the boy spun on his heel and tried to delivered a final spinning kick to his chest, but Kingsley managed to get an arm up to block an further abuse. He was tired and aching from earlier, and this boy was immensely fast. Kingsley managed to block another kick, dropping his wand in the process, and then attempted a punch of his own, all thoughts of not hurting a child long forgotten. Potter spun away from the punch, kicking him in the back of the knee as he went. Kingsley fell to his knees. Before he could rise, Potter had the thin blade of a sword pressed firmly against his throat.

"Remember, Auror," said Harry icily. "I gave you the chance to live. You chose to be here. You chose to die." The blade withdrew, as Harry pulled it back. Kingsley's hand crept to his thigh, where his remaining weapons were holstered. Harry raised the sword high above his head, ready to swing. Kingsley's fingers closed around the cold metal in the holster. He opened the button that held it in place and withdrew the weapon an inch. As the sword came hurtling down towards his neck, Kingsley summoned all the strength he had left. "Stupefy!" Scotty's stun baton on his thigh sprang to life, and Kingsley brought it up to meet the blade. The impact sent a shower of red sparks in all directions. Kingsley summoned enough strength to rise to his feet, using his height and strength to force the sword away from his body. Despite his disadvantage in terms of height, Harry Potter showed no sign of fear. He kept the pressure on the sword, pressing it towards Kingsley's chest, who tried to force it away from him.

"Interesting," said Harry, "Inadequate, unexpected, but interesting."

Kingsley kept his eye on the blade; it swung out for the right and then back toward his body. Kingsley moved the baton to block again. He parryied one attack and then the next, thanking Merlin for the fencing he had done when he was young. The boy had two hands on the sword, while he held his baton in one. His wand was lying on the floor a few feet away, but he daren't take his eyes of Potter.

Just then, Harry lunged. Kingsley parried the attack and as Potter's momentum carried him past Kingsley, the Auror dived for his wand. His fingers wrapped around the handle, and he got back to his feet just in time to block another attack. Kingsley moved the baton up to parry and scooped it around, forcing the blade of the sword into the wall. Keeping the sword from moving with the baton, he aimed his point blank at the boy and fired a Blasting Curse straight into the boy's chest.

Harry was launched across the room and landed next to the fireplace, leaving the sword imbedded in the wall. He was up in a second, a look of pure rage on his face. The sword was still stuck in the wall to Kingsley's left. Harry summoned it to him and continued to move, his legs stepping carefully over each other, keeping his body sideways-on and his wand level. Both combatants had their wands ready and began to circle. Kingsley watched Harry as they moved, keeping his eyes on his wand and sword. He seemed to be willing Kingsley to make the first move. They had moved one hundred and eighty degrees, and Kingsley now had his back to the fire, Harry's to the door. It was then that Kingsley saw movement behind Harry. Someone familiar had just slipped through the broken door. Kingsley froze as he saw Keaton pull out a wand. Too late, Kingsley realised what was about to happen.

"SON OF A BITCH!" screamed Keaton, running forward. Potter didn't even turn. He just spun the sword under his own arm, so the blade was facing out of his back. Keaton ran straight into it, impaling himself on the sword. There was a moment when Kingsley thought it might not be too bad, but then a look of pain crossed his face as Keaton gasped for air. He coughed and his mouth was suddenly full of blood, coming up from within. Emotionlessly, Harry turned to see the dying Auror behind him. He pulled the sword out of Keaton's chest, and with nothing left to support him, Keaton fell to his knees, his hands grasping at the gaping wound. He gasped for breath, staring at Kingsley, his eyes pleading for help. He managed three more breaths, before his eyes rolled upwards, into his head, and he keeled over, his head hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Kingsley dived forward while Potter's eyes were still on Keaton, unleashing two curses as he went. Harry conjured the same small turquoise shield Kingsley had seen outside, and batted both curses away, replying with one of his own in the same movement. Kingsley jumped the curse, firing another in midair. Potter spun away from the curse, bringing his wand down in a slashing movement, unleashing a purple ribbon of light at Kingsley, who dived to the floor. He had to roll as three more curses abruptly hit the floor where he had lain a second before. Kingsley rolled into the shadows, narrowly avoiding Potter's curses.

Once he was back on his feet, Kingsley summoned a book off the shelf. The huge tome flew towards Harry who blasted it in mid air.

"Cute trick," said Harry, "but two can play at that game." With a flick of his wand, something was flying towards Kingsley. He was about to blast it when he realised what it was. Kingsley was nearly sick on the spot as he caught Harry's missile. The Auror found himself looking down into the vacant eyes of the severed goblin head.

Kingsley tried again, launching the bottle of fire-whiskey at his opponent. Lazily, Harry blasted it, but he was not prepared for what would happen. His spell caused the flammable alcohol to explode into a huge fireball. Kingsley took advantage of the flash by moving swiftly amongst the shadows, so that Potter thought he was still in one corner, when he was in fact in another. As expected, Potter fired a curse blindly through the flame into the wrong corner, while Kingsley replied with one of his own from his hiding place in the shadows. Potter was blasted across the room and landed on his front.

He sprang back up to his feet, genuine anger burning in his eyes.

Kingsley decided to end it. "Paralysio!" he roared, sending the Paralysis Curse at the boy. A body bind was too good for him. Harry's hand moved behind his back and he muttered a spell. When the hand re-emmerged, he seemed to be holding a ring of sky blue light. The boy stepped to the side, scooped the curse up in the ring and in one movement hurled it back at Kingsley. It took a second to register what he had just seen. The circle of blue light had collected the curse. Potter had held the ring with a ball of pink light that was Kingsley's curse inside it, for less than a second before returning it to sender. It looked like the planet Saturn as it zoomed towards him. It moved very quickly across the air, hurtling towards the Auror. Kingsley raised a shield, but it did no good. As the combination of curses hit the shield, the blue ring disappeared, along with the shield. Kingsley took the full force of his own Paralysis Curse to the chest. He was launched backwards six feet, landing on his back. He was unable move a muscle. He tried to raise an arm, but found he couldn't move other than to blink and breathe.

Suddenly Potter was standing over him. "Bet you weren't expecting that. My own little concoction. Now, I am going to do something I don't normally do. I am going to let you live. I want the old man to know what happened here, today. I want him to know who I am, and who his enemy is. I want him to know I am the Dark Lord's number one, and I want you all to know that death is coming. They picked the wrong side."

With that he picked up the file from where he had dropped it and started towards the fire. Before he reached it, there was movement to Kingsley's right.

"Incendio!" coughed Keaton. With his dying breath, Keaton incinerated the files and half of Potter's cloak.

"Bollocks," muttered the boy, glaring at Keaton's fallen body, which lay in a pool of blood. If he had not been dead, Kingsley was sure that Keaton would have felt Potter's wrath in the form of the Cruciatus Curse. As it was, Keaton was dead and Potter had nothing to vent his frustration on; nothing except Kingsley.

The Auror watched in horror, as the boy advanced on him, his wand aimed at Kingsley's chest. Kingsley stared helplessly up into a pair of unforgiving green eyes. His mother's and sister's sparkled, where as his seemed duller, yet they burned with rage. Harry levelled his wand at Kingsley's throat.

"CRUCIO!" hissed the boy. Kingsley's may not have been able to move by himself, but the intense pain of the curse caused his muscles to spasm. His body thrashed uncontrolably, as pain surged through every nerve in his body. He was determined not to cry out, but the pain penetrated every corner of his mind.

CRASH!

Suddenly the pain was gone. From the tinkle of glass and the sudden gush of wind, he was sure the window behind the desk had exploded inwards. Glass rained down around the desk and remains of the manager. Kingsley was lying flat on his back, and all he could see was the ceiling. Judging by the movement of the shadows, he was sure there was an Auror on a broom outside the window.

"Stupefy!" shouted a familiar voice.

Potter dived to the side, out of Kingsley's field of view. A flash of red was reflected of the ceiling. He heard Potter shout some words, followed by the roar of flames as the boy dissappeared into the fireplace. Kingsley hadn't managed to hear the destination.

The next thing Kingsley saw was James Potter, kneeling over him.

"Who in the name of Merlin was that?" asked Potter.

The image of Harry Potter standing over him, the malice in his eyes, was something Kingsley would never forget, nor the look on Keaton's face as he died. The boy had been a monster. But apparently that was all behind him. Apparently this was not even the Harry Potter he had fought. In the aftermath of that event, the boy's name had become synonymous with death. In the following week, nine of the names on the list were found dead. Harry must have been able to remember some of the names, enough to remove a few.

The boy stared at each of the Aurors in turn, expectantly.

"Harry Potter," said Kingsley. "The purpose of today is to find out if you are safe to be re-entered into society. We're all friends here, and members of the Order. As such you are to be perfectly honest and tell us everything. Security arrangements have been made so that the truth will not go beyond these four walls and the Headmaster. Please be honest. Sitting with me, in case you don't know, are Alastor Moody…"

"Mad-Eye," the boy acknowledged him. Kingsley was a little surprised that this stranger, apparently from another universe, knew exactly who they were. He managed to keep his surprise from showing.

"Amelia Bones, Head of the Derpartment of Magical Law Enforcement."

"And member of the Wizengamot," finished the boy.

"We did not have all the facts at that time," said Amelia defensively. Was he still bitter about his trial? Kingsley had detected a tone of anger in his voice, but it was a controlled anger. On reflection, if he had been sentenced for something he didn't do, and mocked in front of the country's press, Kingsley would also be far from happy. But if the boy was angry and impulsive, then with his skills, he would always be a danger to those around him.

"And lastly we have…"

"Dawlish," the boy finished. "The last time I saw you, you were lying unconcious in the head's office after you foolishly tried to arrest him. Still a bodyguard for the Minister?"

Dawlish gave the boy a bemused stare before replying. "I have never been on protection detail and I don't intend to either."

"Fair enough," said Harry shrugging. "I certainly wouldn't give my life to save Fudge." So the boy knew them all, or at least he knew who they were. Had he had past encounters with them in his world, if that was even true? Kingsley made a note on his parchement to ask the boy later.

"Mr Potter," said Amelia Bones. "The Ministry is under enormous pressure to detain you, and there are calls for your execution. Rest assured we will not execute you; we are here to assess whether you are still a danger to our society. Before we begin, I would like to make sure I have the chronology straight, okay? We are told by your Headmaster that you were born in another dimension. Your parents were murdered by You-Know-Who…"

"Voldemort," the boy corrected. "You're head of MLE; if you don't have the courage to say his name, how can you expect to fight him?"

"That's not the issue here," said Amelia coldly. "As I was saying, your parents were murdered. You mentioned at your trial that you were raised by your mother's sister and her husband, Mr Vernon and Mrs Petunia Dursley. You came to Hogwarts when you were eleven. Your godfather was Sirius Black, whom you never met until your third year. He died last summer. On August 30th this year you were involved in a three-way duel with Dumbledore and You-Kno…Vo…Vol…Voldemort, during which you were accidentally transported to this world, where you were subsequently arrested by Frank Longbottom. Is this all correct?"

"Pretty much," said the boy.

"You then escaped and returned to Grimmauld Place, where you believed the Order to be residing, but in fact was V…Voldemort's stronghold. You then participated in an attack on the train…"

"I did not participate…I just…" interrupted the boy.

"We'll get to that," Amelia cut him off. "I am just getting the timeline sorted. You attacked the Hogwarts Express, ordering the execution of a passenger and then turned on your own people, resulting in the arrest of four Death Eaters. You escaped, leaving a message to meet Albus Dumbledore. You were captured and then brought before us. Is that correct?"

"More or less," said Harry. "But I did not murd…."

"We'll get to that," repeated Amelia, cutting him off. "This is all a little hard to believe. Out of respect for Albus Dumbledore, we are giving you this opportunity. Were it not for him, you would have been confined to Azkaban without trial. Now, I concede that this story would explain your behaviour since you got here, but we have many points to clear up, and we need more proof than just your word. Do you consent to the use of Veritaserum?"

The boy paused to think for a second. Kingsley could tell from his face that he didn't really want to do it, but something told him he had to. At length, he nodded. Dawlish rose from his chair and administered the potion, by pouring three drops onto the boy's tongue.

<<< >>>

As the ice cold liquid touched Harry's tongue, he felt a shiver go through his body. He had no wish to submit to this potion, but it would help his case. He had many private thoughts, many that no one knew about, and he would not be able to stop himself giving them away. But he was with the Order here, so they would be responsible, wouldn't they?

Harry swallowed. He felt an icy sensation spread throughout his body. As it reached his head, he felt a wave of light-headedness sweep over him. He imagined that this was what it felt like to be drugged up on whatever one could buy on the streets of Britain now-a-days. His balance was slightly affected, and he felt his head loll to one side. He felt slightly disconnected from his senses. He registered what he was seeing nearly a second after his eyes had seen it. He seemed so groggy.

"We need to see if the potion has worked," said Dawlish. His voice seemed to have slowed slightly and it echoed off the walls. Harry's rational mind told him it was just the potion, but it was very disorientating.

"Name."

"Harry James Potter."

"Address."

"Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Who was the last girl you kissed?"

"Cho Chang, Ravenclaw," he answered without hesitation. Did I really just say that? He wondered to himself. He hadn't meant to, it just happened. It just came about before he even had the chance to think.

"Really?" muttered Moody, making a quick note on the parchment in front of him.

"Not in this world," said Harry quickly. So he did still have some control over his voice.

"Are you from another world?"

"Yes."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"No."

"Are you, or have you ever been in the service of the Dark Lord?"

"No."

Harry had no control over his answers, nor the questions. He couldn't stop himself. His head was spinning, but it seemed to be going alright. He had told them he was not evil, under Veritaserum. It might be okay.

Just then, the questioning took a turn for the worse.

"Have you ever used an Unforgivable Curse?"

"Yes." He sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His voice gave no trace of pride nor regret, but inside the guilt was eating at him.

There was a pause as the jury contemplated his answer. Oh no! They would find out about Bellatrix. He'd end up in Azkaban. No one would believe him. It would all go wrong!

"Which one?"

"The Cruciatus Curse."

"On whom?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

"You mean Bellatrix Black?"

"No. In my world she is married."

"So you did it in your world, before you came here, being of sound mind and not under duress from other Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever killed anyone?" growled Moody.

"Yes," said Harry instantly. His head was spinning and it was hard to follow the conversation.

"How many and whom?" came the next question, though Harry wasn't sure who had asked it.

"Three," said Harry. Now he was in trouble. His heart sank and his stomach tightened, but he could not stop his answer. "The Death Eater who attempted to break me out of St Mungo's. The witch who runs the sweet trolley on the Hogwarts Express - I ordered her execution - and the Auror, Scholes, who was torturing me."

There was a frantic scribbling of notes by all of the officals in front of him, before Madam Bones spoke up again.

"Here is the problem, Mr Potter," said Amelia Bones. "You admit to using an Unforgivable. We can discount the other crimes committed here by our Harry Potter, but you are still guilty of using that curse, which carries a life sentence in Azkaban. Now, we can just about understand your motives behind the three killings, though we will come back to the train incident later, but you have still used the torture curse, and that is inexcusable. You admit you did it of your own free will. Explain why you did it."

"She murdered Sirius. I watched her. I lost control, I flew into a blind rage. She tried to run, and I followed. I was so angry. I never had parents, and she had taken my Godfather from me. I hated her so much. I caught up with her and…I couldn't stop myself. The curse didn't even work. I can't enjoy causing pain. I'm not evil. The curse worked for less than a second before she was on her feet."

"I see," said Amelia. "What is there that stops you flying into a similar blind rage here? How can I be sure you won't use the curse again?"

"You can't" answered Harry without hesitation. In his mind, he was panicking. He had used an Unforgivable and they might jail him for it. They had already accused him of murdering the Trolley-Witch. They weren't going to let him off!

"So you have a criminal record?" asked Dawlish.

"Yes." Oh, this just keeps getting better, he thought sarcastically to himself.

"Explain."

"Two violations of the Decree for the Resriction of Underage Wizardry. A House-Elf visited me and did a Hover Charm in my home and I received a warning. Three years later, Dolores Umbridge sent Dementors to my house. I was telling people of Voldemort's return and the Ministry tried to hush it up. To discredit me, she sent Dementors. I cast the Patronus Charm to defend myself and my cousin. I was nearly expelled for using the charm in self-defence."

"In such circumstances, you are allowed to use magic," growled Moody.

"Minister Fudge thought me and Dumbledore were creating a rumour about Voldemort to unseat him from power. He tried to discredit us. He wanted me expelled. Luckily, Dumbledore got me off."

"If Fudge is the Minister, where is Mr Crouch?" asked Kingsley.

"He's dead. He was murdered by a Death Eater over a year ago."

"You have had your brushes with the law, haven't you?" muttered Madam Bones as she frantically scribbled notes on the parchment in front of her.

"Tell me about the Hogwarts Express incident last month," growled Moody.

Harry's heart sank, but he was unable to stop himself. Without a second's hesitation, his lips began to move as he launched into the tale. Harry knew he was in trouble. They knew he had a criminal record in both worlds. They knew he didn't like the Ministry in general and that he had used an Unforgivable. They knew he had attacked the Hogwarts Express, and killed the trolley-witch, not to mention the Death Eaters in St Mungo's. He had escaped custody and become a fugitive, in addition to attacking a Ministry worker during his escape and killing an Auror, even though it had been a corrupt Auror. Corrupt, Scholes may have been, but he was also the jury's colleague and possibly friend. That would not help his case.

The questioning seemed to last forever; they covered most of his life. His early confessions regarding an Unforgivable and his criminal record seemed to be a bit of a black mark. He would undoubtedly be called to answer for them sooner or later. Dumbledore was famous for giving second chances; the Ministry were not and Moody definitely was not.

Two hours later, Harry was released. He was given a potion to flush the Veritaserum from his veins. Ten minutes and a trip to the bathroom later, Harry was feeling better, but very tired. The questioning had been very tiring, probably because of the potion. They had started off with questions about his crimes and then his abilities. Moody in particular sounded very doubtful that his new found talents could be controlled. 'You can't change what you are, laddie,' he had said. From there they went onto his health, and the dreams he had been having. When he mentioned the dreams from the other Harry's memories, he had been asked that if he remembered too much, would he snap and join Voldemort again. Harry had told them that since Voldemort took everything from him, he would never join him, ever. They discussed briefly his combat experience in the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. Harry had a feeling that the guards would be advised to check on the inmates for Animagus abilities. He wasn't asked much about his adventures, only the fight in the Ministry. He had discussed the Weasleys and his friends. He discussed the hostility with Malfoy and of course his article in the Quibbler. He had named names again, giving them everyone who had been at the re-birth and the Department of Mysteries. Some of them were dead in this world, but most survived. They had grilled him thoroughly on the trolley-witch and though it had been hard, Harry believed he had won them over. As Moody put it, 'as Aurors we have had to make such decisions. I can understand what you did; it was the logical choice, but what gave you the right to make it?' Harry couldn't answer: he did not know.

The results would be published in a few hours, but he was not required to stay for them. The potion had tired him out and he was absolutely spent. As he got back to the Room of Requirement that evening, Harry was so tired he simply crashed into a large comfy bed which appeared on the shore of his little beach and fell asleep in all his clothes.

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HARRY POTTER CLEARED!

A mere four days after the news broke that the Dark Knight, Harry Potter had suffered amnesia after an attack in Devon, Rita Skeeter, special correspondent, can exclusively reveal that the boy had been cleared of all charges by the Ministry of Magic. After an extensive interrogation by Head of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones and Master Aurors Moody, Shacklebolt and Dawlish, Harry Potter has been cleared of all charges. He will receive no punishment for the sixty-nine cases of using an Unforgivable Curse and forty-five counts of murder. In a statement issued hours ago by the Minister of Magic, Harry Potter is pardoned and released, but under heavy watch.

"The boy is to be monitored twenty-four hours a day," said Minister Crouch. "His wand has been tapped so that every spell he utters is recorded instantly at the Ministry. If he puts a toe out of line, he will stand trial for every one of his past crimes. He is subject to a monthly review by a Legilimens to check for any sign of the returning darkness. The boy's past speaks for itself and we are taking no chances. He is free to go, but will be constantly monitored. The safety of the public is our top priority."

Questions have been raised about the truthfulness in the claim of amnesia, but after interrogation by a Legilimens and through the use of Veritaserum, the story has been verified. Questions have also been raised about Mr Potter's return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was unavailable for comment, and no statement has been issued. Legally, Potter was never expelled and could return, but that decision will lie in the hands of the Headmaster, the Head of Gryffindor House Minerva McGonagall, and Potter's parents, assuming the Wizengamot do not deem him a danger to society. The Wizengamot has the authority to overturn the decision of the Ministry of Magic, and Mr Potter may still find himself under arrest.

Dumbledore has long been known for his unorthodox methods and this reporter, for one, would not be surprised to see the Dark Knight back in classes within a week. The moral debate over this is staggering. Would any sane parent want their child to be taught alongside a mass-murderer? It is irresponsible to expose the innocent, our children, to the kind of person who would commit murder as freely as Potter once did. This did not seem to bother Headmaster Dumbledore when he hired the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, who was later dismissed as a teacher for setting a Hippogriff loose on a student. The father of the student in question and member of Hogwarts Board of Governers, Lucius Malfoy, gave this statement.

"We the board of governors have long felt that Dumbledore's decisions are bordering on insanity and in the interest of the students, we are ready to step in should the need arise. The incident with Draco Lucius Malfoy's son and the Hippogriff was a direct result of Dumbledore's negligence and the employment of an unsuitable teacher. The board will not make the same mistake twice and will gladly step in to protect the students, even if it means denying Mr Potter a proper education."

Rose slammed the article down in disgust. Lucius-bloody-Malfoy. How could the world not see that he was a Death Eater? The man was downright vicious. It was his gold, nothing else. There should be a law against slimy bastards like him. Looking around the Great Hall, she noticed that almost everyone else was avidly reading the Prophet. As usual, the stares and glares were coming thick and fast. From what she had overheard, they would be in for a long ride. She had heard about Hannah Abbott's outburst at her mother and knew of ten more students who had lost a member of their immediate family to Harry. She knew it was a lot to ask them to forgive him, but she wished they would. And Crouch was keeping him locked up like a dog. He would practically be wearing a collar, have his wand tapped and everything. They were treating him like a…criminal. Couldn't they see that he had changed? No, they couldn't, because no one could tell them the truth. Damn all this secrecy!

Tuesdays were always the busiest breakfasts for two reasons. One, because it was spaghetti hoops and hash-browns day rather than baked beans and waffles, and secondly, every sixth and seventh year had a lesson period one, so everyone was at breakfast. The hall was alive with chatter, each discussing their own Harry-Potter-conspiracy theory. She heard the names Butlins, Black Noel and Gringott's being mentioned. When Harry did re-emerge, he would not be met with welcome arms. Even Ron was discussing what his father had told him about the Butlins incident, and how he had had to put the holiday park right again. He was supposed to be on their side, part of their crew, but since Ginny and Rose couldn't tell him anything, he had decided that it was all a conspiracy. Not even Fred, George or Percy knew anything, so why he had the right to sulk and spread rumours was beyond Rose.

"Can I have your attention please," called the Headmaster above the chatter, which dwindled away in a few seconds. All eyes turned to face the old man. "There will be a meeting tonight for all Gryffindors in the Gryffindor common room at seven o'clock. It is very important that all Gryffindors attend. Thank you. Have a nice day."

As the student body assimilated that information, Rose cracked a smile. It had to be about Harry. Was he to return to Gryffindor Tower? He was pardoned, so now he could return to school and everything could be normal again. Rose took one look down the table, and it was clear that others had come to the same conclusion she had. Suddenly a hand landed on her shoulder. She turned to see Hannah Abbott leaning over her, a vicious glare on her face.

"Just keep him away from me," she hissed.

Without a further word she stalked off towards the door. The girl seemed livid, but it was understandable. Rose only hoped that time would heal her wounds. She watched the Hufflepuff reach the doors, but then something extraordinary happened.

As she reached the doors, a wall of pink light appeared over the threshold. Hannah was launched off her feet and thrown back a good ten feet, landing on the cold hard floor, and sliding a further few feet before coming to a stop. She lay still for a few seconds before the whole hall erupted into gasps. Suddenly the huge wooden double-doors to the hall slammed shut, and the wall of pinkish light descended over the doors. With another bang, the back door that the staff used slammed just as hard and was again covered by the pink light. The stained glass windows that ran along the east wall were also covered by the barrier of light, as was the owl entrance. Every entrance and exit was blocked by the light. A wave of panic spread through the students and the screams and shouts became louder and louder.

Suddenly the whole room filled with a sick laughter. It was deep and booming, and seemed to reverberate off every surface in the hall. It sent a chill down Rose's spine. It seemed to be coming from all around them, a single, evil laugh, magically magnified. The manic laughter was deafening and many students clasped their ears in discomfort.

The hall erupted in panic as the laughter died away. Those nearest the doors ran to them, only to be thrown back, knocking students in all directions, like ten pin bowling. Cries of 'we're trapped' and 'let me out' came from all directions as panic set in.

"SILENCE!" called a voice. Professor Dumbledore's voice was not magically amplified, but it may as well have been, for every student in the hall froze at the sound of his booming voice, which seemed to echo off the walls just as the manic laughter had done seconds before. "Please return to your house tables and sit in your year groups. Heads of House please do a head-count."

It took nearly a minute before everyone was arranged into his or her year-groups. Rose and Ginny sat opposite each other, with Ron and Dean on their right, and the rest of the fifth years to their left. McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout came down the aisle, counting as they went.

"Slytherin?" called Dumbledore from the head table.

"All here," replied Snape from the other end of the hall.

"Hufflepuff?"

"All present," Sprout called back as she reached the end of the table.

"Ravenclaw?"

"Yes, all accounted for," squeaked little Professor Flitwick.

"Gryffindor?"

"Albus, we're missing eight students!" called back McGonagall, her voice betraying a note of panic. A rush of whispers went around the hall, before they were silenced with several loud bangs generated by Dumbledore's wand. Rose felt her stomach tighten. Who was missing? Was one of her friends in danger? What was going on? Were they trapped? Questions flew into her head.

"Who are we missing, Minerva?" asked Dumbledore, striding down the aisle towards them.

"Hermione Granger, Colin Creevey, and the entire first year boys dormitory," replied McGonagall.

"Does anyone know where they are?" Dumbledore asked the Gryffindors. No one seemed to know, and no one spoke up. There was absolute silence in the room.

Everyone else was watching the Headmaster intently, but Rose spared a quick glance at her mother, just in time to see her take an old and tattered-looking, piece of parchment from inside her robes. Rose smiled knowingly to herself. There was a rumour at the school that she had a sixth sense, as she seemed to know if people were near and where people were. In truth, she simply had the Marauders' Map, a very useful rule-breaking toy that she had confiscated when Sirius had tried to give it to Rose. She had not given it to Dumbledore but kept it herself and used it to make sure that people didn't skip Potions and no one was following her.

Rose's thoughts were brought sharply back to the missing students. Hermione and Colin were both prefects and there was a high chance that they were telling off the first years for something or escorting them somewhere. Rose watched as her mother carefully regarded the map, which lay out of sight in her lap.

"They're in Gryffindor Tower, Albus," she called. There was a slight murmur as the students tried to guess how she had managed to guess that. Tomorrow, everyone would think she was a psychic.

Dumbledore nodded and started down the central aisle towards the door, which had stopped glowing, but remained firmly shut. He withdrew his wand as he approached. Rose didn't catch the incantation, but an orange light shone out of the Headmaster's wand and rocketed towards the door. It never hit, because just as it reached the door, the wall of pink light returned. The orange spell bounced cleanly off with a sharp click, flying back towards the Headmaster, who conjured a shield just in time. Unperturbed, Dumbledore tried another spell. The whole door glowed white for a second, but when the white glow faded, the pink light remained perfectly intact. He tried two more curses, each as ineffective as the first.

Whispers started again, that the old man couldn't get them out. Panic was starting to set in; they were trapped and they all realised it. Dumbledore was supposed to be the most powerful wizard in centuries, and if he was trapped, what chance did anyone else have? The sinking feeling returned to Rose's stomach. They were well and truly trapped. Maybe her father could get them out from the outside.

"Albus!" the Potions Mistress suddenly called. "There are intruders in the castle." A gasp went up at the statement, and Rose even thought she saw the old man pale. "I count five of them. We have to get the Gryffindors back." Dumbledore nodded and marched to the fireplace, demonstrating speed most would not have thought possible of him. The fireplace was burning brightly on the wall next to the Slytherin table. From the huge marble mantle-piece, he picked up a pot of powder and threw a handful in.

"Gryffindor Tower!" he shouted. Of course! They could Floo out, thought Rose. They weren't trapped after all. Rose felt relief wash over her. The flames turned green and Dumbledore stepped into the fireplace, but nothing happened. A second later, the flames turned back to their natural orange. With a yelp, the Headmaster jumped out of the fire and quickly extinguished his robes, which had caught fire. Rose was sure she heard a snigger coming from the Slytherin table.

Dumbledore grabbed an ornament from the top of the mantle and muttered a few words. The figurine glowed blue for a second before returning to normal. Dumbledore then tapped it with his wand again.

"Activate!" There was a flash of blue light as the Portkey activated, but once again, the Headmaster found himself back where he started. He was just as trapped as the rest of them.

"Are we trapped?" squeaked a voice near the front.

"The Headmaster will get us out of here," Sprout reassured the student who had spoken. Dumbledore smiled kindly from where he stood.

"There are many worse places to be trapped than in the Great Hall at breakfast time," he said kindly. "And think of it this way. If we cannot get out, they cannot get in. We are perfectly safe. Our main priority should be to get the trapped Gryffindors back."

The student smiled weakly and Rose was fairly sure he did not believe the Headmaster. Unperturbed, Dumbledore picked up the Floo pot once more.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt!" he called, throwing a handful of floor powder into the fire. A second later a familiar head appeared in the fire.

"Albus, we are a little busy at the moment," said Kingsley hurriedly. "Devonport Docks are under attack, they have nuclear submarines there; we're about to deploy the fifth team, is this important, because you've picked a hell of time!" Kingsley must have been under a lot of stress to talk like that to Dumbledore.

"Hogwarts has been breached," the Headmaster informed him, with just as much urgency in his voice. "We are trapped in the Great Hall, despite my sincerest efforts. There are only five of them, but we cannot get out. However, there are students loose in the castle, and I have no way to reach them." The agitation faded from Kingsley's face, and his eye widened.

"I'll redirect the fifth team to Hogwarts," said Kingsley quickly. He swore to himself, much to the amusement of those students close enough to hear. "This was obviously timed to distract us. It's all gone to hell down there, Albus. Royal Marines Commandos are firing at both sides with machine guns, Death Eaters are killing indiscriminately, we are trying to save lives, but it's all one big mess, not to mention there are five submarines with nuclear reactors, one of which is even armed with nuclear missiles. If Voldemort gets his hands on nuclear material…" Kingsley trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Contact our friends," said Dumbledore. "Take whoever you need, just get a Hit Squad to Hogwarts as fast as you can."

With a pop, Kingsley's head was gone from the fire, leaving those who had heard with a lot to think about. Rose could hear whispering as Muggleborn students tried to explain to those from Pureblooded families exactly what submarines, machine guns and nuclear bombs were. Rose already knew and her mind was surging forward. Voldemort was attacking Muggles as a distraction. This wasn't a full-scale attack on Hogwarts. If he only sent five people it was for a reason; they were looking for something, or rather someone: Harry.

"Is this about Harry?" whispered a voice opposite her. Ginny had been thinking about it as well. Rose nodded.

"It must be. If he only sent five it is not an invasion."

"But how did he know Harry was here?" whispered Ginny.

"Malfoy," said Rose. "Who else?"

"You're probably right. Do you think Harry will be safe? Hardly anyone knows about that room."

"I hope so," said Rose, though she was far from certain.

"Aurors are on their way," Dumbledore announced to those too far away to hear his conversation. "We should be out of here in an hour or so. Please just talk amongst yourselves while we wait."

He threw another handful into the fire, calling 'Gryffindor Tower' as he did so. A second later, a head appeared in the fire.

"Yes, Professor?" asked Hermione Granger.

"Miss Granger, the castle has been breached and everyone is trapped in the Great Hall. There are intruders in the castle and they will most likely check the common rooms first. Don't say a word to the others with you. Stay in Gryffindor Tower. Block the entrance and do not leave until someone comes to get you. Keep your wits about you, Miss Granger. This is very real."

Hermione gaped like a fish for a few seconds, before nodding. Rose knew that she was not prepared for this. Her life revolved around books and theoretical magic, not putting it into practice. She knew a lot of spells, but Rose doubted she was much of a dueller.

"Good luck, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. Then her head was gone.

It was only another minute before a voice called, "Albus." Kingsley's head was back in the fireplace. "The strike teams can't get in. The doors and windows are all covered by a barrier of some sort. We even tried the owl entrance. It's all locked up. Gringott's curse breakers have been called, they'll be there in half an hour."

"In half an hour, the Gryffindors will be dead," said Snape, who was a foot behind the headmaster, keeping an eye on Slytherin and an eye on the conversation in the fire. He had not said a word since the siege had begun.

"Is there no other way into the castle?" asked Kingsley

"There are several secret passageways, but each is blocked. There may be more but they are as illusive as the Chamber of Secrets," said Dumbledore.

Chamber of Secrets? Something clicked in Rose's mind. She remembered Harry telling her about Tom Riddle, and who he was before he became Voldemort. He had mentioned the Chamber, hadn't he? The Chamber did exist, but only Harry knew where it was. Only Harry…Harry!

Rose was on her feet in an instant, almost running towards the Headmaster. She reached him in a few paces and stood on tiptoe to whisper a single word in his ear:

"Harry!"

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Harry had just stepped out of the shower. The warm water had refreshed him a lot, having spent the entire morning sleeping. Shaking the weariness from him, he emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. As he pulled on his underwear and usual black army-style combat trousers, it occurred to him that there was no lock on the door of the Room. It would be quite embarrassing if McGonagall walked in to find him literally with his trousers down.

He towel dried his hair and put on a belt, before attempting to style his hair. As usual, it was a fruitless endeavour and his hair looked much the same as it had before. He made a mental note to ask for some gel from Milton's Muggle Marketplace in Diagon Alley, to see if that could do anything for him. He was getting too old to be a ragamuffin. He needed to have a little pride in his appearance, because if he wasn't happy with it, how could any girl ever be?

He strapped the wrist support back around his injured wrist. It was feeling better on the whole. He still didn't dare use it for anything other than eating and drinking, just in case, but it didn't ache anymore. Madam Pomfrey had stopped giving him painkillers and bone-strengthening potions, three days before and so the grogginess he had felt for the last fortnight was gone. He had acquired a tan over the last fortnight: one advantage of having customised the room to a beach house in the Caribbean.

Harry stood topless before the mirror, staring at his reflection, wondering how others saw him. Was he a 'fit' guy or was he a 'minger'? Did he make girls stare or vomit? His hair was unruly and he was probably one of, if not the shortest boy in the sixth year. Up until September, he would have definitely said minger. He had been short, scrawny and a ragamuffin, but now he was muscle-bound and had lost the glasses. He no longer wore glasses or contacts and his hair was shorter, less messy. He was still a midget, and still had his scar. It was that scar that would identify him. He would always be the Boy-Who-Lived. Girls would just want to be able to say that they had shagged the Boy-Who-Lived, rather than want to be with Harry. That would be his curse forever. No one even had the slightest idea what it was to be him. No one understood. Sometimes, he longed to meet someone who had been through exactly what he had, someone who truly knew what it was to be alone. But there was no one in this universe, or his own, who had the slightest idea. It looked like his dream would never come true. Was he doomed to be alone forever?

"Harry Potter!" called a familiar voice. Harry whirled around, expecting to see the Headmaster enter the room. Instead, a fireplace had materialised in the middle of the beach. Floating amidst the flames was the head of the Head. Harry approached the fire.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, drying his hair with a towel as he knelt before the fire.

"Harry," whispered the Headmaster. There was a tone to his voice that was urgent and almost fearful. It sent a shiver down Harry's spine. The headmaster was never afraid. What was going on? What had happened? Not in a million years would he have predicted the answer. "Hogwarts has been breached. Aurors can't get in and the rest of us are unable to escape the Great Hall. There are students trapped in Gryffindor Tower, and we have no means to reach them."

"Is this about me?" asked Harry, feeling a surge of guilt welling up in his stomach.

"We are unsure," said the Headmaster gravely. "We can discuss motives later. At present the safety of the students is all I care about. I need you to protect them. Can you manage it?"

"How many of them?" asked Harry, wandlessly summoning his wand and sword from their place by the hammock. He just hoped his wrist was up to the task. He had no choice: he could not stand by and let the students die. For all he knew they could be his friends. He had to try.

"We believe there are five of them."

"Anyone we know?"

"No," said the Headmaster. "Hurry, Harry."

"What am I supposed to do when I find them?" asked Harry. "Barricade us all in, or try to reach you? If you are trapped, what hope do I have?"

"The intruders are responsible for the wards; they may be able to remove them. At present all doors and windows are blocked. Do whatever you feel is best, but the safety of the students is all that matters."

Something stirred in Harry's mind at the words 'doors and windows', but he couldn't put his finger on it. He found it hard to believe that Hogwarts could be so easily brought to its knees. Why did Voldemort not invade now? Hogwarts was effectively prison. He could invade easily and be done with it. Why only send in five? They had to be after Harry. They must be assassins, bounty hunters. It was all his fault.

"This is about me, isn't it?"

"This is not a full scale assault. It is a strike team; I believe they are indeed looking for you. It is likely they are a team of bounty hunters, trying to collect the bounty placed on your head by Tom. After the article this morning, they must think you are back in Gryffindor Tower. There are eight students trapped up there. I have instructed them to barricade the door, but I fear it will not be enough. I know you are not yet fully healed and you don't wish to fight, but I must ask you to help. There is no one else. Please put this guilt out of your mind and concentrate. We need you."

"Okay," said Harry firmly. He had no choice. He was the only one who could. "What's the password to Gryffindor Tower?"

"Devil's Snare," replied Dumbledore with a small smile. "Good luck, Harry."

With a pop, his head was gone. Harry took a moment to compose himself. Who was trapped? Was it a friend of his? Would he get there in time and what good could he do? He hoped his wrist was up to the job of wielding a wand and sword or this would be a big problem. Pulling the support tight around his wrist for added support, Harry pulled on a shirt, not even bothering to button it up. He snatched up his sword and tucked his wand into the belt loop on his combats before darting out of the door.

Harry Potter was about to make his first strike for the Light.

Along the corridor and down the stairs to the sixth floor, Harry ran. Every window he passed had its shutter closed, blocking out the light and bathing the corridors in shadow. His feet could have carried him blindfolded to the common room, but today he had to keep his wits about him. Hugging the shadows, Harry made his way as quietly as he could up towards the common room. His eyes darted along the wall, and through the shadows, looking for any sign of an intruder. He tried to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible and stopped every few paces to listen. As he turned away from the edge of the castle almost all light faded and he found himself staggering through near darkness, not daring to light his wand in case it gave him away.

He was halfway down the passageway when he came across the first of the intruders. He was twenty feet from the end of the corridor. At the end was the main staircase. He needed to go down one floor to get to the right corridor. He was hurriedly rushing towards steps when a figure appeared at the landing of the stairs. Harry immediately slipped into the shadows, and tiptoed forward, hugging the wall. He crept closer, trying not to make a sound. From ten feet away, he could see the figure quite clearly. The man wore a long black cloak with his hood up. He wondered briefly if it was Voldemort. No, he didn't think so. He couldn't feel whether it was or not, but the figure didn't move with the grace that Voldemort did, he was too short, and this was supposed to be a team of bounty hunters. He wondered briefly if it was a Dementor, but as he could hear footsteps, he knew it was walking, not gliding, and he didn't feel cold or hear screaming.

The figure had come up the steps from a floor below, paused at the end of the corridor, and glanced down the passage. Harry felt a chill go down his spine. It was almost as if the figure was staring straight at him. Harry's hand tightened around the wand, but then to Harry's relief, he looked away. He turned and looked back down the stairs. Harry watched in horror as a second figure, dressed identically to the first, appeared at the end of the corridor.

"Is this ze right floor?" hissed one in a cold voice. Harry paused. The accent sounded familiar. It was almost the accent that Victor Krum spoke in. Harry was sure it wasn't the Seeker, but it was probably a Bulgarian, or from somewhere around there. Hungary or Romania perhaps? Was it Karkaroff? He had had that kind of accent. He was a Death Eater in Harry's world, who had given up names of other Death Eaters in exchange for his own freedom after Voldemort fell. He had been too scared to return, but had not left Voldemort until after he had fallen. Since Voldemort had never fallen here, Karkaroff was probably a Death Eater in this universe.

"I zink ve need to go up vun more," came the reply, in a similar accent.

"No," said the first. "Ve are too high. Ve go to fifth floor, zen to Fat Lady at end of corridor."

"Zis place iz ze damn laberinth!" growled the second figure.

They were heading for the Tower. Harry braced himself. He could not allow them to get to the Tower. He was still hidden and had the element of surprise. If he surprised them, there was a chance that he could take them both. If he couldn't, then at least they were far from the common room. Keeping to the shadows, Harry crept nearer, until he was only a few feet away. He could practically reach out and touch the nearest one.

"Vat floor are ve on?" asked one. Harry slowly, silently slipped his wand out of the belt-loops of his trousers.

"I don't know," replied his companion. "You go up vun, und I go down vun. If you find it, shout."

Just as Harry was about to fire the first spell, the two figures split up, one going up and one going down to the fifth floor. Harry waited until the figures had disappeared before darting out of the shadows. As quickly and quietly as possible, he slipped down one flight of stairs and into a fifth floor corridor. His heart was pounding in his chest. He waited for a few seconds, to make sure he had not been heard. Once again taking refuge in the shadows, he crept after the figure in black. Staying in the shadows, he followed the figure until he was clear of the staircase. After about twenty paces, Harry decided that it was now or never. The man was alone and Harry could not allow him to reach the Tower. Taking a deep breath, Harry charged forward.

The figure must have heard him coming, for he turned to face the incoming attack. Harry just had time to see the look of shock in the man's eyes before he jumped, slamming his right foot square into the chest of the man. Harry landed on his feet, while the man slid away on his back. Harry levelled his wand at the man and was about to fire the first spell when he noticed that the man's hood had fallen down as he had hit the ground, revealing a thin, pale man, who looked quite ill in Harry's opinion. He was deathly pale, with sharp, dark eyes, and a spiky head of dark hair. The man shot a glare of daggers at Harry before rising to his feet. Rising is a good word, for the man didn't climb, he simply seemed to float back up to his feet. A vicious grin swept over his face.

"Potter," sneered the heavily accented man.

Harry didn't even reply. He levelled his wand, but before he could even fire a spell, a hand closed around his wrist. The man had closed the gap of ten feet between them in less then a second. His speed was phenomenal. Harry didn't even have time to realise he was trapped before a hand smashed into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Harry doubled up, holding his stomach, gasping for air. He was vaguely aware of his feet leaving the ground, and the man lifting him above his head, and a brief sensation of falling, before his back slammed painfully into the wall. He lost his grip on his wand and sword as he bounced off the wall and landed face first on the cold hard floor. He coughed and his mouth was suddenly full of blood. He was bleeding internally. The man's speed and strength was inhuman. He had thrown Harry fifteen feet into a wall. As Harry struggled to his feet, the man covered the distance between them before Harry could say "Accio". A hand closed around his throat forcing him back up against the wall.

There was a second's pause before the man yanked him away from the wall by the neck and, with one hand, threw Harry across the width of the corridor, slamming him into window. The glass cracked behind but didn't break. Harry fell to the ground with a thud. His head was throbbing, his entire body ached, his wrist was starting to protest and, to top it all, he had landed on his funny bone, and his elbow was tingling. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Harry managed to stagger to his feet, using the wall for support.

"Come on, boy," snarled the man, beckoning Harry to attack him. "Vat are you vaiting for?" Harry wandlessly summoned his sword to him. The blade leapt from the scabbard, which he had dropped in the struggle, and into his outstretched hand. Harry could feel the anger and the desire to kill bubbling in his stomach. The darkness was rising in him. The combat was drawing it to the surface.

Harry suppressed the desire to kill and raised the sword, ready for the next attack. The man moved slowly forward. Harry waited until he was in range and then moved. As the man threw a punch, Harry sidestepped, slashing at the man's thigh with the sword. To his satisfaction, he saw a thick red line appear across the man's leg as the fabric split. The cut had been quite deep but not fatal. The man hardly seemed to notice. He took it in his stride and turned to face Harry again without flinching. As Harry glanced down, the blood coming from the man's bleeding thigh was almost black. It was a very dark red, as if starved of oxygen. He had seen it before, but only on the bodies of the dead.

"That was a new cloak," snapped the man angrily. In the blink of an eye, he rushed at Harry. It was too fast to do anything. The man slammed him into the wall with his hand around Harry's throat. Harry lost his grip on the sword as he tried to struggle. He tried to claw the hand away from his throat as the air was crushed out of him. He didn't have the breath for a spell.

Harry struggled, but the man's strength was too much for him. The man slackened his grip, letting Harry fall to the floor. Coughing profusely, Harry realised that his situation was hopeless. The man was too strong, too fast. Harry couldn't fight him. His sword lay on the floor when he had dropped it, along with his wand. Harry summoned his remaining strength and tried to get the sword. He took two steps before falling to his knees.

The man seemed to find this very amusing. Harry crawled on his hands and knees towards where the sword lay. A little further! Just a bit more! One his hands and knees, with the man standing over him, laughing, Harry moved slowly and painfully. All he concentrated on was getting the sword. He stretched, reaching out with his right arm. He felt a great wave of relief wash over him as his fingers closed around the handle.

"Vat you gonna do vis zat?" sneered the man. Harry ached all over from the beating. He had no strength left to fight the rising darkness. With all his remaining strength, Harry spun and thrust the blade into the man's stomach, letting loose a scream of rage of his did.

The man took two paces backwards, his hands flying to the handle of the sword, which was sticking out of his stomach. As Harry picked up his wand and struggled to his feet, the man gave him a bored look and calmly pulled the blade out of his stomach.

Harry gasped as the man shrugged off a blow that would have killed, or at least vanquished, any normal man. He seemed completely unfazed after just being run through.

"What the hell are you?" growled Harry, keeping his wand hidden. In response, the man threw the sword at Harry's feet with a clatter. As Harry watched, the man's features changed before his eyes. His eyes turned into a blood red colour, with black pupils, similar to Voldemort's except that Voldemort had slits for pupils like a snake, whereas this man had dots. The man's fingernails grew by nearly an inch, as did his teeth. Harry gasped as he stared at the man's fangs.

Vampires!

"Bollocks," gasped Harry, as the vampire charged forward, knocking Harry off his feet. He was picked up in a rugby tackle and slammed into the nearby trophy cabinet. Harry crashed to the ground and covered his head as a shower of broken glass rained down on him. The wooden support beams for the glass cabinet were all splintered around him and digging into his back.

A hand closed on the collar of the shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders.

"Had enough, yet?" sneered the vampire. "You're lucky I'm not allowed to kill you, boy. The Dark Lord wants that pleasure for himself." Harry didn't reply. He did the first thing that came to mind. He grabbed the nearest trophy and slammed it into the vampire's head. With a scream, the vampire realeased him and backed up a few paces, clutching its head. A little bit of steam was coming from where the trophy had hit. The beast was cursing in very fast Romanian. Harry hadn't a clue what he was saying, but it can't have been polite. Why was he burned? Harry glanced down at the trophy. Of course…silver! Vampires are allergic to silver! Harry picked up a silver trophy in each hand and got to his feet.

"Come on," he called to the vampire. The vampire charged, and Harry swung the trophies. One connected with the vampire's arm, batting him away from Harry's chest. The second came down on the back of the vampire's neck. The killer screamed as smoke rose from the back of his neck. Harry didn't waste time; drawing strength he didn't know he had, he swung again, but the vampire was too quick. He grabbed both of Harry's wrists and twised them until he couldn't hold onto the trophies. Harry dropped them, crying out in pain as his wrists, including the injured one, were twisted. He hoped his right one didn't snap again; it still wasn't perfectly healed and was taking a lot of punishment.

The vampire realeased him and delivered a punch to his stomach, which sent him careening through the air. Harry landed on his back. Okay, he thought, silver worked, I don't have any garlic; what else works? He had yet to cover vampires in Defence lessons. He only knew what worked in Muggle horror films. Dudley had bought one over the summer - Bram Stoker's Dracula. Maybe it was just because he had been grieving, but the lead actor, playing Dracula, looked ever so much like Sirius. He knew from that film that the trusty stake and mallet, were an option, but did he really want to kill the thing?

By luck, Harry had landed next to his wand. He grasped it tightly and aimed at the vampire, who was charging towards him.

"REDUCTO!" he screamed. The vampire hit him just as he finished the spell, knocking his wand to the side and sending the curse veering off in completely the wrong direction, hitting the window to Harry's right. The glass shattered and the wooden shutter was blasted to pieces, raining splinters down to the floor. A pink light seemed to cover the window, preventing anyone from entering or exiting, but it didn't stop the light. Sunlight filled the room, bathing Harry in light. The vampire immediately let go and withdrew, cradling his blistered hands and screaming in pain. Harry sat up and, taking the inititive, aimed a similar spell at the next window. Again, it shattered, bathing the screaming vampire in sunlight. Harry crawled to his feet, picking up a wooden support beam from the trophy cabinet. He snapped it over his knee, so that one end was pointed. Then using all his strength, he brought it crashing down into the vampire's heart.

There was a scream and the vampire dissolved into dust.

Harry stared down at the spot where the vampire had lain seconds before. There was no body, no sign of the dead man. In a way it was better, as he didn't have to face the life he had taken. In a way, the vampire was already dead, so did it matter that Harry had killed him? Had he given the soul of the man inside the vampire peace? A vampire wasn't even human. But neither is Remus, and he is a good man, said a voice in the back of his mind. In truth, Harry didn't feel anything after killing the vampire. He could feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface, and tried to calm himself. He could debate vampire rights at a later date. He had to get to the Tower. There were still four more vampires loose in the castle.

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BANG!

CRASH!

Something was trying to force its way through the barricade. Hermione Granger had levitated two sofas, a wardrobe and an armchair to block the portrait hole, but they didn't seem to be holding. Whatever was on the other side was forcing its way in, and not with magic. There was a scraping noise as the legs of the furniture slid over the floor. Something was forcing its way in. God, it was strong! Hermione and Colin, being prefects, had their wands ready, aimed at the shaking furniture that was their only defence against the intruders on the outside.

The prefect turned to glance at Colin Creevey. He was a year younger but still a prefect. The pair of them had had to talk to the first year boys regarding their antics with Fred and George Weasley's infernal sweets. It had gotten quite out of hand, especially when they had slipped one of their laughter tonics into the drink of a second year who happened to be allergic to some of the ingredients. She had spent four hours in the infirmary after her skin turned into one huge rash. This kind of behaviour was unacceptable and could have ended up costing Gryffindor house-points. That was not going to happen on Hermione's watch. As such, Hermione and Colin had taken the responsibility of talking to them. She didn't want to inform McGonagall for fear of losing House points. She and Colin had detained them as they left for breakfast this morning. She had thought of asking Ron Weasley, her fellow sixth year prefect, to help her, but she knew he would make an excuse and not do anything. The boy was as good as useless, especially last year, when it came to disciplining his brothers. Hermione and Colin had been half way through the lecture when the Headmaster had called on the fireplace.

Her mind was thinking quickly as she waited. She kept thinking of hexes and curses she could use. She had given Colin a few but wasn't sure if he could manage them. She knew plenty and was sure they would work. But she had never been in a situation like this before. She hoped she didn't let anyone down. Her palms were sweating over her wand, which was slick in her grip. Her breathing was fast and erratic; she was scared but making her best effort to think clearly. Colin was on the other side of the room, hiding behind an armchair with a clear retreat path to the dormitory steps. There was a good chance that they would have to retreat. She was good, she knew that, her OWL results were straight O's, but she had no experience of this kind of thing. She was an academic who wished to become a teacher after her graduation. She wasn't a field type person, and certainly not an Auror.

Where was the help that Dumbledore had said he was sending? He had said that they were trapped inside and Aurors outside, so who was coming?

CRASH!

Half the barricade fell away under a tremendous impact. Hermione could see a figure moving through the gap. It was too small to climb through, but the figure could be seen moving on the other side. Whoever it was, was tall and thin and continued to hammer against the blockade with its arm. Whoever it was, it was as strong as an ox.

"Ready, Colin?" hissed Hermione, trying to keep her voice level. Inside she was terrified, but she tried to keep a calm appearance, if only for Colin's sake. She was a prefect and was supposed to remain calm under all circumstances.

"R…Ready," came the hoarse reply. He sounded like she felt, but she would not let on. The first years were up in the seventh year dormitory. They had been told to lock the door and only open it for her and Colin. If they had to retreat then they could lock themselves in that room. Most of the seventh year boys had brooms so they could fly out of the window if needs be. No! They couldn't; the windows were sealed by the magic. Damn! Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? They were trapped! No time to amend it now. Their only way out was to fight.

CRASH!

The barricade gave way and the sofas crashed to the floor with a tremendous bang. Two figures emerged from the darkness and stepped lightly into the room. They wore long black cloaks, which seemed to cover them completely, leaving no skin visible. For a second, she thought they were Dementors. She had read about them in books and the Prophet. They were supposed to be indestructible and evil. It took another second of rational thought to realise that she didn't feel cold or sad so they couldn't be Dementors. They must be Death Eaters.

Her wand arm was visibly shaking and she had broken into a cold sweat. These men were here to kill them. They were going to die. Where was the help Dumbledore was sending? They wouldn't arrive in time. They were going the die. The thought repeated in her mind over and over as the figures stepped closer to her. After a second's pause she managed to compose herself enough to fire a spell.

"Stupefy!" cried Hermione, unleashing a jet of red light, which rocketed towards the first intruder. Hermione must have blinked, as both figures sidestepped so quickly that Hermione didn't see them move. Their speed and strength was phenomenal. The curse impacted on the wall, and faded into nothing.

The spell may have missed, but it gave her the confidence to try another. Hermione unleashed a second curse, just as Colin did the same. Where the hell was the help Dumbledore had promised? This time, the first intruder didn't sidestep. He kept calmly walking towards Hermione. The spell hit him square in the chest, but he didn't seem to feel it. Hermione gasped as her spell failed. Her spells never failed, and certainly not one she had learned two years ago. What kind of man could take a stunner to the chest and keep on coming?

Hermione raised her wand for another strike, but she wasn't fast enough. The intruder lunged forward so fast that Hermione didn't have time to even get the spell off. An icy cold hand clamped around her wrist. She found herself looking up into a pair of cold, yet mismatched eyes, which seemed to fill a cold white face, with fangs protruding from lips pulled back across razor sharp teeth into a wicked smile. Vampires!

"Vere iz ze boy?" hissed the vampire, wrapping his bony fingers around her throat. He had long black hair that came down to his shoulders. He was deathly pale and had a long thin face. One eye was white, and presumably blind, while the other was blood red with a small back dot for a pupil. He looked to Hermione like the Muggle rock star her next door neighbour was a fan of, Marilyn Manson. There was a yelp as the second vampire grabbed hold of Colin by his throat, spinning him to use as a human shield. It also meant that his teeth were inches from Colin's neck. Was he going to bite him? Colin looked absolutely terrified. He strained to get his neck away from the vampire, but its grip was too strong. Its razor sharp teeth were almost touching Colin's neck.

"Let him go!" Hermione cried at the vampire, who seemed not to hear her.

"Vere iz ze boy?" repeated the Marilyn Manson look-a-like, tightening his grip on Hermione's throat. "Tell us, or zis vun vill suffer for your silence." The second vampire lowered his hood. His hair had been bleached with peroxide and spiked up with gel. He was clearly the youngest of them, or had been when he became a vampire. He had a vicious tint in his eyes, and Hermione could see that he wanted nothing more than to bite Colin. Poor Colin was on the verge of tears. The vampire was so close he could probably feel the monster's breath on his shoulder.

"Now, Vasilly?" hissed the Vampire, with spiky hair, licking his lips.

"Not yet," came the reply. Spiky dragged Colin from his point of cover and hauled him nearer to Hermione, where she could see the fear in the young prefect's eyes even more clearly. They had their backs to the portrait hole, and were coming closer. Hermione struggled to breathe as the Vampire tightened his grip on her neck.

Hermione was desperately trying to recall her advanced reading. Vampires; which legends were true? Stakes, well she didn't have any. Garlic? She didn't have any. Sunlight? All the window shutters had slammed shut ten minutes ago. She had a cross! She wore a pendant around her neck, with a cross on it. It was a relic from her pre-Hogwarts days when she had believed. But crosses didn't work. They were just superstition. The mistake came because most crucifix pendants were made of silver…SILVER! Hermione grasped her pendant and pressed it firmly to the vampire's cheek. The creature screamed with pain and released her. Hermione fell to the floor, picking up her wand as she landed, and levelled it at the vampires. Spiky was still holding Colin, and using him as a human shield, while Marilyn, who had held Hermione, was still screaming, clutching his face with his hands.

"BITCH!" he swore. As he lowered his hands, Hermione could see an ugly red burn in the shape of a cross on his check. Thinking quickly, Hermione cast an engorgement charm on the cross, making it nearly six inches long. The silver might be of help. She held it up towards the vampires, trying to ward them off with it.

"Vat do you think you're going to do vis zat, girl?" sneered Marilyn, advancing on her. "Vun last time, vere is ze boy?" What boy? What was he talking about? Who was he?

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Hermione coughed. She found speaking painful and her throat ached from being choked. She coughed again, and massaged her throat with her spare hand.

"Ve know he iz in Gryffindor Tower," sneered the Vampire. He turned to the other vampire. "Nicholei, you may drink."

"NO!" shouted Hermione.

The blond vampire gave Hermione an evil stare before lowering his mouth slowly towards Colin's neck. Colin tried to turn away but the vampire was too strong. He thrashed in the monster's arms, but he could not escape. It was hopeless: he was going to die. Luckily for Colin, the vampire never got to bite him. As the teeth neared his flesh, the vampire exploded into a shower of dust.

Hermione gasped in fear as the dust cleared. The Vampire may be dead, but something far worse had taken its place: Harry Potter.

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As Harry reached the Fat Lady, he found to his horror that it was open and there were voices coming from inside. God, I hope I'm not too late, thought Harry desperately, drawing one of the two stakes he had made. Suddenly there was a scream from inside the room. Harry stepped over the threshold and breathed a sigh of relief as he took in the room. It hadn't been a student who had screamed, it had been the vampire. Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw who was in the room. It was Hermione. She looked so…different. Her hair was still bushy and her eyes sharp. Her uniform was pristine and the prefect badge shone from her chest. But there was something about that just seemed different. Maybe it was just that Harry knew this was not his Hermione, but she seemed different. Across from her, in the arms of a vampire, was Colin Creevey. There was no sign of a camera, but then again he didn't have Harry as a role model in this world. He looked much the same as he usually did, except that he was white with fear. The vampire's teeth were dangerously close to his neck. There were two Vampires in the room, both of which had their backs to him. He had to act now before Colin was bitten. He approached on tiptoe trying not to make a sound.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Hermione protested.

"Ve know he iz in Gryffindor Tower," announced the vampire. Harry was tempted to say that he was right behind him, but he didn't dare give up the element of surprise, remembering all too well the trouble the last vampire had been. This was no place for humour. He crept closer to the vampires, withdrawing one of his homemade stakes from his belt as he did so. He had made it from the upright support beam of the trophy cabinet, which he had sharpened with his sword.

"Nicholei, you may drink!"

The second vampire, which held Colin Creevey began to lower his fangs. It was going to bite him. Harry knew it was now or never. Summoning enough will to overpower his disgust at killing, Harry thrust the stake with all his strength into the back of the vampire. There was a slight whoosh as the vampire exploded into a cloud of dust, which seemed to evaporate in seconds. All eyes turned to face Harry, who raised the stake to point it at the second vampire. A look of surprise appeared on the monster's face for a second before it was replaced by a sneer.

Harry withdrew his sword, holding it in his stronger yet injured hand and the stake in his left. The vampire stared levelly at him for a few seconds, standing perfectly motionless. Harry stared unblinkingly back, looking for any sign of movement. He knew from experience how fast these creatures could be. The monster's eyes seemed to have no life behind them, just a mass of deep red blood. Harry twirled both the sword and the stake around his wrists twice before stepping forward.

"Grab Colin and go!" he ordered Hermione, without even looking at her. She stood frozen to the spot, shaking with fear. "Hermione! Move! Get out of here!" shouted Harry. With that he lunged forward, swinging the sword as he went. He felt the anger grow inside him, as the instincts of the killer took over. The vampire easily ducked and spun, bringing his leg around to sweep Harry's legs out from in front of him. Harry jumped aiming to land heavily on the vampire's leg and break it, but the vampire was too fast. Harry landed on the floor again and had to immediately duck the incoming fist. Harry rolled to the side and came back up onto his feet.

He could feel the anger in him trying to get out. The inner darkness that had led him to kill at St Mungo's was boiling in his heart, trying to break free. No! I will not let it win! Harry suppressed it as much as he could. He would not succumb to the other Harry's fate. He was not a murderer!

Harry only had a moment to try and fight the darkness before the vampire struck again. It surged forward towards him in a blur of motion. Harry ducked to the side, swinging the sword in the same movement. The sword just clipped the ribs of the vampire, which hissed in pain. As Harry turned to face it, the monster moved again. It lunged at Harry, driving its shoulder into his bare stomach. Harry was launched off his feet, and both his weapons were knocked from his hands. Harry landed on top of a glass-topped coffee table, which shattered under his weight. His entire body complained with every movement. Several pieces of glass dug into his hands as he tried to free himself from the ruins of the table. He glanced down to see a small pool of blood seeping out from under his hands. His palms stung, and his hands were ripped to shreds. As the vampire lunged again, Harry grabbed his wand, struggling to maintain his grip as the blood made it slimy.

"Lumos Solem!" a beam of bright sunlight erupted from his wand, hitting the vampire in mid-air. The monster roared in agony as a gush of smoke appeared over the burned shoulder. The vampire screamed and tried to cover its face with its hands. Harry rolled to the side to avoid it landing on him, and picked up his sword and stake in the same movement. The vampire was on its feet again, a huge burn on his chest, as well as the cross-shaped blister on its cheek courtesy of Hermione. The beast moved again, but not at Harry.

Instead of coming at Harry it moved towards Hermione, who was too terrified to move. In a single motion, it was behind her with its arm around her neck. Hermione was a human shield, and the vampire's teeth were dangerously close to her neck.

"Drop ze veapon, boy," sneered the vampire. "Or zis little bitch vill die." The vampire gave Hermione's neck a sharp turn to prove his point, causing Hermione to cry out in pain. With its strength, the vampire could snap her neck like a twig.

"Let her go!" said Harry. He wasn't fast enough to free her before the beast killed her. Pleading with it was not something that Harry believed would work, but he had no choice. It would kill Hermione without a second thought and Harry couldn't bear to lose her. "It's me you want. Let her go!"

The vampire sneered at him again and hissed, "Drop ze sword!" It tightened its grip on Hermione's throat to make it obvious to Harry that he could not help her.

Harry looked from the vampire's cold yet mismatched eyes to Hermione's wide terrified gaze. It would kill her no matter what for the burn she had given it on its cheek. It would not allow the insult to go unchecked. Hermione wouldn't leave the room alive if he gave in. He had to get her out. But how? The vampire was too fast. He couldn't get a spell off fast enough and even a sunlight spell would not kill it quick enough. Harry stared at Hermione then at the vampire; the situation seemed hopeless.

Suddenly an idea came to him, one that frightened him, but he could see no other way. He had spent his entire time in this world fighting it, but it was the only way he could see. It terrified him, and he had no idea if he could ever recover from it. It went against everything he stood for, everything he believed in and everything he held dear. He had to let the darkness take him. He had to let the other Harry's instincts take over. The cold-blooded killer would know what to do.

He had no choice. He was caught between two evils, one inside and one outside. Harry sighed, not knowing what would happen. As much as it disgusted him, he had to do it. Harry forced himself to relax. He took several long, deep breaths. He felt the darkness inside boil over the pit he had confined it to. It rose through him like a storm. He felt a rush of power and aggression he had never felt before. Evil was not without its power. Rage seemed to pump through his veins, unlocking new spells. Harry could suddenly visualise a handful of Dark curses with their incantations written down. His mind seemed to fade slightly, almost like being drunk. He felt slightly light-headed, and as he moved he seemed to do so in slow motion. He seemed to be moving before his brain even registered that he was, just like he had under the effects of Veritaserum.

Harry seemed to have no control over his actions. It was almost like watching a film, or having a vivid dream. It reminded him of how the Imperius Curse felt, except that it wasn't telling him to do it, it was doing it all by itself with his body. With a flick of his left hand, the stake was launched at the vampire. Only the top half of the vampire's head was visible over Hermione's shoulder. It was a tiny target to hit, but Harry's aim was true. The wooden stake embedded itself in the vampire's skull, causing it to scream in pain. It stumbled backwards, releasing Hermione and stumbling over a footstool. The beast roared in pain as it yanked the stake out of its forehead, revealing a hole nearly an inch in diameter which was bleeding dark red blood that appeared almost black. Harry moved instantly, unable to stop himself. He stabbed the vampire in the chest with the tip of the sword, earning another scream from the injured and enraged beast, which fell to its knees in agony. He spun on his foot, withdrawing the blade from the vampire's body as he did so. As he spun, he swung the blade with all his strength. As he came full circle, the blade sliced cleanly through the neck of the vampire, slicing its head clean off. Both parts of the vampire dissolved into dust with a small whoosh. The head was dust before it even hit the floor. As he spun he sheathed the blade in one fluid motion.

Harry finished the spin facing Hermione, the sheathed sword held firmly in his right hand at his side. She was watching him with wide eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she was trying to find the words. Harry stepped closer to Hermione. She looked so similar, yet so different from the Hermione he knew. He felt a rush of emotion at seeing her. She had been his best friend for five years, and a rush of what can only be described as love surged through Harry. He felt it surge through every cell in his body, displacing the darkness, which still bubbled in his stomach. He felt the darkness recede inside him. The light-headedness had gone. His muscles relaxed and he felt as close to normal as was possible when he ached as much as he did. He had taken a beating from the vampires and he was all too aware that were was still two left.

Hermione seemed to recover herself slightly, as she stopped shaking. Harry's eyes were instinctively drawn to her wand, which she was still aiming at him. He just hoped she didn't start to try to hex him, as he didn't want to have to stun his friend.

"Are the others upstairs?" asked Harry, tucking his wand and stake back into his trousers.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment. Harry was ever more aware that they didn't have time. There were more vampires in the castle. Three down. That meant there were two more. Harry didn't know where they were and wasn't even sure if he could take another vampire. If he did, he would need to let his instincts take control. This scared him, as he knew all too well how hard it was to push the darkness aside once he had allowed it to take over. He was sure that if he had not come face to face with Hermione, his best friend, he might not have been able to push the anger aside. Moody had been right to ask at the inquiry yesterday. What was there stopping him succumbing to darkness again? Surely there was a way to control this power. He made a note to ask Flamel, who was the mind magic expert, about it.

"Hermione!" called Harry trying to break her stupor. Her eyes ceased to be vacant, coming into sharp focus as she raised her wand to point it at Harry's throat. Harry's first thought was to disarm her, and it took a lot of restraint not to resort to violence. He wanted her to trust him after all, not fear him even more.

"You can put that away," said Harry, trying to sound calm, but glancing quickly towards the portrait hole. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Stay back!" said Hermione in a shaky voice. Her wand arm trembled slightly. Harry felt a little hurt at her response. She believed he was still a killer. On reflection, she was unlikely to think anything else, but the fact that it was Hermione, one of his oldest friends, saying it, made it hurt more.

"It's okay," said Harry calmly, raising both his hands as if surrendering. "I'm here to help you. Dumbledore sent me."

"I don't believe you!" said Hermione, keeping her wand aimed at him. Harry realised that he had no hope of convincing her, not in the amount of time they had. They had to hurry. He decided to try logic instead.

"Your barricade has been destroyed," said Harry pointing to the door. "If you hex me, you will be completely on your own. There are vampires out there and they are not the friendliest of creatures. We both want to live through this, so for the moment we want the same thing. Think about it; you need me."

"I don't trust you!" snapped Hermione. "I know your mother lied to us. There's something you're not telling everyone."

"Perhaps," said Harry skirting the question. "But I'm here, and I am the only hope you have, so are we going to stand here all day and argue or are we going to get you to safety?"

Hermione stood glaring at him for a few seconds, before coming to a decision. "Fine," she muttered. "But I still don't trust you."

"In your shoes, I wouldn't trust me either, but we can discuss that later. Where are the others?"

"Seventh year dorms," said Hermione.

"Get them down here," instructed Harry. "Both you and Colin can cast sunlight, can't you?"

"It's a rudimentary skill," said Hermione, affronted. Harry managed to hide his amusement at her response. She was really uptight and reminded him of McGonagall. So this is how she would have been back home had he and Ron not 'had a bad influence on her', to quote Ron.

"Good, keep your wands out," said Harry. "At any sign of movement, fry the bastards."

Hermione turned and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Harry to guard the entrance. He found he was smiling to himself as he waited. Hermione was so different here. He remembered Ron saying that he thought he and Harry had had a bad influence on her. Harry didn't really think so, but now he saw her free from the influence of himself and Ron, he knew Ron had been right. She seemed to have the same grasp of spells from books, but Harry could see in her eyes that the defiance was not there. She had no battle experience; the fight was not in her. She probably had no ties to the Order in this world. His friends back home really were unique. It just goes to show that it really is our choices and experiences, not our blood and DNA that makes us what we are.

Harry's thoughts turned back to the Great Hall. Every door and window was sealed. The fireplaces were working for communication, but if Dumbledore was talking to Hermione rather than Flooing to her, it was safe to assume the fires were blocked. Apparation was impossible and Dumbledore was certain to have tried a Portkey. Fawkes could probably get in, but he could only take one, maybe two people at a time. Anyway, Harry getting in wasn't the issue; getting everyone else out was the problem. He thought back to what Dumbledore had said, 'every door and window is covered by a pink barrier of light'. He had seen these barriers as he had fought the first vampire he had met. They were only over the windows and doors, but not the walls. An insane idea formed in Harry's mind.

At that moment, Hermione and Colin reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, each holding their wand out in front of them. Behind them were several small figures in black robes. They must be the first years. Harry suppressed a smile as he noticed that there was a camera hanging from a strap over Colin's shoulders. At least here he wouldn't be taking Harry's photo.

He still had two wands aimed at him, but made no effort to defend himself. He had a silver trophy in one pocket, two stakes tucked into his combats, a wand in one hand and a sword in the other. Hardly the picture of innocence, but there was no time to worry about appearances.

"You're…" stammered Colin, his wand arm visibly shaking.

"Not going to hurt you," Harry finished for him. "Okay, listen. There are at least two vampires still out there. Everyone else is trapped in the Great Hall. What I want to do is get you all down to the Hall."

"I thought all the doors and windows were sealed," said Hermione, sounding unconvinced.

"There are more ways to enter a room than through a door," said Harry. He said it more to reassure her than in earnest. He had a fairly good idea what he was going to do, and could see no reason why it would not work. What he didn't know was how he had come by the idea. He had been thinking it over while he waited for Hermione and Colin to come back. The idea had just popped into his head, followed by a memory of how he had used it before. It was not the sort of thing he should know. It was just a few images; a page of a book, and a few flickers of a Potions laboratory. He could picture the page clearly in his mind. He didn't recognise the memory and on reflection, did not want to. He didn't dare try to imagine what the other Harry had done with the knowledge. He also did not want to tell Hermione about it. She was not the person he trusted, and the thought of causing damage to school property, which he intended to do, would not sit well in her books.

"What are you planning to do?"

"Build my own door," said Harry impatiently. "Look, there are two more out there. Aurors can't get in and it is only a matter of time before they find us. You have two choices. One, come with me, get back to the rest of the school and live. Two, you stay here, barricade yourselves in and hope a few chairs piled up will stop them, because I won't hang around." It was a bluff. He would never leave them, but he had to convince them to come. He just hoped Hermione couldn't see that he was lying, or call his bluff. His image as a murderer must have reinforced the idea that he would happily leave them to their deaths, as Colin lowered his wand.

"Fine, we'll come with you."

"Colin!" snapped Hermione, glaring at Colin.

"We don't have time to argue," said Harry, saving Colin from a lecture from Hermione. "I'm leaving now, anyone who wants to see their friends again, come with me. Anyone else, God help you." With that he turned and marched out of the portrait hole, hoping his bluff had worked.

It had. Seconds later, Colin Creevey emerged from the common room, six young Gryffindors behind him, and Hermione bringing up the rear, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

"Colin, Hermione," said Harry, lowering his voice. "If anything moves, blast it with sunlight. Colin, take this," he handed Colin one silver trophy. "It's silver. If anything gets too close, whack it with this. Hermione has the necklace. One of you stay at the back, the other behind me. No one make a sound. Understood?"

They all nodded, their eyes wide in terror. Harry glanced down the dark corridor. Was allowing them to leave the best plan? There were still two vampires out there. If any of them got hurt it would be his fault. They were vulnerable in the open. But if they barricaded themselves in again, no one would win. This way Harry could free those trapped in the Great Hall, but possibly at the cost of one of the student's lives. Would it be better to leave them in the common room and go himself? But what if a vampire came back? They would be defenceless. No, this was the best option, albeit a risky one. The hallway was in shadow with the shutters closed around the windows. Tiny slits of pink light came through the slats in the shutters, casting a dim light on the floor. Harry could not hear a sound, except for the rapid beating of his heart. It was an eerie silence that filled the corridors as Harry cautiously began the trek back to the Great Hall. His eyes were adapting to the gloom, his hearing becoming more acute. He listened avidly for any sign of an approaching creature. As they reached the first turning, Harry gestured for them all to stand against the wall. He slowly peeked around the corner, checking it was clear. Satisfied that there was no one there, Harry stepped out into the corridor.

His heart was thumping in his chest. His stomach was tight and his breathing rapid. It was not only his life on the line, but those of his friends, and the innocent. Those creatures had come for him, and now eight more students were in danger. Even in this world, those close to him would suffer. Every few paces he glanced back to make sure everyone was together. His footsteps were light, but they seemed to echo in the gloom. He was certain that any vampire would hear him coming a mile away.

Every yard seemed like a mile as they crept through the gloom, none daring to make a sound. The lives of the others was the only thing on Harry's mind. Images kept forcing their way into his mind, of his companions lying lifeless at the feet of a vampire with blood smeared across his lips. He quickly shook the image from his mind.

To Harry's relief they reached the top of the stairs without obstacle. They needed to descend two floors and there was no cover on the stairs. Harry decided that the best way was to go one at a time and run. If they all ran it would create enough noise to alert the entire castle to their presence. If they all walked, they were exposed for too long and one blasting curse could finish the lot of them.

"Okay, listen," Harry instructed. We need to go down two floors. We are going to have to run. I suggest we go in pairs, two floors at a time. I'll go first with you," he gestured to a first year. "We'll go down two floors to that corridor there and hide in the shadows." He pointed to a corridor leading off the stairs, two floors beneath them." From there we head to the main staircase and go down to the hall that way. Hermione and Colin can cover us from here. If you see anything, blast it with sunlight. We go in twos. The first pair will come with me, Colin, you go with the second pair and Hermione will go with the last. Okay?"

He received several nervous nods. We have to hurry," said Harry. "If we wait, we could be found." He reached out and gently grasped a first year's hand in each of his. "Ready?" he asked, giving the boys an encouraging smile. He quickly glanced around before starting their run. It took less than ten seconds to reach the darkness of the corridor. Breathing heavily from the stress of their situation, Harry and the boys slipped silently into the shadows.

"You okay?" he hissed to the boys. He got nods in return.

He glanced up and down the stairs making sure they were clear, before he stuck his head out and nodded to Hermione and Colin, who were at the top of the stairs. Two boys sprinted out from behind them, and ran down the stairs, with Colin one step behind. Harry watched them, his heart thumping.

Please don't let the vampires be near here! he prayed silently.

Just then tragedy stuck. One of the boys put his foot through a trick step. With a squawk, the boy fell on his face. The other paused to help him up. Harry didn't think; he charged forward to the aid of the boy. "Keep going!" he hissed to the boy who still stood. Colin and the other boy continued into the shadows, rushing past Harry to join his friends. Harry reached the fallen boy in three seconds flat, one floor above where he had started. He fell to his knees and grabbed the boy by the arm, pulling him back up. He had fallen on his face and had a cut above his right eye. His eyes glistened with tears.

"I'm sorry," sobbed the boy.

"It's okay," Harry whispered. He pulled the boy up, bringing his feet clear of the step. "I should have mentioned those. Sorry." The boy tried to smile, but suddenly his eyes grew wide with fear. Footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor. They were one floor below Hermione, one above the other boys, and they were trapped. Harry glanced down the corridor. They were heavy boots, by the sound of them. It was a vampire. They couldn't move, as they would be seen. Harry grabbed the boy and dived behind a suit of armour, holding the boy in his arms, with one hand over his mouth. He saw Hermione quickly retreat into the shadows above him and the boys below do the same.

Harry dared not breathe as the footsteps came closer and closer. They sounded as if they were right on top of him. The vampire was just on the other side of the armour. Harry held his breath, trying desperately to quieten his heart. To his horror, the vampire paused on the other side of the armour. Harry could hear the monster's breathing as the creature paused. Harry had no idea what it was doing. Had he smelt them hiding here? Why had he stopped? Harry then noticed to his horror, that there was a smear of blood on the step from the boy's eye. The boy was bleeding! The smear was right next to the vampire's boot. Vampires could smell blood. Jesus! If it looked down it would know they were here. Harry's hand crept to the stake, which was tucked into his combats and gently pulled it out. Just then, the vampire spoke.

"Up or down?" he muttered in heavily accented English.

Who was he speaking to? Was there someone else there? Harry didn't dare to poke his head out and look. After a second's thought the vampire moved. The footsteps became quieter as the vampire began to climb the stairs. Harry released the breath as he was holding. Harry felt a rush of relief sweep over him. The vampire had passed him by. They had gotten away with it. Suddenly, he realised something terrible: the vampire was heading straight for where Hermione and the others were hiding. He couldn't fail to see them. He would notice them as soon as he got to the top of the stairs. There was nowhere to hide in the corridor. Hermione was trapped. Harry made a quick decision, a rash decision, but he couldn't think of anything else.

"Stay here," he whispered to the boy. "When you get a chance, run!" Harry didn't wait for a reply; he stepped out of his hiding place.

"Hey! Arsehole!" he shouted at the vampire. The creature spun on his heel, turning to face Harry. His lips were pulled back across his teeth, as a vicious smile formed on his face. "Looking for me?" spat Harry, his hand grasping the silver trophy, which was in his pocket.

The vampire lunged at him with speed Harry had expected, but could not match. Harry swung the trophy with all the speed he could muster, hoping for a hit. Luckily, the trophy clipped the creature's shoulder, causing it to hiss in pain, and for steam to rose from its burned shoulder. Harry instantly dived at the creature, driving his shoulder into the beast's stomach in a rugby tackle.

"Hermione! Run!" he shouted, as he and the monster tumbled down the stairs. "Get to the Great Hall as fast as you can! Run!"

A few seconds later, three pairs of feet rushed past him as he slammed his fist into the vampire's face. Hermione and others sprinted down the stairs and disappeared into the shadows, four floors below them. She was taking a different route, and probably a quicker one, than where Harry had planned. Harry hoped they didn't meet the last vampire on the way. But he had to stop worrying about that and focus on the problem at hand. The vampire had recovered from his burn and, with a single punch, launched Harry into the air. Harry landed on his back on the steps, his spine crying out in pain. He slid head first down a few steps before rolling backwards, back up onto his feet. He wandlessly summoned his sword, which he had dropped as he had dived at the vampire, back to him. He detached the scabbard and threw it at the vampire, who effortlessly caught it. It was an inhuman catch, as the scabbard was flying so fast. The vampire sneered and dropped the scabbard over the banister. Harry didn't even hear it hit the ground before something smashed into the side of his face. In one fluid motion, the vampire had picked up the trophy and surged forward. Harry didn't have time to swing before the same trophy he had used on the vampire smashed into his left cheek, drawing blood and sending him against the banister. His spine hit the railing hard, causing him to cry out in pain. That was twice in ten seconds he had landed hard on his back. Blue dots appeared in his vision from the impact. He head was spinning and he couldn't see straight. Suddenly the vampire's forearm was across Harry's throat, choking the life out of him, while the other grasped his sword-arm, preventing him fighting back.

The beast hissed something in another language, presumably Romanian or whatever language they spoke there. Harry did not know. He was bent backwards over the banister, his spine bent at an unnatural angle, his toes only just scraping the ground, the rail in the small of his back and his head well over the side. It was a four-floor drop and it would certainly kill or at least cripple him if he fell. The vampire's other hand was closed around Harry's sword arm. The vampire viciously slammed his wrist into the banister, causing him to lose his grip. The sword fell over the banister and tumbled down into the darkness.

His vision cleared a little, and he was able to see his attacker. To his horror he saw the vampire's face getting nearer, his teeth bared. He was going to bite! The teeth came nearer and nearer. Harry could feel the creature's cold breath on his skin, causing the hairs to stand on end. He could smell the vampire's putrid breath. In desperation, Harry did the only thing he could. He grabbed the vampire by the lapels and threw himself backwards. The next Harry was aware of he was airborne. He had dragged the vampire over the banister. They fell together, faster and faster. He just saw the vampire's eyes widen in shock as they fell. The vampire clung desperately to Harry's open shirt. Suddenly there was a ripping sound and they fell apart as Harry's shirt was torn in two, but fell none the less. The floor hurtled up to meet them. The fall alone would kill him.

Harry was too groggy to stop it; the darkness inside him boiled over, and instinct took over. He twisted in mid air, his wand pointed towards the ceiling.

"Arachnis!"

A thin cord shot out of this wand, zooming towards the ceiling. The chord struck the underside of a balcony on one side of the stairwell, and stuck fast. The cord snapped taut, but stretched under his weight like a bungee, bringing his descent to a quick halt, but leaving the vampire to his fate. Harry cried out in pain as his right arm was snapped taut when the magical cord halted his descent. Harry was left swinging topless from the cord a few feet above the ground. He was saved in the nick of time. The vampire had not been so lucky. It hit the ground with a sickening crunch and lay still. It occurred to Harry that every time his instincts seemed to take over, it was usually in the act of self-preservation. It seemed to happen when he was really tired, like after his escape from the Ministry or when he had been drugged in St Mungo's. It must be his conscious mind keeping it at bay. Again, he made a note to ask Flamel about it. He didn't stop to think, as he didn't have time. Who knows what had happened to the others? He grasped the sword in his right hand. The wrist-brace made it uncomfortable to hold, but Harry put that aside.

"Finite Incantatem," he coughed, and the cord disappeared. He dropped the last few feet to the floor, where the vampire lay, moaning in pain. It was still alive, but its back was broken. It couldn't move. Harry didn't dare to hesitate. If he did, he might feel pity for the vampire and might not be able to do what he must. He had to act on impulse, or he might never do the job. Not allowing himself time to think, Harry slashed the sword across the throat of the vampire, severing its head which, along with its body, dissolved into dust.

"Four down, one to go!" muttered Harry. He spat out a mouthful of blood. He was bleeding internally and coughing up blood, which was smeared around his mouth, making him look like a vampire in his own right. His right cheek was bleeding from where the vampire had hit him with the trophy. Blood was flowing down his cheek, neck and torso. He was covered in small scrapes and cuts from being put through a glass table and display cabinet. His left eye was swollen from a punch he had received from the first vampire. He no longer had a top. All he wore was his black combats, a wrist support and trainers. He picked up the scabbard and sheathed the sword. He held it his left hand, while he held his wand in his right. He ached all over but knew he could not stop. He set off at a run in the direction of the Great Hall, dreading what he might find on the way.

Caution and secrecy had had their day; haste was now all that mattered. He turned left then right as he sprinted towards the Great Hall, his eyes peeled for movement. Much to his surprise he reached the Great Hall unchallenged, and to his relief he found the others outside. The first-years were sitting down huddled together, while Colin and Hermione were trying different spells on the wall of pink light that covered the door. One first year was shining his wand at the door to give them light. Harry noticed that the light didn't penetrate the barrier and the handles cast no shadows and remained in darkness. All of them pointed their wand at Harry as the sound of footsteps approached. Harry blinked under the effects of the Lumos spell, which was shining directly into his eyes. They lowered their wands slightly as they recognised him, though Hermione kept hers aimed at him.

"We can't get in," announced the first year who had his wand out.

"I know," panted Harry, resting his hands on his knees and leaning forward. He spat out another mouthful of blood, much to the disgust of Hermione, and took a few deep breaths. Wiping the mixture of sweat, dirt and blood from his forehead, Harry stood up straight.

"Did you catch the registration plate of the lorry?" asked Colin, causing Harry to smile. The purebloods amongst them looked confused, while the others, except for Hermione stifled a smile.

"It was the whole damn motorcade that hit me," muttered Harry. He could feel the blood flowing from the cut on his cheek, as it started to dry on his chest.

"Colin, hide in the cupboard over there," said Harry, pointing to the same cupboard he and Hermione had hidden from their past selves during the adventure with the Time-Turner a few years ago. "All of you, inside. You don't open this door for anyone but the two of us. Hermione, come with me."

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione immediately.

"To get a key," said Harry.

Harry made sure they were all inside, gave instructions not to open the door for any reason until Harry came to get them, and closed the door before turning to Hermione.

"Let's go," he said simply, before setting off at a jog in the direction of the dungeons. He went over the formula in his mind. He could visualise the words on a page of printed text. He had seen it before, or rather the other Harry had. He could envision the mixture at each stage. He couldn't help but wonder how many lives this piece of knowledge had claimed. More to the point, how could he remember it? It wasn't really an instinct. It was just an image. A fragment of a memory, like his dreams. Harry jogged quickly but softly with Hermione in tow down one flight of stairs. They were now underground, in the dungeons. The darkness was absolute down here, with no windows. Just the sort of place Snape would inhabit, Harry thought viciously. He was used to the corridors being lit by torchlight. He wondered briefly if the dungeons looked any different under his mother's rule. He ignited his wand, and held it up.

"Where are we going?" whispered Hermione.

"Potions office," said Harry simply.

"Potions won't help," said Hermione in a patronising tone. "There is nothing to consume a potion. It is just a barrier." Harry smiled to himself. Same old Hermione.

"Trust me," said Harry, increasing his pace. "Anyhow, we are not making a potion. More of a cocktail."

"What?" asked Hermione. Harry could see her mind working as she tried to decipher his riddle. It reminded him of his Hermione. Things weren't so different here.

They arrived in the Potions Lab a few minutes later and, unsurprisingly, found it empty. Harry proceeded through to the office where he had been forced to learn Occlumency. The office was completely different. Harry found himself smiling as the familiar, yet unfamiliar, room came into view. The light from his wand revealed a much more pleasant room, yet still full of potions and ingredients. There were pictures of himself and Rose in frames on the dresser. She had nothing recent of him, though there was good reason for it. She had made no move to hide pictures of Harry. She had always loved him, despite what Harry had done. He lit a few torches to give them light and extinguished his wand. There were paintings on the wall, a kettle in one corner and a wardrobe against one wall.

"What are you smiling about?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing, just a memory," said Harry. He crossed to the desk and picked out a cauldron. He didn't care which one, and it wouldn't affect his recipe. He couldn't help but wonder where the other Harry had learned this. He opened the cupboard, which was his mother's private supply of ingredients. He picked up three bottles, two of which contained a clear liquid and one that contained a thick, green goo.

Harry poured all three liberally into the cauldron.

"Not a precise potion," noted Hermione, giving him a cynical glance. "Your mother would have a fit if she saw you doing it so roughly in class."

"Probably," smiled Harry. He could imagine Snape's reaction if Harry was so careless in his classes. "But this doesn't need to be precise and I don't have time to fanny around." He stirred the ingredients together and they turned into a thick dark green sludge. "Do you know what this is?" asked Harry trying to make conversation.

"I can read the bottles, but I wouldn't want to guess what that mess is," she glanced disapprovingly at the green sludge. Using his wand, Harry lit a fire under the cauldron, and used a warming spell on the cocktail. He then turned to Hermione and began his explanation.

"When these three ingredients are combined, they form two products; one is the useless green precipitate that is making this so yucky. The other is far more useful: Glycerine. When I add this, which is…"

"Guano, I know," interrupted Hermione. Harry added the guano and stirred again.

"Yes, which is rich in nitrates, it will react, forming a sky-blue liquid called nitro-glycerine. You can see where this is going, can't you? Pass me the gauze please." Hermione was clearly thinking, but she paused to pass him the sheet of fabric.

"You're making a bomb?" she asked.

Harry nodded. He poured the thick contents of the cauldron onto the fabric. He then pulled the four corners together and held it over another cauldron. He squeezed the sticky mass of ingredients until a sky blue liquid started to seep through the fabric. The gauze filtered the sediment from the mixture, leaving pure nitro-glycerine in the cauldron. The cauldron was soon half full of nitro-glycerine.

Harry then pointed his wand at a chair and uttered the Reductor charm. The chair was immediately reduced to sawdust.

"Nitro-glycerine plus sawdust equals dynamite," said Harry as he mixed the sawdust into the explosive. This made it much thicker and almost solid. From there Harry emptied it into a Thermos Flask he found on the desk.

It was now ready; all he had to do was set fire to it and it would explode. Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked distinctly uneasy at the sight of explosives.

"What are you planning to do with that?" Harry didn't want to answer, as she would try to stop him.

"Come on," said Harry, moving to leave.

Together they ran back to the Great Hall.

The lack of the final vampire was disconcerting to Harry. He didn't like not knowing where his enemies were. He ordered Hermione to go and hide in the closet and cover her ears. As she disappeared, Harry walked to the left of the door, still complete with its pink shield. Harry wasn't willing to take the chance that the shield might save them.

He walked to the left and then around the corner. The wall on his right was the side wall to Great Hall. About halfway down was a fireplace, where the wall would be at its thinnest due to the chimney. Harry had to guess where half way was, but he was confident he was right. He daren't think of the trouble if he got it wrong. He only had one bomb.

Using a Sticking Charm he stuck the Thermos Flask to the wall. He had no fuse, so he removed the lid and would have to incinerate it to set it off. Satisfied that it was placed correctly, Harry ran back to the door, and fired a few loud cracks from his wand. Light had not passed through the shield, at least magical light had not; Harry just hoped sound would.

"Hello!" he called into the door.

There was a few seconds pause, before a familiar voice answered, "Hello?" Dumbledore had heard him. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced around to make sure that the elusive final vampire had not been attracted to the sound of the bangs. Satisfied, he turned back to the door.

"Professor," he called. "It's me. The Gryffindors are safe. They're with me."

"Are they all right?"

"More or less," called Harry. "I'm going to try and get you out. Get everyone away from the fireplace by the Slytherin table. Stand well back. You have sixty seconds."

There was a pause. Harry hoped the Headmaster would not start to question him, as they didn't have time. They needed to do this quickly.

"Very well," came the reply.

Harry walked back around to the bomb, counting down from sixty in his head. He hoped that everyone was far back enough not to get hurt. He also hoped that the bomb was powerful enough to make a hole and that the castle wasn't going to protect itself. So many things would go wrong with this. He took refuge behind a statue, twenty feet from the bomb. He hoped it would shield him from the fireball and the debris.

Funny, he thought to himself. I'm going to destroy more of Hogwarts in a day than Voldemort has in twenty years.

Harry hoped that Dumbledore had gotten everyone back. If anyone was too close, they might get burned or worse. To the left of the bomb there was a large tapestry; beyond that was where Harry was hiding. He hoped it was safe enough where he was. He glanced around to make sure he was alone. As his mental countdown reached zero, he levelled his wand at the Thermos Flask. He took a deep breath, praying that no one would get hurt. It was now or never.

"Incendio!" he hissed.

BOOM!

The wall erupted into a cloud of dust and a huge ball of fire. Debris rained down all around Harry and his ears felt fit to explode. The fire was unbearably hot. He could feel the heat on his exposed chest and arms. His hands were clutched to his ears, which were ringing from the explosion. Dust and rubble filled the corridor, and lumps of flaming debris littered the floor. As the debris stopped falling, Harry emerged from his hiding place, clutching his ears. The fireball had set the tapestry alight and it was burning at the bottom. Smoke filled Harry's lungs, making him cough and splutter more blood. Harry stepped into the dust. He could see light shining from within.

He had blown a hole in the wall, but not large enough to get through. He heard a few shouts of Reducto from the far side. The teachers were making the whole bigger. He had to get the others quickly before the sound attracted the last vampire. He staggered back to get the others from the cupboard. He opened the door, and they poured out. His ears were still ringing from the blast and he could hardly hear a thing. His head was spinning and his face bleeding.

He led them to the hole in the wall. By now, it was big enough for them to crawl through.

"Stop the curses!" Harry shouted. He had no idea how loud his voice was, as he was having trouble hearing. "We're coming in."

Colin Creevey went first. Harry stood on one side of the hole, helping the others through and trying not to be sick. He helped two of the boys through before he got to Hermione.

"Looks like I was wrong about you," she said softly as he passed. Harry hardly heard her, but her meaning was clear. He smiled and nodded his thanks.

"You won't be the last," he muttered to himself as she disappeared. She scuttled through to the Great Hall. Harry made sure they got through one by one.

He was just helping the last of them through the gap when there was a crack above him. The support beam for the flaming tapestry had snapped. The curtain of flame fell towards the floor. Harry instinctively grabbed the boy who was just entering the hole by the neck and yanked him out of the way before the wall of flame landed across the gap. There was a scream from inside the hall. Harry and the boy were trapped on the outside, with a vampire at large.

The entrance was blocked by fire. Harry could see movement from the hall. He had no idea what spell extinguished fire. There were shouts from inside the hall, and a few jets of water squirted onto the fire. The heat was tremendous and the water was turning to steam. Harry looked around, trying to find inspiration. How could he get the fire out? Water didn't seem to be working. He didn't have a fire blanket or anything like that. If he couldn't get the fire out, he had to cross it. He was half-naked and it would burn him and the boy if they tried anything. Suddenly he had an idea. He summoned a cloak from the cloakroom, one that would cover his head as well, and put it on. Using his wand, he doused the entire cloak in water. He then picked up the boy and wrapped the cloak around both of them. Harry then took a deep breath, trying not to choke on the sooty flames. He then marched quickly into the flames.

His skin felt like it was on fire. The smell of charred flesh and hair entered his nostrils. He continued to move through the hole, trying to ignore the burning in his legs. He could feel his blood boiling and his flesh burning. He clenched his teeth, determined not to cry out in pain, as the flames licked his legs. He emerged on the far side, his cloak steaming from the water and flames. Coughing up more blood, Harry parted the cloak and released the boy, who ran forward, coughing and spluttering to join the others.

Harry coughed, trying to force the soot and ash from his lungs. He doubled up and was nearly sick. Everyone seemed to be talking in groups about the explosion. The Gryffindors were being checked by Madam Pomfrey, for their injuries, while the rest of the school were pointing and whispering about the new 'door'. No one seemed to be paying him attention.

"Your attention, please!" called Dumbledore above the racket. Harry glanced around at the students who filled the hall. He could see a few familiar faces amongst them. The Weasley hair made Ginny and Ron easy to pick out, and Rose was with them. Harry felt really hot in the cloak. He ached all over and the wool of the cloak was irritating his numerous scratches, but he found that he was afraid to face his friends. He didn't want to take the hood down. He was a killer and he didn't want to be seen like this. He had wanted to see his friends ever since he had arrived, but he didn't want them to think of him as a killer. Ron wouldn't trust him, Hermione was still doubtful. Their bonds of friendship were what had kept him going all these years, and now he no longer had them.

Ah, but he had something else. He glanced briefly at his mother, whose eyes were avidly fixed on him. She looked like she wanted to run to him, but was restraining herself. Her eyes were full of worry. Harry's face was hidden by the shadow of the hood and the cloak covered his entire body. He gave her a small nod to reassure her.

"Please remain calm," said Dumbledore once silence had fallen. He glanced over at Lily who raised a single finger, signifying the number of remaining Vampires. "Teachers, please check the entire castle, moving in groups of two. There is still one intruder out there. The rest of you please wait here. Finish any breakfast you may still wish to have and we will have you back to lessons as soon as possible." Harry wasn't listening. As the Headmaster had been speaking, he had been pulling a large shard of glass out of the palm of his left hand. He scooped some ice out of an empty jug of pumpkin juice and pressed it to the wound.

Harry winced in pain as he pressed the ice to the cut. It was deep and blood was dripping onto the table. Harry sank onto one of the benches. There were several spaces on either side of him, as most students were standing in groups, discussing the explosion. Harry glanced up at his mother again, who was still watching him intently. Harry looked away, but as he did, his eyes fell on someone else who had been watching him.

Draco Malfoy glanced from Harry to his mother and back again. His eyes widened in comprehension. Draco Malfoy knew who the cloaked figure was. No one else seemed to be paying him any heed; not yet, at least. He was dreading the moment when he would have to lower his hood. Pressing the ice firmly into the palm of his left hand, Harry picked up a chicken dipper from the table and dipped it in barbecue sauce before biting the end off. He hadn't eaten for hours, and was famished. Harry chewed the dipper slowly as he watched all the teachers except for his mother and Dumbledore extinguish the fire and march out into the darkness. He hoped none of them got hurt and that they could break the wards that had bound them so easily. It made Harry uneasy to think that the castle could be captured and breached so easily, but then again, being dead, or rather undead, vampires could slip through the wards.

"Who the hell are you?" sneered a voice.

Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing over him. The boy was standing tall in his Slytherin robes, with the coveted P shining from his lapel. Harry stared from the shadow of his cloak into Malfoy's eyes. Harry was sure he had worked out who he was. Why was he making a scene? Looking around, more and more eyes turned to look at the cloaked figure who sat at the table, dripping blood all around him. He noticed his mother start forward, but Dumbledore stuck out an arm to block her. He must want Harry to show himself. But why was Malfoy doing this? He must have an ulterior motive. He wasn't stupid; he must be using that Slytherin cunning of his. Harry could worry about Malfoy's intentions some other time. Right now, he needed a healer and a cup of tea.

Harry rose slowly to his feet. It seemed that every eye in the room was glued to him. It was time to face the music. Everything that the other Harry had done would be laid on his shoulders; every ounce of anger he had caused would be directed at Harry. Slowly, he raised two blood-covered hands, dripping drops of blood to the floor in the process. Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts.

With a deep sigh, Harry lowered his hood.

Pandemonium isn't a strong enough word for what happened next.

---

Author's Notes:

Well there's another chapter for you. If that isn't enough for you, Chapter ten is already online at my Yahoo!Group. I won't spam you, I promise. The Group is always one chapter ahead of you guys and The Dark Arts on Fiction Alley. Also if you ask a question in a review, I will often reply at the bottom of the next chapter, but FanFiction . net doesn't let me do that, so many of your questions will go unanswered unless you join. Sorry, but I didn't design the system.

The address is stranger_trilogy or you can copy and paste the URL (but you'll need to get rid of the spaces in the address).

http : / / groups . yahoo . com / group / stranger _ trilogy.

I hope HBP was all you guys hoped it would be.

Until the next time, (unless you join my Group)

Jono