Disclaimer: Not mine, never was, never will be. It's all JKR's, and you should know that.

Author's Notes: Yeah, this took an age and a half to show up, I know. (Extremely sorry about that!) Probably might not have happened now, either, except that I've been inspired by the recent release of the GoF movie (whoooo-ey!), in theaters near you so go see it, eh? (Come on, who else liked the movie? Eh? Eh? No spoilers, or anything, but Tom Felton is so pretty that it makes me happy. Had nothing to do with anything, but who cares? Sirius is still my favorite, though, pity there wasn't more of him.)

Er, done talking about the movie now.

Review please, lovely readers. Perhaps you'll inspire me further!

o.o.o.o

It was 3 o'clock in the morning. The Hospital Wing of Hogwarts was crowded, but there was only one patient. Bill Weasley lay on a bed at the very end of the row, comatose. Around him stood (or sat) most of his family, several members of the Order, and Ichabod Malfoy-Hobbes. Every face in the room was grave, except the settled, peaceful expression on Bill's.

"What happened?" asked Molly, her hands fluttering above Bill, wanting to touch him but afraid to. "Oh, what happened?"

"Poison," Ichabod murmured, without meeting anyone's eyes. "In the coffee. My coffee." Severus glanced at him sharply, but everyone else turned to Poppy Pomfrey.

She nodded bleakly. "Yes, poison. A very nasty one, too."

"Wh-what kind of poison?" Molly shrieked, her flutterings increasing. "Did you give him the antidote?"

"I don't think anyone but Severus would have heard of it," said Poppy, soothingly. "It's very obscure. The oddest thing, really; it involves boiling old lace... But yes, I've administered an antidote. Fortunately there wasn't a full dose in his bloodstream, otherwise he would have been killed instantly."

"I'm the reason he's in here," whispered Ichabod to no-one in particular.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Severus. "What would make you think that?"

"It was in my coffee! That poison was meant for me!" Ichabod got to his feet suddenly and gestured to Bill's prone form. "And the only reason he's not dead right now is because he didn't drink all of it."

"Don't be silly," snorted Poppy, looking faintly bemused. "With the amount he did drink he should be dead by now, nevermind that it wasn't a full dose -- that only assures instant death. You say that a quarter of an hour passed between the time he drank it, and when you got him here; that was plenty of time for the poison in his system to do its job."

Severus frowned in apparent agreement. Molly's eyes were wide. "What are you saying?" she demanded.

"There's some reason other than the antidote that the poison hasn't killed him," Poppy murmured, taking a step closer to Bill's bed. "I don't know what that is... but there's something here I'm not seeing." She turned and glanced pointedly at Ichabod. "Are you sure you didn't do anything?"

"If I'd done something," snapped Ichabod, "don't you think I'd have told you?"

"Yes, most likely," she agreed, nodding a little. "But perhaps you didn't know you did it?"

Ichabod glared, self-recrimination evident in his voice as he spoke. "I've repeated everything that happened several times already. If none of what I said so far offered any clues, than nothing I'm going to say will help."

A little away from the main huddle of anxious Order members, Tonks suddenly sat up very straight in her chair, eyes staring unseeingly at Bill. There was an expression of incredulous comprehension on her face.

Silently, she mouthed three words that allowed Bill's miraculous escape to make sense to her.

"It was Harry!"

The others hadn't noticed her, though, and were continuing to argue. Ichabod, it seemed, was determined to make himself feel as guilty as possible, while Severus was endeavoring with all his might to persuade the young man otherwise. Madame Pomfrey kept interrupting the two, trying to convince everyone that something had happened besides what she'd been told and, by Merlin, she wanted to know what.

Molly Weasley watched this with no small amount of horror on behalf of her eldest son. The rest just watched.

Tonks covered her mouth with one hand, a tingly feeling of awe creeping up the back of her neck.

It was Harry.

"Stop it!" Dumbledore called sharply, entering the wing.

Ichabod cleared his throat and didn't return to his seat. He faced the Headmaster squarely and said, in as calm a voice as he could muster (which wasn't much of one), "Sir, I'm afraid that someone must know I'm helping you."

Dumbledore's expression remained outwardly serene, though everyone knew that this information must have affected him. "What makes you say this?" he asked quietly.

"The poison, it was--" Ichabod started, a certain despondency coming into his eyes.

Nodding, Dumbledore cut him off before he could get to the core of his self-recriminating point. "I have been told where it was, yes."

Ichabod swallowed noticeably. He looked around at all the faces, but avoided meeting anyone's gaze except for Severus's. He added quietly, "And... and it was my idea to bring him in to help, in the first place. If I hadn't--"

"I see. That's quite enough, Ichabod," Dumbledore said, interrupting him again. He was frowning slightly, his eyes on Bill Weasley's still form.

Tonks squeaked, wanting to tell someone what she'd figured out. Dumbledore glanced at her, held her gaze for a moment, and his eyes started to twinkle.

"Ichabod, Severus, I'd like to see you in my office, if I could," the elderly Headmaster said, turning to leave the wing. Severus swept along in his wake without a word. Looking slightly confused, Ichabod followed.

Dumbledore paused at the door and half-turned. "Tonks? Come along."

o.o.o.o

Bill Weasley recovered with surprising speed. Only a few days passed before he awoke. The first thing he saw was his mother's concerned face, hovering above him.

The first thing he heard was emergency Wizarding Wireless news broadcast announcing an attack by You-Know-Who, against Azkaban of all places.

It was a bloody slaughter, according to the press.

The dementors, with very little persuasion, joined forces with the infamous Dark Lord and turned that which they guarded over, without hesitation. Some of the creatures were allowed to remain in their posts, as guards of the prison that was now Voldemort's. Others he stationed at strategic locations around the country, intent on spreading terror as far as he could.

All inmates of the prison either pledged themselves to the Dark Cause (and it's Lord, of course) or were killed immediately.

Harry Potter, You-Know-Who made sure it was known, had died after swearing fealty.

Not surprisingly, Bill lost consciousness almost as quickly as he'd regained it.

o.o.o.o

In the aftermath of his -- apparently successful -- assault on the wizarding prison, the Dark Lord was not nearly as pleased as his servants would have expected.

In fact, he didn't seem pleased at all.

Quite the opposite, really.

"You let them take him there anyway?" screamed Voldemort, right up in Lucius Malfoy's face. He was as angry as most of the Death Eaters had ever seen him. Angrier than that, even. "And with his wand? And I'm expected to reward this incompetence? What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"My lord," exclaimed Lucius, mildly confused. "You, yourself, instructed that he be--"

"Fools, all of you! I'm surrounded by half-wits!" shrieked the Dark Lord, stopping Lucius before he could finish. He glared around the circle of his followers. One of them, poor fool, forgot himself and cringed visibly under the red-eyed, burning gaze.

Voldemort threw a casual Crucio at him and reveled in the malicious pleasure that only came with inflicting inexpressible torture on your own minions.

But even that wasn't enough to keep him from remembering his anger.

He hissed menacingly. "Insufferable plebs!"

Nagini responded lazily from some distance away. Voldemort seemed to ignore her, but most of the Death Eaters appeared to find the serpentine communication disconcerting.

"Fools!" the Dark Lord repeated.

He was very angry indeed.

"My lord--" began another of the masked followers, in an appropriately servile tone.

"Shut up," snapped Voldemort, cutting the other Death Eater's words off, as well. "It's lucky for all of you that I found a solution. So you won't be punished this time... as much."

He pointed his wand at Lucius Malfoy.

This was a personal failure of their Lord's for which they were all responsible. None would escape the Cruciatus then.

The wrath of a Dark Lord is a terrible thing.

Especially when one of his plans have gone awry.

o.o.o.o

Having been stuck on an island for several hours with nothing but soul-suckers for company, the last prisoner of Azkaban had reached a rather not-so-startling conclusion.

Harry Potter really did not like dementors. They were, possibly, his least favorite thing in existence.

Well, except for that other thing.

Again, the Boy-Who-Lived cursed the name of his captor.

"You're dead, Tom!" he screamed into the darkness. His words echoed off the walls and down the halls, getting curiously louder, until he fancied he could hear it being said by a hundred voices, all his own.

Outside his cell, a dementor shifted, reminding Harry of its presence (as if he could forget). Yeah, he was kind of stuck.

Frustrated, Harry kicked a pebble across the floor, sending it skittering out into the hall. The dementor wouldn't notice, of course, which was really quite annoying.

He obviously didn't like being a captive, but Harry was sure it wouldn't last long. He'd get out. Sooner or later, he'd get out. He wasn't sure how, but it would happen. And when he was free...

Tom Marvolo Riddle was going down.

Once more, with feeling.