(A/N; Hello. Just a little note to say that after the first part of this chapter, Harry's holiday will carry on as they do in the book, right up until the Quiddich World Cup. From there, things get different.

And did any of you find it strange that at the beginning of the fourth book, Voldemort complains about being weak, and then casts the killing curse, no worries? He could have looked after himself, I'm sure there would be a way to milk Nagini with magic. eh. Anyway.)

Evil angel, breaking Benjamin

Hold it together, birds of a feather,

nothing but lies and crooked wings.

I have the answer,

spreading the cancer,

you are the faith inside me.

Harry awoke with a purr, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. He buried his face into his pillow, mewling when a spike of pleasure raced from his forehead to his toes.

It took him a long second to realise that the pleasure had come from his scar.

He sat up sharply and brought a hand to the lightning bolt, gasping and pulling his hand back when another, less intense jolt raced down his spine.

"What?" He asked no one.

This had never happened. Either the scar remained dormant, or caused immense pain.

It had never caused anything remotely good.

But now it was.

He tried to remember what he had dreamt about, wondering if it may have caused the strange reaction.

All he could remember was feeling extraordinarily pleased with himself, as if he had just thought of the most brilliant idea.

But he hadn't come up with any spectacular epiphany. He'd been sleeping.

He ran a hand across his forehead once more, almost without thinking about it. The barest tingle responded to his fingers.

He wondered if he should tell anyone about this, and instantly decided against it. They would most likely assume that it was a bad thing, but it was probably nothing to worry about. After all, it had caused pleasure, not pain.

Maybe it was a sign that this year was going to be better than the ones before it.

He could only hope so.

The Quiddich World Cup had ended on a brilliant note, if you asked Harry Potter.

He was currently laying on the top bunk above Ron in the tent Mr. Weasley had brought. He was staring at the fabric roof, watching the few leprechaun lanterns that hadn't retired for the night zooming overhead, picturing some of Krum's more fantastic moves.

He couldn't wait until he was back on his own broom, to test some of the things he had seen that night.

He saw himself in robes with his name in bold on the back, imagining the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, 'I give you … Potter!'

Harry wasn't sure whether he was asleep, or halfway there when he felt a gentle probing in his mind.

So gentle, in fact, he hardly noticed it at first.

Relax, it told him. So he did. It felt good, anyway. He sunk deeper into his bed and sighed lightly.

It felt as if the force in his mind was rearranging things, making them fit better.

Such nightmares, it's a wonder you sleep at all. The voice told him. There was something sickly sweet about its tone that made him feel he should worry. But he did not.

I don't sleep much. He replied, not sure if it heard him. He was to tired and dozy to really care.

I cant imagine that you would, It purred in response, sounding pleased more than sympathetic.

Harry wondered, drowsily, why he couldn't return to full consciousness. He was trying. He was having the strangest dream.

What felt like the barest second later, he was overcome with a roaring happiness, unlike anything he felt before.

He could have burst into song, if he weren't so very, very tired.

You feel that, don't you? So strange, that you should feel as I do. The presence said, though Harry thought it was talking more to itself.

Just as the voice finished speaking, it dug further into Harry's mind, with much more force.

Harry would have yelped in surprise, but he was still asleep. Or maybe, he was awake. He didn't know.

Quick as a flash, Harry was feeling immense shock, so forceful and sudden that it winded him. But he didn't know why.

The shock was quickly replaced with blinding fury, and Harry felt the need to get up and destroy someone, really destroy them, because something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong. And someone needed to be punished.

Get up! The voice suddenly roared at him, and the anger fizzled away enough for Harry to realise that it was not his own.

Why? Harry wondered in return, still slightly angry. He wanted to sleep. Not hover on the edge of wakefulness.

Do as I say! It snarled, and Harry mentally crossed his arms.

Why should I? He growled back, anger still heating his veins.

The presence didn't respond in words, it dug sharply into what felt like the very centre of himself, and pulled something horrible upwards, making Harry feel as though he was going to be sick.

He wanted this dream to end, now.

At the same moment, he felt himself being dragged downwards, into full sleep. He was glad for it. The dream took on a much less real quality, and Harry felt very detached from it now.

He studied the vile thing that the voice had brought forward with a spectators curiosity. It looked a little bit like him, he realised. Though it's face was twisted, horrible and maimed. Harry wondered what it was, and what it was doing in him.

It seemed to be furious. Maybe crazy. It stared back at him with the same intense curiosity for a brief moment, before turning away from the Boy Who Lived, seeming to focus on the presence in his mind.

Come, come to me, The disembodied voice said, and the ghastly creature nodded sharply.

Then Harry fell away from the dream, feeling quite grateful for the peace.

"Harry!" A voice screamed, seemingly terrified, though Harry was sure it wasn't that important.

"Harry! Where are you going?! We should stick together!" He recognised the voice as belonging to Hermione, and wondered if he should wake up. She usually didn't sound so stressed. But he was so comfortable.

He felt hands shake him hard by the shoulders.

With an odd little jerk, he felt something snap back into himself so quickly it gave him whiplash.

He also realised that he was standing up. And he was no longer in his bed.

Ron was standing in front of him, his hands still on Harry's shoulders. He looked rather concerned. Harry's ears picked up on the sound of screaming, not the happy kind that he had heard earlier that night.

These were of pure terror.

He looked between Ron and Hermione, confused.

How had he gotten into the woods? He didn't sleep walk. Not that he knew of. And why was everyone screaming?

"What happened?" Harry asked, shock seeping into his voice, making it high pitched.

"You don't know?" Hermione asked, looking around herself as she asked it, seeming preoccupied by the screams.

Harry didn't answer, hoping that she would explain anyway.

It was Ron who replied.

"There's people hanging a Muggle family in the air. heaps of 'em. With masks on. And before ..." Ron didn't finish his sentence, instead he looked up at the sky and swallowed audibly.

Harry followed the red heads gaze, and laid eyes on what looked like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He smiled serenely at the giant green skull in the sky, and felt compelled to tell the snake that was coiling out of its mouth that it was stunning, before he shock his head in disbelief.

Thankfully, it was to dark for his best friends to have seen the blissfully happy grin on his face.

They would have been even more alarmed than he felt right now.

The thing in the sky was obviously not good. It was horribly obscene to be smiling at it.

"What is it?" Harry asked when the shock subsided slightly and he found his voice.

"That's You-Know-Who's mark," Ron whispered, and the fear in his voice was contagious.

"The Dark Mark," Ron continued, as if it was necessary.

Harry felt sick and terrified all at the same instant, making him want to throw up the hot chocolate that he had earlier.

He had smiled warmly at that thing in the sky. The Dark Lord's mark.

And he had no idea what he had been doing in the forest. He had no recollection of why he was there, but he had the oddest sense that it hadn't been a lovely walk in the woods.

He was just about to say something about it, what exactly, he didn't know, but a rustling in the trees not far from them stopped him.

It definitely sounded like more than one person. And they sounded as if they were running.

"Split up! We must find the boy. If not, it's our heads." A voice shouted from a startlingly close distance, and Harry's legs reacted before he even had time to. He was running, hard and fast, sparing only a split second glimpse at his friends to be sure they were keeping up.

He knew that the people running through the woods not far behind, were with out a doubt searching for him.

Every one always was, it seemed.

He didn't want to find out what would happen if they found him.

He willed himself faster, resisting the urge to look behind himself once more, his paranoid mind telling him that they were right behind him, breathing down his neck.

He could hear feet pounding behind him, and he wasn't sure if there were just two sets, or more.

A unbelievably intense surge of anger smashed him in the chest, and he stumbled, full speed face first into the ground with the force of it.

He got a mouthful of dirt and leaves, making him choke. Ron was right behind him, and tried to scoop Harry up as he bolted past, only serving to stumble him further.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked, turning as she ran, skidding to a stop.

"Get up!"

Harry felt the urge to yell at her, the anger was still strong. He hadn't fallen on purpose, why did she make it sound as if he was being stupid?

He snarled in response, and clamoured to his feet, snatching his fallen glasses up as he did so and shoved them on his face, still spitting the earth from his mouth and wondering if he had broken his nose.

He didn't have time to check.

He bolted once more, overtaking Hermione and Ron quickly, to angry to bother with checking on them.

The fury made him ever faster, his heart beating a tattoo in his chest. His legs felt strange, as if they would give way from the force of the exertion.

He paid them no mind. They had to hold. If not, he was sure to be found.

There was no time to stop and catch his breath. He had more stamina than this, he knew he did. He had to, it wasn't as if he had never run for his life. But for whatever reason, his legs were fighting his every step.

He was tired, furious and terrified.

He had yet to think about where the anger had come from, and still, he couldn't get the image of the Dark Mark from his mind.

After what felt like a lifetime, the trio broke through the trees, and into the complete chaos of the camping grounds.

The screams were so loud here they made his ears ring. Fire and destruction surrounded him completely.

He spared a glimpse behind himself then, and a quick glimpse at the mark in the sky.

This, for whatever reason, placated the anger boiling in his gut. He wiped at his face, finding that his face was covered with dirt and blood. He wasn't sure whether he had cut himself, or it was his nose that was the source of the bleeding.

"We – we should keep moving," Hermione panted, scanning the destroyed camping ground for any sign of someone they knew. No one paid any mind to the dirty and frightened teens that had burst out of the woods, only fending for themselves.

No one they knew magically appeared, and Harry found himself silently agreeing with Hermione. He set a brisk pace into the centre of the camping ground, heading for the tent that he was sure he had been asleep in mere minutes ago.

He didn't know how long he had been in the forest, but it frightened him. He could have easily been found, and the someone who found him could have easily not been Ron and Hermione.

He was thankful for that.

It was Bill that found them, followed quickly by the twins and Ginny.

The three of them were led back to the tents, the people around them seemed calmer now, and Harry had yet to see anyone levitating Muggles.

Harry, Hermione and the Weasley's reached the tent without fuss, and Harry wondered if he had overreacted when he had started running. What if there was no one chasing him? The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed.

He felt as if the fear had turned everything into something much more dangerous than what was actually happening.

The seven of them sat in silence for a long while, broken only by Bill cleaning Harry's face and healing what he now knew was a broken nose, while they waited for the others to return.

Percy was the first, and for whatever reason, he gave Harry a dirty look before sitting down at the shabby table everyone surrounded.

He was followed quickly by Arthur Weasley, who poked his head through the tent flap, gesturing to Harry.

"Harry, a word, if you would?"

Harry stood, a feeling of dread in his gut. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he was in trouble.

As he exited the tent, he realised that this would not be a private conversation.

Amos Diggory and Barty Crouch stood with Arthur, all but Mr. Weasley watching him with distrust.

Arthur looked concerned.

"What happened?" Harry began, cutting to the chase.

"Harry, is this your wand?" Arthur asked, holding up what was indeed Harry's wand.

"How- I mean, I didn't even -" The Boy Who Lived spluttered, patting his pants in a futile attempt to find the wand that was clearly in the red haired man's hand.

"I didn't notice that is was gone," Harry said after a moment, wondering how it had even left the tent.

Maybe he had picked it up in his sleep and dropped it in the woods?

"Can I have it back?" He asked, reaching for it without an answer. He felt naked without it, and was horrified that he lost it and didn't even notice it's absence.

"Not just yet, Mr. Potter. We have a few questions for you first."

Harry blinked at Crouch, wondering what all the seriousness was about. He had only lost his wand. Though it was terrible to lose it, he wasn't sure why they were all watching him warily.

Then a wild thought hit him.

What if he had done something while he was sleep walking? Something horrible?

"Why? What happened?" Harry asked, his voice giving away the worry he now felt.

Arthur seemed reassured by Harry's concern, but it only served to scare Harry further. That meant something bad had been done with his wand, and they thought he had done it.

Hell, he might have.

"The Dark Mark was conjured with your wand," Amos cut in before anyone else could answer.

The blood drained from the teens face, and his mouth floundered.

He couldn't have … could he?

"Who – who did it?" Harry's voice was a harsh whisper, and he had to swallow and ask the question again.

"We aren't sure," Crouch replied, seemingly appeased by Harry's shock.

"It couldn't have been Harry here," Arthur said to the group at large, obviously convincing himself as well as the rest of them.

The terror in Harry's gut only grew as the shock faded.

It could have been him.

He had no idea what he was doing in the woods, but it could have been him.

Harry's mouth floundered as he tried to form words that wouldn't come.

"I think he's in shock," Amos stated quite matter of factly.

"I think I should get him inside. It's quite obvious that it wasn't him." Arthur said, leaving no room for argument.

Crouch nodded sharply and turned to leave, followed by a slightly reluctant Diggory.

"Come on, Harry. You need rest." The red headed man led Harry back into the tent, everyone turning to look at them as they entered.

Hermione and Ron appeared to be about to ask what was wrong, clearly seeing the shock written clearly on the Boy Who Lived's face.

Arthur obviously motioned for them to leave it be for the time being, because their mouths closed before the questions reached them.

Harry was glad for it. Though he wanted answers about what had happened that night, he was beyond exhausted.

He entered the bedroom he and Ron shared, and collapsed into the bottom bunk, not trusting his fatigued legs to carry him up the ladder.

Almost instant sleep followed, but not before a small, calming prodding began in his mind.

I'll have you yet, Something whispered softly and almost lovingly to him, but he fell into unconsciousness to quickly to question it.