Chapter 2

In a dimly lit, dusty room a man stood in front of him, trying in vain to not show his fear. It was the panic in his eyes that showed his true emotions.

"So, you failed?" he said with a raspy voice.

"My lord… he resorted to dirty muggle tactics to… I-I didn't expect..."

"SILENCE!"

Anger. Pure anger was all he felt.

"I don't care for your pitiful excuses Barty! You failed your lord! It may have compromised everything…I trust you know this won't go unpunished."

The man nodded. His hands were slightly trembling."Y-yes my lord. I accept whatever punishment you deem fitting."

"Very well - CRUCIO!"

Screams. Agonizing screams. That's how all of Harry Potter's nights had ended in the last couple days, including today.

Shaking and with a laboring breath, he cracked his eyes open and for a moment looked around himself in panic before realizing that he was still in his bedroom in Privet Drive.

Calm down! Breathe!

For days now dreams like this had plagued his nights. It had started as soon as he had come back to his relatives' house for the summer. He vividly remembered an old man… Wormtail suddenly standing in the door frame with a cruel grin… the green light that ended his life…

After a couple days the dream had changed. Instead of the old muggle dying it was now about the torture of the wizard who had been kneeling before his master. Barty, that's what he'd been called. Apparently, the man had failed at some kind of task and now had to endure the misfortune of Voldemort's anger.

Harry would have felt sorry for the poor sod, hadn't he been a servant of the Dark Lord. Although Harry did wonder at what kind of task Barty had failed to infuriate Voldemort so much.

But whatever the assignment had been, it was probably a good thing that he didn't succeed.

After a good ten minutes of deep breaths, Harry finally felt calm enough to get out of bed. A brief look at his alarm clock confirmed that it was still in the middle of the night. For a moment he contemplated getting back in his bed, but from experience he knew that he would not get any sleep. Once he woke up from his dreams he never did. The serious lack of healthy rest was the reason he hardly got anything done during the day other than the chores the Dursley set out for him. After all, his relatives didn't particularly care about his growing sleep deprivation, as long as he got everything done with his tasks during the day, they were happy. Well maybe not happy, less sourly was probably the better word.

Regardless, until now he had somehow managed to fulfill their demands, however if those dreams kept up like they were, it was only a matter of time until he would fall asleep on the lawn mower or in a flower bed.

Most of the evenings he just barely managed to crawl back to his bed, only to wake up a couple hours later to another nightmare.

With one last tired and longing look at his bed Harry sighed and put on his clothes to get ready for the day.

Might as well get started with my chores, he thought, maybe I'll even be able to sneak in a short nap…

It turned out that weeding out the garden was the perfect task right now. It wasn't hot outside and the streetlamps nearby provided just enough light to be able to work at a decent pace. Also, the work barely made any noise, therefore didn't wake up his relatives or the neighbors and was uncomplicated enough to sort his thoughts, which once again revolved around his recent dreams.

Why did he even keep having them in the first place?

Was he some kind of seer and would that mean they were actually real? Or would they happen in the future?

If he was honest with himself, it was a very good possibility, given that he didn't even know that Barty guy or the old muggle. So chances were his dreams were actually of prophetic nature. Thinking about his batty divination professor, he shuddered in horror.

Merlin, please don't let me end up like her!

Harry shook his head at the mental image and decided to focus his thoughts once again more on the content of the dreams and what he could potentially do with the information.

The first one only revealed that Wormtail had managed to find his old master and that the later one was apparently strong enough now to kill a muggle with a single spell. The same that Voldemort had used to kill his parents.

Frowning, he realized that he didn't even know what kind of curse that was. Given its significance in his life he should have at least looked it up in the Hogwarts library already. Harry vowed to rectify that as soon as he could.

Anyway, the dream was pretty much useless to him. He had no way of finding out who the unknown muggle had been and Pettigrew joining the Dark Lord had been pretty much given anyway.

The second nightmare however contained a lot more useful information. Given that Barty had a British accent it was to be assumed that was a wizard from the Isles. That was at least some lead. Granted, he had no idea how many people named Bartys existed, but as the wizarding world as a whole wasn't that big, he might just have a chance to find out who the man was.

Maybe there is some kind of birth register in the magical world…

Suddenly he heard a faint crack on the other side of the street, startled Harry dropped his secateurs on the ground. Grumbling, he stood up to look over the fence to see what had caused the noise and promptly went white as a sheet.

A man in worn out clothes and a face that looked like it had an unfortunate encounter with a meat grinder looked directly at him. Everything about him screamed wizard, or more importantly possibly homicidal wizard.

For a while the two of them just stared at each other until the other man drew his wand. Harry's eyes went wide and his right hand was already moving towards his pocket where he usually kept his wand, when he remembered that he had left it upstairs.

FUCK! Stupid, stupid, …

Once again, he looked at the other wizard, who was already halfway across the street and raised his wand in a deathly arc and Harry mentally prepared himself to be left as a bloodstain on the ground… But much to his surprise no spell came at him. No deathly green light, no puking out innards, nothing. Instead, the guy was facing away from him now, weaving his wand through the air, which was followed by a faint glow in the area around them, almost as if there was now a dome of glass surrounding them.

Seemingly satisfied, the wizard nodded to himself then started to step up to the fence, at which point Harry frantically looked around to find an escape route. But before he could even start to run, the man was already next to him and grinned amusedly at him.

What completely surprised him was when he said in a gruff voice "No need to shit your pants lad. Dumbledore sent me. My name is Alastor Moody."

Having not completely overcome the fact that he meant no harm, Harry merely stared at him with a blank look on his face.

Yea, talk about awkward introductions.

Finally, though he regained his bearings and with one last weary look answered.

"Harry Potter, sir."

Moody grunted "No shit lad. Let's get inside… it's not good to stay outside without cover for too long…"

What is happening here?

Harry had been skeptical about Moody at first. But he had to admit the sight of his obese uncle being hoisted by his ankles up in the air, made him alright in his book.

Vernon Dursley had not appreciated an unknown man to enter his house unannounced. When he told him to get off his property, Moody had only offered him a disdainful glance and politely told him to "Piss off"

Enraged at the insult, his uncle had proven his intelligence and lunged at the wizard - as a result was now dangling in the middle of the entrance hall. Harry had to try very hard to not start laughing at his gaping aunt when she had seen her husband. Petunia Dursley was however wise enough to not provoke Moody and simply got out of their way.

"Get your things quickly, lad. You won't come back here this summer."

Harry smiled as if Christmas had come early and didn't even ask where they would be going and went upstairs to grab Hedwig, his wand and his already packed suitcase. He had never bothered to unpack this summer, due to his chores he hardly had time for it and the unwelcoming feeling in the house hardly helped. So he had chosen to simply let his stuff remain in the suitcase. In hindsight a very good decision.

When he came down again, Moody was staring at his cousin Dudley, who surprise, surprise was also now floating in the hallway. Apparently in a flash of courage he had tried to help his father. Harry was almost impressed; he didn't think Dudley actually had something that resembled a backbone.

"Common lad! Let's get going." Moody said and pointed at his uncle "Not sure if fatty here can keep his breakfast for much longer in his stomach."

His uncle did indeed look quite green now. So Harry hastily nodded and followed Moody outside. When he closed the door behind him, he briefly heard his uncle yelping followed by a crashing sound.

Yea, he liked Moody.

He started to seriously dislike Moody.

Back at his relatives house he had been so elated to get away from the Dursley's that he hadn't much thought about what they were going to do all summer, or where they were going to stay. Harry had assumed that if Dumbledore was involved, he would be staying at Hogwarts or the Weasley's.

Now he almost wished he had stayed with the Dursleys.

The first thing that had happened after they left his relatives was Moody grabbing his arm and suddenly it felt like he was squeezed through an impossibly narrow tube and just a second later he fell flat on his face. That had been the first time he had vomited that day. Unfortunately, it wasn't the last time.

When he was slowly regaining his senses the first thing he felt was a cool breeze over his arms. Looking up he found himself staring at the front door of a small log cabin.

Moody patted his back and vanished the mess he had made from the floor "No worries lad. Most people react like when they apparate for the first time."

"Apparate? What is…?" he wheezed and then he looked around himself "Where the hell are we?!"

They seemed to be in the middle of a forest. There was no street leading towards them, no lamps, nothing. It kind of reminded him of the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts.

How did we even get here?

Moody rolled his eyes, or was it just one eye…?

"Apparition and disapparition. Common form of travel in the wizarding world. Look it up. As to where we are - this place is called Nowhere."

Harry shook his head "What?"

The older wizard had a smug smile on his face "Yeah Nowhere. My secret base in case my actual house gets compromised."

"You actually named your secondary home Nowhere?" he asked with a blank look.

Moody looked quite smug now "Yes. Imagine you are captured. They put some good ol Veritaserum down your throat and ask you to reveal the secret hideout and then you tell them truthfully - Nowhere."

This guy is barmy. Completely mad.

A little bit more diplomatically he said "Isn't that a bit… uh over prepared?"

Moody snorted "Hardly. Had your parents named their house like that, Wormtail would have probably been killed by Voldy before he could have explained that it was the actual name of their hideout."

Then he opened the door to the hut and went inside, leaving Harry gaping outside.

When Harry had finally mustered the courage to follow Moody, he found himself in the most spartan house he had ever seen.

The house certainly matches its owner…

Now he certainly wouldn't have taken the old wizard for a guy who maintains his collection of colorful flowers, but the interior of this house couldn't even be described as spartan. There was just nothing in there other than a couple of wooden chairs, a table and a small fireplace. Oh, and the people of course: Moody and a man with a long white beard, crooked nose and half-moon glasses looking at him expectantly.

"Professor?" Harry hesitantly asked unsure how to proceed.

Albus Dumbledore smiled at him "Good to see you, my boy."

Then he sighed "I just wish it was under better circumstances."

Harry frowned. Something had evidently happened and based on the look of his headmaster it hadn't been a good thing.

"Yes, you must have lots of questions." Dumbledore said and waved his wand and another chair materialized out of nowhere "Sit down Harry. I think this might take a while."

Yes, definitely something bad…

Nevertheless, Harry complied and sat on the opposite site of the old wizard.

"First of all, what I'm about to tell you is of utmost importance and it is paramount that as few people as possible know about this, at least for now. Can I have your word that you won't disclose anything that I'm going to tell you? Not even your best friends." Dumbledore asked in a serious tone.

This request did throw him off a bit. Never before had he been asked to hide anything from his friends. However, the look on Dumbledore's face made it clear that he wouldn't settle for anything else.

Therefore, Harry hesitantly nodded "Of course, sir."

The old man nodded satisfied, "Excellent. Now, four days ago, Alastor here, was attacked in his home by two of Voldemort's followers. Based on what he told me and what I have seen in his memories, one must have been Peter Pettigrew. A fight broke out, during which Alastor was able to see the forearm of the other attacker, with a clearly visible Dark Mark."

Dumbledore briefly paused at Harry's confused face "What you must understand is that Voldemort marked his most important followers on the forearm with a symbol they call the Dark Mark. As far as we know it is somehow connected to himself. With it he was able to call his followers and even inflict pain upon them. After he vanished, the Dark Mark began to fade until it was barely visible anymore. Now that it has apparently become more prominent once more, I think you know what that means."

Harry was suddenly reminded of his dreams. Wormtail had managed to find his old master and the second man from his dream, Barty, was most likely the other attacker they had been talking about. They had failed and had been punished for it. Now it all made sense.

"So, he is gaining strength?" Harry asked, looking between Dumbledore and Moody desperately hoping his assumption was wrong.

Both men nodded with somber faces.

Harry took a deep breath; it would be of no use to panic now. Although he could feel his heart beating faster and faster. There were probably a thousand questions in his head, but only one really mattered right now.

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

Moody clapped excitedly in his hands and laughed "Ha, that's the spirit! I already like him, Albus!"

The headmaster of Hogwarts also seemed to be impressed.

"Indeed! I must say you take this quite a bit better than I would have imagined. " Dumbledore started and then leaned forward and looked at him intently "You don't have anything to tell us by any chance?"

At that Harry awkwardly shifted his feet "Well I keep having these dreams…I guess they are not really dreams, more like-"

"Visions. Of Voldemort I presume?" Dumbledore finished.

He nodded and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"And what exactly happens in those visions?"

"Well, there were only two so far. In the first one Wormtail was with him… they killed an old muggle that was listening in on them. I had that one for a couple days, but then it changed. It was again with Voldemort and a man named Barty was also there. Apparently he failed at some task and got tortured for it." Harry answered while watching his headmaster carefully, who seemed to be in deep thought.

Finally he said "Alastor, do you recall a Deatheather named Barty?"

Moody frowned "Not anybody alive, no. The only Deatheather I remember with that name was Crouch's son, but he died in Azkaban more than a decade ago."

"Hm, might be worth looking into… But I digress… Surely you are curious why we have brought you here, yes?" Dumbledore asked him.

Harry only nodded.

"With Voldemort on the rise and his rather unhealthy interest in you, we thought it would be a good idea to provide you with a bit more options to ensure your survival."

Harry gave him a questioning look and Moody rolled his eyes and said "What he means is that you are here to train so the next best Deatheather doesn't blow your head off with a single spell."

Dumbledore frowned "Crudely put, but yes."

Are they serious?

Harry could hardly believe it. It sounded too good to be true. First, he got to be away from his relatives and then he would be trained by Dumbledore himself? There had to be some sort of catch.

"So I will learn magic from you, sir?"

Dumbledore chuckled and said "Unfortunately, I have other things that need to be done, albeit I might visit every now and then. However, I believe Alastor here will be a more than adequate trainer."

And there is the catch.

Looking at the grizzled old man, he couldn't help but shudder.

"That's right Potter. For the remainder of the summer you belong to me."

Training with Moody was every bit as hellish as he had imagined. Remember when he had almost puked after his first apparition with Moody? Well, he had finally lost his dinner just after two hours into his first training session, which had started as soon as Dumbledore had left.

Harry had expected to learn some new spells, maybe advanced dueling techniques, but no. For the first week the only thing he did was run around in that twice forsaken forest for hours while dodging stinging hexes that Moody threw at him every now and then. After a short break he would usually find himself in the basement of the log cabin doing various exercises like skipping ropes, pushups, sit-ups and many others.

It turned out that while his previous Quidditch training had at least made him familiar with some parts of the training, he quickly realized that he was nevertheless completely out of shape, which Moody seemed to gladly remind him off.

The reason for his bad constitution apparently came down to two reasons - diet and poor form. It was no big secret that the Dursleys hadn't been overly generous when it came to food. Well at least to him. Which resulted in a lack of muscle growth in his earlier years. Combined with the rather fat and traditional cuisine they were served at Hogwarts made for a rather unhealthy lifestyle.

The other thing Moody had pointed out was in his words "a piss-poor execution of training exercises". Apparently his Quidditch captain Oliver Wood had, despite his enthusiasm, not a very in-depth knowledge on how certain sets during training should be done. From what he had learned so far was that slow and steady was most often preferred to quick and sloppy.

Now that he trained like one was supposed to, he could suddenly feel muscles hurting that he hadn't even been aware of.

At the end of each day he dropped into his bed like a sack of potatoes, with welts on his entire body from the stinging hexes and sore muscles from the exercises.

On the bright side, his nightmares had stopped, so he could actually get some much-needed rest during the night. If he had to be honest, he probably wouldn't have been able to get out of bed even if he still had the dreams. He barely even rolled out when Moody started hurling hexes at him.

All in all Harry's summer had somehow gotten even worse than it had already been. Compared to the old Auror, the Dursleys came of almost sane and polite people. Not to mention that he had been able to lift his arms over his head without fearing muscle cramps.

Though he had to admit, now after over a week of intense training, it began to show some slight results. He could now run twice the initial distance and at a quicker pace as well, the weights and other exercises seemed to gradually get easier and he had gained about three pounds in weight.

However, he was also growing a bit frustrated, because he had hoped that if he made some progress in his physical training Moody would finally also start to show him some spells. But no, when he had asked the old Auror, the man had merely snorted and said "We start with wand work, when I say so and not a second beforehand."

Then he pointed at his training mat and barked "Now get back to it!"

"Damn, old git." Harry murmured under his breath and started to turn away but then immediately dropped to a crouch and felt a spell narrowly passing over his head.

"I suppose we can up the ante a bit." Moody growled with his wand drawn.

Harry rolled to the side when more hexes came his way and narrowed his eyes when he heard stuff breaking behind him.

Seems like he has moved on from stinging hexes…

Mentally cursing himself and his trainer he tried to get some distance between them, which sounded easier than it was because he could barely even dodge the barrage of spells that Moody unleashed upon him.

With no possible way to retaliate it didn't take very long before he was eventually hit. Harry had no idea what it had been, only that it launched him almost halfway through the room and landed painfully on the floor unable to move a single muscle.

"That's for talking back to me Potter. Now do you want a repeat or are you going to go back to training, hu?" Moody said, standing over him with a smirk.