A/N: Many thanks to my beta, The Lonely God With a Box. Enjoy, and please leave a review!

Chapter 12

Harry jerked around as the door opened, but it was only Watanabe come to return him to Voldemort's manor. Although the wizard was wearing boots, his steps were soundless. Harry once again tried to stand and this time managed it with the support of the desk. He hadn't the energy to reach for his clothes. He set his jaw defiantly, refusing to feel embarrassed: he'd had enough of that for the day.

Watanabe stopped and gave his trademark bow of the head. Then he took an unusually hesitant step closer. "If I may?"

"What?" Harry snapped.

Watanabe's lips firmed in disapproval. "Heal your back."

Harry passed a hand through his hair. "Right. I'm sorry, I - "

"That's alright." He lifted his wand and waited for something. Finally Harry's slow brain got the hint and he turned around stiffly.

"This will go better if you try to relax."

Harry huffed a breath and did so. As Watanabe murmured a healing spell the wounds seared something fierce, like being whipped all over again. Harry let his thoughts drift and tried to focus on the weird, filling sensation of being the sentient tree, back at the grounds of Voldemort's manor.

When Watanabe spoke again Harry emerged from somewhere deep in his mind. He looked over his shoulder at Watanabe, who gave a small smile. "It is healed. You can put your clothes back on."

Harry took that in, then traced a hand over his back. There were ridges on it sensitive to the touch, but the pain from before was mostly gone. He briefly closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"You are quite welcome. I shall find a scar-removal potion to sent you… unless you wish to impress the ladies?"

Harry ducked his head to hide a blush and quirked his first grin of the day. Watanabe returned it warmly. "I think I'll choose the scar-removal," Harry said. He picked up his clothes and put them on, relishing being able to move normally again. They walked back to the manor's wards in amiable silence.

888

Harry closed his eyes against the glare of the sun, the wind ruffling his hair every which way. He had taken next weeks readings outside, but the lovely weather was distracting.

If this were like any other summer, he'd be well on his way to taming the garden's summer growth by now, at his aunt and uncle's. His muscles would complain fiercely from the heavy work and long hours, and he would enjoy little of the luxury of the balmy summer days. Which is why at Hogwarts, Harry had taken to going outside on good days whenever he could, visiting Hagrid or just taking a stroll by himself, away from the oppressed feeling that the castle sometimes gave him.

But high summer was really something else, Harry thought. It was almost as if the world only consisted of these grounds. No houses or buildings ruining the landscape, just this endless stretch of meadow, wildflowers, wayward boughes of the hazel and white-flowered apple trees. As was the case everywhere on the Dark Lord's property, nothing seemed to have any particular magical purpose or plan in this part, which he loved.

Yesterday he had taken up a methodical search for the sentient tree but it was no use: he couldn't even find the section of forest that he'd strolled through at the time. Now he wondered whether some sections of the ground weren't actually shifting around at certain hours of the day, like the stairs did at Hogwarts.

Harry opened and closed his hands with his palms up, enjoying the shifting dapples of sunlight.

Yesterday's events were the second reason why the - admittedly very dry - legislative texts couldn't hold his attention. That terrible moment when he realised Draco had been gleefully spying on his father's work, and when Harry had retaliated with wordlessly and wandlessly summoned magic.

He wanted to do that again.

He missed his wand terribly. Especially the everyday acts of magic that came with it. He would have to get used to living without a wand. That was a sour brick to swallow.

The general feeling of helplessness had only increased, reaching its peak yesterday as he realised Draco had been a silent witness to his weakness. The magic that had flourished from his rage had taken away this horrible feeling, if only for a while. And so, bolstered by this, he vowed to himself that he would and could learn to make due without a wand.

When Harry reluctantly opened his eyes again, it was to stare at his stack of books on advanced and wandless magic from the Dark Lord's library. His mind made up, Harry ignored the nearby essays and opened the thickest tome first.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts last year they had begun to practice wordless magic. But wandless magic was an almost mythical thing: Harry had never even heard it whispered about at Hogwarts or beyond. Was it too wild to teach, too dangerous to trust to children who had not yet come into their magical prime?

Magic was something that young wizards and witches exhibited naturally, yet it was confined to a wand from the age of eleven. From then onwards, it was like the ability had never existed in the first place. This struck Harry as strange when learning to practice magic without a wand seemed more secure and independent. It was just one of those unfathomable traditions of the magical world that he would never understand.

He was curious to know when the tradition of wand-use had begun, and why. With an extensive library at his disposal he could find out. And so it was with an until then absent focus that he propped up the heavy book onto his heap of readings, to spare his still stiff back, and started in on the introduction, which described Merlin's efforts to encourage the use of wandless magic in his time.

888

"So Potter," Parkinson said, "what's with the posh?"

He was back in the great chamber of Malfoy Manor before the start of their second lesson on national politics. Watanabe always took care to have Harry a precise and damnable fifteen minutes early.

Harry examined her question in his mind and came up blank. He shot her a puzzled look. Seeing this, Parkinson's eyes roamed his outfit in response.

Harry glanced down at himself and his pitch-black quality robes with the shimmering green stitches. When he'd put them on this morning he had wondered if Voldemort perhaps liked to impose his own fetish for Slytherin-green on Madame Malkin, but decided that was unlikely. It was far more likely that with her real client in mind, Malkin had wisely decided not to use any Gryffindor-ish references in the making of his new wardrobe.

Harry straightened with a raised eyebrow borrowed from Snape's repertoire (Snape's cantankerous behaviour was turning out to be quite useful) and just stared at her. If she was going to clarify, fine: otherwise he couldn't be bothered. This made Parkinson raise a brow of her own. "I'm referring to the wannabe-Slytherin look, Potter."

"If it is the quality of my clothes that you are actually referring to," Harry taunted, "then I am afraid I must leave you in ignorance."

"That does narrow it down, I guess," she returned thoughtfully. She went on in a whisper: "Is it Mr. Watanabe? You're staying at his place?"

"Maybe," Harry said flatly. He could actually come to enjoy this edgy Slytherin-speak. It must be exhausting, being a member of that House, he mused. His mood soured when he noticed that Malfoy junior was staring at him, again.

At his arrival a few minutes earlier he half expected a round of jeers as everyone would express their opinion of his torture, but they were all being their normal dismissive selves towards him. Conversations had briefly dipped as he walked in, before the exited babble struck up again and he caught flairs of summer adventures and love conquests.

Harry was much relieved, until he had noticed the burning intensity of Draco's gaze. When he wasn't talking to someone he was looking at Harry. Harry figured it could only be a matter of time until he would drop the bomb. He should have known Draco would prefer the dramatic flair, he groused. Like a sword of Damocles, Draco's behaviour did little to help him avoid thinking about last lesson's incident. Although Parkinson proved unexpectedly useful in taking his mind of things.

"So, what have you been doing this summer?" he asked her to distract himself.

"Wouldn't you like to know. Yours must be very exiting, or so they say… may I?" Parkinson lifted a hand. Harry let a frown of confusion seep into his expression.

"Your cheek, how did it get that way?"

"Oh that." Harry rubbed the offending item. "A bit of eh, dark magic."

"Really?" She was still holding her hand close and Harry rolled his eyes in assent. She touched it, then snatched back her hand quickly. "It's cold!"

They were interrupted by the girl whom Harry knew as Ms. Calloway. She whispered something into Parkinson's ear. Harry could just make out the beginning of her sentence in the movement of her lips: maybe you shouldn't…

He sighed inwardly. Great, now he was also contagious, apparently.

Harry turned as someone touched his arm. It was the studious sixth year Ravenclaw girl who had been sitting to Harry's right. He remembered how she studiously wrote down everything Malfoy had been telling them. She had a pretty face with blue-grey eyes and mid-length brown hair.

She gave him a tight smile. "Hi. Don't mind them, they're always such groupies."

"Oh, I'm used to it."

"They must have some kind of problem with, you know, the Dark Lord's number one enemy being allowed into their privileged summer school," she said in low conspiring tones. The way she stressed the word 'privileged' made Harry like her already.

"Yes well what can I say, I'm just that dangerous."

She giggled then stretching out a hand: "I am Narda Montbelliard, by the way, nice to meet you."

Harry shook it. "Harry Potter. Likewise" She giggled again airily, nothing like the annoying sound that so many girls made.

At that moment Lucius Malfoy came through the back door, telling everyone to take their seats. Harry felt a shudder start at his neck and making its slow way down his back. He once again took the seat furthest from the makeshift stage. Narda sat down next to him. They shared a smile before she took out her quill and paper again.

Malfoy senior started in on his next lecture about the definitions of darker and lighter magics and the importance of allowing both into the daily lives of wizards and witches. He explained the differences between the two, both rumoured and true, and how their perceived separation had come about – Harry remembered this from one of Binns' classes. He relaxed when it was clear that Malfoy wasn't going to spare him a second glance.

Malfoy proceeded to stress the importance of intent and how it coloured the effect of a spell on the opponent. Both light and dark magic, Malfoy told them, could be used to cause destruction as well as to heal and repair. Harry was slouched in his seat by this point: he already knew all this from Snape.

What Malfoy said next made Harry's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "In essence, it boils down," he was saying, "to the foundation of magic, and in fact our very existence: the changing of matter. Since the beginning of time, energy arranges matter in a process we call entropy." It was probably the most scientifically-Muggle word Harry had ever heard pass a witch's or wizard's lips. To hear the aristocratic blond say it was like watching the wrong play. He looked around to see whether anyone had noticed, but saw only frowns and bored looks. Of course, he thought to himself: there were no Muggle-borns present.

"Energy tends towards an equilibrium," Malfoy went on. "If it is localized, it will disperse and spread out. Without magical interference, the natural dispersion of energy causes processes to have a tendency towards a more disorderly state, or higher entropy."

Malfoy took up his pacing along the length of the beautiful wall tapestries. "I shall attempt to give you a rough explanation of what entropy is about. For example, imagine we invest energy into building a castle with just our hands. When it is finished, the building blocks are more orderly, and so our work has made their entropy decrease. In time, without maintenance, and thus with no energy added to the system, our careful arrangement of the castle's interior and exterior will fall into disorder – and in the case of our castle, ruin. Randomness increases as the elements spread the energy to all parts of the system. The entropy of the once-castle has increased.

"Magical beings are capable of disrupting these laws of energy and thus, of entropy. Both light and dark magic cover the spectrum of entropy, although lighter magic tends more towards a decrease of entropy in that which is changed, and darker magic towards an increase."

Malfoy stopped to observe the class. "This is not what many former Ministries for Magic would want you to believe. 'The Light' to use the annoying cliché, have seen every magical inclination towards a state of higher entropy as prove of its destructive nature. This is in fact why many spells we feel to be light, are not classified that way, as they dwell in the higher end of the entropic spectrum. It does not matter that they can't actually be used in any Dark Arts practices. The Ministry-imposed rigorous distinction of the past centuries between dark and light, condemn the Dark Arts as 'evil' and deadening, as inhuman, when in fact you can now infer from my explanation that it is light magic which most goes against the laws of nature."

Malfoy made a graceful turn and his boots went back to their crisp clicking over the polished wood. "I tell you all this so that you may appreciate how deeply entwined the both of them are. So-called 'light' and 'dark' are sides of the same coin, both covering the whole range of entropy. To conclude, it is the intent of the wizard that decides whether an act is harmful, and by which he is to be judged: not the ministry-defined order of magic.

"For those wanting to know more about this subject and its practical application, I refer you to the class of Elemental Magic. As of this year, the class will be re-instated in the curriculum of the sixth and seventh years." Malfoy smirked. "I will confess to some jealousy, as it has not been taught at Hogwarts since the year of 1824."

The last part of the lecture managed to pull half the class out of its uncomprehending stupor. Harry snug a peek to his right. Sure enough, Narda was bowed over her paper. She had a weird way of writing, making gaps between the largest part of the sentence and the last word on every line. He held back a frown as he read one part: imagine we invest energy . want didn't make any sense.

Going down the line of isolated words, a spasm made him drop his quill: they had arranged to make a vertical sentence:

I want to help you leave.

Leave, as in escape? Was this for him? Harry watched from the corner of his eyes whether anyone was paying attention to their corner of the room, but the whole class was now awake and attentive. Malfoy was giving a summary of the classes of hexes and curses that had been legalized, as per the Wizengamot conference of last June – several students were grinning at the news.

Harry looked back and caught Narda's intense gaze. She hadn't looked up from her writing. Gradually a second sentence formed: be early for next class to discuss outside. Narda straightened. Harry gave a nod towards his desk to let her know he understood. He turned his attention back towards the lecture, heart beating fast now,

Malfoy's tone had become stern: however, he said, the loosening of magical law would bring with it an increase of responsibility. Therefore higher-level curses, among which the Unforgivables, were to be regulated. Based on the caster's magical ability, a Commission of Spell-Use would decide whether the witch or wizard was allowed to use it. Which was why everyone wanting to practice above-standard spells would have to submit to a test first. If they passed, the spell would be added to the list of authorized spells on their magical papers.

By the end of the lesson Harry's head felt rubbery from all the information. Not wanting to dawdle, he was at the door in no time. To his immense relieve Watanabe already stood waiting on the other side of the door.

Only when they were back on the Dark Lord's grounds did it hit Harry: Draco had had plenty of opportunity during the lesson, but not once had he mentioned Harry's punishment.

888

Arthur Weasley was thinking on how best to embezzle the Muggle pictures that Merbough had brought in as evidence when the door slammed against the wall, causing it to sag a couple more centimetres in its unstable hinges.

"Tell him," Yaxley was saying, red-faced, pulling a witch into the room roughly. "Tell him what it is you had in your house."

Arthur stood and rounded his desk. " Broderick! Is this really necessary?"

Yaxley squared his jaw, turning to Arthur. "Alright I'll tell him. This woman has had an electic time device in her room."

Arthur slid his gaze from Yaxley's imposing figure to the frail and round-eyed witch in his grip, then clarified: "You mean a clock."

"A muggle clock."

Arthur trailed a hand over his mouth in thought, then said: "I see."

"Yes. So, it's an official- "

"No I'm afraid not, we just changed that last week," Arthur interrupted. "Eclectical clocks were found to be too mainstream to classify them as Muggle objects." It was a gamble but one he was confident he would win: Yaxley had never taken a close look at the precise items on the ever-changing list.

The taller wizard shoved the witch away as if she were contagious. "Is that so? Ah, but it doesn't matter, because I know she conveniently removed it before the time of inspection, which constitutes suspicious behaviour." A nasty smirk curled one corner of his mouth.

Arthur turned to their silent visitor. "Ma'am, could you tell us why you removed the clock?"

The witch got that hopeful look in her eyes, the one he hated. "Of course, sir," she said in a strained voice. "I wanted a normal wizarding clock, you see. I just need to know how my sons are faring, I don't really care about the time. So that's why I replaced it."

Arthur nodded in grave understanding. "That certainly does not constitute a breaching of the law," he assured her. Turning back to Yaxley, he said: "I don't think we have anything to go on here, Broderick."

Yaxley's face tightened. He heaved a sigh, then rudely gestured the woman towards the door. She hastily left, shooting Arthur a grateful look as she closed the door.

Yaxley's eyes were narrowed as he regarded Arthur. He nodded curtly before briskly turning his heels and stalking from the office. Arthur slowly lowered himself into his office chair, the tension of the encounter having triggered a muscle pain in his lower back.

He jumped up immediately, too edgy to sit, and crossed the small space to once again repair the ramshackle door of the office that was designated to the Assessor of Muggle Affairs.

888

Harry had asked Watanabe if he could drop him off half an hour early before the next lesson – he met this girl, you see – and Watanabe had agreed. Their third class in national politics arrived a week later. Harry stopped halfway up the path towards Malfoy Manor to give Watanabe a pointed look.

"I'd like to walk the rest of the way alone, if that's alright with you."

Both Watanabe's eyebrows rose meaningfully. "Ah. There is a lady to be met."

Harry decided this would be a good time to led his nerves show. He avoided Watanabe's eyes and moved his legs with the jumpy air of impatience. Watanabe stilled him with a touch to his shoulder. "Good luck," was all he said, before walking back to the wards. Harry felt lucky indeed: he'd expected Watanabe to stay at the Manor as he had during the other classes.

Harry hurried towards the doors, hoping to spot Narda near the entrance. She was seated on one of the lower steps, elbows on her knees, the palms of her hands touching as she watched him approach. They greeted each other and Harry sat down next to her, hoping fervently that Malfoy wasn't looking from one of the windows.

"So," Narda began, "What do you think of Mr. Malfoy's class?"

Harry shrugged. "It's fine, you?"

"I find it very informative. By the way, have you heard? Watanabe's class is in just a week and a half, isn't that exiting?"

Harry studied her expression, wondering what she was getting at. "Sure."

Narda caught the look and sighed. "I miss doing wand work over the summer. Just one more year to go, I guess." Harry got the underlying message: I can't use magic for a silencing spell. He nodded in commiseration. "That sucks. And I'm never allowed to use my wand again," he said with a twinge of self-pity.

Narda turned towards him in surprise. "No! You'll be allowed to use it someday, right?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't see that happening anytime soon."

Narda frowned, then said: "Anyway, about Watanabe's class. I heard we're taking a trip right the first lesson. We're going to be present for a session of the International Confederation of Wizards in Zurich!"

Switzerland, Harry thought fast, was a great country to get lost in. Like its Muggle counterpart, it had been a neutral territory for centuries. Voldemort wasn't likely to get a lot of cooperation from the local authorities, even if he was a Dark Lord. If Harry remembered Binns' lectures correctly, the Swiss held close relationships with the goblins. They represented a large part of the magical population, due to Switzerland's geography which mostly consisted of mountainous areas. At least here in the United Kingdom the goblins wanted nothing to do with Voldemort's regime.

"Great, I've never been to the continent," Harry said, mindful of possible Eavesdropping spells. "I'd love to see some real mountains."

Narda grinned. "Me too."

They stared at each other for a moment. Harry wanted to discuss her offer, but there was the risk of someone listening in – even though there was no one around and all the windows were firmly closed. Well, he considered, he'd managed to get close to a girl under false pretences before…

Harry gave her a shy smile, then moved to tuck some stray hairs behind her ear. She shifted closer, having gotten the hint. Harry bowed his head to hers until they were touching cheek to cheek.

Then he whispered in her ear with a hand covering his mouth: "Why do you want to help me?"

Narda turned her head to whisper back: "I'll tell you when we've escaped."

Harry's mouth met her ear again to say: "It's very risky. If they found out you helped me…"

Narda drew back to nod her understanding. Her eyes suddenly narrowed to a fierce stare. Her lips touched his temple in order to say: "I have to get out of here."

Whatever the reason was, her drive to leave was tangible. Harry knew any further explanation would have to wait for a safer time and place.

"Switzerland is our best shot," he whispered and felt her cheek move against his in a nod. "You're better off trying to escape on your own," Harry continued. "I'll be guarded constantly by the teacher."

Narda bowed her head so that her long brown hair swung in front of her face. "All the more reason I should accompany you, I think. Their attention won't be on me."

Harry felt a surge of anger at her words, but it quickly died down. She was right, plain and simple. She was just being frank about it, which he could appreciate. If it increased her chances to escape together with him as her trouble magnet, he couldn't begrudge her that. After all, his chances remained the same whatever she did – which was to say: very slim. But he had to try anyway. He didn't know when or if there would be another opportunity like this one.

She frowned and he realised he'd been silent too long. "So, we'll see each other in Switzerland then," Harry continued in a normal tone. "I don't know when I'll be able to see you after that – they don't allow me out much," I'll let you know when it's time.

Narda smiled. "That's alright, I'll keep an eye out for you." I shall watch for your signal.

Satisfied with these preparations, they chatted on about inane things like summer and the changes in the wizarding world. Harry was surprised to discover he didn't mind the farce of intimacy. As well, the lovely weather made him forget about everything, and in the end they were only just in time for class.

888

Harry jumped as he turned around from closing the great double doors after another study session outside. Two loud heartbeats later he realised that the black creature in front of him was in fact Tadders, wrapped all in black up to his pointy ears. The last time he had seen him was something like a week ago.

"Mr. Potter sir, the presents for Mr. Potter's birthday are being placed in the dining hall." The elf bowed and was gone in the next blink.

Harry stared incredulously at the spot where he left. It was his birthday? Was it already the end of July?

People managed to send him presents here?

Harry's feet quickly took him to the dining room, where indeed two presents lay on one end of the table. Lifting a card off one parcel, he recognised Luna's signature. The other one was from Hagrid.

He started with Hagrid's card which said:

Dear Harry,

If you happen to get this: happy birthday! Blimey, 17 years already, an adult! I hope this gets to wherever ye are. Can't be quitting our tradition just because (here the writing was crossed out a couple of times) someone's got a broomstick up their asses! They better be treating ye all right, or I'm making them pay.

Your feathered friend wants me to say hi. I can't say where I am but I can tell ye he is right at home here, with Fang and the other birds. We're all thinking about you, Harry. We will see each other again soon, even if ye might be all locked up now, don't you worry about that.

Here's something already yours, but it's important to hold onto.

Hang in there kid.

Hagrid

Tears had sprung to his eyes: while reading, Hagrid's voice sounded clear in his head as if the man were standing right next to him. Harry shook himself and ripped the cream-coloured paper off the parcel. His old family album was inside. A picture had been added on the front, of himself, Ginny, Ron and Hermione in a snowball fight. Colin Creevy had made it last Christmas, Harry remembered.

His fingers drifted over the moving photograph, marvelling at the sight of all of them together and carefree, just a few months ago. He opened the album and gazed at the familiar pictures of his parents. He had been adding photo's to the back, of his friends and family. One photo where he and Sirius studied the Black family tree now felt even stranger to him with all the time that had passed.

He carefully laid the album down on the table, then pulled Luna's package closer. Her note said:

Hi Harry,

I hope you're birthday is as happy as it can be at the moment. They probably don't allow you many presents because they want you to be miserable. Don't be, alright? It's important that you keep thinking positive thoughts.

I hope my present can help with that. I thought you might need some luck. Therefore I have enclosed a book that when you read it, will hold off all the dark gnarbles that Voldemort and his Death Eaters are sending into your brains.

Stay alert! I'm certain that I will see you soon.

Luna

Harry smiled as he read the title on the golden background. It could almost pass for a Muggle book: 'Seven steps to a lucky way of life. It all starts with the mind.'

He took the presents to his bedroom, all the while wondering how the hell they had gotten through the wards. True, they were harmless, but it seemed unimaginable that Voldemort would have let them directly through to Harry.

Ron and Hermione would know as well not to sent anything potentially dangerous, or the chances were zero of him getting it. Perhaps their post was being monitored, he mused. On the bright side, that meant that wherever they were, they were probably together. That thought bolstered him. With his sister dead, he was afraid of what would become of Ron if Hermione weren't near.

That night before turning in, Harry decided to take a look at Luna's book. As he turned towards the nightstand, he noticed it was gone. He searched the room, thought of all the places he could have put it, sighed as he came up with nothing, then called:

"Tadders!"

The elf plopped into existence, bowing low to the carpet. "Good evening Mr. Potter sir. Tadders is not being allowed to answer- "

"Yes, yes, nothing about the manor or the wards," Harry waved the elf's speech away. "I wanted to ask you about the presents I got today. One of them is gone. Do you happen to know if someone took it?"

"No sir. Master is not being home today."

Harry felt an eyebrow rise. So Tadders could talk after all? "And when will he be back?"

Tadders ears drooped. "A week or so, me is not knowing the precise date and time. Tadders apologizes for this." Tadders' eyes, the only feature visible of his appearance, had widened a bit.

"No need, Tadders," Harry hastened to reassure him. "And thank you." After another low bow the elf took his leave.

Harry wracked his brain for other possible ways his book might have gotten lost. He took a second look around his room for good measure. As he did so, he spotted something glistering on the dark green carpet. He crouched near and found it was a small glass bottle. The glistering came from the contents inside. Holding the potion close to his eyes, he noted it had a pure golden colour.

Acting on his suspicions, he carefully opened the tiny lid. It smelt like the perfume that Ginny used to put on. His stomach gave an awful wrench. He quickly put the lid back on. This confirmed it: this was Felix Felicis, the 'Liquid Luck' potion. It looked like it had fallen from the nightstand.

He glanced back to Luna's letter. I thought you might need some luck. He felt his good mood returning as he stared at his present, awed.

He watched as the movement of the bottle over his palm caused the molten gold to slowly shift inside. It took six months to make and was notoriously difficult to brew. When and how she'd pulled it off, Harry could only guess. This could be his chance to escape. The night left him deep in thought, unable to sleep as his mind raced with the possibilities of freedom.

888

The August day of their first class in foreign politics seemed determined to remain just out of reach, but then, still unexpectedly, it arrived. Harry had put on as much clothes as he could without it becoming obvious: three underpants, three shirts and two sets of robes (both summer wardrobe, winter robes would be a bit inconspicuous). He put an extra pair of boots into a small rucksack that would reasonably fit in for the trip, and stuffed them with four pairs of socks, mindful of Dumbledore's advise that "one can never have enough socks." He'd also tried to search the manor for things that would be useful without a wand to use, but as could be expected, Riddle's manor proved a bad place to look for them.

Like every other time Watanabe was there to escort him to his lesson. Rucksack slung over one shoulder, Harry grinned to see him as they offered each other a nod-bow outside the entrance doors: Watanabe's calm presence had grown on him.

"Why don't we need to leave the wards first?" Harry wondered.

Watanabe gestured him over for Apparation and Harry moved closer. "They are of a different type than the Malfoy's. I have a clearance from the Dark Lord to Apparate inside."

Harry tilted his chin to still be able to see the tall man's face. "You're the only one, right?"

Watanabe turned him around to hold him firmly and Harry rolled his eyes, unseen. "Brace yourself, this will be a long journey," was all he said.

The pull of Disapparation was vicious. It seemed to take longer than usual. The wind that slapped them on all sides scourged Harry's face. Finally they landed and Harry stumbled a pace before righting himself.

He looked around. They had arrived on a forested hill. A few classmates were there already, silently taking in the surroundings. The view was breathtaking: below them a huge city lay sprawled in the afternoon sun, a wide, glistening river cleaving it halfway through. A handful of tiny-looking church towers stuck out the wire of crooked and twisting alleyways.

Apparating all the way to Switzerland must have been quite tiring, but the man didn't show it. When everyone was present, Watanabe began: "Good afternoon, everyone. Today we are invited to witness the fourteenth meeting this year of the Security Council of the International Confederation of Wizards, which has its headquarters here on the Zurichberg. To be a visitor here is considered something of a rarity and an honour, which means I expect you all to be on your best behaviour."

He studied his attentive audience to let this sink in for a moment, then continued: "As you probably know, the Security Council is the most powerful organ of the seven. It is charged with maintaining peace and security of all the official magical races. The Council is concerned with the safety of human and non-human populations even though it is run entirely by humans."

"Now, the building behind me," Watanabe gestured with a long-sleeved arm – there was nothing to see but trees, "only materializes to those who have walked towards it for the uninterrupted period of seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds. As you should know from your history lessons, the walk symbolises the 'Walk of Peace' made by Crachatan in 1372. Can anyone tell me what Crachatan did?"

Silence was his answer. Watanabe sighed. "I see nothing has improved in Binns' class for the last fifty years. Very well. Let's walk and I will explain." He turned around to lead the way through the trees, the class following behind him.

Harry slowed down a bit in order to pull up the rear. Narda fell in line alongside him, shooting him a furtive look. Harry's fingers became clammy around the bottle of Liquid Luck in his pocket. He cursed himself inwardly. Now was the perfect time to take the potion, but Narda proved an unforeseen problem. With the new possibilities of Felix Felicis occupying all thoughts of today's escape, he'd somehow completely forgotten about their agreement, or about the fact that she would be watching his every move.

Indecision gnawed at him: was it better to not say anything, take the whole bottle himself and hope his luck would include her escape? He was afraid he didn't know her well enough to still be wishing it when he was under the potion's influence. But he couldn't back out on their agreement now: it was simply too late and too risky to inform her of any change in plans, when the rest of the group was just a few paces away. Besides, he wasn't that cold a bastard.

Covering the bottle with his hand he lifted it to his mouth, careful to take precisely half its content. He then gave the potion to Narda, who widened her eyes at him. Take it, he mouthed. Her lips firmed a moment before she quickly knocked back the other half.

A sense of utter contentment came over Harry then. Narda send him a questioning look but he shook his head: now was not the time to escape. After a moment, Narda conceded with a solemn nod.

"Crachatan was a powerful wizard from this city, although his country of origin is unknown," Watanabe was saying in a loud voice at the front. "He is famous for stopping the Fourth Latin-Germanic wizarding war, by persuading both powers to cease the fighting long enough to come for talks in neutral territory. He's been known to have said: 'Let both parties at least fight out their grievances verbally, before there is no more Europe to remember them.'"

Harry noticed that the trees were slowly thinning. Soon they had left the forest behind, with only bare earth under their feet and the occasional weed.

"At the time both armies were equals in power and suffering heavy damages," Watanabe went on. "As Switzerland had been an old friend of both parties since the time when the first quills were put on paper, both the Latin and Germanic people decided to humour Crachatan."

The horizon was now an endless plain of barren earth, as if they had arrived in a desert. Something was distorting the air in the distance. Gradually, Harry saw the contours of a rounded building taking shape. Small parts of it came into being everywhere to form pieces of the structure, like a jigsaw puzzle in progress.

"So it came to be that representatives of both enemy territories met here in this city. Crachatan managed to seat them around one table, although there was nothing to indicate any reconciliation. The decisive move of the war came when on the second day, Crachatan invited both representatives for a tour of the Emperor's palace along with a walk through the Court Gardens. He had appointed himself as a chaperone for the occasion. It has been said that, although both representatives remained stiff-lipped throughout the tour during the walk in the Gardens, which took seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds, their moods thawed. This walk would finally lead to both parties signing a peace treaty, with Crachatan as its witness."

As they neared to a distance of some 100 meters, the puzzle of the building was finally complete. It was a solid glass structure, rounded on all sides except were it touched the ground, though the roof appeared flat, not dome-shape. They came to the rounded entrance gate, which held sliding doors. Harry saw that the transparent glass obscured nothing of its inner workings: left and right evenly spaced offices stretched out, their occupants busily at work.

The inner-walls were made of a dark wood which, as they walked inside, obscured the view of the offices. They came to a sun-soaked, eye-shaped atrium with two corridors leading off it. Foliage reached towards the roof on both sides of the visitors desk, obviously content in the greenhouse-like environment. Watanabe conferred a minute with the wizard behind the desk, then led the way up the left corridor. It ended in a pair of lifts. He eyed the size of the group. "We'll take both lifts. First floor, everyone." Watanabe gestured for Harry to accompany him into one. Narda followed along with most of the Slytherins.

The sight that met them on the first floor was quite impressive: the wooden cubicles were absent here, giving them an unobstructed cross-sectioning view of the building's huge circular size. Four long conference tables divided the vast space like the four points of a compass. Comfortable furniture was randomly scattered along the all-round windows with views on the bare earth below.

A second layer of rounded walls in the centre held the only partitioned section of the floor. The diameter of the central chamber was about a fifth of the buildings'. It held a rounded table of dark-wood, large enough to seat about forty to fifty people. It was surrounded by the visitors' section, which was three rows deep with chairs.

"It is strictly forbidden to use magic on this level of the building. Believe me, you do not want to know the consequences," Watanabe said darkly. They walked through one of the two open entrances and along with the class, Watanabe settled into the visitors stands.

The pleasant buzz inside Harry's head told him to take a chair in the back alongside an aisle. Narda chose precisely such a spot, apparently thinking the same thing. Harry sat down behind her. Only a few other visitors trickled in as they waited for the delegation to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, wizards and witches in black robes with conspicuous red bands decorating their sleeves walked inside in groups of four and fives. All of them were middle-aged or older.

One white-haired wizard had a dark-blue band alongside the red one. Watanabe, seated between Smith and the East-European boy, explained: "The red bands on their robes stand for the red line which is drawn along the table." Now that Harry looked more closely, he saw a red line making a circle of paint on the table's surface. The line began about an arms' length in width from each seated wizard or witch. With a ritualistic-looking gesture, every member reached out a hand to place his or her wand behind the red line after they sat down.

"This is the red line of disarmament, beyond which each member must place their wands. The line symbolises the peaceful nature of the talks. It also prevents any verbal escalation from becoming magical. There is a shield in place to prevent the members from reaching for their wands when Council is in session. The wizard with a second blue band is the Supreme Mugwump, who leads the session."

The last wizard took his place along the round table and Watanabe fell silent. The supreme Mugwump stood and opened the meeting, affirming that all 37 member states of the Security Council were present. He continued in the same officious vein for a while before getting down to business. "We shall proceed with the first issue of this meeting: the situation of refugees in the United Kingdom."

His withered head peered a moment at the notes on the raised desk at the head of the table, then glanced around. "Ambassador Romble of South-America would like to address the-" The Mugwump broke off suddenly. Everyone saw why: one of the wands behind the red line was moving wildly as if executing some complicated dance on the table. Its owner scowled and raised his hands to show he didn't know what was going on either.

"Eet ies probably Durant again. Toujours ses jeux…" the owner of the wand grumbled. He reached over the red line for it, apparently forgetting about the security system. There was a metallic ringing as the invisible shield was activated. The man was flung from his seat by the backlash, skidding halfway over to the visitors stands.

Murmuring broke out over the assembled as the wand stopped its weird dancing: it was now smoking from its tip, frozen in midair. A few of the council members had risen from their seats, wary. Watanabe stepped over from the stands to say: "Mr. Seidel, if I may offer my service in this matter?"

The Mugwump hesitated. Harry knew what he was thinking: in order to lower the shield he had to adjourn the meeting. Watanabe took another step towards the table and held up a raised palm, ready to utter a wandless incantation.

Then the wand exploded in a white flash.

Three things happened in quick succession: the shield gave off another ringing sound, longer than the first; a high-pitched alarm sounded; then both entrances to the glass chamber filled with blue-robed wizards, storming in with their wands raised.

Red streaks from two different directions caught Watanabe completely by surprise. The two Stunners hit him simultaneously and he fell in an awkward heap. Around Harry the students were coming to their feet. Some had their wands out but no one dared to cast anything.

Two of the blue guards hurried over to their section and bustled them off to the exit. "Go," one of them said gruffly. "Take the lift and wait outside the building."

Harry had a sudden urge to do exactly as the man suggested. He and Narda were the first to take a lift down. As they passed through the ground floor corridor, they both knew not to hurry. In minutes they were outside. Harry estimated the others were taking the elevator right about now. He caught Narda's eyes, who nodded to his unspoken question. Simultaneously they broke out in a run towards the direction of the sun.

The potion in his system assured Harry that he was on the right track: the brightness of the sunlight would be blinding to the guards on the first floor, and no one on the ground floor would find their running remarkable. Even though he felt confident, it was still a relieve to see the first trees spring up around them. Narda was outrunning him, so he focused on making miles. In no more than ten minutes they reached the hill. Looking down Harry saw this part of the mountain was dappled with quaint white-painted houses.

They should split up, he thought just as Narda said: "Let's separate."

"Yes," Harry said, and gave her a quick hug. "Be careful. I'll try to find you when I can."

"You too," she said with worry in her eyes, then skipped downwards along the incline. Harry ran a hundred paces before descending as well. He crossed past houses and small footpaths that dug into the mountain at regular intervals.

At some point his chest had begun to feel tight. He touched a hand to it, wondering whether that was supposed to happen now. Harry stumbled over a rock in surprise when a light burning seeped into his scar. His momentum made him loose his balance and he tumbled downwards. Luckily there was a house right in his path to stop him from falling further. As he slammed into it, he felt the impact deep in his bones. He waited to catch his breath, then took to his feet.

Annoyingly, breathing was becoming difficult. His scar seared more fiercely and he coughed hard. He wished fiercely that it was just Voldemort being torturous with one of his servants again.

Pops of Apparation sounded. Harry, still coughing, looked around wildly but saw no movement among the trees. Thick cords suddenly wrapped themselves around his hands and feet. He fell on his back. The pine needles layering the forest floor cushioned the impact.

As he twisted his head to search for his attacker, his eyes met a horrible sight: Bellatrix Lestrange had come to stand over him, a void of blackness against the bright blue sky. She held him at wand point. Her expression was wilder than usual. Her knuckles were white, though her wand arm did not shake.

"I got Potter!" she shouted. She studied Harry's sprawled form, then her mouth formed a grizzly smile. Her voice took on a sing-song tone: "Wittle Potter is in a bit of trouble again…" She pushed back her sleeve, and moved her wand to touch it to the pulsing Dark Mark on her forearm.

To clarify: you may wonder why Harry wouldn't try to Apparate. He's never been outside of the United Kingdom, so that's the only place he can Apparate to. And since his Apparation lessons of last year hadn't been finished, 'risky' wouldn't begin to cover it.

I know the Muggle equivalent (United Nations) has a quarters in Genève, but I just didn't feel like having the both of them in the same city.

Review! I would love to hear your thoughts on this story: what do you like, what don't you like?