"So he'll be all right, then?"  James asked one more time.  He knew he was repeating himself, but couldn't completely suppress the part of him that craved the reassurance hearing the words brought.  Lily seemed to understand, a tiny smile gracing her face as she answered affirmatively, her red hair seeming to brush the ashes in the fireplace as she nodded.

"Yes, James, in time.  The majority of the silver has been extracted from his system, and his wounds are beginning to heal. He said he was feeling fine, but then you know how he can be."

"'He said'? He's awake?"

"Was awake, just for a few minutes."  The smile faded, reverting all too quickly to an anxious frown.  "Remus should be fine, but..."

James waited expectantly, his apprehension growing as Lily worried at her lip.

"He said he saw Harry."

Brown eyes blinked.  "What do you mean? How could he possibly have seen Harry?"

"I don't know," Lily shook her head.  "I don't understand it either, but Remus was quite insistent that Harry had been there when he was in the Death Eaters' hands.  He said the last thing he remembers is Harry telling him to apparate."

"But, surely they would have had wards up - "

"According to Remus they did.  So did St. Mungo's, for that matter. And then there's the fact that he would certainly have splinched himself if he had tried to apparate in that state."

"But that makes no sense!"

"I know," Lily agreed, her eyes dark with emotion.  "We have to talk to Harry."

James nodded slowly.  Getting Harry to talk would be anything but easy.

"How - how is he?" she asked tentatively.

He glanced reflexively towards the bedroom door.  "He's sleeping."

"At this time?"

"He...  We talked, briefly."  James frowned as he struggled to find the right words.  "He told me...  He never knew his parents.  Not really."

Lily's eyes widened as his meaning sunk in.  "Oh," she said.  "Did he - did he say how they - " She broke off mid-sentence, but the question was all too clear to James.

"No," he answered.  "He just said that... they died the same day as our Harry."

"Oh," Lily repeated.  "But, why didn't he - ?"  The fire crackled as she clenched her jaw on questions only Harry could answer - if he so chose.  James nodded, his expression serious, having already resigned himself to the difficulties they would face in dealing with Harry.

"We need to take it slowly with him, Lily.  Whatever happened to him in his world, he needs time."

"James," she started, then shook her head with a sigh.  "I'm just not sure we have the time to spare."

He had a horrible feeling that she was right.

"I'll be back in time for dinner, I think," she continued, pushing past the discomforting silence her comment had caused.  "Remus is stable enough now, so there's just a few details I want to clarify before heading home.  I'll see you soon, James. Love you."

He echoed the sentiment automatically, her head vanishing from the fire as the flames flickered, then died.  The ashes of the fireplace were cold in her absence.

Shelving all other concerns temporarily, he entered the bedroom where Harry lay quiescent.  He looked so terribly vulnerable in his sleep, his complexion deathly pale in contrast to the deep red of the duvet, accentuating the dark circles shadowing his closed eyes.  His breathing was shallow, barely noticeable in the slight movement of the covers over his chest.

James stroked Harry's forehead lightly, brushing the hair away from the lightning scar.  Tentatively, he ran his index finger along its length -
 

There was trouble outside.  His sense of unease grew as the commotion swiftly drew nearer and louder.  He tried to open the door to see what was happening, only to find it locked tight.  He pounded his fists against it, yelling for someone to let him out.  The door splintered in the face of his rage, and he paused for an instant, knowing that it should not have fallen so easily.  Another sign of the disaster besetting them.

The hospital corridors echoed with the screams and footsteps of people rushing madly this way and that.  Yet one voice was distinct amongst the others, the voice of his sole remaining best friend sobbing and pleading for her -

- his life.  His gut clenched even as he scrambled along the corridor towards the horrible sounds.  He had to save him, he had to hurry.  Horrendous laughter now tormented his ears, and he flung the door to the isolation room open.

Malfoy.

The Death Eater glanced over at him and offered a terrifying smile from beneath his white half-mask.  His heartbeat raced beneath the glare of those crazed grey eyes, and he swallowed convulsively.

"Come to say goodbye to your little werewolf -

- mudblood friend, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, grinning as he twisted the knife buried in her abdomen, eliciting a dreadful gurgle.  A nauseating stench filled the room as the blade was jerked upwards through the flesh of her belly, spilling blood and guts onto the crisp white hospital sheets.

The world spun around him in a maelstrom of blood and screams as he watched the bloodied knife descend again towards her breast -

- the skin above his heart already blistering as the silver tip pressed downwards -
 

He wrenched his hand away from Harry's forehead, stumbling backwards into the dressing table, breathing heavily.  Had that been a vision or a nightmare?

Harry was stirring restlessly in his sleep, his body fraught with tension, mumbling indistinct words.  James stepped towards the bed once more, straining to hear what his son was saying, yet even as he began to move, Harry's body went limp.  The youth barely seemed to breathe; only when James touched Harry's cheek lightly with his fingers and felt the flow of air from his exhalations could he be certain that his son was still among the living.  Somewhat comforted, he sighed heavily, trying to analyse the strange vision, even as a wave of weariness threatened to drag him to the floor.  In a daze, he staggered out of the bedroom and over to the fireplace, clinging to the mantelpiece to stay upright as he called for the Headmaster across the Hogwarts fire network.  Not waiting for the older wizard to answer, he dragged himself into his office, slumping down at his desk and spilling his recollections onto parchment in purple ink.

He didn't notice his already erratic handwriting becoming sluggish, or his head settling to rest against his arm on the desk - or when the inkwell overturned, drowning his newly made record in its dark flow.
 

"How - the wards?" Draco breathed the query, striving to keep his face neutral even as his stomach twisted into knots.

'Mr Parkinson' smiled thinly and tapped one finger against Draco's lips.

"The wards are not intended to keep concerned parents from their beloved children," he stated mildly - but his eyes glinted with dark amusement.  The Head Boy made a brief mental note to find out more about the wards that supposedly protected the school.  His own knowledge had just been proved insufficient.
 
"Mama?" Pansy frowned at the woman clasping her hands firmly together, effectively restraining her.

"Not quite, my poppet," the supposed Mrs Parkinson answered with a devilish smile.  Pansy's mouth hung open in a soundless "Oh" as the pet name sank in.

"Aunt Am- "

The woman simply looked at the girl, her expression deadly serious for a moment, and the name died on Pansy's lips, her welcoming smile turning into a slight pout.

Draco quashed a childish urge to turn and run, the title and syllable being enough for him to identify his father's companion as Amanda Lestrange.  Two of the Dark Lord's Unholy Trinity were within Hogwarts, right under Dumbledore's nose.  Just lovely.

He forced himself to relax, quelling his unease in favour of examining the pair closely for anything that might help him determine just how they might have circumvented the wards.  Lucius noted his observation with a raised eyebrow; Lestrange ignored him, devoting her attention to Pansy.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me, my poppet?"  The words were artfully concerned - and laced with an unmistakable intent.

"The Longbottoms are just next door," the Slytherin girl responded instantly, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.  "It wouldn't take much..." she trailed off suggestively, fixing her eyes hopefully on her aunt.  She settled back into a pout as Lestrange exchanged a quick look with Lucius, then shook her head mournfully.

"Tempting, my poppet, but we have other concerns today."

The answer left Draco questioning just how their actions were restricted and by whom or what.  The Hogwarts wards should detect any magic they cast - but they also should have prevented known Death Eaters from entering the grounds.  If the Dark Lord was the one who had denied them license, then they must have good cause.

"Anything else?" Lestrange pressed her niece with a dangerous smile, and Draco realised just what she was fishing for.

Potter.   It all came back to him - and Pansy would gleefully spill her soul to please her infamous aunt.

"Well, there's Potter," she said, eyeing Lestrange speculatively, attempting to gauge her reaction to this information.  "He's the reason I'm in here," she complained petulantly.

"Which Potter would this be, my poppet?"

"Harry Potter."  The Death Eaters exchanged another glance.

"Harry Potter is dead," Lucius stated softly, his tone inviting further explanation.  Pansy was prompt in complying, informing them of the younger Potter's accident with the mirror, and outlining what she'd seen of Harry Potter's behaviour so far.

"So," Lestrange murmured, after the description of the incident in Defense. "You think he's powerful."

"Yes," Pansy admitted after a slight pause, her expression highly disgruntled.

"You concur, little dragon?"

Draco glared at the woman, who quirked one eyebrow in amusement.  "He is not someone I would want as an enemy," he answered at last, remembering all too well the sensation of sheer power that accompanied the presence of fingers around his throat.

"We cannot always choose our enemies, little dragon."

"Nor our allies," he replied, his eyes sliding away from hers to meet Lucius'.

"Nor our kin," the wizard stated, with a hard-edged smirk.  "Speaking of which, your mother sends her regards."

Draco's heart froze, and his blood ran cold.

"What is it that you want, exactly?" he asked, each word falling heavily from his tongue.

The Death Eaters smiled.
 

Harry woke slowly, blinking sluggishly in dawning horror as he beheld the sea of blood that encompassed him.  It took several moments for him to realise that the 'blood' was actually cloth, and that he wasn't wearing his glasses.  A cautious grope towards the brownish blur to his right successfully yielded the glasses in question, and transformed his surroundings into a bedroom much like any of the dorms in Gryffindor Tower, only cosier.  He rubbed at his scar, his lingering dream having unpleasantly reminded him of just why he'd grown to loathe the red bedcurtains and covers over the past year.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then climbed out of the bed, in the process discovering his shoes by the simple expedient of tripping over them.  Peering cautiously around the closest of the bedroom's two doors, he discovered the bathroom.  Checking the other door, it led into a short corridor, then a smallish kind of common room.  There was no sign of anyone else nearby.

He returned to the bathroom, splashing his face briefly, then took a closer look around the bedroom.  It was simply furnished with the bed, a wardrobe, a dressing table and a pair of velvet covered chairs.  A single glance at the photos on the dressing table left a hollow feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with food.  Simon was pulling faces in most of the pictures, or jostling Theo, who was staying determinedly composed in all but one.  He couldn't have been more than four or five years old in that one exception, and he was giggling helplessly as his mother tickled him mercilessly.  When the little boy scrunched his eyes shut, Harry could almost pretend that it was himself in the photo...

Almost.

He placed the photo carefully back in its position, dislodging a hairbrush in the process.  Picking it up off the floor, he stared intently at the strands of red hair that clung to it, twirling a few around his fingers in a kind of wonderment.  It wasn't as dark as the bed curtains, not the red of blood, but the red of fire that glinted with gold.  He ran his thumb along the strands, keeping tight hold of them as he returned the brush to the dresser, and left the room.

The common room was adorned with several more photos on a mantelpiece over the fireplace, alongside a strangely shaped vase.  A Persian rug quivered under his feet when he stepped on it.  A couple of muggle novels lay on a low table in front of the couch.  In the corridor, two more doors opened up on rooms that could only be called offices.

The first held a large desk, two large bookshelves and a couple of filing cabinets, and was really quite neat and tidy.  The bookshelves held a wide variety of magical books, as well as a few muggle books, with topics ranging from the history of ancient Egypt to the care of tropical parrots.  On the desk itself were two distinct, if small, piles: one dealing with magical mirrors, the other with the side effects of various curses.  Harry stared at the books for a full minute before moving onto the last room.

The second 'office' was utterly disorganised: books, scrolls, paper and parchment in all sizes and shapes littered the desk and shelves, and indeed every available surface in the room.  There were even charts covering the walls, mostly to do with various branches of divination - but there were a couple of quidditch teams waving merrily at him from their broomsticks as well.

Harry picked his way carefully across the room, and narrowly avoided stepping in a puddle of still-wet purple ink.  The spillage had damaged an old journal that was lying on the floor by the table.  Cautiously, Harry inspected the outside; only the initials 'J.P.' were visible on the cover.  Inside, the pages were haphazardly filled with an uneven script in what appeared to be a standard journal format.  Harry was relieved to see that the purple ink blots remained just where they were as he flipped through the pages.  It was only when he actually read one of the entries that anything seemed at all odd.
 

January 11th, 1985

Black robes and white masks; shadows in the darkness that cower and worship.

A circle on a stone platform, depicted in blood - a girl's blood, her body lying lifeless beyond the circle's bounds.  She has blonde hair, shoulder length.  There's no blood left in her.  I don't know her.  She couldn't be more than thirteen.

Two men and a woman kneel in the circle, Death Eaters unmasked.  Lucius Malfoy, a blonde woman whose face I know, the third I can't identify in the dark.  They hold something in their hands that I can't see - it glows faintly purple.

Red eyes, triumphant, looking straight through me.  Those eyes haunt me always.
 
 

"What're you doing?"

Simon stared accusingly at Harry, knowing exactly what his 'brother' had been doing: going through Dad's prediction journals.  He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at the older boy, while Harry simply blinked at him distractedly.

"You shouldn't be going through Dad's stuff!" Simon informed him forthrightly.  He had the chastising tone - annoyed, with a dash of disappointment - down pat.  He'd heard it often enough from both his mother and Theo when he'd been caught doing precisely the same thing Harry was now.  In fact, Mum had tried to get Dad to lock his office after the third time.  She'd only given up after he'd spent the following week alternately forgetting to lock it or walking repeatedly into the locked door.

"The information in those journals could be very dangerous in the wrong person's hands," Simon continued, then winced as he realised he'd just quoted Theo verbatim.  "Anyway, you're supposed to be asleep."

Green eyes blinked again.  "I woke up."

"Obviously."  Simon frowned at him some more.  "Well, since you're awake, we can go to the Great Hall for dinner.  Come on."

Harry seemed to withdraw into himself without actually moving.  "I'm not hungry," he said.

"Too bad," Simon informed him.  "I am."  He reached out to grab Harry's arm, but ended up grasping nothing but air as the older boy sidestepped out of his reach.

"You can go without me."

"I was told to keep an eye on you, so you're coming, like it or not!"

Harry's eyes seemed to come alive with just a tiny spark of emotion.  "I don't need a minder," he stated firmly, in a tone that reminded Simon unpleasantly of Harry's dispute with Mum and the Headmaster earlier in the day.

"Listen here," the red head ordered, his arms folded resolutely over his chest.  "You may have shocked Mum into letting you get your way earlier, but don't think you can out-stubborn me!"

Harry glared at him, and turned away.  Simon glowered for a moment, then slowly began to grin.

"You're afraid," he declared.

Harry's head whipped around at the taunt.

"You are, aren't you?" Simon pressed on, not allowing Harry to retort.  "You're afraid of what everyone thinks after you beat up Neville and his Dad!"

"I did not beat them up!" Harry hissed angrily, but there was something other than anger in his eyes.  "It was an accident!"

"Sure, an accident.  I have them all the time and you don't see me trying to hide like a scaredy-cat!"

"That's different!"

"How would you know?"

"You haven't done what I've done!"

"Hurt a professor and my friends?  Yes I have - I almost blew up the school once, but I didn't try to hide from what I'd done!"  Well, not very successfully at any rate: Theo had caught up with him before he'd even made it as far as Hogsmeade.

Harry blanched, his face draining of all colour but for his eyes, which burned intensely as he whispered, "Don't ever joke about that."

It was Simon's turn to blink bemusedly.  "What?" he asked intelligently.

Harry just stared at him.

"About hurting people?"  He could see the older boy grinding his teeth, much like Dad did when Simon managed to push his patience too far.  "I wasn't joking - I tried to experiment with one of my potions last year and kind of forgot about something...  Professor Walsh said I nearly destroyed the potions lab, but it turned out all right in the end.  I mean, a few people did get a bit hurt, but it was nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix; and I learned better than to try that particular combination of ingredients again..."  He trailed off as he watched Harry sink slowly into Dad's chair, staring blankly at the journal lying open on the desk.

"Um," Simon said, as he pondered the other's strange reaction.  "Harry?"

There was no response.  The younger boy bit his lip, frowning in confusion.

"Hey," he tried again, waving his hand in front of Harry's face.  When that didn't work he flipped the journal closed, and tossed it onto a nearby pile which wobbled unsteadily before collapsing in a sideways slide.  Harry's line of sight did not waver.

He sighed, rolling his eyes, and almost missed Harry's quiet muttering:

"Some things just stay broken."

Simon stared at him, considering his options.  He'd been told to keep an eye on his bothersome brother, and he could just imagine the looks and lectures he'd receive if he left him here in this state.  His parents were likely to remain with Dumbledore for a while yet.  That left Theo, who was currently in the Great Hall eating dinner - where he should be, too.

His stomach growled loudly at the thought of food, seemingly dictating his course of action.  He flushed slightly, but Harry paid no heed.

"Right," he said to himself, since Harry was obviously not listening.  "Let's go."

He grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him out of the room.
 

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