20

Chapter 20

Hopelessly FUBAR

Journal, 20th March

One month remaining until the next task. Blast.

Life goes on as usual, which means it is full of surprising things that defy any explanation. Just today, a Hufflepuff actually smiled at me! A Hufflepuff! Hell has probably just become a ski resort. Ever since Susan and I broke it off, any support from that house evaporated like conjured rum. On a completely unrelated note, Seamus has completely given up on his attempts of creating booze via transfiguration of any kind and is seriously looking into the distillation process and how it can be altered or replaced by magic. Snape suspects something, I reckon – he started eyeing Seamus weirdly soon after the latter's sudden jump in potion-making competence.

I went off on a tangent there, didn't I?

I'm not nearly as nervous as I was before the previous Tasks. I must be becoming desensitised to this whole business of risking my life for no good reason. Anyway, I'm usually too pissed off at the world as a whole to be scared – I literally can't go from one class to another without someone spewing obscenities behind my back. I took to travelling in secret passages, and this rather mitigates the headaches, but I'm still angry at them all. And just a tiny bit depressed, to be honest. I try to follow Luna's advice and be more tolerant and empathic and crap, but it's difficult to be understanding when all I get when I walk through a corridor is glares. The other champions, fortunately, are on my side in this, more or less – and wasn't that a pleasant surprise. I greatly suspect Reinth is only nice to me to get me to lower my guard for his inevitable double-cross in the final Task – he needs the victory more than any of the others, me included. He's a half-blood in Slytherin, a really precocious position if the grapevine is to be believed, so he needs all the prestige he can milk from this mess, therefore it's certain he will go all out in the finals. I will need to watch my back.

Bah. On to better news.

My design for a flying robe, which I christened The Cloak of Awesomeness, is progressing really well. I got it to stay relatively still while hovering (the billowing effect is there, but I believe it only adds to the coolness factor, might even fiddle with it sometime in the future) and the sticking/load bearing matrixes work really well. The only thing that I haven't completely finalised yet is the actual propulsion. The concept itself is sound: floating via gathering and repelling the air around me downwards and behind me. Unfortunately, momentum transference is being uncooperative, and instead of lifting off, I just look like I ate the twins' flatulence inducing cookies. In massive quantities. Hermione told me she'd stumbled on something that might help, but she hadn't shown me yet. I haven't worked on steering yet – I need to deal with the present issues first, methinks.

Sirius wrote me a couple of times, told me that Remus is tracking the rat. So far, he found some evidence that he's in the north of France, hiding in the wilderness. The dreams I've been having recently are very hazy and are of no help. I wonder what's causing them… In any case, all our attempts to figure out this plot has met no success. Why get me in the Tournament? To discreetly off me and blame the organisation? Probable, but this is way too complicated a plan for it to come down to just that. I mean, they could just wait for the summer holidays and send an assassin. I don't have much faith in Dumbledore's wards, and even if they work, there's no reason they would function outside of the damned house. So everything Voldemort has to do is wait for me to leave for a walk and AK me in the back.

Damn. I need to address that somehow.

Still, the next task will likely be the point where Voldemort makes his move, so I have to give it all I've got. The main goal: survive.

19th April - The Third Task, Forbidden Forest

Harry and the other champions gazed upon the hill before them with varying degrees of wariness. Said hill had only one entrance in the front, which was dark enough so that nothing could be seen of its contents.

"Ten galleons say it's a treasure hunt," Aletha Gramm, the Durmstrang champion, drawled, tapping her boot on the ground. The metallic regular clang with which the front of the sole hit the stone underneath counted the seconds with unerring precision.

"Sucker's bet," Reinth told her, his completely blank face conflicting with the subtle twitches of his wand hand.

"Yep. It was rather obvious that the circles we had to retrieve in the last tasks were parts of something akin to three-dimensional compass," Harry eyed the two bronze pieces in his hands contemplatively. "So it was either looking for something underground or diving in the lake – not that pleasant a perspective, I assure you."

"Oh, believe me, I know," Aletha winced. "In the last task, I got into a fight with a sea serpent and fell though the ice for a minute."

"Where did they get the serpent?" Harry boggled at her. The girl did not mention this when they hanged out, and she never hesitated in boasting about her previous misadventures. Others openly doubted those were true, but Harry never said a word. By the beginning of April, they spent nearly every dinner together, down in the kitchens. They never talked about the tournament, but everything else they mentioned, discussed and/or argued over at least once.

"In the Pacific Ocean, I'd expect," she muttered sardonically. "The special gift for those who decided to be smart and skate on the lake instead of fighting their way though on the shores."

"Ouch. How was the water?"

"Bite me," she muttered, hitting him in the shoulder playfully.

He was still chuckling when Bagman approached the group.

"All right-o, the Final Task! Now, as I'm sure you have already figured out, the goal is to find the replica of the Goblet of Fire in the maze of underground tunnels!" he began in his usual kick-me cheerful manner, taking four nail-like objects out of his pockets and offering them to the teens. "These are the figurative arrows for Dwarven compasses, the parts of which you have with you from the previous tasks. Look for yourself…"

With a frown, Harry started fiddling with the three pieces in his possession. Immediately after the three parts touched each other, the whole construct jumped out of his hands and hovered in the air before him.

The two circles formed two perpendicular planes, the small indentions on the outer sides facing one direction – North, Harry theorised – and the arrow just floating in the centre and pointing in the vague direction somewhere underneath the hill.

"Neat," he muttered in approval. "I can see that these can come in handy underground."

"Now, Mr Mordeau has the most points out of all of you, so he will enter the tunnels first. After a minute, Mr Potter will follow him. In another minute, Ms Gramm will enter, leaving Mr Reinth for the last. With me so far?" At their nods he continued. "In this task, you are allowed to fight between yourself, but do take care to avoid any maiming, and Merlin help you if you kill each other. Immediate disqualification. Am I clear on this point?"

"Yes."

"Good. Final note: the Goblet is a portkey that will bring the first to touch it up here. Now, prepare yourselves, and good luck!"

Bagman quickly walked off in the direction of the stands.

Harry slowly breathed in, beating down the sudden spike of nervousness. I'm as prepared as I'm ever going to be and I know what I'm doing. Everything's going to be fine. A reluctant half-smirk crept on his face. Well, no, it's going go to hell in a hand basket, but I'll survive.

He distractedly listened to Bagman's speech and the outline of the rules, hastily going through the spells he learned in the past months in his head when the French champion entered the maze.

"MR POTTER, START!"

He gulped, pulled his enchanted glove on tight, and stepped forwards. The darkness of the tunnel swallowed the teen.

A few minutes later, he found that he utterly hated whoever designed the tunnel system. Despite the Dwarven compass, it was near impossible to navigate. The oppressive darkness, persisting despite his Lumos did not help matters a bit. The magical blue smokeless torches he came upon with rising frequency as he made his way deeper into the maze were more effective.

Finally, there was the bone-chilling scream he heard a moment ago. While Harry was wary before, now he was very much on edge, creeping forwards slowly and with his wand held ready.

It was actually the slowness of his movement that saved him from a pit trap he encountered soon thereafter – he managed to gracelessly stumble backwards when the ground he stepped on rumbled and collapsed. After a moment spent contemplating his mortality and a couple of quiet, heartfelt oaths he used the same spell that saved him from the manticore in the first task to glide above the pit – after verifying that there was enough space on the other side for him to decelerate without turning into a modernist masterpiece on the wall. Thus defeating the first obstacle, he continued onwards, still wary, but a bit more reassured.

His illusions of this being an easy walk were shattered when behind the next turn he found himself face-to-snout with a wyvern. While on the smaller side for a draconid – not much taller than Harry, actually – the wyvern still could bite him in half. A prospect that didn't enthuse the teen wizard in the slightest.

As soon as Harry rounded the corner and recoiled from the sudden increase in number of dangerous creatures in his field of vision, said creature hissed and gathered onto itself in a manner of a cat preparing to jump onto its prey. Immediately, Harry responded in a reflex of many, many training sessions with Flitwick (he honestly could not find it in himself to call those duels).

"Lumos Maxima! Incarcero! Incarcero!"

Staggering back with a startled roar and blinking from the sudden assault on its extremely sensitive vision, the large reptile was in no frame of mind to dodge the thick ropes that bound its jaws and its hind legs. Following the combination with heavily overpowered Impedimenta, Harry made himself scarce, hurrying to put the dangerous opponent behind him. Wyvern skin wasn't as magically resistant as dragon skin, but it was still difficult to get them out of a fight for a prolonged period without resorting to extreme measures.

Soon, he stumbled upon a crossroads and tried figuring out which path he should take. Unfortunately, his deliberation was interrupted by a rumbling sound that he had come to expect accompanied a collapse. Hastily deciding on the left path, he ran.

In a couple of minutes, the narrow tunnel led him into a large cavern with an underground lake. In the lake, there were a few dozen thick poles, large enough to support a person. On every pole, there was a symbol, each looking like it was scratched into the wood by a sharp blade in wide slashes. Harry could see that there was a path forward on the other side.

"A puzzle? More Hermione's forte than mine, but alright. Now, where did they put the instructions? Ah, here you are…"

Harry quickly established from a multitude of symbols on the wall that his task was, obviously, to jump across the lake on the poles with the correct runes. The next rune he'd need to jump on could be guessed from the rune he was standing on, as the correct sequence had them increasing and decreasing in the number of slashes in a certain pattern.

"I don't… know… whether… to be… relieved… or insulted," Harry muttered while jumping from pole to pole with only a second's pause each time to calculate his next jump. "It seems… too primitive… for supposed… champions… but probably… looked smart… for the WHOA!"

He stumbled for a moment, righting himself on the slippery surface.

"Yeah, just the moment to get cocky, stupid, stupid. Now, what was the last symbol?..." he blinked in surprise and sighed. "Blast…"

Bending to look at the side of the pole while balancing precociously on it was more difficult that it ought to be, considering Harry's long practice in similar activities. Still, very soon he hopped off the last pole onto the solid ground and hurried on without a backwards glance.

Not fifteen paces later, he found himself on crossroads, lit by four torches on the walls between the exits. Glancing at the compass, he determined that he should take the tunnel directly opposite the one he came from. However, before he could move forwards, he heard the sounds of spellfire from one of the side tunnels along with the steps of someone running towards him. Mouthing a foul curse, he ducked back into the shadow and cast the Notice-Me-Not. The charm was much less effective on wizards than muggles, but it would hopefully be enough for his competition to not pick him out in the dark.

Three seconds after he hid himself, the running figure of Mordeau came into sight from the right tunnel as he literally leapt over a curse, twisted in the air to send a spell back and seamlessly landed to continue running. Harry gulped – even if the French champion's spell missed the intended target, it was still a very impressive display of duelling prowess, as well as near-precognition level reflexes. The aforementioned target, Aletha, didn't show any extraordinary feats as she passed him in a brisk walk, preferring to send a rather astounding volume of curses at her opponent. From what Harry could see, so far Mordeau kept dodging or shielding the spells, but his luck could run out any moment.

As soon as the fighters passed him, Harry relit his wand and scrambled to vanish into the tunnel ahead. After nearly a minute of sneaking and a couple of turns his hammering heart slowed, just in time for him to stumble across a new challenge.

He beheld with slight befuddlement a large-ish cavern filled with a couple of dozens of levitating cubes covered with different glowing etchings. The far side of the room had a metal gate, evidently sealed until whatever puzzle he saw before him was solved.

"This could take a while…"

Filch's office

The unconscious caretaker, sickly thin and looking half-dead from malnutrition, was levitated into a drawer and closed there. Another caretaker, identical to the one being locked away, but well-dressed and obviously healthy, nodded in satisfaction and exited the room, carefully hiding his wand inside the holster within his right sleeve.

He walked the halls in quick, but confident strides, drastically different from Filch's usual slow and shuffling walk. He exited the school out of the front doors and stepped on the road to the main gates.

The man who pretended to be Filch turned around for a moment and checked his pockets thoughtfully, as if to ensure that he didn't forget anything important.

The dull roar of the crowds from the Forest told him that the final Task was well underway, as planned. The portkey was in place and Wormtail would take care of the other champions. The little snivelling rat was surprisingly adept when it came to traps of any kind. He was competent enough to stun a couple of children from behind.

With a satisfied nod, he swished his robe around himself and quickly made his exit.

His Lord awaited.

Harry didn't manage a dozen steps out of the chamber the puzzle of which he just solved before being assaulted from the side. He had only a second's forewarning before the spell was upon him, and only managed to slightly lean forwards, evading the brunt of the impact. Still, the banisher grazed his shoulder, and he crashed into the wall.

Upon hitting the ground, the teen immediately lifted his left arm in a guarding gesture, activating his enchanted glove. The honey-coloured shield sprung up just in time to protect him from a follow-up stunner.

Harry looked up. Reinth. The Slytherin paused a bit in his casting when he though he'd got Harry, and his pale face was clearly seen in the light of the magical torches.

Harry counterattacked with a Lumos Maxima, but somehow, the other champion knew to expect it and shielded his eyes in time to protect himself. Swatting aside Harry's Tripping Hex with a quick shield of his own, he fired off another stunner.

The two teens engaged in a furious duel. Both knew not to underestimate each other – Harry was far more experienced and had a lot of tricks up his sleeves due to Flitwick's tutoring sessions, but Reinth was a seventh-year, with all the accumulated magical power and knowledge that it suggested.

They would cautiously probe the opponent's defences and shield themselves while waiting for a window of opportunity to strike a decisive blow.

The first one to make a mistake was actually Harry: he tried to use a Malo Zemletro – a faux-earthquake illusionary spell. It was a rather tricky thing to cast, requiring precision that Harry was only capable of when speaking the incantation aloud. Reinth immediately took advantage of Harry's momentary distraction and Depulsed him.

The wave of force picked Harry up and dragged him a couple of meters, carrying him further down the corridor, right into the next chamber. Shaking his head, he scrambled to take cover, only peripherally registering that this new chamber had stone walls, floor and ceiling. The only details he really took note of were the columns that went all the length of the room and the rock table in the middle, upon which stood the Triwizard Cup.

He immediately scrambled for cover behind the closest column, dodging a red spell by a hair's breadth. He put up a shield to protect himself from any explosion charms Reinth was evidently very fond of and thought on a furious pace, looking over the chamber and trying to come up with a plan to get to the Goblet.

A threatening growl was his only warning before a large brownish dog threw itself on him. He barely managed to twist aside from the teeth, bringing his wand to bear in order to dispose of the transfigured nuisance when yet another Depulso threw him away.

He hit the ground with a roll, bruising his shoulder with a sharp stone. He was saved from the follow-up Impediment jinx by his experience of fighting Flitwick, who was very insistent in teaching him the value of not lying still when knocked down. Returning fire blindly with a couple of Expulso's of his own, he stood up and suddenly realized that he was barely a meter from the Goblet.

And so was Reinth.

The Slytherin evidently never stopped advancing. He was running towards the Goblet, a shimmering shield around him and the transfigured dog following in his footsteps.

Harry jumped.

In the brief moments before they both reached the Goblet at the same time, Harry barely managed a single thought:

I wonder if they will give the win to Hogwarts as a whole.

Then their hands touched the goblet, and in a flash, they were gone.

The first thing Harry saw upon landing was grass. The second and third things were grass as well, considering the fact that he landed head-first and was slightly stunned by the introduction his face made to the ground he laid upon.

With a groan, he slowly lifted himself and cast a confused glance around. Reinth was right next to him, rising as well.

"Where the fuck are we?" the Slytherin muttered questioningly, looking around with a complete lack of comprehension. Must have face-planted as well.

"I have no idea, except that this seems to be a cemetery of some kind."

"Did the Portkey misfire or something? We were supposed to appear next to the entrance to the tunnel."

"Portkeys do not misfire. They can, however, be tampered with," Harry mentioned, bending to take his wand off the ground.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry froze, nearly paralysed by a sudden, violent spike of pain in his scar.

In that moment, while his body was bent and grasping the wand on the ground like the lifeline it was, a whirlwind of thoughts flashed in his mind.

That voice.

That spell.

That June night in 1992.

That mind-rending ache in his head as the spectre of his greatest enemy rent his mind apart, trying to destroy him on a level beyond physical death.

That night that changed him.

He violently jumped to the side, reflexively holding out his wand before him like a shield, nearly all coherent thought gone, banished by the mortal terror and the pounding behind his forehead.

Even if he was fully functional, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the deathly green spell as it already reached its intended target.

Reinth.

Fortunately, Harry couldn't see Reinth's face in that moment, but as it was, that final moment would long plague his dreams. The Slytherin's figure standing completely still, lit by a corona of green light for a brief moment, then collapsing like a marionette with cut strings.

Harry followed the fall with uncomprehending eyes, almost missing the commentary in that soft, high, almost absent-sounding voice:

"Pity. The child had some potential."

The teen's head whipped towards the speaker. He recognised the figure: the characteristic handsome features of Tom Riddle were hard to forget or mistake for anyone else, even if the person before him looked to be in his late thirties. The malevolent red eyes were also a dead give-away.

"Voldemort," he acknowledged in a quiet voice, marshalling all his prowess in the beginning stages of Occlumency to control his body and calm his mind. Or try, at least.

"Potter," came the answer.

The Dark Lord was thoughtfully regarding the young wizard before him, his head bent to the side.

"It has been three years, Harry Potter. You have changed quite a lot since I last saw you."

Harry frowned slightly, choosing to stay silent as his eyes remained carefully pointed at the man's chin. He had a hunch that if the Dark Lord knew of the ability to read others' minds, he would surely master it. And as wizard of highest calibre Voldemort most assuredly knew.

There was another detail that he noticed in his enemy's figure, and that gave him some hope that he would be able to survive past next few hours.

"Now, you must wonder why exactly I went to such trouble to bring you here before me," Voldemort continued, softly caressing the length of his wand.

"Not really," Harry deigned to interrupt. "I can name two reasons: you either wish to kill me or want to use me somehow to completely resurrect yourself."

"Perceptive," the man muttered, fully coming out of the shadow. In the pale lighting, it was obvious that he was partially transparent. "You are correct on one count. However, it still stands undecided whether you are right on the other."

Is he saying what I think he's saying?

Harry's wand lowered a bit.

"Still, we will have time to return to this later. The first item on the agenda is, as you have guessed, my complete return to the land of the living. And for that, I will need something of yours."

"Dare I guess?" the teen muttered, watching the figure of the Dark Lord cautiously for any sign of aggression. His headache lowered to dull throbbing, which somewhat reassured him of his chances to survive the next ten minutes. "What is it? Blood? Flesh? My soul?"

A dry chuckle was the only answer he got. Well, that and a binding curse that came so quickly he didn't have time to even blink before he was securely tied in conjured ropes.

"What the…"

Suddenly, he found himself being levitated towards the closest gravestone. Voldemort unceremoniously plopped him against the hard surface and approached him. With every step he made, the ache in Harry's scar sharpened and intensified. When the not-quite-corporeal figure was at arm's reach, the teen's head felt like it was going to explode like overripe melon.

If the young wizard wasn't in so much pain that his vision blurred, he would have seen the contemplative expression cross the other's face for a short while. Still, his headache suddenly was showed to the side when he felt his arm being slit. He looked down to see a silver knife floating in the air near his right hand, which was bleeding profusely.

The blood was collected inside a small glass vial (also held in the invisible grasp of kinesis) which was then stoppered and put on the closest gravestone along with the knife.

"Well, now that this is dealt with," Voldemort spoke in a calm and almost detached manner, "We come to the question of your life."

Harry's mind immediately conjured about eight scenarios of the following events, none of them pretty.

"But before that, I think you need to know why I came to your house that night fifteen years ago."

His brains stopped showing additional predictions and stuttered to a stop.

"There was a prophecy, you see," Dark Lord's tone bordered on whimsical as he polished his wand with the edge of his left (still not-quite-corporeal) sleeve. "About you and me. The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies." He snorted.

"Of course, I never believed in prophecies. Divination is far, far too uncertain and inconclusive for me to put much stock in anything to do with this particular branch of magic, scrying aside. Still, I decided to be on guard, nevertheless, and watch out for magical children born in the end of July. Imagine my surprise when you were born to people who had successfully eluded my wrath three times before."

"To kill you and your parents was simply a two-for-one opportunity: the removal of a couple of particularly talented opponents plus a potential, though vague, threat."

"Is this the point where you say that it was nothing personal? If so, it is rather cliché of you," Harry said blandly.

Instead of answering, Voldemort chuckled and sat on the nearest gravestone.

"It is, isn't it? One thing you seemingly haven't figured out so far, Harry, is that clichés are incredibly attractive to human mind. However, this is neither here or there. What is relevant here is the fact that you are a young wizard with a lot of potential. You will not reach it by remaining in Hogwarts."

"Why not?"

At this point, Harry already had a plan to escape, but he needed Voldemort distracted, and above all, he needed to play for time.

"I have seen the latest papers. They are vilifying you. How long do you think it will take for the public to start crying for your head? Dumbledore will not be able to shield you for long. One day, they will come for you."

"What is it to you? You obviously want to recruit me. Why?"

"I do not want to recruit you, necessarily. There's far too much history between us for that to be a feasible option. But I want you out of my way and I need Harry Potter to die at my hands."

Said teen blinked. After a moment, he got it.

"You need the sole blemish on your record removed."

"Precisely. And what better way to do this than publically killing said blemish? It is up to you whether your death be real or not."

"And if I choose the latter?"

"I offer you to vanish. Leave this country, preferably. I will, of course, require a binding oath from you that will prevent you from harming me or my assets and keep your true identity secret to the best of your ability, but otherwise – you will be free to go."

Harry was quiet.

"I see you need some time to think things through. Very well, I will leave you to it for now."

Voldemort snapped his left hand up, and in a couple of seconds, Harry's own wand flew into his grasp. The Dark Lord carefully collected the vial of blood and strode purposely away.

As he left the sight, Harry carefully looked around. When he didn't see anyone watching, he smirked and put the fingers of his left hand in a specific sign, activating the enchantment on his left glove.

At this moment, he was extremely glad that he has put an additional spell into his glove, doubly glad that this spell was Diffindo and damn near ecstatic that Voldemort didn't bother tying him with his hands behind.

With a sharp snap, the ropes binding him were cut and he stepped from the circle of rapidly disintegrating conjurations.

Alright-o, I'm free, what now?

Before he could put more than three seconds in planning for his escape, he suddenly heard hissing from behind him.

"You will not essscape, youngling."

Craaap.

On that thought, he was hit in the back and pushed to the ground by something large, heavy, and definitely aiming to restrain him. He didn't see anything with his face planted into the ground, but logic told him that it was a really big snake.

"You thought my masssster didn't take precautionsss?" hissed a malevolent voice near his ear.

"No…. just that he didn't account for my bag of tricks!" Harry spat back and activated a specific runic array on his sleeve.

Thirty meters away, Voldemort was distracted from final preparations for his ritual by screams of his familiar, accompanied by loud swearing of a certain young wizard. And constant loud whooshing of the wind from that general direction.

More than slightly irritated and a touch intrigued, he hurried to investigate.

What he saw was a bit surreal even to him regardless of his vast experience with all kinds of strange situations.

Harry was somehow floating around the cemetery, flying at dangerous speeds amongst the tombstones. His cloak billowing unnaturally, as if wind was flowing from between the flaps. Nagini wrapped around him and held on for dear life, obviously scared out of her mind and near howling in distress, while the teen himself was trying to steer his flight but having only enough success to stay clear from various debree.

With great bemusement and a bit of scientific curiosity, the Dark Lord watched as his snake was finally hit on her head as Harry made a rather daring turn, making her go slack and fall off. Unburdened, Harry immediately rose to a greater height and made for the forest with all due haste.

Voldemort pinched his nose and walked over to Nagini.

"Are you injured?"

"No, Master. Forgive me, I have failed."

"Nonsense. He is even more crafty than I was led to believe. I do not blame you. Besides, I expected him to break free and have had multiple contingencies set up just for this situation."

A loud pop from near the duo signified the arrival of another person via Apparition. A young man showed up, wearing robes that seemed a bit short for him. He looked around, noticed the other wizard with his snake, and hurried over to them. He kneeled before the former.

"My Lord, I come as commanded. Wormtail will follow within an hour."

"Good. Come, I will require your assistance in the ritual."

"My Lord? May I ask… where is the boy?"

"Hm? Oh, he escaped just a minute ago."

"But… will he not lead people here?"

"Almost certainly, but we will be long gone by then. The ritual is quick, and I have crafted some wards that will prevent access to this place just in case."

"My Lord, have you extracted the oath you have thought of?"

"No, but him accepting it today was a long-shot in any case. After the ritual, tell Lucius to make sure the contingencies proceed as planned."

"As you will, my Lord."

At the same moment, approximately a kilometre away an innocent squirrel was scared half to death by a low-flying wizard who blew past it at a break-neck speed.

It must be noted that said wizard was also scared nearly to the point of hysterics and emitted short, high-pitched keening noises each time he came into close proximity of another tree. Seeing that he was flying in a forest, that made for something akin to 8-bit beatboxing.

Finally, after a wild 10-minute long slalom he noticed that he had just passed a road. Immediately, he touched the rune which was the rough equivalent of an "off" switch and landed in a heap.

Swearing up and down at his own lack of foresight to develop some means of smooth landing (and speed regulation!) he limped back to the road. It was completely empty, and it was obvious that if he decided to wait here, chances were Voldemort would find him sooner than someone else arrives.

Harry furrowed his brow and started pacing in thought. He could, possibly, reach civilization by flying near the road in somewhat acceptable timeframe. His wand was not with him, and he did not have any Muggle currency on him. He always kept some Galleons in his pockets, though, so he could pay for magical transportation, such as the Knight Bus. Though he didn't have the wand with which to summon the unholy contraption… Wait.

Harry glanced at his left hand. Specifically, the glove on it. It was an enchanted object that he channelled magic through, which made it a focus, which made it possible to use to summon the bus. It theory.

Biting his lip, Harry raised his left arm up, channelling some power into the glove, and sharply dropped it.

Nothing followed.

With a sigh, Harry turned away from the road and pondered which direction would lead him to a settlement quicker. However, not three seconds later he was badly startled by a loud BANG that usually signified the arrival of the Knight Bus.

He whirled around – and there it was. The door opened and the familiar face of Stan Shunpike showed itself out.

"Blimey. Ernie, it's Harry Potter! What are you doing here?"

"Portkey glitch," Harry lied and entered the bus. "I need to get to Hogwarts."

"Sure thing. That would be the third stop, methinks. Punch it, Ern!"

Harry paced near the Hogwarts gates, waiting for someone to come and get him. He was exhausted – mentally and physically, and at this point could not care less who won the tournament. All that he wanted at this point was to tell Dumbledore what happened, drop on his bed and sleep for a day.

He had to wait for a good while. Finally, half an hour later, Hagrid showed up and escorted him to the stands in the Forbidden Forest. Everybody was still there, it seemed. When the crowds noticed him, the ever-present hum of dozens of conversations raised into a dull roar.

He was ushered into the judges' tent. Immediately upon entering, he noticed the presence of not only the heads of all three schools, but Umbridge with the rest of the Ministry delegation, including Fudge.

"Oh, this will not be good," he whispered to himself.

It wasn't.

The next hour-and-a-half were spent arguing – about his supposed insanity, attention-seeking tendencies, anarchistic outlook, murderous intentions and so on, and so on. His story was not believed by the Ministry in the slightest, as Fudge sputtered denials and accusations while Umbridge, smelling blood in the water, fanned the fires as best as she could. Dumbledore immediately believed Harry and calmly and rationally tried to dismantle the others' arguments. Karkaroff was extremely pale and kept silent, occasionally rubbing his left arm unconsciously. Maxime was seemingly of the opinion that everyone in the tent besides herself was mad and was waiting for the insanity to cease before contributing anything to the discussion.

Harry's voice was almost completely hoarse from the shouting by the time a couple of Aurors entered the tent.

"Minister, we have found the cemetery in question," the tallest announced. "We found Mr. Reinth's body. And this."

He fished a wand out of his pocket. A very familiar wand.

That… could be trouble.

"Priori Incantatem shows the Killing Curse as the last spell," the Auror continued gravelly.

"What?!"

"Well, that settles it. Arrest Mr. Potter," Fudge said briskly, a satisfied look on his face.

What… what?!

The sinking feeling he'd felt since five minutes ago grew to a crescendo. He was one inch away from outright panic.

"You can't do that!"

"I am the Minister of Magic, Mr. Potter," was the smug answer as the Aurors escorted him out of the tent at wandpoint. Harry whirled around to look at the judges who filed out of the tent behind him. Dumbledore's troubled expression didn't reassure him.

In the background, Hogwarts, his home, shined for him, like a star in the night, for the last time.

The whirlwind of colours took him away.

Hermione Jane Granger was - usually - a calm, rational person. Many students knew her as a bookworm to shame any Ravenclaw and a mostly unemotional wallflower that accompanied Potter and Weasley. The residents of the Gryffindor tower would disagree with the "unemotional wallflower" part rather emphatically, exceedinly familiar with the firce arguements she was so prone to having with anyone who disagreed with her on any significant issue. Granted, she mellowed out massively in the later years, but she still was a very emotion-driven person.

Right now, though, no one who saw her would be able to call her "calm".

It was the 8th May - two and a half weeks since the Third Task. She was currently wearing a hole in the floor of the unused classroom she and Harry commandeered for their use while they worked to create a flesh golem. Said golem - nicknamed Frankie Moonshine for its swaying walk - was standing in the corner, occasionally wobbling in one direction or another. As he was shaped in the image of his creator, it seemed as if it was a drunk Harry standing there.

There were transfigured portraits of Fudge and Umbridge on the wall, both bearing evidence of repeatedly falling victim to sharp thrown objects (read: a pincushion would wince at the sheer amount of holes in them). The Minister's portrait also had some bird droppings on the frame, while Umbridge's frame was decorated with a multitude of creative insults.

The tables in the classroom were decorated with sketches of the Ministry of Magic officials being strangled, eaten and buried alive by various species of magical flora. All of them were charmed to move just like magical photographs.

Other occupants of the room included Ron, Neville and Luna. The redhead was throwing darts into portraits with a pensive expression on his face, trying to hit the Minister in the eyes, but the bowler-hatted politician was rather skilled in dodging by this point and deftly evaded every projectile. Neville was chewing on some sort of purple leaf and gazing at the just finished drawing of Umbridge being impaled by the poisonous darts of Arizona Killer Cactus, aka Ferrocactus Carnivorae Malificus. Luna was leaning on a wall near the golem and periodically poking at it, causing the aforementioned wobbling.

After watching the sketch of Umbridge die a horrible death in the fifth time that day, Neville leaned back in the seat and continued the ongoing discussion.

"I have sent an owl to Gran. She's a member of the Wizengamot, she can speak on his behalf."

"I have looked through the legislation. We need more than a half of the votes. It won't be enough," Hermione said depressedly, turning sharply on her heel and marching across the room.

"When we go on our hunting trips, Daddy always tells me: Luna, to catch a Nurgle you need to think like a free Nurgle," the Ravenclaw said suddenly, looking away from the unresponsive golem.

The Gryffindors shared a glance. Usually, Neville was the most adept out of them in translating Luna-speak to English, but this time Ron spoke first.

"We have to plan for the worst. In addition to hoping everything ends well, we should cook up something to break Harry out just in case."

"But Azkaban is nearly impregnable!" Hermione protested, waving her arms in the air. "Harry isn't an animagus, so he won't be able to just waltz out!"

Ron smirked. That smirk had no business being on the face of a Weasley.

"Then I suggest we don't try to crack an impregnable fortress," Ron shrugged. "If we disregard the obvious option of sneaking him off a Dementor-infested island we are left with two variants: getting him out of the DMLE holding cells or snatching him en route to the... prison."

It should be noted that despite his lack of incredible studiousness or an aptitude for fantastic leaps of thought, Ron was nearly as intelligent as his two best friends were. His intelligence just showed itself in ways that were usually less noticeable.

"The most important thing that we need is information. I will ask Tonks about the DMLE and their procedures - she likes Harry, hopefully she'll help us. In case she doesn't, Hermione, you should hit the library – look for anything regarding DMLE behaviour in these situations. Neville, I suggest you continue to work with your grandmother and try to get Harry out of this legally. All right?" He finished his spirited string of orders and blinked in slight surprise at himself.

Hermione stared at him.

"Works with me," Neville shrugged.

"Yes," Hermione woke up, "I think I saw a couple of Auror memoirs in the library. It should be useful..."

The trio left the classroom, engrossed in their discussion. After the door was closed, the completely forgotten Luna uttered in a surprised tone:

"But I meant something different..."

Meanwhile, in a Ministry holding cell.

It wouldn't be so bad if he had something to do or anyone to talk to – anything to pass the time.

Days came and went. The only people allowed to see him were the Aurors that gave him his meagre meals - enough to live, but utterly tasteless. To be honest, it was somewhat better than what the Dursleys gave him.

The cupboard was also much more cramped. His cell contained only a cot and a bucket charmed to vanish waste. It wasn't designed for people living there for long periods of time.

Nevertheless, Harry had been there for nearly a month. A month of nothing but grey walls and the occasinal silent Auror with the bland soup.

The boredom, loneliness and claustrophobia were driving Harry nuts.

He hated the monotony, abhored having nothing to do and believed "wasting time" to be a mortal sin. Fortunately, he had at least a couple things to busy himself with.

The first was Occlumency. His hormone levels weren't fluctuating wildly any longer, which enabled him to make progress on this art much, much faster than before. In March, all he was able to do was force an emotion down after a couple of seconds of effort or, aternatively, summon an emotion in a similiar timeframe. Theoretically, he could also detect mental intrusions.

Multiple times during his month of incarceration he thanked all deities he could think of (not many) that he'd read the Occlumency book enough times to remember the exercises. Before the first week was out, he'd managed to reach proficiency in the first stage - as in, he could near instaneously shift gears when it came to his emotions. When he fist went through the serenity-joy-rage-calm-fear-happiness-despair-serenity emotion chain exercise in six seconds, he was more satisfied with himself than when he finished his Cloak of Levitation.

He didn't stop there, though. Before the month in the cell was over, he made good progress in the second stage - which involved speeding up thought and controlling the signals your body gave you, dulling or sharpening any of his senses. He could now mute or empower his perception of hunger, thirst, pain, pleasure, cold, warmth and itching. As for the thought - he was able to speed the speed of his perception and reasoning twice for three seconds once an hour. Anything more and he developed a migrane.

As time-consuming as the practise was (very), Harry was forced to take occasional breaks. Then, the only way of killing time was deep thought.

Harry found himself wondering what kind of life he wanted for himself. For the first time in his life, endless "what-ifs" weren't suppressed immediately and allowed to play out in his imagination. During those evenings, amongs grey walls lit only by an illusionary window, he slowly and patiently thought on his past, present and future, re-evaluating his life, his principles. His priorities and decisions.

A teen entering adulthood came inside the cell on an April night. At the end of May, a young man emerged from it. Resigned. Hopeful. Afraid.

Above all, pissed off.

24th May, Ministry of Magic

As Fudge slowly and with visible enjoyment read out his opening speech, Harry observed the large hall in which his trial was taking place. It looked to him as a half of the Roman colloseum, only smaller and filled with politicians instead of spectators. It was nearly identical to the hall where the hearing about the mess on the Quidditch World Cup was conducted.

This time, though, he was judged for a murder he did not commit.

Only his superior control allowed him to remain calm and collected. He even slouched in the seat slightly and placed his chained hands on the armrests, looking for the world as if it was him judging the Wizengamot just to be obnoxious. A month of staring into the ceiling is not good for one's general disposition.

He saw a couple of familiar faces - the Dovager Logbottom was an obvious presense, giving him an approving and encouraging look - he believed she liked his countenance.

Madam Bones was stony-faced and didn't answer his nod of greeting. It seemed Susan told her of his views and their rather heated break-up. Harry knew she would at least try to be objective, but from what he heard of the woman, that break-up put him firmly on her shit-list.

Lucius Malfoy was also there, close to Fudge. The man projected smug superiority in a way that Harry saw only in the richest of pureblood kids in Hogwarts.

The most worrisome thing about the situation wasn't in who was in the room, though, but who wasn't.

"...Defence! Albus Percival. Wulfric. Brian. Dumbledore."

Never you mind. Harry allowed a smile to make a short appearance. His Headmaster had always liked drama.

"I must sincerely apologise for my tardiness, as it seems the owl sent to me had the time and place of this trial wrong," he continued, directing what seemed to be his best disappointed look at the Minister. Fudge went slightly green.

"Well, now that we are all here, I believe we can begin," Dumbledore continued with a slight smile.

"Ah, yes. The accused, one Harry James Potter, is on trial for the murder of Mark Reinth. How does he plead?"

"Not guilty," Harry called.

A soft murmur spread across the jury, and with that, the trial began.

Very soon, it became apparent that the Wizengamot was almost certain of the verdict and seemed to bother with the trial only for the sake of procedure. The evidence arrayed against Harry was indesputable, and the only way to beat it that Harry thought of involved Veritaserum, and it was inadmissable in court due to the fact that it could be easily tricked with Memory charms.

The wand with which, supposedly, the Killing Curse that killed Reinth was cast, undoubtedly belonged to Harry. He both had a motive and an opportunity to commit the crime. Even with Dumbledore poised to defend him, Harry's chances were slim.

And that was before Harry's extremely shaky reputation was brought up. He had already killed two people, and it was considered a further proof of his criminal character. Furthermore, it seemed that most people there bought into Skeeter's articles.

In short, he didn't have a chance.

All in all, the trial lasted less than an hour and by the end of it, Harry lost all hope. Still, he refused to lose his face along with his freedom. At the end, just before the verdict was to be called, he was given word.

He was laconic.

"I didn't kill Reinth - but you don't believe me. I am not nearly as much of an idiot as to leave the wand with Killing Curse residue right next to a corpse - but you do not care in the slightest. You refuse to see what is right in front of your eyes - but that is your modus operandi, and I am not surprised in the slightest. One thing, though, warms my heart right now: the day will come - a year or two in the future - when you will come to realise just what happened that day."

He was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban two minutes later and his wand was broken in front of him.

He barely stopped a pained whimper at the sight. It felt like they broke a part of his soul.

He looked at Umbridge and promised to himself that one day, he will make her pay. Her and the rest of the people responsible for this.

Tonks walked purposely towards the holding cells, her hands in her pockets. No one paid her any mind right now - most Aurors in the Department were on duty in the courtroom where the trial commenced and the rest were busy with their own business. If anyone looked at her closely, though, it would become apparent that her right arm was looking slightly... off. Any veteran would recongise the illusion, but she banked on the fact that all high-rankers were stationed elsewhere.

When she reached the cell where Harry had been kept for the last month, she opened it and made a shoving motion with her left hand, as if pushing something invisible into the cell. This done, she walked away and leaned on the wall behind an out-of-the-way corner.

Standard procedure dictated that criminals were sent back to their cells before being shipped to Azkaban. It was needed as only a few dozen people at any given time were allowed entry to the island and it took some time to assemble an escort after the trial. Granted, this time, Fudge pulled some strings so that the required guard was ready by the time the trial began. This was an unforeseen complication, but Moody, brought into the conspiracy three days before, promised to take care of that.

The plan required only two things to happen to succeed: Harry had to return to his cell and be left alone for a minute. The Auror who usually stood guard nearby owed a favour to Tonks and was persuaded to leave for a second, so that she could suplosedly talk to Harry and ask him whether he really killed Reinth.

Said Auror - Henkels - soon came around, sparing her a nod and sitting down nearby.

Harry was marched to his cell some half an hour later, his face like a mask of stone. Dawlish, Fudge's pet, was the one escorting him and periodically pushed the teen to amuse himself. Tonks managed to see him sitting down on the cot and laying his head on his arms before the door swung shut.

Two minutes later, Tonks and Henkels were alone in the corridor.

"I'll give you a bit of privacy, but I'll stay here," the man grumbled. "If anyone learns about this, I'll be made a Juniour Auror again."

"I won't forget this, Karl," she responded, glancing inside the cell. Harry was still sitting on the cot and staring into space.

She opened the door and cast a small privacy charm. She knew for sure that Henkels was a man who stayed well away from other people's business, so she trusted him not to try to eavesdrop. If he did, well…

"Hey, Harry. You changed?"

"Yes," came a voice from the air straight ahead.

"Then follow me on my signal. I will get you out of here."

A short silence followed. Tonks felt the privacy spell shift slightly, indicating interference of some sort. She'd have to be careful with what she said.

"What was it like?" She asked eventually. "To face off with You-Know-Who."

There was a dry chuckle.

"It wasn't a face-off. I barely noticed that spell. One second he's all amicable and talking with me like we're discussing weather over the tea, the next moment I'm bound to a gravestone. And my reflexes aren't anything to sneeze at."

"That's... not reassuring," she muttered.

"It isn't."

"How did Reinth die, anyway?"

"Voldemort killed him before either of us even noticed the bastard."

"Huh. Well, I have to go. Keep your head down," she kept the door open for a moment more, until she felt something brush past her, and swung it shut.

She walked briskly past the pale Henkels (it seemed that he did catch at least some of their conversation) as he scuttled over to verify that Harry was still in his cell.

"Thanks, Karl. See you later," she threw over her shoulder and smirked slughtly as she heard him cast a basic illusion-detecting charm just in case.

She walked out of the Department, avoiding big crowds. From time to time she felt an invisible hand touch her arm in reassurment. They waited for the lift to arrive and went down to the Atrium. There, they were quickly approached by Dumbledore.

"Ah, Miss Tonks. You are free today, I presume?"

He was in a mood for some smoke and mirrors, it seemed.

"Well, I am here, professor," she responded dryly and the Headmaster chuckled.

"So I see. Your friends decided to meet tomorrow at the usual place. Same time, of course."

"Of course."

"Now, speaking of time, I am dreadfully late. If you will excuse an old wizard," he nodded to her and disapparated on the spot. Only someone watching really carefully would notice that he clutched something invisible at the last second.

Tonks smiled and sighed in relief. Now, she had to go and be seen somewhere else - just in case.

"Are you ready to continue?" Dumbledore asked, looking around and then at the doubled over figure of his student. Well, ex-student.

"A minute," the latter said queasily, trying to get a hold of his stomach. After taking some deep breaths, he straightened and nodded, still looking a bit green.

"I hate side-along apparition."

"Indeed, it is not a pleasant experience even to the practiced," the older of the two noted, striding away from the point where they appeared. "Shall we take a walk?"

"Where are we going, professor?" Harry asked, following and surveying his surroundings. They were in a city or a really big town, going by the sound of cars. Harry carefully adjusted his invisiblity cloak - it seemed like a supremely bad idea to wander the streets in plain view, dressed in plain white arestant's robes (which looked more like weird pyjamas) as he was.

"A safe house, Harry. We are still in London, if you were wondering."

They walked in silence for some time. Finally, Dumbledore stopped right next to a couple of perfectly ordinary houses and took out his wand, casting a couple of spells that Harry guessed were privacy charms.

"Now, I need you to listen carefully and memorise this sentence," the old wizard stopped for emphasis and, after checking that he had Harry's complete attention, said: "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at #12 Grimmauld Place."

The moment he finished, Harry saw movement on his left. Instinctively, he turned sharply and his hand twitched to where the wand would normally reside.

Under his astonished gaze, the two houses they were standing near shifted to the sides, as if a giant pulled them away from each other, to give way to another building that appeared as if from nowhere.

A decrepit, forbidding building.

"Whoa," Harry muttered, thinking of the magic involved - hiding a house within what looked like a pocket dimension, utterly imperceavable to anyone who was not told the secret...

The secret.

"Was that Fidelius?"

"Very good," Dumbledore smiled approvingly. "This is, in fact, a modification of Fidelius. But I am afraid that explanations will have to wait."

With that, they entered the house. Inside, it was just as grim as the outside would suggest. Air was dry, dusty and slightly stale, as if the building was not visited by any living soul for a long time. Still, he heard quiet echoes of voices that said someone was here right now.

Slowly, Harry followed the headmaster through the narrow corridor, paying more attention to his surroundings than the rampaging thoughts in his head.

What happened after my arrest?

What has Voldemort been up to?

Where are my friends?

And... what happens now?

Harry shook his head sharply. He would get answers, but right now, these unending questions were pointless and only gave him a headache.

He saw Dumbledore pause for a second before the door from which the muffled voices came, as if gathering himself or listening in to determine who's there. After a moment, he opened it.

"Good evening to you all," he called out jovially, striding inside. He was greeted by multiple voices speaking at once.

"Albus? What happened? Is Harry..."

"Where's Harry?"

"Has everything gone alright?"

"Indeed, my friends, we have succeeded," he answered, shutting everyone down just by lifting his hand. "Harry is safe."

"Where is he, then?" A familiar, if strained with emotion, voice inquired.

"Right here, Hagrid," Harry said tiredly, walking in the room - which turned out to be a surprisingly clean kitchen. He managed to see that the room contained, besides the huge gatekeeper, Remus Lupin, a really small man that seemed to be vaguelly familiar and Professor McGonagall before nearly being bawled over by a large, hairy, black object that immediately transformed into his godfather and embraced him in a bear hug that made the teen's ribs creak ominously.

"Sirius... can't breathe," Harry managed, and was immediately released. The man still held him at arm's length, looking at him worriedly.

"How are you? How have you been?"

"Oh, just peachy," he groused, sitting down on an offered chair. After a month of complete inactivity, even such a short walk tired him. "Was held in a three by three grey cubicle for a month. Does wonders for one's disposition, if I do say so myself."

Nearly everyone there winced. Harry shook his head and brightened slightly.

"But that can wait. How did you get Hermione to sacrifice our extra credit project?"

"It was Ron's idea, actually," Sirius admitted. "He came up with the plan to free you. Well, most of it."

Harry grinned.

"Oh, I will have to give him something really good for Christmas. So, what did he come up with? Bait-and-switch?"

"Basically, yes," Dumbledore answered with a hint of pride in his voice. "He decided to enlist the assistance of me and Minerva to finish the golem you created. Brilliant work for your first try."

"The gait could really use some fixing up, though."

"Indeed. Today, if and when your trial would conclude with you being judged guilty, Tonks would switch you with the golem. Aside from a couple of minor hitches, it went according to plan. If it somehow was derailed, then we would switch you during your journey to Azkaban."

"Neat, short, easy to memorize," Harry nodded in approval. "Nice plan. Now, next question. What's been happening around here?"

"Nothing much," Sirius shrugged. "From what we hear," and his face darkened noticeably, "Voldemort is trying to solidify his position and start the recruitment anew. For now, though, he decided to lay low and not attract attention. It's a mixed blessing - he can't do anything overt until he is sure of his power, but seeing as Fudge refuses to admit the fact that we have a snake on the loose once again, he can wait for as long as he pleases before the grand reveal."

"So…" Harry tried to say something, but couldn't hold a large yawn.

"Yeah, I think you should go get some sleep before engaging in war talks," Sirius commented.

"I basically did nothing but sleep and stare into the ceiling all bloody month. Now, what were you guys up to?"

Harry was sitting in an armchair in his room (which was, once, the room of Sirius' brother, Regulus), staring into the flickering flames inside the fireplace. It had been three days since the trial.

In this time, he somehow managed to successfully manage to distract himself from deep thoughts by keeping himself occupied – helping Sirius in the on-going war against the house, the dirt, grime and magical pests within it, reading, composing letters to his friends, trying half-heartedly to recreate his levitating cloak and his casting glove and otherwise postponing any kind of decision-making.

Today, he decided that he procrastinated enough.

He turned his head slightly as he heard steps from behind the door, which almost immediately opened with a muffled squeak of tired metal.

"Harry?"

"Sirius," he acknowledged the hesitant greeting, continuing his staring contest with the fireplace.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Sirius closed the door, walked over to the other armchair and plopped down.

"Just thinking about the future," the teen said ponderingly.

"Oh? Do tell."

"With my conviction, any hope I had of continuing education in Hogwarts or even just living in Britain was crashed. Dumbledore wants us both to stay out of sight, in this house. That is… not an inspiring perspective. Who knows for how long this "house arrest" will last."

"You're preaching to the choir, Harry," Sirius grumbled, taking something out of his pocket. When the teen looked, he snorted – somehow, Sirius managed to carry a bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses in his pockets. Must have Invisible Extension on them.

"Are you drinking?"

"I'm not of age. For shame, Messer Padfoot. Corrupting the impressionable youth, you alcoholic."

"Yeah, right. You're sixteen in a couple of months. There's no way you hadn't gotten drunk at least once, not counting that time we dragged you through those bars last summer."

"Touché. Fine, give me a glass."

After filling the glasses and tasting the fiery drink, they lapsed in silence for a while. Finally, Sirius decided to break it.

"So, what other options do you think we have, then?"

Harry glanced at his godfather with surprise. He knew that the man was loyal to him fiercely – that loyalty being one of the only things he held onto in Azkaban, one of the things to carry him through what amounted to hell relatively sane, - but hearing him support his plan even before hearing it still surprised him. Harry drank a bit more whiskey, grimacing slightly at the burning sensation in his throat, nose and ears.

"Leave the country."

He threw a glance at Sirius and almost sighed in relief – his face held only curiosity and none of the disapproval he expected. Then his godfather opened his mouth.

"When do we leave, then?"

Harry's expression of shock slowly turned into a grin. Then he lifted his glass in a toast.

"To the poor, unsuspecting world that is certainly not ready for us."

"It won't know what hit it," Sirius grinned, returning the gesture.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing the specifics of their flight – or, as the older man, already somewhat tipsy, suggested, their "Evacuation of Awesomeness".

Screw the Ministry. Screw Voldemort. Screw Dumbledore, just in case. Harry Potter would not be stuck hiding in a secret residence for the rest of his life. He desperately desired freedom from being despised and adored for things he did not commit. He thirsted for knowledge, for arcane secrets of ancient civilizations and magic beyond his imagination. He wanted to see the world in its entirety – and show himself to the world as he really was.

He asked for this, in that blessed moment between wakefulness and sleep.

He asked, and his wish would be granted.

A/N :- The sequel is UP!