Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter. There may be elements from other published works that have made their way in here. I don't own any of those, either.

Harry Potter and the Dark Lord

Chapter 1: Harry's Detour

June 30 was looking to be a really hot day. The sun seemed to shoot up past the rows of identical looking houses at an alarming speed, and beam down on Privet Drive with such a terrible ferocity that the tires on Vernon Dursley's polished mint-green Mercedes seemed to ooze viscous rubber as he parked it on his driveway. Normally, he would park it in the garage, but as he had just had his car cleaned by a professional car-washing company and not just by his good-for-nothing nephew, he felt it deserved to be shown off a bit to the neighbours, who would no doubt look upon its immaculate visage with awe, respect, hopefully a bit of envy, and if he were lucky, fear. After all cleanliness was Godliness.

Vernon entered his house through the front door, slipping off his dark grey suit jacket and calling out to his wife in search of his pre-dinner cocktail. When she did not answer, he felt a twinge of irritation at having his routine interrupted, especially when things had been going so fine for the last eight months - since Harry's departure the previous July. And now, with the boy being back only two days, something was amiss. Vernon made his way to the kitchen, his eyes peeled for any signs of trouble. As it turned out, there didn't seem to be anything wrong however, and when he opened the kitchen door, he found his darling wife, Petunia merely sitting at the dinner table, her gaze transfixed by the small television in the corner. Uncle Vernon barely registered the expression on his wife's face, which, if he had any decent command of the English language, would have described as some incomprehensible mixture of horror, fear, confusion, revelation, wonder, disgust, thoughtfulness and, oddly enough, nostalgia, all of which was congealed into something that could only be described as stern. However, his gaze fell on the television, instead, and what he saw there was something so utterly baffling that his ire merely rose from faint irritation to hostility. And so with that frame of mind, he asked, "Where's that boy? I want to talk to him!"

Petunia jerked up from the television, startled as if she had only realized Vernon was there at that moment. "Yes, Vernon?"

"The boy! The boy! Where is he? Has he done any house chores today? Not nearly enough, I know. Let me at him."

Petunia turned back to the television and said, "He's not here. I sent him from the house."

Vernon was partly-shocked by the fact the boy wasn't there, but more so by the singular focus that the television was drawing from his wife. "And what is so enchanting about some silly fireworks display that clearly went wrong? Was it the building? Who died?"

"Hmm?" she asked. "Oh yes, the fireworks, yes that must be it. They're fireworks. And yes, it must have just been a silly prank and... yes, yes the palace just burned down by accident."

"Palace?"

"Yes," Petunia answered. "Buckingham Palace. It's been destroyed. The queen is dead." On the television, the ruins of the entire palace was visible and high in the sky was the largest vision of the Dark Mark that had ever been discharged into the air. So large was it, that any wizard worth his weight in salt would know that only one wizard left on the planet had the power to launch such a spell.

Harry stood bathed in the light of the setting sun, his black hair mussed, his second-hand t-shirt blowing breezily in the wind, his feet planted as firmly as feet could be planted on the soft sand of the Little Whinging play park. His glittering green eyes shone like jeweled moonlight, one thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans, the other idly holding his wand. His gaze was bent westward, towards the Atlantic Ocean, towards that deep rich golden amber, towards London and the cliffs of Dover and, of course, to Godric's Hollow.

It had taken him only one step across the threshold of the house he had been forced to call home to realize that it didn't matter whether he was seventeen or not. Privet Drive was not his home; it never was, and he cared nothing for its inhabitants. He had thought at one time that he loved them, when he was very young, and later he had decided he hated them. Those feelings had all been true once upon a time, but no longer. Now, he was indifferent. They meant nothing to him, and that feeling of apathy towards the Dursleys gave him something he never thought it would. It gave him freedom. His heart was soaring with knowledge and naiveté walking hand in hand, like sunshine blossoming out of a lake of blood.

Harry was knocked clean out of his trance by something big and black. He went sprawling onto the ground, his wand flung from his fingers, and before he knew it, his face was thrust into the sand so that he was forced to inhale it as he gasped for breath. He managed to choke out nostrils full of the foul grit, and reel black from the monstrous form of a giant dog. It barked once, causing Harry to flinch a second time, and then bounded at him again, this time, knocking his glasses off and, drooling all over his face from its lolling red tongue.

"Shroomfsy!" a woman called from somewhere deep within the sunlight that now assaulted Harry's eyes. Shroomfsy, get over here!"

The dog seemed to look meaningfully at Harry, and he couldn't help but say aloud, "Sirius?"

The dog bounded away as if disappointed by Harry's question and instead went to go stand alongside his master, a tall blonde-haired woman dressed up in a non-descript, grey jogger's outfit.

"Sorry about that," she said, panting breathily. "She likes people and there aren't that many out this evening. On account of the heat, I imagine." She came forward and lent out a hand, which Harry looked at with a sense of confusion. Not that he would have understood it at the time, but Privet Drive was too mixed up with feelings of isolation and sorrow and ostracization that human contact even at a verbal level came to Harry only haltingly.

Seeming undeterred, the strange woman kept her hand out longer than what normally would have been polite, as if suddenly daring Harry not to take it. Eventually, he did, and got to his feet, brushing off bits of sand that, if he tracked into the house, would drive his ant wild. he briefly considered doing a quick cleaning charm on himself. He had started to wonder in the last few days whether it really mattered. The Ministry was so desperate to make a friend out of him, they probably would welcome the chance to pander to such a menial request as letting him do magic. Still, he had only one month left and it seemed to be a bit wanton to not remain cautious.

These thoughts were flung out of his head however, when he realized that the woman was actually talking to him above and beyond the simple pleasantries that he was accustomed to navigating on auto-pilot. Seven years of fame had taught him how to smile and nod in the right places with only the barest of attention.

"Oy, I said are you on a diet?"

"Hmm?" Harry asked, blinking and suddenly realizing he had lost his glasses somewhere. "Oh, yes, I mean no. I'm not."

She shrugged. "Looks like you need to get out and pick up a few new clothes."

"Oh, right," Harry glanced down at his shirt and trousers. He had filled out a little bit in the last year and they didn't look quite so bad, but it was clear that the size was just plain wrong. Where's my wand, Harry thought dimly, and then, as if on cue, they both spotted it together. The woman was bending down and picking it up.

"This yours?"

Harry nodded and took it from her mutely.

"Anyway, I'm terribly sorry about the intrusion. I'd best be on my way."

The woman took off at a jog, and Harry felt a sudden urge to call back to her, to continue that entirely banal conversation, because banality in a conversation was so foreign to Harry that it actually seemed novel.

"Hey!" he called, not quite sure what he was doing.

"She stopped and turned halfway, glancing partly over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in a questioning manner.

"My name's Harry."

She said nothing for a moment, Harry wondering if she would just shrug and move on to the rest of her life, but then she smiled a dazzling smile that went all the way up to her ocean blue eyes. She then waved and said, "See you around, Harry."

She then jogged away through the park, her black dog at her side, leaving Harry to wonder what just happened.

He decided not to think about it too much and instead turned his feet back towards the direction of Privet Drive, sighing loudly in the solitude.

Dinner that evening was a rather subdued affair. Dudley was out terrorizing children, thieving or trying to get laid by a rather rotund brunette that lived, as best as Harry could tell, about seven blocks North of number 4 Privet Drive. His uncle seemed resigned to the silence and was compulsively flipping through the morning paper as though he hadn't already read it six times, all the while stealing menacing glances Harry's way, as if to blame him for the quietude. His aunt, peculiarly enough, was the most somber, her thin brows furrowed as if lost in thought. What thought it could be, Harry didn't know. He had never known his aunt to contemplate anything more complex than the symmetry of her rose bushes. What was odd about the whole affair was that Harry actually received a normal sized portion of food, given Dudley's absence, and, since nothing life-threatening was imminent - at least nothing new - he felt like he had the appetite to consume it all. He would go to bed with a full stomach tonight, and that was a plus.

Once tucked away safely in his bedroom, rain starting to fall from the sky, Harry curled up under his covers with a copy of "A Guide to Treasure Hunting: A Wizard's Quest for Magical Artifacts", which he had resigned himself to read, despite the fact that it was written by Gilderoy Lockheart, Harry's profoundly incompetent Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor from second year and now current resident of the insanity ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Ailments. It wouldn't have been Harry's first choice on the subject, but, after some searching at Flourish & Blots, Harry had discovered that there was a dearth of material on the subject, and so had resigned himself to taking the book now open in front of him. He had to admit it wasn't all bad. Some of the information seemed downright useful, as long as he was careful to extricate the embellishments and self-aggrandizements that he knew must have been Lockhart's additions to the subject matter.

Harry had even found in an aside, information on using blood magic to provoke charmed objects into moving, and that made Harry think of how Dumbledore had bled on the rocks in the cave not three months ago to admit them passage into the antechamber where they found what they had thought to be Slytherin's locket. Dumbledore seemed to have had disdain for the use of blood, and Harry recollected him calling it crude at one point.

By the time midnight neared, the rain intensifying into hail for a brief period, Harry put the book down, glancing out his window to see if Hedwig were coming. No, she wasn't out there. In all likelihood she had holed up somewhere in the middle of her flight path, or had simply remained at Ron's in anticipation of the storm. Either way, Harry was sure she was safe, being a very intelligent and capable owl. he put his book away, shut off his lamp and bid June 30 adieu.

The days that followed glutenated themselves into the first week of July, wherein Harry puttered up and down the empty summer walkways of the neighbourhood, content to live inside his own head, sending occasional letters to Ron and Hermione. He even sent one to Ginny, who had been his girlfriend towards the end of the previous year, but his writing had been terse and polite and entirely too cruel, as was her response. They both seemed to have accepted the quick demise of their relationship, or perhaps it was simply put in stasis and would be reawakened after Harry did whatever it was that he had to do.

It was on July 10, as rain drizzled down on Magnolia Crescent that Harry caught sight of something twinkling in the gutter, and, with nothing better to do, he walked to the curb's edge and peered down. There was a little sailboat drifting lazily along on the thin stream of water that had collected from the falling water. He knelt down to look at it, surprised to see that something that was made out of paper could refuse to be soaked. Maybe it's magic, he mused, glancing up quickly at the thought to spy offhandedly for any wand waving, robe wearing individuals. There were none. The newspaper sailboat continued to trundle along and Harry, for no reason he could think of, decided to follow it, letting his feet carry him wherever God and the forces of nature took the intrepid ship and her tiny crew.

The clouds waxed and waned as they discharged themselves of their life-force, all the while, the sun tracking across the sky unknown to the world, save for that grey light that washed like a soft wave over all the things in Britain, puddling away the faintest glimmers of shadows in the darkest corners of the streets. Before Harry knew it, he had travelled a good hour at a pace that had steadily increased, with the rain, as the little seafaring voyager gathered more speed with the rising torrents beneath its bow. Harry had entered the main square of the town of Little Whinging, which, despite the fact that he had lived there for the better part of his life, was a foreign labyrinth of roads and alleys. What struck him in particular as he pulled his attention from his guide was the incredible greyness that swamped the downtown. The buildings were a myriad of mottled greys formed from chipped surfaces, cements, concrete and shadows, all patched together to form monoliths and paths that snaked in and out of each other like a criss-crossing web. Occasionally the gloom was cut apart by blades of light from oncoming traffic, but it did little to alleviate the feeling of forebode that seeped from the cracked cement and patched asphalt. When Harry thought about it, the headlights were downright hostile, obeying only the commands of their metal masters, passing over Harry's form like surveying eyes, capable of killing at a moment's notice and moving on. And even worse about the place, which Harry realized as he stopped before a storm drain, was that Little Whinging's downtown was a place of apathy. People here were brisk and cold and disinterested from one another. On Privet Drive, people were at least interested in the affairs of others, even if it were only to spread gossip. Here, Harry felt like he could die and no one would notice, and maybe that was true.

Harry watched the sailboat ebb closer to the sewer opening, which was more of a grate, with large slits instead of the tiny holes that had been the case so far. Like a child caught in the undertow, the sailboat seemed destined to head to its death, or at least get caught in the slits, and have its voyage interrupted. The thought of saving it had flitted across Harry's mind, but he had discounted it almost immediately. No, it was better this way. Things were not supposed to last forever, after all.

The sailboat, as predicted, landed squarely in the middle of the grate, the length of its body settling between two of its bars. Harry continued to watch, fascinated, as the boat slowly began to descend. He peered closely and discovered that the newspaper was absorbing the water like black ink and was slowly turning to mush and sinking into the sewer. He didn't understand why it was that the boat had managed to stay afloat all this time, seemingly impervious to the water and now, was being overcome. Did running keep you alive, little fellow? he wondered.

As the last of his companion drizzled into darkness, Harry turned and resigned himself to return to Privet Drive. As it happened, however, that was not to be. At least not immediately.

Not having walked ten feet, Harry heard the roar of a engine. So deep was it, that Harry's first thought was to reach for his Firebolt and get out of tail's reach of the Hungarian Horntail that was surely approaching. To his consternation, and to his relief, headlights cut through the forming mist over the main road and shone directly at him, growing larger with each second. At first, Harry merely stared, and then, as the round lights continued to expand, he began to feel that something was terribly wrong; a feeling which blossomed into sheer dread that finally culminated in epiphany. The lights were shining directly on him. He was in the jaws of the beast.

Harry threw himself for dear life into an alleyway, not permitting the Hermione-esque part of his mind to revel in the incredulity that accompanies such violent and senseless rule-breaking. he did not have time to care that there was a giant car barreling half on the sidewalk. Harry's seeker instincts saved his life in that singularly profound moment that would change his life forever.

The irony of it is that he wouldn't really know it, nor would he ever meet the passengers of the Buick 8 to ask where or how or why it was that they had come to be driving in the rain on the sidewalk in what seemed to be an impossibly large and intense car. It also wasn't the case that Harry had time to brood on yet another near death situation, because, taking brief stock of the alley, he discovered that he was not alone. Amidst the collection of discarded fast food wrappers, sullied newspapers, cigarette butts and other detritus that had been swept away into the margins of the city lay a figure curled up in a pool of shadow ringed by incandescent light. Harry went to that person, aware from her long hair that she was a woman and aware that she appeared distinctly out of sorts in clean jeans and a blouse and runners. Her body was obscured in darkness by the flap of a dumpster, which occluded light spreading down from a buzzing incandescent bulb. Harry moved the flap so that it closed down on the giant bin and let the light flood over her so that he could see her properly.

She was young, her head turned the other way and pillowed on her arm in a fashion that would have made him think it was natural. Harry knelt next to her and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, which, to his horror, revealed a deep gash that was crusting over with scar tissue. He exhaled a small breath and proceeded to check her pulse. Was she alive? Yes, he confirmed, letting her wrist go. Harry took a glance around, aware that the sounds of intermittent traffic seemed to have gone away, even though he could still see the occasional flash of light from passing cars. The rain was thicker here, but it didn't seem to pool anywhere, which was odd because there weren't any drains in sight. He briefly debated going to find a hospital, but decided it made more sense to enter one of the establishments and get someone to call for help. Without thinking, he stood and pushed his way through a nearby large, black metal door with the name Bamboo Cabana scrawled across it in faded white chalk.

The first thing that struck him when he entered was the smell of meat and sweat and something coppery and the smell of dead fish. They each hit his nostrils from different sides, one after the other, until he felt overwhelmed, as if he would never be able to use his olfactory sense again. He went forward, calling out, "Hello? Hello, is anyone there?"

However, there didn't seem to be anyone. Five steps took him into a well lit room that was lined with metal shelves, dollies and tables with giant cauldrons - no pots, he thought. giant pots. And pans and fryers and in the distance, muffled music and a thumping bass seeping through the floor. Was he in a kitchen? Yes, he thought so. There was a large sink and next to it, several rags, all stained with something reddish brown. And he could see a meat freezer entrance on the left wall. Well, he thought they're busy dancing so it's not surprised they've shut down the kitchen. He went forward, hoping to find somebody before he hit the dance hall. He suspected that it would be too loud for him to actually explain to any of the management the situation. Maybe if there were a payphone... He steeled himself when he came to the end of a short, thinly carpeted non-descript hall where there was a door that rattled severely with each blast of the music. Harry steeled himself and opened it. The assault of lights and sounds and smells of flailing limbs packed together hit him immediately. Some deep, internal alarm bell rang inside his head, warning him to get away as quickly as possible, but Harry didn't have time to listen as throngs of hands and legs seemed to curl around him and draw him into the fray. There was a distinct set of lights further on, that he suspected was the bar. Harry headed for it immediately, pushing through the crowds, getting frustrated as he was made to take a step back for every three he took forward. Eventually losing patience, he began to drive himself more relentlessly between the people, carving a path with his determination.

The bar was manned by a fellow in his mid-thirties, a network of lines having transformed his face into a look of rough stone. Harry began shouting over the din, "Hey! I need a phone! There's a girl outside who's been hurt!" Even as Harry spoke, he knew his words were being lost. He had never had to shout so hard in his entire life and was unused to the grating feeling on his vocal cords. The man seemed to understand however, and bent down and lifted a glass. he poured Harry a drink with ice cubes and a little stick of celery. Harry scrunched up his face in consternation, thinking about how best to approach the situation. Of all the places to end up, he thought, taking the drink and eyeing it suspiciously. He had never had alcohol before. Did the bartender not realize he was underage? Or maybe he didn't care. For the first time, Harry took a moment to survey the landscape, the size of the building, the number of people, their faces.

It was bigger than he had realized. Where did all these people live? He couldn't imagine they were from Little Whinging. Probably from Surrey and beyond. Maybe this is a happening little place, he thought, and I never knew. That made him think of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon being in a place like this, and he had to smile. Sipping on his drink, Harry considered bringing his friends here. The pure-bloods would certainly have a laugh. He wondered what Arthur would think.

Just then, Harry had a sudden jolt. He looked down at his glass, nicely chilled. The taste of it was incredibly familiar. Beneath the salt and pepper and whatever spices they had thrown in it, there was something distinctly unique about it. And he was certain there was no alcohol. Alcohol burned, he knew. No, this was something else. Something he couldn't quite place. He then looked up at the faces again of all those people thrusting themselves at one another. They were slowing down. The music was coming to a halt, and Harry thought that was a bit odd, since he was under the impression that music never stopped at these places. He took another sip and stared at them, keening their expressions, their facial features. There was something odd about them too. After a time, it finally hit him. He had seen something in their eyes, in the way they moved. A light, a ghostliness that chilled him. Yes, there was something. What was it? Now they had all virtually stopped, many of them with their faces lifted a little higher as if scanning the horizon. And then it hit him, they were all so very pale, their lips blood-red, their eyes gleaming with something dark and feral. And his drink was metallic like copper. It can't be, he thought, suddenly appalled, a dawning horror creeping to the forefront of his mind. It can't be... But he knew, right then and there, just like he knew that he could drive those little beads back into Voldemort's wands. They were not like the depictions in his DADA textbooks, which featured wizened old hag-like creatures sneering and baring fangs at every chance they got. These were bloody teenagers. Teenagers whose sharp olfactory senses were orienting them towards Harry.

Crap, he thought. You are the biggest, dumbest, sodding human being on the planet. You have a destiny to hunt down the most feared, most powerful wizard left on the planet , and you're drinking blood at a vampire nightclub. Fuck. Ass.

Harry whipped out his wand so fast he could have been the Duke himself, and without thinking, he called memories of love and compassion, of friendship and warmth, of his last night with Ginny before he embarked on his little adventure with Dumbledore to the Riddle boy's special cave. he called them all with such force, seeing his array of enemies, just like third year, when he stared down a hundred dementors. He saw them and pointed his wand, saying, "Expecto patronum," in a soft but intense voice.

A giant stag, the largest one he had ever produced exploded in a shower of sparks from his wand, which seemed to barely be able to contain the force of all his memories flowing through it. The stag shot forward in a dazzling display, blinding all the lights, and, though Harry didn't realize it, disrupting all the electrical equipment, which began to fizzle and melt and finally explode in a shower of sparks and smoke. The vampires shrieked without fully understanding why, except that something intense and large and equine was bounding there way and it looked incredibly determined. Harry didn't stick around to see whether a Patronus did anything to vampires. he bolted fast and hard around the edge of the bar, wondering briefly why the kitchen had been on the opposite side. He bowled through a doorway and careened down a narrow hall lit with fluorescent bulbs, dimly aware that the door he had crashed through had not closed behind him. They were on his tail. He aimed the only spell he could think of behind him, crying out, "Petrificus Totalis!" without missing a beat. he was getting used to casting spells while he ran. There was a cry as people tripped over the paralyzed vampire. Harry would never know if that spell had given him the brief bit of time that saved his life, but he did know that when he made it to the fire exit, claws were mere inches from his skin. "Alohomora!" he cried, the door swinging open and letting him throw himself into the late afternoon light. It was still cloudy, but the rain had passed, though the fire escape on which Harry found himself was still slick with water. Without thinking twice, he hopped over the railing and continued dashing until he reached the main street. When he turned, there was nothing behind him. They hadn't followed, probably because he wasn't worth the effort for getting scalded by the sunlight. He remembered reading that indirect sun wasn't immediately lethal, but it still burned them. Thankful for that reprieve, Harry prepared himself to go home. he figured he should tell someone about this, but when he headed back, he remembered the blonde girl, and realized he had to still go help her.

Harry dashed down the alleyway to the main street, surprise briefly registering across his features at the sight of so many people trundling along the sidewalks. A thirties-style car chugged past at a rate much slower than Harry was used to seeing cars go. He didn't pay much mind to these things, however, because he was focused on that woman who he now assumed was a victim of vampires. At the very least he needed to check to see if she were bitten, not that he knew how, but certainly he would at least be able to help her. He was a wizard, after all.

But upon reaching the alleyway where he had found her, sliding a bit on the slick pavement, he saw to his dismay a tall, gaunt figure wrapped in a long black trench coat, which, if not for the buttons and a lapel, he would have mistaken immediately for wizard's robe. The figure, wearing a black, brimmed hat, and a silver tie, was holding her in his hands, which Harry could tell from the splash of blond hair hanging over one of his arms. He had a door open and was entering, though it was a door to the opposing building. "Hey!" Harry cried out, throwing abandon to the winds. He aimed his wand and shouted, "Stupefy!" A red beam of light arced toward the figure. Though his face was shrouded in shadow, Harry thought he saw his face screw into a scowl or possibly one of surprise. Harry's aim, as true as it was, missed, because the figure demonstrated uncanny speed, sidestepping the blast and disappearing into the doorway, which promptly shut behind him. Harry's spell harmlessly continued down the alley to some unknown destination.

Crap, he thought, miserably, what do I do now? He wasn't all too happy about chasing the mysterious figure into another building. For all he knew, it would be full of zombies or mummies or some other hideous dark creature. Harry wondered briefly if Hagrid thought werewolves were cute and cuddly.

Shrugging that thought off, Harry went after the pair. He was in Gryffindor for a reason. Again, Harry went down the alley, but by the time he got to the doorway, his attention was stolen by the sounds of approaching footsteps. What now, he wondered, turning to face whoever it was that was coming after him. It turned out that it was only one person, and she did indeed manage to steel all his attention. She had incredible honey-blonde hair, milk white skin, rich ruby red lips and Asian eyes. And those eyes, Harry noticed, were the same intense green of his own. Her legs were showing beneath a dusty rose coloured dress that hugged her curves in all too revealing ways, and a white rabbit fur coat was draped casually over her shoulders.

"Well, hello there," she said, in a charming, dulcet voice. "Where are you off to, big fella?"

Big fella? Harry wondered. He had never been called such a thing in his life and for good reason. He was as scrawny as they came. That immediately put him on edge. In particular, because she had the same drawl that Malfoy did and the same Slytherin look about her that made Harry think she was very good at being insincere. But it was getting harder for Harry to think, because she didn't seem to mind violating the borders of personal space and came very close to Harry, so that he could catch the scent of her perfumes - lilac, and the warmth of her body, which in turn made him warm.

Dimly, Harry was aware of the sound of people shouting from the main street, and the smell of something unpleasant, which Harry barely registered in the back of his mind as being burning hair.

"What's a girl like you doing out here?" Harry asked, trying to be forceful. Dammit, man, you have a job to do! There's women in distress. But Harry's body was having none of his heroics at that moment. there was a woman perfectly in distress right in front of him and he was inclined to explore that danger.

"I was out for a stroll, taking a break, you know, and there I saw you come bustling out of one dark corner and into another. I love dark corners, you see and with that most intense look in your eyes-" she paused there, staring up into his eyes, and sighed flutteringly, saying, "you have such lovely eyes. I just wanted to say hello." She stammered in all the right spots, her bosom heaving, her head turning down demurely for just a moment to signal submission.

Just like a snake, Harry thought, and with that he snapped out of it. He needed to find that person, and whoever this was, he had to send her away so he could cast magic. "Listen, um-"

Sensing her control slipping, she put one hand on his arm and sent her gaze sliding over his body, making sure he knew that she was approving, and then her eyes fell on his wand. "Oh my, is that some sort of weapon?" I couldn't help but see you drive that fellow away."

"Um, yes, I mean no," Harry said. "No, it's not a weapon. It's just something that belongs to me."

She smiled dazzlingly and took a tentative step forward. "I have a little place where I like to spend some time. Would you like to come take a walk with me. We could explore it together. You could show me some other things that belong to you."

Harry's mouth was so dry, his tongue was sticking to the roof. He felt as if he had no strength to speak and when she tugged, he felt himself walking with her, his face still looking like that of a rabbit's caught in a pair of headlights.

"Oy! Minnie!" called a burly fellow with too much facial hair for Harry's liking. Muscles bulged from underneath his very tight fitting t-shirt, which read: COME A LITTLE CLOSER AND SAY THAT. Harry thought briefly to himself, Whatever I say to that guy, I will certainly be sure to say from a distance.

"Oh Jack, it's you," Minnie said, with both a tinge of anticipation and of distaste. Harry felt an immediate pang of jealousy for this fellow already seemed to know her intimately. He could tell from their body language that they had learned to interact with one another closely.

"Who's this?" he asked, his voice taking on a very dangerous edge. It made Harry feel nervous, and he was extremely thankful that he had his wand in his hand. In some dark, highly intelligent part of his mind, he knew, without thinking about it, that it was a good thing he had been attacked by vampires too. The adrenalin in his veins was keeping him highly alert and able. He would not be caught unawares, and was able to expect anything - even magical things.

"Dunno," Minnie said, shrugging, "but he's a cutie."

Harry groaned inwardly. Is it too much to ask that I be permitted to survive? he wondered.

"A what?" the hulk asked, his voice turning into more of a growl. Harry tensed even further.

"You heard me, Jack," she said. "He's so... unruffled. And... petite."

Both men stood stock still for very different reasons. Jack, Harry dimly saw, had narrowed his eyes and was appraising Harry acutely. Harry, on the other hand, was still processing what this incredibly beautiful woman, who was everything that he could have wanted in a woman, as far as her body was concerned, had said about him. Cute? Okay, he was cool with that. Guys can be cute, he reasoned. Cute and masculine. Unruffled? Maybe. Certainly Harry didn't regard himself as unruffled, but he admitted he could have looked that way, his scars were all internal. Cute and unruffled... well, he could still retain his masculinity with those adjectives. But petite? That was just uncalled for. "Now hold on a second," Harry began, but his apparently petite voice was drowned out by the roar of Jack, who, to Harry's astonishment, punched the wall, leaving shattered bricks in his wake. His raging black eyes then fixated on Harry, who took a nervous step back. "Now, listen here," he began, trying and failing to keep his voice steady, "I didn't touch her. We're just friends. I'm sure we could work out something."

"AARGHH!" he bellowed. "BURNING'S TOO GOOD FOR YOU! HANGING'S TOO GOOD FOR YOU! I'm going to rip you into ITTY BITTY pieces and bury you alive!"

Damn, Harry thought, that doesn't sound good. Jack pounced, but, Harry, with his lightning reflexes, discharged a well-aimed stunner that struck Jack right in the torso, causing him to look down in disbelief. And then, to Harry's horror, he looked up and grinned. The Stunning Curse had struck home all right, evidenced by a large purple welt that was forming on Jack's chest. Unfortunately, that was the extent of his impairment.

"That's a mean taser, you got there kid, but it ain't goan' work on me." Jack bared his teeth again. Harry pursed his lips in concentration.

"Petrificus tot-" but Jack was too fast, and lifted Harry clean into the air by his throat with one hand, so that Harry was struggling to breathe. "And now I'm gonna ruffle you up a bit, eh? So you ain't so, how should I put this..." Jack seemed to think about this a moment, as if in religious prayer and then, lighting on the solution, brought from God no doubt, continued, "So you ain't so cute no more."

Harry heard Minnie cajoling big old Jack, her "muffin man" to let Harry go so she and Harry could go have a tryst together in one of the backrooms of the Red Cherry, which was a seedy bar across the street, apparently.

Harry put both his hands on Jack's massive forearm, struggling petitely, as it were, to replenish oxygen to his lungs. He wheezed out, "Please," as if that was going to help him fend off Jack.

"Jack!" another man called, this one named Stu, apparently, as Jack responded in an even, mildly friendly tone. "We got problems. Hey, whatcha doing here?" Stu stopped next to Jack and stared at Harry as if he were a still-life portrait, soon to be a still-dead one.

"This bloke I caught with Minnie," said Jack.

Stu scrutinized Harry for a moment. "You gonna kill him?" The matter-of-factness in Stu's tone made Harry's now oxygen-deprived brain lose what hope he had managed to hold on to.

"That was the plan."

"Seems a bit of a waste, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"We could use a runt like this in the club. You know, cleaning out the backrooms and stuff. Maybe even serving drinks."

"Can't trust him," said Jack, shaking his head.

"Come on, Jack. You know Minnie wouldn't bother with a squirt like him. Not seriously. You're letting her wind you up, and that ain't' cool. Can't let them think they have all the control you know."

"It ain't like that. He came on to her."

"You're so whipped, my friend," Stu slapped Jack jovially on the back.

Jack grunted at this last jibe and decided, reluctantly, to permit Harry to live. Harry proceeded to wheeze and cough and slide to the alleyway floor in a tangle of oversized clothes, under which he nearly disappeared. When he finally recovered enough to know he wasn't going to die, he tried to stand, only to discover his legs hadn't quite caught up with his head. Harry buckled and fell back onto his haunches, his vision still screwed into patches of fuzzy grey and dark light. He felt strong hands on his shoulders, lifting him up, and blearily, he thought Jack had had a change of heart and decided to finish him off, no thanks to Minnie, of course. But it was Stu, who, to Harry's surprise, was wearing an expression of mild concern. "Wasn't sure if I was gonna be able to save you there, kid."

Um, thanks," Harry said feebly, his voice not having regained its full strength.

"You'd best try to keep a low profile around these parts. Don't know how you got in here in the first place, but however you did it, you should probably go back."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "What place is that? The alley?"

Stu looked around. "You don't know?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I met this flock of-" he was about to say vampires, but thought better of it "-not so nice people, and they ran me through a building. Actually, it all started with a girl-"

Harry was cut short by Jack's booming voice. "Stu, you comin' or what?"

"Be there in a minute Jack," he called back, and then turned to Harry. "Listen, maybe you'd best come with me and take a break. I can set you up in one of the backrooms and you can have a lie down. Then we'll see about this flock of not so nice people and getting you home."

Harry didn't fully understand this kind of talk. Was Stu a drug addict? He had never met one before, so he couldn't appraise Stu properly in this regard, but Harry had heard his uncle talk enough times about them to know they were monsters that had acid for blood and sucked your souls. Not that Harry listened to his uncle on anything, but when you don't have your own reference point, it comes barreling into your mind anyway, as Harry knew rather well, living in two worlds and managing to be ignorant of both.

Harry let Stu guide him back to the main street and then across it. Harry now had time to take in his surroundings, which caused him to jerk out of Stu's grasp in pure, unadulterated shock. "Stu," Harry began, taking the sight in with his eyes and trying to process. "Stu, this-"

"Shh, kid, it ain't polite to stare." Stu ushered Harry onward.

The dreary downtown scene that Harry had walked along when following his little sailboat, which seemed strangely far away now, was gone. Replacing it was a screaming torrent of colours. The clouds that he had thought were grey were actually pale pinks and yellows and blues that only revealed themselves to be flashing neon when you looked directly at them. And the cars that were going by were all from the 1930's, having distinctly boxy and ornate looks that Harry had only seen cars have in old TV shows. And the people, they looked different somehow, though Harry couldn't quite place his fingers on it. At first, he wondered if they were all vampires, but that didn't seem right. They were walking around in the sun and not trying to eat him. Many of them did wear hats, however, and not baseball hats, but non-descript full-brimmed ones. All of them had their hands in their pockets, and Harry wondered if they were holding onto weapons just in case of an attack.

That brought Harry's mind full-circle, and he jerked out of Stu's hand again. "Hey, kid, we ain't gonna make it anywhere at this rate."

"I forgot something in the alleyway!" Harry said quickly. "I'll be back in a sec. I promise."

Stu looked dubious, but he also looked like he didn't have that much invested in the issue. "I'll wait a few minutes and if you've run off, well, I'll have just washed my hands of you then."

Harry nodded, "I'll be back right away." He bolted from Stu at top speed, wondering if his wand were still intact. He hadn't seen where it landed after Jack had started throttling him. To his immense relief, his wand was still there. He picked it up and held it reverently for a moment, letting that warm vibration course through him - that feeling of an electric pulse that told him he was a wizard. Harry considered ditching Stu and going in after the blonde, but, after a moment's hesitation, decided going with Stu was the smarter choice. He was a Gryffindor, but even he understood that discretion, sometimes, was the better part of valour.

"You really did come back," Stu mused. "Thought for sure you were just pulling my leg."

"No, sir," Harry said. "Really did drop something."

Stu nodded and then started walking. "As long as it was important."

"Very much so," Harry affirmed.

Stu chuckled. "Good to know kids these days still got priorities."

The Red Cherry was a rainbow coloured building that was trapezoidal in shape. Harry remembered seeing a Bank of England sign on that same building when he had been passing in what he was starting to think of as the "real" world. As he entered through an ornate main door into a dimly lit, posh looking lounge, he felt an electric tingle, run through him just briefly, as though there were a barrier that coincided with the threshold. He looked up at Stu quizzically to see if he would either comment on it or if his posture indicated that something were unusual. He received no acknowledgements on either front, and decided to focus on his surroundings. He had expected to see another dance club and had been pleasantly surprised that this place was not of that variety. There were a number of squashy leather sofas to one side, where people sat and chatted and drank from glasses that he guessed were supposed to hold expensive liquors. Along the far right wall were two bright sources of overhead lamps that shone down on pool tables. They were the most brightly lit part of the whole place. The second draw to the eyes was the bar, which was richly ornate and which shined of crystals, gleaming glasses hanging upside down, innumerable bottles of all manner of liquids and a deep, reddish brown oak countertop. The next thing Harry noticed was the young woman sitting at the bar, sipping some amber liquid and looking into space, obviously lost in her own world. Her hair was honey blonde, her skin soft, her form slender and accentuated by slim fitting clothing. He could see her feet dangling from the bar stool idly.

Before Harry could continue staring, however, Stu had dragged him into one of the backrooms. The initial smell of the place had been of tobacco and leather, but now, in the backroom, Harry was assaulted by the smell of dried urine.

Seeing that Harry was wrinkling his nose, Stu hastened to apologize. "There was nothing else really available. They're all, er, occupied and so, well, beggars can't be choosy, right?" Stu smiled and then said, "I'll be back in a bit. Why don't you settle down and perhaps try and take a nap. It might help calm your nerves. We have much to talk about, you and I.'

Harry nodded. "Sure, okay, thanks."

Stu left Harry to his own devices. He wasn't sure if he was prepared to touch the bed, though it looked clean enough. It was at least made. The room was otherwise bare except for a night table, which proved to be empty save for a pen and a pad of paper. If Harry had been more observant, he would have noticed that the telephone and address information listed on the header of each page of the paper was screwy, but as he was actually rather fatigued from his magical exertions, the adrenalin having departed from his system, he decided to throw caution to the winds and crawl onto the soft, microfibre double bed. Any illusions of sleeping, however, were shattered, because, not two minutes after Harry got comfortable, the faint sounds of moaning and beds creaking and soon thumping and raucous screaming could be heard through the thin wood walls..

"Oh Jack!" a distinctly familiar female voice cried, in her uniquely dulcet drawl.

"Baby, baby, baby..." groaned an all too familiar male baritone. "You're killing me, oh, baby! Yeah."

"Yeah, harder, oh god, oh god, Jack, fuck, fuck fuck, fuck..."

Harry buried his head under his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as if it could block out the images that the sounds were bringing to life in his mind. Most of all, and to his dark shame, he wished he were the one taking Minnie to the heights of ecstasy as she was proclaiming that Jack was doing.

"... oh, Jack, you're taking me to the heights of ecstasy. The heights of fucking, ecstasy. Oh-"

There was the distinct groan of two people climaxing in unison. And, when Harry thought they must have all been spent, he heard Minnie say, "Oh, tell me you're ready again, baby." And so, Harry proceeded to search for an object with which to puncture his tympanic membranes and end his misery.

So much was his mounting frustration, that he didn't hear the door creak open, and so much was his head under the pillow and eyes squeezed shut, that he didn't see the figure approach to the side of his bed. His sense of touch, however, was still functioning, so when this stranger sat down on the bed, he felt the shift in its shape.

""My," a woman said, her voice soft and curious and youthful. "Are you trying to suffocate yourself? I could maybe help by getting you a plastic bag."

"I would settle for earplugs," Harry said, his voice coming through muffled as he spoke into the bed.

"Hmm," said the woman, I'm afraid I can't help you there."

"Harry through the pillow off and looked up at the soft, lineless face of the young woman who had been sitting at the bar. "Hi," Harry said, staring up at her face. She was lovely, he knew. Not drop dead gorgeous like Minnie, but soft and so expressive were her dark eyes that Harry felt enthralled. And this time, he did not feel like a rabbit caught in headlights; he felt happy to be drinking in her features; again those eyes were captivating. She wore an unobtrusive gold chain around her neck. There was something mature and yet young and innocent about her; and Harry knew she was not the type of girl to fawn over just anyone or to throw herself at a man's will for good sex. At the same time, she was sleek and feline and had a body that aroused him just fine.

"Hi yourself," she said.

"Er," Harry began, feeling as though he should say something, anything, preferably a witty or charming comment. Instead he managed to stammer a bit, gurgle even and then add, as an afterthought, "I'm lost."

She smiled knowingly and suddenly her eyes lost whatever small bit of happiness twinkled within them and she took on a slightly sad expression. It was the one he had seen on her previously, when she had been sitting at the bar. He had thought she was just spaced out, but now, upon closer inspection, there was something there - a pain, a persistent memory that haunted her. Harry felt an instinctive push to take her in his arms and hold her, to tell her everything was going to be all right, but he was rational enough not to try and molest a strange woman on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar world. Instead, he sat up, puffing out his pillow to use it as a backrest. "So do you come here often?" he asked, deciding to start small and work his way up to the big stuff.

She shrugged. "I have friends in the neighbourhood." She let out a little laugh at this, as though sharing some internal joke that Harry was not part of. "I come here and drink once in awhile, yes."

"Do you know Stu?"

She nodded. "He's a friend of mine."

"and Jack?"

"Acquaintances," she murmured.

Harry nodded, suddenly very much out of conversation topics. I could ask her what her favourite colour is, he thought, or maybe her name. Yes, her name. That's a good one.

"It's Kittie," she answered, reading his mind.

Harry tensed, having been reminded again that he was not in Kansas anymore. "Did you read my mind?"

Kittie looked surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, that sadness creeping to the forefront of her expression. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Harry had been about to chastise her for it, but now, seeing her berate herself, all he wanted to do was apologize. "It's okay," he said. "I just, I don't like people being in my head. Do you mind?"

"No, I won't. I'm sorry, er, Harry, it just comes out sometimes. Sometimes people radiate their thoughts and I can't help it. I just feel them, and it's so natural, these days. And with you especially."

Me especially? he wondered.

"Yes, you-" she said, then stopping, tensing herself. "Oh, I'm sorry. I did it again. I'm really sorry, Harry."

"S'okay," he assured her. "Maybe I don't mind that much. As long as I can trust you." did I really just ask her if I can trust her? he thought.

"Of course you can trust me, Harry," she said softly. "When you first stepped into the joint, I felt you. You were radiating something I had never come across before. You were like a beacon. I'm not surprised Minnie went after you. You're just spilling psychic pheromones all over the place."

"You know about that?" Harry asked.

Kittie nodded. "I could tell from the way Jack stormed in. I assume Stu saved your life."

Harry nodded. "Does Jack get in those rages often?"

Kittie smiled a wan smile. "When Minnie's been out of his sight for more than thirty seconds, yeah."

Harry smiled. "It does seem he needs to keep an eye on her." Harry considered for a moment and then his eyes widened. "Wait a sec, does that mean she can read my mind too?"

"Oh no," Kittie said. "It's just me as far as I know. But she... she's a sex magnet. Guys flock to her because she discharges all these pheromones, psychic and physical, and she can control how much she issues. She has a talent for what you might call sex appeal. She must have recognized you as a kindred spirit. Couldn't help herself, I guess."

"Are you telling me I have some sort of secret power of sex appeal?" Harry asked, suddenly appalled.

"Kittie nodded.

"Oh," he said in a small voice. "That's kind of embarrassing."

Kittie laughed genuinely at that. "You'll get used to it, I think."

"I suppose I will," Harry said ruefully. "Just have to learn to fend off the ladies."

"Not just the ladies, you know," Kittie said, now in a mischievous tone.

Harry took a second to clue in. "Oh no!" he exclaimed, sitting up right. "no way! I really don't swing that way, thank you very much."

Kittie laughed again. "It wouldn't be so bad, would it? You could have gotten yourself out of Jack's death grip."

Harry gaped at her, speechless, but Kittie merely sat there, enjoying herself immensely.

Right, Harry thought. Time to shift the focus of this conversation.

"So where am I, exactly?" he asked. Harry glanced around, as if he could point to one of the nonexistent objects in his room to illustrate his point.

Kittie's brow creased as she thought, and Harry wondered if he perhaps shouldn't have asked. He had thought that maybe Stu had sent her in here to explain things to him, but it was starting to look like that wasn't the case. She may not know or want to talk about worlds and such, he mused. "We don't have to talk about that, if you don't want to," Harry said in his most gentle tone. "I can-"

"What's it like?" she asked suddenly. 'Up there, I mean? Where you come from?"

Harry was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. It made him wonder if she had never crossed over to that side before, though she clearly knew about it. Fringe worlds always knew about the main one, he thought, and then it made him wonder which world she was talking about. He was willing to assume that she was referring to the Muggle world, but what did he really know about that place? His family? His street? He could count the number of times he left Privet Drive (excluding magical excursions), on one hand.

"It's cold," he said suddenly, realizing as he said it that he meant it. "I'm sure some places are warm, but where I am, it's cold."

"I wasn't talking about the weather, Harry," Kittie said admonishingly.

"Neither was I," he countered. Harry then tore his gaze from her and stared off into the darkness of the far corner, where he could just barely make out cockroaches climbing the walls. "It's a place where nobody's your friend. Not even your own family. They all follow these rules, you see, and no one cares a bit about what's under the rules. They all protect their own kind, and they only bother to find out about your life if they want something or if they want to take advantage of you. If you're lucky, others won't even notice you at all. But only if you're lucky." Harry looked down, feeling that what he said was true. More astonishingly, it did not come from a place of hurt or anger. It was a cold assessment of Privet Drive and Little Whinging, and to some extent, the wizarding world. He had wondered more than once whether his life would have been worth protecting if there hadn't been that prophecy. Would Dumbledore have sent Hagrid to collect him from Godric's Hollow? What of all the other orphaned babies that were out there? Did they all have bodyguards from the age of one? No, probably not. It just wasn't worth the resources, no matter how much your heart went out to them. Dumbledore couldn't protect everyone, so he protected the ones that were important. Harry, in any other year, would have gotten angry at Dumbledore, but now, with him being dead, Harry both admired and pitied him. It was a hard life when you had to choose between bad and more bad, and when people knocked you down no matter what you did. And when you felt so much.

"Harry?" Kittie asked, in a tentative voice. She put a hand on his leg to get his attention.

Harry's head snapped to attention at the sound of her voice and the feel of her warm hand through his trousers. Immediately, he was engulfed in her intense gaze, once again drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek, which was soft and warm and so wonderful to the touch that Harry wanted more of it.

but Kittie pulled away. "Don't," she said in a crisp voice that had a distinct edge to it.

"Don't what?" he asked softly, without any irritation, his hand falling limply to his side.

"You're jacking up the pheromones. I can sense it. I-" she hesitated, clearly unwilling to continue that thought.

But Harry persisted, now both intrigued and panicked that he would lose this amazing woman, who was also his friend. "You what, Kittie?" Harry asked, a humble plea in his voice.

"I can't resist that kind of assault," she said. "it's cruel of you."

Kittie's words hit Harry like a sledgehammer. He recoiled visibly, his face ashen, a look of horror and pain, shame and guilt entwining themselves into his features. "Kuh-kuh-kittie, I'm ssuh-suh-sorry... I didn't know..."

"It's okay, Harry," she said, but her posture remained stiff. "Just, turn it down."

"I - I don't know how," he said feebly, looking down, suddenly embarrassed again.

"You don't know how?"

"I told you; I never knew I even could do such a thing," he said, a bit defensively.

"Oh."

"Maybe if we talked about other things. Business-like things, you know?"

Kittie seemed doubtful. 'I guess so."

"I bet it just rises when I look at you, because-" Harry paused, appalled that he was going to say it, but feeling helpless to stop the oncoming train that was his emotions. "-because you're so beautiful, and it feels like you're the one dishing out all these pheromone things and I just want to drown in them."

There was a long silence following Harry's confession. He wanted to rip his hair out and run screaming from the room, preferably naked, just to add some salt to the wound that was his humiliation. Kittie did not seem particularly impressed by his sentiment, probably because she got it a lot. She was beautiful after all.

"You're so sweet," she said softly, cupping her hand around his cheek. Great, Harry muttered mentally to himself. I'm cute, unruffled, petit and sweet. Just call me a puffsgain.

"What's a puffskain?" Kittie asked curiously.

"It's a cute, fuzzy little animal," Harry explained. "Good for all kinds of things, not that I can really remember any of them. I dropped care of ma-" he paused, mentally kicking himself and then continuing, "Care of Creatures."

Kittie either didn't notice his backtracking or didn't comment on it. But before Harry could breathe a sigh of relief, she narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him like one might study a venomous cobra that had just had its fangs removed. "You're hiding something from me," she said softly, her eyes piercing his.

Harry was all too reminded of so many nightmare inducing legilimancy lessons with Snape that he mentally recoiled, raising whatever meager occlumancy skills he had managed to gain from his time with the former potions master.

Kittie seemed surprised, leaning back and staring at Harry quizzically. She studied him in silence for a long time, Harry not sure what she was looking for. He wasn't even sure if his occlumancy shields had done anything, since she probably wasn't even using legilimancy. Moreover, she was used to reading people's minds and he doubted his pitiful little shields could have deflected her so easily.

But then she said, "You stopped radiating thoughts and emotions. It's like you just shut down."

Those words made sense in a rational way to Harry, but there was something ominous about hearing that you shut down your mind, so he wasn't inclined to be happy about it. he concentrated, thinking about what he had done to do such a thing, when she exclaimed, "Oh, you're back!" Harry screwed up his face in further concentration. "You're trying to figure out what you did," she mused.

"Yeah," he said. "That was the idea."

"Have you gotten any thoughts about it?"

Harry shook his head. "I suppose I can try what I did before."

"Okay," she said. "This could be interesting."

Harry centered his mind on a non-descript grey fog, and then proceeded to fade it away until there was nothing. He then felt the familiar compartmentalization of his mind that signaled occlumancy.

"Oh, you did it again!" she said, now more enthusiastically. "Harry, how are you doing that? There's not a peep coming out of you!"

He shrugged. "Don't know." That was a bald-faced lie, but he wasn't sure he was prepared to divulge the whole wizarding thing.

"You're lying to me," she said, and Harry thought he heard a bit of hurt in her tone.

"I'm sorry," he confessed, still maintaining his mental shields. "I don't want to, Kittie, but it's probably safer if you don't know some things." Harry winced even as he said those words. He was all too aware of how it made him sound like some kind of covert international spy. Or at least, a teenage boy who was cute and petite and trying to pretend he was a covert international spy, but Kittie seemed to just think about it and then nod in acceptance. "I trust you, Harry," she said finally.

Harry's stomach decided at that moment to begin gurgling a protest of hunger. "Um," Harry began, but Kittie put up a hand to silence him.

"It's getting to be the dinner hour. Come on and let's go get some food." Kittie stood and extended one delicate hand for Harry, who took it and jumped off the bed, reflexively touching his wand, which was stuff through a belt loop on his trousers, which he used as a makeshift holster. He figured Moody would have been proud that Harry was observing elementary wand safety, and not sticking his wand in his back pocket, where it could easily blow off a chunk of his buttocks.

The main hall of the Red Cherry had filled up quite a bit since his arrival. The din had risen to a comfortable murmur, not so loud as to be irritating, the way it got in fast food places, but the way it was delicate and just reminded you enough that you were in a posh and very still very popular establishment. Kittie and Harry took a seat at one corner, which, to Harry's mild irritation, gave them a good view of Minnie and Jack, who were sitting nestled together in a booth, Minnie practically crawling all over Jack's legs. Humph, Harry thought irritably. I'm the one who's spitting out pheromones like a bloody hosepipe. Harry then quickly checked to make sure his occlumancy shields were in place. He didn't want Kittie reading thoughts like that.

Kittie brought Harry out of his musings by handing him a menu and opening hers. "They do seafood and steaks really well here. It's that sort of place. I would stay away from their vegetarian options. They're actually designed to scare those kinds of people away."

"Harry wasn't sure what kind of people Kittie was referring to, but he didn't think it had anything to do with her world specifically, as he had often heard his uncle Vernon talk in that same way about many different types of people, and he could recall his uncle referring to vegetarians as those types as well. "I think I'll go with the steak," Harry said. He wasn't particularly fond of steak, but it seemed like the posh thing to do and a place like the Red Cherry might be able to do it better than the elves at Hogwarts.

A clean cut, dark haired young man came up to their table, and he greeted Kittie enthusiastically. "Well look at you!" he exclaimed.

"Marv!" Kittie cried out, jumping to her feet and giving Marv a hug. Harry looked up to see who this new person was. Harry first caught sight of his clean black shoes, which shined like the slick chrome of a black sedan, and his midnight black pants, straight cut and betraying not a wrinkle. He also wore a clean button-up dress shirt, which was tucked in and belted, so that it was clear he was lean and able-bodied. But for all that, Harry did not care. His eyes fell on Marv's face, and it was all Harry could do to keep his mouth shut, and to keep from hexing Marv with the most severe litany of curses he could muster. His dark hair and black eyes, his smooth, boyish features that made him dishy to all the girls, the arrogance burbling beneath the surface of that calm, sometimes hesitant facade. Harry felt a chill run through him quite unrelated to the weather. Without realizing it, he had dropped his shields, and discovered that both Kittie and Marv were looking at him. Marv had his hand extended in greeting, seemingly oblivious of Harry's dismay, and, if Harry had been able to tear his eyes away from Tom - no Marv, he thought - to see Kittie, she would have seen shock and concern written across her face. She was reading Harry like a book.

"Harry, it's not polite to stare." That jolted him out of his reverie, and he quickly shook Marv's hand, smiling forcibly and saying, "nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Marv said, but Harry heard the dangerous hiss beneath his words. Whether it was because he was protective of Kittie or because he was a psychopath, Harry knew not. "Any friend of Kittie's is a friend of mine."

"Thanks," Harry said, feigning sincerity.

"So, what can I get for the two of you this evening?" Marv asked, turning his attention to the pair.

"I don't know just yet, Marv," Kittie was saying, having returned to her menu. "Maybe a chardonnay, to start. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry looked at her, but she was keeping her face resolutely planted in the menu. "Er, yeah. That sounds nice."

"Okay, then," Marv nodded, sensing a tension somewhere. "I'll come back with something house, let's say, and you can try it."

"Oh, you know it'll be wonderful," Kittie said, giving him a quick glance and her dazzling smile.

Marv nodded and then disappeared into the throng of people that were bustling back and forth, delivering drinks. Harry watched him go, waiting for him to slip into the darkness, to blend into the shadow where he would be undetected. When he turned his gaze back to Kittie, he saw that her expression was extremely pained. Her face had taken on lines from stress or fatigue or some other unpleasantness, which, to Harry, made her so much prettier somehow, even though it broke his heart and he knew he had to fix that troubled look in her eyes.

"Kittie?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Are - are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Harry."

Those three simple words in response told him very clearly that she was not fine, however, his inexperienced, teenage addled brain had always had extreme difficulty in dealing with women when they closed up like this. Boys usually just didn't bother talking about it, but girls always seemed to expect something, and Harry had never quite figured out what that something was.

The dinner conversation only seemed to go downhill from there, their conversation having turned stilted and prosaic, until, finally, after Kittie managed to eat only a few bites and swirl her jambalaya about a hundred times, she simply said, "I'm not feeling so well. I think I'd better go have a lie down somewhere. Harry, I had a nice time. I hope you have good luck getting back to your home."

Kittie stood abruptly, and Harry did also, knocking his chair back in the process. "Kittie, wait, please," he said, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please, I know something is wrong. I know that. Please, just tell me what it is I've done. Did I say something? Have I offended you?" Harry was busy racking his brain for an answer to one of those questions, because he knew girls never answered those kinds of questions, and so it was a futile hope asking anyway. He had just hoped that maybe his own unerring humility would shine through and she would take pity on him. But she didn't.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I have to go." And with that, Kittie put as much distance between herself and him as she could manage, leaving Harry to stand dejectedly amidst the tinkling of wine glasses and soft conversation.

Without being aware, someone righted his chair and then slapped Harry on the back. "Oy, Harry, it's me, Jack."

The tone of that voice and that horrible name, which had earlier inspired terror in him drew him back to the present. "Jack!" Harry exclaimed in a very high octave. Harry whipped around to face him.

"so you're after our Kittie, are you?" Jack asked, baring his teeth in what Harry thought must have been one of the most menacing grins in all of Britain.

"Jack, I swear, it's not what it looks like," Harry began, perspiration beading on his forehead.

"Don't you worry," jack said, "If Kittie's what you want, mate, Jack can help you out there. See's I know a thing or two about women." Jack put his arm around Harry's shoulder and began giving Harry some profoundly horrid advice about the birds and the bees. Harry smiled and listened half-heartedly, his heart sinking lower and lower, that feeling that he would never see Kittie again causing his insides to churn. He had only known her for an hour, but it seemed there would always be a Kittie-sized hole in his heart.

To Harry's deep appreciation, Stu, came and saved him from Jack's clutches yet again. "Harry, I think it's coming time we have a little chat about your situation, don't you think?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "Very much so, Stu."

"jack, if you'll excuse us. I think I saw Minnie going after that redhead anyway, so you might want to look into it."

Jack's amicable expression turned to one of lusting rage, and he merely said in his quiet, but deadly voice, "That so, Stu. Well, we'll just as see about that."

Stu nodded and let Jack go before Steering Harry to the bar.

"Don't worry about dinner, Harry. Consider it my gift for the evening."

"Thanks, Stu."

"No problem. Unfortunately, I won't be able to do that for you again. The establishment has its rules and there's a lot of patronage around here that I have to dispense."

"I understand."

The two of them took a seat at the bar and Stu ordered them each a gin and tonic. Stu waited until the two glasses were set before them, and then he succinctly plucked the olive that had been laid in his drink and popped it in his mouth. he downed the glass in one shot and then called for another. When he was midway through his second, he began. "I would have come earlier, but I didn't want to interrupt your little dinner date. It looks like Kittie was quite taken with you."

Harry scowled, and stared into the clear depths of his drink, mumbling something rather incoherent about the date not going that well.

Stu raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. "My young apprentice, it's not all as it seems. Very few people can get a rise out of her. She's been very depressed since she got here. Beautiful and depressed, and let me tell you, there've been a hundred guys before you who've all tried to woo her, to take her mind off her troubles and not a single one has succeeded. Not until tonight that is. She may have been depressed, kid, but for the first time, she was depressed about you and not anything else. And that's a miracle in and of itself."

Despite himself, Harry perked up noticeably at Stu's words. "Really? "

Stu nodded.

"Do you think I'll be able to see her again?"

Stu shrugged. "She's always in here, so it wouldn't be a surprise. You'd have to do something pretty amazing to keep her away, at any rate."

That made Harry wonder where she lived. Maybe she was on Privet Drive in some alternate version. That would be brilliant, he thought. She could even be sleeping in my bedroom. So he asked, "Where does she live?"

"Live?" Stu asked, furrowing his brow. "Listen kid, you gotta understand something about this place. We don't exactly live here. We just come to pass the time."

"I don't understand."

"Some of us come from your world, others from other places. Where you are, the Red Cherry, is part of a strip of territory that's maybe eight blocks long and three blocks wide. There's portals to other places that go here and there. You found one and now you've arrived. People travel all over the place, content to wander."

Harry nodded. "So it's like we're on an island or something. And there's these bridges that jump you from island to island."

"Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. And there's lots of islands. Hell, there's probably a dozen different islands right on this here spot. You just can't get to them. At least, not always."

"Not always?" Harry didn't like the sound of that."

"That's right," Stu went on. "You know, it's funny. You ain't the first to come by this way, but you've definitely taken it better than most. Most, in fact, get scared shitless and try and kill themselves. That or they go half-cocked out into the night and get attacked."

"Attacked?" Harry asked.

"That's right."

"Like I did."

"Yeah, yeah." Stu agreed. "I guess you were pretty lucky."

That made Harry wonder what kind of things were out there that could attack you. He was certain that his spells worked just fine, and that, when it came to Jack, there was something about him that shrugged off the spell. It was like he had giant's blood in him. Harry doubted he were a half-giant, because Hagrid was much bigger, but maybe a quarter-giant or something smaller. "Jack's not entirely human, is he?" Harry asked.

Stu was in the middle of downing his third glass when Harry had spoken, causing him to slam it down and splutter. he glanced at Harry shrewdly. "That's a bit of a leap, isn't it, kid?"

Harry shrugged. "I saw him smash bricks with his hand. It takes superhuman strength to do that, I figure. I could have asked if it were magic, but then I remembered how it is I got there." That was all true enough, he thought, and he supposed that letting on the vampires thing was harmless at this stage. "You see, those not so nice people that chased me - I'm pretty sure they were vampires. Pale skin, blood-drinking, feral eyes. Fast and heightened senses and all that. Oh and scared of sunlight."

Stu looked at him thoughtfully."Vampires, you say? Can't say I've ever run across one of those, but I have heard of them. Rumours only though. Wouldn't do us too good to get an infestation."

"They were all teenagers and it was in a nightclub setting. Actually, the building we were next to when you found me."

Stu nodded, still contemplating. Then he spoke, "We do monitor these gateways, you see. It's important for business. Also, given what's all out there, you can never be too sure what's going to show up, and we'd like to be prepared."

With that last comment, Harry thought of something. "The tingle I felt when we walked in. Is that another portkey?"

"Portkey?"

"Sorry, I meant gateway."

"Right, yes, yes it is. But it's inactive. Or, at least, we can control its activity. That's very clever of you for catching on. We might have a use for a bright kid like you around here."

"Can you get me back?" Harry asked.

Stu shrugged. "Not me. Not anyone here, I think. The gates just come and go, though when they stay, they do stay for awhile."

"How do I know where a gate will lead me?" Harry asked, starting to get concerned. This gateway business was starting to sound rather chancy.

Stu shook his head. "I ain't no traveller, kid. I stay put and that's the way I like it."

Harry sighed tiredly. "This isn't sounding good," Harry muttered.

"It never is, it never is," Stu agreed. "That's why it would have been better for you to head back through the gateway right away, but I don't think that's completely safe anymore.

"So what now then?" Harry asked.

"You've got two choices. There's a gate at the end of the road, and you can chance it to wherever you end up, or you can stay here and have another drink and make a bit of a life for yourself. At least for the time being. Maybe something'll come up."

Harry pursed his lips. This really wasn't sounding good. He had to get back. At least by the time his birthday rolled around. It didn't matter much until then, since he would be stuck at his aunt's place anyway. But then people were going to start going spare looking for him. Hell, he thought, it'll probably happen in about ten days time, when I haven't responded to make plans for my departure from Little Whinging. So that was it then. he had to find a way out of his predicament soon. He wondered if he had left his window open for Hedwig, and then shook the thought from his head. It would be better if she could stay out. He didn't know if his aunt and uncle would bother taking care of her otherwise, and he was glad suddenly that she was so independent and stayed out most of the time. He was also glad he had just sent letters off the previous morning to Ron and Hermione. That would appease them a bit longer. As much as he wanted their assistance in getting out of this mess, he doubted if they would figure out what had happened, so it was just better that they didn't try. He supposed if Dumbledore were around, that they might have had a chance. Dumbledore always had a few tricks up his sleeve. It was one of those incredibly annoying things about him, Harry realized, and one of the things that made everyone trust him implicitly. It always seemed he had information that others didn't. And isn't that what Professor McGonagall had said? He was always so confident of Snape, that it seemed like he had an iron-clad reason to trust the bastard. Harry shook himself free of his thoughts and asked Stu where he would be sleeping for the night.

"You can take the backroom," Stu said. "That's all we've got. Tomorrow though, you're going to have to find some work or some money. No stealing though. We can probably wrangle something here, or you can try one of the shops down the road. Just don't stray too far or you might not come back."

"Gotcha," Harry said. "I think I'd rather stay here, but I wouldn't mind looking around also."

Stu nodded knowingly. "There wouldn't happen to be a reason of the female persuasion that would cause you to stick around here, would there?"

Harry blushed and then, as if shrugging it off like it were nothing, downed the rest of his gin and stood. "Listen, Stu-"

"you're beat, kid. Go on. I'll find you your work in the morning. It'll be menial stuff, but it'll get you by, and you'll have lots of nice meals for your troubles. I've been to a lot of places in my time, and this here is one of a kind."

Harry smiled, thanked Stu and disappeared into his backroom. And, so there began Harry's adventure.

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A/N: Minnie's talent of sex appeal was taken right out of Piers Anthony's novel "Castle Roogna", third book in the Xanth series, which I read when I was twelve years old. There was a character named Millie who had that same talent.

"Hanging's too good for you! Burning's too good for you! I'm going to rip you into itty bitty pieces and bury you alive!" - Taken from Heavy Metal, the animated film. (The trial scene).

Some of you may be asking the question, "What in God's name is going on?" You would be very right to ask that question. All I can say is that I promise there will be Dark Lords and Death Eaters and Diagon Alley and Hogwarts and all the rest of it. Also, Harry-lovers should be warned that a third of this fic is from Ron and Hermione's POV. There will also be an influx of new stuff, if this chapter is any indication. If you don't like new stuff, then this fic probably isn't right for you.

Pairings for those of you who care:

Ron/Hermione

Neville/Luna

Katie Bell/ Terry Boot

I won't tell you who Harry shacks up with, nor will I tell you who Ginny shacks up with. All I'll say is that this is not a Harry/Ginny story, so be warned, all you H/G shippers.