CHAPTER FIVE

A/Note: Oh how it's been so long, sorry bout that! Been terribly busy, but now I have a bit more time on my hands.

Harry tossed and turned in his sleep, the first nightmare since the end of the War. He dreamed a white room, where he couldn't move, couldn't even blink. A hideous smile, curling at the mouth, telling him just to sit still, and it would all be over soon. A jolt of electricity---He screamed.

When he awoke he was drenched in sweat, and his scar was burning. It hurt so much more now that it was fresh, after ceasing to bother him for five years. It ripped at his flesh, and he stumbled out of bed, looking for something to distract him. Desperate for a drink of water, he entered the bathroom, and saw with amazement… he looked just as he did five years ago. A seventeen-year-old Harry James Potter stared back at him in awe. Rubbing his eyes, he turned off the water faucet and pulled back the dark hair on his forehead. He saw the fire in his skin, and marveled through the pain. Why was it hurting? Voldemort had died.

"He's dead. Voldemort's dead!" He said out loud, in a hoarse voice. It pleased him to hear it. He left the bathroom, and walked down the hall to the small kitchen, and saw that it was barely three in the morning. His thoughts wandered to Draco. How was he faring? Had he slept? Was he in pain? He pushed those thoughts to the back corner of his mind. They would not help him. Now, he had to work. He had less than three hours with which to work.

Think like Hermione, Think like Hermione…

The midmorning watchman was a young Unspeakable named Drew. Funny how all the Unspeakables were D's this year. Last year they'd been E's, and next year they'd be F's. Drew had long since forgotten his real name, and in any case, he no longer needed it. He had a job to do, and it was the most fulfilling one he could ever achieve. Today, there was to be an execution. One of the D.E's had failed to give any more information, and expense could not be spared to keep him alive. It was Drew's job to oversee the process, to make sure it happened in absolute secrecy. Of course, he would not be the one to actually fire the Avada Kedavra spell, no, that Unspeakable would come later in the morning. He did not know which one of his colleagues had been assigned this job, and it was best that he know nothing but his own duty. That duty was to sit at his post and watch the magically-enhanced screens, watch the screens, watch the---.

He knew no more.

Harry knew he had to act quickly. There was no way of telling when the next Unspeakable would arrive for duty, so he had to move fast. He stripped down this Unspeakable mercilessly, and dressed him again in his own clothes. Next, he plucked three hairs from his unconscious head and opened the flask tied around his neck. As he inserted the hairs, the bubbling liquid turned neon green. He drank it, and to his amazement, it had no taste whatsoever. Trying not to be distracted, he finished dressing and picked up the unconscious head once more. This time he drew his wand across the forehead, from temple to temple, and murmured, "Sacarmiyonus". Thank Merlin, it worked, and a thin sliver of silver thread wound its way from the Unspeakable's cranium. Harry took hold of the thread—of the memories—and placed it gently inside his own. With a shock he recollected the new memory; Draco Malfoy was to be executed in less than five minutes.