Along Came Lily

Chapter 1

Author notes :

Disclaimer : The following work is not for profit. All recognisable characters, situations and locations belong to JK Rowling. This is my attempt to get them out of my system. This disclaimer holds for all the chapters in the story and any other story that I might have written in the Harry Potter fandom.

In this chapter, a few excerpts have been directly used from 'Prisoner of Azkaban'. All these chunks have been put in italics.

Please do leave a review. Thank you for reading.

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It was nearly one o' clock in the morning. Harry was lying on his stomach in his bed at Number 4, Pivet Drive. His History of Magic book was propped open on his pillow in front of him with a parchment atop it. The topic on the parchment read, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century was completely pointless - Discuss".

Harry chewed on his quill's once-feathered side as he considered the one paragraph that he had managed to write down for his summer homework. History was just so mind-numbingly boring and their professor, a ghost, seemed as unable to move on beyond the goblin wars as beyond life. He wondered how Hermione managed to be so enthusiastic about History. She had written to him from her vacation in France that she was rewriting her entire essay to include some local French legends that she had researched and found.

Wait a minute! He knew just what to do! He would say that he had found some legends as well from, say, Hungary. He had been on the first page of the chapter for the past 3 hours without any progress whatsoever. There was no point in wasting any more of his time trying to read the chapter. Anyway, it was too late in the night and his eyes were itching with tiredness. He would just complete the rest of the essay as and when the new 'legends' came to his mind. It's not like Professor Binns was going to go out or contact someone to actually check the facts. Having made up his mind, he gathered his books and quill and all the other magical knick-knacks lying around to hide them back under the loose board on his floor, under his bed. Stretching, he wondered if Binns ever went anywhere other than his classroom and the staff room. Did he still have his own chambers to go to after the classes or did he sleep in the staff room itself? For that matter, did ghosts sleep at all? It wasn't like they would get tired and sleepy, or did they? And what did Binns do in the summer when there were no students to drone on and on at, in an attempt to kill by lecturing?

All thoughts of Binns and ghosts disappeared and his spirits rose the moment he looked outside of his window to find Hedwig flying overhead in loopy circles. Seeing Harry at the window, Hedwig abandoned her lazy loops to dive down in a steep descent, almost as if she had been shot down. She very nearly touched the ground and then swerved back up equally dramatically to fly up to Harry. If only Harry could replicate that on his broom.

"Show off!" He reprimanded her fondly once she had landed on his stretched out hand. He stroked her soft feather with a finger before untying the roll from her leg. She flew off to her cage while Harry opened the envelope. It was from Hogwarts. There were three parchments inside it.

"Whoo!" Hedwig hooted in displeasure from her cage. Harry immediately shushed her, alarmed and then waited with bated breath. When no sign of anyone waking up came for the next few minutes, he sighed in relief.

"I know, I know," he whispered to Hedwig, rolling his eyes. He knew she did not like anyone touching her cage. "How dare I touch your cage to clean it and put in fresh water? So sorry!"

He ignored her baleful look in the favour of the three parchments. The first one was an official letter from Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress and his Head of House, Professor McGonagall, with details of the train to Hogwarts. It also informed him that third years were permitted to go to Hogsmeade on certain weekends if they were permitted to do so by their guardians. The second parchment was a list of books that he would need for his third year at Hogwarts and the third parchment was the permission slip, which he was supposed to get signed by either his Uncle or his Aunt.

His mood plummeted as he realised how slim a chance he had to get that permission from his guardians. Had they had their way, they would not have let him attend Hogwarts. Going to visit an all wizarding village was out of the question. Hedwig's eyes followed him as he went back to his bed, dejected, and drifted to sleep.

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The next morning, Harry was still wondering about how to get the permission slip signed as he moved all the flower pots from inside to the sun and watered them.

Maybe, if he asked Aunt Petunia when she was in a really good mood? No. Nothing could sour her mood faster than a reminder of his 'freakishness'. He remembered, when he had been younger, she used to spend a lot of her time gardening and he had thought that if he helped her in the garden, she would be pleased. So, every day, when Dudley was out in the park, he would join her and she would even let him, teaching him to weed and water and prune and replant and about sun and shade and plants. But then, one day, he had bloomed a flower for her. She had never gardened again.

Aunt Petunia was never going to sign the slip. She hated magic with a vengeance. She had been dead set against his going to Hogwarts and would definitely not 'permit' him to go to a magical village.

That left Uncle Vernon, who lived to make Harry miserable and Harry knew that his Uncle would refuse signing for no other reason than that Harry had requested him to sign it. It was not even eight in the morning and he was already depressed.

He shook his head and went in to the breakfast table. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were already seated. Harry took a couple of toasts onto a plate and started eating, paying only half a mind to the report on the new television. It had been specifically fitted in front of the dining table just this summer so that Dudley did not have to walk all the way from the drawing room to the fridge every time he wanted to eat something.

No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"

Harry scowled. He was not a layabout. There was nothing he could do about his hair and Uncle Vernon knew it. He looked up to reply to his Uncle but found that Uncle Vernon was paying no attention to Harry. The report on the television was showing the picture of a man with elbow length matted-hair and a gaunt face with deep set, scary, obsessed eyes. He had apparently escaped prison.

Aunt Petunia, who had just returned to the table with two cups of coffee, shot Harry a nasty look. Clearly, she had also mistaken him to be the subject of his Uncle's comment. Harry's scowl made a comeback. What could he do if his hair did not stay neat and tidy? It wasn't as if Aunt Petunia had not tried everything she could think of to tame it and anyway, he looked positively well-groomed as compared to the guy in the picture.

"A special hotline has been set up and any sighting of Sirius Black, convicted for murdering 12 people," said the reporter on the television.

"Petunia!" Uncle Vernon squealed, flinging back his chair and making both Harry and Dudley jump in alarm.

Aunt Petunia stood frozen, one hand covering her moth, staring ash-faced at the television. She had dropped the cup of coffee that she had been passing to Uncle Vernon, on Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon, bending a little at his waist and holding his shirt away from his chest with two fingers to prevent any scalding, shook her a little. "Petunia?"

She started at that.

"Are you alright?" Uncle Vernon repeated worriedly.

"I … I …He," she tried to speak.

"Here, sit down," Uncle Vernon held out his chair and guided Aunt Petunia to it by one hand, his other hand still holding his shirt away from his torso.

"I… I am alright, really, Vernon." She seemed to have recovered herself a bit but still looked upset. She started to put her forearm on the table before realising that she had spilt coffee on her table.

"Oh no," she gasped and immediately stood up before realising that she had spilt coffee on her floor and Uncle Vernon as well.

"Oh Vernon, I am sorry," she said, immediately picking up a napkin and beginning to sop up the front of his shirt.

"No, no, it is alright," Uncle Vernon replied, a little awkwardly. "I will just go and change. Are you sure you are all right now?" He asked, his other hand on Aunt Petunia's shoulder. Then, sounding a bit excited, he asked, "What happened? Have you seen that convict? We must call the hotline then."

At that, Aunt Petunia slumped back into the chair. Harry and Dudley, who had been looking on, too shocked to move until then, exchanged a look with each other despite all their mutual dislike. Dudley looked a little frightened and Harry realised that he himself was a little nervous as well.

Aunt Petunia did not get unwell. She did not slump. And she most certainly DID NOT spill beverages, not on her waxed floor, not on her polished table and certainly not on her husband. She should have been fussing about it all by then and not sitting there looking … dazed? Harry and Dudley quickly tore away their eyes from each other and trained them back on Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon was shuffling from one foot to another, one hand still on Aunt Petunia's shoulder. He seemed a little torn between going upstairs to change and staying here.

"No," she replied in a strangled whisper, "no, I have not seen him."

"Err … Oh!" That seemed to disappoint Uncle Vernon and remind him of his own state. "If you are sure you are alright, I'll just go and change out of my shirt?"

That brought Aunt Petunia back to the present. "Oh no, Vernon. I am so sorry. I am all right. You should … must go and change the shirt. Oh, I do hope it did not scald you. I will come with you"

"No, no, you sit. You seem to be in a shock. I will be back in a minute." With a pat on her shoulder, Uncle Vernon shot out of the room immediately to change his shirt.

"Mum," Dudley's voice wavered.

Aunt Petunia looked up to find Dudley looking a little scared.

"Are you alright?" Dudley asked.

"Oh Darling," she had tears in her eyes, moved at Dudley's concern. She immediately went over to Dudley's chair and running her fingers through his hair, reassured him, "Mummy is fine. Don't you worry, Dudderkins. Mummy is sorry if she gave you a scare." She planted a kiss on his forehead, still misty-eyed.

Harry could not find it in himself to roll his eyes at his Aunt's treatment of Dudley. He was too scared to say or do anything that might upset her once again.

Her eyes fell upon the table and the floor and all the spilt coffee seemed to bring her back. "Oh, look at all the mess! And the time! We are late. Marge's train will be here in less than an hour and oh, the mess!"

That got them all out of their states. Aunt Petunia, the nemesis of all the spills and smears and splatter, was back. She had recovered. Even as Harry and Dudley both winced slightly at her pitch, Harry was glad to have her back in her fire-fighting mode, her eyes almost burning as she declared a war on the stains throughout her home.

Or at least, he was glad for a brief minute before she turned to him with that pinched expression of hers as if he had personally been responsible for whatever had set her off.

"Harry, clean up the floor and the table and clear the table. We need to get ready for Aunt Marge's visit."

Harry groaned. And Marge … wait …'Aunt' Marge was coming? No… Harry groaned once again, "Aunt Marge is coming?"

"Yes," she replied curtly, "for a week, and you are to behave."

She then ran her fingers through Dudley's hair. "Come on, Dudders, be a dear and go take a shower. You need to get ready for your auntie's visit, darling. You can wear your new red shirt. Mummy has got you a new green and red bow tie," she said sweetly, coaxing him out of his chair.

Dudley, just out of the shock, was apparently too happy at this 'normalcy' once again and got up with just a token protest.

Harry looked on sullenly at the spilt coffee on the floor, all thoughts of what had just happened out of his mind in favour of sulking over Aunt Marge's visit. The summer had just gotten worse.

"And no dilly dallying. I want you to start cleaning immediately and get done. Your Uncle wants to have a small talk to you about Aunt Marge's visit and then, get out of that filthy T-shirt and wear a proper shirt and comb your hair." With that, Aunt Petunia closed the door and was gone, leaving him feeling distinctly disgruntled. It was not as if he chose to wear Dudley's baggy castoffs or get dirty by working in the garden. It was a part of his morning chores.

The morning was definitely not going well. At least Aunt Marge was going to be there only for a week. Suddenly, he had a flash of brilliance. Bargaining with Aunt Petunia was impossible but with Uncle Vernon – hmmm … he might just get his slip signed after all, if only he managed to keep his temper for the week. It was a daunting task, not short of killing the basilisk, but well worth the end goal. He smiled and set out to do the cleaning while his brain worked furiously to trap his Uncle into making the bargain.

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It was the last day of Aunt Marge's one-week stay.

Harry had tried his best to keep out of Aunt Marge's way throughout her one-week stay, not that it worked. He had almost begged Aunt Petunia to let him go out and do yard work or give him chores that keep him outside the house. However, Aunt Petunia, though usually content to have him out of her way or ignore him as long as he stayed within her screaming distance or Dudley's bullying distance, was steadfast in having him inside the house. He was not even sure what he was being punished for. Aunt Marge had all the more time to find new faults in him every day and lately, it had started to extend to his parents.

Harry was sure that Aunt Petunia had no love lost for Aunt Marge but she tolerated her well enough because of Uncle Vernon. Of course, it helped that Aunt Marge had only good things to say about Dudley.

And yet, he could see Aunt Petunia wincing when Aunt Marge spilled wine or whatever drink she was drinking on Aunt Petunia's pristine furniture; grimacing when the bulldog, Ripper, drooled all over her sparkling, polished floors; and pursing her lips when Aunt Marge said something about bad blood and lineage and breeding. Not that Aunt Petunia had any love lost for Harry's mother either, but she tended to completely avoid the topic of Harry's parents. Harry, of course, had already made Marge's wine glass shatter when she had begun comparing his breeding to that of a pup born of a bitch with bad blood.

With the exception of that one incident of shattering wine glass, he had managed to hold his tongue and his temper, mostly by drifting off to think about his "Handbook of Do-it-yourself Broom Care".

Thank Merlin, today was the last day. Earlier in the day, Aunt Petunia had found an excuse to send him to his room before he could lose his temper when the conversation had started to drift towards his parents once again. He had been too angry and instead of going upstairs, he had left the house and gone to the nearby park. He had found the oak tree in the park and sat down under its shade, seething with anger, which slowly turned into frustration and forlornness. That had only led to tears and even more anger that he had allowed Aunt Marge to reduce him to this.

The sun scorching had only festered it even more. He hated the summers here, he hated being told that he was a charity case and should be grateful for the food and clothes and a roof above his head, that he had been coddled too badly. He hated the school that his uncle had come up with to tell Aunt Marge where he was going. But what he hated the most was when Aunt Marge would start saying stuff about his parents. For 11 years, his relatives had lied to him that his parents had died in a car accident. Aunt Marge would add to it that they must have been driving drunk. No one ever corrected her. Oh, how he longed for Aunt Marge to go away, for the summer to get over, for him to have a place he could go to. But no, he didn't want to go down that road of wishful thinking.

He immediately closed his eyes and lay down with his forearm above his eyes, trying to keep that wish from kindling in his heart. He stomped upon it. He could not even afford to think about that. There was no road that would lead to a home with his parents for him. His eyes got heavier and soon, he had fallen asleep.

Harry woke up to the sound of cars zooming past him on the street. He felt disoriented - where was he? Right. In the park. He had no idea what time it was but the cars zooming past seemed to indicate that the office-goers were returning. That could only mean that it was at least half past 5 in the evening. At LEAST and that could only mean that he was going to be in trouble. He groaned and got up, taking off his glasses, he stretched. He walked out of the park, dusting himself off as well as he could. He was loathe to go back but without any other option. He had gone past just one street, telling himself that it was the last evening of Aunt Marge's stay, when a car pulled up beside him. Harry turned around to find his Uncle looking at him with a murderous expression.

"Where have you been?" Uncle Vernon hissed as he crossed to him and latched on to his neck with such force that Harry winced.

"Stop it," Harry cried out, "you are hurting me."

"One of these days, I am going to beat the stuffing out of you," his Uncle hissed, dragged him to the car and pushing Harry inside to the passenger seat. He went back to the driver's side and started the car.

"Running away! You have got into quite a habit of doing that, haven't you? Last year, you ran away with those freakish friends of yours in a…" he spluttered," a. CAR," he finally said, unable to say "flying car".

"I was just in the park, not running away and I would think that having me out of your way was a godsend," Harry replied hotly.

"The day we are able to wash our hands off you would be a godsend. I have been driving around looking for you for the past half hour. Perhaps, locking you up in your cupboard for the rest of the summer would do the trick." He sounded furious.

"Then you could have left me out. Why drive around and look for me? Let me guess. In my absence, Marge began to miss having someone around to berate and bully?" Harry spat back.

Uncle Vernon had been driving around looking for him because he had been out for, what, 4 hours? No way. Harry had been gone for entire afternoons before and Aunt Petunia had never sent Uncle Vernon out looking for him.

"It is Aunt Marge to you. You should be thanking your stars that she does not know as yet about your little stunt because let me tell you, I am not going to stop her should she decide to take the belt on you or set Ripper after you. Be grateful that your Aunt sent her to take a nap."

"Right, a nap! She must have fallen down with the amount of wine she had in lunch."

His Uncle turned to him, his face a shade of puce. Harry knew that he had crossed the line but he was too angry to care. Hadn't Uncle Vernon lied and agreed when Aunt Marge had asked if his parents had been drunk drivers? He quickly got out of the car as they were already home and shut the door before his Uncle could reach him to deliver what Harry knew, was going to be a painful whack on his head.

Sporting a scowl to match his Uncle's glare, he stomped up to the front door, which opened before he could ring the bell. Aunt Petunia was standing on the door looking as displeased as he had ever seen her to be.

"In," she said in a clipped tone, "now! Up into your room, and when I say your room, it means your room, not the streets outside like a loafer, unless you want the cupboard."

Harry just went in and ran up the stairs, slamming the door to his bedroom shut. The anger from afternoon was rushing back. He threw himself into his bed and clutching the pillow close to his face, he gave out a muffled scream. He stayed like that till the door to his room clicked open and someone gasped. Aunt Petunia. Harry turned around and got up to sit on his bed, the scowl firmly in place.

"Have you been rolling around in mud? What have you been doing?"

"I fell asleep in the park."

"You … Park? That deserted park? Are you completely out of your mind? Do you have no sense at all? They have been showing the pictures of an escaped convict throughout the week and you just go off to sleep in a vacant lot? Not to think of what people would have thought, seeing you sleeping there like a homeless beggar?" She exploded. It was not often that Aunt Petunia lost her temper like that and she almost never shouted thinking it to be something that only poor, unsophisticated people did.

Her eyes fell on the bed and her lips pinched even more.

"The entire bed is full of mud and dirt," she hissed. "The entire house has a trail of mud and dirt from the front door to your room. You will be laundering the bed linens yourself from now on. I have had enough of this. Aunt Marge is leaving tomorrow morning and you had better keep your temper in check until then." Aunt Petunia shook her finger at him and then left the room saying, "Now, get up and clean the dirt that you have left trailing all through the house. I want it clean before dinner. And don't you dare come down for dinner looking like a delinquent."

Despite the indignation that he was feeling, Harry changed his clothes, washed his face and even ran his wet fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth them down. Then, he went out to go downstairs, only to meet Dudley in the hallway.

"Where were you in the afternoon?" He sounded annoyed.

What was it with the Dursleys today? When Harry did not answer, Dudley shoved him to the wall of the corridor. "Do you really want me to force the answer out of you?"

Harry was too angry to reply.

"What?" Dudley shoved him again.

Harry kneed Dudley and ducked below his hand to escape to the top of the staircase. Turning back, he taunted, "Why Dudders? Did I miss out when Aunt Marge once again mistook you for Ripper with all those chins hanging out? "

Dudley lunged for Harry but Harry again ducked under him back, hissing, "Stay away from me, Dudley."

He quickly ran down the stairs to kitchen, where his Aunt was. Dudley never bullied him outright in front of his mother. She eyed him suspiciously but did not say anything as he took out a mop and started cleaning up the dirt. He helped his Aunt with her dinner preparations after that without any more words than "Yes, Aunt Petunia".

Quietly working alongside her had somehow calmed him enough that later that evening, they made it to the dessert course without any hitches but then, Aunt Marge once again started on the topic of Harry's parents. He could sense his Aunt tensing up as Uncle Vernon replied to Aunt Marge's questions about Harry's father. He lied and said that Harry's dad had been unemployed. Harry felt his anger rise once again and nothing that he would do, try to think would calm him down.

"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for- nothing, lazy scrounger who —"

From there, the dinner was a downslide that culminated in Harry blowing up Aunt Marge. In the ensuing chaos, he collected his things from his room and threw them into his trunk after the cupboard it had been locked in, burst open magically. He refused his Uncle's demands to right back his sister.

"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."

He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. "I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough." And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.

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It was dark. It was deserted. It was scarily quiet and the only thing that could rescue him from his current state was magic. However, after all that accidental magic, his magic had gone all erratic – so much so that he was still trembling from it all. He sat down on his trunk, the ditch that formed the boundary of his Aunt's neighbourhood right behind him. He tried to calm down and think through his options.

He couldn't go to the Burrow as he knew that the Weasleys were in Egypt, visiting Ron's eldest brother, Bill. Hermione was still in France. He had no muggle money at all and only a few knuts and sickles of wizarding money. So, the only solution was to fly to the Gringotts. Given all the accidental magic he had already done, flying to London could hardly make the situation worse as far as the restriction on underage magic was concerned.

He opened his trunk to look for his broom when he felt a prickling at the back of his neck that travelled down his spine to his navel.

Warily, he swung around in a sudden movement, lighting up his wand. A pair of large, gleaming eyes and pointed teeth dripping with saliva stared back at him from distinct from a dark, hulking frame, hardly 10 feet from him. Harry started and stepped back, only to tumble over his trunk. His wand slipped from his hand as he tried to find some purchase to break his fall. Panic flooded his heart when he realized that he was falling into the ditch behind without his wand with a large animal right in front of him but someone suddenly caught his flailing hand and wrapping an arm around Harry, hoisted him up.

Harry immediately looked for the animal but it was gone. Coming back to his senses, he felt his cheeks heat up a bit in embarrassment. Harry had just about regained his balance and was about to turn around and thank the stranger when the man wheezed what sounded suspiciously like, "Ha..rry".

Harry pivoted around, surprised that his rescuer knew him. He immediately tried to backtrack and would have fallen back into the ditch but for the man's death-grip on his left arm.

"Let go!" cried Harry, looking around wildly for his wand and trying to pull out of the grip of the escaped convict, whose pictures they had been showing on the TV. The man just won't let go.

"Harrrry?" he asked said once again, seemingly confused at Harry's struggle, his voice sounding as if it had not been used for a long time.

He was crazy, thought Harry, doubling his struggle and not caring if he fell into the ditch behind but he was no match to a grown-up man's strength, even one who looked as thin and starved.

A soft pop behind them caused the man to turn around sharply, pulling Harry with him. If things had not been crazy enough, Harry looked up from his struggle to find his hated potions professor standing there with his wand in his hand. Snape's face quickly turned from a look of annoyance to pure, unadulterated hatred. His wand was trained on Harry and the convict instantly. Harry once again tried to tear away from the death hold and get to Snape only to have the convict pull him back against and in front of himself, capturing Harry's arm against Harry's stomach.

"Snape!" the man rasped.

"Step away from the boy, Black," Snape commanded in a very hard voice.

"So you could hand him to your master! No!" the man behind Harry almost growled.

"Let the boy go, Black, or I swear I will do it!"

"Never! I would never give him to you," spat the convict tightening his hold on Harry's hand. Harry yelped in pain.

Snape's eyes burnt with fury as he rapidly made a movement with his wand only to abort it instantly and put up his arms in a classic Hands-up-in-surrender stance when the convict pointed his wand at Harry's midsection. However, at the very last second, Snape flicked his wand almost imperceptibly and a number of loud cracks sounded in the background, startling the convict for a brief second.

Both, Snape and Harry, used his momentary distraction: Harry, to elbow the convict sharply with his free hand and Snape, to blast the convict back at the same time that he pulled Harry forward with such force that Harry was hurled to the ground face down. A small shiny object also fell from the convict's hand and rolled to the other side. Harry ignored the pain because he had found his wand in the brilliant swirls of light from intense magical energy field that seemed to have burgeoned above him as the two grown wizards dueled each other. He scrambled towards his wand under the the clashing spells above him but was immediately pushed down to the ground by a snarling Snape with a spell that encased him in a translucent bubble.

That bubble spell cost Snape dearly because he instantly caught some curse. Was Snape's skin actually melting or was it just the bubble distorting everything?

Still snarling, Snape threw a jet of yellow light and disappeared with a pop just a fraction of a second before a dark purple curse slammed right into the spot that he had been standing. Snape's yellow jet exploded into a dazzling burst of light right in front of the convict while Snape reappeared much to the front and left of Harry, removing Harry completely from the direct line of fire. Before the convict could locate him in the bright, blinding light of the yellow spell, Snape had disarmed him by some spell that seemed to tear the convict's palm as the wand was dragged out of his hand, making him scream in pain; and then bound him, blasted him off his feet most viciously only to reel him back in towards Snape as if on a fishing line.

The fight was over. There was only one problem. The convict had landed right next to Harry's fallen wand and even bound as he was, just as Snape sent off a red spell in the sky, the convict managed to wrap his bleeding hand around Harry's fallen wand.

Harry yelled out, "Snape!" at the same time that the convict shouted, "Suffoco!"

Snape, alerted, immediately snapped the convict up in the air, snatching Harry's wand out of his hand just as the curse was being completed.

Everything seemed to be in a slowmotion for Harry as the curse went completely haywire and, tracing a green trajectory in the background of the fading lights left by Snape's spells, the spell sped towards him. He could see Snape in the background, looking both, horrifying with the skin melting off his face like heated plastic and horrified as the curse curved towards Harry.

He could hear the convict scream "NO" in the background. Harry ducked under his arm behind the large stone that had been conjured in front of him at the last moment even as the translucent spell bubble pushed him down completely. He was immediately engulfed in a cloud of dirt as the curse shattered the stone in front of him taking the first hit. The bubble spell seemed to disperse most of whatever was left of the curse after shattering the stone but he could still feel the malicious intent of the curse down to his bones and it had not kept out the smoke and the dust. He stayed down in shock for a moment.

Everything went deadly silent in the background and then he heard Snape incant in a voice that sent shivers to the very core of Harry's soul, "Avada," a number of soft pops sounded around them, "Ked"

"Stupefy!" "Reducto!"

"Expelliarmus!" "Obscuro!"

"Silencio!"

There was complete silence for the briefest moment after that before Harry, still struggling for breath, took his hand off his face to take in the new sources of spells.

"He is alive!" someone exclaimed and somewhere in his field of vision, someone else made a movement. However, 2 wands rose to quell the movement - the convict, still hanging upside down in the air, started to weep while Harry, gagging and coughing, struggled to take in a breath through all the dust that seemed to have lodged in his throat. Then, he stilled on noting Snape, looking scarier than ever, eyes glinting, face melting off and wand trained on Harry's bare throat. A 3rd wand was trained on Snape.

"What are you doing?" The wizard who had his wand trained on Snape asked Snape, almost nervously.

Snape looked up at him with a sneer, "He is suffocating. I am going to clear his airway, Auror Williamson. What do you think I am doing?"

The 'auror' gulped but said, "No need, Sir. I will do that."

Meanwhile, the convict had been lowered from his upside-down position to being levitated horizontally in air. One of the two men with their wands on the convict asked Snape to remove his binding spell so that he could straightjacket him. Snape had just released him when the Williamson fellow brought his wand near Harry's neck and Harry recoiled, suddenly remembering how Lockhart had disappeared his forearm bones instead of mending them last year.

"Be still, Potter and let the auror help you," Snape's harsh voice froze him.

"Anapneo," the auror incanted immediately as he waved his wand over Harry's throat. A rush of air, good pure air rushed into Harry's windpipe as he coughed and coughed, trying to gulp in as much air as possible. His eyes teared up as 'Williamson' sat rubbing circles on his back. "There, there," he soothed Harry.

Snape suddenly waved his wand towards the convict. A number of things happened at the same time. Williamson raised a shield around Harry even as one of the other 2 wizards fell down and the second one threw a 'stupefy' at Snape.

The convict, himself, had just disappeared, much in the same way that Snape and the other wizards had appeared - with a 'pop'. The wizard, who had just stupefied Snape, immediately raised his fallen partner.

"Animagus! He … animagus," stuttered the man as he got up, stumbling a bit. "He tu..turned into a … a g..grim and bit me and snatched my wand."

"What? Snape did not stupefy you? The convict did?" the one who had stupefied Snape exclaimed. "Oh dear! Scrimgeour is not going to be happy with this."

"If I were you, I would much rather worry about Professor Snape when you renervate him, Pavelson." This was Williamson.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck!" The man who had stupefied Snape hurried back to him and 'enervated' him immediately.

"Pavelson!" Snape hissed as he got up, drawling out the name in that scary way of his, "you utter," said Snape, pulling his robes straight, "bungling," he pointed his wand on his face and incanted something that seemed to reverse the melting-skin effect to some degree, "incompetent imbecile!" He took a step towards the man who had stupefied him and the man in turn, took a step backward. "All of you! You let Sirius Black escape." He looked ready to snap their necks.

"I… we…," 'Pavelson' gulped, "You should not have made a sudden motion, sir, specially not to send a curse in the direction of Auror Cooper."

"No, I should have sat gazing at the Boy-Who-Lived with eyes brimming over in sheer devotion like a 9-year old girl. Bumbling, blundering fools, all of you! The first thing you should have done on appearing here was to incapacitate Black. Forget about the Auror Academy. How did you manage to graduate from Hogwarts?" Snape lashed down at all the three wizards, who looked down sheepishly as if they were first year students at Hogwarts.

"I, I just got distracted for a second with Harry Potter's recovery," protested 'Auror Cooper'.

Snape looked at them with barely repressed disgust and shaking his head, stalked to a spot and picked up a small object. Harry remembered that Snape had expelled something from the convict's hand at the beginning of the duel.

Williamson muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, "Fucking bat!" as he took out a mirror and whispered something about backup request.

"A portkey that he had," Snape said in his clipped tone to Cooper and Pavelson, as they hesitantly joined him. The other two wizards looked at each other as if daring each other to ask Snape to hand over the evidence. Who wanted to bell the cat?

Meanwhile, a dark-skinned wizard appeared with a pop a minute later along with another man who, despite a slight limp, had a loping grace and looked rather like an old lion with grey streaks in his mane of tawny hair. Nodding to Williamson, who raised his wand to his forehead in acknowledgement, they moved immediately towards the other three wizards.

Snape handed over the object to the dark-skinned wizard as Pavelson supplied, "Black had this portkey, sir."

"And he has Auror Cooper's wand, which he used to disapparate while your aurors were busy holding me captive and throwing curses on me," Snape helpfully added.

"It was a mistake, sir. It won't happen again!" Pavelson reiterated.

The lion-like man glared at them with a sharpness rivalling Snape's glares.

"I should hope not," the lion-like man replied in a clipped tone before continuing. "Professor, that looks like a very nasty and possibly dark curse. I can see that you have used some first aid but we should get you immediately to hospital. Is this curse our aurors' doing?" He asked, looking at Snape's face.

"I would not give them so much credit, Deputy Head Auror," answered Snape, almost foaming at his mouth in rage. "I gave them Black, bound, disarmed and stripped of this portkey and they still couldn't manage him!" he said, slapping Black's wand into the dark-skinned man's hand.

"He is an animagus, sir and we didn't know that! He turned and bit Cooper here and then snatching his wand, disapparated," Pavelson cried out before anyone could say anything.

That stunned everyone for a moment.

"An unregistered animagus! Of course, that is how he escaped Azkaban," said the dark-skinned man.

"And yet, it doesn't explain how 3 aurors were unable to hold an animal," said the Deputy Auror with gritted teeth. "But we can figure that out later. Cooper, I need a team at the destination address of this portkey immediately. I do hope that you can manage that. Pavelson, get in all the requisite cleanup teams to this location and ready one for the apparation destination. Remember to let everyone know that he is an unregistered animagus of the form of –"

"Grim, sir," Cooper filled in and then Pavelson and Cooper disappeared with a pop.

By this time, Harry had got used to this appearing and disappearing - apparently wizards could teleport. In all the action that had happened since that morning, somehow, teleportation had lost its sheen. Or maybe, he was too dazed right now.

"Professor, you need some medical assistance. The Department, of course, would be happy to recompense you for the trouble you had to bear because of our aurors. If you could just show us where he disapparated from, we ..."

"Of course. It is my duty to help the MLE, Deputy Head. This way."

Snape led the two newly appeared men to the spot where the convict had disappeared from, with Auror Williamson following them. Williamson and the dark-skinned man immediately began to wave their wands in precise movements around the space while Snape and the lion-like man stepped back a little.

Snape and the Deputy Auror returned to Harry. This latest arrival held out his hand for Harry and said,

"Mr. Potter, I wish it had been in better circumstances but still, a pleasure to meet you. I am Rufus Scrimgeour, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and over there is our Assistant Head, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Without waiting for Harry's acknowledgement, he said, "Aurors, obliviators and journalists are going to be swarming this place in about 5 minutes for further investigations. I daresay, you have had quite enough excitement today and would be happy to skip all that. No point spreading mass hysteria over Harry Potter being attacked by Sirius Black either. Now, I would much rather that you come with us to the Ministry's custody but Professor Snape here insists that your Aunt's house is the safest place for you as long as you remain within."

Harry tried to speak up in favour of the Minsitry but only ended up coughing. Snape immediately pushed a glass of conjured water into his hand. Despite him having saved Harry just a few minutes ago, the simmering fury in Snape's eyes made Harry hesitate.

"Drink up, Potter," he said harshly before turning away from him and completely ignoring him. "Surely, Deputy Head Auror Scrimgeour, you would forgive me for expressing my inability to be inspired to confidence in the safety of Ministry's custody after the scintillating performance by your aurors, not five minutes ago. Under the circumstances, sending him back to his Aunt's house, protected by wards established by Albus Dumbledore himself would be the safer, quicker recourse, at least till you arrange for a more competent custody. It would also give you a chance to talk to the Minister himself."

"No," Harry stated. He had no idea what was going on, why this Sirius Black was after him or why the news that he had attacked him would spread hysteria but he knew one thing for sure. There was no way he was going back to that house.

Both Professor Snape and the Deputy Head Auror (whatever that was) turned to look at Harry. Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry and Harry almost took a step back. For all the times that Snape had been mad at him (and that meant all the time), Harry had never really been scared of Snape but right now, there was something about his entire persona that seemed to frighten Harry. He gulped and then winced when his throat hurt. That seemed to only make Snape angrier, however.

"Mr. Potter?" Scrimgeour prompted Harry.

"I do not want to go back to my Aunt's house." Harry stated firmly to Snape, or as firmly as one could, with a croaked voice and hurting throat. Surely Snape wouldn't kill Harry right after saving him and especially not in front of this Deputy Head of Magical Law enforcement. That would be very stupid and Snape was anything but stupid.

Snape narrowed his eyes. Harry quickly brought his eyes off him and concentrated on trying to drink his water. Scrimgeour's brow furrowed as he considered that before answering.

"I understand, Mr. Potter, that you have just had a disagreement with your family in which you acted out. You are apprehensive that you Aunt might be angry but, rest assured, we will talk to her. Your relative has already been recovered and obliviated, no harm done. I am sure your Aunt would understand. After all, she knows that it is only accidental magic and though, it generally does not happen after 2 years of magical education, we have explained to her that on rare occasions, control might be lost, especially in teenage years. Professor Snape's suggestion is quite rational."

"I really am not going back there." Harry reiterated his position with a scowl and a cough, desperately trying to think of something to get out of this. "I am sure I could stay somewhere in the Diagon Alley."

At that, Scrimgeour's eyebrows went up. "Unsupervised? In a hotel? We cannot allow a twelve-year-old to stay unsupervised in a hotel, Mr. Potter, and certainly not after what just happened. I am sorry but I must side with your Professor and we really do not have the time to make further arrangements right now. As I said, in a few minutes, the area would be swarming with obliviators, journalists and other personnel. They need not know that you were involved in this. Taking you back to your Aunt's house is the best course of action for now."

"I am not sure if that is the best way to dissuade him, Deputy Head Auror Scrimgeour. Mr. Potter actually lives for publicity, attention and articles in the newspapers. The mention of journalists is only going to encourage him to stay here and argue a little more." Snape intervened before Harry could reply.

"I do not," Harry answered hotly, his fear forgotten as he again started to cough painfully.

"No? Perhaps then, you think that you are smarter than the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once again, your arrogance amazes me, Potter." He forced the glass of water to Harry's lips when he tried to speak and sputtered. "Oh for! Drink the water, Potter, and donot speak. For once, try to rise above your petty, puerile, immature melodrama and listen to those older to you. Or, must you make newspaper headlines every year? Last year, it was the flying car. This year, perhaps, you are aiming for 'Poor Harry Potter runs away from his relatives'?"

"That is not true!" Harry burst out finally. "Fine, I will go back to my Aunt's place." Williamson was right. That impossible, horrible, fucking bat!

"That's settled then," said Scrimgeour, eyeing Harry and Snape, "I hope that there would not be any more incidents this summer. Please take care not to step outside your Aunt's house till we have further arrangements for you." He dismissed Harry with this and nodded to Snape, "Professor, our thanks for your help. Could you come to the Ministry for a statement?"

"A pleasure to help the Ministry, Deputy Head," Snape nodded back. "I will see the boy to his Aunt's place and then join you at the Ministry, if you have no objection."

"Ah, I think we would be able to do that, Professor. You really should see a healer immediately. The Aurors' Healer-on-call should be able to help you. I would personally escort him home and meet you at the Ministry in say, an hour? We can have your statement then, whenever you are feeling better about how you came to be here and find Sirius Black." Scrimgeor's eyes looked shrewd and suspecting.

"As you wish, of course." Snape complied, a little too pliable for Harry, and nodding to them both, disappeared with a pop, leaving a fuming Harry behind to be taken back to his Aunt's place.

By the time he returned to his Aunt's house, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had already left to drop off a restored and obliviated Aunt Marge to the station.

The dark-skinned auror, who had introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt, had accompanied Scrimgeour and had talked to his Aunt to convince her to let him stay while Harry had stood on the side, hating his helplessness. His Aunt had just stood stoically with her lips pursed throughout his explanation and then sent Harry upstairs even before the auror had left. The only thing that she had said was that she had contacted Dumbledore already and would be talking to him the next morning, so thank you very much, but what she did with her nephew was entirely her outlook. Harry had been baffled as to how she had contacted Dumbledore and so soon! He had hardly slept a wink at night, too sullen at his helplessness, anxious at what would happen in the morning, his magic still agitated and his throat hurting like hell. It had been 5 in the morning when he finally fell asleep.

################ACL##########

The next morning, Harry was woken by a knock on his door. Aunt Petunia ordered him in a very cold voice to pack his suitcase and get ready immediately.

Praying that Dumbledore was here, Harry quickly dressed and went down to the drawing room. He could see only Aunt Petunia and Rufus Scrimgeour. Apprehensive about his future, he lingered at the threshold for a minute to know what they were talking about.

"Rufus," Harry's heart skipped a beat at that voice, "As Harry's guardian, it is completely within Mrs. Dursley's purview to involve whomever she deems fit to do so. The Ministry must have a clearance from the Child services if it wishes to challenge the guardian's wishes." It was Professor Dumbledore!

"As you well know, Albus, the guardian's decision can be overridden by the Ministry without a clearance if the child's safety is under question. So, the Ministry can extract him immediately and get a clearance afterwards within a month," Scrimgeour challenged.

"Ah, I see. It is safety that you are worried about," Dumbledore replied mildly. "Rest assured, he would be provided with complete security as I have decided to remove Harry from here for the summer. I am sure that the Wizengamot and the Childcare services would agree that he would be safe with me."

"That is most irregular and you know it," spluttered Scrimgeour.

"More than the Ministry taking him into its custody against his guardian's express wishes?"

"Donot make it sound as if we are arresting him. It would be a sort of apprenticeship where he would also learn a number of things."

"He is 12 years old. It has just been two weeks since the start of holidays, Rufus. Let him enjoy his break from studies. Moreover, if the Minister's aim is to ensure that Mr. Potter's name is kept out of all the public reports of yesterday's attack, it would be far better for the Ministry to keep a distance, do you not think?"

"Of course, of course, but actually having him with us will reassure us of his safety. I am sure that the Wizengamot will see our logic."

"I would not be so sure about that."

"Well then, at least we would have a month's time before the Minsitry is required to get clearance from the Wizengamot in emergencies. We can look for another safe custody in the worst case. We might even be able to nab Black by then, given yesterday's evidence."

"You would have a child dragged from custody to custody just so Minister Fudge has a sway over the public?" Dumbledore sounded angry now.

Scrimgeour paused for a moment and then he sighed. "Minister Fudge is not going to like this. He was extremely concerned about his safety last night."

"Oh, I will talk to the Minister and assure him of Mr. Potter's safety, speaking of whom, I think, Mr. Potter, you should come in."

Harry stumbled in, colouring a little.

"Err… Good Morning, Sir," he stammered.

Professor Dumbledore's face shone with disapproval. Rufus Scrimgeour looked almost as displeased as Aunt Petunia.

"I just came in," he mumbled to defend himself.

Aunt Petunia just looked at him disdainfully.

Rufus Scrimgeour answered, "Careful, Mr. Potter, for you never know when childish curiosity might be mistaken for spying, specially in trying times such as these."

Dumbledore intervened before Harry could snap at Rufus. "Quite all right, Harry, quite all right. You have had a bad day and a late night. You must excuse him, Rufus, for it is natural to be a little curious about one's fate."

"I'm sorry." Harry muttered his apology, head hanging down.

"Of course, of course. I would still prefer him to be with the Ministry, though. A little discipline will also not go amiss."

"Mr. Scrimgeour," his Aunt interrupted the man, "I would prefer to put my nephew with Headmaster Dumbledore and I do not believe that there is a safer place for him. It is my decision as his guardian, or at least in our world, we still work according to the guardian's wishes for minors. Now, if you will excuse us, my husband and son will be getting up and I have to start breakfast. Good Morning."

Rufus Scrimgeour did not look very happy at the dismissal. Harry was sent up to get his trunk and the last he heard was Scrimgeour trying to get Dumbledore to commit to keeping the Ministry fully informed about his whereabouts.

He ignored it and, all but skipped to his room and dragged down his trunk along with his broom, making as much of a ruckus as possible to annoy the still sleeping residents of the house. He was ecstatic. He was about to spend the holidays in the Wizarding World. More importantly, he was about to spend it without Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. No chores, no Harry-hunting, no ugly fights. He was not going to lose this last chance to annoy Dudley by waking him up with the clunking trunk on the stairs.

He had just descended a couple of steps when the trunk and broom were torn out of his grip. They flew down to settle down next to Professor Dumbledore who was looking up at him with such a cold expression that Harry felt that he had arrived in some alternate universe. Aunt Petunia was fuming. Well, he had been making a big ruckus and the only reason that no one had actually woken up was that both Dudley and Uncle Vernon were as heavy sleepers as Aunt Petunia and Harry were light sleepers.

Harry sheepishly said, "Sorry!" Nothing could bog him down that day. He was off. He did not have to stay with his awful relatives. He took a deep breath and came down the stairs, a big goofy smile splitting his face.

"Come here, Mr. Potter, and hold this," the Headmaster said coldly, holding out a strangely twisted silvery spoon. Harry made his way towards the Professor, suddenly feeling a little apprehensive at the Headmaster's tone, and held the other end of the spoon. Why was he giving him a spoon?

"A portkey - it will teleport the persons touching it to a predetermined location at a given time or, as in our case, a command," he explained in a lecturing voice.

Harry nodded waiting for the command but the professor kept on staring at him. "Umm…I am ready, Sir."

"Are you not going to thank your Aunt, or, apologise to her for last night's debacle, or, at the very least, bid her a Goodbye?" the Headmaster asked.

"And since when have you learnt normal politeness?" Aunt Petunia replied, disdainfully. "He has rudeness and thoughtlessness running in his blood."

"The same that runs through yours, you mean." Dumbledore sneered.

"No, I think this is the part that gets inherited with other freakishness," Harry's Aunt sneered back.

"Ah, freakishness," drawled Dumbledore, "I suppose you are referring to magic to bloom a flower in your hair and to change the colour of your dress, to clear the spots on your face and …"

"Shut up. Shut up, shut up! Take him," her pitch had gone high, "and get out. Get out NOW." Aunt Petunia's face was flushed red with anger.

"With pleasure." The Headmaster bowed and waved his wand to ensure that all of Harry's things were touching him.

Panic alarms were going off in Harry's mind. Dumbledore never spoke like that or behaved like that but before he could take his hand off the spoon, the impostor muttered, "Portus!"

Harry felt a pull on his navel, as if someone had hooked it and pulled him into a narrow, narrow pipe and then, equally quickly, he was tumbling out and down onto a seedy floor, that set him dry heaving.

A glass of water was pressed to his lips. He tried to gulp it in a go but swallowing hurt so badly that he was not able to take more than 3 or 4 sips. Two voices were speaking in low tones in the background. When his vision cleared, he somehow summoned the energy to look up. The impostor Dumbledore was returning a muggle lighter to his pocket.

"You are not Dumbledore," Harry croaked. His head swam once again. Drugged, he had been drugged! How stupid he was, he thought as he was engulfed in the ensuing darkness.