Disclaimer: I own nothing.  Harry Potter and his world are the creation of JK Rowling.              

AN: This story is not a continuation of "Lost," nor does it make reference to anything that happened in that story.  Sorry.  I haven't written a sequel to it yet.

"End, begin, all the same.  Big change.  Sometimes good.  Sometimes bad."

                                                                        -Aughra, The Dark Crystal

Ron awoke slowly, lazily, as his mind fought his body's annoying impulse to wake up at that moment.  He opened his eyes a crack, and seeing that his room was still dark, rolled over and pulled his blanket higher.  He did not see the shadow leaning over him, reaching out to grab him.

            "Ron!" it hissed.  "Ron, wake up!"

            "Hmph."

            "Ron!  Now!"

            The boy sat up quickly, rubbing furiously at his eyes, as if he could force the drowsiness out of them, before staring up at the dark figure above him.

            "Dad?  What time is it?" he asked groggily. 

            "There's no time!  You have to get downstairs!"

            "Huh?  Why?"  His eyes were focusing now, and what he saw was not comforting.  His father was fully dressed, unshaven, and shaking like mad.  "Dad, what's going on?"

            "They're coming."

            Now Ron was fully awake.

            They're coming.

            Death Eaters.

            In one movement, he was out of bed, his hand scrambling over his nightstand in search of his wand.

            "Now, Ron!  There's no time!" his father told him, grasping him by the arm and pulling him from the room.

            "But- my wand!"

            "You don't need it!  You're getting out of here."

            The lanky teenager was pulled down the stairs.  Ahead of him, he could see his mother leading Ginny by the hand.  Ginny looked back at them over her shoulder, her eyes wide and terrified.

            Suddenly, the house shook violently, forcing the inhabitants to grab onto the stair rail until it steadied itself again.

            "They're close," Ron heard his mum gasp.

            "Molly!  Go!"

            They sped down the stairs into the living room, stopping before the fireplace.  Mrs. Weasley grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the mantle.

            "Ginny, you first!"

            Ron chanced a glance out the window.  Even now, he could see shadows making their way across the yard toward them.  He turned back in time to see a green fire engulfed his sister, sending her to safety.  The house shuddered again.

            "You're next, Ron," his mum said.  "Hurry, before they close the Floo connection!"

            Ron stepped forward, grabbing a handful of the powder.

            "What about you and Dad?"

            "Don't worry," she told him, cupping his cheek.  "We'll be right behind you."

            "Hogwarts, Ron," his dad chimed in.  "We'll be right there."

            The window beside them shattered, showering glass over the room and its occupants.  Ron felt the small shards slice at his bare arms and face, burying themselves in his flesh.  His mum screamed beside him, but his dad only ran to the window, firing curses at the shadows moving without.

            "Ron, go!" he called over his shoulder.

            "I'll help you, Dad!"  He turned to run upstairs for his wand, but was restrained by his mum's hand on his arm.

            "No, Ron.  Go now.  Your father and I will be right behind you, but you need to take care of Ginny until we can get there."

            "But Mum-"

            "NOW RON!" She screamed in a voice that made the young man before her cringe like a berated boy.

            Ron nodded, dropping the powder, and declaring, "Hogwarts!"

            The trip seemed to last forever, every second feeling like an eternity until Ron was finally spat from the connecting fireplace and fell forward onto the stone floor.  Looking up, he saw he was in the Great Hall.  Ginny was standing nearby, tears in her eyes.

            "Ron!" she cried, seeing the blood on his arms and face.  "Where's Mum and Dad?  What happened?" 

            "I'm alright," he told her, hugging her back.  "The window exploded, but I'm alright.  Mum said they would be right behind us."  They turned so they were facing the large fireplace, waiting for their parents to step out, unharmed.

            The seconds ticked by.  Silence reigned over the castle. 

            Nearly a minute.

            "Where are they?" Ginny whispered.

            "They're coming.  Just hold on."

            Two minutes.  Time was passing much too quickly. 

            "Ron?"

            "One more minute."  He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle, staring into the fireplace, waiting.  Behind him, Ginny sunk to her knees and began crying.  It was the only sound to be heard in the castle, and though she attempted to keep them soft, they did nothing to comfort her brother.  He paced, all the while, his insides turned violently.

            It was too long. 

            Why weren't they here?

            Four minutes.  Nearly five.

            Ron grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and dropped it in the fireplace.

            "The Burrow!" he cried, but nothing happened.

            "It's blocked," Ginny said softly.  "Mum and Dad can't get through."

            "No.  No, it's not blocked!" he shouted angrily.  "Open up!  Give me my Mum and Dad!"  He kicked the bricks, as if it would convince the chimney to spit out the Weasley parents it had stuffed up its sleeve.  "Open up!  Open!  Mum!  Dad!"  He was screaming now, hitting at the bricks with his hands and fists, not noticing as the skin on his palms and knuckles was torn open, and bloody prints were left behind on the stone.  "MUM!  You promised!  You said you'd be right behind us!"  Ginny sobbed behind him, calling his name to stop, but he heard nothing but the silence within the fireplace.  "DAD!  You were supposed to be behind us!"  His voice echoed through the castle.  Tears streamed down his face. 

₪₪₪₪

            Just moments ago, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape had been sitting peacefully in the Headmaster's office, sipping tea and waiting for Dumbledore to return.  The castle had been absolutely silent, suiting both Heads of House just fine.  Then the alarms had gone off signaling a Floo connection.   Now, they raced through the corridors of Hogwarts to the Great Hall where screams were emanating from the empty hall.

            Snape raised his wand to the heavy doors, blowing them open a mere step before they were to cross the threshold.

            The sight which greeted them chilled them both.  Ginny Weasley was on the floor, hysterical.  Ron, covered in blood, was beating at the fireplace, screaming.  There was only one reason those two children would appear at Hogwarts in the middle of the night, unannounced.

            "Mr. Weasley!  Miss Weasley!" Professor McGonagall cried upon seeing the youngest of the Weasley children, but Snape was the first to cross the huge room, grabbing Ron and pulling him away from the fireplace, where he continued to scream and bloody his hands.  McGonagall knelt next to Ginny, who turned her face into the Head of House's shoulder and continued crying hysterically.

            "Severus?" Minerva called from the floor where she comforted the younger of the two.

            "Calm down, Weasley," Snape told Ron, who continued to struggle against him.  "Calm down!  What happened?  Where are your parents?"

            "They can't get out!  The Death Eaters!" he screamed, writhing to escape the Potions Master's grip.

            A gasp escaped Minerva's throat, causing Ginny to cry even harder.

            Snape tightened his hold on the Gryffindor.

            "Calm down, Weasley!  You're going to injure yourself more!"

            "We don't have time for this," McGonagall hissed.  "STUPIFY!"   Ron slumped in Snape's arms, and McGonagall slipped her wand back into her robes.  "Severus, contact Moody.  Get someone out to The Burrow to help Arthur and Molly.  I'll find Albus.  Miss Weasley, I need you to go find Madame Pomfrey." 

            Ginny began choking on a sob as she stared at her brother laying prone on the floor.  Snape had already disappeared from the Hall.

            "Ginny," McGonagall said, pulling her chin so the young woman was looking at her.  "This is important.  Your brother will be okay.  You heard me.  I only stunned him.  You must find Madame Pomfrey so she can help him.  Do you understand me?"

            Ginny nodded, calmed a little by the adult.

            "Good.  I want you to stay in the Hospital Wing with your brother until I come back for you.  Understand?"

            She nodded again.

            "Alright.  Go on, now."  Ginny jumped up and ran from the Hall.  Only then did McGonagall slip out the back of the Hall and pull a mirror from her robes.  "Albus Dumbledore."  An image of the Headmaster appeared in the glass.

            "Minerva?  What is it?" he asked.

            "Ron and Ginny Weasley have just flooed to the school.  The Burrow is under attack!"

₪₪₪₪

Harry found himself standing in the living room of the Burrow.  Furniture was overturned or destroyed.  The windows were broken; glass crunched under his feet.  Just before him, the bodies of Arthur and Molly Weasley lay like limp dolls on the wooden floor.  Arthur was staring lifelessly at the ceiling, his eyes wide, his mouth still twisted in a scream that had died in his throat.  Molly was alive, by the slow rise and fall of her chest, though she was unconscious.

            "He's dead," Harry said bitterly, looking up at the cloaked figures before him.  "Why is he dead?"

            "He could not take the interrogation, My Lord," one answered, cowering slightly lower as Harry stepped closer to him.  "He was not murdered outright."

            Harry raised his wand.  "Crucio!"  The Death Eater writhed and screamed piteously at his feet.  "You were told to keep him alive!" Harry told the remaining followers, as their eyes remained glued on their tortured colleague.  "He is of no use to me like this!"  He ended the curse, and his victim lay quite still his breaths quick and shallow.  "Next time you are given an order, you will follow it, for I shall not be so kind."

            "Ye-yes, My Lord."

            Staring with utter disdain at the man on the floor, Harry turned his attention to Mrs. Weasley.  "Wake her."

            Another Death Eater stepped forward and enervated the woman, who whimpered as she tried to keep her eyes closed.

            "Mrs. Weasley," he called gently, as if comfort had been at the forefront of his mind.  "Mrs. Weasley, it will do you no good to keep your eyes closed.  When you open them, your dear husband will still be dead."  A smile twisted the corners of his mouth as he nodded toward his followers to lift the woman to her feet.

            Molly Weasley whimpered at their touch, as if it gave her great pain, and quite possibly did, judging from the burns on her arms.  The woman took a few deep breaths, still refusing to look at the body of her dead husband, and raised her eyes to meet the cold red eyes before her.

            "Know this, Molly Weasley.  As a pureblood, you are a traitor to your kind.  The punishment for this crime is death."  He motioned toward her husband's body, though her eyes remained fixed where they were.  "Your husband has always been known as a traitor.  To you, on the other hand, I will offer a chance to save yourself and your children."  Her eyes widened a little at the mention of her children, but she remained silent.  "Come, Molly.  I offer you everything your husband never could.  Money.  Power.  The name of Weasley will be respected again.  You and your children will be respected again.  You will have futures."

            Mrs. Weasley's head jerked at this, before her eyes narrowed again on those before her.  That sweet, loving smile she was known for whenever she looked on her children returned, as if she were counting the ways their life could be improved by the man before her.  Harry's mouth pressed into a lipless smile.

            "You're right.  We never had much money or power.  I raised six boys and one daughter to realize that those weren't the most important things in life.  But as for respect-."  She shook her head back and forth, as if gently scolding.  "As for respect, we have it from those people who count.  And you do not."

            Harry growled and the Death Eater to his left stepped forward and backhanded Mrs. Weasley to the ground before stepping reverently behind his master again.

            "You realize you are going to die slowly and painfully," Harry said, raising his wand.  "You and all of your children."  Mrs. Weasley did not raise her eyes to him again.  "Crucio!"

₪₪₪₪

            It was the screaming that roused them from their beds.  Normally, all they heard was crying or the boy calling out in his sleep, but tonight, tonight it was blood-curdling screams that pierced their deep sleep and chilled their spines.

            "Wha-?" Vernon cried out as he sat up in the bed Petunia had just left.  He was right behind her when she opened the door.  Dudley was already standing in the hallway just outside the boy's room, looking terrified to go in.

            Vernon pushed past his wife and son and threw the door to Harry's room open, expecting to quiet the boy up before the neighbors heard.  The sight that greeted him as he flipped on the lights stopped the large man in his tracks.

            All the dressings had been torn from the bed, and Harry lay rigidly across it, every muscle in his body clenched as if in pain.  His eyes were rolled back as he continued to scream.

            Unable to move, Vernon felt Petunia brush past him and grab the boy by his shoulders, shaking him roughly.  The boy's skin was clammy and pale, slick with the cold sweat of fear.

            "Wake up!  Wake up!" she screamed, trying to rouse him.  His eyes fluttered, then shot open so suddenly, she fell from the edge of the bed, falling unceremoniously onto the floor.  Vernon was by her side in a second, pulling her to her feet with one hand while hurriedly turning her nephew on his side as he retched.  As soon as he did so, Harry lost the contents of his stomach onto the mattress and floor.

            "What's happening?" Dudley whimpered from the door as his mother rushed past him to the bathroom for water and towels.  With nobody answering him, he crept farther into the room to see his father struggling to keep Harry on his side as violent tremors coursed through the teenager's body.  "What's wrong with him?" he asked again, sounding much younger and smaller than he was, for more than anything, he was scared.

            "Go to your room, Dudley!" his father snapped.  Dudley stared for a second, having never had his father raise his voice to him before, but remained where he was, much more terrified now that he could see and hear that his parents too were terrified out of their minds.

            Petunia returned, setting the water on the nightstand next to Harry's glasses and throwing the towel over his mess.  There was no time to deal with it now.  Vernon was still holding him, so she clasped her nephew's head in her hands and began slapping his cheek, trying to bring him back from whatever was affecting him.

            Slowly, the tremors slowed, then stopped, leaving Harry slumped on the bed, breathing hard.

            "Vernon, write a letter to that school of his.  Tell them something's wrong and they must come for him."  She glanced around the room and saw paper and a pen on the desk.  "Hurry, dear.  We can't keep him here," she said, pointing toward the supplies.  When her husband walked over to the desk, she pulled Harry up to a sitting position.  His eyes opened weakly as she pressed the water to his lips.  "Drink this."

            Harry drank the proffered water, then slumped back again, lying half against the wall and half on the mattress.  Petunia wrinkled her nose at the dirtied mattress and instructed her son to lay out the blankets on the floor.  As he did so, for once silent and obedient, she glanced over at her husband who was laboring over the wording of the letter.  After all, they had to be sure that they would not be thought at fault for what had happened, while making it clear that the boy could not stay.

            "All right," Vernon said, folding the letter.  "It's done.  So how do we send it?"

            "The same way they send mail to us," she answered, looking over at the snowy white owl who had finally calmed in its cage.

            "You can't be-."

            "It's the only way, Vernon," she snapped.  "Just give the letter to the bird and tell it to take it to the boy's school."

            Her husband looked at her as if he'd never quite seen her before, causing her to snap back irritably.

            "I saw my sister do it a hundred times.  There's no other way to contact them."

            Huffing and muttering about 'those kind of people' and their 'freaky, uncivilized ways,' Vernon trudged over to the cage and opened the door.  The bird stayed where it was until he thrust the letter forward and muttered, "Take this to the boy's school."

            "The window, Vernon."  But Dudley had already jumped up and thrown the window open in time for the bird to spread its wings and take off.

            With the proper people notified and Harry finally calmed, Vernon lifted the boy less than delicately to the makeshift bed on the floor while Petunia began cleaning up the mess.  It was not the most pleasant job in the world, but she would not have the smell wafting through the rest of the house.

            As the family began to wind down and her husband and son made their ways back to their beds, Harry began shifting restlessly on the floor, muttering softly, then more loudly. When Petunia could finally make out what he was saying, chills traveled down her spine and she knew she would not be sleeping again.

            "I killed her.  I killed her."

₪₪₪₪

            Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey apparated just outside the wards around number 4 Privet Drive.  The sun was just rising, throwing an eerie pink glow over the identical houses and well manicured yards.  McGonagall started toward the front door immediately, her eyes roaming the empty street for anyone who might have seen them appear with Pomfrey following clutching a black bag.  By the time Pomfrey again reached McGonagall's side, the front door was already opening to reveal a long-faced woman with dark circles under her eyes- Lily's sister who seemed to resemble her in no way.

            "Mrs. Dursley, I'm Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.  This is Poppy Pomfrey, our mediwitch.  Headmaster Dumbledore sent us for Harry."

            Without saying a word, Petunia Dursley opened the door just wide enough to admit both women into the house, before closing it quickly behind them.

            "I don't know what's wrong with him," she whispered as soon as the door was closed.  "He can't stay here."  She was shaking badly, though whether it was from lack of sleep, nerves, or fear, the McGonagall was unsure.

            "It's all right, Mrs. Dursley.  We're here to help him."  Pomfrey attempted to sound as calming as she possibly could, but a glance at the transfiguration professor told her they would be looking after only one person on this trip, and it was not this distraught woman before them.

            "What happened to the boy?" McGonagall asked, as if quizzing her class on the effects of some mundane transfiguration.

            "I-I'm not sure.  He was screaming in the middle of the night, not crying- screaming, as if he was being tortured.  We tried to wake him, but-."

            "But what?" Pomfrey prodded gently.

            "He was sick- all over the place.  And pale and cold."  She glanced up at the ceiling, pausing as if listening for a sound, then lowered her voice even more.  "He began talking in his sleep after Vernon and Dudley went to sleep.  He was saying, 'I killed her,' over and over."

            The two witches' eyes met for a moment.

            "Where is he?" Pomfrey asked, her voice calm and even despite the trepidation in her bones.  Afterall, this was Harry Potter they were talking about, a boy she had treated more often than most other students in the school.  And whose injuries were often more severe.

            "Upstairs.  First door on the left."  Pomfrey was already taking the steps two at a time.  McGonagall began to follow, but Lily's sister gripped her arm rather forcefully.

            "Are we in danger?" she asked, her voice high, as if trying to stop herself from crying.

            "No," she answered slowly, measuring the woman up.  She wanted to add 'not so long as you didn't cause this,' but seeing the look on the woman's face, the terror, thought better of it.  This wasn't the look of a woman who had caused harm and now feared retribution.  She honestly feared for their lives.  After all, she may be a Muggle, but even she knew to fear You-Know-Who.    McGonagall looked around, glancing up toward the ceiling.  "Where are your husband and son?"

            "Sleeping," she answered, shaking her head wearily.  "They're both sleeping."

            Minerva nodded, then turned and followed up the stairs.  It wasn't difficult finding the room.  The door was standing open.  Pomfrey knelt over a pile of blankets, seeming to examine them closely.  It was only when she stepped closer that she saw the pile of blankets was, in fact, Harry.  His skin was white, gray around his eyes and mouth, as if he suffered from hypothermia, although the room was not in the least cold.  Were it not for the slivers of green eyes watching the mediwitch hover over him, Minerva could have believed him dead.

            Both she and Harry remained silent watching Poppy complete her examination.  Harry flinched, pulling away slightly as Madam Pomfrey's hands moved over him, checking his pulse, his temperature, pressing lightly in his glands and temples.  The frown on the woman's face grew deeper and deeper.

            "What is it, Poppy?" Minerva asked at last.

            "I don't know."  She sat back, staring at Harry curiously, pale eyes meeting green in silent desperation.  "There is nothing physically wrong with him, aside from a dangerously low body temperature and a sore throat."

            "Potter, what happened?" Minerva asked, attempting to keep her voice calm, despite having some idea what had happened.  The events of the night were simply too closely related: the Burrow attacked, Arthur and Molly not appearing behind their children at Hogwarts, Potter's fit followed by ill health.  When he had dreamed about Arthur's attack a year and a half ago, he had merely been sick and weak from the experience, but if they were dead, if he had seen it from You-Know-Who's perspective-

            "The Burrow," Harry's scratchy voice said.  "They attacked the Burrow."  He squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to shut the images out of his head once more.  "I saw him do it.  I did it."

            "Harry."  Poppy reached out to him, her hand on his shoulder.  "Don't think on it.  It may have just been a nightmare."

            "They're dead," he said finally.  A throaty sob worked its way out of him.  "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  They killed them."

            Minerva shot a meaningful look at the mediwitch, who nodded knowingly and reached into a medical bag beside her.

            "Mrs. Dursley," Minerva said, addressing the woman in the doorway without turning to look at her, "if you will help me gather his things?"

            Petunia stepped forward, grateful for something to do, especially if it meant getting Potter out of her house.  She was more convinced that ever that he was a danger to them.  As they emptied the wardrobe of his shoddy clothes and packed books and papers into his trunk, Potter's crying quieted and he fell into a dreamless sleep, courtesy of Pomfrey's potion.

₪₪₪₪

Ron knew nothing more until he awoke in the dimly lit Hospital Wing.  Confused, he looked around, wondering why he was here in the middle of the summer, instead of at home.  Ginny was sleeping in the bed next to his, curled up on her side, tear tracks still staining her cheeks.  Suddenly, it all came back to him.  He was at Hogwarts because The Burrow had been attacked.  Mum and Dad were still there. 

Harry, of all people, was huddling near the door, a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his face ghostly pale, straining to hear every sound of the conversation on the other side.  He turned as Ron sat up.

            "Harry?"

            His only reply was his best friend laying his finger to his lips, signaling him to silence.  Ron climbed out of the bed and tiptoed to where Harry stood.  He could hear voices on the other side.

            "-both sleeping.  Potter is sleeping as well, though his potion will probably wear off soon." 

"Yet another problem to deal with."  Professor Snape sounded tired, and Ron could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose as he did when he was irritated.  "Why do we bother sending him home during the summer?"

Ron shot a look at his best friend, who either did not notice or would not return the look.  Why was Harry here, anyway?

"Severus, what's happening?" McGonagall asked, ignoring the question.  "I've not heard from Albus since last night."

            "I'm not sure," was the reply.  "Moody and Lupin were both attacked, as well.  Moody is alright.  It seems his dust bins gave him a distraction to get away.  Lupin was injured, but he will survive mostly intact."

            "And Arthur and Molly?"

            Ron strained to hear an answer, but Snape gave none vocally.  However, McGonagall's reaction was all he needed to realize what had happened.

            "Oh no!"  She was crying.  "How do we tell the children?"

            A heartbeat passed before the answer came.

            The world seemed to tip violently for Ron, his vision blurring.

            "No," he whispered softly, his throat too tight to emit more sound.  They couldn't be dead.  Not Mum and Dad.

            "Bill already knows.  He's informing the others."  The Potions Master fell silent.  When he spoke again, he sounded much more tired than he had only a moment before.  "Allow Ron and Ginny to sleep for now.  Their brothers will be here in the morning."

            "We should speak to Potter when he wakes.  Apparently, he saw it all happen."

            "I assumed that as soon as you said he was here."

            Ron backed away from the door, his eyes wide.

            "No."  The haze at the edge of his vision told him Harry was coming toward him, but Ron didn't wanted to be comforted right then.  He didn't want to be touched.  Violently throwing off the hand that was laid on his shoulder, he screamed at the voices beyond the door, calling them liars, demanding to see his parents, throwing whatever he could lay his hands on.  Without realizing it, he was restrained again by Snape while McGonagall tried to calm him.  Finally, he collapsed in exhaustion against the Potions Master, who lowered him to his knees and backed away, as though unsure what exactly to do now that the boy had stopped ranting hysterically.

            But Ron didn't notice this.  Nor did he notice his best friend lingering nearby, his hand covering his cheek where a livid bruise was quickly darkening.  Nor did he notice his Head of House wrapping her arms around him, rocking him gently, telling him everything would be alright.

            No, Ron realized none of this, nor did he realize angry tears were running down his cheeks.  At this moment, only one thing in the world was happening.

            "He killed them.  My parents are dead, and he killed them.  Voldemort killed them."