With unseeing eyes, Harry looked down on the open book lying on the table in front of him. Those texts were useless! Perhaps he should just forget the whole matter and concentrate on his homework.

He had already read what must have been several dozens of books about Halloween 1981, about the night his parents were killed and Voldemort vanished.

However, non of these books had explained satisfactorily what exactly had happened in the Potter's home in Godric's Hollow, whether Voldemort had been there alone or if he had had enforcers with him, how long Harry had been lying in the rubble of his nursery before Hagrid had taken him out of there, or what had transpired after Voldemort had killed Lily Potter.

Most of the books Harry had consulted so far didn't even mention Sirius Black, and the few that did didn't provide any actual information about the first few hours after Voldemort's demise. Rumours, yes, that trash that called themselves books was full of them, but factual information - no.

If it hadn't been for what Harry had heard and felt during his encounter with the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express two weeks previously - and in all of his run-ins with those creatures that had followed to first one - he might have found it amusing to read about what people believed had happened in the time between Voldemort's arrival at his parent's house and Harry's disappearance in the muggle-world. As things stood, though, he couldn't find any joy even in the most ridiculous stories.

One book claimed that the Saviour of the Wizarding World had absorbed most of Voldemort's magic, making him practically all-powerful and Voldemort little more than a squib, should "those scaremongers" be right and he did one day return.

In another one, Harry had read a fascinating story about him being abducted by goblins before Hagrid had arrived at the scene, who had taken him to Gringotts in order to conduct an inheritance-test (why such a test had to be done by goblins Harry hadn't been able to figure out) in order to prove their theory that in reality, Harry wasn't the son of James and Lily Potter but the love-child of some woman named Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself, who had been abducted shortly after his birth by Dumbledore in order to raise him to become a weapon. According to this theory, it had been the abduction of her child that had lead to Bellatrix Lestrange becoming mad.

Most authors, however, simply seemed to believe that Harry had been lying in his destroyed crib until Hagrid had arrived an hour or two later and subsequently taken him to his relatives.

That didn't add up.

Harry didn't know much about his early childhood, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told him often enough that November the 2nd 1981 had been the worst day in their life, as it had been the day Harry had arrived.

To ease the pain that resulted from having to relive the memories how they had found a baby on their doorstep, the Dursleys made something special on that day each year. They had visited football games and amusement parks, and in a year when Petunia was particularly upset they had even flown to the Mediterranean for two days.

Harry, of course, had to stay inside his cupboard during those outings, making the day just as painful for him as it was for his family.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that he had arrived in Surrey on November the 2nd. And even though the books were vague and differed on many aspects, in one thing they were unanimous: That Voldemort had vanished on the eve of Halloween, on the eve of October the 31st.

So what had happened in the 24 hours between the dark wizard's downfall and Hagrid rescuing Harry out of the ruins that had once been his home?

The half-giant himself had told Harry that he had taken him to Little Whinging by a flying motorbike, and Harry had no doubt that a flying motorbike couldn't possibly be slower than an ordinary one. And even if your motorbike was old and slow and if you obeyed every single traffic rule that had ever been invented, it couldn't last more than two to three hours to cover the distance between Godric's Hollow and Little Whinging. So the time the journey had taken only accounted for a fraction of the time that was missing, the time between him getting his scar and being dumbed on the doorsteps of Number 4 Privet Drive.

What had happened in the remaining hours, before Hagrid had taken him?

Until barely two weeks ago, Harry had lived in the believe that Voldemort had been alone when attacking his family. He had never really thought about the time that was missing between the murders and his own arrival at his relatives. Somehow, it had never occurred to him to question what Hagrid and Dumbledore had told him about that night, and any doubts he might have had he had simply explained away.

That was no longer working now, though.

The things he heard when the Dementors were near were clear evidence that something else had happened during that night or the next day, before Hagrid had taken him.

Briefly, Harry had entertained the idea that Hagrid had indeed arrived mere hours after the attack, and then simply hide with baby Harry because of the muggles that must have noticed the explosion of the upper half of the building.

Then, however, he remembered the voices he heard when the Dementors were near. Voices that talked about Voldemort as their master, voices that thought that he, Harry, was the key to bring Voldemort back. Voices that had crucioed Harry.

Harry breathed in deeply to force the dizziness away that was threatening to overcome him. It was bad enough that he heard those voice, felt the pain of the torture curse each time the dreadful guards of Azkaban came too close to him. He didn't need to re-experience those horrible events when he was safely tucked away in a dark corner of the library, too.

This corner of the Hogwarts library had been the place where the boy-who-lived had spent most of his free time since his arrival at the castle about two weeks ago. He was infinitely grateful for his cloak of invisibility, as it provided him with the means to escape from Gryffindor tower during those endless sleepless nights.

It wasn't that Harry couldn't sleep, no. Actually, he felt more tired most of the time than ever. But the recurring nightmares that woke him up several times each night had quickly convinced him that it was better to sleep as little as possible.

To keep himself awake - and to find out what exactly had happened to him that night, what exactly the adults were refusing to tell him - Harry had started to scour the countless bookshelves in the library for more information about himself.

Of course, Ron and Hermione had noticed that Harry spend much more time in Hermione's favourite part of the castle than he had the past two years.

At first, his best female friend had been thrilled, but it had quickly become apparent that Harry hardly dedicated any time to his homework. Not only this, but Harry also refused to tell his friends what exactly he was looking for.

Hermione had told him numerous times that if he just confided in them, they could search together, so that he had more time for his schoolwork. Ron hadn't been thrilled by the prospect of having to read through books that didn't deal with Quidditch, so the boy had been rather glad when Harry had declined Hermione's offer.

As a result of Harry's new-found desire to become a teacher's pet, Ron had started to spend more time with two of his other dorm-mates, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. At least these two didn't turn down Ron's invitations to play a game of chess.

He felt a bit bad about abandoning Harry like this, as even to Ron it was obvious that Harry was in a rather bad mood ever since the incident with the Dementor on the train. But then, you could still be friends even if you didn't spend the entire time together, could you? It wasn't as if he and Harry had had a fight or anything like this.

Hermione, of course, had taken to accompany Harry to the library ever since their first day back at the school. She was a bit disappointed when it became apparent that Harry didn't particularly value her offers to help him, but with the amount of work she had to do to keep ahead of all of her classes - she had taken quite a number this year - the smart witch was secretly grateful for Harry's reclusiveness, as it allowed her to work on her own assignments while still not being completely alone amongst the Ravenclaws that mostly populated the library.

And of course, Harry's habit of spending his free time in the library provided her with a perfect opportunity to keep an eye on her best friend without having to neglect her studies.

In contrast to Ron, Hermione doubted that Harry simply was 'in a bad mood'. The changes in him were too fundamental to be explained by something as "after-holidays-depression", something which Ron (and several others) seemed to suffer from.

Just as every year, the teachers had their first big conference about two weeks into the school-year.

At this time, the new first-years had normally halfway settled in and the upper years had once again become used to having daily lessons. The summer work was graded, the first fights had been fought and resolved and it started to become apparent whether a student seemed to struggle in one or more subjects.

This year, though, the most serious problems weren't house rivalries or bad grades.

"How are we supposed to teach the students anything with those monsters being all around the castle? Half of the student's body suffers from depressions and Poppy already had to hand out more than a pound of chocolate!" the agitated Transfiguration-Professor hissed.

"My dear Minerva, I have spoken to Cornelius numerous times and he repeatedly assured me that the Dementors would never enter the castle and didn't pose a threat to the children. It's unfortunate that they cannot enjoy roaming the grounds as they used to, but surely it's better than the alternative. I could never forgive me if Sirius Black attacked one of our students."

"No danger?! Have you forgotten what those- those abysmal beasts did to Harry?!"

"Of course not, Minerva," Dumbledore replied in an infuriatingly calm voice, "I'm well aware that Harry suffers more than most students do. We all know why this is," he looked around the table meaningfully.

"He doesn't only 'suffer' as most students do, Albus. You heard the accounts of Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood and Mr and Miss Weasley. A Dementor attacked Harry, attacked him, Albus! The boy is lucky that Mrs Lovegood was able to drive that creature away from him - however she did accomplish such a feat."

"Now, now, Minerva, we cannot be sure that this is really what happened on the train. The students were distraught when they arrived at the school, they might have misinterpreted the situation - quite understandable, of course, encountering a Dementor for the first time always is a horrible experience. But I'm sure that no Dementor would try to attack a student."

"Clearly Potter exaggerated the incident to get attention," Snape cut in, "the boy is even more insolent than last year. He even had the audacity to completely ignore me during class in favour of scribbling nonsense in his potion textbook!"

"Severus! You saw Harry when he first came into the castle, he looked horrible! Not to mention that he has so far refused to talk about what happened on the Express to anyone - Poppy, his friends, me as his head of house... The boy has been completely withdrawn these past two weeks, you can hardly call this trying to get attention!"

Snape sneered at his colleague but refrained from actually saying anything. Because even though he would never admit it, he had noticed that Potter seemed to be rather bothered by his encounter with the Dementor. Or rather, encounters, as the one on the train hadn't been the only one. Something in the boy-who-lived seemed to attract the Dementors. Potter could hardly leave the castle without being swamped with those creatures.

The Dementors had (so far) refrained from approaching the boy closer than about 150 feet, but even on that distance, they did have an effect on the arrogant Gryffindor.

Of course, his Slytherins - the third years in particular - had quickly picked up on Potter's vulnerability to the Dementors and were taunting him mercilessly. Until now, Snape had let the bullying pass, but not even he, a master in mind magic, could suppress the guilt he was feeling entirely.

As if he didn't know exactly what memories the Dementors forced Potter to re-live again and again and again...

Professor McGonagall - supported by Sprout and Flitwick - lamented over the the presence of prison guards at a school for another five minutes until Dumbledore put his food down and insisted that they needed to move on to more urgent subjects, such as the Quidditch try-outs that would be held the upcoming weekend and surely excite the students to no end.

"No student had suffered any lasting harm from the Dementors. Poppy herself assured me that even Mr Potter only had a slight case of hypothermia upon his arrival at the castle. However," he raised his voice when it seemed that his deputy wanted to interrupt him once again, "I agree with you that we should contemplate the idea of having one or two members of the staff aboard the Express in the future. Now, Minerva, how had Miss Granger reacted to the ministry's refusal to provide her with a time-turner to facilitate her education?"

The transfiguration-Professor grumbled something undoubtfully mutinous before answering her employers question. "Not very well, as you can imagine. However, when I assured her that she still could take all of her electives if she was prepared to study independently, she seemed to be relieved. I warned her about the workload, but she insisted upon taking every class Hogwarts offers. We should keep a close eye on her, though, in order not to miss any signs of exhaustion. I still hope that she will decide to drop one or two subjects of - well, of lesser use," the side-along glance she gave Professor Trelawny didn't go unnoticed by any of her colleagues, except the Divination Professor herself.

Harry hurried through the corridors of his school, deep in thoughts. Once again he had spend the entire evening in the library. He had been so absorbed in his readings that he had missed the bell that signalled that curfew would start soon. Now he could only hope that he wouldn't cross the Potion Master's path, or he would be in trouble.

Not that he cared that much if the hostile man gave him a detention or two. Scrubbing cauldrons would at least give him the opportunity to do something else than constantly brooding over his worst memories.

Only that they couldn't be actual memories, could they?

If he at least knew everything that had happened that night, if he at least could be sure about who the voices belonged to. Slowly but surely, his lack of knowledge was driving him mad.

Despite his best efforts not to give Ron and Hermione any reason to worry (the two of them had been bad enough the first days after the Dementor-incident on the train, constantly nagging him with questions and exchanging worried looks they thought he wouldn't notice), his two best friends were becoming suspicious.

Ron hadn't been too bad. After Harry had told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't give up his research in favour of playing chess, the other boy hadn't made any further attempts to bother Harry.

For a short while, Harry had felt guilty after his outburst - Ron had nothing to do with what the Dementors did to him, after all. When he had witnessed Dean, Seamus and his best friend sprawled on the cosy sofas in front of the fireplace in the tower, the latter one laughing roaringly about a joke one of the boys had just told, Harry had felt a small pang of betrayal. Sure, her was glad that Ron wasn't particularly upset by Harry's withdrawal, but it had still hurt to learn how easily his best mate could replace him.

Hermione was a different matter. While she, too, had stopped harassing Harry and trying to get him to talk about what he had seen when the Dementor had tried to attack him, the girl constantly kept her eyes glued to him. Harry could hardly demand that she didn't went to the library quite so often, though. The mere thought made him snort. As if anybody could keep Hermione away from her beloved books.

When he heard footsteps approaching, Harry quickly dashed into a nearby classroom

As quietly as possible, he crept into the corner farthest away from the door and hid in the shadow under one of the windows. Whoever this was would hopefully not search this little chamber of all rooms for any wayward students.

When the sound of the steps started to recede, Harry exhaled and stood up. He would wait for another minute or two before he would make the rest of the way to the tower.

Turning around, he looked out of the window. He was fairly high up in the castle so he had a beautiful view across the grounds.

In the distance, he could see two tiny lights. Hagrid must still be awake, he thought. Tomorrow, he might visit the the kind man. It would be good to speak to someone who - hopefully - wouldn't eye him as if he would collapse any moment.

Harry was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the sudden coldness. Only when somewhere far away, a woman started to scream, he became aware of the creature that was hovering in the air about a hundred feet away from the window. Then, the pain started.

Without sparing a second thought at the risk of being caught by a teacher out of his common room long after curfew, Harry did the only sensible thing he could think of: He turned around and ran. He might be a coward, but he couldn't bear the thought of having to hear everything - and perhaps more - yet again.

He didn't stop until he was only two corridors away from the portrait of the Fat Lady, panting harshly. The miserable summer he had had had completely flattened his stamina.

This had been his fourth run-in with a Dementor, not counting the one on the train to Hogwarts.

The second time had, of course, been when the carriages that brought the students from the train station in Hogsmeade up to the castle had passed the gateway to the grounds.

Harry, still busy trying to convince his friends that he was fine, had been caught completely unaware and promptly passed out for the second time in barely two hours.

This had resulted in rather than enjoying the welcoming feast with his classmates, Harry had found himself in the infirmary where he had been forced to stay the entire night. Luckily, Madame Pomfrey had refrained from casting any diagnostic-charms at him or even doing a physical exam. That would have been simply too much, the whole castle full of teens discovering in one single day that Harry Potter wasn't just too weak to tolerate the mere presence of a Dementor, but also the fact that the boy-who-lived was too pathetic to defend himself against a muggle.

Of course, though, this had been all but a small mercy. From the moment he had entered the Great Hall the next morning onwards, Malfoy and his cronies had ridiculed him. And while the people from the other three houses hadn't joined the Slytherins in their bullying, Harry did have noticed the looks he received from almost everyone. The boy-who-lived too weak to deal with a pathetic Dementor?

His third run-in with a Dementor had been when the Gryffindors were on their way to their first Herbology class of the school year. Out of nowhere, three of the horrible beings had appeared and gone directly after Harry, completely disregarding the other students.

Harry thought that was strange. Weren't Dementors supposed to feed on happy feelings? He sure as hell hadn't been the happiest student amongst that bunch of third years. Or perhaps they sought out those people they could affect the most? Had Hermione been wrong, did Dementors thrive on causing despair rather than robbing their victim of all their happiness?

But then, it hardly mattered, as the fact remained the same: Non of the other student attracted the guards of Azkaban in a similar fashion as Harry did.

That day on the grounds, Harry had still been convinced that he was merely weak. It hadn't occurred to him yet that he was the prime target of the beasts. Therefore, he had just tried to stay calm and relaxed when the Dementors had swooped down on him, mostly in order to avoid being ridiculed by the Slytherins even more.

Despite the incredible coldness, Harry had started to sweat.

Then, the screams had started and his vision had become blurry. Dimly, he had noticed that he had started to sway and the hand that was grabbing his side, trying to keep him on his feet.

Harry didn't know how long Hermione, whose hand had hold him up, as he had learned when he had woken up in the infirmary much later, how long she had managed to keep him upright, as by then, the screaming of the woman had given way to a mad laughter.

It wasn't the high, cold voice of Voldemort he had heard during his previous encounters with Dementors, though. No, it had been a woman's voice that had laughed and laughed and laughed and finally screamed the word Harry would never be able to forget.

"Crucio!"

Harry's head had exploded and everything he felt was pain.

There simply were no words to describe the agony that curse - and Harry was sure that it was a curse, even if he had never heard it before - caused him. The pain was all-encompassing, it was as if his humanity simply ceased to exist.

Even now when he was only thinking about that moment - hours, weeks, an eternity - while being completely safe inside the castle, Harry had to gag.

And then it had stopped.

The next thing he knew was that a strange, hissing voice was whispering peculiar sounding words into his ear. He seemed to be lying on some sort of hard surface and the smell of burning was lying heavily in the air.

"It's enough. Wormtail, take that beast away from the boy, it's obviously not working. I think we need to employ more... straightforward means."

"Bu-but our Ma-ma-master ne-never let me han-handle hi-hi-his precious sna-snake," a man with a disgustingly sweet voice protested, "I really do-don't think he wo-wo-would want me to-"

The far harsher voice of a man answered the man obviously called 'Wormtail'. "Coward! If the snake kills you it won't be a great loss, you filthy rat. Now go, before I murder you personally!"

"O-of co-o-ours, Yaxley," Wormtail answered, defeated.

A few moments later, the voice belonging to Yaxley spoke once again. "Hand me the ritual knife, Bellatrix."

When the cold metal cut into his forehead, the pitiful cries of a baby filled Harry's ears.

It was only in the evening of the same day that Harry had woken up again, several hours after the Dementors had been forced to return to their posts at the edge of the grounds and the unconscious boy had been brought to the infirmary.

Neither Ron nor Hermione (both of whom had waited at their friend's bedside for him to wake up) could tell Harry what exactly had driven the Dementors away. They only knew that Hagrid had snatched his limp form away from the dark creatures even before several teachers - attracted by the screams of a great deal of Gryffindors ans Slytherins alike - had arrived at the scene, shooting silvery stuff out of their wands towards the dark creatures.

After Hagrid had rushed him to the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey had apparently run several tests on Harry while the boy was still unconscious, but either she hadn't found any clue why he was so vulnerable to the prison guards or she had decided that it was better for Harry not to know the details, as she had simply released him with a stern admonition to stay as far away from the Demetors as possible

Harry let out a bitter laugh as he remembered her words. As if he sought out those creatures voluntarily.

Well, but at least the medi-witch had decided that the Dementors couldn't have possible harmed him physically and therefore, she had refrained from doing more than casting spells at him. While his bruises were slowly fading, Harry doubted that Madame Pomfrey would not have noticed them when actually doing a physical exam.

It took another attack before the teachers started to realize that it was not Gryffindorish recklessness that was the cause of all the trouble Harry had found himself into not even two weeks into the school-year.

Oliver Wood had been quite adamant about starting Quidditch-training early and so it was that Harry, together with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch-team, had been speeding through the air above the Quidditch pitch, throwing the Quaffle to each other in order to warm up for the actual training, when the Dementors had decided to attack for the fourth time.

As soon as Harry had felt the first bouts of coldness, he hadn't wasted any further time and had flown straight towards the castle. Being regarded as a coward was better than experiencing everything he had heard and seen and felt during the previous incidents yet another time. At least that time, no Slytherin had been present and it had only been his team-mates that had witnessed his shame.

It took the rest of the team several moments to realized why their seeker had left. Then, they had followed him straight.

That time, Harry managed to avoid passing out and therefore having to endure Madame Pomfrey's care for a third time. Of course, though, Harry's fellow Gryffindors insisted upon telling their head of house about the most recent attack, despite Harry's protests that it didn't really matter as the teachers were well aware of his susceptibility to Dementors.

This time, though, not even Snape had been able to claim that Harry had, with his usual Gryffindor bravado, disregarded the headmaster's warning and come too close to the borders of the school-grounds. Unlike the greenhouses, the Quidditch pitch, being situated between the castle and the Forbidden Forest, was not even close to the borders of the grounds. There was no way that the Dementors should have felt the presence of a human soul with the Gryffindors being on the pitch.

It had been after this fourth incident that the heads of houses had decided that it was too dangerous for the students to leave the castle unaccompanied.

From the following day onwards, the theoretical lessons in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were relocated to one of the unused classrooms inside the castle, and the younger students were forbidden to make their way to the practical classes without at least one teacher or NEWT-student present. Even the Quidditch practice was strictly supervised

Most students found it annoying, but even if he wouldn't admit it (it wouldn't do to show even more weakness), Harry was grateful. Since the new rules had come into force, he hadn't been attacked again.

Well, until this very evening, that was.

Although you could hardly call him seeing a Dementor staring at him from about 100 feet away an attack, or could you?

But why, why kept those creatures following him? How was it possible for them to sense Harry even from that far away? Would they ever leave him in peace again? Or would the guards of Azkaban hunt him down until they had gotten his soul?

"Password?"

The voice startled Harry. Without him really noticing, his feet had carried him to the entrance of Gryffindor Tower.

"Fortuna Major," Harry replied quickly, hoping to avoid a lecture by the Fat Lady about being out of his common room after curfew.

"Hmpf," the Fat Lady, clearly annoyed, stated, but she had no other choice than to allow the wayward boy in.

As Harry had expected, given how late he was, the common room was almost empty. What he hadn't expected, though, was finding his two friends sitting in a dim corner, obviously waiting for him.

Now that he thought about it, it wasn't really a surprise that Ron and Hermione hadn't gone to bed without making sure that Harry safely returned to the tower. The three of them had practically been inseparable for the last two years. But after his behaviour of the last two weeks Harry thought it odd that they would still be willing to forego sleep for him.

Well, perhaps if Hermione had threatened Ron not to check his homework any longer if he didn't agree to wait for their friend? That would have surely convinced the red-head. And the witch herself hadn't seemed at all disconcerted by Harry's refusal to acknowledge her presence in the library or talk to her more than absolutely necessary.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed once she had caught sight of him.

"Hi Hermione, Ron," Harry responded quietly, avoiding the girl's eyes.

He wasn't sure why he was so reluctant to talk to his friends.

Yes, there was the fact that he couldn't bear the thought of Ron and Hermione looking at him with pity, and he certainly wanted to avoid that rumours spread that he was mentally unstable or even dangerous. He hadn't forgotten second year. But if he didn't stop being affected by the Dementors the way he was, those rumours would soon start anyway, he suspected.

No, the real reason he was distancing himself from his friends was that Harry felt that the appearance of the Dementors had somehow plunged him into a completely different world. A world made of darkness, pain, curses, fire, stench, fear, madness. A world that bore no semblance to the peaceful, ordered and benign world of Hogwarts. A world that Harry feared would drive him into insanity sooner or later.

But the worst was that in this world, Harry was completely alone.

Seeing Ron and Hermione and everything they represented, what could have been his, Harry's, if it hadn't been for... for That... it was simply too much to bear.

And so Harry made his way through the common room, nodding at his best friends, before simply vanishing behind the door that lead to the boys' dormitories.

He felt completely hollow.

Ron looked at Hermione with raised eye-brows. "See, I told you! He doesn't want to have anything to do with us. Don't know why you are bothering."

"Because he's our best friend, Ronald!" Hermione answered sharply.

"Well, he clearly has lost his interest. We should just leave him alone, I'm sure he'll come to us sooner or later, once he realizes that he cannot possibly beat you in reading the entire library as quickly as possible. Or perhaps he's still embarrassed about fainting whenever the Dementors are near. If it had been me I would sure as hell not leaving the dorm except for meals and classes!"

Hermione gave an impatient sigh. Maybe she had been too generous when granting Ron the emotional scope of a teaspoon.