Blood by The Lord of Chaos

"Now if I've said it once, I've said it a dozen times, hanging's just the only thing to be done with people like this," Marge said as she sipped her tea on the sitting room sofa next to Dudley. It had been common the past couple of days to hear her talk about her opinion of the criminal justice system in the United Kingdom.

"I quite agree," Uncle Vernon said, from his armchair. "They should make the people responsible for their sentences responsible for whatever they get up to now that they've escaped."

Uncle Vernon and Marge always seemed to agree on everything. It was odd to hear them discuss anything really, the two of them just reiterating each other’s points and both seeming to feel that the world would be such a better place if everyone else saw it as they did. From her spot on the window seat, sipping her tea, Aunt Petunia would make noises of assent now and then as the two siblings discussed the death penalty while her son Dudley sat on the couch with his aunt, ignoring the conversation for the biscuits, his tea forgotten.

"Of course there are quite a number of people responsible well before that," Marge said, picking up on her brother's comment. "It isn't just murderers who get off easy, it seems everyone gets a free pass these days to just continue on in their abominable ways. Why I'd put good money down to say that if we hadn't lost the old ways we wouldn't have to deal with such riffraff. Now I can all but guarantee that all of these criminals probably started out small, and all they received was probation, and then they just got worse and worse. There was a time when they'd cut off your hand for thievery. Bring that back, and I bet you'll see the crime rate plummet."

"Too true, too true," Uncle Vernon said as he reached over to pick up a biscuit from the coffee table.

"And it's just like dog training, most people who work with dogs will tell you, you don't blame the dog, you blame the owner."

Harry didn't need to wonder what Marge's dogs said about her. They were all mean and I'll tempered.

"Of course I'm not saying you're to blame for this one here", she jerked her head towards Harry. Harry had been hoping they would ignore him for the rest of the afternoon. Earlier they had ganged up on him for 'glaring' at his tea.

Harry had become well practiced that day in restraining himself from rolling his eyes. This was the fifth time during tea that he had been brought in as an example.

"I've seen you with the boy, and you are an excellent disciplinarian, Vernon, but there's an exception to every rule of course. Now and then it doesn't matter how you raise them, sometimes you just start with nothing but dross and nothing's going to polish it up."

"I know what you mean," Uncle Vernon said glaring at Harry. "Knew he was rotten from the beginning, always something off."

"Of course with parents like that what can you expect? A boy won't be much different from his father." Well Harry certainly wasn't much like Snape, but what about his dad?

"I mean just look at our Dudley here," Dudley didn't even look up at the mention of his name. "He's well on his way to being a good upstanding man, just like his father."

No, harry thought, Dudley wasn't that far off from his father. He thought it amusing that Marge had just gone from arguing nurture to nature without seeming to see any contradictions. What had he gotten from his parents, he wondered? Besides his eyes from his mother and his face and hair from his father, he didn't really know of anything he could attribute to them. He had reread the letter the day before. He tried to think back, to how his parents had written the letter and what they had told him about themselves. He couldn't think of anything about them that reminded him of himself. He wished he could use his wand so that he could see what anyone else reading the letter would see, stories about his parents, and probably not about unwanted pregnancies. As uncomfortable and angry as parts of that letter had made him though, it did help distract him from Marge's presence and her frequently offensive words.

"Do they use the cane on you at that school of yours, boy?" Marge suddenly asked Harry. "Not that I expect that it will do anything for this one, but it is the principal after all," she added in an aside to her brother.

Harry had to remind himself that school meant St. Brutus's and not Hogwarts. He glanced at Uncle Vernon, not sure which answer to give. The man gave a brusque nod.

"Yeah," he said. "All the time."

"Clearly they aren't using enough force if you can be so blazè about it," she turned to his uncle. "You should write his school; tell them they have your permission to use extra force with this one."

Snape would probably like that, Harry thought. Actually, that reminded him of his permission slip, and gave him an idea on how he could get it signed. He'd be in terrible trouble though.

"Actually," he said, his heart rate already picking up from the danger of his idea. "That reminds me, I'll be right back," and with that he walked out of the room and ran upstairs. He grabbed the Hogsmeade permission slip from under the loose floorboard in his room and then ran back downstairs. He picked up a pen from the kitchen before he walked back into the sitting room.

"It's the corporal punishment permission slip for St. Brutus," he said handing the form and pen to his uncle. Uncle Vernon, of course, could see exactly what the form was for, but he wasn't about to say so with his sister right across the room, and he wasn't about to not sign it either. "I'll be in so much trouble if I don't get a signature," he added. "You just need to check the box and sign right there on the bottom to give them permission to use the cane."

"Make sure to let them know they can use extra force with the boy," Marge told her brother.

Uncle Vernon was giving him a murderous look and for a moment Harry was worried he'd tear the paper up regardless of Marge being there, but then he gave Harry a nasty smile and signed the form before handing it back to him.

"Well," Harry said. "I'll just go put this away with my school things and try to stay out of trouble this school year."

Marge snorted as though she doubted that Harry had any intention of doing so.

"Petunia dear," said Uncle Vernon, "why don't you show Marge your tulips. I hear they're the envy of the neighborhood."

He didn't have much time, but he didn't really need much either. He shot upstairs and once more reached under the loose floorboard and grabbed the letters he had previously written Ron and Hermione. Hedwig flapped out of her cage, seeing the envelopes.

"Here girl, I don't have any time, so I need you to take these straight away."

Hedwig hooted and grabbed the letters securely in her talons along with the rolled-up permission slip. Harry opened his window up wide and his snowy companion was off. A moment later heavy footsteps outside his room announced Uncle Vernon's arrival.

"You think you can back me into a corner boy?" His uncle thundered from the doorway. "You'll soon see that I always win. The only place that form's going is the shredder. Now hand it over."

Harry didn't know if the smile on his face was nerves or the knowledge that he had already, in fact, won. It certainly wasn't for what was about to happen. "I don't have it anymore, you're too late."

"Too late?" His uncle bellowed, but then his eyes darted to the open window and then to Hedwig's empty cage. He slammed the door as he walked into the room.

Still worth it, Harry told himself as his stomach clenched and a sweat broke out on his brow.

Later, if anyone noticed the gash over his eyebrow, or his slight limp, they didn't say anything.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIII

It was all they showed on about half of the channels on the television for a couple of days. Dudley had been throwing fits each time one of his shows failed to air. Marge said he was being assertive. Harry thought he was being insensitive, but he kept that to himself.

Though it wasn't the first thing that had hit the news since the convicts escape that Harry could attribute to wizardry, it was by far the worst. First there had been two families found gruesomely murdered in their homes, neighbors from the second one had reported strange lights and noises from the house. The next day a man in London had been found dead on the sidewalk with no apparent cause of death. The telecaster had noted that he had been dressed eccentrically. The most recent event was on an entirely different level though.

"Arson investigators initially struggled to find the source of the blaze that tore through the London Museum of Science but are now finding pieces of a powerful incendiary device. The CTC has released an image from a nearby security camera moments before the fiery blast. They have confirmed that the man caught on camera is none other than Alexander Beckett, one of the five now infamous escaped convicts who have led police on a massive manhunt with nothing but dead ends."

The Dursleys, as well as the rest of the muggle world, now thought that the escaped convicts were terrorists, and Harry supposed that they were right, but none of them really knew what they were dealing with. Though if the Dursleys were concerned that a few hundred people had been burned alive, they weren't inclined to show it. It was business as usual at the Dursley's home, and since it was Marge's last night, there was to be a small party. Aunt Petunia had been in the kitchen all day preparing for the dinner and Harry had been dragged out of his room on occasion to help. When he wasn't washing dishes or stirring pots, Harry had been listening to the radio in his room trying to sort out news that tied into the wizarding world.

"Boy," his Aunt hollered up the stairs. Harry groaned as he rolled off of his bed. He hoped Aunt Petunia didn't need more potatoes peeled, he hated peeling potatoes. Harry walked downstairs, glad at least that only Aunt Petunia was home at the moment. Uncle Vernon had gone into the office for a couple of hours to handle some crisis, and Marge had taken Dudley shopping for his own presents.

"Chop those onions, and don't be sloppy about it, I want them all the same size," his aunt said as he walked into the kitchen. She could be as exacting as Professor Snape could be with his potions’ ingredients. His mouth curled into a frown as he thought of the man. "And watch the mixer, don't let the cream get too stiff." The stand mixer was out on the counter, whirring at full speed.

Harry got to work, hoping to be able to escape the kitchen as soon as possible, and for a while he worked in peace while Aunt Petunia made herself a sandwich for her lunch.

"Are they your sort?" she asked out of the blue.

Harry didn't need to ask who she was referring to.

"I think so," he said.

"Why can't your sort just leave decent people alone, always causing problems. We'd have been well off if they'd found all of you in the Middle Ages." Harry couldn't be sure if she was upset for the people who had died, or if she was just upset to have to hear about magic encroaching on her normal world.

"They didn't find anyone in the witch hunts, they just burned a bunch of your sort at the stake," he emphasized the 'your sort' the same way Aunt Petunia said it. No doubt she wished Harry would be burned at the stake. "Besides, even if they had, it wouldn't have stopped my mum being born a witch."

Aunt Petunia threw down her spreading knife and stormed over to him. "Don't you say that word in my house," Aunt Petunia hissed.

For a moment he tensed up and no words wanted to follow. He berated himself for feeling like that though. He swallowed thickly, and forced out "And which word is that?" Harry said finally, turning towards her, with an emphasis on 'which'.

She slapped him and Harry briefly saw stars. The two of them just looked at each other for a moment.

"Witch, witch, witch!" he exploded, yelling at her for the first time he could ever remember. "Magic, hocus pocus, abra cadabra. The sky's not falling, the neighbors aren't staring, the world doesn't end when we talk about magic!"

Aunt Petunia looked frightened at first when Harry went off, but then a look of fury suffused her. For a moment, Harry was worried she would grab a frying pan, or worse, a knife. He noticed belatedly that he had still been holding the chef's knife when he had been yelling at her. Yet then, out of nowhere, his aunts gaze turned to the stand mixer, still running at full speed.

"Ohhhh," she cried. "I told you to watch the mixer, why can't you just do what you're told, you horrid boy." She shut off the machine and grabbed the bowl, as though their previous argument had never happened, as if magic and her sister hadn't been brought up in the same sentence. For all that she'd seemed to hate the imagination, Aunt Petunia was very good at pretending that problems didn't exist, or in this case, replacing one with another.

"Were you trying to make butter?" she asked scathingly, scraping the bowl out into the trash. She opened the door of the refrigerator and then slammed it shut. Harry was still just staring at her, not sure if he should just pretend with her that their argument hadn't taken place.

"Here," she said, thrusting a five-pound note in his face. "Take that and go pick up some more cream from the store. Heavy whipping cream, and certainly no half and half. And be quick boy, don't you dare try to ruin my dinner."

Harry just grabbed the money and walked out, grateful to be out of the house. He walked down the street at a quick pace. Now that he'd calmed down, he was immensely relieved to have gotten off so easy, it was lucky his uncle hadn't been home at the time. Still, he shouldn't be pressing his luck, the sooner he got back with the cream the sooner his aunt could forget that she was angry with him.

It was three blocks from Privet Drive that Harry noticed him, out of the corner of his eye. Someone was staring at him. He turned to look and see who it was, but no one was there. He looked around for a moment before continuing on his way. As he continued on to the store, he continued to feel like someone was watching him. Twice he turned around at the sound of footsteps to find nothing. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades, and he picked up his pace. He dearly wished his wand wasn't in the cupboard under the stairs.

Reaching the main street, Harry was glad that he was surrounded by people. Pedestrians, motorists, and the odd bicyclist bustled about him. The feeling that he was being followed abated and he enjoyed just being in the crowd.

Walking into the market, Harry made a beeline towards the dairy and was in line at the counter less than a minute after he walked in. The checkout girl looked at him askance, and Harry didn't know if it was for his oversized hand-me-down clothing that still bore several of Dudley's food stains, or the handprint that was probably on his cheek. Harry just stared at the counter until the transaction was over. Heading towards the door, he once more took off at a fast pace, oddly enough, he wanted to be back on Privet Drive quickly. Of course, all too quickly, he was off the busy street and back on the suburban streets of Little Winging. Once again, the feeling that he was being watched returned, and Harry found himself looking over his shoulder repeatedly.

"Well well well, little Harry Potter, out on his own," a gruff voice said behind him.

Harry whirled around and firmed his stance when he saw who it was. He looked slightly emaciated, and he had a slightly feral look about him, but he had a calculating look in his eye as he gazed upon Harry with a predatory air.

"I wonder what he would think if he could see you now, you look ready to piss yourself. Well I'll make you into something; you're mine now. You'll be the first of my new pack. I don't need to wonder what he would think of that."

Harry didn't know who 'he' was, but he knew who the man in front of him was. Fenrir Greyback, the convict the news said went after kids. Well he couldn't have Harry.

"I'm not your anything," he said to the man, and as angry as he was, he had to force the words out. He was trying to hide just how well he knew that he was up a creek without a paddle.

The man smiled at him and took a step forward. Harry wasn't sure if he should try to run or fight, neither option seemed like it would help him very much. He put up his fists like he'd seen people do on the telly.

Greyback laughed, "you don't even have your wand out, boy. Or did you leave it at home?"

"I don't see yours," Harry said, swallowing thickly. The man was close, maybe he could grab his wand away from him. Though maybe, if he was lucky, Greyback hadn't gotten his hands on a wand yet and running would have a better chance.

A wand was suddenly in the man's fingers, twirling about as Harry's eyes followed it longingly before it disappeared again up his sleeve. "Its former owner didn't need it anymore," he said with a wicked grin. "But I won't need it to take you." He suddenly looked like an animal ready to pounce, and flight won out in Harry's internal debate. His hand darted out, the carton of cream sped at the man's face as Harry turned to run, but the carton was batted out of the way as the man seemed to pounce. Harry dodged and turned towards the nearest house, making a beeline for the side gate.

He could hear Greyback laughing as he gave chase, it almost sounded like a howl. Harry vaulted over the low fence and tore around the side of the house and into the backyard. He was at the backyard fence in a moment, jumping over that as well. It was perhaps fortuitous that Harry had been made to play so many games of Harry hunting when he was younger. He knew the back yards and alleys of Little Winging very well. Of course, he still had three blocks to go to get to Privet Drive.

As he ran, jumped, and occasionally ducked his way through the backyards of Marigold Lane, Harry got the impression that Greyback was letting the chase go on longer than it should have lasted. The whole time, he felt like Greyback was right at his heels, and the sounds the man made as he hooted and hollered made it seem like he was enjoying the chase immensely.

Harry got to the end of the block and put on a burst of speed as he crossed the street. He was getting close to home where the wards were supposed to keep him safe. Yet he knew that he was flagging, he wouldn't be able to keep up the pace. The question was, could Greyback? He hopped a fence on the other side of the street, he ducked under a jungle gym and jumped over a half-deflated kiddie pool. He ducked into the next yard when he was tackled to the ground. He landed hard, his glasses sat askew on his face and he felt rough hands flip him over and hold him down.

"That's close enough to your fancy wards, I think. They've been quite frustrating; I've been trying to pay you a visit for some time. So good of you to wander into my hunting grounds."

Harry struggled against his grasp, but the man was on top of him and held him firm. Greyback grasped his face, and Harry could feel his long nails dig into his skin. He could see every one of his pointed teeth as he grinned down at him. He looked elated. Harry felt as though his whole being revolted at the feel of the man on top of him. He knew he should be screaming for help, but he couldn't. It wasn't as though anyone could help him anyway.

"That bastard took everything from me, everything, and now I get the last thing he had left to care about. But you'll see boy, I'm really setting you free, you'll thank me some day. Now where will I mark you."

"Get off that boy," a woman shouted. Harry couldn't turn his head to look, but it sounded like it came from the house who's backyard he was in. He heard a sliding door open.

"Stay inside," he shouted as well as he could with Greyback clenching his face. "He's dangerous."

"I said get off of that boy, now," the woman said, ignoring Harry's warning.

Greyback grinned down at Harry and the hand grabbing his face twisted his head to the side so that Harry could see. The woman was older, maybe in her sixties, and she was carrying a fireplace poker. She was walking towards them. Greyback's other hand came up, his wand suddenly grasped in it.

"Let's have us some fun," he said nastily. Harry didn't want to see what he was going to do to her, but his head was still pinned to the side. He tried to grab the man's arm, but he couldn't move it, so he started clawing at his face, digging at his eyes. Greyback snarled and backhanded Harry.

"Hey," he heard the woman shout. The next thing Harry knew, Greyback was howling in anger and leaping off of Harry. The woman, it seemed, had taken a swing at him, the hooked end of the poker had torn a rip in his arm, blood seeping out. Now it was the woman who was screaming as Greyback pounced on her. Harry scrambled to his feet, terrified as he took in the scene.

Greyback looked like a wild animal mauling the woman, who was struggling tooth and nail against the man. Then he spotted the wand; both the poker and the wand lay in the grass, forgotten by both their respective wielder in the fury of the attack. Harry quickly grabbed the wand and shouted out 'Petrificus Totalus'.

Barely a flash of light. The wand, it was clear, was a very poor match for Harry. Still though, it had part of the desired effect, Greyback had stopped attacking the woman. He turned his head towards Harry with a snarl, his face covered in blood not his own. Harry rather wished he had grabbed the poker instead of the wand.

Harry dove for the poker as Greyback dove for Harry. Once more the man was on top of him. Greyback's bloody face looked inhuman. And Harry used the poker braced in both hands to keep the man’s gnashing teeth away from himself. Unfortunately, it was a losing battle. Greyback was fairly slim, but by a thirteen year old's standards, he weighed quite a bit, and it was all Harry could do to keep the man's mouth away from him as the man's long sharp nails clawed at him.

Greyback stiffened suddenly though, and colorful pieces of pottery rained down around him. He snarled turning around, Harry forgotten, as he turned to face the source of what had hit him over his back. He turned just in time to get hit in the face. A garden gnome, Harry noted. Harry tried to swing the poker at Greyback's distracted torso, but the leverage was all wrong and Harry was ignored. Then suddenly Greyback wasn't on top of him, and a gardener's spade sailed through where he had previously been. Harry scrambled up, ready to fight, but suddenly he was flung to the side; he hit a patio table and fell in a clatter.

Greyback had his wand again, and he didn't want to toy around any longer. Greyback brought his wand down in a sharp movement and roared words that Harry didn't make out and was glad he hadn't either; he rather didn't want to know how to make someone's chest explode. Where the woman had stood, face bloodied, already looking ready to keel over, but with another object to throw in her hand, there was now just a gory mess. Harry knew instantly that she was dead, how could she not be? He paused momentarily in getting up and noted Greyback's gleeful look as he took in his carnage. Why hadn't she just stayed inside and called the police? If she'd only have listened, she would be alive still; and Greyback would have likely taken Harry already. Harry felt like he would throw up.

"Is everything alright over there Ms. Adler," a man's voice called over the fence. Greyback turned his wand in the direction from whence the voice had come.

"No!" Harry called. Greyback glanced his way. Harry decided he'd do the man a favor and run in the opposite direction. Luckily, that way was Privet Drive.

He was over the fence before he heard Greyback's angrily decide to leave the muggle man and pursue Harry. Once more, Harry was hopping fences, ducking under bushes, and running around swimming pools. However, this time Greyback wasn't toying with him. He was gaining fast, and Harry knew that when he caught up, the chase would be over. Harry came to the last house on the block, it was a straight shot to the other side of the street, no obstacles, and it was likely where Greyback would capture him again. Yet Harry kept running.

He shot out into the street, just as a black BMW turned the corner at a fast pace. The driver slammed on the brakes, but Harry knew that he was going to get hit. He jumped, landing on the hood of the car with a bone jarring impact and rolling up onto the windshield. The driver started honking the horn and Harry briefly glanced inside to see that he had been hit by none other than Uncle Vernon, who was quite red in the face and looked to be turning the air inside the car blue.

He glanced behind himself, Greyback had stopped when Harry had been hit, and now looked like he thought the chase was over. Harry got a foot underneath himself and leapt off the hood of the car. He was running when he hit the ground, his head turned to see what Greyback would do. Greyback didn't bother going around the car, he jumped up onto the hood and leapt off after Harry. Soon the man was right on his heels and Harry knocked over some trash cans as he raced along the side of a house to slow the man down. It did little good, Greyback was about to catch him.

Harry was gasping for breath at this point. He saw up ahead, lying in the grass of someone's lawn, a cricket bat. Time to fight, he thought. He dove for the bat, coming back up, he turned to face Greyback, ready to swing. He heard a thud and looked just in time to see Greyback fall down. Had it been accidental magic, Harry wondered? Greyback, though, was up in a flash. He put his hand up, and Harry got the bat ready. But it looked for all the world like Greyback was pushing against an invisible barrier. The blood wards, Harry realized. They had reached the edge of the blood wards and Greyback could go no further. The man howled in fury.

"Go run on home now boy. You'll be mine soon enough," Greyback said. He pulled out his wand, turned in on himself and disappeared with a crack. Off in the distance, in the direction where he had left poor Ms. Adler, he heard two more cracks. Harry dropped the bat, and turned towards Privet Drive.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"You dented my car boy!" His uncle roared when Harry walked through the door. The man soon had Harry pressed up against the wall.

"Where's my cream?" Aunt Petunia asked sharply, seeing Harry's empty hands.

Though he knew better than to expect it, Harry still would have liked to hear: 'Are you all right?"; "What happened to your face?"; or "Who was that man chasing you?"

"There was a man chasing me, a dark wizard," he said.

"Don't say that word in my house," Uncle Vernon yelled, back handing Harry across the face.

Harry spat out blood, not caring about his Aunt's clean floors. "Don't you get it? That doesn't matter right now. Someone's trying to kidnap me, or kill me, or something, and he killed a woman who got in his way," Harry said angrily.

"Those people?" Aunt Petunia asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "One of them at least was a supporter of the guy who killed my parents."

"Get out of my house," Uncle Vernon said coldly.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I said get out of my house. You've got murderers after you? You're putting us in danger, you're putting my family in danger. I've had far more than enough of you. If killers are after you, chasing you through our own neighborhood, then it's time for you to leave, and good riddance."

"No," Harry said. "The wards, he can't get through."

Marge and Dudley chose that moment to return.

"What's he done now?" Marge asked, taking in the scene.

"He has people after him," Uncle Vernon said darkly. "Drug dealers."

Marge gasped, while Dudley just looked confused. "We'll all be killed." She said.

"Which is why he's leaving," Uncle Vernon said.

"Of course," Marge said. "He must leave immediately."

"Aunt Petunia," he said, looking at her. He didn't know what he expected, but she had taken him in.

Petunia was frowning, she wouldn't look at him, she wasn't going to help.

"Fine," he said. He pushed past Uncle Vernon and ran upstairs.

"The door's down here boy," his uncle called up the stairs.

"I'm getting my stuff," Harry called back.

He ripped the linen off of his pillow and opened the loose floorboard next to his bed and shoved everything he had stored there inside. He went downstairs where the Dursleys were all waiting. Marge was going on about Harry being rotten from the core. Harry interrupted, facing Uncle Vernon.

"I'm not leaving without it," he said.

Uncle Vernon blustered at his tone, but he turned to the cupboard under the stairs and unlocked it. Harry pocketed his wand, feeling immensely more confident with it once more in his possession. He grabbed his trunk and dragged it to the door. Aunt Marge opened it for him. Harry walked out, almost expecting to be attacked the moment he stepped outside, but that was silly. The wards had seemed to extend out about a block and a half past the house.

He turned around, not sure if there was something he should say or do, but the door was already being shut in his face.

It was stupid, he thought, to feel abandoned by the Dursleys at that moment. It was not as though they had ever cared for him. But it didn't stop him from feeling messed up to have been kicked out of the house.

What should he do, where could he go? Neither of his friends were even in the country, and he would only put them in danger besides. He should be hiding somewhere, but he hardly had any money on him, certainly not enough to live on his own until school started. He thought about trying to contact Dumbledore or the ministry, but what if they tried to make the Dursleys take him back.

Did he want to go back? No, that was even more messed up than feeling abandoned by them in the first place, he thought. He would be better off this way anyway. He didn't need them; he would manage on his own.

He would need money, so he'd have to make his way to Diagon Alley. But how would he get there? He would have to fly, he had his broom and his invisibility cloak, but what was he going to do with his trunk? Even if he could tie it to his broom, it would be horribly dangerous to try flying with it unless he used magic to make it lighter. Did he dare? He'd really be in trouble if he got kicked out of the Dursleys and Hogwarts on the same day. But wasn't evading a crazy dark wizard a good justification? But then a sickening thought occurred to him; he had done magic, he had used Greyback's wand. That, though, was definitely justified. He was worrying himself over nothing. Besides, the spell had been so weak, the ministry probably hadn't even picked it up. Still though, what to do with his trunk?

A thought struck him. Aunt Petunia's friend Veronica lived down the street, but Harry knew she was on vacation. The house would be empty. He could leave his trunk in the back shed and then go to Diagon Alley to get money exchanged. Then he could take a taxi back here, pick up his trunk and then go anywhere. His decision made, Harry dragged his trunk down the street and parked it inside Veronica's backyard shed. He had had to climb over the fence and unlock the gate from the other side. Fastening the cloak so that it would not flap around while he flew turned out to be fairly difficult, but in less than fifteen minutes, he was up in the air. Flying wasn't as fun without the wind in his face, but after the day he had had, or rather the past weeks, it was very liberating to leave the ground. Harry had pulled out the broomstick compass that had come with the kit Hermione had gotten him for his birthday, and he knew the general direction of London. It was less than thirty miles away and, on a Nimbus, the trip would be quick indeed.

A few hours later, as Harry started to get very cold from flying so long, he reflected that he had missed a key factor. Finding London had indeed been fast, he had gotten there in less than twenty minutes. Finding the entrance to Diagon Alley in all of London, however, had turned out to be most difficult. Especially since he had very little experience navigating through London in the first place. The sun had set and it was getting dark, and Harry was getting fairly desperate. He was about ready to find a tube station and attempt to recreate his first trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, when suddenly, he spotted the familiar sign. The Leakey Cauldron; he had arrived at last.

Touching down, he got off of his broom, but stayed under the cloak. He walked into the pub. He had enough for a meal, so he thought he'd warm up inside before he headed to the bank. He walked up to the counter and called for Tom, the proprietor. When the man just looked around, Harry realized that he was invisible. He pulled off the cloak with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he said. "But I..."

"Mr. Potter," the man exclaimed in a whisper. "Oh, you're alive."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry asked, whispering with him.

"Why because you were attacked by Fenrir Greyback, and then you disappeared. Everyone’s looking for you," the man said. "Come, and put your cloak back on, I'll take you into the private dining room. You shouldn't be seen; they could be watching out for you." The older man ushered him into the back. Harry hadn't thought anyone would know about the attack.

"Well I escaped," Harry said. "Came here."

"Well thank Merlin," Tom said. He showed Harry into a small dining room and had him sit down. "How ‘bout a bowl of stew while I go contact the ministry, tell them to call off the search." He waved his wand and a steaming bowl appeared in front of Harry. It smelled delicious, and Harry realized that he hadn't eaten since that morning.

"Sounds great," he said. He'd rather not involve the Ministry, but if they were searching for him he supposed it was unavoidable. Tom left and Harry eyed his stew for a minute before he started eating. It was as good as it smelled.

Not five minutes later though, the door burst open, and Harry nearly burst out of his skin. His wand was in his hand in a moment, but he recognized the first man who entered. He almost did a double take when he realized that it was the Minister of Magic. A man in a red robe followed him in and then old Tom followed behind.

"Oh Mr. Potter, I'm so glad to see that you're alright. You've had us most worried," the minister said in a jovial tone that was jarring given the situation.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "I didn't realize you knew I'd been attacked."

"Oh, but of course we knew. Underage magic near the home of the Boy-Who-Lived. With what's going on. Of course we sent someone to investigate. We thought the worst when we saw that dead muggle, especially when people in the neighborhood reported seeing Fenrir Greyback chasing a boy of your description. Then when we checked with your relatives and they said they hadn't seen you all day. Why, he shouldn't have even been able to find where you live. No no Mr. Potter, we've been most worried indeed. However did you escape?"

"That woman saved me," Harry said sadly. "She'd be alive right now if she hadn't intervened. I managed to get within the wards after he killed her." She really had saved him. And Harry didn't really know why. As it turned out, Marge wasn't the only one the Dursleys had sold on the St. Brutus's story. Most of the neighborhood had heard the gossip. And even if she hadn't heard about the latest rumors, Harry had had a lot of rumors following him for some time. He'd long gotten used to being the pariah of the neighborhood. Maybe she hadn't recognized him. Regardless though, she'd saved him, and she hadn't even thought of herself. Even after she had been attacked herself, she had kept on going. Harry wouldn't have had to ask her what house she was in if she had been a witch. She'd have been a Gryfindor, no doubt. She'd be alive if he had taken a different route.

"How tragic, you must be exhausted. Now Harry, I understand why you thought you had to try to contact the wizarding world, but let's get you home," he said, as though he had solved all of Harry's problems. Harry didn't think that the minister meeting the Dursleys was a good idea at all. Harry didn't think the minister was concerned with a dead muggle.

"Wait," Harry said. "I can't go back."

"Why ever not lad," the minister blustered. "I'm sure you'll be safe there."

"Well..." Harry thought. "It wouldn't be safe for them," Harry said. "Greyback said he'd been waiting for me to leave the wards. What if he sees my uncle on the way to his work, or my aunt on the way to the market? He could hurt them. But if I'm here, he'll stop hanging around the Dursley's home."

"Would he be safe here?" asked Tom.

"Well of course he'll be safe,” said the Minister, suddenly brightening, "That's what I keep telling the public. The Ministry has the situation under control. Diagon Alley is safe. Why, did you look at your dining room Tom? Filled with people, because they know the Ministry will protect them. This isn't the old days with You-Know-Who, these are five individuals who'll soon be caught, you mark my words."

The man in the red robes frowned but he didn't say anything to contradict the Minister of Magic. Tom was nodding though.

"Now," said the Minister. "Dimitri here will take a look at some of those injuries. Greyback certainly put you through the ringer."

"You weren't bitten, were you?" Dimitri spoke for the first time.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"Greyback didn't bite you, did he?" The man asked.

"No," Harry shook his head. "He tried, probably would have too. But it's like I said. That woman saved me."

He wasn't sure why the man looked at him so seriously while he answered. It made his skin crawl.

"Yes," said the Minister. "Well I'll be off, plenty to do."

With that, Fudge walked out. Dimitri pulled out a bottle of some potion and flicked his wand at it. Some of the potion zipped out and smeared itself on his face. Not at all pleasant, but his face started to feel better.

"Anything else?" the man asked.

"Um, there's some scratches on my arms," Harry said, holding them up. He was pretty sore all over from the car, but it wasn't like anything was broken, and the Auror was looking at him all seriously and Harry just wanted everything to be done with.

His arms received the same treatment and the man left brusquely.

"Alright," Tom said. "Why don't you finish that stew, and I'll get your room ready."

Harry dug into his supper, finally feeling as though he could actually relax. Things were looking up. He wasn't at the Dursleys anymore, and it looked like he'd have the run of Diagon Alley until school started, and Harry would be able to do his homework in peace.

At that thought though, Harry groaned. He had left his trunk in Surrey. He didn't look forward to going to get that. He got up. He'd go tell Tom he had some errands to run in the alley. No need to start another search. Still though, better than one more night with the Dursleys. Though he'd go back and spend the rest of the summer there if he could take back what had happened to Ms. Adler.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Headmaster, the Potter boy..." Professor Severus Snape started as he ran into the office of Albus Dumbledore.

"Is safe and sound," the old man said calmly. "Or at least he has not been injured seriously or captured. He will, however, be spending the rest of the summer holidays in Diagon Alley."

"What?" Snape demanded, not taking the seat that his mentor indicated to him.

"It seems that after escaping from Fenrir Greyback, Mr. Potter made his way to Diagon Alley. The Minister himself went to see him there, to assure that Harry was alright. Somehow, in the end it was decided to leave Harry at the Leaky Cauldron. It seems that Harry is convinced that his presence on Privet Drive will endanger his family."

"The boy must be behind the wards; he will not be safe in Diagon Alley."

"Alas, I did implore Cornelius to change his mind, but he would not budge. I do believe that he wishes for Harry to be a symbol of the continued safety of the alley. There are of course several Aurors guarding the alley, but I do agree that in this climate, Harry needs more protection. Fenrir Greyback spent twenty years evading the ministry before his capture, and Bellatrix Lestrange would have no qualms killing Harry in front of a dozen Aurors. No, I will not feel well until Harry is once more behind the wards of Hogwarts."

"And until then?" Severus asked.

"Until then, I have faith that you will fulfill your oath to your utmost ability," Albus said with confidence.

Snape groaned.

"Does it grate on you, after all this time?" the headmaster asked.

"Potter grates on me," was Snape's only response.

"Do not worry about your start of term duties, I will purchase any potions that you do not have time to restock."

"I'll be needing more Polyjuice," Snape said as he stalked out of the office.