Dark Kingdom.

The tightening around his throat became very real as Voldemort's cold hand was suddenly around his throat, his crimson eyes glaring down at him angrily. Harry could only stare up at him, wide-eyed and terrified.

"I decide when enough is enough, you silly whelp," he hissed, throwing him to the floor. Harry instinctively curled up, expecting to be kicked or cursed. Instead, the Dark Lord stalked back to his desk and reseated himself. "It is enough," he said once he was seated. "For now. I must begin explanations and negotiations with Greyback before I decide the rest of your punishment. But just so we understand one another, this is the last day you will ever step foot in Hogwarts. Should you violate this condition, your lives with be forfeit. If you should ever approach Mr. Potter again, in malice or contrition, your lives are likewise forfeit. Headmistress, take them to the dungeons while they await the proper authorities. Professor, escort Mr. Potter to his dormitory, and explain to him the need for discretion on this matter."

Harry didn't wait. He was out of the office before Whitehall or Morgeson to climb to their feet. He paced back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, until he was finally joined by considerably more composed potion's master. The man's expression was no different than before, and the nerve wracked Gryffindor found it more disturbing that if the other had been scowling at him.

"When you are asked what happened to you after the match," Snape began, his tone the same as with any lecture he thought of particular importance. "You will tell them that Whitehall and Morgenson did in fact kidnap you."

Harry blinked owlishly. Certainly, Snape wasn't going to instruct him to tell the truth. He wasn't much of a politician, but Harry knew the situation was delicate and could hurt a lot of reputations, Slytherian House's not being the least among them.

"Their sudden disappearance from classes upon your return would never go unnoticed," the professor explained. "However, you will tell no one about them attempting to kill you or about the werewolves or Lupin's impromptu rescue. Instead, you will say you were 'confounded' and abandoned in muggle London. The Vanguard tracked you down yesterday evening at British social services, completely unharmed, and you were detained at the Court for questioning and returned to Hogwarts this morning. Don't get clever. Keep everything as vague as you can, and let the public make up the rest."

Harry nodded. While he didn't like the idea of lying just to benefit Voldemort's grand scheme, he couldn't deny that he was relieved he wouldn't have to recount those awful moments before Remus' rescue when he was certain he was going to die. Also, on some level, he wanted to keep his new friendship with Remus a secret. It wasn't that he felt ashamed to have a werewolf for a godfather (two of them in fact), but he didn't think he could stand anyone criticizing the kind, gentle man who had saved his life and happened to turn furry once a month.

"Will Remus get in trouble for this?"he asked timidly.

"Yes," Snape said waspishly, though he wasn't looking at Harry.

The young Gryffindor wanted to protest, point out that the man had done nothing wrong, but had been very brave and selfless. His platitudes filled his chest, waiting to be expelled in one long testament, but he swallowed them instead. It was useless to say anything. Snape wouldn't care, and even if he did he wouldn't be able to do anything. Remus' fate lay with Fenrir Greyback.

With Snape's quickening stride, it wasn't long before Gryffindor Tower was in reach. Before they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, his guide grabbed him by his shoulder and spun him around to face him. Harry, having already been grabbed by the neck that day, slapped the hand off sharply and jumped out of his reach. They eyed each other cautiously, mutual animosity and distrust flowing between them like a palpable heat.

"You will tell absolutely no one of what transpired during your disappearance. That includes my goddaughter. If you drag her into this mess, the Dark Lord will be the least of your worries."

Harry glowered hatefully at the man, then spun away from him to stalk to the portrait.

"And Potter."

Reluctantly, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Congratulations on not doing something cliché, like dying. Hogwarts hasn't had this much entertainment in years."

The password, surprisingly, hadn't been changed over the weekend as per the usual custom. Harry wondered if they hadn't changed it because of him, like a porch light left on to welcome home a prodigal son. Perhaps he was just being overly sentimental.

No one was in the commons room when he entered, and likewise, the first year dormitory was empty. The first thing he did was open his trunk and quickly locate those previous items he hadn't risked carrying during the Quidditch match. His wand, warm and magnificent in his grasp, and his watch which was scorching hot.

"It's not my fault I'm late," he said, "I ran in to a couple of... problems."

After a moment, the watch seemed pacified and cooled to his touch. Checking the time, he was unsurprised to find it dinner time. Not wanting to cause yet another scene in the Great Hall, he found his usual cubby corner in the common room and started to draw sketches in the troublesome diary. It was a strange little thing. Whatever he drew in there disappeared shortly after, but if he requested it back, it would appear again. Occasionally, the diary actually put in little comments or doodles of its own.

Today, it seemed particularly chatty.

Where have you been? And what have you been doing? The subject matter is very different from your usual.

Harry took a moment from his sketch of Remus, in werewolf form, staring up close at the observer. He was having difficulty translating the lycanthropes' bright and curious eyes in ink alone, and welcomed the distraction.

You wouldn't believe the last couple of days I had. I've won a Quidditch match, been kidnaped and nearly murdered, and met one of my father's old friends who happens to be a werewolf and my godfather's mate. He's a werewolf too. And it turns out my parents were wizards after all. Seems they forgot to mention it to me.

He went back to his sketch, practicing the eyes with some quick doodles on the edge of the diary. It was several minutes later before the diary finally made a response.

And I thought drawing was your only outlet for creativity. I see you're trying your pen at fiction as well.

Go suck an egg, was Harry's tart reply.

The diary's clever retort was to make the half completed sketch of Remus suddenly disappear.

"Hey!" he said, indignantly. Irritated, and now developing a slight headache, he shoved the diary into his bag and felt distinctly better. He had started to theorize that the charmed journal drew on the magic of the writer to perform its clever tricks, and handling it too long caused his frequent headaches. It was such a neat little book though, and having so little that was really his, Harry couldn't bring himself to get rid of it or tell anyone who might take it away. This included Hermione, for though she was a very good friend, she was a bit of a worry wort. Any thing with even the most slim possibility of being cursed was a reason for days of endless and tireless research.

And that was why it was a stroke of luck that he got rid of it when he did, because not half a minute later Hermione came stalking through the door looking the most worried Harry had ever seen her... and angriest too.

"Of all the pig-headed, stupid, insensitive, load of swill..," she seethed, stomping noisily through the portrait hole. She was followed closely by Clyde, who was still scarfing down a piece of bread from dinner. "As if Harry would just run away! He was just so bloody miserable after his incredible Quidditch victory and all his adoring fans, and then saying he'd explain everything later, that he just decided to take a jog through the Forbidden Forest! Honestly, does Draco think I'm that naive? That I'm stupid?!"

"Hermione," Clyde protested, his mouth still full of bread, "he was probably just trying to make you feel better. You prophesizing Harry's gloom and doom wasn't exactly helping matters."

"If he wanted to make me feel better, he could start by investigating some of those Slytherin housemates of his. If anyone had motive and opportunity, it was them. They've been acting suspicious for days now, and did you see that Morgenson and Whitehall were absent during dinner? Do you think the Court finally suspects they have something to do with Harry's disappearance?"

"Well, I'm certain they do now," Harry said, finally choosing to reveal himself as he stepped out of the hidden cubby. Both his friends let out a startled shriek at his sudden appearance, staring at him as if he were a ghost... well,a ghost other than usual wandering Hogwarts. He gave them both an amused grin.

"Not exactly the warm welcome I was hoping for, but-"

Before he could say anything further, he found himself with an armful of sobbing female.

"Thank God," Hermione cried, "I thought for certain something awful had happened to you..." And then, conceiving that something awful still could have happened, she pulled away to give him a very thorough inspection.

"Harry, mate!" Clyde said, "Don't scare us like that!"

"Well, I didn't want you to choke on your dinner, so I waited a moment at least. And Hermione! Stop it! The school nurse gave me a very thorough check up already. I'm fine," he assured them. Hermione didn't look convinced .

"What happened, Harry? When you didn't show up in the Tower, Fred and George went looking for you, but couldn't find you. We had to tell McGonagall, and she alerted the entire school and we still couldn't find you. The Court even got involved the next morning, and searched the entire castle and even some of the Forbidden Forest. There were rumors that they found some of your clothing or your equipment in there."

Wrong forest, he wanted to say, but checked himself. It was so tempting to just spill the last several days he'd had, and the visit with Voldemort as well. Instead his mind scurried to pull together the story he had been told to give.

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