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Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition – Season Seven – Round Four

Captain for the Tutshill Tornados

Round 4

Don't Take Things Out of Context!

Except … that's totally what we're asking you to do :P

Each position has a line of dialogue taken from a film or TV show which you are to use as inspiration* for your story and include the quote as a line of dialogue!

(Punctuation, tenses and pronouns can all be changed.)

(*the dialogue only is the inspiration, not the film/tv show)

CAPTAIN: "This tastes nothing like chicken." Merlin

Word count:2998

Enemy of my Enemy

Harry lay hidden behind a large hydrangea bush right under the windows of the Dursleys' living-room, waiting for the news to start.

He had skimmed the Daily Prophet for any sort of news on Voldemort and had found nothing. The Muggle news was his last hope. If Voldemort was back to killing and spreading terror, then there would be something on the news.

However, not one suspicious murder or abduction had happened. Either Voldemort was rethinking his striking-terror-into-the-hearts-of-all-living-beings and killing-everyone-that-looked-at-him-wrong strategy or… Well, Harry didn't have an 'or' situation. There was no logical reason for Voldemort to be doing nothing. So, day after day, he sneaked around trying to listen to the news.

The music signaling the news started.

"Vernon…" Aunt Petunia said and he frowned. That wasn't a tone she used often.

"Today we delay the news segment for a special report. We're live from the Parliament where the Prime Minister Robert Jones is getting ready to address the nation."

Harry sat up, leaning closer to the wall. Was this it? Had Voldemort finally done something?

"Good evening," the Prime Minister said. "It is with a heavy heart that I address you today. I find myself at a loss for words. I have been thinking about revealing this truth since I came into office. I am ashamed to say that I was cowed into silence."

Harry's heartbeat was almost drowning Jones' voice. His skin prickled all over. Slowly, without conscious thought, he got up from the ground.

"But I will submit no more! You all deserve the truth! I cannot let this continue! For centuries, you have been lied to. All the Prime Ministers who came before me knew the truth! They could have done something. They should have done something! We are not alone!"

There was a strange ringing in Harry's ears.

"For centuries, they have been living in the shadows, doing as they please! Coercing us into submission just because we are different from them! They believe themselves superior; they believe themselves untouchable! No more, I say!"

If possible, Harry's heart beat faster.

"They walk among us! They are our neighbors! They pretend to be our friends! However, with just a wave of their hands, we could be nothing but puppets to them! They are behind every major conflict in the history of humanity! They are at fault for millions of deaths! And they get away with it!

"No more! I will no longer tolerate the subjugation of humanity! I will stand aside no more! I will fear these… these beings no more!

"My fellow citizens, as of right now, we are at war!"

"In!"

Harry almost jumped out of his skin at the screechy whisper near his ear.

"Aunt Petunia—"

"Get in," she hissed, her long neck sticking out the window and trying to peer over the fences of the garden.

Harry did as told, the cacophony coming from the Parliament echoing in his ears. He had never seen his aunt so spooked.

"Petunia, dear."

"Not now, Vernon," she snapped.

For the first time since Harry could remember, he felt like he was actually related to his aunt. He could see the same thing he was feeling mirrored in her expression.

"You have to leave," she told him, gripping his arm. "They'll come for you. They'll know."

"How could they know we have the Freak?" Vernon blustered, struggling to get up from the armchair. "And why don't we just let them have him? One thing less to worry about, I say!"

"Vernon!"

His uncle shied away from his aunt's look.

"I may not agree with all this nonsense; however, he is my sister's son. I will not let them use him as some experiment!" She took a deep breath, her grip on his arm lessening.

"They will know. They will realize that you have no records after you turned eleven. They will connect the dots." She looked at him then, her gaze fierce and burning, and Harry could see glimpses of his mom in her eyes. "You need to run. Keep away from normal places. Go to where your kind is. Stay there. Stay safe."

She shoved him towards the stairs, and Harry was too dazed to resist. By the time he took his fifth step he was running. The door to his room banged against the wall before he even reached it. First, he went to Hedwig, letting her out.

"Go to Ron," he told her. "Stay with him." He practically threw her out the window. Later he would pamper her with bacon and apologize; now, though, there was no time.

He could still hear the Prime Minister talking, the words chopped and distorted, but he caught the most important ones. Witches. Wizards. Different. And again, a call to arms. Against them. Him. All things magical.

"Reducio!" he muttered once everything was packed, not the least bit worried about underage magic. If ever there was an emergency, this was it.

He raced downstairs, saw his uncle in the kitchen, looking up and down the street, while his aunt waited for him in the hall.

She still had that bright, fierce expression.

"Good. Stay hidden. Call that bus my sister told me about. Hurry." She hesitated, then, surprising him, she marched towards him and gave him a hug.

It was quick, awkward, and Harry wouldn't have believed it had happened at all if it hadn't been for the phantom grip she left on his shoulders.

Aunt Petunia looked away from him, and Uncle Vernon gave him a curt nod—far more than anything Harry had ever expected from him.

Then, looking one last time towards his aunt, Harry walked out of 4 Privet Drive, knowing he would never come back.

Despite the hour, the Leaky Cauldron was full to the brim. Harry had a hard time making his way towards the counter to speak with Tom.

He caught snippets of conversations here and there, the main theme the Muggle news. For the first time, he could clearly differentiate between Muggleborns and Purebloods. There was a raw, naked fear in the expressions of the Muggleborns. Something Harry could relate to. Most Purebloods had no idea what Muggles were capable of. They were utterly sure of their superiority—even those like the Weasleys looked at Muggles like entertaining children. Like something cute and funny, and never as something that could truly harm them.

Sometimes, Harry envied that naivety.

"Harry!"

Harry turned on the spot, slumping when he saw a familiar face.

"Professor," he said, making his way towards Professor Lupin.

"It's Remus," the man told him, a small smile stretching his lips. "What are you doing here?"

Harry shrugged. "My aunt told me to go. To hide with my kind."

Remus seemed to age in front of him. "You heard."

It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded anyway.

Remus gripped his shoulder, directing him towards the Floo.

"Give me a moment, I need to contact Dumbledore."

"Are you sending me back?"

Because, well, that didn't sound like a brilliant idea.

Remus shook his head. "No, as things are right now, it would be utterly foolish to have you—or any of us—in the Muggle world. Actually, it's foolish to have any of us in the Muggle world. This… This isn't something we were expecting." He grabbed a bit of floo powder. "Give me a minute." Then he stuck his head in the Floo.

Harry remained close, looking at all the witches and wizards around them. He could feel the tension mounting, the Muggleborns trying—and succeeding in most cases—to explain the danger they were facing.

"Read this."

Harry startled, looking at the slightly singed parchment that Remus was holding out to him.

"Don't say it out loud, just read it. Have you memorized it?"

Harry nodded.

"Good." Remus pulled him towards the crowded apparition point beside the entrance to Diagon Alley. "I don't think you've ever side-apparated before. I'm not gonna lie, it won't be comfortable. But it's the fastest way to get there."

"There where?" Harry asked once they made it through the mass of people.

"To your godfather," Remus replied. "Hold on tight."

And that was the only information Harry needed to do exactly as Remus had told him.

Remus hadn't been lying. It was utterly uncomfortable. Also, the house Remus pulled him inside of wasn't bringing up his moral either. It was dark and damp, and Harry was pretty sure he could hear something crawling in the corner.

However, before he could take in the rest of the décor, a door at the far end of the corridor opened, and Harry recognized the figure in the dim light immediately.

"Remus?" Sirius said. "You're back early."

Harry stepped out from behind Remus and Sirius' mouth dropped. "Harry?" Uncharacteristically, he had squeaked the word.

"What are you doing here?"

Before he could answer, Sirius took the few steps that had separated them and pulled him into a hug, leaving the explaining to Remus.

"I saw him at the Leaky. Apparently, Petunia told him to run."

Sirius held him away, his eyes roving over every inch of him.

"Never thought I would say this, but Petunia was right."

Sirius dropped an arm around his shoulders, directing him towards the door he had come from. Peeking inside, Harry saw that it was a kitchen that was relatively full. He spotted the Weasleys and Hermione instantly, and he even saw Snape, McGonagall, and Mad-Eye; everyone else, though, were complete strangers.

"Look who's here!" Sirius said, pushing him into the room. If Harry wasn't still in a mild state of shock, he would have been complaining about all the manhandling. He was perfectly capable of walking.

There was a minute of silence, then: "Harry!"

He never knew that Ron's voice could reach that level of screechiness. He must have gotten it from his mother.

Then, there was a sudden rush and Harry was almost swallowed by a sea of red-heads. When he was let go, once again manhandled into a chair, he noticed the tension rolling off everyone.

"You saw the news?" a pink-haired witch asked.

"Yeah…" He looked at Snape, because even if he despised the man, he knew that if there was anyone who would be honest, it would be him. "Is it… Is it a real threat? Will the Muggles believe it?"

For the first time, Snape wasn't looking at him as if he were scum.

"It's been almost two hours since the announcement, and there have already been reports of attacks. Most have been against Muggles that are a little… different. However, there were Hogwarts students attacked. Most of them by their families."

Harry winced, even if he wasn't surprised by the news.

"They used magic to defend themselves, which alerted the Ministry and Aurors were dispatched. It's how the rest of the Wizarding World got news about what transpired. Dumbledore is at the Ministry."

"Right," Harry said, slumping in his seat. "Does… Does Voldemort know?"

Most people in the room flinched, and Harry rolled his eyes.

Slowly, eyes never leaving him, Snape nodded.

"He has been informed."

"Is he going to do something?"

Harry never thought he would be happy to have Voldemort around; however, he was rather close to feeling just that. He respected Dumbledore, but if it came down to it, in an outright war, he would bet on Voldemort. It was nothing personal; Voldemort just had more practice with destruction and killing than Dumbledore.

He stopped a hysterical laugh from bubbling up his throat. No practice with killing should be a good thing—funny times they were living in.

"He's at the Ministry as well," Snape said, and Harry was sure he was gaping.

"Well, that will be a wonderful wake-up call for Fudge," he mumbled, the snort from Ron and cackling from the twins a breath of fresh air.

A week had gone by since the Prime Minister had outed the Wizarding World in national television. The news had spread like a wildfire, and every country was now coming forth to accuse wizards and witches of everything wrong that had ever happened.

The MACUSA had closed off their borders, tightening security higher than ever.

Britain had quickly followed in their footsteps, calling every Muggleborn back to the Wizarding World and setting up laws prohibiting anyone from crossing into the Muggle World.

Surprisingly, according to Dumbledore, Voldemort was the one enforcing that rule. Dumbledore claimed that Voldemort had even punished his followers when they had gone and attacked a Muggle town.

Harry shook his head, picking up another book from the pile Hermione had given him. She wasn't taking what was happening well—none of them were, really—however, her way of dealing with it was to ply them with books and more books.

Harry wasn't complaining; it kept him busy.

Voldemort should have been their enemy. They should have been talking about what was happening with Voldemort, not reading books on how to defend themselves from Muggles.

He opened the book—1001 Ways To Put Muggles In Their Place, charming title—and the whole house shook.

He jumped from his seat, wand in hand, at the same time as the door slammed open.

"Grab your things," Sirius shouted at him. "We need to leave!"

"What's happening?"

He grabbed the bag from beside him—everyone had a bag with anything they'd need to survive, a precaution decided by Dumbledore—and ran.

"They're bombing Grimmauld!"

Harry froze for a second, and another boom rocked the house. Harry smelled fire.

"It's under Fidelius," he said, running down the stairs after Sirius.

"I know." Sirius looked frantic, ushering him out the door. "They still found it."

Just as Harry felt the uncomfortable squeeze of apparition, he saw Grimmauld go up in flames.

Harry huddled deeper into the small cave he had found. He was freezing, but he would not give into temptation and create a fire. He had learned from the last two times.

The first time—he had been with Sirius, Remus, Bill, and Fred—he had been too focused on getting away from the gun-wielding Muggles to notice. The second time, just him and Bill, he had seen the machines the Muggles had. Somehow, they were able to detect the use of magic.

Harry had panicked, and as had happened so many years ago when he had suddenly appeared on the school roof, he had found himself alone in a forest.

He had been alone for three days now. He could only hope that everyone was all right. That they had made it to safety.

Something rustled near the entrance of his cave, and his hand went to his wand. Even if they could detect him, he would not go down without a fight. He hadn't backed down from Voldemort, he sure wouldn't back down from a Muggle!

"Don't do anything stupid, Potter."

He was so stunned that he dropped his wand. There, in the entrance of his cave stood Voldemort—well, looking at his pretty face it might be more accurate to call him Tom Riddle.

"You have a nose!"

Considering the days he'd had, Harry could be forgiven for his lack of filter, he was sure.

Voldemort's eyebrow twitched in what Harry was sure was restrain from not cursing him.

Voldemort walked further inside the cave, glancing at a boulder in distaste before taking a seat.

"Dumbledore," Harry hadn't realized that a name could be uttered with so much contempt, "was insistent on finding you—Merlin only knows why. As regular magic was not an option, our connection was the only solution." Voldemort looked at him, and even with his pretty face on, those blood-red eyes were utterly creepy. "You have questions?"

"Why the pretty face?"

Voldemort's nostrils flared, and Harry was sure his brain had decided to jump ship and let him flounder through life on his own.

"My other looks would have been cumbersome. The Muggles wouldn't look at me twice looking as I do now; however, if I had remained with my previous visage, they would have known I was magic on the spot. No matter how much I would have enjoyed murdering every single one that dared approach me, it would not have facilitated my endeavor of locating you."

Harry was surprised Voldemort had bothered to answer his stupid question; though, as he took a closer look at the man, he could see the faint lines of stress marring his features, black bags forming under his eyes.

"Will we be leaving then?" he asked.

Voldemort nodded. "As soon as day breaks. I saw some military men walking north of here. By morning, they should have cleared."

"Where will we be going?"

He was silently marveling that he was having a civilized conversation with Voldemort.

"Hogwarts." Something bright and fierce burned in Voldemort's eyes. "The Muggles know where it is. Even so, they find themselves unable to breach the wards. Nothing they have thrown at Hogwarts has harmed the castle or the wards."

A wave of pride washed through him, and Harry could now quite easily identify the feeling in Voldemort's eyes. Their home was standing strong against the Muggles.

He reached for the bag that hadn't left his side since Grimmauld and pulled a few bits of meat from a wrapped piece of parchment.

"Here," he said, holding out the meat. "I made this earlier, before I heard the Muggles walking around."

Slowly, Voldemort reached for the silent peace offering.

"What is it?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Squirrel."

Voldemort grimaced and Harry didn't even stop the smile that was tugging at his lips.

"Don't make that face. It tastes like chicken."

Voldemort shot him a dubious look. He gave the meat a sniff, and then took a tentative bite.

He chewed, grimacing all the while.

"This tastes nothing like chicken."

Harry laughed, the sound just this side of hysterical but greatly overpowered by the sheer relief he was feeling.

They could do this.

He could make it another night, and then, they would be going back to Hogwarts, back home.