I don't own Harry Potter. i dont even own this lap top

Chapter one – Help me!

Albus Dumbledore was tired, more tired than he could ever remembered being, and he even said so himself because his memory was quite excellent after all.

In the days immediately following the Triwizard Tournament Final he spent most of his time in one meeting after another. The first day after the children had left Hogwarts, the elder wizard spent the whole day in a private meeting with Cornelius Fudge, the Minster for Magic of the United Kingdom, trying to convince him that Lord Voldemort, perhaps the most evil of dark wizards, had indeed returned to the country and was at large once again. Unfortunately, the Minister was stubbornly refusing to believe this as there was no evidence; a fact that was both undeniable and incredibly annoying to Dumbledore.

It had been five days since the Hogwarts Express had left Hogsmeade station and five days of meetings and debates between the erstwhile Headmaster and Minister and they were still both at loggerheads. Fudge continued to demand proof and Dumbledore being unable, or more likely, was unwilling to provide it.

"I assure you Cornelius, Harry Potter is entirely trustworthy in this matter." Dumbledore implored, not for the first time. "Think about it logically, why would the boy lie about Voldemort?"

"Trustworthy?" Fudge argued, "You only have to look at the boys record to see that he is near unhinged!" He continued, unaware of the subtle change in the eyes of the elder headmaster. "He levitated a cake over his uncles business associate. Last summer he blew up his great Aunt and ran away from the safety of his home, and I still suspect he had something to do with Black's escape." He ranted on as Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "And that is before we even mention how he hoodwinked his way into the tournament."

"We have been over this Cornelius." Dumbledore countered. "A house elf, whom is now in the employ of Hogwarts, levitated that cake. Dobby is willing to testify to that before the Wizengamot, not to mention the Committee for Magical Creatures. The business with Marjorie Dursley was a simple matter of accidental magic, typical of any teenage wizard. And as for the Harry deceiving the Goblet of fire, we have already proven that it was Barty Crouch Junior who bewitched the Goblet and turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey. You, as well as several of your aids have viewed my memories of young Mr. Crouch's confession and even he admits Voldemort has returned."

Fudge winced at the mention of Voldemort's name. "Exactly Dumbledore!" declared Fudge. "You shared your memories of Crouch; so why not share your memories of He Who Must Not be named?"

"I did not witness his rebirth Cornelius. It was young Mr. Potter who saw it." Dumbledore responded.

"Habius memoriae, Dumbledore" Said Fudge triumphantly. "Produce the memory!"

"You are making a big mistake Cornelius!" Dumbledore warned. "I had hoped we could work together on this. But alas I see now that you will not see reason." The Headmaster stood to leave. "But mark my words Minister, the Truth will come out and I will make sure that the world will know of your inaction on this day."

"Now see here Dumbledore!" Fudge responded, rising. "You will not come here and threaten me! I am the Minister for Magic. The head of the magical government and you are an uppity school master."

"Come, come Minister. Petty name calling?" Dumbledore chided as he moved towards the door. "Are such things not beneath the offices we both hold? I may be an uppity school master, but I also have the honour to be the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, as you well know, the head of the magical judiciary. The Minister cannot function without the Chief Warlock and the Chief Warlock cannot function without the Minister." He opened the door. "Think about that; we will speak again." Dumbledore left the office, swishing his scarlet travelling cloak about his shoulders.

"The Warlock can be changed." Fudge muttered resuming his seat pulling a fresh roll of parchment from his desk drawer. "He can be changed very easily." He added as he began to write.

Harry Potter was tired, more tired than he had ever been in his life. It had been two weeks since he witnessed the murder of Cedric Diggory and he had had scarcely a handful of hours to sleep every night since. This had become worse since returning home from Hogwarts, his relatives, the Dursley's, had taken offense to his repeated night terrors and being awoken in the middle of the night by his screaming. On the third night his uncle beat him into unconsciousness. Now Harry had been awake for 23 hours. Almost a full day and a night. He was locked in his room, his head aching and his eye swollen shut. He felt delirious. He wondered what a concussion felt like.

He didn't know what to do. Who could he go to for help? His Godfather Sirius Black was wanted for the murder of Peter Pettigrew. A murder he did not commit as Pettigrew was very much alive and seated at the right hand of Voldemort. If Harry reached out to Sirius, he was sure his Godfather would invade Number 4 Privet Drive and whisk Harry away to some unknown place risking capture and a fate worse than death. Harry couldn't risk it.

He considered Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was surely busy preparing for the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. What could Dumbledore even do? He was the headmaster of Harrys school. Would he even have any power here in the non-magical world? Harry doubted that.

The Weasley's where an option he knew. Ron, Harrys best friend, had once flew across the country in his father's magical Ford Angelina to rescue Harry. And Harry knew that Ron and his brothers would not hesitate to do something so fool hardy again; deliberately flouting the reasonable restrictions of underage sorcery, which in turn would cause trouble for Mr Weasley, Ron's father, who works as a mid-level manager at the Ministry of Magic. And the Ministry was one thing Harry wanted to avoid. Which would rule out just about everybody he knew. Seamus Finnigan, an Irish half blood, and Neville Longbottom, a full blood, would both have ties to the Ministry. Perhaps Dean Thomas? He was a muggle born.

'Muggle born?' Harry thought. 'Of course, Hermione.'

He pulled a scrap piece of parchment from his trunk as well as a quill and some ink. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and clumsily dipped the quill into the ink. He scribbled two words on the page tied it to his owl, Hedwig's leg and opened the window.

"Find her. Please." He begged as the owl took flight. Harry watched her fly into the horizon and slipped into unconsciousness.

Authers Notes: So the UK is on lock down and i have always wanted to try writing one of these things. I am dyslexic so please when you review, and i hope you do, dont go on about spelling this wrong and that wrong.

I'm not entirely sure where this story is going, but im sitting down to type and words are poring out of me. I hope you enjoy it and you review kindly.

This chapter has been edited and by my Beta Gin-Sensu and reposted. Thanks Gin!