After escaping Voldemort, Harry knows he can never return to the life that he loves. But Ron and Hermione are determined to help him come home. Can they figure out what happened to Harry during his imprisonment before they lose him, and everyone they love, forever?

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Cold...

Everything was always cold now. Lifeless. Meaningless.

I leaned up against the cold, wet stone of some random building. I shivered and brought my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them as the cold wind blew the icy wet air around my body, rippling beneath my thin, torn shirt and baggy pants.

I had been missing for almost a year now.

I had only escaped from Voldemort about 3 months ago.

But I couldn't go home. Never. Not without putting everyone I ever cared about in mortal danger. I couldn't stand it if someone else I cared for died because of me.

There was a clap of thunder right overhead, and the rain began to pelt down. I was saturated within minutes. I figured that I should get out of the freezing downpour before I died of hypothermia or something.

Not like it would matter. I'm pretty useless anyways.

As I stood up, I lifted my head to see where I was going. A flash of lightning overhead lit up my face and neck, and illuminating the white scar running down across my neck, and then all was dark again.

I trudged off through the puddles forming on the street.

I was somewhere in Edinburgh, but other than that, I didn't have a clue.

All I knew was that I had to get as far away from London and as far away from everything and everyone I knew as possible.

There was a small restaurant up ahead, so I went towards it. Even if I couldn't buy anything, I might as well just sit and have a glass of water.

A dim glow lit up the windows of the place, so I knew they were still open. A dull wooden sign over the door read Dorothy's Diner.

As I stepped up to the door, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. My face was thin and sallow, my cheeks a little shrunken from lack of food. My eyes were dull, and my jet black hair was down to my shoulders, and though it was still messy and unkempt, at the moment it was straight and dripping from the rain. Along with the scar on my neck, there was another thin scar running across my left cheek.

Ignoring this image, I stepped into the restaurant. There was a couple in a booth near the door. An older waitress was hovering around the table, chatting idly with them. Other then that, the place seemed empty.

When I walked in, the three looked over at me. The waitress gasped and walked over to me. "Are you all right?" She asked quickly.

What? Oh yeah. Not every day you have a half-starved teenager walk in with scars and stuff everywhere.

"Yeah. I'm okay." My voice was hoarse and scratchy, the product of a knife wound I had received over 5 months ago. "Can I have a glass of water? I just decided to get out of the rain for a while."

"Uh, yes, of course." She said, walking over to a table. As she hurried over, I caught a glimpse of her name tag pinned to her blouse. It read 'Mary'. "You can have a seat here. " I glanced up when she spoke, then walked over to the table she was standing by and sat down.

"Would you like something to eat?" She asked kindly, still staring at my emaciated figure.

"No, thanks. Just a glass of water." She nodded and bustled away. I glanced over at the couple sitting over at the table. They were looking over at me, but on seeing me watching them, they quickly averted their gaze.

"Here you go, dear." The elderly waitress came back out and set the glass of water on the table in front of me. I looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks."

"Sure. Are you sure you don't want something warm to eat? You're soaked through! Aren't you cold?" She looked down at me with motherly concern.

I chuckled. "No, I'm fine. It wouldn't really matter anyway, I don't have any money." I said simply. "But it's okay, water's just fine."

She gave me a sympathetic look and muttered "I understand." before bustling away to attend the other couple in the diner. They paid their bill and left, watching me as they walked out of the building. I smirked.

The waitress had disappeared into the kitchen.

I sat in the booth, enjoying the heat in the building. I knew I couldn't stay for too long. I knew that I was being tracked by some, and hunted by another. If I stayed anywhere for too long, I was in danger of being found.

After about five minutes the old waitress came out of the kitchen bearing a bowl of soup. I watched her curiously for a minute before she walked over to my table.

"Here you go dear." She said in a motherly tone. I gaped at her.

"But-but I can't-" she cut me off. "It's okay, this is on me. Don't you worry about it."

She placed a spoon on the table in front of me. "Here you go. Eat." She smiled warmly at me and hurried off to the kitchen. I hardly had time to mutter a quick "Th-thanks..." before she was gone around the corner.

I picked up the spoon and tried a sip. The soup was hot and steaming. It was a type of vegetable broth with big chunks of carrot and potato, with some slices of celery mixed in. It wasn't much, but to my starved body, it was a feast; the tastiest thing I had had in a long, long time.

I savored each bite, until my bowl was empty. For a while, I actually forgot all my pain, how everything in my life had fallen apart.

I sat in the warm booth in the bright diner while the storm raged on outside. I was completely content for a while, but soon enough, reality sank in, and I knew I had to leave soon.

The waitress walked out of the kitchen again to check on me. "How are you doing?" she asked kindly.

"I'm wonderful. Thank you very much for everything." I answered back.

"Oh, come now. It was just a bit of water and soup. No need to make a big fuss." she chuckled.

"Well, it was more than I've had in a while. It was delicious. Thank you again." A look of concern flashed across her face. "What do you mean that's the most you've had in a while?"

I cursed myself inwardly for my lack of thought.

Dammit Harry, watch what you say!

"Um...well, erm. What I meant was, uh..." I fumbled over my words as I sought for an explanation. The last thing I needed was people asking questions.

"What is your name?" She asked, looking me straight in the eye.

"James." I said quickly; it was the first name that came to mind.

"Where do you come from?" "I come from down south, near London." I said warily. I figured there could not be much harm in telling her that much. She looked a bit better after that, I wasn't sure why, but it was okay with me as long as she stopped asking me questions.

After what seemed an eternity, she smiled and said "Well, would you like anything else, dear?" I felt rather shaken and quickly answered " No, I'm fine. I should probably go now. Thanks for everything." I stood and quickly left the building, the kind old waitress watching me and biting her lip. As soon as she saw my figure hurrying down the street hugging myself through the pounding rain, she turned and headed towards the kitchen and picked up the phone to call someone. As it rang, she flipped the small T.V. in the corner to a news channel, where she just caught the tail end of a missing persons report from London...

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A red-haired boy sat in a dark kitchen in Grimmauld Place in London. His head hung. It had been a year now. It seemed like so much longer. He looked up as the door to the kitchen opened, and a dark-haired girl about his age walked in. He watched as she pulled up a seat and sat next to him--he even managed a slight smile, but it died when she looked him straight n the eye and said quietly, "It's time to move on Ron. It's been a year. I know how hard it is to accept, but he would have wanted us to continue on with our lives."

Ron looked at her in disbelief. "How can you say that?" He demanded. "He's not dead! I can't believe you would just give up on him like that, Hermione!" "We have no proof that he's alive!" She retaliated. "How can you keep up false hope like this?" She asked him, her voice getting slightly higher. Ron stood up and practically shouted in her face "How can someone as smart as you be so stupid! Look at all the signs Hermione. If You-Know-Who had killed Harry, we would've known by now! Don't you think it a bit odd that he's still snooping around who knows where? If he had killed Harry, he would've come out and started killing everyone and boasting about his kill. Besides, Dumbledore is still searching! He still has hope! I can't see him continuing the search if there was no reason for it! He's even posted an add on the muggle television for anyone who might have information about him. Don't berate me for holding false hope, Hermione. I won't give up my hope until I see Harry's dead body! Don't you give up on him!" Hermione looked at him in shock, her eyes wide and watery and her lip quivering. Ron continued in a softer tone, "Don't you dare give up on him. We're his best friends, Hermione. We need to believe in him. I don't care if it's been ten years, I'm not giving up on him." His voice cracked, and tears began to thread down his cheeks. "I'll never give up on you, Harry. Never" That last statement was no more than a whisper.

"Ron..."Hermione whimpered, and they both leaned in and hugged each other, collapsing into each other's embrace and crying together for a lost friend.

Just outside the door, Molly Weasley slipped away into the dark corridor behind her, wiping a tear off her cheek after hearing the conversation in the kitchen. She almost bumped into Professor Dumbledore, who was walking down the hallway from the opposite side.

"Oh. Professor!"She cried as she jumped back, startled. "I'm sorry. What brings you here?"

Dumbledore looked back at her, and she saw a renewed sparkle in his eyes. "He's been sighted."

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My hands were chained above my head to the dank stone all behind me. My legs were weak and wouldn't fully support my wait, and the chains dug into my wrists until blood dribbled down my arms to pool in the crook of my neck. There were cuts, bruises, and gashes covering my body. Every breath was laboured as I forced myself to continue on-one more hour, one more day.

A high pitched voice hissed through the darkness and my head seemed ready to explode. "You can never go back now, Harry. You know why. Hahaha, and what would Harry Potter be without his loyal friends. You know that if you go back to them, they will all die."

I screamed as he laughed into the darkness. I screamed in pain and rage. The pain, however, was not only physical. I could never see his friends again. Never.

Then the voice sounded again. "You are getting annoying with all that screaming boy." he smirked under those cold, red eyes. There was a flash of silver and something cold and metal glinted in the dim light of the cell.

A swishing noise, then my throat seared with pain and my scream turned into a gurgle as it was ripped open...

I gasped as I sat bolt upright, panting to regain my breath. I reached a hand up and ran my fingers lightly over the white scar running across the front of my neck. I hardly even realized the tears trickling down my face until a few drops slid into my mouth and I tasted the warm salty liquid.

Quickly drying my eyes with my hand, I looked around me. Sunlight shone down around me through the

rain-washed sky. It had to be about midmorning. Puddles lining the street reflected the empty blue sky overhead.

I was in a small ally way a few miles away from Dorothy's Diner. I had to get far away from there. I could tell by her eyes that she had recognized me; I had seen the ad on the news a few days previous--a missing boy from London named Harry Potter, around the age of sixteen, nearly seventeen. I had looked back as I ran from the diner and seen the old woman with a telephone.

I stood up quickly, swaying slightly as the blood rushed from my head. I had to go. Now.

A thought struck me and I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. I smacked my forehead at the stupidity of it all.

Duh! A disguise!

I pulled out a small pocketknife from my pant pocket and put it behind my head. I slowly Started to cut the hair on the back of my head shorter, but I left the front longer so I could conceal my lightening bolt scar. When the hair on the back of my head was short enough, I reached down and dipped my hands into a puddle, then brought them up and rubbed them around the back of my head, spiking the hair up. That was all I could do now until I found some new clothes.

I walked down through the town I was in, looking for any thrift stores or anything. After about an hour and a half, I found one. I snuck over to the donations pile and started sifting through the old clothes. After a while, I found a black trench coat that fit me well enough, and a pair of black boots that were in much better condition than the shoes I was currently wearing. I figured my pants were all right, so I started looking for a shirt. The only one I found that fit me and didn't look completely stupid was a long sleeve black shirt wit a red logo--some muggle rock band or something.

Hmmm... gothic. Whatever. A couple piercings or something and I'd be pretty hard to recognize--that and people don't really go out to socialize with gothic people.

So, smirking slightly to myself, I looked around to make sure I wasn't spotted and slipped off with my new wardrobe.

That evening found me about ten miles outside of Edinburgh on some lonely country road. Every few minutes a lone car would whiz by as I trudged along with my hands in my pockets. My mind was empty, but at the same time, it was so full I couldn't organize my thoughts.

Now Dumbledore is that much closer to finding me... But I can't let anyone find me. I can't. If they did...

I shuddered to think what would happen if they did. No. That couldn't happen.

But, god I miss them. I wonder how long I can truly keep this up. What if they do find me? Will I be strong enough to push them away?

With such thoughts running through my head, I kept walking.

Soon it was dark, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see where I was going. So, ignoring the twinge of hunger rising up through my stomach, I walked away from the road to find a place to crash for the night.

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Ron looked up at the kitchen door.

"What is it?" Whispered Hermione.

"Dumbledore is here. I could just hear him talking to mum." Hermione looked surprised. "How do you know that?" she asked. "My hearing's been advanced ever since Fred and George tried experimenting one of their new products at the beginning of the summer." He looked back at Hermione. "Let's see what they're talking about."

They snuck over pressed their ears to the kitchen door. They could hear the muffled conversation just outside between Molly Weasley and Dumbledore.

"Are you sure it's him? I mean, there hasn't been a mistake or something? You're absolutely sure?" Mrs. Weasley sounded excited, but there was a twinge of fear or anticipation in her vice as if she didn't dare believe what she was hearing.

"Yes, Molly. She was quite sure it was Harry." Ron and Hermione looked at each other, hope dancing behind their eyes. Could it be true? They leaned back against the door.

"But where? How was he?" Was the concerned yet joyous voice of Mrs. Weasley.

"He went into a diner up in Edinburgh. The woman who informed me, a Mrs. Mary Burdock, said he came in to get out of the rain and have a glass of wat--" "But how did he look? Was he injured? Starved?" Her voice cracked as she interrupted Dumbledore.

"She said that he did look fairly thin and he had several scars. The one on his forehead, of course. But she also said there was one on his cheek, and a rather nasty looking one across his throat." At hearing this, Mrs. Weasley gasped, and Ron and Hermione glanced at each other again, their faces a little paler than they had been.

"He could talk, Though his voice seemed scratchy and rather strained. She gave him some soup along with the water, though he protested, saying he didn't have any money." Dumbledore continued. Ron and Hermione pressed their ears harder against the door, if that was even possible.

"But did she say anything else? Is he still there?" Molly questioned further.

"She told me that she recognized him from the television ad that I had had posted. When she started asking questions, she said that he became nervous and she could tell he was picking his answers very carefully. She said he'd told her he was from near London. And he told her his name was James." There was a stifled giggle from Mrs. Weasley and a muttered "Of course." before Dumbledore continued. "She also said that he was in a big hurry to leave. And that's it." There was a pause, and then Mrs. Weasley asked "So what do we do?"

Ron and Hermione, who had started backing away from the door, went back and pressed their ears against it again.

"Well," Dumbledore took a deep breath. "He obviously doesn't want to be recognized, and I can see the logic in that. If Voldemort is looking for him, he wouldn't want to draw attention to himself. But why he's all the way up in Edinburgh is beyond me."

"Maybe You-Know-Who's base is up there somewhere." Molly suggested.

"Possibly, though I seriously doubt it. All of Voldemort's interests are farther south than that, down here in London. So if Harry is running from Voldemort, I don't think he wants us involved for some reason or another. Molly, I want you to call the Order together tonight. We are going to have a meeting to discuss the course of action we should take." "Of course, professor." And she could be heard shuffling down the hallway.

Ron and Hermione slipped quietly over to the table to sit and discuss what the had just overheard. They sat down, but before either of them could open their mouths, the door opened and Professor Dumbledore stepped into the kitchen.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said, standing up slowly, but Dumbledore waved him back into his seat. "I think that what Harry needs now are friends." He said quickly. Ron's face got a little red, and he muttered "H-Harry? What--" He stopped feigning ignorance at the look on Dumbledore's face. "I am not disappointed with you two for listening in. I would expect nothing less. I want you two to head up to where Harry is. I will give you all the needed supplies. Once you find him, don't approach him straight away. Watch him for a while, so you might get an idea of how he might react to you." "But we're his best friends." Hermione protested. "Why would he not want to see us? I would think it might be a relief to him after everything he's gone through. Why can't we just go up to him?"

Dumbledore sat a minute, not saying anything, but regarding the two teenagers as though wondering how much to tell them. He looked at them both for a while before saying slowly, with a purpose "I didn't tell Molly everything, because I know that her reaction would not be pleasant. But I want you two to know everything so you will have a more realistic view on what's happening. Mrs. Burdock, the waitress at the diner Harry visited, told me that when she saw Harry, it frightened her. She said that he's incredibly thin. She also told me that what she was most afraid of was his eyes. The way she described them was not as threatening, but dead. She said there was no emotion in them at all. Even though he was being civil to her, actually he was very kind and polite, but his expression never reached his eyes." He paused a moment, pondering. Hermione looked scared, and Ron slipped his hand into hers. She squeezed it, and he squeezed back. They both looked expectantly at Dumbledore, and he soon continued. "She also talked about the scar on his throat." At this, Ron unconsciously rubbed the fingers of his free hand up and down the front of his neck. "She said that it seemed like it had been a deep wound when it occurred. She said she didn't see any sign that he had received medical attention for it. The same with the scar on his cheek. She said that nothing else was visible, but she suspected there to be many more. He also had a slight limp on his right leg, though he tried to hide it. And that's all." He finished.

Ron and Hermione glanced back at each other. When they looked back at Dumbledore, there was determination shining in their eyes. Ron looked the headmaster straight in the eye. "When do we leave?"