Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 
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The Herbology essay that had taken forever to research and write was nearly finished. Harry only needed to read up on the correct way to propagate Creeping Fireweed seedlings, and he'd have it done by dinnertime. He sat on his cloak in a quiet spot between the edge of the forest and the lake, and shivered in the chill of early evening. 'An A to Z of Combustible Perennials' sat open in front of him as he scribbled notes on a scrap of parchment. It was beginning to get dark and he was struggling to make out the intricate calligraphy, but it didn't occur to him to finish the assignment in the warm, bright common room.

'Lumos!' he muttered, and stuck his wand in the branches of a nearby tree, to act as an overhead lamp. As he turned back to his cloak, something caught his eye. Was that a slight movement, just beyond the edge of the forest? He squinted into the gloom...and a large, ugly black bird flapped its way out of the undergrowth, squawking angrily. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, and berated himself for being so jumpy. He sat down and got back to work.

'Let's see...the roots must be treated with a Fridgidiopotion, before the seedlings are separated, to prevent them exploding as soon as they are exposed to light...'

Absorbed in his research, Harry barely noticed the clouds overhead becoming darker. The wind picked up, rustling leaves and rippling the surface of the lake. It wasn't until he heard the first rumble of thunder that he looked up. The sky was the colour of ink, and the trees of the forest loomed menacingly, thrashing their gnarled branches in the wind. Harry was not perturbed by the coming storm, in fact he quite liked thunderstorms, but something wasn't right. He stood up and frowned, trying to put his finger on what was wrong. He glanced towards the castle. It seemed very far away - had he really walked that far to get here? A sound from behind him made him spin around and stare into the trees. The sound of the leaves rustling was almost like...whispering. Like lots of voices, all whispering together. Wait...that is whispering, surely. Harry strained to hear. There were voices, definitely voices, and they were coming nearer. Harry began to panic. This was all very familiar - and not in a good way, he was sure. Where had he heard those voices before? If he could only hear what they were saying, maybe he'd remember.

The first drops of rain plopped into the lake, and Harry stooped to pick up his cloak. He wrapped it around himself, and began to think it might be a good time to run to Hagrid's hut. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He turned...and stopped dead in his tracks. Cloaked figures were emerging from the forest. The whispering became clearer, murmuring '... advocare circulus...' Harry froze in terror; he'd seen cloaks and hoods like those before. Death Eaters! There seemed to be hundreds of them, bearing down on him. Their chanting filled his head, and he knew he had heard it before. Surely he had been here before, just like this...and something dreadful had happened.

He willed his legs to move and turned to flee towards the castle. He only got a few yards when... WHOOSH! A jet of flame erupted right in front of him, so close it singed a few stray strands of his hair. He leapt back in shock, and tried to side-step the column of fire. Another one shot up at his feet. He tried running in the opposite direction, but everywhere he went, a new fire would spring up from nowhere, driving him back and scorching his robes. Soon he was surrounded by a ring of roaring fire, flames shooting high into the air. The only gaps in the circle were behind him, where the death eaters blocked his path, and in front of him, his only possible escape. He would have to swim for it.

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