This is the incomplete sequel to Fugitives of Azkaban. Please read that story first or this will make a lot less sense. I started writing this as another experiment in style. Fugitives had flash-backs, this has flash-forwards. Never worked out as well as I hoped and I ran out of steam a long time before finishing it, but I'll post what I have written along with the story-line for the missing parts. For some reason th editor removed all my formatting. I think I fixed it all.

The massive, spiked tail of the Horntail dragon whistled through the air above Harry's head and smashed into the stone pylon, sending a rain of chips and rocks hurtling halfway across the stadium. Harry rolled away from the scant protection, not willing to risk it cracking apart and coming down on his head.

There weren't many places left to hide behind now, the deadly tail having destroyed everything taller than a metre or so.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry put on a short burst of speed in a vain attempt to keep himself behind the huge creature. Sirius's laughing declaration about the deadly tail being only slightly less dangerous than the fire-breathing head was made half in jest, but the truth of the offhand comment was keeping Harry alive, for now.

His injured leg slowed him down too much though, and the monster swung around too fast for Harry to keep up. With a last, adrenaline fuelled effort, Harry threw himself behind the shattered remains of the pylon where his teammate had hidden before the first Golden egg Portkeyed the redhead out.

Magically strengthened stone melted under the full, undiluted force of the dragon's breath.A spray of tiny molten stone droplets spattered Harry's already bleeding arm, instantly burning through the tough, heat-resistant material of his uniform and making him hiss in pain.

It was tempting to use the brief respite to catch his breath, but Harry forced himself to take action, rather than rest. The stream of dragon fire would only last a few seconds; barely enough time to cast anything productive, but a general pain-numbing spell only took a moment.

Immediately, relief spread through Harry, unfortunately with a corresponding loss of coordination as his limb numbed. It was worth it.

The moment the fire stopped bathing the ruins; Harry leaped to his feet and fired a stinging hex at the dragon's eyes. The loss of fine motor control caused by the pain-numbing charm affected his aim, sending his spell slightly to the left, clipping only one of the vulnerable, dinner plate-sized eyes instead of both.

The dragon roared, rearing up on its hind legs as it used a forepaw to try to scrub the affected eye. Harry was sprinting before it finished its ground-shaking cry of pain.

Despite the insanity of his mad rush towards the beast, he automatically sought out his godfather.

On the other side of the shimmering glow of the protective dome, he could see a dozen people working to break the ward. Dumbledore was there, in front of them all, a fierce rainbow of magic pouring from his wand to grind against the shield, burrowing into it slowly.

Behind them, the crowd stood in their seats, either cheering or screaming; Harry couldn't tell.

Sirius stood away from the others, casting as furiously as Dumbledore, and twice as desperately. Unsurprisingly, Ron and Hermione were there too, adding their own spells to the onslaught.

Whipping his wand upward, Harry cast the strongest banishing charm he could at the Dragon's weaker underbelly, catching it by surprise. The force of the blow overbalanced the creature and it came down heavily on one leg, which promptly collapsed.

Heart bursting with sudden hope, Harry closed the distance to the scattered treasure pile and grabbed at the target of his desperate manoeuvre. The broom leapt into his hand and he mounted it without slowing down, rocketing off towards the high roof of the stadium.

For the first time since entering the stadium, he breathed a deep sigh of relief, although it came out as more of a half hysterical gurgle.

While the length of the dragon's chain put every corner of the floor within reach of its breath or tail, the height of the arena was outside the danger zone.

Harry took a moment to contemplate the crowd filling the huge stadium. Most were obviously clapping and cheering now, no doubt ecstatic at getting a much better show than paid for, although some were probably disappointed that nobody was dead.

There could be little doubt that somebody was trying to kill him; not with the failure of the final egg's Portkey and the apparent malfunction of the protective wards, which should have let the dragon keepers in while stopping anything else across in either direction.

The malfunction was just too coincidental to be accidental, since it stopped Harry from Apparating, Portkeying, or changing into his Animagus form. Somebody was definitely trying to kill him, again.

Harry slowed his ascent well below the top of the wards, unwilling to find out if they could do more than just prevent exit or entry. Since his unknown assailant had obviously managed to bypass every shred of security to able to change them, they may have modified them even further, turning them into some sort of lethal-to-touch trap. It was impossible to know the extent of the sabotage, so better safe than sorry.

His answer came a mere second later when the sound of the dragon's chain snapping echoed through the ward-enclosed space. The dragon's cry of triumph as it broke loose and leapt into the air in pursuit drowned out Harry's groan.

Not for the first time, Harry briefly wished he were back at Privet Drive.

The bright, summer sun beat down on the homely streets of Little Whinging, Surrey, bathing the rows of virtually identical front yards and gardens in a wonderfully warming, golden glow.

Holidays were only just underway, and most of the younger inhabitants were still reveling in the rediscovered freedom of having no homework and excesses of free time.

One summer resident of Privet drive was desperately wishing to be back at school.

"Potter, can I please take a break?"

Harry lifted the textbook off his face and silently contemplated his morbidly obese cousin. While still enormously fat, he was making good progress in reducing his girth to a size the Smelting's school uniform could accommodate. The Nurse's biting comments regarding his inability to walk between classes without resting were wasted on Marge, Dudley's current guardian, but Harry and Sirius took it upon themselves to 'help'.

Of course, that would be because Marge was currently in a magically induced coma; she was so much easier to deal with after they slipped her a dose of the Draught of Living Death. Her favourite dog was on the bed alongside her, an unfortunate extra victim, but Marge really shouldn't have shared her whiskey with it.

She might have to live with Dudley while he wasn't in school, but Harry and Sirius most certainly did not have to put up with her.

"You know the rules, Dudders," Harry said sleepily. "Thirty minutes, then you can have a five-minute break. It hasn't even been twenty minutes yet, has it?"

Dudley's shoulders slumped, and he turned back to pushing the rotary hand mower up and down the once again immaculate lawn of number four. It was another clear sign of how much life had changed for the two boys.

Privet Drive. Of all the places Harry would choose to spend the first few weeks after leaving Hogwarts, Privet Drive was not high on the list. It wasn't on the bottom; Azkaban, the wizarding prison, held that dubious honour, but it was closer to the lower end of the scale than just about any other place on the planet.

The fact was that the blood wards erected by Professor Dumbledore were worth the effort of returning to spend a few weeks living with the last of his blood family not currently in prison. The sacrifice of his mother would fail without his regular presence in the same house as somebody sharing his mother's blood, and Harry felt oddly sentimental about the last and possibly greatest piece of magic his mother performed.

It also gave an excellent protection from those who wanted to murder him, like Voldemort, and some elements of the Ministry of Magic.

In the end, Harry chose to keep the blood magic alive not because of Dumbledore's vague explanations and concerns, but because it was the last thing his mother ever gave him, and that made him feel that he owed it to her.

Weeks after exposing the new Minister of Magic, Gilderoy Lockhart, as a Voldemort-possessed lunatic, and Harry was still no closer to having his name exonerated. It was a ridiculous misuse of political power by people in the Ministry; people who wrongly supported Lockhart in his extraordinary rise to power and would do anything to hold onto the gains they made under his brief rule, including refusing to allow Harry a fair trial.

Mind you, the corpse of Peter Pettigrew and the testimony of Albus Dumbledore himself wasn't enough to clear Sirius Black of all charges, although his legal status was no longer 'fugitive'.

Technically, both of them were 'on probation under the authority of Albus Dumbledore', meaning nobody was outright going to arrest them if they walked down the street, but it was still a long way from 'free'.

Harry watched Dudley struggling to push the hand mower along, silently checking inside himself to see if he felt anything resembling pity or remorse for the boy.

Life was no longer a bed of roses for Dudley. His parents were both in jail, serving many years for the crimes they committed with their neglect and outright abuse of Harry in his younger years. Vernon was also making up for some rather extraordinary and imaginative accounting on his tax forms, but that was being served concurrently, so didn't really count.

Dudley's friends no longer came calling, not after their attempts to bring the lad back into their fold resulted in outbreaks of some rather disgusting looking diseases amongst them. Sirius was rather proud of that batch of curses, cast on the unsuspecting boys from under Harry's invisibility cloak as the gang roamed the neighbourhood looking for trouble.

In all fairness, Sirius did warn Dudley what the consequences of defying him would be, but Dudley really was just too thick to accept him at his word. Several foul and painful infections later, each corresponding to contact with 'that Dursley boy' as he was now referred to, and nobody would go near Dudley with a ten-foot pole.

Even after that, it still took a lot of stinging hexes for Dudley to learn his place in the new world order.

Harry chuckled, recalling the look on Dudley's face after the first time Sirius transfigured him into a full-blown pig. The only thing that would have made it better was if Harry himself could have cast the charm, but part of his parole involved accepting the dreaded 'Trace' be placed on him, and that gave him no chance to practice the spell before it was used to teach Dudley a lesson he could understand.

That damn Trace.

Now, if he tried casting anything using his wand, without Sirius or Remus standing right next to him, the Ministry would automatically assume a violation of the restriction on the underage use of magic had occurred, and Harry would likely end up back in Azkaban. Of course the Trace was automatically removed the last time he was incarcerated, along with all other spells and charms, but that was hardly a solution Harry would choose, nor was waiting until he turned seventeen for it to expire automatically.

Having Sirius or Remus near him was not really much of a protection from prosecution, as it meant they had to pretend to cast the spells recorded. Any obvious practice, like casting the same charm over and over again, would be clearly Harry.

"Tell you what, Dudley," said Harry, sitting up on the sun lounge. "If you can touch your toes twice in a row without falling over, we'll call it quits for the day. All right?"

Dudley groaned, but stepped back from the mower and assumed the correct stance. Hands held high above his head, Dudley took a deep breath and bent over. For a moment, it looked like he was going to make it, but the effort of stretching far enough to even get his hands passed his knees was too much, and he overbalanced.

With an enormous, ground shaking thump, he fell flat on his face on the newly mowed grass, and began sobbing.

"Now, now, Dudderkins," said Harry pleasantly. "No need to give up. How about we make it two push-ups instead?"

Nope, no pity, no remorse, just a cruel satisfaction in knowing this was as close to hell as Dudley had ever been, and it wasn't going to get any better for the boy anytime soon.

The muffled crack of apparition echoed out of the small shed that used to house the gardening equipment, signalling either Sirius or Remus had arrived. The tin shack sat on the very edge of the wards, making it the only hidden place to Apparate into or Disapparate out of, since so many additional wards enveloped the house itself that even Portkeys would fail.

"Harry," called Sirius excitedly, banging the flimsy door behind him as he ran out of the shed. "I've got it!"

It never ceased to amaze Harry how different his godfather was, compared to the state the man was in when they first met in adjoining cells in Azkaban. He seemed to have de-aged a dozen years and was perpetually full of reckless energy. At times, Harry felt Sirius was the younger of the two of them and Harry himself was the adult.

Sirius stopped in confusion when he nearly tripped over the prone figure of Dudley.

"What's he doing?" he asked.

"Mowing the lawn," answered Harry.

"What, with his teeth?"

Harry shrugged. "Seems to be doing an all right job."

Sirius cast a glance at the half-mowed yard.

"Fair enough," he said, stepping over the boy. "Keep up the good work, Dudderkins, and maybe you'll get to eat two grapefruits tonight."

Dudley sobbed loudly into the soil.

"Anyway, Harry," said Sirius, his excitement returning. "Look what I've got."

He held up a large potion vial.

Harry grimaced.

"Not another damn potion, Sirius," he said. "I'm sick to death of the bloody things."

Sirius smiled wider.

"This, Harry, is your key to removing the Trace."

Seeing Harry forced to jump out from behind one of the few remaining bits of cover, Ron Wesley swore loudly and stopped his futile attempts to break down the barrier. He came to a decision and grabbed Sirius's arm.

"Sirius, the Killing Curse," he yelled over the roaring of the crowd around them. "Will the barrier stop the Killing Curse?"

"Ron, he can't," yelled Hermione. "It's Dark Magic. The Ministry will throw him back in Azkaban for violating his parole conditions!"

"Not him," said Ron, before Sirius could respond. "Me. I'll cast it."

Hermione gasped, her hand covering her mouth in reflex.

Sirius looked at Ron, his maddened gaze piercing the boy, almost weighing him with its intensity.

"It won't kill a dragon," said Sirius.

"But it might slow it down, right?" asked Ron. "It'll help, won't it?"

"I don't know," said Sirius uncertainly.

"Worth a shot then," said Ron, turning back to where the dragon was busy trying to flatten Harry with its tail.

That Harry managed to stay alive this long was a testament to the skill and luck of his best friend, but Ron wasn't going to rely on that alone, not with Harry limping badly and quickly running out of rubble to hide behind.

Gathering his thoughts, he concentrated on the hate he felt thinking about last year. A farce of a trial convicted and sentenced his best friend to the worst prison in the world, his sister lay comatosed in a hospital with little chance of recovery, and Ron himself became a ward of the state in a mental asylum – his own family turning against at one time.

The hate for the people responsible was all too easy to feel. It boiled his blood in a rising tide.

Riding the wave of emotion, Ron, a fourteen-year-old schoolboy of mediocre talent, attempted a charm most adults would not have the nerve or ability to cast.

"Avad-"

"No," shouted Hermione, knocking Ron's wand downwards and interrupting his spell. "Look!"

Coming out from practically directly underneath the wings of the huge beast, Harry Potter shot into the sky on a broomstick. He climbed almost vertically upwards into the air above where the chained dragon raged, well above its reach.

"Way to go, Harry!" yelled Ron excitedly, grabbing Hermione in a hug and slapping Sirius on the back.

All around them, the screams became joyous shouts and even applause.

"He's safe," said Sirius, smiling. "He can stay up there until they get the wards down."

The words were barely out of his mouth as the unthinkable happened; the supposedly unbreakable chain holding the dragon broke.

"Shit," said Ron.

Hermione said much worse.

"You're sure this is going to work?" asked Harry, for at least the tenth time.

"Yes!" yelled both of the exasperated Marauders at the same time.

Even Remus was losing patience with him.

"Sorry, I'm just bloody nervous," said Harry.

"We can tell," said Remus kindly. "Would it help if Sirius took some first, to prove its okay?"

"Hey!" protested Sirius. "Why me? Why don't you take some?"

"Werewolf," said Remus, raising his hand in the air. "Could have some bad side effects."

"Would you?" asked Harry, looking at Sirius pleadingly.

"Don't give me those puppy dog eyes," said Sirius. "I taught you that trick, it doesn't work on me."

Harry just blinked and tried to look even more "cutely hopeful".

"Bugger," swore Sirius. "All right, give me a dose."

Harry happily poured out a measure and passed it across to him.

Sirius took a deep breath and then slammed the thick drink down, gagging as it stuck to the sides of his throat.

"Good Merlin, that was foul!" he gasped.

Remus coughed loudly, then flicked his gaze from Sirius to Harry meaningfully.

"Er, I mean, that was a bit thick," he said, in a vain attempt to hide his initial reaction. "Are you sure you gave me the right dose?"

"Depends," said Harry. "Did I give you enough to age you about thirty years? Yep."

"What?" yelled Sirius, standing up.

Suddenly he doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.

"Told you we could get him to take it," said Harry, holding his hand out, palm upwards.

The werewolf smiled and handed over a galleon as Sirius thrashed about on the floor of the room.

They were currently in the newest addition to Number Four Privet Drive; the underground apartment. Once Dumbledore convinced them all of the need for Harry to live there with Dudley for a while, and arranged to have Marge move in rather than Dudley go to her house for his holidays, Sirius and Remus immediately declared the house unlivable.

The pure 'Muggleness' of the place made them uncomfortable.

Seeing his godfather in the Dursley living room for the first time was a rather startling experience for Harry. The slightly feral looking Wizard and his werewolf best friend appeared so out of place in the starkly Muggle house that it took Harry five minutes to stop laughing at the absurd sight.

Rather than alter anything upstairs, the pair, along with help from several other witches and wizards, added an underground level. The cupboard under the stairs, that used to be Harry's bedroom and his first prison, was now the entry to a second, secret staircase leading down to 'The Dungeon', as Sirius unimaginatively named it.

Each of them had their own luxuriously large and fully appointed room, with another specially reinforced room for Remus to spend his werewolf nights in, as a last resort. All four rooms, and a guest bedroom, joined into a central open plan room.

"Still betting he has white hair?" asked Remus, calmly taking a drink from his teacup while Sirius cried out and rolled about.

"That or bald," answered Harry, looking slightly uncomfortable at the amount of pain Sirius was apparently experiencing. "Should it hurt that much?"

"Probably," said Remus. "The bigger the dose, the more changes it has to make."

"It wasn't dangerous, was it?" asked Harry nervously. "I mean, he is not going to have a heart attack or something, is he?"

"It's a possibility," admitted Remus, "but I think you'll find he is just hamming it up a bit."

Suddenly Sirius was still, the abrupt transition from noisy thrashing to deathly silence startling Harry.

"Sirius?" called Harry. "Sirius, are you okay?"

When no answer was forthcoming, Harry leaped from his seat and ran over to the downed man, rolling him over onto his back.

"Boo!" yelled Sirius, opening his eyes wide.

Harry yelled and jumped straight back into the seat behind him, tumbling it over and landing in a heap on the other side.

Sirius laughed and stood up slowly and carefully while Harry climbed to his feet swearing.

"Watch that language, you young whippersnapper, or I'll wash your mouth out with soap!" croaked a severely aged Sirius.

His face was badly wrinkled and flabby, with loose jowls of flesh hanging down on both sides. His hair, while not white, was definitely grey, and matching eyebrows, so bushy they needed to be trimmed with garden shears, ran together across the top of his eyes.

He looked like a greyhound.

"So how do I look?" asked Sirius, his voice croaky and raspy.

"Just like your old man," said Remus, leaning over to pocket the coin he previously gave to Harry. "As I expected."

Sirius scowled.

"That bad eh?"

"Worse, actually, but I was being kind," said Remus.

"What do you reckon, Harry? Am I still gorgeous?"

Harry, finally recovered from the fright, looked critically at Sirius.

"I think maybe dementia set in along with the grey hair," he said. "Even if you did manage to pull a girl, looking like that, I bet you wouldn't be much use to her!"

"Oh really?" said Sirius, straightening out as much as he could.

"No!" said Remus suddenly, but Sirius ignored him.

"Well I bet I can still boogie better than you," said Sirius.

"No," groaned Remus. "Not again."

"It's funky time!" yelled Sirius waving his wand in the air.

The lights in the room went out as a mirror ball dropped from the centre of the ceiling and several coloured spotlights hit it from different angles, spraying multicoloured reflections over the room. The chairs swept to one side, carrying their occupants with them, and a highly polished, wooden dance floor suddenly rose in the centre of the room. Raucous Seventy's music began playing loudly, too loudly, as Sirius began dancing, badly.

Harry laughed; he couldn't help it.

"Merlin," said Remus. "I wish Lilly had never taken him out. I wish she just left him mired in two hundred-year-old pure-blood culture and never told him about bloody disco."

"Come-on, Harry!" called Sirius, twisting and turning as well as his creaking bones and swollen joints would let him.

Harry laughed some more and ran out to join his godfather, dancing just as enthusiastically, and just as badly.

Remus held his head in his hands and moaned again.

"He's just as bad, I tell you. Just as bad. Merlin, I hate disco. I hated it then, and I hate it now. Should be left to die, I tell you."

When the song finally finished, the room returned to normal, leaving a wheezing Sirius and puffing Harry.

"Okay, Harry," panted Sirius, collapsing into a chair. "You had your joke, now it's your turn."

Harry nodded and measured out a much smaller amount of the potion; enough for about four years, but hesitated again as the smell hit him.

"Go on, the taste isn't that bad," encouraged Sirius.

"That's easy for you to say, you get to change into Padfoot to drink your medicines. Everybody knows you can eat or drink anything in that form. - It's an unfair advantage," protested Harry.

"Just think, how badly do you miss being able to do magic?" asked Sirius.

"I miss it so bad that I would willingly sacrifice my lard-arsed cousin in a foul and illegal blood-ritual just to be able to cast Lumos at night when you are off grovelling for forgiveness from Professor Sinistra," answered Harry, with barely any hesitation.

"That's really not that much, since just yesterday you offered up his immortal soul for a game of Quidditch," argued Remus.

"And the day before that, his spleen and liver for a glass of pumpkin juice," added Sirius.

"I was very thirsty…" said Harry in a mocking defensive tone, while grinning.

"Well anyway, think about how much you want it, and bombs away!" said Sirius.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gulped it down in one swallow.

A few seconds later, a tingling raced through his limbs. It felt like pins and needles, but slightly more painful. He felt his body twisting and contorting, almost as if he was changing into his Animagus form while taking Polyjuice potion. In mere minutes, the feeling went away, and Harry stood up.

He was taller, but not as much as he hoped.

"How do I look?" he asked, the deeper resonance of his voice surprising him.

The worried looks on Remus and Sirius's faces weren't reassuring.

#

"Great, bloody, Merlin's Crystal Balls," said Harry, again.

The image in the small hand mirror mocked him.

For years, people told him how much he looked like his father, but the aging potion told a different story. James grew up well fed and healthy; Harry grew up starved and subjected to any number of untreated maladies. The magically aged reflection did not paint a happy picture of what the future held. The pale, gaunt face staring back was not how Harry envisioned himself looking in five years.

Despite his recently improved diet and the care of several healers, it was obvious there was something drastically wrong, something that would leave him looking more like a corpse than a young man.

"Tell me again this isn't you and Remus playing a joke," said Harry.

"Remus is bringing Healer Matfield over to have a look at you. He'll be able to tell us what went wrong," said Sirius.

"Maybe nothing went wrong, Sirius," said Harry, unable to tear his eyes off his reflection. "Maybe this is what I am going to look like."

Only Harry's eyes remained relatively unchanged. Even his hair lost its thick waviness, now hanging limp and sparingly, and this was after only a few years. Harry dreaded to think about what could have happened if he had taken a dose as large as Sirius's.

"I'm not going to end up looking like this," he said. "I'll talk to the healer, and then I think I need to make some real changes."

Sirius nodded, clapping Harry on the shoulder reassuringly.

"We'll help, Kiddo," he said. "Lord knows I need to get a bit healthier, and Remus is ten years older than he should be. We can all do with a bit more attention to our lifestyle, eh?"

Harry nodded and returned his gaze to the image in the mirror.

He was tormenting Dudley, supposedly trying to help his cousin get physically healthier, when he should concentrate on his own body. There would be no more skipping out on the potions assigned by the Healers, no more meals consisting of just Treacle Tart, and definitely no more lazy days sitting around doing nothing.

Well, maybe just a few, here and there.

At any rate, if the Healer confirmed his suspicions, he was going to need to have a very long and detailed conversation about what he could do to prevent the future Harry Potter looking like the inferi corpse of a sixteen year old James Potter.

In the shock of discovering his less than healthy-looking future self, Harry completely forgot to check if the Trace was gone.

It just didn't seem that important anymore.

Harry banked the broom sharply, barely managing to get out of the way of the infernal torrent spewing from the dragon's mouth. The broom was only as good as a standard Hogwarts Quidditch one, making it severely underpowered for the brutal manoeuvres needed to keep Harry from becoming crispy.

Twisting into a spiral as he dived, Harry curved his descent, trying to keep the fire between him and the beast's eyes. It was a small blind spot, but it was all he had.

The dragon temporarily lost sight of its prey, and Harry pushed his broom even harder, getting behind it. If he could stay out of the path of the flame and beyond the reach of the tail, he might survive long enough for the wards to come down.

With an unearthly scream of rage, the dragon tucked one of its wings in and, in an amazing display of aerial acrobatics, spun on the spot, destroying any hope of hiding behind it. Acting on instinct alone, Harry jammed the handle of the broom downwards, dropping faster than the belching breath of the dragon could follow.

Pulling up scant inches from the ground, another lava-creating wall of fire crashed down, just missing Harry as he rolled sideways and taxed the broom to its limits. The flames chased him across the length of the stadium, stopping only moments before Harry reached the glowing wall of the wards.

Swerving as he climbed to hopefully make a harder target, terrifying realisation caught up with Harry before he reached the top of the dome.

He couldn't outfly the dragon.

There simply wasn't enough space, and the broom wasn't good enough. If he was on his new Firebolt, or even his trusty old Nimbus, there might have been a chance, but on the current broom, and stuck inside an enclosed space – trying to compete in the air with a creature born to fly was doomed to failure.

Unable to run and with nowhere to hide, Harry had only one option left; he had to attack.

"Isn't he ready to go yet?" asked Remus, dropping down onto the couch next to Harry.

"Come on. It's only been two hours – he probably hasn't even got his pants on yet," said Harry. "Was he like this at school?"

"Only after fifth year," said Remus, summoning a couple of bottles of Butterbeer from the cool box and handing one to Harry. "Before that he was still slower than anybody, but he didn't care as much. Once he discovered it made a difference to the girls, we were lucky to get to use the mirror at all. I swear he spent more of sixth and seventh year in the Prefect's bathroom than all of the prefects put together, and he wasn't even one himself."

"I really wish you were coming with us," said Harry. "It's just not fair."

"Life rarely is," said Remus, taking a long pull from his bottle.

"Still," said Harry. "I just don't get how they figure banning werewolves from the world cup is improving security. It makes no sense."

"Hey, at least I get to listen to it on the radio in comfort," said Remus. "If I was on the continent I'd probably be locked up in a cell, just in case."

Harry stared at his friend, bottle half raised to his open mouth.

"You're kidding," he said.

"Nope; standard procedure in most places over there. All werewolves are registered and must check into special 'accommodation' during any large or important events. It's been that way for ages, and that's one of the minor indignities. I've actually got it pretty easy over here in jolly old England."

"Why? Are they really that scared?"

Remus shrugged his shoulders.

"I think a lot of it dates back to the days when packs used to rampage through the countryside, eating Muggles and infecting Magicals. In some countries, getting infected is still an automatic death sentence, and that law has been around at least five hundred years. Not many countries have the same tolerance for non-humans as we do here. Except for the Veela of course; they get special dispensation everywhere, for obvious reasons."

"But you are human," insisted Harry.

"Not to them, Harry. Not to them."

Harry shook his head and was about to comment on the stupidity of wizards in general when Sirius finally left his room.

"Come on, Harry," he said. "No time to waste, you know. Unless you've changed your mind and don't want to go?"

"No way," said Harry leaping to his feet, only to stop and turn to Remus, embarrassed at his reply. "I mean, not unless you want us to stay, that is? To keep you company."

Remus laughed and waved him away. "Go on, get out of here. Have fun and don't forget you are not allowed to do magic, even if you don't have the Trace on you anymore."

Harry couldn't keep the frown of concern off his face.

"Come on, Harry," said Sirius, stepping forward. "Moony here has probably got a hot date lined up and wants us out of the way. Although he could just be heading off to bed with a good book or something – that's his idea of a fun evening you know."

"Have a good time and be careful," said Remus, waving as they made their way to the stairs. "It can get pretty rowdy at those sorts of things, so if anything happens, keep your heads down."

"We'll behave ourselves," said Sirius, smiling mockingly. "Just make sure you do the same."

As Sirius disappeared up the stairs, Remus took another long drink from the bottle and eyed the disco ball hanging from the ceiling. An evil grin replaced his previously slightly melancholy expression.

"I don't think so, Padfoot. Oh no, I don't think so."

#

The crack of their side-along Apparition barely made a dent in the noise of the huge crowd. Shouts, laughter, and raucous singing rained down them; a stark contrast to the almost silent shed they just left. It made Harry smile to know he was better at Apparating to a place he had never visited than Sirius, despite their age and experience difference.

Taking a second to adjust to the explosion of sound, Harry didn't notice the red-robed Auror until the Probity Probe waved in front of his face and began squealing loudly.

Instantly a second Auror was there; wand pointed threateningly at Harry.

"What's going on?" asked Harry.

"Keep your hands where we can see them please, sir," said the Auror with the wand.

"You too," he added, waving his wand at Sirius.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing?" snapped Sirius, not moving an inch, but somehow suddenly looking quite threatening.

Dim, flickering torchlight, and the occasional burst of fireworks, revealed they were standing inside of some sort of cordoned off area surrounded by a low wooden fence. Several identical Apparition areas disappeared off to both sides, and Harry saw more witches and wizards Apparating in only to have Aurors check them too.

Harry's hands automatically began reaching for his wand, but a second pair of Aurors arriving, wands drawn, made him freeze.

"We have detected Dark Magic," said the Auror. "Do you have anything to declare before we start searching you for contraband? I'll warn you, it's already been a long night and our searches are tending to get a bit on the rough side, if you know what I mean, sir."

"Dark Magic?" said Sirius angrily. "What bleeding Dark Magic? Who the hell is in charge here?"

The Auror with the Probity probe stepped forward again and ran the wand over Harry a second time.

"Sirius," said Harry. "Calm down. I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding -"

The wand-like probe squealed loudly again, right in front of Harry's face, cutting him off. All three of the other Aurors were pointing their wands now, and looking very dangerous. Harry could feel Sirius tensing, ready to let loose.

"I'll ask you once more," said the original Auror sternly. "Do you have anything of a Dark nature in your possession to declare?"

Suddenly, Sirius started laughing. Everybody, including Harry, turned to stare at him.

"Go ahead, Harry," he said. "Show them."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Your forehead," explained Sirius. "Something of a Dark nature, I'd say."

"Oh yeah," he said sheepishly.

Smiling sheepishly, he slowly reached his hand up to move his hair out of the way of his famous cursed scar.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I've kind of got this bleeding cursed scar."

#

The view of the stadium from the seats behind the Minister's box were magnificent. Harry used his newly purchased Omnioculars to scan the whole Quidditch pitch, making sure to get a good recording for Remus before the match started.

A dozen Cathedrals could fit inside the stadium, and there would still be a lot of room to move. A hundred thousand wizards and witches packed the seats, all adding their own voices to the immense noise. The golden glow permeating throughout gave everybody ample light to see and enhanced the wonderful feeling Harry was getting from the spectacle.

On one side of him, Ron and Hermione were animatedly discussing, well something, although he had no idea what. The twins sat further along, as did Ron's older brothers and father. The Weasleys, all die-hard Quidditch fans, were getting into the fever, talking loudly and joking constantly amongst themselves and with those around them.

Harry was quite content to just sit back and take in the atmosphere; bathing in the excitement of the crowd. For a moment, he closed his eyes and just listened. In his mind's eye, he could see himself riding a broom in front of the crowd; hear them cheering his name as he searched for the elusive snitch.

"Harry!" yelled Sirius, from about two inches away from Harry's ear.

"What?" yelled Harry, startled.

"You're not going to sleep, are you?" asked Sirius, a huge smile on his face. "You can always head back home to Remus, if it's a bit late for you."

Harry laughed and shook his head.

"It's a bit overwhelming," he admitted shyly.

Sirius grinned and pointed to the Minister's box where a man wearing Quidditch robes that may have fit years and several kilograms earlier, stood to cast a spell on himself. His voice carried over the noise of the crowd, welcoming everybody and introducing the Bulgarian Mascots.

"Veela!" yelled Sirius excitedly. "Oh yeah, come to papa, baby!"

The most beautiful women in the universe glided onto the field. Harry felt his mind go blissfully blank as the music began to play and the magic of the creatures swept over him, luring him to support the Bulgarian team and their gorgeous mascots.

The next thing he knew, the music stopped and angry shouts rose from the surrounding crowds. Harry tried to add his own outrage at the loss of such magnificence, but discovered he was in a full body bind.

"Sorry, Harry," said Hermione, waving her wand and releasing him. "It looked like you were going to jump."

Ron was also frozen, in a posture suggesting he was about to dive over the railing, but Hermione didn't appear in a hurry to release him. Sirius was still cheering loudly next to him and calling out some rather suggestive comments.

Harry didn't have time to ask about Ron before the Irish Mascots flew into the stadium, distracting him. Scores of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green zoomed around, putting on a display at least as good as any fireworks. They showered the crowd in Leprechaun gold and then zoomed off.

Both teams made grand entrances and played a brilliant game of Quidditch at ten times the speed and brutality that Harry ever imagined it could be. He filmed some of it for Remus, but spent most of his time cheering the great plays of the Irish team, who clearly outclassed their rivals.

When Victor Krum, legendary star seeker for Bulgaria, grabbed the snitch to end the game in the other team's favour, Harry was sure he felt just as worn out as the players themselves, and considerably deafer and hoarser too.

"You coming back to the tent?" asked Ron, before they started making their way out of the stands.

Disapparition was not possible inside the stadium, so people exited through the numerous gates and stairways. That meant quite a queue, making rushing to get out a waste of time and energy.

Harry looked to Sirius. He was still uncertain about his feeling towards much of the Weasley clan, given their actions and attitudes when they thought he was responsible for Ginny's hospitalisation after the basilisk incident over a year ago. So far, Harry had not spoken to any of the other Weasleys, preferring to keep his contact limited to Ron and the Twins.

Sirius shrugged, signaling he was happy with whatever Harry wanted to do.

"Come on, Harry," urged Ron. "It's really cool, isn't it Hermione? Not quite as good as The Dungeon, mind you, but really cool."

"A wonderful piece of magic," agreed Hermione. "Surprisingly practical too, for wizards that is. You should come and see it."

Harry glanced over Ron's shoulder and caught Mister Weasley's eye. The older man looked hopeful, but wary of appearing so. The twins were nowhere to be seen; probably off collecting their illicit winnings.

"Please?" asked Ron.

It wasn't the first time he tried to bring Harry closer to his family. Ron's therapy in the mental institution matured him a lot, and brought to the surface his deep love of family and friends. Having the two separated by a rift was obviously a source of discontentment that we wanted to fix.

"I'm sorry, Ron," said Harry.

He owed Ron a lot for his loyalty, but making up with some of the people who blamed him for the heinous attacks was just too much, at least for now. It was one thing to sit near them watching the game, quite another to go to the place they were staying to celebrate with them.

Ron looked down trodden, but rallied and tried to push his disappointment aside.

"Not to worry, mate," he said. "Come on, let's go see if we can get some Butterbeer and find Seamus and Dean or some of the others from school."

Harry smiled and nodded, pausing only to tell Sirius what he was doing before running off with his two friends to find their Irish classmate and join the party he was undoubtedly a part of.

Later, Harry would wish they had gone to the tent instead.

Ducking under another inferno, Harry charged towards the dragon, momentarily startling it. Before it had a chance to dodge, he closed the distance and launched a barrage of bludgeoning spells at point blank range.

The thick upper scales were more than sufficient to resist even his most powerful curses, but he was counting on the force of the pure smashing spells to affect the airborne creature

He was right.

Caught by surprise, the dragon actually paused mid-air, rearing up directly in front of Harry.

The first curse knocked the dragon's head backwards, allowing the next two to hit it in the neck and underbelly. With a yelp, the dragon twisted sideways, away from the unexpected attack. Harry threw his broom into the turn and followed, managing to stay in a position that gave him a line of sight to the less armoured underside.

"Diffindo!" he cast, hoping to break through the thinner protection of the lighter scales.

The curse hit, causing a red welt to appear on the dragon, which roared in pain and immediately retaliated with a twisting swipe of its spiked tail.

Harry dodged the deadly swinging weapon, getting out of the way with mere inches to spare. He managed to cast again at the vulnerable underside of the dragon, hitting it with another bruising bludgeoning curse. The dragon screamed even louder and performed another seemingly impossible twisting turn, pirouetting on the spot in order to get its flaming breath back on target.

Harry dived again, forcing the dragon to turn almost upside down to aim at him. Even with the Flame-freeze and Impervious charms, a direct hit would likely be the end of it, so Harry pulled his broom into a steep climb, circling the dragon and hopefully keeping it off balance.

A hastily cast cutting hex missed the beast's head, but impacted the thin membrane of one wing, surprisingly tearing a long hole in it with a corresponding spray of blood.

The dragon screamed yet again, and took another deep breath, readying an even larger blast of fiery revenge.

Harry didn't give it a chance.

He twisted the broom sideways and hit the huge wings with more hexes. Most of them bounced off harmlessly, but a few obviously hurt, knocking the stream of billowing fire off course.

Nothing seemed to be slowing the dragon down a lot though, and Harry knew he was running out of time; one lucky hit, and he would be kibble.

Desperate for a spell that would incapacitate the dragon, Harry threw his strength into a wind charm, causing a rush of high-powered air to push it into the roof of the magical dome.

Blue lightning leapt across the ward, lighting it up in a cascade of sparks and temporarily electrocuting the dragon. Roaring again, it tore itself from the roof and flew straight at him, apparently determined to have the satisfaction of rending him limb from limb with this mammoth teeth and claws.

"Incarcerous!" Harry yelled, aiming for the mouth of the dragon.

Thick ropes burst from his wand, shooting into the air in an attempt to wrap around its snout. The dragon flicked its head violently, but was unable to avoid all of the ropy tendrils.

Quickly snaking around the gaping maw, the ropes pulled tight, closing the beast's mouth with an audible 'snap'. The dragon attempted to roar again, and flames tore from its gigantic nostrils, nearly catching Harry as the distance between them closed rapidly.

"Engorgio!" cast Harry, this time aiming for the thick links of remaining chain still dangling from the collar around the beast's neck.

With luck, the chain wasn't spelled to resist enlargement charms.

Driving the broom into another swoop, Harry was gratified to see the huge chain grow in size and weight. The dragon beat its wings furiously while trying to tear the ropes from its mouth with sword-like claws.

Harry attacked again, hoping to drive it to the stadium floor. With each impact, the dragon dropped a little lower, forced downwards by the blows that were now obviously weakening it in addition to the extra heavy chain.

"Engorgio!" Harry cast again, swinging up from under the dragon to hit at the chain a second time.

The chain swelled again, thickening enough to start dragging the wounded and tiring animal downwards.

Suddenly, one of the claws caught the rope holding its mouth shut, and tore it free.

A stream of fire washed over Harry, burning and blistering his already battered uniform and hastily upraised arms. Luckily, the dragon's flame wasn't at full power, but it was still enough to rend holes in the protective clothing and seriously burn him in several places.

The broom didn't have any such protection, and practically turned to ash underneath him.

The great 'Irish Quidditch World Cup Victory Celebration' party outside of Seamus's tent was suddenly crushed by a rolling wave of fear.

Screams of panic rent the air, the mood changing from joyous celebration to terror so suddenly that very few people even knew the cause before they too were swept up in the madness.

Running bodies knocked into Harry, pushing him away from his friends despite his desperate attempts to close the ever-widening gap between them. Through the surging sea of clambering people, he caught a glimpse of Hermione being knocked to the ground.

A boiling pit of rage opened up in Harry, bursting forth in a magical blue outburst of light that tossed people away from him in all directions.

The panicked crowd started running from the new source of terror in their midst, some turning to race back the direction they just came from. Their mad scurrying cleared a path to where Ron knelt, attempting to shield Hermione with his body and a hastily cast Protego charm.

Harry sprinted to his friends, grabbing Ron by the arm and hauling him upward.

"You right?" he asked, reaching out to help Hermione.

"I'm good," said Ron, also helping Hermione to stand. "How about you, Hermione?"

She appeared dazed, a trickle of blood colouring the corner of her mouth.

"I'm okay," she said. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," said Harry, drawing his wand. "And I'm not hanging around to find out."

Most of the crowd was gone, with only the odd person here and there running towards the woods. Detonations sounded off in the distance, coming closer with each explosion. Without warning, a tent nearby exploded in flames.

Suddenly a green glow lit up the sky, the gigantic glowing outlines of a skull appearing directly above them. A snake crept from the skull's mouth; twisting and writhing like a demonic tongue.

"Merlin," said Ron. "The Dark Mark."

Harry's first instinct was to look for Sirius, but his godfather briefed him thoroughly before the event, with explicit instructions on what to do in the case of an emergency.

Now was not the time to play hero.

"Let's go," said Harry, grabbing both his friend's arms.

Neither of them resisted as Harry turned on the spot, pulling all three into the constricting compression of Apparition.

Just before he disappeared, Harry caught a glimpse of a figure running from behind the burning tent. In the flickering light of the fire, he could clearly see beneath the robe's hood.

It was a skull.

Plummeting downwards as the broom disintegrated under him, Harry tried casting a momentum-slowing spell, but didn't get enough power behind it to prevent a painful collision with the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs and the wand from his hand.

The dragon dropped down, angling to sweep just above his position.

In the scant second before impact, Harry regained enough sense to roll out of the way, leaving the deadly tail to pulverise an unlucky boulder in his place, showering him with debris.

Massive chain dangling, the dragon clumsily swung back around for another shot.

Harry grabbed at his wand, relieved the leather thong attaching it to his wrist was intact, and cast another spell.

"Reducio!" Harry breathlessly intoned, this time aiming for the collar rather than the chain.

His aim was true, and the collar began to shrink, squeezing the dragon's throat.

The dragon went wild, spewing flame everywhere as it clawed madly at the collar. The enchanted metal was too strong though, and all that the dragon achieved was to tear gaping rents in its own flesh.

"Confringo, Diffindo, Deprimo, Expulso!" Harry cast, struggling to his feet and spitting dry sand from his mouth as he spoke.

Each of the spells smashed into the dragon, tearing holes in the bat-like wings and battering the body of the beast mercilessly. Still the creature fought on, ignoring Harry's attack in its efforts to loosen the constricting collar.

Harry pointed his wand at one of the boulders littering the floor, and with a deft flick, sent it flying. The missile collided with the dragon, almost knocking it from the air. Two more boulders joined the first, battering the animal repeatedly.

Finally, one of the weakened wings collected a boulder at a bad angle and snapped.

Screaming even louder, the dragon fell the short distance to the ground, landing with an earth-moving thud.

"Incarcerous!" Harry cast, again binding the mouth closed.

Two more casts at the legs put an end to its feeble attempts to stand, although one wing still beat weakly and the tail swept menacingly around behind it, gouging deep furrows in the arena floor. With each passing moment, the swipes became less energetic, and the wing slowly stopped moving.

Eyes glazing over, the lack of air and brutal beating finally catching up with it, the huge head dropped and lay still on the ground.

Ears ringing in the sudden silence of the enclosed dome, Harry calmly limped over to the immobile face and raised his wand to the half-closed, vulnerable eye.

For several long seconds, he held his position, listening to the raw rasping of the defeated dragon and tasting the blood and bile in his mouth. Up close, the smell of fire and brimstone was almost overwhelming.

A pitiful moan rumbled in the throat of the dragon – a last cry of pain and anger.

"Stupefy!" Harry cast.

The dragon slumped down, all movement aside from the laboured breathing stopping as the spell knocked it out completely.

Harry painfully made his way over to the half-melted golden egg and picked it up, before struggling to walk as far away from the dragon as he could get. He sat down with his back against one of the many shattered rocks and rested his less injured arm on the egg.

When the wards came down several minutes later, he was already unconscious.