Chapter 63: A Race Against Time
A hand thrust something into his hand, something long. Someone hauled him, pulled him forward, towards the magic. He could feel it, trapping him. How dare it. Something inside him broke.
"Harry, Let it out, now!"
"Dad! Get away from the door!"
"No! Ginny! No!"
His magic whirled around, bending his body, searing his nerves, moving through him like a whip, down his arm, into his wand, and cracked.
His world exploded.
The ward shattered. Dust fell around him, the floor shook, the Burrow creaked and lurched.
His wand was yanked from his hand.
Clarity shot through his brain. He whirled around.
Ginny threw his wand and cloak into the trunk. "Go now!"
He stumbled forward and shrunk the trunk.
The door slammed open.
Three Weasleys barged in, wands out, shocked at the two Ginnys, unsure where to fire. "Wha?"
He found his footing. He ran.
He felt a stunner whizz by his head, felt another impact into his shield, but the third?
"Ginny!" someone angrily yelled.
He dove through the broken window, and stopped his fall a split second before he hit the ground. He landed. He ran.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Another stunner sailed past his head. He dashed down the path to the orchard.
"Stop, you bitch!"
He skidded into the quidditch clearing. Fuck. He couldn't open the trapdoor. Not while they were still here. They'd see the secret. He turned, and shoved his trunk between his teeth. He bit down, hard.
The two older Weasley children bore down on him.
The moment they were in range he shot off duel stunners from the tips of his fingers — weak, far weaker than normal. His control was shot. He could barely muster the ability to swat.
The two Weasleys gasped, eyes widened in shock. They dodged. They fired.
He dodged. He shielded. He fired.
They dodged.
"Fuck!" one yelled.
"Go round. Circle her!"
A stunner barely missed him. He stumbled, felt another stunner slam into his shield, felt the shield fail, saw his opponent's look of triumph, realised his hands were instinctively catching his fall. His eyes widened.
Time slowed. He could see the way the wizard's wand was angled, the way his cloak whirled at his sudden halting motion, the way his dragon tooth earring bounced. The way his long ponytail curved. Saw the faint glow of red build on the tip of his wand.
His heart seemed to stop.
Then, suddenly, a flash of red shot from the trees and hit the young man in the side. The triumphal look blanked, and he fell to the ground.
Harry blinked. Time returned. He found his foot, spun to his second adversary, and sent two stunners at a hastily cast shield. They smashed into it, still weakened, but now strong enough. The first absorbed, the second shattered. The spell hit and the second young-man hit the ground with a finalistic thud.
Harry's breath returned. His heart hammered. He spun, eyes darting around for other threats, adrenaline still surging through him.
His eyes spotted movement, and his world re-aligned itself. Relief flowed through him. His trunk fell from his mouth. He laughed. Through the trees towards the Burrow, he spied a familiar lone retreating figure, long red hair waving behind her like a roaring fire.
...
Sometime later, Harry, still wearing Ginny's form, apparated into his fidelius-hidden cliff vault. Everlasting torches flickered light and warmth across the stone walls and wooden furniture.
There had been no further distress signals on his ring, but the events of the past hour had certainly been a wake-up call. The moment he'd escaped The Burrow, he'd immediately gone to the available hiding spots of Voldemort's soul anchors to grab what he could. Now more than ever, he knew he couldn't afford to just sit around and allow history to repeat. And in his hands was the cold, hard proof.
His left hand clutched the Gaunt ring, sans withering curse. It had been the work of a moment to bypass the security systems, and snatch the ancient heirloom. Voldemort's memories made sure of that. His other hand though… his other hand clutched the locket. And it was fake. His high-pitched female scream of frustration had startled even him, bouncing and echoing off the inferi-filled cave walls. He was going to have to find some way to track or find the missing Horcrux, but that wasn't happening for a while.
Trunks lined the wall of his vault, one contained his drug supplies, another contained a back-up stash of galleons, another held a stash of muggle money, another, a supply of potions, and yet another, an assortment of clothes. A final trunk, in the corner, was empty and lined with lead and acromantula silk.
Harry opened the final trunk's first compartment and dumped the oddly bland ring inside. By this time next year, he'd have a second soul anchor. He straightened and started to feel the sensation that told him the polyjuice was wearing off.
He opened the clothes trunk and rummaged around for a suitable selection. His fingers closed over a long leather coat and he grinned, fingering the thestral hide duster he'd bought from the Mongolian craftsman some years before. He wouldn't be tall enough for that for at least two more years, and the coat seemed to suck at holding a re-sizing charm. But when he was tall enough… he smirked.
He pulled off Daphne's dress just as it started to tighten. His muscles reformed, his hair receded to his normal messy mop, and his eyes lit up Avada Kedavra green.
He quickly tugged on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, followed by an informal open-robe.
Harry stepped back and surveyed his tiny safe house. He had just under a month before Hogwarts started. He might as well pack everything he'd need now while he was here.
....
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