Chapter 1: Lost and Found

It was hot.

That's what Harry remembered about his last day of freedom as he sat in his cell staring at the dull grey ceiling.

It had been hot; he'd been in his room having just gotten out of the shower when he felt a sting in his back. He turned just quickly enough to see a pair of black clad men, their faces hidden by balaclavas, before the taser dart sent 50,000 volts of electricity through his body. He hit the ground before he'd registered that he'd fallen. A black hood was shoved over his head and his wrists and ankles bound. The next time he saw light was when he fell into his cell.

Despite the Muggle technology employed in his capture and containment, it had taken several visits from his captors before he was sure that they were not Death Eaters. He'd given up trying to figure out who his captors were, having only been able to glean that the majority of them were not British and that he was bait for a trap.

Overall, his confinement wasn't so different from being at the Dursleys. Aside from his two meals a day, none of the guards on duty, rotating out in shifts of what he guessed was 6 hours, acknowledge him with more than a glance. He honestly wouldn't have really minded the situation much if they'd given him some clothes to wear and something to read to pass the time.

With the guard rotation to help him keep track of time, Harry realized that days in captivity had turned into weeks before something finally changed.

"Hello Mr. Potter."

The voice startled Harry out of his bored stupor as much for it's breaking of the oppressive silence as for someone addressing him by name. Harry looked up at the man who had entered his cell.

"I'd heard you were a quiet one," the man continued casually, "My name is Dr. Adam Harkness, and I am the director here." Harry continued to stare at the man and not knowing how to respond simply stayed silent.

Dr. Harkness sighed, "To the point then, do you know why he wouldn't have come for you?"

"Who?" Harry asked suspiciously. He didn't think that the Muggles would use him as bait for Voldemort or Dumbledore for that matter, but it was possible.

"The Wolverine," Harkness replied. Seeing no recognition in the boys' eyes, he added, "Logan, James Howlett, Weapon X," still nothing, "Your grandfather?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Harry answered honestly, "as far as I know, my only living relatives are Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley."

Dr. Harkness was the one who looked surprised at this for a moment before schooling his features. "Interesting; allow me to be the bearer of news then," he said condescendingly, "your grandfather is alive. Your aunt, uncle, and cousin, however, are not." Not giving Harry's stricken look any consideration the Dr. continued, "I wonder…" He trailed off, smirking as he left the cell.

Shortly after Harkness had left a pair of guards opened the door to Harry's cell, cuffed him and led him to a lab where they strapped him to a table.

"What are you doing? What's going on?" Harry asked as a man in a lab coat approached with a large syringe. He didn't get an answer before man jabbed the needle into his arm. Harry felt like ice was suddenly running through his veins and he lost control of his body. He felt his head loll to one side, but no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to move or even blink.

Time seemed to stand still as the man in the lab coat inserted an IV into one of his arms and placed electrodes all over his body. The man would occasionally talk into a small black handheld box, though never loud enough for Harry to understand what he was saying.

Apparently satisfied with his preparations, the man in the lab coat moved the table he was strapped to under a large machine with a bright light on it. He ran the machine over Harry's form before retreating from view. Several minutes later, he returned and did it again. This happened three more times with the man becoming more agitated each time.

With a disgusted snarl, the man ordered the two guards to move Harry to a different machine. This one had a long tube with a movable table that slid in and out of it. The man ran him through the tests several times becoming more and more frustrated with each successive test. The process repeated itself over half a dozen more machines and tables and the man in the lab coat getting angrier about each test.

With disgust, the man finally seemed to give up on the machines. He efficiently removed the IV from Harry before wrapping a rubber hose around his upper arm and slapping at his vein until it raised enough for him to slip a needle into it. He drew what seemed to Harry to be a huge amount of blood before removing the needle and bandaging the wound. He took a knife and cut off a bit of skin, trimmed some hair, cut his fingernails, and gathered a bit of every possible fluid or substance from Harry's body that he could, no matter how uncomfortable or disgusting extracting it was. When he finished, the guards led Harry back to his cell where he finally lost consciousness.


"So what have you found out Dr. Invers?" Dr. Harkness questioned.

The man in the lab coat, Jonas Invers, scowled in return, "Almost nothing sir," he answered, "X-Ray, CT, Full Body, MRI, FMRI, Photo acoustic, Gamma…I ran every damn scan I could think of and to the last one the results were…"

"I've seen them," Harkness interrupted, "I didn't ask what you didn't learn, I asked what you had."

"Yes sir," Invers replied, "with the scans telling me nothing, I gathered samples of every tissue and fluid I could. Results indicate an unknown field of energy output produced by the subjects' body. It seems that he absorbs certain energies and converts them internally. At this point, I suspected him to be a mutant and ran genetic sequencing on the subject. It came back positive for the X-gene, though his powers are dormant for the time being, so I still have no explanation for the unknown energy."

"Interesting," Harkness replied, "I believe I may be able to explain part of it."

"Sir," Invers asked not knowing his superior had run any tests of his own.

"I spoke with him, you know," Harkness began. Invers nodded that he was aware of the fact, "I recognize mental tampering when I see it done so blatantly. The boy was too passive for it to be natural so I had Mornings look him over. It seems somebody tampered with his mind. I suspect that whoever they are, they're responsible for the test results."

"Do you think they knew we were coming?" Invers asked.

"No Jonas, I think we are merely benefiting from somebody else's prep work," Harkness answered.

"So what do we do now?"

"Now," Harkness began to smirk nastily, "now we see if we can bring out his inner mutie and find out if it's useful."

"And as to his original purpose?" Invers pressed.

"Tell me Jonas, do you still have doubts about Dr. Haley?"


Summer "Sunny" Morning was a dour middle-aged woman completely ill suited to her given name, she was also a mutant on the payroll of Project X. She had no love for her kind, she wished only for order, otherwise, she wanted to be left alone. When she'd been discovered as a mutant by the project, Dr. Harkness had been surprised at her offer to help control the mutant problem. It was little work for the head of the project to redirect her zeal towards using mutants instead of eliminating them. That's how she found herself sitting across from him.

"Always a pleasure Sunny," Harkness greeted.

"Can it Adam!" The dour woman snapped, "What do you want?"

"Charming as ever I see," Harkness taunted, before becoming serious, "The boy is a mutant, but his X-gene is inactive, I need to know how to bring it out of him."

"Torture," Morning replied simply.

"Now, now Sunny," Harkness chided, "you know as well as I do that there are many different types of tortures. I need to know what will best work on the boy. I'm looking for a speedy resolution."

Morning closed her eyes and concentrated, she followed the strands of energy that led to the boys' emotions, prodding him with waves of different feelings. For fifteen minutes, the pair sat in silence as she tested him. Abruptly the woman's eyes snapped open, "We need to make him feel helpless, out of control." She paused, her eyes flickering closed again for a scant moment before continuing in an uncharacteristically uncertain voice, "I'll have to break the compulsion on him for us to get anywhere. After that, I suggest confinement in a small area, sensory depravation and sleep depravation enforced by moderate electric shock. I estimate 72 to 96 hours to break naturally. If I reinforce the feelings, maybe 48 hours."

"That long?" Harkness asked in surprise.

"He's strong," she explained, "much stronger than I expected. With pain, I'm not sure we could break him at all."

Nodding to himself, Harkness changed his focus, "How long will it take you to break the compulsions?" She knew he'd noticed her uncertainty, she'd have known even were she not a fully functional empathy; she expected it of him.

"I don't know sir," she answered; she'd never felt anything so alien before. If she was truthful with herself, she knew the only way she could break them was to overwhelm them with brute force and that it would be very unpleasant for both her and the subject. This was fortunate for the project, but it was not something she was looking forward to.

"You'd better get started then," Harkness ordered.

Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Sunny Morning stood and walked from the room.


Several hundred miles away in an office decorated in rich, dark wood and leather furniture Charles Xavier checked his e-mail.

Charles Xavier.

My name is Dr. Jackie Haley; I'm a researcher at a government facility related to Department K. I have little time, as I believe they are already on to me and I aim to disappear after I send this.

For the last several years, I have been involved in the abduction, torture, experimentation, and exploitation of mutants for military purposes.

I am contacting you not out of any love for mutants, but because they have crossed the line, kidnapping and killing normal humans in their pursuit of some misguided revenge for the escape of The Wolverine.

In 1958, before he entered the Weapon X program, James Howlett AKA Wolverine fathered a daughter. In 1981 his daughter died, but she left a son, his only living blood kin. One month ago a black-ops team tracked down Wolverine's grandson and kidnapped him, killing his only other relatives in the process.

They had assumed that Wolverine or you had been aware of the boy and would come for him. During his incarceration, the subject showed that he had an inactive X-gene, and efforts to force him into the Weapon X project were set into motion.

Should you come for him, they will be expecting you. I now wash my hands of the situation, what happens to the boy will not be on my conscience.

I have attached the internal files related to the boy's ancestry and a map indicating the location of the facility where he's being held. I know you can use your abilities to verify the information I have provided.



Two days later in the Dr. Xavier's office, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, and the man called Wolverine gather together to discuss the email.

"You've all read the letter that brought us here," Xavier began, "we've all made inquiries as to the legitimacy of the information contained within."

"Get to the point," Wolverine growled impatiently. If there was a blood relative of his being tortured simply because of a previously unknown relationship to him, they needed to rescue him immediately. He had no desire to sit and think and plan what how to respond.

"Yes, of course," Xavier demurred, "Jean."

"Professor, the email address was a dummy account set up on the same day you received the message. I tracked the IP address where it originated to an internet café in Ottawa." Jean explained, "About half an hour after you received the message a Dr. Jackie Haley was murdered leaving that same internet café."

"Are there any leads in the case," Scott asked.

"No," Jean answered, "Dr. Haley was shot with a .50 caliber from several hundred yards away. When the police found the shooters nest, the rifle and casing were still there. There were no serial numbers on the gun and tracing the bullet casing led to a lost shipment of munitions from a couple of years ago."

Wolverine snorted, "Lost, as in taken by some black ops team for this exact reason."

"Thank you Jean, Ororo, what were you able to find out about the child?" Professor Xavier asked, preventing the conversation from going off on a tangent.

"Jean confirmed for me that the blood samples looked like a legitimate match to Wolverine and a close relative," Storm started, "the included family tree looks legitimate. It traces back to a woman named Charlotte Evans who in 1958 had a child named Lily. The birth certificate lists the father as James Howlett, Logan's supposed real name. About a month after Lily was born, Charlotte died of pneumonia. Lily was shipped from Ontario, Canada to her Aunt Rose in Surrey, England where she was raised."

The platinum haired mutant took a breath and continued, "In 1977 Lily married a man named James Potter, though there is very little information on him aside from his name. On July 31st 1980, Harry James Potter was born. His parents were supposedly killed in a car crash on Halloween 1981, but there is no record of any crash or police report, only an obituary. Their son Harry was raised by Lily's cousin Petunia and her Husband Vernon."

She looked up from the papers she was reading from, "Petunia, Vernon and their son Vernon died in a suspicious car crash 2 months ago; their nephew Harry is listed as missing. Few records about Harry exist at all; his birth certificate doesn't list where he was born, he has no immunization or doctor's records, he has no post primary school records. The police report lists several neighbors as saying he was a troubled youth who attended a boarding school called St. Brutus School for Incurably Criminal Boys ten months a year; the only problem is that that institution that incidentally doesn't exist."

"Do you think he's legitimately in trouble?" The Professor asked.

"I do, his story reads like a textbook example of an abused mutant," Storm answered.

"Is he really related to Wolverine," Scott questioned.

"I don't know," Storm replied, "he could be, but even if he isn't, it doesn't matter. At the very least, he needs our help."

"I concur," the Professor interjected, "I was able to use Cerebro to track him down and verify that he does exist and is in trouble."

"What are we waiting for then," Wolverine barked, standing and heading for the door.

"Logan," Xavier called, "there's something not right about this whole situation."

"Make it quick, Professor," he countered.


Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking owlishly only to jump, startled as a pair of murky brown eyes bored into his own from less than six inches away.

"You're awake then," Sunny snapped, "let's get this over with then." Before Harry could even get his bearings, she grabbed his head, digging her nails into his temples.

Harry initially felt the pain of the woman's nails digging into his head, but this soon gave way to an odd sense of fuzziness settle over him, the feeling of having to sneeze and being unable to. The feeling began to build, a pressure pressing against the insides of his skull until with a metaphorical pop, his head cleared. For one moment, he felt clearheaded, only to have a rush of emotion crash down upon him. Helplessness, sadness, loneliness, anger, and despair crashed down on him; tears prickled at his eyes as he felt months of repressed emotion all at once.

Sunny Morning released the boy's head in surprise. It had been easy to break the compulsions on him, too easy in fact. Roughly grabbing his head again, she probed him again, pressing deeper into his already battered psyche. It took her a moment to find it, but there was something else influencing him, this influence was stronger and more subtle.

She knew the boy was useless to them if they couldn't break him or if he was under someone else's control, so she gathered herself and with a mighty push threw everything she had at the boys mind. "Oh shit," she whispered as she realized that whatever had a hold of him was the most powerful connection she'd ever encountered.


"Sir, we have a problem," the panicked tones of one of his guards announced through his two-way radio abruptly announced.

Adam Harkness snapped up his own radio and replied "on my way." The director stood quickly and ran towards the cell. Whatever he thought of his guards' competence, he knew they didn't panic without good reason.

When he arrived at the cell, he didn't need to ask what the problem was; Sunny's nails had dug into the boy's temples and two streams of blood ran down the side of his face. More importantly, however, was that Sunny's already pale face was sickly white and her eyes rolled back in her head.

"What happened," Harkness snapped.

"She grabbed him once and did her mojo," the guard explained, "then she did it again, only the second time she muttered something before she started shaking and getting all pale."

"Grand," Harkness muttered to himself, "just what I need, another brain damaged Howlett."

"Should I separate them sir?" The guard questioned.

"No," Harkness replied, "There's nothing we can do, leave them alone."


On the other side of the Atlantic, Voldemort looked up from the chessboard he sat before and frowned. Inexplicably something was pressing in on his mental defenses. With only a glance at his servant and host, he determined that the man had nothing to do with the attack.

"Lucius," he hissed, "I have need of your ritual chamber, make it read for use immediately."

Malfoy, who had been contemplating his next move, looked up at his master, startled by his master's sudden demand. Seeing a foreboding look on the pale face of the Dark Lord he nodded once and Apparated away to the entrance of the ritual chamber.

Arriving with a sharp crack, he quickly pulled a blade from a sheath on his hip and with nary a sound, ran it across his left palm, opening a deep cut. He waited a moment for the blood to pool in his hand then smeared it across the runes on the stone doorway before him. When each rune was covered in his blood, they flashed with white light and the door opened of its own accord. Entering the dark chamber, Lucius went to each of the eight columns in the room and repeated the process of activating the blood runes.

"Leave me," the high-pitched voice of the Dark Lord demanded the moment the aristocratic blond finished smearing his blood across the last of the columns.

"Do you require anything else my lord," Malfoy questioned.

"Ensure I am not interrupted," Voldemort stated.

Malfoy bowed briefly and stepped from the room, sealing the door behind him. He drew his wand and finally healed the deep gash in his hand; that done, he stood, wand drawn before the door awaiting his master.


Simultaneously three minds pushed every bit of energy they had into breaking the unknown connection between the minds of Harry Potter and Voldemort, and with the weight of so much combined power the link fractured and collapsed with a spectacular release of eldritch energy.


"That can't be good," the guard that stood watch on Sunny and the prisoner said as a visible nimbus of light surrounded the pair.

Harkness looked up, brought out of thought by the announcement, just in time to see the odd greenish glow before it exploded outwards throwing him bodily into the wall behind him. All lights in the complex went out, the ones above him in the cell exploding from the force of the energy, raining down glass from the ceiling.

A moment of silence followed before the emergency chemical lights ignited. Seconds later a blaring alarm sounded and red lights began to flash throughout the compound.

Harkness slowly got to his feet, groaning in pain from the impact, "What the fuck was that!" he yelled to nobody in particular. When there was no response to his outburst, he took a careful look around at the chaos that surrounded him.

The guard, obviously caught in the blast, flew through the cell door and lay obviously dead, impaled through the chest on one of the now mangled bars. He staggered towards Sunny and the boy who were both on the floor in a crumpled heap, each immobile and covered with shards of glass and numerous cuts. Checking Sunny first, he easily found her pulse and noted that she was breathing easily; next, he checked the boy, who also seemed to be merely unconscious.

The sound of boots slamming into the linoleum floors of the hallways announced several guards running towards his position. The unique sound of their automatic weapons rubbing against their body armor told Harkness that they were fully armed and expecting trouble. Looking around again, he couldn't really blame them; it looked like a bomb had gone off.

When the first guard entered into his field of vision, Harkness called out to him, "stand down!"

"Identify yourself," the guard growled in response, aiming his rifle center mass.

"Dr. Adam Harkness," the Director replied, "stand down and lower your weapon." The guard took a moment to verify the man was who he claimed to be before slowly lowering his weapon. "Cancel the alarm and get some medics in here, now!"

The chaos of the moment passed, and the guards holstered their weapons and began the tedious project of cleaning up the mess. Meanwhile, Harkness turned his attention to the unconscious form of Harry who was suddenly far more interesting of a puzzle.

As he contemplated the young man, he noticed a small spark around one of the numerous cuts the boy had sustained. Taking a step closer and crouching, he could see that Harry's skin was dancing with small arcs of electricity and that they seemed concentrated around his injuries. More surprisingly, they somehow seemed to be knitting his skin back together, healing his wounds. His observation was interrupted as a group of medics entered and separated the boy from Morning.

"She's flat-lining," a frantic call came from one of the medics kneeling next to Sunny, "Paddles, now!" the medic ordered.

Harkness was confused, the woman's pulse had been strong only a moment before, her visible injuries didn't seem severe, and she hadn't been moved at all. He glanced suspiciously at the boy, his brow crinkling in thought.

"Charging," one of the medics called and the unmistakable sound of a heart defibrillator building a charge filled the air, "clear," the medic called, paddles pressed against the pale flesh of Sunny Morning. The buzz associated with the discharge of the capacitors sounded, Sunny's body barely jerked, and a bolt of electricity shot from the paddles into the unconscious prisoner laying a few feet away.

The medics looked at one another then to Harkness in confusion. The director simply shrugged, as he too was confused. Training taking over the medic called "charging," once again, "clear." Again the buzz of electricity filled the air, again Sunny's body barely jerked and again a bolt of electricity shot across the room into Harry.

"Get him out of here!" the medic monitoring Mornings' vital signs called in exasperation, prompting a pair of guards to grab Harry by the wrists and ankles and pull him from the room.

Harkness was torn between following the enigma that was his prisoner and seeing as to the fate of his subordinate. The latter won out as Harkness stood against the wall as for a third time the medic shocked the woman's body, "I've got a pulse."

It took the medics only a short time to stabilize Morning and arrange to transport her to the on-site medical bay. When he was sure that his colleague was out of danger, relatively speaking, he left the crowded, half-destroyed cell to check on the prisoner.

Harry lay still flat on his back against the far wall where the guards had deposited him. Harkness approached and took a cursory look over him searching for any injuries. He was only marginally surprised that all of the wounds the boy had received healed. Perhaps, he considered, whatever had happened in the cell had triggered his mutation.

A light groan accompanied the slight fluttering of eyelids, as Harry slowly began to wake up. The first thing he noticed was that he was cold; this wasn't new considering he'd been nude for as long as he'd been a prisoner. A moment later, he realized he wasn't lying on his cot, but rather on the floor in the hall outside of his cell.

Thinking back, the last thing he remembered was the pale woman digging her nails into his skull, an indescribable struggle, pain radiating from his scar throughout his body, the feeling of something indescribable breaking, a rush of power, and then nothing until he woke a moment ago.

Slowly sitting up, Harry was surprised to see the destruction around him. Men in camouflage, rifles hung over their shoulders clearing debris from the cell he normally inhabited. He slowly climbed unsteadily to his feet, wobbling slightly; he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall waiting for the room to stop spinning.

It was then that he noticed something was definitely different. Even with his eyes closed, he knew where all of the guards were, he knew that Harkness was standing behind him, watching him. He could feel them, could feel that the pale lady was in his cell and was weak, that Harkness was also injured, but not nearly as badly, that one of the guards was dead, his energy quickly draining away.

That thought startled him, he was feeling their energy, and more than that, he could feel a different, flavor was the only word that fit, of energy running through the ceiling and walls. A few of the men were carrying around something that produced a third flavor of energy, something less organic than the feeling of the people and more stagnant than that running through the building.

"Tranq him," Harkness called out seeing that the prisoner was pulling himself together. Not knowing what the boy would now be capable of, it was the safest thing to do at this point.

Before Harry could react, a dart had stuck itself into his neck. Cold began spreading through his body. Instinctively Harry reacted by trying to pull energy into himself to fight it off. The lights above him exploded, electricity arcing from the fixtures into his body. He felt warmth begin to fill him, fighting back the cold; his body began to stabilize itself below him.

"Hit him again!" Harkness demanded quickly backing away from the boy.

Another dart slammed into Harry, this time in his chest. The arcs of electricity slamming into his body increased in size. Somewhere in the building, fuses began to blow interrupting the flow of electricity. Harry stumbled as the energy he was drawing upon to fight off the ice trying to flow through his veins. He took a few steps towards the closest guard, reaching out for another source of energy to help him fight. The guard took a step back and another pair of darts slammed into him; one from the guard he was approaching and another from behind. Harry struggled to stay standing, but it was too much and he collapsed, unconscious to the floor.

"We need to contain him," Harkness ordered, "shut off the power to cell block B and move him there; full non-conductive body suits for anyone who even approaches him. All electronics are to be checked at minimum of 30 yards from the prisoner; cell phones, pagers, pace makers, I don't give a shit, it doesn't get anywhere near him."

The director pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Dr. Invers, "Jonas," he asked when the other end was answered, "I need you to review the security footage on Block A from today and figure out what happened." Harkness demanded, continuing without waiting for Dr. Invers agreement, "I also need you to figure out and implement a practical containment protocol for our new subject. You'll have the guards' reports along with the security footage to work with. I will look forward to your briefing tomorrow morning." Harkness closed the phone not bothering to wait for acknowledgement of his commands.


Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix listening to reports on Death Eater movement and political intrigue. Despite the fact that Voldemort continued to lay low, slowly rebuilding and expanding his power base, the last two months had been difficult with the disappearance of Harry Potter.

"Albus," Molly Weasley spoke up when the last report had completed, "what news is there about Harry?"

"I've had Kingsley looking further in to the circumstances of his disappearance Molly," Dumbledore answered. Turning his gaze on the bald Auror he asked, "Have you learned anything new?"

Auror Shacklebolt stood slowly to address the group, "As you all know, on June 18th Harry disappeared with no witnesses," here he glared at Mundungus Fletcher and was joined by most of the Order in doing so. "From what little evidence we do have on that evening, Harry was home alone; the Dursley's having left to take Dudley to the hospital."

"Do we know what was wrong with Harry's cousin," Hermione Granger asked. This was the first meeting since Harry's disappearance that she and Ron had been allowed to join and she wanted to gather as much information as possible.

Kingsley shook his head, "they didn't make it to the hospital alive unfortunately," he hesitated, glancing at Dumbledore.

"What?" Hermione shouted catching the byplay, "if there's more, I want to know. I'm a Muggle born, anything you know could be important in the right context." The bald Auror scowled at her reasoning, prompting her to explain, "I'm not trying to impugn your intelligence or professionalism Mr. Shacklebolt, but as a full blood you were born and raised in the Wizarding World. Just like there are some things about magical life I may never get, there are things about Muggle life you may never get."

Kingsley grudgingly agreed with her reasoning, but again looked to Dumbledore for approval. When the headmaster nodded in return, he began, "the details I'm wary to spread aren't Muggle related, and they're speculative. There were reports of a pair of dementors in Surrey shortly before Harry's cousin fell ill; we suspect it is possible that the boy had been kissed."

Several gasps filled the room, as this information was not widely known, even within the Order. "Do you think the ministry had something to do with it," Sirius growled, the first time he'd spoken in an Order meeting since Harry's disappearance when he'd nearly murdered Mundungus Fletcher.

"We don't know for sure," Dumbledore answered, "given their smear campaign and the reports of the dementors, I suspect it's possible. Was there any further information at this time Kingsley?"

"Yes, Albus, there is some new information," Shacklebolt replied, "I managed to get my hands on the original hand written forensic reports from the first on scene after Harry's reported disappearance. The reports contradict the official ministry party line that Harry ran away. It seems there were signs of breaking and entering and a small splatter of blood on a towel, but no evidence of any magic use. The conclusion was that Harry was surprised and taken against his will, but by Muggle means."

"Thank you Kingsley," Dumbledore stated his face a mix of curiosity and concern. "Has anyone else discovered anything pertaining to Harry's disappearance or whereabouts?"

"We've charmed a hand for him for the Weasley clock, but it's constantly pointing at lost," Arthur offered, "at the very least we know he's alive and not in mortal peril."

"That is at least some good news, and a good idea. Even if it doesn't tell us where he is, we know that he is not in great danger," Dumbledore replied.

"I've scried for him with crystal, glass, stone, mirror, smoke, water and fire, wherever he is, it's either well warded or out of the country for me to get no result at all," Emmeline Vance proffered.

"Thank you for your efforts Emmeline," Dumbledore responded, "my efforts of divining his location have as well met with no success. The ministry, being as it is right now, is not as open to me as it once was, but I can state with certainty that Harry is neither in a ministry holding cell, safe house or Merlin forbid Azkaban."

"What about Numengard?" Remus asked.

"Definitely not," Dumbledore answered promptly, "though my efforts at home are somewhat hindered, abroad I have lost no influence. No, wherever Harry is, it is not in any magical prison or holding facility that is known to me."

"What about You-Know-Who," Ron posed with a grimace, "I mean, he's wanted Harry dead forever…"

"Not possible," Snape explained, "The Dark Lord briefly detected Potters presence in his mind earlier today, but did not recognize it as such until after the connection was closed, permanently."

Nobody else had anything to offer and soon after the meeting broke up, the members of the Order returning to work or home, a very few shooting sympathetic looks at Ron and Hermione on their way.


Harry awoke again in almost complete darkness. He was instantly aware that he now wore thick and somewhat confining clothing. Instinctively reaching out for any sources of energy, he was dismayed to find not only was there very little in close proximity, and what he could feel was dampened somehow.

Stretching before moving to stand up, the clothing he was wearing made a creaking type of a sound. Running his hands across his chest, he felt a rubbery material rather than any cloth. It didn't take him long to figure out that the clothing was essentially another facet of his confinement. Unfortunately, in the dark he couldn't figure out how to remove the confining garment.

Standing up, Harry began pacing his cell, furiously trying to think of a way out. It took only a few moment of this before he realized something else about him had changed, he now desperately wanted to fight back, to escape, to do anything to leave this prison. The reason for the change didn't matter to him, all that mattered was that he felt like himself now and he was going to do anything he could to gain his freedom.

A dim light suddenly illuminated his cell, the source coming from down the hallway. Footsteps filled the silence, casually approaching Harry. Despite the muffling affects of his the body suite he was wearing, he could feel that it was Harkness before he could see him. Harry couldn't feel if the injuries that he had previously sensed from the man had healed, though he felt like he should be able to. When the director finally came into view, he knew why; Harkness was also dressed in a rubber suit that Harry vaguely recognized as a wetsuit.

"Back to gloat," Harry jeered, "it won't do you any good, I've faced down worse than you."

"I have to admit, I was wondering if you'd be more talkative," Harkness replied.

Harry's sneer faded, "it's only a matter of time before they come for you, and when they do, they won't be happy."

"I'm counting on it," Harkness admitted confusing the young wizard. Spotting the confusion, the man laughed. "Don't look so shocked, I already told you that you're bait."

"What do you want from us," Harry demanded.

"Nothing but for your kind to dance to my tune freak," the Dr. answered, showing his true face to Harry for the first time. "It doesn't matter to me if you live or die, if they save you or not. You don't matter, what matters is money and power, and you are going to help me to get it."

"This is about money?" Harry questioned after a period of stunned silence, "that doesn't make any sense."

"On the contrary," Harkness answered, "it makes all the sense in the world to me." The man laughed and began walking away.

"When I get out of here, if I see you again, I'll kill you," Harry called after him, causing the man to pause for a moment. A smirk spread across his face before he continued on his way.


"Perimeter Breach! Perimeter Breach!" an automated voice squawked before a siren sounded startling Harry out of a restless sleep. Red lights began flashing in the hall outside his room, the emergency activating the automated defense systems, including turning on the electricity in the cellblock.

Harry felt the power surge through the circuits and jump to his feet a feral grin stretching across his face. His friends had come and while his captors were worrying about them, they wouldn't see him coming. Stretching his hands above his head, Harry called for the power, the light bulbs in his cell popped and arcs of electricity jumped from the sockets into his body slowly filling him.

"Swimwear in a prison cell? I knew Harkness was a little off, but that's just plain kinky," an unfamiliar voice sounded from just outside his cell. Harry turned towards the voice and saw a well-built man in a tight red and black body suit and a mask standing outside his cell.

"Who are you?" Harry asked suspiciously, pooling his power in case he needed to defend himself.

In response, the man drew a pistol from his hip and shot the lock on the cell door, then pulled it open. The man stepped towards Harry and looked down at him, before suddenly turning around and cussing at the wall. "Great, a bit part in a Harry Potter crossover, thanks a lot BadVodoo!"

"How do you know who I am?" Harry questioned the man.

"Deadpool," another voice, this one deep and gruff, called out.

"Yeah, yeah," the man apparently called Deadpool answered, "he's here, dressed in some kinky rubber wear, but otherwise alright."

The second man stepped into view; dressed in a black, leather body suit. He was short, about Harry's height, with a powerful build and blades, of all things, sticking out the back of his hands. The man quickly looked Harry over, his eyes lingering on Harry's for a moment longer than was strictly necessary before he growled, "Let's go."

It took Harry a moment to decide to follow them, but when the alternative was staying in the cell, it wasn't a hard one to make. As the duo who'd freed him quickly loped down the hallway before him, he took a moment to get a feel for them. Both men, he noticed, gave off a slightly different flavor of energy than any of the admittedly few others he'd been able to taste. Harry grimaced as he thought this, deciding that when he had more time, he'd need to think up a better metaphor. In addition to feeling different, they gave off more power than the others did. If Harkness and the guards were candles, these two were spotlights. Soon enough, though, the sound of gunfire from up ahead shook him out of his inner monologue.

The man called Deadpool jumped unconcerned around the corner where they'd heard the gunfire, drawing a sword from his back and called out to the guards. Harry didn't understand what the man said, however, as he noticed a two guards slumped against the far wall, blood pooled around their bodies. Reaching out for their power, he found none, confirming to himself that they were dead.

The other man roughly slammed him against the wall, "Pay attention to your surroundings and stay out of the way Bub. We didn't break in here to have you get clipped." As if to emphasize the man's point the wall just above Harry's head exploded and chunks of plaster and drywall rained down on the pair.

Harry saw the guard, rifle shouldered, aiming down the hall at them. With a thought, he summoned up some of the energy he'd absorbed minutes earlier and pushed it at the guard. A bolt of lightning shot from his hand and struck the guard. The man scream cut off abruptly as the impact from the bolt threw him bodily through the wall behind him.

"Don't think about it," the gruff man said his voice lower and softer than it had been before, "not now. When we get out of here…" he trailed off, pulling Harry behind him. The next half hour passed in terror, blood and screaming as Harry followed the two warriors through a maze of corridors. The trio finally emerged into the crisp cold air of night slipping into the darkness of the forest that surrounded the facility.