Welcome, my friends. To Isengard!

Hang on, wrong franchise. Sorry about that.

So welcome to the epic, or rather epic-to-be that is Now Here's A Fine Bloody Mess You've Got Me Into. Set following the evnts of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, it follows Harry as he cuts himself off, only to be drawn back by the arrival of none other than Edmund Blackadder and his dogsbody Baldrick. What follows is generally quite violent and humourous to boot.

I would like to thank my Beta Reader, Cyanide-Princess-666, for her sterling work in helping with this piece of writing.

So, let's finish with the formalities, and get ready for the begining of an adventure unlike any other in the world, or at least on this website.

The Disclaimer: I don't own Blackadder or Harry Potter: that's the BBC and JK Rowling instead.

So, with a ying and a yang and a yipperty do, let's start!

It was the end of a cold and chilly day in Little Whinging. Despite it being the last week of July, an almost unnatural mist had swept through the county and the country and stayed like that. Temperatures at night were at a record low point, whilst during the day, the sun struggled to break through the almost infinite layer of cloud. The Met Office had no explanation as to how the abnormal weather had come about and, indeed, several leading figures had resigned and gone into early retirement to avoid the hate mail that had been sent to them over their inaccurate predictions.

Of course, only those who were acquainted with magic knew the significance of the unusual weather. Harry Potter had come to associate these conditions with Dementors and so, upon learning that they had officially deserted their posts as guards of the wizarding prison Azkaban, he knew what the cause of the mist was. Therefore, he had locked himself in his room voluntarily, ignored his remaining relatives (who, likewise, were also ignoring him) and instead, focused on channelling his rage, grief and anger.

On the outside, to his friends and teachers, Harry had seemingly coped well with the death of his godfather. He had left the Ministry and had not once cried, or emotionally broken down in any capacity. He was, to all intents and purposes, just an average teenage boy. But deep down inside, as the end of the school year approached, Harry knew that his facade was beginning to crack. The moment he had got back to Privet Drive, it had; he had gone up to his room, with his trunk and Hedwig in her cage, set them down, locked his door, shut his curtains and cried silently into his pillow for over two and a half hours. Then, he had gotten up, walked to the bathroom, taken a shower, got changed for bed and had fallen asleep immediately as he had lain down.

That had been two weeks ago, and since that day, Harry's life had fallen into an almost ritualistic set-up. He would wake, shower, leave the house, walk into the centre of Little Whinging and back, grab a snack when the Dursleys weren't looking, before departing back to his room. Once there, he would lock himself in and simply lie on his bed, trying to constrain his grief and hold back the tears. Most times, when he closed his eyes, images of Sirius, smiling and happy, would swim in his vision and he would once again silently sob until he could no more. Then, as the evening drew nearer, he would let himself out for another snack, go to the bathroom, get ready for bed and generally fall asleep as he laid there, staring vacantly at the ceiling. His life had passed like that for the fourteen days since he had returned, without any deviation. He made no attempt to talk to his uncle, aunt or cousin, or anyone he encountered whilst he was out walking. Once or twice, he would have sworn that someone had been following him, or that another person across the road was staring fixedly at him, but then he remembered that it was probably members of the Order still keeping him under observation on Dumbledore's orders.


The name had a new meaning to it for Harry. For the five years of his life he had spent as a wizard, Harry had always seen Dumbledore as a grandfather figure, the sort who could be stern when he wanted to, but never really meant it. Then, that image had started to slowly disintegrate, beginning with the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had seen Dumbledore for the first time when he had been angry; he had seen the lack of a twinkle behind the man's half moon spectacles, and Harry had realized that the man was not to be trifled with. He had gained a new level of respect for the man there and then as he had born down upon the fake Moody imposter, along with, for the first time, a slight feeling of fear.

Then, Dumbledore's name had taken on another new meaning only two months after the events that transpired in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. Harry had been unable to correspond with any of his friends, who kept on dropping the occasional tantalising hint; apart from that, he had had no outside contact. Then, out of the blue, he had encountered a pair of Dementors and his life had suddenly exploded into action again. He had learnt that he was being trailed by a secret group dedicated to defeating Voldermort, who also seemed to spend a lot of their time trailing him as much as they trailed alleged Death Eaters. Upon his arrival at Grimuald Place after he had been escorted by an almost militaristic battle-hardened veteran (Harry had found out that the fake Moody had been a very convincing imposter), Harry had blown a fuse with his friends; Hermione had burst into tears and Ron had almost hidden in the broom cupboard. However, after some more explanation, he had learnt that Dumbledore had been pulling strings in the background, purposely keeping him in the dark. He had managed to force his way into learning more information, and armed with this, was not only more clued up on Voldermort's potential threat nationwide, but also the motives of his headmaster. Harry had thought for a long time that Dumbledore was hiding something from him, but it hadn't been until he had nearly been killed at the Ministry that he had discovered what it was. If he had not been so overcome with rage at the time, Harry would have been amazed by Dumbledore's battle skills against Voldermort, for someone who was born in the nineteenth century. However, in the almost immediate aftermath, the revelations that Harry had half-expected had come out into the open; that he was at the centre of a fabled prophecy that would decide the fate of the Wizarding World. Harry's instantaneous reaction had been to smash a lot of Dumbledore's belongings, in response to Sirius, but in retrospect, Harry had realized that he probably could have smashed some more in his own name, as he almost certainly had a death sentence upon him. Harry knew that it wasn't Dumbledore's fault about the actual prophecy, but the fact that it had not been relayed to him, the person to whom it may concern the most, left a bitter taste in his mouth, and upon the name Dumbledore. He didn't want Dumbledore as an enemy but he didn't want to play second fiddle to him anymore.

Harry sighed and hauled himself out of his bed. He stood up straight and stretched his rams, yawning. He looked at the clock; it was almost ten minutes to nine in the evening. He went over to the window and opened it, looking out, trying to find Hedwig. Unfortunately for Harry, the heavy mist prevented him from finding Hedwig, so he gave up and simply left the window open for when she returned. He picked up his pyjamas and unlocked his door, walking across to the bathroom. He pushed the door open, and slipped inside, upon where he locked it, and hung his pyjamas on the back hook.

He turned and inspected himself in the bathroom mirror. Due to his sudden growth spurt and his lack of a diet, which for once, was by choice, Harry was incredibly skinny, even by his own standards. His skin hung slightly off his bones and he looked unhealthily thin. His face and skin complexion was paler than usual, and even his brilliant green eyes seemed dulled; by sharp contrast, his raven-coloured hair still remained stuck up at odd angles and his scar stood out, a raw, jagged red mark across his forehead. His hand almost instinctively reached up to try and brush some of his hair to one side in order to cover it, but it stubbornly refused to budge and he gave up. He stripped off and turned on the shower. Usually, he would gasp as he stepped into the icy stream before the water began to heat up, but he was used to it by now, and did not even flinch as it hit his body.

He stood in the shower for ten minutes before he even started to wash himself. Once done, he stepped out and dried himself off with the nearest towel to hand, before he slipped into his pyjamas. He hung the towel back over the rail and grabbed a hand towel to try and dry his hair with; despite being wet, it still stuck up awkwardly, as if it was trying to make a point. The thought of his hair leading a life of its own made Harry smile slightly for the first time in days, but it quickly vanished as he reached the foot of the stairs. He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was sitting at the table reading a magazine. She looked up at Harry, but did not show any sign of recognition; Harry did not return any either. He simply walked round the table and took a banana from the fruit bowl. Then, he opened the cupboard and took out a plastic tumbler which he filled with water from the kitchen tap. The water was lukewarm but Harry was not fussed by it; he downed the drink in one, but kept the tumbler with him so he could fill it up again when he went upstairs. He walked back round the table, glanced at Petunia who was looking at her magazine with an expression of concentration, then exited again.

He was walking down the hallway, when the front door opened and Dudley stepped in. Dudley was still large for his age, but his continuing interest in boxing had made a positive effect on his physical image; what had once been excess flesh was now a balanced mix of fat and muscle. Harry had to admit that he had done a double-take when he had seen Dudley's muscles on the platform at Kings Cross. Dudley shrugged off his coat and hung it up. He looked at Harry expressionlessly, before standing to one side to let Harry past. The first time this had happened, Harry had very nearly fainted, but with Dudley's new look had come an increased sense of maturity; Harry presumed that Dudley still remembered the Dementors. He walked past Dudley, nodding to him as he went, and began to climb up the stairs towards his room, when he was suddenly struck by a sudden urge. Deciding to act on impulse, Harry quickly made his way to his room, where he set down the tumbler and searched around under his bed for his trainers. He grabbed a pair of socks and put them on before he jammed his trainers onto his feet. He grabbed a crumpled sweater from the end of his bed and pulled it on over his head to keep his arms warm. Then, he left his room, pulling the door to. He walked back down the stairs quietly, fearful that Uncle Vernon may finally break his silence with him, but that was something that didn't really worry Harry. He unchained the front door, opened it, and quietly slipped out into the cold night, shutting it behind him. He shivered slightly and watched as his breath turned to icy mist in front of him. He wrapped his arms around him and set off round the side of the house, towards the back garden. As he had hoped and expected, he heard the almost miniscule sounds of muffled footsteps behind him. He quickened his pace slightly and turned the corner into the back garden. He walked over to a summer bench that sat in a corner, next to the neatly manicured hedgerows and tall wooden fences. He sat down on it and looked straight ahead. He heard a soft intake of breath and the footsteps stopped; Harry guessed that whoever was under the Invisibility Cloak feared that they had been discovered. Harry quickly glanced at the conservatory windows; the curtains were shut, and Uncle Vernon had locked the doors for the night. He looked back at where the figure was standing still. He flexed his fingers and waited.

A minute passed and nothing happened. Then, very quietly, he heard the figure begin to back slowly away, the crunch of their feet on frosted grass. That was Harry's cue. His reflexes gained through Quidditch meant that he could hear and see things that were almost unnoticeable. Like a tiger about to strike its prey, Harry pushed himself off the bench and, arms outstretched, flew into the retreating figure and tackled them to the ground. It felt unusual, holding onto something invisible, but Harry was reassured when a voice started shouting. He found what he thought felt like the arms, and pinned them down.

"Hey, get off me!"

It was a woman's voice, and although it sounded older, Harry could hazard a guess as to who it was he had attacked. He smirked.

"Nymphadora," he said, releasing his grip and standing up. "What a pleasure to see you. Well, I actually can't see you, so…"

He bent down and tugged the Invisibility Cloak away to reveal a rather dishevelled Nymphadora Tonks. She looked up at him from her rather undignified position on the floor. Her hair was dark mousey-brown and hung down to her shoulders; she was dressed quite casually in Muggle clothing, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a large travelling cloak fastened round her neck. She was wearing an annoyed expression.

"Firstly, Harry, don't call me that," she said menacingly. "Secondly, why did you attack me?"

Harry shrugged and offered his hand. She grasped it and he helped her back onto her feet. It was when she was standing fully that Harry realized he had grown over the holidays; he was now the same height as the witch in front of him.

"No reason," he said. "Other than I wanted to talk to someone who likes me."

She looked at him, surprised. "Why didn't you send Hedwig to Ron and Hermione?"

Harry shrugged again. "Because neither of them would be able to get here. I actually wanted to talk face-to-face with someone, and I knew, from the way I've been trailed, that there would be an Order member here tonight. I was hoping it would be you or Remus."

Harry noticed that Tonks seemed to tense up slightly at the mention of his former professor's name, as if it pained her to hear it. He looked at her quizzically, but she had relaxed again.

"Are you alright, Tonks?" he asked concernedly.

"Huh? What?" She looked at Harry. "Yeah, I'm fine Harry. Why do you ask?"

"You just froze when I mentioned Remus," Harry said quietly; he saw that the name had the same effect on Tonks again.

"Did I?" said Tonks, trying to sound casually off-hand about, but Harry could see in the moonlight that her eyes seemed to be watering slightly. "You're really skinny again Harry, have your relatives not been feeding you?"

"Personal preference, but don't try to change the subject," said Harry, still starring concernedly at Tonks. "I've only spoken a handful of words over the last few weeks Tonks, most of them tonight. So if you would answer my question, I would be much obliged. Has something happened to him?"

Tonks stood still for a minute, looking at Harry. Then, she shook her head.

"Then what is it?" asked Harry, who was no slightly confused. Tonks' eyes darted around until she found the bench.

"Do you mind if we sit down, Harry?" she asked; it sounded in the silence of the night as if her voice was straining. Harry nodded and the two walked over to the bench, where they sat down. Harry noticed that Tonks seemed to be shifting uncomfortably as if she was thinking what it would be best to say to him. Eventually, she spoke.

"You may not have known this Harry, due to… Sirius," she spoke quietly; Harry could tell that her voice was beginning to break. "But for the past four months, Remus and I have been dating."

Harry started in surprise. It certainly was news to him that Tonks and Lupin had been dating. Hell, it was news to him that they even liked each other.

"I didn't," he commented. "Congratulations!"

It was as this point that Tonks looked at him and silently burst into tears. She hid her face in her hands and started shaking violently. Harry was shocked by this and he quickly slid up the bench towards her and put a comforting arm over her shoulder.

"Calm down Tonks," he said, holding her and she stopped shaking, although she was still letting loose the occasional sob. "What happened?"

Tonks looked at him through watery eyes and gave a slight smile. "We split up. Bit silly, really."

Harry was also surprised by this. No sooner had he learnt that Tonks and Lupin were dating, he had learnt that they had split up. He felt guilty for having made Tonks cry.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Sorry to have brought it up."

"There's no need to be sorry Harry," muttered Tonks, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeves. She reached an arm round over Harry's shoulder and pulled him closer. "You were bound to find out at some point. Anyway, he split up with me and didn't give a reason, which hurt me. Not physically but emotionally. Since then, I volunteered for permanent guard duty and generally spend most of my time watching you or someone else that's important..."

She lapsed into a silence again and instead tightened her grip on Harry. He glanced to his left shoulder where her hand was resting, before he turned to face her; she was starring into her lap.

"I'm sorry about that Tonks," he said softly. "If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

She looked at him and gave another watery smile. "Thanks Harry, I appreciate that."

He smiled back at her. "It's fine, don't worry. Anytime."

She looked him up and down on the bench, and then spoke again, slightly worried. "What did you mean when it was your personal preference to become so thin? You look ill, Harry, and I'm trying not to sound like Molly."

Harry gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, it's my own choice. Since I got back, I haven't spoken to anyone inside the house, and no-one has spoken to me. I like it that way. But it means that I keep on being left alone with my thoughts and..." He struggled to get the last word out. "Sirius."

Tonks nodded. "You seemed to be coping really well in the aftermath. After what happened..." She trailed off again, but then spoke, her voice strained again. "I suppose I should be the one owing you an apology after what happened, Harry."

"Eh?" asked Harry; he felt confused.

"If I hadn't got beat by Bellatrix, then Sirius wouldn't have had to..." she stopped again, and looked on the verge of breaking into tears again. She wasn't the only one; now they had breached the topic of Sirius' death and apportioning the blame, Harry felt both guilt at the part he had played and upset at the loss of his godfather. He tried to fight them back, but they leaked from his eyes and trickled down his face, hot and salty. Tonks looked briefly shocked, and then upset and she began to sob as well.

"Oh Harry, I'm, sorry, I-"

"Tonks, don't," said Harry; his voice was shaking but still surprisingly strong. "It was no more your fault than anyone else's that Sirius died, including mine. So I don't want an apology, and I don't want an argument." He looked at her face, a mingled expression of grief and surprise upon her delicate features. "What happened at the Ministry was a shambles for everyone. Me, Voldermort, my friends, Dumbledore, the ministry, the Order, you. It was nobody's fault that it all went so pear-shaped. So no apologies. Please."

She sniffled. "Are you sure?" she said, still sobbing slightly.

"Positive. What I'd really like right now is a warm hug," he said with a small smile. She gave a weak chuckle and turned, putting her right arm around his back to link with her left, holding him tight. He did the same with his free arm and embraced her too. They sat together, wrapped in a tight embrace, on a frosty bench, for what could have been hours to them, both sobbing quietly into the other's shoulder and offering words of encouragement. After some time, they broke away and starred at each other, their faces bathed in the pale moonlight.

"That was good," commented Harry in an off-hand sort of way. Tonks gave a giggle at his commented and nodded.

"Agreed. I could do it again, except I think that they best way for you to warm up is to go inside and get into bed. I'll be across the street with a thermos delivered by Mundungus hopefully."

"Wouldn't trust what he's put in there," mumbled Harry, and Tonks laughed.

"Nor would I. I always take it, empty it in the nearest bush and conjure up something nicer."

"What's the poor bush done to deserve that?" asked Harry, in mock indignation.

"Nothing, it's just the most convenient thing nearby."

"Ah." They looked up towards the sky; the mist created by the Dementors had cleared and a star-spangled curtain of black hung above them, with the moon a vast, white hemisphere, hovering off to one side. Somewhere overhead, they could see the red lights of an aeroplane as it flew towards London, flashing off and on at intervals.

"Harry?" asked Tonks quite suddenly.


"Is it true what the prophecy is actually about?"

"Yes," said Harry; he saw no reason to deny the fact that according to the prophecy he had to kill or be killed by Voldermort. He heard Tonks gasp again slightly and he looked at her.

"That's something I don't feel," he continued softly. "Fear. Now that Sirius is gone, I've lost that last link he can use to torture me with. It's just me and him now, no more pawns. I should be terrified, yet I feel calm. If anything, he's probably more worried than me because of the fact that I don't fear him anymore."

She looked at him intently then nodded and hugged closer to him.

"Y'know, I feel a lot better now that I've got Remus off my chest," she said quietly. "I feel more positive. Happy, even. I suppose that sometimes, speaking about it helps, doesn't it?"

Harry thought for a moment, and found to his surprise, that he was feeling exactly what Tonks was describing. Now that he had aired it in the open, he didn't really feel as much grief for Sirius. It still hurt, but it was as if someone had lit a fire in Harry that kept away negative thoughts.

"Yeah," he replied. "It does."

A flock of white birds flew overhead; one broke off and flew down towards the two. Even in the semi-darkness, Harry could tell from the colour and outline that it was Hedwig returning from her evening flight. He held out his arm and she landed softly.

"And what time do you call this?" he asked her; she gave a quiet hoot and a sort of shrug before flying off and through the open window above. Harry watched her go, and then sighed.

"That's probably her signal telling me to get back to my room and get some sleep," he said, turning back to face Tonks. "She may be late, but if I'm still awake when she's back, it's unacceptable to her. I think she gets some satisfaction from tapping my on the head so she can get back in her cage."

"I can't blame her," said Tonks, looking at her watch. "It's nearly midnight already. We've been out here longer than I thought, Mundungus'll be going spare across the road, unless he's still out drinking."

Harry laughed and stood up, lowering his hand again to Tonks who took it and got up too.

"Well, thanks for staying and chatting Tonks. Sorry and everything about-"

"No, Harry," said Tonks, giving a tired smile; it suited her better than sobbing to say the least. "If I'm not allowed to say sorry, nor are you." She looked up at his window. "How are you getting back in?"

"Huh?" Harry looked up at his open window again. "I suppose I was going to go in through the front door."

"Harry, I wouldn't want to take your chances with your uncle's vow of silence at this time of night. Come along, take my hand."

Harry looked at Tonks' proffered hand and he gingerly took a grasp of it.

"Harder, otherwise you won't make it." He held it more firmly and moved nearer.

"What are you-"

The answer became very apparent to Harry, as he suddenly felt like he was being put under intense pressure; he was being squeezed from all sides, his lungs were being compressed, his eyes rolling, his senses collapsing all around him-

As quickly as it had started, it was over. Harry gasped and opened his eyes; he was standing in his room, still clutching Tonks' hand.

"Side-along apparition?" he asked, massaging his chest.

"Side-along apparition, yes." She was looking at him concernedly again. "Are you alright Harry?"

"I'm fine, just a bit... in pain."

"Yeah, it has that effect. To be honest, I'm not really a big fan of it, but I had to be an expert at it for Auror training. Give me a broom, or Muggle transport any day. That's how I get to my shifts; I catch the train from my apartment."

"You have an apartment?" asked Harry, surprised; he thought that Tonks would have been living with Lupin, and before, at her parents.

"Well, I say apartment, it's more of a flat in a Muggle estate. One of Kingsley's hideouts. I'm leaving it anyway and going to live someplace else soon, so until I know where, I'll be catching the good old British public transport system."

Harry snorted at Tonks' description. "Not from where I come from. The buses are horrendous."

"Yeah, I have noticed that. But the trains are surprisingly good."

Harry gave a nod. "I can't really comment on them to be honest, the only train I ever catch is the Hogwarts Express."

He looked around his room. "Er, sorry about the mess, I suppose."

Tonks just shrugged. "No worse than me Harry. You know I love it like this."

He nodded. There was an almost embarrassed silence between the two which hung as they stared intently at each other. It was eventually broken when Hedwig, from her perch on Harry's headboard, clicked her beak indignantly, her round amber eyes fixed upon the pair. They both started and looked around until they found the source of the noise.

"Yeah, so, I think I best go back across the road," said Tonks as she turned away from looking at Hedwig; Harry sensed almost an air of reluctance about her. "Thanks Harry."

"The same to you," said Harry and he reached over to give her a friendly hug, much softer than the one they had shared in the cold outside. "Take care and I'll see you later."

She nodded and with a faint pop, she disapparated away. Harry let out a small sigh; he suddenly felt quite alone again. Then, he smiled. He couldn't deny that he had enjoyed seeing Tonks even if they pair of them had spent much time crying. There just seemed to be something about her that Harry couldn't quite place...

A sharp clicking noise told him that Hedwig was threatening to start hacking the headboard to pieces if she wasn't put to rest. Harry walked over to the cage and unlocked its door before turning to Hedwig. She gracefully unfolded her wings, took off, performed a single flap, tucked them behind and glided smoothly into her cage. She looked more appraisingly at Harry before shutting her eyes and nestling her head own in her feathers. Harry locked at his beautiful white snowy owl and was strangely reminded of Tonks, her tear-stained face lit up by the bright moonlight earlier that night. He took off his trainers, removed his glasses and got into his bed. He fell asleep shortly after, his dreams filled for the first time in months with pleasant, bright and wonderful things.

Little did Harry know that his conversation with Tonks would kick-start his recovery. The following day, he would exercise but eat large meals of meat and fish for his lunch and dinner respectively whilst he was out. He would not think about Sirius and instead focused on training and returning his body back to working condition. And for what was to come, this was the smartest move that Harry Potter could have ever taken.

A/N: Yes, I know what you're thinking. There was not the slightest touch of Blackadder in that chapter. Well, if its a compromise, the next chapter will feature much more Blackadder and Baldrick; I'm still deciding which modern day incarnations of characters I can add into the story at the moment, but expect a healthy dose of favourites. So, please read an review, and stay tuned for more action!