Hello! I'm back! Finally! I'm so sorry for disappearing the way I did, but honestly? RL is a b&! ! As you probably noticed (well duh LoL), I have started up a new story. The others are on an indefinite length of hiatus. The circumstances will be better explained on my profile, if you're interested to know.

As for the actual matter at hand; this story, like the others I have written, is probably - definitely ::cough:: - going to be slash. So if that's not your cuppa', then go easy on yourself and leave, before you catch some rare disease targeting the minds of unsuspecting hetero-lovers. You have been warned!

For all the rest of you, who remained despite my dire warning, here's a little preview of what you can look forward to:

Violence, angst, and all sorts of other tags the 'mature' label is known and loved for. I will give warnings at the beginnings of each chapter to come. My warning for the first chappie: violence, angst and a mild reference to molestation of a minor. There is no rape, and there probably won't be either.

And the pairing? I'm telling you guys nuffin', except that I have something very special in mind. Here's a hint: it's neither Moldy-Pants, nor Draco. In fact it' none of the usual you can think about.

I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not making any money by writing this. It's all in good fun!

Chapter 1

"He wants WHAT?" Harry's voice boomed through the empty house with startling force. As soon as the shout left his throat he flinched, clamping his mouth shut. Even if he was lucky enough his Aunt and Uncle were away with their precious Diddy-Dumms, the neighbors would still inform the Dursleys of anything out of place that happened in their absence. And howling like an animal loud enough for the street to hear definitely fell in that category.

The letter he had been reading was crumpled in his shaking fist. He was tempted to throw it out the wide-open window, if only to relieve some stress. But the damn bars Uncle Vernon saw fit to reattach would prevent that small respite as well. The rush that came with his temper waned in his helplessness to do anything. His legs buckled as he slumped onto the tattered remains of the mattress covering the cot he used as a bed. The metal frame swayed under the sudden weight.

Why was he in this situation? Why? Back in this hellhole of normalcy, yet again. And Sirius, his only true ally, was... gone... No, he was not going to think about that. But he had to wonder if any of this would have happened if his godfather was still alive. Definitely not.

He had begged Dumbledore like a kicked dog to reconsider sending him back to his so-called family. He tried every year, even if the act proved futile. He had to at least put some effort forth. Naturally, the old goat gave the same act of a disappointed grandfather every effing time. Acting as if Harry was some wayward child throwing a tantrum in the face of the wise decisions the adults made for him. It did not matter how he reasoned with the headmaster, meekly informing him of the treatment he received at home. He told him about his living conditions, showed him his first Hogwarts letter addressed to the cupboard, recounted the details of his everyday chores, the starvation, the beatings, and the man still had the gall to act like he was exaggerating or lying. But Harry knew better now. Did Dumbledore think he was stupid? After learning of legilimency and occlumency, knowing the coot was a fucking master of the arts, did he think Harry would be stupid enough not to connect the dots? He could, and probably did, verify every single word that left Harry's mouth. Not to mention that Snape had to have reported all the juicy details of their lessons together.

He snapped out of his revery when a rustling sound drew his attention to the old desk shoved into the opposite corner of the room. Fawkes trilled at him softly, as if asking what the matter was. Harry glared at the bird in half-hearted annoyance, snorting at his presence. Of course Dumbledore's familiar would be asked to deliver the letter. No owl could get through the bars on his window. The first two times one tried to deliver something, Harry wasn't able to untie the packages as there was not enough space between the upgraded bars to stick his hand out. Poor Hedwig was cooped up in the room right along with him, and Harry could see the toll the lack of movement and food was taking on her. He turned back to Fawkes, who was also eyeing the caged owl beside him on top of the desk.

"How about you make yourself useful and bring her something to eat?" he asked in a somewhat nasty tone.

Fawkes trilled at him and disappeared in a cloud of flames. Well, that went well. Harry smiled at the white bird. She hooted at him in answer. As they waited for the Phoenix to return, Harry lifted the crumpled piece of parchment, eyeing it with an uncharacteristic sneer on his face. He hardly knew more than the first few lines, and he was debating wether reading it would hold any benefits, or if a wandless Incendio would better deal with the matter at hand. In the end, he decided that with the luck he had, the letter may even state that lack of an answer would mean his compliance with the contents. With a sigh, Harry smoothed the parchment out on his lap and began to read.

Harry, my dear boy,

It has come to the attention of the Order after the reading of Sirius Black's will, that the estate we have been using as Headquarters has been left to you in its entirety. This, of course, is no surprise, however unforeseen circumstances force me to ask you; please consider giving up this right in light of the information I am about to divulge.

Harry growled, and nearly tore the parchment to shreds in his renewed wrath. How dare they? Or better said; how dare Dumbledore? It was not even the shameless request from the old man that angered him the most. More than that, the fact that the reading of his Godfather's will had clearly taken place without his presence was what he could not stand. How could they deny him this? They had no right! And what about Gringotts? The goblins should have been obligated to make sure he was present. Maybe one of the owls he was unable to get to had been sent by them? But even if that was the case, when they saw he had not received the letter should they have not made certain for him to get the invitation through other means?

Something was clearly not right. This was official business, even laws had been broken. Harry was missing something, he knew it. Goblins loved their money too much to ignore the repercussions of not keeping with the Ministry's guidelines. What on earth was going on? In any case, he had to focus. Perhaps Dumbledore's letter would shed some light on the circumstances, although he was not holding much hope. Then again, the Headmaster regularly underestimated Harry's intelligence enough to let telling details slip from time to time.

As you may have already known, ever since the Order started using Grimmauld Place, I have been appointed as a secret keeper with the casting of the Fidelius Charm on the property. This, however, changed as the previous owner died. With every other right associated with the estate, including all wards, the Fidelius has also 'changed owners'. You have become the secret keeper, which - as you may understand - is rather inconvenient at the present. Alas, dear boy, this is easily rectified, so you have naught to worry about. With your permission, I would take over this burden from you until you come off age as you turn 17. With my letter I included the form you should sign to allow me to ease your mind on the matter.

Now, with this unpleasant talk out of the way, I am happy to inform you that we are already working on a plan to relocate you to Headquarters after your birthday. Please be ready to move out during the 1st of July. We have not yet been able to decide the exact time, so be sure to be packed the night before. Take care my dear boy, and I will see you in two weeks.

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin; First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Grand Sorcerer.

"That presumptuous old asshole!" Harry muttered with venom. Even he himself was a little surprised at the pure hatred in his voice directed at the Headmaster. Yes, he could not trust the coot to have his well-being close at heart, but did he really deserve such low regard from him? He was trying to win a war here, he naturally had to make sacrifices for anything to be achieved. But why was it always Harry who got the shortest stick in the stack?

Perhaps his subconscious knew better though; Dumbledore was nothing but a good actor. He had no regard for the people around him, not a shred of compassion for the lives he kept ruining to get his ends. Just look at poor Professor Lupin! He kept sending the poor man on missions to convince the werewolves to fight for their cause, disregarding the fact that the light side had made no moves - not after the previous war, and not now - to make their lives less of a hell than before. And Lupin was an outcast from their circles already; how did Dumbledore consider it to be a good idea to send him to his bloodthirsty brethren, only to come back every time no more than a mangled mess, barely escaping with his life intact? He knew this kept happening during the previous school-year from Professor Lupin's rare letters. The man always attempted to skim over the situation, but Harry was not stupid. He could damn well read between the lines.

And really? Did Dumbledore honestly expect him to sign over his inheritance without a second thought? Sirius's legacy? Fat chance! Could they not simply alter the Fidelius, or even recast it? And the gall of that goat, as if he'd jump at the chance to be rid of the 'burden' Sirius left him with!

Thinking about it, another small detail registered - if a little late - in his mind. If he, Harry, was the secret keeper, did that mean the Order was unable to get into the house? Harry chuckled out loud. Of course! How ironic. He could imagine the panic about what to do sweeping through the Order like a tide. All the precious information they collected was stored somewhere in the house, not to mention Kreatcher was at large, doing who knows what at Grimmauld. Come to think of it, was the crazy house elf now not his as well?

The sudden return of Fawkes jolted Harry out of his musings. The beautiful bird trilled at him, and dropped a dead mouse on the table with a wet plop. Harry immediately stood and walked over, examining the limp and bloody rodent with distaste. Hedwig hooted at his expression in indignation, and he smiled at her in apology. He nodded at the Phoenix, the curt gesture drawing an answering trill from the bird, and plucked the prey off the hard surface. He opened the owl-cage and presented Hedwig with the first real meal she had since they arrived at Privet Drive. The meager amount of food he got and was able to share with her was hardly enough to satisfy her hunger.

Hedwig tore into the mouse with gusto, sending Harry grateful hoots between beak-fulls of meat. He masked his grimace of distaste with a grin, and turned back to his bed, where the crumpled letter and the envelope lay. Though he had no intention to sign anything, he was still curious to know what the document the Headmaster referred to contained. So he sat down on the mattress, ignoring the ominous creeks beneath him, and took the envelope in hand. He quickly got the remaining parchment out, unfolding it and settling back to read.

It was basically what the damn goat already said; a contract permitting Dumbledore to handle the inheritance he received till Harry came off age. It did contain some interesting new information though. Dumbledore, it seemed, was his legal magical guardian. Which was not exactly a shock, but quite useful to know for certain. It would be even more useful to know what that position entailed, but beggars can't be choosers.

Harry glanced at Fawkes thoughtfully, who cocked his head at him in question. He did not say anything, instead stood again to bend under the cot, moving the loose floorboard to get to the small storage space it revealed. He fished out a roll of fresh parchment he managed to secret away before the Dursleys locked his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, intended for the essays he was required to complete during the summer. He knew what the assignments were, and had already read through some of the material during the train-ride home, so he could at least start on a few of them. The rest would have to be left until he managed to get out from under his family's thumb at last. A quill and a small pot of ink followed soon after, and with all the necessary supplies ready, he moved back to the desk, Dumbledore's mail also clutched in his hand carrying the parchment. Fawkes relocated without having to be told to the back of the chair after Harry pulled it over to sit on. He had to stop himself from glaring at the bird again. It was no fault of Fawkes's what his owner did, but it was hard not to take out his frustrations on such a convenient target.

"... A small fire would be useful right now." he said with a grumble, waving the contract between them. The Phoenix squawked coughing out a spark. Harry stared at him with disbelief, and laughed a moment later. "Again, please? That was kind of sudden." He held the official looking parchment up, waiting for another cough. Soon enough, Fawkes spat a new spark, and Harry watched the contract catching fire in fascination. It burned fast, and he jumped up, dropping it into the empty metal bin in his room with haste, before it could scald him. He watched it turn to ashes, the fire dying immediately after with nowhere left to spread.

Harry turned to Fawkes after the show was over, and the bird trilled proudly at his accomplishment.

"Well, thanks, I guess." He stepped over to stroke the glistening feathers. A beaked head leaned over to nudge his hand with affection. How could he remain hateful after that? Harry sighed, petting the head in apology for his earlier behavior.

"How am I supposed to write this?" he asked himself. He could not be outright rude. The Headmaster was a headache enough when he believed they were on good terms. If he realized his personal golden boy was not half as ignorant and naive as he believed, especially after the scene he had made in his office the last time they had met after Sirius died, he could turn Harry's life into more of a nightmare than it already was. A legal guardian could certainly have a good amount of say in what he did, even if he was not yet sure exactly how much. If only he could go to Gringotts... A great deal of his questions could be answered. But there was no way to get out of the house without the wards alerting the Order of his intentions, and they would be there in a heartbeat to stop him.

Who was he kidding anyway? He could not even get out of his damn room without magic, thanks to the dozens of locks on the door, which he definitely did not have at his disposal, unless he was prepared to deal with the Ministry accusing him of violating their 'underage' laws. After Dobby's little stunt in his second year, and the accident with aunt Marge, it could have disastrous consequences. But the point was; there was no way to get out (or in, thank Merlin) without getting discovered first, promptly landing him back in his prison with an even smaller chance to escape in the future with the Order's guard up...

Wait a minute! Dobby! The house elf managed to pass the wards just fine, so their magic had to be somewhat different to allow them to apparate anywhere they wanted. And though he could not call Dobby, as the energetic elf was not his, per se, he might be able to summon Kreatcher if his suspicions about the elf's ownership changing with Grimmauld Place were correct. He may get out of here yet! Harry was tempted to do his happy-dance, but he decided against it when he spied Fawkes watching his jaw-splitting grin in interest.

"It seems I will be sending you back without an answer after all." he told the Phoenix, not even attempting to look sorry about it. "Kreatcher!" he called loudly, holding his breath in anticipation. A loud crack disturbed the silence, and Harry laughed in relief. He turned to the creature that kept muttering obscenities under it's breath.

"Filthy half-blood, calling Keatcher to this disgusting place, inhabited by disgusting muggles. What could he want from Kreatcher? Poor Mistress, what would she say? The Noble House of Black tainted by filth! How disgraceful, for Kreatcher to be forced to obey the blood-traitor! Kreatcher must, even if he doesn't want to! Oh, what would Mistress say? How disappointed she would be!"

"Hello, Kreatcher." Harry said with a grin.

"The half-blood filth greeted Kreatcher. But Kreatcher hates him, he does. What does he want?"

Harry was too happy to get annoyed at the usual insults. "Kreatcher, can you apparate me out of here?"

"He asks if Kreatcher can take him out of the filthy muggle house. But Kreatcher doesn't understand. Why can't the blood-traitor go out? Kreatcher felt the wards, he did, and there was nothing there to prevent him from leaving." the house elf muttered with a confused look on his wrinkled face.

"Never mind that." Harry said, loosing some of his patience. "Can you, are can you not apparate me out?"

The small elf looked scandalized. "Of course Kreatcher can do that! Filthy muggle-lover, is he saying Kreatcher is a bad elf?"

"No, I just wanted to know if it was possible or not." he said, getting frustrated. "And could you stop insulting me? My name is Harry, and I would appreciate it if you started using it."

"Fil-" The elf looked constipated. "Master Harry, where would he want Kreatcher to take him?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the near-slip, while cackling madly on the inside with the beginning of the idea that was forming in his mind. "Tell me, can the Order get into Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh, no they can't! The mudbloods and blood-traitors have finally left! Mistress was so happy when Kreatcher told her the vermin tainting her halls were gone!" he said with a dreamy expression, that looked... wrong on his face. But Harry didn't care. This was what he had been hoping for! With him as the secret keeper, no one could get into the house without him expressly telling them where it was, even if the previous one - Dumbledore - allowed them. The old coot himself wasn't permitted inside anymore! Ha!

"Kreatcher, please go get my belongings from the cupboard bellow the stairs. Bring them up here, okay? And don't use magic, except to apparate, or the Ministry will be alerted." The elf headed for the door. "The door is locked, that's why I told you to apparate." Harry said in exasperation. Fawkes trilled at him questioningly, but he paid the bird no mind. "Unless you can get the trunk in through the cat flap, not to mention picking the lock to the cupboard without magic, I'd advise you to just pop there directly."

Kreatcher threw Harry a contemptuous look, but did as he was told, disappearing and reappearing within seconds accompanied by two distinct cracks. Harry dove under the bed, and placed all the items he hid beneath the floorboard unto the mattress. First came his wand, followed by his invisibility cloak, his album, more parchment, and lastly a plastic bottle half-full of water that he usually refilled whenever he had a chance, hiding it so the Dursleys would not discover it. One could live without food for quite some time, but dehidratation killed you quickly.

Harry scrambled up after emptying and resealing the small compartment, opening the trunk Kreatcher brought with him and depositing every item, except for his wand and the bottle, inside. Just as he placed the folded cloak on the very top, he heard the front door slamming shut.

How didn't I hear them arrive? Harry thought in a panic. The car parking in the driveway should have alerted him to his family's arrival. He glanced around the room, shaking at the prospect of Uncle Vernon finding a Phoenix and a house elf there, let alone his trunk that was supposed to be locked away. He stuffed his wand under the dirty pillow on the cot, slamming his trunk shut.

"Kreatcher, can you take this to Grimmauld Place? And be ready to come for me and Hedwig when I call! Hurry!" The old elf disappeared with the trunk, grumbling under his breath, but obeying nonetheless. He then turned to Fawkes, who kept eyeing him steadily. "What are you waiting for? Go!" The Phoenix trilled in a confused manner, but finally decided to go along with his wishes just as Harry heard the first heavy steps on the stairs indicating someone, most likely Vernon or Dudley, were coming to check on him.

Harry slumped into his chair, waiting for the door to open. He could not let the Dursleys catch onto what was going on. The Order would undoubtedly interrogate them about his disappearance. Them catching sight of Kreatcher would be a disaster in the making. Dumbledore would immediately know where he was, which was the last thing he wanted, Fidelius or no. And Phoenix or not, Fawkes was a bird, he could not tell Dumbledore about his plans, which was lucky.

Harry waited for his door to unlock with baited breath, the jingling behind it letting him know it was nearly time. As the last heavy lock fell to the floor in the hallway, the door slammed open to reveal a sneering Dudley.

"We're home, freak. Mom says to cook dinner, and maybe she'll let you have some later." his cousin said, trotting off to his own room with all the grace of a baby mammoth. Probably wanting to check on his computer or something. Harry silently made his way out, casting a cursory glance around his room for anything incriminating, before stepping on the stairs. Once he reached the bottom, his Aunt's horse-like visage materialized from behind the living room's entrance.

"After you finished cooking, unpack and take care of the laundry. That awful smell of wet dogs drives me crazy." she said, sniffing in distaste. They have visited Aunt Marge for the weekend, and Petunia always made him wash all of their clothes after such an occasion, no matter if they wore them or not. So Harry only nodded, heading for the kitchen.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." he murmured as he passed her by. She grunted, and disappeared back into the living room, the television announcing the evening news was about to begin. Harry tried to listen, the muggles hopefully reporting any weird or unexplainable occurrences. He prepared their meal with dull eyes, not hearing anything of interest. Why on earth were George Clooney's dating habits even reported? People all over the world were starving, getting killed, and other innumerable things kept happening they could have focused on, but they chose a celebrity's sex-life as the breaking news? Sometimes Harry thought he could actually understand why Voldemort lost faith in humanity. The Wizarding World was not much better either. Humans were humans, no matter where you looked.

By the time the weather was mentioned, the meat and potatoes were already sizzling away in the oven merrily, so Harry left the kitchen to start the washing machine with the first set of clothes he unpacked from the suitcases left by the door. He had already poured in the detergent and shut the lid, when Dudley's holler from above made him jump.

"Mom, dad, look what I found on the freak's bed!"

Shit! Harry thought. He found my wand! Shit!

Dudley's thundering footsteps made their way downstairs, and he ran into the living room his parents occupied. Harry, meanwhile, was frozen in place. He hardly dared to breathe.

"What is it, Diddy Darling?"

"Look mom!"

"What is this?" boomed out Vernon. "Boy! Get over here this instant!"

Harry gulped, but he knew it was better to obey than to postpone the inevitable while also making his Uncle angrier. So he took apprehensive steps, time seeming to slow as he got ever nearer to Vernon. At long last, he stood in front of the purple face, waiting for what was to happen.

"How dare you steal from us?" he burst out, spittle flying from his mouth. Harry stared at him in confusion. What is he talking about? His last thought was answered when Vernon waved a bottle of water near his face menacingly. The water? They were talking about the water? Thank Merlin! Dudley didn't find the wand after all! It was safe! However, that didn't mean his situation was not dire. In fact, it was really-really bad. No matter how he looked at it, getting caught having food or drink he was not supposed to have was one of the worst mistakes one could commit in the Dursley household, second only to the freakishness that was prone to happen whenever Harry was around.

"He was hiding it in his blanket!" Dudley piped up proudly.

Vernon glanced at his son, but turned right back on Harry when he shifted in unease. "So you now steal from us as well? Ungrateful brat! We should have taken you to an orphanage the day we found you on our doorstep! After everything we've done for you, is this how you thank us?" The walrus of a man grabbed Harry's skinny arm, dragging him toward the stairs. The spectacled boy winced at the harsh grip. When they reached Harry's room, Vernon was panting from exertion, his beady eyes glaring daggers at his captive. With a mighty heave, he threw Harry across the floor, and the boy yelped as his knees connected with the aged wood.

"You little shit!" He reached down to fist Harry's hair, pulling him up by the unruly locks. "You will regret stealing from us!" The sentence was punctuated with meaty knuckles slamming into Harry's chin. The world spun from the force of the blow. Another was delivered soon after, and Harry felt his lower lip tearing open, blood dribbling from the wound. "Did you think you were entitled to anything you want? As if you were family? Don't make me laugh boy! No one would want a freak like you! Even that criminal Godfather of yours left you, didn't he? It was from the goodness of our heart we took you in, despite your freakish nature! Ungrateful little shit!" A knee in his stomach. "And after all we did, you dare threaten us with your murderer freak relation?"

Oh, back to the usual. Harry thought. And he had the precious Order to thank for his treatment getting worse than ever. Telling Vernon that Sirius was dead was the damn reason for the violence escalating this far. How he despised them for taking away his last measure of security in this God-awful situation they forced upon him in the first place, year after year!

Harry was tossed back to the ground, a swift kick to his abdomen making him curl into a ball in self-defense. But it didn't stop, Vernon's heavy feet delivering kick after kick wherever the man managed to land them. His Uncle crouched down beside him, the landing of actual blows seemingly more satisfying than simply kicking his nephew. Harry almost let himself sigh in relief when the fists started loosing strength; Vernon was finally tiring. The punches were getting softer and softer.

When it stopped, Harry was too sore and scared to move. He could hear his Uncle panting behind him, and he could not help but to let out a soft groan of pain when he drew his legs closer to his body unconsciously. Vernon shifted behind him, and Harry stilled. A sweaty palm was placed upon his bruised back, and Harry held his breath in confused fright. The disgusting appendage trailed down his spine, stopping just above his buttocks. The boy flinched away, despite the pain, and Vernon growled before he got to his feet.

"This is not over, freak!" he said, stomping out, and slamming the door shut. Harry never in his life felt so scared before.

Making certain his Uncle was safely downstairs, well out of hearing range, he got to his knees weakly. He crawled over to his cot, fishing out his wand from under the pillow. With that done, he made his way toward Hedwig, who kept hooting at him gently.

"Kreatcher!" he croaked, the cage with his owl inside squeezed to his chest. The elf popped into the room.

"Fil- Master Harry called Kreatcher, and Kreatcher came. Should Kreatcher be taking him to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?" he asked, not batting an eyelid at Harry's sorry state.

"Yes, I would appreciate that." Harry wanted to get away. Anywhere was better! He wanted to be as far away from his Uncle and the weird vibes he got from the man as possible.

Kreatcher stretched his hand toward the boy sitting on the floor, and as he touched him, Harry felt himself being apparated out, away from Privet Drive. He would never see the place again, if he had any say in the matter.

The two arrived in the dark entrance hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and Harry found himself face to face with Sirius's sceptic looking mother. The painting sneered down at him reproachfully.

"Just when I was rid of that disgraceful gaggle of muggle-lovers, I get saddled with a weak half-blood for an heir. Tainting our noble line with your filth! The Black name is in ruins!"

Harry ignored the harpy in favor of talking to Kreatcher.

"Take me to a clean room with a bed, please, and let Hedwig out to hunt. Then bring something to eat and drink, if there's any food in the house." The elf looked disgruntled, but obeyed. Harry promptly found himself on a bed in a room decorated with Chudley Chanon posters all over the wall. He was quite positive this was Ron's before the Order had gotten forced out with Sirius's will coming into effect. The house elf opened a window, popping away without further ado, and Harry opened the cage for his owl, so she could fly out for a much-needed hunt.

Placing the cage on the floor beside the bed, he eased himself onto his stomach, doing his best to ignore the pain. Perhaps he could ask Kreatcher if there were any potions left behind by the previous residents? He could do with a pain reliever, if nothing else. He could only hope nothing was broken, although going by the feel of his ribs, one or two were cracked for sure.

Nothing but the promise of food kept him conscious long enough for the elf to come back. The hateful creature deposited a tray filled with sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice on the bedside table. He bowed at the boy with evident reluctance, and disappeared to do whatever he usually did in the dark house. Counting cockroaches maybe? Harry did not want to think about it.

He dug into the haphazardly prepared meal with gusto. He noted that they didn't taste as bad as they looked, they were only sandwiches after all, if a tad plain. The ravenous boy finished it all within a span of a few minutes, gulping down the pumpkin juice right after. He fell into a fitful, pain-filled sleep on top of the covers mere seconds after his throbbing head hit the pillows.