Stolen

A/N: Since this chapter is mostly in Harry's p.o.v., Jareth had introduced himself as 'The Goblin King' and that is how he'll be referred to as Harry doesn't know his given name. And as we all know, in the Labyrinth, words have power, especially names.

Disclaimer: See chapter 1. Reviews are welcomed, flames are not.

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Chapter 4: Sunshine On My Pillow

Harry slowly returned to the waking world a little at a time. He was warm and comfortable. Admittedly he was fighting to stay asleep, as it was the first peaceful sleep he could remember. His dreams were slowly fading, but he could vaguely remember clouds, singing, and a golden sea. He couldn't remember having such a restful, serene dream in a very long time.

Rubbing his eyes, he started to sit up and realized . . . this wasn't his room in Privet Drive. For one thing, it was larger than his relative's master bedroom. For another, the colors were cream and gold. . . and not a drop of the pink paisley that his aunt liked anywhere!

As Harry became more fully awake he realized that he could see clearly, yet his glasses weren't anywhere to be seen. He was now even more confused than ever.

"Ahh, I see yer awake, young master," came a gruff voice by the door.

Harry turned to see a short, robust female being wearing a beige skirt and green vest. She entered the room carrying a tray. The heavenly smells from the tray she carried caused his stomach to grumble loudly.

"I be Hilda, your healer," she said setting the breakfast tray down by his bed. She then leaned over and fluffed his pillows to support his back before setting it down on his lap. "Eat, eat, yer too skinny!"

Harry looked down at a small bowl of porridge with a dollop of honey and sprinkled with fruit and nuts. Beside the bowl was a small plate of scrambled eggs and a tall glass of milk.

"Eats what ye can, young master. I know ye 'ave been goin' wi'out fer a long time," she was saying, holding a small vial that he recognized. "But 'fore ye do, drink this. Its be a soothin' potion fer yer stomach. It'll 'elp. Best be careful."

For some reason he knew she could be trusted as he reached for the vial. "Thank you . . . uh. . . Hilda? Where am I?"

"Yer Underground. This room belongs ta you as long as yer stayin' 'ere. Eat, then questions." Hilda moved away allowing Harry to return to the tray on his lap.

Picking up the spoon he stirred the porridge and took a bite. The food tasted as wonderful as it smelled. And the soothing potion allowed him to eat more than a few bites without feeling full, or upsetting his stomach.

As he ate Hilda puttered around the room before returning with a huff to take his half-finished tray away. "Come young master. Up. Yer need ta get cleaned. 'ere be yer new clothin'." She set a pile of clean clothes on the chair beside the bed.

"These aren't mine!"

"His Majesty sent 'em. These be better suited. Up! This way. Mustn't keep His Majesty waitin'." She flung back his covers.

"Wait!" He made an abortive move to cover himself. "What about my questions? Where am I? How did I get here? What's going on?"

"Questions, questions, too many questions! Come, get cleaned!" She helped him out of the bed and walked him to the small door by a wardrobe. "In yer get. Bath is waitin'. Go. Hurry!"

Harry found himself in a bathing room that was more like a roman bath than a typical British loo. It reminded him more of the prefects' bath at Hogwarts.

Slowly Harry went through his routine. The water in the already drawn bath was just right, easing the stiffness from his muscles. He still had a lot of questions.

When he finally exited the bathroom he felt better than he had in a long time. The clothes fit perfectly, and were actually in colors that he liked.

"Yer lookin' a whole lot better, young master," Hilda said as she finished making his bed.

Harry wasn't paying any attention to her as he'd caught sight of the view from the small balcony off of his bedroom. He gasped as he stepped out onto it.

"How do you like my Labyrinth?"

Harry whirled around to find a tall, blonde-haired man wearing a white poets' shirt, black leather gloves and tight grey riding pants. He was leaning casually against a wall. Around his neck was a heavy pendant on a thick chain.

"Wh. . .what. . . ? Wh. . .who?"

The man straightened and walked over. He placed one hand on the railing and looked at the vast labyrinth with its stone walls and hedge ways forming a maze of corridors and dead ends. "This is my Labyrinth, Harry Potter, and here I rule. I am The Goblin King."

Harry studied him for a moment before he turned back to look over the labyrinth with a smile. "I think its brilliant. Wait! How do you know my name?"

"Come, we have a lot to talk about," The Goblin King commanded, turning his back and walking into the room. "How do you like this room? It is yours for your stay."

"My stay?"

Harry quickly turned to follow him as The Goblin King produced a round crystal ball and tossed it in the air. It broke into a glittering shower only to reform into a crystal table with two matching chairs. On the table was a tea service, with a tray of biscuits and tea cakes.

"Do you remember the owl you rescued after the big storm a few days ago?" The Goblin King asked as he played mother and poured.

Taking the cup of tea he was handed, Harry frowned as he sat down."He's alright? Isn't he? I wasn't able to free him like I promised."

The Goblin King smiled and gave a slight bow. "He is. You did the best you could with what you had on hand. Which makes a problem for me. You see, I was that owl and I am indebted to you for saving me.

"Patching me up and feeding me from your table, as meager as it was showed true hospitality. Are you aware of the Code of Hospitality?"

Harry frowned as he set down his tea cup. "You are talking about the 'Old Ways of Hospitality?' Uhh. . . Some. . .I'm not sure though."

Jareth gave a small grimace at Harry's admission. "I assumed as much. Hogwarts has fallen far since they discontinued the teaching of the Old Ways, and the Compact," The Goblin King said with a sneer.

He raised his hand and a book appeared. "You have been healed, but are not yet strong enough to return to Aboveground. I suggest you read this while you are still recovering."

Harry took the offered book but was still confused. It seemed to be hand written with its ancient bindings and leather cover. There was no title on the cover. He wasn't Hermione in that he was anxious to get started reading, though he did have some manners, after all.

"After you healed me, and fed me what you could from you own plate it indebted me to you."

Looking up from the book Harry protested. "I didn't do it to make you indebted. I did it because it was the right thing to do. I couldn't let you get killed by any of the cats that roam the neighborhood. You were hurt. I wasn't even sure what my cousin and his gang would do if they found . . ."

The Goblin King held up his hand to stop him. "I realized that after you freed me from the cage you placed me in for my protection."

Jareth set down his cup. "After you let me out, I had plan to punish you for keeping me locked up. Then I realized it was for my own protection – from that oaf of a man who entered your room. The food, shelter and care sealed the Compact."

"My uncle," Harry said, bitterly.

"Your uncle," The Goblin King agreed. "I know you had planned to let me out of the house the next day, but your relatives didn't cooperate," he said with an elegant sneer.

"I'm sorry about them. They want to be seen as normal, but . . . "

"Don't apologize. They are getting the punishment they so richly deserve. They were given a treasure to protect and cherish. Instead they tried to destroy it," The Goblin King smirked. "There is one thing you should know Harry, one does not cross the Fae without dire consequences."

"You didn't hurt them, did you? They never wanted me and I don't want to be there, but Dumbledore said I had to. Something about my mother's sacrifice and blood wards."

The Goblin King's eyes widened as he straightened. "Blood wards? On a child? That's . . .that's immoral!"

"Huh? He said something about my mother's love protecting me from the killing curse, and that if I live where my 'mother's blood dwells' I'd be safe. A whole fat lot of good its done! I've never been safe in that house."

"And I would be surprised if you were. Blood Wards are dangerous if you don't know what you are doing. From what I saw of them they were not properly cast, nor bound.

"As of right now, that is the least of your worries. When I brought you Underground, I took you to the center of my Labyrinth and allowed the magic there to heal you."

Harry thought back to his dreams. "I remember a golden wave, and singing."

"That wave was wild magic in its purest form. I am surprised you noticed. Yes, it can appear as a golden wave. Magic was the only way to completely heal the damage done to you by your relatives and the improperly cast blood wards. Your own magic was on its last legs, as it was struggling to keep you alive."

"Wh. . . ?"

The Goblin King looked down at the table. "I must admit it surprised me as well. You have a large wellspring of magic within you. Of necessity it has grown as it struggled to protect you. . .but there were also blocks keeping it from its full potential."

"Blocks? What's going on? I don't understand."

"You will in time. And since I can reorder time, we have all the time in the world, Harry Potter."

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The guard shifts changed at Number 4 Privet Drive, without ever being aware that Harry Potter no longer lived at that address. They also never noticed what was going on inside, never saw or heard the tiny, dirty creatures making the family living within miserable.

The Goblin King's curse made certain that Harry's Aunt Petunia didn't have a moment of peace. Her beautiful, pristine home was constantly in need of cleaning, and without the freak to do it for her. . . Well, she had to do it herself. She finally realized just how much work her nephew had done around the house and yard.

As for Dudley and Vernon, the food always tasted off. No matter how freshly bought, it started to rapidly spoil the moment it came into the house.

Their sleep wasn't any better. In the darkness the three of them could hear the pattering of tiny feet and muffled, high-pitched tittering. More than one night was spent hiding beneath their blankets.

In the morning, there were signs that something had been in the house. Tiny, dirty footprints and hand-prints could be seen on every surface in the house.

The milk was on the floor, soured, the telly on full blast and the curtains were torn as if something had tried to climb them. The most puzzling though, were the chicken feathers everywhere.

"Vernon! Do something! I can't stand this anymore!" Petunia screamed at her husband over the breakfast table.

"What would you have me do? The freak's gone and we have no way of contacting that old freak! You tell me!" he shouted back as he headed for the door. "I'm going to work. I'm going to be late. I'll pick something up on the way home!"

Dudley looked at his breakfast in disgust. Nothing was right. The food was yucky, and smelt bad. He wanted to blame the freak, but he really couldn't. It would be best to simply say nothing. Even he knew that whining would likely turn their wrath on him. He didn't want his parents to turn against him like they had on Harry.

Last summer he had a wake up call with those De-menty things. He saw his worst fears and it had been frightening. What his parents did to his cousin wasn't right, his counselor at school even said as much. And he didn't want them to do the same to him.

He'd tried to keep his parents from noticing the few times that his cousin had sneaked food and water while he prepared their meals this summer. However, there wasn't much he could do as his mum kept a sharp eye on Harry to keep him from doing any thing 'freaky'.

"I'm heading over to Piers'. Maybe his mum will fix me pancakes the way I like them," he shouted as he pushed away from the table.

"But Diddy . . ."

The front door slammed as Dudley headed over to his friend's house. This summer was starting to suck in his opinion, but he was glad that his cousin had left when he did.

Petunia sat in her chair crying into her napkin. Behind her tiny voices gleefully giggled at her misery. Where had she gone wrong?

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A/N: We repeat – Sarah isn't in this story. There was no way to place her in it without her being contrived. It was just better not to have her if we couldn't do her justice.

"Playing mother" is an English phrase that describes the person who pours out the tea.

Until next time. – GF and The Frau