To Sleep is an Act of Faith

Summary: The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

Rating: K+ (may change)

Disclaimer: not mine not mine not mine.

Author's Notes: Well here we are again, I'm afraid updates are gonna slow down just a little cos I'm going back to school soon but I'll make sure you still get a regular fix – no worries!

Chapter Fourteen

Harry woke up gradually, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings; somewhere warm and comfortable. He blinked his eyes open, and looked around him. He was in the small bedroom at St Michaels; sunlight was streaming through the small window. This made Harry frown, why was he in bed at this hour? And slowly it came back to him, the new clothes, the mirror, the scars…

As the thought entered his mind, he tentatively reached his hand around to feel his back. It was hard, and even when he stretched completely he could only reach the bottom of the marks. He lay back down on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing that it would all just go away.

He lay like that for some time, burying his head deep into his pillow. And gradually, Harry saw it in a different way, little by little, he opened up to the possibility that it wasn't quite as bad as he had first thought. Okay, so there was a scar on his back now, it reminded him terribly of what he had been through, and it illustrated how Voldemort had taken over him completely. But Voldemort no longer had any power over Harry, he was dead. And look what Harry had done – he had begun a whole new life, his own life, one where he could make decisions for himself for the first time in ages. When Voldemort had cut his legs in punishment for attempting to run away, Harry had made a point of not giving in to the pain, he had made sure the lacerations didn't heal in a way that would constrict him in the future, and he had been proud of himself for proving he could do it. Harry thought about how the marks on his back could be interpreted in a similar way; they showed what he had been through, but they also proved that he had come through it at the other end, and was still around to tell the tale.

Harry suddenly felt defiant; he had come through it at the other end, and he most certainly did not answer to Lord Voldemort. However reluctantly, Harry had to admit that he couldn't let this take over his life, he would not let Voldemort hurt him from beyond the grave.

And so he climbed out of the bed and walked over to the chest of drawers in his small room, smiling a little at the thought of it being his room. He drew out several items of clothing and looked them over. They were definitely not the height of fashion, but Harry had never worried about things like that, and they were his. At the Dursleys he had never been given his own clothes, only ever Dudley's hand-me-downs, and other than that, the only clothes he had were his school robes, and they didn't really count. So he dressed in a pair of jeans and a deep blue sweater, and went out into the main part of the church.

He saw Damien up at the alter, setting out new candles, and he went and sat in the front pew. He could remember the priest holding him in the bathroom, but it was all I little fuzzy. One thing that stuck out in his memory was how the man had gasped when he saw the scars; he thinks it's disgusting, Harry thought, his mood dropping slightly.

Damien turned and on seeing Harry nearly dropped the things he was carrying in shock. "Harry! You startled me!" Harry didn't move.

Damien set the things he was holding down on the floor and walked over to they boy. "Can I sit?" The boy nodded, and Damien sat down on the pew beside him. They sat in silence for some time, and it was Damien who finally spoke. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"I- I don't think I could." Harry said, almost inaudibly. "Are you angry?"

"Harry, how could I possibly be angry at you? I'm just worried, sometimes, if you keep things bottled up inside, they start to fester, and it can really start to hurt. If you think it would help, then you can talk to me anytime, about anything."

Harry considered this, he knew the man was right, but he could never understand. For one thing, he was a muggle, how could a muggle understand about Voldemort?

"I think," Harry said cautiously, "that you, that I… I think it's enough that you know about this much. I want the rest to be in the past now, I want it to be over. I just want to start again completely."

"Then I think you're in the right place," Damien said, smiling reassuringly. And Harry smiled back, saying "Thank you, for, everything."

"I'm more than happy to help child, besides, you'll be helping me out with the workload and I have to admit it'll be nice to have some company." They both knew that Harry was talking about more than just being taken in, but each understood the other, and therefore didn't mention it.

The rest of the day was spent starting to move Damien's things from his old apartment to the church. They packed up the things he wanted to take with him into large cardboard boxes and carried them to St Michaels via Clarey. Harry liked Damien's soon to be ex-apartment, and commented on not understanding Damien's motives for moving, and the man explained how hard it was to keep the church running smoothly, this way he was closer to the action and work would be much easier.

Damien thought the child was still a little uncomfortable after the morning's events, but just tried to counter it by making things easy and simple for the boy. They had a relatively quiet day and dinner that night was a joint effort, Damien slightly surprised to see that the boy hadn't been joking when he had said he could cook; and once again wondered where the boy had gotten his strange range of talents.

When it came to time to go to bed, Damien enquired gently if Harry wanted the man to stay at the church with him that night. The child considered it for some time, but eventually turned down the offer. Damien hoped it was a good sign, and the boy seemed determined not to let things get him down too much. He wondered what had provoked such a reaction from him that morning, he gathered from the smaller broken mirror that the child had been trying to see his back, and supposed that Harry hadn't really seen the extent of his scarring before, and that was what had caused his shock.

And so it was with a busy mind that the man went to bed that night, wondering still where this strange child had come from. Obviously he had been through some very hard times, but surely someone at some point had cared for the boy? But if so, where were they now? Surely people wouldn't just give up on a loved one like that?