Chapter 4: Rescued

The days following the Dementor attack were among the worst Harry had ever spent on Privet Drive. Despite having choked down several Chocolate Frogs, Harry simply couldn't shake the chilling despair of the Dementors.

Compounding his bad mood was the fact that he was once again locked in his bedroom. This time, however, his loving relatives had decided that he didn't need to be fed.

Water was still grudgingly pushed through the door several times a day, but no food was forthcoming.

Harry had never been more grateful that Ron liked to send him sweets for his birthday.

To make matters worse, he hadn't received a single letter since the night of the attack. No one had asked how he was. Not even Sirius.

He wondered if the people who were watching him knew that he was locked in his room without food. He wondered if they cared.

Harry himself found it difficult to care.

It didn't matter if he was locked up or starved, not really.

What did matter was his upcoming hearing. He was going to be tried for underage magic.

He might be expelled.

Without Hogwarts, Harry was nothing. He had nowhere else to go.

Harry lost time during those days, drifting in a sea of panic and emptiness, caught somewhere between apathy and terror.

There were times when hours would pass as he simply lay on his bed, watching the shadows lengthen.

He found himself forgetting to eat, forgetting to drink the water that was shoved through his door.

He felt that if it had been possible to forget how to breathe, he would have forgotten that too.

...

On August fifth, the monotony of Harry's day was broken by a pounding on his door.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled, voice loud and jarring. "We're going out tonight. Petunia's won a lawn competition. No funny business while we're gone."

Without waiting for a reply, Uncle Vernon trundled off down the stairs. Harry heard the front door slamming shut and the car revving. The noise of the engine faded into the night, silence returning to the house.

He was alone.

Harry couldn't help but hope that he was going to be rescued. A lawn competition was such a ridiculous notion. It seemed like something Sirius would make up. Or maybe Dumbledore. The man did have a weird sense of humor.

Sure enough, not half an hour later, Harry heard voices downstairs, whispers echoing through the thin walls of his bedroom. He stayed sitting on his bed in the dark, staring at the door, wand clutched tightly in his right hand.

He just barely heard a muttered "Alohomora" before his door swung open. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by wand light, were Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, a young Witch with painfully-bright pink hair, and a tall black man with an earring.

"Wotcher, Harry!" the pink-haired Witch said excitedly, beaming at him. "I've been dying to meet you since my cousin told me about you. I'm Tonks, by the way. This is Kingsley Shacklebolt." The black man inclined his head, offering Harry a warm smile. "And you already know Remus and Mad-Eye. Don't worry. He's the real one this time. We checked."

Harry could only gape at the new arrival. How someone could be so bubbly, Harry didn't know. She was like a taller, female Dobby.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't been around people in over a month, or maybe it was because he was an awkward disaster, but all Harry could manage was a choked "Hi."

"Not much of a smooth talker, are you?" Tonks asked, giving him a cheeky wink.

Harry felt his face heat, hoping desperately that she couldn't see his blush in the dim wand light.

"Where's your school stuff, Harry?" Remus asked suddenly, looking around his bare room with a raised eyebrow.

"It's in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said, trying to sound casual. "Not enough room in here, you see."

It wasn't his best excuse, but it worked in a pinch.

"Okay," Remus said slowly, a gleam of suspicion shining in his eyes. "We'll go get your trunk. You gather anything you need in here."

As soon as they left the room, Harry grabbed his rucksack and invisibility cloak from under the floorboard, quickly packing away the books and notes he'd been using that day.

That done, he grabbed an oversized sweatshirt from his wardrobe, pulling it over his head. The low light of evening could conceal a lot, but once he was downstairs under the harsh kitchen lights, he knew there would be questions. He couldn't do anything about the bruise on his face. It was far too obvious, covering most of his left cheekbone with its purple and yellow colors. What he could hide were the bruises on his arms from being grabbed.

The sweatshirt would help hide the bruises and some of the weight he'd lost. It couldn't hide everything, but it might allow him to get away with claiming he was recovering from a nasty flu. The bruise he would attribute to Dudley. As long as no one asked too many questions, everything would be fine.

The rational part of Harry's brain knew that he didn't need to hide the results of his Uncle's anger from these people. Unfortunately, that part of Harry's brain was silenced by the part that still feared rejection and judgment.

In truth, he was ashamed.

What kind of Wizard was beaten up by a fat Muggle? Certainly not the supposed savior of the Wizarding World.

Harry couldn't shake the fear that if people knew that his relatives hated him, they would start to see how truly horrible he was.

Harry walked down the stairs tentatively, hoping no one would see through his charade.

As it turned out, Remus Lupin was far too observant to fall for his tricks. As soon as Harry stepped into the living room, Remus gave him the sharpest look Harry had ever seen.

"Where'd that bruise come from, Harry?" he asked, voice pointed, anger shining in his eyes.

"Oh, just fighting with Dudley," Harry said, keeping his tone nonchalant, praying that Remus wouldn't pry any further.

Remus did not look at all convinced, but he seemed to decide that this wasn't the time to ask further questions. Despite his silence, Harry could feel Remus' eyes boring into him, searching his face for answers.

"Listen up, you lot," Mad-Eye growled, beckoning for them to gather around him. "We're going to be apparating a few blocks away from Headquarters. Lupin, you'll side-along with Potter. I still can't believe that old codger wanted us to fly on broomsticks. Bloody stupid idea."

At Harry's confused look, Remus leaned down, whispering into his ear. "He means Dumbledore. He wanted us to fly you out to reduce the chances of being tracked magically. Mad-Eye told Dumbledore that he was an idiot to forget that using your eyes was also a means of tracking. A group of people flying on brooms would stick out like a sore thumb and would take hours. We'll be apparating just a few blocks from our final destination."

Although the image of anyone calling Dumbledore an idiot was quite amusing, Harry's curiosity prevented him from dwelling on it. What did Remus mean by final destination? The Headquarters of what? He couldn't hold back his questions.

"Where are we g-?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Remus said gently, cutting him off with a raised hand.

They made their way into the front garden, Kingsley and Tonks carrying Harry's trunk and broomstick respectively. Hedwig was out hunting, but she would find him wherever he went. She always did.

Once they were all safely on the front lawn, Remus extended his arm to Harry. "Hold on tight. This is your first time apparating, so it won't be pleasant."

Harry did as he was told, grabbing onto Remus' arm. The world twisted suddenly, distorting into a whirlwind of motion. It felt as though he was being simultaneously squeezed through a pipe and spun like a top.

When it finally stopped, it took Harry a moment to remember which way was up. He felt very dizzy for several minutes, world spinning wildly around him. Only Remus' grip on his arm kept him upright.

"Easy there, Harry," Remus soothed, brow furrowed in concern as he watched Harry struggle to regain his balance.

When Harry could finally stand on his own, he registered that all five of them were standing in a clump of trees in what appeared to be a Muggle neighborhood.

"Where…?"

"Shut up and walk, Potter," Mad-Eye interrupted, magical eye swiveling around wildly, scanning for danger. "You can never know who might be listening."

The small group walked for several minutes, silent but for Mad-Eye's mutterings about constant vigilance and foolish rescue missions. Harry struggled to keep up, weak from his days of near-starvation. It seemed that Green Apple Sugar Quills did not provide sufficient energy for brisk walks.

Just when Harry thought he might pass out, they came to a stop, standing just in front of two houses numbered 11 and 13.

"Here, read this," Remus said, shoving a scrap of parchment into Harry's hands.

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"But there is no number twel…"

Harry trailed off as a house, which he could have sworn had not been there a second ago, materialized between numbers 11 and 13. Harry couldn't help but smile at what magic could do. Even after 4 years in the Wizarding World, he could be awed by the simplest of things.

His wonder was short-lived as he began to really look at the house. It had harsh gothic architecture: dark windows and menacing stone. The door was complete with a serpent door knocker, prompting Harry to wonder if it was the work of a Death Eater turned decorator.

That hilarious image fled from his mind as Mad-Eye pushed the heavy black door open, ushering them all inside.

The first thing Harry noticed was that the house felt evil. Evil and familiar. Familiar in a way that made him think of the Chamber of Secrets and the cruel face of a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle.

He shook off the feeling. It was probably just the serpent door knocker getting to him. He allowed the door to swing shut behind him, trying to ignore the tugging sensation in his scar.