44. Cold
It had been a long time since Harry had felt such discomfort. It was disconcerting. There was a helpless numbness to every part of his body. The closest he could relate the feeling was that of his body freezing from the veins outward.
A violent shiver racked through his body as if a chilling wind had cut through him. Agony seeped into his bones. Harry's head throbbed fiercely as a high fever overcame him. Through his befuddled memory, he recalled being in the Avian domain.
Beneath his ailing body was the comfort of a quality bed. Far superior to the one his relatives had allowed him. To his surprise, he felt a gentle welcoming hand brush the strands of hair from his face. Nothing but concern could be found in that gesture alone. The hand was oh so warm, a relieving warm.
Whose hand was it? His mind was far too jumbled to think properly.
Harry attempted to vocalize his question, but nothing besides haggard gurgling occurred. All he could taste was the texture of dust mixed with embers. Hacking, his body rocked from the coughs. He attempted to rise, but the comforting hand prevented him.
From the ringing of his ears, he assumed that the hand's owner was speaking to him, but it could not be deciphered by his weakened mind. A storm of energy seemed to taken residence where his brain laid.
Frustrated with his state, poor Harry attempted to open his eyes. And how did he suffer for this transgression. Light attacked and wounded his eyes. Nothing could be seen. It was as though a permanent thick fog consumed everything. Above him was the blotted image of a person.
Too soon, his eyes forcibly shut themselves, in opposition to his desires. There was little he could do to reopen them, for it felt as though frost melded them shut. A desperate attempt of a whimper left his lips.
Again the voice was attempting to say something. Steady hands reached for his back and gently lifted him upwards. A delightful sensation graced his lips. Instinctually, the last Potter parted his lips as liquids slowly filled his mouth. As he swallowed, he vaguely recognized the creamy chocolate taste that eased the strain on his throat.
So relieved, Harry wished nothing more than to thank that person. Yet, no words would escape him, his body far too defunct of energy. Reason was once again leaving him. As though countless hands were vying for attention, his mind was torn asunder. A cool cloth wiped his forehead. Through some miracle, he heard the voice.
"Rest", the voice advised. It was so genial and genuine that he could not help but obey it.
Warmth spread over his chilling body. Such care was a treasure to the teen. He rested easier with the feeling that it wasn't the Dursleys responsible for his body's wellbeing. With such peaceful thoughts, Harry Potter left the conscious world.
…
After a time unmeasurable, Harry awoke in an unknown land. Sand, sand, and even more sand stretch beneath him and across every direction. Clutching a handful, it filled him with wonder. There was something unmundane about it. There was the faint touch of magic, but it was of an insignificant amount.
Rising up, he found that his body was far lighter and healthier than he remembered. He inhaled wonders and exhaled whimsy. Beyond his control, he couldn't help but smile. This place reminded much of when he first discovered magic. That was the spark that had ignited everything and his flame held strong.
"It seems my quick journey here was unneeded. You do not seem distressed in such a mysterious land", a somber voice spoke to him.
Turning around, he found the Pinched Man now present. His voice held such a dreary tone that Professor Snape seemed the epitome of joviality. A detailed robe draped the man's figure. An enticing story was weaved into its very seams.
"It's enjoyable. I remembered something nice", Harry replied in honesty.
The Pinched Man narrowed his eyes as he, dare Harry say, turned around overly dramatically. "It is good that you have not become the center of this land. It would've been most unfortunate if I had to become your enemy. After your demise, my sister would certainly let her… displeasure be known."
Only a mild discomfort passed through Harry as he noted the man's dismissal of his end. Such was the nature of his upbringing, a combination of disregard and annoyance. But, he didn't let it taint his appreciation for the place. The Pinched Man was simply a detached individual. Silently, he followed his host.
As they walked, the surroundings changed like the shifting sands. It was an odd experience for him. One image showed him catching a snitch as a first year. A second one depicted him battling the basilisk alone. There was even an image of him driving a flying car into a violent tree. That final one drudged up a touch of envy. Nevertheless, they all were strange.
If not for his severe expression, Harry would've loved nothing more than to ask about this literal wonderland he found himself in.
After a stretch of time, Harry saw a castle come into view. The Pinched Man signaled for him to stop.
"This is far enough, young one. Endeavor to not return here without my expressed permission. Before you are removed from here, I will tell you one thing and I shall not repeat myself." The Pinched Man took on the visage of a knight facing his doom, "I thank you for your assistance. As reward for your wise, though unintentional, action I shall reward you with the realization of one of your dreams of my choosing. Now be off."
With a wave of his hand, Harry left the strange but amazing land behind.
