Disclaimer: If I was Jo Rowling, I wouldn't have to resort to fanfiction and this would be the actual book. Then again, if I was Jo Rowling, Harry Potter wouldn't exist, because I'd be too scared to tell a soul. It's all hers.

A/N: Here's chapter three, the chapter of semicolons. Thanks to all my many reviewers: Rednal, I owe your $10; Panther, he can't apparate yet, but everything's explained here; FunnyGal, who are you? I can't figure it out! I'd love for you to Beta, just leave an email address! Imperial, Harry's a strong kid. He can't die just yet, because I have more torture to put him through. grins evilly Rose, I'm glad you can bear it. I'm glad it freaked you out!

A/N: Haha, you get two author's notes this time. You guys need to know that I'm a BIG fan of suffering!Harry, and he's going to go through a lot of emotional trauma. You have no idea how much crap he's gonna have to deal with... I'd like to thank Jo for leaving OotP with a very, very canon suffering Harry. You have no idea how much it means to me. So, this chapter is a bit slower than the last one (and with reason), but enjoy it. The next installment will be up Monday. Now, read, enjoy, and review!

Awakenings

"Did he just move? Wake up, Hermione, I think he just moved!"

"What?"

"Yes he did, oh, look at his wrist!"

"Harry? Ginny, go get Mum. Harry, mate, can you hear me?"

Harry could indeed hear Ron beside him, but he hadn't the strength to move or respond. Where was he?

"Is he awake? Are you sure?"

It was dark, and Harry could sense how late it must be. Still, that didn't explain what he was doing here, or why his friends sounded so terrified...

"Yes, Hermione, I'm positive."

"Harry, oh, Harry, can you hear us?"

The urgency and fear in Hermione's voice helped to bring Harry slowly to his senses. He must be at the Order Headquarters; yes, he remembered collapsing on the floor.

"Why isn't he saying anything? Harry, Harry, if you can hear us, blink or do something!"

"Ron, you're being stupid. Do something? Honestly, if he can hear us, he'll let us know! You probably just imagined him moving!"

"I did not, I saw it!"

Harry continued piecing his memories together... there had been letters, and he had believed them. His body was now trying to fall asleep, but Harry needed to figure everything out first. There had been a portkey, and a familiar death eater, and Voldemort. His face tightened as he remembered the trap; he had been captured, tricked, and tortured again by the Dark Lord.

"Is he awake? Is he in pain? Oh, what am I saying," fretted Mrs. Weasley as she rushed into the room alongside an anxious Arthur, Bill, Ginny, and Lupin.

Harry could tell a large crowd had assembled around his bed even though he couldn't seem anyone, and he tried to speak, to assure them that he was alright, but no words came out.

"Harry? Can you hear us, Harry?" Lupin's voice was quiet and fearful, concern evident in his tone. Harry attempted a response, but it was as though his vocal chords weren't receiving the commands from his brain.

"You're sure you saw him move, Ginny?" questioned Mrs. Weasley nervously.

"Yes, Mum, Ron saw it too, I promise," replied the redhead fervently from the edge of the bed.

There were a few moments of silence, the air in the room extremely depressing, before Harry managed to open his eyes. He realized vaguely that his glasses were missing, because all he could make out above him was a blurry sea of fiery orange hair.

Mrs. Weasley produced a great sob, and the room gave a collective sigh of relief at this small act. Harry, unsure of what to say, managed to whisper a tentative, "Ron?"

"Yeah, mate?" responded his best friend instantly, his freckled face looming over Harry's barely conscious form. He felt someone slide a pair of glasses onto his face, and a concerned Hermione Granger swam into view as well.

"Here, Harry, drink this," ordered a red-rimmed Mrs. Weasley as she handed him a bright red potion. The liquid was hot and spicy, and Harry felt immediately strengthened. "Thanks," he murmured as he sat up and slid a hand through his hair dazedly.

"What... what happened?" he asked, frowning as they all exchanged uneasy glances.

"Where do we start," muttered Ginny, looking down at her feet. Bill wrapped an arm comfortingly around her, and she sighed softly.

Harry stared at her, realizing immediately that something horrible must have happened. "What is it," he pressed, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"Well, Harry," began Lupin uneasily, "I'm not sure how to say this, but..." His voice faltered.

"Yes," prompted Harry, unnerved. Almost everyone he cared about was here with him, yet they were all acting as though someone had...

"The thing is, we're not sure how you're going to take it," said Hermione gently from beside him.

Harry was now extremely worried, and he noticed that no one would look him in the eye. "What is it?" he repeated with more urgency.

It was Mr. Weasley that finally answered the question. "The Dursley's are dead, Harry."

A pronounced silence followed this statement. "Dead?" repeated Harry in disbelief; everyone else was staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

Dead, thought Harry in shock. The family he had been forced to put up with for as long as he could remember was gone. "But why?" he asked incredulously. Lupin looked away.

Suddenly, it hit Harry. "My mother's blood," he breathed in astonished comprehension, ignoring Ron and Ginny's confused glances. Harry closed his eyes and tipped his head back so that it rested on the wall. He wasn't sure how he felt about their death; he wasn't rejoicing, but he certainly wasn't crying. They were just... gone, he realized, like so many others. Another family fallen because of Voldemort.

And, added a nasty voice in the back of his head, because of me.

"There was nothing anybody could have done," murmured Hermione softly, as though she could read his thoughts.

Harry slid further under the covers at this, feeling worse than ever. Sure, he had hated the Dursleys, but they hadn't done anything deserving of such a death. No, he thought, feeling slightly more panicked, they were protecting me.

Just like his parents.

Just like Sirius.

Harry moaned softly and retreated further under the sheets.

"Get some sleep," said Lupin quietly, realizing that Harry had dealt with enough for one night.

"Come on, kids," murmured Mrs. Weasley as she rubbed her tear-filled eyes.

"We're staying here," said Ron resolutely, and Ginny nodded, gripping the corner post of the bed rather tightly.

"You—you need your rest," protested Mrs. Weasley weakly, but Arthur laid a gentle hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Let them stay, Molly."

"They'll be fine," added Bill.

The redheaded woman sighed but nodded, allowing her husband to guide her out of the room. Bill and Lupin followed silently, closing the door behind them, leaving Hermione, Ron, and Ginny standing worriedly around Harry's bed.

"It isn't your fault," said Ginny quietly.

Harry said nothing and kept his eyes shut tight so that the tears he was fighting couldn't escape. Why it all hit him so hard at this point in time, he couldn't explain, but all the guilt he had felt this summer had returned and intensified.

"We're here for you, Harry," said Hermione, watching helplessly as Harry squirmed in obvious discomfort. Ron said nothing, but stared at his friend with a pitying gaze.

Harry wished he could disappear; to evaporate painlessly would be so simple. But nothing in his life could be simple, he thought bitterly, and it was all because he was the boy-who-lived. The boy-that-wouldn't-die, really. Harry released a jagged breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

Determined not to let death dominate his waking moments, Harry tried to finish organizing his scattered memories from the recent events that were still foggy in his mind. "How long have I been here?" he asked weakly, dreading their answer.

"Almost three days," responded Ron dryly.

It was almost like being in school again, Harry thought, mentally rewinding back to his first year. That, too, held memories he wanted to bury, so he kept talking in an attempt to move on. "When did I get here?

Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Harry, you really should just get some sleep; we can talk in the morning."

Harry sighed in frustration; Hermione didn't realize that he was just searching for a distraction, a tribute to how late it was.

"Snape said he slipped you a portkey," offered Ginny simply.

"He, uh, delayed it so it wouldn't look suspicious," Ron elaborated, sounding as though he was losing his voice.

So it was Snape, thought Harry in understanding. That's why I recognized his eyes. "I wish it would all just end," lamented Harry miserably, his thoughts drifting back to the prophecy.

"In time," murmured Hermione, "In time."

Even though Harry knew Hermione was trying to be comforting, an unsurpassable anger had flared up inside him at her words. Time. He'd already had too much, yet there was never enough of it; it was the ultimate paradox.

"You really should get some sleep, Harry," said Ron awkwardly. Soft snores issuing from the end of the bed informed the trio that Ginny had already left them for the night, and Harry felt himself slipping away as well. "Thanks," he managed to mumble quietly, unable to look back at his friends.

"Anytime," returned Ron with a whisper, but it was too late; Harry had already fallen asleep.