Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and her wonderful creation, including its characters, places, and things belong to her and her alone. Being inspired, and being bereft of book six, I do nothing but emulate and elaborate. This is not intended to steal from her work, or for any monetary benefit.

AN: Thanks for the reviews! How motivating they are!


Ch. 5- Well, it was only to be expected . . .

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Three days of sleep and recovery followed, passing slowly and uneventfully, broken up only by short stretches of much-needed sleep. Harry couldn't take Dreamless Sleep Potion because of his throat and his sleep remained uneasy and broken by nightmares. But there was nothing from Tom during that time, and Dumbledore said that he was probably waiting to discover if his plan had deprived the world of Harry Potter or not.

The first day was monopolized by Snape's hints that the Order might let Harry "die" in the public eye by leaking the story of the poisoning to the press with a few pictures, then hide him with transfigured looks somewhere else. According to Snape, this would keep Harry safe from further attack, and give him the advantage of surprise when he decided to attack Tom.

Harry panicked as he considered the ramifications of having no contact with anyone who knew him in the wizarding world or in the muggle world. He would be lost-truly nobody. But by nightfall, Dumbledore deemed the demoralization that would come from the announcement of Harry's death was too dangerous for serious consideration, plus the fact that Harry would never be safer than he would at Privet Drive. If he was divested of his home with his Aunt, he would be ripe pickings for anyone that did discover his whereabouts. And so, no "death."

Harry heard the outcome of this argument with relief and again, guilt. So much depended upon his wellbeing and future. Why?

Hedwig was brought in for a few hours the second day, and was happy to see him, hooting softly and nipping at his hair. Harry was amazed to see no sign of her previous injuries. The thought of her being attacked made him angry, which made his stomach hurt worse. Thus it was that his time with her was mostly spent in quiet meditation, specifically not thinking of his guilt or of Tom's vindictiveness. He sat and stroked her feathers, practicing loving thoughts, which she somehow made easier by her presence. He and Hedwig spent several quiet hours together before she was taken back to the owlery, where she could exercise and stay on her strict diet.

On the third day, the blisters in Harry's throat had healed enough for a potion to be taken that finished off the effects of the poison. He felt immediately less lethargic and the pain was gone in a matter of hours. His first solid food in three days was ample cause for celebration, even though he had another difficult time keeping it down.

The main thing that worried him now was a letter he'd gotten from Ginny.



Dear Harry,

Are you all right? We're still a bit in shock here, though it's much better to know what happened than not to. When Pig came back in such a hysteric state with Ron's letter, we didn't know what to think. Ron stomped off in a huff, thinking you were refusing to even read his letters now; Mum was in hysterics, thinking something was wrong; the twins were leaping around the room, trying in vain to get Pig to settle down. It was a madhouse! Right about then, Arabella Figg called for Dad, and Mum talked to her in private. We knew something must be wrong, and Ron felt terrible for thinking the worst of you.

Anyway, we were so relieved to hear that Lupin got you to Hogwarts in time. The whole thing must have been horrible! The only thing I've found to be glad about is that the fat pig Dursley got it worse than you did. Serves him right for being such a glutton!

Fred and George spent some time guarding the Dursleys yesterday (did you know they were in the Order now?)(Fred and George, of course, not the Dursleys!) and George actually Stupefied the whole lot of them! I thought you'd be chuffed about that. Fred said he did nothing to stop George because they deserved it. See, Vernon had said something about knocking you clear across the room again as soon as he saw you Then Petunia (I used to like those flowers) starts in about locking you in the cupboard where you belong and George shut them both up only to have Dudley start bawling hysterically. So, George shut him up, too.

Pity. ( I mean, pity I couldn't have been there to help, but then my hexes would have done more lasting damage.)

George got a rip-roaring lecture from Mum, but he says he's glad he did it, anyway. I've seen the two of them sneaking about a bit, and I wonder if they're planning more revenge on the Dursleys for you. They were pretty angry and you know what that means. Keep your eyes open when you get home; you never know with the two of them around.

Now, it goes without saying that I'm relieved you're okay. But I had to owl Hermione for you because I don't think you're thinking straight. Lupin told us not to tell anyone else, but she would want to know that you've been hurt, Harry.

Also, beware Ron! You know how he is. He's been sick with worry, pacing a groove in the floor over you, but that doesn't keep him from being highly irate about the not-telling thing. I'm trying to get him to blow off steam and interjecting lots of sensible things about how you've been mostly unconscious and ill too much to make sense right now, but I'm afraid he's saving up some choice words for you. It's only because he cares. Oh, and because he's bonkers over Hermione. (You know that, right?)

Now then, you rest and relax. Don't worry about the Dursleys. They're being watched even more carefully now.

If anything else happens, I think you may have a Weasley bodyguard stationed there at all times, at least if Mum has her way. At any rate, we'll see you on your birthday, if not before. And don't worry-we won't bake a chocolate cake.

Cheers,
Ginny



Harry was smiling when he finished the letter, though the part about owling Hermione had him rubbing at his forehead. Getting everyone more upset wasn't a good idea right now. When people get upset, they do stupid things. He learned that last year. Hermione had enough to deal with right now without worrying more about him. Everybody did.

It sounded like the Order was busy trying to predict Tom's next move. Harry was glad, for once, that he was out of the center of it. Right now, he couldn't keep his mind focused on anything but getting back to Privet Drive and getting back into shape physically. He could never fight Voldemort like this. Of course, it was on the tip of his tongue to beg Dumbledore to stay at Hogwarts and let him train here under their veil of magic, but the possibility that Harry might bring danger to the school by his presence was a horrid thought, so he didn't even ask.

He wrote a short note back to Ginny, assuring her that he was fine and telling her to thank George for him-the visualization of the Dursleys Stupefied had done him a world of good. He also asked her to mention to Ron that he was sorry for keeping it from them, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Ginny was right. He was going to have to wait until Ron was good and ready to blow, and then weather the storm. He ate a light dinner and fell asleep with the strange feeling of a full stomach.

Late the next morning after Harry dressed, Pomfrey finally dismissed him from the ward with a large bottle of potion for any stomach upsets and an even larger bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion. She said he wanted plumping up a bit and about a week's worth of sleep, but should be tip-top in no time. Harry walked to Dumbledore's office on his own, feeling relieved that no one had felt the need to babysit him on the way. Maybe they had been listening after all.

The password was chocolate-covered marshmallow dragons, which were Dumbledore's favorite treat at the moment. Harry let the staircase ride him up this time, since he felt a bit winded and weak, much to his disgust.

"Come in, Harry," the headmaster called out. "Is it time to let you go already?" Harry entered to find the old man seated behind his desk as usual, but with an inordinate amount of paper and parchment littering his desk.

"Yes, sir. I reckon I need to get back. The Dursleys are already there?"

"Yes, indeed. They are back, as healthy as can be expected, and Obliviated entirely. Tonks and Kingsley had the last watch, and they said that despite a lot of memory work, the Dursleys' dislike for you has moved into the category of active hatred."

Harry shrugged. "Wasn't much of a move, I'm sure."

"Yes, well, Mad-Eye will be warning them again of the necessity of your safety as well as the inappropriateness of certain behavior toward you." Harry studied the arm of the chair, flushing at this sudden reminder that Vernon's penchant for taking a swing at him had been discovered.

"How much longer?"

Dumbledore didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Four weeks, Harry. After that, you will go to the Weasleys for two weeks of relaxation before the school year. I imagine that should help your frame of mind." Harry grinned despite himself. "Now, let me caution you: there are but a few Order members who know of the Prophecy. I have never felt comfortable letting many people know of your destiny. It seems such a fragile thing and I never know if I'm helping it along or destroying your chances. In the same vein, I would not advise you to tell many people."

"I haven't told anyone," Harry spoke up firmly. "And I don't intend to." He vehemently resented the fact that Snape knew, but chose to keep that silent.

"However, I want you to remember that your friends are sometimes your strength, Harry. If they do not know of the weight you are carrying-"

"—then they won't worry as much. Or try to prevent me from fulfilling it when I need to," Harry interrupted.

"That is one way to look at it. But then again, without the benefit of your friends' faith and love, you would not have made it this far. You certainly wouldn't have made it out of the Ministry alive. You need them, Harry, whether you want to recognize that or not." Harry dropped his gaze again. He wouldn't be forced into using his friends; he had to keep them safe. The silence stretched on in the room until Dumbledore filled it with a sigh.

"I cannot change your mind, Harry, but please keep my words in your thoughts." Harry nodded. "Now, you will be portkeying directly to Arabella's house, where Hedwig is already waiting. She is now wearing a thin neckband which will afford her some extra protection when she is sent out, but do not use her often. If you have another vision, I would suggest that she remain at home. I will send Fawkes to you every three days to check on you, if that is amenable?" Harry nodded reluctantly. "Now then, this marshmallow dragon will activate in ten seconds. Then you may eat it." The small chocolate-covered treat flew over to Harry with jerky, sticky movements and landed in his outstretched hand. It immediately started to preen its delicate wings. "What a way to get rid of evidence, hmm?"

"Thank you. Sir. And I meant what I said about being sorry for-"

And then the tug just behind his navel began, even as Dumbledore said, "All is forgiven, Harry. Keep well . . . ."

******

Harry arrived in Arabella Figg's sitting room at noon, patently ignoring the nauseating memories from the last time he had portkeyed. It was quiet and dark and the only things moving about were Mrs. Figg's cats. He counted five in the space between the couch and coffee table. He stopped counting at eleven. A ruffle of feathers and a dismayed hooting caught his attention.

"Hedwig?"

Harry turned to see her flying directly at him. In a swish of feathers she landed on the arm he held out for her, hooting indignantly. "Ouch. Have the cats been bothering you? Sorry about that." Harry smoothed the feathers under her chin briefly, feeling the cool metal fastened there before walking to the fourier.

"Mrs. Figg?" Hearing no answer, Harry trudged over to the door. It creaked open and the view of Privet Drive was before him, bathed in a soft, sunlit glow. The neighborhood was livelier than it had been when he left. It seemed to be lawnmowing day, and several yards were being attended to.

"Fly home, girl. I'll be right there." Harry lifted his arm for Hedwig to take off, figuring that walking down the street with an owl on his arm would not be exactly inconspicuous. She swept her powerful wings back and forth, rising slowly and taking care not to dig into Harry's arm. Thankfully, no one looked their way. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and headed across the street, very aware of the wand in his back pocket. His eyes moved around the street warily, but there was nothing amiss.

Reaching Number Four, he was surprised to see Alastor Moody open the door. Moody pulled back in surprise. "Potter," he growled. "Yer early. We were just talkin' things over with yer guardians here." The door opened a bit more to show Arabella Figg with a set expression on her face. She smiled when she saw Harry.

"Glad you're up and around again. Feel terribly guilty about that saleswoman. Actually bought something from her, too. She was good, real good." She shook her head and walked past Harry. "We'll keep better watch from now on. That you can depend on." She waved once and walked on.

Alastor patted Harry's shoulder. "Constant vigilance!" Harry had been expecting that, but he still jumped as the Auror barked it in his ear. Alastor followed behind Arabella, keeping his limp to a minimum and his face down. He still looked strange enough to pull looks from the neighbors; Harry hoped Petunia was watching.

As the two reached Arabella's house safely, Harry turned to go inside, feeling the walls close in around him again. He shut the door behind him, curbing a bitter urge to say, "Mom, Dad, I'm home!"

Through the hallway doors, he could see Petunia sitting rigidly at the kitchen table, her eyes focused on something he couldn't see. Her face was blank. Harry cleared his throat and she jerked, her head turning his way. Her expression hardened.

"I'm home," he ventured. "I guess I'll go upstairs."

"Have you eaten?" she asked flatly.

"Well . . . no, not actually," he admitted. "But I'm not-"

"I'll bring something up," she interrupted and stood briskly. Harry watched until she disappeared out of sight and then headed for the stairs. He shuddered to remember what he'd felt like the last time he'd gone up these stairs. Rounding the corner, Harry saw Dudley's door open. Dudley. Harry's stomach dropped with a thump. Dudley had been hurt badly-worse than he had. Had he been forgetting it on purpose?

Harry fought with himself only briefly before walking to Dudley's door. He hesitated, then stepped inside. Dudley lay on his bed on top of the disheveled spread, staring at nothing. When he saw Harry, he jumped up and stood shivering at attention.

Dudley looked terrible. His face was pasty-white and swollen, like he'd had an allergic reaction. His hair stood on end, as if he'd been running his hands through it compulsively. Though he'd lost even more weight, the look on his face startled Harry the most. A horror had set in, a blankness in his light eyes that spoke of fear of the unknown, fear of something so terrible that he couldn't even force himself to remember it.

Harry opened his mouth to speak and then realized he had no idea what to say. He couldn't apologize to Dudley for something Dudley couldn't even remember happening. There was no point, and it would probably only frighten him worse.

"I'm sorry," Harry began and paused as Dudley jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Do you want something? Take it. You can take anything you like. Do you want my telly? How about my Z-box? I have lots of games. Try it!" He darted forward and started to gather things for Harry.

"No, no, Dudley. Leave it alone. I don't-I didn't come to get anything. I wanted to apologize."

Dudley stopped scrambling and looked up from where he knelt. "Apologize? For what?"

"For . . . being so unfriendly and callous this summer. It's obvious that you . . . have had problems with what happened last summer, and I should have helped you more. So, there. I'm sorry." Dudley's mouth had dropped open during the speech and stayed open. Harry started to feel uncomfortable. "Is there anything you need to say to me?"

Dudley finally shut his mouth and shook his head timorously.

"Well, then, I guess that's it. Thanks." Harry smiled, nodded once and then backed out, feeling instinctively that he shouldn't make any sudden moves that frightened the boy any further. "I'll be in my room if you need to talk." He closed the door on the way out.

Dudley Dursley would never be the same again.

******

Actually, nothing was ever the same again in the Dursley household. Everyone was acting like a caricature of themselves, as if someone had taken the originals and replaced them with amateur actors. Vernon blew his top quicker, if that was possible, and yelled even louder. At least, he hadn't yet come near enough to Harry to aim a blow at him, which was an improvement.

Another improvement came in the form of Dudley. Whereas before he would allow his father to rail at Harry and silently approve, now Dudley feared to let Harry be angered. He would intervene on Harry's behalf, which always left Vernon flummoxed and frustrated, since he wouldn't allow himself to yell at Dudley. Occasionally, Dudley would leave gifts on Harry's bed, as if he were some violent god that must be appeased. Harry would return the gifts unless it was food, which, as it was usually sweets, he would find himself eating in the long afternoon.

It wasn't as if he wasn't being fed. But Petunia had become obsessive about meals. She only bought groceries from a store she trusted on certain delivery days, and she washed anything fresh at least three times before cooking it. She boiled almost everything and cooked in premeasured amounts. Often, they would come to the end of a bland meal with no one full, but Vernon and Dudley falling all over themselves to reassure Petunia she did a good job before the tears could start. Apparently, the instinctual fear from the poisoning could not be gotten rid of by a simple memory wipe.

What was a bit more stressful was the state of mind among Harry's friends. Hermione couldn't decide between being grateful he was alive or livid that he hadn't wanted her to be told of the poisoning. She was settling for mostly livid and he had several owls from her in the first three days back, detailing his wrongs and laying out a plan for handling such happenings in the future. She seemed to think he owed it to them to tell them if his back so much as itched in a strange way.

Maybe she wouldn't have gotten so angry if Harry hadn't written back to tell her that obviously she didn't know him as well as she thought she did, because poison or no, there was no way on earth that he could stand this much scrutiny.



As if the bloody Order wasn't bad enough!


Her next two letters were frosty and indifferent, signed:


Your "friend,"
Hermione Granger


Ginny wrote again and mentioned that Ron was still up a pole over the events as well. Harry felt very misused by this point and refused to write Ron for almost a week, wanting nothing more than to remind his friends that he'd just been almost killed again and could they please be a bit more supportive. When he finally broke down and wrote an apology, Ron didn't respond at all. Harry began to get that dead feeling he'd had during his fourth year when Ron wasn't speaking to him. Terrible feeling, that.

But then again, he kept asking himself, wasn't this what he wanted? To cut ties so that all of them would stay safe? Let them be mad. That way, they wouldn't risk their lives for him the next time Tom decided to make a move. But some voice in the back of his mind argued back: They won't stop caring. It won't stop them. Well, maybe not, he argued with himself, but if they're not with me when I have to fight because they're mad at me, then they stay safe.

In the end, Harry wrote to Neville and Luna to explain the poisoning to them, but swearing them to secrecy, and sent off the owl at sunset on the day of his Occlumency lesson. Hopefully, this one would go much better. But the way Vernon was glaring at Harry that night as he came to the dinner table, it wasn't looking promising.

"Boy! That hair—" he began.

"Looks really cool," interrupted Dudley, which was his standard rebuttal for these conversations.

"I don't care what you think," snapped back Vernon, startling everyone. He'd apparently gotten used to Dudley's interference and decided to press on, anyway. "That boy looks like a hoodlum and I won't have people talking."

Harry sighed. "You've let me run about in clothes five times too big for me and in shoes that should have been put to pasture seasons ago for most of my life. The neighbors, when they used to see me at all, were afraid of me, anyway, because of the rumors you started that I attend St. Brutus'. Having slightly longer hair will not make much-"

"LONG HAIR WILL NOT BE TOLERATED IN THIS HOUSEHOLD! I MAKE THE RULES AND I SAY IT GOES TONIGHT!" Vernon banged his fist on the table, making Petunia's gray gelatin mold with boiled cherries wobble dangerously. Harry said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and his chest began to feel tight.

"Tonight is my first lesson with Professor Lupin. He should be here in about ten minutes and I don't think-"

Panic.

That would be a good word to describe the mood that gripped the family at that moment. Dessert gelatin mold forgotten, all three of them jumped up from the table and ran. Petunia grabbed plates and ran to scrape food into the bin. Vernon grabbed the serviettes on the table, balled them on the counter and ran upstairs, having done his bit to help, all the while yelling something threatening. Dudley just ran.

Harry took a few more bites of the lump of meat Petunia referred to as "sanitary beef" and decided it was enough. He slowly carried his plate over to the sink, careful not to bump Petunia as she zipped around in a cleaning frenzy, jabbering incoherently to herself. Harry wished he hadn't said anything now. But at least it had gotten Vernon off the subject of hair. For now.

When Lupin knocked, Harry was the only one to go anywhere near the door. He could hear scurryings in the background and hoped that whoever wasn't feeling safe enough would soon find cover. He gave them a few more seconds and then opened the door to see Lupin's strained face and familiarly battered robe in the porchlamp.

"Come in, Professor."

Lupin smiled tiredly and Harry found himself trying to remember when the last full moon had occurred. "I'm not your Professor, Harry."

Harry moved out of the way for him to come inside. "Sure you are. You're here to teach me Occlumency, right?" Lupin made his way inside. He smelled of smoke and cedar, which caused Harry to pause just a moment. He stared at Lupin as he walked further into the house. Something didn't feel-

"Reducto!"

A flash of red light outside the door-

"Harry!"

Harry jerked away just as the door imploded. The blast knocked him over sideways, but his wand was out by the time he hit the floor. Lupin was yelling his name, hauling him to his feet. Someone was screaming from the kitchen. Then the first Death Eater appeared at the door, dark robes swirling about him.

"Repellos!" Harry yelled with conviction, thrusting his wand forward just as the Death Eater pointed his wand. The black-clad body flew backwards, taking the next attacker with him.

"Good!" Lupin commended him tersely. Harry had just thought they just might be able to handle the Death Eaters if they came one at a time, when the Tom struck.

A blinding pain cut through Harry's mind and his knees buckled. Not now! He clutched at his scar with one hand and tried to keep his wand pointed at the door. He was seeing double. Lupin tried to haul him up again.

"Harry! Harry! Not now-wait, just stay here, I'll take care of them." From the sound in Lupin's voice, Harry knew that more attackers had arrived at the door.

"No," he said weakly, eyes shut tight against the pain.

"Stupefy!" There was the sound of a body falling outside. Shouts.

"Damn," Lupin muttered. "Moody!" He yelled out the door. "There's-"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Before the curse was finished Harry went sprawling backwards with Lupin's entire body weight on top of him. A spell blasted the stairs somewhere to their left, sending debris flying.

More screaming.

Harry couldn't open his eyes. Needles were jabbing into his brain. He had to fight, but how? How could he make his mind a blank wall when he was in excruciating pain? Then Ginny's words jumped into his mind:

Whenever Tom is haunting you, think of love. It must guard your mind in some way . . . .

Harry's mind jumped to Sirius and the way he would listen intently to Harry, as if his feelings and worries were even more important than his own. He thought of how giddy Sirius had been at Grimmauld Place that Christmas.

An ache filled his heart somewhere under all the pain, and he missed Sirius with everything in him. There was a terrible wrenching in his mind, and then the pain left.

Harry rolled over to his hands and knees, straightening his glasses on the way. He took only a brief moment to register the destruction that had already overtaken the hall and den area-debris strewn everywhere. Someone was crying in the background.

Lupin was back up at the door now, and the sounds of battle were coming from outside-shouts of curses and flashes of light. Lupin turned to Harry with steady eyes.

"Harry. Stay inside the house. You'll be much safer in here." He turned his wand to the splintered door hanging on its hinges. "Rectify!" The door pulled itself together and re-formed into solid oak. "Stay inside, Harry!" He slammed the door with a quick locking curse. Harry ran to the door and hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to run out and help, but after Sirius-

Dammit. No more of this.

"Alohomora!" Harry flung the door open with his wand poised.

Outside was chaos.

By the pooled street lights, Harry could see at least fifteen Death Eaters battling in ones or twos with Aurors. Light was blasting everywhere, hitting bushes, houses, causing destruction randomly. Two of the dark bodies were down, the rest were backing up the street, casting curses. As Harry watched, two of them broke away to run for the dark, open doorway of Number Thirteen. Shouts rang out and one of them hit the ground.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled and spun a curse that downed the other Death Eater. Instantly, the rest turned to face him.

"Harry! No! Harry!" A round of shouts rang out among the Aurors. "Get back inside—"

He flicked his eyes back over to see the Death Eaters throwing curses his way. There were too many all at once-

"Avada Kedavra—"

"Crucio—"

"Imperio—"

Harry dove sideways, rolling, hearing splintering wood behind him. More shouts from the Aurors, throwing curses. He looked up to see a dark pool of Death Eaters on the ground now. But several still managed to throw a curse in his direction—

"Imperio!"

"Reducto!"

He tried to throw himself away in time, but the concussion still caught him from behind and threw him forward. He hit the ground, his mind reeling. He was dizzy—

"Crucio!"

Pain erupted from his shoulder and inflamed every nerve ending. He rolled over in agony, burning from the inside out, in flames that wouldn't end. All thought burned out of his mind and there was just pain . . . and pain . . . and more pain . . . .

"Finite Incantatem!"

Someone had stopped it. More shouting. Harry lay in the glare of the porchlamp, convulsing, his cramped muscles slowly going limp. There were still a few Aurors fighting. He really should get up and help, but the continued trembling and disorientation made it impossible.

There was more screaming. Neighbors. More Aurors' yelling. A curse hit somewhere right beside Harry's head. He didn't even blink. If they wanted to get him, he was a nice, still target. But nothing else came his way.

Harry lay there for what felt like a long time, until Lupin limped back over and knelt gracelessly beside him.

Harry tried to smile. "Guess I should have stayed inside, huh?"

"It was a very brave thing to do, but YES!" Lupin shouted the last word in uncharacteristic exasperation. He heaved in and out a breath, obviously trying to get in control.

"Did you hurt your leg?" Harry tried to distract him.

"Forget about me! You're bleeding from head to toe! Moody!"

Harry tried to look downwards, but couldn't; his head wouldn't move. Or rather, it would, but the pain in his neck wouldn't allow it. Two blasts in close proximity; that must be why he was bleeding so much. Harry lifted one arm to see bloody criss-crosses of cuts with dirt imbedded in them. How had he gotten so dirty?

Harry dropped his arm again as a sudden spasm of pain hit. He didn't think he was truly injured. Just tired and still feeling the effects of the Cruciatus. Someone was talking over his head, but he just wanted to close his eyes. His mind idly wondered why bad things seemed to happen whenever Lupin came to visit.

Moody's voice faded in and out. "Take it off . . . seen anythin' like it, Remus . . . covered in evil spells . . ."

A thrill of music swept over Harry and made his heart swell with joy.

"Fawkes," Lupin said in a relieved voice. "Good. Harry needs you."

There was the sound of wings flapping over him, and the soft feeling of drops plashing on his skin-on his face, his arms, running down his neck. The skin was healing, he could feel it. The ache in his neck faded slowly. He stopped trembling and sighed deeply.

He wanted to open his eyes, but his brain wouldn't agree to do it. Instead, he found himself drifting in a gentle sea of thoughtlessness and peace.

******

Coming Soon:
Ch. 6- An Even More Private Room

Enough battling Death Eaters . . . for now!
Poor Harry needs some rest.
But is there such a thing as too much rest?