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: Reviews are sustenance! Thanks so much for the reviews!

Ch. 6- An Even More Private Room

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Harry did not wake up where he was supposed to be. Instead of the ward at Hogwarts, he woke up in his own bed at Number Four, Privet Drive- alone. There were no bandages on him anywhere, and his glasses lay on the bedside table. Beside them was the bottle of what looked blurrily like Dreamless Sleep Potion. Harry was still tired and his whole body ached. But then, he was recovering from the Cruciatus and that was to be expected. He wondered if anyone else had been injured besides him, and if he'd done the right thing in running out of the house like that.

Harry reached over and grabbed the bottle. It was already half gone. Had he drunk all of that? He couldn't remember doing it. He swallowed a nasty couple of mouthfuls before placing it carefully back on the table with the top stuck on carelessly. Maybe he should write down what time he took it. He didn't want to overdose himself . . . if that was possible.

Why on earth had Dumbledore abandoned him here . . . .

******

Harry awoke, vaguely aware that something was wrong. Someone was making irate noises at him. Was that-was that an owl?

Harry opened his eyes blearily and tried to focus them in the dark. He lay on his back, every muscle aching, intensely aware that he needed to go to the loo. How long had he laid there? How long had Hedwig been hooting like that? He rolled over, crushing his glasses against his face and trying to straighten them with clumsy fingers. When had he put his glasses on?

Sitting up was a feat in and of itself, but Harry finally managed. Standing was near impossible. Hedwig hadn't stopped hooting yet and Harry was suddenly aware that it was nighttime and the Dursleys would be sleeping.

"Shut up," he hissed at her. She hooted back forcefully, as if reminding him that something was wrong that he needed to attend to.

"I'll attend to it when I return, all right?" She hooted more quietly as he struggled his way out of the door. It was amazing how heavy and clumsy his body felt, like he'd only slept a few hours and needed ages more. The potion was probably still working, though it felt different than he remembered. And when had he barked his shin? It was aching fit to be cut off . . . .

When he stumbled back to his room, a bit relieved in body, Hedwig hooted at him and showed him her leg. A note was attached there. Funny, he didn't remember sending anything out . . . .

"Fine, I'll get it, but please, no noise. I have no idea how much trouble I'm in right now, but I don't imagine that attack made me any more popular with the Dursleys." It took almost a full minute for Harry to unfold the note; his fingers worked so sluggishly.



Harry,
If you get this message and are okay, then write back immediately. It has been almost three days since we left you at Privet Drive and—


Harry gasped. Three days? It was impossible. But yes, there were several shirts and pants tossed in the corner, and books strewn about, as if he'd been up and about. His fingers had a bit of ink on them. The trouble was that he couldn't remember writing anything, or being anywhere but in bed. Vaguely, he recalled Petunia bringing soup once. Had he even eaten it? He was starving.


            —frankly, we're worried. You were physically fine, but the Dursleys' took to being memory modified even worse this time and seemed a bit muddled by the experience. Are they treating you well?

            In case you don't remember our conversation before we left (you were pretty out of it), Moody discovered that my robe was charmed to weaken the wards on the Dursleys house. It was a complex spell, one that needed a bit of my blood, which is a bit of a puzzle to me. Somehow, they must have obtained it, perhaps when I was in wolf form and thus do not remember it?

            At any rate, when I entered the Dursleys' home, the wards would weaken on an incremental cycle that did not trigger Dumbledore's alarms. All the Death Eaters had to do was follow me in at the right time, and you were ripe for the taking. Fortunately, you are much too quick to be taken that easily. And fortunately for me, this all translates into the school buying me new robes with Impervious Charms already on them.

            Unfortunately, our other plans have been disrupted. You know what they were. For now, that has been postponed. Your safety is of utmost importance, and we have shown that visitors can disrupt that far too easily. Right now, it seems that everyone who would not be a danger to you would be a danger to themselves or would be incapable of teaching you that which you need to know.

            So, for now, please rest and let us know how you are. Practice what you can. And write us. If you don't write today, we'll be forced to send someone in to check on you.

            Sincerely, Remus

           

            Harry could only vaguely keep his mind wrapped around the words. No Occlumency for now, and the wards had been breached? That's how they got in that first time after Lupin came in for me, Harry suddenly realized. In fact, he should have been wondering about that all along.

            A sudden dizziness overcame him that forced him to lie back on the bed. His vision blurred. Something wasn't right. "Hedwig, I'll reply in the morning. I'm not . . . feeling well."

            Her frantic hooting broke the spell temporarily. He opened his eyes to see her flying madly about the room, then alighting on his desk with all the grace of a wildebeest. That, alone made him open his eyes wider. She was really upset.

            "It's okay, Hedwig, calm . . . calm down."

            But she was up again, flying over him. With a thud, his inkwell landed on his chest. Harry scrambled clumsily to keep it from turning over and falling open. Then a quill quickly followed.

            Harry sat up slowly, looking from one to the other with distress. He didn't think he could form words at this point. Hedwig hooted angrily at him.

            "I know! I know that's what you want me to do. It's just . . . oh—all right." Harry turned the letter over and positioned it over his knee. Hedwig screeched. "Oh, come on! How do you expect me to get up and walk over there when I can't even . . . keep my eyes open."

            The yawning was getting unmanageable now. Harry carefully opened his inkwell and set it beside his thigh. Then he dipped the quill even more carefully and laid it on the parchment. He wished he could think. Every time he settled on a word, it dissipated nearly before he could get it down. He screwed up his eyes and tried to focus.


            Lupin,

            Not very good. Can't remember. Sleeping too mu . . .


            Harry's mind was fuzzing out. What word had he been writing? His hand dropped the quill. Hedwig was hooting again, but Harry just sighed, "I'll finish it later . . ."

            An uncomfortable warmth had blossomed in his stomach, making him feel terribly sick. He flopped over on his side, knowing with uncomfortable certainty that he'd just spilled his inkwell.

            "Damn," he muttered, feeling the wetness against his thigh. In the darkness, he heard more hooting and felt the brush of wings against his cheek. The sound grew fainter and somehow, he knew that Hedwig had gone.

******

            He woke to loud screaming downstairs and flopped over in bed, desperate to cling to awareness. After just that small movement, he was breathing hard.

            "Settle down, Harry," said a calm voice at his elbow. Harry looked over to see a smiling face swimming before him, distorted out of familiarity. But that red hair . . .

            "Ron . . ."

            "It's Bill," the face said brightly, "the first of your Weasley bodyguards. The screaming downstairs is probably Charlie showing up to relieve me. I think he might be showing them his dragon Patronus. At least I hope he is."

            Harry sighed, head feeling so heavy that he couldn't even nod. "Sorry, Bill."

            "Go back to sleep mate. That's why we're here. You've got to get all that sleeping potion out of your system and those Muggles can't be trusted in the meantime. Bastards. They'd given you enough for a month in three days! You'll be sleeping for a while. Charlie'll likely be here when you wake up."

            Petunia drugged me?

            "By the way, nice hair."

            Harry dropped off with a smile on his face, feeling safer than he'd felt in a long, long time.

******

            "Hey, mate, I'm almost off my shift." Harry heard the shifting of a chair nearby and suddenly realized that his eyes were open. He'd been debating for a few minutes whether or not he was still alive and until he heard Charlie's voice, he hadn't been sure. He saw a blurry face with bright red hair come into view. "Need to go to the loo?"

            Harry sighed and nodded, a bit embarrassed to realize how much help he was going to need. He sat up and felt the world begin to spin around him.

            "Easy, mate." Charlie put an arm around his back, sitting beside him and steadying him. "Think you can stand up? I can carry you if I need to." Harry shook his head desperately. Then he sat, unmoving, while the world tilted violently around him again, feeling weaker than he could ever remember feeling in his life. A small whimper left him, which he immediately cut off. He was pathetic.

            "Bugger this. You can't walk, and I can't move you when you're like that," Charlie decided abruptly. "Just lay back down and we'll do a little trick I learned out in the dragon camps. The mediwizard out there is this really cute Asian girl with these amazing . . . uh, eyes, and she's taught me quite a few useful things. You know, things to help with injuries, that sort of thing."

            Harry was grateful to be lying down again, but he couldn't nod yet. He settled for opening his eyes again.

            Charlie looked like he might be blushing a bit. "Anyway, this is a spell for relieving someone who can't piss themselves." Harry grimaced and tensed, hating this with every fiber of his being. "Just relax, mate." Charlie muttered something, waved his wand, and suddenly Harry felt much better. The ache in his back was gone, and his body relaxed fully against the bed. "Better, eh?"

            "Thanks," Harry mumbled, hoping Charlie would understand he really didn't need to tell his family about this, especially Ron. Or Ginny. Or, good grief, the twins. He'd never hear the end of it.

            "That's what I'm here for. Or, well, maybe not really. I'm really here to put the fear of wizards back into those flobberworms you call Auntie and Uncle. Bugger, I wish I'd been the first to get here. Bill had a nice chat with them, but they recovered far too quickly for my taste. Since we can't get rid of them, I wanted to transfigure them into something more handy for you-you know, mice or something you can control with a backhand or two. But Mum insisted that you need someone to look after you—"

            "I don't. I'm fine."

            Charlie just smiled and grunted under his breath. "You'd make a great dragon tamer, mate. I brought you some jerky. Bill had said to make you drink more soup, but Fudge that! You haven't had solid food in how long?"

            "No idea," Harry said wearily, his mouth already watering.

            "Well, this will at least let you chew a bit. Here's your glasses, by the way." Charlie handed them over and Harry put them on with trembling hands. "See that? You need some meat in you. Chew this."

            A thick strip of dark, dry meat was thrust into Harry's face and he took it gratefully. The taste of it was salty and peculiar, but wonderful. His jaws locked up with a cramp when he started chewing, but he worked it out weakly. He only managed a few pained bites before he had to stop. Charlie looked flustered. "That's all? Look, you've been asleep for half a day just since we've been here. You need to eat more, Harry."

            "Tired." Harry mumbled and turned over on his side. The room was dimming, and Charlie's voice quieted.

            "Bloody hell, those Muggles—all right, Harry. You sleep. I'll tell Fred to give you the soup next. You need to eat more. Bloody hell, I sound like Mum . . ."

            Harry slipped back into darkness.

******

"Harry, are you waking up, then? I have no idea how you've kept from going barmy in this room all day long with nothing to do! All you have to read are these pratty school books. What do you do for fun, mate, count the cobwebs?" Harry tried to focus his eyes, and once again felt his glasses pressed into his hands. Fred's face came zooming in. "How you feeling, then? Got that nasty stuff out of your stomach yet?"

Harry shook his head, relieved to feel it the right weight again. "I'm fine," he said thickly. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, coupla' hours. Charlie said to give you soup, but I think he's crackers. I brought you a bit of Mum's steak-and-kidney pie. Ginny says that's your favorite."

Harry smiled, feeling his stomach agree. "She's right. Hand it over."

"Not so fast. First we have a little lesson in dining in bed etiquette. One-never try to eat lying down, especially if one is eating soup. It tends to run down the chin and puddle in the belly button. Not a pleasant sensation. Two-never eat Mum's steak-and-kidney pie without a Butterbeer. It's a travesty." Fred grinned as Harry sat up and offered him a bottle of Butterbeer.

"Wow, thanks!" Harry grabbed it, opened the top and took a sip of the cold drink.

"Charmed, of course," Fred indicated. "Not me. The drink." Harry smiled and grabbed the plate of food Fred had just waved his wand over to heat. "Good to see you're not beyond our aid, then."

"Brought you a present, too, not that we're going all girly on you, or anything like that. It's been in development this Summer for the shop, and we thought you deserved the first test version."

With a flourish, Fred pulled a plush, stuffed bear out of the knapsack at the foot of his chair. Harry just stared at it, taking in the ruffled, jet-black fur, the bright green eyes and the jagged, embroidered pink scar on the bear's forehead.

"Meet Beary Botter, or B.B. for short." Harry blinked. "Our first idea was to make action figures out of you and Voldemort, like they do in the Muggle World, but Ginny told us she'd hex us into next week if we did that. So we settled for stuffed animals and pseudonyms. It's a bit better, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, having gone a bit pale at the idea of an action figure based on him. He should thank Ginny for that. "Yeah, I suppose it's a bit better." But then images filled his head of little girls crushing the bear to their chests as they slept at night, crying into its fur and then images of just as many older brothers stringing the bear up by its neck and beating the stuffing out of it while the little girls cried.

"Yeah, well, hang on, Harry," Fred said hastily, but with a wild grin. "You haven't heard the really fantastic part yet. See, George figured you'd want to hex us blind and suggested we give Beary a wand and a cloak, which we will." Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "You see, then, Beary can fight his nemesis . . ."

Here, Fred thrust Beary into Harry's lap and pulled out another bear, one with no fur, just dirty brown scales and bright red eyes. "Voldebeart!"

For a heartbeat, Harry just stared at the ugly creature, and then a grin slowly dawned. "Vol-de-beart?" Tom would hate that, a ridiculous toy mocking his name. "How do they fight?"

"Well, we're still working on that right now. Right now, all Beary can do is hurl insults." Fred reached over to poke Beary in the stomach.

"I'm fine," the toy said in a voice uncannily like Harry's own, only smaller.

"Sorry, not that one." He poked the bear again.

"I said I'm fine," the toy insisted. Harry cracked another smile. He was beginning to like this bear.

Fred gave an exaggerated sigh. "He's only supposed to say that when he's injured. Third time pays for all, eh?" He poked the bear once more.

"I'll never join you, Voldebeart!"

"We meet again, Beary Botter," said a cold voice emanating from the bear in Fred's arms. "But this time will be your last!"

"Says who?" asked Beary.

"Says me," spat back Voldebeart.

"Yeah, well, you wear your Granny's old knickers and always have!" Harry snickered at Beary's outburst.

But Voldebeart wasn't done yet. "You are too belli—belliger—uh, smart for your britches. Good thing for me, I brought a friend to convince you that I am superior—my giant, bear-eating spider, Bear-a-gog!"

Harry winced at the ridiculous name, but Beary wasn't done yet.

"Well, bad thing for you, I brought my sidekick, Bearon, who brought his trusty Ford Anglia who eats bear-eating spiders."

Fred smiled and whispered. "Merchandising tie-ins."

"Of course." Harry nodded.

"Well, we shall see who eats last, Beary Botter."

"And who keeps it down the best," Beary retorted. Then he whispered, "If something happens to me, Bearon, save yourself." Then Beary made several pained noises and gasped for breath. "He got me! No—go on, Bearon, I'm fine."

Harry shook his head in disgust. "Do I even want to know what Bearon's programmed to say?"

"No," Fred agreed readily. "And you really don't want to know what Bearon's little sister, Bearginia says when Beary rescues her from Voldebeart's bear-eating snake. It's really terrible. But, I don't know. I think there may be a market for it. What do you think?"

Harry fell into an uncomfortable silence before tossing Beary back to Fred. "I'm sure I have no idea. I wouldn't want it. But then I spent ten years in a dark cupboard playing with abandoned chess pieces and dead spiders."

"Well, see, here's the really great part," Fred said with a gleam in his eye. "All we have to have is two drops of your blood per bear and your signature." Harry stared. "After all, we've been told your blood has special powers. Imagine how powerful the bears would be!"

Harry was frozen on the bed. "Er . . . I guess. I mean-well, it's not that I- I don't want to . . . stand in the way of . . . anything."

Fred's eyes goggled. "You mean it, don't you? Oh, Harry," he stood up and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I'd have told myself to bugger off a long way back. You're far too nice." Then he grinned. "You should have seen your face when I showed you Voldebeart. And told you about the drops of blood!" Harry was flushing madly by this point, realizing he'd been completely and utterly had.

". . . obviously not thinking properly," he halfway defended himself. Fred just laughed on until Harry had to join in. He almost upturned his plate of food several times.

"Eat up, mate. If you fell for that one, your brain definitely needs more food." Harry managed to down the entire pie and the Butterbeer, as Fred periodically fell back into laughter and repeated the parts of the conversation he found particularly hilarious. Finally, Harry's eyes started to droop.

"Well, there you go again," Fred sighed. "Guess George'll have a go at keeping you awake next. He'll be due in another hour. Can't wait to see what Dudders does when he shows up." He grinned evilly.

Harry laid back, wonderful thoughts of the Weasleys terrorizing his family filling his mind.

******

When Harry next opened his eyes, he was outside. Dark trees blocked out the view of the moon, and everything around him was deep in shadows that swayed in the wind. Fifty meters away, a country road wound through the woods. It seemed familiar—a place he'd visited once before, long ago.

Impatience filled him, then hatred.

"Fools. Can they get nothing right?" Harry whipped around at a sharp cracking sound. "IDIOTS," he hissed. "Silence!"

"My apologies, My Lord," hissed a silky voice in return. Into the dim light stepped a Death Eater, Lucius by the sound of his voice. "I have not yet regained my full physical capabilities-"

"Silencio! Crucio!"

Lucius fell to the ground with a satisfying thud and began writhing. He had become far too forward of late. He needed to remember that Harry could have left him in Prison to rot. He finally ended the curse. The group behind Lucius was silent in the dark, cowering as he struggled to his feet.

"Thank you . . . Master."

"No excuses. Do not fail me again. Let us proceed." Harry stood still while his Death Eaters flowed across the forest floor like mist invading the moors. He smiled and thought with glee of the house below-unsuspecting, unprotected.

They had dared to befriend the One and their deaths would serve to be his further undoing. Harry raised his wand and whispered, "Previa Mantra, Carpe Scintra." Clouds were pulled from their positions, slowly, slowly, until they covered the face of the moon. The grassy hillside was plunged into darkness, and the house at the foot of the hill.

Given the signal, the Death Eaters surged across the field, jogging silently, without breath, without any extra motion—efficiency personified.

Harry smiled and walked more slowly behind them. He wanted to be there to see the torturous deaths, but he could do without the surprised scuffle that would surely take place beforehand. Death Eaters had already poisoned the guards sent by the Order, placed into their hands by an Order member under the Imperious. They were really so easily influenced . . . .

Harry noticed with small stirrings of anticipation that the door was open, and light was spilling outside. Immediately, it was covered up by the forms of Death Eaters converging.

Then the first screams rent the air.

"Ah," Harry breathed out loud. "Women and children first. Isn't that just the way it should be?" He slowed his pace, thinking through the various Weasley inhabitants, trying to match the person to the screams—

"HARRY!"

Harry jerked upright, the screaming quickly dissolving into an echo of his own. He threw his hands to his forehead, trying to squeeze away the all-consuming pain. Voices were calling him; hands held him up, tried to keep him from shivering. A blanket was being wrapped around him and he fought it.

"OY! That was my face, you prat!"

"Harry, what is it?" He stopped fighting and tried to focus his eyes on the Weasley brothers. The vision. He threw himself at one of them, grasping at their sleeves.

"Go home! Please!"

"What? I just got here. Why don't you—"

"Shut up, George," Fred interrupted. "Harry, did you have a vision? Is it Mum?" Harry nodded and immediately, a blurry twin jerked away.

"Wait!" Harry called after him, panicked. "I'm sure it was a fake. Tom's done this before."

"What? Why?" George sounded a bit behind.

"He's trying to make me leave the house, or trying to drive me insane- I don't know which. But it wasn't real, Fred. It wasn't." Fred stayed still a moment, considering his words. Then he nodded once.

"Okay, then. But I'm still going home. If nothing's happened, I won't send anyone back right away. Ron's due in two hours, so you'll get news by then if not before." Fred set off, jerking the door closed behind him.

In the following quiet, Harry tried to silence his loud breathing. He lied back against the well shivering again, glad for the blanket. George got up and wordlessly handed Harry his glasses. His face came into focus, pale and troubled as he forced a smile and then walked over to the desk to sit down.

Harry's stomach turned over. Why now? Why did Tom have to do this now?

But the answer was obvious.

Tom had just upped the pressure. If both twins hadn't been here, then George would have had a tough decision to make: abandon Harry to his Muggle relatives and go see for himself, or abandon his family to their fate. Only the vision wasn't real, so the choice wasn't, either. But still, if George were less of a friend, if he weren't a Weasley, he'd be gone by now.

Harry looked over at George sitting hunched over, eyes narrowed to slits, face pale behind freckles, hands clenched.

"It wasn't real, George. I know it."

George just nodded and kept staring at nothing. He didn't ask any questions, and Harry slipped into the cloudy world of pain and tremors that accompanied his visions. Eventually, the side effects eased, and he fell into a vague half-consciousness.

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Thank you for the reviews.
And now . . . a little prattling to answer those questions you've asked.

Ships? Never heard of 'em. I'm in canon as far as possible, which precludes most of those dastardly silly little boats. If you want my opinion on the matter, I think JK's spent too much time building Ginny up in OOTP to have her just step aside again. She's being set up to be something close to Harry's equal, which is surprising and exciting. And, of course, there's the whole fact that Harry is far too damaged to be with anyone who doesn't completely understand his past and his burdens, so there you go. Ginny makes sense there as well. As for Luna, she's brave, fruity and other than that, basically an unknown, so, well . . . I don't know. Anything's possible. After all, JKR turned my feelings on Cho completely around in just a few pages (Silly, silly girl.)

Writing Death Eater Attacks, fun? Oh yeah!!! I love it! More fun than a barrel of monkeys! Hope I can f it several more in there.

Dursley scenario "unpractical"? Um . . . I'm supposing you meant unrealistic. Well, possibly. But then when have the Dursleys ever been realistic? JKR manages to make them overblown in ever sense of the word and yet, real. Amazing, really. Their respsonses to Harry have always been dramatic and they go way too far. As for those of you who think Harry wasn't knocked around a bit when he was younger, where do you think he got those quick reflexes from? The main change in my fic is that Vernon has gone back to doing it and Harry refuses to duck or dodge as he did when he was younger.

Harry torture. Well, face it, folks. Tom ain't gonna' get NICER in book six, now, is he?

Coming Soon:


Enough sleeping! Enough Weasleys!
Enough-oh, wait, no, there's still two more Weasleys to go.
Sorry about that.

Ch. 7- It's All About Ron