It was cold. It was the first thought that trickled into his blank mind. The second was a vague numbness. He was still in the locked cupboard under the stairs, but why was it cold? It was the fifth time he had regained consciousness that day and he knew it wouldn't last long. He shivered, realizing that it wasn't the temperature in the air that dropped, than it was him. With a vague idea he had a concussion he knew, above all else, it was imperative that he keep his mind on something. Anything.

As usual the first thing that he considered worth his brainpower, was Hogwarts. Memories from the previous years came flooding his thoughts like tidal waves, both refreshing and bitter. He imagined the classes he would be taking to reach his goal of becoming an Auror. Unfortunately he needed Potions, but the main thing would mostly be Charms and Transfiguration, which he had quickly mastered under the guiding hand of Professor McGonnagal. And an extremely large helping of Defense against the Dark Arts, that class was always unpredictable. The class brought good memories and bad, the first being last years excitement. Hermione and Ron had convinced him to teach the class to several students in private, and reluctantly he had. He remembered Cho Chang fondly, but realized the crush he had quickly developed on her the previous year was faded. But along with her memory came the unwelcome images of Cedric and Voldemort. He shuddered and unconsciously felt for the scar on his arm from fourth year. As he reflected, he realized how much the world seemed to be crumbling around him. Everything he knew was turning upside down and in a small way it frightened him.

Half consciously he shifted to sit against the wall, a low moan escaping his dry, cracked lips. For a strange instant he had the distinct impression that the Potions master would be delighted to see him in such a weak state.

It was certainly no great secret that the head of house Slytherin and Griffindors' best seeker were enemies that harbored incredible hate for each other. Harry supposed Snape thought it was his God given right to humiliate and degrade him as much as possible. The man was a former Death Eater after all. But the fact that Harry was the spitting image of Snape's arch rival certainly didn't help matters in the least. When he had discovered the link Snape had shared with his father he figured maybe that was why the professor hated him, but even that didn't quite add up.

If truth be told, Harry quite simply didn't hate the die-hard Slytherin at all. Frankly the only reason he didn't like him was the fact that Snape seemed to hate him. Well that, and the firm belief that he had something to do with his Godfathers death. Snape hated Harry, Harry hated Snape. Facts of life.

He heard the sound of heels clicking on the wooden floor, and knew Aunt Petunia was leaving for tea with the Smelts. Meaning it was probably one o'clock. It didn't seem at all strange that the Dursley's were caring on with their life as if there was nothing wrong. Dudley came pounding down the stairs and Harry could hear the sound of a scuttling spider across the wall where his head rested. He had long ago lost his fear of spiders, well. The spiders that lived in the muggle world that is…

Later that night Vernon grabbed him by the hair (it had been growing steadily longer) and dragged him to the kitchen, where he proceeded to pour salt onto his numerous wounds. Taking in a sharp breath, fighting the tears, he tried to focus on anything but the pain that coursed through his body. Helpless to do anything he was held roughly to the floor by one of Dudley' large boots, conveniently on one particularly large cut. If one thing could have been worse than this, it was the Cruciatus Curse. But as bad as it was, he bit his lip until it bleed, refusing to cry out. With the full knowledge that if he did, it would become worse.

*~*~*~*~*

Albus Dumbledor looked grave as he sat in his office, contemplating everything that the squib had told him. Nobody had seen heads or tails of Harry Potter since he had rejoined with his muggle relatives. It had been one week, and now Albus was starting to get worried. The previous report was that the Dursley family looked as if they were getting ready for a trip, a very long trip, for three people.

Everything that had been going on in the house pointed out nothing unusual. It seemed as if a normal, three-person household was carrying on normally. But that fact alone spoke volumes, but in riddles. Where was Harry? Usually they saw him every once and a while, opening the door for someone, taking out the trash, and last year he had even taken walks! But the headmaster hardly believed that would ever happen again.

He took a few moments to carefully consider everything that was happening and what would happen if he did something. He carefully calculated his response and the reactions that would ensue. A familiar twinkle appeared in his usually blue eyes and he immediately took out a fresh piece of parchment and inking his quill, he began his letter. It was only a few lines, but even in those few lines they carried a heavy message. He carefully rolled it and secured it tightly with a small red ribbon. Calling up a house elf he gave her his instructions, and with a pop she was gone. Leaning back in his chair he half smiled, and before long he was chuckling. Thinking of Harry he slightly sobered, hoping that his letter would be delivered successfully.

*~*~*~*~*

Mad Eye Moody sat at the dining table in the Black's manor house, watching as Kreacher stalked about, mumbling to himself as usual. They, the Order of the Phoenix, all knew the nature of Kreachers traitor-ism and now he was never out of sight. Since Sirius's death, Moody and Remus Lupine stayed at the house for the most part. Other members of the secret order stopped by occasionally, but seeing as how Remus tended to be the most welcoming of the three nobody stayed long. Usually a few hours and that was if they didn't meet Kreacher's headmistress. Even now as he sat, watching Kreacher stalk about habitually, he could hear the paintings incessant yelling.

Taking a sip of self made coffee he grimaced at it; it was far from the ability of the house elves. He regarded Kreacher again and shook his head. His life would be forfeit if he asked for and ate something that house elf served up. Muttering under his breath he barely noticed it when a tawny brown owl flew in through the half open window and landed on the table. He recognized the writing, and didn't hesitate to unravel the message and read it.

Those whom it may concern at the appointed residence,

It seems our favorite ceramic student is having an interesting summer this year. Since Snuffles' untimely death he has been very depressed. However, I do not think that his family feels his grief. Things are going well here, I'll be expecting your visit soon.

Old Fool

Moody read the letter carefully, and while he knew he didn't have the whole story, he had all the information he needed. Muttering a spell under his breath he watched as flames magically leapt out to consume the letter, leaving a small pile of gray ash on the floor.

A few minutes later he apparated in a dense forest miles away from where he had been minutes before. He stalked through the trees, wary of traps well hidden in the foliage. Within minutes he reached a small cottage, surrounded on all sides by trees, and a broken down fence. Stepping through the gate he approached the house somewhat warily.

"Remus?" he barked, not bothering to knock on the door. "Remus!" the door creaked open to reveal the somewhat sleep deprived face of his friend.

"Did you know muggles have developed quite an interesting trick when they come into contact with doors? It's called knocking" he scratched absently at the back of his neck and gave his friend a less than decent look. Moody returned the look before explaining about the letter, and what they were to do.

Lupine immediately dashed into the house dragging Moody in behind him. Retrieving a jar, Mad Eye looked disdainfully as Remus muttered a spell under his breath and turned to look meaningfully at him. Grudgingly he stepped into the fireplace and felt the familiar knot in his stomach as flames leapt around him, sending him back to the Black manor. Dusting himself off, all the while muttering about werewolves and Floor Powder he failed to move away from the fire place before Lupine appeared behind him, blowing even more dust on him. Shooting his friend a dirty look (literally) he checked his watch before reclining on a chair. Ignoring the fact he was spreading dust and ash everywhere. It's not like Kreacher would care. He might even be pleased.

Lupine didn't bother responding to the look, but instead checked his own watch and with a yawn plopped down on the couch.

"Midnight?"

"Midnight"

Rolling over, facing away from the light that insisted on breaching the shades he immediately fell asleep.

*~*~*~*

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