Part Two
16th September 07:03
The morning's colour palate was muted and soft, the sun yet to rise and intensify the exquisite display of blues, pinks and greens of the landscape below. The sky was a wash of pale blue, tinges of pastel peaches and light yellows splashing on the hazy clouds that hung above the horizon, lazy and carefree. The sky was a dream. A masterpiece that belonged on an artist's canvas, a piece of bliss that belonged somewhere transcendent, something otherworldly, like heaven.
Then there was the ocean. In the late dawn, the expanse of water was as expressive as the sky, deep and sublime. Greyish green hills speckled the horizon, hints of the distant coastline. The nearest shore of plage de la Galère brightened as sunrise drew nearer. Caps of white frothy waves lapped the pale sands, caught in the endless rhythm of the tide's ebb and flow. The small beach was remote, save for a small scattering of fishermen huts and a jetty with five small boats moored up. The rugged landscape made reaching the shore near impossible on foot, less possible by muggle transport. Not that any muggles would reach it, seeing that the moment they reached the entrance of the rocky drive down to the beach, they would be met with a collapse, barring their path. Any curious muggle trying to reach the beach by boat would find themselves suddenly disinterested, choosing to alight at a more fetching coastal spot further down the shore.
Further up from the shore, following a rugged and precarious path that few feet had stepped, was the only property within reach. It was completely obscured by dozens of charms and enchantments. As far as anyone was concerned, it didn't exist. If anyone did happen across the area, peering out over the many hills to see the view, they would not see the handsome villa perched upon the short outcrop of rock. They would simply see coastal shrubbery indigenous to the region clinging to the hard rock. A fine view, certainly, but the La Villa de la Galère would be invisible to them. Unless they were one of very few people granted the secret, the fidelus charm would reveal to them the hiding place of Harry Potter and his accomplices.
Undesirable No 1 himself was not armed nor dangerous. He was in bed where he had been in a coma for nearly two days. His bedroom resided on the ground floor of the villa, the beautiful arched windows with white silken drapes went unnoticed, as did the stunning scenery beyond. He was cast in the brightening light of the approaching sunrise, as motionless as he had been when he had been apparated outside the charms protecting the villa from discovery, wrapped up in his father's Invisibility Cloak. Now he seemingly slept upon a bed that had been transfigured to suit his current needs. Before he and his protectors arrived, the bed had been a very large, handsome king-sized affair with many squishy pillows. It had been shrunken down to a more humble size to make caring for him more convenient.
Across from the bed, his friends had placed his belongings on the bedside table. First were his glasses, arms folded back, the silvery frame catching the light from outside. Beside that was a small, fluffy pouch that contained crucial keepsakes. Last was a long, thin wand, carefully wrapped in blue cloth. It had been pushed into the shadows, unwanted, giving off an unpleasant aura that seemed to always attract a wandering gaze.
Harry Potter was deeply unconscious. This only sign of life was the steady rise and fall of his chest. His body was mostly covered with a cotton sheet. The ruined grey robe that he'd worn when he had arrived had been replaced with soft, loose clothes that had been provided at the villa. Compared to how he had been when he first arrived, Harry was practically pristine, cleaning charms having removed all dried blood and dirt from his body. His hair was less lank but still a horrendous mess.
Remus Lupin finished giving Harry drops of replenisher draught, carefully wiping at the corner of his mouth, sighing as he rubbed at Harry's neck to encourage his natural reflex to swallow. Thankfully, he had recovered enough to gain some reflexes. He put the bottle down. Remus paused for a moment before gently putting a hand on Harry's head.
"Take all the rest you need, Harry," he said quietly.
Upstairs in the other bedrooms, the occupants were not sleeping as restfully as Harry. One lay alone in a large king-size bed, wistfully staring out the window to the view beyond, her eyes wide and expressive. She rested a hand on her belly, feeling the irregular movements of the life she carried with her, new life in the middle of a war. Her thoughts were on the man below, her heart aching for him and knowing how much he was suffering. She sighed, curling in, wishing that Harry would wake soon and put her husband's mind at ease. The signs the night before had been encouraging. Harry's core had flickered within him, responding to her diagnostic spell, but Remus had refused to leave his side. His nocturnal habits made him best placed to stay with Harry in case he woke in the night.
Across from her bedroom, down the hallway and past the sweeping staircase that led down to the stunning front hall, were the other two bedrooms on the first floor. In one, the occupant was snoring, his rough, rumbling grunts making it through to the neighbouring room. The last occupant of the house was not asleep. Fully dressed, showered, teeth brushed, hair tamed (sort of), Hermione Granger was busy extracting items from a small, beaded handbag. Already, she had stacked up books on the desk, organised three piles of clothing on the chest of drawers, splitting them. She yawned as she worked, casting a glance at the window and froze.
Golden light spilled suddenly through the window as the sun rose, bringing everything into sharp clarity. Hermione mutely moved away from her bag, walking to the window, transfixed by the view. The arrival of the sun spectacularly changed the landscape. Her mouth opened a little, going still as she watched the golden orb ascend, casting its reflection on the ocean, a stunning gold-ish pink hue that immediately bathed the colours of the sky, making them more intense, sharper. As she drank in the sight, her demeanour changed, becoming less agitated and more focused, her brown eyes losing the intense desperate expression that haunted them earlier. She drew in a long, deep breath. Slowly, she turned away from the beautiful view, her eyes dewy with tears, feeling an emotion that she couldn't describe. It was neither a good feeling nor a bad one. Her emotions were so overwhelmed, she had no idea what she was feeling anymore.
Once she had emptied her beaded bag of every item that she had brought along with her for the horcrux hunt, she slipped her wand in the holster and made her move out the bedroom, stilling for a moment as she stepped out into the hallway. Disbelief warred her reason as she was confronted again by the stunning house that she found herself residing within. Even though she had spent two nights already at the villa, she still struggled to believe that she was actually there - in exile. She wasn't squatting in a warehouse, or huddling around a fire in a cave, she was in a luxurious villa in Southern France, having just watched the sunrise over the Mediterranean. Surreal didn't cut it. She felt completely disconnected from reality.
She paused, considering going in to check on Ron, but when she heard his snores, she figured it was best to leave him to it. They had a slight altercation on the first night. She felt a flash of frustration as she remembered it. He had been hurt that she chose to have a room to herself and not share the twin bedroom that he picked out. He just expected her to join him. She gave a small sigh, feeling stabs of all sorts of confusing emotions. The last thing she needed, or anyone needed, were teenage relationship dramas. How could he be thinking about that when only hours before, they had been fleeing for their lives from Death Eaters and Voldemort himself?
She headed downstairs, looking over the front hall and the marble entrance way, remembering how they had all assembled in the hall with Fleur and Kingsley before they apparated away to their own hiding places. She had listened, numb still with shock, to the level of protection that they had placed on the villa. Once they had left, Remus cast the fidelus charm with her and Tonks's help as he had been so exhausted at the time, he could barely stand. With him as secret keeper, no one other than the people within the villa knew that they were there, even Kingsley and Fleur, who had seen them there, would now be able to disclose their location. They were, at least for now, completely safe.
She glanced over to the kitchen and dining area where they ate a rather sullen meal during that first evening. Tonks' culinary skills left much to be desired, but she was the only one energised enough to cook. Remus had been ushered to the sofa after nearly falling asleep at the table. During that time, Hermione and Ron sat with Harry, too tired and shocked to do anything but watch their friend's steady breathing. It wasn't until Remus burst in at past midnight to tell them to get some sleep did they leave, only to have a small argument on the top of the stairs about sharing a room. Hermione felt the stab of frustration again. Of all the things to argue about!
Hermione edged towards Harry's room and knocked softly on the door.
"It's Hermione," she said quietly. The door clicked open and swung in on its own. She cautiously peered into the room. It was bathed in sunlight. Her attention went immediately on Remus, who was standing at a small table at the left side of Harry's bed, busying himself with the various potions and remedies that they found in the kitchen. The Delacours had left their holiday home well-stocked. Fleur told them that she and Bill were supposed to be going there for their honeymoon, so the supplies in the house had actually been for them. Their plans clearly changed when they were forced to flee their own wedding when the Death Eaters arrived.
Remus turned, smiling wearily at her as she walked inside.
"I'm not surprised that you're an early riser," he remarked warmly. She closed the door behind her.
"I've been up for a while," she admitted, "it feels wrong to just… sleep."
"Sleep is important." His tone went serious, firmer, but still kind. He noticed the lift of her eyebrow as she looked back at him. He gave a small laugh. "I know, I'm one to talk." Hermione's mouth relaxed into a hint of a smile as she approached.
"Has there been any… change?" She wasn't sure what to ask. Remus's knowledge of healing had initially surprised her, but then she distinctly remembered Madame Pomprey commending him for having knowledge of healing remedies. Treating the aftermath of a dementor encounter was one thing. Looking after someone in a coma was something else.
"Yes," Remus said and his smile lit up his face, "I managed to get him to swallow some potions earlier. He's responding on some level so I expect he'll be waking up soon." Hermione drew up to his side, her heart giving a seize as it did whenever she saw Harry's restful face. He already looked much better, even though his face was still bruised, his skin was less ashen. She then saw his eyes move under his lids and he gave a huffing sound, a muscle twitching in his cheek. She shared a look with Remus and shared his smile.
"That's definitely an improvement," she said and settled down in the chair that she had occupied for most of yesterday, resting her elbows on her lap and settling her head on her hands. Remus moved past her, placing his hand on her shoulder as he passed.
"I'm going to get us some coffee."
The return from the brink was a long journey, or so it felt. When he was finally able to make sense of his world, Harry understood just how long it was taking. At first, he wasn't worried. That part of his consciousness was yet to return. Instead, he floated in darkness, aware that he was alive but that was it. If Harry had been able to make comparisons, he'd imagine himself as if on stand-by mode, like the Dursleys TV when no one was in the lounge, switched on but not in use, screen dark but power on.
He was faintly aware that he had a body, but his sense of self was so tenuous, he was just content to be. His body just kept on functioning, his internal organs continuing to keep him alive while all else was put on hold. Everything else was focused on restoring the magic that was suddenly, violently absent from his core. He was completely unaware of the water that was magicked into his stomach directly, nor of the soft words of encouragement that were offered to him as he drifted in darkness. He didn't feel Remus's fingers on his skin, nor the spells that cleaned him. His body was completely disconnected from him, a machine focused on one task - living.
When his consciousness gradually returned and his mind began to wake from its slumber, he began to translate the messages that his nerves were sending. The primary message was a simple one. Pain. It slithered through his faint sense of self. It was inside him, within his muscles, under his skin. It ached through him, like an itch he couldn't scratch, a burn he couldn't soothe. He wanted it gone… he wanted to get rid of it… he wanted out.
His fingers twitched. Cloth scraped against his fingertips. Real sensations, translated by his waking mind, stimulus given meaning. His body was registering contact. His back, arms, legs and head were resting against something, something soft. Sensation in his body was one thing, moving his body was another. The pain came from his muscles and they were refusing to move, offering only feeble twitches. He went to lift his arm and his shoulders blazed at the movement. His breath hitched in his throat, bringing attention to the rasp of his breathing, the air trickling down into his lungs. He paid attention to the sounds of his body, the steady thump of his heart, the rush of air that passed down his nasal cavity, the gurgle of his stomach, and the sticky pops of his dry mouth. He moved his tongue, tasting his saliva and something else, something sweet.
He began to become aware of his situation. Just like the Dursleys' TV, Harry's mind was switching through different channels. Flickers of memory, disjointed, confused, rushed through, slow at first, then fast. He tried to place himself, work out where he was, but none of the fragments made sense. Then came fear. Locked in this limbo, he was trapped in a burning body that didn't respond, his thoughts scattered and fragmented. He wanted desperately to wake from this nightmare, but what if his waking world was worse?
The waking world was making itself known, whether he wanted it to or not. It became clearer and clearer, his brain now translating messages from previously slumbering nerves. He could hear muffled sounds near him, something moving, shuffling around. Then a low voice, words indiscernible as if mumbled. He tried to move his head towards the sound, causing pain to splinter down his neck and spine. A sound then escaped him, thrumming through his throat to his head, a moan.
Light ebbed through his closed eyelids. A shadow moved… someone was there. Fear peaked and he tried to move again, but his muscles yet again just trembled. His breathing was erratic. His barely awake mind was reeling as he plunged into full panic. He couldn't move. He was utterly helpless and he had no idea where he was or how he got there. He was injured and unable to protect himself.
He opened his eyes, light slamming into his waiting optic nerves with a painful crash. It stung, really stung. He gave a cracked gasp. It was so bright, too bright. It blinded him, forcing him to squint. His panic peaked, thrown into a mindless desperation as he willed his tormented body to flee. The effort robbed him of breath as the pain ripped through all his muscles.
No escape…not from the pain that obliterated every thought…the pain that melted sinew and turned blood into acid…
He blinked, shifting his head a little, turning towards the muffled sounds. The same sounds he had heard earlier, so strangely distorted. Disorientated, paralysed, and utterly terrified, he tried to make sense of his situation, to learn and assess the danger he was in. Someone was close. He heard voices again, but their words were indistinct. He found them, blurry shapes in the whiteness. It was so bright. He didn't know where this was. If it even was a where, if it even was real…
The soft surface he lay upon felt real. He felt a weight over his body, but he couldn't shift it from him. His arms just trembled uselessly at his sides, his fingers twitching as he tried to grip. They were numb and clumsy.
One of the forms moved close. He tried to move his face away, terrified. Something touched him. He flinched, causing himself immense pain. He cried out.
"NO!"
His own voice exploded in his ears, hoarse but so loud. He cringed at the sound that vibrated through his throat and into his skull.
"No… don't… touch me."
"Please… calm down…"
He closed his eyes, tears making his eyelids sticky. He only then registered just how dizzy and sick he felt, the surface under him suddenly feeling very unstable. It was as if he was travelling via portkey, only slowly, the world spinning under him. He was surrounded by words, some muffled, some clear. He felt a hot tear trail down his cheek.
"Harry…be okay…"
"...calming draught…"
The words were starting to make more sense, but he could barely hear them over the thundering of his heart and the panicked flushing of blood pounding in his ears.
"No… forcing potions… worse."
Through the panic, the utter terror that robbed him of reason and sense, he felt something tickling in the back of his mind. Recognition. Harry opened his eyes cautiously and ceased his trembling attempts to move. The glare was less intense now and a shadowed form stood over him. He recoiled at the closeness.
"That's it, Harry…"
Harry blinked, cognitive thought now slipping through his panic. Harry… not Potter… or boy… or freak…
"Focus on me, Harry… breathe… just breathe."
Harry watched the face's lips moving as he spoke, feeling the breath tickling his face. That was real… the face was real. His gaze moved up from his lips to his eyes. They were an earthy brown, warm. Harry could work out the emotions at play in their depths and in the minute movement as they moved slightly to focus on each of Harry's eyes in turn. His stare was one of intense concern for Harry's wellbeing. A look of care. Kindness. Genuine worry.
He knew this face. He knew these brown eyes, the rough whiskery face of a man who needed a shave, the weariness of his secret burden giving him a permanently tired look. A barrage of fragments hit him, out of order and disjointed, but all featuring the same earthy brown eyes.
His back slammed against the wall. Remus gave him a parting glare, his eyes alive with an animalistic rage that Harry had never seen before. He instinctively cowered at the sight of it, his ears ringing from the jinx that had knocked him back.
Eyes peered down at him, intense with concern. It was so cold and… why was he on the floor? The shabby man that had been sleeping in the compartment handed him something. Chocolate? "Here, eat this. You'll feel better."
The eyes were dark and shadowed, just visible through a sheet of rain. Cold fingers traced around his face clumsily. "I'm right here."
"Lupin…" The name passed over Harry's lips. He felt pressure ease off his chest. Professor R J Lupin. Moony. Remus Lupin.
"That's right, Harry. It's me, Remus," the caring but tired eyes dimmed with sadness for a moment.
Harry turned his gaze from Remus's face to confront the reality. With his faculties now returning properly, his world close to him gained definition, the rest still blurry. It was no longer a painful glare of white, but a room. The surface that he rested upon was a bed. The weight covering him was a white sheet, covering his body up to his neck. He saw his arms resting on the sheet that covered his body, seeing bandages. He was injured, but someone had treated him. He tentatively poked at his memories, finding a haze of confusion and fragments that scattered at his attempt. He saw a figure standing at the end of his bed, out of his vision range. He felt a stirring of fear and returned his gaze to the person he recognised.
"You're safe." Remus told him. His head felt wrong, spaced. Everything felt different and familiar at the same time. The only things that made sense were Remus and the miserable condition of his body.
"Wha… what's wrong… with me?" He managed to get the words out, but his tongue felt odd, like it was too large. Remus was talking but Harry barely heard him, his head spinning. He blinked, clearing his vision and refocusing.
"...something for your pain. Hermione - can you bring the pain relief?
The shadow at the end of his bed moved closer to him. He turned his head to see her. Her hair was tied loosely back where it erupted in an explosion of curls. She moved quickly and quietly as she went to help.
"Herm…ione?"
He savoured the sound of her name, savouring the relief it brought him. If she was here, and Professor Lupin was here… his mind was filling in the gaps, helping him make sense of his situation. He was clearly injured and his head felt fuzzy, was he concussed? Did he fall off his broom?
"Hi," she said. He could have smiled but instead he blinked, wondering why she wasn't wearing school robes. Was it the weekend? Just his luck to be stuck in the hospital wing on a weekend!
"Hi," he managed to reply before his head flumped back into the pillow. Pain creaked through his muscles. He took in a pained breath, watching Hermione pass something small and blue over to Remus. In his delirium, he registered that it was odd. Why was his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor giving him potions? He blinked, realising he hadn't heard nor seen Madame Pomfrey. Usually she had told him off for not taking better care of himself by now.
"Where… is Pomfrey?"
"She's busy so I'm helping." Harry didn't question it. He didn't have the energy to think anymore. "Over here, Harry." With effort, he moved his head back towards Remus, seeing the bottle in his hand and feeling the searing pain again. He gave a cry this time at the spasm, turning his focus now on the potion that Remus held, distinctly remembering having taken something similar once… another time…
His back rested against the wall, the only thing keeping him from falling. His head was spinning and pulsing, pain and exhaustion making it so hard to concentrate, but he saw the three bottles on the ground. He reached for the one that Hermione said had been pain relief, his fingers clumsy and stiff, wrist burning at the movement… Hermione flinched, staring at his hand… he put the glass to his sore lips, throwing the entire contents down, tasting mint, elderflower and something else that burned his throat at the touch.
He was very dizzy now and felt a hint of fear at the memory that swept over his consciousness. Something wasn't right. He eyed the potion in Remus's hands, feeling something tickling at the back of his mind.
"I know you're in a lot of pain and you're very confused. It'll make sense soon, okay?"
He was in a lot of pain, he agreed with that, but that wasn't something too out of the ordinary. Not being able to move his arms an inch above his bed worried him a lot more.
"Okay," Harry repeated in monotone, then he focused on Remus with all his concentration, "but… I can't… move."
"That'll fade once you rest properly. Your body's had a bit of a shock and needs to recover."
A shock…
Much, much more than a shock. His body felt like a burning mess of muscles that didn't work properly. It wasn't right. His heart twinged and the tickling at the back of his head intensified.
Red light… hot, searing agony, like daggers were shredding him apart, scratching his skin away while his blood turned to acid…it didn't stop…his cries were strangled in his throat, trapped in his mouth, the pressure building and building as the curse kept going, kept burning him alive, then he couldn't stand it anymore and his scream ripped out his throat, a shrieking sound of agony unlike any sound he'd ever made before. It rattled through the space…but the pain didn't stop.
Then something minty trickled into his mouth and hit the back of his throat. He gagged at once, choking, spasming in shock.
"Swallow, Harry… don't panic."
There was no wall scratching at his back. He was laying on a bed, the mattress under him soft. His arms were by his sides, not suspended above his head. Safe. I'm safe…
He swallowed and coughed as the potion burned his throat, but he knew the relief was soon, that the pain would go away. Pain… so much pain…
"Just breathe…"
It was all he had to do. Breathe. He could do that. Breathing was normal. He sunk into the softness of the pillow, turning his face into the cloth.
"I'm right here."
In… one… two… three… four…five…
Sleep was now calling, tugging at his consciousness and pulling him away from the soft sounds and sights of what felt like the hospital wing and yet didn't. He parted from the befuddled delirium, instead plunging into the wild whirlwind of his subconsciousness. Before the last tendril of wakefulness released him, he felt foreboding. Sleep was not the realm of comfort for him. It was the realm of nightmares.
So he slept and then came the memories, playing over recent events that his delirium hazed over. They flicked through in vivid snapshots.
The Courtroom… an assembly of plum-robed witches and wizards watched him as he was forced into the chair, chains snatching at his wrists and wrenching them down to the arms, binding him and his magic...
Two hooded figures were forced to their knees. "Do anything but take that quill and sign, we will kill these mudbloods."
Spells and fireworks filled the room, chaos erupting around him as he strained and thrashed against his captors, his arms bound so tightly behind him, the metal at his ankles hindering his efforts to walk...
White light knocked his assailant away from him. He slammed down hard on his side and then heard that sweet, sweet sound. "Harry! We're here."
The sealed exit was unyielding as he pressed his hand against the metal, the magic cracking into his skin with an icy sting...
The dementors peeled off, his patronus forcing them back and away, as his feet slammed into the floor as he ran, his heart pounding with the jubilation of their success…
Arthur cupped his face, wearing an expression that Harry had never seen him give him before, a look of compassion. "Come on son, let's get you out of here."
A dark tunnel, dirt and desperation… the collapse behind them cleared, debris raining all around them. His knees scraped on the earth, robes tearing… "RUN!"
"He is mine. Deal with the others."
It was too late… too late to run… too late…
The rushing drowned out all sound, darkness surging across his vision, but he could still see them, still watch them leave and find safety, his scar crackling with pain as he felt excitement that was not his own. Excitement aimed at him… at causing him great suffering…
His eyes snapped open, heart thundering in his chest. He heaved in a breath, finding soft white light waiting for him, not the oppressive dark of that tunnel. He could hear the rushing of his blood in his ears, feeling the tremors of his heartbeat in his skin.
"You're okay, Harry… just take a moment to breathe for a sec." A low, concerned voice brought him into reality firmly. Harry blinked a few times, seeing the bed, details smudged without his glasses. He took a deep breath and gave a cough as his dry throat tickled, then he moved his head a small amount, finding a very familiar face watching him, pale with alarm.
"Ron?" He croaked. Ron's red-hair was immediately distinctive, but Harry's eyes focused on his face, seeing Ron's wide, blue eyes fixed upon his own. Ron reached out for a moment, instinctively going to touch Harry, but he decided against it awkwardly and instead went to smooth the bedsheets next to Harry's shaking body.
"It… it's good to see you awake, mate," he said, his voice lower and thicker than usual. He then turned his gaze from Harry's, looking across to someone else. Harry moved his gaze, seeing his other best friend, sat in the chair where Remus had been earlier. Hermione's elbow was resting on the arm on the chair, her head resting on her hand, eyes closed. In her other hand was a book, left open and inches away from falling.
"I… I didn't want to wake you but you… were having a nightmare," Ron was muttering at his other side. At the sound of his voice, Hermione suddenly woke up. Her eyes met Harry's and she dropped her book.
"Harry!"
He looked from her to the bedside table, spotting his glasses and pouch. He went still as he noticed that the chair she sat in was nothing like the awkward, uncomfortable chairs in the hospital wing that were impossible to sleep in. It had huge squishy cushions, covered with a white and silver fabric that was far too opulent for the school.
With each passing second, his memories were returning and his thoughts were clearing. Details about his situation jarred against the fabricated reality that his delirious mind had invented. Dawning horror pulsed through him and, although the pain was not as severe, he knew that he was in a bad way. He ignored his friends for the moment, shock muting everything.
Ron moved from where he had been sitting, heading over to move next to Hermione. Harry's gaze flicked up to see Ron, breathing heavily as the memories began to piece together. The evidence falling in place. The condition he was in, the hazy gap in his memory… had he been obliviated? The thought made him near breathless.
"What… what did he do? What has he done to me?" His panic was starting to return, but as he did, he felt a tremor go down his back. "He…caught up to me…"
"Oh no…" Hermione slid out from her chair and came up to Harry. His eyes latched onto hers. "You escaped, Harry. Do you remember apparating away? It was raining, remember? I was there."
Rain speckled his glasses but he could still see her, her face going in and out of focus. Hair plastered to her face, drenched in the rain, kneeling in the grass.
"I remember… something," he said quietly, "but… it's hazy. Patchy."
"It'll come back. You… you've been unconscious for a bit and only just woken up properly," Ron told him. Harry's eyes roved over to him, then he looked around the room. He edged his head over to where he spotted the bedside table.
"Could… could you give me my glasses?"
"Oh, Harry, I should have thought about that," Hermione gasped, face pinking. She picked them up from the table and leaned over, unfolding them. He watched her, not moving his arms to take them, his face colouring with shame at his pathetic state. Her hands shaking a little, she placed his glasses on his face. Immediately the world sharpened. He blinked, taking in the surroundings, mouth dropping open with astonishment.
This wasn't a hospital room. It was a beautifully decorated bedroom full of muted sunlight, the curtains pulled shut, obscuring the view through the windows that took up most of the wall directly opposite the bed. There was a sitting area, a desk and chair, a stocked bookcase, three wardrobes and a chest of drawers. He caught sight of a mirror, seeing his bed reflected, just making out his black hair and the lump of his body.
Hermione followed his gaze and gave a small sigh. "Harry… it's going to be okay. You'll make a full recovery but you need a lot of rest," she assured him, "you… you've been through a lot and it's taken its toll."
"I… It's so hard to move," he hated the sound of the anguish in his voice, "what… what magic did this…?"
"It's not magic that did this. It's the lack of it," Hermione said softly, catching his attention. Her shoulders dropped and she went to explain.
"The whole time you were using your magic without knowing it. You were using it to counter the effects of what they were doing to you, healing yourself and sustaining yourself. Three days without any proper sleep, anything to… eat," she paused, mouth twitching as her eyes hardened with rage, but she continued, "your magic wasn't recovering as it should. They were weakening you purposefully… so when we broke you out and you had to use your magic, you were down to your reserves and we didn't notice." Harry listened, memories flickering up to prove what she was saying was right. Memories of endless hours, hanging from his chains, trying to sleep in unbearable conditions, muscles trembling with spasms of pain.
"You gave me those potions… I remember that," Harry said, "they… they helped, right?"
"You burned those up too," Hermione told him, sombre, "by the time Remus apparated you out of there, you were on vapours and then that was it. You completely burned out. It's very rare, but you'll recover. Tonks said last night that your core is already recharging."
Harry processed what she was saying with difficulty. Waves of horror pulsed through him as he looked at his right hand. He closed his eyes and a vivid image of a flash of golden light burned in his mind, but he pushed it aside. He wasn't ready to confront that. He couldn't. He had to take this a step at a time. It was already too much.
"You weren't just using normal level magic either, mate," Ron said after a while of silence, "that patronus you cast… it pretty much cleared the whole floor. And then down in the tunnel…"
Harry's eyes snapped open at the mention of the tunnel, his breath catching a little.
"Ron…" Hermione's voice was firm and reproachful. Ron caught her eye.
"What?"
Hermione sighed harshly, eyes flashing with irritation, shaking her head a little, trying to communicate to him but Ron was clueless, just staring back at her, slightly incredulous and annoyed at her tone. He closed his mouth anyway, knowing Hermione well enough to see that she wanted him to shut up. He gave an indignant huff. When she looked away, he rolled his eyes a little. Harry watched them, feeling mildly relieved at the familiar interaction. If he had any doubt in his mind remaining about whether they were his friends or imposters, he knew with certainty now that they were really his friends. They were already a sneeze away from an argument.
"Well anyway, the thing is you just need lots of rest and this is the best place for just that," Ron continued, a little gruffly, his ears going red. Harry eyed the room again.
"And… where are we… exactly?" He asked, not hiding his nervousness at admitting that he had no idea where they were.
"When you burned out, we had to change our plans so you could recover somewhere completely off-grid. We, uh, had to leave the country - at least until your magic's completely replenished," Hermione told him, then her face relaxed into a warm smile, "we're somewhere pretty special… look, I'll show you." She then drew out her wand and twisted in her seat, facing the windows opposite the bed. With a languid sweep, she cast a wordless spell at the curtains that blocked the view. At her insistence, the drapes drew back to bathe the room in bright sunlight.
Harry had to close his eyes against the sudden intense glare, but it didn't sting his eyes as much as it had when he first woke up. He cringed away from it, blinking until he could glimpse something impossible between each rapid blink. He jammed his elbows into the bed and tried to inch himself upright to see the view properly, his muscles straining with the effort. He had some success, lifting his head a few inches from the pillows, shaking.
"Is that… real?" He asked hoarsely, not sure whether to believe his eyes or not. His mind was reeling. Before him, through the pair of huge windows, was a veranda that looked out to the most magnificent view Harry had ever seen. He had never in his life seen anything like it. Harry could count the times he had seen the sea on one hand and the last time had been when he went with Dumbledore to the cave. His eyes drank in the sight, his mind furiously telling him that there was no way that it could be real. It was too blue, too bright, too perfect.
Behind him, the pillows lifted to nudge his back and support him, easing him into a more upright position so he didn't have to support himself. He gathered that Hermione had been responsible for adjusting the bed. He couldn't drag his gaze from the view, from the intense blue ocean, the way that the sun sparkled on the distant waves, like it was made from sapphires. His hungry gaze swept over the dazzlingly blue sky, then the landscape beyond the veranda, the exotic fauna that was nothing like what he was used to. It was like he was looking into one of the holiday brochures that Aunt Petunia used to paw over obsessively.
"Yeah… yeah of course it's real, Harry. You think we'd put up some illusion?" Ron gave a scoff. Harry wasn't listening. He was lost in a cascade of emotions. His eyes were wide with wonder.
"It… it's the sea… but it's so blue," he said, "is there a glamour on the window?"
"No, Harry, it's actually that blue," Hermione's voice was hushed. "It's the Mediterranean ocean." Harry saw her in his peripheral vision, but he didn't remove his gaze from the view, in case it vanished when he looked away. He processed what she had said, sifting through old memories of geography lessons and maps of Europe flickering in his mind.
"W… what?"
"We're in the South of France - on the coast, as you can see."
Harry finally pulled his gaze away and leaned back against the pillows. He regarded his two best friends, stunned. Hermione was exploring the look on Harry's face as if she'd never seen it before.
"France…" he stared at them, "we're in France."
"Yep. Mad isn't it?" Ron grinned at him. "Just you wait until you see this place, mate. It's bonkers, really. This is actually where Bill and Fleur were meant to come after their wedding. You know… after… for their honeymoon." Harry blinked.
"This is a real place."
"Yes, Harry…" Hermione insisted, frowning a little, "I know it's hard to believe, but we really are in the south of France. Fleur brought us here not long after you… got out. We needed a better location to look after you properly and lots of distance between you and you-know-who seemed like a very good idea."
Harry jerked back into reality with a hard crash at the mere mention of Voldemort. The picturesque view laid out before his bed suddenly felt like a cruel joke.
"Ah…" he wasn't sure what to say. He settled back against the pillows, his gaze moving away from Hermione.
"It's not just us," Ron picked up from where Hermione left off, "Remus is here. And Tonks too. Speaking of Tonks, she's probably fixing something to eat. I… guess you're hungry?"
Harry closed his eyes again. He was extremely thirsty and hungry, but in his current condition, he knew he would struggle to feed himself and hold a cup to his mouth. He shivered as memories trickled through his thoughts like rain streaking over glass.
Gentle hands reached behind his head, fingers brushing into his hair as they fumbled for the buckle of his muzzle…
Metal butted against his sore lips and he parted them obediently, feeling the cup push into his mouth and accepting it, desperate for the water. It poured into his dry, sour mouth and he tipped his head back as he swallowed, completely at the mercy of the man who was quenching his unbearable thirst…
Nose tickling with the tantalising scent of food, Harry peered down at the spoon and the bounty it offered. Throwing away his last scrap of pride, he opened his mouth and felt the metal spoon scrape against his teeth and warm liquid covered his waiting tongue.
"Uh you could say that," Harry said weakly, shaking. His composure was cracking now. It was too much for him to compartmentalise. The condition of his health, the fact that he was currently hiding in some sort of luxurious villa, his mind full of fresh traumatic memories that he couldn't control… the sense of fear that he still couldn't shake, fear that despite being told that he was safe, he knew he wasn't… he could feel the breakdown edging towards him. While he knew Ron and Hermione were only trying to help, the reassurances and concerned looks were only making him worse. Every word they said made it harder, brought something else back from the abyss. He was terrified that they'd mention the thick, heavy bandage that was wrapped around his right hand. That they'd bring up the bundle of cloth that he had already spotted behind his mokeskin pouch.
"The larder's well-stocked so we'll be good for a few days, but Remus has already planned a supply run. He won't go until he's sure that you're in a stable condition. While you were unconscious, he pretty much spent the time glued at your side. He's the best healer the Order has so you've been in good hands…"
Ron was rambling. Harry struggled to listen. He made an effort to move, bringing his hands together to rest on his stomach, feeling his insides rumbling with the hunger that he wanted to ignore. He glanced down and grimaced at the condition of his right hand. The bandage covered his palm, but he could see the purple bruises left behind when his hand was savagely broken. His gaze tracked back up to his wrists. They were both bandaged. The skin underneath itched.
Biting… always biting, and scratching. The metal around his wrists gripped so tightly, holding him fast. Every time he tugged against them, the metal felt tighter, biting his skin. He couldn't free his hands, he couldn't move them… they hung useless above him, trapped…
He couldn't conceal the effect that memory had on him. He closed his eyes, shivering. His hands gripped at the bedsheet. He could feel their stares on his face, taking in the spasms of anguish that flickered over his face as he tried and failed to contain the trauma that his friends were inadvertently triggering. He took a deep breath, trying to relax, and opened his eyes. His gaze took in the view first and his exhaled, looking over to his friends. His eyes settled on Ron.
"If we're in France, where is everyone else? Your family…?" Ron's pained expression relaxed, relieved at the change of subject.
"Charlie's put up my mum and dad in Romania, but it's not a permanent thing. Like us here," he cleared his throat, "just waiting for the storm to settle, you know." Harry didn't know but he said nothing. "Fred and George know how to stay out of trouble when they have to." he slapped his forehead, "Ginny. She's back at Hogwarts."
"Back? You mean she left?" Harry stared at them both. "Wait... she was there? In... the Courtroom."
"No. She stayed behind." Hermione said quickly. Harry looked at her.
"You can imagine that Ginny was pretty mad when we told her she had to stay behind." Ron said with a wry smile. "She has the trace so it would be pretty dumb for us to break in with an alarm bell singling the Ministry every time she did magic. So she was at the cottage the whole time."
"Cottage?"
"We were hiding out at McGonagall's place. Yeah, she has a place. I dunno why it was such a surprise. It's not like they hang around the school all summer," Ron was jammering on again. "She helped us get Ginny out… and Neville and Seamus came too when we gave them word that we were planning something." Harry pushed himself further upright, straightening, eager to learn more.
"What? Neville and Seamus... who else?" Harry was breathing heavily, his emotions going wild. He felt something tugging in him. Harry then felt an overwhelming wave of dizziness and his vision blurred. The bed under him pitched and he slumped, feeling as if whatever strength he had managed to recover had been zapped out of him. He slid down the pillows, eyes unfocused for a moment.
"Shit… shit, Harry…"
"I'll go get Remus." Hermione sounded panicked. "Make sure... he doesn't move."
Ron's face moved into the centre of his vision. Harry's gaze focused on him and everything sharpened again. He took a deep breath, his head throbbing. He felt absolutely exhausted.
"Merlin, mate. Slow down. You must have been using your magic-"
"Ron? Is everything alright?" A brisk, worried voice interrupted him, making him snap his mouth shut and turn. Harry looked past him, seeing the door swing open. At Remus's presence, Harry relaxed. It was an instinctive reaction as if his body was responding to the person who had been looking after his needs while he was unconscious. A connection flew between them as they locked gazes. Remus was drawn to him at once, not waiting to hear Ron's response to his question. Ron stepped back so Remus could approach Harry. He immediately placed his hands under Harry's arms and eased him back up the pillows so he was sitting more upright.
Remus gave Harry a wry smirk.
"It looks like you've just figured out why we want you to take it easy," Remus's smirk was rather muted by the worried look in his eyes. Harry tried to smile back but his mouth just feebly twitched, but then a scared look wiped away any hints of the smile. Remus gently put his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Ron… do you mind if I have a moment with Harry alone?"
"Huh? No, of course not," Ron rubbed the back of his neck. He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something, but then he hurried away.
Ron shut the door behind him with a soft click. Remus watched Harry for a moment, then turned from him, going to the bedside table. For the first time, Harry took in Remus's appearance. All the other times Harry had seen his old Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, he was always in worn-out clothes, either a heavily patched suit or robes that had seen better days. It endeared him to Harry originally, after all, he couldn't judge someone for a shabby appearance considering his upbringing. But now, he was dressed rather well in casual muggle clothes. He wore a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and… jeans. He blinked in surprise, feeling a surprising lift in his chest. For some reason, seeing Lupin in jeans amused him.
Harry did also notice Remus's forearms and saw many scars. He realised that he'd never seen his arms exposed before and looked away at once, feeling that he was intruding.
"I know that laying down and resting still feels like the last thing you want to do after what you've been through, but you need to save all your energy for healing and getting better." Remus glanced over his shoulder and gave a small laugh. "I imagine that view doesn't help either."
He moved back towards Harry, holding a small bottle of potion that he opened, holding a dropper in his fingers. He perched on the edge of Harry's bed.
"I need to give you this. Just a few drops."
"What is it?"
"Replenishing draught. It's of course no replacement for real nourishment, but it will help restore some energy," he tapped the glass pipette against the vial, then drew in some of the potion, lifting the dropper.
He turned, moving the glass dropper towards Harry, who suddenly fixed the potion with a look of intense fear, but when his gaze ran over to Remus, to the earthy brown eyes that watched him with a patient kindness that eased the tension from his face and neck, he let out a sigh and opened his mouth. The potion was both very sweet and very salty. Harry's tongue was overwhelmed. He grimaced, but mustered up enough moisture to swallow.
"Do you want some water?"
The question threw him out of his present. He was back there, in the cell, hearing the slosh of Berrick's water bucket. He hesitated. It was a simple question and he was very thirsty, but his arms… his hands. He knew he would need help. Could he really trust a man that he met in prison to give him water over a man who was the best friend to his parents? A man who had cared for him while he was asleep? A man whose life he had saved while down in the tunnel while those red, burning eyes seared through him…
"No!" Harry burst out. He gasped. His eyes snapped on Remus before he began to feel the collapse inside himself. "I… do but…I can't…do it myself."
Remus summoned a glass from one of the counters in the bedroom and drew his wand, casting a wordless aguamenti, filling the glass with clear water. Harry's entire body reacted to the presence of the blessed substance.
"Then we'll do it together," Remus said. He held the glass in one hand, then gently reached for Harry's left arm. Harry was barely able to lift his arm, but he could grip with his hand. Remus placed the glass in Harry's hand and folded his fingers around it. Harry stared at him the whole time, not protesting. Remus guided his hand up to his face, supporting the glass and making sure that it was secure in Harry's grip. It was awkward, but Harry was at least in control.
The moment the glass touched Harry's lips, his composure went completely. He wept as he tipped the glass himself. Though Remus was supporting his hand, his own arm weakened, it was still his hand that was giving him the water. A little escaped his mouth and slipped down his chin. He gulped audibly, his sobs fighting against him, but he drained it fast. The Dursleys' discipline conditioned him to take his handouts quickly before they were taken away on a whim. Remus took the glass out of his hand and put it aside.
"One step at a time, okay?" Remus said to him. He let go of Harry's arm, resting it down carefully. He took a deep breath, taking Harry's hands in his. Harry went still, not sure what to do, his poor overwhelmed mind just drawing him blanks as he looked at Remus.
"One step at a time." Harry agreed.