Harry entered Dumbledore's office with no nerves and no awkwardness. He had breezed up the spiral staircase behind the gargoyle and pushed through the door into the familiar office with an air of confidence that wasn't at home on his shoulders. He gave the room a comfortable smile. The soft mechanical whirrs of Dumbledore's strange, mysterious possessions gently droned in the background. It was mutely lit, the light soft and comforting. Ahead, the many portraits of the previous headmasters and headmistresses were slumbering away. Whether pretending or not, it was never clear. Their snorts and snores were just as familiar as the other ambient sounds of the room.

He quickly adjusted his robes, making sure he was at least slightly presentable. He glanced back to watch the door click shut behind him before continuing up to the desk, searching around for the headmaster himself.

He stopped. He was alone. The room was completely empty. Fawkes's perch, too, was unoccupied. He frowned, spotting the cabinet that housed the pensieve. It was shut, no tantalising sparkle of silver glimmered through the gap of the doors.

"Professor?" Harry paced around the office, searching, then he came up to his desk, pausing as he saw the locket horcrux resting where Dumbledore had once placed the ruined diary. He stared at the locket, his gaze drawn to it to the serpentine S. He swallowed, taking a cautious step towards it.

"You found the locket… but at what cost?"

Harry's hand clenched into a fist as he wheeled around. Behind him stood Albus Dumbledore, dressed in robes of pure white and silver, matching the tones of his hair and beard. The combination was dazzling, making him hard to look at. Then he took a step forward and his face became clear. The twinkle was gone from his eyes. The piercing blue eyes that were so achingly familiar to Harry regarded him with a cold hardness that he'd seen only a few times before. A look that he once wore when he saved Harry from Barty Crouch Jr and he stepped into that office, radiating power and threat. He wore a similar look when he faced Voldemort in the Ministry.

"He knows because of you."

Harry grabbed at the desk behind him, hands gripping the lip, his heart racing as he could now taste and smell the icy metallic tang of Dumbledore's magic as he advanced.

"Sir?"

As Dumbledore approached, the brilliance of his robe changed. His appearance grew drab. His shoulders sagged. His robes were now haggard, dirtied, his face sallow and greenish. One lens of his glasses was cracked, but still his eyes were hard, unyielding.

"Decades I spent peeling apart the layers of Tom Riddle's obscurity, dissecting his life memory after memory. Years… Harry. I spent years alone with this secret, this knowledge, waiting for someone worthy to share in my mission. I found that person in you, the Boy-Who-Lived…the Chosen One…"

Harry was backed against the desk as Dumbledore drew up to his full height, towering over him. He mutely opened his mouth, unable to speak, offering no excuses as his chest burned with shame and guilt.

"I gave you my knowledge, Harry, and you surrendered it."

"No…" Harry gasped. "I didn't. I swear."

"You told Yaxley what you were after."

The icy tang of Dumbledore's magic turned frigid as set Harry's hairs on edge, rolling over him like the chill of a dementor. He could hear his own scream rattling through his mind, the words that had been wrenched out of him at Yaxley's behest.

I was after Voldemort's horcrux.

"I couldn't stop it!" He cried out, his hands fumbling desperately at the desk behind him. "There was nothing I could have done!"

"You could have avoided capture." Dumbeldore didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. "You could have run."

Harry stared at his mentor, unable to draw in a breath, his chest crushingly tight as he tried to defend himself and couldn't. He met the stare, desperate to see kindness and relief. Instead he saw only disappointment.

"W-what could I have done? I was outnumbered."

"You escaped far worse odds before." Harry sunk to his knees. The tattered hem on Dumbledore's robe reached him, but Harry no longer had the strength to look at that disappointed face. He trembled, bracing for his next words.

"Did you not escape Voldemort and his Death Eaters…alone?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Th… that was different."

"Back then, you were completely outmatched and facing certain death, but you still managed to survive. You kept a clear head, kept your focus. What happened when you were pulled out of apparation outside the Ministry? Did you keep a clear head then?"

Harry stared at the floor, his mouth open and useless. He couldn't defend himself because… he hadn't kept a clear head at all, not when he looked at all those shocked faces looking at him after he disarmed Yaxley. He should have used that moment, those seconds of blessed surprise… instead, he just tried to reason with them.

"Admit it. You froze. You panicked. You lost your focus and we are all paying for it. You could have easily fled that place, but you were too weak… too idealistic, expecting them to choose your fight over theirs."

Harry scrambled up to his feet, breathing heavily, chest weighted with guilt. He raised his head to see Dumbledore watching him. That word… Dumbledore would never call him that. Even if he was so disappointed in him.

"You… you're not him," Harry said hoarsely, "he'd never call me weak… he'd never say this." Dumbledore's eyes suddenly flashed red and he tore across the space towards him. Harry gaped in terror, backing away.

"You make a mistake and the world suffers for it. You suffered for it." Dumbledore's face twisted, his eyes burning. Harry's insides froze as he saw who was under the mask of his dead professor, the cracks of the illusion splintering. "How many times did you scream in agony, Harry?"

"No… no, get back," Harry staggered away, but he couldn't move fast enough. Hands grabbed his wrists. He cried out, struggling, but Dumbledore lifted his arms up above his head, suddenly so much stronger than Harry was, who could only writhe. He then felt metal encase his wrists. Dumbledore took a step back, letting go, but Harry's arms were still suspended above his head.

"No…no!" He couldn't free himself. Tears formed in his eyes when he saw a look of savage pleasure on the distorted face before him. "Please, don't…"

"How many times did you cry in silence, so alone… so helpless?"

Harry looked up at his shackled wrists and the illusion fell away. His back was pressed against a wall, fake sunlight filtering through a small window two feet above his head. He struggled, tears seeping down from his eyes.

"You are weak, Harry Potter."

There were two voices, layered on top. One was Dumbledore's and the other - it was husky, higher in pitch, cold. Harry brought his head down from staring up at his miserable confinement, down to where Dumbledore supposedly stood.

He met a pair of vivid red eyes.

"You are a failure."

His scar erupted in pain. He went to scream but he couldn't, not with the leather choking back his cries, the silencer digging into his face.

I got away… I got away. This isn't real.

"You had your chance. You had your advantage. It is gone. Wasted. You were too weak to seize it and now… you will spend eternity in torment, alone with the magnitude of your failure." Harry tried to free himself, but it was in vain. He sunk down the wall, his fight gone.

Failure…

I'm so weak…

His scar was burning. Actually burning…

The sudden break from the nightmare was horribly violent and extremely painful. His scar was searing into his forehead like a branding iron. He let loose a loud cry of pain, the sound of his voice rattling through his head, chiming loudly and painfully like the clash of a gong. His eyes were screwed shut as he fought against the pain which appeared to be fading back, dialling away, as he heaved in huge gasps of air to control himself.

While the fierce pain in his scar ebbed away, the rest of him wasn't so lucky. Spasms jolted through his muscles, choking the breath in his lungs with each movement. He forced himself to relax to relieve the burning pain. All his muscles appeared to burn, as if he had run a marathon and was suffering the price. He wrenched his eyes open, finding soft darkness and bed sheets, not chains and anguish. He sighed in relief despite the pathetic condition of his body and the pain.

"Harry…it's okay. It was just a dream."

Harry peered through blurry eyes into the dimly lit bedroom, searching for the source of that voice. Then he found her. Hermione was cast in the light of her wand. He saw her worried face and her wild curls that caught highlights of silver from her lumos.

"Hermione?"

"I'm right here," she assured him. In the wandlight, he couldn't make out all the intricacies that made up the irises of Hermione Granger. He couldn't make out the warm brown colour, nor could he see how they were a brighter shade of gold closer to the pupils, a shade that only really came out when the sun caught them at the right angle. He could however see how they were crinkling in the corners. He felt an ache in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on but it eased the tension in his shoulders and jaw.

"What time is it?"

"It's just past midnight. This is my shift - everyone else is in bed." Harry's brows lifted a little in surprise. The last he knew it had been daylight.

Remus helped me drink some water and then he helped me eat some bread and soup, but that was the afternoon? Did I fall asleep?

He felt his cheeks burn at the thought of falling asleep while Remus had been looking after him. But then, he was so exhausted. He struggled to keep his eyes open, especially after the effort of eating. The stress alone…

"Do you need anything?" Hermione asked him quietly. She shifted forward, putting down a book that she must have been reading before Harry woke up. She put her wand down on the bedside table, casting them both in its silvery glow. It was oddly comforting to see her profile cast against the silvery glow of her wand. He found himself staring at the outline of her cheek and chin cast against the white wandlight. Her skin looked so smooth. He slid his gaze back to her eyes, remembering her question and feeling his cheeks warm up even more. Why was he staring at her?

He pushed his elbow into the mattress and went to prop himself upright. The effort sent spasms of pain down his body, but he ignored them. He recognised the pain, knowing that his body was still suffering the after-effects of the cruciatus curse. Somehow he was still suffering, even though he had been unconscious for days. Perhaps the burnout hindered his healing. He had no idea.

"It… hurts a bit," he admitted, recalling vaguely that Hermione gave Remus a blue bottle earlier when they gave him pain relief.

"Your scar?"

He went to lift his hand to his forehead in the reflexive gesture that gave away his usual discomfort. He looked down, seeing his arm violently shaking, the muscles bunching as they spasmed. His gaze was latched onto the thick bandages that covered his palm. At the sight of his injury, he went still. He was left reeling as he stared, wide-eyed, at the swollen, hideous skin that wasn't covered by the bandages.

He swallowed, lowering his injured hand. He instead met her eyes.

"It was hurting when I woke up but it doesn't hurt anymore," he didn't want to look at her, "It's… everything else." Hermione gave a soft gasp.

"Oh Harry. I'm sorry. Of course." She jerked up to her feet, moving suddenly and erratically. She flicked her wand up above.

"Lumos externa."

The glow at the tip of her wand shot upwards, becoming a small orb of light where it struck the ceiling, bobbing a little where it remained as a small light source. It looked like a small version of the orbs that left Ron's deluminator.

"Here," Hermione returned, holding a dark bottle. She was shaking her head. "Just a couple of drops should be enough. We gave you too much earlier. It knocked you out."

He felt incredibly embarrassed as Hermione moved to give him the medicine. Their eyes met and he saw her own embarrassment.

"You… you need to open-."

"Oh, right," Harry opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue a little so she could drop the right amount into his mouth. He cringed as each drop hit his tongue and he went to swallow. It tasted the same. Minty, herbal and set somehow very spicy. He gave a cough as the heat of it coiled down his throat, the remedy getting to work at once.

"Did you… want a drink or…?" Hermione put the potion down.

"No… I'm fine," Harry said, then grimaced at the word. "You know, that I'm going to be saying that a lot when it's really clear that I'm not fine."

"I know," Hermione sighed and then reached out to him, her hand resting on his right arm, just above where the bandages around his wrist ended. He raised his head, seeing her, seeing the silvery reflections dancing in her darkened eyes. Her hand was warm. Her fingers traced on the underside of his arm, gently stroking the skin. He flicked his gaze up to hers in surprise. Her touch was…pleasant. He let out a pent up breath, relaxing into the relief her touch brought him, her closeness. Half of him wanted to pull away, confused and worried that he was reading into her gentle touch. The other half, the one he listened to, decided that he needed the comfort. He needed her support while he was so vulnerable.

He sighed, rolling his head so his cheek was pressing against the pillow as he looked over to Hermione, letting himself be comforted. Now that the pain relief was starting to work, he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing.

He reached his left hand over. He gritted his teeth at the effort, his arm shaking violently as he forced his muscles into movement. He made progress at least, more progress than he had done since waking from his coma. He brought his hand over to Hermione's and then lowered it over hers. A tingle went through his arm, chasing all the way up to his shoulder. He ran his fingers down her hand, staring at her, not sure what this was, but he was transfixed. He could see the tears forming in her eyes, sparkling in the magical light that bobbed and danced on the ceiling above them. He was caught in something that he didn't really understand, warmth blooming in his chest.

They both just looked at each other for a moment. Harry hoped that he conveyed what he couldn't articulate through words in his responding touch. He hoped that she could feel how grateful he was that she was the one that he found upon waking, that he found her gentle touch and soft looks instead of awkward pauses and forced conversations. He felt less ashamed of his vulnerability in her presence, as if he could almost convince himself that it was okay to show that he was in pain and struggling mentally.

His eyelids were starting to feel heavy as his breaths lengthened and the tension seeped out of him. He could feel the sleep edging in, waves of tiredness lapping over him. He broke eye contact first, closing his eyes and focused instead on their skin contact. He didn't open his eyes when he felt Hermione's hand shift under his, moving instead to interlink her fingers with his. He let out a strange, content hum, his lips curling, then his face relaxed as he slipped back under, falling asleep again.

Once certain that Harry was fast asleep, Hermione extracted her fingers carefully from his hand. She laid his hand on his stomach where it rose up with his steady breathing, his fingers motionless as he rested. She slowly lowered herself back into the seat, wincing as the chai creaked when she sat back down. Harry didn't stir. She hadn't expected him to be such a heavy sleeper. He was so skittish and full of energy, she expected him to be a light-sleeper, waking at the slightest drop of a pin. Then again, he was suffering the effects of severe magical exhaustion.

She picked up her wand and called back the orb of light. It hovered instead above her head, bobbing a little to give her enough light so she could read. Her hand fell on the book that she had brought with her. Tales of Beedle the Bard.

She'd already read it cover to cover at least five times since receiving Dumbledore's copy. She rested it on her lap, sighing softly as she ran a finger down the embossed cover, her mind full of unanswered questions. She brought her legs up and crossed them, getting comfortable before opening the book where she left off. The sound of turning the pages was intrusively loud in the silence of the room. She winced a little at the fluttering of pages, but Harry remained asleep. She raised her head, regarding him a moment. He was snoring softly. She smiled. Compared to how utterly silent he had been while in the coma, snoring was a delightful sound.

Before long, her own eyelids were starting to feel heavy. The words on the ancient, yellowing pages were swimming in and out of focus. The chair was pretty comfortable, especially when she rested her head back against the squishy cushion and closed her eyes. She drifted into a light doze, fingers still gripping the book.

Harry wished for the soft darkness and comforts of Hermione's presence when he woke from his slumber a few hours later. He peered out through his eyelids, daylight hitting his eyes, not the comforting softness of the darkness he woke to before. He moved, shifting around to get comfortable subconsciously and then froze when he realised what he was doing. His legs… he was moving his legs and he had even rolled onto his side in his sleep. He went to test his mobility. It wasn't good, but it had improved. The spasms were not as severe in his legs, but his muscles still trembled with the effort, as if not quite working out what Harry needed them to do.

He carefully rolled himself onto his back, wincing as he did and looking around, searching for Hermione. He didn't spy her curls and kindness, but found a figure in the same chair that she had occupied. Someone fast asleep. Not thinking, he pushed his hands into the mattress, going to sit up, and groaned aloud in pain as he put weight on his burned palm.

"Harry wait…" Remus spluttered awake and started out of the chair once he woke up and caught Harry in his failed attempt to sit upright. "Let me help."

"It's fine. I just hurt…my hand," Harry said, but slumped on his side as his muscles spasmed suddenly. Remus drew out his wand. The bed under Harry moved, lifting him at the shoulders. He was guided upright into a more upright position. In response to the movement, Harry's back gave a twinge. He extracted his arms from the bedsheet, looking down at the mattress and seeing that it acted like a hospital bed. Remus must have transfigured it. The bedsheet had slipped down, exposing Harry's upper body. He looked down, seeing that he was wearing a white t-shirt that actually fitted him for once. He lifted up the bedsheet, peering down at his body, looking at the clothes that he was wearing.

"The…these aren't my clothes." His voice shook a little as he pulled at the cloth of the shorts he was wearing. He couldn't help but think about how, when he woke up in his cell, he found himself in that grey robe, his clothes gone. The thought of the potential violation, of being touched by his enemies, stripped, while unconscious and utterly helpless… he drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes.

"No, we found some clothes here that looked more… comfortable for the climate."

Harry dropped the bed sheet back over his legs, hiding the unfamiliar clothes from view. Harry pulled his knees up, his legs quivering as he did. The pain in his leg muscles wasn't as severe as his back and shoulders. He straightened his legs and sighed, looking down at his arms. A spasm rippled through him, taking him by surprise and he tucked the groan of pain into his throat. He rested his arms outside the bedsheet, his skin itching under his bandages.

"Did you… dress me?" Harry dared to ask, turning his head towards Remus, but he didn't look up at his face. He felt incapable of meeting his stare, not wanting to confront the pity he might find there.

"With a swapping charm only. I would never breach your privacy like that, not while unconscious," Remus assured him firmly, "none of us would, Harry. You've had enough done to you. We would not dream to add to it."

Harry let out a sigh of relief and nodded. "Thank you… I… appreciate it."

"I've used scourify charms but they're no real substitute for a proper shower. I expect you're desperate for one."

"It would help if I could stand," Harry said bitterly, the remark out of him before he could get it out.

"All in good time. You're already making remarkable progress." Harry noticed that Remus was fiddling with something on the table by his head. He turned to Harry, extending out towards him what he had just retrieved. Harry's glasses. He reached out instinctively with his right hand, then flinched as he went to flex it, searing pain tearing at the effort as he aggravated the wound. He reached out with his left hand instead and took his glasses. He sighed as he looked down at them before putting them on, the familiar frames looked so fragile.

Like me. Fragile. Weak… so weak.

"It's bleeding again." Remus gently took Harry's right hand and rolled it over. Harry glanced over and clenched his teeth together when he saw the underside of his hand. The white bandages were stained red. He looked down at his bed, seeing traces of blood on the sheet. Harry felt a twinge of guilt. In his effort to sit himself up, he reopened his worst injury.

"I need to redress this. Okay, don't clench it. Relax it. Good."

Harry held his breath as Remus unwound the bandage. With each layer of cloth, the extent of the damage became more and more apparent. The cloth was stuck to the wound. Remus peeled it off slowly. Harry shuddered at the pain, ducking his head as he fought against the urge to wrench his hand away. He then looked back, shock zapping through his body as he saw the gaping wound in his hand. It looked as if a perfect long, thin strip of skin had been peeled clear from his palm. It was shining with blood and it was bleeding a lot. Remus was mopping up the bleed with the bandage, but then turned to get more gauze to stem the bleed.

"I've never seen a curse like it," Remus said quietly as he knelt down to get in a better position as he treated the wound, applying pressure to the bleed. "It wasn't a flagrante curse, or a variant of incendio."

Pain engulfed his hand. It was all he knew when his back crashed into the ground. He peered over, wheezing out the breath in his lungs, winded. The blazing rod in his hand was consumed by golden fire. It seared into his palm… magic eating his skin. Magic… that pulled into his hand and up his arm…something fell into place. He surged up from the ground, magic coiling through him, and the wand cooled, fused to his palm…

Harry turned his head away from the sight of his hand. The skin around the gleaming wound was angry-looking and sore, but not as disfigured as he was expecting, considering that he held a burning wand in his hand. The same hand that had been broken and reset. His hand had certainly endured some punishment.

"Whatever it was," Remus continued, "the burn it caused is very stubborn. It's not responding to healing magic. I'm afraid we have to wait for it to heal naturally." Harry flicked his gaze up to the older man's face, taking in the face that he hadn't shaved in days and had the scraggly beginnings of a beard. Other than that, he looked healthy, surprisingly so. Remus Lupin appeared more vitalised than Harry had ever seen him.

He removed the cloth from Harry's palm, peeling it back. "Okay, the bleeding has stopped for now. Hold it still, Harry. I'll redress it. Ferula." Fresh bandages wound around Harry's hand, unfurling from Remus's wand. Harry winced, his hand searing with pain at the contact, but he kept it still. The dressing was thick, winding around his thumb, leaving it free so he had some mobility in his hand, but not much. Remus tied off the bandage then lowered Harry's newly dressed hand back onto the bed.

"You will have to get used to favouring your left hand for the time being, just while this one heals up."

Harry just nodded in response, not trusting himself to speak, especially not about his hand and the injury upon it. The cause of which was bringing back a lot of guilt and pain, his chest tightening as he couldn't help but think of the wand that had burned him so horribly. His gaze flickered over to the bedside table, to where he had spotted a bundle of blue cloth the day before in his delirious state. He saw it again. The size and shape of whatever was concealed under the cloth matched his suspicions. The wand was definitely there, kept both out of view and yet in plain sight.

He stared ahead at the windows, the curtains having been pulled closed, blocking the view. It muted the intensity of the daylight, but it was still bright in the room. He wanted to see the view, but couldn't bring himself to ask. Asking Remus to open the windows only made it more apparent how weak and pathetic he was in his current state. He was retreating away into himself, shying away from anything that brought home just how miserable his condition was.

Just how trapped he was…

Weak.

Remus saw the look on Harry's face, the hollowness in his eyes as he stared unseeing. He leaned over Harry, putting his hands on his shoulders gently.

"Talk to me, Harry. Don't retreat away," he urged, his eyes searching every inch of Harry's face, but Harry couldn't look at him. His breathing was getting shorter and sharper. His chest was getting tighter.

"Breathe… just breathe…"

Harry closed his eyes, the misery rising higher and higher. Breathe… all he could do was breathe. Breathe and talk. What else? He was just as helpless as he had been. He might not be silenced or chained to a wall, but he was stuck in his worthless, weak body with freedom so close and yet so far… how was this better?

"I know it's hard… I know… but you'll be better soon. You're already so much better than you were."

"But I can't… move," Harry gasped out, "I can't…do anything. I can't… I'm so…" He had to get it out. "I'm so weak." There. As he said it, tears burned in his eyes and his shame cracked out of him.

"Harry… your body hasn't wasted away while you were unconscious. Once you shake off the effects of the burnout, you'll be perfectly mobile. I know… it's distressing right now and I'm sorry… but please, trust me and let me help you. Don't suffer in silence."

He drew in a deep breath. He didn't want to suffer in silence. He had done plenty of that. He swallowed, his throat thick with unshed tears. He sniffled, feeling a lurch of embarrassment at breaking down in front of Remus. His emotional state was so unstable.

"One thing I can tell you need is to get out of this bed before you try to throw yourself out of it." Remus smiled and leaned back, taking his hands from Harry's shoulders. Harry looked up at him, surprised at his suggestion.

"Out of bed? But I thought I have to take it easy?"

"You will be taking it easy. Here… I'll show you." Remus stood up and went to fetch the wheelchair. Harry cringed the moment he saw where he was heading.

"I… I'm not sure…"

"It's up to you, of course, if you'd rather not, but wouldn't you like to get out of this room and see the house? Ron and Hermione are probably still asleep, but Dora will be up. She'd love to see you."

Harry scrutinsed the wheelchair, wondering where on earth it had come from. Was it a normal thing to have in a holiday home? Perhaps Remus transfigured a normal chair into one. He ran his gaze over the large wheels with the rails that could be used to manoeuvre the chair. Harry had never used a wheelchair himself, but he had seen enough to know how they worked. He had never seen one in the magical world though.

"I… didn't know wheelchairs were a thing in our world."

"Magic can treat many physical ailments that muggle medicine cannot, it is true. But wizards can be seriously hurt, as you well know. We too will need to stay off our feet so we can get better, yet still need to get about. It's just not for as long."

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. Remus came over to him and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder, causing Harry to look up to him. He saw the intensity of the man's concern for him and he bowed his head, the shame blooming in response.

"Here goes." Remus pulled the bedsheet from Harry completely, exposing his legs. Between them, they swung Harry around and he bent his legs over the edge of the bed. He creaked himself into a proper sitting position. He caught Remus waving his wand and he lifted up from the bed. He had a moment of panic as he floated up before realising that Remus was levitating him to the chair. He forced himself to relax, his face flushing again as he was manoeuvred around. He didn't protest, knowing that it had to be done.

He settled down into the chair. The leather was cold through his unfamiliar garments. He rested his arms on the padded arms, reaching around to feel the wheels and touch the rings which he could use to move himself. He gripped the left wheel, pushing it. The chair veered to the right. He went to grab the right wheel, but stopped, looking at the bandage wrapped around his hand.

"Try to avoid using that hand for anything strenuous, Harry. It needs to heal." Harry sighed, frustrated. So much for moving himself on his own. He laid his hands on his lap, feeling distinctly foolish as he just sat there, waiting to be pushed around. He turned stiffly, wincing a little as his shoulders spasmed.

"How is it?"

"A bit weird," Harry admitted, "everything is a bit weird."

"Come on. I ought to check on Dora. I believe she said something about cooking breakfast which… could end in disaster. I'd rather my wife not burn down our unfairly luxurious hideout."

All the discomfort and embarrassment that Harry felt towards being wheeled out of the bedroom evaporated when he saw what lay beyond the door. Remus calling the place unfairly luxurious made sudden sense. The entrance hall was bright and airy with a twin marble staircase that looked more appropriate in a manor than in a holiday retreat. A sparkling, ornate chandelier hung as a centrepiece, the crystals catching the sunlight and casting off a thousand twinkling fractuals onto the white marble.

Everything was whites and silvers, bright and beautiful… heavenly. Harry couldn't help but be strangely reminded of Fleur's hair. There was something very 'veela' about the overall place. Like there was some enchantment in the air that made it all feel more like a fantasy and too good to be true. The wheels of his chair squeaked loudly on the marble, a problem immediately fixed with a cushioning charm on the tires. He was smoothly pushed through the entrance hall, looking around wildly to take in as much as he could.

"It… it's so…bright." Harry said as Remus brought them through the dining area. A long table of light wood dominated the room set with chairs clad in white and silver upholstery. The windows were open and the white drapes were billowing on a faint breeze. It was all so divine.

Thankfully Tonks hadn't burned down the kitchen. Compared to the rest of what Harry had seen of the villa, the kitchen looked the most normal, but he didn't pay it much attention, looking instead out to the windows that looked out onto the view beyond. He drank it in with the same hungry intensity that he had before when he saw the view out of his bedroom. This time, he couldn't just see it. The patio doors were open. He could hear it and feel it. The warm breeze rolled in, ruffling his hair and clothes. He could hear birdsong, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.

It was real.

"Wotcher, Harry!"

He beamed at the voice, turning in his chair to see Tonks, bustling around as she extracted herself backwards out of what he gathered was the larder. His suspicion was confirmed when she emerged fully with a tower of bread rolls.

"Oh Merlin… hold on." Remus moved to help, taking the top rolls from her tower of bread and setting them down on the table before she lost them all to the injustice of gravity.

"Thanks, Remy."

Harry gave a choked sound at the nickname, face flushing. He caught a hint of colour in the back of Remus's neck as he liberated the rolls from his wife. She planted a kiss on his cheek. "My knight in shining armour."

"Remy?" Remus asked in a weak voice.

"Don't like it?" Tonks asked, throwing a wink over to Harry. "I thought it was very appropriate. Very french."

"Just because you have a ridiculous name doesn't mean you have to make mine ridiculous."

"Ouch, Remy. Ouch."

Harry found himself smiling at the exchange. It was so… normal. He hadn't seen both of them together as a couple, not unless he counted his birthday, which he couldn't as they had been there all of five minutes before the Minister appeared. Watching them, he felt truly happy for them that they, at least, had found some measure of normality. Something as close to peace as they could achieve. His smile slid away.

We can never know peace, not while he is out there.

Tonks had rushed over to the kitchen counter, her wand out. Eggs were zipping out of a box and spinning in a threatening circle.

"How do you like your eggs, Harry?" The question snapped Harry out of his morose thoughts. "Oh… you do like eggs?"

"Um." He was suddenly wishing that he was back in bed. "Sure and however really. No preference." He then paid a bit more attention to her hair. He lifted his left hand to his own, touching the unruly tips and his face burned bright red as he worked out that she had chosen to make her hair like his. Thankfully she hadn't also made her eyes green, but he was still immensely embarrassed.

"Right. I'm getting out of the way before I become a casualty of breakfast," Remus swooped away from Tonks as the eggs came dangerously close to his head.

"Someone… say 'breakfast'?" A very familiar voice called out from the entrance hall. Harry leaned back in his chair, looking behind Remus to see Ron hopping off the last stair, stretching his arms up as he yawned. His hair was a mess, almost putting Harry's to shame. He plodded over, hunched, ruffling his hair in an attempt to look more presentable. Ron was not a morning person, after all.

The moment Ron reached the kitchen, he froze when he saw Harry, waiting awkwardly in his wheelchair, watching the breakfast shenanigans unfold while stuck in his seat, unable to move from it.

"Hi," Harry said, stiffly turning in his chair, offering a feeble excuse of a smile.

"Hi," Ron returned, taking in the scene quickly, before entering the room. "You… you're out of bed." He looked over to Remus, then back to Harry, apparently stunned that he was well enough to not be catatonic.

"I'm not sleeping so… no need to stay in it, I guess." Harry awkwardly fiddled with his bandage, not meeting Ron's questioning look.

"Wotcher, Ron - eggs?"

"Oh yeah, thanks Tonks," Ron took a cautious step, his gaze ranging over the wheelchair, then landing on Harry's legs, his bare feet placed on the foot rests, trembling a little. Harry was shaking. Ron moved to his friend protectively at once.

"You alright there, mate?"

The concern in his voice made Harry's gaze snap up. Ron came over, putting a hand on the back of his chair as if shielding him.

"Yeah, glad to be not horizontal," Harry said, deflecting. He gave Ron a grateful look. There was no pity in the way his friend looked at him, just genuine concern.

"Yeah, I bet… but just, I dunno, take it slow."

"Going slower than this is physically impossible," Harry cracked a dry, self-deprecating smirk. Remus caught it, sharing a look with Tonks.

"Looks like they've got things covered. D'you want to sit over there for a bit?" Ron jerked his thumb over to where a table was set up by the patio door, looking out to the terrace. Harry glanced over at Remus and Tonks, then up to Ron. He gave a nod, knowing what he was agreeing to. Ron's ears were red as he grabbed the handles of Harry's chair and pushed him over to the table. He parked him at the end that looked out to the view and hovered at his side for a bit, unsure what to say. Harry gave him a smile but he was still incredibly humiliated by having to be moved around like luggage.

Harry leaned forwards, resting his hands on the table top, letting out a small sigh as he stretched out his back. He glanced over as Ron pulled out a chair and settled down, looking over at the terrace.

"Bloody weird, isn't it? The… weather."

Harry's brows lifted.

"The weather?"

"Yeah. It's so… sunny," Ron fiddled with his fingers, "like it's summer."

"Good quidditch conditions," Harry said, staring at Ron as if he had spouted a second head. Ron was talking about the weather? Was he that nervous?

"Yeah, no cross-winds." Ron smiled, relaxing a little, glancing side-along to Harry. "You know… the charms extend out fairly far. Could do some flying… contained flying. In a very small circle."

"Hmm," Harry didn't really want to think about flying when he wasn't even able to stand on his own two feet in his condition. "You have a broom you can use?"

"Oh. Right," Ron rubbed the back of his neck, "I don't think Hermione packed a broom. Just an entire library and every coat that we own between us."

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked, peering over to the entrance hall that was visible through the dining area.

"Asleep, I think. Her door was shut." Ron gave a shrug. Cups and saucers then settled down in front of them. Both of them drew back. Remus swept over, joining them, levitating the pot of tea which he willed to fill their cups. A jug of milk popped into existence on the table, followed by a pot of sugar lumps. Ron took it all in his stride, yawning as he dropped two sugars into his tea and then poured himself some milk.

"Sugar, Harry?" Remus asked. Harry lifted his head, blinking. He licked at his lips, realising how thirsty he was. He eyed the cup in front of him, the tea steaming.

"Could… could I just have some water?"

With a wave of his wand, Remus conjured up a glass and it filled with water immediately. Harry swallowed, not sure what to do. He flexed his left hand. His grip was stronger than it had been the day before and he had much more mobility in his arms. He appeared to have shaken off some of the weakness he felt in his muscles, the nerves responding from their slumber. He shot a cautious look over to Remus, surprised that the man wasn't telling him to take it easy or offering to help him as he had done yesterday when Harry hadn't been able to lift his arms properly. He reached out for the glass, wincing as his forefinger grazed the cold surface, the exposed nail bed stinging at the contact. He curled his fingers around the glass and lifted it, gasping in relief as supported the weight without dropping it.

It felt monumental. The water was more than refreshing and sustaining. It was liberating. It tasted of life and freedom. Of a world outside the shackles and pain and fear. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the moment, the feeling of the water rushing down his throat, soothing and cooling. His dismay at his condition was retreating. He was recovering. His magic was returning. His tormented body was healing.

He drained the water and set the glass down, taking a deep breath and opening his eyes. He looked up and saw Ron and Remus watching him. His face burned a little, embarrassed. Then he heard a sound behind him and looked over his shoulder, seeing Hermione smiling at him. He smiled back.

AN: I know... it's a nowhere chapter. I know it's a mess. I wanted to publish what I have as it's been a while since I updated. I know where I want this to go and steering it in that direction is a challenge that I didn't expect. Just think of this as a weird interlude thing and that plot is just hiding around the corner.

Happy new year!