Taking a Break

A/N: For those of you that have read my profile, you can see that I have been well away for the past few months and have left the site for the time being. I managed to write a few bits and pieces while away however, and now I return to you with the seventh chapter of Orphaned Slave! I can tell you now that there will only be two more chapters after this one, the story is almost over!

I promised I would not leave you hanging again, so this time I mean not to dispatch you of a monthly wait. I hope all of you can forgive me :sobs:

AGAIN, BIG HUGS ALL AROUND! ON WITH THE STORY!

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Was it a dream?

That was the thought that flew in and out of Harry's head the next morning. It was the last thing he had said to himself before shutting his eyes for slumber, and it was the first thing he had wondered the moment they had flickered open. His head was spinning...perhaps from the headache, but he couldn't be sure. Lately everything was beginning to become rather confusing for him.

The letter from his teacher had arrived roughly around nine, informing that a detention was waiting for him the first day he returned to school. It never mentioned inside exactly what his punishment was for (creating an unhealthy hazard, or something like that, he couldn't remember).

That was the problem with grown-ups. They could never put things down in black and white for him. Why couldn't she have just said: "Your nephew set school property on fire"?

On the other hand...

He had managed to crawl out of his cupboard to the breakfast table, where he quickly fixed up some leftover pancakes. Although he made much effort when cooking them, nothing could be said for his eating pace.

He picked at them thoughtfully with his fork, thinking about last night. He had put his watch on this morning, ticking like new.

Then it wasn't a dream...

"What's the matter? Daydreaming?" his aunt had snapped across the counters. "You look half-asleep! Go back to bed if you can't handle the sunshine!"

Harry said nothing. His head felt squashed somehow, as if too many ideas and evaluations were being crammed into a space at the same time. No matter how he tried to find an explanation, the whole prospect sounded unusual, extraordinary, and frightening. Whatever way he tried to view it from, there was still a man, in his garden, in the middle of the night.

Who knew his name. Who recognised him...

He pinched his restrain against all backfire, and spoke up in a croaky voice. "There was someone in the garden."

Vernon glanced at him for the first time, squinting across his newspaper with slit, dark eyes and eyeing him up and down. "Say what?" he spluttered quickly.

Harry knew they weren't going to like the sound of this news. They had a thing about uninvited visitors on their property, especially when it came from their eight-year old nephew who rarely lied. He could see that his uncle was pinning all hope that it was a mistake...a silly child's mistake. He carried on.

"Last night. There was someone in the garden. I went out to check. It was a man, with a beard, and a...I – I think it was a cloak."

Now he had caught Aunt Petunia's attention as well. Her just-begun task of washing up the lasting dishes from yesterday's evening immediately slammed to a halt. A dull crash sounded, and she spun in anxious awaiting towards the young boy, her nose turned up in instant questioning and prying. "W-what? What on Earth are you talking about? Someone in the garden? With a cloak?"

She choked a little on the last word.

Harry nodded dumbly, staring at her wide eyes. "Yeah, a cloak."

"What else, boy?" Vernon demanded, his hand slamming on the tabletop as he leaned in closer, his expression stern. "Did he say anything? Do anything?"

Harry picked at his pancakes again, finally folding a small piece into his mouth and chewing on it broodingly, his eyes directing their attention to the ceiling. "Well," he said, "he didn't really do anything. He mentioned that, well...he said that he knew me. I mean, he knew me. He said that it would have been surprising if anyone didn't. Then he bowed before me, and took my hand, saying it was a pleasure to meet me - "

Vernon almost suffocated on a crushed cry of protest. He fell forwards into his chair, his newspaper discarded now on the opposite chair. He shot a worried glance towards Petunia. Harry could see a small trail of sweat beads forming on his brow, but irritatingly, he didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, good gracious," Petunia muttered to herself.

"What else did he say?" his uncle asked again. "What else? Come on!"

Harry thought hard, trying not to let the tomato shade of red on Vernon's face distract him from his memory. He couldn't really understand what they were making such a fuss about. It wasn't as though he was describing this person breaking in next door, or something. His relatives were indeed strange...stranger than they made him believe he was.

"He, um...mentioned about my school," Harry remembered. "He said that I was probably doing really well."

Vernon coughed again. "Any...references? Did he drop any names?"

"Of schools? No, I don't think so."

There was a clash from the kitchen sink. Harry spun around to see Petunia standing quite shakily, with a quivering hand over her heart. He guessed she was relieved, there was a thankful blessing written across her face. He frowned at her, in struck disbelief. They really were acting peculiar this morning.

"Oh, Vernon! Thank goodness," he thought he heard her whisper.

He turned back to his breakfast, shaking his head to himself in disapproval, and slowly cutting off another pancake corner with the side of his fork. It was very annoying to sit there and watch his uncle playing with the corners of his small moustache when he was eating.

Vernon always did this when he was contemplating something, or when he was latching a brainwave to improve his own welfare. He rolled up the newspaper and swatted it down roughly on the chair next to him, reaching out for his teacup and ginger biscuit.

"We should inform the police on this," he said. "Can't have burglars roaming the streets while innocent people sleep, now can we?"

"I think you're absolutely right," his wife agreed, turning herself back to the dirty dishes and pulling up a corner of her rubber gloves. She shook her head of golden hair as she obviously came across something pretty disgusting on one of the crockery pieces.

Harry however, found this out of order and if he had anything to say about it, rather unnecessary. Perhaps the man had merely wandered off and had gotten lost, and it was a primary chance that he had picked up the word 'Potter' from an unknown source. It was quite a popular name.

"That's not fair! He never burgled anything!" he cried out in protest.

"But he might have, if we had kept our guard down!" Vernon retorted. "You see them all the time on that television, they have all kinds of gadgets and whatever, and they have ways to find out who lives where and when they go out – it's always the innocent ones, too! Never rough on the outside...normal people! They're the ones you want to watch out for."

Harry couldn't believe the things his uncle was saying. All the man did was shake his hand! He had found his watch, he had helped him! All good deeds, what was there to turn him in for? He was just kind, possibly confused, and very enthusiastic. When he had placed that pointed hat upon his head, Harry had not run away in fear, or shouted at him.

"Fits like a glove," he had said. There had been some connection there.

Kind, helpful people – and here his uncle was talking about getting them locked up! Harry had instantly felt a friendly aura circling the garden that night, although it may have been rather strange. Either way, something in his bones told him that whoever it was, that stranger...he could be trusted.

"You can't call the police, Uncle Vernon!" he cried.

"I can, and I will! Don't tell me what I can and can't do!"

"But he didn't do anything!"

"He could have bloody well jumped in through this window, murdered us all in our beds and then run off and jolly with all of the best silver!" Vernon roared back, leaning in closer and closer with every word he spoke. His face was now so red that Harry thought he saw steam waves ejecting from it.

Petunia let out another gasp at the thought of her silver being stolen. She had a hard time on her hands right now. The next door neighbour (the one to the left of their house) had just come outside to plant his seedlings, and she was inspecting his methods closely. She found it very unmerciful that their tulip blossoms always came out prize-winning compared to her own.

Yet, she was interested in Vernon's argument. She could see sparks flying, oh! The efforts on living on gossip were exhausting...

"That's rubbish!" Harry snapped back, already on his feet and away from the chair. His pancakes had suddenly lost their interest. "You can't call the police just for what he did! I won't let you!"

"You bloody little – oy!" Vernon's cry arose when his nephew took off from his spot, running as fast as he could without drawing breath to the hallway. It was obvious he had gone to snatch the phone – to prevent his uncle from dialling the emergency number and sending the authorities down to arrest an innocent, old man...

Harry skidded around the corner, his chest already tired from the lack of breathing caused by his cold. He found himself slower this morning, possibly because it was early and he had barely eaten, but nonetheless he heard Vernon approach behind him like a rampaging bull when tormented.

It was a flailing maze of arms; hands flew and snatched at each other when Vernon had finally caught him by the scruff of the neck, pulling back hard on his collar. Harry was amazed he had caught up with him. His fingers flew to his windpipe to prevent it being crushed, trying to make some room between his sweater and his skin...

"Uncle Vernon...let me go," he gasped.

"You stupid, stupid boy!" Vernon shouted, sounding a little winded. "You don't run this house, you don't pay the bills! You don't tell people what to do! If I want to ring the police, I'll damn well do what I please, without interruption!"

"Uncle - "

"WITHOUT...INTERRUPTION!"

"You're choking me..."

Vernon took a moment to place some slack on Harry's clothes, sweat still bristling on his beefy brow and his throat still hoarse from the running, and the yelling. How dare this boy defy his opinion in his own home? He had no right to be strutting around and dishing out the rules!

They never had any problems like this with their Dudders. He was always such a nice, polite young boy.

"We feed you, clothe you, do everything for the likes of you!" he almost bellowed. "But you still like to run around and be in charge! You're eight years old – a child!A SPOILT, STUPID CHILD! You're not even ours! We didn't have to take you in, we could have sent you to the orphanage! The filthy, rattrap orphanage!"

"I wish I was there!" Harry snarled back, the anger from his uncle's words blinding him. He felt a frown on his face, but he couldn't remember pulling one. "I wish I was at the orphanage instead of living with you, you fat, lazy OLD GIT!"

The impact was so sudden, Harry never had time to blink.

He felt himself being pushed away and out of his uncle's hands...the sound of Vernon's angered scream, and the metal radiator pole that greeted his nose as he fell. His head jolted back as he collided with it. The carpet was bristly and sharp against his cheek.

"Huuuhh..." he moaned, confused...the base of his nose throbbing numb.

Petunia screamed. She dashed out into the hall, still with her rubber gloves on. Harry looked up at her through watery eyes. She was wringing her hands, and staring in shock at Vernon's sweaty face.

"Vernon, the boy – what happened!"

"Well, he fell, didn't he? An – an accident, Petunia – he fell!" Harry noticed his voice was now suddenly rather panicky and shrill.

The shock of it all was that Harry couldn't tell if his nose was still attached to his face, it felt so swollen and misplaced. Everything had happened so quickly, he was surprised to even find himself on the floor. He didn't want to move...he just wanted to lie there. He hoped his glasses hadn't broken, for he had heard a faint snap as his head had hit the ground.

The strange thing was, that he sneezed. The last thing he thought he'd ever do.

"God, Vernon – he's bleeding! Quick, phone an ambulance!"

Petunia was in a state of panic. She even looked afraid to move him, for fear of making things worse. She couldn't take her stare away from Harry's eyes...pleading up at her for answers to his fall. Green, like Lily's.

Pleading for help...

"Ambulance?" Vernon choked out, cutting his wife from her thoughts.

"The emergency number! Oh, be quick!"

As Vernon scurried down the hallway, Petunia folded out a small handkerchief and dabbed carefully underneath Harry's nose, mopping up the blood. The boy shut his eyes as another wave of pain crashed around his head, causing the water in his eyelids to spill down his cheeks. He quite felt sick to his stomach.

Perhaps it was the shock that had taken him, and made him silent. He hadn't said a word since his outrage with his uncle. Behind him he could hear plenty of violent gabbing on the phone – Vernon was probably trying to believe it himself that he had actually called the crisis number.

"One of us will have to go with him, Vernon! I just hope that we'll make it back in time before my Dudley comes in from school! He'd be so worried and frightened if he came all alone, and no one was in the house!"

Harry wanted to roll his eyes at the disbelieving humour. Here he was, lying, bleeding and wounded...and all they could think about was Dudley's reaction to the situation. It made him laugh inside. He still was not their first priority. But...perhaps it would have felt strange if they had. He would not have known what to think...it being so unexpected.

It was ten minutes before Vernon returned.

"Why has it taken so long?" Petunia screeched. "All you had to do was type in a number, and say "ambulance please, to this address"...did you forget? Oh, Vernon! I hope you did it right!"

"Well, I panicked," Vernon said. "I asked for the police."

After all that!

So, he had got his own way in the end, even if it had not been to the highest victory he had expected from the start. Through mumbles, Vernon quickly told his wife every detail of the phone conversation, as though proud. He explained how he had humbly apologised to the officer and asked for the medicals instead. Petunia was so shaky that she didn't care what she listened to.

Another fifteen minutes passed before the ambulance arrived. Harry lay there, listening to the sirens as though it were a real emergency, or something from the news channel.

He heard the door opening, distressed descriptions from his aunt and uncle, and then someone else stepping into the hallway in front of him. A man, wearing green overalls bent down to lean over Harry, and carefully supported his head on a soft pressure mat beneath him.

Harry stared. Was it him, or did those eyes on this person look exactly like the eyes in his dream? The man in robes, with the eyes that twinkled...and held out his arms to the weary traveller. He had come so far in that journey, through sky, and water, and brick...

"We are waiting for you, Harry."

"Can you hear me, son?" the man asked kindly. "Can you hear my voice?"

Harry moved his head just enough to nod. His voice sounded clogged with blood.

"Yes."

:To be continued:

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A/N: Heh, I'm such an evil twit. It's not long now before this story is over, I'll be sad to stop writing it but on the other hand it'll give me time to catch up with some of my other works. Again, bash me if you want to, I don't mind.