A/N: Here it is, the second to final chapter of Orphaned Slave. I still have no idea how the response is going to be, as I've left this story in the process of over a year now with no new addtion. I'm sorry for the delay, I really am, but I would not have been so undedicated without a reason, and this year has left me with many serious ones. I'll try and hold the promise to make the last chapter sooner, and worthwhile. Thank you to everyone that has been keeping up with this story so far, and their patience for all the delays. Sorry again.

Magic Moment

Bolting upright in bed, Harry threw off the covers and pressed his ear to the cupboard door. There it was, the noise hammering down the stairs. Excitement and fear tore through him. He didn't know why.

It was six-forty when he pried the door open and checked about for any sign of movement. The faint echo of a television hit his ears from the living room. He took this as his chance to sneak down the hallway and step quietly up the steps, peeping around the corner before heading towards the sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He almost leapt out of his skin when he saw someone there, knocking away at the pane. The man's face lit up when he saw Harry was looking at him, and beckoned him over with fervour. Uncertainly, the boy made sure that no one was lingering upstairs and opened the window a crack. How strange this was!

"Hello there," the man whispered. "I am so sorry...I frightened you."

"Well, yes...but it's okay," Harry answered, very surprised, but also very thrilled. The man from a first impression had a friendly looking face, with crinkles around the eyes, from smiling a lot. He reminded Harry a little of the man in the garden who had found his watch.

"It is a little late, isn't it? I'm sorry if I woke you up, but I had to wait until dark...I forgot at the last moment that young children need sleep..."

"Oh, that's okay," Harry said again, taking a while to draw all of this in. "I...wasn't tired."

He opened the window a little wider, and almost leapt out of his skin again. The man's eyes and mouth were round and hanging open in shock. He choked on a tiny croak of horror as he stared at Harry.

"Shrouds alive!" he exclaimed. "What have you done to yourself, boy? Your nose!"

Harry faltered on a pause. He had forgotten all about the covering on his nose. He touched it, as though hearing of it for the first time, and moaned uncomfortably at the touch. He coughed and grimaced.

"Oh, this was...an accident. I fell and hit it - "

"Is it broken?" The man sounded very worried.

Harry nodded. "I can't breathe very well through it. That's why I sound funny."

The man was grumbling under his breath. Harry thought that he could see something being wrung through his hands, but it was too dark to tell. He sighed heavily and looked back into Harry's eyes.

"Did those Mug – did those people inside that house do it to you?"

"No!" Harry said, too fast and too urgently. "They're not mugs, and...it was an accident. I fell and hit it on the radiator. It's fine, really..."

The man was peering at him, as though inspecting it. "Do they have any part in this heinous crime?"

Harry choked on a grunt. Was he being ignored on purpose? Could this person somehow see through his fake stories and lies? There was something unexplainable about him. He longed to lean out further and see how the man was this high from the ground, but he was being blocked.

"There is no - "

"This is disgraceful. How could they let this happen to you?"

"Well, it was an accident," Harry said for the third time, wishing he could be allowed to finish speaking once in a while.

"Perhaps, but you were under their care," said the man angrily. "How could they let this happen...to you? You, of all people!" He coughed, having said all of this in one breath tired him a little.

Harry looked down at the pane and shut his eyes. "I'm nothing special."

There was an uncomfortable moment. The silence was broken by the low chuckling from outside, and the faint coughing. Harry didn't look up, or say anything. He wondered a little why he was being laughed at...he didn't think it was all that funny.

"So modest, aren't you?" the man laughed.

Harry lifted his head up and frowned. "Not really."

"Is this what they've been telling you? That you're nothing special?"

Harry laughed weakly. "It feels like that."

"Most of the time?"

"Every time."

The man cursed. Then apologised. "I am sorry...I didn't intend for that to - "

"It's fine," said Harry, trying not to sound as though he was laughing.

"Do they plan on taking you to a hospital of some sort?" asked the man, leaning over the window pane as though trying to see if there was anyone there.

Harry shook his head and did the same. "I don't think so. They called the doctors around here and they did everything. I don't think there's anything left to do."

There was a lengthy silence which was broken by the man's faint coughing.

"How long?" he asked, "until you are well?"

"They told me it could take weeks – a few months," Harry replied.

The awareness of what he would have to put up with had only just come to mind. A few months. He would have to go back to school, with this on his face. Everyone laughing at him; more complaining towards his guardians. He couldn't see any hope of it stopping. His aunt and uncle were certainly not going to take it easy on him either.

The man shook his head sadly, as though receiving Harry's thoughts. "Not a pleasant time that lies ahead, is it? You know, it is terrible the way you are treated. So young, and such a high standard in a person, too!" He chuckled at the confused look on Harry's face at the last comment. "You should fight back."

"Fight?" Harry squeaked.

"Give them what for! Show them who is boss! After all, without you, they probably wouldn't be here - "

"I – I'm eight!" Harry protested wildly, heat growing over his face, wanting to flap his arms to prove his point. He covered his ears with the base of his hands and groaned softly. "Ohh – why does everyone keep saying these things to me?"

Now the man seemed frightened. "I – I have made you uncomfortable..." he stammered, eyes wide.

"No, it's not - "

"I should be punished... I have no right to give orders towards you, I should be taking them... all of what you have brought me and I fling it back into your hands like it was nothing! I, among others owe our lives... and listen to me..."

Harry stared at the man for a long time, feeling his heart beating soundly in his torso. What was he talking about? What he had... brought him? He was in his debt? Since when? This man was a complete stranger.

"You don't owe me anything," Harry said, his eyes darting to the side. It had occurred to him for the first time how this man was actually holding himself up... they were on the upstairs hallway, after all...

The man's eyes brimmed with tears. "How can you say that? So kind..."

"But," Harry began, trying to find the right words without offending anyone, "I – I don't even... know you. How can you owe me something when I've never met you before?"

He watched the strange man daub at his eyes with his handkerchief, and felt his head spin. This wasn't another dream, was it? Was he somehow connected to the other man in the garden, who also knew a scary heap of information about him?

"And he was... bowing," Harry said aloud, "to me."

"What?" the man asked, through a case of sniffles. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Oh," Harry stuttered quickly, not realising that he had spoken at all, "nothing."

He jumped as the man placed trembling fingers on his shoulder, almost as if he were daring himself to do it. He suddenly seemed a complete wreck, overthrown with emotion. Through his confusion, Harry felt sorry for him.

"You have done so much, and it is time someone did not take it for granted," the man said softly, strenuously gazing into Harry's eyes.

Harry swallowed. He was not familiar with that phrase. "What does that mean?"

"I should not be doing this for you," the man whispered, in an equally shaky voice, "but I think it is high time that you are given the respect you deserve." He kept looking back over his shoulder, in case anyone was watching him. His fingers were still trembling as he reached out towards the young boy's face.

Harry moved back. "That's all right..."

"So unselfish... wanting to suffer the pain alone - "

Violent impulses shot through Harry's legs run, run down the stairs! , but he was frozen in place. Was this really happening? Why did the man want to touch his face like this? Suffering the... pain... alone?

"I... don't understand," he began, "Wait – wait! My nose, its broken – please, don't touch it, please!"

He let out a gasp as he felt something cold and solid touch the bridge of his nose, and he shut his eyes firmly from fear, preparing himself for the pain that was to hit. A heat as hot as a tiny flame spread through the tip of his skin, and he felt as though his face was stretching – pulling…

"Why...?" he began, but was stopped by a sudden click, and then the movement had stopped too. He opened his eyes again, and found himself facing away from the window. In the strange sensation, he must have been spinning around, lost in the questions and his blind daze. Slowly, he removed his hands from his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed that he had been gripping them.

Something felt different.

He rushed to the upstairs bathroom, desperate and frightened. What exactly had that man done to his face? Nothing could be worse than going to school with a...

Cringing at the very thought, Harry carefully peeled off the bandages. He half expected to see a mangled mess of skin, lumps and blood. But, as the wrappings slipped away...

"No way," he whispered.

He pressed one hand firmly against the mirror, the other flying to touch his nose. It... was healed. Completely healed. No markings, no funny shifting of the bone – nothing. Harry couldn't even tell that he had broken it at all.

A miracle? Some kind of trick?

Perhaps that man had some strange kind of mystical power about him... like the fortune tellers the children had mentioned at the fair. Or... a magician, or some witch doctor, or even... even – but it couldn't have been. Uncle Vernon had said that there was no such thing, but – but –

A wizard? Was it really possible?

Harry breathed slowly, tension brewing inside of him. Had he been healed by some sort of spell? Is that why the man said that he wanted to help him? He touched it again, expecting aftermath pain. None came. A wizard...

"Magic?" the boy whispered to himself. It sounded ridiculous, but... he couldn't think of any other explanation. To his surprise, he felt more excited than frightened now, despite the fact that... a possible wizard... He felt a flow of heat wash over his skin, making his feet feel numb upon the bathroom floor.

Then he stopped, clutching the edge of the sink in his surprise.

He had just breathed... through his nose.

It took a while for Harry to adjust to this new feeling, his given sense returning to him after such a long absence. Everything felt so new and fresh... it filled the boy with an overpowering urge of joy, relief, and confusion all at once. He took in one long breath through his nostrils, catching the lemon in the bathroom cleaner and the distinct smell of roses from the garden.

It all felt strange. Strangely wonderful... that he was cured of his cold, just like that. He wanted to shout with happiness and just stand there in silence, all at once.

All he could think of was that somehow – and it was possible, that... magic may have been behind his new healthiness. And all because of that man - perhaps even the same man who was in his garden the other night (it had been very dark), had just –

Harry felt his feet leading him in a dazed walk back to the hallway window. He felt dizzy, but not in a sick way... or was it?

"Thank y - "

The boy stopped mid sentence when he realised there was no one there to hear his gratitude. An open window. Harry leaned out over the side, wondering if the man was just hiding under the sill. Nothing.

He sighed unhappily, drawing himself back into the house. So quickly he had left, almost as much as he had arrived. Harry reminded himself rather miserably how busy he probably was. Probably no time for goodbyes, either. In his gut, he wished that he could have stayed a little longer. For one second, his stomach was filled with the common feeling of absence.

The absence of knowing that his chance of a change – his freedom (and he didn't know why that he used that word, because that was how it felt) had been waiting there, summoning him to take his chance. And he hadn't.

"I should be punished... I have no right to give orders towards you, I should be taking them…all of what you have brought me and I fling it back into your hands like it was nothing! I, among others owe our lives..."

Him? Gawky Harry Potter, giving orders? He couldn't remember giving anyone anything, especially something as important as others owing their lives to him. Maybe the man was mistaken. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe Harry had nothing to do with any of this, and the man was only confused and old, and had a short memory or something.

It was because of that, Harry understood, placing his fingers over his forehead. His scar caused much attention in strangers. The man's eyes had been on it the moment he came to the window. Then he was right. It was Harry he had wanted to talk to. He saw the scar and said nothing. Only stared... as though he had proven himself right.

What exactly was it that this man owed him? It could be anything. Anything.

"But," Harry whispered to himself, thinking back to the man's words again, "what's so great about... me?"

Nothing but silence, except for the low, dull whistle of the wind, replied.

:To be concluded:

A/N: Not so much of a cliffhanger this time.. I would not have been forgiven if it had, lol. Read and review if you wish, I appreciate every one of your comments, and believe it or not, even the ones that pester me about my laziness help me in a way. Thanks everyone!