A.N. Thank you all for waiting this long! I realize that the last few chapters haven't had much happiness at all, but things should look up for Harry within the next few. Also, I now have a beta! Thank you, DaniPotterLovesGod!

I don't own Harry Potter.

The next morning, Harry was woken by Madam Pomfrey for breakfast. Although he tried to make her understand that he wanted to feed himself, she still insisted upon bringing every bite up to his mouth herself.

"You should only use your hands when absolutely necessary, Mr. Potter," she reasoned.

He pouted while eating, until he remembered the events of the previous night. Suddenly, being fed like a baby didn't feel humiliating, compared to what he had been threatened into vowing during the night. He went over the memory, wondering if there really had been a way out of making the vow. But he couldn't think of one. Nothing had been around him for him to make noise with, and the girl had taken his whistle. Not to mention that he had been practically blind, unable to see anything that would cause a noise.

Madame Pomfrey tore him from his musings as she transfigured his pajamas into school robes resembling a cleaner version of what he had been wearing the previous day.

"I'm letting you out of the Hospital Wing for the day, but I want you back after dinner tonight. You aren't to try lifting anything, and try to protect your arms. Alright?" she ordered, looking directly into his eyes to ensure that he got the message. He nodded, taking a deep breath. Leaving the Wing meant seeing the Slytherins. On the bright side, he would be surrounded by his friends and not be bored. He wouldn't be able to "talk" either way, but at least he'd have company if he left.

"I think your friends will be here any moment. Breakfast has just finished in the Great Hall, and I recall them saying that they'd be here to see you this morning." Harry again nodded.

"I'll fire-call Horace to get him started on that Skele-grow," she said, turning to enter her office. But she stopped and turned back to him. "Mr. Potter, let this incident be a lesson to you. You, more than anyone else, need to protect your hands and arms. I am well aware of the added value they have for you. Try not to get them crushed by a bludger in your wild Quidditch matches." Harry nodded, and she finally disappeared into her office.

Harry slumped on the edge of the bed, waiting for Hermione and Ron. He had to figure out some way to communicate to them what had happened. There had to be something that the Slytherin girl from the previous night had overlooked. He just had to find it.

He closed his eyes and submerged himself in his memories. He really had no wish to relive his experiences from the night before, but if he could separate himself from the pain of the memory and simply look at them analytically, he may notice some detail he could use to his advantage.

He pulled the wanted memory to the forefront of his mind and let it play out, seeing the Slytherins approach his prone form, hearing them taunt him as they sent varied spells at him, lying on the floor…

The floor! Spells left marks, as proved by the scorched walls of the astronomy tower. There should be some evidence of magic on the floor where Harry had lay, in addition to the blood that had surely seeped through his robes from where he had been cut. He had no memory of the Slytherins Scourgifying the floor, and it was still early in the day. If he could get there soon enough with Ron and Hermione, they may be able to put the pieces together.

He grinned triumphantly. This was it, he was sure.

A few minutes later the Hospital Wing door creaked open, and Hermione slipped into the room, followed by Ron.

"How are you, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged in reply.

"Ah, there you two are," Madame Pomfrey said, coming from her office. "I'm releasing Mr. Potter for the day, but I want him back tonight. Make sure he doesn't strain his arms and hands. If he can help it, he shouldn't use them at all."

"We'll watch him, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione assured, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Harry. Predictably, he bristled at the idea of having to be looked after, but he could hardly protest.

"Good. I'll see you later, Mr. Potter," the medi-witch said, and then bustled back to her office.

Harry rolled his eyes at his friends as he slid off the cot and gingerly placed his wand in his pocket, with difficulty because of the splints.

"I hope Slughorn hurries with that skele-grow. I'd hate having all those things on me." Ron said, gesturing to Harry's arms. Harry nodded in agreement, and then started walking purposefully out of the infirmary. He was going to find his way back to that room by retracing his route to the astronomy tower. Ron and Hermione would, he hoped, catch on that he wanted to show them something and follow him.

For the first few corridors, they walked as a group, Ron and Hermione chattering, with Harry giving the occasional nod to appear as if he were paying attention to the conversation. But when he suddenly detoured from the usual route to the Gryffindor tower, Ron and Hermione stopped dead in their tracks.

"Harry? The tower is this way," Hermione called. Harry kept walking, even though he nodded to show he heard.

"Harry?" Ron called. Harry ignored him. Come on, follow me.

Harry smiled when he heard footsteps rushing to catch up to him.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, forgetting that Harry would be unable to answer. Harry just gave him a knowing look and nodded to the corridor ahead. Ron would simply have to be satisfied with that answer for the moment.

Several corridors later, Harry came to a stop. This was where he had been ambushed. He was certain. So, if he were right, the corridor the Slytherins had taken would be down the left and to the right…

He walked forward, glancing distractedly around.

"Harry, are you looking for something?" Hermione inquired, noticing his questing demeanor. He looked over his shoulder and nodded.

"What?" she wondered aloud, as Harry found the corridor he was looking for and ducked into it. Ron and Hermione followed, confused.

Five minutes later, Harry came to the room. He waited for his friends to catch up, and then he gingerly pushed the wooden classroom door open.

It hadn't been touched.

Harry grinned and moved further into the unused classroom.

"Why are we here, mate?" Ron asked, bemused.

Hermione, however, was frowning at the peculiar arrangement of the chairs in the center of the room. Harry took her hand and led her into the circle of chairs, wanting her to see the scorch marks and the dried blood on the floor. He wasn't disappointed, for she spotted the marks immediately.

"Ron, come here!" she gasped. Her finger reached down and touched the blood, while Ron came over curiously. He frowned when he saw the stains.

"Blood?" he asked. Hermione nodded, and then looked to Harry.

"Is this yours?" She asked. Harry nodded, and she frowned.

"So you didn't fall down the stairs." She surmised, and Harry again nodded encouragingly. All she had to do was connect the dots…remember his fear of the Slytherins.

"What happened?" Ron wondered, not actually asking, as he knew Harry couldn't answer.

"Harry can tell us once his arms are healed." She said, but Harry shook his head.

"Why not?" She asked. Harry's reply was just a steady stare, as he couldn't think of any way to explain the vow. He'd have to figure out some other means of communicating what had happened, then. And he'd have to find it soon.

...

Back in the common room, Harry sat with his friends while they did their weekend homework. They had a massive essay to write for Transfiguration, another essay for Potions, and some charts to fill out for Astronomy, in addition to more assignments that Hermione knew but Harry couldn't keep track of. Harry wondered how he'd get it all done, as he couldn't very well work on most of it then.

Instead, he preoccupied himself with memories of his parents. He hadn't had much time to "look through" them, but now he had more time than he needed.

"You're not a very good artist, Padfoot," James Potter commented in one memory. He was looking over Sirius's shoulder as Harry's godfather tried to draw a simple picture of a broom. Sirius grinned.

"I'm better than you are!" he teased. Lily entered the room, which seemed to be a kitchen. The table they gathered around was circular and plain wood.

"I think Harry is better than both of you, and he's only ten months old," she joked. Her eyes found Harry, who realized that in this memory he was seated in a sort of highchair, with crayon stubs scattered in front of him.

James looked to his son with fondness.

"He does seem to enjoy this. What do the Muggles call those things again?"

"Crayons, James," Lily replied. "I used to use them as a child."

"They're very difficult to use," Sirius commented, his tongue poking out as he tried to use a thick crayon to draw his broomtail.

"They're not meant to draw with, Sirius. They're just to add color," Lily explained. "For lines, Muggles use pencils or pens."

"Confusing," Sirius muttered, and James snorted.

"How do Muggles remember what to use for what?" He asked.

"I suppose it is simply normal for them," Lily said dryly. "Just like quills were a new concept for me when I entered Hogwarts."

"I admit…quills do take a while to learn how to use. But they still seem simpler," James mused.

"That's because you grew up with them," Lily said, tapping her husband's nose with a fingertip playfully. Harry's attention turned back to the "art" he was attempting as a baby. It really was just a mess of scribbles, but it had made him happy to see all the colors streaking together.

Baby Harry grabbed another crayon stub and hurled it away. It hit Sirius' parchment and skidded, leaving a long blue streak across the drawing. Sirius threw his hands up in frustration.

"That's it! Even Prongslet is against me!" James laughed, while Lily scooped up Harry.

"He's just trying to help, I'm sure," she chuckled. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry pulled himself from the memory, sighing. How he wished he could have had the opportunity to truly know them. These memories were wonderful, but they weren't like the ones he truly remembered. They felt more like videos to pull out and watch, not personal experiences.

Suddenly, an aspect of the memory struck Harry. Drawing. That was it! The vow had stipulated written words, signs, and memories to be the banned methods. That didn't include drawn pictures.

That was how he could communicate the Slytherins' crime and the vow! He just had to draw a few pictures and show them to his friends. They would be able to piece it together, and then they could help him plot his revenge.

He deflated when he realized his setback. He wouldn't be able to draw until his hands had been healed. Still, at least he had thought of a way to get past the vow.

He smirked. Tomorrow he would be healed, and the first thing he would do would be to plot his payback, Ron and Hermione at his sides.

At dinner that night, Harry was surprised when Hedwig swooped down and dropped a letter onto his plate. He patted her awkwardly while trying to break the seal on the envelope with a single splinted hand. Ginny noticed his struggle and finally took the letter from him, broke the seal, and handed it back. He smiled in thanks, and then turned his attention back to the letter. It was from Remus.

Harry,

I have only just heard about your incident, and I wanted you to know that I was heartbroken to hear of it. How are you faring? Well, I hope? Mrs. Weasley told me that you and your friends had worked out some sort of language using your hands, so that you are not without means of communicating. When I see you next, could you try to teach it to me, so that I can still understand you? I know that we do not see each other often, but I treasure the times I do get to see you.

I'm so sorry I haven't been in contact sooner. I was unfortunately involved in things that I cannot discuss in a letter, but I wanted to let you know that I will see you during the Christmas holidays, provided you come to headquarters. I believe that the Weasleys shall all be there, and Ms. Granger was seeking permission from her parents as well.

Hoping I'll see you soon, Moony.

Harry frowned thoughtfully and slipped the letter into his pocket. He had begun to wonder why Remus hadn't contacted him yet, but obviously Remus had been busy doing something for the Order. Maybe Harry would find out what it was over the holidays.

That night at the Infirmary, Madame Pomfrey told Harry that the skele-grow would be ready in the morning. Harry sighed in relief. Soon, it would all be over. He allowed the medi-witch to help him get settled in "his" cot. He didn't let her take the whistle from around his neck, however. He had been caught once without it. It wasn't going to happen again.