"So...sneaking out in the middle of the night to see that family. I think I told you not to do that," Vernon said in a dangerously calm voice. He staggered toward his nephew, using the wall to keep himself upright.

"It was an emergency..." Harry started but was slammed up against the wall and was too afraid to continue.

"You were planning your revenge, weren't you?" Vernon shouted furiously into Harry's face. "You think you can pull one over on me? You think you can SCARE ME? I'll SHOW you SCARED."

"No. Please. Don't," Harry gasped out in fright. He shut his eyes and turns his face to the side as his uncle's fist shot toward him. There was searing pain in his cheek and he hit the floor. He opened his eyes again and Vernon was stalking toward him. The heavy man tripped over his own feet and knocked over a table as he righted himself. Alcohol sloshed out of the bottle in Vernon's hand, splashing the bottoms of Harry's trousers.

"How-how DARE you humiliate me!" Vernon bellowed and Harry didn't know if he meant the sneaking out or was blaming his lack of coordination on Harry's magic.

"Please, Uncle Vernon. I'm going back to school tomorrow! People will see!" Harry tried to reason as he scrambled away.

Vernon was beyond reason and the man lumbered toward him. Harry tried to clamber to his feet but a boot connected with his side and he collapsed in shock and pain. Then Vernon was kicking him in the stomach, again and again...

"Vernon?"

With his uncle's foot heavy on his chest, pinning him to the floor, Harry looked over to see his aunt at the top of the stairs.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry pleaded tearfully, "help me please! Get him off me! I can't breathe!"

Vernon's foot pushed harder on his chest and Harry let out a scream of pain.

"Shut up boy!" Vernon growled. "Shut UP!"

Harry's arms flew up to cover his face just in time. Vernon kicked at his arms with his boot.

"Vernon," his aunt's voice came in alarm, "stop hitting his face! We don't need those people banging at our door."

"Let them try to threaten me! I'll kill 'em!" Vernon snarled. He turned to look at his wife. "I could kill them all. I could kill anyone! Nobody will tell me what to do with the boy. Not them or that blasted family or even you! You understand? I could kill anyone!"

Aunt Petunia stared at him for a moment and then nodded with a frown. "Of course you could, Vernon."

"Aunt Petunia, please," Harry begged, his voice shaking in desperation. He knew she would rather Vernon beat up Harry than her or Dudley, but he still had to believe she would keep him from too much harm. She was the only mother he'd ever known. "He's hurting me!"

But Aunt Petunia refused to meet his eye.

"What's going on?"

Dudley came into view beside his mother, clad in his pajamas and a warm dressing gown.

Aunt Petunia turned and tried to usher him back down the hall. "Darling, go back to bed now. Nothing's happening, just go."

But Dudley peeked around her arms and looked down on the scene. "What's going on? Dad?"

"I'm teaching the boy a lesson," Vernon explained, his words slurring. He took another swig of alcohol straight from the bottle. "He's gonna pay for disrespecting me."

"Dad, are you drunk?" Dudley asked in surprise, looking to his mother for confirmation. Aunt Petunia went pale.

Harry couldn't believe they had managed to keep Vernon's drinking problem from Dudley for so long. It was so blindingly obvious! But then Dudley had always been astonishingly self-absorbed.

Vernon's face turned purple and to Harry's utter shock, he stepped over Harry and stumbled toward the stairs. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he bellowed furiously. "I am NOT drunk! Are you DISRESPECTING me?"

Dudley's jaw dropped and Petunia pushed at him to leave. Harry dizzily climbed to his feet and took in deep lung-fulls of air despite the pain doing so caused. Petunia looked down the stairs at her husband. "Darling," she said in horror, "Dudley and I respect you very much. We love you."

Vernon continued up the stairs and Harry stared, unsure of what to do. He wanted to run, but he couldn't just leave Petunia and Dudley. He had never thought Vernon was a threat to anyone else, but it seemed like he was. He forced himself to think through the fog of panic.

It abruptly occurred to him that he had his wand.

His eyes connected with his aunt's as he pulled his wand from his pocket, trying to communicate that he would help, that it would be okay. He could feel the blood dripping down his face and his head was pounding. He held out his wand in his shaking hand, but his mind was blank with fear as he struggled to think of an appropriate spell that would stop Vernon but not leave him dangerously tumbling down the stairs.

Petunia looked from Vernon to Harry and back. "Vernon, the boy!" she suddenly shouted. "He's got his wand!"

Vernon whirled around, nearly tripping down the stairs on his own. Harry froze at the unexpected betrayal.

"Stupify!" Harry yelled.

It didn't work. His hand was shaking too hard and he hadn't gotten the wand movement quite right. It was like he was suddenly a first year again, knowing how the spell should go, but his mind was blanking on how to actually make it work. While his fear around Voldemort had always left his head strangely clear and his hand weirdly steady, around Vernon all his instinct seemed to abandon him and he could only think of running.

His uncle hurled himself down the stairs toward him.

Harry opened his mouth and made a strangled sound. "Petrificus Totalus!"

His wand lit up but did nothing else. The spell failed. Harry didn't know if he had mispronounced it or gotten the wand movement wrong...his only thought was to get away as his uncle lumbered toward him.

He blindly turned and ran, but Vernon grabbed him around the waist and wrestled the wand from his hand. He tried kicking at the bigger man's knee or groin or foot, but he had no shoes on to make the kicks hurt and Vernon was too drunk to register pain anyway.

It happened so suddenly, Harry barely knew what was happening. He just knew that there was a thunderous shattering sound and he was staring at the ceiling and his back was on fire.

His head flopped weakly to the side with a low moan. He was lying in broken glass. The glass table. He'd been thrown through the glass table.

He looked over at his uncle, horrified to see the man trying to snap his wand. But the stick wouldn't break and to Harry's great relief, Vernon tossed it away in annoyance.

Then, Vernon had his ankle and was dragging him across the floor, the glass digging its way into his back, deep into the muscle. Harry screamed in agony, kicking out with his free foot at Vernon's arms, trying to wiggle away. It was no use.

Finally, the movement stopped and he could only stare at the ceiling, focusing on breathing and wishing the pain would just end.

He couldn't scream anymore as Vernon yanked him up by the shirt and threw him into the cupboard.

Harry hit the wall and everything went black.

-

The first thing Harry was aware of was that he hurt...a lot.

He tried to sink back down into the comfort of unconsciousness, but the pain nagged at him and pulled him back to the surface. He reluctantly wrenched his eyes open and found himself staring at the crate under his cot. He was confused but simply lay there until he remembered everything. He couldn't believe how useless he had been the night before. It made him just want to disappear so he didn't have to deal with the shame. He hadn't even been able to cast a spell. What sort of shitty hero was he?

He clenched his jaw and spent a long time just slowly climbing to his feet, taking long pauses to breathe through the worst of the agony. His cupboard was thankfully unlocked and he stumbled through the wrecked living room, eyes searching the rubble. A trained seeker, it didn't take Harry long to find his wand. It was in one piece. He slipped it into his pocket and slowly hobbled to the bathroom.

The shower water burned his wounds, but it cleaned off the blood that caked his body and hair. Tiny shards of glass rained out of his hair and from cuts, but some pieces were in too deep for the water to flush them out.

Bracing himself, Harry tried to pick the glass out of his back, but he couldn't reach. Each time he tried to maneuver his arm around to grab a piece, sparks of pain flared through his whole body. When he finally grasped one in his lower back, his vision swam dangerously when he tried to pull it out. It hurt less to keep it in for now. He'd worry about it later when he had pain-relieving potions to help with the task.

He threw away his bloody, torn clothes and gingerly pulled on cleaner hand-me-downs. The baggy outfit covered all his bodily injuries except for a few fresh bruises and cuts on his face. He wished the Hogwarts curriculum covered healing spells earlier than seventh year.

He practiced moving in front of the bathroom mirror, making sure he could school his face to hide any suffering it caused.

Harry concentrated on walking naturally to the kitchen where he cooked breakfast as usual. Every movement sent waves of pain shooting through his body. The heat from the stove made him feel sick to his stomach and his face began to feel sweaty. He stuck his head in the freezer, taking great gulps of the icy air. He didn't bother sneaking food for himself, already on the verge of throwing up.

It was almost over, though. Very soon, he'd be leaving. He clutched onto that thought desperately.

The Dursleys eventually came down. The only sign that anything unusual had happened the night before was that Vernon was clutching his head, badly hungover, and Dudley was more moody than usual. Instead of glaring at his father, though, he kept shooting Harry malicious looks as if it were his fault. Harry didn't care. He just wanted out of there.

Harry sat stiffly in the passenger's seat of Vernon's car. They drove to the Stensons in silence.

Once they were parked, however, Vernon decided to speak. "Last night could have been much, much worse. Remember that before you even think about saying anything."

Harry nodded stiffly and got out of the car. That was no problem; he never wanted anyone to know how badly he'd failed the night before.

When Kota answered the door, Harry ducked his head and squeezed past her. She was still glowing, chattering on about how thankful she was that her father was going to live. Harry suspected they'd been up the whole night with each other, blissfully talking about their new future as a family. It made him angry with them, which he knew wasn't fair. It wasn't their fault, of course. But he couldn't help it. He had always imagined his sacrifice would be rewarded with that scene including him, but while they had been celebrating he had been left to deal with his too-real nightmares on his own.

As Kota jabbered on happily, following him up the stairs, Harry found himself wanting to scream at her to just shut up.

Kota finally seemed to pick up on his mood while Harry ushered Hedwig into her cage. The owl, of course, immediately realized something was wrong and tried to fly over to his shoulder, but at the panicked look on his face, she changed course and obediently flew to her perch. She hooted softly as if to ask what was wrong.

Kota, though, was the one that could verbalize it. "Is something the matter?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly, shutting his eyes against the pain of lifting his trunk from the floor to the bed, thanking Merlin that he only had a fraction of his belongings weighing it down. Still, he couldn't wait until he had the aid of a train station trolley.

"Harry?" Kota asked worriedly, walking around and pulling his face toward her. Her lips pursed angrily. "What happened? Your face is all bruised! What else did he do? And why? He didn't catch you sneaking out, did he?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered, trying to lift his trunk again. Kota hurried to help him this time.

"Doesn't matter? Harry, we need to take pictures! We can start collecting evidence!" she exclaimed.

"Kota," Harry snapped, "I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"But..."

"I'm going back to school now. Don't say anything to your parents before we leave," Harry demanded sternly. "I just want to get to the train station without him getting mad."

Kota frowned and almost looked like she might cry, but nodded in agreement.

The two carried the trunk downstairs. Harry knew the difficulty of the task showed on his face and was equally aware that Kota was staring at him in pity. So Harry avoided her gaze, pretending he didn't notice.

Harry's heart sank when they found Uncle Vernon on the front walk in a heated argument with Mr. and Mrs. Stenson. Harry and Kota slipped by and loaded his trunk into the back of Vernon's company car. At Harry's urging, Kota went back to her parents. She tried to hug him first, but Harry stepped back and she seemed to understand why.

Harry watched from a distance as Kota tugged on her father's arm and whispered something to him. Mr. Stenson nodded and gestured toward Harry and the car.

"I suppose you need to get Harry to the train station. His friends are, no doubt, waiting." He said it with a tone of warning, a reminder that Harry's friends weren't people to be trifled with.

Vernon sneered and stalked back to the car. Harry hurried into the passenger's seat so his uncle wouldn't just speed off with all Harry's most essential possessions.

Vernon leaned over his nephew to call out through the window. "Don't mess with me again, Stenson. I'm the one in control of the situation!"

He grabbed Harry's shoulder and dug his fingers in right near a piece of glass still embedded in his skin. Harry's carefully constructed exterior shattered and he let out a cry of pain, wrenching himself away from the firm grip.

Mr. and Mrs. Stenson both yelled furiously and started toward the car, but Uncle Vernon sped off.

"See, boy? I always win," he said, far too gleeful for Harry's comfort. Harry just glared out the window, gingerly touching his aching shoulder. Not liking the lack of response, Uncle Vernon's hand shot out and caught Harry's chin, yanking it around to face him.

"You're pathetic, boy. Can't even defend yourself. All this talk about your magic school...where was it? Where was that scary magic? I was waiting to see it!" Vernon laughed cruelly. Harry said nothing and Vernon threw his chin away in disgust. "Your parents would be disappointed to see what a weak coward their son turned out to be." He paused, seemingly proud of himself for being the clear victor. He eyed Harry suspiciously. "And remember what I said about making things worse for yourself by whining to people. You have no right to; you deserved it for your disobedience and for trying to attack me."

"I won't," Harry muttered, turning to stare out the window.

Finally, after one last warning from his uncle not to air the family's dirty laundry, Harry walking into King's Cross Station. It was later than he would have liked and he got to the train as the whistle blew and only a few stragglers were left to jump on. He heaved his trunk onboard with some struggle and made his way down the train until he found Hermione out in the hall talking into one of the compartments.

"What if he misses the train, Ron!" she demanded. "Aren't you even worried?"

"Harry can take care of himself, 'Mione," Ron's voice returned and Harry could almost hear Ron rolling his eyes.

Hermione caught sight of him and gasped. "Harry, what happened?" she demanded rushing toward him and examining his face.

"It's nothing. I got into a fight with Dudley."

Ron's head popped out to see what Hermione was talking about, but he kept back.

Hermione's brows furrowed. "When did you see Dudley? I thought you were staying with the Stensons."

"Ran into him at the park."

She frowned in concern rather than the disapproval Harry had expected.

"I got him back pretty good. Don't worry," he invented, wanting his friends at least to believe he was capable of handling something like this.

She shook her head and carefully took Hedwig's cage from his load. "I don't like that he picks on you."

Harry felt mortified and looked around to see who could have overheard. It was bad enough that Ron had heard, which he must have despite the poor performance he was putting on pretending he hadn't.

"He doesn't pick on me," Harry hissed at Hermione in annoyance. "I'm not a baby. I can take care of myself."

She just sighed. "I know you can, I just wish you didn't have to."

When they got to the compartment, Ron helped lift Harry's trunk onto the overhead shelf while Hermione fed Hedwig a few treats.

They launched into telling stories about their breaks. Harry gently changed his to exclude the Dursleys or Mr. Stenson's cancer, so there was admittedly some invention to his account. They got a kick out of Harry's description of the Stensons' reactions to the whole wizard thing.

Harry pushed the conversation to his friends, feeling tired and lacking the energy to invent a fictional final week to his holiday. He leaned back and listened to Ron launch into a disgruntled tale of Fred and George's holiday antics. The gentle rocking of the train and the sound of his friends' laughter gave him the peace he'd been aching for.

-

Later, Hermione pulled out some Muggle pictures to show Ron it was true that they didn't move at all. Ron kept staring, waiting for one to twitch or sneeze.

"How do they stay still so long though?" he asked in confusion.

Hermione hid a smile.

"Harry will you explain...Oh Ron, look, Harry fell asleep."

Harry was indeed curled up on the opposite bench with his cloak pulled over him.

"Probably a good thing," Ron commented quietly. "Looks like he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages. I don't get it. He usually only looks like this after staying with the Dursleys."

"Well, it was his first nice Christmas outside of Hogwarts and he was a guest at someone's house. Maybe they were all staying up late or he could have been too anxious to sleep. And then he got into that fight with his cousin...I think he got more hurt than he wants to admit. Did you notice how stiff he was holding himself?"

Ron frowned angrily. "I swear, one day I'm going to hex his cousin so hard. That whole family, in fact!"

They both looked over as Harry whimpered softly in his sleep.

Hermione eyebrows sprang up in her Eureka! face. "What if he's been having nightmares? That could be why he's so tired!"

"Hey, Harry," Ron called. He grabbed Hermione's wrist when she started to get up. "Hermione, come on. He doesn't want you hovering over him. Hey mate! Wake up!"

Harry stirred but didn't wake. His face scrunched into a grimace and he let out another small whine.

Ron reluctantly allowed Hermione to go over to their friend. She called his name softly. She noticed a sheen of sweat covered his face and she curiously put a hand to his forehead. "Ron, he's burning up!"

"He has a fever?" Ron asked in concern, getting to his feet.

Hermione shook Harry's shoulder and to their surprise, Harry shot awake with a sharp intake of breath. He started shivering. He winced as he looked up at them.

"What?" he croaked, closing his eyes again. "Are we there?"

"Harry, you're sick," Hermione informed him anxiously.

"No I'm not. I just don't feel well," he muttered sleepily.

"They're the same thing," Ron pointed out.

"No. I'm not contagious. It's nothing." His breathing slowed again. His next words were barely audible. "Can I go back to sleep or are we almost there?"

Hermione was rifling through her suitcase and then darting out of the room so Ron checked his watch. "Yeah, mate, you've got a few hours.

But Hermione marched back in and sat next to Harry and started laying wet pieces of her clothing on his neck and forehead. Harry jerked away and looked up at her in annoyance.

"'Mione, what are you doing?" he asked, pulling a wet t-shirt off his skin.

"I'm cooling you down," she said matter-of-factly. She pulled the wet shirt from his hand and plopped it back onto his forehead.

"You're overreacting," Harry protested.

"Then just let me overreact," she said simply. "You can make fun of me later."

She pulled the cloak off him and Harry curled up even more, shivering.

"Hermione, you're freezing him," Ron observed. He didn't really know how to deal with something like this since his mum had always just fed them fever reducer potions and they'd be almost instantly good as new.

Hermione frowned uncertainly. "Harry are you cold?"

"Yes. No. Both," Harry muttered miserably, his eyes shut once again.

Hermione put the cloak back on him, but kept the wet rags on his face, the water dripping down his skin.

"I feel stupid," Harry murmured.

"You look stupid," Ron teased.

Harry weakly flipped him off but Hermione snatched his hand and tucked it back under the cloak.

Hermione ran her thumb rhythmically across his temple and the gentle gesture quickly lulled Harry back to sleep.

Ron eventually coaxed Hermione into leaving Harry be for a while and they talked quietly amongst themselves, checking on Harry every once in awhile.

When they were almost there, they woke Harry again to change into his school robes. Hermione insisted he bundle up for the walk from the train to the carriages, and Ron took her side in the ensuing argument.

Once inside the castle, Ron offered to take him up to Madam Pomfrey but Harry planted his feet and refused.

"You're overreacting," he insisted again. "I'm fine and I'm hungry. I don't need to go to the hospital wing."

Ron was easily swayed by the food argument and even Hermione admitted that he was probably all right if he had an appetite.

Yet, they quickly realized he had lied when Harry kept his food at a distance, not even wanting to smell it or watch others eat. He just rested his head in his hands and waited.

"See, Harry, you're ill! You haven't eaten anything all day. Stand up, we're going to the hospital wing now. Ron, you can stay and finish your meal," she said, getting to her feet.

"I'm not going there," Harry said stubbornly. "I just want to go to sleep."

"You are going, right Ron?"

"Sorry mate," Ron apologized. "Just get some potions and we'll get off your back."

"Who's on Harry's back?" Seamus leaned in jovially. He eyed Hermione in suspicion. "Come on, it's first day back. Leave the guy alone!"

He clapped Harry on the back hard and Harry saw stars. It was lucky that his face was already in his hands so no one saw him bite his lip to keep from screaming.

The pain gave way to a strong wave of nausea and Harry stumbled away from the table without a word. He ran out into the empty hallway and dizzily found a trashcan. He threw up and the splattering sound caused his stomach to heave even more violently. The smell invaded his nostrils and he just ducked his face deep into the bin and clutched the sides weakly. He felt a hand rubbing his back as his stomach turned inside out. The gesture certainly didn't feel good, but the layers of clothing kept it from hurting too badly.

Finally he weakly emerged and Ron thrust a handful of napkins at him to wipe his face.

"Hospital wing, now."

Surprisingly, it was Ron who demanded it. He pulled Harry's arm over his shoulder and began guiding him along. Harry protested, privately terrified Pomfrey would find his injuries, but Ron was deaf to it, just talking to Hermione about what could be wrong as if he wasn't even there.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Ron hollered as they burst through the doors. The hospital wing was, of course, empty. Ron helped Harry to the nearest bed while Hermione called out searchingly for the nurse.

"What's all the screaming about?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, hurrying from her office. She spotted Harry and threw her hands up. "What did I tell you about staying out of trouble!"

"I didn't get into trouble. I've just got a flu. My friend had it." He prayed by offering his own diagnosis that this wouldn't end in examination. That would be serious trouble.

It worked. Madam Pomfrey grabbed a fever reducer and some other bottles and began shoving the foul tasting liquids down his throat.

Harry was already feeling a little better by the time Madam Pomfrey released him with the orders to get a good night's rest to finish the job.

"Now was that so horrible?" Hermione asked, much more at ease now.

"Yes," Harry muttered, just to be contrary.

"You gotta learn to let people take care of you once in awhile," Ron said. "When you're feeling sick you gotta ask for help."

Harry hoped that was true because soon he would be much sicker than Ron could ever predict.