A/N: 9-9-9 is the emergency telephone number in England.

CHAPTER 14
RESCUE

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock but he couldn't scream. There was screaming, though, somewhere. It reminded him of his encounters with the dementors, except these faraway screams didn't fill him with guilt and horror-he didn't feel much of anything about them at all.

Harry swallowed and blinked. His vision was blurred as he stared up at the kitchen light. It seemed so bright, searing in its intensity, like staring into the sun. The light was yellow and warm and looking at it made everything seem strangely still...almost peaceful.

Aunt Petunia's head suddenly eclipsed the light-she screamed frantically into his face-and suddenly the pain seemed so much more real. He couldn't move, couldn't curl into a ball like he normally did during beatings. Usually he found comfort in knowing the pain had to eventually end-Vernon would get tired or Harry would pass out, but before he knew it, he'd be blinking awake to the morning sun and while it might still hurt, the immediate fear would be gone. It would be okay. But this time, Harry couldn't see it being okay and without the comforting glow of the light, he grew scared.

"Oh God. Oh God!" Aunt Petunia reached her hand out to touch Harry's cheek, but jerked back before her fingers brushed his skin. "Vernon, what have you DONE?" she screeched.

Harry was too overwhelmed with just trying to breathe to focus on anything more than a foot away from him, which included his uncle's response.

He felt Aunt Petunia trying to push something into his hand as she sobbed and it took Harry a long moment to realize the object was his wand. It was useless to him now. He didn't know a spell to fix this and he didn't have the strength for even the simplest magic. Instead, he looked into Aunt Petunia's face as she cried that she was sorry. He opened his mouth and, with great difficulty, rasped, "Call..." He shut his eyes and emitted a small whimper at the pain, but wrenched his eyelids back open and pushed forward, "9-9-" The last 9 came out as a gurgling sound and Harry tasted something coppery at the back of his mouth.

Aunt Petunia reared back, staring at him. "9-9-9?" she whispered. She looked over at the phone on the wall like it was something she never considered. She shook her head, slowly at first, then frantically. "I can't," she gasped. "I can't. Not the police. They'd arrest him...they'd arrest us. And Dudley would be alone and...I'm so sorry." She stood, still shaking her head, and slowly backed away.

Harry stopped feeling afraid then...he just felt empty. There was no hope then, just the wait for it to end. With the very last of his energy, he turned his gaze back upward so his vision could once more fill with the yellow light. If all he thought about was the light, he wouldn't have to spend his last moments listening to his aunt and uncle fight about hiding his body.

He could hear a door banging against the wall. He thought there might be even more voices, louder than before...maybe the telly. He didn't mind the noise so much anymore. It was all in the background and it all blurred into something almost comfortable. He felt safe. There wasn't anything more they could do to him. Everything besides the warm, yellow light was already fading away.

The second time his sun was eclipsed, Harry only felt vague annoyance and then confusion. It didn't make sense, but Snape's worried face hovered over his, shouting something at him. The light glowed from behind him, haloing around his head. He looked like an angel except that his black hair fell down in curtains around his face...a dark, shadowy angel, then. It was almost comforting in its bizarreness that Harry's vision of an angel of death was Snape...if only the angel would stop yelling right in his face.

Harry tried to tell him he couldn't understand, but only managed to blink and emit a tiny gurgling sound. He dimly felt Snape cover him in some thick material and tuck it around him. It was how he'd always imagined a parent might tuck him into bed and his eyes slipped closed, feeling relaxed. He doubted this was real, but it was nice. Like he was just going to sleep.

Suddenly, he was lifted. If he could have screamed, that would have been the time, for agony seared through his body. His head momentarily flopped to the side and he could see the kitchen floor dropping away. An impossibly wide puddle of blood spread over the cheap vinyl floor, reaching out in fingers to drown more and more of the faint, yellow flower pattern in dark red.

The last thing he would remember was being pressed up against a warm chest and though he had never felt so much pain, Harry found it more comforting than even the glow of the kitchen light.

-

Snape swept through the main gates of Hogwarts, anxiously glancing down at the boy in his arms. Potter was pale except for the deep red painting the corner of his mouth and splashed up his neck. He was still breathing, but it was faint...far too faint.

Quickening his step, Snape concentrated hard and whispered one of the only wandless spells he'd mastered over the years: an invisibility charm. It wasn't perfect and often wavered when he moved, but it should obscure them well enough until he made it to the hospital wing. Snape wasn't a good man, but he would do all he could to protect the boy's dignity. The boy didn't deserve this sort of headline. When someone passing in the hall turned and stared wide-eyed at the floor, Snape realized Potter's blood had soaked through the heavy cloak Snape had wrapped him in and they were leaving a trail of drops. He began to sprint.

Thankfully, the infirmary was nearly emptied of patients and the only one awake was Minerva. The woman sat on the edge of a bed, arguing with Poppy in low tones, with a hand pressed to her ribcage. Snape dropped the invisibility charm and the two women looked over as he gently lowered Potter onto the nearest bed.

"Harry!" Minerva gasped. She pushed herself from the bed and stumbled over. Poppy was already there, wand out and peeling off the bloody wrap to inspect the problem. There was so much blood, Poppy was uncharacteristically flustered but then shook her head to regain her senses and jumped right into action. She shouted spells, most at Potter and some over her shoulder that made bottles fly out of their cabinets, uncork themselves and begin measuring and mixing themselves in beakers. Numbers flashed in angry red above Potter's body.

"What happened?" Minerva demanded wildly, staring open-mouthed down at her student, her plaid nightcap askew. "He was with his relatives! I told him not to leave!" She paled. "Voldemort. Tha-that connection that happened! I should have checked on him! How could that have caused this?"

"It didn't. This was his uncle's doing," Snape said darkly.

Another patient, Charlie Weasley, stirred in his corner bed and sat up, squinting over to see what the commotion was. Snape shot a sleep charm at him and the man slumped back into his bed. Seeing a few of the wing's inhabitants were Weasley men, Snape quickly ensured no one would wake up for the rest of the night or walk in unannounced.

"His uncle?" Minerva repeated faintly. "I left him with his uncle." She pressed a knuckle to her brow and shook her head. "No, no. You're mistaken Severus. There is no reason this should have happened."

Now that Potter's life was in obvious peril, the school's confidentiality rule snapped and Snape could finally speak about what he had learned. "Potter's uncle was dangerously abusive-a heavy drinker." He gritted his teeth. "When I got there, his aunt was just watching him bleed out. She could have called the Muggle authorities or tried to stop the bleeding, but she did nothing!" He barked a bitter laugh. "And her husband was pouring himself a drink."

"Severus," Poppy snapped, "I need blood. B negative or O negative. It's in the storage room."

Snape gave a single nod and hurried to the back room. The situation must be dire if spells and potions couldn't replenish the blood fast enough on their own. Snape opened the icy cabinet and a white puff of mist poured out. He grabbed a bag of B negative, the only one of that rare type. Warming it with a quick spell, he swept back into the main room where Poppy snatched it from his hands as she bustled around Potter's bed.

While Poppy set the bag up, pinning it to thin air with a jab of her wand, Snape's eye was drawn to Minerva who had gone pale staring at her student. The Gryffindor head of house turned her head away when Poppy stuck a needle into Potter's arm and taped it down. Snape walked over to his colleague and put a hand on her upper arm.

"Don't you dare tell me to get back into that bed, Severus," she warned. "He's my student."

"Albus needs to be informed," Snape said.

Minerva didn't take the bait and instead called a house elf. One popped up instantly and nodded eagerly at the instructions to fetch the headmaster but to make sure he came alone. Once the small creature popped off, Minerva looked to Severus in defiance. "I won't leave him. Not again."

"This wasn't your fault."

"I should have noticed." She was trying to look collected, but Snape noticed her chin quivering. "He didn't want to go home."

Minerva simply stared at Harry's face while Poppy clinically examined his wounds, waved her wand around the blood and the bruises, and banished potions from vials into the bag of blood that slowly flowed down the dark red tube. Snape watched in stony fashion until she got to the boy's fingers, impossibly swollen and not curling quite naturally. When she gingerly lifted that purpling hand, Snape's eyes darted away. There was something about that crippled hand-that he could only imagine as crushed as the boy reached out for some kind of help-that brought a chill to his spine.

Finally, Poppy wiped the blood off her hands and the sweat off her brow, then turned to deliver her report. "In addition to the stab wound, which nearly killed him, he suffered a broken nose, a break and several fractures around his right knee and extensive damage to his left hand. He'll make a full recovery, physically at least, but it will take a few days."

Snape's eyes slipped to Potter's "damaged" hand. It was now, thankfully, heavily bandaged in white. Poppy had yet to magically change the boy into regulation pajamas, but she had pulled a blanket up to his armpits, leaving his pale arms lying limp above the blanket. The outer sides of forearms were littered with injuries and Snape didn't need Poppy's report to tell him that the patterns showed the boy had been blocking his face. Not that it had done the job; his nose had a white bandage stuck over the bridge but the purple bruise spread out from underneath halfway across his cheeks. Tiny cuts from his broken glasses littered the area around his eyes, but thankfully they were shallow. If any of that glass had pressed in more deeply...well, Snape wouldn't dwell upon dark possibilities.

What disgusted him most, as bizarre as it seemed, was the food caught in the boy's hair. Poppy had cleaned most of it off his skin, but around his hairline there was some congealed sauce and bits of what looked like mashed potato. The boy looked like he'd gone up against Voldemort and barely managed to escape, but that food was a sharp reminder of the more disturbing nature of the crime.

"The worst of his internal injuries need to heal before I can use magic to work on the surface injuries, the stab wound obviously being the most critical. The deeper work will take a few days and by then some of the other injuries may need to heal on their own. We'll have to wait and see."

"His privacy must be protected," Minerva said quietly. "We cannot let someone see him like this and have a leak to the press."

Knowing Poppy as well as he did, Snape expected the woman to huff that she was well aware of that and could take care of her patients as she'd done through the decades she had worked in this wing, but instead, Poppy simply nodded and with a twirl of her wand, privacy screens flew to surround Potter's bed. "Is there anyone we can inform who the boy can turn to for emotional support? Someone he can talk to?"

They all turned in alarm as someone appeared in the doorway, but lowered their guard when Dumbledore approached.

He smiled and put a hand on Snape's shoulder. "Severus, my boy, I thought you were going to relax for the evening." He then looked to Minerva. "I apologize for the delay in responding to your summons. I'm afraid I was in the middle of a rather complicated ward construction. I assume I am here to settle a debate about leaving the infirmary without the blessing of our esteemed medi-witch?"

Instead of answering, Poppy slowly pulled back the curtain.

The twinkle abruptly vanished from the headmaster's eye and his face set into something dangerous. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning Potter's face, his arms, the medical equipment. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Potter was being abused," Snape said bluntly. "His uncle attacked him tonight."

"He was stabbed, Albus," Poppy added, eyes flashing in anger.

For the first time, Snape witness Dumbledore look startled. Nothing ever caught the old man by surprise but Snape supposed if Dumbledore had ever thought there was even a remote possibility of something like this he would never have left the boy there.

"How did you know, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "From the blood on your skin, I assume you're the one who found him."

Snape looked down. Dumbledore was right: though his clothes were black and hid the stains, dried blood stained his long, pale hands, caking around his fingernails. The sight made him feel ill.

Keeping his features unreadable, Snape relayed everything he knew with the same unemotional tone he used for reporting on Death Eater meetings. As he spoke, Minerva walked around the bed and sunk down next to Potter. Her hand covered her student's as she listened, as if Potter could find support in the gesture despite being oblivious to the retelling of his nightmare.

Dumbledore stood and listened. His eyes were hard but by the time Snape finished, there was something about the headmaster's face that just looked weary. "It appears we need to alter the confidentiality clause." He sighed. "Did you do anything to his relatives, Severus?"

"There was no time. I needed to get Potter out of there." He raised an eyebrow. "If you would like me to pay them a visit now, however..."

"I will deal with them myself," Dumbledore said, his eyes flashing with menace. In that moment, Snape thought the Dursley family might have more reason to fear Dumbledore than Voldemort did. He started toward the door.

"Albus," Snape called, "he has a Muggle family he's close to. They know about the situation with his family; they know he's a wizard. I believe the name is Stenson if you think Potter needs support."

The headmaster nodded. "Thank you, Severus. That is a most thoughtful suggestion."

Snape cleared his throat. "It was Minerva's idea, not mine," he clarified gruffly.

Albus smiled and it might have reached his eyes if they weren't already so filled with sadness and anger. "Of course."

After he left, Snape's eyes fell to Minerva who was staring at the floor, her wrinkled hand still wrapped over Potter's. "I should have seen it. Skinny, short, quiet for his age, especially when he first started here. Not wanting attention drawn to him. Latching onto Hagrid, who he sees as having first rescued him from them. I knew they weren't a good sort when we dropped him off all those years ago and I still didn't see it."

"None of us saw it, dear," Poppy comforted.

"He didn't even come to me for help." Minerva looked to Snape. "Despite your volatile relationship with him, he went to you. Clearly I didn't make him feel as if he could come to me."

"He didn't approach me out of trust," Snape corrected. "He only approached me because he thought I would give him potions without asking questions." Without saying goodbye, he swept toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Poppy demanded.

Snape halted and turned. "My part in this fiasco is done. As long as no one foolishly sends the boy back, I consider the situation resolved." Poppy opened her mouth to lecture but he stalked off before she could.

The problem was finally out of his hands. Now the boy had other confidantes and could leave him in peace.

-

"...poor dear...those rotten Muggles...if I could get my hands on...wand right up their..."

Voices swam in and out of Harry's consciousness-mostly one voice, which he slowly recognized as Madam Pomfrey's. Something about that seemed off, but he didn't want to think about it...he was so tired. He just wanted to slip back into the comfortable darkness.

"I think he's coming around! Harry, dear? Come on now, love, open your eyes."

With great difficulty, Harry forced his eyelids open and though he managed it, they opened with an embarrassingly weak flutter. A face hovered above him. It was blurry until his glasses were slipped on his face and Madam Pomfrey's face became clearer, though he could still only view it through half-lidded eyes.

Harry swallowed hard and opened his mouth. "What..." His voice came out in a whispery croak and immediately failed him after the one word. Something told him not to bother remembering, to just go back to sleep like he desperately desired. Yet his curious side went down that dark path before he could stop it.

The first thing he remembered was his aunt holding his wand and looking afraid. For a moment, that was all he remembered. The image froze there and he felt sorry for his aunt, protective even.

But then, the rest came rushing back in flashes: the smell of alcohol, his uncle throwing the food, his aunt keeping his wand from him, his hand, his knee, the knife, his aunt shaking her head to his plea for help, the yellow light and lastly, Snape's shadowy face lined with shock and worry. That image was so bizarre it stayed longer than the others. Harry wondered if it was even real.

He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side, away from the concerned medi-witch. "No..." The moan escaped his lips without thought. Everyone knew. They had to know. He couldn't lie his way out of this after what his uncle did. He just wanted to sleep and not deal with this and have everyone just leave him alone.

"Poor dear." Harry felt Madam Pomfrey brush a thumb over his forehead and he flinched at the unexpected touch. Her hand faltered, but then smoothed back the hair at his temple. Harry tensed as he felt her leaning over him. She spoke softly to him. "You're safe now, Harry. We know what happened and I know you didn't want that, but everything is going to be just fine. I promise."

Harry didn't believe her and felt angry that she would promise something so stupid. He knew he was being irrational and, worse, ungrateful. He knew he probably had Madam Pomfrey to thank for his being alive, for not having died on the Dursleys' kitchen floor and having that death mean absolutely nothing. Until last night, he had never realized how much he feared dying there, having his body hidden away and forgotten. At least if he died fighting Voldemort, he could be buried with his parents instead of in a mud pit somewhere. Now he still had that.

When the medi-witch straightened, Harry opened his eyes. He felt something over his nose and could vaguely see a blurry white shape below his eyes. His uninjured hand moved up toward his face to feel what it was, but a sharp poke at his elbow stopped him. He looked over, avoiding Madam Pomfrey's gaze. There was an IV in his arm.

"That can come out soon, but not just yet," The medi-witch assured.

Looking up from the IV, Harry noticed someone else sitting there: Dumbledore. Harry swallowed under Dumbledore's intense stare. He knew he'd let the headmaster down. Dumbledore was depending on him to go up against the wizarding world's most powerful madman-there were countless lives at stake-and this was how Harry had come out of a fight with a Muggle. He didn't know what to say.

Dumbledore looked to the healer and Madam Pomfrey apparently took this as her cue to leave. Harry suddenly wished she wouldn't leave him alone for this conversation.

"Harry..." Dumbledore started once Madam Pomfrey disappeared around the curtain shielding Harry's bed from view.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry blurted, though his voice was much scratchier and weaker than he expected.

Dumbledore's face was unreadable, but Harry noticed it lacked the glint of mischievousness that was usually there under the surface somewhere. "What for, my boy?" he asked somberly.

Harry's eyes flicked away in shame. "For...this. My wand was out of reach, but it was my fault it was taken. I didn't even think about wandless magic, but I don't know if I could have done it. But I think..." He swallowed. "...I really think I could do better with Voldemort."

Dumbledore tilted his head. "Oh Harry, is that really where you believe my concerns lie? I see I have failed you even more than I thought."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He tried to sit up, but his body ached and his limbs were weak and Dumbledore set a halting hand on his arm before he could even wriggle higher on his pillows.

"Harry, you have always been a wonderful, loyal student. I would trust you with my life. It is I who must apologize. I placed you in an environment I didn't understand, assuming it would keep you safe, but not only did I fail to check in on you as thoroughly as I should have, I also fell blind to the signs of the horrors in that supposed sanctuary even once they were parading right in front of me. You've shown such loyalty to me that you were once able to call Fawkes to your side, yet I never considered how deeply I wounded you by placing you in that home. I fully understand if you never forgive me, but please know that I care far more deeply for you than my mistakes make it appear." There was sorrow in Dumbledore's voice. "But do not think for one instance that you have disappointed me. You have never done that."

Harry wasn't so sure that last bit was true, and didn't know what to do with the rest of it. A part of him wasn't convinced Dumbledore hadn't known at least some of what had been going on at the Dursleys. Sure the man probably never expected him to get stabbed, but Dumbledore seemed to know everything that went on in Harry's life. If nothing else, Hagrid would have reported how the Dursleys viewed magic. Plus, during that first outing at eleven, Harry had been so happy that someone was finally taking him away that he told Hagrid all about how the Dursleys hated him. Sure he hadn't gone into graphic detail about the cupboard and the starvation, but he'd certainly gone on about how he'd never eaten in a proper restaurant or had so much food at once and how he'd never got a present before and how he was so excited about his new school uniform because he always wore Dudley's cast-offs. He supposed Dumbledore might not have realized Harry actually feared his relatives, but he certainly had to have known that Harry had never been loved. And Dumbledore had never even tried to help Harry find a family.

But then, who would have wanted him? For all he knew, Dumbledore had tried. The Weasleys hadn't offered to take him in all these years; Remus, through a whole year of teaching him, never once mentioned he was practically Harry's godfather; Sirius had been in Azkaban and when he escaped, despite what everyone said, he hadn't been trying to kill him-he hadn't even cared about him! If Harry hadn't rushed headlong into the situation, Sirius would have killed Peter Pettigrew and probably gone on his way without a second thought. In the end, despite his rash promises, Sirius had abandoned him then, and then again when Harry really needed him after the fourth task, running off with Remus and not even caring that Harry had so desperately wanted him to stay.

Maybe the problem was that with all Dumbledore's reach and influence, he couldn't find one person who could love the boy from the cupboard under the stairs.

"It's not your fault," Harry finally conceded. He just wanted to go back to sleep and not wake up until he was fully healed and Hermione and Ron were back: the two people Harry clung desperately to during tough times, whether they were aware of it or not. "What's going to happen with the Dursleys? Can I maybe use magic there? I probably wouldn't have to use too much to keep them away from me. By the time it gets to an emergency situation, it's too late, but if I could go in there and ward the door to my room and levitate food up and..."

"You are not going back there," Dumbledore said fiercely. Harry was surprised by the flash in his eyes that was much more dangerous than the usual twinkle. "I already had a talk with them last night and they understand that I've deemed them unfit guardians."

Harry stared at him. "You talked to the Dursleys? Last night?"

"Yes. I believe my message was received quite clearly," Dumbledore said nonchalantly. Then he looked to Harry very seriously. "They were punished, Harry, but if you'd like to take them to trial and have them face their crimes, I will back you on that."

"I don't want to do that," Harry said. The thought of details of his home life going public made him shudder. "What do you mean they were punished?"

Dumbledore sat back. "What is it that your relatives prize the most?"

"Their image," Harry said after a brief hesitation. "After Dudley."

"Yes, that is what I gathered. Therefore, wearing the ears of an ass should trouble them. They certainly seemed unhappy with it when I left."

Harry gaped. "You gave them donkey ears?"

"They will disappear once they feel true remorse for their actions," Dumbledore said calmly. "To help them achieve that, they will relive their actions in their dreams. That too will end once they understand their wrongs."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this. Dumbledore always was a bit too optimistic about people's ability to change. Neither spell would ever end for Uncle Vernon. And yet, Harry couldn't help but hope that maybe the spells wouldn't last long on his aunt. Though she had been ready to let him die rather than let police arrest her husband, she had actually looked sad to see him hurt. As pathetic as it might be, Harry was a little touched at that. He'd never thought it would bother his aunt to see him die, but she'd looked genuinely torn up about it. Not that Harry really believed she could grow to love him, but Harry had never wanted to be his family's enemy. Now that Dumbledore had used magic on them and made it very obvious why, he'd made Harry the enemy and now there wouldn't be any part of them sad to see him gone.

Dumbledore seemed to sense that his words hadn't fixed things and stood.

"Sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Who else knows?"

"At this moment, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and myself."

Harry's eyes widened and this time he did manage to scoot up just a little on his pillow. "At this moment? You're not going to tell anyone else, are you? I don't want my friends to know, or the Weasleys or my teachers or anyone!"

Dumbledore regarded him with sympathy. "In times of hardship we need the support of loved ones the most. Without that support, we fall."

"That's crap!" Harry protested angrily. "I've always managed by myself. You have no right going and telling everyone!"

"Not everyone, Harry. You are right that this is your secret to tell and I will mostly allow you the choice of whom to reveal it to. I hope you will choose to tell your friends, but I will not inform them myself. I will, however, be contacting Sirius. It's important for your godfather to know."

"No, please not Sirius! I barely know him and he doesn't want to deal with something like this!" Harry begged. "If I'm ever going to see him again, I don't want it to be 'cause you're making him come to make small talk. He's going to think I'm a nutter if he only ever sees me during some crisis!"

"I'm sorry, but it's for the best. You'd want me to inform you if Sirius were in trouble, wouldn't you?"

Harry glared at the headmaster and said nothing.

Dumbledore's expression remained understanding. "Then you must allow him the same rights. I promise you he won't think less of you for this, Harry."

"You can't promise that," Harry muttered, leaning his head back and turning his glare to the ceiling, but he knew there was no use arguing anymore. "Professor Snape...he saved me."

"Yes."

"Can you thank him for me?"

Dumbledore arched a white eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like to thank him yourself?"

Harry shrugged. The movement hurt. "I'm pretty sure he'd be most happy if he never has to have a private conversation with me again. He never wanted to know about this in the first place and I forced it on him. I think he just wants me to leave him alone, but if you could just tell him thanks for saving my life...again..."

Finally, Dumbledore seemed to have just the slightest hint of a twinkle creep back into his eye. "Certainly, Harry."

He exited through the gap in the ghostly white privacy screens and Madam Pomfrey immediately swooped in to replace him. "Look at you," she tutted, "Scoot back down." She helped him as he slowly lay down properly once more. "I don't think you can handle more healing magic yet, so we'll just get some Dreamless Sleep in you and we'll do a little more work when you wake."

Normally, Harry might protest that it was morning, but he was exhausted and in pain and had no one to see or work to do. Sleep was exactly what he wanted. He gratefully accepted the cup and gulped it down with a practiced ease. "Thanks."

To his horror, Madam Pomfrey started to cry. Thankfully she wasn't a loud crier, but she sniffed a lot and turned her face away to dab at her eyes with her apron.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Oh stars, look at me." She smiled down at him and brushed his fringe from his forehead, though it immediately flopped right back down. "It seems that each time you come here it's for a worse reason than the last. I don't know that I've ever seen a student face so many hardships. I just don't want to see them break your spirit."

This was probably a sign she wouldn't react well if Harry ever told her he had cancer.

"They won't," he reassured her. He wasn't sure exactly what she meant but he knew what she wanted to hear. It was a nice thought that he might have something strong left inside of him that he could guard.

Tiredness washed over him and he felt a little guilty that he was so relieved not to have to be strong just then. He'd try to find that spirit she was talking about when he woke up.

His eyelids sank closed and he wasn't even startled when he felt Madam Pomfrey kiss his forehead. Harry felt the weight lift from the bed and heard bottles tinkle in the distance. It was a peaceful, hospital wing lullaby. It put him right to sleep.

-

The next time Harry woke, sun streaked low through the windows of the hospital wing. The screens stood stacked against the wall and he could finally look around the infirmary. All the other beds were empty and perfectly made. The main door was closed, but Harry guessed there had to be some protection from people just barging in and wondering why the Boy Who Lived was all banged up.

He was feeling better than before-more awake, certainly. His left hand was still wrapped up and he didn't know if that was why he couldn't move his fingers or if it was because they were in bad shape. A curious touch to his nose now that his arm was IV-free told him the bandages were still there, but there was only an ache instead of any sharper discomfort. The two major points of pain were his stomach and his knee, but both had dulled greatly since he'd last assessed them. He winced as he remembered the crunch his knee had made under his uncle's foot and decided he didn't want to look. From the pressure there, he figured it was bandaged up anyway. As for his stomach...the image of the knife jerking out of his flesh, covered in blood, flashed through his mind and Harry pushed it ferociously away. He wasn't ready to think about his stomach yet.

In fact, there were a lot of things he didn't want to think about just then. Like if his professors would think him too fragile or useless to keep training, or what Sirius was going to think about him now, or if anyone would tell Professor Lupin. He figured if Sirius came at all, he's spend an awkward ten minutes or so with him, then go to Lupin so they could shake their heads over how Harry was nothing like his father, who would never have gotten into this sort of situation.

The door creaked open and Harry's breath hitched. But it wasn't Sirius or even one of his professors that entered.

"Kota?" Harry asked, shocked and confused, sitting up. It was only when his neighbor tearfully threw herself on him in a hug that Harry was painfully informed he was, in fact, not hallucinating. He couldn't help but let out a gasp and Kota leapt off.

"Oh God, I'm sorry." She clutched his good hand and pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

Harry stared. "What are you doing here?"

They both looked over as Mr. and Mrs. Stenson entered, talking with Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Stenson's face was grim as he locked eyes with Harry and nodded at something Madam Pomfrey was saying. Mrs. Stenson approached more slowly than her daughter, her gaze roaming over Harry's visible injuries. She sat at his left side and folded her against her lips. "Oh Harry."

"How are you here?" Harry asked, still perplexed.

"Hedwig brought a letter saying you were injured and to touch this quill and we would be taken to you, so we did and we ended up here. Your headmaster met us and told us everything." Kota clutched his hand even tighter. Her face scrunched up and her eyes welled with tears.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Kota, calm down. I'm fine. It's no big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Mr. Stenson said, half in anger, half in distress as he approached. "They said you would have died if they hadn't been able to use magic to save you." He stood next to Kota and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're not going back there. Ever again."

Harry doubted the Stensons had much say in the matter, but the words still managed to comfort. After the previous summer, Harry at least believed the Stensons cared. They'd said such nice things and given him their house key before he even offered to cure Mr. Stenson's cancer. After Christmas, though, he hadn't been sure if he'd ever see them again. To have them here was wonderful, even despite the looks of pity.

"Maybe I can show you around the castle," Harry changed the subject.

"I think not," Madam Pomfrey huffed, taking this as her cue to look up from her bustling around.

"I'm feeling much better," Harry protested, "and this'll probably be the only chance for them to visit. I can make it short."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. Harry knew she'd normally say no without hesitation, but now she looked torn. Maybe she felt bad for him, maybe she thought the distraction was a good idea, but whatever the reason she conceded to examining him and doing the next round of magical healing so he could get out of bed.

The Stensons politely waited out in the hall where chairs lined the walls in a rudimentary waiting room that was usually used when Madam Pomfrey wanted guests out of her sight while she worked on her patients. She focused her efforts on his knee and stomach, using the limit of healing magic Harry's body could take to focus on making sure he could walk without pain. His hand, therefore, was left as was. He bent his knee and Madam Pomfrey stood by while he cautiously put pressure on his foot and took a practice walk around the infirmary. The medi-witch still wasn't completely satisfied but slapped a brace around his knee and agreed to let him out for one hour, provided he move slowly and stay as close as possible.

The sounds of the castle were different than usual as they walked through. Voices and grinding sounds got louder as they moved toward the first floor, but every other floor only offered silence.

Kota gasped and pointed at every magical thing they came across. "Have you traveled the way they had us come here?" she asked. "It was like being yanked through a black hole by your bellybutton."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I can never stay on my feet with those things. I'd rather Floo, that's traveling by fire...through fireplaces. I haven't quite got the hang of that one either, though. I always trip over logs."

Kota eyed him skeptically, which was a bit rich for a girl who'd just traveled by quill. Harry turned to smile at Mr. Stenson, but he caught the man staring at him sadly. Kota's dad forced a lift at the corner of his mouth and Harry gratefully accepted the indulgent pretending. He jumped right back into explanations of magical things to keep the distraction running.

He knew he should probably stay away from the reconstruction, but couldn't resist showing the Stensons the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Luckily, the wizards seemed distracted as they worked on the adjacent entrance hall, which lit up with sparks and great flashes of light. Watching grown men in robes slapping each other on the back and women with pointed hats looking over blueprints seemed to truly intrigue Kota's parents, who couldn't stop staring. They looked out of place in their Muggle trousers and shirts and seemed much more acutely aware of it than their daughter who was too busy pressing her hands to the giant hourglasses filled with jewels that counted the house points. Harry joined her to explain about the different houses with a fond smile.

"Harry?"

Harry turned at the call to find Mr. Weasley squinting at him from across the hall. Harry waved and the redheaded man broke into a smile and started toward them, cocking his head when he saw Harry's guests.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, they know now."

Mr. Weasley nodded in approval. "Oh good. Now I won't have to bother with remembering what Muggle occupation I said. Lucky I know so much about Muggles, eh? We got a fellytone a few summers ago and I have a fairly decent plug collection if I do say so myself." His chest puffed out in pride. Harry snuck a smile to Kota who bit the side of her lip to fight back a chuckle. "Harry's seen all my plugs, haven't..." He trailed off. The good humor vanished from his face as got a good look at Harry. He stepped forward and gently caught Harry's chin, tipping his head up just a little. The balding man opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say caught for a moment when he saw Harry's bandaged hand. "Harry, what on earth happened?"

"Er...fight with my cousin," he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

Kota shot him a sympathetic look, but Mr. Stenson came to the rescue. "So Arthur, what exactly are you all doing over there? I must admit I'm not used to seeing much magic. It's an impressive sight."

Mr. Weasley eyed Harry's nose suspiciously but took the bait and stepped back. "Yes," he answered politely. "Everyday magic isn't quite so visual." He finally tore his gaze from Harry and straightened. "I can show you if you'd like...introduce you around. I'd love to ask you some questions about Muggle-life, if you don't mind."

The adults headed toward the main hall after the teenagers vowed to stay out of trouble. Harry and Kota started toward the kitchens when Kota slipped in that she could use a bite. He let her tickle the pear, but soon realized he probably should have warned her about the house elves. They glared at Kota the whole time they put together their snack. She had screamed pretty loudly, after all.

Dobby was, as usual, unfazed and wrapped his arms around Harry's legs, then looked up at him curiously at the feel of the brace. In seeing Harry's mouth pressed into a tense line, Dobby's eyes widened and began shrieking about Harry being hurt, but Harry quickly cut him off, said he was fine, and introduced Kota. Dobby still watched Harry worriedly, but dutifully bowed to Kota. "Any friend of Harry Potter is a friend of mine, miss," squeaked the elf. "Dobby thinks Harry Potter is the greatest wizard in the whole world. Harry Potter is giving Dobby his favorite presents of socks and is saving him from his old bad master! Harry Potter is saying that Dobby should not be punishing himself no longer, miss. Harry Potter is being generous and noble and selfless..."

Harry cleared his throat loudly, his face a little hot. "Thanks Dobby. No more of that."

Dobby brought over a pile of socks, every one Harry had ever given him, including the ones he had left for him this last Christmas, and insisted on telling Kota the exaggerated story behind every one. As soon as their food was ready, Harry thanked Dobby and pulled Kota through the portal, announcing they needed to get back to the hospital wing and would eat there. The whole way, Kota smirked and called him "Harry Potter, sir" and gushed about how kind and noble he was for his generous gifts of socks.

"Shut it," Harry growled. "Dobby's just mental is all. Kind of like somebody else I know."

She moved to shove him, but in seeing Harry leaning heavily on the banister as they slowly climbed the stairs, she clearly remembered a shove was not a good idea and her hand swooped away in a conspicuous arc. "How about throwing an arm over my shoulder."

"No, I'm fine," Harry said. His knee was starting to hurt again and a sweat had broken out on his face trying to make it up the stairs. He was beginning to regret ignoring Madam Pomfrey's advice to stay close.

Kota shot him a stern look. "No, you're not going to be stubborn." She grabbed his forearm and pulled it over her shoulders.

"Kota..."

She kept a vice grip on his arm. "So, is George Weasley here by any chance? His dad is."

Harry frowned, but gratefully leaned on her, just a little. "No, so you can wipe your drool up off the floor."

Kota stuck her tongue out at him.

"I could put in a good word though."

"Aw, Harry, this is why you're my favorite dark-haired wizard buddy," Kota grinned.

"So I guess that means I'm now second fiddle to a certain ginger-haired wizard buddy?"

Kota sighed. "Oh Harry. Not at all! You're second fiddle to a ginger-haired wizard hunk of burning love."

Harry's face scrunched. "I think I might sick up."

-

Eventually the Stensons had to leave. Mr. Stenson looked like he wanted to get in one last word about the situation, but Harry hugged Kota goodbye and pretended everything was normal and Mr. Stenson got the hint. As soon as they left the hospital wing, Harry crawled back into bed, exhausted. Whatever painkillers Madam Pomfrey had put him on were fading and the ache in his stomach seemed to spread deeper.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over, clucking her tongue and muttering about how he shouldn't have gone out, but when Harry smiled and tiredly said he'd had fun, the medi-witch seemed relieved.

The next couple days were spent trying to get him better before the other students came back. Harry rarely heard sounds of the reconstruction efforts after his day with the Stensons and wondered if Dumbledore was delaying the other students' return just for him. None of them wanted Harry to have to explain what had happened to nosy peers, but that would be a little extreme.

Eventually, though, the moment he'd been dreading interrupted his peaceful stay.

The infirmary door burst open and Harry dropped his Quidditch book onto his lap when he jerked at the shock. Sirius approached Harry's bed uncertainly, but when he got a good look at the fading bruise over Harry's nose and the swollen, darkened fingers sticking out from his bandages, Sirius's fingers clenched on the bed's footboard. It was the first time he'd seen Sirius since their brief encounter after the third task. He looked much better than he did even then-healthier and more handsome-apparently time at Lupin's was doing him good. Harry could now see why Sirius had been so popular at school, he just wished this moment could be happier like he'd imagined. Instead, Harry just felt like squirming under Sirius's visual examination.

"I'm going to kill them," he growled.

"No," Harry said sternly.

Sirius's eyes flashed with fury. "Look at what they did to you. Your uncle deserves to die. Your father would have murdered him in a second for this! I'll just be acting in his stead when I rip that bastard apart limb from limb."

"Sirius, don't do anything to them," Harry said, gripping the edges of his bedcovers. "You'd be sent straight back to Azkaban."

"It would be worth it."

"Not to me!" Harry protested angrily. "You always have to leave! If you get taken to Azkaban again, I won't even be able to write you!" His eyes dropped to his lap and he calmed down a little. "I was hoping we might start talking more this year. I know it has to be by letter, but now that you're at Professor Lupin's, I thought it might be safer to get in contact. Maybe even by floo once in awhile." He didn't have much time left to get to know his godfather and refused to lose him again. "So please, I'm asking you not to go near them. I mean, trying to avenge my parents' deaths didn't work out well for anyone, did it?"

"Harry," Sirius said softly, staring. His voice choked with emotion. "I know I haven't been the best godfather...I've been pretty terrible actually..."

"Sirius, don't," Harry interrupted, but Sirius looked up with a piercing gaze.

"I have. I should have written more, I should have pushed harder to get you to stay with Remus and me. Every time you need me I'm not there. I should have stayed with you longer after the Diggory boy was killed." Sirius's eyebrows scrunched up like he just couldn't wrap his mind around all of this. "But why didn't you say something to me?"

Harry felt caught under the questioning stare and couldn't look away, but he shrunk back into his pillows nonetheless. "It just...didn't seem like there was any point to that. You're supposed to be in hiding and I had it under control." That sounded stupid under the circumstances. "Well, until now anyway."

"Dumbledore told me this has been going on since at least last summer."

"Well...not the stabbing." Harry cringed and scratched his eyebrow; that sounded really stupid.

Sirius came around and slumped into the chair next to Harry's bedside. He put his head in his hands and his fingers clenched in his long hair. "Didn't you know I would have come and gotten you?" His head came up and he searched Harry's face. "I could have helped you, Harry."

"Sirius," Harry sighed, "you know you couldn't have." He straightened. "And I think you're getting the wrong impression of it. It wasn't like I just cowered in the corner; I fought back and stuff. It's not like I just let him do whatever he wanted." That was a lie. There were times when during a beating Harry just gave up, curled into a ball and waited for it to end. But he didn't want Sirius to think he was just some sniveling coward like Wormtail. He wanted him to think Harry could be as brave as James Potter, even if it wasn't exactly true.

Sirius's expression softened. "I didn't mean it like that." He shook his head. "Fuck. James and Lily are probably rolling over in their graves wanting my head." He looked back to Harry. "Sorry. Are you swearing yet?"

Harry's mouth quirked. "I'm fifteen. I have a Scottish roommate."

"Fifteen? Merlin, still seems like you ought to be in diapers trying to stick your foot in your mouth."

"Oh my foot ends up in my mouth quite a lot."

Sirius laughed, his smile lopsided. "Wow, that's Lily right there. She had the quick tongue." He paused, looking wistful. "She would have adored you. James would have too."

Harry's eyes flicked down to his lap. He swallowed but his throat was suddenly tight. He hoped so badly that Sirius's words were true.

"I wish they could be here," Sirius continued. "I'm afraid I'm a pretty poor substitute. I never thought I'd be much good at the parental thing. Even James yelled at me at least once every time I was around you and James rarely got serious. I just didn't know things like you'd try to eat buttons or that you'd wait for the second I looked away to try to climb into the toilet."

Harry couldn't help but blush and laugh. "That I don't do so much these days."

Sirius straightened. "Well, I do know a bit more about teenagers. I remember being one and all that. Changes, urges, popularity...I get that a whole lot better than diapers."

Harry desperately prayed this conversation wouldn't continue along the line of urges.

"How long...what exactly..." Sirius floundered, then met Harry's eye with determination. "What exactly did they do to you?"

Oh God. Harry swallowed heavily and rubbed the edge of the blanket between his fingers. "Dumbledore already told you and that was the worst of it by far. It's not something I really want to talk about."

Sirius seemed disappointed, but nodded in acceptance. After a stretch of awkwardness, Sirius broke the silence. "So...I don't know how much you know about this last battle, but our side caught a few Death Eaters, including a certain rat neither of us are too fond of."

"Peter?" Harry asked, mouth agape. He hadn't heard that! "Does that mean..."

Sirius grinned. "Not officially quite yet, but the interrogation's gone through and they know I'm innocent. Dumbledore's working on getting me pardoned and then I'm free! So, here's what I'm thinking: you and me reclaiming the Black family estates, we'll play Quidditch all day, throw around my money so everyone kisses our arses and I'll find some hot woman with loose morals at the local pub who has a cute daughter for you. What d'ya think?"

Harry's breath caught. Sirius's eyes glittered with laughter but Harry just stared. "You mean live with you? Are you serious?" he asked, barely daring to hope this was for real.

"Serious is my middle name." He cocked his head to the side. "Oh wait, it's my first name." He looked at Harry expectantly but when he took in Harry's uncertain expression, he stopped his joking. "Yes, Harry. I'm absolutely serious."

"I'm really not going back to the Dursleys?" Harry asked, barely daring to believe it.

Now Sirius looked completely grave. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No. Never. That is over."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep, somewhat shaky breath. Then he looked at his godfather. "Thank you."

Sirius nodded solemnly. "That's what I'm here for. We'll figure this all out and things will get better. 'Kay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed, but all he could think was that after all this time, he'd finally got what he'd always wanted...right when he couldn't have it. He wasn't planning on making it until summer. The illness would be bad by then so Harry couldn't wait that long to kill Voldemort. If everything went to plan, there would be no summer for Harry, just when he finally had someone willing to let him be part of a family.

He pushed that thought aside and listened to Sirius's wild plans, playing along but knowing all the while it was only a fantasy.

-

Finally, Harry was healed enough that his injuries weren't visible. His left hand still ached when Madam Pomfrey asked him to squeeze her fingers and she wasn't completely satisfied with the strength of his grip, but she said it should heal soon enough. His knee still shook a little if put under pressure for too long, but walking was fine and there was no limp. Total recovery would take a little more time, but since he exercised it so much just getting to his classes, the prognosis was good. His stomach felt fine, but there was a nasty scar Madam Pomfrey couldn't make disappear. Magic, she said, couldn't fix everything. Then she moved into a lecture about Quidditch which Harry tuned out.

He met Ron and Hermione at the main gates and they were both relieved to see Harry was safe. At dinner, they told Harry all about their stay at Beauxbatons.

"There were fountains and marble statues everywhere. It looked like a palace," Ron described through a mouthful of chicken.

"For dinner, they sit everyone at circular tables with tablecloths and candlesticks. Everything's really proper," Hermione said, neatly serving herself a helping of peas from the serving bowl. "Of course, we all had to sleep on cots in their dining hall. They lit hundreds of tiny candles that floated around like fireflies."

"There weren't any poltergeists and all the ghosts were so clean. You couldn't even tell how they died. The Bloody Baron would have been chased out of there in a second and Nearly-Headless Nick would never be allowed to flop his head around. And I swear there was harp music playing all over the place. You couldn't tell where it was coming from, and you almost couldn't hear it, but the moment you stopped talking, it was there. Everything was so..." Ron looked to Hermione for the right word.

"Sparkly," they said in unison. Harry laughed.

"I'm so happy to be back at Hogwarts," Hermione sighed contentedly. "It was horrible."

"Yeah! It was like you couldn't mess up or joke around. It was like being at some fancy dinner party where you had to be on your best behavior." Ron shuddered.

"Well, I'm glad you guys are back too," Harry grinned.

"So where did Dumbledore send you anyways?" Ron asked through another mouthful.

"The Dursleys." Harry made an exaggerated disgusted face to hide how much the memory shook him. "But I was allowed back really quickly. Saw your dad around helping fix wards. Dumbledore even let the Stensons drop by for a day." He figured he better get that out now before Ron heard it from his dad and got suspicious.

"Really?" One of Hermione's eyebrows lowered in bewilderment. "That must've been a hassle."

"Wanted me out of the way, I guess," Harry shrugged. "Figured me playing tour guide was the way to do it."

"That's our boy." Ron slung his arm around Harry's shoulder. "Bugging the crap out of people until he gets what he wants."

Harry laughed. "Hey, if the method works..."

"So what'd they think?"

"Probably the same things we thought our first day here. They were a little overwhelmed. Dobby freaked Kota out."

"Well, house elves are kinda weird looking, really," Ron said. "But hey, they cook great so I'd keep 'em around."

Harry's laughs turned into fake coughs at Hermione's glare. Life was good.