Disclaimer: See first chapter, as usual.

A/N: For a few days now I've been brainstorming this plot out and writing out little notes to myself. So I've been kinda on a roll, but except updates to slow down after a week or two. My muse is bound to wander away for a bit eventually. Thanks for reading, and keep on reviewing! --Miss Laine

000000000000 Chapter 3: Clues in the Letters 000000000000000

Harry kept his head bent over the scrap of parchment in front of him, feeling more than seeing his aunt's agitated presence behind him. His uncle seemed to have disappeared after their confrontation and the single blow, though Harry could still hear the heavy man stomp down the stairs in the morning. He supposed, probably, that his uncle was too afraid of what could happen if he reminded Harry of that fact that he'd hit him. He couldn't wait for the time when he'd be able to get back at his uncle, though he was pretty sure he'd never tell the Order about the blow. It just wasn't in him to admit to them that he'd been smacked by his own uncle.

This was the third time now that he'd had to write a letter for the Order, the little brown owl waiting impatiently on the desk.

It had started coming through the chimney since it couldn't get in the windows, it seemed, and that alerted his aunt every time. The first time, Harry had still been angry enough to write a very honest letter telling the Order that his uncle was a jerk and his aunt wasn't much better—only to end up getting shouted at and smacked by his aunt again. She seemed to have lost all fear of the mysterious 'Order,' and Harry didn't care to argue with her more than necessary. Vernon was staying away, and usually his aunt didn't try to hit him. Sure, he was getting less to eat and he was confined to his room, but he didn't really care. He was too exhausted and weak to care.

That, and ever since the day he'd been re-imprisoned in his room, his headaches had gotten worse. Now, he figured, they bordered on full-blown migraines, and it wasn't often that he had a pain-free day. In fact, his present headache had already lasted for several hours, and the pain was a sharp, intense irritation that made him feel queasy. He just hoped they were a sign of stress or something, rather than connected to his scar and the pains he sometimes suffered from it. If they were…well, then eventually they would probably develop into something much worse.

After that first rather belligerent letter, his aunt had been even more short-tempered with him. And of course, he'd gotten nothing to eat all the next day…and that was after he'd finally written an acceptable letter.

This was the third letter, he decided. It had been…eight days. Two to the first letter, three to the second, and another three to this one. Six days until he was sixteen. What fun. He would get to spend it in the confines of his little cell, hoping that perhaps he'd get a little to eat. If he was quiet.

He probably wouldn't be. For the past several nights he'd started having nightmares again, and he was only glad that he hadn't had any 'visions,' real or otherwise. Just nightmares about the third task, about Voldemort, and especially about Sirius. It was like they were building up to something, from weak nightmares up to…he didn't want to imagine what. It wouldn't be nice.

Like the night before. He'd woken up from his own screaming and his aunt's shouting through the door. It had taken him hours to stop the shaking in his limbs from the memory of Voldemort's possession of his body less than two months before, and he hadn't gotten any more sleep until the next day.

Which was why, presently, he was so exhausted. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep for over a week, and it was starting to really wear on him.

He had only gotten some toast and a can of pickled beets yesterday, each shoved through the catflap by a less than eager Petunia. Of course, he'd eaten both ravenously, starving for anything solid, but of course it hadn't been enough to do more than take the slightest edge off his appetite.

His relatives had also taken to only letting him out once a day to use the toilet. Of course, now that he was half-starved he only really needed to go to the bathroom once a day, but he missed getting a chance to shower and wash his hair. It was really kind of grimy now, after eight days of no washing. He just hoped he'd get a chance to wash it before he had to go back to Hogwarts. His friends might wonder just a little if he showed up at King's Cross looking and smelling like a homeless person.

That was another problem, he thought. How in bloody hell was he supposed to get to King's Cross this year, if it was horribly dangerous for him to even step off his relative's property? It wasn't like he could summon the Knight Bus or flag down a cab or something…but he figured Dumbledore would have some sort of plan. That was his only hope for getting out of here.

Before his relatives had taken to locking him up again, he'd had much more vague nightmares, especially right after he'd gotten back. Either his aunt, or, more rarely, his uncle would storm in and either smack him or shake him awake, shouting for him to keep his mouth shut so that they could sleep.

Now, he woke up screaming most nights, from nightmares or such. Most times, Petunia would bang on the door and tell him to shut up, and he'd snarl back that he'd shut up when he bloody well pleased.

He could have been more polite to them, he thought, but he really didn't feel like it. He was sick and tired of being locked up with no idea how to get out of the situation, and he felt like an idiot, letting his stupid muggle relatives lock him up, him, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Hell, he'd faced down Voldemort several times already, and he'd made it through that.

But of course, then he could do magic…

"Hurry it up, brat," his aunt snapped. He started, jerked out of his musings. So far, he hadn't written much, but he read over it quickly, trying to figure out how to work a few clues into the letter:

'Dear Order,

I am fine. Everything here is great, and my Aunt and Uncle are treating me really well. My scar hasn't been hurting and I haven't had to do any chores at all.'

He thought about it, and happened to glance at the corner where he usually kept Hedwig's cage. Except that she was at Ron's this summer, where it was safer…

'Please check on Hedwig,' he wrote, 'she's been locked in her cage all summer. Someone should let her out. I mean, it's almost her birthday, you know.'

He hesitated. His aunt might or might not know when his birthday was. If he did, he'd probably be in trouble with the next line.

'Her birthday's in six days, I think. A good present for her would be getting let out of her cage, don't you think? She'd really like Grimmauld Place, I bet.'

Harry hurried to finish before his aunt could catch on. This was the best clue he could come up with, without getting hurt. If he got it to the owl soon, he'd hopefully be out by nightfall.

'Anyway, that's all I have to write. I'll talk to you all later. –Harry'

"Fine," his aunt said sharply. Harry breathed out slowly. It looked like he was going to get away with it. "Send it with the damn bird."

"Okay," Harry agreed. He rolled up the letter with trembling fingers and quickly tied it to the owl's leg. An instant later the bird was out of the room, zooming down the stairs and probably out the chimney. Harry just hoped it reached Dumbledore without troubles. And that the man knew what it meant.

"I don't want to hear a peep from you tonight," his aunt snapped. "A single word, and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy."

"Well, it's not like I can control it," he said sourly. He earned a sharp rap on the skull for this. For a moment, Harry considered fighting back—pushing his aunt aside and escaping from the room—but he knew it would be futile. He wouldn't be able to recover all of his stuff, and he wouldn't exactly be able to safely leave Privet Drive. He wasn't sure if the Order or Death Eaters would get to him first, if he left. It didn't seem worth the risk.

"You'd better learn, or I'll shut it for you," his aunt threatened, then stomped out of the room. Harry heard the seven locks click one after the other, effectively cutting Harry off from the world once more. When she was gone, his rolled his eyes and breathed out slowly. His aunt was getting way too out of control. Hopefully, the Order would figure something out before she tried to kill him in his sleep or something.

In the little sleep that he actually got, that is.

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"Don't move!" Dumbledore shouted, voice fearful. Harry stopped, confused. There was no reason to be afraid now. Voldemort had left, Bellatrix was stuck under a statue…

But then the pain came, the burning, all-consuming agony that turned Harry into a pain-wracked puppet for Voldemort.

Just kill me, he thought, just let the pain end. Anything, anything at all to get this agony to stop…

Voldemort forced his mouth to move, forced hissing words from his throat, and Harry could do nothing to stop it. He was a prisoner in his own body, trapped in the coils of the snake that was slowly squeezing the life from his body…

'Kill the boy,' Voldemort hissed with his mouth.

Yes, kill me, Harry thought frantically, trying to plead to Dumbledore though the man could not hear him. Anything to end the pain…

And I will see Sirius again…

Emotion filled him, longing, love, sorrow, all at once. He'd already lost his parents and now, because of his brazen stupidity, he had lost his godfather, had lost the man that his parents had named as the one they trusted with their child…

He had no one…

And the pain lifted, the coils loosened, and Harry was freed…

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Harry woke up screaming Sirius's name, as had happened with many of his nightmares previously. But this was worse. The nightmare was not over this time. This time his aunt was leaning over him, face twisted with anger as she glared down at him, a large pillow in her hands.

And, alarmingly, his body shook and ached like it never had before after a nightmare. Something was not right.

"I told you to keep it quiet!" his aunt shrieked. Harry wanted to strike out, wanted to fight back…but he was too weak. His muscles were shaking as if he had been possessed once more; his vision was blurry, and his mouth tasted of blood.

"Get…away…from me!" he shouted. His aunt stepped back a moment, but was forward again in an instant, pushing the pillow over Harry's face. Harry tried to pull free, but a tremor shot down his body and he couldn't fight back.

The pillow covered his mouth and nose too much. He couldn't breathe…but then the pillow exploded in a dust of feathers, and his aunt was knocked backwards.

Right into Vernon, who had come rushing in at the noise. He was knocked backwards as she hit him, and he fell backwards, head rapping sharply against the far wall. Harry could just see him lying there, probably unconscious.

Serves him right, Harry thought weakly. His turn to get knocked out, he thought, though it was still somewhat groggy. The whole 'almost smothered with a pillow' thing wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He gasped in air, still shaking and in pain from his nightmare, and then slowly, very, very slowly, sat up. He had to use his arms to even get that far, and they shook underneath him.

He was scared.

He'd never felt that much pain in any of the visions he'd had, and never before had he woken up in pain from a nightmare. He'd been nauseated, achy, sore, even weak with dagger-sharp pains in his scar, but never in complete agony like this. Something had changed. And not for the better.

He had no idea what he was going to do. When his uncle woke up…it would not by good. Or if Petunia decided to attack again…knowing his luck, that would probably happen first. Currently, she was standing there in shock, looking first at her limp husband, and then over at Harry, who was worried more about the vision he'd just had than anything else.

His arms and shoulders were shaking badly still, and his vision kept fading in and out. He knew he was too weak to fight off his aunt if she really tried to hurt him again. He had no idea what to do, and he had to just sit there, waiting for her to come. He didn't have to wait long.

"Vernon?" her voice came, sounding worried. Uh, oh, Harry thought. She was coming out of her shock. He was in for it now, never mind that he couldn't stop shaking and that he was pretty close to being sick. "Vernon, honey?" she said again, falling to her knees next to her husband.

And then suddenly she stood up, whirling to face Harry. "You!" she shouted, her voice a piercing wail. Harry head Dudley, one room over, stirring. He would be hiding, probably. Harry hadn't seen very much of him at all this summer…and from what he'd heard, the reason Dudley had lost so much weight was because he was hardly able to sit still long enough to shovel any food into his mouth.

Harry wanted to get up, to be able to defend himself from an attack, if that was what it was, but instead he smiled as a small brown owl zoomed into his room, hooting madly when it saw him. Petunia was looking indecisive now, worried about what the owl could mean but also wanting very much to hurt her nephew. Suddenly, she retreated from the room, and Harry turned his attention to the little brown owl.

The owl had a small parchment attached to its leg, and Harry took it with trembling fingers—and they weren't trembling from fear or excitement.

'Harry,

We got the hint. We'll be there ASAP. Just have to figure out how in the name of Circe we're going to get you from the Dursleys to…you know where. If it's really bad, send a note back with the owl. We'll send someone to stick around until we can get you out safely.

ONLY IF IT'S REALLY BAD, HARRY. This is really dangerous to do, and we've had some very scary information come to light. If we don't hear from you, we'll assume that it's all right to leave you a few more days.

Moony'

Harry frowned, and then glanced up. His aunt was standing in the door. She had a golf club in her hands now.

This looked life-threatening to Harry. But he didn't have a quill, nor anything to write with.

So instead he wiped some of the blood in his mouth, from his half-bitten tongue, onto his fingers, and then smeared it on the back of the parchment into a single word.

HELP.

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A/N: That's the end of Chapter 3. I wanted to make it longer, like I said I was going to, but this one just ended here. I even read through it again, but everything happened that I wanted to have happen. So look for Chapter 4 to probably be a little longer. Thanks for reading, and PLEASE review. –Miss Laine