Disclaimer: I own neither An Angel for May nor Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Ok, so in case you haven't figured it out yet, the last chapter was a bit of a Flashback, everything will become much clearer further on into the story though, so don't give up hope. If you haven't figured who Mia is yet, I'm not going to tell you, though I'm sure quite a bit of you know who she is. I also must apologize for how much babbling there has been and will be in the first couple chapters, and how little action there is, or actual events happening. But I felt it necessary to explain things before actually getting into the events that are to happen. I have brilliant plans for this story, starting from the very next chapter, and anything else that must be explained I will proceed to explain through actual events in the story, and not confusing ramblings. So stay with me.
An Angel For Mia
Chapter 2
Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, was currently sprawled unceremoniously atop his tattered bed at Number 4, Privet Drive. It was nearing midday, and the weather was awfully strange for it being the middle of summer. The sky was dark, and it was beginning to drizzle slightly, though it didn't seem as though it would stop at that. As a result of this and many other things as well, Harry found himself wishing the day would pass quicker. After all, the faster this day passed, the faster the next day would come, and the faster the next day would come, the faster that would pass as well, and he would be that much closer to his return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for his sixth year.
The previous year had been its usual disaster. And to top it all off, the one man who was quickly becoming the closest thing he had ever had to a father, had passed on, when he fell through the dreaded veil, on that fateful night, in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. Harry shivered involuntarily as the memory returned to him, replaying within his mind, as though it had only just happened. Many nights, Harry lay awake, staring up at the blank ceiling of his bedroom as memories of this man, his godfather, Sirius Black, flooded his mind, overtaking his senses.
Though Harry had been a terrible wreck at the closing of his previous year at Hogwarts, snapping at his best mates, never saying more than two words to anyone without sounding thoroughly upset with them, Harry, now, vowed that he would not let his sorrow get to him, though it did nevertheless.
A sudden light tapping brought Harry out of his reverie. He sighed as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked to the window, to find his, now damp, snowy owl, Hedwig, impatiently waiting outside, clutching the Daily Prophet in her talons. Harry made his way to the window, sliding it open quickly, as Hedwig flew over to his bed, dropping the Daily Prophet onto it, then further proceeding to make her way over to her cage, shaking out her feathers before taking a long awaited drink of water.
"Hey girl," Harry spoke softly, earning a light affectionate hooting from Hedwig, as she looked up from her water bowl. Harry smiled sadly, closing the window, before retracing his steps back to his bed, sitting down on the edge, and retrieving the issue of the Daily Prophet that Hedwig had brought for him.
Following the events of the previous year at Hogwarts, with Voldemort showing up at the Ministry of Magic, Harry thought it to be his obligation to, in the least, be aware of any updates on the current situation, whether it be Death Eater attacks, or Voldemort himself choosing to make an appearance, which, being highly unlikely, remained a possibility. As a result, Harry had asked his best mate, Ronald Weasley, to owl him the Prophet daily, to which Ron had agreed without second thought, though his tiny hyperactive owl, Pigwidgeon, seemed to be having doubts, and to be honest, could hardly lift the Prophet in the first place, let alone fly it all the way to Surrey. Thus, Harry had agreed to send Hedwig ahead to Ron, so as she could return with the Daily Prophet.
Harry looked to the current issue of the Prophet: August 1, 1996. He sighed, taking an extra second to gaze at the date on the paper. The previous day had been his sixteenth birthday, which had gone predictably unnoticed by his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Sure, he had received letters and gifts from some of his mates back at Hogwarts, mainly Ron and a few blokes off the Quidditch team, but it wasn't the same as actually having celebrated his birthday with friends and family. Harry shrugged at the thought. Not that he had much family to celebrate with anyhow.
In addition to the birthday letters, Harry had received his Hogwarts letter, right on time as usual, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he had been made Quidditch Captain for the Gryffindor team. Harry took this as a sign that perhaps Professor Dumbledore truly felt apologetic for the way he had treated Harry the previous year, as well as for giving his best mate, Ron, the position of Prefect, although Dumbledore himself had admitted that Harry had deserved it. The thought of the way he had been treated in his fifth year at Hogwarts, brought Harry back to wondering whether Sirius would be alive still, if Dumbledore had informed Harry of the prophecy, prior to the happenings in the Department of Mysteries, and this caused another question to form in his mind: Would he have still fallen blindly into Voldemort's trap?
'Highly unlikely,' thought Harry, as the all-familiar anger he had been feeling towards his headmaster began to resurface.
"Bloody hell!" Harry growled, his teeth gritted, both as a result of the anger he felt, as well as an attempt to keep his voice low, so as not to start up with his Uncle Vernon.
Harry flung the Daily Prophet onto the bed to the side of him, as he dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his thighs, while he simultaneously ran the fingers of his right hand through his thick, eternally unkempt, ebony locks.
"Get a grip on yourself, Potter," Harry murmured, as he closed his eyes, taking a deep and calming breath.
'I'm going to go bloody mad! I cannot stand staying here for another sodding minute!' he thought to himself, as he growled, leaning further into his hands. But there was nothing that could be done about it, and nothing for him to do to pass the time.
Opening his eyes, and lifting up his head, Harry picked the Daily Prophet back up, quickly glancing over at its articles. Not a moment later, Harry emitted a relieved sigh, as he hadn't found anything that pointed to suspicious happenings. Perhaps Voldemort was keeping a low profile, after having shown himself at the Ministry. Harry growled in frustration, as he threw the Prophet to the floor, left of his nightstand, adding to the eternally growing pile. Or perhaps, there had been attacks, but the Ministry had been trying to keep it all under covers. Though, it was possible that Voldemort was currently plotting his next move, while attempting to lure Harry into a false sense of security. That was it, Harry was sure. Voldemort was trying to catch him off guard and unprepared. Or maybe that's just what he wanted Harry to think. Maybe he purposely wanted Harry to go looking far and wide for any signs of Voldemort, while failing to notice the obvious.
"Merlin! Now I'm just being paranoid!" Harry mumbled, whilst nevertheless making a mental note to check the muggle newspapers for anything that might point to signs of Voldemort or dark magic.
'No, Potter! That is exactly what he wants you to think! If he has you thinking that you're just overreacting, then you'd go ahead and drop your guard,' he thought in response to his previous statement.
"Yes, but the whole 'Department of Mysteries' incident only happened, because I became paranoid! And that caused me to fall straight into Voldemort's trap!" Harry continued with his reasoning, this time speaking a bit louder.
'That wasn't you being paranoid, Potter! Remember what happened with Mr. Weasley! If you hadn't acted on the nightmare you had had, Mr. Weasley would have been killed!' he thought, continuing the argument he had been having with himself.
"Yes, but…" he said, beginning to retaliate.
'No, no buts Potter! You mustn't let your guard down! If anything, you should be more careful! Constant vigilance!' his mind screamed.
"Bloody hell!" Harry groaned once again, as the realization of what he was doing had hit him.
"I'm bloody talking to myself! I'm even starting to sound like Moody! I really have gone mad!" he exclaimed, frustration overtaking him for what felt like the thousandth time that day, as he stood from his bed and began to pace back and forth, across his small bedroom.
Each day, since the summer had begun, Harry had struggled to find something to do to keep himself busy, as he far from desired to leave his bedroom and come face to face with either of the Dursleys, and leaving Privet Drive wasn't an option, not even for the day, as the Dursleys wouldn't allow it. As a result, he had been trapped up in his bedroom since the summer began, and it was beginning to take its toll on him. The first few days had been all right. He hadn't gotten much trouble from the Dursley's, and he didn't mind not doing much all day, but now, after over a month had passed since he had gone back to his aunt and uncle's for the summer, he was beginning to feel restless. He could no longer sit still. He had tried writing letters to Ron to keep himself busy, but he quickly ran out of things to write about. It wasn't as if he could write to Ron of all that he done during the day, as there was nothing to write. Harry wanted to scream. But he couldn't do that either, since his Uncle Vernon would have a fit, and that's what he had been desperately attempting to avoid.
'Perhaps I should go downstairs and take the risk. At least I would have something to do, even if it came hand in hand with being yelled at by Uncle Vernon. Perhaps I'd even have a chance at getting out of here,' Harry thought, a small smirk grazing his handsome features, as his bright emerald green eyes sparkled in the slightest, for the first time since before Sirius' death.
Perhaps he could get out, with or without the Dursleys' permission. Perhaps he could wait until everyone was asleep and make a run for the front door. No, no, that wouldn't be right. Dumbledore would know instantly and would have every Auror in Britain searching for him in the blink of an eye.
'It would be all over the Prophet too. I can see it now: The-Boy-Who-Lived mysteriously disappears from Aunt and Uncle's home in Surrey,' Harry thought, rolling his eyes slightly. The Prophet had a knack for making the most unimportant things seem as though they were life-changing events, while making the truly important things seem unimportant. This made his leaving Privet Drive out of the question, since he did not want more publicity than he had already been getting, no matter whether it was good or bad. What the public thought of him didn't concern him in the least. He would, by far, rather not be the 'Famous Boy-Who-Lived' or 'The-Bloody-Chosen-One'. Harry became frustrated yet again at the thought of this.
Or perhaps, if Harry really had left Privet Drive, Dumbledore and the Ministry would try and hush it all up. Perhaps the information would never make it to the Prophet in the first place. Dumbledore and the Ministry would no doubt look irresponsible in the public eye if he had disappeared. It would seem as though they had not been watching over him carefully enough. Truly, Harry didn't need their help. Neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry had ever really helped him in the past. Dumbledore had withheld important information from him, after all. And the Ministry had made him out to be an attention craving teenager, when he had clamed that Voldemort had returned, nearing the close of his forth year at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore wasn't all bad, but Harry found it hard to be optimistic and think of the good that Dumbledore had done, while being cooped up in his tiny bedroom at the Dursleys. If it weren't for Dumbledore, Harry wouldn't have had to stay at Privet Drive part of each summer, after all. But that had supposedly been to protect him, right? Harry sighed. He wasn't sure what to think any longer. Not after Dumbledore had made such a terrible mistake by not informing him of the prophecy earlier on. And even though he had been made Quidditch Captain, he wasn't going to simply forget all about the information that Dumbledore had withheld from him, while he had all the right to have known.
'Fine then, that's settled! I'm getting out of here and that's final!' Harry thought, not even thinking much about where he would go and how he would get there. The Knight Bus was always an alternative if he found himself in need of transportation.
"I'm sixteen bloody years old! Why does Dumbledore care where I spend my summer anyhow? I can take bloody care of myself! I don't need my aunt and uncle watching my every bloody move!" Harry yelled, not caring any longer about the volume of his voice, as he continued to pace back and forth.
"What's going on, boy!" Harry heard his Uncle Vernon yelling from the kitchen.
"Nothing, Uncle Vernon!" Harry replied, his voice slightly robotic, as though the words that were coming out of his mouth were hardly his, and didn't affect him in the slightest.
"Get down here, boy! I'd like to teach you some manners!" Vernon Dursley's voice boomed.
'Great, now I've done it,' Harry thought, the words smothered with sarcasm, even in his mind.
"I'm not your bloody puppet, I'm staying right here!" Harry growled, shoving his hands into his jean pockets determinedly. He couldn't take being ordered around by his aunt or uncle any longer.
"Fine then boy! You've asked for it!" Vernon roared, and at this, Harry could hear the kitchen door slamming, followed by his aunt's squeal, and not a moment later, his uncle's heavy footsteps making their way up the stairs.
Harry could almost see the way Vernon Dursley's face must have contorted in rage as he spoke his words. Despite Harry's will to hide any possible weakness, at this, he shuddered involuntarily. He knew he was really in for it now. His uncle was actually going to come up and get him. And do what with him? Mr. Dursley had never actually entered Harry's bedroom. Would he now?
'Bloody fantastic!' Harry thought, 'I must have caught him in a bad mood.' But Harry's uncle was always in a bad mood! Was this any different?
Harry's bedroom door being pulled open roughly, brought him out of his reverie, and there stood his red-faced uncle, staring daggers at him with his bloodshot eyes, looking as though he was ready to kill.
Harry involuntarily took a step back, his face contorted in rage, as he subconsciously fought to bring as much distance between himself and his Uncle Vernon as humanly possible, while his uncle continued to advance on him, making his goal more and more difficult, as he was running out of space to back up into.
Their eyes met, both burning with a passionate hatred for one another, and at this time, Harry found that a silent Uncle Vernon was far worse than anything he could ever imagine.
Harry momentarily thought to reach for his wand, but two things had stopped him before he had even started. One being that he knew he wasn't supposed to do magic outside of school, although now would have been the opportune moment to break that law, as that was the very least of his worries. But what truly put a damper to the plan was that his wand was securely laid on his desk, directly behind Uncle Vernon's back, far from his reach.
Harry emitted a low agitated growl from deep within his throat, and he desperately thought of ways to get out of this in one piece, as he knew that his uncle would allow him no mercy. He was also well aware that his uncle knew of Harry's inability to get a hold of his wand at the precise moment. In addition, Harry knew quite well that his uncle was far from thinking logically at the present time, meaning that he wasn't thinking of the consequences that were to await him if he were to physically harm Harry. Then the thought struck Harry; perhaps his uncle had taken to drinking? Though Harry had no time to dwell on that, since he had quickly become aware that the backs of his knees had now come in contact with his bed, and his uncle was advancing onto him further.
Uncle Vernon closed the space between them, grabbing Harry roughly above the elbow, no doubt cutting off circulation, and causing Harry to cry out in pain, as he struggled to release himself from his uncle's death grip.
"Let. Me. Go!" Harry growled through gritted teeth, as he continued to struggle against his uncle's grasp, which no doubt turned out hurting more than it would have if he'd stayed still, and which only caused his uncle to apply further pressure to his arm, in attempt to keep hold of him.
"You ungrateful, good for nothing…" Uncle Vernon roared, trailing off at lack for thinking of a word that would do justice to what he thought Harry was.
"Your aunt and I took you in! We found you on our bloody doorstep, and gave you the clothing on your back! And this is how you repay us! By disrespecting me the way you have! You're a waste of our money and our time! And if it wasn't for fear of your kind coming along and setting some strange spell on me, I would have chucked you out long ago!" Vernon Dursley bellowed with all his might, his face becoming a sickening shade of purple.
"I bought the clothes I'm wearing! With my own bloody money! All you've ever given me are Dudley's old rags! You've hardly spent a pound on me! And you should be thanking me, for if it hadn't been for me, you might have actually had to lift a finger once in a while! You've bloody made me your slave! And what do you mean my kind!" Harry retaliated, refusing to back down although he was sure that whatever his Uncle Vernon had the intention of doing to him when he had come up here; it was going to be much worse now that he'd said what he had.
"How dare you speak to me that way, boy!" yelled Vernon as he raised his free hand, hitting Harry square across the face with full strength, causing Harry to fall back onto the bed, crying out in pain. His uncle held firmly to his left arm, not releasing his grip in the slightest as Harry fell back. Vernon Dursley wouldn't let Harry get away with what he'd said that easily. He jerked Harry up from his bed by the arm he had set to gripping tightly, no doubt readying himself to strike Harry again.
At this point, Harry was sure he wasn't going to get away from his uncle completely unharmed, as he had originally hoped he could. His arm would no doubt turn out bruised, and he was sure his nose had taken most of the blow from Mr. Dursley's fist.
'It's definitely bleeding,' Harry thought, as he stole a quick glance to the front of his navy blue sweater, which was beginning to soak slightly in his blood.
"You're just like your father!" Vernon Dursley continued, his huge round face only inches away from Harry's, his breath smelling of hard liquor.
"Always ungrateful! Always disrespectful! I knew nothing good could come from my sister-in-law and her good for nothing husband! People like them shouldn't be aloud to walk the streets! And you'll no doubt meet the same end they had met all those years ago!" It was easy to see that Vernon was under the impression that he was now on a roll.
"How dare you speak about my parents in that way! When you're over a thousand bloody steps ahead of them in being vile and ungrateful!" Harry yelled. His anger was now burning with the heat of a thousand suns, and it wasn't going to stop until Harry had properly paid his uncle back for what he had done to him. Not just now, but for all the years he had treated him like a bloody house elf.
At that, Harry felt his uncle's fist firmly connecting with his stomach, causing Harry to fall back on the bed yet again, half crying out and half groaning from the pain.
"Leave me the bloody hell alone!" Harry exclaimed angrily, thrusting out his leg and kicking his uncle squarely to the kneecap with his sock-covered heel. Vernon became momentarily distracted by this surprise blow, and Harry thought to take this opportunity to wrench himself from his uncle's grasp, as he leapt off the bed, despite the pain felt in his abdomen, and flew towards the direction of the door, snatching his wand off his desk, and grabbing his trainers from directly by the doorpost, before making a final run for it.
Harry descended the stairs as quickly as possible, trainers in hand, as he shoved his wand into his pocket, covering any bit of it that could be seen by pulling his sweater down over it. At this moment, Harry longed to be far away from Number 4, Privet Drive, and he was determined to be just that.
He ran for the door desperately, completely aware that his uncle was already half way down the staircase, so angry that Harry thought steam would billow from his ears at any moment. Harry ignored his aunt's protests and probing questions, as he undid the lock on the front door, running outside, and not even bothering to close the door behind him.
It took Harry only a moment to realize that his prior speculations of the weather being unlikely to improve had been correct. In fact, it was now raining heavily, and slight traces of thunder could be heard from the sky. Harry didn't mind it much, as the rain was soothing to his aching muscles, and had instantly cleared away the blood that had stained his face.
Harry proceeded to run down the block, knowing that if he'd gone far enough, Uncle Vernon wouldn't bother following him in this weather, meaning he would no longer be a threat.
Once Harry was far enough from Number 4, Privet Drive, and was sure that Vernon had definitely given up on trying to knock the pulp out of him, he sat down on the edge of a nearly lawn, his legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back onto his elbows, taking off his glasses, and tilting his face up towards the sky, allowing the rain to pore down onto it. Harry didn't know how long he had been lying there that way, but he did know that he now felt more content then he had in ages, despite the pain that still hadn't ceased in his arm, abdomen, and nose, as well as bellow his right eye. Harry smirked slightly at the thought of having gotten away from Dursleys at last, and even though he was still in a bit of a bind, which ceased to bother him before it had even started to, he was now content.
'Dumbledore will have my head,' Harry thought to himself, though, despite knowing the truth of that statement, Harry's newly found good mood hadn't lessened in the slightest.
Harry sighed as he sat up, replacing his glasses, and proceeding to lace up his trainers. No matter how much he had enjoyed lying there, and no matter how much he had relished in the moment during which he had realized he was finally free; Harry knew that he had to figure out what his next move would be and quickly.
'Walk,' a voice in Harry's mind said, 'Just walk.'
Harry took a brief moment to question whether this would be an appropriate action for his current situation, and found that, at the present time, he would choose walking aimlessly over any other activity in the world, wizarding or muggle.
So that was what he did. He walked. Staring down at his feet as he did so, though he was more aware of his surroundings then he had ever been in the past. He heard every drop of rain on the pavement, every rustle of leaves above his head, and every crash of thunder coming from the sky. He felt so alone, yet empowered. He had no idea how to describe the feeling. All he knew what that he loved it, yet he hated it all at the same time.
He loved the feeling of knowing that he was finally away from the Dursleys for the time being. Yet he hated the thought of being scolded by Dumbledore for having left.
He loved how alone he was at the moment, with no one to bother or to distract him. Yet, he hated being alone.
And he loved the soothing sounds of the rain and the way it was drenching him, soothing his muscles, causing an almost euphoric calm to overcome him. Yet, he hated how cold he was quickly becoming, and the way he was now beginning to shiver.
But this was the way everything in his life had always been. He would finally have something that he wanted, and in the blink of an eye, it would be gone, leaving him hollower then he had been before he had had it. This was the way it had turned out with Sirius, after all.
Before Harry had ever known of Sirius, he had already well accepted that he didn't have a mother and father, and the Weasleys had been a great comfort to him since he had started Hogwarts. But once he had met Sirius that night in the Shrieking Shack, an indescribable hope filled Harry. He would now have a father figure: someone to look up to, and come to for advice, maybe even live with, away from the Dursleys, though that would have had to wait until Sirius' name was cleared, of course.
But no, nothing was ever that easy for Harry, and only a short two years later, after he had only begun getting used to having Sirius looking out for him, and having someone to come to who at least partly understood his pain, Sirius had fallen through the veil in the Department of Mysteries.
Harry wanted so badly to scream out. To yell "why!" out to the heavens, in hopes of receiving an answer. But he knew that was impossible, and the logical side of his brain took over. He wanted nothing less then to have the muggle police chasing after him for disturbing the peace. All of the people who lived here were much like the Dursleys, and he didn't have too good of a reputation with them either. Not after his aunt and uncle had told all the neighbors what a terrible troublemaker he was, and had apologized in advance for any trouble he might cause them in the future.
Harry continued to walk in silence. Thousands of thoughts and questions were playing and replaying in his mind. Where was he going anyhow? Harry shrugged slightly at this. He didn't care where he was going or why.
After many hours of peaceful walking, Harry was quite content to know that he was now far from Privet Drive. Where he actually was, he had not the slightest idea, though it didn't worry him much. Harry didn't have any idea of what the time was now either, but by the looks of things, and by how long he felt he had been walking, Harry was sure it was well into the afternoon, the evening quickly approaching.
The area, through which Harry was now walking, was quite abandoned to be honest. It seemed to be something along the lines of an old town, which no doubt had contained a large farm long ago, judging by the spacious fields
Harry continued to walk; thinking nothing of it, until the sound of a barking dog quickly caught his attention, bringing him out of quiet thought. Harry whirled around quickly to see where it had been coming from, but saw nothing.
"See Potter! You are paranoid! You must be hearing things! What on earth would a dog be doing here in this sort of weather?" Harry murmured to himself, though looking carefully at his surroundings nevertheless.
There it was again! Surely it wasn't just his imagination! He had heard it a second time, after all. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, walking cautiously towards where he thought the sound had come from.
'It could be a trap, Potter!' his mind told him, though he ignored the warning, thinking it to be highly unlikely, as he wandered slowly into a small half-ruined farmhouse which stood only a few meters away from the fields, and just parallel to another, much larger farmhouse, also half ruined.
Harry stepped inside, failing to avoid the puddles of mud, which covered the ground almost completely, as a result of the amount of broken boards from which the hardly existent roof was made. He examined his surroundings carefully, slightly in awe of the structure within which he was now standing. As he looked from side to side, then up and down, Harry found himself wondering what had happened in this farmhouse years ago, and why he was quickly beginning to feel an unexplainable attachment to it.
Suddenly, he heard the light whimpering of a dog, and looking down, Harry saw what the origin of the noise had been. There was a beautiful white dog with brown marking lying on the ground, half covered in mud, it's head resting on its paws as it whimpered. Harry could have sworn this dog hadn't been there a second before, and now he was positive that he had in fact gone mad.
'But it's right there!' Harry reasoned with himself, 'the dog is right there! Surely it couldn't have been my imagination!'
The dog continued to whimper, lifting its face from its paws to look up at Harry, as though trying to gain his full attention, before burying its head in its paws all over again and continuing to whine and whimper, now louder then before.
Harry kneeled down slightly in front of the dog, before reaching over cautiously and bringing his fingers forward to pat its ear gently.
"Well, you're definitely real then, aren't you girl?" Harry mumbled, "I'm not going mad… Surely I'm not," Harry continued, speaking half to himself and half to the dog before him, though he wasn't sure whether she could understand him or not.
The dog turned its head slightly, almost expectedly, and proceeded to sniff Harry's hand for a few seconds before resting her head back on her paws, seeming satisfied for a moment, before looking back up and emitting a low bark.
"What is it, girl? Are you waiting here for something? Is that it?" Harry asked it, as the dog eyes seemed to bore into his soul. It startled him a bit, and the possibly of this dog being an animagus hit him full force.
'So it is some sort of trap!' Harry thought to himself, 'but surely if you were an animagus, and you were one of Voldemort's followers, you would have done a better job acting as though you were a dog, wouldn't you?' Harry continued, analyzing the situation with furrowed brows, this fingers still lightly touching the dog's soft ear.
Without warning, the dog jumped up from its lying position on the ground and began to walk around Harry, as though surveying him, and stopping on the other side, before beginning to bark at him determinedly.
"What on earth is it you want?" Harry exclaimed, slightly exasperatedly as he made to stand up, but was stopped by the dog leaping forward and pushing him backwards, causing him to lose him balance, fully expecting for his head to come in contact with the stone fireplace behind him. Harry involuntarily closed his eyes, readying himself for the impact, but it never came.
Instead, what Harry felt, was, in fact, quite soft.