It was an easy thing to fall asleep again. But the darkness that now embraced Harry felt somehow softer, less smothering. He was quite content to stay forever there…
"Wake up, Harry."
A hand touched his cheeks, then his eyelids. He was reluctant to come out of his sanctuary, though.
"One minute, Aunt 'Tunia…" – But was he really with the Dursleys now?
"Wake up, Harry." – Chuckles. And an agile finger tweaked his nose.
Harry's eyes fell open in surprise. Definitely not the Dursleys.
George smiled in satisfaction. "Do you feel better?"
With not a small amount of astonishment, Harry replied, "Yes." – Where had his bone-deep exhaustion gone to?
George motioned him to sit up and waved at the nightstand on his right. "You can eat on your own, then?" he asked, amusement in his tone. A covered dish sat there on a tray alongside a spoon and a large chunk of fresh bread. Harry's stomach growled.
He grinned gratefully at the man, then soon gobbled up the meal. As if making up for prior treatment, the chicken broth was pleasantly rich. He scrapped the last drops with the last piece of the bread at length, feeling regretful.
But then George sat beside him on the bed, tilting his face up with a finger. Harry's rueful elation promptly turned into apprehention. The man had… shifted. And Harry found he feared this stern, serious side inexplicably.
"What were you doing the day before yesterday? You hit the gates blindly. You were just an inch from exhausting yourself to death."
The tone was still mild, but there was a fire in George's eyes that Harry, even without his glasses, noticed. He shrank back and looked away. Where was he? The day before yesterday–?
Running… Tired…
He must not tell George! The bobbies would certainly catch him. And what about the Wizarding World? – Nonononono… Please no…
– "Ardila likes you. Do not make her grieve for you." – Sterner, icier, but strangely non-hostile still.
If Harry could recoil, he would. As it was, his mind blanked, and his eyes sought George's on their own volition. Incredulity was foremost in his heart, followed by concern and dread. He had never thought of what Ardila – or anyone – might think about his brush with death. It was… odd, for certain. He could not grasp the notion, let alone understand it. And now George was forcefully driving the point home… Why did he treat Ardila as if a fragile glasswork, though? She had never seemed so to Harry. What was the missing piece? The whole family was a sheer puzzle!
– "Where were you last?"
Harry bit his lip. George looked and sounded so severe. He could not bale out of this. "Tube station, Sir," he whispered, unable to look away.
"What were you doing there?"
What should he say? – Nono, he must not say that he was running away… George would promptly return him to the Dursleys, if not giving him to the bobbies. But…
– "Running away?"
Oh, no…