Delusional

Jessylane318

He awoke slowly.

Pain, unbearable shifting pain stormed through his chest and arms, dancing on the bones and burning his head. Harry Potter doubted there was any part of him that didn't hurt. Flickering the emerald eyes slowly open, he stared at the white ceiling blurry and indescriptive, a splash of grays against a simple white.

"Best not to move, young sir," came a simple voice through the haze of white. Harry, spiked with sudden fear and fury, tried to turn in effort to see the voice, only to find the pain in his neck so terrible he whimpered pitifully. A soft chuckle carried through the silence and he heard a distinct smirk in the voice. "Tried to warn you, I did..."

The man's deep chuckle died out and the tone became serious and sharp once more. "You've cause quite an uproar, young sir. Queer folk be coming round Bree lately, lucky old Bob found you near the stables, else you'd 'ave died by morn."

Uncertainty swept over Harry like drenching rain as flashes of memories came to him. Ginny. Ron. Hermione. Were they okay? What had become of Tom Riddle? A sharp pain hammered against his head before Harry got to question how he was alive.

"Rest now, young sir," spoke a voice calmly. "Old Butterbur'll answer questions later."

With leaded eyes, he returned quickly to a dreamless slumber.

"You're certain?" asked a gruff voice through the haze and fog of Harry Potter's dreary mind. A pause and scowling scurry of curses flittered through the background of subtly shifting clothes. They sounded heavy and woolen, and distinctly warm. "Very well. Barley, I'm off in the morning. Will you do something for me?"

"You've only to name it."

"I'm in a hurry," said the first voice, "and I've no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire. Have you anyone you can send, and trust to go?"

"Tomorrow, maybe or the day after."

"Make it the day after," decided the gruff voice before there was a whisper of fabric once more.

Harry managed to twist his neck somewhat, but only caught a glimpse of gray in the corner of his eye. The movement caught someone else's eye, though, and a small flask pressed against his lips. Without meaning to, he swallowed the foreign liquid, tasting the bitter concoction as it slipped beyond his tongue. Beyond his control, the world disappeared and, numbly, he returned to nothing.

"Are you awake, young master?"

Opening his eyes, Harry searched for his crooked black glasses placing them on the tip of his nose despite their slightly broken and especially dirty state.

"Who are you? What's going on? Where am I?" he asked quietly, looking around the modest room he occupied. Humble and homey, he noted at once, and deceptively small. Everything looked child-sized, from the fluttery pale curtains and round-centered windows to the tall, ornamental mirror and short, spindly stools with their simple green velvet-like cloth.

"Not so many questions! No, you're at The Prancing Pony of Bree," answered the voice, and Harry turned to find himself staring at a tiny little man, about the size of his Charms professor Flitwick, with curling brown hair and kind brown eyes. For a moment, he stared at the strange person. "My name's Hob, Hob the Hobbit."

"Prancing... Bree? Hobbits?" Harry asked, his confused evident. How did he get here when last he remembered... Ginny! He shot up, sitting straight, only to feel his arm constrict painfully. Looking down, he saw a simple brown scab, the only remains of the poisoned wound. "How- how am I alive?"

If the little man thought this a strange question, he did not show it.

"Why, Mr. Butterbur nursed you to health. Quite lucky too, if you ask me, what with those strange riders coming and going. Queer folk be abroad and you is lucky that Bob found you and not one of them Rangers... or worse."

Harry nodded without understanding, his mind a whirl of confusion, but the small man continued, talking in a rather easy voice with an accent unlike any he'd heard before.

"But as to you being alive, if you'll pardon my saying so, well I'd say it be a miracle, alright. Why if Gandalf hadn't happened by and saw to your wounds... Well, he fixed them up mighty well, if you'd ask me. Though he'd been muttering about you afterward all strange-like..."

"Gandalf?"

"Aye," agreed the little man as he began dusting the room. "A mighty fine wizard, that man, but a terribly strange one."

"Wizard!" Harry shouted, only to blush at the startled stare of the other man. "I mean, he's a wizard?"

"Isn't that what I said?" Harry felt his face burn redder. "Ah, there we are. Now, young sir, yah need some more rest before Old Butterbur'll let yah rise. Can't have yah wastin' his kindness, aye? He'll probably come visit in a day or so, best to go back to bed while yah can." And with that, the little man quickly scurried from the room, leaving Harry no choice but to ponder the words as he fell back to sleep.

It actually took three days for Barliman Butterbur to visit. He was an older, fat gentleman, with a stocky build and warm cheeks. Brown hair curled in lazy circles around his face that smelled distinctly like smoke and ale.

"Harry, right?"

The boy nodded lightly, curious.

"Well, Old Hob told me you were fitting better, which is good indeed. But we need to get you home before your folks be a worrying. Where might they live, and we can send 'em a missive or sorts?"

Harry sighed and looked at the sheets, trying to decide how to continue.

"My parents died," he finally struggled out. He didn't bother to mention it had been nearly twelve years ago. They'd be asking where his guardians were, and Harry got the distinct feeling the people around here didn't know much about Surrey. "They were murdered. I don't have a home anymore."

The old inn-keeper gasped and took him by the arms, shocked and upset.

"Well you can stay here, boy!"

Harry blinked up, not expecting such kindness. He opened his mouth to refute, but Butterbur laid a calming hand on his shoulder, clearly determined in his position.

"You can stay here as long as you'd like, and to help pay your fares, you can work the bar. You seem like a hardy lad, and the last boy just left for the mountains. So we'll get you an outfit and..." The man continued on, his words bubbling over into cheerfulness. "We'll get you started tomorrow!"

Harry looked down at his bandaged stomach and then at the man.

"Er... But, sir, what about..."

Butterbur stopped and looked at his waist, blinking.

"Oh, I forgot."

Harry had a feeling this was going to be a long week.