Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 12: The Aftermath

Poppy Pomfrey gripped the folder tightly in her hands as she walked slowly towards the Headmaster's office, regret weighing down desperately on her heart.

She had spent her entire working life in the profession of medicine, and on top of that she had spent almost twenty years specifically as a school nurse, so it was not her first time coming across an injured and vulnerable child. But even putting aside the fact that this was Harry Potter of all children, something was different about this boy. She had never seen a case so severe...

Steeling herself for what she was about to do, Poppy softly said the password to the Headmaster's office and made her way slowly up the stairs, hoping to prologue the inevitable. This would be a difficult conversation for all concerned, and she only hoped that the faculty meeting with the child had gone well, or she feared this news would hit them all the harder for it.

It seemed, as she walked into the room, however, that the universe wouldn't grant her even that small concession. Sighing slightly, she turned her attention to the occupants of the room.

Slightly to the side of the wooden table in the centre of the room, Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick were all glaring at the Potion's Professor, with anger so clearly emanating from each one of them, that she was almost surprised that he didn't suddenly burst into flames. Professor Dumbledore simply looked on at the situation, disappointment clear on his aged face, mingled with something akin to sadness.

Minerva was breathing heavily, her hand clutched tightly around her wand as if she was having to physically restrain herself from cursing Severus Snape. Severus, for his part, was clutching a pale hand to his cheek, the hand-shaped pink mark beneath it clear. His eyes were wide, but it seemed more in shock than pain, so she tempered her medical instincts and moved her attention away. From the way the rest of the room was glaring at him, including the usually benevolent Professor Dumbledore, she could only assume he had deserved the slap, and that Minerva was acting admirably by restraining herself from further attacks.

"Have you got a moment, Albus?" Poppy asked tentatively, the icy atmosphere of the room almost oppressive. It couldn't be clearer to her that the meeting had gone terribly, and judging by the anger being directed at Severus, it was equally clear that the Potions Professor had had something to do with it. When no one spoke, she reluctantly continued. She had half a mind to turn around and reveal this news another time.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked cautiously. Poppy sighed when she realised that she had no choice to reveal what she knew now, however difficult it would be. It wasn't about them; it was about a young boy who needed their help.

"Not at all, Poppy," Dumbledore said wearily, with not a trace of his usual sparkle. "We are quite finished here. Is that not correct, Severus? Minerva?"

"Yes, Albus," Minerva said icily as she continued to glare at the Potion's Professor.

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape reluctantly said, returning Minerva's glare with equal vigour.

Dumbledore didn't seem to be convinced by either one of them, but he simply sighed deeply and appeared to let it go, saying nothing more on the subject.

"Is there something I can help you with, Poppy," the Headmaster asked instead, his keen intelligent eyes immediately noting the thin folder she held in her hand.

"Before your...meeting," she began uncomfortably, thinking back to the icy atmosphere of the room when she had first entered it, "I had young Harry in the Hospital Wing for a check up."

Dumbledore nodded, having known about the arrangement, but it seemed to come as a surprise to the other Professors in the room, and Poppy couldn't help but wonder just how much the Headmaster had been keeping to himself.

"How is he, Poppy?" Minerva asked, concern clear in her eyes. Not for the first time, Poppy wondered what on earth had happened during the meeting to have them all so on edge.

"Not well, I'm afraid, Minerva," Poppy answered tiredly, as the memories from the check-up floated back to the front of her mind. "I've fixed what I could...physically, but he's got a long road ahead of him. The poor boy's been through a lot."

At their questioning expressions, she steeled herself to continue, taking a steady breath to help her keep her composure. It was vital that they all remained professional.

"He's malnourished, a condition he has apparently suffered from for most of his life," she began wearily. "He has...injuries...that Arthur Weasley suggested had occurred during a street fight not too days ago, but I found evidence of poorly healed cuts that were weeks, possible months old, as well as broken and sprained bones that have healed, but badly, and clearly without professional help."

"He's been beaten before..." Minerva whispered, as if she had just had her worse suspicions confirmed. Poppy wondered again what they already knew about Harry Potter's life.

"Numerous times," replied Poppy gravely, pushing aside the thought. "Arthur suspects that Harry has been living on the streets for some time now, and I'm afraid his condition is consistent with that kind of life-style."

At this, Minerva, Filius and Pomona all turned to glare at the Potion's Professor, who for the first time in her memory seemed vaguely regretful.

"He has suffered then," Professor Dumbledore said softly, his eyes full of sorrow.

"Undoubtedly," Poppy replied gravely. "For over half his life at least, I would wager. He has scars across his entire chest, some several years old. He wouldn't talk about it, in fact he refused to talk at all, but it's clear he suffered severe abuse for a great deal of his childhood."

"He did, Poppy," Dumbledore replied regretfully. The Medi-Witch was not a member of the Order, so she didn't know about Harry's history at the Dursley household. The news had been kept secret on a need-to-know basis, but he realised that it was now unavoidable; she would need to be caught up with what they had been able to establish about Harry's life.

Before he could speak though, Minerva turned almost violently towards him. Anger seemed to rise up in her, and fury danced in her eyes as she swung around to look him.

"I TOLD YOU!"

"Minerva..."

Almost as if in slow motion, they watched as Minerva raised a hand and brought it sharply towards the old Headmaster.

SLAP!

"No Albus," she interrupted, uncaring as she watched Dumbledore bring an aged hand to his cheek, the pink mark still visible on his skin from Minerva's stinging slap. "I told you, they were no good! He should never have been left there!"

"Minerva, calm down," soothed Poppy, moving over to the irate Witch to pull her gently away from the Headmaster. Once she was sure Minerva was sufficiently calm, Poppy turned back to Dumbledore, confusion clear in her expression. "Explain."

Shaken slightly, Dumbledore began to speak. "Two years ago, in the summer before he was due to start his first year, Harry Potter...ran away from home. He had been placed with his Aunt and Uncle after the murder of his parents...by me...and then spent the next ten years in their household. One day - for what specific reason, we still don't know - Harry left of his own accord, and disappeared without a trace."

Poppy's eyes widened as this news sunk in. She had always suspected that something was amiss with the boy's life, even more so when he failed to show up at Hogwarts as expected, but for the boy to have run away from home...

"There were rumours, but I never imagined..." she gasped.

"We couldn't let it get out," Minerva continued, shooting a half-glance towards the Headmaster. "People needed the reassurance that the Boy Who Lived was well cared for. Had the general public known that he was instead an abused little boy who had run away..."

"It would have been chaos," completed Poppy gravely, understanding dawning in her mind.

"We searched," Dumbledore said, his voice almost a whisper. "We searched for months, but we were simply too late. We went to the Dursley household, but found that the elder Dursleys had already been arrested by the Muggle police for child abuse, and young Harry had long since disappeared."

"Apparently, a teacher at his primary school had noticed his absence and had contacted the police," Minerva said with difficulty, her voice breaking slightly. "Even they were too late to save him. He had to save himself instead..."

"It is too late for regret now, Minerva," Dumbledore said, although his eyes seemed to belie his own words. "We have all failed Harry in the past, but we must not fail him again. What would you recommend, Poppy? How can we help Harry now? What does he need?"

"Truth be told, I'm not sure I'm the person to answer that," she replied quietly. "Given time, and care, his physical condition will improve dramatically, but that is not what I'm concerned about. He had clearly suffered from a number of traumatic experiences, and I doubt he has remained unaffected by them."

"You think he has developed psychological problems," Flitwick asked his tone graver than any of them had ever heard it.

"It's not so far-fetched," Poppy replied sadly, thinking back to the frail, timid boy she had examined only hours ago. "From what you tell me, it's clear that Harry has had to survive on his own from the moments his parents died twelve years ago. In that time, he has suffered more that any child should, and he has done so alone. Do not expect him to simply fit into society as easily as you hope."

"We just want to help," McGonagall said, surprised by Poppy's blunt tone.

"Then do not rush him," Poppy said unapologetically. She had a feeling that they all had expectations and she couldn't bear it if they based those expectations on false hope. "Do not push him. He may seem like he's handling everything well, but that could well be just a mask."

"He's definitely got fight in him," said Filius, glancing towards Snape, clearly recalling the way Harry had defended himself against the unfair attacks. "He's not weak."

"Then maybe all is not lost," Poppy said gravely. "But do not forget that he's still a vulnerable boy who has been alone for far too long. He was barely responsive when I spoke to him, but if what you say is true then he hasn't shut down completely. It's a good sign, but it's going to take time for him to feel comfortable among people again."

"What can we do?" Dumbledore asked intently, repeating his previous question.

Poppy sighed, but she knew she couldn't sugar coat her answer. "He's going to need more than some clothes of his own and a few square meals. He's going to need a lot of support. A lot of one-on-one help."

"It seems we are moving in the right direction then." Dumbledore sighed. "Harry will be receiving private tutoring, rather than joining Hogwarts immediately."

Poppy nodded her approval, but her expression soon turned serious.

"He will not be an easy student," Poppy warned. "Once he starts to feel more comfortable around you, it's likely that he'll start to push boundaries."

"What do you mean?" asked Sprout.

"He will test you," Poppy replied softly. "No doubt to see if you'll stick around at the first sign of trouble. He's been abandoned by every adult he knows. He'll be expecting you to leave him too..."

Minerva failed to suppress a sob as she brought a hand to her eyes to wipe absently at the tears that had begun to escape.

"Do not pity him," Poppy warned. She did not know Harry well, but that much she was sure about. "Pity will do him no good, and he'll hate it. He has been let down by too many people; the last thing he needs is for you to let yourselves become consumed by how sorry you all are. He's observant; he'll notice, and it'll likely mean he'll never trust you."

She turned and moved towards the door then, certain that she had made her point as best she could. She had seen a lot of vulnerable, abused children over the years, and they all had something in common. He needed to know that he wasn't alone, and he needed someone to care. Looking at the teachers in this room, their resolve to help the boy was clear. Now, only time would tell if that help had arrived in time.

They had a lot to think about, and a lot to discuss, and there was plenty of work for her to be getting on with in the Hospital Wing. She had almost reached the door when was stopped in her tracks as a voice compelled her to stop.

Turning around, she was about to ask what was wrong when she caught sight of Dumbledore, the pain clear in his eyes. She felt a small sense of dread rise within her when the Headmaster began speaking again, his tone unsure.

"Was there..." he began with difficulty. "Was there any sign of...sexual abuse."

"Sexual..." Poppy asked, her eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. "Why do you ask that?"

"Harry spoke a little about his early experiences after running away," Dumbledore answered gravely, glancing towards Severus with disappointment in his eyes. "It appears he narrowly avoided an encounter of that nature. Did he...?"

"He showed no signs of any sexual assault," Poppy confirmed sadly, but the sigh that followed highlighted the problems they still faced. It was little consolation, after all. Especially with everything else the child had apparently endured. Would they ever truly understand what Harry had been through? Would he ever trust them enough to tell them? Or would he bury it...?

"I believe he would benefit from having someone to talk to," Poppy suggested tentatively, as she passed over the folder in her hands for Dumbledore to look over in more detail. "Someone neutral, who is neither his teacher nor his guardian. I've already spoken to Arthur about this, and he agrees. As much as he wants to help the boy, he's admitted he feels a little out of his depth. Arthur mentioned that Harry's been suffering from mood swings since they found him on the streets. I believe it's a sign that he's bottling everything up instead of dealing with it. He needs a safe environment in order to deal with how he feels."

"You think Harry would benefit from some form of therapy? asked Minerva.

"I do," nodded Poppy, looking towards the Headmaster to make sure he had understood her words. He nodded in reply.

"It will be difficult considering his position," Dumbledore began, deep in thought. "Any wizard who speaks with him will no doubt be hampered by his fame, and yet using a Muggle is out of the question since Harry is now aware of our world. I will give it some careful thought, Poppy."

Each of them took this as their cue to leave. First out of the door was Severus Snape, who looked as if he couldn't bear to be in that office a second longer. The other three teachers followed him at a more sedate pace, but Poppy could see the strain in their shoulders, the pain in their eyes. Sighing softly, Poppy too left, her thoughts still on the damaged young boy. She could only hope they had found him in time.

It was only as they left, closing the office door softly behind themselves, that Albus Dumbledore allowed the tears to finally fall.

"Harry?" Arthur inquired gently, as he helped Harry off the floor of their living room floor. It seemed Harry still hadn't gotten used to travelling by Floo, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

"I want...I want to be alone," Harry mumbled. "Please, l-leave me alone."

"Why don't you go on up to your room for a bit," Arthur suggested softly, looking towards Harry, not with pity, but with an expression of pain and regret so intense that Harry almost faltered under it. "I'll make sure Ron doesn't bother you."

Harry didn't say anything in reply, wasn't sure if he would ever say anything again. He just fled the room as quickly as his light feet would let him.

All excitement at going to a magic school had gone. Nothing would be different, he knew that now, and the realisation hit him with a painful crash. The teachers would hate him now, if they hadn't before, and the same freakish things would happen to him. He'd be an outcast. Even Ron would leave him once he realised what a freak he was, and Harry wouldn't blame him for a second.

If I was him, I wouldn't want to hang around me either, Harry thought desperately as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall from his unwilling eyes. Shame rose up through him, and even the care and help shown to him by the Weasleys was not able to quell it.

Harry swung open the door to the dingy attic room that he shared with Ron, pulling his tired body through the threshold before slamming the door shut with much more force than he had intended, his emotions momentarily getting the better of him.

Growling in frustration as he tried desperately to contain the maelstrom of emotion battered at his mind, he threw himself on the bed. Harry grabbed the pillow with a shaking, pale hand, shoving it over his head in an attempt to drown out the mess he called a mind.

His eyes were clenched shut, so tightly that it was painful. He wanted to forget the memories that had been brought up by that stupid story. He wanted to forget the face that haunted his nightmares. He wanted to forget the other faces that hauntingly followed.

But he couldn't, and for once the emotions he had been containing up until now found their way out of him. The first sob was painful in his chest, but the dam was broken and the tears that had been waiting years to be freed leapt from his eyes now in rivers of sorrow. In the end, he gave up trying to stop them.

Harry cried. Great wracking sobs pulled at his chest, and he found himself struggling to take a breath as the fit continued. He couldn't stop it, and for a brief moment, he didn't want to. It felt oddly cathartic, in a way. No one was here, so did it really matter that he experienced this moment of weakness?

So he let it run its course, all the time praying that he would be left alone. Mr Weasley had said that he would make sure Ron would stay away, but could he even trust him? He had been there for him during the meeting, and had clearly not approved of the way Snape had treated him, but he had also heard the story. Surely he must see Harry as weak and pathetic now that he knew the truth of how stupid he'd been. Eveything that had happened; it was all his own fault...

Clenching his fists slightly, he had to stop himself from screaming out loud. It was all too much.

He needed to be out of his head. Thinking had suddenly become too difficult.

His thoughts were threatening to crush him with self doubt and hopelessness and he couldn't handle it. Not now. Not after everything that had happened in that last couple of days. Not since his life changed beyond all recognition.

His circumstances had changed, but the memories never would, and it was those desperate times that he wanted to escape now.

Swiping his hand behind his new glasses to dispel any tears that were still clinging to his face, Harry pulled himself wearily off the bed and desperately searched the room for his backpack, all whilst pressing his emotions forcefully into submission. Never had he been more glad that Mr Weasley had had the insight to rescue his stuff for him. It meant the world to him. At the moment, it was all he could be sure of.

He grabbed it from the corner where it lay and pulled it onto the bed. Searching quickly, he found what he was looking for.

Lord of the Rings.

He settled back on the bed, allowing his body to sink wearily into the mattress as he carefully turned the first page. It was time for him to forget his own troubles for a while.

"Arthur?" Molly inquired gently as she quietly opened the door to her husband's shed. Clutter lined every inch of the small wooden building, trinkets that testified to Arthur's obsession with everything to do with the muggle world, but Molly only had eyes for her husband.

He was sat at his work station, holding in his hands a small rubber duck that Bill had somehow gotten hold of for him one Christmas. He fiddled with it absently, but Molly knew that his mind was elsewhere, focusing not on the muggle object, but on something much darker.

"Arthur, love, what are you doing in here?" Molly said gently as she walked over to rest her hand on his shoulder. "It's late. All the kids are in bed."

"How's Harry?" Arthur asked tiredly, completely avoiding her question as he wearily dragged his head up, his sad eyes meeting those of his wife.

"Asleep." Molly replied softly, looking towards her husband with some concern. Something was weighing heavily on his soul, and she almost dreaded finding out what it was. "Ron's agreed to sleep on the couch again. Harry seemed a bit distressed when he went up, so I thought it'd be best."

"You're probably right," Arthur agreed sadly. Having had the memories dragged out of him so forcibly that afternoon, Arthur had no doubt that Harry's sleep would be far from restful, and that he probably wouldn't want the embarrassment of having his friend witness to that.

"Harry's sleeping peacefully at the moment though," Molly continued, apparently having had the same train of thought as her husband. "He seems to have fallen asleep reading actually," She smiled at him. "Lord of the Rings was open on his lap."

"Ah," replied Arthur, a small smile finding its way onto his face as well at the reminder. His obsession with all things muggle had led him to discovering all manner of muggle wonders, but one of his most treasured memories was when he had come across their literature. His favourites had always been the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and he had even read them to all his kids when they'd been younger.

"Muggles have such a wonderful imagination," he murmured wistfully with a smile, as the memories went some way towards dissipating the darkness that was clouding his mind.

Molly, who had never quite understood his obsession with muggles, still smiled at the look of wonder and appreciation on his face, momentarily breaking up the intense sadness that had been there before.

"What are you doing out here, Arthur?" Molly asked cautiously. "The children have been wondering where you were."

"I...needed to think," Arthur answered. "I needed to clear my head."

"You and Harry both, I think," Molly suggested somewhat shrewdly. Since they had both come back from the meeting late that afternoon, both had all but demanded solitude, not just from each other, but from everyone else.

Arthur had at least joined the family for dinner, but his mind had clearly been elsewhere. Harry, though, had eaten in his room, obviously not ready to face the family after whatever had happened at Hogwarts. Arthur had spoken briefly to her about what had been decided with regards to Harry's education, but since that seemed to have been resolved, Molly was at a loss to determine what else could have possible gone wrong.

"I don't doubt that," Arthur said darkly, although it was clear to her that his anger was aimed, not at Harry, but at someone else.

"What's wrong Arthur," Molly asked. "Did something happen at the meeting that you've not told me? Harry's still going to get an education, isn't he? We are going to teach him?"

"Of course, Molly," Arthur answered. "Even if Dumbledore changed his mind, we'd still find a way to teach Harry what he needs to know. I have no intention of letting that boy down."

"What is it, then?" she asked, as a thrill of fear rose up within her.

"Just Severus Snape causing trouble," Arthur responded bitterly.

"Why Dumbledore allows him to teach, I'll never know," she added equally bitterly. She had heard quite enough from her children to know exactly what kind of teacher he was. And in her opinion, it was the kind who had no business being around children. "I've half a mind to go to Hogwarts to show that Severus Snape a piece of my mind!"

"Don't worry Molly," Arthur said soothingly, although a small amount of humour reached his eyes, momentarily breaking through the bitter thoughts. "Poppy fire-called earlier, whilst you were cooking dinner. She wanted to check on Harry because she'd gone to the Headmaster's office after the meeting had finished and some things had come to light. Anyway, apparently, after the meeting, Minerva took care of Snape for us. Slapped him right across the face. When Poppy told them about Harry's...condition...Minerva turned around to Dumbledore and slapped him too. Poppy thought she'd gone mad until they explained what was going on."

"What on earth caused her to act that way?" Molly asked, shocked. After all, Minerva McGonagall was not one to lose control on her emotions.

"He's been through too much Molly," Arthur said gravely, as he absently began to clear the clutter from his work surface, eager to keep himself busy and his hands moving.

"I know..."

"No you don't," Arthur interrupted bluntly. "You have no idea. None of us do."

"Tell me, Arthur," Molly asked gently, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Snape didn't believe Harry when he told them that he'd run away, nor that he'd been living in London by himself," Arthur began bitterly. "He confronted Harry, badgered him until he told us what had happened the night he left the Dursleys."

"He didn't!" Molly cried, realisation dawing in her eyes. "No wonder Harry's so upset. It must have a terrible thing to relive."

"It's worse than you could imagine, Molly," Arthur said gravely. "It turns out...Harry was...propositioned. The sick bastard wanted something in return for a lift to London!"

"Oh Merlin, no," whispered Molly, her eyes wide in horror.

"Harry didn't realise what was happening until the bastard stopped the car," Arthur told her, his eyes closed tightly as he fought not to imagine the how terrified that boy must have felt.

"Was he...?" She could say the words, but Arthur knew what she was asking.

"He says no," Arthur replied wearily as he rubbed a hand over his tired face. "But it could have happened Molly. He was so...vulnerable. Someone should have been there for that boy, Molly! Someone should have been there to protect him from creeps like that man!"

"We're there for him now Arthur," Molly said softly, taking her husband's hand in hers in a soft grip, a grip he returned as if his life depended on it. "We'll protect him."

"I'm not sure we'll be enough, Molly," Arthur told her, desolation clear in his expression.

"We have to be," Molly said firmly, and Arthur raised his eyes as he looked the certainty in her eyes. "You said it yourself, Arthur. We won't fail that boy."

"No," Arthur muttered firmly to himself, as he pulled himself off the stool and moved towards the door. "No, we won't fail him."

NO! No, no, no, no, no...

Harry jerked up in the bed, his mind still racing as he fought to chase the nightmare away. It's not real, he chanted to himself. It's not real.

He took a deep, steadying breath, his hands still gripped tightly to the bed sheet, but it seemed to take an age for the fog to clear from his mind. When he opened his eyes, it was dark, but he could still make out some of the features of the room he had slept in. Across from him was Ron's bed, empty for once. Familiar poster's covered the walls, and there, on the desk was Ron's rat, Scabbers. He was in the bedroom at the Weasleys that he shared with Ron. He was safe.

"Harry?" came a aoft voice from the doorway, and Harry flinched violently, his nerves already on edge from the nightmare. He turned, with a sense of foreboding, to face Mr Weasley.

"Y-Yes, Sir?" Harry replied shakily, as he fought to still his shuddering limbs. He didn't want to look any more weak in front of the man. He had done enough damage earlier today.

"Would you like some water? Or maybe milk?" the man asked gently, but there was no pity in his expression. He could see only sadness there, and Harry wondered whether he had called out in his sleep. Usually he was quiet during night terrors, but this one had been particularly traumatic...

Harry shook himself violently in an attempt to dispel the horrific memories that still haunted his cloudy mind.

"No..no thank you, Sir," Harry replied, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the bed sheets that covered him.

"Not Sir, Harry," Arthur said softly as he moved into the room, trying to ignore how Harry tensed at the action. "It's just Arthur. Remember?"

Harry nodded his head, but it was clear to Arthur that the boy had barely registered his words.

Harry was still shaking, and his thin face pale was dripping in sweat. As he watched the boy swipe shakily at the few tears that had escaped his eyes, it was clear to Arthur that the nightmare had not been anything less that traumatising.

Moving slowly, so as not to frighten him, Arthur moved quietly over to sit on Ron's empty bed. Green eyes watched his movement, wary but also slightly confused, and Arthur moved to explain.

"I was just off to bed when I heard you tossing and turning," Arthur told him quietly. "I was about to wake you up, when...you did it yourself. Nightmare?"

Harry jerkily nodded his head, but his gaze fell back to his sheets.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "I...I didn't mean to bother you."

"It's not your fault Harry," Arthur said softly, and it was clear to Harry that he was talking about more than the nightmare. "It was never your fault. Something you need to remember."

They were quiet for a moment, then, as Harry visibly tried to gather himself together. After a few minutes, the shaking subsided slightly, and he gained a bit more colour in his cheeks. Eventually, Harry broke the silence.

"Y-You don't have to stay," Harry stammered cautiously. "I'm...fine."

"Would you like me to stay?" Arthur asked tentatively, unsure of what Harry wanted. If it had been one of his own children, he knew they would have felt more comfortable with him staying until they fell back asleep, but Harry had been through much more than his children ever had, so there was no telling how he would react. Arthur felt he had to try though.

"You're safe here, Harry," he said quietly, but his tone was firm.

Harry looked up when he heard those words, desperate to see the truth in the man's face. There was no anger or annoyance in Mr Weasley's expression, and he certainly didn't seem like a threat; when he looked at the man, there was just a sense of desolate understanding and sad certainty coming from him.

Harry didn't want to admit it, but the answer was yes. He had always dealt with his nightmares on his own, but for once, he didn't want to. For once, he just wanted a little comfort that everything was okay, and that he was safe now.

Arthur knew from the look on the boy's face that he didn't want him to leave, and he felt an odd sense of relief flood through him at the thought.

"I'll stay as long as you want me too," Arthur said gently as he settled more comfortably on Ron's bed. "Now why don't you try to go back to sleep, hmm? I'll be right here, I promise."

"I don't want to keep you..." Harry began unsurely.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Arthur assured him. "I've always been something of a night-owl. I tend to read a bit before I go to sleep anyway. Perhaps you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your book? I've read it before, but it's been years..."

"You've read Lord of the Rings?" Harry asked quietly, his eye brows rising in surprise. "Don't you read...you know...books written by Wizards or something?"

"Of course, though I still have a certain fondness for this particular story." Arthur fondled the worn cover of the book with reverence.

"It's my favourite," admitted Harry tentatively. "I...I used to pretend I was on an adventure, like Frodo. It made things...easier for a while."

"It's a favourite of mine too," Arthur said gently. He didn't want to push Harry to talk more, especially after what had happened eariler, so instead he settled for offering the boy a small smile.

"Really?" asked Harry with a small smile of his own.

Arthur nodded. "Although I've come across so many wonderful Muggle stories that it's not an easy choice. Muggles had such a wonderful way of looking at magic, don't you think? It's simply fascinating."

Arthur smiled as he watched Harry's eyes droop slightly. It seemed that exhaustion was creeping up on the boy, despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

"Why," Arthur continued quietly, "Once I came across a story about young girl called Dorothy, who somehow ended up in this place called Oz. Now you might think that the witches in the story would be a bit far-fetched, since it was written by a Muggle, but, knowing some of the people I do, it's not too far from the truth..."

Harry allowed his eyes to close as the words flowed over him.

"Anyway... this girl," Arthur continued, softening his voice even more once Harry's eyes had shut, "She meets a Lion, a tin man, and a scarecrow, of all things, and they all go off on an adventure to find the Wizard. Of course, they get into a spot of bother along the way...

Harry's breathing deepened as Mr Weasley's voice both relaxed him and reassured him at the same time. He focused on Mr Weasley's calm words as he told the story, pushing aside the remnants of the nightmare, as he allowed a magical fantasy to lull him to sleep for the second time that night.

Arthur smiled as he watched Harry's breathing deepen and his eyes close. It had been another exhausting day, and Arthur was relieved to see him finally at rest. Looking at the boy now, it was hard to see him as the street boy they had found only days ago. He looked so young in sleep; so innocent, and it made Arthur's heart ache in a way it hadn't in years.

He cared so deeply for Harry, as if he was one of his own flesh and blood. Harry wasn't just some street waif that they had decided to help out of some act of charity or because they felt sorry for the boy. He was a sensitive young child, who had been on his own far too long, and who had been through things that would have driven grown men to depression.

Despite all the horrors he had experienced though, Harry had a glimmer of something within him, something that couldn't be crushed, no matter how many bad things happened to him. It was a cautious hope, a belief that as hard as life was now for the lad; he wanted more. He couldn't or wouldn't give up, and Arthur found himself amazed at the thought. Harry had earned his respect, almost from their first meeting, and in all their subsequent conversations, nothing had changed.

Arthur couldn't be more proud of him.

At numerous times, Harry had demonstrated his courage, achieving things that, whilst not that big of deal for those who had a safe, normal childhood, were huge, terrifying steps for a boy who had spent his life being ignored, abused and neglected. Had he been in the same position, Arthur wasn't sure he would have dealt with things half as well as Harry had.

At the same time though, it was clear that everything was overwhelming for the boy. His self-esteem seemed almost non-existent, making Harry unnaturally quiet, overly polite, and timid at best. He clearly didn't know how he was expected to act, or indeed react, when they did something in his interests.

Harry was a walking contradiction.

All in all, Harry was indeed still an enigma, and judging by the story he had told about his first night on the streets, there were still many horrors in his past that he would have to overcome before he could even experience a small semblance of happiness. There was a long way to go before Harry could be the happy young boy that Arthur wanted him to be.

The medical report Madame Pomfrey had give him that afternoon told a story of abuse, pain, of hard days spent alone on the streets, struggling to survive each day. Scars littered the boy's skin, a testament to the fact that he had had no one to protect him from the crueller side of life.

And yet he was not broken. He had been damaged, yes, but never broken.

He was still fighting, and Arthur would be damned if he let that boy fight alone any more.

"I won't fail you," he whispered as left Harry to sleep, closing the door softly behind himself. "I won't fail you."

A/N- Hmm, firstly, sorry for the longer than usual wait for an update. I've been in London (my boyfriend lives there) and I didn't have my laptop with me so I couldn't write, let alone post anything. When I finally got home, I had some medical issues that meant writing was the furthest thing from my mind. All in all, not a good end to the week, but that's cleared up now though, and I'm back to the story with a vengeance.

This chapter is quite emotional and angsty, and I'm sorry if people are becoming a little bored of that. In all honesty, it was never supposed to be like that when I first planned it, but that's just how it turned out. I hope it's okay?

Anyway, do let me know what you think about this chapter. It took a lot of work to get it how I wanted in the end, and I'd love to hear whether you think the effort was worth it or not.

It's 2.30 am in the UK at the moment, so I'm a bit tired, but I decided to post this regardless. It's entirely possible that there are a few errors in this chapter (let me know if you find any), but honestly I just really wanted to get a new chapter out there! Hope you like it (it's the longest chapter so far!) and thanks for reading!