Getting Harry Back

Chapter 7
What Are Friends For?

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
Bye, bye, lully, lullay,
Thou little tiny child,
Bye, bye, lully lullay

Coventry Carol Refrain
15th c. English Carol,
Commemorating the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents

"Hermione," Ron whispered furiously. "Hurry up! This bloody owl won't leave me alone!"

Hermione opened her bedroom door at Twelve Grimmauld Place, having dressed in record time, but quietly so as not to wake the others.

Ron ducked as Hedwig dived again at his head. She continued on to swoop Hermione, who also ducked.

"Okay, okay, okay," he whispered, "we're going, we're going." He turned to Hermione. "Got the Portkey?"

"Right here," Hermione whispered back. "What do you think is-"

"I don't know. But I do know I won't have any friggin' peace 'til we leave. Never seen an owl act like this."

Hedwig was flapping her wings so rapidly she was hovering. She was clearly getting set for another swoop if Ron and Hermione didn't move.

Hermione, now in the hallway, closed the bedroom door quietly.

"Ron, you don't suppose-"

"Something's wrong. She didn't have a message, but something's wrong, that's clear." He put his hand on the Portkey. "Let's just go."

Hermione nodded and lifted her wand. "On three: one, two...."

* * * * * * * * * *

Ron stared at that face. He'd never seen a face like that: so bruised, so bloody, so swollen and misshapen. If it weren't for the lightning bolt scar and the hair, he wouldn't have known it was Harry.

"Christ, I wouldn't even know my own best friend."

With that, some thinking and feeling returned, returned after being driven away first by pure terror, then by emptiness and unreality. Sitting on the bedroom floor with a battered and unconscious Harry, Ron looked up as Hedwig flew in through the open window, settling on her perch. She first looked at him, then moved her head to stare, fixedly, at Harry.

Ron wondered, as if in a fog, how she got back so quickly. Then, for the first time, he saw how shabby and bare Harry's small room was - bed, desk, bedside table all secondhand and uncared-for looking, the wooden floor bare and scuffed, the paint on the walls and ceiling old and flaking. Everything screamed that nothing and nobody here mattered. He felt, though at a distance, his anger rising.

Ron blinked his eyes, looked at Hedwig again, and followed her gaze back down to Harry. He vaguely remembered Hermione telling him to stay here while she went to get Dumbledore, stay here and not move him because it might hurt him even more. That's what she had said after their heart-stopping minute before they found out that Harry was still breathing. His anger flashed.

"Hurt him more! How the bloody hell could he be hurt any more? He already looks like he's dy--"

Ron's anger was swept aside by terror's return.

"Harry!" he yelled, "Don't you die on me!"

Each breath from the small, bloody form seemed slower, and weaker, and more reluctant.

Ron stared, again empty with shock and horror.

"Harry?"

Ron's voice became weaker along with Harry's breathing -- Harry who looked like he was dying. Hesitantly, Ron reached out to touch Harry's hand. It felt cold, and Harry's cold hand brought back even more terror. Ron grabbed Harry and held him, fiercely held him:

"HARRY!"

Ron's scream from the bottom of his soul awakened something even deeper than his soul, a soul beneath his soul. And from his deeper soul, Ron felt magics he'd never felt before surge up and through him and into the not-yet, not-quite dead Harry.

Ron closed his eyes and poured everything, everything into his best friend, so much everything that it seemed as if he, Ron, were inside Harry and joining him, forcing warmth and breath and life from every Ron-cell into each and every Harry-cell, forcing into Harry his, Ron's complete and total will for Harry to live!

After a while Ron felt warmth not just from himself, but from Harry. Then he felt a shudder and heard a small cough. Ron opened his eyes, lifted his head and saw that Harry's breathing was now deep and steady. He felt Harry's hand, no longer so pale - it, too, was warm.

Ron asked weakly,

"Harry?"

Harry stirred, perhaps in response.

"Harry?" Ron's voice became stronger, more hopeful.

Harry softly groaned, his breathing still deep and steady.

"Oh, Harry!"

Ron laid his face back on Harry's head, closed his eyes again and sobbed, he sobbed and sobbed and for a time lost words.

In Ron's deeper soul, though, he knew Harry was going to live. He would see to that. And he swore he'd never fail Harry again. Never!

* * * * * * * * * *

"He should be healed by tomorrow morning, though he will be sore for another day or so."

Eyes shut and brain befuddled, Harry recognized Madam Pomfrey's voice. He also felt his body reeling with aches. "Must've fallen off my broom in Quidditch," he thought vaguely. He tried to open his eyes and speak, but his body wouldn't respond. "A really bad fall."

"Albus, I insist we move him out of here - to the Burrow, the Order Headquarters, wherever. He isn't safe here. You know that! For God's sake, look at him!"

It took Harry a while to work out that it was Mr. Weasley: he sounded really upset. "Why is he here?" he wondered. "And why isn't Hogwarts safe?"

"I have questioned them all closely." Right away, Harry knew Dumbledore's voice. "They insist it was just a fall - obviously lying. I haven't used Legilimency; it seemed pointless. I have, of course, put a warding spell on the door. Harry will not 'fall' again."

Harry was strangely reassured that the Headmaster was here; it felt really good to have him close-by. He found himself hoping that Ron and Hermione were here, too, hoping with a strength that startled him. And yet, somehow, he felt Ron's and Hermione's presences inside him, especially Ron's. "Weird," he thought.

"Headmaster." Madam Pomfrey again. "In my professional opinion, this boy has not only fallen, he has been beaten, savagely beaten. In particular, that injury to his groin, many of his head injuries, and his broken ribs - they are the result of deliberate beating. I shudder to think what would have happened had we not arrived when we did. Frankly, I don't fully understand why he was still alive when we got here. I told you of my concerns after he first came to Hogwarts. I have never seen a child with so many broken bones and no evidence that any of them had been attended to medically."

"Groin? Savagely beaten?" Harry felt a growing disorientation and uneasiness.

Then he remembered. Everything.

He sat up and screamed.

"Harry!" Ron was there, his arms gently around him. "You're okay now, mate. You're safe. Lie down so you don't hurt yourself."

Harry seized Ron, disregarding his pains and clinging with his whole being:

"Ron! I can't see! I can't see!"

"Your eyes are swollen shut, Harry." Harry could feel Ron's voice, Ron's holding trying to calm him. "Madam Pomfrey says you'll see in a few minutes, once the swelling goes down."

Madam Pomfrey spoke, "Perhaps I should administer a sedative."

"No!" Fear raced through Harry. He did not want to lose touch with Ron; he did not want to be thrown back into that painful oblivion. Harry willed himself to be calm: "No. Please. I'll be quiet; I promise." Harry let Ron lay him down. He was, however, shaking uncontrollably. Ron began rubbing Harry's shoulder.

Silence.

"As long as you remain still, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey replied. "It would, for safety's sake, be better if you were awake for at least a few hours."

Harry gave a relieved outbreath and relaxed, his shaking somewhat lessened. He reached out to find Ron's hand and grabbed hold. "Ron? Where's Hermione?" he asked in a small, frightened voice. It hurt to talk; his mouth ached vengefully. He tasted blood, and around the corners of his mouth he felt a slow oozing.

"I'm here, Harry." He felt Hermione gently pat his other hand, then hold it. She began stroking his forehead and hair. "It's all right now," she murmured. "You're going to be fine." Harry heard her voice catch.

Another relief and relaxing, his shaking became trembling, his breathing, too, began to ease. Harry lay there blindly taking in Ron and Hermione and their touch.

The room fell silent. Hermione kept stroking his forehead and hair, Ron kept rubbing his shoulder, both kept holding a hand. Harry's rib pains began to dull as his breathing steadied. His mouth began to feel better, too, much better, though he still felt it bleeding. Eventually his trembling became twitching, and finally stopped.

Harry sighed. He squeezed Ron's and Hemione's hands and, somewhat self-conscious, let them go. Then he said, "Uh, who's here? Besides Madam Pomfrey, the Headmaster, Mr. Weasley, Ron and Hermione?"

"I am, dear."

Recognizing Mrs. Weasley's voice, Harry warmed and relaxed.

"As am I, Harry." He recognized Professor Lupin. "And that's all of us."

Harry liked that, too -- his former teacher, his father's friend. But he also felt worried and ashamed.

"Thanks, everyone. I...." Harry paused, swallowed, and then said more softly: "I'm really sorry I caused so much trouble."

Around the room, Harry heard several gasps, as well as a soft moan that seemed to come from Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry." The Headmaster's voice was stern. "You caused no trouble whatsoever. None of this is your fault. None."

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Weasley cried. "It's not your fault at all, dear, you did nothing wrong."

Harry still felt a little uneasy, but nobody seemed to blame him or to be angry with him. He felt relieved about that, though he wished he could see their faces just to be sure. Everyone seemed so upset; he didn't want to upset anybody, he didn't mean to upset them -- especially not them, because they'd been so good to him.

"We are all most grateful to be here," Dumbledore continued. "All of us. When Hermione told me what she and Ron had found," - Harry heard Hermione gasp - "I summoned Madam Pomfrey and came. The others - well, I believe the polite term is that they insisted." He chuckled. To Harry, his chuckle felt reassuring -- maybe it really was all right. "I did not think I had sufficient magic to stop them. Nor did I want to."

Harry was stunned. "They really want to be here? For me?"

"Headmaster?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"Are you quite sure," she pleaded, "that Harry must stay?"

Again room silence.

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, Molly, unfortunately I am. As we have discussed, Harry needs another four days to re-establish his protection here." A pause, then more softly: "I wish it were otherwise. But," - anger came into his voice - "my ward on that door will hold."

Harry could feel the room's collective frustration and his own growing fear. He did not want to be left here alone. Even though he knew that he didn't deserve having people there, that he didn't have a right to ask for that, he just couldn't help it. His whole body screamed out not to be left here alone.

"Sir."

"Yes, Ron?"

"If Harry stays, I stay."

More room silence. Harry grabbed Ron's hand again, even tighter. Ron began to rub Harry's shoulder. Hermione took his other hand, which Harry also grabbed.

"Ron," Mrs. Weasley sounded tentative, "Madam Pomfrey is staying the night, and she says he'll be all right afterwards. It will only be a few more days, and perhaps we can--"

"If Harry stays, I stay." Ron spoke quietly.

Harry's eyes were beginning to open. He could see, in outline, Ron facing him, his back to the rest of the room.

"Ron," Dumbledore said, "I am concerned that your staying might provoke--"

"You know enough magic to stop me." Ron never raised his voice; he never turned to look at them. "But that's what it'll take, and keep taking. Otherwise, if Harry stays, I stay."

"Please, sir?" Harry said, "I'd like it a lot if Ron could stay. I'd feel much better after...." Harry couldn't finish. His uncontrollable shaking returned, his breathing became sob-like and shuddery. He felt Ron's and Hermione's grips on his hands strengthen.

Ron spoke even quieter and with total certainty, "S'okay, mate. I'm staying right here."

Hermione spoke, just as quiet, just as firm. "So am I, Harry. As long as you want, we're staying right here." Harry turned and saw, through eyes barely unswollen-enough for slits, Hermione in outline. Like Ron, she was bent over him, and she was back to stroking his forehead and hair. Like Ron, she was ignoring the others.

Harry's shaking did not stop.

Harry heard the Headmaster sigh again. "I apologize for not appreciating the extent...." Harry was surprised: Dumbledore sounded unable to continue. Finally he restarted in a gentler voice. "Ron, Hermione, I commend you both on your clear-sightedness." Harry could almost feel Dumbledore's smile. "And your courage."

Harry's vision was rapidly returning. He saw the Headmaster putting his hand on Ron's back. Ron was still facing Harry and not moving except to rub Harry's shoulder.

Dumbledore turned. "Molly, Arthur, I urge you to respect Ron's wishes in this matter." Harry's shaking again became trembling, his breathing more normal.

"Of course." Mr. Weasley sounded relieved.

Harry saw Ron take a deep breath. He squeezed Ron's hand, then Hermione's. Mrs. Weasley came over, put her arms around Ron and kissed his cheek.

Harry's eyes were nearly cleared, though he was still trembling. He looked up at his best friend and saw a face having equal parts pain, determination and freckles. Highlighted with a few tears.

With black eyes and a battered mouth, Harry smiled. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron smiled back with more tears.

Harry turned to Hermione and smiled. "Thanks. Thanks a whole lot. For everything."

Hermione nodded, her face all tears. She leaned down and gave him a long, tender hug. Harry felt her quiet crying and he felt Ron's hand quivering.

After a time, Harry's trembling became twitching, and then finally stopped.

* * * * * * * * * *

In the middle of the night, in Harry's bedroom at Number Four, Ron, Mr. Weasley and Harry slept. In a newly magicked attached bedroom, Hermione also slept. Suddenly, Ron screamed:

"HARRY!"

I'm seeing that face, I'm seeing Harry dying. Someone's clutching my arm and shaking it. But Harry's dying, he's dying! I have to do something! Damn It, I Have To Save Him! Again, I scream:

"HARRY!"

Now those hands, they're on my face shaking my head. My eyes pop open. Everything's black. Can't see a damn thing. Then a light comes on, and I'm lying flat in a strange bed and looking up into green eyes.

Harry's eyes? How can that be? He looks alive but scared, really scared. As I try to sort it out, I notice he's yelling, he keeps yelling something over and over. I begin to hear, "Ron! Please! I'm all right, Ron, I'm all right! Please don't be scared, Ron! Please! I'm all right!"

I blink my eyes a couple of times. The picture of Harry dying fades, then leaves, but that feeling, that awful, horrible feeling of Harry dying, it's still there, it still feels strong.

I grab Harry's face. I feel it; it's real. You're alive, Harry, goddamn it, you're bloody alive! That's all I can think. I can't move now, I can't say anything, but I know that you're alive, Harry!

Slowly the Harry-dying feeling begins to fade. Harry still looks and sounds scared. Even though he's not yelling now, he keeps saying, "Ron, I'm alive, I'm okay. Please don't be scared, Ron. Please."

I feel a large hand on my shoulder and I hear Dad, "Ron, son, it's okay. Harry's safe."

I can't take my eyes off Harry to look at Dad; I can't take my eyes off Harry for a bloody second. I have to keep looking at him; I have to keep holding his face.

That Harry-dying feeling is still fading. I feel myself take a deep breath. I squeeze Harry's face hard to make sure. He stops talking, but he stays looking scared.

Finally, something comes out of my mouth, I don't know how. My voice sounds weak, rather strange, almost like it's somebody else's voice and it's coming from another room. Even the words, I don't know where they came from:

"Harry? You're alive?"

Green eyes wide, still silent, still scared, Harry tries to nod a little in my tight grip. I can feel his nod. I know he's real, I know he's alive. Harry's bloody alive!

That Harry-dying feeling is gone now, but there's this big empty hole inside of me. I pull Harry into me, still holding him tight, like maybe I'm trying to fill that hole. I don't know. All I know is that I have to hold onto Harry, I have to feel he's alive.

Dad's patting my shoulder and saying something. And I can hear Hermione talking, too. Maybe she's squeezing my arm. Not sure, and right now not important.

All that matters is Harry -- feeling Harry's alive. I close my eyes so I can feel him better, feel him deeper, feel him into that damn empty hole.

No talking, no thinking, no seeing or hearing, I just breathe and feel Harry's alive. That's all I want to do now: breathe and feel Harry's alive.

After a while - I don't know how long - I notice that Harry's trembling. Then I notice that I'm trembling, too. I open my eyes, loosen my grip on Harry's face and pick his head up so I can see him again. He still looks really scared, or maybe worried. I don't know. All I know is that I think it's all funny. You know, everything. Funny. In a weird way that I can't explain, that I don't understand.

I start to laugh, just a little at first, then harder and harder, louder and louder. I don't know why, I just have to laugh. I keep looking at him, I can't take my eyes off him, but I'm laughing now.

Harry looks surprised. Then I see him start to smile - first his eyes, then his mouth, and then he begins to laugh, too. Like if I've got to laugh, he's got to laugh. I don't know why, but that sets me off even more.

I hear Hermione's voice. It sounds worried.

"Ron? Are you all right?"

That's even funnier. I laugh so hard that I can't say anything back, but I still can't take my eyes off Harry. Then I notice that empty hole inside of me is gone, where that Harry- dying feeling was, and it's all filled up with laughing and with feeling Harry's alive.

I close my eyes and pull Harry back down onto my chest again, but it's different this time, a lot different. I'm not scared now, not even a little, and it's not empty at all. I'm just enjoying feeling Harry's alive. That's all I want to do: just laugh and hear Harry laugh, and enjoy feeling Harry's alive.

Again, I don't know how long I hold onto Harry and we laugh, and I don't care. I'm just enjoying it; it feels so good, it feels so damn good.

Then I notice something, something I've noticed ever since when I held Harry and he stopped dying. It's weird, but it's like.... I don't know. It's like I can feel what Harry's feeling? I don't just mean feeling Harry laughing on my chest and me laughing back. It's like I feel Harry's laughing on the inside, on Harry's insides.

Yeah, I know that sounds weird, and it feels weird, too. But that's what it feels like. And even though it feels weird, it doesn't feel bad. Actually, it feels good, really good - hey, damn good! And right now, I don't care about the weird, I don't give a rat's arse. My eyes stay closed, and I'm feeling Harry's alive and laughing, and I'm feeling good, I'm feeling so bloody-awful damn good.

Then I don't know why, but all of a sudden I'm crying. God, am I crying! Can't stop. I'm feeling so bloody good and I'm crying and crying and I don't care, I don't give a damn. I grab hold of Harry with both arms, tuck him under my head and squeeze, I just squeeze the bloody hell out of him. Harry keeps laughing, grabs me and squeezes hard right back.

Harry's alive and he's laughing and I don't give a damn about anything else.

* * * * * * * * * *

Two days before they left the Dursleys, Harry, Ron and Hermione were, for the first time since Harry's beating, alone together. Before leaving that first day, Dumbledore had magicked Harry's room to include a second bedroom plus door, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with stocked refrigerator, cupboards and pantry. There was now no need for any contact between Harry and the Dursleys. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Lupin had stayed one day, and the next day Mr. Weasley had stayed.

That night, Harry's last night at the Dursleys, Mr. Weasley was staying again. He'd just left, after Harry assured him, several times, that he'd be okay for an hour or two with Ron and Hermione. Mr. Weasley had given Harry a mirror, like the one Sirius had given him, so Harry could reach him instantly if anything happened.

The day before, Hermione had been invited to attend the Order meeting discussing Harry's situation. Harry encouraged her to go, saying he'd be all right with Ron and Mr. Weasley. But he noticed that he felt better, even safer when she came back, and that she seemed relieved to see him, giving him a big hug.

"They asked me to come because I'd been around you a lot this summer," she explained, "and they thought I might help. Things got pretty angry."

"Did they have any idea what's going on? Or who did all that stuff?" Harry felt desperate.

She sighed. "No. They kept saying it was strange and not like You-Know-Who." Harry noticed that right after he opened up, both Ron and Hermione had said "Voldemort". He reckoned that with the prophesy, their anger got bigger than their fear. Now after Harry's beating, they were back to "You-Know-Who".

She frowned. "You don't have any ideas, do you? About who did that to the puppy, and with the glass, and why?"

Harry shook his head. "Not because I haven't thought about it. I'm not sleeping so well, you know, and that's what I think about at night."

She looked sad, then continued. "Everyone except Dumbledore was pushing for the Dursleys to stand trial before the Wizengamot and get a sentence in Azkaban or a limited Cruciatus."

Harry, who had felt Voldemort's Cruciatus, shuddered.

Seeing Harry's shudder, Hermione winced. "Sorry."

Harry shrugged and tried to smile.

"Why didn't Dumbledore agree?" Ron was outraged. "He saw Harry's face, all bruised up and bloody; he saw his black eyes. He knew he'd been kicked in the... you know." Ron glowered.

But as he turned and his eyes met Harry's, something broke inside Ron. "Harry?" he said, his eyes wider, his voice smaller, "when we first saw you in all that blood, we thought you were--" Ron's eyes flashed pain and terror; he turned away. That word could not be said, it could not be said. But that word, nonetheless, was deeply felt and hovered over everything.

Harry reached out and put his hand on Ron's, speaking softly: "It's okay, Ron, it's okay. I'm alive, remember? Thanks to you two, I'm alive." Harry's voice cracked at the end. He owed them so much, he loved them so much, it was unbearable to see them, his family, in such pain.

Ron still looked away. Hermione was quietly crying. Harry could see both of them trembling slightly. It was too close.

Even with Ron in his room at night and with Hermione in the next room, Harry had returned to nightmares, many nightmares. And each night both Ron and Hermione woke up screaming his name. For all three, it had been far too close, and it was still far too close.

For the first time Harry knew that he hated the Dursleys. Not for what they had done to him; he was used to that. He hated them for what they had done to Ron and Hermione. And that hate tore at him; it tore at him almost as much as his hate for Voldemort.

Watching his friends, he felt guilty, too. "Ron, Hermione, I'm so sorry you had to see--"

"Harry!" Ron's face jerked back, eyes blazing. "Don't! You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing!"

The two boys looked at each other. Harry sighed, and then nodded. He felt Hermione's hand gripping his shoulder, and he looked over and saw her eyes blazing like Ron's.

For several moments the three young friends were quiet.

Still angry, Ron spoke first: "I just can't understand why Dumbledore--"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, "he said he didn't want to make it worse for Harry." Hermione looked puzzled. "He said it was already so venomous - that was the word he used - that he was afraid any more hate would make it impossible for Harry to stay, even if we worked it so he wouldn't have any direct contact with them." She turned to Harry. "Do you know what he means?"

Harry shuddered again, and he thought for a few moments before speaking,

"You both grew up being loved. I grew up being hated." Harry paused. "Seems wherever I go, someone hates me: Snape, Umbridge, Voldemort, Fudge, even people I thought were okay, like that fake Professor Moody and Professor Quirrell. And I mean they really hated me. Most of them wanted to kill me, too, and tried, or at least they wanted me to die."

"Like the Dursleys."

Harry looked at his friends with haunted eyes. "I'm sort of used to it. But sometimes it's still hard."

Hermione and Ron nodded.

Harry thought some more.

"You know how it is, when you're at home, that you feel loved? I only know that 'cause I've felt it at the Burrow. Well, when I'm here - and whether I like it or not, and I don't, this is my home - here I feel hated. All the time. Even when the Dursleys aren't here. It's like the house hates me." He looked down and sighed.

More thought.

"Two days ago, when I saw... you know, the puppy? It was bad." Harry fought back nausea and shoved the memory aside. He looked up, his face pained. "But what I think pushed me over the edge, where I couldn't think and I tried to leave? Their hate."

"Maybe that's what Dumbledore means. You can only take so much hate before...."

Harry stopped. His jaw quivered, so he clenched it. Then he shut his eyes and balled his fists hard.

Through the open window came sounds of young children walking down the street - talking, playing, laughing. Harry opened his eyes, got up, went over and watched, his back to his friends.

After a short while, his friends got up, too, and joined him.

* * * * * * * * * *

CRACK!!!

The Apparating noise was so loud that Harry, Hermione and Ron started from the chess game, jumping to their feet, hands half-way to wands.

There stood not only Mr. Weasley, but also Mrs. Weasley, Professor Lupin, and Professor Dumbledore, all looking solemn.

Harry's stomach lurched. Solemn adults never meant anything good. He was sure they were going to leave him at the Dursleys, maybe even without Ron and Hermione. He felt his heart pounding; he could barely breathe; he began to shake.

Seeing Harry's distress, Hermione and Ron instantly moved closer, putting themselves forward between Harry and the adults, and giving the adults looks just-under-glares.

"S'okay, mate," Ron murmured, "s'okay," never taking his eyes off Dumbledore. Hermione, also staring forward and scanning the adults, reached back to touch Harry's arm.

The Headmaster changed from solemn to sad. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, nothing is wrong, nothing has happened, no plans have changed. Please, I beg you, be at ease."

They loosened, but not much.

Dumbledore sighed. "I asked Arthur if I could come and bring Molly and Remus as well. I feel strongly that they, too, must hear my apology."

All three were dumbfounded.

"While my apology is mostly to you, Harry, it is also to you, Hermione and Ron, and to Remus, Molly and Arthur."

The old man smiled.

"Ron, Hermione, I am grateful, more than I can say, that Harry has such loyal and protective friends. For you see, it is in protecting Harry that I have failed." His smile left. "Inexcusably failed. And you two have, of necessity, assumed a burden and done well beyond your years. Done, in fact, superbly. But that burden should never have been yours. You have seen and felt things, and you have had anxieties that no young person should ever have. In failing to protect Harry, I failed to protect you. For that, I most sincerely apologize."

He now faced Harry, who looked up at him in amazement.

"Harry. I apologize to you for allowing you to be beaten, neglected and hated."

"Oh, no, sir, you didn't--"

"Harry." Dumbledore stopped the young wizard with a quiet voice and stern eyes. "It is my fault. I should have known; all the signs were there. It was my responsibility - mine - to know. And I had Remus, Molly and Arthur, all three, telling me what must be happening."

"Professor Lupin, too?" Harry thought, his amazement growing.

The tall, thin, grey-haired wizard turned to the other three adults. "You were right. And I was wrong, so very long and stubbornly wrong, so very costly wrong, that I am ashamed of myself."

Harry, watching these adults, was surprised to see their lips tighten, their heads nod, and no one say a word.

The Headmaster turned back. "You deserve to know, Harry, that Remus, Molly and Arthur, singly and together, have demanded over and over that I remove you from the Dursleys - this for years. All have offered, all have wanted to take you, to bring you up themselves. Their love and commitment to you has been outstanding, and their concerns entirely well-founded."

Harry looked at the three, who smiled back. Mrs. Weasley began crying; the other two looked as if they might start.

Harry was stunned, dazed, barely able to think. "They...they love me? And want me?"

"Harry?"

He turned back to Dumbledore.

"I want you to know, too, that my inaction, inexcusable as it most certainly was, did not come from uncaring. My love for you-" He faltered, then swallowed and regained his composure. "My love for you is as strong as theirs."

"Believe him, Harry," Mr. Weasley said. "None of us excuse what was done or..." He glanced at Dumbledore. "...what was not done. And you have a perfect right to be furious with him, and with us, for that matter. We're not asking for your forgiveness. But-" He, too, faltered, swallowed and regained his composure. "All of us do love you very much, very much, indeed."

Harry overloaded and felt threatened with collapse. He desperately fought to take in, at least with his mind, that they loved him, they really loved him. And they wanted him. Him. Harry. He could, now, only half-hear the rest. And the rest, that didn't matter, that didn't matter at all.

"Not to excuse, Harry, but to explain," the Headmaster said, "I was blinded by my past, by my ignorance of family as a child and as an adult. I should have known that I did not know, and deferred to those who did. Because I did not defer, you have been repeatedly subjected to horrors beyond what any adult, let alone a child should experience. You have grown up feeling that no one loved or cared about you."

He paused, and then spoke much more softly. "Perhaps you even came to believe that you were unlovable and not worth caring about."

Dumbledore now looked sadder than Harry had ever seen him. "Oh, Harry, how terrible, how very terrible it must have been for you."

The room was silent, though not just one silence. There was Harry's stunned silence. And surrounding that was another silence, warm and sad and telling him that he was known, truly know, and cared about, and loved. Harry wondered if he'd heard right.

Then he saw the answer: tears. Everywhere he looked, Harry saw tears. A tear on this face, several on that face, even more on another. For a moment, Harry just stared, unbelieving. "They're crying for me?" he thought. "For what happened to me?" He felt a near-irresistible urge to touch those tears, to feel them, to make them more real, to take in that those tears, they were for him.

And then those tears reached out and touched Harry, touched him even more deeply than the words or the silence, touched him in a place that Harry had felt was untouchable though desperately longing to be touched. In his mind, and at last in his heart, "They're crying for me."

Dumbledore resumed speaking, "But at least I can learn. Though I cannot hope to make amends, I can make sure that, in the future, you will be safe and loved." His face turned more solemn than ever. "Harry, you will never again stay at the Dursleys alone. There will always be someone with you -- someone who will protect you, someone who will love you." As if summoning up ancient powers to witness a binding spell, he now emphasized each word: "This I swear."

Harry saw in Dumbledore's face the same power he had seen at the Ministry of Magic. The whole room was alive with that power. Harry saw the other adults, their faces, their bodies, also exuding that power. He felt that power envelope him in warmth, relentlessly pushing, pushing harder and harder, pushing harder still.

Then finally it pushed on in: and suddenly Harry felt loved -- really, truly and nakedly loved.

In shock, Harry could absorb no more. He gasped and felt utterly confused and absolutely vulnerable, defenseless.

"Again, Harry," Dumbledore said, "I apologize for allowing you to be beaten, neglected and hated."

At this the old man looked even more tired and much older.

The room was quiet, very quiet. It grew very long quiet, and then awkwardly quiet.

Harry knew he should say something, but he was immobilized. He could only take in, and even that was overwhelming; he could not yet give out. He couldn't think, he could only feel, feel that he, Harry, was loved. Loved.

"Well... then..." Dumbledore finally broke the quiet, "if you will excuse me, I must--"

"No!"

All eyes went to Harry.

"Please don't go. Not just yet. Please?"

A pause, then softly: "Of course, Harry. It was rude of me not to allow you to respond. I am at your disposal, and I have earned anything you wish to say."

Harry shook his head. "I...." He stopped, his heart and mind spinning. "I know I ought to say something, but I can't...." He looked up at the Headmaster.

"Harry, this is about what I ought to have done. You need do or say nothing."

"But Harry?" Mrs. Weasley said. "Please know, in spite of everything, how much you are loved." She smiled. "And how very much you are worth loving."

In the eyes of all the adults, Harry saw confirmation, he saw love. He started to tremble. Immediately, Ron and Hermione were right beside him, their arms around him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "I should have waited until you had better recovered before--"

"No!" Harry blurted. "No, please. That's not it." He began shaking his head; his trembling increased. He could feel tears rising behind his eyes; he hung his head, still shaking it.

Dumbledore moved quickly to Harry, leaning down, a hand on his shoulder. "Harry? What's wrong? Please tell us." Professor Lupin and the Weasleys were right behind.

"Nothing's wrong. Just please, don't go yet. It...." Harry forced himself to look up into those worry-lined, loved-filled eyes - worried for him, Harry; loving him, Harry. Too much: his face fell down, now crying, his body trembling all-the-more.

"It feels so good... to have people here... who love me."

"Please," he whispered abjectly, "please don't leave me just yet. Please?"

The room was still, breathless, aghast.

Harry closed his eyes and sobbed, choked, not knowing what to do with all that love, but knowing that he couldn't bear to lose it, to have it go away.

Then Harry felt many hands and heads and tears and loves reaching out to him and at last touching him, touching him, Harry, really touching him.

From her corner of the bedroom, Hedwig watched, a tear moving down her eye feathers, a tear with a jewel-like sparkle.