Intersections

Chapter 16: Deceptions

Hermione shivered as cold drops of rain splashed across her face. She clutched the parcel she was carrying closer to her, wishing she had thought to bring an umbrella. Next to her, Remus wrapped his threadbare coat tighter around himself. A group of Muggle villagers rushed by, giving the pair pitying looks as they huddled under their colorful array of umbrellas.

"We're almost there," Remus called, his voice nearly drowned by a particularly loud thunderclap. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded, pushing her soaked hair away from her forehead as they turned onto the dirt path that led to the Burrow. She and Remus had gone to the Muggle post office during lunch to check whether or not her parents had sent her any post. Usually she went every Friday morning with Mr. Weasley, but he'd had to go to the Ministry early today.

It had been an odd two days. Sirius had left on Wednesday night on an urgent mission for the Order; he hadn't even said good bye to Harry or Hermione. Harry had been furious about that, nearly slamming the door of Ron's room off its hinges once he'd found out. Hermione couldn't blame him; Sirius wasn't exactly the best godfather at times. Even so, Harry's behavior had been rather strange lately. Sometimes, he'd look at Remus and get this contemptuous look on his face. It'd only last for a moment, but it was enough to make Hermione wonder whether something was wrong.

And then there was the fact that Harry was learning magic far more quickly than she was. It was uncanny how much better he was. They'd started off at the same pace, after all; she'd been more inclined toward Charms and he toward Defense, and she studied Arithmancy while he practiced flying. It had been a nice balance. Now, however, it seemed that Harry was breezing his way through the material, as if he'd already learned it before - even Potions, Herbology, and Transfiguration, which she knew neither of them had touched before Remus and Sirius arrived.

Hermione had to admit that she was jealous. It almost seemed as if Harry had become a prodigy overnight. She didn't want to accuse him of cheating, but with the way he yawned through lessons, a slight smirk on his face as he answered all of Remus' questions correctly and demonstrated every single spell perfectly on the first try...it was as if the shy, quiet boy she'd met at Stonewall had undergone a personality transplant - and a brain transplant.

Remus seemed to notice. Hermione often caught him giving Harry pained glances when Harry wasn't looking, glances which smoothed over into a smile as Harry yet again performed a spell perfectly. Hermione, of course, couldn't get everything right the first time, and Remus was more than happy to spend time tutoring her individually as Harry went on to read the next chapter for Herbology or Potions. Whenever she meant to ask Remus about Harry, however, Remus would leave to check on Harry's progress, and they'd move on to the next lesson before she had a chance to say anything.

Perhaps now would be a good time, she thought, as they approached the crooked front door of the Burrow. Remus knocked on it, drawing his wand at the same time.

Mrs. Weasley opened the door. "Oh!" she cried, ushering them inside. "Come inside! I was starting to worry."

Remus coughed hoarsely, shrugging out of his wet coat, and waved his wand in a complicated pattern. Hermione felt a blast of hot air pass by her face, and an instant later Remus' coat was dry. He hung it over his arm, then performed the same spell on Hermione's clothes; Hermione smiled in thanks as her clothes dried instantly. Her hair, however, still dripped wetly on the carpet. With a grimace, she pulled it into a messy bun at the back of her head, knowing it'd look ridiculously bushy once it dried, and then she ascended the small set of stairs to Ginny's room, setting the soaked parcel onto the floor and pulling out the accompanying letter from her inner coat pocket. A small smile graced her face as she spotted her mother's neat, familiar handwriting. She'd written to her parents on the same day that Sirius and Remus had served Harry Firewhisky...the day Harry had started to act differently.

Dear Hermione,

It's wonderful to hear from you! Dad and I were worried that you had forgotten us. I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying your courses. Perhaps when you visit for the Easter holidays, you can show us some of your new magic skills. You mentioned that you were having trouble in - Defense, was it? Just remember to have confidence in yourself. Even though Harry is quicker at learning, it doesn't mean he is smarter or better than you in any form.

I'm shocked that your teacher attempted to serve you whiskey. That sort of behavior is completely unacceptable, and it was irresponsible of Harry to indulge in it. I'm proud that you said no, but next time, Hermione, I want you to get an adult that you trust and inform him or her of the situation. I don't want you (or Harry) to risk being in a situation where others can take advantage of you. I've half a mind to go on over there myself and speak to Remus and Sirius about their behavior. Please give your dad and I a call as soon as possible and let us know that you're all right. We're worried sick that something happened to you.

On a happier note, we finally finished setting up the new office in Surrey. We're getting wonderful business here; the local families love having a dentist's office so close by, and children are trying to have braces earlier and earlier these days. Fortunately, Dad is qualified to practice orthodontics. It's a pity that we were never quite able to fix your two front teeth - not that it makes you any less beautiful to us!

Are you and Harry still getting along well? How about the other kids - the Weasleys? And are you still keeping in touch with your old friends from Witsford?

Your father and I miss you very much. Do you think you could ask Mr. and Mrs. Weasley if we could visit you some time? The Easter holidays are so far away, and we want to see you before then. When you have time, take a few photographs of yourself and send them to us. It's difficult not seeing you at home every day.

We've attached some sugar-free snacks in this package, along with some of the warmer jumpers you forgot to pack. I'm also sending you a recent copy of the Times so you can keep up with what's going on in the world. Don't forget to put on your coat when you go outside, and stay away from too many sweets.

With love,

Mum

Hermione set down the letter, smiling fondly. She hadn't realized that she was going home for the Easter holidays. Naturally, it was the most logical course of action - when else would she get a chance to see her parents? - but she'd rather fancied the idea of staying here and seeing all of the Weasleys return from Hogwarts. Feeling a little guilty, she pulled open the parcel, grimacing at the feel of the soggy box against her skin. She pulled out a three fleecy jumpers (two red, one blue), and she stacked them in the wardrobe before scooping out the tiny packages of sugar-free fruit snacks and laying them on the desk. Finally, she took out the slightly battered copy of the Times, glancing over it briefly, disinterestedly. It was strange how distant the Muggle world seemed to her now that she was living in the wizarding one.

"Hermione?"

Hermione whirled around. Harry was standing at the door, fidgeting uncertainly. He looked more like himself than he had in days. "Harry," she said. "What is it?"

"I - I need to talk to you about something," he said nervously. "Can I come in?" His gaze flickered around the room, taking in Ginny's Quidditch posters of the Holyhead Harpies on the wall and coming to rest upon the astronomical model that Daniel had given her.

"Come in," she said. "What's wrong?"

Harry took a step into the room and shut the door behind him. Hermione tensed. "Sorry," he said, biting his lip as he caught her wary gaze, "it's private. I don't want Remus or Mrs. Weasley to hear."

Hermione frowned suspiciously and gestured toward the desk. "Oh, well, take a seat, then."

Harry sat down. "I - I don't really know how to start this," he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. "I - well - you trust me, right?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"No - I just -" He swallowed nervously. "I...I realize I've been acting a little differently over the past few days," he said. "And...well...I...I just wanted to tell you why."

Hermione perked up. "Go on," she told Harry.

"I...I..." Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, flushing a deep red. He picked up one of the sugar-free snacks on the desk and then dropped it, biting his lip.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, beginning to feel concerned.

"Well, I - Hermione..." Harry lifted his head and took a deep breath, meeting her gaze. "I - I like you."

Hermione gaped, momentarily speechless. "What?" She stared at Harry, her brow furrowing. "But I thought you...I thought you fancied Ginny," she said uncertainly. "And - and Cho."

"Well, they're - they're pretty," Harry mumbled toward the ground, "but - but they're not you. I mean, you're really smart...I thought that if I could impress you by studying magic extra hard...I thought you'd fancy me back. It was a stupid plan, I know..."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically and to hug him at the same time. "I - I had no idea. I thought - well, I knew something was different about you, but I thought you'd been taken over by aliens or something! Not - not this..." Hermione felt her cheeks flush as he looked up at her, his face full of undisguised adoration.

"You're beautiful," he said quietly.

Hermione blushed and averted her gaze. She'd never really had anyone fancy her; she'd never been the pretty, popular girl, just the bookish and intelligent one. Harry was still staring at her, and Hermione felt a tight, thrilling heat in her belly at the intensity of his gaze. She noticed, for the first time, the way his green eyes lit up his face, contrasting sharply against his messy black hair and smooth, pale skin, blemished only by a patch of spots along his chin and some near his cheeks - and, of course, his lightning bolt scar, mostly hidden beneath his fringe. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley's meals, Harry's body had filled out since when she'd first met him; he was slender now, but not scrawny, and Hermione slowly began to realize just why Lina Draper from Stonewall had been so attracted to Harry.

Harry's cheeks were flushed. He tilted his head to the side. "Your hair is wet," he said.

"I got caught in the rain," said Hermione numbly, her mouth dry, and she undid the knot at the back of her head and let her hair fall about her shoulders. "I should go and get a towel..."

"Wait," said Harry. He took out his wand and pointed it directly at her head. "Don't move," he warned, and then he said, "Siccus."

Instantly, Hermione's head felt much lighter as the moisture in her hair evaporated, leaving it hanging in bushy strands. She stared at Harry in amazement. "Where did you learn that?" she asked, starting to pull her hair into a plait.

Harry flushed. "Mrs. Weasley has a book on household charms. I took it to Ron's room and started reading it when everyone went to bed."

"Oh," said Hermione blankly, licking her lips to try to bring moisture back to her mouth. "That sounds very useful. Could you show it to me sometime?"

"Er, yeah," said Harry, his gaze dropping to her chest. He flushed and turned away.

For a moment they sat in an awkward silence, neither knowing what to say to the other. Harry ran his hand along the astronomical model, biting his lip, as Hermione tied back her plait.

Finally, Harry took a deep breath. "Hermione...I just...I understand if you don't feel that way about me...but I wanted you to know that I - I really care about you...and whatever happens...I'd never do anything to hurt you." He looked up, his green eyes bright and pleading behind his glasses. "You trust me, right?" he repeated, sounding oddly vulnerable.

Hermione's heart ached for the boy who had become her best friend, a boy who had known no friendship until she'd sat down next to him at Stonewall, a boy who was still plagued with insecurities despite the strength of their friendship. She walked over to Harry and pulled him into a brief, awkward hug, ignoring his startled gasp. "Of course I trust you," she said quietly, holding him by the shoulders and meeting his gaze. She dropped her hands and retreated back to the bed, heat rising in her face. "I care about you too, Harry. You're - you're one of my best friends."

Harry smiled at that. "Er - thanks," he mumbled, fidgeting. He sucked in a breath, standing. "Hermione...I -"

Bang! The door slammed open with such force that Hermione almost fell off the bed in surprise. Mrs. Weasley stood there, her hands on her hips, her gaze narrowed suspiciously. "It's time for lunch," she said brusquely, looking between the two teenagers. "Now."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a confused glance, and then walked down to the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley trailing behind them the entire time like an ominous storm cloud. Hermione dropped into a seat across from Remus, who was rubbing his eyes tiredly. He smiled at her briefly and pushed a plate of sandwiches in her direction. "What did your parents send you?" he asked, glancing toward Harry briefly. He was sitting straight up, eating his sandwiches slowly. That was another thing that had been different about Harry lately - his posture had improved. Hermione supposed it was another thing he'd done to try to impress her. It did make him look better - more like a young man and less like a teenage boy.

"Hermione?" Remus prompted.

"Oh, they sent me some snacks and jumpers, and the Times," she answered. "The Muggle newspaper. And, Mrs. Weasley" - she turned to the counter -"they wanted to know if they could come and visit the Burrow sometime."

Mrs. Weasley and Remus glanced at each other. "I'm sure we could arrange that, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Perhaps you could meet somewhere in Muggle London. It'd be easier for them, wouldn't it?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I think they wanted to see a magical place," she replied. "They don't like London anymore. Not after...not after the explosion happened."

"Explosion?" said Remus.

"On King's Street in December," answered Hermione. "My parents' dental office was located there. We were lucky we weren't hurt. I found out later that it was Death Eater attack."

Remus nodded, his expression grim. "Yes, I remember hearing about that. It was one of the first attacks in the city. They're targeting bigger areas now, and more frequently..." He glanced toward Harry again, who had stopped eating and was staring rigidly at his plate. "Are you all right, Harry?" he asked, his eyes flickering slightly.

"Fine," Harry muttered, picking up a half-eaten sandwich and finishing the rest of it without a word.

Remus raised his eyebrows and turned back to Hermione. "May I see the copy of the Times when you're done? I like to keep up with the Muggle news sometimes."

Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"Good. Well then," he said, clasping his hands together and standing, "are you two ready to start our Transfiguration lesson? Today we're going to continue practicing Switching Spells, and next week we should be moving onto a more advanced technique..."

--------------------------

Someone was groaning. His throat hurt. Cool liquid tipped down it; a hand pushed him down gently onto something soft and warm. His eyes were caked with something, preventing them from opening; he felt hot and sticky.

"Easy, lad. Take a rest, now."

He tried to shake his head. He didn't want to sink back into his nightmares...

"Take a rest, lad. Come on..."

He couldn't fight it. He was too tired...

With disgust and rage, he looked down at Wormtail, who was cowering and sniveling on the floor. His voice was low and deadly as he asked, "The Potter boy escaped, Wormtail?"

"H-he overpowered me, M-Master!" Wormtail sobbed. "I d-did not m-mean to-"

"Incompetent fool," he spat savagely. "You helped the boy escape, didn't you?"

"N-no, M-master, I didn't!" Wormtail cried, his voice ending in a squeak. "I promise you, M-Master, I d-didn't!"

"Your promises mean nothing, Wormtail!" he roared. "Crucio!"

And as Wormtail screamed and flailed, he felt a dark pleasure run through him...his forehead was burning, lightning was running through his veins, shocking him, and it hurt...

Now he was Harry again. He was on a broomstick, soaring through the air joyfully, and he was soaring...downward? Terror seized his heart as he realized he was heading directly toward the graveyard where Voldemort had tortured him. Voldemort stood in the center of the immovable Death Eater circle, smiling. "Harry...I have been waiting for you..."

Harry desperately tried to change course, but the wind was pulling him down. He landed hard at Voldemort's feet, the broomstick shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, and looked up into the scarlet eyes with silent terror, feeling bile rise in his throat. Panic gripped his body, and he tried to run as he saw Voldemort lifting his wand...

"Crucio..."

His limbs convulsed, and he desperately tried to remain sane...pleasure was running through him at the boy's agony, pain tearing through his body and his throat hurt and someone was screaming -

"Lad, wake up! C'mon, it's only a nightmare..."

Someone was pressing down on his shoulders - Voldemort was restraining him, his high, cold laugh permeating Harry's consciousness - cold water splashed over his face - there was blood on his hands and his face and Hermione's bushy hair flashed in and out of his vision, her eyes were wide in terror and she was dead - "Wake up! It's only a nightmare..." A callused hand was smoothing his hair back, and his face was being patted with something cold and soothing.

Harry returned to consciousness with a moan and swallowed automatically as something cold slid down his throat. "Wh-where...?" he tried to whisper.

"It's going to be all right, lad. You're safe now..."

"N-no," Harry tried to say. "Never..." He'd never be safe....Voldemort's voice was returning, stronger than ever, and Harry could near nothing else...his head was throbbing...Where is Harry Potter, Wormtail? We must find the boy...he could not have gone far...disguise yourselves as filthy Muggles if you must, find him, FIND HIM, I say, or you will all regret it...Crucio!...Severus, does Dumbledore know where the boy is? Has he hidden him somewhere?...Nagini, my pet, would you like to play? There goes the rat...go, my pet, go and chase it...Horror seized Harry as he saw the silver-pawed rat running frantically from the snake, whose jaws were snapping at the rat's tail...Wormtail was going to die...Harry, Harry, it is an honor to meet you....He was back at the graveyard and he could not escape...Crucio...Imperio...pain and bliss and the smell of food...Voldemort was raising his wand...Harry's mouth opened in a silent scream...

"Lad, wake up, come on now..."

Harry forced himself to focus on the old, gravelly voice and swim up to consciousness. He cracked open an eyelid hesitantly; the room was filled with flickering shadows, and for one horrifying moment he lay frozen, thinking that he was back in the dilapidated sitting room with Voldemort. He squeezed his eyes shut. No...please no...

"You awake, lad? Can you hear me?"

Something cold was pressed to Harry's forehead. Harry squinted and opened his eyes a little more; they felt caked with something rough and sticky, and he tried to rub them, but his arms merely twitched and then lay limp and weak at his sides.

"Don't try to move, lad, you're not strong enough yet." Something cool and wet gently dabbed at his face and eyes. "Can you open your eyes now?"

With great effort, Harry wrenched open his eyes and stared into the weathered, wrinkled face hovering above him. "Wh-who are you?" rasped Harry, as the old man grasped him underneath the armpits and propped him up against what felt like pillows.

"My name's Frank Bryce, lad," the old man answered, pressing a glass of clear liquid to Harry's lips.

Warily, Harry opened his mouth and let Frank tip the cool water into his mouth and down his scratchy throat. "Where am I?" he asked, bewildered, his unfocused eyes wandering around the room. He could make out a small stone fireplace as well as two dusty frames on the walls.

Frank's walking stick made loud clunking noises as he limped toward a worn wooden table in the center of the room. He let out a gusty sigh as he set down the empty glass and sat down in front of the hearth, squinting at Harry. "You, lad, are in Little Hangleton," he answered. "This is my cottage. I found you outside of the Riddle House."

"The Riddle House," Harry repeated dazedly, staring at the white dressings around his arm and wrists. He vaguely noticed that his shirt was missing. A frayed quilt was covering his legs.

"Aye, the big old house on top of the hill. I've been the gardener for fifty years." There was a note of pride in Frank's voice. He turned to Harry and frowned. "You're not from around here, are you, lad? What's your name?"

"My name's Harry," answered Harry quietly, and after a moment's pause, he said, "I'm from Surrey." He slowly turned his head to look at Frank, startled by the dizziness that accompanied the movement. "How did I get here? Did you bring me here?"

Frank nodded. "I used to be the gardener for the Riddle House," he repeated. "Now, I try to keep the Riddle House nice and neat, leastways the garden, but those hooligan boys are always running over my flowers and throwing stones at the windows. Well, last night I heard the most awful screams...reminded me of when I was in the war, when someone got their legs taken off from a shell...I nearly got mine blown off myself." He nodded toward his left leg and the walking stick that rested against the wall. "Naturally, I went up there to investigate. It took me a while, mind, my leg's not nearly as good as it used to be, but the screaming just kept going and going. It nearly tore my heart out. I try to mind my own business most of the time, but I know when a man's in pain, now, sometimes it's easier to just let 'im pass on..."

Frank trailed off momentarily, and Harry bit his lip, trying to press back the surge of memories at the edge of his mind. Beg for it, Harry...kneel...well then, Harry, are you ready to die? Harry clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in a little gasp. He could see the scarlet slitted eyes, narrowed in amusement...

"Lad!" Frank's sharp voice snapped Harry back to reality. "Lad, can you hear me?"

Harry swallowed and opened his eyes, slowly uncurling his fingers from his palms. He was shaking. Frank was standing over Harry, blocking out the firelight, concern written on every wrinkle in his face. "Had a flashback, did you?"

Harry nodded slightly, unable to meet Frank's gaze. He felt his cheeks flush at his weakness.

Frank frowned. "Are you all right now?"

Harry nodded again, nervously. "I'm fine," he lied. "So - what happened after you went to the house? How did you find me?" Frank couldn't have just walked up to the front door and asked what was going on. Voldemort would have killed him on the spot.

Frank scratched his head and moved back to his chair, dropping into it with a loud clunk, and answered, "I was going up toward the front door when I saw something horrible coming out. A giant snake, it was, never seen anything like it, and there was a hooded figure next to it, hissing - as if the man were a snake himself." He shuddered, staring into the fire. "Well, I'm not stupid. I know an enemy when I see one...I wasn't about to go up there and introduce myself...I waited till they were gone, then checked round the back to see if I could find anyone else, and I saw you."

He turned to face Harry. "You were stumbling out the door, in a right state, shaking and bleeding and gasping something terrible. I knew right away that you needed some help, and I figured that the snake man wasn't going to give you any. There was something about him - him and his snake - it was just evil, it was, I can't even describe it."

Frank went quiet for a moment, staring into the fire again, and then gave a little jerk of his head before continuing, "I hit you round the head and brought you back here. Woulda been easier than trying to take you somewhere in that state," said Frank sharply, as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Saw it in the war, I did. I finally managed to bring you over here and treat you. I thought you were going to leave this world at first, and I wanted to help ease the passing...but you're stronger than you look, lad. Nearly gave me a heart attack the first time you started screaming in your sleep...you had an awful fever...but you finally broke through it. The cuts on your arms and legs are healed now, too. I thought they'd never stop bleeding at first..."

Harry's mind swam as he visualized the events in Frank's story. He was lucky to be alive..."Thank you," he said to Frank quietly.

Frank waved a hand. "Been a long time since I've helped somebody," he told Harry. "Especially a young lad like yourself. Kids these days..." He muttered darkly under his breath about hooligans and criminals, sounding like Uncle Vernon for a moment. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, lad, what exactly happened to you? Why were you in the Riddle House in the first place?" He frowned. "You're not part of some gang, are you? This wasn't one of those - initiations? Tell me the truth, lad. I don't want any trouble with the police. I had enough of that fifty years ago, what with the Riddles being murdered at their own dinner table. That was an awful time..." He stared into the fire, his brow furrowed, then turned and looked at Harry suspiciously. "Well?"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to explain what happened without mentioning magic. "I'm not in a gang," he told Frank, swallowing with some difficulty. "I was - I was kidnapped. This - the man you saw with the snake - he - he killed my parents when I was a baby, and now he wants to kill me, for - for revenge. Or - he wanted to kill me, but then he - he changed his mind and tried to get me to join him, follow him, but I refused. That's when he started to -"

Harry bit his lip hard, accidentally drawing blood. "He - he tortured me. Punishment, he called it, until I could become o-obedient." Harry was shaking; his eyes were strangely wet, and the room was blurring even more than usual. "He threatened to kill my friends - that's why I escaped. I have to warn them..." Panic bloomed in Harry's chest. How long had he been here? Had Voldemort already reached the Burrow? Had he already hurt Hermione? Harry hadn't seen any of that yet in the vague flashes of the visions he'd received, but the longer he stayed here, the longer his friends would be at risk.

And speaking of visions...how had this Muggle man escaped Voldemort's notice? Voldemort was furious that Harry had escaped...he was looking for Harry everywhere, including nearby Muggle towns. This house was within walking distance of Voldemort's stronghold. Why hadn't Voldemort or the Death Eaters found him yet? Was Frank Bryce really a wizard? Had he cast protections on the house? Or was a wizard helping Frank, without him knowing?

At any rate, Harry couldn't stay here. He was putting both himself and Frank at risk, and he needed to warn Hermione and the Order about Voldemort's plans. With a groan, Harry lifted himself up by his shaking elbows and tried to swing himself out of the bed, only to collapse back down into the pillows a moment later.

"What are you doing, lad?" asked Frank, his bones creaking as he stood, gripping the back of his chair for support.

"I can't stay here," said Harry in a rush, mentally pleading for Frank to understand. "I - I have to warn my friends. I have to get back home." He tried to lift himself up again.

Frank's eyes flickered. "You ought to wait till you get your strength back," he said. "You're no use to anyone in this state. Let me get you some soup - stay right there!" he snapped, as Harry tried to get out of the bed again, and he limped slowly out of the room.

Harry waited, his panic growing with each passing minute as he thought of the fate of his friends. He lifted a trembling hand, gritting his teeth against the effort. His arm felt like dead weight. At last, he managed to touch his scar and rub it slowly. It didn't hurt, which meant that Voldemort either wasn't near or wasn't angry, but it would only be a matter of time before Voldemort found him and killed Frank in the process. Harry didn't even want to think about that.

He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, just as Snape had taught him, but then he remembered how Snape had turned him over to Voldemort in the graveyard, and deep coils of anger and betrayal unleashed themselves in his stomach, burning through his blood and traveling upward to his eyes as he thought of Snape and Sirius and Remus, all traitors that he'd trusted without questioning, thinking that they would protect him...that they cared for him....His breath gave an odd little hitch, something wet ran down his cheeks. Harry realized with a start that he was crying. Hastily, he wiped the tears away as Frank re-entered the room, grunting as he carried a steaming bowl of soup in one hand and his walking stick in the other. Harry's stomach churned and he turned his face away; the smell reminded him of the food Voldemort had tried to force him to eat.

"Come now, lad," said Frank, lifting Harry up by the armpits again and maneuvering Harry's body out of the bed. "You need to eat."

Harry gripped the side of the bed and stood on boneless legs, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry," he said, his stomach growling and roiling simultaneously as the soup's scent wafted towards him.

"Lad," said Frank with a scowl, "sit your arse down in that chair before I do it for you."

The warning tone in Frank's voice was unmistakable. Reluctantly, still gripping the bed post, Harry took a halting step toward the table, lurching toward Frank's recently vacated chair with gritted teeth. As he sat down, the scent assaulted his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to double over from nausea.

"You need to eat, lad," said Frank, his gruff voice gentle. "Won't do any good for your friends if you don't have your strength." He pressed the spoon into Harry's hand. "Come on, lad."

"I can't," Harry whispered, his eyes burning as his stomach growled again loudly. Distantly, he knew he needed food, but the thought of being coerced into eating once more made him want to retch. His heart pounded against his chest, and his breath was coming in hiccups. "I - can't -"

"Now then," said Frank, looking alarmed, "it's only a bit of soup..."

Harry swallowed down his nausea and stared at the vegetables floating in the broth, his fingers tightening around the spoon. This was ridiculous. He wouldn't let Voldemort make him fear eating. His hand quivering, he dipped the spoon into the soup and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down the watery mixture. It didn't taste very good, but he did feel a little better. He caught Frank's gaze and flushed. "Thank you," he said again, taking in another spoonful. His hunger started to return with a vengeance, and it took all of his self-control to refrain from attacking the soup like a dog attacking a bone. He wondered how long it had been since he'd last eaten. "What's the date?" he asked. "And the time?"

"It's Friday, January 23," answered Frank. "It's the evening. Around six o'clock, I wager."

Harry did some quick maths in his head, his eyes widening. "I've been gone for four days," he said, a sense of panic once again rising up in his chest.

Frank grunted.

Harry opened his mouth to ask another question, but snapped it shut at the sight of a glowing bright blur of white racing toward him. He gasped and shrank back against the chair, his heart racing. Voldemort must have found him. Harry stood shakily, his gaze locked on the misty bird-like figure hovering above him, and prepared for the inevitable agony awaiting him. The bird opened its mouth, and Harry resisted the urge to flinch. Was it going to eat him? Hurt him? Take him back to Voldemort?

Harry's jaw dropped as a familiar voice echoed throughout the room.

"Harry, this is Albus Dumbledore. Wherever you are, try to get to your aunt and uncle's house as soon as you can. They are expecting you. You will receive further instruction once you have reached the house."

And with that, the white mist dissipated with the faint sound of flapping wings.

Frank was staring slack-jawed at the air. "What was that?"

"I - I don't know," Harry answered truthfully. He knew that wizards used owls to send post, but the bird-like creature had certainly not been in the form of an owl. Harry had never heard of any form of verbal communication between wizards, besides the two-way mirror Dumbledore had given him. He wondered why Dumbledore wanted to send him back to Privet Drive. Surely he would be better off going back to the Burrow and warning everyone about Voldemort's plans. Unless - Harry's stomach filled with dread - unless Voldemort had already attacked the Burrow...

"You recognize this Albus Bumblelore?" asked Frank, sticking a finger in his ear and twisting it.

"Dumbledore," Harry corrected absently, still trying to contemplate what to do. If Voldemort had already attacked the Burrow, then Harry would certainly have seen it in his visions...right? He bit his lip in frustration. He supposed he had no choice but to follow Dumbledore's orders. He didn't even know if he could get to the Burrow through Muggle means. It had a street address for post that Hermione often used, as well as a telephone, but he didn't know what the address or number. He'd never bothered contacting anyone since he'd entered the magical world. Hermione had. Harry's heart clenched suddenly. He wished Hermione were here with him.

"Who -" Frank began.

"I need to call my aunt and uncle," Harry interrupted abruptly. "Do you have a telephone?"

Frank shook his head. "No telephone here, lad." He sent a sharp glare toward Harry's look of utter disbelief. "I never wanted one. There's a telephone box in the middle of the village. I can take you there tomorrow. It's too dark right now."

Harry looked down resignedly and hoped that tomorrow he wouldn't run into any Death Eaters looking for him. He felt slightly drowsy, and the heat of the fire warmed his bare chest, soothing and calming his racing heart. Before he knew it, his eyes were drifting shut.

"Let's get you back to bed, lad," Frank said, as if from a great distance. Harry forced himself to stand up and let Frank guide him toward the bed. He sighed in relief as he laid his head down on the pillows.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper, lifting his head in Frank's direction, and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

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