Insanity is but a Word

Harry Potter, other characters and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling not me. Other recognizable characters also do not belong to me, and I do not claim ownership of them. I'm just playing around in a world created by others.

"Speech"

Thoughts

/Parseltongue/

Harry may have made peace with himself and banished his guilt, but that didn't mean he lost all the material for his nightmares. Insomnia had been a constant companion of his since before he ever came to Hogwarts. It was just another thing for which he blamed the Dursleys. Even without his guilt, the first dream he had was of Sirius. He had no guilt over anything that happened that night, but that didn't stop his grief over Sirius' death. Consequently, the start of the dream was about Sirius' death. It was a shame that he wouldn't remember its contents come morning.

Harry was back in the death chamber at the Ministry, and his entire attention was fixed on the Veil. This couldn't be his memory because the room was empty. He tried to move out of the room. He didn't want the memories that this place called up. Unfortunately, he could neither move nor speak; he could barely think. It seemed as if this was going to be one of those nightmares. And so, Harry stood and bore silent witness to the horrors to come.

Ghostly images of the past battle started to materialize in the room and fade in and out of existence. Each time it was a single pair of fighters. The Order members held their own against the Death Eaters, but they could only do so much against the Unforgivables. The entire room was laden with energy, but those curses tore through even the most powerful shields. The Death Eaters threw them with impunity. Even as Harry's attention was focused on that fact, the other fighters faded away as if by a signal. It was time for the reason for Harry's grief to take center stage.

Bellatrix and Sirius materialized like so many others had. Their duel began like so many others, but something was different. Something wasn't right. If only it weren't so hard to think clearly, he would be able to figure it out. As Sirius foolishly moved toward the dais in the center of the room, clarity hit Harry like a lightning bolt.

Bellatrix wasn't throwing any Unforgivables! In fact, she seemed to be trying her hardest to circle Sirius away from the Veil. That wasn't too strange on its own. In a duel, it wasn't always wise to let your opponent move where they wanted to go. Still, if he didn't know better, Harry might say that Bellatrix was deliberately trying to avoid hurting Sirius too badly. Impossible! That psychopathic bitch revels in others' pain. Of course she knew what she was doing. It was too late. The idea had surfaced, and it wasn't leaving. Or at least, Harry thought it wouldn't. He wouldn't remember any of this when he awoke.

With the thought of Bellatrix's possible attempt to save Sirius at the front of his mind, Harry watched her closely for the remainder of the fight. He was being forced to watch Sirius die again, but at least he could get something out of it. And so, Harry stood frozen as Sirius stood in front of the veil and deliberately mocked his cousin. Oh Sirius, what were you thinking? You were an open target up on that dais. No one was near enough to draw fire away from you, and you sat there and taunted her. Why couldn't you save it for after you had won? Bellatrix cast the fatal spell and time seemed to slow around them. The ghostly apparitions faded away and Harry stared at the spell as it slowly crawled across the space. It wasn't green.

No... She's guilty. She's a murderer. No! NOOOO! On top of everything else, Bellatrix seemed to be innocent of killing Sirius. The effects of that single thought raced through Harry's mind and ran through endless repetitions in mere seconds. For some reason Bellatrix hadn't wanted Sirius dead. Harry really only had himself to blame for his godfather's death, but he had already dealt with his guilt. Bellatrix Lestrange, psychopathic murderer extraordinaire, might be one of his theorized innocent Death Eaters. He had attempted to cast a Crucio over an accident. These thoughts and so many others occurred to Harry before all coherent thought was stopped by the next portion of his dream. It really was a shame that he wouldn't remember these revelations, but the rest of his dream would be forever burned into his mind.

Harry fell into a scene that truly changed this dream into a nightmare. He was in a dungeon that seeped with an excess of suffering and agony. Shackles hung from the rough stone walls, which were stained with old blood. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of that same blood, and was heavy with the atrocities that had been committed here. The chamber called up images that Harry, a fifteen year-old boy, had no business understanding, but he knew them well, regardless of that fact. Images flashed before his eyes: the pitiless eyes of a murderer, blood cascading over a stone altar, flesh being slowly torn from a victim's body as they wailed in pain, death coming for his loved ones. Images of terrifying power flashed by his eyes, some of which he had experienced and others that had appeared in his mind during Voldemort's resurrection and his encounters with the Veil. The voices behind the Veil had seemed to be innocently whispering, but these were the horrid truths they were telling. Harry fell flat on his back into this room, and knew that this part of his dream wouldn't be nearly as forgiving as the last. It was into this scene that Voldemort entered.

"Crucio." The sibilant, hissing voice echoed around the room. It's only a dream! Harry immediately tried to justify that this was his dream, therefore either he should be in control or he shouldn't feel pain as it was a dream. Neither of these arguments seemed to matter. It was if his dream was pulling the sensations directly from his memory and forcing him to relive them. As his back arched and his eyes closed, Harry's senses were consumed by one thing: pain. Nothing else existed.

If asked to describe the pain of a Crucio, he might say that it was excruciating or that it was easily the most painful thing that he had ever experienced. However, Harry knew that neither of those descriptions even came close to the total agony that was the Cruciatus. Violent magic directly stimulated every nerve in his body, which subjected him to an impersonal flood of pain, which was literally the greatest amount of pain that his body could feel at one time. Pain attacked him in all its forms. His skin felt as if it were burning away from his body, as if it had ignited or he had been covered in acid, while knives seem to dig into every inch of his skin. Every movement sent pain lancing through his body, but he couldn't help but shake as his muscles were wracked by violent spasms. As Harry arched his back beyond what should have been possible and flailed his limbs, he collected dozens of scratches and scrapes that he didn't even notice because he couldn't feel any more pain from those nerves. Amid this storm, thought wasn't possible. Only one action could be taken, and Harry gave in to that instinct. He screamed into the night. He howled out his pain, but it didn't matter. No one would hear him. Trapped in his own mind, Harry suffered every physical torture he could imagine, but this was only the beginning.

If Sirius' death had shown Harry anything, it was that he feared one thing above all others. He couldn't bear the thought of losing his loved ones. Most people couldn't bear that thought, but very few people ever actually worried about it. Precious few ever realized how truly fragile their existence is and how devastating it would be to lose someone close to them. And then, when it was least expected, someone would be ripped from them. Harry had learned that lesson well, and he feared the possibility of losing his friends like he had lost Sirius. In the defenseless state of dreaming and the silent darkness of the night, his tormented subconscious preyed on these fears.

The pain lessened until Harry regained awareness of his surroundings. The dungeon was gone, replaced by a featureless expanse of grey on all sides. The grey looked like it expanded on for eternity, but it had defined boundaries. He could feel it under his feet, and he could swear that there was a wall of some sort of few steps to his left. Although the scenery had changed, Voldemort was still there. A self-satisfied grin was plastered on his pale, inhuman face. The physical torture had ended, but that didn't mean things were about to get better. Harry knew what was coming, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse and hide his eyes. He didn't want to witness this. He wanted to cry, to run from the prophecy and the world in which he lived, but his subconscious didn't care what his mind wanted.

Voldemort spread his arms and behind him appeared thirteen cloaked figures, with their wrists shackled behind their backs. He couldn't see who they were due to their raised cowls, which cast deep shadows, but he could guess. Six of these figures stepped forward, and froze stiffly, which Harry realized meant that they were petrified. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort ripped off their hoods. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood along with Bill, Charlie, Fred and George. They stood there, with mournful faces, and in utterly toneless voices, they addressed him, "Why couldn't you save us Harry? Why?" Unable to move, his horrified screams couldn't be released. They reverberated in his head without any release. Voldemort flicked his wrist, and translucent shadows appeared in front of each Weasley.

Each bore a sword, and in terrifying synchronization, they stabbed each Weasley through the stomach, angling up into a lung. The featureless forms viciously twisted the weapons, and withdrew them with a slashing flourish. The redheaded family fell to their knees, released from the immobility. Harry stared into their faces. Their expressions hadn't changed, except to twist in agony, while their eyes still conveyed their mournful questions. While he watched the only family he had ever known bleed out on the floor, Harry couldn't help but acknowledge that there was worse to come. Ron and Ginny weren't with their parents for a reason. There were still seven figures left.

The malevolent form of the Dark Lord seemed to be highlighted by a corona of light as the shadows shifted. All the figures now cast long shadows in Harry's direction, and he couldn't see their faces clearly. What he could see were the swords that had claimed the Weasleys lives. They still dripped with blood and gleamed in the unnatural light. They gleamed a scarlet red that Harry knew all too well from the colors of Gryffindor.

He could also see the shadows, which seemed to be formed of nothing more than light. If it didn't seem absurd, Harry would say they were pure magic. Whatever they were, they were extremely hostile. Everything from their aggressive stance to the foreboding that came with their presence radiated hostility and violence. As the light passed through them, it seemed to dim as the energy and warmth was sucked from it into their insubstantial bodies. The effect on the temperature wasn't unlike a Dementor's, and they brought the same feeling of dread and hopelessness with them.

In the instant it had taken to register these observations, Voldemort had vanished from view. "Sssssave them hero," came his hissing voice from right behind Harry's ear. "Or can't you?" His long-fingered hand came up to grip Harry's shoulder. "Of courssse, you can't." The hand moved to delicately stroke Harry's exposed throat, reminding him of his incredible vulnerability. "You never could beat me, and never will." The hand grabbed Harry barely under his jaw, and dug into two pressure points in his throat. He couldn't move if he tried. "Watch closely, ssssavior. And remember that this is the price of your failure," Voldemort hissed as the remaining figures dropped their hoods. The hoods mattered little anymore. Harry already knew who they were.

Tonks was dragged forward in the same way as the Weasleys, and a single of the grey apparitions stepped forward to meet her. The light shifted and suddenly, Harry could see her face, even though he wished with all his heart that he couldn't. He wished that these were just nameless, faceless figures, but they weren't. There Tonks stood in all her glory. Her hair was spiky and bubblegum pink, while her eyes were a deep violet. Her mouth was quirked in an impish smile, which spoke of endless mischief and laughter. Her hair was normal for her, but Harry could swear that he recognized those eyes from somewhere other than Tonks. Before he had time to think on those eyes, the apparition stepped forward, and Harry's heart bled with emotion.

As the still dripping sword was raised, Harry frantically tried to break the bonds that held him. He found that he could now move his torso, but his arms, legs and head were still immobile. He couldn't close his eyes, and no matter how much he screamed, no sound came out. Opening his mouth hurt, because Voldemort's fingers dug deeper into his throat, but Harry was beyond caring about his own miniscule pain. He struggled against his bonds with all his strength, and even attempted to break them by throwing uncontrolled magic against them, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

The figure impassively slashed Tonks diagonally from hip to shoulder in a single brutal movement. As Tonks threw back her head and screamed, her hair changed to a raven black and her eyes flashed yellow then faded to blood red. The wound wasn't fatal. Tonks would die, but not before her tortured screams echoed and faded. Her screams set Harry's deepest being on edge. They grated on his consciousness and his soul. After they faded to pained whimpers, the apparition looked at her with what Harry guessed was contempt. If a faceless being could sneer, that apparition did, and slammed it's sword up through the bottom of Tonks' mouth, splitting open her skull. As she fell back with the sword still in her head, Harry dreaded the six more to come.

Harry tried to ignore what he knew was coming. He tried to resign himself to the fact that he couldn't break his bonds. He couldn't help them, and this was going to happen. He tried to ignore it, and he almost succeeded for the next three people. He didn't really react as the next three were killed. Still, the images of their deaths would haunt future nightmares and his waking moments until the day he died, and even years after that. Neville was next, and an apparition efficiently cleaved him open for skull to stomach. The swing was controlled, so that while Neville was cut open, he wasn't cut in half. His death was perhaps the most merciful, because at least he died instantly. Remus Lupin was next. Harry was forced to watch as he was torturously covered in silver that slowly ate away his essence. That last death that Harry could bear was Ginny's. Her eyes were cut out, while she stared at Harry, and then knives were plunged into the empty sockets.

After all this, Harry thought he was hardened to the images of death and torture. The next two figures were Ron and Hermione. The thought of losing his two oldest friends was so terrible to him, that Harry resumed his fight even though he knew it was futile. He thrashed against his bonds, pulling and straining with every ounce of strength he had, all in vain. At the peak of his struggles, Harry felt his shoulders separate from the force he had been exerting to pull forward from his bonds. The pain of having is shoulder separated in one of Vernon's beatings returned to him, and he hung from his bonds, unable to support his weight any longer. He wanted nothing more than to cry for eternity, but he wasn't allowed any reprieve. As soon as he stopped thrashing, Ron and Hermione were dragged right in front of him. If he were still able to fight, he could probably reach them with his throes. They were that close when the apparitions slit their throats and Harry was drenched in their blood.

He dangled there unable to even release his pain and sorrow, knowing there was still one figure left. The figure he had been dreading most. The person who had stood by him this very day and had helped him when no one else could. Luna stepped forward, but no apparition moved to greet her. Her torture would go beyond what the others had suffered, except possibly Lupin. "Remember," Voldemort commanded Harry. And as he disappeared with the apparitions, a final word resounded behind him. "Burn."

Luna burst into violent flames, but refused to scream. Harry looked on as the flames licked at her delicate, lightly tanned skin and golden hair. Her skin peeled back and blackened as blisters formed all over her body. Some of those blisters burst and bled, but the heat from the flames immediately cauterized the wounds. Her hair burned from her head, and her beautiful face was eaten away by the greedy flames. As they crackled and popped, the flames seemed to mock Harry's inability to help his friend. Through it all, Luna held her dreamy expression, and refused to make a sound. Finally, Luna locked eyes with Harry and gave him a single pained smile. Then she fell to the ground, and her corpse burned away.

With the last of the figures dead Harry's voice was released, and he howled his wordless anguish to the night as his eyes opened. Luckily, his screams ended in his dreams, and his dorm mates were still sleeping. It was still just before dawn, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. "It's good to see you again, insomnia, old friend," Harry whispered to the dark room, as he shuddered from the memories of his nightmare. It would take him almost an hour to compose himself, but as soon as he did, he showered and headed for the hospital wing to see Ron and Hermione.

Since it was now early morning, Harry left his invisibility cloak in the tower. He had enough experience moving silently that he was confident he wouldn't be caught. Even if he was caught, it was early morning. There probably wasn't a rule against what he was doing. Who am I kidding? I don't know the rules. It didn't matter in any case. The halls were silent and utterly deserted for the entire trip. The dreams are back, Harry reflected as he slowly walked through the mazelike corridors. And it looks like they'll be worse than ever. It's going to be a long summer unless I can find a way to get away from the Dursleys.

Harry was so caught up in his musings that he almost walked straight into the hospital wing before he realized that he could hear voices. He managed to stop before he gave himself away, but he could barely understand what was being said.

"It looks like you're lucky Miss Granger." I know that voice after all my time in the hospital wing. Good old Madame Pomphrey. Hermione must be taking a potion every few hours. "It'll take some time for you to heal, but in time, the scar will fade and you'll be fine."

A sense of pure relief flooded Harry, and he almost collapsed. Hermione was going to be alright! She wouldn't even have a scar! The next sentence, however, would resonate within Harry and change his perspective completely.

"What do you mean this scar?"

Harry cringed and leaned against the wall. He slowly slid down it with his head in his hands. She means that you've seen fighting now. She means that you've seen fighting now. You will never forget the pain that that curse put you through. You'll never forget the terror you felt when you almost died. You'll carry that around with you for the rest of your life. We all will. At the very least none of us has had to kill... yet.

While Harry was thinking about the scars that couldn't be seen and might not be able to be healed, Madame Pomphrey finished with Hermione and headed back to her office. Harry stood up and moved slowly into the ward. Hermione was standing with her back turned, and Ron was lying facing the other way. Harry silently leaned against the doorway and waited for Hermione to turn back around.

He had to grin when she almost squealed, and just barely managed to stifle the sound with her hands. Ron heard the noise and looked over. His face immediately lit up.

"How are you guys feeling?" Harry asked, wondering about the role reversal. Normally, he was the one in the hospital bed.

"I feel fine," Ron said. "I'm not sure what those brains did, but it didn't last. Now I know why you're always complaining about being stuck in here. This must be the most boring place in the world!" Ron seemed as lively as ever. There wasn't anything visibly wrong with him, but he still had the scars from where the brains had grabbed. Must be here for observation.

Harry just smiled at his oldest friend and glanced at Hermione. She looked a lot worse than Ron. She was pale, probably from blood loss or using so much energy after being so badly hurt. Every movement seemed to irritate her torso, which was extremely sensitive from the wound and the magical healing. Dolohov will pay in blood. No one hurts any of them and gets away with it. At that unbidden thought, Harry began to wonder about just what his friends meant to him. What did he mean by "them"? Would the injury of just a friend really demand blood vengeance? He truly loved his core group of friends. He would do anything for them, but that went beyond just normal friendship. They were more to him. Just what did that make them though? The sound of Hermione's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I'm getting better, but I'm still sore. I'm also pretty weak and can't use a lot of energy at once." True to her words, Hermione was swaying on her feet.

Harry walked over and gently helped her into bed, careful not to do anything that might irritate her torso. "I'm sorry you guys got hurt following me. I really shou-"

"Harry, do us a favor and shut up, before you say something foolish," Ron said, cutting across Harry's apology. "We're your friends. You better believe we were where we wanted to be."

"If you need our help, we'll be there Harry," Hermione added. "Even if you don't want us there."

"You're family. And a Weasley always looks out for family."

That's it. That's what they all are. They're my family. Harry was stunned by their responses. Not only were they not blaming him, they were telling him that they would do everything again if he ever needed them. For someone that had never had a support system before, this unconditional loyalty was overwhelming. All he could do was smile.

His friends could see what a huge impact their words had had, and gave him time to gather himself. Even then, all he could do was thank them, so they decided to move on to another topic.

"Harry," Hermione began. "How are you doing dealing with..."

"Sirius' death?"

"Yeah. You can't bottle up your emotions or cut yourself off from everyone else." It was obvious that Hermione was concerned, and she would do whatever she thought would help Harry. If he didn't want to open up about his emotions, and she thought he should, then that sucked for him.

"I've been talking about it with Luna. She lost her mother a few years ago, and she's been helping me."

"Good." Through unspoken agreement, the three friends switched the topic of conversation to lighter things. They all had thoughts weighing on their minds, and they tried to forget their troubles while they could. Soon enough it was time for Harry to get to breakfast. He wished Hermione a speedy recovery and headed for the Great Hall.

It was still early n the morning, and only a few students were scattered across the four tables. Harry was heading for his normal spot when he saw Luna getting up from the Ravenclaw table and walking towards him. I wonder if she wants to talk more. I need breakfast regardless. He made it to his seat and filled his plate, then waited for Luna to reach him.

Instead of saying anything, Luna just sat on his lap and began filling the plate next to his. For a couple seconds, Harry did nothing except stare at the back of Luna's head while she hummed a tune to herself. He tapped her on the shoulder, which caused her to immediately stop humming. Harry just waited for her to turn around. When she looked back, he grabbed her around her waist, picked her up and placed her in the seat next to him. Well that was odd.

She just shot him a slightly reproachful glance and went back to her breakfast as if nothing had happened. What the....I give up. "Thanks for yesterday, Luna. Do you think we could hang out together later today?" Harry asked, as he began to eat.

"I'd love to, Harry. When and where should I meet you?" The humming began again, but it was quiet and if Harry was honest with himself, quite soothing. He was going to need it too, because Neville and Ginny had just entered the hall and spotted him with Luna.

"How about 4 o'clock? We can go for a walk through the grounds or around the castle somewhere." Ginny and Neville had almost reached them at this point, but Harry had already said everything he needed to say.

"I'll see you then." Luna flashed him a smile, and then they went back to eating silently as the approaching pair sat across from them.

"Morning, guys." Harry said. It was obvious that he was just greeting them because they were friends. He didn't seem eager to talk. The other two responded in much the same way. Ginny almost missed his greeting because she was so preoccupied with glaring at Luna. Yep. 112% jealous. She's topping the charts and then some. Luckily, Luna seemed completely oblivious. Harry quickly finished his breakfast and left the hall. If the battle at the Ministry had shown him anything, it was that he needed to know more. With that in mind, he headed for the Room of Requirement. He had a long day of training ahead of him.

He and his... family had fought well at the Department of Mysteries, but Voldemort simply outclassed him when it came to magical knowledge and expertise. He had decades more experience, and he was one of the most powerful wizards of the era. Harry had trained hard over the past five years, but he would never last in a battle like the one between Voldemort and Dumbledore two days ago. The experience differential wasn't something he could change, but the difference in magical knowledge was something he could change.

It was to this end that he was in the Room of Requirement. The room was lined on bookcases on three sides, while the side of the room opposite the door was a firing range. There were a couple of spells that he wanted to research from the battle. The curse that Dolohov hit Hermione with was one of them. The flame basilisk that Voldemort conjured was also something that seemed extremely useful. It might have been fiendfyre, but he wasn't sure. In any case, both of those were probably extremely Dark. Fiendfyre could be useful, but he would have to research it extensively. No, the thing he wanted to work on today is the shield that Voldemort conjured that could deflect spells.

I need a book about magical shields. A book about corporeal shields not spells, preferably with the most powerful spells in existence. The room bent magic to his needs, and a book floated over his shoulder. Shields Most Arcane, this looks like exactly what I need. The book as a whole seemed to consist mostly of theory. At the end though, there was section of spells. The first one of which seemed to fit Harry's purposes exactly. The ασπίδα ψυχή spell.

It was a Greek spell that roughly translated as the Soul Shield Spell. It made the person's own psychological protections around their soul and personality a physical shield. Because the shield was imbued with magic, it could deflect spells, and because it was an actual physical shield, it could deflect physical blows. The shield would only break when the caster's soul shields broke. There were of course a few major drawbacks.

The major one being that because the spell was tied so deeply into the caster's psychology, the caster had to know themselves intimately. They couldn't lie about who they were, what they felt or believed or their past. The spell could only call forth the wizard's psychology, but the intent was necessary for the spell to work. The intent had to include the psychological nuances being called forth or the spell would fail. That kind of self-knowledge was rare, but the spell seemed worth it, and Harry had never been in the habit of lying to himself thanks to his childhood with the Dursleys. He had always had to face the cold hard truth. His relatives went out of their way to expose him to the harshness of the world when he was as young as three years old. He knew himself better than most, but even for him this would not be easy.

Also, the shield would be a physical manifestation of what was essentially an aspect of his mind. Once he called the shield into being, it could be summoned to him in the same way that the sword of Gryffindor could. It would react to his will, and could be commanded with a thought. The minor drawback about giving physical form to a mental aspect is that such an aspect was constantly changing. The shield would change to represent Harry's mental state, which would make that mental state visible to the world. Still, it was worth it for the added protection.

Harry immediately tried to cast the archaic spell and failed. It didn't surprise him much. He knew himself incredibly well, but the spell also required you to be true to your past. Harry had made a life of denying his past for years. Luna had called him out on it last night, but he was still far from accepting all of his past. It was going to take some intense meditation to relive his past and accept it as a part of him. With that in mind, Harry spent the next five hours remembering everything that he could about his past and thinking about how it affected him now.

He really needed the coming walk with Luna. She could help pull him out of the painful memories. He had made progress and it was possible that he would be able to perform the spell the next day, but it had cost him.

The next day followed the pattern of the last day almost exactly except with a small deviation. Harry performed the Soul Shield spell successfully. The shield would probably disturb anyone else that saw it, but to Harry it was a perfect fit. The shield was a buckler with a diameter a little over 35cm. The surface was a weave of dozens of shades of grey. They elegantly flowed around one another, but never mixed, and there was no pure white or black anywhere on the shield. The most concerning feature was probably the shield's condition. It was badly dented and entire sections were bent. Deep gouges marred the surface, and there were splashes of dried blood in some places. Even more striking than its condition were the two loops of thick chain that went around the shield and formed an X on the front. The shield would serve its purpose, but it seemed dangerously close to breaking.

After that the last few days followed a set routine. Harry woke up early after suffering from nightmares each night. Then he went and worked out the negative emotion with weapons training in the Room of Requirement. The rest of the day was spent with Ron and Hermione, Luna or Ginny and Neville. Harry hoped to get his family together on the train, but for now they stayed separate.

A couple of days before the end of term, Harry approached Dean about ordering Muggle items. As it turned out, Gringotts could deliver Muggle items for those who knew to ask (and were willing to pay extra for the delivery service). Harry was willing to pay extra because he just couldn't buy things in the Muggle world because of the Dursleys. He needed these items to piss off the Dursleys so they were worth every Knut. The packages would be delivered the day after he was back at Privet Drive. Before Harry knew it, it was time for the train ride back to Hades on earth.