Harry Potter lay alone in his room at number 4 Privet Drive. It was sunset and he had not left his room all day. After two weeks he had gotten tired of waiting. He was told he would only be here for a short time, but already wanted to leave. He was starving, having not eaten all day, but even leaving for meals was too much for him to handle anymore. So he laid on his bed not caring to move. He only left his room out of the necessity to use the restroom, and returned immediately. He had not showered for three days and was still wearing his pajamas from last night.

Harry was not surprised that his aunt and uncle did not come and check on him. He figured they were glad to be away from him, as he was glad to be away from them. Where were his friends anyway? He rolled onto his stomach and looked at his clock. It had only been five minutes since he last looked, but it had felt like an hour. He rolled back over, sighing to himself. Darkness began to surround him, but he did not move.

His mind was beginning to wonder, and he found himself thinking about Sirius. He hated thinking about his godfather it always made him angry. So he was thankful for the distraction of the Barn Owl flying through the open window, landing on his chest. As soon as he untied the letter, the bird flew away.

Harry laboriously walked over and turned on his light. He sat at his desk and looked at the envelope. Aside from the address to him, it bore a Hogwarts wax seal. Harry hesitantly opened the envelope; he had not expected his O.W.L. results so soon. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw it was not his results. It was in fact a letter from Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. Not sure why Dumbledore had written to him, Harry read the letter.

Dear Harry,
I think we should talk about some things. Inside the envelope, you’ll find a Portkey. Please use it tomorrow morning at nine. It will bring you to my office. I look forward to seeing you then.
Albus Dumbledore

Harry had no desire to speak to his headmaster tomorrow, or anytime soon. He tossed the letter and envelope into his garbage can. He went to the bathroom and tried to clear his head. He was not sure why, but he was continuing his Occlumency, as Dumbledore had asked.

He returned to his room and crawled into bed, not bothering to turn the light off or set his alarm. He slowly drifted into a restless sleep filled with nightmares. Most of which had him standing in front of the archway, or running through the Department of Mysteries. He tossed and turned all night, winding up in a disheveled mess.


Harry woke up feeling more tired than he had last night. He was also miserable and feeling very hungry. The hunger he could deal with, but the misery accumulated everyday. He now felt pressed in upon. He looked at his clock again; it was only eight thirty. He rolled over and tried to sleep again.

It was useless. He could not get the dreams out of his head. He admitted yet again it was his fault Sirius was dead and that his friends had been hurt. This, once again, brought no resolution, no comfort and no relief. He only felt more miserable.

He was finally nodding off, when he heard a popping sound behind him. He did not register what this sound was, and kept his eyes closed, facing the wall.

“Good morning Harry.”

Harry jerked wide-awake with a start and sat up to face the speaker. It was Professor Dumbledore. “Professor,” Harry breathed; suddenly self-conscious of how he looked. “Good morning.”

“You missed our appointment Harry. It is now nine thirty,” Dumbledore informed Harry, checking his watch.

“I’m sorry sir. I guess I overslept,” Harry lied. He was not sorry either. He was kind of annoyed that Dumbledore had apparated into his bedroom.

“Clearly, and my letter is in your garbage for safe keeping?”

Harry could not bring himself to look at Professor Dumbledore. He was embarrassed at being caught in his lie so easily. He found himself starring at his pillow. There was silence for a few moments before Dumbledore spoke again.

“Now, I want you to get a shower and get dressed. Then you will use the Portkey and be in my office in half an hour.” Dumbledore did not sound angry, but Harry knew better than to not do as he was told.

Harry was walking out of his room before his headmaster had left. He showered as quickly as he could, while still making sure he was thoroughly clean. He brushed his teeth and returned to his room to dress. He felt it appropriate to dress in his school robes and was ready five minutes early. He fruitlessly tried to make his hair presentable before fishing the letter and envelope from his garbage.

He flipped the envelope over and let the Portkey slide out into his hand. He had just enough time to notice the marble in his hand before he felt the familiar sensation of a hook behind his navel. There was the familiar whooshing sound in his ears as he traveled to his headmaster’s office.

Harry now stood in Dumbledore’s office, the marble rolling across the floor. The smell of bacon and eggs filled his nostrils. He looked around and saw a small table set for two, with a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast and pumpkin juice waiting.

“Ah, Harry there you are,” the professor spoke entering the room. “Would you care to join me for some breakfast before we talk? You must be hungry.”

“No, I’m fine, thank you professor.”

“If that is your decision,” Dumbledore responded, taking a seat at the table.

Harry hesitated for a few moments before taking the other seat. He started eating ravenously as Dumbledore just smiled and ate, in a much more refined manner. Once they were finished, the headmaster waved the mess away with his wand and walked to his chair behind his desk.

“Sit down Harry,” the old man asked indicating the chair in front of his desk. Harry hesitantly complied and waited.

A/N Please review, as this is my first attempt at a humor story. I thank you for any constructive feedback.

Harry sat silently in Albus Dumbledore’s office. He had not been here since he had smashed many of Dumbledore’s possessions out of anger at the end of last term. Most of them appeared to be repaired or replaced, however. He could feel all the portraits looking at him, no longing feigning to be asleep around him.

“Harry, I’m concerned for you. As you know, there are still members of the Order watching you.” Dumbledore paused here to see if Harry had anything to say. “They have reported that you have not left the house since returning from school. Judging by what I witnessed this morning, you are also failing to take care of yourself or eat properly.”

“I’m fine,” Harry announced rudely and thoroughly aggravated. He knew he would feel much better if Dumbledore would let him leave Privet Drive.

“I disagree. Clearly, you are not fine.”

“You’re wasting your breath and time Dumbledore. We all know this boy will not listen to you,” the portrait of Phineus interrupted. Harry turned his head and glared at the portrait, but turned around when Dumbledore began to speak again.

“Thank you Phineus, that will do. I believe I know what is bothering you, and I would like to help … I beg your pardon?” He had seen Harry’s lips move, but he had whispered so softly, nobody had heard what he said.

“I told you to SHUT UP,” Harry shouted, rolling his eyes. Several of the portraits gasped. The others began to shout at Harry.

Dumbledore raised his hand and the room fell silently. “Please understand, I am only trying to help you …”

“Well you can’t! You don’t know what it’s like! You didn’t get him killed!”

“Neither did you, as I have already told you.”

Harry was not listening. He was done with the conversation. “I want to go back. Send me back.”

“Not before we talk.”

“Fine,” Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. He saw the marble on the floor and went for it. Nothing happened. He caste the marble aside and stomped to the door. He tugged at the handle, but the door remained closed. He pulled more forcefully, but his hand slipped off the well-polished handle and he fell backwards. Harry stood up; he was determined not to have this conversation again. “Let me out, now!”

“Not before we talk.”

“We already had this talk! I don’t care anymore!”

“No, we have not, not entirely. I made the mistake of thinking a fifteen-year-old could handle the emotions you left my office with at the end of term. Clearly, this is not the case. You need some one to talk to, some one to help you understand. You can talk and I will listen this time. Furthermore, you do care. That is why we are here.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” Harry lied turning away to face the door.

Dumbledore just sat behind his desk waiting. Harry could not believe he would just sit there and wait. Surely he had other business to attend to. A few moments passed before Harry tried to pull the door open again. Harry kicked the door before turning around.

“I don’t want to talk, nor do I need to! Now send me back!” Dumbledore continued to stare at him. Harry then did the only thing his rage told him to do. He grabbed a three-legged stool and swung it at a table of devices and instruments.

“Stop that Harry! Come here and sit down.” Harry delighted in the annoyance he heard in Dumbledore’s voice, much unlike the last time he smashed the office. Perhaps if he smashed a few more things, the headmaster would give up and let him go.

He grabbed a piece of metal by his foot and heaved it at the front of a glass cabinet. With a thunderous clash, the cabinet shattered. All of its shelves and their contents fell to the floor, shattering. There was only one thing louder than the ensuing cacophony, and that was Dumbledore.

“Harry James Potter!”

Harry froze, inexplicably petrified. He could not move as Dumbledore rose from his desk, looking furious and came over to him.

“I tried to be patient! I tried to be understanding with you Harry! But if you insist on acting like a child, then I shall teach you a lesson!” Harry had never seen Dumbledore angry. It was an alarming sight, until he remembered something.

“You won’t punish me,” Harry hissed defiantly. “You never have. All those times you caught me breaking rules, you always let me go.”

“You should not mistake kindness for unwillingness.” Dumbledore raised his wand. Harry, realizing he was not bluffing tried to dive out of the way. “Retroceso!” The spell hit Harry squarely in the chest.

Harry felt a tingling sensation all over his body as he floated in mid-air. He had a horrified expression on his face as everything went dark.

Moments later, Harry was lying on the floor. He did not know why he was buried in a pile of clothing as he began to struggle to find his way out. His body felt lighter, weaker and all-around strange to him. He finally found an opening and stuck his head through it.

A wave of panic overcame him. He was still in Dumbledore’s office, but everything was bigger. Even Dumbledore towered over him more than usual. “What did you do to me?” Harry slapped his hands to his mouth. His voice was not his own, it was too high. Then he screamed. His hands were smaller; no softer, they were both.

Dumbledore just smiled as he crouched next to Harry. “I told you I would teach you a lesson. I have returned you to your childhood body, around the age of four, I should think.”

Harry was outraged. “Change me back, right now,” he screamed, in a voice nearly 12 years too young. It was then he realized he was naked, except for his robes, now many sizes too big, draping over him. He pulled them more tightly around himself.

“I think,” Dumbledore started, while scooping Harry off the floor, careful to keep the robes wrapped tightly around him. “We need to get you some clothes in your size.”

“Put me down!” Harry could not get used to his new voice. “Hang on,” Harry stopped struggling as he thought of something. “If you made me four again, then why can I still remember everything?”

“Your memories will remain,” Dumbledore stated, now walking down the school corridors. “Otherwise it would not be a very good lesson. But in time, even your mind will begin to think and function like a child’s, just like your body.”

“Change me back,” Harry repeated, starting to struggle again.

Dumbledore carried the struggling Harry to Hogsmeade and into a children’s clothing store. He purchased Harry a change of clothes then returned to the castle. He left Harry alone in a bathroom to change.

Harry grudgingly changed into the child’s robes, so he would not be naked, and into some Velcro shoes. “I could tie my shoes at four, you know,” Harry announced leaving the bathroom. Dumbledore tried to pick him up to go back to his office, but Harry darted from his reach. “Change me back.” Harry ran down the corridor as Dumbledore reached for him again. “I’ll talk to you, if you change me back.”

“It is too late for talk. Now stop running around before you hurt yourself.” Harry continued to run down the corridor. He, for some reason, wanted Dumbledore to chase him.

Dumbledore did not have to chase far. Harry rounded a corner and tripped over a raised stone. He fell, but only scrapped his knee. Yet, he was crying when Dumbledore picked him up. “There, there,” he soothed. “It’s only a scrapped knee.”

“I know it is, but I can’t stop crying.”

“I told you your body and mind would begin to think they were four again.

They were now entering Dumbledore’s office. “Please change me back,” Harry begged, tears still in his ears. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“I know you are, but I cannot undo this spell so simply. You must learn a lesson first. The lesson I had in mind when I cast the spell.” Dumbledore sat Harry in the chair facing his desk.

“Ok, tell me the lesson.”

“You must learn it for yourself. I cannot simply tell you what you need to learn.”

“But, professor, how am I supposed to go to classes like this when school starts?”

“Harry, four-year-olds are not admitted to Hogwarts. If you wish to return to school, you must learn the lesson before term.”

“What? How can I learn a lesson, when I don‘t know what it is?”

“It is not a difficult lesson to learn. Now, I think it is time you were found a home for the summer …”

“I’m not going back to the Dursleys!”

“No, I daresay they would not want a four-year-old again. I, however, have a solution in mind.”

Within a few hours Dumbledore had bought Harry more clothes and to Harry’s annoyance, some children’s toys. “How long do you think I’m going to stay like this,” Harry asked accusingly.

“Well, it won’t hurt for you to have entertainment while you stay with the family I found you.”

“What, they don’t have any children of their own?”

“Oh they have one, but she’s nearly seventeen. Even if they still kept them, I doubt you would want to play with little girls’ toys. Let’s get going.”

Harry, with no other choice, had agreed to spend the time as a four-year-old until he learned his lesson. He also agreed to be on his best behavior while staying with the family Dumbledore had found. Dumbledore had not told Harry who the family was, but did say he was to call the parents mommy and daddy while staying with them. Harry did not like this last bit much but again agreed.


With all of Harry’s new clothing and toys packed into bags, he and Dumbledore arrived at Harry’s new home by six that evening. It was a big and beautiful house in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. As he and Dumbledore walked to the front door, Harry saw there were many children in the neighborhood. Most were around his new age.

The headmaster rang the doorbell and waited. A beautiful girl, with brown eyes and bushy brown hair opened the door. She was wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt.

“Hermione,” Harry gasped. He could not believe Dumbledore expected him to live with one of his best friends in his current state.

“Hi Harry,” Hermione said, bending down and patting his head. “Come inside, Headmaster. Mum and Dad aren’t home yet, but they should be soon.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger.” Harry and Dumbledore walked into the house and sat at the kitchen table. Hermione had been making dinner when they arrived and went back to preparing it.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Headmaster?” Hermione asked as she moved around the kitchen.

“As much as I would enjoy that Miss Granger, I’m afraid I have important business to attend to. In fact, if you could give this to your parents, I would appreciate it.” He handed Hermione a sealed envelope and turned back to Harry. “Be good, Harry.” The headmaster left with a popping sound.

Harry put aside his mixed emotions as he was more curious what Dumbledore had left for the Grangers. “Hey, Hermione. What is that?”

Hermione looked to see Harry pointing to the sealed envelope. “That,” she said smiling, “is for my … our parents.” She continued to make dinner, while Harry sat at the table, bored. He could already tell his mind was slipping back. He had said and done things all day he would normally never do, but he could not stop himself.

“Hermione, we’re home,” a woman’s voice called.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Hermione called back.

When they came into the kitchen Hermione hugged both her parents, gave them Dumbledore’s letter, and then went back to preparing dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Granger read the letter silently, then Mr. Granger took it and left the room.

Hermione’s mother then came and sat next to Harry. “Hello Harry. How are you feeling?”

“Alright,” Harry replied, trying to sound happy. Hermione brought dinner to the table and Mr. Granger returned. Harry ate silently while the Grangers talked and ate. He soon found he had lost the coordination to handle a knife and fork at the same time, so Mrs. Granger took his plate, cut his food and set it back in front of him.

Mr. Granger and Hermione started doing the dishes once dinner was done. Mrs. Granger took Harry by the hand and led him upstairs to his room. She pointed out that the bathroom was right across the hall from him before opening his door. Inside Harry saw what looked like a guest bedroom, it was certainly not a room set up for a child. He saw the bags Dumbledore had left with him as well as some shopping bags on the floor. The Grangers had bought him some stuff too.

“Play with your toys for a while Harry,” Mrs. Granger told him while she started putting his clothes in the closet and dresser. Harry did as he was told but did not find the toys very entertaining. Still he sat on the floor playing with them, stopping once Mrs. Granger was finished.

Mrs. Granger left the room without saying a word. Harry followed her and they were halfway down the staircase before she realized he had followed.

“You can stay up there and play Harry. You don’t have to follow me. I’m just going to watch the news.”

“Can I watch with you?”

Mrs. Granger seemed surprised that he would want to watch the news, but agreed. She picked him up, something he was still not used to, and carried him to the living room. She sat down and put Harry on her lap. Hermione and Mr. Granger joined them after a time.

“Alright, I think it’s bath time Harry,” Mrs. Granger announced after the news. She carried him up to the bathroom. Harry waited as she filled the bathtub for him, but was not ready for what happened next.

“No way! I can bathe myself,” Harry protested when Mrs. Granger started to undress him. Forgetting how much weaker he was, Harry struggled against her. He was soon sitting in the water being scrubbed clean however.

Once he was clean and dry, Mrs. Granger dressed Harry for bed, in cartoon printed underwear and a set of cartoon printed pajamas too. Harry figured they were all that would fit his smaller body and did not protest, even though he thought the underwear looked more like a diaper. “Brush your teeth and go potty before bed,” Mrs. Granger ordered.

Harry did as told, though he could barely reach the sink. He walked across the hall to his room and found Mrs. Granger waiting to tuck him in. It was a new experience for Harry as he lay on the bed and she pulled the covers tightly around him. She then hugged him and went to leave.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I bought you something today.” Mrs. Granger got a stuffed rabbit from the bag of toys and laid it next to Harry. “Goodnight Harry,” she said turning off the light and closing the door.

Harry punched the stuffed animal off the bed. He was having trouble coping, and despite the fact he did not feel tired he soon fell asleep. Even as a child he did not sleep peacefully. The dreams remained and he tossed and turned all night, waking up several times.

Once he even woke up screaming. Mrs. Granger rushed into the room. She recognized the signs of a small child being scared and picked him up and held him close. This of course calmed Harry down, and he found himself tightly holding onto her too. Mrs. Granger put him back under the blankets once his grip relaxed. She put the stuffed rabbit back in bed with Harry, who, nearly asleep again, wrapped his arms around it.

“Harry, time to wake up.” Harry rolled over at these words and saw Hermione sitting on the edge of his bed. He threw the stuffed animal he was clutching, for some reason, aside and pulled back the blankets. “You can still dress yourself right,” Hermione asked handing him some clothes.

Harry wanted to scowl but merely nodded his head. “Well, get dressed then. Mum and dad already left for work, so it’s just you and me today,” she added leaving the room. Harry pulled of his pajamas and dressed for the day. Rather, he tried to dress for the day. He had no trouble putting on the red shirt he was given, but the khaki shorts did not fit. He went to the dresser to get another pair. They did not fit either, nor did the next pair he tried.

“Hermione,” he called, though to her it sounded like he was whining.

“What,” she replied coming back into the room.

“None of these shorts fit.”

Hermione did her best not to laugh as she took in the funny scene before her. “Harry,” she said, trying to sound as serious as she could. “Maybe you should take the Pull-ups off first. I did give you a pair of underwear for a reason.”

“What? Your mum put me in a diaper last night!”

“She’s your mum right now too! Anyway, it’s not a diaper, she just didn’t want to find out the hard way if you wet the bed.” Hermione was still managing not to laugh, but she could not help smiling. “Just hurry up and change.”

Harry waited until Hermione had left again, and then started changing. This time the shorts fit, since he was wearing regular, though cartoon printed, underwear. He put some socks on, then cleaned up the mess he had made with the other pairs of shorts. He walked into the hall to find Hermione waiting.

Hermione was reading a sheet of paper but looked up when he closed his door. “Do you have to go potty,” she asked putting her hands to her sides. Harry could now see the paper held a list, he guessed from her parents, telling her what to do with him. The second item told her to ask that question. Feeling degraded he walked into the bathroom without replying.

Harry followed Hermione downstairs; thankful she had not carried him. He sat at the table as Hermione poured him and herself a bowl of cereal and glass of orange juice. She sat his food in front of him and sat in the opposite chair. Harry reached for his glass of juice first, but a combination of not sleeping good and his decreased motor skills caused him to knock it over.

“Harry,” Hermione screeched jumping to her feet. She cleaned his mess up and then spent some time searching in the kitchen cupboards. When she returned, she placed a sippy-cup of juice in front of Harry.

“I’m not drinking from that,” Harry shouted.

“Oh yes you are. I’m not cleaning up another spill.”

Harry decided to eat and realizing he would get nothing else, drank from the cup. Hermione put the dishes away then asked Harry to follow her. She led the way back upstairs and stopped in front of his room.

“You can play in your room, I’ve got things to do. Come get me if you need anything.” Hermione walked down the hall and into the door of the room next to Harry’s.

Harry went into his room and sat on the floor. He started to look more closely at the toys the Grangers and Dumbledore had given him. There were toy cars, action figures and some Lego sets. Despite the fact his mind was beginning to think like a child’s these toys could not hold his attention for long. The Lego sets kept him occupied the longest, only because he had to build the toys first.

After only an hour and a half he was too bored to continue. He walked down the hall and into Hermione’s room. She was laying on her bed reading and had not noticed him come in. Her room was very neat and tidy. There was a huge bookcase taking up a whole wall. Though it was overflowing with books of various sizes it was well organized and clean. Her desk was bare except for a pad of paper, a jar of pencils and pens and a desk lamp. Her dresser and closet were closed.

“Hermione, I’m bored,” Harry announced.

“Hmm, um, go play with your toys, if your bored Harry,” Hermione said not looking up from her book. Harry walked into the room and poked Hermione on the shoulder to get her attention. “Urgh, I told you to play with your toys,” she growled setting her book down.

“I did. I’m bored now!”

Hermione starred at Harry, with a look of confusion for a moment. She then took his hand and led him downstairs to the living room. She turned on the television and changed to cartoons. “Watch TV then.” Hermione disappeared back upstairs. Harry sat on the floor and watched television.

He was astounded when Hermione returned and, turning off the television, told him it was time for lunch. He looked at the watch hanging loosely on his wrist; it had been two hours. Hermione made them sandwiches for lunch. She got herself a soda but gave Harry another sippy-cup, filled with milk.

“Hey! How come you get a soda and I get milk,” Harry asked, but once again he sounded whiney to Hermione.

“You get milk because mum wrote that you should get milk with lunch on this list.”

“Let me see it.”

“No,” Hermione said simply. “How about we go to the play park after lunch?”

Harry agreed to make Hermione think she had distracted him, but he decided he would see that list before the end of the day.


Twenty minutes after lunch Harry and Hermione were at the neighborhood play park. Hermione had held Harry’s hand the whole way there and after finding a bench to sit and read on released his hand.

No sooner had Hermione opened her book than Harry spoke. “Hermione, I have to go to the bathroom.”

Hermione looked to see Harry had not moved from where she had let his hand go. “Why didn’t you go before we left home?”

“I didn’t have to go.”

Hermione growled, closed her book, grabbed Harry’s hand and started for home. “You know Harry, just because you have the body of a child does not mean you are one. Act like a teenager for crying out loud.”

Harry had to run to keep up with Hermione as she dragged him home. Harry ran up to the bathroom and came back down when finished.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand to set out for the park yet again, but his hand was wet. “Please tell me that is water on your hand,” Hermione groaned.

“It is. I washed my hands, but couldn’t reach a towel,” Harry added seeing her face.

“You’re sure? You aren’t lying to me?”

“Hermione, I washed my hands. I’m fifteen!”

“Wouldn’t know it by the way you’ve acted today,” Hermione growled.

Hermione sat back down on the bench while Harry went to play with the other children. It had been many years since he had played at a park, and even then he had few people to play with. The other children around the ages of five and six were nicer here however and he was soon playing games with them.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had retained his adolescent temper and despite being smaller was much stronger than the average four-year-old. He got in an argument with a six-year-old, who obviously did not have the same understanding of fair play Harry did. The “older” boy had tried to say Harry was it while playing tag, even though Harry had outrun him. Harry had confused him while trying to explain, in not so little words, and the boy pushed him. Harry was surprised that he was still standing, but pushed back. The other boy stumbled backwards, fell over and hit his head on a metal pole.

The six-year-old began to cry very loudly and his mother came rushing over. Hermione had looked up from her book, hearing the commotion. She too came over.

“I am so sorry,” Hermione said to the lady. “I know I should have been watching my little brother more closely.”

“Yes you should have young lady. He nearly cracked my son’s skull open.”

“I am so sorry,” Hermione repeated, lifting Harry into her arms. “Tell them you are sorry Harry!”

“He pushed me first!”

“I don’t care!”

However, the lady asked her son if he had pushed Harry first. The boy sobbed a yes. “Well, that serves you right to be pushed back. I’m sorry Miss. I guess we should expect little boys to act like this.”

The lady and her son left and Hermione carried Harry back to the bench. She gathered her book and started to leave. “We’re going home, and I don’t want you to say anything! I don’t care if he pushed you first! I don’t care that he is bigger than you! You pushed a little kid Harry!” Harry considered yelling back, but he had never seen Hermione this mad, not even at Ron.

Hermione carried Harry home and up to his room. She stood him in a corner, facing the walls.

“You can stand in that corner until mum and dad get home.” Hermione left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry stood in the corner fuming. He was furious: furious at Hermione, at Dumbledore and … at himself. He found himself thinking about Sirius again. This and Hermione checking on him every few minutes, to make sure he was still in the corner, only made him angrier. His blood was boiling, and after two hours his feet and legs were hurting. He could deal with the pain, but he soon had another problem.

“Hermione.” There was no answer and she did not come to his door. Starting to fidget and squirm, he tried again. “Hermione!” Harry did not wait as long this time. “Hermione!”

Finally she came into his room. “No, you can’t get out of the corner yet! It serves you right if you’re bored or if your feet hurt.”

“I have to go to the bathroom!” This time he was whining.

“Hold it!”

“I can’t,” Harry screamed at Hermione as she left again.

Harry waited a few more minutes before trying again. He was sure he would soon burst. “Hermione!”

“I told you to hold it Harry! You’re supposed to be quiet now. You’re in time out,” Hermione called back from her room.

“If you don’t let me go right now, you’re going to have another mess to clean up!”

Hermione stormed into his room and grabbed Harry’s wrist. She dragged him to the bathroom, pulled his pants down and sat him on the toilet. She waited for him to finish and wash his hands then took him back to his room and placed him in the corner again.


Harry remained standing silently in the corner until Mrs. Granger arrived home. He heard her arrive home and Hermione go downstairs to meet her. He could here them talking but could not make out what they were saying. He of course knew Hermione was telling her mother about what had happened in the park.

“Harry you can get out of the corner now,” Mrs. Granger said walking by Harry’s door. “Why don’t you go watch TV with Hermione until dinner is ready.”

Surprised that Hermione actually watched television, Harry did as Mrs. Granger suggested. Mrs. Granger had dinner ready by the time her husband arrived home and the family ate together. Hermione had told Mrs. Granger about breakfast, so once again Harry drank his milk from a sippy-cup. They all watched television together after dinner.

After the news Mrs. Granger gave Harry his bath and was about to dress him when he spoke. “Mommy,” he managed to say, amazed at how hard it was to say one word. “I don’t, nor have I ever wet the bed.”

“Well, Professor Dumbledore told me the spell he used on you has some side affects. He thought bedwetting to be a possibility because of how much younger he made you. Wouldn’t you rather make sure, instead of waking up in a cold, wet bed?”

“But I won’t,” Harry insisted. “I don’t want to wear a Pull-ups to bed.”

“Well, I don’t want to clean up the mess if you do have an accident,” Mrs. Granger commented while having to forcefully dress him. “Now brush your teeth and go potty.”

Harry did as he was told and went to his room. He was glad he had not taken off the Pull-ups as he thought about doing, because Mrs. Granger checked before tucking him in. She put the stuffed animal next to him and left. Harry promptly threw this to the floor once his light was off and the door was closed. Once again he fell asleep right away, despite the earlier bedtime.

Harry had another restless night of nightmares. Like the night before, he awoke in the dead of night screaming, covered in a cold sweat. It took Mrs. Granger much longer to calm him however. He finally fell asleep in her arms after half an hour.

Mrs. Granger laid Harry on the bed to change him out of the cold and wet pajamas. She dried the sweat from his body and dressed him in another set of pajamas. Finally she tucked him back in bed and went back to bed herself.

It was Hermione who woke Harry in the morning again. Not getting anywhere near the amount of restful sleep his smaller body needed, Harry was cranky. Hermione, half asleep herself, gave Harry clothes to change into and left the room. Harry changed his clothes and walked to the bathroom before Hermione could ask the same degrading question.

The rest of the morning proceeded similarly to the previous. Harry scowled at his sippy-cup while eating breakfast, then went to play in his room, while Hermione went to hers to read. His mind ever becoming more and more like a child’s, Harry was entertained by the toys longer this morning.

Unfortunately, once he became bored, Harry’s mind shifted to his dead godfather. It was the first time he had consciously thought of Sirius since his transformation. As he dwelled on the subject Harry began to cry. His young mind sought the closest source of comfort and Harry grabbed the stuffed rabbit from his bed. He wrapped his arms around it and laid on the floor in the fetal position, crying himself to sleep.

It was in this position that Hermione found him an hour later. She had become concerned, not hearing anything from him for so long. She sat down next to him, thinking how cute he looked as a child. She put her hand on his shoulder and gently shook him awake.

Harry pulled his face away from the rabbit and Hermione saw his tear-streaked face. He moved suddenly and tightly clutched Hermione instead. Hermione hugged him back as he began to cry into her shoulder, still remembering why he had been crying. Hermione rubbed his back trying to sooth him, but Harry only clenched tighter.

After a few minutes, Hermione stood up awkwardly with Harry in her arms. She sat on his bed, waiting for Harry to fall back to sleep or loosen his grip. Her shoulder was soaked with his tears, but she did not care. Hermione knew Harry’s loss was traumatic for him, and Dumbledore’s spell was to help him deal with his emotions easier. She knew, as did Dumbledore that young children cannot bottle up their emotions like teenagers and adults can.

Harry finally relaxed his grip, falling asleep. Hermione held him a little longer to make sure he remained asleep. She stood up, about to lay Harry on his bed when something made her stop abruptly. She felt a warm liquid spreading over her, between herself and Harry.

“Ewe! Gross, gross, gross!” Hermione ran across the hall and tried to get Harry on the toilet. Frustrated, Hermione began to fill the bathtub and undressed Harry. She cleaned Harry up; amazed he remained asleep, and dried him off. She took him back to his room, put him in a Pull-ups and put him in bed, since he was still asleep. Finally, Hermione went back to the bathroom and showered herself clean. She then went to start the laundry Harry had made.

Hermione went back to her room and continued to read. She heard whimpering and moaning coming from Harry’s room around eleven thirty and went to check on him. Harry was thrashing and squirming in his sleep. Getting used to how to calm him, Hermione picked Harry up. He almost immediately relaxed and stopped struggling. Hermione dressed him in some pajamas then whispered his name to wake him.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and looked around. “What … what happened? Why am I in pajamas again?”

“It’s ok, you just had a little accident earlier.”

“What? Shut up. I did not!”

“Yeah you did. You peed all over both of us! That’s why I changed my clothes too. Now come down and let’s get some lunch.”

“Let me change first,” Harry yelled as Hermione carried him out of the room.

“Mum said you should wear a Pull-ups for the day if you have an accident. Just in case, it’s not a punishment.”

“Fine!” Harry seriously doubted these words.

Hermione made them both lunch again and they ate silently. After lunch they headed back upstairs. Harry still feeling sad and upset did not want to be alone.

“Hermione, do I have to play alone?”

“What do you mean? Do you want me to play with you?” Hermione’s voice told Harry she did not fancy the idea of playing with children’s toys. He wanted to tell her he did not like the toys much either.

“Not if you don’t want to, but could I bring some toys to your room and play there?”

Hermione was momentarily surprised by this request, but remembered what a horrible morning he had. “As long as you’re quiet,” Hermione feigned being annoyed.

Harry gathered some toys, picking them seemingly at random. He did not realize he had sub-consciously picked favorites already. He sat on Hermione’s floor and began to play.

Hermione looked up from her book and noticed Harry was only playing half-heartedly. She thought it looked like his mind was elsewhere. She did not know that his mind was always elsewhere these days. On some level Harry was always thinking of Sirius and what had happened … what he had caused.

Hermione looked up from her book again and saw Harry crying again. “What’s wrong Harry? You’ve been so sad today.”

“N-n-nothing, it’s nothing. I-I just have something in m-my eye,” Harry lied wiping his eyes futilely.

Hermione did not argue but went to her bookshelf. Scanning the multitude of books she had, Hermione pulled down a psychology book. Harry’s eyes were too blotchy to notice anything she was doing. Hermione opened her book and began to quickly read. With a look of triumph, Hermione shoved the book back onto the shelf. Hermione grabbed some paper and a box of crayons. She set these on her bed and sat on the floor next to Harry. She wiped his eyes with a tissue then spoke.

“You like to draw Harry, right?” Harry nodded, even though he had not done so for years. He did not understand why she would ask him this while he was crying. Hermione handed Harry the paper and crayons. “Why don’t you draw something then? You seem kind of bored with the toys you brought.”

Harry moved to Hermione’s desk and began to draw, while she went back to reading. He did not focus on what he was drawing but once he filled a piece of paper he put it aside and continued with the next piece. After a while Hermione went to see what he had drawn. As she grabbed the two he had finished she noticed Harry had worn done the red and black crayons.

Hermione nearly dropped the drawings when she looked at them. They were horrific depictions of what had happened a few weeks earlier. One was when the Death Eaters had burst into the room with the tank of brains. The other was Hermione’s first view of the battle in the room with the arch. Hermione had been right; Harry was drawing what he was thinking about. He was venting his frustrations in a healthy way.

Harry finished the third drawing, but did not put it aside. Hermione looked down at it, while standing behind him. She could see why he had stopped and started to stare at it. It was a picture of Sirius falling through the arch.

Hermione crouched down next to Harry and saw he was crying again. She reached up and brushed his untidy hair out of his face.

“It’s all my fault,” Harry spoke softly.

“What is,” Hermione asked.

“Everything. You and Ron and Ginny and Neville and Luna were all hurt because of me. Sirius is dead because of me.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione said softly.

“Yes it is!” Harry’s face was covered in tears now, but he continued to cry.

“No, we chose to go with you. You told us to stay behind, remember?”

Harry shook his head. “My fault,” he repeated in a whisper.

Hermione did the only thing she knew would be of any comfort. She pulled Harry tightly to her and let him wrap his arms around her. She was not sure why, but she began to hum a lullaby and was crying herself. Harry stopped crying but remained awake.

“You don’t blame me,” Harry finally asked softly. Hermione had been holding him for thirty minutes.

“No, Harry, I don’t blame you. I never did.”

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry sighed, finally letting go and stepping back. “Thanks for looking after me this summer.”

“It’s no problem. You helped me realize I’m glad to be an only child.” They both laughed for a while. “Harry, why don’t you go change before mum comes home. She doesn’t have to know you had an accident today.”

Harry did as she asked and returned to her room. Hermione then played with him until Mrs. Granger came home.

“Did you two have fun today?”

“Yes,” Hermione and Harry chorused happily.

“Good. I’m glad to see you two are getting along.”

Harry and Hermione played card games until dinner. The rest of the night was the same as the previous. Harry watched television with the Grangers. He was given a bath after the news and put to bed.

This night, however, Harry laid awake in bed. He was thinking about the day and how Hermione had helped him. He was glad to have a friend like her. He had begun the first steps of recovery after his loss, but was far from feeling better.

He was still awake when everyone else went to bed. He pretended to be sleeping when Mrs. Granger checked on him. He finally fell asleep nearly an hour later.

Like the two previous nights, Harry’s sleep was plagued with nightmares. Also, like those nights, Harry woke the entire house when he woke up screaming. Mrs. Granger once again calmed Harry and put him back in bed. It was much easier this night and Harry was back asleep in five minutes.

The next four days were very much the same for Harry and Hermione. Harry still slept restlessly, so Hermione took to letting him sleep an hour later in the mornings. Harry also began to take naps in mid-afternoon, becoming exceptionally cranky if he did not sleep at least forty-five minutes. Fortunately he had stopped waking up screaming during the night; something everyone was happy about.

Harry and Hermione would spend the mornings separate, with him playing with toys and her reading. By now, Harry’s mind was very much thinking he was a little kid and the toys kept him occupied for extended periods of time.

In the afternoons, Hermione and Harry would spend time together, whether at the park or playing games at home. They would eat dinner with the family, then either watch television or do something else with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. At nine, Harry was given a bath and sent to bed.

At least once a day Harry would have an emotional breakdown and cry for a while. Hermione had become quite adept at comforting Harry and helping him through his fears. They were both accustomed to this by now; it was like a routine for them. In fact, Hermione once pulled Harry into a tight, comforting hug before he even began crying. She had surprised even herself, and spent the rest of the day in awkward silence around Harry.


This routine was interrupted one afternoon, however. Harry and Hermione had just finished lunch when a Great Grey Owl swooped onto the ledge outside the dinning room window. “Hermione, there’s an owl outside,” Harry exclaimed, bouncing up and down. The part in the back of his mind still a teenager made him aware of his foolish behavior and he quickly stopped.

Hermione opened the window and collected two letters from the bird’s leg. The owl immediately took flight as Hermione pulled the letters inside and closed the window. She turned the letters over and gasped. “Harry, I think these are our O.W.L. results!” She handed the one addressed to Harry to him and began to slowly break the seal on her own.

Harry experienced an odd tingling sensation all over his body as he examined the envelope addressed to him. He had just flipped it over and seen the seal of the Ministry of Magic when Hermione let out a shriek of joy. She abruptly scooped Harry up and twirled about the room with a smile that positively frightened Harry. Hermione composed herself and set Harry down. “Sorry. I’m just so excited!”

“How’d you do?” Harry already knew the answer.

“I got an ‘Outstanding’ on all ten of my exams! Come on, open yours Harry!”

Harry slowly put his finger under the seal and was about to break it when he noticed Hermione looking over his shoulder. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” he lied, rushing upstairs, the letter still in his hands. He locked the door and sat down on the floor. He did not want Hermione to see his results until he did. Hermione seemed to understand this, because she left him alone.

Harry slowly tore upon the envelope, fingers trembling, and a piece of parchment fell out. He looked at this first.

Dear Mr. Potter,
Enclosed you will find the results of your O.W.L. exams. As these results will influence your future schooling, you will receive a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry within the next few days. You will be required to indicate the courses you intend to proceed in for your last two years of schooling. A copy of your results was sent to your head of house.
Sincerely, O.W.L. Evaluators

Harry set this aside and reached into the envelope for his results. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Apprehensively he unfolded this and read.

Astronomy: Acceptable (Harry did not finish this exam, and what he did complete we know to contain errors. It is still a pass, despite Umbridge’s treachery.)

Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding (One of Harry’s favorite subjects. Being friends with Hagrid should have helped.)

Charms: Exceeds Expectations (Not his best subject, but he had so much practice in year four.)

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding (Well, uh … Patronus bonus point!)

Divination: Acceptable (He no doubt did better than Ron, but he does not like the subject anyway. Grade probably came mostly from theory test, not the practical.)

Herbology: Exceeds Expectations (We didn’t get much information about this test, but given his experiences since first year, Harry should do fine.)

History of Magic: Dreadful (Sleeping through the test? No way he could have passed. Oh well, Professor Binns is boring.) Harry groaned at this. He had previously been filling with happiness.

Potions: Outstanding (I’m really giving Harry the benefit of the doubt here. Otherwise, he cannot take N.E.W.T. Potions.) Harry let out a whoop of joy upon reading this, utterly amazed.

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations (Again, I’m hopeful here. He isn’t the best transmutist, but knew to study for this one. Professor McGonagall had told him he was “Acceptable” but needed this to get in her N.E.W.T. class.)

Final results: Eight O.W.L. s. One Fail.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had done it. He now only had to get Exceeds Expectations on five N.E.W.T. s, but that was almost two years away.

Harry opened the bathroom door to find Hermione standing outside. “I thought you had to go to the bathroom?” Harry could tell by her smile, she knew exactly what he had done. “So, how did you do?”

Harry handed his results to Hermione. “Wow, you did good too Harry. Well, except for History of Magic.” Hermione had a look of pity in her eyes. She had just reminded Harry why he failed that exam, and she could see this by his watery, green eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Harry said, furiously wiping his eyes. “You’re right, I should be happy. I got the grades I needed to get.”

Hermione and Harry set their results on the dinning room table and went back upstairs. They started to play some board games together, both very excited and happy. They played games for a couple hours, but Harry was becoming tired, despite his excitement.

Hermione returned from getting her and Harry a snack, around three, to find Harry curled up and asleep on her floor. She put the game they were playing away and sat the snack on her desk. She draped a blanket over Harry, who was shivering, grabbed a book and laid on her bed to read. She too fell asleep minutes later.


“Hermione. Hermione, wake up.”

Hermione turned her head, and looking through her sleepy eyes, made out her mother. She was smiling brightly at her daughter. “What is it mum,” Hermione asked, stifling a yawn.

“I saw your exam results,” Mrs. Granger replied excitedly. “Congratulations!” She pulled her daughter into a tight hug. “I saw Harry’s too. You both did so good. I think a celebration is in order.”

Hermione looked on her floor to see Harry, still asleep. He was clutching the blanket tightly, his thumb in his mouth. Mrs. Granger bent down and shook Harry softly. He merely whined in his sleep and pulled the blanket tighter. “How long has he been asleep,” Mrs. Granger asked.

“About two hours,” Hermione replied, looking at her clock and stifling another yawn.

Mrs. Granger picked up Harry from the floor and cradled him in her arms. “Poor dear. We’ll go ahead and let him sleep until your father gets home. Go ahead and get dressed. We’re going to go out and celebrate tonight.”

Mrs. Granger took Harry to his room and put him under the covers of his bed. He whimpered softly, but remained asleep. She went to leave the room, to get herself ready for the evening, when she heard something. “Mommy.” She turned around, but Harry was still asleep, completely motionless. She left the room, not entirely sure she had in fact heard him speak.

(This is a great place for a chapter break. Don’t you think?)














(Unfortunately, this next part does not go very good by itself.)

Harry opened his bleary eyes to find Mrs. Granger changing his clothes. He laid motionless as she put him in some nice, presentable clothing. She then picked him up and held him, so his head was on her shoulder. Harry fell back to sleep as Mrs. Granger carried him out of the room.

Harry remained asleep during the drive to the restaurant. He finally woke up as Mrs. Granger was carrying him through the restaurant. “Where are we,” Harry asked in a whisper.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Mrs. Granger said surprised. “We wanted to celebrate yours and Hermione’s good exam results.” She sat him down in a chair and sat to his right. Hermione sat on his other side, smiling brightly and wearing a beautiful dress.

Harry had of course never been to a restaurant. Thusly, it did not occur to him to complain or protest when he was handed the children’s menu. He was too tired to have cared if he had known.

Dinner was a very quiet affair. The Grangers and Harry talked quietly to each other, while eating. The parents wanted to know what courses Hermione and Harry planned to take when they returned. Hermione said she would be continuing all of her classes. Harry said he would continue with everything but Divination and History of Magic, which he could not continue in. The conversation continued with school for some time.

After dinner, the four drove to an ice cream parlor, and finally went home. Harry was now wide-awake, due to sugar from his ice cream and because the Grangers let him have soda to drink at dinner.

Harry protested loudly when Mrs. Granger told him it was bath time. “But I’m not tired.”

“Well, you need your sleep, so you don’t nap all afternoon like you did today. That’s why you want to stay up now.” Mrs. Granger had easily enough gotten Harry to the bathroom by carrying him. He was fighting her so determidly however that she could not remove his clothes.

“Stop it right now Harry, or you’ll be in trouble.”

“But I’m not tired,” he whined, allowing her to begin bathing him.

“You can stay up a little later tonight, once you’re clean. But just tonight, and only because you did good on your exams.” Mrs. Granger finished bathing Harry, dried and dressed him for bed. “Ok, you can come back downstairs after you brush your teeth and go potty.”

Mrs. Granger only let Harry stay up another half hour. “I don’t wanna go to bed now.” He whined and pouted as Mrs. Granger took him upstairs and tucked him in bed. Harry laid awake again that night. His mind wandered over many things. From his O.W.L. results, to whether he would even be able to return to school, to … Sirius. Harry closed his eyes tight, but the tears seeped out anyway. He drifted to a sleep not at all sound or silent.

“Harry. Harry Potter.”

A cold voice was calling Harry. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on a hearthrug, in front of a roaring fireplace. He looked around and found himself in a dark room. There was something familiar about this place, with its dusty floors and cobwebs. There was a high-backed chair in front of him. Harry tried to stand, but could not. He saw his tiny legs were bound.

A tall, black-cloaked figure moved from the shadows, catching Harry’s attention. The figure sat before him and raised its hands; white hands, with long, twisted fingers. These hands lowered the cloak’s hood to reveal Voldemort’s snake-like face and cold, red eyes.

“Hello Harry,” Voldemort said sinisterly. Harry sat on the floor, unable to move. He felt sweat forming all over his body. “I suppose you and Dumbledore thought you could hide from me like this. I’ll admit, I never thought he would turn you into a defenseless child.” His laugh echoed through the room.

“I am not defenseless,” Harry yelled in outrage.

“Oh, but you are. You always have been. Now that I’ve found you, it will be easy to kill you. Those muggles and that dirty mudblood won’t be able to protect you from me. I will kill you, Harry Potter.”

“This is a dream, it isn’t real!”

“It’s real Harry. I found you and I’m coming. And I will prove it to you.” Voldemort stood up and loomed over Harry. He bent down and firmly grasped Harry’s right arm. Harry’s head immediately felt like it would burst. He screamed as he barely heard Voldemort’s last words. “I’m coming little Harry. Crying like a baby won’t save you.”


Hermione was holding Harry in a standing position on his bed, franticly calling his name. He was screaming and crying, obviously terrified and in pain. It was mid-morning, and Hermione was becoming scared herself. Her parents had already left for work and she could not help Harry.

“Harry! Harry! Come on, wake up.” She was now holding Harry tightly in her arms, her eyes squinted against the pain his screams caused her ears. His tiny body was soaked, completely covered in sweat. Hermione hoped it was sweat.

Finally, his voice growing hoarse, Harry’s screams faded to whimpers. He had been awake since he started screaming, but was not priorly aware of Hermione holding him. He gripped her tightly, continuing to cry loudly.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione’s voice was shaky.

“He-he-he found me!” Harry’s voice was filled with panic as he spoke, barely able to whisper.

“Who? Who found you?”

“V-V-Voldemort.” Hermione was entirely shocked. She had never heard Harry say that name with any amount of fear.

“Are-are you sure?” Harry nodded. “Was it just a nightmare?”

“Look,” he said. Harry held out his right arm to show where a hand had firmly grasped him. The mark was obvious.

“We’ve got to tell Dumbledore,” Hermione said panicky. She ran from the room, Harry still in her arms. She ran into her room, grabbed paper and a pen then raced downstairs and out the back door.

“Good, she’s here,” Hermione sighed, carrying Harry onto a covered patio. Here, Harry saw Hedwig sitting on top of her open cage. Hermione sat Harry on a chair and begin to write furiously on the paper.

“How long has she been here,” Harry asked, looking at his owl.

“Uh, since you got here. Mum and dad thought she’d be happier out here.” Hermione spoke distractedly, quickly writing her note to Dumbledore. She finished, quickly rolled the paper and tied it to Hedwig’s leg. Hermione told the owl whom to find, and she took off. Hermione grabbed Harry and took him back inside.

“Harry, pack as much as you can in these duffel bags.” They were back in Harry’s room and Hermione had grabbed two bags for Harry to pack his belongings that were there. “I have to pack my things too. Dumbledore should come as soon as he gets my letter.”

Harry hurriedly packed his clothing into the bags he was given. He was in a state of complete panic and did not even realize he packed the stuffed rabbit or toys too. The bags full of what he had at the Grangers’ house, Harry dragged them, one at a time, into the hallway.

Harry walked into Hermione’s room as she slammed the lid of her school trunk closed. She too was obviously panicked, which did nothing to comfort Harry. Like any child, he now felt most comfortable with the help of others around him. If their behavior was stressed it would only frighten him.

Hermione looked up at Harry after closing her trunk. There was a look of inexplicable terror on his face. She knelt next to Harry and brushed his untidy hair out of his face. “It’s alright Harry. Everything will be ok. Dumbledore will be her soon.” She went into Harry’s room to make sure he had not forgotten anything. She was not at all surprised to see he had “forgotten” to pack the package of Pull-Ups. Though Harry had not had an accident since the first, she packed them into one of the bags.

Hermione led the way downstairs and poured herself and Harry some cereal. Harry sat at the table, still in his pajamas, unable to eat. Hermione did not pressure Harry to eat. She knew in situations where he was nervous he never ate.

Harry sat motionless as Hermione cleared the table, nearly half an hour later. She picked him up and was carrying him from the room when a loud popping sound behind her announced Dumbledore’s arrival.

“Headmaster, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Your letter did say it was urgent Miss Granger. I would think you would expect me to come immediately.” Dumbledore moved to where he could clearly see Harry’s face. “Harry, I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.”

Harry recounted his dream as quickly as he could. He found it very difficult to say aloud, let alone remember. Dumbledore remained surprisingly calm. Hermione had gasped a few times and nearly dropped Harry once.

“Fortunately,” Dumbledore began. “He has not found you Harry. He has only found your mind, and no doubt took glee in frightening you. It is however, only a matter of time before he does find you, if you remain here. I trust you have already packed Miss Granger.”

“Yes, we did Headmaster, but what about my parents?”

“I shall inform them of the situation after I have taken you and Harry to a secure location. If they feel it is necessary, they will join you.” Dumbledore took a small metal box from his pocket and sat it on the table. “You need only take hold of this portkey. I will see to what you have packed.”

Hermione took hold of the box as Dumbledore headed to hers and Harry’s luggage. Harry was surprised to have his stomach tingle considering Hermione was holding him. There was the familiar rush of air by his ears as he and Hermione traveled.

Hermione arrived in a dark hallway, nearly toppling, but managing to stay standing. She remained motionless and Harry looked around at his new surroundings. He suddenly became aware of their location as Dumbledore arrived with their belongings. Both he and Hermione jumped at the popping sound.

Harry had no desire to be at 12 Grimmauld Place, whether he was safe there or not. Harry clutched Hermione tightly, his frustrations only adding to the felling of foreboding and fear he had already been experiencing.

Hermione took this as him being afraid and began to pat his back, doing her best to keep him calm.

“I’m afraid the two of you will be alone here for a short while. The Order of the Phoenix only comes here for meetings, and the Weasleys were not expecting to move here yet. They will be arriving by Floo powder if you would wait in the kitchen.

Dumbledore proceeded to magically move the trunk and bags up to the rooms, while Hermione took Harry down to the kitchen. It was dark and dank as before, and Hermione felt Harry hold her even tighter.


It was nearly forty-five minutes later; Harry was asleep in Hermione’s arms, when the fireplace sprung into flames. Moments later Ron stepped out of the fireplace. He was shortly followed by Ginny.

“Hi Hermione,” Ron began. “I didn’t know you had a little brother.” Ginny started giggling at Ron’s confusion and stupidity.

“Honestly Ron,” Hermione groaned in frustration. “Can’t you recognize your best friend?” She turned Harry’s head so Ron could see the lightning bolt scar above his right eye.

“Harry,” Ron gasped. “What happened to him?”

Hermione was about to explain, when Mrs. Weasley apparated into the kitchen. She handed the bags she was carrying to Ron and Ginny and moved close to Hermione. Ron and Ginny carried the bags out of the kitchen. “Aww, Professor Dumbledore didn’t tell me he was so cute,” Mrs. Weasley commented with a smile. Hermione returned the smile, but did not say anything. “Perhaps you should give him to me. You look like you could use some sleep, dear.”

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione replied, handed Harry to Mrs. Weasley and left for her room. Molly Weasley looked down at Harry and smiled. It had been so long since she cradled a sleeping child in her arms; the feeling was nostalgic.


Harry awoke some hours later, alone and in an unfamiliar place. He did not recognize the room he and Ron had shared the previous summer. Irrational fears rushed in on him. He was alone and did not know where he was! He clutched the stuffed rabbit lying next to him and began whimpering and crying.

Fortunately, Mrs. Weasley walked into the room a few moments later. She sat on the edge of the bed and Harry immediately scrambled into her lap. “It’s alright Harry. You’re safe here. I made lunch for everyone, are you hungry?” Harry, suddenly aware of what he had done, nodded and climbed off Mrs. Weasley, slightly embarrassed.

Mrs. Weasley went to Harry’s belongings to get him a change of clothes. “Oh, are you having accidents Harry,” she asked after opening the first bag.

“No,” Harry shouted defensively. “Mum … er, Mrs. Granger makes me wear Pull-Ups to bed. She thinks I might wet myself.” He put great emphases on “might.”

“Oh, alright.” Mrs. Weasley grabbed Harry some clothes and cartoon-printed underwear and dressed him. Harry then held her hand as they walked down to the basement. Hermione, Ron and Ginny were already there. They ate lunch quietly. Harry was thankful for the quiet, because it let him clear his head.

Harry was back in his room with Ron. He had just finished explaining why he was in a child’s body; Hermione was nice enough to explain to Ginny elsewhere. Harry sat on his bed, starring at Ron, waiting for his reaction.

The story sank into Ron and he stood up from his bed. “I just can’t believe Dumbledore did this to you. He never punishes you.” Harry had no response to this and just sat motionless on his bed. He was still a little shaken up from what had happened that morning.

Ron had moved closer to Harry’s bed and suddenly smiled evilly. “Hey Harry. What’s this?” He had picked up the stuffed rabbit and dangled it in front on his friend. “Does little Harry sleep with a bunny?”

Harry hardly thought this was as funny as Ron apparently did. He stood up on his bed, trying to pull the toy from Ron, who held it just beyond his grasp. “Come on Ron! Give me that! Stop it!” Unfortunately for Harry, his futile attempts only made Ron laugh.

“Does little Harry want … agh, Ginny …” Ron’s voice went unnaturally high as Ginny’s knee connected with her target. He fell to the floor, his eyes watering. “Ginny … that … hurt!”

Ginny shot him a contemptuous look as she snatched the rabbit from the floor. “Well you deserved it. Harry’s your friend and you tease him?” She handed Harry the rabbit and picked him up. Harry stuck his tongue out at Ron as she carried him from the room.

Ginny carried Harry into her room and put him on her bed. She sat down next to him. “There, my meanie brother won’t tease you now Harry.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he let go of the rabbit. “Ginny, I’m not really a four-year-old, I just have the body of one. I didn’t want this toy, I just wanted Ron to shut up.”

“Oh, well I knew that. But he wasn’t listening to you.” Hermione walked into the room with a frown, followed shortly by a slow-moving Ron.

“What did you do to Ron, Ginny?” They both sat on Hermione’s bed.

“I couldn’t let him pick on some one who is so small and defenseless.” Ginny pinched Harry’s cheek as she spoke. He brushed her hand away.

“I was only joking,” Ron hissed, his voice still high.

“Well you shouldn’t be so mean to Harry right now,” Hermione scolded.

“Knock it off! I’m not a little baby! I don’t need any of you looking after me. And Ron, if you do that again, I’ll repeat what Ginny did.” Even Harry was laughing with the rest when he finished. He realized how ridiculous and futile it would be for him to try to hurt Ron in any fashion.

The four decided to play some card games for a while. They would have done something else but none of them wanted to exert the effort. So they played cards for a few hours.

“You four are awfully quiet.” All four jumped as Mrs. Weasley entered the room. “Ron, Ginny, Hermione, could you help me in the kitchen?” The three got up hesitantly and walked toward the door.

“What about me,” Harry asked standing up on the bed.

“Well, Harry you’re too little to help.” Mrs. Weasley had walked over to him and was trying to not sound demeaning.

“I am not too little!” It was not that he really wanted to do chores, but Harry did not want to be alone. Mrs. Weasley lifted him off the bed and followed the others.

“Alright, I can find something you can help with. You’re a little cranky, aren’t you?”

“He does usually take a nap before dinner,” Hermione commented to Mrs. Weasley. Hermione noticed Harry glaring at her. “Of course, he did sleep most of the morning today.”


The four children helped Mrs. Weasley clean and sanitize the kitchen then make dinner. Harry, determined to prove he was not just a little child, ended up being the most helpful. They ate dinner and after cleaning up, Mrs. Weasley joined the four in more card games.

It was soon well after nine o’clock, as Mrs. Weasley did not know this was Harry’s bedtime. She did however notice he was yawning at an increasing rate. “Are you tired Harry,” she asked, moving close to him.

“No,” Harry lied defiantly through another yawn. He was having fun and did not want to go to bed early anymore.

“How about I go ahead and give you your bath? You can stay up, but I don’t want you to fall asleep without your bath.” Mrs. Weasley picked Harry up and carried him into the bathroom before he could even struggle or protest. Mrs. Weasley bathed him, much as Mrs. Granger had, and dressed him for bed. She told him to brush his teeth then asked if he was tired yet.

“I’m not tired. Can’t I stay up later?” He was visibly tired, but Mrs. Weasley did not press the issue. She took Harry back to his and Ron’s room, where everyone was still playing cards. She then left telling the four not to stay up too late.

Hermione and Ginny headed to their room around eleven and Ron dressed for bed. Harry pulled his covers over him, finally admitting to himself that he was tired.

Ron had just left for the bathroom when Ginny walked into the room. She was in her pajamas and carrying Harry’s stuffed rabbit. “You left this on my bed earlier Harry.”

“That’s ok, you can keep it.” Ginny looked at him skeptically. “I want you to have it.”

“Is this because Ron was teasing you?”

“No, it’s because … I like you.” Harry turned red; unable to believe he had just said his true feelings. Ginny smiled, turning just as red, hugged Harry and left. Harry drifted to sleep smiling.


Despite his falling asleep happy, Harry woke up terrified in the middle of the night, screaming again. He was back to having dreams about Sirius and awoke in a cold sweat.

Ron, caught entirely by surprise, rolled over and fell to the floor. He quickly stood up, but began to panic; he had no idea how to stop Harry. He was about to go get somebody when his mother entered the room. She picked Harry up and began to calm him. As a mother of seven, Mrs. Weasley expertly calmed Harry’s cries and fears quickly. He was now lying against her, still crying silently, with an occasional whimper.

“It’s alright Ron. I can handle this, go back to bed.” Ron climbed back under his blankets and Mrs. Weasley turned her head to face Harry. “Are you alright Harry? Did you have an accident,” she asked pulling down his pajama pants to check his Pull-Ups. Harry shook his head, unable to distinguish his sweat from his urine. “Was it just a nightmare?” Mrs. Weasley saw no reason to alarm him further. Harry nodded and buried his head in her nightgown.

Mrs. Weasley grabbed a change of pajamas and another Pull-Ups and carried Harry out of the room. She took him to the room she was staying in. Harry noticed the room was similar to most of the others at 12 Grimmauld Place. It had one large bed, unlike the two smaller ones in his room, but the other furniture remained the same. The big exceptions were a wooden rocking chair and wooden cradle.

Mrs. Weasley laid Harry on the bed and changed his clothes. He was already beginning to drift back to sleep when she picked him up again. Harry gripped her tightly as she sat in the rocking chair and proceeded to rock him to sleep. Once he was asleep, Mrs. Weasley wrapped him in some blankets and laid him in the cradle, finally going to bed herself.


Harry awoke the following morning feeling warm and secure. He kept his eyes closed, just happy to feel so good. He could tell he was tightly wrapped in a flannel blanket and being carried by somebody.

He felt himself being set down, and his head laid on a hard surface; the blanket was too thick and soft to feel through. His head was soon lifted and a pillow laid under it. Harry turned his head to the side and went back to sleep.

Harry awoke again some minutes later to Mrs. Weasley calling him and the smell of bacon heavy in the air. Not really hungry, Harry turned his head away and tried to sleep.

“Why isn’t he getting up,” Harry heard Hermione’s voice ask.

“He’s probably tired,” Ron’s voice yawned. “I know I am. The ‘baby’ woke up screaming last night.” Ron’s cruel words hurt Harry, but he wanted to sleep.

“He is not a baby,” Ginny’s voice yelled indignantly to her brother.

“Ginny, shush,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice whispered. “If he wants to sleep, we’ll let him.”


When Harry next awoke, he was lying in a cradle. He was tightly wrapped in the same blankets. After a few minutes he managed to extract himself from the blankets and climbed over the side of the cradle. He was very upset that he had been put in such a babyish thing. He was even more upset to discover his belongings had been moved into this room.

Harry changed his clothes, ever resentful of the childish, cartoon underwear that was his only choice. He then left the room, searching for his friends. It took him a while to realize which floor he was on. Once he did, Harry headed for his and Ron’s room.

He was about to open the door when he heard giggling through the door. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for who was in the room. He wished he had an Extendable Ear as the voices were muffled through the door.

“… Come … Ron. Stop it.” It was Hermione. She had been the one giggling too.

“But … haven’t seen … in … weeks Hermione.” That was Ron’s voice!

“What if … mum finds …”

“… You didn’t … problem with … school. We could … been caught … professors or friends.”

Harry could not stand the muffled conversation anymore. He was about to open the door when somebody cast a shadow over him and the door. He turned to see Mrs. Weasley, who bent down and lifted him into her arms.

“How did you get out of bed?” Harry starred at her confusedly, but she broke into a smile that let Harry know she was only teasing.

“Why was I in that cradle? And why is all my stuff in that room?” His questions were out of curiosity not anger. He had forgotten his anger while listening to Ron and Hermione.

“I just thought you’d feel more secure in that environment. You might not have as many nightmares if you felt safe. If you want to go back to yours and Ron’s room though, you can.” Mrs. Weasley was carrying Harry back upstairs.

“Well, if you think it will help my nightmares.” Ron’s cold behavior toward him was still on his mind. They were now back in the room he had woken up in. Mrs. Weasley sat him on the bed and gave him some of his toys.

“I want you to stay here until lunch Harry. I don’t want to worry about you hurting yourself in this big house.

“Ok.” Harry was already playing with the toys. He could not believe how much more fun they were than being with his friends. He sat on the bed, completely content to play with the toys. He played for about an hour before Mrs. Weasley returned.

“Harry it’s time for lunch,” she announced.

“I’m not hungry,” Harry replied. He was happily playing with some toy cars, making engine sounds.

“But you didn’t eat breakfast. You need to eat something.” She took the cars from his hands and set them aside. She carried Harry down to the kitchen and sat him at the table. The others were already there and eating. Harry starred at the food on his plate but did not eat. He truly was not hungry, and even though he loved Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, none of it looked appealing to him.

Harry went to get up as the others were leaving after lunch but was stopped. “Hold it,” Mrs. Weasley called, approaching him. “You’re not going anywhere until you eat something. I don’t care if you sit there until dinner.”

“But I’m not hungry!” Harry did not know why he was not hungry, he supposed he should have been, but he just did not want to eat.

Mrs. Weasley took the chair next to him. “Well, how about some soup?” She waved her wand to reheat the chicken soup in his bowl. The twins had been hopelessly picky eaters when they were young, so she adopted a time-tested strategy. Mrs. Weasley took a spoon full of soup and turned toward Harry. “You have to eat something. Please.”

“I’m not hun…” Mrs. Weasley lunged the spoon toward Harry’s open mouth, but he reacted too fast. The result was he sloped soup down the front of his shirt.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Weasley cleaned as much soup as she could then stood up and walked out of Harry’s sight. “Somebody needs a bib.” Mrs. Weasley had the bib tied to Harry before he even realized what she had said. Harry struggled to pull the bib off, but Mrs. Weasley had tied a secure knot and made it so he could not pull it over his head.

“Now. Are you going to eat by yourself, or do I have to feed you?” Harry crossed his arms over his stomach and glared at her.

“Fine! We’ll both just sit here until you decide to eat something.” Harry looked over what was in front of him, hoping something would make him want to eat. He did not want any of it.

He picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Mrs. Weasley had given him his favorite, but Harry could barely stomach the taste now. He swallowed his bite and put the sandwich down. Hoping that was enough he stood up. It was, of course, not.

“Acting like a baby will only cause me to think you need to be treated like one.” To prove her point Mrs. Weasley conjured a highchair and strapped Harry into it. He resisted and struggled but to no prevail; he was stuck now. He was now very angry when Mrs. Weasley put his food back in front of him. If he were in his regular body she would not force him to eat if he was not hungry.

In blind anger, Harry overturned all of his food onto the floor, resulting in a huge mess of food and broken plates. He realized as Mrs. Weasley banished the mess he was in real trouble now. She calmly removed him from the highchair and carried him upstairs. Her silence scared Harry more than if she had been yelling at him.

Mrs. Weasley placed Harry kneeling in a corner of his room. “If you were my little boy, I’d give you a spanking. Now, you stay in that corner, or I just might.”

Harry’s mind was dwelling on anger. He was furious with Mrs. Weasley. He was not a little kid. “You sure are acting like a little kid,” a voice scolded in his head. Strangely it was not Hermione’s, like the one that usually scolded him. It was Ginny’s voice!

Harry heard the floor creak and turned his head. It was Ginny who had spoken. “Mum sure is mad at you,” she whispered sitting next to him. Harry’s knees were already becoming sore and he shifted his weight. Ginny grabbed his waist and stood him up. Harry tried to tell her what would happen but she shushed him. “I’m going to go read out in the hallway. When you hear me knock on the wall, then kneel back down. Your knees won’t hurt then.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered as Ginny left. He could handle standing in a corner.


Harry was very thankful to Ginny, because Mrs. Weasley did not come back for over two hours. Had he been kneeling the whole time, his knees would have truly been in pain. “Alright Harry, you can get up now. I expect you to be better behaved from now on though.” She left the room and Harry did too.

Harry went to find his friends and discovered them in Ginny and Hermione’s room. Ginny smiled as Harry sat next to her on the bed and he returned the smile. The four spent their time just talking and playing some games; thankful they did not have to sanitize the entire house like last summer.

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley called them to dinner. Harry was only a little hungry but followed the others to the kitchen. He got there but stopped when he saw the highchair still at the table.

“Are you going to be a good boy?” Mrs. Weasley had her hands on her hips and starred down at him. Harry nodded and she picked him up and put him in a chair.

Harry ate slowly; none of the food was to his liking. He ate a piece of broccoli and promptly spit it out, absolutely repulsed. Ron, Hermione and Ginny giggled as Harry downed a gulp of milk, trying to wash the taste away; Mrs. Weasley glared down the table.

Harry ate the rest of his food but left his vegetables on the plate. After clearing everyone else’s plate, Mrs. Weasley gave them ice cream. Harry saw the ice cream and sat up excitedly, suddenly hungry. But Mrs. Weasley did not give him any. He looked up at her, puzzled.

“No dessert until you eat your broccoli.” Harry might have been content to get no dessert, but was truly hungry for the first time all day. He ate the broccoli quickly, doing his best not to taste it and drinking after every bite. Ron was laughing the whole time, despite Ginny elbowing his ribs.

“See, you can still act your age, even if you are in a little body,” Mrs. Weasley commented, setting a bowl of strawberry ice cream in front of him. Harry was so enthusiastic about eating his ice cream that when finished, his cheeks were sticky. He was not trying to be messy; it just worked out that way.

Mrs. Weasley sighed and got a wet washcloth once Harry was finished. She sat next to him and was about to clean his face when he spoke. “I can do it.” Mrs. Weasley handed Harry the cloth and he cleaned his face before going upstairs with the others.


That night, Ginny and Harry were playing a game of chess in Harry‘s room; Ron and Hermione had disappeared somewhere. Ginny had just beaten Harry for the third time in a row; he was letting her win, when Mrs. Weasley came to the doorway. “Harry, bath time.”

“It’s only nine,” Harry whined looking at his loose-hanging watch.

“Yes, and Hermione told me that was your bedtime. I didn’t know that last night and that’s why you slept so late today.”

Harry stomped out of the room after Mrs. Weasley and was soon in the bathroom. He was quickly bathed and dressed for bed. He brushed his teeth and went back to his room; Ginny had already left. Mrs. Weasley tucked him in tightly, turned out the lights and left.

Harry did not know it, but he thrashed and whimpered in his sleep that night. Far from screaming, he only woke Mrs. Weasley who lifted him into her arms, still wrapped in the soft blankets. She sat in the rocking chair, holding him close and proceeded to hum softly.

Harry calmed in his sleep, either by Mrs. Weasley’s song or by the sound of her heartbeat and his thumb moved to his mouth. Mrs. Weasley found this fairly odd and decided to ask Hermione if he had done this before.

She laid Harry on her bed and changed his wet Pull-Ups. He stirred only slightly, no doubt from the cold night air but remained asleep. Mrs. Weasley re-wrapped him in the blankets and put him back to bed. He rolled onto his side, the thumb still firmly between his lips. Mrs. Weasley went back to bed herself, with a small smile. She rather enjoyed having a small child to care for again.


Harry awoke the following morning, cold and shivering. It was still dark and he quickly pulled his thumb from his mouth. It disturbed him that it had been there as he pulled the blankets tighter. Still cold, he tried repeatedly to warm himself and adjusted his blankets several times. All of this had no affect and he finally decided to just try and go back to sleep. He had not even realized he had begun to cry audibly until Mrs. Weasley lifted him, the blankets left behind.

“What’s wrong Harry,” she asked, cradling him in her arms.

“It’s cold,” Harry shivered. Molly carefully wrapped Harry in the blankets, so he would be warmer. She put him back in the cradle but he continued to shiver. So she got another blanket and laid it over him.

“Are you feeling alright,” Mrs. Weasley asked when Harry continued to shiver. Harry nodded and curled up, effectively stopping his shivers. “I want to take your temperature, anyway.” Mrs. Weasley turned on some lights and left.

Harry stretched his legs in an effort to get more comfortable but started shivering again. Molly returned and placed a thermometer under his tongue. “Now you leave that there or I’ll get the other one.” Harry had no desire to remove his hands from the warm blankets, so he could not move the thermometer anyway.

Mrs. Weasley paced the room for the duration then took the thermometer from Harry’s mouth. “Well, you do have a slight fever, like I thought.” She left again, coming back with a bottle of medicine potion and a spoon. “This will help you sleep and lower your fever, if it’s just a cold.” She gave Harry a spoonful of potion.

“Yuck!” The taste was absolutely horrible. It was worse than anything he had ever had. It did work quickly though. After coughing over the taste he laid back and fell to sleep instantly. Mrs. Weasley sat the potion on the nightstand and went back to bed again.


When Harry next awoke, his entire body itched horribly. He sat up in the morning light, no longer cold and began to scratch furiously. Wherever he scratched, his body felt like it was burning. Unable to comfort himself he began whining as he reached under his pajamas, continuing to scratch.

“What’s wrong Harry? Why are you scratching like that?” Harry’s whines and moans had woke Mrs. Weasley again. Harry only continued to scratch at his stomach and back. Molly bent down, pulled the blankets down and pulled off his pajama top. Harry was entirely covered, including his arms, in hundreds of tiny red splotches.

“Stop scratching Harry! It’s the Chicken Pox, you’ll only make it worse!” Harry did not stop his scratching. He had not heard her, nor did he care about anything but stopping the itching. Mrs. Weasley stood him on the floor and pulled the rest of his pajamas off. His legs too were covered in the same red blotches. Only his face seemed free of the red marks.

Harry continued to scratch, tears in his eyes and stomping his feet up and down. He was in great discomfort. “Calm down Harry. Let me change you and we can do something about your itching.”

Harry stopped, for the first time aware of what Mrs. Weasley had said. He looked down, past his red-spotted body to the wet Pull-Ups he was wearing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wet in my sleep.”

“That’s alright,” Mrs. Weasley assured, lying Harry on the bed. “I think it’s the fever you have.” Harry did not notice he was changed into another Pull-Ups; he was absentmindedly scratching himself again, thinking.

“But I already had the Chicken Pox. I thought people only got them once.” Mrs. Weasley was looking through his pajamas.

“That’s true. How old were you when you had them, dear.” Mrs. Weasley returned with a dark blue footed-sleeper.

“I was six, I think. I remember I had to miss school. But I still don’t understand how I got them again.” Mrs. Weasley had zipped up the sleeper and he sat up on the bed. He continued to scratch, but the thick fleece made it useless. He started whining again. “I’m itchy.”

“It’s best that you can’t scratch. I think you got these again, because Professor Dumbledore’s spell made you younger than six.”

“That’s not fair! I hate it. I hate him!”

“Now you know that isn’t true. Wait here while I go wake the others. Then we can go get some breakfast.”

“Ok,” Harry muttered, he was actually hungry, but his attention turned back to the itching the moment Mrs. Weasley left. He quickly unzipped his new pajamas and reached his hands inside, tearing at his flesh. The soothing the scratching brought only lasted until it was replaced by pain. He did not care and continued to relieve the itching.

By the time Mrs. Weasley returned, Harry had scratched much of his chest raw. His tiny nails had begun to draw blood. “Harry! Stop that, right now!” She rushed over and pulled his hands out of his pajamas then zipped them again. “I told you not to scratch.” She carried Harry down to the kitchen. He had begun crying, both from the inability to scratch himself and the pain he had already caused himself.

Harry sat at the table, whining crankily, while Mrs. Weasley made breakfast. A series of sneezes soon announced Hermione’s entrance. She too was still in pajamas and a robe. Ron followed her, coughing and looking tired. He was wearing a housecoat over his pajamas and sat down, only to lay his head on the table. Ginny was the only one to walk in fully dressed and looking healthy.

After breakfast Mrs. Weasley ordered Hermione and Ron back to bed to rest. She then turned to Ginny and Harry. “Ginny, could you watch Harry for me? I have to go out for some medicine. Somehow Hermione and Ron both got the flu. They’ll be fine until I get back, and I don’t want you to get sick, so just take Harry back to my room and stay there.”

“Alright,” Ginny said, picking Harry up. He was cranky and itchy, unable to do anything about it. “I can’t get what he’s got, can I?”

“Don’t worry dear. He’s just got the Chicken Pox. You already had them when you were a baby. And Ginny, don’t let him scratch.” Ginny carried Harry up to Mrs. Weasley’s room and the two sat on the bed.

Harry started to shiver as he sat on the bed. He yawned widely, but continued to whimper while scratching futilely at his sleeper. He reached for the zipper again, but Ginny stopped him. “Maybe you should try to sleep Harry.” Ginny carefully wrapped Harry in blankets and laid him in the middle of the bed. He stopped shivering, but now cried because he could not scratch at all.

Ginny began to sing softly, which calmed Harry. His eyelids slowly closed as his yawns became more frequent and he was soon asleep. Ginny made sure he was asleep, then went to get a book and returned. While Harry slept, she read in the rocking chair, looking over her book occasionally to check on him.


Harry did not wake up until noon. He immediately threw off his blankets and started scratching. Ginny came over and stopped him by holding his arms. Harry tried to jerk his arms free but Ginny held tightly.

“Mum got you something to stop the itching, but you have to promise not to scratch while I rub it on you.” Harry nodded and Ginny unzipped and removed his pajamas. “Uh-oh. It looks like your wet again.”

Harry turned red and felt his ears burning. He hated the itching and fever anyway, but now they made him wet in his sleep like a baby. He instantly resisted when Ginny moved to remove the wet Pull-Ups. “I’ll change myself.” He was too distracted to worry about scratching himself.

“Alright, but I already had to change you once when you were sleeping.”

“What?” Harry turned even redder. “Why didn’t you wake me or get your mum?”

“I tried to wake you, but your didn’t get up, and mum’s taking care of Ron and Hermione. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

Ginny had let Harry go to the bathroom and change himself. He was very embarrassed. He did not want Ginny to see him naked, especially as he was now, but she had. He came back, still red and laid on the bed. Ginny took a potion bottle and began to rub its thick, cool contents onto Harry’s skin. The salve worked quickly and as Ginny zipped Harry’s pajamas, his skin already stopped itching and felt cool.

“Are you hungry yet?” Ginny was sitting next Harry now; he was no longer red, but still embarrassed. He nodded his head and Ginny stood up. “Stay here, I’ll go make us some lunch.” She put some toys on the bed with Harry and left.

Harry was lazily playing with the toys when Ginny returned, a plate of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice in her hands. The two ate silently then Ginny was nice enough to play with Harry, with some of his toys.

The two played for several hours. As dinnertime approached, Harry’s skin became suddenly inflamed again. He had the urge to rip his skin off and had already unzipped his pajamas before Ginny stopped him. She removed the sleeper and pinned his arms above his head. Harry just cried, unable to do anything. Ginny applied more of the salve, one-handed to ensure Harry did not scratch. When she finished with his chest, stomach and arms, she flipped him over, pinning his arms under him, so she could apply the potion to his back and legs faster, with both hands. Harry’s legs kicked and flailed until she was done; he was screaming all the while.

Mrs. Weasley had heard Harry’s screams, echoing through the entire house and came running into the room. “What’s the matter? What happened?” Ginny explained what had happened while redressing Harry, who was still crying. “Well, dinner is almost ready, if you want to come downstairs now.”

Ginny lifted Harry into her arms and followed her mother downstairs. Ron and Hermione came too, both looking noticeably better. Mrs. Weasley had them sit at the opposite end of the table however. Harry had fully regained his appetite from the previous day and inhaled his food.

Ginny was still charged with caring for Harry after dinner. She kept him occupied with his toys for the evening.

Just before nine, Mrs. Weasley called Ginny over to the bedroom door. “Ginny, I’ve been around Ron and Hermione all day, and I don’t want to get Harry any sicker. Do you think you could take care of him tonight for me?”

Ginny hesitated a moment before speaking. “Sure, mum. What do I need to do?”

“Well, you’ll need to start by giving him a bath now, and putting him to bed. Then, and you can sleep in here too, I’ll sleep in another room, you need to make sure he’s all right through the night. This could be helping him back to sleep if he wakes up scared, or some other things.”

“Ok, I can do that, but I don’t think he’ll like me giving him a bath. He got really embarrassed and upset when I had to change him earlier.”

"Well, tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t want him with the flu too. Oh, if you find him sucking his thumb, could you let me know?” Ginny nodded, with a puzzled look and went back to Harry.

“Harry, mum says it’s time for your bath.” Harry did not protest as Ginny picked him up. He thought she was taking him to Mrs. Weasley. When she was the one filling the bathtub however he threw a fit.

“No way Ginny! You’re not going to bathe me! Where’s your mum?” Ginny explained the situation to him as the bathtub filled. “I’ll bathe myself then! I don’t want you to see me!” He was turning red again.

“I told you, I already did. Besides, it’s not like I’m actually seeing you naked. Mum says I have to do it.” Harry crossed his arms and refused to cooperate. Ginny closed the tap and stood up, apparently getting an idea.

“Fine, I’ll go get my mum, but she’ll be mad at you. You already made her mad yesterday, she might spank you.” Harry did not see Ginny’s grin; she had no intention of telling her mother.

“Alright, alright, but make it quick.” Harry was undressed and bathed by Ginny. She then dressed him in another sleeper she found, this one red. After he brushed his teeth, Ginny laid Harry on the bed and applied more of the potion to his skin. She put him to bed and went out to the hall, where she could continue to read, and still let Harry sleep in the dark.


Ginny was thankful when the morning light woke her. Thankful that Harry had slept peacefully through the night. She did not wake him until she had applied more potion to his skin.

The following days were much like the prior. Ron and Hermione recovered much sooner than Harry did, and Mrs. Weasley did not get sick as she had feared. Ginny continued to help her mother with Harry though. Mrs. Weasley went back to tending to him before bed and during the night, but it was Ginny who looked after him during the day; she had become better at timing when to apply the potion so Harry did not itch again. It was Ginny who made sure he did not scratch. It was Ginny who played with him.

Once better, Hermione and Ron occasionally played too, but they began to spend more time apart from the others. Harry had an idea what they were doing, but did not really care.

Harry was sleeping through the nights now. He was still having nightmares, but did not wake up anymore. As he got better, he stopped having accidents too. After five days, he was completely free of the Chicken Pox and things settled back to normal. He tended to spend most of his time with Ginny, who did not seem to mind his occasional tantrums or the times when he just let out a good cry. She became better than Hermione at calming him. Fortunately, he continued to eat normally and did not get into any more trouble.

Harry went through his usual nighttime routine on July 30th, completely unaware of what tomorrow would bring. In fact, he had not kept track of the date since he went to live with Hermione. Even if he had known, he would not have expected what was coming.

Harry was very grumpy when Mrs. Weasley woke him the next morning. He had slept peacefully, but did not want to get up. He rolled over and his thumb automatically went to his mouth again.

“We have to do something about that. Five is a little old to suck your thumb.” Harry sat up quickly and removed his thumb, looking resentful at it.

“Five,” he asked, turning to Mrs. Weasley. “Dumbledore said he made me four again.”

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry. Did you forget today was your birthday?” Mrs. Weasley had lifted Harry out of bed and was dressing him for the day.

“No,” Harry lied. He was thinking how could he forget his birthday. “I didn’t think the spell would let me age.”

“Of course it does,” Mrs. Weasley commented, picking Harry up and heading for the door. “Not even Professor Dumbledore can stop time.”

Ron, Ginny and Hermione wished Harry a happy birthday when he sat at the table in the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley had made him his favorite breakfast. After breakfast, Ginny took Harry’s hand and the two walked back to his room.

“What do you want to do Harry?” For the past few days, Harry and Ginny had played together after breakfast. He therefore had no reason to suspect she was trying to distract him.

Harry and Ginny spent the morning drawing. Rather, Harry drew pictures, but Ginny read. Like the last time, Harry drew what his true feelings were. Unlike last time, his drawings were not as dark. He drew pictures of himself and his friends. Looking over the drawings made him feel happy.

Harry realized that no matter how he arranged everyone else, he and Ginny were always standing together. In his fourth, he and Ginny were standing in the middle of the others, who were arranged in the shape of a heart.

Harry gasped and looked up at Ginny. She was still reading, so he quickly stuffed the paper under the bed. He also put the others under the bed and started playing with a toy, trying not to think about the drawings. He planned to destroy them as soon as he was alone.


“Harry, we have a surprise for you,” Mrs. Weasley announced entering the room, just before noon. Ginny quickly got up and left the room.

“A surprise?” Harry was already in her arms and she was heading downstairs. Harry had not expected any kind of birthday surprise; he knew he had not been very well behaved this summer. He did not even expect any presents, because of his current condition.

His puzzlement turned to complete embarrassment when he saw who was in the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley had invited some people, people that Harry did not want to see him like this. On the top of this list were Fred and George, who were talking with Lupin. Mr. Weasley was there too, talking with the Grangers. It was in fact just a small gathering of friends, but Harry was still embarrassed.

He squirmed free of Mrs. Weasley’s arms before anyone saw him in the room. It was bad enough looking like a child among them, let alone being carried like one. He sat down at the table, doing his best to hide from view. It was easy, given hi size. He could not even see the top of the table. Unfortunately, it was Fred and George who spotted him first. Seeing only his hair, they could tell he was embarrassed and trying to hide.

“Hey Harry,” Fred greeted. “Is there something different about you?” Both he and George sat beside Harry.

“Yeah, did you get a haircut,” George asked. (I know it’s cliché, but it fits them.) Harry glared at the two.

“Don’t be stupid George. It’s obvious he’s lost weight.” With that both the twins and Harry burst out laughing.

“I guess you could look at it like that,” Harry said after he calmed his laughter. “So, how’s your shop doing?”

“It’s going great,” Fred responded. “You should stop by when you go to pick up your school books this year. See it for yourself.” Going back to school was not something Harry wanted to think about.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Harry said this half-heartedly. “I’ll be right back.” He quickly got up and headed for the staircase. A couple steps up, just out of sight, he sat down and let loose his tears. Harry wished he knew whether he would be able to return to school this year. He really wanted to return. He was tired of being little, tired of being treated like a child. But there was something enjoyable about it all. A lack of responsibility was appealing. Harry shoved these thoughts from his head; being older was better.

Harry dried his eyes on his sleeve and with his hands. He returned to the kitchen to see Dumbledore and Tonks had arrived. The latter looked much like she had when she met Harry at King’s Cross Station at the end of term, but her hair was brown.. Harry suddenly realized there was somebody above the twins on his list. He really, really did not want Tonks to see him like this. She had already spotted him, however and there was no place to hide.

“Oh, aren’t you just adorable,” Tonks commented, picking him up. She had a big smile as she carried him toward the others. “I didn’t know you were cute as a kid too.”

“Put me down,” Harry said flatly, turning slightly red. She put him at the same chair he had sat in earlier.

“Alright. I guess it feels funny being carried around.” Harry nodded as Tonks took the adjacent seat. “But you are cute like this.” Tonks moved to pinch his cheek, but Harry angrily brushed her hand aside.

Everyone sat down and ate lunch. Harry tried to maintain as normal a conversation with everyone as was possible. Lupin acted as if nothing had changed whenever he spoke with Harry. Harry was thankful for this and mostly talked with his former teacher. He told Lupin about his O.W.L. results and what classes he planned to continue. Remus was only surprised by the History of Magic grade, until Harry told him when he sat the exam.

This brought unbidden tears to Harry’s eyes, as he had come very close to the subject of Sirius. Remus offered a handkerchief and allowed Harry to hide his face for a few minutes. Harry was tired of how much he was crying frequently and promised himself not to do it for the rest of the day while drying his eyes.

After everyone had eaten and talked for a while, Mrs. Weasley dimmed the lights and brought out a beautifully decorated cake. It was a chocolate cake, with thick, velvety, chocolate frosting. Harry laughed to himself when she sat it in front of him. She had placed five candles, shaped like the number sixteen on the cake. Apparently she could not decide how old he was.

After everyone sang to him, Harry blew out the candles, making a silent wish. He had one wish on his mind and repeated it twice before opening his eyes again. Unfortunately, he found himself still in a child’s body.

Harry’s face was extremely messy when he finished with his cake and vanilla ice cream. He spared himself further embarrassment though by cleaning himself with napkins. He had no desire to have Mrs. Weasley clean his face like a child given the present company.

Afterward, Harry opened presents from his friends. Harry was thankful for all he received, even though most of it would only be useful to him in his adolescent body.

Fred and George gave Harry one of their Skiving Snackboxes, which brought scornful looks from their parents. Surprisingly, Dumbledore sat with an amused expression. Harry doubted whether he would be able to use it now that Dumbledore had seen it.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave him two books. One on Quidditch and the other on apparation, complete with an application to schedule a test when he turned seventeen. He loved them both, glad to see they thought he would return to normal shortly. He almost began to read the Quidditch book before remembering he had other presents.

Harry also received books from Lupin and Tonks. Lupin’s was about animagi and also contained a registration form, should he succeed. Harry doubted this very much, but smiled and thanked Remus all the same. Tonks’ was a study prep for the Auror entrance exams and was so big and heavy that she had to hold it while Harry opened it. Half the size of a large pizza box, half as thick as it was tall, with no pictures and miniscule writing; Harry doubted he would ever be able to read it, even at sixteen.

Ron gave Harry a large box of his favorite candies, which was nearly as big as Tonks‘ book and also brought scowls from the Weasley parents.

Hermione and her parents gave him a board game he had enjoyed playing while staying with them, Clue. This really made Harry smile, as it was the only game or toy he had that was not for little kids.

Professor Dumbledore gave Harry an ornately decorated, gold pocket watch. On the inside, opposite the watch face, was a picture of his parents. They were not much older than he truly was, perhaps almost eighteen and it was likely their first photograph together. True to his word, Harry held back his tears, just barely. It was very beautiful and Harry thought he could not be happier.

But Ginny came forward with her present last. She turned slightly red as she gave it to him. Harry unwrapped the small package and opened the box within. It contained a small silver chain, with a real, four-inch dragon talon attached. Both Harry and Ginny turned crimson, but Harry put it on. He gave a shy thank you to Ginny. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave each other a puzzled look and Ron starred blankly at the pair. Harry understood why, he was surprised he and Ginny were becoming so close too.

For the remainder of the party everyone was in one conversation or another. Harry avoided the conversations centered around Hogwarts. The subject of Ginny’s gift never came up in any of the conversations. By four o’clock people began to leave. Harry thanked them all again as they left. Mrs. Granger and Tonks gave him tight hugs before leaving. Lupin was the last to leave, but when he did, after shaking Harry‘s hand, Harry started to help Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley clean up.

“Oh, you don’t have to help Harry. It’s your birthday.”

“That’s ok Mrs. Weasley. I want to help.” He felt a need to prove he wanted the responsibilities of being older, both to himself and the others.


The remainder of the evening was quiet and proceeded normally. Harry even forgot about destroying the drawings, as he forgot they were under the bed. It wasn’t until he was taking his bath that Harry realized there was something he wanted to do. He waited until he was being laid in bed to ask though.

“Um, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, stifling a yawn. “Do you think we could go to Diagon Alley sometime?” He was already turning red and had not even told her why he wanted to go.

“Well, we are going to go when you and the others get your supply and book lists. Did you want to go for another reason?”

“I sort of wanted to go sometime this week.” He felt no need to explain, but blurted out the next sentence before he knew it. “I want to get Ginny a birthday present.”

“Oh, I see,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, tightening his blankets for the second time. “I think I can find time to take you before her birthday. But for now, you need to get some sleep.” She left Harry alone in the dark and he fell asleep almost instantly, smiling wide. It had been a great day.

Harry awoke with a smile on his face and a thumb in his mouth. He liked waking up feeling happy, but was annoyed to find his thumb in his mouth, yet again. Mrs. Weasley was still asleep, so he rolled over to go back to sleep, making sure his hands were under him.

This did not help. Harry opened his eyes in Mrs. Weasley’s arms, his thumb once again securely between his lips. He quickly removed it, now very annoyed.

“It’s not good that you continue to do that,” Mrs. Weasley commented, setting him on the bed. She went to get him some clothes.

“I know that! I can’t help it!” Mrs. Weasley looked up momentarily when he shouted, but went back to getting clothes.

“You don’t need to shout at me,” she finally said when removing his pajamas. “Apparently you need some source of comfort. For many children, sucking their thumb is comforting, but it’s not sanitary. How would you feel about a pacifier?”

“No way! No! Look, I’ll stop, it won’t happen again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you doing it Harry. You’ve been through a lot and must need to feel comforted. It’s perfectly understandable.” Harry glared at her as she slipped his socks on his feet. “Anyway, let’s get some breakfast. And please stop shouting at me.”


After breakfast, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione remained in the kitchen to play Clue. Mrs. Weasley was reading the newspaper. While the girls were setting up the game board, Ron was reading the box. He was still tired, but smiled as he glanced over the suggested age.

“Hey Harry. You’re too little to play. See, it says ‘ages eight and up.’ But you’re only five.” Hermione glanced cautiously at Ron, who was grinning and Harry, who looked rather cranky. Ginny scowled at her brother.

“Shut up Ron!” Harry was now standing on his chair, his fists clenched.

Mrs. Weasley lowered her newspaper to stop the fighting. “Ronald! That wasn’t very nice. Now apologize, and Harry, sit down before you fall and hurt yourself dear.” Harry grudgingly complied as Ron muttered an apology.

They played three games; Ginny winning the first and Harry winning the other two. He sneered at Ron each time he won. “I guess I’m not too little to play,” he scoffed as they set up for another game. Ron just rolled his eyes.

Before they could begin again however, an owl brought Harry, Ron and Hermione letters from Professor McGonagall. They contained a list of the classes each was eligible for. They each filled out the reply of which of these they would take. Mrs. Weasley snatched Ron’s before he could seal it. Scowling, she took his quill and filled in the ones he had not.

“Mum,” Ron groaned. “I don’t need to take those classes.”

“Oh, you’re taking them! It never hurts to have a few extra N.E.W.T.s!” She sealed the envelope as Hermione was sealing hers, Harry had just finished writing. “Harry, could I see yours dear?” Harry handed his to her. She quickly scanned it and smiling, sealed it. “Good boy.” With all three letters re-attached, the owl left.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What’s wrong Harry,” Ginny asked.

“I doesn’t matter that I filled that out. I won’t be able to go back this year.”

“Oh, don’t talk like that Harry,” Hermione scolded. “You’ll figure it out and get your body back.”

“Yeah,” Ron added. “And even if you don’t, you’ll get to be a first year again in six years. You’d know all the answers.” Harry didn’t think this as positive as Ron did. He kicked Ron in the shin, under the table. “Ow,” Ron shouted, standing up. “You little brat!”

“Ron!” Mrs. Weasley had not even sat back down, but had her newspaper in hand.

“He kicked me!”

“Oh, he couldn’t have hurt you.” Ron sat down, but this comment only made Harry’s blood boil. “Now Harry. No kicking, you be a good boy.” Her placating, childish tone only made Harry angrier.

“Shut up! You’re not my mother!” He kicked Ron again. Ron stood up, growling at Harry. Hermione gasped. Ginny assumed a look of utter bewilderment.

Mrs. Weasley calmly laid her newspaper aside and walked closer to Harry. She spoke with her hands on her hips. “Now Harry, if you’re going to act like a baby, I’ll …”

“Do what? Treat me like a baby? You already do! All of you do! I take naps … I sleep in a cradle …” Harry was on his feet, shouting out whatever entered his thoughts. “I’m bathed and dressed by somebody … I’m carried everywhere I go. I’m just a baby to all of you!”

Ron was sitting again, with a guilty look on his face. Both Hermione and Ginny had tears in their eyes. Mrs. Weasley looked furious. Harry was still ranting, emptying all of his thoughts that he had cried silently about for the past week. “… I’m tired of it! I want to be sixteen again, not five!” He was breathing heavy, when Mrs. Weasley forcefully lifted him off the chair he was standing on.

Harry flailed his arms and kicked his feet. One of his feet caught Mrs. Weasley in the stomach. He stopped struggling and looked into her glowing, angry eyes that told him he was in worse trouble than he had ever been with her.

Mrs. Weasley promptly sat in the chair she had just lifted Harry from and laid him across her lap, stomach down. She had already given Harry a firm whack before he realized his pants were around his ankles. With each spank, Harry screamed in pain and kicked his feet in the air. After his spankings, Mrs. Weasley laid a heavily crying Harry over her shoulder and carried him upstairs.

Both Hermione and Ginny, turned and looked accusingly at Ron. “What? It’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything.”

Mrs. Weasley laid Harry on her bed and removed his clothes. He was still crying heavily, sniffling every few moments as she dressed him for bed in one of the footed-sleepers. Mrs. Weasley wrapped him in the blankets and laid him on his stomach. Harry now cried into the pillow. “If you move from that cradle, you’ll wish you hadn’t!” She left and Harry cried until he was asleep.


Harry awoke on his side, his backside stinging as a painful reminder. He pulled his thumb from his mouth, aggravated. He was hungry, owing to the fact he slept through lunch and it was almost dinnertime, but knew better than to move. He did lift himself on his arms to look around the room.

Mrs. Weasley was sitting in the rocking chair reading, but put her book aside, hearing Harry move. She knelt next to him and even though she was not smiling, her voice was cheerful. “How’s my little baby doing?”

“I’m not a baby,” Harry whined. His eyes were filling with tears again.

“Well, you certainly acted like one downstairs. So, until I see your behavior improve, you’ll be treated how you act.”

“But-but-but … please, no.” Now he was crying. “I’m sorry.” Mrs. Weasley did not respond and lifted Harry, carrying him back to the kitchen.

Harry was strapped into a highchair. He laid his head on the tray and just cried. Mrs. Weasley was busy making dinner. Once dinner was nearly ready, she went to get Ron, Ginny and Hermione.

Harry looked up through his bleary eyes as they arrived. Their lack of reactions told him they had already been told of his punishment. As the others started to eat, Mrs. Weasley pulled a chair next to Harry and began to spoon feed him. Harry ate everything she put on his spoon, until he felt he would burst. He cried the whole time, but did not want to get into anymore trouble.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to be satisfied that Harry had eaten enough when the others started to get up. He was in fact feeling like he would burst. She picked Harry up and walked to the others. “Hermione, would you mind giving Harry his bottle while I eat?” Harry was quite sure this was a joke, until he was in Hermione’s arms and Mrs. Weasley gave her a bottle of milk.

Harry tried to refuse it, but the bottle was soon in his mouth, warm milk trickling down his throat. Ron started giggling madly. “Look at the little baby, drinking from his bottle.” Harry closed his eyes as Ron continued to laugh at his punishment. Harry’s eyelashes were glistening with tears.

Ginny was about to punch her brother when Mrs. Weasley looked up from her dinner and sighed. “Seems I have another little boy to feed tomorrow.” Ron stopped laughing immediately, his mouth hung open, accompanied by a look of horror on his face. “Maybe you’ll stop picking on Harry then. I think you should go on to bed too!” Ron slumped up the staircase to his room.

Harry laughed to himself, but this did nothing to relieve his anger, which had escalated since he woke up. Hermione held him after he had finished, until Mrs. Weasley had cleared the table. Hermione then gave Harry back to Mrs. Weasley and she and Ginny left.

Mrs. Weasley then took Harry upstairs and gave him a bath. She did let him brush his teeth and go bathroom by himself, but put him to bed as soon as he was finished. As it was a lot earlier a bedtime than usual, Harry lay awake in the dark brooding over his anger and the day.

Harry was very angry with everything that had transpired since his O.W.L. exams. He seriously contemplated getting up and leaving, but remembered he had nowhere to go. Furthermore, a child walking alone in London at such an hour would likely be stopped by police. So he laid still, fuming over his punishments and the loss of Sirius.

He had finally just closed his eyes when the nightmares began. It was not the same dreams he had been having. In fact it started somewhat benign. He opened his eyes to find himself lying in the dark and for a few moments thought he had not even fallen asleep yet.

Harry suddenly realized he was not in his room. There were lit candles along the closest wall, shedding only feint light into the room. He was lying on a table, his arms and legs bound and tied to the corners, so he was stretched in four directions. It was as though he were on an alter, about to be sacrificed to a primeval deity. The hard ropes were digging, cutting into his tender skin. He was stretched painfully to the point where only his neck could move. He was still in his pajamas, but was also gagged.

Harry let out a muffled, terrified cry of pain. This caused two dark, cloaked figures to move. Harry had not previously been aware that they were alive, though they were in plain sight of his tear-filled eyes. Harry cried out again, with only soft muffles and whimpers escaping the cloth gag. A male and a female voice laughed from beneath their hoods and masks. One left the room, while the other began to circle Harry.

The figure that remained produced a long, curved blade from their cloak. It held it in front of Harry’s face until pure panic was visible on his face. Then, the person proceeded to stab along the edge of Harry’s body every few inches. There was a thud as the blade hit the table each time, but the blade passed close enough to Harry that he could hear its serrated edge snagging the loose fibers of his pajamas and fell it rub his skin. He screamed each time the fiend struck, sure it would hit him.

Tears clouded Harry’s vision as the cloaked figure continued the torture. When it had passed halfway around his body, Harry became aware he was wetting himself out of fright. The torture was stopped shortly after by the arrival of another figure. This one concealed itself too, but was much taller. Harry had not even heard it enter the room; the floor had creaked loudly as his torturer moved.

It was then that Harry suddenly felt cold. He heard a long, low, rattling sound, and the hurried footsteps of the other leaving. The candles flickered to smoldering darkness. Then, he was in fog, which was slowly turning to blackness. All he heard were the horrible sounds of his traumatic past that the Dementor was forcing him to relive. He had no idea for how long this lasted before everything was silent and dark.


Harry awoke drenched in cold sweat, the ropes still cutting into his wrists and ankles. The room was now brighter; a chandelier had been lit and there was now a fire in the fireplace, but he still shivered violently. Two figures were in the room and they turned as he stirred awake. One was the cloaked and hooded figure with the curved knife, the other was none other than Voldemort. The Dark Lord smiled evilly as he approached the helpless Harry. He removed the gag, which caused momentary pain in Harry’s forehead.

“You need not be afraid Potter,” he said coldly, as Harry shivered in fear. “I’ll not be killing you this night. It would be far too easy.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Harry hissed defiantly. He was in fact so afraid he had just wet himself again.

“You reek of fear Potter!”

“Smells more like urine to me,” whispered a cool, female voice uncaringly. Harry recognized it at once, and as his eyes grew wide, Bellatrix lowered her hood and removed her mask.

“They are one and the same with this boy Bella.” Voldemort then scrapped one of his long white fingernails across Harry’s right cheek, from just below his eye to the corner of his mouth. After another brief moment of pain in his scar, Harry felt the warm blood trickling down his cheek. Voldemort then took the knife from Bellatrix. “Leave us!

“I said you would not die, but you will experience terrible pain tonight.” The Dark Lord’s cold and cruel voice echoed through the empty room. He ran the tip of the blade from the back of Harry’s left hand to the elbow, easily slicing through pajama and skin alike. There was little pain from the sharpened blade, but Harry whimpered as he felt the warm liquid leaving his body and soaking into his pajamas.

Voldemort was dissatisfied with the result of his attack. He raised the blade high and slashed down into Harry’s upper right leg, cutting deep into the muscle, the tip emerging out the other side. The pain was excruciating and Harry screamed as loud as he could. Voldemort had just missed the bone, but was still not satisfied. He twisted the blade, while still in the soft flesh of its young target. Harry’s screams were further prolonged when Voldemort wrenched the knife from his skin.

Voldemort slashed the bloody blade across Harry’s abdomen, making several long, shallow cuts that only made Harry whimper, but spilled large amounts of blood. Again, dissatisfied, Voldemort slowly pressed his knife through Harry’s other leg. He pressed slowly, prolonging the experience and listening to the soft sound of the blade ripping through Harry. Harry screamed himself hoarse as Voldemort removed the blade and cast it aside.

The Dark Lord produced his wand and aimed it toward Harry, who was crying loudly. “Crucio!” The curse caused renewed pain, and amplified the pain Harry felt from his wounds. Like before, the reaction to the curse was to drawl the limbs toward the body. Harry was unable to do this and when Voldemort released the curse, after a full minute, he could only whimper. The ropes binding him had actually begun to draw blood. His body lay limp and motionless and he produced no sounds. Harry could neither speak nor scream, so he just laid still, crying.

“Crucio!” After a few seconds, which felt like minutes, Harry passed out. Everything went dark, and he felt no more. Voldemort released Harry from the curse and left the room. He wore a grim smile of satisfaction.


Harry awoke in the dark feeling cold and wet. He tried to scream, but his throat hurt too badly. In fact, his entire body was in great pain. Unable to even think if it was a dream or not, due to fear and confusion, Harry made the only sounds he could.

“Harry?” Mrs. Weasley woke upon hearing Harry’s crying and whimpering. The smell of urine was strong in the room and she suspected him to be upset over an accident. Thusly, she was not in too great a hurry to turn on the lights. When the room was lit, she let out a shriek that carried through the entire house and rushed to Harry.

“Harry! What’s happened,” she asked hysterically. Harry did not respond. He was lying in the cradle, his thumb in his mouth and eyes closed. His entire body was covered in drying blood and his pajamas were ripped and torn in various places. The entire left sleeve hung off his arm. He was awake, but in shock from the pain and his fear.

Mrs. Weasley lifted Harry from the sopping wet and soiled blankets. He instinctively latched his arms around her, digging his tiny nails into her. She rushed Harry to the bathroom and tried to set him down to clean and treat his wounds.

Harry refused to loosen his grip. He was more aware now and crying loudly. Try as she might, Mrs. Weasley could not pry Harry from her. It was then that Ron, Ginny and Hermione rushed into the bathroom. They had awoken with Molly’s shriek and followed the sound of Harry’s cries.

“Bloody hell! What happened?” Ron had been the only one able to speak. Ginny backed to the wall and sank to the floor, on the verge of crying. Hermione turned pail but tried to help Mrs. Weasley pry Harry off. She succeeded in removing Harry from Mrs. Weasley, but he immediately wrapped himself around her instead. His eyes remained tightly closed and he shivered uncontrollably.

While Hermione held him, Mrs. Weasley managed to remove Harry’s blood-soaked and slashed pajamas. This revealed the extent of his wounds and that his ankles and wrists had been bound. She got a potion vile and uncorked it. A smell much like iodine filled the room as Mrs. Weasley applied the potion to a washcloth. “Now Harry,” she began, unsure if he could even understand her. “This will sting a little, but it will stop the bleeding.” She rubbed the potion on the slash down Harry’s arm first, as it was the most accessible.

A bloodcurdling screech filled the entire house. Ginny buried her face in her hands, hiding her tears. Ron cupped his own hands over his ears and closed his eyes. Hermione could only squint her eyes as she was holding Harry. Mrs. Weasley did nothing but continue applying the potion to Harry’s wounds. The potion killed any bacteria in the wounds and closed them within seconds. By the time Mrs. Weasley finished with every wound, checking Harry over twice, both she and Hermione were covered in Harry’s blood.

Harry still held tight to Hermione but was only whimpering now. Most of the pain had subsided and he relaxed his grip enough for Mrs. Weasley to put him in the bathtub. She removed his leaking, nighttime protection and washed the blood from his body. As it was only three in the morning, Mrs. Weasley sent the others back to bed, needlessly reminding Hermione to clean herself up first.

Once in clean pajamas, Harry was still crying, but drifting back to sleep. The trauma still fresh in his mind, he did not say anything to Mrs. Weasley when she laid him back in bed. Mrs. Weasley too went back to bed.

Mrs. Weasley could not sleep however. Long after his whimpers died out, she laid on her side watching where he slept, perfectly still. She watched all night, waiting for any sign of distress, but Harry’s sleep was peaceful now. As the early light of dawn filtered into the room, Mrs. Weasley had an overwhelming sense of guilt. Not only had she not heard him in his time of need, but she had humiliated him the day before. Harry was having an extremely difficult time and she should be trying to help him.

Harry stirred and she jumped up. He was only rolling over to get more comfortable and slept on. Realizing she would not get anymore sleep this night, Mrs. Weasley dressed and picked up a book. She could not help but check Harry every few minutes. Finally, she put the book down, not having read even a page and woke Harry to go down to breakfast.

Harry awoke but did not look entirely alert to Mrs. Weasley. The memories of the night came rushing back to him. He had been in too much pain and too tired to realize it earlier, but the shock was setting in.

Mrs. Weasley moved him to the bed and Harry hesitantly let go. As Mrs. Weasley got Harry’s clothes for the day, she remembered something he had said the day before. “Do you want to dress yourself?” Harry did not react right away, but eventually nodded his head, still with no visible expression. Mrs. Weasley sat his clothes on the bed and left the room to wake the others and make breakfast.


Mrs. Weasley returned to the room half an hour later. She had expected Harry to come downstairs after he was dressed. Harry was lying sideways on the bed however. He had only removed his pajama top, but had his arms now wrapped around it. His eyes were open, but blank and expressionless, like his face. They even had a glazed quality as though he were sleeping with them open. Mrs. Weasley sat next to him, very concerned.

“Harry,” she asked cautiously, touching his shoulder. Harry’s whole body shook violently as she touched him but there was no other reaction. “Harry, wake up dear.” There was still no reaction from the boy. Mrs. Weasley pulled his limp body into a tight embrace and her eyes filled with tears.

After some time, Mrs. Weasley put Harry’s pajama shirt back on and laid his head on the pillows. She pulled the blankets over him and sat next to him again. She gently caressed the side of his head, lightly brushing her fingers through his untidy hair. Harry remained perfectly still, except for his chest moving with his shallow breathing. His eyes remained open, ghostly and dull despite their normal brilliance.

Ginny, Hermione and Ron entered the room minutes later. “What’s wrong mum,” Ginny asked very worried.

Mrs. Weasley hastily dried her eyes before turning to the children. “I need to go and speak with Professor Dumbledore. You three need to take turns sitting with Harry. It’s very important that somebody is here should he wake up. I don’t want him left alone,” she added rushing from the room.

For the duration of Harry’s lack of activity, Ginny was the one to sit with him most, besides Mrs. Weasley, who had returned from Dumbledore very agitated. The old wizard had been unfortunately indisposed and unable to speak for long, let alone come to Grimmauld Place. Her agitation only increased because she refused to sleep, staying up all night with Harry. Still, Harry showed no sign of being awake or asleep.


Finally, owing to another angry visit from Mrs. Weasley, the headmaster arrived on the afternoon of August fourth. Mrs. Weasley angrily ordered Ginny out of the room when she and Dumbledore entered. Dumbledore examined Harry and then began to calmly speak with Mrs. Weasley, who was not calm, but shouted at him.

Harry was suddenly aware of a loud conversation near him. He was only scarcely aware who the speakers were and what they were saying. Mrs. Weasley had her back to him and was shouting at Dumbledore, who Harry could not see. Harry was more concerned with the feeling of fear he had. He felt scared, but could not remember why.

“You have to change him back,” Mrs. Weasley was shouting. “He can’t deal with the stress and trauma like this! He needs to be in control and I think this is killing him!”

“As I have already explained,” Dumbledore began calmly. “My changing him back without him fulfilling the spells requirements would only cause Harry more stress and extreme pain.”

“But he could handle it! An adolescent is far better at dealing with this than a child is! He wouldn’t be attacked in his dreams anymore either!”

“At this point we do not know what happened to Harry. He has been unable to tell us what happened.”

“HE WAS ATTACKED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO AGAIN! We can’t let this continue! It’s immoral to subject Harry to this!” Harry had never heard anyone shout at Dumbledore like this. He was deeply impressed and thankful to Mrs. Weasley.

“I can assure you that Voldemort can not get to him here.”

Harry could see Mrs. Weasley shudder at the name. “Well, what happened to him then? He didn’t do it to himself!”

Dumbledore sighed calmly, he had no answer to this question. “If I change him back now, it is very likely his mind will be left in a divided state. I am not prepared to risk that and nor should you be.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed deeply before continuing, no longer shouting. “Of course I don’t want that. I’m just worried about him now. He hasn’t moved or done anything for two days. He just lies there, like a little baby.” Harry could here her crying now. “I can’t even get him to eat anything. The one time I managed to get him to swallow something, he threw-up everywhere five minutes later. I don’t even remember how many times I’ve had to change his wet or messy clothes over the past days.”

“Molly, I can assure you he will recover. Harry has proven to be very capable of handling things most grown wizards could not. I think what would be best is if you got some sleep.”

“But what about Harry?” Her words were constrained and tearful. “He needs to eat something. Can you at least wake him?”

As his stomach rumbled silently, Harry got an idea. He could relieve Mrs. Weasley and make it seem like he had just woken up and not heard the entire conversation. Indeed he felt guilty for not speaking sooner. Adopting a childish tone very easily, Harry spoke, also making himself sound tired. “Mrs. Weasley, I’m hungry.”

Molly turned around quickly, tears splattering down her face. “Harry!” She was smiling when she picked him up and hugged and kissed him repeatedly. Harry’s face was very red when she finally put him down. “I was so worried about you. How are you feeling?” She put her hand to his forehead.

“Hungry,” he repeated childishly, noticing Dumbledore wink at him over Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder. Had he known the whole time?

“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, lifting Harry into her arms again. She turned back to Dumbledore. “Would you care for something? Some tea perhaps?”

“Unfortunately, I must be going. I do hope you are feeling better Harry.” he walked from the room and aparated in the hallway.

Mrs. Weasley took Harry to the kitchen and made him a plate full of sandwiches and poured him a large glass of pumpkin juice. “Eat as much as you want Harry. I’ll make more if you‘re still hungry.”

Harry was not sure what had happened to him since the night he was punished, but he was very glad she was not punishing him any longer. He vowed to himself to never act like a child again. He would fight to keep his older mind in control. He knew he would have to if he was going to learn his lesson in less than a month now.


As soon as he was done eating, Mrs. Weasley helped Harry move his belongings back to the room he had shared with Ron. She was hesitant to at first, but Harry had requested so insistently that she gave in. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did for me,” Harry had said awkwardly. “But I want to be treated older. I am sixteen, even if I look like I’m five.”

“I know,” Mrs. Weasley assured. “It’s like you said, you are not a baby. But I will always be here if you need me.” Harry was again deeply appreciative to her. He also requested that he be allowed to bathe and dress himself again. He knew it would only help him remember to act older. Mrs. Weasley agreed but said he still had to be in bed by 9:30. With no other choice, Harry was forced to agree to this condition.

As dinner approached, Mrs. Weasley explained a few more rules to Harry. He agreed with her that special rules were necessary until his condition was reversed. They would prevent incidents like what had led to his punishment from happening again.

Harry would be treated the age he acted. Mrs. Weasley was very careful to explain this double-edged sword to him. If he acted like his sixteen-year-old self he would be given certain responsibilities and chores to do, but would also be given certain privileges. Now Harry could get out of doing his chores, if he wanted, by acting like a child, perhaps by throwing a tantrum, Mrs. Weasley had said, or even requesting to be relieved of his adult responsibilities. But, if he did, Harry would also loose all of his adult privileges as well as being treated like a child. To get them back, Harry would have to behave maturely or, if he had requested it, request to be treated older again. In either case, he would be free to act like and do anything a child that age did.

Harry did not hesitate to agree. He was certain he would not be acting like a child again; certain he would not break the promise he made to himself. “Alright, do you still want to be a big boy tonight?” Mrs. Weasley’s question was very serious, as Harry had just agreed to the new rules. Her tone was not at all demeaning, but pointed instead.

“Yes.”

“Alright, you can help me make dinner tonight then.” Harry followed Mrs. Weasley downstairs.

Harry helped Mrs. Weasley make dinner and then went upstairs to tell the others it was time to eat. He was exceptionally neat and well-mannered at dinner. He ate everything put on his plate, even the vegetables, which still tasted horrible to his young tongue. He did not make a mess, even with the ice cream for dessert. Ginny and Hermione were given the task of cleaning up, so Harry went back to his room.

Harry was very surprised when Ron asked if he wanted to play chess. He desperately wanted to say no, still hurt from the things Ron had said and done, but it had been so long since Harry had played. Torn, he reluctantly agreed and Ron set up the board on his bed.

They played two games in almost complete silence. They did not even notice Hermione and Ginny come in, wait a few minutes and then leave again. Harry was trying his hardest to win but Ron did not want to lose to the five-year-old incarnation of his best friend. The first game ended in stalemate and the second was shaping out to as well.

His foolish pride on the line, Ron moved to distract Harry verbally. “So Harry, are you done acting like a baby?” There was a childish curiosity in his voice, but Harry, completely alert and focused saw what his friend was trying to do. Yes, his friend, for Harry was quite sure a “best” friend would not treat him as Ron had.

“Shut up,” Harry spat disdainfully, careful not to raise his voice. The final result was close, but Harry came out the victor. “Wanna play again,” he asked, a childish smirk on his face.

But Ron had already begun to put the his set away. “Nah, I’m kind of bored with chess tonight.”

“Bored? You’re just sore I beat you. You’re the one who needs to grow up, not me!”

“Whatever you say Harry. I’m going to go find Hermione.” Ron got up and started for the door, leaving his chess set and Harry on his bed.

“Why? So the two of you can kiss in secret again?” Ron hesitated, ever so slightly, at the door but left without saying a word. Harry moved to his own belongings, searching for something to occupy himself with. He found his new Quidditch book, lying unread on top of his clothes. He grabbed it, climbed onto his bed and began to read.

Reading did not seem to hold Harry’s attention. Not that it ever really had, but surely Quidditch was worth reading about. He found himself not reading the print but gaping at the moving pictures, making his own story.

Harry snapped the book shut and closed his eyes tight. He willed himself to want to read, not do this childish game. He opened the book and began again. Harry did not even finish a page before he was thumbing through the book, searching for pictures.


Harry did not look up until Mrs. Weasley entered with a basket of clean laundry and began to sort it at the foot of his bed. She had apparently not noticed Ron, who had entered moments later and was standing behind her, making faces at Harry. Harry remained silent; Ron was obviously trying to get him to tattle, like a child would.

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley began, calling his attention back to her as she sorted clothes. “Nearly all your underwear had stains in the back. I want you to be more …”

“Maybe he needs to wear diapers.” The rest of the room seemed to freeze as Mrs. Weasley spun around and slapped her youngest son. She quickly composed herself again and turned back to Harry.

“Harry dear, why don’t you go play somewhere else while I talk to Ron.” Her voice was very cheerful but Harry dared not be asked twice. He quickly jumped off the bed and Mrs. Weasley handed him a few toy cars. “Good boy,” she added patting his shoulder as she walked him to the door.

Harry tried to listen at the door but could here nothing for some reason. That and the cars he held were a big distraction. By the time Mrs. Weasley left the room, he was happily playing, racing the toys along the top of the landing’s horizontal banister.

“Harry, it’s nine o’clock,” Mrs. Weasley commented, carrying Hermione’s and Ginny’s clothes to their room. “I laid out some pajamas for you too.”

“Ok,” Harry mumbled, absentmindedly. He still had trouble believing how much fun these simple toys were, but there he was, playing like any child would. It was only when Mrs. Weasley came back that he realized just how engrossed he was.

“Harry! I told you it was time for you to take a bath. Now don’t make me tell you again.” Harry left the toys where they sat and rushed into his room, yelling at himself, in his head, for his behavior.

Harry was surprised to see Ron already in bed as he gathered his towel and pajamas. He quickly, but thoroughly bathed, lest Mrs. Weasley think he could not do it himself after all. He had just reluctantly put on the Pull-Ups Mrs. Weasley had laid out with his pajamas, when he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror on the door.

He had not yet had time to examine himself in a mirror since the change occurred. He was too small to see the mirrors over the sinks and had not noticed this mirror before. The face of a small, scrawny, curious child starred back at him. There were few differences despite that he thought he resembled a toddler because he was wearing nothing but a Pull-Ups. He did not bother examining what he could without a mirror.

His hair had grown long; his bangs could cover his eyes, but was still untidy, as it always had been. Size was obvious, but he was even small for this age. Harry guessed he had always been small, given the poor nutrition he had received living with his aunt and uncle. Thusly he had very little remaining baby fat. Many children still have traces of this after age six, sometimes until they are ten, but Harry was lacking and looked tiny. His stickly arms and legs were now hairless and smoothed skinned again. His eyes still contained their brilliance, but were filled with childhood wonderment. Nothing remained of his teenage self but his mind and emotions and even they were being shared by his younger self.

Harry quickly but clumsily finished dressing, hating how he looked. He brushed his teeth and left the bathroom, finally crawling under the covers on his bed. Mrs. Weasley came in, waited for Harry to settle himself and turned off the lights. “Goodnight boys,” she whispered, closing the door.

Harry laid on his back in the dark for a few minutes. Only his and Ron’s rhythmic breathing disturbed the quiet. But then Ron spoke, having turned from his back to face Harry’s bed. “Harry?”

Harry was in no mood to talk to his now former friend and rolled onto his side, away from Ron. “Harry?” Ron’s voice was a little more pleading this time, but Harry produced only a soft, fake snore as his response. He felt and heard one of Ron’s pillows thrown into him and roll onto the floor, but still remained silent.


Harry woke to Mrs. Weasley’s gentle shaking and voice the next day. “Harry, it’s time for breakfast.” He rolled over, burying his head in the soft pillow. “Do you want to be sixteen or five today?” Something snapped in Harry’s head and he remembered the deal he had made.

“Sixteen,” he mumbled, still very tired and his eyes closed. He could here Ron moving beside him.

“Alright. Get up then and get dressed.” Harry laid exactly where he was as Mrs. Weasley went to wake the girls. Inexplicably tired he snuggled up next to his pillow, pulling the blankets tighter.

“Harry! I told you to get up!” Mrs. Weasley had walked back past the door and saw Harry still asleep. “If I have to come back again, you won’t be happy.” She then yanked back his blankets, exposing him to the cold morning air.

Harry put his bare feet on the frigid floor as Mrs. Weasley left and immediately pulled himself back on the bed. He felt a strange longing for some one to put his socks on for him. He shook this from his head, but it was not so odd, considering somebody had done just that for nearly a month.

Harry crawled down his bed and retrieved a pair of socks from the duffel bags. He laid back, raising his feet into the air to put them on and once again got down on the cold floor. He got clothes for the day and began to dress. The shirt and underwear came easy enough, but he fell over when pulling up his pants. He shrugged this off as he headed for breakfast. He was just out of practice, if that was possible.

Harry arrived at the bottom of the stone steps into the basement kitchen, just as Mrs. Weasley did. She turned back around and went to the table. Harry mostly picked at his breakfast, but ate the majority. Mrs. Weasley then said it was Harry’s and Ron’s turn to cleanup and left.

Ginny and Hermione remained behind as Harry and Ron started their chore. Ron opened his mouth a couple times before managing to speak. “Harry, I’m sorry. I’ve been a real …”

“Idiot,” prompted Hermione.

“Prat,” prompted Ginny. It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to say “baby,” but he remained silent.

“Yeah. All those. I’m really sorry mate.” Ron waited for Harry to respond, but Harry said nothing. Ron looked to his sister and Hermione for help, but none came. Harry was determined to not accept Ron’s apology too quickly.

“I don’t blame him,” Ginny finally said, starting for the staircase, followed shortly by Hermione. Harry remained silent for the duration of the chore and started upstairs without looking back. Ron surged past him on the narrow, stone staircase and blocked his way at the top.

“Harry, I’m really, really sorry. I said some things I shouldn’t have, but I won’t tease you anymore.” Ron was almost pleading. He seemed to finally realize what he had risked in teasing a friend. Harry could see no harm in letting him dangle a while longer, but something told him that was a childish thing to do.

Furthermore, there was something nagging at the back of Harry’s mind. Something saying he needed Ron to forgive him for something too, but what? It did not matter, if he did not forgive Ron, Ron would not forgive him. “Alright, I forgive you.”

“You do?” Ron looked even more confused than usual. “Er, I mean, thanks.”

“We were both acting like children. But that’s something I don’t plan to do again, ever.”


Given that Grimmauld Place had been so thoroughly cleaned last summer and was actually being maintained by the Order, there were actually few chores to be done. He spent most of his time with his friends, who were finally acting like everything was normal. This was mostly because Harry was behaving more maturely than he ever had. He was expected to help with either preparing or cleaning up after every meal though, but so were the others now.

Mrs. Weasley had yet to find other chores for them, so the four just spent the rest of the day doing what they wanted. Harry and Ron were still on edge around each other, but Harry did not see much of Ron except at meals that day. It was also the same with Hermione.

“Harry,” Ginny began. They were sitting on her bed playing cards in the afternoon. “Do you know where my brother and Hermione keep disappearing to?”

“No, do you?” It was not a lie as he had only found them once.

“No. I just thought you might have been looking for them one time and found them. I don’t really care, but it’s just weird that they are never around.”

“It’s a big house,” Harry offered.


The Order of the Phoenix had a meeting that night and Mrs. Weasley was adamant that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny stay upstairs after dinner. Harry did not mind as much as the others. There was no way he would let Snape, among others in the order see him as he was. The four were sitting in Harry and Ron’s room completely bored. It was only eight, but Harry was exhausted already. Fighting the tendency to act like a child was more difficult than he had imagined, particularly now.

“I wish I had an Extendable Ear,” Ron groaned, breaking the silence.

“Mum would kill you,” Ginny stressed each word. Harry stifled a yawn that was more from being tired than bored.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Harry said, getting off his bed.

“Yeah, I’m kind of tired too,” Hermione said.

“It’s only eight thirty,” Ron groaned. But Ginny and Hermione were already leaving. With nothing better to do, Ron too started getting ready for bed. Needless to say, Mrs. Weasley was very surprised to find all of the children asleep when the meeting was over at ten.

Harry awoke much more readily the following morning, August sixth. He had a restful night, free of any dreams. As Harry started to dress himself, Mrs. Weasley sat next to him, before waking Ron.

“I have to go to Diagon Alley today, do you still want to go?” Harry nodded after pulling his shirt over his head. “Alright, but I have a lot of shopping to do, so you have to behave. I’m not taking a five-year-old. Can you be good long enough?” Again, Harry nodded; after all he had been considerably well behaved yesterday, he thought. Mrs. Weasley then woke Ron and the girls.

It was after breakfast that Mrs. Weasley told the others she and Harry were leaving. “I have some shopping to do today and Harry’s coming with me. I want you three to be good while I’m gone.”

“Can’t we all go,” Ginny asked.

“No, I promised Harry that just he and I would go today. But when your book lists come, we will all go.” Ginny did not like this option, but had no choice. She headed upstairs with Hermione and Ron, while Mrs. Weasley and Harry prepared to set out.

Mrs. Weasley stepped into the fireplace first, using Floo Powder as Harry could not aparate. After she was gone, Harry did the same, careful to speak clearly and precisely.

Harry whirled through the Floo Network, spinning fast. The deafening roar rushed past his ears, his eyes and mouth were full of soot and ash. Looking through the green flames, he became very dizzy.

Harry spewed out of the fireplace in The Leaky Cauldron. If Mrs. Weasley had not been ready to catch him, he would have slammed into the stone floor. He closed his eyes to stop the room spinning as Mrs. Weasley wiped the ash from his face and dusted him off. He suddenly became aware that he should not have eaten so many eggs at breakfast. His eyes snapped open and he managed to turn away from Mrs. Weasley seconds before he threw-up.

As Mrs. Weasley banished the mess, Harry became aware that nearly everyone was looking in his direction. He nervously flattened his bangs across his forehead. His hair was now dangling in his eyes but he was sure that his scar was hidden. He walked with Mrs. Weasley out the back door and into Diagon Alley, feeling much better than he had.

“Where did you want to go Harry? Did you want to get Ginny something like what she got you?” They were leaving Gringotts now.

Harry had not previously thought about what he was going to buy. “Ok,” he muttered, unable to think of anything still. Mrs. Weasley led the way to a jewelry shop Harry had never noticed before. It’s merchandise did not necessarily have magical properties, but might be made of unusual or magical items, like Harry’s claw pendant. He wanted to do this alone, but he could just here the shopkeeper asking him where his mother was had Mrs. Weasley not been with him.

After some time and with Mrs. Weasley’s help, Harry found something he thought Ginny would like. Harry had needed Mrs. Weasley’s help because he had never bought jewelry before and she knew what Ginny liked. It was a circular locket with a heart-shaped ruby in the center, encircled by peridots (Ginny’s birthstone). This particular locket’s magical quality was interesting. If held by two persons for a short while, it would automatically be set with their picture on either half. Harry was curious to see if it would be a picture of him as a child or an adolescent.

As they were walking to Mrs. Weasley’s first destination, Harry noticed a large crowd in front of one of the shops. It surged as people came in and out. As he looked, he noticed the crowd were mostly teenagers and some were carrying familiar looking snack boxes.

Harry was prepared for a boring day now, or so he thought. He found his mind wandering and he longed to be with his friends. But he knew Mrs. Weasley would be mad if he did not wait quietly.

By the time they stopped at a café for lunch, Harry’s feet and legs were throbbing. He had grown tired of all the shopkeepers telling Mrs. Weasley that he was ”such a well-behaved little boy,” or that he was “adorable and so patient.” But there was nothing he could do; revealing the truth would be infinitely more humiliating.

Harry had just finished eating when a woman walked by with her son. The boy looked to be about ten, but that was not what caught Harry’s attention. It was the lady giving Mrs. Weasley more compliments about “her” son.

“Oh, what a cute little boy you have. Those green eyes are so precious.” Harry wanted to hide under the table, but stayed in his seat.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Weasley did not seem to mind the attention as much as Harry did. She could tell Harry was getting frustrated however and put her hand on his knee and gently squeezed.

“Oh, enjoy it while you can. They grow up too fast. It seems just yesterday I was changing Alex’s diapers…”

“MUM!” The boy turned a bright red, but his mother pressed on as though he had said nothing.

“… and he’ll be going off to Hogwarts next year.” She sighed deeply and her son looked mortified. “’Bye, cutie.” She reached down and pinched Harry’s cheek. Harry angrily brushed her hand aside. “Oh, is somebody cranky?” She exchanged goodbyes with Mrs. Weasley and left.

Harry was sitting with his arms crossed now and was starring determinedly at the edge of the table. Mrs. Weasley put a hand on Harry’s shoulder before speaking. “Maybe she was right. Harry, do you want to go home and take a nap?”

Harry shook his head clear and his mind into focus. “No, I’m fine. Really, I’m not tired.”

“Are you sure? Even teenagers take naps sometimes.” She was careful to whisper the last sentence. “But if you’re sure, let’s get going.” Mrs. Weasley gathered her prior purchases, managed to take Harry’s hand and they set off.

Almost immediately, Harry found himself starring at a shop front along with many young boys around the age of six. It was a wizarding toy store and he was transfixed by the display, like the other boys. Both sides of Harry’s split mind thought it was the coolest toy he had ever seen, though only one would have admitted so out loud.

It was a wizard action figure that really walked, moved around and cast “real” spells. All it could do was make smoke or light come from its tiny wand, but that was something. All the children around and even some older boys just stood watching the toys in the display window.

Mrs. Weasley noticed Harry dragging his feet and followed his gaze to the shop. “Did you want a new toy Harry? You didn’t get one for your birthday.” Harry slowly nodded his head, not even conscious that he was doing so. “Well, if you’re good we’ll come back when we’re finished with everything else.” She kept moving and after a few steps, Harry stopped dragging his feet.


Some time later, Harry was still thinking about the toy. He was sitting in a chair, outside a fitting room, waiting patiently, as the shopkeeper was quick to point out. His feet were hurting from being on them so much and he was getting tired. When Mrs. Weasley was done he finally admitted that he was tired.

“I’m tired,” Harry whined as Mrs. Weasley took his hand to leave the shop. “Can we go back now?” Harry was too tired to continue a fight against childish tendencies.

“We’re almost done Harry,” she soothed. “I just have one more place to go.”

But Harry was not thinking clearly. “I want to go back,” he half-shouted, half-whined, now stomping his feet.

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley warned. “You said you’d be good. Don‘t you want to go back to the toy shop?”

“No. I wanna go home.” Harry pulled his legs up, forcing Mrs. Weasley to let go of his hand, or bend over. Harry sat on the ground, not himself in the least, kicking and screaming. Mrs. Weasley lifted him so his legs were on either side of her hip, which was no easy task, given everything else she carried.

Mrs. Weasley had been serious when she told Harry she would not put up with childish behavior. She aparated on the spot and into his room at Grimmauld Place. Harry was still fussy, but Mrs. Weasley’s attention quickly shifted to what was happening in the room.

Molly dropped everything she was carrying, except Harry, though she came close. Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron’s bed, lips locked and arms wrapped around each other. They pulled apart, realizing what the popping sound had been when several thuds sounded from the floor. Mrs. Weasley sat Harry on his bed without a word, Ron and Hermione had moved apart and were watching her, unsure what she would say to them. She pulled Harry’s shoes off and laid him under the blankets to take a much-needed nap. He closed his red, bloodshot eyes and curled up instantly.

Mrs. Weasley turned back to her son and Hermione. Her look told them all they needed to know; she was not approving of their actions. She grabbed Ron by his ear and pulled him from the bed. He had to walk bent over as she pulled him to the door. She wrenched it open and pulled him into the hallway. She looked back and saw Hermione still on the bed, looking apprehensive. “Hermione!” The door was slammed shut once the three were out, but this only made Harry role over.

Fifteen minutes had passed before Ginny came into the room, giggling madly and wanting to talk to Harry about it. She had not known how her mother had found them, but heard her shouting at the pair. She saw Harry asleep and stopped laughing, completely surprised. She backed from the room and gently closed the door.


It was around two hours later when Mrs. Weasley returned to get Harry for dinner. She gently roused him and he slowly opened his sleepy eyes. He was still tired, his legs were numbed and he was still very much in the mindset of a child. She lifted him from the bed, setting him on her hip again. Harry wrapped his arms around her, but did not lay his head on her shoulder this time. His legs gently swung on either side of her as she carried him downstairs, one arm holding him against her, the other brushing hair from his face. Harry was enjoying the whole experience.

It was not until he was halfway through eating dinner that Harry truly realized what had happened in Diagon Alley. He had acted exactly how he did not want to. He recalled how he had felt being carried to dinner that night and was disgusted with himself.

After dinner, Ginny and Hermione had the chore of cleaning up. Harry alloyed himself to be carried out of earshot before speaking. “Mrs. Weasley, I’m sorry for what I did.”

“Well, it might have been more my fault.” Mrs. Weasley put Harry down and let him walk beside her now. “I should have brought you home after you bought Ginny’s present. There was no reason to keep you with me, but I thought you might want some fresh air.”

“Thank you. I want to be sixteen, but it’s harder than I thought right now.”

“I thought it might be, but I can tell you are trying. There’s a big difference in you the last couple days. Anyway, I’m glad you’re back to yourself now. I will need your help tomorrow.”

“You will?”

“Yes. Nobody’s done any cleaning here since we arrived. So tomorrow we are all going to clean and dust and make sure there are no more infestations. Just like last summer, but it should not take as long.” They had just reached the landing with Harry’s bedroom.

“Oh.” Harry had no desire to do chores all day tomorrow, knowing it would really tire his small body and already stressed mind. But if he suddenly acted younger to get out of them, Mrs. Weasley would suspect something. He might even be punished.

“Harry, could you pick up your toys,” Mrs. Weasley asked, gesturing the ones he had left in the hall the other night. “Hermione stepped on one of those cars earlier and nearly fell down the stairs.”


That night, as Harry got himself ready for bed he had an idea of how to get out of chores the next day. It came to him as he was getting his pajamas and saw one of his birthday presents.

Harry extracted the skiving snack box from his bag and flipped it over. There, on the back, was a list of the contents. As it was the twins’ deluxe box it held five of the candies and their antidotes.

There were fever fudge, nosebleed nugget, fainting fancies, puking pasties and coughing creams, to name a few. Harry thought to himself a moment. A piece of fever fudge and a coughing cream would be enough. Mrs. Weasley would make him stay in bed all day, but after taking the antidotes he would have time to think.

Harry set his watch alarm ten minutes earlier than Mrs. Weasley had been waking him. That would give the candies time to take a full affect.

Harry went to bed, looking forward to a worry-free day, where he could think of a way out of his problem. He would be back to normal by Ginny’s birthday.

Harry’s watch beeped, rousing him from his dreamless sleep. He quickly stopped the alarm, lest it wake Ron too. The morning was unusually cold for August outside his soft blankets. He crawled down his bed and grasped the snack box.

Once back at his pillow and under the warm blankets, Harry opened the box. There, neatly organized were rows of what looked like regular candy. The box seemed crammed full of the various assortment of treats.

Harry grabbed a fever fudge, but realized something. Mrs. Weasley knew the twins had given this to him. She would surely suspect and check the box for any missing candies. He quickly closed the box and sat it on his nightstand.

Slightly frustrated, Harry lifted his pillow and put his head under it. His head was soon warm and he got an idea. He lifted the pillow and saw the lamp on his nightstand. He buried his head again, smiling brightly and threw the blankets over the pillow too. He became very hot and uncomfortable, but dared not move until Mrs. Weasley came.

When Harry heard the door open and then saw the feint glow of the lights coming on he was already very hot. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Mrs. Weasley pulled the blanket and pillow off his face, a bemused smirk on her face. “Harry, it’s time to get up.”

Harry moaned loudly, pretending to have just gotten up. “I don’t feel good,” Harry groaned, making himself sound tired.

Mrs. Weasley was skeptical. True, his face was red and flushed, but he did have his head under the pillows. She saw the box on his nightstand. “Oh, really?” She grabbed the snack box and opened it, nothing was missing. “Let me get the thermometer.”

Mrs. Weasley returned quickly, a thermometer in hand. She placed it under Harry’s tongue and went to wake the girls. “I’ll be right back. Leave that in your mouth,” she said from the door.

Harry did not keep the thermometer under his tongue however. He pulled it out and placed it against the lamp on his nightstand. He had only heard about this from kids back at his muggle primary school and did not know exactly how it worked. Ron gave a heavy grunt in his sleep and Harry nearly dropped the thermometer. He figured he should not push his luck and returned the thermometer to his mouth, nearly burning his tongue.

Mrs. Weasley returned and removed the thermometer from Harry’s mouth. It read just over 41 degrees Celsius (106 degrees Fahrenheit). Mrs. Weasley looked over the thermometer in her hand at the faking little boy, very disappointed. “Yep, you’re hot. You’ll have to stay in bed today.”

Harry hid his relief but as Mrs. Weasley adjusted his blankets he shivered, having been exposed to cold air. “Oh, are you cold Harry? Poor baby, I can fix that.” She went to his clothes and retrieved the footed-sleeper. Harry had expected this and did not mind as it was such a cold morning. Mrs. Weasley quickly changed him into it and tucked him back under the covers. “I’ll come get you once breakfast is ready. You should rest as much as possible.”

Mrs. Weasley woke Ron and left the room. After Ron dressed he noticed Harry still in bed. “Aren’t you coming to breakfast?”

“Your mum wants me to stay in bed, ‘cause I’m sick.”

“Oh. You don’t look very sick to me.” Ron left the room before Harry could respond. Harry heard Ginny and Hermione walk past the room too. He just laid in bed, waiting for Mrs. Weasley to get him for breakfast.


It was not Mrs. Weasley, but Ginny who came to get Harry though. She pulled Harry from the blankets and laid him in the middle of a fleece blanket, she had spread on his bed. “What are you doing?” Ginny was carefully and tightly wrapping Harry in the blanket.

“Mum says your sick and need to be kept warm. You don’t seem very sick though.”

“I have a fever!”

“Really?” Ginny put the back of her hand to Harry’s forehead. “Doesn’t feel like it.” She picked Harry up and carried him from the room. The blanket was so tight that Harry could hardly move in it. It was very comfortable, so he did not mind too much.

Bending his legs to sit seemed to be the extent of movements the blanket would allow. Harry tried to pull his hands free from the folds as Ginny took her seat but could not. Mrs. Weasley sat a plate of food in front of him, like the others, but Harry had no clue how he was supposed to eat. “Could you loosen my blanket Mrs. Weasley, so I can eat?”

“Don’t worry about that dear. It’s best that you stay as warm as possible and try not to move, so I’ll feed you.” She tied a bib around Harry and sat next to him.

“You don’t have to. I can still do it.” Mrs. Weasley just shushed him as she brought a bite of scrambled eggs to his mouth. Harry was fed and a sippy-cup of juice raised to his mouth to drink. He was finished just before the others.

Mrs. Weasley removed the still clean bib and began to eat her breakfast. “Could one of you take Harry back to bed for me? I’ll clean up down here and then we can get going.” Hermione lifted Harry from his chair and followed the others upstairs.

Hermione was silent, but Ron and Ginny were griping about having to do chores all day. When they got back to Harry’s and Ron’s room, Ron turned to Harry. “You’re faking, aren’t you? What’d you do to convince mum?”

“I think he took a fever fudge,” Ginny offered as Hermione unwrapped Harry from the fleece blanket. “He didn’t have a fever when I got him before breakfast, but he says he does.”

Harry was tired of them talking like he was not there. “I do so have a fever. Your mum checked with a thermometer.”

“Really,” Hermione asked, now entering the conversation. She had just put Harry under the covers and reached for the Skiving Snackbox. “Maybe he is sick.” Hermione showed the others the full contents of the box. Ginny, Hermione and Ron sat on Ron’s bed and continued complaining about chores. Harry wished they would leave him alone to think.

“You all look pretty glum,” Mrs. Weasley commented when she entered the room ten minutes later. “Considering your father,” she pointed to Ron and Ginny, “got us all tickets to a Quidditch match. England vs. Scotland.”

“What?” Ron was the first to speak. “You said we were cleaning today.”

“I had to say something to keep it a surprise why your father really was her yesterday.”

“What about Harry?” Ginny asked just before Harry could himself.

“Don’t worry. I managed to find a babysitter.”

“WHAT?”

“We can’t take you dear. You’re far too sick. Your fever would be really bad when we got back.”

Harry’s mind was racing. What had he done to himself? It would be horrible to not be able to go to a Quidditch match with the others. “Actually, I’m feeling much better, really. Maybe I just needed some breakfast.”

“I don’t know. Your fever was really high. It’s best that you stay here. Go get your cloaks girls.”

“Could you check again? Please?” Ron was smirking as he got his own cloak.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” Ron mouthed “faker” from where he was putting on his cloak.

Mrs. Weasley returned with the thermometer, again, just as Ginny and Hermione returned, dressed in their cloaks. She put it under Harry’s tongue and sat next to him. After a minute, she pulled it out and examined it. It read normal, 37 degrees Celsius (I’m making you guys convert this one.).

“No. I’m afraid you’re still hot Harry. I wouldn’t feel right taking you.”

“That can’t be right. I feel fine. Maybe it’s broken.” He was on the verge of telling the truth but knew he would be in a lot of trouble. He was wondering how he could have a fever now.

“Well, I do have another thermometer.” She got up and left the room.

Mrs. Weasley returned, another thermometer in hand. She swiftly unzipped his sleeper, pulled it off his upper body and rolled Harry to his stomach. “What are you doing,” Harry asked, turning his head to see her.

“This is a baby thermometer,” she replied, pulling down the back of the Pull-Ups that he was still wearing from the previous night..

“No!” Harry quickly flipped himself over and pulled his pajamas back up. The others were giggling with their hands over their mouths. “I don’t want you to use that. Shut up!”

“It’s the only other thermometer I have.”

“I don’t care.”

“You know I can’t take you if I think you have a fever? If you don’t let me check, you’ll have to stay here.”

Harry did not want that, but he was not going to let Mrs. Weasley use a baby thermometer on him. The one time he had dared to tell the Durslys that he was sick, in second grade, Aunt Petunia had used one, even though she had always used an oral one with Dudley. He was not going to experience it again. “Fine!”

“Alright. I’m sorry you’re sick. I can tell you really want to go. But …” She zipped Harry’s sleeper and kissed his forehead before tightly tucking him in. She ushered the others out of the room and Harry heard her talking to somebody in the hallway.

“Goodbye Harry. Be good,” Mrs. Weasley called from the door. She disappeared and Tonks entered the room. She was dressed in blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Her hair was long, wavy and brown today.

(I had an idea when reading the reviews. So I have a question I would like answered if you review. All you have to do is write the letter that indicates your choice. How do you think this story will end?
A). Harry learns his lesson and returns to Hogwarts this year.
B). Harry learns the lesson, but too late for this year. He returns the following year, in the same year as Ginny.
C). Harry does not learn the lesson and must grow up all over again and become a first year when eleven.
If you have any thoughts on your preference you may also include those. Thank you.)

Harry remained in bed, fuming and pouting. He had a perfectly good set of Omnioculars in his trunk that he could have used at the Quidditch match. Harry was so mad at what he had gotten himself into that he did not realize Tonks had sat on the bed next to him.

“What do you want to do Harry?” Harry looked at Tonks, disbelief in his eyes. Surely she had been told he was “sick.” Tonks waited for Harry to answer her, but decided to prompt him when he did not. “You don’t want to just sit in bed all day, do you? Look, I brought some coloring books and storybooks, if you want.” Harry starred at her, words failing him completely, wondering if she had babysat before.

“Or, do you know what’s really fun?” Tonks was more excited than Harry though she clearly wanted him to have fun too. Harry shrugged half-heartedly. “We could build a tent to play in! Watch!” Harry now knew Tonks had babysat before. She pulled out her wand and quickly conjured some plain, wooden chairs, positioning them close to each other but with a space where she and Harry could fit between. She then waved her wand at Ron’s bed and all the blankets flew across the room and draped themselves over the chairs.

“Come on now. Doesn’t that look fun?” Tonks was smiling brightly at Harry.

“I just want to be alone right now. I want to think about some things.”

“Ok. But if you need anything, let me know.” Tonks was still smiling but clearly no longer as enthusiastic. She left the room, leaving the blankets and chairs as they were. Harry began to organize his thoughts and focus on what he needed to learn, whatever it was. The trouble was his anger kept distracting him and the constant struggle against childish desires was exhausting. The toys at the foot of his bed kept looking more and more enticing.


Harry did not recall falling asleep, nor did he remember anything from that morning. The only thing he knew when he woke up was that he was afraid. He had awoke from a nightmare. A horrible shadow, there was no other way to describe it, had been chasing him. He never saw it, but only knew to run and not stop. When he could no longer run, he awoke, still afraid.

He did not scream or shout like with the prior dreams. He laid quite still in the now unfamiliar surroundings that were his and Ron’s room, whimpering and sobbing. He was not aware of anyone in the room.

Tonks was in fact there, reading the Daily Prophet. She had conjured another chair, one much more comfortable than those earlier. She lowered her newspaper when she heard Harry was finally awake again.

She walked slowly over to his bed in order to not startle him. “What’s wrong Harry?”

Harry quickly stood up on his bed and wrapped himself around her before he spoke, still crying. “I wan’ mommy,” he said, practically speaking in baby-talk.

“What did you say?” Tonks’ voice was full of confusion.

“Where’s Mrs. Weasley?” His voice sounded older now, but somehow restrained.

“That’s not what you said.”

“Ye-huh, I wan’ mommy.” Again, he spoke childishly.

“She won’t be home until tonight,” Tonks said, assuming he was still referring to Mrs. Weasley.

“No! I want mommy now!” Tonks squinted her eyes against his screams.

“If you’re not a good boy Harry, I won’t give you the surprise I have,” Tonks yelled, competing against the boy in her arms.

Harry’s reaction was immediate. “What surprise?”

“You have to wait until after lunch. Are you hungry?”


“Yeah!”

“What do you want to eat?”

Harry thought for a few seconds then yelled, “soup!”

“Alright, let’s go downstairs.” Tonks bent over to put Harry down, but he did not let go. She straightened up and went to leave, but stopped at the doorway. “Do you have to go potty first?”

“Uh … uh-huh.” Harry let go and fell to the floor, landing on his feet and dashed to the bathroom. When he returned, his pajamas were only partially zipped. He reached Tonks and held his arms outward, slightly above his head. Tonks reluctantly lifted him back into her arms and went to the kitchen. She put him down at the table and readjusted his pajamas before cooking lunch.

When Harry finished his soup, not without spilling some on the table, the kitchen was rich with the aromas of baking. “Go on upstairs Harry and I’ll bring your surprise up to you.” Harry scrambled up the steps at great speed. He was so excited that he slipped and fell twice, but he did not care.

Tonks found him a few minutes later, laying on the floor, playing with some action figures. He was staging a fight among them, plastic swords bouncing together. She was carrying a plate of fresh-baked, chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk for Harry. She set all of this on the bedside table and called Harry over. He still held two action figures, but dropped them upon seeing the cookies. He greedily snatched one from the plate and bit into it. He climbed onto his bed and continued to eat, crumbs collecting on the blanket.

Meanwhile, Tonks was rearranging the toys and some of the items she had brought. Harry began to stare at the storybook when she set it aside on the bed. “Do you want to read it,” Tonks asked, when she noticed him.

“Can you read it to me,” Harry asked hopefully.

“Of course I can,” Tonks replied cheerfully. She was no longer surprised by his behavior and had decided to just treat him like any child.

Harry hurriedly crawled up the bed and under his blanket. An urgent voice, deep within his mind, was telling him to act older. But this voice was only a whisper, drowned out by his active imagination.

Tonks sat next to Harry, as he snatched the second cookie from the plate. He had not touched the milk yet, but there were no other cookies. Tonks stayed above the blankets, but Harry leaned against her right side, ready to listen and look at the pictures. Tonks wrapped her right arm around Harry, both to support his head up and hold the book closer to him. Harry snuggled closer to her as Tonks began to read the children’s stories. The animated pictures were, of course, fascinating.


Harry so thoroughly enjoyed the first story that he pleaded for another. Even though he was becoming progressively drowsy, he continued to ask for more. By the fourth story, Tonks had decided to read the longest in the book, hoping it would finally satisfy him.


Harry was managing to stay awake, though he squirmed for a few minutes around the middle of the story. Tonks put it off as he needed to stretch as her own legs were becoming stiff. That is until she noticed a mild, somewhat familiar odor. It took her another few minutes to finally recall where she knew the scent from. When she did, Tonks suddenly realized why Harry had been squirming.

“Harry, do you have to go potty,” Tonks asked, laying the book aside.

“No.”

“Are you sure? It’s been a while since you last did.”

“I don’t have to,” Harry replied, becoming irritable.

“Did you already go in your pants?”

“N-no.” The quaver in his voice betrayed him. Tonks stood up and pulled Harry from the blankets. She laid him across the end of the bed and removed his pajamas. Harry’s Pull-Ups was noticeably soaked. Tonks sighed heavily and began to clean him.

“It’s a good thing you were still wearing this from last night.“ Once he was in dry underwear and back in his pajamas, Tonks sat Harry up and crouched next to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had to go?” Harry remained silent, just looking at her. “Did you know you had to go potty?” He nodded slowly. “So you did it on purpose?”

“No! I wanted to hear the story. I thought it was almost done.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to stop, so you could go?” Harry shrugged his shoulders. Tonks stood up, no longer in a good mood. “I should put you in a diaper.”

“No,” Harry whined, pleadingly.

“Why not? You just wet your pants on purpose.” She conjured a small, wooden chair in a corner. “Go sit in that chair until dinner.” Harry trudged to the corner and sat down. “I’m telling Mrs. Weasley what you did. We’ll let her decide what to do with you.” Tonks left the room and Harry was already bored.


Harry sat in the chair until Tonks carried him to dinner. When she brought him back upstairs, she let him play on his bed while cleaning the room. She returned the blankets to Ron’s bed and removed the conjured chairs. Then she began to pick up Harry’s toys that had been scattered across the floor.

The Weasleys and Hermione were still not back by nine that night. Tonks had left Harry to continue playing on his bed but returned now. “Harry, go get your bath.”

Harry made no indication he had heard her, so Tonks moved closer to the bed. “Harry! It’s bath time.”

“I don’t wanna. Can’t I play a little longer?”

“No, you know it’s almost your bedtime. Now, go take a bath.”

“No.” Before Harry could turn back to his toys, Tonks grabbed him and carried him into the bathroom. “I don’t want a bath.”

Tonks filled the bathtub for Harry and left him to bathe. “Make sure you clean everywhere, or I’ll send you back to do it again.” Harry sat the toys he was still holding on the floor and began to remove his clothes. He picked up the toys and climbed into the bath. The water was warm and quite comfortable and he played with his toys, sometimes submerging himself, sloping water onto the floor.

“Have you just been playing this whole time?” Tonks came back after fifteen minutes. “I thought you were a big boy Harry. I guess I was wrong.” Tonks banished the water on the floor, knelt next to the bathtub and grabbed the shampoo. “Alright, hold still so I can bathe you.”

Within fifteen minutes, Harry was dressed for bed and being tucked in, complaining loudly. “I’m not tired,” he whined, crankily. “Can’t I stay up longer?”

“No. I was told you were to be in bed by nine thirty and it’s after nine thirty.” Harry started to pout as Tonks turned off the lights and left.


The others were not back until nearly midnight. They found Tonks waiting for them in the kitchen when they came out of the fireplace. They were all excited about the long match they had just returned from.

“Alright you three,” Mrs. Weasley said to Ron, Hermione and Ginny, “get to bed. And Ron, don’t you dare wake Harry. How was everything Tonks? Harry didn’t give you too much trouble, did he?”

“Not too much. You should know that he was completely like a child today. I think Professor Dumbledore used too strong a spell.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Well, he just wanted to do some things like little boys do. He wanted me to carry him and read to him. He seemed to be really having fun with those children’s toys and refused to bathe himself.”

“Really? Oh, the poor dear. He was fine this morning.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. But he took a nap after you left and woke up acting little. Oh, he wet his pants on purpose this afternoon too.”

“He did what?” Tonks went into the details of what happened. “Oh, I guess it was good he hadn’t changed yet. Well, thank you very much for watching him. Sorry for the trouble he gave you.”

“It wasn’t too much. I only thought you should know.” Tonks apparated with a small pop.

Mrs. Weasley went upstairs and stopped to check on Harry. Ron had just gotten into bed himself. Harry was laying peacefully on his back. His head was turned to the side and he was smiling, though it was barely visible as he was sucking his thumb again. She gently brushed the long, unruly hair from his face, thinking she really should cut it tomorrow. Harry did not move and Mrs. Weasley went to bed herself.

(I really liked some of the ideas I got after the last chapter. If you have any ideas for the story or thoughts about this and previous chapters, please put them in your reviews. Ideas MAY be used in later chapters but are not garuanteed to be used if submitted. (Example: Was Tonks' punishment and threat fair and justified? Don't limit your responses to just this example.))

Mrs. Weasley awoke in the early morning, surprised to find a small, warm body curled-up beside her. She pulled back the blankets and found Harry sleeping soundly beside her. He had clearly been there for some time, but it was unclear exactly how long.

Mrs. Weasley gently moved him so his head was resting on a pillow. Harry stirred for only a moment but remained asleep. She then moved across the large bed to allow them both an appropriate space to sleep comfortably.

By the time Mrs. Weasley woke up for the day, Harry had pressed himself against her back again. She got out of bed and gently woke him. Harry slowly and sleepily blinked his eyelids but smiled. Mrs. Weasley returned the smile and sat next to him. “Did you get scared last night?”

Harry nodded. “I had a bad dream.” He sat up and moved closer to Mrs. Weasley. “I missed you yesterday.”

“You did? I heard you had fun though.” Harry’s smile widened and he nodded. Mrs. Weasley pulled him onto her lap. “I also heard you wet your pants.” Harry suddenly looked on the verge of tears. He was afraid of how he would be punished. “I don’t want you to do that again. If you have to go to the bathroom, you use the toilet. Now, let’s go get breakfast.”

During breakfast, a large gray owl swept down the chimney and deposited four envelopes in the center of the table. It was back up the chimney before everyone saw they bore the Hogwarts Crest. Ginny, Ron and Hermione took their letters, but Mrs. Weasley took Harry’s. He was in no state to read it himself, but she planned on purchasing his supplies, hoping for the best.

The letters contained the standard booklists, such as The Standard book of Spells (grade 6) by Miranda Goshawk and Advanced Transfiguration, as well as the usual reminders of the start of term and other important dates. This year, the letter contained a warning that NO student was to leave the castle after dark and all curfews, within school corridors, had been pulled back an hour. Any student violating these new curfews would receive at least a full week of detention.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from Harry’s booklist and saw Ginny holding a tiny, silver, Prefect’s badge. She could not help but smile and fuss, as her daughter blushed. Everyone headed upstairs to change and get ready to go buy their school supplies.

When they all returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley remembered she wanted to cut Harry’s hair. She had him stand on a chair and ran her wand through the tangles, as though it were a pair of scissors or an electric trimmer. With his hair back to a reasonable length, indeed his bangs could no longer cover his forehead, the group prepared to leave.

Harry was less than enthusiastic when he asked where they going and found out they would be shopping all day. In fact, he absolutely refused to travel by Floo Powder. “I don’t wanna go that way! It’s scary.”

With no way to actually force Harry to speak and thus travel by Floo Powder, Mrs. Weasley was forced to pick him up and apparate while holding him. The others had already gone through the Floo Network and were waiting for her and Harry just outside The Leaky Cauldron’s back door.

“Hermione, would you hold Harry’s hand,” Mrs. Weasley asked, putting him down before entering Diagon Alley. “Don’t let him run off.” Harry wrenched his hand free before Hermione had fully grasped it. Hermione managed to grab hold of him and began to lead him through the alley after the others. Hermione had to practically pull Harry along, as he struggled against her, turning many heads. Diagon Alley had its usual bustling crowd, but because letters had just been sent, no other Hogwarts Students were there.

Their first stop, after Gringotts, was to buy their books. The new books were large and heavy. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had assigned two large texts for sixth-year students, Advanced Defensive Theory and The Practical Guide to Dueling and Dark Creatures. Hermione was already finding it difficult to carry her purchases and hold onto Harry.

They spent the morning buying ink and parchment, replacement quills, restocking potion kits and purchasing other necessities. By ten they were so over-laden with shopping that they had to return to Grimmauld Place to drop off what they had. Harry and Mrs. Weasley remained in The Leaky Cauldron while the others took haphazard trips and left their purchases on the kitchen table.

Ginny had wanted a cat for her gift for becoming a Prefect. She was soon carrying a beautiful Gray Tiger kitten that was snoozing in her arms. Harry was crying as Hermione pulled him up the street. Both because he had wanted a cat too and because he had gotten a nasty scratch on his arm when he happened to pull one of the feline’s tail. The shopkeeper had a potion that cleaned and mended his cuts, but it had stung horribly. He was still sniffling when they reached the next store.

By the time they had reached their final stop, Harry had proclaimed his hunger several times. Mrs. Weasley had assured him this was their last stop and then they would eat lunch. So she was most annoyed when he started to tug at her sleeve. “I told you we would eat in a few minutes,” she repeated, crouching to his level.

“I have to pee,” Harry whispered urgently.

“Can you hold it for just a little longer?” None of the shops in Diagon Alley had restrooms available to the general public. The closest was in The Leaky Cauldron, all the way at the other end of the alley.

“No,” Harry replied even more urgently than before.

Both Hermione and Ginny were still being fitted for new robes, as they had outgrown their previous. “Ron, take Harry to go to the bathroom at The Leaky Cauldron, please. We’ll have lunch at that café when you get back,” she added pointing across the street. Ron took Harry’s hand and quickly left the shop.

The boys returned much sooner than Mrs. Weasley had expected. She and the girls had just gotten to a table at the café when she firstly heard, rather than saw them return. Harry was crying loudly, as Ron lead him back, which was drawing far more attention to himself than the huge wet spot across the front of his khaki shorts.

“What happened,” Mrs. Weasley asked, picking up Harry who was still crying, sniffling loudly every once in a while.

“We’d just made it to The Leaky Cauldron when he wet his pants,” Ron replied.

“Why’s he crying so loudly,” Mrs. Weasley asked, patting Harry’s back as he cried on her shoulder. “Were you teasing him?”

“No! I think he’s just upset.”

“Harry, shush, it’s alright. You don’t need to cry,” Mrs. Weasley soothed.

“I-I’m not in tr-trouble,“ Harry sniffled.

“Of course not, dear. It was just an accident.” Harry was still sniffling, clearly worked-up and tired. “I know, why don’t we go home and take a nap? Do you want to do that?” Harry nodded and laid his head on her shoulder, tears still flowing.

“Come on you three. I’ll make us something for lunch. Here, take all this back by Floo Powder. I’m going to take Harry to bed.” She apparated from the café, leaving Hermione, Ron and Ginny.

Mrs. Weasley appeared next to Harry’s bed and laid him at the end. She took off his sandals and removed his wet shorts and underwear. She wiped him dry and put him in dry underwear, not bothering with pants, since he was going to nap. Harry was still sniffling every now and then as Mrs. Weasley tucked him in and kissed his forehead. She left to make lunch for the others and herself.


Harry woke up later, feeling hungry. His eyes were itchy and irritated. He climbed out of bed, wearily rubbing his eyes and walked to the door. He met Hermione in the doorway. “Oh, you’re already awake. Mrs. Weasley wondered if you wanted some lunch before it gets any later.”

Harry raised his arms above himself and Hermione picked him up. “Let’s get you dressed first.” But Harry held tight when Hermione tried to put him down and put a pair of shorts on him. “Harry, you have to let go. Just for a second.”

“No,” Harry whined, and he tightened his arms and legs around her. Unable to remove the stubborn, little boy, Hermione grabbed the shorts and took them and Harry downstairs.

Harry let go of Hermione in the kitchen, but only when given the option to be held by Mrs. Weasley. Hermione, Ron and Ginny left the kitchen and Mrs. Weasley managed to get Harry dressed and sitting at the table. He ate quietly but played with his food as he did.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening were uneventful. Harry played in his room, occasionally convincing one of the others to play too for a while. He ate dinner with the others and was in bed by nine thirty, as usual, even though he protested that he was not tired, yawning loudly.


Mrs. Weasley awoke with a start later that night. She steadied her breathing when she realized it was only Harry, crawling under her blankets, that had woken her. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“Uh-huh.” Harry’s pajamas were damp with cold sweat and his hair was matted as though it had been wet too.

“Well, you’re alright now. Let’s get you back to bed.” Had he been her own child, Mrs. Weasley might have let Harry stay. Indeed, nearly all of her children had climbed into bed beside her and Mr. Weasley at some point in their childhood. But Harry was not her son, even if he was thinking of her as a mother, and his true chronological age made the whole idea seem awkward.

“No,” Harry pleaded as she picked him up. “It’s scary.”

“There is nothing in your room to be afraid of.” Still, Harry struggled futilely. “Harry, big boys sleep in their own beds. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Harry nodded, as they entered his room. Ron was snoring loudly. “Then you can sleep in your own bed,” Mrs. Weasley concluded, laying Harry on his pillow, having to softly, but firmly swat the outside of his thigh, for him to let go..

“No,” Harry yelled, surprisingly not waking Ron.

“Yes you can. You’re a big boy, remember?”

“I wanna be a little boy again.” Harry wrapped himself around Mrs. Weasley again, while she stood confused about his statement.

“No, Harry, you are not a baby. Now lay down and go to sleep.”

“I want to be little!”

Mrs. Weasley sat on the bed and sighed. “If you want to be a baby again, we have to change some things. You couldn’t play with your toys anymore; you’d have to play with baby toys.”

“Why?”

“Because your toys have little pieces that you could choke on or stick up your nose, if you were little. You’d have to eat baby food and drink from a bottle again too, because that‘s what little boys do.” Harry sat still, thinking about what all this meant. He could not remember his early childhood, what it was like to be a baby, but he did not want to sleep alone tonight. He felt a need to be cuddled and told there was nothing to be afraid of.

It was obvious to Mrs. Weasley that Harry was having second thought. Before she could say her final idea to convince him, Harry spoke. “I don’t want to be little. But I’m scared.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of. You just had a bad dream. But if you want, I’ll stay here until you fall back to sleep.” Harry agreed to this and was soon back under his blankets, with Mrs. Weasley sitting beside him. He fought to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids were heavy and with a source of comfort visible so close, Harry was soon asleep. Mrs. Weasley waited a few minutes longer. She wanted to be sure he would not awaken when she moved and left the room.

Ron woke up to the sounds of his best friend thrashing and moaning, in the bed next to his. Sunlight was falling on his face already, but his mother had not yet come to wake him and Harry. He got up and moved to Harry’s bed, unsure of what exactly to do.

Harry’s small body was twisted and tangled in a mess of sheets, half of his blankets were piled on the floor. Those still on Harry had actually knotted around his limbs. Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but this only made him struggle more, rather than comfort him. Ron tried to wake him by shaking his shoulder and calling his name. Harry did not wake but did settle in his sleep.

Ron began the difficult task of pulling Harry from the tangles and had finished by the time his mother entered the room. He quickly explained what had happened to her. “Alright, I’ll see to Harry. Get dressed and go down to breakfast.”

Mrs. Weasley gently roused Harry, who blinked happily up at her. She helped him dress for the day and upon his insistence, carried him down to the kitchen. Harry blissfully ate in silence while the others conversed on various subjects. Ginny’s new kitten was drinking milk from a saucer next to her, on the table.

After breakfast, Harry was wired with energy and already running circles around the table. With constant nagging, he persuaded the others to play Hide-and-Seek with him. They were in his and Ron’s room and after Harry announced he was not seeking, he ran off to hide.

“You know,” Ron began. “Harry’s a lot smaller than us. He can hide in places that we can’t get too.”

“It is a big house,” Ginny added.

“Right. So, why don’t all of us just look for him. It’ll take us forever to find him.” Hermione and Ginny agreed with Ron and after waiting five minutes, went to search the house.

Harry had run to the top floor and the master bedroom. He quickly spotted the closet and once inside, saw an old box full of clothing. The box was more than big enough to hide two of him, so after closing the closet door, Harry climbed into the box and wriggled to the bottom. He managed to cover himself completely in the various garments and stretched out across the bottom of the box. He bunched up one robe and put it under his head, like a pillow.

Harry had remained quite comfortable for the half hour before he heard somebody searching for him in the room. The adrenaline at the thought of being caught had kept him from being bored. He could hear the person rummaging through the room and felt really excited. He did get nervous when he heard the closet door open.

Ginny had already searched four rooms with no trace of Harry. She immediately noticed the large box of clothes when she opened the closet. Not wanting to have to stuff all the clothes back into the box, if she pulled them out, she merely reached inside and began to feel around.

Harry’s body became rigid as a hand reached the bottom of the box and began to grope, centimeters from his head. He dared not move as the person felt around in the box. The hand came close enough to touch his shorts, but as they were loose-fitting, it did not touch him. The hand withdrew and Harry heard the closet door close.

Ginny stomped from the room, hoping Hermione or Ron had had better luck. She had figured Harry to not be in the box, having expected him to jump, move or make some noise if she had come so close to finding him. That had always happened with her and her brothers. If anyone had come close to finding her, she would get jittery and either squeal or make a sudden movement. Furthermore, she figured to have felt enough of the box to have found Harry, were he there.

As the minutes ticked away, Harry became increasingly bored. The thrill of Ginny nearly finding him had worn off. Still, he managed to stay in his hiding spot for a very long time. Boredom was quickly becoming the least of his concerns though. Just as he figured he should sneak to a bathroom, he heard somebody else come in the room.

Again they looked through places in the room, finally coming to the closet. Again a hand delved into the box of close, coming so close to grasping Harry’s own hand. But again, the hand withdrew and its owner stomped from the room. Unknown to Harry, he had stayed hidden for over an hour and a half, and his friends were becoming frustrated. They were so bored that they decided to stop looking. They knew Harry would eventually become so bored, he would come looking for them. When he inevitably did, they would pretend they were looking for him in the room he found them in. Ron and Hermione took the chance to seclude themselves, leaving Ginny to read or play with her new cat.


Mrs. Weasley was furious with the three when she learned they had left Harry hidden. It was lunchtime, but she said none of them would eat until they found Harry. Reluctantly, they went through the rooms, calling for him.

Now extremely bored and desperately needing to relieve himself, Harry foolishly remained in the box. It had been so long since he heard somebody come in the room, but then he heard all three of his friends enter.

“Harry, are you in here,” Hermione called.

“It’s time for lunch, so come out,” Ron announced.

“Harry, mum wants you downstairs right now,” Ginny added.

Harry remained hidden. He was not going to fall for their tricks. They had to look for him, those were the rules. Even after they left, he foolishly decided to remain hidden, ignoring the need to go to the bathroom.

Harry was very surprised to hear somebody come back a few minutes later. “Harry,” Mrs. Weasley called. “If you are in here, you had better come out this instant!” Upset that his friends had cheated, Harry came out of the box and the closet.

Mrs. Weasley had her hands on her hips. “Go wash your hands and come down to lunch.” Harry walked out of the room, but as Mrs. Weasley began to follow him, he stopped in the hallway, when he felt the front of his pants getting warm and wet. “Oh Harry, not again.” Mrs. Weasley took his hand and led him back to his room, moving so quickly he had to jog in order to keep up.

Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry’s wet clothes off and grabbed one of the Pull-Ups. Harry did not mind as he had worn them during the day before and as far as he was concerned they were just underwear. He actually liked the designs on them better than those on his regular underwear.

“Where was he,” Ron asked as he, Ginny and Hermione entered the room.

“He was hiding in the closet in the master bedroom.”

“We looked there,” Ginny said. “What happened,” she added, looking at Harry for the first time.

“Harry had another accident. So he gets to wear these training pants, just in case. Alright, let’s go eat lunch.” The others quickly left the room, but Harry remained where he was. “What’s wrong Harry?”

“I need pants,” Harry replied simply.

“Oh, of course. What do you want to wear?” Harry hopped off the bed and started looking through his clothes, enjoying that he could pick. He grabbed a pair of pajama pants from a set of pajamas that Mrs. Granger had bought for him when he first went to stay with Hermione’s family.

He held them up to Mrs. Weasley. “These are pajamas Harry.” But he continued to hold them in front of her. She took them and held them for Harry to step into, then pulled his shirt off, and grabbed the matching pajama top. She slipped this over Harry’s head and guided his arms into the sleeves. The pajamas were designed to look like a sailor suit and had snaps where the shirt and pants met at his waist, which Mrs. Weasley snapped together and then carried Harry to lunch.

Harry was still eating when the others went upstairs. Technically, he was only picking at what was left of his food, having eaten his fill “If you’re done eating, you can go,” Mrs. Weasley finally said after a few minutes. Harry quickly got up and raced up the staircase.

His friends were all sitting in his room talking. Harry did not really pay attention to them until he had grabbed his favorite toys, then asked them to play. To be nice, Hermione and Ginny played with the toys, but continued to talk with Ron.

Ginny continued to play with Harry for the remainder of the evening, but Hermione and Ron decided they wanted a quieter place to keep talking. Harry had managed to get Ginny so involved in his intricate, imaginative, fantasy story that she did not notice the others leave. But, Harry had always needed a good imagination to keep from being bored at the Dursleys’. It was this imagination that often get him in trouble with his no-nonsense aunt and uncle.


Harry was hungry at dinner, but becoming noticeably cranky as he had not taken a nap that afternoon. He spent half the meal rubbing his itchy eyes and whining about them.

After dinner, Harry played on the floor of his room by himself. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were quietly playing cards on Ron’s bed. Harry was making an array of noises and talking to himself. His youthful innocence was amusing and refreshing to the other four. No matter how many times he “killed” one of his action figures, it always got back into the fight. It was very different from the brooding teenager he had been over the past year.

Despite his energy while playing, Harry fell asleep, sprawled on the floor. A single toy figure was loosely gripped in his fingers. Not wanting to possibly deal with a cranky tantrum, Mrs. Weasley simply moved him to bed and moved the card game to a different room. Harry slept quietly, but not peacefully through the night.

Harry was mildly surprised to find himself in bed when Mrs. Weasley woke him the following morning. He ate breakfast and would have gone to his room, but Ginny took his hand and led him to hers.

“What are you doing,” Harry asked curiously.

“Do you want to play Go Fish?” Ginny wanted to play something where they could talk. She had grown concerned about how Harry was acting and wanted to try to help him. Harry agreed and Ginny grabbed the deck of cards.

She began to ask him questions about school and Quidditch, trying to find an interest from his older self. What he did know about did not interest Harry. He did not answer many of the questions, but did say he thought Quidditch was boring, but liked flying. Ginny found this surprising, but then remembered how boring a match could be to a child who did not understand the rules. The child would only be interested in the flying.

Harry quickly became bored with the game and wanted to get his toys. Ginny still wanted to talk and convinced him to draw instead. Harry did not want to talk while drawing however and all Ginny could do was get him to draw what he wanted to be when older.

Harry drew himself holding some kind of sword, facing a group of monsters, including dragons, trolls and what he said were vampires.

“I thought you wanted to be an Auror,” Ginny said slyly, trying to reach the Harry she knew.

“What’s that,” Harry asked before turning back to his drawings, not even listening for a response. He drew for another hour and Ginny began to read, giving up for the time being. Like before, Harry became bored and Ginny did not even notice him leave.

Harry walked back to his room and opened the door. He was halfway across the floor before he noticed anyone was there. Ron and Hermione had been in the room, sitting on Ron’s bed, but Ron had jumped to his feet when he heard Harry enter. Harry paid no attention and started rummaging through the toys.

“Harry, get out!”

“Why,” Harry asked curiously. Ron had sounded really angry and Harry did not know why.

“Just get out! We want to be alone.”

“I want to play,” Harry said defiantly.

“Fine!” Ron grabbed the bag of toys and started to carry it from the room.

“Ron, don’t …”

“I want to play in here!” Harry’s whining had been getting to Ron over the past few days. A mix of emotions came over him and he said the first thing he thought of. Even later he would not understand why.

“Stop whining, you little, pants-wetting, crybaby and get out!” Hermione gasped and Ron immediately wished he had not said those words.

Harry’s first reaction was to start crying. He wanted to run and find Mrs. Weasley; to tell on Ron. But a powerful anger was building inside of him. It came from so deep inside that it did not seem to be his own. Harry grabbed the biggest toy in the bag and heaved it at Ron. Though he was only a few feet away, Ron managed to dodge Harry’s wild throw. The toy tumbled through the air and into, then through a window. The crash sounded throughout the entire house.

The three froze for a moment, but then Harry began to cry, knowing he would be in trouble for breaking the window. Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room and surveyed what had happened. “What happened in here?”

“Harry threw a toy at me, but it hit the window instead,” Ron replied quickly.

“H-he called me a b-baby and y-yelled at me,” Harry said sniffling.

“Hermione, take Harry somewhere and play. I need to talk to Ron first.” Hermione took Harry from the room, closing the door behind her. “Why do you keep teasing and provoking him?” Ron merely shrugged his shoulders. “You know he’s not himself and having a tough time!”

“Oh yeah, he’s having a really hard time.” Normally, Mrs. Weasley did not tolerate her children speaking to her sarcastically, but she let it pass this time because they had all been under stress lately. “The little brat gets whatever he wants! All he has to do is start crying and everyone does what he asks.”

Mrs. Weasley stared questionably at her son. “You’re jealous of him.”

“No,” Ron shouted defensively. “Why would I be jealous of a punishment that turns you into a child?”

“I can’t believe you are jealous of Harry. The poor boy’s been neglected and deprived his whole life. All I am trying to do is give him what he’s never had; the attention and love he craves and possibly needs to get through this. You’ve had that all your life.” Ron was looking glumly at the floor. “You can stay in here and think for a while. Honestly, right now, he really is just a child.”

Mrs. Weasley left Ron sitting on his bed and went to find Harry and Hermione. She climbed the staircase to the next floor and heard loud laughing and giggling coming from the girls’ bedroom. Through the open door, she saw Ginny and Hermione maliciously tickling Harry. They were all laughing, but none more than Harry, who was clearly enjoying the attention.

Harry saw Mrs. Weasley and squirmed free of Hermione and Ginny and rushed to her. She picked him up and walked over to sit beside the girls. Harry remained on Mrs. Weasley’s lap as Ginny continued to show Hermione, and now her mother, the drawings that Harry had made earlier. They were complimenting and praising him for each one.

He managed to fall asleep while being held and did not wake until dinner. Even then, he had to be woken by Ginny. Still groggy, he made her carry him downstairs, nearly falling asleep again.

Dinner was a noisy affair and even Ron was nicer to Harry. This might have had something to do with the threat his mother made when she told him dinner was ready. “If you’re not going to be nice, you can just stay in here and skip dinner tonight!”

The conversation shifted to the new school year after a while. The big question was who their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be. Ginny, still attempting to change Harry back, asked him who he thought it would be. Harry only gave a confused shrug and went back to eating.


After playing for a few more hours, Harry was called to take his bath, as usual. Full of energy, he tried to prolong the little time he had before being put to bed. Mrs. Weasley had to struggle the whole time getting Harry to the bathroom and while undressing him.. She made the mistake of letting him go when she turned to adjust the water and Harry took the chance. He ran from the bathroom, completely naked.

“Harry! Oh, get back here,” Mrs. Weasley called after him. She sighed, grabbed his bath towel and began a familiar chase. She planned to let him have some fun before catching him, knowing he would be more docile when she finally got him in the bathtub if he was tired.

Harry ran into the hallway, where his friends happened to be, giggling. Hermione jumped against the wall, slightly shocked and called after him, but she could not help laughing. Ron hurriedly looked away, turning red, slightly embarrassed for his friend. Ginny, though starting to laugh, made a grab for Harry as he streaked past, but missed, stumbled forward and fell flat on her face. Mrs. Weasley had to jump over Ginny as she chased Harry, who was already scrambling up the staircase.

Harry darted into a bedroom and was at the opposite wall before realizing he was trapped. Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room and closed the door. She moved across the room slowly, ready for Harry to try and get past her. She was halfway across the room before he sprang forward. She lunged, but missed, nearly falling as he skirted past. Harry reached the door and grabbed the handle, but Mrs. Weasley grabbed him before he could even turn the doorknob.

“Alright, you had your fun,” she said laughingly. “But now it’s time for your bath.” She quickly wrapped the towel around him and picked him up. She could not help but remember the last time one of her own children had tried to do the same thing. She was amazed that Harry had caught her by surprise so easily, when by the time Ron had tried, she was so practiced that he never made it out of the bathroom. Indeed the twins had given her a lot of practice at chasing children; ever since the day they learned to walk, but now, she had to admit, she was out of practice, it had just been too long.

His bath finally over, the floor and Mrs. Weasley splattered with soapy water, Harry was dressed and laid in bed. Harry remained in bed as Mrs. Weasley left to clean the bathroom and herself. But Harry could not close his eyes, though he did try to be good and go to sleep.

Over half an hour later he was still awake, unable to sleep for an unknown reason. He got out of bed and left the dark room. Not knowing where anyone was, he decided to go to Mrs. Weasley’s room. She was there and reading a book, but looked up when Harry entered. “What’s the matter Harry?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Mrs. Weasley got up from her chair. “You’re not tired?” Harry nodded. “Well, Tonks said you like being read to. Do you want a bedtime story?” Harry nodded again. “Alright, go back to bed and I’ll be in shortly.”

Harry was back in bed when Mrs. Weasley came into his room. She was holding a storybook she had found on a bookshelf and carrying a glass of milk. “Here Harry, drink this and I’ll read to you.” She sat next to Harry as he greedily drank the warm milk, dribbling some down his chin, which unknown to him, had a drop or two of a mild sleeping potion.

Mrs. Weasley sat the empty glass aside and began to read. Harry snuggled close to her, listening to her soothing voice. It was not long before he rolled to his side, his eyes closed. Mrs. Weasley read a few minutes longer and quietly left the room. Harry’s dreams were peaceful for the first night in months.

“Harry dear, wake up.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes to Mrs. Weasley’s gentle voice. Still drowsy, he managed a smile, but wishing he could continue his happy dreams. He sleepily looked around the room as Mrs. Weasley got his clothes. Ron had already left for breakfast.

“Harry, do you remember what you did with Ginny’s present? I’ll wrap it for you if you give it to me.”

“Why’s Ginny get a present?”

“Because today is her birthday,” Mrs. Weasley answered after a deep sigh. She sat the clothes she had selected aside and began to look through Harry’s bags, wondering where he might have hidden it and why she had not held on to the locket for him.

There was no sign of Ginny’s present in Harry’s bags, so she started to look elsewhere in the room. There was nothing under the bed but a few misplaced toy cars. Harry had not hidden it under his pillow when he was acting older. Finally, she opened the draw on the nightstand and found the jewelry box that held Harry’s present to Ginny. “See Harry. This is what you got Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley said, showing the ornate locket to him.

“That’s pretty,” Harry commented in awe, sparkles reflected in his beautiful eyes.

“It is very pretty,” Mrs. Weasley affirmed. “Are you going to give it to Ginny today?” Harry turned slightly red, shook his head and started giggling. “Why not?”

“’Cause,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and turning a brighter red.

“You bought it for her. Don’t you think you should give it to her?” Harry shook his head again, still giggling. “Alright, you be silly, but she’ll know it’s from you anyway.” She put the box in her pocket to wrap later and started to help Harry dress. He hugged her tightly the whole time she carried him down to breakfast.

Between breakfast and noon, Harry unknowingly had the job of distracting Ginny, as she had on his birthday. Mrs. Weasley had initiated it by telling Ginny to go play with Harry and keep him out of trouble.

Despite not knowing what he was supposed to do, Harry did a wonderful job. He was so needy, clingy and whiney this morning that Ginny was not able to get more than five feet from him. Every time she told him she had to leave for a few minutes, Harry would whine loudly in protest, begging her to keep playing. If she stood up, he would wrap himself around her leg. Of course, by noon, Ginny was very tired and frustrated with the child. She understood why Ron thought him a brat, but would never say that to Harry.

When they were called down to the kitchen, Ginny almost immediately shoved Harry into her mother’s arms, as Harry had been making her hold him for the past half hour. Ginny’s appearance told everyone she was annoyed, but as her birthday party started, she relaxed and cooled off.

Many of the same people who attended Harry’s birthday celebration were at Ginny’s. She did receive more presents though, as relatives had sent her gifts by owl. Some had wanted to see Ginny on her birthday, but Mrs. Weasley had said there would be no party. As Grimmauld Place was a secure location, those outside the Order did not know about the party.

Harry hardly spoke to anyone, even Lupin. He was busy stuffing down all the food he thought was good, while leaving what was “yucky” for everyone else. Twice, Mrs. Weasley had to chase him away from the birthday cake. When cake and ice cream were finally served, Harry immediately ate the frosting from his cake first, then ate the rest.

Mrs. Weasley realized, too late, it had been a mistake to give Harry ice cream, especially without a bib. Not only was his face sticky and a mess, but in his excitement, his shirt had become a smear of chocolate. His hands were of course sticky as well, but he had somehow gotten frosting in his hair. He was in fact such a mess that Mrs. Weasley deemed he needed a bath. She told Ginny that she could continue the party if she wanted to, while carrying a crying and struggling Harry up the staircase.

Harry was struggling against Mrs. Weasley so much that in her frustration she threatened to spank him. He stopped struggling, but continued to cry about having to leave the party. The warm, soothing water of the bath calmed him however. The scent of the shampoo was also relaxing, as it always had been. This along with the fact that he usually took a nap about this time of day, made Harry somewhat sleepy and calm.

Intending to put him down for a nap, Mrs. Weasley dressed Harry in pajamas. He sleepily pleaded to go back to the party, saying he would be good. Harry clearly needed some sleep and without a nap would only become cranky. Reluctantly, she carried the pajama-clad boy back to the kitchen.

Ginny had waited for her mother to return before opening her presents. Harry settled on Mrs. Weasley’s lap as Ginny began to open her gifts. He was only mildly interested and kept his head resting on her shoulder.

Finally, Ginny opened the last gift on the table and thanked the sender, Hermione. Mrs. Weasley stood Harry on the floor and retrieved a small package in blue wrapping paper from her pocket. “Give your present to Ginny, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley instructed, handing the package to him.

Harry’s face turned slightly red and he tried to move behind Mrs. Weasley’s chair. The others in the room remained quiet as she took Harry’s hand and faced him back to Ginny. With gentle coaxing and a firm nudge to his back, Harry sheepishly stepped forward and held out the gift to Ginny.

Ginny unwrapped and opened the box. As light brilliantly reflected off the silver, peridot-encrusted locket, Ginny gasped. “Harry. Why don’t you show her what it does?”

Harry turned back to Mrs. Weasley. “What’s it do?” Mrs. Weasley stood up as Ginny pulled the locket from the box, examining its thread-like silver chain, which was magically treated to never break or knot. Mrs. Weasley put Harry’s hand around the locket and instructed Ginny to wrap her hand around his. Even through their hands the locket glowed visibly and the pair felt the warmth radiate through their hands.

When the heat and light subsided, the pair released the locket, which clicked opened automatically. Ginny gasped again as she looked into the locket, suspended by the chain she still held. Harry looked at the images within too. The girl he recognized as Ginny, but the boy was not him. At least, he did not recognize it as himself. The boy was much older, a teenager, though the similarities were remarkable.

Harry suddenly felt dizzy and tired. “Are you alright Harry,” Ginny asked, noticing his eyes had crossed and he was wobbling, almost looking intoxicated. Harry fell onto the cold, stone floor, not feeling himself hit the hard floor, or hearing Ginny shriek. Harry did not know she and Mrs. Weasley had lunged quickly to catch him, but had not succeeded. Harry did not know how hard his head hit the ground. He did not know all this because he had blacked out before falling over.

Nearly a day later, Harry awoke, still dizzy and very disoriented. It took him a full five minutes to realize he was lying in his bed. His head was throbbing and he could not remember why. He reached over to the nightstand and after some fumbling, found his glasses.

Still dizzy, he began to look around the room. Though brightly lit, the room was empty except for him. An array of potions and bottles stood on the nightstand. He could tell he was still wearing his pajamas, but something did not feel right. He remembered the party but not how he had gotten to bed.

Suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea, Harry struggled out of bed, his legs and arms inexplicably stiff. He quickly wondered for how long he had been in bed. Standing of course did not help his dizziness, but the nausea was quickly subsiding for some unknown reason.

Exasperated, he toddled back to bed. Before he could remove his glasses, even before he could pull the blankets around himself, Harry was completely overcome by his disorientation. His head fell forward and his eyes snapped shut. Surprisingly, as he passed unconscious, Harry’s glasses did not break.

Not even ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley entered the room. She was startled to not only find Harry on his stomach, above the blankets but also wearing his glasses. She lovingly rolled the unconscious boy to his back, gently removed his glasses and pulled the soft blankets back to his chin. Harry did not respond to this, but only slept.

Having hoped for the best; that Harry would wake up again, Mrs. Weasley sighed. True he was unconscious, but he still had certain needs. She cast a simple spell on Harry that would ensure the food he was about to receive would travel to his stomach and not get stuck in his lungs. Being unable to swallow was no longer a problem either. Mrs. Weasley put a carefully mixed bottle-full of potions and nutrients to Harry’s mouth. The contents slid down the back of his throat, but the spell did it’s job and Harry did not choke.

Afterwards, Mrs. Weasley set the bottle aside and pulled back the blankets. She made sure Harry did not need changed, as certain biological affects still occurred even in a comatose condition, as they had the last time. The blankets replaced, she quietly left the room, brushing a single tear from her cheek. Little did she know, this routine would continue for a while. Fortunately, her children and Hermione were willing to help care for their friend, though Ginny found it difficult for a multitude of reasons. She often sat at Harry’s bedside, quietly crying.


It would be four days since the party, on August fifteenth, when Harry would finally wake up. Once again it took him a few minutes to realize where he was. Unlike the last time, he was not alone. He quietly placed his glasses on his face and Ginny came into clearer focus. She was sitting on the bed’s edge, sniffling softly, her cheeks glistening, holding a tiny silver locket, which was open.

“Ginny? Are you alright,” Harry asked seriously. He was very concerned for her, as she seemed the saddest he could remember seeing her.

“Oh, I’m alright Harry … Harry!” He jumped as Ginny spun around, obvious relief visible in her face. “You’re alright, and you’re you. Aren’t you? I mean, you’re thinking like your older self again?”

Harshly embarrassing memories of the days Ginny referred to were clear in Harry’s mind. It had been painful to watch himself do those things, no less than through his own eyes. He had been entirely unable to stop himself, no matter how loud he shouted at himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I’m me still,” Harry replied sheepishly.

Ginny threw herself around Harry, nearly smashing him against the mattress. He returned the hug with his own, small, skinny arms. “You wait here! I have to go tell mum!” Ginny raced from the room, leaving Harry to agonizingly recall his childish actions. He simply could not understand why he had lapsed into a child-like state. Particularly embarrassing was his jaunt through the house in his birthday suit, something he knew the others would not let him forget easily.

Fortunately, Harry did not have long to dwell on his childish behaviors. Mrs. Weasley moved swiftly into the room, closely followed by his friends. “Oh, Harry. Thank goodness you’re alright.” Mrs. Weasley began to fuss over him, making sure he was comfortable, taking his temperature and asking if he was hungry.

“I’m alright.” And he was. His head did not hurt anymore and he really did feel fine, considering he had been out cold for so long. “Really, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? How about I get you some more potions and maybe some soup?” Tired of sitting already, Harry pulled back the blankets to get up. “No, no Harry. You should stay in bed a while longer, just to be safe.”

Her childish placating and fussing over him was beginning to annoy Harry. He was not that little kid anymore. “I’m fine!” He had not meant to shout so disrespectfully, but he wished they would stop staring at him now.

“I’m glad to see you’re back to that moody teenage boy again,” Mrs. Weasley said calmly, mustering a small smile. “But you’ve been unconscious for four days. So until I’m sure you are better, you will stay here!” She got up and ushered the others from the room. “I’m going to bring you some food, to help you get your strength back. Please stay in bed.”

Harry sighed deeply. “Four days,” he muttered out loud. Then it hit him like a slap on his face. Today was he fifteenth, which meant there were only two weeks before term started. He half-whined, half-groaned, falling back onto his pillows. There was no way he could learn what he had to in such a short time. He had already spent the past month trying, with no luck. And now, it felt like he had put off an essay until the night before it was due.

He was still mumbling to himself when Mrs. Weasley returned, carrying a tray loaded with food. Harry reluctantly sat up and let her sat the tray over his legs. It was loaded with chicken soup, sandwiches and two glasses of milk. He was surprised to find that just seeing the food suddenly made him hungry.

Mrs. Weasley grabbed a tablespoon and one of the potions from the nightstand. She filled the spoon to the brink of overflow and turned it toward Harry’s mouth. “This will help Harry. Open wide.” The potion had no odor and was a translucent blue. Harry opened his mouth, which could barely accommodate such a large spoon. He closed his lips around the base of the handle and Mrs. Weasley tilted the spoon upward.

The contents hit Harry’s tongue, which instantly recoiled; not only did it taste horrible, but it actually burned. He tried to spit it from his mouth, but Mrs. Weasley was ready. Her hand was under his chin, tilting it upward, gently pushing his head backwards. “Swallow it.” He did as told, swallowing several times, until Mrs. Weasley was satisfied he had drank the whole spoonful. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it,” she asked, removing the spoon.

Coughing and sputtering, somewhat exaggeratedly, Harry reached for a glass of milk. After a big gulp, to cleanse his tongue of the taste, he looked up to Mrs. Weasley, his eyes watering from the repulsive medicine. “Why is it all medicine tastes so bad?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled and tousled his unwashed hair. “You should be glad I gave most of the potions to you when you were asleep. Now, eat this and get some rest.” She left Harry alone, who cringed at the thought of having drank a worse tasting potion.


Even though he had been unconscious for the past four days, Harry found himself exhausted that night. He had spent the evening berating himself for what he had done to himself. He was convinced he should have been back to normal within a week of his punishment.

When he did drift off to sleep, he would no longer have the peaceful dreams of childhood. He would wake up wishing he had remained a child, with peaceful dreams about animals and playing in an endless meadow. Even the nightmares were comical now. They were nothing to be feared, not like those that now plagued his restless night.

After being woken for the third time that night, with the same dreams about the Department of Mysteries that he had had all summer, Harry angrily threw his blankets and pillows to the floor. He would be found in the morning, curled up in the middle of his bed, shivering against the early-morning cold.

After getting up, dressing and walking to breakfast, Harry spent the morning away from his friends, trying to think. He did not allow anything to distract him until his three friends found him sitting in the master bedroom, lost in thought, around noon.

“What are you doing up here alone,” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Harry sighed. “Just trying to figure something out.” He looked at the three and noticed Ginny was wearing her new locket. They all sat beside him.

“Anything we can help with,” Hermione asked cheerfully.

“Not unless any of you have read about Dumbledore’s spell,” Harry responded dejectedly.

“No,” Ginny sighed simply. Ron was already looking hopefully at Hermione.

“No, I never heard of a spell like it. It’s obviously powerful, but must be really obscure.”

They all turned to her in shock. “You’re kidding,” Ron said. “You haven’t found anything in a month?”

“Well, it’s not like at school, Ron. I can’t just go to the library, I have to use the books I have. It’s probably in the restricted section anyway.”

The room was quiet for several minutes. “Um, Harry, I know this doesn’t help, but I wanted to thank you for the locket. It’s really beautiful.” Ginny’s face went scarlet after she said this.

“You’re welcome Ginny,” Harry sighed mournfully. “At least you can remember me with it when you go back to the castle.” Harry looked away from his own feet, which he had been determinedly starring at, and into Ginny’s eyes. It was then he realized, looking at her sad face, what he had felt when he saw his own image in the locket’s left half. “Listen Ginny, I’m sorry”

“You don’t need to apologize Harry. I should have waited to thank you.”

“No, not that. I wanted to apologize to you, and Ron, and Hermione too. I’m sorry about what happened to you guys. I’m really sorry that I just had to go to London, and I dragged you all with me.”

“No, that’s not true,” Ginny said, almost pleadingly.

“Harry, I already told you that I don’t blame you,” Hermione assured.

“Yeah mate, you wanted to go alone. You told us to stay behind, but we wouldn’t let you go alone.”

“It would’ve been too dangerous,” Ginny added. “You couldn’t help that it was a trap.”

“I should have known it was,” Harry moaned sulkily.

“No Harry,” Hermione said sharply. “We don’t blame you and we won’t let you blame yourself either.”

But Harry knew better. He had been stupid and rushed off without thinking. He could never forgive himself for what happened to them, or that Sirius had died to save him. He would never again allow his friends to be hurt by Voldemort, because he did something stupid. He truly wished, he had remembered Sirius’ mirror. But he realized, sitting around and pouting would not help him, so he agreed to spend the afternoon with the others. Sitting alone thinking was not helping anyway.


That evening Harry and Ron were playing wizard’s chess on Harry’s bed. The girls were off in their room. As he yawned loudly, Harry looked at his watch, surprised to find it was already after nine.

Ron was already on the verge of beating him, yet again, so Harry conceded. “I’m going to go get a bath and go to bed.”

“Any plans for going streaking again?” Ron wore a huge grin and began to laugh.

“Shut up,“ Harry yelled, but he too was laughing. He could not explain why he was not angrier, but he supposed it was one of the funnier things he had done. He went to the bathroom, coming back in fifteen minutes to an empty room. The need to sleep growing, Harry went to bed, assuming Ron had gone to the girls’ room, since he did not go to bed until almost midnight usually.

Harry’s sleep was never peaceful that night …

“You’ve found the Potter boy, my Lord?”

“Yes, Lucius. I don’t know how he hid his mind for so long, but I knew he could not do it forever.”

“He is a weak fool. Thinking that the Ministry could keep me in Azkaban if he named me as your loyal follower.”

“Yes, the Dementors obey me now, and are happy to release all of my Death Eaters. In exchange, I only need give them replacements, such as those fools you captured.”

“Surely you would question them first my Lord?”

“There is no need now. I only wanted one of Dumbledore’s followers to lead me to Potter. But now, he we lead me to himself.”

“What of those protecting him?”

“Protecting? Those children cannot protect themselves! Capture them as gifts to the Dementors. Should one from Dumbledore’s pathetic Order get in your way, kill him.”

“Of course.”

“Now, leave me, so I may find him. … POTTER!”


Harry awoke sharply, a deep sense of dread filling his insides. He could still feel Voldemort’s rage, surging through his scar. He was furious that Harry had overheard the plan.

Harry was terrified by what he had overheard. Not that he was in danger, he was used to being in danger. But he was putting his friends in danger, yet again. He could not just sit in bed and let the Death Eaters find and capture him and his friends. Theirs was a fate worse than death if Voldemort found where he was hiding.

Perhaps too quickly, he came to the conclusion that he could no longer stay at Grimmauld Place. He was determined not to be responsible for hurting his friends again. He steadied his rapid breathing, looked at the clock (4:27 a.m.) and jumped out of bed. He swiftly peeled his sweat-soaked pajamas off and dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt. He grabbed his wand (thankful that Dumbledore had brought his school things from the Dursleys after he arrived here), some gold and a hooded sweatshirt to use as a jacket during the cold London nights and quietly crept out of the room.

Standing in the hallway, before the door, Harry began to have second thoughts. He quickly chased these from his head with reminders that Hermione had nearly died the last time she encountered a Death Eater. The thing that really concerned him was that he would be exposed and vulnerable to the dangers of muggle London, in addition to the Death Eaters. He reached up, and quietly as he could, unbolted the door and opened it to the chilly night air.


A thick layer of fog blanketed the streets of London. Harry was only a few blocks away when the cold began to bother him. Even with the hooded sweatshirt, his tiny body could not stay warm. A whiney voice was telling him to go back, where it was warm, but Harry did not listen.

Instead he strengthened his determination not to go back. He started jogging, hoping he could generate his own heat. He had left in such a hurry that he had not planned where to go. He knew only bits and pieces of London, but the two places he knew how to reach from Grimmauld Place, by foot, were in the opposite direction he had chosen. He had no desire to go to the Ministry of Magic or St. Mungo’s Hospital, which was good because he feared if he walked past Grimmauld Place again, the whiney voice just might convince him to go inside. He trudged on, unaware just how dangerous the section of London he was entering was.

Fortunately for him, though he did not think so, a police patrol stumbled upon Harry near dawn. He had already tired of running to stay warm and was only walking. The early sunlight had not yet been strong enough to warm him.

Harry tried to keep walking casually as the police car stopped near him. He realized it must look quite odd to the police that a child, who looked three, maybe four, was walking alone through such a dangerous neighborhood.

The officer who stepped out of the car was a Metropolitan Police Officer. She crouched down to Harry’s level, a curious smile on her face. A quick glance at her uniform’s lapels identified her as a sergeant and her name badge read “Sergeant Philips.” Her blonde hair was just visible under her hat, her blue eyes glinted with mild curiosity and her uniform was impeccably clean and fitted her surprisingly gracefully.

“What are you doing out here, all alone,” she asked. Her tone was embarrassing and Harry simply tried to keep walking, as though she were not there. Of course that did not work; she held out an arm and gently stopped him, her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes now did the customary double glance to his forehead but she said nothing of his scar. “It’s not safe for you to be out here alone. Do you know where you live?” Not that it would have down any good to have her take him to a house she could not see, Harry hated the tone she continued to use.

From her perspective, Harry’s reluctance and his eyes shifting to glance around her seemed suspicious. “Are you running away?” Harry could not see how that was her business, forgetting his outward appearance.

“I’m just out for a walk,” he said casually.

Sergeant Philips was unimpressed by his response. “Your parents are probably worried sick about you.” Harry almost told her that was not possible, as they were dead. “But since you don’t know where you live, we’ll have to take you to the station. Don’t worry, you’re parents will call the police looking for you,” she added, misreading Harry’s frustration as fear. Harry contemplated stunning her, his hands in the large front pocket of his sweatshirt, resting on his wand, but then he would have her partner to contend with too. “Or, if you know your phone number, we could call them first.” Harry realized just how young he would look now, with no answer.

Sergeant Philips stood up and with her hands on his shoulders, gently steered Harry into the backseat of the police car. She then entered beside him and her partner began to drive. Harry was unsure why she had not sat in front as she had been when they found him. It soon became clear that she thought he was scared and this would comfort him. “Are you cold,” she asked, finally noticing how pink his cheeks were. Harry silently shook his head. “Well, what’s your name, so we know when your parents call?”

“Harry,” Harry mumbled in response. He hoped against hope that Mrs. Weasley would not find a way to call and the police would just let him go.

He was soon distracted by what the other officer was saying into the police radio. “… We have a runaway boy, looks to be three-”

“Six, er, five,” Harry interrupted, almost saying his true age, but realizing they would never believe him.

As they were stopped at an intersection, the driver turned back and looked Harry up and down. “He says he’s five. His name is Harry. Doesn‘t know his address or phone number…” Harry stopped listening as Sergeant Philips began to speak to him again.

“Harry, if you’re five, why did you say six at first?”

Harry quickly thought up a lie. “I’m almost six,” he responded, managing to fake the excitement a child would have over an approaching birthday.

“Oh, you’re a big boy, huh?” Harry wished she would stop talking to him like he was a child, but gave an excited nod. He knew anything less would not be normal.


Minutes later, they arrived at a police station. Sergeant Philips took Harry’s hand and lead him through the bustle of other officers. She took him to a small, empty conference room. “Wait here Harry, I’ll be right back. And don’t worry, you’re safe here.” She turned on a television, mounted near the ceiling in one corner, but Harry did not pay attention to the commercials now playing. “Are you hungry?” Harry shook his head and she left.

He took a seat at the table and let out a deep, long sigh. He was beginning to wonder if any of the busy police officers would notice if he just walked out, when he realized the news was on. The newscaster had caught his attention by reporting on a London businessman’s disappearance.

“This makes the thirty-seventh disappearance this month, just in London. Reports across the country present a total of 223 people disappearing since June.”

Harry found his throat very tight. Sergeant Philips had returned just as the newscaster said how many disappearances since June. Harry jumped as she sat some hot cocoa in front of him. “How-how many people did he say were missing,” Harry asked, an unintentional intone of fear in his voice.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. There’s no reason for you to be scared and worry about that.” She quickly changed the channel to cartoons.

“But I wanted to watch that,” Harry protested.

“You’re an unusual little boy,” she said amusedly. “The news is just to frightening for you to watch right now.” Harry wanted to protest further, but she slid the cocoa closer to him and left again. As he was too short to reach the television, he was stuck with the cartoons. Not paying attention to the television again, Harry slowly drank the cocoa given to him. He could feel it warming his body as he drank, finally realizing just how cold he had become.

As he drank the last drops of the cocoa, some minutes later, Sergeant Philips finally returned again. She sat across from Harry and laid a pad of paper and a pen in front of her. She sighed deeply, but quickly forced a smile when she noticed Harry watching her so closely.

“I have good news Harry. Your parents called and are on their way to get you.” She paused and waited for his reply. When he gave none, not even returning a smile, she continued. “But before they come, I have to ask you some questions, alright?” Harry nodded, puzzled about what she would ask. “Do you know how you got that scar on your head?”

Harry groaned loudly, he hated people asking about that stupid scar. But when Sergeant Philips looked concernedly at him, he quickly spoke the only explanation that would be believable. “I was in a car crash when I was a baby,” he said.

Again she was concerned, but continued her questions, after writing down his reply. “Why did you run away this morning?” Harry looked away, not wanting to answer. “Does your mommy or daddy hurt you?”

“What? No!” She wrote down more than he had said, but blocked it from his view.

“Then, is their something at home that scares you?”


Harry had to deal with many more questions like this until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arrived. When she did, Mrs. Weasley rushed to Harry, scooped him from the chair and held him tight. “Oh, Harry, you had us so worried. What were you thinking?”

Still holding Harry tight to her, as though she thought he could slip away, Mrs. Weasley turned to the officers in the room and thanked them for finding him. Fortunately, Harry’s answers to their questions were sufficient to convince the police he was not being mistreated at home. Still they had some further questions for Harry’s “parents.” Mr. Weasley offered to answer these while Mrs. Weasley took Harry home.

She still held Harry as she left the police station, not saying a word to him. She walked a few blocks and as Harry began to think they would walk back to Grimmuald Place, she entered an alley and once making sure no muggles were around, she apparated.

Harry found himself sitting on his bed, Mrs. Weasley sitting on Ron’s, across from him. He knew he had more questions to answer, but all he wanted was to be alone. “You’re in big trouble young man. That was very irresponsible of you to run away like that. What were you thinking?”

Harry, his ears still burning in shame, his feelings stung by being shouted at, began to tell Mrs. Weasley about what he had overheard. He told her how he had done it to keep them all safe and that he did not want anyone hurt again, because of him. He did not see how compassionate she looked at him. “I didn’t want you to blame me, if Ron and Ginny were hurt again,” he said sulkily, looking determinedly at his shoes.

It was now Mrs. Weasley’s turn to feel hurt. “Harry,” she said slowly, moving to kneel in front of him. “I never blamed you for what happened to my children last June. You know I never could, don’t you?” Harry opened his mouth to speak. “No. It’s not your fault. None of what happened was.”

“Sirius’ death was,” Harry said coldly. Mrs. Weasley could think of no response, looking into his glistening eyes, which threatened tears.

“That’s not true,” she finally said, pulling him to his feet and into a hug.

“Yes-”

She only shushed him, cradling his head between her left shoulder and right hand, patting his back with her left. Though he sniffled, Harry did not let himself cry. “He wouldn’t blame you Harry,” Mrs. Weasley assured, tearfully. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Harry closed his eyes tight, not wanting the tears to flow. But they found their way through his eyelids, and he felt the warm droplets slide down his cheeks.

When Mrs. Weasley next spoke, she was very serious. “Harry, I don’t want you running away again. No matter what You-Know-Who says, he cannot get to you here. This house is safe and secure, and Professor Dumbledore made sure he can’t hurt you in your sleep anymore either. You-Know-Who must want to trick you into leaving, where we can’t protect you.”

Normally, Harry would protest that he did not need protecting, but something hit him hard, like a Bludger to the chest. This house is safe. He really had lured Sirius out of hiding to his death, how could he forget that. “Then it is my fault. I also should’ve known he tricked me in June, and Sirius is dead because I’m an idiot. He died because he had to leave the safety of this house to save me.”

Mrs. Weasley could only hold him close until he fell asleep. She could think of nothing to comfort him during the half-hour in which he cried himself to sleep. She did not care that his tears soaked through to her shoulder. She just knew she could not let him go when he felt so badly. Only when he fell asleep, did she dare let him go, laying him on his bed. But she stayed by his side, knowing how much worse he could feel when waking up.

The summer holidays were ending too quickly for the children at Twelve Grimmauld Place. To Harry especially, the last two weeks felt more like two days.

The misery Harry felt when he woke up after running away only intensified as the start of term approached. The only positive he recalled was that Mrs. Weasley had apparently forgotten about disciplining him for running away. She had been really nice to him when he woke up actually, almost too nice.

Harry had woken with itchy and blotchy eyes, back to sucking his thumb for comfort. He was surprised to find her in the room. She spoke softly to him, asking if he needed anything. Over the days she was quick to comfort him if he even looked momentarily sad.

He actually did not mind her fussing over him. It was a distraction from his fear that his friends would soon be leaving for school and he would not. He thought it was really unfair and planned to tell Dumbledore so the next time he saw him.

There were meetings of The Order of The Phoenix in increasing number, but Harry never saw Dumbledore. He even took the chance at being seen by Snape late one night, when Mrs. Weasley thought him in bed with the others. He was looking down at the entry hall as the Order’s members filed out, from the above landing, laying on the floor to hide himself better. He peered through the bars under the banister where nobody could easily see him.

He saw some people he knew and many more he did not know. He almost did not notice Snape turn and look up where he was because he was so intently searching the group for Dumbledore. He quickly ducked his head, unsure whether he had been seen, or not. He heard Snape whisper something and then leave with the rest. By the time Harry looked up again, the hallway was empty except for Mrs. Weasley, who was closing the door.

Harry sighed and began to slide along the floor back to his room. He went to bed and pulled his covers snuggly around him, but could not sleep for many hours.

Sleepless nights were common for Harry during the two week period. He spent this time dwelling on thoughts and ideas of restoring himself. He spent some time during the day doing the same, but his friends worried about him, so he also spent time with them, hoping something might inspire him. When sleep did come, it was full of his fears and worries and he could not sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

Harry’s sleeplessness got to the point that on August twenty-third Mrs. Weasley offered him some dreamless-sleep potion, the same potion he took after Voldemort’s return. Harry refused to take it however, saying he did not like the side affects it gave him. “When I took it last time, I felt numb and emotionless the next day. I didn’t like it.”

Mrs. Weasley knew better. The potion had no side affects. Harry had felt that way because of his traumatic experiences the night before, but she did not force the potion on him. “Well, I’ll leave it here, in case you change your mind. Two spoonfuls should be enough.”

Despite becoming increasingly tired, was able to enjoy the time he spent with his friends. As the days passed, he became increasingly moody, depressed that he would be spending the coming year in Grimmauld Place.

It was not until August twenty-ninth that Harry received some good news, though it was not quite the news he wanted. His friends had been helping him brainstorm for the past several days, to no help. “I might as well just get used to being a kid again,” Harry shouted that afternoon, breaking the thoughtful silence. Days of thought, and sleepless nights had caused him to lose hope.

“Don’t worry Harry, we’ll think of something,” Ron said.

“And if we don’t,” Harry asked angrily. “I just get to sit in this old house all year, maybe longer?”

“Actually, Professor Dumbledore said he would cast many of the same protective charms and enchantments on the Burrow if you did not return to school,” Hermione replied.

“What? When did he say that? Why didn’t he do it sooner, so we didn’t have to stay here?” Harry’s shouts were echoing through the house now.

“He came yesterday afternoon. You were sleeping and mum said not to wake you because you haven’t been getting much sleep,” Ginny told him.

“But I wanted to talk to him,” Harry huffed.

“The Order’s having another meeting tonight. You could just go downstairs and find him.”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded. “Are you trying to get Harry in trouble.”

“Or scene by Snape,” Harry added. He nearly saw me a week ago, I think.”

“That meeting didn’t even start until midnight. What were you doing awake,” Hermione asked, sounding like a mother learning her child had done something wrong.”

“I don’t sleep good. Remember?“

“Don’t talk to me like that Harry,” Hermione snapped back. Harry stomped from the room. Hermione did not even try to stop him. She had grown tired of Harry’s moodiness, no longer as understanding as she once had been. It was Ginny who followed after him, trying to calm him down.


Harry was particularly aggravated and aggravating when August thirty-first finally came. He snapped at almost anything anyone said to him. By noon Mrs. Weasley had already threatened to wash his mouth out four times. He refused to stop shouting rudely at any of them.

Finally, as Harry got on everyone’s nerves, Mrs. Weasley dragged him to his room and put him in bed. “I understand how you feel, but that’s no excuse to snap at everyone. If you can’t behave, then you can stay in bed the rest of the day.” Harry crossed his arms and scowled as she left.

As far as Harry was concerned, his treatment this summer had been entirely unfair. But he decided he should not spend the last day he had with his friends in bed. He got up and went to find them again. After he forced himself to apologize, Harry spent the remainder of the day playing cards with his friends and Mrs. Weasley.

His seething anger remained however. By the time he went to bed, he had stopped blaming others as the reasons for his anger. He was no longer angry with Dumbledore even. Harry was angry at himself. He believed he had failed … yet again.

The morning of September first was, as usual, total chaos. Even before breakfast Ron, Ginny and Hermione were running around the house, in their pajamas, searching for misplaced books, clothes and anything else.

Harry had recently become resigned to the fact he would not be returning with them, but he would at least be able to say goodbye at the train station. Or so he thought. “What do you mean I can’t go,” he asked Mrs. Weasley angrily.

They were all sitting at the breakfast table, Harry now the only one still in his pajamas. “It is just not a good idea to take you Harry,” Mrs. Weasley answered. “What if somebody recognized you? And I’m more than a little concerned you might try to get away from me and get on the train.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’d let you hold me the whole time! All I want is to say goodbye.”

“Harry, what if Malfoy saw you,” Hermione asked.

“I don’t care!”

“You can say goodbye here. You’re not going. Besides, Tonks and Remus are going to be here, and …”

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

“They’re not here to baby-sit you. They are just early for a meeting, and will give you somebody to talk to. When I get back, we’ll pack and go home, alright?”

“Fine.” Harry jumped up from his seat and headed for the stairs. “I’m not hungry.”


When it came time for everyone to leave, Harry was not around to say goodbye. “Harry,” Mrs. Weasley called up the staircase. “We’re leaving now. Didn’t you want to say ‘bye?” The was no response and no sound of footsteps on the creaking floors. Mrs. Weasley waited a few minutes. “Alright you three, time to go. We can’t wait and I think he’s not coming anyway.” They all said goodbye to Remus and Tonks and left.

Shortly after, Remus and Tonks found Harry on his bed, pouting. “There you are,” Tonks said. “So, did you stop wetting your pants, or do I need to be ready to change diapers?” Harry did not even glare at her; he felt nothing, though he did think about wetting himself so she would have to clean up the mess. This was only thought by a tiny part of his mind, and passed out of his thoughts before he could care.

“Tonks!”

“What? I told you he was wetting his pants, on purpose, last time I babysat, Remus.”

“We’re not here to baby-sit him! Harry? Harry, didn’t you want to say goodbye to your friends?” Harry shook his head. “Why not?” No answer. Remus sat on the bed, and even Tonks now looked concerned, rather than continue to taunt him. “You know, Sirius wouldn’t have blamed you.” Harry did not want to here this again.

“Do you remember when Sirius told you there were things worth dieing for?” Harry nodded, so slightly it was barely visible. “Well, he long ago decided you were worth dying for. He would just be glad that his efforts helped to save you. He felt your life was more important than his own.” Harry had had enough. He got off his bed and rushed from the room.

“Harry,” Tonks called, starting to follow.

“No, let him go,” Remus said, grabbing her wrist. “Let him think about what I said.” That was the last thing Harry heard either of them say.

“I’m not so sure he should be alone.”

“Trust me. Or did you forget that Professor Dumbledore told me what he wanted Harry to learn?”

“Of course not ...”

“Then with that nudge he should figure it out. Dumbledore, well we all thought he would figure it out sooner. He did not intend for Harry to not return to school, but I think he might have been just a little too angry when he cast the spell. That’s why Harry was acting the way he did the last time you saw him. And I don’t think you taunting him helped him any.”

“Lighten up Remus. I was only joking with him. I know he’s not acting like a child anymore.”

“You’re as clumsy with humor as you are carrying a box of glass.” The pair chuckled softly.


Harry, meanwhile, wandered aimlessly around the upper floors of Sirius’ childhood home. He knew by the end of the day, he would be at the Burrow and would likely stay there for six more years before returning to Hogwarts as a first year once again.

Still, other thoughts found their way into his head and he found he had ambled into the master bedroom. He looked around the room, curious about what had made him come in here now. This room had not yet been a help to his thinking. The only purpose it had ever served was as a good hiding place. Even so, he found himself snooping around.

It was here Mrs. Weasley found him, returning from Platform 9 ¾. He had strewn Sirius’ belongings around the room and was now looking through old photo albums. “Harry, I’m going to start packing our things and we should be ready to go in about an hour.”

“Okay.” Harry did not look up from the old photographs of his father, godfather and Remus, now the only link to the two, to Harry’s past. He was laying on his stomach, with other photo albums scattered around him on the bed.

“I don’t think you should be snooping through Sirius’ belongings. Why don’t you come …”

“He was my godfather,” Harry spat acidly, still not looking at her. He regretted his tone immediately, but when he turned to apologize, Mrs. Weasley was already gone. Yet, he did not follow her to apologize. Instead, Harry turned back to the photographs.

It was a great help that wizard photographs had moving subjects. Through each one, Harry gained an understanding of the people’s personalities through their actions. He could not help but become misty eyed as he progressed through the pages of each album.

It was clear James was the leader of the group. He was obviously a skilled athlete, a clever trickster and, perhaps, a bit of a ruffian or bully. Setting his loathing of Snape aside however, James Potter was a loyal friend, and when not pulling pranks, exemplified what it was to be a Gryffindor. He was brave, at times self-sacrificing and helpful to his friends. He was also just as stubborn as Harry when it came to morality.

As most of the photographs were from their childhood and early teens, Harry did not find many of his mother, except those with James. Lily was more similar to Harry than James. As it was, Harry may look like his father, but he took after his mother much more. That is not to say there were not similarities between James Potter and Lily Evans.

Lily, clearly was not a person to play jokes and pull pranks, on friend or enemy. She was highly intelligent, especially at Charms, unlike James who favored Transfiguration. She was fiercely devoted to her friends and brave enough to stand up against James. Lily was also extremely helpful, as Remus had once told Harry. It was also clear that Lily was as loving, caring and perhaps overprotective a mother as any child could hope for. Harry saw pictures of his childhood nursery and it was clear Lily made him as comfortable as possible, despite the terror in which they lived.

Though not actually in the pictures, Harry saw snippets of memory float in front of his misty eyes. Images of Lily, lovingly bathing him, tenderly feeding him a bottle and carefully changing him. Most importantly, she played with him and comforted him so expertly when he was scared and crying, through speaking softly and gently tickling him. He felt a great longing for her and that attention.

Remus was as calm and conservative in his youth as he was as Harry knew him. His loyalty to his friends was all that prevented him from telling on their misdeeds. It seemed to Harry that in those days, Remus feared his wolf form; he feared what he could do. But he was brave enough to face it each and every month, occasionally twice a month.

Then their was Sirius. As much a leader of the group as James was. He was the instigator for James’ pranks however. James had the ideas, but it was Sirius who found who to prank and how and when. Certainly brave and a true Gryffindor at heart, Sirius valued his friendship with James most. Sirius would have died to protect James and lily and that protection extended to their son. No one could have stopped Sirius from doing what he felt honor-bound to do. He certainly would not stay in a house he hated while others went to Harry’s aid.

Harry suddenly felt very tired and could not keep his eyes tear free any longer. He lowered his head on the photographs and shut his weary eyes. The last thoughts he could remember before falling asleep were of Sirius.

Sirius had been a good friend and his sacrifice had helped ensure Harry would someday be able to face Voldemort. His memory needed to be honored, for he was perhaps the bravest among The Order of the Phoenix. The time for mourning had past, and it was time to remember the good times, though Harry had few, with Sirius. Harry could no longer blame himself for his godfather’s death, because if he could have, Sirius would have died fifteen years ago to protect Harry and his parents.

And Harry finally realized it was not his fault. He could not be blamed for what Voldemort had caused. He would become strong enough and smart enough to avenge Sirius one day. But he would not let his anger or sadness consume him, which would dishonor Sirius. He would enjoy the time with his friends and the remainder of his childhood.

Harry’s world went dark and his mind blank. He entered a dreamless sleep, but wore a smile on his face. He was going to defeat Voldemort for his parents and for Sirius. “Sirius,” he mumbled softly.

(I almost put an excerpt from the next chapter, but my beta thought it innappropriate.)

Harry awoke, feeling very unfamiliar. His limbs felt unnaturally stiff and heavy, as though he wore thick, lead bracelets around his wrists and ankles. Even lifting his head was a strain for his neck. “What happened to me,” Harry mumbled, his mouth dry. Fading light fell on him through the windows as dusk approached.

He stood up unsteadily and looked down, thinking the room had shrunk. On the bed were tatters and tears of fabric from a child’s clothes and Harry realized he was cold. Suddenly he ran to the room’s adjoining bathroom and surveyed himself in the full-length mirror.

He was in a teenage body again … finally. He blushed as he realized he was naked. All he wore were the tattered remains of a painfully stretched, red, elastic waistband from cartoon printed underwear, the remnants of small, white socks, from his bony ankles up and the fraying cuffs of a blue shirt were stretched tightly around his wrists. But he was happy he was back to normal … but it was too late. He had missed the train back to Hogwarts castle.

He sulkily walked back into the room, finding, to his surprise, his school trunk and all of his belongings, minus the children’s toys and clothes. “That wasn’t here a moment age,” he mumbled aloud, grabbing a slip of parchment on top of his trunk. Harry recognized the writing on it as Dumbledore’s and nearly tossed it aside, angry.

Harry,
You are late for your return to school and have missed the train. Mrs. Weasley has also already returned home. Please dress in the school robes laid out for you and use the portkey in the pocket. It will take you to the compartment on the Hogwarts Express that your friends occupy. Be sure to have a firm grip on your trunk when you use the portkey. I hope you enjoy the coming school year.
Professor Dumbledore

P.S. If you would prefer to not return to school this year, you may go to the Weasley’s home. All Mrs. Weasley asks is that you dress before using Floo Powder. Again, do not forget your trunk. You would also need to retake your O.W.L. exams this spring in order to show that you are still at your current level and ready to begin your N.E.W.T. classes.

To his surprise, Harry actually had to think about the option presented to him. Granted it took him less than thirty seconds to decide. He set Dumbledore’s letter aside and opened his trunk. It was neatly organized, but packed full. A set of robes lay on top, as did an outfit of muggle clothing.

Harry tentatively reached for his clothes, shifted them aside, along with some books and found his cauldron. There, where he usually packed them, were his socks and underwear. He grabbed a pair of each from the cauldron and carried them to the bed. He sat down and grabbed at the remnants of children’s socks around his calves and pulled them off, stretching them over his bony heals. He then grabbed the remains of the blue shirt sleeves and with some effort, managed to pull them over his hands. Lastly, and most difficult was the red waistband. Harry pulled and stretched it, tearing the fabric until the elastic bands snapped in half.

Harry threw all of these onto the pile of shredded clothing. But before he put his socks and underwear on, he examined the red line wrapped around his waist. It was narrow but bright and tender to the touch; it would take some time to heal.

Harry winced when he finally pulled his own underwear on. He had inadvertently scratched the red ring as his hand passed over his bony hips. He finally walked back to his trunk, reached his hands inside and grabbed … his school robes. He quickly dressed, put Sirius’ photo albums in his trunk and snapped it closed, after making sure everything he needed had indeed been packed. He smiled when he saw Mrs. Weasley had packed the board game, Clue that Hermione had given him for his birthday.

He gripped one end of his trunk tightly in his right hand and fished through his pockets with the other. The moment his hand touched the portkey, even before he knew what it was, Harry was flying through he air, images whipping past and wind roaring in his ears.

Harry’s feet slammed into a swaying floor and he nearly lost his balance as he realized he was moving. The portkey had deposited him on the lamp lit Hogwarts Express. Before he could even look around, he heard Hermione and Ginny shriek his name. He quickly found himself pushed down to the floor, multiple arms wrapping around him in tight hugs as the weight of three people pressed him into the trains rocking floor.

Even as he felt them getting off of him and he was about to get up, Harry’s friends lifted him and seated him in a seat. Harry finally saw the smiling faces of Ginny, Hermione and Ron looking at him from their seats across the compartment.

The short time that was left on the train was just spent talking. Harry learned that his friends had thus far managed to avoid inquiries about where he was. “It’s a good thing you finally turned up,” Ron said. “We were running out of excuses.”

“Thanks to Ron, everyone’s going to think you have a bladder infection or something,” Hermione added. “He’s been telling everyone who asked, for the past three hours that you were in the bathroom.”

Ron’s ears turned slightly red and he looked apologetically at his friend before turning against the girls. “Well, it’s not like either of you had any bright ideas.”

“Actually, we did,” Ginny stated. “You were just too quick each time!” At that moment the train began to slow and the conversation halted. Harry, like Ron had been blushing slightly, looking at his feet. He looked up as the train jerked to a halt and met eyes with Ron. The two burst into grins and infectious laughter spread to the girls, for no apparent reason.

After the now familiar carriage ride, they were soon seated in the great hall. As usual all heads were looking to the staff table for the new teacher, who was absent. All talk was full of rumors as to who it would be.

The sorting ceremony began and the small, frightened first years were led in by Professor McGonagall, as usual. One boy, less frightened than the rest, nudged the boy beside him and pointed directly to Harry. Both boys starred fixatedly at Harry, slowing those behind them, who turned to see who or what they were gawking at.


After the feast, as everyone, especially the newly sorted students, blinked drowsily, Dumbledore rose to speak. He gave the standard warnings and reiterated the new curfews, so there would be no doubt everyone had heard them. Harry, along with most of the older students did not much like the idea of being confined to their common rooms an hour earlier than had been expected.

Dumbledore informed them when Quidditch tryouts would be and mentioned that students could find the list of restricted items on Mr. Filch’s office door or now on their own common room notice boards. Finally they were dismissed and students began to stumble from the hall.

“He didn’t say who our new professor was, did he,” Ron asked as he, Harry and Hermione stood up. Harry shook his head, craning his neck over other students, looking towards the staff table. Once he was sure Hagrid saw him, Harry waved and Hagrid waved back. Only then did Harry follow his friends wearily up the winding staircases.

The portrait hole was still open but Hermione informed Harry of the new password, phoenix. Harry climbed to the familiar dormitory and almost collapsed on his bed before putting pajamas on. The moment his head hit the pillow, Harry’s eyes snapped shut and he had the most restful and peaceful night’s sleep he could remember. He did not even close the bed hangings and laid sprawled above the blankets.


The first sounds Harry heard in the morning, even before opening his eyes were those of his fellow Gryffindor sixth year boys chuckling. He was aware of nothing else, not even whether he was actually awake.

“Harry. Harry!” That was Ron’s voice and it sounded like he was fighting the urge to laugh.

“Wait, Ron. Don’t wake him. Let me see if Colin still has his camera.” That was Seamus. What was he laughing about so loudly? Why would they not just let him sleep? “I can’t believe Harry Potter sucks his thumb when he sleeps!”

Harry’s eyelids snapped open so quickly that he was momentarily blinded by the bright, morning light. But his hands were already pushing him up from the bed. His right thumb feeling strangely cool as he sat up. Harry snatched his glasses and quickly looked around the room. Ron was standing near him, straight faced, though the corners of his mouth twitched. Neville and Dean had hidden themselves behind their bed curtains, but were now silent. Seamus was sitting on the floor, clutching his sides.

“I can’t believe you suck your thumb,” Seamus repeated, trying to catch his breath.

Harry stomped toward him, his fists tightly clenched, but Ron grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Wow. Are you cranky in the morning,” Seamus said, still smiling. He quickly became more serious as Harry glared and Ron had to hold him back from lunging. “I won’t tell anyone. Really, I won’t. I was only kidding.”

Harry began to dress angrily and Seamus hurried to get out of the dormitory before he finished. “The day’s starting out perfectly,” Harry mumbled sarcastically as he and Ron descending into the common room and met Hermione and Ginny. Harry noticed Ginny‘s silver, prefect badge glinting on her uniform, just as Ron‘s and Hermione‘s.

During breakfast they were handed their new course schedules. This gave Harry a reason to smile. He, Ron and Hermione had Defense Against the Dark Arts first this morning, and it was a double lesson. The remainder of the schedule was not so cheerful. He and Hermione would have to endure double Potions first thing every Tuesday and Wednesday this year. Also to Harry’s dismay, he did not have Care of Magical creatures until Thursday Afternoon. These were the only classes Harry really cared about at that moment.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of the few classes that most of Harry’s year were still continuing. As such, Harry found a large group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in the classroom when he arrived. Still no sign of a teacher, Harry noticed something on the desk in a small tank.

It was a tiny creature, swimming in the half-full tank at great speed. It looked like a beautiful, orange and blue butterfly, with an abnormally long proboscis. As Harry stopped to watch, the creature leapt clear of the water, fluttered around a few moments, then landed, upside-down, on the mesh screen above the tank.

“What is that,” Harry asked, astonished. He had never heard of such a creature. It flew in much the way it swam, and was surprisingly fast in air or water.

“That, Mr. Potter, is a flutterfish,” said the new professor, entering the room and making Harry jump. He was young for a professor and good-looking, and had known Harry from the back. (A/N I will not be giving a detailed description or name to this professor, out of respect to J. K. Rowling.) “Do be careful. It’s quite dangerous, as most dark creatures are.”

But Harry turned back to the creature, still in awe. With such speed that Harry could not see it, the flutter fish jabbed its proboscis through the mesh screen and spit a bright orange liquid at him.

“Evanesca!” The orange liquid disappeared moments before hitting Harry’s face. “I warned you. Now take your seat so I may begin.

“We will, of course, be using The Practical Guide to Dueling and Dark Creatures. Now, as I said, this is a flutterfish.” The creature returned to the water without causing so much as a ripple. “As your text will tell you, on page 173, this is perhaps the most dangerous creature from North America, where it is commonly found. However, it can survive in any environment and therefore, you can find them around hear from time to time. So, aside from the fact it can survive anywhere, does anyone know what makes the flutterfish so dangerous?”

As usual, Hermione’s hand was the first in the air. “You must be Miss. Granger, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I appreciate your enthusiasm and that you obviously already read the text, but let’s give somebody else a chance.” Not a single hand rose and the students starred blankly forward, still numb from a summer without schoolwork. “Come now, it is in bold print, directly under the detailed photograph.” Finally, a small number of hands raised slowly into the air. “Very well, Mr. Thomas.”

“It can move swiftly enough to not be seen by humans and its spit is a highly corrosive acid.”

“Very good. Those two things, which Mr. Potter nearly found out firsthand, make this creature extremely dangerous. To show you the potency of the acid, I have already collected some.” He held up a beaker-full of brilliant orange liquid. “I should tell you that this is no mere glass. It is magically treated for this purpose, and this is an ordinary block of solid steel.” He sat the block of steel, which was about half the size of a cinder block, above the tank and poured several drops of the acid over it. Almost too quickly to see, the steel block ended up looking like melting Swiss Cheese.

“There you are, pass that around,” he said, setting the ruined metal on Harry’s desk. “It will impress upon you just how dangerous this, ‘rather cute,’ creature is.”

Now that he had the class’ attention, the new professor went over his curriculum. They would start with the dark creatures, those that had been too dangerous for Lupin to show in third year. Then they would use their defensive theory books to learn new spells and how and when to use them. Finally they would return to the dueling and dark creature book and learn proper dueling etiquette and how to survive a duel.

As the double period drew to a close, he brought their attention back to the flutterfish. “Now, since it is clear that none of you, with the exception of Miss. Granger, could tell me how to defend yourself if this flutterfish were loose, I have an assignment.” There was a collective groan and some whispers that it was the first day. “You will read about the flutterfish, the hydra, the manticore, all varieties of dragon (I assure you, this book is more detailed than Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them) and lastly the chimera. There will be a test during our lesson this Friday.” The bell rang and the class filed out, grumbling.

Harry did not recall much of his remaining lessons the first day. He could not get the image of the ruined block of steel, nor the one of orange acid streaming towards his face from his thoughts. The only thing he did recall from Charms or Transfiguration was that he did not have homework in either.

He therefore had the perfect opportunity to do his Dark Arts homework that night. But his mind was elsewhere. Ron too was not in a mood to do homework. Hermione had none, as she had already read the assigned pages and she was needlessly rereading her notes. Ginny was with some friends from her own year, playing Gobstones, but overheard their following conversation.

Harry sighed deeply, looking out the window at the darkening sky, from the table he, Ron and Hermione were sitting around. “I was really hoping to see Hagrid sooner than Thursday. I haven’t seen him all summer.”

“So go see him now. We can all go.”

“Ron! Did you forget? It’s almost dark,” Hermione scolded in a harsh whisper, wearily making sure there were no eavesdroppers..

“So. Harry’s got an invisibility cloak.”

“One of these days, you’re going to start acting like a prefect. Besides, only two of us can fit under it anymore and just barely.”

“Well, you made it clear that you don’t want to go. Go on Harry. Go get the cloak.”

“And just how do you plan on getting out of the tower? Even if I didn’t, the other prefects would stop you.”

“We’re still allowed in the corridors for a while,” Harry stated. “We can leave the common room and then put the cloak on. Nobody but you would know.”

“And we know you won’t turn us in. We’ve broken rules before, you included.”

Hermione ignored that it sounded like Ron was trying to blackmail her. “You know I wouldn’t, not that I have to. It’s never been this serious or dangerous before. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hagrid gave you detention.”

“He’s never done so before, even after becoming a professor,” Harry said, slightly annoyed by all of Hermione’s excuses.

“Then what are you waiting for,” Hermione snapped, turning back to her notes.

Harry slowly got up and then jogged up to his dormitory. When he came back, his prized invisibility cloak stuffed under his uniform shirt, Ginny was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase. “Where are you going,” she asked, blocking his path.

“Ron and I are going to see Hagrid, Ginny.” Harry saw no point in lying to her. It was obvious she had heard him or she would not have known he was leaving at all. To anyone else it looked like he went upstairs to get something for studying.

“No you’re not. You’ll get in trouble and Gryffindor will loose points on the first day,” she reminded him in a harsh whisper.

“Move Ginny. Don’t make me push you out of my way. You know I don‘t want to hurt you.”

Ginny gave a hollow laugh. “I have six older brothers. Try it.” But before Harry could make up his mind whether or not to shove past her, Ginny shoved him against the wall of the staircase and pinned his wrists to his sides.

Not only had Ginny caught him by surprise but she was stronger. Already as tall as Harry, if not taller, she had several pounds of lean, strong muscle on him. As Harry struggled in vain to release his arms, Ginny leaned close to whisper in his ear. To anyone in the common who might have looked, it seemed Harry and Ginny were just hugging and kissing.

“I’m not going to stop you or Ron, even if you two should know better. But if you get caught, I won’t stick up for you either. Please don’t go,” she added before kissing his cheek. Ginny let go and walked back to her friends.

Harry stood still for a moment before walking out into the common room. He looked around slightly embarrassed, unable to tell if anyone had seen them. He now knew just how much Ginny liked him. “I’ll have to do something nice for her,” he said to himself.

Harry met Ron outside the common room. They walked some distance, appearing to go to the library, then hid behind a giant vase. There, they donned the cloak and continued quietly toward the castle entrance.


The quiet chatter of the Gryffindor common room faded to silence as the noise of heavy footfalls moved closer to the portrait hole entrance. As the last voice fell silent and all heads had turned toward the noise, the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open. Next moment, Harry and Ron were thrust through the opening, a silvery, liquid-like cloak trailing behind them.

Once they regained their balance, the boys turned back to the figure of Hagrid, who had brought them back to their dormitory. It was clear he had been yelling at them for some time. “Now, I expect the two of you to come to me for detention, after dinner, for the rest of the week!”

“Hagrid!” It was Harry who complained, in a completely shocked voice.

“Sorry Harry, but Professor Dumbledore made the new rules very clear. He said, ‘No exceptions.’” The portrait swung closed and Harry and Ron trudged sulkily back to the table where Hermione sat.

They slumped into their chairs as the other students went back to their conversations, many just glad Harry had not cost them points. Hagrid had never been comfortable taking points from anyone. Hermione looked up nervously then went back to her reading. “Well,” Harry snapped. “Go ahead and say it!”

“What,” Hermione responded curiously, not looking at him.

“That you told us not to go and that it’s our fault we’re in trouble,” Ron replied.

“Well she did,” Ginny stated, taking a seat by Hermione. “And it is. You’re a prefect Ron, why don’t you act like one?”

“Shut up Ginny!” Ginny and Ron were now glaring angrily at each other. Harry could not believe how they acted sometimes. He had always wanted a younger brother or sister and could never imagine arguing the way the Weasley children often did.

Shortly, Harry went to bed, careful to pull the bed curtains tight around him. He then lit his wand and stared at the photo albums he had packed until he fell asleep, after staring longingly at his mother for ten minutes.


Harry made sure he was wide awake and alert for his first lesson on Tuesday. He had no doubt that Snape would have a needlessly complicated potion ready for that first day.

As Harry entered the cold, dank, moldy dungeon, he noticed a stark contrast to his lessons from the prior day. So few students had met Snape’s stringent requirements to continue in Potions. Thusly the only eighteen students represented the four houses of Hogwarts. Harry and Hermione took their usual seats near the back of the classroom as Snape swiftly made his way towards the front of the room, black cloak billowing like thick smoke.

It seemed to Harry that Snape sneered at him before beginning his lesson. He set them to an extremely difficult potion, the Animal Control Potion. Simple in idea, this potion was the second most complicated potion Harry and Hermione had seen. Of course, it was Hermione who had brewed the Polyjuice Potion.

After brief notes on its rather obvious uses, Snape put the recipe for the potion on the black board. He had made it quite clear that this potion neither worked on people nor magical animals; it only worked on common animals. Despite being so complicated, it would be completed this day, save the final ingredient which could only be added under the full moon.

Harry set to work along side Hermione, Snape swooping around the dungeon making Harry feel uncomfortable. But Harry continued brewing his potion, frequently rereading the recipe.

Near the end of the lesson, Harry raised his hand over his cauldron to add some powdered viper fangs. Snape was nearby and before Harry could overturn his hand, the professor forcefully grabbed the boy’s wrist, wrenching his arm away.

Harry tugged at his arm, but Snape held tight, forcing Harry to fight the urge to glare at him. “What are you doing Potter?” Harry saw Malfoy turn from his own potion to gloat, dumping twice the needed amount of chopped garlic needed. His potion fizzed and turned from translucent red to sickly green.

“Adding the viper fangs to my potion,” Harry replied, doing his best not to sneer.

“This is the second time I have come to question your literacy skills. I clearly wrote that the flubberworm mucous, which is still on your desk, was to be added before.” Harry looked down and saw, to his regret that Snape was right. “I also wonder how it is you managed an Outstanding on your Potions O.W.L.”

“Maybe it’s because you weren’t there,” Harry muttered, louder than he meant. After only one lesson, he regretted continuing in Potions.

“Detention Potter! Tonight, after dinner!” Snape released Harry and walked toward the front of the dungeon.

“I can’t,” Harry said meekly, realizing what he had done.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Snape turned back, anger briefly flashing in his cold, dark eyes.

“I already have detention tonight,” Harry answered, bracing himself for Snape’s fury. But this news seemed to make him glad. It surely made Malfoy glad, who was smirking smugly, still unaware he had ruined his own potion.

“Then tomorrow night, Potter!”

“Actually, I have detention every night this week.” Snape’s lips curled into a vicious sneer.

Snape put his hands on the front of Harry’s desk, looming over him. “Then your detention shall be Saturday morning, seven o’clock, here.” He stood back up. “And ten points from Gryffindor.”

“For what,” Harry asked angrily, before he could stop himself. He knew arguing with Snape would do nothing but cost him more points.

“Make that twenty points! You may have spent the summer like the child you are, but I assure you, it will not be tolerated in this class!” Hermione and Harry looked at each other for a moment, as Snape returned to his desk, mouths slightly agape.

But Snape did not get to his desk. He noticed Malfoy’s ruined potion and stopped, looking down at the putrid mess that had begun to congeal in the cauldron. Malfoy, too had just noticed his mistake and looked nervously at his Head of House. Snape’s face contorted nastily, for a brief second, but he said nothing. He turned brusquely and went back to his desk, leaving Malfoy to fix his problem on his own.

Harry returned to his potion, barely finishing before the bell. He had at least made it correctly. Malfoy‘s was still thick and now brown, when it should be light blue and like water. Harry bottled his sample, though it was more pink than blue and stored it until he would add the final ingredient in two weeks.

Harry and Ron did not find the first night of detention with Hagrid that bad. He had them go to an unused classroom outside the great hall and gave them a “lecture.” Not really the lecturing type, he talked to them about the seriousness of the new rules. He sent them back to their common room after only half an hour.



Once back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry and Ron started their homework, which was starting to pile up. Even Ron had a lot by this point, even though he was in less classes. Harry knew he would have little time later because he had detention the rest of the week and on Saturday, though Snape had not said for how long.



The boys managed to finish their homework, except an assignment not due for three weeks, though they did at least start, by midnight. As Harry climbed to his dormitory, Ron yawning loudly as he stumbled ahead of him, his head was swimming in all he had read about dark creatures.



His head was so full of this information that he dreamed about it. For some reason he kept finding himself surrounded by the multiple, serpentine heads of a large Hydra. Perhaps it was because the book said a Hydra could speak Parseltongue, though they rarely chose to speak at all.





The next nights of detention were not so pleasant with Hagrid. Still, it was better than getting “I must not tell lies,” carved into the back of a hand, Harry thought. But Hagrid was not one for conventional or traditional punishment.



On Wednesday he set Harry to chopping a large pile of firewood. Harry would later learn that he had it better than Ron. Ron had to clean out the paddock the Abraxon that Hagrid had shown the seventh years had stayed. Cleaning up after a horse the size of two elephants was no fun.



Harry considered himself lucky when he met Ron that evening on the way back to the tower. He also kept his distance, as did everyone else, until Ron got a shower. Truthfully, everyone stayed back from Harry too, so he too bathed thoroughly.



Harry did not mind doing labor over writing lines, though his muscles were protesting. After hours, when the sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains, Hagrid let him go inside. His arms ached and he was covered in a thick, oily, disgusting smelling sweat. Of course, it was better than Ron smelled.



Not that Ron had worked any harder, but his sweat was masked by a more potent odor. He had accidentally slipped and fell backwards onto a pile of manure, as he was finishing. When he and Harry returned to the common room, many students thought somebody had dropped dungbombs. The truth disgusted them far more. Ron was just happy to not run into Filch on the way back, nor anyone else.



Harry was almost certain the elves in laundry would just burn his and Ron’s robes from that night. He climbed into bed, his arms feeling like lead; lead that throbbed. Ron’s arms clearly hurt him too, as did his back. Harry, still hot, pulled off his pajama shirt before going to sleep, completely exhausted. Ron’s snores filled the room shortly after. Their homework from the day lay untouched.





Thursday was hazy to Harry, until Care of Magical Creatures. He did not arrive happy, not really wanting to see Hagrid anymore, though he knew Hagrid was just doing what was right. But as he walked back to the castle with Hermione and Ron, he could not help smiling.



Not only was the baby Manticore fascinating, though dangerous if spooked, but Hagrid gave him and Ron good news. Harry, Ron and Hermione were still sketching the creatures venomous, tail barbs when Hagrid told them, in a whisper, they did not have detention on Friday anymore. He reasoned that they had done a good job the day before and if they worked just as hard that night they did not have to come on Friday. Harry’s arms were still dully aching, but he felt relieved.



The rest of the lesson was spent with Hagrid showing how a baby Manticore would play like a puppy; a rather large puppy. It frolicked and pranced, pawed at a ball and wagged it’s menacing tail happily. It seemed clear that if you were friendly to it, a Manticore was no more dangerous than a dog. But Harry could not get over the fact it could shoot its tail barbs fifty feet if angered. The poison from a single barb could knock Hagrid unconscious, according to the professor. Harry guessed it could kill him.





Harry and Ron returned that night wondering what they would have to do for their last detention. They met Hagrid in the entry hall as usual, a sense of dread overcoming Harry. Hagrid led them to a classroom that had no desks in it.



“Sorry ‘bout this, but Professor Dumbledore said all students have to do one night of lines if they break the curfew rules.” Harry and Ron groaned in unison. “Don’ do that! This chalkboards are magical. They’ll tell you when yer done, but will make you work longer if you complain or work too slow. When they say yer down, go back to yer dormitory. Oh, and don‘ write too big either.”



Harry and Ron each approached one of the two chalkboards as Hagrid left. A long piece of white chalk appeared in each tray. As they resolutely picked up their chalk, words began to write themselves on each board, though they said the same.



No talking.

You will write until told to stop.

Write the following:

“I will not break curfew again.”

Begin!



These words faded as they raised their chalk, a fine dust floating into the air. Harry and Ron worked on in silence, filling their chalkboards as the hours ticked by.



As Harry’s wrist began to hurt and tire from the strain, his writing became sloppier. “Write neater,” the chalkboard wrote at one point. Harry tried, but had been working for too long. Each time he and Ron filled their chalkboard they hoped to be finished. But, so far, the boards had erased themselves, causing the boys to choke on inhaled chalk dust, then would write “continue.”



Finally, as their curfew approached, the boards wrote “stop,” right where each was about to continue. The boards quickly erased themselves one final time before Harry and Ron could escape the dust storm.



Harry looked at his watch. He and Ron had just enough time to return to their dormitory before curfew, if they ran. They stumbled into the common room, exhausted and only a minute late. They were both breathing heavy, having climbed six staircases at a run, Harry war clutching his chest. But no teacher had seen them arrive late, and the common room was strangely empty.



Tired, but having homework to do, Harry and Ron retrieved their bags and sat in the silent common room. The scratching of their quills and an occasional whisper were the only sounds they made for a while. Soon, they began to take turns yawning loudly and both fell asleep at the table, their heads unfortunately resting on fresh ink.





Friday whizzed by in a blur for Harry. He was soon descending into the cold dungeons on Saturday morning, toward Snape’s office. Each step was colder and more filled with dread.



Harry entered the office for the first time since Snape had thrown him out the previous year. Snape was standing with his back to Harry, adjusting the slime-filled jars on a shelf. Harry stood in the doorway and was about to knock on the open door when Snape spoke. “You are late Potter.”



Harry raised his arm and looked at his watch. He was still five minutes early. Harry was about to speak, but Snape had turned and saw him examining the watch. Snape grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him close to read the watch. Snape withdrew his wand and Harry tried to yank his arm away, but Snape’s grip was vice-like. “This timepiece is inaccurate. Tempus aparato.” Harry’s watch whirred and buzzed at extreme speed, but when it stopped, its displayed time was not even ten minutes later.



“Follow me,” Snape ordered, releasing Harry’s wrist. He led Harry to a large but empty storeroom. Harry looked around the dark, moldy room and saw buckets of hot, soapy water. “You will scrub this room until it is free of mold and clean enough to be used again.”



Harry looked to the ceiling, nearly two meters above his head, and saw great, black clumps of mold, which were dripping a stinky water. “Yes Potter, the entire room! Are you incapable of conjuring a ladder? If your Potions ‘s work is any indication, you cannot be any good in your other classes.”



Harry wanted to remind him that he had received an Outstanding on his Potions O.W.L. But he stayed silent, withdrew his wand and produced a simple wooden ladder, leaning against the wall. Snape, said nothing, but swept from the room, slamming the door and leaving Harry in complete darkness.



“No wonder there’s mold in here,” Harry muttered. “Lumos!” Spiders had already begun to climb from the cracks, now that the room was dark again. Harry did not mind. Even after Aragog, he was not afraid of simple spiders like these. He found a lantern and lit it with his wand. He stowed his wand and crouched next to a bucket. He reached his hand into the water, to retrieve the scrubbing sponge, only to find the water was scalding. Harry cursed his stupidity and protected himself from extreme heat. He began the tedious task of scrubbing the stubborn mold off the dungeon walls.



The arduous scrubbing was back-breaking work. Each passing minute increased Harry’s hatred for Snape. Still, he scrubbed on wanting to finish this quickly.



After removing a particularly difficult chunk, Harry heard the door opening. He turned to look but had to shield his eyes from the brighter light. Snape was scowling at Harry’s progress. Harry did not understand why; he had already cleared three walls and only had the ceiling and half of the last wall. His entire body ached from his hard work.



“I see you have taken your time.” Harry gritted his teeth. “You may go to lunch, but you will return to finish.”



Harry walked as quickly as he could to the great hall. It was late and only a few students remained, none of which were from Harry’s house. He picked a spot at the table and ate in silence, vaguely aware of the few students present gawking at him. He returned to the dungeon and finished his work.



The ceiling proved to be the most difficult but Harry managed to finish around five. He found Snape in his office and told him he was finished. Snape paid no attention to how exhausted Harry looked and swept past him to inspect his work. Harry stumbled after him.



The room was spotless but Snape still found complaints. “You certainly took your time. I could have had this room clean by lunch.” Harry was too exhausted to rise against Snape. He kept silent and Snape dismissed him.



Harry wearily trudged back to his dormitory. He did not notice Ron and Hermione try to get his attention in the common room. He climbed the final staircase, crossed his empty dormitory and collapsed on his bed.



What felt like seconds later, Ron was waking him for dinner. “Go on without me. I’m not hungry,” Harry mumbled into his pillow. But as Ron left, Harry found he could not sleep either. He rolled to his back and finally kicked off his shoes. He gazed toward the ceiling for what felt like only a few minutes, not really seeing it. He rolled again, falling to the floor.



“Brilliant Harry,” he muttered to himself. He stood and stretched his heavy arms, looking out the window. He was amazed at how dark it was already and then he heard the noise echoing from the common room. He thought of joining his friends but changed his mind. Instead he changed for bed, not caring how early it was.



Harry pulled the sheets tight around him, but did not feel tired. He reached to his nightstand, opened the drawer and removed two thick photo albums. Over the past week, Harry had come to find these as a great source of comfort. But this night was different.



He felt a great longing for something he had never known. He wanted to feel the warmth and love of his parents. He wanted them to embrace and comfort him. He had never had this feeling so strongly. But this night was different.



He remembered the rumors spread during his fourth year. He had never understood his lose, because it happened so early. He had never cried about missing his parents. But this night was different.



He missed them so deeply, and looking at the photographs made him hurt more. But he knew there was no way to bring them back. There was no way he would see them, except in photographs. But if there were a way, Harry would have done anything for just one day with his parents, or even just one of them.



He was not sad, but angry. Because Harry had not lost his parents. They were taken from him! He wiped his eyes dry, put the photo albums away, put his clothes back on and went to find his friends. He remembered his decision not to mope, but to enjoy his friends and his time until he could defeat The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters..



The End



Fear not, there is a sequel.

“The Deepest, Most-Desired Wish” (Dark/Angst)

It is a story type I have long wanted to write. I hope it is not too redundant of similar stories.