Harry awoke to find himself lying on his bed, fully clothed. He started to sit up and quickly realized that was a serious mistake. His entire body was one big throbbing ache.

Merlin, what did he do to me? he wondered groggily.

His left arm was definitely broken, but worse, he couldn’t move either his arm or his leg on that side. He had a creeping pins and needles feeling that was very strong in his fingers and toes and gradually reducing as it moved up his limbs. Trying to turn his head to the left brought forth a massive spike of pain from the side of his neck. Harry’s eyes watered uncontrollably as the air caught in his lungs. The struggling breaths also informed him of several broken ribs. He wiped at his eyes with his right hand, which could still move. He noticed the doxy bite on his arm looked angry and inflamed, and the centre had turned a dark purple, almost black.

How long was I out? he wondered.

Glancing down without moving his head, he could see afternoon light filtering through his curtains and between the bars fixed to his windows.

How could that ruddy installer put bars on the windows and not notice me lying here? he thought, outraged.

Then he noticed the windows were shut and the curtains pulled to and tacked down so as not to stir.

Okay, it’s been at least a day then. Is it Saturday or Sunday?

Although his right arm was still mobile, it was starting to ache more and more. He let it fall limp at his side, but the doxy bite still burned. The growing numbness on his left side was even more alarming.

I should have tried to run or even fight. Having the Ministry show up to snap my wand would be preferable to getting beaten to death. I just thought he’d stop after the first few punches like before.

Harry reached around with his right hand and dug his fingers between the mattress and the box-frame. He sighed as his fingers brushed the smooth wooden shaft of his wand.

I can just cast several spells in quick succession, he thought blearily. That ought to bring someone running. And if Vernon objects to the owls, I’ll just hex him.

The tip of the wand, however, got caught on something as Harry pulled it out, and the wand slipped out his fingers and rolled under the bed. From the rattling sounds, it had rolled a good distance as well. Harry sighed.

I just can’t catch a break, can I? he thought in a rare burst of self-pity.

He thought momentarily about climbing down after it, but his left side was mostly dead weight by now. He took a shallow breath and blew it out. He was going to have to hope the Weasley brothers were still coming to check on him. Hopefully the bars on the windows would be a tip off for them. Aside from being in large amounts of pain, Harry was disturbed at how badly things had spiralled out of control. He’d shown too much anger or independence last summer, and he’d tried to play it too softly this summer. Vernon had never hurt him this badly before, and he was starting to wonder how much damage had actually been done. Wizards were supposed to be more physically resilient than Muggles, but the creeping paralysis on his left side suggested something was getting worse.

He was also hungry, and incredibly thirsty. He also really needed to use the loo. It didn’t look like any of those issues were going to be addressed any time soon.

Harry wasn’t aware of drifting off, but when he looked at the window again, it appeared to be dark outside. He knew time had passed because his left hand and foot were completely numb, and the pins and needles were creeping up his arm and leg. There appeared to be something wet under his neck, but he couldn’t tell for sure. The bite on his right forearm was starting to smell rather badly. When he sniffed at it, he also realized that he’d lost control of certain bodily functions as well.

That was when Harry started to wonder if he was dying.

That thought made his heart race. There was still too much to do. Voldemort was still out there, and it was just a matter of time before he returned. He tried to concentrate in what he needed to do. Could he try to Apparate somewhere for help? He thought about the lobby at St. Mungo’s. The questions they would ask didn’t matter if he wasn’t going to be here to fix things otherwise. Even trusting the Ministry was better than nothing. He tried to picture the hospital’s lobby in his mind, but his thoughts were too fuzzy. He could barely feel his magic at this point.

He reached up, ever so slowly, and slid the fingers of his right hand under the pillow. His body felt like it was cast from solid lead. He wanted little more than to never have to move again. He pulled the scarf Ginny made him out from under the pillow, or at least one end of it.

He held it to his face and tried to wait.

Darkness claimed him again.

~+~

Harry’s eyes cracked open when he heard a loud crunching sound. A sudden draft in the dank, stifling air chilled the sweat beaded on Harry’s face. His eyes had swollen so much he could barely open them, but his ears were relatively fine.

He could hear the idling of a car’s engine.

"Are you sure—"

"-- we have the right address?"

"-- and we didn’t just—"

"--rip the bars---"

"--off some innocent Muggle’s house?"

"Shut it, you two. You said this was number four, so this is where Harry lives. We could see the people behind the other windows and those weren’t Harry."

"Whatever you say—"

"—ickle Ronniekins."

"Look, there’s Hedwig. That’s his owl. We got the right place. Harry?" Ron called.

Harry tried to speak, but the best he could manage was a whispering groan. Through his slitted eyes, he could barely make out someone standing over him.

"Merlin, Harry, what did they do to you?" the shadow asked in a shocked whisper.

"Ron?" Harry croaked, a little louder this time. His throat was so dry it felt like it was lined with gravel.

"Get his things," another voice said. It sounded like one of the twins.

"I’m looking. Got his mail. And his owl. Where’s his trunk?"

"Harry?" Ron said leaning over him. "Where is your school trunk? We’re going to get you out of here, mate."

"Under stairs… wand is… under bed."

"Right, I’ll get that. Fred, look under the stairs for his trunk. And stay quiet."

"Half a mo’, Ron. Got to pick this lock," one of the twins called.

There was a creak as the bedroom door slowly opened.

The shadow reappeared, leaning closely over Harry. "I’ve got your wand," Ron whispered. "When they get your trunk we’re out of here. Is there anything else?"

"Water," Harry croaked as he blinked some secretions out of his eyes and could see a little better.

"Right," Ron grunted before he disappeared again, returning with the water glass from the lavatory. Harry tried to lever himself up on his right arm, but couldn’t even begin to shift himself.

"Hold still," Ron said. "You’re messed up pretty bad." He poured half the glass into the water dish on Hedwig’s cage and then carefully held the lip of the glass up to Harry’s mouth. Harry slowly drank the remainder in tiny slips. Nothing he’d drunk before had ever tasted so good.

"Got his trunk," said the hoarse whisper from the door.

"Right then; get that lot stowed and get the back doors open," Ron hissed as he stood over Harry. He took the scarf trailing off the edge of Harry’s bed, rolled it up and shoved it into his pocket. He looked down, frowning.

"Okay, everything’s in—"

"- let’s get Harry up on his feet."

Ron held his hand out against the twins as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. "Mobilicorpus" he said in a low voice. Harry felt a sigh of relief as his body lifted, weightless, from the bed.

"Bloody hell, Ron —"

"-- we agreed—"

" -- that there would be no magic!"

"We’re really going to be—"

"In for it now!"

"Shut it, you two," Ron growled as he levitated Harry over to the window. "He’s hurt bad. I’m half afraid to even move him at all, but I’m not leaving him a minute longer with those Muggles."

Ron was very careful manoeuvring Harry into the back seat. Still there were a few jars that brought tears to his eyes and nearly made him black out. Fortunately the back seat expanded enough for Harry to be stretched out. Ron spread a woolly blanket over him that smelled a bit like mothballs.

Harry was still in a lot of pain, and felt truly wretched, but at least he knew he wasn’t going to die in that room.

"Do you think we should fly him straight to St. Mungo’s?" Ron asked

"Do you know the way?"

" -- because we don’t."

"Let’s get him to Mum. If she can’t help him, she can use the Floo," Ron suggested.

He drifted off a few minutes later, but woke again when they touched down.

"Have you any idea how worried I’ve been?" he heard a woman’s voice that started low and built to an impressive volume. "Out all night! Not a note or anything! You all could have crashed, you—"

"Mum! Yell at me all you like, but take a look at Harry first! He’s in a bad way," Ron shouted.

Harry was dimly aware of the back door being opened. A stout figure was silhouetted in the early morning light. He heard a gasp as the blanket was pulled away.

"Boys, get inside and stay inside. Keep an eye on your sister."

He felt a soft hand touch his shoulder and then groaned as a sudden jerk whisked him away.

~+~

Molly Weasley couldn’t ever remember being so worried about her children before. She’d worked herself into quite a state by the time she saw the Ford Anglia coming in for a landing next to the shed. The twins had always been a bit wild, but this was bad even for them. And to involve Ron was even worse.

The looks on their faces were uncharacteristically grim, and she had a feeling they were in even worse trouble than she knew. So she was a little dumbfounded when Ron interrupted her, which he never did when getting a lecture. The sick expression on his face was enough to make her stop and open the car door.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She almost became physically ill. Ron’s best friend had been beaten to a pulp, and from the smells coming from inside the car, had been left like that for several days. She pulled back the blanket and saw the massive swelling and bruising on the side of the boy’s neck. That made up her mind. She sent the boys inside and gently gripped Harry’s shoulder. The boy’s emerald green eyes flickered open and she Apparated them both to St. Mungo’s lobby.

Normally Molly Weasley hated to Apparate. It always made her a bit queasy, so she much preferred Flooing. Side-along Apparating was noticeably harder on her, so she took a moment to get her bearings. By that time, several healers were swarming over Harry. Their jargon was highly technical, but by the tone of their voices she knew his injuries were quite serious. When one mentioned informing the Auror on duty, Molly asked where the closest Floo could be found.

"Ma’am, we’d like you to stay around. There’s going to be some questions they’ll need answered."

"I just need to call my husband; I have no intention of abandoning that boy," she said firmly. The healer directed her to a sitting room just off the lobby.

Molly dug into her apron and dropped a Knut into the bowl next to Floo powder. She took the smallest pinch she could and tossed it into the fire. When the flames burned green she stated, "Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. Arthur, are you there?"

After a moment, he husband’s head appeared in the fire. "I’m almost finished up here. We had nine raids tonight and the paperwork is incredible. Can you believe Mundungus Fletcher tried to hex me? I don’t think he was serious about it, but really!"

Molly let out a sigh. "Arthur, Ron and the twins went ahead and got Harry."

"Got him? But how? Oh no, they didn’t use the…?"

"They did, but that’s not important right now. I’m at St. Mungo’s with Harry right now."

"With Harry?"

Molly pressed her lips together. Her husband had been up all night, so it wouldn’t do to get impatient with him now. "Arthur, if we’d waited until Friday to look in on him, I don’t think he would have made it," she said with a hint of bitterness. She hadn’t wanted to believe Ron when he talked about "those horrid Muggles" and neither had her husband. She was just glad her sons had shown more initiative. "I think the Aurors are going to want to talk to them about how they found Harry. Could you swing by The Burrow and collect them? Ginny can stay with the Lovegoods, I suppose. He has a daughter her age."

Her husband’s expression was grim, but he nodded and the flames went back to normal.

When she returned to the lobby, the receptionist directed her to one of the treatment rooms. Outside the door was a tall black man with a shaved head and a gold hoop earring in one ear. His robes were conservatively cut, made of a blue fabric that was almost black.

He nodded at Molly and extended his hand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ma’am. I understand you brought the boy in?"

"Yes, well, my sons found him," Molly said, feeling oddly proud.

"Where was that?" He’d taken out a small book and was writing in it now.

"I suppose rescued him is more accurate. He lives with his guardians, his aunt and uncle." She sniffed. "I didn’t quite believe Ron when he went on about how horrible those Muggles were to him."

Kingsley had stopped writing to stare at her. "You mean his aunt and uncle did this to him?"

Molly swallowed as her stomach rolled over. "Yes, I think they did. We hadn’t heard from him for a while, and my boys got worried and went to fetch him." She noticed the Auror’s eyes hadn’t left her face for a moment. "My husband is going to collect the boys now. I didn’t want to wait for the Floo, he -- he was hurt so badly." Molly struggled to suppress her tears.

Why didn’t we check sooner? She asked herself for the tenth time.

"I’ll need to talk to them as soon as they arrive," Auror Shacklebolt said smoothly.

The door to the sitting room opened and Arthur walked out followed by Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. Arthur wouldn’t meet her eyes.

As the Auror began talking to the boys, Molly pulled her husband aside. She glanced at her daughter. Ginny watched the proceedings silently, but her eyes were wide with shock. "What is she doing here," she whispered.

"She already knew, Molly," Arthur whispered back. "She heard the boys return and got the whole story from them. She was in quite a state and refused to be left anywhere."

"Arthur, this isn’t a good place for her to be -- he’s, well he’s --"

"Been beaten half to death, the ways the boys described it," Arthur said with a sigh. "She was just as upset as you are. I couldn’t leave her with someone else right now. Percy volunteered to stay at home in case any owls come."

"I suppose it’s for the best," Molly sighed. She knew her husband would not be able to refuse his little girl’s tears.

"If everything is under control here, I need to make another trip." Arthur said suddenly.

Molly frowned. Her husband’s expression had gone very grim. An expression her own mum had called fighting mad. She couldn’t recall seeing him this angry since the war. "Arthur, where are you going?" she said softly.

"I need to talk to Albus," he said and began walking toward the sitting room entrance. Molly let out a sigh and walked over to her youngest and smoothed a wandering strand of hair off of her forehead.

~+~

Arthur Weasley was an easy going man by nature. He didn’t want to go through life snarling at everyone who stepped on his toes or inadvertently jostled him. Some people thought that meant he had no backbone. He knew some of his colleagues at the Ministry thought he was a bit hen-pecked.

He just preferred to save his anger for truly deserving targets.

He hadn’t even seen Harry. He didn’t need to. Listening to his wife and children occasionally talk about him around the dinner table painted enough of a portrait. He knew his youngest son felt a bit overshadowed by his older siblings, but was surprised he didn’t have much envy for the Boy Who Lived’s wealth or fame. Instead, he tended to fret about his friend’s safety. True, the boy did tend to get in more than his fair share of scrapes, but Arthur was still proud of his son’s loyalty.

Talking to his sons briefly this morning painted a far different portrait. There was a hollow look in their eyes that took him a moment to identify, at least until he thought back to the war. A piece of their innocence was gone forever after seeing what had been done to their friend; by his own blood relatives.

Arthur had always been fascinated by Muggles. When he was a lad, he’d been amazed that people could even survive without magic. When he attended Hogwarts, he signed up for the first Muggle Studies class that had ever been taught. He was amazed by the ways they used technology to do things that Wizarding folk always took for granted. Other than their handicaps with regard to magic, he’d always thought of them as being just like regular people.

But what kind of people would do that to a child? To their own flesh and blood? It was unthinkable to him, and he found himself thinking in ways he didn’t like. Were Muggles really not that different? Or had he been deluding himself?

Arthur closed the door to the waiting room and took a deep breath. Once out of sight of his wife and family he sat down for a moment in one of the chairs. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned softly. He’d been up all night, and his mind wasn’t at its clearest. There were no doubt magical families that did just as badly, if not worse. He couldn’t judge all Muggles on the behaviour of the few, no matter how angry he was. He really needed some sleep, but he had too much to do before he could rest. With a sigh he heaved himself out of the far too comfortable chair and walked over to the fireplace.

When the fire burned green, he stepped forward saying "Three Broomsticks," in a clear voice.

Arthur used the walk from Hogsmeade to the castle to both wake up and to organize his thoughts. The sun stung his eyes, but the cool morning air was invigorating.

When he entered the Great Hall, he found the professors were just finishing their breakfast.

"Mr. Weasley, what brings you here so early?" The headmaster’s eyes showed only a little surprise.

"If I could have a moment of your time, Professor?"

Arthur could feel the man’s eyes taking in his expression and signs of fatigue. "Certainly," he said as he pushed back from the table. The old man led them up to his office without another word. Soon they were seating and Arthur shook his head at the offered lemon drop.

"What is this about, Arthur?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Well, it has to do with Harry Potter, and his relatives," Arthur answered calmly.

The old man looked at him for a moment. Arthur imagined this was not a direction he expected the conversation to go in. "I know your youngest son is friends with the boy, and Harry has expressed that he doesn’t get along well with his relatives, but I assure you…"

"Doesn’t get along? Albus, are you mad?" Arthur had to stop himself from shouting the words. "The boy was beaten half to death! He’s at St. Mungo’s right now, but if my sons hadn’t broken half a dozen laws going to check on him he would be dead by now."

Arthur had known Dumbledore for many years, but he’d never seen him at a loss for words before. After a moment, the old wizard seemed to gather himself. "It simply isn’t possible," he whispered. He turned abruptly and consulted one of the silvery instruments that lined his shelves. "No one has disturbed the protections on their house and its inhabitants," he said out loud, frowning.

"Albus, I’m telling you, this wasn’t done by some outsiders, it was them. He’d been hurt days ago, and they just left him on that bed."

The professor looked up at him. "Harry has… let his feelings be known to me about his treatment at the Dursleys. I took it upon myself to pay a visit to his uncle at his workplace. I discovered that things were not going at all well, both due to some things that had been said, and because Mr. Dursley holds a great contempt for anything he does not consider normal. I… took steps to ensure Harry’s safety this summer, but something appears to have gone dreadfully wrong."

Arthur stared at the man who led him and others in the fight against Voldemort during the last war. "You used a Memory Charm on him, didn’t you?"

"I am not proud of doing that, but it was necessary to keep Harry safe during the time he is not at Hogwarts, especially now that he is garnering attention again in the Wizarding world. There are extensive protections around the Dursleys and their home."

"Could someone else have sought out Harry’s uncle at his job like you did? Could he have been put under the Imperius curse?"

Dumbledore glanced at his instruments again. "No. Someone casting a curse at him, let alone an Unforgivable Curse, would have been detected." The professor paused, staring off into space.

"What if they used magic, but not a curse," Arthur asked slowly. "What would happen if someone suddenly removed your charm?"

Dumbledore let out a sigh. For a moment, he looked old and almost… defeated.

Arthur felt a stab of pity but ignored it. "Right," he said suddenly. "Well, I think it’s clear that is no longer a safe place for the boy."

"You are correct," Dumbledore agreed carefully. "Perhaps a guard can be assigned there to keep watch on him directly."

"You misunderstand me, Albus," Arthur said coldly. "That boy cannot return to such an environment. It is neither safe nor healthy, and it’s a bloody wonder he isn’t unbalanced."

"Arthur, they are his legal guardians. There are laws that must be obeyed."

"There’s an Auror taking depositions from my sons now. I’m going to talk to Amelia Bones when I get done here and I doubt there will be any difficulty in scheduling a custody hearing. One I doubt the Dursleys will even bother to attend. Until then he will stay with us-- That is, after he’s released from hospital."

The headmaster had gone very still. "I don’t think that would be advisable."

"Your notion of the proper home life for a twelve year old boy leaves a lot to be desired," Arthur replied in a formal tone he normally reserved for legal hearings. "If you wish to force the issue, we can always get the press involved."

"You realize what that kind of publicity would do to the Muggle Protection Act, don’t you?"

"I’ve spent six months trying to get that passed into law. I am fully aware that my efforts would all be for naught if the public found out that the Boy Who Lived was beaten by his Muggle relatives. I also remember being lectured about how we always have a choice between doing what is easy and what is right." Albus stared at him and Arthur felt a little guilty. He’d followed this Wizarding legend unquestioningly during the war, who was he to question the man’s judgment now? Arthur straightened in his seat. Several people at St. Mungo’s were depending on him to do the right thing and he wasn’t going to let them down. That’s who he was.

"There have been a lot of incidents lately," the headmaster said in a resigned tone. "There are things going on that I do not completely understand, and some of them appear to revolve around young Harry Potter. I hope you do not come to regret your decision."

"The only thing I regret is not acting sooner," Arthur said as he got up from his chair.

~+~

Harry awoke and was surprised to find he was free of pain. At least relatively free anyway. He could barely move his left hand, but that was a vast improvement over the numbness he’d experienced earlier. All he could see was a white expanse of ceiling overhead. He tried to look down, but his neck wouldn’t bend. It took a moment to realize there was a large poultice wrapped around his neck and pressing against his jaw bone.

"Ah, he’s awake, Healer Stanhope."

A middle-aged man with grey hair and kind-looking eyes entered Harry’s field of vision. "Ah. Try to rest, Harry. You’ve had a rough go of things and you need to give the potions time to work."

"Neck hurts," Harry croaked. He was embarrassed but grateful when a straw was brought to his lips. He took a long sip as the healer nodded.

"Yes, you are undoubtedly dehydrated. Your worst injury was a blow to the neck. There was some nerve damage, but you should eventually recover. Just try to rest now. You have another dose to take in two hours, so you have time for a nap." Harry felt a hand pat his shoulder and then the face left.

The lights were dimmed, but Harry didn’t feel like sleeping. If he was physically capable of it, he would have kicked himself. He’d badly underestimated Vernon’s rage. He remembered the first time he’d lived through that day - Aunt Petunia had swung a frying pan at his head after he startled Dudley. But this time his uncle had nearly killed him. One or two casual blows were usually it when Vernon got enraged, but instead, this time he’d struck him as hard as he could, breaking bones. By the time Harry realized the man was serious, he was too injured to defend himself.

Harry knew he wasn’t just guilty of underestimating his uncle’s anger. He’d been expecting things to happen just like before, as long as he didn’t take steps to change them. He expected Vernon to just lock him in his room like last time, ignoring the warning signs from his harsher welcome home. His foreknowledge had given him an easy victory over Quirrell at the end of the term. But now he’d grown overly dependent on it and nearly died for it.

As angry as he was at the Dursleys, Harry was even angrier at himself. His stupidity had nearly got himself killed. He was trying too hard to march in lockstep with everyone’s expectations, terrified of raising Dumbledore or Snape’s suspicions. Trying to maintain a lower profile and not forfeit the protection of his mother’s last magic had nearly got him killed. And without him, Voldemort would eventually have free reign. Most of the people he cared about would not last long under such a regime.

Hell, using his wand and hexing his uncle might have been better. His wand wouldn’t have been snapped without at least a hearing… though he wondered if he would have been believed without resorting to Veritaserum. The wrong question put to him while under its effects would result in him never leaving the Ministry building again.

The what-ifs began to multiply and run riot in his mind, so Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes tried to rest. Instead, something he’d read in one of his psychology books was troubling him. He’d felt some guilt in the future for the death of the Dursley family. Was his reluctance to handle things more aggressively some bizarre attempt at penance? Was he hoping that Vernon wouldn’t prove to be as big a bastard this time around?

It wasn’t pleasant, pondering if one had a self destructive streak in one’s nature.

In the end, Harry gave it up as a bad job. He’d been stupid and he simply wasn’t going to do that again. In the future, if it came down to preserving the status quo or preserving himself, he’d say to hell with the consequences.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to sleep.