Chapter Two
The Reject Rescue Crew

Hey guys!
Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites! I had no idea my story'd receive the amount of hits it did, since it was just a spitball idea! And a very random one at that. But, needless to say, I think I already love you guys! And yes, love can happen that quick, given the chance.

But, in saying that it's a spitball idea, I must say that I literally wrote that one really good chapter and had no others backed up after it, seeing as I thought that it wouldn't be received as well as it did. And in saying that, I hate to say that my writing is only as good as the first chapter every once in a blue moon. So if you're disappointed with my newest additions to the story, just know that it's the way I write, and every writer has many voices in which to put pen to paper.

I just happen to have more than the average to write in.

Anyway, lots of love for you guys, and I hope you enjoy the story! Even if this chapter is a bit more.. violent, than the last. In saying that, there is a WARNING: Child abuse, mentions of abuse, blood, reckless amounts of the word 'Bloody', arguments are prone, and Petunia can have a mite bit of heart.

Enjoy!

-oOo-

Harry sat rather stiffly on his old, springy and lumpy bed, feeling nothing but a dull sickness in his chest that throbbed with each breath he managed to keep sucking in, though it was tempting for him to just stop breathing altogether, knowing what was going to happen when Uncle Vernon came home from work. And it was just the tip of the iceberg; the initial fight. It would only be the beginning of a long lasting punishment, and it'd begin with being locked in his room over the summer with no privileges. And that usually meant a sporadic use of the bathroom, and meager meals that he'd have to share with Hedwig.

And that isn't to say what Aunt Petunia had said. "So now, you'll not show hide nor hair out of that room unless you want to be locked up in that cupboard again."

It was all Dudley's bloody fault.

Next time Dudley and I are attacked by soul-sucking Dementors, I'm throwing them a Dudley dessert cake and high-tailing it out of there, Harry thought sourly, picking at the loose threads in his threadbare blankets. Stupid ruddy Dursleys and their stupid bloody prejudices. Should lock them in a room full of Devil's Snare and see how bloody well they fare without me coming to save them.

But he couldn't, could he? Because, where in the bloody hell would he obtain a room full of Devil's Snare? That room under the trap door in First Year ought to be gone already, not that he could drag the Dursleys there any more than he could drag the room here.

It didn't really weigh in on his thoughts that maybe thinking about killing his only living relatives was a bad sign. After all, one could only take so many damaging beatings and years of neglect before finally snapping. And he felt oh-so close to snapping.

And he knew that he was once again about to endure another beating, because, what else was Vernon Dursley going to do when he heard about his Duddy Diddykins being attacked by soul sucking creatures from the Magical world? Sit Harry down and give him a nice, long little talk about protecting one's family above their own life? That was even more improbable than Dementors in Little Whinging.

Hedwig gave a reproachful hoot, then, and Harry turned a dull gaze to see her staring balefully out the window, spotting something she didn't terribly like. Harry rather thought he knew what.

"Is it Uncle Vernon, girl?" Harry asked her quietly, not wanting to disturb her too greatly. The last time he'd said something a bit too loud when she'd been concentrating on glaring at some poor little bird on his windowsill, she'd ignored him for three days, only sparing him annoyed little glares whenever he changed her food and water bowls and tried to talk to her. He'd learnt to be more quiet since then, and she seemed all the more affectionate for it.

Hedwig turned knowledgeable lamp-like amber eyes on him, looking very much the sulky owl deprived of much needed wing space, and gave a short little bark of affirmation, before swiveling her head to glare back out the window again. She was huddled against the side of her cage on the highest perch, the most convenient spot where she could watch the drones of company cars drive by on Privet Drive. It was her favorite spot to sit in, seeing as she could always spot Uncle Vernon's newly bought company car from it with ease. She always had such an interesting reaction to the man, and Harry bothered himself to watch her every time she fluffed up her feathers and glared darkly out the window, looking very much the threatening cloud of white with two slits of amber glaring out malevolently. Harry reckoned she would've swooped down on the rotund man down there and tore off every bit of the mustache he so proudly displayed on his overly thin lips.

If it weren't for the heavy duty lock barring her from leaving her cage, that is.

Harry heaved a great sigh, easily ignoring the pang of pain that crawled across his spine and into his ribs, as the sounds of a car door squeaking open and slamming closed came from down below, and the front door almost immediately banged opened as Aunt Petunia welcomed her husband home from a long, hard day at the office. She was no doubt relaying the story of Harry's unnatural tricks for the day, Harry imagined, so the man had an appropriate time to build up to his towering rage. Not that he didn't always have something to be angry about. It just depended on whether it was Harry that did it, or it was some poor sod at Grunnings that was unlucky enough to do the wrong thing on Vernon Dursley's watch.

It was almost boring, waiting here in his room for his aunt to get all the information out and for his uncle to get into a responding rage. It felt like it was taking far too long, like time had been put on a temporary stop so he could suffer just that little bit more. It made all the aches and pains in his body flare up, almost as if an invisible presence was applying pressure to his back and head. Though that couldn't really be right, because, who else would be in his room when there were wards protecting the boundaries of Number Four? No, it was obvious that it was only his mind acting up in the place of boredom.

But when the voices of his aunt and uncle echoed harshly and angrily up the stairs and came to a stop just outside his door, Harry realized that he didn't have to wait long for Uncle Vernon to work up to his raging rhinoceros standard at all. What he'd apparently done, had ensured a very quick reaction.

The many heavy duty locks on his door snicked open in quick succession, and Harry watched with an almost detached fascination as the door slammed open and ricocheted off the wall, almost hitting an apoplectic with rage Uncle Vernon square in the face. It was an entirely unpleasant thing to see, even worse than the Dementors, Harry reckoned, if only because he could see the progression of redness on his uncle's squashed, fat face, and count the veins that bulged in anger.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Uncle Vernon in a deceptively quiet, harsh voice, seeming so angry he could barely unclench his jaws enough to speak. Harry found that his uncle's jowls hardly moved that way, and found it mildly impressive that such a thing could be possible. But it wasn't really a time to laugh, not when his fate was so uncertain at the minute.

"I'm sitting, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied neutrally, taking in the disgusted widening of eyes that landed on his hair. "It's what I usually do up here when I've nothing else to do."

Harry watched in a state of almost amusement as another vein bulged out in Uncle Vernon's reddened forehead, making that three veins in a row, like a cat had tried to mangle his face, but had only managed in digging three scores into his forehead instead.

From over Uncle Vernon's rounded shoulder, Aunt Petunia's pinched face became even more sour at the remark, and she looked well on her way into working up to her own towering rage. Harry imagined she'd go scrub the toilet as fiercely as she could, imagining his face, especially after the door closed again and she left her husband to 'discipline' him. It was obvious she knew what happened when the door closed behind her, and she didn't seem to pay it any mind. Ignorance is bliss, and all that rubbish.

"You must think you're so funny," said Uncle Vernon in a furiously quiet voice, a spray of spittle showering down on the floor at the last word. Harry fancied he could hear the cracking of teeth coming from his Uncle Vernon's incredibly vice-like clenched jaws. "Making those snide little comments, thinking you're so smart that you can make a fool out of me and Petunia. Well I say not. You've threatened the lives of the people who've clothed you, fed you, took you in off the streets after your disgusting, abnormal little parents died and abandoned you. And I will not put up with this any longer," he said, sounding so angry, Harry marvelled at the fact that he was still standing, and not being thrown into cardiac arrest.

"The very last straw, was when you violently attacked my Dudley and almost got him killed. The poor boy's terribly upset, and it's been hours long gone since it happened, so I'm told! What gives you the right to attack my son, Freak?"

Harry almost rolled his eyes, but he was beginning to find the situation even more unappealing than before, and he really didn't want to tempt Uncle Vernon into murdering him, when he looked so close to doing it already. "I didn't attack Dudley," he said firmly, shaking his head. Uncle Vernon didn't even look the slightest bit believing, and he guardedly explained what happened. "I saved him from a clutch of Dementors - large, soul-sucking demons that guard the prison Azkaban, at the risk of losing my own life. He was a little sick from being exposed to their ma - presence," he hurriedly corrected, seeing Uncle Vernon's watery eye beginning to twitch. "But he's fine with a little bit of chocolate and a lie down. It's me that should be worried - no other person has ever been affected like this before! It's unprecedented!"

That seemed to make Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia a little more warier than before, and it was a little relieving to see them edge back a little. Even if it was the threat of a contagion that did it.

"It's not contagious," said Uncle Vernon gruffly, eyeing Harry's hair with sharp, piggy little eyes. He seemed very cautious and uncertain, an altogether good thing. That could mean a possibility of Harry coming out of this relatively unscathed.

But then Aunt Petunia said in a snippy voice, "Of course not, he would've said something before! In fact, I think he told me that it's not. He's only trying to trick you, Vernon! Don't let him do it."

"But I'm still not sure about that," Harry told her hastily, trying not to seem too sly as to tip her off that he was trying to scare them away. She glared at him shrewdly. "I haven't had anyone around me other than Dudley, after all, and he's of blonde hair. Which could be far different than darker hair in that it takes a lot longer for another color to show," he mused with a straight face. "He could very well be infected."

Uncle Vernon immediately ballooned up, arms becoming steel bands at his sides, which was bent outward considering the sizeable paunch. "My Dudders'll not be looking like you, Freak!" He blustered. "You're a dirty little liar, and you need to be taught a lesson. Petunia," he began, glaring darkly at Harry, even when his wife jumped to attention at his back. "Is not going to put any food you don't deserve in your mouth. Two days fasting'll get you more compliant, I reckon, only one toilet break a day, and only one beaker of water every two days'll get you more.. obedient."

"That's barely enough water and food for me, let alone not enough for Hedwig!" Harry protested, jumping up from his bed despite his injuries. "Surely you've more heart to let an animal live!" He cried.

Unlike Uncle Vernon, who didn't seem to feel anything remotely wrong with starving an animal, Aunt Petunia shifted uncomfortably behind Uncle Vernon's bulky body, and her expression became a little timid. "Vernon," she said quietly into her husband's ear, minding the carefully slicked locks. "I.. I don't think killing an animal right, even an unnatural and abnormal one like that. Potter can survive a few days without food and water, but an animal can't. Perhaps two beakers a day and enough food to feed the both of them will do? For me?" She suggested softly.

Uncle Vernon merely glanced at Aunt Petunia's face, before caving in with a grunt and nodding once. "Fine," he said brusquely, his thick moustache twitching. "Two beakers of water a day, a sandwich and a can of soup. Nothing else but that to eat or drink for the next few weeks, understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered quietly, bowing his head with relief.

"I'm not finished with you yet, boy."

Harry felt his hackles raising at the voice. Reluctantly, he looked up at his uncle. Dread clawed at his gut like a rabid Grim at the sight. He just knew that he hadn't gotten away with only that as a punishment, his luck never ran that far ahead.

Uncle Vernon advanced into the room, his thick fingers going to undo the belt wrapped snug and tight at his waist. He glanced at Aunt Petunia absently as he worked the metal buckle. "Go downstairs and finish supper, Pet," he said affably, smiling the smile that made even a blind person shudder. "I'll be down shortly. Dudders is waiting for you to dish up, no doubt."

Aunt Petunia smiled weakly, glancing at the belt only very slightly. "Would you like some brandy tonight, dear?" She asked, edging very slowly out of the doorway, enough to prize Harry's attention from the belt being worked loose.

Harry didn't even bother giving her a pleading look, he knew that it wouldn't help him. She'd already done enough for him, even after he'd threatened her, and any more convening on his part, she'd be in as much trouble as she could be with Uncle Vernon. Even if that wasn't as bad. Just as long as she didn't allow her husband to get wrecked on brandy, he could say that he didn't exactly hate her for the night.

Though severely dislike would be a fitting replacement.

The leather belt slid free with a hiss from the tightly drawn belt loops around Uncle Vernon's bulging waist, and slithered to the floor like a stiff snake, the metal buckle gleaming malevolently from the carpet. Another round! It cried triumphantly, to Harry's ears anyway.

Uncle Vernon grunted approvingly at his wife, smiling despite the terrible tension building in the tiny box room that seemed to be leaking into the rest of the house. "I'd love some, Pet," he said gruffly. "In fact, I think I'll open a bottle from our new collection and have some wine tonight, too," he mused.

"But you've work in the morning, darling," Aunt Petunia chided him affectionately. "Garrison won't like it if you're late again. Perhaps just a little bit of brandy tonight, only? Then we can go out tomorrow night for dinner at that La Fleur de Lune," she said, completely butchering the French language with her measly attempt, though Vernon grinned. "That new French restaurant in town that was in the paper this morning," she explained happily. "The one you told me about before you left for work."

Uncle Vernon nodded, after a brief moment of thought. "Alright, dear," he said with a small grin, amenable to the suggestion. "Just a glass of brandy with dinner, then off to bed, early for work in the morning, then."

Aunt Petunia nodded happily enough, seeming rather awkward just standing in the doorway like she had no idea what she was doing. Harry wondered if she did know what she was doing, or if she was actually going to say something, or do something, to stop what was running through her husband's mind, what with the way she kept looking at the belt. It'd be a surprise, but not an altogether unwanted one. Harry almost felt a little bit hopeful.

But it seemed not to be, as after only a moment of staring, Aunt Petunia jolted in place and moved to leave, reaching in only to grip the door handle tightly. "I'll just - I'll just go and serve dinner, shall I?" She said, looking at Harry only fleetingly, before shutting the door behind her, and effectively sealing Uncle Vernon, and Harry, in.

Harry barely had any time to blink before Uncle Vernon was spinning round to face him, face a mask of unholy rage. "THIS'LL TEACH YOU TO MESS WITH MY DUDLEY'S LIFE, BOY!" Roared Uncle Vernon, the very second the door closed behind his wife.

Harry tried to duck out of the way of the meaty fist that flew at his head, but he only succeeded in throwing himself in the way of the belt, which reared up and struck down across his chest like a serrated blade, intent on searing him in half. He sucked in a deep breath, intent on shouting out his pain, but was very effectively silenced by the hand that struck at his throat, right where the Dementor had grasped earlier and was already bruising. He bowed at the waist, grasping at his throat and choking furiously on the crushed feeling in his neck, and it was only mere seconds before he felt everything go wonky and the ground suddenly appeared much too close to his face.

The shirt that adorned him was suddenly wrenched away, tearing with an almighty rip that proved just how tattered and aged it was, and burning hot knives were suddenly licking at his exposed skin, biting, gnawing, tearing, clawing, ripping at the flesh there. He heard the whip-like sounds accompany the knives like a voice in a tunnel, far out of hearing, yet sounding as if it was next to him. He was just so dizzy, and so achy, and in so much pain.

He couldn't take much more of it – he could barely breathe as it was.

"THIS'LL TAKE THE FREAK OUT OF YOU, POTTER, OR MY NAME ISN'T VERNON EDMUND DURSLEY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, and with one almighty kick under the chin from a steel capped boot, Harry knew no more.

-oOo-

The mumbling is what originally caught Harry's attention. Over the silent screaming of his very injured body, and the crickets outside, he'd managed to catch snippets of suspicious whispers just outside his door that worried his wearied mind– "... break it down...", "...asleep, can't let them know we're here...", "...locked up worse than an Azkaban cell..", and if weren't for the fact that something was kicking at the flap in the bottom of his door, he'd have thought that it was all a dream.

But something, or someone, was kicking at the cat flap in the bottom of his door, and he was in too much pain to dream of even more pain. Not even Cedric Diggory was sadistic enough to haunt his dreams tonight, as he had for many nights before since the end of last year.

Rather absently, Harry wondered if he should try and get up to fend off the intruders. But, that would entail dragging himself away from the corner he'd been left in, and prying his floorboard loose and reaching for his wand. Not to mention standing to fend the people off, and he hadn't attempted that for days now. He didn't even know if he could anymore, Uncle Vernon had gone a full meter more than he'd attempted in the past, and he was afraid to see how that'd affect him now.

Usually taking the belt to the back only hindered his sleep and movements for a few weeks, depending on how deep he made the lashes, but this full-body treatment was far worse than any Harry had had before. It encompassed him completely, like he'd been dunked into a vat of twisted, serrated knives and fire and left to burn for years. The pain burned so deep, he was sure that it'd left a mark on his very soul. It was bound to affect him in one way or another.

"Harry!" A voice whispered urgently from the vague direction of the cat flap, and Harry was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound the flap moving a little more purposefully. "Harry, are you in there?"

Harry blinked furiously with his left eye, unable to see out of the other as it had swollen shut completely countless hours before. He could swear that he could see an eye peaking in at him from a slit in the flap, most likely from where it was caught on an empty dish. Or, it could be just wishful thinking, as his glasses had been shattered completely by his uncle's foot just hours ago. He was basically blind without them, even if they weren't the right prescription, so that was more than likely. But it was an odd sight, nonetheless.

"Holy –!" The voice gasped, and before Harry could so much as blink, the eye was gone from sight and the flap was wobbling as if air had disturbed it. "He's in there, and he's hurt really bad!"

"Stand back!" A voice not unlike a dogs growl commanded, and almost immediately there was answering unnatural silence that said that whoever was there had done just that.

"Don't!" Harry choked out, voice rasping and scratchy from overuse, and from being struck in the throat too much. It throbbed painfully with each word he forced out. "L - leave me!"

"Harry," said a very familiar voice through the door. Harry immediately thought of Remus, if Remus sounded like he was on the verge of growling, that is. "We're going to get you out of there, but I need you to be quiet while we work, alright? Your relatives are still in their rooms, under a slight sleeping charm, but they can be awoken very easily by any loud sound, and we're trying to avoid that. Can you manage that? We'll get this door open very soon and we'll get you to a Healer, I promise you."

Harry forced his protesting body to roll onto his back, letting out a choked gasp as the cross-hatch work of deep cuts and raised welts burst into a razor-like fire on the expanse of his back. He panted with exertion and pain, feeling a fresh layer of sweat begin to bead up on his slick forehead and torso. After a small moment spent taking in as much air as he could, despite it being stagnant and heavily scented with his blood, he heaved himself into a hunched sitting position, arms jarringly falling back to catch him in case he fell. He vaguely heard the heavy duty locks on his door snick open quickly, albeit a bit unprofessionally.

He'd dreamed many times of people coming to rescue him from his uncle's torture, especially as those moments had become more than a regularity and had grown to be more vicious and cruel over the centuries he'd spent in this room. But those dreams hadn't prepared him for the mortification he'd feel at several eyes setting upon his weakened, bloody, and beaten figure. If he'd had all of his blood in his body, it'd be collected in his face at the horror of seeing people he knew, loved, look at him when he was in such a state.

It was a close thing that he could even keep his head whilst knowing Remus was out there.

The door swung open so fast that it slammed into the wall with a bang, and several heads immediately appeared, peering into the room, their wands held out before them and lit up with bright Lumos spells. Harry'd hoped that they'd abandon that spell when opening the door, so the clinical light couldn't touch him.

It was Remus that reacted first, his Lycanthrope heightened senses coming into play, as he took in the bloodied walls and floor, and the pale teenager half sitting up in a corner, looking as if he'd been shoved through a woodchipper and barely come out of it alive. It was Hell for both of them.

"Harry!" Remus cried, despite his previous warning for quiet, darting for him so quickly that Harry couldn't even see the man until long, soft hands were cradling his swollen, bloody and cut up face, and kind dark green eyes were staring at him through tears. "What have they done to you, Cub?" He asked in a terribly choked voice, thick tears falling down his cheeks as he observed the most visible damage.

"Re – Remus..." Harry gasped out, grey and white dots blotting out his vision in his left eye as his head was turned a little too quickly to the side. "I – I –" He tried.

"Shh, don't speak," Remus said abruptly, carefully sliding his hands from his face to his shoulders, where he could help support his weary frame. "We're getting you out of here. No more Dursleys, I promise. We should have listened to you – should have believed you when you told us that you were unhappy here. I'm so –"

"Lupin, we need to go," said an impatient, barking voice. Harry couldn't see him, but now that a door didn't separate them, he recognized the voice as Mad-Eye Moody. The real one. "Dumbledore wants him at the bunker ASAP, we've spent enough time wrangling with the locks as it is. It'll be past midnight by the time we get there."

Remus sniffled wetly, not taking his watery eyes off Harry. "Alastor, I can't lift him, I don't know how badly injured he is," he said roughly.

Moody grunted, and before Harry could protest, a spell was uttered and he was suddenly lying on his back, floating mid-air at waist length, with Remus close at his side and holding his hand tenderly. Harry noticed rather belatedly that Remus had yet to even stop touching him, even as filthy and mangled as he was.

Harry looked up at Remus when he was slowly guided from his room, panicking slightly as they didn't know where all of his valuable things were, and he couldn't reach for them himself. He couldn't leave his most treasured possessions in the hands of the Dursleys. "Remus!" He gasped, and was glad to note that he got an immediate reaction from the man. "Get my things! Floorboard, near my bed," he rasped, shakily crooking a finger at the ruined bed lying tossed on its side, and the mangled, but thankfully empty, owl cage piled near it.

Harry vaguely remembered Uncle Vernon unlocking the cage and shoving Hedwig out the window, shouting about something or the other, and the sound of a window being shut hastily. He thought he remembered Uncle Vernon blasting insults about stupid birds never knowing when to leave well enough alone, before a fresh haze of pain ensued, and he could remember no more of that time. That was to be expected, after all.

The floorboard was still securely latched, even with all the stomping and throwing around Vernon had done over the extremely long day Harry'd stayed in the Hell hole, and was doing its job of holding all of his most prized possessions safe. It held all of the sweets and food from Mrs Weasley that he'd managed to keep safe from Vernon's powerful nose, and which he'd been able to survive off when Vernon had neglected to feed him. It also held his family photo album, wand and invisibility cloak. So, indeed, he very much needed Remus to pack it up.

Remus gestured something vague over his head, and Harry felt the spell halt his progress through the door. Remus disappeared from his sight for a few minutes, but Harry was reassured that the man was doing as he'd said and not merely shuffling about, as he could hear the familiar creak and pop of his hidey-hole floorboard being pulled loose, and the sounds of rummaging around.

Harry was distracted from what was going on by a soft nudge to his shin. "How you doin' there, Potter?" Moody grunted at him from his feet, his mangled face appearing blurry in his sight, but no less unmistakable. "Hangin' in there alright?" He asked.

Harry managed a weak grin, even as he felt his lower lip split once again and blood begin to well up through the layer of scabbing. "Doing.. just fine, thanks," he rasped, forcing himself to breathe steadily through the pain. "Doing my best, act – actually."

"Heard about the incident you had with the Dementors, just before we left to come pick you up from here, from old Dumbledore himself," Moody said. "The hair wouldn't happen to be a result of that, now would it, Blondie?"

Harry felt a laugh bubble past his lips, and if it sounded a little hysterical and strained, no one said anything about it. "It would," he. "Scared my cousin, D - Dudley with it."

"The little porker? That Dudley?" Moody asked with another grunting noise. "Huh. Could have sworn it was a troll in a wig.. As useless as tits on a turtle, he is! They'd do best to do away with 'im now, he'll go nowhere in life, the way he's headed."

Harry laughed again, though it was broken and sounded just a little too wet to be healthy. "Can't.. argue that," he wheezed.

"Alright, I think I've got everything," Remus said breathlessly, appearing by his side with a decent sized rucksack slung over his shoulder. "I pulled some clothes from your wardrobe and packed away every salvageable thing I could. Is there anything else you need me to get?"

"My wand?" Harry croaked.

Remus reached into his pocket and pulled out the holly and phoenix feather wand, not even hesitating to slide it into Harry's hand. In fact, he did so with a small and approving - but no less trembling, smile. "We best get moving, Harry. Is this everything you need?" He asked softly.

"Trunk's in the.. the cupboard under the stairs," Harry told him in a choked whisper.

Remus's eyes had teared up again, Harry realized, as he felt a few drops of water fall onto his bared shoulder. He stubbornly bit back a hiss as the salty liquid slid into one of his many open wounds. He didn't need Remus to feel even more guilty.

"Best get going," Moody rumbled, quietly clearing his throat. "Alright, pack it in now! We need all eyes sharp and paying attention to get out safely. Constant vigilance, now!"

Harry spared Remus a watery smile, not even caring that the blood on his lip had probably stained his teeth red, as the spell began tugging him through the doorway and down the hall, where he watched with a blurry eye as pictures of Dudley's youth went by. It was hopefully the last time he'd ever have to come back here, and he was going to enjoy leaving the Dursleys behind, even if his promise of revenge didn't exactly kick them up the arse immediately. They would get their comeuppance sooner or later, bad people always did.

Moody led them down the stairs, his wooden leg thumping heavily on the wooden floorboards all the way, and notifying the others that they were coming down with the noise. The eyes staring into him seemed a lot sharper and more horrified down here than up in his room, but he was at least comforted by Remus's hand holding his. Even if he did feel a lot like the Freak Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon told him to be.

"Sweet merciful Merlin in pink panties!" Someone cried out, and Harry grit his teeth at the jarringly loud voice. "What the bloody hell happened to him?"

"Nymphadora," growled Moody in a dangerous voice, thankfully low enough not to grate on Harry's ears. "I thought I told you to stand guard outside."

"It's Tonks," the woman corrected him, with an air of having done so an uncountable amount of times. "And I did! I've got Kingsley posted out there now, and even he says it's not worth the effort to go out there when we could be in here! There are wards surrounding the property, too."

Moody made an odd sounding groan, almost as if he'd been about to growl, but had stopped halfway through. "Aurors are caught unawares all the time with that stupid kind of logic!" He barked at her. "I've told you, and told you, when you're posted outside, it isn't to keep you out of all the action - it's to prevent more action from happening by cutting the supply from the source!"

"Well if the wards fell, then maybe I'd be more worried -"

Harry must have made some noise, because all of a sudden, silence reigned in the room and he was free to just shut his eye and try to keep breathing. There was a swell of underlying fear and panic in his gut, something telling him that he should be worried, and he was afraid that that little dam would burst open and his magic would react in unimaginable ways.

"We need to get him to Headquarters, and fast," Tonks murmured. "Shall I go get Kingsley?"

"No need," a deep voice cut in smoothly, sounding much deeper than any voice Harry had ever heard before. He listened to the scuffing of heavy feet, shuffling closer to him than any other, and he wondered what this Kingsley looked like. "Is this Harry Potter?" The man asked.

"He's been attacked, Shacklebolt," Moody growled at the man, of all people, defending Harry. "He doesn't normally look like this."

"If he's been attacked, then we must leave immediately," Kingsley said, sounding concerned. "They could come back at any moment to finish the job, and we can't be here."

"I think they're all snoring away in their little beds," Tonks said snidely, and Harry almost bothered to make some noise in agreement, or nod. "Did you see the amount of locks on the door? The condition of the room and everything in it? I don't think it was some stranger come sneaking through the window. I think it was one of the bloody brutes sleeping peacefully in their beds!"

"The cupboard was worse. But nevertheless," said Remus, sounding harried and stressed as he stepped up to Harry's side again. Harry saw the corner of his old trunks over the man's shoulder, and almost troubled himself to smile. "We need to get Harry to Madam Pomfrey, and very quickly. We'll have Dumbledore come back with a small team of Aurors to collect the Dursleys at a later date, but at the minute, I don't think Harry can last another moment here without medical attention."

"Correct as always, Remus," said Kingsley. "But we cannot fly him to safety on our brooms, as previously planned. He would fall the minute we lifted from the grounds, even as experienced a flyer as he."

"Portkey?" Tonks suggested.

"We'll have to make one quickly," Moody rumbled in agreement. "Either that, or someone Disapparates with him."

"No," said Remus immediately, and Harry very vaguely agreed with him. Disapparation sounded rather dangerous. "We can't risk Splinching him when he's lost so much blood already, the shock would make everything worse. Someone has to make a Portkey. We've no other choice."

"I'll do it!" Tonks said hurriedly, excited.

"And what, appear in the middle of Honeydukes with an illegal Portkey on hand?" Moody said with a snort. "You're out of your bloody mind, girlie, if you think I'm gonna risk that. No, I'll be making the Portkey, here. Can't trust a rookie with such an important job as this."

"Not so long ago you were a rookie, too, Moody!" Tonks protested testily, sounding very close to stomping her feet and spitting a curse.

"Aye, that I was. But then I didn't have two left feet and a Boggart in the form of responsibility!" Moody said roughly, shuffling about the room in search of some object that wouldn't be missed by the three Muggles, still heavily asleep in their beds despite the noise the five wizards made. Harry thought that the man was having a rather hard time, since nearly everything in the room was memorized and accounted for by Aunt Petunia's sharp eye, and nothing was just loitering on the floor or tabletops, ready to disappear. But Moody seemed to have actually found something, as Harry heard the man give a small triumphant, barking laugh, over by the window. He wondered what it was that Aunt Petunia wouldn't miss. "Ah, here we are then. Nothin' like traveling by ash tray, eh, Nymphadora? Though I suppose you wouldn't have the experience, what with you being a rookie and all. Portus."

"At least I didn't think the bloody Muggle rubbish cans were after me!" Tonks shot back heatedly. "And it's Tonks, you paranoid old sod -"

"Alright, everyone grab hold of Mr Potter's leg, I'll have hold of the Portkey," said Moody abruptly, voice harsh and gravelly over Tonks'. It gave Harry some time to gather himself before it happened, though it still felt odd to have three hands hesitantly grip onto his left leg – barring the one hand that hardly strayed from his own, which belonged to Remus. He almost asked to be let down and to take his chances with a Disapparation, though whatever Splinching was, it didn't sound particularly inviting. "Hold on tight now, we don't need anyone getting lost or getting themselves Splinched by the Portkey. Horrible stuff, that is, absolutely horrible. Alright then, everyone holding on? Nymphadora?" He asked, fully expecting another tantrum over the name. He wasn't disappointed.

"How are you, Harry?" Remus asked softly over the argument, leaning over to mercifully blot out the frightfully blinding light on the ceiling. His face was so close, Harry could see the scars even without his glasses. It unnerved him, slightly. "Are you still with us?" He asked, voice barely heard over the rumbling reply of Moody. Whatever the man had said, Tonks had become enraged.

"I'm here," Harry said with a huff, grunting as a certain someone's hand gripped a little too tight on a sore spot. "Where are w-e going? Hogwarts?" He asked, doing his best to ignore the way his voice jumped at different pitches halfway through.

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short, stumped. "I – I'm sorry, Harry," he murmured, looking regretful. "But I'm not allowed to give away any secrets. That's purely up to Dumbledore to decide. But we'll get you inside, no doubt about that."

Harry only smiled fleetingly up at the man, spirits considerably smudged into the ground at the indecisive answer. "Hope so," he muttered.

"Enough! We've wasted far too much time here arguing," Moody growled suddenly, and Harry blinked at hearing silence coming from the woman. "Take a firm grasp, and hold on tight to Mr Potter. Potter, you've gone by Portkey before, I'll expect you to remember to breathe at the end. Everybody ready? Alright. Phoenix!"