Our Little Trip

Harry's entire body was whizzing through the air. Yes, he used the word whizzing. He was spinning, his head was thundering with the sudden rush of blood and he felt like he was going to faint. He would have screamed, except it was hard to draw in breath. He kept his eyes shut tight the entire time, because in the first few seconds he was half sure he had seen chimneys and rooftops going by and the thought made him sick.

Suddenly, it was all over and he found himself crashing out of another fireplace and onto a wooden floor. That was about all Harry comprehended in that moment though. His head was still spinning and his vision blurred.

"Good Lord!" it was a man's voice and he sounded angry, "What possessed you to jump my Floo? That's dangerous!"

Harry pushed himself up, really trying to answer him – or at least ask what the hell Floo was – but he was still disorientated and couldn't see.

In the end, he slumped back down onto his stomach, his response sounding something like;

"Hhrumphh mumph?"

"Arthur? Arthur!" there was a women's voice, it was loud and panicked, "What happened? You're covered in soot! Whose this?"

"He jumped my Floo," the man – Arthur – was explaining, "Go get some water, Molly. I don't think he's quite right yet."

Harry felt a strong pair of hands grasp his shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position and turning him around. He blinked, trying to see. The world still blurred around him and his limbs felt weak as the adrenalin started to wear off.

Harry reached up and felt his face.

"My glasses?" he croaked out, already feeling around the ground for them.

"Glasses?" Arthur shifted, "Oh yes! Here they are, must have fallen off when you landed. Oh dear…um, just a second!"

He heard a small tap before his glasses were pressed into his hands. Not his glasses, he reminded himself, thinking shakily of what had just happened. He wondered how much trouble he was in now!

"Thanks," Harry said, jamming them on his face and finally getting a good look at the man for the first time. Middle-aged, with thinning red hair, glasses and a slightly lined face, he was frowning down at Harry.

"That was extremely reckless," he scolded, "If we'd bumped into each other during transit, we might have both been knocked off course. And who knows where we would have ended up! You're very lucky, young man."

Harry didn't know what to say, he was still a little shocked over what had just happened to him. In fact, nothing else took priority in his brain. He had thought his Incidents were bad, but that – that thing was something else entirely. He wasn't yet sure which he considered worse.

"Sorry?" he tried and realized he was shaking, "What-what was that thing?"

Arthur tilted his head to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean? The Floo?"

Harry nodded.

"Yeah," he practically squeaked, pointing at the fireplace he had just stumbled in from, "That!"

The man frowned even more and stood, reaching over to help Harry to his feet. Harry flinched and tried to scramble back, his first instinct was to get away. Arthur backed away at his reaction and knelt down with a soft look on his face. He extended his hands peacefully, waiting for Harry to make the choice. The twelve-year-old frowned, confused and looked up into the man's steady gaze. He'd had a lot of practice with people who pretended to want to help him, but couldn't detect the oddly strained look he knew so well in this man's face. Instead, it seemed sincere enough and eased the tension in his shoulders. He grasped Arthur's hands and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Harry then found his legs were shaky too and almost fell forward, but strong arms kept him up.

As soon as he was on his feet properly though, Harry geared himself to run. He tried to break free of the man, but the grip was strong and Harry was so tired.

"Easy!" Arthur said, "I won't hurt you! I just want to be sure you're okay!"

Harry stopped struggling and looked at him.

"Will you let me go, after?" he asked in a small voice, knowing he wouldn't get far otherwise.

"It's not my intention to hold you hostage," again, the man seemed sincere and Harry felt himself relax, "Could you answer some questions for me though? You gave me quite the scare after all!"

Deeming this was fair, Harry agreed. Besides, he was burning with a curiosity of his own and this man seemed willing to talk.

"Have you ever traveled by Floo before?" Harry shook his head, "Are you muggle-born?"

Harry frowned.

"I don't understand what that means," he admitted truthfully, his eyes starting to dart around the room for a point of escape.

It was a living room he had landed in, as evidenced by the number of comfy chairs arranged around a coffee table. It looked a little worn, but well lived in and cozy. The only light came from a low burning lamp and the embers of the fire. He wondered if he'd get very far running. Not likely, he surmised, vary aware once again of his weak, shaking limbs and the continuous pounding in his head.

He was distracted when Arthur started talking again.

"Where are your parents?" he asked, frowning deeply at Harry, "They must be worried sick about you! I'll get them here as soon as –"

Harry's head swerved round, his green eyes wide as he shook his head forcefully.

"No! Don't do that!" he cried, and flushed, "I mean – that is…I don't – I mean they're-"

Harry shut himself up immediately. What in the world was the matter with him? He lied about his parents all the time, yet he couldn't get out a single syllable. The man's face softened a little.

"Is there anyone you would like me to call?" he asked again.

Harry shook his head, feeling miserable.

"No," he admitted, "There's no one."

The man nodded slightly, bending down so he was level with Harry.

"My names Arthur Weasley," he said, extending a hand, "What's yours?"

Still surprised by the sincere tone and the kind gaze, Harry hesitantly reached out to shake the man's hand.

"Harry Green, sir," he said softly.

"How about we take a seat and talk a bit, eh?" Mr. Weasley said kindly, "You look a bit run off your feet."

Harry stifled a laugh at that and then thought of his appearance.

"Uh, but what about the soot?" he asked with a wince.

Mr. Weasley surprised him, yet again, by waving him off.

"No problem," he said and seated his own soot covered self down with a plop, gesturing for Harry to do the same. Just as he sat down, the woman – Mrs. Weasley – came in with two glasses of water. She was a short, plump woman with red hair. Harry expected her to launch into a tirade of questions or at least scold him for dirtying the couch. Instead, she looked between Mr. Weasley and Harry with an exasperated sigh before putting down the glasses of water on the coffee table for them.

"Molly," Mr. Weasley said pleasantly, if a little apologetically, "This is Harry Green, he and I were just going to have a little chat."

She smiled, a little unsure, but warm nonetheless.

"Are you hungry, dear?" she asked.

Harry opened his mouth to assure her he was fine, when his stomach gave a traitorous growl. He flushed as her smile widened.

"I'll just fix you something, shall I?" she said, patting him on the shoulder, she looked to her husband, "Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head and she was gone.

"Now," he said, looking at Harry, "How about you tell me what happened?"

The tone was firm and the look he leveled at Harry gave him some confidence to speak. Recalling all he could in his jumbled memory, he tried to explain.

Mr. Weasley's eyebrows shot up in surprise quite a few times while he spoke. Harry became so lost in the tale and in trying to make sense of it, that he didn't even notice Mrs. Weasley come in with a tray of something steaming hot and take a seat on the chair next to him. Harry had already drained the glass of water she had left him, his mouth oddly dry. He felt a little foolish explaining. After all, who was going to believe him about monsters and kidnappings? They might call the police on him!

When he explained about the three men whose names he had learned, Mr. Weasley gave a start.

"Remus?" something lit in the man's eyes, "Remus Lupin?"

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know, sir," he answered honestly and continued.

He still felt a little unsure, Mr. Weasley probably worked at that place too, but he was too exhausted to think about it properly. And after what had just happened with the Floo – as Mr. Weasley called it – he was starting to suspect there was something more going on then kidnapping a boy off the street to do experiments on. In fact, his cheeks flushed bright red when he explained his fears.

"Why did you think they wanted to experiment on you?" Mrs. Weasley asked, drawing Harry's attention to her for the first time.

"I-" Harry didn't know how to explain, indeed he was reluctant to, "Because I'm a freak."

The air in the room seemed to chill at the statement.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said very seriously, "Whatever makes you think that?"

Harry didn't say anything, just squirmed in his seat. It was this reason alone that he hadn't explained about his Incidents.

They seemed like really nice people and he didn't want them to be afraid of him.

Mr. Weasley sighed and leaned back again, trying a different tactic.

"Can you tell me more about these monsters you saw?" he asked instead, "About what they looked like? How they made you feel?"

A little confused, Harry nodded and described the tall, cloaked figures. He talked about the way they made him feel and the horror he felt when he saw them. He told him about the man and the silver light.

"But you saw them," Mr. Weasley pressed, "You're sure? Tall, cloaked, gliding figures? That's what you saw?"

Harry nodded.

"Why-why is that so important?"

The red headed man sighed.

"Because muggles can't see those kind of monsters. It means," he said, smiling wearily, "That you're a wizard."

Harry couldn't speak for several minutes; he was too busy gaping at Mr. Weasley.

"You're…having me on?" he said with a hysterical little laugh.

Mr. Weasley shook his head.

"Why don't you tell me why you think you're a freak?" he pressed instead.

Harry blinked. He fidgeted a little, but the explanation came out. To his shock, neither of them looked at him with anything other than sympathy. No disgust, fear, or even anger.

"So that's how you lost the hair on your head," Mr. Weasley just nodded, "Were you injured anywhere else?"

Reluctantly, Harry showed them his leg.

Mrs. Weasley was on him like a shot, her brow furrowing with concern.

"I'll get you something to help with that," she said, already standing up, "In the morning we can probably regrow your hair."

Harry jerked.

"What?" he exclaimed, but it was too late, she was gone again. He looked to Mr. Weasley, "Sir! What's going on? What did you mean by me being a wizard?"

Mr. Weasley smiled gently.

"Do you believe in magic Harry?" he asked.

Harry frowned.

"I…don't know," he answered truthfully, "This nights been a bit too fantastical to explain away."

Mr. Weasley chuckled in agreement.

"Well, perhaps I can put your mind at ease then," a purely mischievous look crossed the older man's face, surprising Harry. There was a loud crack and he was gone.

Harry stared, his eyes wide. He didn't even have a chance to register what had happened, because Mr. Weasley had very suddenly popped into existence in front of the fireplace. Harry jumped, nearly falling out of the chair.

"You – you –" he stuttered, unable to find the words, "You can do it too!"

Mr. Weasley nodded.

"H-how?" Harry croaked.

"Because I'm a wizard," Mr. Weasley returned to his seat, "You're not a freak Harry. What you can do is called 'Apparition' and it's a pretty common mode of travel for witches and wizards. As is the Floo, which you experienced today too."

"Its – its normal?" Harry squeaked, half of him wondered why anyone would put themselves through either mode of transportation in purpose.

"Quite," Mr. Weasley nodded, "Though you actually need a license to Apparate. Like for muggles and cars, same thing."

Harry didn't think it was the same thing at all, but he didn't voice the thought aloud. He was trembling, a funny feeling started in his chest and his throat felt tight. Magic? There was such a thing as magic?

It seemed like too perfect an explanation for all the strange things that had happened to him in his life.

"It can't be!" he stated outright, "There's no such thing as magic!"

"Whoever told you that?" Arthur asked curiously.

"Well I – I don't know," Harry waved his hands about, "It's just common sense!"

"And after everything you've seen so far, what does common sense tell you?"

"I-" Harry frowned and tried to go over everything that had happened that night. The monsters, the funny lights and the -what had Mr. Weasley called it? – Floo. Mr. Weasley could do what he did. Mr. Weasley could do magic.

"So…" Harry felt his stomach turn, "Back at that place…the um..?"

"Ministry," the older wizard supplied helpfully.

"Right," Harry swallowed, "Why-why was I there?"

"I'm not sure what happened Harry," he said and promised once more, "I suspect you accidentally used magic in a muggle area and they brought you in to make sure everything was in order. The Ministry takes that sort of thing rather seriously, I'm afraid."

Harry blinked nervously.

"They do?" he licked his lips, "Why? Am I in trouble?"

"No, no of course not!" he was reassured, "You didn't know. As to why, it's just been rather dangerous when muggles find out about magic, for us and them. Better to keep our worlds as separate as possible."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage, and then;

"You keep saying 'muggle,' what does that mean?"

"Non-magic folk," Mr. Weasley explained easily, "I find them quite fascinating, actually. Perhaps later you and I could have a chat about your experience with muggle culture?"

He had such an eager, almost boyish excitement about him in that question that it softened some of Harry's incredulity with amusement.

"Sure," he found himself agreeing and shook his head, "But are you sure? I mean…I can't be a wizard! I'm just Harry!"

"And 'just Harry' has the potential to do amazing things," Mr. Weasley assured him, "You just need a bit of training."

"Training?"

"You go to school, of course," the older man said, "Magic school."

Harry's head was starting to spin.

"That's ridiculous!" he cried, leaping to his feet, "Don't lie to me!"

The room suddenly shook, knocking down some picture frames and causing the lamplight to flicker. Harry paled immediately and slumped down.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean to snap."

Mr. Weasley's smile never left his face and he nodded his understanding.

"Quite alright," he assured Harry, "You must be very confused. I have to admit, I don't know why you were brought to the Ministry, but I'll try answer any questions you have. We'll figure this out."

Harry found himself smiling back. Mrs. Weasley returned with some salve that she rubbed on his head and leg. It made his skin tingle slightly, but eased the ache in his head and limbs. She handed him the tray with the food and told him to eat up. He thanked her shakily, his stomach giving another involuntary growl as the warm smells hit his nose. He hadn't eaten since that morning after all! While he ate, Mr. Weasley calmly started to speak. What he said was mesmerizing.

Magic existed! And there was a whole society of wizards and witches living in England, unseen by the rest of the world. He explained what the Floo network was and the Ministry and so much more. He had a lot of questions, almost falling over himself to get them all out. Mr. Weasley responded to each one calmly, putting Harry at ease.

"You have to understand, Harry," he explained seriously, "It is very, very rare that Hogwarts misses a child... Actually, it's never happened before! Are you sure you never received a letter?"

Harry nodded.

"I'm sure," he assured the man, "Tonight's the first I've heard of it!"

"Hmmm," Mr. Weasley looked thoughtful, "Perhaps your guardian responded without your knowledge? I've heard of it happening, but Hogwarts usually has provisions for that. This is very odd."

"Provisions?" Harry asked curiously.

"You would have had to refuse the offer yourself," Mr. Weasley explained, "Hogwarts doesn't accept it otherwise."

"Oh," Harry wondered what had happened.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said suddenly, "Would you mind if I contacted someone at Hogwarts to come speak to you? If you'd like to learn magic, I'm sure there's something we can do. It's your decision though."

Harry blinked.

"I can learn magic?" he asked, something blooming in his chest, "Really?"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were both smiling at him now.

"Of course!" Mr. Weasley chuckled, "You're a wizard."

"But I can't pay for-" Harry began, but he was waved off.

"Hogwarts has provisions for that too," Mr. Weasley reassured him, "I'm sorry you've had such a rough night, Harry. There are many amazing things in the magical world and I hope you'll be a part of it."

"So I could…learn magic if I wanted to," his thoughts were already racing.

"Do you want to learn Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly.

"I-I don't know," Harry responded honestly, "It's all so…I don't know."

"It's okay," the red head smiled, "Like I said, I'll ask someone from Hogwarts to come speak with you. We'll figure out what happened at the Ministry too."

"I…thank you sir," Harry finally managed, flushing a little, "I am really sorry about what happened earlier."

"Nonsense," it was Mrs. Weasley who spoke this time, "You have nothing to apologize for!"

Harry offered up a weak smile, unsure of how to react.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Weasley to realize he had devoured his food and in a blink had returned to the kitchen to get him some more. Harry wasn't complaining though, like he'd ever say no to free food.

He sat quietly and listened to Mr. Weasley talk again, throwing in a question every now and then. The excitement of what he was hearing driving away any tiredness he might feel. He let his eyes wander again as he listened and they fell on the picture frames he had toppled over earlier. He slipped from the couch to straighten them up. As he stared down at the smiling faces of at least half a dozen red haired children, he nearly dropped the frame.

"They're moving!" he exclaimed.

Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Magical photographs move," he explained.

Harry spun around.

"I have one of these!" he cried and then felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

His backpack was gone. His hat was gone and the picture he kept there was gone. He'd lost it all when he'd run, too consumed with the urge to get away.

I lost it, his eyes started to sting, I lost it!

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked worriedly, getting to his feet.

"I lost it," Harry croaked out miserably, "When I ran earlier…I forgot about it. I can't believe I forgot about it!"

"What did you lose?" Mr. Weasley frowned.

"A picture," Harry said, aware of the heavy feeling in his chest, "It was the only picture I ever had of my mum and I lost it!"

Mr. Wealsey placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

"Don't worry just yet," he said, "Maybe they brought it with you to the Ministry, in which case I'll make sure you get it back. I promise."

Harry nodded, swallowing hard as he finished straightening the picture frames. It wasn't that he didn't want to believe Mr. Weasley, but he was too accustomed with the phrase 'don't get your hopes up.' That and he had a track record of grown ups who didn't keep their word to him.

Everything he'd owned in this world had been in that backpack. His clothes, the money he'd saved, a toy from his childhood and other items he had needed to survive.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said quietly, "Where are your parents?"

Harry stiffened. He'd known this question would come eventually, it always did. Usually he'd lie or try run away, but he'd given Mr. Weasley too many hints already and he doubted he could escape a fully-grown wizard all by himself.

Although, he remembered with some satisfaction, he had managed to escape three of them already.

"I don't know, sir," he answered truthfully.

Mr. Weasley looked at him thoughtfully.

"You said you had…one of these?" he gestured to the pictures on the shelf.

Harry nodded and then his eyes went wide.

"You don't think my parents might have been magic, do you?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"If it was a moving photograph," said Mr. Weasley, "Then its very possible one or both of your parents were magical. Your circumstances just keep getting more bizarre Harry!"

Harry couldn't help but agree.

If his parents were magic though, that might explain why he had never been able to find out who they were. He'd tried a few times to find St. Mungo's Hospital since leaving the orphanage, with no luck.

"Mr. Weasley," he asked, "Have you ever heard of St. Mungo's?"

To his delight, Mr. Weasley nodded.

"It's a wizarding hospital," he explained, confirming Harry's suspicions.

"Could you show me where it is?" he pleaded, "Maybe they have a record of my mum! I think she gave birth to me there, her names Lily and – Mr. Weasley? Mr. Weasley are you alright?"

Mr. Weasley had very suddenly gone as still as a statue, his eyes glued to Harry with the most peculiar expression on his face. His eyes scanned Harry intently, widening.

Harry frowned, not sure of what he had done wrong.

"Sir?" he tried again.

The red head seemed to snap out of it then and he looked back at Harry, a strange sort of half smile on his face.

"I'm so sorry Harry," he said quickly, "You just reminded me of something important. And yes of course. We can go there if you like."

There was something almost strained when he spoke.

Harry wondered if he had worn out his welcome.

"I should go," he started, "I can come back, if that's okay. Thanks for everything sir, and I am really sorry about earlier."

A look of distress crossed Mr. Weasley's face and he opened his mouth to speak, when his wife came through from the kitchen.

"Of course not!" Mrs. Weasley gushed, setting down a tray laden with more food, "You'll stay here tonight!"

"I don't want to impose-" Harry began, only to be cut off abruptly.

"Nonsense!" the women was already faffing around him, "You poor dear! You need a good night's sleep and we'll have this all sorted in the morning. It's absolutely shameful, the Ministry treating you like this and on your first introduction to the magical world too!"

"Ma'am, really-"

"No, please," she looked at him then, not with a pitying gaze, but with an imploring one, "I wouldn't feel right with you out by yourself."

A little taken aback, Harry looked to Mr. Weasley for help.

"Of course you must stay!" he said, echoing his wife, "You're more than welcome Harry, truly."

A little perplexed, Harry could only acquiesce.

"Alright," he gave in, "Uh, thank you. I appreciate it."

Mrs. Weasley smiled then, a big warm encompassing smile that relaxed Harry till he found himself smiling too. She reminded him of Matron Morgan and the comparison instantly made him feel better about everything.

"I'll get you some pajamas and something for a wash, shall I?" she patted his hand comfortingly, "My youngest boy Ron has an extra bed in his room, you're more than welcome to it."

When he'd finished another helping of food, Harry found himself whisked upstairs where he was directed to a bathroom he could clean the soot off in and a bed to sleep.

"Don't mind if you hear them coming in later," Mrs. Weasley said, handing him a big, fluffy towel, "I'll remind them to be quiet, you just sleep."

"Whose coming in?" Harry asked, confused.

"Our children," she explained, "They're coming home for Christmas. My second eldest went to pick them up and said he'd take them for a meal in London, so they'll be home a bit late tonight."

Half an hour later, he sat on a bed in the room Mrs. Weasley had directed him to. It was a small room with two single beds and walls covered in bright orange posters of men riding broomsticks. Harry had to grin. Flying broomsticks existed too! It was unbelievable!

He waited until he was sure he couldn't hear any sounds, and then he wondered over to the window. It was large enough for him to fit through, if he had to. He peered down into the night. He was sure he could climb down from this height. From the lack of lights though, he thought they were somewhere in the middle of the countryside, that might make things more difficult.

He spent a good ten minutes planning his escape before he decided against it.

Mr. Weasley seemed alright, he supposed, though first impressions weren't always an indication of what someone was really like. But Harry had learned that trusting his instincts got him out of trouble at least ninety percent of the time. He'd play the odds this time. The Weasleys seemed okay.

The green-stripped pajamas Mrs. Weasley had lent him were too big, but very comfortable and once Harry had had a quick wash and pulled back the covers of the somewhat narrow, but soft looking bed, he felt much better. After the day he'd had, Harry thought for sure he wouldn't have fallen asleep, but the moment his head hit the pillow, all thought escaped him.

~HP~

The Potter house was quiet that night.

James and Lily sat quietly together on one of the settees. She had her legs hanging over his lap and her arms wrapped around him tightly. Quiet tears dampened his robes and he ran circles over her back in soothing motions. It had not been a good day for either of them.

James had confronted Lily after hours spent searching for Harry, only to find her in a similar state. Grief and guilt locked them together long into the early hours of the morning. Her story poured out unbidden and his followed suit. Both so close, both within moments of being reunited with their son and now he was gone again.

"It was really Harry?" Lily whimpered against his neck, "You're sure? It was really him?"

James' heart broke.

"He has your eyes Lily," he whispered back, "He still has your eyes."

She let out a little cry and clutched tighter to him.

"I'm sorry," James rasped despairingly, "He was right there and…I'm so, so sorry I let him go."

She drew back suddenly, framing his face in her hands and making him look her in the eye. Green eyes, wet and red from her tears, face pale and pinched. Her brows furrowed together as a look utterly Lily-like in its determination faced him.

"It's no more your fault than mine," she said firmly, still sniffing a little, "If I'd been faster at Petunia's, he never would have gotten hurt in the first place. We don't apologize for what happened to Harry in this house, remember?"

He cracked a small smile, turning his head to kiss one of hands. It was an old rule, born in the months after Harry's disappearance. It had kept them sane. It had kept them focused. Too much time was lost blaming themselves for something out of their control.

"I know," he nodded, kissing her hand again, holding it to him.

He needed her touch now, needed it more than anything. She was his comfort and his strength.

"Good," she said, "Because, James Potter, we are going to find our son again. We are going to bring him home and we are going to spend the rest of our lives making sure he knows how much we love him."

He nodded, feeling chocked.

"So we need to sleep," she carried on, drawing his face in to kiss his forehead, "And in the morning, we'll start looking again."

He could only nod again, hugging her close.

Upstairs in the house, a little girl lay awake in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had lost track of how many hours it had been since her mother had hurried her off to bed with barely an explanation. Now she listened for the telltale creak of the stairs that said her parents were going up to bed.

It had never come.

Ally sighed, going over the events of the day in her head. She hadn't been told much, but from what she gathered it all had to do with another mad search for her brother.

There had been several in her memory, stressful times when her parents started out as hopeful and only ended in crippling disappointment. She'd probably be sent to stay with Uncle Remus for a day or two until things calmed down. Not that she minded, but these things were terribly predictable.

Ally did not know Harry and though she supposed she loved him, it was the same sort of love she felt towards her deceased grandparents. She loved him because her parents did, because it was something she should do and because he was family. But she didn't know him and it made it hard to feel the same desperation her parents clearly did.

She hoped she'd meet him one day and as a little girl had been enamored with the idea of a big brother. But she was almost eleven now and she thought she knew better than that. Most of all, she wanted her family to be happy and looking for Harry did not bring her parents any joy.

She remembered what had happened that afternoon and her mother's frantic cries for the boy their family had lost so long ago. She remembered the boy who had taken out that awful Dudley for her sake and she wondered.

Was that really Harry?

She heard the creak on the stairs and sighed with relief, turning over in her bed and closing her eyes. She supposed they would find out soon enough.