When Harry was eight, he fell ill. A gut wrenching, soul searing sickness that threatened to rip him apart. It hurt, everywhere. He wrapped his arms around his stomach holding tight to keep it from climbing out of his body. His head pounded in time to his heart, each beat a pike pressing deep into his skull. His eyes burned and fire danced across his skin. His bones were like molten stone, hardening and liquefying with every shift and shiver. He couldn't get warm and he couldn't cool off. It left him panting in pain, which of course, only made it worse. Being sick, Harry thought, sucked.

All night long Harry huddled in his cupboard, wishing that someone would come save him…or put him out of misery. His aunt had left him some water, 'to keep you from being a bother during the night', she'd said. That had spilled sometime early in the night as he tried to lift the glass. So, nothing to calm the furnace that used to be his throat.

If he could just open the door and maybe make it to the kitchen? His stomach rolled in protest. Okay, no. Maybe if he just opened the door a little? It was growing unbearably hot in here and it smelled, well, bad. Dirt, and sweat, and tainted.

"What are you doing boy?" Startled, Harry fell back against his pallet, yelping as he jarred his sore body.

"Hot." Harry gasped out to his aunt.

"You're going to infect the rest of the house with your disgusting germs. You'll stay in there and keep the door shut."

"Please. Can't breathe." The door opened wide as his aunt looked into the cupboard. The light hurt his eyes but the fresh air felt wonderful.

"You're too pale. Did you finish the water I gave you?"

Harry tried to get his glass, but fell unconscious in the attempt.

The next thing he knew, he was being moved. The hands pulled him from the dark, crapped space of his cupboard into the light. It hurt his eyes even though they were closed. He was pretty sure he screamed too if the hand over his mouth and the harsh 'be quiet you foolish boy' was any indication. Why couldn't they have left him where he was? He was relatively happy and protected in his room. No one ever came in. He just needed some food and water. He'd be all right.

He sighed in relief at the end of his short trip up the stairs. He was submerged in water that wasn't too hot or too cold. It felt almost oily, but Harry wasn't too sure of anything right now. At least it smelled clean. The hands that scrubbed him were quick, but not hurtful. That was a sure sign that he was dreaming.

"Talk!" Harry wasn't sure he could. The voice was very commanding though.

"…turned his teacher's hair blue…"

"…to be expected…" To be blamed for everything that went wrong in this house? At school? Yup.

"…I won't have it…"

"Drink boy!" Harry swallowed reflexively and nearly gagged. "Swallow." It tasted horrid. Did he have to?

"…what else?"

"…fell down the stairs…" And something that sounded like concern in his aunt's voice. He was delusional.

"…how long…" There was someone in his house. Someone Harry didn't know. That someone was washing him. Harry shivered.

"…he's trembling…"

"…it will only become worse…"

"…what is wrong with the boy?" Harry was starting to feel a bit better. And his delusions were speaking in complete sentences now. He was sure that he was going to wake up soon and in the familiar dark space of his cupboard.

"He's rejecting his magic." It was a very nice dream, but a dream nonetheless.

The sensation of rising and being wrapped in a towel nearly woke him completely, but Harry was reluctant to leave his half space. He'd always felt that it would end up this way. Some stranger would like him more than his own family. He didn't want to give that up. Maybe he'd wake up, this would be real, and he could leave. Go away. Never come back. No Dudley, no Aunt Marge, no chores for days on end.

He was resting on something soft and cool that seemed to take the edge off his skin. His head hurt less. Smelled like spring. Where was he?

"Why didn't you take him to hospital?" A dark voice snarled breaking into Harry's thoughts. He pried open his eyes. So, he'd not completely lost it. The man was real.

"Have you seen his room? I have no way of explaining that!"

Oh. Everything in the room was floating. Brilliant. Dudley was going to be cross though. This was his second bedroom.

"Does he own nothing that isn't broken?" Harry snorted softly to himself. He didn't. It was all Dudley's cast-offs and had half a mind to tell the stranger so.

"The brat breaks everything with that…that abnormality of his. Loses his temper and everything explodes!" Harry must have done something wrong again. Was he causing the strangeness? Maybe he better stop.

"What was the boy doing under the stairs?"

"It's his hiding spot. There's nothing there that could harm the child." Aunt Petunia brushed the hair back from his forehead and sat next to him on the bed. "How are you feeling, Harry?" Okay, so the delusions hadn't completely left yet. Couldn't hurt to answer.

"'m fine."

"Well, can you fix him or not?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"I can make it easier for him to deal with the increase in his powers, but the enchantment will continue to weaken him. He needs to eat more and exercise daily. He's too thin."

"This will pass then?"

"Not until the boy is eleven." The stranger packed up his things. Harry wasn't sure he thought of the man. Must be some specialist. "The boy will continue to suffer from the fits sporadically."

"He'll suffer through it." Uncle Vernon huffed. "The boy doesn't want this freakiness anymore than we do."

A dark shadow blocked the light coming from the window. "Potter, is what he says true?"

"Wha…?" Harry slurred. He tried to pay attention to the fellow, but all he really wanted to do was sleep now.

"Do you truly wish not to do magic?" Harry shuddered. Someone else he made mad at him.

"Can't." Harry whispered. "It's not real."

"The boy is an imbecile. And so are you for allowing this happen." The blinding light came back. Oh god, that hurt. "Stupid. Stubborn. Spoiled Arrogant. Just like his father." This man knew his dad? Harry wanted to question him badly.

"I've done all I can. The rest is up to Potter."

"What about the boy's clumsiness?" That could be fixed? Well, getting away from Dudley would be much easier.

The stranger looked down his nose at Uncle Vernon. "You really are as blind and ignorant as your nephew."

"How dare you!" Uncle Vernon sputtered.

"He needs spectacles." With a black swirl, the stranger left slamming the door behind him.

Had to give the man this much. He knew how to make an exit. Snickering quietly, Harry closed his eyes and fell asleep.