Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Harry could hear voices coming from somewhere within the darkness. He was in a warm, safe place, and he wanted to stay there; he didn’t want to go near the voices. The voices hurt. He didn’t want to feel anything, anymore. He pulled back, trying to go deeper into the blackness. It was peaceful here, and he was so tired; he just needed to sleep…

He alternated between deep sleep and a strange kind of awareness. At times, he could hear voices around him and pick out snatches of conversation, but he didn’t completely recognize anyone. He felt as if he were floating in some kind of altered universe.

That voice sounded so desperate and sad; he wanted to help her and let her know everything was all right, but he was so tired…

Whoever that was wouldn’t hurt him. That voice would always help him; he knew that. He tried to open his eyes; he wanted to go to that voice, but she seemed so far away. It was warm here; he’d just rest for a while…

There was something he needed to do, but what? This voice sounded urgent, demanding, and he knew he was missing something. He didn’t want any demands on him, though. He’d had enough, and he was tired. He just wanted to sleep…

Ron. He knew Ron. Ron was there somewhere – he could hear him – he just couldn’t seem to find his way back to him. He struggled desperately to let Ron know he was there. He just couldn’t find the strength. Keep talking, Ron. I’m coming…

Professor Dumbledore sounded so sad. Forgive him for what? He tried to raise his hand to reach out to the Headmaster, but his arm felt so heavy, he couldn’t lift it. He needed to wake up and tell them he was okay. He didn’t want everyone to worry so much about him. He was so tired, though; he’d just take a little nap, and then he’d tell them…

Uh, oh…he got Ginny in trouble. She’d be furious with him now. Harry again tried to raise his arm and open his eyes, but he just couldn’t do it. Where was he? What happened? Why couldn’t he open his eyes? As he struggled to wake, he managed to move his fingers slightly, but no one noticed. All his energy drained, he fell back into a deep sleep.

Ginny trudged wearily back to the hospital wing before breakfast. Her body ached, and her anxiety was making her heart beat too fast. Her mother had sent her back to her own bed last night, and she had to admit that she had needed the sleep. She had two more exams today and the final one tomorrow. She really didn’t know what the point was, however. She couldn’t concentrate and wasn’t doing anywhere near her best on the OWLs.

She just wanted to sit with Harry and be by his side when he woke. He looked terrible; it tore at her heart to think of all he’d been through. They’d locked him up with a Dementor. His face was ashen, and his skin just hung off his thin frame. All the muscle he’d built up over the year seemed to droop and cave. He’d lost a lot of weight too quickly and had that sick look that went along with it. His limbs were limp and unresponsive; his body was battered and pale.

Madam Pomfrey said he’d been tortured mercilessly, and it would take time for him to heal, both physically and emotionally. Her wand couldn’t even read the number of times that he’d been put under the Cruciatus, and the potions took time to work. He simply wasn’t strong enough for anything more yet.

He’d been unconscious by the time her mother had brought him back to Hogwarts from Malfoy Manor. Ginny and Hermione had been forced to wait in Dumbledore’s office under Professor McGonagall’s nose while the others left to rescue Harry and Ron. No one was taking any chances that the girls wouldn’t try to help. She had to admit, if there had been any way that she and Hermione could have helped, they’d have gone in an instant. Madam Pomfrey refused even to let Ginny see him until the next day, after he’d been stabilized. If the condition she’d found him in was what they called stable, she didn’t even want to think about how bad it had been. They’d kept Ron overnight, as well, but let him go the next day. Ron’s injuries were on an emotional level, and only time would heal them.

Whatever had happened between Harry and Voldemort had completely drained Harry of his magical reserves. Without them, his body was having a hard time healing, and the process was agonizingly slow. No matter what anyone said, sometimes she could sense his presence and knew he was there, and that he was trying to come back. She wanted to encourage him in any way she could.

She was really worried about his reaction to Jonathan Taylor’s death. She wasn’t certain how he would take it. While their relationship had been nothing like the relationship he’d had with Sirius, or even Remus, Jonathan had become important to Harry, and he’d suffered so much loss already. She just hoped he wouldn’t try to pull away from everyone again. Why was it that they were always sending him back to those horrible Muggles at his lowest points?

Pushing open the door to the hospital wing, she strode in and moved to the curtains hiding Harry from view. She pushed them aside and took her familiar position in the chair beside his bed. His eyes were still shut, and he looked extremely vulnerable and childlike in sleep. It was only when his eyes were open – eyes that had seen too much – that he seemed older than his years. When he slept, like now, he looked very young.

"Good morning, Harry. You’re looking a little better today." It was a lie, but she needed to keep things positive. Taking his cold hand in her own, she whispered, "I love you, you know."

Ginny didn’t know if she imagined it because she wanted it so badly, or if it really happened. She thought she felt his fingers moving within her hand. She turned her palm up and watched his hand intently, holding her breath as she did. Sure enough, his long fingers twitched slightly against the palm of her hand.

"Harry. Harry, can you hear me? Move your fingers again if you can."

His fingers were still for a moment, and Ginny thought she would cry, until, suddenly, they moved again, this time grasping her finger and squeezing lightly.

Tears of joy and relief began streaming down her face. He’s waking up.

"That’s right, Harry. You’re doing it. Come on, luv, just open your eyes. Come back to me."

Harry squeezed her fingers again, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. Those glorious long lashes parted and revealed his tired, but brilliant, green eyes. He looked around the room slowly, slightly confused, and she knew everything was blurry to him without his glasses. She leaned in close so he could see her without them. Tenderly, she swiped the hair on his forehead back and winced at the scar that stood out, vivid red.

"Welcome back, luv. There are a whole lot of people who have been waiting to see you," she said, smiling widely.

He nodded slightly, bewildered and trying to put everything together in his head. She poured some water from the pitcher on his nightstand and held the glass while he gratefully took a sip.

"Thanks," he uttered hoarsely.

"I’m going to go get Madam Pomfrey; she’ll want to know you’re awake."

"No!" He grabbed her arm feebly, then whimpered from the movement. "Stay with me, please."

Ginny’s heart melted at his plea. Climbing onto the bed next to him, she slipped her arm beneath his and rested his head on her shoulder. "Of course I’ll stay with you, for as long as you want me to. Go to sleep, Harry. I know it hurts, but everything will be okay now."

He was asleep before she even finished speaking, but it was a real sleep this time, not unconsciousness, and she knew he’d be okay. She’d sit here and wait for Madam Pomfrey to check on him. Ginny burst into tears as she sat there with him, stroking his hair. She’d come so close to losing him; it was unbearable to think about it, and she knew she’d never survive if she lost him. She continued to sit there, holding him, long after she should have left for class. Nothing else mattered now; he was going to be okay.

When Harry woke up again, Ginny wasn’t there with him, but Ron and Hermione were sitting in chairs on each side of his bed. Hermione was reading some of her notes, while Ron held Harry’s battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.

He studied them quietly for a few minutes. Ron looked better than the last time he’d seen him. Still, Harry could detect some dark smudges beneath his eyes, so he knew Ron wasn’t sleeping all that well. Hermione also seemed tired; he supposed they’d probably been keeping a vigil here with him. He wondered how long he’d been here.

"How long—" he croaked, intending to ask them the question. His voice gave out before he could finish it, however. Sweet Merlin, I hurt.

Both Ron and Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, leaping from her chair and knocking her notes all over the floor. It was a testament to how worried she’d been about Harry that she didn’t even care that her meticulously written notes were scattered everywhere. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Thank Merlin, you’re finally awake."

Harry couldn’t help the grunt of pain that escaped his lips. He tried to cover it, but to no avail – her firm embrace was killing him.

"Oh," she cried, startled. "I’m so sorry, Harry. Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to. I’m just so happy you’re finally awake. Ginny told us you woke up this morning. She’s taking one of her exams and will be back when she’s done." Hermione’s words gushed forth from her mouth so fast it made Harry’s head spin.

"Let him breathe, Hermione." Ron said. His voice was exasperated, but still filled with affection. "How are you doing, mate?"

Harry’s pride wouldn’t let him admit that Hermione’s hug had hurt, so he tried to avoid the question by adjusting his weight up on his pillow. He was further dismayed to discover he didn’t have the strength to pull himself up. What little color he had drained from his face with the effort.

Ron easily put his arm beneath Harry’s and sat him up while Hermione adjusted the pillows to support him. He found it humiliating to be so dependent on anyone. Hermione must have noticed the distress on his face, for she said, "Don’t worry about feeling drained, Harry. Madam Pomfrey said it’s going to take a while for your body to heal. You somehow managed to drain your magical reserves, so it’s going to take a bit longer than it normally would."

Harry’s mind flashed back to Voldemort’s red eyes and the intense pressure within his mind as they had battled. He’d been so certain he was going to die. He shuddered violently and tried to block the images out; he didn’t want to think about that yet.

Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder and gently rubbed his back as he got his composure under control. He could see the concern in her eyes and the panic in Ron’s. He didn’t want this; he had to get his emotions in check. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he asked, "Was anyone else hurt?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances above his head, and he knew they were weighing how much they should tell him.

"Just give it to me straight," he snapped, although he could already feel his eyelids starting to droop. He needed to stay awake long enough to find out about the others. It was irritating him that they were treating him like he was fragile or something; he was embarrassed to realize they were coddling him.

It was Ron who finally answered his question. "Moody was hurt; he’s at St. Mungo’s. Narcissa Malfoy hit him with that same curse Hermione got hit with last year. He’s on a load of potions, but he’ll pull through. She got away. Snape got our wands back, though. He gave them both to me when he was ‘securing’ me." Ron waved Harry’s wand in the air to show him, then replaced it on the nightstand. "I can’t believe that git actually helped us. Tonks killed Lucius Malfoy."

Harry nodded slightly, remembering seeing them fighting at some point.

"Did you see what happened to Jonathan Taylor, Harry?" Hermione asked, biting her lip.

The memory of Jonathan being struck down by the flash of sickly green light played over and over in his mind. Jonathan had been trying to give him instructions on how to keep Voldemort out of his mind. One more person who gave his life so Harry could survive. Why did every adult in his life who actually gave a damn end up getting killed? When will it ever end? He shut his eyes tightly, fighting the memory as he felt nausea rise in his stomach. He didn’t want to think about that yet.

"Yeah," he whispered, shuddering again.

He felt Ron grab his forearm. "There was nothing you could have done."

Another memory crystallized in his mind, and he turned to them in alarm. "Moony?"

"He’s doing better," Hermione said in a soothing tone, and her relief at steering the conversation away from Jonathan was obvious. "They had him back in St. Mungo’s for a few days. He really should never have been on that rescue mission in the first place, but no one could stop him."

"He killed Wormtail."

"Yes, we know." Hermione glanced warily at Ron, appearing to weigh her words carefully. "He seems to be coping with it okay, although I think it was harder on him than he wants to admit. I don’t think he even wants to acknowledge that he ever felt friendship towards Peter Pettigrew. It must be easier just to think of him as what he became."

"Where is he?" Harry asked, fighting the sleep that was trying to claim him once again. He wanted to ask a few more questions.

"Back at Grimmauld Place. Tonks is staying there to keep an eye on him, and she and Mrs. Weasley are competing to see who can mother him more. I think he likes that."

Harry grinned, knowing she was right. He shut his eyes for a minute, and the fight between Ron and Malfoy arose in his mind. His eyes flew open wide, startled, as he looked intently over at his best mate. "All right, Ron?"

Ron didn’t meet his gaze, but instead flexed his hand. "Good as new – Madam Pomfrey fixed it right up. You were right, though; that Skele-Gro stuff is disgusting."

"That’s not what I meant."

"I know. I’m okay. Even though I wanted to kill him, I never meant to actually kill him."

"I know. It was an accident, and you did what you had to do. He attacked you first, and I think he would have killed you if given the chance. It was me he was coming for before you stood in his way. Thank you. I don’t think I could have fought him just then."

"Not to mention it was his fault the two of you were taken in the first place, and he would have done the same to Ginny," Hermione added, rubbing Ron’s back in support.

Harry watched as Ron twitched and pulled away from her hand. That’s strange. He searched Ron’s eyes, trying to find a hidden answer.

"I’m all right. I have my good days and bad days. It’s just a strange feeling to know I was responsible for that." Ron’s voice was tight, and Harry could understand from experience that he wanted to bring an end to the conversation.

Before anything else was said, the curtains around Harry’s bed were pulled back, and two identical grinning faces peered inside.

"Harry, mate! Finally decided to grace us with your presence," George said. He looked good, no trace of his former injuries visible. And, for that, Harry was relieved.

"About time you stopped lazing about," Fred said.

Both twins moved to the side of the bed where Ron was standing and leaned in to plant a kiss on each side of his face. Ron pulled back, spluttering and wiping his face with disgust, "Urggghh! Sod off, you two."

Harry laughed feebly at their antics.

Mrs. Weasley peered around the curtains, beaming when she saw Harry sitting up. "All right, you two, settle down. How are you, dear?" she asked as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," he smiled, surprised by the warmth he felt from having her visit.

"Arthur wanted to join us, but things are so hectic at the Ministry that he couldn’t get away. He’ll stop by on his way home, though; he’s anxious to see you for himself. How are you feeling today, Ronald?"

"What’s going on at the Ministry, Mum?" Ron asked, sidestepping her mothering concern.

"What isn’t going on at the Ministry these days? The rumor about a vote of no confidence has been raised again, and Fudge is in a panic. He’s got everyone in a frenzy, trying to settle things down and push the unpleasantness under the rug…"

Harry listened to Mrs. Weasley explaining the situation at the Ministry. He knew the tremble in her voice meant Percy was somehow involved. He just thought he’d shut his eyes for a few minutes while he listened…

The first thing Harry noticed the next time he opened his eyes was that it was evening. Candlelight flickered in the hospital wing, giving off a soft glow. He could see the blurry shape of the moon from the window near his bed. He tried to sit up, but didn’t have the strength to do it. Firm but gentle hands lifted him to a more comfortable position, and he found himself looking into the sparkling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore. He handed him his glasses, and Harry put them on, making the room come into sharp focus.

The nightstand next to his bed was overflowing with cards and gifts. A huge jar of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans from the Gryffindor Quidditch team towered above the cards. From the DA, he could see a string of Harry Potter Chocolate Frog cards, hung like garland above his bed. Ron is such a prat.

"Your friends and admirers have been busy again, I see." Dumbledore smiled merrily. "I am beginning to agree with Madam Pomfrey’s idea of your own private bed here, Harry."

Harry smiled grimly. He knew the reason the headmaster was here. He wanted to talk about things Harry would prefer to forget.

"Professor Snape has told me everything he knows about how you were captured and what happened while you were there. He also tells me you did manage to escape at one point."

"Yeah, they don’t know about the wandless magic, so I could release the bonds, but they caught us again after I found Ron."

"How did you get your hands free if they were shackled?"

Harry was confused. "Er…I told you…I did it wandless."

Dumbledore ran his finger horizontally along his mouth. "But you could not move your hands either, I am assuming."

Harry paused; he hadn’t given that much thought. Usually, wandless magic was done with a wave of the hand. "No…I suppose I just thought about the spell."

"Very interesting, Harry." He was silent for a few moments staring at Harry very intently. Harry’s thoughts were in turmoil; he didn’t want to think about this right now. It was already becoming more confusing.

"We need to talk about what happened with Voldemort, Harry." Dumbledore’s words echoed Harry’s thoughts.

"I know," Harry said, sighing. "How much do you know?"

"I understand Severus advised you to give the prophecy to him."

"Yes. I didn’t trust him at first, but it didn’t matter, really. I couldn’t hold Voldemort off. The pain in my scar was so intense, I couldn’t keep my focus on the shield."

Dumbledore nodded, a pained expression briefly crossing his aged features. "What happened after he got the prophecy?"

"Snape thought he’d back off, wanting to make certain he would come out ahead. He didn’t stop, though; he stayed in my head. I don’t what he was looking for, but I thought my head was going to explode."

"What memories where you envisioning?"

Harry thought about it carefully. "My parents, I think. The night they were…the night he killed them. It was on my mind from the Dementor."

"I believe he may have been trying to discern what happened that night, to see if he could find a way around it. If he believed he could kill you easily, he would have done so."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. "Jonathan kept yelling to me, telling me to concentrate on the people I loved. I started thinking about things that have happened with the Weasleys and Moony. Next thing I knew, he kind of stumbled back, like he was in pain."

Dumbledore leaned forward intently in his chair. "What things, specifically, were you thinking about?"

"Memories, really. Mrs. Weasley calling me a Weasley, Ron and Hermione saying they’d always stick by me…things like that." Harry turned slightly pink at having to reveal these things.

Dumbledore ignored his discomfort and urged him to continue. "And then?"

"He got angry at Jonathan and used the Killing Curse," Harry whispered, blinking furiously.

Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry’s arm. "I am sorry, Harry. I know he had grown very fond of you. He died in battle, fighting his greatest enemy. He died honorably, and that is how he would have preferred.

"His body was sent back to be buried alongside his family. He left us with his books and detailed notes. Both Bill Weasley and Emmeline Vance are very knowledgeable with Ancient Runes, and they have taken up the search for a spell."

Harry was growing tired again, his throat hurt from thinking about Jonathan, and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. Dumbledore patiently looked through the cards on the nightstand until Harry was ready to continue.

"After he…he did that to Jonathan, he…he got stronger again. It seemed like he wasn’t in…in as much pain. I might be…be remembering that wrong. I was so shocked by what happened." Harry stopped to clear his throat. "Anyway, he got back in my head."

Professor Dumbledore continued to gently stroke Harry’s arm. "Professor Snape said you did something that sent Voldemort flying through the air, and that he had to use a Portkey to escape."

"Yeah. I concentrated again."

"Concentrated on what, Harry?"

"On Ginny." Harry felt the blush staining his cheeks, and he looked intently at his folded hands on top of the crisp white of the bed sheets. The color of his skin was nearly the same stark white. He didn’t want to face Dumbledore’s eyes.

"On the fact that you love her?" Dumbledore prompted gently.

It was true, and he wasn’t embarrassed…much. It was his headmaster he was talking about this love stuff to, after all. Still, there was no way it was going to be Dumbledore who heard it first. That was Ginny’s right, and he’d see to it that she was the first one to whom he said those words out loud.

Dumbledore stopped pushing, and Harry had the distinct impression that his professor had read his mind. He was too tired to be angry about it, and it got him out of sharing anymore.

"Professor Snape has also told me that Voldemort is considerably weakened. His magic is also nearly at burnout, and he needs some time to recuperate. It gives us some time to make our summer preparations."

Harry’s head was drooping again, and he allowed Dumbledore to readjust his pillows without speaking.

"Harry, you are not only weakened magically, but physically and emotionally, as well. You cannot be sent back to the Dursleys alone in this condition."

Harry’s breath caught in his throat; suddenly, he felt much more awake. "I don’t have to go back? Where am I going? To Grimmauld Place, with the others?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "No, Harry, you misunderstood me. You need to return to Privet Drive. You need the blood protection from your aunt – now, more than ever. But I will not send you back there alone. Dobby will be returning with you to care for you while you regain your strength."

The image of Dobby’s large tennis ball eyes loomed in his mind as he remembered the fiasco with the pudding before second year. "I don’t think that’s such a good idea. The Dursleys won’t agree to it."

"The Dursleys know nothing about it. One of the duties of a house-elf is to remain out of sight. Dobby can handle that, and he is looking forward to the chance to play nursemaid to you."

Harry could just imagine and nearly groaned out loud at the thought.

"Magic performed by a house-elf will go undetected by the Ministry, so you will have a bit of protection there, as well."

"That’s not true, sir. Before my second year, I got a letter from the Ministry about a Levitation Charm that Dobby performed."

"It is undetected unless said house-elf wants the magic to be detected."

Comprehension dawned on Harry. "He was trying to get me in trouble with the Ministry."

"He did the wrong thing for the right reason. And he wants to make it up to you."

Harry could tell that, although Dumbledore’s words made it seem perfectly logical, the headmaster was getting immense amusement out of the situation.

"In addition, Bill Weasley will be staying with Mrs. Figg. He will be spending the days with you, researching the texts and continuing your training when you’re feeling better. The Dursleys have already been informed of his presence there."

Harry’s eyes opened wide. "What?"

"Harry, we tried to convince your Aunt Petunia of the necessity of relocating for a few weeks. We wanted to bring you, and all of them, to Grimmauld Place. Molly Weasley is quite adamant that is where you belong. However, your aunt would not agree. I cannot force her to move, but we are working on convincing her."

"What d’you mean?" Harry asked, gripping the sides of his bed.

"I told you when we discussed summer arrangements previously that there are things I will not tolerate. The Dursleys’ behavior over Christmas leads me to believe that I need to take a more active role in what is going on there. The presence of the Order will be much more prominent at Privet Drive, and Bill will be making himself quite comfortable."

Harry couldn’t suppress the grin over how the Dursleys would react to a bunch of wizards in plain sight on Privet Drive. "Just do things to make the neighbors notice," Harry said. "That’ll make her change her mind in a hurry."

Dumbledore was studying Harry carefully, and it made him uncomfortable. "I am sorry I did not do this sooner, Harry. I am curious as to why you never mentioned what was going on at home."

Harry slumped down beneath the covers. "I’m tired now, sir."

"Harry—"

"I don’t want to talk about this. What’s done is done, and it can’t be changed. Privet Drive was never home. I’ll be seventeen at the end of next month, and I can leave them for good. That’ll be the end of it."

Professor Dumbledore’s face looked unbearably sad as he rose to his feet. "Very well, Harry. I hope to have you out of there well before your birthday. Get some sleep now."

Harry watched him as he left the hospital wing. He seemed to shuffle slowly, appearing old and frail and much less vibrant than he’d been at the beginning of their conversation. Harry’s body ached, and he just wanted to sleep. He was worried about how he’d cope on his own at the Dursleys if he felt this miserable. He hoped his strength would return soon. He had to be stronger before he ended up with them, or they’d eat him alive. With these thoughts, he fell into a restless slumber.

A/N: Wow, I’m stunned and amazed by the response to the last chapter. I must admit, I was terrified that you were all going to be like, ‘That was it? I’ve waited all this time for that?" Phew! Huge relief! Thank you all so much.

Special thanks to Mistral and ChaoticK for all your time and effort.