FicWad

It was three days before the Dursleys all left the house at the same time, giving Harry a chance to escape without witnesses. He was allowed to eat only once during those days, the missed meals a punishment for being caught with the window open the morning after his visit with Sirius. He'd been exhausted enough that he forgot to wake at dawn and close it like he usually did. He could have used his new powers to steal food from the kitchen, of course, but it would have been noticed. And however impossible it would have seemed to them, they still would have automatically blamed him, even though Dudley had been known to empty the entire cupboard in midnight binges. By the time he was able to make good on his escape, he was faint and weak with hunger.

The escape was, fortunately, ridiculously easy with the new magic. Even faking the appearance of physically breaking out wasn't very difficult. His trunk was heavy, though, and Hedwig's cage wasn't exactly light, and the summer heat beat down on him as he trudged towards the road. He was already feeling dazed, everything around him seeming slightly unreal by the time he stumbled to the curb. Blinking, trying to focus, he drew his wand and raised it in the air, concentrating as best he could on his urgent, desperate need for transportation. It wasn't until the violently purple triple-decker bus actually appeared in front of him, and he nearly started crying with relief, that he realized he hadn't truly expected it to work. He hadn't expected to get away. The Dursleys would catch him, Voldemort would attack, Dumbledore would be waiting at the front door to stop him, or the bus simply wouldn't appear and he'd be in an even worse position than before... something, he'd been certain, would stop him.

But nothing did. No hand grabbed the back of the baggy old jumper of Dudley's which was the only thing he had to wear until he changed into his robes. No Cruciatus Curse was cast from the bushes. Neither the bus driver nor the conductor denounced him as a Dark-loving imposter and denied him entrance. Instead, the conductor cheerfully took his fare, offering a grateful Harry hot chocolate for an extra two sickles, and waved him towards the rows of huge, overstuffed armchairs. That was a change... when he'd ridden before, there had been beds. Still, after gulping half the hot chocolate and then setting it aside as his shrunken stomach rebelled at the richness, the chairs seemed more than comfortable enough, and he soon drifted off, oblivious to the wild swaying and sharp turns of the bus as it continued on its incomprehensible route.

The sharp peal of a bell woke him some hours later. It was still daylight, but only just; the sun was already well on the final leg of its journey towards the horizon. "The Burrows at Otter River!" the young conductor announced brightly. "All off who're gettin' off!" Harry fumbled for his trunk and Hedwig, his mind still fogged with sleep and his whole body aching with exhaustion. Before he even had time to think, he found himself deposited on the soft grass just outside the row of hedges that enclosed the yard of the Burrow, his trunk beside him and Hedwig nibbling gently at his fingers through the bars of her cage. A second later, the bus door closed and it winked out of sight.

It was already dark enough that the lights glowed cosily in the windows of the big, inviting, crazily multi-storied house, and the sight filled him with immediate longing. This place had featured prominently in his wistful dreams so many times that it never actually seemed like it could be real. He stumbled forward, nearly falling in his eagerness, then made himself stop and take a few deep breaths until his head had cleared some, then he proceeded more cautiously. But however eager he was, he still hesitated at the door, his hand half-raised. Would they want him here, if they knew? What if Sirius was wrong about that? Why would they believe him over Dumbledore, who they'd known longer than Harry'd been alive? Or, all of that aside, what if they didn't want to deal with another mouth to feed. They had children of their own to take care of. What if they sent him straight to Dumbledore? Sick, scared, and guilty, Harry just stared blindly at the door-knocker, not daring touch it.

Of course, this was a wizard house, not a muggle one. While he stood there, undecided, the door-knocker opened first one sleepy brass eye and then the other, and stared at him, its tarnished eyebrows raising higher and higher. When he made no move towards the knocker, it frowned, then moved itself, banging heavily into the metal plate several times, and called out in a sharp, ringing voice, "Visitor! Visitor! Hurry now, hurry! The child looks half-starved and dead on his feet!"

The yelling ceased abruptly as the door was yanked open and Harry found himself face to face with the Heir to the Dark Lord, complete with long, red pigtails. Her honey brown eyes went wide. "Harry? What are you doing here?" Then, without waiting for him to answer, she grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, turning her head to yell over her shoulder, "MUM! It's Harry!"

Molly rushed out of the kitchen, a frown on her round, gentle face. "Ginny, what in the world-- Oh! Oh dear! You poor child, what on earth has happened? Ginny, take those things and fetch your father and the boys. It's nearly supper time, anyway," she said, rather needlessly, as Ginny was already reaching for Hedwig's cage and trying to tug the trunk handle away from Harry.

Harry let go without arguing. "I'm sorry, but I didn't know where else to go. I'm so hungry...."

Molly reached out and pulled him to her chest, petting his hair with one hand, running the other over his ribs thoughtfully. "There now, dear, it's going to be all right," she said soothingly. "You know very well you're always welcome in this house. I'd have just kept you after that first year if it were up to me. Now tell me what happened, dear? When was the last time you ate anything?"

"Um...." Harry tried to think through the fog clouding his mind. "Day before yesterday? I think?"

"You think? Why those--" Molly clamped her mouth shut, her jaw set in a grim line. "Come along into the kitchen, love. I just put dinner on the table." She looked at him, still frowning. "Before that, when did you eat, dear? And what have you been eating?"

"Leftovers. Whatever Uncle Vernon and Dudley didn't eat," Harry said, swaying.

She stopped to stare at him, aghast. "Those two... people?" she asked, obviously substituting for what she really wanted to say. She wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him up, and yelled, "ARTHUR!" Molly could produce some considerable volume when she wanted to. Raising seven children-- six of them boys-- would do that for you. Arthur Weasley must not have been far, though, because it wasn't more than a few seconds before he burst through the back door, followed closely by his sons.

"What is it, M-- Oh!" Immediately, he moved to help her.

"Take him upstairs, Arthur. The poor child's in no shape to be out of bed. He can have Percy's room," Molly said, and Arthur nodded.

He bent and scooped Harry up easily, then frowned. "He doesn't weigh any more than Ginny..."

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Ron asked.

"Left," Harry said dully.

"Hush, Ron," Molly said. "There'll be time later for questions." She shot a warning glare at the twins and Ginny, making sure they understood that went for them, too. "Harry needs rest and food right now, not an interrogation. Sit down and eat your dinner. Go on, Arthur, I'll fix him a tray and be right up."

The boys were conditioned to obedience and, with varying degrees of reluctance and many anxious glances towards their father's back as he mounted the stairs, they sat. Ginny, however, had never been one to take to conditioning of any sort, so for a moment she stood there, her face rebellious, her hands on her hips. Molly, in the midst of loading a tray with rich chicken stock, fresh baked bread, and cold fruit juice paused to look at her sharply. "Ginevra," she said, warningly, and Ginny dropped her eyes then slid abashedly into her chair. Molly waved her wand over the tray, putting on a quick warming spell and levitated it in front of her. "Now, stay down here and eat your suppers," she said. "You'll find out everything soon enough." With that, she hurried up the stairs, the tray leading the way.

Harry must have blacked out. He certainly didn't remember having his shoes removed or being placed in a soft bed and having lavender scented blankets tucked up to his shoulders. The room was warmly lit by soft wizard lights over the bed. At the sound of heated whispering, he turned his head towards the door. Molly and Arthur had their heads bent together, but Molly looked up as soon as he moved and smiled at him. She shooed Arthur out the door and headed for the bed, a large tray floating sedately behind her. "Here, love, you can sleep in just a bit, but let's see if you can't eat something, first, hmm?" With the ease of long practice, she lifted him with one arm and tucked pillows up behind him until he was comfortably supported, then waved the tray over to lay across his legs.

Harry gritted his teeth as a wave of nausea swept over him at the smell of the food. "Can't," he managed.

She looked at him shrewdly. "Think so, do you?" she said, with a slight smile, then pulled out her wand. "Constans venter," she said firmly, tapping behind his ear with the tip of her wand. Immediately, Harry felt better. Not good, but better. His stomach still cramped, but now he could realize just how hungry he was.

"Thanks," he said, before reaching for a piece of bread and dipping it in the broth.

"Slow, now, dear," she cautioned. "Too much at once, and your stomach will rebel despite the charm. Don't worry, I'll put a warming spell on whatever you don't finish and it'll be here for you whenever you can eat it." She patted his knee through the thick, though slightly threadbare blanket. "And there's certainly plenty more when that's gone. Now. You want to tell me about it?" she asked gently.

Harry looked away. He'd come here fully intending to tell her how his relatives treated him, but now that he was faced with it, it was harder than he'd expected.

"I do," he said, "but...." He flushed.

"Harry dear... won't you trust me?" she asked. "Nothing's going to make me think badly of you, luv. You can tell me."

Harry swallowed, and forced himself to look at her. "Are-- are you sure?" he asked. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she said firmly.

He took a deep breath, searching her face, and told her, starting with the earliest things he could remember. It was slow, halting, and he had to stop several times. He kept his eyes on his plate once he began, not daring to look at her. He knew that if he stopped before he was finished, he'd never find the courage to start again.

Perhaps sensing that the flow of words would dry up if they were interrupted, Molly held her silence while he spoke, only reaching out to take his free hand and hold it tightly clasped in hers. Only when he finished did she swallow against the knot in her throat and try to speak. "Harry... I... Oh, pet," she whispered, blinking against tears, then the anger caught up with the horror and she sat up, giving his hand a hard squeeze. "Well you're certainly not going back there!" she said, indignantly. "No matter what Albus says about that stupid spell, it's obvious he didn't even bother to check on those... those creatures! They're not fit guardians for a dog, much less a child. If they come near you again I'll--" She closed her eyes, trying to maintain a hold on her temper, and the horror welled back up again. "Oh Harry, my poor dear, sweet, little boy... how could they? Sweetheart, why didn't you say something? Send an owl, anything... we would have come for you, I promise."

"I thought... I thought it didn't matter," he whispered. "I didn't know! Professor Dumbledore didn't think it was important."

"Did you tell him, luv?" Molly asked gently. "He should have checked on you, there's no excuse for not doing so and I will definitely be having words with him on that, but did you ever actually tell him what they were doing?"

Harry took a bite of the bread. "I don't know if I should tell you what I think," he said, only realizing after he'd said it that it was as bad as answering the question directly.

"Harry, I'm... upset... with him, too, right now," she said, hesitantly. "But you have to understand, he has all of you children to care for, and... he's not young." She smiled weakly. "That's why he should have made sure that you were with someone who did have time and energy to make sure you were cared for properly. He probably thought that he'd done so, but obviously, he made a huge mistake. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, dear."

Harry summoned up all the energy he could muster, and painfully lifted his head. "Please," he said clearly. "It's important that he thinks I still trust him. I'll explain later, when I can think. Promise me you won't tell him, no matter what. That you won't let him know."

"But luv, he'll need to know you're here, and he has to know what they did so he'll understand that he cannot allow you to go back to those people."

"That's okay," Harry said. "Just don't let him know I don't trust him." He smiled sadly. "But I'll bet you he insists I have to go back."

"Over my dead body!" she snapped, then looked flustered and smoothed a hand over her apron, patting the pocket with her wand in it out of nervous habit. "You're not going back, Harry," she said, more gently. "And that's final. We've plenty of room now. And I wanted to have you here, anyway. Ron will be thrilled. Dumbledore will just have to get used to it."

Harry smiled shakily. "Thanks," he said. "Promise?"

"I promise, Harry. No matter what."

"And you won't tell him? Won't let him know?" he asked.

"I'll have to tell him you're here, sweetheart," she said. "Too many people will be simply frantic if they think you're missing. And he does need to know about them. But I won't tell him how you feel right now, unless you want me to. It's really not my place to tell him that, anyway. That's between the two of you, and he should have to answer to you for letting you get hurt this way."

Harry relaxed. "Thanks," he said, slumping against his pillow.

She slid the tray onto the table by the bed, and murmured a couple of spells over it, then pulled the blankets back up over his chest. "You rest, luv. If you wake up, try to eat a bit if you can. It's going to take small meals, several times a day to get you used to enough food and back to eating normally again. But for now, you sleep, and don't worry about a thing." She smoothed the hair back from his face, then bent and kissed his forehead. "Everything will be fine," she said, as she straightened up and dimmed the lights. "Just call out if you need anything."

"Thanks, mum," he murmured, before sleep swept over him.

Molly stared down at him for a few minutes more, blinking rapidly. Then she sniffed and wiped at her eyes, and turned and headed for the door. Her eyes narrowed with every step she took, and by the time she reached it, she was stalking. She managed to restrain herself enough to close the door gently, but by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she'd already gone through the stages from screaming rage to ready to kill someone and all the way past into cold, icy calm. She walked right past her family, who had gathered at the foot of the stairs to wait for news, her blue eyes glittering dangerously. "Oh fuck," Fred whispered, and instead of chastising him, his father went pale as Molly opened the door and headed straight for the broom shed. He ran after her, pulling the front door closed behind him.

"Molly! Molly, what are you doing?" he asked.

She turned slowly and gave him a sweet smile that never reached her eyes. "I'm going to go to that place and I am going to kill those people, Arthur," she said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"What? Molly, what are you talking about?" he asked.

"Those people. Those... those muggles. That cannot be the way they treat children in that place! If it were, then... then You Know Who would be right!"

Arthur stared at her, horrified. "Molly!"

"Well it's true! How could anyone... oh Arthur!" Her face crumpled, and she burst into tears. He was almost relieved; tears he could handle, even if he were dreading hearing what caused them. That cold, calm fury, though, that was something different. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her and making soothing noises until she calmed down enough to talk again. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.