Pain. Burning, unrelenting pain was all he could feel. His eyes opened slowly to a dimly-lit room, which was blurry.

Glasses. He didn’t have his glasses. He stared up, unwilling to look elsewhere as it hurt to even move his eyes. Something cool was held to his lips and he drank without care of what it was.

Something in him was screaming not to, that it was dangerous, but another part of him knew that though the presence was formidable, it was also protective. He was safe with the presence. It would not hurt him, he was sure of that.

He wished to know more, but sleep was rapidly closing in on him. He embraced the darkness, which promised to free him of the pain, if only for a short while. He drifted, floating in a sea of nothingness, until reality called him back. He fought against it, and lost, returning to his pain-filled world.

The world around him was blurry when he opened his eyes. He froze in fear when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone in black robes was in the room with him. The person came nearer and he remembered that this was the person that had saved him. He was safe here. There was no one dangerous here….

Yet his limbs shook with fear as he watched the man move around the room. That black….it meant something……something he couldn’t quite remember. A memory flashed into his mind, of himself in a cemetery, surrounded by figures in black robes. Pain suddenly flared through his skull, making him cry out.

The man in black was by his side in a second, pulling him upright and holding a vial to his lips. Harry flinched at the contact, but drank the contents of the vial. Whatever had been in the vial took the pain away and made him tired. He slumped against the man and closed his eyes. He floated once more.

The next time he woke up, he hurt less and was able to move his head and look around the room. He was alone this time, he could see, but was unable to make out much more, as everything was blurred.

Soft hooting across the room caught his attention and he saw a large, white blob flying towards him. Instinctively, he threw up his arms to shield his face. It wasn’t necessary, as he discovered the white thing was an owl.

He also discovered white bandages covering both of his arms. He tugged at them curiously, but after feeling a stab of pain shoot through his arm, desisted.

What had happened to him, he wondered. And why couldn’t he remember anything? He reached out and petted the owl, who hooted in contentment.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked the owl hoarsely, who hooted sharply and gently nipped at his hand. He frowned at the owl. Somehow, he realized that he knew this owl. At least, he was supposed to.

“Are you mine?” he asked with dawning realization. The owl hooted again and bobbed her head in what he assumed was a yes. Suddenly, the door opened and in walked the man in black robes.

“Potter, quit playing with your blasted owl and take your potions,” said the man irritably. The bird took off across the room as the man came closer.

Harry stared untrustingly at the man. He was safe with this man, he remembered. There was something about the potions he didn’t feel safe with. He watched the man hold out several vials.

The man adopted a softer voice and said, “The potions will help you. Now take them.” Harry hesitantly reached for the vials and drank them, not enjoying their bitter taste on his tongue.

The man took the empty vials back and said, “I will see about getting you a new pair of glasses.” Harry tried to reply, but the potion had made his tongue heavy, and the words stuck in his mouth.

“Sleep,” said the man before leaving again. Harry obediently complied.

He dreamed of sitting in an open window with the white owl. The windowsill was made of stone and a cool fall breeze brushed his hair back and ruffled the owl’s feathers. He stroked the bird’s feathers thoughtfully, then shooed her off.

“Goodnight Hedwig,” he called as she spread her wings and took off into the night.

He opened his eyes to find the owl--Hedwig--perched on the end of the bed. She was his owl. She spread her wings out and flew over to him. He gingerly sat up and petted Hedwig.

He was getting even more confused about this. He wanted to know what had happened to him. That man, the one who kept giving him potions, knew something. He had to. He resolved to ask when the man came back. in the meantime, he wanted to see where he was.

Besides being a little tired, he didn’t hurt anymore, so he decided to get up and look around. He shoved the blankets back and dragged his legs over the side of the bed. They felt curiously weak and heavy. He slid off the bed anyways, and immediately toppled forward onto the floor.

Strangely, the fall hadn’t hurt at all. Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe this whole thing was a dream. He rolled over and sat up.

It was then that he noticed white bandages extending out from under his pajama bottoms and wrapped around his feet. He was prevented from examining them by the entrance of the man.

“Potter, I’m going to put you back in bed and I want you to stay there this time,” said the man. Harry nodded and the man drew his wand.

“Wing--”

All of a sudden, a memory flashed into his mind.

He was in a train station, surrounded by an odd assortment of people. The Order of the Phoenix,” he remembered.

“We’ll see you soon, mate,” said a tall, red-headed boy. Ron.

“Really soon, Harry,” said a bushy-haired girl. “We promise.” Hermione. He, Harry, nodded, pleased at their support. He smiled and raised a hand in farewell, then walked out of the station with three people following him. The Dursleys.

He stepped out into the bright sunlight and looked around for the Dursleys’ car. He spotted it parked across the street and began to head towards it, but was stopped by his uncle’s beefy hand on his upper arm.

“You won’t be going with us, boy,” he said menacingly.

“What?” asked Harry, startled.

“Where are they?” fretted his aunt.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Some of your freaky kind have volunteered to take you off our hands for the summer,” said his Uncle happily.

“What are you talking about? The Order’s going to get me later in the summer,” said Harry.

“Not them. Another bunch. Ruddy creepy folk. Running around in black cloaks, they were,” said his Uncle disapprovingly.

Black cloaks….his heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest. They hadn’t…..they wouldn’t have…. Harry tried to break free from his Uncle, but he was too strong, holding Harry in an iron-tight grip that Harry was sure would leave bruises.

“Let go of me,” he hissed.

“Like hell I will. I’m not losing out on my money,” snarled his Uncle. Money? His Uncle had accepted money to get rid of him? Harry was sickened by them.

“The Order won’t let you do this,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh really?” mocked his Uncle. “Then why aren’t they here now?”

“They’ll come answered Harry. Or would they? He wasn’t so sure any more.

Several minutes passed in silence, with his Uncle keeping a tight hold on him, until several loud cracks broke the silence.

As soon as he saw the black cloaks of Death Eaters, he knew he was done for. His knees buckled slightly, and he locked them, determined not to cower before them. He would not give up without a fight.

The cluster of about five wizards came over to them. One of them handed the Dursleys a large sack, which crinkled slightly.

Money, he thought with disgust. His Uncle pushed him towards the Death Eaters. When one stepped up to take him, Harry kicked at him, driving his foot into the Death Eater’s stomach. The Death Eater grunted in pain.

“Little bastard,” muttered one of the Death Eaters. He heard whispering behind him and then a spell hit him, rendering him unconscious.

More memories flashed by, seemingly in reverse.

Riding on the Hogwarts Express…

Umbridge being chased out of Hogwarts……

Beating up Malfoy at the Quidditch match….

Faster and faster they went, reminding Harry of his years at Hogwarts and before.

Dobby the house-elf…

Meeting Ron and Hermione on the Hogwarts Express…

Meeting Hagrid in the hut on the rocks….

Before he knew he was a wizard….

A flash of green light…

And then they stopped, leaving Harry lying in bed feeling sick and shaky. He thought he might throw up from the horror of the first memory. The Dursleys had sold him out to Voldemort.

But what had happened after? Why couldn’t he remember anything beyond the Death Eaters arriving?

He whimpered and pressed both of his hands to his stomach in an effort to calm the waves of nausea. Harry couldn’t control it, though, and threw up over the side of the bed. He fell back onto his pillows with his stomach muscles contracting painfully. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his pajamas.

“Potter, must you make so many messes?” asked a man irritably. Harry lowered his arm and groaned inwardly. Snape was standing there glaring at him.

“It wasn’t my fault,” muttered Harry.

“Evanesco,” said Snape and came over to Harry with a vial of potion.

“Drink this,” he ordered. Harry ignored the potion, he was thinking of how Snape had been taking care of him. He felt distinctly ill again. He just wanted Snape to go away and leave him alone.

“I don’t want it,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“I will not be leaving you alone, much as you may wish me to. Now drink the potion, it will calm your stomach,” said Snape irritably. “I do not want to be cleaning up your messes again. And speaking of which…” Snape waved his wand and Harry’s pajama shirt was gone. Harry discovered that his upper body was covered in bandages too.

“What the hell was that for?” yelled Harry.

“Your shirt was dirty. I was merely removing it for you,” said Snape. He crossed the room and pulled open a drawer. He threw another shirt at Harry.

“Here you go. I presume you can dress yourself?” He went to the door and opened it, then paused. “It doesn’t matter anyways. I’ve already seen you shirtless.” Snape smirked as he left the room. Harry growled under his breath and yanked the shirt over his head.

“Vicious bastard,” he muttered as he did up the buttons. He shifted his position on the bed and leaned into the pillows. He still felt sick, but it was a small price to pay for having his memories back. Well, most of them anyways.

He had been with Death Eaters, he knew that much. But what had happened? And just how many memories was he missing? He had to know. He needed to know. And there was only one person who could tell him. Snape.

He groaned out loud that time. Of course Snape would be the one who could tell him everything.