After muttering some more insults at Harry, Vernon finally left the boy alone in his room. Harry deflated with relief and flopped down onto his flat pillow. Within minutes he had fallen asleep, again.

“Harry, Harry, wake up,” a familiar male voice implored the sleeping boy to rise from his bed. Harry screwed up his features in displeasure and mumbled that he didn’t want any breakfast.

Ron chuckled a bit, but didn’t relent. “Harry, come on mate we want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes as he realized the voice was not connected to his dreams. Ron, Fred and George were all staring at Harry with obvious worry in their expressions.

“Ron?” Harry blinked and straightened his glasses, which he had forgotten to remove before falling asleep.

“Yeah Harry, it’s me. We got your message. Figured it’d be best if we got you out of here as soon as possible. Come on let’s get your trunk.”

Harry nodded in agreement and sat up in his bed. He took a few deep breaths to calm his constantly dizzy head and queasy stomach. He stood as soon as he felt a bit better and moved to show the Weasleys where he kept his possessions.

“Ron, how are we leaving? We aren’t walking to the Burrow, are we?” Harry asked as he shoved his things into his trunk.

“No,” Ron said with a grin, “We’re definitely not walking. I don’t think you’d make it if we were. We’ve got a Portkey.”

“But,” Harry started, but Ron cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Please, don’t ask. The less you know about it the better off you’ll be,” Ron stated giving a guilty swallow.

Harry nodded even though he was definitely less then satisfied with Ron’s explanation. Before he had time to try and interrogate Ron further Fred and George approached.

“Here Harry, you wouldn’t want to leave this behind. You might need it soon,” Fred stated holding out Harry’s wand.

Strange, Harry didn’t remember taking his wand from its hiding place in the floor and yet Fred had picked it up off the floor like a piece of rubbish. Harry shook his head, quickly took the wand back and shoved it into his back pocket despite the danger it posed resting there.

“Have you got everything?” George asked as he glanced about the small bedroom.

Harry nodded reaching for his Firebolt that he had kept in his small closet. As far as he could tell they’d taken everything he had of value and placed it in his trunk. Harry held his broomstick, Ron had Hedwig’s cage and the twins had shouldered the burden of Harry’s trunk.

“All set to go then Harry?” Fred asked, Harry nodded a little more urgently then he had intended.

Fred reached into his back pocket and withdrew an old Farmer’s Almanac. He gently uncurled the old magazine and everyone took hold of a corner. Seconds later Harry felt the disgustingly familiar tug of the Portkey at his navel.

The moment Harry’s feet returned shakily to solid ground he dropped hard on his knees. His grip on his broom went slack and he crumpled in a heap on the floor, dead to the world.

Something cool was gently being pressed to his feverish forehead. It felt nice against his constantly aching head. Harry slowly opened his eyes to blurred vision. It took his several seconds to realize that someone had removed his glasses.

“Harry dear, you’re awake,” Harry recognized Mrs. Weasley’s voice. She sounded worried. “How are you feeling, dear?”

Mrs. Weasley handed Harry his glasses and he gratefully slipped them on to clear vision.

“I’m feeling much better, thanks,” Harry lied.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Mrs. Weasley visibly relaxed. “Harry, I was so worried when we got your letter.”

Harry tried to sit up and found it much more difficult then he had expected it to be. Mrs. Weasley gently pushed him back against the couch Fred and George had carried him to earlier. He was in fact glad that she’d kept him from sitting up; it was hardly worth the effort.

“You should rest a bit more, dear,” she gave him a motherly smile and swabbed his forehead once more. “You still don’t look too well.” He nodded silently, not willing to argue with her.

“Hey there Mate,” Ron said sauntering over with a cheerful smile to pat Harry on the shoulder.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” Harry said softly as Mrs. Weasley wiped his forehead again.

“We couldn’t just leave you there to suffer. Besides Harry, Mum would never have let us ignore you even if we’d wanted to,” Ron stated with a silly grin.

Mrs. Weasley had fawned over the pale Gryffindor, offering him every bit of food she had in her possession. Harry had to fight himself to subdue the urge to gag.

“Really Mrs. Weasley, I- I’m not very hungry,” Harry mumbled as Mrs. Weasley tried to coax him into drinking a cup of watered down tea.

Thankfully she seemed to give up on the attempt to feed the starved boy and set the full cup of tea on the saucer in her lap. After a few moments she took a sip of it herself. Truthfully Harry didn’t recall the last decent meal he’d had to eat. Normally the boy would have devoured everything she’d presented him with glee.

He didn’t have to go to bed hungry, unlike when he’d been in his uncle’s home. Nothing seemed to be able to whet his appetite. Thinking about eating anything made him feel dizzy, he’d never had a reason to feel this way before. But the sensation was there, haunting him, breathing hotly down his neck and he could not disobey.

No food. He didn’t really need it anyway. Food, he had learned was a luxury. Something used to control him. The Dursleys had often tried to starve Harry’s Wizard heritage out of him. They had of course, failed. No one else would break him either, he wasn’t giving in again.

Harry had fallen asleep to escape Mrs. Weasley’s imploring look, as she wanted him to take in food. He almost wished that he would have stayed awake once he realized which direction his dream was turning.

Harry was trapped in a dark, cold dungeon. He was frozen to one of the damp walls. He couldn’t breathe. Someone was smothering him.

“Potter, if you’d simply swallow the potion I will allow you to breathe once more,” the cold voice shivered from beneath the dark cloak.

Harry tried to shake his head in refusal, but couldn’t, the magical bindings would not allow him to move. He would rather die of suffocation then swallow the potion he held in his mouth. His vision went dark for a moment, his eyes rolled and his knees weakened. He was going to die if he couldn’t breathe soon.

“Very well, Potter. It does me no good to allow you to die at the moment,” the dark tone murmured an enchantment under his breath and Harry felt the bonds forcing him to the wall release.

He fell to his knees and choked out the refused potion onto the dungeon floor. He coughed and sputtered for a moment taking in air in desperate gasps. Just as he recovered his breath he let out a scream of open agony. Harry hadn’t even heard the man curse him, but he writhed on the floor as a result.

“Arrgh!” Harry screamed loudly in his sleep, causing Mrs. Weasley to wake with a bad start. “No, not again! Arrgh!” Harry’s back arched as he thrashed helplessly on the Weasley’s couch.

“Harry, Harry dear, wake up,” Mrs. Weasley gently shook the boy trying to pull him out of his nightmare. After a few moments he jerked awake, looking about with wild, lost eyes. He had no idea where he was.

“Easy now dear,” she said to him soothingly as she eased him back against the pillows. She stroked his sweat-dampened hair in an effort to calm him. “It’s all right, you were dreaming.”

Harry nodded wearily. Mrs. Weasley offered Harry a cool drink of water. He almost refused it, but he took the cold glass in his trembling hands and stared at it. His stomach rumbled at him in warning, but he ignored it and gulped the water down as if it would be his last drink.

‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ Harry thought to himself as his belly gurgled in protest of the water. He swallowed and tried to force the sick feeling away. Mrs. Weasley had taken the drained glass from him and started bathing his forehead with a fresh damp cloth.

Harry sighed in misery. The fire in his stomach was almost too much to bear. Mrs. Weasley was speaking to him in gentle tones and even though he really didn’t understand a word she told him, it helped him feel safe. He closed his eyes tentatively and listened to the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s soothing voice. Before he could think to resist himself, he was once again a prisoner to sleep.