Chapter Text
Privet Drive was the same as it had always been.
Since he was eleven, the summer holidays had become a bit of a culture shock. Every time he expected it to have changed, to have irreversibly shifted as his entire world view had.
But it never did.
The identical houses with neatly mowed grass, the average household of couples with 2.5 children, the nine to five work week--
Suburban life seemed so strange to him now.
It felt even stranger to know that this was once all he had ever known.
Though it compounded every year, this summer the sense of disparity was worse. He had always felt like an outsider, different from everyone else. He had thought that that had changed, that he had found the place where he was not the odd one out. Now he realized that that had never been true.
He had never felt so disconnected from the world.
An entire community of people were probably panicking as they realized he had never lied but life on Privet Drive went on the same as ever. There was no undercurrent of worry and danger, no tense shoulders and quick glances.
Just normal, everyday life.
Harry hated it.
His last hope of family, of a home just for him was gone. Gone with a man through a veil.
This was a fact that kept coming back to haunt Harry.
It dogged his thoughts what seemed like every second of the day, the scene in the ministry playing back through his mind on repeat whenever he stopped actively thinking.
Harry was tired.
No matter the snide remarks from his aunt on his laziness or the frustrated shouting of his being a burden from his uncle could he find the energy to do much of anything, let alone care about chores.
In fact, Harry found it difficult to even get out of his bed.
So he didn't.
He would lay on the crappy secondhand mattress and stare up at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to think about anything.
And when even that failed to work, Harry would sleep.
It felt ironic that Harry would find relief in his dreams, as it was his dreaming that cost him his godfather in the first place. But when he slept during the day, the nightmares that plagued him of the past and the visions of torture happening somewhere else were absent.
His sleep was deep and if he dreamed at all, he had no memories of them except maybe a wisp or two of thought that quickly fled when he reluctantly awoke.
This was how he spent the first week of his summer break and he was-- not content, as that would imply any sort of happiness, but perhaps accepting of his new routine.
Hedwig, however, was not.
His beloved owl and his first ever friend had not taken kindly to Harry's new mood. When she was not out hunting for herself, the bird would constantly fret over him. And as much as Harry loved her, owl cuddles were not especially comfortable. Owls have very sharp talons and beaks which make it rather hurtful when they try to curl up on your chest or tend to your aptly named bird nest of hair.
Which is to say, it wasn't a surprise to Harry when he slowly awoke to sharp pain on his shoulder from what felt like claws digging into him and feathers nearly suffocating him.
No what surprised him was how comfortable he felt other than that.
There were many words to describe his bed in the smallest room of number four Privet Drive but comfortable was not one of them.
This was the thought that threw his lethargy from his body and the fog from his mind.
He was comfortable.
Something was not right.
He noticed immediately that he could barely see. Darkness was something he had grown up knowing intimately and he had long since adjusted his vision to see through the shadows of his dark cupboard. Which was useful for nighttime excursions in dark castles. And also in dark boxes, as it would seem.
Because he was in a box.
Not a particularly small one. It was vaguely the size of a human adult. As Harry was a malnourished teenager forced to grow up in a small space, he had quite the room to move and breathe in it in his opinion. If someone else were in his position he was sure they'd feel quite claustrophobic though.
But there was just him and an owl in the box.
An owl that was glaring at him.
“This is not my fault,” he said, feeling the need to defend himself from Hedwig's judging stare.
Hedwig just continued glaring at him, her golden eyes the only light source in the box.
Yeah, he admitted silently that he didn't believe his statement either.
Weird things that happened were almost always his fault. Even if he had nothing to do with it.
Which was the case this time. He had literally been doing nothing. There was no way for him to have caused this and she knows it!
His indignant look (pout) was apparently not very threatening as Hedwig gave him a very imperious hoot.
Which was Hedwig-speak for he had better fix this now or he would get a good pecking later.
Determined to not suffer a Hedwig lecture/tantrum, Harry soon began to feel around the box, looking for a way out.
It became quickly clear that the walls of the box were padded, with the padding he was leaning against being the cushiest.
Because that was another thing he noticed. He wasn't lying down as he had been when he fell asleep, but was propped against the back of the box so that his weight wasn't on his legs that were holding him up.
He was also not in the clothes he fell asleep in. Long, billowy sleeves swishing around quickly brought that to his attention. He was then reminded that he was without his wand.
This situation was just looking better and better.
Note the sarcasm.
Sleeping non-stop for a week was also not conducive to wandless magic. Who knew being overly rested to the point of forgoing food for sleep was unhealthy?
Probably Hedwig, he thought as she watched his attempt at a wandless Alohamora with ever-growing displeasure.
Giving up and resorting to repeatedly pushing on the box's walls ended up also being pointless and did nothing but got his weak body panting and his mind racing through the many interesting wizard curses he had learned in five years inside the boy's dormitory.
Slumping back against the soft cushioned wall, Harry stopped to think.
He was probably kidnapped (again) and locked in a box. Remembering Moody in a trunk his entire fourth year, he knew he could be there awhile if it was up to his captor.
The being redressed could be for multiple disturbing reasons that he pointedly ignored.
But why kidnap Hedwig too?
So he couldn't get help from her reaching out to his friends? If that was the case, whoever kidnapped him could have just killed her and been done with it easier, he would admit, no matter how even the thought hurt him. She could be being used as leverage, a hostage. But why leave her with him then?
And this was all ignoring the fact that Hedwig would not be caught quietly. If she went down, she would go down fighting and there's no way any confrontation like that could have gone down without him waking up to it.
Was he, then, drugged? Spelled unconscious?
He tried to remember anything at all but all he received in answer were the sound of hoofbeats and the feel of a carriage.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he reached for his magic to try to remember again. The calm brought on by the feel of his magic brought one final memory to him; the feel of a warm hand holding his and the feeling of comfort and relief.
Which didn't make any sense. Physical contact of any kind was highly uncomfortable for him. Even Ron and Hermione's casual touches made him tense when he was expecting them. He wouldn't feel that sense of warmth he vaguely remembered from holding someone's hand.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a harsh nip and tug of his ear. Automatically reaching up to rub it and relieve some of the pain, Harry quickly heard what Hedwig was trying to warn him of. A voice, high pitched but distinctly male, was speaking. The cushioning of the box muffled the sound so that he couldn't make out the words, but they were not alone anymore, if they ever had been.
As his only suspects for his kidnapping were either Voldemort or one of his many lackeys, he tensed before loosening into a stance that would let him react fast. This would be more helpful if he wasn't still trapped inside a box.
The voice became louder as it's owner seemingly got closer.
A few moments of quiet.
And then the box Harry was in shook as a wave of pure heat went through it.
And then the wall in front of him was blasted off.
Blue flames licked inside towards him and he quickly gathered Hedwig to his chest to shield her from them as much as he could. He then looked for the origin of the magical fire before freezing.
Wide green eyes stared into the equally stunned blue of… a cat?
And then the cat opened it's mouth and shrieked.
“You're awake? Why are you awake?”
Now, a talking cat that stands on its hind legs and had literal flames coming out of its ears was hardly the strangest thing Harry had seen since being introduced to magic. But Harry was exhausted from a week of doing nothing and this was so far out of what he had tried to prepare himself for since waking up that he felt he could be excused for what he did next.
“You can talk?” he shrieked right back.