Chapter 35- It's all in details.

Sunday, July 16, 1995

Tom made a discontented noise, when he felt long, feline whiskers tickling his face. The whiskers were soon joined by an insistent paw tapping on his cheek, and a wet little nose investigating his ear. When he started showing signs of life, his ear immediately reverberated with a rumbling purr.

"Patches!" he groaned unhappily, opening one eye a crack, then closing it again. Judging by the faint light filtering through the windows, it was a good hour or so before he had to get up. "What do you mean, waking me up at this hour?", he groused, shooing the cat away with a clumsy wave of his hand. Unperturbed, Patches merely stepped down, and settled comfortably in his lap, kneading his leg and purring contentedly.

Tom's mouth lifted in a sleepy half smile as he absently stroked her coat. Dimly, his awakening brain began to process several details. He was holding his wand loosely in the hand that wasn't petting Patches, he was still fully dressed, all the way down to his shoes, and he sitting in what felt like his favorite overstuffed chair.

After deciding that he must have fallen asleep in the living room again, Tom yawned sleepily and shifted slightly in the chair. It was early yet. He could doze a little longer before getting up to face the day. He had very nearly dropped off again, when a small noise beside him made him jump in surprise.

Tom snapped his eyes open and reflexively grasped his wand. Still not quite awake, he looked warily around, wondering if there was an intruder. No one was supposed to be in his private rooms without an invitation, after all. When his eyes fell on the bed beside him, he relaxed almost immediately. Oh. Not to worry. It was just Harry, shifting in his sleep.

Tom put a hand over his heart and blew out a relieved breath as Harry mumbled something, then was quiet once more. That was close! the innkeeper thought gratefully, settling comfortably back into his chair with a yawn. He had very nearly shouted in alarm when he'd heard the boy stir. Oh, my, yes. That would have awakened him for sure, and that would never do. Poor lad needed his rest, especially after that nasty spell he'd had last night.

Wait... Harry?! Last night?! Suddenly wide awake, Tom realized he was in his old room above the kitchen as events came back in a rush. After everything had settled down, he'd decided to sit with Harry for a little while to make sure he was all right. He must have nodded off!

Remembering something else, Tom jumped to his feet, dislodging Patches in the process. Ignoring the cat's indignant yowl, he sought out the second tracking charm he'd cast last night. This one was displayed on the inside of Harry's door.

Sparky:

Location: Leaky Cauldron (loft suite)

Status: Normal

Normal. Good. Tom felt the knot of tension in his chest ease somewhat, then frowned suspiciously. "Temporis Spatium!*" he said softly, pointing his wand at the status line. He should have been awakened last night if anything was wrong, but it never hurt to make sure. He broke into a relieved grin when he viewed the results of the Duration Query. Harry's status hadn't changed again during the night.

Briefly, he wished he knew a more detailed spell. The person and location lines were fine, but the status...the status was a bit vague. After last night he found himself wanting input more helpful and informative than Normal, Warning, and Danger. Tracking charms weren't something he dealt with a lot, and they were generally temporary. He certainly hadn't thought the charm he'd cast would be a long-term thing, but now he was seriously considering keeping it active until Harry was safely back at Hogwarts.

Frustrated and unsure what to do, Tom settled for lighting the room just a bit and carefully studying the youth in front of him. Actually, he thought, reaching down, and searching Potter's forehead for signs of fever, Harry's looking a lot better now. The boy was warm, but not overly so, and was sleeping peacefully which pleased Tom a great deal. Satisfied, he straightened up, and stretched his stiff back.

Sighing, Tom rubbed his temples, worry and indecision prodding him. After running the Leaky Cauldron all these years, he had thought there wasn't a whole lot he hadn't seen or heard of. People tended to open up to bartenders, especially after they'd had a few. If he had any desire to do so, he could write the king of all scandal sheets.

He never would, of course. Even if he didn't find the idea repulsive, Tom knew he'd have to find another line of work if he ever abused his customers' trust in such a manner.

Still, as much as he hated to admit it, Harry had scared the hell out of him. He'd made a career out of watching and interacting with people. He prided himself on being able to handle any situation, but last night he'd been at a loss. He still was.

What happened? Tom wondered shakily, closing his eyes and thinking back. Except for those little muggleborn witches dropping by, the previous evening had been largely unremarkable. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even had a hint that something was amiss until after "Last Call."

After escorting the last few customers out, he had locked up, and begun tidying up for the night. There hadn't been a lot to do, really, just wipe down the bar, and take the last few mugs, glasses, and bottles into the kitchen. Ignoring the tub that Harry generally used for that purpose, Tom had used a Summoning Charm to gather the glassware together, then cast a Levitation Charm on the whole lot. As he directed them through the door and into the sink, he remembered thinking that he should cancel the tracking spell he'd cast on the Boy-Who-Lived, before he forgot. After setting the load of dishes in the sink, he'd raised his wand, intending to do just that, but a glance at the status line had made him freeze in his tracks.

Warning.

Taken completely by surprise, Tom had simply stared for a second. His first notion was that Harry must have gone again out without him noticing, but when he raised his eyes to the location line, it still read Leaky Cauldron (loft suite).

Frightened, Tom had turned, and hurried up the back steps. When Harry hadn't responded to his knocks and calls, he had became half convinced that the boy had been attacked. Steeling himself for the worst, Tom had readied himself, then entered Harry's room, wand drawn.

Initially, he hadn't been able to determine what was wrong. Harry wasn't directly facing him, but judging by his appearance, he was obviously in for the night. Potter had changed into the soft knit t-shirt and sweat pants that he'd taken to sleeping in, his headband was missing, and his glasses were perched on the top of his head. The boy was seated at the desk, and by all indications, he'd nodded off while working on a letter or an assignment.

Relieved, Tom had wondered if the tracking charm was faulty, or else more sensitive than he had first thought. The only thing Harry seemed to be in danger of, was waking up with a very stiff neck and back.

He had moved to the desk, and called to the boy, thinking he would at least get him to move to the bed, but Harry had not stirred.

Tom had found this very peculiar. He'd learned a few things about the Boy-Who-Lived since the beginning of summer, and one thing he'd become aware of early on, was Harry Potter was a rather light sleeper. Trying again, he had called louder, and reached out to shake the boy's shoulder.

He still hadn't gotten a response, but Tom had noticed Harry's shirt was damp with perspiration.

Frowning, Tom had stepped back a second, and turned his attention to the condition of the suite. Odd. The room was at a comfortable temperature, and Harry wasn't overdressed. He had wondered about this for a few seconds, then the obvious answer had occurred to him. Potter must be ill. That would go a long way toward explaining his unusually deep sleep.

It was too bad, really, Tom had thought while he removed the boy's glasses, and turned down the bed with a wave of his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he commanded, pointing his wand at the unconscious teenager.

As he'd carefully guided Harry's unresponsive form from the desk to the bed, Tom had reflected that, although unfortunate, this wasn't all that surprising. When Harry had shown up that first night, wet, pale, flushed, and sneezing, Tom had been certain that the boy was coming down with a severe cold. He'd actually been rather shocked by Harry's condition when he went into his room the following afternoon.

Certain the boy would be needing them, he'd rummaged through the Leaky Cauldron's medicine cabinet before going up. Armed with a fever reducer and some Pepper-Up Potion, he'd headed for Room 11, assuming he would have a sick teen on his hands for a few days.

Astonishingly, that hadn't been the case.

Potter had still looked a bit peaky, and was very stressed and apprehensive, but the all the other signs of illness had been gone. He was more alert, he no longer appeared feverish, and he'd stopped sneezing.

That wasn't the only time, either, now that the thought about it. Something similar had happened when Harry had irritated his skin so, trying to finish all the items on the list Tom had given him. Appalled by what had happened, Tom had gone to his own rooms during a lull between lunch and dinner, and dug out his jar of soothing hand balm. It had been waiting in the kitchen when Harry reported for work, but it hadn't been necessary. In fact...

Tom raised his eyebrows speculatively, and gently brushed Harry's black hair back, exposing his forehead, and his lightning bolt scar. Last night the mark had been red and irritated, like Harry had only recently been injured. Tom had also felt a tingle of energy when he'd touched it, almost like static electricity. Now it was looking and behaving like it usually did. Strange.

Deciding it was probably safe to leave Harry alone, provided he kept an eye on the tracking charm in the kitchen, Tom started to cast a Shrinking Spell on his chair, meaning to pocket it, and take it back to his own rooms, then he noticed Harry's desk chair was missing. Oh, yes. He'd transfigured the desk chair into something a bit more comfortable.

I really do need my morning tea, Tom thought sheepishly, undoing his spell, and replacing the chair at the desk, before creeping softly toward the door. On his way out, he whispered Finite Incantatem, canceling the copy of Harry's status before gently shutting the door behind him. Seeming to sense where he was going, Patches let herself out through the cat flap, and was down the stairs in a flash.

As he busied himself in the kitchen, putting on the kettle, and setting out Patches' feeding dish, Tom returned to his musings. He'd gotten Harry into bed without much fuss. The boy was pale, and still sweating a little, so Tom had fetched a wet washcloth, intending to bathe his face and arms, and try to make him a bit more comfortable. It had been then when he'd become aware of the strange energy that seemed to emanate from Harry's scar, and the condition of the mark itself. When he'd touched the boy's skin with the cloth, the hair on his arm had literally stood on end.

That had been nothing compared to what happened next, however.

Without warning, Harry had let out a strangled cry and his hands had flown to his forehead. Shuddering convulsively, he had rolled onto his side, and curled up defensively. The tendons in his arms and neck had stuck out like taut wires, and his respiration had become quick and shallow.

"Harry!" Tom had shouted, alternating between shaking the boy, and trying to pry his hands away from his head. "Harry, wake up!" he pleaded, but the youth showed no signs of hearing him. His eyes and jaws were clamped tightly shut, but little sounds of distress came out with every breath.

It had seemed to go on forever, although realistically Tom reckoned it had probably only been two or three minutes. Then as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Harry slowly stopped shaking and relaxed, panting and sweating like he'd just run a race. He still didn't respond to Tom's calls, but at least he didn't seem to be hurting anymore. Tom took that as a good sign. He retrieved the washcloth he'd dropped earlier, and began to gently cool the boy's feverish skin, talking to him all the while.

Finally he got a response. Harry clenched his fists and gasped, then his green eyes flew open and he woke with a start. "Whoa, whoa, easy there," Tom admonished, when Harry sat bolt upright, then wobbled dizzily at the sudden movement. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders to steady him. "Take it slow."

"Can't," Harry had croaked, shaking his head stubbornly, and wiping at his watering eyes. "Dreamt about HIM. Have t'write it down-" he began, then broke off with a miserable-sounding groan, and put one hand over his mouth as though nauseated. "Steady lad," Tom had said, summoning Harry's milk glass and transfiguring it into a basin-just in case-as Harry closed his eyes, and concentrated on controlling his stomach.

Fortunately, the boy had prevailed, and Tom's precautions hadn't been necessary. After a minute or so, Harry had opened his eyes, removed his hand and nodded weakly. Tom broke into a relieved grin, and carefully pushed him back down on the bed when he tried to stand again. "Tell me what you want, and I'll fetch it," he instructed. "You just relax."

"Paper...pen," Harry said, slurring his words slightly as he gestured in the general direction of the desk.

Nodding, Tom had fetched Harry's muggle notebook and pen from the desk, then looked on in concern as Harry rolled over onto his stomach, flinching as he did so, and scribbled a few lines. Yawning hugely, the boy laid his head on his arm and mumbled. "Need t'write t'Dumbledore..."

"In the morning," Tom had replied firmly, taking the writing materials, and laying them on the night stand. "Or at least after you've rested a bit." Knowing Harry's stubborn nature, he'd expected if not an argument, then at least a token protest, but Harry had just nodded and closed his eyes. Tom had found his unprotesting acquiescence worrisome-moreso even than his strange seizure had been. He had almost marched downstairs right then and there to Floo for medical help, but on second thought, he had decided to wait until morning. Harry seemed to be in a deep restful sleep now, and he had responded with little murmurs when Tom cast drying and freshening charms, instead of being so terribly unresponsive.

After covering the boy, Tom had retrieved the desk chair, and transfigured it into something a bit more comfortable. Evidently he'd done too good of a job with that. He'd only intended to stay for a little while, just to make sure Harry was all right, and didn't wake again. Instead, he'd fallen asleep himself and stayed all bloody night!

Ah well, no one's perfect, Tom thought, grabbing a cup and moving toward the kettle when began to whistle.

____________

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head!

Harry Potter groaned and buried his head in his pillow. Was that Aunt Petunia calling?

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head!

"Coming," he mumbled, still half asleep. Absently he reached up for the pull string that hung down from the cupboard's ceiling light. When his hand encountered empty air, his eyebrows drew together in annoyance. Had Dudley flipped the cord onto the top shelf and out of reach again?

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head!

Without opening his eyes, Harry murmured another sleepy affirmative, abandoning his search for the pull-string, and feeling around for his glasses instead. He started in surprise when he reached behind his head, and his questing fingers encountered a smooth oak headboard. Where was the shelf behind his cot? Where were his glasses?

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head!

Oh, right. He'd been moved to Dudley's second room just before beginning school at Hogwarts. Stupid of him to have forgotten...old habits and all that.

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head!

Aunt Petunia was certainly repeating herself an awful lot, Harry noted absently, wondering why she hadn't banged on his door yet. As he drifted towards full wakefulness, he realized it wasn't Aunt Petunia addressing him at all. The voice by his bed was far too cheerful and perky. It sounded nothing like her usual strident screech.

Harry opened his eyes, frowning in confusion, then squinted at the clock on his nightstand. Oh, right. He was in the room over the Leaky Cauldron's kitchen. Tom wanted him to come down early, so he'd set the alarm just to be safe. Up to now he hadn't bothered with it since Patches had taken it upon herself to wake him every day. Strange. He'd expected the alarm to be the little chimes that sounded when the clock was trying to get his attention, not this!

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head!

Amazing. He hadn't thought an alarm existed that was more annoying than that buzzer thing Uncle Vernon had, but this was enough to make an otherwise sane person go 'round the twist.

Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy-head! Out of bed, you sleepy head!

"All right," he growled, snatching up the clock and battling down a mad urge to chuck the thing across the room when he couldn't immediately find the "Off" switch. "I'm up, I'm up! Shut up already, would you?"

Obediently, the clock silenced when he deactivated the alarm, and began to reset itself. After a few seconds, in addition to the time, the face displayed, "Too Early To Be Up."

Harry rolled his eyes at the timepiece, as he set it back on the nightstand, then sat up looking for his glasses. Strange. They should be right there beside the clock...and how did his notebook get there? Harry raised an eyebrow, puzzling over this. For that matter, how had he gotten here? He certainly didn't remember getting up and coming to bed. In fact, the last thing he remembered, was laying his head down on the desk when he'd been listening in on Voldemort and Wormtail.

Curious, Harry padded over to the desk. Sure enough, there were his glasses, folded neatly on top of his scattered letters and homework assignments. He automatically put them on, then sat down and reached for a piece of Dumbledore's charmed parchment.

He was about halfway through recounting his dream, when he realized he was recalling all the details without the use of his notebook. That was different.

Usually he had to write down dreams right away, because he lost details so quickly upon awakening. Sometimes even with the prompts in his notebook it was hard to remember everything, but for some reason, looking back on the dream he'd had last night was like thinking of something that happened yesterday. If he concentrated a bit, he could remember everything clearly and easily.

Harry felt a shiver go down his spine when he remembered the curious feeling of being awake at the remote cabin, and asleep at the Leaky Cauldron simultaneously. That was beyond bizarre. He wondered if this was worth mentioning to his headmaster. Perhaps he should wait to see if he could identify what was going on first. He just knew this was something he'd heard of before-he just couldn't recall from where!

Sighing, Harry put down his enchanted quill and checked the time again. Drat. He needed to get downstairs, but he really wanted to send this letter now, not later. Shrugging, as he remembered Dumbledore's request to forward all information, no matter how simple or unimportant, he scribbled a brief description of the rest of the dream and a small bit about his scar burning.

The part about his dream sounded a little nutters, he thought critically as looked it over a few minutes later, but the overall the tone was calm and informative. Deciding it would do, Harry activated the parchment, then gathered some clothes and started getting cleaned up.

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