Drowned
Later that day, Harry was busy unpacking Dudley’s moving boxes, methodically sorting through the remnants of his cousin's life as he placed them in what had once been Dudley’s second bedroom. The walls were still painted a bright, cheerful blue, a stark contrast to the dullness of Harry’s own room. As he rummaged through the boxes, something caught his eye. A fluffy blanket, a forgotten treasure among the discarded toys and clothes.
It was the kind of blanket Dudley had received for his birthday a year ago, soft and inviting, yet ultimately overlooked after just a week of ownership. Now, as Harry lifted it from the box, he felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with longing. In the past, such a blanket might have felt like a comforting embrace, but now it served a different purpose entirely.
Listening carefully, he noted the quietness of the house. His uncle and cousin were out visiting schools, while his aunt remained upstairs, presumably absorbed in her own world, oblivious to his presence. This was his chance. He hurriedly wrapped the blanket around himself, feeling its warmth against his skin, and made his way down the narrow hallway to his room.
Harry’s room was more of a supply closet than a proper bedroom, cramped and cluttered with old cleaning supplies and discarded furniture. A cot had been squeezed into the space, a makeshift bed that was barely enough for him. But in that moment, it was his sanctuary, and he quickly stashed the blanket inside, tucking it away beneath the cot along with his cherished baby blanket, the only remnant of his past that he dared keep close. For some reason, it always seemed to fit him perfectly, no matter how many years had passed.
When evening finally arrived, Harry felt a flutter of excitement as he was allowed out of the house. He grabbed his ratty school backpack, cramming the fluffy grey blanket and a few bandages inside. With a final glance over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being watched, he bolted from the house, his heart racing with anticipation as he headed toward the beach.
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the wind whipping against his face as he darted through the familiar path leading to the shore. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, quick bursts as the soft thud of his footsteps was muffled by the earth beneath him. The scent of the sea grew stronger with every step, and soon, the crashing waves came into view.
Harry turned to the left, his eyes immediately searching for the man. There he was, still seated on the same weathered log, staring out to the endless horizon. The sight made Harry's chest tighten; it was as though time hadn’t touched the man at all since they last met.
Without hesitation, Harry sprinted across the sand, his shoes kicking up tiny grains that clung to his legs. The man didn’t move, didn’t even glance in Harry’s direction as he approached, his eyes distant and empty as always. But Harry wasn’t deterred.
He skidded to a stop in front of the man and immediately opened his tattered school backpack. His fingers worked quickly, pulling out the large, fluffy grey blanket he had taken from Dudley’s boxes. With a gentle touch, he carefully draped the blanket over the man’s thin, shaking shoulders. The softness of the fabric contrasted sharply with the man’s rough, worn clothes, but Harry hoped it would bring him some measure of comfort.
Next, Harry reached for the bandages he had packed. He knelt down beside the man’s damaged hand, the burn still red and raw. Harry’s own scarred hand throbbed as he began to carefully wrap the bandages around the man’s injury. His movements were slow and deliberate, trying his best not to cause any more pain, though the man remained still, not flinching once.
Harry glanced toward the horizon, squinting to see what had captured the man’s attention so completely. It seemed like nothing more than the endless expanse of water and sky. Confused but determined to help, Harry bolted toward the sea. Maybe if he found what the man was looking for, it might somehow bring him peace.
He waded into the water, the cold biting at his legs as it swirled around him. Each step drew him deeper, and the shore became a distant memory. Soon, the water was up to his chest, then his neck. Panic rose in his throat, but he pressed on, thinking only of the man on the shore. But then, in an instant, he lost his footing, and the waves pulled him under.
Suddenly, he was drowning.
The world spun around him, water filling his lungs as he flailed helplessly. His small body was tossed in the current, unable to fight the force dragging him deeper. His limbs grew heavier with every second, and the light above began to blur.
"Move your arms!" A voice echoed in his ears, unfamiliar but frantic, almost begging. Harry tried to respond, tried to push himself up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His vision started to fade as the voice grew more desperate, urging him to fight, to keep going.
Just as Harry felt himself slipping into the cold abyss, a strong hand grabbed hold of him, yanking him upward with a force that broke through the haze of water. He broke the surface with a gasp, choking and sputtering, as the air filled his lungs. The man from the log had saved him.
Harry blinked through the water streaming down his face, staring at the man’s tear-streaked expression. He was shaking uncontrollably, his grip on Harry trembling as though he were barely holding himself together. The man’s face was a mixture of anguish and terror, his eyes red from crying, yet still distant, locked on the horizon even as he dragged Harry to the shallower water.
The moment Harry was safe, the man released him without a word. He stumbled back to his log, his wet clothes clinging to his frail frame. Once seated again, he resumed his silent vigil, eyes distant, as if nothing had happened. The storm inside him seemed to rage even stronger now, though his outward composure remained eerily still.
Harry sat in the shallow water, dazed and breathless, watching the man as the realization settled over him. This man, as broken and lost as he seemed, had saved him. But now he was back to staring at that same horizon, unreachable, unapproachable, locked away in a place Harry couldn’t follow.
Harry scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding as he noticed the grey blanket had slipped from the man’s shoulders during the rescue. Without a second thought, he ran to retrieve it from where it lay in the sand, drenched and heavy from the seawater.
His small hands shook as he picked up the blanket, rushing back to the man who was still sitting on the log, staring blankly at the horizon as if the entire world had faded away. Harry carefully wrapped the blanket back around the man’s trembling form, his hands gentle and deliberate. He tucked the edges in, trying to offer what little warmth and comfort he could, his own heart still racing from the near drowning.
The man didn’t acknowledge the gesture, his eyes still distant and haunted, but something in his posture seemed to ease slightly under the weight of the blanket.
As Harry stepped back after tucking the blanket around the man, he wished more than anything that the blanket was warm and dry. The cold, wet fabric didn’t seem like it would do much to help. His heart ached, seeing the man still shaking, his eyes lost in whatever distant world held him captive.
Harry stared at the blanket, wishing he could do more. He blinked, and when he looked at it again, the blanket had changed. It was no longer cold and soaked through; it was warm, dry, and soft, almost glowing with a faint comfort. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know how it had happened, but the warmth radiating from the blanket now felt real, like a gentle hug surrounding the man.
A small, hopeful smile crept onto Harry’s face. Maybe, just maybe, he could help after all.
After making sure the blanket was truly warm and dry, Harry glanced at the man, still soaked and shivering beneath it. Feeling a surge of hope, he quickly wished for the man to be dry and warm too. At first, nothing happened. The man continued to shake, his clothes clinging to his drenched body.
Harry furrowed his brow, repeating the wish over and over in his head, silently pleading for it to work. His heart pounded as he kept wishing, willing the man to feel the same comfort the blanket now held.
It took a while, but eventually, Harry noticed something. The man's clothes were drying, little by little. The rainwater seemed to evaporate, and though he still looked cold and weary, the relentless shivering slowed. Harry’s eyes lit up with a mixture of disbelief and relief as the man’s-soaked form slowly began to dry, warmth returning to him.
Harry took a deep breath. Whatever had just happened, he knew it was something strange, something powerful. And though he didn’t understand it, for the first time, he felt like he could truly help the man.