[[!meta title="Chapter 2: Rescue"]]

Harry awoke to darkness, discomfort, and impossibility.

He was in the cupboard. Impossible. He and Hermione had personally flattened
this entire house shortly after the war. The Weasleys had disapproved, saying
Harry should forgive his relatives, but this was before the love potions had
kicked in again and removed his free will.

How could he be in the cupboard?

And why was he *small?*

Harry began to hyperventilate. Nothing was making sense, this couldn't be
happening—

"TIME TO GET UP, FREAK! WHY DON'T I SMELL BREAKFAST COOKING?"

The tiny door was wrenched open, and Harry saw a dead man silhouetted against
the morning light.

"DON'T MAKE ME DRAG YOU OUT OF THERE, BOY! GET UP!"

Harry started moving on automatic. Even after nearly 150 years of adult life, he
would never forget the rules and demands of the Dursley household. He rushed out
of the cupboard and hurried to begin preparing his captors' meal.

As he slaved away in the kitchen, Harry tried to reason through his situation. A
stolen glance at his uncle's newspaper confirmed the date — July 31st, 1987.
Seven years old. How was he seven years old?

He was pretty sure he could still feel his magic, but to be certain he'd need to
reestablish his Occlumency, and with the damage Snape had done there was no way
he could manage that in this emotional climate.