I don't own Harry Potter or NCIS.
English is not my native language, so please tolerate my mistakes.
McGee was about to go to bed, he had just finished writing another passage in his new book, when he heard someone knock, or more like bang, on his door.
McGee almost got the biggest shock of his life when he opened the door to see a person he hadn't seen in over a year.
"Hey Tim." The person said. The voice was barely a whisper because of the hoarseness to it.
McGee didn't get to answer as the person took one step forward, gave him an envelope before passing out in his arms. McGee just barely caught the, way too light, person. The person's rucksack fell to the floor when the shoulder it had been perched on went slack.
"Harry?" McGee whispered fearfully. He gathered the young man in his arms, picked up the fallen rucksack, closed the door and walked back into the main room of his apartment.
McGee gently placed Harry on his couch before checking for a pulse. He sighed with relief when he found one, even if it was a little faint for his liking. He calmed further when he heard Harry's deep breathing, slightly strained but still pretty deep, which indicated that he was sleeping.
McGee sat down heavily in the armchair beside the couch and opened the envelope, which had his name on it.
If you are reading this, then it means that I have collapsed on you before I could talk to you myself, so I'm going to let this letter explain the basics.
First off, the blood on my body is mine, it is just a lovely reminder from my uncle, so you don't have to think that I killed someone, you can test it if you like and I'm sure it will give you the same result as the statement you just have read.
I have left the Dursleys' residence because of their 'oh so loving' care, which you have my physical state as a lovely proof of.
All my things are in the rucksack, which is bottomless so don't think that I don't have so much with me, even if I only have my school clothes in it, I have burned the clothes from the Dursleys.
In the front pocket of the rucksack is a smaller blue velvet purse, it might clink a bit, but don't worry what's inside won't break.
In the purse are many small vials, all different. They are potions. They are labelled so don't worry about that. I want you to pour the following potions down my throat, and massage my throat so I swallow.
Don't worry too much about the names, or the potions for that matter. I have made them all myself so I know they work. The two creams are to be put ON the body not IN it, okay Tim?
I will answer whatever question you may have later.
Tim first now noticed how beat up Harry looked and that he were a bit bloody.
"What happened to you Harry?" Tim whispered. Of course he didn't get an answer. Tim started to apply the potions to the smaller battered body on his couch, but not before he had taking a couple of pictures of the different wounds.
Harry had bruises all over his torso and stomach, and some on his legs too. His back was filled with puncture holes and welts. Tim was almost sure that it was caused by a belt.
Tim was amazed how quick the potions worked, or at least the two creams where he could watch the process. When the last potions had been poured down Harry's throat he noticed that Harry's breathing went from ragged to deep, like in deep sleep.
Tim sagged back into the chair and breathed slowly in and out taking in the impression of the last one and a half hour.
Shaking his head slightly Tim picked up the smaller, and still way too light, figure on his couch and carried him to his bedroom, where he put a nightshirt on the small frame before climbing into the bed on the other side. Tim listened to Harry's light, but deep, breathing for a little while before he let sleep take him in.
Hey everybody! I'm kind of missing a title for this story, so if you have a suggestion then I would love to hear it.
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