When they came to fetch him after the accident in England, he was a mess. He had woken to a small, fierce woman giving a nurse the business. He felt bad for the nurse and only managed to choke out, "Stop," but it worked, because the woman he would come to know as Aunt Moony, his godmother, turned to him and crushed him in a hug. He could hardly put a sentence together. He needed so much care and therapy, five years to be exact, to relearn everything. Even now his body felt empty like it was missing something, less than it should be. Aunt Moony would fuss and tell him to snap out of it, followed by decaffeinated green tea and a hug that smashed the breath out of him. He wasn't sure how they received the letter informing them of his injury, but he was thankful for it every day.   