[Harry Potter] Crossing Over

A hand was pressing down on his shoulder, the heel of the palm resting against his collarbone. He wasn't sure when he'd freed himself from the other restraint, but now both his hands could move. He was unmistakably half-held in someone's embrace, his head lying sideways on that person's lap, his face nearly buried in their abdomen. He could feel his body, which should have curled up in a sudden fit of panic, being gradually eased open before he came to himself, gently patted until it relaxed. All he could smell was blood and tears, but strangely, those scents weren't sharp in the embrace. The person's other hand hovered over the back of his head. It wasn't a caress, but as his body jerked and trembled, swaying gently with the movement, his hair kept bumping against the hand. The fine, soft strands, so often greasy from merely circling the rim of a simmering cauldron, clung to the leather and caught on it, tugging painfully as he recoiled from another wave of pain.

Theme: He was lifted out of the river of death, the blood wiped from his body, and new flesh filled his wounds. Why wasn't he a newborn in this world?