Nobody ever asked my birthday

Not my proudest

It stunk in here, Harry thought, with a giggle that he was pretty sure was oxygen-deprivation.

Although maybe it was something more nefarious...

Worse than that, Harry felt the stomach-walls pressing around him, squeezing on him - and, oddly, rippling.

The ripples squeezed juice over Harry - not enough to drown him, but enough to coat him.

He could feel eager paws pressing at him from outside the frog's belly. Must be happy with a full tummy for once.

Harry... harry itched. Everywhere, all over his body.

He squirmed; he rubbed his arms against his sides, rubbed his legs together.

Then, with a sigh, he rubbed his shoulders and back against the stomach itself.

It was a little better this way, Harry thought.

He kept rubbing, squirming...

Although the stubborn thought I'm going to Die in here... kept rising to the surface.

Harry rubbed his tattered, near-bare shoulders against the stomach, again.

It itches so much, like little bugs crawling under my skin...

If I'm going to die anyway... Harry thought.

Then, he thrust his hips forward, in a rapid, familiar rhythm.

[a/n: Yes, he's a boy. Are you really surprised...?

Regularly sized chapters resume next week.

This one wanted to end on a cliffhanger.]