"Because books are evil," he answered sleepily. There were books about him, about him as a real person who did things everyone admired and about him as a fake person who did things for others' entertainment. But they were all evil, in Harry's book. Especially this early in the morning.

Now felt like a good time to drift off back to sleep. He was warm. He was still tired. He had Kate close to him.

Only there was the fact that he was naked rearing its head again.

Suddenly he propped himself up again, a frown creasing his brow. "Er, so, this.. might be a strange question. But did-- do-- why do I not have clothes?"

He thought he knew. Somewhere, back behind the haze in his mind, the answer was obvious. But it was also impossible and therefore not an answer Harry could rely on.