A Place of Contemplation
by Jardyn39
Chapter 3: Mrs Weasley's Drinking Game
Harry woke with every muscle in his body screaming in pain. He opened his eyes, but he couldn't focus.
He appeared to be lying awkwardly in the middle of the floor in the white room. Something was digging painfully into his back. Harry tried to move, but he couldn't.
Harry looked around. Next to him was a white shape. He squinted, wishing his glasses hadn't fallen off. The object came into focus. It looked like it was part of the steel bed frame, only it looked twisted into a knot.
Some closer objects on the carpet came into focus. They were small metal cogs of some kind. The clock! The clock had been smashed, along with the side table.
Harry desperately tried to move. He was in agony.
A movement across the room caught his eye. There was a dark, unfocused shape. The shape was a person, sitting in the white chair. They were facing away from him.
He squinted, trying to make out who it was.
The shape was still now, and silent. There was a malevolence in the silence that quite unnerved him.
Harry tried to call out, but he succumbed to the darkness once more.
*
Harry woke again. This time he was warm and comfortable. He opened his eyes. He was lying in bed, but he was no longer in the white room.
With difficulty, he pushed the bedcovers off and groped for his glasses. He was feeling weak, and had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for.
The room came into focus. The ceiling was tilted at an alarming angle and the window frame wasn't square at all. Either he was seeing things, or he was in a wizarding house.
A grin spread across his face as the familiar sound of a ghoul banging in the attic reached his ears. He was at the Burrow!
He staggered out of bed and lurched towards the door. He grasped the handle, and vaguely thought he might be forgetting something important.
Clothes!
Harry reached for the dressing gown hanging off a hook on the back of the door and hurried out of the room.
*
Harry was about halfway down the rickety staircase when he acknowledged to himself that perhaps his legs weren't entirely up to speed with recent events. They obviously hadn't quite got the message that he needed to get downstairs now.
He grasped the side walls with his hands and practically carried himself down to the bottom.
"Harry, dear! What ever are you doing?" exclaimed Mrs Weasley when she found him. "You have to get back to bed!"
"Not before I've had a cup of tea and fallen over at least once in the kitchen!"
"Silly boy," she chided him before helping him into the kitchen.
He fell into a chair at the table and Mrs Weasley hurried over to a cupboard.
"It's okay, I'm not in that much of a hurry for a cup of tea!"
"Yes, you are!" she shouted.
Almost at once she returned with a small blue potion bottle.
"Oh, no. Not again! How long will I be out for this time?"
"Drink it all now, Harry!"
"But," he protested.
"Drink!" she commanded, yelling at him.
He drank, and immediately began to feel the strangest sensation. It was cool and tingling, and spread from his stomach to the tip of his limbs.
"That was actually quite nice."
Mrs Weasley slammed another blue bottle on front of him.
"Drink!" she commanded. "That bottle obviously wasn't strong enough. Drink!"
Harry drank.
"Tell me how you feel, Harry."
"Tingly. My finger tips are tingling but numb."
Another bottle appeared. This one smoked when the stopper was removed.
He drank.
Mrs Weasley came very close to him, looking intently into his eyes.
"Tell me how you feel, Harry!"
Harry wasn't focussing too well by this stage. He felt another bottle being forced into his hand.
He drank, and then knew no more.
*
Harry slept deeply and this time, he dreamed as well. At first he dreamt of Voldemort, except he knew he was dreaming this time. It wasn't his usual nightmare, though. This time he could feel his emotions and fears that drove him to create the dream in the first place.
Then he dreamt of a ghastly bedsit that transformed itself into a strange white room. There was pain in that white room and an unfocused person who moved occasionally. He wondered who they were.
Then he dreamt the dream, and somehow forgot he was dreaming again.
Harry woke with a start. He was back in his bed at the Burrow.
He wiped his face and lay panting for a few moments, his customary way to wake up these days.
Harry wondered how long he had been unconscious. From his stubble, he guessed it might have been a few days again.
He groped around for his glasses and then allowed his head to sink back into his warm, comfortable pillows. The room was bright with sunlight. He guessed it was afternoon, something he regretted.
He really rather fancied one of Mrs Weasley's wonderful cooked breakfasts right then. As soon as he had thought of Mrs Weasley's cooking, Harry found he was suddenly starving.
Harry sat up, and immediately a recent memory passed through his mind. His fingers had brushed something when he had reached for his glasses. Whatever it was, it hadn't been there before.
He looked down at the bedside table and started.
It was a snake!
No, he realised. It wasn't a snake. It was his wand.
He picked it up, wondering how he could ever have mistaken it for a snake.
As he did so, it appeared to vibrate and grow warm in his hand. Memories long forgotten flooded back.
The bedroom door opened. Harry was staring wide eyed, but he couldn't see.
"Oh, thank goodness," he heard Mrs Weasley sigh with relief. "I'll put your breakfast on. Come down when you are ready, dear."
The door closed again before he mumbled his stunned thanks. Flashes and sparks continued to obscure his vision, and his muscles twitched convulsively.
Harry realised that somehow his entire body was recalling how he performed magic. It was all coming back, from the movement of his wand, to the stances he took and the incantations to be spoken.
He was also aware of something else. His unconscious skills were returning as well.
Harry had tried to fly again at Hogwarts, but it had been utterly impossible. Now he knew he would fly again, something that had always given him enormous pleasure. Not being able to fly had been one of the hardest things for him to accept, not that he had refused to give away his Firebolt for that reason. Sirius had given him his racing broom, after all.
He hardly noticed as another violent convulsion threw him out of the bed. He hovered magically six inches above the carpet, completely oblivious to his surroundings, an enormous grin plastered across his face.
He had accepted it.
He hadn't been happy about his situation, but losing his magic had been a fair price to pay, in his view, for ridding the world of Voldemort.
He would have soldiered on without magic.
After all, what choice was there?
But, now it was back, Harry couldn't believe he had even considered giving up on Snape's course of treatment.
Only fleetingly did he wonder how necessary the instant paralysis had been, or the time his hair had gone bright green, or when he grew those scales down one side.
Harry pushed aside such thoughts. This time, Snape had come through for him. He would actually have to thank him.
Well, he would once he was sure there were no more side effects.
*
Harry's vision had almost returned to normal by the time he ventured downstairs again. He was still seeing a few sparks when Mrs Weasley hugged him and burst into tears.
He comforted her as best he could before gently guiding her to the rocking chair by the fireplace.
Harry poured them both tea and continued preparing his breakfast while Mrs Weasley recovered herself.
Eventually, Harry drew up a chair so they could talk.
"Oh, Harry. Now you're on the mend, will you come back to us?"
Harry placed his hand on hers and said gently, "I would have come with or without my magic. All you had to do was ask."
Mrs Weasley sniffed and said, "So much has happened, Harry. You'll have to be so careful for a while. Please don't let anyone but myself and Severus know that your magic is returning."
"Why? Surely, the Order must know!"
"Harry, no. We can't even tell Minerva. Everyone must think our attempt failed and was abandoned. Severus will be here shortly to take you away. He will complete your recovery and retrain you."
"Great," said Harry dryly. "Where's he taking me?"
"A place of contemplation," she replied carefully.
"Oh," replied Harry, knowing at once that she knew what the place was but not its location. He had actually been there once before, but Harry had no idea that Snape had as well.
Snape Apparated with a pop in front of them.
"Potter, we must go," he said coldly. "I think they know he's returned," he added and Mrs Weasley blanched.
Mrs Weasley grabbed Harry and whispered, "Go with all my love, Harry. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Become strong again and avenge us all!"
"Do you think you can Apparate?" asked Snape.
"I'll try," replied Harry as the ghoul began to bang and groan loudly with alarm.
Just before he Disapparated, Harry glanced back at Mrs Weasley. She was watching the clock in the kitchen with a look of trepidation.
The hands were moving.