Chapter Twenty One
The sky was streaked with red and orange from the setting of the sun. The Hospital Wing was very different from what it once had been. It was far more homily, mainly to facilitate and calm the many worried family members that now bustled around it. Nine more previously carefree students had been attacked in the past month and a half. Only two of them had suffered from the effects of being Petrified, the others had been assaulted by students who claimed to have not known their actions. Cautious worry was the atmosphere of the entire school.
At the beginning of the month the parents of injured students arrived infuriated and agitated but that had died down. Now they sat at the bedside of their ill children. One boy, a fourth year Hufflepuff, was leaving in two weeks. He had suffered a beating by another student who had not yet come forward. His parents were withdrawing him from Hogwarts as soon as it was possible for him to walk again. The bruising on his back and extensive spinal damage had caused worry over his continued ability to walk but because of the wonderful work performed by Madam Pomfrey he was going to be capable of running, sprinting and even prancing.
In the corner of the Wing a bed was occupied by Harry Potter who had been unconscious for almost six weeks. The greatest wizard of his era, Albus Dumbledore, could only say that Harry had fought an immensely arduous mind game and had won. This was not pleasantly accepted by those who had asked the questions, those being the public and more inquisitive media. Of course, the Daily Prophet, had caught on when disgruntled parents had stormed into their organised offices and demanded that the paper find out the truth. It was, as many refer to it, a media frenzy.
To those who actually cared for the young wizards' health Dumbledore told the truth. He had been `possessed' and nearly driven insane in a mere matter of moments. They were not sure when he would wake up or even if he could. It was another mind game, the waiting game. But it was not hopeless as Harry's vitals; being closely watched began to pick up causing another cardiac arrest in the offices of the Daily Prophet. Could Potter reveal the truth about the day three students were nearly killed?
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He felt like he was being sucked out a dream. The feeling was returning to his body, starting with his fingers. The soft sheet caressing his fingertips, the hairs on his arms rising as he felt a sudden chill, the building pressure in his throat, his dry mouth, his cold nose and finally his hair. He had yet to move, believing he was not able to do so. Noises were slowly ebbing their way into his ears and he realised there was a lot of movement occurring. His eyes snapped open and he inhaled deeply.
Without moving his body he peered across the Hospital Wing inwardly astounded at how different it looked. It no longer felt formal or detached as it often had. All pale colours were matched by bright oranges, deep blues or fantastic yellows. It seemed that many of the families had tried to bring home closer to their unconscious children, but Harry still could not comprehend it…why were there so many. Almost every bed was occupied now surrounded by bustling and chatting families.
He shifted his head slightly and could see that even his own bedside was adorned with gold and crimson colours. Gryffindor emblems hung off the side of his bed, an extra blanket to block out the cold. A flagon of water sitting idly on his bedside table reminded him of how dry his throat was but he still did not have enough strength to move. He shut his eyes again and moved his head back into the position it had already been occupying with a slight groan. In an instant there was a presence on his right side but it was definitely not menacing.
A soft hand pressed against his cheek and he lifted his eyes languidly open again. "They told me you might not wake up…"
He throat felt constricted and sore and so when he attempted to reply it just conjured up a harsh cough. His muscles stretched painfully as he arched forwards while the coughing racked his body. In seconds he felt a glass at his lips and swallowed the fresh water with relish. The moist glass remained at his lips and his eyes looked over the rim at Hermione. His eyesight was blurred but he knew her chocolate eyes were shining with unshed tears.
"What happened to me taking care of you?" he croaked when she placed the glass on the bedside table with a clunk.
"I got better…you didn't," she answered sadly as she took a seat on the edge of his bed.
"W…what's happened Hermione? How many people have been attacked?"
"More than there is in this room. About nine in all in the past month, but most just suffered minor injuries. They haven't caught any of the attackers but I think Dumbledore believes that it's one person controlling others."
"Past month?!"
"Your mind suffered a lot of damage and the increased pressure on your body…well…" she was either trying to stall or just could not find words to describe what had happened. Without his glasses Harry could not tell. "The increased pressure…Harry…you almost had a heart attack. I mean it's a wonder you survived."
A silence descended between them that the chatty families could not contend with. Harry couldn't believe a month had passed. He felt the worry emanating from Hermione. "Kinda screws up my studying, eh?" he joked fruitlessly.
"There probably won't be tests this year. Not with the way the castle is now," she murmured mournfully. Harry could hear the fear in her words. The castle, the school, his home was in jeopardy and he was just stuck here for the past month. The last thing he remembered was his severe conversation with Ginny.
"Ginny!" he whispered forcefully and in his haste he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, his face close to Hermione's. "She knows…something." Hermione, temporarily stricken by his sudden blast of energy, threw an arm out and caught his shoulder, attempting to push him back into his lying position.
"Harry…that bed over there," she said, indicating the one on the other side of the Wing. "It's Ginny. She was attacked the day after you were. Petrified…they don't know why because she isn't muggleborn. But she's the only pureblood to be Petrified yet."
"Because she knew something. That's why she was attacked…" he hissed angrily as he noticed the red haired family bustling around the bed. Ron was there, Fred and George and of course Mrs. Weasley, she was thinner than Harry remembered her. "We have to do something," he stated through gritted teeth.
Again he felt the tender hand against his face and his attention returned to Hermione who moved closer so that their noses were almost touching. "There's nothing that we can do," she sniffed and a tear dropped into the palm of Harry's hand. "Whatever this is…it is stronger and more dangerous than even Dumbledore. It is so dismissive of life and all it does is destroy. There is nothing we can do. They're saying that this is the end of Hogwarts. That this is the end."
"Mr. Potter!" With a small yelp Madam Pomfrey hurried over to his side and instantly started examining him, her eyes wide and shocked so that Harry knew she never believed she would ever treat him again. "A miracle. I mean…we suspected last week when your vitals improved but…by Merlin…it's a miracle! I must contact the Headmaster immediately…"
"No need Poppy," came Dumbledore's strident voice as he made his way to the bed. Harry spotted the Weasley family's stares coming from across the wide aisle but he kept his eyes on Hermione. She looked weary and obviously had not recovered completely in the past few weeks.
The thing that worried Harry most was that she seemed to have given up hope. And it was only anticipated as she was surrounded in a suffering environment without him for so long. The cheery homily almost Burrow like appearance of the Hospital Wing was there to protect it from the dreary corridors of the rest of the castle. That pain, knowing how alone and frightened Hermione must have felt, was far greater than any he felt now.
Her hand had left his face and he only returned to his senses as Dumbledore implored him to lie back down. "You still need to rest…I'm sure Madam Pomfrey can administer a potion to help with any lasting fatigue."
"Oh…Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley rushed over and clasped his hand in hers. "We were ever so worried." He smiled at her warmth and could not help but feel grateful that she had thought of him even though her daughter was seriously ill. Ron ambled into view beside his beaming mother and muttered "Sorry for hitting you mate. I...eh, thought…but you could never…" he waved his arm lamely at the devastating consequences of someone's doing.
Harry grinned at him in response letting him know that he understood and forgave him. His world was too dark to hold grudges against friends.
Hours later when the excitement had died down and Harry had finished picking at a well cooked dinner Dumbledore returned to Harry's bedside. After the potions which he had taken he felt more alive than he had and was now propped up on a number of pillows. Hermione had gone to the library to finish a Potions essay.
"How are you, Harry?" he asked as he sat in a lush green chair that appeared out of thin air.
"Fine," Harry answered and he could not keep the emotional torment out of his voice.
"I trust you remember what happened as you are not asking thousands of questions." Dumbledore's beard twitched with the slight smile that appeared on his face. When Harry remained silent he continued. "Yes Harry…you were very close to hurting me but you did not and you must remember that…"
"I could've killed you!" Harry whispered harshly. "Who…who was it? It wasn't me…"
"Of course I know that it was not you. And I sincerely believe that you know who this was too."
"But…He's too weak…he could never," Harry whispered frantically. He had tried to rid his mind of the thought but could not deny the voice that had hissed at him so dangerously.
"I do not think that it was Lord Voldemort himself. It might be someone who is manipulating us using Him. It is a very confusing matter and it is hard to find a solution to a problem when we don't know the question."
"Are they going to close the school down?" Harry enquired in a solemn tone. Dumbledore leaned forward closer to him so that no one could overhear. "I am doing every thing in my power to ensure the safety of my students Harry. But the parents…they are anxious and they want answers. For that we cannot condemn them, it is their children that face these dangers and they want the best environment for them in which to learn." He stood to his feet and his lengthy form overshadowed Harry's bed. Replacing his tall hat on his silver head he turned to Harry once more. "Hope is a light we cling onto that only reveals itself in the most troubling of times." With that he was gone.
Shadows stretched higher into the cavernous ceiling as night approached. Soon the clear windows were sheets of black pierced by no stars. Harry felt his mind wavering and could feel sleep close his eyes. He had to find the attacker or else he would lose his home and his friends. He knew where to start anew and that was in finding the secretive diary Ginny had been determined to hide. The year was waning away and that was the length of time which he had to find the truth or else he would not return next year. But first he needed sleep and perhaps a shower, he thought.
"Harry, m'boy!" he heard a cheery voice boom from over him. He made out bright turquoise robes and the unusual wavy but perfect hair.
Bollocks, he thought.
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