A Dark Time For The Light

5

By the time Harry got to Keele services on the M6, he was painfully aware that he was radically underdressed for a long ride. He was freezing, his jeans not affording much protection against the chill of the wind. He’d never really ridden any real distance before and cursed himself for not going back to his flat for his waterproofs.

Too late now. He parked and locked the scooter and sought warmth and a greasy overpriced fryup in the cafe. He managed to find a kagoule that rolled small into it’s own bag and bought it. Should keep the cold out a bit. He forked over his card and punched his numbers in.

He eased back onto the Motorway and a thought hit him like a hammer to his chest, What the fuck was he doing? He knew no-one in London. How was he supposed to find this Underground’. All he had was the crumpled bit of street map. Could he be heading for a trap?. In his haste to leave, had he also made mistakes? Trusted too much? He sighed into the wind and picked up speed.

After several stops, he reached Hendon at dusk. He hadn’t a clue as to where he was and the marking on the map was a bit vague, but he knew he needed to be on the East side of the city. He drifted onto the old North Circular and let the streams of traffic guide him in a loop. He was tired and drained. His mind was drifting. He failed to see the black car coming at him hard from the left. Just a frantic waving from the driver as the thing clipped his rear wheel and he was in the air, spinning end over end, the bike skittering along the road below him. He landed with a sickening thud and all the lights went out.

Nighttime. It should be nighttime. So why is the light so fucking bright?. There’s a vagueness at the back of his brain. Is that someone calling his name? He wishes the light would go away. It hurts. He tries to turn away from it. White agony courses through him. Everything hurts. It’s hard to breathe. Still, someone is calling, calling..... Blackness falls again.

The calling is more insistent now and he feels himself come to the surface, wracked with pain. A cold needle, then a drowsing release from the pain. He feels himself sink once more but the insistence of the voice keeps him present, “Mr Porter. James. Come back to us. Can you hear me?”. Though it pains him to do this, he barely nods. “Mr Porter, you’ve been in an accident. You’re in the hospital”. He tries to speak, but words cost too much effort. He feels a calming hand on his brow, “Don’t try to speak. Your throat is probably dry, Now you’re conscious, we are going to move you to x-ray, we think you may have broken ribs. Do you understand?”. Another weak nod. “Would you like a sip of water just to wet your mouth?. I can’t give you more in case we have to operate”. His brow creased against the returning pain as he felt himself being moved after a small taste of liquid in his mouth. He managed to swallow without coughing. He ventured, “Where am I?”, his voice slightly less than a croak.

His eyelids fluttered open and the Orderlies moving him told him as the guided his trolley into the lift. “You had a smash-up on the North Circular, mate. A car hit you. We’re takin’ you to find out what you’ve broken, then the busies want a chat with ya”.

Harry was confused, ‘Busies?’ then shrugged inwardly. He was safe for now even though it hurt. “What about the bike?”. “The cops’ll tell ya, I’ve no idea. Here we are”, he was left in the x-ray suite and the Orderlies exited.

In the event, Harry wasn’t too broken about. Two cracked ribs and a broken finger. According to the police who interviewed him later, he was one lucky boy. The bike was a write-off but his bag had been thrown clear as had he, thirty yards along the road. The young female sergeant who interviewed him asked gently if there was anyone he wanted contacting. “My phone. It was on me when...”, the nurse pointed to his locker, “Your personal effects are in there, Mr Porter, but you cannot use a mobile phone in the Hospital”. She wandered away and the sergeant rummaged amongst Harry’s things. “Moira”, Harry managed. “Her number’s in there. Please let her know. She’s a work-mate and friend. I have no family”, his vocal chords struggled around the tears in his throat, ‘except Draco, Ron, Hermione and Ginny’, he thought ruefully. The policewoman extracted the number from Harry’s phone and used a land-line to inform his friend.

Having been assured that Moira was on her way, Harry managed to drink a little water before letting sleep claim him again.

Despite the pain, Harry got a reasonable night’s sleep. The smells of breakfast actually energised him and he was raised up. He managed some porridge and a cup of weak tea. As he assessed himself, he hurt like hell, his hand more than his ribs, but by afternoon was able to do away with bed-pans and shuffle himself to the loo along with his drips on wheels. That evening, the nurse announced he had visitors when the ward doors opened.

His eyes searched amongst the throng of folk that entered looking for Moira. There she was. Someone else in tow, keeping his head low so as not to scare others; he knew the effect he had on unwary Muggles. He raised his head as he approached Harry’s bed. Harry let out a cry of delight as he saw him. “Alastor!”, he cried, struggling to a seated position as the two sat in the chairs provided. Moira went to hug Harry only to be gently rebuffed, “Sorry, Moira. Two pranged ribs. Hurts like buggery”. She settled for an arm around his neck instead and kissed the side of his head. He related as much as he could remember. “And then I ended up here”.

“You should be released tomorrow if you can be removed, though I’d prefer it if they could keep you another couple of days. Where you’re going isn’t an easy place to live in. I’ll see what I can do”. Harry was puzzled as Alastor Moody made his way to the Nurse’s station and scared them into keeping him another couple of days.

Harry grinned wanly at Moira. “Thanks for coming, Moira. I really appreciate this. What’s Alastor’s connection to the Underground?”, he whispered. She leaned in, “He dowses everyone who wants to join. Sees if they’ve any Dark Magic hanging around them, approves them to join. It’s a security measure. He was always the best Dark Auror and he’s on your side”. Harry felt a prickle of excitement at this. Maybe he would really see some of his old friends again. He could feel the first big genuine smile spread for the first time in months. She smiled back and stroked his cheek.

They both visited for a little longer, Harry being assured of another couple of days care. He slumped a bit and they took their leave, promising to visit the next day. As they left, Alastor murmured to Moira, “He’s fine, Magic-wise. I’ll take him to the others in a couple of days, let him have a proper rest and three squares a day, hmmm?. Can I use your mobile, Moira. Forgot mine?”. She grinned, “Tell me the number, Alastor”, she knew of his reluctance and uncertainty using Muggle devices. He read a number off a crumpled piece of parchment. She dialled and when she got the ringing tone, she handed him the phone.