The Deceit Of A Lifetime

It was another sixteen hours before Harry Potter was conscious again. As he slowly regained consciousness, he groaned in pain. He felt as though his head had been pounded by a thousand bludgers, and then the beaters had taken their bats to it. He dare not open his eyes, for merely the feeling of light against his eyelids was causing him agony.

It was not long after that groan that he first heard voices. They sounded terribly distant at first, but as consciousness and the memories of what had happened to him, the fear he had felt when being held tightly against his captor, came flooding back to him. As the voices cleared, however, he sighed in relief, immediately knowing he was safe.

“Are you alright, mate?” he heard coming from his right side, obviously in his friend Ron’s voice. Harry tried to part his lips and speak, but his mouth was so dry that all he emitted was a soft croak. He settled for nodding.

“We were worried about you, Harry,” Hermione said. Harry noticed that her voice came from the other side of the bed. “When you came tumbling down the stairs with that Death Eater, you hit your head on the floor at the base of the stairs.”

Harry had remembered the blackness and feeling like falling, but he hadn’t remembered what he had hit. He wished nobody had reminded him.

“I still can’t believe those bloody arses came to Hogwarts!” Ron huffed. “I should have been able to help you, Harry. I’m sorry!”

Harry still felt unable to speak, so he merely reached out and grasped his friend’s arm, which he felt nearby. He prayed that the sentiment behind the touch would be obvious.

“Alright, you two, give Mr. Potter some space,” he heard coming from behind him and over his right shoulder. It was a few moments more before he felt Ron’s presence disappear, replaced by another. He had, however, recognized Madam Pomfrey’s voice, and another sigh of relief escaped from his lips.

“How do you feel, Mr. Potter?” she asked quietly.

Harry felt her hands on his forehead, and then felt her moving beside him, obviously working with supplies of some sort. Harry tried to speak again, but still croaked.

“Here, Mr. Potter,” she replied to his croak. A couple moments later, Harry felt a glass of some kind being pushed against his lips, and felt hands behind him, lifting him off the bed slightly. “If you drink this, it should make you feel better.”

Harry parted his lips and moaned slightly as the cool liquid passed over his lips and down his throat. Almost immediately, he felt moisture returning to his mouth, and swallowed a few times before he attempted to speak again. “Am I alright?” he asked.

He could hear Madam Pomfrey chuckle slightly. “Mr. Potter,” she began, “I most certainly have no doubt that you have survived, as usual. I’ve certainly treated you for far worse injuries than this before.”

Harry heard Hermione snort, as if containing a laugh, and turned in her direction. He slowly felt the pain in his head slowing to a dull throb, so he opened his eyes and glared at her. She smiled back at him brightly. “I’m glad you’re okay, Harry,” she said.

“Me too,” said Ron, who had moved to the foot of the bed.

Harry nodded at them both. “How long have I been out?” he asked to nobody in particular.

“Approximately sixteen and one-half hours, Mr. Potter,” said Poppy. She brought another vial to his lips, a dark orange-colored concoction, which he drank. “That will dull your pain even further, but may make you slightly drowsy.”

Harry nodded in ascent. “Death Eaters?” he asked, looking at Hermione and then at Ron. He had suddenly come back to the thought, as if his mind had passed it over the first time he had been told what happened to him.

Ron just nodded. Hermione, however, offered further explanation. “They were after you, Harry,” she said solemnly. “Apparently, they were ordered to come here and take you from Hogwarts, to Lord Voldemort.” Hermione saw Ron wince at the use of the Dark Lord’s name, but continued. “Thankfully, they failed.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Harry asked, silently berating himself for not asking about his fellow students sooner than now. Ron looked at him but lowered his eyes. Even Hermione didn’t answer him this time, and he looked to the mediwitch beside him for an answer.

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” she said, and Harry gasped in response. She laid a hand reassuringly on his shoulder, smiling at him. “However, no permanent damage was done. You are the last patient I have as a result of the attack, and you will be able to leave soon.”

Hearing that, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked at his friends. The looks on their faces expressed sympathy and concern for him, and he blushed slightly. Under Madam Pomfrey’s supreme care, he was beginning to feel very much himself again. “When can I go?” he asked.

“In about a half hour,” replied Poppy. She marked some things down on a parchment as she waved her wand over the Boy Who Lived, making sure that his injuries had all healed properly. “At which time, you, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will report to the Headmaster’s office.”

The shocked expressions on all three of their faces were evident immediately. “Why?” they asked in unison. Harry knew that Dumbledore would want to make sure he was okay after the attack, but he knew for certain that the Headmaster would have visited him in the hospital wing in that case. Hermione and Ron were equally clueless.

“I will allow him to discuss that with you,” she replied firmly, leaving no room for debate. She saw the expressions of curiosity across the faces of the three young ones in her charge, and for once nearly brought herself to disobey the Headmaster’s orders. However, she held her tongue and quickly disappeared into her office. She did her best to ignore the three gazes at her back as she retreated.