Well of Shadows
Slumber's End
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Sixteen
~ Slumber's End ~
"I swear this boy spends more time in here than he does anywhere else!"
Nobody could rightly argue with Madam Pomfrey's assessment as she, assisted by Dumbledore and Snape, laid Harry down on one of the hospital beds. Ginny, who had followed right behind them as they had levitated the stretcher bearing Harry's unconscious body to the infirmary, actually found herself nodding in agreement, along with the rest of the Order.
*Can't say I disagree with her,* noted Merlin with a surprising amount of good humour, if you considered that Harry was currently insensate.
*Aye,* agreed Loki sounding almost sympathetic. He then proceeded to put his foot in it. *In fact, young Harry here spends more time flat on his back than most whores I used to know.*
This was a remark that, had he known it, was calculated to offend almost everyone that heard it. Practically the entire female portion of the Order immediately took up arms and, from the sounds of it, seemed intent on separating Loki's head from his body. The only thing that saved the Norseman from joining the Headless Hunt was the fact that he was already dead, although this did not spare him from a sound thrashing.
Could you lot keep it down for the time being? asked Ginny with a martyred sigh.
"Is he going to be all right?" Hermione was asking, a hint of hysteria in her voice.
"I can't rightly say," admitted Madam Pomfrey with a frown. "The last time he was like this, he was physically fine, just as he is now. From what I understand it was Miss Weasley that was able to bring him back."
All eyes turned to Ginny, who had shifted to sit next to Harry on the hospital bed, taking one of his hands in hers. She looked up from his sleeping form and told them, "It's not that bad this time. The Animagus transformation always takes a lot out of him. Under ordinary circumstances it's never been a problem, but after a fight like that... he's just sleeping it off."
Madam Pomfrey seemed a bit dubious. "What about his injuries? Those dragons, shadows or whatever they were tore him up quite a bit. I saw them do it!"
Ginny wasn't too sure about that either. She could clearly remember seeing Harry's many injuries being inflicted, but upon regain his natural form the only thing to mark his encounter with the dragons was a smattering of already fading bruises and the fact that he was currently lying in the hospital wing.
I think I'm beginning to see a pattern emerging here, she thought as she recalled how, when he had first accomplished the Animagus transformation, he had resumed his human form with the gunshot wounds his uncle had inflicted upon him perfectly healed.
*It certainly seems that way,* concurred Heracles.
*It might even explain his current condition,* said Osiris thoughtfully. *After all, the energy needed to effect his transformation into an Imperial Arch Griffin is prodigious. Combined with the restorative magic he used - no wonder he's out cold.*
"So, you're saying he unconsciously healed himself when he changed back?" Ginny asked, earning a few odd glances since she had spoken out loud. It had been the better part of six months that she had been able to 'talk' with the various members of the Order, and Ginny, unlike Harry, still had a tendency to occasionally physically speak rather than internalize her thoughts.
Trying to fight down the slight blush she felt at her lapse, Ginny explained her and the Order's reasoning. Everyone seemed satisfied, with the exception of Madam Pomfrey, but that was to be expected from the aging matron. Hermione, however, was so relieved to hear that Harry was just "sleeping it off" as it were, that she slumped bonelessly into the nearest chair.
"It's good to hear that Mr Potter is otherwise unharmed," commented a soft alto.
It was an unusual sight that greeted everyone who turned towards the entrance to the Hospital Wing. Gregory and Hilary Proteus were striding into the infirmary, wearing the standard black robes favoured by the staff. This was not that unusual. What was unusual was that they were both rather damp. It looked as if they had just emerged from a shower and had flung their robes on without pausing to dry themselves first. Either that or they had been out for a midnight swim with the giant squid...
"Sorry we're late," apologised Gregory as he and his wife reached those assembled around Harry's bed. He ran a hand through his soggy brown hair and explained, "We ran into Sybil on our way in."
"Professor Trelawney? I imagine she's quite pleased with herself," muttered Hermione darkly from where she was sitting.
Gregory smiled a bit and said in a dry voice, "Yes, I understand she’s foreseen Harry’s demise on more than one occasion."
Hilary sniffed disdainfully. "Funny, he seems healthy enough."
"Of course he does," asserted Gregory. He arched an eyebrow as he settled himself down on the bed next to Harry's. "I'm not saying I'm anything like that fruit bat Trelawney--"
"Ahem," interrupted Dumbledore with a slightly chiding look on his face, even though his eyes were sparkling with amusement. Even Snape, who was standing behind the headmaster, seemed to find his fellow professor's disdain for Divination amusing.
"Sorry, Headmaster," Gregory apologised, but without sounding overly sincere. He grinned boyishly and turned back to Hermione and Ginny. "In any case, I foresee things getting better. Harry will wake up tomorrow morning, and Ron will be following close on his heels."
Please, God, Ginny thought desperately, let him be right.
***
He had been wandering for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't sure, since time seemed to have little meaning in this place. It was incredibly frustrating, not to mention disheartening, as he sometimes felt it had been an age, or sometimes merely moments.
Merlin, I just wish there was someone to talk to, he thought as he trudged slowly across the seemingly endless plane that stretched before him.
He had long since concluded that this place was either a test of some sort --the gods only knew what-- or his own private hell. He was leaning towards the former because he was reasonably convinced that he wasn't dead. At least, he could not remember dying. After all, he believed that such an event was not something that would easily escape his attention.
And thus, he walked.
He had been wandering for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't sure, since time seemed to have little meaning in this place. It was incredibly frustrating, not to mention disheartening, as he sometimes felt it had been an age, or sometimes merely moments.
Circe, I'm hungry. I wish I could find something to eat, he thought as he trudged slowly across the seemingly endless plain that stretched before him.
Unfortunately the barren landscape was devoid of anything. Absolutely anything, save the rocks, pebbles and sand. There was nothing for as far as he could see to break the dreary monotony of this place. Everything was dull and grey, even the sky which was perpetually overcast with a layer of thick, leaden clouds that never hinted at releasing their rain.
And thus, he walked.
He had been wandering for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't sure, since time seemed to have little meaning in this place. It was incredibly frustrating, not to mention disheartening, as he sometimes felt it had been an age, or sometimes merely moments.
Blimey, I'd give anything for a Butterbeer right now, he thought as he trudged slowly across the seemingly endless plane that stretched before him.
It was a depressing world he seemed trapped in. Nothing ever happened to disturb the perpetual blandness of it all, save the occasional hollow whistle that accompanied the chilling wind that sometimes blew across this barren wilderness. He had never thought he would ever encounter any place or thing more boring than Professor Binns. This place proved him wrong.
And thus, he walked.
And then, he stopped.
There, right in front of him, was a flower.
Herbology had never been his strongest or favourite subject, but at this moment he had never been so happy to find a plant. Carefully, lest he accidentally crush the tiny bloom, he sank to his knees and stared in awe at the flower, with its vibrant orange petals. He liked orange, which brought a grin to his face as he reached out with a trembling hand.
He paused just short of touching the flower and gaped in awe as diminutive shoots of lush green grass began to sprout up all around the solitary blossom. He watched, scarcely hoping to believe it as the grass seemed to rush outwards and cover the desolate wasteland, transforming it into a verdant meadow.
The previously flat landscape seemed to heave and swell all around him, rising and falling into rolling hills and long, shallow valleys. Groves of trees; oak and fir and birch and pine and all other sorts, erupted from the ground, growing to massive size in a matter of seconds. Millions of flowers sprang into being, dotting the thick carpet of grass here and there, in every colour imaginable and more. Low-lying walls of rock and stone, covering in layers of moss, seemed to pop up at the borders where hills and fields met. In the distance, perched unsteadily on the tops of some hills, twisting and convoluted stone towers grew into being.
Above him, when he looked up in wonder, the dull grey clouds were pierced by streams of golden sunlight. The thick blanket of clouds began to evaporate and disappear in great tracts, exposing a vibrant and rich blue sky. The deep pewter hue of the clouds lightened and transformed into a crisp white, highlighted by gold and orange and red and purple.
"Hullo, Ron. Fancy meeting you here," greeted an unexpected voice from behind him. Ron whirled around, almost falling over himself in his haste. He gaped in open-mouthed astonishment at the tall figure --dressed in deep crimson, scarlet and black dress robes-- that stood before him with a bemused look upon his familiar face.
"Harry?"
"Good to see you, mate," Harry smiled. "It's been too long."
Ron shook his head in relief and asked, "How'd you get here?"
"Well, y'see," his best friend began, looking very serious despite the devious twinkle in his bright green eyes, "James did something nasty with Lily. Nine months later..."
"Harry!"
***
It was now one o'clock in the morning, several seemingly endless hours after the attack on Hogwarts by Draco Malfoy's bastardized shadow-dragons. The professors had all retired once assured that Harry was not in any danger and that the rest of the students were safely installed in their respective dormitories. Even Madam Pomfrey had eventually quit the hospital wing, since it was apparent that her services would not be needed.
This left only Hermione and Ginny to sit silent vigil of Harry, having resisted all attempts by the teachers to evict them from the infirmary. Eventually, seeing their determination, Dumbledore had granted them permission to remain at Harry's bedside as long as they saw fit.
And so, they sat.
Silently.
I feel so useless, Hermione thought sadly, watching the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest as he slept.
"I hate this," muttered Ginny, breaking the long silence for the first time since Dumbledore had left them earlier.
"What?" she asked, looking at her friend, who was sitting in the chair beside her.
Ginny waved her hand around in a vague motion and said, "This. Sitting around. Waiting. Being so utterly useless."
Hermione nodded. "I know the feeling."
"Now I know why Harry was so angry after Tom attacked Hogsmeade last year," Ginny said as they returned their gazes to the sleeping boy. "All those people being hurt and killed and he wasn't able to do anything about it. He must have felt so useless after that."
"That's Harry for you."
Both girls turned at the unexpected voice and the low creak of the door opening. There, entering the hospital wing en masse, was the entire Weasley family. Leading the pack were Arthur and Molly, closely followed by Percy and Bill, then the twins with Charlie --who had announced their arrival-- holding up the rear.
It was Molly that reached the young women first, enveloping first Ginny and then Hermione in rib-crushing hugs. The entire clan of red heads gathered into silent vigil around Harry's bed, Arthur and Molly pulling up seats on the other side from Hermione and Ginny. The five young wizards settled themselves in a half-circle around the foot of the bed, with Percy closest to their parents, then Bill and Charlie and then Fred and George, who came to stand next to Hermione.
And so, they sat and in some cases stood.
Silently.
***
"Let me get this straight."
Ron was so completely focused on 'getting it straight' that he failed to notice Harry rolling his eyes. His friend's reaction was perfectly understandable of course, though had Ron been aware of it he would undoubtedly have been more than a little put out by it.
Returning his gaze from the heavens to Ron, Harry nodded his head and spoke in a patient voice, not unlike an adult humouring a young child. "Okay."
"Hermione kissed you."
"Yes," admitted Harry, leaning back against the trunk of the large oak tree that he and Ron had settled under while discussing recent --and not so recent-- events. His head turned from side to side, much like a spectator at a tennis match, as Ron paced back and forth.
Ron shot him a narrow glance as he strode past. "She spent the night in your bed."
"Yes," said Harry as Ron dug a heel into the soft earth and spun around, coming back.
"With you and Ginny," he remarked as he walked over to Harry, continuing past his as he continued to pace. Despite the turmoil he could feel writhing inside of him, Ron somehow managed to keep his voice not only level, but almost completely devoid of inflection. For a Weasley, and especially for Ron, this was a measure of how disturbed he was by the news Harry had imparted.
"Yes."
He had swung around again and was now heading back past Harry. "Then Neville walked in on you."
As he marched past Ron heard Harry chuckle softly before answering with a slight smile and a hint of amusement beginning to creep into his voice, "Uh huh."
"Everyone in Gryffindor knows," Ron bit out, stopping his pacing momentarily so that he could stomp up to his friend and glare at him. He peered into Harry's sparkling green eyes, which to Ron's disconcertion happened to be level with his own - a consequence of a growth spurt Harry had undergone during the summer after their fourth year. Ron was slightly thrown by this change, which he had never properly noticed before, despite having been aware of it for over a year now.
"Just about," agreed Harry, his eyes twinkling in a manner that put the agitated Weasley male in mind of Professor Dumbledore.
Resuming his pacing, this thought prompted Ron to ask, "Does Dumbledore know?"
Out the corner of his eye Ron could make out Harry's reaction, which for the first time during this questioning, was not one of amusement. Instead the Boy Who Lived allowed a slight frown to mar his brow as he visibly considered the matter. Finally he lifted his chin up and watched as Ron turned around. "He hasn't said anything about it."
Continuing to pace, Ron was walking past Harry for the umpteenth time when he hesitated and asked with a certain trepidation, "Are you... is Hermione..."
"No," Harry responded instantly and firmly shook his head, "it was only the once."
"'Mione kissed you?" Ron asked, incomprehension colouring his voice.
Harry sighed, "I thought we'd already established that."
Ron looked suspiciously at him. "Why'd you let her kiss you?"
"I've already told you that as well," rejoined Harry, this time accompanied by a very martyred sigh of mounting annoyance.
"Tell me again," demanded Ron, who was still having trouble twisting his mind around this one piece of information. Being in a coma he could understand. Hermione being badly hurt he could accept, even if the idea pained him. Draco Malfoy becoming the embodiment of shadow he could live with, although he reserved the right to complain about the unfairness of it all.
Hermione kissing Harry he could simply not comprehend.
"She loves you."
Any thought processes that happened to be racing through Ron's mind came to such an abrupt and screeching halt that the young man's brain did the mental equivalent of falling over. There are just some things that it was not able to cope with and this revelation was one of them. As such almost all Ron's motor functions came to much the same type of abrupt and screeching halt as his mind did, which promptly resulted in the red-haired boy's legs entangling themselves and causing him to fall flat on his face.
After a few blank moments in which a small inner voice asked plaintively for the identity of the Hippogriff that had trampled over him, Ron turned himself over and stared up at Harry. His friend had pushed off the oak tree he had been leaning against and was strolling over to where Ron was picking himself up.
"Buh- bloody odd way of showing it," he finally managed to sputter, looking up at Harry as the other wizard extended a hand to help him upright.
"She was hurt, Ron," explained Harry as he pulled Ron up. "She still is."
"Hermione kissed you?"
Harry threw his hands up in pure frustration and began to pace where Ron had left off. "I realize the concept might be a tad difficult for you to grasp, Ron," he said, letting the edge of his impatience begin to show, "but if it's all the same to you, get over it. I'd like to wake up sooner or later."
Ron glowered unhappily. "Ordinarily this is when I'd throw my common sense out the window and throw a punch."
"Ordinarily."
"You don't seem very concerned," he noted, arching an eyebrow.
"This isn't reality," Harry said with a shrug, reminding Ron that they were currently occupying a blend of their mental landscapes. A small, impish smile curved Harry's lips as he added in a teasing tone, "Besides, there's a big difference between throwing a punch and landing a punch."
"Hmmm."
Harry groaned and walked right up to Ron, stopping a pace away. He placed his hands on his hips and lifted his chin in presentation and said, "If it would make you feel any better, I promise not to duck."
Ron continued to scowl. "I'm tempted to try."
"So," prompted Harry.
"So," echoed Ron, holding his hands close to his sides, clenched into tight fists.
"What are you going to do?" asked Harry as the moment stretched between them.
Ron sighed and seemed to deflate as he did so, the anger he was feeling leaving him as quickly as it had formed. Unclenching his fists he ran both hands through his hair and shook his head ruefully. "Well, I will admit that I can sometimes be a little thick. Things that might be obvious to everyone else may occasionally escape my attention. I do, however, notice it when someone smacks me in the head with a Beater's bat."
Harry beamed happily at the sheepish Weasley and playfully punched Ron on the arm as he declared, "I told Ginny you'd eventually work it out. I was right!"
"One of these days, Harry," growled Ron, favouring him with a disgruntled look, "you're going to be wrong."
Harry lifted a brow and smirked. "Maybe. Who knows, perhaps you'll even be there to see it happen, mate." He paused and then added, "Although, I doubt it."
Shaking his head at his friend's confidence, Ron swung an arm around Harry's shoulders as the pair began to trudge across a field of ankle deep grass. Taking a deep breath and savouring the sweet freshness of the air, Ron looked up at the deep blue sky.
"Let's go home."
***
Harry opened his eyes and silently took in the scene before him. He briefly contemplated the idea that he was still out cold and was simply hallucinating. Fred and George were standing at the foot of his hospital bed, both coloured from head to toe --including all their clothes-- in a brilliant neon pink.
Wait a moment. What's Zabini doing here?
The Slytherin girl was standing not far from the twins. She had one arm slung protectively around young Amber Fargo's shoulders and was looking at Fred and George with a mixture of smugness and indignation on her face. Seeing the way she was smirking at them, and remembering the prank they had pulled on the entirety of Slytherin the previous year, understanding blossomed in Harry's mind.
Slowly, as his senses fully returned to him, Harry heard them having a friendly argument about the incident and Blaise's apparent revenge.
"I don't care," Blaise was saying, indignantly. "You turned me pink. For three days!"
"It was nothing personal!" Fred, or maybe George, tried to protest.
The other twin nodded in agreement. "We pranked the entire house! Besides which, it would've put you in a bit of a spot if you'd been the only Slytherin that wasn't pink."
Blaise all but growled, "You turned me pink."
"And that's justification for turning us pink?" asked Fred, looking very flustered by this point.
"Yes!"
"Keep it down you three," ordered Charlie, who had been watching from the sidelines. His brown eyes were alight with amusement even as he told them, "This is a hospital after all."
Harry began to laugh softly, catching the attention of all those around him. As they all turned from the antics of the twins and Zabini, Harry realized that he had quite a good number of visitors surrounding him this time.
Arthur and Molly were sitting off to one side of him, both showing signs of the strain that had been burdening them for so many months. Immediately behind them was Percy, standing ramrod stiff and with a hand on the back of each of their chairs, looking upon the antics of his younger brothers with an air of palpable disapproval. Bill and Charlie were standing next to their parents, looking much as they always had, although Bill had surprisingly enough had his hair cut to what Molly would no doubt finally consider a suitable length for her eldest child.
Then there was Fred and George, at the foot of his bed and looking rather befuddled by their bright pink appearance, which Zabini had apparently inflicted upon them. Blaise, for her part, was as beautiful as she always was and accompanied by a somewhat nervous looking Amber. Apparently the older girl had informed her about Fred and George's unusual sense of humour, if her weary glances towards the two were any indication.
"Harry?"
He turned his head a fraction, feeling very tired and begrudging the movement. There, sitting on the other side of his bed, opposite Arthur and Molly, were Ginny and Hermione. The two young witches were on the edge of their seats and looking at him expectantly. It was Ginny who had spoken, half rising from her chair and staring at him with her wide, glistening brown eyes.
"I am beginning to become tired of this place," Harry remarked sourly, letting his eyes wander about the hospital wing. Then, with a bit of a wry smile, he looked down his bed at Fred and George and observed, "But at least there's entertainment."
Harry had just enough time to glance over at Ginny before she slammed into him, crushing him down into the bed. The brief look he caught of her face told him more in that one instant than a thousand words could manage. Without speaking, Ginny enveloped Harry in a tight embrace, pulling him into an almost seated position.
He held her close to him, his one free hand reaching around her slim waist and stroking the small of Ginny's back. After a few moments Ginny pulled back just enough for her to shift her head up and draw Harry into a scalding kiss that threatened to send him back into unconsciousness.
Dimly Harry was aware of one or two less than discreet coughs or throats being cleared, but he was too busy letting himself linger in the soft sensations of Ginny's full lips. Eventually, just as he began to worry about passing out from lack of breath, Ginny drew back so that she could look him in the eyes.
"I shouldn't have done that," she said sternly, but with a smile.
"Why not?" he asked.
Ginny grinned ruefully and snuggled against him. "I was supposed to yell at you before I kissed you."
He laughed lightly, ignoring a soft sniff of amusement from Zabini, and allowed his hands to playfully caress her back. "I won't complain if you don't. Besides; it's Christmas."
"What's that got to do with anything?" she asked authoritively.
"It wouldn't be right for you to start yelling at me, especially considering all the trouble I went through to get your gift..." he explained, trailing off as he pointedly looked beyond the bemused gazes of Arthur and Molly.
Ginny followed his gaze, as did everyone else, and immediately leapt up from the bed. Her face was a picture of disbelief and delight that Harry would never forget.
"RON!!"
Indeed, standing in the doorway to his private room, was the youngest of the Weasley boys. He was swaying a bit unsteadily on his feet, having not used his legs for several months. Keeping a firm hold on the doorway so that he would not fall over, Ron smiled wanly at them all. His thin features were such a shade of pale green that Harry wondered if he wasn't producing chlorophyll.
Hermione was the first to react, leaping up from her seat alongside Harry's bed and staggering uncertainly forward. Hesitantly she approached the wobbling young wizard, eagerly drinking in the sight of him. Staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, Hermione came to a stop a couple of steps away, apparently unable to speak.
~You did this?~
Who else? replied Harry, reaching out to take Ginny's hand in his own, a smug smile twisting his lips as he watched his two best friends gaze at each other as if nothing else existed. It was the least I could do for my friends and family.
Ginny shook her head in amazement and squeezed his hand tightly, ~As soon as we get a minute alone with each other, I'm going to kiss you senseless.~
Sounds appealing, he grinned, I'm glad I woke up.
"Well?" prompted Fred, as the silent reaction to Ron's emergence from his coma stretched over a minute. He waved a hand at his younger brother. "Aren't you going to say something?"
Looking into Hermione's eyes, as though she were the only other person in the world, Ron spoke. It was simple, direct, and by far the most complicated thing he had ever said to anyone in all of his sixteen years.
"I love you."
TBC...