disclaimer: sigh Must I really be reminded that harry and sev dont belong to me? But fine. If you insist... Harry potter belongs solely to J.K. Rowling... Marc, Dart and the rest belong to me though XP
eventual Snarry!
summary: The cruelty suffered at the dursleys has escalated for a one Harry Potter. He feels broken, physically and mentally. But help comes in unexpected ways. A typical 'snape sent to check up on the-boy-who-lived' but with a twist! what if someone got to harry before snape? And what if that person was a muggle? What's the-boy-who-lived to do when he's stranded, wandless and underage, in a muggle hospital specializing in the care of abused children?
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The music thrummed in his ears, weaved in and out with his fading conscience, bringing the smallest sense of normalcy to his careening mind. The foggy, pain laced thoughts racing through his mind found only the sound to cling to. As he gradually re-entered the world of the living his first realization was that the sound was his neighbor's music, floating through the window directly above the spot on the floor Harry's head was currently occupying. This notion was seconded by the question, why the hell am I on the floor?
His stomach rolled as his mind supplied the answer. That bastard, Vernon… Darkness swelled at the edge of his mind, threatening to claim him again. His mind, reeling once again, welcomed the verging oblivion. The wave crested, and then crashed down on his broken mind, sending it awash with much needed coolness. He gradually escaped into the small calm portion of his mind, followed only by the rock music blasting from the stereo next door.
Here I stand, helpless and left for dead.
Close your eyes, so many days go by.
Easy to find what's wrong, harder to find what's right.
I believe in you, I can show you that I can see right through all your empty lies.
I won't stay long, in this world so wrong.
Say goodbye, as we dance with the devil tonight.
Don't you dare look at him in the eye, as we dance with the devil tonight?
Trembling, crawling across my skin.
Feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine.
I believe in you, I can show you that I can see right through all your empty lies.
I won't last long, in this world so wrong.
Hold on. Hold on.
Hold on. Hold on.
Goodbye.
I won't last long, in this world so wrong… The thought brought a strange comfort. To not have to face the next day, the next pain, would almost be a blessing to Harry at this point. The thought was the last coherent thing in his mind before he faded again. Goodbye.
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Everything ached. From the tip of his nose to the soles of his feet, it was one massive bundle of pain. It consumed all of his energy just to cling to this one concept. Next to follow up this realization was the return of his vision. He was surprised by the clarity of his sight; his glasses couldn't even give him such vision. He realized, quite surprised, that he wasn't even wearing his glasses. Satisfied with his efforts so far, he allowed his mind to settle into a fogy sluggish state that didn't require as much energy to maintain.
Slowly his awareness of the rest his body sharpened. The pain centered in only certain area's now. He sighed heavily and found that his throat was one of them. He cautiously pushed his limits and tried a sound. The pain brought on by it was enormous; it obliterated what little awareness he had managed so far.
He was more careful the next time around and didn't attempt at pushing things. Instead he busied himself with carefully cataloging his many aches. His throat was definitely one such place. He pushed back the vague memory of grubby, constricting fingers closing off his breath… Another obvious discordance in his bodily functions was the inability to move his right hand. Vainly he tried to so much as twitch his fingers only to find it beyond him.
He stiffly turned his head to find his hand. It lay on a bed of white sheets, encased in a neon orange cast. This in itself brought a melee of startling realities to Harry. First of which was the fact that he was obviously not at the Dursley's any more. Further, it would seem that he was, in fact, currently hospitalized. He stared at the neon cast and realized also that there was a note signed in permanent marker.
Get well soon! I can't wait to play when you get better!
-Dart!!
The cast on his arm spoke volumes, It wasn't apart of a magical remedy in the slightest. Not only was he in a hospital, he was in a muggle hospital
Dart? It was an odd name to be sure. Next to it was also signed the name Marc. They were completely alien to Harry. They only left him even more confused if that were possible.
His ribs, he found, were encased in a wave of bandages. The rest of his body sported numerous, if not as serious, injuries. Exhausted for the time being, he lay back into the numerous pillows spilling over the edges of the hospital bed he was in. He fidgeted non-stop. He had so many questions and still no one had come into his room.
He briefly occupied his times with a review of his surroundings but there was little to look at, a prim white room with simple or little ornaments and a case-full of delicate purple flowers with a card next to it. The card interested him, but served only as an irritant. It was on the right side of his bed on a small, otherwise sparse table and the pain of moving his right hand kept him from reaching out to it.
It was simple and white like the rest of the room. The front, the only part visible to Harry, was decorated with the picture of a plump lamb with the elegantly scripted line flowing above it, Another's trash, our treasure, providing a solace for the abused children of the world for the last 50 years, Lamb Shelter!
Well, that at least clarified some things, but with the one answer several more questions arose. So, it was with a desperate gladness he greeted the sound of an opening door and the form of a plump cheery face belonging to a nurse. She, however, gaped in surprise, nearly dropping her tray of implements. Harry could only watch bemused as she scrambled for her things. Once righted she sidled up to Harry and stared at him curiously.
Harry raised an eyebrow. The nurse, lost in her own thoughts, jumped once more. "but you…you shouldn't…well…."
"Well…?" Harry prompted. He immediately recognized his mistake in this; the nurse's response was lost in Harry's violent hacking. Harry nearly blacked out from the pain; he bit back another cough, his eyes watering profusely. He grasped eagerly at a glass of water offered him. Drank in small quantities the cold was greatly welcomed to the inflamed pipe of his throat.
When Harry was finally settled once more the nurse continued, "You shouldn't be awake young man!" Harry could only peer at her, letting his eyes do the asking this time.
"The doctors said it would be at least a couple days before you came into awareness! After a near run in with death like yours, you shouldn't be awake after only a day. You should consider yourself lucky to even be alive. If you hadn't been found on our doorstep….
Harry contemplated this for a moment. He wasn't too surprised that he had healed like he had, not when magic could be factored in. An obvious question was already forming in his mind though. He opened his mouth to ask but remembered his afflicted throat. He gestured vaguely for something to write his thoughts on. The nurse, catching on, rummaged in the tables drawer, eventually extracting a large notepad with the Lamb Shelter insignia on it. She pulled a pen out of her own pocket and handed it to Harry.
Without hesitation he scrawled out the gist of his question. Or at least he tried to. Writing left-handed was more difficult then it seemed. He slowed himself and managed to convey the first of his questions. Harry handed the pad back to the nurse and tapped his fingers wanting the answer as soon as possible.
"How you were found? Why if that's not the hundredth time I've been asked that!" Harry could only stare, completely baffled. "Well," she continued, "that's the question isn't it? How did you end up on our front door step! Truthfully, I would like the answer just as much as any who have asked so far!"
The air around the nurse was heavy with expectancy. Harry realized with a small amount of surprise that she was expecting the answer from Harry. He grabbed for the notepad again.
I don't know how I got here; honestly I'm just as confused as you… The gears were churning in Harry's head, with a dash of desperate inspiration he scrawled out-
-Actually, I'm finding recalling anything really difficult. I –Harry paused here for the dramatic affect. He chanced a small bewildered glance at the nurse, looking as childish and confused as he could manage-
I can't even remember who I am.
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(A/N) The song mentioned at the beginning is Dance With the Devil by Breaking Benjamin. check it out on youtube if you want.
also, This Fic is unbeta'd as of yet. If you see any mistakes point them out to me please!
Please, help in the campaign against procrastination! Every reveiw counts. Just think... with a single review, we are that much closer to a cure. XD