"Harry! Oh, my god! Harry!"
"C'mon, mate, wake up!"
Harry was being shaken and slapped by two people, a male and a female. Their voices were anxious and desperate, but he did not want to open his eyes. He felt incredibly tired, and every part of his body ached. His arm was definitely the worst. It, for some reason, felt wet and sticky.
The girl shrieked loudly, which didn't help his throbbing skull. "Ron! Ron-look!"
"What?"
"He's got a bite! He's got a bite, Ron, he's gonna turn!"
"Wha- but- he can't- Hermione, that's really not funny!"
"Oh, trust me, I know!" Hermione yanked Harry's arm up and presumably showed it to Ron. "Does that look funny, Ronald? D'you still think I'm joking? Why the hell would I joke about that anyway!?" a piece of cloth was tied roughly around his, Harry's mouth.
"Wait, Hermione, what're you-?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm saving both our skins! Now, help me with him. C'mon, Harry," she added soothingly to him, half-dragging him to his feet.
As he was dragged down what felt like a cobblestone street, he slowly regained memories of these two strange people. Ron Weasley, the poor, red-haired, insensitive wizard, who had saved him and Hermione from a giant troll, and whose pet rat had been a man named Wormtail who as good as killed Harry's parents.
And Hermione, the bushy-haired, brainiac, muggle-born girl, who spent nearly all her time in the library, had parents who were dentists, and saved his life by helping him learn a summoning charm.
The tournament… Voldemort… Cedric… the dementors on Privet Drive that summer…
Yes, thought a voice in the back of his head. Keep thinking. What happened before the dementors attacked you?
So, Harry went over his memories, slowly, backwards, play-by-play. He had a feeling if he didn't do this, something terrible would happen.
Hungry, thought another voice, not unlike the first. Eat. Tear. Kill.
Ignore it, chimed in the first.
Flesh.
Don't let it take you.
Bone splintering beneath teeth.
You are not a monster.
Terrified screams.
Don't go to sleep.
Desperate pleas for mercy.
You'll never wake up.
EAT!
NO!
On and on the battle raged inside his tortured noggin. Both voices were terrible, in their own way. One part of him, desperate to kill, to eat, to create more of it. The other, willing to do, say, or suck anything in its fight to stay human.
Finally, after many staircases and people yelling at them, one old man threatening to sic his cat on them, and a man who thought he was a knight challenging the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Obnoxious, they reached a set of doors.
"Madame Pomfrey! There was a kid, and Harry tried talking to him and oh, god, oh, god, he got bitten and there's blood and he's gonna die and-"
"Calm yourself, Miss Granger." Said a firm, female voice. "I will do what I can. You two, however, must leave."
"What?!" shrieked Ron. "But we're his best friends! We need to know if he'll be OK!"
"Do you have no trust in me, Mr. Weasley? Your friend will be fine."
"But…" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper, "but if he… if someone needs to… deal with him… it- it needs to be us. It just needs to."
Madame Pomfrey was silent for a minute. Then, "put him on that bed."
Harry was laid down on a soft surface. Ron then let out an unearthly scream;
"YOUR MOTHER IS A BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*ING *BEEEEEEEEEEEP LORANIPSUM BEEEEEEEEEEEP ADMIDUMVENIUM BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP TRRRAGULA BEEEEEEEEEEP HIPPOPOTAMUS BEEEEEEEEEEP REPUBLICAN BEEEEEEEEEEEEP IN DANIEL RADCLIFFE BEEEEEEEEEEP WITH A BUCKET OF BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP AND A CASTLE FAR AWAY WHERE NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP SOUP! BEEEEEEEEEEEP WITH A BUCKET OF BEEEEEP MICKEY MOUSE BEEEEEEEP STICK OF DYNAMITE BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP MAGICAL BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP ALAKAZAM!"
"Despite that, Mr. Weasley," said Madam Pomfrey coldly, "I will still summon you if… something needs to be done."
"Thank you," Hermione barely managed before fleeing in choked gasps. Ron stood still for a few moments, then thundered after her.
After a few hours of potions, spells, and healing of the bite, the school nurse muttered, "done all I can do," and sat down. "Harry?" she murmured softly. "Can you hear me? Please, please don't turn. Say something, Harry. Anything. Please, Harry, say something."
Harry found his tongue was much heavier than normal, and when he spoke, it was in a raspy, whispery voice. "Flesh…" he moaned softly.
The woman let out a strangled cry. "No, Harry, no, don't turn, Dumbledore's coming, he'll know what to do, just a little longer, please."
"Hungry… no… stay away from me… I'm dangerous… don't come close… please go away… come to me… I'm waiting for you…"
Madame Pomfrey said nothing. But, in her direction, there were heartbroken, dry sobs.