Thanks to my wonderful beta Aoimoku for looking this over, and for the lovely comments she sent me with the beta'ed version.
Summary: What if everything you thought was true turned out to be a lie? Harry wakes up in a hospital, surrounded by his family -- most notably, his parents, Lily and James Potter. He has been in the hospital since he was 10 years old, creating an entire world inside his imagination as he lay in a coma-like state. Hogwarts is a figment of his imagination, nothing more. Or so they say.
Allison B. Costa
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Aaron Lightner had been a doctor a long time -- he had known from a very young age just what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He had thought that no case could shock him, could turn him away. He had thought his heart had hardened enough against the suffering of the human race, to deal with anything. That was before he had met Harry.
The boy had been an enigma, from the very first day. Already in a coma for two years before he had had the pleasure of coming into contact with his particular case, there was no apparent reason why he couldn't simply wake up any time he chose. He simply chose not to. A testament to the power of the human mind, certaintly, and it's ability to manipulate the body.
Harry was an enigma -- unlike anything he had even heard of, or read about. In his late forties now, that was quite a bit. Even now, two and a half years later, it still surprised him sometimes, how unique the boy truly was. Harry Potter truly was a unique, amazing child. One could only wonder what he would be like, if he would only wake up.
--
He felt strange, heavy, as if he had been asleep for a long time. The last thing he remembered, Hermione and Ron had been bickering about whether Harry should sneak into Hogsmeade, as he had once again been denied the privelage by the Headmaster, due to "security reasons". While he could understand Hermione's reasons for wanting to keep him safe in the castle, it was just so boring -- and he certaintly didn't want to give Malfoy more ammunition to use against him in the comming term.
Everything after that had gotten kind of .. fuzzy, as if he had been an outsider looking in through a foggy, obscured window. Blinking rapidly against the bright room, Harry nearly groaned out loud. Great - the Hospital Wing. As he attempted to sit up, however, Harry frowned to find himself being restrained, leather straps holding him securely to the bed. As panic began to swell in his chest, he realised belatedly that the room he was in, while blindingly white and certaintly a hospital room of some sort, was certaintly not the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Instead, it appeared to be a muggle institution of some sort, if the machines he seemed to be hooked up to were any indication.
Swallowing thickly, and jerking once again against the bonds to test their strength, Harry sighed heavily, blowing at his dark bangs in frustration. Hermione had been right. He really did need to be more careful. At the sound of footsteps, he quickly closed his eyes, however, stilling his movements as much as he could, silently cursing his restless body as the steps drew closer and closter, finially pausing outside of the open door, the sound of voices drifting in.
"He's been calmer lately, but I can't promise anything, as I'm sure you can understand. Not without administering the treatments we talked about earlier."
"No. We've already discussed this, doctor." Another voice interrupted the first, and Harry frowned, the voice tugging at the back of his memory, like a memory from a dream. Where did he know that voice from? Somewhere ...
"Please, I'd just like to see Harry, James. We can talk about his later, alright?" This voice was softer, and obviously feminine, and again, Harry felt that tug at the back of his memory. So familiar ... but where had he heard those voices from? The unfamiliar voice picked up the thread again, a note of apology in his voice.
"Of course, of course. Please, go right ahead. I have some paperwork I need to finish -- just let the security office know when you're ready to leave -- they'll let me know." "We know, doctor. We've been through his before. Several times, in fact."
Harry stiffened as the door began to open wider, shadows know visible across the floor, and Harry focused on those, keeping his eyes lowered and feigning sleep. However, when a hand came down gently on his head, he couldn't help the involuntary reaction, jerking his head away from the touch and meeting the surprised green eyes of Lily Potter. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl then, as he stared at the woman he had last seen at the end of Voldemort's wand, now solid and real and touchable, staring at him as if he were the apparition, not her.
"Harry?" She whispered, and he jumped once again at the sound of her voice, wetting his suddenly dry lips as his gaze flicked over to the man standing beside her, a hand on her back, staring with the same intensity as his wife at the boy before them. "What's going on? Who are you people?" They were the first words he thought of, and Harry instantly winced at how stupid they sounded -- and how useless. He knew who they were -- or, at least, who they were supposed to be. At those words, something seemed to snap in the couple, as Lily let out a small gasp, rushing to sit beside him, and James hurried to the intercom decorating a panel beside the door, quickly pressing the adjoining button and speaking rapidly in to it.
"Harry? It's Mom .. don't you remember me?" There was a tremble in her voice, and Harry almost found himself feeling sorry for her -- almost. He refused to feel sorry for anybody willing to impersonate an orphan's dead parent's. Jerking against the bonds, almost of his own volition, and against his earlier claim that he would remain calm no matter what, Harry flinched away from the touch of her fingers, glaring heatedly at the red-haired woman. "Let me go."
It was then that James came back to the bed, slowly settling into one of the two chairs that were situated beside the bed, a strange look in his eyes. "Harry, Dr. Lightner is on his way. Do you think you can stay awake?"
"Of course I can stay awake, I just woke up." Harry ground out, glaring at the man's fake sympathy, and one again jerking his head away from the touch of soft fingers on his head. A pained look passed over Lily's face, before she settled herself back into the only other unoccupied chair in the room, arms wrapped around herself as if to ward off a chill, worrying on her lower lip, head bowed. They sat in a tense silence, James opening his mouth several times, as if he were about to say something, only to close his mouth again with a frown, glancing at his wife worriedly before opting for continuing silence. This was repeated several times, before the door was finally opened, not with the bang that Harry had been expecting, but softly and calmly, almost as if it was being carefully controlled.
A middle-aged man with graying brown hair and sharp brown eyes made his way inside, closing the door just as gently and quietly as he had opened it, coming to stand at the foot of the bed, a clipboard in his hand. Harry instantly tried to sit up, before glowering as he remembered that he was being held in place. He settled for directing his annoyed glare at the man, whom he could only assume was the doctor from before. The assumption was proved true when the man began speaking.
"Harry, can you understand me?" The words were carefully pronounced, as if he were some kind of dunderhead who couldn't understand simple English, and Harry found himself quickly becoming annoyed with the careful way he had thus far been treated, as if he were some kind of invalid one had to be careful with. "Yes. Who are you?" He asked shortly, and was instantly rewarded with the man jumping in surprise, and quickly beginning to scribble furiously on a piece of paper attatched to his clipboard. Harry sighed in frustration, watching as the man continued to write for several moments, before glancing back up.
"My name is Dr. Lightner. Do you know what your name is?" Harry raised an eyebrow at that, before an idea suddenly began to form in his head. "Harry?" He phrased it as a question, watching the other man to see what he would do. It was almost as if this was what the man had been expecting, because he breathed a small sigh of ... relief? And didn't write anything down this time, instead taking the seat the woman had just vacated, on his bed and uncomfortably close by.
Clenching his teeth tightly together, Harry watched the man's every movement, ready to put up one hell of a fight should he attempt anything even remotely suspicious. Instead, Lightner placed the clipboard beside himself, smiling down at the dark-haired boy beside him. "How about we get those straps off you? You don't look like you're about to hurt yourself this afternoon, so I think it might be safe." He said all of this quietly, his every movement slow and in plain sight, seeming to understand his charge's need for a sense of security. Harry said nothing to this, not wanting to make the man stop. If he could get out of these bonds, maybe he could make a break for it ...
As soon as the straps had been loosened and removed, Harry quickly sat up, intending to rub at his wrists and ankles where the straps had been bothering him the most -- even if they hadn't actually hurt. They'd been cushioned, at the very least. However, before he could make any further movements, a sharp pain tore through his body, and he gasped softly, unable to stop an involuntary wince and slight jerk of his body, which immediately brought the doctor's hands down on him, pushing him back so that he was lying on the bed. "His muscles are cramping. James, call for help."
The man quickly went to obey, and Harry was dimly aware of somebody talking in the background, and of another voice quickly answering. However, most of his attention was focused on the pain ripping through his arms and legs, and the hands that were gently kneading at his body, loosening far too tight muscles and bringing him small spurts of relief, before another muscle seized up and the whole process would be repeated again.
He came to some time later, to find that the hands were no longer there, and he was curled up on his side, arms wrapped around himself and glasses missing. He could see relatively well, better than he thought he should without his glasses, but it was still annoying. Not daring to move -- not after what had happened the last time he had -- Harry slowly lifted only his head, taking in his surroundings once again.
On a new table beside his bed, he found a pair of glasses, looking nothing like the one's he remembered, but fitting his perscription perfectly. Taking a chance, he slowly reached forward, prepared for mind-numbing pain to once again rip through his body. However, nothing happened, other than a slight tensing of his arms, and he was able to properly situate the glasses on his nose, peering out at the room in surprise.
At some point, he must have been moved, for he was now in a brightly lit room, sunlight streaming in through a large window adorning one side of the room, a table nearby littered with get-well cards and numerous flowers, and even a present or two. Blinking owlishly at the sheer number of them, Harry smiled slightly, leaning over to look for Ron or Hermione's names, or even just the name Weasley - with the number of people in their family, he was bound to get something from them. Maybe a sweater from Mrs. Weasley -- she seemed obsessed with knitting them -- he always got something home-made at least once a year, sometimes more.
However, his search came up blank as all the names were unfamiliar to him .. until he reached one present with a hand-written note "FROM MOM & DAD". Glaring at the gifts and cards now, Harry slid carefully from the bed, wincing at his arm twinged in response ... and instantly crashed down to the ground.
Swearing under his breath, Harry listened with baited breath for the sound of running footsteps, and breathed a sigh of relief when only silence reached his ears. Pushing himself carefully up to his hands and knees, he frowned at the amount of energy and effort was required to do that, and could only surmise that whatever spell had been used on him was still in effect. Some kind of weakening spell ...?
Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to make it back to the bed, curling up on the surface tiredly and staring at the door with a scowl firmly fixed in place. However, there was only so long that a teenager could stay in one place before they got bored. For Harry, that amount of time was halved. He really didn't have any patience. Fidgeting tiredly on the bed, Harry forced himself up into a sitting position, hands splayed behind himself for support as he stared around himself with more interest then he would usually have shown for the room in the hopsital wing.
Besides the fact that all the items here were based on technology, rather than magic, there really weren't that many differences between this room, and one of the many private rooms in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Hogwarts ... Closing his eyes briefly, Harry forced himself to focus his attention on the television, quickly finding a remote on his bedside table, and clicking the telly on. While all he could find of interest was the news, it was better than just sitting there with nothing to do.
James watched his son from the open doorway, where Harry had fallen asleep while watching the telly. He really did look like an angel, with his black hair tousled and in disarray. His eyes were closed in sleep, but James knew from memories that those eyes were bright and lively, a shade of green not usually found in nature. He had gotten that from his mother.
Lily had stayed at home today -- claiming that she needed the rest. He knew better, though. He knew that she was getting the house ready, fixing up Harry's old bedroom to be more fitted for a teenager. It hadn't been changed since he had first been hospitilized, back when he was 10 years old. Over 5 years had passed since then, and he certaintly wasn't still interested in the same things.
If he was interested in anything. Certaintly, he didn't seem to know who they were, so it stood to reason that he had memories of his life at all. The doctor said it wasn't that surprising, not with the amount of time Harry had spent in his coma. They'd be lucky if he didn't have further brain damage.
Brain damage ... just the thought was enough to give him nightmares, no matter the reality. Harry had always been so bright -- top of his class, when he applied himself. Which, he was sorry to say, wasn't very often. Harry was usually too interested in sports and games most of the time to pay attention to his classes.
Except math, for some reason. The kid had always loved the class. He couldn't understand it -- he had certaintly never been a math wiz, and neither had Lily. But if it kept Harry interested in school, then he was thankful. Hell, Harry might not even like math anymore -- they didn't know how much he had changed, how much he had been aware of while in his coma. He didn't know this young man anymore -- and it scared him, that his son was suddenly such a stranger.
But what had he been expecting? For Harry to wake up and instantly be the same young man from years ago? For him to wake up and think that no time at all had passed? Time had passed, and he had to keep reminding himself of that. Keeping as quiet as possible, James took a seat next to his son's bed, refraining from reaching out and touching his son's head by sheer force of will. He looked too much like an angel like this -- why disturb him? So he simply sat there, watching his son like a hawk. There was nothing else he could do.
When Harry woke up again, the television had turned off, and the sun was going down. He still felt weak and sluggish, but at least he was more alert this time -- he felt more like himself, at the very least. Groaning softly and stretching his arms out, he suddenly stiffened, arms raised high above his head at the sound of a soft chuckle. "You still manage to contort your body into the strangest positions, don't you, Harry?"
Rolling over onto his side, he stared at the man sitting beside his bed, tousled black hair falling over soft brown eyes shielded by round glasses. James stared back at him with a smile, eyes suspisciously bright. "How are you feeling?" James couldn't help it -- his breath hitched, and a single tear slid out from his eye, as he stared at his son. How long had he imagined this, imagined his son actually moving, talking, reacting? How long had this been a dream of his? For far too long.
"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked angrily, hands clenching into fists as he stared at the man, lips pressed into a thin line. James frowned at that, eyes turning serious as he watched his son's movements. "Language, Harry. And I'm James Potter ... I'm your father. Do you really not remember me?"
Now Harry was really glaring, and a small sound of annoyance escaped his throat as he edged away from his visitor. "My father is dead. He died when I was a baby, dumbass." He probably shouldn't have resorted to calling the man names, but he couldn't help it. How the hell could they expect him to believe that this man was his father!
"Harry! I don't wnat you using that kind of language. I don't know who told you that I was dead, but it's not true. And it certaintly isn't possible for me to have died when you were a baby -- you lived with us until you were 10. Don't you remember?" He wasn't handling this very well -- James knew that. But he just didn't now what do, what to say. Harry wasn't making any sense. He seemed to recognise the name James Potter ... but what in the world would make him think his parent's were dead?
Sighing in frustration, James leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his messy black hair, making it stand up even more wildly, chocolate brown eyes fixed on his irate son, who stared right back at him, not backing down an inch. Oh yeah, this was definately Harry. Little hellion of a spitfire, refusing to back down an inch. God, how he'd missed this kid.
After a few more moments of stony silence, a polite cough interrupted their staring match, and both Harry and James glanced up guiltily at Dr. Lightner, who stood in the doorway, a stange smile twisting his lips. "As .. riveting as watching the two of you is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal you for a moment, Mr. Potter." James nodded solemnly, all traces of amusement gone from his face as he stood to follow the doctor, glancing back at his son one final time before closing the door behind him.
The walk to the doctor's office was spent in comfortable silence, as James attempted to collect his thoughts, and move them into some semblance of order. Collapsing heavily in to a plush chair, James rubbed tiredly at his face, before focusing on the doctor. They may have had their dissagreements in the past, but James trusted him to do what had to be done, to help make Harry better. "James, you need to get some sleep. I'm saying this as your doctor, and as you're friend. You're not going to be of any help to Harry if you're dead on your feet."
It wasn't that he didn't agree with the other man -- logically, what he said made sense. But how was he supposed to get any sleep, when Harry could lose consciousness once again? It was like trying to make himself having a heart failure -- it just wasn't physically possible!
"James, there are some things I have been keeping from you. You and Lily already have a lot on your plate, and Lily agreed that you didn't need to know about this. WIth Harry waking up, though, it changes everything. So if you're feeling up to it, I think there are some things you need to know." James stared at the doctor for a few tense moments, jaw clenched in anger. Lily ... Lily had lied to him? Had the doctor lie to him? Why?
After a few more tense moment, James nodded, and Dr. Lightner gave a relieved sigh. "Alright. Let's get started, then."
"Around Harry's 11th birthday, he began talking. The first time it happened, we thought he had actually woken up, and called you right away. Lily answered, and she dropped everything to come and see him. But, unfortunately, she came for nothing. Harry didn't wake up, as I'm sure you can surmise. He was mumbling, speaking under his breath, as if there was somebody else there, inside his head, whom only he could see. We were able to catch a name, Hagrid. This was the first time we became privy to Harry's World.
Harry has created an entirely new universe, inside his head, where he has lived. This world revolved around him being "different", being a wizard. In Harry's world, magic is commonplace among certain people -- those who can't use it are called muggles, and the truth of magic is kept from them. The reasons behind this are sketchy at best, but you must understand that this is a child's imagination, not an adult's reasoning. When Harry was a baby, he believes that his parent's were killed by a dark wizard known as Voldemort, who gave him the scar on his forehead, in the shape of a lightening bolt. He goes to a school known as Hogwarts, where they teach children how to control and harnass their powers. It is based somewhere in Scotland, but even Harry doesn't know exactly where -- he has only arrived there by train, and by a flying car once before.
I overheard what Harry said to you earlier, and the only conclusion I can come to, is that Harry's memories of his real life have been dwarfed by those of his imaginary world -- he remembers nothing of his life here, but rather of the one he believes he led there. A world where he is either hated, and hunted by those who would like to kill him, or revered as some kind of god for having somehow defeated the wizard who killed his parents when he was a baby. I'm actually not very clear on that part -- we only hear what Harry says, not what others say to him."
James leaned back in his chair, his mind swirling with all the information he had just been presented with. Honestly, he could understand why Lily wouldn't want him to know -- none of the information had been at all useful, but ..."
"Do you know why he has been so silent, these last couple of months? Does it have something to do with all this?" He waved his hand, to take in everything he had just learned.
"Yes. We believe, from what he has said while he is like this, that he has been attempting to actually enact some of what he is doing in his dreams. If he is in pain in this imaginary world of his, he reacts as if that pain were real." Lightner explained, inwardly grateful that James was taking this so well.
James nodded, shifting restlessly in his chair, eyes flicking back to his son's room.
"We're going to need to keep him here for observation for another couple of days -- there's no telling if he'll have a relapse, or what other side effects might kick in. If everything goes good, though, you should be able to take him home in a week, two tops." James couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at those words, rewarding the doctor with an affectionate gaze before standing from his chair.
"Yes, go. Go be with your son. I've still got some paperwork to finish."
James smirked at that, eyeing the piles ... no, mounds of paperwork that littered the doctor's usually immaculate desk. God, he was happy he wasn't a doctor.
Harry was idly flipping through channels on the televison when James got back -- and the nearly maniacle grin on his face made Harry pause, tossing the controller to the side as he watched the man carefully, certain that at any moment a particularly nasty curse would be thrown his way.
However, James simply retook his previous seat at the bedside, leaning back and stretching. When he resettled his body, he smiled gently at his son, slouching comfortably in his chair. "The doc said you can come home in a week, as long as you don't have a relapse, god forbid. But I was wondering, is there anything you would like? You know, for something to do. It gets pretty boring in here -- trust me, I know." Here James winced, eyes distant as he remembered his own stays in the hospital when he was younger -- and one not so long ago.
Lily had claimed he had done it just so he was closer to Harry. He had to admit, she might have been partially right. He had gotten to visit the kid more often. But purposefully falling nearly two stories from the roof of a house? Even he wasn't that insane. Well, maybe.
Harry shifted in the bed, brow furrowed in confusion. (Why was he so friggin' restless!) He opened and closed his mouth several times, before finally just fixing the man with a confused stare, only to jump in surprise when James laid a hand on his arm. "Harry, calm down. The doctor said you can't move around too much, or your muscles could cramp up again. Remember what happened when you tried to sit up earlier? That could happen again." Harry nodded, swallowing nervously as he kept his eyes glued to his lap, picking idly at the blanket, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world at the moment.
"I'm sure your mother will have a whole box full of things ready to bring you, but she's not too good for shopping for guys -- knowing her there might be a barbie doll in there, heaven forbid." That earned him a small smile from his son, and James returned it with a relieved one of his own. A small reaction, at least. "How about some books? Do you like to read? I'm sure we could scrounge up a gameboy, or something like that, if you think you might like some games."
He knew he was rambling. He knew it, and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself. He didn't know what to say -- it had been so much easier when Harry was younger, and when he knew what the boy liked, what he enjoyed. "I guess some books wouldn't be so bad." Harry finally ventured, after a few more moments of silence had passed, and James grinned, although inwardly he was groaning. Great. Lily had somehow managed to give him her love of books, even without being there.
Where was his sports-loving son!