Day 1

Harry stared into the misty clearing. There was something amiss. The Greengrover was a notorious meeting place for Deatheaters and yet by 11pm, there was only three regulars lining the pub counter. Waiting with bated breath, Harry failed to notice the creak of branches at his far left until it was too late. There was a crackle and a bright light. The air was knocked out of him, and his vision blurred. Trumpets seemed to roar in the air above him, though he could hardly tell which way was up as his fingers dug into the earth underneath him.

"Harry!", came a voice from he knew not where. Faintly familiar, he wracked his brain but could not place it. Hands grasped his and a blurry form appeared in his line of vision before all gave way to darkness.

Day 2

There was a faint beeping sound, and a sterile smell pervaded his surrounding. His eyes cracked open, but the scene was cloudy, as though there was a film of water in between him and the rest of the world. He opened his mouth but the dryness stung and he promptly gave up any attempts at speaking. "He's lost a lot of blood", a voice explained. Turning his head ever so slightly in the direction of the voice, he was able to make out a bushy head of hair. Mione, he thought.

"You can see him now", the voice continued. Hermione flung herself his way, but made no attempt to touch him, her hands were clasped over her mouth, as she let out a stream of oh my god's.

""Harry, it's me, Hermione", her choked voice managed. He tried to move his hand to hers but barely managed to flex his fingers. "Don't try to move, you were attacked", she could scarcely get the words out, and still she kept her distance.

"Tell him, he has a right to know", came Ron's voice from the other side of the bed. Tell me what?, he wondered. For what must've been the first time in her life, Hermione was at a loss for words. Harry's eyes widened in frustration. Come on, I have a right to know, how bad?, he felt like screaming. "I-I…", she stuttered. A blonde wizard approached the bed, laying one hand of comfort on Harry's as he spoke;

"You were hit with a dark curse. You have 3rd degree burns over 90% of your body. It is unlikely you will recover, but we will do our best to make you comfortable, I'm so sorry". Harry's mind went blank. His heartbeat became so loud it drowned out Hermione's sobs.

Day 3

When he woke, he felt the stiffness of his cast more pronounced around his arms and legs. His middle was like a heavy weight on the mattress. A clinking sound to his right, caused him to flinch but he was unable to move his head in the direction of the class

"How are we doing, Mr. Potter?", asked a plump redheaded nurse. He made a gurgling sound, but no discernible words came out. "I'll take that to mean you're alright, don't try to speak, I'll just leave this here and if you fancy some chum just shake this bell", she said holding up a small metal device that she then thrust into his limp class.

After what felt an eternity, they appeared. "Harry", Hermione began, her eyes bloodshot, "I'm sorry its been so long, it's just I've had a lot what with the children, and Ron just got a promotion." Her voice hitched, and she buried her face in the crevice of Ron's neck. Harry could only swallow, his dry throat opening and closing without result. His eyes prickled as he tried to move his arms to no effect. Ron gave his shoulder a weak squeeze, which nevertheless thundered through his body painfully.

Day 4

Slipping into consciousness was a less than pleasant ordeal at this point. His brow was moist with perspiration, his hair sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. Most nights he woke, breathing roughly, feeling an invisible weight on his chest. If auror training had left him any benefit it was the ability to remain calm, something he found particularly difficult this night. In his dream, he had come. From out of the mist, the gaunt expressionless face of Lord Voldemort appeared, his hollowed out eyes pining him to the spot as the hoard of dementors began their assault. One after the other they stole from him, his most precious memories. And all that remained were the shrill and soul penetrating screams of his dying mother. His breathing became erratic, and from his quivers he could hear the bell in his palm give off faint little chirps.

From out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a figure. A wand was drawn. This is it, he thought as he shut his eyes. Then a wave of warmth came over him, his shivering ceased, and his heart began to slow as a feeling of overwhelming calm draped over his very being.

A towel was pressed against his forehead, and before he lost consciousness once again he caught a glimpse of a pale blonde figure smiling down at him.