"-pefully wake up soon. He's been out for more than three hours." The voice was concerned.
He tried to open his eyes but they remained firmly shut.
"Thank-you, Simon. I'll keep an eye on him for now." This voice was clearer. Smoother. Calming.
The sound of a door opening. Closing again. One of the voices left.
He tried moving his hand and managed to stiffly make it into a fist. Rubbing it against the surface he was lying on, he could feel a smooth material that was soft to touch. He tried lifting his arm but felt it obstructed by more of this fabric. Panicking slightly, he grasped at his soft cocoon and managed to get his arms free and placed them down beside him on top of more sheets. He finally concluded that he must be on a bed. He tried his eyes again and found that this time they were opening.
The first thing Harry Potter saw upon opening his eyes was a blinding, white light. After blinking a couple of times, he turned his head to regard the room he was in, only to notice everything appeared blurred. Blinking twice more and seeing no change in his vision, he gave his eyes a quick rub. This didn't help either. It was only then that Harry Potter remembered he wore glasses.
"Mr Potter, how nice to see you've finally woken. We have been wondering when you might stir." Harry recognised this as the second voice from before as he tried to focus on the blurred outline of the figure who was addressing him.
"How –," he croaked. His throat was raw from lack of use. "How do you know my name?"
"It was written on the inside of the sweater you were wearing. We thought it best to remove it for hygiene purposes," the blurry figure moved towards him appearing to be holding something dark in his hand. "Here. 'H. Potter' just on the inside of the neck." The object was placed in Harry's lap.
Harry could just make out that it was indeed a sweater, but no more than that. The man must have noticed Harry's blank look as he suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, I apologise. You wear glasses, don't you? They're just here beside you, mind you they're not in very good shape." Harry put his hand out to find his glasses, but instead found they were already being extended out to him. He took his battered glasses off the man, gently brushing his fingers in the process. A shiver ran down Harry's spine as the cold from the man's hand seeped into his own.
Putting on his cracked glasses, Harry was finally able to make out his surroundings. His earlier suspicions were proved correct, for he was lying under the white linen sheets of a bed. Moving his eyes around the rest of the room, he noticed that beyond his bed there was little other furniture; with the exception of a table, two small cabinets and a chair beside him, the room was empty.
On the wall over to his right was a large window, shut tight to keep the warm air inside. From where he was on his bed, Harry could make out only the roofs of other buildings and lots and lots of trees. Opposite the window on the wall to his left, there was a simple door. He sometimes saw a silhouette of a person rush past through the frosted glass in its windows.
"Where am I?" Harry asked as he continued to take in the layout of the room. He could hear voices occasionally floating past the door.
"You don't remember what happened, do you?" Harry turned towards the voice on his left to look at the calm voiced man properly for the first time.
The eyes were what Harry noticed first: a deep golden colour that seemed to pierce Harry's own as he stared. There were faint signs of dark shadows beneath them, highlighted by his incredibly pale skin, which indicated a lack of recent sleep. His slicked blond hair accentuated the chiselled features of his face which began to move again as he started to speak.
"This is Forks Hospital. You have been here since this morning when I found you lying by the side of the road on my way in to work. I brought you in and have been monitoring your condition since then," the doctor explained, for Harry could put two and two together to work out this strangely good looking man must indeed be a doctor.
Forks, however… what on earth was that? Judging by the equipment that he now noticed surrounding his bed, Harry guessed this was not like St. Mungo's and was in fact a muggle hospital. But Forks? What did silverware have to do with the naming of a hospital?
"Uhh…Forks?"
The doctor frowned.
"Yes, Forks," he confirmed slowly. "This is the town of Forks, Washington."
Washington…that's in–
"I'm in America?!" Harry sieved through his memories trying to work out when and how he had crossed the Atlantic.
Voldemort was dead. He remembered that much. He had finally done what the prophecy had predicted and yet it made him feel hollow. So many people had died– no, that didn't do them justice. So many people had been murdered for the cause of stopping Voldemort: Remus, Tonks, Fred, even tiny Colin Creevey. Thinking about it all made his head hurt. It was a long while before he realised the doctor was speaking again.
"Mr Potter? What's the last thing you remember?" he had a look of genuine concern on his face as Harry stared blankly into space with sadness in his eyes. Harry couldn't work himself up to answer the doctor. The last thing he remembered?
He had been in the Great Hall, surrounded by his professors and fellow students as well as the Death Eaters they had captured. The stench of loss from the bodies haphazardly piled around the room briefly evaporated as everyone celebrated the defeat of the Dark Lord. It was during this celebration that the watch on the remaining Death Eaters was lowered, as four simultaneously sent curses flying Harry's way. In the split second of time he had, Harry disapparated not really knowing where he was aiming for. After that he just remembered unimaginable pain, and then nothing.
Now the blanks were getting filled. His desperate attempt at escape had landed him in America badly damaged by the curses that had hit him. He must have landed by the side of a road and passed out.
He sighed. Why did these things always happen to him?
Harry suddenly realised the doctor hadn't given his name, and also kept calling him Mr Potter. It was beginning to get on his nerves.
"Please, call me Harry," he supplied the doctor. "I'm sorry, sir, but I still don't know who you are."
The doctor gave a warm smile before replying. "Forgive me, I should have introduced myself earlier. I'm Doctor Cullen, Harry." His smile vanished as quickly as it appeared before he added, "Can you tell me how you sustained these injuries? They don't look like those of a hit-and-run incident."
Of course they bloody don't, Harry thought. They look more like those of someone who has been on the run hunting horcruxes to defeat the most dangerous wizard in the world, and yet somehow escaped from dying at the hands of said wizard's mental followers.
Harry blinked. Something told him that Doctor Cullen wouldn't quite believe that.
"I don't remember," Harry lied. "I have no idea what happened before I woke up here." It was somewhat true. He had no idea how he had apparated into a tiny town thousands of miles away. Was that even possible?
"You're English, aren't you? And you were surprised to hear you are in America. Are you with your parents?" A small frown marred the doctor's face as he worked to solve Harry's mysterious arrival. Harry though wasn't interested in providing answers. Instead of responding to Doctor Cullen's questions, he busied himself with studying his injuries.
He lifted his hands up toward his face and let his eyes trace the small cuts covering them, as well as the bandages that presumably hid the larger ones. He could feel a compression band around his left ankle and his shoulder was stiff with thick binding to hold it in place. His fingers skimmed over the many small cuts that adorned his face, and stopped just short of the thin scar hidden by his fringe. It didn't burn anymore, the lightning bolt etched on his forehead, but he would always have it to remind him of what he had lost.
He looked back at the doctor, whose piercing eyes were studying every one of Harry's movements. What had he asked? Something about his parents? No, of course he wasn't with them, but he had been. Those few minutes in the forest with the Resurrection Stone had been bliss. He had heard its power was dangerous and understood why; it reminded him of his attraction to the Mirror of Erised in his first year. He looked down at his hands as the memories came flooding back.
"I –" Harry started to speak but was cut off by a blood curdling scream ringing through the hospital. Harry sprang bolt upright as Doctor Cullen raced to the window.
"Oh my…"
Ignoring the complaints of his body, Harry jumped out of bed and stumbled over to stand beside the doctor.
"What the –" Harry just stared at the sight before him.
The terrified faces were the first things he noticed. Then the running. He knew that running; it was fearful running. The sort of running you reserved for when nothing mattered but your own safety. What must have been twenty people were scurrying away with terror etched upon their faces. Harry turned his gaze away from the fleeing people to find what they were running from.
On the block next to the hospital sat a construction site, visibly a few months under way, and this appeared to be the cause of distress. A two storey high scaffolding structure sat high above the pavement and looked set to collapse, though this wasn't what made Harry's blood run cold; high on top, standing on a worker's platform, stood seven people clutching the railing for dear life.
Clustered in the middle of the platform stood the workmen holding each other in a vain attempt at keeping upright. Occasionally one would slip sideways as the scaffolding violently lurched, threatening to give way at any moment. Harry couldn't quite make out their faces from where he stood at the window, but he had a fair idea of what they would look like.
Harry turned to Doctor Cullen, hoping to see him going for help, but he stood there motionless. In his eyes was a look of deep indecision and conflict, as though he were having an internal debate on what to do. Looking out the window again, Harry had to admit he felt the same; should he risk doing magic? He turned back to see the doctor still standing there.
"Aren't you going to do something? Those people are going to be killed!" Harry started to fumble with the latches, trying to open the window. His hands stilled when he felt a cold hand come down to rest on his shoulder making him turn back to look into those golden eyes.
"There's nothing we can do, Harry." Doctor Cullen sounded strained, apparently resigning himself to what was happening, but not happy about it.
Harry couldn't take it. Screw the Statute of Secrecy. He didn't know if the same laws applied in America but he wasn't going to watch seven people fall to their deaths.
"Maybe you can't. But I can," he muttered to himself before tearing his gaze away from the scene and sprinting out the door.
Harry bolted through the corridors, dodging doctors and ignoring the cries of alarm. He set himself on following any exit sign he saw, hoping that they would lead him out to the street. He vaguely remembered that he should not be running; half an hour ago he had been unconscious. His tired body, however, was used to working in poor conditions and he knew that with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he could go for hours.
Turning a corner much too quickly, Harry crashed into a trolley and went flying. The doctor who had been pushing the cart shouted in alarm as the dark haired boy bowled him over. As heads poked out of doorways to see the cause of the ruckus, Harry pushed himself up off the ground and tried to resume running. In his dive however, he had landed awkwardly on his already sore left ankle, and so his running became more of a speedy hobble.
Finally he made it to what looked like the main entrance. Leaping outside Harry spun to look for the construction site. He stood panting at the doorway trying to catch his breath, when he heard the screams start-up again over to his right. He limped towards it while reaching in his pocket for the Elder Wand. He found it in its usual place, internally grateful the doctors hadn't taken it from him, and pulled it out as he looked up at the building.
The groaning of the metal seemed to have risen several decibels, as it prepared to give way. The screaming became shrieks of terror, and without bothering to see who might be nearby, Harry pointed his wand and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"
The scaffolding froze in mid-air, but Harry was almost forced to break the spell immediately. He fell to his knees and let out a gasp of pain as what felt like thousands of volts sparked down his spine. Harry barely registered that the screams had stopped, as the only sound left was the angry grinding of steel against steel, threatening to continue its path down to earth should he lose concentration for even a second. With an almighty CLANG, Harry only barely managed to guide the structure up against the neighbouring building, allowing the workmen to scramble off to safety. Once he saw all seven people were off, Harry let the structure fall to the ground and with it, the pain disappeared. Pieces of piping and scrap metal flew in every direction as it smashed to the concrete.
Harry pocketed his wand and gasped for breath. He could still feel a light tingle in his arms. When he looked up again, he saw a shard of metal coming for his face. Only having enough time to turn, the metal struck Harry on the side of his head before he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Sinking into blackness for the second time that day, Harry never noticed the golden eyed doctor watching him closely from the shadows.