Harry Potter and the Wizard's Revenge
III
Priceless
When Harry awoke, he was laying on a bed and staring up at the ceiling. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. St Mungo's. He turned his head to see Professor McGonagall, still in her tartan robes, sitting stiffly in the chair beside his bed. At least she still wasn't holding on to her shopping basket. He didn't see it at her feet when he twisted his head a little more, so he figured that she must have left it back at Fred and George's store.
"Harry?" he heard someone ask from his other side. He slowly turned his head to face that side, starting to feel better than he had. Mrs Weasley was sitting, much less stiffly than McGonagall, in another chair. "Are you awake?"
"I think so," he answered, stretching a little. Surprisingly he didn't feel the pull of the multitude of scratches he could remember from the last time he had tried to move. Had the fight back at Mrs Figg's just been a dream? Then he remembered that the St Mungo's healers wouldn't have left him with open wounds. Madam Pomfrey certainly wouldn't have and neither would they.
"How are you feeling, Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked, not unkindly. Harry's face flushed as he remembered how close to being naked he had been when the healers had cut away his clothes.
"Much better, thank you," he answered, pushing himself up into a sitting position. And noting that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He kept his hands over the covers just in case he wasn't wearing any pants either. He really didn't want to be half-clothed in front of his head of house and his best friend's mother. But he really didn't want them seeing him half-clothed.
"You had us all worried," Mrs Weasley admonished. "After everything that's happened in the last four years, you couldn't have just one uneventful summer?" She sounded dangerously close to tears.
"He's fine, Molly," McGonagall comforted, perhaps a little sharply.
"He was attacked," Mrs Weasley hissed, dropping her voice. "That's hardly fine. He had to get two doses of antidote before he started to respond to the treatment. He was covered in cuts and bruises and it took four healers to figure out what was wrong with him."
"That's only because they wouldn't listen when he told them that he fell out of a window," McGonagall reminded her. "And he needed two doses of antidote because it had been more than an hour since he fell into Arabella's flowerbed."
"He was still attacked," Mrs Weasley maintained.
"About that, Mr Potter. What exactly happened?" And both McGonagall and Mrs Weasley leaned forward to hear. Harry's face flushed a little darker and he clutched at the bedding a little more.
"I'm not quite sure," he answered. "He just appeared in Mrs Figg's kitchen. We fought. And he vanished again."
"He?"
"Well, I don't know for sure that it's a he. I'm just assuming that because of the way he acted. It was impossible to tell because he kept his hood up the whole time."
"You didn't mention a hood," Mrs Weasley accused.
"She never asked me," Harry broke in. "She just found me in Diagon Alley and brought me right here."
"Although why you were in Diagon Alley is a mystery to us all," McGonagall responded, leaning back in her chair again. Harry relaxed a little, but only a little.
"I wanted to find out who it was. I thought that Mr Ollivander would recognise the wand, but it wasn't one of his."
"Not one of Ollivander's wands? Then it has to be from the Continent. Ollivander has had a monopoly on British wands since the 1950s when Oxtoby went out of business," McGonagall commented, folding her hands on her lap. Harry watched her out of th corner of his eyes. It was hard to believe that a living person could sit that stiffly in a chair. It couldn't be comfortable.
"He mentioned something about that," Harry answered. He wondered how long he had been out. He still had to make it back to Mrs Figg's to repair the damage before the Dursleys got back from London. "Um, what time is it?"
"The time? Nearly five o'clock."
"Harry, where are you going?"
Nearly naked or no, he had to get back before the Dursleys did and they would already be nearly back to Privet Drive. Dudley had a television programme on at five-thirty and there would be nothing that could make him miss it. "I have to get back before the Dursleys do," he said desperately, still clutching the bedding. He really didn't want the two women to see him in his underwear.
"You can't go anywhere looking like that," McGonagall said pointedly. Harry wished that a hole would open up to swallow him.
"Let me run back to the Burrow and get some of Ron's old robes for you," Mrs Weasley offered. Harry's face turned an even darker shade of red and he wondered if his face was as purple as Uncle Vernon's got when he was yelling at someone.
"I really have to be going," Harry squeaked. "They'll be back any time now."
"You really don't have to appease those Muggles any longer, Mr Potter," McGonagall pointed out. Harry's eyebrows came together in a knot. It was true that he no longer needed the protection that they had once provided for him. And they had never treated him kindly. But they were the only family that he knew.
"All of my stuff is still back there," he finally said. It was true. And he also did want to find out exactly what Aunt Petunia had meant when she said 'He's all I have left of her' and if he wasn't back by the time they came to collect him, he would never find out.
"It won't take more than a minute," Mrs Weasley assured him. And she was hurrying away, muttering to herself about sizes and storage trunks.
McGonagall was completely unconcerned by the whole situation and she sat in her chair quite calmly. Harry sat back down on the bed, feeling as though it gave him more coverage. "I'm surprised that you haven't taken the opportunity to fly from those Muggles as fast as your broomstick will take you," she said.
"The Statute of Secrecy, Professor," Harry pointed out, glad to have remembered at least something from Professor Binn's droning lectures. "I couldn't ride my broomstick away if I wanted to."
"Really, Potter, you know what I mean." She wasn't amused. But after a second she did smile at him, at least she smiled at him as much as McGonagall ever smiled at anyone.
Harry shrugged. "Ron's away visiting Charlie in Romania and Hermione is touring Canada with her parents as a graduation trip. Neville's off on a herbology study in the Amazon, and I wouldn't have gone to his grandmother's anyway. I really didn't have anywhere else to go."
"What about Grimmauld Place?"
Harry shuddered. While it was true that he had been left the Black family home in Sirius's will, and the house was no longer being used as the secret headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix, they had never really been able to get the place clean, despite all of their hard work. And it held too many bad memories. He hadn't been back except on Order business since after the second Ministry battle.
"I suppose that after Mr Weasley returns you'll go to the Burrow," McGonagall continued, noting his shudder and correctly interpreting it. "You know that Ron's family would be happy to have you, even if Ron isn't there."
Harry knew that it was true, but he didn't want to intrude on them. It had been hard for them during the series of battles leading up to Voldemort's final defeat, especially for Ron's mother. With two of her sons, herself and her husband active members of the Order, two more who had dropped out of school and were fighting whenever they got the chance, and her youngest two children continually being dragged along, and their last son not on speaking terms with them for a while, it had been one of Mrs Weasley's worst nightmares.
"Probably," he answered, wishing that Mrs Weasley would hurry up with some clothes. "I think he's coming back at about the same time as Hermione and then we're all going to meet there."
"I'm really sorry, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, hurrying up. "The ghoul in the attic wouldn't let me up to get at Ron's old things and the only robes I could find were some of Ginny's school robes." Harry turned to look at her, hoping against hope that what she was holding in her arms weren't what she had just declared them to be. "They're big on her and they'll be a little short, but I really couldn't find anything else without turning the house upside-down."
Harry leaned his head back against the wall. This hadn't been a good day so far. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley," he answered, trying not to let his voice sound strained. He could see McGonagall out of the corner of his eye and it almost looked as though she were choking back laughter for a second. But only for a second.
"I'm really sorry, Harry," Mrs Weasley apologised again, her face as red as her hair. "But you really can't go gadding about the way you are."
And so three minutes later he was again fully clothed. Well, he was at least wearing clothes. Ginny's robes were decidedly too short for him. The sleeves came to just past his elbows and the robes themselves were short enough to bare most of his leg. But, as Harry had to keep telling himself, at least he was wearing clothes again.
"Harry, are you alright?" Mrs Weasley called nervously from the other side of the partition.
He really had no choice but to leave the privacy of the partition. He couldn't Apparate from there and he was racing the clock to get back before the Dursleys did. So, sighing, he stepped around the partition and out into the ward. Mrs Weasley was hovering nervously a few feet away and McGonagall was still seated in her chair.
Mrs Weasley's eyes widened when she saw Harry, but thankfully she didn't say a word. McGonagall stood when she heard his footsteps come around the corner. This time she couldn't stop the corners of her lips from turning up and Harry could see that she was choking back laughter. She did a surprisingly good job because after only a second, she was able to speak in a voice that betrayed no hint of her mirth. "Well, Mr Potter, somehow I don't think that's quite how Madam Maulkin intends her robes to be worn. But under the circumstances, I suppose that exceptions can be made."
Harry's eyebrows went up. Had McGonagall actually been making a joke?
Mrs Weasley stepped up quickly, nervously fussing. "I really wish that there would have been something else. Perhaps one of Arthur's…"
"It's okay, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, stepping away as she reached out to readjust the shoulders of the robe. "If I could just get my wand, I really have to get back." And, he added to himself, get into some real clothes.
McGonagall, her face completely composed by now, reached into a pocket of her robe and withdrew two wands. One Harry recognised as his own. The other he recognised as the wand he had taken from his assailant that morning. "I believe that these are what you're looking for?"
Harry hurried over, his face still beet red. "Yes, Professor."
"If you would permit me to have this wand," she said, selecting the stranger's wand, "I will see about finding out who it's rightful owner is." She held his own wand out for him to take.
Harry nodded his agreement and hurried off down the hall. He was cutting the time very close and while he didn't enjoy living with the Dursleys, he didn't want that only connection, and the only place he had to live at the moment, cut off.
As Harry hurried off down the hall, Mrs Weasley watched him go. When he was safely out of earshot, she turned to McGonagall. "You could easily have transfigured something or conjured something? Why didn't you?" The question was almost accusatory.
"Oh, Molly," McGonagall said, letting uncharacteristic laughter leak into her voice, "that was too priceless for words."
Mrs Weasley let the contrite expression drop from her face. She considered it for a second. Then she too broke out with a smile. "I could have brought her dress robes," she said with a laugh, "but I thought that he would appreciate those even less."