Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world.
Important Note: When Harry was hit by a Death Curse at the age of 16, he was left with a sensivity to spells. A stunner can kill him, and even a lesser spell can make him very ill.
Chapter 7:
By the third year after he started at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was twenty-four, and an established part of the school scene. He seldom had any discipline problems, as the students almost universally adored the young man who taught with such enthusiasm. To deter the girls from putting him in embarrassing situations, he had practised putting a freeze in his voice, in imitation of Severus Snape, which was usually effective when required. But it didn't come naturally, and he took care to avoid ever being alone with a female student.
He was a general favourite with the staff, although the caretaker, Filch, never took to him. Dumbledore enjoyed his company, and Harry learned a lot from the wise old man. But if Harry was not going to become another Voldemort, he was not going to become another Dumbledore either. Dumbledore was a philosopher, Harry was a fighter.
Harry Potter and Severus Snape had developed a close friendship, which was a constant surprise to other people. Snape discovered laughter, and his acerbic nature became a touch less acerbic - though he still managed to achieve instant respect and obedience from his students, and there were still some who were frankly terrified of him.
October 13th, and Harry was telling Severus about a certain incident in a muggle hospital - he'd been terrified that sometime in the night, when confused and concussed, he'd done something terrible to the overly bossy nurse. "I made a vow, then," Harry was saying, "Never to do magic when not totally clear in the head!"
Snape had just reminded Harry of a livid pink Gryffindor common room, and they were laughing together as they turned a corner in a corridor - and Harry walked straight into a deflected Lollylegs jinx. Not for the first time in his life, Harry was sprawled on the floor, ashen faced, near death. Snape was beside him, feeling frantically for a pulse. Five minutes passed, and still he wasn't sure if he could feel a weak pulse or not, but Harry did seem to be breathing, even though so faint as to be almost undetectable. Students gathered, watching, silent, afraid.
Madam Pomfrey arrived at the run and took over. She thrust aside Harry's cape and shirt and felt for his heartbeat - a barely discernible flutter under her fingers. She spoke quietly - we must have absolute hush. No noise - and a prefect removed a crying child from the scene. It seemed that no-one else could tear themselves away from the drama as Madam Pomfrey continued to monitor the feeble signs of life. Professors Dumbledore and McGonnagal had also arrived by now, the students quietly parting as they approached.
At last, Madam Pomfrey decided that Harry was stable enough to be removed to the hospital. She was taking extreme precautions, and sent students scurrying off to make sure that he would be carried along hushed corridors. She felt strongly that this time, even a loud noise would be enough to make that heartbeat stop for good. With enormous gentleness, Snape lifted his friend onto the stretcher, and again, Madam Pomfrey paused and waited, her hand over his heart, before indicating that they could proceed.
Harry was again established in the bed beside the nurses station in Madam Pomfrey's hospital, joined only a few minutes later by Hedwig, who perched in her old place on the bedhead. It was three days before that erratic heartbeat finally stabilised and his carers could relax. Madam Pomfrey was exhausted. Healer Hermione Granger had taken some time off from her usual work at St. Mungo's, and she, too, had been on almost constant watch. Large signs calling for silence were scattered around the ward, and a notice board was left at the entrance to the hospital, which stated where a substitute nurse would see sick students, with also a note on Harry's condition, to avoid a constant stream of enquiries at the door.
Harry Potter opened his eyes, surveyed the familiar surroundings, sighed, and went back to sleep.
But when he woke next, he felt a lot better. He looked automatically for Hedwig, as she'd kept him company a few times in this hospital now. But she must have been off hunting.
It was late afternoon, and the ward was rather gloomy. He ran a hand over his face, but still wasn't sure how long it had been. He felt quite reasonable, and sat up. He looked around, but could only see the hospital assistant, John.
As always when he'd been ill, he felt a strong need for a shower, but knew full well that Madam Pomfrey would not want him leaving his bed, at least for a time. So he slipped quietly out of his bed, only staggering a little to the left, as he always did when he was ill, and set off for the adjacent bathroom. John, left on watch, stayed well back. He only felt comfortable with this wizard when he was safely unconscious. Madam Pomfrey was not far away, but Healer Granger was now sound asleep in a small room provided for her by Dumbledore.
Harry felt better all the time, and when he came out of the bathroom, refreshed, with face smooth again, he glanced at his bed with dislike. Instead of lying down again, he slipped on his robe from the locker, made sure his wand was in the pocket, and went to the window to look out at the setting sun.
An ambulance trolley was wheeled into the room. Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge walked beside it, and four wizards were with him, including the aurors John Dawlish, Bruce O'Brien, and two others whose names Harry didn't know. Fudge was walking importantly, and holding a piece of paper in his hand. Without noticing Harry, he went toward the Nurses Station, at the opposite end of the room from Harry's window.
Harry stayed stock still, his eyes flicking toward the one exit. He was the only patient in the ward, and this was giving him a very bad feeling. He had every intention of slipping straight out the room the moment there was sufficient clearance. But these were aurors, observant, clever. And even though he had momentarily faded into the background, with his black robe against the dark window, Dawlish called the intention of Fudge to the silent, dark figure watching them warily.
Two aurors went straight to the exit, blocking it. Harry, rarely for him, didn't know what he should do. This was the Minister for Magic. A direct fight would mean that he could never again live in the world he knew and loved. Even frightening them into letting him go would have the same effect - and these were tough men. He didn't think he could frighten them without hurting them.
Cornelius Fudge had convinced himself that Harry Potter was such a potentially powerful wizard, that he was too dangerous to allow to be free. While not intending to have him killed, there was a secure prison prepared, and Fudge had every intention of keeping him there, weakened and helpless, for as long as he lived.
Fudge did not regard himself as a bad man, he did not realise how his own love for power affected how he felt about others whose power could rival his. He hated Albus Dumbledore, but admitted to himself that he could do nothing against Dumbledore. But Harry Potter had the potential to be even greater, and Fudge wanted to put him away while he was still young, not giving him the chance to build up to the knowledge and experience of Dumbledore. He'd been waiting this opportunity for over a year now, and put his arrangements into effect as soon as he heard that Potter was ill and unconscious. Fudge was taken aback to see him on his feet, alert and probably dangerous.
Harry Potter did the one thing he could think of - he called for help. Without any indication that he was doing magic, he made an alarm sound in Madam Pomfrey's office, as well as the back rooms to the hospital where he thought she might be. He also made an alarm go in Snape's office, maybe he could help, and in Dumbledore's office, and hoped desperately for Dumbledore to hear and understand - to come and make everything all right.
Meantime he waited, leaning against the wall in a casual pose that hid his weakness - and put on the inscrutable mask that had served him so well in the past.
Madam Pomfrey bustled in. Fudge turned to her with his false, genial smile, and said, "We're taking Mr. Potter to St. Mungo's. I have the signed order here." Poppy glanced at the order, and took in Harry, conscious, out of bed, not missing a thing.
This was the Minister for Magic, but she briskly said, "There's no need for that - as you can see, he's perfectly well now - I was just about to send him off in fact." Harry was grateful, but wondered how much notice Fudge was going to take of this woman, stern and experienced nurse though she was.
"Ah, yes, but we have the Order," said Fudge, still smiling genially.
He turned to Dawlish, "Take him," he said, and four wizards carefully, cautiously approached Harry Potter. Harry saw that one had a syringe in hand. This had happened before. But now he was adult - surely he could do better than he had before.
He straightened himself, garbing himself in the cool dignity that could be daunting. And he took out his wand, holding it by his side. "I am perfectly well, thank you," he said, in the freezing voice he had copied from Snape. "I have no need to go to St. Mungo's."
The wizards stopped, looking at Fudge for instructions. They had expected to be loading a sick and unconscious man onto a hospital trolley, not facing a dangerous fighter. This was Harry Potter - he had his wand in his hand, and they knew how well he could fight!
Severus Snape entered the room and took in the scene - Harry stood at bay, but still somehow managed to look coolly in charge. The aurors faced him, but looked undecided, even nervous. Fudge was becoming increasingly frustrated. Now there were two witnesses, and Potter was obviously no longer ill enough that he needed to be transferred. It would look very bad for himself if he forced the issue, and he motioned his aurors back. But he was also very angry and strutted up to face Harry himself.
Harry stood motionless, his wand still at his side, and faced the Minister for Magic. Harry had never been a large man, but Fudge was short, and Harry seemed, without effort, to dominate. The overwhelming fury of the frustrated Minister for Magic increased further. "Think you're clever, don't you?" he hissed, childishly. No-one else was close enough to hear. Stupid in his anger, Fudge told Harry exactly what he planned; "You have too much power to be allowed freedom! I'm going to have you committed!"
Harry Potter said quietly, coldly, "If I'm so powerful, surely you must have thought that if you attack me, I could hurt you." And, in Snape's very own tone, silkily, "Surely it would be better not to provoke such a dangerous wizard!" But it was doubtful if Fudge even took in the threat.
Fudge snapped to his aurors and they turned and left the hospital. Harry Potter stood erect and cold, looking after them. But once they'd gone, he swayed and grabbed at the wall for support. He'd been very sick, and the confrontation had taken more energy than he could readily spare. Snape strode forward, grabbing his arm and helping him to a nearby chair. Harry looked at the face of his friend and betrayed his fear, "He says he's going to have me committed!"
He shook his head, trying to throw off his dizziness. The fight wasn't over. He couldn't afford to give in to his weakness now. So he determinedly rose and went back to his locker, pulled out his clothes, and started rapidly dressing.
Madam Pomfrey said, "Harry, you're too sick for this!"
Harry was lacing his shoes, but said, "I've got to get out of here - he's going to come back!" and added, "Anyhow, what happened? Why am I here?"
Snape explained, "You walked into a hex. That was four days ago."
Harry paused, "It's getting worse then. It had best not happen again."
Madam Pomfrey tried again, "Harry, your heart only started working properly again last night, you could still die."
Harry only said, briefly, "Better dead than a prisoner."
"Where are you going?" Snape said, and Harry stopped again. Where was he going? He'd been so happy here. Leaving Hogwarts meant going back to a dangerous nomad life where he never had the chance to make friends. He looked at the faces of his concerned friends.
"I think I'll just go back to my rooms and depend on Dumbledore," he finally concluded. "They won't take me out of there, not by force, anyway."
Fully dressed, he rose again, but staggered, and was grateful for the helpful arm of Snape as it helped him keep a straight line. He was only ever like this when he was very ill or very tired, and then the accommodation he'd made long ago to his handicap, failed him. Madam Pomfrey walked with them, too, but halfway along the corridor that led from the hospital to the main part of the castle, he paused, pale-faced, sweating, dizzy. It was too far for him by the conventional route, so he turned to his helpers, "I'm going to take a short cut. I'll meet you again at my rooms if you want." And he vanished behind a tapestry.
Snape, as he had done before on similar occasions, examined the rough and solid stone wall where Harry had disappeared - it was an eternal mystery to him, these 'short cuts' of Harry's. He shook his head in bafflement, not for the first time, and took the more conventional route to Harry's rooms. Madam Pomfrey called after him, "Tell him I'm bringing Healer Granger - we'll see him shortly."
Harry had reached his rooms, but he felt very ill. He rested in his outer office in the high backed easy chair that he liked, and wondered what he should do. Fudge had said he was going to have him committed. Fudge was the Minister for Magic, but Harry had a vague feeling that surely he needed signatures of two mediwizards before he could have him forcibly restrained. He wished he felt a bit healthier. So many of his fights had been made when he'd been battling weakness.
There was a knock at the door. Harry took his wand out again before opening it. But it was only Snape, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, and, to his surprise, Hermione. She went to him and hugged him, "Hello, Harry."
He hugged her back, but she could feel his weakness and guessed at his dizziness. "What are you doing here?" he asked her.
"I've been here four days," she said. "You forget, I'm a mediwizard - I've been helping look after you."
To Hermione's amusement, Harry blushed. He wasn't sure that he wanted his friend to be his healer. But he only thanked her. His colour heightened again when Madam Pomfrey took him off into the bedroom to check him over, and Hermione also came. He looked away when Hermione took his wrist to feel his pulse.
He was still on edge, but agreed to lie down when Hermione told him firmly that she wasn't going anywhere, and would tell him the moment anything happened. Snape stayed too, but Madam Pomfrey went off to try and find Professor Dumbledore. If Fudge really was going to get Harry committed, it was very serious.
Harry was still very ill, and feeling temporarily safe with his two guardians in the outer room, he went to sleep. He wasn't sleeping very deeply, and was on his feet in an instant when a knock came at the door two hours later. One of the security guards was there. Harry said, "Hello, Jack. What's happening?"
Jack had a tray of sandwiches, and put that down on the desk before he gave Harry the news. "Well, Fudge is back, and he's got committal papers, but Dumbledore is with him. He says you're to stay here and definitely not to interfere. Me and Sturgis are to wait outside your door and make sure no-one comes in without Dumbledore's say-so."
Harry ate a sandwich, without much relish. He hadn't eaten for days, and yet he had no appetite and was desperately worried. Committal papers! And Dumbledore always cooperated with the Ministry of Magic. What if he had to fight? But he couldn't possibly fight against Dumbledore! He had always done what the wise old wizard told him.
Snape had gone off when the sandwiches had come, maybe to find out a bit more what was going on, maybe for a better dinner. Hermione was watching Harry, worried. He was very pale still, and when he submitted to having his pulse taken, it was racing, and less strong, she thought.
Harry stared blankly into the distance, but he was fretting, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. After a time, he rose and began to pace, back and forward across the room, scarcely noticing Hermione's pleas for him to lie down, or at least to sit down.
Abruptly, he declared he was going out to find out what was happening, and strode toward the door. But Jack and Sturgis barred his way as he started to leave, and said firmly that Dumbledore's orders were that he was to stay here. Jack and Sturgis knew perfectly well that they were no match for this young wizard, and had orders not, on any account, to try and fight him. They were just to make it clear that Dumbledore wanted him right there.
Harry looked at them for a moment, and they held their breath, but then he spun around on his heel, and retreated to his rooms. But now he could no longer control his agitation. Unable to keep still, he paced the room again.
Hermione became increasingly worried, and tried to take his pulse. He stood still for her for a moment, but then resumed his pacing. Another knock at the door. Harry spun around, staring, pale faced, as she went to answer it.
Ron and Ginny, both looking worried, stood there. "We heard."
"What did you hear?" Harry demanded, as they came in.
"Some of the aurors are here, with Fudge. They had a job to do involving you."
Harry ran a shaking hand over his face. "They've got committal papers - What am I going to do?"
Madam Pomfrey entered then, and again Harry had spun around, looking defensively at the door. "Let me see you, Harry," she said, and she picked up his wrist, and told him sternly to stay still. He stood still for a moment until she let go, but then his pacing started again, more rapid than before. Ron noticed that some of the furniture backed quickly out of his path, even though Harry gave no sign of working magic, or even noticing.
Madam Pomfrey told him sternly that he must lie down, or even just sit down. But Harry didn't even appear to hear. So she slipped outside and found Professor Snape in his office, "We need a calming potion - he's going to fret himself to death!" Snape reached up to a shelf for what she needed and came back with her.
"Harry," Madam Pomfrey spoke very firmly, "You have to take this calming potion - you're not strong enough to get so agitated!"
But Harry stared at her as if she was mad. "How can I take a potion now? I'm going to have to fight," and he ran a shaking hand across his forehead, and started talking, "I couldn't stand being locked up - I'll have to fight. But it's Dumbledore! What if he goes along with them? What if he agrees? It's the Ministry of Magic! They've got committal papers!"
His pacing became faster, and more frantic, until he started to stagger now and then, once going down on one knee. Madam Pomfrey caught him, and took his wrist again, in the few seconds she was allowed before he was off again, she was sure she could feel that sinister irregularity returned. Harry looked at her in despair, "I can't fight Dumbledore!" He was white, shaking, but unable to keep still. "They've got committal papers - They want to lock me up!"
The others were watching, terribly concerned, not knowing what to do. Snape tried, "Harry, you have to take the potion." And he tried the authority that would once have elicited instant obedience, "Do as you're told, Potter."
Harry scarcely glanced at him, "Don't be silly." And he explained again to all these people who seemed so slow on the uptake, "I can't take a potion now, I might have to fight!"
Ginny came up to him, standing directly in front of him so that he had to stop walking. "You don't have to fight. We will fight for you - me and Ron and Hermione."
Severus Snape, leaning against the wall, straightened up, and said, "And so will I fight for you."
Harry was looking at them now, "Would you really fight for me?"
Ginny, still facing him, took his hands, and said "Yes, we'll all fight for you."
He was staring at Ginny, and his shaking began to lessen. But he swayed dizzily, and didn't protest when she led him to his bed.
"Sit down," she told him, and he sat. The others held back. At last he was listening to someone.
Ginny said firmly, "You have to take the potion," and she was quickly handed the glass of potion by Madam Pomfrey.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Snape stirred himself, "It's just a calming potion - it won't put you to sleep."
Ginny was right in front of him, and he was looking at her as if she was the only one present. "Take the potion, Harry," she told him, and he took a swallow, and some of his extreme tension began to lessen. "Come on, Harry, finish it," said Ginny, and he still looked at her and her only as he drank the potion.
"Lie down, Harry," she told him, and he lay down. Ginny perched on the edge of the bed, and stroked his forehead. "Trust us. We'll look after you."
Harry closed his eyes. Hermione approached and took his pulse, noting how weak and erratic it had become again. She looked at Madam Pomfrey in deep concern. For a half hour, he seemed to doze, and the others relaxed in relief. No-one had ever seen him in such a state. It was a long way from the cool control that he usually showed to the world.
There was a noise at the door and Harry was instantly on his feet again. He was shaking as he stared at Dumbledore. Dumbledore crossed to him swiftly and took his hands, "It's all right, Harry," said Dumbledore, "They've gone. Fudge will be resigning as Minister for Magic."
Harry gave a sob and dropped his head for a moment, before, with a colossal effort, trying to resume some long abandoned calm. But Ginny was there beside him, and she took him in her arms, and suddenly he was crying, crying, as she hugged him.
It didn't last long, because he lost even more colour and sank to the floor.
Hermione was instantly beside him on the floor, feeling for his pulse again. For a moment, she couldn't find it, and looked horrified at Madam Pomfrey, "I think we've lost him!"
Madam Pomfrey felt for the pulse in his neck, often easier to feel than in the wrist. There was a faint flutter under her fingers. "No, he's still alive," and she waited there as he took a hold on life again.
Harry opened his eyes, "Sorry, sorry," he was apologising, "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that," but no-one was sure whether he was apologising for crying, for getting into a state, or for his dramatic collapse. He struggled to his feet again, and made no protest when Ginny helped him back to bed.
Dumbledore was watching him in deep concern, wishing he could have reassured him earlier. He hadn't realised how terrified Harry had been.
Snape was still leaning against the wall, and in a sarcastic drawl, said, "Well, after all this high drama, I think I'll go and have a cup of tea. It's really very wearing."
Harry was in bed, in the next room, but he turned his head, and said, "Thanks." And again, exactly what he was thanking Snape for was unclear.
Ron looked after Snape with some hostility. He never could understand how Harry had become so friendly with this man whose sneer seemed to be a permanent part of his character.
Harry was left in his own bedroom that night, watched over, in turn, by Madam Pomfrey and Hermione. Guards were still stationed outside his door just in case Fudge made any renewed attempt to take his freedom, or his life. But when in the morning, it was confirmed that Cornelius Fudge had indeed resigned, and that the committal papers had been over-ridden, he was transferred back to the hospital under the care of Madam Pomfrey.
Hermione returned to work, although she still visited frequently. Harry was very weak again, and docile, no trouble to his carers. He was obviously very ashamed of himself, repeatedly apologising for his behaviour, and tending to redden with embarrassment when that awful night was mentioned. He was still young enough to feel that his bout of crying was utter disgrace.
But he was also having nightmares, sometimes several times in the night - the same old nightmare - confinement, helplessness, imprisonment. And maybe this was part of the reason why he was making a slow recovery. Madam Pomfrey found that there were times when his pulse would again become feeble and erratic, although always picking up again after a time. He was taking too long to recover his strength, still having to be helped to the shower, or to walk down the ward to sit for a while by the window. And this was the time he finally spoke to John Sylvester, the hospital assistant, who always seemed so terrified of him.
John steered him to his chair by the window, walking close to his left hand side, with a helping hand on his arm. Harry sat down in his chair and looked wistfully at the weak sunshine outside.
"Do you want anything else?" asked John, still not quite looking at him.
But Harry turned to look at him directly. "Why don't you pull up a chair? I'd like to talk to you."
John hesitated, looking rather more frightened even than usual.
"There's no need to be frightened of me," said Harry, "I only ever fight when I have to, and I'm weak as a kitten anyway," and thinking about it, he added, "Quite a lot weaker than a kitten, actually!"
John was undecided. He didn't like being with this wizard, but he didn't want to disobey him either. So he brought up a chair, sitting down rather gingerly.
Harry had leaned back his head, and was indeed looking white and ill. John suddenly blurted out, "You were supposed to be sick when you just about tore down the hospital!"
"Has anyone ever told you why I did that?"
John just looked at him.
"Smethwyck was drugging me. I needed to get away. I deliberately made myself as frightening as possible so that they would let me go, without me having to hurt anyone. I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"
John said reluctantly, "No."
"I'm sorry I frightened you. Please forgive me."
John said in a low voice, "I helped them do it. I always thought you might kill me for that!"
A slight frown had appeared on Harry's face, "Madam Pomfrey helped, too, and there's not many people who care for me more. Just don't do it again, all right?" And John at last relaxed, and started treating Harry more naturally, which was important to Harry, especially as he still depended on someone else's strength to get around.
Hedwig caused a diversion then, swooping into the room and landing on Harry's chair. John looked at her askance. It was his job to clean up any droppings, and he thought that owls had no place in a hospital ward. But Harry welcomed her, and Madam Pomfrey valued her. Twice Hedwig had alerted her when Harry had suddenly become worse, his heartbeat becoming feeble and irregular again. She really thought that he should stay in bed, but she would not try and curtail the freedom that he had nearly lost.
"Can I get you anything?" John asked again, and this time, Harry asked for a drink of water. John brought it, and then went about his duties, but he no longer shied away from Harry, and sometimes would sit and talk with him.
Ron came a few times with Hermione, and once, Ginny came for a short time. But she didn't stay. Harry looked after her wistfully, when she left, but pretended nothing was wrong as soon as he noticed Madam Pomfrey watching.
The nightmares continued, leaving him white and shaking, unable to sleep. Madam Pomfrey seemed unable to soothe him now, and he refused to take any potions, so that he was not getting the healing sleep he needed.
Healer Rutledge came once, examined Harry, and then, sitting down next to him, invited him to talk about his feelings. But Harry would not. He answered questions only reluctantly, if at all, and took refuge in an icy reserve that was proof against attempts to share his fears.
Dumbledore was frankly worried, but Rutledge was more optimistic. He pointed out that Harry had great courage and a great love of life. And although he appeared to have totally lost control of himself on that traumatic night, he had not hurt anyone, and had, indeed, not worked any magic at all - except that furniture had moved aside from him when he wanted to pace.
To Rutledge, too, it was obvious just why Harry had gone to pieces so thoroughly. He had questioned Madam Pomfrey and Severus Snape, and they had told him what Harry had been saying - 'They want to put me away,' - that he would have to fight - that he couldn't fight Dumbledore. It was simple really, Harry had gone to pieces because he didn't know what to do.
It took ten days, but one morning, Madam Pomfrey went to check on him and found that he'd already slipped off to have his shower, and she rejoiced at this disobedience - she had come to know that his docility was a bad sign, and that when he slipped out of bed against orders, he was getting better. He was allowed to leave the hospital a couple of days later, but Dumbledore did not allow him to resume his duties for another week.
Hermione was now his personal Healer. It was her decision, not his. Harry found it hard to overcome his embarrassment when she acted as a healer, but found it impossible to tell her that she was not wanted. Besides, he didn't really trust anyone else - he had had some bad experiences with healers. He merely hoped that he would not need her services again, and after all, he was in very good health, and likely to remain so unless hit by a spell - and then he'd probably be dead.
Hermione had been thinking about that. Like Harry, she thought that each time he had been hit by a spell, even a very minor one, the resulting shock had been slightly worse. Even if there were no attacks on him, he lived in a school of magic. There was almost bound to be a next time. She consulted with Snape, and together they devised a potion that was meant to be taken as a preventative device, a small dose every morning without fail. Then maybe he would have a chance of surviving when next he walked into a hex. Hermione was sure that any major spell, such as a stunner, would mean death in any case.
Dumbledore also had the risk in mind, and there was a further clampdown on magic in the corridors after the Lollylegs Hex incident, and as Mr. Potter was very popular with the students, and as so many of them had seem him nearly killed, the restriction was well observed. It became the fashion to have any duelling fights on a particular stretch of grass behind the Quidditch Pitch instead. There were even lookouts stationed to make sure that their Mr. Potter was nowhere to be seen.
Harry was lucky throughout his life. So often other people went to some effort to protect him, whether it was stationing extra security guards as Dumbledore did, or ensuring his safety from stray hexes as the students did.
He knew now that a fair portion of the student body had watched as he fought for life after being hit by a minor hex. And he could only guess at the rumours abroad about the Minister for Magic, and Committal Papers. He felt humiliated, and still bitterly ashamed at his loss of control when he was threatened with imprisonment. But he'd found himself in embarrassing situations in the past, and knew that there's not much to do except to go on. After all, one cannot leave the country every time one makes a fool of oneself!
***chapter end***
