DISCLAIMER: All HP characters are the property of JKR, the WB, and respective publishing companies - this is nothing more than a simple FanFiction that I have written. I have made no money from this or any of the other stories I have posted on this or other sites.
Lesson 9 – Reality Check 101
Harry woke the next morning with a pounding headache, compliments of the firewhiskey, and aching feet. On top of that his eyes felt gritty and irritated due to the extended use of the color changing contacts without cleaning and another lingering after-effect of his first experience with potent alcohol. His discomfort, bordering on true pain, was enough to make him seriously consider avoiding any type of alcohol in the future.
Stretching judiciously, Harry discovered that his body ached in many other places, his hands and fingers, his legs from the thigh down, and his feet by far the worst. He was also troubled to find that the weakness he'd felt last night persisted, though he was uncertain if it was a lingering effect of his submersion in the lake or the fact that he'd slept in a chair for nearly an entire day.
Heaving himself up and out of the chair, Harry allowed a tiny groan that was half gasp to escape as the ache in his feet turned into biting pain. Flopping back down into the chair, Harry leaned over with the intent of getting a closer look at them when he heard a voice address him from behind.
"Ah, you are awake, Mr. Harrison, good," Madam Pomfrey declared as she bustled over to him and placed a satchel on the chair that Hagrid had fallen asleep in the night before. "That will make my job easier."
Harry frowned as she took out several vials of potions from her bag and faced him with an unreadable expression.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions and I need you to answer them as best you can," Madam Pomfrey announced after scrutinizing Harry for several seconds. She waited for Harry's nod before continuing. "Good, first off, can you recall how long you were outside before you fell through the ice?"
"Er, not exactly," Harry answered after thinking about it a moment. "Though, I do recall that breakfast was being served when I left the castle."
Madam Pomfrey seemed to pale just the slightest bit as she digested this news, and Harry wondered briefly, just how much time he'd been wandering around aimlessly and how much of a difference it would make. He didn't have time to ponder over the matter for long though, because Madam Pomfrey was already asking another question.
"What type of clothing and foot wear did you have on at the time? And were you feeling chilled before you fell through?"
"I was wearing my everyday robes, the blue ones with the thicker lining, I'd left my scarf in my quarters, but I did have on a set of dueling gloves," Harry replied.
"Shoes?" Madam Pomfrey prompted when Harry forget to mention them.
"Ah, yes, I was wearing my old reinforced boots," Harry quickly informed her.
"And just how cold would you say you felt at the time?"
"That I'm not certain of," Harry murmured, "I was not paying much attention to my surroundings, though I do recall that I was chilled. If I was feeling the cold any more than that, I was too preoccupied at the time to notice."
"Can you tell me what you remember about the accident?"
"I didn't know I'd traveled out onto the lake at first," Harry explained, his mind traveling back to that fearful moment when he heard the ice crack and felt the ground shifting and sinking beneath his feet. "It's odd really, now that I think about it. I knew the moment I heard the ice crack and felt the shifting from under my feet that I was in trouble. Yet I didn't fall in right away. I sank, as if the ice and snow below my feet was melting instead of cracking. It wasn't until I tried to get off the ice that I was plunged into the water."
Madam Pomfrey nodded absently as she knelt down beside Harry and lifted the blankets from his feet. She poked and prodded them for several minutes, taking note of their color and of Harry's groans, gasps, and flinching. She next examined his legs from the knee down, bending and twisting them every which way as she studied his ankles and knees intently. Next she inspected his hands and fingers before standing up and uncorking two different vials of potion.
"One more questions Mr. Harrison," Madam Pomfrey stated as she measured out a healthy dose from each bottle into a cup that she conjured. "Do you feel any lingering pain, and if so, please describe it."
"Some pain," Harry reluctantly admitted. "Mostly just aching in the legs, my feet and my hands, though my feet are the worst I think. When I tried to stand, both last night and just before you arrived, it was like stepping on hundreds of sharp needles or walking across a bed of hot coals."
"I suspected as much," Madam Pomfrey informed him briskly as she dug out a bundle of dried leaves, selected several of the largest, and added them to the contents of the cup after crushing them in her hand. "Three and a half hours walking through snowdrifts in the middle of a blizzard coupled with the submersion into a half frozen lake, measuring close to twenty degrees below zero, for nearly an entire minute with little to no protection. You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Harrison."
Harry blanched as the reality of just how close to death he came sank in and it wasn't just his life he thought about. If something were to happen to him, right now, the future and his past would be irrevocably changed. Too many future events depended upon Harry completing the task he had been given, if he failed... then chances were his younger self would fail, and the future would become a nightmare. It was a sobering thought, one that Harry felt all too keenly as he sat there gaping at nothing in particular while the school Healer continued to prepare his medicine.
"You have suffered severe damage to the nerves in your feet, and to a lesser extent, the nerves in your hands and legs due to the extreme temperatures you subjected your body to Mr. Harrison," Madam Pomfrey added as she mixed a cup of fine powder with warm water in a bowl, adding several of the smaller leaves from the bundle she'd taken out of her satchel. "You will need to remain off your feet completely for the next three days and you are not to leave this cottage for five – further exposure to the sub-zero temperatures that exist outside and there is a possibility that you could lose one or both feet. Magic can heal many ailments, Mr. Harrison, but it can't replace a lost limb. Nor can it cure stupidity."
Harry flinched at the severity he heard in the tone of Madam Pomfrey's voice, he knew she had a point though and he knew that he had no one to blame but himself for his current condition.
"Drink this," Madam Pomfrey ordered as she handed him the cup containing the mixture of potions and leaves.
Harry did as she instructed and swallowed the entire dose in a couple of gulps, gasping as the ice cold mixture slid down his throat and settled, like a rock, in the pit of his stomach. Immediately he began shivering, his whole body becoming chilled as the icy feeling spread through him. So wrapped up in the sensation, he didn't realize Madam Pomfrey had begun spreading the paste she made over both of Harry's feet until he felt them begin burning.
Harry thought he was going to die when the two extreme sensations collided around his knees, but surprisingly, a comforting warmth cloaked him instead and the achy feeling he'd felt since the night before vanished. Harry sighed in relief and wiggled his toes experimentally, only to discover that the paste had solidified into a cast-like structure over his feet.
"Three days, Mr. Harrison, not so much as a toe should touch the floor until then," Madam Pomfrey asserted firmly as she packed up her things. "You should not feel any pain or discomfort in your feet during that time, if you stay off of them. I'll return then, to check on your progress, and we'll find out whether you'll be able to walk again or not."
Harry didn't bid her goodbye as she left with her satchel in hand – he was too caught up in his near fatal mistake and the consequences to pay her much mind. He stared down at his feet with mixed emotions as he wondered what he would learn in three days time.
Approximately an hour later, Hagrid returned home with Dobby in tow, the house elf balancing a large plate of eggs and kippers with toast, a jug of pumpkin juice, and several boxes. Harry, only half curious, listened as Hagrid directed the diminutive Dobby to place the plate and juice on the table while taking the boxes and setting them on the bed. Harry was then caught off guard as Hagrid picked up the kitchen table and set it down again in front of Harry, spilling a touch of pumpkin juice as it clanked down.
"Eat up, James," Hagrid cheerfully instructed as he began pulling various packages out of his pockets and setting them on the table.
Harry automatically obeyed as he mentally cataloged each item that Hagrid placed haphazardly on the table. Two soggy owl treats, a trio of dormice – How long has he had those in his pockets?, a handful of small, round, pink eggs that glowed softly in the lamplight, a crumpled piece of parchment, a dog bone, and several white and black speckled feathers.
The mice, curiously enough, studied Harry just as thoroughly as he studied them. It was odd, and as Harry watched he could have sworn the smallest tucked its front paws into a jacket pocket. Harry blinked once and focused on the mice again, taking a closer look, but saw nothing but three simple mice washing their whiskers with a series of rapid paw swipes. Harry shook his head and went back to eating his breakfast, certain that his mind was playing tricks on him.
"Madam Pomfrey told me yeh'd be stuck here awhile so I had Dobby here get a few of yer things together. Hope yeh don't mind," Hagrid announced a few minutes later as he began returning everything to his pockets.
"No, that's fine," Harry murmured, wondering what the elf might have packed for him. "I really hope I'm not causing you any trouble."
"Quite alright, really, I was wonderin' who I'd get to watch over Fang while I'm gone fer a few days," Hagrid countered. "Oh, and before I forget, Dobby had to let me in to get yer wand, seein' as how yeh'd not had it on you when yeh went fer yer swim." Hagrid had pulled out the wand and held it out to Harry as he spoke.
Harry felt his mouth go dry as he reached out to take the wand, his ears buzzing so loud he couldn't hear the rest of Hagrid's words. The moment his hand touched the wand's wood, Harry felt sick to his stomach as the handle warmed at the contact. A tinkling of red and gold sparks burst from the tip, just like they had the very first time he held that wand on that long ago day when Ollivander handed it to him.
A thousand sensations passed through Harry as he sat there holding his first wand for the first time in years. Sure, he'd held onto it for sentimental purposes, but he'd never used it once since he'd purchased a new one shortly after he graduated from Auror training. There was nothing wrong with his old wand, not really, but he'd vowed to never use it again after that fateful day when he confronted Voldemort for the last time.
Pushing back the wave of memories that he associated with his old wand, Harry blinked his eyes and attempted to focus on Hagrid. Hagrid smiled at him from across the table, seemingly unaware of Harry's inner turmoil.
"Er, this isn't actually my wand," Harry ventured after several long minutes. He immediately felt bad when Hagrid's face fell. "I mean, it is, but I haven't used it for years, it's more of a keepsake then anything really. You, um, didn't see a wand at all when you, er, found me?"
"Nah," Hagrid confirmed gruffly. "Thought yeh'd lost it until I found that un there, but I guess it'd been lost when yeh fell in."
"It's quite all right Hagrid," Harry soothed as he tried to smile through his worries. "It's my fault for not being more careful. I suppose it's locked beneath a new layer of ice anyway, and this wand still works."
That seemed to cheer Hagrid up immensely and Harry watched him preparing for what looked like a journey. The large man tossing out random facts about his various pets as he packed his porcupine quill suit, a bag of week old rock cakes, a flask of mead, and several rolls of parchment into a battered traveling case.
"Fang here'll keep yeh company while I'm gone, his food's in the cupboard behind yeh and Beak – Witherwings can fend fer himself out in the forest, but he likes ter come in on a cold night and curl up in me bed. Just be sure an' let em out in the mornin' or he'll rip the house apart a lookin' fer food."
"Er, how long will you be gone?"
"Just a couple o days, got a few things need ter be done," Hagrid replied evasively.
Harry wondered if the half-giant was carrying out some task for Dumbledore, and nearly asked him, but at the last second he realized that it wouldn't be a smart thing to do. Flaunting around his knowledge of the Order or of Dumbledore's involvement in the fight against Voldemort would bring up all kinds of questions that Harry couldn't answer. Who ever said ignorance is bliss, must have been smoking dung bombs, Harry thought to himself as he watched Hagrid tuck his traveling case into a pocket and gather up his pink umbrella. Hagrid waved jovially and left in a swirl of snow without looking back and Harry was once more left alone with his thoughts.
Fang whimpered and whined for a few minutes afterward, but soon curled up next to Harry before the fire. Harry patted his head fondly and let his thoughts wander back to the dilemma of his missing wand. It was troubling to not know what had happened to it, and more then a bit disturbing because his wand had always been such a big part of him. He almost felt more concern over its loss then he did over the severity of his injuries.
The weight of it bore down on Harry for a full five minutes before he slapped his hand against the arm of the chair and mocked himself out loud. "I can't believe I've been so blind, some great and powerful wizard I turned out to be, can't even hold onto a single slim stick of wood." Fang growled up at him and Harry frowned down at the dog, which happened to be looking up at him reproachfully. "A little too dramatic am I boy?"
Fang barked what sounded like an affirmative and Harry snorted as he rolled his wand back and forth between his fingers. He was still sitting there, lost in his thoughts, when Dumbledore arrived later that afternoon to check on him.
"Good afternoon, James," Dumbledore greeted as he glided into the small hut and joined Harry at the table. "How are you feeling on this fine winter's afternoon?"
"Afternoon, sir," Harry replied conscious of the fact that he must look a complete mess still. "Alright I suppose."
"Is something amiss?"
"I'm concerned, Professor Dumbledore," Harry admitted as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair as he leaned forward. "I've discovered that my wand was lost when I fell through the ice."
"Your wand?" Dumbledore asked pointedly as he flicked his eyes down to the wand Harry held in his hands.
"Yes, you see, this is an old keep sake of mine, Hagrid found it in my room and thought it was my wand," Harry explained truthfully. "It holds a lot of memories, but I have not used it in years. My wand, though very similar in appearances, was with me during my ill-fated walk."
"I see," Dumbledore stated slowly. "Have you tried summoning your wand?"
"Actually, no, the thought never crossed my mind," Harry grunted as a look of hope lit his face. "I was a bit startled by the sudden appearance of an old forgotten friend." Harry held up his old wand as he said this and allowed a sad smile to pass across his face as he tenderly ran his hands over the length of the wand. Dumbledore let the silence drag out a bit, and Harry cleared his throat tentatively as he concentrated on his newer wand and cast the summoning charm.
Harry waited anxiously, peering at each window in turn as he prayed for some sign of his missing wand, completely unaware that Dumbledore was in turn studying him with a thoughtful frown. Both men flinched slightly when something, or someone, began pounding on the door. Dumbledore rose to his feet and as he opened the door a long thin chunk of ice zoomed into the room and landed on the table with a loud bang.
Harry leaned closer to examine the small block of ice, and was amazed to discover that his wand was buried in the center of it. Grinning he waved his old wand over the block; melting the ice to free his wand before gingerly picking it up to examine it.
"A little scratched up, but relatively unharmed from its short stay at the bottom of the lake," Harry breathed out in relief. "Can't believe I didn't think to summon it sooner."
"May I ask you why you replaced a wand that apparently still retains a strong magical core?"
Harry froze in the process of tucking both wands into his robes when Dumbledore's question sunk in. His mind screaming in panic as he wondered just how much Dumbledore knew and how much he suspected.
"It's a long story," Harry answered evasively as he avoided meeting the Headmaster's gaze.
"We have time," Dumbledore stated calmly, using his own wand to conjure a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of sandwiches.
"I see," Harry countered in resignation, knowing there was no way he'd be able to wiggle out of answering. A hundred thoughts tumbled through his mind and he half expected another owl to show and deliver yet another cautionary note. Nothing happened though, and when Harry looked up it was to find Dumbledore staring at him with a serious expression on his face, his eyes firm and resolute and Harry knew he'd have to say something this time. But what!? his mind screamed at him. Sighing, Harry did the only thing he could, given the circumstances and his need for secrecy. He told the truth, without revealing any names, dates, or true details - he simply described a series of events that could have occurred during any given war.
"During the war, I lost many close friends and more then one father-like figure in my life. I fought hard, desperately really, to protect my loved ones while fighting for what I believed was right. I failed. My fiancée, a young lady I loved very much, suffered because of it. She died horribly and in a rage I tracked down the man responsible - determined to have my revenge." Harry explained tightly, his eyes focused on his old wand that he held tightly in his fist once more. "He mocked me when I caught up with him and took perverse pleasure in recounting every sordid detail of her death, bragging about the part he played in making her suffer during those last minutes before taking her life. He thought it would break me."
Harry longed to stand up and pace at this point, but his injuries and Madam Pomfrey's admonishments kept him in his chair as he took a ragged breath and continued his story. Completely aware of Dumbledore's gaze as he spoke of, for the first time in his life, the night he defeated Voldemort.
"His cohorts didn't try to interfere, not at first; they thought that the monster was invincible. We dueled fiercely, and I'm sorry to say I resorted to using Unforgivables on him – so great was my grief and rage. There were several other dark spells that I eagerly embraced during that bloody battle. At the time I was beyond rational thinking, beyond caring what I did – my entire being wrapped up in the single thought that this man must pay for everything he'd done. The killing blow, when it did come, didn't come from a wand though. I'd been disarmed at the end of the duel and I hated myself at that moment - not because of what I'd done, but because I thought I was going to die without avenging the death's of those I loved. Knowing I'd die any way, I charged at him, knocking him off his feet and onto a rusted, piece of grating. It pierced his heart – killing him instantly. What happened next I don't really recall; everything goes kind of hazy after that, and when I next realized what was happening, my remaining friends had arrived with help and they were cleaning up what remained."
"I survived that night, but I was left with mixed emotions about what I had done in the heat of my anger. My heart ached too, for my loved ones were still lost to me. It took me months to recover and pick up the pieces of my life, and after finishing a few training courses, I put up my old wand and locked off that part of my past – swearing to move on with my life."
Harry's voice trailed off when he finished, his eyes closed as a hundred memories paraded through his mind. Several tears trickled down his face as he saw once more Ginny's broken body, Sirius vanishing through the arch, Dumbledore being thrown from the tower, and a hundred other lost friends. Tears he had held back for years threatened to break free as Harry grappled with the need to warn the man sitting in stunned silence just a few feet away. More then anything Harry wanted to warn Dumbledore of what he knew would come to pass, but somehow he knew that it wasn't possible.
Even if Dumbledore believed him, and the chances of that were slim enough as it was, the repercussions of such a foolhardy action would be enough to unravel the very fabric of his own future. And even more then Harry's urge to prevent the coming disasters, was the knowledge that he could create an alternate reality in which Voldemort was never defeated. It was a harsh and bitter pill to swallow.
Dumbledore said nothing as Harry struggled with his feelings, the old wizard's eyes filled with sorrow and compassion as he waited for Harry to regain control of his emotions. He simply pushed a cup of warm tea into Harry's hands and patiently gave Harry the time he needed.
In the end, when Harry was finally calm enough to look up, he found that he felt considerably lighter. He worried though, that Dumbledore would think less of him because of his admission of using dark magic to accomplish the demise of another human. Yet, there were no traces of accusation or suspicion in the Headmaster's eyes as Harry met his gaze.
"Sometimes," Dumbledore whispered softly, "we have to make choices in our lives, choices that in turn will affect us, and those around us, in ways we never imagined. Love brings out both the best, and the worst, in each and every one of us."
Harry nodded, not quite sure what Dumbledore meant, but thankful that he understood more then Harry had thought he would.
"You have been through much in your young life," Dumbledore added after a moment's pause, his eyes looking slightly troubled as if he didn't quite understand something. "You remind me of another young wizard that taught here many years ago. He too suffered greatly, as has our young Mr. Potter."
Harry started at Dumbledore's reference to his own life, uncertain if Dumbledore knew more then he let on, but it quickly became apparent that he was referring to his younger self.
"He carries the burden well for one so young, though I doubt he realizes the truth in that," Harry said reflectively as he thought about the struggles he endured at that time in his life. "He seems torn by the enormity of it though, and fears his own weaknesses and doesn't see his strengths."
"A very astute observation," Dumbledore pointed out.
The two of them made small talk for another hour before Dumbledore excused himself, with the promise of returning the following afternoon. Tired, and slightly sore, Harry stretched out in his chair and propped his feet up on the table where they were pleasantly warmed by the heat of the fire as he drifted off to sleep.
The second day passed much the same way as the first, though with far less drama. In short, it was a pleasant day spent chatting with Professor Dumbledore about politics, the weather, and who would likely win the World Cup at the end of this year's Quidditch season.
The third day of Harry's confinement started out very similarly as well, though surprisingly enough, McGonagall joined the two wizards, and the three of them discussing various theories about teaching methods. Harry brought up Umbridge and Lockhart, repeating rumors he'd heard during his school years, while Dumbledore praised McGonagall, Lupin, and for some reason Snape. McGonagall waved off the praises while making a few muttered comments about Trelawney before complimenting Flitwick, Sprout, and oddly enough Binns.
"Binns?" Harry repeated in disbelief.
"He is the model of consistency," McGonagall insisted.
"Yes, but technically he's dead," Harry countered with a chuckle as he shook his head at McGonagall. "Trelawney is just as predictable, but you do not hold her in the same esteem."
"Trelawney is a windbag," McGonagall growled as she sipped tea and scowled. "Her predictions are dangerous in that she believes what she is spouting off and cares not for the innocents she traumatizes with her false declarations of death."
"Minerva, dear, it is well known you dislike the subject of Divination," Dumbledore stated with a chuckle of his own. "Do not judge our less then illustrious seer based upon prejudice."
"I didn't know you harbored such ill feelings regarding the future Professor," Harry chided good naturedly, "You must surely feel the same about Arithmancy then as well."
"Arithmancy is a refined science that explores the possibility of predictable outcomes. It studies similarities, patterns, and... and..."
"Guesses at what the future holds by drawing a number out of a hat?" Harry tossed out with a smirk.
"Insolent pup," McGonagall barked as she batted at Harry with her hat.
"You must admit that there are redeeming qualities in both subjects," Dumbledore chided as he refilled the teapot.
"Yes, if you'd like I can read your future in the tea leaves Minerva," Harry excitedly added as he whisked McGonagall's empty cup out of her hands and swirled it several times as he chanted mysteriously. Sounding eerily like Trelawney as he peered deeply into the cup after draining the last few drops of tea from the cup. "I see a dark man wearing a crooked hat and a songbird that cries in the night."
"Go on then, James," Minerva encouraged halfheartedly. "What tragedy do you see for me?"
"A great grief over the loss of one you hold dear," Harry whispered tightly with tears shining in his eyes. He knew he was crossing a dangerous line, but he felt he needed to warn them somehow. "I see you wearing the wings of the Phoenix and riding the storm on the back of a golden stallion."
McGonagall laughed as if he'd just told her the funniest joke in the world and Harry joined in halfheartedly, though he noted that Dumbledore looked extremely troubled by his words. Harry nodded once, catching Dumbledore's eye, before he handed the cup back to McGonagall with a flourish.
"So, any chance of getting out of this prison early?" Harry asked casually.
"Not a chance, Mr. Harrison," Madam Pomfrey barked as she stepped inside and shook the snow from her robes. "You need to remain off your feet for several more hours at least, and out of the cold for another two or three days."
Harry sighed and slumped back into his chair dejectedly, feeling out of sorts. He missed the meaningful glance that Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged, but heard Pomfrey's exasperation loud and clear. She looked as if she was about to give Harry a stern lecture, when she shook her head instead and began changing the dressing on his feet. Probing the ball of his foot, his toes, and his heel with her fingers before reapplying a thin layer of the paste she'd made and wrapping both feet tightly with cotton bandages lined with protective charms.
"It seems they are healing better then expected and you can begin putting weight on them once the potion hardens, but don't stay on your feet too long," Madam Pomfrey instructed him. "They'll be tender for another day or two and you'll most likely limp for some time yet, but they are healing rather nicely given the amount of damage they suffered."
"Thank you, you're a miracle worker when it comes to healing," Harry replied earnestly as he warmly took her hand in his and smiled winningly up into the healer's eyes. "How soon can I return to my quarters?"
Pomfrey scowled at Harry and withdrew her hand, the mood spoiled entirely by Harry's question. "Two days, but if you don't take it easy on your feet then you might be here even longer."
"In other words, James, flattery won't get you any where," McGonagall chortled.
"Don't worry, son, you'll be running up and down the halls soon enough," Dumbledore added.
Harry blushed as all three of his former mentors had a good laugh at his expense. All too soon though, Harry was left alone as first Madam Pomfrey, then McGonagall, and finally Dumbledore bid him good night. He sat there with his eyes closed for well over an hour, letting his mind wander back over the last few days while he waited for the salve on his feet to dry.
Twenty-two minutes later, Harry reached down and tested his bandages, and to his pleasure found them solid and unmoving – a set of semi-molded shoes that would protect his feet. Satisfied that he'd waited long enough, Harry gingerly placed both feet firmly onto the floor and carefully eased his weight onto them as he rose out of the chair.
There was a small amount of tingling pain for the first few seconds, but then it sort of faded away as the circulation in his feet returned to normal. Smiling at his small success, Harry let go of the chair and took one shuffling step forward, only to feel another sharp pain. He half expected this though, considering what he'd done to his feet, and fought back the urge to drop back into the chair in defeat.
He prepared to take yet another step when a loud roar and a bang sounded from outside. Frowning, Harry pulled out his wand and tried hobbling over to the window as fast as he could. He was nearly there when someone crashed into the side of the house, shaking the entire foundation of the cottage. Completely forgetting the fragile state of his healing feet, Harry blasted the door off its hinges and sprinted outside into the fading afternoon light. Sharp pains shot through his feet as the protective casing the potion had given him broke apart as his feet broke through the icy crust of snow that covered the ground. The pain, however, didn't last more then a dozen steps as the frigid cold crystals numbed all feeling in his feet. A second thud shook the cottage as Harry dashed around the side and skidded to an abrupt stop as he discovered the cause of the disturbance.
Two mountain trolls were attacking Hagrid, throwing and shoving the half giant back and forth between the two of them. Hagrid was fighting back as best he could, but still no match for the two full grown trolls. Knowing he had to act fast, Harry shot a flurry of red sparks up into the air before fluidly bringing his wand back into position and sending a blinding flash of light straight into the nearest troll.
The beast roared angrily and turned on Harry in an instant, this was exactly what Harry had hoped it would do and he shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet as the troll charged straight at him. Wand out and ready, Harry waited until the troll was close enough to reach out and grab him, before thrusting his wand out and up with a sharp jabbing flick of the wrist. Boiling water poured from the tip of Harry's wand, melting the snow, and warming the ground, just in front of the monster's feet. As the troll stepped down onto the now muddy ground, its foot sank down deeply into the ooze due to the massive weight of the creature.
Harry threw himself out of reach of the troll's long arms and club as he cast a freezing charm on the soggy ground – effectively hampering the troll's movements. Angered and confused the troll screamed and roared as it swung repeatedly at Harry from where it stood half buried in the ice and dirt, its eyes blazing red as they glared directly at the quivering Harry. He had only a second's warning as the frustrated troll threw its club at him when its previous attempts failed to reach Harry where he lay on the ground only a few feet away. Only a quick swishing flick of his wand followed by a sharp thrust redirected the dangerous weapon so that it landed at the forest's edge instead of on Harry's head. It was a close call that left him poignantly aware of just how brutal and bloodthirsty trolls could be.
Harry took another second to shoot up a second, larger blast of red sparks before crawling around the struggling troll he'd captured in order to give Hagrid a hand with the remaining troll. He needn't have bothered though, for once Harry had distracted the other beast, Hagrid had been able to finish off the one he'd been left with and the thing now lay dead at his feet.
"So much for a quiet night, eh Hagrid?" Harry gasped out as he allowed himself to flop back weakly onto the snow covered ground.
Hagrid didn't respond, instead he limped over to the struggling troll that Harry had trapped and quickly ended its life. Harry grimaced and averted his eyes from the sight, shuddering out of fear and exhaustion as the earth heaved one last time as the huge monster flopped over lifelessly to the ground. He didn't feel sorry for the creature, but he did wish that there could have been another way to deal with it.
Not much longer after that Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and a couple of other professors came running up to the scene with wands drawn. Snape sneered at Harry once before Dumbledore took control and sent the Potion's Master scurrying back to the castle to alert Madam Pomfrey. The Headmaster then conjured two stretchers, one for Harry and one for Hagrid, and with the help of McGonagall levitated both of them off the cold ground and onto the stretchers before whisking off to the castle.
Harry grimly hung on as they practically flew over the snow, his feet slowly beginning to burn with pain as the numbness began to fade. He did his best to ignore his own discomfort though; saving his concern for Hagrid's condition as the half-giant had passed out soon after finishing off the last troll. It was obvious that he'd been hurt pretty bad and only Harry's knowledge of events yet to come, kept him from thinking the worst.
AN: An unsigned reviewer of the last chapter had dropped a question about what Harry is or in not thinking in regards to changes that can or can not be made. I won't answer or reply to that review in the story, because I don't want to give anything away, but I mentioned it so that if that person really would like to hear my answer, he or she should sign in and message me so that I can answer. Otherwise, you'll just have to wait for the rest of the story to be posted to see how I addressed that particular line of thought. - Jenn