Harry Potter
The bed that Newt lay on was hard and unyielding, much unlike his comfortable bed in Ravenclaw tower, which was now nothing more than a charred, ashy husk. After the flames that had engulfed his dormitory room and all of its contents had dwindled and died, Newt, choking on the oily smoke that had filled the room, had slowly made his way (constantly stumbling and grasping the corridor walls for support) down from Ravenclaw tower and to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, shocked at his condition, had cleansed his lungs of the tar-like smoke; noting that he had cracked his skull (the only time he could think of when it could have happened was when the flaming dementor had blindly knocked him head-first onto the stone floor), Madam Pomfrey had bandaged his head and ordered him to lie down. He lay there still, immobile against the hard white bed, his head wrapped in multiple layers of off-white bandages (it looked like he was wearing a large turban).
Despite the pain in his cracked head and the innumerable other aches and pains that infested his body, he felt wonderful. He had escaped the dementor's kiss. He was alive. He was sane. All of his pains and fears were nothing more than glorious proof that he was still alive and whole.
Newt had not been in the hospital wing for long when, without warning, a group of students wearing crimson and gold robes suddenly rushed into the room carrying between them an unconscious body. Newt sat up in the hard bed (even though it pained him to do so) and watched the newcomers with great interest. The group of students (which appeared to be the entire Gryffindor quiddich team) was accompanied by several members of the Hogwarts staff, including the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. That was the first time, excluding the feast at the beginning of the year, that Newt had ever seen the headmaster; he was amazed, now that he saw him up close, how old and frail he looked. At the same time, however, Professor Dumbledore appeared strong and confident, seemingly invincible.
Before he was able to discern the identity of the unconscious figure, Newt was distracted by a comforting hand being placed lightly on his shoulder. He looked up into Serra's large blue eyes, which seemed full of concern for him. Newt, who was still elated about being alive, could not have been more delighted to see her. In the new light in which he saw the world (bathed in the joyous shades of his continued existence), she looked beautiful. Newt thought, jocularly, that she looked almost like a stranger without her headphones on. He almost laughed out loud.
"What happened to you?" Serra asked him gently.
"I'm OK," Newt replied, smiling. "I just hit my head."
"I'm Serious. What happened to you?" Serra said, almost shouting. "Your room's been totally destroyed. Everything is burnt. The common room is full of smoke. What happened?"
Newt looked up into Serra's concerned eyes for uncounted moments.
"Dementors attacked me," he said in a low, calm voice that belied his euphoria at simply being alive.
Serra stared at him dumbly, her face full of shock and horror. Without further prompting, Newt began to describe, in as much detail as he could, what had transpired in his dormitory room. He described how the four dementors had surrounded him. He told her how they had attempted to give him the kiss. He explained to her how, with the use of arithmancy, he had repeated the unnamed spell which had saved them on the Hogwarts Express, a spell that he had originally cast by sheer instinct.
When he had finished his tale, Serra (still shaken and pale) asked, "are you sure they're dead? Didn't Luna say that dementors couldn't be killed?"
"They're dead," Newt replied firmly. "I saw them sort of dissolve in front of me. It was horrible, actually."
Serra suddenly looked nauseated.
"There were several big,"—she paused, searching for the right words—"stains,"—she repressed a shudder—"on the floor of your room," she said.
Newt patted her hand, which still rested on his shoulder. The headmaster had left the room while he and Serra had been talking, but the Gryffindor quiddich team remained; they were knotted around a bed at the other end of the room. Even more students had joined them in their vigil over the unconscious body.
In an attempt to lead their conversation away from his confrontation with the dementors, Newt asked, "who is that over there?"
"Oh," Serra said, sounding as if she had just remembered that the two of them weren't alone. "That's Harry Potter. He was attacked by dementors during the quiddich match."
"Harry Potter," Newt exclaimed. "The boy everyone keeps talking about? He was attacked too?"
A couple of the students grouped around Harry Potter's bed looked towards him as his voice echoed through the room. At that moment, however, the boy on the bed stirred and they quickly returned their attention to him.
"I think so," Serra replied. Unlike Newt, she had been in the stands during the game.
"He flew up into the clouds to look for the golden snitch (that's the ball that you have to catch to end the game) and everybody lost sight of him. After a while, though, someone noticed dementors flying around the quiddich pitch; and then someone saw Harry falling out of the sky. Headmaster Dumbledore saved Harry and ordered the dementors away. He looked really angry. Everyone thinks that Harry must have seen the dementors and fallen off of his broom."
From the other end of the room, the two of them heard Harry Potter (who had apparently regained consciousness at some point during Newt's and Serra's conversation) ask the group of friends that surrounded him who had won the match. Serra informed Newt (though he didn't ask and really didn't care) that the Hufflepuff team had won the match. Newt heard Harry groan as someone in the group of students clustered around him delivered the same news.
"You should come to the next game," Serra told Newt. "I know you don't like sports, but quiddich is very exciting. It's not at all like cricket or rugby or any of the other sports they play in muggle school."
"I don't know what cricket and rugby are like anyway," retorted Newt. "I went to school in America, remember. We played baseball and football."
"Whatever," replied Serra. "The point is that you never played baseball or football while flying around on broomsticks. Quiddich is really cool."
Newt and Serra passed several hours in quiet conversation, always avoiding the subject of the dementors' unexplained animosity towards Newt, until nearly curfew, when Madam Pomfrey ushered Serra and Harry Potter's visitors out of the room. As she passed his bed, Newt gave the nurse a meaningful look.
"You need to stay here tonight, Mr. Phaeton," she told him. "I want to make sure you don't hit that head of yours again."
After the nurse had bustled out of the room, Newt looked across the room at Harry Potter. Normally, Newt was shy and introverted. Perhaps because he was still euphoric about surviving the dementors' attack, or perhaps because he was curious about why Harry (like Newt) seemed to draw the dementors' wrath, he slowly got out of his hard bed and walked across the room.
A shattered broomstick lay on a small table next to Harry's bed. Harry, who was glaring at it with a look of deep regret on his face, didn't notice Newt approaching him.
Harry Potter didn't look at all like what Newt had expected. Judging from the stories he had heard of Harry (that he had defeated trolls, slain basilisks, and even confronted the evil Lord Voldemort), Newt expected him to be hugely muscular and at least eight feet tall. Instead, Harry Potter was thin and of average height. He wore glasses and his hair was messy and disheveled. Newt could see the corner of a lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry's forehead peeking out from under his uncombed hair.
"So," Newt said, "you were attacked by dementors too."
Harry seemed to snap out of his contemplation of the broomstick.
"They attacked you too?" he exclaimed, sitting up straighter in his bed.
"Yeah," Newt said. Then he held out his hand. "I'm Newt. Newt Phaeton."
"Harry Potter," Harry said as he shook Newt's hand. "Why do you think they attacked you?" he asked; apparently the reason behind the dementors' actions was an enigma that had been on his mind for a while.
"I think they attacked me because they know I know how to hurt them. I think they're scared of me."
Harry looked confused.
"How do you hurt them?" Harry asked after a while.
"I don't know how to describe it," Newt said, honestly. "I just know how to make white fire."
Harry's look of confusion deepened, but Newt pressed on.
"I think they saw me make white fire on the train and they think I'm dangerous. I think they're trying to kill me." Or worse, he added to himself; a bit of his elation at being alive evaporated.
"They attacked you on the train too?" Harry asked, amazed. "And you hurt them?"
Newt nodded. "One of them," he clarified.
"Professor Lupin saved me," Harry said. "He scared the dementor away. If he hadn't been there…." Harry shuddered.
"I saw him," Newt said, brightening. "He drove the dementors away with a patronus. Have you read about how to make a patronus?"
Harry shook his head wearily.
"Maybe you should ask Professor Lupin to show you how," Newt suggested. "He seems like a good teacher. I enjoyed his class about boggarts."
Harry (who was looking away, seemingly thinking long and hard about the prospect of asking Professor Lupin to help him) turned back to Newt at the mention of boggarts. His eyes swam quickly out of focus again; he seemed to be thinking hard (and not fondly) about his own experiences in Professor Lupin's class.
"Yeah," he said, still lost in his own thoughts. It seemed that Harry had not enjoyed Professor Lupin's demonstration with the boggart.
Newt was about to tell Harry about Serra's boggart (how she had made the boggart, when it had taken the shape of a zombie, dance the Thriller until it retreated back into the wardrobe) when Madam Pomfrey returned to the room and, seeing Newt standing next to Harry's bed, ushered him swiftly back to his own bed, cutting Newt's and Harry's conversation short.
Newt, suddenly realizing how exhausted he was, lay back down in his hard bed and fell swiftly to sleep. Flaming, shrieking dementors and strangely-clothed dancing infiri filled his dreams, which alternated throughout the night between comedy and tragedy, between fantasy and nightmare.
Disclaimer: I own Roc Cudgel, Ophid Strange, Serra Athena, Newt Phaeton, and Newt's family. Thriller is owned by Michael Jackson. All other characters and locations are owned by J. K. Rowling.
