Peculiar patients

21th December 2000, sometime during the afternoon

Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...

The raven haired youngster scrunched his eyebrows and scratched his cheek. What an annoying sound, he thought absently. If he weren't so drowsy, he would even bother to look at the thing disturbing his pleasant slumber. Instead, he rather snuggled against the soft pillow, hoping to fall back asleep quickly. He had almost forgotten it how it felt like to take a nap in dry and warm clothes.

But something was also very odd about this and tired or not, Harry started to ponder it over. With his eyelids still locked together he moved his hand from the cushion to the not very comfortable mattress underneath. He didn't remember getting into this bed – or getting into any bed in the first place. As a matter of fact, what was the last thing he could recall? Everything seemed to be so clouded...

Steps...

They were getting nearer...

Suddenly he heard a quiet click of a doorknob and low voices. He couldn't recognize them, nor understand the topic of discussion, which naturally awoke his curiosity. Maybe he should take a glance. He needed to know where he was and who those people were.

The strangers approached his bed and he instinctively curled his arms over his chest in a protective gesture. He tried to have a look at them, but his sleepy eyes refused to open. His mind was still somehow dangling above the abyss of oblivion.

"He seems to be waking up," said a soft woman's voice and then he felt a warm hand on his cheek. A quiet laughter followed. "What a handsome young man he is, once he's washed and shaved."

"Miss Ross," spoke a deeper voice from the other side of Harry's bed. "How many times shall I tell you that touching your patients so familiarly is unprofessional and uncalled-for? Especially when the said person is unconscious."

The woman sighed and Harry felt her fingers leave his chin.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cooper, I won't do that again," she whispered apologetically.

Then her warm hand moved to Harry's shoulder and shook him slightly. The young wizard felt her soft breath on his cheek as she leaned closer.

"Mister ... Mister! Can you hear me?"

Harry wanted to reply, but his tongue seemed to be as unresponsive as his eyelids. It was extremely aggravating. He growled back in his throat and forced himself to look through a tiny slit between his overly heavy eyelids.

Fuzzy colors slowly sharpened into a vague form of a smiling young woman's face leaning over him. She had a long peroxide blond hair neatly stapled into the tail and bright hazelnut eyes. Confused, he looked up at the man on the other side, who was wearing a long white coat. Harry couldn't see his face against the sharp daylight coming through a large window.

'Who are you? Where am I?' he tried to ask, but the only sound he produced was an inarticulate rattle.

"Don't try to speak so hard, sir," the man in the white coat spoke and stepped closer. "Sorry for your dry throat, it's a result of your treatment. We made you breathe warm air to quicken rewarming of your body." He paused for a brief moment. "I believe I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm doctor Cooper and this is nurse Ross," he pointed at the blond woman sitting at the edge of his bed. "You are in Crawley Hospital. May I ask you what your name is?" he said while watching Harry with mild interest.

Harry knew he should be surprised. He knew he should be asking about how did he get here and what happened to him, but he couldn't. It would require too much of energy which he didn't have. All he wanted at the moment was to doze off.

But the doctor was still waiting for his reply. Damn it.

"H ... Har ... Harry ... Potter," he finally rasped and coughed to clear his throat. It didn't help; his tongue was still dry and harsh like an old slip sole. Moreover, his eyes seemed to have an independent life, because they decided to close completely against his will.

In reality, there was only one thing he was truly concerned about. He needed to know where his archenemy was. He may not remember how long or how far he carried the unconscious man, but the experience itself was something he could not easily forget. He forced himself to open his eyes again and look around the ward, along the white walls and hospital facilities. He even identified the beeping machine next to him, recording his slow, regular heart beat. But Voldemort was nowhere in sight. Did he already escape and planned his demise again or was he gone for good? He had to know the answer before the blissful oblivion cleared his head over again.

"Wh ... wher's ... Volde ... Mor...?" he tried to ask.

After a short moment of silence the nurse spoke.

"I think he's asking after his ... eh ... strange companion," she said and looked at the doctor.

The man nodded and glanced back at the youngster. "He's still at ICU*," he said simply. "Doctor Rodgers and the rest of his team are doing their best to keep him alive. I believe that he will come here when he's off duty to personally apologize for that unfortunate accident which put you into this predicament. Until then you shall take some rest."

Harry already stopped listening. Partly because he couldn't stay awake for any longer and partly because what the man said didn't make much sense. He was floating back into the realm of dreams and their voices slowly disappeared in a thickening mist.

"So his name is Harry Potter. Write it down to the report. And ... what did he say the name of his companion was?"

After a short hesitation the nurse replied.

"Err ... I think he said Walter, doctor. Walter Moore..."

*****

Azkaban

21th December 2000, late evening

So this is how the true hell looks like, Draco thought as he looked down from a rooftop at the slaughter which took place behind the Gates of Azkaban. He's been a Death Eater for almost five years and yet he's never learned how to watch such a massacre with a blank expression. He wasn't like his father who could stand it without a blink of an eye which only reflected decades in Voldemort's service. Though, Malfoy senior never participated in the killing. His father... He could already fall a victim to one of those bloodthirsty monsters while his son was sitting here and pondering about it. Draco was mad at himself that he couldn't bring himself to make another move. He already stepped over all boundaries he was forbidden to cross, so there was no turning back, but going any further could easily mean his painful end.

But his parents underwent this because of him. His father abandoned the Dark Lord during the battle of Hogwarts only to find him and ensure his safety. This is how the Malfoys were, the family meant everything for them and he won't break that tradition now. That is why he, Draco Malfoy, a young wizard with minimal skills and battle experiences followed their example and turned his back on his Master as well, abandoning the mission in order to save his dad. Something he thought he would never be able to do, no matter how preposterous he found the mission itself. He could finally see the level of the Dark Lord's desperation when he entrusted him with that impossible task. How could he ever convince vampires of benefits of alliance with the Dark Lord when all the monsters cared about was a taste of blood? And now that he knew that the Vampire's King, whom he was supposed to meet in Romania, was slaughtered and replaced by Voldemort's prominent enemy, some freak calling himself the Leader, he felt no desire to stand before his Master and explain him why he failed so terribly in his task. Instead of ensuring the Dark Lord's walkover he brought the whole British wizarding population to extinction. According to what he just witnessed, it was only a matter of short time.

Vampires do not make contracts with humans, they eat them. If he managed to learn something during his mission then it was this. The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased.

And this even wasn't his biggest problem. He had no idea why the Leader, a bloodthirsty leech who seemed to be unhappy if didn't kill a poor wretch a day, kept him alive and relatively 'pampered'. Several times he made absolutely clear that the considered the Dark Lord nothing more but one of his future dinners and possible enforcement of his army. Still he didn't dare to harm his mere follower. Or was he mistaken? After all he's been the only Death Eater returning alive from Romania. Why he wasn't killed, he had no idea. The worst thing about his continuing existence was being watched all the time. Leontina, another nosferatu, usually didn't take his eyes off him. She had to act on the Leader's command; she surely didn't do this because of a deep mutual affection.

He forced himself to tolerate her as she followed him like a harmless shadow. It was absurd that in the end it was her who told him with a calm face that Azkaban was being changed into vampire's nursery. From that moment on he knew he has to run off. And now, after many hours of vain attempts, he finally escaped from her grasp. Honestly, he would prefer never to learn about the consequences.

A loud scream tore him out of his muse. There was no point in further hesitation. If he went this far, he couldn't possibly go back. With a final sigh he pulled out his wand and jumped down from the roof to join the infernal spectacle.

Blood. Blood. Blood. It was everywhere. What a gross, he couldn't stand it. The intense smell made him taste his last meal against his palate. He gulped idly and decided to move quickly around. After all he was trained to be a spy; fast, effective and invisible. He should be able to ignore distractions, but there were some things he couldn't overhear, such as high-pitched cries for mercy which gradually fade out only to be replaced by new ones. He had to remain focused on his mission. For the first time he acted upon his own resolution and though he knew he was already doomed, he wanted to get his father out and be somewhat prideful in his death. It sounded bravely in his head, but in reality he was terrified.

Where exactly his father could be imprisoned? He wondered briefly. His mother told him that when she visited him once (they didn't allow her to see him more) they met in some special room at the third floor. However according to the information he had from the rest of the Dark Lord's inner circle, the most of Death Eaters were locked up at the sixth floor.

"Reducto!" he screamed at two newborn vampires who decided that he would make a tasty snack.

Satisfied, he watched as the curse threw them against the wall.

Who would have thought that he alone would go on a rescue mission into this dreadful jail? Everyone has always underestimated him.

Suddenly the temperature began to drop steeply. Damn it, Dementors, he thought when he registered three floating figures at the other end of a narrow corridor. He had to avoid them. His Patronus Charm never worked effectively enough to deal with them and this time there was no Dark Lord to command and control them. The only solution was to hastily climb upstairs and as he did he blasted another vampire out of his way.

Once there, he met the same narrow corridors, the same empty cells and the same blood on the walls. Fear which until this moment dwelled deep inside him, hidden beneath his noble reasoning, started to leak at the surface. It would be very stupid of him if he went astray in this diabolic maze.

Snap.

The sound of strong chops clasping together an inch from his neck startled him to an extreme. So much that he made a fatal error. His wand fell out of his fingers and he lost a balance and slumped forward. For the first time since he entered Azkaban he screamed in terror. Instinctively he tried to reach for his wand but the vampire was already advancing on him, blocking the path to his weapon. Draco backed away as quickly as he could, amusing the beast greatly. It was a woman and she surely used to be beautiful, but now her face was crooked in a maddening bloodlust and her long maroon hair was glued-up in the sanguine liquid, which was dripping from several strands.

"Lovely," she whispered and licked her lips lasciviously, making her soon-to-be victim numbly wonder whether he should start to see his life running before his eyes now.

But then the woman suddenly stopped her advance, snarled quietly at some shadow and disappeared.

Draco didn't even have a chance to take a deep breath when another sweet woman's voice spoke. He didn't thought it would be possible for his fright to multiply ten times within one second.

Leontina.

"Pity, your game's over. Though you're fairly good at playing hide-and-seek, Draco. I had been having fun," she chuckled softly and then stepped out from behind the corner to stop in front of him, raising her finger as if she wanted to reprimand him like an insolent child.

"You were told to stay at Ministry, dear boy. You were also told not to leave your room. I warned you that something unpleasant would happen to you if you dared to disobey me," she said in a false sad tone. "You see, now I have to kill you. It's a shame, isn't it?"

"Listen," he began, but within a heartbeat she bent to him, pressing her forefinger against his lips. "Too late, Draco. I don't give second chances. Vampires usually do not have patience with pathetic humans. You may not understand it now, but I'll make you see my point of view." She smiled horribly, barring her teeth. "Very soon," she breathed out.

"Enough!"

Draco just shut his eyes tightly when a harsh man's voice cried that single word. Leontina laughed sweetly again.

"I won't let you hurt him!" the man snarled and Draco turned his head to see the other person hiding in a shadow, holding out his wand, pointing it at the vampire.

"Who are you?" the young Death Eater whispered, trying to read out somewhat familiar outlines.

"Heh ... a mortal. Do you have a last wish, fool?" Leontina sang, straightening her small, slender figure.

"Go on, kill us both, but you will have to explain this to your beloved Leader in person. And I'm sure that you won't make Negura happy," the raspy voice spoke from the dark.

For the first time the black haired woman ceased to smile. Astounded silence spread around, emphasizing her surprise.

"H-how come you know his name?-!" she stuttered a little. It had to take her a lot of effort to keep her voice relatively calm.

"How could I forget his name, Leontina?" the stranger whispered. "But sadly, you no longer seem to remember me."

"Tche," she smirked. "As if I shall keep in mind every pitiful human who ever crossed my path."

As a response to that the man stepped out of the shadow, his right hand holding on his bleeding throat while the left one remained clenched around the wand. His hair was so dirty that no one could possibly recognize their true color, but his grey eyes remained the same, just as his aristocratic facial features.

"F ... father?" Draco muttered breathlessly.

*****

Crawley Hospital, Crawley, Southern England

22th December 2000, early morning

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter, wake up, please."

Harry let out a soft groan and turned away from another violator of his contented rest.

"Mr. Potter!"

The voice was deep, rich and pleasant but the tone carried a hint of stress and urgency. Once again Harry found it completely unfamiliar.

"Breakfast is ready for you; you wouldn't want to eat it when it's cold. Then ... we can talk."

Breakfast? This magical word aroused** Harry within several seconds. He turned around and stared wide-eyed at a man in a white working suit, sitting beside him. The man's umber hair fell over his high forehead into his kind chocolate eyes, which regarded him closely.

"You slept quite a long time, Mr. Potter. I wanted to talk to you yesterday evening, but in the end I decided it was unnecessary to wake you up. You needed to rest more."

Harry's eyes switched from the man to the plate with an appetizing food in his lap and back.

"Who are you?" he asked warily. Luckily enough his voice was much better than the last time he tried to speak.

A momentary surprise in the man's face was quickly replaced by abashment. "Oh, how rude of me. I'm sorry. I'm doctor Daniel Rodgers. I was under the impression that Dr. Cooper mentioned my name when he talked to you yesterday. He was supposed to tell you that I will come for an evening visit."

"Huh," Harry breathed out and distractedly rubbed his temple. "I guess he said something like that," he muttered then and reached for a teacup and cheese bread on the plate.

Dr. Rodgers nodded and moved closer. "Well ... now, how do you feel?"

"Better," Harry mumbled again and flinched slightly as the man laid his palm on his forehead and pulled out stethoscope. It was then when Harry realized that the beeping machine was finally switched off.

"That's always good to hear," the doctor spoke. "I hope you won't mind if I make a quick check-up before you start to eat?"

"Um, sure," the raven said and watched the doctor place the stethoscope under his half-unbuttoned hospital shirt. He hissed quietly when the cold metal touched his chest. While the other man listened to his heart beat and breath, Harry's brain finally started to work at maximum speed. He was curious about everything. How did he get into this hospital, where was his archenemy at the moment, why did his right leg hurt so much, why wasn't he dreadfully hungry, what was in that infusion tube which was sticking out of his forearm and many other things he couldn't quite process yet. The question was what should he ask first? Before he could finish his contemplation the physician straightened his back and smiled contently.

"It looks really good. You are a fast healer, just like your friend. Now let's take a look at your leg and..."

"My friend?" Harry butted in, shocked.

"Yeah. I'm sure you'll gladly hear that Mr. Moore's health state improved significantly. It looked pretty hopeless for him yesterday, but..."

"Mr. Moore?-!" Harry choked on his saliva.

The doctor looked confused.

"Yes, Mr. Walter Moore. Is something wrong? Maybe nurse Ross didn't hear you correctly, when you said his name..."

"No, no, no," Harry muttered quickly and bit into bread to mask his sudden perplexity. "It's correct," he said finally.

But deep inside he was trying to find the fastest way out of this mess. So Voldemort was here and he was alive. What should he do? This doctor was clearly a muggle to the core when he didn't recognize the Dark Lord's face, nor found it suspicious. So for the time being it was good for them all that they didn't know Voldemort's true identity. It would only cause unnecessary panic, unless... Unless...

"Is he awake?" he asked nervously and took another bite of a delicious meal.

"No, Mr. Potter." The cheerful expression slowly faded on the man's face. "I'm sorry, but he hasn't awoken yet."

"Good," Harry sighed in relief which earned a look of utter disbelief from the physician.

"I mean it's good that he's still asleep," Harry spoke quickly, covering his slight blush behind the teacup. "He hates ... he's really afraid of doctors. He could do something ... improper."

"Oh, I see," Daniel said kindly and nodded. "I can understand that. Some doctors may be overly fascinated by his err ... unique ... physiology. However, no need to worry; we are keeping him sedated at the moment."

Okay, maybe the doctor found him to be quite unusual. Another reason for Harry to quickly finish his tea and meal as well.

"I'd like to see him, if I can," he said once he ate the last morsel and readied himself to get up from the bed. But the firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but you can't get up now. Your plaster isn't completely dry yet."

"My plaster?"

It was Harry's turn to look confused.

Mr. Rodgers sighed quietly and his shoulders slumped. "Don't you remember?" he whispered and took away the warm blanket covering the youngster's body.

"M...my leg," Harry stuttered and stared at the white container enveloping his limb, reaching up his mid-thigh.

"What happened to me?-!" he gasped and glanced at the doctor who covered him up again and now was staring out of the window. His face was a display of tension.

"I ... I'm really, really sorry Mr. Potter. This...," he sighed again and looked Harry in the eye. "This is entirely my fault. If you allow me, I'll explain."

All Harry could do at the moment was to nod absently.

"It happened yesterday morning. I overslept and I knew I will be late to work. I must confess that I was in rush, driving my car rather carelessly. I didn't pay much attention to the traffic because in my mind I was already here in the hospital. And then you suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. I tried my best to stop the car, but it went skidding on the fresh snow..."

Harry's mind went blank as he suddenly started to remember... Voldemort's heavy body made him stagger in deep snow. He wanted so badly to shake off that redundant burden and breathe freely once again. But he couldn't as long as he had that awful life debt. So he kept on walking until the narrow pathway along the riverside finally ended behind leafless bushes. He felt a new wave of hope engulfing him once he realized that he stood on a narrow drive-way. Sooner or later someone had to go by, someone had to save him. But no one was coming ... no one. He draggled his feet, slowly giving up to his exhaustion. Just few more steps and he won't be able to stand anymore...

And then he heard it ... a rumble of an engine from behind him. He wasn't fast enough, so he turned only a halfway to see a white car dashing towards him. The lights blinded his eyes and the horn deafened his ears, but he couldn't move out of the way. Then the car started to rotate, the driver obviously lost control over it. Harry wanted to fling himself sideways to the ground and he would surely do that if his stiff legs obeyed him. Instead, he just stared at that plebeian vehicle coming to crush him to pieces. This should be his end? What a dreadful anticlimax. Ludicrous, really...

"...and you were hit by the fender. This is the result ... it's a triple fracture of your shank and splint-bone. Please trust me when I say that I was trying to do everything I could to avoid the clash. But I couldn't..."

There was a short, unpleasant silence before Mr. Rodgers spoke again. "I was in a deep shock when I got out of the car to check you and your friend ... and I came to know that he wasn't breathing. I was convinced that it was my fault, so I panicked. This shouldn't happen to a doctor."

Harry shook his head to push back the bad memories and looked at the remorseful physician who was hiding his face behind his palms. Suddenly, he felt very sorry and sympathetic for this man.

"He is not my friend, doctor," he said quietly. "And just for your information, his condition wasn't your fault," he clarified.

The man hesitantly looked at him and imperceptibly nodded.

"Yeah, fortunately I found it out soon enough. He was cold as if he was dead some time already, but with some effort I managed to detect a heartbeat."

"Really? So he has a heart after all."

Harry looked genuinely surprised.

"And so were you," Rodgers went on, overhearing what the younger man quietly said. "Unlike him you weren't exactly in a life threatening health condition, although if I consider the fracture, trauma, hypothermia and starvation, you could have died of a shock," he said and looked at him pensively.

"Which means that you saved me, thank you," the young wizard whispered.

"That's not why I said it, Harry ... eh sorry, Mr. Potter."

The youngster chuckled. "Harry's okay."

"No, Mr. Potter. It's improper. After all, you have to testify against me. Two policemen are waiting outside this room to hear your witness. According to my opinion, they are convinced that I'm currently trying to bribe you not to make a charge against me. But this is not my intention, I know I'm guilty. So please, don't thank me for what I've done."

Harry gazed at the man, feeling a little bit overloaded by information. Police is here? What is he supposed to do now? He knew very well that Aurors closely monitored what was going on in a muggle word by means of police records. But what if Voldemort was right and some of his 'colleagues' were set to kill him? If he told him the truth, they would come for him and the Dark Lord within few minutes. There's no other way around this, he must lie no matter what. Also, he has to contact his friends from the Order to get some reliable information. It shouldn't be overly difficult; he should be able to find someone here to take him to London. However, there was a little snag in his plan. He couldn't possibly leave this place and let those goodhearted people became Voldemort's next victims. No, he won't let that happen. He decided to save the Dark Lord for the sake of his conscience, so he must make sure that Voldemort won't kill anyone as long as he can prevent it. Quite a heroic task, indeed.

A severe headache began to build up in Harry's scull.

He looked once again at the doctor, who seemed to be completely devastated by the lack of his response.

"Don't speak rubbish, sir," he said softly to him, trying to divert his black thoughts. "You could always drive away from the venue, but you decided to take care of us instead. You're a decent person worth admiration." Nevertheless, who would admire you for saving Voldemort's life? It makes you the same outlaw as me, he thought darkly. Daniel, however, was obviously cheered up by Harry's words.

"Mr. Potter, thank you for this, but all I've done was a civil duty. I'm not a criminal." Harry cringed. "I would never drive away and let you die."

The young man offered him a false, polite smile.

"I believe you. Now please, if you can call the police officers, I have something to tell them."

*****

When the door opened Harry tried to sit up and have a better look at the two men in uniform. Daniel quickly came over him to help him, which the young man accepted with gratitude.

"Doctor Rodgers, we would appreciate if you left us alone," said the smaller, full-bodied man and pushed his hat from his forehead to measure Harry with calculating eyes. The doctor nodded, took away the plate from Harry's lap and headed towards the door. The young wizard watched him leave and when the door finally closed he folded his arms over his chest.

The taller policeman strode over the room and sat in a chair, which Daniel left a minute ago. He pulled out a small notebook and adjusted his glasses.

"Good morning Mr. Potter. I'm sure Mr. Rodgers informed you why we are here. It's outrageous that he has to be your attending physician, but as we were informed it's unnecessary as the most of the hospital stuff already left for holidays. So, I suggest you not to take account of anything he told you. We are here to write down you full allegation which will be a groundwork for a future lawsuit."

Harry glared. What the hell was with these people today? What happened with good English manners?

"Your name, sir? And may I see your shield?"

The officer, if possible, looked offended. "Samuel Atkinson," he bristled and showed his badge.

Harry scowled; his emerald eyes narrowed in irritation.

"You should not bother to come here, sir. It is not my intention to bring a suit against Mr. Rodgers in slightest."

The man smirked and showed his crooked teeth. "I should have thought so. He bought you quite easily. What's your prize Mr. Potter, if I can ask?"

The young wizard gasped due to offence and fought down the urge to hit the man's face. It wouldn't do any good for him to be arrested for an assault of an officer. Slowly he unclenched his fingers and spoke in gravel tone.

"Mr. Rodgers saved my life, sir. If the prize was a fracture of my leg, then I was willing to pay it without a second thought. Any other questions?"

Atkinson's smirk finally fell from his face. He glanced back at his stubby colleague who didn't find necessary to introduce himself and shrugged his shoulders. Then he readjusted his glasses and pulled out a pen.

"I need to know your full name, residence, age and employment. We didn't find any of your documents in your clothes," he said simply.

Harry folded his arms over his chest again, biting his lip to keep down his temper.

"I don't have any documents, because they are at the bottom of the river. I had to jump there after my friend, who fell there by an accident. He nearly drowned. That's why was I and Volde ... I mean Mr. Moore soaking wet and completely chilled in the time of the car accident. And concerning that unfortunate even, none of it was Mr. Rodgers fault. It was me who caused it by staggering in the middle of the road. That's all I'm going to tell you and I don't care if you think it's not enough."

If Atkinson was upset about Harry's answer, he didn't show it. He simply put the notebook back in his pocket and got up and walked towards the door. He stopped there and turned back to look at the youngster.

"Do as you wish Mr. Potter. It is not in my authority to force you to request a rightful compensation. Although, I'm convinced that Mr. Moore won't waste this chance once he regains consciousness. My colleague will come tomorrow and I'm sure he won't leave this case open. Have a good day."

You wouldn't want to see the sort of compensation Voldemort would require, Harry thought bitterly, scowling after the men. Tired, he sank back in the cushions, closing his eyes. Oh, Merlin, I was forced to call Voldemort my friend. Mother, father, Dumbledore, you should see me now, humiliated to the core. What worse can happen to me?

This must stop. He must get the Dark Lord out of this hospital before it will be too late. And the doctor Rodgers might be of use to achieve this.

R & R

* ICU = Intensive Care Unit – I hope it's the proper term for a department of critical care medicine

** Not in that way! :-P

Author's note: I'm back and I'd like to thank to my precious reviewers who support me and make me continue in this story. Your opinion is important for me, so please don't hesitate and leave a review! Thanks! ;-)