Glancing at the beaten old watch that had once been Gideon Prewett's, Harry noticed that it was still only half nine in the morning. Physical and emotional fatigue was beating him down hard and the stress of the meeting with the Goblins only added to it. He turned and left the conference room to meet his escorts.
The aurors stared at Harry as he walked out of the conference room. He looked like someone hexed him with the jelly-legs jinx. Taking pity on him, one of the aurors grabbed Harry's arm and threw it over his shoulder, half-carrying Harry back down the corridor to the elevators that would take them to the atrium and the floo to St. Mungo's. Harry did not look well and the aurors decided not to risk apperating. To anyone else, Harry looked like he could have just been some captured Death Eater, but those employees still remaining at the Ministry knew exactly who he was.
Harry kept his eyes down as they proceeded through the Ministry, but he could tell the building was now a lot more active than when he arrived. He noticed that there was probably less than half the number of people roaming the corridors as in the past. The employees installed during Voldemort's reign had bolted for the doors once news of his demise had spread. Many other employees, muggle-borns and half-bloods, had yet to return to their old posts or were killed during the war.
The remaining employees, trying to bring the Ministry up to speed again with less than half staff, were running around as if their robes were on fire. That is until Harry and the aurors passed. As they passed, employees would invariably stop dead in their tracks, step back against the wall with looks of shock and awe, and call out genuine thanks and praise to Harry. However, Harry remained impassive to their comments.
Stepping off of the elevator into the atrium, six more aurors immediately flanked the trio. With his entrance came a wave of applause and more shouts of thanks as those in the immediate vicinity of the elevators recognized him. In short time, the applause in the Atrium grew thunderous, quickly rolling through the crowd when those further away quickly realized who was in their presence. Several witches and wizards attempted to approach him but were repelled by his guard. Flashes of light appeared as members of the press contingent typically assigned to the Ministry recorded the action.
For his part, Harry did not acknowledge them. In fact, he was disgusted by the attention.
Reaching the floos, the six newest members of Harry's guard surrounded one of the fireplaces, keeping the crowd at bay, while Harry and the two aurors stepped inside.
Flooing directly into the office of the Chief Healer of St. Mungo's, Harry was escorted down the hall into a private examination room reserved for the Minister of Magic and other dignitaries. The Chief Healer, an older woman of perhaps Molly Weasley's age named Athentina MacSorely, soon entered with one of the aurors while the other guarded the door outside. After introducing herself, Healer MacSorely ordered Harry to step behind a curtain, strip to his boxers, and come lie on the examination table. Harry blankly nodded, stumbled behind the curtain to remove his jacket and other clothing with great difficulty, and hobbled back into sight.
"Bloody hell!" cried the auror, earning him an almost imperceptible grin from Harry as the auror sounded so much like Ron Weasley. Staring at Harry, Healer MacSorely blanched while the auror looked disgusted. Without his clothes on, the full impact of Harry's experiences, both old and more recent, were lain bare. He was not much more than a walking bundle of scars, bruises, cuts, dirt, and dried and fresh blood. Most notable was his chest. From collarbone to stomach, Harry's torso was deep purple in colour with sick-yellow trim, save a white-ish hexagonal scar just below the hollow of his neck and a lightning-bolt-shaped gash over his heart that was oozing blood and gooey puss. The auror turned and left the examination room, murmuring something about meeting Harry outside when he was done. Healer MacSorely helped Harry onto the examination table and stood back to decide where to start.
"Well, Mr. Potter, when you do something you really do it right, don't you?" Harry only nodded at the healer's cheek.
After drinking blood replenishing and pain potions, Harry drifted off to a light sleep as the healer spent the next hour cleaning Harry and repairing his numerous wounds. Healer MacSorely had decided to save the large gash in his chest for last. However, after spending ten minutes on that gash alone, she gave Harry a nudge.
"Harry? Harry?" Harry stirred.
"Harry? This wound, how did it happen?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said flatly.
"I need to know, Harry, so I can determine how to treat it." Harry remained silent.
"The wound's shape matches the shape of the scar on your forehead. Is this a curse wound? Was it the killing curse again?" she asked softly and kindly, much like Molly Weasley would have. Harry hesitated, and then nodded slowly.
Said the healer, "Well, then, I need to consult some books before continuing. I should be back in about thirty minutes."
"Um, healer, could I get a quill and some ink? I'd like to finish a letter I'd started earlier while I wait."
The healer smiled and gently patted Harry's forearm. "Sure thing." She returned moments later with the requested items. "I'll be back in a little while," said Healer MacSorely as she left him alone in the examination room.
His letter now written and tucked away inside his jacket behind the curtain, Harry was lying on the examination table when Healer MacSorely returned pushing a rolling metal cart with a litre-sized tub and a stack of bandages. Harry noticed the two aurors speaking quietly outside the door as the healer entered. She opened the tub, picked a bandage from the top of the stack, and began to gently rub some teal-colored salve into the lightning-bolt-shaped laceration on his chest. The salve provided almost immediate relief. Once finished, the healer placed the large adhesive bandage over Harry's wound and stood back.
"Well now, let that set and I'll be back in fifteen to discharge you." MacSorely was obviously pleased with her own work.
Now was the time.
With a deep breath, Harry arose and walked behind the curtain. After quickly dressing, he extracted the invisibility cloak from his jacket and threw it over himself. Harry stepped from behind the curtain and placed a letter to Kingsley on the middle of the examination table; the letter was charmed so that only Kingsley could open it. Thinking he might need them, Harry grabbed the tub of salve and the stack of large adhesive bandages, shrunk them down, and placed them in his pocket. He then stood in the corner of the examination room and waited.
Sure enough, Healer MacSorely returned fifteen minutes later. She nodded to the aurors stationed at the door as she entered the room. After a moment's hesitation, she called out to the curtain.
"Mr. Potter, leave your shirt off. I'd like to examine your chest would one more time before you go." Her comment was unacknowledged.
She tried again. "Mr. Potter? Harry? Did you hear me?"
Peeking behind the curtain proved fruitless. Scanning the room, she noticed the letter to Kingsley and picked it up. With a final glance around, thinking that perhaps Harry needed to use the loo, she walked out the door to speak with the aurors.
"Where's Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"Excuse me?"
"Potter, where is he?" As one of the aurors dove into the room, Healer MacSorely handed the envelope to the other.
Harry waited approximately ten minutes until the cacophony in the corridor subsided. Slowly opening the door, he checked to make sure it was empty. He then hurriedly and quietly walked to the nearest stairwell to the front entrance of St. Mungo's.
Harry mentally reviewed the day's events while walking away from the hospital and into the streets of London. He was patched up. His family and friends would be safe and well taken care of, financially at least. He'd provided somewhat for the magical families of who lost their own loved ones. And, he provided for the little ones who found themselves on their own as he once was, and as he soon would be again. His calm outward appearance belied his inner turmoil. He had to get away from the magical world he both loved dearly and despised deeply. He had to physically distance and emotionally sacrifice himself for the sake of his friends, the one true family he'd ever known, and the one true love of his life. It was for their safety and their peace. Life with Harry Potter brought with it too many physical risks and too many emotional extremes.
With tears streaming down his cheeks, his muscles cramping with sadness, Harry Potter pulled a portkey out of his pocket, turned it over three times, and whispered 'levemnie'. He felt a familiar tug behind his navel and left everyone and everything he ever knew behind.
Healer MacSorely walked back to her office as Chief Healer for St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies for what she thought might be one of the last times of her life. Losing a patient, not to death, but 'actually losing a patient' was never a good thing for a hospital. But, losing Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World, was an embarrassment of catastrophic proportions. It could very well mean the ruination of her career. With a heavy sigh, the healer sat behind her desk and proceeded to write.
Forty-five minutes later, the aurors resigned themselves to defeat. A quick but thorough search of the hospital, performed at a flat-out run, did not turn up Harry Potter. Shaking and out-of-breath, the Aurors ran back through the hospital, through the Chief Healer's office, and into the fireplace.
A/N: In case some have not yet noticed, this story is greatly inspired by The Runaway Returns by HPForevermore. However, it is not the same story, any similiarties (names, sentences, etc.) are coincidental. In any case...REVIEW!