The Price of Victory, Chapter Two
Harry was spiralling through a thick fog. He felt almost as if he had to use his hands to part the clouds before his eyes in order to make any sort of headway. He'd been dreaming, but now full consciousness was beckoning to him, and he reluctantly let the threads of his dream slip through his fingers.
He opened his eyes to see a pair of brown eyes staring back at him.
"Harry, you're awake," a feminine voice said.
Harry blinked. Something wasn't right. In his dream he'd been playing in the snow with a redhead. But this wasn't the same girl. This was—
"Hermione?"
Hermione beamed at him, as she handed him his glasses, which he put on. She looked as if she might be about to throw herself on him, and he found the idea worrisome. "Yes, Harry, it's me. How are you feeling?"
Harry had no idea how he was feeling. Another question seemed more pressing at the moment. "Where's Ginny?"
Hermione's smile faded. "Let me get Madam Pomfrey. She needs to know you're awake."
She got up from the chair she'd been seated in and stalked off. It seemed to Harry she was rather put out over something, but he had no idea what that might be. Looking around him, he recognised the familiar surroundings of Hogwarts hospital wing. What had happened to him this time? He wracked his brain trying to remember. Then it came back to him. He'd duelled with Lord Voldemort. He'd used Dumbledore's wand to lure Voldemort into a false sense of security, to make the Dark Lord think this was an actual duel, and then he'd slipped his own wand out of the sleeve of his robe, using it to engage Voldemort's wand so that he could cast his final spell. The last thing he remembered was a blinding flash of light, and then he'd blacked out, only to awaken here. What had become of Voldemort? Had he succeeded in defeating him? Was the castle still under siege? How long had he been here? His head, stuffed full of questions he had no answer for, began to pound.
His thoughts were interrupted as Madam Pomfrey, followed by an anxious-looking Hermione, came over to his bed.
"How are you feeling?" asked the matron.
Harry wanted to roll his eyes but managed to suppress the urge. "My head hurts," he replied sullenly. "Listen, I want to know what happened."
"All in good time. At the moment I need to examine you to see if there's been any lasting damage."
Harry looked pointedly at Hermione, who had made no move to leave upon hearing that Madam Pomfrey was about to examine him. "Aren't you going to give us some privacy?" he asked her at last.
Hermione sniffed. "Fine," she said, rising to leave.
Harry watched her go, thinking that she was behaving quite oddly. He thought once again how strange it was that she should be sitting with him without Ron and Ginny. But then it occurred to him that they must be sitting in shifts. Perhaps she'd go and get the others now.
He detached his mind from the proceedings as Madam Pomfrey poked and prodded and asked him questions. He'd been through this often enough in the past. At last the matron declared him none the worse for wear. "You're doing surprisingly well for all you've been through. I can give you a potion for your headache." She turned to go.
"Wait a moment," said Harry, putting out a hand to stop her. "I need to know. What happened to Voldemort?"
Madam Pomfrey looked at him sharply. "Don't you remember?"
"I remember duelling with him. I used two wands, Dumbledore's and my own. And then there was this light, and I don't know what happened after that."
Madam Pomfrey was staring at him now, her face full of concern. "Perhaps you need some more rest. I'll be back with that potion." She walked off, ignoring Harry's pleas to tell him what had happened. When she came back with the potion, she cut off his questions, saying, "no more. I'll not let you get upset. Just take this. I'll send Professor Dumbledore in to see you in the morning."
Harry's jaw dropped. Just what was she talking about? "Professor Dumbledore?! But he's… he's dead…"
Madam Pomfrey simply shook her head. "No more for now. Drink your potion."
Harry scowled at her but realised he'd get no more out of her. He still couldn't understand why she was acting as if Dumbledore were still alive. And why wouldn't she tell him what had happened to Voldemort? He tried to think of a good reason for her actions, but his pounding head refused to co-operate.
He resigned himself to taking the potion, if only to clear his head so he could think straight. Picking up the bottle, he poured it into a goblet. The purple liquid tasted familiar, as he drank it down, and he realised the reason for this too late. It was the same potion he'd been given after the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, one that would make him go back to sleep, without even the hope of returning to the dream he'd been having about Ginny. He lay back down on his bed, drowsy already, as the potion took instantaneous effect.
~*~
When Harry awoke once more it seemed to be morning. At any rate the sun was shining on his blanket. His headache seemed to have cleared up, but he still felt groggy as a result of the potion he had taken. He didn't feel particularly refreshed; in fact, it was almost as if he'd had too much sleep, if that were possible. He wondered again how long he'd been here and what had happened to Voldemort.
Determined to demand answers this time, he put on his glasses, heaved himself into a sitting position and tried to stand. He swayed unsteadily on his legs and immediately sat back down on the bed. He felt uncharacteristically weak. His stomach rumbled, and he was suddenly ravenous. He realised he had no idea how long it had been since he'd last eaten. He vaguely remembered eating supper in the Great Hall, Ginny beside him, Ron and Hermione arriving breathlessly late to the meal, before returning the Gryffindor Common Room and sitting up all night with Ginny. Or at least until he'd fallen asleep. The memory seemed very distant somehow. It was an almost Herculean effort to bring it to mind. He shook his head to clear it, and the image was gone.
"Good morning."
Madam Pomfrey had come in, and her greeting sounded overly cheerful. There was something false about her smile. She was carrying a breakfast tray, Harry noted eagerly. He would eat first and ask questions once he was fortified.
But once the tray was set before him, he saw to his disappointment that it held only a glass of orange juice, a cup of tea and a few slices of buttered toast. He looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "Is that all there is?"
"I expect you're rather peckish," she replied. "But it wouldn't be a good idea to overload your stomach." Harry gulped down his juice in one go and made to tear into the toast. "I'd take it slowly if I were you. You don't want to bring it all back up again."
Harry looked at her suspiciously. "What day is it today, anyway? Just how long have I been here?"
Madam Pomfrey must have been in more of a mood to answer questions this morning, for she replied, "The 27th of June. You've been here for three days straight now, and most of that time unconscious."
Harry gaped, his arm in mid-air and a slice of toast halfway to his mouth. That would explain the hunger pangs. It also reminded him of a few other needs that hadn't likely been taken care of for a while, and he wondered if his legs would manage a trip to the loo. He didn't feel up to facing the humiliation of a bedpan, and he fervently hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn't offer him one.
If the matron was entertaining similar thoughts, she didn't have an opportunity to voice them just then. Hermione had come back, and Madam Pomfrey left them alone. "Hello, Harry," Hermione said brightly.
"Morning."
"How are you feeling today?"
"Hungry," he said through a mouthful of toast.
"It's not polite to talk with your mouth full," Hermione reproached.
Harry felt like laughing, but he would have choked at the moment. Swallowing, he said, "since when do you care if I talk with my mouth full?"
Her smile faded, as it had the previous day when he'd mentioned Ginny. The silence stretched out as Harry finished his toast and tea.
"So where are the others?" Harry asked at last, as much to break the silence as anything.
"What others?"
"Well wouldn't Ron and Ginny have wanted to see me?"
Hermione was looking at him with a very singular expression on her face. It was both alarmed and hurt at the same time. Then she suddenly got up and walked off. Harry presumed she was searching for Madam Pomfrey, and this was confirmed when he heard two female voices conversing in an undertone not far away. He strained his ears to listen, hoping to catch some clue as to what was going on. Hermione was behaving very strangely, but it was almost as if he had been saying the wrong things.
"…it's as if he doesn't remember anything that's happened in the past two years." Hermione's voice drifted to him from behind the screen that hid her and Madam Pomfrey from view.
"These things can happen." Madam Pomfrey was attempting to reassure her. "He's suffered a great shock. The blast of energy he withstood would have killed a good many wizards. He's lucky to be alive, that one. If all he's got out of this is a bout of amnesia, then we're all very fortunate."
Blast of energy? That must have been the light Harry had seen when fighting Voldemort. But amnesia? How could he be suffering from amnesia? He remembered who he was: he was Harry Potter, and he was in his seventh yeah at Hogwarts. Hermione was one of his best friends, and she was in a serious relationship with his other best friend, Ron. He expected they'd get married at some point in the future. And he was in love with Ginny, Ron's sister. He remembered it all perfectly well.
"How long will his amnesia last?" Hermione was asking.
"I can't answer that. Sometimes it's only for a day or so, and sometimes it never goes away."
"Isn't there anything we can do?" Hermione's voice was rising and it had a note of desperation in it.
"You might possibly trigger his memory with something or another, but it's hard to say what would do it. Sometimes a strong emotion is enough, and other times it's something small and insignificant, or so it seems, an odour, a taste. You can never tell with these cases. Sometimes, just time and rest are enough. We'll have to wait and see."
Hermione was silent, and Harry could almost picture the look on her face. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't be pleased with this answer. She'd want something concrete, something she could act on, something in the…
"I'm going to see what I can find out in the library."
He heard footsteps and knew she'd gone off to see what she could learn in Madam Pince's realm.
Harry lay back and thought about what he'd just overheard. Then another thought struck him, a horrifying one. He'd been out for three days, and Hermione had had an odd reaction each time he brought up Ron or Ginny. What had happened after his duel with Voldemort, he wondered once again. Had there been some sort of battle between the Death Eaters and Hogwarts professors? Had students been implicated? Knowing Ron, he wouldn't have sat back and watched something like that. It had not sat well with him to let Harry face Voldemort alone. If there'd been any sort of action, Ron would have been in the thick of things. He couldn't have been hurt, either, because he would have been here in the hospital wing with Harry. In fact, if there'd been any sort of battle, he would have expected to see all kinds of casualties in the other beds, but there were none. He was alone in the infirmary. Could there have been deaths? It didn't bear thinking about. But then what had Hermione been on about when she mentioned his forgetting the last two years?
But something dodgy was definitely going on here. Madam Pince was acting strangely. Every time he'd wanted information from her, she'd either distracted him or refused to answer his questions. In fact he'd asked her directly what had happened to Voldemort, and she'd given him a sleeping potion instead of answers. He found her behaviour quite suspicious. Perhaps he wasn't at Hogwarts any longer. Perhaps he'd been taken by the enemy, and this was all an elaborate ruse. He'd only seen Hermione and Madam Pomfrey, and they both seemed to want to prevent him from seeing anyone else. They could easily be Death Eaters taking Polyjuice potion. Or they could be under a spell. That would explain why Hermione didn't seem quite herself. But yet, why would they try to convince him he had amnesia, in that case? His head threatened to begin pounding again, as he attempted to answer too many questions based on too little information, and he found himself wishing Ginny were there to massage his temples. She'd become quite adept at easing his aching head in the last six months.
Madam Pomfrey was back, standing over his bed with a bedpan in her hand. Harry stared at her obstinately, arms folded. He decided he was going to defy her now until he'd got some information out of her. On top of that, there was no way he was going to use a bedpan.
"No way," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not using that." He shoved his blanket aside and tried to stand. His legs refused once more to support him, but he held on to the back of the chair that stood by his bed with determination.
"You're in no condition to be walking around on your own," Madam Pomfrey pointed out.
"Well, then help me out here. Can't you walk me over to the toilet?"
"And what are you going to do once you get there?"
"I'll manage," he grated, looking her directly in the eye until she relented.
In the end he managed just fine, but the weakness in his legs was a bit worrisome. He wondered if perhaps there'd been something in the potion he'd been given to cause this. He didn't have time to mull over his doubts yet another time, however. Madam Pomfrey was helping him back to his bed, when someone else entered the hospital wing, and this time it wasn't Hermione. It wasn't even Dumbledore. Indeed, it was the last person Harry would have expected to visit him in the hospital wing, but this did little to allay Harry's suspicions.
Draco Malfoy was standing there, staring at him, as if he hadn't ever expected to see him alive again. Harry reached towards his bedside table, fumbling for his wand. It wasn't there. This discovery did even less for Harry's doubts.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
Malfoy looked rather surprised at the challenge in Harry's tone. "I've come to see you, Harry," he said quietly. He seemed to have lost both his drawl and his habitual sneer.
Harry? Since when were he and Malfoy on a first name basis? "Why did you want to see me? Come to gloat?"
"Gloat?" he sounded confused. "What have I got to gloat over? I heard you were awake, and I've just come by to see how you were getting on."
"And you expect me to believe that? Come on, I wasn't born yesterday, you know. Why are you really here? Come to finish me off so you can leave the Youth League and become a full-fledged Death Eater?"
Draco was completely taken aback by this, but he tried again. "Look, Hermione said you'd woken up a bit funny. It looks as if she was right. I wanted to come see for myself. There's no call for comments like that, though."
"And why not? It's the truth isn't it? You've got Hermione under some sort of spell, someone has Polyjuiced herself as Pomfrey, and now you're here to complete your initiation. Bet you can't wait to receive the Dark Mark. That is, if you don't already have it." Harry made a grab for Draco's left arm, but Malfoy was too fast for him. "What's wrong? Embarrassed about your affiliation?"
"You've done worse than go a bit funny in the head. You're barking mad."
"I'm beginning to think I'm the only sane person here. But before you go about your business, why not do the job right and tell me what's going on? Aren't you supposed to make a nice speech and explain your evil designs to me before you get on with it?"
But Draco was backing away. "Think I'll come back another time when you've had a chance to calm down, or a cheering charm, or maybe the Draught of Living Death."
Malfoy made his escape then. "I always knew he was a coward," Harry muttered after his retreating back. Then he called for Madam Pomfrey and demanded to know where his wand was.
"I've got it safe and sound in my office," replied the matron. "Nothing has happened to it."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to have it back."
"I think that's hardly necessary. You're in here to recover. I doubt very much anyone's going to come in here and attack you."
Harry wasn't so sure about this last statement. "I'd feel better if I could have it, if you don't mind. I promise not to hex anyone without provocation."
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Oh, all right then." And she stalked off towards her office muttering something about uncooperative patients under her breath. She came back presently and handed Harry his wand. Harry couldn't believe that she'd given into his request so quickly. This added yet another confusing detail into the mix. If Madam Pomfrey had been a Polyjuiced Death Eater, surely he would never have been given his wand—and this was definitely his own wand; the familiar warmth of it under his fingers confirmed that much.
Harry set his wand aside and looked at Madam Pomfrey. "Now if you don't mind, can you please tell me what has been going on? Something's not right in all of this, and I demand to know what it is."
"I'm sorry, I can't do that. I've been instructed not to."
"I don't believe this! It's completely stupid! Why can't you tell me a simple thing like what's happened to Voldemort? Or explain that amnesia business I overheard you and Hermione talking about? Just tell me what's going on!"
Harry considered picking his wand back up again, hoping it would make him more persuasive, but in the event it wasn't necessary.
"In good time, all your questions will be answered, Harry."
A new voice intruded on their conversation. It was a familiar voice to Harry, one he'd never thought to hear again, but the thought wasn't comforting to him at the moment. Instead he found it quite alarming. He was certain there was something very dodgy indeed going on here. For the person who had spoken was Albus Dumbledore, and that was an impossibility, because Harry knew without a doubt that Albus Dumbledore was dead.