Authors Note:  I wasn't sure what to say about the reviews I got criticizing my use of "…" in my writing. I apologize if some of you think it is excessive. However I can only assure you that I find it a necessary evil in my writing. I write dialogue how I speak it. When someone trails off a sentence, pauses to collect their thoughts, or leaves something unsaid, I reflect that in my writing style. Chapter 8 was one very difficult discussion consisting of mostly half-spoken thoughts between Harry and Sev.  I got a lot of reviews for chapter 8 and 2 of them spoke of nothing but my use of "…".  In future chapters I will try and be more mindful of my usage of them. I also must apologize for my longer then normal absence. I'll try and type faster, but school starts up again on the 24th and my life proves to become hectic in coming weeks.

Thanks,

Sammymc

Disclaimer: See Part 1.

Part 9

Severus's words repeated themselves over and over again inside Harry's head. "Do not ever explain yourself if you feel such an explanation to be unwarranted..." Oh like it was that easy... Harry sighed shifting position, trying to get more comfortable. He had spent the entire evening grading tests and rearranging plans. His first years were a clean slate. The only first year classes he had today (Ravenclaw & Slytherin) had spent their class time reading up about the truths and misconceptions about werewolves, something Harry had decided he would go over with every single class, no matter the year. His past with Remus Lupin had taught him that a lot of what people thought about werewolves was mostly prejudices and fears.

He'd willingly missed dinner in favor of a half-eaten tray care of Dobby, and had then blatantly ignored Hermione's incessant pounding on his door. She'd eventually given up and let him be, but not without hollering through the door her intentions to return the next night.

Now, lying in bed he again thought for a fleeting moment of going to Poppy and asking her to try and repair the damaged tissue and bone. The torn muscles and tendons; the bone that had been dislocated, and then splintered into a half-dozen pieces, all by Salazar Slytherin's sword. He fingered the multiple raised scars marring his hip. He could find them in his sleep. A sick twisted road map of painful surgery after painful surgery, and still it ached. Harry mused that this was as much Voldemort's fault as his swords.

He had come to the conclusion as he was dragging himself out of the Forbidden Forest and toward the castle. The pain of steel slicing through his pelvis had been followed by the silvery cold that had spread up his spine and through out his entire body. He hadn't known it at the time, the knowledge had come later, shared only by Madame Pomfrey and Albus, but that blade had been laced with something, whether curse or potion he didn't know. What it was exactly didn't really matter. But any attempt made to close his injuries with magic had caused him pain worse then The Cruciatus ever had.

When Dumbledore had found him halfway across the school lawn and losing blood at a dangerous rate. He had tried to stop it using medi-magic. Harry had lost consciousness within seconds. Dumbledore had realized the problem and scooping him up into his arms, rushed him to the nearest Muggle hospital. He had held him close as he apparated, cradling his body as it convulsed form the magic flowing through him during apparation.

Harry only remembered waking up in the muggle intensive care unit, groggy from the anesthesia and morphine. It had been the first of many surgeries he had endured. Dumbledore had sat beside him smiling and reassuring him that it was okay now. That Harry was safe.

Yet, Dumbledore still held hope. Even now 8 years later Albus still thought that there was a chance that the... whatever-it-had-been had run it's course and was out of his system. But, Harry new differently. He still felt the freezing tingle around his spine when a student shot a spell to nearby, or if he was leaning to close to the table in the great hall at mealtime. Harry thought that only good thing was that he himself could still do magic. As long as none of it had to be done to his person he was fine.

His hip was as healed as far as muggle medicine would allow. As far as the muggle doctors were concerned he should be grateful he could walk unassisted or had survived at all.

So, Harry lay awake in his bed, mind spinning out of control flashing from one topic to another and back again. From the duel through which he had defeated Voldemort to the Quidditch magazine he had confiscated from a sixth-year Ravenclaw the morning before. He yawned as the weariness pressing in on him.

He would have to come to a conclusion as to what should be done about Hermione and Ron. His fellow professor would not give up easily on her quest to talk to him. Hotheaded Ron would more than likely want a better explanation. 

The truth of the matter was that Harry couldn't give them an explanation. Not really. There had been too many factors leading to his decision to leave Hogwarts and the Wizarding World behind him. Some seemed so pointless now. Childish, even. Others reeked of personal emotions he had never shared with another human being.

For the time being, he decided, he would stall. It was the only thing his tired brain could come up with.

Tbc.