Disclaimer: In the beginning, nothing of this will be original. Harry potter and all characters plots and elements that are used are property of the author J.K.Rowling. This is an alternate universe fictional story beginning from the end of year one (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone), the differences should become greater with each chapter. I have written quite a bit of it but the delay comes in the editing. Therefore, I make no promises as to how often I will update.

Madam Pomfrey had been up all night as it was brewing potions that she would need in her day-to-day running of the hospital wing.  With the upcoming Quidditch match, especially the last one, she knew she would have to have quite a supply for the players that will be injured.  It was not divination, but the inevitable; it ensured that she would always get plenty of experience. 

The simple potions, ones that temporarily relieved pain or that would classify potions and poisons in blood streams.  She even could do the basic sleeping potion, which almost always would speed healing. Nevertheless, the more complex ones she only trusted to a potions master, which was another plus for being within a school.

She supposed that it was only fair considering how her most challenging cases came from the potions class.  The mediwitch hoped that Longbottom would improve by next year, more accidents than most students get into during their entire seven years. 

Bottling the pepper up potion so that it would stay for years if necessary, she moved on down her list muttering a quick cleaning spell while pointing her wand at the cauldron.

Madam Pomfrey prided herself for being among the best in her field.  She had a knack of being able to undo what many students attempted to do.  Not many would be able to deal with almost single handily half of what she did, and for this she got some satisfaction.  She knew that her talent would almost be wasted at St. Mungo's, besides the occasional accident, grown wizards just do not tend to mess up their spells like that.  She was happy to stay where she was, she liked the challenge, and she felt absolutely secure in what was definitely her realm.

Little did she know that her beliefs would very soon be shaken in a very real way. 

When her hospital wizard watch went off there were three hands that appeared.  One was Albus' the other two were students.  Though it was never specific, the fact that Albus was there was enough to worry her in and of itself, but what would have put most in panic was the fact that one of the student hands were shivering between 'just barely alive' and  'no hope'.  This was when Pomfrey's skills kicked in. 

She reached in her pocket and activated her emergency portkey.

When it came to lives, even wasted time walking down the hallway was to much.

What was amazing she had not had to use it in at least a dozen years.

...

The first bed that she saw contained a red haired freckled boy that could only be described as a Weasley.  His breathing was a little shallow and his pulse a little weak but nothing to serious.  He was not in any danger, and Madam Pomfrey did not even have to spend a second to tell he was not the one she had to be concerned about.

When she turned around, for the first time in her career, Madam Pomfrey had no idea of where to start.  Normally it would be her eyes that she would trust first, the boy was covered in blood, some still wet. That would normally be enough for her concern.  The second thing she could feel was the aura of power, magic so strong that it made her hair stand on end the moment she entered the room.  It was a presence that even a blind muggle would have been able to feel.  She almost thought that it was the boys own magic, but no human would be able to have so much, let alone one so small.  For one of the few times in her career she felt true fear. 

'Albus do you know what happened to him?'

'Other than Avada Kedavera for the second time in his life, I have no clue...' The first thing she thought was why a child would try to use such a dark curse.

'He was trying to cast it!?' Albus' eyes darkened.

'It was cast on him.  The room was engulfed with its signature, with His signature.'  It was out of kindness that Albus did not say the name, yet the implications were even worse.

'He made it past the wards?  You mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself?' She needed it clear, cause she had to be mistaken.  He was long gone, ten years gone, by...the child 'second' time.  Pomfrey immediately cast a spell to disinfect the wounds followed by one to stop blood.  Yet neither of them worked.

'Yes, Voldemort and he was here, in spirit at least.  I think he was looking for a way to get a body for himself... The stone is gone.'  The words could spell the end for the side of the light, ten years we thought we had one only to come against such utter defeat...  Their only hope rested before her, closer to death than she would ever admit in her worse nightmares.  The fear continued to grow.

...

For three hours, Poppy tried casting spell after spell to heal the boy.  When it was cast it was like it was non existent like the magic just was not there. 

She did not notice the way the magic that surrounded him increased with each spell. 

She resigned herself to doing the work manually, using alcohol even to disinfect the many wounds. 

...

The blood had clotted naturally; she had been able to remove the shattered glass from around his eye and even the few shards that had cut through the eye itself.  He would be lucky if he ever saw again though, for even those few cuts refused to heal by spell.  With him mostly wrapped up she finally could treat her other patient. 

She was crying in frustration while she moved young Ronald away from his friend so as she could cast her standard spells to heal him.  After having one reject all her magic the other seemed easy and before long, she found herself falling asleep in a chair next to Harry Potter's bed.

...

Slowly but surely Harry surfaced through the darkness, though it was dark he felt that it was a darkness of a different kind.  An expectant darkness.  Then the voices drifted through his barely conscious mind, it was a kind thing that he missed the first part of the conversation.

'Albus the cuts are deep but at least the bleeding has stopped... is unconscious ...nothing I do seems to work.  It is as if ...you don't think...'

'Don't worry Poppy, I am sure all things will work out for the best... I will be back to talk to him later when he has rested some...'

Darkness enveloped him again, but this time it was accompanied by sweet music that gave the suggestion of a gentle golden light ...though it was as if it came from far away, a whisper on the wind of better times to come.

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