When he finally awoke, he could tell even through his blurred vision (his glasses had been removed) that he was no longer in his dormitory. Squinting and feeling around the bedside table for his glasses, his groping hand finally found them and placed them upon the bridge of his freckled nose. He tried to move his other arm but felt a tug at the inner juncture of his elbow. Turning, he saw a magical IV needle attached to a bag of crimson fluid. Being Percy, he knew that of course magic could never produce something like human blood. He sighed wearily and slouched down, still quite a bit tired from anemia. Yes, it was all coming back to him now... The diary entry, uttering his final spell, the wand turning into a knife blade, the incredible peaceful feeling as he turned his hand and admired the blue veins beneath the skin of his wrist before slashing them open. That was one salient memory, the calmness, the serenity he felt as he was performing the act. He'd always imagined he'd be nervous, but instead he was calm and methodical as ever he had been. He remembered physically feeling the pounding of his hollow heart in his wrist, and watching the redness rise and ebb with each heartbeat. He stared in perverse, almost masochistic fascination at the blood flowing from his own body until it all slowly went dark, as though he were falling asleep, and he fainted from lack of blood.

It was only then, as he reached the end of his memories of the event, that he consciously realized it must not have worked. He was obviously still alive and much the worse for wear. Damn, he thought to himself. Then he noticed the five people standing there, surrounding his bed. Madame Pomfrey, Dumbledore, his mother and father, and Oliver, all their faces etched with worry but now looking extremely relieved that Percy had finally come to.

"Oh, Percy!" cried Molly as she threw her arms around him, "Oh, Percy, we were so worri-i-ied!" He stared up at the others, and Arthur looked at his son and nodded. "Indeed, son, we were." Percy looked stymied, then shameful. "Percy," ventured Arthur tentatively, "Could you just explain to us what happened? What pushed you so far? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Dumbledore stopped him. "Perhaps we should leave the questioning until he is ready. Meanwhile, I think it would be a good idea to explain to him exactly what happened between the time at which he lost consciousness and the present. Do you agree?" All four nodded. "Well, percy, are you ready to hear this?" He nodded. Dumbledore began.

"It seems your friend Oliver here was coming back from his evening Quidditch practice. He entered the Common Room, walked up the stairs, and entered the dormitory as usual. Whereupon he found your body, your wand, and a puddle of blood." Oliver shuddered visibly at this statement, and one could tell he never wanted to remember it as long as he lived. "From the looks of him when he finally got to my study, he'd run the entire way. HE was panting heavily and gasping for air, out of breath from running all that way and crying at the same time. He was very, very worried about you, Percy. You should count yourself lucky to have such a fine young man as your friend." Oliver was blushing profusely at this point, both from modest embarrassment at Dumbledore's description and ashamed to admit the fact that he'd been crying. "He told me what he'd seen as best he could, and I decided on a logical course of action. I called your Head of House, and told Oliver to lead her to your room while I wrote your parents and owl bidding them come at once. Minerva transported you safely here to the Hospital Wing, and she, Oliver, and I explained the circumstances to your parents upon their arrival. At their request we called your siblings out of classes and informed them of what had happened. Finally, we brought your family to see you before dismissing them to their dormitories for the rest of the day. You've been asleep until now, which is to say for nearly two days. Your parents have slept in a comfortable extra wing of my office, and will be staying for a few more days."

Percy was overwhelmed. All that, for him? His father had left work, his brothers and sister had left their classes, and least expected of all... Oliver had cried. Oliver Wood had cried for *him*. Percy had made tears fall down those beautiful cheeks, cheeks which should never know pain or grief. He tried to speak, before realizing for a second time just how exhausted he was. He finally got his wind and said simply, "I'm very sorry."

Arthur opened his mouth as if to speak, but a glance form Dumbledore and he shut it. "I believe it would be a good idea to give Percy some time to rest before asking any more of him." The others nodded, and left slowly without a word. Now only Dumbledore remained. He looked the young man straight in the eye and stated, "There is only one thing more I wish to tell you, and I want you to think about it carefully. Self-injury is not intelligent. It destroys not only ourselves, but also those we hold dear."

"P-Professor..."

"Think on it, Percy. Think on it."

And the seemingly wise beyond even his years wizard departed, leaving the shocked student in silence.