Okay-Chapter One is posted and I only got two reviews so please, please
review! To answer some questions in the review:
I don't think I'll make it a slash fic unless I get a lot of reviews requesting it-then I might consider it because it won't affect my story for a while.
Also, I don't think Harry will go undercover and make people think he's evil but he definitely will be dealing with his darker side, though this fic is not going to be all about his problems.
I think I should warn you now that I will be introducing a female character that is Harry's age-but it is not, I repeat, not, a Mary-Sue. She's there because it is going to help tie my story together and bring some humor about.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize except Dorothy Figg-but I don't own her last name. I also own Dr. Johansson. Now on with the story!
Chapter Two: Breaking the Façade.
The rest of the afternoon and evening left Harry to finally think about everything.
For the first time since he came to Hogwarts, he hated Albus Dumbledore. How dare he kept this from him. Of course the logical part of Harry's brain would have probably told him that it was a good idea because he might not have been able to handle it when he was in his first year. Of course, in Harry's mind, little Logical Harry had been tied up and gagged by Evil Harry who had little red horns and was currently dancing around and taunting Logical Harry.
And Ari! Sure, Harry could understand her being upset. After all, he himself had lost both parents, although he hadn't known them as well as Ari, it still hurt. That still didn't give her a right to even ask him to explain everything that happened right when he woke up from a two-week coma.
He sighed to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. It just seemed that every person in the wizard world was expecting him to be the person they had molded in their minds.
First there was the Hero. The brave warrior who would save their world from Voldemort time and time again until he was defeated. Brave, strong-a true Gryffindor. But all these battles were won on luck. He wasn't such a powerful wizard. He also wasn't such a true Gryffindor, now that he knew he had Slytherin blood running through his veins. Ironically, all his second year he had denied being Slytherin's heir and now almost three years later he was admitting the truth to himself. He was as much a Slytherin as a Gryffindor.
Or some saw him as the little orphan. Poor, defenseless Harry Potter. A boy that needs to be protected from the bad things with love and affection. Mrs. Weasley fell into this category with many other females. He had once remembered Mrs. Weasley calling him a 'trooper' and how he was so 'courageous'. She had no idea that during this summer this 'trooper' had given up and had been drowning in despair and self-pity.
About a week into summer vacation Harry had been preparing dinner in an almost mechanical fashion. Slice this, think about Cedric, chop those, think about Cedric, split these, and think about Cedric seemed to be the normal pattern.
Still using his the knife, his mind drifted back to the cemetery, replaying the actions over and over in his head.
'Kill the spare.' The words echoed in his head. I shouldn't have let him die. I killed him. Emotions were jumbled: Guilt, sorrow, anger, and confusion-all swimming around in his head until.
A bitter sting brought him out of his memories as he looked at his left hand, which produced a steady stream of blood from an inch long cut running across the back of his hand. After getting over the shock of the cut a thought struck him. No more emotions were swirling around and conflicting in his head. He felt pleasantly calm as his eyes dropped to the blade that was stained with his blood. A bitter smile crept across his face as he got a clean knife and finished making dinner. Mrs. Dursley was too preoccupied with the neighbors to notice one of her knives had gone missing.
For the first night after he left the hospital wing, he slept a dreamless sleep. Every day the memories grew worse and worse and soon he had scars littering his ankles, thighs and arms. Each day he watched his life's essence spiral down a drain before falling into an exhausted sleep, induced by the loss of blood. Each cut was deep enough to leave a scar, a visible trace of his guilt. One day he went too far.
Do the yard work for his relatives was common enough. Today, however instead of cutting the grass or working on the flowerbed, he was assigned the hedges. Thick, luscious and dark, almost identical to those in the maze and when he closed his eyes, he could see the tall hedges towering over him, hear the crowd behind him and feel the jagged edge of the giant spider slice into his thigh. Feeling the dark liquid seep through his fingers had awaken him for his memory and directed him to his leg which was pumping out blood, staining his jeans and the splattering the ground and already soiled hedge clippers that he had held in his hand moments before. Unable to stand up, he fell on his knees and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was a worried Mrs. Figg running over to him.
The next month and a half was a blur. He stayed at the Mrs. Figg's and the Dursleys were none the wiser about why he left. Though he was away from his relatives, the summer barely picked up. Several sessions of therapy and antidepressant drugs were almost everyday occurrences. He was sure that the therapy and the meds wouldn't have done anything if it had not been for Dorothy Figg. The elderly woman had accepted him, no questions asked. She saw both the light sides and the darker parts that no one had dared penetrated before her. With her he could just be. Everything she did for him was for his benefit with no alternative motives. He felt truly at peace even when his life had reached the hectic extremes. And then she had died-because of him. The list he had was growing. First Quirrell, then Cedric and now Mrs. Figg. He could probably add Lily Potter and Voldemort to it as well.
'What a day to be off antidepressants.' He thought glumly as he sank deeper into the pillows. A door creaking open made him turn his head just in time to see the doctor poke his head in.
"Hello Harry. Are you feeling okay?" He asked while he raised a wand and muttered a couple of words causing a yellowish beam shoot out of his wand and hover above Harry before forming some type of chart about him. He supposed it was his vitals or something.
Grabbing a notepad in his white wizard robes-which, to Harry, looked suspiciously like a lab coat-he began to jot notes down. He could never figure out why doctors wore white when it was just going to get messed up easily.
"So you're on antidepressants?" He asked, not looking up from his notebook. Harry started to nod but realize this did no good, as the doctor was not watching his movements.
"Yes. Why?"
"Just checking. They are the muggle kind, right?"
"Yeah-does it make a difference?"
"Not really, but I would prefer it if they were the muggle kind over wizard." He said as he finished jotting down notes and stuffed his notepad back into his pocket.
Scrunching up his forehead so little wrinkles settled over his features. "Why exactly?"
"Well right now you're on a magical overload."
"A magical what?"
"Overload. You have too much magical energy pent up inside you."
"How can that happen?"
"When any spell or curse is used, the caster loses a bit of magical energy. The amount varies with the strength of the enchantment. Anyway, the energy leaves the caster and enters the target and the target gains some of the magical energy."
"Isn't magical energy good?"
"Not really." Dr. Johansson explained, trying to find the right words to describe it. "You can't bend the magic to your will so the energy can't be used except in the form the caster wanted."
"Then how do I get rid of it?"
"The magic is being stored in your body and eventually it'll detox itself. If it's a small amount, like practicing a charm on someone, then the wizard won't even feel the magic getting rid of itself."
"Sounds lovely." Harry muttered sarcastically.
"Isn't it? I'll tell you this though-you're in for a rough ride. Not only were extremely powerful curses used on you, but also they contain a lot of dark magic. It's going to be hell when your body starts to cleanse itself."
"Aren't you supposed to be reassuring me that I'll be fine?" Harry asked wryly.
"Okay, how about this: It's going to hurt like hell but I think you'll pull through." Dr. Johansson said as he clapped a hand over Harry's shoulder in a mock supportive attitude.
"Oh, you're hilarious. What ever made you decide not to be a comedian?" Harry said as he scowled at the doctor.
"I like bothering the patients. It's good cheap entertainment. Do you need anything else?" He asked as he prepared to leave. "Oh, by the way, we're putting you back on your medicine."
"I just have a question. Is the whole detoxing thing the reason some of my injuries aren't healed magically?"
"Yep. I'll send someone in to check up on you later. For the time being just enjoy yourself."
"Of course. I could read about how I have sinned in the Bible or I could read about how to shape up my ass to get my man."
"Hey! Those tips in 'Witches Weekly' work!"
"I think my ass is in fine shape. Thank you very much." Harry was thinking about voicing the concerns that had been bothering him all afternoon. Did the doctor see the Dark Mark? Deciding just to ask so his mind was at ease he quickly asked, "Were there any unusual marks on my body?"
Looking at Harry curiously he shook his head 'no'. "Why, have you noticed something? The doctors weren't exactly looking for marks when you came in."
"No, just wondering. I'll see you later." Harry mumbled as he rolled on his side, mimicking the motion he had done when Sirius left.
"Okay. Sleep well." With that, he turned and left.
*******
Harry had around three hours to himself that evening. For about two and a half, he did read the Bible but he ended up feeling slightly guilty so he stuffed the book in the drawer. Reaching back into the drawer, he pulled out a pencil and 'Witches Weekly' and began to draw mustaches and beards or just try and disfigure some of the picture's faces. Currently about half of the pictures were scowling at him, not at all impressed with his, what he thought was creative, doodles. The other half were hiding in the pictures, afraid something would happen to them.
Sighing, he tossed the magazine aside. There were no more pictures to be drawn on and it wasn't like he was actually going to read the thing. He stashed the magazine in the drawer and pulled out a pad of paper. He settled back into bed and stared at the blank sheets of paper.
And that was all he did for a few minutes. Even drawing brought back memories of this summer.
He had loved drawing and was quite good at it too. For him it was a quiet escape, sketching his emotions on paper by capturing the same feeling in another. Dorothy had noticed his sketchpad and dragged him off to an art class for about a week that summer. It had been a lot of fun while it lasted.
So closing his eyes for a minute, he pressed the pencil against the paper and let his mind's eye bring an image forward. His pencil swept across the paper without him even knowing what he was drawing. Opening his eyes again, Harry was greeted with the smile of Dorothy. The small grin with permanent laugh lines smiled back up at him. Every one of her features stored in his mind: the wrinkles, the small scar resting above her lip, the vibrant twinkle in her eye that made her seem years younger.
He glared at the paper and ripped the sheet of the pad, prepared to crumple it and throw it to the floor. He just couldn't smash the paper. Instead, he guided his pencil against the paper to finish the sketch. In about fifteen minutes, Dorothy was there again; alive in his picture. Placing it on the tray table in front of him he sighed as he looked at it.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Harry whispered before burring his face in a pillow. And he cried. For the first time in seven years, he cried. He cried for Cedric who didn't get to live, for Mrs. Figg who deserved life, his parents who died for him, Sirius who lost thirteen years of his life for trying to save his parents, for anybody who had been a victim of Voldemort's. And he cried for himself. For Harry Potter who lost anyone who got close to him and in Voldemort's way. He wept until there were no tears left and all he could do was take shallow shaky breaths. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he curled up into a ball and fell asleep. He failed to notice Hedwig fly into the open window a few minutes later and drop off two small parcels before landing on the headboard of Harry's bed and falling asleep too.
When Harry awoke, the sky outside the window was a dark velvety blue. Glancing at the clock near his bed he read that it was around eleven thirty. After stretching his back a bit, he padded across the room to the door and out into the hallway. This hospital wasn't much different from a muggle hospital, although Harry had only been to a muggle hospital once or twice.
The first time was when Harry was seven and Dudley had been teasing him about something. Before he knew it, his cousin had pushed him down the stairs and he ended up with a split lip, a gash on the back of his head and a sprained wrist. The Dursleys' had most definitely not been happy, blaming Harry for falling down the stairs and ruining their evening. Like he wanted to fall down the stairs, Harry thought as he snorted at the memory.
The second time had been when he was ten and Dudley was in the middle of a tantrum. Normally, he would take all of his angry and frustration out on Harry but knowing this, Harry made himself scarce and hid in the back yard. His cousin finally gave up and began throwing things out his window. Before he knew what happened, his skull had been bashed with a computer. The Dursleys had only tolerated taking him to the hospital, because he had after all saved the computer from being smashed.
He listened to the quiet smacking of flesh against the against the freezing tile floor. The hall lights were dimmed and no one was visible. Taking a left and watching the door of his room disappear; he came to the nurses' station where a lone nurse sat at a desk filing her nails and glancing down the hallways occasionally.
"Excuse me" Harry asked quietly as he stepped out of the shadows and into the brighter part of the hospital.
Startled, the woman jumped in her seat and placed a hand over her chest, trying to calm herself down.
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't hear you? Is there anything wrong Mr. Potter?"
"No, I just have a favor to ask." Ten minutes later, he waved goodbye to the nurse who waved back cheerily but still eyed him curiously. Right before he was about to head back to his room, he saw a small figure creep along the hallway and dash through a pair of doors.
Entering his room and grabbing his wand, Harry followed the same path the stranger took. He burst through the doors and arrived just in time to see the shadowy figure fly through an open door. Picking up his pace, Harry ran to catch up with whoever it was.
'This is ridiculous!' Harry thought as he followed a corridor into a set of double doors that were swinging back and forth in the shadow person's wake. Glancing up at the sign above the doors, he could barely make out the words 'Mental Ward.'
'Great. I guess I belong here. I'm chasing a mysterious shadow person through out the hospital in the middle of the night-in my pajamas.' Harry sighed at these thoughts but stopped immediately when he noticed another door close quietly on his left.
Harry gripped his wand tightly, his palms were sweaty and his hands trembled. Seeing as the door was not completely closed, he pushed the door open a little more and watched in the dark room as the small shadowy figure walk cautiously to the bed. A small, pudgy hand reached out and turned on a light near the bed.
The light shone over the boy's features and Harry gasped in surprise, dropping his wand in shock. The sharp click of the wood against the floor alerted the other boy, causing him to redirect his gaze towards Harry.
"Harry."
***********
That's the end for now but I will continue! Please review or I'll be unhappy and forget to post for a while.
I know it's a cliffhanger but I'll give you a hint: it is a good person-no evilness abounds.
I don't think I'll make it a slash fic unless I get a lot of reviews requesting it-then I might consider it because it won't affect my story for a while.
Also, I don't think Harry will go undercover and make people think he's evil but he definitely will be dealing with his darker side, though this fic is not going to be all about his problems.
I think I should warn you now that I will be introducing a female character that is Harry's age-but it is not, I repeat, not, a Mary-Sue. She's there because it is going to help tie my story together and bring some humor about.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize except Dorothy Figg-but I don't own her last name. I also own Dr. Johansson. Now on with the story!
Chapter Two: Breaking the Façade.
The rest of the afternoon and evening left Harry to finally think about everything.
For the first time since he came to Hogwarts, he hated Albus Dumbledore. How dare he kept this from him. Of course the logical part of Harry's brain would have probably told him that it was a good idea because he might not have been able to handle it when he was in his first year. Of course, in Harry's mind, little Logical Harry had been tied up and gagged by Evil Harry who had little red horns and was currently dancing around and taunting Logical Harry.
And Ari! Sure, Harry could understand her being upset. After all, he himself had lost both parents, although he hadn't known them as well as Ari, it still hurt. That still didn't give her a right to even ask him to explain everything that happened right when he woke up from a two-week coma.
He sighed to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. It just seemed that every person in the wizard world was expecting him to be the person they had molded in their minds.
First there was the Hero. The brave warrior who would save their world from Voldemort time and time again until he was defeated. Brave, strong-a true Gryffindor. But all these battles were won on luck. He wasn't such a powerful wizard. He also wasn't such a true Gryffindor, now that he knew he had Slytherin blood running through his veins. Ironically, all his second year he had denied being Slytherin's heir and now almost three years later he was admitting the truth to himself. He was as much a Slytherin as a Gryffindor.
Or some saw him as the little orphan. Poor, defenseless Harry Potter. A boy that needs to be protected from the bad things with love and affection. Mrs. Weasley fell into this category with many other females. He had once remembered Mrs. Weasley calling him a 'trooper' and how he was so 'courageous'. She had no idea that during this summer this 'trooper' had given up and had been drowning in despair and self-pity.
About a week into summer vacation Harry had been preparing dinner in an almost mechanical fashion. Slice this, think about Cedric, chop those, think about Cedric, split these, and think about Cedric seemed to be the normal pattern.
Still using his the knife, his mind drifted back to the cemetery, replaying the actions over and over in his head.
'Kill the spare.' The words echoed in his head. I shouldn't have let him die. I killed him. Emotions were jumbled: Guilt, sorrow, anger, and confusion-all swimming around in his head until.
A bitter sting brought him out of his memories as he looked at his left hand, which produced a steady stream of blood from an inch long cut running across the back of his hand. After getting over the shock of the cut a thought struck him. No more emotions were swirling around and conflicting in his head. He felt pleasantly calm as his eyes dropped to the blade that was stained with his blood. A bitter smile crept across his face as he got a clean knife and finished making dinner. Mrs. Dursley was too preoccupied with the neighbors to notice one of her knives had gone missing.
For the first night after he left the hospital wing, he slept a dreamless sleep. Every day the memories grew worse and worse and soon he had scars littering his ankles, thighs and arms. Each day he watched his life's essence spiral down a drain before falling into an exhausted sleep, induced by the loss of blood. Each cut was deep enough to leave a scar, a visible trace of his guilt. One day he went too far.
Do the yard work for his relatives was common enough. Today, however instead of cutting the grass or working on the flowerbed, he was assigned the hedges. Thick, luscious and dark, almost identical to those in the maze and when he closed his eyes, he could see the tall hedges towering over him, hear the crowd behind him and feel the jagged edge of the giant spider slice into his thigh. Feeling the dark liquid seep through his fingers had awaken him for his memory and directed him to his leg which was pumping out blood, staining his jeans and the splattering the ground and already soiled hedge clippers that he had held in his hand moments before. Unable to stand up, he fell on his knees and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was a worried Mrs. Figg running over to him.
The next month and a half was a blur. He stayed at the Mrs. Figg's and the Dursleys were none the wiser about why he left. Though he was away from his relatives, the summer barely picked up. Several sessions of therapy and antidepressant drugs were almost everyday occurrences. He was sure that the therapy and the meds wouldn't have done anything if it had not been for Dorothy Figg. The elderly woman had accepted him, no questions asked. She saw both the light sides and the darker parts that no one had dared penetrated before her. With her he could just be. Everything she did for him was for his benefit with no alternative motives. He felt truly at peace even when his life had reached the hectic extremes. And then she had died-because of him. The list he had was growing. First Quirrell, then Cedric and now Mrs. Figg. He could probably add Lily Potter and Voldemort to it as well.
'What a day to be off antidepressants.' He thought glumly as he sank deeper into the pillows. A door creaking open made him turn his head just in time to see the doctor poke his head in.
"Hello Harry. Are you feeling okay?" He asked while he raised a wand and muttered a couple of words causing a yellowish beam shoot out of his wand and hover above Harry before forming some type of chart about him. He supposed it was his vitals or something.
Grabbing a notepad in his white wizard robes-which, to Harry, looked suspiciously like a lab coat-he began to jot notes down. He could never figure out why doctors wore white when it was just going to get messed up easily.
"So you're on antidepressants?" He asked, not looking up from his notebook. Harry started to nod but realize this did no good, as the doctor was not watching his movements.
"Yes. Why?"
"Just checking. They are the muggle kind, right?"
"Yeah-does it make a difference?"
"Not really, but I would prefer it if they were the muggle kind over wizard." He said as he finished jotting down notes and stuffed his notepad back into his pocket.
Scrunching up his forehead so little wrinkles settled over his features. "Why exactly?"
"Well right now you're on a magical overload."
"A magical what?"
"Overload. You have too much magical energy pent up inside you."
"How can that happen?"
"When any spell or curse is used, the caster loses a bit of magical energy. The amount varies with the strength of the enchantment. Anyway, the energy leaves the caster and enters the target and the target gains some of the magical energy."
"Isn't magical energy good?"
"Not really." Dr. Johansson explained, trying to find the right words to describe it. "You can't bend the magic to your will so the energy can't be used except in the form the caster wanted."
"Then how do I get rid of it?"
"The magic is being stored in your body and eventually it'll detox itself. If it's a small amount, like practicing a charm on someone, then the wizard won't even feel the magic getting rid of itself."
"Sounds lovely." Harry muttered sarcastically.
"Isn't it? I'll tell you this though-you're in for a rough ride. Not only were extremely powerful curses used on you, but also they contain a lot of dark magic. It's going to be hell when your body starts to cleanse itself."
"Aren't you supposed to be reassuring me that I'll be fine?" Harry asked wryly.
"Okay, how about this: It's going to hurt like hell but I think you'll pull through." Dr. Johansson said as he clapped a hand over Harry's shoulder in a mock supportive attitude.
"Oh, you're hilarious. What ever made you decide not to be a comedian?" Harry said as he scowled at the doctor.
"I like bothering the patients. It's good cheap entertainment. Do you need anything else?" He asked as he prepared to leave. "Oh, by the way, we're putting you back on your medicine."
"I just have a question. Is the whole detoxing thing the reason some of my injuries aren't healed magically?"
"Yep. I'll send someone in to check up on you later. For the time being just enjoy yourself."
"Of course. I could read about how I have sinned in the Bible or I could read about how to shape up my ass to get my man."
"Hey! Those tips in 'Witches Weekly' work!"
"I think my ass is in fine shape. Thank you very much." Harry was thinking about voicing the concerns that had been bothering him all afternoon. Did the doctor see the Dark Mark? Deciding just to ask so his mind was at ease he quickly asked, "Were there any unusual marks on my body?"
Looking at Harry curiously he shook his head 'no'. "Why, have you noticed something? The doctors weren't exactly looking for marks when you came in."
"No, just wondering. I'll see you later." Harry mumbled as he rolled on his side, mimicking the motion he had done when Sirius left.
"Okay. Sleep well." With that, he turned and left.
*******
Harry had around three hours to himself that evening. For about two and a half, he did read the Bible but he ended up feeling slightly guilty so he stuffed the book in the drawer. Reaching back into the drawer, he pulled out a pencil and 'Witches Weekly' and began to draw mustaches and beards or just try and disfigure some of the picture's faces. Currently about half of the pictures were scowling at him, not at all impressed with his, what he thought was creative, doodles. The other half were hiding in the pictures, afraid something would happen to them.
Sighing, he tossed the magazine aside. There were no more pictures to be drawn on and it wasn't like he was actually going to read the thing. He stashed the magazine in the drawer and pulled out a pad of paper. He settled back into bed and stared at the blank sheets of paper.
And that was all he did for a few minutes. Even drawing brought back memories of this summer.
He had loved drawing and was quite good at it too. For him it was a quiet escape, sketching his emotions on paper by capturing the same feeling in another. Dorothy had noticed his sketchpad and dragged him off to an art class for about a week that summer. It had been a lot of fun while it lasted.
So closing his eyes for a minute, he pressed the pencil against the paper and let his mind's eye bring an image forward. His pencil swept across the paper without him even knowing what he was drawing. Opening his eyes again, Harry was greeted with the smile of Dorothy. The small grin with permanent laugh lines smiled back up at him. Every one of her features stored in his mind: the wrinkles, the small scar resting above her lip, the vibrant twinkle in her eye that made her seem years younger.
He glared at the paper and ripped the sheet of the pad, prepared to crumple it and throw it to the floor. He just couldn't smash the paper. Instead, he guided his pencil against the paper to finish the sketch. In about fifteen minutes, Dorothy was there again; alive in his picture. Placing it on the tray table in front of him he sighed as he looked at it.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Harry whispered before burring his face in a pillow. And he cried. For the first time in seven years, he cried. He cried for Cedric who didn't get to live, for Mrs. Figg who deserved life, his parents who died for him, Sirius who lost thirteen years of his life for trying to save his parents, for anybody who had been a victim of Voldemort's. And he cried for himself. For Harry Potter who lost anyone who got close to him and in Voldemort's way. He wept until there were no tears left and all he could do was take shallow shaky breaths. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he curled up into a ball and fell asleep. He failed to notice Hedwig fly into the open window a few minutes later and drop off two small parcels before landing on the headboard of Harry's bed and falling asleep too.
When Harry awoke, the sky outside the window was a dark velvety blue. Glancing at the clock near his bed he read that it was around eleven thirty. After stretching his back a bit, he padded across the room to the door and out into the hallway. This hospital wasn't much different from a muggle hospital, although Harry had only been to a muggle hospital once or twice.
The first time was when Harry was seven and Dudley had been teasing him about something. Before he knew it, his cousin had pushed him down the stairs and he ended up with a split lip, a gash on the back of his head and a sprained wrist. The Dursleys' had most definitely not been happy, blaming Harry for falling down the stairs and ruining their evening. Like he wanted to fall down the stairs, Harry thought as he snorted at the memory.
The second time had been when he was ten and Dudley was in the middle of a tantrum. Normally, he would take all of his angry and frustration out on Harry but knowing this, Harry made himself scarce and hid in the back yard. His cousin finally gave up and began throwing things out his window. Before he knew what happened, his skull had been bashed with a computer. The Dursleys had only tolerated taking him to the hospital, because he had after all saved the computer from being smashed.
He listened to the quiet smacking of flesh against the against the freezing tile floor. The hall lights were dimmed and no one was visible. Taking a left and watching the door of his room disappear; he came to the nurses' station where a lone nurse sat at a desk filing her nails and glancing down the hallways occasionally.
"Excuse me" Harry asked quietly as he stepped out of the shadows and into the brighter part of the hospital.
Startled, the woman jumped in her seat and placed a hand over her chest, trying to calm herself down.
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't hear you? Is there anything wrong Mr. Potter?"
"No, I just have a favor to ask." Ten minutes later, he waved goodbye to the nurse who waved back cheerily but still eyed him curiously. Right before he was about to head back to his room, he saw a small figure creep along the hallway and dash through a pair of doors.
Entering his room and grabbing his wand, Harry followed the same path the stranger took. He burst through the doors and arrived just in time to see the shadowy figure fly through an open door. Picking up his pace, Harry ran to catch up with whoever it was.
'This is ridiculous!' Harry thought as he followed a corridor into a set of double doors that were swinging back and forth in the shadow person's wake. Glancing up at the sign above the doors, he could barely make out the words 'Mental Ward.'
'Great. I guess I belong here. I'm chasing a mysterious shadow person through out the hospital in the middle of the night-in my pajamas.' Harry sighed at these thoughts but stopped immediately when he noticed another door close quietly on his left.
Harry gripped his wand tightly, his palms were sweaty and his hands trembled. Seeing as the door was not completely closed, he pushed the door open a little more and watched in the dark room as the small shadowy figure walk cautiously to the bed. A small, pudgy hand reached out and turned on a light near the bed.
The light shone over the boy's features and Harry gasped in surprise, dropping his wand in shock. The sharp click of the wood against the floor alerted the other boy, causing him to redirect his gaze towards Harry.
"Harry."
***********
That's the end for now but I will continue! Please review or I'll be unhappy and forget to post for a while.
I know it's a cliffhanger but I'll give you a hint: it is a good person-no evilness abounds.