This is for ESP and Nickel Nerd, my two reviewers. You guys rock!

Nickel Nerd: Glad you likey. :D Here is your update.

ESP: Thanks for giving my story a chance. Hopefully it won't disappoint and shatter you. LOL

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Part Two: The Hospital

A doctor and three nurses at St. Anthony's Hospital were outside on their break. The four of them were hanging around under the awning near the Emergency doors, staring dully out at the twilight and talking quietly. The night was calm, the air balmy. But the peace was quickly shattered by the screech of tires. A car stopped suddenly, perhaps twenty feet from them, and then took off again, leaving behind a bundle of rags. The emergency workers all looked at each other for a moment, and one nurse ran over to have a look. The others watched her go, waiting for a reaction.

"Get a gurney!" she screamed, bending over the still form on the pavement. "Young man, perhaps fourteen! He's bleeding everywhere! Did anyone see the car?"

The doors to the emergency department burst open, and for the next twenty minutes it was pandemonium. Harry was fortunate in that he was one of the only trauma patients that night, because St. Anthony's was right in the middle of the city. This meant their Emergency was the typical under-funded city hospital department, and it was staffed by overworked Muggles who were attempting to earn a living at the curious Muggle occupation of medicine, which, as any wizard will tell you, is not half as effective as magic and at least twice as dangerous.

Harry's existence quickly became tangled up in tubes, needles, and lots of shouting, as the first thing he did upon being wheeled into Emergency was vomit spectacularly on a nurse. She stepped back and swore loudly while two other aides turned him on his side. Still unconscious, he continued to retch and it took several minutes, suction, and two emesis bins to empty him.

A doctor put in an IV. That, however, was as far as he got, because something inborn and magical in Harry sensed that someone was about to do something really unpleasant to him when he was belly-up and defenseless. Accordingly, several steel instruments leapt off the trays surrounding Harry's gurney and pointed themselves at the terrified medical staff; no one had a clue what was going on.

These particular Muggles were of the seen-it-all variety, though, so fortunately the team didn't lose their heads. Someone managed to distract a particularly persnickety set of scissors while someone else started Harry on a drip full of painkillers. The magic was quickly overpowered by the drugs and in one final heave-ho, all the instruments zipped forward over the heads of the stunned staff like little silver rockets and stuck themselves firmly in the walls.

A doctor blinked furiously at this display. "Did everyone else see that?" He asked.

There were astonished nods all around.

"Good. I thought I was losing my mind."

Everyone laughed, even the nurse who'd been spewed on, and with no further magical outbursts they were able to treat their patient like an ordinary boy, even though he was as far from ordinary as a boy could be. At the end of an hour he was splinted, bandaged, taped, still drugged to the gills, and on his way up to the Trauma ward to have some bones set.

As his gurney disappeared through the elevator, the nurse who'd first found him breathed a sigh of relief. She sat down with his chart and checked that she'd put down all the pertinent information before sending his chart up to Trauma: four cracked ribs, broken left arm, right leg dislocated at the hip, cracked right thigh bone, broken nose, concussion, and various bruises and cuts. As the boy had no identification, she set down "John Doe." That didn't stop her feeling intensely sorry for him.

Hedwig had stopped only long enough to see the nurse run over to Harry and catch a glimpse of a sign that said "St. Anthony's." In the hands of Muggles, she was not at all convinced he was safe, but he was no longer with the Dursleys, so she felt he had a decent chance of making it through this alive. With a very fast mid-air turn she veered around and flew off to London, strength renewed with purpose and fear, and swooped right into the window of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was quiet. It had gone particularly silent in the days following Sirius's death, but the members were still keeping up the good fight, so it wasn't unusual to see at least three of them hanging around. Hedwig flew through the house looking for signs of life and finally discovered it in the living room, where Remus Lupin was having an after-dinner nap on the sofa.

He was dozing with his fingers laced across his belly, the twilight catching all the grays in his brown hair, and snoring loudly enough to attract the attention of some rogue Doxies, who were waltzing on his nose. Hedwig landed gently on his shoulder and the Doxies flew away squeaking in terror. The noise of the fleeing Doxies was enough to wake him.

"Hmm? Uh? Whassamatter?" Lupin slurred, coming around. He finally realized Hedwig was perching on him. "Oh, Hedwig! Another message?" He checked her leg. Nothing.

Hedwig was staring at him intently. It was all she could do, really. Lupin sat up and she fluttered onto the coffee table.

"Hedwig, what are you doing here? Did someone send you?" he asked stupidly, not quite awake.

Hedwig decided, then and there, that not being able to talk to humans was the single most maddening thing in the world. She had no desire to sit here and play 'Lassie' with Lupin, not when Harry was hurt and alone, but then Lupin asked the magic question.

"Is Harry all right?"

Finally, something she could answer! She shook her head.

Lupin was up in an instant. "Tonks! Albus!" he shouted. "Come down here quickly! Hedwig's just arrived!"

Almost instantly Nymphadora Tonks and Albus Dumbledore appeared in the living room, headed for Hedwig. Tonks had blazingly red hair today, and Dumbledore was putting away his Exploding Snap cards. They'd been playing in the kitchen.

"What's happened, Remus?" he asked, coming over.

"Hedwig just arrived, with no note. I have a bad feeling about this. Have you noticed how short Harry's messages have been?"

"We've all noticed, Remus," Dumbledore replied, sitting down on the sofa and giving Hedwig the same intense stare she'd given Lupin. "But I think Hedwig may have something to offer us."

Hedwig hooted and flapped her wings – her attempt at an affirmative.

"When are the Weasleys getting here?" Tonks asked.

Lupin checked his watch. "In a few minutes. They're leaving their sons Fred and George in charge of the house so they can come for the meeting. Molly's probably giving them a last-minute lecture just now."

"The twins?" Tonks said with a grin. "They'll be lucky if the house is still standing when they get back!"

"Please, both of you," Dumbledore cut in. He'd set Hedwig on his knee. The snowy owl hooted softly at him, curious.

As soon as the room was quiet, Dumbledore closed his eyes and gently put a hand on Hedwig's head. Lupin looked on sagely, but Tonks was watching the proceedings with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

"Legilimency on an owl?" she whispered to Lupin.

Lupin nodded. "Perhaps he can find something that will explain why Hedwig's here."

Hedwig felt a sudden warmth spread from her heart to her wingtips, and heard a voice, Dumbledore's, she realized, inside her head. He was saying gently, "Tell me." So she let him right in, taking him past Harry writing at knifepoint at the kitchen table, through a few weeks in a dark attic, and finally to the horror on the stairs, the drive to St. Anthony's, and her wizard being dumped out in front of the hospital like so much rubbish.

By the time Dumbledore had taken his hand off Hedwig, the Weasleys had arrived and were watching him with Lupin and Tonks. He didn't even look at them.

"Er, Albus?" Molly asked.

Dumbledore turned to her with a look of such cold fury on his face that she backed into her husband. It took a few moments for the headmaster of Hogwarts to get his ire under control and explain what Hedwig had shown him, but when he did, his audience gasped in the right places and Molly flew into a rage that matched Dumbledore's. She immediately volunteered herself and Arthur to get Harry out of St. Anthony's.

"... and left with Muggles! Those idiots! This is outrageous!" Molly finished. "Where are we off to, and how quickly can we leave?" she demanded, whirling on Dumbledore like a mother hen.

Dumbledore couldn't help but smile. "The Trauma ward at St. Anthony's Hospital will be your destination, and you'll leave very soon. But you will need something, and someone. Wait here."

And he was off. Bewildered, Arthur sank down into a chair. Tonks took one end of the couch, petting Hedwig, who had settled in her lap. Lupin sat down on the other end of the couch, and Molly plopped down on the coffee table. Hedwig hooted again and Tonks took her off to the kitchen to give her some food.

The wait was only a few minutes, but it seemed ridiculously long to Molly, who kept turning over what she'd heard in an undertone. "Threw him down the stairs ... Nearly died ... Stuck with Muggle doctors ... Ludicrous!" she muttered. Arthur kept nervously scratching his balding head, and when that got boring he took off his glasses and started cleaning them. Lupin just stared at the floor.

Finally Dumbledore arrived, with a Muggle thermometer (broken) and Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, who had just Apparated and was adjusting her traveling cloak.

"Poppy?" Molly said. "I had no idea you were a member!"

"Hello, Molly," Madam Pomfrey replied, and they embraced. "Yes, I've been in for some time. Albus insisted I keep a low profile, though. And a good thing he called just now. I'm leaving for Aruba tomorrow!" She smiled. "Are you well?"

"Reasonably, although I think we'll all feel better once we've helped Harry."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Albus told me everything. I've got my bag. Are we off?"

"Almost," Arthur said. "What is that thing?"

"This," Dumbledore said, holding up the broken thermometer, "Is your Portkey. It will take you back to The Burrow once you have collected Harry. We will discuss his permanent destination a little later, but he should be safe at your home for now."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, that's fine. But really, what is this?"

"Oh, it's a thermometer. It's a sort of device that Muggles use to tell someone's temperature."

Madam Pomfrey's indelicate snort told everyone exactly what she thought of Muggle medical technology. Lupin smiled a little.

"In any case," Dumbledore continued, "Poppy, you will go to the Burrow and await Molly and Arthur's return. Get something set up to receive Harry."

"Yes, sir!" she said. With a nod to the Weasleys, she vanished.

Dumbledore turned the Weasleys. "It's up to you two to find Harry and get him out of the hospital as quickly as possible. Molly, I'll need a good memory charm from you. The doctors and nurses shouldn't remember Harry; it will hardly do if a patient goes missing and everyone panics. Arthur, you must keep track of this Portkey. Keep it in your pocket."

He handed over the thermometer with a bit of trepidation, since Mr. Weasley's eyes were shining with excitement. "And for heavens' sake, man, resist the urge to play with it. Make contact with me as soon as Molly's finished her work, and I'll activate it."

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Right then, the rest of us will stay here to await your report. I daresay there is enough around this house to keep us occupied until you return. Oh, and before you go ..."

Dumbledore twiddled his wand at the two of them, and when they looked down their robes had been replaced with blue scrubs, each with nametags.

"Oh, my!" Molly said.

"Oh, brilliant!" Arthur cheered, looking down at himself excitedly. He was even more thrilled when a stethoscope popped out of nowhere and draped itself over his neck. "I have a stelloscope! I've heard about these things!"

"Come on Arthur, it's just for show," Molly said. "No need to get so giddy. Let's be off."

And they disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore and Hedwig behind. Fortunately the no one else was due to arrive for another hour, which gave them plenty of time to get the word out to the rest of the members that the meeting had been postponed until further notice.

"Why do I have to make dinner?" Ron whined.

"Because Ginny's daft in the kitchen," Fred began.

"Hermione won't be here for a bit," George continued.

"And we said so!" the twins said together. They marched off and left Ron alone, staring grumpily at the stove.

"We said so!" Ron mimicked.

He poked the stove with his wand rather forcefully and two burners lit like bonfires. Ron jumped behind the island with a shriek, and only peeped out when he realized they'd got themselves under control. With a sigh of relief, he got started. His mother had left all the ingredients for a good stew ready, saying all he had to do was take them out, put them in the pot, and leave the lid on for an hour.

Ron had never been a brilliant cook, but it appeared dinner was up to him tonight, and he didn't want to disappoint. He put in the vegetables and water and bits of meat, added the lid in the vain hope everything would turn out all right, and went into the living room to wait. Ginny was upstairs getting a spare bed into her room for Hermione, who she'd invited to stay for a few weeks, and the twins were in their room doing joke shop business, so downstairs was rather quiet. The ghoul in the attic must have noticed this, because he immediately started banging on pipes. Ron rolled his eyes. Such was life at the Burrow.

Of course, that didn't mean the noise was doing anything for his nerves. He scratched his head of fiery red hair and stared down at the glass coffee table, wondering what in the world was going on with Harry. He'd sent Harry several owls over past few weeks, all asking him how he was, all inviting him to stay, and he'd only received the most bizarre messages in return: "I am fine. Thanks for asking," "All's well here," ... nonsense like that.

He'd had half a mind to write Dumbledore about these answers, since it wasn't like Harry to give such short replies or to not send letters at all. In truth, he hadn't received a single owl from Harry with a real letter in three weeks. He'd even written Hermione and asked if she'd gotten one, and she'd replied (in a panic) that she hadn't received anything besides the odd replies Ron had gotten, and that she'd written to Dumbledore herself about it, but as yet had received no answer.

Ron was getting very worried. Harry was his best mate, and this just didn't smell right. He was so deep into his thoughts that he didn't even hear the doorbell until the third ring. As the Weasleys' bell sounded a bit like a cross between Big Ben and screeching eagle and screamed "Oi! Get off your lazy bum and answer the door!" if it wasn't answered promptly, ignoring it was quite a feat.

"Coming!" Ron yelled, bounding up.

He opened the door to see Hermione standing on the stoop, loaded down with bags. "Hello, Ron," she said pleasantly. Her face took on a sharp look after a few seconds of Ron staring at her stupidly. "Are you just going to goggle at me, or are you going to help?"

Ron snapped out of it and took some of Hermione's bags inside. His mouth was yelling, "Ginny! 'Mione's here, come help with the bags!" but his mind was very much somewhere else.

Hermione Granger had showed up on his doorstep looking very different than she usually did at school. Her modest shorts still presented nice legs that had always been hidden under her Hogwarts robes, and her t-shirt showed off a respectable waistline and, well, something else that was nice to look at. Her bushy brown hair was pulled up off her freshly scrubbed face, and she was talking to him now, but all he could pay attention to were her pearly (and now properly sized) teeth.

Then he realized Hermione was glaring at him, flushing, and obviously annoyed.

"Did you hear a thing I just said?" she fumed.

"Er," said Ron.

Hermione snorted, dragging her suitcase inside. "I asked if you'd heard from Harry. I've been very worried about him, Ron!"

Ron pulled himself up taller, trying to look peeved with her as he grabbed a few more of her bags. "Well, you don't have a monopoly on worrying about Harry! I'm worried, too. And no, I haven't heard anything."

Hermione sighed and flopped onto the couch. "With any luck Dumbledore will send some Order members to find out what's going on. I just hope he's all right."

Ron grunted in agreement, dropping her stuff and flopping down beside her. "Maybe Mum and Dad know something about him. They went out for a meeting, but we can ask them when they get back."

"That's a plan."

Their discussion was interrupted by a sudden bang and the arrival of Madam Pomfrey, who appeared about six feet off the floor and landed in the easy chair opposite with a plop. Ron stood and ran to her, rather bewildered. He helped her up.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, standing up and joining him. "What on earth are you doing here?" The darkness in her voice suggested she already had some idea.

Madam Pomfrey looked at them sadly. "I need your help. There's not much time to explain, but do you have a guest room?"

"Yeah, it's just through here," Ron said, leading them through a nearby corridor and stopping quickly at a door on the left. "Are you ill, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Oh heavens no, dear," she said. "But someone you both know needs my help."

The bottom dropped out of Hermione's stomach. "H-Harry?" she asked.

The nurse shot Hermione a brief look and then stepped inside the small, if comfortable, guest room. The double bed, which sat in the middle of the room, was completely bare save the mattress cover. The closet to the left was spacious, and to the right was a doorway leading to a tiny bathroom. An intricately carved nightstand with a fat little lamp was the only decoration.

"Something's happened to Harry?" Hermione asked again. "What's happened to him? Madam Pomfrey, what is it?" She was getting more wide-eyed and scared with every second that Poppy didn't answer.

The nurse just hung her head, knowing there wasn't much she could say to calm Harry's friends. Ron Weasley was a typical clueless boy, but Hermione Granger was one of these terrifyingly smart people who could make two and two add up to seventeen.

And Hermione was getting closer to hysterical with every second Madam Pomfrey kept silent. The evidence was clicking into place: the lack of real letters, the odd, bland replies that could have been written by anyone, the sudden appearance of the Hogwarts matron at the Burrow – Harry was obviously hurt. And since he only spent his holidays with the Dursleys, she had a pretty good idea of who might have done the damage.

"Madam Pomfrey, I need to know! What did they do to him? ... WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM?!" she screamed finally, catching the Poppy by the lapels. A tear bloomed from one of her eyes and splashed down her front.

Poppy began to cry as well, not even trying to restrain Hermione from shaking her.

"Hermione, stop!" Ron yelled, dragging her off Madam Pomfrey.

As Poppy was now openly sniffling and Hermione had begun to sob too, Ron was more lost than ever. His mate was obviously in a bind, his parents weren't here to handle anything, and he was trapped in a very small room with two very upset witches.

"Brilliant," he muttered, hugging Hermione with one hand and looking for tissues with the other.

To be continued ...