Chapter 26
For the first time since the entire nightmare began, Ron Weasley felt hope.
Silver smoke swirled in the middle of the room--Dobby had just disappeared after giving him Hermione's message.
"Did you hear that, mate? 'mione's back. They did it. They found the Dawn's Glory! They're makin' the antidote right now. You'll be right as rain by morning. It won't be long, Harry. Not long at all."
With no idea how long it would take Snape and his student helpers to brew the antidote, they had to be ready to move back to the infirmary at an instant's notice. He performed wingardium leviosa on Harry and changed the bed one final time. After lowering Harry back down, Ron performed scourgify on all of the dirty sheets, folded them, and returned them to the side table--the cleansing wasn't as good as Madam Pomfrey's more advanced sterilizing spells, but it beat leaving them laying about, covered in blood. He tightened the caps or stoppers of every container and put them back in the other table. Finally, he vanished the untouched food.
With the room set to rights, he climbed back onto the bed and propped Harry against him. That position still seemed to best help Harry's breathing. Then he waited.
And waited.
How long did it take to brew the potion? Had they run into any problems? He felt so bloody helpless. He wanted to scream in panic. He wanted to send Dobby to the potions laboratory every few minutes for any news. Only by telling himself over and over that interruptions would delay production of the antidote kept him silent.
Emotional strain and lack of sleep dragged on him. Rational thought took more of his conscious concentration with every passing hour. More than once, he drifted to sleep only to roused again by a jerk in Harry's already ragged breathing.
After one such awakening, Ron rubbed at the tiredness in his eyes, swirled his wand in the air, and cast, "Tempus."
A ghostly clock face appeared before him for the space of 30 seconds before it wafted away on an imaginary breeze: 3:22 in the morning. The dead of night. Ron shivered, regretting any thought-reference to "death."
"Dobby came with 'mione's message just after 8:00. That was over seven hours ago. Where are they?" he muttered into the air. "Come on, Hermione, Neville. Send me some news, will you? What's taking so long? If Snape does anything to louse this up, he'll answer for it, my oath on that."
He stared down at the unconscious burden in his arms. The plentiful bandages around Harry's face, upper body, and left forearm had bled through to the topmost layer of gauze.
"Should I replace your bandages one more time?" Ron sighed and shook his head. "Better not. I don't know if the salves and potions will react with the antidote."
Rather than replace the bandages, he instead levitated his friend once more. As gently as possible, he added several hundred feet more of gauze to Harry's already mummified body. By the time he finished, only enough unwrapped area remained to let Harry Potter breathe.
No sooner had Ron resettled both of them on the bed than Dobby was back with a crack of sound and a swirl of smoke.
The elf appeared, already calling his joyous message. "-time, Wheezy! Master Draco calls us back to the hospital wing!"
"We're ready! Go-go-go!"
The stomach-twisting transfer took only an instant. He blinked at the sudden shift in light level and cringed at the wicked upsurge in noise. After a long night spent with only the crackling of the fire, Harry's rough breathing, and his own voice for company, the raucous din of nearly a dozen adult voices raised in shouts of surprise or dismay beat painfully at his ears.
Barely had the bed settled back in its old grooves in the stone floor than Madam Pomfrey and Molly Weasley pounced on Harry and Ron. Even as the mediwitch ran her wand back and forth over her patient, frowning at the readings that floated in the air over him, Molly smothered her youngest son with a blend of affection and scold.
"Mr. Weasley," Poppy broke through Molly's motherly tirade, "what did you do here?"
Ron cringed at the impatient tone of Pomfreys' voice. Unable to tell if he'd done good or bad, Ron swallowed a lump of anxiety and answered, "Applied the potions from the side table, replaced his bandages four times, changed the sheets three times, and propped him up like I'm doing right now. It seemed to help his breathing."
Pomfrey muttered under her breath and levitated Harry into the air, careful to keep his upper body upright to help his air intake. Though reluctant to lose the contact, Ron rolled off the bed to make room for the mediwitch to work. While Pomfrey examined her patient, Ron looked around the room.
Molly Weasley stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders. A telling tremble passed through her hands into his body. His Mum had been worried. When the time was right, he'd be catching an earful from her about his actions and no mistake.
Draco Malfoy stood at the foot of the bed, a familiar sneer on his face. His attention, however, was not on the bed area but rather on the other adults in the room. Dobby stood at Malfoy's side, anxiously unraveling his super-long muffler in nervous fidgets.
Every face had some form of shock or surprise. Beneath all three Dursleys' expressions was a definite glower of disappointment. The Muggles' eyes locked on Dobby, filled with fear at the sight of such an unhuman creature of magic. Minerva McGonagall stood with her hand at her throat as she sobbed with relief. His Dad moved up to hold his Mum's shoulders, smiling, while Remus Lupin held tight to a whining, very familiar black dog. A teary-eyed Rubeus Hagrid watched the goings-on, puzzled but hopeful, even as Cornelius Fudge looked hopelessly confused. And from Albus Dumbledore, whom many believed to be the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself, came an unmistakable glow of pride and respect.
In the shadows near the door, separated by distance and exhaustion, Severus Snape lay sprawled on the first empty bed, already deeply asleep. He lay as he fell and would surely have a painful crick in his back and cramps in both legs when he woke.
Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger sat back-to-back on the next-closer bed, as though propping each other up. Hermione fought the urge to sleep even as her eyelids drooped, darkened with strain and dragged down by extreme fatigue. Neville, his chin on his chest, had already succumbed. An occasional snore from both Snape and Longbottom fluttered beneath the overall noise of the room.
Madam Pomfrey's no-nonsense voice returned Ron's attention to matters closer at hand.
"We'll have to take the bandages off and coat every inch of his skin with the antidote like we might with a lotion," Poppy said. "Then we'll have to get as much of it into him as we can manage. The more, the better."
Ron grimaced. "Ummm, Madam Pomfrey. I'd better warn you. What's under the gauze ... well ... it's not a pretty sight. Truth told, there isn't any skin left to coat."
The mediwitch sighed and shook her head. "I don't expect there is, Mr. Weasley, but we've no other option. At least none of his internal organs are yet affected. Given another hour, that would not have been the case. Regrowing his skin and hair will be a long, painful process, but at least it's easily done once the curse spell is lifted."
"I'll help, then. I can keep him airborne while you do what you need to do."
Poppy stared at him long enough to make Ron want to squirm but he held her gaze, determined to win the staring match. Madam Pomfrey, apparently satisfied, looked away and nodded.
"As you've already seen what's under these bandages and have yet to run screaming into the Dark Forest, I suppose you'll do for an assistant. The rest of you, however, need to move back and let us work. Molly, would you put the screens back in place on your way? Thank you."
"You will not touch that boy without a say-so from me."
Every magical person in the room, the conscious ones at least, froze a moment then turned to stare, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as Vernon Dursley puffed himself to his full width and glared back at them. Molly Weasley stopped, wand raised. Two half-opened screens floated mid-air between the bed and room at large.
"I am that boy's guardian, and I'm not convinced this so-called 'antidote' is safe," Dursley said. "Has it been tested? How did its maker maintain purity during its creation? Certainly not the same man who was responsible for the boy's injuries in the first place! I would be most neglectful in my duties as Harry Potter's guardian to allow this to go forward."
Choked objections peppered the air. Over them all, a gentle voice carried, "Padfoot, I do believe my hand is cramping from holding you in place. Do be a good dog and stand here at my side, won't you? Thank you."
The instant the werewolf's hand left his ruff, the black dog latched devil's eyes on the three Muggles. With deliberate slowness, Padfoot bared each and every fang. He licked his jaws, first one side and around the other, as though anticipating a scrumptious meal. A low, almost subliminal growl rumbled from his throat. Every hair on his body rose until he looked of a size to rival a small pony. His body coiled, like a wolf ready to spring on its prey.
Every wizard in the room shivered, even those who knew Padfoot's true identity--for an instant, they did not see a simple black dog. They saw The Grim.
The predator's threat carried enough weight to terrify each and every one of the Dursleys into silence.
"Now see here, Albus," Minister Fudge found himself caught once more in the middle of the debate, "If you don't do something to regain order here, I will."
"Ohhhh, shut up, you smelly old skrewt." Every eye turned toward the red-haired youth at Harry Potter's bedside. "I am tired and hungry and worried and fed up to my back teeth with all the yelling. Every second you bicker is time taken away from Harry. You're all grown-ups for Merlin's sake. Act like it already!"
Cornelius Fudge took one officious step closer, finger raised to waggle a warning. "Now see here, boy-"
"If you take one more step toward this bed," Ron glared daggers at the stunned Minister and drew his wand, "I will hex you into next year. You've caused Harry enough grief for one lifetime. I will not let you endanger him just because you've let a couple of magicless Muggles scare your knickers into a twist."
"Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey called even as a sterile blue light formed a bubble around her patient and the bandages around his legs began to unravel. "I need you. Molly, the screens, please."
The pair of tri-fold screens, fully opened, landed on metal feet with a metal-on-stone scrape that echoed in a chamber void of any other sound except for the soft sleeping noises of Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom, and Hermione Granger.