A/N: Hey everyone, I promised a very quick update and here it is. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate being told how the story's going. Someone pointed out that I used a quote from Star Trek: First Contact in my last chapter (Don't try and be a great man, etc.), I completely forgot to point out that was taken. I promise that I wasn't trying to pass that off as my own. It's also nice to know that there's at least one more Star Trek nerd out there.
I'm just going to warn everyone right now. The story will begin to get much darker in nature, more swearing, sex, alcohol, and violence. I rated the story R or M or whatever, for a reason. A very good reason, if anyone is offended by this then please take heed of my warning and either stop reading, or be prepared to skip over important parts.
Cheers - Midnight
Chapter 7
Harry's eyes slowly opened, a blur of colors faded away to slowly reveal what could only be a hospital room. Looking around he noticed an array of monitors on the tables next to him. He had no idea what any of them were specifically. He tried sitting up and immediately felt his muscles sting in protest. He felt like he had just run a marathon and played a few games of quidditch back to back. Trying again he gritted his teeth as his body protested the movement. Finally he was sitting upright, he looked down at his body and noticed that he was in hospital garb and also that there was some kind of bracelet on his wrist.
Harry brought his wrist closer to his eyes so he could examine that mysterious bracelet closer. The bracelet appeared to be made of some kind of plastic and words around it read: Harry Potter, #6221. Apparently the bracelet was just some kind of hospital identification. And if they know my name then I must be in a wizarding hospital and since I've only heard of one, I'm at St. Mungo's, Harry reasoned.
Looking again at the bracelet Harry suddenly realized that he didn't have his glasses on. In fact Harry hadn't had his glasses since Diagon Alley. How the hell did I read in that dark dungeon, especially without glasses, Harry asked himself. Unfortunately he had no answer.
Sighing, Harry thought about what he could do now. He wondered what day it was, how long he'd been sleeping, how he came to be here, what was going to happen now. Well Harry figured the only way he was going to have these questions answered was to find someone and ask.
He swung his legs out of the bed, enjoying the sensation of stretching unused muscles. He stood up and stretched out before walking towards the door. But before he could take more than two steps the bracelet around his wrist suddenly yanked him back by the arm back towards the bed. What the hell? he thought. Trying again he started the door but it was almost as though there was some kind of invisible tether on the bracelet keeping him from moving too far.
Going back to the bed he examined the bracelet trying to figure out if he could somehow take the blasted thing off. He was starting to grow frustrated when suddenly it occurred to him that he could try using his magic to take it off. Feeling remarkably dimwitted, Harry began to concentrate. Almost immediately the bracelet unclasped and fell to the ground.
Unfortunately for Harry as soon as the bracelet left his skin the monitors on the table next to the bed went absolutely crazy. Suddenly the room was filled with the sounds of alarms and sirens. Before Harry could even begin to register his shock the door was flung open and people who were almost certainly medi-wizards ran into the room only to stop as soon as they saw Harry sitting there with a an expression of surprise and a bit of amusement on his face.
For a few seconds Harry simply stared at the medi-wizards standing in front of him before one of them seemed to regain their wits and turned off the alarms. Clearly none of them were about to say anything as they all simply stared at him.
Harry didn't really feel like waiting for them to start talking, "What the hell am I doing here and why the hell are you staring at me like a bloody goldfish?" His words seemed to snap the wizards back into reality.
One of them spoke up and answered his questions, "Well, Mr. Potter, you are in St. Mungo's you were admitted here after you appeared to have sustained quite an impressive array of injuries. And the reason we are all staring at you is because you have been in a coma for twenty days."
"Twenty days?" Harry asked, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Then what is the date today?" Harry wasn't sure if he really wanted to know this but at the same time he would go crazy if he didn't get an answer.
"You were admitted to our care on the 1st of September, making today the 21st."
"Well, what happens now?" Harry couldn't think of anything else to say. He was completely numb. If the attack in Diagon Alley had been on the 30th of July, that means that he had been tortured for the entire month of August. Harry fought the urge to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor as he awaited the response of the doctors.
Unfortunately it looked as though the mediwizards were as clueless as he was, the mediwizard that had been speaking merely stuttered and stammered. Fortunately for the mediwizard at the exact time Albus Dumbledore appeared, walking in the room.
"I believe I can answer some of your questions, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said to him. He turned to mediwizards who still seemed to be staring at Harry as though they simply couldn't believe their eyes, and said, "Thank you all for your services but young Mr. Potter and I need a few moments, thank you." And with that he ushered them all out of the room and closed the door.
Harry still sat on his bed numbly as Dumbledore conjured a very comfortable looking armchair for himself to sit in across from Harry. "Well Mr. Potter perhaps you would like to tell me what happened during and after the attack on Diagon Alley?" Dumbledore started talking as though the subject material was as light as where to go for a quick lunch.
Fortunately for Harry it was just what he needed. And so Harry told him about how he fought the death eaters, how it just seemed like he could just bend the very magic of the world around him to do whatever he wanted. He talked about how Voldemort and he dueled until he finally lost and was knocked unconscious. Harry then hesitated here for just a few moments before he described waking up and being made to endure torture by day and dementors by night.
For some reason Harry didn't quite feel like telling Dumbledore the extent of his torture nor the true nature of his escape. He simply said that after some amount of time he managed to escape from the dungeon, but in the escape from the manor he was discovered and in the ensuing chaos of spells being cast the house must have caught fire and he was the only one to escape.
Dumbledore simply looked at him for a few moments before saying, "That is an amazing story, Mr. Potter, and I'm sure the truth is even more fascinating. When you are ready you can tell me, I will be ready to listen."
Now Harry was pulled in several directions on how to feel. Part of him felt guilty for lying, part felt angry at being caught, part felt gratitude for Dumbledore not pushing him. But the other side of him just couldn't begin to deal with everything that happened in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, he didn't want to believe that he had been unspeakably tortured, he didn't want to believe that he had killed three men that night. And the most haunting of all was that he didn't want to believe that he enjoyed killing those men, he wanted to pretend that he never took pleasure in extinguishing their lives.
"Why is this happening to me? This . . . power, sometimes I feel like there's nothing I can't do. Why did this all happen so suddenly? What does it mean?" Harry asked the aged wizard.
"Alas, Harry. There is still so much we do not know about magic. There are many possibilities as to why these powers have appeared so suddenly within you. Some of them merely improbable, others are near impossible."
"After the battle I was drained of internal magic, and then I was put in an anti-magic dungeon. I remember you saying that internal magic needs to be recharged by natural magic or that if some internal magic already exists that it can regenerate itself. When I was in the dungeon I was completely cut off from magic so I couldn't regenerate any of my internal magic. But I found a book in my robes that I had shrunk earlier that day." Harry hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I could feel the magic on the book, like I just knew that somehow there was a trace of magic on the book. I drained the magic from the book into myself, it was like I jump-started my internal magic. It was so strange, I had never noticed it before, but now that I was completely focussed on it, I could feel the magical reserves in myself growing ever so slightly. I used that little bit of magic to keep myself alive and sane. But I don't understand how was I able to shield my mind from the dementors and keep my body alive, when I couldn't even perform an unlocking spell on the dungeon door to let myself out of there."
"As far as I can tell, Harry, the difference is that in the anti magic field no natural magic exists. That means that any spell performed would be dependent solely on internal magic, and when that occurs almost any spell, regardless of how rudimentary, becomes nearly impossible. However what you were doing in manipulating your own body was significantly different. Within you, the magic already existed and all you had to do was bend it slightly to make internal changes."
"So how was I able to do any magic at all in the anti-magic field?" Harry asked.
"The anti-magic field can only drain an area of natural magic, you still possessed your own inner magic," Dumbledore replied.
"But because I had used all my magic battling Voldemort in Diagon Alley I was exhausted and didn't even have that," Harry said beginning to understand everything.
"Exactly, however it is most intriguing that you say you had a magically charmed item in your possession and you absorbed the magic into yourself as your own inner magic. Very interesting, I don't believe I have ever heard of that before." Dumbledore said looking like he was trying to figure something out.
"I take it that's something else that's not normal?" Harry asked in rather deadpan voice.
"It would appear that the term normal doesn't apply to your usage of magic, Harry. It's not a bad thing, I daresay it's the exact thing we need in the war against Voldemort." Dumbledore hesitated for a moment and then asked, "Tell me, Harry, can you sense the magic around you right now? Like would you be able to tell me what objects in this room are magical and what the magic is doing?"
Harry was surprised at the question, but now that he mentioned it he looked around at the instruments on the table and could feel the magic around them linking them to the now discarded bracelet. He could feel the magic around the door and knew that it had something to do with manipulating the mind. "Well I know that the things on the table there are magic, and that they're linked to the bracelet . . . some kind of a monitoring system. I can also feel some kind of magic surrounding the door . . . I'd say it has something to do with memories . . . like a memory charm or something. Why would that be there?"
"I will get to that in a moment, Harry, but as I suspected, you seem to have developed a skill that many wizards could never attain and those that do must spend years studying. You see, Harry, in order to do what you have just done a wizard must have an amazing knowledge of recognizing magical signatures, patterns, and strength in order to determine the nature of that magic. Being able to not only recognize the magic around you, but also being able to determine it's exact function, is something I myself have great trouble with. The advantage of having such a skill is that being able to have such a deep understanding of magic allows one to do things normally unheard of, such as altering that magic, or finding better methods to accomplish the goal of that magic. How do you think new spells come into being?
"What I'm trying to get at, Harry, is that this ability would allow a normal wizard to create new spells after years of research and development. But with your innate ability to control natural magic, you could create spells in hours, maybe even less. Perhaps you are able to simply will your magic in a way that will make spell casting obsolete, at least for you anyway."
"I think it's something like that actually, Professor. When I'm doing magic these days without my wand, I'm not thinking of the incantation, or the theory behind the spell or anything that I've ever even learned. It's just like . . . instinct. I don't know how else to explain it. I know that I want something to happen and the power in me does all the rest. It's as natural as breathing, or sneezing. I don't learn it, I just do it." As Harry said that he began to truly wonder at the power he wielded. If it was the power that Dumbledore believed it to be, there might not be anything he's not capable of. And for some reason that Harry could not begin to place, the thought of that power scared him. It scared him more than Voldemort ever could.
"I suspect that it was this instinct as you put it, that siphoned the magic off the book and manifested that magic within you so that you might begin to replenish your magic reserves."
"Another thing, professor, what happened to my eyes? I can see just fine without my glasses. I've been able to see since the battle at Diagon Alley," Harry said really curious about why he suddenly developed perfect eyesight.
The headmaster looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, "Its not uncommon for wizards to have their physical attributes altered somewhat after powerful magical transformations."
"But I haven't done anything like that . . . I don't think," Harry said thinking about his animagus form, but dismissing it, because he could read before he transformed.
"Haven't you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "Your rapid growth in the summer, and the increase in power you've experienced are most likely intertwined. If I were to venture forth a guess, I would say that your body has physically changed itself to better accommodate the higher levels of magic you now possess. Did you know that magic actually flows through the body more easily, if the person is in good physical condition?"
Harry shook his head not realizing that, but thinking that it made sense, as he remembered most of the quidditch players in the school seemed to perform magic fairly easily.
"There's one more thing that I can't explain, Headmaster. My escape as you know, was not at all smooth. When I was out of the anti-magic field, it was like my body just sucked the magic from the very air around me. I felt like I had more power than ever before. And when . . . my captives tried to . . . recapture me. I just . . . created . . . fire. It was like I could feel my magic simply bleeding off of me and become the fire. Fire that I could completely control. It was like the fire was as much a part of me as my magic is. All I can remember is I was so angry . . . and the flame . . . fed . . . on my hate. Like my hate for those people became the fire. And . . . I don't know," what Harry wanted to say was that he reveled in the destruction his fire had caused. But that was something Harry had yet to come to terms with himself.
Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "It is no secret that the very essence of magic borders on the essence of fire. It is one of the reasons why even to most inept of wizards can still light fires with relative ease. It is my theory that the power of the emotion that you were feeling at that time simply caused your magic to radiate from you in the most elementary of it's forms, fire. This would not be the first occurrence of a powerful wizard being able to wield flames without the aid of a wand or incantation, but I believe that all such past displays would pale in comparison to what you did to Malfoy Mannor. You do realize that a wizarding home such as his has built-in anti-fire charms covering every inch of it. To burn it down so completely and quickly as you did would require a fire the magnitude of which simply cannot be created by any means that we possess."
"Malfoy Mannor," Harry said in disgust. "Why the hell was Malfoy even there? He was supposed to be rotting in Azkaban!"
At this Dumbledore's expression darkened and he replied, "During the time you fought Voldemort at Diagon Alley, another group of Death Eaters appeared at Azkaban. Apparently some sort of arrangement had been made and many of the prisoners were freed. As for the dementors . . . it would appear that they have finally chosen to abandon the ministry and openly declare their support for the Dark Lord."
"So you're saying that the attack on Diagon Alley was nothing more than a diversion to keep people away from Azkaban for as long as possible?" Harry asked not quite believing what he had just heard.
"I'm afraid so Mr. Potter. The war against Voldemort has just become significantly more perilous." Dumbledore said looking every bit his age.
Harry didn't want to think about that anymore. He just wanted to be someplace warm with his friends laughing about something or other. "Well when are you going to allow Ron and Hermione to come visit me?" he asked while he was thinking about his friends.
It was at this time that Dumbledore seemed to falter. "Well, Harry. What you must realize is that after the attack on Diagon Alley, Miss Chang told us all about what –"
Harry interrupted here saying, "Cho! I completely forgot about her is she alright? Did she make it out alright?" Harry remembered thinking in the dungeon about how he tried to stay alive for her, about how he would get out and be with her again. How could he have forgotten to ask about her?
"Miss Chang is quite well, Mr. Potter. She was quite distressed over your disappearance, but other than that she has coped rather well," Dumbledore said in a soothing tone.
Harry felt relieved and said, "Oh, wow that's a relief. I was so afraid that . . . wait what do you mean was distressed. And where are Ron and Hermione, I don't think anything in the world could keep them from me. Unless . . . oh no. They're upset with me for not writing over the summer, aren't they?"
"Harry there is no easy way to tell you this so I will simply state it as it is. When you were taken on July 30th after the battle, we assumed that you were dead. The whole wizarding world put forth a monumental effort to try and find you but it proved to be a futile gesture. The photos of the battle also clearly showed that you had been defeated and that Voldemort took your body away. The curse he used on you Harry looked exactly like the killing curse, but it apparently had the effect of a simple stunning curse."
"I had wondered why when he said 'stupify' a green light flashed," Harry thought aloud.
"Powerful wizards are able to make spells appear different then normal," Dumbledore explained. "It's quite a handy trick in duels. I'm sorry to say that I never considered that as a possibility. No one else did either, Harry, for the last two months the world has thought you dead."
Harry couldn't speak. His throat had constricted to the point where he could barely breathe. "When I was found a month ago, why was the world not informed then?" Harry managed to choke out.
"Because Harry when you were found we could not even be sure it was truly you. Through the use of many identifying spells we ascertained that you are indeed who you are. But even then, Harry, your condition when they brought you in was . . . extreme. Harry, your heart stopped beating three times the first two days you were here. Nobody honestly thought you would ever regain consciousness. To inform the world that you hadn't died a month ago, and that you are instead likely to die a slow death in the hospital . . . well I hardly think I need to explain any further. It would have been cruel, especially to those who love you."
"So what now?" Harry asked his voice rising. "Am I just supposed to walk out of here and say, 'Hey guys, what's going on? Oh yea, I'm not actually dead!' What the hell is that?"
Dumbledore was definitely avoiding his eyes now as he said, "Well you will be required to stay here until the mediwizards have certified that you are capable of leaving. Then you will be brought back to headquarters so we can question you about what happened last month as well as test your newfound powers. After which you will be returned to Hogwarts to continue your lessons, you may have to take extra time in all classes to catch up. Over that time the truth of what happened to you over the summer will be released to the public."
Harry sat there in silence. Dumbledore could not have said anything more horrible to Harry. He absolutely hated hospitals the way they would just fuss and fuss; and more than that, he hated the idea of returning to Grimmauld Place. That house held way too many memories that even now were far too painful for Harry to confront. He's going to do to me, what he did to Sirius, Harry thought with a feeling of dread. "I don't understand how everyone can think I'm dead," he said at last. "I mean no less than seven wizards and witches just saw me now, how many people knew I was here? You can't begin to tell me that they couldn't have slipped that kind of journalistic dynamite to anyone."
Dumbledore actually brightened up at this, "In one of my more clever moments I devised a simple yet effective way to keep your presence here a complete secret. I memory charmed the aurors who recovered you, of course I will now be happy to remove them, and as for St. Mungo's personnel, only the head healer knew of you. You see, the door to your room is charmed so that if anyone but myself or the head healer walks through it, they will see a much different person lying where you are. And upon leaving the room it will be almost as though they can barely remember what they did, only that they did it. So your previous assessment of a memory charm around the door was quite accurate. As I said before, had you died here the emotional strain of having found you alive, only to lose you again would simply have been too much for most people to handle."
"So instead I now have to find someway to recover what's left of my life? How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he asked his voice rising. "You know something . . . no. Just forget it. I've given so much to this fucking world and I'm sick of it! There are a very few people in this world I give enough of a damn about to force myself to endure months of torture to live for! And right now I want to be with some of them. Everyone else can go fuck themselves for all I care!"
And without another word he turned to the window and ran.
"Harry, wait!" Dumbledore called.
But there was only one thing on Harry's mind: escape. He had just gone through a terrible ordeal, he was not about to made prisoner again by those trying to protect him. He wouldn't let them do to him what they did to Sirius. He held out his hand and with his magic, shattered the glass just before he jumped through it. As he fell he transformed to his phoenix form and was gone in the blink of an eye. Dumbledore looked out the window but could find no trace of Harry.
"What have they done to you, Harry?" Dumbledore said suddenly feeling every bit as old as he truly was.
A/N: another transitional chapter, I know, I know they're boring. But it did answer a lot of questions I'm sure many of you had been having, and hopefully you all now better understand exactly how Harry's magic works. Till next time, Happy Reading!