Chapter Seventeen

Previous Chapter: She removed her hand from his forehead and brought it to her mouth in shock. Where Zachary Harrison's unblemished skin had been there was now a stark lightning bolt shaped scar.

Harry snorted as something brushed under his nose. He reached his arm up to swipe it away, startled when a searing pain shot down to his finger tips.

"Fuck!" he muttered, wincing. He squinted his eyes open and looked around taking inventory. Harsh white walls and matching gauze curtains surrounding his bed. Yeah, he was sure he was in the Hospital Wing.

He sunk back into his pillows with a sigh. He couldn't remember why he was here, but he wasn't really that interested; it wasn't the first time he had found himself dragged out of unconsciousness to find himself sprawled in the same spot.

I'll worry about it in the morning, he assured himself. At least he would get a nice, uninterrupted night's sleep.

"Good morning, Harry."

"G'morning, Lelia," he mumbled, turning onto his side and nestling deep into the pillows. Ooooh, so soft…

"Wait, what?" He sat straight up, ignoring the pain coursing through his body, cutting through his veins.

"I said, 'Good morning, Harry'," she repeated calmly. She was so nonchalant that she could have been discussing the weather. "That is your name, is it not?"

"Yeah … but … how?"

Lelia reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small compact mirror. Flipping it open, she pointed the glass surface towards his face.

Emerald green eyes peered back at him and he groaned.

"Glamour didn't hold, huh?"

"Nope." She snapped it shut and gave Harry a piercing stare. "Do you want to tell me what is going on?"

"Do I have a choice?" Harry watched, bemused, as she pretended to consider it.

"No, not really."

He leaned back and contemplated the ceiling. "Then you leave me no choice," he said slowly, humming in thought. "I suppose I will, then," he finally conceded, relaxing. Lelia relaxed as well, ready to hear the whole story her mysterious friend had been hiding for so long.

"Enter," his Master boomed viciously and Pettigrew trembled, his knees knocking harshly. He nervously pushed the door open and peered inside.

"I said enter, Wormtail," Voldemort demanded impatiently, glaring. "If I wanted you to stand in the door like an idiot, I would have told you so." Pettigrew squeaked fretfully, scuttling inside. "Do you have an update for me?

"Ye-yes," he stuttered, bowing clumsily. "The plan w-we-went perfectly. He-he spent the ni-ight in the Hospital Wing," he reported haltingly.

Voldemort smirked and brought his finger tips together. "Perfect. The next stage begins tomorrow." He stood up and walked over to the window, peering into the night sky. "Soon, Harry," he promised smilingly. "Soon."

"You need to stay another night, young man. For observation."

Harry slid his feet onto the cold stone floor, wincing vaguely as he applied weight to them for the first time since his entry into the Hospital Wing. That had been two interminable days ago and he was longing for a change of scenery; the white was starting to burn his eyes. "I'm fine, Madame Pomfrey. I swear."

The matron snorted. "You clearly are not fine! You can barely walk." She moved to grasp Harry's arm, but he pulled away defensively.

Defiantly, he slipped each foot into a padded slipper and took a few tentative steps forward. "There," he said proudly, "See? I'm perfectly capable of moving—all by myself." He shot her a smug smile, but the effect was lost of he pitched forward, clutching at the bedside table for support.

With a raised eyebrow and dismissive harrumph, Madame Pomfrey efficiently pushed the defeated boy back into bed. "Sit! Stay! Good boy." He shot her an angry glare. "One more night, Harrison. You're lucky I haven't called any experts in yet. How you managed to be inflicted with an Unforgivable is beyond me! Though it's hardly a wonder why anyone would want to hit you with one sometimes," she muttered under her breath.

"It must be my contagious personality and charm," he beamed at her.

Ignoring the innocent look, she pulled the curtains around his bed open once more and started to her office. "You have a visitor, by the way," she called back over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her.

Harry settled against his pillows and sighed. The only friendly faces he had seen these days were the incessant check-ups from Remus and the occasional drop-ins from Lex. Lelia had been surprisingly absent, but he supposed that discovering your friend is a famous time-traveler who defeated the Dark Lord is a lot to take in. She hadn't mentioned anything to Lex yet though, for which Harry was grateful.

"Come in," he bid, reaching over to his nightstand for a glass of water and preparing for the entrance of a worrying werewolf. He nearly did a spit-take, however, when the sinister profile of Severus Snape came in to view. "Hello, Professor," he greeted calmly, but his heart was pounding against his ribs. "What can I do for you?"

Snape pulled up a chair, folding his fingers across his lap and shooting Harry a pointed stare. "How are you feeling, Harrison?" he asked briskly, examining the student laying before him for visible signs of damage.

"I'm fine, Professor. Just tired," he remarked, noting the dark circles under the Professor's own eyes. "I'd be better if I could get out of here." He was referring to the Hospital Wing, but Snape was quick to respond.

"They are still looking for a way of righting the time line."

"Are they anywhere close to a solution?"

Snape shook his head. "No nearer than they were when they figured out how you got here. The Ministry is bringing in new specialists everyday to analyze the problem, but they have had zero progress thus far." He rubbed his eyes in exasperation and Harry had a pang of sympathy over the stress the man must be under. "I keep telling Albus that so many people coming in and out of the castle is a security risk, but …" he trailed off bitterly.

"The Ministry is bringing in just as many Aurors," he said noncommittally and Snape gave an impatient sigh.

"Yes, but that doesn't stop students from being attacked right underneath our noses." There was no reply from Harry, so Snape pushed on. "What happened to you, Harrison?"

Ah, the real reason he came, he thought. "I've already told everyone who has asked. I don't remember."

"I don't believe you."

Harry shrugged. "That's not my problem," he said impassively. "If I could tell you anything, I would. But I can't."

Snape opened his mouth as if to reply, but thought better of it. "I cannot make you tell me anything, Zachary. But I wish you would. You are a target for not only the Ministry now, but also for the Dark Lord. I am not sure what you know of …" He looked unsure of how to continue.

"I know you are a spy," he answered bluntly.

Snape nodded as though he expected that answer. "They don't trust me as they did before the end of the first war. But I do know that the Dark Lord has something planned for you. I can't help you unless I know what is happening. Until I know the full truth, I cannot risk it."

Harry stared at his hands for a moment, briefly running his fingers over the faded scar carved there. Then his face rose up to meet his Professor's eyes.

"With all due respect, sir, you can't help me either way."

Another day and another bicker with Madame Pomfrey later, Harry left the Hospital Wing. Stomach growling, he walked with a slight limp to the Great Hall, ignoring the curious stares as he hobbled past. He knew it was too much to hope for that the news of his "accident" hadn't spread around the school.

Sighing bitterly at the thought that he was gawked at even when no one knew he was the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry stepped into the hustle and bustle of the Great Hall. Silence moved through the room in a wave as he walked towards the Slytherin table.

"Is that him then?" a voice cut through the hushed conversations of the Hall. Harry turned to glare at the speaker, only to meet the eyes of a stout balding man. "He doesn't look like much."

"Speak for yourself," Harry bit out, blatantly staring at the roll of fat that hung over the man's belt.

The man shot Harry a nasty look and cleared his throat. Minister Bagnold, who was standing at his side, took her cue.

"Be more respectful, Mr. Harrison," she reprimanded. "This man might be your ticket out of this year."

"Which we would all be thankful for," Crouch mumbled under his breath.

The man stuck out his hand and introduced himself smugly. "Professor Harvey Huffman, at your service."

"Professor Huffman's research on the influence of time waves is some of the most extensive work in the world," the Minister bragged, beaming at the man.

Harry reluctantly shook the Professor's hand. The skin felt rubbery under his finger tips and he grimaced. He gave Huffman a forced smile just as a deep pain shot through his forehead.

He took a sharp intake of break and pulled away, a deeply puzzled look etched on his face. Huffman's smile grew and he winked at Harry with one watery eye. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Harrison. I'm sure I'll have some questions for you later, but I must retire to my room. Work begins first thing tomorrow morning." With a jaunty nod of his head, he shuffled out of the room.

Harry pushed past the Minister and went to the Head table, leaning his hands on the table and staring at the Headmaster. "We need to talk."