"I'm sorry but he's in the middle of-"
"I don't care! I'm going to see him!"
"Wha's this abou'?"
"She won't let me in to see Har-"
"Please! I need you to calm down for a mo-"
"Oh, come off it! I've got to get in there!"
"Woah, there, slow do-"
"I have to ask you to lower your voice. There are patients around."
"Please? Please let me see him? I promise I won't get in the way. I just...I have to see him."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Professor Dumbledore looked up from his task. He had been refilling a few potion bottles while healers bustled all around him when he heard the commotion coming from the hallway.
A slight twinkle returned to his blue eyes. He glanced down to the boy lying next to him.
"Well, Harry. Looks like you have a visitor."
The old man stood up and trudged quietly to the door. He opened the door and stared out at the scene in front of him with silent amusement.
Ron, still clad in his hospital gown, was trying to break free from Lupin's grasp while a harassed looking witch stood behind them both trying to calm the boy down. Hagrid still sat in his small wooden chair looking as if he were suffering greatly at the attempt to contain his laughter, while Hermione had already collapsed against the wall and was giggling helplessly.
"Oh, come on Lupin, let go of- Oh! Hi, uh, P-Professor" Ron said sheepishly when he spotted Dumbledore standing in the doorway watching.
Lupin let go of Ron, who took a step away from the man and indignantly brushed himself off. Hermione was giggling harder than ever; her face was bright red and she was clutching her stomach as she tried in vain to catch her breath. Poor Hagrid could no longer contain himself and he too burst into hearty chuckles.
"Well, I assume you are feeling better?" Dumbledore smiled down at the red-haired boy.
"Yeah. I-I mean yes, professor." Ron took a step toward the headmaster. "Umm, I was just wondering if...well, if I could see-I mean if I can't, then, I understand, but-"
"Oh, I'm sure." muttered Dumbledore.
"Huh?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm sure the healers are almost done, and as soon as they leave, you can all go in and say 'hi'."
"He's woken up then?" asked Lupin hopefully, before anyone else had a chance to speak.
Dubledore gave them a small, sad smile. "No. Not yet."
He turned to go back into the room, but then stopped. "Actually, Ronald, if you would accompany me, you might be able to help. You see, I'm afraid you are the only one amongst us who knows exactly what happened in the graveyard. If you would be brave enough to recount those events for the healers and I, we might be able to find some way to help Harry."
Ron paled a bit, suddenly unsure. But after a moment, he nodded. He had a slim chance of helping Harry, and there was no way he would let his friend down. Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile, and led him into the room.
Back out in the hallway, everything had calmed down considerably after Dumbledore had asked Ron to recount the events which had transpired.
The exasperated old healer had left to take care of other business, Hermione had stopped laughing; it had been she who had originally suggested that Ron go to visit Harry. However, she hadn't expected him to run with the idea-literally. Lupin had stopped pacing and had taken a seat next to Hagrid, who looked rather uncomfortable in his small chair.
"Hagrid, why don't you get up and move around a bit? You've been sitting there for ages."
Hagrid suddenly looked rather sheepish. "Oh, no. I'm fine, thanks, Hermione."
Hermione stared at him a second, then grinned. "You're stuck, aren't you?"
Hagrid blushed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sun shined through the windows, coming to a stop and resting lazily on the floor of the silent hospital room.
The three healers and Dumbledore stared down at the boy lying silently on the bed. Awe was etched in all of their faces.
The room was silent.
Everyone stared at Harry, who was still deep in a coma.
One of the healers opened his mouth to speak, couldn't think of anything to say, and shut it again. After another minute of silence, he managed to croak out: "H-how? How could anyone survive that? Twice?"
For it was common knowledge that Harry had survived the killing curse when he as a baby, but how could he have survived it a second time?
Of course Dumbledore was the first who could come up with any sort of explanation.
"Well, it would appear to be ancient magic, though I can't say I've ever heard of it. Cases like this aren't too common. However, Harry gave his life willingly in order to save his friends, and in all actuality, the world. He knew what needed to be done, and did it. This act of selflessness must have been what saved him in the end, but, with what consequences, I wonder?"
The room was silent again. Then Ron spoke.
"What about the other curse? The one on his back? If-when he wakes up, how will that work? I mean, he can't keep his eyes clenched shut forever, now, can he? And when he does see us, well. I'll tell you now, it's not fun. And I don't want him to run away again in order to protect us."
At that moment, the door burst open, and Hermione and the Weasley twins cane into the room, Hermione holding a rather large black book with leather binding. They all looked extremely triumphant.
"What's this about?" Asked one of the healers, a thin woman with flecks of gray showing through her light brown hair.
"We've got it!" said George happily.
"Got what?"
"Well," said Fred. "We were talking about the curse on Harry's back, and thought it funny that we all thought it sounded kind of familiar."
"So we did some research while Ron was telling you his story." continued Hermione.
"And we found the answer!" Said George.
"What?" asked Dumbledore, as he and the healers stepped over to the trio. Hermione thumbed through the book until she found the right page. She opened the book wide and set it on the foot of Harry's bed, below his feet.
The page she had turned to showed a picture of a scar- but not just any scar. It consisted of Celtic-looking patterns spread from the base of the neck to the middle of the back of whoever the picture had been taken of. It was a deep dark green, too. Just like Harry's.
The caption underneath read:
The 'Deprivitansia' Curse: very rare. Extremely dark magic.
Can only be conjured by a very powerful witch or wizard.
The Deprivitansia curse prevents the victim from returning to his/her home and life
and/or from seeing those he/she cares about most ever again. The effects of this curse vary from victim to victim, and also depends on the power of whoever cast the spell. Some recorded cases have included extreme pain for anyone near the one bearing the curse, bouts of invisibility, constant pain after seeing or coming in contact with those who had been forbidden by the curse, death to those who come in contact with the cursed one, etc.
The Deprivansia curse was originally used by the infamous 'You-Know-Who' in
the early stages of his treachery. He would bewitch his followers in order to prevent
them from returning to their families, promising them a cure for their loyal service.
However, for reasons unknown, 'You-Know-Who' stopped using this method about a year before his famous attack on the Potter residence. Some experts believe that...
Ron couldn't believe it. He read the first part of the passage again and again.
"Look." One of the healers spoke quietly, pointing at the bottom of the page. "There's the cure."
Ron grinned broadly. So did everyone else in the room. A weight seemed to have been lifted from everyone's shoulders.
"Good work, you three." Dumbledore beamed at Hermione, Fred, and George. For once, that seemed to be all he could say. Everyone just stood there, looking at the book. Until,
"So, uh, why don't we all leave while you guys get to work?"
"That sounds good. We'll notify you as soon as we're done."
Hermione and the twins dragged Ron out of the room with them. He looked back at his friend one last time before the door shut. His eyes were closed, his breathing was even. The scar on his cheek and throat stood out in the bright light of the room. Ron felt a burning anger rise up in him. At first it had scared him, when Harry had laughed at Voldemort's pain, but then when he thought about it, Voldemort had deserved every bit of what he got. After seeing the scars lining Harry's chest, stomach, arms, back, and knowing that they probably covered the rest of his body too, Ron felt that he wouldn't mind going down to the Department of Mysteries and laughing at whatever remained of the 'dark lord'.
As the doors to Harry's room swung shut, Ron watched his friend sleep.
"Don't worry, Harry. Everything's going to work out."
And the door shut with a click.