A/N: This chapter contains a nod to events in The Deathly Hallows.

Chapter 37: Light And Dark

"His vital signs are stable, bu' he is unresponsive," said Healer Chang before Poppy was even all the way in the room.

"Rose," was all she said in gratitude, and she rushed to Harry's side.

He looked surprisingly well to her. His colour was good, his cheek, not too warm to the touch. "Oh, Harry. I promised you. I promised, and I didn't – I didn't keep you safe," and Poppy broke down.

Healer Chang wasn't sure what to do to comfort her mentor. The witch's words were true. But, really, how could anyone have protected Harry from that deranged LeStrange woman? Rose thought. She had read the details in the paper, that Bellatrix had kidnapped poor Madam Puddifoot, and Polyjuiced herself to get to Harry in Hogsmead. Madam Puddifoot had been found, Stunned and bound in the back room of her Tea Shoppe, a little worse for wear. But she had catapulted her new found fame into a new drink for her shoppe. The 'Juice-Me-Not' was said – in The Daily Prophet's "What's News?" section – to look and taste like Polyjuice potion, and only affected one's nose. Although, who on Earth would want a drink that was frothy and fishy and temporarily gave you a nose like Madam Puddifoot's, Rose Chang could not imagine.

She was pulled from her reverie, by Madam Pomfrey's quiet sobs. "There, there, Madam Pomfrey. Harry's a strong one. Strong as th'come. If anyone can pull through, this lad can." She put her hand on the Matron's back and gave her some gentle pats. Poppy straightened and cleared her throat. Her eyes were too tear-filled still to read Harry's chart. "Tell me what's been done for him so far, Rose, please."

"Of course, Madam Pomfrey." Rose took up the chart from the end of Harry's cot. She reluctantly began, "Of course, Aynnervation or Pepper-up potions are contraindicated. We feel that rest is wha's needed mos'. We traeted bruises on the buttocks, back, back of the head, upper left arm an' left shoulder. We healed his scraped knees, an' welts on his right forearm an' forehead," Healer Chang stopped her litany to see how her mentor was taking the news. The Nurse was holding Harry's hand in hers, her expression stolid. Rose continued. "There was frostbite of the ears, neck an' shoulders, an' multiple sting wounds from unidentified, but non-poisonous insects. That's ayvrything," the Healer finished.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Oh, Rose. If only that were everything. Who knows what that horrible woman said to him." She thought of Healer Vanes and the need for him to intervene with Legillimency again. Oh, her poor, poor Harry.

~0~

The light was so bright. And it was everywhere. Harry was made of light. At first, he was only the glimmering particles, floating and flipping effortlessly in space. But slowly, slowly, thought began to form. And then, images started playing out across his field of – What was it? Not exactly 'vision'. Field of recognition? Harry couldn't tell. At first, the pictures floated before him too quickly, fleetingly. Harry couldn't discern them, but they kept coming around again and again, each time, a bit more slowly.

Awareness bloomed slowly too, and Harry was able, at last, to perceive fragments of stories, or memories. His memories. He began to recognize faces and events from his past. And soon he was filled with them, and he wasn't the light anymore. But he was still in the light.

"Harry."

Sound. He heard his name and looked, yes, now he could look and see and hear. And he knew that voice. "Umba," he laughed. "Didn't think I'd see you again, Professor."

"And I didn't think I'd hear you call me 'Umba' again, my boy," said the shimmering image of Albus Dumbledore.

"Are we dead?" Harry asked, plainly.

"'Dead' is such a…final word, Harry."

"I see nothing's changed with you. Still cryptic, as ever," Harry said, but there was no sting in his voice.

"You are most certainly not dead, Harry."

"Not dead? Where are we then?" he asked.

"We are, for lack of a better word, in your sub-subconsciousness."

"Didn't know I had one of those, Professor," Harry chuckled.

"There's a great deal of the unknown in the world, such as it is, my boy. But you can't stay here for much longer, Harry. I think you've gotten your memories back, yes?"

"I think so. But they feel… impossible. Did I really kill Voldemort?"

"You destroyed his final Horcrux, and him with it, Harry. That bit of his soul stuck in you all those years, hurting you, obstructing your vision-"

"So that's why I didn't need glasses after the Forbidden Forest!"

"Precisely, my boy."

"Professor Dumbledore, did everything I see here really happen?"

"You doubt your eyes and ears, Harry? That's not like you," he gently chided.

"But, the things I said.. the- the things I did," Harry bent his head down and covered his face in his hands. They felt warm against his cheeks and forehead. So now he could feel, as well.

The old wizard reached for Harry's hands and gently drew them away from his face. Dumbledore's touch felt cool and somehow, fleeting, against Harry's fingers.

"Harry. Have no shame. You were a child. You did what children do. What they are supposed to do. And you gave an inestimable gift to those around you."

"I don't understand, Professor. Gift…?" And then Harry remembered learning what birthday presents were. And he saw Draco Malfoy's face light up, when the Chinese Fireball picture blew it's smokey mushroom cloud for Harry. And he saw Madam Pomfrey's face – his Pomfee – when he had walked back from Hagrid's, all on his own, and she'd gushed, "Oh Harry! Did you really?!"

"Oh. I see," Harry blushed.

"Bup, bup, Harry. I said, 'No shame'."

Harry gave his old Professor a lopsided grin. "That one's gonna be hard, sir."

"Well, you defeated Voldemort, so I have faith that you will overcome this in time, as well. But now, Harry, it's time to return. Your friends and caregivers are waiting for you."

"How do I get back? I don't have any ruby slippers to click together."

"Actually my boy, as I recall from the book, those slippers were silver. But you need no exceptional footwear to return. You need merely to open your eyes…"

As he spoke, Dumbledore's voice got fainter and farther away.

"But my eyes are open," said Harry –

~0~

"But my eyes are open."

"What?! Harry? Harry, did you say something?" Poppy had been sitting at Harry's bedside 'round the clock, dozing fitfully from time to time, but never really getting solid sleep. She thought she heard Harry, and startled. He was looking at her, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Oh, Harry, dear." She held her hand to his cheek. "I was so worried about you." Harry just kept looking at her, his lips pressed firmly together.

Guilt washed over Poppy anew. What could she say to Harry. That this time he would be safe? She felt it was true, now that Bellatrix LeStrange was well and truly dead – though no one had yet determined exactly how that had happened. The Aurors' best guess was Accidental Magic, and that made sense to Poppy, as well. But it was more damning evidence of her inability to take care of Harry. He'd been in grave danger, and had – once again – saved himself. "Oh, Harry," she breathed again, and then marshaled herself. "Are you hungry? If you're hungry, we can get you some porridge, with extra, extra treacle, just like you like it."

Harry closed his eyes, they'd been bright with unshed tears he didn't want her to see. He tried to breathe evenly and master his emotions, as he realized: she didn't know. Madam Pomfrey thought he was still a child. And, he realized too, with growing dread, he didn't know how to tell her that he wasn't. So for once, Harry Potter did was was easiest, and he didn't tell her anything. He pretended to be asleep for so long, he actually did fall asleep.

~o~

"His hands are like ice. I cast a warming charm on his blanket and tucked them under," Poppy informed Healer Chang when she came in to check on Harry for her rounds. "He woke, Rose, and looked at me for a moment."

"Oh, Tha's wonderful, Madam Pomfrey! But the cold hands? Exhibiting signs of shock, perhaps. Tha' would certainly make sense." Chang didn't add, 'Given what he's been through'. Her mentor was already feeling so guilty, she didn't need Rose to remind her of Harry's ordeal. "Le's eaylevate his feet, to be safe." She cast a charm on the cot, and the bottom end of it raised up a foot, or so.

"Yes, I suppose that makes sense…" Poppy trailed off. She was overwrought with guilt and felt maybe it was best to let Rose take charge of Harry's care here.

Hours later, Harry opened his eyes again. His stomach rumbled unhelpfully, waking Poppy from another doze.

"Harry. You are hungry. Let's get you some porridge." She tapped her wand on the chart at the foot of Harry's cot, and soon a food-service wizard came into the room.

"What can I get for you?" asked the stout young, lad in a chipper voice. He looked young enough to be at Hogwarts still, his cropped, black hair sticking up in spikes at the top.

Poppy leveled him with a considered look, but he seemed untroubled by her scrutiny, which elevated him some in her estimation. "Could you please bring us a bowl of porridge and a small dish of treacle with it?"

"Coming right up," he chirped, and was off.

A few minutes later, Jeremy Chang returned, holding a covered tray in his arms. He set it down on the little table by Madam Pomfrey's transfigured visitors' chair. Poppy had changed the chair to be like her favorite one in her parlour, but now that the food had arrived and she was 'up' for the day, Poppy transfigured it back to a wooden seat with a small cushion. "Thank you…?"

"Chang," provided the young wizard. "Jeremy Chang."

"Oh. Are you related to Healer Rose Chang, then?"

"Yes Ma'am. Healer Chang is my aunt. She's the reason I went into medical food-service."

Poppy nodded her approval at both Jeremy's choice of vocation and Rose's choice of what aid to assign to Harry. Someone she most likely trusted completely.

Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position and Poppy rearranged the pillows behind him, adding a flufffening charm to them. She directed the tray with her wand to float just above Harry's lap, and similarly lifted the lid off of the tray, setting it back on the little table. Harry's stomach gave another rumble, once the scent of the porridge reached his nose.

"Well, it's clear you definitely are hungry, Harry," said Poppy, as she spooned what looked to Harry like impossible amounts of treacle for a single bowl of porridge. "And that's a good sign. Here, dear. Or… can't you manage?" she asked, when Harry hesitated. She reached for the spoon again.

The thought of Madam Pomfrey spoon-feeding him, made something inside Harry twist, and he grabbed for the spoon more forcefully than he'd meant to. It startled his caregiver and she put her hand to her chest in surprise. Harry cast his eyes down to the bowl. He couldn't bear to look at her hurt expression. The porridge, once he was able to make himself start to tuck in, was horribly sweet, but Harry tried not to make a face as he ate.

"Your friends would like to see you, Harry. Ginny and Ron and Hermione, have sent owls every day asking if they could come see you. And Draco's been by, as well, wanting to have a visit." Poppy didn't Mention that Auror Tonks also was eager to see that Harry was okay. She didn't want to upset him with reminders of what had happened, before he was ready. "Would you like to see your friends? We could have them come for a short visit, one at a time. If you'd like."

Harry shook his head and wouldn't meet her gaze. He kept his eyes on the porridge until he had finished it. His stomach rumbled again when he was done, and Poppy said, "We'll wait a bit, before eating something more, Harry. We need to take things slowly to get you back to health."

Poppy was disturbed that Harry didn't want to see his friends. She couldn't think of a more 'un-Harry-like' thing. Harry loved his friends and thrived in their company. She felt, perhaps in this, that she should overrule his wishes. But decided it would be best to consult with Healer Brookes first. Poppy floated the tray back to the little table, first lifting the lid there and replacing it atop the tray. Then she bent down to the side of the chair, and reached into a satchel, pulling out a few books for Harry.

"I've brought some of your favorites, Harry,"said the Matron, handing the topmost book to him. It was Teach Your Dragon To Understand Consequences, a 'telling' birthday gift from Hermione. "And here's The New Adventures Of Wizard Glick," which Ginny had given him. "I wonder if Healer Chang knows there's a new Wizard Glick book out? We'll have to show it to her, when she comes back to check in on you, Harry."

Harry accepted the books and just held them. He wasn't sure what to do, and when Poppy asked, "Do you want me to read one to you, Harry?" Harry just shook his head. This left Poppy more worried. Harry hadn't said a word since he had woken up. She wasn't sure if he had said something the first time he had opened his eyes, or if she had just been dreaming. And she wasn't even sure of what it was she might have heard.

Then Harry leaned back and started to wriggle down on his cot, to be more horizontal. The books started to slide off his lap, and he and Poppy reached for them at the same time. Their hands touched and Harry froze. He thought of how many times those hands had comforted him, healed his cuts and scrapes, wiped his tears away and too, patted him on the head when he'd done something well. And he remembered Dumbledore's words. 'No shame'. But Harry felt ashamed. And he wasn't sure why. Would Madam Pomfrey think he had been pretending all along, if he revealed that he was back to himself now? And how- how could he tell her? What should he say? 'Hallo, Madam Pomfrey. I'm all grown up now.'? Overwhelmed, Harry let his caregiver take the books and he closed his eyes and turned over on the cot, his back to her.

He must have fallen asleep again. Harry woke to the sound of low voices, coming from the doorway of his room.

"…and Healer Chang thinks it's the shock of it all, but he hasn't said a word and he's uninterested in his books or having his friends come. What do you think, Healer Brookes?"

"Well, I'd like to talk with him first, but I suspect a visit from a friend might be just what he needs. Let's wait and see. I'll take over for you here, Madam Pomfrey. You need a break. Go home. Take a shower. Get some sleep and then come back. I'll stay with Harry, or Healer Chang-"

"But-" Poppy was looking forlornly at her charge.

"I promise to owl you if anything occurs. You'll be no use to him if you collapse from exhaustion. Pepper-up Potion only goes so far," he admonished.

At this, Poppy blushed. She had been taking multiple drams of Pepper-up steadily for going on three days, now. And she could feel it taking its toll. "Very well. You're right, of course, Healer Brookes. But you must owl me if he says anything."

"I promise," he reassured her. "And I see this bag has his books and toys. I'll send for some things he likes from my office, as well, just in case. Now please, go, Madam Pomfrey." And with one last, long look at Harry, she did.

Brookes took the chair Poppy had vacated. He cast an extra cushioning charm on the seat cushion, as he expected to be there a while. Listening to Harry's breathing, he suspected the boy might be awake, or possibly dozing. But he had been cautioned by Healer Chang not to disturb Harry, as he was still in shock. So Brookes said nothing and pulled the latest issue of Magical Maladies Weekly from his lime green robes' pocket, and began the wait.

Nature was calling Harry, and he did not want to answer with Healer Brookes sitting by his bed. But when the call became too great, Harry sat up and, drawing the bedcovers off of his lap, he swung his legs over the side of the cot. Harry knew there was a small water closet at the back of each patient room, so, ducking his head and saying nothing to Brookes, Harry availed himself of it. When he returned, he saw the Healer was now holding a basket full of painted, miniature wooden dragons and toy quidditch players, which looked the worse for wear. Harry remembered playing with them in Brookes' office many times. And he remembered asking Brookes what happened to the Victor Crumb doll's arm. It was missing. Funny. He didn't remember Brookes' explanation. What would you say to a little kid about a missing limb? Little kid. That had been him. Looking at Brookes' watchful face, Harry knew then that he could not pretend to be the Harry they were expecting. But still, he found, he could not speak. Not that he wanted to, but he felt that , even if he did, he wouldn't be able to utter a single word.

—-

A/N: Comments welcome and much appreciated