A big thanks to all of those who reviewed, I'm glad you liked the first chapter

Chapter Two

Harry wasn't sure how much later it was when his eyes blinked open. He looked around the dark hospital wing, lit only from the full or nearly full moon and then lifted his hand to scratch his nose. The was kept from moving, and Harry looked down and saw his heavily bandaged right hand was propped on a pillow and probably had a spell on it to keep him from moving it. Harry glanced at his left hand and saw that it was bandaged just as much…

Harry's nose still itched, but now he was wondering how his hands had gotten in this condition. He didn't appear to be injured anywhere else.

Harry's brow scrunched up as he tried his best to remember how his hands got hurt…and then it hit him, the memory of the battle and the even more vivid memory of the extreme pain he'd felt in his hands.

Harry looked down at his bandaged hands once more, this time with a bit of respect—he was honestly surprised they were still there. Then he wondered why they weren't hurting right now, he figured they probably should be.

"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey's tired voice rang out into the darkness, "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Harry replied, "What time is it? How long have I been out?"

Madam Pomfrey bustled over and began clucking her tongue as she looked over him, "It's about 4 AM, Mr. Potter; it's only been a day. You were in pretty bad shape when you were brought in and you were floating in and out of consciousness until we medicated you, then you calmed down a lot and were conscious for most of your treatment…until you went to sleep."

"I was awake?" Harry asked in confusion, "I don't remember much."

"I'm not surprised," Madam Pomfrey replied, "we drugged you up to your ears, at first, because we couldn't treat you."

Harry's brow scrunched up in confusion and he blinked quickly, trying to figure out why they couldn't treat him.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to understand his confusion and went on to explain, "You were exhibiting sensitivity to magic. Which, if your wand exploded would make sense—"

"My wand!" Harry exclaimed, "my wand exploded?!"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, but it can be replaced with a trip to Diagon Alley," Madam Pomfrey replied. "There will be scaring on your hand, where your wand exploded because we couldn't treat it immediately; the same goes for your right hand. We still aren't sure why the metal object was destroyed."

"The metal—oh! You mean the crowbar?" Harry asked. "Hey, Madam Pomfrey, why don't my hands hurt?"

"When we put the constricting and cushioning charms on them we also numbed them, because the pain seemed to be incredibly awful and it would be dangerous to treat you with anymore pain potions."

"Oh…" Harry murmured, "Are my hands going to be okay? They won't have to be amputated will they?"

"No, though the scarring will be quite horrible," she told him, seriously, "I do think you'll be able to have full muscle function in both your hands though, which is quite lucky."

Harry built his lip and stared down at the white bandages covering his hands, "Madam Pomfrey…can I…see them?"

"See what, Mr. Potter?"

"My hands, can I see them?" Harry asked, "I mean, don't the bandages need to be changed anyway?"

"I'm not sure that's wise, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey replied softly, visibly reluctant to do as Harry asked.

"You called me Harry when I was drugged up, didn't you?" Harry asked.

For some reason, this random question had a visible effect on Madam Pomfrey and she looked as though she'd been struck, but she didn't look any closer to allowing Harry to see his hands…if they still looked like hands. Harry imagined them as red-ish purple slugs—probably the same color as Uncle Vernon's face when he was angry.

"I'm only going to see them anyway, Madam Pomfrey," Harry continued, "and it's best if I see them now, that way any improvement would be welcome and I won't become resentful…and bitter."

Madam Pomfrey looked torn and she slowly replied, "I think we should wait a day, or so, before you see your hands unbandaged. They're in very bad condition right now—"

Harry lost hold of his patience and replied, almost yelling, "I'm not a woman in the middle ages! I can stand to see my own fucking hands!"

Madam Pomfrey looked as though she'd been struck, but immediately turned toward some medical supplies on the bedside table next to him.

"You will not like what you see, Mr. Potter, and do not blame me—"

"I won't," Harry replied, knowing he'd won the argument, "I know when things are my fault…though I know I don't act like it a lot of times."

Madam Pomfrey put scissors to the bandage and carefully cut through it, Harry couldn't even feel the cold metal on his skin—he hoped that was the numbing spell and not nerve damage. Madam Pomfrey carefully removed the bandaged, and clucked her tongue at something; Harry was steadfastly staring up at the ceiling, gearing himself to look at it.

Madam Pomfrey took a vial from the bedside table and began applying whatever it was to his hand, not that he could feel it. Okay, Harry said to himself, one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready—

Harry looked down at his hand…it still looked like a hand with was a good thing.

"My wand did that?" Harry asked in horror, clearing his throat afterward hopefully to keep his voice from cracking again.

"This was the hand that held the metal ob—"

"Crowbar," Harry corrected automatically, eyes riveted on his hand. The majority of his hand was a bright pink or a pale red, but that turned into a dark purple, which toward the middle of his palm and the tips of his fingers darkened into black. His hand was swollen, and shiny from whatever it was Madam Pomfrey was liberally applying onto his skin. Then there were thick strange, silvery threads swirling across his hands, and Harry had no idea what that was.

His hands looked like they were decomposing, and he could visibly see the shape of his bones under the black skin that clung to his skeleton, like there were no muscles or blood vessels underneath.

Madam Pomfrey continued the treatment of Harry's hand as he watched. He only looked away from the dead looking thing that was actually part of his body…if the whole arm that was connected to it was anything to go by.

As Madam Pomfrey began bandaging his hand, Harry cleared his throat and asked, "What's that silvery stuff?"

"Pieces metal that were melted into your skin," Madam Pomfrey replied, "once your skin is healthier, it should be relatively easy to get the metal out, and what's left will be gradually rejected by your body."

Madam Pomfrey reached for her scissors again and rounded the bed, she paused before lowering the blades: "Are you sure you want to see this?"

"Definitely," Harry replied strongly, and Madam Pomfrey cut through this bandage. Harry watched the whole time as the damaged skin was revealed. This hand, compared to the other, looked perfectly healthy.

But then when Madam Pomfrey's hands entered the picture with her salve, it was very easy to see what was wrong with the appendage.

Dark brown scabs of varying sizes littered Harry's hands, there was a strange sort of paste covering the larger sores which weren't scabbed, but looked like they'd just finished oozing blood. His entire hand was green and black from bruising, but the largest thing on his palm was a huge starburst pattern that looked like it'd been branded into his skin. It covered his entire palm, along with the cuts, and housed tiny swirls and ripples, and was bright red and swollen where it wasn't bruised.

"That's…almost beautiful," Harry murmured to himself.

"It's good that you think so," Madam Pomfrey interrupted and Harry felt an inexplicable embarrassment at being overheard, "because you'll be looking at it for the rest of your life."

Her tone was almost accusatory and Harry quickly defended himself with, "It's not my fault my wand exploded."

Madam Pomfrey's response was to make a noise in her throat that was neither positive nor negative, and Harry supposed there was no true way to make her change her mind in the matter. Madam Pomfrey finished with this hand quite a bit sooner, and Harry lay back on the bed as she wound the bandage around his hand.

"Now, I think you should go straight back to sleep, Mr. Potter, you've put yourself through quite the ordeal."

"My hands will be fully functional though, right?" Harry asked, as she organized all of her supplies on the bedside table next to him.

"Yes, it's mainly the surface damage we were unable to correct, there's nothing to worry about, Mr. Potter. Now, I ask that you go back to sleep."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes relaxing back into the pillows, it was uncomfortable being unable to move his hands from where they were propped next to him, but he was exhausted enough that it shouldn't cause a problem.

What did cause a problem was that his sleepy thoughts drifted back to the battle where he'd injured his hands in the first place, which reminded him about the fact that both Remus and Hermione were potentially dead, and he'd forgotten to ask about them.

The guilt and worry ate at him, until he either passed out or dropped into a deep sleep from exhaustion.