Chapter 3

It was only eight in the evening, but Madame Pomfrey was absolutely exhausted. The two cases of Katie Bell and John Doe had kept her working solidly for three hours, first to try to stop the thrashing and screaming, then to figure out how she could mend whatever was happening to them.

She sent a student who'd come in with a migraine to McGonagall, with instructions to send a missive to St. Mungo's. The curse on the necklace was powerful, and the longer she worked, the more positive Poppy became that she would need further professional help. Hogwarts was not equipped for this level of care, and though she was competent and had treated all kinds of strange injuries in her time, she was just one person.

It would be an hour until St. Mungo's could send someone over to collect the students; the parents of Ms. Bell would have to be informed, permission would have to be obtained (though that would take no time at all), and, most importantly, the mediwitches and wizards had to come to Hogwarts through alternate means. Apparition was not permitted on Hogwarts property. While normally a good thing, in this case it was extremely aggravating.

Hagrid had stayed in the wing to help with students who came in during the afternoon, while Poppy worked on the two cursed children. While he couldn't perform any spells with a wand, anyone could hand someone a potion or apply a salve. Hagrid was liked by most students, and managed to keep the overly-curious from coming over to watch.

Poppy had managed to spell Katie Bell into a calmer state, but the John Doe was another issue. The yellow thing had finally stopped trying to keep her from the boy, but no spell would stop him from fighting the restraints. She even reinforced them when, at one point, it seemed they were about to break. She'd Silenced the boy but, other than that, hadn't been able to do much to stop his reaction to the curse. Something about him repelled her efforts.

She had noticed his left hand immediately, but until now hadn't been able to examine it. It was blackened, and something green was lodged deep into the top of his hand. She came closer, wondering if, perhaps, whatever was embedded in his hand was stopping the treatments from working.

She reached forward, her wand in hand, and picked up the hand to examine it. The strange scaling on his knuckles only added to her curiosity as she looked at the green cross embedded in his hand. Carefully, she lifted her wand and cast a small spell, only meant to explore the magic within the cross.

She barely got out of the way fast enough as the boy's fingers suddenly extended into sharp points and his entire body glowed as a white cloak covered him. Like a living thing, the scar over his left eye squirmed.

The Silencing charm stopped working and an ear-splitting roar emitted from his throat, a sound truly terrifying to behold. An unholy strength came over the boy as he strained harder at the restraints, and in a rip of leather, they shred apart. The boy came to his feet, his hand swiping and striking at the air as Poppy backed away, nearly tripping over her feet.

Hagrid came running when he heard the screaming and stood back, his eyes wide at the sight of the unconscious boy on his feet, screaming and striking wildly with sharpened fingers, his body glowing white with the cloak that had come from nowhere, his face now obscured by a strange mask. The red mark over his eye was constantly shifting and a high whining pierced the air.

"Wha' the hell—" Hagrid cried out, but Poppy was shooting spells, trying to Stupefy the boy and stop his advance.

"Hagrid, help me! He's not going down!"

Hagrid advanced, meaning to grab hold of the boy, but the needle-like hand struck out and he barely evaded the hit. The boy stumbled and the hand struck the floor, carving deep gauges in the stone, kicking up dust and debris. Hagrid's eyes widened, but when he looked back at the boy, he saw that his eyes were closed. John Doe was still unconscious.

The boy was unsteady on his feet, the wild swings making his movements unpredictable. He knocked his bed over, then the partition, the sharp left hand obliterating the equipment, smashing things apart and leaving deep scratch marks behind. At some point, his hand struck the wall and carved chunks of stone from it, smashing the windows and leaving shards of glass all over the floor.

The boy fell to his knees, the points of his hand piercing the stone floor, but the points lodged so deep that he couldn't pull his hand out. The boy continued to scream, his now comically-large right hand holding his head, slapping at his temple, as the boy howled in agony.

Suddenly he stilled; his whole body went rigid, and Poppy and Hagrid watched with mounting alarm as the color of his skin bled from pale white to…dark gray?

The screaming began again.

Poppy stopped firing spells at the boy; instead she cast a protective circle around him, meant not to keep him from being hurt, but to stop the damage from spreading any further. It, at least, was effective. He continued to howl, and his white, right hand smashed against the spell, but Poppy continually enforced it, the effort draining. It was worth it; he didn't break through.

"Hagrid, I need you to get a message to Professor Dumbledore. Tell him it's an emergency and he needs to come back from London immediately. And find Minerva."

xox

Everything hurt.

A mild statement. But perfect nonetheless, for Allen's head felt like it was simultaneously collapsing and exploding. Sharp needles pressed into his body from all sides and images and memories flooded his head. Phantom pains and real pains hit him as he felt a hand rip a hole in his heart, his arm break and tear from his body as his Innocence disintegrated. He felt his body protest and scream and rip and tear as his own weapon attacked something within him, attempting to destroy it.

He saw Mana succumb to the fever, watched Mana rise from the grave, saw himself killing the Akuma that Mana became. He felt the pain of the first time his Innocence activated, experienced the pain of being stabbed by Road's candles and from Kanda's sword impaling his gut. Then, as memories that weren't his own rushed around his head, he watched Alma Karma killing the Asian Branch Science Division, watched helplessly as a young Kanda murdered his only friend, and saw the ensuing battle after—felt the restrictive pain of being bound by CROW and then—

Silence.

Everything froze around him, and Allen felt his heartbeat throb in his chest.

Out of the stillness, a face appeared: grey, with golden eyes. It looked like Tyki's twin as it smiled and reached toward him and promised to take his body over; the words of his master repeated as he told him he would kill someone he loved; the sight of blood and the realization that he was truly dead in a lonely alleyway…

The remembrance of starvation and being abandoned, the tortuous nightmares of imagining first Kanda, then Lavi, then Lenalee, Komui, Miranda, Marie, Timothy, Tiedoll, Cross, and Link being ripped apart as he stood in their blood, his skin grey and his eyes gold and his smile indifferent—

He screamed and screamed and screamed and felt his mind begin to rip apart, until he no longer knew what was happening until—

I will keep you together.

"No! GO AWAY!"

I will not let you die. I have need of you yet.

That voice, that horrible, dreaded voice filled his head, desperation, desire, and purpose in his voice as he pulled the pieces back together, one by one, Allen watching every memory and image flood his head once more as they were stitched back together, placed and viewed, then shut away. The pain intensified until he swore he couldn't feel it, only to have it redouble and return, torturing him until he wanted nothing except—

His eyes opened and darkness filled them, as he thrashed and screamed. It started all over again, until he realized that he was still dreaming.

And then, slowly, so slowly that it was a long, long time before he was aware of it, the screams were silenced, and for a moment there was peace.

He was sitting inside a room. Everything around the room was different scales of grey; dimensions that ran from near white, to blackness so deep that it seemed light wouldn't touch it. At the center of the grey stood a man, exhausted, his limbs shaky and his face covered in sweat, pale with effort.

And yet, he was smiling in satisfaction.

xox

It was hours later when the screaming finally stopped. The writhing mark over the boy's eye stopped moving, settling back to its original pentagram mark with the line down the side of his face. The left hand returned to normal, the green cross glinting ominously in the light of the candles that brightened the room, and the white cloak disappeared.

Last of all, the dark grey of the boy's skin faded away, leaving his skin sickly pale and covered in sweat. But he'd stopped moving and was breathing as if in a deep sleep.

Poppy rested on one of the beds while the St. Mungo's mediwitches moved the boy's body to a new bed, where he was now resting.

"Are you sure you're alright, Poppy?" McGonagall asked, standing beside the bed and holding Poppy's hand.

"Yes, dear, I'll be fine," the nurse replied. "I think, however, I'll sleep rather well tonight."

McGonagall glanced over at John Doe's bed, scrutinizing the boy who now lay peacefully asleep, and then surveyed the damage he'd left behind.

Two beds and three partitions were smashed apart. There were several broken potions' bottles on the floor which were being cleaned up now—but most shocking of all were the chunks of wall now smashed into pieces on the floor and the deep gauges in the stone floor. Several inches deep, they looked as if a cat the size and weight of a small car had decided to sharpen its claws into the floor.

Madame Pomfrey explained quietly what had happened, sipping a cup of tea for her nerves. "I had you call Dumbledore to see what we should do with the boy. We can't let him be taken to St. Mungo's."

McGonagall agreed. Leaving Poppy she went over to talk to the mediwitches, and Poppy turned her eye on the sleeping boy, a thousand questions running through her head.

She could hear Minerva arguing with the mediwitches, their voices rising at intervals. As she watched the boy sleep, she shivered as she remembered the screams, recalling memories of darker times, when He Who Must Not Be Named rose to power for the first time.

She finished her cup of tea, rose to her feet, and walked over to Minerva and the others to argue for John Doe to stay.

xox

Allen's eyes opened at the touch of something cool. He glanced around, and immediately panicked when he saw a room he'd never seen before. It was another mysterious place in the Order, they were going to torture him more, they—he glared at the woman who was wiping his forehead and she started back, eyes wide in surprise.

"Where—" he panted, glancing around the room. It was huge; beds were spaced evenly throughout, with many windows in stone walls, through which he could see it was night. Candles were lit all around the room, illuminating it in a soft, warm glow that he could have read by. All this was observed quickly, but it gave the woman the moments she needed to recover from her initial surprise and begin speaking to him, her voice steady and sure.

"This is the Hogwarts hospital wing. You are perfectly safe within these walls. I am Madame Pomfrey, the head nurse, and I am taking care of your injuries."

Allen's chest rose and fell as he took deep, steadying breaths. His eye was inactive and pain-free, so that was a good sign; he turned his attention to the woman—an older lady, in a white apron over a grey dress, damp cloth in one hand and a long, thin stick in the other. A bowl of water sat on his bedside table. She was staring at him in concern and caution, slowly lowering the arm with the cloth. She kept speaking when he remained silent, staring at her.

"You were brought in this afternoon. I was wiping your forehead with this." She raised the cloth briefly. "Excuse me a moment." She stood, leaving his side.

Allen tried to rise, but stilled when he felt restraints at his wrists. Looking down, he saw leather cuffs tying him to the bed, and frowned, taking a breath to keep back the rising panic in his chest. He could hear voices from far away, perhaps something that sounded like, "He's awake; I can't believe it—"

"How? Miss Bell hasn't stopped moving, the last report said so—"

"I don't know…he doesn't need…moved—"

"He should…St. Mungo's…other one—"

His head pounded from the effort it took to focus on the conversation, and he shut his eyes, his attention drifting easily away. Madame Pomfrey—that was her name, right?—came back with bottles in her arms and set them on the bedside table. He smacked his lips; they were dry, and a moment later, Madame Pomfrey was there with a glass of water.

"If I release one of your hands, you won't try to harm me, will you?" she asked steadily. Allen glanced at the bonds and then stared back at her.

"Why am I tied up?"

"I'll explain in a moment. I want your word."

Allen stared solidly into the woman's eyes, and she held his gaze. She was tense, trying to hide it with a calm voice. He glanced down at her hands. All she held was the glass of water in one hand and a stick in the other, the grip on the stick white-knuckled, but steady. Whatever that was about…he nodded, meeting her gaze again.

"I promise." She waved the stick and the restraint on his left wrist came undone. Allen frowned but then figured the stick must be some kind of remote. He took the glass silently and downed the whole thing in a moment, which caused him to cough when some of it went down the wrong way. He hung over the bed, hacking, and the nurse laid a gentle hand on his back until he was no longer heaving.

"What is your name?" she asked, and Allen glanced up at her, wary. She must have read the mistrust in his eyes because she continued in that same soft voice, "You are perfectly safe here. You can trust me." Her voice was gentle, but her eyes and the way she held her body—she was on guard.

Allen didn't have the energy to scoff. He wasn't safe anywhere. She sat back after a moment and said in a more business-like tone, "Can you tell me what you last remember?"

He considered it. She did seem to legitimately be a doctor; not only did she look the part but his wrists were wrapped up in bandages under the restraints and felt better, as did his ankles. He'd forgotten, in the rush to leave the Order, that his injuries from his imprisonment were still not taken care of. He raised his free arm, staring at the bandages—that looked a little too much like the bonds CROW had used on him. He shuddered and shook his head.

"Do you live in the village below?" Madame Pomfrey tried next, realizing he wouldn't answer. "Is there a family member or a guardian I could get in touch with?"

Allen swallowed and shook his head. "I'm alone," he said, his voice oddly hoarse, his throat sore with the effort of speaking.

"Alright." She turned and picked up a bottle filled with sickly-green liquid, and Allen's stomach flipped at the sight. She poured out a dose, and handed it to him. Taking it Allen stared at it, frowning, before cautiously taking a sip. He gagged and spit it out a moment later, pulling a face.

She didn't look impressed. "Drink up, all of it."

"Do I have to?"

"Every drop."

Allen resisted the urge to gag as he finished the horrid potion off. When that was done he asked for a glass of water. "What was that?"

"Muscle Mend Mix," she replied. "It won't fix the ripped tendons immediately, but it will speed the progress."

Ripped tendons? "What?" He didn't remember getting hurt.

"What do you remember last? Can you tell me?"

He remembered a screaming girl, and running over, then touching something that glittered green… When he told the nurse as much, she nodded as if confirming something she already knew.

"What happened to that girl?" Allen asked hoarsely, wincing at how much speaking hurt.

"She's being taken to St. Mungo's for treatment," the nurse said. "She'll be well cared for there. Right now, however, we will focus on your recovery."

"Can I have the other hand free?" he asked, and only after getting another promise that he wouldn't do anything was the restraint unlocked.

Allen tried to stand up, but as he pushed the covers off and Madame Pomfrey pushed him down, trying to keep him in bed, he froze at the sight of bandages all around his legs and then his arms.

"But…why are my legs…?" he whispered, his voice barely coming out, his eyes and mind barely registering the fact that his ankles were restricted to the bed.

"They were damaged when the curse was taking its effect. You attempted to fight it, but it took a toll. You will need to keep off your feet for about a week. I've given you medicine to repair the muscle, but you will be on crutches for some time, I'm afraid. There were also injuries to your ankles and wrists that were from before the curse, and I've tended to those as well. The thrashing didn't help." She didn't ask where these came from, for which Allen was grateful. But what did she mean, thrashing…?

"What happened? Why am I here?"

The nurse explained what had happened to him and the girl in the other bed in soft tones. During her explanation, he could hear the other voices outside leaving, and then glanced around.

"Where's Timcampy?" he said. At her expression he added, "The golden golem that was with me?"

"I don't know, dear," she said. "He disappeared a while ago. I haven't seen him." Allen's chest constricted and he felt cold. Why would Tim leave? What had happened to make him go away?

"I have to find Tim," he said, and tried to get up. She pushed his arms away with surprising strength, and held his gaze as she shook her head.

"Absolutely not. Your legs are severely injured and you are not moving from this bed until I say so." Allen made to resist, but whatever strength he had normally had left him; Madame Pomfrey was able to easily keep him in bed. After a few more moments he stopped struggling.

Madame Pomfrey said comfortingly, "I'm sure he'll come back, dear. Until then, I want you to stay here and take your potions. I need to make sure that whatever cursed you has no long-term effects."

"How long will that take?"

"As I've said: if you keep with the doses and don't strain yourself, a week of bed rest and then some time on crutches."

He'd have to accept it. It wasn't desirable, but Allen could sit still for a week and get a better plan together while he recovered from…whatever it was that had caused him so much pain. Knowing his body and willpower, he could probably convince the nurse to let him go sooner than that. Maybe Tim had gone looking for the Ark entrance, so that when he got better, they could get out of here immediately. Wherever "here" was…

"Where is this place?" he asked.

Madame Pomfrey replied, "Scotland, though the exact location is not something I could tell you."

Scotland. He was in Scotland!?

His guess of England, earlier, was wrong, but it still wasn't good to be this close to the Order. Something must have showed in his expression because Madame Pomfrey frowned and said, "Is everything alright? Do you feel any pain?"

No, no things were not alright.

His rumbling stomach interrupted all thoughts of not being far enough. He smiled sheepishly at the nurse, who sighed. "I'll have food sent up."

Allen nodded, playing complacent. She rose, gathering potions' bottles, and just as she was going to walk off, Allen said softly, "Thank you."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "You can thank me when you walk out of here without help. Now, rest."

Allen watched as she closed a partition around his bed before collapsing into his pillow, groaning.

A little while later, she returned with a bowl of broth and an oddly-colored orange juice that tasted like nothing he'd ever had before. He loved it. The meal was gone all too quickly and Allen silently lamented about being unable to walk around. He'd tried when the nurse was gone; removing the restraints hadn't been too hard, but putting any weight on his legs sent shots of pain through his whole body and he'd collapsed on the bed, holding in screams. He'd been hit worse than this—hell he'd had his entire arm blasted off his body and a hole in his heart—but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt. He'd had to pull himself back into the bed, and his arms were still shaky from the effort.

He clutched at his blankets, biting his lip until he drew blood as a voice in his brain echoed softly, "I will keep you together," so softly he wanted to believe he imagined it. He had to take several minutes to remind himself that he was awake and whatever had happened after he touched that thrice-damned green glitter was over.

Hoping the nurse would stay gone for a while longer, he sat up and silently activated his Innocence, hoping no one saw the light of invocation and came looking. Placing his hand over his left wrist he tugged; the sword came free, and Allen was careful not to pull it out above the partition—easier said than done, as the thing was huge. Satisfied that it stilled worked, he replaced the weapon, his arm returning to normal. His wrist was a little sore still, but whatever medical magic Madame Pomfrey had worked on them had done wonders.

Relief like he hadn't had in weeks ran through him, though his head was beginning to hurt and his throat was aching horribly. He'd have to ask if she had anything for sleep—just something that knocked him out enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Perhaps something for his sore throat, too.

Allen fell asleep a little while later, though he did not dream.

A/N: Kudos to KappasRule for looking this over and cleaning it up. Welp, stuff happened. Long-ass chapter, I know. I don't have any set chapter lengths, I'm going off how each one feels. Thanks for reading.