Serpentine Virtues Chapter 3

This chapter is really sh**** in my opinion. I rewrote it like three times, and I'm still unhappy with it. It was partially the reason why it took as long as it did. Also, I ran into a bit of writer's block in the middle of the chapter…

I'll be going on vacation on Monday. We'll see if I can get a chapter out before then. I won't be back until the 28th, but I should be able to start writing around the 12th. Hopefully I can get a chapter out during that time…

Enjoy Chapter 3.

oOo

Harry felt as if he was traveling through a long tunnel. A really long tunnel. He was slowly, painfully slowly, heading towards the light that he could see at the end. As he got closer, he heard noises surrounding him. He also felt a slight pressure on his head, almost as if something was lying on his head.

They were faint at first, but grew louder. He thought he heard a familiar voice.

"Ginny?" he groaned quietly, still not entirely conscious. The weight on his chest disappeared immediately.

A soft, warm, feminine hand covered his own.

"It's not Ginny, Harry. But it's OK. You're safe now." He heard a voice say. He vaguely registered that the voice was familiar. Was that Daphne? Wasn't she hiding from him for what he'd said?

As his surroundings slowly materialized, he squinted and caught sight of a blurry, blonde-haired woman staring back at him, while other figures bustled around him. He didn't know where his glasses were, and his head and arm hurt like hell.

"Daphne? Is that you?" he said weakly, trying to get up, only to be defeated when excruciating pain lanced through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and tried his best not to make a sound. He couldn't quite manage it, and some weird sort of strangled groan forced its way past his lips.

"Yes, it's me, Harry. Calm down. Don't move, you're severely injured. The Healers are going to run a full extensive test on you."

"Daphne, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said." Harry apologized weakly, wanting to clear the air between them.

Daphne patted his hand gently.

"It's alright, Harry. You were just upset. I'm glad you decided to play in the game."

"Thanks for pushing me towards playing. Did we win?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering the end of the game, and what had happened, or rather, what Harry hadn't seen happen.

"We did, or rather, you did! That was a brilliant catch. The final score was 260-230, England. You should've seen the celebrations going on in the streets." Daphne said, smiling despite her worry about Harry's health.

Just then a nurse came over, and said, "Mr. Potter, we need to do a full body scan to make sure that we've found all the injuries you've received."

"I'll be waiting here, Harry." Daphne said reassuringly. She gave his hand a squeeze then moved back, and allowed Harry to be rolled inside to the medical examination area that was marked as "Patients and Personnel only."

Harry felt himself be rolled inside, and asked the nurse who was pushing his gurney where his glasses were. The nurse waved her wand and Summoned them for him. After finally putting his glasses on, he could see clearly, and immediately wished that he hadn't gotten his glasses. His arm looked like a mangled mess of bone and flesh. Evidently, Connolly and Quigley had doubled up on the Bludgers, and they'd hit the Bludgers at the same time. There was no other way for the Bludger to wreck his arm like it had done.

Inside the examination room, a couple of experienced Healers awaited him. They carefully removed any clothing that still covered his ruined arm, before performing a series of complicated wand movements over his arm. Harry felt rather uncomfortable as the Healers worked on him, not sure what they were doing, but kept quiet about it.

Finally, the Healers lowered their wands, and began speaking quietly amongst each other. Harry, not sure what exactly they were talking about, strained his ears, but could only catch snippets of conversation. He made out a couple of words, like "lose", and "career", which filled him with uneasiness, but in the end, he'd have to wait for the Healer's verdict.

Finally, the Healers seemed to have come to a decision, and the leader came over to Harry's gurney.

"Mr. Potter. I'm afraid that I have bad news for you." He said grimly.

Harry waited, fearing the worst. Were they about to amputate his limb or something?

"Mr. Potter, we believe that you have suffered multiple compound fractures in your arm, and that it will be an incredibly difficult injury to heal. The healing process, if successful, will take three months, in which you will be here in our care. I should warn you, the healing process has a high likelihood of failure, and if it does fail, I'm afraid that you will lose the arm."

Harry winced at the thought.

"Will I lose the arm if I don't undergo the healing process?"

"Most definitely." The Healer replied.

"Does this mean that Quidditch is out for the next three months?" was Harry's next question.

"Ahh… Mr. Potter. That's the second thing that I wanted to talk to you about. Your arm has suffered an incredibly debilitating and damaging injury. While you will be able to perform simple tasks with your arm after we reconstruct it, it is unadvisable that you play Quidditch again with that arm. It is quite fragile, and it would not stand the stress of a professional game. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but it appears as if your professional career is over."

Harry, who'd rose up a little despite the pain in protest during the Healer's little speech, sank back onto the cushions in defeat when he heard the Healer's last words.

"So I can no longer play for any team?"

"You cannot play for any professional team, yes. I'm truly sorry." The Head Healer said bowing slightly, before turning and walking out of the room. Harry watched him go, and then, the full implications of what the Healer had just said weighed him down.

His career was done. He was twenty-two, and he'd be retiring from professional Quidditch. It was also severing yet another line connecting him to Ginny. He was reeling from two quick punches to the gut emotionally.

What would he do now? He was all alone, with Ginny gone. Ron and Hermione had their own life to attend to. He was sure that they'd do their best to help, and probably would invite him over often, but it just wasn't the same. Besides, Ron was devastated over Ginny. Harry didn't want to bring his friends more troubles by moping over his injuries and losses at their house.

He was rolled out again after the Healers were ready to transfer him to a medical ward, and Daphne was waiting outside. She'd already heard the news, and was urgently waiting for him to come out. She set aside her own feelings for him, and how his injury could threaten their relationship, and put Harry first, just like she'd always done.

She followed the gurney to Harry's new ward, where he'd be staying for the next three months. It was a pleasant enough room, with enough light and space for a good number of visitors.

Once the Healers left, and they were alone, Daphne sank into a nearby chair, and said, "I'm so sorry Harry. I know how much you cared about Quidditch…"

Harry grimaced.

"It's alright. Thanks for everything Daphne. And I really am sorry about what I said. I was out of line, and I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you."

Daphne waved off his apologies.

Harry, meanwhile, took in his surroundings, and sighed. "What am I going to do for the next few months."

"Well, I'll visit every week. And I'm sure that Ron and Hermione will visit as well."

Daphne was on quite good terms with most of Harry's friends, despite a rather frosty start with Ron. Ron had been suspicious of Daphne for a long time simply because she had been in Slytherin, but after observing her interactions with Harry and Ginny, Ron had gotten over his rather petty prejudices.

Harry shrugged. He seemed like a shadow of his former self, and Daphne was quite worried about him.

"Harry, are you…OK?" she asked hesitantly, not sure exactly how to tell Harry what she meant.

Harry looked up and smiled, but Daphne, having known Harry for a long time now, could see that it was fake.

"I'm alright Daphne. I just… need some time to think about everything. And… I want to attend the funeral for Ginny." He said.

Daphne nodded with understanding. She wouldn't push him. He'd tell her everything he wanted to.

"Well, I have to go, Harry. I've got to get back to the office. I'll come back later, alright?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Later?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's only ten in the morning."

"Ten—" Harry choked. He'd been knocked out for a whole night?

Daphne, seeing the curious look on Harry's face, told him, "You were injured so badly that the healers were worried about you. They stunned you whenever you were about to wake up to prevent you from hurting yourself until they got you transferred to a proper magical hospital. Harry, it was so scary. You were covered in blood, and yet the Healers refused to move you from the Pitch because it was too dangerous."

Harry raised a hand and gingerly touched the bandage on the back of his head.

"You stayed up all night, didn't you, Daphne?"

Daphne blushed. She'd been hoping that he wouldn't notice.

"I had to make sure you were okay. Besides, you made for a pretty good pillow." She said, turning away to hide her rapidly reddening face.

"Thanks, Daph. It's more than what I deserved after what I said."

Daphne smiled. She usually hated people shortening her name, but Harry was the exception. She let him call her any nickname he could come up with, and Harry used that privilege quite often. Daphne, to her surprise, rather liked it as well.

Still, staying up to look after Harry was not without its toll. She was quite tired, and she had a meeting with one of her lesser clients today. The particular player was also quite bitchy, and could be incredibly annoying.

With a last goodbye, she left through the doors, and was on her way out of the hospital, when she realized that she didn't have her purse. She remembered leaving it in Harry's hotel. Shit Shit Shit. She hoped that he'd kept the key to his room.

She ran back through the hospital, and arrived panting in Harry's room, only to find her purse sitting on the table by his bed. Harry had a cheeky grin on his face.

"How…?" was Daphne's only reaction.

Harry told her about how he'd gone looking for her before the match, both to apologize and give her the purse. After he couldn't find her, he took it with him to the Quidditch Match, and then after he was injured, it was brought to the hospital with the rest of his belongings, mere minutes after Daphne had left.

If he hadn't been dreadfully injured, Daphne would have hugged him. She grabbed her purse and took off for the exit to the hospital. She was going to be late for the meeting. She sighed, and resigned herself to the annoying recriminations that she was sure to receive from her client.

oOo

(3 months later)

The Healers told him that the healing process had gone well. He'd been transferred to St. Mungo's from the South Korean Hospital about a month now, and his arm felt like…well an arm again.

He stared at his arm. There were no blemishes, no scars, no indications that three months ago, that arm had look like a mangled wreck. Magic really did wonders for a person's health.

Still, despite his physical healing, mentally, he was still broken.

Three months alone had just increased the keen feeling of loss that he felt for Ginny. The funeral had provided closure, but Harry still felt the loss deeply. Especially in little things. He'd read an article in the newspaper, and begin a remark to Ginny about how she could've written it better or how inaccurate and unreliable the sources were. Then, reality would catch up to him, and he'd remember that she was gone.

Daphne had been there for him. Her presence, along with Ron and Hermione, had kept him from sinking into a deep depression. Still, he had no future. He couldn't play Quidditch anymore. So what could he do?

Ron had offered to get him a place in the Auror Academy again. He'd even be able to bypass most training, considering that he'd been through it all before, and he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

But Harry felt like that'd be the equivalent of using his name to advance himself in society. He also didn't want to chase after Dark Wizards anymore either. He'd seen enough fighting during the War against Voldemort. While he wasn't afraid of fighting Dark Wizards, he just wanted to get away from all the death and destruction that came with the job. He didn't want to form anymore close bonds with fellow Aurors and then have them killed. He wasn't sure if he could live with the grief.

He was tired, so incredibly weary with life. He was sluggish moving about, and he wasn't really feeling like himself.

He could tell that Daphne was worried for him. Honestly, in the last few months, Harry had been really touched by Daphne's concern. She'd been there through his ups and downs. Still, her visits were becoming fewer and she spent less and less time with him. He couldn't blame her. The Quidditch season had begun again, and she'd been busy negotiating contracts, setting up schedules, and organizing promotional events for the players.

Still, today was the day that the hospital was planning on releasing him from the hospital. He was still quite unsteady on his feet, but he could walk now.

The previous week, the Healers had finally allowed him out of bed, as they'd deemed his head injury to be fully healed. They hadn't wanted him moving before then in case he somehow injured his head even more. When he'd tried to get up and walk, he stumbled, and would've fallen flat on his face if Ron and Hermione, who'd been there at the time, hadn't caught him.

His muscles, while they hadn't atrophied, were still quite weak, and he'd spent the past week slowly walking up and down the hall. It was tough, but now he could walk pretty far, albeit slowly and unsteadily.

After he was finally cleared by the medical staff, he took all his belongings, which had been there since they were brought to him from South Korea, and left for Grimmauld Place.

After landing rather awkwardly from Apparition, he entered the house. Kreacher had really done a fantastic job renovating the place. It looked happier than he'd ever seen it, and most of the gruesome things had been cleared out.

Speaking of Kreacher, the old house elf appeared with a crack.

"Master is home. Will Master be needing anything from Kreacher?"

Harry smiled at the old elf. It was hard to equate the now loyal polite elf to the same elf that'd betrayed Sirius.

"No, thank you, Kreacher. You've done a good job renovating the house as well."

Kreacher bowed low, taking Harry's luggage.

With a crack, he disappeared, presumably to place Harry's things to his room.

Harry sat down heavily on his couch. Now what was he going to do?

Kreacher popped back into the room and asked him what he wanted for lunch. Harry considered it, and then thanked the elf, saying that he'd be heading out for food. Kreacher bowed, and then disappeared.

Harry headed upstairs to his room, unpacking all his luggage that he'd brought to the fateful World Cup.

He was happy that he'd won the Cup for England. In fact, during the early days in the hospital in South Korea, fans had visited him, and offered their congratulations and condolences. It was nice to have some company, to have something to do, people to talk to, even though their constant attention sometimes annoyed him.

But in the end, he couldn't help but look back at the World Cup with a lot of regrets. His wife had died in a freak accident, and now he was left with no one. He'd received a letter a week ago from the Weasleys inviting him over to the Burrow whenever he was released, but Harry didn't really want to go. Not now. Not when Ginny was still fresh on everyone's minds.

He'd also injured himself, and now was left without a career. Sure, he wasn't a pauper, and he fully expected to be able to provide for himself for the rest of his life, but he wasn't doing anything.

His stomach grumbled, so Harry stopped unpacking, leaving a rather untidy mess behind, grabbing his wand and some Muggle money before heading out. He didn't want to eat in the Wizarding World, as he really didn't want to deal with all the questions about his injuries.

Eventually, he found a quaint little Muggle restaurant, and ate a quick lunch. Deciding not to return to Grimmauld Place just yet, he took a stroll around central London, with no real destination in mind. He just walked around the city, lost in thought. He knew that Ginny would be disappointed in him moping around.

Still, he was not ready to let her go. Not yet.

Deciding he'd had enough of walking, he returned home, and there he found an owl waiting for him. It was Pigwidgeon, and he was fluttering about near the ceiling of the living room, when Harry called him down.

Untying the letter from the owl's leg, he gave Pigwidgeon a couple owl treats that he had. Although he no longer had a personal owl, he received quite a lot of letters, and so he kept the treats for the owls that generally visited. The owls mostly brought fan mail, but he'd set the wards on Grimmauld Place to reject those owls.

Opening the letter, he found Hermione's tidy script.

Dear Harry,

I hope you are feeling better now. You're finally getting out of St. Mungos! You have to come visit us sometime, perhaps next Friday for dinner? Anyways, I know that you're having some trouble trying to figure out what you want to do. I also know that you still love Quidditch. Well, recently, I heard from Professor McGonagall that Madam Hooch is retiring from teaching Quidditch at the school. I thought maybe you'd want to visit Professor McGonagall and apply for a position as training instructor. Let me know if you do, or you could write back to Professor McGonagall directly if you want.

Remember, next Friday you WILL be coming for dinner. I don't want to hear any of your excuses.

With love,

Hermione

Harry considered the opportunity. Really, he was touched that Hermione had gone to such lengths to secure a job for him. The idea itself was appealing. He'd be able to play Quidditch, somewhat, and he'd also work with kids, something that he enjoyed immensely. In fact that was one of his main regrets with Ginny, which was no children.

He shook off that thought. He kept thinking of Ginny and it was depressing him. He loved Ginny, but now, three months later, it was time to move on. He would always carry a place for her in his heart, but he needed to come to terms with the tragedy.

He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, unscrewed the lid off an inkwell. Dipping his quill in, he held it over the parchment, thinking about what he wanted to write.

Dear Hermione,

I'm feeling better now. My arm no longer aches, and it is a relief to be out of the hospital. Thank you for trying to find a job for me. I really appreciate it. I'll talk to Professor McGonagall as soon as possible. Thank you for telling me about the job opportunity.

Harry paused. He didn't really want to go to dinner, but he didn't want to hurt Hermione's feelings. Besides, he did enjoy her cooking, and Ron and Hermione would provide some company. He just hoped that Ginny wouldn't come up in the conversation. Although, talking about Quidditch was still a pretty effective way of turning Ron's attention away from anything else. It was Hermione that he was worried about. The last few times that Hermione had visited him in the hospital, she'd looked at him with a mixture of pity and sadness, and it really hadn't helped his mood.

I'll come to dinner. Don't worry. I could really use the company anyways. Give Ron my best and tell him that I'm sorry I can no longer play for Chudley.

Harry

Satisfied with the letter, he called down Pigwidgeon with some difficulty, and attached the letter to the hyperactive owl's leg. It seemed that the owl just had so much excess energy, no matter how old he got.

After watching Pigwidgeon fly out the window, he turned his attention to the potential job opportunity at Hogwarts. Hogwarts was, still to this day, the one place he considered home. It was quite an attractive offer. Grabbing another piece of parchment, he dipped his quill into the inkwell again as he contemplated what he would write.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

Hello Professor. As you probably know, I was injured at the World Cup Final, and now I can no longer play Quidditch professionally. I know that Hermione approached you recently about the possibility of me applying for the open Quidditch instructor position. Let me say that I would be incredibly honored if you would give me this opportunity to teach at Hogwarts. If you do allow your favorite student back to Hogwarts to teach, he'd be most grateful.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He read the letter again, feeling that it was too blunt, but he knew Professor McGonagall. She liked blunt and straight to the point people.

He called Kreacher and asked him to mail the letter, before heading upstairs. He still had a mess of things to unpack and put away.

oOo

A month later, during the Christmas holidays, Harry found himself at the gates of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had written back enthusiastically about the opportunity to have a former professional Quidditch player who'd played on the biggest stage in International Quidditch teaching kids how to play.

At the entrance, he was greeted by Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, the two most senior professors at the school. It was quite a happy reunion, and Harry was smiling for the first time in about three months.

Later, he was introduced to the rest of the Professors. Neville he obviously knew about, having taken over the spot of Herbology teacher after Professor Sprout retired. He also knew most of his old teachers, including Hagrid, who was reinstated as Care of Magical Creatures Professor after the war, Professor Sinistra, who still looked just as exotically beautiful as she'd done back when Harry was at Hogwarts, and Professor Slughorn, who looked quite a ways slimmer than he'd been back before the war. Evidently, the war had taken a toll on him. Still, he was quite genial as always, and praised Harry for being "the best potion master of his time", to which Harry blushed red around his ears, knowing the real reason behind his supposed "brilliance."

Still, there was a slew new professors, with Professor Narcissa Malfoy, who'd been hired a couple years ago, as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. She'd been cleared by the Ministry a couple years ago, especially since Harry privately vouched for her after the incident in the forest, and was considered an expert in the Dark Arts, hence why she was hired. Professor Vector and Babbling were still teaching Arithmancy and Ancient Runes respectively, but Harry had never talked to the two, so now introductions were made. Professor Vanessa Burbage, the younger sister to the original Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage, was the Muggle Studies teacher.

Harry nodded and smiled, greeting his older professors with slightly more enthusiasm and familiarity.

Last of all was, of course, Neville. Neville came and gave him a big hug.

"Fancy seeing you here, mate, and as a teacher too!" he said.

The banter went back and forth between them, until Professor McGonagall coughed politely, and their reminiscing stopped.

The stately Headmistress informed Harry of his duties as Quidditch teacher, and reminded him that this was a trial, and that he hadn't secured the job yet. Harry just smirked knowingly at her, until McGonagall looked away. She then asked Neville to show Harry to his quarters, and the two friends set off through the old castle.

Neville was tactful, avoiding any conversation about Ginny, knowing that Harry was still hurting about it. Instead, they talked about Quidditch, and Neville told Harry that Gryffindor had never been the same since he'd left. They had come in third three times, second once, and were bottom of the table so far this year in the Inter-House Quidditch Competition.

Harry smiled.

"It looks like I'll be giving the Gryffindor Captain some tips." He said.

Neville grimaced.

"I wouldn't. He's a prat and an arsehole."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Really? How did he become Captain then?"

Neville shrugged.

"He was the only good player, and he knows Quidditch strategies well. McGonagall had no choice."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, as Neville stopped at a door in the teachers' quarters.

"Here's your room."

The room was bare except for some basic furniture, but it was clean and warm.

"Thanks, mate." Harry said, seeing that the elves had already brought his belongings up here.

Neville looked around for a bit, and then said, "I gotta go. There's some bubotubers that are ready for squeezing."

Harry shook his head. He still had bad memories of bubotuber pus.

As Neville left, he looked around the room. It was a nice room, and he was back home. Perhaps it was the start of a new life.

Still, not everything was perfect. Ron and Hermione were both in London, and he wouldn't be able to see them as regularly anymore.

Daphne was also out of his reach. She wasn't that busy in the winter, but now that he was here, he couldn't see her that often anymore. He found himself missing her, more than he'd expected.

Sighing, Harry began to, once again, unpack his belongings.

oOo

Thank you for reading. Please review.