St. Mungo's 3rd of June 1998
Harry Potter is many things to many people: The Boy-Who-Lived to the masses, teacher to the DA, true friend to his close ones. Now he is a role he despises almost as much as the first: patient.
"Mr. Potter, the more you struggle and make this difficult, the more you'll have to keep my company which you seem to despise." A cold voice told Harry.
The healer in front of him was a no-nonsense man with a scowl that rivalled that of Madam Pomfrey yet due to his age held none of the patience the matron would.
"You must understand Mr. Potter that when the saviour of wizarding Britain suddenly collapses in the street it causes a panic. One which will not lessen with your extended time here. So please let my people do their job." His face losing the scowl and replacing it with a look of pleading.
Yet that was the problem. Easy for them to say when unconsciousness only brought nightmares, the sight of blood carrying screams of dozens and the smell of healing salves made him remember the smell of the dead. But with Hermione there with an equal scowl to match any healer he knew he could only do one thing.
"Fine…just get it over with." The last thing he saw before his sleep was the creeping shadows crawling ever closer.
Sometime later…
When Harry awoke from the thankfully silent dreams, he was pleasantly surprised. By the look of the window it had been several hours since he went under and the only person now in the room with him a young medi-witch who upon his rousing eeped with a now familiar blush.
"Mr. Potter, you're awake! I'll go tell Healer Smith right away!" She scurried quickly out of the room as if to show her proper initiative. Harry decided that solitude was the preferable option, got his glasses, dressed back into the clothes they seemingly took off him during the tests and waited.
It only took a few minutes for Healer Smith to enter with a thunderous gait, a scowl on his face once more yet this one looking to be directed at himself. Curious…
"Mr. Potter… Unfortunately, I bring some bad news." He said with a voice filled with guilt.
"You'll find Healer Smith that I've gotten used to bad news over the years. Can't say I expected anything different when I came in." Harry told him with a morbid mirth. It was true after all.
"You…misunderstand the severity Mr. Potter. I…I am here to tell you…" His voice was tense, full of something Harry couldn't quite place but it irked him still. He kept staring until the healer relented.
"We've run tests…" He slowly started. "We confirmed between the specialists we have to make sure." Again, his voice faltered. "Mr. Potter… you are dying."
A rush of air left his lungs, like he was again submerged in that icy lake in the Forest of Dean. Questions upon questions surging but only one voiced out: "What do you mean dying!? I've been fine before today!" His voice in disbelief cried out.
The healer, now only solemn and looking more tired than ever Harry had seen, sat down by his bed and read from his scroll.
"Our tests have shown your body has been slowly drained of life. Your magic is fighting it but whatever this is has slowly been winning. By our best estimates this has been going on from between three weeks to a month and a half." Here he stopped short again, drew a breath and looked Harry straight in the eye.
"Mr. Potter, the only time this could have happened by our accounts was during the final battle. The details of your duel against the Dark Lord have not been shared due to your insistence but I have to ask…Is there anything during that time that happened which would result in this sort of effect? Any insight could tell us some clue to possibly finding a cure."
Harry thought furiously, trying to remember everything Voldemort did. Any movement, any incantation but he could remember nothing special, nothing Tom did after their encounter in the woods, after he…died.
Ahh…so that's it. He's surprised it didn't occur to him sooner. He was on loan, brought back to finish what he wanted to do and help Death claim a cheater. His task now done; he was being called back.
The realisation oddly made him calmer, more relaxed than he'd been all year. Suddenly a weight he'd felt since the end of the war he didn't know he'd had was removed.
"I don't think this is reversible…" He quietly told the healer. "I don't know how many details you were told but this probably isn't something you're going to have on records…"
With a slight glint of determination not present before, Healer Smith brought himself up from his slouch. Somewhat confidently he replied: "Mr. Potter if you have any information to give, please do so. While you might think it won't help, it could still be the key to keeping your life! I and all my colleagues will give our all to make sure we do everything in out power to have you see the future you've saved!" His passion now colouring his voice, his admiration no longer hidden behind his professional persona.
Harry somehow knew now that there was no going back but he couldn't force himself to let the healer lose hope. "When I faced Voldemort…" A shiver tore through the healer at the name. "He hit me with the killing curse. I survived, faked my death and then killed him in the courtyard of Hogwarts as you probably already know."
Harry didn't mention his encounter in the station. He felt it too private and would probably not have helped. Healer Smith balked at the description of events; his enthusiasm now dimmer but not completely gone.
"Well…That sounds impossible to anyone but you Mr. Potter." He tried with humour. "But don't lose hope! Let me talk to some of our curse specialists and see if they might have any leads. Please make yourself comfortable and I will try and return shortly."
With a brisk pace the healer exited the room, leaving Harry alone again in a room that only sparked the worst memories. How swell…
St Mungo's, Morning of the 4th of June 1998
Forced to stay overnight and poked by more tests over the hours Harry was feeling annoyed again. While he could understand the healers position it still irked him to be in the hospital more than a day and he chafed more with each passing minute. The medi-witches constantly trying to peek at him every half hour didn't help matters. He was ready to bolt, consequences be damned, when Healer Smith entered his room.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter. I hope you had a good night's sleep." He said kindly, though less enthused than yesterday night. Harry didn't tell him of the constant nightmares hidden by silencing charms and settled for a: "Yeah sure."
"Now. I'm going to say this as professionally as I can." His voice took an edge, one that Harry was honestly expecting. "We haven't been able to make much progress during the night. We will try and contact some international help but I'm going to be completely honest with you Mr. Potter…" His voice faltered. "Your chances are slim. We have no idea what the killing curse did to your body nor how you've been able to survive it for this long. It's honestly a magical miracle you're able to live let alone move."
Harry had through the night already made his peace. The same as he did in the forest. As gently as he could he asked Smith what was probably a dreaded question: "How long do I have?"
"In my honest opinion?" Smith replied with professional calm. "Around 5 days, a week at most. Your life has been draining faster as time goes on. Even during these past 24 hours we've noticed a shift in speed. Your magic is trying all it can to slow it down but as your episode yesterday indicated it is getting worse. Depending on how bad it gets you might not be able to walk by the end of the week."
A week…So many things to do, so many things he couldn't leave unfinished, yet he only had a week. Worse still he might not even be able to move himself. Why couldn't have Death just let him fall asleep after a week of normal life? Of course, he also has to suffer.
The emotions didn't help the slight burning in his chest, more prominent now than yesterday and suddenly more recognizable from the past month. His discomfort must have showed on his face because Healer Smith immediately made him lay down, cast some spell that made the tightness in his chest lessen and looked at Harry with pity.
"I assure you Mr. Potter, we at St Mungo's will do all we can to try and solve this. While we try, I will prescribe some pepper-ups and pain relief potions to help you get along. Hopefully that will help your latent magic in combating the life drain enough to give us more time and you more mobility."
Prescriptions usually meant the end of care for Harry's case so he asked something he hoped would set him free: "Does that mean I can leave? If I have limited time I'd like to not spend it here. Hope that doesn't offend…" He finished lamely but determined enough to show his distaste of his room.
"Yes…yes, I believe so." Smith said looking to Harry. "While I'd rather keep you here under surveillance, I do understand your want to leave…considering everything."
He shuffled some papers he brought with him. "These are your discharge papers, but please promise me Mr. Potter you will come every day for a check-up. The more we have you the more possibility there is we find something else to help." He finished while handing Harry the papers.
Noncommittally Harry agreed and hurriedly dressed to walk out of the hospital if at least for today. As he exited, the bright morning sun blinded his face while the early morning rain pelted his glasses. Slowly walking forward and looking at the ironically positive and colourful rainbow in the sky, the only thing Harry had on his mind was a single question: How are his friends going to react?
