Pure Morning
A friend in need's a friend indeed
A friend with weed is better
A friend with breasts and all the rest
A friend who's dressed in leather
The beauty of passing out after a traumatic event, especially when said passing out is done in a place with medical professionals readily available, is that you're taken care of regardless of your personal feeling on the subject.
As you're climbing your way to consciousness, memories of an overheard 'private' conversation heard late one night when you were still relegated to your cupboard-cum-cell revolve around your head and galvanize your general dislike for hospitals.
"But Pet, it's been 7 years since little Dudders' was born, we should get a move on if we're going to give him a real sibling to grow up with. It'll be good for the lad, growing up with another normal child. Whatdaya say?"
You could practically hear the venom behind the word normal even then, just like now you can practically see Vernon waggling his eyebrows, like 2 seductive turds, while asking Petunia what she thinks of his masterplan.
"I've said no Vernon, Dudley was quite a large baby, I am quite a small woman, it was … traumatic to say the least and another baby is likely to be even larger than Dudley was. I would be dreading the extra stitches, husband."
Petunia replies heatedly for the most part, but even at 7 years old you found it strange the last part was delivered with a cold, flat tone. You chalked it up as grown-ups being weird at the time.
"You wouldn't like waking up in Hospital, Vern, to find out the doctors had performed a needless, and painful procedure on you, purely for my enjoyment now, would you?"
Replaying the memories again makes you realise there must have been something dark going on in that conversation that you were too young to recognise. You do remember after that Vernon stormed off to bed, and Petunia sat on the couch crying for a while. You were happy that it was Petunia that was crying for once and not you, but now you wonder. You should ask Hermione to explain what was going on.
Finally, you realise you are in fact awake, after staring in wonder at your arm for a couple of minutes, marvelling at how large that bicep in front of you looks, with the realisation that the said arm, in fact, belongs to you, comes the realisation that you're in the Hospital Wing.
Big bright windows opened to let healthy fresh air in. Check. The same uncomfortable bed you always seem lumbered with. Check. Weird medicinal smell that must be the magical version of antiseptic. Check. Faint traces of stale piss and vomit. Check. Definitely the Hospital wing.
Your Inspector Morse level of deductive reasoning is further confirmed by the familiar clip-clop-clip of wooden shoes on stone flagstones. Madam Pomfrey's wooden clogs getting closer. You idly wonder if Pomfrey is a Nurse or a Doctor in normal terms.
"Mr. Potter." She greets you formally, ever the pinnacle of professionalism, you appreciate that, you appreciate her instantly softening her tone before continuing more.
"Harry, Harry, Harry, what a mess they managed to make of you yesterday dear. Lacerations and deep penetrating trauma to the right forearm, which has now become infected, caused by some form of knife."
You grimace slightly at the recollection of Pettigrew hacking away at your forearm, your face screwed up as she continues.
"Slight to moderate nerve damage of the full Somatic Nervous system, with some extensive straining of most of your tendons and ligaments in your upper body no doubt caused by extended Cruciatus exposure, almost complete magical exhaustion, shrapnel wounds on the arms and face that appear to have been caused by stone splinters of some kind and finally a small hairline fracture to your left ankle."
Her hand makes it way to cupping your cheek as you stare at her blankly, reeling from the shock of having all your injuries documented in such a dispassionate way. Giving your shoulder a squeeze, she carries on.
"But never you fear young man, magic is a wonderful thing, when used with the right hands, I managed to treat most of the damage last night, your ankle and upper body are going to be quite stiff and sore for the next few days. You'll be on a potion for the next week to combat the infection and to treat the nerve damage, you might experience numbness and tingling in your extremities until the course is completed. This you can take outside the Hospital wing, but I'm going to have to insist…"
Trying to cut her off delivering your sentence you sit up sharply, only to be rewarded by a flash of pain down both your arms and Pomphrey's gentle finger being pressed against your lips as she gently pushes you back into a more reclined position. Having a moment of fleeting sadness, you wonder if this is how a real mother would act.
"As I was trying to say Harry, I'm going to have to insist you spend at next two nights here, I'm going to be prescribing you a stronger than normal pain-relieving potion, to get you over the hump, as they say, of the residual pain. We don't generally give this to minors as its too strong, and certainly not to young adults like yourself. But you have adult injuries, and I will not be found lacking in my medical care of you, so you will be taking Lactolaudinum Elixir for the next two days."
She's watching your face for any sign of recognition about what you've just been told, the moment seems to be stretching on, so it seems she's waiting for you at least to attempt some kind of reply.
"Err… why don't you usually prescribe this Lactolau Elixir to teenagers Madam Pomphrey?" You manage to contribute to the conversation. Ok probably got the name wrong, but points for trying?
"Lactolaudium Elixir," she corrects gently, "it's made from Unicorn milk and Opium Poppy seeds. Unicorn milk in and of itself has a mild euphoric effect, but when that's coupled with the massive euphoric effects of the Opium, it can be quite addictive if misused.
Still being stared at by a confused, naive teenager, she finishes, "Stoned Harry, you're going to be very, very stoned for the next two days, the Unicorn milk is to repair the nerve damage. And the Opium's so you shouldn't be able to feel a damn thing while the milk is working. Even if you could feel something, you won't be able remember it anyway, you'll be on your own little cloud for the next 60 hours. As such, I believe I'm going to have to limit your visiting times to a single time a day. Don't frown at me young man, believe me it's for your own good. Apart from stopping your pain receptors from working, it will lower your inhibitions, meaning you might say something you don't mean to someone. Or worse something you do."
As Madam Pomphrey is finishing up her medical explanation slash brief lecture on the downsides of narcotics, that part of your brain responsible for what passes as your sense of humour starts making some alarming connections.
"So, you're going to be treating me with Poppy juice?" A small snigger, "Poppy's juice…"
"Finish that train of thought at your own peril young man." Poppy Pomphrey is quick to spit out, "Or I'll show you, in detail why Healers take such extensive oaths. I'll even use models." Softening again she goes on, "I am aware my given name is Poppy young Potter, just as I know only a Potter would crack such a joke. Still, I think it's about time you start using it, sadly we find ourselves spending too much time together in my professional capacity for my tastes."
You absolutely do not tear up slightly at Madam Pomphrey's, no, Poppy's, display of warmth and compassion, and are certainly not trying to subtly wipe them away using your shoulders as scratching post, while she's still looking directly at you.
"Thank you, Poppy," is all you can manage before your voice cracks slightly and you freeze up with mortification.
Grinning at you now happily, for the recognition of her gestures she draws this Healer Patient consultation to a close.
"Now Harry, Albus is very keen to speak to you, so are Ms. Granger and the youngest Mr. Weasley. Finish those sandwiches," she indicates to a plate full of sandwiches, that wasn't there a moment ago, "Whilst you speak to them, you do need a full stomach, and I mean full, before you can have the Elixir. I shall send them in momentarily."
You feel a flash of rage at the thought of speaking to Ron right now, come on he all but accused you of cheating to get into a convoluted plot to get you killed. You don't hate him, so much as don't really like him at the moment.
"Could you just let the Headmaster and Hermione in please Poppy? I don't really want to speak to Ron."
From the shocked expression on her face you realise she wasn't expecting that from you, so you add a quiet "..yet", to the end of your request and hope for the best.
Nodding in acquiescence to your request, she turns to head to the entrance of the Hospital wing and leaves you with "If you ever need to just talk to someone Harry, I am here. I can do more than mend the body."
That's a lot to think about.
I wont make a habit out of replying to review here, but to my first reviewer. Hi! Thanks for the review I guess? Sorry, but it will be. Read Bungle in the Jungle and know that that's what the inspiration for second person was.
Reviews are still greatly appreciated though!