Be Selfish

Chapter 5

The first thing Harry became aware of was excruciating pain while his mind 'came online' so to speak. The pain was nothing new, he pursed his lips, panting in agony, curled up as he could get. Hands fisted in the bedding, tears ran down his face and into the bedding as he breathed harshly through his nose. Wait, he wasn't at the Dursleys'…was he? No, no, he remembered, Antonin Dolohov had come to Privet Drive. The urge to go on the defence was all too strong, but Harry could only muffle a groan of anguish. His body just wasn't in any position to go on the defensive, he was suffering too much.

"Heir Potter, I am a healer, and I have in my hand a pain relief draught for you," an accented voice told him, firm, comforting but stern. "It's level eight, it should cover all that is ailing you at the moment. If you can please remove your arm so I can administer the potion." His voice slow, enunciating every word clearly for the child. There was no point to him suffering, and he wished he had managed to give it to the child before he had woken up.

Part of Harry wanted to deny the healer – if he was actually a healer – anything he wanted. He was afraid that it wasn't one and he'd be about to trust him. On the other hand, he wanted to grab that potion and drink the contents down immediately. The pain, it was awful, he didn't think he'd ever been in so much pain before…except that wasn't true. He was used to pain of all kinds, and his pain threshold was massively long compared to normal people.

"Heir Potter?" the Healer prompted; he wasn't about to force the boy to do anything. Although, he was utterly amazed at his pain tolerance. If their roles were reversed…he knew he would be crying in agony, begging for a potion. He was as close as he dared to get, just waiting for any sign that the child wanted the potion. He couldn't and wouldn't force him to consume him.

Harry grunted a little, whimpering in anguish, Merlin, why did he hurt so much? It took a while to move his arm out of the way entirely. He blinked at the blurry image in front of him, he recalled the healers' robes being lime green, and that person, whoever they were, weren't wearing lime green robes. Although he had no idea where he was, the accent confused him even more. He did know though that it wasn't Antonin Dolohov…which meant he'd brought a healer to see him. It made bile rise up in his stomach, people that professed to care about him didn't do that but Dolohov did. A wizard that wanted him dead. No, not dead, otherwise he'd be dead. He wasn't sure what he wanted.

He'd never been more confused in his life.

That was even before he found out about the prophecy and wondering why Voldemort wanted him dead.

"There we go, drink up, you'll feel better soon," Smirnov murmured soothingly, somewhat affective despite his accent, he had a decent bedside manner. Tipping the vial just a little, so not to choke the boy, the first gulp was bordering on desperate, and the second just slightly less so. Dunking a cloth in the cold icy water, the healer wiped Harry's face and particularly his eyes, as his entire body seemed to deflate as the pain diminished to nothing. The sigh that Harry let out ensured that it evidently felt good against his heated face.

"Would you like a drink of water?" Smirnov asked, leaning forward, he was still sitting down in order to appear smaller. He had been given some advice from his friends (portraits or not) and he was taking those pieces of advice to heart. He had never dealt with child abuse himself, not in his capacity as a healer. Injuries, yes, being hurt by someone their own age, again, yes, but nothing this long term and he was utterly horrified by what he was seeing. It made him feel naïve, foolish really.

"Yes, please," Harry rasped out, actually able to move without his entire body screaming at him in protest.

"Then let us get you into sitting position, hmm?" healer Smirnov murmured, with ease, he manoeuvred the young boy – who weighed practically nothing – which was concerning, the pillows piled around the youth at his silent command.

Sharp green eyes didn't miss the fact the healer could do magic without his wand, without incantations. Interesting.

"Let's get this one situated here," the healer stood to put another behind Harry's head, so that he could rest easy. "There we go, now let's get something to drink." The ice clinked in the glass as he brought to Harry's lips, "Don't drink it all at once, you'll make yourself sick, slow sips," he ensured that he couldn't take too much, despite the disgruntled look on his face. He truly didn't want Harry to be sick, which was a massive possibility, he'd been taking potions without anything (food or drink) in him which wasn't usually done. Potions were supposed to be taken just before or after a meal.

"Where am I?" Harry asked, staring at the healer intently. "Who are you?" cautiously, something that had been bred into him from a very young age.

"My name is Healer Smirnov," the wizard explained sitting down, a small smile on his face, one designed to comfort, to relax. "I was brought here to see to you when you passed out and Antonin found blood."

Harry stiffened, swallowing thickly, automatically his hand tried to reach his back, to one of the worst wounds.

"Yes, it was severely infected, Heir Potter," the healer said sombrely, "And…"

"Call me Harry," Harry said uncomfortable with the way he was talking to him, highly confused by the manner he was too. "Why are you calling me Heir Potter anyway?"

The healer startled at that, visibly so, "Have you not been educated on our ways?" aghast already aware of the answer that was coming his way. Merlin, help them, he didn't know anything about his place in their world.

"Our ways?" Harry echoed, blinking owlishly at the healer as if he was speaking a different language.

Which of course, he then proceeded to do, furious at what he was hearing but attempting to rein himself in. "Who is your magical guardian?" he leaned forward and refilled the glass with water, since Harry was dutifully doing as told, and drinking slowly. Sipping from the glass, it probably helped his parched throat.

"I don't have one, my aunt and uncle are Muggles," Harry told him, giving him an odd look as if he was the weirdo for not knowing this piece of information. "My guardians are muggles."

"I see," the healer commented, eyes shuttered, perhaps he should tell Antonin to take the boy to the bank. "How are you feeling right now?" changing the subject entirely, if they continued on in this way, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. How could anyone, have let the last male heir of a most ancient and most noble house…like Potter? He felt sick just thinking about it.

"Much better," Harry said, his gratitude evident, "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome," the healer said sincerely, that much gratitude shouldn't be aimed at him. Yes, he'd helped, but anyone would have done the same thing. Children ought to be cherished for Merlin's sake. "Now I have not shared your medical history with anyone, not even Antonin." He revealed. "Do I have your permission to tell him?"

"What? NO!" he denied vehemently shaking his head, no, no he wouldn't let that happen.

"Calm, be at ease," the healer murmured, pressing his hand against his arm, "I will not do so without your explicit permission, as is our way."

Harry breathed out shakily in relief.

"But Harry…what you've gone through should never have happened," the healer said softly, a deep abiding sadness in his eyes.

Harry snorted derisively, "Right," there was a lot of anger, no, rage in that single word.

Antonin stood unobtrusively as possible at the doorway, watching the healer and Potter interact. He was still feeling particularly wrongfooted when it came to the boy. It hadn't caused the admiration to fade, no, he still admired the boy's strength, of character, his power, his abilities. This wasn't how he'd seen the parley going, he pinched his nose as he continued his observations.

Honestly, he wasn't sure the parley was going to come of anything. If the boy had been through what he suspected and was still fighting for the light…what hope did he have of convincing him otherwise? He went against the grain, usually those abused by Muggles grew to detest them. The Dark Lord was one of them, Severus Snape was another, how could he have gone through that abuse and want to defend them?

He had to give the boy a chance…that's what parley was all about.

At least he could say he'd tried. For it would be a damn shame to lose someone who powerful and not to forget the last heir of the Potters.

Antonin cleared his throat, making those green eyes fly up to his, his gaze intense and suspicious.

"Ah, Antonin," the Healer said, fiddling with his pocket watch, "Please excuse me, I'll get you some acceptable breakfast!"

Harry huffed out a laugh, that was no way amused, "Thank you," closing his eyes and huffing as he shook his head, beyond incredulous that he was being fed here, Merlin, he can't remember how long it had been since he'd had proper food. He glanced back over at Antonin still suspicious to the extreme.

"You're more than welcome, heir Pott…Harry," the healer said, standing up, "You're safe here, and if I can offer you one piece of advice?"

Harry glanced up at the healer mystified, but accepting of any advice he offered, only because he'd healed him and been very kind to him. "Yes?" he said, when it became clear he wasn't going to speak until he made his opinion clear.

"Tell the truth, if there is ever a time to be truthful it's during a parley, for each side to understand one another…the truth must be revealed." The healer said pressing his hand against Harry's shoulder, "Nothing good will come of lies, obfuscations and deceit."

Harry licked his lips, before bringing the glass to his mouth, drinking more water – he was so, so unbelievably thirsty – he nodded his head. "I'll try." He murmured, usually when he told the truth it was never believed anyway, so he just stopped, stopped trying at a lot of things actually. What was the point of talking if they didn't believe him? just…what was the point?

"I'm glad," he said, "You're a good person, don't let anyone convince you otherwise." And he wasn't even referring to Antonin here, no, he believed someone far closer to the boy was to blame for everything. With that he turned and walked out, patting Antonin on the arm as well, and Antonin permitted it. The wizard was just unusually tactile even with his job as a healer.

Harry watched him go, before his gaze returned to the bed, as he fiddled with a fold of the duvet, which was quite thick. About three times thicker than his own at the Dursley's if they didn't decide to take it off him during the particularly cold days. Harry's magic was calm, even at the Dursley's it was like a sea of stormy emotions. His magic always prickled unpleasantly, always, whether he was at the Dursley's the Burrow or Hogwarts.

Not here though.

Which made Harry wonder what the hell was going on? Maybe it was something else that made his magic act that way? He'd ask the healer, maybe he'd know, he wasn't going to discuss it with Dolohov. "He…uh, he doesn't um, seem to care about my status…" trailing off, not sure what he was attempting either.

"He doesn't," Antonin informed him, moving to sit in the newly vacant chair. "Nobody cares about the so called 'Savior' outside of England." Being bluntly honest, blue eyes observing everything Potter was doing with interest. At least he was awake now, even if his eyes were rimmed red, and he looked exhausted.

To his everlasting surprise the boy seemed please with that statement. If he didn't know any better, he would say he was pleased that there were places and people who didn't care.

"You seem pleased by that," Antonin said with a grunt, shifting uncomfortably, it just went against everything he thought he knew about the boy.

"They're idiots, all of them, if they really believe I had anything to do with it." Harry said bluntly, turning to stare into cerulean blue eyes with started sparkling with amusement. "It either had something to do with my mum, or some unknown or obscure magic."

Antonin felt his smirk become a more genuine smile, "That is our belief as well." By our he actually meant just about everyone on the dark side, including the Dark Lord Voldemort. Voldemort continued to try and figure what happened that night, so as not to repeat it. The boy continued to impress him, which wasn't easily done, a child who had been thrust into stardom? To being famous? It usually went to their heads, made them honestly think they were better than everyone else. Just look at Dumbledore, and the way the wizarding world in England clamoured all over him for something he did half a century ago. Given Potter's close proximity to Dumbledore, it truly was a miracle the boy could see over his own nose.

"How…how long has…has it been?" Harry asked anxiousness clawing at him, realization dawning he hadn't even asked what day it was. No doubt professor Dumbledore already knew he was missing and was probably got search parties looking for him. After all, Dumbledore wouldn't tolerate not knowing exactly where his little pawn was, now would he? It caused anxiety to twist in his stomach, how the bloody hell would he explain this? Then again, maybe it was normal? Maybe it happened quite often? He didn't know anywhere near enough about the magical world or it's history. "How long have I been here?"

"It has been three days since our parley, we're currently on the fourth day." Antonin explained, tone impassive. "In four days, I will be returning you to the park, unharmed. As promised." Clearly it was the right thing to say, since he seemed less anxious. What had been causing that anxiety he didn't know.

"Three days?" Harry said aghast, cringing, he couldn't believe he'd been unconscious and helpless for three whole days. "Where is my wand?" his tone lowering, and his magic rearing up, reacting to his emotional outburst, but not violently so. Not in the way it had done when he was this emotional in the past.

Antonin immediately pulled the drawer to his left open, inside was one thing, and one thing only. Harry's wand, he didn't judge him for wanting it right away. Although, you'd think the boy would have a wand holster, at his age. Harry's hand snatched the wand and held it against his body. Only then did Antonin close the drawer.

Antonin rubbed his breast bone, an echo of the feeling he'd endured when his wand snapped encompassed him. It was a horrific feeling he wouldn't wish on anyone, never mind someone underage. Someone who lost their wand underage actually felt it more acutely. Your core continued growing and developing until you were seventeen-years-old. To have your anchor snapped away? It affected the magical core, quite severely actually according to everything Antonin had read.

Harry's gaze followed Antonin's actions, before flickering up to his eyes frowning, wondering what that was all about.

Antonin inhaled sharply, shaking off his less than pleasant thoughts, "Do you have any other pressing matters that you want discussed?" the smell of breakfast wafting in the air, there was little doubt, that the House-elf would drop off their breakfast in a few moments.

"You do know everyone is out there looking for me…" Harry begun, but he didn't get a chance to finish his statement.

"No, they aren't," Antonin declared firmly and without an ounce of mercy. "Your watchers are still watching the property, there has been no alarms raised over your living situation Potter. They think you're still there." A sneer of derision on his face, it had nothing to do with Potters' belief, but the fact they couldn't even watch one boy and get it right. It's sheer dumb bloody luck that they'd won at all last time.

Harry blinked, ceasing breathing as he stared, jaw clenched, but honestly? Harry couldn't find any surprise in him. He just couldn't, he'd known they didn't care, from the very moment they threated his uncle in front of him. Threatening someone with a bad temper, who'd barely waited until he shut the front door before taking his mood out on him.

"Breakfast is served," the healer said, interrupting them, as he breezed on in, with three trays behind him.

Two held complete English breakfasts, coffee (tea for the healer) and a glass of orange juice.

One had a small bowl with only a ladle of porridge with a few pieces of fruit cut into it, the juice the only flavouring. With half a glass of milk.

Antonin never thought he'd feel sorry for the boy, but he did, that was what you'd give a three-year-old kid. Not that he knew what three-year-old kids actually ate, but still. It was an awfully small breakfast, the trays hovered above them, as they ate in silence.

Despite focusing on his own meal, Antonin noticed that Potter was struggling to eat that tiny portion. Thoughts began to turn in his mind, and it sickened him. Even Azkaban prisoners were given more to eat, they weren't as skeletal as the boy was. Starved and beaten like an animal, and he wanted to save them? It made bile crawl up his throat. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the boy was being compelled into it, but no, the boy was doing what he wanted. It would be far too convenient if the boy was actually being enchanted.

Convenient and impossible the boy was…able to fight of the Dark Lord's Imperius.

There were only a few that could do that in the Dark Lord's ranks. It took time and effort to manage it, if he hadn't seen the memory, he wouldn't have believed it possible. A fourteen-year-old managing to throw off the Dark Lord's commands? Let's just say it wasn't something you say every day.

"I've instructed the House-elves to bring you something in two hours," Healer Smirnov explained, "Eat what you can when you can."

Harry nodded, "Alright," he was hardly going to turn down food, although it made it all the more difficult to go back to not eating again until Hogwarts started back up. Maybe he could hide some of the food, food that wouldn't go bad quickly, so that he'd be able to stretch it until his return to Hogwarts. His nod a little slow, showcasing tiredness, but it was hardly surprising given what his body had been through recently. "Why am I so tired?" he was used to the pain, the exhaustion but this felt like a different type.

"Heir Potter…" the healer begun.

"Harry, why do you keep calling me that?" Harry said in very real, very annoyed exasperation.

The healer replied, "I'll leave that for Antonin to explain," glancing briefly at the wizard who had stopped eating and was staring baffled. "As for why you're so tired, my apologies I should have given you a clear picture when you first woke up. Your body has undergone immense strain, and if you hadn't received aid…" pausing briefly but Antonin spoke over him.

"You would have died." Antonin was blunt in his statement of the facts.

Harry swallowed thickly, "What? But…" but nothing had happened before, his magic always protected him, healed him. Then he remembered not even being able to lie on his back or tolerate anything touching it. He'd known it was worse than usual, he just didn't want to admit it. Or the worry he felt.

"Harry," the healer said, leaning forward, imploringly, about to continue.

"It was just an infection, usually they go away on their own," Harry feeling a little sick by the urgent and imploring look on the healer's face.

"Magic doesn't normally work that," the healer said, glancing at Antonin in astonishment, "Could his magic have turned inwards and healed him every time? A natural healer?"

"Natural healers don't normally heal themselves," Antonin pointed out, but glanced pensively up at Harry, "However, if he's been healing himself since he was a child, it's entirely possibly that he remade his magic into something of his creation."

"He is right here," Harry grumbled, but too tired for it to have any bite or any affect.

"My apologies," the healer said hastily, good manners bred into him, "Unfortunately, your magic couldn't heal you, perhaps it was overwhelmed, perhaps it was unable to do anything to heal blood borne illnesses from infections to curses."

"It was an infection I had," Harry pointed out, well aware of what was wrong with him, he'd been through enough to mostly self-diagnose now. Although the whole natural healer thing did pique his interest, it would be nice, to heal people instead of…well, instead of hurting them, or hunting them down. He had said he wanted to be an Auror to Professor McGonagall, but he didn't really mean it. He honestly actually just wanted to be left alone. Unfortunately, it wasn't ever going to happen.

"In a manner of speaking, the infection had entered your blood," healer Smirnov explained patiently, "You had blood poisoning, septicaemia, it was touch and go, I honestly wasn't sure whether you'd survive."

Harry stiffened, staring at the healer in shock, "You're not…exaggerating, are you?" form what he understood healers didn't exaggerate, if anything they had a tendency to underexaggerate so not to cause alarm to their patients. He'd been that close to death? But he'd still be at the Dursleys…and they wouldn't have sought help for him. They'd have left him to die.

He would have died.

"No, Harry, I'm not." Healer Smirnov said quietly, "Your recovery is going to be a long and laborious, now as I understand it, you'll only be here for another few days. I'll write a comprehensive journal on what you should and shouldn't do. You must follow my suggestions; they're given for a reason. What you should eat, how much exercise, and rest, and when to take your potions."

Harry laughed, "Don't waste your breath or your ink," he said sardonically, bitterness crawling up his throat.

"Harry…" the healer began.

"Where am I?" Harry wanted to know.

"Harry you really must follow the directions I give you; your very life depends on it." The healer stated firmly, "Do you have somewhere you could go for the rest of the summer holidays? Somewhere safe?"

"Don't you think I would be there if I had somewhere safe?!" Harry answered sardonically, shaking his head, honestly.

"Friends?" the healer ignored the sarcasm and bitterness; he was used to that in his line of work. Sometimes people didn't like the diagnosis he had to give them.

"A friend," Harry said quietly staring at his hands, thinking of Hermione, Ron, George, Fred…all of them had let him down so, so much. Closing his eyes, they knew more than most what it was like at the Dursley's but they did nothing. Worse, they'd ignored him, it was quite frankly one of the worst summer holidays he'd ever had. Except this one, it would have been worse if not for well…Dolohov and wasn't that a kick in the arse to think? Harry huffed a weak sad little sound, "My friends ignored me last year because Dumbledore told them to. Normally I get a care package from the Weasleys and it helps tide me over. But I didn't get one. So, no, I don't really have anywhere to go." He got a knitted jumper and some homemade cakes and treats for Christmas.

He didn't have anyone that would put him first before Dumbledore.

Hell, he could just hear their reactions.

'Harry, I could ask mum and dad…but we're staying at Grimmauld Place mate… maybe ask another time.'

'Harry! How dare you! Professor Dumbledore does what's best! You have to trust him! promise me you'll stay there.'

Yeah, he didn't see that going over well.

Harry had never felt more alone in his life, and how close he'd come to dying again he felt so very drained.

"Get some rest, Potter," Antonin muttered, Harry was already half way there anyway, the calmness of his magic made it all so easy to slip into a restful sleep.

Harry's magic was reaching out for Antonin's and regardless of whether it grasped on or not, he'd always have that comfort of being near it.

And the shocks will keep on coming! I'm looking forward to it, but I don't want Harry getting well too quickly, that's always annoyed me in stories :D lol I also don't want him bedridden for the entire week (days he has left) hmm where's the happy medium? will Harry walk away after the parley or will Harry stay with Antonin? Long rocky road or will Harry be selfish for the first time in his life? and seek only his own happiness? will we see Harry get violent once more before he stops? then aagain it is a little out of character...even with Dudley he raised his wand against him (might only be the film tho) instinctively instead of punching or hitting unlike Hermione...R&R please guys!