Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on the Harry Potter universe created by J.K. Rowling. All characters, settings, and elements of the Wizarding World are the property of J.K. Rowling and her affiliates. This is a non-commercial, fan-created work meant purely for enjoyment. No copyright infringement is intended.
Sirius Black strode across the small, sterile room at St. Mungo's, his boots echoing loudly on the stone floor. He ran a hand through his messy hair, his face etched with concern. Harry had been unconscious for days, and each passing moment felt like a lifetime.
Doctor Stevan, the healer in charge of Harry's care, had been patient with Sirius, but it was clear the man was running out of reassurances. "He's stable for now, Sirius. We need to give him time."
Sirius's jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. Time. It was always time. More time.
"I know, but we've lost too much time already, Stevan. If the Death Eaters find out Harry's alive" Sirius cut himself off, rubbing his temple as if trying to stave off a headache.
Doctor Stevan sighed, his face full of the weary calm that only experienced healers seemed to possess. "We'll take every precaution, but the fact remains that he's in no shape to defend himself right now. The danger is there, yes, but we can't rush his recovery."
Sirius's gaze flicked toward the bed where Harry lay. The young man's face was pale, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the toll the past few days had taken on him. His body was thin, fragile, but it was the haunted look in his eyes that made Sirius's heart tighten. The worst of the physical injuries were healed, but the emotional scars those would take much longer.
Sirius's mind flashed back to the moments before the ambush, the memories of Harry being dragged from the battlefield, bloodied and battered. He should've been there he should've protected him better. The thought was a knife twisting in his gut.
"Is it bad that I can't shake the feeling we're being watched?"
Doctor Stevan looked up from his charts, clearly trying to mask his own concern with professional detachment. "It's natural to feel paranoid after what he's been through, Sirius. But I assure you, the security is tighter than ever. I have my best people on alert, and the Order is making sure we're safe."
But Sirius wasn't convinced. As much as he trusted the Order, as much as he trusted Stevan, something in his gut told him they weren't out of danger yet. Harry's condition might have improved physically, but the storm was far from over.
Turning his gaze back to the bed, Sirius watched Harry stir slightly, his brow furrowing as though he were having a troubled dream.
This isn't over, Harry.
Sirius's voice faded in the background, muffled and distant, like a dream. Harry's mind was foggy, the darkness swirling in his thoughts. Every part of him ached, his body heavy and unresponsive. He felt as though he was trapped in a long, deep sleep only it wasn't restful. It was a sleep filled with pain, confusion, and a nagging sense of something wrong.
He struggled to open his eyes, the light blinding him for a moment before his vision cleared. The sterile, white walls of St. Mungo's loomed above him. The faint hum of the hospital, the distant murmurs of healers and patients, felt far away yet strangely oppressive.
I'm alive, he thought, a hollow relief sweeping through him. But then, an uncomfortable sensation tugged at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right.
He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting. Sirius was standing nearby, talking to someone in low tones. His heart skipped. The weight of reality of the Death Eaters, of everything that had happened crashed over him in waves. His breath quickened, and his chest tightened. The memories of the ambush, the pain, and the cold hands of his captors gripped him like a vice.
A low whisper danced at the edges of his thoughts, a warning of danger. He wasn't alone in this hospital room.
A chill ran down his spine. Despite the comfort of Sirius's presence, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that someone something was watching him.
He tried to move, to speak, but his body betrayed him. The simple effort of shifting his position sent a jolt of pain through him, and his mind reeled from the strain. It was then that he realized just how weak he truly was.
No, not now. I can't be this weak.
He closed his eyes again, willing his body to cooperate. The threat was real he could feel it in his bones. The Death Eaters wouldn't let him rest. Bellatrix would never stop hunting him.
He turned his head, his gaze locking onto Sirius, who still stood near the doorway, looking like he hadn't slept in days. His face was etched with worry, and Harry could see the guilt written across every line of his expression.
But Sirius wasn't the only one who had been affected. Harry's body was healing, but his soul... that was another matter entirely. The darkness, the fear it would follow him.
He wanted to reach out, to reassure Sirius that he was okay. That he could handle this. But his words were trapped somewhere between his thoughts and his body, as though they'd been stolen away by something sinister.
A soft sigh escaped him. He wasn't just recovering physically; there was a storm brewing inside him that no amount of rest could cure.
I'm still being hunted.
His pulse quickened as he realized the gravity of it. Bellatrix and the others, the ones who'd been a step ahead from the beginning, wouldn't rest until they'd finished what they started.
He needed to be ready. Even if his body wasn't. Even if he couldn't quite understand how to move forward.
Sirius's voice was still low, but Harry could hear the edge of frustration creeping into his tone. He could almost picture Sirius pacing, restless and worried, the way he always had when things weren't going right. Harry could almost hear the words that were about to come next: "You have to let him recover, Sirius." Doctor Stevan's voice echoed in Harry's memory, though he couldn't quite place if he'd heard it aloud or just in his mind.
But Harry's attention drifted back to the room, feeling the weight of the silence that seemed to stretch between them. The hospital room, though bright with unnatural cleanliness, had an oppressive feeling to it.
He shifted slightly, his head aching with the movement. The pain reminded him how fragile he still was. Every part of his body seemed to scream at him to stay still, to rest, but he couldn't ignore the growing discomfort in his chest the feeling of being trapped. Watched. He tried to block it out, but the sensation was unrelenting.
His eyes flicked back to the door, where the light from the corridor pooled in. The shadows in the corners seemed to shift, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. There's something wrong.
He tried to push himself up again, but this time, his arm gave way, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat.
Sirius's voice snapped to attention at the sound. "Harry? You need to rest."
"I'm fine," Harry muttered, his voice hoarse from disuse. He struggled to keep his tone steady, but it came out weaker than he intended. "Something's... something's wrong."
Sirius frowned, moving toward the bed. "What do you mean?" His hand rested on Harry's arm, steady but warm. Harry could feel the tension in his touch.
"I don't know," Harry said, glancing at the door again, almost as if expecting someone to burst in. His eyes darted to the corner where shadows gathered. "I feel like... we're being watched."
Sirius froze, his eyes narrowing as if considering Harry's words. "That's just the aftereffects of the trauma, Harry. You're jumpy, it's natural."
But Harry shook his head. It's more than that. The room was too quiet. Even the distant hum of voices from the corridor felt muffled. It's too quiet.
"Don't...don't dismiss me," Harry said, his voice growing stronger despite the pain. "I'm telling you, something's wrong."
Doctor Stevan, who had been standing by the window, turned at the sudden outburst. He walked over quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. "Harry, you're still recovering. The last thing we need is for you to exert yourself unnecessarily."
But before he could finish, a faint sound came from the hallway. A soft creak, the unmistakable sound of a footstep. It echoed unnaturally in the otherwise silent corridor.
Sirius stiffened. "Stevan, did you hear that?"
Doctor Stevan's eyes flashed to the door, his expression changing from calm to one of alarm. "Yes, I did."
Harry's pulse quickened. He wasn't imagining it. His senses were sharper now, the danger more real than ever. The hairs on his neck prickled, the oppressive silence stretching long enough that it seemed to suffocate him.
Without thinking, Harry swung his legs off the bed, his feet barely touching the ground before he felt his strength failing him. His body couldn't keep up, but adrenaline surged through him, forcing him to stand.
"Sirius, they're here," Harry gasped, his breath catching. His chest tightened, the weight of something unseen pressing down on him. "They're here."
Sirius reached out to steady him, but Harry barely noticed as his mind raced, his instincts warning him to run, to do anything to get away. But there was nowhere to go. No escape.
Doctor Stevan's expression hardened. He rushed to the door, his wand drawn in an instant. The faint creak of footsteps was now followed by something more distinct a low murmur, a voice barely audible, but unmistakable.
"Bellatrix," Harry whispered, a chill running down his spine.
Sirius's eyes widened in alarm, his jaw tightening. He spun toward Doctor Stevan. "Get him out of here now."
But Stevan didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the door, his body rigid. "There's something wrong," he murmured. "That shouldn't be possible..."
Harry's heart hammered in his chest. It's too late.
The door creaked open with an unnerving slowness, and for a split second, Harry thought it might be some trick of his mind, the kind of odd sounds he was prone to hearing after everything he'd been through. But the faint scent of cold air and the sharpness of the moment told him otherwise.
Sirius whipped around, his hand instinctively moving toward his wand, his expression grim. Doctor Stevan's hand was already raised, his wand flickering to life. He might have been calm, but Harry could see the tension in his posture, the barely suppressed worry beneath his composed exterior.
"Stevan..." Sirius started, his voice low but sharp.
But the doctor didn't reply. Instead, his eyes narrowed, his wand pointed straight at the door. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch far longer than it should have. Harry's chest tightened, his breath shallow, as if the air itself had thickened with the weight of something malevolent waiting to strike.
Then, the door opened fully, revealing only darkness in the hallway beyond.
But Harry knew, with a certainty that sank deep into his bones, that it wasn't empty.
His heart pounded against his ribs, and the room seemed to shrink around him. The shadows in the doorway flickered, and a figure stepped forward, their silhouette barely visible in the low light. The unmistakable feeling of malice in the air hit Harry like a wave, choking the air from his lungs.
Sirius stepped forward, his voice like steel. "Show yourself!"
The figure didn't flinch, didn't even move. The air seemed to hum with a low, dangerous energy, the kind Harry had felt all too often, especially when dealing with Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Don't worry, Sirius," a cold voice purred from the darkness, its tone all too familiar. "I'm here."
Harry's blood turned to ice. His eyes locked onto the shadowed figure and the cruel, twisted smile that appeared no, belonged to Bellatrix. He'd never forget that smile, the same one that haunted him in his nightmares, the one that had twisted his body and soul.
"Sirius, get him out of here," Harry rasped, his voice barely a whisper. His body was weak, too weak to do anything, but his mind screamed with the urgency of it. Too close. Bellatrix was here. Right at the door.
Sirius didn't hesitate. He moved, wand raised, but before he could react, Bellatrix's voice slithered through the silence.
"Ah, but you're wrong, Sirius," she crooned, taking a slow, deliberate step into the room. "You think I'm here for him?" Her laughter echoed off the sterile walls, shrill and terrifying. "I'm here to finish what we started."
Harry's breath hitched. Finish what we started. Bellatrix's words echoed in his head, and the weight of the meaning behind them made his blood run cold. The Longbottoms. His friends. The Order. They were all in danger now, not just him.
Stevan's wand flashed with a protective shield, but Bellatrix only laughed harder, her eyes glinting with malice. "You think a little shield will stop me?"
Sirius lunged forward, but Bellatrix raised her wand, and the room shuddered with an oppressive, dark magic. Harry felt the pulse of power in his bones, the magic so thick it was suffocating.
"Get away from him!" Sirius shouted, but Bellatrix only smirked, raising her wand higher.
Harry couldn't move fast enough, his legs still weak from the lingering effects of the torture. But he reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to grab Sirius's arm, his voice hoarse but insistent. "Sirius, it's not just me. She's here for all of us."
The words barely left his lips when Bellatrix's voice rang out again, sharp and commanding. "Get him, Fenrir!"
The door slammed open fully, and from the shadows emerged a hulking, feral figure Fenrir Greyback. His eyes gleamed with an almost predatory hunger as he advanced, his twisted grin revealing his sharp teeth.
Harry's stomach churned. Fenrir's presence alone was enough to freeze the air in the room. The last time Harry had seen him had been in the depths of Malfoy Manor, and the memory made his skin crawl.
"Sirius, we need to move now," Stevan said, his voice strained. His wand moved with precision, casting barrier charms in every direction, but Harry could see the panic creeping into his controlled demeanor. The shield wouldn't hold long against the strength of Bellatrix and Greyback combined.
Sirius nodded, his expression set in grim determination. "I'm not letting you have him, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix's eyes flashed, a wicked glint of amusement sparking in them. "You can't protect him forever, Sirius. The Dark Lord has plans, and Harry Potter is still part of those plans."
Harry's mind raced. They were outnumbered and outmatched. The plans the thought made his stomach churn with dread. Bellatrix wasn't just here to hurt him, not just for revenge. She was here to finish something far darker.
With one last glance at Harry, Bellatrix raised her wand. "Goodbye, Harry Potter."
A blinding flash filled the room.