Author: tinhutlady
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His body felt heavy, as if weighted with lead, and his head light, as though it must have been stuffed with cotton. Both ached terribly. Who he was or where he was were questions he couldn't answer, nor would he even try at this point. Focusing on any one thing only brought pain. It was better to simply lie here, on whatever he was lying, keeping still so the pain would go away.
A buzzing near his ears irritated him, but he couldn't move his hand to wave the annoying noise away. Slowly the sound became familiar and he realized someone was talking nearby. No, he heard two voices, and he became keen to try and discern what they were saying. It took effort, for his head swam when he concentrated, but he began to understand a word or two, then a few more, until at last he was able to follow the conversation.
"I was never more scared in my life," said the first voice, a female's voice.
"Me neither," said the second, in a deeper male tone. "I guess when it came down to it, Harry was the Chosen One after all."
The name seemed familiar and he realized it was his. His name was Harry. There was sniffling and some movement and he wished they would talk again so he could learn more.
"Hermione, he'll be okay," the male said in a reasonable, almost pleading voice. "You heard what the healer said. Harry shouldn't be alive, but he is. He's the Boy Who Lived, remember? He's pulled off a fair number of miracles before this and always came through. He'll be up and about in no time."
So the female's name was Hermione. He felt he should have known that. Hermione sounded nice, as nice as the fellow she was with. He struggled to think of who would be with her and came up with the name Ron, for some reason.
"I know," Hermione said, still sniffling. "I just thought we were all going to die. The fight with Voldemort was...more than I expected. If it hadn't been for Harry..." Her voice trailed off.
"I know. You, me, Ginny, and everyone else in the world would be probably be dead. Or worse."
Ginny, he knew that name, too. Something about Ginny made Harry feel happy - even happier than remembering Ron and Hermione. He wanted to tell them he knew them, knew his own name, too, and he struggled to say something, to move something.
"Where is Ginny?"
"She went to meet Mum. Dad's still with the Minister, trying to sort the whole thing out. You'd think after three days they'd..."
"Ron! He moved his hand."
Something touched his leaden hand. It almost seemed to burn his skin, it felt so hot, but he didn't complain. The touch was soft and kind, and made him feel good, despite the pain.
"He's so cold! Should we call someone?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, I'll step out and see if I can find the healer," Ron said. "Hang on to him."
Hermione was concerned about him, Harry thought dimly, Ron, too. It made him feel good inside. It felt right, for some reason. Now if he could only remember more about them.
"Harry. Harry! It's Hermione." The words echoed loudly inside his head and he wished he could ask her not to shout in his ear. "You're okay, Harry. Voldemort's dead. You're in St. Mungo's. Ginny's on her way back and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are coming, too." For some reason her voice was shaking. "You'll be okay, Harry. We're with you. All you have to do is come back to us, Harry. Come back to us, please!"
There was a strange sound and it took Harry a minute to realize it was sobbing. Hermione was crying. He tried to comfort her; say something that would make her stop, but nothing seemed to be working right with his body.
"That's it, Harry! I felt you move your fingers! You're going to make it, Harry. Just keep fighting!"
Fighting seemed like a strong word and he felt very weak at the moment, Harry decided. A thick, black fog swirled around him and started to float him away. He did not want to go. He wanted to stay with Ron and Hermione, and he struggled against the pull. The darkness came anyway and closed over him, threatening to drown him in its depths.
Harry tried to cry out, tried to find his way back to that warm, caring touch again, but he came face to face with two red eyes. He drew back, not afraid, but not wanting to go nearer. He recognized those eyes; they had been the last things he had seen. A high, shrill laugh now floated around in his head and he remembered everything – the battle, the last ditch effort to kill the wizard who had tried so hard not to die by killing so many others, the sacrifice he made to make sure Voldemort could never hurt anyone else ever again – all of it flashed in front of Harry's closed eyes.
Red eyes stared at him from within in the darkness and Harry realized that, while he had defeated Voldemort in the real world, he was still alive, alive and well in Harry's own mind. They were still connected, still bound together, never to be free of each other, their fate sealed by a single scar.
End
Back to the library.