Love On Risky Ground

Love On Risky Ground

Chapter 5

The Damage

The smell of disinfectant tickled the Dursleys' noses as they sat down on a horrid green plastic couch that lined the waiting room wall at the hospital. Silence buzzed in their ears, escalating their worries for their despised nephew. Although Harry represented everything they stood against and they proved it by punishing him whenever he showed any signs of magic, they had never wanted him to be harmed in any way, which could prove to be fatal.

Vernon stood up and paced the room, jingling his keys in his trouser pocket while Petunia sighed on the couch, fraying the tissues that she held. "Vernon ... did you fill those papers out correctly?" she asked, her voice shivering.

Vernon grunted in answer, which his wife knew was a yes. He halted by a mural and looked at its vibrant colours, his hands now placed behind his back.

Footsteps echoed outside the waiting room and a doctor appeared at its blue doors. The window panels showcased a young man with short brown hair and a green stethoscope slung over his shoulder. His white coat displayed several cartoon stickers, which had been placed on him by inquisitive sick children. He entered as Vernon looked away from the mural and watched as the doctor made his way forward to greet them. Petunia stood up and snuggled next to her husband, waiting for whatever the news was, while Dudley continued sitting.

"Hello Mr and Mrs Dursley ... I'm Doctor Edwards from Neurology and I'll be monitoring your nephew." The doctor sighed and waved his hand towards the couch. "Please take a seat."

"No! We'd prefer to stand," Vernon said quickly, his stance full of confidence as he tensely straightened his pose. Some of his muscles flexed tightly, showing through from beneath the covering of his fleshy and fatty arms.

"Is he going to wake up?" Petunia said quietly, folding her hands together. Tiny bits of tissue floated onto the shiny floor.

"We expect him to wake up after the operation," the doctor replied, looking at Vernon and Petunia calmly, his voice soft and reassuring. He was about to continue when Vernon spoke first.

"What operation? What is wrong with him?" Vernon huffed, wanting answers quickly.

The doctor breathed deeply. "Harry is in coma, but a less serious coma. After we stabilised him, we had x-rays done of his skull and the results came back that he had received a fracture that looks a week old on the left side of his head, a little behind his ear. We continued the tests and we've discovered that he has a subdural haematoma which is causing his unconsciousness."

Petunia and Vernon looked on without having a clue what that doctor was talking about.

The doctor explained what it meant. "A subdural haematoma is bleeding and blood clotting, which is occurring within Harry's skull; it happens over a couple of weeks. As the brain becomes compressed, symptoms slowly begin to show such as loss of memory, confusion, drowsiness, headaches - they are only some of the effects."

"But how did he get this head injury?" Petunia gaped at the doctor. "It must have happened when we were on holiday." Vernon soon understood and looked at Dudley who was still sitting quietly.

Everybody's eyes turned to him. "Erm, well it must have been when he fell off the roof," Dudley said lightly.

"He what? What on earth was he doing on the roof in the first place?" Vernon grumbled.

"He was rescuing a bird," Dudley said. His eyes trailed between both parents in an expression that told them that it was something he shouldn't discuss in public. "Besides, Harry said nothing was broken."

Vernon's eyes became wide for a moment and then he rested his head in his hand.

"We'll be performing the operation as quickly as possible, to remove the clotting. You'll be able to see your nephew within a few hours," the doctor replied as Petunia sat down.

"Is there a chance that he could die?" Vernon asked.

The doctor blinked at the question and hesitated for a moment. "There's a chance that he might. And if he makes it through, some damage might be expected," he said with a small nod. "There will be a surgeon who will talk to you before the operation."

A small beep sounded from somewhere on the doctor, and he reached inside his white coat to retrieve a small black pager. He stared at it for a moment, and then continued his focus on the Dursleys. "I'm sorry, but I have to attend to another emergency, please take a seat, or have something at the cafeteria while you wait."

Doctor Edwards hastily left, the doors swaying back and forth once he had escaped out of the room to examine a new patient. Vernon sat down next to Petunia.

"Vernon," Petunia said, breaking the silence of the room. "Should we tell one of his kind...?"

Vernon turned his attention towards her. "No! We'll definitely not be telling anyone about this, Petunia; that'll put our lives at risk. The more those people are away from him, the better. Besides, maybe a bit of brain damage will prove to be helpful for him and take away his freak ability," he whispered very fast, even though there was nobody else in the room.

"But what if he's more brain damaged than we think?" Petunia whispered in a worried voice.

"Well, then the boy will be sent to one of those homes that looks after kids like that. That'll get him out from under our feet," Vernon huffed.

"Vernon... let's just think that he'll get better for now," Petunia said.

***

An infinite blackness weaved itself across Harry's eyes and he seemed to be floating in it. All of his emotions had escaped him and only a distant but very faint thought crossed his mind very now and then. Sometimes he would think about his Potions homework that he had to complete before the summer was over, or if his Aunt Petunia would give him another aspirin after breakfast. Other than that, a heavy silence pressed on him. There were a few times that he heard echoes of different voices beyond his unconsciousness, voices that he could not recognise. But the pain in his head had vanished, and Harry wasn't happy, nor sad; only peaceful and calm as he lay comfortably wherever he was.

A flicker of bright, white light crossed the blackness of his closed eyes like a mysterious glow. Harry's mind began to speed up a little; thoughts rushed back and flashes of past memories filtered through. He wanted to open his eyes but he wasn't able to, because he was too weak and tired to try harder. He could sometimes feel his limbs twitch.

Harry heard a voice again in the distance; soft and soothing, but so faint that he had trouble understanding what it was saying. Then to his relief, it steadily grew louder.

"Harry, wake up ... come on, you can do it."

Harry tried, but he couldn't.

"Come on, sweetheart, try to squeeze my hand," it said again, more boisterous within his ears.

Harry felt a warm presence under his fingertips, a hand, which he had forgotten, he had. He squeezed a little and the voice was pleased. "Good work, squeeze my other hand."

Harry did the same, obeying her command. He felt as though he was suffering the effect of the Imperius Curse. However, he still had his own free will to do whatever he chose.

The voice left him and he was suddenly left feeling a little gloomy that it had gone. Once again Harry was alone in his darkness, spiralling down deeper. He was suddenly determined to stop himself from remaining in the blackness. He was ready to wake up, and with a strong pull on his eyelids he opened them a little. Being still too sleepy to flick them open fully, he closed his eyes again. Someone suddenly held his hand.

"Wake up dear, that's the boy," it said softly.

Harry now heard a different voice and was a little disappointed that it wasn't the same person from last time. Nevertheless, it was just as welcoming and lovely. He opened his eyes a tiny bit more. Great confusion set in all of a sudden, rushing on him like a deadly torrent. A blur of neutral colours attacked his sight and everything was so extremely foggy that the new moving objects he saw were almost scaring him. Harry didn't know what he was seeing and he didn't like it at all.

Loud sounds penetrated his ears. Harry wanted them to stop, they were beginning to hurt his head again and the pain started to amplify, regaining its intensity. Harry squinted as the light was blinding him. He closed his eyes, wanting to get away from the horrible world he was seeing, which was bewildering and stressing him.

And then sleep once again took over, calming and comforting.

***

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon entered the softly lit room. Two chairs were placed near the bed where Harry lay and they sat, uncomfortably observing their nephew. Harry's head was heavily bandaged, and not a strand of his wild black hair was seen. His unusually shaped scar was hidden from their view as well.

No one spoke for a while; only the machines monitoring Harry's condition made any sounds. Every now and then a sudden burst of an alarming beeping from one the machines heralded the arrival of a nurse who adjusted some sort of a button or knob. Petunia looked on, interested with what the nurse was up to. Then she sighed and looked back at Harry, who was sleeping with not a worry to bother him.

"The doctor said he's woken up," Vernon spoke, placing his hands on the blue linen covered bed. "Only time will tell if he will fully regain consciousness and bodily functions."

Petunia hesitated for a moment, her hands shaking as she tried to figure out whether she should touch Harry's hand, but her old fear and hatred still controlled her. In the end she chose to straighten the linen instead.

"You know, comforting an ill person and showing them that they are loved can actually help them recover more quickly, and in Harry's case it could help him to wake up fully," a male nurse calmly stated as he entered the room to check Harry's vital signs.

Petunia gulped, torn between helping Harry recover and scared because of her beliefs towards her nephew as she sat. She cleared her mind and laid her hand out with courage and laced her fingers through Harry's, his coldness sending a slight shiver through her. She did not, however, say a word to him, only patting his limp hand.

Harry's eyes opened. He was disorientated and his eyelids kept flickering, showing the whites of his eyes. He turned his head, the oxygen mask placed over his mouth and nose, trapping the mist of his breath, fogging the mask up slightly, but only to disappear very quickly.

***

Harry instantly recognised his aunt and looked at her, silently wondering why she was staring at him with such a dreary glare. He removed his hand from her unfamiliar caress and hid his arm beneath the warm blanket. He blinked at the textured ceiling, then lazily swivelled his eyes towards the other side of the bed where he saw his uncle gazing at him. Uncle Vernon had the same morbid expression on his face.

Harry opened his mouth. He couldn't remember the events before he had ended up in a different bed. He tried to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth, it was like he had forgotten how to speak. He struggled to get a word out, but only a hiss of sound bubbled out of his lips. The words he wanted to say in his mind couldn't be translated by his mouth.

Vernon stood up and Harry couldn't see him any more. He turned towards his aunt. "You're in the hospital," she croaked. "The fall from the roof has given you a bad head injury. You've been unconscious for a day now."

Harry shook his head, absorbing the information as it trickled into his mind in slow motion, the pain causing him to grimace. Unexpectedly, he began to leak tears. He could not help it; despair filled him. He wanted it to stop. He removed the blanket off himself, freeing his arms, his hands in tight fists, holding a piece of cloth in his grip. He tried to talk again, but no matter how much he tried only a mumble of distorted sound gargled out of him; his speech was taken away from him. He weakly lifted the mask. However, his aunt stopped him from doing so.

"Will you just rest?" she spat.

He turned away to avoid her face, immediately locking his eyes onto a window. The view was covered in darkness, and the glare of the light reflected off it like a glowing orb. He guessed it was night, and he suddenly saw a figure enter in the window's reflection.

The doctor came in, followed by his uncle, and examined Harry. He checked Harry's strength in his arms and legs, coordination in his eyes and limbs and that everything was working smoothly. Except for his speech, he was fine - Harry could not coordinate his mouth to say words properly.

The doctor smiled weakly and ushered his aunt and uncle for a private talk, leaving Harry to fully grasp what was happening around him. A whispering buzz made its way to Harry's sensitive ears, although he noticed that the sound in his left ear was a little muffled. He closed his eyes, tears welling up again.

"Well, Harry is doing well, except for his loss of speech, and a little weakness on his right side," the doctor whispered.

A little more whispering and Harry heard the doctor again. "The brain has two hemispheres, the right and the left. Each hemisphere is in control of the opposite side of the body in their functions. Now one of the things the left side of his brain does is to control communication and that's where he had the damage that is causing the loss of speech and the weakness. However, with speech therapy, he should regain some of his ability to talk again and physiotherapy to help him get his strength back."

Fear entered Harry's stomach. The thought of never going back to Hogwarts to practise magic haunted him as he pulled his hand towards his head to scratch an itchy spot. Without being able to talk, what use was there for a wand? He retched, feeling sick at the prospect of never becoming a fully trained wizard. Without magic, he felt lost, without a hope in the world. He might as well surrender to Voldemort and hope for a quick death. Shame then overwhelmed him - an emotion he'd never thought he'd experience lying in a Muggle hospital.

Aunt Petunia sat down once more and she caressed Harry's cheek. "Would you like me to tell your ... your ... uh, one of your kind?"

Harry instantly shook his head, tears spilling onto his pillow. He didn't want anyone to know about him - to know what had happened and the future he was facing. What would Hermione and Ron say and think? Harry couldn't bear the thought of them. He especially didn't want them to pity him. He coughed, pain rippling in his head. He just wanted to shrivel up unnoticed and die. He sobbed harder, too exhausted to think properly, his thoughts and feeling amplifying and driving him into despair.

Famous Harry Potter: No Longer a Wizard.

Harry could see the title plastered on the Daily Prophet in a huge bold heading. He began to sob. Will I ever have a moment's peace and happiness? Harry thought miserably as he wiped the tears away on his bed sheets

***

In the far reaches of Britain, a mysterious cloaked man flexed his long, white skeletal fingers at a green fire. The flames' breath helped blood to flow back into his cold extremities while he thought deeply.

A twig snapped in a distance and he spun around, his head lifting cautiously towards the echo. He sniffed the air through his snake-like nose, which was barely visible from underneath his black hood. His barely human face was unseen in the welcoming dark, although the fire did occasionally lighten up the cruel features of his evil form.

"Come forth," the Dark Lord hissed, his voice frosty enough to chill the coldest of hearts. "I do not like a hidden nuisance."

In the distance, Wormtail roused from his sleepy state and looked up in alarm while Nagini lifted her head a little and hissed.

A man stepped out from behind a crumbled wall, his cold hands within his cloak, and he bowed while taking short strides, and then fell to his knees at the hem of his Master's cloak. "My Lord, forgive my disturbance," he said peeling back his hood to reveal his blonde-white hair while his eyes twinkled in a menacing grey.

Lucius Malfoy looked around at the Dark Lord's dwelling, a little abhorred by its surroundings. Voldemort knew this by the cringing of the man's pointed face. Malfoy had escaped from Azkaban with his companions only a day before and was now in hiding. Probably in a much neater surrounding, Voldemort mused. The ruins were not to Lucius' tastes, but to Voldemort they were. He was not a man for wealth and possessions; power was much more important to him.

"Your appearance is an odd one ... I did not summon my supporters to me since a few of them are attacking some Muggles for their own pleasure ... I will deal with them later. So what brings you here, Lucius?" Voldemort asked coldly, turning away from the lowly figure on the ground. He walked back to the fire where he relaxed, watching the flames dance.

For a few minutes, Malfoy explained his visit, and when he finished, silence overwhelmed the air as he waited for his Master to respond.

Voldemort took a moment to register the information and his mouth curled into an obscene sneer. "How utterly unexpected," the Dark Lord said out loud. Lucius nodded. Voldemort tapped his fingers together, staring at the fire, deep in thought.

Lucius knew what his Master was thinking. "My Lord," Lucius bowed his head a little.

Voldemort chuckled. His laugh carried on to the dark starry heavens.