Intersections

Chapter 2: Conversations

The next morning, Aunt Petunia acted normally at breakfast. "Eat quickly," she said to Harry stiffly, and she turned back to rearranging the dishes in the sink. Harry thought of asking her about the letters and her strange behavior from the night before, but he decided against it and silently followed his uncle to the car.

There was an assembly today instead of registration in the form room, so Harry followed the stream of students into the main hall, pulling at his collar. He still needed a new shirt, but he had managed to sew part of his old one back together so that he didn't need to tape it as much. Unable to find Hermione in the large crowd, he seated himself in the back row and prepared to tune out the headmaster's voice.

Headmaster Truden was a short, wheezy, balding old man with a wispy gray beird who always dressed in a brown suit, which Harry privately thought looked like the manure Aunt Petunia used to fertilize her garden. Standing at the front of the room, he looked very much like a dirty garden gnome. "May I have everyone's attention, please?" he spoke into the microphone, which squealed sharply for a few seconds, causing several students to cover their ears and wince in pain. "It has recently come to my attention," continued the headmaster, "that some incidents of bullying have occurred within the past week. Bullying will not be tolerated at Stonewall!" Several students jumped in their seats, including Harry, who thought that Truden sounded very much like an angry Uncle Vernon. The headmaster paused, breathing heavily. "If you see any instance of bullying, you are to report it to a teacher immediately. Is that clear to everybody?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see his maths teacher Mr. Rowle nodding his head sternly in agreement. He sank down into his seat, wondering if Mr. Rowle had reported his and Polkiss' fight to the headmaster.

"It has also come to my attention," Truden continued, "that some of our students have been using empty classrooms as appointed locations for, how shall I say, lovers' trysts." A quarter of the students (mostly female) blushed with embarrassment, while the others snickered and coughed in response. "I would like to remind you..."

Harry began to doze off, letting the headmaster's voice wash over him. In his dream, Truden transformed into a taller man with a long silver-white beard, dressed in flowing purple and blue robes with silver skies on them. He smiled at Harry genially and put on a matching purple wizard's hat, then asked him, "Mr. Potter, are you paying attention? Harry? Harry?"

Somebody was shaking him. Mumbling, Harry opened his eyes blearily and looked up into Hermione's worried face. A blonde girl with pale blue eyes lingered behind her, looking slightly impatient.

"Harry, let's go, we'll be late for maths," said Hermione.

"Mmf," Harry mumbled in response. "I'm coming." He stood up slowly, his body still sore from lack of sleep, and followed Hermione and her friend - Harry vaguely recognized her as Katharine Balim - to maths class. Mr. Rowle gave them disapproving looks as they crept into the back row, but continued with his lesson nonetheless, while Piers Polkiss turned around from the front and smirked at the group, leering at Hermione briefly. Hermione didn't seem to notice.

Harry couldn't focus on the lesson. His mind kept wandering to the dream he'd had and to the letters that Aunt Petunia had given him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always told him that magic didn't exist, even when he was a child and wanted to believe in it. But how else did the glass disappear on the boa constrictor's cage on Dudley's eleventh birthday? Harry used to think that it was magic when he was younger, but as he grew older, he began to chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. He thought of Aunt Petunia's strange behavior yesterday. She seemed genuinely earnest, desperate even, for Harry to read the letters and to - what was it she said? Contact the headmaster of the school? Harry tried to recall headmaster's name on the letter. Dumbley...no...Bumblelore...no...Dumbleduns...no...he couldn't remember. Harry scowled, thinking of the letters and the fury he'd felt toward them, and decided to reread them one more time just to find out the headmaster's name. If he didn't, he'd be trying to remember it for the rest of the week.

"Do you have a question, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Rowle boomed from the front of the classroom.

Harry looked up, realizing that he had been glowering at the textbook on his desk. He swallowed. "No, sir," he answered.

"Good, then you can answer question number thirty-one from last night's homework."

Harry scrambled around on his desk, pulling out the homework he had done, and read out his answer.

"That is correct, Mr. Potter. Kindly pay attention to the lesson," Mr. Rowle reprimanded. Harry flushed and fixed his eyes on the front of the classroom until the lesson had ended.

"What were you thinking about?" Hermione asked him on their way out of the classroom.

Harry shook his head, unwilling to talk about the letters on his mind. "Nothing, I was just tired," he said, looking down at the ground. "Couldn't sleep last night."

Hermione bit her lip, looking worried, and gestured to the blonde girl walking beside her. "This is Katharine," she said. "I'm sure you two already know each other..."

"How do you do," Katharine said, sticking her hand out. Harry looked up and shook it back, nodding awkwardly.

"Harry, how about you join us and some of our friends during lunch," Hermione said, ignoring Katharine, who had turned to gawk at her. "We'll be in the dining hall."

Harry looked from Katharine's aggrieved expression to Hermione's welcoming one. "I don't want to be an inconvenience," he muttered, privately suspecting that Katharine didn't want anything to do with him.

"You won't be," assured Hermione, elbowing Katharine just as she opened her mouth to speak. "Right, Katharine?"

"As I was saying," Katharine huffed, tossing back her blonde pigtails, "you're welcome to join us, Harry. I was just, er, surprised. Hermione hadn't told me earlier that she was inviting you." And she gave Hermione one of those meaningful looks girls gave which Harry had never been able to decipher.

"All right, then," said Harry, looking at Hermione gratefully and at Katharine with apprehension. They smiled at him and walked briskly out of the room together.

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Harry could barely sit still during the rest of his lessons. The more he thought about lunch, the more anxious he became. He'd never had to interact with a large group of people before. Even yesterday's lunch with Hermione had been a new experience, and an awkward one at that. Plus, Katharine and her friends had probably been at Stonewall since their first year; they were bound to already think he was a freak.

As his geography lesson ended, Harry tried to calm his racing heart and walked toward the dining hall with slightly unsteady legs. He hardly ever visited the dining hall, preferring to eat meals in the form room where he could be alone. He had already eaten his lunch during the morning break, so he hoped that going to the dining hall wouldn't make him hungry again. As he entered, the loud laughter and chatter and the varying smells of hot dishes made him dizzy, and he had to blink and pause to adjust himself before searching for Hermione's group. Finally spotting her bushy brown hair, he pushed his way through to her table and took a seat. Sitting across from him was a Chinese girl with butterfly ornament in her hair.

"Hello, Harry," she said politely, "I'm Sara. Sara Cheung."

"Hello," said Harry. Hermione grinned at Harry, and the rest of the group began to introduce themselves. There was Will, the stocky, friendly blonde boy; Lina, bright and cheerful with bouncy curls to match; and Arianne, with straight brown hair and a book under her arm. Harry shook each hand and tried hard to remember each name and face: he'd never met so many people at once.

An uncomfortable silence then descended upon the table. It was clear that nobody was quite sure what to say to Harry. Taking a breath, Harry decided to try a hand at making conversation. "Er, what have you all heard about me?" he asked, his face heating up as he realized that this was probably not the best question to ask.

"Heard you were a bit of a nutter," Arianne said bluntly, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she were suppressing a smile as she looked back down at her book.

"Er," said Harry, not sure whether or not she was taking the mickey out of him.

"She's joking," Will cut in quickly.

"She only thought you were a nutter," Lina said helpfully. "She didn't hear that you were."

"Harry's not a nutter," Hermione defended, sounding annoyed and glancing at Harry apologetically.

"No, no, I'm not," Harry said, flustered, shaking his head. "At least, I don't think I am." He tried to find a more suitable topic to discuss, but all he could think about was the events of the previous night. "My aunt is, though," he blurted out. "She went a bit mad yesterday."

"Really? How?" Katharine leaned in closer, and her friends followed her lead.

"I - I dunno," said Harry nervously, unused to the large amount of attention. "She's usually yelling at me to do chores and such, right?"

"You live with your aunt?" Katharine interrupted.

Harry nodded. "My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby. I live with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin attends Smeltings." He wondered whether making friends always involved this sort of interrogation.

"All right, go on then," said Katharine, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Er..." Harry cleared his throat. "Usually she's making me do chores, but yesterday she said she had to show me something. She ends up searching through a cupboard, making a huge mess, and handing me this set of letters addressed to me." He paused, unwilling to continue. The content of the letters suddenly seemed very personal, and he didn't want to share it with anyone.

"Well?" asked Sara. Harry's eyes flew to her butterfly ornament. It was quite pretty. "What did the letters say?" she asked.

"Oh - er - well, they were just a bunch of rubbish," said Harry quickly, "a load of tosh, really, about some ma - some magpies," he finished lamely.

"Magpies?" Sara repeated, looking confused.

"Yes," Harry said, a little frenzied now. "The birds. Nothing to do with me, really. I didn't understand it at all, but my aunt seemed to think it was very important."

"That does sound barmy," Lina breathed, her eyes wide.

"Does your aunt go mad often?" Arianne asked, looking up from her book. Will smacked her lightly.

"No," said Harry, "never. This was the first time I'd seen her like that."

"Hm," Sara said, a pensive expression on her face. Nobody seemed to know how to respond.

"My parents were going to send me to Smeltings," Will said suddenly, "but balked when they saw the uniforms."

Relief rushed over Harry. Smeltings was something he could talk about, because Smeltings was something that existed. "Yeah, it's a bloody ugly uniform," he said, looking at Will gratefully. Will winked.

"What's it like?" Hermione inquired, looking between the two boys curiously.

Harry described the uniform, grinning as he thought of Dudley in the orange knickerbockers, maroon tailcoat, and a boater hat. "And let's not forget the Smeltings stick," Harry added.

"What's that?"

"It's a knobbly stick all Smeltings students carry around," responded Harry. "They like to hit each other with them."

Katharine giggled. "Smeltings encourages boys to hit each other with their special sticks?" she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Yes," Harry answered solemnly, and all of the girls except for Hermione dissolved into giggles. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly, but she was trying hard not to smile. Looking at the people around him, Harry smiled hesitantly, and for the first time in years, his face lit up, and he began to laugh.

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Hermione sat next to Harry on the front steps of Stonewall High, waiting for their families to pick them up underneath a cloudy grey sky. Lina had asked Hermione to go to the cafe with her and Katharine after their French lesson, but Hermione had declined, as her new house was still filled with boxes that she needed to unpack. Harry was surprised when Hermione had joined him on the steps, but she'd insisted that friends kept each other company. She glanced over at him briefly. A textbook was open on his lap, but he was staring straight ahead at a red car across the street. "Harry," said Hermione.

Harry blinked and looked at her. "Yes?"

"Lunch was fun today."

He grinned. "Thanks for inviting me," he said, and he took a deep breath. Hermione looked at him inquisitively. "I - I wanted to thank you for befriending me," he said in a rush. "Most people - nobody has ever been my friend before you, and I'm - I'm truly grateful for...for you."

Hermione turned bright red. "You're welcome, Harry," she said. Harry was gazing at her with undisguised appreciation, and she felt her heartbeat quicken for no reason. Averting her eyes, she looked down at the textbook he held. "I didn't know you were studying textiles," she said.

Harry nodded. "Yes, it's my favorite subject." He closed the book and shoved it into his bag, looking at her quizzically. "What's yours?"

"Mine's maths," said Hermione. "I'm best with numbers. Numbers and facts."

Harry scuffed the ground with his old trainers. "I like maths too," he said, "Mr. Rowle's one of the best teachers I've ever had."

"He's a little bit frightening," said Hermione with a grin. "He reminds me of my history teacher from my old school, Mr. Combe." She let out a sigh inadvertently, her heart aching slightly as she thought of her old life in London.

"Why did you come to Surrey?" Harry asked.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she remembered the dark smoke and breaking glass, the people screaming and the wail of coming sirens, the shattered peace and the rare blue sky above. She saw her parents' office exploded in the distance, their precious x-ray machine and dental tools falling everywhere, remembered the screaming arguments she'd had with her parents about leaving her school and her friends behind, and the arguments they'd had with each other about moving to a safer place.

"Hey - Hermione. Are you all right? Hermione!"

Hermione barely had time to acknowledge Harry's cry before she felt someone push her out of the way and grab her arms behind her back. She snapped out of her memories and screamed, struggling. Across from her, Harry was receiving the same treatment from a bulky boy with a mean face. Standing between them was Piers Polkiss, who looked very, very angry.

"Trying to get me suspended, Potter?" he snarled at Harry, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

Harry glared at him furiously and spat in his face. "Let me go," he grimaced as the bulky boy twisted Harry's arm a little. "I haven't a bloody clue what you're talking about."

Polkiss wiped the spit off his face and snatched Harry's glasses. "Really now, Potter?" he sneered. "You think I don't know who ratted me out to the headmaster for the assembly this morning?" He punched Harry hard across the face, throwing the glasses down the steps so that they shattered on the concrete pavement.

Hermione screamed again. "Stop it!"

Polkiss whipped around and laughed, licking his lips. "I'll deal with you later," he said in what was meant to be a suave tone. Hermione tried to rush forward so that she could kick him in the groin - preventing him from dealing with anybody later - but the grip on her arms was too tight. Hermione pulled against them in frustration, but her holder simply laughed gutturally and tightened his grip.

"Let her go, Polkiss," Harry gasped, struggling to break free and to focus on Polkiss' face. "If you have a problem, lay it on me. Leave her out of it."

"Very noble of you, Potter," sneered Polkiss, punching Harry in the stomach. As Harry doubled over, Polkiss walked over to Hermione and smirked. "I heard you went to an independent," he said, reaching out to touch Hermione's hair. "I wonder if you taste different than the Stonewall girls?" Hermione, sensing what was coming, jerked her head away with a glare, but Polkiss grabbed her chin and forced her to look straight ahead. "Kiss me," he hissed, and he leaned in closer.

Several things happened at once. Just before Polkiss' lips could touch hers, there was a sharp flash of white light, and Polkiss was knocked backward toward Harry, who seemed to be emitting a blinding whitish glow around his body. Polkiss' crony, upon noticing the light, dropped Harry's arms and ran; the one holding Hermione quickly followed suit. Polkiss' body bounced off Harry's glow and finally began to fall onto the steps between Harry and Hermione. Hermione winced, expecting to hear a sickening crack and almost hoping that Polkiss would crack his skull open, but all she heard was a gentle thump. Her heart racing, Hermione looked up at a shocked, pale, and panting Harry, his arms outstretched as if he were reaching out for Polkiss' body.

"Are you all right?" he gasped.

"I think I should ask you," Hermione said, rushing to him as quickly as she could. Her legs felt like jelly, as if all of the energy had suddenly been robbed from her body. Was that what the white light had been? she wondered briefly, and she shook her head to clear it of nonsense.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, but he was clutching his stomach and shaking. Sweat dripped off his forehead onto his tattered coat.

"Sit down," said Hermione, wanting to do so herself. Harry obeyed. They both glanced toward their unconscious classmate. "What are we going to do?" Hermione said anxiously. "About him?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he said hollowly. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and his skin was very white. Hermione grabbed his hand; it was cold.

"You're ill," she breathed.

"No, no, I'm not," he mumbled unconvincingly. He winced, gently touching the bruise forming on his face with his free hand. "You have to check on Polkiss," he said, his unfocused green eyes wide and pleading. He looked unusually vulnerable. "Make sure he's still breathing."

Hermione nodded. She crawled over to Polkiss' body and leaned over it, shuddering to think what would happen if he woke up and saw her in this position. Quickly grabbing his wrist, Hermione found that his pulse was steady, as well as his breathing. He seemed to be in a far better state than Harry, who was turning green at the side of the staircase. As Hermione made her way back to him, he leaned over the edge and vomited.

"Sorry," he muttered when she sat back down. His breath was still shaky, but it was returning to a normal rhythm.

"Don't apologize," she said with a shake of her head. She added, "Polkiss is fine. His breathing and heart rate are normal." Hermione worried her lip, wondering why her parents hadn't come to pick her up yet and wishing that they were here to take care her and Harry. A glance of her watch told her that they were twenty minutes late. After a short, pregnant silence, Hermione asked the question on both their minds. "What was that white light?"

Harry avoided her gaze and shook his head slightly. "I don't know," he said, though he sounded like he did indeed know something.

"Really," said Hermione disbelievingly.

Harry shook his head and frowned. "It's not possible," he said to himself.

"What's not?"

"Magic," said Harry, and he looked up at her, begging her to convince him. "Magic isn't real."

Hermione looked at him uncertainly. She was hardly a religious person, and certainly not one to believe in magic or angels or anything of the sort - but how else could she explain the white light that had surrounded Harry and protected her from Polkiss' assault? It couldn't have been an illusion, because they had both seen it, both felt it. Hermione's head hurt as she thought about it. Harry stared at the ground, looking puzzled and incredulous and horribly exhausted.

Five minutes later, Hermione's parents pulled up in a small blue Volkswagen. "Hermione!" her mother shouted from the front passenger's seat. "Are you ready? I'm so sorry we're late, there was a horrible accident along the way. We drove here as soon as we could."

"Mum," Hermione said, never feeling so relieved before. She tried to stand up to go to the car, but her legs failed her.

Looking alarmed, her mother got out of the car and ran up the steps, nearly stepping on Harry's broken glasses. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum, I'm fine," said Hermione, attempting to stand up once more. She managed it, but only barely. Standing shakily, she clung to her mother and said, "I'm just a bit woozy, is all. I - er - ran around the school today. Mum, this is my friend Harry."

Harry waved from the ground, still looking extremely pale. The bruise stood out sharply against his skin. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger," he said hoarsely.

"Oh! Would you like a lift home?" asked Mrs. Granger, looking up and down at him critically.

Harry looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I...no, thank you," he said, coughing. "My uncle should be here soon to take me home."

Hermione gave Harry a very worried look, which her mother must have noticed. Mrs. Granger said quickly, "Are you sure, dear? It won't be any trouble at all."

Harry hesitated and shivered. The sky was beginning to darken. "I would appreciate it," he nodded, and he stood slowly, holding the railing and squinting. "My glasses," he said, "they broke."

Mrs. Granger gestured to her husband, who got out of the car and came up the stairs, looking confused. "George, help this poor boy down the stairs," she said, "he can't see properly right now."

"Wait," said Harry, and he took in a shaking breath. "There's a boy sleeping behind you, Mrs. Granger - a classmate of ours - please wake him up before we go."

Hermione's eyes widened; she had nearly forgotten about Polkiss. She let her mother help her down the stairs as her father did the same for Harry. As soon as the two teenagers were safely in the car, Mr. and Mrs. Granger bent over Polkiss and shook his shoulder gently. Polkiss bolted upright, took one look at the adults standing over him, and fled down the stairs away from the school.

"Strange bloke," Mr. Granger remarked as he got into the driver's seat, and he drove them away from the wretched front entrance of Stonewall High.

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"Boy! Where were you? I drove all the way to that bloody school and no one was there!" Uncle Vernon bellowed as soon as Harry walked through the front door of the house.

Harry didn't answer, stumbling toward the kitchen to take some ice from the freezer. He winced as he stretched his arm out, touching his tender face and stomach briefly. Polkiss had punched him dangerously close to his ribs, and a bruise was forming right underneath them at the center of his body. Harry couldn't remember being hurt like this since Dudley had left to board at Smeltings.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon snapped again, and he lumbered out of the living room into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Harry holding two ice packs to his body. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked gruffly.

"Nothing," said Harry, grimacing as he collapsed into a chair. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think, and it hurt to see, because everything was blurry. The cold ice bit through his skin, making him shiver violently, and his teeth chattered. "I'm f-fine."

Uncle Vernon's eyes darted between Harry and the living room. "Petunia," he called after staring hard at Harry, whose eyes had begun to glaze over. "Come here. The boy is ill."

Aunt Petunia stalked out of the living room irritably. "What is it?" she snapped, and she took in Harry's bruised face, missing spectacles, and ghostly white skin. "What happened?" She looked at Uncle Vernon with alarm. Uncle Vernon, at a loss for words, looked back at her, equally alarmed.

Harry felt his eyes begin to close, and he embraced the darkness that surrounded him. Sleep felt so good, so comforting...

The ice packs fell to the floor as Harry toppled over in his seat. Vernon barely stopped him from hitting the floor as Petunia shrieked, "Boy! Wake up!" But no amount of screaming and shaking could wake him, and Petunia - ignoring her husband's protests - insisted that they take him to the hospital. Vernon grudgingly acquiesced and started the ignition, muttering under his breath about the late hour and glancing frequently at the boy in the backseat with a hint of concern.

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Hermione's parents began to question as soon as they left Harry's neighborhood.

"What happened to that boy?" her mother asked casually. "Harry?"

Hermione gulped and thought frantically about how to explain what had had occurred.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger repeated with a warning tone in her voice.

"He - fell down the steps," Hermione said, clearing her throat and hoping that she sounded convincing. "The other boy - Polkiss - tripped Harry, and I - ran to catch Harry, but I was too late. So his - glasses broke, and he - he hit his face on the pavement." She wondered if her mother had seen the bruise on Harry's stomach, and decided not to mention it.

"And Polkiss fell asleep?" Hermione's father asked suspiciously.

Hermione nodded, trying to come up with an explanation. "He fainted," she said, mentally smirking as she tarnished Polkiss' reputation. "He had a bad reaction to the sound of broken glass. Something traumatic, I suppose."

An uneasy silence descended on the car as Hermione and her parents remembered the explosion in London. Hermione wanted to smack herself for reminding them of that day. They had never mentioned it since moving to Surrey, and now here they were, all thinking about it.

"Polkiss has been bullying you?" Mrs. Granger finally asked in concern.

"Yes," said Hermione, relieved to finally be able to tell the truth. "He's been bullying me and Harry ever since I arrived. Harry, mostly." She shuddered, thinking of how Polkiss had wanted to force himself on her, but decided not to tell her parents. They'd throw a fit if they knew. Plus, she doubted Polkiss would ever approach them again after what happened tonight.

"Have you reported this to the headmaster?" Hermione's father asked.

"Not yet," his daughter answered, privately pondering if she should.

"You ought to do it tomorrow morning, straight away," said Mrs. Granger, twisting around to look at her daughter imploringly. "The longer you keep silent, the worse it will get. I don't want anything bad to happen to you, understand?"

"Yes, Mum," sighed Hermione, feeling both appreciative and exasperated. She knew what her parents were thinking. They had moved here for a quieter life, where danger was not supposed to lurk around every corner, and if they found any, they would put a stop to it as soon as possible. If she didn't report Polkiss to the headmaster, then her parents certainly would, and Hermione, as much as she loved them, did not want them to get involved. "I'll report it tomorrow morning, I promise," she lied.

"Good," said Mrs. Granger.

"How have your lessons been going?" Hermione's father asked, trying to sound cheerful.

"Great," Hermione answered, also injecting false cheerfulness into her voice. She had always enjoyed lessons at her old school, and she knew her parents would be comforted if she said she enjoyed them at Stonewall. "They're wonderful, especially maths." That wasn't a lie. "I've made some new friends, too," she added quickly, "besides Harry."

"That's wonderful," her mother said brightly. "Who are they?"

Hermione felt a genuine smile break out onto her face as she described Katharine and Sara and their group, who had accepted her on the very first day of school. Gradually, her parents' worried looks disappeared, and the Granger family arrived at their new house relaxed and content.

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Harry dreamed.

The room was small, smoky, and rather shabby; worn wooden tables dotted the floor, and along one wall there was a bar and stools.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this - can this be -?"

The pub, which had been full of talk and laughter just a second ago, was completely silent.

"Bless my soul," the bartender whispered, "Harry Potter...what an honor."

He had tears in his eyes as he rushed forward and seized Harry's hand.

There was a great scraping of chairs, and Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the pub. They were all wearing long robes and pointy caps, as if they had dressed up to be wizards for Halloween. Harry remembered a name. Hogwarts?

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

He looked oddly familiar, and an image of a violet top hat flashed through Harry's mind.

Diggle looked very excited. "He remembers!" he cried, looking around. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"

Wait, Harry thought, I never said that I remember you...

Harry heard a loud beeping in the background. Slowly returning to consciousness, he groaned and tried to open his eyes. Someone placed a cup to his lips. "Drink, Harry," she said softly, stroking his hair gently, and Harry briefly wondered if he had died and met his mum. "Come on, Harry, drink."

Harry opened his mouth a little, and the woman tipped a cold liquid down his throat. "Good, Harry."

"Where am I?" he tried to ask, but all that came out was "Mmmf." Harry tried to roll over and look at the woman who was caring for him - could it really be his mum? - but a hand gently pushed him back down. "Rest," the woman whispered, and Harry complied, unable to resist the temptation of sleep.

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