The War for Souls

Chapter 14--Recovery

The hours of interminable waiting outside the hospital room were the longest of Ginny's life. The sun was down before there was any word from the healers. Even then, all they were told was that he was out of immediate danger. To make matters worse, every reporter in magical Britain was stalking them. Her mother had nearly come to blows with one already, and one had been thrown off the premises for following Hermione into the women's bathroom.

Finally, near midnight, an older, bearded man came into the room where they were waiting. "Mr. Weasley?" he asked, looking around. A very haggard looking Arthur Weasley stood up and greeted him. "Would you rather do this outside?"

"No, whatever you have to say to me, they need to hear, too." Ginny wanted to rush over and hug her father, but she stayed in her seat to listen.

"Well, then, I'm Roger Locke, I'm the Chief Healer on this wing. I've been treating Mr. Potter for the better part of the afternoon. It seems that he was struck with a very powerful concussion spell."

Hermione gasped, and Mr. Weasley nodded grimly. "What is that, exactly?" asked Ginny.

"Well, are any of you familiar with a Muggle cannon?" Her father and Hermione nodded. Ginny knew vaguely what one was, but looked questioningly at her dad.

"It's a device that launches what amount to Bludgers very fast through the air," he said.

"Exactly," said Healer Locke. "The effect of the spell was that he was hit with a cannon shot." Ron still looked puzzled. "Imagine being hit with a Bludger moving at the speed of a Firebolt."

"Merlin," he swore.

"Harry?" Ginny prompted.

"Yes," said the Healer. "He fractured all of his ribs on his right side. His right arm was so badly shattered that we removed the bones and are regrowing them. In addition, there was considerable bruising of his internal organs. His lung was punctured, but that was a relatively easy thing to repair. I'm much more concerned about the internal bleeding. What we can know right now is that it will be a couple of days, maybe longer, before he's able to move properly."

"Will he wake up soon?"

"He's in an enchanted sleep right now. It should wear off around six tomorrow morning. After that, I couldn't really say."

Ginny sank back in her seat. "You had better go home and get some sleep tonight, kids," said her dad. "You can come back first thing in the morning."

"I'm not leaving," said Ginny.

"Ginevra--"

"Nothing, I'm staying."

"Me too," said Ron. "I'm going to be here for him in the morning." The other four students nodded grimly.

"You need sleep," said Mr. Weasley. "You have to go home and get some."

"Arthur," said Remus gently from the corner. "Let them stay. They're as safe here as anywhere, and they won't get any sleep anyway." Mr. Weasley nodded slowly.

Ginny spent the rest of the night sitting in the waiting room, curled into various uncomfortable positions, and watching with only the slightest interest as Ron and Hermione continued to try to sleep as near to each other as possible without touching.

She didn't know exactly when she had fallen asleep, but the sun was pouring through the tiny window at the top of the waiting room wall when she woke up. Hermione and Ron were still asleep on the floor, and at some point during the night, Ron's arm had worked its way around her waist. Neville was curled in a position in one of the chair which was painful for her to even look at, and snoring loudly. Susan was nowhere to be seen--Ginny suspected her aunt had come to take her back at some point. She felt a touch on her shoulder, and turned around to see Luna staring unblinkingly at her.

"I'm sure we all forgot your birthday," she said. "But happy birthday none the less."

"Some birthday," said Ginny. "You're fifteen, now sit in the hospital while the man you love fights for his life."

"He'll recover," said Luna. "Either must die at the hands of the other."

"Does that mean..."

"That would be my interpretation," she said. "I don't believe anyone other than Voldemort can kill Harry."

"And vice versa," said Ginny.

"He's moving," said Luna. There was a clatter, a squeal, the sound of a snore being choked off. Ginny and Luna both turned to look at the corner of the room. Ron had woken up, moving ever so slightly, and that had woken Hermione. They had sprung away from each other as though they had been burned, and Ron had collided with the chair in which Neville was sleeping. Neville had woken with a start, jumped, and collided with Hermione, who had squealed as she was pinballed between the two larger boys. The noise drew some reaction from Harry's room, but not the one Ginny had hoped against hope to see.

"What is all this?" asked a pretty young woman in the uniform of a nurse as she came out of the room.

"Sorry, we just woke up, and people got sort of startled," said Hermione.

"Is he...awake?" asked Ginny.

The woman shook her head sadly. "You must be Ginny. I'm Alexia Gould. I knew your brother Percy at school."

Ginny knitted her brow as she tried to remember if she knew the young nurse. "No," said Alexia, "you wouldn't know me. I was a fifth-year prefect Percy's first year. I was more a classmate of Charlie, although I didn't know him very well."

"Oh," said Ron.

"Is he going to wake up?" asked Neville in a small voice that reminded Ginny more of the boy she knew her first year.

"I hope so," said Alexia. "There's nothing wrong with him that should be keeping him unconscious. The best guess the healers can make is that his body is trying to heal, and all of his energy is going into that, rather than keeping himself conscious."

"Do you think..." began Hermione, but she stopped herself.

"No, go ahead."

"Well, what if he were hit with something else, besides just the concussion spell? Something that's keeping him unconscious."

"He wasn't," said Neville. "It was only the concussion spell."

"Then I would guess he'll probably wake up soon," said Alexia. "I wouldn't worry."

*****

Harry was dimly aware of a pretty woman in white robes moving around him, of hands on his head, and of potions being tipped down his throat. He heard voices--none that he could place--and realized that he was in a hospital. He didn't really remember how he got there...just bits of time.

He remembered, vividly, the attack on Morag that abruptly ended the trial. He remembered dueling one wizard, and then being hit as hard as he could imagine in the right side. After that, it was just the dim awareness, seeing as through a fog. He tried to force himself awake once or twice, but either they had poured enough sleeping draughts into him that it just wouldn't work, or he didn't have the strength.

Time wasn't really a factor. It wasn't that he didn't care how long he was in this state; it was that he couldn't tell. He honestly didn't know. There was light, there was dark. People--shapes really, with blurred colors he could sense more than see--flitted in and out at various times. He tried to open his eyes, and didn't know if he had. Occasionally he felt the touch of a hand on his, or a soft touch to his forehead he could tell was a kiss. Then it was back to the light and the dark, the blurred shapes of people, and always the sense that he was living just below the surface of reality.

The first sharp awareness that he had since watching his would-be killer fall off the edge of the dais at Morag was a pale grey light through what he assumed was a window. At that moment, he realized that for the first time since whatever had happened, his eyes were open, and he was seeing. He wanted to cry out, shout with joy that he was alright, but his tongue felt like a dry cotton plug in his throat. He realized that he was lying in a bed, on his back, looking at a brilliantly white wall over his left shoulder. There was a single window high in the wall, through which the pale grey light was filtering. Dawn, his subconscious told him. There was a small table set next to the bed, cluttered with so many things that they were spilling onto the floor, a hard wooden chair that was next to the bed, and the wall.

With a hyper-awareness he had never had before, born of his gratitude to be able to observe at all, he took it all in. He had said the walls at Padfoot's looked like St. Mungo's, but this was the most brilliant white wall he had ever seen. It was as though it were shining with its own internal light. The table and chair were both made of cheap wood, scratched many times over and stained many times over. The glass of the window was dingy and spattered with paint flecks and bird droppings. The sky--what little of it he could see--was overcast. He turned his attention to the objects littering the room. Flowers--so many flowers he felt as though he were in Aunt Petunia's prized back garden--filled much of the space. Taped to the wall were cards, well-wishes, prayers even. Standing starkly out from the brilliance of the flowers, the marker-written wishes of the cards, were the inordinate number of Dark Detectors in the room. A sneakoscope took up most of the seat of the chair. Harry was relieved to see it resting silent. A foe-glass hung on the wall directly below the window, the shapes no more distinct than the fog of a crystal ball. He tried to turn his head to the other side. There was no movement.

His muscles simply wouldn't answer him. He summoned every ounce of his will, and tried to force his head to turn. The muscles of his neck had deserted him. He heard a soft creak, and saw movement in the dingy glass of the window. A person--the woman in the white robes he had noticed a few times while he was semi-conscious, stepped in front of him, and shrieked.

A cacophony of sound assaulted Harry's ears, and he momentarily wished to be unaware again. The door flung open, without attempt to disguise the creak, and slammed again. Wood clattered against wood in what he assumed to be the next room. Voices, hushed and hurried, spoke in anxious and excited tones. And then, with a swish of robes and a beaming smile, the kindly face of Mrs. Weasley looked down at him. "Harry, dear, oh, can you hear me?"

Harry tried to nod. He couldn't. The only response he could think was to work the only muscles in his body that seemed to be responding, and he blinked several times rapidly.

"Oh, you can!" Harry knew that Mrs. Weasley was itching to enfold him in one of her smothering hugs, and refrained only out of fear for whatever condition he was in. Laboriously, he forced his mouth open, but no voice could come out. He managed only a gurgling, dry-mucous sound.

"Mum!" Ginny's voice. She was behind him. He wanted to turn over, wanted to see her again. It felt suddenly as though he hadn't seen her in years.

"I think he needs some water," said Luna's voice. She was behind him too. "I'll go get Alexia."

A moment later, the woman in the white robes was back, hustling Mrs. Weasley out of the way, and dropping cool, blessed water onto his parched tongue with a dropper. Three times she filled the dropper before Harry was finally able to feel his tongue loosen. He could speak. "Ginny?" he croaked.

A red-haired blur he assumed was his girlfriend shot up the side of the bed, knocked the sneakoscope onto the floor, and threw her arms around him. "Ginny!" came a sharp cry from the woman he guessed was Alexia.

"Oh, Harry, oh..." She backed away, as embarrassed as he'd seen her since her first year.

"Din' hurt," he said, still croaking the words. "Wha' hap'ned."

"Well, you were hit by a concussion spell," said Ginny. "And you've been out for nearly four days."

"Four days?" Ginny nodded.

"We were so worried, Harry," she said, tears forming at the side of her face. All of a sudden, she dove onto him again, and began sobbing into his shoulder.

"Gin, t'wasn' that bad." This was obviously the wrong thing to say, as it resulted in her crying into his shoulder even more. Damn it! Why do girls always want to cry on me!

"Sorry," she choked out, still holding onto him.

"Miss Weasley, I am as relieved as you all are that Mr. Potter is conscious, however, we still have much work to do." The speaker was a broad man with a beard and the lime-green robes of a healer. "I'm Roger Locke; I've been treating your injuries. How do you feel?"

"Throa's dry," he more hissed than said. "Can' move."

"Both are to be expected," said the healer. "I'm going to attempt something, and determine if it will be effective."

"Kay."

The healer brought his wand to bear against Harry's temple. "Electro," he said. A surge of energy shot through Harry's head. He was reminded forcibly of a time when he was three years old. He had wanted to see what was behind the electrical outlet in the corner of his cupboard, and had snuck an old key to Uncle Vernon's office. Rationalizing that keys open things, he slid the key into the electrical socket, and was naturally shocked rather powerfully. It was the same feeling he got from this treatment. "Try to move your head."

Harry tried. His head wasn't going anywhere. The muscles in his neck still refused to work. "Try to clench your facial muscles, like this." The healer screwed his face into a grimace; giving much the same appearance as Tonks when she changed form. Harry tried to copy him, and was half-successful.

"Be'er then 'fore," he scratched.

"Miss Gould, would you be so kind as to give Mr. Potter some more water." Looking as though someone had kicked her, Alexia jumped to her feet, and ran out of the room. In a moment, she had returned, and poured three more droppers of water down Harry's throat.

"That's better," said Harry, who now sounded only slightly hoarse. Healer Locke stuck his wand to Harry's temple again, and repeated the spell. This time, Harry's face clenched involuntarily with the energy of the spell.

"Ah," said the healer. "That's better. Try scrunching your face again." Harry did, and this time managed a full grimace, and then a smile. "I believe this might work, but it will be slow and painful. You will not be fully healed before you return to school."

"Harry!" Hermione's voice interrupted the conversation. "You're awake!"

"You'd have known if you weren't off snogging my brother," said Ginny sharply.

"I have never kissed any of your brothers," said Hermione icily. "But, Harry, how are you? Can you get up?"

"I can't move a muscle outside my face."

"As I was saying," said Healer Locke, his patience obviously being strained. "Your muscles have atrophied. This would not be a normal reaction given the time of your inactivity; however, I believe this may be a side-effect of the severe shock your body suffered."

"What's that mean?" asked Hermione.

"Harry!" Ron had made his way into the room, followed closely by Neville and Susan.

"Let the man finish," said Hermione.

"Oh, like you did," snapped Ginny. Hermione stared daggers at her, and Harry flicked his eyes confusedly between his girlfriend and his best friend.

"What the hell?" he asked.

"Nothing, Harry," said Ginny.

"Then zip it," interjected Neville. "You two have been at each others' throats for two days. I don't know what started it, or why it's still going on, but cut it out. We haven't got time for it."

"I believe,' said the healer, who seemed to have given up on getting his words in any other way than interruption, "that what happened is that your body ceased to function briefly after you were hit by the spell. Imagine having the wind knocked out of you, only you had the life knocked out of you for a moment. Your entire body has to learn to function again."

"It will, though, right?" asked Hermione, suddenly more concerned than she had been.

"Why didn't you say this before?" asked Ginny, whatever anger she had had at Hermione turned on Healer Locke.

"For the simple reason that I did not know it, Miss Weasley." Mrs. Weasley laid a hand on Ginny's shoulder; she sank into the chair where the sneakoscope had been.

"What I am trying to do is to stimulate your entire nervous system into recovering by sending shocks of magical energy through it. So far, this appears to be working."

"Mr. Locke," said Harry. "If my entire body needs to learn to function again, than how was I able to open my eyes and talk before you shocked me?"

"The body is a wonderful thing, Mr. Potter. All of us, to some extent, have regenerative power. Wizards, because of the magical in us, have greater regenerative power than Muggles. Over the four days you were unconscious, your body--your magic--was healing some of the most critical parts of your body. Your eyes, vocal cords, and some of your facial muscles were learning how to function again. Your nervous system has been restoring itself. Over time, this would happen to your entire body. However, I am hoping that by administering the shocks, we can accelerate this process, and you can be up and functioning in a few weeks, rather than a few months."

"When can he come home?" asked Susan.

"Well, are any of you particularly gifted with charms? Or, I should actually say, curses, since what we're applying is actually a mild form of a curse." Five fingers pointed at Ginny, and Harry voiced his agreement.

"Alright, Miss Weasley, if you agree to follow my instructions carefully, I may be able, in a day or so, to discharge him into your care."

"Just in time for the wedding," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Wedding," croaked Harry, his mouth going dry again. "Who--"

"Percy," said Ron.

"He told me about that," said Harry. "And I need more water." Ginny fairly snatched the dropper out of Alexia's hand, and poured the water into his mouth.

"D'you realize what you're doing," said Ron, turning with a sly grin to Healer Locke. "They've been dating less than two weeks, and you're giving her permission to mother him." He looked back at Harry. "Nice knowing you, mate."

Hermione smacked Ron on the arm, more playfully than seriously, and a peal of laughter rolled through the room. "Miss Weasley," said the healer. "I'm going to teach you tonight how to administer this treatment, and where to administer it. It's a very complicated process, and you have to know how to temper the power just right. Too much, or too often, and the spell could have the opposite effect."

"Like potions," said Hermione softly.

"Precisely," said the healer. "We're trying to revive his nervous system, not stun it to death again. So if you could be here around suppertime tonight, we can begin working in the direction of getting him home."

"Can I talk to Gin alone for a minute?" asked Harry when the healer had finished his spiel. The others seemed somewhat reluctant to surrender him to Ginny so soon after he woke up, but after a bit of muttering--mostly from Ron--filed out of the room.

Ginny slid the chair next to his bed, nudging flowers out of her way with her foot, and took one hand in hers. "Can you even feel that?"

"A little," he said. "It's like I'm wearing really thick gloves. And I can't move it at all, I've tried. I'm telling it to move, and my muscles aren't responding."

"I'll take care of you, Harry."

"You don't have to, I'll be--"

"You will not be fine, Harry Potter. Did you listen to a word the healer said? You barely survived that, and Luna thinks you wouldn't have survived it at all if it weren't for the prophecy."

"Huh?"

"She's got an idea that the only person who can kill you is Tom. Did you notice how you manage to get out of all these scrapes that you shouldn't be able to? She might have a point."

"Either must die at the hand of the other..."

"Exactly. But I am going to take care of you. You won't be fine without someone, and I do have to do this, that's what love is about!"

"But--"

"But nothing. I'm going to take care of you until you can do it for yourself. I love you, Harry, it's taken me five years to get that through your head, and I'll be damned if this is getting in the way." Harry noticed tears shining in her eyes, and tried to reach out to hold her.

"Damn this!" he shouted. "I can't even hug you back." A cough spurted up from inside him. "I think I need more water," he said. Ginny dropped the water into his mouth, and followed it with a kiss. "Well," he said as she pulled away. "At least that still works."

"I should hope so," she said.

"There was something I wanted to ask you, but...oh, right. What the hell were you and Hermione fighting over?"

"Honestly, love, I don't know. I can't remember. We've all been so high-strung since this happened, and we probably started snapping about something stupid, and kept going, and..."

"Girls," muttered Harry.

"You love us."

*****

Two days after he woke up, Harry could turn his head left and right, and Healer Locke had figured a way to force his body into a sitting position. The morning of August 17, he got the best news yet. Healer Locke came in just after dawn, followed by Ginny and Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley was pushing something that looked like a Muggle wheelchair, but it had no wheels. "It's brilliant, Harry," said Ginny when he asked about it. "Dad charmed this old chair to permanently levitate. You control it just like you do a broom."

Harry smiled at Mr. Weasley, almost too grateful for words. "Thank you..." he started.

"Don't mention it," said Mr. Weasley. "I hope it works out."

The Healer maneuvered Harry into the chair, bending his still unresponsive body at the waist to let him sit up, and dropping his arms onto his knees. "But Mr. Weasley," said Harry. "I can't lean to steer, or anything like that. How am I supposed to control it like a broom?"

"Well, that's something Fred and George and I have still been working on. For now, until we get it done, you may have to have someone push you around." Ginny hid a grin behind her hand as she looked at Harry.

A brilliant idea. Just half-finished. Well, that's Mr. Weasley for you.

"Even better, Harry," said Ginny, her face still in a half-smile. "You can come home with us today."

Harry inclined his head a little to Healer Locke, who nodded his agreement. "You certainly may. Remember to keep drinking the water through the straw, and Miss Weasley will keep administering the shocks. Not too many at once, now, Miss Weasley. You have to be very careful."

Ginny rolled her eyes slightly. Healer Locke had given them this same talk at least ten times over the last two days. "Yes sir; I remember. Twice every four hours, move down his body."

Harry turned a little red at the thought of Ginny moving down his body, and he suspected if he were able to feel much from the area of his stomach, that it would be doing flips. Ginny gave him a sly grin. Oh, brother, he thought.

After a few more sets of warnings, the healer finally let Ginny push the floating chair out of the room. No sooner had they made it to the lobby than Harry found himself surrounded by people he didn't know. Flash bulbs popped in his face. He heard the scratching of about thirty different quills. "NO!" said Mr. Weasley, sharply, pulling his wand from his robe. "No interviews, no pictures, no questions. We've told you this a hundred times."

"But Mr. Potter..."

"Harry..."

"NO!" said Ginny, more insistently than her father. "Get out of the way."

"Harry, was this attack You-Know-Who?"

"Mr. Potter, do you feel like you're safe?"

"Harry, are you dating Miss Weasley?"

"Harry, are--aah!" The reporters had gotten to Ginny, and she had transfigured one into a man-sized mushroom. Harry was fairly sure that the mushroom was the one who had asked the question about their relationship.

"NO MORE QUESTIONS!" said Mr. Weasley slowly and forcefully, sounding more like Uncle Vernon than Harry had imagined possible. Ginny pointed her wand menacingly at the reporter next to the recently-created mushroom, which was now hopping up and down on its stalk. "Ginny, turn him back," said Mr. Weasley.

With a muttered "Finite Incantatum," Ginny ended the reporter's brief sojourn as a fungus, and, still glaring back at the thoroughly intimidated crowd of journalists, guided Harry out the door of St. Mungo's.

A car, which Harry supposed belonged to the Ministry, was waiting for them on the dreary street in front of the hospital. With a slight effort, Ginny and Mr. Weasley guided the chair through the back door of the Aston-Martin, and they were off. "Ginny," said Mr. Weasley slowly. "You really need to not do that. I have a stack of letters two feet high on my desk detailing all of the various violations of the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery that you six have participated in. Madam Bones naturally isn't going to do anything, but please remember that the law still exists."

"I hadn't even thought about it," said Harry. "But I guess...well, we have been doing an awful lot of magic, haven't we?"

"The ministry can't detect anything that goes on at the safe house--the Fidelius Charm takes care of that. But I dare say I'm going to have another letter from Mafalda on my desk tomorrow morning about turning reporters into mushrooms."

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley," said Harry. "But that was brilliant, Gin. I haven't had to try so hard not to laugh since Fred and George's swamp."

"Just be careful, Ginny," said her father. "And yes, that was very funny."

The Ministry car pulled up in front of The Burrow, and again Mr. Weasley guided Harry's chair through the door, and inside the house. "Just use the Floo," he said. "I have to be getting back to work, but I suppose Remus and the lot of them are waiting for you in Wales."

Ginny pushed Harry's chair into the capacious fireplace of The Burrow, and stepped in after him. "Padfoot's!" she called out, dropping a handful of Floo powder into the flames.