Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 12 - Hope is a Waking Dream

Few men during their lifetime come anywhere near
exhausting the resources dwelling within them. There
are deep wells of strength that are never used.

~~Richard E. Byrd

Sunlight streamed in majestically through the large double paned glass panelled window in the intensive care ward of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This hospital, hidden in plain sight, has long been a refuge for those unfortunate enough to have seen service in war. The Healers here are always on call, ready to do what they've been trained for at the slightest sign of trouble.

As it happened far too often, the beds up and down the ward were full of healing or dying men and women - Aurors for the most part, but also those civilians unlucky enough to have gotten caught in the crossfire. This particular Wednesday morning, Healers and their apprentices ran back and forth through their charges, checking conditions, administering potions or applying salves.

Even though most of the staff here were rushed off their feet, it had been an unusually quiet week in the ward, ever since those terrible events at Azkaban had occurred last Sunday. Nothing had happened since - no attacks, no deaths, no injuries. The Healers knew the reason for this of course; it was because of the patient in a room of his own down the hall.

Near death, this boy had been brought in late Sunday afternoon and had been unconscious ever since. Controlled unconsciousness though - the Healers had kept him asleep because his entire body was in danger of simply shutting down if he wasn't given a chance to fully rest, and he had so far had three days of it.

Aurors, healthy active ones, were stationed around the clock on guard outside this private room. On a rotation of eight during the day and eight during the night. The Ministry had extended all of its resources into keeping this boy alive, and these sixteen Aurors were here to make sure he stayed that way.

None of the Healers or patients on the ward had a clear idea as to why this boy required so much protection, and why only the Healer allowed to examine him was Madam Shaw - the head of the intensive care ward. She had been sworn to silence, under penalty of prosecution, not to reveal anything about the patient in that room. Whether his condition was improving, or whether he was deteriorating. No one bar Madam Shaw even knew what potions he was on.

Madam Shaw herself was given a truth potion test every time she tried to enter the room as well. The Minister of Magic had insisted that the Aurors make sure they know who was going into that room, and what their intentions where. Some might have said that was too much, but these days Death Eaters were infested everywhere, and this boy had been marked for death.

It was no secret who was in that room though. Everyone on that ward and throughout the entire hospital knew the name of the patient in that room. The Prophet even claimed to have been given the exclusive rights to an interview by him. How the patient had managed this in his unconscious state was still a mystery, and had been overlooked by the paper, but they apparently had it just the same.

This patient was, obviously, Harry James Potter, and he was, as of right now, blissfully unaware that the worldwide magical community was currently revolving around his head. The Auror guard that stood silently outside his room was given a wide berth by all those who happened to pass by, and that included Ministry employees.

It was approaching midmorning when Madam Shaw exited her small office in a corner of the ward, a dozen potion vials in her hands and her young apprentice - a girl just fresh out of Hogwarts - trailing at her heels with a parchment and quill, ready to make sure the dosage was recorded when the potions were administered.

"You'll be given a drop of powerful truth serum," Madam Shaw said quietly, quickly. She left no room for pleasantries - this was far too serious. "And then asked two questions. Your name, and your intentions - be sure to answer promptly, the Aurors have been ordered to... restrain... anyone they see as suspicious."

The young witch nodded, and then pushed her brunette hair back behind her shoulders - flicking her wand and causing it to bunch up on the top of her head in a stylish, but professional manner. She pocketed her wand quickly though, as it wouldn't do to have it drawn in front of the Aurors. That could result in a quick stunning, or worse.

"What about wands?" she asked.

"Surrender it when asked," Madam Shaw, an elderly witch with greying red hair and a long, slightly misshapen nose, said. "You'll get it back upon leaving the room."

The apprentice healer nodded again, but a question was nagging at her in her head - and begged to be asked. "Do you know why there's the need for all these precautions?" she asked.

Madam Shaw scowled. "You know I can't answer that, Angelina. It's going to take some convincing just to get you through the door - but I'll need you," Madam Shaw whispered, seemingly to herself. "This'll be his last dose of these potions, and I can't administer and record them at the same time."

Healer and apprentice fell into silence as they approached the highly guarded room at the empty end of the ward. This room had been chosen because the corridor led to nowhere after it - it ended. A window looked out upon greater London, but that had been magically sealed and would no longer be opened of an afternoon, to let in a slight breeze. It was another precaution.

Three Aurors stood silently in front of this window - one watching the hall, another two constantly glancing out of the window for any sign of trouble. The five other Aurors were standing in a basic battle formation. Two were on the door to the patient's room, while the remaining three stood with wands drawn and eyes glancing down the corridor Madam Shaw and her apprentice were now approaching them from.

"Well let's get this over with then," Madam Shaw said exasperatedly when she reached the Auror in charge - Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Who's this?" Kingsley asked calmly, although there was a suspicious tone in his voice that they all caught. He was looking at Madam Shaw's apprentice.

"This is my apprentice," Madam Shaw said. "Angelina Johnson. I'll need her assistance today when giving the patient his potions."

Shacklebolt glanced at her, and his trained mind saw the signs of an honest person in her eyes. He saw apprehension, no doubt because of his presence, and also determination. She was here to do something, but that something remained to be seen.

"Very well, as long as she passes the test and surrenders her wand. Jones, Tonks. Two drops of the truth serum please."

The two Aurors stationed outside of the door moved away from their stations and walked the few feet over to Kingsley and the Healers. The first female Auror, Tonks, stopped in front of Angelina and removed a vial of clear potion from within her robes. Hestia Jones, the other Auror, approached Madam Shaw in the same manner.

It took a moment, but the serum was placed on both of their tongues and their eyes took on a glazed expression. It wasn't Veritaserum, as that stuff could be dangerous administered more than once a day, and Madam Shaw had to check the patient at least half a dozen times. No, this potion was watered down Veritaserum - not as strong, diluted, but still ninety percent effective on the average witch or wizard.

"Name?" Jones and Tonks both asked in unison.

"Susannah Shaw."

"Angelina Johnson."

"Why do you want to enter this room?"

"To administer healing potions to Harry James Potter," Madam Shaw said promptly.

"To record administration and dosage of healing potions to Harry James Potter," Angelina said soon after.

Kingsley nodded and then Tonks and Jones gave each of the women a drop of the antidote. It took a few moments, but their heads slowly cleared and they became more aware of their surroundings.

"Satisfied?" Madam Shaw asked wearily.

"Yes," Shacklebolt nodded. "Your wands please."

Tonks and Jones accepted the two wands and placed them deep within the folds of their spacious robe pockets. Madam Shaw then retrieved her potion vials from the table next to her, and nodded to Angelina. They had to wait another minute outside of the door as Tonks removed the complex wards and locking charms placed upon it, but eventually they entered the room, accompanied by Kingsley.

"Make it quick ladies," Shacklebolt said. "The Minister himself is coming by later on today to speak to this boy."

Madam Shaw turned and glared at the Auror. "Well unless he wants the boy to be unconscious when he arrives, then you better let us get on with it."

Kingsley waved his hand dismissively. He didn't want to argue, he was just following orders and procedure. Madam Shaw nodded, and then turned back to her patient, who was still asleep in his bed. She sat down with her potion vials on the bedside table next to her and Angelina pulled up a chair to sit opposite her on the other side of the bed.

Her eyes fell to the pale and scarred face of the boy sleeping a dreamless sleep in the bed before her. His eyes were moving underneath his closed eyelids, and there seemed to be a strained expression upon his face - although it was barely noticeable, and he was only frowning slightly. Nevertheless, Angelina wasn't entirely sure he wasn't dreaming, but her common sense told her otherwise. Madam Shaw had administered several vials of Dreamless Sleep potion. The boy needed his rest, and that meant no dreams.

"He looks as if he's dreaming..." Angelina commented quietly, glancing from his closed dancing eyes and up to Madam Shaw's behind her wire framed rimmed spectacles.

"Nonsense, dear," Madam Shaw said indifferently, and then picked up a vial from the rack of about a dozen. She examined it closely, her sharp eyes reading the label quickly and expertly.

"This is the Awakening Draught," Madam Shaw then said, glancing at the quill poised in Angelina's hand. "One dose, fifty millilitres, should only take a few minutes."

Angelina nodded and the sound of her quill scratching on the parchment filled the quiet room. The room itself was nothing too special, but it was still impressive compared to most of the rooms in the hospital. This one had its own shower and toilet - most didn't on the intensive care ward, as the patients were most of the time too sick to use them. Also, this was one of the only private rooms with a large window looking out onto London, like the one outside the room. This window had undergone the same wards as the other, and would likely never open again.

Gently, Madam Shaw pried open the boys jaw, and Angelina saw he had been gritting his teeth. Another sign that he's been dreaming...? Angelina wondered, but Madam Shaw didn't seem to notice it as she poured the red potion down the boy's throat. He coughed only once, and then the potion was in him. His face softened somewhat after that, and his eyes began to move faster under his eyelids.

"Two or three minutes..." Madam Shaw mumbled, and then pulled the next potion vial off the wooden holding rack. "Replenishing potions next," she said, and once again examined the potion she held in her hand. "Oh dear..."

"What is it?" Angelina asked quickly.

"Something the matter?" asked Kingsley, still standing against the door like a guardian sentinel.

"This is the wrong dilution..." Madam Shaw grumbled. "Quarter strength..."

"You brought the wrong potion?" Kingsley asked.

Madam Shaw shook her head. "It's the right potion, wrong strength. I'll have to go and get another... Angelina, dear, watch him will you."

Madam Shaw stood up and began to walk away, but Angelina said, "What if he wakes up? You've given him the potion for that."

"He probably will while I'm away," Madam Shaw said thoughtfully. "Just tell him whatever he asks, if you can, dear. I'll be about ten minutes... although the Aurors outside will slow me down somewhat. More likely fifteen minutes, just make sure he doesn't try to move - he still needs these potions."

Kingsley stepped out of the way and Angelina turned back to the young man when he uttered a small moan, but his eyes remained closed. She heard the door close behind her and sighed. "Is it true this boy beat You-Know-Who in a duel?" Angelina said, turning to Kingsley and raising her eyebrows.

Rubbing the stubble on his face, Kingsley nodded slowly - his eyes on Harry. "I was there," he said. "All the Aurors and Death Eaters couldn't believe what they were seeing, we all stopped duelling amongst ourselves and watched him beat You-Know-Who back. The way he duelled... I saw more magic in his spells than any I've ever seen before."

"Is that why the Ministry has you guys here?" she then asked, surprised that this man was acting more human towards her, instead of just a tight-lipped Auror.

"I wasn't told any precise details," Kingsley said, shaking his head. "But I do know we might be guarding the most important and the most powerful person on this planet. If we have any chance of ending this war, it's with keeping him alive."

Angelina took a deep breath and turned back around to Harry. Her eyes skimmed over his stirring face again and she saw the curse scar on his forehead, almost hidden beneath his long fringe. Biting her bottom lip, Angelina extended her hand towards that peculiar shaped scar, and as her fingers pushed aside his fringe and exposed it for all to see, she had the strangest feeling.

It was, at first, one of heat. She could feel heat rising off the lightning bolt that marked Harry Potter's forehead, and then a jolt of something unexplainable ran through her entire body - and she had a brief glimpse of a...

Demon...

Reacting instinctively, Angelina pulled her hand away and held it close. Much to her surprise, it felt as if she had submerged it in hot water. Not boiling water, but enough to sting. The feeling was gone a moment later though, and her eyes flicked back to that scar.

Angelina shuddered as she recalled the image that had sprung to her mind when she had almost touched that scar - it had been of red eyes... blood red, glowing eyes and of a pale white face - long and drawn with slits where a nose should have been. A snake, she thought, but the image was fading from her mind.

The boy moaned again and this time Angelina caught a flash of emerald green as his eyelids fluttered open, but then closed again. He was about to wake up - any moment now he would awake, and she would have to explain everything to him. Angelina suddenly felt very small... and she didn't know why.

A feeling, completely different from the one of a moment ago, washed over her. This was one of vastness, of size unimaginable by a human mind. For one small moment, Angelina felt as if entire worlds were bending their strength and thought towards this sixteen year old boy - it was an unexplainable, but undeniable feeling. Power without limitation coursed through this young boy, he was-

Angelina shook her head of these thoughts, and the feeling retreated from her slowly - just like the tides took away the water after a wave crashed on a beach. Shuddering, Angelina realised she had been holding onto the quill in her hand so hard that she had snapped it in two. She glanced at Kingsley Shacklebolt and saw that he was also shaking his head, and seemed to have a look of extreme confusion upon his face.

What just happened? Angelina wondered momentarily, before those emerald green eyes opened again.

The patient in a room of his own (room 7C) opened his tired eyes slowly and first saw nothing more than a beam of pure sunlight, highlighting the tiny particles of dust that hung in the air always. He instinctively turned away from this bright light, buried his face in the pillow his head rested upon, and groaned.

Harry felt a wave of nausea and dizziness and closed his eyes into the pillow until it past. Slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust, he turned back towards the light and everything he saw was blurred slightly. He closed his eyes again as another nauseating dizzy spell swirled through his mind.

Opening his eyes again, Harry looked straight up into the plain white ceiling, which seemed to hold a certain glare with the sunlight spread across it. For a moment, Harry thought he was staring down a long white corridor, but that changed when he glanced to his right.

There was a figure seated next to him, but she (for he could see enough to be able to know this figure was female) was swimming in and out of focus. Harry made to raise his right arm out towards her, but he couldn't find the strength to lift it, and was only rewarded with a painful ache in his shoulder and hand.

"...Where...?" he said, although it was nothing more than a croaky whisper.

In a voice that was vaguely familiar, the female figure with the bunched up brown hair answered, "St. Mungo's Hospital."

"..date...?" was the next barely spoken question.

"Wednesday April 12^th," came the prompt reply. "You've been unconscious for three and a half days. My name's Angelina, I'm an apprentice healer here."

It took Harry a few moments to process all of that information, as his mind was a confused and muddled mess. He wasn't entirely awake yet, and he had the worst headache. One thing did penetrate his consciousness acutely though. Angelina...

"Angelina..." he managed. "Angelina... who?"

"Johnson..." was the nervous reply. "Angelina Johnson."

Harry had thought so. That voice had sounded familiar to him. The brown haired blurry figure sitting to his right was Angelina Johnson. Attended Hogwarts last year, and was Harry's team mate on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Harry tried to recall when he had last seen her, and remembered a brief visit at Diagon Alley last September.

"Apprentice Healer," he croaked. "I thought you worked at Madam Malkin's robe shop?"

Angelina frowned - she had never worked in Diagon Alley, or at a robe shop. She wondered why he had thought that about her. "No..." she said cautiously. "Why would you think that?"

Harry closed his eyes and waited for another wave of dizziness to pass. Why would I think that? Because she does, because she-- Suddenly, and viciously, a million images past through Harry's head of the last three weeks... it came fast and hard, and he remembered everything. Everything...

Angelina was watching him carefully, and briefly she saw his eyes take on a measure of intelligence and understanding she didn't think possible in his tired state - but then it was gone.

"Sorry," he whispered, thinking of her question of a moment ago. "For a minute there I was a world away..."

"It's okay," she said, smiling reassuringly even though he couldn't see it. She was just a hazy blur to him.

"Melissa...?" Harry said. "How is she?"

Angelina thought for a moment. "Your sister, yes," she nodded. "She was treated for shock and a broken leg. She was discharged on Monday."

Harry nodded slowly, so as not to make his head spin. He glanced down the bed towards his arms, and saw white bandages wrapped around, bound tight all the way up his right arm to the shoulder, and across his chest down to his left wrist. He wasn't wearing a shirt or top of any kind, but pretty much all of his skin apart from his stomach was covered with white bandage.

"My glasses?" he asked, blinking his tired eyes a few times in quick succession. "Do I-"

"Oh," Angelina said. "Your father left you a pair," she mumbled, and reached over to his bedside table and picked up the pair of glasses that rested there. She made to pass them to him, but then her common sense caught up with her and she leaned in to place them on his face. Both his hands were tightly bound with bandages; he wouldn't be able to do it himself.

Harry felt the glasses slip onto his face and then everything came into a much sharper focus. His eyes fell on the Auror standing by the door, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and then he turned to Angelina.

"Thanks," he said.

Angelina smiled warmly. "How do you feel?"

Trying to shrug, but not having the strength, Harry said, "Terrible. I don't suppose you've got a headache cure?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "You have to take a lot more important potions first - they should help though."

Harry nodded wearily, and with a great amount of determination, struggled to sit up slightly in the bed. His joints all ached and cracked at this movement, and Harry actually felt better after that - with some of the awesome weariness he felt fading away. He turned back to Angelina, a bandaged limb resting lightly on his bandaged chest.

"So..." he whispered. "You ever play Quidditch?"

Angelina smiled kindly again. "I was on my house team back at Hogwarts," she said enthusiastically. "Gryffindor."

"A Chaser?" Harry asked, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Right..." she said. "I was on the team for five years. We won the cup once."

Harry nodded weakly, and then took a deep breath - as much as his chest would allow in its bandaged state. No sooner had he done this, than the door to his room opened again quickly, and an elderly witch walked in, glaring at Kingsley as he quickly closed the door behind her.

"These precautions are really ridiculous, Mr. Shacklebolt," Madam Shaw said angrily, pointing her crooked finger at Kingsley. Kingsley wisely chose not to respond as the old Healer turned to Angelina and Harry. "Ah," she continued. "You're awake then..."

Harry didn't respond, as the effort of doing so had become too much. The old Healer moved quickly over to him and then, without waiting for is approval, unstoppered a vial of red potion and poured it back down his throat. As he swallowed, Harry scowled - it tasted foul, bitter and tangy.

"What was that?" he managed.

"A replenishing potion," Madam Shaw said. "One of many. Be prepared, Mr. Potter, we have eleven more vials to go."

Harry sighed and closed his tired eyes. "Call me, Harry," he whispered.

"Here we go then, Harry," she said and poured another potion into his mouth. This one didn't taste of anything, thankfully, and Harry thought it may have been water. "Are you getting this, Angelina? That was the bone strengthening mix."

"Uh-huh," Angelina nodded, her quill scribbling clear and concise lines of ink across the page.

"Okay..." Madam Shaw continued. "This is the final dosage of infection destroying potion. Merlin knows what you could have caught on that island, Mr. Potter."

"Har-" Harry began, but was cut off as another foul tasting potion was forced down his throat. He simply did not have the strength to fight this elderly woman.

"Pain numbing..." Madam Shaw mumbled. "This potion will help with the pain for the next few days," she explained. "There may be some discomfort in that right shoulder of yours. It's a god-awful mess. You never gave the wound there a chance to heal."

Harry just nodded distractedly and swallowed the potion, his stomach churning uncomfortably as he did. He hadn't looked at his mangled right shoulder in about a week - and wasn't looking forward to seeing the scar tissue he knew would be there.

Over the next ten minutes, Madam Shaw administered at least another half a dozen disgusting potions, and Harry gave up counting after a while. Although, he did feel remarkably stronger and more able after drinking the last one, and he thought the replenishing potions must be kicking in. He knew better than to try and stand up though.

"How long will it be before I can use my hands again?" he asked, a lot louder than anything he'd said so far. There was a bit of colour coming back into his cheeks as well.

Madam Shaw glanced expertly down at his bandaged hands. "The salve and potions should do their job by this time tomorrow, the same with your ribs. Unfortunately, we couldn't heal them instantly because your hands and wrist were not set in time - had we tried, we may have repaired the bones out of alignment. You waited too long to have a Healer see to them," she said, rather crossly.

"Sorry," Harry shrugged. "But you see, I couldn't find a Healer on Azkaban, and when it collapsed-"

Kingsley, across the room, cleared his throat loudly and pointedly. "Please do not speak of those events to civilians, Mr. Potter," he said quietly.

Harry just shrugged indifferently. "Okay...." he replied.

Harry's strength was returning fast now that the potions were in his system. Slowly, but surely he became more alert - and less lethargic. The heavy feeling of drowsiness that had settled on him like a smothering blanket when he had first awoke was falling away. He slowly bent his legs at the knees because they were tingling with disuse, and was again satisfied with the series of clicks and bone popping cracks as his legs moved.

"So..." he said, glancing at Kingsley. "What's happening out there?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's Voldemort up to?" he asked simply, and frowned when Angelina and Madam Shaw gasped in fear.

"I don't know," Kingsley replied, shaking his head. "Although since... Azkaban... there have been no Death Eater attacks anywhere across the United Kingdom."

Harry nodded. "That's good," he said.

"It's unusual," Kingsley said thoughtfully.

Glancing at the wand Kingsley held in his hand, Harry wondered what had happened to his new wand. Cedric had it on Azkaban, he thought. Did it fall with him when the fortress crumbled...? He supposed he'd find out about that later.

"Well you seem to be healing nicely now," Madam Shaw said, moving her hand towards his forehead - to take his temperature.

Angelina opened her mouth to protest but it was too late. She expected Madam Shaw to pull her hand away, as if stung, but she just pressed the back of her hand against his skin, even briefly touching the scar. "You don't have a fever, Mr. Potter..." she mumbled, again seemingly talking to herself. "You're definitely a survivor - you were barely breathing when they brought you in on Sunday."

"Who brought me in?"

"Albus Dumbledore and a man with a sword strapped to his belt. They portkeyed right into the emergency ward, with you hanging between their arms. You were just the first of many that afternoon though." As Madam Shaw said this she got up to leave, and Angelina did as well.

"Am I good to go then?" he asked.

Madam Shaw frowned. "Of course not," she said. "I'll be in to check on you several times this morning and probably this afternoon. We can talk about discharging you later - give those potions some time to do their work."

"Okay," Harry said, leaning back contently against the comfy bed. "Thank you. Goodbye, Angelina."

Angelina smiled and waved as she left, and Kingsley nodded his goodbye - a respectful nod, the kind only those who had seen war could understand. A grave respect. Kingsley closed the door behind him and Harry turned to stare out of the window. With a sigh, he struggled to remember the last time he had stopped to catch his breath like this. It had been one hell of a rollercoaster ride ever since he was thrown into this universe three and a half weeks ago.

Has it almost been a month!? he thought with amazement. It only felt like a handful of days, at the most. He remembered the attack on Hogwarts had been last week, and then there was that Wizengamot rubbish... A month... only five left if this other equinox works like the first - September 22^nd.

Knowing what it could cost creating the gateway between worlds, Harry shuddered to think what would happen if something went wrong. He'd had no idea what he was doing when he'd jumped into the one created by Voldemort in his own world. He would have still done it, even if he had known, but the cost and consequences of dabbling in such magic were astronomical. It could destroy worlds.

And that Guardian, Harry thought angrily, thinking of the spinning light he had met in the void. Bastard sent me to this other world... he had no right.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted then though, as he realised he hadn't been to the toilet in at least four days, and his need came strong then. "Damn..." he breathed, and was then thankful for the potions as he had the strength to swing his legs slowly off the bed and pull himself slowly to his feet.

The clean hospital tile was cold on his bare feet as he limped and ached his way over to the bathroom across the room. He looked out of the window properly as he past, and saw a busy London street filled with cars and beyond that he could see the Thames glittering in the sunlight.

Thankfully the bathroom door was open, as Harry couldn't turn a doorknob with both his hands bandaged completely - but as soon as he realised this he came across another problem. He found the toilet all right, but then clicked his teeth thoughtfully - looking from the zipper on his pants, to the toilet and then finally to his bandaged hands. The situation just turned dire.

"Bugger..." he said.

****

Angelina Johnson walked uncomfortably next to Madam Shaw, briefly checking over the notes she had written a moment ago. Her eyes scanned the page and she nodded as she recognised her untidy scrawl. Everything was fine with the notes until she got halfway down the scroll of parchment, and she gasped.

There, clear as day, in her own handwriting, was a rough lightning bolt drawn next to four words she did not remember writing. Guardian... Boundary... Broken... End... Shaking her head, as if to rid herself of a dream, Angelina struggled to recall writing those words, or drawing that sketch of Harry's scar.

She could not remember doing any of it though, even though the evidence was staring her in the face. She quickly rolled up the leaf of parchment and placed it in her robes pocket. "Madam Shaw..." she said quietly.

"Yes, dear?"

The two of them entered the large ward and headed over to Madam Shaw's office. "Did you... did you feel anything strange happen while we were in that room?" Angelina managed.

"Strange...? No, Angelina. And please don't talk about anything to do with that room. You know we could both be in trouble if you do."

Angelina fell silent, but her mind screamed for an explanation - sadly, she would never get one.

****

Harry frowned at his beaten and utterly exhausted looking face in the mirror. His green eyes appeared haunted, sunken, and pale. His cheekbones appeared the same way, giving his entire face a thin look. A few days worth of hair had also grown across his chin and cheeks and Harry thought he looked like he'd spent some time in Azkaban.

I look sick, he thought, trying to turn on the tap for a drink of water with his right forearm. Struggling for a minute or so, Harry finally ducked his head under the tap and swallowed a few mouthfuls of cool, clear liquid. He looked back up to the mirror and brushed some of his hair away from his forehead, so he could get a look at the scar.

Apart from one brief stab of pain in Dumbledore's office a day after he had arrived in this world, Harry hadn't felt his scar react to anything at all. No burning, no pain, no bursting and bleeding down his face. He had been, for the most part, completely unaware it was there. Well, he knew it was there - but only if he reached up and felt the jagged line of skin there.

For a moment then Harry realised his head, these past few weeks, had never felt so clear - not in his entire life. A whole universe separated him from the Voldemort who had created this scar, and linked them together, and it appeared the magic there could not penetrate that. His head felt remarkably clear, light... free. It felt as if he had carried a heavy weight around his whole life, and now that it was gone he knew what it was to feel normal.

Probably won't last, he told himself. Relief never does for me.

Ever so gently, Harry ran his left forearm up and across his wounded right shoulder. There was no pain, thankfully, but it did feel irregular - twisted maybe. That'll be a really good scar, he thought, and turned to walk out of the bathroom.

Back in his room, Harry fell quickly onto his bed with a tired sigh. Despite the energy the potions had given him, he knew better than to overdo it. Three weeks of constant stress, pain and magic use had taken its toll, and had nearly killed him in Azkaban. So he pulled his cover up and over himself and closed his eyes. It didn't take long, as the room was completely silent.

After ten minutes or so, Harry fell into a deep sleep, and unbeknownst to him - no sooner had he fallen asleep than his scar began to burn viciously. He couldn't feel it though, wouldn't feel it. Magic had other plans, and as insignificant as this brief burst of heat from Harry's scar may seem now, one day soon it will be all that matters across every universe.

****

Several hours alter, late in the afternoon of that lazy Wednesday, Harry slowly awoke to someone gently tapping his left shoulder. His first instinct was to raise his arm in defence, but then he heard a familiar voice and relaxed.

"Harry," Lily Potter said. "Wake up, dear."

Harry yawned as the world came into focus and he saw his parents, a version of them anyway, standing above his bed and smiling. Lily's eyes were wrung with tears, and James seemed a little worse for the wear - with a few healing cuts on is face and arms.

"Hey..." he said, pulling himself up and leaning against the back board of the bed. "What time is it?"

James's eyes quickly fell to his watch. "Half three," he said. "Sorry to wake you, Harry, but the Minister wanted to see you around four - and some things can't wait."

Harry nodded with understanding. Important things were happening now that the Dark Lord had begun to lose his war.

"How are you, Harry?" Lily asked, sitting down next to him on the bed and enveloping him in a tight hug.

Harry didn't really respond to this show of affection, he just mumbled his usual response, "I'm fine..." and looked to James for help.

"I want to thank you, Harry," he said sincerely when he had pulled Lily off him. "For what you did on Sunday. Melissa would be... wouldn't be here if you didn't do what you did."

"It's okay..." Harry croaked, his voice breaking in mid sentence. "Can I... can I get a glass of water?"

"Sure," Lily said, and headed over to the bathroom.

While she was gone, James removed a familiar wand from within his robes pocket, and placed it next to Harry. "Your wand," he said with a mischievous wink. "I suppose it isn't a good thing that I managed to sneak it past the Aurors outside, but just keep it near for protection. Dermas picked it up off of Azkaban before it fell."

"I've got my wandless magic," he said, but that was no good to him with his bandaged hands - nor was the wand, come to think of it. He had a few spells in his thought magic arsenal though. "I'll be 'right."

James shrugged and his face turned dark. He leaned in closer to Harry as Lily turned on the tap in the bathroom, after conjuring a glass. "Just be careful," James whispered. "Voldemort's put a price on your head... literally."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, although his mind had already formulated a fairly accurate guess.

"Seven million galleons," James whispered. "For the person who delivers your head to him. It's the largest bounty ever placed in known history. It's more than enough to entice every bounty hunter and freelance hitwizard on the planet...."

Harry's eyes sparkled with power and fire. Determination, the scent of a challenge. "If they want my head they'll have to get near me. We'll see what happens..."

"A friend in the Auror department told me... and Lily doesn't know," James whispered to Harry as he heard footsteps approaching behind him from across the room. "Let's keep it that way."

"Here we go," Lily said kindly, squeezing James' shoulder as she stopped by his side, and handed Harry the glass of water.

"Thanks," he replied, and carefully brushed his wand underneath his pillow. Harry drank the water in three gulps, and his throat thanked him for it. "How's Melissa?" he asked, once he'd placed the glass on his bedside table.

"Oh she's a little shook up," James said, pulling up two chairs from against the wall for Lily and himself. "I think she trusts you now, after a bit of a rough start."

"You noticed that then?" Harry asked.

"It was hard for her," Lily said, looking at Harry with eyes that so matched his own. "She mourned your death - we all did. You appearing, and being so powerful... was just difficult."

"I understand," Harry nodded, resting a bandaged hand on his stomach. "And Michael?"

James laughed suddenly and Lily turned to scowl at him, which shut him up quickly. "Michael's fine," Lily then said. "He just got into a bit of trouble on Monday."

James laughed again and not even Lily's scowl could stop it this time. "What happened?" Harry asked, remembering the black eye a group of fourth year Slytherins had given him the other week. Had he been hurt...?

"Sirius had to speak to him because he used some rather advanced magic on a group of Slytherins," James said, tears of mirth in his eyes. "They approached him down on the grounds, a gang of older students and... well let's just say Michael isn't a pushover."

"What did he do?" Harry asked, although he could hazard a guess.

"With one spell he blew three of them thirty feet through the air and into the lake," James managed, before laughing again. "Sirius, as his head of house, didn't know whether to reward him or punish him."

Harry smiled, remembering the spell he had taught Michael. There was also a knowing glint in both Lily's and James' eyes. "Must have been quite a bit of power behind that spell," he said.

"You should have seen old Snape," James continued. "He-"

"Severus wasn't happy," Lily said, shaking her head. "He gave Michael a week of detentions, as Sirius had awarded him twenty house points."

Harry laughed now, and Lily gave him scowl to match the one James had cowered under. "I think he was angrier at the fact that a second year Gryffindor managed to beat three fifth year Slytherins - who are on the duelling team," James said thoughtfully.

"There's still the question of where he learnt that spell though," Lily said, glancing pointedly at Harry. "And whether he learnt any more like it..."

"I'm sure he didn't," Harry said, shrugging indifferently.

Harry, James and Lily spoke together for about another ten minutes. For the most part they talked about meaningless, happy things. Like the Quidditch game that James still had planned against the victorious Gryffindor league winning team. It would take place in a couple of weeks, if Harry was feeling up to it, near the end of that school year.

They didn't talk about Voldemort and the war, as there wasn't much to say. The news that Voldemort had put a price on his head didn't scare Harry. It was no different than having dark wizards after him, like the Death Eaters. He'd just have to keep up constant vigilance.

It had just gone four o'clock when Kingsley Shacklebolt opened the door and walked into the room, accompanied by six other white robed Aurors and Bartemius Crouch Senior, the Minister for Magic. As Harry's eyes fell upon him he remembered his final minutes on Azkaban, specifically when he had shoved a Portkey down Crouch junior's throat and sent him into a Ministry holding cell.

Harry's first impression of Crouch was that the Minister looked extremely tired and old, although his clothes were still immaculately professional, as was his hair. His Auror guard spread themselves strategically around the room, and as he entered Crouch offered Harry, James and Lily a tired nod.

"Good day, Mr. Potter," he said emotionlessly. "James, Lily."

"Minister," James said, as Lily smiled warmly.

Crouch swept across the room and came to a stop at the foot of Harry's bed as Kingsley closed the door to the room. "It's good to see you up and well, Harry," he said, somewhat kindly.

"Thanks," Harry replied, still unsure how the Minister felt about his son's incarceration. There was no way he could not know, being the Minister, but was he as foolish as the Crouch of his own world - would he dare try and get him out of prison. It may be easier now that he wasn't imprisoned in Azkaban.

"The Ministry and the Wizarding world owes you a debt it can scarcely repay, Mr. Potter," Crouch continued, smiling slightly now. "You showed us the traitors in our Auror ranks, and captured some valuable Death Eaters. What's more you saved the lives of twenty good Aurors."

"It's okay..." Harry said.

"It was a display of heroics this world rarely sees these days," Crouch continued. "As was your duel with... Lord Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "I didn't do it all alone," he said. "I had some help in Azkaban."

"Yes..." Crouch mumbled. "I have been briefed about what occurred there - by your father and Mr. Dermas Trask. The Ministry and Wizengamot have decided to award the three of you with the Order of Merlin, Second Class. It's the least we can do."

"Cedric Diggory was on that island with us as well," Harry whispered, his eyes flashing with some indescribable emotion... pain perhaps. "He deserves that more."

An Auror brought Crouch a seat over and he sat down on the opposite side of Harry's bed to James and Lily. "Yes I know," the Minister said. "Auror Diggory gave his life in the line of duty, even though he could have Portkeyed out of there. He's been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class - honoured posthumously. Sadly, since his family was killed years ago it will only be remembered on the memorial wall...."

"It's the thought that counts," said Lily.

"Indeed," the Minister said, smiling happily. It only lasted for a moment though, and then Crouch sat up in his chair and his face took on a serious demeanour. He turned to Harry and for one brief moment Harry knew why Crouch made such a good politician. His face was completely unreadable, his eyes gave away nothing.

Harry respected this man to a level though. He had led the British Wizarding world through two decades of war - and the strain of that had to be immense. Leading a war as the world watched from the sidelines, keeping their heads down in case Voldemort happened to look their way, would not be an easy thing to do.

"We have more serious matters to discuss though, Mr. Potter," Crouch continued. "Pertaining to this war, and your position in it."

"I'm here to kill Voldemort," Harry said simply. There was no lie in his eyes, and Crouch saw this. "And any of his servants that get in my way."

"According to our sources, Mr. Potter," Crouch said. "You-Know-Who has gone into hiding. He has retreated to the safety of his fortress, which we have been unable to find this last decade. I doubt you'll get a chance to duel him again."

Harry nodded slowly, but his mind was already coming up with solutions. "You have many Death Eaters in holding cells, don't you?" he asked.

"We do," Crouch agreed. "Awaiting transfer to the French prison Nabakza at the end of the month."

"Well one of them is Voldemort's son... who else would know the location to this fortress."

Crouch shook his head. "That boy is one of the few who is immune to Veritaserum. He's not talking. What do you intend to do for the next few days, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Not sure," he said. "Probably be getting out of here soon, and then I'm going to have a few days rest. The war can wait that long."

"The award ceremony for the Order of Merlin will be held this Saturday in the Atrium of the Ministry, as is tradition for the Auror corps. You've been made an honorary member of the corps, by the way," Crouch said. "All of its resources are at your disposable. The Ministry is throwing its full weight behind you, Harry, to keep you alive."

Harry nodded his thanks. "Well I'll be returning to Hogwarts soon," he then said. "As soon as I get out of here - so if you need me I'll be there."

The Minister nodded, and then stood up after glancing at his pocket watch. "I don't suppose you would mind giving a few interviews to the Prophet, would you?" he asked. "It will help moral a lot all around this country, and may take the pressure off of me. Ever since it got out that my son was a... ere.... well, well you know all about that."

Harry nodded but didn't say anything about Barty Crouch Jr. "I'd be happy to talk to a few reporters," he said, and didn't miss Crouch's relieved smile. "As long as it's not Rita Skeeter."

James smiled and laughed slightly at that. "That woman's a menace," he said.

"Yes..." Crouch said thoughtfully. "We'll arrange something in a few days, after you've had a chance to rest."

"Okay."

Crouch nodded and then walked over to the door. Three Aurors went ahead of him, as the other three remained stationary for a few more moments. As Crouch reached the door, he turned again and looked at Harry.

"I'd like to thank you again, Mr. Potter," he began. "Not as the Minister of Magic, but as a citizen of this world. You've managed to achieve in a few days, what we've been trying to do for fifteen years. Thank you."

Harry nodded silently as the Minister and his Auror guard swept out of the room after saying a brief goodbye. When they were gone, Harry turned to talk to James and Lily about recent developments, but his mind was now on getting out of this hospital, and back into the swing of things. He planned to start winning this war, now that he had won them an advantage.

Forces were now in play on both sides. Azkaban had been just one move on both sides of the chessboard. A lot more trouble was on the horizon, and Harry was speeding towards it faster than any of them could have predicted at that point. And it was no longer just Voldemort and the Death Eaters he had to worry about. No, dark wizards around the globe knew about the price on his head - and many were already on their way to the United Kingdom.

Time, as it had a way of doing, was running out fast for Harry. Many moves would be made over the coming weeks, and not all of them on the battlefield. Lives were still on the line though, and Harry knew that many of them may not live to see a new tomorrow.

****