Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Chapter III

Slowly, light shone into darkness.

From that light came whispers.

"Bone's healed... but...too long... insanity.........

little hope... uncle... scar..."

Blackness again.

*****

Light again.

"How is his pupil dilation?" an unknown voice said.

"No reaction," said a second voice. "I think his mind is gone; how could it not be?"

"Is there no hope then?" a third but strangely familiar voice asked.

A heavy silence.

"I'm sorry Albus, but after such a long period of exposure... He has been under pain levels far beyond Cruciatus and it was not only nerve stimulation but also physical harm. It's a miracle he's still alive. There is no chance...

He will never regain his sanity," said the first voice, sadness underlying the professional tone.

What were they talking about?

He was right here.

When he tried to lift his hand nothing happened.

What was going on?

What had happened?

He couldn't remember.

Then realization struck...

He couldn't even remember his own name.

Who was he?

Frantically he searched his memory, but there was so precious little to go on.

WHO WAS HE?

Slowly he became more and more aware of his surroundings as his mind seemed to wake up further.

His eyes opened, but it was as if it had nothing to do with him or his body.

Even looking through them was as if he was peeking through a window.

He saw two men standing next to his bed with faces that were somewhat sad, but for the most part wore a mask of professionalism. They wore white clothing but they didn't seem to be normal doctor's coats.

At the very end of the bed was an old man.

The old man wore a long, white beard and a funny hat.

Come to think of it, his clothes were strange too

... robes... something whispered in his mind.

Where had that come from?

He didn't know - but he knew it to be true; how, he could not say.

The experience was somewhat bewildering, but too much else was occupying his mind to give it his attention right now.

"He's fully awake now," said one of the men next to his bed.

"Can... you... hear... me...," the man said.

Why was he talking so strangely? He talked as if .. as if... as if he was talking to a small child.

When he wanted to answer he found he couldn't.

WHAT IS GOING ON?

His mind reeled and sought a way out, a way out of this prison in his head, but he found nothing but barriers; barriers he couldn't breach, barriers that didn't feel natural.

"No rational response to external stimuli," the second man at the side of his bed said while he was pinching and prodding.

'NO, wait, I'm here. Can't you see I'm here?' he screamed in his mind.

Couldn't they see he was right here?

A deep sigh emanated from the old man at the end of the bed, a single tear slowly made its way down his cheek.

"His friends will want to see him no matter what," the old man said with a voice that spoke of strong emotional control.

"In a few days," one of the other men said, "when we're sure he's stable and there are no other symptoms to his condition."

"I'll go break the news then," and with this the old man turned and left the room.

Strangely, he felt a loss. Why? He didn't know that man......

"It would be better for you to sleep now...."

Darkness.

*****

Light again.

His eyes slowly opened and once more he underwent the sensation of looking through windows.

There was a man slouched in the chair next to the bed. He was wearing clothes ...robes... that had seen better days and his face was gaunt and tired even in sleep, his hair was brown but had specks of grey in it, although the man didn't look old enough to have such hair.

"Remus, he's awake," came a voice from the other side of the bed. His head moved and again he had the feeling that it was through no action of his.

There was a large man with black hair, his face full of worry

...he looks ten years older... how did he know this?

The man looked tired and his face fallen in as if he hadn't seen a good meal in months. Strangely, the look on his face reminded him of nothing as much as of a sad dog, but there was no reason for this that he could identify.

"Can you hear me, Harry?" the man said.

Harry.

Was that his name?

He still couldn't remember.

"Harry, look at me. Look at me! Can you hear me?" the man said again, a desperate inflection in his voice. The man looked ready to cry.

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but you know he can't react. There is nothing left to react with," the other man said sadly.

"I WONT BELIEVE THAT," the man called Sirius said in a raised voice.

Sirius? Was that name familiar? It was certainly peculiar. But no...... he just couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?

"We'd best owl the Weasleys. They'll want to know."

"You do it, Remus. Please? I want to stay here."

"Of course," the brown haired man said and left the room with a hurried step.

He was now alone with the large man.

"I will get you back, Harry, I will." The man said with desperate conviction, as if he was trying to convince himself, rather then convey a message.

Harry, that must be his name; he had heard it twice now.

He felt the sudden urge to comfort this man but still found himself pounding barriers, unable to communicate anything to the outside world.

He wanted to cry, but was denied even that.

*****

Time was a difficult concept, but at what he estimated as a half hour later he heard voices in the hallway, outside of the room he was in.

"I can't Ron, I can't face him," a young, but distinctly feminine voice said, with fear and a little hysteria in it.

"I'll be with you, Hermione; we can do this together," another voice said, this on masculine, but croaked as if not sure of its own sound; a boy in his teens.

A moment of silence and then: "No, I can't, not yet!" then the sound of running footsteps.

A few seconds of silence.

"You go in Ron, see your friend. I'll talk to her." This was the voice of the man that had been in his room previously, the one with the brown and grey hair.

"But...," the boy again.

"Let Remus do it, dear," a motherly voice said. "She needs an adult to talk to right now and you need to see Harry."

A group of red-headed people walked into the room, but they all faded into the background when he saw the lanky, red-headed boy in front.

Pain seared through his head and it felt as if something was throwing itself against the barriers in his mind... both of them, need both of them... it sounded in his head.

His body began to spasm as the pain increased, an involuntary moan escaped from his mouth.

...both of them... it now echoed within his mind with even more strength.

"DOCTOR," the large man yelled in a voice that would not have been out of place on a battlefield, "HE'S HAVING A SEIZURE."

Almost immediately two men dressed in white, the same men he had seen earlier, ran in.

"Everyone out" the elder one said in an authoritative voice "NOW."

"But..." the large man called Sirius began to say.

"Best to let the doctors do their work," the woman with the motherly voice advised while already guiding Sirius to the exit.

One of the men who had entered the room was holding him down while the other pulled out something that looked like a stick.

"Clear," said the man with the stick and the man holding him let go.

Light shot from the stick and again oblivion came.

******

Slowly his eyes opened.

He vaguely remembered waking up in this room before, then it came back to him; the red-headed boy and the strange reaction he had when seeing him.

"He's awake again," A voice to his right said.

It was the same large man who had been sitting there before.

To his left came a female voice: "Harry, it's me, Hermione."

The statement had something of a question in it; was she expecting him to recognize her or her name?

Nothing came to him.

She stepped into his field of vision.

She was a pretty girl with long, brown, bushy hear. Her eyes would never be called dull because they shone with a fierce intelligence.

Worry was all over her face but her mouth was set in a determined smile. Was the worried look for him?

Why? Did they know each other? Again he couldn't remember and that fact was frustrating him to no end now. What was wrong with him?

"Don't worry Harry, we'll take care of you," the girl with the bushy hair said; what was her name again? "We'll always take care of you." The last part of this sentence was barely more then a sob.

"It's alright, Hermione; it's going to be alright," The man to his right said.

Hermione... he should remember that name but it was so difficult to keep a grasp on these things.

The Bushy haired girl -Hermione, he admonished himself- crawled up onto the bed slightly behind him and held him in her arms; he felt strangely comforted, as if in the embrace of a friend, but he could not remember having experienced this before; even now discomfort was seeping through unknown cracks in his mind.

Would he have been uncomfortable with this if he had been in his right mind?

... Need them both......both of them... it once more echoed through his mind, but it was only a weak thing compared to the violence that had battered his mind before.

What did this mean? Where did that voice come from? It was so very frustrating.

Slowly he felt his body and mind relax as the girl stroked his forehead and hair soothingly...

"It's going to be alright," she said, pressing her cheek to the back of his head.

As he felt himself drifting of to that state of being that was not quite sleeping, not quite waking there was a white light; it felt familiar, as if he had encountered it before.

Slowly the white light engulfed him and he felt totally relaxed. This was not something strange, it was part of him; instinct told him as much.

Slowly sleep overcame him.

******

The next day when he woke there was a red-headed man in the room; he was talking to the large man. The man looked as if he had not slept in a while and had probably been sitting next to the bed all the time.

"Sirius, you need to get some sleep. You can't live like this," the red-headed men said.

His looks and voice were reminiscent of the red-headed youth he had seen before.

Father and son?

"I need to be here when he comes back to us, I won't let him wake up alone and confused," the man called Sirius said.

"We've given that some thought and have already agreed to that; there should always be someone here, as long as he is here." The last few words carried a sad tone.

"But you can't stay here forever; you need to rest, so we've decided to take shifts.

One adult, one student at all times.

There are already more volunteers then we need; classmates, teachers, nurses in their free time, even complete strangers who want him to have company.

We've selected those he already knows so that there's a familiar face in the room at all times."

"Alright," Sirius agreed, sounding defeated and relieved, finally giving into the inevitable, "we'll do it your way, Arthur."

"The first shift will arrive in a few minutes. It's Molly and Ginny." This was the red-headed man again.

"Good," said Sirius, "Could you take me to a bed then?" and he collapsed.

*****

A few minutes later two red-headed women entered. They were obviously family; probably mother and daughter, judging by their age.

"Harry," the younger of the two said with a sob and ran to the bed.

"Easy dear," the older woman said, holding a restraining hand on the shoulder of the girl, "you know he can't hear you."

'But I can,' he thought. He wanted to say that everything was alright to the girl for she was in obvious distress because of his condition; his hart went out to her.

The woman settled into the chair to his right and the girl in the one to his left.

The conversation between the two women was minimal until an argument broke out.

By their tone of voice it was an argument they had had before.

"You shouldn't be here, Ginny; it is too much of a burden for you."

"I want to be here mother, Harry needs his friends."

"You're too young to be here."

"No, I am not, mother."

"But why did it have to be this shift? It's late and you need your sleep. You sleep little enough as it is.

Why don't you crawl up in that chair and try to sleep a little.

I have a blanket for you."

He mentally smiled, for she sounded like the quintessential mother; he hoped his mother was like that.

He couldn't remember seeing anyone who acted as his mother though. Was the large man called Sirius his father?

Somehow that didn't feel right.

"Maybe later, but not yet," the girl reacted.

The mother kept admonishing her daughter, and she kept replying politely but firmly.

He ignored it and let himself float of into the comforting white light.

Sometime later he became aware of his surroundings again. The woman had fallen asleep in her chair, a little drool coming from her mouth.

His head turned to the left, he would probably never get used to the sensation of his own head turning of its own volition, without his intervention...... at least he thought it was without his intervention, and it all felt so uncoordinated.

"Harry?" It was the red-headed girl again. She was quite pretty he realised, and he had a feeling she was just about his age ...one year younger... Who or what was that voice? It began to bug him.

"Don't worry Harry, you'll be alright, I ... I..." what did she want to say?

"I love you." It was barely a whisper.

She what? Loved him? Was she his girlfriend? Somehow he didn't think so. What then?

"I know you don't love me... but that doesn't matter; I will always love you, no matter what. Maybe I can love you enough for the both of us." Tears flowed from the girl's big brown eyes.

He wondered what was, or rather had been, going on between him and this red-headed girl. Ginny? Wasn't that her name, it was all so hard to remember.

"I never did thank you for rescuing me in my first year. So for whatever it's worth now: Thank you."

The girl looked like she had more to say, and after a moment she continued.

"I could probably never say these things to you if you were awake.

I was so stupid back then. I should have known better then to confide in a magic diary, but I was so lonely.

Before Hogwarts it was always Ron and me, and the first year that he went away and I had to stay home was very lonely.

When I finally went to Hogwarts I thought it would be like it was before, Ron and me, best friends. But he had met you by then.

Not that I blame you, far from it.

You are probably the best thing that ever happened to Ron; you or Hermione, I'm not sure.

Listen to me babbling. But I'm so glad I can finally tell you all these things.

I don't know why I never had the nerve to talk to you before...

No, that is a lie, I do know. However much you may deny it, you are still THE Harry Potter and I've been in love with you since I was ten," the tone in her voice suddenly changed, anger now predominant, "and you never noticed me". For a moment her eyes had blazed with intensity and then her demeanour and tone of voice returned to normal.

"I know. What does a ten year old girl know of love? But my feelings for you haven't diminished, if anything they have grown stronger.

Even now I sometimes catch myself just staring at you.

You coming to rescue me in the chamber of secrets was like a fairytale in the middle of a nightmare."

On and on the girl talked about her hopes and dreams, her love, her fears, and so many other things.

When she was done the girl sat back in her seat, and after a while she fell asleep.

He kept looking at her from the corner of his eyes. She was not only pretty, but sleeping like this, she had an angelic quality.

He wished he could reach out to her and stroke her cheek to take away the pain he had seen in her eyes when she had told him she loved him.

******

The days went by; he now had some sense of the passing of time by the changing of people at his bed.

There was a whole series of redheads.

People of his own age who talked to him about school and a game called Quiditch.

Older people who sometimes told him they were looking forward to teaching him again, just as soon as he woke up.

A man dressed al in black who sneered at everyone that came near him; this man told him to 'wake up and get back to annoying me' in a tone that was either very angry or very well acted.

He got better at observing and analyzing people, he had little else to do.

The people who were most at his bed were the big man with black hair and the 'dog-eyes' as he was now calling them, the bushy haired girl and the redheaded youth that had instigated his violent reaction.

Sometimes the bushy haired girl would be there, or the red-headed youth and from the depths of his mind would come that now familiar voice ...both of them... but they were never in his room together. He was scared and anxious, but also longing for the moment that would happen.

Having nothing to do except look at people while lying there, he explored the depths of his mind and that white light he found there - by now it was something truly familiar to him.

He didn't feel that he was a great philosopher under normal circumstances, but not being able to do anything with his body, introspective was forced upon him.

It was rather sad that he had no memory of his previous life and therefore had nothing to base anything on except that which he observed.

He was obviously in possession of several mental scars; his reaction to several names he heard in conversations made that clear.

The most prominent were: Vernon, Cedric and 'You Know Who' or 'He Who Must Not Be Named'.

Those last two were the same person, he concluded.

Ridiculous not naming someone, was his first thought. But it didn't matter what he thought, for he could not tell anyone.

The white light continued to elude him, sometimes he tried to grasp it simply to have something to do, but it was all to no avail, he could only drift away in it.

He still had the distinct feeling it was part of him.

He noticed that the light reacted to his emotions.

If he was angry it stirred like it had more energy; when he was calm it was like a sea of tranquillity he could bathe in, staying there for hours; when he felt gratitude and perhaps even love for the people who stayed with him it shone like a bright beacon - this was especially true when either the bushy haired girl or the red-headed boy where in his room.

Other people created other, lower levels of intensity.

Curious, what did it mean?

******

"He's seems to have grown so much in the time he's been there. How is that, I wonder?"

"It's the potions they give him to restore his body. They also counteract some of the effects and consequences of malnutrition.

He probably hadn't had a decent meal in his live - before he came to Hogwarts, anyway. Poor boy."

He was fully awake now. Malnutrition?

"His birthday is in two days."

"I know, Sirius." It was the motherly woman.

"You know I believe he can hear us, so I think you'll understand this...... I want to give him a birthday party." This was the large man.

Strangled sounds drifted towards his ears.

"Molly? ... Molly, are you crying?"

"I can't help it, it's just that I know he's never had a real birthday party and now he won't be able to fully enjoy it......" the woman sobbed.

He had never had a birthday party before? That would explain a few of those mental scars. If he had been able, he probably would have snorted.

"I'll bake a cake tomorrow and tell the rest to be here, just close friends I think." The woman made a clear effort to sound cheery.

His head had now turned towards the two.

"Yes, just close friends...... AND NO BLOODY REPORTERS." The large man ...Sirius, he had to remember that name... looked as if he was yelling at the world in general. Did he think the world could hear him?

"Are they still camping in the lobby?" The woman asked.

"Yes. And yesterday we found another listening device in this very room. That's five in this room so far, four in the doctor's lounge and two in the nurse's station. Those reporters just won't give up. The Boy Who Lived in the hospital is big news."

The Boy Who Lived? What kind of ridiculous name was that?

"Don't worry, just close friends. See you then Sirius." With that the woman left.

*****

Two days later, at least he thought it probably was two days later, his room started filling with people who all told him: "Happy birthday, Harry."

The large man called Sirius was there, the gaunt man who was his friend, the old man with the long beard who was there when he had first woken up, and others who had sat at his bed.

They all brought him gifts that were deposited on a table brought in for that purpose.

The woman he considered so motherly walked in with two young men who were clearly her sons. Both had red hair and reminded him of the boy who always brought a reaction from the voice in his head.

They were carrying a chocolate cake of immense proportions ... yummy, chocolate, my favourite...

Was chocolate his favourite? It probably was.

Then followed the girl who had told him... what had she told him? It was so hard to remember things.

Two red-headed boys who looked exactly alike right down to their very mischievous grins came in next, together with another redhead, this one seeming oddly formal.

Then the red-headed youth who had provoked such a strong reaction entered the room.

...both of them...

They all came to his bed and wished him a happy birthday.

He wished he could thank them, for the attention they gave him was warming him on the inside.

He thought he would have cried and laughed at the same time if he had been able to.

The red-headed youth stood beside his bed and looked at him: "come back to us mate, we miss you." ...both of them... it was now so normal to hear this voice that he didn't give it a second thought.

At that moment the bushy haired girl walked in.

Pain exploded in his head.

He could feel something reeling in his mind with the power of a small thunderstorm and this time he could feel the barriers giving way.

With all the force he could muster, he threw himself against the barriers in his head.

The white light suddenly came roaring from the depths of his mind, helping him.

He felt the barriers getting weaker, crumbling before the combined strength of his mind and the white light.

The girl came to his bed and hugged him: "Happy birthday Harry, we love you."

HARRY, HIS NAME WAS HARRY POTTER.

He was sure of it now.

He felt the final barriers give way and memories came flooding back to him.

Who he was; what he was; who these people were; what they meant to him. He was aware of his body in a way that he had not been for a long time.

"Thank you, Hermione." He whispered with a croaked voice.