Lord Harry Potter

Harry lay in bed while Sirius sat in the chair close by. Madam Pomfrey explained what she knew today. It was the third day Harry had been stuck in this bed and about the tenth report like this. Facts kept changing.

The knife had been cursed, that was confirmed. Though what curse... The experts at St. Mungo's had called in further experts. They didn't have a name for it yet so they couldn't try to break it.

Harry was still ill not because he'd been out in the rain, but because he had caught some disease only convicts at Azkaban passed around. Similar to tuberculosis, but magical in nature.

Sirius looked concerned at that. Harry didn't know what tuberculosis was.

Harry had broken some bones in his hand from where Rookwood had stepped on it and his skin had been torn up. Those would still have to wait for healing until the cursed wound was dealt with.

And, she added, no one had yet found the broom he had been riding. Which was a question Sirius had posed the day before. Harry found he didn't care.

Sirius said all the right things to Madam Pomfrey. Finally she went away. Finally.

Harry was beyond being polite just then. He was equal parts misery and rage. He could barely think and, when he did, he had two thoughts.

One, his finger was in stasis while experts from St. Mungo's dithered about the curse. Only after they lifted the curse could they attempt to reattach the finger.

Two, Rookwood himself. Aurors had found his blood and bit of him, but the bulk of his body was gone. The investigators from the Ministry were saying that acromantulas got him. Harry still refused to ask what the term meant. He'd come across the word, but couldn't remember what it referred to. He assumed they meant 'something that lived in the forest and chittered.'

His revenge was complete, the bad people were defeated, but Harry still suffered. Alive, but wounded. Healing, but cursed.

He'd thought himself wary because of the Dementor and the attack by the Wold of Bandon. He hadn't been ready for anything. He'd put himself in the sky on a stormy morning and gave Rookwood a target for his overpowered summoning charm...

Harry felt darker than his hair. He felt lower than a body in the ground.

He smiled, or tried, when he had visitors. The Gryffindor team had been in the last two days. None of them could look at his wand hand.

Hermione, Ron, and Neville had been in. Neville had managed a few conversations. Hermione just wanted to express her pity. Harry was drowning in pity, not that he told off Hermione for being kind.

A few of the professors had dropped in. They were mostly stuttering wrecks, not knowing what to say or having the ability to say it. Though the Flamels had been calm and helpful. That aura they carried hadn't lasted long around Harry after they departed, though.

Nothing helped.

Even Harry's wand was gone. As soon as he was healed of his tuberculosis and that cursed wound, he'd need to go to Ollivanders for a new one.

Not even the phoenix feather survived. Nor would he get a new one. No one had seen Fawkes since Dumbledore died.

There were the things Sirius wasn't saying, too. Still people talked, the professors mostly and a few investigators, and Harry heard. Those Dementors had Kissed three and given nightmares to hundreds more.

There was a little justice in who the victims were. Bellatrix Lestrange was soulless. An Auror guarding the Minister of Magic was gone – as was his protectee, Cornelius Fudge, the one who had ordered the Dementors emplaced at Hogwarts. Slain by his own decision, that was a neat thing...

From the fragments Harry caught, the soulless Fudge was still Minister of Magic until his body died or the Wizengamot removed him. No one was placing bets on which would happen first. Politics and coalitions and jockeying...

At least Fudge couldn't do any more damage. Some caretaker in the Ministry had even ordered the Dementors removed. After all, all three of their targets were dealt with. And they had only managed to desoul the Minister of Magic.

Sirius was doing his best, but Harry felt as black and bleak as he ever had. His hand... His hand. Sirius, bless him, just talked about normal life. He kept away from what had happened. He tried to find topics that Harry wanted to talk about. They were sort of rare just then.

Hermione came into the ward. "How are you?" she asked.

Harry smiled. It wasn't much of an effort, rather sad actually.

"Right. I have someone with me who wanted to talk to you."

Harry nodded.

"Come in," Hermione said to someone who was outside the door.

Lavender Brown walked into the infirmary.

She had been quieter this year, Harry remembered.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry just nodded. He didn't have the strength to say hello.

"Everyone told me not to look at your hand."

Hermione looked angry. Sirius had concern on his face.

Harry brought his hand up.

Lavender looked at it and nodded.

Harry dropped it to his side. It was just a hand, at least that was what he tried to tell himself. Just a finger, just a hand.

"I'm sorry about last year, about that assignment for Madam Spurl."

She was here over that?

"Don't worry about it," Harry said.

"No, I was stupid. I don't know why I did it. I guess I just didn't like her."

Harry nodded. People did stupid things for stupid reasons. They joined Voldemort for stupid reasons. They kidnapped children for stupid reasons. Harry found himself more forgiving of a daft girl throwing a tantrum.

"It was amazing what she did, breaking that curse. I never apologized to her. I didn't to you, either, last year. I should have."

Yes, she should have, then. It didn't matter now.

"You really tried to get me to help. So I was just a bad person all around."

"That was last year," Harry said.

"Yes. But this year I wanted to know if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade. With me."

"Even with me like this?" He held up his hand again.

"I think it matters more to you than to anyone else."

Harry's eyes went wide. Had she really said that?

"How much do you think about Hermione's pinky finger?" Lavender asked.

"I don't."

"How much does she think about your pink finger?"

Harry shrugged. He saw what she was trying to say. "So I should just be glad it's something no one cares about..."

"It's hard to believe I'm giving that advice, I suppose? I spend massive amounts of time on my hair and my face. I care about them. No one else cares as much about them as I do. If I lost all my hair one day, I'd mourn it. Especially if it might not grow back. But I would adjust. And I could make others forget about my missing hair..."

"How?" Harry asked.

"I'd wear a hat at all times, of course."

She was the first person to really try to make him smile. "Thank you for coming," Harry said. He offered her a smile that was at least a little bit true. "Maybe we can go to Hogsmeade together. But there will be no lace doilies."

"I think I could make a case..."

"And off we go," Hermione said, jumping into the mess.

The door to the infirmary closed behind them.

"You have some good friends," Sirius said.

"More than I thought."

Sirius was happy to let the room fall quiet for a time. But he was impatient, too. "Thoughts for the summer?"

Harry knew his godfather couldn't be silent for long. "It's a long way away."

"I came to love summer when I was in school. Summers staying with your family."

Harry nodded.

"If you got to pick, what would it be?" Sirius asked.

He had a frightful fire in his belly just then. It was stronger than his misery, but would it last? "I want to learn something. I want to work hard. I want to get ready for what is coming."

"And what is that?"

Voldemort. More fools like Rookwood. Death. "Trouble," Harry said. In every shape and color. That was all the more comfortable he was naming his immediate future: trouble.

.....

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