Harry Potter awoke feeling more rested than he had in a long time. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming - after all, he was definitely lying in a bed, and he knew very well that he had no bed at St. Brutus’s - but when he tried to roll over, he discovered that he couldn’t move. As his entire body slowly began throbbing with pain, he tried to open his eyes. To his alarm, he found he was unable to do so; it felt like they were both swollen shut. Images of the beating he had received at the hands of Big Tom and his gang swam in Harry’s mind, as feelings of panic began to set in. Where was he? Had Big Tom and the others hidden him someplace to let him recover so they could beat him to a pulp all over again? He immediately discarded this thought; if Tom’s gang still had him, he wouldn’t be in a soft bed.
The sound of a door opening caught his attention, and he strained to hear what was going on. He heard a clanking of glass and a rustling of papers, and then the creaking of a chair as the newcomer sat down. Then there was silence. As the silence grew longer, he became uneasy. Why didn’t the visitor speak? Then again, why should they, if he was pretending to be asleep?
Straining against his swollen eyelids, Harry managed to force his left eye open a crack. The small room was blurry, but he was able to make out a large wooden desk and a row of filing cabinets. Behind the desk sat a short, plump woman with gray hair, who was watching Harry intently.
“I was wondering when you would wake up,” the woman said, finally breaking the silence. Her voice was soft and kind, much kinder than any other voice he could remember. She stood and approached Harry’s bed, and as she drew near, he was able to see that she wore a hospital matron’s uniform. The matron clicked her tongue and shook her head sorrowfully. “What ever possessed you to be up after hours with that group of hoodlums?” she asked.
“I- er, well,” Harry stammered. His mouth was dry and his entire face was swollen, making speech extremely difficult. The matron waited patiently. He swallowed hard and began again. “I’m friends with this snowy owl that lives on the grounds. I snuck out to visit her, but then I heard voices from around the corner of the building. It was Big Tom and his gang. Somebody tossed a gun over the wall to him, he saw me, and I ran. He tried to shoot me, but he missed, but they finally caught me in one of the corridors and started beating me. After that, I don’t remember anything.”
“Hmmm...” The matron appeared to be deep in thought. “That does seem to square with Mr. Stevens’ story. I wonder, though, why you didn’t mention that he was with you.”
Harry hesitated a moment before finally answering, “I didn’t want to make trouble for him.”
The matron nodded, seemingly satisfied. “My records show that this is the second time you have been knocked unconscious while at St. Brutus’s, is that correct?” Harry nodded. “And no trouble with amnesia this time?”
“No,” Harry replied. “I still can’t remember anything from about the time I was ten until the start of the summer holiday, but after that I remember everything all right.”
“Good,” said the matron. “At least we don’t have that to worry about too. As I’m sure you’ve already discovered, your injuries this time around are much more extensive than they were at the end of last term. Tell me, though, can you ever remember being seriously injured like this before?” She sounded very interested, as though this was more than just a simple question about his medical history, but Harry couldn’t imagine why.
“Not that I can remember,” he answered. “Why?”
“Well... It’s just that, given the identities of your attackers, and how long they were at it before your friend, Mr. Stevens, brought help, you shouldn’t be here.”
“What, you mean I ought to be in a hospital or something?” Harry asked.
“No, dear” said the matron very softly. “I mean you ought to be in a morgue.” She paused a moment to let this statement sink in. Harry’s head was spinning, but he struggled to remain coherent as she began speaking again. “You have-” she paused to consult the medical chart in her hand, “-seven cracked ribs, a cracked collar bone, and small fractures in your right tibia and left femur, plus several more in your arms, hands, and fingers. That’s why you’ve been restrained to the bed: so you won’t upset the healing process. You’re also covered in contusions, your nose is broken - again - and there are several hairline fractures in your skull.”
Harry’s mind reeled. He didn’t even know it was possible to have that many broken bones at the same time. It was going to take a long time to recover from all this. He had understood only part of the matron’s explanation of his injuries, but it didn’t sound good. “So what you’re saying,” he said finally, “is that people don’t usually survive those sorts of injuries?”
The matron laughed softly. “Oh, heavens no, child. What I’m saying is that, although there are a lot of them, your injuries are relatively minor. None of your bones were broken all the way through - they were just cracked. You ought to have died from head injuries, but instead you only have a few hairline fractures that will heal themselves quickly enough. You didn’t even have any teeth knocked out.”
“What are you trying to say?” Harry asked. For all he knew, her point could be perfectly obvious, but at the moment, he had a terrible headache and his mind was spinning with everything he was being told.
“What I’m saying is that, given what I know about the boys you were fighting with, and the fact that they were using weapons - the pistol and the baseball bat - combined with what I was told by Mr. Stevens and Professor Stinnes, the staff member who finally came to your rescue, your injuries ought to be much more severe. Under normal circumstances, any of those boys could literally beat a person’s brains out with a baseball bat. That’s why I told that idiot Davies that it was a stupid thing to have on the grounds. She leaves it locked in her office, as though there weren’t a hundred boys here who know how to pick locks.” She was ranting now, and Harry began to wonder if she remembered he was still here. “She should have kept to pepper spray and a stun gun hidden on her person like the rest of us, but she insists that the threat of physical violence is more effective.”
“But these weren’t normal circumstances?” Harry prompted when he thought it was safe to do so.
“What?” asked the matron. But before Harry had a chance to answer, she began talking again. “Oh, right. These were not normal circumstances. The abnormality was you. For some reason, even though they were beating you with all their combined strength, they were unable to cause any sort of lasting damage whatsoever. You may not look it, Mr. Potter, but you’re made of tougher stuff than the rest of us.”
“How long was I unconscious?” Harry asked. Now that he understood what she had been trying to say, he was eager to change the subject. No matter what the matron might say, he did not feel very tough at the moment, as he lay there bruised, battered, and strapped to a bed, with his eyes swollen shut.
“About fifteen hours,” she replied. “And speaking of being unconscious, you need to get some rest. I’m going to give you some painkiller through your I.V. One of its side effects is drowsiness, so it should help you sleep as well. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.” A moment later, Harry felt the slightly cold liquid enter the vein in his right forearm, and after only a few short minutes, he was snoring softly.
Harry was sitting at a small desk with a sheet of parchment in front of him and a long, thin black quill in his right hand. The words, ‘I must not tell lies,’ written in dark red ink, covered the parchment. He began to write, and once again the words, ‘I must not tell lies,’ flowed onto the page. He felt a stinging pain on the back of his right hand and, glancing at it, saw that the words had been etched into his skin. His eyes grew wide in shock as the cuts healed, leaving the skin red and raw. The room began to spin and swirl until it had disappeared entirely, leaving him in a crowded pub.
Harry walked around the room casually at first, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Soon, however, he was hurrying, somehow feeling driven to find someone, although he had no idea who that someone could be. Just as he was about to give up in frustration, he turned toward the window and saw her standing outside. There was no mistaking the girl, for he had dreamed of her countless times before. This, however, was the first time he had seen anything more than her face. He hurried out the front door of the pub and into the snow-covered street, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t disappear before he got there.
As he approached, Harry saw that the girl was standing next to a tall boy who was about Harry’s own age. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something very familiar about the boy’s gangly build, freckle-covered face, and patched cloak. When he noticed a lock of ginger-colored hair sticking out from under the boy’s winter hat, Harry felt a small jolt of recognition. He did know this boy. He knew the girl too, but after having dreamed of her so often, he couldn’t be sure if he knew her in real life, or just in his dreams. Turning toward the girl to get a better look at her, he noticed that she was shorter than him - although that wasn’t surprising, since few girls his age were as tall as he was. Almost without realizing he was doing it, he reached out a hand toward the knit cap that hid her hair. As his hand touched the hat, everything but the girl’s face vanished. She laughed, and her brown eyes twinkled with mirth. Then she was gone.
The first thing Harry noticed the next time he was awake and his mind was clear, was that the swelling around his eyes had decreased considerably. With just a little effort, he was able to open both eyes, although without his glasses it was still difficult to see very much. Not that there was a lot to see in the infirmary, but prolonged periods without his glasses gave him a headache.
After he had only been awake for about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the door to the infirmary open and turned toward it, expecting to see the matron entering to check up on him. Instead, he saw Tyler poke his head around the corner.
“About time you woke up,” Tyler said, as he took a seat next to Harry’s bed. “I’ve been by three times today, and you haven’t stirred once.”
Harry smiled wearily. “Sorry. They keep knocking me out with these ruddy painkillers. What happened?”
“You’ve been here about a week,” answered Tyler.
“A week!” Harry shouted. “I thought it had only been one day.”
Tyler shook his head. “It’s been a week. They chucked out Big Tom and Lloyd Hodges - sent them to a maximum security youth prison for assault with a deadly weapon. The rest of the gang are still here, though. It sounds like you won’t be going back to the dormitories, either. They think it’s too dangerous for you, so they’re sending you to one of the solitary rooms for your own protection, once you get out of here.”
“For my own-” Harry began. He was livid. How could they do that? They were going to lock him up every night. Why not lock up the ones who wanted to harm him?
“I know, Harry,” Tyler said in a placating tone. “It’s a load of rubbish, but there’s nothing we can do about it. On a happier note, though, you’re healing really quickly. Madam Hanover, the matron, said you should be out of here in another week, even though the sort of injuries you have ought to take more than a month to heal. She seemed really impressed with your genetics. You know what I think, though?”
“What?” Harry asked, the corners of his mouth twitching upward to form a slight grin. “That I’m healing so fast because of magic?”
Tyler grinned. “Finally accepting it, are you? I saw the way you blocked those bullets; you can’t deny it anymore.”
Harry closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow. “No, I can’t. I wish I had my glasses,” he said. “Without them, I keep getting these ruddy headaches.”
“I’ve got them right here,” said Tyler. Harry opened his eyes to see his friend pulling the twisted and bent metal frames from his pocket, along with a few fragments of the lenses. “There’s not much left, but I didn’t figure you’d want them thrown out. I don’t know what you’ll do with them, though.”
Harry smiled slightly. “You’re forgetting what you keep telling me, Tyler: I’m a witch. Or, whatever it is they call male witches.”
Carefully, so as not to move his arm, which was still in a cast, Harry pointed his right index finger at the twisted remains of his glasses and whispered, “Accio!”
Tyler gasped involuntarily as the bent frames and shattered lenses flew from his hand, coming to rest on the bed, just in front of Harry’s outstretched finger.
Reaching out to lightly touch the wire frame, Harry said, “Reparo.” Instantly, the glasses were whole again.
“Blimey,” whispered Tyler. “When did you learn that?”
Harry shrugged. “I’ve been dreaming a lot lately, so I’ve been paying attention to any magic I see in my dreams. So far, the only thing I’ve tried that didn’t work was flying away on that broomstick when Tom and his gang were pelting me with rocks. I’m not sure why that one didn’t work, but...” he let the sentence trail off. “Anyway, here’s another one.” He waved his finger at the glasses and said, “Wingardium Leviosa.” The glasses began to levitate, and, guided by Harry’s finger, finally came to rest on his face.
“Excellent,” whispered Tyler.
Two more days passed before Madam Hanover noticed that Harry was wearing his glasses. When she questioned him about it, he told her that his uncle had sent them, and Tyler had brought them to the infirmary. This seemed to satisfy her curiosity, but the matron’s suspicion made Harry re-think his use of magic; he didn’t want anyone to catch on to his newfound abilities. Tyler was even more excited by the possibilities than Harry was himself, but Harry was not so naïve that he thought everyone else would share Tyler’s enthusiasm. He remembered learning about witch hunts and witch burning in primary school, and he had no desire to learn more about them first-hand.
When the cast was finally removed from his right arm, Harry glanced at the line of small white scars that traced the back of his hand. He had first noticed them over the summer, when he had spent his days sitting on a rock and staring out at the sea. At the time, they had seemed unimportant, a memento of some forgotten fight, but now his heart pounded as he brought his hand up close to his face. From up close, it was clear that the line of scars had not come from a fight, for they very clearly spelled out the words, ‘I must not tell lies.’
Harry took in a sharp breath as his mind went back to his dream about the black quill pen. How had he gotten those scars? Could the dream have really happened? But that was impossible; quills didn’t magically cut into the back of your hand as you wrote. Magically? Did the scars have something to do with witchcraft? And was he considered “incurably criminal” because he had been a compulsive liar, as his punishment seemed to suggest? Each day that went by seemed to bring new questions, but no new answers.
By the time Harry was released from the infirmary, it was already mid-November. A light blanket of snow covered the ground outside, and the corridors of the school were damp and chilly. When he wasn’t in class or in the dining hall, Harry was confined to a small room that was normally used as a holding cell. Deprived of the free time that he usually spent outside with Tyler and Snowy, the owl, Harry sat on the stone floor and whiled away the hours by catching up on the lessons he had missed while in the infirmary.
“Alright,” he muttered to himself after reading Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar for Madam Davies’ class. After a few moments of thought, he scribbled down a title for his essay: The Ides of March and the foolishness of trusting in prophecies.
By the time everyone else had gone to bed, Harry’s essay was complete. Leaving his pencil and notebook on the floor, he pressed his ear up to the door to listen for anyone who might be in the corridor. Hearing nothing, he took hold of the doorknob and whispered, “Alohomora.” The lock clicked, and he hurried down the darkened corridor and up the stone staircase that led to the front entrance of the school. After peering around the corner to make sure the coast was clear, he stole out of the front doors and onto the grounds.
It was good to breathe fresh air again, and he spent several minutes just standing on the snow-covered grass and breathing deeply of the crisp, cold air. A hooting sound caught his attention, and he looked up to see Snowy swooping toward him. He held out his left arm, and the owl landed gently on his newly-healed forearm. She seemed heavier than he remembered, and he nearly dropped her.
“Whoa, there girl,” Harry said. “Madam Hanover told me that it would be a while before I got my strength back. I guess she was right. Could you maybe just perch on a low branch tonight?”
Snowy nipped affectionately at him with her beak, and fluttered over to a branch that was near Harry’s eye-level.
Harry breathed deeply once more before turning to his feathery friend and saying, “So, Tyler keeps telling me I’m a witch.” Snowy cocked her head, but continued to look at him. Harry chuckled disbelievingly. “I actually think I believe him. Maybe I really am the ‘freak’ that Uncle Vernon always said I was. But you know what, Snowy? If I’m going to be a freak, I’m going to be the best freak I can be.” The owl beat her wings and hooted approvingly, causing Harry to smile. “I’ve just got to find out how to remember everything I know how to do. But in the meantime, I don’t suppose it would hurt to do a little practicing.”
Harry quickly made a small pile of snowballs, and spent the next half hour summoning, banishing, and levitating them. When the chill of the night air finally started to get to him, he launched the lot them against the outer wall, and headed back inside. Only after he was safely back inside his little room did he realize that he would need a key to re-lock his door.
“How could I be so stupid?” he muttered as he sank down onto the stone floor. Now he wouldn’t be able to sleep. What if one of the remaining members of Tom’s gang came after him? With the door unlocked, he would make an extremely easy target.
The next morning, Harry was jerked from his half-sleep by the sound of his door opening. Immediately, his hand went up, prepared to either conjure a shield or send the intruder flying down the corridor, depending on what was needed. As it turned out, nothing was needed; it was just the morning guard coming by to unlock the door.
“Who unlocked this door for you?” the guard demanded. He was a short, barrel-chested man with a military air, and his gruff voice went perfectly with his appearance.
“What?” Harry asked. “Er, you did just now.” He knew it was a lame thing to say, and hearing himself say it out loud only made it sound even more absurd. Of course the guard knew the door had been unlocked. Harry felt his palms begin to sweat, and he struggled to keep his face impassive.
“No games, boy,” barked the guard. “You know who unlocked this door, and you’re going to tell me!”
Harry’s nervousness increased, but with it came a hint of anger. Who did this man think he was, barging in and making accusations like that? His accusation was true, but still... it might not have been. “Oh, I forgot,” Harry said, making sure the sarcasm in his voice was obvious, “the nighttime guard gave me a key, and I unlocked the door to make sure the blokes who want to kill me wouldn’t have any trouble getting in. You do know that’s why I’m in here, right?”
The guard hesitated. Whether he was shocked at Harry’s reaction or he simply saw the logic in the words of his outburst, Harry never found out, but the guard nodded curtly and headed back out into the hall.
After turning in his essay at the end of English class, Harry cautiously approached Madam Davies’ desk. He knew she had disliked him ever since the first day of class, when she had taken his answer to one of her questions as an attempt to mock her. That dislike had only grown when she had been forbidden to bring her beloved baseball bat to school after it was stolen by Lloyd Hodges, who had used it to beat Harry senseless. Harry had no idea why she insisted on acting like this was his fault, but there was no denying that her dislike for him had increased since his release from the infirmary. Perhaps it was because she was feeling guilty.
“Madam Davies?” Harry said.
“What is it, Potter?” she asked irritably.
“I was wondering, do you happen to have a Latin dictionary?”
Madam Davies’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?” she asked.
Harry shrugged. “I just needed to look up a Latin word for an essay I’m writing for History class,” he answered, using the story he had already decided upon.
Still eyeing him suspiciously, Madam Davies pulled a thick book from the shelf beneath her desk and handed it to him. She watched as he turned to the verb ‘to lock’ and copied down the Latin translation: obfirmo. Quickly, Harry turned to the Latin section of the book and looked up obfirmo, copying down the English translation: ‘to bolt, lock, fasten, bar.’ Satisfied, Harry pocketed the slip of paper he had been writing on and handed the book back to Madam Davies, who was still watching him closely. He didn’t care, of course. How could she possibly guess what he wanted that Latin word for?
“You’d better get going, Potter,” said Madam Davies. “I won’t be used as an excuse for you being late for your next lesson.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, and hastily picked up his books and left the classroom.
On the way to dinner that evening, Harry took a short detour to drop off his books in his “private room,” as the staff liked to call it. Private room, what a joke! Harry thought. Isolated cell is more like it. After setting down his books, he turned to the closed door and took a deep breath as he withdrew the crumpled note from his pocket.
“Obfirmo,” he whispered to himself. “Latin is supposed to be the language of magic, right?” Placing his hand on the doorknob, he turned it slightly, just to make sure it was unlocked. It was. Finally, after closing his eyes in concentration, he said in a firm voice, “Obfirmo.” There was a soft click. He tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. Harry smiled, whispered the unlocking charm, and headed to dinner. He would be visiting Snowy again tonight.
Upon entering the dining hall, Harry hurried over to where Tyler was seated. In between bites of unidentifiable green paste, they exchanged whispers, and arranged to meet outdoors after curfew. After choking down as much “food” as he could stand, Harry walked back to his room, where he began exercising. Two weeks of lying flat on a bed had caused his muscles to atrophy, and Madam Hanover had been adamant about the need for him to exercise every evening. He did pushups, sit-ups, and leg-lifts, and then spent twenty minutes jogging around the perimeter of the tiny room. By the time he had finished, he was so dizzy that he vomited in the middle of the floor. Almost reflexively, he waved his hand at the acrid puddle and said, “Evanesco.” The vomit vanished, and Harry was left quite pleased with himself as he made a mental note to remember that spell.
After finishing his exercises and homework, he pulled on his coat, unlocked the door to his little room, and stole through the corridors until he arrived outside. Tyler was waiting for him under Snowy’s tree.
“What do you want to do tonight?” Tyler asked.
“Train,” Harry said simply. “I figure, I keep getting attacked, so I’d better learn how to use magic in a fight. Start making snowballs.”
Tyler grinned and immediately knelt down to start packing the snow into tight, round balls. Harry ran to take cover behind a tree and, using a combination of Summoning and Banishing spells, soon had formed a large number of snowballs of his own.
As he was concentrating on making one last snowball, he was suddenly hit in the back of the head by an extremely hard-packed snowball. Spinning and ducking, he dodged Tyler’s next projectile, and managed to bark, “Abigo!” at one of his own. The snowball flew toward Tyler, but he dodged it easily.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Harry,” Tyler taunted, as he threw another snowball.
This time, Harry was ready, and he calmly said, “Protego.” Tyler’s snowball hit an invisible barrier a few feet in front of Harry, and dropped to the ground. “Abigo!” Harry hissed, this time directing his snowball with his outstretched hand, rather than just launching it. Tyler dodged to his left, but Harry simply made the snowball curve so that it hit him in the chest.
“That was a good one!” Tyler called, grinning and brushing snow from the front of his coat.
For the next twenty minutes, they continued, until Tyler finally called a truce.
“I haven’t hit you with anything since that first one,” he complained with a wide grin, “and you haven’t missed since your first one. I’m soaked; let’s go inside.”
Harry nodded his agreement. “Thanks for helping me practice,” he said.
“Any time,” Tyler replied. “It was fun. Frustrating, but loads of fun.”
For the final weeks before the Christmas holiday, Harry was extremely busy: he spent his free time during the day catching up on missed lessons, and his free time in the evenings exercising. After curfew every night, he and Tyler snuck outside to visit Snowy and practice Harry’s magic. For the first time since coming to St. Brutus’s, he began to feel like he was accomplishing something.
Strangely, Harry found himself looking forward to spending the Christmas holiday with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. It wasn’t that he had suddenly developed any affection for them or anything; he was just looking forward to his Aunt Petunia’s cooking. Even if Dudley was still on a diet, the food at the Dursleys’ would never be as bad as the food in St. Brutus’s dining hall.
Of course, one of the many downsides to returning to the Dursleys’ for the holidays would be his inability to use magic. His cupboard under the stairs wasn’t large enough to do much practicing, and he wasn’t stupid enough to let his aunt and uncle know that all their worst fears about him being a freak had been realized. Better to wait until I don’t have to live there anymore, he thought. Then I’ll jinx their socks off and leave for good.