Chapter Two
Early the next morning Arabella Figg stood in her front garden picking up her newspaper, which the newspaper boy had carelessly flung onto her front lawn so that it landed on some of her flowers.
Sighing, she retrieved it, and out of habit she looked over to the Dursleys’ house. Her wandering eyes went over the neat flower beds to the grass with not a strand out of place to the house, which looked as it normally did. But a cold chill ran down her spine, causing her to shiver, when she noticed that Vernon’s car was nowhere to be seen and the front door was wide open.
Taking to her heels, Arabella ran as fast as she could back into her own house. She went to the kitchen and opened a drawer; she racked through it until at the bottom she found what she was looking for: a Galleon, very old, that she had never used until now. By dint of scraping she managed to get it up off the bottom of the drawer.
Unsure how to use it, Arabella started to rub it to get the dust off and the Galleon suddenly started to glow.
“Help … please help?”
A loud “pop” made her jump and Albus Dumbledore appeared before her, causing her to stifle a scream.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. Dumbledore held a golden Galleon also. Taking hold of her hands, he asked, “What’s the problem?”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think you’d come that quickly. Vernon Dursley’s car is missing and their front door is wide open, so I thought I would contact you as my instincts told me not to go in … that something horrible has happened.”
“Right, let’s go and have a look, shall we?” Dumbledore said, letting go of her hands. “Follow me,” he insisted, putting his Galleon into a pocket of his robes. Arabella followed closely behind, shooing many of her cats out of their way.
She closed the door of her own house behind her and hurried to catch up with Dumbledore as he stood staring at Number Four Privet Drive with the car gone and the front door open. She hovered behind him as he made his way down the Dursleys’ driveway. He sighed and pulled out his wand.
“You’re right, something doesn’t feel right,” he said. He stepped into the overly tidy hallway with pictures of the Dursleys, minus Harry, everywhere.
“Hello?” Dumbledore called. No one answered him. He made his way up to Harry’s bedroom with Arabella, caught between excitement and nervousness, close on his heels. As they reached the top of the stairway a cold wash of fear swept over Dumbledore, causing him to shiver.
“Harry… are you in?” He pushd the bedroom door further open and gasped when he saw the limp, unconscious body of Harry Potter lying on the floor by the side of his bed. Dumbledore rushed in and bent down to gently check for a pulse; he found one, but it was very faint. Behind him he heard Arabella gasp.
“Is he”“
“Barely. Harry, can you hear me? Its Professor Dumbledore,” he said, shaking Harry gently to see if he would wake. When there was no movement whatsoever, Dumbledore rolled Harry over onto his side in the recovery position.
“Arabella, I need you to lock up the house while I take Harry to St. Mungo’s,” he said, fixing Mrs Figg with a stern look.
“Right … yes, I can do that,” she said. Dumbledore slipped an arm about Harry’s waist and they both disappeared, having Apparated to St. Mungo’s. Hoping everything would be all right, Arabella went downstairs and out of the house, closing the front door behind her.
She went back to her own house and decided to wait and see if Dumbledore would contact her to let her know if Harry would be all right. He had looked very pale.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore waited in the St. Mungo’s waiting room for word on Harry, who was being examined by several Healers. Not knowing how long he would have to wait, he picked up an issue of the Daily Prophet and skimmed the pages with their moving pictures.
An hour passed, and he was engrossed in reading when there was the sound of someone clearing their throat beside him.
“Hello … Professor Dumbledore?” a voice said. Dumbledore looked up to see a Healer standing there.
“Yes?” he replied. He folded the paper and put it back on the low table in front of him.
“Will you follow me, please? I should like to have a word with you in private,” the healer said.
“Of course.” Standing up, Dumbledore followed the Healer out of the waiting room and down a corridor past several closed doors. She opened the fifth one and entered, beckoning to him to do the same. Once inside he saw Harry’s pale, motionless figure lying on the bed with a drip attached.
“What has caused this?” he asked the Healer, who looked down at her notes.
“Mr Potter is in an unconscious state of mind due to a shock to his system, possibly some sort of horrific experience. There is a chance he will sustain some memory loss and have dizzy spells. All we can do is wait for him to wake up, which could be any minute”or when his system is ready to do so.”
Dumbledore let the news sink in; he hoped Harry would be all right when he woke up.
“Do you mind if I stay with him? I want to be here when he wakes.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll leave you to it.” The Healer clipped her notes to the chart at the foot of Harry’s bed and departed with a reassuring smile.
When she had left, Dumbledore pulled a chair closer to Harry and sat down, taking hold of the cold, unmoving hand closest to him.
Dreaming . . . he knew he must be dreaming. Harry stood in the middle of a road. Trees and shrubs lined each side, making the road both inviting and secluded. He moved down the road smoothly and with no sense of pace as, if he was floating above the hard-packed earth. It felt wonderful, exciting. Eagerly he sped forward.
He flew around a curve and then recoiled in sudden horror, a wordless scream coming from his mouth. Before him, blocking his way, was a dying serpent, a black, rolling, two-headed snake. Its flesh was hacked and eaten away; blood stained the road, its bitter, repugnant scent making him cover his nose and mouth. The thing was dying; it curled upon itself in agony, twisting as it lost its breath. Harry backed away slowly, not sure how dangerous it might still be.
From the sky a beautiful, cold, crystalline cage dropped over the thing. With one last shriek of torment the two-headed black serpent lashed its barbed tail and died. The cage shimmered around it gently, a mirage that seemed to shift between something made of air one moment and of gold crystal the next. It was made of magic. He, Harry, had made it, and his cage had helped to kill the serpent.
Gasping, he clawed his way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to find his heart pounding, the scent of the serpent’s blood still in his throat. He wanted to gag; the horrible images still lingered behind his eyes. When his focus became clearer he saw an old man with a long white beard and long grey hair holding his hand.
“Who are you?” Harry rasped, his mouth dry.
“Harry, it’s me, Professor Dumbledore. What is the last thing you remember?”
“Don’t know . . . waking up here . . . where am I?”
“You are in St. Mungo’s. I found you unconscious in your room at your relatives’ home, so I brought you to hospital. Do you have any idea what happened to you?”
Unable to answer him, Harry shrugged and watched as the old man got up from his chair and went to the door to call for someone called the Healer.
A plump woman with brown hair tucked in a cap came in. “Ah, you’re awake, Mr Potter. Any side effects”memory loss, dizziness, feeling sick?”
“Memory loss,” said the old man he did not recognise.
“Right, Mr Potter, your memory should return in a couple of days, or even hours. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Nothing,” replied Harry. “Who am I?”
A Different Sort of Magic by bite
Chapter Notes: All characters belong to JKR i am only borrowing them for fun.
Chapter Endnotes: Hope you enjoyed my second chapter.