Survivors - 19

An invisible weight pressed down on his chest, and his limbs felt leaden. Although no Petrifying Spells or ropes were holding him, he was completely immobilized. He was incredibly sore, and he desperately needed a drink to quench his intense thirst. Above all the other aches and pains – even his thirst – his head hurt the worst. He was grateful for the dim lights, because he didn't think he could handle any brightness just then.

He briefly considered closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep, but he needed to know what had happened to everyone else. His confused mind refused to give him any details, but he knew the others were in trouble. He groaned, attempting to rise on his pillows and was dismayed to realize that he couldn't do it. His right arm was weak and shook when he tried to move it, while his left was completely unresponsive.

Panicking, he tried to reach for his glasses on the bedside table. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he strained to reach them, but his arm felt like lead. He finally had to give up, and, panting, he laid his spinning head back on the pillow. His breathing hitched, and he groaned again. What's wrong with me?

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, opening the door to find him so agitated. "Merlin! How typical of you to stay asleep the entire time I'm sitting here and only wake up when I take a moment to use the loo."

She walked across the room, reached for his glasses, and gently placed them on his nose. Her concerned face came into focus as he struggled to control his rapid breathing. He gazed at his surroundings, not recognizing the room but knowing he wasn't in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

"Wh–" he croaked, his voice scratchy and dry from lack of use.

"Shh. Take it easy," Hermione whispered, wordlessly conjuring a glass of water.

She slipped her arm beneath his shoulders and gently hoisted him so he could swallow it. It felt wonderfully cold and refreshing sliding down his throat, relieving the burning pain.

"You're in St. Mungo's," Hermione said, adjusting the pillows behind Harry's back. "Do me a favor and pretend you slept through the night. Ginny is going to be so livid. Mrs. Weasley insisted that she needed to go home and get some sleep, and the Healers didn't think you'd wake up again before morning. We've all been taking shifts sitting with you, but Ginny was adamant that she'd promised you she'd be here. She didn't want to leave."

Another loud crack of thunder rumbled outside the window as if in support of Hermione's words.

"Volde–" Harry asked, losing his breath.

"He's gone, Harry," Hermione said, her eyes suspiciously bright. "It's really over. How much of it do you remember?"

Harry scrunched his forehead, trying to piece his scattered thoughts together. Everything was jumbled, but he could picture Tom's flat, distorted face staring at him with an intense hunger. He remembered a nauseating flash of bright white light but couldn't say what had happened.

"It's all right," Hermione said, taking his hand and gently squeezing his fingers. "The Healers said that you'd experience some confusion at first. It'll come back to you."

"Arm," Harry mumbled, again trying to move his left one. The covers were pulled tightly around him, and he'd begun to fear it was gone. It certainly didn't feel as if there was anything there.

"Does it hurt?" Hermione asked, plucking needlessly at his blankets while not looking directly at him.

Harry's alarm grew. "Can't…feel," he gasped.