Survivors - 20

Hermione looked up quickly, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. "It's okay. Don't get upset. The Healers said that the calmer we could keep you, the quicker all the Restorative Potions would work."

"Arm," Harry repeated, still trying to move it. His exhaustion grew with each attempt, but he continued to struggle. His vision swam and foggy spots encroached upon the edges. The thunder cracked loudly, sounding as if it were right above the hospital. Rolling echoes continued long after the initial crack had passed.

"Listen to me, Harry," Hermione said, forcefully grabbing his shoulders in order to keep him still. "You're not helping. You have to stay calm. One of the Curses that struck your arm was deep, and it caused some nerve damage. The Draught of Living Death slowed down your bloodstream and all your internal organs, so it's going to take some time to heal. Now, I know patience isn't your strong suit, but you really don't have a choice."

Something about her no-nonsense tone reminded him of Madam Pomfrey, and it alarmed him. Ron had always said she could be scary, sometimes. His anxiety must have shown, because her eyes softened.

"Will…heal?" he asked, feeling incredibly vulnerable. He fought the exhaustion, determined to get some answers. Thunder cracked again, weaker this time.

Hermione blinked rapidly. "We think so."

That didn't sound as confident as he wanted. His heart rate increased again, and he had to take short, shallow breaths. He suddenly wanted very badly for Ginny to be the one there with him.

"Ginny?" he asked, cringing inwardly at the pathetic tone in his voice.

"She'll be here in the morning," Hermione said, her lower lip starting to tremble. "We were so afraid we'd lost you."

Harry took several deep breaths, forcing the air out through his nose in an attempt to calm down.

"Ron?" he asked as scattered memories began to return to him. Ron had been hit and knocked out by some random curse.

"He's all right. He was in a double room with you for a few days, but you know Ron. They couldn't keep him still for long, and they finally kicked him out so he'd stop pestering them," she replied, sniffling. She began running her hand up and down his good arm, trying to soothe him.

His chest felt heavy, and a large lump grew in his throat. He cast his eyes around the room, desperately seeking a distraction before he really embarrassed himself. He tried to listen to the torrents of rain pelting against the window, waiting for the next boom of thunder.

"Draco?" he asked when the vision of the horrible curse that had struck the Slytherin filled his mind.

"He's in another room," Hermione said vaguely. "The Healers put him back together, but he's got a long road ahead of him."

Harry knew there was more that she wasn't telling him, but he couldn't get the words to form. He was so very tired, and he struggled to keep his eyes from closing.

"You did it, Harry. It's really over," Hermione whispered. "We're all so proud of you. Now we can focus on what we want to do with our lives."

"Dumbledore told me," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Dumbledore?" Hermione asked sharply.

Harry's eyes flew open. Why did he have the distinct impression of Dumbledore telling him it was time to live? Hermione was staring at him as if she thought he'd gone mad. Perhaps he had.

He blinked, looking away from her concerned stare. He tried to focus on the shiny silver instrument resting on the bedside table where his glasses had been. Hermione, of course, noticed.