Ch. 155

"H-how did we do?" she asked weakly.

"Don't talk. Save your strength." He lifted her head into his lap, unable to do much more. Now that the battle was over, he felt each and every one of his injuries… including the broken ribs and the broken left arm. And that wasn't even considering that every single one of his nerves felt like it was on fire, and that his mucles were torn and hurt from the energy that had coursed through them when he'd been hit with Voldemort's spells. He didn't think he had the strength to stand, much less support his wife. And since he'd given his emergency portkey to Ginny…

Bella glanced over at the ashes that was all that remained of Voldemort. "You did it," she said quietly.

"Yeah… yeah, I did." Harry looked down into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."

She grasped on to his wrist. "You did what you had to. He didn't give you a choice." She smiled weakly. "And you're here now, that's what matters."

"Bella… I-I don't think I can get us out of here." He left unsaid that she needed medical attention, and quickly. A cough racked his body, and when he pulled his hand away, he grimaced when he saw the blood that was splattered all over it.

"My portkey," Bella informed him, "in my robes. Left side."

Harry reached into her robe and quickly found pocket. When he pulled it out, though, he'd come up empty. "You must've lost it in the fight." He looked around the chamber to see if he could spot anything, and spied a speck of silver not too far away. When he summoned it, though, he grimaced at the molten and twisted piece of silver that refused to react to his commands.

"Looks like it got caught in the spells we were throwing around," he told her. He spotted the Rod laying discarded among Voldemort's remains and reached over, a crazy idea forming in his head. "Tear a hole in reality, eh?" he muttered as he forced his magic to work one last time.

Then the world turned black.

...

"He's a lucky fella, that's for sure."

"The man's got nine lives, I tell ya."

"Must be part leprechaun."

Harry blinked as he slowly came back to consciousness. Blurred shapes formed in front of his eyes as he forced them open. It wasn't too terribly bright - from the light coming in through the curtained windows, he assumed it must be shortly after sunrise. Then he recognized the voices.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, brother dearest, the man's got skills," Fred commented.

"No, it's luck… definitely luck," Harry muttered as he fumbled around for his glasses.

"Ah, he wakes!" George grinned broadly. "Welcome back to the land of the living, yer majesty!"

"Ooh… my head's killing me," Harry mumbled as he sat up, experiencing a sudden bout of vertigo.

"Get the man a bucket!" George cheerily announced, to which his twin brother immediately produced one.

"There ya go, mate."

Harry took the bucket and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach into it. When there was nothing left to empty, he let himself fall back onto the bed. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

Fred and George looked at each other. "We don't really know," George finally admitted, "we only woke up yesterday."

Before Harry could ask another question, the door to the infirmary of Nair'i'caix opened, admitting Snape, Moody, Tonks, Count Hiscophney, and Hermione. The five clustered around Harry's bed when they realized he was awake and peppered him with questions. Well, Tonks and Hermione did. Snape, and Hiscophney were stoic as ever, though one could swear there was a hint of concern in their eyes. Moody merely watched the entire spectacle with a bemused grin, before clapping Harry on the shoulder hard enough that the boy winced in pain.

"Good one, Potter. You had us scared there for a while, but it seems you've pulled through yet again." Moody grinned.

"What happened?" Harry repeated, causing the seven people around his bed to look at each other. Harry noted that two people were conspicuously absent. "Where's Bella? And General Rotan?"

After a long pause, Moody grumbled and took it upon himself to answer the question. "Well, Potter, your wife's going to be fine. She's still recovering."

"She is? How is she? How's the baby?" Harry tried to rise from the bed again, only to find himself pushed back on by the grizzled old auror. He turned his head around as the memories returned. "Oh god, she got stabbed… the baby-"

"Yes. Over that way," Moody gestured towards a curtained bed at the other end of the room. "They are both fine. She was just as lucky as you, that blade missed most of her vitals, and it missed the child. They're both safe. As for the General… well…"

"General Rotan did not make it off the battlefield," Snape finished, a tone of regret in his voice.

"What? How did that happen?" Harry felt an immense sense of relief that his wife and child were safe, so much so that he felt a little guilty for not feeling as bad as he probably should have that the General was gone.

"They made their stand long enough for us to pull back and into the building," Hiscophney explained, "and he and his men guarded the entrance until everyone was inside. They were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. We were able to hold the building, but by the time we had gotten the heavy cannons operating again, it was too late."

"I think we better start from the beginning," Moody rumbled.