Chapter- 12 : Scars

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After sleeping like the dead Harry awoke late, feeling anxious and dreading opening his eyes. The full body ache he was sporting was his first clue yesterday was not a bad dream. Lifting one eyelid a smidgeon showed him a clumsy ball of purple fabric stuck to the ancient stone ceiling.

Dammit.

Slowly, mindful of his injuries, he moved his arms and legs, taking stock of his body. Everything was sore, but there were no sudden twinges hinting at having torn open one of his wounds. Instead he was hopeful that Madam Pomfrey would remove the bandages today.

A sliver of exposed skin between all of the white cotton on his side brushed with something hard and cold. Harry jumped in surprise making all his bruises throb in protest.

An empty clear glass bottle lay innocently next to him as if he had drank himself unconscious the evening before.

Harry cautiously arched his neck and breathed in through his nose before wincing. Cooking sherry.

Well, it was official. Being kidnapped into another dimension was not just a bad dream.

In a flash Harry grabbed the bottle by the neck and in a sudden movement hurled it at the far wall with a roar. It crashed against the unyielding stone, exploding into splinters that clattered onto the thick rug like falling rain.

Breathing heavily he stared at the field of broken glass. He was not ready to deal with this, with any of it.

Instead, he focussed on more immediate needs. Washing, which was difficult without soaking all his bandages. Cleaning his clothes with a quick Scourgify because he didn't have a spare set. Finally, breakfast, which Tilly was all too happy to deliver to his rooms, after which the elf happily set to cleaning away the broken glass.

Bathing, clothing and feeding himself allowed him to focus on the little things, the manageable things and it made him feel better. So afterwards Harry set out to do something about being wrapped in cotton.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he called out in the empty wing. "I'm here for my demummification."

"Find someone with a Mastery in Necromancy," she replied in a bored tone from her office.

"Will I die if I unwrap these bandages?" he wondered out loud.

"Maybe," she said without a hint of humour as she came bustling in, "because I will tie you to a bed with the remains and might forget to feed you while I go on vacation." She smacked his hand away from a loose cotton thread. "Stop that. It's my job. Now behave."

Resignedly Harry sat on the bed she pointed at and watched her close the curtains around it. He let her fuss as she slowly and carefully unwrapped the cotton bindings on his arms and inspected the skin beneath.

Every inch of skin she exposed revealed a new scar. Deep pink lines divided his body like a patchwork quilt. Occasionally entire areas were an angry red, like misplaced puzzle pieces that fitted but did not belong.

After his arms were bared she did his torso, followed by his head and legs. With each new scar Harry's shoulders slumped a little further. After a while he looked away and stared unseeing in the distance while Pomfrey worked on his body.

His stomach rebelled and it took a great deal of concentration to keep his breakfast in. He felt disgusted and violated. While the nurse had undoubtedly worked on his naked body before he had never been conscious as she did so. Despite her professional attitude it was incredibly demeaning.

What made his head swim was how the scarring made him feel like damaged goods.

He'd never been overly proud of his body. Lack of food in his childhood had left him short and perpetually skinny and he hadn't considered himself much to look at anyway. His constant adventures had added an assortment of scars and blemishes which hadn't helped. Still, those wounds he had earned honestly, back when there were only a few. Right now he was covered. Small cuts, long cuts, there didn't seem to be any place on his body left where he could place his hand and not touch at least one scar. It was revolting.

"Nothing I can do about it, I'm afraid," she said bluntly. "They'll fade a little more, but they will stay with you the rest of your life. Having said that, as long as you're careful you don't need to be wrapped up again."

It was a little better when she allowed him to don his clothes again and he could no longer see most of it. At least then he could pretend he was still whole.

After a familiar spiel on resting and taking it easy – which he tuned out – Harry left the hospital wing. Like the day before he had an incredible urge to run, to get away. Today no-one could stop him, but he quickly realised there was nowhere he wanted to go.

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