(no subject)
Second part of that first weird thing I posted. I'll post it properly later.
Harry was in a good deal of pain by the time the Auror he'd commandeered set him in front of the door to the Department of Mysteries. Not from his back from where he'd hit the table, nor his head where he'd hit it against the table also, though they certainly hurt too. His ribs bothered him not at all, or else he was still pumped on adrenaline and he hadn't noticed quite yet that they hurt. It was the fire that was running through his veins, the way his body would give an involuntary jerk every now and then, the crippling nausea that had him doubled up and the way tiny needles seemed to be pricking his skin. The Auror, whom he now remembered was named Lancel Bryden, hadn't left his side and was now refusing to.
"Anyone with half a brain can see you're not fine, Sir," said Lancel, glaring at Harry as though Harry had just insulted his mother - which Harry was liable to do at any moment. The pain was worsening. But what was worse was the fear, that someone might find out what had happened and how utterly stupid he'd been. They'd find out soon enough, of course, but he'd rather talk to Hermione first.
There was one thing he did not anticipate and that was that it was the dead of night in London, unlike Burma where it had been morning. The Ministry was completely silent, though he could still hear footsteps somewhere far off. That was a bit weird, since they were on the second lowest floor and there wasn't anyone on it. There weren't any people around to make footsteps.
The door to the Department of Mysteries was locked. Harry growled and slammed his hand on the door, the wood cracking underneath his hand. He blinked. He hadn't thought he'd hit it that hard…
"Sir, please, you need to go to St. Mungo's," Lancel was pleading with him now but Harry wouldn't have any of it.
"Send a message to Hermione Granger, swiftest owl you can find. Tell her to come down here right now," Harry used his most authoritative voice, which he'd been practicing. It still wasn't very good, but it was enough to make Lancel sigh and shake his head before moving off. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. Lancel disappeared into the elevator and Harry let the fear and exhaustion overcome him, stumbling into the wall and sliding down to sit on the floor. He stared down at his hands, watching how hard they trembled and he groaned. His back gave a terrible throb and he winced, his body spasming unpleasantly.
It was near fifteen minutes before he heard the elevator returning, and there was more than one voice there. Lancel appeared, but then so did his Captain and a woman in dark blue robes, the same color the guards wore that manned the booths on the entrance level. He'd never seen her because he never bothered to use the entrance all that often, but she was thick and burly and Harry felt a jolt of apprehension. He cast Lancel a withering look.
Harry couldn't really blame him, he probably would have done the same, but he still felt a bit betrayed, not that he had any right.
"Potter," his Captain barked, looking as gruff and haggard as ever. It also looked like he'd just been woken up, which didn't bode well for the man sitting on the floor. Harry hung his head before creeping to his feet. It was difficult and he had to use the wall to steady himself, his balance swaying dangerously. He still wasn't sure if that was the potion or his head, but it was probably a bit of both. The dull throb in the back of his head was a fierce drum that wouldn't let up. "What in hell's name are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Burma."
"Sir, that's really not -" Lancel began to say, but the Captain threw him a terrible look, as though it were his fault Harry was here.
"This is as much your fault as his, Bryden. You brought him here, you incredible twit," barked Captain Stark. "Go back to your work, Auror."
Lancel didn't need to be told twice. After all, if Harry had cowed him into bringing him here, the Captain would be able to make the man do anything. He had the look of an overgrown bull dog, all jowls and a flat nose, but he was fierce as a bear and as grizzly as one. A retired Hit Wizard, he'd become Captain of their guard after he'd lost his leg. He had a shiny silver one to replace it, and you could hardly tell that he hadn't a left leg at all, save for a very slight limp. Even Harry didn't usually push his luck with Stark.
"I should have your badge right here," snapped the Captain once Lancel had gone, leaving only the two of them and the Ministry guard. She had stayed at the elevator though and was far enough away that if they spoke softly she probably wouldn't hear. Unfortunately, the Captain wasn't one for speaking softly. "Mucked up your assignment and I get a floo from Miller telling me you'd run off to Merlin knew where. I caught Bryden sending a message, and since he was supposed to be in Burma too, I figured you'd be here."
Harry felt badly about blaming Lancel, even if he hadn't actually said it aloud. Maybe the Auror wasn't that bad after all.
"And look at you! You look like shit. Went toe to toe with a troll, did you?" the Captain was glaring at him, but Harry felt that he wasn't really getting a proper scolding. The Captain should have had his badge; Harry had done the incredibly stupid thing and run off when something like that could get you fired or worse. More so since Sarang hadn't been caught. For all he knew Sarang was still in that hell hole and tormenting some poor Aurors. Harry turned red at the thought.
But he'd been so afraid… He was afraid. He was terrified even, he hadn't been thinking straight, and who could rightly blame him?
"A Half-Giant, actually," Harry corrected, but he didn't dare meet his Captain's eyes. Would he see it in them? Would he know that Harry couldn't even perform the simplest spell now? He swallowed thickly.
"What happened?" asked the Captain more calmly and quietly than Harry had expected. He raised his eyes and was surprised to see concern in old Stark's eyes. Harry knew he inspired a sort of courage in most people, but concern wasn't something he'd expected from someone he was sure despised him, at least a little. The old bear folded his arms over his chest, waiting.
"Mostly Half-Giant," Harry said slowly, unsure of how he was supposed to tell his boss that he'd been force-fed potion he was supposed to give a deadly wizard. He looked down at his feet and gritted his teeth. There was nothing for it. Captain Stark would find out one way or another and there wasn't a thing Harry could do about it. Even if he pretended to be normal, he couldn't apparate, couldn't conjure, hell, he probably couldn't even tie his shoelaces with magic anymore. "But um… the potion… They had me pinned and it was just that…"
"Spit it out, boy," the old bear growled.
"They made me take the potion. The Valadausa."
The Captain sucked in his breath. He grabbed Harry's jaw and made him look up, staring hard at him for a moment, as though he'd be able to see it in him. Maybe he could, Harry couldn't say. Would he look different without magic? Would his scar disappear? He felt different; less a man and more a scared eleven year old boy. Hopeless, that was what he felt. The Captain let go of his chin and gave a low sigh that sounded more like a growl. Harry was acutely aware of the way his hands shook.
"Show me," Stark said quietly. He spoke more softly than Harry had ever heard, and even he sounded afraid. Harry swallowed and pulled out his wand.
"Iste," Harry spoke flicking his wand. Nothing happened. "Ignis Chorea. Avis. Engorgeo. Expecto Patronum!"
Nothing. Not a single spark. The wand in his hand had never felt more like a dead piece of wood. Captain Stark swore. Harry was breathing raggedly, the attempt at trying to produce anything from his wand left him feeling disheartened and in pain. His hands were shaking worse than ever and he was forced to spread his stance so he would have a better grip on the swaying world around him.
"It was a trial potion, we weren't even sure it would work…" The Captain was almost muttering to himself and he started pacing back and forth. "No one can know about this. If people find out you can't perform magic… Gods, it wasn't supposed to… A counter potion… or perhaps it will wear off, the effects haven't been thoroughly studied."
"Wait, what?" Harry blinked at his Captain. "You gave me a potion you didn't know would work?"
"Look, the reason I offered the mission to you was because you get the job done, you always do. I figured even if it didn't work, you'd still get the bastard," Stark said, but he was looking apprehensive now, almost as shamed as Harry felt. "I know, I should have told you, but I didn't think -"
"Clearly!" Harry shouted, angry now. Never mind that the potion had worked (on the wrong person), but he should have at least been told that it might not have. What if he'd been sitting there, expecting an impotent dark wizard and instead got a face full of magic? What other side-effects would the potion have? If they hadn't even known it would work, what else didn't they know about it? With a snarl of anger, he smashed his fist into the wall beside him, knowing if he aimed at anything else it would be the Captain's face and he was already likely fired. He didn't want to get arrested too. But as his fist connected with the wall, a great resounding crack shuddered the stone and a fissure went up the wall and down and bits of stone fell away.
Harry stared in horror at his hand. It didn't bleed, it didn't even hurt… That should have definitely hurt, like his head and his back and his ribs… There wasn't even a scratch. Even the Captain was giving him the queerest look, but the rage inside him was bubbling up again at the Captain's face, so Harry stalked off, unsteady as he was on his feet, towards the guard at the elevator.
"Send me to the home of Hermione Granger," he growled at her, punching the button for the elevator. The button shattered. He knew the guard was staring at him but he didn't dare look, he couldn't. He could barely stand to see his reflection in the shiny panels of the elevator doors.
- - -
Hermione was in her foyer when Harry arrived with his escort, who disappeared again without a word. She was pulling on her coat, her hair was a frazzled disarray, and she wore nothing more than her pyjamas. When she saw him she gave a start. She rubbed her eyes for a moment before letting out a small whimper and throwing herself at him. She wrapped his arms around his neck before he had a chance to say a single thing. "I'm so glad you're all right."
The apparating hadn't done Harry any good. His vision was sparkling and every now and then his knee would give out and he'd have to quickly lock his other one so that he didn't fall. With Hermione leaning on him, he was like to tip over but he firmly held his ground despite the pressure on his ribs. "Hermione," he choked out, putting a weak and shaking hand against her shoulder. "I need you to -"
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," she said at once before he said anything, jumping away from him as though she'd been scalded. "What's the matter? Where does it hurt? Why didn't you let them take you to St. Mungo's?" She was flustered and her face was speckled and it looked as though she had been trying very hard not to cry. "I was - oh god, so worried, I'm so glad you're alive…"
Harry couldn't do it anymore. The black was fuzzing his vision, the fire was blinding and his knees refused to obey. He collapsed on the floor in a heap before Hermione could reach for him and she shrieked. He heard her calling for Ron, and he wanted to protest, say he was fine, but he wasn't, he wasn't.
Ron came thumping around the corner, trying to pull on a pair of pants and run at the same time but at the sight of his best friend sprawled on the floor, he abandoned the pants and rushed forward. He was cursing and he grabbed Harry's head roughly, but not unkindly. Ron had been a lanky youth and now a thick armed, broad chested adult, but Harry had never realized how strong his red-haired friend was until he hoisted Harry up and carried him into the living room.
He could barely understand what they were saying anymore, his ears were ringing horribly and he could no longer see, his vision so blurred it was worse than when he'd needed glasses. He caught fragments, words that seemed to slip passed the cotton shoved in his ears.
"Who sent you -"
"I need Essence of Dittany -"
"He might have -"
"I hate his job! I hate it!"
"Old bottle but it should work -"
Harry didn't realized his eyes had closed until a thick potion was being poured into his mouth. His eyes flew open at once and even as he forced himself to swallow, his body gave a huge heave and he spat the potion out onto the floor. It burned in his mouth and tasted of rot and something dead. He shuddered and tried to keep himself from vomiting.
"Harry, you need to swallow, it will help, I promise," said Hermione, pressing the potion bottle to his lips again but he shoved it away before she could try to make him drink more of the vile liquid. He needed it, he needed to heal, but his body, it was burning, burning…
"Valadausa." It was the only word he could push past his lips, the only one that maybe they would understand… How could he heal without magic? How could he heal if his body wouldn't let him? He groaned and shuddered again, curling into a tight ball. His ribs screamed in protest and his back ached horribly, but he wanted it all to vanish and disappear, he wanted to sink into that dark abyss that kept calling to him and never return, but he knew, he knew he couldn't. The fire wouldn't let him.
"Mate, I don't understand," Ron knelt at his head and put a cold cloth against his forehead and it felt wonderful. "Merlin, he's burning…"
"Harry, what do you mean? What about the potion I gave you? They said you wouldn't need to use it, they said -" Her voice faded away as Harry focused hard on the cool cloth. He didn't want to hear them talk anymore, he just wanted to sleep. It was a bad dream, a horrible dream, but he was hot. The cloth disappeared for a moment and Harry snapped back, and he could hear Hermione sobbing.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching out for her. He blearily opened his eyes and grabbed her shoulder. "I'm fine," he said, as though speaking it would make it true. "I'm fine, I'm fine…"
"What happened?" Hermione asked through her tears, grabbing his hand and squeezing it hard. "Please tell me."
"Half-Giant," Harry grunted out as a spasm jerked him away from her. He breathed heavily, wishing, praying the fire would disappear. "Death Eater. The potion… made me… Forced it…" His thoughts were scrambled, he was saying something, something important but the fire, oh Gods the fire. "I took it."
And that was it, he couldn't stay conscious any longer. He didn't want to, he didn't want to look at Hermione's face as it contorted into horror, didn't want to hear her explain to Ron what was going on, what had happened, why he couldn't even take a bloody healing potion, and he didn't want to live, not without magic. That was his life. That was who he was. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the man who'd conquered Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he could do magic without a bloody wand sometimes; without all that, who was he?
- - -
Harry woke up in a bath tub of ice water. Before Harry opened his eyes, he thought he'd been knocked out on another mission. There had been one where they'd been near a river and he'd been thrown in and for a moment he thought that was where he was, drifting along a cold river… But when he opened his eyes, there was Ron, filling a pitcher of water and ice and slowly pouring it over Harry's head, and Hermione was reading a book on the toilet. She was mumbling under her breath, every now and then rubbing her eyes.
He couldn't remember much, it was such a blur. He certainly couldn't remember getting into a tub of ice water, but he also couldn't remember arriving at Ron and Hermione's apartment. He did remember one thing and his heart plummeted and he shuddered under the cold water. Ron, realizing he was awake, set the pitcher aside.
"Harry?" he asked quietly, leaning over the side of the bathtub and peering into Harry's open eyes. When Harry blinked at him, Ron gave an enormous sigh and a relieved grin. He sat back on his haunches and nudged Hermione. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery when she dropped her book and came over, her bottom lip quivering. He wanted to say something, anything, but he found his mouth didn't want to work just right.
"It's ok," she said, as though understanding what he wanted to say without him saying it. "Your Captain paid us a visit. He explained what happened."
And then she burst into tears again. She slumped down onto the floor and put her head in her arms, sobbing so hard that she kept making short gasping noises. Ron grimaced and put his hand on her shoulder and Harry couldn't help but give a short, incredulous laugh. Ron looked as he always did when Hermione cried - awkward as all hell and not sure where to put his hands. It was horrible, he knew, to laugh at her and at Ron, but it was so typical and it was all he could do.
"It's my fault!" Hermione whimpered, ignoring Harry's burst of laughter, but Ron was staring at him as though he'd grown three heads and one was a watermelon. "I did this. I let them have that stupid potion when it wasn't ready, it never should've been made at all, magic isn't something - it isn't something -"' she sobbed again.
"Hermione," Harry managed to croak out between cracked lips. Despite the fact that he was in nothing but his shorts in a bath full of freezing water, he felt much better. His head no longer ached as terribly as it had, and he couldn't even feel his broken ribs at all. His back didn't even protest from the awkward angle he was lying in. He shifted and it didn't hurt, and that was wonderful enough. "It's not you're fault. I don't blame you."
"You won't say that when it's permanent! Or, or, it does something horrible! I'm horrible, I did this, why did I -"
"I'm alive," said Harry quietly. "Isn't that all that matters?"
It should have been, and he felt like the words could have been true, but even as he said them, he felt it was a lie. He was alive, but he was different. Part of him was gone and might never come back. Part of him was dead. He couldn't blame Hermione, he couldn't even blame the Captain for not telling him about that stupid potion, but he could blame Sarang, and he could blame himself. He'd gotten himself into this, no one else. He'd taken the stupid assignment when he knew better, he'd gotten caught when he'd known it would only make his job harder and more dangerous and yet he'd done it on purpose… And why? Why was he so stupid? He should have called for back up, should have left the potion where it was, he shouldn't have bothered with it at all…
He shook his head to clear the thoughts. Instead he turned to Ron. "Help me out of here, would you?"
Ron grabbed a towel that was hanging from the bar opposite the sink and handed it to him, grabbing his best friend's wrist and pulling him up It was difficult and not because he was in pain, but his limbs were stiff as wood and cold. He towelled himself off and put his hand on Hermione's shoulders. "We'll figure it out, I promise."
She looked up at him slowly, blinked away her tears and climbed to her feet too. She threw her arms around him again and held on so tightly he thought she might suffocate him. When she let go and he turned to leave, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked different, but he couldn't say why. There was a bruise along his neck but it was faded and old looking. How long had he been out?
"How long?" he asked, looking at Ron as he followed his best friend out into the living room. Hermione ran to fetch him some clean clothes, and he rubbed his head with the towel. Ron gave him a queer look and Harry realized Ron had been as worried as Hermione, which shouldn't have been surprising at all. Harry grimaced. He hated to think that he'd done this to them, that his own stupidity had caused this. Didn't it always? Weren't they always waiting, worrying about what was going to happen to him? Why did he do that to them? It was selfish and cruel.
"Only a few hours," Ron answered, turning into the kitchen of the open plan apartment and grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. He poured coffee into each of them and then tapped them with his wand, heating them so that they wouldn't be cold. Harry watched and tried not to look away. It would be microwaves for him now. He could do it. So many muggles did, and he'd been one of them once, hadn't he? It wouldn't be so hard to do it again…
"Did I take a restorative or regeneration potion?" he asked, confused. He rubbed at his neck but it didn't hurt. When he touched the back of his head, that didn't either. Even as he turned on the spot, he assessed his ribs and they didn't pain him. He couldn't have healed so quickly without magic. Maybe all hope wasn't lost.
"No," said Ron, handing the cup of coffee to his best mate. "You wouldn't take them. Just shot them across the room like pea soup."
Harry grimaced. He had to be sure though. He pressed the palms of his hands against his ribs, felt along them and pressed as hard as he could. Nothing, no pain, just the pressure of his fingertips. He would have done the same with his back, but he couldn't reach around so he bent and twisted and stretched and still, he felt no pain. It was definitely weird, he decided, but perhaps it was better to leave it alone.
Hermione returned with clothes, his clothes and not the ones he'd been wearing earlier. One of them had gone to his apartment to get them, but he didn't care, he was grateful. He pulled the white cotton t-shirt over his head and disappeared for a moment into the bathroom to change out of his wet shorts and pulled on a fresh pair of jeans. He stretched once more and stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment, running his hand along the stubble on his cheek, down to his neck where the yellowing bruises sat. They looked even more faded than just a moment ago, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just trick of the light.
When he returned to the kitchen, Hermione and Ron were sitting at the table. He grabbed his coffee mug off the counter without a thought, but when it shattered in his grip he jumped back. Glass and coffee hit the floor and he had to jump out of the way to avoid getting splashed. He was quick though and by the time the coffee settled in a pool on the floor, he was a good four feet away.
"What was that?" Ron asked, brown eyes wide. Hermione had very much the same look, but she quickly got up and flicked her wand at the spill. The coffee and glass disappeared. Harry stared at the spot for a long moment, then at his hand. There was a piece of glass stuck in his palm, but when he pulled it out it didn't bleed or hurt. In fact, a moment after he ran his thumb over the spot and he couldn't tell where the glass had bit into his hand at all.
"I don't know," Harry said quietly and it was a task and a half to keep his voice steady. First the fire, the pain, and now this? What the hell was going on with him? He looked at Hermione, watched as she flitted about the kitchen before returning to her seat, but she hung her head and looked guilty. "Hermione, tell me about the potion."
Hermione looked up at him warily and grimaced. She was tired, he could tell, but he needed to know. She was the one who'd worked on the potion, she was the one who'd given it to him. He needed to know everything about it, if it could be reversed or… or if it was meant to be permanent. And how did it work? How could you strip someone of something that was so much a part of them that without it, he felt only half a man?
"I started working on it with some of my… ahem, associates about a year ago. We'd gone through all the normal testing procedures, but it was difficult. The magic in a witch or wizard is a bit different than the magic in any animal, but we tried," she sighed, leaning her head in her hand. "After the preliminaries were done, we needed to test it on a person. We were certain it wouldn't harm them, but we hadn't finished any sort of reversal… It was difficult enough coming up with Valadausa in the first place. And no witch or wizard wants to be stripped of their magic.
"So they decided to test it on a criminal. I thought they were just going to use it on someone in Azkaban, that would have been simple, but it wasn't really my place to ask, to know who deserved it or not. I didn't think they'd use it out in the field, on someone you were trying to capture. I suppose it makes sense, but still…" she rubbed her temples and in that moment she looked so much older than she was. Ron was dutifully listening to her, as was Harry, but even he looked pained, confused and maybe even a bit frightened. He stared at his hands, at where the glass should have cut him.
"How does it work?" he asked quietly, perhaps a bit afraid of the answer. When she said there wasn't a finished reversal to the potion, his heart had sank considerably. But they were already working on it and he supposed that was as good of news as he could ask for.
"That's the tricky part," said Hermione slowly, biting her lip. "It basically strips your DNA and reformats it so it's… well, it's muggle. I mean, the genetic potential for magic is still there, it's there in everyone, it just sort of removes the doorway for it. That's why the reversal is so tricky, because as much as it can give you back your magic, it could probably give anyone magic."
"It altered my DNA?" Harry stared at her incredulously. "How do you know it didn't… well, it didn't screw up?"
"I - I don't. I'll have to take a sample of your blood, examine it. A restorative might go more quickly if we have you to work with…"
Harry was in a good deal of pain by the time the Auror he'd commandeered set him in front of the door to the Department of Mysteries. Not from his back from where he'd hit the table, nor his head where he'd hit it against the table also, though they certainly hurt too. His ribs bothered him not at all, or else he was still pumped on adrenaline and he hadn't noticed quite yet that they hurt. It was the fire that was running through his veins, the way his body would give an involuntary jerk every now and then, the crippling nausea that had him doubled up and the way tiny needles seemed to be pricking his skin. The Auror, whom he now remembered was named Lancel Bryden, hadn't left his side and was now refusing to.
"Anyone with half a brain can see you're not fine, Sir," said Lancel, glaring at Harry as though Harry had just insulted his mother - which Harry was liable to do at any moment. The pain was worsening. But what was worse was the fear, that someone might find out what had happened and how utterly stupid he'd been. They'd find out soon enough, of course, but he'd rather talk to Hermione first.
There was one thing he did not anticipate and that was that it was the dead of night in London, unlike Burma where it had been morning. The Ministry was completely silent, though he could still hear footsteps somewhere far off. That was a bit weird, since they were on the second lowest floor and there wasn't anyone on it. There weren't any people around to make footsteps.
The door to the Department of Mysteries was locked. Harry growled and slammed his hand on the door, the wood cracking underneath his hand. He blinked. He hadn't thought he'd hit it that hard…
"Sir, please, you need to go to St. Mungo's," Lancel was pleading with him now but Harry wouldn't have any of it.
"Send a message to Hermione Granger, swiftest owl you can find. Tell her to come down here right now," Harry used his most authoritative voice, which he'd been practicing. It still wasn't very good, but it was enough to make Lancel sigh and shake his head before moving off. Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. Lancel disappeared into the elevator and Harry let the fear and exhaustion overcome him, stumbling into the wall and sliding down to sit on the floor. He stared down at his hands, watching how hard they trembled and he groaned. His back gave a terrible throb and he winced, his body spasming unpleasantly.
It was near fifteen minutes before he heard the elevator returning, and there was more than one voice there. Lancel appeared, but then so did his Captain and a woman in dark blue robes, the same color the guards wore that manned the booths on the entrance level. He'd never seen her because he never bothered to use the entrance all that often, but she was thick and burly and Harry felt a jolt of apprehension. He cast Lancel a withering look.
Harry couldn't really blame him, he probably would have done the same, but he still felt a bit betrayed, not that he had any right.
"Potter," his Captain barked, looking as gruff and haggard as ever. It also looked like he'd just been woken up, which didn't bode well for the man sitting on the floor. Harry hung his head before creeping to his feet. It was difficult and he had to use the wall to steady himself, his balance swaying dangerously. He still wasn't sure if that was the potion or his head, but it was probably a bit of both. The dull throb in the back of his head was a fierce drum that wouldn't let up. "What in hell's name are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Burma."
"Sir, that's really not -" Lancel began to say, but the Captain threw him a terrible look, as though it were his fault Harry was here.
"This is as much your fault as his, Bryden. You brought him here, you incredible twit," barked Captain Stark. "Go back to your work, Auror."
Lancel didn't need to be told twice. After all, if Harry had cowed him into bringing him here, the Captain would be able to make the man do anything. He had the look of an overgrown bull dog, all jowls and a flat nose, but he was fierce as a bear and as grizzly as one. A retired Hit Wizard, he'd become Captain of their guard after he'd lost his leg. He had a shiny silver one to replace it, and you could hardly tell that he hadn't a left leg at all, save for a very slight limp. Even Harry didn't usually push his luck with Stark.
"I should have your badge right here," snapped the Captain once Lancel had gone, leaving only the two of them and the Ministry guard. She had stayed at the elevator though and was far enough away that if they spoke softly she probably wouldn't hear. Unfortunately, the Captain wasn't one for speaking softly. "Mucked up your assignment and I get a floo from Miller telling me you'd run off to Merlin knew where. I caught Bryden sending a message, and since he was supposed to be in Burma too, I figured you'd be here."
Harry felt badly about blaming Lancel, even if he hadn't actually said it aloud. Maybe the Auror wasn't that bad after all.
"And look at you! You look like shit. Went toe to toe with a troll, did you?" the Captain was glaring at him, but Harry felt that he wasn't really getting a proper scolding. The Captain should have had his badge; Harry had done the incredibly stupid thing and run off when something like that could get you fired or worse. More so since Sarang hadn't been caught. For all he knew Sarang was still in that hell hole and tormenting some poor Aurors. Harry turned red at the thought.
But he'd been so afraid… He was afraid. He was terrified even, he hadn't been thinking straight, and who could rightly blame him?
"A Half-Giant, actually," Harry corrected, but he didn't dare meet his Captain's eyes. Would he see it in them? Would he know that Harry couldn't even perform the simplest spell now? He swallowed thickly.
"What happened?" asked the Captain more calmly and quietly than Harry had expected. He raised his eyes and was surprised to see concern in old Stark's eyes. Harry knew he inspired a sort of courage in most people, but concern wasn't something he'd expected from someone he was sure despised him, at least a little. The old bear folded his arms over his chest, waiting.
"Mostly Half-Giant," Harry said slowly, unsure of how he was supposed to tell his boss that he'd been force-fed potion he was supposed to give a deadly wizard. He looked down at his feet and gritted his teeth. There was nothing for it. Captain Stark would find out one way or another and there wasn't a thing Harry could do about it. Even if he pretended to be normal, he couldn't apparate, couldn't conjure, hell, he probably couldn't even tie his shoelaces with magic anymore. "But um… the potion… They had me pinned and it was just that…"
"Spit it out, boy," the old bear growled.
"They made me take the potion. The Valadausa."
The Captain sucked in his breath. He grabbed Harry's jaw and made him look up, staring hard at him for a moment, as though he'd be able to see it in him. Maybe he could, Harry couldn't say. Would he look different without magic? Would his scar disappear? He felt different; less a man and more a scared eleven year old boy. Hopeless, that was what he felt. The Captain let go of his chin and gave a low sigh that sounded more like a growl. Harry was acutely aware of the way his hands shook.
"Show me," Stark said quietly. He spoke more softly than Harry had ever heard, and even he sounded afraid. Harry swallowed and pulled out his wand.
"Iste," Harry spoke flicking his wand. Nothing happened. "Ignis Chorea. Avis. Engorgeo. Expecto Patronum!"
Nothing. Not a single spark. The wand in his hand had never felt more like a dead piece of wood. Captain Stark swore. Harry was breathing raggedly, the attempt at trying to produce anything from his wand left him feeling disheartened and in pain. His hands were shaking worse than ever and he was forced to spread his stance so he would have a better grip on the swaying world around him.
"It was a trial potion, we weren't even sure it would work…" The Captain was almost muttering to himself and he started pacing back and forth. "No one can know about this. If people find out you can't perform magic… Gods, it wasn't supposed to… A counter potion… or perhaps it will wear off, the effects haven't been thoroughly studied."
"Wait, what?" Harry blinked at his Captain. "You gave me a potion you didn't know would work?"
"Look, the reason I offered the mission to you was because you get the job done, you always do. I figured even if it didn't work, you'd still get the bastard," Stark said, but he was looking apprehensive now, almost as shamed as Harry felt. "I know, I should have told you, but I didn't think -"
"Clearly!" Harry shouted, angry now. Never mind that the potion had worked (on the wrong person), but he should have at least been told that it might not have. What if he'd been sitting there, expecting an impotent dark wizard and instead got a face full of magic? What other side-effects would the potion have? If they hadn't even known it would work, what else didn't they know about it? With a snarl of anger, he smashed his fist into the wall beside him, knowing if he aimed at anything else it would be the Captain's face and he was already likely fired. He didn't want to get arrested too. But as his fist connected with the wall, a great resounding crack shuddered the stone and a fissure went up the wall and down and bits of stone fell away.
Harry stared in horror at his hand. It didn't bleed, it didn't even hurt… That should have definitely hurt, like his head and his back and his ribs… There wasn't even a scratch. Even the Captain was giving him the queerest look, but the rage inside him was bubbling up again at the Captain's face, so Harry stalked off, unsteady as he was on his feet, towards the guard at the elevator.
"Send me to the home of Hermione Granger," he growled at her, punching the button for the elevator. The button shattered. He knew the guard was staring at him but he didn't dare look, he couldn't. He could barely stand to see his reflection in the shiny panels of the elevator doors.
- - -
Hermione was in her foyer when Harry arrived with his escort, who disappeared again without a word. She was pulling on her coat, her hair was a frazzled disarray, and she wore nothing more than her pyjamas. When she saw him she gave a start. She rubbed her eyes for a moment before letting out a small whimper and throwing herself at him. She wrapped his arms around his neck before he had a chance to say a single thing. "I'm so glad you're all right."
The apparating hadn't done Harry any good. His vision was sparkling and every now and then his knee would give out and he'd have to quickly lock his other one so that he didn't fall. With Hermione leaning on him, he was like to tip over but he firmly held his ground despite the pressure on his ribs. "Hermione," he choked out, putting a weak and shaking hand against her shoulder. "I need you to -"
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," she said at once before he said anything, jumping away from him as though she'd been scalded. "What's the matter? Where does it hurt? Why didn't you let them take you to St. Mungo's?" She was flustered and her face was speckled and it looked as though she had been trying very hard not to cry. "I was - oh god, so worried, I'm so glad you're alive…"
Harry couldn't do it anymore. The black was fuzzing his vision, the fire was blinding and his knees refused to obey. He collapsed on the floor in a heap before Hermione could reach for him and she shrieked. He heard her calling for Ron, and he wanted to protest, say he was fine, but he wasn't, he wasn't.
Ron came thumping around the corner, trying to pull on a pair of pants and run at the same time but at the sight of his best friend sprawled on the floor, he abandoned the pants and rushed forward. He was cursing and he grabbed Harry's head roughly, but not unkindly. Ron had been a lanky youth and now a thick armed, broad chested adult, but Harry had never realized how strong his red-haired friend was until he hoisted Harry up and carried him into the living room.
He could barely understand what they were saying anymore, his ears were ringing horribly and he could no longer see, his vision so blurred it was worse than when he'd needed glasses. He caught fragments, words that seemed to slip passed the cotton shoved in his ears.
"Who sent you -"
"I need Essence of Dittany -"
"He might have -"
"I hate his job! I hate it!"
"Old bottle but it should work -"
Harry didn't realized his eyes had closed until a thick potion was being poured into his mouth. His eyes flew open at once and even as he forced himself to swallow, his body gave a huge heave and he spat the potion out onto the floor. It burned in his mouth and tasted of rot and something dead. He shuddered and tried to keep himself from vomiting.
"Harry, you need to swallow, it will help, I promise," said Hermione, pressing the potion bottle to his lips again but he shoved it away before she could try to make him drink more of the vile liquid. He needed it, he needed to heal, but his body, it was burning, burning…
"Valadausa." It was the only word he could push past his lips, the only one that maybe they would understand… How could he heal without magic? How could he heal if his body wouldn't let him? He groaned and shuddered again, curling into a tight ball. His ribs screamed in protest and his back ached horribly, but he wanted it all to vanish and disappear, he wanted to sink into that dark abyss that kept calling to him and never return, but he knew, he knew he couldn't. The fire wouldn't let him.
"Mate, I don't understand," Ron knelt at his head and put a cold cloth against his forehead and it felt wonderful. "Merlin, he's burning…"
"Harry, what do you mean? What about the potion I gave you? They said you wouldn't need to use it, they said -" Her voice faded away as Harry focused hard on the cool cloth. He didn't want to hear them talk anymore, he just wanted to sleep. It was a bad dream, a horrible dream, but he was hot. The cloth disappeared for a moment and Harry snapped back, and he could hear Hermione sobbing.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching out for her. He blearily opened his eyes and grabbed her shoulder. "I'm fine," he said, as though speaking it would make it true. "I'm fine, I'm fine…"
"What happened?" Hermione asked through her tears, grabbing his hand and squeezing it hard. "Please tell me."
"Half-Giant," Harry grunted out as a spasm jerked him away from her. He breathed heavily, wishing, praying the fire would disappear. "Death Eater. The potion… made me… Forced it…" His thoughts were scrambled, he was saying something, something important but the fire, oh Gods the fire. "I took it."
And that was it, he couldn't stay conscious any longer. He didn't want to, he didn't want to look at Hermione's face as it contorted into horror, didn't want to hear her explain to Ron what was going on, what had happened, why he couldn't even take a bloody healing potion, and he didn't want to live, not without magic. That was his life. That was who he was. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the man who'd conquered Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he could do magic without a bloody wand sometimes; without all that, who was he?
- - -
Harry woke up in a bath tub of ice water. Before Harry opened his eyes, he thought he'd been knocked out on another mission. There had been one where they'd been near a river and he'd been thrown in and for a moment he thought that was where he was, drifting along a cold river… But when he opened his eyes, there was Ron, filling a pitcher of water and ice and slowly pouring it over Harry's head, and Hermione was reading a book on the toilet. She was mumbling under her breath, every now and then rubbing her eyes.
He couldn't remember much, it was such a blur. He certainly couldn't remember getting into a tub of ice water, but he also couldn't remember arriving at Ron and Hermione's apartment. He did remember one thing and his heart plummeted and he shuddered under the cold water. Ron, realizing he was awake, set the pitcher aside.
"Harry?" he asked quietly, leaning over the side of the bathtub and peering into Harry's open eyes. When Harry blinked at him, Ron gave an enormous sigh and a relieved grin. He sat back on his haunches and nudged Hermione. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery when she dropped her book and came over, her bottom lip quivering. He wanted to say something, anything, but he found his mouth didn't want to work just right.
"It's ok," she said, as though understanding what he wanted to say without him saying it. "Your Captain paid us a visit. He explained what happened."
And then she burst into tears again. She slumped down onto the floor and put her head in her arms, sobbing so hard that she kept making short gasping noises. Ron grimaced and put his hand on her shoulder and Harry couldn't help but give a short, incredulous laugh. Ron looked as he always did when Hermione cried - awkward as all hell and not sure where to put his hands. It was horrible, he knew, to laugh at her and at Ron, but it was so typical and it was all he could do.
"It's my fault!" Hermione whimpered, ignoring Harry's burst of laughter, but Ron was staring at him as though he'd grown three heads and one was a watermelon. "I did this. I let them have that stupid potion when it wasn't ready, it never should've been made at all, magic isn't something - it isn't something -"' she sobbed again.
"Hermione," Harry managed to croak out between cracked lips. Despite the fact that he was in nothing but his shorts in a bath full of freezing water, he felt much better. His head no longer ached as terribly as it had, and he couldn't even feel his broken ribs at all. His back didn't even protest from the awkward angle he was lying in. He shifted and it didn't hurt, and that was wonderful enough. "It's not you're fault. I don't blame you."
"You won't say that when it's permanent! Or, or, it does something horrible! I'm horrible, I did this, why did I -"
"I'm alive," said Harry quietly. "Isn't that all that matters?"
It should have been, and he felt like the words could have been true, but even as he said them, he felt it was a lie. He was alive, but he was different. Part of him was gone and might never come back. Part of him was dead. He couldn't blame Hermione, he couldn't even blame the Captain for not telling him about that stupid potion, but he could blame Sarang, and he could blame himself. He'd gotten himself into this, no one else. He'd taken the stupid assignment when he knew better, he'd gotten caught when he'd known it would only make his job harder and more dangerous and yet he'd done it on purpose… And why? Why was he so stupid? He should have called for back up, should have left the potion where it was, he shouldn't have bothered with it at all…
He shook his head to clear the thoughts. Instead he turned to Ron. "Help me out of here, would you?"
Ron grabbed a towel that was hanging from the bar opposite the sink and handed it to him, grabbing his best friend's wrist and pulling him up It was difficult and not because he was in pain, but his limbs were stiff as wood and cold. He towelled himself off and put his hand on Hermione's shoulders. "We'll figure it out, I promise."
She looked up at him slowly, blinked away her tears and climbed to her feet too. She threw her arms around him again and held on so tightly he thought she might suffocate him. When she let go and he turned to leave, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked different, but he couldn't say why. There was a bruise along his neck but it was faded and old looking. How long had he been out?
"How long?" he asked, looking at Ron as he followed his best friend out into the living room. Hermione ran to fetch him some clean clothes, and he rubbed his head with the towel. Ron gave him a queer look and Harry realized Ron had been as worried as Hermione, which shouldn't have been surprising at all. Harry grimaced. He hated to think that he'd done this to them, that his own stupidity had caused this. Didn't it always? Weren't they always waiting, worrying about what was going to happen to him? Why did he do that to them? It was selfish and cruel.
"Only a few hours," Ron answered, turning into the kitchen of the open plan apartment and grabbing a couple of mugs from the cupboard. He poured coffee into each of them and then tapped them with his wand, heating them so that they wouldn't be cold. Harry watched and tried not to look away. It would be microwaves for him now. He could do it. So many muggles did, and he'd been one of them once, hadn't he? It wouldn't be so hard to do it again…
"Did I take a restorative or regeneration potion?" he asked, confused. He rubbed at his neck but it didn't hurt. When he touched the back of his head, that didn't either. Even as he turned on the spot, he assessed his ribs and they didn't pain him. He couldn't have healed so quickly without magic. Maybe all hope wasn't lost.
"No," said Ron, handing the cup of coffee to his best mate. "You wouldn't take them. Just shot them across the room like pea soup."
Harry grimaced. He had to be sure though. He pressed the palms of his hands against his ribs, felt along them and pressed as hard as he could. Nothing, no pain, just the pressure of his fingertips. He would have done the same with his back, but he couldn't reach around so he bent and twisted and stretched and still, he felt no pain. It was definitely weird, he decided, but perhaps it was better to leave it alone.
Hermione returned with clothes, his clothes and not the ones he'd been wearing earlier. One of them had gone to his apartment to get them, but he didn't care, he was grateful. He pulled the white cotton t-shirt over his head and disappeared for a moment into the bathroom to change out of his wet shorts and pulled on a fresh pair of jeans. He stretched once more and stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment, running his hand along the stubble on his cheek, down to his neck where the yellowing bruises sat. They looked even more faded than just a moment ago, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just trick of the light.
When he returned to the kitchen, Hermione and Ron were sitting at the table. He grabbed his coffee mug off the counter without a thought, but when it shattered in his grip he jumped back. Glass and coffee hit the floor and he had to jump out of the way to avoid getting splashed. He was quick though and by the time the coffee settled in a pool on the floor, he was a good four feet away.
"What was that?" Ron asked, brown eyes wide. Hermione had very much the same look, but she quickly got up and flicked her wand at the spill. The coffee and glass disappeared. Harry stared at the spot for a long moment, then at his hand. There was a piece of glass stuck in his palm, but when he pulled it out it didn't bleed or hurt. In fact, a moment after he ran his thumb over the spot and he couldn't tell where the glass had bit into his hand at all.
"I don't know," Harry said quietly and it was a task and a half to keep his voice steady. First the fire, the pain, and now this? What the hell was going on with him? He looked at Hermione, watched as she flitted about the kitchen before returning to her seat, but she hung her head and looked guilty. "Hermione, tell me about the potion."
Hermione looked up at him warily and grimaced. She was tired, he could tell, but he needed to know. She was the one who'd worked on the potion, she was the one who'd given it to him. He needed to know everything about it, if it could be reversed or… or if it was meant to be permanent. And how did it work? How could you strip someone of something that was so much a part of them that without it, he felt only half a man?
"I started working on it with some of my… ahem, associates about a year ago. We'd gone through all the normal testing procedures, but it was difficult. The magic in a witch or wizard is a bit different than the magic in any animal, but we tried," she sighed, leaning her head in her hand. "After the preliminaries were done, we needed to test it on a person. We were certain it wouldn't harm them, but we hadn't finished any sort of reversal… It was difficult enough coming up with Valadausa in the first place. And no witch or wizard wants to be stripped of their magic.
"So they decided to test it on a criminal. I thought they were just going to use it on someone in Azkaban, that would have been simple, but it wasn't really my place to ask, to know who deserved it or not. I didn't think they'd use it out in the field, on someone you were trying to capture. I suppose it makes sense, but still…" she rubbed her temples and in that moment she looked so much older than she was. Ron was dutifully listening to her, as was Harry, but even he looked pained, confused and maybe even a bit frightened. He stared at his hands, at where the glass should have cut him.
"How does it work?" he asked quietly, perhaps a bit afraid of the answer. When she said there wasn't a finished reversal to the potion, his heart had sank considerably. But they were already working on it and he supposed that was as good of news as he could ask for.
"That's the tricky part," said Hermione slowly, biting her lip. "It basically strips your DNA and reformats it so it's… well, it's muggle. I mean, the genetic potential for magic is still there, it's there in everyone, it just sort of removes the doorway for it. That's why the reversal is so tricky, because as much as it can give you back your magic, it could probably give anyone magic."
"It altered my DNA?" Harry stared at her incredulously. "How do you know it didn't… well, it didn't screw up?"
"I - I don't. I'll have to take a sample of your blood, examine it. A restorative might go more quickly if we have you to work with…"