Chapter Three: Muggle Trouble
Harry groggily opened his eyes and found himself in the back of the van, which was currently in motion. His head was pounding mercilessly, and the pain in his side was almost as severe. He hoped that his ribs were only bruised and not broken. He could feel his hands and feet tied together, and a filthy bandanna was tied around his mouth, making him want to gag. A man in front of him turned around and saw him awake, and pointed a gun at his head.
“If you make one little sound, you’re dead.” he growled.
Harry closed his eyes in desperation, as he felt a wave of nausea course through him. Everyone will be looking for me, he thought miserably, including Voldemort, but no one will know where to look.
He didn’t know how long they had driven before he woke up, and he couldn’t tell how long they were driving afterward, but it was night and he could tell they were in London. If they would just dump him in an alley like they were talking about he could probably get himself free and find his way to the Leaky Cauldron. He was beginning to be hopeful of this when the van quietly pulled into a dark alley and the door opened. He was grabbed roughly and dragged out of the van, almost passing out when one of the thugs grabbed the hair around the cut in his scalp. He looked at Harry with a sneering grin, and then Harry saw the gun in his hand. He looked up, panicked, as the gun was pointed at his midsection and tried to scream as the gun let out a muffled pop. He felt a searing pain in his gut, and could dimly feel himself falling to the ground. His head hit the ground with a loud crack, and the world went black.
***********
Harry clawed his way slowly back to consciousness, and felt deep aching pain all over his body, but concentrated especially in his head and abdomen. He had no idea how long he had been out, and only had vague memories of strange dreams, flashes of images moving too fast to really understand, and all accompanied by the haunting tones of the song of a phoenix. He opened his eyes but everything remained pitch black, so he decided that it must be night where ever he was. He could hear the beeping and whirring of machines, and decided that it sounded like a hospital from a Muggle television show, and that seemed to be a safe assumption of where he was. He groaned as a slight shift brought a fresh surge of pain.
“So, you’re finally awake. You gave us all a good scare.”
The friendly voice startled Harry, coming as it did from the darkened room.
“How… how long have I been out? Are you a doctor?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse from not being used.
“We’ve had you here for about a week, and yes I’m Doctor Hedges. You came in with severe head trauma and a bullet wound to the abdomen that did a fair bit of damage, not to mention some bruised ribs and other minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises. We removed the bullet and had to repair some internal damage, but everything seems to be healing quickly. We had to report the bullet wound to the police and they want to know what happened. You weren’t carrying any identification so we haven’t been able to notify any family either. Could we start with your name?”
Harry blinked several times, and tried to think. If he said his name, it would just as likely be Voldemort himself that would show up. If he didn’t give his name, the Order wouldn’t know where to find him either.
“Can we turn on the lights please?” Harry asked, trying to buy more time to think. There was a long pause, and then Harry could hear the doctor moving around in front of him.
“What are you doing?” Harry inquired nervously, a deep unease settling into the pit of his stomach.
“Son, the lights are on…” the doctor began, and then hesitated. “This could be a side affect of the head trauma, and we’re going to need to run some tests, but your eyes aren’t responding to motion or light. Can you see anything?”
Harry couldn’t. He was blind.
The next several hours flew by in a blur for Harry, as several tests were run that all confirmed the initial opinion that Harry was suffering complete loss of vision caused by unknown damage from the trauma to his head. The doctors couldn’t confirm whether it was permanent or not, but assured Harry that there were cases of the situation being temporary. Harry had decided on telling the doctors that he didn’t know who he was or how he got there, guessing that it would be at least partially plausible because of the blows to his head, and that it would save him from having to answer the questions of the police, while putting his dilemma about anyone finding him on hold.
Finally he sat alone, at least as far as he could tell, silently trying to come to grips with the reality of his situation. He felt despair begin to overwhelm him, but pushed it down, trying to convince himself that Madame Pomfrey would be able to fix everything with a wave of her wand; she had always been able to fix all of his many and varied injuries. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to come up with a plan for making it to her. He didn’t want to attempt to Apparate when he was so weak, and he knew that he couldn’t Apparate into Grimmauld Place or Hogwarts, and he would never find his way to them from the outside because he couldn’t see. Once outside the hospital he would be a target, and completely helpless without either sight or a wand.
Finally, having come to no decent conclusion, Harry began to drift into sleep. Once again the flashing images returned, along with the trilling cry of a phoenix. The pictures came in a terrifyingly fast succession, and Harry felt that had he been fully conscious he would have vomited. He could almost make out some of the images, as wand movements, and pages from books, but some were more than just images. Some seemed more like thoughts and ideas. What little consciousness Harry had maintained wavered, and he slept while the images continued their insane dance in his mind.
***
When Harry woke again his eyes opened to the same blackness that had become his prison. He heard movement, and started, before he heard the calming voice of Dr. Hedges again.
“How are you feeling today? Is there any change in your vision, or have you been able to remember anything?” the doctor asked kindly.
“I still can’t see anything, and I don’t know any more than I did yesterday,” Harry stated truthfully.
“Well, we released your description to the news, so we should hopefully hear from someone soon. You have a very distinctive scar on your forehead, so if anyone does know who you are they will know it’s you. We are somewhat concerned about the lack of a missing person’s report out for you, but we are certain someone is looking for you somewhere, so don’t worry. We’ll get you back where you belong.”
Harry smiled and tried to appear reassured, but the news terrified him. He needed to get away from where he was, because if a Death Eater came for him first, it would all be over. He assured the doctor that he would eat the food a nurse would bring him and then get some more sleep, but his foreboding and his frustration over not being able to feed himself eventually led him to claim he wasn’t hungry. He demanded to be left alone so that he could sleep.
After the door to his room closed, Harry listened carefully for several minutes trying to make certain no one else was in his room. Satisfied, Harry settled back and tried to think. As his thoughts drifted to his strange dreams, he thought of the phoenix song, and wished that Fawkes would come as he had in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry remembered that Fawkes had been able to allow Dumbledore to appear and disappear even in Hogwarts.
Without thinking, Harry raised his hand and said, “Fawkes!” and felt a rushing sound and what sounded like a faint echo of the call of a phoenix, which was followed immediately by the same call, only louder and appearing to come from his room.
Harry was stunned as he heard and felt something land on the edge of his bed and reached out. Sure enough a bird was there, and as far as Harry could tell it was Fawkes, as he stroked the bird’s head. He also suddenly felt the presence of the phoenix within his mind, and knew that the bird wished him to grab onto his tail feathers. Harry did so, and felt the phoenix leap into the air before there was a loud rushing sound and a flash of intense but not painful heat. Suddenly, the phoenix feathers were gone from his hand, and he was no longer in a bed, but lying on a cold hard floor, and the sounds of the hospital room were replaced by a deep silence that was soon broken by a piercing shriek.