Son of Magic

Chapter 13

November 30th, 1941

Hogwarts Hospital Wing

It was dark, slightly chilly, and he wasn't in his own bed.

Those were the first things Harry noticed when he started regaining consciousness.

The next moment he noticed that his head was pounding, his stomach was churching so badly that he thought he was going to be violently ill, and he was sore all over. Oh, and he also realised that he had no idea where he was or how he got there.

Harry hadn't felt this disoriented since that one month he'd spent completely sloshed in Majorca. It was before the last war broke out and sucked out all the fun from the world.

On that note, Harry reached out both his hands to check for a bedmate, and sighed in relief—and maybe a tiny bit of disappointment—when he only felt the cold and somewhat uncomfortable mattress beneath his tentative touch.

"That had been a rather eventful month for you, Harry. Many new notches on your bedpost," came the unexpected commentary from his left, startling Harry.

One would think that after all this time he'd have gotten used to the bastard popping in unexpectedly.

"Why do you never wear that bell I bought you?" Harry grumbled, remembering the gift he'd given him on their four-hundredth anniversary.

"You mean the one you had charmed to a noose?" Death asked him sweetly. "Doesn't really match with any of my robes," he shrugged.

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Anyway, what the buggering fuck are you doing in my head?" he groaned, throwing his right arm over his face to cover his closed eyes.

"I'm not in your head, moron. Your mental shields are really shot right now, and your thoughts are irksomely loud," Death complained.

"Why would my shields be sho-" Harry began to ask, but then everything came back to him—Hogsmeade, the battle, dementors, bombs, Grindelwald, Family Magic, and Alphard.

Well fuck.

Alphard had seen—he'd seen everything.

Triple fuck with a side of Merlin's hairy balls slapping against Morgana's arse!

"Colourful, Harry," Death complimented dryly, "very colourful, Merlin would be proud. But yes, he saw, and he's not spoken a word in three days. The boy is in a bit—"

"Three days? I've been out for three whole days?" Harry asked him, surprised and very confused. It usually didn't take that long for him to heal. Few hours tops.

Death narrowed his eyes behind his hood at the interruption but decided to ignore Harry's momentary lapse in manners on account of his poor health. "It's Tuesday today, so yes, three days. What did you expect? You activated the travel rune way too many times, not to mention doing so after using the shield rune. Besides that, your body was damaged, and you took a huge blow to your head. And don't forget that you were healed by wizards, it's not as if they're known for their finesse when it comes to the art of healing magic or any other area of magic, for that matter. I'm actually surprised you're already awake, Harry. Arcturus did a fine job patching you up."

"So, I guess I'm lucky to be alive then, huh?" Harry smirked, removing his arm from his face and finally opening his eyes.

Death sighed audibly and shook his head disappointedly. "You're really not the comedian you think you are, Harry," he told him earnestly.

"Ever think that you're the one without a sense of humour?" Harry snapped back before jutting out his lower lip into a hurt pout.

"Not once," came Death's curt answer. "Now, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, Alphard's in a bit of shock at the moment, but he's braving through the revelation," Death informed him casually.