❝I'd gladly take chocolate brown - deep mesmerizing ones at that - to be my favorite colour even if I wish to hate her.❞
in which,
fearing the predictions of a seer,
harry potter seeks out the
protection of various
lucky charms to
improve his life
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The world was spinning, his life flashing in front of his eyes. He felt rather light, as if he was falling through an endless void and into a deep abyss. Everything, from his early memories of Privet Drive to Hagrid rescuing him from the hell hole, passed in a blink in his mind. Then came his Hogwarts years, meeting Ron and Hermione, forming alliances, fighting dark wizards, discussing future in vain with Sirius, encouraging Neville, sympathizing with Luna, the long walks from Quidditch pitch after practice with Ginny, being named Teddy's godfather, everything passed as clear as crystal that Harry briefly wondered if he was seeing the things that he ought to when he were to die.
"On Merlin's robe, I'm going to curse Robards!"
"Geez, chill Ron. The Healer did tell he would make it and she seems like a woman of her job."
"Blimey, it's all my fault! I should have just ushered him to the Ministry instead of discussing stupid lucky charms." Lucky charms.
Harry struggled hard to fight the abyss he had fallen into. Something was pulling him back no matter how hard he tried to wake up. "Hey, look! He's responsive! Healer Thornsbury!"
"I'll get her!"
"Harry?"
"Mr Potter?" Something fierce was forcibly thrown into his mouth, and his eyes shot open.
"W–W-" he gasped, hoping he did not look like a gaping fish out of its natural habitat. Whatever imitation of a smelling salt it was, it was way too spicy to be fanciable. His throat burned, as if he had just drunk a jar of Firewhiskey.
He felt everything cool down when the sweet tasteless water hit his lips, freezing the fire that had erupted within him as it descended down his food pipe. The relief was only ephemeral, for a wave of pain washed over him the next second. His head was throbbing as if he had had a very bad concussion. He could seldom feel his arms and legs, his vision was still a blurry mess. To his further vexation, his overgrown hair fell to his eyes.
"You're awake, Harry!"
The boy could barely make out his best friend, Hermione, through his poor vision. "Erm-" he croaked out, before deciding it best to not speak and make a fool out of himself more than he already looked.
"Shush, mate!" This was Ron.
Next came Neville's concerned voice. "Healer Thornsbury, how is his heart rate now?"
"Fairly mediocre, if it makes sense." This was a totally different voice, one that he did not recognize. "He needs to be put on blood replenishing potions as soon as his wounds are patched up and sealed if we don't wish to risk losing the fluid again." Harry tried to crane his neck to see what he was clothed in, only ending up with a sharp cry of pain. "Ah, I'm afraid you need to rest a lot longer, Mr Potter. Fret not. I am Healer Mimosa Thornsbury and you're under the safety of St Mungos. I assure you that your boss can never get in here." There was a hint of humor in the lady's voice that Harry decided to ignore.
