A Stolen Past

"The Best Freak I Can Be"

Harry Potter awoke feeling more rested than he had in a long time. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming - after all, he was definitely lying in a bed, and he knew very well that he had no bed at St. Brutus's - but when he tried to roll over, he discovered that he couldn't move. As his entire body slowly began throbbing with pain, he tried to open his eyes. To his alarm, he found he was unable to do so; it felt like they were both swollen shut. Images of the beating he had received at the hands of Big Tom and his gang swam in Harry's mind, as feelings of panic began to set in. Where was he? Had Big Tom and the others hidden him someplace to let him recover so they could beat him to a pulp all over again? He immediately discarded this thought; if Tom's gang still had him, he wouldn't be in a soft bed.

The sound of a door opening caught his attention, and he strained to hear what was going on. He heard a clanking of glass and a rustling of papers, and then the creaking of a chair as the newcomer sat down. Then there was silence. As the silence grew longer, he became uneasy. Why didn't the visitor speak? Then again, why should they, if he was pretending to be asleep?

Straining against his swollen eyelids, Harry managed to force his left eye open a crack. The small room was blurry, but he was able to make out a large wooden desk and a row of filing cabinets. Behind the desk sat a short, plump woman with gray hair, who was watching Harry intently.

"I was wondering when you would wake up," the woman said, finally breaking the silence. Her voice was soft and kind, much kinder than any other voice he could remember. She stood and approached Harry's bed, and as she drew near, he was able to see that she wore a hospital matron's uniform. The matron clicked her tongue and shook her head sorrowfully. "What ever possessed you to be up after hours with that group of hoodlums?" she asked.

"I- er, well," Harry stammered. His mouth was dry and his entire face was swollen, making speech extremely difficult. The matron waited patiently. He swallowed hard and began again. "I'm friends with this snowy owl that lives on the grounds. I snuck out to visit her, but then I heard voices from around the corner of the building. It was Big Tom and his gang. Somebody tossed a gun over the wall to him, he saw me, and I ran. He tried to shoot me, but he missed, but they finally caught me in one of the corridors and started beating me. After that, I don't remember anything."

"Hmmm..." The matron appeared to be deep in thought. "That does seem to square with Mr. Stevens' story. I wonder, though, why you didn't mention that he was with you."

Harry hesitated a moment before finally answering, "I didn't want to make trouble for him."

The matron nodded, seemingly satisfied. "My records show that this is the second time you have been knocked unconscious while at St. Brutus's, is that correct?" Harry nodded. "And no trouble with amnesia this time?"

"No," Harry replied. "I still can't remember anything from about the time I was ten until the start of the summer holiday, but after that I remember everything all right."

"Good," said the matron. "At least we don't have that to worry about too. As I'm sure you've already discovered, your injuries this time around are much more extensive than they were at the end of last term. Tell me, though, can you ever remember being seriously injured like this before?" She sounded very interested, as though this was more than just a simple question about his medical history, but Harry couldn't imagine why.

"Not that I can remember," he answered. "Why?"

"Well... It's just that, given the identities of your attackers, and how long they were at it before your friend, Mr. Stevens, brought help, you shouldn't be here."

"What, you mean I ought to be in a hospital or something?" Harry asked.

"No, dear" said the matron very softly. "I mean you ought to be in a morgue." She paused a moment to let this statement sink in. Harry's head was spinning, but he struggled to remain coherent as she began speaking again. "You have-" she paused to consult the medical chart in her hand, "-seven cracked ribs, a cracked collar bone, and small fractures in your right tibia and left femur, plus several more in your arms, hands, and fingers. That's why you've been restrained to the bed: so you won't upset the healing process. You're also covered in contusions, your nose is broken - again - and there are several hairline fractures in your skull."