you raise me up || harry potter

chapter 40

»»————-　song:　————-««

to build a home

★ by the cinematic orchestra ★

♢ ♢ ♢

Harry was taken to a different ward this time at St. Mungo's. He was asked all sorts of invasive questions—about the Dursleys, about his own identity and feelings—and more than once he glanced at Snape, who was present as Harry was a minor, with trepidation. To which Snape asked the Healer present: "I trust these questions are all a hundred percent confidential?"

The Healer looked almost offended. "Sir, patient confidentiality is one of our most important priorities."

Snape only nodded and looked at Harry pointedly. Harry suddenly realized Snape hadn't asked for his own benefit, but for Harry's—to reassure him that these answers were escaping to nowhere. Not to the press, not to the entire Wizarding world for them to gawk at. Harry felt a little better, although he still answered the questions with as few words and details as he could manage.

The Healer's conclusions were basically the same as Snape's. That Harry had been repressing his Metamorphmogas abilities, etc. But this meant that, while a complex transitioning procedure involving a cocktail of potions and spells with a host of side effects was not necessary, Harry would have to be under magical supervision as he transitioned as a Metamorphmogas.

Why can't I just be normal? Harry wondered, probably for the millionth time. He couldn't even be a normal Metamorphmogas. And Metamorphmoga weren't even normal!

The procedure itself wasn't frightening or painful, although it was awkward to be in a small room with a stranger who bustled around doing diagnostic scans every ten seconds and referred to his floating clipboard even more often. 

The one detriment Harry faced afterward was the sheer exhaustion that seemed to seep into his bones, all of his energy sapped. It almost felt like his very magic was flowing away from him. He opened his mouth to speak, but he found he could not even do that. His heart rate suddenly spiked. His body was motionless, and that amplified his panic—it was like being trapped a cage, a shell that encased him into a prison. 

Suddenly, Snape moved into his vision, who peered at him. Harry looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. 

"Your magical core was depleted quite a bit from that effort," Snape murmured, seemingly understanding Harry's panic. "Don't worry. Go to sleep and gather your strength. You'll feel better in a few hours."

And although the panic didn't quite go away, Harry's fear was somewhat assuaged, for he trusted what Snape said. And so he closed his eyes, and immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

♢

When he came to again, Harry felt very woozy. He looked around in a daze, wondering if he had been administered some sort of magical anesthesia. Snape was sitting in a chair beside his bed reading a book, which he closed when he heard Harry moving. 

"Feeling any better?" Snape asked.

Harry assessed himself for a second. "Feel weird," he mumbled. "Guys are weird."

"I see," Snape said, sounding strangely like he was holding in laughter. 

"So tired, too," Harry said, letting his eyes fall shut. "Like... like... Vold'more tried to kill me again."

"Well, you should have plenty of experience with that."

"Like being... hit witha truck," Harry slurred.