The Darkening of Your Soul

Chapter 21

Harry knew he’d screwed up with Tom. He kept replaying the conversation in his mind for the next hour as Madam Pomfrey gave him a thorough examination. Snape had fled while he could, leaving Harry at Pomfrey’s mercy. First she scrutinized his current physical health by casting at least a dozen spells on him, and by making him do simple activities. Touch his nose, raise his arms over his head, touch each fingertip with his thumb, stand on both legs, stand on one leg. It went on and on and on, but at least Madam Pomfrey seemed pleased by what she saw.

Harry was far less pleased because all he wanted to do was call Tom on his mirror and beg his forgiveness. He hadn’t meant to say it like that, to suggest all Tom wanted to do in his dream was kill him while Tom had thrown himself in front of a killing curse for Harry.

It was just that Harry got so flustered around Tom sometimes that he couldn’t figure out how to say what he wanted to say and he ended up saying the completely wrong thing.

Harry hadn’t meant to piss Tom off.

And Tom was pissed off.

Harry knew because his scar was tingling. Just a bit, nothing like he migraines from hell he’d suffered in his previous life whenever Voldemort was feeling particularly murderous, but he still felt his scar burn ever so slightly.

Madam Pomfrey had him perform a few different tasks to determine his cognitive abilities. Harry had to read a paragraph of a pamphlet on dragon pox out loud, he had to write down a few sentences Madam Pomfrey read to him from the same pamphlet, and he had to draw a tree, a house and a clock. Finally he had to solve a few simple sums. Add, subtract, multiply, that sort of thing.

“Very good, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said to him as she was finally done. “You’ve made a complete recovery. I’m keeping you here for one more day, but if you maintain your current health you’ll be allowed back in classes by Tuesday.”

“Thanks,” Harry said as he sagged back in his pillows, exhausted from an hour of doing to most basic things. He waited until Pomfrey left him and whispered Tom’s name in parseltongue at the mirror he pulled out from under his pillow. The mirror lit up but Tom never answered. Harry’s eyes grew heavy, his head falling against his pillow even when Harry tried his best to keep it raised, mirror slipping from his fingers and falling against the mattress. Harry fought his need for sleep as hard as he could, but sleep won in the end.

Harry woke up to the mirror heating up against his cheek while the hospital wing was dark around him. He flipped the mirror open at once. “Tom?”

“No,” Barty said, glaring at Harry. “Good to see you alive, kid. Now what the hell did you say to him to make him this upset?”

Inexplicably, Harry’s eyes welled up and a lump formed in his throat. Dammit. He would not cry, not in front of Barty. “I messed up,” he whispered while desperately swallowing any sobs back that wanted to escape.

“You don’t say,” Barty said, his expression softening just a bit at seeing Harry that obviously upset.

Harry had the sense to pull out his wand and close his curtain with a flick and then cast every privacy spell he knew before replying. “We shared a dream early this morning, where Tom kept trying to catch up to a dream-me while Voldemort, the snakey version, kept trying to kill me. In the end Tom threw himself in front of a killing curse to keep Voldemort from killing me.”