Return
No, not like this. He wasn't ready. He had to keep going, keep living. Every breath felt like a gasp and yet his lungs burned with a lack of oxygen, or maybe that was the hole in his chest? He wasn't sure anymore, it just hurt.
The cold snow biting his exposed skin was the least of his problems considering his intestines were spilling out onto the ground, but it didn't make the feeling any easier to ignore.
That's why it was blatantly obvious, even at death's door, when the feeling suddenly disappeared, replaced by something warm and healing. He felt some strength return to his muscles and he wondered vaguely if this was what dying felt like. The soft flesh of his eye regenerated as his optic nerve knit itself back together. Slowly they blinked open to reveal…blue?
Then, unexpectedly, he felt a nauseating tug near his navel, like being sucked through a straw. What little vision he'd grasped onto slipped away like water that dripped through cupped hands.
A dizzy sea of blurry colors that overwhelmed his still regenerating brain until the only thing he could feel was the absolute nothingness of dreamless sleep.
…
The entire great hall was buzzing, filled to the brim with unrestrained excitement. Tonight was the night! The Triwizard champions were about to be chosen!
Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat, catching the attention of everyone in the hall. "Alright students, it's time to choose our three champions!"
The declaration had the previously silent hall whispering with anticipation.
He waited till the goblet roared to life and the flame turned bright blue spat out a piece of slightly singed frilly paper, almost reminiscent of a doily.
"The Beauxbaton champion is… Fleur Delacour!" Immediately loud cheers sounded from the Ravenclaw table where most of the french school was situated.
Once the cheers died down again, the goblet released the next bit of paper, this time thicker than the standard parchment.
"The Durmstrang champion is…Victor Krum!" Once again, the school in question cheered only this time most were sat with the Slytherins.
Then the goblet lit up for the last time.
"The Hogwarts Champion is…Cedric Digory!" Dumbledore bellowed with more vigor in a blatant but harmless show of favoritism. This time the cheers were louder than before with most of the people in the room expressing their excitement and support. Dumbledore himself had even given the boy a warm smile as well.
"Excellent! We now have our three champions! In the end, only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions, this vessel of victory, the Triwizard cup!" he said as a staff member unveiled the prize in question.
But before any more could happen, the cup started to light up once more, destroying the light atmosphere of the room. Dumbledore cautiously inched closer when, unexpectedly, it spewed a fourth name. Dumbledore plucked the paper from the air and examined it-
"-Harry Potter?"
It was read softly but it sent the whole hall spiraling.
"I-it can't be," Minerva stuttered out in shock.
In a flash of blue fire, a disoriente boy in a bloody and torn, black, skin-tight suit fell onto the ground directly next to the cup. His limp body thudded against the floor and his breathing was so raspy it sounded painful. It was hard to notice against the black of his suit but his white hair and pale skin made a perfect canvas, contrasting boldly against the matted blood that covered most of his body.
Dumbledore stood in shock for a second as his brain processed everything that had happened in the span of less than a minute. Merlin! An injured child was passed out on the ground!
"Severus fetch Poppy! Students, clear a path!" He demanded as he rushed forward and checked for a pulse. He felt the gentle thrum of blood pumping through the boy's veins and sighed in relief. It wasn't a proper, healthy, heart rate but thankfully he was still alive.
He looked over the boy's body for any wounds only to find that despite all the blood and torn clothing there was nothing obvious. He went to check his temperature but froze. Settled there, hidden beneath his bangs was a small yet infamous lightning bolt scar.
Just then, Poppy burst into the room with Severus close behind, her stride full of purpose as she pulled out her wand.
"Do you know who he is?" She asked as she used her magic to move the boy onto the stretcher.
"It's Harry." At the news, the children devolved into whispers and Poppy nearly lost her grip on the spell she was using to float him.
"So it is," she said as she flipped Harry's bangs out of the way and saw the unmistakable scar on his forehead.
"H-Harry!" Hermione yelled as she ran up to the stretcher with Ron hot on her trail.
They rushed to the hospital wing, at which point Madam Pomfrey forced everyone outside as she set to work healing him.
Forty minutes later, Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the room.
"You can come in now as long as you're quiet. I've treated his wounds and given him some potions. He didn't have anything life-threatening, but he needs rest."
"Can you tell how he got so injured?" Hermione asked.
"I can't, but from what I saw he was attacked by multiple things or whatever attacked him was irregularly shaped. There are blunt force trauma injuries but also knife-like cuts. I checked for residual magic to see if it was maybe caused by spellwork but it came back negative "
They sat in silence for a moment before Madam Pomfrey cautiously and awkwardly spoke up. "I-I'm not really sure why he was covered in so much blood. There wasn't even a wound where most of the blood was, so either I missed something, or it's not all his," She admitted.
"You don't mean, you think he could've…" Ron panicked.
"Calm down. I'm sure it wasn't anything like that. We shouldn't jump to conclusions. Harry will explain everything when he wakes up," Hermione said, trying to be rational. She felt guilty though because it would be a blatant lie to say her brain hadn't gone there. A small part of her was saying all this in part to convince herself too.
She was jolted out of her increasingly depressing thoughts by the chime of a clock.
"Looks like it's curfew. Say your goodbyes, you can visit him in the morning. For now though, go to bed, it's late."
As everyone left the room, Hermione looked back at Harry. Thousands of questions whirled through her head as she walked through the halls. It wouldn't do to ponder them anymore. Madame Pomfrey was right, they could all use some sleep.