Chapter 1
They carried Harry into the infirmary and laid him on one of the hospital beds. Madam Pomfrey bustled around the cot, flicking her wand in a variety of diagnostic spells and frowning more and more fiercely with every reading she received. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked desperately, wringing her hands fretfully.
“He seems to be deep within a magical coma,” the mediwitch replied gruffly. “Was he hit with any spells that you know of?”
“No, madam Pomfrey,” Ron answered, voice quivering in his distress. “He had just finished killing V-Voldemort and he just collapsed. It was almost as if he was a marionette and his strings had been cut.” Before any more discussion could be had, Dumbledore stalked into the infirmary, staring at the Boy Who Lived with sad eyes.
“Any news?” he asked softly.
“Madam Pomfrey had just finished her scans,” Ginny told the old man, brown eyes filled with tears as she stared down at the man of her dreams.
“Did any of you see the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort?” the headmaster queried, blue eyes glancing from person to person.
“I did,” Neville said softly. “It was just after Malfoy was killed. Harry got this look on his face, as if his whole world had just ended, and he marched over to Voldemort and just blew him up. Then he fell to the ground and he’s been unresponsive since.”
“Poppy, if you would hold his eyes open," Albus requested with a frown, "I shall try and see what’s going on inside Harry’s mind." The mediwitch nodded and used her index fingers to pry the lids back over Harry’s eyes. Dumbledore flinched at the deadened gaze before bending over and gripping his wand tightly in his hand. “Legilimens,” he whispered, allowing his consciousness to slip into Harry’s mind unimpeded. Albus drifted through the boy’s darkened mindscape, looking for any memories or landmarks that would give him even the slightest inkling as to what had occurred out on the school grounds that could have resulted in this unresponsiveness. He was within Harry’s mind for nearly an hour and had come across nothing. It was almost as if the teen’s mind was completely gone. Finally, he pulled himself back into his own mind, afraid that if he stayed any longer he might not have been able to withdraw.
“There’s nothing in there,” the old man told everyone once he returned and centered himself. “His mind is completely blank. There are no thoughts, no dreams, no memories. It’s almost as if he’s died.”
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“What do you think happened to Harry?” Seamus asked everyone. The Gryffindors were at their house table in the Great Hall, desultorily talking about Harry’s condition.
“I don’t know,” Hermione murmured sadly. “I was near enough to see that Voldemort didn’t even have a chance to cast a spell before Harry obliterated him.” A scoffing noise from further down the table had everyone looking at Neville. “You have something to say, Nev?”
“I saw you murder Draco Malfoy,” the brunet said, golden eyes hard. “I watched you deliberately cast the sectumsempra curse at his neck. And you,” Neville glared at Ron, “cut Pansy Parkinson to pieces. I watched most of the Gryffindors and the Order of the Phoenix slaughter the Slytherins that had survived Voldemort’s assault. I understand him killing the snakes; after all, they stood with Harry as one unified front, defying their parents as well as the Dark Lord. What was your excuse? Those students were on our side. They were fighting with Harry, not against him.
“I think the worst part was when Dumbledore used the sword of Gryffindor to behead professor Snape. The one adult in this whole bloody school that protected Harry from the beginning, cut down like he was a dog in the street. And for what? Because of the patch on their robes? Because their parents were on the wrong side of the war? Because Draco Malfoy loved Harry? It’s no wonder Harry retreated from the world like he did. You all stabbed him in the back so many times it was ridiculous, and yet he forgave you and gave you more chances than any of you ever deserved. And this is how you repay him; by killing the only person he ever loved. I hope Harry never comes back, and I hope you all rot in hell.” Longbottom ripped the patch from his robes and threw it at the rest of his classmates in disgust before storming out of the Great Hall. His voice had carried in the sepulchral silence of the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, and more than one person glared furiously at the remaining Gryffindors.
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“Harry,” Ginny said softly as she sat down next to his cot. “I love you so much. Please come back to me and we can go on as if nothing happened. I know you didn’t really love that slimy snake; I’m positive that he did something or gave you something to make you believe you were in love with him. I’ve asked madam Pomfrey to give you the purge to get the potions out of your system. She said she couldn’t; that since you are in a magical coma the purge would rid you of all potions, including the restoratives and nutrient potions she’s been giving you to keep you alive. That your magic wouldn’t be able to defend against it and keep what was necessary.
“Hermione only did that to protect you from Malfoy. He had no right to poach you from me. You and I are destined to be together forever. My mum told me so. Please, Harry, come back to me. I love you so much.”
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“Any change, Poppy?” Albus asked as he entered the infirmary. Harry had been in the coma for six months and nothing they did could reach the teen.
“I’m afraid not, headmaster,” she said softly, looking at the young man on the bed with sad eyes. “It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to wake up. As if...as if there’s nothing here to which he wants to return. I think he should be transferred to St. Mungo’s permanent spell damage ward. Perhaps they can help him.”