The Beginning

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It's the last day of Harry's first year and he's glad he's finally been given Madam Pomfrey's permission to get out of the hospital wing. He's been trying to convince her he feels fine for the past few days but she only huffs at him and reminds him to take his potions. It's a relief to be able to stretch his legs.

He sees Ron and Hermione waiting for him at their usual spot at the Gryffindor table and sits down next to them, ready for the feast.

"Oi, you're finally out! I was starting to think Pomfrey was gonna keep you cooped up in there for the whole summer." Ron grins at Harry and claps him on the back while Hermione starts talking about the importance of proper medical care.

"...but I suppose I can't blame you for getting tired of the Hospital wing, Harry. It's ever so plain. I should send a letter to Madam Pomfrey to encourage her to add some plants or games like my parents have in their lobby at work. They're dentists, you know. Anyway, how are you feeling, Harry? Professor Dumbledore said you were in shock." Hermione reaches her hand around Ron to Harry in greeting.

"Hey Hermione," Harry says, "glad to see you haven't changed." Harry holds out his hand to shake hers, but when they touch he feels a sudden pang of panic.

Flesh turning to dust under Harry's fingers as he clutches Quirrell's face, anguished screams being ripped from the disintegrating mouth and half-visible vocal cords and Voldemort's harsh shouts for Quirrell to kill the boy and the feeling of blood burrowing under his fingernails as he squeezes Quirrell's head tighter and tighter until there's nothing left-

Harry snaps his hands to his chest, disguising it as crossing his arms, and smiles at Hermione instead of shaking her hand. Maybe he should avoid touching people from now on. Yea, that sounds good.

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