8 July 1992
Harry's eyes fluttered open painfully, and he took in his new surroundings in confusion. He was lying in a comfortable single bed in a sparsely decorated but rather homey room. Early morning sunlit filtered in through the window blinds and was reflected in the multicolored crystals of a mobile that was hanging over his head. Almost immediately, Harry sneezed due to the spicy aroma of dozens of multicolored candles situated around the room. Then, he bit back a hiss of pain as a burning ache rocketed through his entire body from the sudden movement. Instantly, as if in response to his pain, the crystal mobile started to jangle discordantly.
Barely a minute later, the door opened, and a middle-aged man with thinning blonde hair and a friendly face entered the room. He wore a flowing white robe with a blue caduceus symbol that reminded Harry of the robes Madame Pomfrey sometimes wore in the school infirmary. The robe was open in the front, however, and looked more like a doctor's lab coat, and Harry was surprised to see that the healer also wore a pair of Muggle trousers, a button-down shirt, a bowtie ... and fuzzy brown house slippers designed to look like small animals of some kind. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. So good to see you're back with us. Tonks is the name. Ted Tonks. I gather my daughter's been giving you defense lessons."
"Only one ..." the boy coughed painfully. His whole body was sore, and his throat was so raw he could barely speak above a whisper. "Only one session so far. Unfortunately ... we didn't cover cheap shots and doxy swarms on the first day. How did I get ... wherever here is?"
"Here is the Tonks Clinic. My wife Andromeda and I operate a clinic out of our home in Hogsmeade for the benefit of locals who don't want to go all the way to St. Mungo's for minor ailments. Normally, Andie handles pediatric patients, but she's currently in France teaching a seminar on medical healing at Beauxbatons so you're stuck with me. Anyway, your solicitor Miss Jones had you brought in over the weekend because ... well, I gather it was because there might be some sort of complications if you went to St. Mungo's."
As the healer spoke, he calmly removed several burnt out candles and replaced them with new ones that sparkled in the sunlight coming in through the window, as if glitter had been mixed in with the candle wax. Then, he pulled some wire "half-moon" spectacles from a pocket and donned them while examining the arrangement of crystals in the mobile. Dissatisfied for some inscrutable reason pertaining to "chakras," he rearranged several crystals so that their reflected light would strike Harry in some more auspicious manner.
"What sort of complications?" asked Harry as he tried to figure out the purpose behind the healer's seemingly random actions.
"Well," he said, "severe doxy poisoning is the sort of thing you can go to St. Mungo's for without anyone batting an eye, Mr. Potter. But accompanied by a black eye, a fractured jaw and a concussion? That's the sort of thing that gets people talking, especially for someone in your circumstances."
At that, Harry remembered that had happened – that Vernon Dursley had struck him hard enough to nearly knock him out and then thrown him out to be devoured by the doxy swarm. "Yeah," he thought. "Nearly getting murdered by your guardian who is also your estranged parents' brother-in-law might definitely get people talking."
Harry shifted his position, grimacing in pain as he did. "What day is it?"
"Tuesday the 8th at quarter to nine in the a.m. You've been in a healing coma since around eight o'clock on Saturday night. The process by which doxy venom is neutralized is extremely painful, so I thought it best you sleep through as much of the experience as possible. You woke up a wee bit ahead of schedule," Ted suddenly glanced down at his feet and then looked back up sheepishly, "hence the badger slippers."
YOU ARE READING
Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin
FanfictionHarry Potter was Sorted into Slytherin after a crappy childhood. His brother Jim is believed to be the BWL. *unfinished