Walking in Light and Shade - Moment by Moment Book #2 (Harry Potter, Drarry)

...Brainstorm...

Harry woke early the next morning: he'd been tired from all the meetings the previous day, and Pomfrey had suggested an early night, helped on by the dreamless sleep potion. Hence, he had drifted into a new day before the lights in the windowless ward had been turned back up from their night time glow. He'd lain still a while, staring at the ceiling as he let the deep sleep lift more fully, but now his brain had begun to work, and he could also feel more strength in his limbs. The young man mulled over the previous day; he had certainly had a broad range of visitors, but he realised that the information had been flowing only one way, from him, and he still didn't even really know where he was. That thought irked him and also brought out a sense of captivity: this was certainly a more pleasant cell than the one in which he had spent the last month, but it was still a limited world in which his weakness kept him trapped as surely as any key.

The helplessness didn't sit well with the patient for long, and he decided to do as much as he could to alleviate it. In the short term, that meant one thing: moving. Resolutely, Harry stuck his elbows into the mattress and pushed himself up. Getting into a sitting position was the easy part, but still the young man was gratified that he completed the move without puffing: he was indeed getting stronger. It was also less of an effort to hold himself upright, and Harry took heart from his improvements. However that didn't stop his pulse from racing as he considered his next action. The young man felt a little foolish; it wasn't as if getting out of bed was an unusual event, but this time, he had to admit, felt different. This time was to prove to himself that he wasn't powerless, and the idea of failure made him nervous. He took a deep breath.

[Stop being such a baby, Potter,] he chided himself, and swept the blankets off his legs. The cooler air of the room played around his ankles, but Pomfrey-issue pyjamas kept it off the rest of his body, and Harry sat still for a moment, adjusting to the lack of the covers' weight on his lower limbs. He was stalling, he knew he was stalling, and angry with himself, the patient wriggled his way round in his seat and dropped his feet off the side of the bed.

He sat still again, this time because his haste caught his breath in his throat. Okay, so he still had to be careful: whatever fixes Pomfrey had undertaken to settle the previous work his healers had done, the deep-down changes were more radical than the mostly unmarked surface of his body gave Poppy credit for, but he was not going to let that stop him. Harry glanced across at the chair a metre or so away and mentally made it his goal. Gently, he slid forward and placed his feet on the floor. He smiled, and let out a long breath through his teeth as the soles of his feet met the chill linoleum. The bed was quite high, and so he was left half-sitting, half-leaning his arse against the mattress, and he basked in the minor triumph for a while, getting used to the semi-vertical position. His legs were wobbling, even with his weight distributed, but it felt more like lack of use than lack of strength, and the young man let the twinges run up and down his muscles, actually enjoying the sensation for its proof that he was doing something.

It was time: Harry steeled himself for the moment, put his hands on the edge of the bed and eased himself away from the support. His knees complained, his thigh muscles cramped, but the young man just gritted his teeth in satisfaction as his legs held him. Carefully, he let go of the bed and maintained his position under his own balance. It felt very strange, just fighting to stay upright, but never-the-less, Harry's chest swelled with his sense of achievement.

That was where the success ended. One moment he was standing solidly, the next a wave of disorientation ran through him. The young man shook as stars popped in front of his eyes and nausea welled up from his stomach. Harry swore as he felt one knee buckle, followed swiftly by the other, and then he choked on his words as his sickness took him down. He landed in a shivering heap, coughing against the acrid juices which burnt his throat, and wondering where his strength had gone. His spirit sagged at the set-back, scared and smarting, and he huddled over himself, against the cold that ran through his bones.