Foresaken (Old, being rewrote)

The Beginning

The next time Harry's fitful mind found consciousness, his mind resumed being clear with a healthy sort of clarity. Sleepily blinking awake, he opened his deathly eyes to gaze around the room he was contained in, the room was dark, with only one small dim lamp on a close countertop. The walls were a light gray, with counters lining the two of the four walls enclosing the room. A quick thought popped into his mind worrying about his old friends, but was slapped away harshly as he reminded himself they were gone. The thought made him feel empty but Harry ignored it, as his eyes trailed over to one of the ways that had a large window and pain reading scales from one to ten, with large text he wouldn't bother to read. Eyeing out the window he saw a dark sky, he could hardly see out of the glass but he could make out the hazy sight of a large tree, other than that he had no way to tell where he was. His lips twitched nervously as his gaze flickered over to the last wall where a door sat, from a small rectangular window Harry could see a lit hallway with another door across from his own.

The hallway appeared to have no outstanding features, but dimly he already knew where he was. It was obvious really, he was in a hospital room somewhere. Harry drew himself upright, his body aching with protest he ignored, swinging the thin sheet of a hospital blanket off of himself, he flung his feet over the edge of the bed. Yawning to himself with his stomach grumbling and a gnawing hunger, he wondered when he could eat and where the bathroom was. Trying to find the answers to those questions, he allowed himself to drop off the uncomfortable bed and onto the floor. Maybe that was a mistake as he felt a wave of dizziness hit him as his legs trembled with weakness, leaning heavily against the bed for support as his vision flickered. Harry closed his eyes tightly and began breathing in and out deeply to relax himself. As the hazy feelings drifted into obscurity, he flickered open his eyes again and winced as he became aware of how cold the floor was, looking down he saw his bare feet and a cursed hospital gown. Scoffing he ran his fingers over the flimsy fabric and wished for anything other than this, even his oversized Muggle clothes would work. With a need to eat, go to the bathroom and get better clothes, he had enough reason to risk taking the next step to the door, the hazy of dizziness didn't return but a pang. With a low risk assessed, Harry took the next steps in a hurried rapid secession, and seized the cold copper door knob. Twisting it open, the door was silently opened, not a sound echoed through the eerily lit hallway, as the silence reigned supreme.

Harry's hand tightened on the door knob as he asked himself if he should go further or return to his room, he didn't have much of a choice as his bladder alerted him to quickly find a bathroom. Pursing his lips nervously, he stepped out into the hall, his feet slapping quietly against the ground, the sound quiet but not at all calming. Harry hesitated again, his hand lingering on the door knob still, but deciding he must go on, he quietly shut the door. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he glanced behind him for his room number, which was a glimmering golden seven that momentarily reminded him of the torture room he came from just recently. Shaking his head, he urged himself to wonder down the hall. Doing so, he quickly pass a few doors that he fought the urge to peer into. He was relieved to find what he needed so close to his room, a bathroom. With haste he pushed the door open and rushed to the urinal. After haphazardly flinging the gown up so he would pee, he was met with the sound of the rushing water and a low groan of relief from the pressure being relieved.

With the action done and committed, he found a smile on his face at the relief of pressure. Stepping away from the urinal he dropped the dress and looked over to a lone stoic sink, inching towards it he walked over and flicked the hot water on. Getting a glob of soap from the dispenser he plopped it on his hands and scrubbed them together before positioning them under the water to wash, resuming the cleaning he hummed quietly as he found his hand satisfactory. Flicking the water off, he shook the water of his hands, not bothering to use the paper towels that hung nearby. After he thought his hands were shook off enough, he briskly walked to the door, pulling it open and stepping back into the ghost town of a hallway. Looking critically to the left and right of the hall, wondering if he should go back to his room and wait for someone or if he should be more adventurous and find someone to assist him. Yawning what seemed to be loudly in the quiet environment he decided some more sleep could be valued, as maybe if he went back to sleep he could dream of something nice. The old days before the trouble, the good times between the bad, the days with Ron and Hermione, being friends and trying to navigate through such a harsh surrounding world.