Everything hurt. This was the first conscious thought in Harry Potter’s slowly waking mind. For everyone else, this might have been cause for alarm. For the erstwhile Boy-Who-Lived, it was practically a constant occurrence.

Just another day, in other words.

Still, Harry did find it odd that he had fallen asleep with no memory as to when it happened. With his life being the way it was, maintaining a keen awareness of crucial moments throughout the day was a matter of life and death.

And yet, he couldn’t remember the details before Morpheus claimed him. 

The moment this thought occurred to him, Harry stiffened. Keeping his eyes closed, he quickly took stock of his current situation.

Fingers, hands, arms, toes, feet, and legs - everything still worked. He seemed to be lying on a soft bed and covered in linen sheets. The air smelled sterile with hints of disinfectants and from what little he could see through his eyelids, sunlight was abundant.

There were only a few places that would fit all of those descriptions and the most likely made him relax a little. Upon hearing a familiar voice, the last of Harry’s wariness faded.

“It seems our patient is awake at last.”

A soft smile graced Harry’s lips. Even after all these years, Madame Pomfrey still managed to speak with equal measures of affection and exasperation.

“You know me Poppy,” Harry said as he turned to where the Hogwarts Healer stood over him. “I enjoy your company too much to stay away.”

Upon laying his eyes on one of his oldest friends, however, several things immediately became apparent. While Harry would never have called her ancient, Poppy Pomfrey was no spring chicken, either. She had also accumulated her own collection of scars and battle damage over the years, despite being positioned as far from the front lines as possible.

None of those details were present. Instead, the woman looking down on him with bemusement appeared decades younger with fewer lines on her face. She was smiling too, but it was the polite kind given to a stranger, not the warm greeting he had come to know. 

This immediately put him on edge. 

Her expression also contained a hint of confusion, which only compounded Harry’s building anxiety. With her next words, his fear that something was wrong solidified to cold certainty.

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“As happy as I am to hear you finally call me by my name, Mr. Potter, I’m afraid there are issues we need to address. Some people also have questions for you.” 

Harry kept his expression blank and tried to master his racing heart. All the while, contingencies were listed, considered, and discarded accordingly in his head. Deciding to keep his answers as short as possible while his eyes roamed for exit points, Harry spoke. 

Or, more precisely, squeaked.

“Oh?”

Harry froze, his brain experiencing a nearly crippling level of dissonance for a single moment of eternity. He never developed the deep bass of Hagrid or Dumbledore. Merlin knew he had to struggle to inject authority into his words whenever he had to make a rousing speech.

Even so, he had long since grown past possessing prepubescent vocals.

So, why did he sound like a house elf? Luckily, the person seemingly masquerading as Madame Pomfrey didn’t seem to notice his internal panic.

“Yes, the headmaster should be along soon to speak with you. In the meantime, can you please explain the cause of your numerous injuries? I haven’t heard of you getting involved in any incident that could have inflicted so many of them. Three years attending Hogwarts and you’ve barely ever been in here.”

Any remaining ember of doubt still lingering in Harry’s mind that he wasn’t speaking to the real Poppy had just been snuffed out. After all, it was she who treated him whenever he got cut, pierced, burned, blasted, or maimed.

And what was that about being in Hogwarts for three years? 

Harry evaluated his options. He didn’t have his wand but this was no great obstacle. His senses found no other occupants in the Hospital Wing other than him and the woman wearing his friend’s face. If he acted now, a quick escape was still possible.

Unfortunately, just as he made that decision, the doors leading into the chamber opened. In any other circumstance, Harry would have taken action anyway. He learned long ago that hesitation could mean death. 

The number of times he escaped traps, ambushes, and large-scale skirmishes due to his unflinching audacity in the face of overwhelming odds is well-known, by now. He had long assumed that any weakness he had when he first entered the wizarding world had long been burnt out of him.

He was wrong. 

As with everything, there are exceptional circumstances that one simply could not predict. Harry hated exceptional circumstances. They often result in grave injury, massive inconvenience, or both.

Case in point, striding towards him was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself. To his right was Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress, Dumbledore’s right-hand woman, and one of Harry’s most ardent supporters.

Their appearance alone would have been enough to warrant what others would call an aggressive response of extreme proportions. One had most definitely died (murdered) already and the other had been near death the last time he saw her.

Neither of them stole his attention, though. No, that honor was saved for the woman to the Headmaster’s other side.

Harry would recognize her anywhere courtesy of the few photos in his possession and one particularly insidious mirror.

Bright red hair. Brilliant emerald eyes. Thin nose, pouty red lips, and of average height. Lily Potter in the flesh.

As a child, Harry longed for the chance to see his mother, even for a few moments. To hear her voice without the taint of Dementor presence spoiling the experience. So much so that he would have given up all his power, gold, and magic for such an opportunity.

This overwhelming juvenile desire eventually cost several dear friends their lives, the most painful of which was Luna Lovegood. 

Since then, Harry Potter - the only wizard to give Voldemort pause in battle since Dumbledore himself - would always answer traps using the memory of his parents with nothing short of complete and utter devastation.

And this is exactly what he did.

That day, Hogwarts bore witness to a confrontation out of legends. Not even during the reign of Lord Voldemort or the wars of Grindelwald did such a titanic battle occur on the castle’s hallowed grounds.

This event caused ripples that turned a formerly local problem into an international debacle the likes of which have never been seen.

Suffice it to say, his hasty choice would cause Harry no end of headaches and signaled the start of new adventures.