The world of Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, though I wish it did, it belongs to Warner Bros., Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, and whoever else . Certain characters do belong to me, and I'll always tag those who do. All hail the brilliant mind who came up with this stuff!!! If you hadn't heard, Order of the Phoenix comes out June 21st in the states.

Chapter 1: Recollection of a Weasley

Nurse Dina Oak pushed open the doors of the Recovery Room to start her rounds. The smell of a hospital always made her stomach churn, but after a minute in the doors, she adjusted to it. A cacophony of machines beeped. Signing in at the nurses station, she scanned the Recovery Room on the fifteenth floor of St. Martian's Hospital in London. Ten spots in the room, four empty.

Beds A:1 and A:2 empty.

Bed A:3 'Owen McClennen, just out of surgery from kidney transplant.' She summarized from the clipboard that laid on the bed. McClennen was to be under observation for twelve hours until the doctor discharged him.

Nurse Oak floated around the bed to check the machines.

Pulse: 85.

Blood Pressure: 132/118.

Owen McClennen looked to be in his mid-thirties, black hair that billowed across the standard issue pillow. Slight bristles on his cheek, a full nose, and lips that were more pink then red all set on pale skin. He was sedated not sleeping. Pumped so full of various drugs that this early in the game, Owen McClennen would need constant observation.

Nurse Oak took a step back and recorded his vitals.

Moving on to the next bed.

Bed A:4, she pulled back the curtain and picked up the clipboard that was like a discarded book after the reader had drifted off to sleep. 'Mary Dawson, fractured right leg in three parts, post internal bleeding, under observation. Injury due to abuse.'

Nurse Oak sighed, Mary Dawson could not have been more then ten. 'She is so young.' Mary Dawson barely filled half the bed, her lifted leg filling just a little more of the bed. Short blonde hair just lightly touched the bed. Her features scrunched up as if some monster chased her dreams. Her little fists clutched the bed sheet, knuckles nearly white.

Pulse: 65

Blood Pressure: 91/69.

Recording the numbers, her breath slightly catching in her throat. Her blood pressure was a little high for a person of that age. Nurse Oak mad a note to check on it again in a bit.

Bed A: 5 'Name Unknown: John Doe, trauma to the head, post internal bleeding, mild abrasions to the face and chest, right arm lacerated, under close observation: coma .' Nurse Oak scanned the clipboard. Little information was filled out, besides what the doctors knew. He was admitted sixteen hours ago, hit and run victim. No identification was found on him.

John Doe had not opened his eyes yet. One could question if anybody was home inside. John Doe breathed on his own, although he had not woken, as if he was in a long sleep. He had not responded to stimuli. His case and those like it were one of the hardest to handle, just like the children: hit and run victims, and until he woke up, no one would know who he is.

Nurse Oak stepped around to study the young man who was nameless. His head was tilted toward were Nurse Oak stood. His fiery red hair was in chaos crowned by bandages that circumnavigated his head. Soft freckles specked the lightly tinted skin, mixed with small bandaged cuts: white patches in a field of flowers. Right arm in cast, in a sling attached to his chest. Two small bandages peeked out from under his gown. She could see the soft rises of his chest to know that he was breathing, that the machines weren't lying.

Pulse: 76

Blood Pressure: 112/100.

A hand grasped her wrist while she recorded the data, her breath caught in her throat in a silent gasp. The fingers were long and pale, grasping tightly to her. She silently moved the clipboard down and saw that he had finally awakened.

A slight look of shock scrunched his features. His mouth was open in a slight 'o.' He blinked rapidly to adjust to the light. A slight grumbling sound seemed to echo in the tiny space as the man struggled to find his voice.

Nurse Oak sharply inhaled at the noise.

"Where am I?" He struggled to speak, the syllables low and deep.

Nurse Oak quickly regained her composure, "You are in the Recovery Room of St. Martian's Hospital. You've been unconscious for the past sixteen hours."

She watched as he slowly gained more focus on her. Next, his eyes darted quickly around to the rest of the room, only to try and focus back on her.

"Now, who am I?" He said, gaining his voice.

Nurse Oak could only breathe as the implications of this hit her.


Iris Wood. January 19th, 1:01 am. Updated 5th of April