Harry Potter shook his head roughly. He couldn't pass out, no matter the pain. He tried to open his exhausted green eyes, waiting for the telltale whoosh before a fresh wave of pain. After a few minutes, he managed to win the fight with his body. He heard a noise, and his muscles bunched up, waiting for a few more seconds.
His eyes opened, and then closed with a small gasp. He couldn't see. He tried again, lifting his hand, the non broken one, and rubbing his eyes. Darkness surrounded him, and he let out a short, bitter laugh. Well, this was great, he thought with a snort. How was he going to do his chores now?
His head turned roughly towards where the sound was. He knew that voice, the voice of his closest confident, Neville Longbottom. Then, he let out a small groan of annoyance. He knew for a fact that Neville Longbottom would never appear in his basement, so that left one alternative.
He was in the great hall. His mind remembered the feel of the magic that surrounded him, trying to make him safe, to heal him. He turned his head forwards and muttered something under his breath that would have made even a sailor blush. He looked around, his eyes attempting to find some sort of light, but it was no use.
Then, he felt it, a touch to his body, just a simple touch of a hand to his arm, and his body flinched back wildly. While mentally, he knew he was safe, his body was still as uptight as it had been when he was getting punished just moments before.
"Its alright, Harry, its just me." A soothing voice said. He tilted his head slightly towards the voice, and almost immediately recognized it.
"Moony." He whispered. The sound of a slight chuckle made him roll his eyes.
"I don't look that different, Harry." Remus said with a roll of his eyes.
Harry's face immediately darkened. This was just not his day.
"I would love to tell you that you don't, but considering the fact that I can't see…" his voice trailed off. He heard a low growl leave the professor's throat, and tensed, trying to move, before he realized that it wasn't going to work. He closed his eyes, not that it did any good, and tried to access his injuries. He ran his hand over his chest, starting where it hurt the most, and flinched deeply when he ran his hands over two very broken ribs that seemed to be sticking up at a weird angle. His back side, from slightly lower than his neck and ending at his knees was shredded by the metal of a belt, and sitting still hurt horribly.
Sighing quietly, he ran his hand down his body again, this time, using his magic to heal whatever needed to be healed.
Broken jaw, broken and cracked ribs, broken wrist on one hand, and the other arm was broken. His legs were both broken, and he knew for a fact that his knee cap was shattered on his right leg.
It would heal in time, he decided, but he would most likely have a limp for a while. Once his body stopped aching so much, he tried to focus his magic on his eyes, seeing if that was something he could fix. When his magic caused something to break in the distance, he pulled it back within himself, and sighed heavily. There was nothing to be done over something so horribly damaged.
He turned the idea around in his head. He could simply re-grow his eyes, after all, there was such thing as magic, and if someone could re-grow all the bones in his arm, surely he could gorge out his own eyes and bring them back.
He rolled his sightless green eyes and let out a sigh. This just had to happen to him, didn't it. Not like he had a dark lord to defeat or anything. An image forced its way into his mind, lets try fighting Voldemort with a walking stick, and see how well that would work.
"What happened to you, Harry?" The kind voice of his parent's friend asked, making him snort.
"Nothing now, besides the fact that apparently, my head was banged against the floor one too many times, and now I can't see. Wonderful, isn't it?" Harry knew he sounded bitter, and felt like he was a five year old whining about how everything happens to them, but this was ridiculous.
He heard a disapproving tut, and bit back the rude comment that he wished he could tell his potions professor, Severus Snape.
Someone came over and hugged him, but he flinched back. His body didn't seem to want to relax, and he closed his sightless eyes and forced his body out of fight or flight mode. When he was at school, he normally didn't like very many people touching him, ever, but that was only after he had time to adjust, which is why he always got at the train station hours before it was time, so he could get used to being around people. This time, however, he didn't have the time to deal with people who didn't know him, and just walked by him seeing just a normal boy, before having to deal with being stared at everyday for the rest of the school year.
He felt his breathing speed up, and his mind started to get hazy from fear. They would know. His most deeply guarded secrets were out in the open, and for what? So his uncle could have some extra time with his toy?
He had always been neglected, and almost always physically and mentally abused, but after aunt Petunia walked out with Dudley, things had gotten worse. He spent more and more time in his cupboard, or in the basement, as Uncle Vernon had taken to missing work to drink or spend time with his darling nephew. Things had always been bad for Harry Potter, starting when he was just over a year old and his parents were cruelly murdered, to this very day. Sometimes, he had wished for death, and even planned on suicide, wanting to time it on the first second of his eleventh birthday, but decide against it when Hagrid, the friendly half giant had come and told him of his importance.
He had wished every year for the exact same thing: to be normal. But that would never happen, and he wasn't stupid enough to think that it would ever again.
"Who did this?"
Harry turned his head slightly, and tried to match up the voice in his head with the name of a wizard. He knew that voice.
His eyes widened slightly. "What…what is Lucius Malfoy doing here?" He asked his honorary god-father.
"He teaches transfiguration." Remus answered.
"What happened to Professor McGonagall then?" He asked.
"She and Headmaster Dumbledore are co-headmasters because the board was worried that he might have been stressing too much for someone his age."
The boy was getting a headache trying to keep every new fact straight in his mind. That was when he felt it, a shove to his mental shields from the deadly dark lord. Five crutiatus curses and one Avada Kadabra later, he fell into the deepest part of his mind to get away from the pain and stress that his body was going through. He was exhausted, and if anyone deserved a good rest, he figured that he did.