A Scar and a Dark Mark

Chapter 1

Harry James Potter woke up in a clean hospital room. All alone.

He felt a numbing, crushing pain in his ribs-and just about everywhere else too-that was threatening to send him back to the realm of sleep. His head was cloudy and confused. He could barely remember all that had happened to him in the past hectic week, and he was grateful for that. What he could remember was plagued with fear, death, and the cold voice of Lord Voldemort, laughing as he murdered Harry's friends and family. He remembered the leering and dull eyes of the Death Eaters, watching his demise. He knew that Voldemort tricked him into going after somebody....Molly maybe? Once Harry went there to save Molly, well, let's just say the Death Eaters didn't invite him over just for tea. It all felt like a horrible nightmare, to frightening to be true. But his head hurt, and his vision felt blurry. This was no time to dawdle on the fears of reality. He felt for his glasses on the nightstand next to him. 

"I wonder who put me here.." he thought. "What even happened? I need to find someone who can explain it to me....Lupin! Yeah, Lupin could definitely explain it to me," he thought. With his glasses on, he looked around the room for Moony. Alas, he saw nothing, only the haunting ghosts of past memories. Suddenly, a nauseating realization came to him, where in the world was Lupin?  Lupin would have definitely been here in the hospital with him, comforting him, and helping him. Harry tried to fight the fear that was overwhelming him as he looked around for Sirus or Ron or Hermione or...just about anyone! He got out of his bed (painfully), and walked around. His room was clean, small, and too-bright white. It was paining his eyes. He saw salvation in the form of Madam Pompfrey's office. He tentatively walked up to the door listened through, and he heard two voices! Taken aback, he slowly turns the door handle-thank Merlin it's not locked!-and peeked in. Fortunately, Madam Pompfrey and whoever she was speaking with were so deep in conversation that they didn't even notice him peeping through the door.

"Poppy, how can we possibly tell him? I know the boy, he'll think it's his fault," The voice sounded eerily familiar, yet he couldn't place it. The voice sounded old, and tired. Perhaps he couldn't tell because the voice sounded so lifeless and dried out.

"You're putting so much pressure on me, sir. How should I know? Maybe you could assign one of the other children to help him re-adapt after the dreadful event?" Madam Pompfrey said, sharply.

"Hmm...that sounds reasonable. Perhaps, the Longbottom boy? Aren't they friends?" 

"Perhaps, but I think they would just joke off with all their lolly-gagging." Pompfrey said, her commonly kind voice suddenly stern.

"That rules out the Weasly and the Muggle-born too, then?" Whoever the voice is, they didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Well, how about the Malfoy boy?" Harry suddenly felt a surge of pity for the poor soul they were talking about. Forced to be stuck with Malfoy for a year? A form of torture, Harry was sure. Perhaps even worse than Potions with the Slytherins, and that was saying something!

"He could be good. I should go check up on the patient now though, he was seriously injured. Broken ribs and all, the poor child," Ms. Pompfrey added fondly. Wait, wait, wait! Harry had a broken rib, or at least it felt like it. He took a quick glance around, as if there was suddenly going to be another person whom he didn't see before was magically going to appear with a broken rib. Someone else they could be talking about. They couldn't be talking about Harry! ....Were they?  Is he going to be stuck with Malfoy, for the whole year?!

"Need some help there, eh? Looking through doors isn't a good image for 'The Boy Who Lived' now, is it?" Came a disgustingly familiar voice out of nowhere, dripping with smugness.

This was so not going to be Harry's best year.