Chapter Text
A loud bang jerks him out of sleep, muffled voices around him. It is his wakeup call, mere seconds before Aunt Petunia will yelling shrilly.
“Bloody hell, Harry!”
Hang on? That isn’t right. Who’s that?
“How many times do I have to tell you? We have to be in potions in 20 minutes, Snape won’t be pleased if you’re late again!”
He doesn’t bother opening his eyes. It is just a dream and he can get in more sleep until Dudley requires breakfast.
Suddenly a whoosh and light beams into his cupboard. Wait no, not his cupboard! A freckled red head is shaking him urgently.
“Come ON! I’m off to breakfast you better be there”
Before he could react the boy turned and out the door, down grey stone steps. Grey stone steps, torches on the walls? What is this medieval times?! And what did he say, we are going to potions? This was one weird dream. With the splitting headache he had, he shut his eyes… Just one more moment. Not too long, Dudders doesn’t like waiting for food.
“Potter!” once again jolted awake, this time by a stern Scottish accent “What on earth do you think you are doing sleeping through your classes! If you are ill you must say something, I had to convince Snape I should come see you. You may not have been lucky if I hadn’t”
Groaning Harry forced his eyes open to see a tall, thin lipped woman with hair pulled back into a tight bun on top of her head, glaring down upon him. He frowned, this was an awfully persistent dream.
“Well? Explain yourself.”
“I- uh… where am I?”
At this the woman snorted. “Where are you? Well Potter for now you are at Hogwarts but keep up skipping class and you sure won’t be for much longer.”
“Hogwarts?”
She frowned down at Harry’s bemused expression “You weren’t subject to a stray spell of Longbottom’s were you Potter?” Still no response on Harry’s behalf. Sitting gingerly on the end on his bed she looked into the wide green eyes of the 11 year old before her. “Are you feeling alright Harry? Usually you would have spoken back at least twice by now”
“Oh just a headache” he mumbled into his pillow “probably Dudley’s most recent ‘Harry hunting’ attack”
“Alright Mr Potter, I think a dose of pepper-up should sort you out. Hurry up now.”
He hastily scrambled out of bed at the look on the woman’s face. She definitely wasn’t someone to keep waiting, Harry decided. Before he knew it they had headed down the stairs and out a door, where one side was a portrait of a large woman who he swore smiled at him before he turned his back.
Soon, they arrived in what appeared to be a hospital. Harry was sure he was dreaming, but for a dream it sure was vivid, complete with a sterile scent when they entered the room.
“Sit” the Scottish woman, told him whilst motioning Harry to sit on a nearby bed.
His instincts telling him to obey, he sat and watched her disappear into a door at the end of the wing. Faint voices were heard before the Scottish woman emerged with another woman (whom Harry assumed to be a nurse from her outfit, though this could mean nothing as the Scottish woman’s attire was also quite strange, in his opinion).
“Mr Potter! I was wondering how long before I’d be seeing you, if you have your father’s penchant for trouble”
“You knew my father?” He blurted without thought. The topic was such taboo at the Dursley’s that he could quite possibly count the number of times anyone had spoke of his father on one hand.
A look was exchanged between the two women.
“Harry. Professor McGonagall mentioned you were rather disorientated this morning. Do you know where you are?”
Harry did not need to speak, as at the blank look on his face, the Scottish women (McGonagall was it?) sighed heavily.
“I thought it just an act, but now I believe I should fetch the headmaster”
Before Harry had a chance to comprehend the exchange, McGonagall had spun on her heal and vanished into green flames in the nearby fireplace. This occurrence only seemed to make his head pound harder, a gaping in confusion he turned to the remaining women only to find a long, thin piece of wood aimed at his chest. He jumped from the bed, attempting to distance himself from the strange choice of weapon. This sudden movement did not agree with his body as almost instantly his vision began to darken. Legs weak, he stumbled to grasp the bed railing, but he was unconscious before he even hit the floor.