Chapter 2

"Gideon, what's that there in the bushes?" Jack asked his older brother, pointing out a piece of cloth lying just off the path in the tall grass.

Gideon peered at the cloth before shrugging his shoulders. "Just an old cloth. Come on before dad gets worried; we were supposed to be back an hour ago."

Gideon began to trot along the path, but was stopped by his brother's yell.

"It moved! There's something in it!"

Turning around, he quickly ran back to where his younger brother was peering at the thing as it moved. He could just make out the slow shifting of the cloth. Pushing Jack back behind him, Gideon removed his wand and walked cautiously forwards into the tall grass. The farther in he walked, the more cloth he could see. Suddenly, realization hit him; it was a cloak. The cloak was torn, dirty, and covered in blood. He gripped his wand tighter and leaned forward into a fighting stance. Fearing what he might find underneath, Gideon slowly pulled the cloak back.

Underneath the torn cloak a child around nine or ten-years-old laid, but at the state of the boy Gideon had to gasp in shock. Dried blood caked the boy's face and hair, while bruises scattered his face making him appear bloated.

He turned his paling face back to his younger brother and yelled in a stern voice, "Go get Dad now! Run!"

Hearing the urgency in his brother's voice, Jack took off down the path as fast as he could.

Gideon turned back towards the boy and checked for a pulse. He could feel a weak beating underneath his light touch on the small pale arm. When he placed his hand on the boy, even in sleep he stiffened and shied away as if expecting violence. From the bruises and cuts lining the boy's arms and face he could understand why.

Gideon turned the boy over on his back hoping that it would help with his ragged breathing. Even to the untrained ear the breathing sounded forced, labored.

He could only study the boy's face as he waited for help; the young face was caked with dirt and blood, and creased with worry lines even in oblivion. For the first time in his life, Gideon felt helpless and enraged; enraged at the child's condition, and helpless about not being able to aid the unknown boy. He became even more worried when the child let out some hacking coughs and spluttered up some blood.

He was brought out of his thoughts at the sound of pounding feet quickly approaching. Gideon let out a sigh of relief as he saw his father racing towards him.

Layamon didn't even pause as he jumped into the grass with his wand outstretched and ran to his oldest son who was standing pale faced with shadowed eyes.

The boy lying on the ground was clearly dying. Layamon was shocked to see the unknown boy in such a state as to make one think he had been tortured. He quickly bent down and picked the boy up, marveling at how light he was, almost as if he was air.

"Go home and tend to your siblings; I'll take him to St. Mungo's. I'll be back as soon as I can," he quickly told Gideon before apparating away to the hospital.

The healers took the boy immediately and Layamon was led to a room to give a report to the head healer.

Unfortunately the wizard could tell the healers very little. The healer was a bit frustrated to learn practically nothing about his new patient, only that he was found a few minutes ago in the woods.

Layamon sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily; however hard he tried he couldn't get the image of the prone little body lying motionless in the grass out of his mind. He shuddered as he remembered the ragged breathing and the dried blood on the boy's face.

For the first time in his life Layamon Preyton felt absolutely helpless and lost; he could only wait and hope that the boy would pull through.

Colors…swirls…patterns… They kept flashing past his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried he could not grasp nor understand them. Harry let out a moan of despair as he tried more desperately to grasp the colors…and there! Just for a minute Harry opened his eyes, but was immediately blinded by white light and noise. Scrunching his eyes tightly, he drifted back out of consciousness with one last moan of irritation as a face loomed over his own.

"Mr. Preyton?" a healer asked the waiting room in general.

Layamon quickly got to his feet and made his way over to the healer in concern. "How is he?"

The healer looked extremely uncomfortable and motioned Layamon into a nearby office. Once they were both safely inside and the healer put up some security wards he began to talk.

"The boy you brought in may or may not live. It's hard to tell at the moment because of the extent of his injuries."

"What exactly are his injuries?" Mr. Preyton asked, knowing they had to be bad for a healer to look hesitant about discussing them.

"Sir, strictly speaking I am not supposed to discuss his condition with you, but since we do not know who he is, and you did bring him in, I feel that you should at least be somewhat informed."

Layamon nodded his understanding.

"He is suffering from starvation, many broken bones, infected gashes, internal bleeding, and overexposure to some curses…" the healer said quickly, trailing off at the end and looking troubled. "He is currently in a magical coma from severe drain on his magical core, something that hasn't been recorded happening in centuries."

Layamon was shocked. Whatever the boy went through had to have been intense to almost drain his magical core. Wait a minute…some curses?

"What kind of curses are you talking about?" Mr. Preyton asked sharply.

"Well as you know, we can find traces of many curses for about a year or two after they take place?" Healer Attikson asked him.

Seeing the nod in confirmation, Attikson continued with his explanation with extreme worry.

"Well, we found traces of the Imperius curse, many other dark curses, some boarder lined curses that while not officially dark they are usually considered such, and the boy was practically glowing from all the Cruciatus Curses that had been preformed on him." The young man said with a shudder.

Layamon sat, stunned.

"He also shows signs of physical torture…"

Attikson looked as if he was going to be sick, a feeling that Layamon was experiencing himself. Who in the world would torture a child in such a manner?

"My God…" Layamon muttered, looking extremely faint. "Does the Ministry know yet?"

"The head healer is informing the Ministry as we speak. They should be sending over an auror team to investigate. The boy should only be unconscious perhaps a few days or a week at the most."

Layamon nodded his understanding. Before leaving, he made the young man promise to fire call him when or if the boy had any changes in health.

Harry opened his eyes and had to bite back a groan from the brightness of the room. Squinting, he slowly studied the room. He was clearly in a hospital, something he could tell simply by sniffing the air. Every medical facility he had been in always had the same smell of disinfectants.

The room was medium-sized; off-white; and had a window which was wide open, letting in bright morning light. Bright, annoying, blasted light, he thought irritably.

He slowly lifted his hand towards the window about to make it close, when he paused. Even though his glasses were gone he could still make out that something was not quite right with his hand. Bringing it closer to his face, Harry gasped at its appearance.

Quickly looking down he began to feel his body and limbs with a disbelieving look plastered on his face. He was small! Was he even in his own body?

Harry quickly felt of his forehead and let out a sigh of relief when his fingers brushed over a very familiar scar. So he was still himself, but why was he small and where was he? He couldn't be in St. Mungo's since it had been destroyed three months ago by a Death Eater attack. Did that mean he was out of the country? He was clearly in a magical hospital of some sort since he saw a bottle of Skele-Grow on his bedside table.

Harry slipped out of his bed stiffly and limped towards the door, when he felt a draft. Looking down, he groaned with disgust at the hospital gown, and quickly transfigured it in to a loose blue robe.

Silently opening the door, he noiselessly began to creep out into the hallway, when a startled yelp came from his right. Harry quickly whirled to the right and brought up his right hand ready to start throwing curses when he caught sight of a startled young nurse.

"What are you doing out of bed?" the nurse asked, trying to sound stern but still looking shocked as she held her chest from fright.

Harry studied the young women before asking, "Where am I?"

"You are in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries; you were brought here yesterday by a man who found you in the woods."

He just blinked and looked at the young lady; she clearly was insane. She honestly thought he was going to believe that he was in St. Mungo's?

"St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, hoping she would clarify. As far as he knew, there was only one St. Mungo's.

"Yes, it's a hospital in London - the best in England. Now Mr…?"

"Potter, Harry Potter…" Harry muttered distractedly, lost in his thoughts.

"Right. Now, Mr. Potter, you need to get back to your bed so I can go find your healer. We've all been extremely worried about you."

Harry nodded and went back to his bed and crawled in. Then it hit him. They didn't know who he was… not from his scar …nor by his name. If this was St. Mungo's then the only thing that explained what was happening was that he had somehow been sent to the past.

Leaning back, he let out a groan and covered his face. Why did everything always happen to him? Why did he always have to survive? He had finished his task; why couldn't Fate just do him a favor and let him die in peace? But no! Fate decided to be a bitch and make him suffer even more! Silently, Harry vowed when he finally did die he was going to give a few immortals a piece of his mind.

Harry quickly composed himself as he heard quick footsteps nearing his door. A few moments later a young healer in lime green robes walked into the room, looking slightly flushed. Without waiting for introductions, the healer pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells at the bed-ridden boy. When he was finished, he looked at the results and had to fight to keep the look of shock off of his face.

The boy shouldn't have even been awake according to his results yesterday, but here he was, up and walking. Not only that, but his results only showed some minor injuries that were healing as he watched.

Healer Jettison cleared his throat, "How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?"

"Fine, better than fine, I guess," Harry said in a smooth voice. "What's the date, Healer…?

"Jettison. The date is the twentieth of July. Now could you perhaps tell me how you came to be in the state you were in when you were found?" Healer Jettison asked as he pulled out a quill and clipboard, waiting to take notes.

"No."

"I'm sorry, but no?" Atkinson asked looking over at the boy in confusion.

"I won't; it doesn't matter how I came to be there, or in that condition. When am I allowed to leave?" Harry asked, forgetting that he was currently in a child's body.

The healer just stared at the boy in shock. No? He wasn't going to tell them what happened? Surely he would have to eventually; after all, he had already alerted the aurors that the child was awake. They would be here any minute.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but we need to know what happened to you so that we can help fix it," Atkinson said in a soft comforting voice.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man then sighed. "I said no, Healer Jettison, now when may I leave?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but I am afraid I do not have the answer to that. Once we get in touch with your guardians, the Ministry will decide which course of action to pursue."

"My guardians? Why would I…" Harry began, but then paused again and gave a mental 'oh' while he frowned. "I have no guardians, so there won't be a need to contact them. I'll be fine by myself."

Jettison frowned sadly, "Yes orphans are becoming more common in these troubled times, with this so called dark lord meandering around killing every one."

"Dark Lord?" Harry asked with a slight rise of an eyebrow, after all he didn't know when exactly he was.

The healer's frown turned to one of concern, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named of course. Are you feeling well Mr. Potter?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the stupid question considering that he was in a hospital. He desperately wished to just stun the annoying healer and make a break for it, but if the ministry was coming then he would have little chance of not being found out.

When the healer left, Harry sat back and began to make a story to use for when the aurors arrived. For once in his life he was glad that he had study studied everything about the first rise of Voldemort and any Potter history he could get his hands on. Coming up with a believable story might not be that hard after all, but first thing first he needed to find that nurse and find out the year…discretely of course.