0801 Discharged

In the eerily quiet hospital wing, the atmosphere was heavy with the lingering aftermath of recent traumatic events.

Professor Dumbledore had also left, taking Barty Crouch Sr. with him before departing. Winky was still unconscious: the Stunning Spell that young Barty had cast in his fury was too powerful, and Winky couldn’t shake it off just yet. Dumbledore hadn’t actively awakened her either; perhaps he understood how cruel the current situation would be for her.

The heavy silence of the hospital wing was suddenly broken by the sound of approaching footsteps and the gentle creak of the door to the smaller private ward.

Madame Maxime emerged from the space. Her face showed signs of distress and worry. Following close behind her came Fleur Delacour, her arm wrapped around her younger sister Gabrielle’s shoulders.

“Thank you so much! Thank you!” Fleur exclaimed with passionate intensity, her melodious voice trembling with raw emotion.

As she emerged fully from the ward, her stride carried her directly toward Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Her beautiful blue eyes remained noticeably moist and shimmering with tears of gratitude. It was clear to anyone who looked upon her that she had been thoroughly frightened during the ordeal.

Before Harry could react, she embraced him and gave him a warm kiss on the cheek, then did the same for Ron and Hermione.

“Even though it was that tracksuit that saved my Gabrielle,” Fleur continued, her voice dense with emotion and gratitude as she stepped back to address all three of them properly, “you helped as well, didn’t you? You were all part of this, and I will never, ever forget what you did for my family.”

Harry found himself stammering helplessly in the face of such overwhelming gratitude. Words seemed to stick in his throat like thick honey, refusing to form clear sentences no matter how hard he tried to force them out.

The truth was both simple and incredibly complicated, he honestly couldn’t figure out the precise moment when the real Gabrielle and Professor Watson had switched places. The entire sequence of events remained somewhat mysterious to him, filled with gaps in his understanding that left him feeling confused and uncertain about his actual role.

More importantly, he had absolutely no intention of telling Fleur the complete truth about the situation.

Unfortunately for the emotional reunion and the heartfelt expressions of gratitude that were flowing between the young people, Madam Pomfrey had no intention of allowing prolonged social interactions to interfere with proper medical recovery protocols.

“That’s quite enough excitement for now,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

She quickly shepherded Harry, Ron, and Hermione to their respective beds and forced each of them to consume a specially prepared healing potion.

The liquid was an unappetizing shade of murky green that reminded Harry unpleasantly of pond water, and its taste was even worse than its appearance showed, bitter, chalky, and with an underlying metallic flavor that lingered unpleasantly on the tongue long after swallowing.

However, Madam Pomfrey’s watchful gaze ensured that every last drop was consumed, regardless of their grimaces of disgust and barely suppressed gagging.

Following the drinking of the healing potions, she drew thick, privacy-ensuring curtains around each of their beds. The curtains were made of heavy, cream-colored fabric that effectively blocked out both light and sound.

Within these private spaces, she meticulously applied fresh dittany to their various wounds and injuries.

The potion’s effects were remarkably fast and powerful. Before Madam Pomfrey had even finished treating the last of Hermione’s wounds, Harry, who had been the first to consume his dose of the healing draught, was already being pulled into the irresistible embrace of heavy, dreamless sleep.

The following two days stretched endlessly before them, creating what were quite possibly among the most boring, frustrating, and mind-numbingly tedious hours they had ever experienced during their entire time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

To ensure that her three patients received the proper rest and recuperation necessary for full healing, both physical and emotional, Madam Pomfrey had arranged their beds in a small, private ward that was separate from the main hospital wing.

This isolation served multiple purposes, it protected them from the curious stares and endless questions of other students who might need medical attention, while also allowing her to maintain strict control over their environment and recovery process.

More importantly for their sanity, it meant she could effectively bar all visiting classmates, friends, and well-wishers who might otherwise have turned their recovery period into a constant stream of social obligations and emotionally draining conversations.

The three recovering friends could repeatedly hear the frustrated voices of Ron’s numerous brothers and sister arguing loudly and stubbornly outside the hospital wing doors as they attempted to negotiate, plead, and occasionally demand access to their injured brother.

Fred and George were particularly persistent, their voices were also easily recognizable as they alternated between jokes, bribes, and increasingly creative arguments for why they should be granted special visiting privileges.

Neville had also made one determined attempt to visit, accompanied by what sounded like several other Gryffindor students whose worried voices created a small crowd outside the hospital wing entrance.

Hagrid, too, had come calling, his booming voice easily penetrating the thick walls as he expressed his concern and desire to check on “the three of ’em” personally.

However, Madam Pomfrey showed absolutely unprecedented determination and resolve in her role as medical gatekeeper.

With the fierce protectiveness of a dragon guarding her hoard, she refused to let a single person pass through those doors, regardless of their relationship to her patients, their good intentions, or the emotional arguments they presented.

Harry kept hoping that Sirius would return to stay with him, but he seemed to have forgotten his promise and never came back. Harry knew things were different now, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit resentful.

Adding to his sense of abandonment and neglect, both Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson seemed to have completely forgotten about their existence too.

Neither of the two most important authority figures in their lives had bothered to visit them even once during their two-day confinement.

Completely cut off from the outside world, the only news they received was from Madam Pomfrey, who told them that Professor Dumbledore had announced Voldemort’s return to everyone in the Great Hall during the evening feast on the day they had declared Voldemort’s return, asking everyone to remain vigilant. He had also announced Karkaroff’s death.

Harry had expected to discuss intensely with Ron or Hermione what had happened that morning—why Professor Watson had appeared in place of Gabrielle. Had he foreseen Voldemort’s plan in advance? If so, why had he allowed Voldemort to regain his powers? But they didn’t.

Harry didn’t want to recall those few hours when he thought Ron and Hermione were dead. It was too dark, just thinking about it now made him shiver all over. Logic forced him to turn his thoughts elsewhere, while Ron and Hermione, having essentially died once, found it an experience that was far from trivial for them as well.

But they did discuss some things, such as Hermione’s champion status.

Now they knew that Hermione’s champion status was the doing of Cliodna, who had been impersonating Moody, and Harry had learned the reason for her suggestion from Voldemort himself.

It was somewhat absurd, it was because Hermione had desperately protected him in the box during the Quidditch Cup final that night, which Cliodna had witnessed. So, knowing all the competition details, she had advised Voldemort to make Hermione a champion. This way, they could both create an opportunity to get Harry out of Hogwarts and create a smokescreen to confuse Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson.

“If the tournament organizers decide to continue the Triwizard Tournament,”

Ron asked, his brow furrowed with concern and confusion as he looked at Hermione, “how exactly will they handle the scoring for the second task? When you really think about it, except for Cedric Diggory, absolutely no one managed to successfully complete the assigned task.

If the judges decide to give Cedric full points for his successful rescue while scoring everyone else with zero points for failing to complete their objectives, wouldn’t that automatically lock up the victory for him before the third task even begins?”

“Unless the tournament organizers announce a complete redo of the second task,” Harry said, scratching his arm. The wounds that young Barty had inflicted were completely healed, not even leaving scars, but the newly grown flesh where the wounds had been was somewhat itchy.

“I mean, they could design an entirely new competition with completely different challenges and objectives, essentially giving everyone a fresh start and equal opportunity.”

“But there wouldn’t be nearly enough time,” Hermione pointed out.

“According to the original tournament schedule that was announced at the beginning of the year, we’re supposed to have the third and final task sometime in June, and it’s already March now.

The organizers would need to completely redesign new challenges from scratch, mobilize all the necessary magical resources and personnel, test the new scenarios for safety and fairness, and coordinate with all three participating schools and their respective ministries of magic.

This kind of major reorganization would inevitably affect the timing and preparation for the third task as well, and the delays and complications would make all the participating schools, including our own Ministry of Magic, look like complete fools in the eyes of the international wizarding community.”

“The Ministry of Magic,” Harry muttered, his expression darkening. He still couldn’t forget Cornelius Fudge’s ridiculous reaction that day, nor the heart-stopping confrontation between Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson in the hospital wing.

“Haven’t they already made enough of themselves look foolish?”

Footsteps outside interrupted Hermione’s intended reply. The door opened, and Professor McGonagall walked in with a smile.

The words she spoke next were like music to the ears of three young people who had grown increasingly restless, bored, and desperate for freedom: “Madam Pomfrey has determined that you’ve all recovered sufficiently to return to your normal activities and dormitory.”

“I was beginning to think they were planning to keep us locked up in here until Easter holidays!” Ron exclaimed with explosive enthusiasm and obvious relief as he immediately began gathering his personal belongings and few possessions that had accumulated during their stay.

The three of them moved with the urgent efficiency of refugees fleeing a disaster zone, quickly collecting their things and practically running from the hospital wing as though afraid that Madam Pomfrey might change her mind and drag them back to their beds for additional observation and treatment.

The taste of freedom after days of confinement was intoxicating, and Harry felt his spirits lift dramatically for the first time since the traumatic events in the graveyard.

Harry was particularly eager to return to the familiar comfort and warmth of Gryffindor Tower, to reunite with his dormitory mates and classmates, to rejoin the normal rhythm of school life that represented safety and normalcy after the chaos and terror of recent days.

However, as they rushed through the corridors of Hogwarts toward Gryffindor Tower, Hermione suddenly stopped abruptly.

“Oh no!” She cried out with obvious panic and conflict. “Today’s a school day!”

“Please, for the love of Merlin, don’t tell me you’re seriously planning to go to class right now, Hermione!” Ron said in complete shock and disbelief.

“But today’s Friday,” Hermione said with growing concern and internal conflict evident in her voice. “That means we have Professor Watson’s Physical Education class this afternoon.”

Harry, who had been showing signs of reluctance, paused slightly. If it were any other class, he wouldn’t mind legitimately skipping it. After experiencing such terror and being confined in the hospital wing for days, Harry was desperate for freedom. They had already agreed to go to the dormitory first to change clothes, then visit Hagrid to find out what was happening.

But Professor Watson’s PE class…

In that sinister graveyard, having witnessed Voldemort’s resurrection, they had realized acutely how important practical combat training was. And the likelihood of encountering such dangerous situations would certainly increase in the future.

“Alright then,” Ron said with a shrug of his shoulders and a resigned but understanding expression. “I suppose I’ll go change clothes first, get into something more appropriate for physical activity, then head to the Quidditch pitch to stretch a bit and maybe get some fresh air and exercise before class begins. After the PE class ends, we can all go to Hagrid’s together as originally planned.”

Honestly, leaving Ron behind every PE class was torture for Harry, but the usually accommodating Professor Watson was quite principled about this matter—none of them could shake his resolve.

Professor Watson had killed young Barty Crouch in front of Voldemort, and in the inevitable recollections of recent days, this was the most satisfying thing Harry could think of. But even he hadn’t realized that he could now think so calmly about killing and death.

“I hope that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson have managed to resolve their differences and make up,” Hermione said with obvious worry and concern as they continued hurrying through the familiar corridors toward their destination.

“They shouldn’t really be at odds with each other, should they?” She continued, working through her thoughts aloud. “After all, their ultimate goal is the same—to resist You-Know-Who and protect the wizarding world from his evil influence. They just have different approaches and philosophies about how to achieve that common objective.

When you think about it objectively, I’m not too surprised by this kind of philosophical disagreement. Wizards of their caliber and experience always have their own distinctive style and strategic preferences.”

She paused thoughtfully before continuing with growing conviction in her voice: “But I genuinely think Professor Watson is right about the broader strategy we need to use. The Ministry of Magic absolutely must be made to shoulder their proper responsibility in this crisis, they simply cannot be allowed to stay on the sidelines, pretending that the threat doesn’t exist.

If Professor Dumbledore tries to rely only on Sirius and others to fight You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, it would undoubtedly prove to be incredibly difficult.”

After hesitating, Harry nodded in agreement. He and Hermione hurried through a long corridor, leaped around a corner, and prepared to climb the stairs. However—

Looking at the platform between the staircases, where a group of Slytherin wizards were gathered around Draco Malfoy, Harry and Hermione stopped in their tracks.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep