Harry slowly dragged himself to his feet, eyeing the remnants of his ritual. He'd have to get rid of that when he next came back here. The runes would fade in their own time, even if he didn't magically remove them, but the rest would need vanishing.
It felt like an awfully long way across the chamber to the stairs, and even further up those dusty steps into Myrtle's bathroom where he paused to check his appearance. He didn't have the energy to disillusion himself.
The mirror showed him pale, shivering and sweating, with a blood-soaked left sleeve and no glasses. His eyes were ever so slightly brighter than before, an unnatural gleam of magic hovered there and he grinned. A complete success.
Harry rinsed his face in one of the few sinks that did work, and dried it on his other sleeve. Madam Pomfrey would heal his wrist, and know which potions he should take to help him recover. He was willing to bet that a blood-replenishing one would be among them.
Myrtle was absent from her toilet, likely off spying on the Prefect's Bathroom again, so Harry carefully snuck out into the corridor and made his way down towards the hospital wing.
'What have you done to yourself now, Mr Potter?' Madam Pomfrey sighed, when he lifted through the doors of the infirmary. Harry had no doubt that his attempts to revert his appearance had been undone by the journey here. He'd been seating horribly and he could feel himself shaking like a leaf. 'I think I've lost quite a bit of blood,' he murmured.
The nurse dropped the blankets she was folding and swept over to guide him to the edge of a bed.
'Where are you injured?' She snapped, running her wand over him. 'And how did this happen? You're covered in magical residue.' Harry struggled for an excuse, but nothing presented itself, so he extended his left arm instead.
Madam Pomfrey hissed in displeasure, undoing his makeshift tourniquet which swiftly dissipated into the air. The cut welled up anew, swelling crimson. Withdrawing her wand from Harry's forehead she pressed its tip lightly against the edge of the cut.
'This was created by magic, Mr Potter,' she frowned, 'if you aren't going to tell me how this came about then I can only assume the worst and deduce you have been duelling in the corridors somewhere.'
Not even close.
The nurse sniffed when Harry didn't reply and drew her wand along the length of the cut, watching critically as it closed.
'That did not heal easily,' she muttered. 'What dangerous magic have the students been learning now. Albus needs to take a firmer stance on things like this.' Madam Pomfrey slipped her wand away, and moved over to one of the cupboards of potions. 'You'll need several of these,' she pulled a rack of vials full of a dark red potion out, 'you've lost almost a litre of blood.'
'Filch would be furious if he had to clean it up,' Harry smiled, feeling a little better now the throbbing in his arm was gone, and he was stationary again.
'You'll need these as well,' the nurse ordered sternly, depositing the first rack of vials on the bed next to him and then adding two more. 'One for the pain, and one to help replenish the energy you've lost. It looks like you're about to collapse.'
She looked back at him, pointing a finger at the potions. 'Why aren't you drinking?'
Harry reached for the first of the red potions and gulped it down, hoping it would leave him feeling a lot less fragile than he did.
He ended up just feeling very full of liquid and slightly less shivery.
'If I tell you to stay here, will you actually do it, Mr Potter?' Madam Pomfrey asked, slightly more kindly than normal. Harry pretended to think about it, the grinned as cheekily as he could. 'No,' he decided.
I didn't think so,' the nurse sighed, levitating the vials off the bed and out of the way. 'Off you go then, and make sure you eat something before lunch ends. You're excused from anything strenuous, magical or otherwise, until the end of the week, and I will be talking to your teachers to make sure that they know.'
'Yes, Madam Pomfrey,' Harry agreed, wisely choosing not to argue. Any magic he needed to perform wasn't going to be cast in class.
He swung himself off the bed, stomach sloshing, and onto his feet. There was a slight spell of dizziness, but nothing more. His shivering had stopped, and a glance in the window reassured him that much of his colour had returned.
Harry still looked quite awful, but it was a great improvement on how he'd appeared when he staggered into the hospital wing.
Lunch was almost over when he arrived in the Great Hall, but he found Neville talking with Cedric Diggory at the end of the Gryffindor table and collapsed into the seat next to him.
'You look terrible,' Diggory commented, looking mildly concerned.
'I had a run in with Madam Pomfrey,' Harry smiled, helping himself to as much food as was within reach. He was ravenous after the ritual.
'Did she order you to eat?' Cedric asked, watching with some amusement as Harry consumed enough mashed potato to make a small mountain.
'She might have done,' swallowing his mouthful.
Harry
admitted, 'Have you heard about the most recent decree?' Neville asked.
'No,' Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend and glanced around for a copy of the paper. They were all a little bit of reach, and he'd rather not summon them in his state.
'There's some law about teacher's not being able to discuss anything with students that isn't about their subject,' Neville told him seriously.
'It's because of the breakout from Azkaban,' Cedric snorted. 'My father says there's no evidence that Sirius Black is even in the country, but Fudge doesn't want anything to contradict the Ministry's version of events.'
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