Somebody Help Him...

[lovekicks88]

This story is based on characters and situations owned by JK Rowling and publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury. No copyright infringement is intended or to be infered.

 

Words: 448

 

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Breath came raggedly out of his mouth as his eyes flickered open, clouded with fear and pain. Perspiration laced his forehead like a dewy cobweb, sending beads of sweat running down the imprinted scar on his forehead. Harry hissed and gasped as the wounds in his body stung and bled beyond anything he had felt or seen before.

 

 

His body was shaking uncontrollably as he lay on the hard and cold floor of the Weasleys’ kitchen, the flagstones underneath him bruising his back and sending shivers down his spine with the cold. His breath was quick as his heart raced, quickened from exertion. His mouth was dry as he tried to move, tried to rise himself from the floor and find the others, but his muscles felt weak and the idea of using them seemed an object of complete insanity. He could feel the gaping wounds and deep gashes all over his body, sending pain through his body, causing his limbs to twitch; he didn’t have to be able to see the wounds for him to be able to know that they were there.

 

Willing himself to keep his flickering eyelids open, Harry’s unfocused eyes turned to his glasses, barely two feet from him and too far for his damaged body to reach. Looking past them further, his eyes focused on a long, thin and dark blur that he had to squint to make out.

 

It was his wand.

 

His eyelids flickered again and shut; the simple action of squinting took energy out of him that would have normally been needed to run a marathon. Steadying his breathing, he forced himself to forget his pain and focus on one thing.

 

I need my wand.

 

Harry flickered his eyes open again and turned his head to his wand, squinting the vision clearer. Readying himself for pain at his movement, Harry breathed deeply before holding the breath inside him and rolling onto his right side.

 

Groaning with pain, with tears in his eyes, he reached out in front of him, every part of his arm shaking uncontrollably. Blinking, clearing the tears from his eyes, pain coursing through his body, he knocked aside his glasses and the tips of his fingers touched the cool wood of his wand.

 

And then, as he was just about to wrap his fingers round the wood, a boot came crashing down on his hand, shattering the bones in his fingers. An anguished scream erupted from his mouth as his eyes stung with a fresh flow of tears, pain suddenly piercing his arm.

 

Forcing his weak eyes open, he squinted weakly up at the blurry figure above him and heard them speak.

 

“Don’t you dare, Potter.â€