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62.96% Harry Potter: Dragon Eyes / Chapter 34: Unconsciousness

Capítulo 34: Unconsciousness

Harry's little scheme didn't unfold as smoothly as he had envisioned it…

Casting 'bombarda diabolica' was a stupid gamble.

He wasn't very proficient with the spell yet and he could control neither its output nor its ability to not harm the friendlies, not fully at least.

Thankfully, he managed the second part almost perfectly and no auror exploded into bloody bits; they simply got pushed back.

That's where his luck ended though…

The blast created by the dreadful spell sent multiple pieces of marble at him.

By the time Harry managed to raise a shield, his left leg was battered.

'It's a wonder it's still on me,' he thought bitterly while trying to dampen the pain as much as he could, lest he fainted.

Giving a quick glance at the shaken auror squad in front of him, he let out a groan and, without thinking much about his actions, limped into the hole that he created.

'Oh, fuck me sideways.'

The cavity went all the way down to the basement…

As Harry was free-falling, he couldn't help but notice the blue accents featured on the marble floors that were caused by the trail of his spell.

'A fearsome spell,' he recalled Salazar saying.

With a well-practised 'arresto momentum', Harry landed safely in the lowest room of the house.

That was one of the few spells that he had mastered before meeting Salazar and it was because of one stupid man.

'Fucking Lockhart.'

Despite his inner cursing, Harry wasn't idle.

When he landed, he immediately moved away so that he couldn't be attacked from above.

Following that, he conjured the thickest fog that he could manage.

He huffed tiredly but proudly as he watched it quickly make its way to the higher parts of the house.

Unlike 'Nebulus' which he cast before, this one was a parseltongue variation and insanely harder to dispel.

Harry didn't stop his hiding tactics there though!

"Adiafano," he hissed whilst twirling his wand around himself as though he was wrapping himself with a rope.

There was a dim white flash and Harry felt as if a bunch of raw eggs had been cracked onto his head as the charm took its effect.

The unpleasant feeling indicated his success, he was fully invisible.

He was also tired — extremely tired.

He was trying to balance himself and lessen his head-splitting headache when Fawkes came through at last.

'What's happening, featherling? My senses keep screaming that you are in danger. Are you alright?' the concerned avian's words reverberated in Harry's mind.

Shaking his head, the boy tried to make sense of the voice he heard in his head.

Something about a phoenix and a familiar kept ringing in Harry's head but for the life of him, he couldn't make sense of it.

Eventually, his mind decided to cooperate.

'I'm alone, in my godfather's house… I'm surrounded by a bunch of veteran aurors… I barely cling to consciousness and my left leg is useless,' Harry replied slowly, keeping in mind to talk through the soul bond and not out loud.

As soon as he finished informing the phoenix of his whereabouts and his situation, he failed the game of balance he was playing so far and fell with his backside on the floor.

It would have been quite a funny sigh had the circumstances been different…

Harry didn't receive an immediate reply from his fiery companion, although he took comfort in the shrinking distance between the two of them.

While at the start he could barely feel Fawkes' presence, now it was growing stronger with each passing moment.

Suppressing the many groans that tried to get out of him with what felt like his every move, Harry stood up, his bones rattling in protest and his muscles crying in agony.

Pain was an old friend though, and Harry Potter managed to get up despite his many wounds.

Due to the summoned smoke, he couldn't see anything, not even the floor. That's why he staggered to where he remembered the corner of the room which was opposite the stairs was located at.

Step by step, Harry eventually reached his destination and slumped back on the floor.

He leaned against the cold wall of the room, breathing heavily. He knew the aurors wouldn't be held off for long, even with the dense fog and his invisibility spell.

He could only hope now.

'Everything is up to Fawkes now,' he thought.

The dark spots that filled his vision before, magnified and tried to fill it.

Harry was slipping in and out of consciousness, only managing to come back by sheer will.

There were shouts coming from everywhere and footsteps too close for comfort.

He couldn't do anything though.

After what felt like a few hours, he didn't know how much time had truly passed, the aurors managed to banish the smoke.

Harry's gaze immediately fell on a red-cladded individual who was moving his way.

'T-That's it… I'm caught. Sorry, Sirius,' the boy thought and closed his eyes. Both in defeat and exhaustion. There was only so much he could take.

After a whole minute passed without him being fired any spells or being constrained, Harry opened his eyes in confusion.

There was no one in the basement, not even the auror from before.

'What?'

Wondering what was going on, Harry turned his head, stifling a pained groan, towards his right hand to make sure he was still clutching his wand. His senses weren't the most dependable at the moment.

'Oh… That's right, I'm invisible,' the exhausted youth remembered when his eyes failed to find his hand.

Just then a fiery flash manifested in front of him and someone started shouting from upstairs, followed by others.

'You poor child… Hang on a little longer, I'll take care of everything now,' a warm voice soothed Harry.

More shouting and running.

That was the last thing Harry heard before he was enveloped in a hot, and extremely comfortable embrace.

Then, everything turned black and he welcomed the unconsciousness at last.

.

Read the author's thoughts down bellow :]

[https://www.patreon.com/Mr_0ne] -> "Ch. 40 - The ritual"

[https://discord.com/invite/NJ3WV9RVgR]


PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES
FakeViolinist FakeViolinist

Dear reader of discerning taste,

Upon these words, your eyes have graced.

Once more you've sought this humble scribe,

Whose artful prose you now imbibe.

Have you left though, that which you owe,

Have you offered me, thy precious stone?

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