Chapter 503 - The Potter’s

An older couple sits at the bedside of their still unconscious son, an unruly haired youth of fourteen years of age, who typically is a bit tan from the sun, but at present is rather pale. His hazel eyes are closed, and his breathing is light as if in a deep, profound slumber.

The aged wizard with wispy unruly hair and hazel eyes tightly clutches his wife's hand. His wife, a warmly looking grandmotherly witch with toffee colored eyes firmly squeezes his hand back. "James will be fine, love," Euphemia Potter croaked as she clutched her damp handkerchief in her other hand drying the occasional tear.

Fleamont Potter merely pressed his lips together as they waited for their only son to awaken. They had never expected to have children after their many years of trying. And yet, in their old age, they had been blessed with a miracle. A son.

The pregnancy had been particularly harsh on Euphemia with a high-risk factor given her age. During the entire pregnancy, the healers had her on bedrest. All Fleamont could do was stay at her side and make her comfortable as best as he could. The delivery of their son had come with incredibly high risks for the healers were worried his wife might bleed out. To their amazement Euphemia gave birth much like any other witch with minor complications.

"James, please wake up, son," Fleamont thought in his mind. If anything happened to their precious boy, he did not know what he and Euphemia would do. It would surely break their hearts and send them to their early graves that much faster.

Euphemia quietly says, "He shouldn't have been flying out in the storm, Fleamont. I know he is a Gryffindor and all like you were, but I was a Hufflepuff. I know that we have never punished him before Fleamont, but this cannot continue. I will write to Professor McGonagall and he will be banned from playing Quidditch for the rest of the year."

"Seems reasonable, love," Fleamont croaked. "But first, our son has to wake up."

The couple falls silent when to their shock and amazement right before their very eyes, their precious son begins to stir. It starts with faint movements until their sons hazel green flecked eyes open. Blinking as if in disbelief, James croaks, "Mum? Dad?" Flecks of pain, joy, disbelief, and sorrow can be visibly seen in his moist filling eyes.

"Oh, son, you had us so worried!" Fleamont exclaimed as Euphemia began to noisily weep in relief, before drawing her son into her embrace.

While Euphemia planted wet kisses all over their son's face in relief, Fleamont hurried out of the room to get the healer in charge. The healer in question is Hippocrates Smethwyck, now a certified healer with sleek hair and of medium build and height. Despite it his youthful appearance, Smethwyck had inherited his healing master's imposing manner.

With a firm cool face, Smethwyck approached as his green healer robes swooshed around him. Pausing at the bedside, he reaches for a clipboard to study the notes that have been made on the case. The emblem on his chest is that of a crossed wand and bone proclaiming him a certified healer.

The patient had since sat up and seemed to drink some water. Smethwyck calmly observes the situation, before he asked, "Patient James Fleamont Potter, what is the last event that you recall?"

James's hazel eyes solemnly blink up at him. "I can't remember."

Making a note of that with an enchanted ink quill, Smethwyck writes on the clipboard, "Patient cannot recall the traumatic event. Possible memory loss. Further testing is required."

Glancing up from his notes, Smethwyck asks, "Do you feel any pain?"

"My head and the rest of my body ache a bit," James quickly answered as he tightly hugged his mother back not wanting to let her go. It was as though he if he were afraid that once he did, he would awaken to find that this was all a dream. Or maybe it was heaven, either way he had no wish for this dream to end.

"That is perfectly normal considering the cracked skull and severe bruising on your body," Smethwyck replied. "Not to mention, you caught a fierce fever. And you are still in the recovery phase from both incidents, but the aching should subside no later than tomorrow."

James slowly nods his head and in a very calm manner asked, "I'm sorry, but what day is today?"

"It is the last day of July," Smethwyck slowly said to see if that garnered any reaction. Failing to see any, he adds, "July 31st of 1974, tomorrow will be August 1st."

James eyes widen in shock as Smethwyck firmly says, "Patient James Fleamont Potter, please rest for now, there will be testing done to ensure that everything is healing well. And if all should go well, Mr. Potter, you shall be released later this very evening."

"Oh, thank you, Healer Smethwyck!" The Potter couple gratefully said.

Smethwyck nods in reply, before returning the clipboard back in place and striding away. He would need to call upon another Healer to aid him in the memory test. He had the firm impression that something had gone astray, either from the head crack or from the fever. Possibly even a side effect from the combination of both.

James turned to stare at his parents and asked, "How long have I been here?" And after a brief pause adding, "Mum and Dad," in obvious delight and disbelief.

"Only two days, Jamie," Euphemia muttered. "Today will be your third day."

ames sighs with mixed emotions as he leans back to rest in his pillows. Euphemia fluffs up his pillows and asks her son, 'Would you like some soup to eat?"

"Please," James gratefully said as she hurries off to find a healer and ask for soup.

Turning to eye the old figure of his father, James eyes smarten with tears as his voice turns gruff. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I promise that I'll never put you through something like this again."

"I know you won't son," Fleamont cracked a smile. "But your mother and I will see to it that you are taken off the Quidditch team for the entire year.��

Fleamont waits for the expected cries of protest, but instead James surprises him. "I think that would be for the best, dad. I did something really foolish and frankly Quidditch doesn't seem that appealing at this juncture."

Fleamont sputters in surprise, "If I knew that was all it took for you to mature, young man, I'd have clonked you on the head myself ages ago!"

James wryly chuckles along with Fleamont as they enjoy this father and son moment. Blinking around, James takes in the hospital and slowly says, "How did I get here?"

Fleamont makes a wary face, before reaching over to tousle his son's untamed hair. "You were out flying in a storm and fell."

James's face falters as he closes his eyes shaking his head at himself. That was indeed something in his character. Opening his eyes, he bitterly says, "Sorry Dad, Mum, I didn't mean to cause you to worry." And with a determined expression on his face, he says, "And it won't happen again, I promise!"

��Good, because you won't be seeing the other end of a broom all this summer and into the school year, young man!" Euphemia roared, before patting her son's face as if to reassure herself he was there with them.

James leans into his mother's touch as Fleamont smiles tiredly at his only son. And he and Euphie had received the fright of their lives, the clonk to James's head had done their son a turn for the better. It was a blessing in disguise.