Different Type Of Wizard

Kakashi woke slowly, as though surfacing from deep water. Every muscle in his body ached. His skin burned beneath tight layers of bandages, and the dull hum of pain made it hard to tell where one injury ended and another began. The last thing he remembered was the graveyard—the ropes biting into his arms, the agony of the Cruciatus Curse tearing through every nerve, and the sound of Harry screaming his name.

He turned his head slightly, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. The faint morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Hospital Wing. The room was quiet, save for the occasional clink of glass vials and the soft rustle of Madam Pomfrey moving about.

“Awake, are you?” she said briskly, though her tone softened when she saw his eyes open. “You’re lucky, young man. I’ve done what I can for the curse residue, but your body will need time. You’ve got more cuts and burns than anyone I’ve treated this year—and that’s saying something.”

Kakashi gave a faint, sheepish smile behind his mask. “I’ll try not to set a new record, then.”

Pomfrey huffed, tucking her wand away. “See that you don’t. Rest. No getting up, no jutsu, no wandering off. Understood?”

He gave a small nod, too tired to argue.

When she turned away, Kakashi finally noticed the other bed across from him. Harry lay there, pale and still, his right arm wrapped in thick bandages. Even from here, Kakashi could see the angry swelling beneath the dressings—where Wormtail’s knife had cut deep.

Pomfrey had told him earlier, in her clipped, matter-of-fact way, that she’d decided to keep the boy secluded for a while. “He needs peace and quiet,” she’d said. “Time to breathe. The poor thing’s been through enough.”

Kakashi couldn’t disagree.

He shifted slightly, wincing, and watched the boy’s sleeping face. Even unconscious, Harry looked exhausted—his brow furrowed, lips tight as if caught in some silent argument with himself.

Kakashi let his head sink back against the pillow. His body was still trembling faintly, nerves twitching from phantom shocks of the curse. He’d faced a lot of pain in his life, but that kind of torture—raw, invasive, magical—was unlike anything he’d ever endured.

He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back to Harry.

We survived, he thought. But it’s not over yet.

---

Harry woke to the low hum of voices — familiar ones. It took him a moment to realize where he was. The smell of potions and the crisp hospital linens gave it away before his eyes even opened. His arm ached, wrapped tightly in clean white bandages, and his throat felt dry.

“—told you he’d wake up soon,” Ron was saying.

“Well, Madam Pomfrey said not to disturb him,” Hermione replied softly, but her voice trembled — with relief more than scolding.

Harry blinked, his vision clearing, and the first thing he saw was Kakashi sitting upright in the next bed, a little pale but conscious. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked half-mummified under all the bandages, but he was awake and — incredibly — managing a small smile as Ron offered him a handful of sweets.

“We brought these for you,” Ron was saying. “Figured you might want something better than potion goo.”

Kakashi chuckled behind his mask, his voice raspy. “Thanks. I’ll… treasure them.”

That was when Hermione turned and gasped. “Harry!”

Ron whirled around, a grin breaking through the worry on his face. “Mate — you’re awake!”