Uptime, present day
A book landing on Harry's nose startled his eyelids open. Harry felt the sheets under him as he woke. What were sheets doing in the library? He blinked his eyes and noticed a familiar ceiling. What the? He was just in the library; what the heck was he doing in the bloody infirmary again? Looking around he noticed the light level coming in the room from the window. It was early morning and the sun was just starting to peek over the battlements on the eastern walls.
Crap, he thought. How long was I out? Harry had guessed he'd only be out a few hours and then a little magically weak for a bit based on what Binns had shared from his experience, but how long was he actually out if he was in the infirmary of all places? C'mon, Harry, maybe it was only some students freaking out if they couldn't wake you.
Yeah, that's it. That's the ticket. They just freaked out when you didn't wake up.
Taking in deeper breaths to get his circulation moving again, Harry eventually sat up and looked around to see if he was alone. He had expected to sit up, looking in the half light and see a couple rows of empty beds. He was surprised then to see the bed next to his occupied. To make matters worse, he recognized the occupant.
It was his mother.
And as he squinted to get a better look he saw she was drooling on the pillow.
Deciding to get up, he tossed the book that was on him towards his feet, whipped the covers off and stood quickly. He noticed that however long he'd been there had been long enough for someone to strip him down and put him in his pyjamas. Not needing them for anything other than the façade he was continuing, Harry looked to his nightstand and found his glasses.
The stone floor was cold to his feet but Harry didn't mind it much. He'd gotten over thinking about such things when he was six and complained during the winter that he was cold to his aunt. After her little venting about ungrateful children, he'd had his cot and blankets taken away for a week. That same week he'd gotten a 104 degree temperature and now that he could look back on it, he realized it was his magic that had finally kept him in the realm of the breathing.
Harry walked over to the window and looked out. There was a little frost on the ground. It was fall, he mused. How long had he been out he wondered. It had to be a day or longer since his mother was wearing her sleeping garb.
Crap, he thought. How the hell am I going to explain this?
"Harry?" a soft voice said, sleep still there. Then, louder, "Harry!"
Harry turned and saw his mother rushing towards him, her pink flannel nightgown (that went to her feet) not slowing her run to him. She smothered him in a hug. "Oh, Harry! You're awake! I was so worried. What happened? Did you touch a cursed book? Didn't I always tell you to run a check over any unknown book? Oh sweetie, look at you! You're all skin and bones. You haven't eaten in days. Are you hungry? I can have a house elf bring something up. How about some chicken noodle soup? Or a sirloin steak? Potatoes?" She stopped when she saw him smiling at her.
"Sweetie?" she managed to ask.
"Hi, mum." She was making a fuss over him again. How great was that?!
"Oh, Harry!" She swept him into another bear hug and leaked out a few tears.
It took nearly an hour for Harry to get his mother to stop mothering him. For one thing, he really didn't want her to stop, but eventually a bodily need won out and he needed to use the loo. Preferably without someone waiting inside with him in case he fell off the toilet.
Shortly after that he dressed in his school clothes with the full intention of returning to his dorm and cleaning himself up properly. After all, his hair was wilder than usual and he had a little B-O going. Thankfully, no one had seen fit to give him a sponge bath. God forbid his mother had thought to do it. Even Harry had his limits.
Fully clothed, he sat across from his mother, both on their respective beds. He knew there would be serious repercussions if he left the infirmary without Madame Pomfrey's permission, so he was waiting for her to wake and pronounce him fit as a fiddle.
"You ready to tell me what you were doing back in time, mister?" Lily asked, shocking her oldest son.
"Er… um, how do you know I just wasn't cursed?"
"Please, Harry, give your mother some credit. I've seen cursed people before. It's not a pretty sight. You on the other hand were still my handsome little prince."
"Mum," Harry's cheek's flushed a little.
"Besides, Professor Binns confirmed your little jaunt. He said it had something to do with your eyes."
"What do you mean?"
"Your eyes turned completely black, did you know that? All of it, even the whites turned black. And Madame Pomfrey said you were exporting a large amount of anti-magic out of your body. Harry, I'll be honest with you. When your father and I first heard from Headmaster Dumbledore that you were a History Channeler, we were both elated. We both have worked dangerous jobs in the past, and your father still has an element of danger in his job even now. We thought that this ability of yours would keep you safe, give you a safe job. And now we find that you can go gallivanting off in time whenever you feel like it and that it's not as safe as we thought it was."
"Mum, I'm not hurt. And I can't be hurt when I travel back in time."
"Oh really? And where did you get that little tidbit of information from? Because according to your Professor Binns, you can get hurt in time. Specifically, when you are interacting with time and not just watching it."
"Really? I can get hurt in downtime? Huh. How about that. He never said anything to me."
"I suspect he was waiting for the correct time. Specifically after you did something that caused you to get a little hurt with a time interaction."
"But mum, I had to go. It was important."
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