Chapter 14

                                    

                                          
Hagrid was a figure of comfort and strength, an ancient oak in the midst of a raging storm. The flickering lights of St. Mungo's Hospital cast long shadows across the pale walls, but Hagrid sat resolutely by Harry's bedside, his massive frame dwarfed only by the immense worry etched across his face. Harry lay there, pale as a ghost, battling the agonising aftermath of the poison. A vivid memory of laughter and warmth filled Hagrid's mind—memories of happier days at Hogwarts—but now, those memories felt far away, overshadowed by a heavy cloud of fear and despair.
The healers moved about the sparsely furnished room like frantic bees, each absorbed in their own task. They exchanged furtive glances, their hearts guided by discomfort and uncertainty. It was as if Hagrid's sheer size encumbered them; each time they dared to approach Harry, they glanced at the giant's imposing figure that anchored himself to the chair beside the bed.
Harry gasped for breath, tearing in and out, as though invisible hands gripped his throat tight. Hagrid rubbed his back, a gentle motion that felt both foreign and comforting. Each time Harry was about to succumb to the wave of nausea, Hagrid would offer him a glass of water, only to have it pushed aside, a reminder of the poison that coursed through him.
"Hang on, Harry. Jus' a bit longer," Hagrid murmured, his heart heavy with the weight of his promise. He could see the fear flickering in Harry's eyes, a haunting reflection of pain that made Hagrid's own heart twist. Harry's hands clutched at the bed covers, trembling, and he turned slightly to gaze at Hagrid, his expression betraying the turmoil within. It struck Hagrid anew, as if each tremor sent daggers through him, a sense of helplessness he had never experienced before.
"I will stay righ' 'ere," he said, his rough voice almost breaking under the weight of his emotions. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, a shield against Harry's suffering. Another tear streaked down Harry's cheek, a silent acknowledgement of his gratitude, for the unyielding bond they shared.
Hours morphed into eternity. The healers darted in and out, their faces wearing expressions that ranged from concerned to grim. One Healer returned, a flask of vibrant potion cradled in his hands. The moment he entered, Hagrid's heart raced.
"Wha' is that?" Hagrid asked, frowning.
With a practiced hand, the healer explained, "We believe the poison originates from the Angel's Trumpet plant. Its toxins attack the body aggressively—dangerous and potentially fatal." Hagrid's brows knitted at the sound of the plant's name. To think something so beautiful, named for such a delicate flower, could contain such terror made his gut clench.
The Healer proceeded to equip themselves with a syringe and needle, carefully inserting the needle into Harry's arm, causing a slight groan to escape Harry's lips as he experienced a slight discomfort. "This antidote is powerful, but it doesn't come without its price. It'll stop the poison's effects, but it'll put Harry through incredible pain, similar to regrowing bones. The antidote will inflict torment on him for several days."
Hagrid's heart sank. As the antidote flowed into Harry's system, the boy convulsed again, but this time, it was different—the pain was sharper, the struggle fiercer. Hagrid could do nothing but hold his friend firmly, whispering reassurances through growing desperation.
Hagrid winced, dreading Harry's pain. "Can we give Harry anythin' fer his pain? Perhaps a Sleeping Draught?"
"I'm afraid not," the Healer said regretfully. "The antidote must work on its own to remove the poison completely. Once it does, we can make Harry comfortable."
Following that, the Healer left, leaving Hagrid with Harry.
Moments felt like hours, and Hagrid braced himself for each harrowing gasp that escaped Harry's lips. With each wave of panic, Harry squirmed, a storm brewing behind his shut eyelids, cries of anguish bubbling just beneath the surface. Hagrid's own eyes blurred, the stinging tears spilling over as he felt utterly powerless. He let out a heavy sigh as he leaned in and laid a comforting hand on Harry's arm. "Harry..." he began, his voice trembling with emotion.