When Harry woke up, there was significantly less pain than he could remember; frankly, he felt barely anything. In fact, he felt so good that it felt like he wasn’t at the Dursleys at all. Surely, some pains came and went, but his bones felt fine. Harry tried to move them carefully, and to his surprise, he actually could.That was also when he realised that he wasn’t crumbling into a small cupboard; he was lying in what seemed like a soft, white bed. And the room wasn’t small at all. The moment he realised he was at Hogwarts was the happiest moment of his life, and if nobody believed him, he’d just have to show them with a patronus. The giant weight off his shoulders lifted so heavenly it was almost like he lost all sense of reality, like he started to fly. When his potion professor entered the hospital wing, well followed by Madam Pomfrey, Harry’s happy little bubble burst. "They knew," he thought, and that’s when the panic started. Harry hadn’t meant to start freaking out in front of them; it just happened. His feelings, being a mix of failure, shame, and agony, boosted the process further. Soon he was a mess on the floor, gasping for air like someone had just punched him hard in the stomach. Tears pricked his eyes while he was coughing for air. Harry’s only thought was that they would think of him now, that they would pity him and treat him like a child. He was strong and capable; he didn’t want anyone to know he could be controlled so easily by muggles. He was put into someone’s embrace and heard a voice tell him to listen. He felt safe, even though he didn’t know who it was because of the panic that misted his eyes and made him only focus on his nonexistent breathing. The person, however, put him to his chest and told him to listen to his heartbeat, and after ages, he started to breathe as the person’s heart was beating. That was when he got back to his senses and realised he was sitting on the floor with none other than his slimy, greasy, big-nosed professor.