Chapter Text
James had barely sat down when Harry's eyes snapped open. Immediately, the boy lurched upright, his green eyes darting around the hospital wing, scanning the faces surrounding his bed. The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team stood there, still covered in mud, along with Ron and Hermione, who looked drenched and frazzled.
“Dad” he said weakly.
“Harry, are you alright?” asked James.
“Yeah,” he answered.
Harry sat up so suddenly that they gasped. “What happened?”
Hermione made a tiny squeaking sound, her eyes red and puffy.
Fred, George, Alicia and Ron took turns explaining what happened. Harry was distraught at hearing that Gryffindor lost the match.
James observed as they tried to pacify Harry and calculated how much Hufflepuff needed to lose their next matches for Gryffindor to win before chiming in. “Son, I know it sucks to lose a match, but don’t let it get you down. It’s perfectly normal for even the best professional seekers to sometimes not catch the snitch. And you only didn’t catch the snitch because of those darn dementors. I’ve lost a few matches both at Hogwarts and on Phoenix Pioneers. One was due to me falling off my broom much like you did,” said James.
Harry blinked, caught off guard. “You’ve also lost a match, falling off your broom?”
James nodded. “During my first match in sixth year, I reserved as seeker instead of my usual Chaser position. Snape and his gang of Death Eater gremlins jinxed my broom”.
“Good to know Snape was a prick even in school,” Harry crossed his arms.
James chuckled. “To be fair, I was also an arsehole. Probably more than Snape in some ways. Emphasis on ‘some ways’. But at least you and I suffered actual injuries Harry. Meanwhile, Malfoy’s out there acting like a faint breeze is a fatal injury. Honestly, the biggest miracle today is that he hasn’t staged his own funeral."
This got a small laugh out of Harry and along with laughs from the rest of the room. “Malfoy would probably demand a full procession with white horses and a gold coffin,” he said, shaking his head.
James joined in the next round of laughter that followed Harry’s response. He was glad to see Harry beginning to cheer up but could see in his eyes that he was still worried and upset. Probably not just about the match but about the dementors too.
“Dumbledore was furious about the dementors entering Hogwarts grounds and is determined to make sure it never happens again, Harry,” said James.
“That’s right Harry. We’d never seen him angrier,” said Hermione.
Ron nodded eagerly. "Yeah, he helped your dad slow you down when you fell.”
Harry swallowed, then took a breath. "Did someone get my Firebolt?"
"You mean this?" James held up the Firebolt, perfectly intact. “Professor McGonagall saved it with her wand.”
Harry let out a relieved breath, his shoulders slumping. "Thank goodness”.
Before James could say anything else, the doors to the hospital wing swung open, and Madam Pomfrey bustled in, her sharp eyes scanning the room.
"Out! Out, all of you!" she ordered, flapping her hands at the gathered students. "This boy needs rest, not a full house of visitors!"
“But Madam Pomfrey—” Fred started.
“No buts!” she huffed, already striding toward Harry’s bed. “Mr. Potter has been through an ordeal, and I will not have him overexerting himself.” She gave James a pointed look. “That includes overly enthusiastic fathers.”
James held up his hands in surrender, but he flashed Harry a quick grin before standing. “Alright, alright, we’re going.”
The Gryffindor team and the rest of the visitors reluctantly shuffled toward the exit, offering Harry last words of encouragement before leaving. James lingered a moment longer, reaching out to ruffle Harry’s already-messy hair.
“You’ll be alright, Harry,” he said, his voice softer now. “Owl me if you need anything and get some rest alright?” James bent down and kissed Harry’s forehead.
Harry nodded with a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, dad.”
“Goodnight, son,” James said, giving his shoulder a squeeze before finally stepping away.
Madam Pomfrey turned her attention to Harry, gently pressing a hand to his forehead. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you weren’t hurt worse. Falling from that height—” She clucked disapprovingly. "You’ll need rest, plenty of chocolate, and absolutely no excitement for the rest of the night.”
Soon, Harry was out of the hospital wing and attending classes as usual. The Defense Again The Dark Arts classroom was already warm when Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped inside, the lamps glowing a soft gold against the stone walls. It smelled faintly of aged parchment and something sharper like steel. Professor Iverson stood at the front of the room, carefully adjusting the placement of a few unusual objects on a velvet-draped table.
One looked like a cracked mirror framed in coppery vines. Another resembled a helmet with dragon scales fused into the metal. But the one that caught Harry’s eye was a gold necklace with a large ring-shaped pendant with a wide empty space in the center, like an eclipse waiting for its sun. The pendant was lined with fine grooves, as though it once housed a gem that left behind it’s perfect hollow.”
"Today, we'll be learning about ancestral magic and protective enchantments," Iverson announced, his voice brisk but steady. "These are spells and items passed down through bloodlines, often misunderstood and often dangerous. But they’ve saved lives as often as they’ve taken them."
Harry glanced sideways at Hermione, who was already taking down notes.
"As you’ll recall from last week’s reading," Iverson continued, “such heirlooms often require more than ownership. Many respond to blood, to intent, or even to legacy.” His gaze moved across the room but didn’t linger anywhere long. “This necklace, for example …” He picked up the old necklace carefully, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, “was once believed to house a protective gem, forged during the early centuries after the Founding of Hogwarts.”
Hermione’s hand shot up.
“Yes, Miss Granger?”
“Was it tied to a specific family line?”
Iverson tilted his head, amused. “A good question. Some think it belonged to a northern noble wizarding family. Others argue it was made for one of the Founders themselves, though that’s always speculative.”
Harry frowned slightly, his eyes drifting to the empty socket at the heart of the pendant. It looked almost too perfect, like something had been meant to sit there for centuries, and now it was gone.
“Can it still work without the missing gem?” asked Dean from the next row.
“That depends.” Iverson gently set the necklace back on the cloth. “Some heirlooms cling to remnants of their former power. Others? Empty husks.” He moved to the edge of the table and gestured toward the drawer beneath. With a soft click, it shut itself and shimmered faintly with a weave of runes, nothing dramatic but just enough to make Hermione's eyebrows lift in interest.
“Nothing to worry about,” Iverson said easily. “That drawer holds a few items from the Department of Magical Artifacts for temporary academic use. It’s sealed with a ward keyed to my magical signature and Professor Dumbledore’s”.
The class went on with quiet murmurs as they were invited to examine the items, including the necklace. Harry was clearly itching to have a close look at the necklace. Ron poked Harry’s arm with his quill and he took the necklace in his hands, whispering, “Bet Malfoy thinks that thing belongs to his family.”
Harry didn’t laugh. His eyes were still on the necklace, drawn to the space where something precious had once belonged.
He couldn’t say why exactly, but something about that empty space in the pendant and the delicate way Iverson had handled the pendant stuck with him, like a thread he couldn’t quite tug free.
=to be continued=