Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

Good Bones, by Maggie Smith

Today was Harry’s birthday, but you would not have known it. He was outside in the back garden of Number 4 Privet Drive, standing by the flowerbeds, a shovel in hand and wheelbarrow by his side. The sun was scorchingly hot on the back of his neck, which had burned so often the past few weeks that it had now darkened into a deep brassy tan. With a thud and a clang, his shovel hit something. Sweat dripped down his nose as he knelt down and began scraping his fingers around the edge of a large rock, trying to wiggle it and dislodge it from its spot.

“BOY!”

Harry jumped at his uncle’s booming voice, knocking into the wheelbarrow and upsetting some of the dirt it contained.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon?” Harry said without looking up. His heart beat quickened despite himself.

“Hurry up with that garden,” Uncle Vernon growled from the backdoor. “It should have been done weeks ago, we can’t have the new neighbors seeing this mess and thinking the back garden is always like this!”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon. I’ll finish up soon.” This was a lie, but how else should he respond? Uncle Vernon’s temper had been at an all-time high this summer, and Harry knew he was only one wrong breath away from a whack to the head with his shovel. So, he got back down to his hands and knees and continued to pull at the stone.

This summer had been horrendous. As soon as he had gotten back to the Dursley’s from King’s Cross Station, Aunt Petunia had screamed at him for not putting his magical items away fast enough. Their last encounter with magic – Fred and George’s Ton-Tongue Toffees, and Mr. Weasley’s blowing up of the fireplace – had left them with an even larger hatred towards magic (something Harry had previously not believed to be possible). Magic was unwanted and unwelcome, and therefore so was Harry. And the Dursley’s made sure to let him know just how unwanted and unwelcome they thought he was.

Although Harry was used to chores and small meals, he wasn’t used to the extent it had gotten to now. He woke each morning before the sun was even up, cooking breakfast for everyone else before clearing it away without getting as much as a slice of toast. One time Aunt Petunia had seen him take a bite of a piece of bacon and had proceeded to slap him across the face. Harry had been caught off guard; ever since Hogwarts, the Dursley’s had refrained from hurting him – at least physically. But with that one slap, the floodgates had opened again. There was hairpulling, shoving, kicking. Harry quickly learned the best thing he could do was keep his head down and work. And when he wasn’t working, he was in his cupboard.

He hadn’t been staying in his cupboard for a few years now, but he had “lost that privilege,” according to Uncle Vernon. And besides, Dudley had a new television that needed somewhere to be. Harry also suspected that in combination with having a new level of hatred for Harry, they simultaneously felt like they had called the bluff he had made about a murderous godfather who would check in on him if he wasn’t taken care of well. They had never seen the man themselves. They also seemed to think their “good behavior” over the past years had not been rewarded, but rather even punished (they had given him permission to go to the Quidditch World Cup, and all it had gotten them was a ruined living room). So back in the cupboard he went.

His sleep had been awful – and he couldn’t completely blame it on his smaller-than-he-remembered cot. Nightmares had haunted him almost nightly. Images of graveyards, of snakes, of Cedric falling, of Voldemort raising a wand to his neck. The dreams contained the same basic pieces, but they would warp at the hand of his imagination, causing other horrible outcomes: Harry portkeying away without Cedric’s body, resulting in Cedric’s father screaming at him. Voldemort getting so close to his face that Harry could watch as he grew a pair of snake-like fangs and was then bitten on the neck over and over. Blood pouring out everywhere as his arm was cut open by a Death Eater, it wouldn’t stop no matter how much he struggled to clamp a hand over the wound.

“The Dark Lord deserves all of you!” the dream Death Eater had said, as it allowed his blood to flow into a goblet.

Harry would wake, covered in sweat, shaking, and nauseous with fear. One time he had woken up and forgotten he was in his cupboard and had mistaken the tight compartment for a coffin. He had screamed and banged on the walls – realizing only too late where he was. His uncle had dragged him from his cot, thrown him against a wall, screamed at him for disturbing his sleep, slapped him over and over.

Since this night, Harry had spent a lot of time muttering, “You’re in your cupboard, you’re in your cupboard,” over and over again in attempt to self soothe and prevent another moment of fault. His sleep became very light, causing him to wake up every twenty minutes or so. It left him exhausted. Harry didn’t see any solutions, though. The cupboard got locked at night, so he couldn’t lay on the couch or get a breath of fresh air. And no one else was going to help him either.

That summer, Harry had not received a single letter of substance from anyone. He had received relatively frequent messages from Ron and Hermione – he was able to collect them outside while he did yard work, finding the letters dropped off in dirt, which felt cruelly mocking.

“We can’t say much Harry,” Hermione had written (about a dozen times, in about a dozen separate letters). “We’ve promised not to, but we’ll see you again soon.”

“Hang in there, mate,” Ron’s letters had read. “Hope your summer is going well!”

“Hope your summer is going well,” Harry muttered under his breath as he finally tore the stone from the ground. When had his summer ever gone well? Why would he be so insensitive to even say such a thing?

Harry had written responses, begging for any information they had.

“I know you can’t tell me everything, but can you tell me anything?” He has asked desperately one day.

The letter back and had made things worse.

“We really can’t say much, Harry.” It was written in Hermione’s handwriting. “What I can say is Ron and I are together at the moment, and we’re both doing well.”

Reading those lines had made Harry’s stomach drop. His hands tightened into fists, scrunching the message up. Ron and Hermione were together and doing well. They were together for the summer, probably enjoying Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, the Burrow’s beautiful fields, laughing at Fred and George’s pranks. And Harry was at the Dursley’s, being treated like a prisoner.

The betrayal stopped Harry from writing any more letters. It had been about two weeks since. Hermione and Ron did keep sending messages, but Harry didn’t bother reading them. He knew he couldn’t mentally handle being further hurt by them.

Harry grunted as he lifted the moderately sized stone from the ground and walked it over to the other side of the garden where he had been using stones to line the other garden bed he had constructed earlier in the summer. He let it down with a sharp exhale. The stone had been pressing into his forearms, which had deep purple bruises around them from where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him. He pulled his long sleeves down so he wouldn’t have to look at them. He didn’t need to see further evidence of how unwanted he was.

“Hey there!”

Harry whirled around quickly. A girl, maybe sixteen or so, was peering over the fence.

“Oh, er, hi,” said Harry awkwardly.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump,” the girl said. Harry could just see her mousey brown hair cut with a full fringe and her large brown eyes over the fence – she clearly was standing on her toes to see him. “My name’s Ava, we moved in last week.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Harry said, taking a step back. “Sorry, I really need to get back to my chores, I have a bunch to do today.”

“Oh yeah – of course, sorry to interrupt! Just thought I’d say hi – what’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry said as he continued to take slow steps back towards his wheelbarrow. He snuck a quick glance at the back door, not wanting his aunt or uncle to see him speaking with her.

“Nice to meet you, Harry!” Ava called over the fence. “Maybe you can come over sometime for tea?”

“Er – yeah, maybe,” Harry said over his shoulder, picking up the shovel again. He doubted that would ever happen.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Harry had just been about to put on his shoes to head back into the garden. It was another blistering day, but he needed to get the back garden cleaned up before Uncle Vernon came home from work, otherwise… Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to think about otherwise.

He got up, slipping his one half-on shoe off and walked over to the front door, opening it slowly. It was Ava.

“Harry! I hoped you’d be home,” Ava said with a smile. “I wanted to ask if you’d come over – ”

“Oh – thank you,” Harry said, as he already began to close the door again. “I don’t have time today though, sorry.”

“You don’t have to stay for long!” Ava said warmly.

“I really can’t – ”

“Who’s at the door?” shouted Aunt Petunia from upstairs.

“Uh, one of the new neighbors,” Harry answered. Quick footsteps followed, and Aunt Petunia came rushing down the stairs, flatting her skirt and knocking Harry out of the way.

“Oh, why hello there,” Aunt Petunia said. Her sickly-sweet tone made Harry grimace. “Welcome to the neighborhood, I’m Mrs. Dursley, it’s so wonderful that you took the time to come over and introduce yourself.”

“Of course – nice to meet you, my name is Ava,” she said. “I had actually come by to see if Harry could help out my mum. We noticed that he is so good with your garden, we had hoped he could come round and help us with a bit of our own gardening.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Oh.” Aunt Petunia said, both slightly taken aback as well as swelling with pride over compliments to her home. “He isn’t quite finished for today, but I understand it could be helpful to your mother – what is her name?”

“Emily – Williams,” Ava said. “My dad is Ed Williams. They’d both find it so helpful if he could come by whenever he could.”

Aunt Petunia paused.

“Well, of course,” she said finally. “As soon as he’s done with his chores for today, I will send him over.”

“Oh wonderful!” Ava said with a smile. “I’ll see you later then, Harry!”

And with a wave, Ava and gone back down the front path back to her home. Aunt Petunia closed the door.

“Don’t ruin this for me, you hear me?” Aunt Petunia hissed. “No funny business around them. And you better do whatever they ask you impeccably. If I find out you have ruined something of theirs, you’ll be wishing you would be let back in your cupboard.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry answered.

“Hurry up and finish the back garden. And do it properly.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry turned, grabbed his shoes, and went outside as quickly as he could before she would change her mind.

Harry wasn’t wild about the idea of picking up even more chores from the neighbors, but he was looking forward to spending any amount of time away from the Dursleys. Harry finished up the garden, adding the fresh soil and patting in a few new shrubs. He wheeled the wheelbarrow of garden waste to the side of the garden and emptied everything into the correct bin before wheeling it back and into the small shed at the very end of the pristine lawn. It took him about two hours to tidy everything up right, but when he felt like even Aunt Petunia could not complain about a speck of dirt being out of place, he headed back into the house (taking off his shoes while walking across the kitchen and down the hall).

“I’m going next door,” Harry called up the stairs. He didn’t hear a reply, but he took this as an ok. He stepped outside and put his shoes on once more before walking around the front garden and up to Number 2.

Harry rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, Ava answered the door with a grin.

“Welcome!” she said stepping aside so he could come in. He knocked off his shoes as he entered. Unlike the Dursley’s home, everything wasn’t perfectly in place. This might be because they had just recently moved, but Harry also suspected that this family was a bit more down to earth than his family was. There were plush couches and armchairs around a small television in the living space, covered in large pillows and cozy looking blankets. The walls were a sunshine yellow color that reflected the light through the front windows.

“So, how’d I do?” Ava asked, flopping into one of the chairs.

“Sorry?” Harry asked, picking up his shoes and walking towards her.

“Rescuing you! It worked, didn’t it? She let you come over?”

“Yes?”

“Well, you’re welcome!” She said cheerfully. Harry looked at her for a moment, not saying anything.

“What was the garden work you needed help with?” Harry asked finally, still confused.

“There isn’t any, silly,” Ava laughed. “In the week I have lived here, I have watched you do work outside almost every single day. It looks absolutely exhausting, you deserve a break.”

Harry stood silently, still staring. The idea was still not clicking for him.

“Put your shoes down by the door and come hang out!” Ava said, thumping a spot on the couch next to her. Harry stared a bit longer before slowly placing his shoes on the ground and taking a seat.

“This feels like a trap,” Harry said sheepishly.

“It could be, I guess,” Ava said.

Harry looked taken aback.

“A trap of friendship,” she laughed again. Harry hesitated briefly before smiling.

“Oh Harry,” a voice behind the two said. Harry turned and saw who he presumed to be Mrs. Williams. “You’re here! So glad you were able to come over for tea today. It’s almost ready. Just give me a mo’.”

Mrs. Williams was rather short, with short brown hair. Immediately Harry was reminded of Mrs. Weasley as the smell of biscuits wafted out from the kitchen.

“So Harry,” Ava said, looking him up and down. “What do you like to do for fun?”

“Uh,” Harry said – things like ‘nothing’ and ‘quidditch’ came to mind, both unhelpful at this moment. “Sometimes I read.”

“Oh nice, I’m more of a movie fan myself. What kinds of books?”

“I’m not really picky, whatever’s around.”

“Do you like movies too?”

“Yeah, they’re also good.”

“My favorite right now is Twister,” Ava said, keeping the conversation going. “It’s about storm chasing, have you heard of it?”

“No, I haven’t actually.”

“It’s really good, maybe we can watch it sometime!”

“Oh, er, maybe, sure, yeah,” Harry said lamely. Ava just smiled.

“Tea!” Mrs. Williams called from the other room.

“Let’s go!” Ava said, getting up. Harry followed and they walked into an equally sunny kitchen with a small round table off to one side. Tea, biscuits, and some small cut cucumber sandwiches sat on the table. Mrs. Williams was by the counter with a tray, arranging a cup of tea and a few segments of sandwich onto it.

“I’m just going to bring this up to dad,” Mrs. Williams said with a smile. “Will be right back.”

“Your dad’s home, too?” Harry asked as Ava took a biscuit.

"Oh, yeah.” For the first time, Ava’s energy fell. Her smile flickered. Harry felt like he had asked something he shouldn’t have.

“Sorry I didn’t mean – ”

“No it’s ok,” Ava sighed, setting her biscuit down. “Dad’s ill. He has cancer. So he’s home a lot now.”

“Oh,” Harry managed, gripping his cup of tea tightly. This had not been what he was expecting. “Sorry to make you bring it up.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. It would have come up sooner or later. It’s why we moved, actually. We have more family in the area, and they can help out more with, you know, taking care of dad.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Yeah, I think it was for the best,” Ava said, looking at her lap.

“Go ahead, Harry, have something to eat, don’t be shy!” Mrs. Williams was back in the kitchen. Harry obediently took a piece of sandwich and bit into it. He realized in this moment he was actually quite hungry. Ava smiled as he ate, and she began to eat again too.

“So other than movies, what else do you like?” Harry said, trying to bring up the mood of the conversation again.

“I really like cycling actually,” Ava said. “And hanging out with my cat Nigel.”

“You have a cat?”

“Oh yeah, he’s so cuddly. You’ll see him around some time I’m sure. Hey, actually, once we’re done eating, do you want to pop a movie in? I just got a new VHS called ‘The Crow’ that I’ve wanted to see for a while.”

“Oh, do we have time for that?” Harry said glancing around for a clock.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Ava smiled, popping another bit of biscuit in her mouth.

“We always have time for you.”

Chapter Text

“Why did you do it, Harry?”

The air was freezing cold, but Harry felt flushed with a feverish panic. The contrast between the temperature of the night he breathed in and the fear he breathed out was harsh. The graveyard was chillingly empty, except for Harry and Cedric.

“W-what?” Harry choked out. He went to grip his wand but realized it was missing from his hand. It wasn’t in his pockets either.

“Why did you do it?” Cedric asked again. His face was a deathly blank expression. It was worse than if it had been angry, or sad. Instead, it was a stony emptiness, especially behind his darkened eyes. “Why did you have to be so selfish? I could have been the Hogwarts champion, someone else could have gotten the glory for once. But you had to get it too, didn’t you?”

“But I didn’t want to be – ” Harry began as he shook.

“You know he would have never made the cup a portkey if you hadn’t been involved.” Cedric continued, his voice deep and flat. “I would still be alive if you hadn’t been involved.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Cedric,” Harry began to feel hot tears welling in his eyes, his throat was tightening. “I never wanted any of this – ”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cedric said. Suddenly the scene went black and white, like an old horror film. Harry sank to his knees trembling as eerie music played. “It doesn’t matter how sorry you are, I’m still dead.”

An all-encompassing flash of green, a shriekingly high-pitched sound, Harry bolted up in bed, gasping for breath. His heart was racing so fast he felt like he was going to be sick. Harry’s eyes felt like they were bulging from his skull as he desperately tried to find any light in the darkness, but of course there was none. He was in his cupboard.

He pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, taking deep, long breaths. The air in his cupboard was thick and humid from his own body heat. He reached out and hopelessly pushed on the cupboard door, wishing it could open, but it did not. Harry returned his hand to his face, hyperventilating and mind racing.

Voldemort was back. Cedric was dead. Both of these things were directly his fault. Was this why no one had come to get him yet from the Dursleys? Had the whole wizarding world decided together that the Boy Who Lived would be better off dead? He certainly felt that way right now as he tried unsuccessfully to bring his emotions back under control. His throat felt thick with bile or panic, he couldn’t tell which, and he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be sick in his tiny cupboard. He would be in so much trouble if he was.

“You’re in your cupboard, you’re in your cupboard,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. “You’re in your cupboard and it’ll be morning before you know it. It’ll be morning and you will go over to Ava’s before you know it.”

Progressively, his breathing calmed, as he focused his attention on Mrs. Williams’s biscuits, and Ava’s staticky television and thriller movies. It had only been a few weeks since Harry had started regularly coming over to “help with housework,” but they had been some of the best summer days he had ever had. The Williams welcomed him with open arms, asking him genuine questions to get to know who he was as a person. Harry explained that he lived with his aunt and uncle, that his parents had died when he was a baby. Sharing this story alone had impacted his relationship with the family. All three of them – Mr. Williams, Mrs. Williams, and Ava alike – all seemed further determined to make sure he was over as often as possible.

The Williams had been polite enough to never ask him directly about his relationship with his aunt and uncle, but Harry could tell from the looks Ava sometimes gave him that she at least knew things weren’t ok.

“Lunch!” Mrs. Williams had called one day.

“Oh wow amazing!” Harry had lit up when he saw the full spread of dinner leftovers, including shepherd’s pie and ice cream for dessert. “I’m absolutely starving.”

“It’s only eleven,” Ava had laughed as he began spooning large dollops of mashed potato and minced meat onto his plate.

“Yeah, but I never get this much food!” Harry said, before jerking his head down. Ava’s expression had shifted from a smile to a frown. Mrs. Williams had kept her back to them as she made up another tray for Ava’s dad, but he noticed how she shifted her weight uneasily.

“It’s not that much…” Ava had said quietly, before changing the subject.

Harry’s face had burned with embarrassment at the slip-up, but she hadn’t said anything since then. He had noticed that tea was no longer ever just tea and biscuits anymore, but instead always a full lunch.

Although he didn’t see Mr. Williams quite as often, he had started making a point of coming downstairs and resting on the couch around the time Harry usually arrived. Mr. Williams was rather tall, with dark brown hair and kind blue eyes. He would talk to Harry about things like his love for long-distance cycling, something he and Ava had used to do regularly on holidays. Of course, it had been some time since he had gone on any such trip. Mr. Williams had been diagnosed a few months previously with cancer, and although he had gone through surgery, he was now in the process of starting chemotherapy.

“It’s no fun, I can tell you that much,” Mr. Williams had said one afternoon when he had been able to come downstairs. “The treatment is worse than the sickness it seems.”

“If there’s ever anything I can do to help,” Harry began, but Mr. Williams had waved him away.

“You’re already doing so much by keeping Ava company. I knew it was a lot to ask of her to move here when she grew up somewhere completely different. If it weren’t for needing help with things from my brothers, we wouldn’t have uprooted her like that. It means a lot to me that you’re around to help her settle.”

Harry had nodded, looking down and feeling a bit embarrassed for being complimented like that.

“Really Harry,” Mr. Williams had said warmly. “It means a lot.”

Harry took another shaky breath. Like a patronus, the memory brought him comfort. His presence meant something to the Williams. He was welcome somewhere.

What could have been hours or maybe only a thirty minutes or so later, Harry heard the latch turn and his cupboard door opened. Harry swung his legs out, and began to stand before immediately be grabbed by the arm and yanked out. Harry tripped over his feet in surprise. Looking up, Uncle Vernon loomed over him.

“There’s been a stupid bird banging on the window all morning, boy!” Uncle Vernon shouted shoving him again. Harry stumbled backwards, squeezing his eyes closed and bracing. He was expecting a slap, but instead he felt hands around his neck. Harry’s eyes sprang open, his face was so close to Uncle Vernon’s that he could still small the brandy on his breath that he had been drinking the night before.

“We give you a place to live, a roof over your head,” Uncle Vernon growled as he held Harry up against the wall. “And yet we are continued to be disturbed by you and your freak friends, it’s disgusting.”

“Sorry,” Harry choked out. He reached up and put his hands over his uncle’s. “Please, Uncle Vernon, let go – ”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO,” Uncle Vernon yelled and pushed down. Harry felt the familiar choking sensation, but this time it wasn’t from panicking alone. Tears began streaming down his face as he continued to claw at his uncle’s hands. Flashes of the graveyard came to mind, being trapped as Death Eaters approached, one with a dark shiny knife, prepared to cut him open, collect his blood, bring back nightmare itself. His vision swam from the lack of oxygen, stars bursting in front of him over his uncle’s furious face. Harry kicked his legs frantically as he struggled, until one of those kicks connected with his uncle’s shin.

“How dare you!” Uncle Vernon shouted, dropping Harry. Harry fell forward onto his knees, choking and coughing as air rushed back into his lungs. This wasn’t for long, however, as Uncle Vernon sent a kick directly into his torso, knocking the wind out of him. Harry curled up into a ball and covered his head with his arms as the kicks kept coming. Harry disappeared into himself, the only world he knew was the sharp pain from where his uncle’s foot connected with his back. He did his best to stay curled up, to not unfurl and reveal his already sore stomach and throat.

“Revolting.” Mr. Dursley growled, giving Harry one last hard kick to the back before stepping over him and heading into the kitchen. “Get back into your cupboard, I don’t want to see you.”

Harry could hear his uncle rummaging about in the kitchen, making coffee. Harry tried to get his limbs to move, to obey the instructions, but he was completely frozen. His hands were glued to each other, still holding his knees with a ferociously tight grip. His head was spinning, probably from being choked and from the intensity of his thoughts. This had been the worst beating he had received yet. Shouldn’t he be running? Calling for help?

No, there was no energy left in him to have any response except no response. The sounds of his uncle moving about the kitchen felt infinitely far away. Time was passing strangely. Suddenly the newspaper was pushed through the mailbox. The thud shocked Harry back into movement. He scrambled up, into his cupboard, pulling the door quickly shut behind him. Uncle Vernon walked into the hall, picked up the newspaper, and walked back, giving the cupboard a heavy bang with his fist as he past. Harry jumped again, pulling himself into the tightest ball he could manage.

“I’m in my cupboard, I’m in my cupboard, he won’t come in,” Harry mumbled into his hands.

Harry didn’t go to the Williams that day. Aunt Petunia kept him busy inside, having him scrub the upstairs bathroom twice over. The bleach burned his hands as he dipped a sponge into the bucket of cleaner – she hadn’t given him any gloves. Harry didn’t push his luck at getting lunch, or dinner that night. They didn’t call him down to cook for them either – they would rather go out for dinner that night than have to look at him.

While the Dursley’s were out eating, Harry heard the doorbell rang. He stayed where he was, not moving. The doorbell rang again. He waited sometime before walking into Dudley's second bedroom as to peer out the window. He passed Hedwig's empty cage, which had several of Dudley's worn t-shirts strewn on top of it. Harry hadn't felt safe having her at Privet Drive this summer, so he had sent her to be with Ron and Hermione. Why hadn't anyone thought that if it wasn't safe for Hedwig, it probably wasn't safe for Harry either?

Looking out the window, Harry saw Ava walking down the path, away from the front door, checking around for the Dursley’s car. She must think Harry was out too. Harry felt bad for not answering, but didn’t want to risk opening the door. It would be just his luck that the Dursley’s pulled up just as he did so.

The next day, Harry was woken by his aunt, and this time seemed to be expected to be back to cooking duties. Harry made eggs and toast for everyone, his stomach growling. He was very hungry, but his torso and back were sore from the day before. It felt like he had gone through a horrible flu, the way his body ached. It made it easier to ignore the Dursley’s eating his breakfast.

He had just finished the washing up when the doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon glanced up at Harry, before turning to Dudley.

“Answer the door, please, Dudley,” he said returning to his newspaper. Dudley groaned and got up.

“Hi Dudley, is Harry around?” Harry recognized Mrs. Williams voice. Aunt Petunia immediately stood and walked to the door.

“Emily, so nice for you to stop by!” Aunt Petunia sang as she entered the hall.

“Hello Petunia,” Mrs. Williams said. “I was just looking for Harry.”

“Has he been able to help you with what you needed?” A note of concern could be detected in his aunt’s voice – she was concerned Harry had done something wrong in their presence, leaving a bad impression.

“Oh, yes, very much so, that’s actually why I was coming by. We just had a delivery of some new furniture and we were hoping Harry could help us with setting it all up.”

“Of course!” Aunt Petunia said with a relieved shrill tone. “We’ve all just woken up, once he’s ready for the day I will send him over.”

“Thank you!” Mrs. Williams said.

Aunt Petunia closed the door and her and Dudley walked back into the kitchen.

“You heard her,” Aunt Petunia snapped. “Get showered and go help.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry muttered. He went out into the hall, stopping by his cupboard. He reached into the back shelf and withdrew an old long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans before heading upstairs into the bathroom.

After showering, Harry stepped out and dried off. He froze. A dark splotch had developed across his stomach from where Mr. Dursley had first kicked him. He quickly wiped off the mirror in order to get a look at his back but then jumped back at his reflection. His neck was also marked with purple uneven bruises. No wonder Uncle Vernon hadn’t wanting him answering the door. He twisted around as best he could and could see some of the marks. They were even darker than his stomach.

Shakily, Harry pulled on his shirt as well as the rest of his clothes. He looked back at the mirror, the bruises on his neck still entirely visible. Harry clicked off the light, his mind racing as he went downstairs again.

‘I can’t let them see,’ Harry thought anxiously. But how was he ever going to hide all of this, and in the summer no less? He couldn’t not go over, that wasn’t an option especially when the Dursleys had told him he had to. If he tried to defy their demand, he would probably end up with even more bruises, or something worse.

Harry opened his cupboard and dug through his clothes until he finally found an old hoodie. He pulled it on, instantly feeling far too warm. It was going to be difficult to convince the Williams that he was cold enough to be wearing a sweater, but what other option did he have?

Harry put on his shoes and headed next door.

“Where were you yesterday?” Ava asked as she let him in.

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling well, I think I’m still kind of sick,” Harry said.

“Oh no, what’s wrong?” Ava said, reaching out to try and touch Harry’s forehead. Harry flinched back slightly and immediately looked down with embarrassment. Ava let her hand drop without acknowledging his reaction.

“I don’t think it’s anything serious, just some kind of bug.”

“We can keep it chill today then,” Ava said smiling kindly. “Dad and I were just about to watch a movie together.”

They walked into the living room where Mr. Williams was reclined in one of the armchairs, wrapped in a blanket.

“No one would know it was the middle of summer with the way we’re looking, eh Harry?” Mr. Williams joked. Harry forced a smile.

“What was it that you guys were going to watch?” Harry asked, sitting down.

“Nightmare on Elm Street,” Ava said. “It’s a horror movie, have you heard of it?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Are you ok with watching it, dad loves horror movies.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, though he really felt like he got enough nightmares in his real life, he didn’t need to watch it in a movie.

“Are you sure?” Ava asked, passing him a bowl of popcorn. Harry realized as the scent of butter reached his nose it had been almost 48 hours since he had last ate. “I know horror isn’t for everyone.”

“Are you calling me a wimp?” Harry joked, picking up some pieces of popcorn. Mr. Williams and Ava laughed. She sat down next to him on the couch and switched on the movie.

Although Harry didn’t like the premise of being hunted in his dreams, the actual movie wasn’t too bad for him. He had seen so much worse in real life, a man named Freddy with a twisted face was nothing next to Voldemort’s. Ava, however, seemed to be the real wimp of the group. At one jump scare, Ava actually screamed and launched herself sideways, grabbing at Harry.

“Ava, calm down, it’s ok,” Harry said trying to hold back laughter. He looked up and made eye contact with Mr. Williams, whose eyes flicked down again towards his neck. Ava had pulled his baggy hoodie down a bit too much. Harry could feel that his neck was exposed. Harry quickly tried to adjust it back in place, but it was too late.

“What happened to your neck, Harry?” Mr. Williams asked with concern. Ava looked from her father to Harry, the movie continuing in the background forgotten.

“Nothing,” Harry said too quickly.

“I know it’s something,” Mr. Williams said, leaning forward to stand.

“No, don’t get up, Mr. Williams, I’m completely fine – ” Harry started, moving back along the sofa a bit further from the two others. Mr. Williams didn’t listen.

“Ava, go upstairs for a minute.”

Ava didn’t say anything. Her eyes were wide with worry. She looked between the two of them before standing and rushing upstairs. Harry could hear her call her mother’s name.

“Come with me, Harry,” Mr. Williams said, heading into a room off of the living room. Harry followed, going through the motions, feeling himself disappearing into himself once more. His breath was quick, his heart thumping in his chest. Nausea swam throughout his throat. Thoughts flitted in and out of his mind, and the urge to run out the door coursed through him.

He walked into the small office that was only partially unpacked, there were still some boxes here and there. Mr. Williams closed the door and leaning against the doorknob, he turned.

“Take off your sweater, Harry,” Mr. Williams said. There was a hint of an apology in his voice, but it was also firm. There wasn’t any getting out of this.

Reluctantly, Harry slowly pulled the sweater off. Mr. Williams walked towards Harry, looking closer at his bruises. Harry felt his heartbeat even faster as Mr. Williams inhaled sharply.

“Who did this?”

Harry couldn’t respond. His voice was caught somewhere in the back of his throat. His arms were stiff as stone.

“Harry, I need you to tell me – ”

“No one,” Harry said, again too quickly.

“You’re not in trouble, please, just tell me what happened.”

Harry didn’t respond again. Inside his body he felt like he was going to explode. There was still the need to run, to escape. But it was in complete contrast to what his body was capable of in that moment, which was not moving at all. He stared at the wall, his eyes going out of focus, becoming consumed in the moment.

“Was it your uncle?”

Harry’s eyes shot up and then back down hastily. It was as good as a yes. Mr. Williams swore, and Harry tensed even more. He felt dizzy.

“This isn’t ok, Harry, I am so sorry this has happened.”

Harry didn’t look at him, but he could hear in Mr. Williams’s voice just how emotional he was.

“Stay here, I’m going to get Emily.”

“No, please, don’t tell anyone,” Harry said, finding his voice suddenly. “It was only one time.”

Mr. Williams spluttered, not knowing how to respond to the excuse.

“It doesn’t matter how many times it’s happened, even once is not ok,” Mr. Williams said. There was anger in his voice. Harry tensed up again. “You’re staying here tonight, you’re not going back over there – ”

“No, I have to, they will know you found out and I’ll get in trouble!” Harry cried. “Please, Mr. Williams, it’s really not so bad, I can handle it.”

“No one should be having to handle this,” Mr. Williams said firmly. “You’re stay here. We have a guest bedroom. I’m going to speak with Emily now, do you want Ava to come back down?”

Harry just hung his head. Mr. Williams took a step forward, pulling him into an embrace. Harry winced slightly as Mr. Williams’s arms wrapped around his bruised back. Fortunately, Mr. Williams took the noise as a hesitation in the show of affection, not due to other injuries.

“You are so important, Harry, and so cared for, and so loved,” he said. Harry felt his face grow hot, tears building up in his eyes. “I know this isn’t easy, and that it definitely isn’t what you want, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try and protect you from him.”

Mr. Williams let Harry go and tried to look him the eyes. Harry twisted his face away, not wanting him to see him crying.

“I won’t have Ava come down just yet, but I will send her down in a few minutes to keep you company, ok?”

Although Harry didn’t respond, Mr. Williams took this the lack of refusal as enough. He exited the room. Harry sank into the desk chair by the window. The Williams knew. The Dursleys were going to find out that Harry had told. What would happen when they found out? An owl tapping too early in the morning had been enough to be strangled, what was the punishment for letting someone else know what Mr. Dursley had done? Harry realized he was shaking. He clasped his hands together tightly trying to make them stop. Tears began to fall that he wiped away quickly with his sleeve.

There was a knock on the door. Harry turned his head away, so he was looking out the window as Ava slowly opened the door. She didn’t say anything as she walked in. Harry could feel her presence standing directly behind him. After a few moments, Harry heard a sniffle. He cautiously glanced back towards Ava. She was crying. Guilt washed over him.

“I’m sorry – ” Harry croaked, beginning to stand to go comfort her.

“Don’t be stupid, Harry,” Ava sobbed, leaning towards him and giving him a hug. “Don’t be stupid. There’s nothing to apologize about. I’m sorry. This should have never happened to you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. At first, he patted her awkwardly on the back. The longer she stayed there, crying into his shoulder, the more he softened. The tension that had been held in him seeped into the floor and he lowered his forehead down onto her shoulder, crying too.

A bang sounded, causing the two to spring apart. The front door had been thrown open.

“BOY!”

Harry froze. Uncle Vernon. Ava looked at Harry, terrified.

"Dad went next door to talk to him," Ava whispered. "He was going to let him know you were staying here."

“Get out of my house!” Mr. Williams roared.

“I’M NOT LEAVING UNTIL I GET THAT FILTHY LYING – ”

“I already told you, he’s not stepping another foot into your home, he’s staying right here!”

“You have no right to keep him!”

Harry could hear things being knocked over. The tension in his body was back. He felt his body become steel. Ava tried to tug him away from the door, but he didn’t budge.

Mr. Dursley came thundering around the corner and made eye contact with him.

“YOU,” he shouted, thumping forward. “GET OVER HERE.”

He grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him out the door. Ava was crying, begging him to let go of Harry. Mrs. Williams was crying too. The sounds and images of the Williams home all swirled together as Harry was dragged through the living room and out the door.

“I’M CALLING THE POLICE,” Mr. Williams yelled. Mr. Dursley ignored him. He didn’t want to attract more attention to them now that they were outside.

Once in Number 4, Uncle Vernon shoved Harry through the door, slamming it behind the both of them and locking it. He turned back, furious. Harry felt his spirit drain from his body.

“Get in your fucking cupboard,” Uncle Vernon whispered. It was worse than if he had yelled. Harry didn’t hesitate. He got into his cupboard as quickly as he could, and his uncle locked the door.

Chapter Text

As the summer finally neared its end, Harry could barely look forward to getting back to Hogwarts. It had been some weeks since Mr. Williams had seen his bruises, and Harry hadn’t seen the family since. Mr. Williams had kept his word and had called the police the same afternoon. Harry had heard the conversation with the policeman through his cupboard door.

“We have to check up on these things, you know,” the policeman had said.

“Oh, I completely agree,” Uncle Vernon had said charmingly. “I wish I could show you Harry for yourself so you could see he was completely ok, but he’s off with his Aunt Marge right now. We’ve been having quite a few problems with the next-door neighbors, but I never thought they’d go so far as to try to lie to get me arrested.”

“You’d be surprised what people will do,” the man chuckled.

“I suppose you’ve seen it all?”

“I have, I have.”

“Well, Harry will be back in a few weeks, so if you’d like to send someone round to see us then, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Really appreciate the cooperation, Vernon.”

“Of course – tell Charlie I said hi, and he owes me a round of golf still!”

“I’ll pass it along!”

The door had closed, and that had been the length of it. It wasn’t until about three weeks later that someone from social services arrived at Number 4. By the time they came, Harry’s bruising had significantly gone down, barely noticeable under his tan skin. Aunt Petunia had set-up Dudley’s second bedroom as Harry’s. She had even baked cake to go with tea that Harry was served a fat slice of. Nothing came out of the visit. After a quick inspection of the house and a brief conversation with Harry, the social worker explained there was no evidence that could be held against them and apologized for taking up their time. Harry felt empty.

Without his daily trips to the Williams, Harry found himself going days without speaking. He became more and more sucked into his own world. His aunt and uncle no longer let him outside, in fear that he might cross paths with the Williams. He spent his time cooking, cleaning, or otherwise, in his cupboard. He had grown to both resent his space, and desperately latch onto it at the same time. When he was in there, he was safest from Uncle Vernon. When he was in there, he was most in danger from himself.

The nightmares of the graveyard were back at full force, now interrupted by dreams of Uncle Vernon attacking Ava, or Mr. and Mrs. Williams. One horrible dream consisted of Mr. Williams dying of cancer without Harry being able to visit one last time. Ava had cried, blamed him for abandoning her when she needed him the most. Harry had woken up sobbing, wanting so badly to run out the back garden and jump the fence into theirs. He had been so close to feeling like he had a home on Privet Drive, and it had been taken away from him in an instant.

It was the last week of summer. Harry was in the kitchen, preparing dinner at the demand of Aunt Petunia. She said they needed to eat early. They were to be gone for the evening. Harry hadn’t heard directly from her what was going on, but while his aunt was on the phone he heard her tell her friend that they had been nominated for a best-kept lawn competition.

“Come now, boy,” Uncle Vernon snapped. Harry almost dropped the plate he was holding over the sink.

“I’m coming?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Of course not, you are going to Mrs. Fig’s while we are gone. We can’t trust you alone in the house, we would find it in ruins.”

Harry felt his heart sink. He had hoped that they would be leaving him at home for the evening. Maybe he would have found himself brave enough to go over to Ava’s.

Mr. Dursley escorted Harry down the street to Mrs. Fig’s. They should have walked past the Williams’s home to get there the quickest, but Mr. Dursley took Harry the long way. He kept a hand tightly gripped on his shoulder as they marched.

When they arrived at Mrs. Fig’s, Mr. Dursley thanked her for watching him, explaining that they would be getting back very late.

“No trouble,” Mrs. Fig said. “Enjoy your evening.”

Harry sat down on Mrs. Fig’s couch, watching as two of her cats stared at one another. It looked like at any moment they were going to fight.

“Would you like something to drink, dear?”

“Er, yes, please,” Harry said. Really he could have used something to eat, but maybe she assumed he had already eaten dinner.

“Water?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Moments later, Mrs. Fig shuffled back into the room.

“Here you are. Moody should be here soon.”

Harry froze as he brought the glass to his lips.

“Sorry?” Harry asked.

“Alastor Moody,” she said, taking a sip of her own glass of water. “He said they wouldn’t come by too late, they wanted plenty of time to fly to London.”

Harry stared at her.

“I’m sorry?” Harry finally managed. “How do you know Moody?”

“I’m a part of the Order.”

“The what?” Harry was further confused.

“You’ll learn more tonight,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Are you… Are you a…” Harry began to ask, not wanting to say witch and get it wrong.

“I’m a squib,” she finally said, setting her glass down. “But I still have my uses – I’ve been keeping my eye on you as best I can. Though you’ve made it a great deal harder this summer, I’ve barely seen you. Haven’t been able to send many updates to Dumbledore.”

“You’re a squib?” Harry said completely shocked. “You’ve known this whole time, about everything? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Dumbledore’s orders. I was to be around to make sure you were safe at home, but otherwise not interfere.”

Internally, Harry couldn’t help but think what a rotten job she had done.

“Sorry for having to make your previous visits so miserable, dear, but I couldn’t let the Dursleys think you were having a good time over here, otherwise they would never let you come round.”

Harry stared in silence longer, opening and closing his mouth a few times. Then there was a knock on the door.

“There they are,” Mrs. Fig said, standing up and shuffling to the front door. Harry stood up and walked with her.

“Professor Lupin?” Harry said in surprise as the door swung open.

"Harry,” Lupin said warmly. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. Seeing a familiar face after months of no information was a lot for him to take in. Lupin stepped forward into the threshold, followed by Professor Moody, as well as others who he did not recognize.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, as Remus gave him a warm pat on the shoulder.

“We’re here to collect you,” Lupin answered. “This is the Advance Guard.”

“The Advance Guard?”

“It’s not safe for you to be out and about in the same way you used to be. We need to make sure we have sufficient protections in place.”

Lupin introduced Harry to Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, and Sturgis Podmore. Harry felt a bit overwhelmed with all the introductions.

“Let’s head back to the Dursley’s,” Lupin said. “We can collect your thing and then head out.”

“Where are we going, the Burrow?” Harry asked.

“We’ll explain later, first, your things.”

Lupin thanked Mrs. Fig as the group walked out together, Harry giving a sheepish wave goodbye. It was getting quite dark out now, though Harry was still uncertain of just how inconspicuous six wizards and witches walking down the street was. They all appeared to be far more concerned about someone other than Muggles, however, and were hasty as they walked. Unlike Uncle Vernon, Moody led them past the Williams. Harry tried to look through the windows, but the curtains had been drawn already for the evening.

“Alohomora,” Moody muttered, and the door to Number 4 swung open.

“Where are your things, Harry?” Tonks asked brightly.

“Mostly upstairs,” Harry said. “I’ll come with you.”

Harry and Tonks went upstairs as the rest of the Guard stayed below, keeping an eye out the windows and up at the skies. Together, they walked to Dudley’s second bedroom to collect Hedwig’s cage, as well as to the hallway closet that contained Harry’s trunk and broom. She unlocked the door and together they both took one end of the trunk and brought it down the stairs.

“Alrighty, Harry,” Tonks said, setting her end of the trunk down. “Time to be off I think.”

“Er, before we leave, actually,” Harry said, also setting down the trunk. “I was hoping I could stop by the neighbors.”

“Oh?” Lupin said.

“Yes, I’ve gotten close to them this summer, and I was hoping I could say goodbye before we left – ”

“Not wise,” Moody grunted. “We don’t know who’s waiting out there for us. There could be Death Eaters around the corner. It was enough that we had to get between Fig’s and here.”

“Are we sure it’s not possible, Alastor?” Lupin asked sympathetically.

“Yeap,” he said with finality. Harry hung his head feeling his heart sank. Maybe his dream about Mr. Williams dying without him ever seeing him again was going to come true.

“How about this, Harry,” Lupin said. “I will be sure that Mrs. Fig stops by to let them know you’ve left for school. And you can also reach them via post yourself.”

“How can I do that, they won’t know what to do with owls visiting.” Harry said dejectedly.

“You can always mail it to Mrs. Fig, and she will be happy to pass it along.”

Harry nodded. Another disappointment. Another moment of just being dragged along, without a choice or say in the matter.

“Before we leave, first things first,” Moody said stepping forward. He took out his wand, and tapped Harry on the head. It felt like a raw egg was sliding down his back, causing him to shiver. As he looked down, he realized his body was no longer solid. Instead, it looked like a chameleon – he could see impressions of Aunt Petunia’s wallpaper on himself.

“Disillusionment charm,” Moody explained. “Better to keep you safe in transport.”

“You’ll be happy Harry,” Lupin smiled. “We’re flying.”

The trip to London was largely uneventful, however it was the freest Harry had felt in quite some time. It had been hard at first; when he had kicked off from the ground, Harry had glanced back one last time at the Williams’s. He could see lights were still on through the thin line of the front curtains. He wondered if maybe the family was together in the living room, watching a movie together. He would have done anything to go say goodbye, but he didn’t want to argue with Moody either. He watched as the home became smaller and smaller as they flew up into the air. It was chilly, clouds were hanging low and flicked dense droplets of water onto his face. But Harry was outside, in the open world. No tiny cupboard. And for that, he was absolutely thrilled.

When they landed in London, Harry was confused. When Mrs. Fig had said they were going to London, he had assumed it would be to the Leaky Cauldron. Instead, he found himself on an unfamiliar street. Not only was it unfamiliar – it was deeply unsettling. The whole street looked run-down. There were broken windows, paint peeling from the doors, rubbish strewn about the sidewalk. Harry turned to Moody.

“Where are we?”

“Read this,” Moody grunted, handing him a folded up bit of parchment. Harry unfolded it and read in a familiar script: ‘The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12 Grimmauld Place’.

“What is – ”

“Hush.” Moody said sharply, taking the parchment back and vanishing it. Suddenly, Harry noticed, just like in Diagon Alley, the bricks of the houses began to move. Rather than revealing a passage, however, a house grew. It was foreboding, and just as grimy as its neighbors. Once the bricks had settled, Moody nudged Harry forward, and he and the Advance Guard made their way up the steps to the large front door.

“It’s so good to see you, Harry!” Mrs. Weasley said, pulling him into a warm embrace. Harry stiffened slightly, still taken aback from the evenings events.

“Hello Mrs. Weasley – ”

“Sorry to rush you inside, but there’s a meeting just about to start and I really need to get back downstairs.” Mrs. Weasley looked up at Moody and the others as they walked in and closed the door. “Mundungus brought news, you better head down now.”

Moody gave a curt nod and headed down the narrow hall, the rest of the Advance Guard following suit.

“See you a bit later, Harry,” Lupin said, patting his shoulder once more.

“Come now, let’s go upstairs, Ron and Hermione are so looking forward to seeing you,” Mrs. Weasley said. Harry felt his blood run cold. Ron and Hermione. “Be quiet on the stairs, we don’t want to wake Mrs. Black’s portrait.”

“Black?” Harry asked, despite himself.

“Yes, dear, this is Sirius’s parent’s old home.” She answered as they climbed the stairs together.

“Is Sirius here?”

“Yes he’s downstairs too, in the meeting, I’m sure he also can’t wait to say hello but it’s really quite important.”

She guided him up two more flights of stairs before taking him to the end of the hall and knocking before opening the door.

“Harry’s here!” Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully. “Order meeting is going on, so I’ll be down in the kitchen with everyone else. Will come get you all once it’s over, have fun catching up!”

She hurried past and went back downstairs. Before Harry could do anything, Hermione had launched herself at him.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you!” She said as she hugged him. She took a step back. “We’ve been so worried, we haven’t heard from you in weeks. Did you not get any of our letters?”

“Yeah, we thought you’d forgotten how owlpost worked,” Ron joked. “Seriously though, not cool to leave us hanging like that, we had no idea what was going on.”

“Not cool?” Harry said coldly. “Not cool? I left you hanging? You had no idea what was going on?”

Harry’s voice rose. Both his friends’ faces fell.

“Yeah, mate, we didn’t know how things were with the muggles – ”

“How do you think I felt?!” Harry shouted. “I haven’t known anything about what’s going on, all I knew was you two were together for the summer. You’ve been in the loop, you probably know what this whole bloody Order business is, I DIDN’T KNOW ANYTHING.”

“I know Harry,” Hermione said, tears welling in her eyes. “We wanted to tell you everything we knew, but we couldn’t! We weren’t allowed!”

“You could have given me something, instead of rubbing it in my face that you two were together while I was stuck with the fucking Dursleys,” Harry cried.

“We really wished we could,” Hermione answered again. Ron had his eyes glued to the floorboards. “Harry, you have to believe us. Tell him, Ron.”

“It’s true, really, we did,” Ron said quietly.

“It doesn’t really bloody well matter whether you wanted to do it or not, my reality was still I was at the Dursleys, and you were both fucking here.”

“Can you stop swearing please?” Ron said, his voice rising a bit.

“I THINK I CAN SWEAR IF I FUCKING WANT TO, I’VE EARNED IT HAVEN’T I?”

“LOOK,” Ron shouted. “I get that it wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t our call! And you’re here now! Why are you yelling at us? Dumbledore is the one you should be yelling at!”

“Ron!” Hermione cried, tears now falling steadily. “We shouldn’t be yelling at anyone!”

“I’m not going to be his punching bag!”

“I’m not saying you should!”

“Oh – is Harry home?”

The three whirled around, and in the doorway stood Ginny.

“I thought I recognized your voice,” she said, leaning casually against the frame. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly. Harry felt the heat that had risen in his body begin to cool quickly. Something about seeing someone other than Ron and Hermione calmed him down. He knew that his friends were right - they hadn't had any power over what they could tell him. It didn’t make his summer any less shit, though.

“We’re trying to get the extendable ears to work, if you want to join us – Fred, George, and me, I mean,” Ginny said. “But you’ll have to be a hell of a lot quieter, or we won’t be able to hear anything.”

Together with Ginny, they made their way to the staircase that lead down to the basement kitchen. Fred and George waved gleefully while holding fingers to their mouths, motioning for them to be quiet.

“What’s going on, can someone tell me,” Harry said, still annoyed but trying to keep his voice level.

“This is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” Hermione explained stepping back a bit so that they wouldn’t make it too difficult for the twins and Ginny to try to listen to the conversation downstairs. “It’s an organization created by Dumbledore from back in the day, a resistance to fight You-Know-Who. With him back, he’s reinstated it.”

“They’re fighting against Voldemort? -" there was a sharp intake of breath from both Ron and Hermione "- How? Where is he?”

“Wish we knew, mate,” Ron answered, still not meeting his gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“They won’t tell us anything,” Hermione explained. “That’s what we meant before. We really don’t know much – not to say that your position was fair, it completely wasn’t, and you’re completely right that we were at least together, but we really don’t know what’s been going on.”

“That’s why we’ve been using the extendable ears,” Ron said, gesturing to the other Weasleys, who were crouched by the basement door, fleshy tubes jammed in their ears and fed under the door. “We’ve been trying to pick up on what’s been going on, but we haven’t had a lot of luck.”

“Quick, the meetings finishing!” Ginny said suddenly, ripping the extendable ear out from under the door. They all jogged up the steps as quickly as they could, returning to their rooms.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to the same room they had started in. It was cramped and contained two beds – only one had clearly been slept in and was surrounded by Ron’s used clothes. Harry felt awkward to be back in the space that he exploded so quickly in. It wasn’t like him to react like this towards his friends. He felt his face burn a bit with guilt. He wanted to apologize, but the words were stuck somewhere in the back of his throat.

Ron sat on the edge of his bed, and Hermione leaned against the wall uncertainly. None of them knew what to say.

“This is where I’ve been staying,” Ron said cautiously. “That’s your bed, mum made sure we were staying together.”

“That was nice of her,” Harry said, biting back a retort about how if there was an available bed, saved just for him, the whole summer, why had he not been collected sooner.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Dinner’s ready,” Mrs. Weasley said as she opened the door and smiled. “Come on down.”

When Harry entered the kitchen, he was again overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people. Many he did not recognize – though they left quickly through the fireplace, thanking Mrs. Weasley for offers of dinner but turning them down. Other faces were more familiar: both Bill and Charlie were at the table, as well as Mr. Weasley. Their heads were still down over some kind of pieces of parchment.

“Put that stuff away!” Mrs. Weasley said sharply, causing Mr. Weasley to scramble to bundle it all up. “The meeting’s over, it’s dinner time now.”

“Harry!”

Harry turned and on the other side of the long table was Sirius. Sirius got up quickly and pulled Harry into a warm bear hug.

“How was the ride? Get to do any tricks?”

Despite himself, Harry smiled.

“No, you know Moody would have never allowed it.”

“Ah, well, doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have tried!” He barked with laughter as he ruffled Harry’s hair. “Ready for dinner? Let’s sit down, tell me about your summer, how has everything been?”

Everyone took a seat as a ladle magically levitated around with a large cauldron of soup, spooning out portions for everyone. Harry did his best to explain his summer, while omitting the worst parts. Ron and Hermione listened in, but didn’t say much, still feeling a bit uncertain after his outburst upon his arrival. Harry talked to Sirius about being stuck at the Dursley’s for most of the time, and how boring and strenuous it had been, with only a few breaks at the Williams’s.

“At least you’ve gotten some breaks!” Sirius said as he ate. “I’ve been stuck in here this whole time. Dumbledore doesn’t want me out and about, something about being a wanted fugitive.”

“Strange,” Harry said with a slight grin. “Didn’t hear anything about that.”

“But, between you and me Harry,” Sirius’s voice dropped as he looked up the table for Mrs. Weasley. She was thoroughly distracted talking to Mr. Weasley and Remus about something. “It might not be too much longer that I am.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, leaning forward. He felt a pang of annoyance as Ron and Hermione leaned forward too – they should know what it was like to be left out and not know what was going on while Harry did for once.

“I mean,” Sirius said slowly. “We have some leads. On Wormtail I mean. Which means…”

Sirius trailed off. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“If we can catch the rat,” Sirius continued. “I’ll be able to be out of here. And Merlin knows I want to be!”

“Tired of being at your mother's, Sirius?” Remus called from down the table.

“I know, it’s so lovely, and cozy here,” Sirius barked as some dust fell from the ceiling. Mrs. Weasley made a face.

“We’re all doing the best we can to tidy up, you know,” she said.

“Of course I know,” Sirius said. “I’ve been a part of the clean-up crew!”

“We all have,” Ron said annoyed. He turned to Harry. “Sorry but you won’t have escaped chores, there’s plenty to do here too.”

Harry shrugged, taking another bite of soup. At least he was fed here.

As dinner came to an end, Mrs. Weasley tried to guide the kids back upstairs. Harry felt a newfound bravery (maybe from having a full stomach for once in the past several weeks) and interrupted her ushering.

“I’m not going to bed until I know what’s been going on. I want some answers.”

After a great deal of arguing, resulting in everyone except Ginny being allowed to stay, Mr. Weasley carefully explained some key details about the Order.

“We’re investigating a… weapon.” He said carefully.

“What kind of weapon?” Harry had asked.

“Something he didn’t have last time,” Sirius began to answer, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off.

“Enough.” She said sharply. “This is more than enough information, half of them are underage, they do not need to be knowing anymore.”

Mr. Weasley sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

“It is getting late,” he said. “You all should get to bed.”

Without too much argumentation, everyone walked upstairs. Harry caught a glimpse of a giant portrait with a bed sheet strewn across it.

“That’s Sirius’s mum,” Ron whispered as they passed. “She’s horrible.”

When they were back upstairs, Mrs. Weasley went around ensuring they were all in their correct rooms (“Be quiet when you go in, Hermione, I expect Ginny is already asleep.”) before heading back downstairs.

Harry got into his pajamas. As he pulled off his shirt, he realized that the last time he done such a motion it had been in front of Mr. Williams. It wasn’t a good memory, but parts of it felt good. Mr. Williams had clearly cared about Harry when he had seen the marks. He had tried to protect him. He had stood up to Uncle Vernon. It was more than anyone at Grimmauld Place had done.

Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him, remembering he had still not gotten to say goodbye.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked, as Harry dug through his trunk.

“Where’s Hedwig?” Harry asked, ignoring his question.

“Probably out hunting with Pig, why?”

“I’m writing to the neighbors I was talking about before,” Harry explained, pulling out a quill and parchment. “I didn’t get to say goodbye before I left.”

“Oh, alright,” Ron said as Harry sat down on his bed and began to write:

‘Hey Ava –

 Sorry you’re getting this message by letter rather than in-person. Everything is fine, don’t worry, I just ended up leaving for school already. It was earlier than expected, my –‘ Harry paused for a second before continuing ‘ – friends picked me up and I’m now with them in London. If you want to keep me updated about things, you can always give letters to Mrs. Fig. She tends to send me letters often and she can group yours with hers to save you on some postage. Please tell your mum and dad I said hi, and that I hope they're well. Looking forward to hearing from you, don’t forget to write!

- Harry’

The last few words felt heavier to him than they would probably to someone else.

‘Please don’t forget to write,’ Harry thought as he folded up the parchment and addressed an envelope. ‘I can’t deal with someone else letting me down this summer.’

Chapter Text

Harry woke with a choked breath. His heart was pounding out of his chest, his throat swimming with nausea. He skittishly looked around, taken aback by the sheer amount of headspace he had. And then he remembered – he wasn’t at the Dursley’s, he was at Grimmauld Place. In the moonlight, Harry could see Ron still fast asleep, snoring. It must be quite early in the morning still. Harry was grateful that his nightmare this night hadn’t resulted in screams or louder noises that could have waken him. Shakily, Harry tossed back his blankets and got out of bed. He needed fresh air. It still felt like the world was closing in on him, even though the room was so much bigger than his cupboard – he needed more space.

He tiptoed out of the room, and down the hall, uncertain where he was going. Flashes of Voldemort’s red eyes kept appearing back in his vision as he walked. He tried to push them away, but they would immediately sweep back into view. He started wringing his hands desperately as he moved, glancing around at all of the closed doors, not knowing where he could find a space for himself.

Eventually, Harry decided to head down the stairs, trembling as he gripped the banister. He felt his whole body cramp up as he moved, as if it didn’t want to take him any further. It took him some time, but he managed to get down the flights of stairs and headed towards the living room. Harry pushed open the door, ready to curl up on the couch – but someone was already there.

“Harry?” Sirius said, looking up from the book he was reading. Harry tried to step back and close the door muttering apologies, but Sirius stood up and opened the door wider. “Is everything ok?”

“Y-yes,” Harry managed. “I woke up, not feeling well.”

“What’s wrong?” Sirius said with concern. “You look pale. Here come sit down.”

“I think I need a bathroom actually – ” Harry said, swallowing hard as the anxious bile kept rising in his throat. Sirius nodded quickly and guided him out of the living room and to a bathroom off the hall.

“Do you want me to stay?” Sirius asked, but Harry was already closing the door.

“No, it’s ok, thank you,” Harry said, latching it closed.

“I’ll wait in the living room for you,” Sirius said, his voice still concerned. Harry opened the toilet lid and bent forward over it. He took several deep breaths as he leaned over the toilet bowl. The anxiety continued to cycle through him with every beat of his heart. The nausea remained stuck inside of him. He still felt too hot, despite the cool porcelain. Harry reached up and unlatched the window above him with a jittering hand and immediately felt grateful for the burst of cool air. Not as cold as he would have liked, but better than the humid evenings that had been common throughout the summer.

Every time Harry felt like his breath was starting to get a bit more under control, the unpleasant liquid feeling in his throat fading away, Voldemort’s eyes would suddenly appear in his vision once more and everything would come hurtling back towards him. Desperate tears began to fall from his eyes and dripping into the toilet. Harry aggressively wiped the tears back.

“Pathetic,” he choked out. “Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.”

Harry began to cough, and the panic increased in his chest. The feeling of being sick intensified. He felt his eyes rolling backwards as he gripped the sides of the toilet bowl. His body cramping and shuddering, completely overwhelmed by the terror. He began to wring his hands again, squeezing his eyes shut, folding himself forward.

‘I can’t do this, I can’t handle this, I can’t get through this,’ Harry’s mind raced.

A knock came on the door, startling him.

“Harry? Are you doing ok? It’s been a while.” It was Sirius. Harry tried to respond but his teeth were chattering – how could he be so hot and so cold all at once?

“Harry?” Sirius’s voice got a bit louder, and he tried to turn the still-locked doorknob. “I’m going to unlock the door, ok?”

Harry wished he could get a sound out to protest, but he just started coughing again, and he leaned over the toilet afraid something would come up. Harry heard Sirius say, “Alohomora!” before he quickly entered. He hesitated at the door, seeing Harry bent over and anxiously tapping his hands against the toilet bowl as he coughed.

“Hey, shh,” Sirius said rushing over, rubbing Harry’s back. Harry flinched at the touch - his sensations were amplified a hundred times over, and it felt like a burn when Sirirus’s hand touched his back, Uncertainly, Sirius removed his hand, but kneeled down so he stayed next to Harry.

“Try and take some breaths, Har,” Sirius said. He waved his wand and conjured a glass, which he leaned up and filled with water from the tap. “Here, try and drink.”

Harry exhaled shakily before taking the glass and swallowing hard.

“Smaller sips, smaller sips,” Sirius urged. Harry did as Sirius asked. The red eyes flashed before him again, and Harry quickly placed the cup on the ground as everything in his body cramped up again.

“I-I think I’m going to go get Molly,” Sirius said standing.

“No!” Finally, a word emerged from Harry’s mouth.

“I don’t know what to do, she can help – ” Sirius explained.

“I don’t want her around right now, please don’t get her.” Harry took a few more deep breaths. “I’m feeling better already.”

“Ok,” Sirius said uncertainly. They sat in silence for a bit, Harry still leaning over the toilet with his eyes closed. Sirius stayed quiet, also not moving from his spot next to Harry. Harry continued to take long deep breaths. It was the only sound that echoed in the bathroom.

“I think,” Harry said eventually, “I’m ready to move now.”

Sirius nodded and reached up and closed the window. Harry shakily got to his feet, closing the lid of the toilet and flushing, despite not actually having gotten ill in the end.

“Do you want to hang around downstairs for a bit before you head back up to bed?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded.

Together they went back to the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

“Want me to make some tea?” Sirius asked. “I have fresh lemon and ginger in the kitchen, I think. Well, I didn’t get it, if it weren’t for Molly the kitchen would be completely bare.” He gave an awkward laugh.

“Sure, yeah, that would be great,” Harry said sighing. He felt exhausted from the panicking, and from not getting enough sleep. His body had gone from motionless because it was so energized with tension it couldn’t produce more than shaky movements, to languid and weary from all of the exertion.

Sirius left and then came back soon with a cup of tea which he sat down in front of Harry.

“Still feeling better?” he asked. Harry nodded.

“Maybe dinner didn’t sit quite right with you,” Sirius suggested.

“I don’t think that’s it, Mrs. Weasley’s cooking is always great – ” Harry began but then paused. “But yeah, maybe this time, it could have been some new ingredient or something.”

“Did you wake up feeling ill?”

“Yeah, I had been fast asleep before.” Not the most accurate description, as it made it sound like he had been peacefully dreaming. “Why were you up?”

Sirius leaned forward and picked up the book he had been reading earlier when Harry had first come in.

“I’ve become a bit of a night owl. It’s difficult to sleep when you don’t spend enough time outside – or any time, in my case. I usually don’t even try to go to bed now until at least two or three in the morning. Been trying to get into reading, per Remus’s recommendation. He said it’s what he does when he can’t sleep.”

“Ah,” Harry said lamely. He wrapped his hands around his mug of tea. It was still slightly too hot to hold comfortably, but the sharp heat felt grounding. It gave him somewhere to focus other than his thoughts and the panic still settling in his chest.

“It’s going to be so great, Harry,” Sirius said warmly. “Once we get Wormtail, I mean. As soon as he’s caught and in Azkaban, as soon as I’m free, I’m getting out of here.”

“Where will you go?” Harry asked.

“Anywhere,” Sirius barked with laughter. “I ran away from home when I was sixteen, I never thought I’d end up trapped in here again. I’ll take anywhere I can get. Even going back to the caves when I was hiding out near Hogsmeade last year. But hey! – ” Sirius looked up cheerfully. “I won’t have to do that this time. Instead, I can get a cabin somewhere. Maybe by the coast, or in the woods. I’ll make sure there’s a field nearby though, so we can play Quidditch. And there’ll be space for you too.”

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Of course!” Sirius said incredulously. “Like two young bachelors like ourselves could go without their own Quidditch pitch.”

That hadn’t been the part that Harry had been questioning. Harry still remembered Sirius’s promise that he could move in with him, back at the end of his third year. The few blissful minutes he’d believed it, that he would never be going back to the Dursley’s. The idea had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“It’ll be great,” Sirius said fondly, looking into the fireplace. Harry looked into the fire too. He wanted to believe that something like this could happen, but in the context of everything else, how could it? What were the chances that Wormtail would be caught? And even if he was, even if Sirius was free, and had his own home for Harry to move into, would Sirius even want him there? The longer Harry had lived at the Dursleys, the more they had grown to resent him. He was pretty convinced that the only reason Ron and Hermione still kept around him was because they got their annual breaks from him during the summer. If Harry were to move in, consider it his permanent home, how long would it be before Sirius grew to resent him? Before he saw just how pathetic he was, how annoying he was?

And what about this summer? Sirius technically already did have a home, despite being a fugitive still, and there had been space for him in Grimmauld Place. Why hadn’t he invited him over sooner? The whole summer Harry had only received two letters from Sirius, one of which was a birthday card. Did Sirius really care that much whether Harry was around or not?

“Are you feeling up to heading back to bed?” Sirius asked, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

“Er, not quite yet,” Harry said, taking a sip of his tea.

“Is it ok if I go? I’m finally starting to feel tired, and I usually try to ride the wave so to speak,” Sirius laughed. Harry nodded.

“Yeah of course, sure, go ahead.”

“Alright Harry, come and get me if you start feeling ill again,” Sirius said getting up and stretching. Harry nodded, but knew he definitely would not be doing any such thing.

“Try to not stay up too long,” Sirius said as he ruffled Harry’s hair.

“I’ll try,” Harry said. Sirius gave him one last tired smile, before he left the room.

“Goodnight,” he said, and closed the door.

Harry sat by the fire in silence, feeling empty. He hadn’t wanted anyone around when he was panicking and sick, but now that he had gotten his wish and Sirius had left, he felt worse. It was like a confirmation that he should be alone. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them as he watched the flames. The red reminded him of Voldemort's eyes. He immediately looked away, feeling a sharp pang of panic. He turned his back to the fire, his face pressed into the back of the couch. He deserved to be on his own, for what he had done. He deserved to be on his own, rather than a burden to others. He had to figure out a way to prevent this from happening again.

Harry stayed awake the rest of the night, considering what he could do. The first solution he came to was trying to avoid sleeping as much as possible. There was no way that he was going to be able to avoid sleeping in the same room as Ron, and there was too much of a risk that Harry would have a nightmare and wake him up. He knew he wouldn’t be able to completely avoid sleep, though. So his second plan involved exploring Grimmauld place more. If he had spaces he knew he could go to to be alone, it would make it a hell of a lot easier to manage his panic without others seeing, if it were to come up. His third plan was to try and get his hands on some dreamless sleep potion. Maybe there was some laying around in an old medicine cupboard. This would be an ideal solution, at least while supplies lasted.

When the sun finally began to rise, Harry caught a glimpse of Kreacher – Sirius’s house elf – coming down the stairs. Kreacher sneered at Harry before continuing down towards the kitchen. Presuming that Mrs. Weasley as well as the others would start stirring soon, Harry tiptoed back up the stairs, got back into his bed, and proceeded to pretend like nothing had happened at all.

Chapter Text

Harry and Ron went into the kitchen, finding Ginny and Hermione already downstairs, digging into thick bowls of oatmeal with blueberries and cinnamon.

“There’s still more on the stove,” Ginny said, gesturing. “Mum just made it.”

Ron walked over to the large pot and started spooning some out for himself. Harry stood behind him, smelling the heavy breakfast and feeling unwell all over again.

“Did you guys sleep ok?” Hermione asked. Ron grunted.

“Pleasant,” she said with a grimace.

“I can’t have conversations this early in the morning,” Ron said. “I haven’t even had anything to eat yet.”

“You could still be polite,” Hermione began.

“Please don’t start guys, we just got up,” Ginny interrupted. Hermione shot her a look, but returned to her oatmeal.

Harry took a seat next to Ron, across the table from Hermione and Ginny. He began fiddling with his spoon, mixing the slop of mushy food around, trying to bring himself to take a bite. When he did, it felt like it was gluing his mouth shut.

“Is everything ok, Harry?” Hermione asked, noticing his discomfort.

“Didn’t sleep well,” he muttered, pouring himself a cup of tea from the teapot on the table.

“Did mum already say what we’d be working on today?” Ron asked. Harry was grateful the conversation had shifted so quickly away from him.

“No, though I think we’ll be cleaning out the drawing room,” Ginny said. “She was mentioning yesterday how it could get used as another guest room, right now it’s just full of junk.”

Harry zoned out as the others kept talking. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep, and the tea was making him feel nauseous. It had only been his first night back around everyone again, and it felt impossible to imagine dealing with a whole school year of this. And then there was schoolwork – work he hadn’t even started over the summer like he was supposed to because he hadn’t had access to his things. Should he even bother starting it?

Suddenly, there was tapping on the window. They all looked up at the tiny back window just above the sink and saw an owl, clutching several letters with bright red wax seals.

“School letters!” Hermione said, jumping up and standing on her toes to flick open the latch. The bird was too big to come in, so simply dropped the mail down onto the counter, before flapping away again. Hermione picked up the envelopes and distributed them to each of them.

“I’ve been wondering…” Hermione said with bated breath as she tore open her letter and unfolded it. She squealed. “YES!”

Harry looked up and felt his heart drop. A shiny gold badge with the Gryffindor lion and large P emblazoned across it. Prefect.

“Congrats Hermione,” Ginny said, also unfolding her letter. She sounded a bit indifferent, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice.

“I had really been hoping for it, I wasn’t sure with how end of year exams went last spring, so I thought maybe I hadn’t qualified, Harry did you – ” She stopped mid-sentence, seeing Ron sitting absolutely flabbergasted, a badge on the table in front of him as well.

“Er, no,” Harry said clearing his throat. “I think Ron’s got one, though.”

“Congratulations, Ron!” Hermione cried, getting up and running around the table to give him a hug. “This is such great news, wow!”

“Wow is right,” Ginny said with raised eyebrows. “Wait until Fred and George find out.”

Ron’s face blanched.

“Oh god,” he said. “I’m going to become as bad as Percy.”

“Don’t say that,” Hermione said, lightly hitting his arm. “There’s nothing wrong with being a Prefect.”

Ron stole a glance at Harry, who did his best to give a sincere smile.

“Really happy for you,” he said, swallowing hard. “Good, er, good work.”

“Thanks,” Ron said awkwardly, looking back down on the paper to check that the letter was actually addressed to him.

“Your mum is going to be so proud!” Hermione beamed. “Someone should go get her!”

“I’ll go,” Harry said promptly, standing up before anyone could say anything. He marched out of the room, and up the stairs, the all too familiar tension taking over again. The thick sick feeling was back in his throat. His face burned.

Of course this had happened. The world was out to make him feel as excluded as possible. Of course they would go from a trio to a duo. Harry stomped heavily up the next flight of stairs, feeling the pain of the abandonment already hitting him. Prefect meetings, where he wasn’t welcome. Empty common rooms, just Harry, alone, because the two of them are both out helping with enforcing curfew. His stomach twisted with the grief of not being a part of the dynamic in the same way anymore. How fast would the changes come? Did they already feel better than him? Why hadn’t Harry been good enough to get a badge? Why was he never enough?

“HE’S NOT JAMES, SIRIUS!”

Harry froze. Mrs. Weasley was yelling so loudly, her voice had carried down the hall, around the corner and to where Harry was on the stairs. The raised voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, his senses heightening.

“I NEVER SAID HE WAS!” Sirius roared back. Harry felt the urge to retreat, slink back down the stairs, to find a safe corner. But something pushed him forward.

“You treat him like he’s a friend of yours!” Mrs. Weasley said in exasperation. “He’s not your friend, you’re an adult, who is supposed to be looking out for him, and you need to act like it!”

“So, I’m a shit godfather?” Sirius said back. Harry flinched – he had never heard Sirius swear before.

“I never said that,” Mrs. Weasley said back. “But you are letting him get away with too much – ”

“How is respecting his privacy ‘too much’?”

“He’s not an adult, he’s a child, and he needs someone looking out for him. And sometimes that means not respecting privacy when something is wrong.”

“I don’t see how being ill one night is evidence for something being so wrong that I can’t – ”

“It’s not just that and you know that!” Mrs. Weasley interrupted. “Arabella warned us that she had stopped seeing him so much this summer, and then he arrives on the doorstep looking so thin – ”

“He’s fine,” Sirius said sharply. “He’s always been thin, so was James – ”

“If James came back from summer holiday looking like Harry does, would you ignore it?”

“I’m not ignoring it! I stayed up with him last night, didn’t I?”

“You said you went to bed before he did.”

“He said he didn’t need me to stay up! Bloody hell, Molly, he’s fifteen years old, he can tell me whether or not he needs something!”

“I’m not sure he can!” She said. “Being a teenager means he’s probably even less likely to say that he needs something, not more, I’ve raised plenty of them to know that.”

“Harry’s not your son!”

“He’s as good as – who else has he got?”

“ME!” Sirius shouted, his voice was gruff and startling. Harry couldn’t handle it anymore. He turned away.

“HE’S GOT ME, MOLLY.”

Harry could still hear the arguing, he pressed his hands over his ears as he stepped quickly down the stairs. He couldn’t believe he had caused more anger, more friction – he hadn’t even been at Grimmauld Place for 24 hours and people were furious. It didn’t take much more than Harry being present for everything to fall apart.

Harry went into the downstairs bathroom, the same one he had been in the middle of the night. He locked the door, leaning against it, pulling his hair. The sharp feeling brought him a new sensation to pay attention to. He yanked and yanked, twisting his fist in his thick hair.

‘Why do I ruin everything?’ the thought echoed around his head.

‘Freak. Freak. Freak.’

Harry swallowed hard, pushing everything down, taking deep breaths. He couldn’t do this again. Not so close to last night. Twice in less than 12 hours? Mrs. Weasley would notice. Everyone would notice. He needed to get in control. He needed to fucking get over it.

Harry went to the sink, turned on the tap, and started splashing water on his face. He gripped the edge of the counter, staring at his reflection. He needed to become more composed. He needed to get his shit together, and stop being such a baby over some raised voices. He had to prove he was fine.

Harry grabbed the hand towel by the sink and rubbed his face furiously, the coarse material feeling almost like sandpaper against his skin. He stopped quickly, not wanting to make his face red.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Harry stood in the hall and waited until he finally heard footsteps on the stairs. He intercepted Mrs. Weasley in the hall and told her the fantastic news.

The week at Grimmauld Place before the academic year started went by both as fast as a sudden rainstorm, and as slow as melting snow. Mrs. Weasley had been thrilled for Ron and Hermione, hugging them both with tears of joy coming down her face. Ron’s ears had turned bright red, but he had also been grinning. Harry knew he was happy to be a prefect – he had been there when Ron had looked into the Mirror of Erised back in first year.

Harry was grateful when Fred and George had come downstairs and heard the news; they immediately started picking on him.  Harry couldn’t help but internally feel smug about Ron being the one who was being othered.

When Sirius had come downstairs too, he had patted Harry on the back, and sat with him at the opposite end of the table from the rest.

“Good thing you didn’t get a badge, eh?” Sirius had said slyly. “Wouldn’t have been following in the Marauder’s footsteps with that thing.”

Sirius didn’t mention last night at all to Harry, not even asking if he was feeling any better. Harry supposed he was trying to make a point to Mrs. Weasley – (‘He can tell me whether or not he needs something!’) – and instead talked about Harry’s list of school supplies for the year, the only piece of news they had to discuss.

That afternoon, while Mrs. Weasley went to Diagon Alley, the rest of them split up to do chores around Grimmauld Place. Harry and Sirius ended up alone together at one point while the others were taking bags of rubbish downstairs to set by the door for the bin.

“This could be your room, you know,” Sirius had said, looking around.

“It feels too big,” Harry had responded. “I wouldn’t have anything to put in here.”

“We’ll get you new stuff!” Sirius had said, clapping him on the back. “We don’t want any of that Muggle junk from the Dursleys, anyways.”

Harry didn’t have the heart to point out he didn’t have anything to bring over from the Dursleys that he didn’t already have with him.

Once Sirius had left him alone, Harry had snuck into the upstairs bathroom near Sirius’s bedroom. He had searched the cabinets, looking for something that resembled a dreamless sleep potion, but he had no such luck. The cabinet was all but empty – just some spider webs, and some unlabeled, half-used bottles that smelled rancid. Harry had sighed, realizing one of his aims for the morning had to be crossed off the list as not feasible. Maybe once he was at Hogwarts, he would be able to get some somehow.

That evening, Harry had found Hedwig, given her his letter to Hedwig, and sent her off to Mrs. Fig, before getting into bed. Harry had just as much trouble sleeping that second night as the first. This time it was because he was afraid to go to sleep in the first place. Ron had been snoring loudly next to him, just as he always did, but Harry found it far more grating than usual. How could he be so comfortable as to be able to just fall asleep? Didn’t he realize Voldemort was out there? That there were probably people dying, at this second?

People who had died?

People who should have died?

Harry had waited as long as he could before getting out of bed. He had tiptoed again out the door, this time heading to the upstairs bathroom. It hadn’t taken more than a few moments for a knock to sound on the door. Mrs. Weasley was up, and aware that he was up too.

“Do you need anything, Harry?” She had asked in concern.

“Just using the loo,” Harry had said, coming out of the small bathroom, trying to get past her as quickly as possible. “Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Goodnight, you know which room I’m in if you need anything right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Ok, get some rest, dear.”

The rest of the week, Harry had remained each night in the room, catching the lightest amounts of sleep, avoiding his dreams as much as possible. He couldn’t wait to get on the train and find himself back at Hogwarts, where if he couldn’t sleep, he could always find an empty common room.

He waited for a response from Ava as he worked with the others, clearing out cabinets, scrubbing floors of mold and grime, and pretending that nothing was different from any other year. At meals, Harry made a great deal of effort to make a point of taking large bites in front of Mrs. Weasley, even though it made his already uneasy stomach feel further unsettled. He didn’t want to cause anymore arguments. It wouldn’t be long until he was out of their way, and then hopefully everyone would be happier.

When Hedwig had finally brought a letter back, he had taken it from her almost desperately.

‘Harry –

It is so good to hear from you! We have been so worried about you. I told mum and dad about your letter, and they’re also so happy to hear you’re not at the Dursley’s anymore. How’s London? Where is school for you actually? Do you come home for weekends usually? Is there any chance we can see you? We can collect you from the train station if it helps, mum is happy to pick you up she said.

Dad is doing ok. His treatment has been getting a bit more intense. Apparently, as they give him more medicine, it makes him sicker – how messed up is that? Has to do with how much of it is in his system, and the fact that the stupid stuff attacks everything, not just his cancer. It’s really scary, Harry. I hate seeing him like this. I’m so scared that one day he’s just not going to be here anymore. I have no idea what mum and I will do without him.  

Sorry to write this all to you, I’m just feeling really lost. I’m not going to lie, it’s hard without having you around. It helped make things feel a bit more… normal. Dad got out of bed more.

Please write back soon. We all miss you a lot.

- Ava’

Harry’s heart had sank. Mr. Williams wasn’t doing well. His mind started whirling with thought after thought – what if he never saw the family whole again? He had paced his room holding the letter in his hands, the nervous energy needing to get out somehow. Then he realized something he hadn’t considered before.

Magic.

Why he hadn’t thought about it earlier, he didn’t know (maybe the Dursleys had been a little bit successful in squashing the magic out of him). But maybe there was something he could do. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the magical world having cancer before. Maybe it was because for wizards, it wasn’t an issue. Like a cold and a Pepper-Up Potion.

Harry had scribbled a note to Ava, feeling adrenaline thudding through his veins.

‘Hi Ava,

It’s also really good to hear from you, too. No need to be worried about me, I’m doing great. I’m having a really great time in London. I’m helping my godfather clean up his house, and I’m spending loads of time with my friends. We’ve been having a lot of fun together. – ’ Harry paused, and considered scrunching up the paper and starting over. He didn’t want Ava to be upset the same way he had been, left out from the group. But he also wanted to reassure her everything was fine. Because it was fine. ‘ – I miss hanging out with you as well. Have you watched any new movies lately? I would love to hear about it. School is quite far away actually – ’another pause. How much should he tell her? How much was he allowed to tell her? ‘ – so it’s not possible for me to come back on weekends. Maybe for Christmas though? I’d really like to see you all again. I’ll even brave going back to Privet Drive for you.

I’m sorry your dad is not doing well. I’ve been thinking, and I think I might have an idea of how to help. I’ll keep you updated. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to fix this, but I’m going to try. Don’t give up hope just yet. There are also great doctors taking care of him.

You can always write to me about these things. It doesn’t bother me at all. – ’ Harry paused once more, debating whether he should write his last thought or not. He decided it was worth it. ‘ – I know what it’s like to be alone and dealing with something awful. I wouldn’t ever leave you to face it on your own. 

Hear from you soon, I hope,

- Harry’

After days of cleaning, and avoiding Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye, it was finally the morning of their departure. And there was arguing again. Harry drooped when he came to the kitchen for breakfast and realized it was about him.

“You can’t come, Sirius!” Mrs. Weasley said, furiously scrambling eggs as she spoke. “It’s not safe for you, and it’s not safe for Harry.”

Sirius scoffed at this.

“What’s going to happen? You-know-who is going to jump out from one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express?” He said.

“Someone could recognize you – ”

“I’ll go as Padfoot – ”

“That doesn’t mean no one can recognize you,” Mrs. Weasley hissed, spilling half the pan of eggs onto the plate in front of Harry.

“Eat up,” she commanded. Harry tried to oblige but he was having difficulty getting his hand to pick up his fork. Ron nudged him roughly.

“Keep your head down and eat,” Ron muttered. Harry found his fingers and grabbed his fork.

“It’s reckless, and it’s selfish for you to join,” Mrs. Weasley continued. “The Guard is there to protect Harry, not give you a day out!”

“I’m a part of the Order too,” Sirius snapped. “I can protect him too!”

“And what if you’re caught? How can you protect Harry then?”

“You want me to come, don’t you Harry?” Sirius asked, turning in his seat to face Harry.

“That’s not fair, Sirius, don’t put him in that position!” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Harry?” Sirius said, ignoring her. Harry glanced up at Sirius and then looked down again.

“I… I don’t…” Harry said quietly. He didn’t know what the right answer was. He felt his stomach start to knot. “I-If he, wants, I mean – ”

“This is not up to you, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly. “Moody is not going to let you come, Sirius, so you might as well drop it.”

After a completely silent rest of breakfast, everyone went upstairs, threw the remainder of their belongings into the trunks, gathered their owls and Crookshanks, and went back downstairs. Sirius was standing by the door, arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled as he got near. Sirius shrugged moodily.

“Have a good term,” Sirius said, reaching out and giving him a one-arm hug.

Harry tried to hold himself together, still the shaking he felt in his knees as he was pulled close to Sirius.

“Make sure to write,” he said, and then sighed. He turned, and gave Harry a proper hug. “And take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Harry answered, giving a small hug back. With the help of Tonks, Harry carried his trunk outside to join the rest of the travelers to walk to King’s Cross.

Chapter Text

Once everyone was on the train, the group of friends began splitting off. Fred and George left first to join Lee Jordan in a compartment, presumably to discuss their summer’s worth of experiments. Ginny waved as she went the opposite way, dragging her trunk behind her.

“Which way shall we go?” Harry asked, turning to Ron and Hermione. They both suddenly looked sheepish.

“Er, actually, Harry,” Hermione began and faltered. Ron stared at the ground.

“What?”

“We, er, we have to go to the prefect’s compartment.”

Harry felt the all too familiar sensation of his stomach dropping.

“Right,” he said, already gathering up his things. “That’s fine, see you later, then.”

Before either of them could respond, Harry was already heading along the tight corridor. The train jostled him from side to side as he awkwardly heaved his trunk, Hedwig, and his Firebolt. His fears had been entirely confirmed. This year was going to be one without Ron and Hermione. Maybe one without anyone at all.

As he walked, he checked all of the compartments, but each one already contained students – most laughing, some chatting, others playing Exploding Snap. It hurt to walk past each of the groups of friends. Everyone had a place. Except Harry.

Towards the end of the train, Harry finally reached an empty compartment. He flung his trunk into the room, tossing his broom to the ground, and catching himself before he did the same to Hedwig. He placed her on the seat and sat down next to her, facing backwards.

The landscape was a blur past him. Everything was vanishing away, getting ripped from his gaze and becoming smaller as soon as it came into view. As he hurtled backwards, the motion sent his head spinning. He swapped seats to face forwards.

“Anything from the trolley?” came the voice of the trolley witch. Harry glanced up.

“Er, yeah, I’ll take some chocolate frogs, and some fizzing whizzbees, and…” He looked through the selection. “A licorice wand.”

“Excellent choices,” she smiled as she handed the Honeydukes confections to him. He handed her a few coins in return.

“Enjoy the rest of your journey!” She said, as the compartment door slide closed with a thump.

The wrappers of the candies crinkled in his hands as Harry returned to his seat. He laid them out next to him before picking up a chocolate frog. He flipped open the box, pulling out the collector’s card. It was Albus Dumbledore.

Harry had not heard from Dumbledore all summer, which wouldn’t have been entirely surprising, had he not been at the headquarters of Dumbledore’s secret defense organization. He had expected him to come by at least once for a meeting, but if he had, he had always been in and out without Harry seeing him.

Harry watched as the image of Dumbledore looked up at Harry, before turning away and disappearing from frame. Harry scoffed and tossed the card aside. He grabbed the chocolate frog, which squirmed in his hand, before biting off its head.

Immediately the chocolate melted in his mouth, becoming thick. Harry tried to chew, but the chocolate felt like cement, the sugar hitting his teeth and bringing about a headache. Harry picked up the wrapper and spit it out with a grimace. It was too much. Everything felt like too much. Five years ago, Harry had been on this train with Ron, eating as much candy as they liked, Harry’s first dose of freedom as well as friendship. Now he was alone, with a sickeningly sweet pile of treats and no one else to have them with.

Harry’s stomach churned. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry, or upset, or both. He looked at the pile of candy again, and then looked away, back out the window. He didn’t need sweets. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t need anyone. He could handle everything on his own. As this new mantra ran through his mind, thoughts of Hermione and Ran followed. Memories of them together in the Great Hall, passing notes during Charms, laying out in the sun by the giant squid.

He made his hands into fists, squeezing them so his fingernails dug into his palms. He was fine on his own, he had been on his own his whole life, hadn’t he learned how to deal with this long ago? Harry tried to take a deep breath, but his body fought back. His heart ached. And he was stupid for it.

“Hey!”

The compartment door clattered open, causing Harry to jump. He relaxed his hands quickly, feeling his palms sting lightly from the half-moon indentations left behind.

“Er,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at Ginny. “What happened to you?”

Ginny was completely covered in a thick layer of gelatinous, foul-smelling slime. Harry fought the urge to wrinkle his nose.

“I sat with Neville,” she sighed. “He has a new plant, the compartment got completely coated with this stuff. Is it ok if I sit with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said lamely.

“I’ll just put my stuff here, and then go change,” Ginny said, pulling her trunk into the room. “I don’t want you have to be sitting with me smelling this awful.”

“Oh, you’re fine, it doesn’t smell,” Harry said. Now it was Ginny’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “Er, ok, it does smell, but it’s not your fault.”

“Luckily,” Ginny said, throwing open her trunk, “I hadn’t put my robes on yet. I’ll be right back.”

Ginny left the room again.

Harry turned back to look out the window, rubbing his hands on his knees. Why did he feel nervous? It felt like Ginny had caught him doing something wrong. It made him exposed to know she had found him like this – alone. Vulnerable.

‘I must look like a complete loser,’ Harry thought bitterly. How had he never realized that the only people he considered his friends were Ron and Hermione? Other people had way more than just two people to rely on.

‘Don’t rely on anyone,’ a voice in Harry’s head reminded him. ‘You cause problems wherever you go, you’re in the way, you’re not good enough, you’re completely stupid.’

The door slid open again and Ginny was back, clean robes on and hair slightly damp.

“Oh sorry, I left you in here with my trunk and it’s also covered in shit,” Ginny said, bending over and using her already dirty clothes she had changed out of to wipe it down. “Seriously, I am glad that Neville has a hobby, but it’s getting to be too much. It’s still better than dealing with Fred and George’s hobbies, though, let me tell you.”

She twisted her dirty clothes into a ball and closed them in her trunk. She sat across from Harry.

“So,” Ginny said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Harry mumbled.

“Hermione and Ron are in the prefect’s compartment, huh?” she said bluntly. Harry’s gaze flicked over to her, and then back out the window.

“Er, yeah,” he said awkwardly.

“That’s pretty lame,” Ginny said. Harry glanced back at her and then gave a small nod. “I can’t believe Ron got prefect. Hermione we all saw coming, but Ron?”

Harry shrugged. He felt Ginny trying to meet his eyes, but he kept staring out the window.

“If you’re around more this year,” she said casually, “I’m around too. You know, if you ever want to hang out.”Harry felt his heart sinking. Pity. That’s what this was.

“I have other people,” Harry said, a bit more sharply than he intended. “Dean, and Seamus, and, Neville…”

“Well, the offer still stands,” Ginny said, standing up and grabbing a book out of her trunk. “We spend loads of time together during vacations once you join us in summers, but then during the school year you three are always disappearing off.”

‘Well you won’t have to worry about that this year…’ Harry thought dejectedly.

Ginny flipped her book open and began reading. Harry fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt. The sky outside was darkening as the train continued to rattle onward. Harry found it exceedingly difficult to sit quietly with Ginny there. He felt the tension in his body building, as he tried to hold his emotions inside, not showing anything on his face. As the night slowly took over, and the moon came out, Harry found his mind drifting back to the cemetery, and Cedric, and sleepless nights, and bright red eyes…

“I think we’re almost there,” Ginny said, closing her book. “I get the feeling you’d rather head into the castle on your own, so I’m gonna go meet up with Agatha.”

Harry didn’t say anything as she packed up her book. The silence settled thickly around them both, and the knot in his stomach tightened until it felt like it might pull him inside out. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

Why did everything have to feel like complete abandonment? It was so extreme. Even a simple goodbye, even someone just standing up — it always hit the same nerve. That same hollow drop in his chest, like that he was finding out he had to go to the Dursleys for the whole summer, that he couldn’t speak to the Williams anymore, that Ron and Hermione were together while he was alone, all over again.

He hated how raw it made him feel. Weak. Stupid. Like he was six again, waiting for someone to show up who never would.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling upset when people disappoint you,” Ginny said, as she opened the compartment door. “It doesn’t mean anything is wrong – ”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong,” Harry said darkly.

“You didn’t have to,” Ginny said. “Just don’t shut people out, yeah?”

Harry gritted his teeth and looked back out the window and the door closed behind her.

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into station, Harry got changed into his robes. He then collected his things and prepared to leave, only to realize he still had a mountain of sweet laying forgotten on the leather seat. He glared at them – the scene looked like so many more people had been in the compartment than had.

Harry opened the door as students flooded past, on their way off the train.

“Here – ” Harry said to a first year he didn’t recognize. He shoved the pile of candy into the small boys chest walking past quickly. The boy could barely respond, having just encountered the Boy Who Lived for the very first time. He ran off excitedly, fizzing whizzbees falling from his arms as he caught up to his new friends.

“Harry!” Hermione called, waving him over. Harry begrudgingly joined them. Neville was there, still coated in stinksap.

“How was the prefect meeting?” Harry asked, trying not to make it sound forced.

“So boring,” Ron answered, receiving a firm elbow to the side by Hermione.

“It wasn’t so bad, lots of information though,” Hermione said. “I hope I can keep track of it. How was your ride, Harry?”

“Fine,” Harry said.

“Better than Nevilles?” Ron asked, trying to lighten the mood. Neville slumped visibly.

“Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Neville said, showing Harry the small plant in his arms.

“Please tell me you’re not keeping it in the dorm, mate,” Ron groaned.

“It’s fine as long as we leave it alone!”

“Oh look, the carriages are here!” Hermione said, walking past Harry.

Turning, Harry almost immediately stopped dead in his tracks. The carriages, which usually pulled themselves with what Harry presumed was magic, were no longer standing untethered. Giant, horse-like creatures stood in front of them. They had giant wings and were skin and bone.

“What are those?” Harry asked in shock, Hermione looked back.

“What are what?”

“Those things, pulling the carriages!”

Ron and Hermione turned to the carriages, and then looked back at Harry.

“Are you feeling alright, mate?” Ron asked.

“There’s nothing pulling the carriages?” Hermione said in confusion.

“Can’t – can’t you see them?” Harry asked bewildered.

“Don’t worry,” a voice said behind Harry. A blonde girl with large blue eyes and radish earrings was standing just behind him. “I can see them, too.”

“Sorry?” Harry asked, still feeling completely lost.

“My name is Luna,” Luna said, pushing a pair of bright pink glasses with colorful swirls on the lenses up further on the top of her head. “And those are Thestrals.”

A look of understanding dawned on Hermione’s face.

“Thestrals, really?” she exclaimed. “How fascinating! I wish I could see them!”

Her face fell as soon as the words spilled out.

“Why can’t you?” Harry asked. “Why is it that they’re there all of a sudden?”

“They’ve always been there,” Luna explained. “But you can only see them if you’ve seen someone die.”

Harry could feel the ground fall out from beneath him. Ron and Hermione shared an uncomfortable look.

“Here’s a carriage, look, we can all fit,” Luna said, skipping forward and holding the door open. Harry dragged his feet and clambered into the carriage without saying a thing.

“No Hagrid,” Ron commented, as they filed into the Great Hall. “Didn’t see him by the train, either.”

“I wonder where he is,” Hermione said. Harry didn’t respond. The bony figures of the Thestrals were still vivid in his mind. They reminded him on Voldemort’s skeletal body, emerging from a large cauldron, cackling…

“Harry?”

He looked down at Hermione who was patting the bench next to her. He took a seat.

The two continued to discuss where Hagrid might be. Harry scanned the teacher’s table, taking note of the rest of the staff. In particular, Harry noted a woman dressed entirely in pink – most likely, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He also saw Dumbledore, in his high-backed golden chair. Unlike previous years, Dumbledore was not watching the students, but rather looking at his hands. It felt uncharacteristic of the man who was so often so excited to welcome the students back to school.

The Hall quietened down as the doors creaked open and Professor McGonagall walked in, guiding the nervous first years. Harry watched, barely focused, as she began calling names and inviting students to take a seat to be sorted. As first years joined Gryffindor, Harry clapped along with everyone else, but mechanically. It was the first time Harry was sitting in this Hall, not feeling even slightly a part of the community.

Once the sorting was done, Dumbledore stood to say a few words. Harry felt a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that he could not place. It felt sharp, like a knife, or like fangs. His skin felt hot and prickly. He did his best to not sneer and instead take a sip of water. No one else seemed to notice his discomfort, however; Hermione was paying complete attention to Dumbledore and Ron was staring at his empty plate longingly.

Suddenly, the woman in pink stood and took the podium. Harry’s attention focused slightly – this was entirely uncharacteristic of Welcome Feast traditions.

“I am so glad to be back at Hogwarts,” the woman began. “I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and to being a part of tutoring the next great wizarding minds.”

Harry tuned out again. His mind began to wander, back to the Thestrals. Harry looked up to the ceiling to shift his thoughts, but the banners with each of the House insignias on them reminded Harry of how the last time he had been in the hall, they had all been black. Dumbledore had been speaking about Cedric, about what had happened in the graveyard. Cho Chang crying at the table over. A flash of green spread across Harry’s mind. Hooded figures. A silver knife. A ghostly Cedric – ‘Take my body back, please, Harry’ –

“Thank you, Professor Umbridge,” Dumbledore said, clapping politely. A scattering of feeble claps joined in across the Hall. “Now, I would like to invite you all to tuck in.”

Dumbledore raised his arms, and, like magic, the tables filled with food. Ron pounced quickly on a nearby turkey, taking several slices and then slathering them in gravy.

“I do not like a thing that woman said,” Hermione said suspiciously, spearing some carrots with her fork.

“What did she say?” Ron asked with a mouthful of food. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Weren’t you listening? To me it sounds like the ministry is getting more involved in Hogwarts.”

“How so?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione grimaced. “I think we may find out in our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Is everything ok Harry?”

Harry looked up from the goblet of water he had been holding to his chin and staring into.

“Yeah, was just listening.”

“Aren’t you going to have any dinner?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, reaching over and putting some vegetables onto his plate. “Just ate a lot of sweets on the train, not feeling particularly hungry.”

“Well, that happens when you eat too much sugar, it’ll make you feel ill. You shouldn’t eat so much.”

“Yeah,” Harry said lamely, pushing his broccoli around the plate.

After dinner, Ron and Hermione left to help chaperone the first years up to the Gryffindor tower. Harry slinked off ahead of them, hands in his pockets. As he walked, he could hear whispers and could see fingers pointing.

‘I should have seen this coming,’ Harry thought. The last time many of the students had seen him, it had been days after he had reappeared on the Quidditch Pitch holding the hand of a dead student. And since then, who knows what they had been hearing. Many of them were probably hoping the rumor mill would start to turn soon, and that Harry’s confidants would let slip details of what had happened.

‘Unlucky for them, I don’t have anyone to talk to about this, so they’re not gonna hear about it,’ Harry thought.

Once Harry had made it to the Gryffindor Tower, he stepped through the portrait hole, and went straight upstairs. Neville was already there, gently placing his mimbulus mimbletonia on his nightstand.

“Is that the best place for that?” Harry asked cautiously. Neville sighed.

“I’ll bring it to the greenhouses at the first Herbology lesson,” he said. “Don’t want to get it knocked over or something again.”

Harry nodded before grabbing his pajamas from his trunk, which had been taken from the train and placed at the end of his bed. He headed into the bathroom and closed the door with a sigh.

Turning on the shower, he stripped down and got in. The water was too hot, but he left it that way, letting it lightly burn his head and shoulders. The same foreboding feeling he had gotten on the first night at Grimmauld Place was hanging over him. He had only just gotten to Hogwarts, and yet the idea of spending a year here felt insurmountable. How was he going to handle all the stares, all of the corners of Hogwarts that reminded him of the Triwizard tournament and about Voldemort’s return?

Harry tipped his head back and let the water run down his face. He would take it one day at a time. Besides, he had work to do.

Harry had not forgotten about his letter to Ava, promising he would find a way to help her father. With a whole magical library at his disposal, Harry felt confident he would find something that would help.

‘And besides,’ Harry thought glumly, shutting the water off. ‘I’ll have plenty of alone time to do research.’

After drying himself off and putting on his pajamas, Harry walked back into the dorm room. Dean and Seamus were now also in the room. They had been talking, but stopped abruptly as he walked in.

“Hey,” Harry said as he stepped past.

“Hey, Harry,” Dean said, hazarding a glance at Seamus who had turned his back to Harry. “How was your summer?”

“Fine,” Harry said. “And yours?”

“It was also fine,” Dean said with a half-shrug. There was an awkward pause as Harry waited for Seamus to also chime in – but he didn’t.

“How was yours, Seamus?” Neville asked from across the room, sitting up in his bed.

“Pretty damn awful,” Seamus scoffed. Neville looked taken aback. Dean winced.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, me mam didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.”

“Why’s that?” Neville asked cautiously. Seamus shot Harry a cold look. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Harry asked.

“She didn’t think it was safe, with you being here and all. Running around, spouting lies about You-Know-Who.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry said angrily.

“It’s been all over the Daily Prophet,” Seamus said. “You and Dumbledore. Making things up, just scaring people.”

Harry felt his blood boil.

“Seamus, you were here! You saw me come back with – with him.” The name caught in Harry’s throat. “None of it was a lie.”

“I saw you come back with a dead body,” Seamus said coldly. “Didn’t know you were that  desperate for fame and glory.”

Harry could have punched him. Instead, he took his wand from his pocket. Dean’s eyes lit up with alarm; he jumped to his feet just as Seamus reached for his wand, too. At that moment, Ron came into the room. He halted, seeing his roommates, wands raised.

“Er,” he said awkwardly. “What’s going on?”

Harry lowered his wand, and wordlessly shoved passed Ron, fuming down the stairs to the common room. As he walked down the spiral stone steps, he could hear raised voices as Seamus continued to spew nonsense. Harry kicked a side table after he got to the bottom the stairs, knocking it and the statue it held over with a clatter. He then stormed over to the armchair placed in the furthest corner of the room. He dug his fingernails into his palms again, so tense he was shaking.

Harry stared into the fire which was dancing in the fireplace. The flames were bright and clear, evident of just how much heat they were giving off. Harry wished more than anything he could get out of his own body in that moment. He could reach out, touch the flames, let them eat their way up his arm. He would be better of dead that continuing the way he was. He could escape if he just reached out.

Some moments later, Harry heard footsteps, and Ron came into the room. Upon spotting Harry, he walked over, and took the armchair across from him.

“He’s completely out of line,” Ron said eventually. “I told him that, you know. I told him exactly where he could go shove those – ”

“It’s fine, Ron,” Harry muttered. “You don’t need to get involved.”

“Damn right I do,” Ron said back. “Last year, I – ” Ron stopped mid-sentence and then cleared his throat. “Last year I wasn’t there for you, when I should’ve been. You know, the whole thing with you and Ce – with you and the other school champion. The school was against you, and I kept quiet. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

The two boys sat in silence for quite some time.

“Neville stood up for you too, you know, after you left,” Ron said. Harry still kept quiet, picking at the cuticles on his lefthand. “You have people watching out for you. I don’t want you to feel alone.”

Harry swallowed hard. The words didn’t land with him the way that they should have; instead, they hit a wall that he’d already built up inside himself, prepared for rejection.

“C’mon, it’s getting late,” Ron said after a pregnant pause. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I’m not going up there while he’s there,” Harry said quietly.

“You can’t stay down here forever.”

Another long pause.

“C’mon, Harry, you’re just letting him win if you don’t come back up. And we can’t have that. I’m there, Neville’s there…” Ron trailed off.

Finally, Harry stood, and began to climb up the steps. Without a word, Ron followed. Together, they went back into their dorm room. Harry strode across the room without looking around, got into bed, and pulled the curtains tightly. He heard Ron’s bed creak as he too got into bed.

‘Is another year at Hogwarts even worth it,’ Harry thought bitterly, ‘if no one wants me here?’

Chapter Text

The next morning when Harry opened the bed hangings, he found everyone except Ron had already left for breakfast. Harry scoffed as he stood stretching. If Seamus wanted to avoid him for the entire year, he’d let him.

“Ready?” Ron asked, lacing up his shoes. Harry put on his school robes quickly, picked up his bag, and the two left.

As they neared the Great Hall, the scents of full English breakfasts wafted through the corridors. Harry suddenly realized he felt ravenous. It had only taken a week at Grimmauld Place for Harry to get used to large portions of Mrs. Weasley’s (supervised) meals. It had only just struck him that he hadn’t anything substantial since the breakfast before. The smells felt warm and familiar, almost nostalgic, almost like home. As soon as they sat at the Gryffindor table, Harry began taking large portions of eggs, sausages, toast, and roast potato. Hermione looked pleased as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Did you sleep alright?” She asked, brushing her bushy hair behind her ear.

Both Ron and Harry nodded, mouths full of food. In all honesty, alright was a generous stretching of the truth, but he had had worse nights sleeps. Last night he had achieved a ‘good’ night for himself – a night of short, shallow bursts of sleep, staying just uncomfortable enough that he wouldn’t sleep too deeply and risk nightmares. Last night had just been dreams of Seamus doing poorly in Divination class. That, he could manage.

Just then, clouds of owls began soaring into the Great Hall. They flew through the air, looking for the recipient of whatever letter or package they held. Students across the hall reached out and caught the messages from their loved ones. Harry was taken aback when Hedwig swooped down and landed in front of him.

“Sirius must really miss you, to already be writing,” Ron laughed. Harry took the letter of Hedwig, giving her a quick scratch under the beak.

“It’s not from Sirius,” Harry said, flipping over the envelope and tearing it open.

‘Hi Harry –

It’s really sweet of you to try and think of how you can help with dad. I just want you to know that I don’t expect you to do anything to change the world. You writing me is already doing so much to help – ’

“Is that from that muggle you mentioned before?” Ron asked, setting down his pumpkin juice.

“Her name is Ava,” Harry said, still reading. “And yes.”

“Oooh,” said Hermione, eyes lighting up. “Tell us about her Harry!”

“Calm done, ‘Mione, she’s just a friend.”

“Sure, of course,” She said, in a tone equally as excited as before. “How did you meet?”

“She moved in next door to the Dursleys, I spent a lot of the summer with her.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her expression dulling slightly. “You didn’t mention that before.”

Harry shrugged.

“Not a lot to mention, we hung out a lot pretty much up until – er – the Order picked me up.”

“It’s nice that you’re able to stay in contact with her,” Hermione said with a gentle smile. “Did you tell her about Hogwarts?”

“What? No?” Harry said incredulously. “She’s a muggle!”

“Well, yes but, depending on how close you got with her, I thought maybe you would have.”

“Doesn’t that go against the Statute of Secrecy or something?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione explained. “You’re not allowed to go running through the streets, firing off spells and shouting ‘I’m a wizard! Magic is real!’ – but you are allowed to let some friends and family know. I did.”

“Do you have to get special permissions or anything?” Ron asked.

“No, just have to use your best judgement.”

“That feels like a major hole in the system,” Ron said raising his eyebrows. “Tell the wrong person and the whole magical world is exposed!”

“That’s why we have a department at the ministry of trained Obliviators,” Hermione said. “If you’re careless, you could get fined. Maybe even go to Azkaban.”

“Still seems like a bad system,” Ron said frowning, taking another several sausages for himself.

Harry chewed on his toast thoughtfully. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to consider telling the Williams about his wizarding status. It would inevitably be much easier, in the case that he actually found some magical resource to cure Mr. Williams. Ava had mentioned she didn’t expect him to be able to help, but he desperately wanted to show her there was magic in the world – both literally, and metaphorically…

Harry realized he had zoned out for a moment - and when he came back to the present, he realized he had been staring directly at a Hufflepuff third year girl. She looked terrified, grabbing her friend by the arm.

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped his toast on his plate.

“They’re scared,” Hermione sighed, watching the two girls ducking off and out of the Hall.

“They’re scared of the wrong person,” Harry muttered, turning back to his plate. “I’m not the one sending killing curses at people.”

“No, but you’re someone that someone wants to send a killing curse at,” Ron said grimly. Hermione looked pained. Harry felt his stomach twist unpleasantly.

He hadn’t considered this before. It wasn’t entirely unreasonable that the students were scared. What was unfair was that Harry had come back to Hogwarts. It was selfish, really, for him to be here when it put other people at risk. He was a beacon, attracting the attention of Death Eaters. Were the ancient walls and Dumbledore’s magic enough to keep them all safe?

Professor McGonagall came around at that moment, passing out their timetables. Harry took his and scanned it, mind still racing on other things. Charms first, Transfiguration later, Care of Magical Creatures in the evening… Harry couldn’t concentrate. He shouldn’t be here. His fingers began folding the corner of the parchment, again and again, creasing it into a sharp triangle.

“Careful mate, you’re gonna mangle your timetable,” Ron said.

“We should get going,” Hermione said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. Harry stood up, stuffing his timetable haphazardly into his bag and followed, Ava’s letter still in his hand.

In Charms, Harry sat in discomfort. After eating such a large breakfast, he felt heavy and bloated. The sense of fullness engulfed him and made him feel sick. It was in sharp contrast to the lightness he had felt when he had woken up – his head had felt strangely clear. Not that he had felt his situation had much more clarity than the night before, but in a way where there were just less thoughts floating through than normal, and his body had felt airier too. The feeling had been almost… uplifting. Now he felt like the weight of his body was enough to sink him into the ground, breaking floorboards as he went.

Because he couldn’t concentrate anyways, Harry penned a quick note back to Ava, letting her know he had settled into school again. He this time asked a lot of questions about her own school and friends, to deflect from the fact that he had barely written any details about himself. He folded the letter up and placed it in his pocket to send later.

With the Williams on the front of his mind, Harry felt anxious to get through class and to the library. Transfiguration was much the same as Charms – Harry was completely unfocused, peeling bits of his quill apart as he stared at the blackboard. The answer to all of the Williams problems could be in a book, just a few minutes away from him, at this very moment, sitting on a dusty shelf, just waiting for Harry to find it and –

“Mr. Potter?”

“Yes?” Harry snapped upright in his seat.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “What did I just say was foundational to all transfiguration wand work?”

“Er, I don’t know, Professor.”

“Right,” Professor McGonagall said, looking at him done the crook of her nose. “Not the best way to start the year, I think. Let’s pay attention.”

When class ended, Hermione was quick to gather her things.

“I’ve got to help with the first-year orientation for muggleborns,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading out the door.

“Do you not have to go too?” Harry asked as they exited the classroom.

“Nah,” Ron said waving it off. “I’m from a wizarding family, it’s better for other prefects who are muggleborn to handle this.”

“Er, right,” Harry said, hovering awkwardly in the hallway.

“Are you not coming to lunch?”

“Actually, I was planning to go to the library.”

“Oh?” Ron said, blinking. “Why? We’ve barely gotten any course work yet.”

“Something for, er, Dumbledore. Asked me to look into stuff. Over the summer,” Harry added quickly.

Ron frowned. “Dumbledore talked to you over the summer?”

“Yeah, he wanted me to do some research for him as soon as I got back.”

“Er, alright,” Ron said, not seeming to buy the explanation. “Can’t it wait until after lunch though?”

“Not really,” Harry said, taking some steps back. “Anyways, I ate too much at breakfast.”

“Alright, if you’re sure…” Ron trailed off.

“See you at Care of Magical Creatures,” Harry said, turning on his heel and heading down the corridor to the library.

The familiar smell of stale books greeted Harry as he entered the near empty library. Madam Pince, who was behind her desk, narrowed her eyes as he entered as if he had already ripped a page in one of her precious books. Harry approached her anyways.

“Where can I find books on magical medicine?”

She begrudgingly led him towards the back of the library, into a section Harry hadn’t been in before.

“The texts here get quite advanced,” she explained, pointing to the first shelf. “I don’t normally recommend these books until seventh year.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I’ll take a look.”

She nodded and left.

Harry tilted his head to the right and began reading the spines: ‘Magical Maladies and Their Modern Cures’, ‘Potions for the Pain: Alchemical Remedies for Agony’, ‘Cuts, Breaks, and Burns: A Mediwizards First Guide to Healing’ …

None looked like they fit perfectly, but Harry hadn’t been exactly expecting to find a book titled ‘Cancer: How to Cure It Now’. Harry pulled the first several books from the shelf and walked to a nearby table. He flipped through each page, reading carefully. He didn’t want to skim the texts and miss something important. He read all the way through lunch and almost missed the start of Care of Magical Creatures. When he got to the grounds just in time for class, Ron and Hermione tried to ask about what he had been up to, but he hushed them and pretended to be focused on that day’s lesson.

The rest of the week went by similarly. When Harry got a free moment, he pulled out on of the medical books and read up on all kinds of injuries and illnesses – unfortunately, none about terminal illnesses (yet). He did his best to wait until Ron and Hermione were off for prefect duties as to not draw attention. When they were gone, Harry found he wasn’t nearly as affected by their absence, now that he had a bigger mission on the forefront of his mind. It felt good to know that maybe he was making a meaningful difference in the world. Because he was so limited to when he could read during the day, however, he got most of his reading done at night – staying up light in bed with the curtains drawn, reading and reading and reading.

His studying began to pay off quickly, just not in the way he had hoped. In Herbology, Harry scored several extra points for Gryffindor by being able to answer even some of Professor Sprout's most difficult questions.

“Great job, Harry!” Hermione had said one day after class. “See? It really pays off to spend that extra time studying. You’re going to be so prepared for your O.W.L.s.”

“Hermione we’re barely through the first week of the term, can you not already be reminding me about end-of-year exams? And mate,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back. “Please tell me you’re not turning into Hermione, I don’t need the two of you. I’m going to have to drag you to the Quidditch Pitch to make sure you don’t forget how to have fun.”

“I won’t fight too hard on that,” Harry laughed. ‘When was the last time I laughed?’

“Well, you’ll have to wait until later for Quidditch,” Hermione said, checking her timetable. “We finally have our first DADA class.”

To say class with Professor Umbridge went horribly would be an understatement. Harry lost his temper about twenty minutes into class, when the teacher made it clear that she had the same opinions as Seamus and his mom. Harry had been so pushed to the edge he had even said Cedric’s name, something he hadn’t managed to do since the Third Task. Ron and Hermione had shrunk back as he had yelled, but Professor Umbridge and stood firm, arms crossed, a fake smile plastered across her toad-like face. He had been asked to leave and handed a detention. He felt so angry, so hurt, so frustrated, he really didn’t care what happened to him.

Harry walked into an empty classroom and slammed the door behind him. He stood there, panting, fists clenched, every nerve in his body vibrating like he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. He slid down against the wall and dug his nails into his arms, hard, scraping through his robes and jumper. He needed something to pull his attention away from the pain elsewhere in his body – the tension in his chest and his head, the bile in his throat.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Harry muttered as he rubbed at his arms. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m a murderer. I brought Voldemort back. This is all my fault. I don’t deserve to be alive. No one wants me alive.”

The last sentence sent a ripple down the center of his chest. It was the most painful truth of them all. The Dursley’s didn’t want him, they never had, but now they wanted him even less. And unlike before last year, Harry was no longer the beloved Boy Who Lived who had saved the world. He hadn’t needed fame, he would have been happy to settle with general anonymity - but instead, he faced active fear and hatred from his peers. How was he supposed to manage that? And then there was Sirius, disappointed with him for not being more like his father, disappointed that he hadn’t spent more time with him, hadn’t stood up for him to come to King’s Cross.

The only people who wanted him were the Williams.

Harry hadn’t noticed he was crying.

He got up, wiping the tears away from his face and picking up his bag again.

He’d keep trying. For them.

Chapter Text

“You should get started on your homework,” Hermione said, looking up from her parchment.

Ron groaned. He was reclined in one of the several ruby armchairs of the Gryffindor common room across from her. The common room was quiet, just late enough that people had started to go to bed.

“It’s been a long day,” Ron said, closing his eyes again. “I can catch up over the weekend.”

He listened for the scratching of quill on parchment to start up once more, but it didn’t. He opened his eyes, catching Hermione’s gaze.

“What?” Ron asked.

“I think you should spend some extra time with Harry,” she said abruptly.

“That’s a bit difficult to do when he keeps landing himself in detentions,” Ron muttered.

“Yes, well,” Hermione said, twisting her quill between her fingers. “He’s not always in detention, sometimes he’s just off on his own.”

“I think he needs that alone time, though,” Ron said uneasily.

“I’m not so sure,” she said back. “He’s been acting really different this year.”

“A lot’s happened since last year,” Ron said darkly, looking off into the fire.

“All the more reason for you to reach out,” Hermione urged.

“Why don’t you?”

“I’ve been trying! I’ve asked him several times to do homework together, but he keeps turning my offers down.”

Ron scoffed. “I mean you could offer something more tempting than homework sessions, ‘Mione.”

“That’s the thing, I think you can offer more than I can. You guys used to play chess, or go flying together.”

Ron sighed, ruffling his hair.

“Do you… Do you think he’s forgiven us about, you know, the summer?” He asked. Now it was Hermione’s turn to sigh.

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t mentioned it, but I get the feeling he hasn’t.”

“I get that it’s not fun being at the Dursleys,” Ron said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “But I don’t understand why he’s so upset with us. It wasn’t our choice, and we were doing chores all day too, it’s not like we were on holiday on a tropical island.”

“Still,” Hermione said. “I can understand how he felt left out.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ron said, sinking back down. “We were with family, and he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, and that’s a common experience in his life. That must be more difficult than we can imagine. We should try to be as aware of it as we can be.”

“I’ll… I’ll try and check in with him more.”

Hermione smiled. “I think he’d appreciate that”

It had only taken one class with Professor Umbridge for Harry to get detention. He had had headed over to the first one, expecting do some cleaning, like he had done for Professor Snape when he had had to scrub cauldrons. Instead, when he had arrived, Umbridge had told him he would be writing lines.

“What should I write?” Harry had asked, sitting down at a desk and pulling out a quill, ink, and parchment. Her eyes had shown with malicious glee.

“I must not tell lies,” she said with a smile. “Here, use this. No need for ink.”

The moment the quill hit the page, and he drew the first letters, his hand had begun to sting. He had audibly winced, flinching and turning his hand over to see what was wrong. Cuts had appeared. They spelled out what he had just written on the page. Harry had then looked back at the parchment and saw in horror – the words were red. They were written in blood. His blood.

He had felt dizzy at the realization.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?” She had asked, still smiling.

Harry paused before putting the quill back to the page. “No.”

As he wrote, the cuts on his hand would open up, and then heal over again rapidly.

She had said she would have him keep attending detentions and writing lines until the message had ‘sunk in’ enough. This had evidently not happened by the end of his first detention, as she had assigned more. He had left the classroom and gone straight to the closest bathroom.

He had examined the back of his hand, and saw it was only faintly red now, as if he had scraped it against a brick wall. He had still gone to rinse it, and immediately hissed in pain when the hot water hit. He shut off the water, and a shudder had gone up his spine.

As he walked out of the bathroom, he had already known this was yet another thing he would be adding to the ever-growing list of things he would not be telling anyone.

When the weekend came, Ron made true on his promise to Hermione to try and connect with Harry more. While Hermione chatted with Lavender over breakfast, Ron took his opportunity.

“Have the time to go flying today?” He offered. Harry immediately shook his head.

“I have a lot of homework to do,” he responded. “And I have detention today still.”

“Seriously?” Ron huffed. “How many times is she gonna have you do lines?”

“Who knows,” Harry said, looking away. “Hopefully this’ll be the last day, if it carries into next week, I’ll miss Quidditch tryouts, and Angelina will have my head.”

“This feels like cruel and unusual punishment,” Ron said. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“It’s just lines,” he said.

“Yeah, but she’s obviously picking on you,” Ron sighed.

Harry shrugged. “There’s not a lot I can do about it.”

“I think it would help if you blew off some steam, really,” Ron said quickly as Harry stood up, hoping to get one more reason in before he left. “There’s been a lot going on, and I think it would, er, help if you did something fun.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry said distractedly. “Maybe once the detentions are over with and I have more time.”

“Yeah ok,” Ron said hopefully. “Where are you headed?”

“Library.”

“Oh, would you like me to join?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s easier to concentrate when I’m on my own.” And with that, Harry left the Great Hall alone.

After a weekend of catching up on coursework, reading case studies from St. Mungo’s, and attending two more detentions, Harry woke up to Monday morning feeling dread. He had collapsed onto his bed the night before, so exhausted that he hadn’t bothered to even change out of his robes. Yet he still had been restless and unable to sleep properly. The stress of being so so far behind in everything he had to get done was taking a toll, and on top of this, he had yet to receive a letter back from Ava.

“Are you awake, Har?” Ron asked from the other side of the curtain.

Harry closed his eyes tightly before saying, “Yeah, just waking up. You can head to breakfast without me.”

“It’s ok, I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Harry waited until he heard Ron put on his shoes, and then open and close the door before getting out of bed. As Harry showered, his irritated hand burned underneath the hot water. As the evenings of detention had gone by, the cuts on Harry’s hand had stopped healing as well. The words were now beginning to be dug into his skin, indisputably soon to be a permanent reminder. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. The words echoed through his head – surely part of Umbridge’s goal.

As he washed his body, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was some truth to the words. Had he lied to Ava? Had he given her false hope? Surely, he had, seeing as he didn’t actually have any idea how he could help her father. He had been too optimistic, too hopeful, too willing to trust in the good of the world. And the world was doing a good job of proving otherwise.

Harry switched off the water, dried off, and put on his robes. He tugged the sleeve of his jumper over the back of his hand, noting that he would have to work hard to remember to keep it covered during classes, so Ron and Hermione didn’t see. Luckily, his hand was throbbing dully, and would likely serve as a sufficient reminder.

When Harry opened the bathroom door, he almost walked straight into Seamus. Up until now, the two boys had done a brilliant job of pretending the other didn’t exist, navigating the dormitory like ghosts. But this time, there was no avoiding it. Harry’s hand twinged and he fought the urge to rub at it.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” Seamus sneered. Harry felt his temper flair.

“Bugger off,” Harry said, pushing past Seamus.

“Entitled prick,” Seamus spat back before slamming the bathroom door. Harry felt his back tense as he held his anger inward. He shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his bag, and exited the dorm.

Harry sat down at the breakfast table and immediately pulled out his Transfiguration homework, which he had yet to finish. His heart was still thudding uncomfortably in his chest. He looked over his parchment, but his thoughts were too disorganized to make any sense of it. All he could think about was how incredibly uncomfortable it felt to be in his own skin.

“Want some?” Hermione asked, offering Harry the plate of banana bread.

“No,” Harry said sharply, then adding, “thanks.”

Hermione hesitated, and then put the plate down.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked, glancing at Ron, who shrugged.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Harry said gruffly. The lie made him feel even heavier. He couldn’t meet her eyes - the concern in them only made the ache worse.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly searching for an alternate question to ask. Not wanting to face it, Harry grabbed up his homework and stuffed it into his bag. “I’ll see you in class.”

Harry spent the rest of the day dodging the worried attention of Ron and Hermione, as well as the continued whispers and stares from his classmates. Harry never had finished his homework, and this resulted in a stern talking to from Professor McGonagall.

“Detention is not a legitimate excuse for not completing your coursework,” she said, frowning. Harry breathed in deeply, doing everything he could to keep his emotions under control.

“I will finish it before next class,” Harry said.

“Yes, otherwise there will be more detentions for you to add to your calendar.”

Harry pressed his fingernails into his palms and gritted his teeth as he left for Potions. This class did not go any better than the last – it started with Hermione trying to not so subtly influence him to sit in the empty seat beside her, which he purposefully stepped past, picking one by Neville instead. Then, only fifteen minutes in, Harry lost Gryffindor thirty points for not being able to answer Snape’s questions.

“Maybe if you spent more time studying instead of being a delinquent, you wouldn’t be so far behind,” Snape said as he swept past. Malfoy sniggered from the a few desks over.

By the evening, the only hope he had left in him was that this would be his last detention with Umbridge. The marks on his hand were now legible, and that had been her goal, right?

He arrived in the classroom and sat down in his designated seat across from Umbridge’s desk. She smiled and passed him the quill.

As Harry began to write, he felt the now familiar pain searing into his hand. After almost a week of detentions, Harry felt disconnected from the experience of watching his blood form words on the page in front of him. It was in many ways eerie to see the quill magically carve into his hand, but in other ways he found it almost cathartic. He was being punished, finally. Maybe not for the right reasons, but the pain still felt deserved.

At the end of two hours of writing, Umbridge held out her hand for Harry to show her his. The cuts were still raw and open, blood actively dripping all the way down to his wrist. She smiled, turning it to look at it from all sides.

“Ah, I dare say that that’s plenty for now,” she said, letting go. “Hopefully you won’t forget this lesson any time soon, dear.”

Harry didn’t say anything has he gathered his things.

“Don’t let me see you back here again too soon!” She said in a sing-song voice as he walked out, making him shuddered.

When Harry entered the common room, he was disappointed to see Ron and Hermione were still up and waiting for him.

“Harry!” Hermione called, waving him over. Feeling like he didn’t have much of a choice, Harry dragged himself towards the two.

“And?” Ron said. “Was it the last detention?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, plopping down on the couch next to him. “I think so.”

“That’s great!” Hermione said warmly. Harry nodded tiredly.

“We brought you some pie,” Ron said, leaning over and pulling a napkin off a plate and handing it to Harry. “I sensed it might be the last one, thought you should celebrate.”

Harry accepted it, giving what he hoped looked like a grateful smile. His stomach churned at the smell. It was warm and sweet — and completely unappealing. Still, he picked at it politely.

“So, Ron,” Hermione said, trying to draw attention to something other than Harry. “You were mentioning you might try out for Quidditch team?”

Ron’s ears went bright red.

“Really?” Harry asked, setting the plate on the coffee table.

“Er, yeah,” Ron mumbled. “I was thinking about it. Nothing set in stone.”

“He mentioned it during the prefect meeting,” Hermione said. “We had to let them know of any possible scheduling conflicts, and he said he might join the team.”

“That’s great,” Harry said surprised. “Do Fred and George know yet?”

“No,” Ron said, shooting Hermione a glare. “I wasn’t trying to let anyone know about it.”

“There’s no reason to keep it quiet, Ron,” she said indignantly.

“Yeah, I think it’s brilliant,” Harry said sincerely. 

“Really?” Ron asked. Harry nodded. Despite feeling disconnected this year, Harry felt a twinge of hope. Hermione and Ron might have prefect duties, but maybe Quidditch could be their thing.

“Yeah, I’d have someone to experience the pain and suffering with.”

“Gee thanks,” Ron laughed. “I was more so joining for the fun.”

“There’s some of that too,” Harry laughed.

“Maybe we can even practice tog – what’s that?” Ron said abruptly. Harry had absent-mindedly reached up to scratch his nose.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, pulling his robes over his hand. Ron wasn’t going to take that as an answer, however. He reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm.

“Hey!” Harry cried, pulling his hand back. But Ron had already seen, and so had Hermione.

“I – I thought you said she just gave you lines,” Hermione said weakly.

“Er, she did,” Harry swallowed. Did he really want to share this with his friends? He decided he didn’t, but what was his other option – to say he had cut the words into his hand by choice?

“She has this quill,” he explained. “When I wrote with it, it cut my hand, and… and it used my blood as ink.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror. Ron looked ill.

“That’s – mate, that’s –” Ron stammered. “That’s bloody torture!”

“We have to tell someone,” Hermione finally managed.

“No,” Harry said quickly.

“Mate, c’mon – ” Ron said. “This has to be illegal.”

“I’m not telling anyone,” Harry said firmly. “It was my last detention anyways, what’s the point?”

“What if you get another one?” Hermione said anxiously.

“Well, I managed the other ones,” Harry said. “It’s not that bad, honestly. I’d take this over helping Lockhart with his fan-mail any day.”

Harry expected a laugh, at least from Ron, but no such came.

“Seriously, guys,” Harry said trying again. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“I – I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I really think you should tell someone. Dumbledore would want to know.”

“Dumbledore has got enough to deal with already, he doesn’t need to hear about some scratches.”

“But, Harry – ”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Harry said, his temper rising. “I knew you’d overreact. I’m going to bed.”

Harry stood up, and went upstairs, his feet slamming against the stone. He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see their faces – the worry, the pity, the fear. He didn’t need that. He needed quiet. He needed out.

Once in the dorm, he kicked off his shoes and got into bed, wrenching the hangings closed around him. His breathing was heavy, and his chest felt impossibly tight. Something inside him wanted to scream, to hit something, to cry – but he didn’t. Instead, he lifted his hand to his eyes. I must not tell lies.

He began to scratch at the words. As he did, the skin around the cuts peeled back, more blood oozed out. He didn’t stop. All of the anger and frustration he felt, all of the pain that had been boiling up inside of him, he finally had somewhere to direct it. He dug in harder, scraping again, and again. Viciously, he clawed at the words, wanting to erase them, wanting to get himself out.

The edge of pain began to bring waves of calm over him. Rage and grief struck him; it felt like he had finally gotten the emotions unstuck from inside him. In exhaustion, he stopped, dropping his hand by his side, smearing blood on his shirt. His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry. He just lay back on the mattress, staring up into the darkness, the weight of the curtains pressing in on him.

He didn’t exactly feel any better. Just emptier.

The next morning, when Harry went downstairs, Hermione was waiting for him with a bowl of yellow liquid and some bandages.

“It’s essence of murtlap tentacles,” she explained. “It’s great for reducing pain, and it can help speed up healing.”

“Er, thanks,” Harry said.

“If you give me your hand, I can help – ”

“It’s ok, I can do it – ”

“It’s ok to let people help you, Harry.” Hermione interjected, holding out her hand to take his. Harry hesitated before offering her his injured hand. Hermione hesitated when she saw it – it was rubbed raw, though the words were still the deepest cuts, his scratching the night before had caused thin yellow scabs to form all over it.

“I think I was itching it in my sleep,” Harry offered weakly. Whether or not Hermione believed him, she took the bandages she had been soaking in the murtlap and place them over his cuts. She then took another set of dry bandages and wrapped them around his hand to hold it in place. Harry looked down at the bandages, feeling defeated.

“Let’s get breakfast then,” Hermione said, vanishing the remainder of the medical supplies and picking up her bag. Harry followed her out the portrait hole. Neither of them making eye contact or further discussed the cuts on his hand. Instead, Hermione discussed what creature they may encounter in Care of Magical Creatures later that day. It was only half a conversation, as Hermione was doing most of the talking, but he was grateful that she didn’t seem to be expecting his input at all.

When they got down to the Great Hall, breakfast was almost over. Many of the students had already finished eating and had left in preparation for their first classes of the day. Gryffindor table was mostly empty, too. Hermione walked them over towards Ginny, who was sipping on a cup of tea.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked, swinging his leg over the bench to sit down.  

“Oh did you not hear?” Ginny said grinning. “He’s planning to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I caught him heading to the pitch after an early breakfast. To practice.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely, eyes finding his plate. He didn’t want to be reminded of the conversation of last night.

“Yeah, we’ll see how he does,” Ginny said. “I’ve watched him play during the summers. He’s not terrible, but…”

“But?” Harry asked.

“Well, he can overthink things a lot.” Ginny responded, stirring her tea. “He gets thrown off easily too, Fred and George always take advantage of it, calling him names and stuff to wind him up. It makes his accuracy drop significantly.”

“Well, luckily Fred and George would be on his team, then,” Harry said. “They won’t want to screw up his accuracy then.”

“True,” Ginny said, taking another sip of tea. “Hopefully it goes well for him.

“Well,” she said, standing up. “I need to grab my book from the tower still, the blueberry muffins were really nice this morning, you guys should try them.”

Harry watched as she left, before reaching out and taking a muffin from a nearby tray.

“Potter!” Harry turned quickly, Angelina approaching.

“Did you see the notice board? Quidditch tryouts are tomorrow night. Do you still have detention?”

“No,” Harry said, internally letting out a sigh of relief. “Last one was yesterday.”

“Well good,” Angelina said crossing her arms. “I expect you to be on the pitch to help – you’re one of the most senior players on our team when it comes to years played, and it makes a bad impression on all of us if you’re not there.”

“Right,” Harry said with a firm nod. Angelina returned the gesture sharply, before turning on her heel and leaving. Harry looked back down at his muffin, ripping pieces off of it.

That afternoon, Harry had a free period to spare. After shaking Hermione off once again (“We could quiz each other, though!”) Harry was able to escape away to do more studying on his own. The air in the library was cool and still, the silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of parchment or the scratch of a quill. Fortunately, the library was also mostly empty. Heading back into the far corner that felt like a second home to him at this point, Harry continued inspecting the spines of books for anything that could look useful.

Holding his wand close to the page for light, Harry read line after line on healing sprains, on countering curses, on healing magical illnesses like dragon pox. But still, nothing that mentioned cancer. Harry felt confused, as he turned a page. How could such a well-known illness not be mentioned even once in any of these medical textbooks?

Checking the time, Harry realized he would need to head to Care of Magical Creatures soon. He began to pack up a hefty tomb entitled “The Encyclopedia of Magical Maladies”, when he stopped. A faint sound of – crying? was coming from the other side of the bookcase. Harry paused, uncertain of what to do. In order to leave, he would need to walk past whoever it was. He waited a bit to see if the person would recover, but the sniffling continued. Awkwardly, Harry gathered his things and then peered around the corner of the bookshelf.

Ginny was seated with her back to Harry, bent over several books, her hands scrunched in her hair in frustration.

“Ginny?” Harry said in surprise.

Ginny jumped, turning in her seat to face Harry and immediately started wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her robes.

“Oh, Harry, hey – ”

“Is everything, er, is everything ok?” Harry asked concerned.

Ginny sighed looking down at her work.

“It’s really stupid, I’m just, I’m just having trouble with this muggle studies assignment.”

“Maybe I can help,” Harry offered, walking over and setting his books and bag down.

“No, it’s ok,” Ginny started, but Harry had already pulled the book towards him.

“I grew up with muggles,” he reminded her. “What part are you having trouble with?”

Ginny pointed to a passage in the book describing the intricacies of how televisions worked.

“Cathrode ray tubes are glass tubes containing an electron gun which shoots electrons at the television’s phosphor coating. This coating then emits green, blue, and red light,” Harry read out loud. “Jeez, no wonder you’re confused. You know, Gin, I don’t think most muggles would have any idea what this is about.”

“Really?” Ginny asked with a sniff. “I thought I was just being an idiot.”

“Not at all,” Harry said, turning the page, trying to see if there was any additional information to clarify the passage. “What is it that your professor wants you to understand?”

“We’re supposed to write about the ways muggles engage in media and entertainment,” Ginny said, setting her chin on her hand. “I don’t understand what televisions are even for – I know guns are muggle weapons, are they shooting light at the television to make it glow colors?”

“Er, no,” Harry said with a smile. “Not quite – but this explains it really badly, it doesn’t sound like you need to know the internal workings of televisions to write this assignment.”

Harry began explaining TVs to Ginny, how they didn’t just glow one of three colors but rather showed moving pictures made up of small dots of color. He compared it to wizarding photographs, or the paintings at Hogwarts. Ginny took notes as he spoke, her shoulders visibly relaxing from how tense they had been when he had first turned the corner.

“You can’t interact with them, though,” Harry explained. “It’s not like with a portrait where you can ask it questions, the television is just set to show whatever it is the channel wants to show.”

“I think I’m understanding it better,” Ginny said, finishing off a word with a stroke of her quill. “Thank you, Harry, for taking the time to do this.”

“No problem, I’m always around to help – it’s nice to know my muggle knowledge can be put to good use,” Harry said with a smile. Ginny smiled back.

“Please though,” Ginny said, her smile faltering. “Don’t tell Ron about this. Or Fred and George. I should get this stuff, my dad works with muggles and I grew up with all these muggle tools laying about.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Harry reassured her, omitting the fact that even if Mr. Weasley had offered to help Ginny with her muggle studies work, Harry suspected that it would not raise her marks by much.

“It’s embarrassing to not be able to get this stuff straight away, it’s not like it’s like, potions, or something.”

“We all have stuff we’re good at and stuff we aren’t,” Harry said with a shrug. Ginny smiled slightly. The bell then rang.

“What do you have now?” Ginny asked as they both stood.

“Care of Magical Creatures,” Harry said as he helped Ginny gather her books before picking up his own.

“Oh nice, Grubblyplank is a pretty nice teacher,” Ginny said. “I do miss Hagrid though.”

“Same,” Harry said. “Though I’m much less concerned with my safety when heading to class now.”

Ginny laughed. “Just need to watch out for Defense Against the Dark Arts classes instead – notoriously our most consistent and safest class in previous years.”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh.

“Speaking of which, that’s where I’m headed now,” Ginny made a face as they walked out of the library together.

“Good luck,” Harry said, with some amount of sincerity.

“Thanks, I’ll try not to pull a Harry,” Ginny joked, nudging him in the ribs. “See you around!”

“Bye,” Harry called as Ginny headed right. He watched her for a moment, before he went left toward the stairs. He felt strangely light – not the kind of lightness he had gotten from eating less, the kind that felt bright and energizing.

Once he had reached Care of Magical Creatures and taken a seat, Professor Grubblyplank asked them all to pull out their textbooks. Harry reached into his bag, moving the medical books out of the way, looking for his copy of “Intermediate Magizoology: Habits in their Habitats”, when he noticed something. An extra, slimmer book was also in his bag. Checking the spine, he realized it was a tattered copy of “The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4”. Opening the inside cover, Harry saw writing – first the unmistakable messy handwriting which read “Ronald Weasley” at the top, now scratched out. Underneath, written careful loops, read “Ginny Weasley”.

‘I must have picked it up own by mistake,’ Harry thought. For a second, he almost immediately passed it to either Ron or Hermione to return to Ginny for him. But on second thought, he returned it to his bag. He would find a moment to give it back to her himself.

Chapter Text

Harry –

School is going ok. It’s weird trying to make new friends at this age. When I was younger, people seemed so much more willing to make new connections. Now everyone already has their cliques, it’s like they have a team number limit and aren’t accepting new applications. I spent the first few lunches alone, but I’ve now met Francine in Maths and we sit together.

Dad has been doing ok. He has been spending sometime out in the garden. It’s so good to see him up and about. But it doesn’t happen every day. I’m trying really hard to not get too hopeful when I see him more active, because sure enough an hour later he’s asleep on the sofa when all he did was hang up the wash.

I found mum crying upstairs by mistake. She’s been so strong through this, you wouldn’t have even known there was anything wrong. Harry, seeing her like that was scary. Parents are supposed to have their shit together. It’s only when it’s really bad that they break down like that.  

I don’t know what to do. I know you don’t either. I hope it’s ok that I continue to vent.

Please keep me posted about how you’re doing too – are you in any clubs? How are classes? Is it nice to be with your friends again?

 – Ava

Harry stood on the Quidditch field, leaning against his broom and doing his best to avoid making eye contact across the pitch at Ron, who was lined up with the other wannabe keepers. Angelina was talking to them, but they were far enough away that Harry couldn’t hear about what.

“Another Weasley, eh?” Katie Bell said. “I’d think we had enough as is.”

“Hey!” Fred said indignantly. “You can never have too many Weasleys!”

“That’s what your mum must’ve thought,” Alicia sniggered. George tried to whack her with his broom.

“Do we know if the other tryouts any good?” Harry asked.

“I think Vicky Frobisher is supposed to be quite good,” Katie said. “But I haven’t seen her play for myself.”

“What about Ron?” Alicia asked.

“He can be good,” Fred said hesitantly. “But he can also be… not so good.”

“He does look quite green,” George said, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the evening sunset. “Not a great start.”

Harry wished he could disagree, but even from a distance, Ron looked slightly ill.

“Don’t bug him while he’s flying,” Harry warned. “Ginny told me about how scrimmages with you two usually go.”

“We might have fun winding him up, but he is our brother,” George said.

“Yeah, we do want him to be successful sometimes,” said Fred. “And better that he’s a Quidditch star than a prefect.” Both of the twins pulled a face at each other at this.

At this moment, Angelina blew her whistle and waved the rest of the team over. After briefly introducing the team members to the recruits, she sent them all up into the air for laps around the pitch. It was a smart first task, as it quickly became apparent that not everyone trying out had spent much time on a broom before. Quentin Wallick was able to only make one slow, shaky flight around the pitch before touching down and dismissing himself. Fiona Gallante did better, but refused to fly more than a few meters off the ground (“I’m sorry, Fiona, you can’t be keeper if you can’t at least fly to the same height of the hoops, what did you expect?”).

Next were some basic passes. Angelina watched as quaffles were passed back and forth between recruits and team members. A short second year Harry didn’t recognize fumbled the quaffle, and rather than chasing after it, let it fall back down to the pitch.

“Why didn’t you try to recover?” Angelina asked, but the boy merely turned bright red before descending and stepping off his broom. She sighed.

“Show some confidence, everyone!” She called before blowing her whistle. “Everyone except chasers touch down, Frobisher, you’re in hoops first.”

Harry watched from the sidelines with Fred and George as Angelina, Katie, and Alicia all took shots at Vicky. She did a fairly good job blocking, only missing after a particularly skillful maneuver on Alicia’s part. Geoffrey Hooper was up in the air next, and he did even better – unlike Vicky, he didn’t just block the shots but actually caught them before sending them back to a different team member. Harry could see Ron down the sideline, watching intently and fidgeting with the end of his school-loaned broom, breaking off bits of it. Harry assumed it hadn’t been intentional, but having Ron go last really probably wasn’t the best for him.

When Ron’s turn finally came, his ascent to the hoops was a shaky one at best. As he positioned himself, he started drifting unintentionally, and Angelina had to ask him a few times to recenter himself.

“I can’t watch this,” Fred groaned looking down.

“He can do it,” Harry said, trying to sound confident.

The chasers flew to the middle of the pitch, and then began flying up the field. Angelina passed to Katie, Katie to Alicia, Alicia back to Katie, a throw at the hoops – and straight over Ron’s shoulder. The twins groaned again, turning away once more. Ron zoomed down, caught the quaffle before it hit the grass, and then zoomed back to the hoops, ears bright red.

“C’mon Ron!” Harry shouted, clapping his hands. “You’ve got this!”

Ron gave a sheepish nod before throwing the quaffle back to Katie. Although the twins spent more time looking at their shoes than the sky, Harry stared up determinedly. The longer Ron was in front of the hoops, the better he flew. The last several attempts on goal he blocked successfully, even catching one that Alicia tried to fake him out on.

At the end, Ron flew down and quickly joined the other recruits, not making eye contact with anyone.

“The keeper position will get picked and posted by tomorrow morning,” Angelina said, also landing. “Check the noticeboard. Thanks everyone for trying out.”

The group began to disperse. Fred went over and clapped Ron on the back before heading to the locker room with George. Ron’s eyes were still stuck on his shoes.

“You did great,” Harry said, walking over. Ron scoffed. “You did, er, you did alright.”

“There’s no way that I made the team,” Ron sighed.

“You don’t know that yet, you had some really good saves there.”

“Yeah,” Ron laughed. “Between the complete misses. I’m going to go get showered.”

Harry paused, watching Ron drag his feet towards the locker room. He was about to follow when –

“Hey, Harry!” Angelina called. “Could you go round the field and collect the last of the extra quaffles? I think we might have missed a few.”

“Sure,” Harry said. He got on his broom and kicked off from the ground, flying low around the pitch. Sure enough, there were a handful of quaffles laying forgotten near the hoops. Harry landed and began to collect them.

Just as he bent forward and touched the leather of the quaffle, a sharp pain zapped through his head. Harry let out a gasp, slapping his palm to his forehead as the pain expanded. It felt like a burning hot knife was being driven into his skull and turned from side to side. Harry fell to his knees, scrunching his eyes closed as blackness threatened to cloud his vision, hissing in pain. His ears became muffled, all he could hear was static. As quickly as the pain had flooded him, it abated. He lay bent over, his face in the grass, breathing heavy, shallow breaths. A sudden flash went through his mind – a dark sky, jagged broken gravestones – as another prickle of pain shot through his scar. Harry’s thoughts raced. What was going on? His scar had been prickling on and off ever since Voldemort’s return, but this? Such an acute attack?

“Harry?!”

The world was becoming less muffled, his hearing was returning. He realized as he opened his eyes he was no longer wearing his glasses. Feeling around in the grass, Harry could not find where they had fallen to.

“Harry!” Angelina knelt down next to him, her hand on his shoulder. “What happened? Are you ok?”

“Yeah – do you see my glasses?”

Harry felt the cold metal frames press into his hand, he quickly returned the glasses to his face.

“What happened?” Angelina repeated, her concerned face swimming into focus.

“I – I’m not sure,” Harry said, still feeling shaky from the sudden pain. His mind was still swimming with possibilities. Was Voldemort nearby? He looked over his shoulder around the deserted pitch, but saw nothing.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey – ” Angelina said, standing quickly.

“No, really, I’m fine – ”  

“You are not – ”

“Seriously, Angelina,” Harry insisted, slowly getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his knees. “I – I just miscalculated when I was landing and fell over.”

Angelina frowned. Harry did think it was a weak excuse for why he would be curled up on the ground, but he didn’t have any other explanation. He certainly wasn’t going to share what had actually happened with her.

“Gotta be more careful,” she said finally, summoning the quaffles from the ground and picking up Harry’s broom. “Let me just bring things back to the shed and then I’ll walk up with you to the Tower.”

“No, really,” Harry said, taking his broom back from Angelina. “I’m fine, I can walk up on my own.”

Angelina’s eyes narrowed before she headed off the pitch towards the supplies shed. “If I find you collapsed somewhere between here and the common room,  you’re off the team!”

“Got it!” Harry called back, walking towards the locker rooms. Once he had returned his Firebolt to his locker and tossed his Quidditch gear in too, he gathered up his bag and ran out in the direction of the castle. Harry didn’t know what this pain in his scar had meant – but it had always been before some kind of warning. Usually that danger was incredibly near. He couldn’t not react to it with this kind of knowledge. He had to find Dumbledore and let him know. He would know what to do.

Scrambling up the front steps as quickly as possible, Harry jogged through the empty halls, headed for Dumbledore’s office. It felt like it had taken him forever to reach the gargoyle, but eventually it came into view.

“Lemon drop!” Harry practically shouted, skidding to a halt in front of it. The gargoyle did not move. “Licorice wand! Chocolate frogs!”

“What is all this yelling?” A voice snarled from behind him. Harry whirled around, coming face to face with hooked nose of Professor Snape.

“I need to speak to Dumbledore.”

“You can make an appointment at an appropriate hour,” Snape said.

“I need to speak to him now,” Harry insisted.

“How arrogant that you believe that your schedule is more urgent than the Headmaster’s,” Snape sneered. “Get to bed, now, before I take points from Gryffindor.”

“It’s not – I don’t think – ” Harry spluttered. “It’s not about me!”

“I’m glad to hear you have finally realized this for yourself, Potter, now get to bed!”

“Professor – !”

At that moment, the gargoyle came to life, leaping out of the way and a spiral staircase unfolded in the alcove. Without thinking, Harry jumped forward and began taking the steps two at a time.

“Potter! Get back here!” Snape shouted, following behind him. Harry turned back, seeing the blur of Snape close on his heels – and almost ran straight into Dumbledore. Coming to a faltering halt, Harry looked up the Headmaster.

“Professor Dumbledore – ” Harry said, wheezing with effort.

“What is the meaning of all of this shouting?” Dumbledore asked, looking over Harry’s shoulder at Professor Snape, who had stopped a few steps behind Harry.

“I caught Potter out of bed,” Snape answered sharply.

“No, that’s not – ” Harry started, but Dumbledore held up a hand, his eyes still on Snape.

“Thank you, Severus, I will take it from here,” he said calmly. Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bother arguing. He turned on his heel and descended the stairs. Dumbledore turned and walked back up the last few steps and into his office. Harry paused for a moment before walking in after him.

Dumbledore’s office was more cluttered than usual. There had always been interesting trinkets and instruments adorning side tables and shelves, between stacks and stacks of leather-bound books. But now his usually clear desk was covered in parchment and open books. Piles of books seemed to sit in every corner. Fawkes was dozing, looking relatively withered, in her cage.

Dumbledore took a sea, summoning a teacup and tea pot from across the room. It hovered over and pour a steaming cup of what smelled like lavender tea.

“Now,” Professor Dumbledore said, sitting down in a purple high-backed desk chair and taking his teacup into his hands. “What is it, Harry?”

“Sir,” Harry said, swallowing hard, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs in front of his desk. “I was out, on the Quidditch pitch, just after practice. Everyone else had gone. I was just collecting the quaffles, and then – my scar hurt.”

“Your scar hurt?” Dumbledore repeated. It almost felt mocking the way he said it back to him. Harry felt frustration well in his chest. Why wouldn’t he look at him?

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “A lot – as much as when, when I was, when I was in, when… last year.”

“When you were in the graveyard,” Dumbledore finished. Harry nodded.

“Anything else?” He asked, looking curiously at his tea.

“No,” Harry said weakly. He had seen the graveyard, but it was likely a flashback, a ghost of a memory he associated with the pain.

“Hmm,” Dumbledore said, sipping his tea. Harry clasped his hands together as his right knee shook up and down. How could Dumbledore be so cool? Where was the urgency?

“Please, sir, I think – ” Harry started, but Dumbledore raised his hand again. Slowly, Dumbledore set the teacup down and walked around his desk, towards a tall stained glass window overlooking the grounds.

“Unfortunately, and fortunately, I don’t think there’s any reason for concern.”

“Sir?” Harry said confused.

“Now that Voldemort is back, and gaining power, it is only to be expected that you feel his presence. It wouldn’t surprise me if you continue to feel pain in your scar. That is the unfortunate part, there isn’t much we can do about it for now.”

Dumbledore turned slowly, his eyes finally meeting Harry’s. Harry felt the distance still between them, him on one side of the room and Harry on the other. The crystal blue eyes that brought him so much comfort and guidance over the years felt cold and closed off.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Harry. I hope your scar doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night.”

Dumbledore turned back to face the window. “Goodnight.”

Harry sat frozen in his chair. After a few moments, he found his feet again, tossed his bag back over his shoulder, and left the office. As Harry descended the stone spiral steps, anger continued to boil through him. He had been stupid for overreacting to something as small as a headache. Dumbledore was completely right – what was he to expect with Voldemort gaining strength? Worry also crept up the back of Harry’s throat. It was the first time Dumbledore had admitted to him there was nothing to do. Voldemort  was out there, and yet there was no action to take. They had no plan of action. There was just sit and wait.

The next morning, Ron stood in front of the noticeboard in shock. He’d made keeper. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well done mate,” he said sincerely. Ron continued to stare.

“I don’t understand,” Ron said. “I was rubbish.”

“Clearly not,” Harry said, gesturing at his name.

“What are you guys looking at?” Hermione asked as she entered from the girls dormitories. Harry pointed again at the notice board.

“Oh Ron! Congratulations! You’ll have to make use of that daily planner I got you, though, balancing Quidditch, and homework, and prefect duties.”

“Oh c’mon Hermione, let me celebrate for one minute,” Ron said exasperatedly. Some color had returned to his face. “So you guys don’t think it’s a mistake?”

“Nah, mate, definitely not,” Harry grinned. He felt a wave of excitement come over him. Ron being on the Quidditch team meant time for just them. It meant walking to the pitch, it meant strategizing in the locker rooms, it meant walks back to Gryffindor Tower as they discussed the successes of practices or games. It meant Ron and him had a thing now. Something guaranteeing that Harry would have someone around.

“Let’s go then,” Hermione said. “Where’s your bag, Ron?”

“Oh I thought I’d come up for it after breakfast,” Ron said. “I still need to get ready anyways.”

“Ron, we have a prefect meeting over breakfast today!” Hermione sighed.

“What?!” Ron groaned. “I thought that was tomorrow.”

“No, it’s today,” Hermione said crossing her arms. “Go grab your bag.”

Ron ran up the stairs and less than a minute later was back down, twisting his tie haphazardly around his neck.

“See you later, mate,” Ron said as he passed. Harry watched as Hermione and Ron clambered out of the portrait hole together, squabbling. And just like that, he was alone again.

The rest of the week passed by in a blur of lessons and homework. Harry did his best to keep his temper under control during his DADA lessons, spending the class with his nose firmly in his book, eyes glazed over and not absorbing a single word. Ron and Hermione had now been given their full load of prefect duties, which included patrolling the corridors at night. Harry should have been happy to have so much time on his own, seeing as he had spent the first week of classes trying to get away from them. But now that they were busy with their own duties (and together, of course, typical), Harry couldn’t help but feel envious. He did his best to drown himself in more and more medical textbooks.

The library had truly now become what felt like a second home for him. When he wasn’t in class, he was in his back corner. Now, though, he made the choice to sit at the table he had found Ginny at. Sure enough, he had eventually run into her one evening. She thanked him again for returning her book (“Mum would have killed me if I had lost it!”) and asked him how Quidditch tryouts had gone.

“I saw Ron made the team,” she said warmly.

“Yeah,” Harry said lamely, flipping the page of “Draughts Against Death”.

“Too bad it was only a keeper spot open,” Ginny continued. “Otherwise I would have tried out too.”

“You play?” Harry’s head had jolted up in surprise.

“Yeah, well, kind of – ” Ginny laughed. “Don’t tell my brothers, but I always steal their brooms and go flying when they’re not around.”

“What position do you play then?”

“I think I’d prefer chaser the most,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “It’s the position with the most action by far.”

“I can see you as a chaser, yeah.”

“What makes me seem like a chaser then?” Ginny asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Well, with six brothers, I imagine you’re used to fighting to get what you want,” Harry joked. "I can see those skills translating well to being a chaser."

“You’re not wrong there,” Ginny laughed back.

Although he had been so determined to work without Ron and Hermione around, Harry didn’t mind studying alongside Ginny. It wasn't that he got more silent time when he was with her, they talked about a lot of things actually. But she never asked what he was studying. She didn’t ask him what was wrong, or if everything was ok. Maybe around her, Harry had realized one particularly light-hearted walk together back to the common room, she didn’t ask him those things because when they were together, things did seem ok.

Friday afternoon finally rolled in, ending in double potions – a scheduling decision that only someone as evil as Umbridge could have come up with.

“Today you all will be brewing Invigoration Draughts,” Snape had said, flicking his wand at the blackboard. Words and symbols materialized before them, outlining the steps of how to brew correctly. “Three hours is plenty of time for you all to finish your potions, entirely and precisely. Begin.”

Harry pulled out his potions kit as Neville walked in the storage cupboard to get powdered mandrake root. Harry made a point of keep his eyes down as he lit the flame under his cauldron. Hermione had stopped trying to get him to work with her during potions, instead pairing up with Ron, but he could still feel her glancing behind her every so often as if to try and start a conversation.

When Neville came back, the filled their cauldron with water and brought it to a boil.

“Want to take care of the dittany leaves?” Harry asked. Neville nodded uncertainly and began shredding them.

“Really want to give him a task like that, Potter?” a drawling voice from the next table over said. “He might not be able to handle such a difficult job.”

“Just ignore him,” Harry muttered as Neville glanced up anxiously.

“Better double check his work,” Malfoy continued, Slytherins snickering. “I overheard him talking with Granger the class before, she had to show him the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise stirring.”

“Do you need help, Malfoy?” Harry sneered back.

 “Oh, I’m perfectly fine, Potter,” he said smugly, holding up his perfectly chopped valerian root. “Unlike some people, I know how to read a recipe.”

Harry clenched his jaw but turned away, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to lose more points for Gryffindor - or get any more detentions. Harry placed several peppermint leaves into his mortar and began muddling them with a pestle.

“H-Here, I think they’re done,” Neville said. His hands were shaking slightly as he passed the dittany to Harry. Some of the shredded leaves looked ragged from Neville’s imprecise knife cuts. Harry took them from Neville without a word, choosing the best pieces and tossing them into their cauldron.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Harry muttered. “You’re doing fine.”

Neville gave a small, grateful smile. Harry added the dittany, and then the peppermint, stirring the concoction with his wand slowly. Glancing up at the instructions, they were to add the powdered mandrake root once the potion turned mint green. Sure enough, moments later, the potion shifted from cloudy grey to a vibrant green.

“Want to add the powdered mandrake?” Harry asked. Neville nodded, adding a few shakes into the cauldron.

Almost instantaneously, it was apparent something had gone wrong. The powdered mandrake root hit the potion, and the calming green flashed into an icy blue. The liquid bubbled violently, and as the bubbles burst, they seemed to shatter, sending sharp crystalized shards through the air. Neville yelped as the potion exploded into his face. Harry threw up his elbows quickly in defense. The room erupted into noise: desks and chairs scrapes as they were jostled by students flinging themselves to the ground, some students shouting at others to get down.

“You idiot!” Snape snarled, waving his wand. A lid materialized over the cauldron, which bounced about as the combustive contents continued to react. He swept over to their desk, looking through their ingredients before grabbing the jar of mandrake root.

“Longbottom, can you not read,” Snape asked. Malfoy snorted.

“S-Sir?” Neville whimpered. The potion had made sharp slashes across his face, some of the cuts looked quite deep. He was doing his best to wipe the blood from his eyes, but was more smearing it across his face than anything else.

“This powdered Graphorn horn!” Snape sneered. “It’s not only written on the label, but it’s also marked as highly volatile. Fifty points from Gryffindor for such carelessness!”

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn’t look up at Snape. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from shouting.

“Potter, since your talents clearly don’t lie in brewing either,” Snape said with disdain, “make yourself useful for once. Take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing.”

Picking up his bag, as well as Neville’s, Harry took Neville by the elbow. The Slytherins were still snickering as they left, though Harry didn’t look around at them either. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. He wanted to punch a wall. Or Snape. Or both.

Once they had made it a fair bit down the hallway, Harry finally managed to ask, “You alright?”

Neville nodded mutely, but the tears welling in his eyes said otherwise.

“Snape’s a git,” Harry said quietly as he pushed open the door that led to the steps out of the dungeons. “You’re not an idiot. You just grabbed the wrong jar. Anyone could’ve done it.”

Neville didn’t reply.

Fortunately because class was still in session, the hallways were empty as they walked. Neville’s face was quite the sight to see, and Harry was grateful for him that he wouldn’t have to deal with points or stares.

Finally they reached the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey must have heard Harry push open the door, because she was already walking out from her office when they entered.

“Oh dear,” she said, hurrying forward. “What happened now?”

“Potions accident,” Harry said. She tsked quietly, leading them around a curtain to a bed. Harry guided Neville, who could not see well through the blood in his eyes, and helped him sit down.

“I’ll take care of Mr. Longbottom first, your cuts don’t look quite as bad,” she said as she summoned a towel for Neville to begin blotting his face with. Harry frowned, not having realized he had been injured at all, and then touched his face. Sure enough, it felt sticky with blood.

“Here,” Madam Pomfrey said upon returning. She held a smaller cloth which she doused in a clear liquid before wiping gently at Neville’s face. He hissed quietly from the sting.

“Fortunately,” she said, closely examining his cuts, “It doesn’t look like there was any damage to your eyes. I think I should be able to heal these cuts relatively quickly, though the skin may be a bit fragile for a few days.”

Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and began slowly sweeping it across Neville’s face and arms, muttering quietly. Harry stepped away, so that he was behind one of the curtains. There was something that seemed oddly private about healing, like he shouldn’t be there for it.

It took a few minutes, but then Neville was walking around the corner, a little pale but otherwise as if nothing had happened.

“Potter, you next!” Madam Pomfrey called.

“Er, Harry,” Neville said. “Do you mind if I head the dorm room? I’d like to change into some different clothes.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Harry said, regarding the blood stains that had dried to his collar. “I’ll see you later.”

Harry walked behind the curtain and took a seat on the corner of the bed. Madam Pomfrey had conjured a new cloth, and was shaking more clear potion onto it. Harry closed his eyes and took off his glasses, feeling incredibly awkward as Madam Pomfrey patted at his cuts. The potion stung, though not as badly as detentions with Umbridge or his scar hurting the other night.

“There,” she said, vanishing the cloth and rolling up her sleeves. “Let me just heal these cuts, then.”

Heal. Harry’s heart leapt.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said suddenly as the witch moved her wand slowly and systematically across his face. “You’re a healer.”

“Yes?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Do I need to check you for a head injury, Mr. Potter?”

“No, it’s just, I’ve been reading a lot of medical books recently.”

“Oh?” She said, lowering her wand. Harry returned his glasses to his face.

“Yes, I was trying to do research on, er, terminal illnesses.”

“That’s an interesting topic of research,” she said as she screwed the cap onto her potion bottle.

“Yes, well, I was most interested in cancer actually.”

“Cancer?” She repeated.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said. “I was looking for information about it, about healing it.”

“Well you won’t find anything in the Hogwarts library.”

“Why not?” Harry felt his heartbeat pick up.

“Because cancer is a muggle illness,” she said. “We don’t have treatments for cancer.”

It was good that Harry was sitting down, because it felt like the world was falling out from underneath him.

“Oh.”

“Why were you trying to learn about cancer, Harry?” She asked, face furrowed in concern.

Harry stared at the floor, the tiled pattern suddenly impossible to look away from. His mouth felt dry.

“I…” he started to say, and then stopped.

“Do you know someone with cancer?” she asked quietly.

Harry paused a moment, and then nodded.

Madam Pomfrey’s expression softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear this, dear. I wish I had better news for you. But there is no cure for cancer. There are magical ailments we still cannot cure, too, and those are the focus of our medical research.”

Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult. “But… there must be something. What about muggleborns? I’m sure they must have had family members who have gotten it. They must have used magic to help somehow.”

“There are palliatives,” she admitted. “Pain relievers, calming draughts, sleep potions. They help. But they don’t stop it. The disease doesn’t follow magical logic. It doesn’t respond to our healing the way magical maladies do.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, frustration rising.

“Cancer is an internal ailment,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “It is the body attacking itself. Typically, our potions and healing spells are used to remove something that originated externally. Other spells used for healing act by boost the existing healing systems of the body, to speed up healing processes. If those are attempted on someone with cancer, it just speeds up the replication of the cancerous cells.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He felt prickling behind his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey said quietly.

“It’s ok, thank you anyways,” he said standing up quickly, reaching down to get his bag.

“Did I miss some?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“What?” Harry said, feeling dizzy with emotion.

Madam Pomfrey gestured to his bandaged hand. The one with different kind of cuts on it.

“Oh, no.” Harry said quickly. “No. Quidditch. Just scraped it. Thanks again.”

Before Madam Pomfrey could say anything else, Harry darted out of the room.

That night, Harry dreamt of Mr. Williams again. It was his funeral. Ava was sobbing into Harry’s shoulder.

“I thought you said you could help us?” she cried. Harry felt like his chest was erupting, as if his heart was breaking

“I thought I could,” Harry mumbled back into her hair, holding her tightly.

Chapter Text

In the circular chamber of the Divination classroom, Harry was slumped on the arm of one of the jewel-toned armchairs. The air was thick with incense, making his head feel congested and his vision go hazy. Ron was nearby, scratching absent mindedly into the wood of one of the round tables. They were supposed to be gazing into the crystal ball between them, but since neither of them had seen anything – ever – in it, they had drifted into an uncomfortable silence.

“Mr. Longbottom, you must look closely, dear, closely,” Trelawney cooed as she circled the tables slowly. Sensing she was going to be at their table soon, Harry sat up straighter and kicked Ron under the table.

“Ow, what – ?”

Harry gestured to Trelawney. “Hurry up, do something!”

“Do what?” Ron frowned, before begrudgingly leaning in towards the crystal ball, holding his hands on either side as if it would actually cause anything to happen.

“Mr. Weasley,” Trelawney whispered. “What do you see in Mr. Potter’s future?”

“Er,” Ron stammered, squinting and moving his hands around over the orb. “A very foggy… mountain.”

“Closer, dear,” Trelawney said, pushing Ron forward by the shoulder until his nose was practically pressed against the crystal ball. “What is on the mountain?”

“Snow?” Ron said, watching the swirling grey.

“Here, let me,” Trelawney said, tossing her purple beaded shawl over her shoulder. “I will read for Mr. Potter.”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she hummed under her breath.

“A tree… It’s growing amongst other trees, but – wait, yes, a crow flies overhead, nestles In its branches. Its losing all its leaves. The other trees are still intact, this is no work of autumn…” Trelawney took a shuttering breath. “I can’t bear to look any longer, the tree is petrified, it is all but decomposed – ”

“And I suppose this means, what,” Harry snorted. “I’m going to die this year?”

“No, no, my dear boy,” Trelawney said, clutching at the beads around her neck with magnified eyes. “The forest clearly symbolizes your network of relations, the single tree being visited by raven and then withering away – it can only mean one thing.”

Trelawney took a shuddering breath “Someone close to you will die soon.”

Harry felt his stomach drop and his blood run cold. Mr. Williams.

“I’m sorry, dear boy,” Trelawney said, her voice dripping with sorrow. “The fates have chosen you as a witness to loss, again.”

Again. Cedric. Graveyard. Mr. Williams.

“Shut up,” Harry whispered, eyes averted.

“Excuse me?”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Harry yelled, standing up so quickly he almost knocked over his table. The rest of the class all turned, eyes focused on him. “What the fuck do you know about the future? This is all bullshit!”

“Mr. Potter,” Trelawney gasped. “I will not have this language in my classroom – ”

“You can’t just go around telling everyone that everyone is going to die!” Harry shouted. Professor Trelawney’s face softened.

“You are in denial, dear – ”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Harry roared, before grabbing his bag and storming out of the classroom, kicking an unoccupied table on his way out and sending teacups shattering to the ground.

September tumbled delicately into October, as leaves fell gently from the trees. The somber mood of the greying skies matched Harry’s spirit. In the time since his conversation with Madam Pomphrey, Harry had felt petrified. No longer did he spend hours going through medical books and case studies. Not because he had given up hope, the very opposite – he was afraid if he kept looking, he would reach the end of what the library had to offer, and when he found nothing there like Madam Pomphrey had promised, then there really would be no hope. It would solidify that there was nothing even magic could do.

Now that he had lost his primary distractor from his anxiety, he engulfed himself in Quidditch, instead. Just like studying magical medicine, Quidditch was all encompassing if he let it. He spent time out on the pitch, even outside of team practices, sometimes multiple times a day. When he first increased his training, Ron had asked to join (“I need all the training I can get!”), though when he realized it involved waking up at five AM, he left Harry to train alone.

As he jogged around the pitch, Harry found a thrill in forcing his heart to race on purpose, to feel sweat dripping down his face. The ache he felt in his muscles forced his attention away from the heaviness in his chest and the prickle in his scar, frequent ever since the moment after Quidditch tryouts. With his new exercise regiment, Harry’s appetite returned, for which he was grateful. He didn’t feel Hermione’s eyes on the back of his head every meal anymore.

Although he was no longer reading medical books, Harry still spent at least an hour if not more a day with Ginny in the library. They would sit together, having small talk, but mostly working independently on their assignments. Sometimes Harry helped Ginny with her Muggle Studies homework. When she didn’t have any studying to do – as a fourth year her workload was much lighter – she still sat in the library with him. Harry learned that she was actually an avid reader, and had always spent a fair bit of time in the library, reading for fun.

One such afternoon, Harry and Ginny were at their usual table in the back corner of the library. Ginny was reading a novel, elbows on the table and fully engrossed. Harry, on the other hand, was somewhere else. Trelawney’s prediction had sent him into a spiral of worry. Most of her predictions were completely made up. She was bound statistically to make one up that sounded plausible to someone. Isn’t that how fake muggle fortune tellers worked? Still, Harry found little reassurance. The fact of the matter was, as of right now, Trelawney’s prediction was going to come true. It was only a matter of time.

“Are you ever going to turn that page?”

“Huh?” Harry asked, looking up from his Charms textbook.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes,” Ginny said raising an eyebrow. “And I don’t think – ” she tilted her head to be able to read the chapter title “ – cheering charms are so difficult that you wouldn’t be able to get past the first paragraph.”

Harry sighed, flipping the page. Ginny reached over and closed his book.

“What was that for,” Harry frowned.

“Clearly you’ve got something on your mind,” Ginny said. Harry felt his heart sink. He had so valued the fact that time with Ginny had meant time not being cornered into some kind of truth-spilling. But rather than saying more, Ginny stood up.

“C’mon,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going flying.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because I feel like I could stretch my legs,” Ginny said. “We’ve been in class all day, we deserve a break.”

“I don’t think – ”

“Maybe,” she interrupted, “it’s because you told me you’ve been training more, and I want to learn some cool new moves.”

“Cool new moves?” Harry said skeptically.

“Or maybe I thought it was a reasonable suggestion that you were likely to agree to,” Ginny smirked. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be boring, get up!” Ginny said, reaching out and tugging on his arm. Harry groaned, but gathered up his things and put them into his bag.

Ginny grinned victoriously as Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and together they trekked out of the library.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the treetops of the Forbidden Forest by the time they reached the pitch. Golden rays were cast across the whole stadium. Harry took a moment to go get his Firebolt from the locker rooms.

“Did you have a particular trick in mind?” Harry asked as he came back with his broom.

“What’s the coolest one you know?” She asked.

“I’ve been working on a Wronski Feint, but that’s quite difficult.”

“Well then, good thing I’ve got a star seeker to help me with it,” Ginny joked, nudging him with her elbow. “Show me how it’s done then.”

Harry swung his leg over his broom and kicked off from the ground. The wind rushed through his hair as he soared upward. The speed left Harry feeling like he’d left a part of himself behind down below, this separation of body and spirit that he had so often craved recently. Once he was high enough that Ginny was merely a speck on the field, he banked right and circled a few times.

“Ready?” he called.

“Quit stalling!” she shouted back, barely audible.

Harry grinned and leaned forward. He plunged into a steep dive, bent so low forward that his nose practically touching his broom handle. The world became a blur of gold and green as he sped closer to the ground gaining speed, faster and faster still. Just as he felt like he was about to crash into the earth – an idea that sent a thrill of adrenaline through him – he pulled up sharply on his broom and leveled out along the ground.

Ginny let out a loud whoop as Harry made a lap around the pitch and then slowed down to hover just in front of her.

“I’d give it a strong seven,” Ginny said.

“What!” Harry said indignantly. “Where did I lose points?”

“I could tell you were holding back,” she said. “Where’s your Gryffindor bravery?”

“What, did you want me to crash into the ground?”

“I’m kidding,” Ginny said sincerely. “It looked wicked. Would you let me have a go?”

“Er, I’m not sure – ” Harry started.

“What, you don’t think I can do it?”

“It just that, it’s dangerous.”

“If it’s so dangerous then why did you just do it,” Ginny said, folding her arms.

“I’ve been practicing for a while,” Harry said cautiously. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“C’mon, get off, let me have a go.”

“Fine,” Harry said, touching down and passing her his Firebolt. She accepted it, looking at the wooden handle admiringly.

“I’ve never flown such a nice broom,” she said, running her fingers across the inscription.

Harry smiled a little. “Don’t get too attached to it, I do need it back eventually.”

“No promises,” Ginny said, mounting the Firebolt. She kicked off from the ground and streaked upward. Her natural talent shown immediately – she looked effortless as she did a few spirals and loops in the air, testing out the mechanics of the broom.

 “Quit stalling!” Harry shouted jokingly. Ginny stuck out her tongue, and then tiled into a dive. She didn’t go quite as fast as Harry had as she soared downward, but Harry still felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched her hurtle towards the grass, closer and closer.

She pulled out of the dive sooner than Harry had, too, but it was still a clean transition. She shot back up into the air, doing a flip backwards before slowing down and stepping off the broom with a bit of a trot.

“How was that?” She said, sounding slightly breathless.

Harry grinned. “Six and three-quarters.”

“You prick,” she laughed, punching him in the arm.

“Just trying to keep you humble,” Harry laughed.

Ginny passed the Firebolt back to Harry. “Merlin, no wonder you always catch the snitch. This broom is unreal.”

 “It is brilliant,” Harry admitted. There was a moment of silence between them, a pause in the conversation that neither of them felt they needed to fill. The sky had turned a deep purple now, and the stars were just beginning to peek out. Ginny took in a breath, as if she was about to say something, but then she exhaled gently.

“I think we may still catch the end of dinner, if we head in now,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry said, shouldering his broom. Together they walked off the pitch.

Ava –

  Don’t worry about what you write, I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful than whatever I can do through letters. It’s great that your dad has been moving around more. Is he still getting chemo? How many rounds does he have left?

I can’t imagine what it’s like to see your mum like that. I feel really useless right now. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.

Tell me more about Francine. Is she good at Maths, or is she as bad as you are? Hopefully you’ve found someone to copy off of, so you stand a chance at passing this year.

School is going well for me. It’s pretty much the same as every other year, just classes and not much else. Hermione and Ron are both very busy now that their prefect duties have fully started, so I don’t see them as much. I’ve honestly been seeing more of Ron’s siblings than Ron. His older brothers, Fred and George, are trying to launch a line of prank products (do you like pranks?) and I usually study in the library with his younger sister, Ginny. It’s nice to have company through the boring stuff.

Tell your mum and dad I said hi and that I’m thinking of them. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.

– Harry

Harry is back in the graveyard. The air is heavy the scent of damp earth, and the feeling of something incredibly dark and incredibly dangerous on the outskirts of his vision.

“Why did you break your promise?”

Harry twisted around. It’s Ava. She is wearing all black, her hair looks limp. Her shoulders hang listlessly.

“Ava, it’s not safe here,” Harry said quickly, stepping around some of the low tomb stones. Every step he took, Ava seems to slide further backward, just out of reach. Ava looked up, her eyes look black.

“You lied,” Ava hissed. “You left me here alone. You’re just as bad as them.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, still trying to reach out for her. “Please, Ava, please just come with me, we have to leave, he’s going to kill us – ”

“My dad is dead,” Ava spat. “And it’s your fault. I trusted you!”

“Please trust me now,” Harry begged. “Let’s go – ”

The air went cold. Frost began forming on the ground. Harry’s breath hitched.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Ava screamed. A flash of green erupted, flooding Harry’s vision.

“AVA!” He called blindly, pushing forward and frantically reaching out around him, hoping to find her arm.

“AHH!” Voldemort hissed, his face inches from Harry, blood red eyes boring sharply into him. Harry screamed, jumping backwards, and shooting up in bed. Something was trying to strangle him.

“AVA!” Harry shouted, kicking and twisting himself, trying to get free. His forehead burned with acute sharp pain.

“What the bloody hell, Harry?!” Ron cried, tearing his curtains open.

“Ron?” Harry breathed. His heart was still racing, but he stopped struggling against his duvet that was tangled around his arms and legs.

“Yeah,” Ron said cautiously, eyeing Harry as he continued to hyperventilate. “Calm down mate, you just had a nightmare.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry panted. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, the panic still coursing through him.

“Do you want some water?” Ron asked.

“No, thanks, I’m alright,” Harry said, throwing his covers off of him and standing shakily. He noticed then that his other dormmates were also awake, all sitting up in bed. Seamus rolled his eyes at Harry before laying back down.

“Do you want me to – ”

“It’s fine, Ron,” Harry said, a bit more sharply than he meant to. He took a deep breath. “I’m just going to go downstairs. Sorry I woke you.”

Harry felt dizzy as he stepped down the spiral stairs into the common room. He knew logically he was physically in Gryffindor Tower, but mentally he was still in the graveyard. Rather than moving towards the fire, Harry walked to a chair and table set up near a window. Opening the window, Harry breathed in the crisp, damp, October air of the mountains. It surrounded him quickly, like being doused in cold water.  He inhaled deeply, but despite how fresh it was, it didn’t feel any easier to breathe.

Later that morning, just as Harry approached her and Ron, Hermione hastily shoved something under the table. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing,” she said with a squeak.

“Uh huh,” Harry glowered, lowering himself onto the bench. Hermione sighed.

“It’s… It’s the Daily Prophet,” Hermione admitted, pulling the newspaper back out.

“Seriously Hermione?” Harry said, his voice flat as he shook his head. “I get enough of that shit from Umbridge, why are you subscribed to the papers?”

“Because,” she said, her voice sounded forced, “we need to know what’s going on. We might not believe what the Prophet has to say, but a lot of people do. If we don’t understand their perspectives, then we’re not going to be able to do anything to change them.”

Harry grumbled incoherently, scooping a few fried eggs onto his plate.

“I don’t like it either,” Ron said taking another bite of bacon. “But she’s got a point.”

Harry was in no mood to continue this conversation. They had Defense Against the Dark Arts later that day, and entering class already in a piss poor mood was just a sure fire way to get detention.

“How was your morning run?” Hermione asked, trying to change the topic.

“Didn’t go,” Harry grunted. He had still felt ill from the night before, but now he regretted not going. The residual adrenaline was still buzzing under his skin, making him feel like he was about to snap. He picked at his eggs disinterestedly.

“Oh,” Hermione said gently. “That’s too bad, maybe we can all go for a quick walk around the grounds before Astronomy starts, the fresh air is probably good – ”

“I’m fine,” Harry said curtly, picking up his knife and sawing at his food.

Ron let out a small sigh. “Mate, you’re not fine.”

“Can we just – !” Harry exclaimed, dropping his utensils with a clatter and rubbing at his eyes in frustration. Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything, the rest of the students around them still chattering, the sounds of knives and forks against plates echoing.

“Just let me be, alright?” Harry said finally, picking up his cutlery again. He shoved the now cold egg into his mouth chewing. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but didn’t say anything else.

“Sleep ok, Potter?”

Harry stiffened. Gossip spread like wildfire at Hogwarts. Damnnit, Seamus.

“I heard your bedding gave you quite a fright last night,” Draco drawled.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron said, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and twisting him to face the table again.

“Oh Ava,” Draco called mockingly. “Ava! Who’s that, Potter? Your girlfriend? Or just some muggle slut you found over the summer?”

Harry banged his fist on the table as he stood quickly. Several first years sitting nearby jumped in terror. Harry clenched his fists, using every ounce of effort to stop himself from turning around and punching him in the face. After a deep breath, he looked to the teachers table and saw the seats filled, including with Umbridge and Snape. He wouldn’t get away with anything here.

Instead, he reached down and picked up his bag, abandoning his mostly untouched breakfast.

“Library,” he said gruffly to Ron and Hermione, and then walked out, the laughing jeers of Slytherins echoing behind him.

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t sleep in his own dormitory again for several nights after his nightmare about Ava. Partly because he couldn’t stand to be in such close proximity to Seamus – every time he saw him, a wave a hatred washed over him – and partly because he couldn’t tolerate the idea of being in such a seemingly cramped space. He hadn’t thought of the room as too small before, but just like when he was sharing a room with Ron in Grimmauld Place, it now felt like there wasn’t enough air to breathe with so many others there, too. That and his bed, certainly larger than his cupboard, felt stifling with the thick velvety curtains around it.

Instead, he stayed downstairs, in the common room. He’d watch as Gryffindors slowly trickled out heading to bed one by one. He would then open up the window in the corner and sit in the armchair the whole night, allowing for the cold air to constantly blow on his face. It’s not that it didn’t help at all, but it didn’t make everything better, either. The sharp coldness helped him feel grounded, gave him something else to notice about his body in the same way that the aches he got from training for Quidditch did.

Ron tried to convince Harry to join him upstairs the first night of his streak of sleeping (“sleeping”) in the common room began. However, after a short conversation in which Harry firmly refused, Ron had left, and hadn’t bothered to try to convince him any of the subsequent nights. This was a fact that Harry was both grateful for, and frustrated with. Although he wanted his space, and didn’t want to be forced into going upstairs, Ron’s lack of trying felt like a change in how he typically acted towards him.

Additionally, with Harry no longer coming up for bed, their casual nighttime ritual of discussing the day was gone, too. They had always done this, ever since their first year at Hogwarts, and it was only after they stopped did Harry realize how much he valued those conversations. Now, the only time Harry really had one-on-one time with Ron was the walk to and from Quidditch practices. These walks were not going the way he had imagined them, however.

When Ron had first joined the team, Harry had pictured these walks as being jovial, involving things like scheming through Quidditch formations, or laughing about how George had pranked Angelina. Instead, they walked together in mostly silence. A tension had grown between the two that Harry couldn’t exactly identify, but he felt all the same. And the lack of acknowledgment from either of them of this tension only seemed to grow it. Harry did feel a looming feeling of trepidation, however, that maybe these walks would also disappear sometime soon, too.

By mid-October, the castle had a general feeling of nervousness. The Daily Prophet had been publishing strange occurrences across the country, including the death of a Ministry of Magic worker. None of these events had been recognized as potentially done by Voldemort, but rather attributed to notorious murderer Sirius Black.

“He seemed convinced over the summer he was going to get off,” Harry muttered over one Sunday breakfast.

“Maybe there is something we don’t know,” Hermione said uncertainly, flipping the page of the Prophet. “But it sure doesn’t sound very promising right now.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Harry said, glaring at his beans on toast. “It’s all happening right in front of everyone’s bloody faces, and they still don’t fucking believe it.”

“I talked to Neville and Dean last night,” Ron said, lowering his voice. “They’re worried about it too.”

“For every person like Neville and Dean, there’s someone like Seamus,” Harry growled.

“Well, maybe – maybe we should be doing more, then,” Hermione said. Harry looked up, glaring.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” her voice sounded a little uneven, but she pushed through, “we can sit here, and let things like this happen, like the Ministry using propaganda to try and control the public opinion, or maybe we can actually do something about it.”

“What are we supposed to do with people like Umbridge around?” Harry muttered. “I tried to speak out about it, and all it did was land me in a week’s worth of detentions.”

“I’ve-I’ve been thinking about this,” Hermione said, glancing at Ron, who groaned.

“Not now, Hermione,” Ron mumbled, pushing around his eggs.

“What?” Harry said indignantly. Had they been having conversations without him? Of course they had, they were constantly off doing rounds together.

“Really, no, c’mon,” Ron said quickly, glancing around. “Let’s not do this here.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, giving both of them disapproving looks. “Fine,” she said. “Outside. After breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry said immediately, pushing his plate away.

“Don’t do that, mate,” Ron said frowning. “I’m hungry, we’re not doing this until we’ve all at least finished breakfast.”

Harry glowered and pulled his plate back towards him. Hermione wasn’t wrong – much like him trying to help Ava, he hadn’t actually made any meaningful progress in doing something about Voldemort’s return. He just didn’t really need to be so directly reminded of this fact. The trio ate in silence, Hermione seeming to take extra time to chew her porridge than normal.

Finally, she took her last sip of tea. “Ok, let’s go,” she said.

Once outside, the three of them made their way toward the lake. It was a mild day for October, thanks to the lack of wind and the clear, cloudless sky. Harry shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his robes as they walked down the damp hill, passing Hagrid’s hut. He glanced at the small, familiar building, still clearly unoccupied, and felt a sharp pang of emotion he couldn’t quite name. Hagrid had been such a constant presence at Hogwarts, and now he had simply vanished, while the rest of the world carried on. It struck Harry that, by now, Hagrid would usually be out in his garden, tending to the enormous pumpkins he grew each year for the Halloween feast. His heart sank as he realized there would be none in the Great Hall this year.

Once they made their way to the lake, they sat down against the low tree closest to the shore.

“So,” Hermione said in a forced casual tone.

“So?” Harry said, not trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. Ron glared.

“I’ve been thinking,” Hermione breathed out, “with things the way they are, with You-Know-Who back, it’s so important that we get a proper education, especially on how to handle dark magic. And we aren’t learning anything in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.”

“Yeah?” He said, crossing his arms. “I already said, I tried to stand up to her, there’s no way we’re going to convince her to actually teach us something.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Hermione continued. “I don’t think we should be relying on her to be our teacher.”

“Who else would be our teacher?” Harry said raising an eyebrow. “I know that every year, the DADA teacher either leaves or dies, but I’m not sure we’re going to be able to speed up that inevitability either.”

“Well, we thought – ” Ron made a grunting sound “ – ok, I thought, maybe… maybe you could teach us.”

Harry stared at her blankly. “What? Why would you think I should teach you? You know way more spells than I do.”

“You’ve faced him, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “You’ve faced him, multiple times, as well as Death Eaters. You have more knowledge than anyone when it comes to defending yourself against dark arts.”

“Yeah, but,” Harry said, feeling frustration rising. “That doesn’t mean I’m good enough to teach anyone. I barely made it out of any of those situations alive.”

“But you did,” Hermione urged. “And that’s still more knowledge than Umbridge is giving us.”

“I can’t teach people how to get lucky,” Harry said.

“We’ve all seen you in class,” Ron said. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’re really good at Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“That doesn’t mean – ”

“Maybe, just, think about it?” Hermione said. “It might not seem like you have anything worth sharing from your perspective, but I think I could learn a lot from you.”

Her expression was earnest. Harry swallowed back against the tightness in his chest. “I guess… I guess we could spend some time together, researching in the library. We could find an empty classroom or something to practice in.”

Hermione winced a bit. “Actually Harry, I was more thinking that we could open this up to others.”

“Others?”

“Yeah, like, anyone who’s interested,” she said lamely. Harry ran his hands through his hair.

“You want me to teach anyone who is interested,” Harry repeated. Hermione glanced at Ron before nodding.

“We can help,” Ron offered quickly. Harry glared.

“Why do I have to be the one to do this?” Harry said, more to himself than to them.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Ron said defensively.

“Well, it sure bloody feels like I have to,” Harry snapped. His scar prickled. He got to his feet. “I’m going inside,” he muttered, leaving them behind on the banks without looking back.

As he walked, he passed Hagrid’s empty cabin again. Guilt washed over him. He went back inside.

The next day, there was no Quidditch practice in the evening and Harry had a paper on the Goblin Wars of the 17^th century for History of Magic that he’d been putting off, so rather than going to dinner, he went to the library instead. He sat at his usual table, and pulled out some blank scrolls of parchment as well as a book on the topic. He gave the pages a lackluster flip, only sort of trying to focus on the task at hand. He had not spoken to Ron and Hermione since the day before. The weight of their request was still heavy on his mind, though. Should he not try to do something, anything, even if there is only a small chance it would help?

He had tried with Mr. Williams, and he had only effectively learned there was nothing he could do. What if he tried this, tried to do something to fight against Voldemort, and the same outcome came about? Harry ran his hands through his hair as he turned the page of the textbook again.

Sometime later, Ginny joined him.

“Here,” she said, handing him a sausage roll. Harry accepted it, and put it down on the table.

“Too much work to be able to make it to dinner?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, ruffling his hair again.

“Who’s to blame this time?” She asked, sitting down next to him.

“Binns.”

“Ugh,” Ginny said, pulling a face. “Hermione not letting you use her notes again?”

Harry hesitated and then shrugged.

“What?” Ginny asked.

“I… I didn’t ask her,” Harry muttered.

“Hm,” Ginny said. She reached into her bag and pulled out her own book, a new novel she had been reading, and opened it up. Harry returned to his parchment and continued the sentence he’d been writing. He couldn’t figure out how to explain the motivations of Urkhar the Invincible. He scratched out his sentence, and started again, only to scratch it out a second time.

“Need a distraction?”

“Huh?” Harry asked, looking up.

“You’re sighing,” Ginny said. “A lot.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, scratching out another third attempt.

“Maybe now’s not the time to be working on that,” Ginny suggested. “History of Magic is testing even when you are in a good headspace.”

“Yeah,” Harry said leaning back and pressing his palms under his glasses.

“What’s going on with you and Hermione?”

Harry removed his hands, giving Ginny a look.

“Look, I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said. “But you’ve interrupted my reading, so I think you owe me the story now.”

Harry sighed, leaning back forward and putting his elbows on the table.

“It’s stupid.”

“Ok,” she said.

“She… she wants me to teach people Defense Against the Dark Arts. Because Umbridge is shit. She thinks that because I’ve faced Voldemort before I can teach others how to defend themselves.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, raising her eyebrows. “And?”

“And I don’t want to do it,” Harry sighed.

“Why don’t you want to do it?” She asked

“I don’t want the responsibility,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a lot,” Harry said looking away.

“I mean, I understand,” Ginny said. “I wouldn’t want to be standing in front of people who expect something out of me either. But you do know something about the subject.”

“What if… What if I don’t know anything, though?” Harry said. Ginny let a silence hang between them.

“What if I can’t help?” Harry continued. “What if everyone shows up and then they realize I’m useless?”

“You should give yourself more credit, Harry,” Ginny said gently. “You’ve helped loads of people, loads of times. Why would this be any different?”

“Because I don’t have all the answers,” he said. “I never have any of the answers, I just guess blindly, and for whatever reason I end up stumbling through situations and they end up decently ok. People take it to mean I’m some hero or something, but I’m not. I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“I think though,” Ginny said slowly, “that’s part of what would make you a good teacher. Someone who can acknowledge what they don’t know.”

“You think I would make a good teacher?” Harry asked.

“You’ve done a great job helping me with Muggle Studies,” she said.

“True,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I’m sure my knowledge of using a lawnmower will come in handy for taking down Voldemort.”

Ginny leaned back laughing. Harry smiled.

“Seriously though,” she said, once her laughter had died down. “I really do think you’d do a great job. But that doesn’t mean you should do it if you’re not comfortable with it. I understand that talking about your experiences wouldn’t be, er, the most fun thing for you to do.”

She looked down at this, before looking back at Harry.

“I don’t talk to people much about, you know, what happened in my first year,” she said. “My family just wanted to sweep it all under the rug and move on because it had a happy ending, but the actual story is still scary. I don’t know if I would say yes to telling everyone about it, even if I thought it would maybe help everyone else.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Nah,” he said. “I bet you would, if you thought it would help.”

Ginny smiled softly. “I bet you would, too.”

The next day Harry approached Hermione and agreed to starting the DADA study group. She was over the moon with enthusiasm, and began recruiting immediately. It was only until Saturday, when during the Hogsmeade trip, that Harry realized just how far flung her enthusiasm was. About twenty people showed up at the Hog’s Head, sidling in with curiosity to hear about this new club that Harry Potter would be leading. Although there were some moments where Harry questioned why he had agreed to this, overall, the meeting ended on a positive note. With only the location to be decided on, it seemed like the group would be moving forward. Harry returned to sleeping in his own bed that night, a newfound sense of confidence accompanying him.

Come Monday, however, things took a turn again. A huge sign had been added to the Gryffindor bulletin board. Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.

“Another one?” Ron muttered upon seeing it.

“No more student organizations,” Hermione breathed. The three shared knowing glances with one another.

“How did she find out?” Harry muttered.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said, the three walking away from the crowded bulletin board. “It’s no one who attended, I er… I jinxed the paper that we all signed.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed.

“Just as a bit of a safety precaution,” she said shrugging. “We’ll be able to spot someone if they told Umbridge about us.”

“Let’s go check then,” Ron said, and the three of them clambered through the portrait hole.

‘Harry –

  Sorry I haven’t written recently. Dad’s in hospital. The doctors said his cancer wasn’t responding to chemo, so they discontinued it. They did say he was eligible for an experimental treatment, though. So now he’s in London, in Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. I’m still in school, so I can’t see him every day, but I go on the weekends.

There’s so much going through my head right now, but so little I can turn into actual words to write. Do they only give experimental treatment to people who have no other option? It seems like they’re just throwing something at him, see if it sticks and does anything. I should feel hopeful, but I don’t. It feels like we’re just making him suffer.  

 –  Ava’

Harry kept Ava’s letter in his pocket through Wednesday’s classes. Every so often he would reach into his pocket and feel the folded piece of paper.

‘Things are getting worse, things are getting worse,’ he thought over and over as Professor Binns droned on.

How could he have given up so easily? He had wasted weeks not looking for any way to help, just believed what Madam Pomfrey had said. Just because she didn’t know of anything, though, doesn’t mean for sure there wasn’t something. He touched the piece of paper in his pocket again, thinking. Maybe there were options he hadn’t considered yet. Ones that others like Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t normally consider. Morally grey options.

After a few more moments of pondering, Harry decided.

He was going to check the restricted section.

Chapter Text

Harry felt impatient that night as he waited for it to get late enough to sneak out of bed. He had sat in the common room with Ron, Fred, and George, watching them play exploding snap. He also held a set of cards in his hands, but he kept missing his turn. His mind was completely elsewhere. Finally, around ten o’clock, Hermione said she was going to go to bed. Harry stretched and said he was ready for bed, too. Upstairs in the fifth-year boy’s dormitory, Harry pulled out a pair of pajamas from his dresser and put them on before climbing onto his bed and closing the curtains around him.

He didn’t lie down, though. Instead, he sat on top of his covers, Marauder’s map in one hand, and Ava’s letter in the other.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry muttered, tapping his wand against the parchment. Lines bloomed in all directions, outlining the grounds of Hogwarts. Harry watched the map for some time. As time passed, he monitored the dots across the parchment, as slowly more and more turned into their dormitories for the night.

Harry heard Ron come to bed sometime after him, as well as Neville, Dean, and Seamus. They kept their voices low as they shuffled about. Eventually the room settled again, and the sounds of soft breathing evened out into deep long inhales and exhales.

As it grew closer to 1 AM, Harry felt like his heart was beating so loudly he might wake the others. For some reason he felt more nervous this time sneaking out than he had in first year. Maybe it was because it felt like more was on the line this time. This was really his last idea of what he could do to help the Williamses.

Finally, Harry decided it was late enough that he was willing to risk heading out. Slowly, Harry pulled back the curtains around his bed. He winced slightly as the metal curtain hooks jostled as he moved them. Once he had them open, he crept quietly over to his trunk, lifted the lid carefully, and pulled out the slippery silver material of his invisibility cloak. After easing the lid gently closed, Harry tiptoed out of the room and descended the stairs.

Once near the bottom, he peered around the corner and into the common room, just in case anyone was still awake. It was empty. A bit more confidently, Harry stepped into the common room. He set his wand and the Marauder’s map down and then shook out his invisibility cloak.

“Where are you going?”

Harry whirled around, and saw Ron standing on the steps, his hair tousled and his face shadowed in the low light of the fireplace.

“I thought you were asleep,” Harry said.

“I wasn’t,” Ron said, hand tightening on the banister. “Where are you going?”

“Er,” Harry said, looking down at the cloak in his hands. “Dumbledore. He asked me to meet with him tonight.”

Ron frowned. “You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“Sorry,” Harry said awkwardly. “Forgot.”

The silence stretched between them. Ron’s eyes searched his face for a long moment, unreadable.

“Alright,” Ron said finally, rather stiffly. “Well, let me know how it goes, then.”

“I will,” Harry said, but Ron had already turned and was walking back upstairs.

Feeling a bit hollow, Harry wrapped the cloak around himself, snatched up his wand and the map, and then pushed his way out through the portrait hole.

In the hallway, Harry glanced down at the map. Dumbledore was pacing his study. Filch was in the Trophy Room. A pair of prefects appeared to be patrolling near the kitchens. But no one was nearby.

Harry was about to start walking again when a quick flicker of movement caught his eye. He paused, frowning. A dot was moving about across the parchment. It was labeled ‘Ginevra Weasley.’ She was nowhere near Gryffindor Common Room; it looked like she was heading towards the Astronomy Tower. What was she doing out at this hour?

The thought of ditching his plans and instead following her, to see what she was doing, briefly entered his mind – but it just as quickly vanished. He didn’t have time to follow her. And besides, he thought, she probably wouldn’t appreciate finding out that he had been spying on her.

Harry continued down the deserted halls of Hogwarts, doing his best to keep his footsteps light. Portraits were dozing in their frames as he passed, the candles on the stone walls burning low and dim. Once he reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry took the shortcut. Before exiting, he checked the map again, and saw that the fourth floor was clear, too. Harry folded away the map, doing his best to keep his eyes away from whatever Ginny may have been doing.  

“Alohomora,” Harry whispered, tapping the large double doors to the library. They creaked open, and Harry slipped inside.

Harry didn’t dare pull off the cloak, despite knowing from the map that no one was inside the library. He stepped cautiously past the bookshelves. The lamps which lined them were glowing softly, casting shadows along the floor. Behind Madam Pince’s desk, Harry shuffled through the drawers, searching for the key to the gates of the Restricted Section. Finding it, Harry turned and ducked under the black velvet rope used to cordon off the section, and turned the key in the lock.

Unlike the rest of the library, no lamps were lit here.

“Lumos,” Harry said under his breath. The tip of his wand ignited. Quietly, Harry closed the gate behind him, and walked towards the nearest shelves. The books were sorted by subject – curling gold scrawl could be read on panels along the bookcases. ‘Dark Arts and Curses’, ‘Dangerous Magical Creatures’, ‘Mind and Soul Magic’… None of the sections felt particularly likely to hold the information he was hoping to find. Deciding the last one sounded the most promising, he decided to check there first.

Under the ‘Mind and Soul Magic’ section, Harry began examining the titles: ‘Magical Madness,’ ‘Silence: Bringing An End to Your Enemies,’ ‘Anchoring the Psyche: Defense Against Legilimency,’ ‘A Complete History of the Forbidden Experiments on Human Consciousness’. As Harry suspected, nothing stood out to him as particularly helpful. He reached the end of the bookcases and then turned back, wandering deeper into the Restricted Section.

Harry examined a section entitled ‘Ancient Magicks’ and pulled a few books down. They ended up being very complicated, filled with ancient runes he could not read, and philosophical magic written by Merlin that sent his mind round in circles.

Harry shoved the books back with haste. He checked the Marauder’s map again. There was still no one near the library, though Filch had wandered a bit closer. Before he could close the map again, Harry caught Ginny’s name on the parchment and then froze. She had indeed headed to the Astronomy Tower, but she wasn’t alone anymore. Next to her, a second dot was on the page – Draco Malfoy.

Harry felt his blood run cold.

“What the fuck?” Harry muttered, reading the names over and over again. Harry’s first instinct was again to head straight towards her, but he remained where he stood. A million possibilities for why they would be meeting up together in the middle of the night ran through his mind, and none of them relieved the tension he felt in his shoulders. Harry watched as the dots seemed to inch closer together, far closer than Harry felt comfortable.

“Damnnit,” Harry hissed, folding up the letter and shoving it in his pocket. He pushed the burning feeling in his chest down and returned to looking at the bookshelves. He didn’t have time for this now. He needed to keep looking.

‘Why do I even care so much?’ Harry thought to himself. The answer came back almost immediately – ‘Because it’s Malfoy.’

He could be taking advantage of her, manipulating her, using her. What if she had gone there for a different reason and he had ambushed her? What if she had gone there to meet with him on purpose?

Harry swallowed hard and lifted his wand up higher to check the next section of books – ‘Potions and Alchemy’. Scanning the spines, Harry read: ‘The Arts of Transmutational Alchemy’, ‘The Cursed Collection: The Ultimate Guide to Draughts of Death’, ‘Brewing with Blood: Potions for Eternity’, ‘Poisons and Antidotes: A Comprehensive Potion Master’s Guide’.

The word ‘antidote’ stood out to Harry, and he pulled this last book down off the shelf. He flipped to the index, checking the different potions within. He paused. Towards the top of the list, Harry read in bold font, ‘The Bane of Mercy’, and underneath ‘Transmitting terminal illnesses and ailments.’

Harry felt his heart thud in chest as he quickly turned through the book, until he found the correct page. 

‘The Bane of Mercy

Transmitting terminal illnesses and ailments.

Poison.

The Bane of Mercy, developed by Warwick Brickshaw in 1437, is a draught rarely used as it was originally intended. This concoction actually consists of two separate potions, and was created in order to end suffering through an act of sacrifice. Brickshaw brewed the twin Bane of Mercy potions after his wife, Gelinda Brickshaw, fell terminally ill. In an act of bravery, Brickshaw crafted a potion for himself and potion for his wife using alchemic principles of magical metals and magnetism. When both potions were consumed, the fatal illness was pulled from Madam Brickshaw’s body and fused to Brickshaw’s. Brickshaw died later in 1438, his wife entirely cured.

Since then, the Bane of Mercy has been more often used not as an act of goodwill, but rather to poison unsuspecting foes by transferring deadly illnesses from one person to the other.’  

Harry read on, noting the complicated instructions for brewing the potions. Some of the ingredients were shared between the two potions – like knotgrass, and gold-threaded moss – whereas others were only in one or the other, like essence of aconite, and withered fig. Harry’s heart sank as he read the increasingly rarer ingredients – like a phoenix feather and lunaris magnetite.

He reread the passage, feeling heaviness in his stomach. He had been willing to enter the Restricted Section in hopes of finding possible answers, and here was one. But was he as brave as Brickshaw? Harry wasn’t so certain.

Still, Harry raised his wand, and duplicated the pages.

“How was your meeting with Dumbledore?” Ron asked during Charms the next morning. The room was filled with the voices of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws saying ‘Depulso!’ over and over as they attempted to vanish feathers.

“Meeting with Dumbledore?” Hermione said, pausing momentarily in her wand waving.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, picking up the feather he had accidentally blown off the table. “It was ok, it was all very, er, cryptic.”

“What did he tell you?” Ron asked. “Anything about – ” he dropped his voice lower “ – the Order?”

“No,” Harry said, kicking himself for not thinking through what he was going to tell them. “He was more asking me questions. About the whole defense group thing.”

“So, they do know,” Ron said. “Someone must have overheard us.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Must’ve.”

Ron looked like he was going to ask another question when Hermione nudged him with her elbow – Professor Flitwick was approaching.

“How is it going over here, Mr. Weasley?” He asked. “Let me see, go on now.”

Ron raised his wand. “Depulso!” The feather remained stubbornly present.

“Keeping trying!” Flitwick encouraged. He stayed with Ron for quite some time, trying to correct the way he was holding his wand. It was long enough that their conversation did not pick up again once Flitwick had left.

As the week went on, Harry felt restless. His almost daily trips to the library to meet up with Ginny had been grounding for him, however, after seeing her with Malfoy on the map, he just felt uncomfortable. When he had first met up with her again, he had been unsettled to see that she was acting completely normal, banishing from his mind any possibility that the meet-up had been unexpected. Harry felt confused. Why would she keep this from him? What was she keeping from him?

Harry realized then that his conversations with Ginny were always rather superficial. She occasionally mentioned her friend Agatha, or Luna, but even then, Harry didn’t know much about them. Harry supposed the only reason Ginny knew about his life was actually likely through Ron and Hermione. He certainly didn’t share with her what he had been up to. Perhaps the closeness he had perceived to her over the past two months was more artificial than he had realized. That was the trade-off he had made – he had wanted to keep distance between them, it had been comfortable to avoid talking to her about what he was going through with Ava and Mr. Williams, or his nightmares about Cedric, or his loneliness. But in turn, he had given up the chance of them really knowing each other.

It felt too late now, with such a tremendous betrayal as spending time with Draco Malfoy in the middle of the night.

The evening of the Halloween Feast was filled with a buzz of excitement. Flitwick had charmed skeletons to dance in the corners of the Great Hall, and for autumn leaves the continuously tumble from the ceiling. The House Elves had outdone themselves cooking pumpkin soup, mince meat pies shaped like jack-o-lanterns, and home-made cauldron cakes.

Despite things with Ginny still feeling not quite the same, Harry had been feeling slightly more light-hearted ever since he had found a potential answer to how to help Mr. Williams.

He still wasn’t sure how he could use this information, it felt like a step in the right direction. In his constant reflecting on the Bane of Mercy, Harry had considered the possibility of convincing someone, like Voldemort, to drink the second potion. It felt like a stretch, but having the glimmer of hope made a difference in his overall mood.

Additionally, the Defense Against the Dark Arts group – now called Dumbledore’s Army – had found a home in the Room of Requirement, thanks to Dobby. They had had their first meeting, and it’s success had given Harry a further sense of purpose.

Harry welcomed the Halloween Feast, feeling for once there were actually things to celebrate. He filled up his plate with heaps of food, he laughed as Fred and George attempted to one up each other’s Halloween-themed jokes. He even chatted with Ron about the good news of the Gryffindor Quidditch team being reinstated, which meant that their match – which had been cancelled the previous weekend – had been rescheduled for early November.

That night, when Harry went to bed, he felt like maybe it was worth having hope. Maybe it was all worth it to keep going, to keep trying, even when the odds were against them all.

And then he fell asleep.

He was gliding on his stomach, his cool scales sliding against stone floor. A man, slightly balding with fading red hair was hunched over, not too far away. Before he knew it, the urge to bite came over him, and Harry sank his fangs into the man’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Harry sat at the kitchen table of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, a cold cup of tea in front of him. The Weasley children – Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny – sat around the table as well. No one spoke.

Ron had awoken to Harry screaming, had watched as he vomited over the side of his bed, had shook his shoulders, told him it was just a dream. But Harry had known it was not just a dream. 

There had been blood. So much blood. Even hours later now, Harry kept wiping at his face, expecting to bring his hand away from his mouth and find it red.

Sirius entered the kitchen, and with a flick of his wand lit the stove and placed a kettle of water onto the burner.

When they had first arrived, an argument had almost immediately broken out. The Weasleys had wanted to go to St. Mungo’s to be with their dad, but Sirius had stopped them.

“We can’t just go barging into St. Mungo’s,” Sirius had said. “How would we explain that we knew he was there? We can’t tell them Harry is having visions, it would put him in danger. It would put the Order in danger.”

“We don’t care about the bloody Order!” Fred had shouted. Harry had looked away – he hadn’t said it directly, but it felt implied that they didn’t care about Harry either. And he couldn’t blame them, he had participated in the attack. It was his fault that Mr. Weasley was gravely injured. Bleeding out.

“Your father does care,” Sirius had said.

“Our dad is dying!” George had cried.

“He knew what he signed up for – he would not appreciate it if you all mess up the hard work he has put into the Order. You don’t understand – there are somethings worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say!” Fred had bellowed. “I don’t see you risking your life for the Order!”

Fred had clearly struck a nerve, because Sirius had stormed from the room. Ginny had soundlessly ushered everyone downstairs to the kitchen, where they sat now, and made tea. Ron had said nothing, his face had been white – still was ashen now.

Sirius didn’t make eye contact as he filled a new teapot. He banished the cold tea from their cups and placed the teapot on a threadbare dishtowel on the table.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Sirius said quietly. “But some members of the Order are going to be arriving soon. Maybe it’s best for everyone to go try to get some sleep.”

Fred shot Sirius a scathing look, but didn’t say anything.

“Would anyone like something to eat?” Ginny asked. “Some toast?”

No one answered.

In that moment, a scroll of parchment appeared with a flash, along with a golden Phoenix tail feather. Harry watched everyone grab for it at the same time, Sirius getting to it first.

“It’s from your mum,” Sirius said, handing the parchment to Ginny, who sat closest to him.

She read out loud: “‘Dad is still alive. I am in St. Mungo’s. Stay where you are. Mum.’”

The news of Mr. Weasley’s condition did not lighten the mood around the table. Still alive. As in, he was somewhere between life and death, but he was hanging on. Harry put his head in his hands. He did not understand what was happening.

Sirius left the room again. They remained in further silence as the candles on the table burned lower and lower. The tea grew cold again. 

Harry’s stomach churned as he slowly turned his teacup around in its chipped saucer. Why had he attacked Mr. Weasley? Would he attack someone else? Harry’s eyes darted around the table. Fred was slumped forward on his elbows. George was leaned back, head lolling to one side as he dozed. Ron had his eyes closed too, though Harry wasn’t sure he was asleep. Ginny was the only one with her eyes open, too, staring blankly at her teacup as the fire from the nearby fireplace danced shadows across her blank face.

The door opened, and Sirius reentered. “Sorry to ask you all to relocate, if you don’t want to go to bed, then maybe just into the living room? Mad-Eye just sent word he’d be coming by Floo Powder”

Fred nudged George awake. Harry reached for his teacup.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Sirius said gently. “I’ll clear up.”

Once they were in the living room, Sirius closed the door to the basement behind them.

“How can they still exclude us now that dad’s been attacked,” Fred said in frustration.

“Good thing I’ve got some of these,” George said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some extendable ears. He passed them around, Harry accepting one with some hesitation. George only had three extendable ears on him, so he and Fred, as well as Ron and Harry, shared. Ginny had one for herself.

Gathering around the door on their knees, the five of them strained their ears to pick up what was going on. There was a fair amount of commotion coming from the kitchen now, clearly many others had shown up. Harry recognized the growling voice of Mad-Eye Moody.

“Settle down everyone, we have a lot to discuss.”

There was the scraping of chairs being pulled back as people took their seats around the kitchen table. Then Mad-Eye spoke again.

“Arthur’s alive, but it was close. The Healers said if he’d been found even five minutes later…”

A silence followed that statement so heavy it made Harry feel physically ill. Ginny closed her eyes tightly. Ron’s jaw clenched.

“But how did it happen?” came a voice – Lupin, it sounded like.

“Arthur was standing guard,” Kingsley, Harry thought, said. “Do we think this was specifically aimed at him?”

“We don’t know for sure,” said Mad-Eye Moody. “But it doesn’t seem that it was targeted at him. Rather they were targeting the area.”

“So, we were right to have a guard, then,” Kingsley said.

“So it would seem,” Tonks said, barely audible through the extendable ears.

There was a pause, then Lupin spoke again, his voice careful. “What about Harry? You said he… saw it?”

Harry felt the Weasley’s tense around him. Ron had heard him describe the scene repeatedly to Professor McGonagall, and then Professor Dumbledore, but Fred, George, and Ginny didn’t know exactly what had happened.

“He did,” Mad-Eye said slowly. “He woke up in the middle of the night. Said he saw it happen. Said Mr. Weasley had been attacked.”

Mad-Eye paused before continuing. “Said he was the snake.”

“Do we… Do we suspect…” Lupin began and trailed off.

“Possession?”  Moody said flatly. “Yes.”

Harry flinched. The Weasleys all turned their heads sharply, looking at Harry. He couldn’t look at them. He wanted to tear the extendable ear away, but he was frozen to the spot. Still listening.

“We don’t know that for sure though,” Sirius said.

“No, but we know enough to be concerned,” Moody growled.

“Is he safe here?” Lupin asked. “With the protections we have around Grimmauld Place?”

“There are many protections around Hogwarts,” Kingsley said in a low voice. “And it still happened there.”

“We need to consider keeping Potter separate,” Mad-Eye said. “It might not be safe for others to be near him right now.”

That was enough for Harry. He stood up quickly, causing his head to swim. He went down the hallway and up the front stairs. He felt like he needed to get out of his body. As if it was infected with poison. As if if he got too close to anyone, he would infect them tpp.

“Harry!” Ron called as he thundered up the stairs after him. Harry kept going, up another flight. “Slow down, goddamnnit, Harry!”

“What!?” Harry shouted spinning around, halfway up the the third flight.

“Can you stop bloody yelling at me?” Ron snapped, stopping just below him.

“You heard Moody,” Harry said. “You all need to stay away from me, or I might attack you too.”

“You’re not going to attack anyone, stop being such a prat – ”

“How do you know?” Harry roared. “You have no idea what I did last night!”

“Can you please calm the fuck down?” Ron said furiously.

“Can you leave me the fuck alone?” Harry bellowed back.

“Why are you always such a prat?” Ron asked angrily. “You’ve been like this all year, and I’m bloody sick of it!”

“I’m sorry that I’m having a reaction to finding out I’m getting possessed by Voldemort?” Harry said, incredulously.

“My dad just almost fucking died!” Ron cried. “Not everything is about you, Harry!”

It felt like a punch to the gut. Harry stared at Ron. His face was red and he was breathing heavily. He wasn’t done.

“I’ve been doing everything for you, all fucking year. I’ve sat there, been your punching bag. I've done everything to be there for you - Merlin, I've kept my schedule open, just in case you decided you wanted to hang out – ”

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” Harry interrupted.

“You didn’t have to!” Ron exclaimed. “I wanted you to know that I was there. I’ve tried to reach out, and you’ve ignored me, treated me like shit – and still, when I’m the one who’s going through something, you’re the one I’m chasing after!”

“You have no idea what I’m going through,” Harry said in a low, strained voice.

“Of course,” Ron scoffed. “Let’s hear it then. Let’s continue to make this about you.”

Harry clenched his fists by his side, trembling with adrenaline and ready to launch himself at Ron.

“Why don’t I make it easier for you,” Harry said. “Don’t bother pretending to be my friend anymore. Just leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Ron spat, turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs.

Harry lay upstairs in the room he had slept in over the summer. There were still two beds in there, but he knew Ron wouldn’t be staying with him this time. All the unsettling details of the room started standing out to Harry – the spider’s web above the wardrobe full of fly carcasses, the way the wallpaper peeled in such a way that you could see brown stains underneath. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed them all before, they all felt so glaring obvious now.

A few hours later, Sirius knocked on the door. He opened it, and saw Harry was laying on the bed situated against the righthand wall, staring at the ceiling.

“Molly stopped by,” Sirius said carefully. Harry didn’t look over. “Arthur is stable. Everyone is going to go visit St. Mungo’s tomorrow. Do you want to join them?”

Harry shook his head, still not looking over.

“Can I bring you up something to eat?”

Harry shook his head again.

“Dumbledore has given you all special permissions to stay out of school for a few days, while things settle,” Sirius went on. “Everyone’s going to stay here, since Molly is staying in the hospital with Arthur.”

“Do you remember, that room down the hall, the one you said could be my bedroom?” Harry interrupted.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, straightening slightly.

“Can we move a bed in there for me?"

“Are you sure?” Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows. “I figured you’d rather be around Ron right now.”

“No,” Harry said flatly. “I’d rather have my own space.”

Sirius hesitated. “Sure, ok,” he said eventually. “I haven’t been in there since the summer, it probably needs some dusting.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Harry said, getting up.

“Want some help?”

“No.”

“I can have Kreacher take care of it, you know,” Sirius said, as Harry stepped past him. “He’s just at Hogwarts now, getting everyone’s trunks. But as soon as he’s back – ”

“It’s fine, Sirius, really,” Harry said, heading down the hall. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Sure, alright,” Sirius said uncertainly. He walked into Harry’s old, shared room and shrank his bed down to fit it through the doorway. He then levitated it down the hall and placed it by the window of the other room. He waved his wand once more, and it returned to its usual size.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Sirius said, leaving the room.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning. Sirius had been right about the dust – it was surprising how quickly it gathered when a place was not visited. Harry wiped down the windows and sills and swept and mopped the floors. He scrubbed at some stubborn black marks on the wall before deciding maybe even magic wouldn’t be able to remove them. Later, Sirius brought up a few cheese sandwiches for dinner. Harry tried to eat them, but only managed one slice of bread. He still had the memory of the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

Once there was no cleaning left to be done, and the sun was going down for the evening, Harry settled for staring out the window onto the London streets. The view was not appealing – Grimmauld Place was dirty, even on the outside. Harry pitied Sirius, who had only had this view for months now.

‘He must feel so trapped,’ Harry thought, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘It must be horrible, not having it be safe enough to leave.’

Harry realized with an uncomfortable pang that he was in Sirius’s shoes now. He couldn’t leave either. It wasn’t safe for him, or for others.

No one else came up to his room. Harry wondered if Ron had told the other Weasleys about their argument. Or maybe they had heard it, echoing down the stairs. Shame creeped up his cheeks as he thought about the altercation. Harry knew he had lost his temper, again. Only this time, it had been worse – Ron had every right to be upset. His dad had almost died.

This wave of empathy was short lived, however. Ron’s words returned to mind: ‘Not everything is about you, Harry!’. Ron made him sound like a selfish prick. What was selfish about being terrified that he might attack someone else, and wanting to sequester himself to protect them? What was selfish about dedicating hours of time to trying to save his friend’s dad’s life?

Thoughts of Mr. Williams, sick in bed, flashed to mind. Mrs. Williams and Ava, around his bedside, maybe watching horror movies together to pass the time, just as they had over the summer. ‘We always have time for you,’ Ava had said, around the small kitchen table, eating biscuits, mind nowhere near thoughts of life interrupted by tragedy.

Suddenly, something struck him.

Harry jumped up off of his bed and ran to his trunk. Throwing it opened, he rummaged about until he found his Charms textbook. Opening it up, Ava’s letters tumbled out. He opened them frantically, searching for her last one.

‘Dad’s in hospital… He’s in London, in Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.’

Harry’s heart lurched. He’s in London. Mr. Williams is in London. Right now.

A knock on the door made Harry jump. He shoved the letters into his pocket as he crossed the room to open the door a crack.

Sirius stood outside, hair a bit disheveled, smelling of liquor. “I’m off to bed,” Sirius said. “Need anything?”

“No,” Harry said, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m all set.”

“Alright then,” Sirius said plainly. He paused for a moment, as if looking for something else to say. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Harry said, with a nod. He shut the door.

Harry crossed the room and climbed back onto the bed, tucking his knees to his chest. He just stared out the window again, watching the streetlamps leading away down the road. Somewhere, not so far away, Mr. Williams was laying. Closer than they’d been in months. Close enough to reach, if he dared.

But was it safe?

His thoughts turned back to his earlier worries. What if Voldemort possessed him again? What if he blacked out and came to with blood on his hands, not his own? What if it was Ava or her family that he attacked next? 

No, he reasoned. Voldemort hadn’t taken hold of him while he was awake. The vision, the snake, the blood - it had all happened in his sleep. If he stayed alert, if he kept himself awake, the risk would be minimal. If he saw them, kept things short… he could do it. It would be ok.

Harry blinked hard, forcing himself to stay focused. But the longer he sat there, the heavier his eyelids became. Eventually, exhaustion won. His head tipped forward, forehead pressing against the cool glass of the window. It must have only been for a short while though; a car back-firing jerked him out of his sleep, and it was still dark out. He touched his face and checked his hands – no blood.

The next morning, Harry got dressed in his most muggle attire. He didn’t have a coat with him, but he did have one of Dudley’s old sweaters. It hung limply around the collar from being stretched too widely, but it would do. Also from his trunk, Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak and his wand. He wrapped his wand in his cloak, and put both into his otherwise emptied school bag.

Around ten o’clock, Sirius came to Harry’s door again and asked if he wanted to accompany the Weasleys to St. Mungo’s. Harry turned down the offer once more.

“I’ll be upstairs with Buckbeak, if you need anything,” Sirius said. “Need to clean up his room.”

“Right,” Harry said. He listened at the door as he heard Sirius’s footsteps fade away. He waited a few minutes more, to be really sure that he was gone. Then, Harry shouldered his bag, and opened his bedroom door cautiously.

Harry listened. He didn’t hear anything.

Closing the door gently behind him, Harry stepped as quietly down the stairs as possible. They creaked softly under his feet, making him pause and wait – but no attention was attracted. There didn’t seem to be anyone downstairs.

When he got to the landing, he checked the living room, and then kitchen. Sure enough, everyone had left for St. Mungo’s. Harry adjusted his bag, took one last sweeping glance through the entrance hall of Black Manor, then slipped out the front door.

Chapter Text

Harry’s nerves didn’t settle until he was out of view of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He didn’t think Sirius would be looking out the window, but the thought was enough to keep himself as close to the buildings as possible as he half-jogged down the street and around the corner.

The quiet looming Georgian houses slowly transitioned into a more bustling energy as Harry stepped onto Pentonville Road. Lorries and cars rumbled past as Harry kept walking, looking about. He had no clue where he was going. Spotting a café built into a Victorian-style building called The Moon & The Maybe, Harry entered and asked one of the waitstaff for directions. With a napkin with some street names and a crude map scribbled down in hand, Harry headed back out and crossed the street.

Although it was thankfully a dry day, it was unseasonably cold. The air bit at Harry’s cheeks as he checked the street signs, referencing his napkin every so often. He spotted crowds moving all in the same direction - presumbly towards King’s Cross Station - and knew he was on the right path. He shivered, pulling his sleeves over his frigid fingers, wishing he could have put on his heavy wool cloak instead of the flimsy sweater.

A couple passed, arguing loudly. Harry pressed forward, trying to ignore their raised voices. Reminders of yesterday’s argument with Ron surfaced, and he shoved them down. ‘Not everything is about you, Harry…’

He crossed the road, dodging an impatient cab that had sped through the intersection at the last minute. He checked his napkin, and then the street signs – Farringdon Road was just ahead. Speeding up – also to keep warm – Harry continued down the street. I wanted to get to the hospital with as much time to spare. The last thing he needed was to get caught.

Another fifteen minutes of walking later, Harry finally spotted it. St. Bartholomew’s was a wide white stone building, spanning what felt like the whole street. Harry’s heartbeat picked up as he followed the signs to the entrance.

The warm air of the heated building hit Harry immediately. There was a low hum of conversation in the building, with several people walking back and forth, others seated in chairs along the walls. The rubber soles of Harry’s shoes squeaked as he walked across the recently cleaned linoleum floors (the strong scent of lemon cleaner was still about) and looked around for a welcome desk.

Trying to look like he belonged, Harry moved with purpose toward a counter beneath a hanging sign labeled Reception. Behind the desk sat a woman in her forties with tightly pulled-back hair. She was juggling a phone between her cheek and shoulder as she typed at a boxy beige computer. She looked up as he approached.

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked.

“Hi,” Harry said, stepping forward. “No - I’m here to visit someone?”

“Are they expecting you?” The receptionist asked curtly.

“Er, no,” Harry admitted. “It’s a bit of a surprise.”

She sighed lightly, switched the receiver to her other ear, and began tapping again.

“Name of the patient?”

“Ed Williams.”

The receptionist tapped on her keyboard and then clicked a few times behind the large clunky computer monitor.

“Yes, here he is,” she said. She leaned across her desk and picked up a clipboard that she handed to Harry.

“Fill this in, please.”

Harry scribbled his information quickly onto the sign-in sheet. He passed it back, and she gave him a visitor’s badge.

“He’s in room 417 - fourth floor, west wing,” she said, motioning to Harry’s right. “You can find the lifts over there.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, placing the lanyard around his neck. He quickly located the lift and pressed the button before stepping inside. As he waited for the lift to take him to the fourth floor, Harry caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked exhausted – which he was. His hair was sticking up at all sorts of weird angles. He did his best to press it firmly into a more well-kempt state, but it sprang back stubbornly.

The lift gave a soft ding as it shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open. As he walked along the hall, Harry’s nerves picked up. Should he have come unannounced? What if they didn’t want to see him? Ava had said she always had time for him, but maybe she hadn’t meant that literally. Maybe Mr. Williams would have preferred not to have any visitors. Harry felt panicked as he imagined opening the door, looks of disappointment, or annoyance, or maybe pity on the Williams faces. ‘Oh Harry… What are you doing here?’

A nurse passed by, nodding politely. Harry nodded back awkwardly, checking the doors until – 417. He paused a moment, his hand hovering in front of the door. He had come all this way. He couldn’t turn back now. He took a deep breath, and then knocked.

There was shuffling from the other side of the door, a murmur of voices. And then the door opened.

Mrs. Williams stood in front of him. She blinked at him.

“Harry?” She said in confusion.

“What?” Ava said from inside the room.

“Hi, sorry, ” Harry began sheepishly “I was just – ”

“HARRY!” Before he knew it, Ava had slammed into him, sending him back a few steps. She held onto him tightly.

“Is this real? Is this real?” She repeated over and over.

“Hi,” Harry laughed, hugging her back.

“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Williams asked astonished.

“I was in London, and I thought I’d visit,” Harry said. Ava pulled back and wiped her eyes – she had started crying.

She grabbed his arm, tugging him into the room. “Come in – do you want some tea – your hands are so cold!”

It was at that moment that Harry caught sight of Mr. Williams. He was sitting up – sort of. His bed was angled upward so that his back was supported under the mattress and several pillows. He looked thinner – much thinner – than the last time Harry had seen him. His cheeks were sunken in. His skin had a faint yellow tinge, the veins in his arms and hands more visible than they should have been. Thin tubing looped under his nose. More tubes connected from his neck and his arms to medical devices Harry didn’t recognize.

But Mr. Williams’s eyes looked bright, and he was smiling.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mr. Williams said, his voice raspy. “Harry Potter.”

“Mr. Williams – how are you?” Harry asked, mentally kicking himself immediately after. What a stupid question.

“I’m doing alright,” Mr. Williams smiled, catching Harry’s blanched expression and politely moving the conversation along. “I can call the nurse for another chair – ”

“It’s fine, Dad,” Ava said, her voice sounded out of breath as she spoke. “I can stand – sorry,” she turned to Harry with a stunned laugh, “I’m still a bit in shock you’re here right now!”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Harry said, taking the chair Ava had presumably been occupying before. “Otherwise, I would have given some warning. I hope it’s ok that I’m here.”

“Hope it’s ok?” Mrs. Williams repeated, hand over her chest. “It’s more than ok, it’s so wonderful that you would think to come and visit!”

“Let me make some tea,” Ava said. “They’ve got an electric kettle. It’s not fancy, but it works. Milk, no sugar?”

Harry nodded. “Still.” Ava smiled and clicked on the kettle in the corner.

“How are you, Harry?” Mr. Williams asked, shifting against his pillows.

“Good, yeah,” Harry said running a hand through his hair. “Busy, with school and everything, but good.”

“What brings you to London?” Mrs. Williams asked.

Harry hesitated. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

“Oh?” Ava asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Harry said looking down at the plasticky floor. “I’m not sure where to start really.”

“You’re not skiving, are you?” Mr. Williams frowned.

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “Not at all, I’m actually staying with my Godfather right now. Uh…”

He trailed off, unsure where to begin. How do you explain to muggles that there is a magical world out there that they have no idea existed, without them thinking you were completely mad?

Ava returned, setting the steaming cup of tea on the windowsill behind Harry before sitting on the corner of her father’s bed. She reached out towards her father, and he accepted her hand in his. There was something so fragile about the motion. As if it was something precious. Like she knew there weren’t going to be days, all too soon, when she would not be able to hold his hand.

“If you’d rather not talk about it, dear” Mrs. Williams offered kindly, concern in her voice.

“No, I-I do,” Harry stumbled through his words. “Maybe… Maybe it’s easier if I just show you.”

Harry reached down and unfastened his bag that he had set down at his feet. The clasps clicked apart, and he pulled out a bundle of shimmering, fluid cloth.

Ava leaned forward. “Ooooh! What is that?”

Harry unfurled the cloak slowly, letting the silvery fabric spill out like water. Nestled inside, he found his wand.

“Is this…” Ava furrowed her brows, half-laughing. “Is this, like… a fancy-dress outfit? Were you a wizard for Halloween or something?”

“Er, not exactly,” Harry said, suddenly feeling dizzy with nerves as his heartbeat quickened. “Not just for Halloween.”

“What?” Ava asked, puzzled.

Harry sighed. His fingers closed tighter around his wand.

“I-I’m a wizard,” he blurted out.

The Williams family stared.

Mrs. Williams opened her mouth, as if she was about to ask him to repeat himself, she must have misheard.

Ava looked at both her parents and then back at Harry. “…Wait. You’re not joking?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “I’m not.”

Another long pause followed.

“I know it sounds mad,” Harry said quickly, “but it’s true. I go to a school called Hogwarts. This is why I haven’t written very much about my classes, I couldn’t, because you didn’t know. It’s also why I’ve been having to mail you through Mrs. Fig, we don’t have regular post you see – we use owls, and I couldn’t really explain that, but Mrs. Fig – she’s magical too – ”

Harry stopped realizing he was rambling.

He held up his wand. “This is real. I can’t show you any magic, because it’s against the rules, but I can show you this – ”

Harry stood up, and draped his invisibility cloak around his shoulders. Ava screamed, Mrs. Williams jumped up from her chair.

“What the bloody hell!” Ava cried, eyes desperately searching for Harry, looking straight through him. Harry removed the cloak.

“How did you do that?” Mr. Williams said flabbergasted.

“It’s an invisibility cloak – well, maybe that was obvious,” Harry said. “Here, Ava, try it.”

Ava reached out a shaking hand and accepted the cloak. Her legs vanished as the fabric draped over her.

“Oh my god!” She cried, tossing it back to Harry as if it was searingly hot. “That is so scary!”

“It’s not dangerous,” Harry said nervously. “It’s just, er, magic. Mrs. Williams, maybe you should sit down again…” She looked rather faint.

“I’m not used to seeing my daughters legs disappear,” she admitted, lowering herself back into her chair.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry said somewhat ashamed. “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”

“So, this is all real?” Ava asked.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.

"Jesus christ," she said. She took a long, slow breath – and then reached over and shoved him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before!”

“I didn’t know I could!” Harry exclaimed. “We’re not supposed to tell muggles.”

“Muggles?” Mr. Williams said, raising his eyebrows.

“People who aren’t magical,” Harry explained.

“Why aren’t you supposed to tell us?” Ava asked.

“We have a Statute of Secrecy,” Harry said. “To protect wizards and other magical creatures.”

“Other magical creatures?” Ava said incredulously.

“Yeah – maybe I should save those for another day,” Harry laughed awkwardly.

He paused, twisting his hand between his fingers nervously. He hadn’t known before he entered if he would share his discovery with the Williams family or not. He hadn’t been sure before Mr. Weasley was attacked, before Ron had yelled at him, whether or not he was prepared to make the sacrifice required of the Bane of Mercy. But now, at Mr. Williams bedside, seeing the family together, Ava gripping her dad’s hand tightly, he knew what he needed to do.

“There’s actually a reason why I wanted to tell you,” he said, quieter now. “About me being a wizard. I mean, now, specifically.”

Mrs. Williams shook her head, still clearly thinking she was out of her mind, rather than Harry actually being a wizard.

“What is it?” Mr. Williams asked. Harry hesitated again.

“C’mon Harry, spit it out,” Ava laughed. “How much more can you shock us today?”

Harry exhaled deeply and then straightened up a bit.

“Well…” He said slowly. “While I’ve been at school, I’ve been doing a lot of research. About… about your illness.” Harry looked at Mr. Williams. The room stilled.

“Ava told me about how your treatments got discontinued. And you’re receiving an experimental one now,” Harry continued. “Is it… is it working?”

Ava began to blink quickly, gripping her father’s hand tighter.

“Not yet,” Mr. Williams admitted. “They’re not sure they will. But it’s not looking… It’s not looking good right now.”

Harry swallowed hard. That was it then. “I think I’ve found something.”

The Williamses stared him.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Williams asked cautiously.

“I found a potion,” Harry said. “And I think it can cure you.”

Ava pressed a hand to her mouth. Mrs. Williams eyes had gone wide. No one spoke.

“I don’t know for certain if it will work,” Harry said. “I’ve never brewed something so complex before, and I wouldn’t suggest it if you felt like the medication was working. There is… There is a possibility I could get it wrong, and it might even… Might even poison you. But if the current treatments aren’t working… This is an option.”

Mr. Williams looked towards his family, and then back at Harry.

“How does it work?” Mr. Williams asked.

“I-I’m not entirely sure,” Harry lied. “It’s a rare potion – wizards don’t get cancer, so we don’t have a need for it usually, but I found the recipe. And I think I can do it, if you want me to.”

Silence settled over the room again.

Then Mr. Williams spoke. “You’d really do this for us? For me?”

Harry nodded firmly. “Absolutely.”

Mr. Williams looked towards his family, tears beginning to form in his eyes. He gave them a watery smile. Ava suddenly stood up, throwing her arms around Harry once more.

“We’re so lucky to have met you, Harry.”

The rest of the visit was filled with a much lighter atmosphere. Harry explained some of the basics of Hogwarts ("How do you get to school - do you fly on a broom? Wait, why are you laughing you don't seriously fly on brooms do you?"). He tried to ask her about school, too, but she was far too interested in hearing about magic. What felt like far too soon, Harry stood up, saying he neeed to head back to his Godfather's. He gave each of the Williamses one last hug, all three of them thanking him profusely again. Mrs. Williams had shaken her head in disbelief as Harry explained how owl post worked, that he would send Hedwig directly to Ava next time.

"Can't you stay any longer?" Ava had asked.

"Sorry, I really need to get back," Harry had said.

"Don't think you're getting away with not telling me about all of this magic stuff," Ava had laughed. "I expect a much more thorough explanation over Christmas."

When Harry got back to Grimmauld Place, he crept through the entrance, listening intently. Making his way down to the kitchen, he peered down the last bit of stairs and saw it was still empty. The Weasley’s must still be gone. Harry was just about to head upstairs to double check and make sure Sirius was still with Buckbeak, when something caught his eye. Kreacher had not being doing the dishes, and evidently neither had Sirius, as a callosal pile had been created cascading across the countertops. Amongst the plates were bits of trash – used napkins, old newspapers – and something gold.

It was Fawke’s feather, which had been sent with Mrs. Weasley’s note the previous morning. Without thinking, Harry crossed the room and pocketed it.

It was the first ingredient towards the Bane of Mercy.

Chapter Text

A knock on the door stirred Harry from his bed.

“Yeah?” Harry called, expecting his Godfather to enter. It was Ginny.

Harry sat up rather quickly as she walked in closing the door behind her.

“I brought these for you,” she said, placing a plate of sandwiches on the bed. Harry thought she would leave immediately after, but instead she sat down opposite him at the foot of the bed. She picked up one of the sandwiches and started eating.

“Go on then,” she said, then taking another bite. Her presence felt startlingly strange. Harry had not been in the same room as any of the Weasley’s since when they first arrived. There was something about her sitting there, the way she was acting. It wasn’t that it was forceful – but it was immovable. She was going to sit here and eat these sandwiches, and Harry was going to join her. That was the end of it.

Harry reached out and took one of the ham and cheese sandwiches, taking a small bite and chewing slowly. They stayed in silence for some time while they ate – it seemed that although Ginny held the reigns of this encounter, she still wanted to tread carefully.

“Dad was asking for you yesterday,” Ginny said, as she took another sandwich half. “He wanted to thank you, for saving him.”

Harry couldn’t repress the scoff that came out. Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Saved him after I tried to murder him,” Harry muttered bitterly. Ginny set down her sandwich and crossed her arms.

“Tell me what happened,” she said.

“You already know what happened,” Harry said gruffly.

“I know vaguely what happened,” she said, undeterred. “But I want to know the details.”

Harry felt taken aback at this direct line of questioning. “Why does it matter?”

“Because,” Ginny started and then stopped. After a brief moment of silence, she started again, this time her voice quieter “I’ve been possessed before.”

Harry felt a cold wave wash over him. Of course. He’d been stupid for not reaching out to her as soon as they had overheard the Order discussing whether or not he had been possessed. Shame swept through him – he had done the same thing to her that her family had done – skip over her experience, sweep it away, move past it without acknowledging it because it hurt to do.

“I can tell you if what you experienced was possession,” Ginny continued, eyes downcast. “If you tell me what happened.”

Harry felt the instinct to swallow the details down and not say anything. At the same time, however, he felt drawn to be more open to her. It was dangerous to show vulnerability, but she had already done so to him. Maybe she cared. Maybe she could help.

“I was asleep,” Harry started slowly. “I thought I was just dreaming at first – but then the dream changed. It felt so real, concrete, just as if it was all happening right in front of me. I realized I – I was a snake. And I er, slithered, down a stone hallway. And I saw your dad.” Harry swallowed hard. “I saw your dad, and I felt this urge to – to attack, to bite. So I did.”

It was now Harry’s turn to look down. He felt his face growing hot. His hands clenched in his lap. It was so horrible. He was admitting to the attempted murder of her own father.

“What were you thinking at the time?” She asked calmly.

“I’m not sure…”

“Were your thoughts normal, or were they scattered?”

“They weren’t scattered,” Harry said frowning. “They worked ‘normally’ but it felt like there was something foreign to them. They didn’t feel like my thoughts. I was thinking things about looking for something, and then, after I saw your dad…”

“About biting him.” Ginny finished his sentence.

Harry nodded. Her gaze didn’t waver.

“What happened after?”

“Well, I woke up. My scar was burning like mad. I er, got sick over the side of my bed. I told Ron what I’d seen, and Neville went and got Professor McGonagall.”

“So you were in the same spot then, that you had gone to sleep in?”

Harry nodded again.

Ginny shook her head slowly.

“When it happened to me…” she said, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jumper. She let out a deep sigh and ran her hand through her hair.

“Sorry you don’t have to – ” Harry said, but Ginny held up a hand.

“No, Harry, I do want to talk about it,” she said with her eyes closed. “I just… I never do, so it’s not easy.” She adjusted how she was sitting so that she was no cross-legged and facing Harry. She set the sandwiches on the ground. Their knees were only an inch or two apart. She took another deep breath.

“Even from the first time it happened, I knew that something was off about it. I trusted this person, so fully, so unconditionally. But even then, after the first possession, I knew whatever had happened wasn’t ok.”

She breathed out and closed her eyes again. Harry looked down at her hands which were on her knees. Something in the back of his mind wanted to reach out and hold them.

“When possessions would happen, the world would become very fuzzy,” Ginny said. Her voice sounded like the words were caught in her chest and she was pushing them out with much effort. “I wouldn’t be able to see – everything would look darker and out of focus. Voices would be muffled. It was all like I was underwater. I remember feeling so confused – I could sometimes tell when I was moving, but I didn’t know where I was going, or what I was doing. The only clear sound was Tom’s voice as he brought me into his control.

“When I woke up, I would find myself in strange places. With things like – ” Ginny closed her eyes again “ – like blood on my hands. I didn’t know how it got there. I know now, it was from… Killing Hagrid’s chickens… And writing on the wall…”

Ginny’s gaze softened as her eyes were looking far away. Harry felt her cracking herself open in front of him, revealing details that maybe she had never revealed before. Although their friendship had been growing the past few months, it was in this moment that Harry truly saw her not as Ginny, Ron’s little sister – but as Ginny, the girl who had gone through something as terrifying as possession and survived it. Alone and quietly.  

He reached out before he could think better of it and took her hand.

She flinched, just slightly, but then her fingers wrapped around his. Her grip was strong.

“Harry, I don’t think you were possessed,” she said quietly, now looking directly into his eyes. “You remember the events in vivid detail, which is never what happened to me. You also were in the same place you started – your bed – there’s no way you were taken all the way to wherever Dad was and then sent back. Ron said you guys had only been asleep an hour or so – that’s not nearly enough time. And there was no blood on you.” Ginny paused looking at his hand in hers. There was indeed no blood. They looked back up at each other.

“You don’t believe me, do you,” Ginny said. Harry shrugged. Suddenly having Ginny’s hand in his felt uncomfortably close. He wanted to let go. “There’s no evidence at all that you were possessed – something happened, sure, but it wasn’t possession. You didn’t do this to my Dad. Voldemort did. And you just happened to witness it all. You saved him.”

She held his gaze for a few intense moments before leaning forward and pulling him into a hug. It felt so different than when Ava hugged him. Things with her were light, free, casual. There was a heaviness between Ginny and Harry – buckling under the things they both didn’t understand about one another. The things they knew were there but didn’t address. Things like Malfoy, or the Bane of Mercy.

Still, Harry hugged her back. In that moment, it didn’t matter what secrets they had from each other. Harry could set it aside for now.

After a few more days at Grimmauld place during which the Weasleys continued visiting Mr. Weasley in St. Mungo’s – Harry managed one trip once Ginny swore Ron wouldn’t be there – it was time for them to head back to school. Mr. Weasley was stable now, and slowly healing. Mrs. Weasley promised to send regular updates, and reassured her children multiple times that their dad was safe in the hospital, they needn’t worry.

The group travelled by the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade. When the bus arrived, Harry stumbled slightly as he stepped down, his legs still wobbly from being thrown about the past hour. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to wizarding travel.

Waiting for them at the roadside were Dobby, who was bundled in mismatched woolen socks, hats, and one too-large jumper, as well as a handful of other Hogwarts house-elves. Dobby beamed as Harry approached, dragging his trunk with him.

“Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is so glad to see you safely returned!”

“Hi, Dobby,” Harry managed with a small smile, before Dobby bowed low and began ushering the other elves to collect trunks.

The air was thin and biting, partially due to the lack of sun overhead. Thick grey clouds blocked any hope for warmth. The walk toward the castle began in silence. They followed a gravel path that twisted over the hills. Each step crunched sharply beneath their shoes, the only sound in the vast cold stillness.

Harry walked closest to Ginny, Fred and George just ahead of them, and then with Ron a few paces further ahead. Ron’s presence was like a pressure beside him – every moment he caught a flash of his red hair in the corner of his eye or heard him breathe out deeply as he climbed up a hill, Harry felt a heaviness set in around him.

This was the closest Harry had been to Ron since their argument. He had successfully avoided seeing him even from a distance at Grimmauld Place. Now, as they approached the towering silhouette which was Hogwarts, Harry knew he would need a new strategy for managing the fallout.

The other Weasleys were currently acting as unspoken buffers. Even they must have felt the tension, hanging in the air like a dense fog. Fred and George did not try to make a joke or otherwise change the mood. Instead, they marched solemnly in a misshapen formation to the castle.

“Oh, you’re back!” Hermione cried as the four clambered through the portrait hole into the familiar warmth of Gryffindor Tower. The parchment that had been in her lap spilled to the ground as she sprang from her seat by the fire and ran up to Ron, putting her arms around him first.

Ron hugged her back, somewhat awkwardly, and offered a half-smile. “Hey, Mione.”

Harry took this as his opportunity to slip past without a word and up into Gryffindor tower.

Hermione let go of Ron and gave Ginny a hug next.

“I’ve been so worried,” she breathed into her shoulder.

“So have we,” Fred said darkly.

“We’re going to go find Lee,” George said, before splintering off from the group with his twin.

“Wait where’s Harry?” Hermione asked looking around.

Ginny gestured towards the staircase to the boys dormitories.

Hermione sighed. “So, that hasn’t resolved then?”

“What did you tell her?” Ron asked, rounding on his sister.

“Just what I know,” Ginny said holding up her hands defensively. “You asked me to owl her and keep her up to date.”

“Yeah, about Dad,” Ron snapped. “Not about… that.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to explain it more for yourself then,” Ginny shrugged before walking over to Agatha who had just walked down the stairs, squealing with excitement when she caught sight of Ginny.

“Come on,” Hermione said gently to Ron, steering him back toward the fire. She didn’t pick up her fallen parchment. She sat again, folding her legs beneath her, and waited as Ron slumped into the armchair across from her.

Ron rested his elbows on his knees and dragged his hands down his face, exhaling loudly. His voice came out hoarse.

“I just… I can’t keep up with it anymore.”

Hermione leaned in. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve spent – we’ve spent – the past three months trying to be there for him. Always giving him the benefit of the doubt. Always stepping aside when he’s angry. Letting him blow up, walk off, snap at us. I keep thinking it’ll pass – ”His voice cracked slightly, and he coughed. “But it doesn’t.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand. I… I feel the same way sometimes, too.”

“It’s not fair the way he’s been acting,” Ron continued. “And when Dad got attacked, and he still wasn’t there for me. I needed him to be. And he wasn’t.”

“I know,” Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wish he could have been there for you too.”

“What does that mean about us being friends?” Ron said, more to the fire than to her. “If it’s always one way?”

Hermione took a long breath. “Sometimes, when someone is in pain, they just don’t know how to show up – even when they want to. That doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

“That’s not an excuse, though.” Ron sighed.

“It’s not,” Hermione agreed. “Maybe right now, neither of you have the capacity to help the other right now.”

“So, we’re not friends anymore,” Ron said slumping into his chair.

“It’s not about whether or not you’re friends. You’ve just had a really difficult experience that you need support on. Harry had a really difficult experience that he needs support on. You both need support, and you both don’t have the energy right now to be the ones giving that support.”

Ron covered his eyes again. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Ok,” Hermione said gently. She got up and switched to sitting on the arm of the armchair Ron occupied. She reached down and wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head towards her chest. She rested the top of her head on his, letting her curly brown hair drape over both of them.

“It’s all going to be ok.”

Harry sat in the boys dormitory, waiting for Ron to walk in so he could walk out. He had fully intended to begin sleeping in the common room again. However, for once he felt exhaustion taking over, and decided he couldn’t stay up any later. He kicked off his shoes, put on his pajamas, got into bed, and almost instantly fell asleep.

The first week back was a whirlwind.

Having missed nearly a full week of classes, Harry found himself immediately overwhelmed. Hermione’s reminders, though well-intentioned, came frequently and with increasing urgency. Every evening brought another list of assignments to catch up on, another textbook to read, another quill-tip breaking as he scribbled late into the night.

But it wasn’t just homework. Quidditch also had a new layer of stress.

The previous weekend, the Gryffindor team had been forced to forfeit their match. This was due to the fact that half of their squad (both beaters, the keeper, and seeker) had all been at Grimmauld Place. Angelina tried to conceal her disappointment (“You lot had to be there for your dad. No question at all.”), but her smile had been tight, and her eyes told a different story.

Instead of venting her frustration aloud, Angelina channeled it into training. And not gently.

Another weekly practice was added to the schedule. Drills were pushed harder. Scrimmages ran longer. Every missed goal or fumbled pass was met with a piercing whistle and a sharp critique.

The practices were exhausting for Harry, not just physically, but emotionally. Because now, there was Ron.

On the field, they remained distant – Ron stayed planted at the goalposts, while Harry flew drills up the far end with practice snitches. It allowed for a kind of forced separation, a buffer of motion and obligation that kept them from having to acknowledge each other. But the parts before and after practice, when there were no drills to run and nowhere to hide – that was when it hurt.

Ron always arrived early. Too early. By the time Harry reached the changing rooms, Ron would already be in full gear, helmet on, gloves tight, and jogging toward the pitch. He didn’t linger. He didn’t look back. At first, Harry told himself it was a blessing – less awkwardness, less tension. But as the days passed, the avoidance began to sting.

There were no moments of casual interaction. No small talk, no joking about the weather or Angelina’s latest tirade. Ron’s refusal to be around him left Harry with nothing – not even the opportunity to exist in the same space without conflict. And without that, how could they ever rebuild?

After practice, the pattern repeated. Ron would be gone by the time Harry landed. Sometimes Harry would spot his retreating figure at the edge of the pitch, already slipping back toward the castle.

And then it was just Harry. Alone on the pitch. His breath fogging in the evening air. His broom clutched tight in gloved hands. Watching his teammates filter out, laughing, nudging – tired, but together.

And him – alone.

One evening, Harry skipped dinner and went to the seventh floor instead. He paced back and forth past the blank stretch of wall, mind focused on exactly what he needed. On the third pass, a door melted into existence.

The familiar warmth of the DA training room greeted him - mats, cushions, shelves of books. They hadn’t had another DA meeting since the attack, though Harry imagined they would start up again soon (Hermione had been asking if they could). But this had not been exactly what he had needed when he had paced outside the room. Harry scanned the space, searching, until he spotted a new bracket of candles hanging on the wall. It was subtle, he doubted anyone else would notice its new presence when meetings started again.

Harry took out his wand and tapped at the base of the candle bracket. The candle bracket seemed to melt and stretch, the metal twisting into long canes until a fully formed door stood in front of Harry. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

The space beyond was unlike anything he’d ever seen before in Hogwarts. It looked almost like a Potions classroom – only older, darker, and more worn, like it hadn’t been used in decades. A single stone table stood in the center, bearing a cauldron already set over a brass burner. Nearby, shelves lined the walls, mostly empty, but fitted with racks for vials, flasks, measuring instruments, and other potions equipment.

Looking around, Harry realized that although the room had materialized everything he could need for potion brewing – it had not materialized ingredients. Perhaps this was something it was not capable of.

Crossing to the table, Harry reached into his bag and drew out the folded parchment he’d tucked away: the recipe for the Bane of Mercy. He read through it again, brow furrowing. Some of the ingredients were ones he had in his own potions kit – knotgrass, withered fig – others he thought he would likely find in the classroom’s storeroom - essence of aconite. ashwinder eggs. But there were two he knew he would not find in Hogwarts: lunaris magnetite and gold-threaded moss.

Harry sighed. Hopefully he would be able to get these two remaining ingredients from J. Pippin’s Potions in Hogsmeade. And thankfully, the next Hogsmeade trip was this coming weekend.

Reaching into his bag, Harry pulled out the phoenix feather he had recovered from Sirius’s kitchen. He placed it inside the empty ingredients cabinet. Checking the recipe again, he noted the more specific brewing instructions. Some of the ingredients needed to be stewed for five days. The lunaris magnetite needed to be added during a full moon. The whole thing would take nearly a month from start to finish, if he timed it right. And that would mean it would be ready before Christmas break.

"It's all going to be ok," Harry muttered, folding the recipe up and returning it to his bag.

"It's all going to be ok."

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry was sitting with Hermione and Ginny in the Great Hall having breakfast. The Hall was alive with the sound of clattering cutlery and tired chatter from the students who had woken up in time to eat. A soft, grey drizzle was falling from the enchanted ceiling, making the candles suspended above the house tables flicker more dimly than usual.

Harry had not slept well last night – as was true for most nights. The tiredness made him feel nauseous, his congealing scrambled eggs not becoming any more appetizing as he let them sit there. Not wanting to deal with more anxious looks from Hermione, he took a piece of toast and began to butter it.

Suddenly, a loud rustle of wings swept through the hall, followed by dozens of owls swooping in to deliver the morning post. A large tawny owl dropped the Daily Prophet right onto Hermione’s plate, sending bits of porridge everywhere.

Harry watched as she unfolded it quickly and scanned the front page. Her face looked grave.

“What is it?” Harry asked. Hermione hesitated,and then passed him the paper.

MYSTERIOUS MUTILATION IN MANCHESTER: TWO DEAD, NO SUSPECTS.

The article was short, tucked in under a photograph of Ministry officials milling outside a shattered apartment block. No picture of the victims. No names.

Harry felt a cold weight settle in his stomach.

“It's him,” he muttered under his breath, scanning the lines again. “Has to be.”

Hermione sighed. “I wish it wasn’t but… yes, I think so, too.”

“It makes me so fucking angry to see shit like this,” Harry said, flinging the newspaper back onto the table, the headlines facing all of them. “If the ministry would just acknowledge that Voldemort was out there then maybe things like this could be prevented –”

“Can you shut it?”

Harry turned and saw, seated two spots down the table from him, was Seamus. Harry’s jaw tightened.

“You’ve got absolutely no proof – you’re just kicking up rumors to scare people.”

“Seamus – ” Hermione tried to interject.

“No, go on, let him talk. What do you think of all of this then?” Harry said, picking up the newspaper again and throwing it at him.

“I think it could have been caused by a hell of a lot of things,” Seamus said, crumbling the newspaper and tossing it back. “You-Know-Who is dead, has been for 15 years. I know you like being the center of attention, Potter, but you already get the glory for killing him when you were a baby – just drop it!”

“This isn’t about me,” Harry’s voice was raised now, students from other tables were turning to look.

“The Prophet says otherwise,” Seamus said, crossing his arms. “And they don’t say anything about You-Know-Who being back, and neither has the Ministry.”

“Of course they haven’t!” Harry shouted, now standing, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “They’re too bloody scared to admit it! But just because you’re too thick to believe it doesn’t make it less true!”

“Ahem.”

Harry froze. He turned his head slowly, meeting Professor Umbridge’s gaze.

“Well, well,” she said. “Such volume, Mr. Potter. Such accusations. I do believe this qualifies as – what shall we call it? Oh yes telling lies, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry turned to face her, fury pulsing through his chest. Hermione shot him a desperate look, hoping he would not push her any farther. But it was too late, the damage had already been done.

“Detention, Mr. Potter. Tonight. Eight o’clock. My office. See you then.” She smiled sweetly before stepping past him, her pink kitten heels clicking against the stone.

Harry stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. Seamus turned away without a word, avoiding eye contact. Hermione gently tugged Harry’s sleeve.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry followed, but not before casting one last bitter look at the front page, the headline now warped by the creases in the paper.

In detention, Umbridge had already left a piece of parchment and the blood quill ready for him on the desk closest to the front. Harry sat down and without hesitating picked it up.

“What do you want me to write?” Harry asked, sure he already knew the answer.

“Same as before, I think,” Umbridge said, flashing a smile.

It had been over a month since he had last been in detention with Umbridge, and he had forgotten what the pain felt like. With each movement of his quill, he could feel the same carve into his skin with a stinging pain. And with each repetition of the phrase – I must not tell lies – the stinging worsened into deeper aching. The skin was inflamed and swollen. Every motion of his fingers sent another jolt of pain up his wrist.

Harry clenched his free hand and held his breath, doing whatever he could from letting out a gasp of pain. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

He didn’t look up even once, either. He could hear her raising a delicate pink china cup to her lips and setting back down its saucer ever so often. Otherwise, the room only echoed with the scratch of the quill.

By the time Umbridge called him to her desk to inspect his hand – maybe an hour or so later, it was hard to tell – Harry’s vision was swimming. Blood dripped on the floor as he walked over to her.

“Very nice,” she said grinning at the deep cuts to Harry’s hand. “It’s setting in well indeed. It’s always a good idea to have a bit of a touch up now and again.”

She let go of his hand and Harry backed away quickly. He reached down for his bag and was about to turn away without another word when –

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Potter.”

Harry froze. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, tomorrow,” Umbridge repeated. “And Sunday too. We can assess after then if it has been enough by then.”

“But tomorrow is the Hogsmeade trip – ”

“Oh no, no, no,” Umbridge shook her head, lips curling into a laugh. “Such behavior as you displayed today is not appropriate to be rewarded with something like an outing to Hogsmeade. You will be here, with me, tomorrow.”

Harry didn’t remember leaving Umbridge’s classroom. He was just out in the hall, almost running. His mind echoed with the consequences of Umbridge’s sentence, like a curse – No Hogsmeade.

No Hogsmeade meant no ingredients.

No ingredients meant no potion.

No potion meant…

Harry rubbed the back of his hand across his face, trying to swipe away the angry tears that were falling. He left bloody streaks across his face. He didn’t even try to change his shallow breathing, he felt his mind leaning into the pure terror of the situation.

Harry found himself on the seventh floor. Desperately, he walked past the blank stretch of wall – hoping beyond hope that the room would give him what he needed.

He walked past it once.

‘Please, I need the ingredients.’

Twice.

‘I need to fix this. I need to fix everything.’

A third time.

Give me what I need. Please – ’

The door appeared, and he shoved it open. He stumbled up to the candelabra mounted on the wall, tapped it with his wand, kicked the wall with impatience as the metal swirled and reconfigured.

Finally, the door materialized, he threw it open, ran to the shelves and –

They were still empty.

“No,” Harry said aloud, voice cracking.

He darted from shelf to shelf, his fingers fumbling across every surface. All he found were empty vials and jars, waiting to be filled. That and the single phoenix feather. Nothing else.

Harry took a few steps back away from the shelves and then slowly sank with his back against the wall. Harry began to tremble.

‘He’s going to die.’

The thought wasn’t a whisper now. It was a scream. Inside his skull. Over and over.

‘He’s going to die, and it’s your fault.’

Harry’s already ragged breathing quickened still. He took shallow gasps, unable to pull in enough air. He gripped at his chest, hands finding his tie and yanking at it desperately to loosen it. His heart thudded. A ringing filled his ears. He felt the ground seemingly opening up beneath him.

‘I promised them. I told them I could help. I said I was going to help.’

He gripped his hair with both hands, fingers curling in and tugging hard. The pain grounded him for a second, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He let out a strangled sob as he tried to yank again, but it didn’t stop the thoughts raging through his mind.

‘I promised. I promised. I promised.’

Harry began rubbing at his eyes again, the tangy smell of blood reminding him of the cuts on the back of his hand. Harry brought his hands away and looked to the back of his hand. Blood was smeared across his knuckles, the skin raw and and barely scabbed, the message still clear: I must not tell lies.

The words sent a jolt of panic through him – had he lied to the Williams? Yes, he effectively had – Harry began scraping his nails against the back of his hand. Viciously he tore at his skin, pressing as hard as he could. The cuts immediately reopened. Blood welled up again. Harry didn’t stop. Again and again, he threw all of his effort into attacking this part of him. This part of him he wanted to escape so badly. Out of this feeling. Out of this body. Out of this reality. Out of everything.

Harry stopped, and look at his hand. The words were still clearly there, now just the rest of his hand was red with inflammation too. He shook as he stared at his hand.

‘It’s not enough,’ Harry thought. ‘I’m not enough. He’s going to die. And it’s my fault.’

Tears began to fall again. He gasped in between sobs, the sight of his injured hand blurring before him.  Harry looked up around the room, almost as if to ask it to please reconsider – please provide him with what he needed. That was when he spotted it.

On the table, there was a knife. It was silver, small, meant for making precise cuts for preparing potion ingredients.

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Harry pushed himself onto his knees and reached up. His fingers closed around the handle. The metal was cool and light in his grip – it felt disturbingly tangible and real in a moment where nothing else did.

He knelt there a moment, knife in hand, staring at the back of his hand. He placed his hand on the floor, so the words faced him. He then took the knife, and brought it down with a firm slash.

The pain was far more acute than that caused by the scratching. He let out a gasp, then gritted his teeth as he went to cut at the words again. There was no way that he would be able to remove them entirely, all he could do was cross them out. Anything to try to distance himself from his failure.

Thick lines of red scored through the letters now. They were angry and uneven. It no longer read clearly, but the shape was still there beneath the mess he’d made.

The fury drained from him just as quickly as it had surged. Harry blinked at the blood pooling in the grooves of his hand, still holding the knife. He felt sick. Yet he also felt himself floating away. Drifting off from himself, from his shame, from his being a disappointment.

Harry fell back against the wall again, his breath deepening and slowing. He stayed there, holding his bleeding hand, enjoying the fuzziness that the pain brought on.

After quite some time, Harry looked down at his hand and realized he needed to do something about it. He went into the DA training room to the medical kit Hermione had made sure to create in case of injury during a meeting. He unwound gauze and medical tape, wrapping everything up as thoroughly as he could. He wiped off his face and scourgified his robes of blood.

Once he was done, Harry left the room of requirement.

The knife still in his pocket.

He had hoped to head directly to bed, but he should have known Hermione would be waiting for him.

Her face tightened the moment she saw his bandaged hand. “Again?” she asked softly, brows drawing together.

“Yeah,” Harry said shrugging. “The usual.”

“You really should tell – ”

“Please, Hermione, not now,” Harry cut in. He then let out an exasperated sigh, sinking into an armchair next to her. He felt exhausted from the evenings events.

Harry rubbed his temples. Images of Ava floated to the front of his mind – her hopeful eyes when he had said he could help, the strength of the hug she had given him after. ‘We’re so lucky to have met you, Harry.’  Harry imagined her face falling, her shoulders dropping, the hope he had sparked in her eyes vanishing as he told her he had failed. That there was no potion. That there was nothing he could do.

“Do you have plans for Hogsmeade tomorrow?” Hermione asked carefully. “I thought maybe we could go to the Three Broomsticks. Just us.”

Harry’s eyes slid toward her, then away. Her voice had been light, but he heard the effort behind it. She was offering him a bridge to cross. An olive branch.

“Can’t go,” Harry said gruffly. “More detention.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Hermione said gently.

There was a pause. The fire popped.

“If you’d like, I can stay behind with you,” she offered. “I always have some studying to catch up on. Or I could go just for a quick trip, get some sweets from Honeydukes and some butterbeers and we can have them here?”

Harry looked up sharply. His heart beat faster – not at the thought of sweets, but at the offer she had unknowingly made.

“Could you pick up some other stuff too?” he asked, leaning forward

“Yeah, of course,” Hermione said, instantly, eyes brightening. She was clearly relieved he hadn’t withdrawn completely. “What was it that you needed?”

“Some potions ingredients, I can give you the galleons for it.”

“Sure, I can get them – what do you need?”

“Lunaris magnetite and gold-threaded moss.”

“Oh wow,” Hermione said taken aback. “Those are quite rare ingredients – what are you brewing?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Harry said quickly. “It’s an assignment from Dumbledore. He didn’t give me the details yet.”

Hermione tilted her head, suspicion flickering briefly behind her eyes. She looked like she wanted to ask many questions – she shifted in her seat and chewed on the inside of her cheek. But she held back.

“I can get them,” she said brightly.

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Harry said, yawning, the tension in his shoulders collapsing into a heavy fatigue.

As Harry climbed the stairs up to the boys dormitories after wishing her a goodnight, Harry felt guilty. She had looked so pleased to help – so willing to do what he asked without even knowing why, maybe even hopeful that this was a step back to how things used to be. Would she help if she knew what it was for? To help Mr. Williams, yes. But Harry doubted she would agree to the cost.

'It’s my life to give,' Harry thought as he got into bed. 'This is the right thing to do.'

Chapter Text

The next day, Hermione was true to her word. Harry went to another detention with Umbridge – she had looked sickeningly pleased to see how battered his hand looked, she must know it wasn’t just from her quill. Once she finally let him go, he had stopped by the Room of Requirement to rebandage his hand and to begin setting up to brew the potion.

Lighting the fire under his cauldron, Harry paused before pouring water and leech juice in.

“I can do this,” Harry muttered to himself, his grip tightening around the glass bottle he was holding. “I can do this. No Snape breathing down my neck. I can do this.”

It felt like a momentous occasion. Every time he took an action that brought him closer to the moment where the transfer would happen, he felt it become a more tangible reality. One he still wasn’t sure he was ready for. One he knew he had to be ready for, regardless.

Referencing the potion recipe one last time, Harry took a deep breath and then carefully poured the water into the cauldron, followed by the leech juice. It began to simmer as he chopped knotgrass on the workbench nearby. He scraped the cuttings into the cauldron before adding a few shakes of tincture of thyme. He had done everything he could for now.

He double-checked the fire was still going under the cauldron, then locked up his potion room. The door warped back into the candelabra. Harry then returned to the common room, impatiently watching the sun tilting downward in the sky.

Hermione returned early from Hogsmeade, the two ingredients bound up in brown paper and twine. Harry opened them eagerly to make sure they were real. There was the smooth black stones of lunaris magnetite, glinting in places where it split open to reveal glinting crystals, and there was the gold-threaded moss, heaps of it, bright gold threads spiraling around the deep forest green.

“I hope there’s something you like here,” Hermione said, pouring from her bag brightly packaged Honeydukes sweets. If Harry were honest, he would have told her he wasn’t very much in the mood for sitting by the fire with her and indulging – he would much rather have run to the Room of Requirement that moment and continued working on the Bane of Mercy. But, he felt like he owed it to her.

Hermione passed Harry a bottle and together they cracked open their butterbeers. Hermione raised her bottle towards Harry, and he clinked his bottle to hers. Harry took a sip of the butterbeer, the warmth of the liquid instantly heating his cheeks. Hermione picked up a chocolate frog and began unwrapping it.

“How was Hogsmeade?” Harry offered, breaking the silence.

“It was quite nice, yeah,” Hermione said mildly. “I think by the next trip there will be snow on the ground. I always love Hogsmeade under snow.”

“Same,” Harry said, tipping the rest of his bottle back. Hermione smiled and popped another bottle open for him.

Maybe it was the butterbeers, or the fact that the ingredients were now safely in his possession, but Harry felt relaxed in a way that he hadn’t since before the attack on Mr. Weasley had struck. Their conversation became more natural. Soon they were opening up a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, daring each other to eat the more questionable ones.

“All right,” Hermione said, holding up a murky greyish-brown bean. “This one could be roast beef… or maybe old shoe.”

Harry leaned in, squinting. “Definitely old shoe. You should go first.”

She popped it into her mouth and chewed – then made a face. “Ugh. Definitely not roast beef.”

Harry laughed. “What’s it taste like?”

“Like someone’s forgotten trainers after a Quidditch match.”

“Delicious,” Harry said, reaching into the packet. “Okay, what do you think – green apple?”

“Or bogey,” Hermione pointed out. Harry grimaced. “Go on, I just ate old shoe!”

Harry hesitated and then tossed it in. A second later, he gagged.

Hermione dissolved into laughter, nearly spilling her butterbeer.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, coughing.

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” she giggled, wiping tears from her eyes.

“What’s got you both so worked up?” Ginny asked, having just entered the common room. Her cheeks were red from the cold. Agatha was beside her, unwinding her scarf.

“Just a little friendly competition,” Harry said. “You in?”

“Like I would turn down a challenge,” Ginny said, picking up the packet and popping a blue bean into her mouth.

“Brave,” Harry said as she chewed.

She shrugged. “Blueberry pie.”

“Seriously?” Harry laughed. “How do you get so lucky?”

She shrugged again and lowered herself to the floor so she was closest to the fire. She crossed her legs and patted the ground, gesturing for Agatha to take a seat too. Agatha hesitated and then sat down.

“Would you guys like a butterbeer?” Hermione asked kindly.

“Yeah, definitely,” Ginny said. “Thanks. Agatha doesn’t like them though, do you?”

Agatha shook her head, blushing. Harry realized in that moment he hadn’t actually heard Agatha speak before, despite seeing her trail Ginny ever since her first year.

“Probably don’t want to join this game then, do you?” Harry said light-heartedly.

Agatha shook her head again, accepting a cauldron cake from Ginny instead.

For the next hour, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny passed around the packet of Beans, cheering each other on as they sampled the candy. Agatha looked on, horrified, but by the end she had warmed up to Harry and Hermione, and was laughing, too (“No, Ginny, I’m still not going to eat one!”). Once the last bean had been eaten (Ginny got marmalade, to her delight), Hermione leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in ages,” she said. She looked to Harry, their eyes meeting. Harry felt a small sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was all the sugar. More likely it was the hidden potion room in the Room of Requirement.

“We should make this a weekly thing,” Ginny said, leaning forward so her elbows were on the ground, chin in her palm. “Group suffering. Builds character.”

“I think we get enough group suffering, don’t we?” Agatha asked. “We have classes with Umbridge twice a week.”

“That’s actually a good reminder,” Hermione said. “Harry, when do you want to start DA again?”

“Maybe next week,” he said, taking another swig of the last butterbeer.

“I can send out a message on the Galleons,” Hermione said, sweeping up the wrappers into the empty Bertie Bott’s box. “You don’t have Quidditch on Wednesdays right?”

“Nope,” Harry said, resting the bottle against his cheek.

“Then let’s do it,” Ginny said, clapping her hands together. “DA meeting next Wednesday.”

Harry watched on as Ginny helped Hermione tidy up all of the bits of rubbish they had left scattered about. He was suddenly reminded of the night he had seen Ginny in the astronomy tower with Malfoy. Was she trustworthy enough to have involved with the DA? Harry shook his head and finished off the last of his butterbeer.

She had to be. Whatever happened that night, she had to be.

…Right?

Ava –

How are you? Is school going well still? How did your French test go? I’m so glad I don’t have to do things like study foreign languages. Not that taking magical courses is any easier. Next summer, I’ll show you my books. I bet you wouldn’t be able to drag yourself through a History of Magic textbook either.

The potion for your dad is going well so far. Everything is working the way it’s supposed to. I’m being really careful with it. I wish I could finish it faster. I’m sure you guys are having an even tougher time waiting. Tell your dad thanks for being patient, and that I am still on track to be done by Christmas break.

I hope your mum’s holding up alright. And that you are too.

Write back soon. Tell me something about your school. Or your cat. Or anything, really. Don’t worry about being boring, I like to hear from you.

– Harry

November seemed to blow away as quickly as the last of the autumn leaves, the castle growing colder and darker with each passing day. Frost clung to the inside edges of the windows in the mornings, and even the Great Hall fires seemed to do little to banish the chill that crept in.

Harry was grateful when he no longer had to go to detentions with Umbridge, and vowed that he would do his best to keep his anger under control. He couldn’t spend those hours wasted when he had so much to do.

Quidditch practices had reached their peak in the week before their match against Ravenclaw. A knot in his stomach had formed at the beginning of the match, when the teams had approached each other for captains to shake hands. Harry had been avoiding Cho Chang ever since Cedric’s death. Flying through the stingingly cold air, his robes whipping and teeth chattering, he did his best to not be aware of how strangely close in proximity they were to each other now as they chased after the snitch.

Ron, meanwhile, had been an absolute disaster in goal. The Ravenclaw chasers had torn through him like he wasn’t even there. If it hadn’t been for the defensive efforts of Fred and George, they might’ve lost entirely. In the end, Harry caught the snitch just in time, their score nudging ahead by only 50 points. The cheers from the stands had been loud as Harry landed, but he didn’t feel much like celebrating – just sighing with relief that it was over.

With a match no longer looming, Harry turned his focus toward the things that required his full attention. Most importantly, the Bane of Mercy. Babysitting the potion turned into a ritual of sorts, occupying much of Harry’s free time. It seemed like he always needed to be at the cauldron, giving a gentle stir, controlling the temperature. The work required him to be exact, patient, and alert. Harry suspected that even Hermione would have had difficulty brewing this potion with how finicky it was – one minute it was to be at 153 degrees, the next, 67. Sometimes four stirs to the left, sometimes three and three-quarter stirs to the right.

Along with the sheer difficulty of working on the potion came the added challenge of working on it without anyone knowing. Harry tried to do things like hang back after DA meetings in order to work on it. Hermione, however, would insist on helping him tidy up the Room of Requirement, and then wanted to walk back to Gryffindor Tower with him.

So, Harry began sneaking out at night. Harry did his best to check the Marauder’s map only for whether or not Filch was nearby, not where Ginny was. The few times he couldn’t help but sneak a glance, she had been in her bed. Harry felt guilty for not trusting her, for the little thoughts of suspicion about her and Malfoy that would enter his mind. He didn’t do anything about it, however. Although she had let down her wall a bit during their conversation at Grimmauld Place, it had remained firmly intact ever since. Harry had kept his up, too.

After about two weeks of creeping through the halls to the Room of Requirement, it was finally time to divide the potion in two. One portion, what would be Harry’s, was to completely cool before ashwinder eggs were added (he had been able to snag these as well as mandrake root and essence of aconite from the potion storeroom during one particularly chaotic lesson). It had taken several more days for the potion to reach a safe enough temperature that the eggs could be added. Harry had to chisel them out of the block of ice they were encased in before he ladled them in gently.

The other portion of potion, Mr. Williams, was to continue on a low heat. Harry had skinned the withered figs more precisely than he had ever prepared anything in potion’s class before, and then added them to poach in the brew. Harry found his hands shaking as he set them into the potion, reading and rereading the recipe as well as his notes. He measured the temperature of the potion before and after each step he took, scratching it down in on another piece of parchment as he went.

The time spent with his mind so focused on creating the Bane of Mercy was a welcome distraction from the ever-more cavernous split between him and Ron. After being unable to sleep in the common room the first night back, Harry had decided to keep sleeping in his own bed. He didn’t want Ron to feel like he had won something. It was really only at night once he had gotten back from the Room of Requirement, staring up at his bed’s canopy, listening to Ron’s deep snores, did Harry think about him at all. ‘Not everything is about you Harry.’

‘If only he knew,’ Harry thought as he tried to fall asleep. ‘If only he knew how little everything was about me.’

He tried to stay on top of his schoolwork, mostly to prevent Hermione from noticing anything different and becoming suspicious about those ingredients he had had her fetch. He kept to the same pattern he had been maintaining throughout the autumn of spending much of his (very little) remaining free time in the library, at the table in the back corner. Ginny also continued to visit, keeping conversations focused on things like her muggle studies homework, which Harry was still helping with.

That’s why the day when she brought things up, Harry wasn’t expecting it.

“I know what’s going on,” Ginny said, looking over her dark green quill. Harry felt his stomach lurch. For a split second, he thought she meant the potion.

“What?”

She tapped her quill a few times, then put it down. “You and Ron.”

“Oh,” Harry said, doing his best not to roll his eyes. He returned to the Charms essay he had been working on.

“One of you is going to have to give in,” she continued, trying to catch his eye. “You can’t keep going like this forever.”

“If he wants to talk to me about it, no one’s stopping him.”

“You know how stubborn he is,” Ginny said. “Somehow even more than you.”

“Hey,” Harry said, frowning and looking up.

She smiled slightly, but remained firm. “He’s not going to be the one to say something first.” Ginny paused. “He shouldn’t have said what he did at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry dropped his eyes again, jaw tightening. The words echoed through his head again. Ginny reached across the table and placed a hand lightly over his. Harry flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“He was being a prat,” she said quietly. “We were all stressed about Dad, but he shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

They didn’t say anything for a while. There were only soft sounds of people shuffling amongst the books several bookcases over, the distance scratching of quills on parchment.

“But,” Ginny said, pulling her hand away. “You’ve also been acting different this year.”

Harry leaned back, crossing his arms, looking down.

“A lot has happened,” she went on. Her voice was gentle, but insistent. “But it’s not excuse, in the same way it isn’t for Ron. You need to be more aware of how you react to things, of how it affects people. You’re not the only person getting hurt.”

Harry’s throat felt tight. She didn’t understand either.

“It was really scary, what happened to Dad,” Ginny said. “It’s maybe the most scared I’ve ever been in my life. He could have died.”

“I know,” Harry said sharply, shame creeping up his chest.

“I know you do, logically,” she said. “And it’s not about who had worse – you or Ron – in that moment. It’s still hard, even though Dad’s ok now. It doesn’t change how scary everything was then. I don’t think any of us are going to feel comfortable again, at least for a long time. We’ve all been trying to cope in our own ways. And you and Ron should be trying to do it, together.”

Harry and Ginny held each other’s gazes for a few moments.

“And even when it’s difficult,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t stop trying.”

Ginny’s words stuck with Harry in the coming days. He knew she was right, that he had been in the wrong, too. And he also understood that Ron hadn’t been himself in that moment when they had fought. In truth, Harry also missed Ron deeply. The reality of things was that if he wanted things to change, it was just as much his responsibility as it was Ron’s. And so he would do his part.

Harry gathered up the courage towards the end of Quidditch practice. Knowing that Ron would dash of the field, change quickly, and retreat to Gryffindor Tower, Harry saved time by not going to put away his broom or Quidditch leathers. Instead, he waited for Ron outside the door out of the locker room. Sure enough, before anyone else, Ron opened the door halted mid-step at the sight of Harry.

“Hi,” Harry said. Ron didn’t move.

“Can we, er, talk?” Harry asked, shifting his broom in his hands. Ron looked over his shoulder, as if considering heading back inside until Harry had left. But then, after a long pause, he nodded. Together, they returned back out to the pitch, taking the steps up to the stands and sitting on one of the benches overlooking the field.

They sat in silence, the large torches that lit up the Quidditch pitch at night flickering in the wind. Neither of them looked at each other.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Look… I’ve been a bit of a git.”

Ron didn’t say anything at first. Then, “Yeah, you have.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Right. Well. I’m trying to say sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix months of you disappearing on me.”

Harry bristled. He forced himself to keep his voice level. “I didn’t come up to you to have a fight.”

“Then what did you come up to me for?” Ron snapped, finally turning to face him. “You haven’t spoken to me in weeks.”

“You haven’t spoken to me either,” Harry said defensively. “If you cared enough – ”

“Oh, fuck you, Harry,” Ron barked. “I spent all of September and October caring enough. I tried. You’re the one who didn’t care enough to pull his head out of his arse long enough to care about someone other than yourself.”

Harry’s eyes blazing, he jumped to his feet. “You’re fucking kidding me – I literally started this conversation with an apology!”

“You should have apologized as soon as the argument happened,” Ron shouted, getting to his feet too. “Not weeks later!”

“What in Merlin’s name do you want from me?” Harry shouted.

“I wanted you to talk to me!” Ron shouted back.

“I’M TRYING TO! RIGHT NOW!”

“AND I’M TELLING YOU, IT’S TOO FUCKING LATE.”

Both of them were breathing heavily, clouds of fog appearing in front of them in the cold. Harry snatched up his Firebolt from the ground where he had put it down.

“You know what? The only one being self-centered here is you,” he said, voice shook with fury. “Don’t expect me to try to talk to you again. I’m fucking done with this. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Of course you do!” Ron shouted as Harry marched down the steps back to the field. “Famous Harry Potter, always busy saving the day! Wouldn’t want you to be held up with something like my dad almost fucking dying!”

Harry kept walking, not looking back.

“You didn’t even ask if I was okay! Not once!” Harry heard Ron’s words echo, as he slammed the locker room door closed behind him.

Chapter Text

Harry’s mind was so overloaded with emotion, there weren’t any thoughts anymore. The only word that could really summarize how he felt was despair. Ron and him had had falling outs before, sure, but this? Nothing like this. They had always been able to reconcile, to move forward from whatever it misunderstanding they had.

But now there wasn’t a way forward. He had said it was too late.

Harry hurried across the Entrance Hall, not exactly sure where he was going. He had never felt so lost in his life. Where did he belong?

No more summers at the Burrow. No more sweaters knit by Mrs. Weasley. No more Ron.

Everything had vanished from him. The people who made the wizarding world home were no longer his. All taken away as he was mid-apology.

Harry’s feet brought him to the Gryffindor Tower, though he had no intention of staying there that night. Maybe not ever again. As he entered and passed the other Gryffindors, he felt disconnected from the sounds and sights around him. Everything felt unreal. A blur of Hermione stood up, was asking him something, but Harry pushed past. He went into his room, stuffed the few things he had lying about into his trunk, and dragged it out.

“Harry?” Hermione called after him. “Where are you going?”

When he didn’t stop walking, she followed him, out of the common room and into the corridor. She kept saying his name, wouldn’t leave him alone.

“What’s going on? Harry! Talk to me!”

When she kept matching his pace, he stopped and wrapped his invisibility cloak around him. She dashed forward as he disappeared under the cloak. She called out his name. She started to cry.

Harry couldn’t move his trunk while staying underneath the cloak, so he sat down, and watched as Hermione sobbed. She walked past him, tears pouring down her face as she kept shouting his name. She looked lost, too.

It felt far too long, but eventually, she gave up. She sniffled as she ran back down the hall to Gryffindor Tower, maybe hoping he would come back. He wasn’t going to, though. He pulled the cloak off and continue on his way to the Room of Requirement.

Once inside, Harry dropped his trunk heavily to the ground. He collapsed on to the floor of the empty training space, kneeling. He was abandoned. He was alone. He was unwanted. He didn’t want himself either. He didn’t want to exist anymore.

Without much thought, he began to scratch his hand. There were no cuts to irritate this time, however, and there was barely any pain. He shoved his sleeve up, frustration spilling over.

‘Let me out’ he thought desperately as he dug his nails into his arm. It was easier for him to scratch here – the flesh on his arm was softer and he was able to scrape through the first few layers of skin easily. There wasn’t any blood though.

Harry twisted around and pushed open his trunk. He rummaged through it until he found the bundled up old t-shirt of Dudley’s. The one he had wrapped the knife in.

He pulled it out.

He stared at it.

Ron heard the locker room door slam. The pitch went eerily quiet. The only sounds were that of the thin branches rustling in the late-November wind, and his own heavy breathing. He lowered himself back to the bench and put his head in his hands.

When Harry had been next to him, talking to him, after weeks of not a single word, it had been so easy to unleash everything on him. All of the anger, the frustration, the hurt – it had all come out at once. But now, with Harry gone, the fiery emotions had vanished with him. Now all was left was a hollow sadness.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Ron muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I went too far. Even if there was truth there, I went way too far.”

He sat on the bench until his teeth began to chatter from the cold. He pushed himself to his feet, his whole body feeling heavy, and started the long walk back to the castle. With every step he took, the regret of his actions that evening grew. Why hadn’t he just accepted the apology? He was so sick and tired of the distance between them, and yet he had still chosen to widen it rather than bridge it.

By the time he climbed through the portrait hole, he had already formed a dozen different versions of an apology he could give to Harry. Ron looked around the common room. It wasn’t very full – a group of second years were on the floor near the portrait hole, playing gobstones. They looked up at Ron and then quickly lowered that gazes and spoke in hushed tones to one another. Fred and George were seated at a table by a window, parchment and envelopes between them, heads together in conversation.

“Have you seen Harry?” Ron asked, approaching his brothers.

Fred looked up. “No, why?”

“You haven't seen him at all?” Ron pressed.

“No,” George shook his head. “Not since practice. We went to the kitchens. Only just got back.”

Ron raked his fingers through his hair again, then turned and raced up the steps to the boys dormitory, taking two at a time. He shoved open the door. The room was empty.

Harry’s trunk was gone.

“Shit,” Ron muttered. He spun around and went back downstairs. Just as he hit the landing, Hermione came in through the portrait hole. Her face was red, her eyes puffy, her cheeks wet.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, her voice raw and shaky, nearing Ron.

“Where’s Harry?” Ron asked.

“What did you say to him?” She pressed, her voice rising slightly.

“Where’s Harry?” Ron repeated, his voice also raising.

“I don’t know where he went,” Hermione whispered. More tears fell. “He looked devastated. What did you say to him.”

Ron didn’t respond. Hermione pursed her lips, trying to stop them from trembling.

“Ron.” Her voice broke as she said his name.

Still, he didn’t respond. Hermione let out a sound of exasperation, and left the common room, heading up the stairs to her dormitory.

For a few moments, Ron stood in the middle of the room, before slowly stepping towards an empty chair by the fire.

“Ron?” Fred said, getting up from his seat and moving towards him.

Ron shook his head, face blank.

“Did you two have another argument?” George asked, joining Fred.

Ron paused, and then nodded.

There was a long silence.

“Talk to us,” George said.

Ron didn’t look at either of them. His gaze was still fixed on the flames. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Doesn’t seem like there’s nothing,” George said, voice low and even. “You look like you’ve been punched in the stomach.”

“I might as well have been,” Ron muttered. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I said some stuff I shouldn’t’ve.”

“Worse than Grimmauld Place?” Fred asked.

Ron put his face in his hands. “I’m not sure if what I said was worse but… he was trying to apologize. For Grimmauld Place. And I – I lost it. I told him it was too late. That he didn’t care. That he’s only ever thinking about himself. That he didn’t care about Dad.

Fred and George exchanged a look.

Fred inhaled slowly. “Do you believe that? That he didn’t care about Dad?”

“No,” Ron said quietly. “No, I know he did – that he does. I was just angry. So much happened, even before the attack on Dad, so much we haven’t talked about still. And it all came out at once.”

Ron paused, and then looked to his brothers. “He said he was never going to talk to me again.”

“He probably doesn’t mean that,” George said cautiously.

“I dunno,” Ron mumbled, shaking his head. “It didn’t seem like he didn’t mean it.”

“This isn’t some random bloke you got in argument with in the Hog’s Head,” Fred pointed out. “This is Harry. He’s been in your life going on five years now. He’s practically family. And siblings fight.”

“They don’t disown each other, though,” Ron muttered. “I should have accepted his apology.”

“Maybe, yeah,” the twins said in unison.

Ron rubbed at his face. “His trunk is gone.”

Fred and George both raised their eyebrows. The three sat in silence, the fire crackling between them.

Eventually, Ron spoke. “I think I’d like some time alone, if that’s ok.”

Fred and George glanced at each other and then nodded.

“Alright,” Fred said, getting up. “We’ll check-in tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Ron mumbled. The twins gathered up the parchment they had been working on before and headed up the stairs. Ron watched the fire dance about in the fireplace until it was just dull embers. He didn’t go to bed that night. He waited, but Harry didn’t come back through the portrait hole.

Ginny entered the Great Hall the next morning to find an unusual sight. Ron and Hermione were sitting at opposite ends of the Gryffindor table. Both of them had dark expressions, and neither were chatting with anyone else around them.

Ginny approached Hermione, as she was the closest.

“Did you guys have a row?” she asked quietly, sliding onto the bench beside her.

“Not exactly,” Hermione said with a sigh, moving the chopped fruit and yoghurt about in her bowl. Ginny glanced up the table back to Ron, who was tearing apart bits of toast.

“What happened?”

Hermione didn’t answer right away. She reached for her cup of tea and held it up to her mouth, but didn’t drink from it. “I don’t know exactly. I wasn’t there. Neither of them will tell me what happened, but I’m pretty sure something happened after Quidditch practice.”

Ginny felt a heaviness drop in her stomach. “Where is Harry now?”

Hermione sighed again. “I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure he spent the night in Room of Requirement.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well last night he left with his trunk,” Hermione set her tea down again. She hadn’t drunk from it. “And as far I know, he didn’t come back. The only place I could think he might be was the Room of Requirement. So, I went this morning to try and check if he was there, and the door wouldn’t open for me. So. He probably is.”

“He can’t stay in there forever,” Ginny said, brows furrowing.

“He might try to,” Hermione muttered. “I’m so fed up with both of them. This happened last year too, I always end up being stuck between the two of them.”

Ginny paused. She almost mentioned her conversation with Harry, but held back. She was pretty sure he would rather that he didn’t share what they had spoken about.

“I’m worried,” Hermione admitted. Ginny glanced at her. “They’ve fought before. He’s slept in the common room before. He’s never up and left.”

“He probably needs space,” Ginny responded, though she too felt nervous.

"I don't know," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I feel like I've been staying out of it, and it's only gotten worse. Maybe I should try and talk to him again..."

Ginny didn't say anything as she buttered some toast. She did not think this was a wise idea, but Hermione was staring up at the ceiling, tapping her finger against the table, completely preoccupied. Ginny felt like there wasn't much she could do to fully deter Hermione from intervening.

“Should I go to McGonagall?”

“Not yet,” Ginny said firmly - that was something she would stop Hermione from doing. “Let’s see if he shows up for classes today, and then go from there.”

He was late, but Harry did eventually appear in Greenhouse 5, slipping through the doors just before Professor Sprout went to close them.

“Just in time, Mr. Potter,” she said brightly. “Take a seat.”

Harry didn’t look around as he made his way to the far back of the classroom, sitting down next to Ernie MacMillan.

The tables were lined with pots of fanged geraniums – blue and purple flowers which looked a bit like cabbages, except for the snout of sharp teeth protruding from the center. Fortunately, Harry and Ernie’s table included an array of younger sprouts, which were still teething.

Once Professor Sprout gave the ok, the class erupted in chattering as they set to work. Together, Harry and Ernie grabbed large bags of fertilizer and brought them back to their table. Harry waited with a trowel in hand as Ernie tipped fertilizer around the different plants. As they worked, Harry barely registered Ernie’s stream of commentary about his studying strategies.

“I’ve started color coding all of my O.W.L.s revisions,” Ernie said, dumping out more fertilizer. “If I get a practice question wrong, I mark the notes on that topic in yellow. And if I feel like something is more theory focused, I mark it in blue. Everything that I need to practice – like wand techniques, or potion ingredient identification – that gets marked with red. You should really try it, Harry, it’s highly effective.”

Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t care about O.W.L.s revisions. He didn’t care about the plants in front of him either, if he was being honest, but working on them gave him something to do with his hands. He glanced up from the geraniums and took note that Ron and Hermione were on opposite sides of the classroom, Ron working with Neville and Hermione with Parvati.

He held his breath when the bell rang, sure Ron would keep his distance and hoping Hermione would do the same. She did not. He tried to get out the door quickly as to not get cornered, but the room filed out slowly and she caught up to him before he’d even cleared the doorway.

“Harry,” she said, catching his sleeve.

Harry jerked his arm away.

“Please don’t ignore me,” she said, trailing close behind him. “You don’t have to tell me everything – ”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said gruffly, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

“But if you just share a little bit,” Hermione said anxiously. “Maybe I can help.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – ”

“Hermione,” Harry said, stopping in his tracks and turning around. “It was a stupid fight. It’s done now.”

“You know that’s not true,” Hermione said, her voice sounded thick with emotion.

“Yeah, it is,” Harry said bitterly. “Ron made it pretty clear last night.”

“Harry, please – ”

“I tried to apologize to him.” Harry snapped. “I tried to apologize to him, and he told me to fuck off. I don’t care what anyone else thinks, I’m done.”

“You’re both upset,” Hermione said, her eyes brimming with tears. “It hurts me so much to see you both stuck like this, at odds with one another. It doesn’t have to be like this – ”

“Tell that to him,” Harry snarled.

She took a step closer, her voice shaking. “I was so anxious last night when you didn’t come back. Ron wouldn’t talk to me either. I’ve been worried sick watching the two people I care about most grow further and further apart. I’m trying  my best to keep you both together.”

Hermione swallowed. “Please, Harry, just talk to him – ”

“That’s what I bloody did yesterday!” Harry said, his voice raised. He spun around, fists clenched tightly around the strap of his bag, and continued on his way to Transfiguration. Hermione was left behind, tears sliding down her cheeks.

After a grueling double block of potions, Harry left the dungeons as quickly as possible. No one fortunately chased after him this time as he walked up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. The scent of mashed potatoes and smoked ham wafted towards him from the open doors of the Great Hall, but it didn’t stir an appetite. He just wanted to be alone.

When he reached the seventh floor and turned the final corner, Harry stopped abruptly. Ginny was leaning against the wall in front of the Room of Requirement. Her arms were crossed, her bag at her feet. They both stared at each other for a moment, neither saying anything to the other.

“I need help with my muggle studies essay,” Ginny said.

Harry blinked.

“We’re covering muggle parliament,” Ginny continued, stepping away from the wall and picking up her bag. “I don’t get it at all.”

“I’m not sure how helpful I’m going to be,” Harry said, his mouth felt dry.

“Do you mind if we work on it in here?” Ginny asked, nodding her head towards the blank wall. “The library has gotten pretty drafty recently.”

Harry hesitated, searching her face. She showed the same firm expression she had the other times she made executive decisions about what they were going to do. It didn’t feel like Harry had much of an option but to concede.

“Alright,” he said.

“Wicked,” Ginny replied, and began pacing in front of the wall. A door unfolded from the stone wall. Harry followed her inside.

The room had become the DA training space, with the addition of a lounge section with a large couch and a dark wooden coffee table near the fire. The door to the tiny bedroom that had appeared the night before was still there. Harry could see through the open doorway that the bed had been made. His trunk sat closed at the foot of the bed.

Ginny ignored the new addition to the room, and instead sat down on the couch, pulling out her parchment.

“So tell me,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Why do you have two houses where all of the commoners and the lords live? That seems outdated.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you mean the House of Commons and the House of Lords.”

“That’s exactly what I just said.”

“Not quite,” Harry smirked. “Let me see if I can explain it better.”

Although Harry didn’t understand all the intricacies of the UK government, he was able to help Ginny decode her textbook. She shared with him what she knew about the Ministry of Magic, having visited many times growing up, going with her dad to work. They laughed hysterically at the story of the last time her dad had dared to bring Fred and George along too, and how it had resulted in the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation going bald.

Although Ginny didn’t make any real progress on her essay, she did have a solid outline after half an hour.

“Reckon you could be as helpful with potions?” Ginny asked.

“Now I really doubt that I can help with that one,” Harry said.

“You took the class last year, surely you know something. Can you get my book out of my bag?” she asked, gesturing over the table. “It should be on top of everything else.”

Harry stood and leaned forward, reaching across the table.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

Harry froze. A wave of nausea hit him. He hastily sat back down, pulling at the cuff of his sweater.

“Show me.” She said.

“It’s nothing – just a scrape from Quidditch.”

“Harry.”

“I said it’s nothing.”

Ginny reached across the couch and caught his wrist. He wanted to yank out of her grasp, but it felt like time wasn’t moving normally, and his body was responding to his brain’s frantic thoughts. She pulled back his sweater. What she saw made her inhale sharply through her teeth.

His forearm was covered in shallow, yellowing scabs from how hard he had scratched. His skin was red, still raw in places. And across the center, a dark red line.

“That is not a scrape from Quidditch,” Ginny said.

Harry didn’t respond. His heart was hammering in his chest. His face grew hot with embarrassment.

“Did Ron curse you?”

“No!” Harry quickly, finally finding his voice as well as the ability to pull his arm back from her hold. “Of course not. It’s nothing”

Ginny wasn’t going to accept that. “Did you do it?”

Harry flinched at the direct question.

“Have you done that before?” She pressed.

“No,” Harry said defensively.

“Look, I’m going to ask,” Ginny said, holding up a hand. “I’m not going to just sit here and pretend I didn’t see it.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He started scratching at his wrist and then caught himself. He clasped his hands tightly.

Ginny noticed. She paused and then offered him her hand. Her skin looked orange in the light of the fire, the shadows rippling across her fingers. Harry stared at the offer.

He couldn’t take it.

Ginny took her hand back, watching him. Harry couldn’t read her expression. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze. It felt like she was reading him. She had read him. She knew what he had done. His chest tightened as he waited for the barrage of questions to unfold.

Then Ginny stood. “C’mon then,” she said.

“I’m not going to McGonagall,” Harry said quickly, panic rising again.

“Who said anything about McGonagall?” Ginny asked, hands on her hips. “Neither of us have had dinner. I’m starving. We’re going to go get leftovers from the kitchen.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You weren’t at breakfast or lunch,” Ginny pointed out. Another wave of embarrassment washed over him. Was everything so obvious?

“Look,” she said. “We can either stay here, and talk more about what happened last night, or we can go get dinner.”

She paused. “And hot chocolate.”

They made their way to the kitchens in silence. Harry watched as she tickled the pear in the painting and led him into the warm kitchen. The house-elves greeted them enthusiastically, most especially Dobby. He eagerly loaded a tray with warm mashed potatoes, a few slices of smoked ham, large portions of gravy and two mugs of thick, rich hot chocolate topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a grating of fresh cinnamon.

Just like when Remus had given him a chocolate bar after the dementor attack, Dobby’s hot chocolate warmed up not just his body, but his soul. Ginny made sure to only bring up light-hearted topics as they ate and drank, like recent Quidditch matches she had been keeping up with (“Agatha subscribes to ‘Quidditch Weekly’ – I think she started doing it in our first year to try to bond with me, she never seemed that interested, but it’s sweet that she still keeps ordering new issues.”).

When their plates were empty and only dregs of hot chocolate remained in their mugs, Ginny looked over at him.

“So,” Ginny said, setting her mug down on the silver tray. “Are you going to stay in the Room of Requirement again tonight?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, looking down into his mug. “I can’t go back yet.”

“I understand,” Ginny said quietly. “You can’t sleep there forever though.”

“I know,” Harry murmured. He didn’t want to talk about it again. But the words rose before he could stop them. “I just… I can’t face him. Not after what happened.”

Ginny hesitated. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said gently. “But this isn’t my fault, right?”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to hers. “What? What do you mean?”

“Well… we talked the other day. About Ron. And then this happened…” Her voice was cautious now, unsure.

“No,” Harry said immediately, shaking his head. “No. It wasn’t your fault.”

He saw the tension leave her shoulders, just slightly.

 “Alright,” she said with a nod. “I’m sorry what I suggested wasn’t helpful – if that did have anything to do with this. I underestimated how much of a complete idiot my brother was.”

“Yeah, well…” Harry mumbled. “Sometimes you should stop trying.”

Ginny watched him. “Do you really believe that? That things between you two can’t be fixed?”

“I think some things can’t,” Harry muttered.

“For example?”

He didn’t answer.

Ginny leaned back, crossing her arms. “You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you?”

“No.”

“Even if I asked really nicely?”

He shook his head.

Ginny tilted her head slightly. “What if I guessed?”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want to talk about this,” Harry said, a bit more harshly than he intended. 

Ginny, however, didn’t flinch. “Okay,” she said calmly. “I just wish you wouldn’t carry it all by yourself.”

“I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you should keep doing it,” she replied softly.

Harry swallowed hard. The kitchen was suddenly too warm.

“I told you,” Ginny said. “Back on the train, at the beginning of the year, not to shut people out.”

She paused. “You’re really rubbish at following advice.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, that’s probably why it went so badly with Ron last night, too.”

“Probably,” Ginny said with a soft smile. “Before you get mad, I’m joking.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry said, but he smiled. They watched as the house-elves tidied the kitchens, washing giant pots in sinks and re-setting the four long tables with plates and bowls for breakfast the next morning.

“We should probably get going before curfew,” Ginny said, rising.

Harry nodded and stood up too. Together they climbed the many staircases to the seventh floor. They kept quiet, not wanting to draw the attention of Peeves or Filch. Only the sounds of their feet against stone echoed through the empty halls. Eventually, they reached the seventh floor – Gryffindor Tower one way, the Room of Requirement the other.

“See you tomorrow?” Ginny said.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed ruffling his hair. “See you.”

“Harry – ” Ginny said, just as he was about to turn away.

“Yeah?”

“I trust you.”

Harry met her gaze – it was steady. There wasn’t any doubt in her eyes. Harry felt something twist in his stomach.

“Goodnight,” Ginny said quietly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and heading off to bed. Harry waited a few moments, watching her retreating back, before turning the opposite way and heading to bed too.

Chapter Text

‘Harry –

How are you? Do you have any exams before the holiday? My school does – such a great Christmas gift, right? Mr. Rorburten sure knows how to put everyone in a festive spirit.

Francine and I went to see the new movie, Rumpelstiltskin, in theaters. Dad couldn’t make it – the doctors are keeping him in sterile environments now, so he’s staying in his hospital room pretty much all the time. When we visit, we have to wash our hands, and wear masks, and everything. I get nervous when we visit – what if I accidentally bring some kind of bug in with me and he catches it? Mum told me not to worry about it, but I can’t help it.

Anyways, I felt guilty going to the movies without him – I know he really wanted to see this film – but he said he wanted me to. I’m seeing him this weekend, and I promised I’d reenact everything for him. Any creatives ideas of how to mimic a demonic hunchbacked creature in a hospital room?

Last time we discussed it, you said that you would be able to bring Dad the potion during Christmas break (did I tell you already how eternally grateful I am for you?? Saying it again here just in case). I talked with Dad, and he asked if it was ok for you to come on Boxing Day. Because we don’t know if the potion will work or not, he wanted to have one last Christmas with us. God, now I’m crying again. It’s dumb – I know your potion will work. I trust you.

Love always,

Ava’

The immediate fallout from the confrontation with Ron was rough. Harry felt incredibly out of place in Hogwarts, more so than ever. This was saying something, since the year had been filled with whispers in the hallways about that crazy Potter kid, making claims about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return. They hadn’t had the power to take away something as meaningful as Hogwarts was from him, though. Ron had.

Harry did not go to meals in the Great Hall, or return to Gryffindor Tower. He would have skived off classes too if it hadn’t meant drawing tremendous amounts of attention to himself. He even told Angelina that he had detentions when he didn’t, so he didn’t have to go to the last few Quidditch practices of the semester. Harry instead spent a great deal of time on his own.

Not all of his time, however. Ginny still came by regularly, finding him in the library or Room of Requirement, pastries or sandwiches in hand. She would pass him the food and then sit down next to him, pulling out a book or her quill and parchment, talking about how Neville had tripped down the stairs that morning on his way into the common room, or how Agatha had gotten Umbridge flustered during class. Her presence was steady, undemanding. She acted as if all of this was just a part of their normal routine.

It wasn’t until Friday that she addressed anything about his behavior again.

“It’s time for you to come back,” Ginny said, barely looking up from ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’.

Harry gave her a look, one that said, ‘I thought we agreed not to discuss any of this.’

“You see them every day in classes,” Ginny pointed out. “Neither of them have bothered you. It’s silly for you to keep living a separate life in remote parts of castle.”

She had valid points. Harry had even been paired with Hermione earlier that day during Transfiguration, and she had stayed strictly on task.

Before he could answer, she changed the subject.

“There’s a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow.”

She paused, peering over her book. “Come with me?”

For some reason, this request felt different from the other times Ginny had asked him to do something. It didn’t feel quite as casual. Harry’s palms felt sweaty.

“Yeah ok,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Cool.”

The next morning, Ginny showed up at the Room of Requirement, bundled up in a red and gold Gryffindor scarf and matching mittens. Her hair was down, framing her face from underneath a Mrs. Weasley-made knitted hat. Together they walked through Hogwarts, and then down the front steps. They trekked down the path from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, their leaving their footsteps behind them as they walked in the light dusting of snow that had fallen the night before.

“We need to keep our eyes out,” Ginny said as she peered into the line of trees that marked the start of the Forbidden Forest.

“Why?”

“I overheard Fred and George this morning plotting to ambush students with snowballs. I think they’ve set up along the road somewhere.”

Harry laughed. “Those poor third years.”

Ginny smirked. “Still better than you had it in third year, eh? You weren’t even allowed in Hogsmeade, right?”

“Well, no, I wasn’t allowed, I still went though,” Harry said mischievously.

“What!? How did you get past Filch?”

“There’s a secret passage,” Harry said grinning. “I would take it from the castle to the basement of Honeydukes.”

Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “You’re always up to something, Potter.”

Harry laughed again. “What can I say, I can’t let life get boring.”

As they reached the outskirts of the village, the sounds of excited students growing louder. The Christmas decorations were up: tiny, enchanted lights twinkled between the lampposts, wreaths with fat red bows hung from doors, and golden garlands swept across window fronts. The doors of all the shops were opening and shutting loudly as people walked in and out, arms laden with what was presumably Christmas shopping.

“Any preferences for where we start?” Ginny asked. “I was thinking Zonko’s.”

“That sounds good to me,” Harry said, with some hesitation – the chances of running into Ron there were high. But Ginny was right, he couldn’t let Ron dictate his every movement, in the same way he hadn’t let Seamus, either.

Ginny pushed open the door of Zonko’s, causing a series of horns to erupt in welcome song. As always, the shop was a raucous cacophony of sights and sounds, many of which belonging to items that Filch had banned from the Hogwarts halls. A precarious tower of fanged frisbees nearly tumbled onto Harry as a third year rushed past in terror, another third year close behind, laughing maniacally, with a tin of sneezing powder clutched in both hands.

“I don’t know what to get Fred and George for Christmas this year,” Ginny said, picking up a singing yo-yo and considering it. “Now that they’re busy inventing their own pranks, all of this stuff seems tame. By the way – ” Ginny set down the yo-yo “ – you are very lucky to not be in Gryffindor Tower this week.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’ve invented all these candies to make you sick,” Ginny said pulling a face.

“Make you sick?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, to get out of class,” Ginny explained, picking up a trick wand that promptly burst into a rubber chicken. “When I got back to the common room last night, I was greeted by about ten first years hunched over buckets making the most disgusting noises.”

“Wonderful,” Harry grimaced. “Maybe you should get them something other than joke products this year. If we’re lucky, we can steer them into a less hazardous hobby and save everyone from further ailments.”

“Yeah, get them some new quills from Scrivenshaft's, see if I can convince them to become poets,” Ginny said. “Much safer. Actually – that’s not a bad idea.”

“I don’t fancy listening to whatever Fred and George call poetry,” Harry laughed.

“No, I mean, stopping by Scrivenshaft’s, I bet there would be something for Hermione there. You haven’t gotten her something for Christmas yet, have you?”

“Not yet, no,” Harry admitted. In all honesty, before this trip to Hogsmeade, Harry had not been considering Christmas gifts for anyone; he had been preoccupied with brewing Mr. Williams’s potion, and with the fight with Ron. His heart sank as he realized his shopping list would be one person shorter this year.

“Well, let’s go take a look and see,” Ginny said, tossing the rubber chicken back into the bin it came from. They began to walk towards the front of the shop, dodging a series of enchanted paper planes that came zooming past

“Wait – here’s something for Sirius!” Ginny said, picking up a box. “‘Barking Biscuits: Snack like a dog, bark like one, too!’ I bet he’d get a kick out of these.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, taking the box from her. “Good spotting.”

After quickly purchasing the box of biscuits, Harry and Ginny set back out onto the shopping street. Snow had begun to fall again, and the chilly air nipped at their faces. They hastily dipped in and out of shops, both for warmth and searching for gifts. Inside Scrivenshaft’s, Harry spotted a delicate navy quill that came with a matching never-smudge inkset, perfect for Hermione. The next shop was Gladrags Wizardwear, where Harry purchased a warm looking sweater for Sirius (“I probably shouldn’t just get him dog biscuits, should I?”). In Honeydukes, Ginny bought a rather fancy box of chocolates for Agatha, which, when you bit into them, would cross your senses and allow you to see and hear the different flavors.

“Can we go in here?” Ginny asked once they were out in the cold again, pointing to Spintwitches Sporting Needs.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” Harry said.

They pushed open the store door with a light tinkling sound. Inside the shop it smelt of Quidditch leathers and wood polish. Brooms lined the walls, mounted in glass cases as if in mid-flight. Tables were cluttered in repair and care kits in satchels, tins, and chests. Harry and Ginny wandered the shop slowly, pausing every few steps to admire the new brooms, their names etched in gold and silver on polished handles.

“I would ask if you were tempted to upgrade your Firebolt,” Ginny said, eyeing a new model with a sleek red tail, “but having flown on it, I know the answer already.”

“Even if these were faster, I wouldn’t replace my Firebolt,” Harry said without hesitating. “I didn’t even want to replace my Nimbus, and that was outdated only a year after I got it. Stupid tree had to wreck it.”

“You and the Whomping Willow really do have quite the rivalry, actually,” Ginny mused.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I think it’s actually tied with Voldemort on how many times it’s attacked me.”

Once they found themselves at the back wall, where the Quidditch gear was, Ginny gasped.

“Look at those!” Ginny said, pointing eagerly. On a velvet green display stand were a pair of deep brown gloves. A placard beneath them read, ‘Highest quality Hungarian Horntailhide, for superior Quaffle grip and Bludger protection – 40 galleons.’

“Merlin, they don’t come cheap do they,” Harry said, eyeing the sign.

“No, they wouldn’t though,” Ginny said softly, eyes still fixed on the gloves.. “They’re gorgeous.”

Harry glanced sideways at her. She was still and quiet, but her expression gave her away – half awe, half resignation. Ginny had probably never owned a piece of Quidditch gear of her own, let alone something that was considered top of the line.

“Turn around for a second,” Harry said suddenly.

Ginny looked over in surprise. “What, why?”

“I don’t want to spoil your Christmas present.”

Ginny’s eyebrows, first furrowed in confusion, lifted in dawning realization.

“No, Harry, don’t – they’re far too expensive,” she said quickly. “I couldn’t accept a gift like that.”

“I want to get it for you though,” Harry insisted.

“Yeah but, this is too much,” she said, facing growing red. “I couldn’t possibly get you a gift even close to that price.”

“It’s a gift, not a trade,” Harry reminded her. “And you’ve… you’ve already given me so much, over the past few months.”

Ginny looked down, her blush spreading further. “I would be too worried about ruining them.”

“Ginny, they’re marketed as practically indestructible,” Harry snorted.

“I’d rather have something else,” she said. “Maybe a pair not quite as nice as this, something I won’t be so afraid of losing.”

Harry paused, feeling a little put out. This hadn’t been the reaction he had hoped for, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Ron never liked it when he tried to buy things for him either. The thought of Ron made something heavy drop in his stomach. He pushed the feeling away.

“If I can be so bold,” a voice behind Harry made him jump. It was the shopkeeper, apparently having overheard their conversation. Now Harry blushed too. “I have a pair made of a less rare dragonhide that may be at a better price point for what you’re looking for.”

“Oh er, yeah, sure,” Harry stumbled through his words, following him around the tables to where the other gloves were.

Harry still insisted that Ginny didn’t see what he had picked, even if she knew what it was already. He wanted to give her some amount of surprise – and not have her catch sight of the price again. He had decided to go with a pair of deep navy gloves made of Chinese Fireball hide. The shopkeeper wrapped them up and place in brown paper and tied up the package with string.

“Happy Christmas!” he called, as Ginny and Harry returned to the crisp early afternoon air.

With nothing left to buy, the two headed for the Three Broomsticks. Inside the cozy pub, Ginny and Harry peeled off their many winter layers and found a small table crammed into the corner.

“Butterbeer is on me,” Ginny said, dumping her things onto the back of her chair and walking up to the bar.

Harry watched her weave through the bar as he waited awkwardly, his knees squashed up against the tiny table. The noise was a bit much – the near-Christmas-holiday rowdiness was at a peak with the vacation starting in a week. A sixth-year jostled past, almost spilling butterbeer all over Harry.

Ginny came back, with two large hot butterbeers topped with whipped cream.

“You won’t believe what I just witnessed,” she said, a giant grin across her face. “There were two third years clearly on a first date at the bar.”

Harry gladly accepted his drink. “Oh? How did you know?”

“The sheer degree of pure discomfort was tangible,” she laughed. “The guy was so nervous, he was rambling like mad about the different ways to banish boggarts. No idea how they ended up on that topic, but he accidentally let it slip that his greatest fear: butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”

“Oh yeah – and he doubled down,” Ginny giggled. “Said the idea of them landing on him made his skin crawl.”

“And I thought my fear of dementors was embarrassing,” Harry smirked.

“Definitely not an embarrassing fear,” Ginny said, warming her hands on her butterbeer. “Imagine facing a boggart in front of your classmates and it turns into a butterfly.”

“Never would live it down.”

“Nope.”

They both drank deeply from their tankards. Harry got whipped cream on his nose and hastily wiped it on the back of his hand.

“Am I going to see you over the Christmas holidays?” Ginny asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Probably not.”

“Don’t think Mum will let you off that easily, she’s going to expect you to come by.”

“Can you just tell her I want to spend it with Sirius?”

“I mean, I can, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to listen.” Ginny hesitated. “You know you’re welcome to the Burrow, even if you and Ron aren’t talking.”

Harry didn’t respond. This didn’t feel true – how could he go there, to Ron’s home, when they were no longer friends?

“I just wouldn’t be comfortable,” Harry mumbled into his butterbeer.

“I get it,” Ginny said. “But I’m still going to offer.”

Once their drinks were finished, Harry and Ginny left the Three Broomsticks and began the long walk back to Hogwarts. The sun was already setting, as the days had grown incredibly short. They hadn’t been on the path for long before Ginny suddenly grabbed Harry by the sleeve and pulled him behind a try.

“Shh!” she hissed, and then pointed. Fred and George were stationed just up the path, their backs to them. A small fort of snow had been built and – Harry suspected – reinforced with magic. It stood facing Hogwarts, though – leaving their backs exposed. The twins did not seemed to have heard them coming, as they were still deep in conversation. A pile of snowballs was stacked on the ground by their feet.

Ginny reached down, picked up some of the snow of the ground, and started pushing it into a ball in her hands.

“Ginny, we’re going to get slaughtered,” Harry said warily.

“Have you no confidence?” Ginny said mischievously. “Just because they have ammunition doesn’t mean we can’t get them.”

“They’re definitely going to get us immediately after.”

“So? Have some fun, Potter,” she grinned. She held out the ball of snow in the palm of her hand before levitating it into the air with her wand. Pulling her arm back, she wound up her throw.

“Ready…” she whispered, narrowing her eyes for better sight. “Aim…”

Harry ducked behind another tree.

“FIRE!” Ginny shouted, whipping her arm forward. The twins turned around at the sound of her voice, and the snowball hit George squarely in the face.

“OI!” he yelped, wiping the snow off him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re gonna get it now, Gin!” Fred shouted, dodging as Ginny sent another snowball his way.

“C’mon, Harry!” Ginny called. “Help me!”

“Oh, Harry’s here too?” George said. “It’s on now.”

Harry hesitated for only a moment before crouching down to scoop a handful of snow. A hail of snowballs were falling around them, thwacking against tree trunks. Ginny darted out from behind the tree, sending more snowballs soaring.

“Protego!” Fred said, causing the snowball to explode on impact of the barrier spell.

“Hey, no shield charms!” Ginny yelled, retreating back behind a tree.

“All’s fair!” Fred responded with a grin.

Harry threw his first snowball, copying Ginny’s technique of levitating and then throwing. Unfortunately, the first shot veered wildly and smashed into a tree trunk instead.

“No wonder you’re a seeker rather than a chaser,” George teased.

“Yeah, much better at catching than throwing,” Fred laughed. He was then hit in the side of the head with a snowball from Ginny.

The snowball fight raged on, Harry feeling the thudding of adrenaline – but out of excitement, rather than fear. He began getting more and more into the fight, tumbling behind trees, tossing more snowballs overhead. The taunting between the Weasley siblings continued, until finally, Ginny leaned up against a tree near Harry, and said –

“I think I’m ready to end this.”

“Got a plan?”

“Yup,” she grinned. “Distract them.”

“Got it,” Harry smiled back. He dashed out from behind the tree, a series of snowballs landing behind him as he ran. As he reached the other side of the path, he heard what sounded like a small avalanche. Turning, he saw a heaping pile of snow where the twins had been, the branches above them now bare. Ginny laughed, tucking her wand away, as Fred and George’s heads poked out.

“Alright, you win this one,” Fred said, digging himself out of the snowbank.

“Good game,” Ginny said, offering a hand. “Ready for some hot chocolate?”

The laughter lingered between them as they all made their way back toward the castle, the past week’s worries all momentarily forgotten.

On the night of the full moon, after Ginny had left the Room of Requirement for the evening, Harry slipped into his hidden potions chamber. He reached for the mortar and pestle resting on the worn wooden shelf, pulling it down as well as the lunaris magnetite. Placing the small chunk in the mortar, he began to crush it, grinding it steadily until it crumbled into fine, glistening black dust. The powder shimmered with an almost otherworldly depth, so dark it seemed as if an empty void had opened at the bottom of the mortar.

Once the magnetite was thoroughly ground, Harry moved over to the two cauldrons sitting side by side containing the twin Bane of Mercy potions. Carefully, he added two scoops of the black powder to each cauldron and stirred both clockwise exactly five times. The potions responded immediately: his own brew deepened into a rich, dark green, while Mr. William’s potion shifted to a deep crimson.

Setting down his stirring rod, Harry stared at the brews, his breath catching slightly. The potions were complete. The colors matched perfectly, just as the book had described. Everything had gone – at least seemingly – correctly.

Harry walked over to the cabinet and withdrew two glass bottles, removing their stoppers with trembling fingers. Dipping a ladle into his green potion first, Harry poured the thick liquid slowly into one of the bottles. There was no way to know if the potions were truly correct until both he and Mr. William drank them. There was still a chance something had gone wrong, a risk that sent a flicker of doubt through him.

But even so, Harry felt a surprising lightness rise within him as he sealed Mr. William’s potion. Hope settled over him, easing the heaviness on his shoulders. For a moment, he simply gazed at the two flasks on the countertop, their dark, swirling contents promising a new beginning. There was hope. He had just bottled it himself.

Harry crouched down, opening his bag and pulling out a piece of parchment, as well as a quill and ink.

‘Ava –’ he wrote. ‘It’s ready.’

Chapter Text

Sirius sat in the cold kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug of mulled wine. Fragrant scents of cinnamon and clove curled up; Sirius closed his eyes and breathed it in.

For the past few hours, Sirius had been busy. As soon as Harry had gone to bed, he had begun. He had pulled out the evergreen tree he had hidden in the cellar and set it up with glass ornaments he had charmed to be Gryffindor gold and red. He had also retrieved the boxes of garlands, reapplying charms to make the glint and glimmer on their own. He had strung these up along the ceiling, as well as some enchanted ever-glowing lights that sparkled like a night sky. Around the base of the tree, Sirius set up an old ruby red train – a replica of the Hogwarts express – that ran on a circular track around and around, puffing out smoke that smelled like the mulled wine he drank now.

All of this was meant to be a tradition.

It had started at the first Christmas after Harry was born. After he had been put to bed, James and Sirius had crept through the home in Godric’s Hollow, conjuring decorations, sipping Christmas drinks, singing off-key Christmas carols as Lily shushed them. All of this had been done so that, on Christmas morning, the living room would have been transfigured into a setting of Christmas magic, just for Harry.

All of this was meant to be a tradition, but it had only happened once. It had all ended pre-maturely with James and Lily’s deaths and Sirius’s imprisonment. There was no way Harry even knew that this tradition was supposed to have existed. That’s why this Christmas, their first Christmas together, was so important to him. He wanted everything to be perfect, so that Harry would wake up and have the morning with family that Sirius imagined he always wanted to have. The one Sirius had wanted all these years, too.

Unfortunately, the holidays thus far had not been going like Sirius had pictured in the weeks leading up to them. Harry had arrived at Grimmauld place tense and angry. Harry barely said hello as he pushed past, dragging his trunk through the door. Sirius had given Moody and Tonks, who followed in after him, a quizzical look.

“There was a disagreement on the platform,” Moody had growled. “Potter seemed to be under the impression that he would be allowed to travel from the station to Grimmauld place alone. As soon as he saw us, he started arguing. Wanted us to leave.”

“Ended up chasing him all the way from there to here,” Tonks had added, giving a sympathetic look. “Sorry that we upset him, it was in his best interest.”

Despite the rough start to their reunion, Sirius tried to make the best of it. After giving him a few hours to cool off, he had invited Harry downstairs for butterbeers and some frozen meals that he had reheated.

“So, how was the rest of the semester?” Sirius had asked, taking up a spoonful of peas.

“Fine,” Harry had said shortly, pushing his mashed potatos around.

“Still doing the whole rogue defense against the dark arts club?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fine.”

There had been a long pause as Sirius drank deeply from his bottle of butterbeer.

“And Quidditch? How’d your game go?”

“Fine.”

Sirius had cleared his throat, and became busy trying to cut a piece of chicken as he desperately tried to think of something else to talk about.

“How are Ron and Hermione doing?”

This time, Harry hadn’t responded at all. Instead he swirled his dinner about on the plate a bit more, before setting his fork down.

“I have a headache,” he had said, standing without making eye contact. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit if that’s ok.”

“Oh, yeah, er, sure,” Sirius had said; but Harry was already walking back up the steps away from the basement kitchen.

This had all happened three days ago, and they hadn’t had a real conversation since – if that evening had even counted as a real conversation.

Sirius leaned back in his chairs, staring at the steps, visualizing Harry’s retreating back again from a few nights prior. What was going on?

‘Maybe I should owl Molly and see if she knows what’s happening between them,’ Sirius thought, but then he shook his head. He didn’t need her breathing down his neck about taking care of Harry. Harry would share when he was ready to, he was sure of it.

Still, Sirius felt worried. It had made sense when Harry had been upset over the summer – he had been kept at the Dursley’s far longer than he should have, and he had been kept in the dark by the Order despite it being – in Sirius’s opinion – entirely fair and logical for him to be involved. It had also made sense when Harry had been upset at the beginning of November when he had unexpectly arrived at Grimmauld Place; Arthur had just been attacked and no one knew if he was going to live.

Now though, those things were months ago. It was Christmas. They were together. Shouldn’t that be enough?

Sirius felt a mixture of hope and anxiety swirl in his chest. There was still a chance that tomorrow morning, they’d both wake up, and get the moment together they had not shared in 14 years.

Sirius found himself awake early despite having slept only a handful of hours. It was still dark, a candle he forgot to put out was still barely burning on his bedside table. Usually, he would have laid in bed for quite sometime before getting up, however there was a spark of excitement in him – something light and boyish.

It was Christmas morning.

Sirius rolled out of bed and pulled on a navy, moth-eaten jumper he had hung off of one of his bed posts. He crept across the cold floors of Black Manor to Harry’s room – excitement building up inside his chest feeling like it may burst out at any second. He took a breath and held it in as he pushed open Harry’s door, ready to let out a shout of ‘Happy Christmas! –’

But the words died in his throat

He wasn’t there.

Sirius blinked, pushing the door all the way open and looked around in confusion. The bare room contained only a bed, covers twisted it up, and Harry’s trunk. No Harry.

Sirius left and hurried downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. The house was dark and he found himself almost tripping as he went down the steps. Eventually, he decscended the last of the steps to the basement kitchen, where he found Harry sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

“Oh,” Harry said, his voice low and a bit gravily. “You’re up already.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, letting go of the railing and stepping forward. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas,” Harry responded lamely.

Sirius put on a big smile. “Wait until you see what I did.”

“The living room you mean?”

Something in Sirius’s chest fell a bit.

“Oh,” Sirius said, sliding into his chair. “You saw it already?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, clasping his mug a bit tighter. “Sorry, was I not supposed to?”

“Oh no, I mean, it was a surprise – I just, er,” Sirius paused. I just wanted to be there. Just wanted to see your face light up.

“It looks great,” Harry offered, the his voice was still even and blank.

“Thanks,” Sirius said awkwardly.

A silence stretched between them, the clock above the counter ticking loudly. Sirius watched Harry take a sip of tea and put it down again.

“I thought you liked milk in your tea?”

“You were out,” Harry shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Sirius kicked himself mentally for not making Kreacher stock everything. He’d been so occupied in decorating, he hadn’t even filled the cabinets.

“Remus is coming,” Sirius said, breaking the silence again. “To unwrap gifts.”

“Oh,” Harry’s shoulders fell. “I didn’t know he was coming, I didn’t get him anything.”

“That’s alright!” Sirius said quickly. “He won’t mind, Christmas is more about being together anyways, right?”

“Right,” Harry said quietly.

Sirius excused himself a few moments later and hurried up to his bedroom, connecting to the floo network and calling Remus.

“Do you think you can already come over? And, er, do you have anything for breakfast?”

Less than an hour later, Remus arrived through the kitchen fireplace, arms stacked with a few gifts and a box of fresh cinnamon rolls on top.

“It’s really nice to see you, Remus,” Harry said, giving Remus a hug. A pang of jealousy went through Sirius as he remained seated at the table.

“It’s nice to see you too, Harry – Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas,” Harry said back with a small smile.

“Any tea left?” Remus asked, setting everything down.

“The kettle’ll be cold by now,” Harry said, already getting up. “I’ll go heat it up again.”

Sirius leaned back in his chair as Remus went to the cabinet and pulled out plates and forks for the three of them. He returned to the table and began serving the cinnamon rolls.

“Now I didn’t make these myself,” Remus admitted as he set a plate in front of Sirius. “I’m not much of a baker, so we can all be grateful for that.”

Sirius forced a bit of a laugh, but his heart wasn’t in it. Remus had been with them for barely a minute, and Harry had said more words to him than he had all morning.

“They look great,” Harry said, putting a steaming cup of tea in front of Remus.

“You can have this one,” Remus said, scraping a bit of extra frosting on top of Harry’s cinnamon roll with a wink. Harry smiled and accepted the plate, picked up his fork and took a bite.

Sirius zoned out as Harry and Remus chatted. The two of them fell into an easy conversation, one filled with familiarity and comfort. It was moments like this that reminded Sirius that Remus had gotten a whole year of seeing Harry daily.

Sirius felt like he was behind a pane of glass, observing them, but also separated from them. He didn’t belong in this moment. He should have, but right now he was an outsider.

“So Sirius,” Remus said, turning his attention back to him. “Did everything go according to plan?”

No.

“Yeah, I got it all set up,” Sirius said, cutting a piece of his cinnamon roll with the side of his fork. “I think you’ll like it.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve done a proper Christmas,” Remus said smiling. “When we were growing up, we used to always decorate.”

“Really?” Harry asked attentively.

“Oh yeah, James started it,” Remus said fondly remembering. “His parents loved Christmas, so he was raised with all kinds of traditions. He used to decorate the whole dormitory. Sirius started helping too – though the first year he did, he enchanted snowflakes to fall from the ceiling and we all woke up with snowbanks around our beds.”

Harry laughed. “Well, I already checked, no snowbanks this year.”

“Good, I didn’t fancy being that cold ever again,” Remus chuckled. “Speaking of your decorating abilities, Sirius, I’d love to see what you’ve done this year. Shall we go up, and do presents now, or do you want to wait?”

“Harry?” Sirius asked, turning.

“Oh yeah – let me go get mine from upstairs,” Harry said, pushing out his chair and jogging up the steps.

“Cheer up, Sirius,” Remus said quietly, gathering the plates.

Sirius exhaled deeply and ruffled his hair. “He’s been so closed off with me, Moony. For days, I’ve been trying to have a conversation with him, and I get nowhere. Then as soon as you come in, and it’s all cinnamon rolls and jokes and Christmas cheer. He’s immediately acting like everything is wonderful.”

“Wasn’t that why you asked me over?” Remus frowned.

Sirius didn’t answer.

“What does it matter who makes Harry have a good Christmas, as long as he’s having one at all?”

Sirius scowled as Remus turned to stack the plates by the sink. But he knew – Remus was right. He hadn’t imagined that having his best friend and godson over on Christmas morning would leave him feeling lonelier than all of the other Christmases he had spent on his own. 

On Boxing Day, Harry woke up anxious with anticipation. He got out of bed and opened his trunk, moving his clothes out of the way until he located the flasks of potion, wrapped in heavy sweaters to protect them during travel. Today was the day. Today he would find out if he had brewed the potions correctly. Today he might accidentally poison Mr. Williams, or save his life. Or maybe the potion would do nothing at all. Harry swallowed hard, imaginging the disappointmenton Ava’s face as they realized nothing had changed.

‘No,’ Harry thought as he shook his head. ‘They will work.’

He pulled out his bag and emptied it of quills and parchment, then placed both jumper-wrapped potions into it. He carefully placed it on the ground next to his trunk. Now he just had to wait for a moment to slip away.

Harry went down to the kitchen where he found Sirius heating up the leftover cinnamon rolls from the day before. He was wearing the new sweater Harry had got him as a Christmas present.

“Fancy one?” Sirius asked.

“Sure,” Harry said, sitting down. Sirius popped two cinnamon rolls on a tray and placed them in the oven.

“How’d you sleep?” Sirius said, passing Harry a tea – this time with milk.

“Alright,” Harry yawned. In truth he had not slept very much – the adrenaline about what was going to happen today had kept him awake for most of the night. Sirius seemed to notice this.

“Maybe an afternoon nap will be nice later today,” he suggested.

“Oh, yeah – probably a good idea.”

“Naps are one of the best ways to spend Boxing Day, I think. Still recovering from Christmas dinner food comas.”

“Yeah, definitely,” though Harry thought privately that the frozen meals of turkey and gravy had not been satisfying enough yesterday for such a thing.

“Anything you’d like to get up to today?” Sirius asked, opening up the oven to check that the cinnamon rolls weren’t burning.

“Nothing in particular,” Harry said sipping his tea.

“How about a game of chess?”

“Oh – I’m not very good.”

“That’s ok, neither am I,” Sirius barked with laughter. “Still fun either way – we can change up the rules, make it more about smashing the other teams pieces.”

“Is that not what wizard’s chess is already about?” Harry smirked as Sirius took out his wand and carefully levitated the dish of cinnamon rolls out of the oven and onto the stove top.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius admitted. “But there are a bunch of other rules about what pieces can do what – I can’t keep track of it all, even if the pieces try to give you advice. They’re just trying to preserve themselves, they’re not really trying to help you win.”

Harry accepted the cinnamon roll Sirius held out to him. Sirius looked at him with a soft smile. Something told Harry to take him up on his offer – whatever happened this afternoon, it was going to change everything.  He could give Sirius this morning.

“Sure, we can play.”

Sirius lit up. “Great, I’ll get the board out once we’re done with breakfast.”

After clearing the plates off the kitchen table, Sirius laid down a battered wizard’s chess board. He opened up the box of pieces and allowed them to tumble out onto the table, causing them to grumble as they were jostled about. He was true to his word about ignoring most of the official rules. The game quickly devolved into chaos: pieces leapt over each other without warning, alliances were made and broken mid-match, and Sirius seemed more focused on launching dramatic attacks than following any actual strategy. The more a piece argued with him, the quicker it was sent hurtling into enemy territory - usually to be unceremoniously smashed by one of Harry’s surprisingly efficient pawns.

“When I used to play with your dad,” Sirius said, nudging a knight forward. “We had all kinds of extra rules, like once all your pawns were gone, you had to sing a song as loudly as possible. We were usually having quite a few butterbeers while we played, so it got a bit rowdy.”

“Remus must have loved that,” Harry said.

“Oh yeah,” Sirius chuckled. “He usually had earplugs in when we played.”

After a few more turns, Harry’s rook took out Sirius’s last pawn.

“Go on then,” Harry said.

Sirius blinked. “Huh?”

“Go on – I crushed your last pawn, you have to sing now.”

“Oh we’re playing by Marauder’s rules now?” Sirius smirked.

“You brought it up.”

Sirius gave him a mock glare, then stood up with a theatrical sigh. “Alright, fine. But you asked for this.”

He placed a hand on his chest and threw back his head. “God rest ye merry hippogriff, let nothing you dismay – ”

“I see why Remus needed earplugs,” Harry shouted, covering his ears and laughing.

“Hey! My singing is great.”

“Your singing is loud.”

Sirius powered through the rest of the chorus with dramatic flourishes and ended with an exaggerated bow.

“Ok, I think that’s all I’ve got in me,” Sirius wheezed, sitting back down.

“Getting old huh?” Harry grinned.

“Hey! Watch it, it’s my turn and I’ll crush your queen if you’re not careful.”

Once Harry had checked Sirius’s king (“Yes, that’s how you win – the point isn’t to just destroy the board, Sirius”), they reset the pieces and played a few more hectic, anarchic rounds.

When the clock struck noon, Harry faked a large, dramatic yawn. “I think I’m ready for that nap now.”

“Alrighty,” Sirius said, waving his wand and sending the chess pieces back into the box, the board folding up with them. “I’m going to be down in the pantry off the kitchen if you need me. I’ve been putting off cleaning it out but it really should get done.”

“Ok, sounds good,” Harry said standing and stretching. “Thanks for playing with me.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sirius smiled. “Sleep well.”

Twenty minutes later, Harry was out of Grimmauld Place, following the instructions he had scribbled on a napkin almost two months prior, on his way to the hospital with the Bane of Mercy in hand.

“Harry.” Ava’s voice was more of an exhalation. It wasn’t exactly relief – more so the kind of gasp you make when you have been carrying something very heavy for a long time.

“Hi,” Harry pulled Ava into a hug. She had a face mask pulled under her chin that bumped up against his shoulder. “How is he?”

“He’s been sleeping a lot,” she whispered, pulling back. “We spent the day with him yesterday, but I’m not sure how much he remembers. We’re in the same room as before.”

Ava led Harry through the lobby, taking the same elevators he had taken previously. Once they reached the door, a sign was now hanging ‘IMMUNOCOMPROMISED – WEAR PPE’. Ava handed Harry a mask from her pocket as she pulled hers back over her nose and mouth.

It was dark – the overhead lights which hummed in the hallway were all turned off, only a lamp by the bed glowed. The room was smaller than Harry remembered. So was Mr. Williams. His frame was thin beneath the layers of bedding. He wasn’t propped up this time, instead his head sank back into the stack of pillows like a lead weight.

“Harry,” Mrs. Williams said, her voice slightly muffled by her mask. Harry rounded the bed and offered her a hug – she looked too listless to stand up. “It’s good to see you.”

As Harry stepped closer, he noticed how translucent Mr. William's skin appeared – like thin rice paper, dark veins running up his arms, connected to tubes. Machines beeped a consistent rhythm, breaking the silence. Even through his mask, Harry could smell the antiseptic and cleaning products of the sterile room.

The sight of Mr. Williams, so impossibly still, felt unnerving. This was the same man who had ran out the house to the Dursley’s, shouting at Uncle Vernon, calling the police and social services. Even then he had been sick, but he had also been strong – compared to now. Now he barely looked like there was any life in him at all.

Harry lowered his bag to the floor, and pulled out Mr. Williams’s potion. He unwrapped it from the jumper, and set it gently on table side. Ava and Mrs. Williams stared at the glass bottle in awe – the red liquid swirled about in on itself over and over again.

“I brewed it as carefully as I could,” Harry said quietly, not meeting their eyes. “I followed the instructions as closely as possible.”

“Thank you,” Ava said, getting up and hugging him. “Even if it doesn’t work, thank you.”

Harry felt something in his stomach lurch. Mrs. Williams’s bottom lip started to tremble and she reached out and held her husband’s hand.

“Maybe we can have one more moment with him,” she whispered. “Before we try and wake him up and give it to him.”

“Of course,” Harry said quickly. He picked up his bag again and went into the hallway. Harry closed the door and then leaned against the wall. This was it. The end of the road he’d began walking down months prior.

Opening his bag again, Harry looked around the quiet corridor before he took out his own potion. Unstoppering it, he only hesitated a moment, a world of possibilities playing out in his mind for a few seconds before he pushed them all away and chugged. The liquid was icy cold, metallic, and bitter. Harry held back a gag as he continued to drink until the bottle was empty. The cold feeling had now taken over his whole body; he wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered.

But he remained standing. A good sign. Maybe he hadn’t poisoned anyone yet.

The door opened and Harry hurriedly stuffed the now empty bottle back in bag.

“You can come back in,” Ava said thickly. She had been crying. Harry nodded, pulling his mask back over his mouth, and bowed his head respectfully as he came back into the room.

Mr. Williams was awake now. His eyes were only half open, and even the effort of this seemed to be almost too much for him.

“Harry,” he croaked, lifting his hand. Harry stepped forward and took it.

“Is everything ready?”

“I think so,” Harry said, trying to sound confident. “If you’ve changed your mind – ”

“Not at all,” Mr. Williams interrupted. “As you can see, things have not improved since we last spoke.”

“Have you been in pain? I’m sorry I took so long.”

Mr. Williams waved a hand. “When you’re as sick as I am, they start giving you the good stuff.”

Mr. Williams chuckled as Ava gave a watery smile.

“I heard though,” he continued, “that your stuff is even better.”

“I hope so,” Harry said, picking up the bottle off the nightstand. “This is it.”

“And… What exactly is it?”

“I think it’s probably better not to ask,” Harry winced. “Magical ingredients can be a bit, er, off-putting.”

“Noted,” Mr. Williams nodded.

“Try to drink it as quickly as possible, to get it over with – they can usually taste pretty bad,”

“You’re not really selling this well,” Mr. Williams smirked.

“It can save your life, Ed,” Mrs. Williams said sharply. “I think that’s advertisement enough.”

“I know, I’m kidding.”

Mr. Williams looked up at the bottle in Harry’s hand.

“I think I’m ready.”

Harry nodded, unstoppering it. He tried to pass it to Mr. Williams, but his grip strength was poor and his arm was shaky. Ava immediately stepped forward, wrapping her hands around her father’s and helping him bring the bottle to his mouth.

“Thank you, Harry,” Mr. Williams said. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Mrs. Williams gripped her husband’s free hand tightly as he drank deeply from the bottle.

He coughed and grimaced. “It burns.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said nervously. “Keep drinking, it should be ok, keep going.”

Mr. Williams continued, gulping down the red potion, powering through every sip. He began to sweat – drips of it pouring down his brow.

When he finished the bottle, he let go, Ava taking it anxiously.

He began to push at his covers. “I’m too warm, get them off.”

Ava and her mother obliged, pulling the covers back. As they worked, the room began to spin for Harry. It started like a static in the back of his head, and it spread forward through his eyes, sending the room sliding. Mr. Williams was groaning, but Harry couldn’t see him anymore. Worried voices filled the room. Harry held on to the edge of the bed to steady himself, the shivering beginning again. There was a bright flash of light - Harry felt himself stumble backwards; suddenly a burning was in his chest and it was spreading as if he had a fever. He tripped and ended up on his back, and the voices became more panicked.

Just as quickly as the fever hit him, it vanished again. Harry lay panting on the floor, his whole body slick with sweat. Ava’s worried face came into view.

“Harry?” She called again, laying a worried hand on his chest. “What happened? Should I get a nurse?”

“No,” Harry winced, trying to get up onto his elbows. “No, ‘m fine.”

“Stay here, let me get you some water,” Ava said standing and rushing to a jug of water next to a stack of glasses. Harry closed his eyes tightly, then hazarded a fearful look towards the bed.

Mr. Williams was breathing heavily. The blankets were back around him and he was shivering, just as Harry had before. His wife was crying holding his head so that their foreheads were touching and she was whispering things Harry couldn’t hear.

“Here,” Ava said, back with the water. She helped Harry sit up a bit before giving the cup to him, which he took with a shaky hand.

Harry took several grateful sips, the receeded fever still sending waves of prickling down the back of his neck.

“What happened?” She asked again.

“Just a lot of magic,” Harry mumbled. “It can take a lot out of you.”

“But you’re ok now?”

“Yeah.” Harry pushed himself onto his knees and stood. “Is your dad ok?”

Ava stepped aside so he could see the bed again. There was something different about Mr. Williams - already he seemed to be sitting up a bit more than before. A bit of color returned to his cheeks, his eyelids no longer drooped half closed. He was alive.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked, approaching the bedside again.

“Well for a bit there I thought you had poisoned me – I’m kidding!” Mr. Williams said hastily at the look on everyone’s faces. “It was definitely unpleasant, but now – I feel… I feel… Normal.”

“Normal?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Normal normal, like…before I got sick normal.”

Ava let out a soft laugh of relief. “You did it, Harry.”

Harry could hardly believe it. “It might still be too early to really tell. We should wait a while, keep an eye on things.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Williams said. “But even this is something to celebrate, you’re more awake than you’ve been in days.”

“Harry,” Mr. Williams said, emotion welling in his voice. “I owe you my life.”

“Oh no,” Harry felt his face grow warm. “You don’t owe me anything – I had to do what I could.”

“You still did it. You made this happen.” Mr Williams eyes were filled with tears.

“You did, Harry – our family can’t ever thank you enough,” Mrs. Williams said. She finally felt safe enough to let go of her husband’s hand, and she walked around the bed to draw Harry into an embrace. “We will always be there for anything you need. Ever. Whatever we can possibly give you or do for you, we will.”

Mrs. Williams insisted Harry drank a cup of tea with plenty of sugar in it before he left. His almost passing out had scared them, but they were reassured by how quickly he had gotten up again. Nurses had come in just as Harry was leaving to check in on Mr. Williams and were shocked to see him sitting up and energetic. Harry had smiled and waved as he left, overhearing Mr. Williams say, “Well, it must have been a Christmas miracle.”

When Harry got back to Number 12, he opened the door carefully, holding it steadily to prevent any creaking. He closed it with a soft click and tiptoed up to his room. His heart was still racing, but not with fear -  with elation. He had done it.

After tossing his bag back into his trunk, Harry walked confidently down the stairs. All the fear, the secrecy, the risk - it had all been worth it. He had saved Mr. Williams’s life. The cost he had paid to do so felt like a tiny drop in the bucket compared to the love and gratitude he had received from the Williams family. It was all worth it.

“Sirius?” Harry called, entering the kitchen and giving a fake yawn. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up to make it look like he’d just rolled out of bed. “That nap was a good idea.”

There was no response though.

Harry rounded the corner and opened up the door to the pantry – but Sirius was not there, either. Confused, Harry went back into the foyer.

“Sirius?” Harry shouted up the stairs. Still no response. “Where are you?”

Something disquieting came over him. He was about to head up the steps to check Sirius’s bedroom, or the attic, or Buckbeak’s room – when the front door slammed open.

Harry tripped backwards in shock as a rush of cloaked witches and wizards entered Grimmauld Place, wands raised and faces stony.

Harry threw his arms over his head instinctively as spells sparked and crackled past him.

“STUPEFY!”

A binding hex caught him square in the chest. He collapsed hard against the steps, limbs frozen, eyes wide with panic.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?” Sirius had pushed to the front of the crowd and was towering over Harry, breathing furiously.

“Wait Black,” Moody growled. “He could be a spy. Polyjuice. Imperius. Let’s make sure.”

He crouched low, glaring into Harry’s face with both his real and magical eye.

“Potter, what did you see in the Mirror of Erised?”

Harry’s face burned with embarrassment – had Dumbledore shared this with him? The body bind curse was lifted so he could answer.

“My family.”

Moody nodded, taking a step back. Sirius was front and center again.

“ANSWER ME!” He roared. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. The wild look in Sirius’s eyes, the way they looked almost black to him. He had seen Sirius upset before, but not like this.

“I-I – ” Harry stammered, trying to come up with an excuse. His voice had disappeared, as well as his ability to think straight. The only thought on his mind was one of terror.

“I went up to check on you and you were gone!” Sirius shouted, throwing his arms out. “I thought something horrible had happened to you, I thought you had been taken!”

Harry tried to speak again, but all he could do was bow his head in shame. He flinched as Sirius stepped closer.

“For hours I didn’t know if you were alive or dead!” Sirius raved. “Anyone could have caught you out in muggle London! You’re lucky to be alive!”

“I-I, I didn’t – ”

“You didn’t what? THINK?” Sirius rapped the side of his head. “No! You didn’t. You were being an stupid teenager, thinking the world revolved around him, that he can just do whatever he wants and it doesn’t matter who it puts at risk, right?”

“I’m so sorry Sirius,” Harry finally managed.

Sirius scoffed. “You will be sorry! You just wasted all of the Orders resources trying to track down what happened to you! You’re so selfish!”

Harry shrank back. The shouting continued, hitting him over and over as if he was being slapped. His body tensed. He did his best to breathe deeply, He wasn't in Grimmauld Place anymore. He was standing in the kitchen on Privet Drive, with Uncle Vernon’s spit flying into his face and his fists clenched.

“You’re not – You can’t – DAMNNIT Harry,” Sirius shouted, turning and sending a curse at a wall, singeing a black mark into the wallpaper. Harry flinched, squeezing his eyes closed, his body tensing for impact.

“Sirius, that’s enough.”

Harry could not immediately identify the voice; everything in the moment felt so unreal, like he was underwater or surrounded by a thick fog. Nothing was recognizable anymore.

“He needs to learn – ”

“Now is not the time, we need to bring him to Dumbledore. Shouting at him isn’t going to change anything.”

The voice grew closer. Harry could feel someone kneeling down next to him.

“Harry?”

It was Remus. Harry still did not open his eyes.

“I need to take you to Hogwarts, can you stand up?”

Harry tried. He really tried. But his limbs didn’t respond. His bones were fused together, solid and immovable. Remus reached out to try and help Harry up, but at his touch Harry recoiled sharply.

“Can someone get something for him? A calming draught?”

There were sounds of rummaging and low voices.

“I will go get some,” another familiar voice – Snape – said. “I will have it waiting in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Can we try to get up again, Harry?” Remus asked, gingerly taking Harry by the arm. But Harry jerked back again.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“Maybe everyone else should leave,” Remus suggested.

“That’s not protocol,” Moody interjected.

“I think we’re beyond that – we found him, we don’t need ten Order members to transport him.”

There was grumbling, but then the scrape of boots against hardwood and the sound of the front door opening and closing.

“I think you should leave too,” Remus said quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius snapped stubbornly. “He’s not going out of my sight.”

“Padfoot…”

“He’s not! I just found him again!”

“I think you being here right now is… doing more harm than good.”

Silence met Remus’s words. Harry tensed up as he felt Sirius’s footsteps draw nearer, but then they passed, heading downstairs into the basement, the door closing loudly behind him.

Harry didn’t lift his head.

“I have some chocolate,” Remus said, a wrapper crumpling in his hand. “Do you think you can eat a bit?”

With every ounce of energy in him, Harry finally was able to move his arm. He accepted the chunk of chocolate and brought it to his lips, nibbling off a small bite. Remus patiently waited next to him as he gnawed at the chocolate in small bits. It didn’t do very much to help, the fear he had felt before was still sending waves of wake through his body. He was shaking again.

“Can we try standing again?” Remus asked, getting up himself and offering his hand.

He stayed there, arm out stretched for some time. He watched as Harry’s hands twitched uncertaintly. Finally, Harry took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the after effects of the potion he had drank earlier, or just anxiety at the situation at hand, but he felt completely wiped of energy.

Remus placed a careful hand beneath his arm, supporting him without holding too tight. Together, they moved slowly down the hall.

They entered the living room and approached the mantle -  the Christmas decorations were still glittering, the stockings still hung by the fire, one even said ‘Harry’ – and took a fistful of floo powder.

“Headmaster’s Office,” Remus said tossing the powder into the hearth, “Hogwarts.”

Chapter Text

Through the spinning, twisting pull of the flames, Remus and Harry arrived in Dumbledore’s office. Harry stumbled onto the hearth, Remus holding him tightly under the arms for support. Dumbledore immediately rose from his desk, a look of deep concern etched into his face.

“What happened?” Dumbledore asked as Remus lowered Harry into a nearby chair.

“We found him in the front entrance,” Remus said slightly out of breath. “No one was with him.”

“Is he injured?” Dumbledore asked, scanning Harry as he shook.

“No, I don’t think so – he was standing when we walked in.”

“What do you mean?” Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed.

“Sirius got… quite upset when we found him,” Remus said, his voice becoming quieter. Harry felt everything inside him become tense. He gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles went white.

“There was shouting, Harry froze up…” Remus trailed off, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I asked Severus to leave ahead of us, as to bring a calming draught once we had arrived. So that he can talk.”

Almost as if he had been summoned, a knock sounded on the door before it was pushed open. Snape swept into the room, a gold goblet filled with a silver liquid in hand.

“Headmaster,” Snape greeted Dumbledore with a nod, walking towards Harry. He held out the goblet, waiting for Harry to take it. But Harry didn’t move. His hands were stuck clenched to his legs.

“He’s catatonic,” Snape muttered.

“Here, Severus, let me,” Remus stepped forward, taking the goblet.

Kneeling in front of Harry, Remus held out the potion again.

“Harry,” he said softly. “I need you to drink this, it will help.”

Harry didn’t respond. Inside his head, his thoughts were screaming – take it, just take it, take it and drink it.

“You can do it, Harry.” Remus encourage. “You ate some chocolate, you can do this too.”

Harry was able to raise his eyes, flick them towards Remus’s face and then away again. Slowly, with a great deal of effort, Harry was able to loosen his grip on his knees. Remus nodded as he watched the purposeful, shaky movements of Harry progressively reaching towards to the cup. Still holding it, Remus helped Harry tilt the goblet towards his mouth. He drank deeply.

A wave of calm washed over him. He took another gulp, another wave crashing through him, loosening every tense muscle in his body. The room began to feel more and more tangible as he drank, awareness and groundedness returning to him. The shaking stopped. Remus let go of the goblet, let Harry tip it back to finish the potion.

Harry swallowed, and then passed the goblet back to Remus. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Remus said warmly. He held the goblet out and Snape retrieved it.

“Thank you indeed, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “I think that is all we need for now. Perhaps though, Remus, you could stay a bit longer while I talk with Harry?”

“Of course,” Remus said, standing up and summoning a second chair from across the room. Snape gave a curt nod, and then exited the office.

Dumbledore walked around his desk and took his seat again. Although the potion had taken away the panic, trepidation still filled Harry as Dumbledore folded his hands atop of his desk.

“You had us very worried,” Dumbledore said finally. His voice was gentle, but also firm.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured.

Dumbledore studied him carefully. “Where were you, Harry?”

“I was just…” Harry didn’t complete his sentence. What was he supposed to say?

“Sirius found your bed empty over two hours ago.”

“Oh,” Harry said rather stupidly.

“Harry,” Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles. Harry felt uncomfortable – Dumbledore had not looked at him so intently in so long. The last time he had been in his offices, he barely made eye contact at all.

“I don’t believe,” Dumbledore continued, “you would leave Grimmauld Place without a reason.”

“I…” Harry swallowed. “I don’t know why I left,”

Dumbledore frowned. “Do you remember leaving?”

“No.” Harry lied.

“Do you remember what happened when you were gone? Or how you got back?”

Harry hesitated. “No.”

Remus shifted uncomfortably beside him.

“What is the first thing you remember?”

Harry looked down at that the polished hardwood. “Waking up in my room, in Grimmauld Place, and not being able to find... anyone.” Harry couldn’t say Sirius’s name right now.

Dumbledore leaned back, pressing his fingertips together. “The detection charm was tripped from the front door, but it only picked up you. Which means you entered Grimmauld Place alone.”

Harry nodded vaguely at this fact.

“Did you have any visions?”

“No.” Harry didn’t feel comfortable making something up – what if it led the Order astray?

“It would seem this was different from back on Halloween, then?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I don’t remember anything.”

“I see,” Dumbledore’s brow furrowed once more. “Peculiar.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to this, so he returned his focus to the ground.

“What are you thinking, Dumbledore?” Remus asked.

“I am thinking…” Dumbledore tapped his fingers together. “That there are many protections on Grimmauld Place, but there are always exceptions to the rule.”

He paused, then – “It is possible that Voldemort is attacking Harry’s mind when he is a vulnerable state, like sleep. And this time, it seems to have escalated from images to actually physically compelling Harry to leave.”

Remus held his breath. Harry knew the same thoughts were running through everyone’s minds – possession. Harry felt a lump of guilt rise in his chest. But he couldn’t let them know what he had really been up to that afternoon.

“If there are a gap in your defenses,” Dumbledore said, “we need to understand how to close it. And to act fast, as well.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Dumbledore admitted. “I will do some research, and let you know once I have decided. For now, we must keep you here, at Hogwarts. Possibly there is something about the ancient magic here that protects you more than Grimmauld Place can.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t want to see Sirius – maybe ever again. He couldn’t face him after making him so angry. Harry knew the potion that coursed through him now was keeping his breathing even, but once it wore off, the shame and fear would come back. It was easier to manage from a distance.

“Remus, would you be able to go get Harry’s things from Grimmauld Place?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Remus said.

“Wonderful, thank you. You can drop them off at the hospital wing.”

“The hospital wing, sir?” Harry interjected.

“I don’t think it’s wise to leave you unsupervised for the time being. Not until I have made some decisions on how to ensure you’re safe here and not subject to more attacks.”

Harry’s shoulders drooped. The last thing he needed was rumors about how Harry Potter had come back early from holidays, and headed straight to the hospital wing.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Remus said. “I know it’s not ideal, but Professor Dumbledore is right. It isn’t safe for you to be on your own in Gryffindor Tower.”

“Fine,” Harry mumbled.

“Perhaps you can walk Harry down, Remus,” Dumbledore said. “I have some letters to send.”

“Of course,” Remus said, standing. “Are you feeling ok to walk Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. He followed Remus out of the office without another word.

Sirius jumped at the knock on his mother’s bedroom door. Remus didn’t wait for a response, opening it and walking in. who lay curled on the old rug, his feathered head resting in Sirius’s lap.

“Dumbledore decided Harry should stay at Hogwarts,” Remus said quietly. “He’s not coming back.”

Sirius felt his stomach drop. He didn’t look at his friend.

“He didn’t leave on his own.”

That made Sirius twist around so fast Buckbeak gave a soft grunt of protest.

“What do you mean?” Sirius whispered.

“He didn’t leave on his own,” Remus repeated. “He said he went to sleep in his bed, then woke up still in bed. Said he doesn’t remember leaving at all.”

Sirius blanched. The silence in the room was deafening.

“I thought…” Sirius began and then stopped midsentence.

“Why did you yell at him like that, Sirius?” Remus voice was heavy.

“I don’t know,” Sirius said quietly, eyes wide. “I just… I was so worried, I thought he… he did it on purpose…”

“I’ve never seen him react like that, except when he was face to face with a dementor,” Remus said gravely. “You really scared him.”

Sirius hung his head in shame. “I just panicked,” he said eventually. “It was like losing James all over again.”

Remus sighed. He stepped across the room, the floorboards creaking under his feet. He then kneeled down, and pulled his friend into a hug.

“What you did was rash. And not ok.”

“I know.”

They stayed there, sitting on the floor, arms around each other, for quite some time. Buckbeak rustled through his feathers as he pruned his wings.

Eventually Sirius pulled away, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What do I do, Moony?”

“I’m not sure,” Remus admitted.

“Do you think Dumbledore will let him come back? So I can talk to him?

“No, he’s concerned that being outside of Hogwarts puts Harry at further risk.”

“Damnnit,” Sirius muttered. He ran his hands through his hair roughly.

“Maybe we can set up a floo connection,” Remus suggested. “But not right now,” he added hastily.

“Why not?”

“Because, Sirius, he just went through possibly being possessed. He has had enough stress for today.”

“I don’t want – ” Sirius coughed. “I don’t want him thinking I, I hate him or something.”

“Harry knows you love him,” Remus reassured his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sirius nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I need to bring Harry’s trunk back to Hogwarts,” Remus said.

Sirius nodded again.

“Firewhiskey when I’m back?”

“Definitely.”

Harry sat by the window at the far end of the hospital wing, knees drawn up to his chest. It was a dark cold night, and the stars were sharply bright in the sky.

Earlier, Remus had returned to the hospital wing about an hour after dropping him off. He had set Harry’s trunk down, asked if Harry wanted him to stay any longer before he headed out again. At that moment, the calming draught was still working, so Harry said no, that he’d be fine.

Halfway through dinner, though, it had started to wear off. Harry had been sitting at the table – only one had been set up for the students who had stayed behind for the holidays – eating his dinner of shepherd’s pie, when he had felt the calmness sliding away. Progressively, tension began to build in his chest. The room began to feel too loud – cutlery clanging, voices raised, the candles above them too bright. Harry become acutely aware of how the students around him shot glances in his direction, whispered down the table, took notice of how the Boy Who Lived had returned to Hogwarts early.

His dinner swirled around his stomach, making what was left on his plate completely unappetizing. He picked at the food for a bit before giving up the urge of fighting at the panic rising in his throat. Harry left the table, deciding it was best to head back up to the hospital wing. He had been embarrassed when Professor McGonagall caught up with him and insisted on escorting him to the hospital wing. As they walked, the regret of his lie for why he had gone missing that afternoon amplified.

Madam Pomfrey had set up some privacy curtains around the bed at the far end of the hospital wing (“Which bed would you like – you’re here often enough you must have a favorite at this point!”) and then had disappeared to her office. She had left the door open, so Harry still felt watched. He had spent time pacing and pretending to read one of his textbooks from out of his trunk. Around eleven o’clock, she had checked in on him again saying she was going to sleep, but that she was available if he needed anything.

It was well past midnight now, and all Harry could think about was Sirius. A part of him was still in shock – if someone had asked him before if Sirius would ever lash out at him like that, he would have laughed. Of course not, never. Sirius would never do that to him. This was the man who had asked him to live with him, had risked getting arrested while on the run just to check in on him.

But all of those moments now felt tarnished. Every joke, every laugh, was now written over by eyes black with fury. With a curse scorching wallpaper. With words that reminded him of Ron’s anger, too. Not everything is about you. You’re so selfish. Another person he had valued so much, gone in an instant, because of Harry.

Harry dropped his head to his knees and leaned against the window pane, letting the cold glass nip at his skin. He did his best to even out his breath, to not let tears come again. The thought of how the past nine months had been characterized so sharply by loss after loss sent pangs of emotion through him. And each one had a connecting factor: him. Cedric was dead because Harry had brought him to Voldemort. Ron no longer talked to him because he hadn't been there for him, had almost killed his dad. Sirius hated him because he had disrupted the Order, had gone against the rules. He was the problem.

“You’re not just a problem,” Harry whispered to himself, clasping his hands together as if it was someone else offering him comfort. “You saved Mr. Williams’s life today.”

It was true. He had completed the mission he had set out on three months ago. He had found a solution, he had brewed the Bane of Mercy, he had cured Mr. Williams.

He had transferred the cancer to himself.

This thought felt distant and foreign. He knew objectively that this was what had occurred today, but the weight of this fact was feather-light. It held no water. There were far too many other pressing realities for his new illness to matter much right now.

Harry returned to looking out the window. There was no doubt that he was grateful for his success. But at the same time, now that it was accomplished, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself next. The drive to save Mr. Williams had pushed him through everything else – the conflict with Ron, the uncertainty of whether he could trust Ginny, the grief of the graveyard…

Without the protection of a purpose greater than himself, he found all of these experiences and worries crashing on top of him again. He noticed he had started to scratch at his arm and he caught himself. With Ginny more aware of his coping methods, he didn’t want to give her any reason to worry, reach out to McGonagall, or otherwise draw attention to him. Instead, he gripped his forearms tightly, squeezing hard.

Harry had asked earlier for a dreamless sleep potion, but Madam Pomfrey had said that such a potion would only leave him further vulnerable to attacks, and that Professor Dumbledore had strictly said that Harry was not allowed to take such a potion. So Harry stayed up very late that night, mind filled with fears, new and old, watching the shadows of Hogwarts grounds below.

‘Harry –

I spoke to Remus. I am so sorry I ever yelled.

I was so worried about what had happened, when I saw you, back at home, I just assumed you had left and come back on your own. I didn’t think in that moment that maybe something had happened to cause you to leave – something beyond your control.

I was an idiot.

There isn’t enough I can express on this parchment to say how sorry I am.

I promise I will be a better godfather.

 – Sirius’

‘Harry –

DAD IS OUT OF THE HOSPITAL!! The doctors all were completely shocked, they couldn’t understand it, but after all these tests they said the magic words – HE’S IN FULL REMISSION!! I wish you could have stayed longer to celebrate with us. You deserve a whole parade to celebrate you and what you’ve done. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.

Love always,

Ava’

Harry’s stay at the hospital wing was slow and boring. He wasn’t allowed to be anywhere without a professor accompanying him, meaning he spent almost all of his time in there. The only time he was allowed to leave was when a teacher escorted him down for meals. Madam Hooch did take pity on him one afternoon and offered to take him to the pitch with him so that he could fly. He had been eager to accept the opportunity to get outside, feel the sense of freedom he got when on his broom. But the time in the air was far too short, and before he knew it, he was back within the four walls of the hospital wing.

He was thankful when Sunday finally came – the day students would return from holidays.

“Do you need help moving your things, dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked as Harry packed up what had become scattered about his corner of the hospital wing. It seemed that Dumbledore was willing to relax his rules on constant supervision now that the castle would be alive with students again. He was to return to Gryffindor Tower.

“No, I’m all set, thanks,” Harry said, clicking the trunk closed.

“Are you sure? I can send a House Elf – ”

“No, really, I can do it,” he insisted.

“Well, at least levitate it then,” Madam Pomfrey said crossing her arms. “You’ll end up back here in no time with a pulled muscle if you aren’t careful.”

Harry sighed, but took out his wand. “Wingardium leviosa,” he muttered with a wave of his wand.

Harry exited the hospital wing, his trunk trailing behind him in midair. Students were beginning to trickle back into the halls, presumably having been first out of the carriages. They were filled with excitement, chattering with friends and catching up about their winter breaks. Harry was eager to get up to his dormitory before the corridors were completely flooded.

After reaching the portrait hole and giving the password (“Quid nunc facies”), Harry climbed into the Gryffindor common room. It had been a month since he had last seen the red and gold tapestries, the crackling fire he had spent so many evenings beside. Gryffindors looked up as he walked past, eyes following him as he crossed, but no one said anything.

Harry climbed the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, his levitating trunk bumping softly along behind him, and pushed the door open.

The room felt cold from lack of use. The House Elves must have only just put the fire back on in the hearth. All the beds were pristinely made, pillows fluffed, curtains drawn open in welcome. Harry levitated his trunk to the end of his bed and ended the spell, letting it fall with a thunk.

For a moment, Harry stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. Should he have even come back here? Could he call this his room anymore, his bed?

The doorhandle moved. An anxious twist through Harry’s heart.

He watched as Ron walked in.

Chapter Text

“Hi.”

Harry stared at Ron, unmoving. Ron hesitated, and then entered the room, closing the door. He walked over to his trunk and opened it.

“Mum wanted me to give this to you,” he said, standing and holding out a lumpy package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

Harry didn’t take it.

Ron lowered his arm. “Right,” he muttered, placing the package gently on Harry’s bedside table.

A dense silence sat between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said eventually. The tension in the room increased tenfold.

“I went too far,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I’ve been regretting it every moment since.”

Harry didn’t respond. He just stared back at him.

“It’s not an excuse, but I was upset, about everything.” Ron lowered himself onto the corner of his bed, looking down in shame. “I didn’t understand what you were going through. I still don’t understand what you were going through. And being shut out every day, it affects you.”

Ron swallowed hard, and then said, “We’re… We’re supposed to be best mates.”

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat.

“I don’t… I don’t want this to be how things are anymore.” Ron’s voice was heavy with emotion. Like he was trying not to cry as well. “I want to go back to the way things were before. I want to spend classes goofing off instead of taking notes. I want to sneak to the kitchens with you after Quidditch practices. I want to stay up way too late playing exploding snap, laughing about dumb shit.

“The past month has been maybe one of the worst months of my life. I almost lost my dad, and now I’ve almost lost my best friend, too.”

Ron wiped at his eyes. Harry looked away.

“I don’t know how to move forward from here,” Ron said thickly. “But Merlin, I’d give anything to do that.”

It felt like something had been knocked loose inside Harry’s head. The grudge that had gripped him so tightly since that night on the pitch was beginning to let go.

“I want that too.”

Ron’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide. It was the first words he had heard from Harry in weeks.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Neither spoke as they looked back at each other. The ocean between them was shifting, becoming more like a pond. They could see each other in the distance. There was an awareness that hadn’t been there in a long time.

Their first week back from holidays whipped past in a whirlwind of homework assignments and whispered gossip. The teachers believed that with O.W.L.s approaching in a short six months (“Six months is not soon, Hermione, calm down.”), there was no time like the present to begin preparing.

The homework – enough to make Harry feel like he had never had any form of break at all – was nothing compared to the gossip, however. It was only Monday when Ron and Hermione learned about his early return to Hogwarts.

“You doing ok, Harry?”

Harry had looked up from his steak and kidney pie to find Colin Creevey over his shoulder, standing in the aisle between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables.

“What? Yeah?” Harry had said confused.

“I heard you were in the hospital wing over the holidays,” Colin said. “Glad you’re feeling better!”

“Hospital wing?” Hermione had frowned as Colin continued walking along the table looking for an open spot on the benches.

“Oh, er, yeah,” Harry had muttered, putting down his fork.

“Why were you in the hospital wing? You went to Grimmauld Place for Christmas, didn’t you?”.

“I did,” Harry had said vaguely.

“Why were you in the hospital wing?” She had pressed.

Harry hadn’t wanted to bring all of this up so soon. He and Ron hadn’t even made it a full twenty-four hours into their newly patched friendship. They had left the conversation open ended; the problems not resolved, but willing to be overlooked for the sake of rebuilding.

One side of Harry wanted to sweep Hermione’s current question under the rug as well. He wanted to put up his walls again and act abrasive enough that Ron and Hermione didn’t dare ask anymore.

Another side of him, though, didn’t want this at all. That behavior was exactly what had driven a wedge between him and Ron in the first place. If he wanted things to be different, shouldn’t he at least try to make different choices this time?

This side of him even wanted to go as far as to tell them what had happened – what had really happened. There had been a time when this would have been the default: Harry would have told both Ron and Hermione immediately, looked to Ron for his loyal support, looked to Hermione for wisdom and advice. Harry wished to have these things now – he felt lost now that the Bane of Mercy had been given and he had no clear purpose, now that Sirius hated him.

But he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

Because if he told them everything, that would mean he would also have to face their reaction to everything. And beyond that, they would also make him go to Dumbledore. And Harry wasn’t ready to manage those consequences either.

So, he had told them what he had told Dumbledore.

“Something happened, like what happened on Halloween.”

Ron’s face had lost some color. “You saw another attack?”

“No,” Harry had said quickly. “No one was hurt.”

Hermione brows had creased. “Then what do you mean?”

“Well…” Harry had trailed off. He had checked around them that no one was eavesdropping. “I don’t really know what happened. I don’t remember anything. I just went to take a nap, and then woke up. In between that though, the Order told me I had gone missing.”

“Gone missing?” Hermione had repeated.

“I wasn’t in Grimmauld Place. I apparently left, but, I er don’t remember doing it.”

“So, you were like, sleep walking?” Ron had asked with a laugh.

“They… they don’t think it was sleep walking.”

Hermione had covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide.

“What?” Ron had looked between Harry and Hermione in confusion.

“Do they think…” Hermione had started but the words caught in her throat.

“Dumbledore doesn’t know what it was,” Harry had said. But… yeah. That’s what they’re worried about.”

“About what?” Ron asked.

Hermione had looked like she didn’t want to say it out loud, but after a moment she had spoken – “Possession.”

The confusion had been immediately replaced with fear.

“But,” Ron had said. “You were in Grimmauld Place, there’s all kinds of wards and protections.”

“Dumbledore said it’s still possible for something to happen,” Harry had said quietly. “He made me stay at Hogwarts after it happened. Wanted me to be under observation in case something happened again. So that’s why I was in the hospital wing – I was totally fine.”

His two friends both had sat across from him, their food growing cold as they processed the news. Eventually, after further reassurances that everything had been fine since, that Dumbledore was going to look into everything and get back to him soon about how to protect himself further, Ron and Hermione both had appeared a bit more at ease.

“I’ll do some reading,” Hermione had said firmly. “I’m sure there’s something in the library about possession that could help us figure this out.”

“Glad you’re ok, mate,” Ron had said, with a soft smile.

The subsequent days of their first week back frequently returned to check-ins about the possession (“Have you heard back from Dumbledore yet? I hope he figures something out soon…”) as well as conversations about the looming approach of O.W.L.s. By Wednesday, Hermione was mentioning resuming D.A. meetings.

“I just think it’s important that we get started again, Harry” she had said for the third time as they walked through the hallway to Defense Against the Dark Arts. “We’re learning nothing at all, and there’s no way we can pass our O.W.L.s only with Umbridge’s pathetic excuse for instruction.”

“We’ve just got back,” Ron had interjected. “Give him a minute to settle.”

“It’s alright,” Harry had said, causing Ron to glance over in surprise. Everyone had sensed Harry’s general aversion to running the D.A. before, but something had shifted for him. Because his days were no longer centered around curing Mr. Williams, he realized he was very welcome to have something new and meaningful to focus on. By the end of that day, Harry, with the help of Hermione, had established a new meeting schedule, which they disseminated to all D.A. members via the fake galleons she had crafted a few months before.

Thursday evening was their first Quidditch practice of the spring semester. Although Harry and Ron’s relationship remained fragile, balanced on the fulcrum of not-so-subtle avoidance, Harry could tell Ron was very much trying. Ron had made a point of walking to and from the pitch with him again, as well as of keeping the conversation alive as they went. Ron shared about how he had spent the Christmas holidays practicing with Fred and George, and even asked Harry if he would like to spend some extra time out on the pitch one evening in the future, so that Harry could give him pointers on his flying technique, too. Harry appreciated the gesture, and though uncertain on where everything would go, he didn’t say no to the offer.

The quiet rebuilding of their friendship did not go unnoticed. Hermione did her best to act as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about Harry and Ron partnering up during Transfiguration, or passing notes between each other during History of Magic. Harry had, however, caught her watching them more than once, a broad grin across her face. Ginny too seemed relieved by the change in dynamic.

“Now that you’re both talking again, I’m going to be honest,” Ginny had said one evening in the library, as they packed up to go back to the common room. “Both of you are miserable to be around when you’re in a row.”

“Sorry,” Harry had sheepishly, but she waved the comment away.

“Shit happens, I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Me too.”

“Speaking of shit happening,” Ginny continued, rolling up the Charm’s essay she had been working on. “What is this I hear around the castle about you coming back to Hogwarts almost a week before the break was over?”

Harry groaned letting his head fall back on his shoulders.

“You didn’t really expect me not to hear about it, did you?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was hoping,” Harry admitted. “But not optimistic.”

“So,” Ginny tossed the quill she had been borrowing across the table back towards him. “What happened?”

Harry hesitated. The last thing Harry wanted to do was lie to Ginny. This was true generally, but also because the lie he had stumbled into in Dumbledore’s office had been one about getting possessed. Harry was certain that Ginny would never forgive him if – when – she found out it wasn’t true.

He made eye contact with her. She had first appeared curious, but as the silence expanded between them, her eyebrows creased with concern.

“I…” Harry started, fiddling with the corner of his parchment, bending it over and over again.

Ginny waited patiently.

“I got in a fight with Sirius,” Harry said finally.

Ginny paused before setting her bag back down onto the table.  “What about?”

“I’d… I’d rather not talk about it,” Harry had said, looking down at the table. Already he felt something freezing up inside him, forcing him to tense up. Even if she pushed him for more information, he didn’t think he would be able to speak.

But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Ok.”

Harry gathered up the rest of his belongings and they left the library in silence. When they approached the stairs, she turned left when she should have turned right to head for Gryffindor Tower.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked as she descended the steps.

“We’re going to the kitchens,” she called over her shoulder. “Hot chocolate.”

“We’re going to work on Patronus Charms today,” Harry said, his voice carrying across the room of requirement. A crowd of students, Dumbledore’s Army, was gathered around him, sleeves rolled up and ready to begin.

“It’s not an easy spell,” he added, “and most of you probably won’t get much more than vapor tonight. Don’t worry, it takes time. This charm is definitely worth training for, though. A proper Patronus can protect you from Dementors.”

Harry paused a moment, looking out on the sea of faces. “I hope none of you ever have to face one, but… It’s better to be prepared than not.”

A few students exchanged nervous glances. Harry didn’t blame them.

He raised his wand. “First, you need to think of a memory, something that makes you happier than anything else. Then – and watch closely, the wand movement looks deceivingly simple, but it takes some practice to really get it right – move your wand, just like this, and then, expecto patronum!”

A silver stag burst from the tip of his wand, glowing fiercely. It leapt around the room, causing students to jump back in surprise and delight as it galloped past. It looped back and settled next to Harry. He raised his wand, and ended the incantation, the comforting warmth of the patronus disappearing almost instantly as the light vanished.

“Alright everyone,” Harry said, turning back to the students. “Give it a go – you can do it!”

The students spaced out around the room and began to practice. An uneven chorus of mutter spells filled the room as Harry wove between them. It took quite some time for seemingly anything to happen at all – just the waving of wands and frustrated sighs.

“You were really close that time – try a different memory!” Harry said encouragingly as he passed. It took about fifteen minutes, until finally, a small gasp sounded behind him.

Harry turned and saw Hermione standing with her wand raised, a silvery mist suspended in front of her.

“Excellent, Hermione!” Harry called, a sensation of pride rising in his chest. Her face flushed a bit as everyone looked around at her, but she nodded and moved her wand again.

Harry continued the D.A. meeting in this way, walking a winding path amongst the students and offering small corrections or pieces of advice. Ginny smiled at Harry as he passed and winked as she twirled her wand.

“Nothing yet,” she said. “I think I might need a happier memory.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, suddenly feeling too warm. “That was my problem at first too, it can take some time to find one that works.”

“I’ll keep thinking then,” she said, still smiling. Harry smiled back and went around to the other side of the room. He watched as they practiced, felt excited when he spotted someone produce even the smallest mist. It might not be a lot yet, but they were making progress.

He circled the room again, and caught a glance of a Hufflepuff first-year, newly recruited by Luna only since classes resumed, waving his wand a bit too enthusiastically.

“Mind if I help?” Harry asked as he approached. The Hufflepuff looked over and nodded nervously.

“You’re going a bit too fast, you really need to focus on following through on the whole movement. Here – ” Harry reached out, placing his hand over the student’s in order to guide the motion.

Together, they completed the arc, the subtle flick at the end – “Now!”

“Expecto patronum!” The boy said. His eyes widened as a thick wisp of silver erupted from the end of his wand, shimmering before him.

“I did it!” the boy squeaked in excitement.

But Harry was not looking at the foundations of the patronus. He stood, his body running cold. He had let go of the boy’s hand, revealing underneath angry red letters carved into the back of his hand. ‘This pain means I am learning.’

The Hufflepuff boy glanced up at Harry, the excitement leaving his eyes at the look on his face. Quickly, he yanked his sleeve down over his hand, hiding the words, and took off across the room towards a group of other Hufflepuffs.

Harry remained rooted to the spot. The sounds of students practicing patronuses continued around him.

“Expecto patronum.”

“Expecto patronum.”

“Expecto patronum.”

“Harry?”

Harry twisted around.

“It’s getting late,” Ginny stood just behind him, indicating to the large grandfather clock against the wall. “Perhaps we should end practice for today?”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Harry muttered.

He clapped his hands together, getting everyone’s attention. “That’s it for tonight! Thanks everyone, see you all next week!”

The crowd began to shuffle towards the exit. Ginny smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “Good practice today, Har.”

Harry watched as she joined Agatha in the swell of students waiting to exit the room of requirement. Turning the other way, Harry spotted Hermione tidying up some of the spare cushions from earlier in their practice.

“Hermione,” Harry hissed pulling her by the sleeve of her robes, so they were a bit further from the others.

“What is it?”

“I saw something – on the back of that Hufflepuff’s hand.”

“Who?” Hermione asked, looking around. “Jeremy Roscombe?”

“Yeah.” Harry felt the icy cold inside him being replaced with a burning rage.

“There were words on his hand. Like the ones I had. But different. It said ‘This pain means I’m learning.’”

Hermione looked ill. “She’s… she’s evil.”

“He’s just a first year,” Harry said furiously. “How could she do that?”

“It’s absolutely awful, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice shaking. “And completely illegal. But we shouldn’t be so surprised that if she would do it to you, she would do it to others too.”

“I didn’t think…” Harry swallowed, feeling the anger continuing to rise. “I thought she was only doing it to me.”

‘How could I have been so stupid to think that?’ He thought.

“There are probably others,” Hermione said sadly. “Who knows how many students have gone through detention with her.”

“I’m going to do something about it,” Harry muttered through his teeth.

“Jeremy might not want to go forward, you didn’t either,” Hermione reminded him. “I don’t think we should force him to – ”

“No,” Harry said, interrupting. “I’m going to do it.”

Harry held back his anger until the following day. He entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, feeling the rage coursing through his veins. Hermione gave him a sideways glance as Umbridge entered the room.

“Wands away, quills out, everyone seated,” she crooned. The class obeyed, taking their seats. Except for Harry.

Umbridge cleared her throat. “Mr. Potter, take your seat so we can begin with chapter seventeen.”

Harry didn’t move. His eyes were locked on hers. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest. “Fuck you.”

The class collectively gasped. Umbridge stared. Hermione made a small strangled noise beside him. Ron looked as if Harry had just proceeded to jump of a cliff.

“I beg your pardon?” She whispered.

“I’m not doing anything you fucking tell me to again,” Harry said, his voice thick with rage. “You’re a fucking monster.”

Umbridge blinked at him. Anxious whispers began to echo throughout the room. Umbridge raised a hand to silence them.

“Detention,” she said, her eyes so wide they were bulging out of her skull. “Immediately after class.”

Harry didn’t wait to hear more, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the classroom. He slammed the door behind him, threw his bag against the stone wall. He paced up and down, flashes of Jeremy’s hand entering his mind over and over. She was hurting children. Children.

In what felt like far less time than it should have been, the bell rang. Students began pouring out of the room, glancing in his direction before quickly turning away. Ron and Hermione ran towards him.

“Harry,” Ron began. “What are you - ?”

“She could expel you!” Hermione cried.

“I’ll see you both later,” Harry interrupted, pushing past the last of the exiting students, heading back into the classroom.

“Close the door, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said quietly. On the desk closest to hers already lay a piece of parchment, and a quill with no ink.

Harry walked to the desk and sat down. Calm washed over him as he picked up the quill, bringing it to the top of the page. He looked up, meeting her gleeful eyes. And he smiled.

Her expression faltered.

“Go on,” she said. “Write.”

Harry touched the quill to the page, and wrote.

After at least two hours in detention, Harry left Umbridge’s office, heading immediately to the first floor. To McGonagall’s office.

The rumors of Umbridge’s exit spread fast. Some students claimed that she had been run out of the castle by Peeves. Others said she had finally returned to her true form – a toad – and hopped off into the Forbidden Forest. But Dumbledore’s Army knew the truth of the matter.

When Harry had arrived at McGonagall’s office, she had taken one look at his hand and reacted with such fury that Harry almost shrunk back in fear himself. She immediately escorted him straight to Dumbledore, and within the hour, the Minister of Magic had been contacted. Harry had watched as Umbridge had entered the headmaster’s office, wearing a pink nightrobe, looking indignant.

 And then she saw Harry.

“I’m sorry Professor,” he had smiled. “I was told I must not tell lies.”

‘Harry –

Dumbledore sent me an owl, he told me what that horrible woman did. Are you ok?’

 – a great deal of ink smudges from sentences being started and crossed out were smeared across the parchment until at the bottom –

‘Hope to hear from you soon.

 – Sirius’

Chapter Text

‘MINISTRY APPOINTED HOGWARTS PROFESSOR SACKED FOR BRUTALIZING STUDENTS

Thursday night, Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and now former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was fired after reports of physically harming students as punishment for misbehavior came to light. The exact method of harm has not yet been revealed; however, claims suggest that the punishment was sever enough to rouse Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, from his home in London immediately.

“Fudge received a message from Albus Dumbledore at approximately 10:30 PM, requesting he came to Hogwarts at once,” an unnamed ministry official stated. An hour or so later, Umbridge was removed from Hogwarts grounds. The Daily Prophet sought a response to these claims from Fudge; however, he has refused to comment.

The Daily Prophet has been unable to yet confirm which students were affected, though some insider reports suggest that in the investigation thus far, as many as 23 students have been identified as being subjected to Umbridge’s abuse. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes are currently cancelled for all Hogwarts students until an appropriate replacement is found.’

“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Ron said in awe as Hermione accepted the newspaper back from him. Fudge was pictured on the front page, pushing away quills and cameras as he tried desperately to sidle out of frame. “I didn’t think anyone would be able to take her down.”

“Well, it’s pretty difficult for the Ministry to excuse that degree of maltreatment,” Hermione said, folding the newspaper up again.

“Still,” Ron said, spearing a sausage with his fork. “I thought Fudge would have put up more of a fight.”

“Oh, he tried,” Harry said grimly, reaching for his orange juice. “When he saw me, he immediately began ranting about how nothing I said could be believed and I was just out to get anyone who was trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me. Didn’t exactly go over well when Dumbledore asked me to show him my hand.”

“Well,” Hermione sighed sharply. “It’s over now – for now, anyways.”

“Yeah, until the next twat gets brought in,” Ron grumbled.

For the next week, Hogwarts students enjoyed extra free periods during what would have been Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry felt a sigh of relief run through him whenever he checked his scheduled and reminded himself that he did not need to walk into Umbridge’s classroom ever again. The cuts to the back of his hand had almost entirely healed again, though the scars of her messaging would take much longer to fade entirely. Harry did his best to not check the backs of other students’ hands in the halls. He was sure they wanted privacy around what had happened between them and Umbridge as much as he wished he could have had.

By the following Tuesday, however, an announcement was made over dinner that DADA classes would be resuming.

Wednesday afternoon, the Gryffindors wandered into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, uncertain who they would find.

“Surely whoever it is can’t be worse than Umbridge though, right?” Neville had whispered anxiously.

But any optimism wilted the moment Professor Brickbat waddled into the room. He was a portly man, with a large neck and a thick mustache that reminded Harry of a wet broom. As he wrote on the chalkboard, he smudged his words leaving a dust on the right sleeve of his robes. Not only were the words on the board impossible to decipher, his voice was garbled, as if someone was stirring a thick porridge. Through coughs and splutters, the students assumed he was trying to teach a lesson on something, but exactly what was lost on them.

At the end of the lesson, the students had shared confused glances as they packed up their things.

“Guess this means DA will continue as normal, then?” Ron had said as he, Harry, and Hermione walked out together.

Harry had nodded, feeling a quiet sigh of relief. He had felt vindicated as he watched Umbridge take her final exit from Hogwarts through Dumbledore’s fireplace; however, he had, in the subsequent days, also felt worried. Perhaps a new, more capable teacher would arrive, meaning there would be no more need for DA meetings. And without a need for DA meetings, there was one less need for Harry, as well.

Fortunately, Brickbat had ensured this would not be the case.

With his passion for the DA fully ignited, Harry began making use of his slowest classes – Defense Against the Dark Arts, Divination, and History of Magic – to doodle ideas for DA lessons. During one particularly dreary Divination lesson, as Ron nodded off next to him, Harry watched the rain patter against the windows of North Tower as he considered who he should pair up together when they covered the blasting curse, reducto, at the next meeting. He scanned the room for ideas, catching Professor Trelawney leaning forward over Neville as his teacup rattled in its saucer in his hands.

‘Maybe I should pair Neville with Luna,’ Harry thought, tapping his quill on the parchment ‘He’s still gaining confidence and she’s quite gentle.’ Harry made a note of this, putting their names side by side.

‘And maybe… Ginny should go with…’ Harry wrote down her name and then paused, his quill hovering just above where he had dotted the ‘i'. Something in seeing her name written on his page pulled at him unexpectedly.

Suddenly aware of what he was doing, Harry glanced sideways at Ron. He had his head tiled forward, chin in his palm, leaning on his elbow, dozing.

Quickly all the same, Harry scratched out the name, folded up the parchment and shoved it into a random page of his Divination textbook. He pulled his own teacup towards him and nudge Ron hard in the ribs just as Professor Trelawney swept towards their direction.

“I can’t believe she didn’t notice I was fully passed out,” Ron laughed as he cut his herb-buttered salmon, steam rising from the pink center.

“Sounds like her inner eye still needs glasses,” Hermione snorted, reaching for the bowl of steamed carrots. The Great Hall buzzed with the comforting hum of dinner chatter, cutlery clinking on plates as the student indulged on roasted chicken, potatoes, and warm rolls after another icy January day.

“How was Arithmancy?” Harry asked, buttering a slice of bread.

“Oh, fine,” Hermione sighed. “Professor Vector was reintroducing predictive outcome modeling in spellcasting using modular magical integers – some of the other students were struggling to understand it.”

“I wonder why,” Ron muttered.

Harry suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder.

A small Hufflepuff boy stood behind him. “Er, are you Harry Potter?”

Harry glanced at Ron before responding. “Yes?”

“I have a message from P-Professor Dumbledore,” the boy stuttered. “He wants to see you in his office, after dinner.”

“Oh, thanks – ” Before Harry could finish, the boy had scampered off again, back to his table.

“Do you think this is about what happened over Christmas?” Hermione asked, lowering her voice. “Do you think he’s figured something out?”

“Oh,” Harry said uncomfortably. “Yeah, maybe.”

The three friends all looked up to the staff table, searching for Dumbledore. His seat was vacant.

“I wonder where he is,” Ron said. “And what he’s come up with.”

“I couldn’t find anything in the library,” Hermione said. “I think things on possession are in the restricted section, though.”

“What do you think he’s going to have you do?” Ron asked.

“I dunno,” Harry said, slicing a bit of baked potato with the side of his fork. “I just hope he doesn’t put me under surveillance again.”

After dinner, Harry split off from Ron and Hermione with a nervous goodbye. His feet felt heavy as he climbed the stairs from the entrance hall in the direction of Dumbledore’s office. A small voice in his head tried to reassure him that Dumbledore had only called him to his office to talk further about the supposed possession, but a much louder voice overpowered his thoughts.

Had Dumbledore discovered the real reason he had left Grimmauld Place? Or at least confirmed it had nothing to do with possession? It wasn’t impossible, not even slightly. His excuse had been weak from the beginning, leaning on lapses in memory to try to convince him. Was he about to walk into an ambush? Maybe he should turn back now, just skip the meeting all together.

Harry felt his breath hitch – what if Sirius was there? What if he yelled at him again? If Dumbledore had learned that he had lied, Harry was sure he would have told Sirius.

He kept dragging his feet forward, though they more and more tried to hold him back. The echo of his shoes against the stone floors clanged about the empty halls, seeming louder than ever.

Idea after idea began swimming through his mind of excuses for why he left. He hadn’t been possessed, but he had thought he was under attack. No, that wouldn’t work, he would have had no reason to lie in the first place if this had been the case. He had just fancied a stroll? Maybe an even worse idea. Harry’s heart sank as he approached the gargoyle blocking Dumbledore’s office.

He would have to tell the truth.

It was far earlier than he had hoped to be in this situation, but what choice did he have? If he had been caught in this lie, then he would have no choice.

Harry swallowed hard, debating one last time whether to run the opposite way. However, the gargoyle sprang to life, revealing the spiral steps, and leaving him with no choice but to continue forward.

“Take a seat, Harry,” Dumbledore said as Harry entered. The office looked just as chaotic as the last time he had visited. Dumbledore waved his arm, sending a crowd of owls that had been gathered on his desk over to the windowsill where the hooted in objection.

“Sorry for the mess,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve been sending many letters in the past few weeks.”

Harry nodded, lowering himself into the open chair before the ebony desk. He felt his body tightening up again, the need to swallow happening over and over as nausea wash through him.

“How have your classes been?”

Harry looked up, clasping his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking.

“Ok,” Harry managed, before swallowing again.

Dumbledore stared down his half-moon spectacles, studying Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said finally.

“Sir?”

“I want you to know,” Dumbledore said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “That I am sorry. I should have realized sooner what Dolores was doing. I have failed you, and the other students at Hogwarts who were subjected to her detentions.”

Harry paused, blinking. “There was no way for you to know,” he said eventually. “I should have come forward sooner.”

“The contrary, Harry. A good Headmaster is attentive, aware. He is familiar with the inner workings of his school. He makes certain that things like this do not happen.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to this. He settled for saying nothing at all.

“It will be a long while before I feel like I can forgive myself for this,” Dumbledore said after a moment. “And I don’t expect that forgiveness to be handed to me easily by you either.”

“I’m not upset, Professor.”

Dumbledore watched Harry for a moment, before shaking his head. “There is also the matter of what occurred over Christmas.”

Harry felt his stomach sink. He felt bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Sir – ”

“After the attack, I returned to Grimmauld Place. I checked the wards.”

The silence was maddeningly loud. Harry felt as if his heart would leap from his chest.

“I found a tear.”

Everything came crashing to a halt around him. “What?” Harry said.

“A tear. We check the wards frequently, because they wear down over time. And we had overlooked a tear, only a few centimeters wide. Enough to let in dark magic.”

Harry watched as Dumbledore looked away from him. He looked distraught.

“In both the places where I am meant to protect you,” he said, “I failed. And because of that, you now carry more burdens – what you endured from Dolores, and what you suffered through with the possession. You already carry so much, Harry. And I gave you more.”

“This isn’t your fault, Professor,” Harry found himself saying. “This is good – you found the break in the wards – ”

“Only after you had been attacked.” Dumbledore said cutting him off. “It’s unacceptable that this happened.”

Harry wanted to argue further, but stopped himself. The chills that had been wracking through him had been replaced by the heat of shame. Shame that Dumbledore was blaming himself for something that had never happened.

“I promise you, Harry,” Dumbledore said, causing Harry to look up again. “This will not happen again. I will not let you down further. I have strengthened the wards further, and I have placed additional protections around you. For security, I will not go into more detail on them, but please forgive me for the mistakes I have made and know that I am going even farther to make sure they are not repeated.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he nodded shakily. He felt guilty that Dumbledore was shouldering the responsibility of a lie. But on the other hand, that lie had led to the uncovering of a weakness in the wards. It seemed like there had been no real harm done. It seemed like no one would have to find out about the Williams, or the transfer of cancer.

“One thing I can tell you,” Dumbledore continued, his voice interrupting Harry’s thoughts, “is that in line with increasing your protections, I am going to have you begin training in Occlumency.”

“What is that?” Harry mumbled.

“Occlumency,” Dumbledore explained, “is the magical art of protecting your mind against intrusion. It is the shield that guards your thoughts from those who would seek to invade or influence them.

“I believe that Voldemort’s link to you, through your scar, has grown stronger.” Dumbledore continued. “It is incredibly difficult magic, perhaps some of the most difficult magic out there. But I believe that it could prevent a future attack.”

“If you think it is worth studying, then I am happy to try,” Harry said awkwardly.

Dumbledore nodded grimly. “It takes a great amount of practice. It involves someone trying to invade your mind as you attempt to form barriers to stop the attack, or otherwise divert them away from your most precious thoughts. In this way, you would be trained to evade a future possession.”

“Wait,” Harry said, his stomach dropping. “Invading my mind? So, you’d be able to read my thoughts?”

“Not exactly,” Dumbledore said, hesitating. “I will have you study under Professor Snape.”

Harry tensed.

“ – So I will not be seeing your memories, but Professor Snape will be able to, at the beginning anyways. Hopefully in your training, you will learn to successfully block him.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Anxieties were kicked up inside him again as he imagined being in Snape’s dungeon, his wand raised, about to discover for certain this time what had really happened over Christmas break.

“I know your relationship with Professor Snape is not… the best,” Dumbledore said. “But I hope you can understand why I am having you begin these lessons. I truly believe it is our best method to go beyond wards and outward protections, to truly increase your own defenses.”

Harry nodded slowly, feeling waves of panic beneath his calm exterior. His palms were sweating. He unclasped his hands and wiped them on his robes. “I understand.”

Dumbledore smiled at him as he stood. Harry followed suit. He felt mechanical as he walked towards the door. Dumbledore gave him a firm, comforting pat on the shoulder.

“We will arrange your first lesson soon,” Dumbledore said. “Take care of yourself, Harry.”

As Harry descended the spiraling staircase, his mind tripped over itself. His thoughts stalled as worry after worry thundered forward, trying to scream louder than the others. Everyone was going to find out. Snape was going to invade Harry’s mind during their Occlumency lesson, and he was going to see everything. The worst was certainly the Bane of Mercy potion – what would Dumbledore say when Snape told him Harry had willingly drank a potion that would kill him? – but there were other things, too. The cuts on his arms. Panic attacks in bathrooms. Mr. Dursley looming over him.

Embarrassing memory after embarrassing memory swept through his mind as he stumbled into the corridor. It was all going to be ripped open, laid out for Snape to see. Harry imagined his sneering look, gleeful in catching Harry in so many lies and secrets.

Suddenly, just as Harry was about to round a corner leading to the main staircases, he heard muffled shouting.

He froze.

It was distant at first, but unmistakable – raised voices, sharp and urgent. A few seconds passed before he could make out distinct tones: one deeper, the other slightly higher – a boy and a girl. They were arguing, their voices appearing to come from a spare classroom up ahead.

Harry looked around. The hallways were empty, except for some portraits, whispering in their frames with wide eyes. There was no indication of who these voices could belong to. He hesitated. Hogwarts was full of bickering students.

But then, the deeper voice grew even louder still. Something in the way it snapped caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand. Without much thought, Harry ran forward fast. He shoved open the door with a loud bang, his wand raised.

Inside, two figures stood mere inches apart in the middle of the room. Their heads whipped around to look at him.

Malfoy and Ginny stood staring back. Both of them were flushed, breathing hard. If Harry hadn’t heard the arguing, he may have mistaken their appearance to imply something else.

“What the hell?” Malfoy spat, recovering first from the surprise intrusion. “Get out of here, Potter.”

Harry stayed rooted to the spot. “What’s going on? I heard shouting.”

Ginny and Malfoy exchanged a glance. She stepped back, her eyes wide, but not with fear.

“So?” Malfoy glared. “That doesn’t mean you can come barging into any room you want like a bloody Auror – put that thing away.”

Harry didn’t lower his wand. “Ginny?”

“It’s fine,” Ginny said, picking her bag off the ground. “I was leaving anyways.”

“Ginny, don’t – ” Malfoy started, reaching for her. Something in Harry’s chest roared.

“Get away from her,” Harry said, raising his wand higher.

“Stop – ” Ginny began, looking to Harry.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” Malfoy taunted. “Got a problem with me spending time with your girlfriend?”

“Shut it,” Ginny snapped at Malfoy. “Both of you, now.”

She pushed past Harry, heading out the door. Harry gave one last glance to Malfoy was fuming, his arms crossed, before he pocketed his wand and went after her.

“Why were you two arguing?” Harry said breathlessly as he rushed to catch up.

“Drop it, Harry,” Ginny said without looking back.

“Did he hurt you?”

“What? No!” Ginny said exasperated.

“Look, Ginny,” Harry said, catching her by the sleeve. She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. He hesitated. “I don’t know what was going on there but, you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ginny glared, flames behind her eyes.

“I…” Harry began to say, but the admission of seeing them on the map together died in his throat.

“I don’t need someone telling me who I can and can’t be alone with,” Ginny said angrily.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“He’s a Slytherin – ”

“So? Who the fuck cares?”

“I heard him shouting at you – what was I supposed to do, just walk away?” Harry said in exasperation.

“Yeah, maybe!” Ginny shot back. “I already have six older brothers, I don’t need a seventh.”

“I wasn’t trying to – ”

“Weren’t trying to what? Curse him? It sure looked like it.”

“Again,” Harry said frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. “He was yelling at you!”

“I was yelling at him, too!”

“He could have hurt you!”

“He wasn’t going to hurt me!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes,” Ginny said coldly. “I do.”

Harry felt the question spill out before he could stop himself, the question he had been wondering since the autumn – “Why were you even alone with him? What were you doing in there with Malfoy?”

Ginny’s eyes flashed. “That’s none of your business.”

“Ginny, I just – ”

“I don’t need this right now,” Ginny snapped. “We can talk about this later.”

Before Harry could answer, she had already turned around and continued down the corridor and around the corner. He stood there, alone in silence, frustration and guilt twisting in his chest. He didn’t know what had just happened between Ginny and Malfoy. And worse, he wasn’t sure if it was any of his business anymore.

Chapter Text

Harry had barely sat down when Ginny approached him at breakfast the next morning. Her hair was twisted up into a quick knot on the top of her head, her bag hoisted high onto her shoulder and crammed full of textbooks for her morning classes.

“Can we talk?” She asked, looking pointedly at Harry.

Harry sat his spoon down on the table and stood with a nod. Ron gave a confused look, glancing between his best friend and sister, a bit of milk dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he stopped chewing his cornflakes. Ron swallowed hard, preparing to interject, but Hermione gave him a firm elbow to the side.

Harry followed Ginny out of the Great Hall and around a corner where she stood just on the other side of a particularly stoic suit of armor. She tapped her finger on her crossed arms as she waited for him to reach her, before letting her arms drop to her sides.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny began. “About last night.”

Harry didn’t say anything. His mind had been tangled up in memories of the moment. Finding her and Malfoy alone, the flash of anger as he thought Malfoy was about to hurt her, the wave of worry as she walked away from him.

After a few moments, Harry managed a nod.

“It wasn’t fair of me to snap at you like I did,” she continued. “I was already in a bad mood, and I took it out on you. I understand why you came in there like you did, I would’ve done the same thing too, I think, if I heard shouting. So, I’m sorry.”

Ginny looked up expectantly at Harry. He scuffed his shoe against the floor, wishing to go back to the Great Hall.

“Do you… accept my apology?” Ginny asked hesitantly.

Harry looked away, nodding once more. Ginny looked unconvinced as she crossed her arms again.

“Would you rather we talk about this later?” She asked bluntly.

Harry sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “I’d rather not talk about this at all.”

“We have to, eventually anyways,” Ginny said. “I’m not going to be like Ron and let this fester.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Harry said in frustration. “It’s like you said last night, it’s none of my business, and I should stay out of it.”

Ginny sighed. “I… I probably shouldn’t have said that either.”

She stopped mid-sentence; a loud group of second year Hufflepuffs were exiting the Great Hall. They stood silently, waiting for them to pass them on their way up the stairs.

“I know it must have looked… weird.” Ginny continued awkwardly. “If I had run into you both mid-fighting match, I would have also asked questions. Would’ve wanted to know what was going on.”

Ginny paused, leaning up against the stone wall. A draft came through as someone walked out of the Entrance Hall and out onto the grounds. Harry shivered.

“I… I can’t tell you everything,” Ginny said finally. “But…”

She stopped again, making an irritated sigh. She pulled out the hair elastic holding her hair back and ruffled the waves of red so that they spilled down in a mess over her shoulders.

“He wasn’t attacking me.” Ginny said, snapping the elastic around her wrist. “We’re… we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Harry scoffed incredulously.

“Yes,” Ginny frowned. “Friends.”

“Since when?”

“Since my third year.”

“ Third year?” Harry gawked.

“Yes,” she repeated.

“What… How…?” Harry stammered.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she said. “But the short of it is, he found out that his father had given me Tom’s diary.”

“Why would that make you guys more likely to be friends?” Harry asked confused.

“Because he didn’t like what happened,” Ginny said simply.

“Why, he wanted to be the one to give it to you himself?”

“Don’t be such a prat, Harry,” Ginny glared. “He’s not who you think he is.”

“I think I know exactly who he is - he doesn’t try to hide it,” Harry said indignantly. “He’s a bully, and a prick.”

“This is exactly why I haven’t told anyone about him,” Ginny said in annoyance. “He does hide who he is, behind all of that. He doesn’t want to be like his father.”

“Since when? He’s always spewing pureblood bullshit.”

“It’s complicated.”

“How is any of this complicated?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“Because,” Ginny said in exasperation. “He can’t have the others finding out.”

“The other who?”

“Slytherins,” she said quietly. “The other children of Death Eaters. It would get back to his family then, too.”

“What would get back to his family?”

Ginny grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him a bit deeper into the corner of the room, away from the now crowds of students leaving the Great Hall and heading towards classes.

“That he doesn’t want to be one of them. He doesn’t want to be a Death Eater.”

“Occlumency, huh,” Hermione muttered as she cut her dittany root into even pieces. The cauldrons of the potions classroom were emitting spirals of purple smoke so thick it was difficult to see through. This paired with the sounds of the boiling potions made for an excellent mask for their conversation.

“Have you heard of it before?” Harry asked quietly.

“I read about it once,” Hermione responded, sweeping up the sliced roots and sprinkling them in the cauldron. “It was only briefly mentioned, with about the same level of detail Dumbledore gave you.”

“Do you reckon it will work, then?” Ron said, handing her the next ingredient he had been grinding at the workbench.

“Hard to say,” Hermione admitted. “But if Dumbledore thinks so, then I think it’s better than nothing.”

“Sucks that it’s with Snape,” Ron hazarded a glance across the room. The outline of the potions master could just be made out through the purple haze, bent over some poor students cauldron. “Why wouldn’t Dumbledore just teach you himself?”

“Who knows,” Harry shrugged. “Probably busy.”

Although Snape remained Harry’s least favorite teacher at Hogwarts (a spot only contested by Umbridge previously), in some ways he was grateful to not spend extra time with Dumbledore. Being around him made Harry feel like a snake was winding itself through his chest, tightening and tightening further still. He was constantly on edge that the Headmaster would one day open the office door, and say, “You’ve been lying, Harry.”

Unfortunately, Harry knew it was only a matter of time now before Dumbledore did find out the truth. Although the mechanics of Occlumency were still unclear, the dangers of going to lessons to learn it were not.

‘It involves someone trying to invade your mind… Professor Snape will be able to see your memories…’

Dumbledore’s words echoed through his mind as Harry flipped the page of the textbook for Hermione to continue reading the instructions. Snape was going to see something. What, Harry wasn’t exactly sure, but there was no shortage of things he did not want him to come across. And Harry had the sneaking suspicion that the things he wanted Snape to see the least were most likely to swim to the front of his mind during lessons.

“Harry?”

“What?” Harry said, startling out of his thoughts.

“I said hopefully your lessons will start soon,” Hermione said, giving him a searching look. “It would be a lot better if you had some way to defend yourself from these visions, or attacks.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said lamely, leaning forward on his elbows and letting his eyes glaze over on the textbook’s open pages. “Yeah, definitely.”

‘Ava -

It’s so nice to hear that you and your dad were able to go on that cycling weekend. He must be feeling loads better to be able to go up all those hills!

Things over here are pretty normal - as normal as can be for a magical school. One of our professors got fired, did I mention that in my last letter? She was pretty awful. I’ll have to tell you more about her the next time I see you.

It’s really snowy right now where I am - I’m guessing it’s a bit better where you are. Not that I generally mind it being snowy, but it makes it more difficult to train for Quidditch (the broomstick game).

Hope you’re staying warm and all is well, enjoy some of your mum’s biscuits for me.

- Harry’

‘Harry -

Please write back. I don’t know what else to say.

- Sirius.’

It was only a few days later as on his way into a Charms lesson, a Ravenclaw third-year passed Harry a scroll tied with emerald twine.

‘Lessons begin 7:00, tonight. Don’t be late.’

“What’s that about?” Ron asked as Harry rolled it up. Harry shoved the scroll into Ron’s hands and entered the classroom. Throughout Professor Flitwick’s lecture, Harry tapped his quill nervously, the professors lesson sounding like a garbled mess of sounds rather than instruction. His knee bounced up and down under the table as anxiety took over. Exit strategies rushed through his brain, but none felt like a promising solution.

Hermione gave him several sharp looks before she reached across and pushed his knee down firmly so his foot was flat on the floor. Harry jumped at the touch before registering it was Hermione and giving an apologetic glance.

A crumbled bit of parchment bounced out in front of Harry.

‘ What’s up?’ it read, in Ron’s messy scrawl.

‘ Nothing’ Harry scribbled and tossed it back.

A reply rolled in front of him. ‘ Bullshit.’

Before Harry could respond, the note lifted out of his hands and zoomed across the room.

“No notes, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick squeaked. Harry shot Ron a look who gave a sheepish grin. Harry rubbed his sweaty palms against his robes, doing his best to look like he was absorbing some of the lesson.

“It’s going to be alright,” Hermione reassured Harry as she spooned mashed potatoes onto her plate. “I know it’s with Professor Snape, but Dumbledore wouldn’t put you in harms way. This is a good thing.”

Harry stared miserably into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

“You’ve served detentions with him loads of times,” Ron added. “It can’t be any worse than those, right? This will probably even be better - it’ll actually be useful.”

Harry still didn’t respond. The chatter from the Great Hall bounced around the walls and felt stiflingly loud. He felt like he had at the beginning of the school year - everything was too cramped, there were too many people, too many sounds and colors.

“Want a sausage?” Hermione asked, raising the tray. “They’re very nice.”

“No thanks,” Harry mumbled, sinking forward onto his elbows.

“You really should have something,” she tried again, picking up the serving tongs. “Practicing Occlumency probably requires a lot of magical strength.”

“I’ll have something after the lesson,” Harry said, reaching for the water pitcher and filling a nearby empty goblet. He only managed a few sips though - his throat closed up each time he tried to drink.

Harry stood outside of Professor Snape’s dungeon classroom, his heart thudding in his chest. His thoughts were running together, ricocheting about his mind as his hand hovered above the door handle. How would he explain it if Snape saw him leaving Grimmauld Place on his own accord? Or in the hospital room with the Williams? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad - he would be caught in one lie, yes, but maybe it would be excusable - of course he would want to visit someone who was dying. But then more questions would come - why hadn’t he just told the truth in the first place? Why had he felt the need to sneak away?

The door opened before Harry could make up his mind, revealing the potions master. Snape looked down his long nose, grimacing at Harry.

“It’s 7:02,” he sneered. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Harry stood before Snape, his wand raised. He found himself reminded of the moments before his duel in second year, the one that was supposed to be with Malfoy during which Snape had intervened. They stood across from each other, Snape’s eyes narrowed and locked in on Harry’s.

“Clear your mind,” Snape drawled, raising his wand a bit higher. “Don’t let me enter.”

Desperately, Harry tried to shove the thoughts of the Williams, the hospital, the Bane of Mercy, everything to the back of his brain. But just like trying to catch water in cupped hands, they trickled back through, images flashing before him of his evenings in the Room of Requirement, of sneaking out of Grimmauld Place, of drinking the potion and then passing a second potion to Mr. Williams…

‘ Think about anything but that,’ Harry thought, feeling his body shake. He hoped Snape could not see the way his wand quivered in his outstretched hand. ‘Think about studying, think about the Burrow, think about - ’

“ Legilimens !”

Harry’s felt as if Snape’s eyes were boring into his. The rest of the room swirled about him, everything began to blur, he felt something - a force - thrusting itself upon him, trying to enter into his very being, pushing up against his face -

But then, something surged inside him. Like a rubber band snapping, automatic and without effort, Harry felt himself throw Snape’s spell directly back at him. Almost as if he was a Hippogriff, barreling forward, no one could stop him - suddenly memories which were not his were thundering through his mind. Harry could not clearly make out any of them, the power of the spell was so strong that everything whipped past him, driving deeper and deeper into Snape’s mind.

“ENOUGH!” Snape broke the contact, sending Harry flying backwards with some wordless spell. Harry stumbled into a desk, tripping and nearly falling. Breathless, Snape looked at Harry, his eyes wide and shining.

“How did you do that?” Snape whispered. His greasy hair hung limply in front of his face, moving with each breath in and out.

Harry gripped the edge of the desk. His muscles were tensed, magic still buzzed about him, as if his whole body was ready for another attack.

“Potter,” Snape spat. “Answer me.”

“I-I don’t know,” Harry said, trying his best to loosen his hold on the table, to relax his arms and slow his breathing.

“Have you practiced Occlumency before?”

“N-no.”

Snape stared at him, before surging towards Harry. He yelped as Snape grabbed him by the cuff of his robes.

“What did you see?” Snape hissed.

“N-nothing,” Harry choked out.

“Liar,” Snape replied, tightening his grip on Harry. Harry flinched, and with this movement came a second surge of magic. Snape let go of him as if he had been electrocuted, letting out a sharp cry and holding his hand close to his chest.

The two stood there, both hunched over and breathing heavily. Harry sank to the ground, leaning against the side of a chair, keeping the desk between himself and Snape.

“Stay here,” Snape growled. He raised his wand, locking the door out of the classroom. Then, he strode behind his desk, reached above the mantle towards a squat glass jar, and, taking a fistful of Floo Powder, he said gruffly, “Headmaster’s office!”

It felt both like seconds and an eternity while Snape was gone. Harry worked again at releasing the tension from his body, but his legs were locked up, bent awkwardly beneath him. He took deep, purposeful breaths, trying to steady his mind. What had just happened? How had he managed not only to block Snape, but to break his defenses and invade his mind instead?

The classroom felt like it might cave in on him at any second. Harry became acutely aware that there were no windows in the dungeon, and no way out either. His wide eyes flickered about the room, searching for anything to focus on, anything to make him feel a bit more stable.

He then realized he was no longer holding his wand. A flood of fear crashed over him - his one defense, missing. He scrambled onto his hands and knees, shoving the desks and chairs around him away, feeling about the cold stone ground. And then he spotted it; it must have fallen from his hand and rolled away, for it was on the other end of the classroom, almost underneath one of the potion ingredient cabinets.

Need surged through Harry, he reached out and - his wand flew across the room and straight into his outstretched hand.

He blinked.

He had just done wandless magic.

Before he could process what had just occurred, the fire sprang to life once more, and in stepped Professor Dumbledore, followed close behind by Snape. Harry shakily got to his feet, suddenly feeling embarrassed to be found on the ground like that, so vulnerable.

“Harry, would you mind coming back with me, to my office?”

Harry shook his head, grateful to have a way out of the dungeons. He quickly gathered his bag, his wand still held tightly like a life preserver, and rushed across the room and into the flames.

When Harry returned to the Common Room, he found Ron and Hermione waiting for him. Crookshanks had been curled up in Hermione’s lap, until she suddenly sat up, sending him flying onto the ground.

“How was it?” she asked, breathlessly, once Harry was near. Harry explained the encounter, the weird sensation of Occlumency, and the even more surprising outcome of the lesson.

“You were in Snape’s mind?” Ron whispered. Although the Common Room was relatively empty, the general quiet presence of a few other Gryffindors actually made it riskier for them to talk.

“Yes, but, like I said, I couldn’t see anything,” Harry said quietly. “It all happened so quickly, it was like I was flying top speed through all of these memories. All I got were flashes.”

“That’s… incredible,” Hermione said in awe. “If Dumbledore selected Snape to teach you specifically for how skilled he was, and you bested him on your first attempt - Harry, you might be one of the most skilled Legillimens ever.”

“Dumbledore said something along the same lines,” Harry said, feeling a bit awkward. “He said it was highly unusual for someone to do so well without ever trying before. But wait, this wasn’t even the craziest thing that happened.”

Ron and Hermione both raised their eyebrows, surprised and expectant. Harry looked around, spotting two third-years by a window. He lifted his hand and concentrated on a book lying open between them. Suddenly, the book slammed shut sending both students jumping.

“ Not funny, Patrick!” One boy said to the other, flipping the book back open. “I’ve lost my place now!”

“That wasn’t me!” Patrick said taken aback.

“Yeah alright,” the first boy said, rolling his eyes. Harry focused again, and the book snapped closed again, this time in both boys lines of sight. The boys sat frozen, watching the book. A moment later, it began to spin in place like a top. They both shrieked leaping back, sending parchment and ink flying.

Ron and Hermione sat, mouths agape, as the two boys ran up the steps of the boys dormitory, their coursework left forgotten.

“Was that you?” Ron asked.

“Yup,” Harry said. He turned back to the mess the boys had left behind, raised his hand and moved it in a sweeping motion. The books and parchment picked themselves up, stacking neatly on the table. The ink syphoned up from the ground, returning to the now unsmashed inkwell.

“You - you can do wandless magic?” Hermione gasped. “Since when?”

“It happened in Snape’s classroom,” Harry said shrugging. “My wand was across the room, and I reached for it and - it just flew into my hand.”

“That’s amazing,” Ron whispered. “Imagine everything you can do. Mate, you can get us out of so many boring lessons.”

“But, wait,” Hermione interrupted. “This doesn’t make sense. Wandless magic is incredibly difficult to master. People don’t just wake up knowing it.”

“Well clearly they sometimes do,” Ron laughed.

“This isn’t funny, Ron, there could be some malignant underlying cause - ”

“How could there be?” Ron said indignantly. “This is something good, Hermione. Not everything is a sign of disaster.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, leaning back in her chair in thought. “Did you tell Professor Dumbledore?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “We were caught up in the whole Occlumency thing.”

“You should really mention it to him,” Hermione said worriedly. “I’ve really never heard of anything like this.”

“Maybe Harry is just a powerful wizard,” Ron said, only half joking. “He defeated You-Know-Who when he was a baby, what’s to say that he doesn’t have gifts comparable to Merlin.”

Hermione shook her head. “Can you think of anything that would have caused this, Harry?”

“No,” he said, without thinking much. “It’s not like I’ve been practicing, or trying to learn wandless magic, or something.”

“Right but, could there be anything that has impacted your magic, though?” Hermione asked. “You haven’t, I don’t know, encountered a strange object, or drank a potion you weren’t certain about?”

Harry hesitated. The Bane of Mercy.

“No, of course not,” he said. “What do you take me for, some idiot who goes around messing with Dark magic?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione said quickly. An edge to her voice told Harry that she was worried, not just about his change in magical ability, but also angering him again. Pushing him away when they had only so freshly began to rebuild. “But someone could have slipped you something. Please just talk to Professor Dumbledore about this, so he knows.”

“Yeah, ok,” Harry said without any fight. Hermione’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“In the meantime, I’ll try and see what I can find in the library,” she went on. “I’ll try and see if there is any record of past witches or wizards just growing into wandless magic abilities.”

“And while you’re working on that, Harry and I’ll find some cool things to do with this new skill,” Ron smirked. “We can finally get the twins back for what they did to me last summer.”

Later that night, Harry lay in bed, his curtains drawn. He stared up into his canopy, the inky darkness turning the crimson velvet black. He had not considered how the effects of the Bane of Mercy would first show up for him. In all truthfulness, he had been so distracted by worrying someone would discover he had lied about sneaking out, he hadn’t even been considering that every second that passed, the cancer inside him was growing. And seemingly, as it multiplied and mutated his cells, it was doing something to his magic, too. This was his first concrete evidence that the potion had not just successfully cured Mr. Williams. It had successfully poisoned Harry, too.

Chapter Text

The last days of January slipped by as Harry’s days became busier still. The workload had not let up from the beginning of the second semester, nor had he slowed down with Quidditch practices or DA meetings. However, another commitment had been added: private lessons with Snape and Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had wanted to observe Harry practicing Occlumency; he had sat at one of the student desks in Snape’s classroom and watched as Harry and Snape both raised their wands again. A bit more prepared and far less anxious, Harry found that he was able to control his defenses. When Snape cast the spell, Harry was able to almost freeze it in front of him. It did not ricochet, but rather Harry could feel it dissipate as if it was a delicate mist.

After watching a few attempts, Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Are you using your wand, Harry?”

“Yes?” Harry said uncertainly.

“I noticed that you were using both your hands when responding to Professor Snape’s spell,” Dumbledore continued. “May I?”

Harry hesitantly passed his wand to Dumbledore’s outstretched hand.

“Again.”

Dumbledore had seen many things in his time, but an underage wizard casting one of the most complicated spells, wandless, was a first. He could not contain his shock and awe. He stood from the desk, his eyes wide, and walked over to Harry. He gripped Harry’s shoulder.

“Outstanding,” he whispered. “What a gift. What a… miracle. Keep this secret, Harry. We do not want Voldemort to know about this.”

Harry had nodded up at the professor’s shining eyes.

Since that moment, Harry did what he could to minimize his use of wandless magic. This was made a great deal more difficult as Ron was enthusiastic to test his new skills (“Quick, while Gin isn’t looking, grab her bread roll!”, “Try vanishing Brickbat’s chalk straight from his hand!”). Each time Harry concentrated, made something flip through the air, disappear on the spot, zoom towards his outstretched hand – he was reminded: the transfer was successful. Deep down, he had already known this; he had continued to hear from Ava of her father’s remarkably good health as the month waned. However, he couldn’t help but think – perhaps his newfound skill indicated that cancer acted different in wizards. Maybe his magic would protect him, the interaction of the two producing positive rather than negative effects.  After all, he had not felt ill so far.

‘PETER PETTIGREW ALIVE – SIRIUS BLACK VINDICATED’

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sat, mouths agape, staring at the newspaper that had been dropped square into Hermione’s breakfast. The chatter in the Great Hall rose as others unfolded their newspapers as well, the members of the staff table had their heads bent together, whispering as well.

“Does this mean he’s free?” Ron asked as Hermione skimmed the article quickly.

“It seems like it!” She said excitedly. “It says ‘Charges against Black for the murder of Pettigrew have been dropped after Pettigrew confessed, under Veritaserum, to helping You-Know-Who in the murder of James and Lily as well as twelve muggles in London.’”

“Blimey,” Ron gasped, running a hand through his hair. “Did Sirius mention any of this to you?”

“No,” Harry said quietly, accepting the newspaper from Hermione. In truth, there hadn’t been a single letter from Sirius that had arrived that was not focused on the fact that Harry wasn’t responding. The letters had become shorter and shorter. The last one just said ‘Please’. Harry had thrown this last one away. He felt ill looking at it.

This was partially due to guilt: perhaps he should just respond, tell him everything was ok, that he had swept it under the rug and moved on from it. It was also partially due to fear. In more recent dreams, Sirius and Uncle Vernon’s faces blurred together. One minute Sirius would be shouting, then Uncle Vernon. Both their faces were red, their eyes black. Even awake, Harry found it difficult to pull the two apart in his mind. The idea of writing to Sirius sent jolts of fear through him in the same way that stepping foot on the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive did.

“Maybe it’s a surprise for everyone,” Ron said, recapturing Harry’s attention. “Dumbledore’s not at the staff table.”

Sure enough, when Harry glanced up, the headmaster’s golden high-backed chair was empty. Harry scanned the article, which contained very little information. Mostly, it repeated itself – that Pettigrew had been discovered by Aurors, that he had confessed to the murders, that all the charges against Sirius had been dropped.

“This is good though, right?” Ron said, his expression one of confused concern. He was looking between Harry and the newspaper expectantly. “Are you not happy?”

“What? Oh yeah, of course I am. This is great news.”

Ron nodded, but his eyebrows were furrowed.

“It will probably be some time before he’s completely free,” Hermione said, accepting the newspaper back. “But we’re on the right path. This is wonderful.”

Harry gave a deliberate smile and then took a sip of his tea.

Harry entered the library that evening as part of his usual pattern, only to find Ginny by the door waiting for him.

“Oh good, you still have your cloak with you,” she said, picking her bag off the ground and tossing her scarf more tightly around her neck. “I thought we could go flying instead of studying tonight.”

“Any particular reason?” He asked, though she had already started down the hall. Despite the argument over Malfoy, Harry had been hoping for things to quickly return to normal. He had had enough tension between himself and Ron before Christmas to last him a life time. Ginny seemed to have felt the same, as their evenings at the library had been uninterrupted by the events.

“Honestly, I could use it,” she said, stretching her arms overhead and rolling her shoulders with an audible crack. “Sitting through a day of Binns and Brickbat back-to-back is basically torture by boredom, I’ve been restless the whole afternoon.

“Actually, speaking of Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she continued as the turned the corner and walked down the steps. “We have an anniversary coming up.”

“What?” Harry felt his cheeks going red.

“Yeah – his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,” Ginny made a gagging sound, sending Harry into a fit of laughter.

“Never thought you would willingly bring that up.”

“Fred and George remind me every year,” Ginny groaned as they descended the last few steps into the Entrance Hall. “Imagine, every February, being reminded of classes with Lockhart, believing that a singing dwarf was the way to a boy’s heart.”

Harry glanced sideways at Ginny but found her laughing at her own younger self.

“There are worse ways,” Harry offered, but Ginny just laughed even more, pushing open the Entrance doors and holding it open for Harry to follow suit.

“C’mon, Harry, you can admit it was horrible.”

“It wasn’t!”

Ginny laughed again, but she looked taken aback.

“No really, I mean – ” Harry stumbled over his words. “It was a bit, er, much. And very, uh, public. But it was also… really brave. And… Sweet.”

Now it was Ginny’s turn to go red. She tucked her hair behind her ear as they walked down towards the pitch.

“You’re a bad liar,” she finally said.

Harry opened his mouth, but she cut him off, a gentle hand on his wrist. “But sweet.”

They paused on the path. Ginny was leaning forward slightly, as if there was something else she wanted to say. Harry too felt like there were words caught in his throat. Ginny had just called him sweet. Ginny, the person he had grown to trust so much these past few months. She was so close he could smell her hair – something flowery, like spring – and see her each of her freckles in the moonlight. There were slight creases above her nose from when she’d wrinkled it while laughing.

“Shall we, er, go get your broom?” Ginny asked.

Harry felt himself fall back to earth. “Yeah, sure, of course, one mo’.”

Harry rushed into the changing rooms to retrieve his Firebolt. What had just happened? If he weren’t so certain he could never do such a thing, he would have thought he was just about to kiss her. Was he just about to kiss her? His fingers slipped as he tried to open his locker, he wiped the sweat off his hands onto his robes.

Harry found Ginny still waiting outside, she had set her bag down on the ground.

“Sorry, I should have offered to put that in the changing room,” Harry said, kicking himself mentally.

“Nah it’s fine, if anyone wants to steal my History of Magic textbook they can have it,” Ginny laughed.

“Want to go first?” Harry asked, holding out his broom.

“Much more of a gentleman this time,” Ginny teased. “Last time I had to practically beg to ride your broom.”

“And I had reason to be concerned – it was nearly impossible for me to take it away from you, I thought you were going to steal it.” Harry grinned.

Ginny reached out and then paused.

“Want to go flying together?”

“Oh, sorry – I can’t get the school brooms,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck under his scarf. “They’re locked up in the broom shed, so we’ll just have to share mine.”

“No, Harry,” Ginny rolled her eyes – was she blushing? “I meant, want to go flying, on the same broom, together?”

“Oh!” Harry said, perhaps a little too loudly. He felt his palms getting sweaty again, despite the sharp winter air. “Uh, yeah – I mean, I haven’t tried to do that before, but – ”

“You’ve been perfecting a Wronski Feint,” Ginny scoffed. “I think you can manage flying on the same broom – have some confidence, Potter!”

Harry grinned and then coughed, choking a bit on his own spit.

“Yeah, sure, er, I mean, yeah,” Harry mumbled, awkwardly swinging his leg of his broom as if it were for the first time again.

“Make some space then,” Ginny said, stepping closer.

Harry shifted forward, anticipation curling in his chest. And then her arms were wrapping around him, tucking her hands into the pockets of his cloak.

“Ready?” Harry felt his voice crack slightly, and he did his best to cover it by clearing his throat.

“Yeap,” Harry heard her say from behind him.

“Hold on, then,” he said, bending his knees slightly. He kicked off from the ground hard, immediately feeling the difference in weight and balance having two people on the broom rather than one. Still, the Firebolt soared upwards quickly. Harry felt Ginny’s arms tighten around him as she pressed her face into the back of his cloak, hiding from the chilly wind that whipped at them as they rose. He found it difficult to concentrate on keeping the broom steady, he was far more aware of her hands across his stomach. He had never had someone hold him like this before.

Eventually, Harry leveled off and began to take lazy laps around the pitch. The stars were brilliantly clear above them, shimmering down on the dark stands below. Each time Harry reached the corner of the pitch, he would take a gentle turn, feeling Ginny also tilt with him. There was something comforting about flying with her. Even though he was following the same flight path over and over again, he didn’t want to ever land.

Harry felt Ginny’s chin press into his shoulder. “So… was it really sweet? That I sent that Valentine?”

Harry swallowed trying his best to keep the broom flying smoothly. “It was.”

“You looked horrified at the time.”

“So did you,” Harry teased, but then paused. “And also… things change.”

Harry felt Ginny adjusted her hold around him. It felt as if she was running her hands along his stomach, caressing him, but maybe he was imagining it. They continued to fly in silence for quite some time, so long that Harry noticed lights beginning to dim in the castle. It was going to be curfew soon.

Reluctantly, Harry tipped the broom ever so slightly forward. Within a few laps, they had descended and were back on the ground. Harry stepped off the broom, Ginny did too. He turned and looked at her for the first time again in the last hour.

“Feels like we should skip studying more often,” Ginny smiled.

“Harry, how did you do that?” Neville asked excitedly as they left the dungeons. Ron and Hermione had been pulled over in the corridor by the Head Boy; Hermione had waved him onward (“We’ll meet you at dinner!”). They had just finished a double block of potions, during which Harry had been the only one to successfully brew the memory retrieval potion they had been assigned.

“I dunno,” Harry said, ruffling his hair. “I just followed the instructions I guess.”

“Yeah, but our potions never turn out that perfect,” Neville raved. “And you got it right even though Snape had left out a line of the recipe!”

“I guess I just remembered from some lesson a while ago,” Harry said as their shoes hit the echoing stone steps. “If you add dragon liver, you always have to add some kind of base, or your potion will be overly acidic.”

Harry was surprised by his own words. He didn’t know where in his mind he was pulling this information, but he also knew for certain it was correct.

“Do you think you could tutor me in potions?” Neville asked excitedly. “I feel like I could really learn from you – I already do learn so much from you in the DA.”

“I don’t know, Nev, I’m not very good at potions – ”  

Neville rolled his eyes. “Yeah ok, I didn’t even know moonstone was a – a what? A base? Let alone that dragon liver needed something like that.”

Harry hesitated. “I’ll – I’ll think about it.” Truly, Harry wasn’t sure whether or not he should draw attention to his bettered potions skills. Dumbledore had asked him to keep his wandless magic secret, and Harry suspected that his general ease in learning new magic lately might be related.

“Thanks Harry, I know you’re already really busy.” Neville said sympathetically. “Maybe it could be something we do as part of the DA? It would be really helpful to know how to brew defensive potions, like healing ones…”

At first it was just in his ears, like a fly had slipped inside his head. Then, as they reached the next landing, it grew louder. A high-pitched hum, layered with static. He rubbed his ear, swallowed hard to see if anything would make a difference. It only became louder still. Neville kept talking, animated and bright, but his voice was sliding away from Harry, like it was falling down a tunnel.

Harry stopped walking, gripping the railing. The floor felt like it was an ocean underneath his feet. Black clouds were creeping in from the corners of his vision, narrowing his sight. He could only see Neville, still speaking, but completely inaudible.

Inside, Harry was panicking. His heart was racing, tightening up within his chest. He tried desperately to slow his breathing, tried to redirect his thoughts away from what he was certain was true: this dizziness was not normal. It was the cancer.

He didn’t even hear Neville say his name – only felt the steady grip on his elbow, grounding him. Harry glanced up again, the blackness almost engulfing everything now except Neville’s wide eyes.

As quickly as the buzzing had set in, it dissipated. The black clouds retracted.

“Harry?” Neville said, sharp with worry.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, blinking some more, looking down at his feet and finding the floor no longer liquid.

“What’s wrong? Do we need to go to the hospital wing?”

Harry shook his head. “N-no. I’m fine. Just… got dizzy for a second.”

As the world settled around him, Harry found himself feeling less wobbly as well. He straightened up.

“You sure? You looked like you were about to fall over.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said quickly, finally letting go of the banister. “Just over hungry, I think.”

Neville looked sympathetic. “That happens to me sometimes too when I go too long without something to eat; luckily I can smell dinner from here!”

Harry made the trip from the dungeons to the Great Hall as quick of one as he could, though his body felt awkwardly sluggish as he took each step. When they reached the Entrance, Harry shook Neville off (“I’m fine, just need the loo – no, I can go on my own, I’ll see you at dinner”) and took the stairs up to the first floor. Once inside the boy’s bathroom, Harry leaned over a sink, breathing heavily. His green eyes looked brighter than normal against his pale skin.

He was going to die.

The thought was one he had had in many split-second moments face-to-face with Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or Dementors closing in on him. This was the first time this thought was not fleeting, not erupting forward in a whirl of dark curses, spiraling him forward to some last-ditch idea to save himself. This time it was slow. It was like tossing a pebble into a cavern you couldn’t see the bottom of. You didn’t know when it would hit the water, but you knew it would. You knew nothing was going to reverse gravity. That pebble was going to reach an end. And in that way, Harry felt nothing and everything all at once.

One of the faucets in the bathroom dripped loudly, a steady tapping that consumed his senses. There was nothing else in the world except for Harry and the inevitable pull of gravity. The sound rattled him – each plinkof water another reminder of what he had done and what was to come. He heard Ava’s voice in those drops – how would he explain to her that he had given her father’s illness to himself?  – saw Hermione’s smile in them – she would never forgive him for tricking her into helping him brew the Bane of Mercy – felt Sirius clapping him on the shoulder – their last Christmas together, maybe their very only Christmas, had been ruined by his thoughtlessness.

Each tiny bit of water was as heavy as the whole world coming down on him.

He was going to die, and no one knew it. He was going to die, and people might hate him for it. The familiar urge to scratch at his skin came over him; he gripped the porcelain edges of the sink instead. He would not give anyone anymore reasons to be concerned for him, or to be angry with him, or to be disappointed in him. He couldn’t do anything about the cancer, it had already been decided for months, but he could be as damn near perfect between now and the end.

Harry reached for the sink and turned on the hot water, just a little too hot, so that it hit his hands with a sharpness that brought him out of his thoughts.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped and twisted around. Ron was standing by the door.

“Everything alright? Neville said you weren’t feeling well.”

Harry rolled his eyes, an exaggerated smile on his face. “That kid’s always worried about something. Let’s get dinner, I’m starving.”

Ron grinned back as Harry shut the faucet off, adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and followed him out of the bathroom.