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Chapter One – The Return to Innocence

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Harry was just coming around. He felt as if he had been struck by lightning at the same time his entire body had been beaten black and blue with a hundred beater bats. His body involuntarily twitched here and there in pain He had never forgotten the lessons the Dursleys taught him. Wait and listen to your surroundings. Pretend to be asleep to keep the enemy unaware. Move quickly to avoid, or at least protect yourself from, the blows. Strike first, if you can, to give yourself time to get away. He kept his breathing slow and steady. It was a bit cold where his uncovered hands languished in the chill air. He could hear many people talking. The sound of their conversation seemed muffled, however it was growing louder by the moment. The pain began to subside.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone run their broom into the pitch like that before," a barely-recognizable voice said, which he now heard almost clearly.

"I saw him grab his head first and then he headed almost straight down!" someone shouted at the periphery of his hearing.

"Is he alive?" someone else called out. This voice, too, seemed familiar.

"Clear the way. Get out of my way, you dunderheads," he heard a hated voice say.

Light had begun to illuminate his eyelids, but he kept up appearances and remained still. He felt a cool hand gently touch his forehead and pull an eyelid open. He was sure his pupil dilated, but he remained unmoving until he could focus on whomever it was.

The same hated voice whispered softly, "He is unconscious. Flint! Run and get Madam Pomfrey immediately! Use your broom! You will get there faster than running! The rest of you back away!" he heard the all-too-familiar voice of Severus Snape yell. He once more felt the cool hand touch his wrist and then his throat, feeling at the carotid artery for a pulse. "Bloody Gryffindor," he heard Snape barely mumble. He felt the cool hands gently running over his head and neck, seemingly looking for hidden injuries. The hand ran over his scar and he could feel Snape's dark mark being called by the horcrux. He felt the rush of air as Snape ripped his hand away from Harry's head as quickly as he could. "In Salazar's name, what has that old idiot done?!" Snape exclaimed quietly.

He heard the sound of a broom coming closer. "Professor!" a gruff, older boy's voice shouted, "Madam Pomfrey cannot come! Greengrass, Granger, and Clearwater were petrified!"

Harry decided now would be a perfect time to "awaken".

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Severus had taken out his wand and was about to begin casting diagnostic charms on the Boy-Who-Lived when his eyes suddenly burst wide open, seemingly looking far past Severus.

"HERMIONE!" the boy shouted in a panic, flailing with his arms, his legs moving in an uncoordinated fashion.

"Flint! Get over here and help me hold him down to keep him from injuring himself further. You! Woods! Get over here and do some good! Help hold Potter down before he injures himself worse. Bell! Inform Professor McGonagall that Mr. Potter has been injured on the Quidditch pitch," Snape said forcefully.

Harry yelled out Hermione's name a few more times, shouting "mirror" and "library" and "Penelope" as well. The two team captains had him effectively pinned to the grass so he was, for the most part, unable to move.

"Potter. Potter! HARRY!" Severus shouted. Before Snape shouted out his name, Harry had decided it might be best to appear to become lucid. He was surprised at Snape calling him by his first name, stopped struggling and focused on Snape, filling his mind with images of Hermione, as he remembered her. The beautiful, younger, intelligent little witch. He pictured her walking through the halls, looking at a mirror, seeing large luminous eyes in the mirror for only a moment, and then blackness.

"Professor Snape! We have to find Hermione!" Harry practically screamed.

A glowing silver kitten flew across the Quidditch pitch and jumped from the turf, disappearing into Snape's head. Snape blinked, then looked up harshly at both Flint and Woods, then looked back down to Harry. In a soft, almost courteous voice, he said, "Mr Potter, Miss Granger did have a mishap but she is being looked after by Madam Pomfrey, otherwise Madam Pomfrey would be here to take care of you herself. Professor McGonagall is on her way here now. Please try not to move. We don't know how badly injured you are and should you move before we can check you, you could do yourself irreversible harm."

Severus looked into the boy's eyes and watched his vision of Hermione walking through the corridors. There was something off about the vision, but he couldn't quite identify the problem. Clearly the boy was shaken by the high-speed impact with the ground and the vision of the girl seeing something in the corridor had been burned into his mind.

Harry watched as Snape looked past the top of his head. "Mr. Potter, if you promise to relax and stay laying down, I will ask Flint and Woods to let you go. Will you promise to not move?" Snape asked him.

He didn't know what to make of this almost-nice Professor Snape, but, without nodding or otherwise moving or struggling, he replied, "I promise I won't try to move, Professor Snape."

Snape nodded then looked at the two Quidditch captains meaningfully. Harry was again surprised when Flint, rather than pushing off his shoulder or wrist in an attempt to further injure him, rebalanced and put all of his weight on the balls of his feet before moving away from Harry.

"Stay still, Potter. Help is right here," Flint said to him, with a look of actual concern.

The sun was suddenly blotted out and Harry looked up into the stern face of Minerva McGonagall. "Which one of you decided it was appropriate to slam a seeker into the ground during a practice?!" McGonagall shouted.

Snape looked up at the Deputy Headmistress. "Professor McGonagall, not one of the other players on either team was anywhere near Mister Potter when he grabbed at his head, shouted out Miss Granger's name and flew nearly straight into the ground," he explained calmly, but with an angry undertone.

McGonagall looked as if she had just bitten into a particularly bitter lemon. "Mister Potter, I am going to have a house elf pop you to the infirmary. Please stay as still as possible," McGonagall said, then called out, "Mippy!" A house elf appeared next to Harry. "Mippy," McGonagall said, "please take Mr. Potter to the infirmary and place him in the bed next to Miss Granger."

The elf took careful hold of his hand and, with a soft pop, he was laying in nothing but a hospital gown on the bed between a petrified Penelope Clearwater and the love of his life. He looked at the petrified girl laying on the bed next to him and he could not help but lose his composure. "You're alive!" he whispered hoarsely, tears of joy and relief coming unbidden to his eyes.

"Yes, Mister Potter, Miss Granger is alive. She, Miss Clearwater, and Miss Greengrass were found petrified just outside the girls' lavatory on the second floor," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice laden with concern as she waved her wand over Harry. Her frown deepened as she continued casting. "Mister Potter, can you tell me what happened to you? Mister Flint claimed you flew your broom straight into the ground from a significant height."

Harry paid no attention to the mediwitch. He only had eyes for Hermione. It wasn't until Madam Pomfrey stepped between the two beds that Harry looked up at her and realised she had been speaking to him and likely asking him questions. "My apologies, Madam Pomfrey. Were you asking something?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly from the heightened emotions coursing through him.

Poppy looked down at him and took his inflection as being fear. Her features softened in an attempt to quiet his fear. "I was just concerned, Mister Potter. Mister Flint indicated you flew nearly straight into the ground from a considerable height after calling out Miss Granger's name." She sat down in a chair she had brought from its normal place at the foot of the bed and looked at him as she reached out and held his hand.

Harry looked at her hand in shock. Never, on his first time through, had Madam Pomfrey ever shown any kind of real warmth to him he could remember. He looked up into her eyes to see the obvious concern she had for him.

Poppy squeezed his hand but continued to hold it while she spoke. "Can you recall what happened? Did you feel something or see something?" she asked.

Harry haltingly told his story and filled his Occlumency shields with the same vision he had provided to Snape, in the event Madam Pomfrey was also using Legilimency. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt no such probe.

She frowned a bit, looking lost in thought for a moment, then looked into his eyes once more, "Mister Potter, I do not know what caused you to witness what happened to your friend or what happened in the resulting broom accident, but your magical core has grown significantly since you had to regrow the bones in your arm. Your core is also growing at an accelerated rate. With your permission, I would like to discuss this with Professor Flitwick."

"Why Professor Flitwick?" Harry asked distantly, looking once again at Hermione, "Why not the Headmaster?"

Madam Pomfrey lowered her voice, "Mister Potter, while the Headmaster is a world recognized master with transfiguration, alchemy and has few contemporaries when it comes to potions and defensive spellwork, he is absolutely pants at magical physiology and healing." She paused as she had clearly finally pulled the young man's attention away from his friend as he was now openly staring at her and his eyebrows were rising through his hairline.

"While Professor Flitwick," she continued, "is a world-renowned professional duellist and has likely studied and published more works on magical physiology than any other living person. The only reason he is not practising medicine at St Mungo's is because he'd rather teach children to realise their true potential. I do know that Professor Flitwick has also taken medical classes from muggle universities. So, with your permission..." she trailed off, hoping Harry would allow her this trust.

Harry nodded his agreement, too surprised to trust his voice. "What in Godric's name is going on here?" he asked himself.

"Good," she said in relief. She stood and walked around to the other side of the bed. She approached the head of the bed. "Please look towards Miss Granger again, Mister Potter," she instructed. Trusting her, as he had always trusted her in the past, he did so and his eyes once again rested on the source of his purpose. Poppy reached out and expertly ran her fingers over his scalp, checking for bruising and dislocation of the cranial fissures. He winced when she hit a tender spot. She drew her wand and, whispering, waved it sparingly over the tender portion of his scalp. "I imagine you may have headaches over the next few days. If you become nauseous or feel faint over the next week, you must let a professor or I know immediately, Mister Potter. I did not detect anything untoward, but sometimes injuries can be delayed in their onset. Do you understand?"

He nodded, "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," he said.

She reached into her blouse pocket and produced a small vial. She removed the stopper and handed it to Harry, "This will make you a bit drowsy and help your magic to heal your remaining injuries. Please drink it all down," she said, a motherly smile on her lips.

Harry half sat up, took the vial and threw its contents into the back of his throat to minimize the foul flavour of the potion, immediately wishing he had not done so as the headache he had suddenly tripled in force, filling him with a wave a nausea. He felt the potion slide down his throat and imagined it was adhering to the walls of his stomach. Just as suddenly as his headache had intensified, it was gone, he lay back down and stared once more at Hermione. A feeling of euphoria filled him as the potion took effect fully. "I love you, Hermione Jane Granger. I've always loved you," he whispered, just as his eyes closed and the potion unleashed his magic to repair the damage to his body.

Poppy heard his whispered words and was not at all surprised by this confession from the boy. What did cause her to take a step back and gasp, was the physical manifestation of Harry's magic as it was released and shaped by the potion. Intense, bright golden arcs of magic flashed out and surrounded the boy in an impenetrable field of coalescing magic. There was an audible hum of energy filling the room as his magic unleashed to repair ten and a half years of malnutrition, physical abuse and to repair the most recent damage caused by driving his broom handle-first into the Quidditch pitch.

She considered calling for Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick. but hesitated a few moments as she watched the golden sphere expand and strengthen, until it surrounded the entire bed and became both too bright and too obscuring to see the boy.

She was mesmerised by the process so was startled again as the doors to the infirmary burst open when Albus and Filius, along with all of the senior staff members, came into the infirmary with their wands drawn.

Albus, Severus and Filius looked at the magical field around Harry while Minerva, Septima and Pomona looked at Poppy and lowered their wands.

Poppy was immediately relieved. "I gave him one of Severus' small healing potions and just after he fell asleep, this began," she explained.

"Did Mister Potter say anything about what happened?" Albus asked, the concern for the boy clear in his voice. "Every ward in the castle alerted us of an immense magical discharge in the infirmary," he explained further, stepping closer to the golden sphere surrounding the boy's bed. He waved his wand in the direction of the bed, a barely-audible spell upon his lips.

The reaction he received was not the one he had expected. A thick, violet arc of magic connected with a thread-thick stream of magic from the Headmaster's wand. The arc followed the thread in the blink of an eye and connected to the end of the wand, violently throwing the Headmaster back against the doors of the infirmary. Fortunately for Albus, Filius' duelling reflexes had taken over and he had a cushioning charm cast upon the doors before Albus struck them. Albus shook his head to gain his senses again. "That was," he paused a moment, looking for the right word, "unexpected." Severus reached out a hand to help Albus up.

"I would suggest you try to use passive magic, Albus. Even the obliviation squads and aurors know to not use active magic against children's hysterical magical responses," Filius chided his friend and mentor of seventy years.

Albus nodded, smoothing his robes. "You're the best we have with passive magics, Septima. Would you be willing to scan Mister Potter?" he asked.

The arithmancy professor nodded and walked closer to the boy's bed. She looked at the doors behind her then looked at Filius, who smiled and nodded before recasting the cushioning charms on the doors. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Adipiscori salutiferum," as she slowly and with great care, with her intent focused on the well-being of Harry, waved her wand in the direction of the boy. Her whisper seemed to fill the air and unnaturally reverberated from the walls.

Another thick, violet arc of magic reached out, causing the others present to react in concern for Septima. Instead of connecting to her wand, however, it stopped short and surrounded her in a sphere of violet energy. The colour of the energy changed from the intense violet to the almost angelic golden yellow surrounding Harry. The violet arc connecting the energy around Harry's bed to the now-golden sphere reduced in size until it snapped out of existence with an audible pop. The golden sphere remained around Septima for a short while before it faded to nothing.

The other staff present could not help but feel the sense of peace surrounding Septima. She had a beautific smile on her face, her back was slightly arched backwards, her feet were together and her arms were outstretched to either side. Filius couldn't help but think she looked almost exactly like the statue of the woman he had once seen in a muggle house of worship, except for the wand in her outstretched right hand. Filius did not know the reason, but he knew it would be dangerous to approach the woman without warning her first. "Septima, are you all right?" he asked in a calm, quiet voice.

She opened her eyes and blinked several times. She then looked down at the boy's bed and smiled widely.

"Septima, what happened?" Minerva asked of her fellow professor in concern.

Septima looked over at Minerva and her smile faded a bit and a small frown formed on her face as she looked at Minerva. Her arms relaxed to her side and she stood up straight. She looked at Minerva for a few moments before her attention was drawn away.

"Septima? What is it?" Albus asked, hoping his arithmancy professor had not been harmed.

Septima Vector was known as a calm, reasoned, rational witch who, in over thirty years of teaching, had never lost her temper and never been heard by portraits, the castle or any of the staff, to use an expletive. She turned to Albus and her frown turned to an expression of raw hatred and disgust. Albus never saw her hand move and not even Filius moved fast enough to prevent Septima's hand from striking Albus' face hard enough to make the man stumble and his glasses fly across the room. "You BASTARD!" she screamed, then fled the infirmary in tears.

It was some minutes before anyone recovered from their shock. Pomona and Filius left the infirmary to find Septima, leaving the remaining staff behind to determine what was happening to Harry behind an impenetrable field of magic.

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Septima was shaping her intent from long, specific practice in the passive arts of magic. Infusing her spell with the concern she had for all people in general, more specifically her students and most specifically the student in front of her. In addition to this conscious intent, her concern over the recent events within the school and her peripheral vision being filled with Hermione's petrified form helped focus and shape the magic as well. She closed her eyes and finished the shaping as she cast the passive form of the wellness spell. She extended her magic slowly as a wide, low-energy wave of magic. In her mind it was a sparse, nebulous fog of magic, moving towards the bed at half the speed of a slow walk. Just before her magic came in contact with an immensely powerful field of magic, it moved like lightning towards her. Instead of lashing out at her, however, it seemed to embrace her. It welcomed her as it sensed her intent to cause no harm. She knew it sensed her concern. She knew it had seen Miss Granger's petrified body in her vision. She was suddenly elsewhere. She was standing in a bathroom, wreckage and the still-breathing body of a mountain troll covering the floor. She saw Minerva looking down at a younger Harry as she chastised him for saving the life of one of his fellow housemates.

"You should have come and fetched a professor instead of running off on your own," Minerva had said.

She witnessed the troll attacking a younger Miss Granger and Harry fighting it with no concern for his own safety. Hermione was in danger and that was all that had mattered.

She was in the courtyard when Hermione rushed past Mister Ronald Weasley and heard the hurtful, spiteful words that came out of his mouth, wounding the young Gryffindor girl to her very core, "Well it's no wonder she hasn't any friends. Bloody mental that one, if you ask me." The hatred she suddenly felt for the red-headed pillock was homicidal. Had he been standing in front of her, bound and helpless, she would have reducto'd his empty, useless head from his weak, wilted spine.

She witnessed Harry staring at Hermione as Hermione drew her wand and cast her first spell at Harry's glasses, repairing them. When he smiled at her in gratitude, the smile she saw him receive in return illuminated the entire carriage as her dimples took his breath away.

Scene after scene filled her mind of the interactions of Harry, Hermione and Ron the prat. She saw how Hermione had played down her own skills when helping Harry through the traps set around the Philosopher's Stone. She watched as Harry reached out and tore burning chunks from Quirrell's/Voldemort's face as that vile creature attacked Harry. She watched as he slipped the stone into his own pocket, where it remained even after he awoke in the infirmary and then hid it in a compartment within his trunk.

She didn't realise when it happened, but her perspective changed from a third-party observer to that of Harry. She remembered when a great oaf of a man broke his arm out of anger. She remembered a thin, horse-faced woman berating him for his mother. She remembered nearly every instance of cruelty and abuse imposed on him by the man, the woman and their fat, behemoth of a son. She remembered as the level of ridicule and cruelty had increased over the summer. She remembered his interactions with that annoying house elf, Dobby. She remembered the idiotic ride to Hogwarts after The Prat had badgered him into coming, really only going to protect The Prat. She remembered his fear when Professor Snape had taken them into his office and called Professor McGonagall.

She remembered how his heart was breaking at seeing Hermione and the disappointed look on her face when she heard the stupid thing he had done to get to school.

Finally, she remembered looking at the petrified form of Hermione in the infirmary and the overpowering sense of relief and love he felt for her. Relief she was still alive and that he had returned to her and the sense of love for her that had started the moment he first saw her smile last year on the Express.

Interspersed with all of the visions of his memories of Hermione were odd,out-of-place memories. Memories which were much clearer but didn't, no couldn't be real. "Had he really knelt down and slit his own throat on an altar? And why was this memory so much clearer than the memories of his abuse? How would he save Luna? And why did she look so old?" Still and yet, the discordant memories were far overshadowed by his thoughts and feelings about Hermione. The entire experience had been surreal.

She felt so whole. So complete. So much more in tune with the world than she'd ever felt before. She felt the magic bid her friendship and then retreat back to its job of healing all of the physical and magical injuries which remained.

She did not know how long she stood there, revelling in the feeling of completeness when Filius' voice intruded upon her. "Septima, are you all right?" she heard him ask.

She opened her eyes and realised she was in the infirmary at Hogwarts. She blinked the after-images of Hermione's smile from her eyes and looked down at the boy, whom she could see was restfully sleeping in the bed, and smiled at him, knowing his love for the girl laying next to him was so pure. So focused.

She then heard Minerva ask, "Septima, what happened?"

She looked over at her friend and confidante of thirty-two years, her teacher for seven years before that, and she could not help the small frown which appeared on her face. How could the person she thought she knew, a person she was closer to than her own mother, effectively tell a student that he should have let his housemate die and wait for a professor to help rather than break the rules. "Do I really even know you, Minerva?" she asked herself.

Then she heard HIM dare ask her a question. "Septima, what is it?" "That meddlesome, incompetent..." she thought and then turned to him. "He sent him back to those...those...those... MUGGLES!" she thought. In one, single cohesive action, all of the anger, hatred and absolute loathing for the man manifested itself on her face as she turned. Seeing him caused her to react in a fashion even she was later surprised and ashamed of. "YOU BASTARD!" she screamed as she slapped him with everything she had, adding the force of her hips into the whipping of her arm, aiming past where his face was, following through and nearly turning herself around with the energy of the slap.

She was suddenly ashamed of herself. Not for slapping the Headmaster, but for missing all of the obvious signs Harry Potter had been abused. His gaunt, shortened body. How his skin had hung to his frame. How he cringed from attention of any kind. She couldn't contain her emotions and burst into tears. She rushed from the room, too ashamed of her own inaction to allow anyone to comfort her. She ran headlong down the stairs, out of the castle and didn't stop running until she impacted what felt like a brick wall covered in fur. She felt an immense tree trunk gently wrap around her shoulders and an enormous, calloused pillow gently patting her on the head.

"There, there now miss," the brick wall grumbled. She did not recognise the voice, but found comfort in it and continued crying herself out. Several minutes later, she heard a recognisable voice from behind.

"Oh! Thank Salazar you found her, Hagrid!" Filius shouted in relief.

"Perfessor Flitwick! Perfessor Sprout! She came hurlin' at me cryin'. I ha'n't found out e'en which 'ouse she's in yet," Hagrid replied, still comforting Septima.

"That's Professor Vector, Hagrid," Filius said, a smile appearing on his face for a moment before remembering the reasons he had had to run after the arithmancy professor.

Pomona walked up behind Septima and placed her hand on Septima's back and rubbed gentle circles. "Septima, are you all right?" she asked, concern clear in her voice.

Septima gave Hagrid a squeeze, or as much of one as she was able, then looked up at the man and smiled, "Thank you, Rubeus. You are a kind and gentle soul," she said.

He looked down at her in surprise, "Well I'll be! It IS Perfessor Vector! Are you all righ' Perfessor?" Hagrid asked in concern. He'd never had a professor cry on his shoulder before. "I have a fresh pot of tea, as well as something a wee bit stronger, if the three of ya woul' like t' come 'n," he said.

Septima looked behind her and saw Filius and Pomona were there as well. She looked back up at Hagrid, "I think I would very much like to come in for some tea and a wee dram, Rubeus. I would like that a lot," she said, giving Hagrid one last hug and letting him go.

He led the three professors into his hut. The four of them talked for some time before they all returned to the castle to speak with the Headmaster about the goings-on at Hogwarts.

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Minerva stood rooted to the spot. A person she had known for thirty-nine years. A person she'd never seen angry. A person who believed physical violence was for the weak-minded. And yet something had happened within the moments she was surrounded by that golden energy. Something which had changed Septima from the quiet, contemplative, soft-spoken, demure young woman to someone who would physically lash out at the very symbol of purity and goodness in the room. The look she, herself, had received was painful to see. Never before had Minerva seen doubt or mistrust in Septima's eyes when the two of them had spoken with their eyes before. Septima's gaze today had been worse than being slapped. It felt as if, in the moment their eyes met, their decades of time spent together as friends, and more, had crumbled into nothingness, evaporating into the haze of doubt, the fog of uncertainty, and the smoke of distrust and questionable actions. "What have I done," she practically sobbed on the inside, "to have deserved this?" She looked at the bed awash in a luminescent field of golden magic, hoping the answer to her question, and the answers to the many questions she was too afraid to ask even in her own mind, would be answered when the boy awoke.

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Albus was thinking quite nearly the same words as he felt the pain and the warmth of the slap fresh on his cheek and jaw. When Septima's eyes had flared at him, his Occlumency shields were overwhelmed by the waves of hatred and anger pouring out from the younger witch. While his cheek and jaw throbbed from the impact of her hand, he was still reeling from the images she had rammed into his brain of Harry's treatment of the boy. It felt as if he had lived nine and a half year in an even more abusive environment than the boy he considered his greatest failure. The memories from the past summer were, if anything, even worse. So rapidly were they impressed upon him that he had no time to sort them as yet. His organised mind had been assailed by the nearly non-stop physical, mental and emotional abuse. And he was experiencing the abuse from the emotional state of a young boy. All of his mental buffers had been torn asunder by the onslaught of memories from young Harry. He looked over at the boy's bed, surrounded in a halo of magic he dare not attempt to examine again, much less invade. He knew from the memories he had received from Septima that the magic was immensely powerful and had provided her with an almost Pensieve-like experience of the boy's life to date. The oddity was that she had experienced most of his memories first-hand and had likely lost her sense of self within the memories. The raw anger and hatred she had unleashed upon him was clearly the boy's emotional state imprinting on the otherwise calm, peaceful professor. And that much anger coupled with that much power could devastate his plans.

Severus picked up Albus' glasses, repaired them and handed them back to him. He then turned to Poppy. "Madam Pomfrey, did you give him a draught of dreamless sleep?" he asked.

Poppy, who recovered from her shock almost as quickly as Severus, looked at the Potions Master for a moment before nodding, then shaking her head. "I gave him one of the dual-purpose potions you provided me, Severus. One of the combination healing and dreamless sleep elixirs you had provided. Within a few moments, thirty seconds at most, he faded off to sleep and less than five seconds later, his magic manifested itself in this fashion. I was about to send for you, Professor Flitwick and the Headmaster when you all burst in," she explained. She felt she needed to qualify her statement further. "I certainly do not blame you, Severus, for today's events. I am, however, hesitant to give that elixir to anyone else whose magical core is unstable."

Both Severus and Albus looked up sharply at the mediwitch. "Unstable?" Severus quipped. He then pulled his robes back and hooked his thumbs in his belt putting on arrogant posture. "How, pray tell, was Mister Potter's magic unstable?" Severus asked, then looked expectantly at the mediwitch, a small smile appearing on his face and a quirk of his right eyebrow, arching into his hair line.

Poppy, completely aware of the posturing, explained, "The last time Mister Potter was in the Infirmary I checked the size of his magical core, as I often do when children come to see me. When I measured his core then, it was one hundred ninety three milliflamels, almost double what I would expect from a boy his age. This morning when he came in, his core measure one point ninety-six flamels and showed signs it was still growing. I..." but Poppy was cut off by Dumbledore's look of shock and Snape's outburst.

"Preposterous! Foolish woman! You misread your casting. It simply isn't possible his core is that large," the Potions Master sputtered.

Poppy Pomfrey was many things. A mediwitch. A widow. An accomplished swimmer. One thing she was not, however, was foolish, and took umbrage at being referred to as such. Her wand was in her hand, its tip glowing, and a spell on her lips before Snape could even draw his wand, much less put up a shield. Albus did not interfere because he was certain Poppy would never harm another professor. "Your core measures at six hundred seventy-two milliflamels, Severus. Would you care to disagree with my measurements?" the mediwitch asked, her wand still pointed at the Potions Master.

Severus slid his wand back into its holster but showed no fear of the woman. "No, Poppy. I would, however, wish to apologise for my words. The shock of the size of his core caused me to lose my perspective and to be insulting."

Poppy lowered her wand slowly. As her arm reached her side, it appeared as if the wand just vanished. She glowered at Snape for a few moments, then smiled. "Apology accepted, Severus." She then looked at the Headmaster. "And for what reasons would Septima have to call you a bastard, Albus?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Albus looked at the bed where Harry lay and watched as the field of energy continued to obscure the boy, although the violence and intensity of the energy had not abated. "I honestly cannot say, Poppy. You can be certain I will determine that when I next speak to her."

All three of them turned to look at the sphere of magic surrounding the focus of their concerns, unaware of the titanic battle happening within the confines of the magical field.

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Similar to bottomless bags, wizarding trunks and tents, but with a very different intent, part of the creation and very existence of a Horcrux was the creation of a wizarding space. While the wizarding space for a bag or trunk had to be hospitable to the items a witch or wizard might place in them, the wizarding space used to contain a soul fragment was designed to be completely and utterly inhospitable to life in any form.

The spell to create these inhospitable spaces had originally been developed to banish demons, imps and other creatures called up from netherworlds. The soul of the summoner had to be banished along with the demon else the demon would have a link back to this world and would be able to roam freely, unrestricted by the original bindings of the summoning spell.

Twelve hundred years prior, a young witch, whose father had been performing spell development and had unintentionally called forth a demon, had discovered a means to bind the demon to only a portion of the man's soul, shearing off that portion and banishing it along with the demon. While the man had survived and was mostly intact, horrific nightmares haunted him once a month until the day he died.

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Within the shield, cataclysmic energies were being unleashed against the soul fragment within Harry's head.

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"Are ya sure, Perfessor?" Rubeus asked Septima in confusion. "I kno' 'e's a gre' gre' wizard. 'Ow could 'e ma' tha' big a mi'take?"

"Rubeus," Septima began, a shy smile on her face as she took his hand, or as much of his hand as she could fit, in both of hers, "I know the Headmaster has done very good things in the past, but the level of failure he has achieved with that poor boy is too great to forgive. If there was some way I could show you, I would give you a glimpse of what that brave young man has been through."

"But years of abuse, Septima?" Filius asked. Pomona nodded as well, wanting to hear the answer to this.

"Look at his clothing, his demeanour," said said, but could still see the doubt in their eyes. "Filius, do you still have your pensieve in your quarters?" Septima asked.

Filius nodded and stood. "Shall we all retire to my quarters?" he asked and looked at Hagrid. "I have a chair and a mug for you as well, my friend," he said before Hagrid could protest.

Septima and Pomona stood. When Hagrid hesitated, Septima once more smiled shyly and pulled him to stand but did not let go of her grasp of his hand. The four of them walked to the castle and went to Filius' quarters to share some memories.

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Dumbledore sat in his office trying to sort through the memories which flooded his mind. One thing he was certain of was that Lily Potter's family did not provide Harry with a loving home. Far from it, in fact. The Dursleys were positively horrid to the boy. "Why did Arabella not say anything about his abuse?" he wondered.

He gently twirled his brandy in its snifter, much the way he had the memories in the pensieve earlier. While the memories themselves were disturbing, the aspect which caused him the greatest anxiety was the sheer power exuding from the lad. Young Harry was likely the most powerful wizard, far out-distancing Nicholas and him combined. It was clear that something had removed the blocks he had placed on Harry's magic, for the boy's own safety he'd told himself at the time.

The Flamel Scale of Magical Power had been the geometrically-progressive benchmark used to measure the field strength and core development since Nicholas had invented it in 1592, using his own magical field at the time as a reference. Even now, four hundred years later, Nicholas only registered at one point two flamels.

"How is this possible?" Albus asked himself. Albus, himself, only registered one point three flamels, or just slightly less than twice as powerful as Nicholas.

Based on Poppy's measurements, and she had never made an error in the past, Harry was more than four times as powerful as Albus was, and his core was still maturing.

Albus looked at the clock. It was nearly time for dinner and he was still no closer to having any answers. "I think it is time to ask for some assistance," he thought, intending to contact Nicholas in the morning. "Perhaps he will have some insight."

With that thought, Albus went down to the Great Hall to preside over dinner, safe in the knowledge that dinner would be, for the most part, drama-free.

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