"Hermione?" Harry questioned, tapping A History of Magic, "What's the point in doing an essay on the Goblin Wars when we could be learning about previous Dark Lord's?"

"Because we've already covered them," she replied without looking up from A Novice's Guide to Potions. "We do essays on Goblin Wars because that's the only material other than the Salem Witch Trials and history of Magical Medical Achievements in Great Britain that is in the exam."

Harry blinked at her across the Weasley's kitchen table. "Wait, what? How do you know all that?" Hermione looked up with a roll of her eyes.

"Because I listen in class, and don't sleep away my learning time, unlike some." She gave him a slight glare, before Ron scrunched his nose up.

"Binns' voice makes my brain hurt – why shouldn't I sleep? There's nothing better to do."

Hermione's 'slight glare' became a full-on glare as she looked to their red-haired companion. "You could be actually paying attention in lessons, Ronald Weasley! That's what you could be doing!" They continued to argue as Harry looked at his history text, contemplating. His friends didn't even seem to notice as he made a quick journey up to his room, which was a new guest bedroom beside Ron's in the attic, coming back down with a muggle stationary set and a notepad. Opening it up, he uncapped a bright yellow highlighter and flipped to the contents page, highlighting the chapters about Goblin Wars, the Salem Witch Trials and British Magical Medical Achievements. He was already halfway through a chapter on the Witch Trials when Hermione let out a half-gasp, half-shriek.

"Harry James Potter, what the hell are you doing!?" It was so high-pitched and loud that it had Mrs Weasley coming inside from hanging out the washing on the line to ask what all the fuss was about. As Harry stayed still, high-lighter hovering over the page, Hermione motioned frantically. "He's vandalising his book! He's highlighting it!" She looked about to have a panic-attack. Harry swallowed, before motioning to the book.

"I don't want to be reading about stuff that there's no point to read. Might as well show myself which parts are relevant." Then, he went back to highlighting, surprised at feeling no guilt in Hermione's distress. It was his book – he could do what he wanted to it. Highlight it, rip out a page, burn it, the book was his. Hermione had no say in how he treated it.

Over the next few hours, whereupon Hermione helped Ron with his essays and Fred and George eventually joined them to do their potions assignments, Harry went through his history texts from both first and second year, using the notepad to write down whatever he thought pertinent to each topic they were studying.

It was the start of a habit Harry never anticipated: writing everything down.


During the weeks between that study session and September first, Harry threw himself into his studies. He had to buy a whole stack of notebooks as it continued, and always had at least two, plus a three clicker-pens in his pocket for when he needed them, or had an epiphany. It became habit for him to just randomly take one out and pen down whatever idea or thought had struck him.

They had to pick their subjects during that time. Harry let Hermione and Ron argue over the latter's choices as he carefully ticked boxes. Eventually he decided to start taking Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Magical Theory, Ancient Studies and Ghoul Studies – but while also not dropping Astronomy. Harry hoped they could fit it all into his timetable, and had a feeling he'd have to choose not to take three – for which, he eventually noted down he'd prefer the dropped subjects to be Ghoul Studies, Astronomy and Ancient Studies, in that order.

Of course, not everything he did was study. He did play a lot of Quidditch with Ron, Ginny and the twins, and practiced his abysmal chess-playing skills with Ron. More than a few times he willingly volunteered to cook dinner, or lunch, but only once was he allowed to do it all by himself. Mrs Weasley didn't want him to do all the work, as a guest.

When their Hogwarts letters came though, Harry was pleasantly surprised by the added post-script.

PS. Mr Potter, you have deigned to sign up for an unusual amount of classes. Unfortunately, as you, at best, an average student, I would need to see some proof that you are willing to work hard enough to pass these classes, and be a responsible enough student to handle the benefits of this position. If you would send me an essay before the twentieth of August about why and how you can balance this workload, as well as what you know about each of your new subjects, I would be happy to acquiesce to your choices.

He sent his essay off on the eighth of August, little over a week after his birthday and Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban. By then he'd read the introduction and first few chapters of all his new books – and finished going through all his older ones, with the obvious exception of Lockhart's books – and did indeed have a lot to say. Hermione herself was very impressed by it, though Ron was less than encouraging.

"Why'd you sign up for so many classes anyway, mate? It's an easy O with Divination – now I'm gonna be alone," he whined, making Harry shrug.

"On the contrary to what you believe, Ron, I actually like learning. I…I just forgot, for a while."

"Two years is not 'a while'," Hermione shook her head, "Ron's a bad influence on you." At that, Harry frowned at his friend.

"And what if he is? He's our friend."

Hermione shook her head again, "I'm just saying that Ron doesn't study enough, and if you like it before then maybe you copied his habits-"

"I never said that," Harry interrupted as Ron glared at Hermione, "I said I like learning, not that I like studying. I only just learnt how to study recently – still learning, actually."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "They're not that different-"

"Yes, they are," Harry said, getting impatient, as he sat further into the couch, grouchy, "Learning is about taking in new stuff. Studying is about memorising and revising and taking what you've already learnt in again in a different way. So just shut up already." Hermione's eyes widened, full of hurt, and then Harry realised what he'd just said and sat up. "Wait, oh shit, no- Merlin, I'm sorry Hermione, I shouldn't have said that-" He went to stand, but she was already walking off, eyes full of tears. "Fuck!" He hissed, before looking to Ron, who was panicked. "Ron, what do I do?!" But Ron just shook his head quickly. Harry felt inside out – usually Ron was the one fighting with her. No, he thought guiltily, that wasn't even a fight – that was me being a bastard.

Pushing himself around the sofa, he went towards the stairs, hearing her door shut. "Fuck," he muttered again before going up, slowing when he neared her door, hearing nothing and immediately wondering if it was bad enough that she wasn't crying, or if she just wasn't that upset. He raised his hand up slowly, hesitating before knocking. "Hermione? Are…are you okay? I didn't mean it, I wasn't thinking straight-"

The door opened, revealing his bushy-haired friend, her eyes red as she looked at him frostily. "You were rude, and you shouldn't have been mean. Go away and come back later. Maybe then I'll accept an apology." She shut the door again, and Harry was left feeling numb. He looked to the floor.

"Fuck."


They still weren't back to being normal a week later. Hermione started hanging out with Ginny more, and despite the almost two-year bridge between them, they were a solid front. As they drifted closer and closer to September first, it was more as if she were Ginny's guest than Ron's. Harry had thought she would have at least reached out to Ron, but she hadn't.

"It's cause we're only really friends through of you, Harry," Ron had answered when he pondered it aloud. "You're the link between us. We aren't friends without you, so if she isn't friends…"

It came to a head on the thirty-first of August.

Ron and Harry were swimming in the large fresh-water pond at the bottom of the Weasley's garden, their clothes and Harry's glasses off to one side.

"Do it again!" Ron commanded as Harry came up to the surface, looking at the fish still swirling around them in formation. "How long were you even under there for?"

Harry shrugged, "I dunno – want to see how long I can go without coming up for air?" Ron nodded.

"Sure. On three. One, two…three." Harry ducked down under the water, swimming expertly down to the bottom of the deep pond, grabbing onto a large rock so he wouldn't float to the surface. He didn't breath for ages – until his lungs burned – and then made the mistake of breathing out, and then breathing in. He went to go up to the surface, simply on reflex, when he realised that instead of making him choke, the water had oxygenated him. Well your dad is God of the Sea and Water and all that bull…he remembered idly, staying down for ages longer, watching the fishes go by until he felt Ron kicking his ankles. He came up, only to find Ron looking at him with pale skin.

"How long was I under for?"

Ron treaded water, looking hesitant, "Mate, I don't know how to say this, but-"

Then they heard Fred and George yelling for Mrs Weasley. They turned to look right in time to see a gigantic behemoth taller than even Hagrid stomping towards the Burrow – all covered in fur, with a boar's head and horns to match, but with hairy hands and legs like a human's. Wielding a large double-ended blade, it went to swing up at where Harry knew Hermione was studying in bed. So of course, he had to do the heroic thing, completely forgetting Ron was still talking.

"Hey ugly!" The monster turned, Ron ducking underwater as Harry got out, pulling on his three-quarter length trousers from before and running forward. "Yeah! Look at me! Come on you cow-faced hunk of beef!" The monster roared before charging forward. Harry dodged easily, Ron squeaking and swimming hurriedly out of the way, the monster stumbling into the pond, getting tangled up. Ron scrambled out of the pond, just as Harry came back, wielding a pitch-fork. To the red-head's horror, Harry jumped on its back, impaling it in the neck until it disintegrated, dropping Harry into a gold-dusted pool.

"Harry!" Came Hermione's terrified shout, Mrs Weasley, Ginny and the twins right behind her as Harry came out of the pond, water slipping off his body. Hermione, not even noticing, ran over to him and hugged him tight, "Harry, never do that ever again! You could have died!"

Harry hugged her back, not listening as he shut his eyes, shaking slightly from the adrenaline. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this kind of stuff – how he'd enjoyed running from the basilisk, and facing down both Tom and Quirrell. But that didn't matter.

Hermione was hugging him. That meant she cared – and hopefully, meant they were friends again.

"Are we okay now?" He asked, voice cracking both literally and figuratively. Hermione pulled away, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yes, we're okay now." Then, she hugged him again before moving onto Ron, checking him over for injuries before reprimanding him for letting Harry do all the hard work.


The mere memory of the dementors was enough to shake him.

Harry didn't understand why they had to guard the school – they should be out looking for Black, not guarding him of all people. Why would Black want to come after him anyway? He didn't even know the guy, let alone what he'd done to get in and out of Azkaban.

A better note was that he had a time-turner. Apparently, that 'responsibility' McGonagall had alluded to in her letter was the time-turner itself. He was to use it for class, schoolwork and for catching up on sleep – and only when he needed to as well, regarding the latter two. Hermione had one too, and with McGonagall's permission he would be allowed to confiscate her time-turner when he felt she was pushing herself too far, as they both he and McGonagall knew she eventually would.

He actually enjoyed most of his classes, though Arithmancy was gruelling. The first month of lessons was focused on getting them up to speed in mathematics and then some. For Harry, because of the way he had to act with Dudley leaning over his shoulder, this meant not only did he have to learn three years' worth of maths, but also more than that. It was horrible, and most of his time turner usage went into spending four extra hours in the evening going over that stuff. By the time week five came, only eleven out of the original twenty-nine were left – he, Hermione, Draco Malfoy to his disgust, a Slytherin girl called Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin boy called Blaise Zabini, a Ravenclaw girl called Morag MacDougal, another Ravenclaw girl called Su Li, Ravenclaw boys Kevin Entwhistle and Anthony Goldstein, and Hufflepuff's Justin Flinch-Fletchley and Megan Jones.

Professor Vector was a hard taskmaster, and held a soft spot for Megan Jones, but was very impressed with his note-taking skills – though, not very impressed with his handwriting. She recommended an older Ravenclaw student who was helping the muggleborn firsties this year with learning how to use quills and inkpots properly in the library on Friday's. But she piled up homework like a demon. It was a tremendous amount of work, always on his mind. Had he done this work? This page? That essay?

Really, the only reprieve he got from Arithmancy was when he played Quidditch.

Oliver was working them hard this year – as a seventh year, he would be graduating and therefore, this was his last year as Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain. Harry, Oliver, Fred and George, and Katie, Alicia and Angelina worked together like a well-oiled machine, and sometimes Harry thought that they were meant to play together. Everything was easy, and whenever they practiced a new formation, there were barely any mistakes at all. But this year, Harry found more of an ease in it all, his muscles not sore at the end of practice due to his new exercising hobby.

Every morning at five, he would wake up, warm up with some crutches, sit-ups, etcetera, and then go for a run around the lake, making it back to his dorm before eight o'clock in time for a quick shower. After, he would dress, then go have breakfast with Ron and Hermione. In the evenings, he went to bed early after some pull-ups using his bedframe.

But the dementors.

They were hell, hell in a handbasket. He was actually surprised he could do his morning run with their presence. Luckily, they seemed to stay far away from him, as if not able to go past a line…or something. Maybe the ward-line – he was learning about Ancient Greek magic in Ancient Studies, which included Pythagoras' first attempts at warding. Hogwarts supposedly had the best ward scheme in the magical world, so it was a viable theory.

As he ran up to the school, he thought back to the train when he fell unconscious – Professor Lupin had made something appear that chased the dementor away, according to Hermione and Ron. Could he teach Harry that? No, it's probably really complicated magic… He would study into what it might be some more before approaching the man.

Coming up to the school, he opened one of the large doors, slipping inside before jogging over to the stairs.

"Mr Potter, what are you doing? And where were you just now?"

He paused, twisting to see Professor McGonagall looking irate. "I was running around the lake, Professor. I'm going up to my dorm for a shower and to catch Ron."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I personally know how long it takes to run around that lake, Mr Potter, and students are not allowed onto school grounds before seven AM."

He blinked, "Oh. I- Sorry Professor. I didn't know."

She shook her head. "It is alright, Mr Potter. I actually commend you. I'll ask you to come to my office this evening after dinner. Now get to your dorm." Harry hurried off, jogging up the stairs and deftly skipping the missing one each time he knew it was coming. By the time he made it up to his dorm, the early risers were just leaving, so he hurried up to grab the shower, only to find Neville in. Immediately he groaned. Neville takes forever – I'll be late to class if I have to wait for him. But he waited, going over and taking Ron's covers to wake his friend up before stripping to his underwear and waiting with a towel. Usually he'd get undressed in the bathroom, but oh well.

But maybe he should have remembered what scars his Uncle Vernon had left before he did.

"Oh my god, Harry!" Came Seamus' yelp. He turned, only to see Seamus and Dean looking at him horrified. Harry looked at them blankly.

"What?"

Dean motioned to him with a slack arm. "Harry, how…who gave you the scars on your back?"

Harry blinked. "My Uncle Vernon. What about them?"

Dean looked horrified, as did Seamus. The Irish lad went to speak when Dean hit him on the arm, muttering to him. Harry didn't hear what he said, but Seamus nodded and finished getting dressed, hurrying out.

"What was that about?"

Dean came over slowly. "Harry, those…those kind of scars aren't right. Seamus…I told Seamus to get Professor McGonagall."

Harry became annoyed. "Why? They're just scars. I got them ten years ago. Uncle Vernon hasn't done anything as bad for ages."

"What did he do though?" Dean asked quickly, sounding rattled. "Why did he?"

Harry, rankled at his attention, turned completely, therefore not seeing Ron's bleary eyes widen. "I was bad. I wouldn't stop crying, or I was hungry, or Dudley had done something I thought unfair."

"What did Dudley do?" Ron asked from behind him.

"Harry Hunting, beat me up with his friends, say I cheated in school," he listed, rolling his eyes, "heaps of stuff. It's no big deal. Why are you guys so hooked on this?"

"Harry Hunting?" Came identical horrified voices from the doorway. Harry looked over, only to find Fred and George standing there with confused, vicious eyes. "What's that?"

"They…" Harry started, confused, "they chased me around, made me hide in places I couldn't get out of, made me late for school trying to get down from the tree in the playground…why are you so upset?"

Fred and George exchanged a dark look before leaving, shutting the door behind them. Neville came out of the shower, slowing as he saw their faces.

"Guys…?"

Harry stood, rushing over and slipping past his dormmate, wanting to get out of the oppressive atmosphere. Shutting and locking the door, he started the shower again and got in, turning the water down to freezing – as Aunt Petunia forced him to do to conserve hot water. Half an hour later, a lot longer than he usually took when showering, he was blue, shivering and had an aching head, but smelt like oranges and cinnamon. Going into his dorm, he decided he would skip breakfast – only to find Professor Snape standing in his dorm with a sneer, his dormmates all standing in a line in front of the beds.

"What's going on…?"

Snape sneered, "Mr Potter, please turn around." Harry tensed up, but did as he was told. There were a few seconds of silence.

"Dammit Petunia…" his Potions Professor muttered, making him blink in confusion. Turning, he looked up at the dour man, who looked a few seconds away from breaking something.

"Sir?"

He flicked his wand, causing Harry to dry, before another flick of his wand caused his clothes to appear on him, all the buttons done up as well as his tie. He felt strangled for a second, before he got used to the sensation, grimacing before taking the towel around from his waist, dropping it over the grate around the central hearth.

"Thank-you sir, but, uh, what?"

Snape stood straight, looking to his dormmates. "Leave." They grabbed their things, before scarpering, none hesitating at the doorway while Snape was there – though they did send him a variety of looks. Snape shut the door once they were gone and glared at him venomously. "You are to go to the Hospital Wing this evening to spend the next few nights there. You will excused from class and Quidditch practice until then." Harry gave him a dismayed look.

"But sir-"

"Your time-turner will allow you to repeat the days you missed," he continued, causing Harry to stop, "but you will still, afterwards, if Madam Pomfrey wishes it, be forced to visit the Hospital Wing every morning after your 'run'. However, this will not give you an excuse to be late for class. If need be, within certain parameters, you may use your timeturner so not to be late, but you must not be seen." He sneered, looking him up and down. "Get your hair cut." Then he swept out, slamming the door behind him.

Harry, still shivering from his shower, sniffed, before cricking his neck, going over to his trunk and getting out his satchel with all his books for the day.


After second period, he gave an educated guess that he had hypothermia. His shivering had only gotten worse, and his headache hadn't gone away. Excusing himself from company, he used his time turner to back an hour, so as to make sure Madam Pomfrey didn't think he'd refused to go see her sooner.

It was when he went to see her and was shuffled into pyjamas and a bed with a hot-water bottle and heated blankets that he remembered he was related to her. He gave a slight frown, not really sure how to approach her about the subject.

"-silly child. I'll have to ask the house-elves to put a spell on the water to stop it going under a certain temperature – and don't you frown at me, Harry James Potter." She gave him a stern look, making him bite his lip before he spoke.

"Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?" She asked patiently. He hesitated. "Spit it out, child." She added, not unkindly.

"I went to Gringotts this summer," he blurted out. "I got a genealogy test, and I'm related to Poesy Pomfrey. She's my great-grandmother."

Madam Pomfrey stilled, looking at him with a small frown, "Mr Potter?"

"She…the goblins," he stumbled, "the goblins said she was your half-sister, a squib. I just…" Madam Pomfrey seemed to melt slightly. Her hand went to his shoulder.

"Thank-you for telling me, Harry," she replied quietly, before rubbing her thumb on his back. "Let's focus on getting you better. We'll talk afterwards, and then we might as well start what we would this evening."

He paused, "This evening? Snape said-"

"Professor Snape."

He nodded grudgingly, "Professor Snape, he told me to come here this evening, to spend time here. Why?"

Madam Pomfrey gave him a slight look, before sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Harry, if I can call you that-" he nodded "-when Mr Finnegan came down to inform Professor McGonagall of your scars, they were…alarmed, as they should me. Severus – Professor Snape, agreed to go up and look at them on Professor McGonagall's behalf, in respect to your gender, and due to his experience with helping other students in your situation." At that, Harry frowned.

"Situation?"

Madam Pomfrey hesitated. "May we continue this conversation later, Harry?" He waited a few seconds before nodding slowly, suspicious. Situation? What situation? But, unbidden, as Madam Pomfrey stood and tapped his head, his temperature appearing above her wand, from his mind came images of Ron's room, and his cupboard in comparison. That's nothing – the Dursley's just didn't have room for me. But they did. They had a spare bedroom, and Dudley's second bedroom. There was plenty room. But I can't compare my life to Ron's – his family are all witches and wizards. They can magic a room onto their house.

"Well, you're getting better already, but rather slowly. I'd give it a few hours. Would you like one of the books from your school-bag?" Harry nodded and she fished out his spell-book – Miranda Goshawk's Standard Book of Spells: Grade Three. On his request, she also gave him a notebook and pencil from a side pocket, which he idly wrote in as he flipped through it, making pertinent notations.

At one, she gave him lunch, and by then he was bored out of his mind – the food gave him little distraction, but luckily he was allowed out of the uncomfortably warm bed only minutes after his soup and sandwiches.

"I need you to strip now, Mr Potter."

Harry looked at her, alarmed.

"Why?"

She stood straight as he questioned her from his seat on the bed. "Mr Potter, your dormmates had reason to believe, due to your scarring, that you were being abused. Professor Snape confirmed this when he looked at you only a short amount of time afterwards."

Harry stared in shock.

Abused. I was…abused?

"I know it might be hard to process," Madam Pomfrey spoke quietly. "I would like to check up on you, and to investigate your scars. If I feel it necessary, a St Mungos mind healer would come here periodically to speak to you. Most in Hogwarts with similar home-life's are comfortable either with Professor Snape or myself, but I have a feeling that if you did allow it, you wouldn't be comfortable telling either of us." He shook his head, looking at his sheets numbly. "Do you need some time or can I look over you?"

"I…" he started, "I don't mind." Abused. It kept echoing through his mind, like it was on repeat. Abused. Abused. He clenched his jaw, before getting out of bed and stripping to his underwear, silent as Madam Pomfrey first did a visual check, before waving her wand, causing sheets of parchment with highly-detailed sketches of parts of his body on them to appear. She folded them up afterwards before motioning him back onto the bed.

"You have a lot of scarring over your back, ankles and shoulders, along with residual knotting on the back of your head."

"Frying pan," he muttered. Madam Pomfrey dutifully noted his words down on a spare piece of parchment, using a self-inking quill from her apron.

"I'll assume that is from where the oil burns are from?"

"Yes."

It continued.