A/N: I've corrected my error (confusing Hazel and Hilda). Hilda Smith wrote the letter; Hazel Smith is Zacariah's sister. Thanks to all of you that caught this confusing error.
Chapter 2: The Rest of the Weekend
Hermione had a lot to say about the letter.
"She calls him The Dark Lord, Harry." She looked up at him, the letter still resting on her knees. "The Dark Lord," she repeated, staring at him.
Beside her, Ron tilted his head in to look more closely at the letter. He whistled.
"I missed that." He, too, looked up at Harry. "She's right, mate."
"She's always right, isn't she?" asked Harry, not liking where this conversation was going. "But I bet lots of people called Voldemort that."
"Lots of Death Eaters, maybe," said Ron. He glanced around the eighth-year common room as if expecting to see a few of them hiding in the shadows. "At home we always called him You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Hermione was frowning, reading the letter yet again. "I don't like this, Harry. She's planting seeds of doubt, and she's…she's…" She trailed off and Harry frowned.
"I know, Hermione," he said. "I'm going to ask Severus who she is. It sounds like she might be someone around his age—he might know her."
"I wonder if she used her real name," said Hermione. "Smith is such a common surname."
"But Hilda isn't as common," Ron pointed out. "Although I do have a cousin named Hilda."
Harry looked up at him, slightly alarmed.
"She's not even old enough for Hogwarts," said Ron quickly. "It can't be her."
"She could be related to Zacharias Smith," Hermione continued. "He has a couple of sisters here, but I don't know another Smith family at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, Ginny already suggested that," said Harry. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. They hadn't even begun to revise yet and already he was tired. "It should be easy enough to find out. Have you seen him around?"
"He's probably off with Susan," said Hermione.
"Susan Bones? Are they going out?" asked Ron.
"Of course they're going out. How could you not know that? You ilive/i here!"
"I knew that," said Harry, looking smugly at Ron.
"How did you know that?" asked Ron.
"He's obviously not as oblivious as you are," said Hermione, but she smiled as she said it and snuggled into Ron's side even as she hit him with a throw pillow.
"Hard to be oblivious when you surprise a bloke with his hand up a girl's blouse," said Harry. He and Ron grinned at each other and even Hermione looked interested.
"Where were they?" asked Ron immediately.
"Looking for somewhere to go tonight?" teased Harry.
"Ron has his own room," said Hermione. "And frankly, so does Zacharias."
"It's more exciting under the Quidditch stands, then," said Harry.
"Hey! What were you doing under the Quidditch stands?" Ron asked, as if it suddenly occurred to him exactly where Harry had run into the couple. "You weren't down there with Ginny, were you?"
"So, do you think I should just ask him if he knows a Hilda Smith?" asked Harry, ignoring Ron's question. Ron rolled his eyes.
"I don't see what harm it would do," answered Hermione. "Though what are you going to do if he tells you that he knows Hilda Smith? Contact her yourself?"
"I don't know—maybe write back to her and tell her my life is none of her business?" said Harry. He took the letter from Hermione, folded it, and stuck it inside his Transfiguration textbook. "Aren't we supposed to be revising?" he asked. "What first, Charms?"
Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance. Harry sighed.
"Look, I'm going to talk to Severus about it on Tuesday," he said, knowing that the look they exchanged was all about his performance in Charms this past week. "He didn't seem too worried about it and I'm not going to lose sleep over it either." Hermione and Ron were both staring at him now. Harry opened his Charms book.
"Look, I'll prove that I'm just as pathetic in Charms as ever," he said. He handed the book to Hermione. "Go ahead, quiz me on Chapter 1."
Hermione took the book from Harry. "Harry, I've been thinking about it…."
Harry dropped his head into his hands. "Just get it over with," he said. "What do you think it is?" He looked over at Hermione and noted that Ron looked uncomfortable. Ron obviously already knew what she was about to say.
"The Horcrux," she said, her voice low. "The one inside you. Don't you think it's possible it was somehow…well…inhibiting your magic before?"
Harry stared at Hermione. "Inhibiting it?" He seemed perplexed. "I don't think so. The only real difference I've noticed is that I can't speak Parseltongue anymore."
"But the healing spell…."
"It was a fluke—it had to be. Maybe the combined strength of everyone practicing at the same time in the classroom…."
"Harry, heal this."
She grazed her hand on her cheek, along the faint, thin line still present from the torture at Malfoy Manor by Bellatrix Lestrange's hand.
Harry balked. He had grown used to that scar, thin as it was, a barely obvious pale scratch in her otherwise unmarred face. Accustomed to it or not, he hated it, hated how it reminded him of how helpless he had felt in that cell in Malfoy Manor with Hermione screaming upstairs, with Ron beside him, trying to break through the door of their cell, scratching his fingers against the impenetrable wood and stone.
"Hermione, no. I can't."
"Oh, I realize you think you can't. And it's even possible that you really can't. But I'd like you to try."
"No." He shook his head. "It's your face, Hermione. What if something went wrong? I could damage it permanently."
"Harry…." Her voice was low, firm. "Just try a simple healing spell. It's I doubt it will heal it since it's been six months already, but it will be a good test."
She sat still, turning her cheek toward him, as her words went through his head. Six months. Had it really been six months since the rescue from Malfoy Mansion? Six months since he had buried Dobby?
"Come on, mate." Ron wrapped his arm more tightly around Hermione, an odd look on his face. Harry imagined he didn't like thinking about how Hermione got that scar either, six months ago or not.
Harry reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his wand. He looked at Hermione's face, noting how thin and pale the scar was. He held his wand out, thinking about the scar—only the scar. Scars he understood. He remembered that summer after fifth year, and the scar on his hands, how Severus had made a salve for it, and ultimately taken him to St. Mungo's.
"The latin word for scar is 'cicatrix,'" suggested Hermione quietly.
Harry nodded.
"Sanare cicatrix, then," he said to himself. He lifted his wand and nearly brushed it along the length of the scar.
"Sanare cicatrix," he said, still thinking about the scar, not having any idea what the appropriate wand movement would be, but acting on instinct, as he had, as they all had, all those months together hunting Horcruxes.
He stared, and Ron stared. Hermione put a hand up to her face and stared back.
"Well?" she asked.
"Gone," said Ron, smiling and lifting his hand to her face, brushing the spot where the scar had been.
Harry quickly pocketed his wand. "Don't say anything—please," he said. "I can't—can't…."
Hermione took his hand. "Harry, you know we won't. Just talk to Severus about it, alright?"
"Um, Hermione?" Ron glanced at Harry, then back at her face. "What are you going to tell anyone who notices? That the scar is gone?"
"Oh." She looked surprised that she hadn't thought that one out in advance. She considered a moment then smiled. "Cosmetic surgery," she said. "Muggles do it all the time to improve their appearance. There are surgeons who specialize in scar removal. I'll just say I did it the Muggle way."
"If Muggles can get rid of scars, why don't wizards…?" Ron rubbed his upper arms where the scars from the brains in the Department of Mysteries still remained.
"They can," said Harry. "Mainly with potions, though. Severus has one." He looked at Ron thoughtfully. "Want me to try yours next?"
Ron looked like he very much wanted Harry to try. Hermione, however, shook her head quickly.
"How will you explain it?" she asked. "You've had those scars more than two years now, and no one will believe you went to a Muggle plastic surgeon."
"Plastic what?" he asked.
"Doctor," she said, smiling indulgently at him. She shifted and frowned then looked back at Harry. "And for the record, my cramps are gone."
Harry blushed and Ron grinned.
"Don't let that one get out, mate," he said. "You'll have all the girls lined up if they find out you can…"
Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, Harry laughed and Ron grinned.
They spread their books and notes out on the table and Harry set his wand down beside them. He looked down at it a moment, suddenly wondering if this new ability was even new at all. Maybe he'd always had a knack for healing and just didn't know it. After all, he'd never really tried healing spells until they were on the Horcrux hunt. He'd never had to. He'd always had someone else—Poppy, Molly, Tonks, Hermione—to help out when he was in a pinch. But then again…. He fingered his wand. His wand wasn't exactly the same as it had always been either.
/
On Sunday morning, all the eighth years ate together in the Great Hall. Sunday morning breakfast had always been a bit of a treat at Hogwarts, and this morning was no exception.
The headmaster, however, was not at his place in the center of the staff table.
After he ate, Harry excused himself and approached Minerva. She was finishing her tea and reading The Daily Prophet, but folded it up as he approached, looking down at him from her slightly elevated seat.
"Severus is in the infirmary, Harry. He would like you to come visit after breakfast." Her tone was no nonsense but not especially worried.
"The infirmary? What happened?" Harry peered at Minerva, tensing up.
"Nothing happened, Harry," she answered. "If anything serious were going on, we would have called you earlier. Severus is over-tired. He has pushed himself too hard this week so Poppy monitored his sleep last night and is giving him a check-up this morning. I imagine she'll release him and let him go back to his quarters if you agree to keep an eye on him."
"Right," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate having a baby sitter."
"Just invite yourself up. Tell him you need some potions help," suggested Minerva. She frowned as she took a sip of tea then heated it with her wand.
"Like he won't see right through that one."
Nevertheless, he headed directly up to the hospital wing and pushed open the door. The infirmary appeared to be empty. The door to one of the private rooms, however, was ajar and he could hear voices arguing behind it.
"More sleep and more exercise," she said. "You know this, Severus. You have to make time for both of these in your life."
Harry couldn't hear Severus' answer. He walked quietly across the room and stood just outside the door.
"A good walk along the lake path every morning or evening, Severus. It will clear your head and get you outdoors where you can breathe some good Scottish air right off the loch. You can take Harry with you—he's looking a little peaked himself."
"Oh, is he?" asked Harry, stepping into the doorway. Poppy was standing facing the single cot in the room, one hand on her hip and the other brandishing her wand, already in full lecture mode. Severus, sitting on the edge of the cot wearing his robe and slippers, looked over at him with relief.
"Now will you let me leave?" he asked Poppy. "Harry can walk me back to my quarters and tuck me in."
"What? No morning walk around the lake first?" asked Harry. He picked a pile of clothing off the chair near the door and placed it on the bed beside Severus.
"He will rest again today and tomorrow may start his daily walks," said Poppy. "And starting today, he will eat smaller, more frequent meals." She turned from Harry to Severus. "Your metabolism is extremely accelerated, Severus. You are too thin, and borderline anemic."
"I'll take care of him," said Harry, holding out his hand to take the bathrobe from Severus. He draped it over his arm as Severus slipped into his shirt and buttoned it then reached for his waistcoat.
"Do you plan to rest in your full uniform, Severus?" asked Poppy, her voice expressing exactly what she thought of that idea. She hadn't moved from her original position and stood there now with hands folded over her chest, glaring at Severus.
"Uniform?" Harry bit back a smile and turned toward Poppy. "That's what you call it?"
"That's what the entire staff calls it," she answered. "He wears the same clothing every day here. What's not uniform about that?"
"Well, it's not really the same clothing," said Harry. "He probably has two dozen of those shirts, and ten of those waistcoats…"
Severus responded by throwing a pair of socks at Harry. Harry caught them and smiled. Severus might be over-tired, but he wasn't acting any differently than he ever did.
"I will not now—nor will I ever—walk through the halls of this castle in my bathrobe," he stated. He was pulling on his trousers now, all business in front of Madam Pomfrey. He toed off his slippers and Harry handed him his boots. "I will undress again when I reach my quarters."
"Your quarters are just down the hall," Poppy reminded him. "And it is Sunday morning. You are not likely to meet a student out and about."
Severus glared at her and finished dressing. Harry picked up the robe and slippers and Poppy thrust a sheet of parchment toward him.
"Severus' instructions," she said, ignoring Severus' outstretched hand. "Be a dear and read that aloud to him, won't you Harry? That way he'll have heard them at least once before he loses them."
"Or burns them in the floo," muttered Harry.
He and Severus walked side by side out of the infirmary and turned down the hall toward the Headmaster's office and quarters. And while Poppy had thought it unlikely that they'd encounter any students out so early on a Sunday, they found Draco Malfoy standing beside the repaired gargoyle guarding Severus' office. He stepped forward as they neared.
"Headmaster—may I speak with you?"
He wasn't exactly rude or impolite, despite the fact that he more or less ignored Harry's presence. Instead, he seemed almost desperate, Harry thought. In fact, he looked a bit ragged. He was dressed in his usual clothing, all of it neatly pressed and well-fitting. Harry wondered if Draco was the only eighth year boy who actually hung up his clothes. His hair, longer now, was pulled back in a short ponytail, making his face appear even more narrow, his chin even more pointy.
Harry glanced at Severus and found that he, too, was staring at Malfoy. For a moment—for just a moment—given how intently Severus was staring at him, Harry wondered if he was using Legilimency.
"Harry." Severus broke eye contact with Malfoy and turned toward him. He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. In front of Malfoy! "May I have some time alone with Mr. Malfoy?"
Harry glanced automatically over at Malfoy. He was standing exactly where he had been when he first spoke. He was looking at Severus, not at Harry. There was something about the look on his face that gave Harry pause. He resembled only vaguely the Draco Malfoy Harry had known these past years. He held himself the same—erect, proud—but the look seemed automatic now instead of deliberate, as if he had grown into his skin. But despite the posture, he seemed…alone.
Suddenly Harry realized that until this year, he had rarely seen Draco Malfoy without Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry swallowed. He didn't want to leave Severus with Draco, and Severus had asked him, hadn't he? Still…
"Alright," he said, a bit too slowly.
Severus turned his head to look at him, frowning slightly. "Why don't you go to the library and find a book on healing charms? Read the first two chapters and then bring it to my office. That will give me some time with Mr. Malfoy." He looked over at Draco. "Will an hour be sufficient, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Healing charms?" Harry didn't particularly like where this conversation was going.
"Yes. You heard me correctly." Severus narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Professor Flitwick did mention that you were having some trouble with healing charms, didn't he?"
"Trouble?" Harry was surprised to hear Malfoy's voice. The old haughtiness was there, but it felt like it was on the surface, just there for show. Like Malfoy didn't really believe it anymore. "He's not having trouble with anything in Charms. You'd think he'd somehow switched his brain with Granger's."
Harry glared at him, forcing himself to not look back at Severus. "I've been studying," he replied. He looked up at Severus then. "I'll see you in an hour then, Sev…Headmaster."
Severus nodded, and Harry thought he good see gratitude in his eyes, and perhaps relief. That Harry hadn't argued. That he had handled the change in plans maturely.
Still, as Harry walked back down the corridor toward the stairway, he couldn't help but feel annoyed. Severus wasn't feeling well—well, he was over-tired, anyway. He didn't need to be spending time with Malfoy—he should be resting on the sofa, listening to his old LPs on the ancient phonograph, maybe even playing chess with Harry. A quiet game, with Muggle chessmen who didn't decapitate each other with ivory swords.
Except for the book. Severus wanted him to get a book on healing spells. Apparently, he didn't plan to wait until Tuesday after all to discuss the "problem" he was having in Charms.
/
He ran into Zacharias Smith when he was leaving the library.
"Hilda Smith? No, I've never heard of her. I have a great-aunt Hilda but she's on my mum's side." He shrugged and Harry thanked him and made his way back to Severus' quarters.
Severus was sitting on the leather chair beside the sofa, his feet up on the ottoman. He was still wearing his trousers, shirt and waistcoat, but had removed his robes and the waistcoat was at least unbuttoned.
Harry sat on the sofa and put the book he'd brought from the library on the table.
"All done with Malfoy?" asked Harry. It was a stupid question—he knew it—and Severus' raised eyebrows reinforced the fact.
"I have not hidden him in the loo or in the cupboard," he returned. "Though you are welcome to look if you'd like"
"No, I'll believe you," said Harry, looking around. "Are you hungry? I can make breakfast for you."
"I had breakfast in the infirmary," he answered. He steepled his hands under his nose and looked at Harry. "You don't look any different," he dead-panned. "Yet from what I've heard you've taken on some extraordinary skills. Draco noticed. Others have too. I expect we won't be able to keep this under wraps so we'd best determine exactly what is going on."
"Nothing's going on," protested Harry. "I'm not doing anything different at all." He frowned even as Severus smiled and couldn't help but smile himself.
"But something is different," said Severus. "Did you learn anything in your reading?" he gestured toward the book on the table.
"Actually, I did," admitted Harry. The book, Healing Hands, Healing Wands, discussed the differences between true healers and trained healers, focusing on what could be done by learning spells versus what could be done by understanding physiology and being able to channel one's magic without conscious knowledge of specific healing spells.
"Go on." Severus leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the arms. He crossed his ankles. Harry thought he didn't look too exhausted at all like this, but maybe he was just accustomed to seeing Severus. Maybe he'd looked worn out all summer and he just hadn't noticed.
"Right." Harry took his wand out of his pocket and placed it next to the book. "Anyone can learn to perform a healing spell," he began. "If your nose is bleeding, you can use Episkey. Because your nose is bleeding, right? And Episkey is a spell to heal mild injuries."
Severus nodded. "Go on," he repeated.
"So you don't have to be a healer to use healing spells. But if you're not a healer, you have to be positive about what's wrong and what needs to be fixed. A healer is trained to recognize symptoms and diagnose problems. Then, once they understand what's wrong, they can use the right spell or another treatment—like a potion—to treat you."
"You chose a good book," said Severus with approval. "Can you see parallels in other disciplines?"
"Potions," said Harry immediately, smiling back at Severus when Severus smiled in approval. "Anyone can brew a potion if they have the instructions and the ingredients…."
"Well, perhaps not anyone," said Severus.
Harry laughed. "Right. Let's just say most everyone can brew a potion if they have the ingredients and supplies and the instructions. But you have to really understand the ingredients and the properties of each one, and how they interact with each other, to create a potion yourself for a specific use, or to modify it, say, if the person who was going to take it was allergic to one of the ingredients."
"You have been listening," said Severus.
"I've been around you a lot these last couple years," said Harry.
They looked at each other then, and Harry was reminded that nearly a year had gone by between Dumbledore's death…and Voldemort's. A year when he hadn't seen Severus at all.
"And is that all the book had to say?" asked Severus, looking down at the table where the book and the wand still sat side by side.
"Well, actually, no," answered Harry. He stared at the book a minute, remembering what he had read. "It also describes natural healers—people who aren't trained healers, but who can use their magic to heal, without really understanding what might be wrong with someone. They don't use spells, or potions—they channel their magic to repair damage, or cure diseases."
Severus met Harry's eyes. "This episode with Professor Flitwick, then?"
Harry considered before speaking. He looked up finally, pensive. "It seems like natural healing, except I didn't do it intentionally. I was using a specific healing spell on Ron's cut—just plain old everyday healing where I used a spell we were learning to fix a wound I could see and diagnose with my eyes. I didn't even know Professor Flitwick had lumbago. I didn't even know what lumbago was until Hermione told me after class."
"Professor Flitwick says you have improved in Charms all around, not only in healing spells. What is your explanation for that?"
Harry looked across at Severus. He didn't want to tell him Hermione's theory, but felt he had to. "Hermione thinks the Horcrux might have been blocking some of my abilities," he said, speaking rather softly and not looking directly at Severus. "But I don't necessarily think so. I think—well, I think it actually gave me some abilities, like Parseltongue."
"The presence—or absence—of the Horcrux is a logical line to pursue," said Severus. "But you obviously don't believe it. Or you don't innately feel that your new abilities come from having lost the Horcrux." He looked pointedly at the wand on the table, then back at Harry. "You think it has something to do with your wand."
He said it so matter-of-factly that Harry felt even more certain that his instincts about his wand were right.
"I told you that I broke it then repaired it with the Elder Wand…before I put it back in the tomb with Dumbledore."
"You did indeed," said Severus. He reached out a hand toward the wand but paused and looked over at Harry. "May I?"
"Sure," said Harry. He realized, as Severus' fingers wrapped around his wand, that there were very few people in this world that he would willingly let touch his wand. Yet Severus touching it, picking it up, even using it, didn't bother him in the least.
Severus examined the wand carefully.
"I can't see the repair," he said.
"Neither can I,," said Harry. "And I wondered…if the Elder Wand actually repaired it—mended it, I mean—or restored it somehow—undid the damage."
"A wand repaired by the most powerful wand in existence," mused Severus. "The master of the Elder Wand uses the wand to repair his own wand, imbuing it with some of the very properties of the master wand itself…."
Harry stared at him. He hadn't thought of it that way, not exactly. He just thought that the Elder Wand had somehow influenced his own wand, made it better or stronger.
"But I'm not better at everything," he said. "Like Transfiguration, and Potions."
"Oh, your professors assure me that you are better," said Severus. "I think you've simply not yet found the category in those disciplines in which you will excel the most." He put the wand down on the table. "On the dresser in my bedroom is a small silver knife. Would you please bring it in here?"
Harry stared at Severus a moment, knowing exactly what he planned to do with the knife. Nevertheless, he stood and went to fetch it. Severus' bedroom was neat, the bed still made as he hadn't slept in it the previous night. Harry grinned when he saw the dressing chair with three black waistcoats hung on it. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Poppy Severus had ten of them.
Severus took knife when Harry held it out to him and without pause used it to slice across the palm of his hand. His cut was quick and efficient, nearly surgical, and he pushed on the edges to make the blood well up faster. He reached for Harry's wand.
"Hold out your hands," he said.
Harry eyed the knife on the table but held them out.
Severus smiled tightly. "I am still sometimes amazed at how much you trust me."
Harry had been looking at his hands, and his wand in Severus' hands, but now he looked up at Severus. "I know. It amazes me sometimes too."
"Turn them over."
Harry flipped his hands over so that the palms were down.
"You have cuts on your knuckles—from Quidditch, I assume?"
Harry nodded. "Got a little rough yesterday morning. We had quite a few who wanted to be beaters."
"Hmm. Those will do. Take them back now, put your hands in your lap. I have a theory, and I expect to be right."
He touched the wand to his hand, muttering a spell that Harry did not know. The cut closed and healed, disappearing completely.
"Show me your hands again."
Harry held out his hands. The cuts on his knuckles were still there.
"As I expected," said Severus. He turned the wand over in his hands, looking at it thoughtfully. "I used a spell on my hand that should have closed the wound." He looked at Harry now. "Healing spells do not normally reverse the damage as this one seems to have done. However…it did not heal the scrapes on your hand. In my hands, your wand performed better than mine would have, but worked only on the object of my spell—the cut I made in my palm."
"Let me try it with your wand," said Harry, slowly, digesting the information, the evidence from the trial Severus had devised.
"It is on my desk," said Severus.
The desk was in the same room, so Harry stood again and fetched Severus' wand. He reached for the knife but Severus took it up quickly instead. He made another cut in the same palm, and held it out to Harry.
"The incantation is Vulnera Sanentur. It can be used on more serious wounds with a complicated wand movement , but is more than adequate without for wounds of this type."
Harry nodded and held out Severus' wand. "Vulnera Sanentur," he said. The cut in Severus' hand closed, leaving a thin pink line. Severus held it up and examined it. He ran his finger over the healed cut thoughtfully.
"Your hands?" he asked.
Harry looked at his knuckles and shook his head. "Still scuffed up," he said.
Severus nodded. "One more test," he said. He took his wand from Harry and handed Harry his own wand, the holly and phoenix feather wand he'd had since he turned eleven, the one he'd repaired with the Elder Wand in the office just below them, only four months before.
"Aren't you getting tired of cutting your hand?" asked Harry.
"I've no plans to cut it again," Severus responded. He held out his palm. "Same spell, on the cut you just healed."
"You know it's going to work, don't you?" asked Harry, hesitating, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand.
"Humor me," said Severus.
Harry held out the wand. "Vulnera Sanetur," he said, almost in a whisper.
Severus held up his hand. The thin pink line was gone.
"Your knuckles?" he asked.
Harry held out his hands, sighing. The scratches and scrapes were gone.
Severus stared at Harry's hands a long moment, then reached out and took one of them in his own hand, squeezing it.
"It is at times like these," he said, looking Harry in the eye, "that I wish Albus were still here." He let go of Harry's hand, and Harry let it fall into his lap. "As I suggested earlier, your wand appears to have taken on some of the qualities of the Elder Wand that healed it," he said. "And it is also apparent that you alone, as master of the wand, can use it to its full potential."
"But I don't want to." Harry was shaking his head. "I put the Elder Wand back—I gave it back to Dumbledore, Severus. I don't want special powers. I want to be an Auror, not a healer…."
"Have you used the wand in Defense yet?" asked Severus. "I understand that your new professor has spent the first week teaching Muggle defense methods?"
Harry smiled. "And since I'm the teacher's assistant, I get to get knocked around a lot." He really didn't mind. Professor Dimitri always explained what he was going to do before he did it and they'd learned some great self-defense moves that didn't involve wands—things they could use in the Muggle world. "But no, you're right. We haven't used our wands yet in class. We're going to spend all of September on physical self-defense and then start on our new textbook curriculum in October."
"The wand is seldom used in Potions," mused Severus, frowning.
"But what about Transfiguration?" asked Harry, latching onto this new thought. "The wand doesn't seem to be helping me much in that class. And I've always had more trouble with Transfiguration than with Charms."
Severus raised his eyebrows. "This from the mouth of a teenage animagus?"
"No, really," protested Harry.
"It has shown its strength with healing charms," answered Severus. "I suspect you will find a niche in Transfiguration as well." He picked up both his wand and Harry's and laid them on his lap, one above the other, studying them. "Besides," he added, "Minerva told me you are doing particularly well overall in Transfiguration this year, though you haven't shown exceptional work as of yet."
Harry sat silently a moment, looking at the two wands balanced across Severus' thighs.
"What am I going to tell people?" he asked at last.
"Nothing," said Severus, firmly. "We do not wish to set you up for attack, if someone gets it into their head that your new strength comes from your wand. Remember that Albus was already a strong and powerful wizard when he won the Elder Wand. No, Harry, I think it is time for you to get a new wand."
Harry's face must have shown his opinion of that for Severus quickly added. "A second wand, not a replacement for this one, but one to use in school, so that your magic and skills can develop as everyone else's do here. And I believe we should have it commissioned. Holly seems to work well for you, and you can have it made to look very much like your current wand."
Harry considered the idea. A second wand. A wand made of holly, of the same wood, the same length. A wand that was no more special than any other wand. But still, he'd get to keep his original wand, and use it when need arose….
"Yeah," he said, relieved. "Thanks, Severus. That's really a good idea. Maybe we can go to Diagon Alley next weekend."
"I will owl Ollivander," said Severus.
Harry smiled. "You really should get to bed, Severus. Poppy'll be all over me if you don't get some sleep."
Severus nodded. He didn't look like he was going anywhere, however. He settled back into the chair.
"You haven't asked about Draco," he said, eying Harry speculatively.
Harry started. No, he hadn't. In fact, he'd managed to forget all about Malfoy since Severus had started right in on the wand and the book when he'd returned.
"It's…well, it's none of my business, is it?" he answered rather lamely. "You're the Headmaster. I guess any student has the right to talk with you, don't they?" His voice was tight as he spoke. Now that Severus had brought it up, he very much wanted to know what Malfoy wanted from Severus.
"No, it's not," agreed Severus. His voice was soft, without the edge in it that would usually accompany a statement like that. "However, there is a bit of overlap in what Mr. Malfoy wanted to discuss with me and our current conversation. It seems that Draco has a similar problem—with his wand."
"With his wand?" repeated Harry. Then realization hit. He swallowed. "Oh."
Malfoy's wand. The wand Harry had won at the battle in Malfoy Manor in March. The wand he had returned to him the day after the Final Battle. The wand he had used to defeat Voldemort.
"It seems Draco would also like to commission a new wand."
Severus spoke softly and Harry looked up at him, unable to hide the emotion he was feeling.
"You want to take us both, don't you? At the same time?"
"Yes. But I will leave the decision up to you. I will have to accompany Mr. Malfoy. It is a term of his probation that he not leave the grounds of Hogwarts unless under my direct supervision."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "Probation?" How had he missed that? "Wait! That's why he's here, isn't it? Why he's the only Slytherin in our form who came back? He had to, didn't he?"
Severus nodded. "He is trying, Harry. It will be a difficult year for him in many ways, not least of all in that he has lost a close friend, and has none of his housemates either."
"He's not the only one who lost a close friend," said Harry. He knew he sounded petulant.
"Indeed," answered Severus. "And that is another thing you share, is it not?"
Harry stared at Severus. Could Vincent Crabbe in any way compare to Fred? To Remus?
Nevertheless, he nodded tersely. "I won't be his friend," he said, keeping his voice level. "I can't be."
"I haven't asked that of you, nor will I," said Severus. "I only hope you can be tolerant of my role in his life these next months."
Another terse nod from Harry.
"Harry?
He looked up at Severus to find the dark eyes staring intently at him.
"I was given this responsibility for Draco by a court order. But you—you I chose." He reached out again and tugged at the wild hair that reached down well past Harry's ears. "You need a haircut," he said, his voice soft and undeniably fond.
Harry only nodded. He didn't intend to cut his hair, but he appreciated someone noticing, someone who felt very much like a father.
Thirty minutes later, Severus was back in bed, sleeping again, and Harry let himself out of the Headmaster's quarters. It didn't occur to him until much later, when Ginny brought it up as they walked hand-in-hand on the path by the lake, that he hadn't told Severus about the letter from Hilda Smith. What with the wand, and Severus' health, and the news about Draco Malfoy, it simply didn't seem as important now as it had when he'd first read it.
"I'll probably never hear from her again," he told Ginny. "I'm just going to try to forget it."
"Good luck with that," said Ginny, but she wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned against him and frankly, with her warm weight against his side and her hand comfortably on his hip, Hilda Smith was just about the last thing on his mind.
