AN: FINALLY am back to updating. I've been stateside for a month, visiting family but I'm now back in bonny England. Updates shall be rolling on after editing - thank you and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All belong to darling J.K Rowling.
A Tumble through Time:
Curiosity.
Come Monday morning, Harry was beyond grateful to wake up the same size as the previous.
Waking up on Sunday a handful of inches shorter and, eventually discovered, younger, had been a horrifying experience. It had been scary and unknown, especially when he was still finding his feet in the new realm of his parent's era. That being said, Harry wasn't wholly annoyed losing an entire year of his age, not when he still felt eleven-years-old.
If anything, having to follow Dumbledore's false tale of a potions accident had been more damaging. The last thing he wanted was for his parents, Lily and James, to think the worst of him – not that Sunday's happenings were the issue right now. No, it was more the selection of growing events that led Harry into a contemplative silence. Be it Lily's worrisome fretting over Quidditch safety and James' light scolding over his mishap with potions, they were all new experiences for Harry. So new and untouched upon, in fact, that he couldn't help but cling to them and mull them over. It was a little fascinating to the time-displaced child's mind, especially when he compared his father's mild telling-off to his Aunt and Uncle's rough handedness mingled with verbal abuse.
Harry was so caught up in his own thoughts that he was startled to find himself lightly clutching the back of James' robe. He didn't even realize he was holding the high-quality material until now. It must've been a silly, instinctual action; a loss of height drastically changing his perspective as the morning traffic of student bodies jostled him in the hall.
Luckily, James hadn't noticed or cared of his clingy behaviour during their walk to their first lesson of the day. The Head boy was focused with laughing with Sirius while Peter led the front of the group. Even his mother, Lily, seemed to be preoccupied by talking to Remus. Harry couldn't help but crane his neck a little, peeking between his parents hand-in-hand form to see where they were going. The first class was a double session of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Harry, naturally, wondered if it would be in the same classroom as his own time.
In fact, the small boy wondered, who taught DADA here?
''What was that, Harry?''
Taken by surprise, he blinked owlishly at the speaker, James. Assuming he had spoken his question out loud, Harry felt his stomach swoop with nerves and face heat at the sight of his dad looking over his shoulder at him. The young man was smiling, not angry or irritated, and Harry felt hyper-aware over the fact he was still holding the back Head boy's robe.
Unlatching his suddenly sweaty hand from the black material, Harry tried to calm his burst of embarrassment, only to suddenly find himself being tugged forward and tucked between James and Sirius.
''Alright there, HarBear?'' Sirius, the culprit of Harry's new location, beamed.
''Yeah,'' Harry said. ''Um,'' he flicked his eyes up to James' own, bespectacled brown, ''I was just wonderin', really. Who teaches Defence here?''
A flash of red hair appeared on the other side of his father's frame. ''Professor Bramwell Boggs,'' Lily chimed in. ''He's…well, he's –''
''Bloody fantastic,'' Sirius interjected with a cheer.
''I'd prefer to say he's different,'' Remus' soft tone carried above the noise in the corridor.
''Nah, he's amazing,'' the young Black corrected. ''Boggs took over teaching us mid-way through last year when Professor Craven popped her clogs,'' he informed Harry with a grin. ''Our dear Blindside the best DADA teacher we've ever had so far.''
''Blindside?'' Harry parroted back.
''A nickname,'' James supplied with a wink.
Smiling at the inside reminder, Harry giggled. Nicknames like Prongs, he thought. It had been weird finding out his dad could turn into a stag. Weird but interesting. He still found himself biting his lip, trying to hold back the urge to ask James to turn into Prongs again. There was something soothing about meeting the furry, majestic king of the forest.
Regardless, the eleven-turned-ten-year-old asked something else. ''Why Blindside?''
''It's a little crude but it comes down to Boggs' physical appearance,'' Remus explained. ''He suffered a serious burn to the left side of his face, lost his eyesight.''
Harry winced with sympathy and understanding. He knew all too well how it felt to be gawked at over features. Malfoy had fallen into the habit of calling him 'Scar Head'. It wasn't a nice thing to be called –
A playful nudge from Sirius jostled Harry's thought process.
''Some say he got it from battling a dragon,'' the Black said.
''A dragon?'' Harry breathed, awe evident. ''Really?''
''Yeah, a big, fierce Hebridean Black,'' Sirius continued enthusiastically.
''That's only a rumour,'' Peter grumbled from upfront.
Remus shook his head, fondly. ''C'mon, Wormtail,'' he cajoled, ''don't be like that.''
The pudgy blond merely turned, practically walking backwards at they slowed down near a large door. ''Its fine for you guys,'' Peter huffed, ''Boggs bloody well hates me!''
''I wouldn't say that, Pettigrew,'' a rumbling tone entered the conversation.
Harry felt his eyebrows climb behind his fringe and, along with the rest of the group, came to a halt beside the approaching door. Peter, on the other hand, let out a very, mouse-like squeak, all but tumbling into a gaggle of waiting students. Confused, Harry peered under his father's arm and looked behind. His green eyes instantly landed upon the squat, aging man with milky-brown skin a shock of wild, white hair.
This must've been Professor Boggs; a relatively young looking man despite his light wrinkles and hair colour. The previous description didn't do the teacher justice and, knowing it was rude to stare, Harry tried to avert his focus from the pinkish whorl of scar-tissue that dominated the left side of Boggs' face. It was hard to avoid yet, scars aside, the boy found the milky, left eyeball far more unsettling to look at. The white, sightless orb seemed to be forever staring at you – at least, that's how it felt to Harry. But that didn't matter anymore than how Boggs didn't seem to care about Harry's moment of staring or overheard conversation. The dark-skinned Professor seemed more interested in correcting Peter and his overheard assumptions.
''I would, however,'' Boggs continued, ''say that I have no time to teach the spineless.''
Peter seemed to slink closer towards Sirius' side and cower. Harry couldn't help but wince with sympathy. Boggs' words were just as biting as Snape's could be, albeit more grumpy than furious.
''But no, perish the thought I deny you and others entrance into my class, Pettigrew,'' the Professor spat, seemingly ranting to himself. ''Dumbledore says these are dark times, Dumbledore says I need to prepare anyone willing,'' he scoffed, stepping forth and parting his way past James and Lily. ''Doesn't matter if you barely passed your O.W.L, no, no…that all changes 'cause of Dark. Bloody. Times. What a load of codswallop –''
Whatever followed drifted off into a grumble, leaving Harry to gaze at the mismatch of responses. Most students seemed amused at the Professor's rambling while a handful of others, namely Mum, looked a little exasperated. From what Harry could gather, Boggs' ranting seemed to be a common occurrence.
He watched the Professor stride forward and, with a flick of a wrist, throw open the classroom doors. Almost immediately students stepped forth, eager to enter the room and catch up with the Professor. Harry found himself being bumped forward, silently certain that he would've went barrelling into the back of a female seventh year if it hadn't of been for his location. Being wedged between his father and Sirius had its perks; the pair were able to herd both Harry and Lily into the room without getting trampled.
The classroom itself, however, was different to Harry's own era. The whiff of chalk and old books had been replaced with the scent of damp stone. Strung up skeletons of beasts and other various oddities were absent, only the huge windows and iron chandelier hanging from above being familiar. Even the overall layout was different to what Harry was used to. The desks weren't set in rows and, instead, seemed to be pushed back, creating a circle in which Boggs stood in, his foot upon a heavily chained chest, waiting.
''Hurry up, now,'' Boggs' voice called out. ''Get in, get ready, we're starting with a practical recap!''
That seemed to send the students into a flurry of activity and, lost, Harry could only watch. The class was a mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors, the majority of which going through the process of shrugging off robes or tossing satchels upon desks. Harry stayed silent, lingering beside James' elbow as a variety of excited chatter from both houses washed over him.
''Actually, sir, I don't know if you know about Harry Porter – ''
''Yes, yes, I know about Dumbledore's pet project. Do get ready, Miss Evans'' the man cut her off.
Harry stared towards the speaking duo, wondering when Lily had slipped away. Still, Boggs didn't seem like an angry man. The Professor merely seemed rushed, almost eager, to start his class. Given the way everyone else happened to be responding, Harry assumed this was the norm for Bogg's lessons. Still, the young boy couldn't help but feel a little drowned by it all and, numbly, allowed Lily to guide him into sitting a little ways to the side, atop an unoccupied desk.
It also happened to be the desk nearest to her; a small act that settled his nerves. Smiling shyly, Harry swung his legs back and forth, his green gaze catching sight of Snape across the room. He was certain he could spend his whole existence in this era and still not get used to the sight of his to-be Professor. Yet, there Snape was, young and scowling, standing in front of his desk like all the other students – and looking directly at the large chest beside Boggs.
It was a thick, battered item with a heavy padlock and several, official-looking stickers stamped all over it. Curious, Harry leaned forward, inwardly grateful he was close enough to get a proper look. Boggs kept one foot upon the chest in an almost casual stance as he began to talk to the class, mentioning words and things Harry hadn't heard of.
Patrons and Determinators, or something. Harry was barely listening to the heavily scarred man, his focus drifting back to his parents. James seemed to be hanging off the Professor's every word while, strangely enough, it was Lily who wasn't paying attention. The young woman might've been watching Boggs firing questions, but she wasn't listening. Her brow was furrowed and, after a few beats, she turned to James to whisper something.
Only then, Harry noted, did the pair keep looking between Boggs and the chest.
He didn't understand what had the Head boy and girl in such deep thought. Not right away, anyway. Harry did, however, have a slight inkling of worry when Boggs stepped off the chest, his voice echoing about the room.
'' – but I believe in a far more practical approach to refreshing your memories!'' the man announced.
Harry barely had time to blink after catching such a comment. Before the child knew it, Boggs had stepped further aside and banished the thick, wrought chains from the chest with a sweep of his slightly bent wand. Instantaneously, the lid flew back and Harry stared, entranced, at the dark, hooded figure that emerged from within the chest. It – for he had no clue of what it was – seemed tower up above them all in a roll of raggedy, black cloth looking every inch like the fabled Grim Reaper.
The temperature in the classroom seemed to plummet then, the actions of others around him falling to the wayside. He couldn't look at others right now, not when he felt so breathless. Harry merely remained numb as the thing seemed to lock onto him. He could see no eyes, the face shadowed completely beneath its hood, but he knew it was looking at him. It let loose a series of long, rattling breaths, drifting closer and closer… until Harry's eyes rolled up into his head.
Blackness engulfed him, his conscious barely hanging on. He felt inexplicably frost-bitten; his body chilled and blood like slush. He was drowning and he was terrified. Vaguely, Harry heard his own heart thundering in his ears until it transgressed into a dull, growing roar – that morphed into a distant scream.
It was a horrible, pleading scream. High-pitched and terrified.
Harry wanted to reach out, help whoever it was, but he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe –
''Expecto Patronum!''
A bright, silvery light chased away the darkness and cut through the bleakness of Harry's mind. The awful screaming had stopped, only to be replaced by a series of shouts. Dazed, Harry could only focus on regaining his breath with a spinning head. The bitter coldness continued to cling onto him though, leaving him numb and dizzy – until a set of strong, warm arms scooped him up.
''First and only one to react, Mr. Potter!''
James ignored the praise from his Professor as his Stag-shaped Patronus dissipated away. With two quick steps of his long legs he brushed past his friends to find Lily crouched beside Harry's small, crumpled form. She looked just like James felt; light-headed and sick. Like all students, he had succumbed to the creeping misery the Dementor expelled. It had been sheer instinct that had him firing the Patronus Charm when he did. The sight of Harry toppling forward in a faint had not only made James' stomach lurch but, also, sent him flying into action.
Silently berating himself, James wished he had taken Lily's whispered worries to heart at the time. Still, he just couldn't believe Boggs had unleashed a real Dementor in their class. It was one thing to use scare tactics to evaluate a class of seventeen-to-eighteen-year-olds, but it was something else when it included a ten-year-old. James was torn between disbelief and outright anger. Boggs had always been one of his favourite professors; a little unorthodox but fun with his practical lesson plans. But now, looking down at Harry's disorientated state and dimmed eyes, he wanted to throttle the stupid man.
Without really thinking, James scooped the boy's minuscule form up into his arms. He wasn't used to carrying other people, let alone little people, and it took a moment or two of juggling. Harry was near boneless in his arms, feeling way too light and skinny. Still, James managed to figure out a way to hold the lad when Boggs plodded up beside him.
''Twenty-points to Gryffindor for showing us what Defence really is!'' Boggs cheered.
James gritted his teeth, half-wishing he had a spare hand to Hex the Professor. Thankfully, Remus seemed to be doing enough intense glaring at Blindside for the both of them. Even Sirius, usually loving a disruptive lesson, seemed uneasy. Lily, on the opposite scale of things, remained hovering beside him, totally ignoring Boggs. She seemed to be continuing to reach up and pat Harry's pale face for a reaction while Peter – well, James didn't know where Peter was. The rat Animagus had probably fainted or hid and, in all honesty, James couldn't bring himself to look for his friend.
If anything, James was more focused on a frail-looking child he had a hold of.
He didn't know why he picked Harry up. It probably would've been safer to keep the kid still after falling forward. Yet there had been something so quintessentially wrong about leaving Harry on the cold floor. James could only chalk up his actions to instinct no matter how silly he felt, standing amongst his fellow seventh years, with an armful of ten-year-old.
Turning his head, the Head boy glanced down at the messy head of raven hair lolling about on his shoulder. Harry, to put it simply, looked out of it. The kid was blinking sluggishly, glasses askew and frames a little misshapen from the fall. Lily wasted no time with plucking the damaged set off the boy's nose, having enough forethought to place them in James' back pocket. She continued to peer worryingly into Harry's myopic stare, attempting to gain some form of verbal recognition – at least until Harry turned away to bump, accidentally, against James' jaw.
Grunting from the slight head butt, James could only watch Harry blindly wobble about, disorientated and weak. The littlest Gryffindor seemed determined to gather his bearings though, a small act that had James smiling in admiration. Still, Harry's state worried him. The teen didn't know if the kid's current predicament came down to facing a Dementor so young, or the nose-dive to the floor. Either way, James found himself wedging Harry against him, balancing the skinny backside on his forearm, and freeing up an arm to gently cup the back of the boy's head.
''Harry?'' he said, taking over Lily's previous duty.
Aside from the soft, cubbish noise that left Harry's mouth, he received no reply. James could only assume the kid was battling a headache atop of his post-Dementor encounter. Still, he felt like he needed more a response from Harry. Naturally, James fell back on experience, recalling the tactics his parents used to do to rouse him…and began carding his fingers through Harry's thick, black hair.
The action managed to work; Harry was squinting at him and –
''D-Dad?''
James winced at the woefully croaked title. Yeah, he thought, Harry must've smacked his head pretty damn hard. He didn't know much about Harry's home life aside from some snippets, one of which being the fact the little lad's parents were deceased.
''Nah, kiddo,'' he hushed the clearly concussed boy. ''It's James.''
Harry wrinkled his nose, confused. ''Huh…?''
Sharing a glance with Lily, James was briefly at a loss until she spoke up, redirecting his focus.
''You should get him to Pomfrey. He hit the floor pretty hard.''
''Nonsense, the boy'll be fine,'' the voice of the Professor gruffly cut-in. ''We covered the first-aid response to mild cases of Dementor contact last year!'' Boggs carried on. ''You –'' Boggs zeroed in on a female Slytherin '' – Mulgrew, name the first form of first-aid?''
''C..Chocolate, sir?''
''Well done, five points to Slytherin.''
Anger, hot and bubbling, heated up in James' stomach at Boggs' nonchalant attitude. The fact the man was merely continuing his lesson had James' wand hand twitching.
''Here,'' the Professor continued, rifling through his robes, ''I have some chocolate pieces prepared for you all…''
James merely hoisted Harry higher on his hip. ''Idiot,'' he hissed.
Blindside, somehow, managed to hear him. ''I beg your pardon!'' the Professor spat, taken aback.
''Sorry, Professor,'' Lily spoke in genuine politeness despite the sneer curling her lip. ''He was meant to say, you're an idiot, Sir.''
''M-Miss Evans, where on earth is this coming from!?''
James would've thrown his head back in laughter if he knew it wouldn't disturb Harry. Instead, he snickered into the mess of raven locks tickling his jaw. That, Lily's vicious tongue and quick wit, was one of the reasons why he loved her. She could be a real firecracker, that was for sure. James would've loved to witness the unravelling show but, alas…
''That's your queue to leave, mate,'' Sirius smirked.
Remus held back a chuckle. ''Meet you after class?'' he enquired.
James nodded and, with a quick glance towards Lily's reddening face, left. Distantly, he heard the sound of Sirius adding onto Lily's quip along with Blindside, undoubtedly shocked at one of his top students being difficult, attempting to regain composure. For the sake of many, James could only hope Boggs didn't involve McGonagall in this whole mess; the woman would blow a gasket at such drama and disrespect so soon in the school year.
He continued his quick pace to the Hospital Wing, already envisioning his strict Head of House's reaction, when Harry snuffled into his ear. Immediately, he jerked at the sensation; his body seemingly going into a spasm that jostled Harry enough into waking. James was just about to apologise for the rough movement until a gut-churning thought hit him.
''Oi, bud,'' James cajoled, lightly. ''Keep them eyes open, okay? I don't know if you're supposed to sleep.''
''S'kay. I heard screamin','' Harry grumbled into his shoulder.
Despite being taken by the abrupt comment, James went with the subject simply to keep Harry awake. Plus, hearing the boy talk, no matter how slurred-sounding, soothed the elder's nerves a little during the walk. It was also a vast improvement from being mistaken as Harry's dead father. Snorting at the latter, James could only shake his head and continue the conversation.
''Screaming, huh?'' he said. ''Was it high-pitch and girly? It might've been Peter at seeing that Dementor.''
Harry didn't have the energy or sense to laugh. The child merely burrowed against his shoulder, mumbling. ''No. Sounded like a woman, beggin' and cryin'...''
James winced at the lost, solemn tone of Harry's voice and made a point of rubbing the kid's back. No one had screamed during class, not even Nancy Davis, one of the wimpiest of Slytherin girls. Worried, James merely picked up the pace and, somehow, managed to trot down one staircase and round two corners in record time. Without preamble, he butted the Hospital Wing's doors open with the toe of his foot, the audible thud causing Harry to muffle a complaint at the loud noise.
''Potter!'' Madam Pomfrey's brusque tone greeted him. ''Do not cause such a ruckus, you'll disrupt my – Oh my, is that Mr. Porter? Has he –?''
''He hasn't de-aged any more, if that's what you're worrying about,'' James supplied.
The matronly woman nodded along, her wand at the ready and directing them to the nearest bed. James wasted no time with explaining the lead up of events, all the while attempting to unlatch Harry. Attempt being the key word. The kid seemed to be channelling his inner-koala about being let go and placed upon the stark, neat sheets of the provided bed. In the end, James settled with plopping down on the mattress and gently, but firmly, manoeuvring Harry's weak, disorientated form to rest beside him.
Unable to find it within himself to leave the lad's side, James reclined against the pillows with Harry tucked under his arm. If the kid wanted to act like a clingy spider monkey right now, then that was the least James could do. Merlin knew it if James had been Harry's age and faced with a Dementor he would've been in a worse state. So, without much hardship, the Head boy watched Harry wince and Pomfrey cluck about her new patient.
''That man, he'll get himself fired one day,'' Poppy said, clearly annoyed. She barely glanced at James while talking, far more interested in waving a series of diagnostic spells that had a quill magically scratching the results upon parchment.
''The summer before last I had to re-grow a Hufflepuff's fingers,'' she confessed, ''Boggs found it perfectly acceptable to let the poor dear dip their hand in a tank full of Grindylow.''
James managed to hold back a snigger. How had he not heard about that?!
''M'head hurts,'' Harry said, sounding miserable.
''That tends to be the case with concussions, Mr. Porter,'' the Mediwitch sighed. She banished the quill and snagged a hold of the small roll of parchment that had been recording her results. ''It seems you do have a rather nasty one, too, on top of your reaction to Boggs' foolishness,'' she explained, frowning. ''Such a delicate little thing, aren't you? I'll be back in a jiffy, dear.''
''Wha – Delicate?'' Harry whispered the word in such a mystified tone that James almost chuckled. It was only the quick return of Pomfrey and the pitiful, near-blind glare from Harry that stopped him. Apologetically, James gave the kid a light squeeze about the shoulders before Pomfrey rounded in on them both, a selection of vials at the ready.
The Matron pressed one vial into James' palm, the others clinking about in her hold. James felt his stomach roll at the vial's contents; it was brown with a thick, gloopy consistency. To be frank, James found it looked like something that was best to come out of one's body, not go in –
''Now, now, don't make that face,'' Pomfrey chided him. ''Take that and get back to class. My infirmary isn't a place for skiving, Potter.''
James made no move to uncork the nasty vial. He was fine; a little drained and low from the Dementor, but fine. It was Harry who Pomfrey had to treat, not him. Frowning, James spotted that the healer had a similar vial to the one in his hand, open and tipped at Harry's lips. Holding his breath, he watched with a scrunched expression as the kid gulped down the rotten-looking sludge with relative ease.
''I'm not skiving,'' James said, belatedly defending himself. ''Can't I just stay here to – ?''
''Vial, Mr. Potter,'' Pomfrey cut-in. She barely blinked in his direction, her focus solely on giving Harry another two, thankfully different coloured, vials. ''Same goes for you, Harry,'' she carried-on, her tone far less biting. ''You've got to take your Pain-relieving potion and two teaspoons of Culpepper's Concussion Remedy before having a some rest.''
The youngest boy rubbed at his eyes. ''But I don't wanna be 'lone.''
The slurred, half-whine seemed to cut through Poppy – James could see it. He smothered a grin as her eyes softened momentarily. She had to shake herself like a wet dog to regain a little composure before shooting James a glare. The Head boy stuck his lip out; an act that didn't have the same effect as Harry's and earned him a light whack on his raised knee.
''Legs down and take the Choc-Shot,'' the woman ordered. ''If you do that and stay quiet, we'll see about you keeping Harry company.''
''Choc-Shot?'' James mumbled, latching onto the word.
''That vial you seem determined not to take,'' Pomfrey huffed at him before switching to Harry. ''Open up, dear, I know it tastes horrid but have one more teaspoon – ''
Vaguely aware of Harry gagging beside him, James switched his attention to uncorking the chubby, little vial. The scent of warm, sweet chocolate greeted him instantly, taking him by surprise. He didn't know such a thing as a shot of chocolate existed, but it made sense, in a way. It would be far easier to knock back a potion in the midst of battle after post-Dementor encounters as opposed to fumbling with a bar of chocolate. Regardless, James downed the potion in one gulp, relishing in the burst of warmness it gave him; the slight chill to his bones melting away.
'' – that's a good lad.''
''I wouldn't mind having another one of those,'' James beamed.
''I wasn't talking you,'' the Healer scowled at the Head boy.
James smiled sheepishly at the woman, apologetic. He handed over the empty vial and glanced at Harry who, at some point after swallowing potions, had squirmed further down the bed. Harry now had his tangled mess of hair tucked neatly under James' armpit, a location James wasn't sure was a nice place, but Harry appeared to like it. In fact, the kid seemed to be trying to burrow into James' ribcage, half-asleep and looking a doped up on potions. In a true teenage fashion, James tried to ignore Pomfrey's critical stare almost as much as he tried not to feel embarrassed at Harry's obvious attachment.
In a bid to halt the growing twinkle of amusement in Poppy's eyes, James diverted the witch's attention. It took a brief moment of squirming, but he managed to slip one hand underneath himself to retrieve Harry's glasses from his back pocket. Aside from quirking an eyebrow, Pomfrey merely tutted upon plucking the damaged item out of James' palm. She lingered for a moment, her eyes shifting between the glasses themselves and the thin roll of parchment that had listed Harry's results. James craned his neck a little, curious – only to find himself on the receiving end of Pomfrey's stern glare.
''Not a peep from you, Potter,'' she told him. ''You'll let that boy rest while I fix these spectacles. Merlin knows they need more than a simple Oculus Reparo…''
James rolled his eyes at the former comment and watched Poppy shuffle off and disappear beyond the privacy screen. He waited for several beats, certain he safe from any chance of being accused of disturbing her patient, before stealing a glance at Harry. The kid was out cold; snoring, medicated and on the mend. James felt relief bloom in his chest and, with nothing else to do, decided to close his eyes.
He wasn't going to sleep, it was barely 10AM. But, maybe, he'd just rest his eyes…
At least just for a few minutes.
It was barely midday when Lily Evans entered the Hospital Wing.
Boggs had failed to salvage his lesson; the morning period of double Defence reduced to silent note taking until the Professor set them free, half an hour earlier than usual. Most students rejoiced, probably happier at escaping the silent tension in the classroom as opposed to relieving their cramping hands. Either way, Lily wasted no time with gathering up James' abandoned belongings before heading to where she was now: the infirmary.
The Head girl managed to go unseen by Madam Pomfrey. She slyly avoided the matronly woman by good timing and what seemed to be a cluster of boil-infested youths distracting Pomfrey. Lily could only assume the gaggle of first-year Gryffindors had been in a potions accident, but she didn't linger to find out. Instead, Lily focused on the task at hand and, soon enough, found herself undetected and standing at the foot of an occupied bed.
Lily knew she had the right bed given the untidy nest of raven hair that occupied it. However, she had only expected to see one head nestled against the stark blankets, not two. Harry had been the injured party, not James. Yet there the duo were, snoring and sharing the narrow, iron-framed bed. It was a small wonder that one of them hadn't fallen off; James already had one arm and leg dangling off, his other arm draped around Harry's curled form.
It was brotherly, in a way. Cute.
Smiling, Lily could only wish she had a camera to capture the moment. Alas, she didn't, and settled with edging closer to dump her and James' belongings upon a near-by chair. Only then did she move closer to James' side of the bed, her eyes sweeping across the sleeping pair. It was now, upon closer inspection, did she realise how eerily alike the two males were with their eyes closed. She could see a lot of James in Harry, be it the sloping of the nose or stubborn shape of the chin. Idly, she also chalked up the differences in the form of Harry's lips and shape of his eyes. Even the ears, Lily spotted, were different. Same shape, similar size – yet Harry's seemed to stick out a little more; a small fact that had her, oddly enough, recalling her father's own.
Lily ignored the latter thought, brushing up the comparison to grief. It was nearing a year to the anniversary of her father's unexpected death, and she missed him dearly. Either way, she found herself finding the view of James and Harry downright adorable – even if James was drooling a little. Biting her lip, Lily tried not to laugh as she affectionately dropped a kiss on James' forehead. Strangely enough, she had to quell the fond, maternal urge to do the same to Harry…until she zeroed in on the wince-worthy bruise beneath the boy's ruffled bangs.
A sympathetic noise escaped the back of Lily's throat.
No wonder the poor lad had been unintelligible and mistaking James as his father. The bruise was a raw, vile-looking thing. Instinctively, Lily looked towards the nightstand for Bruise Balm or something to help. Instead, what she found was a glass of water and a set of round spectacles that, while similar to both Harry's pre-mangled pair, looked a little thicker and studier. She frowned and, curious, kneeled on the edge of the mattress to lean across James and reach out –
''This is nice to wake up to,'' a deep, drowsy murmur halted Lily's action.
Stilling, the red-head flicked her eyes towards the familiar speaker, James. At first glance, she didn't know what the issue was until she spotted the location of her chest. Her breasts were practically hovering over James' nose. Feeling her face heat, Lily aborted collecting the glasses and hastily scrambled upright, horrified.
''You're such a perv,'' she hissed.
''Just a man, love,'' James sniggered. ''A man who likes the view.''
Lily rolled her eyes and flicked her boyfriend between the eyes. The young man snorted, unfazed, his unoccupied arm snaking around her waist. She made no protest at being tugged down and seated upon James' thighs. The location was a little awkward, but it was comfortable enough, leaving her to appreciate James' sleep-rumpled appearance. She would be ashamed to admit that, for a few moments, she forgot about the little boy she had been previously fretting about.
It also didn't help that James was distracting her thought process. Neck, jaw, cheek – the mischievous git was stretching upward, planting a series of sleepy kisses upon wherever he could reach. The action was more ticklish and loveable than sensual. Lily was giggling by the time James reached her mouth, having somehow managing to coax her closer. They kept up their exchange of kisses for a few moments longer until it tapered off into bumping noses and resting foreheads.
''I take it you've had a nice kip?'' Lily asked, amused.
James simply beamed at her. ''It was alright, I guess. Class over?''
She hummed a confirmation before sitting further back, querying. ''How's Harry doing?''
James went from smiling to looking uneasy. ''He had a concussion – but Pomfrey sorted it. Although…'' he paused, chewing something over. ''Lily,'' he began, sounding downright curious, ''can Dementors make you hear things?''
''Hear things?'' Lily murmured. She was a little baffled, wondering where the topic change came from.
''Harry said he heard a woman screaming…Well, in his words, begging and crying.''
Wincing, the young woman chewed on her lower lip. Nobody had screamed let alone began begging or crying during class. Dementors were mysterious non-beings, very few aspects known about them aside from a few key facts. Lily knew they sucked the happiness out of you – she had felt the miserable coldness in class, the feeling never quite leaving her until she scoffed Remus' proffered chocolate. Still, from what she had read up on Dementors, they weren't capable of giving fabricated hallucinations to their victims. However, that being said, Lily could recall reading about the topic of rare instances of victims being forced to relive their worst memories…
But, Lily mused, what kind of life would boy – a child – had to have had to hear begging and crying.
She didn't want to think of it, especially when it came to Harry. Yet, upon such a subject, she didn't know much about said child aside from a few, fleeting facts. Her mind began to conjure up various scenarios as to what could cause a woman to scream and beg. Automatically, Lily's mind jumped to abuse; had Harry overheard his father being aggressive with his mother?
But no, surely not. Harry's parents died when he was a baby, Lily could remember that. The boy had jumped in with that small titbit upon defence of his scar and – Oh. She felt her gut clench and throat constrict at her brewing theory. Harry had received that peculiar, bolt-shaped scar during his parents demise, the little lad had said so, and James labelled it as a Curse Scar. She hated where her thought process was going, but her mind latched onto Death Eaters and their frequent raids.
After all, it wasn't a huge jump to make. Her best friend Marlene McKinnon had been one of many who had lost their parents via the Dark Lord's actions. As much as Lily would've liked to think Harry might've relived something far less tradgic, it seemed pretty logical to think Harry's worst memory was the sound of, possibly, his mother's dying moments.
''It doesn't matter. I was just wonderin', that's all,'' James spoke up, catching her attention. He was frowning at her, looking worried yet too nervous to question, before breaking into a slightly forced grin. ''Besides, Lils,'' he added, jovially. ''Our moppet is made of tough stuff.''
Laughing a little at the affectionate title, Lily stopped dwelling and looked towards Harry. He was asleep, snuffling against James' side and looking far too adorable and innocent for his own good. Naturally, Lily couldn't resist running a finger down the chubby curve of Harry's sleep-warmed cheek. It was so nice to see the boy with some colour in his face, looking a far cry to the sickly, post-Dementor Harry she had seen hours prior. Still, her gentle action managed to evoke Harry into waking, causing the boy to blink and squint. Lily found herself transfixed at the sight of such eyes, as green as her own and her late father's, opening.
''Hey there, sleepy,'' Lily smiled.
For the briefest of moments, the littlest Gryffindor looked downright befuddled. It was only after a jaw-stretching yawn did Harry seem to gather himself and flush under the attention. Lily barely had time to blink before Harry was on the move; the kid sat up, far too quickly, and peeled himself from James side. Embarrassment was evident and, be it relief or sheer amusement, Lily laughed as she slipped off James lap.
''Do I suddenly smell or something?'' James said, his voice filled with false hurt.
Lily fondly shook her head at him while Harry continued to squint between the two of them. The Head boy had taken both Lily and Harry's movement as something else and began to playfully drag Harry back down. The ten-year-old was either too weak or too drowsy enough to do anything but comply to the firm bear hug James was subjecting him to. All Lily could do was leave them to it in favour of restoring Harry's vision. She smiled to herself, listening to the pair of males as she rounded the bed to pick up the set of new glasses that, presumably, were Harry's.
''Well?'' James' voice was light, teasing. ''Do I smell, Harry? First my Lily-flower bails and you jump away…a bloke like me could get a complex.''
''You always smell,'' Harry said, his voice muffled against James' shirt. Even not looking at the pair Lily could detect the blushingly pleased smile emitting from the boy.
The older male snorted. ''You didn't seem to mind before, HarBear – you were like an ickle mole, practically burrowing into my armpit.''
''A mole?!''
Lily winced at the increadlous cry from Harry. It seemed to echo about the infirmary. Still, when no Madam Pomfrey burst past the privacy screen, Lily settled with handing Harry his glasses.
''Shh,'' she said to them. ''Madam Pomfrey – ''
''Is going to wonder how you entered the infirmary,'' a firm, female tone interjected her.
Lily recognised the speaker immediately and silently berated herself; it was Pomfrey. The matronly woman had been as silent as a ghost, somehow managing to creep up behind her. Lily felt shame ripple through her as she tried to focus on Harry slipping on his new glasses as opposed to James' poorly stifled sniggers. Reluctantly, she glanced over her shoulder to spot Pomfrey standing wedged between the wall and the privacy screen.
''Hi, Madam Pomfrey,'' Lily intoned.
The Mediwitch sniffed disdainfully, ''Miss Evans.'' She slipped past her unexpected location and into the small, corded off area and snapped her sights on James. ''And you,'' she sneered, ''have you disturbed my patient, Potter?''
James sputtered. ''No!''
Madam Pomfrey waved the Head boy off…albeit literally. Lily went a little wide-eyed at the sight of Poppy shooing James off the bed with the back of her hands. She had to bite her tongue at the sight of her boyfriend, eager to avoid the Matron's wrath, stumbling over his long legs and looking more like Bambi on ice than the graceful stag that resided within.
''And you, Harry, dear?'' Poppy said, suddenly soft. ''Feeling any better?''
The child looked a little taken aback for a moment, his hand reaching up to fiddle with his new glasses. For some strange reason, be it for guidance or reassurance, he kept looking to Lily and James. The Head girl could only smile reassuringly.
''Um, yeah,'' Harry murmured. ''Much better.''
''And the glasses, are they much better, too?'' Madam Pomfrey prompted.
Harry nodded and, just as Lily opened her mouth, Pomfrey cut in. ''Good, good,'' the aging witch said. ''Let's get a dab of bruise balm on your forehead and then, maybe, we should have a little chat.''
''Actually, Mad –'' Lily began to ask, only to find herself and James ushered away.
''I'll have Mr. Porter back with you before lunch ends,'' Poppy assured. ''Off you pop, now – quick, quick.''
Awkwardly, both Head boy and girl managed to utter quick goodbyes to Harry before Pomfrey yanked the privacy curtain around the entire bed. Lily felt a little stunned at the rush of it all and, slowly, began to exit the Hospital Wing with James grumbling at her side. It was only upon nearing the door that she remembered that her and James' items were left behind. She told her boyfriend as such who merely shrugged, smiled and said:
''You go do that. Go fetch our things and face the dragon that is Pomfrey.''
Lily quirked and eyebrow. ''And what will you be doing?'' she shot back.
''If you must know, I'll be taking a piss,'' James bluntly told her, inclining his head towards the Wing's adjourning bathroom.
''Charming,'' Lily dryly said.
James popped a kiss on her forehead and trotted off.
''Coward,'' she said, smiling. It earned her a blown kiss in return.
Feeling a tad confident, Lily watched James disappear before backtracking further into the infirmary. She kept a sedate pace, mindful of being quiet and she tucked a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. The Wing looked empty, the huddle of peers she had seen earlier gone, undoubtedly treated, and leaving rows upon rows of beds empty. Only Harry's small, cordoned off area looked occupied; the afternoon light streaming through the windows, creating shadows behind the privacy curtain.
Lily shuffled closer and nervously lingered by the gap between the curtains. She looked through the small silver, her eyes instantly spotting both Pomfrey and Harry. The boy no longer looked as happy as he had been a few minutes ago. Now his body hunched, his face pale and small hands fiddling with the tails of his school shirt. Lily wondered what the problem was, but didn't want to intrude. It was rude to do so, and she was ready to notify the pair of her presence when Pomfrey unknowingly interrupted her.
''Because we both know your old glasses weren't suitable, don't we, Harry?''
Mouth closing, Lily was surprised at the soft, beseeching tone she heard from the aging witch. She had never heard Pomfrey speak like that before. Whatever they were talking about seemed sensitive – maybe she should just leave and collect her things later?
''M'glasses always break, they're just flimsy,'' Harry explained.
Lily remained unable to move, almost glued to the ground. She stayed silent and held her breath. Harry, on the other hand, seemed pretty focused on rolling and unrolling the end of his untucked shirt.
Pomfrey sighed, ''I meant in regards to the prescription.''
The child said nothing aside from scrunching up his face.
''You know, Mr. Porter,'' Pomfrey continued, her tone casually kind. ''I've used the same diagnostic charm on students here as I used to do during my earlier career in St. Mungos. Call it habit, but I've always cast Revelo Recens Injuria. It gives a brief outline of more recent injuries…It's a quick, sure method that makes it easier to see what the issue at hand is without misdiagnosis of past injuries.'' [1]
''S-So, it showed you my prescription was bad then?'' Harry piped up.
''It showed eye strain and what your prescription currently should be,'' Pomfrey expanded. ''Only by checking your previous glasses and comparing it to the suggested prescription was I able to realise how atrocious your other glasses were.''
Harry changed his focus into nervously bouncing his knee up and down – an action that caught Lily's further attention. James did that. Maybe it was a boy thing, but James would expel nervous, guilty energy by jiggling his knee. Lily had seen the act enough times with James during exams or when lying to McGonagall about serious matters. Still, she held her breath, not liking the way Pomfrey's overheard conversation was going any more than she liked the implications of Harry's behaviour.
''Uncle is busy and – and new glasses cost a lot, that's why my glasses were bad,'' the child babbled, small fists clenched on his lap. ''They're Muggle so they can't just m-magic them right.''
''It's still a form of neglect,'' Pomfrey stated, firmly. ''They weren't a little out of date, Mr. Porter. How you could read in those things is a small wonder. I would normally ignore such an instance if it wasn't coupled with additional, suspicious injuries.''
Flinching, Harry simply scowled at the ground while Lily felt her arms twitch. She was tempted to interrupt the pair, just to hug the poor boy. But she couldn't, not now. She couldn't enter the unravelling situation any more than she could leave it. Pomfrey would go ballistic at her. The Matron was strict at the best of times, let alone now with a breach of confidential information. All Lily could do was hug herself, feel her heart pang and hope Pomfrey was over reacting…
''I've always been clumsy, 'specially when I was little, '' Harry said. His voice sounded sharp, almost guarded…and Lily felt her stomach flip. Maybe Pomfrey wasn't over reacting.
''The charm is only basic, it wouldn't cover childhood injuries,'' the older woman explained. ''At most,'' Pomfrey sighed, ''it'll cover six months worth. Aside from revealing eye strain and today's concussion, it also highlighted that you received a skull fracture almost four months ago – ''
''Yeah, well…I…'' Harry interjected, only to flounder. He let loose a few, stuttered utterances, his eyes darting about – until looking directly into Lily's own eyes between the curtain gaps.
Heartbeat drumming in her ears, Lily held her breath, half-hoping Harry hadn't spotted her. Yet, when the kid's eyes widened, she knew; Harry saw her. Thankfully, Harry didn't continue his stare, his face crumpling and eyes skittering away fast enough for Poppy not to follow his diverted attention. Lily simply stepped back, away from the curtain and away from Harry's view.
She felt shameful and sick; partly from her earwigging but, mainly, from what she had overheard. Neglect, Pomfrey had said. Neglect and skull fractures – her mind whirled. Lily wanted to be reasonable, assume there was something innocent enough to Pomfrey's concern and hinted evidence. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to think up scenarios, she failed.
It no small wonder why Lily's first impression of Harry reminded her of the stringy, uncared for Severus Snape she had befriended many years ago. Harry's tatty clothing and briefly skittish behaviour hinted that something wasn't quite right. It was obvious now. Snape had dressed and acted in the same manner, albeit more defensive via anger. It sent Lily reeling, her ears picking up the vague sounds of Harry's voice, high and panicky, asking for Dumbledore.
At a loss, Lily found her legs moving on their own accord as she all but fled the Hospital Wing.
Notes:
[1] Basic translation of Revelo Recens Injuria is 'To Unveil Recent Injuries'.