Pairing: HP/TR and an assortment of others

Disclaimer: I don't really own Harry Potter or Grey's Anatomy (which this was inspired by).

Note: Fairest was giving me a really hard time since it's always so dark and heavy. It's usually around this really plot heavy time that I hit writer's block, so here's a light-hearted medical dramedy.

Diagnosis

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Harry's first thought was that he was having a nightmare.

There was no other explanation for the way that Tom had collapsed, limbs going stiff and then limp like a willow tree. There was no explanation for the creeping mist or the hand clamped tight around his mouth so that he had to swallow his own screams. There wasn't a way to explain the sudden feeling of his entire world ending in that one moment and the way his own heart had stopped beating in his ribcage.

Harry's second thought was Fuck, we're going to die because Amos Diggory was getting ready to step out of the lift and he would see Hermione and Harry.

Diggory's wand emerged first and then his wand. Harry jerked violently against Hermione's arms, but they were steel bands, yanking him back. There was no give.

But, just as Diggory almost stepped out of the lift, a great shout echoed from the staircase with the sound of feet pounding up the steps following. In quick succession, Diggory yanked his hand back but held the lift open, listening for any sudden moves.

Harry practically heard Hermione's decision before she made it. With one flick of her wand, she summoned yellow birds and then she swung her whole arm forward and the tiny birds attacking, shooting as fast as tiny Snitches. Diggory roared in pain and irritation but it gave Hermione the distraction she needed. She flicked her wand, opening a door and shoved Harry inside. Just as she shut the door, Harry heard the lift door closing and there was quiet again.

But, Hermione threw the door shut, barricading with every locking spell she knew and her own body.

"Fuck," she whispered. Then, with more emphasis, "Fuck!"

Harry balanced himself on the bed, fingers knitting into the sheets. He felt it give under his clenched fists like tissue paper.

"Let me out," he whispered, shaking. Every time Harry blinked, he could see Tom's crumpled body. The image was seared into the flesh of his eyelids.

Harry still felt like he was screaming but no one could hear.

Hermione hadn't heard him. "We have to get out of here. Matron downstairs, dying. We have to find Ron, Harry. I need...I need Ron," she said, practically stammering. She was pacing now, fingers twitching like she needed a cigarette. "And Neville! We have to find him too."

Stronger, Harry repeated, "Let me out."

Hermione jerked, eyes wide.

"I...what?" Hermione asked. "Are you mad? We need a plan."

"I've got one. Let me out. Tom," Harry said and then he shook his head. Hermione stared at him through narrowed eyes.

"Riddle is down, Harry. He might be—"

Harry snapped.

"Tom is still alive!" Harry shrieked. Hermione shook her head, trying to hush him. "I'm going, Hermione."

"We could be killed," Hermione hissed frantically. Harry tried to dart past her, but Hermione moved too fast, grabbing his face in her hands. She pulled his forehead to hers. "No, no, no, no. You're not going anywhere. We stay put."

"Hermione, I love him. Please," Harry shouted, his eyes stinging with tears.

Hermione's face hardened and she shook her head. "You want to go out there? You go through me."

Harry stepped back, pulling away. Hermione relaxed against the door as if she'd won, and she sagged as all of the excess adrenaline drained out of her. She put a hand to her head. Harry looked at her for a long moment and then lunged forward, grabbing Hermione by her shoulders. He shoved her to the side and threw the door open, tumbling into the hallway.

He looked around, wild-eyed and then he saw him.

Tom was still crumpled in a heap, his body moving slowly with his breath. He was a few meters from where he'd landed as if he tried to crawl forward towards his wand and couldn't muster the strength anymore. Harry ran forward and slid on his knees, grabbing Tom's wand. He pointed it at the lift doors, biting his lower lip and when the lift didn't budge, Harry turned around.

Just as he did, he heard the steps that Diggory had and the doors to the stairs were thrown open.

"STOP!" Harry shouted, his voice booming through the hallway. He threw himself in front of Tom's body, his eyes narrowed on the pair and recognition came over him slowly.

Ron and Malfoy spun around, both of their wands held outstretched. Harry stared at them for a long moment and then a heart wrenching sob ripped its way from his throat. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, gathering at the top of his chin. He sobbed, loud and ugly, his shoulders trembling but his wand never wavered, still pointed at the pair.

Ron fell to his knees and walked forward on them, hand held out.

"Harry...Harry," he whispered.

"He...he...he cursed Tom!" Harry sobbed.

"Mon dieu," Malfoy rasped, one hand pressed to his chest, right over his fast beating heart.

Ron slid forward just a little more, reaching out to grab Harry's shoulder, steadying him.

"Harry...where's Hermione?" Ron asked.

Harry opened his mouth but nothing emerged.

The door down the hall flew open and Harry spun around, wand at the ready.

"Ron? Ron!" Hermione shouted, running down the hall.

For the first time, Harry got a good look at her.

Hermione was soaked in blood from the crown of her head to the rubber soles of her trainers. Blood splattered her cheeks and was dried on her palms, caked in the lines. The hunter green look nearly black in her certain spots. Harry gaped but Ron launched himself towards her, throwing his arms around her.

"God, Hermione. I thought you were…" Ron trailed off, his voice cracking. He buried his nose in her wild curls.

"Ron…" Hermione rasped, clinging to him. She pulled back, fingers knotted in the black lapels of his robes. "It was Amos Diggory. He did this. He hurt the matron. He cursed…"

Hermione trailed off, looking over her shoulder to Harry.

"'E cursed Riddle," Malfoy finished, his accent so thick with anxiety, he sounded drunk.

Harry swallowed the grief and his screams. He let coldness settle in its place. Carefully, he swiped the back of his hands over his eyes and pushed Tom onto his back. The man's face was slack, his mouth gently open. His eyes were closed but Harry could track movement under his eyelids.

"He's not dead," Harry said quietly.

There was a long moment of silence.

"I've never heard of that curse, Harry…" Hermione began gently. "Are you—"

"Yes, I'm sure. Summon Matron Miriam Strout," Harry commanded. He turned to Malfoy. "Get me a gurney for him. Ron, help me get Tom down to the operating theatre."

Malfoy hadn't hesitated, darting into one of the empty hospital rooms to retrieve the floating bed.

Ron's eyes widened. "Wait. What?"

"He'll need an internal procedure. I don't...know which one yet," Harry muttered under his breath. He looked up at his terrified housemates.

"What is it, Harry? What's wrong with him?" Hermione whispered. Even as she asked, she raised her wand, pulling it through the air and whispering the matron's name, weaving the complicated Summoning Spell.

Malfoy emerged with the floating slab, ready for transport. Harry swallowed.

And quite grimly, Harry said, "It's called the Hearteater Curse. It's what Cedric Diggory died of."

There was another moment of terrible silence.

"But that's…" Ron trailed off.

"It's not anything until I see it so let's move," Harry snapped. He clenched Tom's wand tighter, so tight his knuckles went white. "Wands at the ready."

Hermione trembled but took a step forward, raising her own wand. Harry waved his wand and slowly, Tom's body rose into the air, all of his limbs limp. Harry settled him haphazardly onto the floating slab and they began their way down the staircase, alert and silent.

"What if 'e iz down zere?" Malfoy whispered.

Ron hushed him silently and Hermione flinched at the suggestion. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"He better not be. For his sake," Harry hissed.

His body vibrates with anticipation and fury and fear. So much fear. He glanced over his shoulder. Tom was breathing shallowly, his chest barely rising. Harry turned back around and continued down the steps.

They moved with a steadiness that Harry hadn't known they were capable of, and they moved as one. For each shifting body, another person's wand came up. For each breath or step they didn't recognize, they were alert, a curse close to dripping from their tongues. All of them were focused on the preservation of their patient, Tom Riddle, the love of Harry's life.

When they emerged on the theatre floor, they were near silent except for Hermione's heavy breathing. Her eyes darted back and forth, her wand outstretched, waiting to curse the nearest foe that could potentially leap around the corner. Harry stared onward, gaze caught on the very theatre that he had been too afraid to step into since they had lost Cedric.

He wouldn't lose Tom in that theatre too.

"This one," Harry mouthed. Malfoy nodded, and carefully guided his side of Tom's floating slab towards the doors. Ron held up his wand, looking behind him. He moved to go first, but Hermione grabbed him, yanking him back.

"Wait," she hissed violently. Carefully, she took a step forward. "Homenum Revelio."

Something swooped through the air, and there was a faint glowing in the seams of the double doors.

"Someone's in there," Ron murmured. He looked at Hermione. "Good thinking."

"Someone has to have it," Hermione said, but it was missing any of her characteristic callous humor, replaced by a shaky fear that fit wrong on her.

"Iz it 'im?" Malfoy muttered. He was paler than usual.

"We're about to find out," Harry said firmly. "Malfoy, protect Tom. Ron, cover me."

"Harry, no—" Hermione started.

But, Harry spun into action, flicking his wand and sending the doors flying open.

"Stup—"

"Protego!"

Harry's eyes widened at the figure that stood in the center of the room, back straight. Miriam Strout stared back at him, unimpressed and looking as if she'd just been woken up from a very long nap, but otherwise unharmed.

"Healer Potter, what is—" Miriam Strout started. She paused when she saw the floating slab just behind Harry. She cleared her throat, taken aback. "Ah. I see."

"Do you?" Harry asked. "Can you...I don't know what to do."

His expression crumpled suddenly, all of his adrenaline draining away now that he was in the presence of someone Tom trusted implicitly to have his back. Strout took a step forward as Harry took a staggering step forward, but Harry steadied himself before he could fall.

"Oh, Healer...Harry," Strout corrected.

"He was hit with the Hearteater Curse. I don't...I don't...he's hurting. It's not like the Virus. It's not slow acting. The Curse isn't supposed to be slow acting. He's going to die. I can't…" Harry whispered because he could.

He could live without Tom. That was the thing.

But, he didn't want to. Not if he didn't have to, and he didn't think he did.

"You know about zis curse?" Malfoy asked suddenly. "Intimately?"

Harry looked up at him, wild-eyed and terrified. "Well...yes."

"Zen, Tom Riddle won't be dying today. Will 'e?" Malfoy asked carefully.

Ron's nostrils flared. Harry leaned back, all of the breath leaving his chest. The beating of his heart was loud in his own ears, and he could taste his pulse racing.

"We don't have a Healer. What are we going to do?" Ron said, his hand clenched tightly in Hermione's. He didn't seem to mind all of the tacky, drying blood.

Malfoy was staring at Harry with a strange glow in his grey eyes. Strout's lips pulled into a grim smile.

"We have a 'ealer," he said, his accent thickening from the stress.

"Who's going to open him up? How do we open him up?" Ron rasped. "Who's going to fix him?"

Malfoy was still watching Harry as if he knew his very insides. It was then that Harry remembered three Healers watching from the gallery as he and Tom did their internal procedure on the Yaa Sang. Malfoy had seen his work. Malfoy was demanding something from him: greatness.

Harry cleared his throat. "I am. I'm going to do it."

DIAGNOSIS

Amos felt like he should be crying—out of relief or something else, he wasn't sure yet. But, the operative words were 'should be', because he wasn't. His eyes were suspiciously dry, and the air was terribly still. His world had shrunk down to the size of the lift he was in. He wasn't sure which floor he'd pressed, only that he had heard footsteps and shouting in the stairwell and had flung himself back into the lift.

Amos cursed his stupidity. Potter had escaped. Potter had seen him. Potter might be able to fix him. But, no. He couldn't, Amos reassured himself. They couldn't fix his Cedric, and Potter had seemed so sincere in his efforts. Except, if he had been truly sincere, he would've saved Cedric, wouldn't he? Amos wasn't sure.

Amos didn't know much of anything anymore. He only rode the lift up and down, mindlessly pressing buttons to avoid being caught. He'd gone up thrice and down once. He'd ventured out onto the Artefact Accidents floor out of pure curiosity. He'd never been there. No one really spoke of the specialty with much respect. He'd tried the doors.

They were all locked, so he'd kept going.

No one had come for him. Amos thought someone would. Someone must have come across the matron in the pharmacy. At the reminder, he felt his stomach turn.

There had been so much blood. He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't meant for there to be so much blood.

Except, his lizard brain hissed, you did.

"I didn't," Amos said firmly. He sounded like he was shouting in the cold box of the lift.

Spell Damage, droned the cold, pleasant voice.

The lift doors gave a soft ding as they slid open.

He was back again.

For some strange reason, Amos expected Riddle's body to still be there. It wasn't.

There was no one. He didn't feel much loss. Harry Potter wouldn't be able to save his poor damned love, anyway.

Amos just kept walking. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. He had nothing.

He was nothing.

Amos Diggory was not a husband. He was not a father. He had no family, and he had no friends. If he didn't have any of those things—if he wasn't any of those things—what was he?

He blinked when he realized where he was.

For a moment, a single one, he was terribly, terribly afraid. Would he still be there, in that bed?

Amos Diggory hadn't seen his son yet. He didn't have a body to bury yet. He pressed the door open and paused when he saw what was inside.

Albus Dumbledore sat in the seat that Amos had always occupied, and there, in the bed, was Cedric's body. Amos still felt like he should be crying. He still couldn't quite manage it. Albus hadn't looked up from where he was sitting, his eyes devoid of any panic. It reminded him of Riddle, strangely enough. Riddle had looked him in the eye without any panic or fear, staring at him with eyes that said that he knew what Amos had come to do and didn't quite mind it, as long as Amos didn't go for Potter.

When Amos had a move to, he had seen the fury burning through Riddle and had no doubt that the man would've killed him where he stood, and could've managed it with ease. It had only been because of Potter that Amos had managed to do it. He hadn't known if the spell would work, but the incantation had been burned into Amos' mind, into his retina. Everytime he blinked, he saw it there.

Everytime he breathed, he thought he heard Potter's muffled scream in his ear.

"I've been looking for you, Amos," Albus said suddenly, turning his gaze from Cedric's waxy face to Amos'. His eyes held all the fury and disappointment of the world, a flat blue that promised steel and retribution.

"I've been looking for you," Amos said, suddenly. He found that he wasn't lying. Albus reached for his wand and waved it, Conjuring a chair on the opposite of Cedric. Amos slowly went to sit down and forced himself to look at Cedric. "It doesn't look like him, you know."

"Ah?"

"Cedric is...was full of life. Even through his pain, he smiled. He was kind and gentle and generous. He was a good boy, and this...this doesn't look like him. This looks like a doll," Amos said firmly. He tore his gaze away and looked up at Albus. "I didn't decide to do this until three days ago. Three days to decide to kill two people. And I didn't really decide until the moment that I...did it."

He ended, lamely, unsure of himself.

"You killed two people. Tom, then? And Harry?" Albus asked. He sounded so disappointed.

Amos cringed, looking away. "Not Potter. But, a matron...she reminded me of him—Riddle. A snob with no regard for the people they're supposed to treat with care. No compassion."

"An overworked matron who was probably at the end of her rope," Albus corrected. Amos didn't look up. "And Tom?"

"He killed my son," Amos snarled, furious. He couldn't look at the body. He couldn't.

Albus sighed. "Your son suffered from a terrible illness, one that had no cure. Tom—"

"Didn't try hard enough."

"Oh, I'm afraid that he tried his very best, and found himself severely lacking when it wasn't enough," Albus finished as if he hadn't heard Amos' scathing words. He seemed to anticipate Amos' next words for he continued on, "And I know a thing or two about grief, Amos, as does Tom. You either overcome it and let it eat you alive, turn you into something dark and twisted."

Amos shivered. "It hurts," he said quietly.

And with all the sincerity in the world, Albus leaned over and said, quietly, "I know."

Amos thought he did. He knew Albus knew because that look in his eyes now—clear and blue and terribly, terribly sad—was the look that Amos saw in the mirror almost every day.

His protests tasted like ash now.

"I wanted to kill him," Amos said quietly. "I wanted Riddle dead for his crimes."

"And now you've three victims," Albus said sharply, unforgiving.

Amos looked up wide-eyed. "What? I do not—"

"Now, Harry Potter will live with the exact same grief, the exact same pain that you do. Every day, he will think about the man he loved and think about how he was robbed of the life that he should have had, the life he deserved. You've done that boy a great disservice. That boy—that Healer—who did everything he could to save your son," Albus said severely. "And even if you can't believe that of Tom, you cannot deny that of Harry Potter."

Amos faltered, because Harry Potter had befriended his son, had spoken with him, had been his constant companion whenever he was in pain. When Cedric had died, Harry had looked devastated, had looked at his hands as if wondering, How could you betray me? He had looked at Amos like he understood all of his pain and felt it too.

Now, he would.

"I didn't—"

"The Aurors are here, Amos," Albus said coolly.

Amos jerked and raised his wand but Albus still didn't react, only staring at him with a frown.

"But, my—"

"The Longbottoms were in the hospital. A former Auror, a current Auror, and a hitwizard. Your hired enforcers were dreadfully underprepared for their brand of...justice," Albus said as if he found the way the Longbottoms had dispatched the enforcers slightly distasteful. He shook it off, continuing on. "The Aurors are positioned along this corridor under Disillusionment Charms, waiting for my signal. You will submit yourself to custody, Amos."

"But, I—"

"You will pay recompense for your crimes. This is my hospital. You cannot come into my hospital and threaten my people," Albus said firmly. With a flick of his wand, the door swung open. Amos looked up at the three Aurors that stood in the doorway, all with wands out pointed at him. Amos pointed his wand at Albus and then his wrist went slack.

Amos let out a soft sigh. His eyes stung. "This is the first time that I've seen my son since he died."

The Aurors crowded into the room. Amos recognized the first—Sirius Black. There wasn't a single hint of humor in his flat grey eyes. It was all business. Flanking him was a tall, broad-shoulders black man with a smoothly shaven head and a gold hoop dangling from one ear. Finally, there was a young woman who couldn't haven't been much older than Cedric. She was peaky looking, and not quite pretty with short neon pink spikes of hair.

The young woman scooted around Black, approaching him with wide eyes. She never relaxed her wand.

"Mr. Diggory," she said softly. "I am sorry for your loss."

Amos dropped his wand. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Slowly, he turned to look at Cedric's face again.

And finally, a man began to cry.

DIAGNOSIS

Harry took a single breath to ground himself. Then, he began.

"Matron Strout, there is a comatose body in the room adjacent to Cedric Diggory's old room. Please bring it down here," Harry said firmly. Malfoy and Ron jerked at his words but if Matron Strout was affected, she didn't show it.

The older woman simply nodded and took off at a brisk pace, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"A body, Harry? What are you—" Ron asked but Harry was lost in his own thoughts.

"Someone needs to go to Tom's office. It's open still. I need the board and the open file on his desk. And I need as much Blood Replenishing Potion as I can get," Harry instructed. He slowly turned to look at Malfoy and Ron meaningfully.

Malfoy stepped up first. "I'll get the board and file."

Malfoy darted from the room with more courage than Harry had ever expected out of him. But, Harry was too focused; he'd muster up the ability to feel grateful later. Now, he just felt a grim satisfaction that his orders were being followed. He turned to Ron, an expectant look on his face. Ron was watching Hermione who was standing in the corner, her blood tacky hands pressed to her face as she tried to breathe.

"Go. I've got her. I need you to do this for me. If this was Hermione—" Harry said firmly. He cut himself off because if this had been Hermione, he'd be dying too. He wouldn't be able to move. Now, he moved with an efficiency that he'd never known he possessed.

"Blood Replenishing Potion. Generic?" Ron asked.

"Yes. No antibodies, no foreign cells. Clear out the entire pharmacy," Harry said without regret. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Blood Replenishing Potion could always be manufactured again. Tom couldn't. Tom and all his genius. Tom and all his damage and love.

Harry hadn't looked at Tom again.

"I'm on it," Ron said firmly.

Love. Darling. Sweetheart.

Then, it was only Harry and Hermione and Tom. Harry would deal with Hermione first. He walked up to her slowly, keeping his breath even. Hermione didn't flinch away from him as he reached out and grabbed her wrists, slowly peeling her hands from her face. She looked up at him with terror eyes and swallowed hard.

"Harry…" she whispered.

Harry reached into her robes, never taking her eyes away from his and felt around for the carton. When he found it, he slowly pulled it out and flicked up the lid. Hermione blinked as he pressed the cigarette between her lips and unceremoniously lit the end.

"You get one cigarette, Hermione. Then I need you present. Can you be?" Harry asked.

Hermione lifted a sticky hand and took a long drag, blowing it away from both Tom and Harry. Harry appreciated it.

"Present," she whispered as if it were a foreign word.

"Yes. Present. Because if I can't do this, I need you to be able to tell me that I can and have to. You can't let me stop. It can take hours and you have to tell me to keep. Going," Harry said firmly.

Hermione swallowed. "I don't know what's happening."

"It's called the Vol de Mort project," Harry said quietly. "The 'flight from death' project. It was his idea. The idea that magic could be used to conquer Death. But a very particular kind of magic: Dark magic."

Hermione winced. She took another long drag as her panic build and exhaled it all with the smoke. "There's no such thing. Dark magic is the antithesis of Healing," she said, her tone broking no argument.

"That's not what he thought. And Tom is a genius. We've done Dark things, Hermione. I've read so many Dark things. And now, I will look at our notes and I will an idea out of a haystack of nothing and attempt to use it to essentially resurrect my dying lover. You need to tell me I can do it," Harry said quietly. "Because...I'm not him. He's brilliant, Hermione. He knows all of these things...and I know what he told me."

Hermione was quiet for too long. She wasn't looking at Harry anymore. Instead, her gaze was trained on Tom as she smoked her cigarette until it was a nub. Harry was still too afraid to turn around. He thought if he looked at Tom's broken body, he would crumble into nothingness. He felt like he was crumbling, bits of him falling away.

"This curse," Hermione began. She stopped.

"It's the predecessor of the Hearteater Virus," Harry finished.

Hermione nodded. "So, how is this different? The Hearteater Virus is exactly that. A virus."

"Yes, but this is the same thing," Harry said firmly. "Cedric died. Tom can't—"

Hermione shook her head. She was still staring far away. "No. It's not and it is. The symptoms are the same. Maybe the problem was that you were treating the Virus as a virus because of its name. But, you should've been treating it for what it is—spell damage," Hermione looked at him with sharp eyes. "And Harry…you're brilliant at spell damage."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the doors burst again. In a second, Hermione had the rest of her cigarette crushed on the floor and Harry was thrown behind her. Hermione's wand was up and she only relaxed when she registered Matron Strout and Malfoy standing at attention with their loots. Matron Strout ignored Hermione's pointed wand as she guided in the slab.

The comatose wizard's name was Barnabus Burke Jr. He was a relatively young man—just turned 30, but he still appeared 23, the age he was when he'd fallen into a coma after a very unfortunate run-in at his father's store in Knockturn Alley. The elder Burke had been apprehended for his possession of Dark objects, but Barnabus—who had not wanted to follow in his father's footsteps—had been in training to be an Unspeakable. In his will, he had left his remains to the study of the Department of Mysteries. And now, here he was, to be offered to Harry.

Not that Harry knew what he was going to do with him.

Malfoy slipped from behind Matron Strout.

"Where's the board?" Harry barked as Malfoy passed him the file. Harry slapped it down on the side table and began flipping through it.

"Engorgio," Malfoy said, and the board grew larger before their eyes, filling the space. Harry spun around, slowly sliding the board to the side. "I had to shrink it. I could not move fast enough."

The door burst open again and everyone turned and Ron gasped, loudly. His feet were sticking but over both arms were baskets of large vials all rattling.

"I got...I got...forty. Cleared it out," he gasped, out of breath. He paused, swallowing to look over at Hermione. "There's...there's a lot of blood."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "Is she...is the matron…"

"No. She wasn't there. Someone must have found her," Ron said firmly.

Hermione looked away and carefully Banished the remains of her cigarette. Harry looked at her.

"Can you...keep everyone out," he commanded. She looked grateful at being given something to do. Hermione liked to be kept busy.

Hermione hurriedly locked the doors, throwing up every possible charm that she kept in her head, which was no small amount.

Harry turned his attention to the work at hand.

Tom's notes were orderly but all about Cedric and mostly about the Hearteater Virus. It was all about treating the Hearteater Virus like a disease. But, Hermione's comment about spell damage stuck with Harry. If it was spell damage, that required a different approach. Not so much about transformative Healing then. No, it was about a countercurse, almost. But, there weren't any known countercurses for the Hearteater Virus.

Harry looked at their treatment plan and the tiny slip of paper clipped to the top of it.

The steps of Cedric's failed treatment and the results of the Cor Cordis were plain as day. It didn't hurt so much when something mattered now. Tom's words floated back to him. All of it came back to him, all of Harry's failures and successes. This was the moment.

All of the other moments had been the moment too.

But, this. This.

The list, perfectly written in Tom's careful print.

Approved: Transformative Healing, Phys Mods (modifying the heart through potions?), Fiendfyre (pull teeth, cauterize?)

The options were few, though Harry saw that there was research on each. And yet.

None of it was enough. All of it required time, time that Harry didn't have. All of it required perfect planning, and this wasn't a time for Tom's painstaking planning or his attention to detail. This was Harry, and Harry wasn't a planner. He wasn't incredibly clever or know a vast amount of knowledge. This couldn't be it.

Then, Harry looked at the maybe list.

There was only a single suggestion. They'd never looked much into the more experimental treatment plans. At least, Harry hadn't. Dark magic had never sat very well with him. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd been raised by Aurors or because Dark magic was against all laws of Healing. And yet.

And yet.

Homunculus—Inferi, was scrawled there in Tom's hand, a strange little question mark next to the word. See lit review, appendix A.

Harry remembered his brief conversation with Lily about Frankenstein. About necromancy. About flesh and Darkness and all in between.

Harry flipped through the pages, making sure to keep all in order. Every single paper could be important. He stopped suddenly when he came to Tom's research and in the margin, the words: dark but plausible, were written in dark green ink. Harry scanned it, committing all of the information to memory. But still, it wasn't enough. It couldn't be. Incantations and information weren't enough.

Where Tom was a genius, knowing anything about everything, Harry hadn't been gifted with that. No, Harry's talents rested in his instincts; at least, that's what everyone said.

But, Harry preferred to think of it in another way: imagination.

Slowly, the idea formulated. The arteries had to be reattached. But, not with something ordinary. Flesh and thread wasn't a magical conductor. Flesh and thread wouldn't be protected from the raw Dark magic that was about to occur. No. But there were other things that could protect. Even reverse the damage of Dark magic.

Harry slowly looked up from the papers. He looked over at Hermione, tucked against the corner of the wall, using it to steady herself.

"Hermione. Is there anymore unicorn hair?" Harry asked carefully. Hermione didn't say anything, her eyes trained on Tom's unmoving body. Her fist tightened in Ron's sleeve. "Hermione!"

Slowly, she turned to him. "Yes. In Emmeline's office."

"Are you capable of fetching the unicorn hair and a suture kit?" Harry asked, not unkindly but firm.

Ron opened his mouth to protest but Hermione pushed herself off the wall.

"Yes," she said.

"Okay. Please do that," Harry said. He threw back his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. Briefly, he wondered if he should send for his own wand but then, there was something so right about it being Tom's wand that accomplished the impossible. But, Harry did have a final request. "And can someone find me a radio? Stat!"

DIAGNOSIS

The few patients and matrons that remained in E&T were blessedly and cursedly silent. Blessedly, because that meant that no one had to know that there was someone in there, and every fifteen or so minutes, Rodolphus would allow someone to exit out the back way. They were down to two patients a few matrons and Healers. It was cursed because the fewer people in the room, the more Bellatrix could hear her own shallow breathing.

"C-can we go now? Is it safe?" the patient's mother asked. She hadn't asked for this either; her son had had an unfortunate bout of accidental magic, seeing as he was only nine. He had gotten angry about some toy that his older brother had climbed into a tree with. The older brother had suffered a fractured ankle.

A Healer had mended it neatly and immediately. Bellatrix had just signed their discharge papers.

And now, they were stuck.

"We don't know yet," Rodolphus repeated for the thousandth time but still with his infinite amount of patience. Bellatrix ground her teeth together, shaking. Rodolphus turned back to her and cupped her face in his hands. She couldn't even find it in herself to protest. "And you? How are you?"

"Not. Fine," Bellatrix said between clenched teeth.

"He's okay," Rodolphus whispered to her. "He is."

He repeated it as if to will it into existence, and Bellatrix wanted to believe him desperately. And yet, she knew deep down in the pit of her that it wasn't.

"What if we die?" Bellatrix asked blankly, quietly so as not to alarm the remaining patients.

"I will love you until my dying day," Rodolphus said immediately.

Bellatrix closed her eyes. "Rodolphus, I—" she whispered, her voice cracking.

And Rodolphus smiled. "Oh, sweetheart, Bella donna, I know. I've always known."

Bellatrix sighed to herself, shaking her head. "I'm ready to go out there and find him and kill whoever thought that they could hurt him. I'm only sitting here because I don't want to go to Azkaban. I'm not afraid," Bellatrix spat. "I'm angry."

Rodolphus clenched his teeth.

"And you don't think I am? I would kill for him," Rodolphus promised back.

They sat in silence, reveling in their shared confession for just a moment before a great silvery dog stormed through the doors. Bellatrix jumped up, recognizing it immediately. The dog opened its mouth, and said, Open the doors.

Bellatrix stalked forward, whipping her wand around her as she began to dismantle both her and Rodolphus' locking charms and wards.

"What are you doing?" asked another male patient, alarmed. He had his wand out, but his hand was shaking.

"It's the Aurors," Rodolphus said calmly.

As soon as Bellatrix pulled down the last spell, the doors burst open. Sirius walked inside, shoulders thrown back and eyes tired. Rodolphus swallowed his relief, waiting eagerly for the man's words. He was flanked by Shacklebolt, and Bellatrix's niece, Tonks, but Potter was nowhere to be found. Probably with the suspect, then.

"Well?" the mother asked impatiently.

Sirius blinked as if just remembering where he was.

"The hospital has been secured. You're free to go," Sirius said as he paraded through the E&T area. The mother let out a sob of relief and grabbed her two sons without a single look backward. As the remaining patients left through the backdoor, Sirius relaxed somewhat, though there was still a deep furrow between his brows.

"So...what happened? Is Tom okay?" Rodolphus asked, looking over at Sirius, when he realized that Bellatrix wasn't going to ask, let alone look at her cousin.

Sirius frowned for a long moment. He turned his gaze to Bellatrix. She was staring at the floor, whispering to herself, before she looked up so suddenly that Sirius jumped. She stared at him with wide, dark, hooded eyes and jumped up from her seat, taking a staggering step towards him.

"You're hesitating," she said, voice sharp. "Tom isn't...he can't be."

She said it with such conviction that Sirius looked like he nearly believed her.

"He's not," Rodolphus said, laughing too loud and too incredulous. "It's...it's Tom. He knows how to handle himself."

Sirius swallowed. "Amos...Diggory threatened Harry. Riddle…he's being operated on, right now."

Harry freaking Potter.

Bellatrix took off at a run, slamming through the gathered squad without a second glance backward. She knew that Rodolphus was right on her heels, so she didn't slow down for him. Her blood was rushing in her ears and all she could think was that Tom was so stupid. Of course, Tom had let himself get distracted. Harry freaking Potter was being threatened, and he probably just sacrificed himself to the wolves. He'd never been so fucking stupid.

Bellatrix nearly flew onto the gallery floor and she gaped at the crowd outside of the farthest gallery door. Astoria Greengrass was snarling in French, her wand raised and Neville Longbottom was just next to her, showing far more sternness than Bellatrix ever thought him capable of. Bellatrix shuddered as she swayed on the spot, unable to move.

Rodolphus nearly crashed into her back.

"Bella. Bella, come on," Rodolphus said firmly. He laced his fingers with hers and tugged her forward. Bellatrix stumbled forward and she cut through the crowd, ruthlessly shoving people out of her way. They nearly snapped at her but fell silent when they saw who she was.

Greengrass' eyes widened.

"Mediwizard Black, Mediwizard Lestrange," Greengrass said carefully. She looked over at Longbottom, but he only looked sad.

"Right this way, Mediwizards," Longbottom said, stepping aside. He turned away from them to the rest of the crowd. "Single file line! Healer Dumbledore said trainees first and then, the rest at my discretion. My discretion."

Greengrass looked like she was ready to protest before she stepped aside as well, nodding at both Bellatrix and Rodolphus. When Bellatrix and Rodolphus slipped inside, they saw the gallery was already moderately full. Lining the walls were the other department heads, Healer McGonagall, and Head Healer Dumbledore. Albus had a severe expression on his face, so different from the jovial gleam in his electric blue eyes that Bellatrix was used to. Healer McGonagall looked grimmer, the stern set of her mouth turned down into an ugly, twisted grimace.

"What is he doing? What is he doing?" Emmeline Vance chanted to herself. She looked more nervous than any of the rest of them.

Bellatrix swallowed hard, turning towards the gallery glass. A few trainees were gathered to the left, watching. Rodolphus just behind Bellatrix. When she first looked down, she wasn't sure what she was seeing.

A terribly sound erupted from her lips and she took a staggering step back. Rodolphus' arm looped around, holding her upright, his arm tightening around her shoulders.

"Oh...Tom," Rodolphus whispered.

Harry freaking Potter stood between two bodies, and he was carving open the chest of the anonymous man. Just next to him was Tom. Potter was carefully not watching Tom, eyes trained on the chest he was cracking. Draco, Weasley, and a matron stood at attention, ready to help at any time. Granger stood in the corner, eyes flicking from the gallery to the door every few seconds, looking more lost by the moment. And Bellatrix looked at Tom, really looked at him; his slack mouth, his pain-furrowed brow, and his exposed chest.

Bellatrix let out a quiet sob. Tom.

DIAGNOSIS

They came into the atrium from the lifts. As Lily peeled through the thick spidery webs that had been laid onto the wardstone, disrupting the Apparation Zone, James sailed through the lobby as fast as he could, Lavender and a few other Aurors on his heels. James nearly collapsed as his leg throbbed, and he leaned heavily on his cane. His heart only stopped racing when he had Lily in his sights.

She hadn't noticed him yet, still bent over the wide limestone statue that was thought to be just a beautiful characteristic of the lobby, but had really been the cleverly disguised wardstone that had allowed St. Mungo's to operate without the Muggles seeing it for what it was, and allowing access to witches and wizards everywhere.

"Lily!" James shouted.

Lily looked up, and James' heart cracked when Lily's expression crumpled and her emotions spread from her bright green eyes into the lines of her face. She looked terrified and angry and hurt, all at once, and she ran at him, abandoning her task to throw her arms around James' neck.

"James," she gasped into his neck, and he could feel the relief in every line of her body. She pulled back a half-second later, eyes looking around wildly. "Lavender! Lavender, are you alright?"

She reached for Lavender, yanking her tight into their embrace, burying her face in the short blonde curls.

"I'm fine, Mum!" Lavender crowed, her voice muffled from the flesh and heat of her parents. "Sirius got him. He got Diggory with Kingsley and Tonks."

"Did he really? Albus went to find him. I told him not to—" Lily said.

"He's fine. Everything's fine. Almost fine," James amended.

Lily's expression crackled again. "Where's Harry? Where's my son?" she demanded, voice harsh. She looked around as if she expected to see him, her eyes growing wider when she didn't. "They said...did he touch him? I'll kill him."

Her voice lowered into a guttural growl. James had no doubt that she could and would kill Amos Diggory for laying a hand on her child. Lily had spent decades learning how to put a man back together. He had no doubt that she could reverse that knowledge quite cleanly and tear a man apart.

"No. He's fine," James said quietly. "But...just come on."

"Mum, it's insane. You have to see," Lavender said, finally pulling out of her parents' embrace. Both she and her father's limps seemed more severe after the brief stint of running they had just done, but Lily only Conjured a second cane for Lavender—a little too dark to be her customary purple. Lavender looked at her with a grateful smile and the trio rushed down the steps as the other Aurors began assembling order out of chaos.

Lily spotted her student first as they clambered down the stairs, pushing past rushing Aurors and matrons and Healers. Astoria was standing at the entrance of a gallery with Neville Longbottom, both of their wands held aloft. A surge of matrons and Healers alike tried to push forward but Astoria was shouting.

"Non! There iz no more space! Non!" Astoria snarled. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of her teacher and she raised her hand. "Guérisseur, you're here. Could we get a little…"

"Everyone move! Healer Lily Evans and Head Auror James Potter coming through!" Lily barked, her voice carrying over the din. Almost immediately, the Healers and matrons snapped to attention, all turning to look at the three-quarters finished family.

"And Lavender Brown-Potter," Lavender squeaked. James snorted, rolling his eyes.

Lily slid through the crowd, James and Lavender on her heels. She looked between Neville and Astoria.

"What's going on?" Lily asked in a hushed whisper.

"Harry's operating. The gallery's nearly packed. Healer McGonagall said not to let anyone else in. We're waiting on the Aurors to get down here and organized them. We need this blocked off," Neville said firmly.

James' eyes widened. "Why?"

"Is this...he's operating? On who?" Lily demanded.

Neville was pale, and he shook his head. "I can't say. It's...Harry specifically said that the patient he's operating on is now part of the Vol de Mort project. That's top secret. I can't say anything," Neville said.

"Oh…" Lily whispered, almost shaking. She looked more unhinged than she had only moments before.

"I'll get this area sectioned off," James said firmly. He raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum. Dissero Patronae. Aurors of Squad 10, report to the northeast corridor of the operating floor. Sectioned."

James watched the stag gallop off.

Astoria swallowed. "Guérisseur, he's...you need to be in there."

She slid to the side, looking at her teacher meaningfully.

Lily wasn't an idiot. A patient. A Healer down. The Vol de Mort project, a project made of the most impossible cases.

And her son.

She led the trio inside, her husband and daughter on her heels. The gallery was packed with people, filled from wall to wall. There was a menagerie of trainees and fully-fledged Healers. The department heads all lined the walls, watching with grim expressions. The matrons were murmuring and whispering, all talking over one another. And yet, everyone's eyes were trained on what was happening down in the theatre.

When they realized that the Potters had arrived, it was as if the Red Sea had parted.

The gaggle of trainees—Patil and Smith being the only ones Lily recognized by name—gasped and pulled away, giving the Potters space by the glass. The only others that hadn't moved were Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange who both watched the proceedings with rapt attention, almost never blinking. The frantic energy of the gallery didn't seem to touch them. They breathed slow, so slow that they were barely moving, and yet each rattling exhale rolled with grief.

The first thing Lily noticed was Hermione Granger pressed into the corner, one arm thrown over her eyes as if it would keep everything she was witnessing from happening. The second thing she noticed was that Draco stood in the room, watching her son with an attentiveness that he had only ever awarded Lily, as his teacher. The fourth thing she noticed was Ron Weasley standing guard.

And the very last thing she noticed: her son.

"What...oh, Harry," Lily whispered, her hand pressed to her mouth. She took a step forward, tugging Lavender forward with her. James stood on her other side and they looked down into the theatre. James turned around immediately, closing his eyes to steel himself before he looked back down at his son.

Harry stood between two bodies. One was an anonymous young man, his chest having been cracked and his heart could be seen through his ribs. The other was a man that Lily knew far too well. Tom Riddle had never looked weak in all of her years knowing him. Seeing him as still as a corpse was the most unnerving thing that Lily had ever seen, after her daughter's mending in a theatre far too familiar for her.

Harry cleared his throat and pulled his wand out. He waved it and slowly, a familiar tune waved out of an old radio, filling the theatre.

Here come old flat-top, he come grooving slowly

He got ju-ju eyeballs, he's one holy roller.

He got hair down to his knees

Got to be a joker, he just do what he please.

"It's a beautiful day to conquer death," Harry announced like a prayer. His expression was grim. "Let's make it fucking happen."

DIAGNOSIS

"It's a beautiful day to conquer death. Let's make it fucking happen."

He paused as he stared at Tom's body and he swallowed hard. He looked over at Hermione in the corner, and she was staring at him, a glossy sheen to her dark eyes. He looked away from her and turned to Matron Strout. Matron Strout stared back at him, just as grim.

"Let's get it done," Matron Strout confirmed. She took a step closer to him and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You can do this. You're the only one that knows how. Not even he knows how."

"No pressure," Harry said weakly.

Matron Strout didn't smile. "All of the pressure. You have an audience."

And then, Harry looked up.

They were all crowded into the gallery, packed from wall to wall. The seats were filled. Others perched on the arms of chairs and where they could, they stood. And right against the glass stood Lily Evans, Lavender Brown-Potter, and James Potter. They stared down at him with the same utter conviction that Tom had always looked at him with. Lily pressed her hand to the glass and nodded once at him. Harry swallowed.

You were made for this, her eyes—his eyes—seemed to say.

Harry cleared his throat and took a step back. "Patient: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Diagnosis: The Hearteater Curse," Harry announced, his hands clasped behind his back. He waited for their gasps, the appropriate reactions. "Previously, Healer Riddle and I pursued a solution to the Hearteater Virus. We made progress but ultimately failed. This will be my second attempt and we will be using one of our previous hypotheses. Today, I will be conducting the first magical heart transplant. The first successful magical organ transplant. Ever."

There was silence for a long time. And then, applause started with one person. Harry's eyes widened as he looked at Luna Lovegood. She was staring down at him with a stern look in her eyes that looked alien to her kind face. No one else clapped but her.

Harry spun back around and cleared his throat.

"Healer?" Matron Strout asked.

"The donor, Barnabus Burke Jr, has been in a magical coma for about seven years. He has been monitored for brain activity and displays none—he is legally dead. With the permission of the Department of Mysteries, I have been allowed his body after it was donated to the Department by both his will and his family. He is within the correct age range and has proven to be a universal donor, generic in all aspects. He is a perfect match for our patient," Harry narrated as he looked from Barnabas Burke and his open chest and back up to the gallery.

They were all watching him with bated breath, squirming and unsure. Harry turned away. He would ignore them.

"Moudiasménos," Harry said, anesthetizing Tom. For some reason, he expected Tom to wake up at any moment and tell him what he was doing wrong. Except, now, Harry couldn't do anything wrong. There wouldn't be any mistakes.

Mistakes meant that Tom would die, and Harry rejected that. A world without Tom Riddle was unacceptable.

"We'll begin with the circulation of Blood Replenishing potions through Tom's body. Mediwizard Weasley?" Harry asked. Ron gasped as being called up and he took a step forward, wand being pulled out.

"Ready," Ron said. He was trying to mask his uncertainty, but couldn't quite succeed. Harry could understand why. He hadn't given Ron a lot of time to get comfortable with his wild plan. But, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to comfort Ron. He just needed the man to do his job.

"I've selected Mediwizard Weasley with this task due to his experience in the field," Harry said.

Ron nodded with uncertainty. "I will be overloading Riddle with Blood Replenishing potions in order to dilute possible toxins. Then, I will purge the remaining toxins and any traces of Dark magic. From there, I will be magically directing his blood through his veins, periodically oxygenating it After this process begins, we will have about an hour before we need to return this function to his body."

Harry nodded in agreement and pointed at Ron. Ron stepped forward and began to unstopper Blood Replenishing potions, tipping them into Tom's slack mouth. Harry turned away as Ron continued his work, looking over at Malfoy. The man had Summoned a high chair that set him right behind Tom's head. He was completely still, his hand and wand hovering over Tom's forehead and he was staring down intently.

"Healer Malfoy is a trained Mind Healer. To monitor his brain function, he will enter a trance state, keeping watch over Tom's activity. This will keep him under and his magical core relatively calm and alert for any changes, an effect that cannot be achieved under simple magical stasis," Harry narrated. As he spoke, Malfoy was already casting his spell, slipping deep into his trance, and his eyes going blank. Harry cleared his throat. "I have already opened up Mr. Burke's chest. As I proceed to Healer Riddle, Matron Strout will be harvesting the donor's heart."

Matron Strout took that as her cue and proceeded to Burke's body. She began her work. Harry turned back to Tom and his very still chest. He pressed the tip of Tom's own wand to his sternum and cut downwards. The blood spilled immediately, sliding from side to side, and the wound bloomed wide. Harry ran Tom's wand down his chest again, opening muscle and peeling the skin back with a twist here and there until he revealed the man's ribcage, slick with viscera.

He saw a peek of bone and ivory through the man's ribs.

Harry cleared his throat and looked up at Ron. He nodded once, and Ron took the hint. With a few murmured words, he began to circulate the blood, completely bypassing the heart. If Harry looked between the spaces of Tom's ribs, he could see the pink-red of his lungs deflate more and more until they were flat and still.

"Ron…" Harry warned.

Ron sighed. "I know, Harry. Kathairein. Rúħ Pneumo," he breathed, whispering the Purging Spell and the Oxygenating Breath Charm in quick succession. Harry stilled, holding his breath as he waited for results, and kept holding his breath when he didn't see results.

Malfoy hummed. "Not even a reaction," he said, almost sounding like he was in the middle of a dream. "He iz fine. Unaware. He does not dream."

Harry didn't think Tom believed in dreams.

"I'll cast it every six minutes. We don't want to oxygenate his blood. I'll keep his heart rate slow," Ron promised.

Harry found it odd that Ron was talking about a heart rate that didn't exist. After all, Tom wasn't breathing, and his heart was so very still. And yet, he was alive. Harry wondered if this was Death and if he would Master it. He wished Tom was here.

But, those were childish thoughts for childish days, and Harry wasn't a boy anymore.

With swift action, he slashed his wand down, cracking down Tom's ribcage and carefully pulled out the bones, settling them onto his tray with a clatter. He winced at the sound of it and took to staring at the vicious thing that Amos had created.

Tom's heart was beautiful.

The Hearteater Curse was beautiful.

It still looked like a heart, but had been twisted somewhat, and was bloodied unto itself, not because of the blood that surrounded it. Tears existed where there shouldn't be, and it looked ragged, all because of the row of vicious teeth that had emerged along the pulmonary artery and the fleshy epicardium. The teeth shifted, attempting to tear into new flesh, intent into feasting on itself until it no longer worked. The aorta looked ragged, nearly torn through.

So, Tom hadn't had much time.

This was it.

He began to remove the cursed heart with care, slicing through blood vessels and arteries with care. He did not rush. He could not rush this.

Harry couldn't be sloppy. He couldn't be a lot of things. He couldn't be hysterical. He couldn't be grief-stricken. He couldn't be sad, and he couldn't be scared.

But, Harry could be one thing: a Healer, and he had hands that could soothe the ache from a patient's face. Hands that could raise the dead. On his very first day, he had decided to aspire to greatness one day.

One day had come much faster than he thought.

When the heart came free, he cradled it in his hand. Frantically, Ron whispered the Oxygenating Charm again. Harry wasn't sure how many times he'd heard it—maybe three or four. That was about twenty-six minutes. Twenty-six minutes of work.

"Matron Strout?" Harry asked, turning to the matron.

She was standing there with the donor heart on a tray, serving it up to him in an offering. Harry swallowed and placed the diseased heart—Tom's gorgeous, damaged heart—onto the tray, right next to the new, fresh, pink heart. Harry cupped it gently in his hands and walked towards Tom's empty chest. Even as a shell, he was beautiful, and Harry missed everything about him. He was right there and he missed him so much, it hurt.

"'E iz alive. 'E iz here."

Harry looked up at Malfoy. Malfoy was still staring at something far away.

"What?" Harry asked quietly.

"Tom Riddle is there. 'E currently does not 'ave a 'eart. You may want to give it to 'im," Malfoy slurred, his accent so strong that Harry could barely parse out the meaning.

His lips twitched. "I just might," Harry said almost chidingly. Slowly, he slid the heart into place, and Tom still looked beautiful and whole and perfect, and he was damaged, still damaged-fucked up—but they were fucked up together.

Always.

"Now?" Matron Strout asked.

Harry looked at the corner.

Now, the hard part. This part was out of his control. A task that only one person could complete.

"Hermione, get up," Harry barked without turning away from the two bodies. Tom's body. His love's body.

"W-what?" Hermione stammered.

"Harry…" Ron started. He murmured the Oxygenating Charm again but stared at Harry with burning eyes.

Harry shook his head. "Not an option. Ron, the man I love is sitting with a dead heart in his chest cavity. He is currently being made to breathe by one spell and his blood is being circulated by another. I need her to sew the donor heart in place with unicorn hair. Now, Hermione. Get up."

Slowly, Hermione got to her feet. He could hear the squishing of her feet. She was probably leaving bloody footprints in her wake. She turned to Ron and cleared her throat.

"Ron, please, stand back," she whispered.

Ron leaned forward. "You don't have to—"

"He's my person, and that's the man he loves," Hermione said instead. She held out her hands to Harry, staring at him, expectant and defiant. She watched as Harry Scourgified her hands and dried them. Hermione turned away and grabbed the gloves waiting on the instrument tray, next to the bundle of unicorn hair and the needles.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet."

Harry nodded. "How well do you know the circulatory system?" Harry asked.

"Better than my own name," Hermione said. "I knew I was going to be operating from the day I was born."

"Good. I need you to sew the heart in place," Harry said. He kept his eyes trained on Tom's open chest because he knew if he looked at the man's face, if he looked at that face—slack and still, not even a mask of boredom put in place—he would break down. He wouldn't be able to do anything.

Hermione nodded. Slowly, she stepped between the two bodies and she took Harry's face in her hands, turning him to look at her.

Quietly, she said, "I will do my very best work."

Hermione cracked her neck and took up the needle. She began to work, her gloved fingers sticky with blood as she dove right into Tom's chest, sewing Barnabas Burke's heart into the empty cavity. Her hands were delicate and careful as she slowly guided the needle in and out of the man's new heart with her wand and hand. Hermione's eyes were narrowed, and there wasn't a single tremble. It was as if she had turned from porcelain to ivory to steel in seconds. When she sewed the heart into place, she began working on the major blood vessels, attaching them to the new heart with the delicate silvery strands, replacing them only when she had to. She worked tirelessly, never hesitating or second guessing herself.

Hermione only took a step back when she was finished tying off the last knot. She stared down at his heart with a frown.

"It...Ron, are you still circulating the blood?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Ron said firmly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she looked over at Draco. "And his brain?"

"He iz not brain dead," Draco said firmly. He was still staring at Tom with the utmost concentration. "But, finish up anytime. His Occlumency shields are...absurdly powerful."

"Harry? He...it should start up on its own," Hermione whispered. She looked devastated, but Harry felt more euphoric, more careful than he had in a long while.

"No…" Harry said softly. He turned to look at his audience. "Now that we have transplanted the new heart, the problem remains in this: the organ is viable, but whether or not it's compatible with magic is questionable. The heart can be restarted. We must restart the cycle of magic as well. If I simply restart his heart, I will render Tom Riddle a Squib. I have discovered a way to circumvent that by introducing a Dark spell that uses Dark magic to conduct human flesh."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry, wha—"

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered as he realized what Harry was about to do.

Harry took a deep breath and took a step back, swinging his wand in a dramatic arc.

"The Inferius Curse. Balabradan Nafdugas," he snarled with all the power that he could. He didn't pay attention to the stares or the gasps or the reactions, only staring at the jet of bright green, as bright as the Killing Curse erupted from the end of his wand.

It hit its mark.

Finally, Harry could breathe.

:::

A/N: Okay, so I don't know if you've all noticed, but I've been throwing in some parallels to prior chapters. The time where Cedric died was supposed to exactly mirror Ibdore Eavius and Harry's first internal procedure. A time where he succeeded against all odds and a time that's he's failed miserably.

This last culminating procedure pays tribute to a lot of internal procedure scenes we've seen throughout this story. It is reminiscent of Ibdore Eavius, it pays homage to Hermione's internal procedure with Lavender, which set her up for this immense amount of pressure, the case with the patient that had Scrofungulus and Tom went in blind—just as Harry is—, the Yaa Sang procedure—where Harry is both sloppy and brilliant—, and how he has learned to grow past that. I've made sure to include a callback to every theatre, and as the last internal procedure I'll ever write, I hope that I did it justice.

See you next time with the final chapter of Diagnosis!

SOURCES:

Hearteater Virus/Curse: themonsterblogofmonsters (see previous chapters for specific link)

Oxygenating Breath Charm: provided by EssayofThoughts

Purging Spell: provided to me by EssayofThoughts