Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?
Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears
Harry trudged up the steps to the Owlery, and pushed open the door. The smell of bird droppings met him nose, and he crinkled his nose. He looked up into the rafters, but couldn't find Hedwig.
"Hedwig?" Harry called.
A snowy owl detached itself from the uppermost rafters and floated down. Harry automatically stuck out his left arm for Hedwig, then realized his error. Hedwig missed her supposed landing spot (his forearm) and flapped her wings for a moment before settling on the stump.
"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said. She nuzzled her head against Harry's cheek, giving a soft hoot.
"I've got something for you to deliver," Harry said, stroking her with his right hand. Hedwig stuck out her leg, and Harry fished into his robes for the parchment. As he pulled it out, he realized that he wouldn't be able to tie it to Hedwig's leg.
"Hedwig, you're going to have to carry it in your beak. I can't tie it to your leg," Harry said. Hedwig looked at him reproachfully, as though it were an inconvenience. However, she took the proffered parchment in her beak.
"Take it to the Ministry of Magic, okay?" Harry asked. Hedwig gave a muffled hoot. She took off with the parchment in her beak, sailing out the window and into the sky.
Harry watched her disappear into the afternoon sky, thinking about the past two days as he absentmindedly rubbed his hand over the end of the stump. Unlike pictures that Harry had seen of Muggle amputations healing, the skin over the end of the stump was perfectly smooth, blending in perfectly with the rest of his arm.
He thought back to what he had been thinking in the Potions dungeon yesterday. Couldn't anything have been done to prevent this?
It was your own fault, a voice in his mind told him. Harry grimaced inwardly. As much as he hated to admit it, this was entirely his own fault, and it only made it worse knowing that Snape jumped on him regularly because of his habit of daydreaming in Potions class.
However, there was no guilt as Harry slowly came to accept the consequences of his inattentiveness. Unlike the guilt that he felt over the death of Cedric and Sirius, Harry found that he came to terms much easier with his mistake in the Potions dungeon. Perhaps it was because he felt that his error had already been paid for, as Snape had said in the Great Hall. Thinking of that encounter with Malfoy again, a smile crept across Harry's lips. Snape had stood up for Harry! It wasn't anything Harry would have ever expected to happen in his lifetime, and yet now, Snape's attitude toward Harry was improving, and Harry's biased view of the Potions master was slowly changing as well.
With our thoughts, we make the world.
The words of the Pensieve echoed again in the vault of Harry's mind. He could almost feel the burden of his amputation lift from his shoulders as he accepted it.
Harry put his right hand down, springing up on his hand to help him stand. He tugged the cloak back over his shoulders, and walked over to the door. He had just put his hand out to open it when it burst open, and Harry collided with Ron, who was slightly out of breath. Harry stumbled back a step before regaining his balance. Hermione stood behind Ron, equally breathless, as if they had both run to the Owlery.
"Uh...hey, Harry," Ron said, his tone deceptively innocent.
"What up with you two, then? You both look like you've run a marathon," Harry said, glancing at Hermione's disheveled hair and Ron's red face.
"Erm…just—sending an owl," Ron said, holding up a letter.
"To who?" Harry asked.
"Mum. It's been awhile since I wrote to her," Ron said, nervously shifting his feet.
Harry looked back and forth between them, taking in the slightly guilty looks on their faces. He decided to take a guess.
"You used the Marauder's Map to find me, didn't you?" Harry said, watching Ron's face in particular.
The guilty look deepened, and Ron looked at the ground, mumbling something under his breath.
"What's that, Ron?" Harry asked, a smile creeping across his face.
"Wanted to talk alone," Ron muttered, talking to his shoelaces.
Harry looked away from Ron, and fixed his gaze on Hermione. She had an earnest, pleading look in her eyes.
"Mail your letter, Ron," Harry said. "Let's go someplace else to talk."
Ron nodded, seeming to relax a little. He picked one of the school owls, and tying his letter to it's leg, sent it flying out the window.
"Come on," Harry said, walking down the steps.
"Where are we going, Harry?" Hermione asked, the first thing he had heard her say all day.
"The Room of Requirement. Not many people know about it," Harry said, reaching the entrance hall and ascending the Grand Staircase.
They walked down the hall where the Room of Requirement was. Harry thought about being in a place where the three of them could talk alone, where no one would interrupt…
After walking past the area where the room was for the third time, a door with a golden handle appeared. Harry grasped it and pushed the door open.
The inside looked almost exactly like the Gryffindor common room, but without the Gryffindor hangings. The same comfy couch and armchairs were there, and a roaring fire in the grate. Harry unclasped his cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, and picked an armchair by the fire to settle into.
Ron sprawled onto the couch, and Hermione took an armchair across from Harry.
"So?" Harry asked, leaning back, stroking the end of his stump again.
"Erm…" Ron said, looking awkward.
Harry sighed. This was one of those, 'Don't blame yourself' talks.
"What did you write in the letter to your Mum?" Harry asked.
Ron shifted on the couch. "Just asked how Dad was doing at work, how our Quidditch has been doing…" Ron hesitated.
"Anything about this?" Harry asked, lifting his left arm.
"Not really. Only that you'd had an accident in Potions and hurt your arm," Ron said.
"Yeah, in a big way," Harry replied.
"Harry, it's not your…" Hermione started to say.
"Look, guys, I'm not eating myself up about this, okay? It's over and done with, and I'm just going to have to get used to it. I'm fine," Harry insisted, attempting to bypass a lot of needless conversation.
"Well, Harry, it's just that…" Ron tried to put what he wanted to say into words. "You know, this means that you'll have some trouble doing some…things…"
"Ron, it's okay. I can still play Quidditch, I think. I've just got to spend a little time learning to fly one-handed, that's all," Harry said. "Speaking of which, how did we do in yesterday's Quidditch match?"
"Ginny played Seeker in your place. Our Chasers were terrible, but I managed to keep Ravenclaw from scoring, and Ginny caught the Snitch, so it was one-fifty to nothing," Ron said.
"Well, that's something, anyway," Harry said, reassured the Gryffindor wasn't out of the running for the Quidditch Cup yet.
"There is one more thing, Harry," Hermione said.
Harry looked at her. Her face was grim, but her eyes were sparkling.
"What's up?" Harry asked.
"I know of a spell to help you. It's Transfiguration, done wandless, but…" she hesitated.
"What's it called?" Harry asked.
"The Third Arm Transfiguration. The name pretty much speaks for itself. It's really similar to Pettigrew's silver hand; in fact, it's practically the same thing. But…" she hesitated again.
"What is it, Hermione? But what?" Harry pressed.
"It's Dark Magic," she whispered, almost under her breath.
Harry sat back to consider that. "Why is it Dark Magic?" he wondered out loud.
"Because of it's power. The arm has supernatural strength. You could crush stone into powder," Hermione said.
Harry thought about it. "Why couldn't you use that to fix this, then?" Harry asked her, indicating his left arm.
"Because it's self-induced, unlike what Voldemort did for Pettigrew," Hermione said. Ron flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name. "Plus, this spell can be used by people who already have two arms. The spell that Voldemort used is only for those who have lost a limb or something."
"So why didn't Madam Pomfrey do what Voldemort did, then?"
"Well, first off, it's Dark Magic, so I don't even think it crossed her mind, and second, it uses the same principle as a magical prosthetic—it wouldn't adhere to your…" she choked slightly, "…arm."
"Well, then, why couldn't I cast the Third Arm Transfiguration once and leave it?" Harry asked.
"Because you have to concentrate on maintaining the spell. It's a lot like the Animagus Transfiguration in terms of difficulty."
Harry swallowed. It didn't sound easy. "So what happens when you cast the spell?"
"Well, you can do one of two things. You have to concentrate on where the arm appears. It can overlay one of your existing arms…" she nodded at his stump, "…or you can make a third arm that works in tandem with your existing limbs," Hermione said.
Harry, sat back in the armchair, pondering. It sounded a bit dodgy, a spell that gave him an arm that was so empowered. He didn't know how McGonagall or Dumbledore would react to him possessing the knowledge or ability to do such a thing.
"How do you do it?" Harry asked, still thinking.
Hermione took a deep breath. "You have to concentrate on the image of it, a silver, metallic arm, and also imagine the power of the arm, and will it into being."
"So there's no incantation?" Harry asked.
"No. That makes it a little harder, as an incantation serves as a release of the will for many wizards. It would take time to learn, Harry. But…"
"Hang on a minute, you two. First of all, it's lunch, and I think that Harry should okay it with Dumbledore or someone first," Ron said, looking pointedly at Harry.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Let's go down to lunch. I'm starving."
Hermione still had that earnest look in her eyes as they rose and exited. Harry only realized just as he reached the doors to the Great Hall that he had forgotten his cloak in the Room of Requirement.
He groaned inwardly as he stepped into the Great Hall. The normal talking that was usually heard around lunchtime abruptly ceased, and murmuring broke out.
"Do you see that?"
"I heard Snape did that to him…"
"Pomfrey couldn't fix that?"
"I'd commit suicide before I let that happen to me…"
Harry grimly marched down the length of the Gryffindor table, seating himself to the right of Ginny. Hermione and Ron again sat down across from him.
"Harry…are you all right?" Ginny asked, a look of concern on her face.
"I'm fine, Ginny, don't worry about me," Harry said, giving her a brief smile before piling some ham and potatoes on his plate.
"Everyone's saying that you had an accident in Potions, and that Snape…" Ginny began, talking very fast.
"Ginny. Not right now, please? I did this to myself, and if it weren't for Snape, I wouldn't be alive. That's all you need to know for now," Harry said a bit abruptly.
Ginny's face closed up, but she nodded and returned to her own lunch. Harry hastily shoveled down his own meal, intent on getting his cloak back. He drained his goblet of pumpkin juice after a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie, and stood up.
"I'll meet you in Gryffindor tower. I'm going to get my cloak back," he told Hermione and Ron.
Harry walked quickly out of the hall and practically ran up the stairs to the Room of Requirement. He concentrated on the room they were in before, and the wooden door appeared in the wall after he passed it for the third time.
He pushed the door open and walked in. The room was different in one way—there was a book on the armchair that Hermione had been sitting in. Harry walked over and picked it up.
Dark Arts and Transfiguration: How To Make It Work For You.
The Third Arm Transfiguration. What had Hermione said about conjuring the arm?
"You have to concentrate on the image of it, a silver, metallic arm, and also imagine the power of the arm, and will it into being."
Harry thought about that, and then flexed the fingers of his phantom left arm. It was an unusual thing to close his eyes and have the sensation of having his left arm, even that of the fingers touching each other, but not have them exist.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of his ghost arm. He imagined it encased in a silver shield, the metal molding to his "skin." He bent all his mind upon imagining the kind of power, the rush of adrenaline at being able to crush something to dust…
Harry overlaid the image of the arm and it's power onto himself, being able to conjure the image rather easily, after glimpsing himself in the Pensieve earlier that day. He concentrated so hard that he broke out in a sweat, then willed it to happen, but he felt nothing happen, only the blood pounding in his ears. Harry remembered Hermione's words…
"…an incantation serves as a release of the will for many wizards…"
There was no incantation that summoned the spell, but all Harry really needed was a way to release his concentration…
He summoned that image again, bending his consciousness upon it. He was literally shaking with the effort. His eyes flew open, and he cried, "NOW!"
A shocking sensation lit up Harry's brain like fire, startling him. He lost his focus, and the feeling ceased. Harry stood grasping his stump, breathing heavily. For a split second, he had felt something almost like scalding water at his left shoulder, trickling down his arm…
Harry collapsed onto the couch, completely drained. He vaguely remembered that he had told Ron and Hermione he would meet them in Gryffindor Tower, but the thought lost importance as weariness overtook Harry, and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.