Perseus was stretching his senses to their limits, and still he could just barely catch glimpses of the rat. It didn't help that the feel of Pettigrew's magic was so faint as to be nearly nonexistent — perhaps living as a rat for 12 years has that effect. But what he could feel was enough. The rat was scurrying for the Wardline, no doubt to Apparate away. Perseus could not allow that. His father had been hunted long enough — a member of the Founding House of Black wrongly imprisoned — it was heresy.
The rat was getting farther and farther away, and Perseus was beginning to doubt his ability to catch him on foot. He looked back at Hermione and Potter — he would have to leave them. They wouldn't be able to keep up with him once he'd transformed, and if he wanted any chance at catching the rat, he had to.
He didn't have a moment to spare. Stowing his wand, he leapt forward, taking off into a sprint the instant he landed.
His paws tore up the ground, and the sheer strength he felt in his Animagus form was nearly overwhelming. Trees passed him in a blur. He could see much better in the dark — though everything existed in varying tones of blurred grey. He could spot the smallest movement, and it allowed him to keep track of the wriggling tail of Pettigrew as he tried to cut his way through the forest.
Perseus' catapulted himself forward, each bound of his muscular legs clearing several meters. He weaved through trees after the rat, the feline agility of his large mass allowing him to keep his balance as he narrowly avoided colliding with the lumbering towers of wood.
He slowed as he entered a clearing. He had lost sight of Pettigrew, but he could feel him, just slightly. His magic was muted in this state, but it was just strong enough.
Crouching down low on his paws, he crept into the clearing. The grass wasn't tall, but he was hoping the dim light would be enough to hide his silhouette.
He was wrong.
He leapt several feet in the air, avoiding the crackling yellow bolt of magic that was sent his way.
He transformed while in the air, the rapid change giving him a horrible case of vertigo.
He crumpled to the ground, his ankle twisting beneath him with a stabbing pain. He looked up as another spell lit the clearing. He rolled out of the way; the red spell blew dust and dirt into the air, burrowing a trench where he had been lying.
Quickly, he cast a numbing spell on his ankle, and climbed to his feet, his wand in hand. It was through tolerance and force of will he managed to stay on his feet when he put weight on his right leg; even numbed, it could hardly bear his weight. He would have to capture Pettigrew, and fast. He had never tested himself against an adult wizard like this — with his life on the line. He was terrified, but he couldn't run. His father was counting on him, and he wouldn't let him down. He would fight to see his father free — to do anything else would be a disgrace to the Founding House of Black.
He stepped clumsily to the side of the next spell, and cast one of his own.
Several bulbs of light flew from his wand, Illuminating the clearing. It was still dark, but it was now light enough that Perseus could see what he was casting at.
"Don't make me do this, nephew," Pettigrew begged. "Just let me go, no one will blame you!"
Perseus couldn't even begin to see how his father had become friends with a sniveling coward like this. The small, ratty man was as clever as any Slytherin, as slick with his tongue and had the self preservation to match. It was a wonder he was sorted into Gryffindor at all.
But Perseus could tell the man was no duelist. His plumb form was a large target, and he held his wand in a grip so tight he wouldn't be able to cast very many spells. His feet shuffled nervously, but his beady black eyes were set in stone. The man may not be a duelist, but he was a killer, and that was enough to keep Perseus on edge. He would use everything he knew — his life, and his father's life — the existence of House Black — depended on it.
His first spell was silent, a disarming charm that Pettigrew sidestepped sloppily.
"I'm sorry," Pettigrew said, his face grim as he raised his wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Perseus' jaw dropped as an emerald green spell rushed towards him with a sound like the Hogwarts Express rushing through a tunnel. He threw himself to the floor, just barely managing to avoid the spell — which hit a tree and blew the trunk into splinters.
He stared at Pettigrew in shock. The fool had cast the killing curse at him! He rose from the ground more quickly this time, his ankle an afterthought. Never before had anyone put his life at risk. He would end this now, before the insane man got any stupider.
Spell after spell left his wand, the flashes of light illuminating the clearing. The spells were all deadly — blood boilers, bone breakers, organ liquefiers— very dark and very illegal spells. From what he had seen, Pettigrew would be incapable of stopping all of them. Either he would be hit, and Perseus would have to use every bit of training he had to save his life, or he would transform to avoid them.
As he expected, the latter was true, and seeing the mass array of spells headed in his direction, Pettigrew began shrinking, his head and limbs shortening. Taking aim, Perseus cast the stunner, and sucked in a breath of relief as it connected with Pettigrew, and he toppled to his side in his rat form.
Taking a step, he grunted as sharp, tingling pinpricks shot up his leg. Pausing, he pulled up his robes. His ankle protruded at an odd angle — clearly dislocated. Taking a deep breath, he began casting. The feel of his bones sliding against each other as the dislocation reduced was painful, but he'd had worse.
Testing his weight, he walked over to Peter and slipped the rat into the inner pocket of his robe. His stunner should keep him under for at least three hours — he hoped. He wasn't sure how much longer this ordeal would take, and it wouldn't take much for the rat to wake up and escape.
Looking around the clearing, he squinted his eyes. Even with his glowing orbs floating overhead, the clearing was dark, and Perseus had no idea where he had come from. The vertigo had made his world spin, and in the aftermath, he had lost track of just where he had entered.
"Lumos," he cast, swallowing harshly. His earlier scream was costing him dearly — his throat had already been nearly pushed to its limits, but he would have to continue, the consequences be damned. He wouldn't survive the forest silently, he knew that. Holding his wand overhead, he moved in the direction of the feeling of magic he was most familiar with — Hermione.
Her magic doused him in warmth so overwhelming he was sure he could pick her out of a crowd with his eyes closed.
The closer he moved to her, the more otherworldly cold invaded his body. It made his mind foggy, and dulled his senses. He focused his mind — centered the entirety of his focus on a single memory. It was the most basic form of Occlumency, but it was all he could manage at the moment.
Finally, he broke through some brush, and everything was illuminated by the shining full moon. It's light reflected off the lake, and he could feel and see Hermione clearly now, on the far side of it. His knees nearly buckled as hundreds and hundreds of Dementors swarmed her, Potter and his father.
He watched as his father collapsed, unmoving. He watched Potter stand over him, desperately trying and failing to cast the Patronus. He watched Hermione join him, before she too collapsed to her knees.
He swallowed thickly. He had been practicing the Patronus charm for months, to little effect. He could get little more than a silvery mist to leave his wand. He watched Potter fall next — could just barely make out the thin silver sheen in the air that quickly faded in the presence of so many Dementors.
When the Dementor began lowering its hood — another moving toward Hermione — he knew he could watch no longer.
He concentrated with all his will, thought of everyone good thing that had ever happened to him. "Expecto Patronum." There was nothing — not even a mist.
"Expecto Patronum!" He ground out, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth — but still, there was nothing.
A Dementor was over Hermione, it's hood pulled back and it was reaching for her face. His eyes began to burn. He filled his mind with every thought of Hermione — every moment they ever shared. If they weren't his happiest memories, he would never be happy. A specific one played at the forefront of his mind — Hermione was glaring at him, completely soaked after she had lost control of a spell he was trying to teach her, and all the water she had been levitating fell down upon her head. He was about to cast the drying spell when he really got a good look at her.
Her riotous curls were plastered to her head — she stood so rigid she might have been petrified again, her mouth agape as she glared at him — and he laughed. He laughed as hard as he'd ever laughed at anything, and she laughed too. He'd never felt so free, never seen her so free, her laughter echoed in his head, a sound he'd never forget and would kill to hear over and over again. She was his best friend, made him feel whole — like a person — and he wouldn't allow a Dementor to take her soul. She had so much to accomplish — so much life to live — so much he wanted to show her still.
"Expecto Patronum," he whispered, and a silvery tiger — himself — lunged from his wand, and charged the group of Dementors. He swallowed a noise of surprise as another patronus joined his — a massive stag galloping beside his tiger.
Looking to his right, his eyes widened as he locked eyes with Potter. Looking back across the lake, he saw Potter, lying unconscious in the grass.
"It was you…" Potter mumbled. Perseus looked back at him. The boy was windswept and disheveled, staring at him in shock. Before he could respond, the sound of thudding hooves filled his ears and the feel Hermione's magic washed over; it filled his mind, and he could taste her magic — like honey, cinnamon and vanilla, and it filled him with warmth. Turning around, he saw Hermione dashing towards him, dragging the supposed-to-be-executed Hippogriff, Buckbeak, behind her.
"It wasn't my father, Hermione…" Potter said quietly. "It was…it was me, and Black."
Perseus looked between them, and the moonlight glinted off a thin golden rope around Hermione's neck, confirming his suspicions. Something must've gone wrong, and they were using the Time Turner to fix it — and him seeing them was potentially a very big problem. Hermione was no threat to him, but he knew Potter was prone to irrational and explosive reactions.
"Get down!" Hermione hissed, yanking them behind a bush on the edge of the lake. Peering through the brush, Perseus saw Snape conjuring stretchers to take everyone away, including his father.
He opened his mouth to speak, but he could get nothing out. He grimaced. His voice gave him all it had, but there was nothing left. Patting his pocket, he relaxed when he felt the reassuring lump that was Peter Pettigrew. Whatever Hermione and Potter had done, it hadn't changed the fact that he had found Pettigrew.
"We've got to go, Harry," Hermione said urgently. "We've got about forty minutes until Dumbledore locks the door. We've got to free Sirius and be back before anyone else realizes we're gone."
So that was why they went back. He had been so busy trying to catch Peter to free his father, he hadn't even made sure his father survived.
He had many things he wanted to ask, but his throat had closed stubbornly, and any attempt to speak resulted in him getting a mouthful of coppery blood that he forced himself to swallow, nearly gagging every time.
"Black," Hermione said as they stood up, pulling Buckbeak closer. "Are you coming with us? Your father—"
"He can't!" Potter cut in quickly, already climbing upon the creature. "Look at Buckbeak — he can't carry all three of us!" The excuse was poor, and judging by the way Buckbeak's feathers bristled and he clawed at the ground, he strongly disagreed. Perseus didn't know why Potter didn't want him to come, and he really didn't care. Hermione would be with him, that was good enough for him.
"Well — we can't just leave him here, can we?" Hermione argued. "He helped us before — maybe he can help us again."
"Hermione, we don't have time for this!"
She chewed her lip before shooting him an apologetic glance, and he watched her amble on to Buckbeak, where she clenched her eyes shut and squeezed Potter uncomfortably hard.
"Just go back to the castle, quick! Or they'll think you had something to do with your father escaping — they never found you after everything. We'll save your father. Trust me." He watched in silence as Buckbeak took two strides before taking off with a flap of his massive wings, the gusset of air blowing his robes about him.
He took a deep breath. If there was anyone he trusted as much as himself to see his father free, it was Hermione. She was right about him getting back to the castle. He had already stunned Snape, there was no doubt they would try to pin this on him.
Turning back into his Animagus form — he'd have to come up with a name for it — he took off back into the forest.
Fortunately, Perseus did make it to the Hospital Wing before Hermione and Potter returned. He entered the room to find Dumbledore standing there, looking at his watch. He looked up when he entered, but Perseus had no doubt the man knew he was coming long before he even got close to the room. He couldn't feel the Headmaster's presence at all, nor could he feel Snape's. Some of the older Slytherins were difficult to feel as well. He had concluded that his inability to feel their magic was directly correlated to their competence with Occlumency. The Headmaster and Snape were ghosts to him — if he couldn't see them, he'd never know they were there.
"Ah, young Mister Black," Dumbledore said, his dark blue eyes twinkling. "I believe you've had quite the eventful evening."
Perseus nodded, unable to speak. Hopefully whatever the Headmaster wanted — because he clearly wanted something — wouldn't take too long. He needed Madame Pomphrey to fix his throat.
"I'm afraid your father is in the minister's custody, and it will only be a short while before he's gone." Gone, the Headmaster said. Perseus admired his ability to bend words to suit his meaning — it was rather Slytherin of the man. Perseus nodded once more, and made to head for Poppy's office, but Dumbledore cleared his throat, and reached into his robes.
"I've been meaning to return this artifact to you, Mister Black," he said, presenting to him a small, transparent box that was alight with runes — he could feel the soft hum magic running through it. "Your ancestor, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black, left this in the Headmaster's office, in hopes that another Headmaster would complete it for him."
Perseus looked between the box and the Headmaster skeptically. His many times over Great Grandfather Phineas Nigellus would never leave a personal project of his in the hands of the school — he would've given it to his family, or left it in his personal study at the least. He had no doubt the man was lying, and he was sure he was about to find out why.
"It's a rather fascinating piece of magic. Apparently Phineas feared that the school's wards could not keep out Animagi —" Perseus' eyes widened a fraction, flashing to the box. "So he was devising a way to capture them, and force them to stay in their Animagi form — he thought they were less dangerous that way, rightly so." He placed the box in Perseus' hand. "What he was missing was the touch of a Transfiguration Master. As gifted as he was, transfiguration was not his specialty — but it does happen to be mine, and I was able to finish it, using our very own Professor McGonagall to test it. And now, I return it to you. I'm sure you'll find great use for it." His eyes flickered down to his pocket, where Peter was currently tucked away.
The twinkle in the Headmaster's eye had reached a pinnacle, and Perseus found he no longer wanted to be in front of the sly man. With a nod, he stuck the box into his pocket, where it jabbed rather uncomfortably into his ribs — but he would manage.
He stepped into her office, closing the door behind him. Madame Pomphrey looked up, and color filled her cheeks.
"Oh thank Merlin," she said, rushing over to him. "I should've known that you would be alright — silly of me to worry, really —" she stopped, taking a deep breath to collect herself. "Well, what happened?" She demanded, fists resting on her hips, a heavy frown on her face.
He motioned towards his throat, swallowing thickly.
Her frown deepened even further. "Again?" she said quietly, pulling her wand from inside her robes. "It's getting worse, Perseus."
He knew. It seemed like every time he pushed his voice to the limits, that limit got closer and closer. He had been working tirelessly all year to expand the amount of spells he was capable of casting silently, to much success. He found he could speak quietly with no issues, besides the physical discomfort it brought him. But when he tried to vocalize — to speak at a volume that someone could hear him in a non-intimate setting, he found he could say no more than a sentence at a time.
Instead, he spent much of his time alone, or in silence. Even Poppy didn't make him speak much.
Poppy tsked, and hurried back to her desk to retrieve a potion — one that soothed his throat immensely. Just standing there, it felt as if he had hot coals sitting in his throat, and every breath was air, stoking the embers, every swallow was white hot blades cutting into his throat. He found himself allowing the saliva to pool in his mouth before he swallowed it. The pain was greater, but it was less frequent and he could bear it better. Sometimes the pain was so great he refused to swallow — he'd spit into a handkerchief before he subjected himself to the torment.
"You know what to do," Poppy said, handing him the vial. It was blue and sparkling, and looked like it would taste good.
It didn't. Throwing the potion back, his taste buds were assaulted with pungent flavor so rancid he nearly gagged. It tasted of mold and had an acrid aftertaste that reminded him greatly of burning wood. He forced it down, face and throat convulsing as he forced back the urge to spit it up.
The effect was instant, and the constant, burning ache in his throat reduced to a dull throb. The potion helped to control his flare ups — reducing the inflammation, numbing the pain. A temporary fix. It would have to be enough.
"You must take it easy, Perseus," Poppy said quietly, her dark eyes soft. "It would be very difficult to be a healer if you can't speak. If there was ever going to be a mute Healer, I know it can be you — but let's not make it any harder than necessary?"
He smiled slightly, appreciating the care with which she spoke to him and treated him. He didn't know if it was because she had trained his mother before him, but it still touched him deeply. Poppy was…He didn't know what she was, but he knew she was on his very short list of people he would risk his life for.
They both turned their heads as the door to the Hospital Wing closed, and he followed Poppy out.
"Has the Headmaster finally left? Can I care for my patients now?"
Perseus took in Hermione and Potters' forms, their heaving chests and windswept hair. Glancing between them and Poppy, it occurred to him that she had no idea they had ever left — as far as she was concerned, they had been here talking to the Headmaster.
She broke off several pieces of chocolate and almost forced them down their throats. He took some as well, cringing at the pain in his throat and the horrible taste that filled his mouth. He hated chocolate, and the way it coated his mouth and stuck to his teeth — but he couldn't deny it helped flush out the after effects of being exposed to a Dementor.
All four of them turned their eyes to the door when they heard a series of furious voices — Snape's chief among them.
They burst into the room, and Snape was on Potter immediately.
"OUT WITH IT POTTER! What did you do?"
Poppy stepped forward immediately. "Professor Snape!" She cried. "Get a hold of yourself right this instant!"
Perseus watched the entire exchange — Snape ranting and raving about Hermione and Potter rescuing his father; Fudge's bumbling attempts to convince the man he couldn't possibly be correct; and, unsurprisingly, Dumbledore lying through his teeth to one of his own employees, as smooth and casually as he had lied to Perseus himself. He should've been amazed that Dumbledore, the bastion of the light, was lying with such ease and comfort, but he wasn't. His grandfather's little black book had more information on the Headmaster than Perseus was truly comfortable knowing. The Headmaster was a master politician, and lying came with the territory.
When Fudge and Dumbledore finally followed Snape out of the room, he begged off as well, claiming he was tired.
He headed straight for Phineas Nigellus' room. He had a rat to trap.
Hermione stepped into the library for what would be her final visit for the year. The school was empty, the students taking advantage of their last Hogsmeade visit, but after yesterday's events, she really just wanted to relax. She was upset that Remus resigned, but she wasn't surprised that Professor Snape had told all the Slytherins about his condition.
She nodded at Madame Pince who returned it, a small smile on her usually pinched face. Hermione understood her constant distress. Many of the students did not treat the library with the deference it was owed — it was a sacred room of knowledge and learning. Many of them treated the priceless books carelessly — she had even seen a group of Hufflepuffs playing exploding snap, no less! She'd told Madame Pince at once, before one of them ruined one of the precious wells of knowledge.
She entered the fifth row of bookshelves, dedicated to Charms. It was long and the shelves were towering in height — you had to use the levitating charm to get any of the higher ones. Reaching in her bag — which was entirely too full — she began returning her books. There was a chute of sorts by Madame Pince's desk that would return them all instantly, but there was something about replacing them herself that she found therapeutic.
She hummed to herself, going aisle to aisle, placing the books on the shelves. The simple task was helping her decompress. Already she felt the stress of yesterday bleeding away, her mind focused on putting each book back exactly where she got it from. Placing her very last book on the shelf, she sighed, running his fingers along the spines of the books. She had plenty of books to read over the summer, but there was nothing quite like the atmosphere of the Hogwarts library. The massive bookshelves, the smell of parchment, light streaming through floor to ceiling windows — it just felt like everything she read was some grand secret, some special place she had been granted access to. She would miss it.
Turning to leave, she nearly jumped out of her skin and just barely managed to stifle a shriek with the back of her hand.
"Perseus!" she hissed. He raised a brow, his unusual eyes searching her face. What he was looking for, she had no idea. His hair now hung all the way to his shoulders, tresses twisting into shining waves of black. He really needed to cut it. She couldn't get over just how much he looked like his father. They had the same jaw, the same cheekbones, even down to their heavy lidded eyes. Perseus' nose was a bit softer, and his lips fuller — things he must've inherited from his mother.
"You should be more aware of your surroundings." His voice was so quiet she just barely heard him. She rushed to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him to the back of the library — to the table where they first became friends. His hoarser-than-usual voice reminded her that she wasn't the only one who had been through an ordeal yesterday. She hasn't even stopped for a moment to think about how it affected Perseus, physically or emotionally. She sat down, and he sat down beside her when she gestured at the chair.
"How are you?" She nearly whispered, leaning closer to him, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.
"Fine," he said, and she heard him more clearly this time. His voice didn't sound strained, thankfully, just more faint than she was used to hearing it.
She bit her lip. "I'm sorry we didn't catch Pettigrew," she blurted out.
"I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said. "My father is free."
"Yes, I know but…the Minister is still hunting him, and everyone believes he killed Harry's parents and now you and Harry can't live with him —"
His hand rested on her's. "I'll work something out."
"I mean, can you imagine it?" she asked. "You and Harry, living together?"
His lip curled minutely. "I'd rather not."
She huffed. "He's not that bad, you know. He's a good friend. In fact, I think you two might have a lot in common."
"Yes, two kids neglected by their family with very little friends — I'm sure we'd have plenty to talk about."
She glared at him. "I don't understand why you dislike him so much."
"If he was as good a friend as you say, it would be him who comes for you when you're sad. He doesn't even look."
She looked down. She didn't blame Harry when he sided with Ron over her. Ron was his best friend, after all — his very first friend. She understood her place in their friendship, and she was okay with it. They had their issues, but every friendship did. Still, it didn't stop her from wishing it was him helping her sometimes, showing that he cared. But boys matured younger, she knew that. Perseus was just mature for his age.
"Are you going to visit me this summer?"
"Oh!" She had completely forgotten about that with all the chaos. "My mother and father would love to come to Milan this summer! They said we can visit for the second half of June. They're going to book the flights and hotels as soon as I get home."
He frowned. "Flights and hotels?"
"They're muggle things. Flights are for travel and —"
"I know what they are," he said, still frowning heavily. "But why do you need them?"
"What do you mean? How else would we get there? And where else would we stay?"
"Hermione, my home is 91,000 square feet. I have over 15 bedrooms."
She gaped at him. He made it so hard to look at him regularly when he said such outrageous things as that. "What — do you live in a Palace?"
He nodded. "Until 1962, wizards and muggles lived together in relative harmony. The father of the first Head of House Black was a man named Marcus Aurelius—"
"Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius?"
He nodded as if it was no big deal. "The very same. Marcus Aurelius had an affair with his Court Magician, Victoria Furvus, who gave birth to their son, Taurus, the first member of the House of Black. Now I have property spread across the entirety of what was once the Roman Empire."
She stared at him, blinking. What was she supposed to say to that? The more she learned about Perseus' family, the more questions she had. His family was so old, and their history clearly went even further than she had thought.
"I will consider it a personal offense if your family does not take me up on my generous hospitality — and it was I that invited you, after all."
"I'll ask my parents, but there's no guarantee they'll say yes. I mean — who do you even live with now?"
He shrugged. "Myself."
"Perseus, do you really think that's a good idea? You're only 13—"
"14."
"What?"
"My birthday is November 2nd. I'm fourteen, the same as you."
Her mouth fell open. Three years. They had been friends for three years, and she never bothered to find out his birthday. "Perseus, I am so sorry!"
His brow wrinkled. "There is nothing to apologize for."
"I never asked your birthday — how terrible you must think—"
"There is nothing to apologize for."
She closed her mouth with a snap. "Well still, I'm sorry all this happened to you, and I think it would've been good for you to live with Harry."
"Nothing good would've come of it," he muttered. "Potter is nearly universally hated in Slytherin, and you and Weasley along with him. They probably would've tried to use me to get to him if they ever found out."
"What?" she exclaimed. She knew they didn't like the three of them, but hate? "Why would they possibly hate us?"
He smirked. "Apparently, the Slytherin's only like when favoritism is in their favor."
"Well that's just silly — we don't get treated any differently than any other student."
"How many times have you spoken with the Headmaster?"
"Several times, naturally."
"Not a single seventh year Slytherin has ever spoken to the man — not even once. I'm sure it's much the same in the other houses. The Headmaster is famously reclusive as far as students are concerned — except when it comes to Potter and his friends apparently."
She went over every memory she had of the Headmaster, of her own meetings with him, and seeing him around the school, but there was very little, and none of them involving any other students. "Well, we've been involved in some very serious things these past three years."
He nodded his head. "Yes, very serious things that would've seen many other students expelled. Being Harry Potter certainly has its benefits. You've even met the Minister of Magic himself."
"I get it," she said, crossing her arms. He was the one person who could consistently beat her in argument, with both logic and sheer persistence. "But back to the original point, 14 is not old enough for you to look after yourself, Perseus."
He shrugged again. "There is no one else."
"I mean, is it even legal?"
"I'm emancipated."
"You're — since when?"
"Minister Fudge granted it at the beginning of the year. He didn't want there to be any chance my father could get custody of me."
She shook her head and stood up. She couldn't take anymore shocks — today was supposed to be about relaxing. "I'll send you an owl and tell you what my parents say." She twisted a lock of his hair around her finger, marveling at how soft it was. "You really should get a haircut, Perseus. You're starting to look like Draco's father."
Perseus' frown was deep, and he glared at his own hair as if they were snakes draped about his head. Taking a deep breath, he said, "If they decide to stay in my home, go to the Ministry and tell the receptionist you're there to retrieve a package for the Black Palace of Milan. They'll give you a portkey that will take you directly to my foyer, I've already set it up with them."
"Got it," she said, repeating the instructions a few times in her head. Pulling him out of his seat, she wrapped her arms around him, nearly melting when he pulled her tighter. "Be safe, Perseus."
"Always."
Perseus was sorting potions for Madame Pomphrey, putting them in their places on the shelves. It was boring, tedious work, and more often than not his mind was elsewhere.
"I've signed you up to take the Mediwizard Trials at the ICW this summer."
Putting down the potion he had just grabbed, he looked at Poppy, searching her face. She was looking at him firmly, her dark eyes directly on his and her brow set. "Now, no one your age has ever been certified as a Mediwizard before, and as I'll be accompanying you, you'd better impress."
"But if I pass —"
"Then your formal apprenticeship will be finished, and we will be equals…of sorts. But don't think you've learned all you can from me, and your presence here in the Ward would still be greatly appreciated." Perseus could hear the smile in her voice — the pride and confidence she had in him was evident, and he had to clear the emotions he felt rising in his throat. She was kind to him, more kind than she had to be.
"Thank you," he said, bowing his head to her. He didn't think he'd ever be able to view her as anything other than his teacher, even when he undoubtedly reached greater capabilities. She was good to him, and he'd never forget her kindness.
"Hush," she said, shooing him along. "You'll be right back here next semester. With the likes of Potter hanging around, it'll be good to have two fully certified Mediwizards in the castle."
He nodded his head, not letting on just how much the idea of ever healing Potter and Weasley again displeased him. He'd rather the two idiots suffer any pain that wasn't life threatening. They deserved it.
"Run along now, Black," Poppy said. "Go see your friends, or whatever it is you do when you're not here."
With another nod, he headed for the door, slipped out, and closed it silently behind him. He supposed he would go see Daphne and Blaise. He hadn't answered their questions the night before when he found them sitting up for him in the common room, but he would have to answer them today. Plus, he needed to ask Blaise for a favor.
