Special Thanks to doenerkint who beta'd this chapter. Be sure to check out his work.

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SEVENTEEN - Not So Different

The days that followed the apprehension of Barty Crouch Jr. were far more subdued than Harry had expected. A result of a frighteningly efficient cover up scheme carried out by the Ministry. The cooperation of the Hogwarts staff in this affair was equally disconcerting. The hush-hush nature of it all disillusioned him from the school's perceived distance from London and its politics. Even Dumbledore, a wizard whose political stature was often weighed on the same scale as the Minister himself, had to make way for story spinning.

When the students had been urged to remain in their dorms, Professor Dumbledore had given the intrusion of an errant troll into the large castle as cause for his concern. However absurd that may have sounded to the students, the fact that it had occurred before, along with Quirrel's involvement never being publicly confirmed, meant it was sensible enough to be convincing.

Naturally, there were sceptics among the student body, but the staff and Ministry workers had done a surprisingly decent job at twisting facts. Professor Moody's absence was even attributed to an injury sustained while subduing the large beast, having been unable to move in time due to his leg.

Had Harry and those closest not been witness to either the arrest itself, as was with Harry, or having seen it on the map, they too would likely have been none the wiser. The biggest change in atmosphere though, was Neville. The normally shy and quiet Gryffindor had been in a foul mood. Those who tried to speak with him received blunt responses, or in a few cases, outright hostility. Harry didn't know how to deal with it, or even if it was his place to try.

For now, Harry and Hermione walked through one of Hogwarts' many corridors and witnessed Neville snapping at Luna who was trying to talk to him, before the latter stormed off in steaming silence.

Luna looked up when she heard them approach.

"Luna, are you alright?" asked Hermione worriedly, reaching out and touching Luna's arm in an attempt to offer some comfort.

"He's not been very nice these days," said Luna softly, looking up. "I suspect the wrackspurt's are behind it."

Luna, Harry had come to learn over the course of the year, had a very subtle way of showing her emotions. Happiness was easy, she would have a little smile and hum to herself, seemingly lost in her own little world. She may have her quirks, and regardless of the authenticity of some of her claims, the odd girl had slowly come out of her shell around them. So, seeing her withdraw into herself and stand there rooted to a spot like a lost kid in a crowd. It rankled Harry, something fierce.

"Wrackspurt's or not, he shouldn't be taking his anger out on the rest of us," spat Harry as he stormed after Neville. Hermione opened her mouth, ready to stop him, but one glance at the younger girl beside her changed her mind.

Neville, as it turned out, moved far faster than he'd expected. Hermione currently had his map, so Harry resorted to asking the portraits to point him in the right direction. He eventually tracked Neville down to one of the greenhouses. Entering the humid room, Harry's senses were filled with the smell of earth, and plants. He searched the narrow confines for any sign of the other boy. Harry found him sitting on the floor, resting his back against one of the shelves, with his arms resting on his knees and his head hung low.

Tracking Neville through the castle had already done its bit to calm him down and seeing the state of his friend was enough to change his approach. He'd been ready to confront Neville, lay into him and give him his two cents worth, and however good that may have felt, it wasn't the right thing to do. He remembered a conversation he'd had with Professor Dumbledore in the aftermath of the arrest.

Professor Dumbledore had called Harry to his office two days after it all happened to discuss Barty Crouch Jr. and his involvement with the tournament. Harry had taken the opportunity to bring Neville's behaviour with the old man.

"Enter please, Harry."

Harry lowered the hand which was about to knock on the Headmaster's door, and sighed, why did he even bother with the attempt… He pushed open the door, "Professor," he greeted respectfully.

"Cockroach Cluster?" asked Dumbledore, holding up a bowl filled with what looked like nuts.

"I'll pass," said Harry with a good-natured smile. "They're a bit difficult to stomach when you know"

"To each their own," acquiesced Dumbledore, before continuing on with the topic of their meeting. "I'm sure you've realised why I've summoned you?"

"The imposter? Barty Crouch Jr.?"

"Correct, I believe since his presence at Hogwarts was directly related to you, that you should be made aware of a few facts."

Harry straightened, "So, it was him then? The one who entered me into the tournament?"

"It almost seems certain that he was," nodded Dumbledore. "And I believe you may infer under whose orders he had done so?"

"Voldemort," answered Harry, clenching his jaw, a sombre pause followed his statement.

"From what little we were able to learn, the Dark Lord intended to use the tournament in some way to gain access to you."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Little, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly, he removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "There are methods to protect secrets, such as the Fidelius charm, arguably amongst the most powerful. But a far more rudimentary solution exists, though not as secure, and requires far more care into the wording, is to simply use an Unbreakable Vow. The person vows never to divulge the information under any circumstances, at least until such time as they are released from their vow."

"An unbreakable vow?" queried Harry, despite his increased focus on academics, he was still muggle-raised, and therefore bound to have gaps in what is considered common knowledge amongst Wizardkind.

The old man's eyes widened briefly before his own hubris caught up with him. "Ah, forgive me. An unbreakable vow is exactly as the name implies. It is an oath sealed by magic, to break it would cost one's life," answered Dumbledore with a sharp look to his gaze.

"But if that's the case," Harry slowly reasoned, "how then were you able to learn anything from him?"

Dumbledore's mouth formed a flat line as the truth of the matter seemed to put him off. "I have come into possession of his protected secrets by looking into his mind myself. And doing so is no easy feat, much less a recommended method of information extraction. An untrained witch or wizard would suffer terrible consequences."

"What happened?" Harry prodded with a furrowed brow and sharp green eyes behind his glasses. Whenever the old wizard spoke of dangerous magics, it always warranted listening.

"You must understand, Harry, only cases of the utmost seriousness warrant forcibly retrieving information from one under oath, in most instances, the death sentence must already be given. Were we to know the exact conditions of his vow, some of the risk might have been mitigated, but unfortunately Voldemort had been expectantly thorough."

Harry studied the man before him sitting across the old desk. "For what it's worth, even if it is cruel, I'm glad he's gone."

"On that, I'm always going to have to disagree, my boy," a sombre Dumbledore offered.

They sat in silence again for a few moments before the wise wizard noticed a slight twitch in Harry's eyes. An unvoiced question hung in the air between them.

"Yes?" He prompted.

Jerking into action without prelude, Harry voiced the thought that he had been juggling since their previous discussion. "What did he do to be put in Azkaban? Does it somehow have to do with Neville? It's just, he overheard us the other night and he's not been himself since," Harry frowned. "He's been… rude would be putting it mildly."

The old man's shoulders sagged at the mention of Harry's housemate. "Mr. Longbottom's past is not too different from your own, and Barty Crouch Jr. is one of those directly responsible for his."

Harry did not know how to respond, "Is there something I can do for him?"

For the first time since Harry entered the office, the aged man allowed a smile to form on his wrinkled face "When the time comes…""

"You'll know what to do," finished Harry beneath his breath.

Neville blinked and looked up when he felt someone take a seat beside him. He didn't know whether to be surprised or not when discovered it to be Harry.

"She meant well, you know Luna," said Harry, drawing a flash of regret out of the brown eyes of his friend.

With furrowed brows, Neville's gaze returned to the ground between his feet. "Yeah, I do," he answered softly.

Harry nodded, "Want to talk about what's got you so mad?"

Neville was silent, seemingly lost in thought. Harry waited, not willing to press the issue. Several moments went by, the only sound being their breathing, and the few plants in the room which moved, thin leafy vines and which swayed by their own power.

When Neville finally acknowledged his question, he opened one of his hands which had been held closed in a fist. He handed Harry the contents, which to his confusion, was an empty gum wrapper.

"A wrapper? I don't understand."

"My Mum loves these," Neville spoke slowly. "I send her loads of 'em. She doesn't even know they're from me, but whenever I go see her, she'd hand me one of the wrappers." He shook his head with a hoarse chuckle.

Harry kept quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"My Mum and Dad are in St. Mungo's, Harry. Janus Thickey Ward."

"Janus Thickey," pondered Harry aloud, "That's—"

"Permanent spell damage," answered Neville with a single nod, cutting him off. "They've been there since I was a baby," he added with another, darker chuckle.

"They were Aurors. Fought against You-Know-Who," though he used the moniker, he spoke it without fear or care, but still giving each syllable emphasis, "A few days after he was reported as having vanished, a couple of Death Eaters came to our home. My Gran says they were looking for information, trying to find their master. 'For some damn reason they thought my parents would know."

He gave Harry an amused brief glance. "Imagine that. Professing the dark lord can't be beat and then coming to ask aurors where he'd been spirited off to. Fucking hypocrites, that lot."

There was no venom in his words, only regret. Regret for what Harry couldn't decipher.

"My Gran found me in a closet, where my parents had hidden me. They—" He choked up, his jaw clenching "—tortured them. Cruciatus Curse, until their minds snapped."

"They don't recognise me, Harry," he eyed the boy again. "Don't misunderstand what I'm about to say. I'm glad they're alive but sometimes, just sometimes, I think it may have been better if they'd been…"

Neville's neck grew raw and he withdrew back into himself, lowering his head onto his crossed arms over his pulled knees.

Harry was stunned. Was this what Dumbledore meant when he said their pasts were similar? He couldn't imagine what it must feel like… Over the years, he'd dreamed about his parents, the nights he'd lay awake in the cupboard under the stairs, imagining what his life would have been like had they been alive. There was even a time when he'd cursed them, hated them for dying and leaving him at the Dursleys.

But to have them, and at the same time, not truly have them….

Harry looked at Neville in a new light. Over their years at Hogwarts, the shy boy had been teased on many occasions, for being timid, almost cowardly. Some have questioned how he'd even ended up in Gryffindor. But Harry understood now, Neville was the strongest of them all.

For all the horrors the Dursleys put him through, they had at least recognized him. Called him names. Treated him with ill thought. But he was Harry, the misbegotten nephew.

In some twisted way, he felt more fortunate than the friend by his side who'd for each and every time have to say who he was, only to be forgotten again.

While Neville fought to compose himself, Harry placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, lost for words to comfort his friend. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Neville merely muttered.

He gave the boy some time to let the emotions settle again before broaching a new subject. "One of the Death Eaters," enquired Harry, "I take it, it was Barty Crouch Junior?"

"And the Lestrange's," spat Neville without missing a beat. "The sick bastard must have been laughing on the inside whenever he spoke to me in class."

He continued to let his feelings show on his face, before his shoulders sagged, like a kite whose strings were cut. "I—I shouldn't have taken it out on all of you."

Harry visibly relaxed at Neville's calming down, relieved even. "You know, you can come to us. I can't promise we'll be of any help, but I'm willing to listen at least."

Neville looked at Harry, who continued. "Don't bottle it up, Fleur and Hermione drilled that one into me pretty thoroughly," he added with a fond smirk.

"Thanks, Harry."

Harry squeezed his shoulder, "It's alright. We're a tough crowd. Do go and see Luna, though. She picks up on emotions like nobody else."

Neville looked down at his feet before eying Harry again with guilt.

"I will," he said firmly.

The three young women sat alone in their favoured little courtyard, with the sun overheard staving off the chilly air. Hermione couldn't help but glance up from her book at Luna every few moments with concern. She tried to be discreet, not wanting to seem intrusive.

Fleur sighed at the motions. Hermione was unnecessarily worried, Luna was far more resilient than her girlfriend gave her credit for. Fleur was sure the real reason she was upset at Neville's outburst wasn't that she was yelled at, but rather out of worry for him. Besides, she was certain that the quirky girl trusted Harry to help Neville, and that would further help to put her at ease.

Slipping a hand beneath their library table, Fleur took a hold of Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze. With her attention now focused on her, Fleur leaned in to whisper in Hermione's ear, soft enough that the blonde across from them barely noticed the interaction, too engrossed in her book.

"Relax, my heart."

Hermione shifted and glanced back and forth between her girlfriend and Luna, before her shoulders slumped as she let out a breath. She gave Fleur a small smile and scooted closer to lean against her. Fleur placed a soft kiss in Hermione's soft curls, before letting go of her hand to fish out one of the many bars of Honeydukes chocolate she'd stockpiled from her bag. Unwrapping it, she held out the open end to Hermione, who thanked her and broke a piece.

"Luna," Fleur called out, making the younger blonde peak over the latest issue of the Quibbler, a pair of silly looking glasses resting on her nose with swirling colourful lenses. It really was a ridiculous sight, but they'd gotten used to Luna's eccentricities. It was honestly endearing after a while.

"Hm?" hummed the younger girl with a tilt of her head.

"Chocolat?" offered Fleur, holding out the pink and green wrapped slab of confectionary heaven to Luna.

Luna eyed it for a moment before opting to tease Fleur. She reached for it and snapped a piece. Fleur prepared to accept the chocolate back, stared aghast as Luna placed the small piece she'd broken off in her hand and kept the bulk of the chocolate for herself.

Fleur's mouth opened and closed as her brain began to wrap around what had just occurred. Hermione on the other hand was suppressing laughter as she shook against Fleur's side. Luna's actions really helped to relieve her from her worry.

The beautiful blonde at her side held the tiny piece of chocolate left in her hand as she looked at Luna with betrayal in her eyes. Luna, nonplussed, began eating the rest of the bar while tucked away behind her magazine.

After a while, Fleur's glares shifted from Luna to the book she was reading. The characters in the trashy romance offended her with their idiotic decisions. The lead heroine, Cassandra honestly thought it was a clever idea to try and make the protagonist jealous, which as dumb as that was by itself, she was now stuck in a marriage contract with his biggest rival. Fleur's outrage was mere moments away from setting the pages alight. She needed to get her mind off of it before she burnt up Marie's book. It wouldn't do to anger one of the few other students from her school with whom she had a genuinely amicable relationship.

Fleur felt a nudge on her shoulder. Turning, she found Hermione's piece of chocolate at her lips, opening her mouth, she let her girlfriend feed her. She savoured it and thanked Hermione with a quick kiss, the taste lingering on their lips. Hermione let out a wanting sigh, before breaking away and resting her head on Fleur's shoulder. The Veela, meanwhile, returned to glaring at the magazine cover across from them.

"Oh, the time," piped up Luna with a hint of surprise in her voice. "I have potions now," was all she said before in a flurry, she began to pack.

"Bye Luna," smiled Hermione, waving goodbye, as the Ravenclaw made her way out of the courtyard. The way Luna's light and graceful movements almost made it seem as though she fluttered towards the stone arched entrance back into the castle gave Fleur an idea

"Chérie?" Fleur spoke softly.

"Hm?"

"Do you zhink 'Arry would mind if I rode 'is broom?"

Hermione froze as her cheeks turned a burning red. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly as her brain processed Fleur's question.

"Uhm…"

"I think Harry would like it very much if you rode his broom," came the loud, but matter-of-factly delivered statement from the younger blonde, who was half out of the area already.

Fleur blinked, Luna's comment, and Hermione's stammering blush all the explanation she needed to realise her unintended innuendo. She laughed beautifully as her own cheeks coloured.

"Non, non, while I am sure 'Arry and I would enjoy zat very much, I meant 'is ozher broom."

Hermione giggled at the misunderstanding. "While I am sure he wouldn't really mind, that broom does mean a lot to him. It would be best to ask. I'm sure he mentioned it before, but it was a gift. It's the reason he keeps it in his dorm room instead of down at the pitch with the rest of the brooms."

Fleur sighed, "Another time zhen."

"Would you be able to handle his broom though? It is very fast after all," asked Hermione, tilting her head up glance at the beautiful blonde who's shoulder she rested on.

The deadpan stare which met her eyes was the only answer given.

"Alright, of course," laughed Hermione. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"Oui, and for zat, when I ask 'Arry. You are coming up wizh me."

Hermione's face turned a deathly white. "Wh-at?"

"Oui." Fleur wrapped a hand around Hermione's back and pulled her closer. She tilted her girlfriends head up, her lips nearing her frozen expression.

"You *kiss* Are *kiss* Coming *kiss* Up *kiss* With *kiss* Me."

"I hate flying!" Hermione protested.

Fleur shook her head, "Non, you can do it, I know you are not afraid of 'eights, you've no issues on ze bridge, or on zat tall tower. I zhink with a bit of practice, you will be able to ride a broom without fear."

While Hermione appeared troubled at the thought of going in the air. Fleur continued, "We can start low, and 'Arry will be with us, you know we'd never let you fall."

Hermione didn't answer for several moments, after which she furrowed her brow. "If I say I want to go down, we land immediately," she said with conviction.

Fleur understood that Hermione was serious, and despite her fears, was giving it a chance. She nodded, "We land immediately."

Harry finished packing his things away in his storage cabinet, before donning his Healer's apron. As the door clicked shut, he paused as he stared at its dark wood. With a deep breath, he pushed the talk with Neville from his mind, he was in the Hospital Wing now, and it was not the place for drifting thoughts.

"Perfect, you're here," he heard Madam Pomfrey's voice from the direction of her office. The Matron walked out, "We've a tiring lesson ahead, you'll be wanting to sleep early tonight," she gestured towards the simulacrums bed, the curtains still closed around it.

Harry nodded seriously and followed after her. Recognising that she was fully in her teaching role, he waited patiently for her instruction,

"We'll be working on your control," said Madam Pomfrey, flicking her wand at the prone simulacrum, a flash of light, deep yellow with an eerie glow, struck the motionless faux-body. A ghastly discolouration began to form on its skin, as the effect became known. It was a curse, corrosive and slowly spreading from the centre of its chest.

Though he understood that control was the subject of the day's lesson. Identifying and deciding on the correct course of action to stop the spread of the curse was a test in and of itself.

Harry's mind raced as he tried to process as many pieces of information as possible. He first added up what he had seen of the casting, followed by what he could see on the body.

Yellow in colour

Short wand movement

Cast silently, but quickly, incantation must be equally as short.

Takes root quickly.

Discolouration on the skin, uneven in shape, blueish black at the edges, pitch black in the centre with traces of blood on the skin, blood is black, but no puss. Decay, but no rotting.

A conventional withering curse has an effect closer to rapid emaciation. No, this caused corruption.

'Good,' Harry thought. He knew how to fix this. With a real person, a full recovery would need potion treatment, but stopping the spread and healing the bulk of the damage, or at least the lethal portion of it could be done with a wand.

Under Madam Pomfrey's silent, but watchful eye. Harry began by placing his wand over the centre of corrosion.

"Contrarium Exolesco."

There were no flashes to indicate his spell, but upon closer inspection, one could see a distortion in the light between his wand and the flesh beneath it, like the air above a hot surface.

Harry focused on the festering corruption as he directed the spell. Contrarium Exolesco was a counter-curse that worked on a variety of flesh based dark curses. It was a relatively safe choice which covered a lot of bases, and in this instance was the best first choice. Especially in a case where the exact curse was unknown.

After a few seconds, the effects of Harry's spell could be seen. The edges of the spread had stopped, and very slowly was being reversed.

It was then that Madam Pomfrey acted. She had said the lesson was to work on his control, and it was time for her to show him exactly how they were going to do that.

The Matron pointed her wand at the same spot as Harry's. The effect was instantaneous, the curses spread and picked up speed, breaking free of Harry's counter-curse. The young healer in training looked up at his teacher in surprise, her expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts. Quickly, Harry pulled himself together and recast his spell, this time he felt it immediately, a fierce resistance to his efforts.

He willed more power, trying to reel the curse under control. But every time he managed to gain progress, Madam Pomfrey either weakened or strengthened it. Sometimes she would weaken it to the point that he overpowered his counter, and nearly caused damage to the simulacrum. Other times she strengthened it to the point that he had to grit his teeth at the effort needed.

It was like a game of tug-of-war with someone who was toying with you. While Harry was certainly a powerful young wizard. He lacked the finesse and control of Madam Pomfrey, who in turn, was exceptionally skilled. It wasn't the amount of power that was needed which began to tire him, it was the focus needed to constantly adjust his spell.

The pair continued for nearly twenty minutes before Harry slipped, overpowering his spell and fully losing control.

Madam Pomfrey reset the simulacrum, restoring it to its original state. She allowed Harry a chance to catch his breath, floating a glass of water over to him. Which he drank greedily.

"Five minutes and then we continue."

Harry held in a groan, he was still planning to practise tonight, and there was no skipping out on it.

Madam Pomfrey watched her student. While in most cases, a word of advice would be warranted, in this case it would be useless. Teaching control was not something that could be done verbally. It was intuitive. So, instead of wasting her time, she was going to push him as hard as she could. He could handle it. He was her student after all. It wasn't even solely to further his healer studies that she was doing this. The third task was looming, and while he could learn many things on his own, she decided that this was the best way for her to help him outside of teaching him to put himself back together.

"While we rest, I've been meaning to ask," voiced Madam Pomfrey, breaking the silence.

Harry raised his head and opened his resting eyes. "Yes, Ma'am?"

She gestured towards his cabinet. "You've been reading an interesting selection of books regarding curses. Any thoughts regarding Miss Greengrass' case?"

The question caught him off guard, even if he knew that his teacher was aware of his desire to cure Astoria, they'd spoken of it before.

"Uhm, it's—" He frowned, "Difficult. Her curse, it's confusing."

He grit his teeth. "It's a paradox. How can it be so deadly, yet overall, so easy to suppress? It's hereditary, but seemingly recessive. I mean, it affected her grandmother, but not her parents, nor her sister. Why? What is it that allowed them to escape it, or rather, what is it about Astoria that caused it to manifest in her. I mean, the curse has to have latched onto the Greengrass family as a whole, it's the only way it could skip generations."

Harry paused and took a deep breath. "It's so… inconsistent. Its behaviour is closer to a genetic defect than a curse, really."

"And yet, it is a curse," commented Madam Pomfrey knowingly. "Good observation on your part though," she continued, before turning her eyes towards the large window, the orange glow of a setting sun bleeding through the thick glass. "Whoever or whatever cursed that family was gifted with genius. Its ability to seemingly at random skip members, is a part of what makes it so malicious."

"How so?" queried Harry, curiously.

"It gives them hope, while at the same time leaving them in constant fear. Will my baby suffer? Will she live a long life, will it show itself later? You see, it's a sword that constantly hangs over the heads of every member of that family."

Harry's eyes widened, "Every moment of weakness, every time your child fell would send you into a panic."

His teacher nodded. "And remember, it could be years before the first manifestation occurs."

The thought that somebody could do this, condemn generations to this filled Harry with a burning rage.

Before they could continue their conversation, the door to the hospital wing was pushed open. An older student who Harry recognized as one of the Hufflepuff prefects, led two first years, one who rushed in while dragging the other in with a panicked urgency. The one being dragged, Harry noticed was crying, her hand wrapped in robes and held against her chest.

Both Harry and Madam Pomfrey moved quickly, the latter flicked her wand behind, closing the curtain on the simulacrum. Harry reached the pair first, having been closer to the entrance than his teacher, who was not far behind him.

Crouching, Harry ensured to keep a calm demeanour, mainly to help ease the girls' panic, as he began to unwrap the girl's hand. He noticed that they were blood-soaked after peeling away some of the layers of cloth.

"What happened?" asked Harry calmly as he gently inspected the injury. It was a deep gash and bled profusely. With his wand, Harry pointed it at the girl's wrist. The Hufflepuff prefect stiffened, and was about to intervene, but was prevented by Madam Pomfrey.

The girl struggled to answer in between her tears and the pain, leaving her worried friend to speak instead, "We were outside in fields, some of the Durmstrang boys were messing about, they started arguing and one of them sent a spell at the other. It missed him and hit Sarah."

Harry was outraged, and if the change in his teacher's breathing meant what he thought, she was equally as incensed. But losing their temper now, would be of no use to the girl with the bleeding hand.

"Professor McGonagall is dealing with them, their Headmaster has also been informed," added the Hufflepuff prefect.

Though he listened, Harry didn't pause in his treatment. While she'd spoken, Harry had whispered the incantation for a numbing charm. He needed to clear the blood away from the wound to get a clearer view of the damage but doing so would be very painful without preparation.

With the charm in place, Harry pinched the girl's wrist. "Can you feel that?"

She shook her head, her cheeks still wet, but thankfully no longer crying.

"Brilliant," replied Harry, before guiding her to sit on one of the beds as he got to work on mending her hand. He didn't even realise that he'd not deferred to his teacher. Though some might consider it rude, Madam Pomfrey on the hand merely watched on.

With a bit of conjured water, Harry cleared the blood away from the cut. He inspected it and found the spell had reached her bone. He glanced up at the face of his patient, surprised by how well she'd managed to fight the pain. She'd wept, yes, but she'd still managed to reach the hospital wing on her own two feet.

"You're very strong," said Harry without averting his gaze from the injured hand.

Sarah looked at him. Though he didn't raise his head, he could feel her eyes boring into him. "Wounds like these are very painful," he continued, without missing a beat. "I can vouch for that."

Dragging his wand slowly across the wound, he watched closely as the cut sealed. He concentrated and felt his magic working all the way to the bone, knitting it together. The girl inspected her wound in awe. She was a muggleborn, and despite witnessing a fair share of magic already, she thankfully had never previously been privy to magical healing.

Once the cut was fully sealed, Harry summoned a cloth to wipe the blood away. He could use a cleaning charm, but he personally never liked the feel of them.

"I'm going to remove the numbing charm," said Harry, now facing his patient. "It's going to feel as if your hand was asleep, I want you to open and close it a few times once the feeling sets in alright?"

His patient nodded seriously, to his satisfaction.

"Perfect," he acknowledged, and tapped his wand against her wrist, lifting the charm. Sarah scrunched her brow at the annoying sensation, but followed his instructions to the T, opening and closing her hand as if it was the most important task in the world.

While she did so, Harry quickly retrieved a pre-measured vial of a blood replenisher, along with a bottle of Skele-Gro from a nearby cabinet. He'd yet to realize that everyone was still quiet, watching him.

"One teaspoon is enough," voiced Madam Pomfrey for the first time.

Harry almost seemed to snap out of a trance. He flushed and met his teachers' eyes, but with a bit of willpower, tampered down on his sudden bout of nervousness and embarrassment.

With his composure fully restored, he nodded and once more, under the watchful eyes of his teacher, grabbed a teaspoon, which he carefully poured some of the terrible tasting concoction into. He probably should warn Sarah that Skele-Gro tasted horrific, but he found the idea of keeping it to himself rather amusing.

"Bottom's up," instructed the young healer-in-training, as he handed over the vial, "It's for the blood loss, and this—" He held up the spoon. "Is to strengthen the bone in your hand, bones mended with a charm tend to be weak without it."

Sarah accepted the vial with her newly restored hand, and nearly fumbled but saved it at the last second, she raised it to her lips and downed it without hesitation. Other than a slight frown which marred her features, she soldiered on, and held out her hand for the teaspoon. Harry handed it over, noticing that she was more careful this time.

He had to hold in his amusement when her face contorted at the horrible flavour. Skele-Gro was truly a foul-tasting potion.

"Urrrgh," she groaned aloud, and half gagged, "That was—Urggh."

"I know," chuckled Harry, "I once had to drink an entire glass of it."

With the problem resolved, Sarah and her friend departed. The bloody robe which, turned out to belong to the prefect, was handed over to Maisy for cleaning. The prefect, who Harry had absentmindedly neglected to learn the name of, had also left, but not before giving Harry a very thoughtful look.

"You handled that splendidly," said Madam Pomfrey as the door to the hospital ward shut.

Regardless of the praise, Harry immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, I should have asked first."

"That's right, you should have. Now, I understand that as a healer, such reactions to injuries are normal. You often find yourself moving by reflex, the fact that your immediate response was to assist is a matter to praise. Had I thought you were out of your depth, I'd have intervened."

"But," continued his teacher before he could respond. "While I personally am proud, your actions in the eyes of another would be seen as disrespectful of me, and were I to let it slide completely, my own teacher would certainly return to haunt me. That is why we will be adding an extra hour to your lessons for tonight."

Harry paled, though it was not really a punishment, he was still going to be exhausted… "Uh… Yes, Ma'am."

As they resumed his exercise in control, Harry in his focused state was unaware of the small smile on his teacher's face as she peered across the simulacrum at her student. Her thoughts in the past, to a time when she herself had done something remarkably similar. Her teacher had praised her, before making her spend the rest of the evening cataloguing inventory until she wanted to scream out of sheer boredom.

"Again," instructed Madam Pomfrey, the second he had lost control of his counter-curse.

Harry suppressed a groan. It was going to be a long night.

END CHAPTER SEVENTEEN