A/N: I pinched a nerve writing this, so you better like it XD

Chapter 12: Spring 1992, Part 2

Final exams approached far too quickly (as they so often did), and Harry found himself overwhelmed. Between revision, homework, and a Hospital Wing full of panicked OWL students, the headache that had plagued him for months was now his constant companion. On top of that, Madam Pomfrey decided that the fourth of June was a fantastic time to test him on everything she had taught him that year. Perhaps he wouldn't have been so irritated had he not suffered through his Astronomy exam the previous night. But as he had fallen into his bed at four in the morning, he was less than thrilled to be answering questions such as Compare and contrast Blood Replenishing Potion dosages for females and males and Explain how to treat a wizard whose wife has turned him into a newt.

He gave an audible sigh of relief when Madam Pomfrey summoned his parchment, which she sealed with a tap of her wand. He promptly groaned when they moved onto the practical portion of the impromptu exam, which included brewing a cauldron of Skele-Gro and reversing a Sixth Year's botched transfiguration final. He thought for sure it would be over when a panicked message from Professor Quirrell arrived, but she ushered him up to the third floor and instructed him to help the ill student within the Defence classroom.

Harry pushed the heavy oak door open with a shaking hand, his eyes scanning the class of assembled students as he searched for the patient. It wasn't difficult to spot him, as he was standing in the centre of the room, attempting to struggle out of Professor Quirrell's grasp. With a jolt, he realised it was Theodore Nott.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed down any sort of fondness he had for the introverted First Year and conjured a set of privacy screens to block the view of the nosy Slytherins, setting up a silencing spell for good measure. He then approached Nott and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Theodore, I understand you aren't feeling well," he began, conjuring a chair for Nott to sit upon. "May I be of assistance?"

Nott flinched at his touch, his wild, dilated eyes focusing on Harry. "Not you," Nott gasped.

Harry nodded in understanding, unoffended. Many students baulked when he offered to heal him, which made perfect sense considering he was thirteen. "Madam Pomfrey is here," he explained in the same calm voice. "Would you prefer to see her instead?"

But Nott shook his head and pushed Harry away with a surprising amount of strength for such a scrawny child. "You need to go," he said, his breath coming in panicked gasps. "Please, not now."

Harry glanced back at Madam Pomfrey, who seemed just as confused as he was. "I don't understand, Theodore," Harry said, casting a series of diagnostic charms around the boy. "Do you not want me to heal you?"

Nott's respiration rate was understandably high, but it was his heart rate that particularly concerned him. Whilst Nott was distressed, and on the verge of hyperventilation, a panic attack was an unlikely diagnosis for someone whose heart was beating 250 beats a minute. Harry was surprised that Nott was still conscious.

Nott shuddered but didn't reply, nor did he fight Harry when he helped him sit down.

"Theodore," Harry began again, hoping to keep the boy talking. It was always easier to learn information from conscious patients. "When did you begin to feel poorly?" Harry hadn't noticed anything at lunch, but then again, he had been too busy studying for his upcoming Rune final.

Nott shook his head and wrapped his arms around his waist but didn't otherwise reply. Harry wondered idly if the boy was about to vomit. He conjured a basin to be on the safe side.

"I don't think we'll be able to do anything for him here," Harry murmured to Madam Pomfrey. "We'll be of more use in the Hospital Wing."

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head in agreement. "Stabilise him and prepare him for transit," she instructed.

Harry nodded and conjured a stretcher, which he guided Nott onto. He waved his wand again, and a golden matrix formed around Nott, which served the dual purpose of monitoring Nott's vital signs and ensuring the boy didn't roll off the stretcher. He banished the conjured screens and stool and levitated the stretcher, all the while keeping up a steady stream of comforting words to Nott, who had begun to moan.

"I need to go," he said as a mighty shudder wracked his body. "Please, let me go."

"We're going to the Hospital Wing," Harry replied. "We'll get you sorted there."

"No!" Nott shouted, sitting up on the stretcher, only to sway dangerously. "It's not safe. I need to go."

Harry exchanged a worried look with Madam Pomfrey. They weren't sure what they had stumbled across, but it was becoming increasingly evident that this was not a simple case of test anxiety. "I assure you, you will be quite safe with us."

"I need to go," Nott repeated, trying and failing to get off the stretcher. "I need to… I need..." And then, much to Harry's alarm, Nott's eyes rolled back in his head, only he didn't faint. Instead, he reached out, impossibly fast, and grabbed onto Harry's wrist, his nails digging in so deep they drew blood. And then came the voice that somehow sounded like ten Notts were speaking at once, yet simultaneously sounded as if he were possessed by a demon.

"The hour approaches when he will rise… The silenced and the forgotten, healer and harmer… The shadowed one consumed with flames… But from the fire, he shall be reborn… The hour approaches when he will rise."

Nott promptly fainted, his hand growing limp and falling away from Harry's bleeding wrist.

A prophecy. An honest to Merlin, motherfucking prophecy, given to him from Theodore Nott.

Morgana's tits.

It was Madam Pomfrey who pulled Harry out of his stunned reverie. "We need to get him to the Hospital Wing," she reminded him in her usual firm, no-nonsense voice.

Harry nodded, dazed but pushed the floating stretcher towards the door. He listened with half an ear to Madam Pomfrey as they walked, who instructed him to gather Nott's patient information whilst she informed Professor Dumbledore what had transpired. "I will teach you how to heal him," she continued. "This won't be the last time you'll have to deal with this."

They arrived at the Hospital Wing, with Madam Pomfrey bustling off to her office to contact the headmaster and Harry transferring Nott into a bed. Nott was already starting to stir when Harry returned with his file, and he rushed to help the boy sit up.

"Was this your first prophecy?" Harry asked quietly, already guessing the answer.

His suspicions were confirmed when Nott shook his head, avoiding eye contact in favour of watching his fidgeting hands.

"When do you recall the first one?"

"I was seven," he admitted after a long silence.

Harry kept his face carefully blank as he recorded the answer into Nott's file. "How often do they happen?"

Nott shrugged. "A few times a month?" he estimated. "I make sure to hide when they come."

"And you've never sought out a Healer after," Harry guessed, judging by the lack of entries in Nott's file. When Nott confirmed this, Harry pursed his lips. "Why?"

Nott grew silent once more, his fingers worrying the crisp white bed linens. "I don't want them to take me away."

It took Harry a moment to realise that Nott wasn't referring to Healers. "The Department of Mysteries?"

At this, Nott let out a sob and wrapped his arms around his waist. Harry watched the pathetic attempt at self-soothing before setting down his quill and parchment, and apparently, any sense of boundaries. Harry drew him into a hug, tucking Nott's head under his chin.

"Nobody is going to hurt you," Harry murmured, carding his fingers through Nott's hair.

Nott shook his head and pulled away, his fists scrubbing at his eyes. "Draco said that the Ministry steals Seers like they do Metamorphmagi and forces them to work for them," he said through gasping, panicked sobs.

Harry frowned. It was true that Metamorphmagi had a fast track in the Auror Academy, but he had never heard of them being conscripted. At least not in this century. And as for Seers… "The Ministry keeps track of Seers," he agreed, laying a gentle hand on Nott's shoulder. "But they don't snatch them away from their homes. They record the prophecies."

Nott looked like he didn't quite believe him, which was to be expected. After living in terror for so long, it must be rather difficult to drop your guard. "The main issue," Harry continued, "is the fact you haven't seen a Healer about this."

"I don't need help," Nott snapped, drawing further into himself. "I'm fine."

Harry hummed. "Prophecies can be rather taxing on the body," he said, carefully choosing his words. "I'm sure you feel exhausted for days after you utter a prophecy." Harry took Nott's silence as confirmation. "Your heart beats faster than it would if you sprinted to the top of the grand staircase, and your body channels an obscene amount of magic. It isn't uncommon for Seers to experience blindness, either temporary or permanent."

He watched Nott flinch at this and sighed. "I don't say this to scare you," he explained. "But I want to stress how important it is for you to be seen by someone after this happens."

"My house-elf knows," Nott admitted after a moment of silence.

"That's good," Harry said, although he didn't really agree with it. Healers and house-elves practised very different magic. He almost launched into a lecture about the dangers of hiding vital information from Healers, but he could see that it wouldn't have any effect on Nott. The boy was already scared to seek help, and berating him would only ensure that he wouldn't seek help in the future. Instead, Harry reconsidered his words, rephrasing them in a way that seemed more helpful. "In the future, make sure that every Healer that tends to you knows that you are a Seer. Additionally, make sure you never take Dreamless Sleep Potion—if you were to have a vision while under its influence, there is no way to wake you up."

Nott nodded but didn't say anything. Unwilling to upset him further, Harry continued the screening before calling Madam Pomfrey to inspect the patient. She slipped behind the privacy screens and began casting advanced diagnostic charms that monitored Nott's heart health, brain functions, and eye pressure. She spoke in the same soothing voice she always used when Harry was having one of his silent episodes, explaining the role of the spells and how to perform them. Nott was in surprisingly fair health for someone who had been giving unmonitored prophecies for over four years.

After proclaiming him in working order, Nott all but flew off the hospital bed and ducked around the privacy screens. He didn't get very far, however. Professor Snape swooped out of seemingly nowhere and grabbed Nott by the shoulder, freezing him in place. Harry knew from experience how painful that hold was, and another wave of sympathy rolled through him.

"Professor Dumbledore has requested your presence," Professor Snape intoned in a bland voice.

Nott blanched. "What for?"

Professor Snape gave him a bored look. "You already know."

Seeing the panic beginning to overcome Nott's face, Harry stepped forward and rested his hand on Nott's free shoulder. "It will be an Unspeakable," he explained. "They'll just want to speak with you and record the prophecy. It won't hurt."

"Which one?" Nott asked, his voice painfully small.

"There is more than one?" Professor Snape asked, the carefully arranged mask slipping into something that almost resembled surprise.

Nott bit his lip but ignored Professor Snape. "Will you come with me?" Nott asked Harry.

Harry looked to Madam Pomfrey, who nodded. "Of course," he replied, placing his hand between Nott's shoulder blades and guiding him away from Professor Snape's grasp.

He led the First Year back up to the third floor and through the twisting corridors, only pausing for Professor Snape to give the password to the stone gargoyle that concealed the headmaster's office. If Professor Dumbledore looked surprised to see Harry accompanying Nott, he didn't say anything. Instead, he waved his wand and conjured a plush armchair for Harry to occupy.

"Mr Nott," Professor Dumbledore greeted easily. He lifted his hand and swept it out to his side. "This is Unspeakable Pythia, from the Department of Mysteries."

Harry followed the Headmaster's gesture and nearly jumped at the sight of the willowy stranger, draped in billowing navy robes that concealed the shape of their body. A thick veil was draped over their head, obscuring their face and adding to the mysterious aura around them. When they spoke, their voice was flat and devoid of any identifying features, to the point Harry wasn't sure what gender the Unspeakable even was.

"I have come to record the prophecy you gave," they intoned.

Nott shivered and shrunk in on himself but didn't recoil when the Unspeakable knelt down before him.

They extracted their wand with a gloved hand and held it to Nott's temple. Nott flinched at the contact, his hand shooting out to grab hold of Harry's, holding on so tightly that the bones shifted.

Harry grimaced at the pain but didn't say anything. He instead averted his gaze, affording Nott what little privacy he could during such a vulnerable moment.

For many moments, nothing seemed to happen. Then the Unspeakable pulled their wand away, drawing out a silvery thread from Nott's temple, which they deposited in a glass orb they pulled from their pocket.

"There are more," the Unspeakable said in the same dull, lifeless tone.

Harry squeezed Nott's hand.

"Yes," Nott admitted.

The Unspeakable rose to their feet, pocketing the glass orb. "You will need to come with me."

This proved to be the wrong thing to say. Nott wrenched his hand from Harry's and leapt out of his seat, backing away with wild eyes. "No." He turned to bolt, only to find his path blocked by Professor Snape.

"Sit down, Mr Nott," Professor Snape said, unimpressed with the terrified boy's behaviour.

Nott responded by kicking him in the shin and diving for the door.

Professor Snape grunted in pain but managed to catch Nott by the arm, lifting him off his feet. He carried the screaming, flailing Nott back to his abandoned chair, depositing him none too gently, and cast a sticking charm for good measure. "That's enough," he growled.

Harry rose to his feet too and glared at his Head of House. "You're scaring him," he snapped. He nudged Professor Snape out of the way and crouched down before Nott, who had begun to hyperventilate. "Put your head between your knees," he instructed, rubbing Nott's back when he complied. "Breath with me, Theodore."

It was several tense minutes before Nott's hiccups subsided, and he was able to sit back up. He kept his eyes focused down in his lap, avoiding everyone's gaze.

Harry cast a privacy charm around them before beginning to speak. "Do you know how I had to bring you to the Hospital Wing earlier?" When Nott nodded, he continued. "I did it because I couldn't help you in the Defence Classroom. I didn't have any of the tools or resources I needed to learn what was making you ill or how to treat you." He reached forward and took Nott's hands, which had twisted together so tightly the knuckles were white. "That's all the Unspeakable is doing. They're just shite at explaining themselves."

A wet laugh bubbled out Nott, whose shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

Taking it as a good sign, Harry lifted Nott's chin up so he could look him in the eye. "I swear to you, that is all that is going to happen," he murmured. "They just need to extract the prophecies, and then they will bring you back."

Nott bit his lip, looking very much like he didn't believe him. But at last, he nodded.

Harry smiled and chucked his chin before sitting back and cancelling the privacy charms. He then rose to his feet and retook his chair, offering the adults in the room a shy smile. The Unspeakable remained taciturn and motionless, giving Harry no clue what they thought about the situation. Snape rolled his eyes but didn't otherwise react. It was Professor Dumbledore, however, that had the oddest reaction.

The Headmaster surveyed him with a piercing stare, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being x-rayed. His face was a stony mask that somehow didn't give away the Headmaster's emotions yet still gave off the distinct impression that he wasn't impressed with what he witnessed.

Discomforted, Harry bowed his head and stared at his hands, which rested in his lap.

It was rather late when Harry was finally dismissed, his growling stomach informing him that he had missed dinner. Professor Snape instructed him back to his room, though not before telling him that he would send a house-elf along with food. Harry trudged back to the Slytherin common room alone, his mind miles away in London, where Nott had no doubt already arrived.

Harry was ambushed the moment he entered, and he waved off curious peers and nosy gossips alike. He escaped up to his chambers, unsurprised to find Grace lounging in the wingback chair by the fireplace.

"Is it true?" she asked in lieu of a greeting.

Harry didn't reply, crossing to the fire and hissing the password to the Study. Grace followed him through the flames and launched herself onto a nearby couch. Harry hissed again, and the fireplace opened once more, this time into the Hufflepuff common room, where Cedric was already waiting for him. Cedric dove through before anyone noticed what had happened.

"Is it true your Slytherin pet is a Seer?"

"His name is Theodore Nott," Harry reminded him, collapsing down onto a couch with a weary sigh. "And you know I can't discuss patient details with you."

"So, that's a yes, then," Grace translated.

Cedric whistled and dropped down beside him.

"Dumbledore's gone with him to the Ministry," Harry said. "I don't know when they'll be back, but I'd like to greet him when he does."

Cedric nodded and sprang to his feet, dashing over to a table where the Marauder's Map lay open. Ever since finding (and subsequently stealing) the Map last year, the three friends had been attempting to improve it. It was slow going, however, and not because they didn't understand what they were doing. No, it was entirely the result of Uncle Remus' magic embedded into the Map, which seemed to take great offence to any attempts to change it. So far, they had been called 'yellow-bellied sapsuckers', 'blithering sapheads', and had an impressive amount of ink spat into their faces.

"We can watch for him together," Cedric declared.

"That could take all night," Harry pointed out.

Grace pulled a large bag of jelly slugs from her robes. "Good thing I have snacks. For myself," she added. "I'm not sharing."

And so they settled in for the evening, Harry briefly leaving only to accept the tray of food from the house-elf and grab his Ancient Runes textbooks. They periodically checked on the Map between studying for final exams, with Cedric calling out things of interest and narrating what he thought might be happening.

"Cho Chang is out late," he said, checking his watch. "Looks like she's leaving the library. What do you reckon she fell asleep studying?"

"Percy Weasley is prowling around the prefects' bath. It's a bit late for a soak, don't you think? I bet he's meeting someone."

"Who'd want to meet up with a tosser like him?" Grace asked.

"Penelope Clearwater, by the looks of it."

Grace pantomimed vomiting.

"Your brother is out of bed," Cedric said sometime around midnight.

Harry looked up from his notes and blinked owlishly. "Come again?"

Cedric didn't reply right away and watched the Map intently. "He's leaving the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione."

Harry reached for the Map, all but ripping it out of Cedric's hands. He watched as his brother traipsed his way down the Grand Staircase, wondering if they were heading towards the Hospital Wing. Had one of them fallen ill?

But no, they stopped on the third floor, and Harry watched with growing horror as they made a beeline for the third-floor corridor that was forbidden for students to enter. Harry didn't think it could get any worse, but naturally, John and co. had to disappear off the Map entirely.

Harry leapt to his feet and dove for the fireplace, his eyes glued to the spot where John's dot had vanished. "Open."

"Where are you going?" Cedric asked, scrambling after him.

"To find my idiot brother," Harry said. At least he hoped he would. His stomach hurt as he tried not to think of the alternative reason his brother could have disappeared.

Harry stepped out into someone's chambers, Cedric and Grace close behind. They didn't stick around long enough to figure out who it belonged to. They were just happy to note that it was empty and on the third floor. They sprinted through the dark corridors, unwilling to light their wands, lest they draw someone's attention.

No alarms went off as they slipped into the forbidden corridor, which was already unlocked. In fact, it was eerily still as they crept down the dark corridor, save for the soft taps of their shoes against the stone floors and their ragging breathing. Harry glanced at the Map as they approached John's last known location, which stood behind an innocuous door.

Grace pulled out her wand and pointed it at the lock. "Alohomora." There was a soft click! and the door swung inwards.

They inched forwards, wands aloft, and peaked their heads around the door. And screamed. They pulled back just in time as a massive three-headed dog dove for them, ramming its snarling, snapping heads at the door.

"Lock it!" Grace screeched.

"No!" Harry snapped. "John's in there."

"Fine, any other ideas, Harry?"

"Why me?"

"He's your brother!" Cedric reminded him.

"And you take Care of Magical Creatures," Grace added, her voice growing shriller by the second.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry snapped back. "I must have missed the lesson where we covered murderous three-headed dogs."

"I think it's a cerberus," Cedric said. "My dad saw them when he visited Greece a few years ago for work."

"I don't really care what it's called, Ced," Harry replied.

"Wait, that's a cerberus?" Grace asked. "They exist?"

"I think the fact that one just tried to eat us proves that they do," Harry said. "Why does it matter?"

"Seriously?" Grace asked. "You don't know this?"

"No, but any time you feel like sharing, we'd greatly appreciate it," Cedric said, yelping when the monster body slammed the door.

"Hold on a moment," she said, grinning. "I just want to savour the fact that I know something you two don't."

A massive crack! filled the corridor, and splinters rained down on their heads. The cerberus was going to tear down the door any moment. They were running out of time.

"We really don't have time for this!" Harry snapped.

"It's a cerberus! From Greek Mythology? Heracles is famous for defeating one," she explained.

"Fantastic!" Cedric jumped and crashed into Harry when the cerberus gave another pound against the door. "How'd he do it?"

Doubt flashed across Grace's face. "He grabbed it by its three necks and dragged it out of the Underworld."

There was a vicious snarl from the other side of the door before the cerberus rammed the door again. Another crack filled the corridor, and a foot-long fracture appeared on the wood. It wouldn't hold for much longer. Grace whimpered and skittered further away from the door.

"Do you have anything that might be more useful?" Cedric said, his voice cracking with panic. "No pressure, Dearest, but we really don't—"

"Orpheus!" She cried. "He played his lyre for Cerberus and put him to sleep!"

"Oh right," Harry said. "I forgot about my pocket lyre. Good thing I carry one of those around."

"Cerberus' weakness is music, you idiot!" Grace snapped.

And then Grace did something neither boy was expecting: she started to sing.

"I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love

And it's bubbling for you!

Say Incendio, but that spell's not hot

As my special witch's brew!"

Harry wasn't sure if he was more surprised that the song was working, the fact that Grace knew anything by Celestina Warbeck, or that Grace was actually a terrific singer. Within seconds, the pounding ceased. Harry waved for Grace to continue before poking his head into the chamber.

"I don't believe it," he gasped. "It's asleep!"

They crept into the room, Grace continuing to serenade the slumbering beast, and looked around. Harry was simultaneously relieved and concerned when he didn't see his brother anywhere in the room.

Cedric nudged him and pointed at a hole in the ground. It appeared to once have been covered by the trap door, laying in splinters across the room. "You reckon they went down there?"

Harry shrugged and leaned over the hole, which was so deep that his wandlight couldn't reach the bottom.

"Grace," Cedric said after a moment of silence. "I think you should stay here."

"What?" she said.

"Keeping singing!" the boys yelped when the cerberus began to stir.

Grace reluctantly continued her song and glared at Cedric.

"Think about it, Gracie," Cedric said. "Neither of us know how to sing. Especially not Harry."

"Thanks, mate."

"You need to stay here so we can get back out."

"I should come too," Grace sang, which didn't sound nearly as annoyed as she probably wanted it to. "I don't think I can sing for that long."

"If something happens to you when we're all down there, we'll all be stuck," Cedric explained.

Grace opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. "We're wasting time," he said. "He's right. Grace, stay here. We shouldn't be gone for long." He didn't give her a chance to reply as he jumped down the hole.

He landed on something surprisingly soft and squishy, and a few seconds later, Cedric did too. If Harry listened carefully, he could still faintly hear A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love above him.

Cedric swore colourfully next to him. "This is Devil's Snare."

Suddenly very glad they had left Grace behind, the boys attempted to scramble to their feet, only to find themselves entangled, tripping in the writhing vines. It was only after several terrifying seconds that they remembered how to deal with the plant, and they promptly set it on fire. Harry wasn't sure what to feel when John and his friends were still nowhere to be found.

Cedric pointed to a door across the room, which was emitting a soft buzzing sound. A quick inspection showed that the next room was empty, save for several thousand flying keys, a couple of brooms, and another locked door.

"I think we're supposed to catch the key," Cedric said.

"I'm not doing that," Harry growled. "Whoever set this up is toying with us."

"And here I thought you didn't want to go head to head with me on a broom."

"I already beat you in Quidditch," Harry reminded him before raising his wand. "Accio!"

A heavy silver key slapped into Harry's outstretched hand, which he shoved into the keyhole and opened the door with ease.

"Does this feel too easy to you?" Cedric muttered as they entered the next room.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, between the blind panic and annoyance with his brother, Harry found himself agreeing. This was too easy. So easy, in fact, three First Years could probably make it through.

They found their first First Year lying on a chessboard. Ron Weasley's brilliant hair was dark and matted as he lay surrounded by broken and whole chess pieces alike. Harry approached him, waiting for the remaining pieces to spring to life and try to kill him. They didn't, to his utmost relief, and Harry dropped to his knees and began casting diagnostic spells.

"How is he?" Cedric asked, his grey eyes scanning through the dark, smoky air.

"Not good," Harry admitted. "He's fractured his skull, and his brain is bleeding. I'll need to repair it before we can move him."

Cedric nodded. "I'll go find the other two."

But as it turned out, he didn't have to. Hermione Granger stepped through the door opposite them, her robes grimy and her face tear-stained. She let out a sob of relief at the sight of them and all but threw herself into Cedric's arms. Harry listened with half an ear as he worked to stabilise Ron, sure he missed some vital piece of information. After all, why would Hermione think that John had gone to confront Professor Snape?

"Cedric, send Hermione up to Grace," Harry instructed, cutting off Hermione's babble.

Cedric didn't question the command and grabbed Hermione by the arm. "I'll come back for you."

They left, leaving Harry with a gravely injured Ron and his own panicked thoughts. The air had taken on an oppressive atmosphere, and Harry's hands shook as he worked. Every moment he was here was one more moment his brother was off doing who knows what. But what was the other option? To let Ron die? Because he certainly would if Harry didn't stop the haemorrhage in his brain. He still might, Harry recognised. He wasn't afraid to admit he knew very little about the healing arts.

"How is he?" Cedric asked again sometime later, reappearing next to Harry.

"I think I've bought us twenty minutes," he hoped. "But he needs Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll get him there," Cedric promised. "Go find your brother."

Harry was about to argue—what if something went wrong, and he wasn't there to fix it?—but he recognised the wisdom in the plan. Cedric was considerably larger than Harry and stronger too. He'd be able to get Ron to the Hospital Wing faster than Harry could. If Cedric went after John and John was injured, Cedric wouldn't know how to help. It had to be Harry.

"Good luck," Harry said as he transferred Ron into a floating stretcher.

"I'm not the one who needs it," Cedric replied, his face grim.

There were no other words spoken between the friends as they parted ways. Cedric, to safety, and Harry, towards his brother.

Genius Fratris

Seeing Professor Quirrell standing in the final room made about as much sense as thinking Professor Snape would be there. The delirious part of Harry's brain didn't question what was happening. He was simply relieved to see his brother, alive and well, next to their Defence teacher. Well, that was until John was thrown backwards, his body hitting the opposite wall with enough force to knock him out cold.

Quirrell paid John no mind and continued to stare into an ornate gold mirror. "I still see myself with the stone," he muttered. "But how do I get it?"

Harry sneaked into the room and crept towards his brother, a diagnostic charm on his tongue.

"And what would you see, Harry Potter?"

Harry froze, his gaze darting towards Quirrell. They made eye contact through the mirror, which Harry was clearly visible in.

"No answer?" Quirrell asked. "I know you can talk. I heard you today."

Harry didn't respond and continued towards his brother.

"Come over here, Mr Potter."

Harry shook his head.

"I said come here." Something wrapped around his ankle and pulled. His wand clattered to the ground as he fell, landing next to John, and Harry found himself being dragged across the room by an invisible force. "Tell us what you see."

Terrified, Harry rose and stood before the mirror, gazing at his reflection. Only, it wasn't just his reflection. John was there, and his father too. And Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius and Cedric and Grace and Ginny and Marcus and Madam Pomfrey and Nott. And his mother. They were all there, standing around him, smiling. It was a pretty picture, Harry thought. Everyone he loved and admired surrounding him, happy. He felt loved, just looking at it.

Harry jumped and looked behind him, finding only Professor Quirrell and an unconscious John. Where were all of the people coming from?

"This is the Mirror of Erised," Quirrell explained as if they were in class and he was giving a lesson on fairies. "A magical artefact that shows the viewer the deepest, most desperate desire of their hearts."

"And what do you see?" Harry asked quietly.

"He speaks!" Quirrell mocked. "We were beginning to think your brain was scrambled after my master tried to kill you."

"Kill John," Harry corrected.

"Foolish boy," Quirrell said in a high, cruel voice that didn't sound like Quirrell at all. "I know who I tried to kill." He reached up and began to remove his ridiculous turban, dropping the meters of fabric to the ground, which pooled at his feet like a snake. Then Quirrell turned around so that the back of his exposed head faced Harry.

It took everything in Harry not to cower at the sight of the face growing out the back of Quirrell's head. It was lumpy and ill-formed as if it had been carved out of wax, and the chalk-white skin stretched taught across the jutting, gaunt bones. There was no nose, but snake-like slitted nostrils, which flared grotesquely as the face breathed. But it was the eyes that were the worst, and not because they were a glaring red. It was because he recognised them, even after ten years.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was facing Lord Voldemort.

"I have watched you all year, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, voice grating like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Such raw power. We do not have to be enemies."

A memory of acid green light flashed behind his eyes. "You should have considered that before you murdered my mother."

"You could be great, you know. I can help you achieve that greatness. I can give you anything you could possibly dream of."

Harry frowned. He never wanted to be great or powerful. The mirror proved that much. He wanted to be happy and safe and loved, surrounded by his friends and family. He turned to face Voldemort. "I want my mother back, you son-of-a-bitch."

And then he punched Voldemort in the face. The face collapsed beneath his fist, and a burning radiated through Harry's wrist. For a moment, he was afraid he had broken his hand. But then he noticed the large welts appearing not just on his skin, but Voldemort's too. Somehow, Harry had managed to burn Voldemort and himself in the process.

"Seize him!" Voldemort cried.

Quirrell lunged towards him, arms outstretched, groping the air blindly for Harry. He danced out of the way, but with every evasion, Quirrell grew more precise. There was a sickening popping sound as Voldemort dislocated Quirrell's shoulders, taking full possession of his body. The fact that his hands were inverted made little difference to Voldemort, who lunged at Harry, grabbing him by the throat. He slammed Harry to the ground, pinning him against the stone floor and began to strangle him.

If he had been able to make a sound, Harry would have screamed in agony. A fire burned in his neck, and not because of the pressure on his windpipe or the lack of air. It was as if a literal fire was spreading through his veins, consuming him and reducing him to ash. It was like the night in the Forbidden Forest, only a thousand times more excruciating.

But if the pain was terrible for him, it was somehow even worse for Quirrell. His Defence teacher screamed and attempted to pull his hands away from Harry's throat but was overpowered by Voldemort. Instead, he was forced to watch as his skin blackened and began to disintegrate.

Panic pooled in Harry's gut. Was the same happening to him? His muscles tensed as black dots began to colour his vision.

"Flipendo!" Cried a voice that was neither Harry's nor Quirrell's nor Voldemort's. It was soft and sweet, the bell-like timbre of an unbroken voice.

John's Knockback Jinx caught Quirrell, sending his body soaring across the room. It crashed into the Mirror of Erised, shattering it into a million pieces. He did not rise again.

A moment later, John's pale, sweaty face appeared above Harry's. Blood trickled from a gash on his hairline, and his pupils were different sizes, but otherwise, John looked unharmed.

Harry accepted his wand from his brother and struggled to sit up, the world spinning dangerously as he did. He tapped his wand against John's head and watched with satisfaction as the cut knitted itself back together.

"Is he dead?" John asked. His tone was surprisingly calm for the situation, which Harry attributed to shock.

A diagnostic charm showed that Quirrell was alive but likely wouldn't be for long. Harry debated the merits of trying to save him but ultimately decided against it. He had his brother to protect, after all.

"Yes," Harry croaked before launching into a coughing fit that produced blood. He ushered his brother out of the chamber, keeping his body between him and their Defence professor as they went.

They encountered Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall halfway across the room with the giant chess game, which had reset itself sometime during his fight with Voldemort. Harry watched with dull interest as the pieces leapt out of McGonagall's way. She let out a yelp of surprise at the sight of them.

"Explain yourselves!" She demanded.

Harry, who still had no clue what was really happening, pointed at his brother, who glared at him, but complied.

Professor Snape approached, taking Harry's chin in his hand and tilted his head back, exposing his neck. "What have you done?" He cast a series of diagnostic charms Harry didn't recognise, his frown growing.

An odd croaking sound was the only reply Harry was able to formulate. He settled on jabbing his thumb back in the direction he had come before pantomiming being strangled.

Professor Snape looked like he didn't believe him. "And where do the second-degree burns fit in with it?"

Harry didn't like the implication that he was lying. Again, he jabbed his finger behind him.

This also didn't seem like a satisfactory answer for Snape, whose scowl deepened.

They didn't linger for long after that. Harry and his brother were ushered to the Hospital Wing by their Heads of House whilst Professor Dumbledore continued on to clean up the mess. Before they departed, John handed Dumbledore a small red stone, which glinted innocently in the wandlight.

The next several hours were a blur for Harry. He vaguely recalled being reunited with his friends, and his father arrived sometime around sunrise, but a vast majority of the day was spent drifting in and out of sleep.

When Harry awoke for the final time, the sun was much lower, painting the sky with a portrait of pinks and golds. Someone had changed him into a set of pyjamas and removed his glasses, which sat on the table beside his bed. As he reached for them, he noticed something tight around his neck.

"Madam Pomfrey was able to heal your injuries," a deep voice said from his left.

Harry flinched and squinted at the speaker, recognising the blurry outline of Professor Snape. His professor sat on the wooden chair beside his bed with the same elegance a king might sit on a throne. Harry quickly jammed his glasses on his face and tried to sit up.

"You are fortunate to still be alive," Professor Snape said. "You had significant damage to your trachea, and the burns will fade within the week. Mr Weasley, too, is alive and on the mend."

Professor Snape watched him for several long moments, although Harry wasn't sure if it was because he was gathering his thoughts or waiting for him to reply. "Why did you not come to me last night when you knew your brother was in danger?"

"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I wasn't thinking."

"Yes, that much is obvious," Professor Snape agreed. "Nor were any of your friends. I still don't understand why you brought them with you."

"I didn't," Harry replied. "They followed me. They wanted to help."

"And how were they supposed to do that?" Professor Snape asked. "Mr Diggory is a Third Year. It was fortunate that you decided to leave Miss Cooper behind." He leaned forward and grabbed Harry's chin, and forced him to look into his eyes. "If you were to look around you, outside of your little, self-centred microcosm, you will find that there are a great deal of people who are more than willing to help you, if only you were to ask. People who are far more qualified to deal with whatever perceived catastrophe you often find yourself in. You had several other options to choose from, none of which would have landed you in a hospital bed."

Harry understood Professor Snape's words on some level. That didn't mean he had to agree with them. "There wasn't time, Professor. My brother was going to get himself killed and―"

"There was time," Professor Snape said in a firm but not unkind tone. He squeezed Harry's jaw, his cold fingertips pressing into his skin. "You simply value your life too little to consider the other options."

The observation brought Harry up short. Value his life too little? What was that supposed to mean? He opened his mouth to argue, but Professor Snape cut him off.

"There is a difference, Mr Potter, between bravery and martyrdom," Snape said. "Between cowardice and running so that you may fight another day. A Slytherin should know the distinction." He dropped Harry's chin and sat back in his chair.

"But my brother―"

"Ran off with a half-cocked plan straight into danger. Yes, we've established this. It is not your responsibility to keep your brother alive. That is the responsibility of the fully trained wizards and witches employed by Hogwarts," Professor Snape said. "But regardless of what he may or may not have done, it doesn't change the fact that you willingly put yourself in a dangerous situation. And not only that, but you endangered Ms Cooper and Mr Diggory too."

The rebuke stole the words out of Harry's chest, and he found himself studying the starched sheets stretched across his lap. He had acted recklessly, he recognised. He had known he wasn't the most qualified person to handle the situation. In his panic and his hubris, he had put his two best friends in a dangerous situation. It was nothing short of a miracle that they were all alive.

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze dropping down to his hands. "I understand, sir. What will my punishment be?"

Professor Snape was silent for a long time. When Harry snuck a peek through his fringe, he saw that Professor Snape was watching him with a calculating expression. "You'll hand in the map."

That was not the response Harry had been expecting. How did Snape even know about the map? "The Map, sir?"

"Yes, that infernal map that your foolhardy father and his merry band of delinquent friends created," Professor Snape huffed, the nostrils on his large, hooked nose flaring. "The one you used to circumvent curfew to engage in this mission."

Harry almost corrected his professor that they had used Slytherin's network of fireplaces but stopped himself at the last minute. The very last thing Harry wanted to do was admit that they had found Slytherin's Study. It was their sanctuary within the school, a safe place to study and relax. The Map was a small price to pay to keep the Study. Besides, it wasn't like Harry couldn't figure out how to make a new one. They did, after all, have access to his father's notes.

Harry nodded, trying to look penitent and desolate at the idea of relinquishing the Marauder's Map. Professor Snape either wasn't paying close enough attention or didn't think that Harry was capable of any sort of deception. He rose from his seat with a flourish.

"I expect it on my desk by the end of today," he commanded. He didn't wait for a reply before swanning off with a dramatic swish of his robes.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when the door to the Hospital Wing slammed shut behind him. He sank into the pillows and tossed his arm over his eyes. Tears pricked at his eyes, though he wasn't sure if they were from relief or embarrassment at his own stupidity. Despite his reckless behaviour, everyone was safe and alive. At least there was that.

"Harry?"

He dropped his arm and looked over at the edge of the privacy screens around his bed, where John loitering. Harry waved his brother closer and shifted in his bed to allow John to clamber up, which he did after a moment of hesitation. John laid his head on Harry's shoulder like they used to do before Harry left for Hogwarts, and John deemed himself too old for cuddles. For a long time, they lay in silence and listened to the sounds of the Hospital Wing.

"Thank you for coming for me," John said eventually.

Harry tilted his head down and placed a kiss on the crown of John's scruffy head. "What else are big brothers for?"

John cuddled in closer and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. "I'm sorry I've been such a prat to you."

"What else are little brothers for?" He laughed when John punched him in the ribs.

Things weren't perfect between them, but then again, what siblings had perfect relationships? They were together and alive, and at the end of the day, that was more than enough.

Genius Fratris

The end of term arrived faster than Harry thought was possible. He finished his final exams and received his marks, pleased to see he had passed with flying colours. Although there was one exam on his report that he didn't remember taking.

"It says I got an Outstanding in my Introductory to Healing course?" Harry asked Madam Pomfrey on the last day of term.

"Congratulations," she replied, setting Cormac McClaggin's eighteenth broken wrist of the year. "Not that I had any doubts, of course."

"But I haven't taken a Healing course," Harry pointed out. "And I didn't sit for an exam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Harry, what on earth do you think you've been doing here all year?"

"Hanging out with you?"

She patted him on the cheek. "You mentioned you wished to study healing. That's why I requested you have a block of time worked into your schedule. Which reminds me." She waved for him to follow her into her office, where she pulled a squashy parcel from her desk.

Harry accepted it and pulled away the brown paper covering it, finding a set of white wool robes lined with acid green.

"They're apprentice robes," Madam Pomfrey explained. "You passed your Apprenticeship Entrance Exam. If you are still serious about becoming a Healer, of course."

At a loss for words, Harry tossed his arms around Madam Pomfrey's neck and nodded.

She patted him on the head with a soft laugh. "Then I will see you next term. Now go on, or you'll miss the Closing Feast."

Harry nodded and left the Hospital Wing in a daze, feeling as if he were floating on air. Apprentice robes! For him!

He was still grinning and clutching his new robes to his chest when he sat down in the Great Hall and took a seat across from Grace at the Slytherin table. Marcus and Pucey joined them too, and Marcus patted him on the head with a fond smile after Harry shared his news. The Feast began shortly thereafter, and Harry dug into his meal. His good mood couldn't be dampened by the fact that Ravenclaw had won the house cup.

"Can we help you with something?" Grace drawled, shocking Harry out of his conversation with Marcus about flying together over the summer. His gaze found a pale Nott sitting in the seat beside Grace, folding his napkin neatly into his lap.

"Pass the mashed potatoes, please."

Harry complied, and they watched the younger boy as he began to fill his plate. His movements were precise and well-rehearsed, though Harry could still see Nott's fingers tremble.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked, trying not to draw attention to the flighty boy. Nott had avoided him like the plague ever since returning from the Ministry, and Harry was starting to wonder if his attempts to reach out throughout the year had been for nought.

Nott poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, feigning nonchalance. "Should there be?"

"You're not sitting with your friends," Grace noted, having recovered from her shock of being joined by the eleven-year-old interloper.

"Do I need someone's permission to sit here?"

Harry watched Nott for a moment before returning to his meal. "No," he agreed. "I suppose not." There was no more mention of Nott joining them, and Pucey wasted no time drawing him into a conversation about Quidditch.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And what a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand as thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Slytherin, with four hundred and twenty-six; Hufflepuff has four hundred and fifty-two and Ravenclaw, four hundred and seventy-two. However, recent events must be taken into account. I have a few last-minute points to dish out."

"First—to Mr Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points. Second—to Miss Hermione Granger, I award Gryffindor house fifty points for the use of cool logic in the face of fire. Third—to Mr John Potter, I award Gryffindor house sixty points for pure nerve and outstanding courage. And to Mr Neville Longbottom, for his bravery in standing up to his friends, I award Gryffindor house ten points."

"They're ahead of Ravenclaw," Grace muttered. "They just won the house cup."

But Dumbledore wasn't done. He raised his hands to quell the growing din, clearing his throat in amusement. "Next—to Miss Grace Cooper, for her beautiful rendition of Celestina Warbeck's Cauldron A Full of Hot, Strong Love, I award Slytherin house fifty points."

The annoyed expression on Grace's face morphed into one of shock, and her cheeks stained crimson.

"Mr Harry Potter, for his dedication to healing magic that saved the life of another student, I award Slytherin House sixty points."

The Great Hall went berserk. Harry looked around, wide-eyed and confused, trying not to wince when Marcus thumped him so hard on the back that his teeth rattled. Slytherin was now in the lead.

But it seemed that Professor Dumbledore, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, had a final trick up his sleeve.

"And finally, for his steadfast loyalty and his desire to see all students, regardless of age or house, stranger or friend, to safety. For acknowledging and admitting that it is okay to ask for help when you are scared and out of your depths… I award one hundred points… to Mr Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff house."

A deafening roar rose from the Hufflepuff table, and Harry briefly caught sight of a shell-shocked Cedric before he was swamped by the members of his house.

"Which means," Dumbledore called out over the storm of applause, "we need a change of decoration." He waved his wand, and the blue and bronze banners that hung from the ceiling fluttered, the colours shifting until they replaced with yellow and black. "Congratulations, Hufflepuff!"


"It's your life; you don't need someone's permission to live the life you want. Be brave to live from your heart."Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart


A/N: Sorry, not sorry about the Princess Bride references. It's my favourite movie. Also, congratulations to LoverGurrl411 for being the first to guess that Theodore was a Seer. Comment/PM what you want to name the baby Thestral!