Chapter 14: Autumn 1992

Harry should have known that the day would be an odd one when the barrier to the platform sealed itself shut. Fortunately, his father had been able to Apparate him and John onto Platform 9 ¾ before the train departed, but the event seemed to set a tone for the beginning of his Fourth Year at Hogwarts.

"So, who are you collecting this year?" Grace asked, taking the seat to Harry's right as students trampled into the Great Hall before the Opening Feast began.

Harry, who had been trying to wave Marcus over, froze and frowned down at her. "Collecting?"

Grace hummed and nodded as if she had just said something entirely rational and made sense. "Last year it was Teddy and the year before it was me. So, which poor little firstie will you adopt this year?"

"Who's Teddy?" Nott asked, looking around in confusion, as if expecting someone to appear and oust him from his spot across from Harry.

Grace raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You are, dumbass."

"My name is Theodore."

"And I'm not calling you that," she said slowly like she was talking to a particularly unintelligent toddler. "Teddy is cuter."

Nott pulled a face, clearly not pleased with the rebranding. "Nobody calls me Teddy."

"No?" Grace asked. She craned her neck up at Marcus, who had just dropped onto the bench to Harry's left. "Marcus, what's the name of Harry's most recently acquired friend?"

"Teddy, isn't it?" He grunted before turning to Pucey and starting a conversation about Quidditch.

Grace flourished her hand in a 'there you have it' gesture. "Big Brother Marcus hath spoken. So mote it be."

"Grace, lay off Teddy," Harry rebuked gently, trying to hide his smile. He had to admit, Teddy did fit Nott a lot more than Theodore. It was the eyes, Harry thought, which reminded him of a baby mooncalf.

A triumphant smirk was the only response Grace managed before the new First Years filed into the room for the Sorting Ceremony. Harry waved to Ginny, who was leading the pack with an excited look in her eyes, but other than her, he really didn't have an interest in the sorting.

Naturally, Ginny was the last student to be sorted, and Harry was relieved when she finally bounded up to the rickety stool and Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat on her head. The student body didn't pay her much attention, too consumed with the impending Feast. If Harry hadn't considered her one of his dearest friends, he probably would have agreed. At least Ginny's sorting would be a quick one.

Only it wasn't. Instead of promptly declaring Ginny a Gryffindor like it had Ron, Fred, George, and presumably every Weasley to sit under it, the Sorting Hat remained silent for a minute, then two, then five. It was by far the longest sorting of the night, and the hall began to fill with confused whispers (and more than a few grumbles) as students took notice.

Six minutes. Seven minutes. Eight minutes.

This had to be the longest Hat Stall in history, a girl a little way down the Slytherin table murmured.

Her friend wasn't nearly as interested in this and demanded that the Hat hurry up so they could eat supper.

And then the ripped brim of the Hat's mouth opened, and it declared its verdict.

"Hufflepuff!"

Silence filled the hall as people tried to comprehend a Weasley going somewhere that wasn't Gryffindor. Even Ginny herself didn't quite seem to understand what had happened, and remained on the stool, even after Professor McGonagall had taken the Sorting Hat off her head.

"Woohoo! We got a Weasley!"

Harry wasn't even surprised that the cheer had come from Cedric, who was standing on his seat. His best friend cheered again and did an exaggerated wave, motioning for Ginny to join him. His other Hufflepuff friends slowly began to join in, and soon, the Hufflepuff table was roaring with excitement at their newest acquisition.

Cedric slotted a pale-faced Ginny onto the bench between him and Keith Whitmore before nodding to Harry. The message was clear—Ginny would be safe with the Hufflepuffs. Cedric would see to it personally.

That still didn't stop Harry from worrying though. He remained in a pensive silence all throughout dinner. He didn't even laugh when, after Professor Dumbledore introduced Gilderoy Lockhart as the new Defence professor, Grace grimaced and muttered, "Horse teeth," under her breath. In fact, he spoke very little for the rest of the evening. It was only when Cedric slid onto the bench next to him the following morning, did he finally get the chance to ask what was on his mind.

"How is she?"

Cedric pursed his lips and reached for the plate of toast as he considered Harry's question. "Worried," he settled on. "She was too afraid to write to her parents last night."

"You'd think she'd been chucked into Slytherin," Grace said over her cup of tea.

"At least if she had, Harry would be able to smother her," Cedric replied as he slathered an obscene amount of jam onto his toast. "But I don't actually know her that well. It will be a hard adjustment for her. And before you ask, yes, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Harry nodded and watched as a great grey owl crash-landed in front of Ginny. Even across the Great Hall, Harry could see her pale and her fingers tremble as she untied the letter from one of its legs. She skimmed through the letter's contents before tucking it into a journal and stashing it away in her school bag. She then stood and dashed out of the Great Hall.

Heart sinking, Harry rose to follow her, only to collide with Professor Snape, who had descended on the Slytherin table to deliver their course schedules. He gave Harry an unimpressed look but didn't snap at him as he would have in previous years. It was a little progress, Harry thought blandly as he dropped back into his seat.

"Mr Diggory," Professor Snape said, looking down his long nose with an air of distinct distaste. "What are you doing here?"

Cedric grinned up at their Potions master. "I'm here to wish my favourite Slytherins a 'good morning,'" he explained. "So good morning, Professor!"

Professor Snape continued to stare down at Cedric, whose smile only grew as the silence went on. When it seemed Cedric's face would split from how wide his smile was, Professor Snape finally sighed. "Good morning, Mr Diggory."

Cedric let out a whoop of excitement and leapt to his feet. "I'll see you later, Professor. I'm going to be late for Herbology." He swiped one last piece of toast from the table, planted a noisy kiss on Grace's cheek, and dashed out of the Great Hall.

"His greatest wish is to get you to smile at him," Grace informed Professor Snape, who looked as if he had just bit into a lemon.

"How very ambitious of him," Professor Snape drawled before handing Grace her schedule. He then turned to Harry and handed him his schedule. "You will notice that Madam Pomfrey has altered your schedule this year to accommodate your apprenticeship. This is an honour that has been afforded to very few and is to be taken seriously. If you are unable to keep up with your coursework, you will be removed from the apprenticeship programme and your schedule will revert to align with your peers."

It took about two seconds for Harry to understand what this meant. While he still had Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and Ancient Runes at their regular times, every other class on his schedule had been removed. In its place, Harry was to report to the Hospital Wing for Healing lessons.

"What about my OWLs, sir?" Harry asked with a frown. They were next year, but it still seemed odd that he would be allowed to miss lessons for his core classes.

"Do you find Madam Pomfrey's instructions lacking?" Professor Snape asked, raising a single eyebrow.

It was true that she had been teaching the potions necessary for the Healing Arts, but she hadn't exactly been teaching him things that would help him pass his classes. After all, whilst he might know how to diagnose and mend a broken arm, Professor Flitwick was hardly going to put it on his final exam.

Still, he knew better than to question the wisdom of his Head of House, so he nodded dutifully, collected his belongings, and headed back to his dormitory to change into his apprentice robes. He allowed himself the briefest of moments to admire his appearance in the stark white wool, the single lime green band around his cuffs signifying that he was a First-Year Apprentice, before beginning the trek up to the Hospital Wing for his first lesson of the year.

It was fortunate, Harry decided, that he had decided to study so much over the summer holidays because Madam Pomfrey cared very little about spells to turn hedgehogs into pincushions or the theory behind hex deflection. She didn't even mention anything related to History of Magic, and he was keenly aware that unless he did significant self-study in History of Magic, he would undoubtedly fail any exam he sat for the subject.

But despite these challenges, Harry wouldn't have traded the apprenticeship for anything. It was hard to articulate why he loved the long hours spent practising his wound mending charms or brewing poison antidotes, and he wasn't sure why learning how to fix self-transfigurations gone wrong or badly botched hexes was so satisfying. There was just something so right about donning his apprentice robes every morning and showing up in the Hospital Wing for a day of chaotic learning.

Before he knew it, September had passed and the Quidditch season began in earnest, eating up even more of Harry's limited free time. He was always the last of his friends to leave Slytherin's Study, staying up far into the night to make up homework (which he still had to do) or research tricky problems he had encountered in the Hospital Wing. As it turned out, the Study was an excellent resource for this latter problem… if you could read ancient Greek. And not just the typical type of ancient Greek—these books were written in a completely different dialect than what Uncle Remus had taught him. So, on top of all that he had to do, he spent more of his precious free time learning a new language.

From what Harry could gather, Salazar Slytherin had had a particular interest in the Healing Arts, because the vast majority of his books pertained to them. This was both excellent and annoying, because whilst some of the thick tomes held the answer to his problems, others, having been written thousands of years ago, were hideously out of date. The trick was figuring out which was which, and the distinction wasn't necessarily obvious. For instance, according to a baffled Madam Pomfrey, no healer worth their wand believed in bloodletting. She said this, of course, as she slapped several dozen leaches on a Fifth Year Ravenclaw with a contagious blood infection.

With such a hectic and demanding schedule, Harry wasn't surprised to find that he had very little time to spend with his friends. Indeed, it seemed like he only ever got to see his friends at meals. Or, more specifically, he only saw Teddy at meals. He also saw Marcus at Quidditch practice, but that was hardly the time or place to socialise. Cedric and Grace benefited from access to the Study, but his other friends, not so much. That was why he asked Cedric in mid-October if he should invite Marcus and Teddy to join them in the Study.

"I'm surprised you haven't already," he replied as he reached forward to nudge Grace awake. She sat up with a jolt and nearly upended her goblet of pumpkin juice, which Harry steadied with a flick of his wand.

Harry drummed his fingers on the table in thought. "I don't want it to…"

"Not be our thing?" Cedric guessed. When Harry shrugged sheepishly, Cedric smiled. "It will always be our thing, Harry. It can be their thing with you, too. As long as they don't go spreading it around, I really don't mind."

"That does present sort of a problem, though," Grace said in a surprisingly clear voice for someone who had just fallen woken up. "It's easy enough letting the two of us in, but two other people seems a bit of a hassle."

"Three," Teddy said, sitting down next to Grace and grabbing the half-empty pitcher of pumpkin juice. He spun it around as he surveyed the reflections in the crystal with a thoughtful expression. "What are you planning on showing us anyway? Some sort of hidden room, I gather, but it's too dark for me to see much."

"Bloody Seers," Grace grumbled, going back to her breakfast.

"I ruin Christmas gifts too," Teddy quipped. "So, what are you showing us?"

"Who is the third person?" Cedric asked curiously, glancing between him and Harry.

That mystery was solved not twenty minutes later when Harry was leaving the Great Hall. A Fifth Year Ravenclaw prefect descended on him and pulled him aside, a harried look in her eyes. Harry thought she might have been called Canavan.

"I know you only collect Slytherins, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to make an exception," she said in a rush, pushing her dark curls out of her face.

Harry, who had never spoken to the girl before in his life, thought this was a rather rude way to start a conversation. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She seemed annoyed that he had no idea what was going on. "We've got a wee'un this year, doesn't fit in, the poor lamb. She needs someone to help her. Would you be willing to take her?"

"What?"

The girl huffed, looking like she thought he was being deliberately dense. "Your group, Potter. You collect the misfits. I've got one I think who could use you."

Was that how other people saw him? "You mean my friends?"

She waved her hand like this crucial detail was unimportant. "You've got a way with the wee'uns, Potter," she said. "Like John Potter—"

"That would be my brother," Harry snapped, his annoyance rising.

"He doesn't shut up about you. And neither does his little friends. All the wee'uns know about you because of him."

"Yes, well, he is quite famous." Harry wasn't entirely sure how his brother connected to all of this, but he didn't appreciate this stranger throwing his name around, hoping that just because she reminded him of his connection to the Boy Who Lived, Harry would drop everything to adopt a lonely First Year.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," she said, her temper rising as well. "They want to impress you. Just being seen talking to this girl would help her."

Harry highly doubted this statement, but he really didn't have time to argue. A quick check of his watch told him that he'd have to take several secret passageways if he wanted to make it to the Hospital Wing on time. He rubbed his forehead in exhaustion, which was impressive considering breakfast had only just ended. "Fine, I'll talk to her."

The prefect seemed to take this to mean 'right now'. She grabbed Harry's arm again and dragged him down the Ravenclaw table to where a skinny blonde girl was sitting by herself. The closest student was several seats away, and he watched the girl as she hummed quietly and used a spoon to spread marmite on a banana.

"Luna," the prefect said, bending down next to the waif-like blonde. "This is— "

"You're Harry Potter," Luna interrupted, surveying him with her silvery eyes.

"I know I am," he said, inching forward, surveying her in return. She was painfully thin, and her robes seemed to hang off her. Her hair was limp and dull, and her face had a smudge of dirt on it. Harry drew his wand and magicked the spot away, resisting the urge to cast additional diagnostic spells on the girl, who he suspected was malnourished.

"Ginny told me about you. She says you have pretty eyes. Is that why you wear glasses?"

Harry hummed and took the seat beside her, trying not to gag at the smell that emanated from her. "I'm afraid my vision isn't very good. Why else would I wear them?"

"So the oculidens don't steal your eyes, of course," she explained in a voice that was somehow dreamy and matter-of-fact. "They are blind and have to steal eyes so they can see, you see. The prettier the eyes, the better they can see. They like to hide in dark caves, but I suppose a dungeon would do in a pinch."

Unable to resist, he cast a cleaning charm on the girl's hair, improving the greasiness, but doing little to help dullness. Definitely malnourished, Harry thought. "Then why don't you have to wear glasses?"

She gave him a serene smile. "They're afraid of heights. I'm quite safe living in Ravenclaw tower."

Harry nodded as if he thought this was a perfectly rational observation. "What is your first class today, Luna?"

"Charms," she said after a moment of consideration.

Harry rose. She was not going to Charms if he had anything to say about it. He stuck out his hand and pulled her to her feet before waving his wand and collecting her school bag, which he slung over his shoulder. "Why don't you hang out with me this morning," he said, pulling on her hand firmly. He phrased his words as if they were a request, but they very much were not. Luna seemed to pick up on this.

"Are we going to the Hospital Wing?" she asked in that same dreamy voice. Her protuberant eyes stared up at him with an expression that he couldn't quite decipher.

"We are," he confirmed. And doing a full medical evaluation if they had the time. By the looks of it, Luna hadn't had one in quite a while.

Genius Fratris

His friends had mixed reactions to the revelation that Luna would be joining their group. Cedric grinned—apparently, he didn't live too far from the Lovegood family—while Grace merely shrugged.

"Looks like Teddy does know a thing or two," she drawled, going back to her Transfiguration essay.

It was Teddy, however, who looked upset about the prospect. "She smells funny," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Cedric fixed the Second Year with a stern look. "She can't help it."

"She can't help that she doesn't know how to take a bath?"

"Theodore," Cedric said softly. "Has it occurred to you that nobody has ever taught her how?"

It appeared that the thought very much hadn't occurred to him. "How does someone not know how to clean themselves?"

"We aren't born with this knowledge—our parents teach us these things. And not everyone has the best parents," Harry said. He didn't think that Mr Lovegood was a bad man, of course. From what he gathered during his conversations with Luna, he was a loving and doting father. Who just so happened to be a bit barmy, especially after the death of his wife. Considering Luna's poor state, Harry was almost afraid to see the man's appearance.

Cedric nodded. "We need to be compassionate and patient while she learns."

And so Luna began to orbit their group. Harry wasn't sure if she considered them friends, but it wasn't uncommon for her to wander up to them in the Great Hall or join them in the library. She didn't talk much, preferring to keep her own counsel, and mainly hummed to herself when she sat with them. Cedric seemed more or less accustomed to her unique brand of oddness and treated Luna like he would any other person he encountered—mainly with an outpouring of exuberance and kindness. Teddy, on the other hand, took Cedric's admonishment to heart and set out to teach her how to be a fully functioning member of society. Grace just seemed relieved to have another girl in the friend group and spent hours braiding Luna's hair.

This new change was a pleasant one, especially because Harry was reconsidering his friendship with Marcus.

"You're putting Malfoy on the team?" Harry asked, bursting into Marcus's room approximately twenty minutes after the results from Quidditch try-outs were posted on the common room notice board.

"Do you knock?" Marcus grunted, not even bothering to look up from the essay he was writing.

Harry huffed and knocked on the door before turning to glare at his Quidditch captain. "Malfoy? Seriously?"

"He's good," Marcus pointed out, albeit reluctantly. "And we needed to replace a lot of players this year."

This was true, Harry acknowledged grudgingly. Churchill hadn't been the only Seventh Year on the team last year. Two beaters and a chaser weren't easy to replace.

"Fiona Bradshaw outflew him," Harry pointed out. "And she has the benefit of not being an insufferable prick."

"Fiona Bradshaw's father didn't offer to buy the team Nimbus 2001s," he explained.

Harry felt his eyebrows shoot up. "You were bribed?"

"If you want to look at it like that, yeah," Marcus replied. "I believe it was phrased as a 'generously well-timed gift,' though."

"Well, I'm not using it."

"You're refusing to use a vastly superior broom simply because you don't like the gifter?" Marcus drawled, raising a sardonic brow. "How noble of you."

"My Comet isn't that bad," Harry grumbled.

"It's no Nimbus 2001," Marcus pointed out. He sighed. "I can't make you use it, Harry. But consider it, please? It wouldn't look good for you if you were the only player not to use it."

"Why should I care what Lucius Malfoy thinks?"

"He holds a lot of sway in the Ministry," Marcus explained. "He could make your life difficult in the future."

"Well, fortunately, I don't plan to work for the Ministry," Harry sniffed.

"And your father?"

"He's an independent researcher," Harry explained.

"Who receives grants from the British Ministry."

"And the French Ministry. And the German. And the Ethiopian."

Marcus closed his eyes and sighed again. "Just consider it, won't you?"

No, he really wouldn't. He could get by just fine on his own, thank you very much. Not that he would say so to Marcus's face, of course. He had to be a pragmatic Slytherin.

To keep from saying something he'd regret, he decided it was time to change the topic. "Are you busy right now?"

Finally deciding that he wasn't going to get any more work done, Marcus tossed down his quill at last and turned to give Harry his full attention. "Apparently not."

He waved his wand and collected Marcus's belongings into his school bag, which slowly drifted towards Harry. "Good, I want to show you something."

Marcus caught his bag from the air and rose with a sigh. "This better be good."

"Depends if you can keep a secret," Harry replied before moving to the fireplace in Marcus's room. Stooping down, he whispered the command for the secret passageway to open before stepping aside and motioning for Marcus to step through.

Dumbstruck and fascinated, Marcus ducked through the hole in the back of the fireplace without another word. When Harry stepped through after him, he found Marcus looking around the Study in awe. "What is this place?"

"Our super-secret clubhouse," Grace drawled from a nearby chair.

Marcus jumped, finally registering that other people were already in the room.

"I'll bring Luna sometime this weekend," Harry said, stepping around the still stunned Marcus and curling up on a leather chesterfield. "If I can find her."

"She's a hard one to locate," Cedric agreed from a table. "It would be a lot easier if we had a working Map."

"Too bad our fearless leader gave it away," Grace drawled.

"What was I supposed to do?" Harry asked, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders before joining Cedric. He peered over the complex notes his father had given him, trying to decipher them. Although Harry had never been bad at Transfiguration, it wasn't his forte like it was Cedric's.

"They're making a Map of Hogwarts," Teddy explained to a confused Marcus. He had already made himself at home behind Slytherin's desk and was rifling through the desk drawers, seemingly unconcerned that he was messing with extremely valuable historical artefacts. "Harry lost the old one."

"Snape confiscated it," Harry corrected. "And to answer your question, Marcus, this is Slytherin's Study."

"Slytherin, as in the founder of Slytherin House?" Marcus in a faint voice, craning his neck around.

Grace hummed in confirmation. "It's also a secret."

Marcus nodded and began to prowl around the room. "How did you find it?"

"Medusa found it for us, actually," Cedric explained.

"Who is—"

Before Marcus could finish his question, the snake in question slithered into view. She coiled around Harry's leg, complaining loudly about the lack of heat in the castle until Harry picked her up and draped her around his neck. Marcus took one look at Medusa, let out a high-pitched scream, and jumped onto the nearest table, swearing profusely.

"That's a snake!" he pointed out needlessly.

Harry nodded slowly, stroking the soft scales on Medusa's head. "She won't bite."

"Marcus," Grace drawled, a slow smile tugging at her lips. "Are you afraid of snakes?"

"Oh, be nice, Gracie-grace," Cedric said. "Though I suppose it is a bit ironic for a Slytherin."

"She's quite nice," Harry reassured his Captain, trying not to smile at the sight of a six-and-a-half-foot man cowering in fear from a tiny snake. Who just so happened to be venomous and nearing five feet in length (which, admittedly, was twice the length she should be). But other than that, she really was lovely.

"Can you control it?"

"I mean, she's my friend. I don't really tell her what to do."

"It can understand you?"

"I've taught her some English," Harry said slowly, shooting a nervous look at Cedric.

"Oh, for goodness's sake," Grace grumbled. "Marcus, Teddy, Harry is a Parselmouth."

There was a pregnant pause.

"That makes so much sense," Teddy said after a moment. "I was wondering why you hissed so much in my visions!"

"It's also how he gets us in here. If you have a problem with Harry, I'm afraid this will be the only time you'll be joining us." Cedric said this in his customary jovial voice, but Harry could hear a hard edge to his friend's words. "So, what will it be?"

Teddy hummed in consideration before reaching for the giant crystal ball perched on Slytherin's desk and peered into for several moments. "I don't see you becoming a Dark Lord anytime soon," he said after a moment of thought. "I think we're safe for now."

"Your confidence flatters me," Harry said, at last, choking over his words. He turned to face Marcus, who was regarding him with a thoughtful look. "Et tu, Marce?"

Marcus didn't reply for a long time, but he slowly got off the table, only flinching when Medusa raised her head to watch his approach. He grabbed a chair and dragged it next to Cedric, keeping an eye on Medusa the entire time. "Tell me about this map."

Genius Fratris

"I've got an order of fudge for Teddy, several boxes of Bertie Botts for John, and a new quill for Luna," Harry listed off, tossing the gifts to their intended recipient.

"And jelly slugs for me," Grace reminded him.

Harry sighed and extracted said jelly slugs. "I don't know why I had to buy you some. You came to Hogsmeade with us today."

"For the same reason Marcus and Cedric bought me some—"

"Because you're an insufferable freeloader?"

"Because you all love me," she corrected, reaching into the bag and pulling out a red slug, which she promptly bit into, a feral grin on her lips.

"Do I?" Harry pondered before turning his back on Grace. "Have any of you seen Ginny? I got her Exploding Bon-Bons." She hadn't asked for them, but they were her favourite sweet.

"She's been quite lonely lately," Luna said bluntly, not quite answering the question.

Guilt squirmed in his stomach. Harry had been so busy this year that he'd barely seen Ginny, let alone manage to talk with her. He hoped that the sweets were a sufficient offering so that he could plead for forgiveness about being such a rubbish friend.

"I meant today," Harry elaborated. When they shook their heads, he bid them farewell and went to find Cedric, who was holding court at the Hufflepuff table.

Cedric shrugged. "She's been withdrawn lately," he explained in a voice low enough that his friends couldn't overhear. "I don't think she's been fitting in well with her year mates."

This only served to make Harry feel more guilty. Checking his watch and noticing that he had a few minutes before the Halloween feast started, Harry left the Great Hall searching for Ginny. He found her wandering morosely on the first floor, her hair a vivid scarlet in the darkening corridor.

"I've been looking for you," he said in a soft voice.

Ginny froze and looked up at him with a blank expression. "Why?"

Harry smiled and pulled the Exploding Bon-Bons out of his bag and presented it to her. "I got you a present."

She stared at them for a moment before looking back up at him. "Why?" she repeated.

He managed to keep the smile on his face, but it was a near thing. "I've been rubbish to you lately," he admitted sheepishly. "I've been so busy with my apprenticeship that I've neglected you." When she continued to stare up at him, he felt his stomach squirm. "How has your first year been? Are you enjoying your classes?"

She shrugged. "They're fine."

"And you classmates? How have they been? Are they treating you well?"

Another shrug. "They're fine."

Harry let out a slow breath. This was going to be more challenging than he thought. "Ginny, I'm sorry for treating you so poorly. It was wrong of me to not make time for you. But I promise I will in the future. I've missed you."

"You don't even like me. I'm just some stupid little girl who follows you around and—"

His heart plummeted to his feet. Reaching out, Harry guided her to sit on a nearby stone bench before dropping to his knees before her. He wrapped her tiny, ice-cold hands in his and looked her straight into her brown eyes, which were devoid of their usual spark of warmth. "Ginny, I swear to you that I love you very much, and I never think you are a burden. I think you are the smartest, bravest, kindest, funniest, most genuine person I know, so I would appreciate it if you stop being so mean to yourself."

Ginny continued to scowl, avoiding eye contact.

At a total loss, Harry rose to sit beside Ginny on the bench. "What's wrong, Ginny?" He wasn't sure what had Ginny in such a foul mood, but he was beginning to think that he wasn't the cause of it—or at least he wasn't the root of the issue. He was sure that his thoughtlessness played some contributing factor, but he began to wonder if there was a bigger problem.

What was it that Luna had said? That Ginny had been lonely lately? Perhaps she wasn't fitting in with her peers. It would make sense. Especially since she had more or less lost her support system when she had been sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor.

Harry's heart went out to her. He knew what that was like. "How can I help you?" he asked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

There was a split second where Harry thought she might have squeezed his hand back. But then she wrenched it away and stood up, the box of Exploding Bon-Bons falling to the ground. "Leave me alone," she snapped. She didn't even look at him as she stomped away.

If Harry thought his evening couldn't get even worse, a petrified Mrs Norris hanging next to a threatening message on the wall certainly proved him wrong.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware," Grace read aloud, frowning. "What does that mean?"

It took every ounce of self-control not to hex Draco Malfoy when he gleefully proclaimed, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

Grace curled in on herself at this pronouncement and huddled closer to Harry. As Malfoy had just so eloquently exhibited, it was no secret that there were blood purists in Slytherin. If there were Muggle-borns in Slytherin, they were wise enough not to broadcast the fact, and Grace was no different. Other than Harry and Cedric, nobody knew that Grace wasn't the consummate pure-blood princess she pretended to be. Still, she'd be foolish not to be scared by the literal threat written on the wall.

Reaching down, he twisted his fingers through hers. He led her away, weaving through the crowd of morbidly fascinated onlookers, down several flights of stairs, until they reached the Slytherin common room. Nobody was in the common room when they entered, so nobody witnessed Harry leading Grace up into his private chambers. He was sure it would have been the talk of the House otherwise. It probably wasn't the wisest decision either, as far as his Head of House was concerned. Professor Snape would surely consider this an abuse of his private accommodations. Still, Harry wasn't about to let her out of his sight—at least not that night.

He transfigured a cot for her to sleep in and sighed when he turned around to find that she had already stolen his bed. Too exhausted to argue, Harry flicked his wand, turned off the lights, and then crawled into the fully clothed cot. They didn't talk, which was fine because Harry wasn't sure if he was capable. Instead, he cuddled a softly hissing Medusa and stroked her scales as he drifted off to sleep.

Genius Fratris

The first Quidditch match of the season was unseasonably warm and unbearably muggy. He was honestly surprised that there were any spectators in the stand. Not even taking his Comet to the sky brought any relief to the oppressively humid air. Marcus would later snark that he would have been far more comfortable if he could fly faster, like the rest of the team on their Nimbuses. Still, not even the threat of heatstroke was enough to accept an expensive broomstick from Draco Malfoy. Not all of the team approved of Harry's decision to ride his own broom. Still, they all agreed that Harry's subtle 'Fuck You' was better than Harry outwardly hexing the poncy Second Year.

That being said, it would look really bad if Harry didn't catch the snitch on his outdated broomstick, so there was a lot of pressure on his shoulders as he took to the sky. He drowned out any and all stimuli that wasn't a flash of gold, and he circled the pitch with the obsessive ferocity of a Niffler let loose in Gringotts. It was only after he had caught the snitch that he learned that John had been stalked and attacked by a rogue bludger.

Harry landed next to grey-faced John with an apology on his lips and knelt down to see the damage. It was a testament to how bad the pain was that John didn't even complain about Harry's coddling. He pulled back John's sleeve to reveal the mangled remains of his right arm, prompting gasps from the other players, who had congregated around the commotion.

"Adrian, why don't you go fetch me my wand," Harry called out after hearing Pucey become violently sick at the sight of John's arm.

Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, hovered over them. "How bad is it?"

"I don't think I can fix this," Harry admitted. He wouldn't know for sure, of course, until he could cast some diagnostic charms, but Harry was reasonably confident that this was above his level of expertise. "This needs a qualified Healer."

"You fixed his arm over the summer," one of the Weasley twins pointed out.

Harry nodded grimly. "That was a simple break. This is…" he trailed off, at a loss for words.

One of the Gryffindor chasers dropped to her knees and began to rub John's back. "You know, magic really is amazing," she said. "If you were a Muggle, we'd have to cut off your arm."

"It's not that serious," Harry explained to a panicked John.

Wood let out a sigh of relief.

"But you're going to be in the Hospital Wing overnight at the very least," he continued. This was confirmed when Pucey appeared moments later, eyes screwed shut as he lobbed Harry's wand in his general direction. Harry took no time casting various charms, hissing in annoyance at what he saw.

"Is it bad?" the girl asked, looking at the gold array that hovered over John's arm. She leaned in to get a closer look, and Harry caught a whiff of her sweet-smelling perfume.

He blinked and cleared his throat, finding that his brain had gone strangely blank. "The bone is shattered," he explained, pointing out the relevant ruins that wove through the diagnostic charm. "Pieces have embedded themselves in his muscle. A mending charm won't be enough to fix this—not without further damage to the muscles. The bones will need to be vanished completely and regrown."

"Huh," she said, her brow furrowed. "You can tell all of that with a spell?"

Not knowing what else to say, Harry simply nodded.

The girl looked up at him and grinned. "Magic is so cool."

Clearing his throat, Harry bowed his head and focused on John, hoping that his face didn't look as red as it felt. "I'm going to put you to sleep," he said. "I don't have a pain reliever, and you don't want to be awake for what I need to do." When John nodded, Harry cast a Hypnos charm and went to work stabilising the remains of John's arm.

It was only when Harry was levitating his brother into a conjured stretcher that he realised that he had missed some sort of drama. Across the pitch, Professors McGonagall and Snape were sprinting towards them, whilst Marcus and Wood looked like they were about to trade blows with the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry didn't have Professor Lockhart's class, but he had heard enough horror stories about his incompetence to know that it was very fortunate the two Quidditch captains had intercepted the man.

"Now, see here, boys," Lockhart exclaimed, brandishing his wand as he tried to step around Marcus's considerable frame. "It's nothing to worry about. I've done this thousands of times before. It's just a simple spell, of course. I learned it when I was in Greece, you see, from a priestess at the Asklepion!"

"I have no clue what you're babbling about," Wood snapped, reaching forward to grab Lockhart's wrist and force his wand down. "But you're about to put someone's eye out."

"I assure you, Mr Wood, that I am a talented Healer—"

Harry rolled his eyes and levitated the stretcher off the pitch before Lockhart could catch him. To his surprise, the Gryffindor chaser tagged along.

"I'm Katie Bell, by the way," she said as they made their way up to the castle.

Harry nodded in greeting, any hope of responding dying in his throat when he glanced over at the pretty girl. His silence didn't seem to bother her, and she chattered away as they made walked across the Hogwarts grounds. In fact, if his brother hadn't been lying unconscious between them, Harry might have even found the experience enjoyable.

Less enjoyable was Madam Pomfrey's rants about the dangers of Quidditch and her attempts to kick them out of the Hospital Wing. Bell went without a fight, but Harry argued that he should be allowed to watch, citing the injury as a learning experience. After all, Harry had never seen bones vanished before, and it was unlikely he would in the near future.

"Never treat your family members if you can help it," Madam Pomfrey cautioned as Harry absorbed the incantation she used. He watched with fascination as John's arm deflated and became oddly rubbery as the bones disappeared. "The more dire the situation, the harder it becomes to think rationally. You must always keep a level head when you're Healing."

"I fixed John's arm over the summer," Harry admitted bashfully, pouring the correct dosage of Skele-Gro for Madam Pomfrey.

She magicked the potion into John's stomach and sighed. "What were you doing, practising magic over the summer holidays?"

"Healing John's arm."

Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes and sighed again. "You know, it's times like this that I remember you're your father's son."

Harry tilted his head and gave her a confused smile. After all, most people remarked on how similar he looked to his father. "Do I remind you of my mum?"

"Merlin, no," Madam Pomfrey replied, a slight chuckle slipping from her lips. "Lily was…"

"A firecracker?" Harry supplied. "That's how Uncle Sirius described her."

Madam Pomfrey offered him a smile that was equal parts sad and fond. "Lily was lively. She commanded attention where ever she went. You've got a quieter sort of charisma about you," she reached up to pat his cheek. "You remind me of Euphemia, actually."

It took a moment for Harry to register her words. "You knew my grandmother?"

"I was her apprentice, actually," Madam Pomfrey explained, putting the cap back on the bottle off Skele-Gro and banishing it back to the potion's cabinet. "The last one she took before she retired. She'd be proud to know you've inherited her talent for Healing."

Harry blushed and looked down at his feet. He didn't remember much about his paternal grandmother. From the stories he had heard, particularly from Uncle Sirius, it was a great compliment to be compared to the woman. She had died from Dragon Pox when Harry was two, but he could distinctly remember how well attended her funeral had been, especially considering it had occurred in the middle of the war.

"Where did she go to Healing school?" Harry asked.

"Beauxbatons," Madam Pomfrey replied.

The admission brought Harry up short. "She was Greek, though. Dad said she went to Durmstrang."

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "For her schooling, yes. But one doesn't go to Durmstrang for Healing. At least not if you're serious about it. No, Beauxbatons is the school you want," she said, fixing Harry with a knowing look. "That's where you'll want to apply when you graduate."

"I don't speak French," Harry said, panic growing in his chest.

"You'd best start," she all but demanded. "Don't get me wrong, St Mungo's has a wonderful healing programme, and you will no doubt excel there. But the research they publish each year at Beauxbatons is what St Mungo's can do in five."

Harry had never considered where he would go to Healing school after leaving Hogwarts. He was already doing his learning backwards. Normally, you graduated from a Healing programme before being accepted as an apprentice. "Are they the best in the world?"

Madam Pomfrey considered his question before nodding slowly. "Certainly in Europe. Mongolia and America have similarly excellent programmes. If you're really worried about learning a new language, I'd consider Ilvermorny."

This seemed like a frightfully small number of schools to monopolise Healing. Harry shuddered to think about how difficult it was to get into the programmes.

When Harry said as much, Madam Pomfrey laughed. "Believe me, Harry, they're not nearly as exclusive as the Asklepion. You'll have no problems getting into Beauxbatons or Ilvermorny."

"What's the Asklepion?" he asked. That was the second time that day he had heard the name—Lockhart had been shouting about it, of course, but he hadn't thought much about it at the time.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "It is the best school of Healing in the world," she admitted.

"That's where I'm going then," Harry declared before she could continue.

"It's incredibly exclusive," she explained patiently.

"I speak Greek," Harry said. "Both ancient and modern. It wouldn't be difficult—"

"They won't take you, Harry," she said before he could finish. She gave him a stern look, as if she were hoping to put an end to his dream. Still, there was an undercurrent of pity, like she hated to be the one to do it.

"Do you have to be Greek?" Harry asked, refusing to drop the subject.

"Oh no," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "You have to prove… well that you are a Parselmouth."

Harry blinked in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Why?"

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "The Asklepion was founded by Asclepius," she explained. "He was the father of Western Healing and a famous Parselmouth. He only taught fellow Parselmouths, and it is the Asklepion's tradition to only admit the same."

Harry's heart was pounding so hard in his throat he was surprised he managed to speak. Feeling numb and light-headed, he heard himself ask, "Do they only speak Parseltongue? Or Greek too?"

It took a moment for Madam Pomfrey to follow his train of thought. "Parseltongue, I would imagine," she said slowly. "They take students from around the world if they meet the qualifications."

"But it is the best school for Healing?"

"By Western standards, yes. It's said that Parseltongue enhances healing spells," she reluctantly explained. "But as you have seen, we can conduct ourselves just fine in English, so I wouldn't feel like you will be missing out on learning. Beauxbatons is still a prestigious school."

"I want to go to the Asklepion," Harry stated firmly. His mind was made up. He would go there, and nothing would dissuade him.

Madam Pomfrey looked both exasperated and pitying at his pronouncement. Harry got the impression that this wasn't the first time she had heard an apprentice declare such a desire. "Harry, they only take Parselmouths," she reminded him.

"I am a Parselmouth," Harry admitted in a rushed whisper. The words hung in the air, and for a desperate moment, Harry wished he could take them back. He stared at his shoes, afraid to see the horror that was no doubt twisting Madam Pomfrey's face. "Please don't tell anyone. My father doesn't know."

He had told his friends out of necessity, but Harry would never have dared tell his father. As loving and patient as he was, Harry highly doubted that his father would react well to learning that Harry had such a taboo gift. The same gift, if rumours were to be believed, that Voldemort had possessed.

"When—"

"I learned First Year," he explained.

"The snake bite," she murmured, her voice sounding distant. "Oh, Harry." In the next moment, Harry found himself drawn into a hug.

When she pulled away, she took his face with gentle hands. "You're certain about this then?" she asked. "There is no coming back from this once you have declared your intentions to the Asklepion."

Heart pounding in his chest, he nodded.

She nodded. "I would tell your father as soon as you can, then," she said. "I know the Asklepion hosts a summer intensive. They generally only take fully trained Healers, but seeing as you are an apprentice, they might make an exception. I'll look into it for you."

"Thank you," he murmured.

She gave him a wan smile and patted his cheek. "It seems we both have a letter to write."

Harry nodded at the dismissal, and after checking on a still sleeping John, left the Hospital Wing. A letter to write, indeed.


"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes." A.A. Milne


A/N: Hope you liked it!