Chapter 15: Winter 1992

Harry considered writing a letter to his father, but after an evening of agonising, he decided that telling your father that you were a Parselmouth was a conversation best left in person. Instead, he wrote a politely vague letter informing his father that there was something he would like to discuss with him over the Christmas holidays and left it at that. Was he stalling? Absolutely. But he reasoned that it was hardly a pressing matter. And after the Gryffindor Collin Creevy was found petrified, telling his father that he could talk to snakes was the last thing on his mind.

"Do you think the Heir of Slytherin did it?" Grace asked late one night after Harry had finally returned to his chamber. She was curled up in his armchair by the fireplace, a book titled Unlocking Your Inner Animal: The Animagus Transformation and You perched on her knees.

Harry pursed his lips and stiffly nodded. "Madam Pomfrey disagrees with me, of course. She says that no student in the school would be capable of such magic, but…" He waved his hands in a vague sort of gesture before helping Medusa out of his school bag and placing her near the fire.

Madam Pomfrey had set Harry to work, researching possible causes of Creevy's petrification. So far, they had been able to rule out poisons, communicable diseases, and, no matter how much Professor Lockhart insisted, dark curses. Harry was left with the monumental task of combing through the library for clues on this mystery ailment. He had even been granted unlimited access to the Restricted Section for his research. Not that he had uncovered anything substantial yet.

"A teacher then?"

Harry had a flashback to Professor Quirrell, which he promptly banished from his mind. "I'm disinclined to think so," he admitted. "Barring Lockhart, they've all had ample opportunities to attack students over the years and have so far. Even Snape has managed to restrain himself. Besides, I doubt Lockhart could, even if he wanted to."

Harry scowled as he said this last part. The man was quickly becoming a thorn in Harry's side. When Lockhart wasn't teaching lessons or harassing John about 'fame management,' he offered advice in areas he had no expertise. So far, Lockhart had given Harry a bogus lesson on how to reverse a girl's nose that had been transfigured into an elephant trunk, ruined a difficult (and very expensive) potion Harry had been brewing, and managed to reduce a First Year to tears after (incorrectly) diagnosing the boy with Vanishing Sickness. However, all of this could have been forgivable if not for the conversation Lockhart had subjected Harry to in late November.

It was lunchtime, an hour the Defence master should have been in the Great Hall, but for whatever reason, the man had decided to bother Harry as he tried to update patient files. Madam Pomfrey was on her lunch break and had left Harry in charge of the Hospital Wing for an hour. This show of trust typically brought Harry a lot of pride, but at the moment, he desperately wished his mentor was around to run interference with the pompous man.

"You know who you remind me of, Harry?" Lockhart asked, dropping a hand on Harry's shoulder and giving him a little shake. He waited a moment for Harry to reply, but when he didn't, Lockhart continued as if he had. "Myself."

Harry raised his eyebrows and gave a sarcastic nod but didn't respond. This fact didn't seem to bother Lockhart. "I, too, was an ambitious student. Sorted into Ravenclaw, you know?"

Again, Harry remained silent.

"Always reading, always studying. You and I are a lot alike, I think."

This was hardly the compliment Lockhart seemed to think it was.

"That's why, Harry, it pains me that you are skipping my lessons."

"I have been excused from all core subjects," Harry explained. "Madam Pomfrey has been teaching me what is required for Healing."

Lockhart gave him a patronising smile that showed far too many teeth. "And if it were for something as simple as Charms or Potions, I would understand. But when it comes to the Defence Against the Dark Arts, you need to learn from the experts."

Harry desperately wished that Professor Snape was present to hear Lockhart refer to Potions as 'simple'. He refrained from giving a snarky comment and gave a non-committal hum, returning to the patient file on his desk and resuming his work.

Any socially adept person would have understood that this was a dismissal. Lockhart, for all of his self-purported intelligence, was not one of those people. "I know that Poppy is an adequate Healer," Lockhart said, bulldozing on, even when the doors to the Hospital Wing opened, and an ill student stumbled in. "But Harry, that is no excuse for missing out on my lessons."

Harry's temper flared at the insult to his mentor. "Madam Pomfrey is the premier paediatric Healer of Great Britain," he snapped, tossing his quill down and raising to his feet. He gave Lockhart a reproachful glare, pleased to see the man blink stupidly in shock. "Adequate is a poor adjective to assign her."

"Now, Harry—"

Harry slammed his file shut and reached for his wand. "You presume too much of our relationship, Professor. I would prefer you address me with less familiarity. Now, if you excuse me, I have a patient to attend to."

"Oh, I can help with that," Lockhart boasted, evidently recovered from his shock. "I received training from a priestess at the Asklepion. Now, you might never have heard of it, but it happens to be the best Healing—"

"I am fully aware of what the Asklepion is, Professor Lockhart," he snapped. "Enough to know that you would never qualify for the school. Unless you are a Parselmouth, of course?"

Lockhart stumbled over his own feet, his face growing pale. "Of course not! What sort of man do you take me for?"

"A liar, evidently," he snapped in a clipped, no-nonsense way he had heard Madam Pomfrey take with unruly visitors. "Now, I suggest you remove yourself from the Hospital Wing. I have better things to do than entertain your vanity."

Lockhart flushed to the roots of his golden blond hair. "Now see here, Mr Potter!"

Unable to contain his disgust, Harry sneered, spun on his heel, and strode towards his patient. The Sixth Year Ravenclaw had already collapsed into one of the beds, his face white as the sheets he laid on.

A soft hiss paused his dramatic retreat. Glancing around, Harry was surprised to find Medusa beneath the boy's bed, her head raised in interest, tongue flicking through the air.

"Do not taste his air," she instructed softly, her red eyes locked on his. "He has the Rot."

"The—?" Harry cut himself off, remembering where he was. Lips pursed in thought, Harry cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself before turning to do the same to Professor Lockhart. "Get in the bed," he instructed. "You've just been exposed to a highly contagious disease. You aren't leaving until Madam Pomfrey clears you."

"I have a class to teach in ten minutes!"

Privately, Harry thought describing what Lockhart did in his class as 'teaching' was rather charitable but managed to refrain from saying so. "You should have thought about that before you decided to waltz into the Hospital Wing. Bed now." After locking the door to the Hospital Wing, Harry approached the Sixth Year's bed. "Name?"

"Robert Hilliard," he said between laboured breaths.

Harry nodded and summoned Hilliard's file. "What brings you in today?"

"I don't feel right," he said.

That much was obvious, Harry thought as he began to cast diagnostic charms. "When did you begin to feel poorly?"

"I woke up like this," he explained. "Overslept. Missed my morning classes."

Harry nodded and began to scribble down Hilliard's vitals. He noted that his respiratory rate was elevated, although the oxygen consumption was low. But even more concerning, Harry noted, was Roger's muscle reactivity: it was so low that Harry was surprised the Sixth Year had been able to get out of bed. How he made the trek to the Hospital Wing from Ravenclaw tower was nothing short of remarkable. Frowning, Harry cast a heart mirroring charm, and a ghostly image of Hilliard's heart appeared above his chest, thudding sluggishly.

"He has the Rot," Medusa said again, hissing much louder this time. Harry tried not to jump as she snaked her way up his leg, moving to balance in the armpit of Harry's robes, half dangling down his side, half down his left sleeve.

Harry had no more idea what this meant the second time she said it, nor did he know how she knew this information. He racked his brain, trying to remember such a disease, only to come up blank.

"Would you like me to bite him?" Medusa offered.

"Absolutely not," Harry replied without thinking.

It was fortunate that Hilliard wasn't conscious enough to register Harry's use of Parseltongue.

Medusa hissed with displeasure. "I can help."

Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to return from lunch. "Why did you lock the doors?" she asked, bustling over to him after giving Professor Lockhart a cursory glance.

Not sure what was going on, Harry pointed to Hilliard's vitals. "He has the Rot," he said, hoping that this would make more sense to a qualified Healer than it did to a First Year apprentice.

"The Rot?" she asked, leaning in to get a closer look at the readings. "What on Earth are you—" she froze, evidently seeing something Harry had missed. Drawing her wand, she vanished Hilliard's robes, exposing his chest, which was covered in a web of sickly black veins. "Good Lord," she murmured. "Gilderoy, get back in that bed this instant."

Harry craned his head around, only to see Lockhart halfway to the doors. He let out a strangled yelp and scurried back to his bed like a scolded dog.

Madam Pomfrey locked the Hospital Wing doors once more before turning to cast a diagnostic charm on Harry. Whatever she saw had her sighing in relief. "Go take a shower and do not remove the Bubble-Headed Charm," she instructed in a severe tone. "Then use my office to Floo to Professor Snape's office. Tell him we have a student with Wasting Sickness."

"Wasting Sickness?"

"A highly contagious disease," she explained. "It feeds off a wizard's magic. If left untreated, Wasting Sickness is fatal. He'll need to be transferred to St Mungo's. It isn't safe for him to remain in a school of children."

Harry desperately wanted to ask why but recognised that now was not the best time. Nodding, he excused himself for the bathroom, pausing only to drop Medusa off in Madam Pomfrey's office. After scrubbing himself down and changing into a clean pair of robes, Harry took the Floo to Professor Snape's office.

The man was not pleased to see Harry stepping out of his fireplace and even less pleased when Harry explained the situation. Snape summoned a book before motioning for him to follow, flipping through it as they strode down the hall.

"We will need to brew the immunisation potion, which will be administered to every occupant of the school above the age of fifteen."

They entered one of the Potion laboratories. Professor Snape swung his wand around, summoning a massive cauldron and jars of ingredients. After thrusting the book into Harry's hands, he instructed Harry to begin.

"I will return momentarily. I will need to cancel my afternoon classes. If you have any questions, you will ask me before proceeding. This is not a potion where 'close enough' is acceptable. It will be perfect, or students will die. Do you understand?" His words, whilst brusque and intense, were not unkind. It seemed that Professor Snape was capable of giving a damn about his students, after all. "You will maintain the Bubble-Head Charm at all times; the fumes of this potion are toxic to children."

Harry nodded and took a seat on the little wooden stool Snape had conjured and began to read through the instructions. It was, by far, the trickiest potion Harry had ever seen, and he tried not to panic as he read through the eighty-two steps. Or, perhaps only fifty? By the looks of it, Professor Snape had gone through the book and changed the entire potion, sometimes changing how ingredients were prepared, sometimes circumventing entire sections of instructions.

Curious, Harry filled his cauldron (with mineral water, not spring water, like the text originally instructed) and reached for the jar of Runespoor eggs. Professor Snape finally returned, and together they worked for several hours, speaking only when necessary. Had Harry not been working on such a critical potion with the meanest teacher at Hogwarts, he might have even enjoyed himself.

When they finally emerged from the dungeons several hours later, the inoculation potion was a pale lavender that Professor Snape seemed pleased with. After portioning the draught into several hundred doses, they levitated the crates up to the Great Hall, where the rest of the school was finishing up dinner. Or, more accurately, where students older than fourteen years old were finishing dinner. The younger students were conspicuously absent from the Great Hall, having been quarantined in their dormitories for the entire afternoon.

Harry helped the Heads of Houses pass out vials and ensure that the students finished the potion. Cedric, who had turned fifteen back in October, toasted him with his potion from across the room, only to gag at the taste. This wasn't an uncommon reaction, it appeared, and Marcus made sure to tell him that the potion tasted like fermented unicorn droppings.

"Spoken like someone who consumes a lot of fermented unicorn droppings," Harry replied mildly, accepting Marcus's empty vial.

Marcus, unable to speak, groaned and made a rude hand gesture.

Harry patted Marcus's back. "If you develop a fever or notice that you glow in the dark, come to the Hospital Wing. The hiccups are a normal side-effect and will stop by morning."

"What hiccups?" Marcus asked, only to let out a high-pitched hiccup.

"That sounded like it hurt," Harry hummed, handing a vial to an apprehensive Sixth Year prefect, Gemma Farley. "When the dizziness subsides, you're free to go. Avoid contact with younger students for the rest of the evening."

He slowly continued down the Slytherin table, grimacing in sympathy at the reactions of the older students. For the most part, they took the potion without too much complaint, and there had only been two students who had fainted. Pucey proved to be a problem when he vomited when he smelled the potion, leading Harry to magic it directly into his teammate's stomach. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have been an issue, but Pucey promptly began to exhale iridescent bubbles. Professor Snape attributed this reaction to the stomach soother that Pucey had consumed after watching the older students become ill. It wasn't likely to be serious, but Harry was ordered to take him to Madam Pomfrey to be safe.

He hauled the groaning, green-faced Pucey towards the doors, struggling under his weight. When he offered to conjure a stretcher, however, Pucey waved him off.

"My dignity is already in shreds," Pucey said, eyes half-closed. "Let me walk out of here with what little I have left still intact." He shuddered like he might be sick, and Harry tried to lean as far from the splash zone as possible.

Harry smiled gratefully at Percy Weasley, who hurried to open the doors to the Great Hall for them. "I didn't realise you had any dignity, to begin with. And if you vomit on me, I'm going to hex your thumbs up your arse."

Pucey let out something that was halfway between a laugh and a groan, slumping further onto Harry's shoulder. They stumbled about two steps into the Entrance Hall when they were met with a small crowd of students huddled near the base of the marble staircase. Harry could easily pick out Marcus in the group, grey-faced and stunned as he watched over the spectacle. Harry felt ice pool in the pit of his stomach as Weasley bossily began to push his way through the crowd, demanding to be let through.

"I'm a prefect, Summerby," he snapped at a Ravenclaw Fifth Year who tried to block Weasley's path. "Move aside before I—Penny?" His holier-than-thou tone switched in an instant, his voice breaking in a strangled, high-pitched squeak. Harry watched as he dropped to his knees next to a willowy girl with a mane of curly black hair that was sprawled out on the cold stone floor. Harry followed, muscling his way through the crowd and shoving Pucey into Marcus's arms as he went.

His first thought was that the girl had fainted, but as he approached, he saw that her blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Heart pounding in his chest, he began casting diagnostic charms before he even reached her.

"What's wrong with her?" Weasley asked, continued to shake the stiff-limbed and unresponsive girl.

"Was this the potion?" Someone in the crowd asked, hysteria colouring their voice. "Is this supposed to happen?"

"Didn't Potter brew the potion?" Asked another.

"What have you done to us?" A girl shrieked in alarm.

A wave of panic replaced the confused air in the room. Soon, voices were shouting over each other, creating an uproar of indiscernible protests, all directed at him. He tried to tune them out as he worked, but when someone pierced his Bubbleheaded Charm, he had no choice but to abandon Penny and defend himself.

Unlike in his First Year at Hogwarts, it wasn't him against much older, more experienced students. Nor was he alone. With a shout, Marcus surged forward, wand drawn, hexing anyone who pointed a wand at Harry. Even Pucey, still swaying and belching bubbles, leapt to his defence. They covered Harry as he reapplied his Bubble-Head charm, pushing back the swarm of irate and terrified students who tried to do him harm.

Spells flew through the hall. Harry did his best to protect himself and Clearwater from the buffeting mob, which was a difficult task when chaos reigned around him. Weasley was kind enough to cast a shield charm around him as he worked on Clearwater, but even he wasn't a match for thirty determined students. He took a stunner to the back and slumped forward, almost landing on Clearwater in the process. Pucey was similarly out-classed and was sporting lobster claws instead of hands, making him fumble and drop his wand.

Fortunately, as soon as it had started, it was over. Several loud bangs filled the hall, distracting the older students from their single-minded pursuit to attack Harry. He squinted up through the hazy smoke that filled the air, able to make out a white-lipped Professor McGonagall and a bored-looking Snape. Behind them, a small crowd of curious students tried to peak into the Entrance Hall, only to be pushed back by Professor Flitwick.

"What the devil is going on here?" Snape asked quietly in a silky voice that every student knew proceeded a massive loss in house points.

"Potter's going to kill us all," one particularly brave (or perhaps foolish) boy shouted.

Snape quirked an eyebrow, his head tilting. "Truly? Do tell me how he has undertaken such an ambitious feat, Mr Whitaker."

Whitaker, seemingly oblivious to the danger he was in, continued. "That potion he gave us killed Penelope Clearwater."

Harry scowled at this. "She isn't dead, you—"

Snape raised a hand, and Harry fell silent. "The potion Potter gave you was brewed under my direction. Are you suggesting that I, too, have attempted to murder you?" After Whitaker's mouth opened and shut several times without voicing a reply, Snape gave him a sardonic, twisted smile. "An inspiring display of logic. I think a month's detention and one hundred points from Ravenclaw will be an adequate reward."

No one dared to disagree.

"Someone removed Harry's Bubble-Head Charm, Professor," Marcus grunted, shooting Harry what could only be described as a concerned look.

Snape's piercing gaze landed on Harry, who was still crouched beside Clearwater. "Now, that was the murder attempt that should have been mentioned. Potter, to the Hospital Wing with you. The rest of you will submit your wands for inspection immediately."

Without waiting for a reply, Marcus grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck, hoisted him to his feet, and began to drag him through the crowd. Pucey tottered after them, pausing only to vomit on Whitaker, which he swore up and down was an accident.

"Oh, and Mr Potter?" Professor Snape called out as they walked away. When Harry glanced over his shoulder, he found Snape crouched beside Clearwater. "Rest assured that it wasn't your substandard brewing abilities that did this to her. She's merely been petrified."

Genius Fratris

The petrification of Penelope Clearwater sent shockwaves through Hogwarts. Not only was Penelope a talented witch and a prefect, but she was also a pure-blood. Whilst Harry couldn't be bothered with that sort of thing, it appeared many of his Housemates, who had been so assured that they were safe from Slytherin's monster, were deeply unsettled. Suddenly, nobody felt safe—students began to travel in packs as they moved through the corridors, jumping at loud sounds and glaring distrustfully at anybody they didn't know. The list to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays emptied overnight, and even John had been persuaded to come home.

Naturally, there were many ideas about how the petrification had happened. One of the prevailing theories was that Slytherin's monster had attacked Clearwater. However, there was still a small faction of students that seemed to think that Harry was somehow involved. To make matters worse, this line of thinking somehow devolved into some particularly brilliant students to pronounce Harry the Heir of Slytherin. It didn't seem to matter to them that about a hundred witnesses placed Harry in the Great Hall during the time of the attack—they were looking for a scapegoat, and Harry had been chosen.

Harry rolled his eyes and didn't react, knowing that defending himself would only feed the flames. But even if Harry had an interest in defending himself, he soon would be unable to. Harry, Cedric, and Grace finally felt confident enough in their Transfiguration and Charms skills to proceed to the next step of the Animagus transformation. This entailed keeping a mandrake leaf pressed to the roof of their mouths for a month. Unfortunately, the only way to accomplish this was to remain silent for the entire month. Cedric had suggested using a sticking charm to circumvent this, but Harry, who had seen far too many instances of spells gone awry, shot down the suggestion immediately.

"The mandrake leaf is too delicate anyway," Grace said. They were all sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, their heads bowed together as they plotted. "You risk tearing the leaf when it comes time to remove it, and it needs to be whole for the potion to work."

"Cheer up. If all goes according to plan, we'll be done before summer," Harry reminded Cedric, who sulked over his morning cup of tea. "You said Professor Sprout would supply us with a few leaves?"

Cedric nodded. "She can't spare many, of course, because she needs the Mandrakes to cooperate for the Restorative Draught. Apparently, they get quite fussy if you take too many of their leaves."

"And they need to be from a live Mandrake," Harry agreed with a hum. "Maybe we should wait. I hate to think we mucked things up because Grace wants to turn into an animal."

"Grace already is an animal," Cedric replied, shooting a cheeky grin at the girl in question.

She flicked a piece of sausage at his head. "It sounds to me that you're just looking for excuses. I doubt you'll even be able to shut up for a month."

Harry chuckled because there was an element of truth to the statement. Cedric was known for his chattiness. "Maybe we should hold off until the summer holidays, then. There will be fewer temptations for Cedric to talk."

Arms wrapped around Harry's neck as somebody jumped on his back, nearly flattening him into his breakfast plate. He felt a tug on his head, ripping out several hairs. Hissing in pain, Harry drew his wand, ready to hex whoever had accosted him.

"Sorry!" John yelped, pulling away. "My glasses got stuck in your hair."

"No surprises there," Grace drawled. "Have you heard of a comb, Harry?"

Harry scowled. "They don't work," he defended, massaging his sore scalp. "It grows like this."

"Dad says that the Potter hair is practically sentient," John explained helpfully, only to pause in thought. "What does sentient mean?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you need something?"

"Can't I hug my brother?" John asked.

On anyone else, the wide, innocent hazel eyes might have worked. Still, Harry liked to think he knew his brother well enough to know when something was afoot. He spun around on the bench to face his brother, noticing that Ron and Hermione lingered behind him. Harry pulled John's face down and began to pepper it with kisses. When his brother yelped in disgust, Harry gave him an innocent smile.

"What? Can't I give my little brother kisses?" He laughed as John scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his robe. "What sort of mischief are you three up to?"

Predictably, Hermione's face twisted with panic. Ron saw this and slapped one of his massive hands over her mouth before she could reply.

"I was wondering if Grace is staying with us over the holidays this year," John said in a rush, pretending he hadn't noticed his friend's odd behaviour.

"Mum and I are going to Barbados," Grace explained, leaning her chin on her hand as she studied the three Second Years with interest.

Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement, and she pushed away Ron's hands. "She's a doctor, right? Does she really travel the world when you're at Hogwarts?"

Grace gave Hermione a tight smile. "She's a Healer," she replied. This was a lie, of course, but announcing that you had a Muggle parent at breakfast was hardly a wise decision for a Slytherin.

This was evidently lost on Hermione, who looked around in confusion. "I thought you were a Muggle-born."

Harry blinked in surprise, at a loss of words. He turned to face his friends, who all looked equally as stunned. They had never told anyone that Grace was a Muggle-born—Harry had never even shared this fact with John. How Hermione Granger figured it out was beyond any of them.

"How crass." They all jumped and turned to face the speaker, finding Teddy, who sneered in disgust at Hermione. "Grace is a Cooper. Everyone knows they're a magical family."

Hermione lifted her chin imperiously. "Cooper is a common name in the Muggle world," she said with a haughty tone.

Teddy let out a cold laugh. "Well, Grace isn't one of your kind. You should watch how you talk to your betters, Mudblood."

"Theodore!" Harry shouted, leaping to his feet. Without realising it, his wand out and clenched in his shaking fist.

Teddy blinked at him in confusion. "Well, am I wrong?"

The rational part of Harry's brain recognised that Teddy was parroting the pureblood rot that his father undoubtedly spewed. It was no secret that Teddy's father, Lord Nott, had been a Death Eater. Something that Harry had overlooked. Teddy wasn't his father, nor could he help who his father was. Still, it took every ounce of self-control not to hex Teddy into oblivion.

"Yes," Harry insisted through gritted teeth.

Teddy frowned and shot a glance at Grace, who still had yet to say anything in her own defence. Not that she had anything to defend herself for, Harry thought, but he doubted Teddy would share the sentiment.

"You're a Mudblood?" He asked Grace, a look of disgusted fascination twisting his features.

For once in her life, Grace's sharp tongue seemed to fail her. She rose without responding, dodging Cedric's hands as she sprinted out of the Great Hall. Cedric bolted after her, leaving Harry to deal with the shitshow they had left behind.

"Don't ever let me hear you say that word again, Theodore," Harry said, his voice squeezing in his throat, making him feel as if he might choke.

Hurt flashed across Teddy's face at this. "But that's what she is, isn't she? Why are you friends with her?"

It was evident that he had no clue why Harry was angry with him, which only made Harry angrier. He wished Cedric hadn't run after Grace, if only because he knew his best friend was better at these sorts of things. Cedric was the patient voice of reason, whereas Harry always tended to choke on his words when his emotions got the better of him.

"Grace is a witch," Harry managed to say, the tips of his ears burning. "Regardless of who her parents are, she is a witch. There is no difference between a Muggle-born or a pure-blood."

It was clumsy and inelegant and certainly not the most persuasive speech he had ever given. Still, with his temper rising and his throat squeezing shut, it was the best he could do. Fortunately, Professor Snape swooped down at that moment, rescuing Harry for the second time in as many weeks.

"Is there a problem?" Professor Snape asked, towering over them, his face twisted with annoyance at having his breakfast interrupted.

Unfortunately, none other than Draco Malfoy decided to join in on the conversation. Harry hadn't even realised that he had been within earshot, though considering John was still loitering behind him, perhaps he should have. Malfoy was weirdly obsessed with John.

"Cooper is a… you-know-what," Malfoy said with scandalised glee.

Snape shot Harry an indecipherable look before refocusing on Malfoy. "I do not know what."

This reply was clearly not what Malfoy had hoped for, and he seemed to deflate. "She's a Mud—a Muggle-born." He at least had the sensibility not to shout a slur at their Head of House, but he still had the delicacy of an enraged Erumpent.

Snape continued to watch Malfoy for a moment longer. "I see," he drawled, his voice even. "Mr Nott, come with me. And Potter? Do Poppy the curtsey and inform her wherever you're about to skive off to."

He marched off with a swirl of his cloak, a skeletal hand clutching Nott's shoulder as he steered the boy out of the Great Hall. Harry followed without a backwards glance. After stopping off at the Hospital Wing to inform Madam Pomfrey of the situation, Harry began searching for his two friends. He thought he had located them in a second-floor loo, but the crying he heard inside turned out to be Moaning Myrtle, who chased him down four corridors and up two flights of stairs after he startled her. He encountered Cedric a few times, who also was having difficulties locating their friend, but after several hours, Harry had to admit he was losing hope.

He was in the process of lamenting the loss of the Marauder's Map and cursing Snape for stealing it when someone shouted his name. He turned to find Katie Bell, the pretty Gryffindor chaser, jogging towards him. If he weren't so distressed, he probably would have tried to think of something cool to impress her, but being clever was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He nodded in greeting and tried to arrange his features into something more polite than the scowl etched into his face.

"She's in Greenhouse Eight," Katie said in a rush. When Harry stared at her uncomprehendingly, she titled her head and gave him a nervous smile. "Your friend Cooper? You're looking for her, aren't you?"

He nodded slowly. "What the hell is she doing in there?" But even as he asked this aloud, he knew the answer. Grace hated anything to do with dirt and often informed him that Herbology was the bane of her existence. Anybody who knew her knew that she wouldn't be caught dead in the greenhouses outside of lessons. A greenhouse was literally the last place Harry would have looked for her—an essential factor when choosing a hiding place.

Relief bloomed in his chest. "Thank you," he said, smiling gratefully at Katie. Unable to help himself, he stooped to press a quick kiss to her cheek.

Katie blushed spectacularly, stammered a nonsensical reply, and scampered off. If Harry had the time, he might have spared a moment to dissect what had happened, but as it was, he was already sprinting down the corridor, trying to figure out what he would say when he finally found Grace.

Sure enough, Grace was huddled next to a pot of honking daffodils Greenhouse Eight, just as Katie had told him. Her knees were beneath her chin, arms wrapped tightly around her legs as if doing so might keep her from breaking down. She wasn't crying, but her red, splotchy face told him that she had at some point, and Harry's stomach twisted painfully at the sight. Grace gave no indication that she knew he was there as he slipped into the greenhouse, but when Harry dropped onto the ground next to her, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm not ashamed of who I am," she said after a long silence. Her voice was croaky with unshed tears.

Harry took her hand and wove his fingers through hers. "I know you aren't."

She sniffed. "I'm not ashamed of my parents, either. I don't want to lie about who they are. I'm just so…"

"Scared?" Harry guessed. He flicked his wand, conjured a handkerchief, and handed it to her.

Her face screwed up, tears filling her eyes. "And I hate that I am. I'm such a fucking coward that I can't even admit that they're Muggles—as if they're some sort of dirty little secret that I keep. They're good people, and I—" A sob tore through her body, and she buried her face in her hands.

Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, running his finger through her hair. He didn't have the right words to offer her comfort—not that he ever did—but then again, maybe there wasn't anything to say. Instead, he did her the one thing he could do: pour all of his love and support into his hug. They sat like that for who knew how long, Harry breathing deeply, steadily, as he waited for her tears to subside.

"Why can't I be like you?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "You don't want to be like me."

Grace shrugged and pulled out of his embrace, shifting until her head was resting on his lap. "How do you do it?" she asked. "You're a Parselmouth. Aren't you ever afraid that people will find out?"

"Of course, I am," he admitted, continuing to card his finger through her hair. He let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. "I'm terrified every day of my life. And not just about the snake thing, either." He fell silent as his thoughts tumbled around in his mind, jockeying to be released from his mouth all at once, damming his throat and stealing his voice.

There were always so many things Harry wanted he could say, secrets he desperately wished he could share. Sitting on the floor of that abandoned greenhouse, he could have very easily told Grace his secrets and unburdened himself from the heavy load. But this wasn't about him. Grace didn't need him to add to her worries and fears.

"I think everyone is scared about something. That doesn't make them a coward. If anything, I think the bravest thing is living despite your fear." He paused and pursed his lips as he collected his thoughts. "I think bravery is a choice. Bravery is who you are when you choose to face your fear. So, I guess you need to ask yourself: how will you deal with this? Are you going to hide? Will you deny who your parents are? Or will you face this head-on, knowing that people will despise you for who you are?

"I don't think you've been a coward for not mentioning your blood status. But I think how you react to this will define who you are. I can't make that decision for you, Grace." He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Just know that I'll support you no matter what you choose."

The door to the greenhouse opened before she could respond, bringing in a gust of cold wind that kicked up the dead leaves strewn across the floor. A tall hooded figure slipped inside, slamming the door shut as quickly as they opened it. Under any other circumstances, a mysterious cloaked man cornering them would have been a bad thing, but there was precisely one student at Hogwarts that tall.

"Hello, Marcus," Harry greeted.

"It's cold as a dementor's tits out here. Can't you have hidden someplace warmer?"

"The house-elves wouldn't let me hide in their ovens," Grace drawled.

"Glad to see your sense of humour is intact." Marcus wove his way through the narrow rows of plants, pausing to shoot a freezing charm at a begonia that tried to light him on fire. He dropped down in front of them and attempted to fold his large frame in what little remained of the floor space. "Want to talk about it?"

"About the fact that I'm a Mudblood or the fact that I've been lying for the last two and half years?" She said this with a hard edge to her voice, defying him to insult her for her blood status.

Marcus growled and reached forward to grab hold of Grace's chin, forcing her to look at him. "Call yourself that one more time. I fucking dare you."

Grace tried to jerk her head away and gave him an acidic, defiant look. "It's what I am, isn't it? I can call myself whatever I like."

Marcus quirked an eyebrow before diving for one of her hands. In the next moment, he had pointed his wand at it and uttered, "Diffindo." Blood spurted from the deep gash, covering their robes within seconds. Harry shouted and drew his own wand, but Marcus paid him no mind as he turned his wand on his own hand and repeated the spell.

"There's no difference," Marcus growled, lifting their bleeding hands and shoving them in Grace's face. "Blood is blood."

Naturally, it was at that exact moment Cedric decided to join them. He burst into Greenhouse Eight, out of breath and windswept, and paused in the doorway. Grace was more concerned that he was letting the cold air in rather than the jagged wound Marcus had inflicted. She shouted at him to close the door.

Cedric closed the door behind him, not taking his eyes off the dark red blood pooling on the floor. "What in the name of Merlin's ball sack—"

"Just a little lesson on blood purity," Marcus replied.

"You didn't have to maim her, you melodramatic lunatic," Harry snapped, healing the cuts on their hands with a tap of his wand.

Cedric tilted his head as he considered this, a look of doubt twisting his features. Evidently, he seemed to decide that it wasn't worth arguing because he shook his head to clear it. "So, I'm guessing you don't want lunch?" Cedric asked. He pulled back his cloak to reveal a wicker hamper.

Harry checked his watch, surprised that it was indeed time for lunch. He scootched over to allow Cedric to take the remaining floor space, and they dug into the hamper the house-elves prepared. It was good to know that no matter how upset his friends were, at least their appetites remained intact—teenagers were still teenagers, after all.

"How did you find us?" Grace asked, picking at her turkey sandwich.

"Harry's girlfriend," Cedric replied.

"You finally asked Gamp out?" Marcus asked.

"No, the other one," Cedric continued before Harry could reply. "Katie Bell."

Marcus slammed down his goblet of pumpkin juice, sloshing its contents all over the floor. "You're dating the Gryffindor chaser?" he asked, horrified.

Harry jumped in alarm at the ferocity of the question. "No!"

"He just wishes," Grace explained. "Though if you asked her out, I know she'd say yes. She was talking to her friends about it in Charms last week."

Flustered, Harry changed the subject to the first thing that crossed his mind. "Why don't we discuss what we're going to do about Teddy."

Cedric frowned and put down his sandwich. "Wow, okay. I was hoping to keep the mood light, but if you insist."

"I know Snape is talking to him," Marcus said.

"Do you honestly think it will help?" Cedric asked.

Marcus considered this. "I can't say I know him as well as you all do. My uncle refuses to associate with his father because of his political leanings. Not that Lord Nott would want anything to do with us, of course."

"But aren't you all pure-bloods?" Grace asked.

"My aunt is a Muggle-born," Marcus replied succinctly. "We don't get invited to many of their parties."

"If it makes you feel any better, we don't either," Harry supplied.

Cedric pursed his lips and feigned contemplation. "I think that has more to do with the fact that your brother offed their boss."

"Oh yeah."

They dissolved into giggles and resumed their meal, and the topic of Teddy was shelved for the time being. They remained huddled in the greenhouse for the entire lunch hour, but they knew that their moment of peace was coming to an end. Soon enough, the bell sounded through the grounds, signalling the beginning of the afternoon classes. They collected their dirty dishes and placed them in the wicker hamper, which vanished when they closed the lid.

"I think I earned a free pass to sleep for the rest of the day," Grace said, rising to her feet.

"I have Transfiguration," Marcus grunted, looking none too pleased with the fact.

"I have History of Magic, which I'm more than willing to skip," Cedric offered with a gallant bow. "Shall I walk the fair lady back to her common room?"

Harry needed to return to the Hospital Wing, but he figured there was no harm in missing a few more minutes and agreed to accompany them. Grace accepted Cedric's arm, and together they made the trek back up to the castle. They bid Marcus farewell in the Entrance Hall and continued down to the dungeons, chatting about inane, inconsequential topics.

"The password was changed." The three turned to face the speaker, surprised to find Malfoy looking up at them with a haughty expression. Behind him, his two hulking friends loomed, snickering.

"When?" Grace asked, exchanging a confused glance with Harry. The password wasn't due to be set for another fortnight at the very least, nor had they seen any sort of special announcement on the common room notice board.

Malfoy gave Grace a scathing look, sticking his nose up in the air.

"Do you not know it?" Harry asked dryly.

"Of course, I know it," Malfoy snapped. "It's not me we're trying to keep out."

Something squirmed in the pit of Harry's stomach at these words.

Malfoy didn't seem to expect a reply, however. He strut past, his friends plodding behind him, and walked up to the blank stretch of wall that hid the entrance to the common room. After checking to ensure they were watching, he smirked and said, "Mudblood."

The wall vanished, allowing Malfoy and his giggling friends into the common room.

Harry, Grace, and Cedric stood in the corridor for so long that the entrance sealed itself, unable to process what they had just witnessed. Cedric finally broke the awful silence by swearing colourfully.

Grace let out a shaky breath and rubbed Cedric's arm. "That's fine. It's just a word."

"It's not, and you know it," Cedric snapped, looking ready to hex the stone wall. "It's a targeted attack on you."

"I don't mind," she murmured, although even as she spoke, tears began to collect on her eyelashes.

"Well, I'm not saying it," Harry said. "I'll sleep in the corridor if I have to." Sure, Harry could easily circumvent the password by using the shortcut between the Study and his chambers, but he knew that it would look bad. His peers didn't know about the shortcut and would assume that Harry had used the disgusting slur.

Cedric swore again. "You can't let them get away with this. Surely Snape can change the password?"

Grace nodded, looking defeated. "His office hours are coming up. I'll talk to him then."

Cedric looped his arm around Grace's shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. "C'mon. You can hang out in the Hufflepuff common room with me while you wait." He began to lead her away, only to pause when he realised that Harry wasn't following them. "What's up?"

Harry pursed his lips and stepped closer to where the common room entrance was concealed. He raised his hand and traced his fingers along an indent in the wall. "There's something engraved here," he murmured, pulling out his wand and lighting the end of it.

In the low lighting of the dungeons, it was no surprise that Harry had missed the small snake that had been etched into the stone wall. It was around his eye level and carved in the same rudimentary style as the snakes that marked the fireplaces—Slytherin's mark.

Cedric moved to stand beside him to survey the mark. "Do you think you could change the password?"

A smile pulled at Harry's lips. "Oh, I think I can do more than that."

Genius Fratris

It took Snape, Flitwick, and Dumbledore three days to call the curse breakers. It took the curse breakers another day to finally unlock the Slytherin common room. Harry might have felt guilty about his part in sealing the entrance, especially when several NEWT students had meltdowns when they realised that they couldn't get their books. But then again, they were willing to use a slur, so maybe not. Besides, his actions exposed the prefect who changed the password in the first place, and the Seventh Year was stripped of her badge for abuse of power.

Snape searched in vain for whoever sealed the common room and even went so far as to check their wands. Fortunately, Harry hadn't needed his wand: a simple, polite request was all the snake needed. It wasn't his fault that the snake only responded to Parseltongue and was more than happy to seal the entrance when he asked. No password change was even needed.

The event was so dramatic that by the time everyone had been able to move back into their dormitories, it seemed that they had forgotten that Grace was a Muggle-born. By the time they finally remembered, Grace had already been moved into a private room equipped with a series of protective enchantments.

This wasn't to say that things were easy in Slytherin house. Indeed, everywhere Grace went, she was sneered at, spat at, hexed, and cursed, much like Harry had been in his First Year. Harry and Marcus did everything in their power to protect their friend from the abuse, but they learned very quickly that Grace did not appreciate their 'coddling'.

"You'd tell us if you needed help, though?" Cedric asked one evening as they hid in the Study. Harry had just finished healing a nasty collection of burns Warrington had gifted Grace, distracting her whilst Marcus quietly slipped away to deal with Warrington.

Grace fixed him with a long look before flinging herself over the back of a sofa, her hand pressed to her forehead like a swooning Victorian. "Oh, Cedric, the other girls are ever so horrible to me. Pansy Parkinson said my robes were smelly, and my nose was flat!"

"Pansy Parkinson doesn't have a lot of room to criticise flat noses," Harry interjected mildly as he screwed on the lid of his pot of burn paste.

Grace snickered as she righted herself and crossed the room to where Cedric was curled up in a chair. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're sweet, Ced, but I can handle it." She flounced away, her mass of strawberry blonde curls gleaming gold in candlelight, completely missing the look of awe that crossed Cedric's face. A moment later, she disappeared through the fireplace.

Cedric blinked rapidly and took a shuddering breath as if he had finally remembered that he still needed to breathe. Turning towards Harry, he fixed him with a serious look. "I'm going to marry her one day," Cedric said with the utmost certainty.

Harry bit his lips and tried not to grin. "Just invite me to the wedding," he replied.

"Are you joking? You'll be my best man!"

Harry was glad that the Study was perpetually dim because it hid the flush that covered his cheeks. No matter how long they'd been friends, Harry didn't think he would ever get over the fact that Cedric, who was so popular and well-liked, considered Harry his best friend.

"Are you going to ask her to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked, changing the subject. He rose from his seat and began collecting his study materials into his bag.

Cedric stood and began to do the same. "Maybe I can take her to Madam Puddifoot's," he mused. "There's a trip around Valentine's Day. What do you reckon?"

Harry paused and gave Cedric an incredulous look.

"Good point. She'd hate that," Cedric agreed. "We'll have to think this over."

Harry merely chuckled in response and shooed Cedric towards the fireplace. His friend disappeared through the flames, a pensive look still etched on his face. Harry followed after, stepping into his room. He nearly had a heart attack when he realised that he wasn't alone. A clone of himself was standing by his desk, arms crossed and wearing a sullen and grouchy expression.

With a strangled shout, Harry drew his wand and prepared to send a stunner at his doppelgänger. The clone also shouted in alarm and hit the floor just in time to miss the spell, pulling down Teddy with him as he went. This, of course, only confused Harry more. After all, he hadn't spoken to the Second Year in almost a week. And how did he even get into Harry's room? He was positive that he had locked it when he left. Harry pointed his wand at the not-him and Teddy, ready to hex them both when a shield charm blossomed between them.

"I thought it wasn't you," Marcus said, twirling his wand between his fingers, watching the scene with curiosity. He was leaning against the bedroom door, his intimidating size no doubt enough to deter the two intruders from escaping.

It took a second for Harry to calm his heart enough to speak. "What the hell is going on?"

Marcus nodded towards the intruders, who were still huddled on the floor. "I saw you talking to Teddy. Even if I hadn't seen you earlier in the Study, I knew something was wrong."

Harry watched his doppelgänger, revulsion twisting in his stomach. There was something deeply unsettling about looking at yourself outside of a mirror or a photograph. "What is going on?" Harry repeated through gritted teeth, this time directing his question to the two intruders. "Who are you?"

Not-him and Teddy looked at each other, panic twisting their features, but didn't respond.

"Is it some sort of enchantment?" Harry asked, slowly approaching and crouching down before them. The two strangers flinched when he pointed his wand at them. He ignored their reactions and began to cast a series of detection charms. To his surprise, he could detect no enchantments or concealment spells.

"I think they've taken Polyjuice Potion," Marcus supplied. "I can't think of a person who is both skilled enough in human Transformation and knows your face well enough to pull this off."

"My dad," Harry offered. "But he's got better things to do than pretend to be me."

"I can't think of a reason anyone would want to be you," Marcus said. "You're the worst."

"My ego will remember that when we play Ravenclaw next term," Harry shot back, still surveying the intruders. "So, who are you, then?" he asked them softly.

"Polyjuice isn't brewed before Sixth Year," Marcus said. He crossed the room and tossed himself in the wingback chair next to the fireplace. "I doubt anyone before that could brew it."

The intruders shared a look that looked almost… smug?

They were younger, then, Harry thought, noting their reactions. His mind raced as he tried to figure out who had access to his DNA. The answer came to him all at once, and a phantom pain blossomed at the back of his skull—or maybe it was a real headache forming. But he could easily think of one instance where someone had ripped his hair out.

"Damn it, John!" Harry shouted, leaping to his feet and striding to the far side of the room, trying to put enough distance between his brother and himself, lest he gave in to the urge to throttle him. He pointed at the Teddy lookalike. "And let me guess: you're Ron."

They didn't respond, but judging by the uncomfortable looks on their faces, Harry had guessed correctly. "Where's the other one?" He asked with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The other one?" John asked, his voice a perfect replica of Harry's.

Harry tried not to shiver at the sound. "Granger. Where is she? You lot always come in threes."

Knowing that they were caught, John and Ron began to spill their entire plot: from tricking Lockhart into signing a pass for the Restricted Section to stealing potion ingredients from Snape to brewing the Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The longer they spoke, the more a headache began to pound in Harry's temples.

At least Marcus found the whole situation funny. His friend lounged in Harry's chair, long legs tossed over the arm, and watched the idiot Second Years babble on. They talked for so long that the Polyjuice Potion wore off, leaving Ron in Teddy's too short robes while John swam in Harry's.

"Why did you feel the need to do this?" Harry asked when they paused to breathe.

John fixed him with a serious look. "We needed to question Malfoy about the Chamber of Secrets."

This was not what Harry had been expecting him to say. He looked over at Marcus to make sure he had heard that correctly, finding him just as confused. "Malfoy?" Harry repeated. "Why him?"

"You heard him on Halloween," John said, tilting his chin up, almost daring him to disagree. "'You be next—'" he glanced around as if he thought their father might pop up and stare at him disapprovingly. "Muggle-borns." He edited, finishing in a whisper.

Despite the situation, a chuckle slipped its way out of his lips, which was curling into a smile. "Please, I'm surprised Malfoy can tie his shoes in the morning. There is no way he's petrifying students."

"What about you?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"What about me?"

"We've heard whispers about you," Ron began, a flush creeping its way up his neck. "And these books?" He gestured to the stacks of texts perched on Harry's desk. Even across the room, titles such as 1001 Curses and How To Cast Them, and The Art of Petrification were visible. "They're rather damning evidence, don't you think?"

It took a moment to process what Ron was saying. "You think I'm the Heir of Slytherin?" The idea was ludicrous. So why did his voice shake when he spoke? He looked over at his brother, who was steadfastly refusing to meet his gaze.

"Not that I have to explain myself to a twelve-year-old," Harry snarled, focusing on the anger rather than the hurt that was welling up in his throat, "but Madam Pomfrey assigned me those. I've been trying to figure out how to fix the petrified victims."

"That's what the Mandrakes are for," Ron replied.

"The Mandrakes are the last resort," Harry corrected. "They won't be ready until the end of the year. The sooner we can restore Creevy and Clearwater, the better. Long term petrification isn't good for the body. And that's not even considering that they're missing lessons."

"So why not read a book about a counter curse?" John asked quietly.

"Because I have to know how the curse works, to reverse it. That is if I could figure out what the curse even is."

Ron scoffed. "A likely story."

"How on Earth would I find the time?" Harry asked, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm in the Hospital Wing ten hours a day."

"Are you really, though?" Ron asked. "Nobody sees you in classes."

"Because I'm in the Hospital Wing," Harry repeated.

"You're friends with a blood supremacist. Nott." John spat the name out like he was spitting out poison.

"They haven't spoken in a week," Marcus interjected. They all jumped at the growl of his voice, having completely forgotten that he was even in the room. "Which is how I knew you weren't your brother. Harry hasn't given Teddy the time of day since that came out."

Ron scoffed again. "Coming from somebody who doesn't support the Muggle-born Protection Act, I find it hard to believe you're not mates."

"The Muggle-born Protection Act is a dangerous…" he trailed off, fixing Ron with a curious look. "How do you know that?"

"My dad told me," Ron said, jutting his chin in the air.

"My father also doesn't support the Muggle-born Protection Act," Harry said. "Are you calling him a blood supremacist too?"

While he was busy sticking his foot in his mouth, it seemed that Ron had conveniently forgotten that Harry and John shared the same father. His eyes widened like a deer's caught in wandlight, and he turned, mouth agape to John.

"John? What are your opinions on the matter?" Harry asked, a hard edge to his voice. "Do you think Dad and I support the people who killed Mum?"

"Harry." A massive hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and Marcus leaned down to speak in his ear. "Take a walk."

Harry wanted to argue. He wanted to throw off Marcus's hand and shout at his brother until his throat ached. He wanted to lash out and hurt his brother as his brother had hurt him. Maybe if he did, he'd be able to ignore the throbbing in his chest and the twisting of his stomach at the realisation that his brother thought he was a bad person. Untrustworthy. Evil.

Marcus's fingers dug into his shoulder, the heat of his palm providing the last remaining warmth in his body.

And just like that, something broke. Harry bowed his head and pulled away from Marcus. Sticking out his hand, he summoned his apprentice robes from his wardrobe, the white bundle flying across the room like a ghost. He snatched them out of the air and donned them without a word.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Harry said quietly, keeping his voice even. He waved the stunned and guilty Second Years out of his chamber, locking it behind him. "Marcus, don't help them." When Ron and John began to protest, Harry raised a hand, cutting them off. "I see you have everything figured out. You don't need my help."

He didn't wait to listen to John and Ron's shouts of protests nor their desperate pleas to help. Numb, he slipped past them and down the stairs. At least the two Gryffindors had the sense not to follow him into the crowded common room.

Under normal circumstances, Fourth Years and below weren't permitted to leave their common rooms after eight o'clock, but Harry's apprentice robes were essentially a free pass to roam the halls whenever he pleased, so long as he had a good reason. And this was an excellent reason, Harry soon learned as he made his way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It took Harry all of twenty seconds to find Hermione. All he had to do was follow the hiccupping sobs of a destressed thirteen-year-old.

"Hermione? It's Harry Potter," he called out as he approached the single locked toilet stall. "I understand there's a problem?"

Hermione's only response was to sob harder.

Pursing his lips, Harry unlocked the stall door and pushed it open. Hermione's back was to him, but he knew right away that something must have gone terribly wrong with the Polyjuice Potion. The ears sprouting out of Hermione's unruly mane of hair was a dead giveaway.

"I understand you've taken some Polyjuice tonight," Harry said. Indeed, a glance around showed a cauldron bubbling in the toilet, half full of the mud-like potion. In any other situation, he might have been impressed that a Second Year had managed to brew the tricky concoction—Merlin knew that Harry would never have attempted it. "Did you finish your dosage?"

Hermione nodded but didn't speak.

Lovely. "I need to you turn around so I can assess the situation," he explained.

She seemed to sense that his patience was running thin because she slowly turned around, her head bowed as if it would somehow stop him from seeing that her face was covered in thick black fur. "It was supposed to be Millicent Bulstrode's hair," she said between sniffles.

"Clearly, it wasn't," Harry said. Under normal circumstances, he would have found the whole situation hilarious. But with Ron's accusation's ringing in his ears and John's refusal to defend him, he felt nothing at all. "My guess it was Binx's."

"Who's that?"

"Her cat."

That was how Hermione Granger landed in the Hospital Wing, whilst Harry spent every waking moment attempting to reverse her mistake. Fortunately for him, he would be going home for the Christmas holidays, which Harry decided couldn't come fast enough.


"'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'

"'That is the only time a man can be brave.'"

George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones


A/N: Sorry about the 10k chapter. It just sort of happened. I hope you liked it, though!