Chapter 16: Spring 1993 (Part 1)

Between his and John's fight and Harry's impending conversation with his father, the Christmas holidays were a horribly tense affair. The two brothers spent the entire holiday simultaneously circling each other and ignoring the other's existence, leaving their poor father bewildered. James tried in vain to get them to make amends. Still, as December passed into January, even he seemed to realise that this wasn't a fight that could be easily mended. The brothers were long past the days where James could force them to hug and make up, and even he had to admit that this was no simple argument. Harry was, quite understandably, hurt by John's accusations, and asking him to forgive his brother had only offended him.

"Why do I have to be the good one?" Harry had snapped one evening after they had secluded themselves in his office. "Why do I always have to apologise to him? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Because it's the mature thing to do?" James supplied, feeling more than a little lost himself. Despite his closeness with Sirius, James had been an only child. He fully admitted that he had no idea how sibling relationships worked. Not for the first time, he lamented the fact that Lily couldn't be there to help him. "Because he's your little brother?"

"If he really thinks that I'm a blood purist, then he doesn't know me at all," Harry snarled, flinging himself onto the loveseat by the fireplace.

"He's twelve and an idiot," James explained, rising from his desk and moving to sit beside Harry. "He's not able to think through these things. Things always seem so black and white at that age."

Harry sent him a glare, eerily similar to one of Lily's. "Why are you defending him?"

James sighed and reached for his son, who remained stubbornly stiff limbed. "I'm not," he explained patiently. "I'm offering you a different perspective."

"Well, I don't want it," Harry replied, his voice thick with the attempt to hold back his tears. James pulled a little more on his son's body, relieved when Harry finally gave in and slumped into his side. "I want to be angry."

James hugged and pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's scruffy head. "It's easier to be angry than admit that you're hurting," he agreed quietly. "Just like it's easier to be angry than admit that you're scared."

"I'm not scared."

"John is," James pointed out gently. "I reckon you'd have to be to brew an illegal potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"He could have just talked to me!" Harry said, and James felt a hot tear fall on the shoulder of his robes. "Instead, he barges into the Slytherin common room and accuses me of being the Heir of Slytherin! He and his stupid friends think I'm going around attacking everyone! I'm trying to keep them alive, but, oh no! The Slytherin has to be evil! Why else would he have books about petrification in his room? I—"

James shifted and pulled his hysterical son into a tight embrace. "Oh, my love, you're not evil," he whispered in his son's ear. "You're a good boy."

"I'm so tired," Harry admitted, his voice muffled by the wool of James's robes. "There are these attacks, and now everyone knows that Grace is a Muggle-born, and Teddy is a blood purist and thinks Grace is diseased, and Ginny won't talk to me anymore, and Lockhart won't leave me alone. And that's on top of all the work I'm doing in the Hospital Wing. And I still haven't heard back from the Asklepion and—"

James's hand stilled its rhythmic massages on Harry's scalp. "The Asklepion?"

Harry's words died, and he froze, finally realising what he had revealed in his panicked ramblings. He jerked out of James's embrace, his shoulders hunched. He didn't offer any further explanation.

Reaching for his son, James tried again to coax out a response. "Why have you applied to the Asklepion?" He had heard of the Hospital, of course. Hell, he'd even been a patient there a time or two in his youth. But for the life of him, he couldn't understand why Harry thought he'd have a chance at getting into the school.

His son was silent for a moment before he slowly looked up, his green eyes shadowed with conflict. "Because I'm a Parselmouth."

James blinked. "That doesn't answer my question."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Did you not just hear me? I'm a Parselmouth."

"I did," James replied slowly, not entirely sure what was going on in his son's mind. "But you're fourteen. You haven't even sat for your OWLs. Why are you worrying about a Healing programme?"

"They have a summer intensive," Harry explained woodenly. Then his face twisted in confusion, which appropriately summed up James's feelings on the matter. "Hang on—I just told you I was a Parselmouth."

"I heard you the first two times you said it," James replied. "Why do you keep repeating it?"

Harry gave him a look, seemingly wondering if James was being purposefully dense. "Because you aren't reacting to it."

James stared at his son through narrowed eyes, desperately trying to figure out what he was missing. Then he realised that they were having two entirely different conversations. "Love, did you think I didn't know?"

Harry stuttered, his eyes wide. Evidently, he hadn't.

A slow smile spread across James's face. "Harry, how much of a fool do you take me for? I've heard you talking to your snake."

"You knew? All this time?"

"Not right away," he admitted. "I heard you about a week after you came home after your First Year. This hissing was a bit of a giveaway."

"Oh."

James chuckled and pulled Harry back into a hug. "I assumed you didn't know," he admitted. He hadn't wanted to bring it up at the time, afraid of how Harry might react. He could see now that that had been the wrong move. Harry apparently had known and had spent who knew how many years worried about telling anyone. Even him. James tried to push away how much that realisation hurt. "Clearly, I was wrong. So, the Asklepion?"

His son chattered on about the summer intensive he had applied to, and James listened patiently when he admitted he'd have to spend the entire summer in Greece. He couldn't pretend he liked the idea of his son living so far away, but Sirius had once pointed out that he had to let the boys go some time. He just thought he'd have a little longer with them before that happened.

"I have a few cousins that live outside of Athens," James said when Harry paused to breathe. "If nothing else, we could go visit them. Do you know when you'll hear back from the Asklepion?"

Harry shook his head, doubt flitting across his face. "Acceptance letters should come by February, but I'm not sure if they'll take me on at all. Madam Pomfrey says I have a good chance because I'm an apprentice. But I haven't graduated yet. There's no telling what they'll decide."

Admittedly, James didn't know much about becoming a Healer, but he wasn't sure why Harry would be disqualified. "Do they not take apprentices?"

"Sometimes," Harry explained, biting his lip as he thought. "But it's not common for Healers to take apprentices who haven't gone through a Healing programme. They may reject my application because—"

"You're fourteen?" James finished dryly. "I admit that I was surprised when Poppy took you on."

Harry shrugged. "I'm glad she did. Classes were boring."

James had to chuckle at that admission. He distinctly remembered telling his parents something similar when he was Harry's age. "Well, at least you're positively channelling your energies. When I was fourteen, I was spent my time—"

"Chasing skirts and getting detentions?" Harry supplied with an innocent expression.

James spluttered in surprise, unable to formulate a coherent rebuttal. Especially considering that it was a true statement. Sirius was no doubt the source of this information, James thought. Well, he'd deal with his traitorous best friend later. "Mostly your mum's," he finally said, relishing in the look of horror that crossed Harry's face. "Speaking of skirts, how has it been going with that girl I met over the summer? What was her name again? Cordelia?"

Harry flushed to the roots of his hair. Clearing his throat, he sprang to his feet. "I'm not having this discussion."

James laughed as Harry all but sprinted out of his office. It was only the following day, over a very tense breakfast, that he realised his boys still weren't speaking with each other.

Genius Fratris

The Spring term commenced with a lethargy that followed holidays, despite the professors' best efforts to invigorate their students. There were brief sparks of interests, of course: the short-lived duelling club that Lockhart tried, and failed, to run; the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match that saw Cedric catching the snitch and securing Hufflepuff's first win of the season; and (to Grace's utmost pleasure) a massive blizzard that saw their Herbology and Care of Magical Creature classes cancelled for a week.

In Harry's own life, things were a bit more hectic. After weeks in the Hospital Wing, Hermione was finally released sans fur and whiskers, thanks entirely to Harry's drive to see the back of her. He probably would have indulged in a long, overdue nap had a Second Year Hufflepuff called Justin Fitch-Fletchley not been petrified. So, in addition to his regular Hospital Wing duties and studies, Harry now had three (four, if you counted Mrs Norris, which Filch did, and Harry most certainly did not) petrified people to care for. And then there was the Hogsmeade trip.

Sure, visits to Hogsmeade were often an exciting and anticipated event for students Third Year and above. Still, this one, in particular, was quickly becoming something to dread for one specific reason: it fell the day before Valentine's Day. Seemingly overnight, students were sent into a flurry and could think of nothing else but dates for the trip. And, to Harry's utmost confusion, he found that he wasn't immune.

It started when a Fourth Year Slytherin Harry had never spoken to asked him out. He declined her invitation as politely as his bafflement would allow. His confusion only grew when a Seventh Year Ravenclaw asked him on a date. Harry then had the mortifying experience of turning him down, mostly because he accidentally called him the wrong name. And then there was Cordelia Gamp, who decided that taking Harry to Madam Puddifoot's was her life's ambition, no matter how many times Harry tried to explain that he wasn't interested.

However, that wasn't to say he wasn't interested in a date. Just one with a completely different girl. Namely, one Katie Bell. The Third Year Gryffindor seemed to be everywhere Harry looked, from the library to the Great Hall, even finding herself in the Hospital Wing for inconsequential ailments. Cedric pointed out that Harry was probably just looking for her. There was probably some truth to that statement, but a small part of Harry wondered if Katie was going out of her way to find him.

A week before the Hogsmeade trip, Harry once again made eye contact with Katie from across the Great Hall. Harry would have ignored the coincidence if it had been any other person. But then Katie gave him that brilliant smile that did funny things to his stomach and waved. Harry offered her a shy smile in return, which had Katie turning, giggling, to her friends.

"Should I ask her out?" he found himself asked, still watching Katie.

"She's nice," Grace replied simply, which Harry knew was as close as a ringing endorsement one could get from Grace. "And she does seem to like you."

"Just don't discuss Quidditch plays," Marcus grunted.

"Oh," Harry said, feigning disappointment. "I had been planning on showing her the playbook."

Marcus gave him a sarcastic smile before returning to his breakfast. "Just for your cheek, I won't even tell you good luck."

Harry blinked and felt his blood run cold. "You think I should do it now?"

"No time like the present," Marcus pointed out. "And it would get Gamp off your back."

"Gamp won't give up until Harry puts her on her back," Grace supplied, grinning wickedly when Marcus choked on his omelette. "But I'd hurry if I were you. I heard George Weasley was planning on asking her out."

Whether or not this was true was immaterial; he simply couldn't take the chance. When he saw Katie leaving the Great Hall, Harry abandoned his breakfast and sped after her. Luckily, he managed to catch her before she ascended the Grand Staircase, and when he called out her name, she waved for friends to continue without her.

"Will you—" his throat seized up, and the rest of his words came out in a strangled gasp that left him coughing. Katie patted his back, concerned. His cheeks burned with humiliation. Now was not the time for his voice to stop working. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?"

Katie blinked in surprise before a pretty smile covered her face. The sight of her dimples made him go weak in the knees. "I would love to!"

"Great! Brilliant," Harry said, grinning so hard that his face hurt. "That's fantastic."

Katie grinned and tucked her hair behind her ear.

An awkward silence descended over them, in which Harry realised he had no clue what he was supposed to do next.

A sigh sounded from behind him, and to his horror, Grace stepped forward. "He'll meet you here, next Saturday, at eleven," she informed Katie. She turned to Harry, wearing a devious smile that showed entirely too many teeth, and patted his cheek. "See? That wasn't so hard. Was it?" Her smile morphed into something more pleasant as she turned to look back at Katie. "He's been agonising over this for weeks. Thank you for saying yes."

Harry wished that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, right then and there.

Then, if things couldn't get more embarrassing, Marcus appeared and fixed them with a scowl. "No discussing Quidditch plays," he grunted.

His two traitorous friends flounced off, leaving him to his mortification. After a long, very uncomfortable pause, they looked at each other.

"I'll see you at eleven, then?" Katie asked. Her cheeks were tinted pink, but she gave him a sweet smile that helped ease some of the panic in his chest.

When he spoke, his voice came out strangled. "Eleven sounds perfect."

They looked at each other for another moment before bursting into giggles.

"I think I'm supposed to offer to walk you to class at this point," Harry said. "But I'm actually running late and—"

Katie waved his apologies off. "I'll see you later, Harry." She stepped closer, and before Harry could react, pressed a kiss to his cheek, turned, and ran up the Grand Staircase.

Harry didn't stop smiling for the rest of the week, no matter how much his friends teased him for it. And when the thirteenth of February rolled around, he spent a lovely day with Katie, visiting the shops, getting Butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks, and having his first kiss by the Black Lake. But like all good things, the high of first love had to end, and reality came crashing back the very next day.

"Your father is in the paper," Marcus said in a low, slow voice.

Brow furrowed, Harry shifted on the bench to look over Marcus's shoulder, where the headline Protection or Persecution: Lord Potter Speaks! was splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Concerned, Harry pulled the newspaper out of Marcus's hands and read.

Lord James Potter is notoriously tight-lipped on his political leanings. Indeed, the last time he spoke publicly was in early 1981, when he advocated for a trial for the convicted Death Eater, Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew, a former friend of Lord Potter, was sentenced to life in Azkaban on four charges of conspiracy to commit murder and twelve charges of murder.

So, what has brought Lord Potter out of hiding? The answer is surprising: to oppose the Muggle-born Protection Act, proposed last week by Ministry Official Arthur Weasley.

"On the surface, the bill seems like a good idea," Lord Potter explained. "But there are several logistical components that are unethical."

His father was quoted at length, explaining his issues with the bill, although he stopped short of anything that might have labelled him a paranoid conspiracy theorist. He mainly focused on the cultural aspect of the bill, Harry noticed, going so far as to call it a clever way to oppress Muggle-borns in the name of equality. Harry thought his father's objections would have been more effective had he focused on the physical dangers of Muggle-borns and magic. Overall, however, he found the argument rather convincing.

He is not alone in this sentiment. Lucius Malfoy, who sits on the Board of Governors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, agrees.

"The bill introduces changes to Hogwarts Curriculum, such as updating the Muggle Studies class and making said class mandatory for wizarding children. Furthermore, it introduces a Wizarding Studies class and forces Muggle-borns to enrol. As a member of the Board of Governors, as well as a parent, I don't appreciate the Ministry dictating what our children must learn."

The article went on to discuss the benefits of the Muggle-born Protection Act before ending with the biased: Mr Weasley could not be reached for comment, but this writer sincerely hopes he takes Lord Potter's criticisms to heart and revises the bill.

Brow furrowed, Harry folded up the paper neatly into fourths and handed it back to Marcus. He glanced around the Great Hall, judging his peer's reaction to the article, and was relieved to notice that very few students were reading the Prophet. Several teachers were, though, and Harry could see Snape's glower from across the Great Hall.

"It's not too bad," Marcus murmured, re-reading the article. "It's rather favourable towards him."

"The bill must be gaining ground," Harry said, for lack of a better thing to say. Truthfully, he wasn't too sure how he felt about the issue. At fourteen, he had the luxury of not caring about politics outside Hogwarts. But as he stared across the sea of students, finding John and Ron with their heads bowed together at the Gryffindor table, he wondered how much they really were sheltered from external politics.

A small body slipped onto the bench next to him, distracting him from his morose thoughts. For a split second, he thought Luna had decided to join him for breakfast, which honestly would have made more sense than who he actually saw. Ginny, who had been avoiding him for months, was huddled next to him, staring at the empty plate in front of her.

Harry shot a panicked look at Marcus, who shrugged.

Deciding not to draw attention to the fact that she had willingly approached him, Harry filled up her goblet with pumpkin juice. "What classes do you have today?"

Ginny shrugged, something she had been doing a lot of these days. But, instead of snapping at him or slipping away, she surprised him yet again by leaning heavily into his side. It took a moment for Harry to register that she was shaking.

"Has something happened?" he asked softly, leaning down to speak in her ear. He wrapped his free arm around Ginny and tucked her into his side.

She didn't move for a moment. Then she twitched in a movement that could have been interpreted as a nod or a shiver.

Harry frowned and shifted in his seat to better look at Ginny. She was pale—paler than he had ever thought possible (and working in the Hospital Wing, he saw many ill faces)—and her lips had a bluish tinge to them.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, unwilling to draw attention to her. She was so flighty this year, and this was the first time she voluntarily sought him out. He wasn't about to embarrass her at the breakfast table.

Ginny shrugged and burrowed her head into his shoulder.

Harry pursed his lips and set down his fork before drawing his wand. "Ginny, may I cast a few diagnostic spells?"

She didn't refuse, so Harry took that as an affirmative. He flicked his wand, the furrow of his brow deepening as he read the glittering symbols that hovered in the air. Ginny's blood pressure was so low that he was surprised she was still conscious. And according to his spell, Ginny's internal body temperature was more in line with a corpse than a human. He rolled his wand between his fingertips, mind racing. Whatever was ailing Ginny was killing her. She would die, very soon, if he didn't act.

"Grace," he said, interrupting her conversation with Marcus. "Go get Percy Weasley."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ew. No."

Harry shot her a sharp look. "That wasn't a request. Marcus, grab Professor Sprout."

He didn't give them the chance to respond. Disentangling himself from Ginny's thin—too thin—arms, he spun her around on the bench and crouched down, his free hand moving to brace her head when it lulled forward. There was no way she'd be able to walk to the Hospital Wing. "Ginny, I'm going to place you on a stretcher. Do you think you can stand, or would you like help?"

The only reply he received was a pitiful groan.

Harry reached for his abandoned fork and transfigured it into a stretcher, which he quickly charmed to hover several feet off the ground. He scooped up the limp Ginny and settled her on the stretcher, pausing only to summon their bags from the ground and loop them over his shoulder.

Percy Weasley, looking decidedly less pompous than usual, met them at the doors of the Great Hall. Harry didn't give Percy the chance to ask questions he didn't know the answers to and began asking about Ginny's medical history. It was fortunate that Percy was more helpful than Ron had been the year before.

They were discussing Ginny's reaction to nettle based potions when the monitoring charms around Ginny began to chime. Harry's stomach plummeted to his feet.

Percy Weasley had the audacity to stop and grab hold of Harry's sleeve. "What's happening?"

It took every bit of self-control not to react, and he tramped down on furious, pounding panic building in his chest. This was not something he knew how to fix.

"Her heart is failing," he admitted, pushing off Weasley and taking off at a run. He could vaguely hear Weasley chasing after him as he sprinted towards the Hospital Wing. He calculated that he had thirty seconds before her heart stopped.

He knew there were charms that could help her, but he didn't know how to cast them. He was only fourteen, after all. No sane adult would teach a teenager how to cast the Heart Starting charm. No, the only thing he could do was run faster and hope he made it in time.

Harry didn't recall blasting the doors to the Hospital Wing off their hinges. He didn't remember transferring Ginny's lifeless body onto a hospital bed. He barely remembered Percy Weasley punching him, breaking his nose, and screaming at him to "fucking do something!"

What he did recall, though, was the way Ginny's vibrant hair covered her face like rivers of blood across freshly fallen snow. What he did remember was the absolute terror of the realisation that he was about to watch his friend die. He remembered how he went into autopilot, working mechanically, doing everything in his power to stop that from happening.

As hot blood spurt out of his nose, dripping down the front of his white wool robes, his hands trembling, he felt a tight pressure wrap around his arm, squirming up his body until it came to rest heavily on his shoulders.

"The hatchling is ill," Medusa noted, more to herself than to Harry.

In his flurry of activity, he didn't spare a second to respond. He couldn't even rebuke her for leaving the safety of his bag.

But Medusa didn't seem to be waiting for a response or direction to follow. "I will assist," she declared.

She launched herself off of Harry's shoulders impossibly fast, her jaw widening, her fangs bared. Percy Weasley's shout of alarm was the only warning Harry or Madam Pomfrey got before Medusa sank her fangs into Ginny's chest, right above—into—her sluggishly beating heart.

"Medusa!" He cried without thinking, reaching out and making a grab for his snake.

The ward erupted into shouts. Madam Pomfrey was shouting at him, Weasley was trying to kill Medusa, and Harry was desperately trying not to have a panic attack. Medusa dodged his hands, her red eyes watching the chaos she had wrought.

"Put your wand away! You could hit Ginny!" Harry snapped. He swiped at Medusa again, but she avoided his hands. He didn't even think about the fact that he was speaking Parseltongue in front of witnesses when he asked, "Medusa, what have you done?"

Medusa moved to coil up on Ginny's chest. "The hatchling will live," Medusa said. "I have given you time."

It took a moment to realise what she was saying, and he froze, finally glancing at the monitoring charms that he had cast over Ginny. Even as he watched, her pulse escalated, and her blood pressure ceased its terrifying plummet. The warning alarms quieted, and a moment later, Ginny's brown eyes flew open.

"You've saved her," he whispered. Somehow, Medusa had managed to do what Harry and Madam Pomfrey could not: she had stabilised Ginny.

Genius Fratris

Within hours, Harry became Hogwarts' persona non grata. Distrustful eyes followed him wherever he went, as did the hissed whispers that called him the Heir of Slytherin. From the moment they heard Harry was a Parselmouth, it was like they had forgotten everything they knew about him. It didn't matter that he was a Healer's apprentice: he was clearly out to kill them all. The insane rumour that Harry had somehow poisoned Penelope Clearwater didn't seem so mad after all. The fact that Ginny Weasley was lying in a magically induced coma after his venomous pet snake bit her only strengthened their beliefs.

Harry had never dodged so many jinxes in his life.

By contrast, the Slytherins (for once in his life) weren't the problem. Sure, some of them were scared that he might petrify them, but others watched him with something akin to reverence and awe. Unlike his first years at Hogwarts, nobody went out of their way to harass him or attack him. Nobody breached the security charms he had set up around his private chambers, and very few Slytherins approached him. Harry's friends firmly rebuffed the ones that did. Harry didn't think he'd have made it through February if it weren't for his friends.

Marcus, as always, acted as his looming protector; his gruff, quiet demeanour was a comforting presence when situations got out of control. He had taken on the role of Harry's confidant, and the two spent countless nights talking through the mounting pressures Harry was facing. Grace, meanwhile, always seemed to know precisely when Harry needed a break and was ready to rip his book out of his hands whenever he grew too tense. And as the weeks, then months, dragged on with no reprieve from the school's ire and Harry grew quieter, it was Cedric who stepped in to help him the most. His friend was well accustomed to speaking for Harry, and when Harry's mute episodes grew longer and became more frequent, it was Cedric who made sure that he felt heard.

And then there was Katie. The morning after his secret had been revealed, she marched up to him in the Great Hall, grabbed him by the front of his robes, and kissed him in front of the entire school. Ever the consummate Gryffindor, Katie had no problems letting people know her thoughts about Harry. She didn't shy away from the rumours or nastiness and had earned more than one detention defending Harry's 'honour'. Harry wasn't sure what this 'honour' she talked about was supposed to be, but he thought he might have lost some in empty corridors and abandoned classrooms, trying to make it up to her.

Whilst the school was rallying around the idea of making Harry's life a living hell, they seemed to have completely forgotten that there hadn't been an attack in months. That didn't make the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match any less brutal. It took Harry about five minutes to realise that his opponents had no interest in playing Quidditch. No amount of penalty shots awarded to the Slytherins could keep the Ravenclaws from fouling Harry, and by the time he finally caught the snitch, he had two broken ribs and a shattered left arm. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, vanished the bones, and gave him a healthy dose of Skele-gro. She also provided a vial of Sleeping Draught, which Harry vanished when she wasn't looking—he wasn't about to knock himself out on the off chance that somebody tried to attack him in his sleep.

That night, in the open ward of the Hospital Wing, Harry had his first anxiety attack.

Truthfully, they weren't a common occurrence: only once a week (twice if the week had been particularly stressful). But that was fine. He could deal with it, just like he was dealing with everything else. If an anxiety attack or two kept him functioning outside of the confines of his dormitory, he wasn't about to tell anyone. It wasn't like it was affecting his studies; he had no trouble at all keeping up. The few students that still let him treat them were no problem for him to fix, and none of his test scores dropped. Still, there was a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that his apprenticeship was in jeopardy.

He knew that Madam Pomfrey could tell that he was stressed, but the last thing he wanted was to admit that something was wrong. If she thought he was struggling, she might think he wasn't capable of being her apprentice. She might even tell Snape and have him removed from the programme altogether, which was the last thing he wanted. And so, he tramped down harder on his growing anxiety, locking it away until he could freak out away from prying eyes. He was fine. He wasn't about to let a little stress compromise his future.

As a result, he withdrew further into his books, spending every waking moment reading. He was still trying to figure out the root cause of the petrification and how to reverse them, although he was no closer by April than he had been before the Christmas holidays. He also had yet to figure out the exact cause of Ginny's illness, though they knew that she had fallen victim to some sort of curse. They might have even known which curse had caused her condition had Lockhart not stuck himself into the situation.

Not even two hours after Ginny had been stabilised, Lockhart had waltzed into the First Year Hufflepuff girls' dormitory under the guise of 'looking for clues.' Professor Snape had tried to intervene, but most of the evidence had been destroyed by the time he had. What little Snape could find were mere traces of dark magic in her school bag and under her pillow. With this scrap of information, Harry went to work researching curses that fed off its victim's magic like the curse that ailed Ginny. It was a good thing his anxiety kept him from sleeping because the things he read were nightmare-inducing.

After one such sleepless night in late April, Harry was drinking an obscene amount of coffee and trying not to fall asleep at the Slytherin table; two months of inadequate sleep was catching up to him, and he had a headache. Madam Pomfrey had excused him for his Hospital Wing duties for the rest of the afternoon, with the promise that he caught up on some sleep. They both knew that his agreement was a lie, but it was nice of her to try.

"Have you and John made up?" Cedric asked suddenly, jolting Harry out of his fatigued stupor.

Harry shook his head and followed Cedric's line of sight. Sure enough, John was making his way towards them, a letter in hand and a determined look on his face. Harry's head gave a particularly painful throb, and he dropped his head onto the table. "Make him go away."

Marcus patted him on the shoulder. "It might help."

"Getting screamed at by my brother?" Harry grunted. "I'll pass."

"You don't know what he wants," Cedric reminded him.

"Nor do I want to."

Grace sighed. "I'll deal with him," she replied, spinning around on the bench and rising to her feet. She intercepted John before he could reach them. She was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he watched, detached and exhausted, as she shook her head. John's face distorted with anger, and he tried to push around her, only for her to move into his path.

"Are you sure about this?" Marcus asked, his voice surprisingly gentle as they watched Grace spin John around and gently push him away.

The answer was more complicated than a simple yes or no answer. Did he want his relationship with his brother to be fixed? Absolutely. He hated the glares and stony silences that had plagued them since December. But at the same time, he wasn't sure how to get over the hurt John's accusations had caused. He didn't know how he was supposed to look John in the eye again with the knowledge that his little brother distrusted him.

And truthfully, he didn't have the energy to fight with John anymore. It was easier just to ignore his brother. Maybe they could hash out their problems over the summer. But right then, not dealing with John was just one less problem to worry about.

"I can't do this right now," he muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes so hard that he saw white.

Maybe it was the way he said it or the way his body sagged with exhaustion, but Marcus and Cedric were kind enough to drop the subject. Grace returned a moment later and resumed her meal as if nothing had happened. Harry was more than willing to let her.

He didn't watch his brother's reaction or watch him walk back across the Great Hall. He tried to listen to his friends' conversation about the Hogsmeade trip planned for the following day, but even that barely sparked his interest. In fact, if he hadn't been taking Katie, he might have skipped the trip altogether.

But as it was, he was dating Katie, and he had promised to buy her a Butterbeer to celebrate Gryffindor's win against Ravenclaw. So, the next morning, Harry rolled out of bed, having had far too little sleep, and donned a nice pair of robes for his date. He met Grace and Marcus in the common room, where Marcus wordlessly handed him a bacon butty, which Harry devoured as they made their way up to the Entrance Hall.

"Oh, damn." Grace stopped in the middle of the corridor and began to rifle through her bag. "I forgot my coin purse."

"Why do you need it? You always make us pay for you," Harry replied.

Grace gave him a patronising look. "Well, yes. It's only polite to pretend." She sighed and checked her watch. "Head up without me. I'll be right back." Waving off their offers to join her, she set off back the way they came, her strawberry blonde hair unnaturally bright in the dark dungeon corridor.

Marcus grabbed Harry by the shoulder when he went to follow her. "You should trust her more," he grunted, steering Harry out of the dungeons.

"I never said I didn't," Harry replied. "I just don't like the idea of her being alone right now."

"She's a big girl," Marcus said. "Besides, she's got her wand with her."

They ascended into the Entrance Hall, which was already full of eager students. They managed to find Cedric, surrounded by a swarm of Hufflepuffs that hung on to every word he said. When Cedric saw them, he bid his admirers farewell, all of whom looked thoroughly put out at the loss of his attention.

"Where's Grace?" Cedric asked, looking around as if he half expected Grace to be hiding behind them. "Never mind that, right now. Listen, if you two wouldn't mind making yourselves scarce today, I'd really appreciate it."

Harry exchanged a confused look with Marcus. "Did we have plans to stay together all day?" he asked, wracking his brains and trying to remember having such a conversation. When Marcus shook his head, Harry continued. "Because Katie and I were thinking about—"

Cedric waved a dismissive hand. "Not at all. But I was thinking about taking Grace to Kowalski's for lunch, and I'd really like for you all not to be there."

"Diggory," Marcus said with a heavy sigh, "the last thing either of us wants to do is witness your romantic fumblings. Many of which that could have been avoided had you grown a pair and asked her out."

Cedric blushed and cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I'd just thought I'd warn you ahead of time because—"

"I do have friends, you know," Marcus drawled. "Friends that aren't twitchy little Fourth Years."

Cedric looked somewhat affronted by this description. "Just because I wasn't blessed with your mountain troll genes doesn't make me short."

This was relatively true. Marcus and Cedric had each undergone another growth spurt, leaving Harry looking positively minuscule next to his tall friends. Not that he could complain too much. At fourteen, Grace was still the same height as her first year.

"Well, as I said, I'm chucking you lot for Katie, anyway," Harry said as he spotted his girlfriend coming down the Grand Staircase. He waved her over, ignoring his friends' ribbing at his lovesick expression. "At least I have a girlfriend," he reminded them.

Katie nodded waved to his friends before weaving her fingers through Harry's. "I heard that there was a new bookstore that opened last month," she said in lieu of a greeting. "But we can only go there after lunch, and you buy me something from Honeydukes. I have a feeling that you'll want to stay all afternoon."

"As fascinating as that sounds," someone drawled before Harry had the chance to reply. They all turned, finding Snape standing behind them, his face devoid of any expression. "I regret to inform you that Potter will not be joining you in Hogsmeade today."

Harry frowned. "Does Madam Pomfrey need me?" This was the only reason Harry could think of that would keep him from Hogsmeade, though he wasn't sure why Snape, of all people, was asked to retrieve him.

"The Headmaster wishes to speak with you." His message delivered, Snape spun on his heel and began to weave through the crowd of students. He didn't command Harry to follow, but Harry got the impression that if he wanted to find Dumbledore in a timely manner, Snape was his only hope.

Alarm bells immediately went off in Harry's head, and he set off after Snape. "Is it my brother?" he asked, catching up to his professor as he ascended the Grand Staircase. When Snape didn't respond immediately, Harry asked again, a touch of panic colouring his voice. "Is John hurt?"

Snape didn't look down at Harry, nor did he break his stride. "I have no idea where your foolhardy brother is at the moment," he responded, his tone devoid of any emotion.

The rush of relief was momentary. If it wasn't about his brother, why was he being summoned by the Headmaster on a Saturday? He hadn't done anything wrong—well, there was the fact that he didn't stop Medusa from biting Ginny, but that was ages ago, and Madam Pomfrey hadn't been angry once she had gotten over her shock. Or maybe they figured out that he had been the one to change the password to the Slytherin common room last term?

Harry followed Professor Snape, anxiety fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird, up to the second floor and down a series of corridors. They came to a stop in front of a particularly hideous stone gargoyle, to which Professor Snape gave the password ("Red Vines.") before waving Harry up the slowly spiralling staircase. At the top, Snape instructed him through the oaken double doors without knocking. For the second time in his Hogwarts' career, Harry found himself standing in the Headmaster's vast office.

After getting over the shock of being stared at by portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, who watched him with varying amounts of suspicion, Harry spied the magnificent bird that perched behind the door. It was a massive, swan sized bird with crimson and gold plumage that practically glowed in the sunlight. The bird fixed one of its beady black eyes on him before letting out a low, musical trill that sent a warm, pleasant tingle down his spine. Harry let out a little gasp of awe at the phoenix's song.

Glancing over his shoulder, he found Snape had crossed the room and was staring intently out of one of the windows that looked out onto the grounds. But more notably, Professor Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. Harry wasn't sure why he had been called to visit the Headmaster, but he knew he'd have to be stupid to pass up the chance to pet an actual phoenix.

Extending a shaky hand, Harry touched his fingers to the red feathers beneath the phoenix's beak, stroking the surprisingly warm feathers like he would Hedwig's. The phoenix let out a chirp and tilted its head back, giving Harry more access to its neck, its eyes fluttering shut. Grinning, Harry stepped closer, running his fingers to the back of the phoenix's head and gently scratching behind its crest feathers.

"It seems Fawkes has taken a liking to you."

Harry flinched, and guilty jumped away from the phoenix as if it had burned him. He turned to find that Professor Dumbledore had arrived at last. The Headmaster watched him over top of his half-moon spectacles from behind his desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Mr Potter likes animals," Professor Snape responded dryly.

Professor Dumbledore either missed the mocking edge to Snape's tone or elected to ignore it. He nodded slowly, a gentle, peaceful smile on his lips. "I have heard. Professor Kettleburn tells me that you perform well in his class. And Hagrid, of course, speaks fondly of your affinity for all things equine."

Harry wasn't sure if Dumbledore was referring to his jaunts into the Forbidden Forest to play with the thestrals or the unicorn he had healed last year, an event he thought they had all decided never to speak of again. Either way, Harry stared at his shoes and gave an embarrassed shrug. When he finally summoned the courage to look up, he found the Headmaster watching him with an intense expression that made his skin crawl.

"Won't you please sit, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore asked, waving his wand and conjuring a plush armchair in front of his desk. "We have much to discuss."

Harry perched on the edge of the chair, sneaking glances between Dumbledore and Snape, who was still staring out the window.

"I regret to inform you, Mr Potter," Professor Dumbledore began in a slow, measured voice. "That your friend, Miss Cooper, has been petrified."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"No, she hasn't," Harry said, a small laugh slipping out of his lips. "I saw her half an hour ago." Harry looked back at Snape, who continued to stare out the window. He didn't seem to find the Headmaster's words ludicrous.

"I don't understand," Harry said when neither of them replied. "What am I really here for?"

Snape finally tore his gaze away from the window. For a moment, Harry caught a haggard, exhausted look in his dark eyes before a cool, calm mask slid over his face. "You are here because twenty minutes ago, Grace Cooper was found in her dormitory, petrified."

"But—" Harry's throat seized, and it took several moments for him to force air into his lungs. "How? I just saw her."

"We were hoping you could tell us," Professor Dumbledore said softly.

Harry swallowed against the tight knot in his throat and fought down his emotions, nodding. Panicking wouldn't help Grace now, he knew. Getting emotional would only serve to cloud his judgement. "It's hard to say without seeing her, but I assume she's like the others?" When Dumbledore nodded, Harry continued. "We don't believe it is a poison—the patient's brain functions are affected and seemed to be petrified. I haven't found any references to curses that cause petrification to this extent. While I suppose someone may have invented one, I don't believe anyone at Hogwarts has the necessary skillset. I did, however, find a reference regarding petrification by a gorgon that bore striking similarities."

"Where did you find such a book?" Professor Dumbledore asked, interrupting Harry's musings.

Harry blinked. "The library," he explained. This was technically the truth, although he had found it in Slytherin's personal collection rather than Hogwarts' public library.

Dumbledore watched him over his steepled fingers before nodding. "Continue."

"I suppose the victims could have come in contact with a dark artefact, but the odds of them all encountering the same artefact is astronomical. My best guess is that some sort of creature is causing this."

"As fascinating as this is," Snape drawled, turning to face Harry. "I believe the Headmaster was referring to your recollections of the events leading up to the petrification."

"Oh," Harry said softly, his ears burning. He quickly recounted the last time he had seen Grace and tried not to trip over his words.

"And you didn't see anything out of the ordinary?" Professor Dumbledore asked, his voice soft. "Anybody who shouldn't have been in the dungeons?"

Harry frowned as he racked his brains. "We mainly passed other Slytherins," he recalled. "The Weasley twins were there, but they didn't pay us any attention." Which was odd, now that Harry thought about it. Even before the school thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, the Weasley twins never skipped an opportunity to hex him.

"And did you hear anything?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward and surveying Harry intently.

Harry found this question rather odd. "Other students were talking about Hogsmeade," he explained slowly.

Professor Dumbledore hummed and picked up his wand, twirling in thoughtfully between the fingers of his right hand. "Would you be willing to provide your memory of the event in question?"

Anxiety prickled his skin, and Harry had to fight the urge to scratch the back of his neck. Dumbledore was asking for a pensive memory, he realised, which was something one didn't just ask for. It was sort of like walking up to a stranger and asking them if you could wear their pants; memories were insanely intimate, and merely asking was something of a taboo. Not even Aurors could make people provide memories. It suddenly made sense why Snape had remained once delivering him to Dumbledore's office. They needed a witness to prove that Harry hadn't been coerced into providing his memories.

Harry's immediate action was to decline. After all, what would they even stand to learn? Harry hadn't been anywhere near Grace when she had been petrified. It then occurred to him how suspicious it would look if he refused. And what if he really had seen something, even if he hadn't realised it at the time? What if he held the missing puzzle piece for Dumbledore to catch the Heir, once and for all?

So, with a slow nod, Harry pulled his wand out of his wand.

"If it will help," he agreed. "What do I need to do?"

Professor Dumbledore walked him through the surprisingly easy task of removing his memory. Harry drew a silvery strand out of his temple by the tip of his wand. It was a disconcerting process, where Harry felt his memory of the morning slipping away until nothing was left but a hazy afterimage. When the memory was finally extracted, he dropped it into a crystal vial Snape provided and watched with trepidation as Dumbledore pulled a pensive out of a cabinet and dumped his memory in.

Dumbledore and Snape dipped their faces into the pensive, and it took every ounce of self-control not to dash across the room and rip them out of it. Harry waited impatiently for them to resurface, his leg beginning to bounce the longer they combed through his memories. He tried to remind himself that he was doing Grace's sake, but he couldn't help but feel violated. What were they even hoping to find?

A flutter of wings drew his attention, and a second later, Fawkes landed in his lap, his golden talons digging gently into his robe covered knee. Harry raised a hand and stroked Fawkes's feathers, the tension in his body slowly melting away. Fawkes crooned softly as they waited, and when his professors finally emerged from the pensive, the phoenix nipped at Harry's unruly hair before returning to his perch.

"That was most illuminating," Professor Dumbledore said, bottling up Harry's memory and returning them to him.

Harry rolled the vial between his fingers, unsure how to shove the memory back into his brain but too embarrassed to ask. "Was it helpful?" he asked quietly, refusing to make eye contact with Dumbledore.

"We were not able to ascertain who, or what, attacked Miss Cooper," Dumbledore replied after considering his words.

Something hot squirmed in Harry's stomach that felt a little bit like guilt and a little bit like disappointment. But mostly, he felt angry. After allowing both of his professors to poke around his thoughts, allowing them to witness something they weren't entitled to, they hadn't even found anything. "Do you need me for anything else?"

"No, I think that will be all," Dumbledore said.

Harry didn't wait for them to dismiss him. He leapt to his feet and was out of the office before anyone could stop him. He didn't stop running until he reached the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey was administering a Pepper-up Potion to a sniffling Ravenclaw.

"I thought you'd be along soon enough," she said to Harry, waving her wand and banishing the Ravenclaw's goblet. "She's with the others if you'd like to see her."

Harry pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Madam Pomfrey turned to look at him properly, her face softening as she took in Harry's expression. "What's happened?"

Wordlessly, Harry held up the vial of memories.

She blinked as she tried to comprehend what he was showing her. "Oh, Harry," she sighed at last. Crossing the ward, she pulled Harry down into a gentle hug, her fingers carding through his hair. He didn't (and couldn't) explain why he was so unsettled, but she seemed to understand just the same. Madam Pomfrey led him back into the office and deposited him at his desk. With careful and precise movements, she slid the vial out of Harry's numb fingers and uncorked the memories. Her voice was soft as she explained how she was restoring his memories, and a moment later, the hazy, vague notion of his morning was replaced in vivid detail.

Harry shuddered at the sensation.

"In the future," she said in the same, soft tone. "You're allowed to say no. It doesn't matter who is asking. If you don't want to do something, it's okay to say no."

To his horror, tears began to fill his eyes. He bowed his head and tried to blink them away.

"Who asked?"

"Dumbledore," Harry whispered, his voice husky.

Madam Pomfrey tsked with disapproval. "He should know better." When Harry tried to defend the Headmaster, she cut him off. "He has a position of authority and power over you. Of course, you would feel obligated to provide them."

"It didn't even help," Harry said, burying his face in his hands, exhaustion hitting him like a ton of bricks. "They wanted to find out what happened to Grace, and now I feel—"

She didn't reply but hugged him again, this time a little tighter. "Your voice is a powerful thing, Harry. Don't be afraid to use it."

"It's not, though." After all, how often had it failed him? How often had he choked on it when he desperately needed to speak? His voice hadn't been able to deny Dumbledore's requests or even stop people from harassing him. It sure as hell hadn't been enough to save—

He cut the thought off before he had the chance to finish it. He wasn't going to open that jar of bat spleens.

"It is," she disagreed firmly, but allowing him to drop the topic nonetheless. "Now, I can let you visit Miss Cooper for a few minutes if you'd like. She won't be able to hear you, but—"

Harry was shaking his head before she could finish. "I don't want to see her like this. It's wrong."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a sad look but seemed to understand. "I want you to take the rest of the weekend off. That means no studying. I mean it, Harry. You need to relax," she added when Harry tried to protest. "I'm not above confiscating your textbooks."

"I can get them from the library," Harry groused.

"I'll revoke your access to the Restricted Section. Don't think I won't."

It was an extraordinarily unfair yet highly effective threat. Harry left the Hospital Wing sometime later, wondering if reading in Slytherin's Study was technically breaking Madam Pomfrey's edict, and returned to his private room. Medusa was curled up by the fire and hissed a greeting when he entered. Harry shucked off his outer robes and kicked off his shoes before falling face-first into his bed, contemplating sleeping away his misery.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, which Harry was sorely tempted to ignore. But when a small voice called out his name, he sat up and scowled.

"Go away," he grunted.

"May I come in?" The door opened a crack before Harry could reply, and a familiar pair of mooncalf-like eyes peered into his chambers. "Please?"

Harry considered grabbing his wand and sealing the door. "What do you want, Nott?"

Undeterred by his hostile tone, Nott slipped into Harry's chambers. "To apologise."

"For what?"

Nott bit his lip and toed an uneven spot on the stone floor. "For being a massive git."

Harry recognised that this was a difficult thing for Nott to be doing, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment. "You haven't been a git to me."

"I know." Nott inched closer, his shoulders practically up to his ears. "I mean, I have, but not just to you. I was mean to Granger and Grace. Especially Grace. I wasn't a very good friend to her."

"You weren't," Harry agreed.

Nott flinched at his tone. "I'm going to apologise to both of them too."

"You'll have to wait until Grace wakes up," Harry replied, motioning for Nott to take Harry's desk chair. "She was petrified this morning."

"I know," Nott said, sounding genuinely sad. "I saw her being carried out of her dormitory." He looked down at his hands, which rested in his lap, and began to twist his fingers. "It was the Heir of Slytherin, wasn't it?"

Harry sighed heavily and shifted to sit on the end of his bed. "Most likely."

To Harry's surprise, Nott let out a little sob, and when he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. "She doesn't deserve that," Nott said. "None of them do."

"Not even the Muggle-borns?" The hostility had left him now, and he watched Nott with interest, curious to see how he would react.

Nott shook his head and pressed his lips together so hard they turned white. "I was wrong about Muggle-borns," he admitted, his voice breaking and hitching through his sobs. "It's just that… my father taught me that they were dangerous and unworthy of magic. That they stole jobs and magic from us. But Grace isn't dangerous, really, is she?"

"It depends on how much sleep she's gotten and if she's been fed recently," Harry replied, a smile quirking at his lips. "But her bark is worse than her bite."

Something that a little bit of a sob and a little bit of a laugh slipped from Nott's lips. "There are a lot of things I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know anything about Muggles or Muggle-borns, or a lot of stuff, I guess. I only know what my father has taught me. But I also think that he could be wrong. He's not very nice. And I don't want to be like him."

Harry slid to the floor and knelt before Nott, whose face was bowed in shame, and forced his chin up to look him in the eyes. "You're nothing like him, I reckon," Harry said. "I doubt he'd ever admit to being wrong."

Nott let out another hiccupping sob, and Harry reached forward to pull him into his arms. Nott tensed for a moment, and Harry briefly wondered when the last time someone had offered him a gentle touch. His father certainly didn't sound like a caring parental figure.

"I'm sorry," Nott whispered into his neck.

"I know you are," Harry replied soothingly.

"Can we all be friends again?" Nott asked, pulling away, clearly embarrassed.

"I suppose it depends on Grace," Harry admitted. "But I think she'll forgive you. She's not one to hold grudges."

"I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right to all of you," Nott said, a fire burning in his eyes. "I know I have a lot to learn about—"

"Being a decent human being?" Harry supplied.

Nott let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Not being a massive tosser," he corrected.

Harry laughed and ruffled Teddy's hair. "Well, I suppose that's a good place to start."


"It is never too late to be what you might have been." ― George Eliot


A/N: What?! An upload already? Hope you enjoy! I was feeling motivated.