Chapter 21: Spring 1994 (Part 1)

Within an hour of learning the news of Dr Cooper's death, the perimeter charms of Potter Manor were set off again. Harry was too busy caring for Grace to pay it much attention, so he was startled when his father knocked on the door to Grace's bedroom sometime later.

"Grace, there are people here who want to see you." His father said in a gentle voice.

Grace let out a hiccupping laugh that held no humour. "Let me guess, my grandparents are dead too?" The sound was a terrible, grating thing that had Harry resuming his gentle caresses of her hair, at a complete loss of how to fix this situation.

"I haven't seen anything like that."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice and spun around to find Teddy peeking around the door frame. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Teddy gave him a sad little smile. "I saw Grace needed us," he replied, jerking his chin over his shoulder. "I brought Jelly Slugs if you wanted any, Grace."

Grace raised her head from Harry's shoulder to face the door. "I'm not really hungry at the moment, Teddy."

He shrugged. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't eat anything." Without waiting for an invitation, Teddy ducked under Harry's father's arm and strolled into the bedroom. A second later, Cedric and Marcus followed in.

"Wow, you really rallied the troops," Grace drawled, though her voice was faint and her words lacked their usual acrid bite. When Cedric crawled onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, Grace went willingly. "I should become an orphan more often."

Marcus sighed and dropped into one of the chairs by the fire, and Harry moved to join him. "Who's going to take you in?"

"Gee, Marcus," Grace began. "I hadn't really thought about it. I only found out that my mum was dead a few hours ago, you see."

"You need to start thinking about it," he replied, unimpressed with her sarcasm. "You don't have the luxury of despair at the moment."

"Wow, you really know how to comfort a girl."

"What do you want me to say, Grace? I'm sorry your mum's dead? That's as obvious as it is pointless. Nothing we can say will make this better for you."

Grace was silent for a moment before murmuring softly, "No, there isn't." She gathered her thoughts for a moment before looking up at Marcus through tear-stained lashes. "What's going to happen to me? My grandparents, my aunties and uncles—they're all Muggles. They don't know about any of this stuff."

Marcus let out a heavy sigh. "The Ministry will inform whoever gains custody of you of our world," he explained. "They'll know that you're a witch and that they can't tell anyone."

"What if they don't want me to return to Hogwarts?"

It was Teddy who responded with an emphatic shake of his head. "They can't stop you from learning magic. They're going to pass a new law that forbids Muggle parents from denying Muggle-borns an education."

Harry looked over at Teddy in alarm. "That's actually going to make it through the Wizengamot?" Harry had heard of this proposed law, of course. Anybody who read the Daily Prophet past the first page was familiar with the Muggle-born Protection Act. But last he had heard, the proposed laws hadn't gained much support since Arthur Weasley had proposed it last year.

Teddy shrugged. "It's a good thing, isn't it? Otherwise, Grace's grandparents could pull her out of Hogwarts. She deserves to learn magic just as much as we do."

When Teddy said it like that, the Muggle-born Protection Act sounded like a great idea. Still, something twisted in Harry's gut, although he couldn't pinpoint why.

"There's time to figure that out later," Cedric said, redirecting the conversation back to Grace. "Is there anything we can do right now?"

Harry saw tears fill Grace's eyes in the split second it took for her to duck her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "It doesn't really feel real yet."

They sat silently for a long time, only speaking to thank Acorn when she brought up a tea tray. She watched them with a stern eye until all of them drank at least one cup before departing with a small pop!

"I thought magic would…" she trailed off and stared at her hands in her lap. "It's not supposed to be like this. Magic shouldn't…hurt people. It's magic."

There was something so heartbreakingly young about her voice—like a child who just found out Father Christmas didn't exist.

"We don't live in a fairy-tale, Grace. No matter how much it might seem like it from your perspective. People are still shitty, with or without magic," Marcus said.

"I think magic makes it worse, sometimes," Teddy added.

"You lot are so morbid," Cedric tutted. "Yes, people can be cruel. But people can also be kind. I mean, look at Harry—" he gestured needlessly at Harry. "You watched your mum murdered in front of you. You could have taken your anger out on the world, and nobody would've blamed you. Instead, you're studying to become a Healer, so you can help people. And Teddy! You were raised to believe that people like Grace and Dr Cooper were the scum of the earth. And yet you snuck out of your house and brought us here because you knew Grace needed us."

A delicate blush spread across Teddy's cheeks, and he ducked his head. "'S not that big of a deal."

"It is," Cedric insisted. "Just like it's a big deal that Marcus has looked out for all of us for years. We didn't even have to ask, and he's taken care of us."

"You make me sound far more altruistic than I am," Marcus replied, his voice gruffer than usual. "Harry was a titchy little thing, and I didn't want to lose my Seeker."

Cedric rolled his eyes. "Can none of you take a compliment?"

"No," Teddy and Marcus replied together.

"Perhaps if your comments were less sentimental," Harry suggested.

Cedric rolled his eyes again and waved away Harry's suggestion. "Yes, yes, the big scary Slytherins prefer to have their achievements complimented rather than their character. My point still stands." He turned his attention back to Grace, his eyes full of earnestness and compassion. "Yes, the Wizarding world has issues—just like the Muggle world. Don't let your anger make you so bitter that you forget that there are still things left to love around you."

The five friends sat in silence at the end of Cedric's impassioned speech, no one knowing quite what to say.

"That was the cheesiest thing I've ever heard," Grace said at last.

For his part, Cedric didn't seem too offended. He simply grinned and planted a noisy kiss on Grace's cheek. "I'm your token Hufflepuff, luv. It's in the job description."

Harry wished with all his heart that their vigil that night would have been enough to help Grace. It wasn't, of course. The power of friendship couldn't heal the agony of losing a parent. In fact, the weeks that followed were some of the hardest trials their friendship faced. Between attending meetings with the Magical Welfare office, arranging funeral plans, and setting her mother's affairs in order, Grace lashed out at Harry in anger, burst into tears that Cedric couldn't console, and was generally an unpleasant person to be around.

Still, Teddy snuck out of his house a week later, dodging his father, who would be furious to know his son was attending a Muggle's funeral. Marcus was ready with a steady hand and practical advice that often wasn't nice or pleasant but was always what Grace needed to hear. And through it all, Harry and Cedric never strayed far from her side, ready to support Grace when it felt like the world was crashing down around her.

Genius Fratris

"How the hell did you get out of rounds tonight?" Cedric demanded, towering over Harry.

Harry, who had been trying to eat with one hand, dropped the book he was reading into his steak and kidney pie. He scowled and drew his wand to repair the damage. "Madam Pomfrey," he explained, siphoning the gravy off A History of Possession and Why to Avoid It. "She needs me to go to a meeting for her."

"What meeting could she possibly need you to attend?"

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore called an emergency staff meeting after dinner," he said. Before cramming the book inside his rucksack, he checked to make sure Medusa hadn't crawled into the bottom. "He didn't elaborate."

"Yes, but why you?" It was a valid question, and one Harry wasn't entirely sure

"We need more Blood-Replenishing Potion, and tonight's the New Moon. Either one of us brews it, or we have to beg St Mungo's for some." Which wasn't about to happen. Not only did they charge wand and broomstick for it, but their potioneers were also incredibly condescending. Harry and Madam Pomfrey would never hear the end of it if they had to ask for help. "She said if I went in her place, she'd get me permission to visit the Magical Library of England."

The Magical Library of England had the largest collection of books in the British Isles, dating back to before the Roman invasion of Britain. The librarians there dedicated their entire lives to memorising the contents of merely one row of the thousands of bookshelves. It was the place for research—if you couldn't find the answers to your questions there, you were unlikely to find them anywhere in Western civilisation.

But unlike most libraries, you couldn't just walk in and grab a book off a shelf.

No. To receive permission to even enter the building, you had to do one of two things. The first route was to be awarded a C.R.O.W.N., which guaranteed acceptance into the library. The other (and perhaps the easier) option was to get seventeen people who had access to the library to vouch for you.

"You're skipping out on rounds tonight so you can go to the library in the future?" Cedric said, his voice heavy with disbelief.

"The Magical Library of England," Harry corrected. "Dad got me a library card for Christmas but after Grace's mum…I haven't had the time to visit yet."

"What could be so important that you need to leave Hogwarts?"

Harry would have reminded Cedric about John and Ginny's predicament, but they were in the Great Hall. There were too many ears that might pick up their conversation. "It's research for a couple of patients I have," he finally settled on. "I'm desperate for answers."

Cedric quickly realised what Harry was referring to because his look of annoyance vanished in an instant. "Have you heard back from that Rodriguez bloke yet?" he asked in a low voice.

Harry sighed and nodded. "He said he'd look into it. He hadn't heard of anything like this either."

Cedric hummed and slid onto the bench beside Harry, absently picking at the dinner roll on his plate. "Mum always says you've got a real problem when the books and experts can't help you." His eyes widened after a second, and he turned to Harry. "Not that you won't figure it out, of course. I have full faith in your ability to solve impossible problems."

Harry gave him a faint smile. "As always, I appreciate your support."

"So, you're infiltrating the staff meeting tonight?" Cedric asked, redirecting the conversation to the problem at hand. "Sounds like that will be interesting. Do you 'spose it will be like seeing animals in their natural habitat?"

Harry grimaced. "I'm not looking forward to it," he admitted, swatting Cedric's hand away when his friend grabbed a nearby fork and attempted to help himself to Harry's dinner. "Realistically, I know most of them haven't taught me anything in years. But still…they're my professors, aren't they? I feel like I'm doing something I shouldn't."

Cedric considered this for a moment. "There are two ways you can go about this," he advised as he attempted to steal Harry's dinner again. "The first is to ignore the erumpent in the room and not engage with the other professors." He let out a yelp when Harry stabbed his fork into his wrist. "The second is to hop on the erumpent's back and ride it through town. I recommend faking confidence and tricking them into thinking you belong there. That's what usually works for me."

It was an odd realisation—that Cedric wasn't always as confident as he appeared. Harry had always assumed his friend's boldness was attributed to his gregarious nature. To hear Cedric admit that he wasn't always the paragon of self-confidence was oddly endearing.

"I suppose I should saddle up, then," Harry replied with a wry grin.

Cedric whooped with delight and thumped him on the back. "Good man. Tell me how it goes, yeah? I want to know all about the juicy gossip the professors have on us." He used Harry's distraction to attempt to swipe more of Harry's dinner, only to earn a mild stinging hex for his troubles.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Careful, Ced. You're going to turn into Adrian at this rate."

"Nobody tops Pucey in gossip. Did you hear he's working with that Second Year Gryffindor with the camera to start a school newspaper?"

"I did," Harry said, pursing his lips. "Creevy dogged my steps for a week, trying to interview me."

"How'd that go?"

"I told him that John was much more interesting and would love to be interviewed instead," Harry explained. "He's still mad at me. Apparently, Creevy won't leave him alone now."

"You know, it's moments like this that I am eternally grateful that I'm an only child," Cedric said.

Their conversation moved onto more inconsequential topics, like their upcoming O.W.L. exams, which carried them through the rest of dinner (where Cedric finally relented and made up his own plate instead of trying to steal from Harry's) and up to the staffroom. They lingered outside for a few minutes before Cedric patted him on the shoulder and left to begin his prefect duties.

"Ride the erumpent," Harry muttered to himself.

He pushed open the staff room door and strolled in with feigned nonchalance. He dropped his bag on the table and sat beside Professor Flitwick, who didn't look up from the stack of essays he was marking. Still feeling as if he were doing something he shouldn't, Harry pulled out a book on blood curses, buried his nose in it, and tried to blend in with the surroundings.

The silence didn't last long.

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

Harry peered over the top of his book at Uncle Remus, who had taken the seat across from him. "Madam Pomfrey asked me to take notes for her," he explained.

"Is she allowed to do that?" Uncle Remus mused, shooting a glance at Professor McGonagall, who shrugged.

"He's her apprentice," she replied, as if this settled the matter. Harry wasn't sure how, but the other professors nodded in agreement.

"How is that going, Harry?" Professor Sprout asked.

Harry forced himself not to startle at the sound of his given name. It was as if he had wandered into a parallel universe where his professors thought of him as an equal rather than a student.

Ride the erumpent.

He smiled and put aside his book. "Madam Pomfrey let me stop a heart yesterday." At their horrified looks, he quickly explained that it was medically necessary and standard procedure for treating manticore stings, which were fatal if the venom wasn't removed in a timely manner. Still, he could tell they were unsettled, so Harry changed the subject to something more conversational. "Chatter in the common room is that you've rated five chilli peppers," Harry said, turning his attention to Uncle Remus.

Uncle Remus stared at him blankly, but Professor Snape choked on his tea.

"A five?" Professor Sinistra gasped, swooping out of nowhere, a stunned expression on her face.

"What does that mean?" Uncle Remus asked. He shot nervous looks between Snape, Sinistra, and Harry.

A grin pulled at Harry's lips. "An anonymous group in Slytherin puts out a rating for the most attractive professor. It changes annually, you see, because we get a new Defence professor every year. It's been going on since the 70s."

Sinistra shot a stunned, disbelieving look at Uncle Remus. "What did I get?" she asked.

"Four and a half."

Sinistra gasped.

"You're slipping, Aurora," Snape said mildly.

Harry pressed his lips together in an effort to contain his grin. He turned his attention back to his uncle, whose ears had turned rather pink. "So, a 'congratulations' is in order, Uncle Remus. You're quite the dish."

McGonagall snickered into her tea. "He has grown into a fine man," she agreed.

"He's certainly a far cry better than he was at fifteen," Flitwick added, nodding towards Uncle Remus, who had buried his face in his hands. "All arms and legs, this one."

Uncle Remus was spared from further torment by the Headmaster, who chose that moment to waltz into the staff room, his lavender robes swishing merrily around his ankles. "Thank you for assembling today. I fear we have much to discuss."

It felt as if he was looking at an entirely different person. There was something in Professor Dumbledore's expression—a hard, flinty look in his eyes that usually held nothing but compassion and good humour. This wasn't the eccentric and whimsical headmaster of Hogwarts. This was the man who defeated Grindelwald. This was the only man that Voldemort feared.

The sight of this side of Dumbledore sent a chill down Harry's spine.

"A few hours ago, the protective enchantments around Hogwarts were set off. The intruder was successfully repelled, and it is unlikely they will manage to gain access to the grounds."

"Was it Flint?"

"Almost certainly," Dumbledore replied. "Aurors believe that the traces of magic found at the gates were cast by him, though they couldn't be certain. It appears Flint is now in possession of another wizard's wand."

Dumbledore didn't explicitly say it, but everyone knew what that meant for the other person. After all, a wizard didn't just willingly hand over their wand.

"Is the boy in danger?" Snape asked.

Dumbledore considered this. "Young Mr Flint remains safe, so long as he remains within the walls of Hogwarts."

Professor Sprout's brow was furrowed, and she shook her head. "He'll be leaving us in less than two months, Albus."

"It is unfortunate," Professor Dumbledore agreed, looking every bit of his one-hundred and twelve years. "We can only hope that this matter is resolved by then."

"And what of the other students?" Professor Flitwick asked.

Professor Babbling frowned, a biscuit hovering over her cup mid-dunk. "Should we cancel the last Hogsmeade trip?"

"I proposed such a course of action this morning," Professor Dumbledore said. "However, the Board of Governors believe there is no credible threat to the students at this time. Minister Fudge agrees and has proposed that the dementors of Azkaban patrol the village instead."

"Surely not!" McGonagall shouted. "There must be a better option. Aurors—hit wizards even. Anything but those monsters. It's bad enough that the children have to live near them."

"I agree, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "But I have been overruled on the matter. The Hogsmeade trip is to proceed as planned."

There was an uproar until Professor Dumbledore lifted a hand to silence them. "The best we can do is be prepared," he said gravely. "I will make an announcement tonight and inform the students of the situation. We can only hope that our warnings will be enough to dissuade the students from visiting."

Harry raised his hand, and the professors looked curiously at him. It occurred to him that he hadn't needed to raise his hand—none of the adults had—and he put it down, blushing. "What about the prefects and head students?" he asked. "What can we do to help?"

Professor Dumbledore blinked as if the idea of involving the prefects hadn't occurred to him. "What do you propose?"

"We could learn the Patronus Charm," Harry pointed out. "If nothing else, it would guarantee that nobody has a miserable time at Hogsmeade."

A titter ran through the room at this, and Uncle Remus coughed.

"Harry," he said, looking highly uncomfortable. "That's an advanced spell. I'd be surprised if even one of you could perform it."

Harry pursed his lips. "Do you really have so little faith in your teaching abilities, Professor?" Eyebrows raised at the blatant disrespect, but Harry pushed on before anyone could reprimand him for it. "I think you'd be surprised how much a dedicated person can accomplish. It doesn't hurt to ask them. If they fail, fine. But why not let them fail by their own merits instead of pre-emptively believing they will?"

"Harry brings up an excellent point," Flitwick said, sending Harry a tiny wink. "There is nothing quite like mortal peril to inspire creativity and determination."

"If that is the case, we should allow all students to learn it," Professor Snape drawled.

It was obviously supposed to be a sarcastic comment, but Harry nodded. "That's an even better idea. At least students who are old enough to visit Hogsmeade. It gives them a fighting chance if they get too close to a dementor and can't find someone to help."

Snape levelled Harry with a scathing look. "You know that is not—"

A soft rap on the door cut off Snape's reply. Flitwick swished his wand, and the door swung open to reveal John's pale, blood-splattered face.

"What's happened?" Harry asked, leaping to his feet before John had a chance to speak.

His brother seemed immensely relieved to him and inched farther into the room. "I'm looking for Professor McGonagall," he explained faintly. "There's a problem in the Gryffindor common room."

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked, scurrying around the table and drawing his wand. Uncle Remus quickly followed, placing a hand under John's elbow when he swayed on his feet.

John looked down at himself, frowning as if he had just realised the state of himself. "I should probably mention this isn't my blood." John looked around Harry, who began to siphon the blood from his robes. "Professor McGonagall, there's a bit of a situation. Hermione's cat just ate Ron's rat."

Genius Fratris

It seemed that it would be the end of Ron and Hermione's friendship, and John was caught in the crossfire. And because John spent the next few weeks following him around, Harry, too, was sucked into the drama.

"It's not like the rat was special," Hermione grumbled one day in early March. They were sitting in an empty corner of the library, hidden behind silencing charms as Harry attempted to tutor John. Hermione hadn't been invited, but she had tagged along, claiming she could also benefit from Harry's tutelage. After nearly an hour, she had yet to open her Potions textbook. "He found it over the summer in his garden."

Harry looked up sharply from John's essay. "That's a horrible thing to say, Hermione."

Her expression tightened. "Well, it's true. It's just a rat. I don't see why it matters."

"Because it was his pet," Harry replied. "Regardless of your opinion on it, Ron loved Scabbers. Frankly, the fact that you fail to comprehend this is disturbing."

Hurt flashed in Hermione's eyes, and she raised her chin in defiance. "He didn't even have it for long," she said as if this mattered.

"You got Crookshanks over the summer hols, didn't you?" Harry asked, continuing on before she could reply. "By your logic, I should let Medusa kill your cat. Surely, it doesn't matter because you haven't had it that long."

Hermione's face flushed. "That's completely different!"

"Is it?" Harry replied mildly. "How?"

"Because…because…" she stuttered, tears filling her eyes. "Crookshanks is a cat! They eat rats. He was just doing what cats do!"

"Snakes bite," Harry replied with an apathetic shrug. "Medusa's bitten me many times. I guess it's okay for her to attack Crookshanks, then."

Her chair clattered to the ground as she leapt to her feet. "We aren't even allowed to have rats as pets. The Hogwarts supply list—"

"That rule is to stop people from bringing their pet Hippogriff to school," Harry said. "Small animals such as rats, bats, and snakes are permitted, so long as their owners can control them. Control is the operative word there. I'm astonished McGonagall hasn't sent your cat back home."

"Crookshanks is—"

"A menace," John snapped, and Harry blinked at him in surprise. John rarely took sides in Ron and Hermione's fights. "We've told you hundreds of times to keep Crookshanks out of our dormitory."

"He was just being a cat!" Hermione insisted.

John shook his head in disgust. "Wobbles lived in the same dormitory all year with Scabbers, and not once did we have an issue."

Harry privately thought this was due more to Wobbles' lack of intelligence than evidence that cats and rodents could co-exist, but he refrained from commenting.

John stood and began cramming his books inside his school bag. "You know what the worst part of this is? We literally just watched Scabbers get torn to shreds, and you can't even get over yourself to apologise. Ron's gutted, and you keep pouring salt in the wound." He stuffed his essay into his textbook. "Thanks for your help, Harry. I'll talk to you later."

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked.

John paused but didn't bother to turn around. "To find Ron. Talk to me when you're ready to apologise." He stormed off without a backwards glance, even when Hermione burst into tears.

Harry quietly packed up the quills and ink bottles that John had left behind before conjuring a handkerchief. "I think a genuine apology would go a long way," he said, handing it to her.

"But I didn't do—"

"You might not have killed Scabbers yourself, but your negligence played a role," Harry said firmly. "And continuing to invalidate Ron's feelings about the matter doesn't win you any support. My advice? Think long and hard about this from Ron's point of view. Maybe then you'll understand why John just stormed off."

"He won't forgive me," Hermione whispered, toying with the edge of the handkerchief.

Harry considered this for a moment. "Are you an only child, Hermione?" When she nodded, Harry gave her a sad smile. "Look, friends and family fight. That's just what happens in relationships. But if you love and value that relationship, you'll fight for it too. Don't let your fear ruin things for you, yeah?" He waved his hand, and his belongings arranged themselves neatly in his school bag. "Apologise to Ron, and listen when he speaks. He's mourning the loss of a pet, and he needs a friend."

"But what if he doesn't accept my apology?"

Harry sighed and pursed his lips. "Then that's his decision. It will hurt like hell, but you'll have to accept it." He slung his bag over his shoulder before leaning forward to chuck her chin.. "I'll see you 'round, Hermione."

She acknowledged his departure with a forlorn nod, and Harry left her to her thoughts.

Professor Snape was marking essays when Harry knocked on the door to his office sometime later. He didn't look up or even acknowledge Harry's presence as he entered the room. After nearly a year of these biweekly visits, Snape apparently trusted Harry enough not to disrupt him as he headed to St Mungo's for his magical therapy appointment.

The appointment itself was otherwise unremarkable, although his Healer hinted that Harry might be able to graduate from therapy before the summer holidays. This was a particular relief as Harry was the oldest patient in the ward, with the next closest in age being a six-year-old boy. Initial magical overexposure was an uncommon affliction for children older than eleven, as they generally learned to control magic upon entering Hogwarts.

He was released a little before lunch, and Harry took a few minutes to grab a quick meal at the canteen before leaving St Mungo's—not through the Floo as he had when he arrived, but through the main entrance. After pausing to stuff his robes into his school bag, Harry stepped onto the streets of Muggle London. He was promptly bowled over by a thick-set man with a walrus moustache, who yelled at him for blocking the pavement and called him a "scruffy-headed hooligan."

Ignoring the rude man, Harry continued down the street, passing the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. He briefly considered popping into Diagon Alley—Katie's birthday was rapidly approaching, but between his studies and responsibilities, he hadn't bought her a gift yet—but decided against it. He only had so much time for his errand today, and he didn't want to waste the precious few hours he had before he was required to return to Hogwarts.

His destination wasn't too far from the hospital. Soon, Harry found himself standing in front of a small, run-down building wedged between a chippy and a dodgy-looking charity shop. A battered wooden sign shaped like a book was the only indication that there was anything special about the door above which it hung. And indeed, it was a very special place. For behind the weathered, unassuming door lay the Magical Library of England.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry stepped up to the door and pressed his library card to the lock. It glowed blue for a moment before Harry heard a faint click! and the door creaked open. The intoxicating smell of parchment, leather, and ink assaulted Harry's nose before he stepped over the threshold.

The door opened to a magically enlarged room, seven storeys in height, with balconies overlooking the spacious atrium below. Massive marble pillars carved like phoenixes supported the domed, stained-glass ceiling, which created colourful shadows along the walls. Even the floor was beautiful, covered in an intricate mosaic depicting the first Library of Alexandria.

The air was humid, and Harry paused to remove his thick wool cloak as he passed a reflection pool on his way to the front desk. The librarian, a middle-aged witch with amber woven into her dark braids, looked up at him as he approached. Her robes were made of gauzy seafoam-coloured wool, and the letters MLE were embroidered in silver over her heart.

"Welcome," the librarian said in a voice that echoed through the atrium. Harry internally cringed at her loudness. Madam Pince would have had Kneazles if this was the Hogwarts library. "What knowledge do you seek, Apprentice?"

Harry crept up to the desk, which had been carved out of jade and ebony. "Healing," he replied.

The librarian quirked a tiny smile. "I assumed as much," she replied, nodding to Harry's white apprentice robes. She reached below her desk and pulled out a book as thick as Harry's head. The table shook when she dropped it in front of her. "Of which sort?"

Harry bit his lip and pushed through his embarrassment, describing the research he was conducting. The woman hummed thoughtfully as he spoke, flipping through her book and scribbling numbers down on a piece of parchment.

"The Healing department is on level two. The librarians there will be able to assist you further." She handed the piece of parchment to Harry, along with a library map. "Summoning charms are strictly prohibited, and if you need copies of pages, please do not use a Duplication charm. A librarian will assist you instead."

Harry nodded and scurried up the marble steps to the second floor. He passed few people as he wandered through the corridors, which made sense, given the library's massive footprint and exclusive nature. Still, the library was peaceful rather than eerie despite its lack of patrons. Had he not been in a hurry, Harry would have dearly enjoyed exploring the library more.

After referencing the map several dozen times, Harry finally stumbled across the gilded door of the Healing department, which opened into a large round room. Seven archways lined the walls, revealing seven cavernous rooms filled with bookshelves. The centre of this atrium held an information desk, where two librarians wearing identical seafoam robes argued.

"No, no, no!" A balding wizard snapped to his co-worker. "You can't put Mind Healing books there. You'll hurt their feelings!"

His much younger co-worker threw her hands up in the air. "Well, where else am I supposed to put them? The books on stomach ailments kept trying to eat them!"

"We'll discuss this later," the man said to his colleague after catching sight of Harry hovering awkwardly by the door. He held out his hand and waved Harry forward. "What do you seek?"

Harry handed the parchment to the librarians, who bowed their heads together to read it. He wasn't sure what information they had managed to glean from the string of numbers on the parchment, but he managed to catch snippets of their muttered conversation such as, "—residual Dark magic—" and "Stack 8?" and "Who the hell is this kid?"

"How old are you?" the woman asked, looking up at him after a moment.

"He's an apprentice," the man said. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I don't feel right giving a kid this information."

The man levelled a nasty glare at her. "That's not your job to decide, Carmichael," he snapped before turning back to Harry. "Do you know what caused your patient's possession?"

Harry blinked, though he really shouldn't have been surprised. The librarians were renowned for a reason. "A cursed object," Harry explained as vaguely as possible. For obvious reasons, he decided to leave out that it had once belonged to Voldemort. Not only could it cause a panic if that information got out, but it could cause problems for John and Ginny too. "We're not familiar with the curse."

"Was the possession longer than a month?" When Harry nodded, the man hummed thoughtfully. "I'll have a librarian in charge of Soul Healing look for something. But without knowing which curse was used, I'm not sure how helpful it will be." He grabbed a quill and scribbled on Harry's parchment before shoving at Carmichael. "Take this to Douglas and see what he can make of it."

Carmichael didn't look pleased with the task, but she nodded and departed without another word.

"Is there anything else you seek?" The words were said with polite disinterest, as if the librarian couldn't care less what Harry wanted to read.

The lack of a judgemental tone set Harry at ease, and he nodded. "Blood curses," he said. "Specifically, lycanthropy and inherited curses."

"Would you like information about blood adoptions, blood rituals, or containment wards as well?"

"That would be nice."

The librarian nodded and jotted down a note on a scrap of parchment. "I'll have it along. Please proceed to reading room Pi, row J, desk eight. Eating, drinking, and whistling are strictly prohibited in the reading rooms." He didn't wait for Harry to reply before scurrying off through an arch on the left.

With little else to do, Harry followed his instructions and made his way to the reading room. By the time he arrived (several wrong turns and twenty minutes later), a tall stack of books was waiting for him at his assigned desk. Harry checked his watch before plucking a book titled When Souls Linger off the top of the pile and began to read.

He fell into a comfortable rhythm of reading, taking notes, and keeping an eye on the time, managing to skim through six of the books in just over an hour. Whilst interesting, none of them held the information he was seeking. This might have discouraged him had new books not appeared in his to-be-read pile every time he discarded a book.

"Can you actually read that fast?"

Harry jumped in his seat and accidentally snapped his quill, sending ink splatters across his notes. He swore under his breath and tapped the parchment before the ink had time to ruin his research. When he was done, he turned to glare at the man who had interrupted him, only to shrink back when he took in the man's grizzled appearance.

The first thing Harry noticed was the man's mismatched eyes: one was small and dark whilst the other was clearly magic as it swivelled around in its socket. His appearance didn't improve once Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the sight. A web of scars crisscrossed the man's face, and a large portion of his nose was missing. He was also missing a leg, which had been replaced by a wooden prosthetic that ended in a clawed foot.

"You're Potter's boy, aren't you?" the man said in a low growl. "The name's Moody."

Harry had never met the man before, but Auror Moody's reputation preceded him. He was just as intimidating as the rumours suggested. Silently, Harry nodded, unable to find his voice.

Moody grunted and reached past Harry, plucking a book off the top of his stack. "Cursed Objects That You Should Definitely Not Try to Make: An Illustrated Guide," the man read aloud. A horrible silence lingered between them before Moody fixed both of his eyes on Harry. "I don't need to worry about you, do I?"

When Harry shook his head, Moody's scowl deepened. "Speak up!" he barked.

It took Harry several embarrassing moments of swallowing and gasping before he managed to rasp out. "It's for a patient," he explained, gesturing to his apprentice robes. "They had a run-in with a cursed object."

Moody pursed his lips, his scrutinising gaze darting between the book and Harry. "What kind of curse?"

"We don't know," he admitted. "The object was destroyed before it could be inspected."

"With what?"

"A basilisk fang."

Moody harrumphed. "That would do it," he muttered, thumbing through the pages of Harry's book. "Where did it come from?"

"The basilisk fang?"

"The cursed object, you dolt," Moody snapped in a voice that suggested he would have been much louder had they not been in the middle of a library. He paused, then, considering Harry's words, before giving him another scrutinising look. "Where did you get a basilisk fang?"

Despite the intensity of Moody's gaze, Harry couldn't help but smile. "From a basilisk."

Moody rolled his eyes, the blue one spinning wildly in its socket. "Yeah," he grunted. "You're Potter's brat, alright." He scowled again and dropped Harry's book back on the stack. "And this cursed objected caused a possession?" he asked.

Harry spluttered, caught off guard, before nodding mutely. "How did you know?"

Moody gave him the closest approximation of a grin as his gnarled face would permit. It sent a shiver of panic down Harry's spine. "I'm not a bad Auror, Potter," Moody said, nodding to the stack of books on Harry's desk. "I can put two and two together."

"Right," Harry muttered, feeling his face flush. Throwing caution to the wind, Harry laid out his dilemma in the simplest terms possible, making sure to leave John's, Ginny's, and Voldemort's names out of the explanation. "Have you heard of anything like that?"

Moody's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head slowly. "Sounds ruddy dangerous," he growled. "I'll look into it." He stomped off without waiting for Harry's reply, leaving the teen flustered and confused at the abrupt departure.

After casting a quick Reparo on his broken quill, Harry returned to his research. He spent the next several hours flipping through the seemingly endless stack of books, learning dozens of new spells and Healing methods. None of them, however, pertained to his unique inquiry. Finally, after his stomach gave too many pained and noisy grumbles, Harry tossed down his quill and decided to call it a day. He tried not to feel too disheartened as he packed up his belongings, but it was difficult—after six hours and countless rare books, Harry still hadn't found what he was looking for.

He'd come back later, Harry decided as he checked out of the reading room. It wasn't like the books were going anywhere. He quickly walked to the atrium, where the librarian at the front desk directed him to the fireplace.

"You are late," Snape snapped when Harry tripped on the Persian carpet as he stumbled out of the Floo.

Harry kept his face a blank mask and refrained from rolling his eyes. According to his watch, he was five minutes early from his five o'clock curfew. Not that he would remind Snape as much. "Forgive me, Professor," he replied. "It won't happen again."

Snape scowled. "See that it doesn't," he replied. He shot a spell at the fireplace, and the flames turned blue as the fireplace was disconnected from the Floo network. "Off to dinner, then."

Harry bowed his head and trotted a safe distance behind Snape, following the man up to the Great Hall. He slid into a seat between Grace and Marcus when he reached the Slytherin table, murmuring greetings to his friends as he fixed a plate of food.

"Harry," Grace began. "Convince this numpty to join us tonight."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "I've got better things to do—"

"Better people to do, more like it," Teddy muttered. After several declined invitations to join them in Hogsmeade, Teddy was convinced that Marcus had a secret girlfriend. Whenever Harry reminded Teddy that Marcus's homicidal maniac of a father was prowling around, Teddy gave him a suspicious look, as if he wondered if Harry was in on the secret too.

Marcus shot a spell at Teddy's plate, causing his mashed potatoes to erupt. "—than learn a useless piece of magic."

"The Patronus charm isn't useless!" Grace cried. "Not with dementors prowling around Hogsmeade."

"I'm not going to Hogsmeade," Marcus reminded her in a tone that suggested that he'd said this sentence several times already.

"It's the last Hogsmeade trip of the term," Grace reminded him.

"The last one before you leave Hogwarts," Teddy added, scowling as he continued to attempt to remove the mashed potatoes from his hair. "The last visit with all of us."

"I'm not putting everyone in danger by being there," Marcus snarled. "Besides, I've got other plans for the day."

"Hot date?" Grace drawled, arching an eyebrow.

To their surprise, Marcus blushed. "Hardly," he said in a gruff voice. "I'm meeting with…" When they continued to stare at him, he sighed and stabbed his roast chicken with his fork. "I'm being signed with the Falmouth Falcons. Just a reserve Chaser, but…"

He said this in such a low, rushed grumble that it took them a few seconds to interpret his words.

"You kept that quiet!" Grace exclaimed. "Teddy, why didn't you—"

"For the love of Merlin, that's not how my visions work!"

"Congratulations, Marcus," Harry said loudly enough to drown out Teddy and Grace's argument.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Grace demanded, rejoining their conversation. "How long have you known for?"

Marcus shrugged, the tips of his ears scarlet. "Found out last week. I didn't want to jinx it."

"We'll have to celebrate," Grace said. "After we get back from Hogsmeade. We'll meet in the Study."

Marcus pursed his lips. "Maybe we could have it somewhere else?" he suggested. "So we can invite others?"

"Like the Quidditch team?" Harry asked. "Minus Malfoy, I hope."

Marcus glanced away, staring across the Great Hall. "The team. Yeah," he grunted.

"So, if you're planning on leaving Hogwarts for the day," Teddy began, looking hopeful. "That means you should learn the Patronus Charm with us tonight. For safety."

Marcus rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I have N.E.W.T.s next month—"

"You've already got a job lined up," Grace reminded him. "Who cares about exams when you're playing professional Quidditch?"

"Being able to perform the Patronus Charm will look great for your Defence practical," Harry added.

Marcus groaned and shot Harry a betrayed look. "I'm not—"

"Going to fail because you've learned how to cast a Patronus," Harry finished with a decisive nod. "I'm glad you've seen reason. So, you'll be joining us, then?"

Marcus's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he turned back to his dinner without another word.

The others also returned to their meals, chatting quietly over the growing din of the Great Hall. Around them, they caught snippets of conversations, all of which pertained to the Patronus lesson that the professors would be conducting after dinner. What started as a suggestion to teach older students quickly ballooned into a school-wide event. First and Seventh Years alike were caught up in the excitement as they wondered who would get their Patronus and what shape it would take.

After the dessert was cleared from the tables, Professor Dumbledore stood at last and addressed them. He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles in what was supposed to be a grandfatherly gesture, but Harry thought it was ruined by the hard, intense look in his blue eyes.

"Now that you have all been fed and watered," he began in a soft, conversational voice that carried over the hushed room. "It is time for the event you all have been waiting for. In a few short moments, I will turn you over to Professor Lupin, who has agreed to teach you the Patronus Charm." He paused and waited for the excited titters to dissipate before continuing. "This is, of course, incredibly advanced magic. Indeed, many grown witches and wizards have never successfully cast the spell. However, I urge you not to let this discourage you."

He paused again and surveyed the crowd of students, and for the briefest of moments, Harry could have sworn that the Headmaster looked directly at him. "I have recently been reminded that young people are far more capable than we adults give you credit for. That is why I will award each student who successfully casts a corporeal Patronus one hundred points."

If Professor Dumbledore said anything after that, Harry couldn't hear it over the shouts of excitement that filled the room. It took several minutes for the students to calm down, giving the other professors plenty of time to clear away the dining tables and benches. At last, Uncle Remus stepped forward to begin the lesson.

It was interesting watching Uncle Remus teach. Harry knew he could, of course, considering the man had tutored Harry and John for years before they left for Hogwarts. But tutoring them in the library of Potter Manor was quite a bit different than teaching a hundred excitable children. Uncle Remus was undeniably charismatic, able to hold everyone's attention despite speaking in a soft voice.

"Now I want you to think of a memory," Uncle Remus said after explaining the mechanics of the Patronus Charm. "A happy memory. Remember how you felt at that moment in time, and let that happiness fill you once again. Concentrate on it and hold on tight to the feeling. And when you are ready, raise your wand and say the incantation."

Within seconds of Uncle Remus falling silent, there were shouts of "Expecto patronum!" filling the Great Hall. Unsurprisingly, none of them succeeded. The failures didn't seem to deter them, however; soon enough, it was difficult to think over the shouts of the other students. Uncle Remus and some of the other professors patrolled the crowd, offering pointers and encouragement to the students.

Percy Weasley was the first to successfully cast a Patronus, earning Gryffindor one hundred points for the shimmering beaver that scurried through the air.

Harry tried to tune out the noise and turned his thoughts inward, searching for a suitable memory. He had happy memories, of course: from getting his Hogwarts letter to winning the Quidditch Cup to Madam Pomfrey giving him his apprentice robes to hours spent with Katie, he knew he had no lack of happiness in his life. Still, none of them felt right. None of the memories incited an intense feeling of happiness in him, one that he could grab onto and relieve again and again.

A roar of excitement ripped through the Great Hall as John cast a Patronus—a magnificent stag that galloped through the crowd, tossing its head like Harry had seen his father do on more than one occasion.

"Giving up already, Potter?"

Harry glanced up at Professor Snape, who hovered behind him, a pointed expression on his sallow face. He shook his head. "Just thinking, Professor."

"Has your pampered life been so dreadful you cannot think of a single happy memory?" Snape drawled. He raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes flickering towards John's stag, which continued to prance around the room. "Or are you too afraid to be shown up by your brother?"

Harry merely smiled. After dealing with Snape for over four years, he knew better than to rise to his baiting. "I simply want to find the perfect memory. I wouldn't want to waste my energy on anything less."

They paused to clap politely for Astoria Greengrass, whose elephant Patronus sent students nearest scattering in panic.

"This was a great idea," Harry said mildly.

"Are you congratulating yourself for thinking of it?"

"Not at all," Harry replied. "I'm congratulating you. You're the one who championed for the rest of the school to learn the charm. I only considered the prefects."

Harry bit his lips to stop himself from laughing as Snape's expression darkened, and the Potions Master stomped off to terrorise some other student. Harry grinned and returned to his introspection, idly watching as more and more Patronus' lit up the Great Hall. A swan, a Saint Bernard, a kimono dragon, a hummingbird, and an orca joined the growing menagerie of animals. The excitement in the room was palpable, and the literal manifestations of happiness only added to the feeling.

Harry made eye contact with Cedric, who had already managed a shield-like incorporeal Patronus, the pearly light making his grey eyes glow almost silver. Cedric winked, and a moment later, a badger erupted out of his wand. It disappeared quickly when Cedric's concentration was broken by the dozens of friends who thumped him on the back and congratulated him.

It was at that moment that Harry knew precisely which memory to use.

It was him at eleven years old, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. He had been sitting in Charms class and had just shot his feather into the ceiling, all without uttering a single word. And then the boy sitting next to him stuck out his hand to shake. Harry remembered how he had looked at him, not with contempt or disgust or hatred, but with kind, polite, earnest sincerity, as he introduced himself, "Cedric Diggory. It's nice to meet you."

The warmth of the mere memory of the smile filled Harry's body, his nerves tingling as if they had been electrocuted. That had been the first time anyone had willingly spoken to him in months. That was the first time he had ever made a friend.

Raising his wand at last, Harry thought, Expecto patronum.

Harry didn't hear when he was awarded a hundred points for Slytherin. He was too busy basking in the excitement and joy of his accomplishment, watching as his snake Patronus wiggled through the air, twisting its head like Medusa did when someone complimented her on her scales.


Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. —Albus Dumbledore


A/N: Here's to you supermegafoxyawesomehot readers who are sticking with me. Let's go see Gerard Way in concert.