Chapter 22: Spring 1994 (Part 2)

By the end of March, seventeen students, ranging from Second Year to Seventh, were able to perform a Patronus. The four giant hourglasses in the Entrance Hall each displayed an obscene amount of high house points, the likes of which Hogwarts hadn't seen for nearly eighty years. It had also become the closest competition that Hogwarts had seen in some time. The leader changed hourly, and the students felt intense pressure to earn as many points as possible. They studied more, their school work was completed the day it was assigned, and rule-breaking had become non-existent as they were terrified to lose any points that could jeopardise the house cup. Harry privately wondered if Dumbledore had planned for this to happen.

Not that Harry was complaining. With the students being so well behaved, he had more time to study for his upcoming exams. In fact, other than settling a squabble in the Second Year boy's dormitory in April, Harry's prefect duties were hardly the time drain they tended to be.

That was why Harry grew nervous as May approached. Things were going a little too well, and he kept waiting for something to go wrong. Madam Pomfrey had rolled her eyes and told him that he was being ridiculous and to focus on his upcoming Year Two apprentice exams. Marcus was similarly unhelpful and told him to focus on winning him his last Hogwarts Quidditch cup. Harry considered talking to Uncle Remus about his growing apprehension but quickly brushed the idea away, knowing that his uncle would try to turn his venting into a Mind Healing session. And Katie… well. Harry wasn't going to burden her with his troubles anymore.

It had started on her birthday, of all days. Harry had awoken at five in the morning to prepare for the day, forgoing his usual early morning study session. Her present had arrived the night before, and he neatly wrapped it with a flick of his wand. It wasn't much—just a pair of Quidditch gloves and the newest book by her favourite author—but Katie wasn't one for gifts. She much preferred spending time together over receiving gifts. That was why he had waited outside the Gryffindor dormitory the morning of her birthday with a food hamper by his feet.

"I hope you're not opposed to skipping breakfast this morning," Harry said, kissing Katie's cheek when she clambered out of the portrait hole.

Katie shook her head and waved Alicia Spinnet on. "Not at all."

There was something in her voice that gave Harry pause. "Is everything alright?"

Katie shook her head again and started down the corridor. "Where were you planning to have breakfast?"

Harry fell into step beside her. "The beech tree by the lake. It should be warm enough, but if it's not, I've got a blanket and warming charms are easy. Are you sure everything is alright?"

Katie sighed heavily. "I'm fine, Harry. I just—"

Harry waited patiently as she organised her thoughts, which took far longer than he had expected. By the time they reached the lake and laid out their breakfast spread, she still hadn't explained what was bothering her.

"Have I upset you?" Harry asked quietly.

"No. Yes. I don't know," Katie replied, staring into her mug of pumpkin juice. When she finally looked up, Harry was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me that you had another research paper published?"

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it wasn't that. He frowned and reached forward to touch Katie's arm. His heart sank when she moved out of his reach. "I didn't think it was that important," he said.

"And yet it's being hailed as groundbreaking research in Healing and Geomancy magics," she snapped, her voice catching. "The Prophet is talking about an Order of Merlin—"

"For my father," Harry stressed. "Not me. He did all of the work."

This was an oversimplification of what had happened. In truth, it had been Harry's idea to create a new way to regrow bones, inspired by John's unfortunate run-in with the rouge Bludger the previous year. Whilst simple breaks were easy enough to fix, more complex fractures required vanishing and regrowing the bone—an agonising process that could take several days. This wasn't a problem in an arm or a leg, but fixing a spine or a skull was far more complicated. In almost every situation, Healers couldn't save patients with traumatic damage done to their axial skeletons.

But then Grace had mentioned how Muggles were able to replace bones with metal implants, and Harry began brainstorming ways to utilise it in Healing. When he realised he was far out of his depth, he enlisted the help of his father, who specialised in Geomancy. After that, Harry had very little to do with the complex calculations and difficult Transfigurations his father performed in order to make the idea come to life. But after nearly a year of research and experiments, his father had figured out how to transfigure human bone shards into titanium metal, which could be used to rebuild the damaged skeleton.

The process wasn't without risks, and it wasn't perfect. It couldn't regrow amputated limbs, and the addition of metal changed the body's density, making it impossible to ever ride a broom again. But if a Healer could assist the patient in time, it could do what had once been impossible. The spell had already been used Heal a witch in Japan whose spine had been crushed during a landslide.

His father deserved every bit of recognition he received for his hard work, and Harry couldn't be more proud of what they had accomplished. Their spell was saving lives.

But his reply was apparently the wrong thing to say. Katie's tan skin flushed with anger, and she rubbed the tears out of her eyes. "You still didn't tell me that you were helping!" she snapped.

"I'm sorry," he said, chest constricting at the sight of her tears. He had made her cry. He scooted over to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I didn't think it was important."

A strangled laugh tore through Katie's throat. "That's the problem," she said, and Harry was alarmed by the utter defeat she heard in her words. "You never tell me anything."

Harry pursed his lips. "That's not true," he said. "I tell you loads of things."

Katie shook her head. "Not important things."

"My role in the research was minimal. Dad was generous to add me as a co-author," Harry reminded her, struggling to reign in his temper. "And I do tell you things. I told you that I completed my Animagus transformation—"

"Which you refused to show me."

"And I tell you about…" Harry trailed off, trying to think. Despite his ongoing research and studies, his life wasn't all that interesting. What was there to tell Katie? "Whenever you ask about my day, I always tell you. I don't try to hide anything."

Katie fixed him with a look that was half angry, half pitying. It made his stomach drop. "That's not what I mean. You never talk to me. I don't care about you treating someone in the Hospital Wing. I care that you aren't sharing important life events with me. That you never tell me how you're feeling."

"I do!" Harry cried.

"When you lost your head over the dementor back in December? You didn't talk to me about that."

"It wasn't important," he insisted. "I'm sorry if that upset you, but—"

"It only upset me because you were so clearly upset," she said. "I was upset that you couldn't trust me enough to let me help you."

"I didn't need help!"

"Oh, so Professor Lupin didn't have to drag you back to the castle?" Katie asked with a hard, sarcastic edge to her voice. "You do stuff like this all the time. You bury everything inside of you, and you won't let me help! I feel like an outsider, watching you suffer in silence."

"I'm not suffering," Harry said. "I'm perfectly fine."

Katie let out another strangled laugh. "There you go again, pushing me away, refusing to engage in the slightest emotional—"

"What do you want me to say, Katie?" Harry snapped. "Do you want me to cry to you about how I'm forced to listen to my mother be murdered every time I get close to a dementor? Do you want me to tell you all about how terrified I am that Marcus will be murdered by his father the second he leaves Hogwarts? Or should I talk about how my dad's former friend, the man who sold my family out to Voldemort, escaped from Azkaban and is still at large?"

Katie's face had drained of colour, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Harry cut her off. It was as if a dam had broken inside him, and every worry he had rushed out of his mouth. And once the words had started, he couldn't stop them.

"Do you want me to explain the stress I'm under because of my apprenticeship? How every day I step into the Hospital Wing, I know that if I fuck up, my entire future could implode? If I don't appear perfectly fine, I could be declared unfit as an apprentice and forced to return to regular classes. Or do you want me to explain the insane amount of pressure I'm under just by practising Healing—that I could kill someone if I'm not careful?

"Or maybe you want me to talk about how little time I actually have to begin with? Not only do I have to study and work, but I've got students knocking on my bedroom door every five fucking minutes, complaining that someone stole their lip gloss or that they're homesick or they're going to fail out of Hogwarts because they can't perform a Levitation Charm. And if that wasn't enough, I've got Marcus breathing down my neck about Quidditch, and I've got Grace twenty minutes away from self-destructing, and John's been struggling with his friends and what happened last—"

He managed to break off before spilling John's secrets, breathing hard. Katie was staring at him with wide-eyed horror, tears spilling down her cheeks. Guilt wracked through Harry at the sight. This breakfast was supposed to be about Katie's birthday, and now he'd ruined it.

"I'm sorry," he said gruffly, willing himself to calm.

Katie shook her head and squeezed his arm. "No, thank you for telling me."

"That wasn't fair to you," Harry said, staring out across the lake. "You're my girlfriend. Not my therapist."

"I don't mind," she insisted.

Harry shook his head. "No. It's not fair of me to put my burdens onto you."

"I don't mind," she repeated. "I want to help you."

Harry glanced down at Katie in disbelief. "You think me shouting at you was helpful for either of us?"

"You said it yourself: you're under a lot of pressure, Harry," she said. "You bottle things up, and eventually, you're going to burst."

The 'sort of like he just had' was left unsaid.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "I'm just… you're so easy to be around, Katie. You're one of the few things in my life that isn't…" he rubbed his face, suddenly exhausted. "Please don't make things hard."

Katie was silent for a long time as she returned to her breakfast.

"Most days, I feel like a distraction to you."

"You're not!" Harry quickly began, only to be cut off when Katie raised a hand.

"You use me as a distraction from all the things going on in your life. And for a while, I thought that was a good thing. But, Harry," she turned to face him, taking his hands in hers and squeezing them tightly. "Most days, I don't feel like a girlfriend. No, that's not right. I don't feel like a partner."

Panic flooded through Harry at the sad, resigned tone in her voice. "What are you saying?"

"I think we need to break up," she said quietly. "We're not good for each other."

"What? No! Katie, please. We're not—"

"I want a partner who needs me, Harry," she explained. She was crying now, but when Harry reached forward to wipe away her tears, she leaned away. "I don't want to feel like I'm useless."

"You're not useless, Katie," he murmured. "I'm only sane because I've had you—"

"To distract you from your problems," she interjected. "And that's not what I want to be. I want a partner who I can be a team with. I want to be the safe place for you to be yourself, not this carefully controlled persona you've created. When I'm with you, you're too kind. Too good to me. It's like I'm dating a fictional character, but like, one by a bad author who doesn't know how to give characters flaws."

The admission hurt as much as it confused him. What was that supposed to mean? He was too kind to her? Was that even possible?

And who exactly did she see when she looked at him? Of course he had flaws. She had said so herself when she said he refused to communicate his feelings with her. His throat constricted. Did Katie even know him?

Clearly not, he thought ruefully. After over a year together, it hurt that she thought he was only using her as a distraction.

He considered arguing more, but something in his heart just…broke at this realisation. All the fight he had in him evaporated, and he couldn't bring himself to fight more for the relationship. There was no point in continuing to date someone who willfully misunderstood him—who didn't even seem to know him to begin with.

"And there's nothing I can say that will change your mind, is there?" Harry asked after a long moment of silence, although his heart wasn't really in it.

Katie shook her head sadly.

Harry's heart throbbed painfully in his chest, and he bit his tongue as he tried to stem the tears that pricked at his eyes. "Right," he said, his voice rough. "I guess that's it, then."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Katie whispered, climbing to her feet.

"No, I am. I didn't mean to make you feel…" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

"You haven't," she replied with a sad smile. "We just need different things from a relationship. There's nothing wrong with that."

Harry stood as well and summoned his bag. "I'm sorry it had to happen on your birthday," he said, pulling out her present and handing it to her. When she backed away and attempted to refuse, Harry sighed, grabbed her wrist, and forced her to accept it.

Katie pursed her lips. "It feels wrong."

He shrugged. "We can still be friends, right?" He was pleased that he managed to keep the sadness out of his voice.

She nodded hesitantly.

"Friends give friends birthday presents," he insisted, pulling his wand out of his bag and waving it. The blanket they had been sitting on and the remaining food packed itself neatly into the hamper, which he stooped to pick up. "I already bought it; it would be silly not to still give it to you."

She let out a shaky sigh. "You're being awfully decent to the girl who just chucked you."

Harry gave her a wan smile. "Just because we're not going to snog anymore doesn't mean I hate you, Katie." He brushed his fingers against her wrist, savouring the warmth of her skin as he realised that this would be the last time he'd do so. The knowledge left him feeling strangely numb. "I'll see you around."

Madam Pomfrey didn't comment when Harry showed up for his shift to the Hospital Wing nearly an hour early, and she didn't ask why he was quieter than usual. Instead, she taught him how to reverse botched human transfigurations, something Harry wasn't set to learn for another year. It helped take his mind off the dull ache in his chest, which was fortunate because everyone seemed to know that he and Katie had split by noon.

Harry buried his head in a copy of the Daily Prophet and tried to feed himself French onion soup with one hand. Still, his preoccupation with reading about the passage of Mr Weasley's Muggle-born Protection Act (just as Teddy had predicted) wasn't enough to dissuade Adrian Pucey from harassing him about the breakup.

"It was all Cordelia could talk about in Charms," Pucey said as Harry tried to read. "She's been waiting for this since the two of you got together."

"I'll make sure to avoid her, then," Harry murmured as he tried to read through the new protective measures the Act outlined. The Prophet had added additional commentary, explaining the new law in layman's terms.

"3. All Muggle-borns will be enrolled in a new 'Magical Heritage' course at Hogwarts, compulsory through their Fifth Year. This class will ensure that Muggle-borns will be familiarised with our laws, traditions, and culture, facilitating their integration into Wizarding society.

4. Muggle parents and guardians will no longer be able to deny children their right to a magical education. This means that…"

"Oh, come on," Pucey said. "She's not that bad."

"Merlin's pants," Harry muttered, slamming the newspaper closed. "Adrian, it hasn't even been six hours. I'm not looking for a new girlfriend. And even if I was, Gamp is one of the last people I would pick."

His response seemed to genuinely confuse Pucey. "What do you have against Cordelia?"

Appetite thoroughly ruined, Harry dropped his spoon in his bowl with a loud clatter. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but Gamp was horrid to me before Third Year. Why the hell would I want to date her?"

Pucey frowned. "That was ages ago, Harry."

"And I'm supposed to get over it, am I?" When Pucey opened his mouth to reply, Harry rushed to continue. "Look, I'm polite to her because it's easier if I am. But I have no desire to be her friend, let alone date her. If you were in my position, would you?"

Pucey considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. "I mean, yeah. I probably would."

"Then you're a far better man than I," Harry snapped. He grabbed a sandwich before stomping out of the Great Hall. He spent the rest of lunch holed up in his office, his mood having sunk to a new low.

The one positive that came out of the end of Harry's relationship was that he had more time to study for his upcoming exams. His O.W.L. exams were first, and Harry was relieved to find them more busy work than challenging. The only rough patch, in fact, was during his Transfiguration practical, where the examiner asked him to show off his Animagus transformation. Harry wasn't sure the humiliation of turning into a hare in front of his peers was worth the few bonus points he received, but he did it nonetheless, if for Professor McGonagall's sake rather than his own. After all, how many Transfiguration teachers could boast that one of their Fifth Years was an Animagus?

After his O.W.L.s, Harry didn't even have time to relax before he sat for his gruelling Second Year apprenticeship exams. For the next three weeks, Harry was put through dozens of lengthy tests, both written and practical, where he was tested on everything Madam Pomfrey had taught him so far. His results would determine not only if he could continue onto his Third Year but if he could continue the apprenticeship at all.

Unlike other disciplines, Healing apprenticeships were a rarity in the Wizarding world. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have finished Hogwarts, attended a Healing programme for four years, and interned at a hospital for another three before he could be licensed as a Healer. Instead, Harry's apprenticeship (should he manage to complete it) took only five years, but it was infinitely harder to finish. It was like skipping studying law at a university and learning everything from a barrister instead. Theoretically, it was possible, but the failure rate was so incredibly high that most people wouldn't dare partake in the madness. Especially before they finished Hogwarts.

"I have every faith in you that you'll pass, Harry," she said one evening in mid-June, watching Harry pace anxiously around the Hospital Wing. "Your spell work is excellent, as is your brewing."

"And what of my non-human sentient species knowledge?" Harry fretted, tugging on a lock of his hair. "I'm sure I missed something when it asked about treating a vampire that summoned B'loody Mary. I only had time to write a few pages. But what if it wasn't enough?"

"How on earth did you manage to write multiple pages on that? Surely a few paragraphs would have sufficed?"

Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. "You're right. They'll probably think I'm being a smartass, and now I'm going to fail and—"

"That's quite enough, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said, a hint of mirth in her voice. She patted his shoulder. "You're going to pass. There is nothing to worry about. I wouldn't have offered you an apprenticeship if I thought you would be unable to keep up."

Like Penelope Clearwater. The Seventh Year Ravenclaw had approached Madam Pomfrey at the beginning of term and practically begged for an apprenticeship, only to be turned away. Harry wasn't sure why—from what he could tell, Clearwater was an excellent student with a serious aspiration to becoming a Healer. And yet she had been turned away from a position that Harry had been gifted at the tender age of thirteen.

When Harry had asked Madam Pomfrey about it, his mentor had sighed and shook her head. "She's a clever witch and will make a wonderful Healer one day, but she doesn't have the right personality for an apprenticeship. She'd burn out before the end of her First Year."

"And I do?" Harry had asked, humbled by Madam Pomfrey's faith in him.

She had merely smiled before telling him to get back to work.

"Your faith in me is undeserved," Harry mumbled, voicing the thoughts he had had in September.

She clucked her tongue. "You need to relax," she insisted, smoothing down Harry's unruly hair. "There's the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. Are you going?"

He nodded. "I have to. All prefects are required to attend this trip because of the dementors."

"I'll give you some chocolate in the morning," she said.

Harry wasn't sure if this was for himself or to pass out to the students, but he nodded in understanding. "I have a feeling that Honeydukes will be packed."

"Probably the only business that won't suffer with the presence of those horrid things," she agreed. She sighed before patting Harry on the shoulder. "Go to bed, dear. You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

Harry decided to walk back to the Slytherin common room rather than taking the fireplace directly to his private chambers. This proved to be a colossal mistake.

"My hair is turning blond!" Malfoy screeched in his face the moment Harry stepped into the common room.

"You are blond, Malfoy," Harry reminded him gently, trying to sidestep the distraught Third Year.

Malfoy shook his head and tugged at his hair, pointing at the roots. "Dark blond, Potter!" he cried, growing more panicked by the second.

Sure enough, upon closer inspection, Malfoy's silvery blond hair was shot through with darker, more sandy strands.

"That's completely normal," Harry explained, unsure what Malfoy expected him to do about it. "Most blonds' hair darkens as they age. The fact that yours has stayed so light for this long is actually surprising." Still, he drew his wand and rapped Malfoy over the head, transfiguring his hair back to its original hue.

Malfoy shook his (still very blond) head. "Not for Malfoys, it's not. My father's hair is still—"

"Unbelievably gorgeous," Grace drawled, sidling up next to Harry. "Truly, the envy of all of England. It's practically a national treasure."

"Nobody was talking to you—"

Harry cut Malfoy off before he could say anything rude. "Did you need something, Grace?"

She grabbed him by the elbow and began to drag him towards the staircase. "It's Teddy," she explained in a low voice. "We think he's going to have a vision soon."

Harry's blood turned to ice in his veins. Despite having attended several of Teddy's visions and knowing what to expect, Harry still felt woefully unprepared each time it happened. They were just so unpredictable. "How close is it?" he asked as they climbed the stairs to the private rooms.

"He doesn't think it will be long," she said. "Maybe a few hours?"

This was a vague approximation, at best. If there was one thing Harry had learned about Seers, it was that they were notoriously unreliable when it came to gauging timeframes. 'Soon' could mean anything from a few minutes to a few days, and 'not long' was rarely a pressing matter. As Teddy described it, time was more of an abstract concept, and timelines were a figment of human imagination. That probably explained why he was often late for things, Harry mused.

They found Teddy pacing around Marcus's room, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glassy. Harry immediately went to him, casting a charm explicitly created for Seers before a prophecy; prophecies were notoriously taxing on the human body and required specialised monitoring. Madam Pomfrey had devoted three months to teaching him the intricacies of Healing a Seer.

"Your temperature is too high," Harry noted, more to himself than to Teddy. "Grace, can you fetch my Potions kit?"

"You can use mine," Marcus said, summoning over his cauldron and lighting a fire beneath it. "I can make you a Fever Reducer if you like."

Harry shook his head. "Teddy's allergic to willow bark," he explained. "A standard Fever Reducer isn't safe to take. Make a Cooling Potion instead."

"I'm right here, you know," Teddy growled.

"Yes, and you should be resting. Not running around like a maniac," Harry snapped before conjuring a bed and shoving Teddy into it. "You need to save your strength."

"I'm not going to fall apart," Teddy said as he settled into the bed. "I've done this loads of times before."

"And you know that you're supposed to find Madam Pomfrey or me when the symptoms start," Harry replied. He scowled at the runes that read off Teddy's vitals, finding his blood pressure much higher than Harry would have liked. "Need I remind you could go blind if something—"

"Yes, Mum," Teddy grumbled, throwing his arm over his eyes.

It was lousy bedside manners to throw a stinging hex at a patient, no matter how obnoxious they were, so Harry bit his tongue and continued his examination.

Despite his fussing, Harry found that Teddy's health wasn't as poor as it could have been. After a Cooling Potion from Marcus and a Muscle Relaxer from Harry, Teddy fell asleep. Harry suggested they transport him to the Hospital Wing for the night, more so for Marcus' benefit than because it was medically necessary, but Marcus waved off the idea.

"I don't mind," Marcus said. "I don't want him to wake up. He's been agitated all afternoon."

"Why didn't someone drag him to the Hospital Wing?"

Grace scoffed. "He had his Potions exam. Apparently, his fear of Snape's wrath is greater than his fear of yours."

"You're losing your touch, Harry," Marcus commented idly.

Too exhausted from his own exams to think of a clever retort, Harry settled for an unimpressed glare before ensconcing himself in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace. The evening passed quietly, with Teddy drifting in and out of fitful sleep and Harry rising to check on him periodically. At midnight, Grace exaggeratedly tucked the sheets around Teddy and planted a noisy kiss on his forehead before retiring to her room for the night. At one, Marcus dozed off, leaving Harry to care for an increasingly agitated Teddy alone.

And then, at a quarter past three, Teddy's heart began to race: one-eighty, two hundred, two-twenty. Sweat broke out across Teddy's skin, which had blanched to a deathly white. His brown eyes rolled back into his head, and his body violently began to shake.

Harry was on his feet and at his friend's side, doing what he could to lessen the stress that taxed Teddy's body. His blood pressure soared, and blood began to spurt out of Teddy's nostrils. His fingers flexed and clawed, and foam bubbled out from his lips, giving him the look of a rabid animal.

Two-thirty, two-forty-three, two-fifty.

A hand shot out of its own accord, wrapping tightly around Harry's neck. It dragged him closer to Teddy's bed until Harry was nose to nose with him.

"The mission will be complete, at last," Teddy said in a deep, guttural voice that bore no resemblance to his own. "The servant will reunite with the master… and with his aid, the Dark Lord will rise again, more terrible than ever before… The plans are set and will fall into motion as tonight… the mission will be complete, at last."

Harry didn't have time to think about what he had just heard. His wand flashed as he cast Healing charm after Healing charm and brought Teddy's vitals back to a healthier range. He cleaned the blood off his face and cleared out air passages; summoned potions to lower blood pressure, and spelled them into Teddy's stomach.

"They're not usually that bad, are they?" Marcus asked as Harry prepared Teddy for transport to the Hospital Wing.

Harry was too busy to even look at Marcus. "No, they're not. He might need St Mungo's."

"What do you think it meant?" Marcus asked, appearing beside Harry. He struggled to don his dressing gown, and his dark hair was mused from sleep.

Harry shook his head and waved his wand, and Teddy's bed levitated. "Prophecies are notoriously unreliable. You know that."

"Yeah, but—"

"Later," Harry insisted. "Go get Snape. I'll meet you in the Hospital Wing."

Time was of the essence, and Harry wasn't about to waste it by running through the corridors. He directed Teddy's bed over to the fireplace. With a hiss, he instructed the passageway to open and shoved him through.

Genius Fratris

Harry would've loved to say his day got better after that.

In truth, by the time Harry finally returned to his room at five in the morning, he had managed to get two hours of sleep before someone knocked on his door. It opened to reveal a disoriented and pale-faced Miles Bletchley, who seemed to think that Harry was the only person who could treat his mono flare-up. Still, he rolled out of bed and helped his teammate to the Hospital Wing.

"You too, Professor?" Bletchley asked as Harry helped him into a bed. "What are you in for?"

Uncle Remus offered Bletchley a wan smile. "I contracted a disease in my youth," he explained in a light, indifferent tone. "It flares up every month or so."

This was a mild way to say that he was bitten by a werewolf, and last night was the full moon. Still, the subtle vagueness was effective, and Bletchley accepted the explanation.

"You didn't get hermononucleosis from snogging half of Brussels, did you?"

"You said it was Florence," Harry said as he summoned Bletchley's patient file and made a note in it.

Bletchley waved the technicality away. "It's all a bit of a blur, honestly," he muttered.

"That would be the fever, actually," Harry said. He summoned a Fever Reducer and held it to Bletchley's lips. "Bed rest, four days."

Bletchley groaned. "But it's the last Hogsmeade trip of the term!"

"You're not going anywhere," Harry said firmly. He shuddered to think what disease Bletchley might pick up, even if he had the energy to roam the village. But, considering that Bletchley didn't even have the energy to drink a potion on his own, Harry wasn't too concerned about him sneaking out. "Your immune system is too weak."

Bletchley grumbled as Harry charmed a bubble of sterilised air around his bed but didn't seem to have enough energy to put up more of a fight.

Harry paused to make a few more notes in Bletchley's file before making his way over to Uncle Remus. A flick of his wand and privacy screens were erected around the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, dropping heavily into the chair beside Uncle Remus' bed.

"I've felt far worse," Uncle Remus said. "You don't look well either, I'm sorry to see."

Harry waved off his concerns. "Busy night. Didn't get much sleep. I'll take a Wide-Awake Potion later when Madam Pomfrey isn't looking." It wasn't an ideal solution, but he didn't have a choice. He hoped the potion would give him enough energy to make it through the day. The last thing he needed was to fall asleep in the middle of Hogsmeade. "Are you sure you're feeling up for patrolling today?"

"Are you?" Uncle Remus asked drily. "You look just as exhausted as me."

When it became clear that the Board of Governors would not allow the school to cancel the Hogsmeade trip, Professor Dumbledore had implemented additional safety measures for the day. As a result, professors and prefects alike would be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade.

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have groaned at the chore. Being a prefect was already a drain on his free time, and the last thing he wanted was to give up more of it on his day off. But then he heard that George Weasley was taking Katie to Hogsmeade. Whilst they had agreed to remain friends, Harry had no desire to see his ex-girlfriend cuddling with one of his former bullies. As a result, he had agreed to take over several of his fellow prefects' shifts.

Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Marcus wouldn't be there due to his meeting with Falmouth Falcons, and after his vision last night, nor would Teddy. Harry had no desire to be the third wheel on Cedric and Grace's date, and Pucey would no doubt be spending the day with Cordelia Gamp. Even Bletchley was out of the question now.

Other than planning a visit to a bookstore, Harry's day was pathetically empty.

"I have the benefit of not being a decrepit old man," Harry replied with a grin. He laughed when Uncle Remus swatted at his head.

"Cheeky brat," he muttered with mock indignation.

Harry laughed again before rising to his feet. "Don't tell Madam Pomfrey I was here," he said. "She banned me for the day. Says I work too much."

"Far be it from me to get someone in trouble," Uncle Remus agreed solemnly.

"Thanks, Professor!" Harry teased as he slipped out of the privacy screens.

His next stop was Teddy's bed, where he slumbered peacefully after the morning's excitement. An Unspeakable would be arriving sometime this morning to extract the prophecy, but until then, it was important that Teddy rested. It had been touch-and-go for a while, but Harry and Madam Pomfrey had stabilised him without needing to transfer him to St Mungo's. Still, he peaked Teddy's vitals to put his own mind at ease, relieved to find his friend was on the mend.

After a quick glance around the empty ward, Harry crept over to the potions cabinet, where he rummaged around until he found a Wide-Awake Potion. He tucked a vial of it into his bag, taking care not to disturb a slumbering Medusa. He went to close the glass door of the cabinet, only to pause when a bottle caught his eye.

Blood Replenishing potion.

They had been going through a lot of the potion this year on account of Astoria Greengrass, a First Year Slytherin with a rare and incurable blood curse. She required weekly doses of Blood Replenishing potion and, within the first month of the term, had completely depleted their stores of it. Harry and Madam Pomfrey were doing everything they could to keep it stocked, which was tricky, considering the potion could only be brewed during a New Moon.

It would be wrong for Harry to take any. He knew that. And yet…

Something itched at the back of his mind saying he might need it. Perhaps his lack of sleep had made him a bit paranoid and was clouding his judgement. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he would need it.

Without thinking, Harry decanted a half dozen dosages into crystal vials and shoved them into his bag beside the Wide-Awake potion, jostling Medusa in the process. She hissed and snapped at Harry's hand, nicking his skin with her fangs. She only accepted Harry's apologies after he promised her several ice mice.

Harry returned briefly to his room to exchange his pyjamas and dressing gown for a set of casual robes before trudging up to the Great Hall to endure breakfast. Cedric and Grace were already there, huddled together at the Hufflepuff table, where Grace was no doubt filling him in on what he had missed the night before. Harry went to join them, slipping onto the bench across from Cedric. Thankfully, neither tried to draw him into their conversation, allowing Harry to eat his food in peace.

When the hour arrived for them to depart, Harry collected Honeydukes requests from Luna and Ginny. He tried to find John as well, but his brother was nowhere to be found. Harry tried to decide if that was suspicious or not but ultimately decided to let it go. Besides, it wasn't like John would ask for anything other than Bertie Botts.

The walk to the village was far more peaceful than usual, thanks to the dozen Patronuses that escorted them. Harry strolled beside Cedric and Grace, who were debating which shop to visit first.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us, Harry?" Cedric asked, his face twisted into a fretful expression. "We don't mind."

Harry thought Grace's expression said she very much did mind but was choosing not to say so.

He waved him off. "I'm meeting with Urquhart soon. Try not to get caught in any compromising situations in the meantime," he teased lightly, enjoying Cedric's embarrassed splutters.

When they arrived at the village, Grace managed to pull Cedric away for their date, and Harry wandered through the streets while waiting for his patrol shift to start. After making his necessary purchases at Honeydukes, he next visited Mr Buckle's Arts Supplies, where he searched for a birthday present for John. There, he ran into Pucey, who was purchasing several rolls of film for his camera.

"How is the newspaper going?" Harry asked conversationally as he inspected a pack of charcoal, unsure what he was looking at. He assumed this was the charcoal John had referred to when he described his newfound interest in the art medium, but there were so many different types. How was he supposed to pick?

Pucey grinned and launched into a monologue about the Hogwarts Times. "That reminds me," he said after several minutes. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bulging leather portfolio, which he riffled through. "We were going to publish this with the article about you, but since you stubbornly refused to be interviewed… well. It's a nice picture. I thought you might like a copy." He handed a moving photograph to Harry with a grin.

Pucey was right. It was a lovely photograph. It was a close-up of Harry's face, taken back in September, during Hagrid's lessons on unicorns. Harry was in front of the unicorn he had saved in Third Year, petting its velvety nose with a childlike look of wonder. His face was shining as it reflected the unicorn's soft silver radiance, giving the entire picture a gentle glow.

Harry knew his teammate was interested in photography, but he hadn't realised how talented he was at it. "Thank you," he said, a lump forming in his throat. "I didn't realise you had taken any pictures that day."

Pucey waved him off. "I take a lot of them—Mum's a muggle, so she loves it when I send her magical pictures. This was one of her favourites this year," he explained with a proud smile. "I'm relieved you aren't bothered—Cordelia thinks it's creepy that I take pictures of our classmates."

"It is creepy, Adrian," the girl in question teased as she sidled up to them and wove her arm through Pucey's. She turned to give Harry a pretty smile. "He's got thousands of stalker photos."

Pucey bristled at this uncharitable depiction of his hobby. "They're called candid shots, Delly," he corrected with a huff.

Cordelia sent Harry a conspiratorial wink and said in a mock whisper, "Stalker shots."

"Well," Harry said diplomatically before Pucey could retort. "Either way, you have a talent. Have you thought about selling them?"

Pucey shrugged, looking as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Not sure who would want to buy them."

"Do you have a lot of pictures of Hogwarts?" When Pucey nodded, he continued. "You could make photo albums and sell them to Muggleborns to show their parents. Hell, I'm sure Hogwarts alumni would buy them too."

Harry's watch alarm vibrated then, and he excused himself from the conversation. He quickly made his purchases before hurrying down High Street. Urquart was already waiting for him in front of the Three Broomsticks. Harry apologised for his tardiness before they began their patrol.

His day continued in a similar manner, his partners occasionally swapping out for other prefects. Some of his company was more interesting than others, which made looking out for trouble slightly less tedious. The worst thing Harry had to deal with, though, was breaking up a fistfight between a group of Gryffindors and comforting a tearful Third Year that had wandered a little too close to a dementor.

That was until he ran across Ron and Hermione.

Now, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have thought much about his brother's best friends. But there was just something…off about them. Maybe it was the way they were walking, far enough apart that someone could walk between them. Or perhaps it was the shifty way their eyes were darting around the alley between Dervish and Bangs and the Post Office.

"I'll catch up in a moment," Harry muttered to Felix Brunt, a diminutive Ravenclaw in his year.

Brunt shrugged and scurried off, evidently relieved for the break.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked in a pleasant voice when Brunt was out of earshot.

Hermione's eyes widened in panic, and Ron reached around her to slap a hand against her mouth.

"You do know that makes you look more suspicious, right?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ron said with a defiant set to his jaw. "We're just walking. Is that a crime?"

Harry forced himself to smile. "Not at all," he agreed, stepping aside and waving them on. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Ron's scowl was as suspicious as Hermione's face was terrified. They continued on with the same awkward stroll, Ron's shoulder brushing Harry's as he went. There had been more than enough room between him and Hermione to avoid the collision, which meant one of two things. Either Ron had wanted to body check Harry, or the empty space was more solid than it appeared.

With Quidditch honed reflexes, Harry's hand shot out to the empty space, hoping he was wrong.

He wasn't.

"Seriously, John?" Harry snapped when he wrenched an Invisibility Cloak—his Invisibility Cloak—off his brother. "You stole the cloak?"

"Would you have let me borrow it if I asked?" John asked, looking far less penitential than he had any right to.

"No," Harry snarled, balling his cloak up and shoving it into his bag. "Because you aren't supposed to be in Hogsmeade anyway. Dad will be furious if he finds out."

"Then don't tell him," John suggested. He had the audacity to hold out his hand, demanding the cloak back. "He doesn't need to know."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "He doesn't. And he won't if you go back to the castle right now."

"No! I've been out here all day, and everything's been fine. There's no reason to keep me from visiting, and you know it."

Harry scowled and grabbed his brother's arm, yanking him away from his friends. "Pettigrew still hasn't been found," Harry reminded him in a low voice, switching to Greek to give their conversation a semblance of privacy. "Dad's beside himself with worry enough as it is. He doesn't need you adding to it."

"No one has seen him since he escaped," John retorted angrily, trying and failing to wrench his arm out of Harry's grasp. "For all we know, he could be dead."

"He can turn into a rat, you prat. Of course nobody has seen him!"

"Do you mind speaking in English?" Ron called out. "We can't understand you."

"That's the point," Harry replied before refocusing on John. "You need to go back to the castle. How did you even get here?"

"Through the front gates," John said with a careless shrug.

"And my cloak?" Harry asked. He might have been able to overlook the sneaking around if John hadn't stolen the cloak. "I know for a fact that I left it in my trunk."

At this, John looked almost smug. "I asked the snake," he explained.

Harry immediately knew what John was referring to: the small stone carving etched into the wall outside of the Slytherin common room that only responded to Parseltongue. The same snake Harry had asked to seal the common room last year. But how had John known about it?

"The chamber," John replied to Harry's unasked question. His face darkened as he recalled the memory. "You asked the carving to let you through. I found the same carving outside your common room. It worked there, too."

"Clearly." Harry tried not to panic that John had remembered this bit of information. After all, if John could figure out the secret to sneaking into the Slytherin common room out, what else would he discover? Or, more specifically, what if John managed to access Slytherin's private study? Harry loved his brother dearly, but the Study was something he didn't want to share with him. The Study was his sanctuary.

It would be even worse if John brought his friends along, Harry thought angrily. Hermione would never leave.

"Right, let's go," Harry said, tugging his brother by the arm and dragging him to the mouth of the alley.

"Where?" John asked, dragging his feet and trying to wiggle out of Harry's hold.

"The castle. Or maybe McGonagall. Whichever comes up first."

"You can't!" John yelped, his smug look melting in panic. "Dad'll have my hide!"

"You should have thought about that before you broke into my room, rummaged through my belongings, stole my cloak, and snuck out of the school," Harry snapped, his temper rising.

"That's—" but whatever John was about to say, it was cut off by a massive boom! that shook the ground.

Without thinking, Harry shoved his brother against the alley wall, shielding him with his body. A moment later, his wand was out, and a shield charm was expanding around them.

"What was that?" Hermione squeaked from the crates she had taken cover behind.

"You reckon Zonko's blew up again? Fred said a bunch of fireworks went off inside a few years ago," Ron asked, his freckles standing out against his stark white face. "Well, technically, he set them off, but—"

The sounds that followed were nothing like Harry had heard before. His skin crawled at the blood-curdling screams of terror from dozens of men, women, and children. They flooded the streets of Hogsmeade, running away from something Harry couldn't see, but he could smell the smoke and dust in the air and—

"Harry!" John shouted, his bravado long gone as he clung to Harry's arm. "What's going on?"

Harry plunged a hand into his bag and ripped out the Invisibility Cloak, which he pushed into John's chest. "Get back to the castle," he commanded. "All three of you."

"But—"

"Now, John!" Harry shouted. And without waiting for a response, without stopping to think about his actions or consider if it was a good idea, or even checking to make sure that John had followed his orders, Harry turned and sprinted towards the chaos.


"There is no reasoning with fear. It cannot be argued with." ― Krystalle Bianca


A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger. I hope you still enjoyed the chapter. Thank you to my amazing beta, quis_quam, for editing this for me!