In the last chapter: Harry gathered the prefects and organized a study-system for the other students. He also warned the prefects about Umbridge and what she was doing. Harry told Tom about what had happened in a letter and that night Tom popped in for a secret late-night visit to make sure Harry was okay. The next morning, Harry went to see Madam Pomphrey about what Umbridge was doing and while they were talking, four students who had been messing around with the Whomping Willow were brought in and Harry stepped in to help. Pomphrey offered him a place in her infirmary when he wasn't busy.

AN/: Translation into Vietnamese by YueMingWuChen can be found here: 584381869

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The days turned into leaves, plucked away by the autumn breeze. Harry traded in his quidditch gear for early mornings and afternoons spent with his hands full of gauze, potions, or rowdy patients. He had never been more aware of just how often a school of magic would produce horrific—and often times, bloody—accidents.

Of course, Harry wasn't really allowed to treat a patient on his own unless it was an absolute emergency. Mostly, he assisted Pomphrey while she did her job, grabbing whatever she needed or helping to calm the distressed student down while she cast diagnostic and healing spells. Harry didn't mind though, he knew he would have to go through a whole lot more training and examination before he could treat someone on his own. Healing—as he had come to discover with a little research—is an incredibly complex and intensive field of study that took almost as much time and attention as becoming a licensed doctor in the muggle world.

Unlike one would assume upon first entering the wizarding world, not everything was fixed with the flick of a wand. Most healing spells worked as a rudimentary form of time-magic—vaguely similar to the magic Harry had used to heal that boy's ribs—healing a wound by turning back the clock on a select part of a person's body. But when it came to anything more than superficial abrasions, bruises, and broken bones, one was entering the field of cellular and molecular manipulation.

Mending spells work wonders on bumps and scrapes, but what about an illness? Viruses? Infections? Disorders? Mutations? Disabilities? Cancer? There was no quick cure for such things. Sure, with the possibilities of magic, one might be able to find a cure for such ailments, but nothing is discovered or gained without experimentation and whether it is in the muggle world or the magical, there is always a limit to the lengths a society will go to for medical advancement.

Without a straightforward cure, there are only treatments and surgeries and potions in hopes of either slowly healing and curing the body, or at least alleviating the symptoms of said ailment. The more Harry thought about it after his meeting with Pomphrey, the more he realized that his abilities put him in a unique position. Not only did Harry have access and mastery of a whole forgotten branch of magic to explore and experiment with, but he also had the ability to go the lengths that other healers couldn't. To heal what can't be mended, to bring back what is thought to be lost, and to find a new way around an insurmountable problem.

Harry wasn't going to be bringing back the dead—everyone went eventually and he would not reverse the inevitable for a few more sickles—but he would likely have a better hope of keeping someone alive than other traditional healers. And he would have the opportunity to test and experiment with healing in ways others wouldn't dare. Since Harry could test things on himself or reanimated cadavers. Though, the research Harry would do in the field was a topic for much later. . .

No matter how much he told himself this, his mind couldn't seem to let it go.

Harry hadn't really stopped thinking about it since Pomphrey had brought it up. Eating lunch and dinner in a daze as his mind whirled with the possibilities. And lying in bed, staring at his darkened curtains, Harry tried to imagine what it would be like. To go through the training, to become a resident at St Mungos, to learn every little tid-and-bit of the human body and know how to identify what might be wrong. To have patients of his own.

Harry had only held out for a day with Pomphrey before he borrowed a text from her on Cellular Manipulation & Magic.

Cellular Magic was an area of Healing that was considered very advanced. Instead of turning back the clock, it involved using magic to create, change, move, or remove cells within the body. Working on such a minuscule level had its advantages and disadvantages: since it was so small, it took incredible concentration and control only to work within the parameter of an inch, so not only was it very difficult to learn and be able to pull off successfully, but it was also immensely time-consuming and tedious.

However, it could be used to slowly break down and dissolve a tumor, or to heal and rebuild pathways in the brain that had been damaged and destroyed, or even just to help work with the body to amplify or fortify its own natural processes—increase production of serotonin or estrogen or clotting agents. It could be used to do amazing things, the only problem was how slow the process is, and therefore it was rarely used in everyday practice. The book he'd borrowed stated that, unfortunately, it was mostly used by wealthy witches and wizards for cosmetic purposes, or only used in long-term therapies (both physical and psychological).

Harry began to scour both the library and Pomphrey's personal collection for more texts. Every day when he joined her in the infirmary to assist her, he always had a new list of questions to ask the woman. He could be in the process of shoving a bucket under the chin of a vomiting child and still look up at the witch to calmly ask, 'Why hand-stitch incisions after surgeries? Why not use a spell to stitch it perfectly—or better yet, close the wound with a spell?' Though, no matter how many questions he asked or principles he challenged, she never seemed to lose her patience. Pomphrey's wrinkled face only turned fond as she answered him to the best of her ability.

"Because the body is full of curves and odd-bits, not all bodies are the same, and using one spell to stitch it up would lead to improper stitching. It requires the intuition and experience of a healer to know what stitching method is best, and how loose or tightly to do it. We also don't instantly close surgery incisions because it has been known to cause either rather horrible and painful scars, or it can be too big of a shock to the body after so much trauma. Sometimes the best thing we can do is just let the patient's body do what is natural, and we need only to help it along the way and make sure no infection occurs." She instructed, heedless to the sudden green-pallor of the student they were tending to as he listened to their talk of surgeries and open wounds and such.

The sound of more violent retching soon followed.

Harry devoted most of his spare time to Pomphrey, but he still had his duties as a Prefect—which now included tutoring a small group of fourth-year Ravenclaws two nights a week. At hearing of the incompetence of his new DADA instructor, Remus had been more than happy to send Harry his syllabi and lesson plans. Remus even had a generous stock of unused textbooks he had purchased to give to students who couldn't afford theirs or had lost their books, which he sent to Harry via a shrunken trunk in the mail.

Things were going rather well.

But of course, peace within these halls was short-lived.

It had only been a week and a half since Harry had called a meeting of the Prefects. Harry was out in the infirmary, taking inventory of the potions along the back wall while Pomphrey was finishing up some paperwork at the end of a long day. It was rather late in the evening—nearly curfew—and the empty infirmary was only lit by a single sconce next to the shelf Harry was standing at, and the faint moonlight that painted pale sheets on the floors from the large windows.

The flickering fire within the sconce reflected off of the rows of potions in various vials, colored glass gleaming like jewels and contents swirling restlessly within. Harry's eyes were trailing lines of stoppers and corks as he counted, when he heard the soft shuffling of feet behind him. He turned to find a student lingering just beyond the doors, still dressed in their school uniform.

A boy no more than a year or two his junior, took a hesitant step back when he realized he'd been noticed. Even from a distance, Harry could see the shifting of his gaze, the gnawing of his lip, the listless twitching of his limbs. Everything about him shouted 'uncertain' and 'scared.' Harry briefly glanced towards the door to Pomphrey's office, her wards wouldn't alert her unless the student actually entered the infirmary, and Harry didn't want to risk the boy changing his mind and running off if he called for her.

Harry stepped forward and immediately caught the spike of apprehension in the boy's expression. Trying his best to make himself as unassuming and non-threatening as possible, Harry softened his features and posture. He opened himself up and approached the student on silent steps. Thankfully, he didn't bolt and actually waited until Harry was just a few steps away.

"What is your name?" His question caught the boy off guard. He blinked rapidly as his brain sputtered to catch up with the present.

"G-Geoffrey."

"Well, Geoffrey, would you like to come sit down?" Harry offered kindly, gesturing towards the office at the back of the room. The infirmary was large and impersonal, a cozier and less formal setting might sooth the boy a bit more into telling them what was wrong. Geoffrey glanced down the hallway with a furrow between his brows. "Don't worry about curfew, I can walk you back to your dorms later." Harry gave a small smile and tapped the silver badge pinned to his jumper lightly.

As Geoffrey seemed to reluctantly concede and finally walked through the doorway, Harry silently noted the emerald lining of his school robes. When they were about half-way across the room, Pomphrey opened the door leading to her office, but stopped when she spotted them coming. Harry caught the curious look she sent him and returned a look of his own he hoped conveyed enough of the peculiar situation.

Geoffrey seemed to shrink inside his robes at the sight of Pomphrey, head ducking low and his steps slowing as if to delay the eventual encounter with the adult, but Harry was quick to take control of the situation.

"I've been spending quite a lot of time here lately." Harry began as they reached the office door. From the corner of his eye, he could see the measuring gaze of the mediwitch, trying to figure out his angle, but he ignored it to give the boy his full attention. "I've been helping out around the infirmary and learning quite a lot while here. Nothing official, of course, but I've really enjoyed the work." Harry said as he led Geoffrey towards the couches in the middle of the office.

Geoffrey was clearly wary of Pomphrey, and Harry suspected it had more to do with her being either an adult or a member of staff. Either way, if whatever was going on was bad enough for the boy to be so worried about Pomphrey he's reluctant to receive treatment, it was probably best for Harry to deal with him first and have Pomphrey step in if he couldn't handle it. Harry assuring him that he wasn't there in an official capacity might make him more receptive to actually talking if he knows there's still a chance to back out of it. It might not be legal or ethical for Harry to even attempt to treat a patient, but if it meant the difference between him getting medical help or not, Harry was willing to bend the rules a bit.

Pomphrey seemed to grasp a bit of what was going on, as she didn't intervene and instead moved back to her desk on the other side of the room to at least act like she was busy with paperwork. Geoffrey sank down on the couch, a glimmer of relief in his eye when he saw the mediwitch wasn't joining them immediately. Harry sat a respectable distance away, but not out of reach from the boy.

"Now, would you like to tell me what's the matter?" Harry asked in a hushed, but still unassuming, tone. Geoffrey's head sank as he looked down at his school bag sat in his lap. Geoffrey didn't speak at first, but Harry was patient and gave him time. After a while, the boy seemed to deflate and slowly shifted, pulling out his hands from under his school bag. Harry was careful not to react when he saw the red and bruising purple that colored the back of the boy's hands in stripes. As if . . . Merlin . . . as if they had been hit repeatedly with a cane.

"I—I heard what the others were s-saying about her, but I—I . . . I just thought they were exaggerating. But then I got a detention for not turning in my assignment and I'm in Slytherin. . . Some of them are alright, but I didn't think anyone would be willing to come with me when I went. . ." Geoffrey trailed as Harry held the boy's wrist and carefully examined the bruises with a soft sigh.

"It's alright. You're not at fault for what happened. Corporal punishment is illegal and Dolores Umbridge's actions will not go unpunished. You also aren't the only student that this has happened to." Harry emphasized, causing Geoffrey to finally meet his gaze, understanding growing in the depths of his warm brown eyes.

"Geoffrey, would it be alright with you if we took full documentation of your injuries?" He broached carefully. Geoffrey sucked in a breath to protest but Harry continued before he could. "That doesn't mean we will use it as evidence if you do not feel comfortable with it. This isn't a commitment to anything, but if you would like it to be included along with other evidence, then it is best that we have as much proof as possible. If we don't document it now, we won't be able to get it later. I will be submitting my own evidence, testimony, and memories, but you will be contacted and asked before anything involving you is used. Understand?" Harry didn't mention the boy's parents and how they might feel, because there's always that chance that they will refuse to speak against the Ministry and won't allow their son to be a part of this.

Geoffrey looked warily between Harry and Pomphrey at her desk, who was no longer pretending to be busy and was instead giving the boy an encouraging look. After a while, he sighed and gave a meek nod. Harry and Pomphrey were quick to snap several pictures and collect the fresh memory from the boy's head. Once all of the immediate matters were out of the way, Pomphrey was quick to finally heal the boy's hands. Once they were healed, the boy seemed to actually relax and didn't look nearly so guarded.

When they were done and Geoffrey had been given a calming draught just in case, Harry stood with the boy and offered to walk him back to the Slytherin dormitories. He accepted gratefully and they were on their way. Neither of them talked during the walk, both consumed by their own thoughts. Eventually they reached the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and Harry bid the boy a good night. Geoffrey was just about to enter the archway that had appeared at the utterance of a password when a thought popped up in his head and Harry quickly turned to call out to the boy.

"Geoffrey?" He stopped and turned to look at the prefect with a raised brow. "By any chance, when you were with Umbridge, did she try to make you write lines first?" He asked, the feeling in his gut telling him he already knew the answer. Geoffrey pursed his lips in thought for a moment.

"Yeah, actually. That part was a little strange. She wanted me to use one of her quills, but for some reason didn't give me any ink to write with. When I pointed it out, she told me I wouldn't need it, but once she saw for herself just how untrue that was, she had a right fit. Why?"

Harry shook his head and waved the boy off nonchalantly. They went their separate ways, and that night, Harry spent a good portion of time mulling over and dreading what this would mean for tomorrow.

What followed, however, was nothing Harry could have anticipated. In the Great Hall the next morning, right in the middle of breakfast, Dolores stood from her chair and gathered everyone's attention with a prim little cough.

"Ahm, boys and girls, I have something I would like to say." Harry tensed in his seat and looked up at the staff table to find that most of the staff looked wary as well. McGonagall's lips were pursed and her hand visibly tightened around her fork before she finally set it down. As Umbridge moved around the table to stand front and center on the dais before the table, Harry's eyes met with Poppy's at the end of the table and there was a flicker of dark apprehension that passed between them, remembering the poor boy they had just treated the night before.

Just before Umbridge spoke, she paused to glance over her shoulder—and Harry could only suspect that she was looking at the vacant seat that usually belonged to the Headmaster, for when she turned back, the smile that formed on her lips was vile and cruel.

"It has come to my attention, these past few weeks, that this establishment is in a far worse state than we could have anticipated. The lack of decorum, integrity, and discipline has been duly noted by the Minister and myself. Therefore, it has been decided that in the interest of restoring Hogwarts to its former glory and improving the educational standard, on behalf of the Ministry, I will humbly accept the position as Hogwarts' High Inquisitor. I will conduct a thorough evaluation of the entire staff and curriculum. Also, in the hopes of eradicating unsightly behaviors before they become permanent, I will be adjusting conduct policy as I deem necessary." She ended with a titter and returned to her seat, heedless of the ominous silence that had befallen the room around her.

Before lunch, that very same day, the first 'Educational Decree' appeared staked to the stretch of wall outside of the Great Hall for everyone to see.

PROCLOMATION.

EDUCATIONAL DECREE

No. 23

DOLORES JANE UMBRIDGE

HAS BEEN

APPOINTED TO

THE POST OF

HOGWARTS

HIGH

INQUISITOR

Dumbledore had hardly been within the castle walls since the first welcome feast of the year, and Dolores was certainly going to take advantage of that fact. As soon as she had taken on the new position, Umbridge made sure that at every opportunity, she sat in on someone's class and continuously scribbled down Merlin-knew on her parchment, interjecting every so often with ruthless and demeaning quips and questions. Not even the scathing Severus Snape escaped the woman's scrutiny.

The first Educational Decree was soon joined by several more decrees. They seemed mostly harmless at first: 'No music to be played during study hours,' 'All Weasley products will be banned immediately,' 'Proper dress and decorum is to be maintained at all times.' Thing's to bring 'order' to Hogwarts, stricter rules of conduct that elicited a few groans and grumbles, but otherwise didn't have too large an impact on the student body.

And then, after a little over a week, the decrees turned . . . worrying. 'Boys and girls will not be within eight inches of each other,' 'Curfew will be raised to 8 pm on week days, and 9 pm on weekends,' 'Anyone found breaking curfew will automatically receive detention,' 'Students are not permitted to go outside of the castle after 6 pm.' Until, finally, 'Hogsmeade visitation will be summarily suspended until further notice.'

Seeing the treacherous path that the decrees were headed for, Harry finally sent a letter to his parents. In it, he explained that Umbridge was acting outside of the school's prescribed disciplinary practices. Harry did not wish to worry his precious family, but with the increasingly unyielding restrictions on where students could be or go, he knew he would not have the opportunity to take care of matters outside of the school on his own. And so, Harry carefully worded his letter and admitted to Sirius and Remus that Umbridge had resorted to physical punishments during her detentions. He was quick to follow up that revelation with several requests.

First, Harry asked that they not attempt to remove him from the school yet, explaining that he would be safe now that he knew the woman's intentions, and that he had a lot of responsibilities to the students and to himself that he could not abandon. Next, he asked that Sirius join Lucius at the Ministry in a few days and pay a visit to the Department of Magical Education, and the Department of Magical Children Services. The sooner the investigation into Dolores Umbridge, the better. And lastly, Harry asked that they contact a certain Philias Green—the man would be disgruntled to have visitors, but he would be plenty eager when he realized why—and to file an official complaint on Harry's behalf of what had been done to him.

He also drafted two additional letters to Lucius and Phil—Phil's letter asking him to keep his complaint under-wraps for a while so as not to tip Fudge off too early. Harry sent his letters but was unfortunately faced with a dreadful circumstance when all three letters returned to him only half an hour after he had sent them. Hedwig's snowy white feathers held the telling residue of spells she must have dodged when she tried to deliver his letters. Harry asked a favor from his grim companion to deliver the letters himself, since they really could not be delayed any longer.

That night, Harry snuck out of the castle and slipped into the Forbidden Forest. His thin form under the black cloak must have made him look incredibly small amongst the towering ancient trees, but his presence was anything but. Driven by his purpose, Harry strode through the forest like a being of shadow. The wood was full of deadly creatures, but none dared to approach the trudging necromancer. His magic licked up the trees and threatened to frost the bark in the young autumn.

Harry walked all the way to Hogwarts' boundary line, where the wards laid. He already suspected what he would find and why they were here. Harry could get a more in-depth look at the wards, but he didn't want to alert anyone to him messing with them, so instead he would just have to test his theory. Conjuring a scrap of parchment and a muggle fountain pen, Harry hastily scratched 'Umbridge' onto the parchment before crumpling it up into a ball and tossing it through the wards.

The little white ball of parchment passed through the wards but only made it a foot before vicious flashes of magenta shot out towards the parchment and set it alight. Sigh. Just as he feared. Umbridge had put up censor wards queued into her name, and perhaps even more. Which meant that, now, if anyone within Hogwarts wished to send out a letter to their parents telling them anything about Umbridge, the letters were destroyed. Umbridge knew there would be kickback for her growing boldness, but she was hoping to keep it all locked within these wards so the outside world wouldn't know.

Harry spent another hour going through different key words that wouldn't pass through. The wards weren't extremely thorough, but they didn't allow 'Ministry' 'Detention' 'DADA' or 'Secretary.' Harry then spent a bit of time sorting through different privacy charms he knew that would allow 'banned' content to pass through the wards.

The spell he settled on was a bit more difficult to learn but seemed the most effective. It made it so that the words blurred and jumbled for anyone who tried to read it that wasn't the intended reader. There were a few simpler spells that set fire or destroyed the letter when someone unwanted tried to read it, but that would just do the same thing the wards were. And a very complex spell that change the letter's contents completely to something innocuous, so an unintended reader wouldn't realize the true letter had been tampered with.

Harry left the border and as he walked back to the castle, he made plans to call another meeting with the other Prefects to get the news out that their mail was being monitored and/or destroyed. He would then teach the Prefects a few privacy spells to either teach the others, or to cast it on students' mail before they sent it out.


Pomphrey, for her part, was going above and beyond what Harry had asked of her. The Matron of the Infirmary had taken on a more involved role after the appearance of Geoffrey in her ward. While Harry had taken it upon himself to get word out to the students, Pomphrey had done the same with the staff. Pomphrey hadn't shared absolutely everything, since spreading details so far and wide before the investigation had even begun would risk the information getting into the wrong hands.

So, she warned the Professors about Umbridge using corporal punishment in her detentions—Pomphrey having been the one to treat said victims—and to be sure to take on any detentions students might receive from her, to keep an eye out, and to intervene whenever they could to protect the students. Already, McGonagall and Flitwick had taken on several detentions that Umbridge had doled out under the pretense of violating her new decrees.

Unfortunately, a few slipped through the cracks. . .

In the weeks following their first case with Geoffrey, three more students shuffled into the infirmary while Harry and Pomphrey worked, in order to have their bruised and battered hands healed. One girl—rather known for her sharp tongue—not only had beaten hands, but also slowly blooming bruises on her knees, where she had—reportedly—been made to kneel for the entirety of her detention on stone floors. The places where stray pebbles and grit tracked in under shoes had littered the floor, had cut into the girl's knees like glass and had to be dug out by tweezers in Harry's careful hand before it could be healed.

So far, every single student had agreed to have their injuries documented and a copy of their memories extracted for further proof. The girl who had been made to kneel—Sheryl—was incensed and had been adamant that they used her case in the investigation. It took another week before things at the Ministry were starting to gain momentum and a full investigation was in the works. Once it was, Harry gathered his own and Sheryl's evidence and gave it to Death to give to Philias.

He didn't send it to his parents because: one, Harry didn't trust something so important to pass through the mail wards, and two, because he really did not wish either of his parents to see his own statement, memory, or the bloodied parchment that went with it. He could tell by their letters that they already had enough to deal with.

Remus was desperate to get Harry home and away from any sort of danger. It was almost endearing—had it not been for the subject matter—how much Remus fretted over Harry. He wouldn't lie, he missed the wolf and his gentle hugs and frothy mugs of hot coco no matter the season. Remus was all soft-edges and shining maternal eyes every time he looked at his boy. And Sirius, with his barking laughter and playful temperance. Remus always wrote of wanting to take Harry out of Hogwarts, to hold him and make sure his son was alright. While, in contrast, Sirius wrote of destroying the woman who had hurt Harry, of marching right into her office and letting her know the full extent of a parent scorned. Remus was his fortress, and Sirius his soldiers. Hiding within their walls, he knew he was safe.

But he would have to wait it out. Since this investigation would eventually lead the hounds to Cornelius' front door, the specialized investigative unit comprised of highly trusted Aurors and department Heads from Magical Education needed to work in secrecy so that the Minister couldn't intervene. It meant a lot of sneaking around, waiting, and paperwork. In other words, time. Harry just had to bide his time.

And while he did that, he also had to fend off Umbridge's relentless power plays. It was a bit difficult, considering Harry had to work behind the scenes while Umbridge wielded her power openly for all to see. However, once word of what Umbridge was doing was thoroughly spread and both student and staff were aware of what the consequences of interacting with Umbridge was, things actually began to smooth over.

Once students heard about the issue with the mail wards, they were finally able to get through to their parents properly and Philias told Harry that two more students came forward after having talked to their parents about what had happened. On top of that, the staff of Hogwarts seemed to collectively shake off the threat of being fired through the evaluations Umbridge was enforcing on everyone, and they were becoming bolder in speaking out and protecting students.

Professor Trelawny in particular had made quite the spectacle. Apparently, Umbridge had been growing more and more paranoid after seeing a few of the students who'd been in her detention, healed up the next day, and then also that the other professors had been taking on her detentions as often as possible.

Combined with the facts that Harry had been silent and nearly unresponsive in every class he had with her, and that her bloodquills had stopped working after using only one on him, she had thrown a fit. In a paranoid rage, Umbridge had dragged in Lisa Turpin—a quiet girl from his house and year he'd practically never even spoken to—and had administered an unhealthy dosage of veritaserum. All in the hopes of secretly getting more information on Harry and his activities. Umbridge hadn't gone after his friends—thankfully—since she didn't want Harry to know, he would assume.

Afterward, Lisa had been stumbling through the halls, nearly collapsing under the heavily sedative effects of the potion, which is how Trelawny had found the girl that evening. Trelawny, who was well acquainted with consuming various substances and potions in order to 'connect with her third eye' had recognized the symptoms of an over-dosage of the heavily regulated potion and had immediately called for Pomphrey.

Harry had been there to catch that part of the story, however, Trelawny soon left when she was sure the girl was in their care. Harry later heard from Draco that Trelawny had stormed into the Great Hall just as dinner was starting and had thrown a huge fit in front of nearly the entire school. Trelawny had been so enraged by the woman's reckless actions she had even been going to raise her wand at Umbridge. McGonagall had intervened by standing and questioning the woman herself as to whether she had really done such a thing to a student. Of course, McGonagall was mostly aware of the ungainly things happening in private with that woman, but it was mostly to divert attention and keep Trelawny from bringing the full focus of inevitable outrage from the horrid little pink creature on herself.

It had partially worked, but the 'visits' Umbridge paid Trelawny during her lessons had apparently turned brutal thereafter. After the whole debacle, Harry had been labeling expiration dates on the new batch of potions they had received, when he wondered aloud about the drastic change in behavior on Trelawny's part when Pomphrey cut in with an amused quirk to her thin lips.

"Sybil might not be the most conventional witch, and most may doubt her validity as a seer, but there is one thing to keep in mind, Harry, Sybil—for all of her quirks—is a professor at Hogwarts first and foremost. Her students might not hold the most respect for her practice, but she would do anything to protect them." Poppy answered resolutely. Harry lofted her with a skeptical look.

"And what of the many prophecies I've been given from that woman telling of the horrible and painful end I will reach at every turn?" He deadpanned, only to see the mediwitch's smile grow.

"Taking into consideration how many student's we've receive this month alone for thinking it would be a good idea to try to slide down the railing of a moving staircase, I think it's safe to say that a few of your peers could use a little caution in their day-to-day lives." Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't stop himself from returning her smile.

The more time Harry spent with the brilliant woman, learning her trade bit-by-bit, the surer of himself he became that this was something he wanted to seriously consider as his future career path. Even at the busiest points, Harry still found time to spend in the infirmary. Anthony had beamed when Harry had first told him about his prospects to become a healer one day, saying that such a profession would bring Harry joy and respect without the spotlight of other ventures. Draco had teased Harry about being so intimidating that he would give his poor patients a heart attack. And Hermione had just smiled fondly and told him it was a wonderful idea.

Since Harry spent so much time there, he would sometimes get visits from his friends when things were slow. Poppy would scold the others, either for distracting Harry when he was supposed to be learning something new, or for not tending to their own studies. Though, Harry knew the woman well enough to see that she had grown a bit fond of the group of teenagers.

She even offered Hermione her couch when the young witch came through looking for Harry, needing the comfort of a friend after having mustered up the courage to ask a bloke she fancied out, only to be turned down since he only saw Hermione as a friend. Harry had been entirely out of his depths in that situation, not having the faintest on how to comfort his friend. Fortunately, Pomphrey had picked up on it rather quickly and with a secret glimmer in her eyes, had tenderly unwound the weeping witch from Harry's waist and guided Hermione into her office, right onto her plush couch. Pomphrey had rubbed soothing circles into her back while Harry went about making tea in the background for her.

Harry was out of depth when it came to even his own 'love life.' Though, Harry liked to think of himself as a quick learner.

The first time his daily letter had been accompanied by a plain brown package, he hadn't thought anything of it—nor what was inside of it. Harry had vaguely remembered mentioning in a letter that he needed to purchase more quills, since most of his own had been used to replace Umbridge's bloodquills. And then, he received a package of ten brand new quills attached to his letter from Tom. They were nice, but not so much so that one shouldn't write with them. Harry had thanked Tom in his next letter and put the matter out of his head.

And then, a week later, Tom's letter came with another surprise: a tin of tea Tom had recently been fond of and thought Harry might like to try. Even though there was a slight tease at the fact that the raven always drank his tea with such an absurd amount of milk and honey that the type of tea didn't matter. Harry had been strangely warmed by the mundane gift and had immediately gone down to the kitchens to prepare himself some tea.

At random intervals, with no apparent intention behind it, Tom sent him more and more packages. They weren't really 'gifts' though, most of them were plain, functional, and inexpensive. But every single one of them had an oddly personal touch. Either it was because Harry needed something and Tom remembered, or something had popped up in his head and reminded him of Harry, or he discovered something new that he wanted to share. It did help a bit in easing the ache of being away from Tom for the long stretch of time, but something kept niggling at the back of Harry's mind about it.

Between books on the growing cycle of Britain-native magical fungi, to a tin of short-bread biscuits, to a magically preserved wildflower Tom had found while walking the ground of his estate; Harry hadn't known what to make of any of it. That is, not until he took a step back and tried to figure out why Tom might be sending him these things.

Tom could have just as easily wrote about these things instead. He could have recommended these things instead of sending them to Harry, and he hadn't needed to send such things nearly so often. But the wizard had wanted to share it with Harry. He gave him the book he'd read and found interesting, the tea that had warmed his palate, the scarf he'd bought for himself that was softer than silk and then had given it to Harry instead, and the flower that he had thought too beautiful and fragrant to let wither. He was giving Harry the things he enjoyed, because he wanted Harry to enjoy them to.

And the most adorable part was, that Tom didn't even seem to realize what he was doing.

He wanted to impress Harry and make him happy, but he wasn't aware of his actions—which resulted in the strange mix of used and otherwise unremarkable items that he packaged and sent all the way across England to Harry. It was like giving Harry the food off of his own plate because it tasted good, or re-watching a movie he'd already seen with Harry just because he wanted to see him react the same way or differently from how Tom did.

His observations became all the more apparent when Tom had sent Harry his own favorite shirt, claiming he had two—he didn't—and that he thought Harry might like the look and feel of the shirt as well. Never mind that Harry was significantly smaller than Tom and the shirt would probably look ridiculous on him if he wore it in public, or that the shirt was one Harry had seen him wear on several occasions over the summer and was obviously one Tom had worn before. Never mind that the scent that clung to the material was rich, mouth-watering, and undeniably Tom.

And perhaps the most perplexing part, had been how bemused and flustered Harry had been to receive the shirt. To now know that this was Tom's strange, unknowing way of . . . well . . . wooing Harry, it turned the otherwise frigid teen into a beaming, flushed mess. He couldn't help it, though. Harry wasn't used to anyone having such a huge effect on him, but Tom was always the exception.

Harry had never been swayed by expensive clothes, jewelry, or the prettiest of things. He'd grown up with nothing to his name but hand-me-downs and broken toys. And then he entered the wizarding world and suddenly everything he could ever want or need was right at his fingertips. Either way, material things had never mattered to him.

But . . . the bubbling warmth that sizzled in his gut every time he opened another package and found something that Tom had felt the need to share with him. When he read the books and found spidery scrawl inked into the margins where Tom left notes or little messages for Harry to find. When he found a note in the tea tin with Tom's own instructions on how to brew the tea, telling him to ignore what was printed on the side. When Harry was sent a pressed willow leaf along with the details of how the green house at Riddle Manor looked especially dazzling as sunset, and that it would be waiting for Harry's return. Harry couldn't help but fall deeper and deeper into a feeling that felt like a liquid sun blazing through his veins, a feeling that he was too afraid to name just yet, but one he was slowly beginning to embrace.

Harry sat on his bed that night, the lights were out and he could hear the soft, muffled breathing of his dormmates through the heavy curtains and weak privacy charm around his bed. Harry was leaned up against the narrow headboard with his legs folded, dressed for bed. Clutched in his hands, was the soft material of a dark blue shirt that was just as dark and rich as the other's eyes. His fingers curled in the fabric as thoughts of Tom fluttered behind the curtains like flighty moths in the dim light.

Taking a breath, hidden behind his bed hangings, Harry indulged the rampant desire building in the back of his mind. Promising himself he would never tell Tom of it, Harry deftly unbuttoned his sleep shirt in the dark and slipped it off. His eye caught the faintest reflection in the dark as the locket against his chest gleamed before it was covered once more by fabric. His wily mind slipped back to a similar scene as he shifted down onto his bed and pulled the covers over him. Memories of a borrowed cloak wrapped around him as he fell asleep flitted through his mind and licked another blush into his pale cheeks.

Curling up on his side, the soft and warm smell of Tom surrounding him, Harry wondered if this would become a habit, or if he just truly needed to return home, to his beloved. . .