The Prince-Who-Lived
Chapter Fifty-four
Madam Pomfrey was quite capable, and Alan was healed in time to rejoin the next morning's classes, which was good because the workload they were under was insane. Ron may have been struggling with his classes, but Harry had two more classes than he did and, thus, less time to work and study. The only reason Harry had not immediately dropped a class or two was because in all of his classes he was with his friends. Hermione became his new best friend – Alan and Neville both had the disgusting habit of remembering things with minimal studying and the self-confidence to deal with less than stellar grades when they did the homework without revising it even once after it was done. Harry stubbornly insisted on going over his work, something only Hermione made a point of doing. Besides that, it was hilarious to see Anthony stubbornly remaining with her even when she showed him up time and time again.
As it stood, Harry barely remembered to write his parents by the time Saturday rolled around. He scratched out the letter and then added as a postscript when he'd initially forgotten, 'Dad, who are the Hodges? Connor's made a good friend of one, and I'm curious, because Fred and George have run into them too.'
The return letter come Wednesday was more than worth it. Surprisingly, Sirius answered it in a second letter, aside from his normal letter from Lily. The why made him laugh.
Dear Harry,
I must congratulate you on sending your father into a fit. Not a single other topic could have had him swearing harder. Similarly, the Hodges are one of my most frustrating topics, but I can find it in me to laugh it up – can't do much else about them.
The Hodges are one of the old pureblood families – they're as cold-blooded and cruel as any Black, but unlike the Blacks they're supremely unconcerned about their bloodlines as anything more or less than an assurance of magical power. I don't know if you ever heard this, but rumours are plenty about the Alfaerus being something like the mafia – criminals on the Black Market. The Hodges are the rivals of the Alfaerus, but they tend to keep it clean –i.e. between themselves.
In regards to us, this means that they are the most frustrating people to run into in the middle of a crime. If the Hodges have a hand in it, it's almost guaranteed you won't make an arrest. If they did it, they'll get away with it. If they interfered, you'll be picking up a dead body. As far as I've heard, they tend to step in only when someone crosses them. It means that as frustrated as we might get, there isn't a lot of incentive to make a fuss and many people - including me, I must say, but not your father - don't want to risk their anger. They keep their dirty business under the radar, and if it pokes above they manage to get it brushed under the rug. James and I suspect they have people in the Ministry - rather like everyone else, you know.
As to who they are, the records are easy to find – it's in the basic genealogies, from the sixteen hundreds on, at least. The current Head of the family is Howard Hodges, the second child of Benjamin Hodges who died in 1960. He has a younger brother, and an older sister, Barbara. She's divorced, so her children have returned to the family. Her youngest is Jonas Hodges, who graduated Hogwarts last year. He was a Ravenclaw. The girl Connor's made friends with would be Sable Hodges, the daughter of Barbara's oldest son, Erasmus – she's the only Hodges set to start school this year. Howard's heir, Devlin, would've been in school with Bill Weasley, but I'm pretty sure he was Slytherin. The family is about thirty or so people, not counting the rumours of 'strays' they tend to pick up.
As for my current opinion of them, I think they're all right – better than the Malfoys, at least. I've seen evidence that they have a sense of humour, and they tend to be honourable. Nobody I've known who are rumoured to be their 'kill' has really be someone I'd miss. They've kept from inciting the Aurors to come down on them and they're good-natured and prompt about being raided and fined for questionable items. I can certainly respect that.
Just keep your eyes and ears peeled, and don't owe them anything and you'll probably do pretty well. Who knows, you might even find it fun.
Good luck, kiddo, and I hope you don't die too badly under the workload you signed up for. What were you thinking, taking seven NEWT classes? Absolutely barmy. I'll let your dad read over this when he wakes up and add anything he finds necessary.
Love you, pup!
Padfoot
Sirius about summarized them right, and I pretty much agree with him on their stance. Please warn Connor to be careful, and I'll probably go ask Fred and George about theirs. Just because I respect them doesn't mean I approve of dealing with them. However, I won't tell you not to – you're old enough to make your own decisions. Just be cautious.
How is Alan?
Love,
Prongs
Once he got over the shock of his father asking after Alan, he found it was surprisingly informative. He was also surprised that he had known or guessed most of it already, and he knew a bit more than his parents did – he knew about the Bakers. Either they hadn't bothered to mention that's who the men likely were or they just didn't know, at least not well enough to mention it.
They also didn't warn him of anything he didn't already know, but he appreciated it all the same. Watching Connor had been remarkably easy – he was often found in the library, sitting with Sable Hodges, Tyler Redgrave and Grant Pupp. Recently, Faith Growman and Catrin Vance had started joining them as well. Sable was the clear leader, but Harry trusted Melanie to keep an eye on Connor and keep him out of trouble. He had enough work to be going on with – Sirius was right to call him barmy for taking so many classes.
Either way very little outside of schoolwork was happening and Alan hadn't run into trouble again. Green was keeping a watchful eye on the class, Slughorn hadn't visited, and Harry was more grateful than ever that he was close friends with overachievers. Ron was the only one with any difficulty using silent spells, and with several people willing to work with him on the usage he was catching on fairly quickly.
Hermione had also broached Alan about the notes he'd passed to them, and he explained that they were tricks his father had taught him to improve the potions in the books. He'd produced it from memory, and wanted to share. He could name the improvements Severus recommended for every potion in the book; Hermione refused to believe him until he pointed out in the notes from years before that the instructions Severus told them to follow differed slightly from the book. Hermione used her entire next free period double-checking that, and finally agreed with Alan to try it on the next potion. When it worked, Hermione begged Alan to get Snape to write out the changes for the book; even more surprisingly, Snape agreed.
Through it all, Harry managed to struggle through and survive the first two weeks before he was finally pulled into working out the Quidditch tryouts, something he wasn't entirely looking forward to. After breakfast and down at the pitch, the group looking for positions was quite large and ranged through all the years. At the very least, they all looked interested in Quidditch. He was also surprised to see Neville standing off the one side, leaning with Alan against the Quidditch stands. Harry sent them a careful smile. He knew why they were there. He was still at risk of a bad reaction from the curse, and if they hadn't been there, he probably would have asked for them to show up. He needed insurance.
"Hey."
Harry turned quickly and looked up at the wide boy from Slughorn's compartment. Harry couldn't remember his name, but stuck out his hand to give him a quick handshake, one that left his hand tingling more from the boy's firm grip than any outside influence.
"Cormac McLaggen, Keeper. We met in old Sluggy's compartment on the train."
Harry nodded. "Nice to meet you. You didn't try out last year." He'd have remembered him if he'd had.
"I was in the hospital wing. Swallowed a pound of doxy eggs for a bet." He grinned proudly. Harry smiled meaninglessly back. He was something like Sirius, then, and mildly unreliable.
"Okay. Wait over there, please?" Harry pointed to the stands. "We're running Chaser trials first."
McLaggen stiffened slightly before leaving. Harry didn't give it much thought, although he did note that if McLaggen even did just as good as Ron, he was going to be reserve and reserve only. He didn't trust him.
Harry glanced over the applicants and told them to fly around the pitch twice. Harry was quickly pleased most of the team was still intact – several people were ruled out immediately for their bad performance on their brooms, and that thinned the group to a much more manageable one. He had them running the pitch to the reserve Beaters from last year, shooting on Ron, while he flew around the edges, typically shadowed by Alan. He was grateful for it, when, while Melanie was shooting once more and making quick passes between herself and Demelza Robbins - a promising reserve - he suddenly blacked out, his body writhing in agony. He couldn't see straight again until he had something solid under his feet, and he sat down, putting his head between his knees for several long moments until his vision cleared and his body relaxed, the pain fading away.
When he could finally see, Hermione was sitting nearby, Alan crouched in front of him and McLaggen asking loudly what was going on. Harry's first reaction was to curtly and rudely tell McLaggen where he could shove it. Alan eased the sharp words with a quick, concise explanation of his condition. Harry, personally, was cursing himself and his bad luck until Alan finally got his attention again.
"Are you going to be alright?"
Harry finally sat up, waiting for his head to finish spinning and growled out, "I should be fine, but I can't get on a broom again. Not today." His hands were shaking at the mere thought of it.
"Use Sonorus." Alan curtly answered. "I'll be your hands in the air. You can see fine from here, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I trust you to be honest."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Alan asked, teasingly.
"You're a Slytherin." McLaggen growled. "You'd rather your team win."
"After I was kicked out?" Alan asked, his eyebrow raised. "I owe them a bit of retribution. Helping my friend with the Gryffindor tryouts is perfectly fine for me."
"How'd you even make captain if you can't fly?"
"McLaggen, shut your mouth or leave." Harry snapped, standing up. He didn't care that McLaggen was nearly seven inches taller than him, the same height as Alan, and broader than Alan would ever be. "I'm the captain; I'll be back in the air by the time the first game rolls around, and it's none of your freaking business anyways. You're not even on the team yet. If you don't want to ruin your chances of getting there, you might want to shut up while you're ahead."
Harry then brusquely turned his back on him and case sonorous on himself. "Alright, back to your places. Let's run that pass by again, and then move on."
Melanie and Ginny quickly whipped the hopefuls back into place, and within the hour the Chaser tryouts were done, and they'd started on the Beaters, looking for a reserve or replacement if they were better. Ritchie Coote almost made it – he gladly took the position of reserve to Nanna and Jimmy Peakes, leaving the pitch much as Katie Bell, Melanie and Ginny had with Demelza Robbins and Dean Thomas as reserve chasers.
Keeper tryouts came up next and Harry had to consciously unclench his jaw when Cormac McLaggen saved all five penalty shots against him. Ron, thank Merlin, managed the same. Harry sighed deeply and moved to descend out of the stands when he found himself nearly running face-first into McLaggen's chest. Harry quickly back-pedalled and nearly fell over; McLaggan reached to catch him and Harry let himself fall, catching himself painfully on his arms and glaring up at the burly seventh year, completely ignoring his angry expression.
"For crying out loud, McLaggen, you ham-handed son-of-a-plimpy, get out of my fucking way and back off!"
"I saved the same goals as Weasley; why is he still Keeper?" He growled.
"Because he's my friend and isn't acting like some rotten brute and gets along with the rest of the team." Harry snapped back, abruptly brushing himself off and standing up. "And he can remember from one minute to the next that I'm currently a hands off zone. You're reserve; you can practice with the team, and if something happens to him you'll be in, but for Merlin's sake clean up your attitude." Harry stalked forward and got into his space again, glaring at him. "The only reason I haven't told you to bugger off and practice on your own is because right now my temper's out of whack and I don't quite trust my judgement. You have a chance to convince me you're worth keeping on the team, and right now you're doing your chances no favours. I need to get inside and eat, so get Out. Of. My. Way."
McLaggen trembled, furious, but he moved and Harry stalked past him, his anger barely held in check. Normally he'd fly to wear off the worry, but since that was currently the problem he was left steaming with no recourse. He nearly cried with relief when Neville was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He quite happily followed him to a tree nearby – everyone had decided to work outside today on their homework, and the fresh air and camaraderie did wonders for his bad mood. He was feeling a lot better and, honestly, quite pleased with himself over the success of tryouts by the time they went inside to dinner.
It didn't last.
"Harry, m'boy, just the lad I've been waiting for!" Slughorn hijacked them almost as soon as they were through the door. Neville immediately rolled his eyes; they'd been moving to sit at the Slytherin table, as they were wont to do since last year. Harry fought down the urgent need to hex the overbearing man, and just smiled with a touch of confusion. Slughorn didn't seem affected in the least.
"I was just looking for you and your friends! We're having a supper tonight in my quarters, just the lovely rising stars I've found, simply brilliant. McLaggen is coming, and Melinda Bobbin – do you know her? Her family owns a large chain of Apothecaries – and I was also hoping to be joined by your dear friend Neville and Blaise, and of course, lovely Miss Granger has an invite. Alan Prince, as well … why, you've such a wonderful group, why don't you all come?" Slughorn glanced between them all and just smiled brilliantly. Harry fought down the desire to deck the man, and let his tongue loose.
"Sir, I'm just about ready to reattach someone's ears to their rearend, and their nads to their earlobes. I really should just eat dinner and return to my room. It's all this stress; it's getting to me. Really. Please excuse me." Harry smiled like his teeth hurt and stalked around him, returning to the table and putting his head down on his arms.
The rest of the group simply split around Slughorn and joined him. He almost didn't notice – his arms were starting to tremble, and Harry remembered the last few weeks with dread. He'd somehow, he didn't know how, managed to keep it all together but he was still ready to fall apart. His nightmares had gotten worse – he'd gone to Pomfrey three times in the past two weeks, four half-doses each time, and he had been denied them over the weekend until Wednesday. She wouldn't even give him a calming draught…
"Harry, you alright?"
Alan's voice cut off a sibilant murmur he'd been hearing, and Harry quickly lifted his head, glancing worriedly around the room. Alan aborted an attempt to put his hand on his shoulder, and Harry worriedly asked, "What was that murmur I heard? I was sure …"
"Harry, calm down. You're probably hearing things again."
Harry grimaced; while he hadn't fallen into a full out flashback, he'd heard things – memories, screams, shouts – parts of memories not visited in full but real enough to make him think they were. He was managing, he swore, he just… Food was not appealing at all, but he needed to eat or Pomfrey would kidnap him. Harry searched until he found a soup dish and spooned up a serving with a bit of chicken and a glass of water. He hadn't taken a bite when Alan suddenly choked and spat his meal back out. Harry whipped around to look at him, and the first thing he saw was Alan's necklace glowing white. Alan swore explosively; everyone around him dropped their meal, spat out their mouthfuls. Quickly, Neville cast a blanket spell, covering all their plates and scowled.
"Only Alan's. It's on his utensils, in his cup. You need to go to the hospital wing, Alan?"
"Yes." Alan nodded carefully. "You should go eat at the Gryffindor table, it's probably safe. Check everything…"
"We know, Alan." Blaise reassured him. "Go with Harry to the Hospital. You both need it."
Harry scowled, but followed him, not arguing. Maybe if he saw Pomfrey again he could talk her into giving him something … anything.
They were halfway along before Alan started chuckling. Irritably, Harry groused, "What are you laughing at?"
"This is just reminding me of our first Potions lesson together. I managed to send you, me and Neville all to the Hospital wing, remember?"
"And the rest of the class." Harry added, smiling faintly. "Sabotaged your own potion."
"You were bugging me."
"Glad to know the effort paid off."
Both of them were laughing by the time they arrived at the hospital wing. Pomfrey was less than happy to see them, and pushed Alan down on a bed immediately to look him over, muttering threats under her breath the whole time. She handed him several potions, and then glanced over at Harry, who merely met her eyes with a blank, tired look. She sighed.
"How are you holding up, Harry?"
"I'm alright. Stressed. Pissed off. Wishing I could fly." Harry shrugged.
"You have at least a month, maybe more before it should be worn off, Harry. There is nothing I can do for that. How are you sleeping?"
"Terribly."
"You can't take more dreamless sleep for at least four days. It'd be better if it were a week – if this keeps up, I'd advise you to drop a class, maybe even two."
He put his head in his hands. "I don't want to drop a class. What could I drop?"
"Care." Alan offered quietly. "Or Herbology. Neither of them are a requirement."
"Hagrid wouldn't like it." Harry pointed out. "And I like that class. Herbology is useful for the vindictive horticulture some people might have, and I think I need it anyways for Mediwizard. And it would leave Ron alone to drop Care. He only took it because I was. It's not like that's stressing me; I could talk Hagrid into giving me all kinds of leeway. I haven't really paid attention even once this past two weeks. All I remember is helping him feed some of the hippogriffs this week…"
Poppy huffed. "Alright, fine. Would you like to take a nap in here, or leave for elsewhere? Alan, you should be fine but check in with your father if anything feels out of place. Harry … just, good luck."
Harry grimaced and nodded, walking out with Alan with a scowl on his face. Alan shot him a cautious look and Harry growled,
"You know you're in deep shit when all the healer can say is 'good luck'"
Alan could only shrug. Harry didn't expect much more from him, and, after several minutes of wandering back downstairs – he was thinking of the kitchen, because he did need to eat and so did Alan – Harry finally made a point to speak up and ask,
"That's twice, Alan."
"Yes." Alan answered curtly. "I've avoided one other attempt." Harry didn't feel the need for elaboration.
"To the kitchens, then?"
Alan merely nodded, and Harry just left it at that.
IIII
Sunday was miserable. Monday was worse. Harry tried to sleep in, really, but he didn't manage it. After tossing and turning from three in the morning till six, Harry finally pulled himself out of bed, grabbed his bookbag and retreated the library until it was halfway through the first class of the day. After that, he moved to the breakfast table and didn't even have the heart to check his meal for poison as he should have after Alan's encounter, eating a pittance and looking over his work again until he just shoved it back in his bag and laid his head on his arms once more. Ron, sitting further up the table and frantically looking over his own work, finally came down to him and frowned.
"Mate, are you alright?"
"Fuck off, Ron." Harry ground out. Admirably, Ron ignored him.
"We'll be needing to go to Defence in a few minutes. Do you want me to take a look at your work?"
"If I pull that paper back out, I'll tear it into tiny pieces and burn them."
"Okay, don't touch it then." Ron returned. Harry growled something else vulgar and cruel under his breath and when Ron didn't react at all, Harry made a note that he needed to buy Ron something spiffy and shiny for Christmas … or his birthday. Like, maybe a Firebolt. He was a saint to be putting up with this.
Ron remained silently across from him until he deemed it time to make their way to the Defence classroom. Harry followed sullenly, and prayed Severus wouldn't make him do anything. He was no more polite to the rest of the group even during class, which fortunately covered a spell and practice Harry already knew quite well, which meant he could just sit there and brood. After, while Ron went to the library to finish the essay, Alan chivvied Harry along dauntlessly, sending him up a secret passageway before him and following with determined cheerfulness. Neville, Blaise and Hermione were ahead of them.
As they came out, Harry stalked to catch up with Neville – and froze when Alan swore, and then screamed. Then he just tumbled down the stairs. Harry didn't even take time to think – he ran back to the stairs and half-ran, half-fell down himself racing for the bottom, hoping … The staircase has circumvented two floors, and the bottom end was sealed behind them – and the flight was steep, narrow, without any handrail. A hard thump told him Alan had hit the end, and Harry barely caught himself before he fell onto him. He knelt, but didn't open the door, lighting his wand quickly and quickly looking Alan over. He had blood on his face, and his nose had been broken. Neville came down behind him and swore expansively.
"Harry, is he all right?"
"I don't know; he must have knocked himself silly."
"Hold onto him, and let me open the door. The Hospital Wing isn't far."
Harry quickly grabbed Alan's shoulders and Neville pushed the portrait open, hopping over Alan's crumpled form and into the space. The bright light made Alan flinch away immediately, but he didn't speak beyond a pained groan. Blaise crouched behind Harry, prompting him to swear when he finally noticed, but his help was welcome – it would have been difficult to carry Alan with Neville for him, due to the height disparity - Neville knew, but wasn't confident in, his mobilicorpus. Instead, Harry ran ahead to alert Pomfrey while Neville and Blaise braced Alan between them. Pomfrey was less than pleased with Alan's return visit, even as she clucked over him and sent Harry running again to find Professor Snape. She scolded Neville and Blaise and made them return to class. Harry wondered if it was that obvious he couldn't concentrate – she didn't even try to send him out. Either way, he was more than grateful to simply wait around the Hospital wing and impatiently await Pomfrey's answer. Finally, she came out and huffed.
"Three times in one month; the boy is mad. It's barely the third week, only two days after the last …" She glanced up at Harry and pouted. "Where is Professor Snape?"
"He can't leave his class right now." Harry answered curtly. "He told me to wait, hear the verdict and relay any potions requests you have that might be in his stores – he doesn't like Green's work."
Pomfrey snorted, eyeing him critically. "Very well. Alan has a concussion, a small crack in his skull, a broken nose, collarbone and wrist, and two bruised and two broken ribs. His kneecap is badly bruised, and most of the rest of him as well. He should be fine by tomorrow, but Merlin save him if he gets in another accident this month. Honestly, even Quidditch players aren't this bad. Go pass that along to Snape, as well as a request for bruise balm of some kind; I'll need a lot of it and I don't care if it's his or Professor Green's." Harry nodded and ran to do as he was told, stifling his thoughts and his worries as he wore himself out. Maybe, just maybe, exhausting himself would help where the Dreamless Sleep was no longer allowed.
He made several long trips, running errands for Severus and Pomfrey. He skipped lunch save for the food Pomfrey forced on him before sending him to inform the Headmaster, and sent his regrets with Ron to Hagrid. Finally, Pomfrey distractedly shooed him out to attend his next class in the time before the last class let out, and Harry regretfully left Alan, walking dejectedly down to the dungeons, feeling put-upon and oppressed. He couldn't bring himself to converse with Neville; he was completely distracted, staring at Alan's empty seat. Green scolded him several times for inattention, but he was hearing them less and less … and hearing derisive laughter more and more.
He didn't notice until his skin burned; the pain overwhelmed him, burning on his wrists, dripping down his back. He couldn't breathe; his chest ached and bled. He could taste blood in the back of his throat. Someone shook his shoulder and he fell, landing painfully on his tailbone, curling in on himself, trying to get away. Why wouldn't they leave him alone, why did they grab him? Why, why, why?
Someone slapped him; he subsided into weak crying, his legs giving way beneath him, hanging on the arm affixed around his wrist. Whoever was holding him, dragging him away, put an arm around his waist, unheeding of the burning pain it incited, uncaring for his weak protests, his struggling and weeping.
Abruptly, sunlight hit his face, and Harry turned aside, blinded and blinking away tears … tears he'd already been crying. His throat was sore, and his body ached horribly. Someone let him go, holding his arm as he stumbled and lowering him to the stairs when his legs refused to support him, just outside Hogwarts Entrance Hall. The sun was still high in the sky, and after blinking several times, Harry glanced up and found himself looking at Green, his teacher's face impassive as he stared back. Harry flushed and drew his legs up to his chest, embarrassed at losing it in the middle of class.
"Sorry." Harry mumbled.
"Don't apologize. This has been coming for days. You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"
Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I can't take Dreamless Sleep again until Wednesday, preferably Saturday. So no, I haven't."
"And Alan managed to end up in the Hospital wing again." Green pointed out. "You're very stressed. Why did Pomfrey send you to class?"
"I already missed Arithmancy and Care." Harry pointed out. "She didn't need an errand runner that badly, and she had to worry about Alan."
"Can you take a Calming Draught?" Green asked. "You're not to come back to class, you hear me? Go to Pomfrey; tell her you need something, even if she gives you a damn back rub. I'll send Neville up with your homework after class; you can make up the Potion some other time. You're a danger to yourself and everyone else around you like this. You can miss a few classes. Can you get yourself upstairs, or no?"
"There aren't a lot of people around." Harry quietly answered. "I can make it."
"Do you have a friend who's not in class right now?"
Harry shrugged. "Susan or Hannah, maybe. They don't have Potions. Tracey doesn't either."
"Will you be able to wait out here fine while I go get one of them?"
"Probably." Harry shrugged. "What about class?"
"I trust the five prefects in attendance to be able to tell the students to keep their heads on straight. The potion isn't that volatile. Wait here."
Harry nodded slowly and drew his legs up again. Merlin, did it have to happen like that? He didn't know what it must have looked like to everyone; he just remembered slipping out of consciousness, and remembering … he was fairly sure it was when they'd whipped him, or sometime after… He'd been so terrified of them all, so hurt … it'd hurt so badly, and none of them had cared, some of them had liked it, others cursed him while they'd whipped him, augmenting the pain, exacerbating his bruised and bloody wrists where he'd hung from the chains…
Harry stubbornly shook his head and stared across the brilliantly green grounds. There were a few students in view, but while they might have been looking his way, none of them were approaching him. The sun hung fat and high in the sky, warming his skin and making him feel mildly sleepy even as he felt raw and pained, drying his tears. Even when a cloud drifted in the way, diluting the light to a softer, gentler light it only made it easier for Harry to look around and enjoy the green grass, the soft waves capping the lake… It shook off the memories of the dungeon, and when Susan and Hannah came out and sat beside him, giving him his distance, Harry was feeling much better. After several moments, he lay back on the stone and sighed.
"Are you waiting for me to indicate I'm ready to go inside?"
"Professor Green said you'd had a breakdown in class." Hannah pointed out. "You didn't seem distressed out here, and … and if I remember from what Ron said, the outdoors are good for you. I didn't think we needed to drag you back inside if you were fine out here. It's not like you're missing anything, and Pomfrey will probably be grateful to see you no sooner than she has to."
Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "Thank you. I hope this isn't inconveniencing you to baby-sit me."
"Not at all." Hannah smiled. "I just wish it were a tad bit sunnier so I could catch a ray or two." Susan joined her as they both laughed and Harry drank in the sound, the soft tones and gentle humour – humour that wasn't at his expense, or bought with his blood.
He spent ten more minutes just lying on the stone in front of the doors, Susan and Hannah slipping into some incomprehensible female conversation when he didn't offer to contribute. Finally, probably more than an hour later, they went back inside. Susan and Hannah treated him more like an escort than a charge, delivering him to Madam Pomfrey and leaving with a faint and shy "Goodbye," from Susan. Harry relayed Green's orders, and Pomfrey sighed before ushering him over to a bed and handing him a Calming Draught, telling him to drink it and try to go to sleep – he'd stay there overnight, so she could get an idea if it helped or not. Despite the draught, it was still a long time before he drifted off, even if it was still before anybody came to visit him.
Remarkably, it lasted till the next morning, which entered a day of classes Harry wasn't much more enthused about, but at least he didn't have another breakdown. He spent one more night in the hospital wing with a calming draught, and was released the next day with Alan, a pocket full of half-doses of Dreamless sleep.
IIII
Several weeks later, there had been no further attempts against Alan and Harry was feeling marginally better. Somehow it had helped to be approached in early October – the second time he had to go off the Dreamless Sleep – by a stubborn and imperious Sable Hodges who demanded tutoring in the more advanced spells for her and her friends. Harry had subsided and agreed, at the time because he wanted a distraction from homework and his own mind, but he soon found it quite enjoyable to be teaching Sable and the other first years she'd drawn to herself, which included Grant and Faith, the younger siblings of Stephanie's friends; Tyler Redgrave who was already hers; and Connor and Catrin. Sable was as much their leader as Harry or Alan led their friends, and the first years were bright and forward. When Harry hedged on tutoring them again Sable declared that Jonas had said she could cash in his favour for it and Harry acquiesced. He could think of several worse things that favour could be used for, and, admittedly, he enjoyed tutoring them.
Come the Hogsmeade weekend October twelfth, however, a few more things were different. Sometime in the meantime – Harry must have been very out of it – Ginny had gotten into a large tiff with Blaise and demanded Theodore take her to Hogsmeade in his stead. Theodore had agreed with blatant amusement, the prevalent attitude towards the fight among the group. Very few thought the argument would last, including Blaise and Ginny, but Theodore still indulged her. Daphne had approached Harry about the trip, but Harry had merely shook his head, distracted both by homework and thinking over what he would cover with Sable and her friends next week. He'd turned down Susan the day before, citing a desire to just relax that she could appreciate. He'd told her to ask again for the next weekend, after the curse had worn off. He was still on edge about it, and didn't want to be pressed that early in the morning.
On a less amusing note, it was also apparent that Hermione was going to Hogsmeade with Anthony. Harry couldn't imagine why: any class they shared, which were many, they sat next to each other and Hermione showed him up time and time again, clearly on purpose. Neville didn't even try very hard, but every time he gave an answer, which was always correct, Anthony felt shown up once more, almost worse than when Hermione answered everything. It was the most ridiculous thing, and Harry just hoped that Hermione would tire of the charade before very long. Harry, himself, would be keeping company with an irritable Blaise and Neville, alongside Tracey, all of whom didn't have a significant other they would be attending the village with.
If Harry found Alan in Madam Puddifoot's, though, he would never ever let him live it down.
Harry wandered out of the castle that morning wrapped tightly in his clothes and walking beside Salvador and Lucille. Both of them waved to Sybilla, the new caretaker, as they walked out. The woman – young woman, honestly – was sitting by the exit, scanning her paper as the students checked out to go down to the village and occasionally looking at the large doors to the outside. Harry couldn't imagine why, and asked Salvador when he got the chance. Salvador just laughed.
"It's one of the benefits of having a witch to keep the kids in line. If we'd still had Filch – Merlin shrivel his dick, the bastard – he'd probably have been prodding at us with some device or something. Sybilla? She just casts a blanket detection spell on the door and everything going in or out is recorded and noted and if anything's got a curse on it, it'll set off an alarm and get stuck or something to that effect. Her father works for Howard; she knows just about everything there is to know, I swear."
"Nobody knows that much." Harry scoffed.
Salvador just shrugged. "Turn of phrase, Harry. Calm down."
Conversely, typically, those words put his back up, but Neville just slung his arm around his shoulders – risking a very painful hex had any sort of reaction occurred and saved by dumb luck and the wearing out of the curse – and simply led Harry into the village without seeming to think about it. Upon arrival in Honeydukes, Harry was quite easily plied with candy and then distracted when he noticed Slughorn's emphatic presence in the store. Slughorn happily came over to smile down at him.
"Harry! Neville, good to see you both, good to see you, Blaise. Who's this lovely lady on your arm?" He beamed. Blaise quietly introduced Tracey, who merely nodded in acknowledgment and then hid in the shelves behind. Blaise looked like he wished he could follow, but Slughorn wouldn't have it. "So lovely to see your friends, but Harry. You've missed three of my dinners now."
Harry merely nodded. He'd purposefully avoided those dinners and for no more reason than to avoid being crowded. Neville had been quite annoyed and threatened to haul Harry down to the first one that showed up after Pomfrey pronounced him clean. Harry didn't mind; he'd quite happily enjoy the moment and enjoy snubbing McLaggen once he could finally pronounce his temper steady – the boy's attitude hadn't improved, and he'd missed two of the three practices that had coincided with the dinners.
"Well." Slughorn continued, undeterred. "I am having another one this Monday evening. Can't expect to practice in this terrible weather. Do say you'll come?"
Harry opened his mouth, but something in his face must have indicated how short his temper was. Neville spoke over him.
"He's still a little delicate, Slughorn, that curse and all, so it's probably not advisable for him to attend while he's still suffering. I promise I'll haul him down to the first dinner after Pomfrey pronounces him clean, but right now he's sensitive and has a tongue fit for an adder – he really wouldn't be good company, you know?"
Slughorn showed a surprising sensitivity and nodded, commiserating and wishing Harry a speedy recovery. The care defused his temper and Harry nodded curtly to Neville and offered to buy him some candy. Neville quite happily took him up on it and got himself a deluxe sugar quill.
After Honeydukes, they escaped to the Three Broomsticks and in one of the booths Hermione hesitantly flagged them down. Harry sat beside her immediately and raised his eyebrows. She flushed.
"Anthony and I got quite tired of each other within twenty minutes of leaving the school. He, um, said several very rude things and we decided to part ways …" She glanced up and noticed Blaise was firmly holding Neville within hearing range and raised her voice minutely, "after I hexed him for insinuating that I was only in it for his looks. I told him in no uncertain terms he was one of the uglier boys I'd met and," her voice lowered again, almost too far, but she was apparently determined to be truthful, "that if he couldn't keep up with me he should just go bed Lavender because no one else would take him."
Harry could tell why she'd not wanted Neville to hear the last part: Neville had slept with Lavender himself, and quite seriously regretted it, but he doubted she'd managed to keep it from him, especially after making sure he'd heard her comment on Anthony's looks. "I can imagine he didn't take that well?"
"He tried to insult Neville again, asked me why I'd want someone who apparently was terrible at sex, and I asked him what sort of moron trusted gossip that started from that harpy anyways, and I believe I repeated what you'd said to her, that if she couldn't keep his interest that was her problem." Hermione turned rather pink. "Honestly, does he think I'm some kind of whore?"
"Apparently." Tracey answered. She delivered a tray full of butterbeer and held out her hand. Harry and Neville handed over the price of their drinks and Hermione flushed before searching her pockets. Harry moved to stop her; Neville had his hand in his pocket and Tracey just laughed lightly. "Enough, Hermione. I'm fine paying for yours, especially if you just gave that uppity pig head the what-for. Blaise, I'm not paying for yours; no, you can't play the pity card either. Everyone, including you, knows Ginny will be coming back to you any day now anyways. Trust me, if I couldn't stand Theodore, she sure as Hell won't. Pay up."
Blaise pouted but did so. Neville hesitantly took the seat next to Hermione; neither of them looked at each other, but she didn't pull away either. Blaise immediately started talking about Quidditch. Hermione and Tracey snorted. In their circle, talking about Quidditch was a way to break an awkward silence and hide another reaction. Nobody was all that fanatical except for Ron, even if all the boys and some of the girls could hold their own on the topic. If Neville was participating, it just lost any pretence of being an honest topic. Neville barely knew anything of Quidditch and, honestly, couldn't play.
Despite that, the topic lasted several long minutes until Harry found his eye caught and tracking Theodore as he strode out of the Three Broomsticks, looking lost in thought. Not long after, Ginny found their group and locked lips immediately onto Blaise in an apology he was hard pressed to argue against. In the laughter that followed, Harry only knew something else was going on because Neville's eyes tracked someone beyond their booth. He immediately lost it, but made a note to ask about it later.
However, 'later' got postponed upon Harry's return to Hogwarts. Daphne must have been talking to Pomfrey: Harry had only just that morning had her declare that the curse was almost gone, should be gone in two weeks or with a last hurrah of some sort. He wasn't sure how well he trusted that judgement; the months had left their mark in his nervousness. However, he couldn't imagine Daphne greeting him as she did without knowing it – she threw herself at him in an effective imitation of Susan at the get-together at Blaise's.
Harry felt the curse flare immediately and met it with a blazing anger. Without warning, the pain changed abruptly and powerfully to the far more rare effect of almost debilitating pleasure. It was horrible – Daphne was pressed against him so tightly there wasn't any way to hide it. She pulled back – they were, fortunately, down a hall further inside than the Entrance Hall, so the only people present were his friends: Neville and Hermione looked murderous. Harry weakly brushed them off and leaned against the wall. Daphne was eyeing him curiously, but hadn't pulled away, probably due to deathly curiosity about the strong evidence he wasn't weak with pain pressing against her thigh.
Harry coughed. "Um, I take it you talked to Pomfrey about me earlier, then?"
"Yeah …" Daphne asked cautiously and then rubbed harder against him. "I thought …"
"Sometimes the sensation is not pain, Daphne." Harry groused thinly. Neville overheard. He snorted, and ushered Hermione off with him. The others snorted with various mirth and left; Tracey called after herself, "Remember to keep it safe, you two!" Harry couldn't help but blush.
"So." Daphne asked carefully, "Should that be everything of it?"
"It should from what she said…" Harry offered cautiously. Daphne certainly knew how to make him hopeful about it, at least.
"Mhm." Daphne nodded and then quickly grabbed his hand. "Tracey did say there was a closet near the Hospital Wing. Let's go ask the surgeon herself, okay?"
Harry's head, swimming with confusion, hope, and that very demanding remnant of her greeting, let her lead him up the stairs and burst into the doors of Pomfrey's domain. The nurse was immediately ticked off.
"Potter, I told you to not show up here again! What is it this time?"
"Daphne was quite stubborn once you told her there was only one more chance for trouble or a two week wait." Harry blandly answered. "And, well, the little last 'hurrah' you mentioned was … different than I expected. So I'm not arguing with her."
Pomfrey blinked and told him to stand still while she checked. After several spells, Pomfrey was smiling, Harry was blushing, and Daphne was almost bouncing for joy. "Well, Harry, I must say you don't have any more arguments left. The curse is completely gone. I trust your father taught you enough of the birds and the bees I don't need to tell you to be cautious while dealing with that, hm?"
Harry could tell he was furiously red and quickly shook his head before Daphne was hauling him away again and bringing them to a closet off the side of the hall. Several minutes later, and the loss of both their shirts, Harry pulled back for a moment and swore, panting slightly. Daphne made an inquiring sound and stopped sucking at his earlobe to ask what on earth he was thinking. Harry chuckled lightly.
"I'm stuck going to Slughorn's party this Monday."
Daphne clocked him on the ear for that one.
A/N: Hah. Stuff. Story. Improvements. Romance! (I can't believe I'm writing romance. Silly teenagers and their hormones) Action ... Action will return. Promise. Eventually. *glances over plans* Yeah, action. See you then? Tell me what you think? There's at least one pairing I'm willing to take votes on just in case...
And, on that note, any of you speechables have an opinion on me possibly changing the title to "The Prince-Who-Lived" rather than "Those-Who-Lived"?
Fire & Napalm