Chapter 20: Autumn 1993

The first of September dawned as it generally did: with a flurry of excitement and a mad scramble to finish packing. Harry had a disgusting amount of books for his apprenticeship, and he spent even longer than usual cramming everything inside his trunk before descending the stairs for breakfast. Upon entering the kitchen, however, he had half a mind to skip the meal and retreat to safety when he saw his brother and father shouting at each other. Indeed, only the panicked look on Acorn's face had him slipping into his seat. After all, if there was anything Acorn hated more than a mess and people refusing her cooking, it was fighting. He didn't want to upset the distressed house-elf any further.

"Tell Dad I need to go to Hogsmeade," John said as Harry sat down.

"You don't need to go anywhere, John," Mr Potter replied, irritation colouring his tone. "You're not going to die if you don't go to Hogsmeade."

"And I'm not going to die if I do!" John shouted. "All my friends are going and—"

"Your friends don't have a murderer after them," Mr Potter reminded him.

"We don't even know if Pettigrew is after me," John snapped. "And Harry gets to go."

"Harry's older and has a better chance at defending himself against a fully qualified wizard."

"Harry's first reaction to a threat is to blow it up."

"In that case, let's hope he finds Pettigrew," Mr Potter snarled, his patience evaporating. "Until then, you're not going to Hogsmeade."

Something cold twisted in Harry's stomach at his father's words. He busied himself with his breakfast, refusing to participate in the argument, which continued even after Uncle Sirius arrived to see them off to Hogwarts. Uncle Sirius listened to John and Mr Potter for all of twenty seconds before grabbing Harry's trunk and his arm and Apparating them directly onto Platform 9 ¾.

"You will be careful this year, won't you?" Uncle Sirius said as he helped stow Harry's trunk in a compartment.

When Harry nodded, Uncle Sirius gave him a lopsided grin. "Good man," he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder before pulling him in for a tight hug. "I'll be in England this year, so don't hesitate to write to me."

Harry nodded again. After news of Pettigrew's escape had reached him, his father had grown withdrawn and more anxious than ever. It had become so bad that Uncle Sirius had announced his plans to remain in England until Pettigrew was caught. He had even declined the opportunity to take a job in Egypt—a dream of his. The decision had resulted in a heated row between his father and godfather. Still, like a dog with a bone, nothing could persuade Uncle Sirius to change his mind.

Uncle Sirius studied him for a moment. "Has something happened?" When Harry gave him a confused look, he elaborated. "You aren't speaking. Are you scared?"

Harry shook his head. "It's nothing. It's stupid," he replied, relieved to find that he could talk. The last thing he wanted was to start his Fifth Year at Hogwarts with another one of his silent spells.

Uncle Sirius clearly didn't believe this statement, but he was kind enough not to press the issue further. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and led him back onto the platform. They found John and Mr Potter, and though they had thankfully ceased their argument, a chilly, tense atmosphere surrounded the two. Harry was relieved when Cedric arrived at a quarter to eleven, giving him an excuse to bid his father and Uncle Sirius goodbye.

To nobody's surprise, Cedric had been named a Hufflepuff prefect. Harry wasn't sure who else had been chosen, but he was happy to have his friend to suffer through this with. They took a minute to don their school robes before the others arrived: Cedric in his black robes and Harry in his white. Reluctantly, Harry pinned the prefect badge to his chest when he saw Cedric doing the same.

Just as they were finishing up, Grace burst into the compartment without knocking, Luna Lovegood drifting in behind her. Marcus ambled in a second later, two trunks propped up on his shoulders, which he shoved into the luggage racks with a resigned sigh.

"We've got a prefect's meeting," Cedric explained. "It shouldn't take the whole ride, but if we miss the food trolly, can you get us something?"

"Sounds boring," Grace drawled, flopping down on one of the benches and pulling a copy of Witch Weekly out of her bag. Still, she held out her hand, where the boys deposited several sickles. Harry gave her a few extra, knowing she'd buy herself jelly slugs for her troubles. "Send Percy Weasley my regards."

Cedric leaned forward and tugged on one of her plaits, laughing when she snapped her teeth at him. "Haven't you heard?" he asked. "He's Head Boy this year."

Grace let out an oath so foul that Teddy, who had just arrived at their compartment, blushed.

Cedric laughed even louder and dragged Harry out of the compartment. Harry managed to summon his bag before the door closed, though Medusa made sure to hiss her displeasure loudly as it (and by extension, her) zoomed through the air.

"So, what's happened?" Cedric asked as they walked towards the prefects' carriage.

Was it that obvious that he was upset? Harry considered telling his best friend what was on his mind, but his thoughts were so jumbled up and confused that the idea of putting them into words seemed exhausting. He settled for a shaky sigh and shook his head.

Medusa hissed with sympathy and stuck her nose out of the bag, her forked tongue tickling his wrist. Harry pulled her out of his bag and draped her over his shoulders, finding the firm weight comforting.

"That bad, eh?" Cedric asked with a commiserating grimace. "If you need to talk about it, I'll listen. Now, how's my favourite god-snake doing?"

Taking it as her cue, Medusa stuck her tongue in Cedric's ear.

"Ugh!" Cedric cried in disgust. He still gave her a couple of ice mice that he had stashed in the pocket of his robes.

They were the first to arrive at the Prefect's car, beaten only by Percy Weasley, Penelope Clearwater, and a Fifth Year Ravenclaw called Pattinson. If Harry had felt inclined to talk, he might have said something about looking like brown-nosers to Cedric.

"Is that a snake?" Clearwater asked, her eyes wide and her voice coming out in a panicked squeak.

Obviously, Harry wanted to drawl. He settled for a terse nod.

"Snakes aren't permitted animals," Clearwater replied, her words coming out in a rush. "Hogwarts by-laws clearly state that—"

"It's his familiar, Penny," Weasley said, coming to Harry's rescue. "She's not a pet."

Clearwater paused, her shoulders tensed as if she half-expected Medusa to fly across the room and eat her face off. Which, Harry supposed, was possible if his friend felt so inclined. He'd seen her perform impressive athletic feats when the mood struck her. As it was, Medusa was full of ice mice and had decided to take a nap across Harry's shoulders instead.

"What's a familiar?" Pattinson asked, giving Medusa a curious look.

"It's a mundane animal with heightened intelligence that feeds off a wizard's ambient magic," Percy explained. "They possess magical powers as a result."

Harry frowned and glanced down at his reptilian friend on his shoulders, who was letting out little snaky snores as she snoozed off her snack. Sure, she was smart but other than her massive size, Harry couldn't think of any time she had done anything remotely magical.

Or could he? The image of Medusa hiding under hospital beds, hissing diagnoses in unfamiliar yet strangely accurate terms, rose to Harry's mind. Harry had never stopped to wonder how Medusa knew these things—he just accepted it. Especially considering that she had never been wrong.

"The snake saved my sister last year," Weasley continued, fixing Clearwater with a stern look. "It has a healing bite."

Not healing, exactly, Harry mused to himself. But she had been able to pull Ginny back from the brink of death. Harry lifted a hand to stroke Medusa's snout, smiling when she grumbled in her sleep. Maybe Weasley was on to something.

"How is she?" Harry asked, surprising himself and Cedric.

Weasley grimaced. "She's been better," he said quietly. "Thank you for writing to her over the holidays. I think she appreciated it."

So, Ginny had received his letters. And by the sound of it, she had even read them. He wondered why she hadn't replied. Before he could ask, the doors to the car opened, and several other prefects wandered in, effectively ending the conversation.

Harry and Cedric took their seats whilst the rest of the prefects filtered in, paying particular attention to the Fifth Years. Harry was relieved to learn that Hera Urquart was his female counterpart for the Slytherin prefect instead of Cordelia Gamp. He recognised Cedric's friend Niobe as the other Hufflepuff. Still, other than their names, Harry didn't know much about the other prefects. Except for their entire medical history, of course. It was an occupational hazard from working in the Hospital Wing for two years; he had treated almost every single person in the car at one point or another. Most memorably was the Sixth Year Gryffindor prefect, Derek Richards, who had used an engorgement charm on his—

The train's whistle blew as they left the platform. Weasley waited approximately ten seconds to begin the meeting, handing each of them a massive stack of parchment full of rules, protocols, and patrol rotations. All forty-eight pages were crammed with Weasley's tiny, cramped handwriting, and Harry had half a mind to cast a magnifying charm on it. It must have taken Weasley all summer to write.

Despite all of his enthusiasm for the role of Head Boy, Percy Weasley turned out to be a rather dull public speaker. He droned on for nearly an hour, barely even pausing to breathe. It was only after Clearwater reminded him that they needed to patrol the corridors that Weasley finally released them.

"Fresh meat goes first!" Derek Richards called, barrelling out of the car before Weasley had the chance to assign a rotation. The older prefects seemed to find this arrangement agreeable and followed after him.

The Fifth Years scowled at the treatment but didn't complain. After all, everyone there wanted to be a prefect (Harry excluded), and this was a prefect's duty. They paired off, with Cedric blocking Urquart from reaching Harry by declaring that "best friend out ranks house loyalty!" and dragging him out of the car before she could protest.

After a quick stop at their compartment to get food and inform their friends what was happening, Harry and Cedric began to patrol the corridors. It was about as fun as one would expect. Harry would have preferred sitting and talking with his friends rather than telling off unruly students for running through the train cars.

"So, you speak when it comes to Ginny Weasley but not your best friend, huh?" Cedric teased as they set off down the corridor. "I see how it is."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm worried about her," he admitted.

Cedric nodded slowly. "I can't even imagine what the poor lamb went through," he said.

To be completely honest, Harry hadn't even considered that. Ginny had spent at least six months possessed by Voldemort and another four in a coma. "We had an argument back in October," Harry added. "Well, it was more like I tried to talk to her, and she shouted at me to leave her alone."

"You have a way with the ladies," Cedric agreed, poking his head into a particularly boisterous compartment of Second Years and telling them to quiet down. "It's a wonder Katie puts up with you."

Harry chuckled—it wasn't like Cedric was wrong. "I keep wondering what she remembers from last year," he continued, redirecting his friend's attention. "Maybe she's just embarrassed by how she acted? How am I supposed to fix this?"

Cedric sighed. "Honestly, mate," he said slowly, giving Harry a pitying look. "You can't fix everything. I know it's sort of your thing, but…" he patted Harry on the shoulder. "Let her come to you. If she wants to have a relationship with you, she needs to put in some effort."

Harry frowned. Of all the things he had been expecting Cedric to say, it hadn't been that. Cedric was always the first to offer a different perspective on arguments and fights. He was the peacekeeper, the eternal optimist who tried to see the best in everyone. For him to tell Harry to drop the matter was wildly out of character, and he told him as much.

Cedric shrugged. "I'm more worried about you," he said. "Someone's got to."

"I'm fine."

The dubious expression on Cedric's face said that he believed otherwise. "Is that why you wouldn't talk earlier?"

Whether Cedric had intended for the conversation to take this turn or not, Harry realised he had found himself backed into a corner. "I'm fine—it's nothing. It was just a stupid—"

"It wasn't stupid," Cedric disagreed gently, cutting off Harry's stutters. "Otherwise, it wouldn't have upset you."

Harry fell silent, and Cedric didn't press him whilst he collected his thoughts. They continued down the corridor, assisting younger students and mediating fights when they stumbled across them. It began to rain as they walked, which wouldn't have been much of a problem, had they not had to travel between cars on their patrol. The boys were soaked to the bone by the time they remembered that they were wizards and could cast an Umbrella charm to ward off the rain.

"It was something my dad said," Harry admitted towards the end of the patrol shift. "It was a stupid comment he made to John. He probably doesn't even remember saying it."

Cedric hummed to show that he was listening but didn't urge him to continue.

"They were arguing about Hogsmeade," Harry explained. "And John's not allowed to go this year because of—"

"The Azkaban breakout?" Cedric guessed.

Harry waved his hand in a 'sort of' gesture. "It's not about Flint, so much as it is Peter Pettigrew," Harry explained, unsure if Cedric even knew who the man was. Compared to Aurelius Flint, Peter Pettigrew was almost a pacifist. He had barely even scraped a mention in the Daily Prophet. That might have also had something to do with politics, though. According to his father, the Minister of Magic was in a hot cauldron because Flint escaped from the inescapable prison. Two escapes would surely sink Cornelius Fudge's career. Harry was hardly surprised that Pettigrew's escape had been hushed up.

"Pettigrew betrayed our family to Voldemort," Harry finished, ignoring Cedric's cringe at the sound of the dark wizard's name. "We were in hiding during the war, and Pettigrew told him where to find us."

"Why?"

"We don't know," Harry said with a frown. He vaguely remembered his Uncle Peter. Mostly his soft voice and gentle hugs as they read together in the cottage at Godric's Hollow. "He refused to tell Dad. Uncle Sirius says it was pure cowardice, but…"

They didn't get to finish their conversation because they stumbled across John and his friends, who fell silent the second Harry poked his head into their compartment.

"What trouble are we planning today?" he asked, not expecting an honest answer. He didn't really care what they were planning, truth be told, so long as John walked away from it with all of his limbs intact. Still, it seemed like the prefect-ly thing to say.

Hermione looked at him with thinly veiled panic. "Why would you assume we're planning something?"

"You lot are always up to no good," Harry reminded her. "It's encoded in the fabric of your DNA."

"You know what DNA is?" Hermione asked.

Harry wasn't sure if this was a legitimate inquiry or an attempt to distract him. Knowing Hermione and her keen mind, it was most likely the former. "Obviously. Now, what are we up to?"

Ron looked like he wanted to deny everything (most likely with more skill than Hermione had), but John spoke up before he had the chance. "We're trying to figure out how I can go to Hogsmeade without a permission slip."

Harry nodded with understanding. "I would remind you that several secret passages lead out of the castle," he began, ignoring Cedric's and Hermione's scandalised gasps. "But Snape has Dad's old map. Sneaking out would be fruitless."

"I could forge his signature," John mused. "Or have a friend do it."

"Dean's an artist," Ron said, his blue eyes alight with excitement. "I'm sure he'd have no problems doing it."

"If you weren't in Gryffindor, perhaps," Harry conceded. "But Dad and McGonagall write to each other twice a week. She'll recognise his signature. And even if she didn't, Uncle Remus is here this year. He'll dob you in to the school and Dad. It's not worth it."

"You're seriously the worst prefect in Hogwarts history," Cedric muttered.

Harry frowned back at his friend. "What? I told him not to sneak out."

"That's not the point, Harry. You—"

But what that point was, Cedric never got to finish. The train began to slow, pistons squealing loud enough to be heard over the rain and howling wind outside.

"We can't be there yet," Hermione said, checking her wristwatch. "It's not nearly late enough."

Harry stuck his head out of the compartment and was greeted with the sight of dozens of students doing the exact same thing. He wondered if he should reassure them and ask them to return to their seats. That would be the prefect-ly thing to do. On the other hand, unease was twisting in the pits of Harry's stomach, activating some primal part of his brain that wanted to run and never look back. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something felt wrong, and it wasn't just the unprecedented pit stop.

At last, the Hogwarts Express lurched to a stop, sending standing students and luggage alike to the floor. Cedric rushed to help Harry to his feet just as the lamps went out.

Ron rubbed the sleeve of his jumper on the window, revealing farmland and the raging storm outside the window. "There's something out there…" he said, his long nose pressed against the glass. "I think… people are boarding the train."

Harry and Cedric shared an uneasy look. Surely, if this had been planned, Percy Weasley would have mentioned it. Seeing as he hadn't, something had to be very, very wrong.

"You lot stay here," Cedric said, pulling his long ash wand out of his pocket and illuminating the end. "We'll go see what the fuss is about."

Harry copied Cedric's actions and followed his friend into the corridor. When John tried to follow, Harry sealed the compartment door with the strongest locking charm he knew. He hoped that Hermione wouldn't be able to perform the counter-charm before he returned.

The boys inched down the corridor, reassuring confused and panicked students with more confidence than they felt. They ordered everyone back into the compartments, hoping that, if things went wrong, they weren't actually instructing the students to wait for their death.

Harry shivered at the thought and reached up to stroke Medusa's head to calm himself. They made it to the end of the corridor without finding the intruders, though their absence did little to put their minds at ease. Heart pounding, Harry reached for the door separating their train car from the next, only for it to slide open before he touched the handle.

A towering, hood figure hovered before them, its grey, decaying hand outstretched. Its rattling breath could be heard over the thundering rain outside, and as it breathed, Harry was sure that the corridor dropped ten degrees. The cold was so intense that it stole his breath and settled at the bottom of his lungs, filling his body and replacing his very soul with mind-numbing coldness.

They were standing face to face with a dementor.

Harry was dimly aware of Cedric stumbling back, his hand scrabbling for the back of Harry's robes. But try as he might, Harry couldn't figure out how to force his limbs to follow his friend. He stared at the dementor, paralysed, his heart galloping painfully in his chest and his vision reducing to pinpricks.

"Not my babies, not my boys. Please, not my babies!"

It was his mother, screaming, pleading for his and John's life. It rang in his ears just as it had done on Halloween night, nearly thirteen years ago. For a moment, Harry was sure she was in the corridor with him.

"Harry," Cedric shouted, giving him a vigorous shake. "Move!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now…"

These aren't real, he tried to remind himself, tried to force himself to move. It's just the dementor! Still, his body remained frozen. It was like his soul had already been sucked out of his body. As the seconds dragged on, Harry's body grew more rigid and tense, ready to snap at the slightest touch.

He felt Medusa flex her muscular body and heard her let out a hiss, finally having awakened from her nap. She poked Harry's cheek with her snout and stuck her tongue in his ear.

"Has this creature injected you with venom?" She hissed. "Are you paralysed?"

The sweet, musky scent of her scales tickled his nose, and Harry found himself standing, not in the train corridor, but in a slimy pipe, miles below Hogwarts. He heard the low, angry hiss of the basilisk as it crept towards him, the bone-covered floor shifting, the curved walls vibrating as it moved. It was coming for him, he knew. It would bite him, perhaps swallow him whole, and he would die alone and so would John and his father would never—

A sharp pain in his shoulder snapped him out of the memory. Medusa hissed and drew back, her fangs bloody and bared. She had bitten him!

"Focus!" she snapped.

Harry blinked and focused on the dementor trying to force its way into the train car. At last, he raised his wand, only to realise he didn't know the incantation to banish the dementor. His ears rang nastily as a powerful wave of helplessness threatened to overwhelm him. Black spots appeared in his vision, and he swayed on his feet.

Medusa hissed with displeasure and reared back before striking him once more on his shoulder. "Protect your hatchlings!"

Harry wasn't sure how to do that, but he jabbed his wand in desperation at the dementor. Magic rose in him, and Harry's fingers tingled as it surged out of his wand with a mighty whoosh!

Smoke and the scent of rotting, burning flesh filled the air as the dementor caught on fire.

The dementor let out a horrible, ear-splitting screech as the fire consumed it. Its dark robes burned away to reveal an emaciated, decaying grey torso, the waxy skin-like surface riddled with embers and holes as the fire spread. Then the hood burned away, revealing its horrible, eyeless face, its gaping, toothless maw that was capable of sucking out a person's soul but now issued the inhuman, chilling cry that filled Harry's ears and rattled his bones and would surely haunt his nightmares for years to come—

A ripple of energy pulsed through the corridor, knocking Cedric off his feet and hurling the still burning dementor off the train. It continued to screech, consumed with magical fire that even the raging storm outside couldn't put out. And at the centre of this chaos was Harry.

"Harry," Cedric said, clambering onto shaky feet. He reached out and placed a hesitant hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's over," he said gently, sending a locking charm at the door in case another dementor tried to board their car.

The glass window on a nearby compartment door cracked, causing the terrified students within to shriek in alarm.

Cedric pulled him into a tight hug, and Harry sagged against his friend, suddenly exhausted.

"We're safe now," Cedric murmured. Together, they slid down the corridor wall to the floor. "You saved us. It's over now."

Harry released a shaky sigh and dropped his head on Cedric's shoulder. Even though he was no longer face-to-face with the dementor, an intense feeling of foreboding lingered in Harry's gut. Harry didn't need Teddy's Seer abilities to know the danger was far from over. This, he knew, was only the beginning.

Genius Fratris

After copious amounts of chocolate and a stern lecture about not overtaxing himself, Harry was released from Madam Pomfrey's care just in time to miss the Sorting Ceremony. Exhausted, he collapsed into the empty spot between Grace and Marcus, giving his friends absentminded nods when they greeted him and pointedly ignoring their concerned looks. Someone (he strongly suspected Cedric) must have told them what had transpired on the train.

Dumbledore inadvertently saved him from their questions by rising to his feet and addressing the school. He spoke briefly about the dementors of Azkaban and how they were to protect them this year before cautioning them against sneaking off Hogwarts grounds this term. Harry made a mental note to remind John of this when he saw him next. Whilst he didn't think his brother had a death wish, John had always been easily influenced by others. The last thing Harry needed was for Ron to convince John to sneak into Hogsmeade and get his soul sucked out.

"On a happier note," Professor Dumbledore said, "I am pleased to introduce two new teachers to our staff this term. The first is Professor Lupin, who has kindly agreed to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

There was a smattering of polite applause from most of the students. That was until John and his friends decided to cheer wildly from the Gryffindor table. This started a wave of enthusiastic clapping from the rest of the student body. Apparently, a seal of approval from the Boy Who Lived made their new professor much more attractive than they had found him ten seconds before.

From halfway down the Slytherin table, a First Year with long black hair and ashen skin gasped. "He was my tutor!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands enthusiastically as she yelled this information at her peers. "Mr Lupin is the best!"

It took a moment for the Great Hall to settle down again for Professor Dumbledore to continue. "Our second new appointment will be our very own Rubeus Hagrid," he said, gesturing to the gigantic blushing man at the end of the High Table. "Who has agreed to take over the Care of Magical Creatures class."

The Gryffindor table went positively feral at this announcement, and Hagrid looked close to tears at the enthusiastic response.

"You know," Grace began, leaning back towards Harry, a panicked grin on her face as she clapped for Hagrid, "I love Hagrid just as much as you do. But does he have any sort of teaching qualifications?"

Harry gave her an uncomfortable smile in return. "I don't think he even finished his education."

"We're going to fail," she said, her smile now more of a grimace.

"At least you aren't taking your OWLs this year," Pucey reminded her. He sighed. "Damn. And I actually liked that class."

"It can't be that bad," Harry said. "Hagrid knows his stuff."

"Sure," Grace agreed. "But can he teach it?"

Harry would get to find out exactly what kind of professor Hagrid was the very next morning. After receiving his schedule from an irritated Snape (although Cedric's declaration of 'undying and eternal love' might have contributed to the man's foul mood), Harry and Pucey made their way down the front lawn to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was already waiting for them, as with the Gryffindors. To Harry's dismay, both Fred and George Weasley were amongst their ranks. Harry forced Pucey to stand with him close to Hagrid, hoping it would be enough to dissuade them from approaching. Although Harry admitted that the two brothers hadn't harassed him outside Quidditch games in quite some time, there was too much bad blood between them for Harry to ever feel comfortable in their presence.

"If yeh could follow me," Hagrid said in a gruff voice once the class had arrived. He waved a massive hand and began to walk towards the Forbidden Forest. "I thought we might start off easy with a little review."

He led them down a little path along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest until they reached a paddock. Inside stood a tall, gleaming unicorn, which tossed its head and watched them as they approached. Angelina Johnson cooed and rushed to the paddock's edge, leaning on the fence and sticking out her hand for the unicorn to sniff her fingers. The rest of the girls followed suit, whilst Harry and the boys lingered farther back.

"Now, I know Professor Kettleburn taught yeh 'bout unicorns back in June. But he wasn' able ter find one fer yeh at the time. Who knows why?"

"It was the foaling season," Alicia Spinnet answered. "Unicorns are highly protective of their young, so it's dangerous to approach them between May and August."

"Righ' yeh are. Take a point fer Gryffindor."

The lesson continued in a similar fashion. Although Hagrid didn't teach them anything new about unicorns, it wasn't a terrible lesson. And it was far easier to learn about a creature when they could see it in person. Of course, this wasn't the first unicorn Harry had met, but it was for most of his classmates. He watched with mild jealousy as the girls got to clamber over the paddock fence and approach the unicorn.

"Do you wan' ter join 'em, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

Harry shook his head. "Unicorns don't like men," he said, thinking that the question was some sort of test.

Hagrid smiled kindly at Harry, his black eyes glittering. "I think yeh'll be fine."

"Because he's the baby our year?" Pucey asked, a look of longing in his eyes as he watched the girls pet the unicorn.

"Cordelia's younger than me," Harry reminded Pucey with a scowl.

Pucey waved his hand. "That doesn't count. She's a girl. Unicorns like girls."

Hagrid merely motioned for Harry to approach the unicorn, which he did with a fair amount of trepidation.

"If I get gored by its horn, you're carrying up to Madam Pomfrey," Harry grumbled as he hopped over the paddock fence.

To his surprise, the unicorn didn't back away as Harry inched forward, weaving through the small crowd of confused girls. Instead, it knickered softly and began to approach him. Harry thought to raise a stunned hand for it to sniff just before it reached him, and he watched, fascinated as it pressed its velvety muzzle to his fingers. The unicorn's eyes fluttered shut, and it stepped even closer, its silver mane tickling the back of his hands as it demanded more affection.

Harry shot a confused look back at Hagrid, who was grinning.

"Don't yeh recognise her?" Hagrid asked. "She recognises you."

"What do you—oh." It was then that he caught sight of the thin scar on the unicorn's neck. It was faint, barely visible against the pure white fur, and Harry doubted it would ever disappear completely. It took a lot of effort to catch a unicorn, and whoever had hurt it two years ago had most likely used dark magic to do so. And dark magic always left a mark. "You look much better than the last time we met," he whispered to the unicorn.

The unicorn knickered again and tossed her head before rearing back as if to show off the legs Harry had mended. Harry laughed as the unicorn took off and began to prance around the paddock.

The lesson ended shortly after, with Hagrid setting a unicorn diagram for homework. All in all, the lesson could have been much worse, Harry and Pucey decided as they started back up the sloping lawn. When they reached the greenhouses, Harry waved goodbye to his friend before continuing to the castle. Whilst his Slytherin peers had Herbology with the Ravenclaws, Harry had several potions he needed to brew for the Hospital Wing. It was only a day into term, and there were already sick students that needed to be tended to, including several Muggle-borns that had yet to be immunised against various magical maladies.

Or at least, that had been his plan, had the Weasley twins not accosted him and dragged him into a broom cupboard off the Entrance Hall.

He considered making a glib comment about broom cupboards and their unconventional uses but held his tongue. Such comments were best saved for those who were less likely to hex him. "I couldn't think of any other reason you'd like to meet me in a broom cupboard. How may I assist you?"

The twins shared a look, seemingly having an entire silent conversation in front of him.

"Ginny," the twin on the right said at last.

Harry nodded slowly, though he had no clue where this was going. "Is she well?"

"You need to talk to her," the one on the left said.

That brought Harry up short. After all, how many times had the twins harassed him and demanded that he leave her alone? He considered pointing out the irony, but something in their grim expressions gave him pause. "What's happened? Is she ill?"

The twin on the left shook his head. "She's fine."

"Physically," the other elaborated. "The Healers at St Mungo's said there's nothing wrong with her. The only problem is—"

"She doesn't talk," finished the first twin.

Harry frowned. Barring Cedric, Ginny was Harry's most talkative friend. And if that wasn't concerning enough, hearing that nothing was physically wrong with her…well. It reminded him a lot of himself. After all, how many times had his father brought him to the Healers when he wouldn't speak, only to be pronounced perfectly healthy?

"Ever since she woke up from that coma," the first twin continued. "She's been off."

"Ginny underwent something traumatic," Harry reminded them gently. "You don't just get over that."

The twins shared a look Harry couldn't decipher.

"We thought you could talk to her," the second twin said after a pause. "You do that creepy silent thing sometimes—"

"It's not exactly a choice," Harry snapped, losing his patience.

To his surprise, the second twin raised an appeasing hand. "I know," he said in a rush. "That wasn't what I was getting at. It's just that—well. If anybody knows what it's like, it would be you, right?"

"Besides, she likes you." These words looked like they were physically painful for the other twin to say. "You're friends."

Well, Harry certainly considered Ginny a friend. Whether or not she felt the same way remained to be seen. Harry rubbed a hand over his face, his head already pounding from stress. "I'll try to talk to her," he said. "I can't make any promises."

The first twin looked like he wanted to argue, but he was cut off by the other. "That's all we ask," he said in a rush.

Harry pushed his way out of the broom cupboard without waiting for a reply and continued to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey didn't mention his late appearance, simply asking that he restock their supply of Pepper-up Potion at some point during the day. Fortunately, traffic through the Hospital Wing was light. Harry spent the rest of his morning holed up (his desk moved out of Madam Pomfrey's office and into his own sometime over the summer), brewing and plotting his next move.

Over the next few weeks, Harry attempted to pull Ginny for a chat, only to find that his friend remained just as elusive as she had the previous year. It was almost like she had a sixth sense for Harry's presence, somehow managing to slip away the moment Harry caught sight of her. At one point, Harry had even pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and tried to sneak up on her, but to no avail. He might have even been impressed if he hadn't been so frustrated.

Their dance continued well into October. He could understand her being embarrassed by their fight last October (had it really almost been a year since they had last spoken?), but surely she must know that he harboured no ill feelings towards her?

In the end, he had to resort to underhand, sneaky, Slytherin-like tactics to get Ginny alone: he convinced Cedric to lure Ginny out of the Hufflepuff common room.

Her expression quickly turned to panic when she found Harry waiting in the corridor for her. With reflexes honed by years of Quidditch training, Harry dove forward and grabbed her wrist before she could slip away.

"Ginny, please," he begged. "I just want to talk."

She looked at him through her eyelashes, a panicked, trapped look in her dark eyes. She didn't say anything, but she didn't try to wrench her wrist out of his grasp either, which Harry took as a good sign.

"Just five minutes," he said. "I want to apologise."

The tension didn't ease out of her shoulders, but her brow wrinkled in confusion.

Harry considered dragging her off somewhere private, but something told him that was a bad idea. Ginny was stressed enough as it was, and he didn't think forcing her to go somewhere would help. Instead, he released her and motioned for her to follow him, at least giving her a choice to hear him out. And if she decided not to…well, Harry supposed he had his answer about their friendship then.

Fortunately, Ginny nodded and crept behind him as he led her out of the Entrance Hall and onto the grounds. A group of younger students were playing croquet on the sloping front lawn, and they had to duck when Astoria Greengrass roqueted Collin Creevy's ball towards them, sending it through one of the windows on the ground floor. Harry summoned the ball and repaired the damage with a laugh but didn't stop to chat.

He led Ginny to an empty courtyard and sat on a stone bench, patting the spot next to him. She perched on the end, as far away from him as the space would allow, and stared at her scuffed leather shoes as she waited for him to speak. Harry considered his words. He realised that he had spent so long trying to gain an audience with Ginny that he hadn't thought about what he wanted to say. What were you even supposed to say to your friend who had spent half a year possessed by a dark lord?

"I'm sorry for not noticing that something was wrong last year," he began. "And I'm sorry that I hardly paid you any attention. You're my friend, and I should have treated you better." They sat silently for several minutes, listening to birds chirping and shouts from the croquet match. By the sounds, Collin had got his revenge and roqueted Astoria's ball into the Black Lake.

Ginny didn't offer anything in response and had the Twins not told him that she wasn't speaking, Harry would have been concerned. He still was, honestly. It was eery, sitting next to a silent Ginny. She was always so full of energy and life. To see that drained out of her broke his heart.

"I briefly spoke to Tom, you know." He had considered indirectly referencing the diary, which was sure to be a sore subject for her—it certainly was for John. But even though Ginny was a traumatised child, she was still Ginny. And Ginny hated being coddled.

Her head snapped up, her long red hair flying around her face, and she stared at him, her eyes burning.

Relived to have finally gotten a response out of her, he nodded. "Down in the Chamber of Secrets. Did your parents ever tell you what happened down there?" he asked. When she shook her head, he continued. "After taking John down, Tom pulled himself out of the diary. He was this ghost thing—a memory, he called himself. A memory that had to feed on someone's life force to make itself real." He recounted his experiences in the Chamber of Secrets, and Ginny listened with rapt attention, slowly inching closer as his story progressed.

"Did your parents tell you who Tom Riddle was?" Harry asked once he had finished.

When she shook her head, Harry wasn't surprised. As the youngest and only daughter, her family treated Ginny with kid gloves. He briefly considered respecting Mr and Mrs Weasley's decision to keep her in the dark, but after the hell she had gone through, didn't she deserve to know?

"Tom Riddle is the real name of Lord Voldemort," he explained in a low voice.

"I was possessed by You-Know-Who?"

Harry blinked but quickly schooled his expression. If there was one thing Harry had learned from his own silent episodes, it was that people pointing out when he spoke made him less likely to do it. Instead, he reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Say his name," he said. "Don't let him steal anything more from you."

Ginny scowled, but she didn't wrench her hand away.

"I know I'm the last person who should talk about being afraid of Voldemort. Did you know he used to be my boggart?"

She shook her head.

"When I was younger, I used to be terrified of him. I mean, I watched him murder Mum, and then he tried to kill me—" Harry froze. His heart accelerated, and a squirmy, panicky feeling fluttered in his stomach.

"He tried to kill you too?"

Harry had never told anyone that. Not his father or the mind Healers he had been forced to talk to. Not even to Cedric, his closest friend. He had fully planned on taking that secret to the grave with him. After all, what would people think when they discovered that Harry was the one Voldemort had tried to kill? Harry, the taciturn, unsociable Slytherin with a venomous pet snake he could talk to?

And even if he did tell someone what really happened that Halloween night, who would believe him? He'd be branded as the jealous, fame-seeking older brother faster than he could wave his wand. No, it was far better to keep his mouth shut. There was no harm in it, anyway. John made for a good hero for the Wizarding world to pin their hopes on.

Harry swallowed down the dry lump in his throat. He considered lying (after all, what was one more?), but the fierce look in Ginny's eyes told him that she'd see right through it.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice so soft he thought the autumn breeze might carry it away. He braced himself for the questions, but Ginny surprised him by winding her arm around his and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I won't tell anyone," Ginny said after a long stretch of silence.

Relief surged through his body, and the tension in his shoulders melted away. "Thank you."

Ginny nodded against his shoulder. "And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be secretive."

Harry let out a strangled laugh. "Don't you remember? I'm only in Slytherin because green is my favourite colour."

They burst into giggles, and it took several minutes to compose themselves.

"It feels good to laugh," she admitted. "I always feel so…"

"Angry?" Harry guessed, recalling what John had said.

"Dirty," she corrected, her lips quivering. "It's just… I liked him. He was so nice to me. He helped me with my school work and listened for hours as I told him everything. I thought Tom was my friend, and he was draining me the whole time. He was killing me and forcing me to hurt people and how am I ever supposed to trust anyone ever again? How am I supposed to trust myself?" Her voice cracked, and she pulled away from him. She wrapped her arms around her body as if it would hold herself together. "And I can still feel him in my mind, even now. He's tainted me. I feel disgusting, and I hate it. I hate me."

Harry didn't say anything. Because how did you even respond to something like that? There was something so inherently wrong about seeing her tears. She was always bright, effervescent Ginny. Bubbly, full of life Ginny. Ginny, who was as wild as her hair was red. Not this sad Ginny. Never this broken Ginny.

Instead, he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. He let her cry into his robes as he sorted through his chaotic thoughts and feelings. When the tears finally began to ebb, he pulled away and took her face in his hands, brushing away the remaining tears with his thumbs.

"After Mum died, I didn't talk for five years. I thought it was somehow my fault that she was murdered—like if I had just said something, I could have saved her. I couldn't've, of course. Voldemort wouldn't've spared her, even if I had said something." He reached out to take her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. "It's taken me a long time to accept that what happened was Voldemort's fault, not mine.

"I think it's important to remember that you didn't hurt anyone. You were possessed by Voldemort, who hurt people. You didn't do anything wrong—something wrong was done to you. You are just as much a victim as the people he forced you to attack."

Ginny pursed her lips and stared down at her lap, squeezing Harry's hand so hard that it hurt. "You make it sound so simple."

"It isn't," he said. "But Ginny, you don't deserve to be hated by anyone for what happened. Especially not by yourself."

"How do I do that?" She asked after a long pause.

"Stop isolating yourself," Harry said. "You are surrounded by people who love you and want to help. Let them help you. Let me help you."

There were some tears shed which they pretended weren't, and after Ginny dried her eyes with a handkerchief Harry conjured, they returned to the castle and went their separate ways.

In the days that followed, Harry began to notice that the tension that had strained their friendship slowly began to drain away. It wasn't much: eating the occasional meal together, helping her with her school work, or taking turns on Harry's Firebolt. Their friendship was by no means back to what it was before Ginny had started Hogwarts. But it was better, and for Harry, that was good enough.

Genius Fratris

The day before the Slytherin-Gryffindor match found Harry stomping towards the Gryffindor table, his mood far more sour than talking to his girlfriend should have called for.

"Katie, you need to visit Madam Pomfrey," Harry said, crouching next to his girlfriend at the Gryffindor table.

She smiled and tried to kiss him in greeting, only for Harry to dodge her. Hurt flared in her eyes, which was enough for Harry's anger to drain out of him. He might be pissed, but he knew better than to take it out on Katie.

He reached for her hand and gave her a tired smile. "I might have mono," he informed her.

Katie blinked. "Wizards get mono?"

"Hermononucleosis?" he elaborated, not understanding her confusion. "Muggles can contract it as well?"

Admittedly, he didn't know much about Muggle medicine, but he would be shocked if Muggles could contract mono. It was a nasty disease with lifelong consequences if it wasn't treated early enough. If caught early, a full recovery was almost guaranteed. The problem being, however, however, was that by the time symptoms appeared (some three months after infection), it was too late to Heal. And Miles Bletchley, who had stumbled into the Hospital Wing that morning with a fever and an enlarged spleen, was already past the point of no return—his immune system had already crashed and would likely never recover.

Harry had been given the delightful task of tracking down every person that had kissed or shared a drink with Bletchley. The list was as long as his arm and most likely wasn't comprehensive. It also included Harry himself.

"Herm—you know what? Never mind. So, mono?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "It spreads through saliva and well…"

"We do share quite a lot of that."

"Right, well," he cleared his throat. "Basically, Miles Bletchley is a slag and made it his mission to shag the entire population of Florence over the summer. He contracted mono and might have given it to us."

"And you think you've passed it to me," Katie surmised. "Hang on. Is this your way of saying you've been snogging Bletchley?"

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth and suppressed a smile. "We were passing ice cream around on my birthday, remember?" he explained. "Fortunately, the rest of us haven't presented symptoms yet, so it's early enough to treat it. If you've shared drinks with anyone, I need you to tell them to come to the Hospital Wing to get tested."

Katie narrowed her eyes as she thought. "So, if we both have mono, we can go back to snogging?"

"Once Madam Pomfrey sets us right," he promised. "After lunch, I need you to get tested."

Katie was standing before Harry had finished speaking. "No time like the present!" she exclaimed before taking his hand and dragging him out of the Great Hall. She paused only to tell the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team of her misfortunes and invite them to be tested.

The test for mono was simple enough and only took a few minutes to complete. Unfortunately, there was already quite the line to be tested when Harry and the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived at the Hospital Wing. They watched as infected students were directed towards hospital beds on bated breath. Cedric was one of the lucky few that was free to leave. Grace and Pucey were not.

"Damn it, Miles!" Marcus roared as Madam Pomfrey directed him towards one of the last empty beds.

"No shouting in the Hospital Wing!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. She turned to Harry with a scowl before swabbing the back of his throat. She dropped the swab in a vial of blue potion, and they watched it turn magenta.

"Damn it, Miles!" Harry growled, stomping towards his favourite bed before Madam Pomfrey could direct him.

By the end of the day, thirty-eight students were found to have mono. The Slytherin team was decimated with Bletchley, Pucey, Marcus, and himself ill. But to his surprise, the Gryffindor team was even worse off. Katie had been infected (understandably), as had both Weasley twins, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Oliver Wood. In fact, only John managed to escape unscathed, which he smugly pointed out to Harry.

Madam Pomfrey commanded each of them to bedrest and forbade them from physical activity for the rest of the month. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have been a massive issue. But as Wood was quick to point out: "We've got Quidditch tomorrow!"

"What the hell do you do in that changing room," Harry teased as he and Katie watched Wood and Madam Pomfrey argue.

"Alicia, Ange, and I share drinks sometimes," she admitted. "Ange snogs George, though she refuses to admit it. Fred and George share literally everything, so that's not a huge surprise. I wonder how Wood got it, though."

They never did find out, although Harry had to admit that he lost interest in the gossip when it was announced that none of the infected Quidditch players were allowed to play in tomorrow's match. After a quick meeting with Madam Hooch, it was decided that Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff (the two teams least affected by the outbreak) would play instead.

That was how Harry found himself bundled up in the Quidditch stands on the first Saturday of November, sharing a Hufflepuff blanket with Grace and Katie. It was a miserable, stormy day, and Harry was secretly glad that he wasn't playing in the squall. In fact, it was so bad that had Cedric not been playing, Harry would most certainly have skipped the match. But as it was, his best friend was playing, and so Harry spent the morning with his attention divided between the match and casting the Imperturbable Charm over himself and whoever was lucky enough to be sitting closest to him.

"Can you see anything?" John shouted over the wind. He was sitting with Ron in the row behind Harry, having joined him nearly an hour ago when they realised that Harry and his friends were still relatively dry. Hermione was absent, though, apparently having the good sense to spend the day in the library.

Harry shook his head and squinted through the sheets of rain. The sky had darkened dramatically as the match had dragged on, and the wind was blowing the rain sideways, which felt like icy little needles pelting his exposed skin. "They should just call it off," he replied. "This is madness."

Even Marcus, who lived for Quidditch, nodded in agreement.

"I'm surprised they can see anything," Grace commented with a frown. "This can't be safe."

Pucey turned around to stare at her. "It's Quidditch. Why wouldn't it be safe?"

Grace shook her head and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Wizards!"

"I can't see this going on for much longer," Harry cut in, redirecting the conversation. "We've already missed lunch."

"Hey Teddy," Grace said in a sing-song voice, reaching forward to tug on a lock of the boy's hair. "What do your keen elf eyes see?"

Teddy scowled and batted her hand away. "I'm not an elf!" he snapped.

"I know. You aren't beautiful enough," she said. Her exaggeratedly patient expression was ruined when she rolled her eyes. "So when does the rain let up, All-Knowing Seer of the Future?"

"It doesn't exactly work like that," he grumbled. "Besides, I don't even have a teacup."

Harry plucked a hair out of Teddy's head and transfigured it into a teacup, which he presented to him with a grin.

Teddy's scowl deepened. "That's not what I meant you—"

He froze, and for a split second, Harry thought a vision or a prophecy had hit him. But then the screaming started.

"Not my babies! Please, have mercy!"

His Imperturbable Charm failed, soaking them all in the icy rain in seconds. Harry was too numb to feel it.

"Time to die, Harry Potter."

Voldemort's voice snaked through his brain like poison, and an involuntary whimper slipped from Harry's lips at the sound. His breathing hitched, and black spots clouded his vision. Dread and a horrible icy paralysis took over his limbs, forcing him to remain still, no matter how much he wanted to run.

Something clamped around his neck and wrenched him off his feet. With a yelp, Harry attempted to pry it away, only to be tossed down the stands. The screams of terrified students joined the cacophony inside his head, though whether it was because Harry had been turned into a projectile or whatever was attacking him, he didn't know. He hit the edge of the stand, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and flipped head first over the railing. He managed to catch himself just in time to avoid plummeting onto the Quidditch pitch.

It was as he was desperately trying to scramble back to safety that he caught sight of who—or more accurately, what—had attacked him. The towering, terrible form of a dementor hovered over the stands, sending students running, their screams of terror joining his mother's screams in his head. The stands vibrated as hundreds of students stampeded to safety, knocking over their peers and trampling the ones who were too slow to move.

Harry couldn't see John or any of his friends in the pandemonium, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He didn't have the luxury of finding out. The dementor that had attacked him was gliding in his direction, its scaly, rotting hands outstretched.

No, not scaly. Burnt.

The dementor was wearing the charred, tattered remains of a cloak, leaving its gaping mouth and empty eye sockets exposed. Harry's stomach plummeted. It was the dementor from the train, he realised. The one he had accidentally set on fire. The one that clearly had a grudge to settle.

Harry didn't have time to consider his options before the dementor had descended upon him. It wrapped its decaying hands around his jaw and forced his head back with so much force he thought his neck would snap. It lowered its gaping mouth towards his, and the edges of Harry's vision turned grey. He could faintly hear his mother screaming, Voldemort cackling, his brother crying.

Wham!

Harry hit the ground, his spine cracking unpleasantly and his lungs burning as the air was forced out of them for a second time. He stared at the sky, rainwater covering his glasses, making it impossible to see more than dark shapes swooping high above him. They were chased away by glowing lights that radiated warmth and…happiness?

Patronus Charms, his brain supplied dimly as he watched the bright shapes dance about the sky. He thought he caught sight of a bird and a cat. And maybe a deer? He wasn't sure. It was difficult to see, and he was so tired.

"Is he alive?"

"Someone get Poppy!"

"How did they get onto the grounds?"

"Harry!" Uncle Remus' face appeared in his line of vision, his massive, warm hands cradling Harry's head. "Can you hear me?"

Harry wanted to respond—he tried to respond—but he couldn't even force a groan past his lips.

"Has he been Kissed?" That was the deep, unmistakable drawl of Professor Snape. Snape kneeled on Harry's other side, his wand held aloft as he erected a barrier between them and the rain.

Uncle Remus cast a spell that Harry didn't recognise. "No," he sighed, his voice heavy with relief.

"Just silent then," Professor Snape summarised. He waved his wand, and hot air blew over Harry. It dried his clothes but did little to rid him of the iciness in his veins. Another wave of his wand and a complex array of runes appeared over Harry, displaying Harry's vitals.

Harry's eyes flicked about as he deciphered the runes. A fractured trachea, a broken rib, and a concussion. It could have been much worse, all things considered. He could have had his soul sucked out of his body.

"I'll take that any day," Uncle Remus said. He conjured a stretcher and gently shifted Harry onto it. "How are the other children?"

"No deaths, thank God," came the squeaky voice of Professor Flitwick. "No one has been kissed, and the injured are being taken to the Hospital Wing. Except for Young Mr Potter—he's got a broken arm but refuses to go back to the castle. I can't understand what he's saying, but his tone is rather distraught. Rubeus is with him now."

"It's probably Greek," Uncle Remus said. "The Potters speak it at home."

Sure enough, over the howling wind and the shrieks of the dementors, Harry could make out John's (incredibly foul) shouts. A small selfish part of him was pleased that his brother hadn't abandoned him. The larger, big brother part of him was beyond annoyed that John was putting himself in harm's way.

After going a round with a dementor, the last thing Harry wanted to do was move. Still, big brother duties beckoned and he sat up with a scowl, despite Uncle Remus and Snape's protests. Harry ignored them (and the unpleasant ringing in his ears) and stuck out his hand to summon his wand. There wasn't much he could do for the concussion, and he had no clue how to repair a damaged trachea, but he could fix a broken rib in his sleep. He did so and slid off the stretcher, only for his vision to go dark and his knees to give out. Uncle Remus caught him and tried to force him to lie back down.

Harry tried to speak but only managed a wet cough that produced blood. He settled for shaking his head and stumbled towards his brother. Between the rain and his concussion-induced double vision, this was surprisingly difficult. Thankfully, Uncle Remus was kind enough to steer him in the correct direction once he realised Harry couldn't be deterred.

John went limp in Hagrid's arms as Harry approached, relief visible in his hazel eyes. Harry only had to gesture towards John's arm before his brother held it out to be Healed. "The dementor came out of nowhere and just tossed you like a ragdoll. I couldn't see you anywhere, and Wood was trying to drag us out of the stands, but I couldn't find you and—" Harry tuned out his brother's ramblings as he mended the break. "—Katie's taken Angelina to the Hospital Wing , but I couldn't just leave you and—"

Harry rolled his eyes. Stupid, noble Gryffindors. His brother was thirteen and had no clue how to perform a Patronus Charm. How on earth was he supposed to be of use against a dementor?

Bone mended, Harry lowered his wand and pulled John into a hug, tucking his brother's scruffy head under his chin. John continued to recount his version of events and Harry let John babble away as he steered him towards the castle. They barely made it off the Quidditch pitch before Harry collapsed from exhaustion.

"Will you accept the stretcher now, or are you still too proud?" Professor Snape snarked.

It was a good thing Harry was used to not talking because he had several rude things he would have liked to call his Head of House.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." ― Maya Angelou

A/N: As I was writing this, I realised that I had accidentally edited out in an earlier chapter that the Potters have Greek heritage through Euphemia Potter, Harry's grandmother. There are a few references here and there about speaking Greek but... whoops. Anyway. James, Harry, and John speak Greek sometimes. Now you know.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If it looks cleaner than it usually does, that's because I finally found a Beta, the wonderful and talented quis_quam, for this story. They're awesome and they've already put up with a lot of shenanigans from me.

Also, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the lovely person who called my story hot garbage and claimed I was tossing my story into the dirt. Cheers, bestie.