Content Warning: blood, gore, death, impromptu surgeries, and boyish (strong) language.
Chapter 23: Summer 1994, Part 1
He found the first casualty outside the St Mungo's Charity Shop: a Hufflepuff with her leg bent at an impossible angle. Harry had already slid to a stop beside her and mended the break before he made the conscious decision to do so.
"Are you hurt anywhere else, Gayle?" He cast a diagnostic charm as he spoke, grimacing when he saw she had a concussion. There wasn't much he could do for that in the middle of Chestnut Lane. She needed the Hospital Wing.
Gayle Pocklington, Fourth Year prone to nose bleeds, shook her head. "I'm not at Madam Puddifoot's, am I?" she asked, clearly dazed.
"You're not," he agreed. "Do you know what happened?"
Gayle frowned. "I was on a date with Malcolm," she explained. "His tongue was rough like a cat's. I don't think I liked it very much."
Harry could have gone his entire life without knowing that information. "I meant, how did you get here? There was an explosion." Even now, he could smell the smoke, and his ears rang with panicked screams.
Gayle was too disoriented and confused to respond, so Harry dropped the matter and helped her to her feet. She promptly vomited on his shoes.
"That's alright, love," Harry replied when Gayle began to sob. He vanished the sick away with a wave of his wand. "All better. Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."
They started to hobble in the direction of Hogwarts, only to stumble when the earth shook beneath their feet with another powerful explosion. Up ahead, Harry watched in horror as Pippin's Potions exploded. Harry had just enough time to put up a shield charm to protect them from a shower of wood, stone, and glass. A nearby villager wasn't so lucky and was knocked to the ground by a chunk of falling stone. He bounded to his feet before Harry could ask if he was alright and dashed off.
"Potter!"
Harry jumped at the sound of his name and spun around, brandishing his wand. He found a dishevelled Percy Weasley and a soot-covered Penelope Clearwater sprinting towards him.
"What's happening?" Harry asked, shouting over the noise.
Weasley confirmed his suspicions when he said, "It's Flint," his face contorted into a grimace. "He's engaged the professors. We think he's behind the explosions too." As if to prove his point, a building several streets over exploded. They threw up shield charms to stop the onslaught of falling plaster. "We can't evacuate the students."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, supporting Gayle's body weight as she sagged against him. "I need to get her to the Hospital Wing. She's—"
"There's a jinx," Clearwater explained, her voice an octave higher than usual. "Nobody can Apparate in or out of the village, and the fight is blocking the road to the castle."
Harry's blood turned to ice. "Please tell me Aurors can get in."
Clearwater looked close to tears as she shook her head. "Dumbledore can't either. We've got a few professors, but it's chaos. So many people are hurt."
Harry swallowed his panic, a luxury he couldn't afford right now. "I can help with the injured, but I'll need someone to watch my back." Healing took a lot of concentration, which was another luxury a disaster zone couldn't provide. Harry knew that he'd be a sitting duck without someone to protect him.
Weasley nodded. "I'll go with Potter. Penny, take Miss Pocklington and any other survivors you see."
"There's a secret passageway in the Shrieking Shack," Harry added quickly, recalling his father's stories about the decrepit old house. After all, how many times had he told Harry about sneaking into it on Full Moons? "It leads out to the Whomping Willow, but a Freezing Charm will stop it from crushing you."
There wasn't time for anyone to disagree, and the group split up. Harry tried to keep up with Weasley's freakishly long legs as they sprinted through the winding streets of Hogsmeade, putting out fires and banishing debris in their path.
The second casualty Harry found was an elderly man he had never met before. Harry didn't know his name, where he was from, or how old he was. He just knew the man was dead. Harry moved him off the street and covered him in a conjured sheet before moving on.
They encountered dozens of people, residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts students alike, running in panic, digging themselves out of piles of rubble, and fortifying buildings threatening to collapse. Harry and Percy tried to warn them, to tell them to get out of the village, but their words fell on deaf ears. Or perhaps they just couldn't hear over the pandemonium and cacophony of terrified screams.
He lost track of the bones he set and the wounds he healed. He lost track of time and his location. He tried not to think of the dead that lay crumpled in the streets. He tried not to remember that John was somewhere in Hogsmeade and that he wasn't there to protect him.
All he could do was put one foot in front of the other, cast the spells Madam Pomfrey had taught him, and hope that it was enough.
Sometime later—a few minutes or a few hours after the first explosions started, Harry couldn't be sure—something small and red flew through the air and latched onto Harry's arm, tearing through his robes and sinking into his flesh.
Harry yelped and tried to throw off the fox that had latched onto his arm, his blood splattering across the cobblestone street.
"It's Grace!" Harry shouted when Weasley aimed his wand at the fox with strawberry blonde fur. She was already turning before Harry could ask her what was happening and sprinted down an alley. Without thinking, Harry transformed into his hare form and sprinted after.
He caught up quickly, finding that his form was significantly faster than Grace's. He forced himself to slow down and keep pace with her, unsure where she was leading him but knowing she wouldn't have attacked him if it wasn't urgent.
They stumbled as they transformed back into humans, tripping over what remained of the Three Broomsticks. The pub had been reduced to rubble, and a cloud of dust hung in the air. Harry coughed violently, the dust coating his tongue and turning his throat sticky. He cast a Bubble-Head charm and forced himself to keep moving.
"You have to save her, Harry," Grace said, crawling over the piles of stone and wood. She led him down to what might have once been the cellar of the Three Broomsticks, where a small group of students were huddled, a mix of ages and houses, no adult in sight.
For one horrible moment, Harry thought that Cedric was the injured one. But no, he wasn't lying on the ground because he was injured. He was trying to comfort the girl buried under hundreds of kilos of stone.
"Harry, this is Sally-Anne Perkins," Cedric explained in a soft voice incongruous for a war zone. "She's in Ravenclaw. A Third Year." He said this as if Harry couldn't look at a student and recite their entire medical history. Of course he knew who Sally-Anne Perkins was—she had a history of anxiety attacks, which she managed with a daily dose of Soothing Solution.
Harry forced himself to smile as he dropped to the ground beside Perkins. "My brother is a Third Year," Harry said in the same conversational tone Cedric had used, casting a diagnostic charm as he spoke. He tried not to grimace at what he saw. Perkins's spine was fractured in several spots, and her pelvis had been crushed. That alone would be difficult to fix if it wasn't for the fact her internal organs had been without blood for nearly two minutes.
This wouldn't just be tricky—this might be the worst injury he'd yet to Heal. But it wasn't impossible, Harry thought, his mind racing as he recalled everything he knew about internal trauma.
"John," she said in a faint, girlish voice. "He's in my Defence class. He's very kind."
"That's nice to hear," Harry said, rolling his wand between his fingers. "He's usually a bit of a berk to me."
Perkins's attempt at laughter turned into a pained whimper.
"Let's set you right, yeah?" Harry asked.
With a swish and a flick of his wand, the rubble pile shot fifty feet into the air. The students around him screamed, and shield charms went up, though there was no need. Swirling his wand above his head, the falling stones vanished in an instant. By the time they realised they were in no more danger, Harry had already begun Healing.
He started with the organs, repairing the damage and sending her blood back into circulation. The spine was next, bones knitting back together with a flurry of spells. There wasn't much he could do for the nerve damage at the present moment, although it could easily be fixed with a potion once they got back to the castle.
But then came the most challenging part—the remains of her pelvis. Theoretically, bone damage like this could be easily fixed by vanishing the bones and regrowing them with Skele-gro. But even if Harry had the potion on hand, vanishing skeletal structures such as the pelvis was impossible—he'd no sooner vanish her skull or spine lest he wanted to destroy the vital organs it protected. There was only one solution for this, and it wasn't something he particularly relished the idea of performing in the ruins of the Three Broomsticks.
Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice.
After placing his patient in an enchanted sleep, he cast a Sanitation Charm, and a green bubble domed over them, forcing the onlooking students to take several steps back. A rush of magic prickled Harry's skin as the air around them purified, and the grime was magicked away from Perkin's body.
"Obtendo," Harry muttered, swinging his arm in a circle. A ring of black mist drifted up from the ground, surrounding him and Perkins and obscuring them from view. The mist wasn't impenetrable, but it afforded Perkins a little dignity for what Harry had to do next.
He drew back her robes to expose her hips, which looked oddly deflated and mottled with bruises. Taking a steadying breath, he sliced open her body, exposing the jagged mess inside. It was, by far, the most gruesome thing he had ever seen, and his stomach turned in revulsion.
He didn't have long to squirm, though, as he was quickly reminded just where he was when a nearby house caved in on itself, sending its chimney careening towards them. If it weren't for the chorus of "Protego!" from the students around him, Harry would have found himself in the same position as Perkins.
He shook his head to clear his panicked thoughts and focused on Healing.
The next few minutes seemed to pass in seconds as he worked to stabilise what was left of his patient's bones. It was finicky work, removing the bone shards which clung to every soft tissue. Twice, he had to halt his progress to repair tears caused by removing the shards.
"Integro osseum," Harry intoned the spell he and his father had created. He jabbed the tip of his wand at the collection of bone shards. Immediately, they began to darken and melt until they formed a puddle of molten metal. With a flick of his wand, the titanium-bone solution shot towards the raggedy remains of Perkins's pelvis, melding to the ends of her bones. Harry watched in trepidation and awe as the liquid metal began to ripple, floating and flowing through Sally-Anne's body as it reformed her hips.
It was beautiful, he thought in a daze.
Once the metal had solidified, Harry healed the incision he had made in Perkins's body and began supplying her with the pilfered Blood Replenishing potion, using every single one he had on hand. When her skin had lost its corpse-like hue, Harry transferred her onto a conjured stretcher. He waved his wand again, and her robes righted themselves.
"She needs the Hospital Wing," Harry said, his voice sounding oddly faint as he burst the sanitation bubble and dispelled the Obscuring Charm. "I've done what I can, but she'll need a fully qualified Healer."
"We can't get back to the castle," a boy said, his voice cracking.
Michael Corner, Third Year, his brain supplied.
"I know the road is blocked, but if you can make it to the Shrieking Shack, there's a secret passageway—"
"We can't," another Third Year Ravenclaw (Harry thought it was Lisa Turpin, but his vision had gone funny, so he couldn't be sure) replied. "There's some sort of barrier that prevents anyone from leaving Hogsmeade. The Aurors told us to hide. That's when—"
"The Aurors are in the village?" Harry asked.
Lisa shook her head, tears cutting tracks down her sooty face. "We found them at the boundary—there's some sort of jinx keeping them out. Curse Breakers are working on it, but it makes a sort of dome around the village," she explained, pantomiming the shape with her hands. "Nobody can get in or out."
Panic ripped through Harry at this news—not just because they were trapped, but because his brother was trapped too. He shot to his feet, only to sway dangerously as his head rushed with blood. Cedric caught him before he could fall.
"John's here," he muttered to his friend. "He stole my cloak, and he snuck in and—"
"I'll find him," Cedric replied, wrapping an arm around Harry's middle and supporting his weight when his knees threatened to give out. "You rest for a minute and—"
But Harry was already shaking his head. "There'll be more people who need me."
"And you'll be no use to them if you faint after trying to raise your wand," Cedric said. He dragged Harry over to a slab of concrete that may have once been a wall and forced him to sit. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a goblet of water and shoved it into Harry's hands. "Drink. Take a minute. That was a lot of magic you just did."
Too exhausted to argue, Harry drained the goblet in one go. "We need to move Perkins," he explained. "It's not safe here and—"
"Let us take care of that, Superman," Grace drawled, appearing at Cedric's side, her tone bellying the concern in her expression. "You look like you're about to keel over."
Truth be told, Harry did feel like he was about to keel over. He had performed a lot of magic in a short period of time, and he knew he had to be reaching his limits of magical exposure. But he couldn't not do anything. Even if he stopped tending to the casualties he encountered (which he wasn't about to do), he still needed to be able to defend himself.
He flinched when a hand caressed his shoulder and spun around, wand drawn, a Blasting hex on his lips. It would have hit Katie had Cedric not cast a shield charm between them at the last moment.
"Are you alright?" she asked in a soft voice, her warm eyes full of concern. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry's chest squeezed at the sight.
"He's fine," Grace snapped before Harry could respond. "We're taking care of him."
"Grace," Harry admonished gently before turning back to his ex-girlfriend. "I'm fine. Are you hurt?"
Katie shook her head. "But that girl," she said, jutting her chin towards Perkins. "You said she needs the Hospital Wing? George thinks he can get her there."
Harry squinted behind her, finding a shock of distinctive Weasley-Red hair through the smoke. George Weasley, who had been on a date with Katie today, he remembered bitterly. Had they been at the Three Broomsticks when the fighting started? When the building had exploded?
He pushed away his thoughts and refocused on the problem at hand. "How?" He asked Weasley.
"You mentioned the passageway between the Shrieking Shack and Hogwarts," Weasley began, creeping forward. "There's another one—within the jinx boundary. It's in Honeydukes' cellar and goes directly to the castle."
"Do you think you can get through?" Harry asked, hope flaring in his chest for the first time since the battle began.
George's face was set in a grim line. "I don't know," he admitted. "But it's worth a shot."
Harry nodded, reaching out to grab George's arm. "I need you to get her to the Hospital Wing. Can you do that?"
He nodded. "Tell me what to do."
Harry struggled to his feet and led George back to Perkins, who was still unconscious. Harry tapped her stretcher with his wand, which levitated until it was waist-high. "She's stable at the moment," Harry explained, casting a series of monitoring charms around the stretcher, enveloping Perkins in a cocoon of glittering runes. "I don't know how long it will last. You'll need to run. The stretcher is charmed to follow you. Don't worry about her falling out; she's been charmed to stay put, but refrain from flipping the stretcher over if you can't help it. Her organs won't be able to tolerate inversion."
And then George was off, rocketing through the destroyed streets, Perkins zooming silently beside him. The other students scrabbled after him, and soon, only Harry, Grace, and Cedric remained in the ruins of the Three Broomsticks.
"We need to move," Harry said, though his body protested every step he took. "If the passage to Hogwarts is still open, we might be able to evacuate others."
Cedric nodded. "Grace, tell as many people as you can about the passageway. Look for John—he's invisible, but you should be able to sniff him out as in your Animagus form."
"I doubt he's left Ron and Hermione's side," Harry added.
"What about you two?" Grace asked, a hard look of determination settling on her face.
Cedric tilted his head towards Harry. "I've got to keep this nutter alive."
Grace nodded solemnly. "Don't envy you that job," she quipped before turning into a fox and scampering away.
There was no time to rest, to catch his breath, no matter how much Cedric insisted he needed it. They took to the streets again, Harry treating the wounded with Cedric watching his back. There was no actual decision to head towards the front line of the battle, but they ended up there all the same. Following the screams of pain and cries of misery, Harry and Cedric found themselves at the end of High Street, just past a burning Dervish & Banges, where they were forced to take cover. A nasty-looking violet hex sailed over their heads and smashed through a window, showering them with bits of wood and broken glass.
Up ahead, they found their professors duelling an impossibly tall man with waist-length black hair, wearing shabby prison robes. Even if the man's face hadn't been plastered all over the Daily Prophet since July, Harry would have recognised Aurelius Flint immediately. Behind the waxy skin stretched tight over his gaunt frame, Flint Senior looked extraordinarily like his son.
While Azkaban had not been kind to his physical appearance, it was apparent that it had done no damage to his magical abilities. He easily duelled the professors, batting away their spells with a bored expression. Flint had the upper hand, though whether it was due to his magical prowess or the teachers' reluctance to cause destruction that might hurt a student, Harry couldn't say. All he knew was that it was taking all of Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, and Uncle Remus' efforts to keep Flint from advancing further down High Street.
Behind the fighting, Harry could see the road to Hogwarts, which shimmered oddly, as if a glass barrier had been erected between the village and the castle. His eyes traced the glimmering sheen, encasing the entire village like a giant fish bowl. This was the barrier trapping them inside Hogsmeade, Harry presumed.
Harry wondered if the dozens of people just past the barrier were the Aurors he'd heard about. He wasn't sure if it was a relief or not. After all, they were just standing there, useless and powerless to stop the chaos inside.
Flint cast curse after curse at the professors in rapid succession, so fast that dodging was a more effective tactic than shield charms.
"He's trying to wear them down," Cedric noted, his lips pressed in a thin line.
"Looks like it's working," Harry replied, wincing when Flitwick took a Blasting Hex to the chest, sending him flying, head over heels, several metres away. To their relief, their Charms professor leapt up with surprising grace and charged back into the fray.
"What do we do?" Cedric asked.
Flint paused his insane barrage of offensive spells for the briefest of seconds, giving the tip of his wand a little flick. The pause was so brief Harry might've missed it had it not been for the massive explosion that rocked a nearby cottage, sending it up in flames.
Confused, Harry ripped his attention away from the fight. Had Flint caused the explosion? It seemed impossible—after all, Flint was nowhere near them when it happened. He hadn't even been looking at buildings.
"How is he doing that?" Harry asked Cedric when yet another family home imploded.
Cedric frowned and focused on the rapidly diminishing village. "Demolition hex, most likely," he explained. "Dad and I used them on an old barn a few years back. They're simple enough—you draw a series of runes on the building you want to knock down, and you can activate them when you're a safe distance away."
"How do we stop it?"
"Destroy the runes," Cedric replied, narrowed eyes darting around at the few remaining buildings around them. After a moment, he pointed to a little cottage, which, other than the singed thatched roof, was otherwise intact. "Above the lintel, do you see it?"
It was hard to see through the smoke, but Harry could just make out a string of runes glittering faintly above the cottage's front door. Jera, Kenaz, Thurisaz—patience, controlled fire, violence. Hardly a string of runes someone would etch into the side of their own house.
"How do we get rid of it?"
Cedric pursed his lips in consideration. "An Obliteration Curse should do the trick," he said, raising his wand and taking aim at the house. There was a loud bang that shook the cottage, but other than the massive hole above the entrance, the house was intact.
There was no time to celebrate their success, though. The destruction of the runes had attracted the attention of Flint, who sent a hex in their direction. Harry and Cedric managed to dodge in time, forcing them out into the open. Suddenly, Harry and Cedric found themselves dodging curses with their professors.
Cedric, for all of his book smarts and his genius in Transfiguration, was a terrible dueller, so it was Harry's turn to protect his friend. It took all of Harry's concentration to cover Cedric, leaving himself wide open for more of Flint's curses. Within moments, Harry was hit with a Severing Hex, and whilst it had only grazed his leg, blood began to splatter the ground with every step he took.
"Go!" Harry shouted Cedric. "I'll cover you!"
"I can't—"
"Destroy the runes!" Harry said, not giving him a chance to argue. He threw up the strongest shielding charm he knew, just in time to block a sickly orange hex that Harry didn't know the name of. It hit the shield with enough force to rattle Harry's bones. To his surprise and relief, the shield held. "Go! Now!"
Thankfully, Cedric didn't argue. But that might have had something to do with the fact that he was running for his life. True to his word, Harry managed to block Flint's increasingly desperate spells that he aimed at Cedric's back until his friend was out of sight.
And then Flint turned his attention onto Harry.
It then became very clear that Flint had been toying with the professors earlier. His spells, powerful and quick as they were, were mere nuisances designed to slow down and exhaust his opponents. Now, with fury in his eyes, Flint wanted to hurt.
Harry was suddenly glad that he had spent all last year studying dark magic. Not only did he recognise most of the spells designed to kill him, but he knew how best to react. Some spells, like the Entrail Erupting Curse, couldn't be stopped by a standard Protego but required a specialised Shield that absorbed and neutralised the deadly magic. Others, like the Virginian Ribbon Maker, could only be stopped by a conjured apple (which promptly exploded in Harry's face, leaving him covered in applesauce). Some, like the Killing Curse sent his way, could only be avoided by dodging.
It was after this Killing Curse that Harry's day went from catastrophically bad to apocalyptically bad by making the one mistake you never want to make when someone is trying to kill you: he tripped.
Harry fell face first onto the dusty, rubble-strewn ground of High Street, and although he managed to spring back up with agility that surprised even himself, he knew he was done for. His balance was off, and there was no way he'd be able to dodge the unblockable Bone Shattering Curse coming his way.
Something big and heavy tackled Harry from the side, sending them both sprawling to the ground, knocking the wind out of Harry's lungs. When Harry finally managed to catch his breath, the familiar, comforting scent of Uncle Remus's cologne permeated his senses. But his momentary relief quickly turned to terror when another, equally familiar, scent reached his nose: blood.
Harry struggled to sit up, the movement eliciting a weak groan from his uncle, who remained sprawled on top of him.
"You're hurt," Harry said stupidly, finally managing to shift Uncle Remus off him.
Hurt was a massive understatement. Because Uncle Remus had taken the curse that was meant for Harry—was meant to kill Harry. The Bone Shattering Hex.
But it couldn't be, Harry thought, surveying the jagged stumps that had once been Uncle Rem
us's shins. The Bone Shattering Hex, as the name implied, shattered every bone it hit, and victims died within seconds as the bone fragments shredded their internal organs. It did not blow off body parts. So, what happened to Uncle Remus?
Harry didn't have time to ask questions. Uncle Remus let out another groan, weaker than the last, his face grey and drawn, and Harry scrambled to kneel by his side.
"You're in danger?" Medusa hissed, poking her head out of Harry's bag. It was the first time she had deigned to come out of hiding, somehow managing to sleep through the chaos so far.
"Good of you to notice," Harry snapped back.
Medusa gave the snaky equivalent of a huff and slid out of his bag. "Why must I do everything around here?" She groaned as she began to circle Harry and Uncle Remus.
Harry wanted to retort, but he had to duck as another curse flew towards him, his hair ruffling as it shot overhead. He gripped his wand tight in his hand, knuckles white, ready to cast another shield charm. But before he could cast it, a glittering green dome appeared over him and Uncle Remus, following the path Medusa had laid. When another curse flew towards Harry, the dome absorbed the magic, pulsing and rippling as the dark magic dissipated around them, protecting them from harm. And yet it was not impermeable, Harry discovered when Snape took a Blasting Hex to the chest and landed within the confines of the dome.
"Heal your patient," Medusa instructed, returning to Harry. She crawled up his arm and settled over his shoulders to watch. "Quickly."
Snape sat up, scowling at the dome and then at Harry, as if it was somehow his fault. Still, he moved to kneel on Uncle Remus's other side. "Bone Shattering Hex?" he guessed in a bland tone, totally incongruous with their surroundings.
Harry's mind whirled as he tried to think of a solution. "I've never heard of it doing this before."
"Of course not," Snape drawled. "Flint's deranged mind modified the original back in the war. It's designed to cause a slow, agonising death."
Slow and agonising sounded about right, Harry thought as he continued to assess Uncle Remus's condition. But slow meant that there might be time to save him.
"It's destroyed his legs, making reattachment impossible," Harry said, more to himself than Snape. "Best course of action: stop the bleeding, correct the amputation, and seal the wounds."
He worked as he spoke, conjuring tourniquets and fastening them around Uncle Remus's thighs and began to soften the shards of his shins. But no matter how tightly he tied the tourniquet, blood continued to gush out of the wound. It must be the hex, Harry thought, panic beginning to cloud his senses. He could barely see what he was doing through the blood and gore.
"I need to stop the bleeding," he muttered to himself. His hands were trembling now, covered in Uncle Remus's blood. "He'll die from blood loss."
"Then I suggest you do that," Snape sneered, tension bleeding into his voice as well.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Harry snapped, his mind scrabbling for another solution. "It's not working!"
Snape fished around in his robes before extracting a vial of yellow potion. "A Blood Clotting Draught."
"No!" Harry cried, smacking the potion out of Snape's hands. It hit the ground and shattered, and the blood it came into contact with bubbled and turned black. "He's had the Wolfsbane within the last forty-eight hours. Give that to him, and his blood will turn to acid!"
"Potter, if we don't do something, he won't have any blood left!"
"Don't you think I know that?" Harry cried, panicked and frustrated. They were wasting time that Uncle Remus didn't have. "I need to stop the source of the bleeding!"
The answer came to him at once: stop the source of the bleeding.
A flash of clarity banished the haze of terror, and Harry realised what had to be done. "Three minutes."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I stop his heart," Harry said, his voice barely audible over the bangs of spellfire and screams of terror.
Harry knew how to stop a heart, of course. Madam Pomfrey had taught him several months ago. But never had he practised on a human before. And if he messed up, took too long to repair the damage, miscast the restarting charm…
Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice. The curse had made staunching the flow of blood impossible. The only way to save his uncle was to stop the bleeding at the very source. Harry's hands shook as he raised his wand.
"Cardia arresto," he intoned.
He had three minutes to repair the damage and restart the heart. Every millisecond after that, brain death began, forever damaging the Uncle Remus he knew and loved.
The next three minutes were simultaneously the longest and the shortest moments of his life. His mind raced, his wand flew, and spells flowed out of his mouth faster than they had ever done in his life. But with each wand wave, each incantation uttered, Harry had the growing realisation that it wasn't enough.
The bones were still shattered. The skin continued to split open. There was no reattaching the lost limbs. Whatever Harry did, it wasn't enough. The curse would need to be lifted before Healing took place. Considering Harry didn't know the counter-curse or know anything about curse breaking, this was an impossible task.
Something flicked in his ear, and Harry cringed away from the sensation. It took a moment for his brain to register that Medusa was still curled around his neck, watching the chaos unfold.
Her red eyes seemed to glow in the flashes of spells. "Your magic isn't enough. You need a snake," she explained. She didn't give Harry a chance to ask what that meant. "Repeat after me."
Harry didn't pause to think. He was desperate, and Uncle Remus was dying, and if there was one soul here that Harry knew he could trust, it was Medusa.
Together, they intoned something that sounded more like a prayer than an actual incantation:
"Asclepios: Healer of all, master physician,
You charm the many pains, misery, and disease of man,
Soothing, persistent one, bring back health,
And end their maladies and the certainty of death."
He didn't have time to register what the words meant. All he cared about was that he might save his uncle's life. This couldn't be the end, he thought as the unfamiliar words slipped from his lips in sibilant hisses. This had to work. He couldn't lose Uncle Remus.
For one horrible moment, Harry didn't think anything had happened. He kneeled beside his uncle in a haze of terror, the scent of blood thick in the air as spellfire rained down around them. Sweat began to drip down Harry's face as he watched, begging that this spell would save his uncle (not him, not him. It should have been me. Please, not him). His body trembled so hard that his teeth chattered, and his wand slipped from his fingers. Something twinged somewhere deep within his body, as if phantom fingers were grabbing hold of his soul. Black spots danced across his vision, and when Harry tried to breathe, his lungs burned as if they were filled with noxious gas.
And then the glowing began. A soft, gentle silver light encircled Harry, flowing between himself and his uncle where it sank beneath Uncle Remus' skin. A rosy pink flush returned to his ashen skin, and in an instant, he looked younger than Harry had ever seen him. The heavy lines on his face plumped, and the collection of scars that littered his skin faded. His prematurely grey hair darkened to a sandy brown.
A warm breeze kissed Harry's skin, carrying away the scent of blood until only the sharp, clean smell of eucalyptus filled his nose. For one blissful second, it soothed the aching, tugging sensation in his body and chased away his panic until only peace remained. He felt grounded, his attention unnaturally focused, and he inhaled a lungful of the fresh air.
"It's working," Medusa said, sounding far more smug than any snake had the right to sound.
Indeed, it was. The stumps that had once been jagged, bleeding messes smoothed, and the muscles knitted themselves back together. Baby pink skin inched over the gaping wound, sealing the injury as if it had happened twenty years ago rather than three minutes. Not even a scar was left behind.
"Restart his heart," Medusa instructed.
Harry did as he was told, moving mechanically, his limbs feeling cumbersome as he cast the counter-curse. The last thing he saw before he fainted was Uncle Remus's familiar brown eyes as they flew open, and he gasped for air.
Genius Fratris
Harry wasn't sure how long he was unconscious, but it couldn't have been too long, considering that Flint was still wreaking havoc some fifty meters away. Snape and Uncle Remus were hovering over him, wearing twin masks of concern as Snape cast some sort of spell on him.
"Magical overexposure?" Uncle Remus asked, his voice far stronger than it should have been for someone who had just been pulled from death's clutches.
Snape shook his head. "Do you see boils? No, whatever spell he did left him in this state."
"Which spell?" Uncle Remus asked, dragging himself closer and laying a warm (alive!) hand on Harry's forehead. "Did you recognise it?"
"If I had, do you think we would be having this discussion?"
Harry tried to speak, but his throat burned, and his tongue felt too heavy to move. Uncle Remus's eyes flashed to Harry's face, finally realising he was awake.
"Can you hear me, Harry?" he asked, leaning down to get a better look at his face.
Uncle Remus's face swam in and out of focus, but the concern was clearly visible. Summoning his remaining strength, Harry managed to haul himself to a sitting position, brushing off Uncle Remus's and Snape's hands as they tried to push him back down. He squinted and tried to focus through the pain, even though his head ached as if a couple of Bludgers had been let loose inside his skull.
"Medusa," he hissed, his Parseltongue garbled and slurred. "What do I do?"
His snake was coiled up at his feet, her dark brown scales covered in blood and dust. "You did well."
"That's not what I meant!"
Medusa let out a shuddering hiss that might have been a laugh. "Hold out your hand."
Harry did so without thinking, instantly regretting his compliance when she shot forward and sank her fangs into his wrist. Warmth filled his veins instantly, and the bone-deep exhaustion that plagued him melted away.
"The relief is temporary," Medusa said as she flicked her tongue at the wounds she left behind, and Harry watched with fascination as his skin knitted itself whole. "Finish your Healing so you may hibernate."
"Right," Harry muttered in English, scooping up Medusa and draping her across his shoulders. He stood and turned to face the flabbergasted men on the ground. "Do you need any more help?"
Snape's expression turned to anger in an instant. "What are you even doing here, so close to the battle? You could have—"
If there was ever a time to ignore Snape's ranting lectures, it was in the middle of a life-or-death situation. Harry took great joy in cutting his professor off. "I'm trying to keep people alive," he said before turning his attention to Uncle Remus. "You should be safe within the boundaries of the…" he trailed off, gesturing to the green dome overhead.
"What spell is it?" Uncle Remus asked. He reached forward and touched the dome, shivering when his fingers passed through. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Medusa did it," Harry explained in a rush, his attention diverted to Flint and the remaining professors. McGonagall was bleeding heavily from her head, her dark hair falling out of her ordinarily impeccable bun in wispy tendrils, her hat long since lost. Flitwick, meanwhile, had transferred his wand to his left hand, his wand arm bent at a sickening angle.
"It's effective," Snape muttered, clambering to his feet. Harry heard his knees creak, and he shot a discrete charm to soothe the pain the man must be feeling. "I wonder if…" He raised his wand, clearly intending to fire off a hex from within the newly established safety zone.
Medusa reared back, her fangs bared. "Desecration!" she hissed in a tone Harry had never heard her use before. "Violation!"
Harry grabbed Snape's wand arm and yanked it down, terrified his snake might attack his professor. "Not here!" He insisted. He wasn't sure why Medusa had reacted so strongly, but he knew better than to question her. "You want to fight? You have to leave."
But before Snape could respond (or, more likely, yell), the ground shook, and they had to grab onto each other before they lost their footing. Overhead, the fish bowl trapping them inside Hogsmeade shattered with a deafening crack! Harry half-expected glass to rain down.
Relief flared in his chest. The Aurors must have broken through the barrier, they were safe, and this nightmare would be over and—
But why wasn't Flint concerned? Why did he grin as if this was expected? Why did he slash his wand, sending McGonagall and Flitwick flying, and turn his back on them?
Harry knew the answer to his questions, even before he saw Marcus standing in the middle of the ruins of High Street, an excited smile still on his face.
Aurelius Flint pointed his wand at his son—his last remaining child, the one he hadn't managed to murder all those years ago—and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"
Marcus didn't even have time to react as the bolt of blinding green light rushed towards him, slamming into his chest, tossing him as if he was a ragdoll and not a nearly seven-foot-tall man until he landed in a crumpled heap on the ground, ten metres away.
Harry didn't hear the scream that ripped out of his throat. He didn't feel himself lurching forward—outside the safety of Medusa's conjured magical dome—as he sprinted towards his friend. He didn't see Aurelius Flint's self-satisfied smirk—identical to the one that Harry had seen Marcus wear—before he Disapparated.
All he could think of was Marcus, who remained motionless on the ground.
Harry's knees stung as he threw himself on the ground, skidding to a stop beside his friend, flipping him over onto his back, ignoring the person already kneeling by Marcus's side, screaming Marcus's name over and over again. For one horrible second, Harry stared into his friend's dark eyes, glassy and glazed over.
And then Marcus blinked.
"Morgana's tits," Marcus muttered, lifting a hand to his chest to touch the place where the Killing Curse had struck. He hissed and pulled his hand away. "What in the ever-loving fuck just happened?"
"Your dad," Harry offered through numb lips as he inspected Marcus's chest. His grey robes were blood-stained and torn in places, but his injuries were superficial at best. Harry Healed them with a wave of his wand. Frowning, he prodded at the smoking remains of what might have once been a pendant. Since when did Marcus wear jewellery? "I think the curse hit your necklace."
Marcus groaned, though, in pain or annoyance, Harry wasn't entirely sure. "Fuck me sideways," he muttered. "What a fucking bastard. Sorry, Ollie."
Harry blinked and looked up. It was then that he realised that Oliver Wood was kneeling on Marcus's other side.
Wood shook his head. "I'll get you another," he promised before taking Marcus's face in his hands and kissing him full on the mouth.
Harry cleared his throat and rose to his feet, bewildered about this new development but unwilling to interrupt the moment. Besides, it wasn't like Marcus needed him at the moment—other than the massive bruise on his chest (something Harry couldn't tend to without Bruisewort Balm anyhow), Marcus was in surprisingly good health for someone who had just survived a murder attempt.
He had just decided to leave and find another person to help when a hand wrapped tightly around his upper arm and jerked him so hard that he was lifted off his feet.
"Castle, now," Snape said, all but dragging Harry in the direction of Hogwarts.
"But I—"
"Healers from St Mungo's will see to it," Snape replied. He didn't let go of Harry's arm until they reached the Hospital Wing. Inside, he found nearly every bed was filled by a student or an evacuated Hogsmeade villager. Between the crowds, Harry could make out nearly of dozen lime green robes—Healers from St Mungo's—scurrying about and tending to the wounded.
Harry assumed he was there to help, but he found himself shoved into one of the few remaining beds.
"I'm fine!" Harry yelped.
"You were supposed to be relaxing today," Madam Pomfrey chided lightly, appearing at his bedside. She tapped a cut above Harry's brow with her wand, and the skin prickled as it knitted back together.
"Yeah, well, you know me," he said. "I see a catastrophe, and I have to stick my nose in it."
Madam Pomfrey gave him a look that was part fond and part exasperated. "You're done for the day," she said, casting a series of diagnostic charms Harry didn't recognise. She rolled her eyes when Harry asked her to identify the spells and how to perform them.
"I feel fine," Harry explained as he tried to decipher the runes that hung around him. Something about sleep?
"How much sleep did you get in the last two weeks?" she asked, her tone deceptively light. "And think carefully before you reply because I know the correct answer."
So that's what the runes were. "Twelve hours?" he guessed.
Snape scoffed with disgust but was kind enough not to belittle Harry whilst he was in a hospital bed.
"Nine and a half," she replied, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "The only thing you'll do is take a long nap."
"But then I can—"
"At least three hours," she replied. "Then we can talk about you helping out."
"One hour?" Harry begged.
"Three."
"Two?"
She summoned a sleeping draught. "Just for that, it'll be four," she said, shoving the potion vial into his hand. "Drink up."
With little else to do, Harry accepted the vial and downed it in one go. "You'll wake me up in four hours?"
Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes and chuckled softly. "Of course, dear."
Harry took off his glasses and set them on the side table beside his bed. Medusa let out little unintelligible hisses and curled up on his chest. He stroked the soft scales on her head, remembering to cast a cleaning spell on her before his wand joined his glasses.
He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.
Genius Fratris
Madam Pomfrey didn't wake him up after four hours as she promised. Instead, she let Harry sleep for seventy-two. When he finally awoke in the same Hospital bed (though thankfully not in the same clothes) three days later, it felt like he had woken up to a new world.
"How is everyone?" Harry asked when Madam Pomfrey appeared at his bedside with a hydration potion.
"Hello to you too, Harry," she replied with amusement.
He gave her a chagrined smile. He had so many questions that he didn't know where to start. How was Uncle Remus? Perkins? Did John make it back to Hogwarts? What about the rest of his friends? How many were injured? Dead? "What happened?"
Madam Pomfrey didn't respond until she was satisfied that he was in perfect health. "Aurelius Flint attacked Hogsmeade three days ago," she began slowly. "Aurors were unable to respond due to an Anti-Apparition Jinx that had been laid over the village."
Harry waved this away, remembering that clear enough. "But why? Marcus wasn't even there. He'd been in London, signing with the Falcons. Besides, he hasn't been to Hogsmeade all year. How would Flint know—"
"The Aurors think it was supposed to draw his son out," Madam Pomfrey said, sounding very tired.
"Think?" Harry asked. "They don't know?"
She shook her head. "We can only speculate his motives. As of this morning, Flint has yet to be apprehended. At this point, it's unlikely he will be."
Harry let out a shaky breath and sank back into his pillows. "How is Marcus taking it?" he wondered aloud. A thought occurred to him, and he sprang back up. "Marcus! Is he alright? He took a Killing Curse to the chest and—"
"It's being called the 'Million Galleon Hit,'" she said patiently. "He was wearing a necklace—given to him that morning, as luck would have it. The Aurors said that the curse hit the diamond in the pendant, which was dense enough to block the curse. It shattered on impact, and your friend suffered superficial injuries. He has since made a full recovery."
Harry nodded, glad that he was lying down. He remembered seeing the necklace and how Marcus had apologised for its destruction. A necklace Oliver Wood had apparently gifted him. Oliver Wood, who had proceeded to snog Harry's Quidditch captain in the middle of High Street.
Harry felt a brief flash of irritation at this memory. After all the shit Marcus had given Harry for dating one of Gryffindor's chasers, he had secretly been snogging their captain? The audacity.
"And the others?" he asked, mentally shelving his annoyance and focusing on the issue at hand.
"Remus is fine," she explained in a gentle voice.
"His legs—"
"Right now, he's in a wheelchair," Madam Pomfrey explained. "He'll be fitted for prosthetics in another month or so, but he's doing remarkably well, all things considered."
"I don't know how," he admitted, looking at the bedsheets twisted in his fists. "Everything I was doing wasn't working, and he was—" his throat squeezed shut as a wave of panic flooded his veins. Madam Pomfrey patiently waited for him to continue. "Medusa did something—there was a barrier and a spell she had me perform and—"
When it became clear that Harry wasn't going to finish, Madam Pomfrey reached forward to take one of his hands. "He's alive, thanks to you," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It doesn't matter how."
Harry wasn't sure he entirely agreed with her sentiment. Now that the terror had passed, he was curious to know what Medusa had done to save them. He glanced around the Hospital Wing, finally finding his snake sleeping beneath his bed. She grumbled when he summoned her to him but didn't wake up. He would interrogate her later, but for the moment, he was content to feel her familiar weight in his lap.
When he composed himself, he asked Madam Pomfrey about the other things he had missed. She informed him of the casualties at what was being called 'the Hogsmeade Massacre,' of which there were thankfully few. Only three village residents had died, and all Hogwarts students were accounted for. There were more injuries, of course, but fewer than there would have been if Harry hadn't been present.
"I know I'm not supposed to treat people without a qualified Healer present, but—"
"You're not in trouble," she explained. "I'm so proud of you, Harry. You did well. Especially with Miss Perkins."
Harry blushed at the praise and quickly continued. "Is she—"
"She's been transferred to St Mungo's at her parents' request," Madam Pomfrey explained. "Her parents are Muggles and were unable to visit her here at the castle. From what I understand, she's resting comfortably and will return next term."
"I suspect I cemented Dad's Order of Merlin," Harry said idly, feeling a small bit of glee at the idea. His father would be mortified if he had to accept the award. "I used the spell he invented to Heal Perkins."
Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "That you both invented," she reminded him, raising a stern eyebrow. "I read the paper, Harry. I know you had a hand in it."
"He did the hard part. He deserves the award," Harry explained with a dismissive hand wave.
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, the mirth in her expression morphing into something more serious. "They're talking about one for you too, Harry," she said in a low voice. "For what you did at Hogsmeade." Before he could ask her to elaborate, she reached over to Harry's bedside table and picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet. "From this morning," she said as she handed him the newspaper.
The Hero of Hogsmeade
Of the horrors that have already been expounded upon in previous additions of the Prophet, stories of heroic actions have also come forth. From dousing fires to housing terrified students, there is no shortage of accounts highlighting the brave deeds of Hogsmeade's citizens. However, none of these quite match up to those of a Hogwarts student.
Healer Apprentice Harry Potter, 15, went far above the call of duty on that fateful day. Whilst fully trained wizards were running for safety, hundreds of eyewitness testimonies saw Apprentice Potter running towards the fight. Healing hundreds and potentially saving the lives of dozens, Apprentice Potter put his knowledge to good use that day.
"I had just escaped my burning house," Doris Nightingale, 52, recalled. "I couldn't breathe a damn because of the smoke, but [Potter] fixed me up in a tick. I didn't even get to thank him before he was off like a rabbit, Healing my neighbour's broken arm."
Silas Meadows, 114, recalls a similar incident. "That boy saved my life. Seconds after he pulled me to safety, a building collapsed. I would have been crushed if he hadn't been there. He fixed my bum leg while he was at it too—ruined it years ago after a run-in with a particularly nasty Crup." (Mr Meadows pulled up his robes for us without prompting, exposing a very hairy but otherwise normal-looking leg.) "Used to be covered in dreadful scars, but now it's never worked better!"
And then there were the pictures. Somehow, knowing someone had photographed him without his knowledge or consent made the whole fiasco worse. There had to be dozens of them, taken throughout the afternoon: Him, setting Pocklington's leg; Him, wrapping bandages for a man with a head wound; Him, a sooty toddler on his hip whilst he treated her unconscious mother. He felt a strange sense of detachment from his image in the photographs. There had been so many injuries that day, most of them blurred together. Some of the depicted events, Harry couldn't even remember. And yet there they were, in full colour and movement, for all of Wizarding Britain to see.
He pulled the newspaper closer and flipped through it, inspecting the dozens of pictures. There, in tiny print, Harry found the words submitted by A. Pucey typed neatly below each of the photographs.
He was going to kill Adrian.
"I'm never leaving this room," he declared, looking up at Madam Pomfrey.
She rolled her eyes. "It's not that bad, Harry."
"'Not that bad?'" Harry repeated in disbelief. "This is humiliating!"
"Please don't start fires in my infirmary," she chided, prying the letter out of his hands, which had indeed begun to smoke and curl at the edges. "You're being melodramatic."
"I won't accept it," he said, waving his hand in disgust at the article, which quoted Minster Fudge saying that Harry was being considered for an Order of Merlin that would "most certainly be First Class."
Truthfully, Harry couldn't articulate why he was filled with so much revulsion at the prospect of receiving an Order of Merlin. Perhaps he felt like he didn't deserve it. His actions that day were nothing out of the ordinary—he had Healing training, so why wouldn't he have helped? Or maybe it was because there were so many other people who should receive it before him. After all, hadn't McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, and Uncle Remus held Flint off, preventing the day from ending in total bloodshed? Where was their reward?
Madam Pomfrey hummed in thought and collected the newspaper and letter, placing them on his bedside table. "You don't have to, I suppose," she agreed.
This wasn't the reaction he had expected. "You think I should?"
She tilted her head from side to side as she considered his question. "There's nothing wrong with acknowledging that you did a good thing," she said. "It would help your career in the future: if you open your own practice, having an Order of Merlin would be attractive to prospective clients."
Harry pursed his lips, surprised by the pragmatic answer. "I'd be profiting off a tragedy," he admitted quietly.
"Some might call it 'taking advantage of the situation you find yourself in.'"
"Which is a nice way to say 'mercenary,'" Harry insisted.
Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "You're Euphemia's grandson, alright," she said with a fond shake of her head. She gave Harry's cheek a comforting pat before raising her wand. With a little flick, a fresh set of robes appeared at the foot of Harry's bed.
"You're free to leave when you're ready," she explained. "I'm not allowing you to hide in here for the rest of term."
She bustled off, ignoring Harry's protests, and he resigned himself to facing the population of Hogwarts. He considered using his Invisibility Cloak to avoid any unnecessary confrontations, but then he remembered that John had nicked it, and he scowled. A visit to his brother would have to be his first stop, Harry decided, draping a sleeping Medusa across his shoulders.
Fortunately, he didn't have to look far, as he quite literally ran into John as he left the Hospital Wing. To Harry's surprise, his father was there, too, looking exhausted but relieved to see him walking around.
"We were just coming to visit you," his father explained, pulling him into a tight hug which had Medusa hissing with displeasure. "Poppy said you were fine but—"
"Just tired," Harry said, relishing in the warmth of his father's arms. "Have you seen Uncle Remus?"
"We just left," John replied. "Uncle Sirius is helping him pack up his quarters."
"He's going to take a leave of absence from teaching," his father explained before Harry could ask. "Remus wants to take the rest of term to recover. But Dumbledore's already offered him the History of Magic job next year—less moving around—so I doubt it would be for long."
Guilt burned in his chest. Uncle Remus loved teaching Defence. Teaching it at Hogwarts had, quite literally, been his dream job. And now he would have to give it up, all because Harry had been careless. If he hadn't had to save Harry, Uncle Remus would still be up walking around and—
His father, seeing Harry's expression and correctly deducing the cause, took Harry's face in his hands. "Remus isn't angry with you," he promised. "He said he'd do it all over again if it meant saving your life. Thank God only you were there that day—who knows what would have happened if John had been there."
Harry glanced at his brother, whose hazel eyes were wide with panic. Clearly, John had managed to keep his little adventure a secret. Considering Hogwarts' efficient rumour mill, the feat was impressive.
"Dementors would have descended on Hogsmeade, no doubt," Harry replied. "Knowing his luck."
John's face crumpled with relief, but quickly schooled his expression. He sauntered up to their father's side. "It's a good thing I know the Patronus Charm!" he said before launching into a story about the school-wide lessons Uncle Remus had given.
Despite having heard all about the lessons from their letters, their father nodded along, asking questions in the appropriate parts. Harry was surprised at how relaxed James was, considering the last three days, but he wasn't about to look a gift Abraxan in the mouth. He was sure his father would freak out later. Perhaps right now, he was enjoying spending a few moments with his family, just like Harry was.
Genius Fratris
"So, what NEWTs will you take next year?" Marcus asked several weeks later as he lounged on one of the chesterfields in Slytherin's Study, his legs tossed casually over the arms as he tossed a nougat chunk up into the air before catching it in his mouth.
It was the last day of term, and Harry and his friends had sequestered themselves in Slytherin's Study one last time before the summer hols began. Or, in Marcus's case, one last time ever. Despite the stress of his fugitive father trying to off him, Marcus had managed to pass his classes, earning NEWTs in Potions, Defence, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy.
Not that he'd need them, of course—the Falmouth Falcons didn't care if Marcus knew how to transfigure a toad into a gramophone, so long as he managed to stay on his broom and score as many goals whilst doing it.
"You don't need to sound so smug," Cedric said in a light-hearted tone. "Just because you're leaving us here to rot next year."
"He's leaving you here to rot," Grace corrected, fishing through her bag of jelly slugs until she found a green one. "He's got me a ticket to the Quidditch World cup in August."
"Perks of being a professional Quidditch player," Marcus said with a shrug.
"You didn't offer us tickets to the World Cup!" Teddy protested, looking up from the game of Exploding Snap he was playing with Harry by the fire.
"You say that like you haven't had your ticket since Christmas," Harry replied. Truthfully, other than Ginny, all of Harry's friends would be attending the sporting event at the end of the summer.
"Well, I still would have liked him to offer," Teddy grumbled, though his words held no real bite.
"You'll have to tell me how it is," Ginny sighed wistfully. She and Luna were near one of the bookcases, using dozens of priceless ancient tomes to create an elaborate maze for Medusa to crawl through.
"I don't mind getting you a ticket, Gin," Marcus said. This wasn't the first time he had made the offer, nor was it the first time Ginny had refused.
"Mum said I couldn't go. Apparently, it wouldn't be 'fair to my brothers.'"
"Come off it," Grace said. "It's not your fault you've got friends in high places."
"Some higher than others," Cedric added with a grin, nudging one of Marcus's long legs for emphasis.
There was a smattering of chuckles and groans at Cedric's joke. Marcus made a rude hand gesture before turning back to Ginny. "Just send me an owl if you manage to change her mind."
"Or better yet," Grace began, her eyes alight with a devilish gleam that usually preceded an event Grace would call 'good fun' that the rest of them would call 'slightly dangerous' or 'mildly illegal'. "We tell her you're spending the weekend at my house, we go to the match, and she'll be none the wiser!"
"Yeah, I can see that working," Harry said sarcastically. "Ginny just so happens to stay at a friend's house the day before the World Cup…what could go wrong?"
"Mum's got a sixth sense for those sorts of things," Ginny said glumly. "Says it's a by-product of bringing Fred and George up."
Grace pursed her lips. "Well, maybe we could go to a concert this summer." And by that, they all knew Grace meant sneaking into the most raucous rock concert she could find. "There's a Muggle music festival in London I think you'll love."
"Please stop trying to corrupt the younglings," Marcus said, tossing a pillow at Grace's head.
"I've got six older brothers," Ginny reminded him. "And I was possessed by a sixteen-year-old boy for six months. There's nothing in me left to corrupt."
"'All things truly wicked start from innocence,'" Luna agreed with a solemn nod. When she realised they were gaping at her, stunned by her profound statement, she shrugged. "Ernest Hemingway."
"And apropos observation," Harry agreed after regaining his ability to speak. "You're not taking Ginny to a concert."
"How are you going to stop me? You're fucking off to Greece for the summer," Grace asked with a grin. Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or just trying to get under his skin.
She was right, however. The day after term ended, Harry and his family would indeed be taking an international portkey to Greece. His father and brother would be staying near Athens with their father's uncle, whilst Harry would be journeying to Epidaurus, where the Asklepion was located. He had received a thick envelope from the Healing school just that morning, containing a packing list, a list of required immunisations, and a copy of his schedule for his six-week stay.
"I'm going to have to agree with Harry on this one, Gracie," Cedric said before an argument could start. "Corrupt or not, I doubt Mrs Weasley would like it if her daughter was…"
"Head-banging to a wicked beat?" Luna offered, the words discordant with her dreamy tone.
Cedric gave her a side-eye look as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or be concerned. "Sure."
Although the argument was far from settled, they agreed to set it aside for the rest of the night. Instead, the friends spent the rest of their time together chatting, playing games, and, when Grace got too antsy to remain in the Study, sneaking out onto the grounds to swim in the Black Lake. Well, everyone except for Ginny and Luna, who were sent to bed. Harry might not be Hogwarts's best prefect, but even he knew that there were some things Second Years shouldn't partake in.
It was nearing three in the morning when they snuck back into the castle, robes dripping and shoes waterlogged. Cedric decided to be responsible and return to his common room while the four Slytherins returned to the Study. Grace and Teddy quickly passed out in front of the fire, where they had sprawled out on the floor, waiting for their clothes to dry. Marcus at least had the foresight to cast a drying charm on himself before summoning a blanket and settling into the chesterfield for the night. Harry thought he might have been more comfortable if he had returned to his private chambers but wasn't about to wake Marcus to suggest it.
Instead, Harry settled for drying Teddy and Grace's clothes before moving them onto nearby settees. Grace, who still had yet to hit five feet, was much easier to relocate than the gangly Teddy, but Harry had experience moving unconscious people thanks to his years in the Hospital Wing.
Once that was done, Harry puttered around the Study, cleaning up food and putting away Medusa's book maze, not yet ready to sleep. He wasn't sure why—he was plenty exhausted. Not just from their end-of-year party but because his day had been eventful. His OWL results had arrived that morning, as had his Apprentice exams. He had passed (as Madam Pomfrey had said he would) and would continue to the third year of his apprenticeship, which by all accounts, was the most brutal year. He had also met with Professor Snape to discuss his OWL results (Outstandings in everything but Astronomy and History of Magic, where he earned Exceeds Expectations. But really, who cared about those anyway?) and which NEWT courses he would be enrolled in the next year (nominally, of course. His apprenticeship came first). They had settled on dropping Astronomy, History of Magic, and, much to the dismay of Professor Babbling, Ancient Runes. Everything else, they decided, would be beneficial for his Healing studies.
It was hard to believe that he would be a Sixth Year, come September. It was even harder to believe that this was Marcus's last night at Hogwarts. It felt like his friend was handing him a set of emerald Quidditch robes just yesterday. Things had certainly changed since that day on the Quidditch pitch.
"What's wrong?" Marcus asked, pulling Harry from his musings.
Harry jumped and spun around, not realising that anyone was still awake. He shook his head and tried to speak, only letting out an airy huff in response. Marcus waited patiently for Harry to compose himself.
"It will be weird," Harry managed to choke out. "Next year."
His response was clearly inadequate because Marcus remained silent and waited for Harry to continue.
"Without you here," he explained at last.
Harry half expected his friend to crack a joke or tease him by saying, "aww, Harry. Are you going to miss me?" But he didn't. He remained silent, waiting for Harry to sort through his chaotic thoughts.
"I've always had to look out for other people. My brother, Grace, Luna…" Harry looked down at his hands, wringing them tightly. "But until I met you, nobody's taken care of me."
Sure, he had his father and uncles, but that wasn't the same. There was something inherently special about having someone slightly older take notice of you, take you under your wing, act as a mentor, a protector, a friend. Harry had always been those things for others, but before Marcus, he had never had that for himself. Maybe it was incredibly selfish, but Harry didn't want to lose that.
"I'm going to miss you," Harry said at last, unwilling to look up at Marcus. If he had, he wouldn't have been so startled when long, strong arms crushed him in a hug.
"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," Marcus promised as he pulled away to grip Harry's arms, keeping him from turning around or fleeing. He crouched down to look Harry in the eyes. "You can write to me and visit on holidays and—"
"It won't be the same," Harry retorted, shaking his head. To his humiliation, he realised that he had started to cry. He reached up and scrubbed the offending tears away. "You won't be here and things won't be the same and what will I do when—"
"Things will be different," Marcus agreed. "But they won't change."
"You say that, but you'll move on, and we'll all grow apart and—"
"No," Marcus said emphatically. "They won't."
"You can't know that," Harry insisted.
"I do know it," Marcus replied, a small, sad smile playing on his lips.
"How can you be so certain?"
"You know how you feel responsible for John? How you want to protect him, even when you want to toss him out a window?" When Harry nodded, Marcus glanced over at their sleeping friends. "When my dad murdered my brothers and sisters, I never thought I would feel as awful as I did. It felt like he had destroyed my reason for living.
"I didn't know who I was supposed to be without my little siblings to love and care for. That pain never went away over the years. It only got worse when I came to Hogwarts and saw everyone else with their siblings, and I was so jealous knowing they had something that should have been mine too. You can't imagine how much I hated the Weasleys." He let out a little laugh that lacked humour. "I was so lonely.
"But then I met this titchy little Second Year who jumped at his own shadow and refused to talk for months on end, but damn, was he a vision on a broom. And he had the dumbest fucking friends who all seemed hell-bent on trying to get themselves killed." Marcus smiled at Harry and gave his arms a gentle squeeze. "I knew they needed someone to look out for them. And I thought: 'No one else is going to keep them out of trouble, so I might as well be the one to do it.' I could see you needed me.
"So no, Harry," Marcus said. "I'm not going anywhere. Just because I won't be at Hogwarts next year doesn't mean I'm going to abandon you. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried. Besides, I doubt the others would let me go either."
A wet bubble of sound slipped from Harry's lips, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "I 'spose not," he agreed. He rubbed his tear-stained face and fought to control his breathing. "Thanks."
There were so many things he wanted to thank Marcus for—for giving him a chance all those years ago, for watching his back and protecting him from the worst of the bullying, for being a voice of reason through every row he and John had, for his steadying presence when nothing ever felt like it would be right again—that a single word seemed inadequate. Still, Marcus seemed to understand just the same.
He shook his head. "No, Harry," he said, dark eyes gentle. "Thank you."
"For what?"
It was Marcus's turn to pause and collect his thoughts. "You saved my life," he said at last. "I'm not lonely anymore."
No more words were exchanged that night, but none were really needed. They settled on remaining the settees and got a few hours of rest. Several hours later, they roused Grace and Teddy and left the Study to collect their belongings and grab a quick breakfast from the Great Hall. And then it was time for the Seventh Years to leave.
The tradition was to take the boats back across the Black Lake, the reverse journey they had made seven years before. It was always a bittersweet ending to their time spent at Hogwarts, full of excitement for new adventures and sadness for leaving behind the magical castle and the memories they had made. From there, they'd take the Hogwarts Express back to Platform Nine and Three Quarters one last time.
As they hurdled towards London, they laughed, swapped stories about things that had happened throughout the year, and made plans to see each other at some point during the summer. They teased Marcus about his relationship with Oliver Wood, which had been going on since September, and pointed out the irony that, even though they were no longer at Hogwarts, their rivalry would continue on the Quidditch pitch, as Wood had signed with Puddlemere United. They spoke about everything besides the fact that this would be the last time they'd all be together as students. It made for a sombre journey, although the four Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, and one Ravenclaw in the compartment tried to pretend otherwise.
But at last, the Hogwarts Express pulled into Kings Cross Station.
They lingered in their compartment for far longer than was necessary, pretending to retrieve belongings and ensuring that pets were safely in their carriers until they could put it off no longer.
Ginny gave Marcus a shy grin and a brief hug before scampering away, no doubt to meet her family down on the platform. She didn't know him as well as the others, but she knew she'd miss Marcus's steadying presence next year.
"Thank you for being so tall," Luna said in her airy voice as she wrapped her arms around Marcus's middle. She left it at that, leaving the compartment without another word. Nobody knew what her words were supposed to mean, but they all agreed that they were probably meaningful to Luna's bizarre mind.
Teddy was next. With a decidedly English-stiff upper lip and a forced air of indifference, he held out his hand to Marcus. Marcus rolled his eyes and pulled Teddy in for a hug. They all pretended not to notice the shuddering of his shoulders.
Cedric had no such problems expressing his emotions when it was his turn to say goodbye. He tossed his arms around Marcus's neck and pulled him down for a bone-breaking hug.
"Thanks for looking out for us," he said. "I'm going to miss you next year."
Harry, who had already said what needed to be said to his friend the previous night, merely hugged Marcus.
They turned to Grace, who was fidgeting with her pink trunk and pointedly not looking at them.
"Gracie?" Marcus called softly.
"Who's going to carry my trunk for me?" She asked in a wobbly voice.
Marcus rolled his eyes but gave her a fond smile. "I imagine I will," he said, reaching down to scoop up her trunk, which he settled on one of his broad shoulders.
"And next year?" she asked, turning around at last. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of tears. "Who will carry it for me then?"
"The strapping young lad you call your boyfriend, I imagine," Marcus teased.
"Aw, Marcus…" Cedric sighed, grinning up at him with a faux besotted look.
"It's not the same! He's my boyfriend; he has to listen to me!" Grace wailed, her strawberry blond curls flying as she furiously shook her head. And then she launched herself at Marcus, who somehow managed to catch her with one arm. "I'm going to—I need—I'll m—"
"I'll miss you too," Marcus finished for her, setting down her trunk so he could wrap her up in a tight hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But I'll just be an owl away."
"I don't have an owl," Grace managed to say through heaving sobs.
"Steal Harry's," Marcus suggested. "Like you always do."
If Harry could go back in time and tell his eleven-year-old self what he was witnessing, he wondered what he would have said. He might have laughed in his face or called him a liar. Eleven-year-old Harry might have even refused to get on the Hogwarts Express if he knew that he would be sorted into Slytherin. Back then, Harry couldn't have imagined anyone more awful than a Slytherin.
Funny how things turn out.
He recalled his father's words, spoken not too far away from where Harry now stood, before his first year.
"Houses are just support systems," he had said. "They don't define you."
Harry hadn't believed him then. But watching Marcus with Ginny and Luna, Cedric and Teddy and Grace, six completely different people from different houses, he thought there may be a kernel of truth to the words after all.
"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." ― J.R.R. Tolkien
A/N: Sorry about that cliff hanger last chapter. I hope this one made up for it? Especially because I'm about to go MIA for a bit. November is coming, which means NaNoWriMo will soon be upon us. I'll try to update in November, but I can't make any promises.