Like last year, the second Harry gets his timetable he drags Hermione and Neville over to the Slytherin table so they can compare. To his disappointment, Potions and Astronomy are the only two classes they share again.
"Cheer up, Harry," Hermione says. "Next year we'll start electives. That's way more classes to share with the Slytherins!"
"Two classes is not 'way more', Hermione," Ron points out.
"Two classes minimum, Ron!" Hermione says exasperatedly. Ron rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply when a bright red envelope lands right in front of him. Ron's face goes white as the envelope starts to smoke.
Harry takes in the smoking envelope, and looks back up at Ron, who's slowly reaching for the letter. He seems more scared now than when he was facing down the white queen. Harry doesn't waste another second: he plucks at his magic and the envelope is reduced to nothing more than ash.
Ron yelps and snatches his hand back. Harry realizes suddenly that burning people's letters without their permission is a little rude at best and an actual crime at worst, smoking or otherwise.
"Er," Harry starts, unsure if he should apologize.
"Harry," Ron says gravely. "I owe you my life."
Harry's heart stops.
Daphne rolls her eyes. "Ron. It was a Howler, not a nuclear bomb."
Harry isn't sure how he feels about Daphne knowing about nuclear bombs, but he's too focused on getting his breathing back under control to figure it out.
"Doesn't matter," Ron says as he shudders. "That would have been mortifying. I absolutely would have died on the spot."
"Wait, I'm lost. What is a Howler?" Harry asks, having mostly recovered from his earlier heart attack.
"It was likely from Ron's mother," Theo says, appearing suddenly. "It'd have been a message vocalizing her displeasure at the actions we took yesterday. Loudly."
Theo still looks a little pale, but carries himself as though he's never been stabbed a day in his life. He smoothly sits between Ron and Blaise and loads a plate up for himself.
The table abruptly feels a lot more tense, with Hermione, Ron, Neville, Blaise, and Daphne all exchanging worried glances with each other and between Harry and Theo.
"Theo!" Harry says, grinning relievedly at him and resolutely ignoring his friends. "I'm so glad you're okay!"
Harry sees Theo's face relax minutely, which is exactly what Harry was going for. "How did you get Madam Pomfrey to let you out of the Hospital Wing? I'd've thought she'd keep you in for another day at least."
Theo shrugs.
"...you just left, didn't you," Blaise sighs.
"Of course not, Blaise," Theo says blandly.
"Wait, really?"
"I left a note."
"Oh, h-here she is now." Neville says.
Sure enough, a stormy-faced Madam Pomfrey is making her way over to their spot at the table.
"Mister Nott," Pomfrey says, hands on her hips.
"How can I help you, Madam Pomfrey?" Theo asks.
Ron looks like he's about to burst into laughter, but he does have a modicum of self-preservation so he's holding it in.
"Hospital Wing." Madam Pomfrey says coldly.
Theo nods and stands up again to follow her, leaving his plate behind.
"I want to be her when I grow up," Harry whispers, eyes wide.
The first class of the week is actually potions, so the six walk there together. Snape is as acerbic as ever. Harry thinks he's somehow gotten worse at potions and Neville isn't much better off. None of this helps Snape's attitude improve.
History of Magic is still mind-numbingly boring. At this point Harry has given up on paying attention entirely, and mostly treats it as a study period. Astronomy is the same as last year, mostly star-gazing and fighting sleep.
Harry spends the first five or ten minutes of each Charms class learning the spell normally (normal for him, anyways), then the rest of the class learning how to do it the gray way. He hasn't been able to produce a Patronus at all yet, but he's getting better at doing gray magic without lighting things on fire.
They're starting on animate-to-inanimate transfigurations in Transfiguration, which is something Harry has already learned. Instead, McGonagall has him studying some higher-level transfiguration theories. Harry asks McGonagall if she'll recommend books on the animagus transformation and she gets the same exact look Remus had gotten when Harry had asked him the same question. Harry drops the subject.
Herbology for Harry has officially turned into just one lecture class a week. During practical lessons, he's to report to Madam Pomfrey to begin learning the art of healing. Harry can't wait for his first class with her, and when it finally comes he's almost sick with excitement.
"Hello?" Harry calls softly as he closes the Hospital Wing doors behind him. Theo had been officially discharged the night before, so the infirmary is empty.
"Over here, Mister Potter," Pomfrey calls, waving him over to her office.
She gestures for him to take a seat in front of her desk, and he does.
Madam Pomfrey wastes no time, cutting right to the chase. "So. I know at the end of last year you demonstrated your prowess by healing a bite your familiar gave you."
Harry nods, hoping she doesn't ask him to do it again. Merlin had told him she couldn't join him because of some meeting or another with the house elves.
(Apparently the elves can understand parseltongue, and Merlin has struck up a friendship with them. Well, she says it's a "court thing". However, Harry doesn't like the implication of Merlin being a political representative for anyone, so he thinks of it as friendship to preserve his sanity.
When Harry had first learned about the house elves, he'd been ready to go up in arms. Then Merlin had told him in no uncertain terms that, "the Elves are quite content with the state of affairs. Trust me on this one- you wouldn't be able to do anything to change it even if you tried: Elf contracts are iron-clad.
"And if you did happen to try- well, They wouldn't take kindly to that and believe me when I say that you do not want to be on Their bad side."
Hermione had taken a little more convincing but Merlin had taken her to meet with one of the elves and whatever the elf had said to her had convinced her to drop it. Hermione also started to wear a ring of iron on a leather cord around her neck, but Merlin had insisted that was unnecessary.
"I've got it covered," she'd hissed. "Tell Hermione that you and yours are in no danger from Them."
Yeah, after that Harry had decided it was probably better not to think too hard about anything Merlin has to say about house elves.)
"I was wondering what else you've done with healing. What's the most severe wound you've healed? How much of Healing theory do you know? Have you only ever healed yourself, or have you healed others before?"
Harry blinks a little at the onslaught of questions, then furrows his brow.
"Er, I've healed a couple broken bones for myself before? I would say I have a pretty good grasp on basic theory, but from what I've gathered I've done things sort of out-of-order so I'm not confident that the stuff I think of as basic is actually basic, if that makes sense?"
Madam Pomfrey nods, so Harry continues.
"I've only ever healed myself, because I'm too afraid of- of hurting people."
Pomfrey raises an eyebrow. "People other than yourself, you mean?
Harry pauses. That sounds like something Merlin would say. "I… I mean, I've just always kind of known that I don't pose any danger to myself."
"Why do you think you pose a danger to others when you don't pose a danger to yourself?"
The smell of burnt plastic has suddenly filled the air. Harry takes a big breath in and breathes out slowly. The smell recedes.
"Let's just say that it's not an unfounded fear," Harry finally says.
Madam Pomfrey grimaces sympathetically, but says, "let me ask you this then: have you ever unintentionally hurt someone with your magic?"
Harry opens his mouth to give her an emphatic yes, but then stops. Why is he hesitating? The answer is yes. Of course it is. Right? Harry closes his mouth.
"That's what I thought. Did you ever wonder why it was Professor Sprout of all people to suggest you look into healing?"
"I mostly figured that it was to keep me occupied," Harry says, relieved to be moving on from his spiraling thoughts regarding the intent to harm. "I thought she had just made a lucky guess, when I did think about it."
Pomfrey smiles. "Not quite. You see, Herbology is all about intent. Conversely, Healing is about control."
"Healing is dark magic?" Harry blurts out, thinking back on Blaise's lecture.
Pomfrey's eyes widen, then she chuckles. "You really did do the thing out of order. That's advanced Healing theory."
"I'll bet it's basic theory outside of magical Britain," Harry grumbles.
"Maybe so. It'll certainly make things easier when it comes to teaching you. First thing first:"
Madam Pomfrey pulls her wand out and trails it down her forearm. Where the wand touches, skin shallowly splits apart. Harry watches apprehensively as she takes her wand off of her arm, leaving a long if not very deep cut.
"Heal it," Pomfrey says.
"What?" Harry squeaks, magic flaring. Pomfrey smiles kindly at him.
"If Professor Sprout is right, and I do believe she is, then your magical core runs dark." Harry nods. He'd known that already. Pomfrey continues, "so you need to trust that your magic is going to do what you tell it to do."
"But-"
"Mister Potter. Let me rephrase that: your magic will do what you ask it to do. I can tell you the incantation and wand movement if you'd like, but something tells me you won't need it."
Harry breathes in, looking at the cut and feeling his stomach flip. Madam Pomfrey wants him to heal her arm, but if she knew- if she knew what he was capable of… no, he can do this. Harry grabs his magic and holds it close. He can feel tendrils of it trying to push free, curious as to what might be causing Harry so much distress.
Harry closes his eyes against a sudden onslaught of dizzying anxiety. He can't stop picturing Quirrell, picturing that army man, smelling burning plastic.
"I-" Harry says, slumping. "I can't do it. I can't risk hurting you."
Madame Pomfrey grimaces, but nods. "I suppose I can't blame you."
Harry sits back, feeling his throat tighten up. He's sure Pomfrey is about to ask him to leave. What's the point of healing lessons if he can't heal?
Instead, Pomfrey shrugs and says, "that's perfectly alright. We'll start on theory, and move on from there. Believe it or not," Pomfrey adds, smiling gently, "this can be somewhat of a common problem for those trying to learn the art of healing magic."
Harry perks up a little at this. "Really? And they get over it?"
"Not always," Pomfrey says. "But usually. I am confident in your ability, Mister Potter. We'll make a healer out of you yet."
Harry smiles softly, and Pomfrey's smile widens in return. Then, she picks her wand up and heals her cut as smoothly as she'd created it.
"Now. The theory is that interactions between different magics influence the healing process. If you ever get the chance to heal a wound created with magic, you'll undoubtedly feel the residual magic left behind."
"If you did that spell on me, I could heal it to see what you mean," Harry suggests. Pomfrey hesitates, then nods. Harry holds out his arm.
As Pomfrey opens up a considerably smaller, incredibly shallow cut down Harry's arm, she says, "I don't enjoy causing harm to a student, mind you, but I'd prefer you had prior experience with healing injuries like this, just in case."
It stings, but it's no worse than a scratch, or a bite from Merlin. Harry readies his magic once more and pushes to heal the cut away. It's slow going, much slower than healing a cut like this would usually take.
His magic keeps snagging on something, and it takes a lot of focus for Harry to keep it on track. It almost feels like how he'd felt fighting Quirrell's magic over his broom but instead of a fight, it's just… a passive interaction.
Finally, the cut pulls closed. Harry leans back, wiping his forehead. He feels like he's just run up a flight of stairs.
Pomfrey nods in satisfaction. "Could you feel the difference?"
Harry nods. "It exhausted me."
"It'll get easier over time," Pomfrey dismisses. "Could you feel why it exhausted you, when healing other, naturally caused injuries is as easy as breathing?"
"My magic. It, er, kept catching? On the residual magic? I don't know how else to describe it."
Pomfrey nods again. "Very well put. Now, I used gray magic to create that cut. Gray magic-based wounds and natural wounds are what you'll see the most often. Natural wounds and dark magic-based wounds and spells will be the easiest to heal. Light magic wounds are the hardest to heal, with light curses being all but unhealable."
"Light magic curses?" Harry asks. He's heard of dark curses, of course, but not light curses.
"Your guardian suffers from one- the only one you're ever likely to come across."
"Lycanthropy," Harry breathes. Pomfrey nods, smiling sadly.
"Yes. When it comes to light curses, the best one can really hope for is a good symptom management plan."
The room falls into silence for a moment, when Pomfrey stands up suddenly. "We still have an hour or so until classes let out. Would you like to help me restock?"
Harry nods eagerly, standing up as well. Pomfrey laughs, and gestures for him to follow her out of the office and over to the cabinets.