Death's Reward

by PraiseTheLog

Harry had walked into the Forbidden Forest, and sacrificed himself to defeat Voldemort. He had been expecting to be welcomed by his loved ones in the next great adventure. Instead, he was being offered a reward for a feat he had unknowingly achieved, one he found to tempting to reject. Time-Travel.

8. Chapter 7: Plans, Letters, and a

"Talking/Dialogue"

"Special Dialogue/Spells"

"Special Dialogue"

Thoughts

'Quotes'

Writing/Text

Plans, Letters, and a Bedbound Wizard

---

Little Hangleton, England

Wednesday

November 25th, 1994

As November drew to a close, and once the moon began to shine brightly in the dark sky, a cold air would descend upon the village of Little Hangleton.

Some nights, it would arrive as nothing more than a soft wind. A gentle breeze which danced its way through the curved roads of the village, twirling in and around each house, sweeping along the surfaces as it announced its presence. Not a crook or cranny found itself ignored. Not a tree or bush scattered along its path was left unruffled. Likewise, it would greet the handful of people found wandering the streets. To them, asimple brush was afforded, a tender caress gifted upon their skin, fleeting yet leaving behind a pleasant numbness as it departed. A sensation that made the warmth that enveloped them once they stepped foot inside their homes all the sweeter.

Nights such as those, where the cold air drifted along merrily, were to be enjoyed.

Because, on other nights, like this night, what passed by was not friendly in any shape or form. Instead, it was aseries ofpiercing and powerful gusts of icy wind, each one filled with contempt as it blasted through the village.

It banged against houses, rattled doors, andchipped away at the wood and stone. One after another, the gusts came screeching by, a harrowing cry trailing in its wake, each one separated by only a few scant seconds. A break much too small for anyone to even contemplate the idea of venturing outside to survey mother nature's force.

Not that a soul even entertained such a ridiculous idea.

Every single one of the village's inhabitants was perfectly content with remaining inside their cozy homes, where not a sliver of frigid air could enter. A luxury during these times.

One the Riddle Manor could not boast about having at the moment.

As it had been for decades beforehand, the huge house stood on top of a hill on the outskirts of Little Hangleton.

Imperious, eye-catching, a sign of wealth and status, its grandeurwas easy to note even in the night. Butit was just as simple to seehow derelict it had become and how vulnerable it was to the constant barrage of frigid wind.

Like a Devil's Snare seeking to ensnare its prey, icy tendrils slipped through the cracked windows before sweeping through the desolate halls. With a single-minded purpose, it glided door to door, room by room, inch upon inch, pursuing all of that which threatened its existence. Every bit of warmth the cold November air encountered would be vanquished.

The basement was the very first place to suffer such a loss, and much to Wormtail's misfortune, it was the very place he wasforced to be in at the moment.

Shivering and exhaling sharply as another gust of cold air swept past his body, Wormtail allowed a sardonic smile to appear on his face as he eyed the thick puff of air that had slipped out of his mouth. It hung in the air, drifting lazily as a cloud ought to do in the sky, seemingly twinkling under the sparse moonlight that filtered through the broken hopper windows in the basement. However, like the many before it, its existence was brief. In the blink of an eye, it was stretched and torn apart, avictim of yet another cold draft that swept across the room.

Without much thought, Wormtail brandished his wand, trembling as he raised it toward his chest, planning to cast a warming charm. But, just as the incantation threatened to spill past his lips, he remembered he was not to cast such a spell.

Or any spell, for that matter, at least not while down in the basement.

The reason for that was the olive-colored potion partially filling the small cauldron on the stone table before him.

An advanced concoction that Wormtail found very challenging to brew. In large part, it was due to the need to make it in cold conditions, something which would have been manageable if not for the fact that the potion was also highly sensitive to any magic cast within its vicinity. But he supposed such difficulty was to be expected when one took into account that this potion was the very same one created by Lord Voldemort to obtain a temporary body.

A tremendous achievement that would have been and should have beenhailed as groundbreaking by potion masters around the world if not for the idiotic code of ethics the lot of them pathetically adhered to.

Of course, that was ignoring the fact thathis Lord would never deign to share his wonderful creation.

However, despite the Dark Lord's tremendous accomplishment in designing a potion capable of bringing a spectral form back to life, it was not without its weaknesses.

For one, the body gifted to him was deformed and weak, both physically and magically. Not only that, the potion was to be freshly brewed the night before and drank within a day without fail lest the body wither away into nothingness.

An utterly dreadful thought to consider.

The idea that the Dark Lord could cease to exist was unacceptable, and it was for that reason that Wormtail was down in the basement, weathering the freezing air tobrew tomorrow's potion. Despite being exposed to the frigid November air, he would gladly suffer the harsh elements if it meant the Dark Lord would continue living.

"And I will continue to do so for as long as it is needed," Wormtail murmured with conviction before moaning pitifully when another harsh gust of wind blew into the basement. "I just hope I won't have to any longer in a few months' time."

Casting a survey eye over the potion and finding it to be finished, he pulled out a vial from within his leather jacket. Steadying his trembling hands, he began to pour all the liquid within the cauldron into the flask. Once it had been topped off with a cork in place, he placed the potion off to the side, where it would remain until he returned the following night.

Without further ado, Wormtailstrode out of the basement, swiftly casting a warming charm upon himself the moment he stepped foot onto the ground floor of the manor.

It wasn't enough to make him feel like he was basking underneath a bright summer sun, but itat least made him stop trembling.

Pulling his jacket tighter around his pudgy frame, he started making his way through the dark house, his path guided by the moonlight filtering through the windows. Walking past what had once been a grand kitchen and into the foyer, his footsteps weremuffled by the thick blanket of dust covering the entirety of the wooden floorboards. Not a squeak or creak rang out as he made his way through the cobweb-filled hallways of the manor, and not a peep was heard as he ascended the stone steps leading to the upper floor. Only thesound of therushing wind reaching his ears saved the place from being eerily quiet.

It wasn't long after having left the basement that Wormtail arrived at thehallway leading to the drawing room. Differing from the open design of the rest of the manor, there were no windows that would allow one to gaze upon the dense forest behind or the small village in front. Just a series of doors on either side of him, all of which held fully furnished yet rundown bedrooms behind them.

None of those doors were of any interest to him.

Wormtail's focus was on the door at the far end, which led to the drawing room. It was slightly ajar, allowing an orange glow from the fire burning from the fireplace inside totrickle past the door. He began to near it, making his footsteps thump against the floorboards to announce his approach, well aware that Nagini lurked somewhere within.

His Lord's companion was very protective of her master, especially in his weakened state, and she did not take kindly to him entering unannounced. To do so was to earn her ire, and she was, without a doubt, a very expressive serpent. Her preferred form of expression was to wrap herself tightly around his body with her fangs hovering centimeters away from his neck.

It had only happened once during their stay at the manor, but that had been enough of awarning for him to understand he was to announce his presence ahead of time.

For good measure, the moment he arrived at the door, Wormtail knocked once on the door before slowly pushing it open. As soon as he stepped foot inside, his eyes drifted over to the shadows to the right, one of the few spots left untouched by the glow of the fire and landing upon a pair of amber-colored eyes. As expected, her focus was entirely on him, following his every movement with startling intensity, eyes narrowing when his gaze lingered for a second longer than she liked.

A sharp gasp left him as he quickly looked away from the terrifying serpent and toward the rest of the drawing room.

In contrast to the rest of the manor, it lacked the thick blanket of dust covering every inch of its interior. An improvement, in his opinion, though that was the extent it had in its favor. The walls were just as dirty and shabby as the rest of the house. A long drawer to his left tried to hide the fact, rather poorly though, as it strongly resembled its state. And the desk right beside it fared no better, giving the appearance that it was one strong gust of wind away from collapsing.

A fate it was saved from suffering as the two large windows across the room to his right had been magically repaired of the noticeable cracks they held. Both werehidden from view by the black curtains fully extending down to the floor.

A preventive measure, his Lord had explained, one to be taken after a muggle had stumbled upon them on the first night of their arrival. The glow of the fire roaring brightly within the room had likely drawn the old man to investigate, and while he had been dealt with swiftly, the Dark Lord was unwilling to have such a thing happen again.

Discovering was to be avoided, hence the curtains, a method to prevent any unwanted eyes from catching sight of flames flickering beyond the glass, engulfing the room with a comforting warmth.

Lacking the dust by which to muffle the sound of his approach, his steps grew lighter, softer, and much slower as he neared the far end of the room. He did not wish to disturb the resting form of the Dark Lord, who lay upon the armchair directly in front of the fireplace.

Wormtail made his way towards it, eyes firmly upon the flames that flickered around the edges of the chair.

Despite having done so many times before, he couldn't help but grow apprehensive with every step closer he took. His heart began to thump strongly within his chest. Loose hands began to tremble by his sides as if he was once again exposed to frigid air. And the two pronounced teeth that protruded slightly out of his mouth bit down on his trembling lower lip, digging into the flesh.

An anchor. A way to hold his nerve. Something to focus on as he passed the furniture, steadfastly avoided turning his gaze upon the figure that lay upon it.

Wormtail was loyal to the Dark Lord and had been for years, but the less time he had to see such a…thing, the better his night's sleep would be. Whatever meager amount his Lord allowed him to get.

Arriving by the fireplace, Wormtail grabbed hold of the metal rod propped up just beside it before poking and prodding at the wood burning within. Reinvigorated, the flames burst with newfound strength. However, before he could allow himself the opportunity to bask in the fire's warmth, a gentle tapping from one of the windows off to his right grabbed hold of his attention.

Wormtail's head snapped towards the direction where the noise had come from, eyes wide in panic. Another tap had him start to react by drawing his wand, if a bit clumsily, but just as he was about to step forward, a voice spoke up.

"There is no need to be alarmed, Wormtail," Lord Voldemort said, his voice cold and sharp, a scoff ringing out when he nearly dropped his wand. "It is nothing more than Barty's owl."

"Barty's owl? Why would it be here?" Wormtail managed to squeak out, his gaze firmly on the window.

"It brings a letter. What other purpose does an owl serve, you idiotic fool? Now…go and fetch it."

"Y-yes, my Lord."

Hurriedly making to follow his orders, Wormtail shuffled nervously over to the windows, pivoting toward the furthestmost one when another gentle rap rang out from it.

Pulling back the curtain slightly, he quickly noticed the grey-colored eagle owl holding a letter in its beak, standing on a ledge on the otherside of the glass. With not a feather out of place and completely unbothered by the wind visibly blowing past it, the owl simply stared at him. Only when he opened the windows slightly did the owl finally move, sticking its beak through the gap to drop the letter in his hand before flying back into the turbulent night sky.

"A l-letter has arrived for you, my Lord," Wormtail sputtered out weakly after making his way back to the chair where his Lord rested. He presented the folded-up piece of parchment to his master in the same manner one would bestow a crown upon their king, making sure to keep his head lowered and his eyes shut. "I-It is from Barty."

"I am well aware ofwhat it is and who sent it…and have been since the moment the owl landed outside," He could feel volatile crimson eyes snap towards him and, without a doubt, were swirling with contempt. "You do yourself no service by informing me of what I already know."

A greater man, one with courage and bravery, would have been hard-pressed not to cringe at the pure malice held in those words, and Wormtail was well aware he possessed neither of those qualities. Despite doing his best to hold his nerve, a whimper slipped past his mouth when the Dark Lord made no other remark, allowing silence to fall upon them.

Neither attempted to break it, one out of fear of the repercussions and one simply out of amusement.

Eventually, a pair of hisses reached his ears, one from in front and onefrom Nagini, who had made her way somewhere behind him. An unnerving and frightful sound cut through the air of the old room, making shivers run up his spine and, much to his horror, made his eyes snap open.

The sight that filled his vision was that of nightmares given form.

A body.

Small. Frail, like that of a newborn, yet what he saw could no longer be described as such. Its skin was scaly, a tinge of red covering the entirety of it. Almost as if it had been submerged into a cauldron of simmering hot water for hours on end before being pulled out once it had become nothing more than a being of scalded skin and protruding bones.

What had once been a babe brought into this world, soft-skinned, bright, wondrous eyes, carrying untapped potential still yet to be tested by the troubles of life, was now nothing more than atemporary vessel for the Dark Lord.

A decaying and revolting vessel.

Despite having seen it plenty of times before, a whimper threatened to slip past Wormtail's dry and cracked lips. Only the knowledge of the utter agony that would await him should a sound of perceived disrespect erupt from his mouth prevented it from escaping.

The Dark Lord was weakened, yes, but he still held enough power to have him writhing on thefloor, begging, sobbing for forgiveness as the Cruciatus Curse drove him to the brink of insanity.

The rustling of fabric and the sound of the Dark Lord shifting in the chair snapped Wormtail out of his thoughts. A moment later, the parchment held feebly in his hands was finally pulled into the air, making him sag in relief. Keeping his gaze lowered, he watched out the corner of his eye as the letter unfolded itself and glided toward him, coming to a stop right before his eyes so that he could read it.

While Wormtail was curious to know the reason why Barty had sent a letter, as contact was to be limited and saved for only the most important of matters, he knew it was not his place to ask. If the Dark Lord felt he did not need to know, then he was to be content with that decision.

As it was, he did decide to inform him of the letter's contents, though Wormtail quickly wished he hadn't.

"It appears Potter is a much more…capable wizard than we had been led to believe," Lord Voldemort drawled, his eyes once again drilling into him. "What…you had led us to believe. And that makes me ponder whether you lied to me, Wormtail?"

Wormtail's head snapped back up at those words, eyes wide in surprise and with his mouth agape, only to turn his gaze downward again at the sight of crimson orbs simmering with anger. Just behind him, he could start to hear sharp hisses as Nagini slithered her way closer to him, but he dared not turn around to see. Turning his head, or any movement for that matter carried the high chance that he would find two sharp fangs digging into his throat in an instant.

"N-no, my lord. I-I would never do such a-a thing. I told you e-everything I-I know about t-the boy," he managed to squeak out eventually, his heart beginning to thump wildly in his chest.

"Everything?"

"Yes, m-my Lord. I s-swear my Lord."

"Then why is it Barty is informing me that the boy whom you described as possessing nothing more than theskills of an average fourth year is now displaying magic comparable to that of the other champions and, in some ways, far beyond it," the Dark Lord questioned coldly, sneering at Wormtail when his eyes widened. "Surprising, is it not? Barty spared no detail in recounting all of what transpired during the first task. He was impressed by the boy's performance, yet that does not compare to the immense displeasure he holds at having been caught entirely unaware of the true extent of his abilities…So, tell me, Wormtail…Enlighten me as to why the information you've shared about his capabilities only a couple of months prior is now proving to be inaccurate?"

"That isn't possible."

"Yet, it is true. Unless you wish to claim Barty is lying?"

"N-no! No…"

"Then provide me with a suitable explanation."

"I-I don't k-know…" Wormtail whimpered when the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed before nearly jumping up in fright when he felt something brush against his leg. He didn't need to look down to know Nagini had started to circle him, which compelled him to give an answer. Admittedly, not a very good one. "May-maybe he's been s-studying…a l-lot?"

"How…laughable of a suggestion," Voldemort hissed before tilting his head to the side. "Try again."

Wormtail started to breathe quickly, his hands clenching and unclenching by his side as he rummaged through his mind, looking for an answer that would appease his Lord.

"D-Dumbledore. Maybe Dumbledore taught him."

"A reasonable thought…but still, an incorrect one. The old fool has not taught him anything and is just as puzzled by Potter's newfound skill. So, I ask again, how is itthat the boy is not as weak and helpless as initially assumed? And it is in your interest that this time, I find the answer you give more…satisfactory."

To drive the point home, Lord Voldemort began to raise his wand towards him, making Wormtail gulp audibly.

He knew his Lord's patience was wearing thin. Only the small favor he had garnered for himself by helping preserve his life was saving him from ending up writhing on thefloor a weeping mess.

Perhaps being of such service should have earned him more than that, but he dared not voice such a notion. In part because he knew the reason why.

Wormtail was a traitor. A turncoat. A spy who had willingly revealed the location of those he called friends, all but sealing their deaths. Such an action was not easily ignored nor forgotten. It was, and would always be, a stain upon his character. A sign thathe was not to be trusted.

Even the Dark Lord, the main beneficiary of his treacherous act, regarded him with suspicion.

Likely because what should have been his ultimate victory had instead resulted in him existing as aghost for more than a decade.

It wouldn't at all surprise Wormtail to know that in some corner of his mind, the Dark Lord believed him to have planned his downfall and now, with no other options, simply followed him out of fear.

This was true, to a point, but Wormtail mainly followed him out of loyalty. But no matter how much he professed that was the case, and no matter the lengths he went to prove it, it was never enough to gain the same level of trust afforded to other Death Eaters. The same amount of trust afforded to Barty, who, with nothing more than a quill, had drawn the mistrust their Lord held towards him to the forefront, leaving Wormtail to think feverishly for an answer that would satisfy him.

"Sirius!" Wormtail said, the name exploding out of his mouth just as a red dot began to form at the tip of his Lord's wand. The sight of it had him gulping fearfully before briefly raising his eyes to look into menacing red orbs before flicking back down a split second later. "S-Sirius…He could have taught him. He could have taught him some of the spells that he knows…Y-yeah…It must have been him…He's the only one that makes sense."

"Black…" The Dark Lord paused, tilting his head to the otherside as he considered the possibility. "He's a criminal on the run. It would be a risk for him to return, and I do not believe it would be one he would take."

Wormtail take shook his head roughly.

"H-he would. He absolutely would. Even if it's a risk, he would come back and try to h-help the boy in whatever way he could…And I don't think he would leave. Not while the tournamentis going on. Sirius would try to stay somewhere close by to keep an eye on Potter."

"Is that so? How…interesting," Lord Voldemort mused before falling silent for a moment as his eyes drifted over to the letter, nodding as he burnt it to ashes a few seconds later. "Consider yourself fortunate, Wormtail. Your proposal thatBlack was the one to help the boy is a suitable answer to a matter Barty had been pondering about, and it has saved you no small amount of punishment."

"You a-are too kind…but, if I-I may ask, does t-this change the p-plan, my Lord?" Wormtail asked weakly, quickly averting his eyes when the Dark Lord's gaze snapped towards him sharply.

He held his breath as a brief, tense silence fell upon the room. When it stretched for several seconds, he began to fear he had spoken out of turn and, believing punishment was imminent, made to apologize profusely before swallowing his words when an answer was given to him.

"No…For the time being, everything will proceed as planned," Lord Voldemort said simply before a minuscule frown crawled onto his disfigured face. "However, send a response to Barty. Inform him about Black. Then, tell him he is to continue as is, but he will be keeping me informed of any developments concerning the boy…I will not be caught unaware, not when I am so close to regaining my full power."

---

Harry really shouldn't have been surprised.

Despite the precautions she'd taken to ensure she woke up and left before anyone had a clue she had been there, it was always a risk allowing Hermione to sleep beside him inside the infirmary.

Well, not so much was allowed, as the girl simply decided that she was going to stay and was undiscouraged by his admittedly rather weak attempt to dissuade her. Not that he really expected her to be, as he knew the bushy-haired girl well enough to know she could be almost as stubborn as him, if not more so.

Plus, Harry really didn't have the heart nor the energy to try and force the girl back to her dormitory after the emotional outburst she had just experienced, which, in his mind, he was a great deal responsible for. So, in the end, he had accepted that she would be spending the night sleeping in his arms, and if he were being honest with himself, a not-so-small part of him had enjoyed having her body molded up against his.

Even if it led to our current predicament, Harry thought as he stared in alarm at the familiar translucent form floating at the side of his bed. Having regained some bit of awareness after being woken up by something cold brushing against his arm, he blinked blearily for a moment just as Hermione started to stir beside him before groggily opening her eyes to look at him.

"Care to explain why she is in your bed at the moment, Harry?" Helena asked coldly.

The bits of fog and confusion still clouding Hermione's mind were swiped away instantly at the sound of the sharp voice questioning her presence. She tensed up, alarmed just like he was, if for slightly different reasons. In a split second, she untangled herself from his arms and the covers to sit up before whirling around with a mortified expression. Her mind was no doubt already racing with ways to explain herself, but as her mouth opened to offer a quick apology first, she was struck speechless when she recognized the Grey Lady.

Out of all the people she expected to find staring down at them in intense disapproval, he imagined the ghost of House Ravenclaw was very low on that list.

A heavy silence descended upon the infirmary before Helena slowly shifted her gaze away from him, fixing her intense stare on the other girl. She paused, locking eyes with her for a moment before her face contorted with anger, her features darkening as she noticed the robe hanging loosely around the other girl's slender frame. Hermione quickly realized this with a gasp, hastily pulling the robe tighter around herself before turning back to face the ghost, who was now glaring at her with barely hidden hostility.

Harry let out a tired sigh that immediately drew Helena's attention, and the fierce glare she had been sending toward the girl on his bed was immediately directed toward him.

"Well?" Helena asked in a harsh whisper, glowering at him when he didn't offer a hurried reply.

Perhaps if he weren't still trying to snap himself awake, he would have. Instead, he simply reached over to grab his glasses, putting them on before blinking tiredly at her as he attempted to get his thoughts in order.

The first question that popped into his head was why the ghost looked so furious at the moment, but that was easy enough to figure out. Having two students sleeping in the same bed and in the infirmary, no less, was definitely frowned upon.

Harry considered himself quite fortunate that it had been Helena who had come across them, as any other member of the staff would have been dragging them toward Professor McGonagall.

A terrifying prospect.

Considering that matter settled, he switched over to the second question that formed and, at the moment, the far more important one.

Why did Helena suddenly decide to seek him out?

The woman had never done so before. For the past few weeks, if she ever felt a need to speak to him, she would save it until he ventured down into the chamber. Her behavior didn't bother him, and quite honestly, it didn't surprise him. It was well known to everyone, including him, that she was quite opposed to being in the public eye and avoided the more frequented parts of the castle with a fervor, whether it be day or night.

So, for her to suddenly go against that habit was entirely unexpected.

As he mulled over the matter in his head, he cast a glance toward Hermione, not surprised to see her anxious by the presence of the highly reclusive Ravenclaw house ghost. She knew she had just been caught outside her common room well after curfew and also been caught sleeping beside him. A single word from the ghost to her head of house or any member of the staff would mean they would both face a hefty points deduction and possibly several weeks of detention.

For a student like her, who was well-behaved, responsible, and persistently followed the rules, it was a terrifying prospect.

Of course, that wouldn't happen, as he doubted Helena would want his time being wasted serving detention when he could be doing other things. But Hermione didn't know, at least not yet, that the relationship he possessed with Helena was a far bit friendlier than that of total strangers, even if she didn't exactly look like it at the moment.

Now, time to figure out why she's here. Harry voiced within his mind, closing his eyes for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He suppressed a sigh that threatened to escape him as whatever tentative plans he had made just hours prior went up in smoke. Why did it have to be tonight, of all nights?

Knowing that the only way to find out was by asking, Harry switched his attention back toward Helena before his eyes widened in alarm at the sight of her eyes narrowed into slits and directed menacingly toward him.

Don't tell me I said that out loud… A pit began to grow in his stomach as he considered the possibility that he might have inadvertently done just that.

"Well, after hearing what happened to you during the first task, I wanted to come and see for myself that you were in good health. And I took the first opportunity I had to do so, but I can see now that my appearance has bothered you," Helena hissed, confirming that he did, in fact, voice his thoughts out loud, making him grimace before he hastily tried to explain himself.

"No, no, no, I'm not bothered by it…I just never imagined that you would want to come to check up on me."

"Well, you should have. I believe I've made it quite clear that your well-being matters to me," Helena replied before glowering down at him. "But clearly, that has somehow escaped your notice."

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to muster up a response that would appease her. However, much to his annoyance, he found himself unable to come up with the right words and the opportunity to soothe her anger before it intensified passed him by.

"Do you have nothing to say? Nothing at all? Do you not care that I came to see you?" Helena whispered fiercely, her temper rising as his silence lasted for a second longer than she would have liked. Her eyes snapped briefly toward Hermione, who had been watching quietly, a small frown forming on her face from the manner the normally aloof spirit was behaving. "Does my gesture hold less value now that you've already had one visitor tonight?"

Despite her words being uttered in a low tone, it was sharp and accusatory, which Harry couldn't help but bristle at a little even as he shook his head to deny her words.

"That's not true…I do care, and I do appreciate the fact that you came to visit me. It's just—"

A derisive scoff left her mouth, cutting him off, and Harry closed his eyes as he felt his frustration beginning to swell up. He took a few calming breaths, and silence lingered between them for a moment before she glanced at Hermione again, and the dark scowl she had been sending him was soon directed toward her.

"You've yet to answer my question," Helena pointed out heatedly, keeping her eyes locked on the other girl. She raised an affronted eyebrow when she noticed the same fiery expression mirrored back at her, his friend clearly having had enough of being looked at in such a manner. "Why was she in your bed?"

"To sleep, obviously. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak as if I weren't here," Hermione snarked before he could get a word in, not wilting under the venomous look the spirit was sending her.

"And I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut unless spoken to. The question was directed towards him. Not you."

"I think if the question concerns me, then I'm well within my rights to answer it."

"Well, unfortunately for you, I do not care—"

"That's enough," Harry hissed, cutting her off.

She looked back at him, slightly stunned, as not since the night of Halloween had he spoken to her in such a harsh manner.

A tired sigh left him as he raised a hand to massage his forehead for a moment before turning to look at the ghost. "You want to know why she was in my bed? It's because, just like you, Hermione came to check up on me, but she didn't fancy going all the way upto her dormitory, so she decided to sleep here instead."

Helena blinked slowly, processing his explanation before her lips curled into a heated scowl as she turned her nose up at him.

"Is that so?" she questioned, her fury no longer threatening to boil over. It was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but she seemed to be making a conscious effort to restrain it after he had firmly cut her off. "And that's all? Nothing else happened?"

What she was trying to imply wasn't lost on him, and judging by the way Hermione shifted slightly beside him, it wasn't lost on her either.

"No," Harry told her firmly. "We only slept."

The intense anger that remained steadily on her face wavered just a bit, even if Helena didn't look entirely convinced by his words. Upon seeing that, Harry forced himself to sit up from his bed, waving off Hermione's attempt to help after a small groan left his mouth. He swung his legs over the side of the bed before locking eyes with Helena, his expression earnest, unbothered by the glare directed toward him.

"How can I be sure that's all that happened?"

"You just have to trust that I'm telling you the truth."

"Just like that? Based on nothing but your word?"

"You've done so before, haven't you?"

Without speaking a word, he urged her to remember the night she caught him sneaking through the castle with her mother's diadem. Back then, she had been much more unfriendly and mistrustful than she was right now, but she had still decided to give him the tiniest bit of trust when she followed him down to the chamber to hear what he had to say.

And she must have grasped what he was trying to convey as understanding flashed across her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but whatever the woman might have said never left her lips as she hesitated for a split second. Conflicted, she pressed her lips together in a tight manner, a muffled whine of frustration emanating from her as any traces of her anger drained away from her face. A heavy, apprehensive silence descended upon the infirmary as she fixed him with a penetrating gaze, her eyes scouring his features for any flicker of dishonesty, any sign of deceit that might justify her reluctance to believe him once more.

"…you're not lying to me?" she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"No. It's the truth. I mean it."

Helena stared at him a moment longer before slowly, her expression softened.

"…All right…I'm choosing to believe you. Again."

"Thank you," Harry said softly, a small sigh of relief leaving his mouth. He spared a glance at Hermione, not surprised to see an expectant look on her face. He nodded at her, well aware that he had some explaining to do, before turning his attention back to the woman floating in front of him when she spoke up.

"And…I apologize for lashing out at you. It's just…I find it difficult to fully place my trust in others. Not because I don't wish to do so, but a part of me is afraid they'll betray my trust at any given moment," Helena murmured, a deep and heavy exhale leaving her lips before a remorseful expression crossed her face. A sad smile graced her face after her admission, and her eyes began to glisten faintly. "I'm sure you can figure out a big reason as to why I might feel that way."

"I understand," Harry told her, both for her reasoning and for what she left unsaid. With his eyes never straying from hers, he gave her what he hoped was an optimistic and uplifting smile. "I guess that just means I'll have to keep proving to you that I'll never betray your trust…And maybe one day, I'll be someone you can trust completely."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell slightly agape in response to his words. Helena gazed at him intently, seemingly in a trance, before, bit by bit, a delicate flush began to spread across her grey, translucent cheeks. She blinked once, twice, and then a third time before a quiet and unsteady breath escaped her parted lips. After a moment, she ducked her head a little before timidly returning his smile with a small and endearing one of her own.

"I'd like that…I'd like that very much," she whispered to him before a pointed cough rang out from beside them, drawing their attention.

Harry and Helena turned to face Hermione, whose arms were once again crossed as she glanced rapidly between them. She had shown a remarkable amount of restraint while he tried to calm Helena down, but her patience was wearing thin, evident by the manner in which her lips were pursed together tightly, questions waiting to burst forward.

I don't think I can brush this under the rug and pretend it never happened…Not after everything she's just seen and heard, Harry thought, grimacing when Hermione started impatiently tapping a finger on her arm. Well, there goes my plan of waiting a few more days before telling her anything.

After Hermione expressed her desire to help him more, he decided it was time to tell her about the Horcruxes, Helena, Salazar, and almost everything else he had been trying to keep a secret from her this past month. Not due to a lack of trust in her, as there was no one else in the world whom he trusted more. But because he knew how committed she could become when trying to help him, even if that meant neglecting herself. Their third year was proof of that, as he still remembered the extreme stress she had been under as a result of worrying over him, helping him with his classwork as usual, and researching lawbooks to find a way to help Buckbeak, all while taking every class possible.

That's why he had decided to keep things a secret for the past month, with the idea that as soon as the first task was over, he would tell her as much as he could.

That had been his plan up until the man masquerading as Professor Moody decided to look through his mind using Legilimency.

Harry had managed to stop him from delving too deep, but in doing so, revealed the fact that he knew Occlumency. He had tried to act ignorant of what had happened, play it off as something done unconsciously, but he doubted the man would simply brush the incident off as nothing, not after having witnessed his magical skill during the first task. The man would likely approach him a bit more cautiously from now on while attempting to learn the full extent of his abilities.

And if he was willing to go through my mind at the first opportunity that arose, there's a good chance he would do so again, Harry reasoned as he eyed Hermione.

If he planned to allow Hermione to help him, which he still did, he needed to make sure she was properly prepared and protected before he told her anything.

"I'm assuming you remember what I told you earlier before we fell asleep? About the very important things you can help me with?" Harry asked, getting a slow nod from Hermione, though she continued to glance between him and the ghost, her frown deepening with every moment. "Before I tell you—"

A gasp from Helena made him stop before he turned his head to face her intense gaze.

"You're planning to tell her?" she asked, unsurprisingly having easily figured out important things he meant, frowning when he simply nodded. She looked at the other girl for a moment before turning back towards him. "Everything?"

"I am. Not all at once, and she needs to learn something beforehand, but eventually, yes."

"And are you sure you can trust her?"

An indignant expression crossed Hermione's face as her trustworthiness was called into question, but before she could even open her mouth to respond, Harry quickly interjected. He wasn't particularly keen on witnessing another round of heated words being exchanged between the two of them.

Once was already more than enough.

"Absolutely sure," Harry affirmed, relieved when Helena nodded after several moments, even if she didn't look entirely happy about it.

"Then, I suppose I'll just have to trust your judgment."

He turned back to face Hermione, opening his mouth to continue before hesitating for a split second once he saw the heavy scowl now adorning her face that was directed toward Helena.

"Right…before I tell you—"

"You two know each other," Hermione stated, making him sigh as a result of being interrupted again. "And I don't mean as passing acquaintances…It's more than that."

"…You're right. I guess you can consider us to be—"

Harry closed his eyes in frustration when, once again, he was interrupted.

"Friends," Helena said, her gaze settled firmly upon the other girl and unbothered by the frown that deepened. "Friends and allies. That's what I would consider Harry and I to be."

"I was under the assumption that the Grey Lady wasn't one to have friends."

"And your assumption would be correct. She isn't. However, the same cannot be said for the woman named Helena Ravenclaw," the ghost replied, making Hermione's eyes widen in shock. Even Harry found himself turning to face the ghost in surprise, having not expected her to reveal her identity.

"Y-You're…"

"Rowena Ravenclaws' daughter? I am," Helena confirmed, a smirk dancing on her lips at having managed to render the girl speechless, which made Harry let out a tired sigh once he caught sight of it. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger."

I really wish I could have introduced them to each other under my terms. Or even just better circumstances. He lamented as he shook his head before turning to face the ghost.

"I didn't expect you to tell her your name so casually. In fact, I didn't expect you to tell her at all."

"Well, if she's going to be helping us, I can't exactly expect you to be constantly mindful of what name you address me by. It wouldn't have been reasonable," she said before shrugging. "Plus, I couldn't help myself."

Harry shook his head with a sigh before turning to face Hermione, who was regaining her bearings after that revelation. He waited until she was focused on him before speaking again. "As I just said, I'm planning to tell you everything, but there's something you have to learn first."

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"Have you ever heard of Occlumency?"

---

With a mumbled groan escaping his parched mouth, Sirius peeled his eyes open before sluggishly raising a hand to soothe his strained neck as he stared in confusion at the tattered walls that surrounded him.

Mind still scattered, he blinked several times in an attempt to brush away the wispy haze that obscured his vision before he was forced to snap them shut again as a searing wave of pain surged within his head. Growling through gritted teeth, his body lurched forward as hands rose hastily to grip his skull as it pulsed violently.

Eventually, the pain diminished, and Sirius breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned back. He dropped his arms to his sides before noticing a green glass bottle no bigger than thepalm of his hand and with a beige label wrapped around it wobbling on the wooden floor. Eyeing the object just beside him in confusion, he picked it up and brought it closer to his face, only to pull it away hurriedly as the strong scent of alcohol suddenly drifted up his nose. He blinked, teary-eyed, but as the seconds passed, his face began to settle into one of comprehension as, somehow, the potent smell had made him start to recall the events from yesterday.

The first thing that became clear in his mind was that sitting beside the Wireless and listening to Ludo Bagman's voice as it boomed out was a terrible experience. While many people around the world likely appreciated the man's talent for vividly describing what was happening with his commentary, he was not one of them.

For Sirius, no amount of enthusiasm or emotion the former quidditch player poured into his words could rid him of the dread he felt.

Nothing could change the fact that the man was narrating each champion's encounter with a dragon, where the possibility of death always loomed. Where every shout of excitement that boomed out of the radio constantly threatened to be followed by a somber whisper. That thought of the worst coming to pass lingered on his mind, along with growing apprehension as the moment for Harry's turn approached.

So much so that he felt tempted by the idea of soothing his nerves with some firewhiskey.

A temptation he was soon succumbing to as a quick shout to Kreacher had a glass and bottle of Ogden's old placed on the coffee table before him.

It had been done quickly and with such little resistance, the oddity of which had made him pause for a moment before realizing that the old house elf was likely all in favor of him becoming a drunken mess.

Which he had been by the time Bagman had announced that Harry had successfully completed the first task. To such an extent that Sirius was soon staggering out of the study room, his mind addled by a mixture of turbulent emotion and potent whiskey. He had swayed from one side of the hallway to the other in the direction of the front door with only one thought occupying his mind, and that was heading to Hogwarts to see with his own eyes that his godson was all right.

At that moment, he did not care that he was a criminal on the run. He did not care that Aurors were scattered across the country looking for him. He did not care that he was taking an enormous risk sneaking into one of the most secure places in the magical world, if not the most.

He did not care because, in his drunken mind, nothing else held the same importance as making sure his godson was fine.

Walburga did not agree.

Although the portrait would only ever be a portion of its subject, nothing more than a fragment of the horrible woman his mother had been, there was still enough of her contained within the frame to deduce what his intentions were. Enough of her to notice the moment he drunkenly stepped foot into the hallway that his emotions had taken hold and were now steering him into reckless action.

She sought to talk sense into her son, using whatever angle she possibly could have. First, by reminding him of Harry's success before pointing out that he was surely having his wounds tended to at that very moment. When that failed, she admonished him for acting in a manner unbecoming of a Lord. And when that also proved ineffective, she warned him of the dangers he was exposing himself to, questioning the wisdom of leaving the house when he was a wanted man.

Again, her words simply washed over him as he neared the door.

Perhaps if Sirius hadn't been so overwhelmed by worry andhadn't been drinking, then he might have been more willing to see the sense in her words.

However, he was, and he had, and at the sight of him reaching for the door handle, his mother made one final attempt to stop him in such a manner that was almost assured to grab his attention.

In a tone callous and piercing, Walburga asked whether this was the same recklessness that had resulted in him being carted off to Azkaban.

The very same idiotic behavior that led him to rot inside its walls for twelve years, unable to care for his godson as he should have. Like he promised the man he called his brother and his wife he would do should anything ever happen to them.

Those words and the manner in which they had been spoken were finally enough to make Sirius stop in his tracks. Not only that, but it made him stalk back down the hallway toward the portrait.

Breathing heavily, he stared daggers at her, eyes narrowed, lips curling into a malicious snarl when Walburga simply looked at him, entirely unimpressed by the expression of absolute fury adorning his face. He made to express the need to see his godson, yet only a distorted mess of words slipped past his gritted teeth. Mocking amusement had lit up his mother's eyes at the sound, which only made the anger that clouded his mind intensify into a potent red haze.

Robbed of capable thought by his rage and facing the very reason for it, Sirius fell upon old habits.

He delved back into doing what he always did whenever he found himself at odds with his mother, and that was to shout at her, unleash all of his pent-up emotions in a blazing fire that did not wilt when she began to do the same. Mind clouded by fury, at one point, the words that came tumbling out of his mouth stopped being about seeing his godson.

Instead, they became nothing more than scathing insults hurled toward his mother, always immediately garnering a retort.

Back and forth they went, their shouts bouncing off the walls of the old, decaying house, the intensity rising with every jab they took as if whoever shouted the loudest would win the spat.

In the past, his father would have been compelled to leave the sanctuary of his study room to separate them for fear that they would start firing dangerous spells at each other.

Of course, they had cast minor ones before, more of a nuisance than anything truly harmful. But there had been an unspoken understanding between them that there was a limit. A line in the sand that should not be crossed and that had never been crossed, no matter how deteriorated the relationship between mother and son had become.

And even if his mother had long since passed, and despite being filled with such anger, wanting nothing more than to burn the wall from which the portrait hung, he still couldn't bring himself to do so.

Therefore, after everything that could have been said had been spoken, he simply decided he needed to get away.

Away from her. Away from the sight of her. Away from the memories, the mess of emotions the sound of her voice invoked within him, away from everything that had his mind in complete disarray.

Sirius just needed to get away, and he retreated to the master bedroom next to Buckbeak. One of the few spots inside the damn house that didn't make him feel like he was trapped.

Yet, it still wasn't enough to calm the storm within him.

It offered him no respite, and in desperate need of a way to dampen everything he was feeling, he ordered Kreacher to bring him the strongest alcohol he could find. The elf had been quick to do as instructed and had all but shoved a bottle of brandy into his hand.

And one bottle soon turned into two. And two became three. And it was the third that carried him into sleep's sweet embrace.

"And now, my slumber has ended. I've awoken…left to regret that I didn't stop at one bottle," Sirius muttered, the slightest slur still noticeable in his voice.

With the glass container still in his hand, he leaned back to rest against the warm and fuzzy surface, which rose and fell rhythmically. Slowly, he shifted his head to the side to stare into the vivid orange eyes of his hippogriff companion. "Morning, Buckbeak."

A huff was expelled from the creature's mouth before slamming into his face, making him cough as he backed away.

"Morgana's tits, Buckbeak. Your breath smells absolutely horrid," Sirius gasped as he pinched his nose before squinting when the hippogriff simply stared at him with an expression that made him want to defend himself. "My breath…is not as bad as that. Plus, I can clean it, something you've clearly never done before. Watch this."

Bringing his wand from out of the pocket inside his grey blazer, he brought it up to his mouth with the intent to cast a Scourgify charm. That had been his idea, except the amount of soap that appeared was vastly more than he needed. Coughing as some of the soap had made its way down his throat, he tried to banish the cleaning material, only to growl when even that spell failed to give the desired effect.

"Should have just stuck with one bottle," Sirius painfully admitted, placing his wand back where it had come from before waving a finger at Buckbeak when more air was forced out of his mouth. "Not another…huff from you. Or I won't give you any chicken later."

Instead of being cowed, Buckbeak simply bumped his head against his hand, pushing it aside. The hippogriff knew, just like he did, that his threat was an empty one.

Sirius let out a sigh as he slowly pushed himself up from the cold wooden floor before groaning as sharp, persistent pain throbbed within his head once more. Desperate for relief, he instinctively brought the bottle still tightly clutched in his hand to his lips to take a drink, the thought of seeking out a potion to alleviate his pounding headache completely absent from his mind.

For several moments, as warmth spread across his body, Sirius stood in place with his eyes closed, swaying gently from side to side, waiting until the intense thumping in his skull began to wane.

Only when a dull ache remained did he dare to start venturing out into the dark hallways of the house, bottle in hand. Slowly and unsteadily, he started making his way down the floors before coming to a halt a single flight of stairs later when a muffled noise reached his ears.

Sirius stood motionless, scanning the walls of the second floor in tense silence. Narrowed eyes landed upon the closed doors before shifting toward another as he strained his ears, hoping to catch another trace of what he had just heard. A frown adorned his face when nothing, not even a whisper, rang out again. The expression deepened even further a moment later as the thought of a boggart or a ghoul lurking somewhere on this floor flashed through his mind.

His one free hand reached for his wand inside the blazer before pulling it out slowly, and with his gaze settled firmly on the door right before him, he took a step forward only to stumble as his foot clipped the edges of a step.

"Bloody idiot," Sirius mumbled to himself, scowling at the splash of brandy that had spilled onto the floor. He made to clean it before deciding against the idea once he remembered his earlier mishap. "I guess I'll just have to get Kreacher to clean it up later…and I might as well get him to check these rooms as well."

Giving the entire floor one final uneasy look, he stuffed his wand back into its usual spot inside his blazer, and with the brandy still in his grasp, he continued down toward the ground floor.

As he reached the end of the stairwell, he cast a small disgusted look toward the severed elf heads proudly on display before stepping foot into the hallway. The moment he did, his mother turned to face him, an indifferent expression gracing her aristocratic features, which tightened once she caught sight of his disheveled appearance.

"Well, you look like you spent the rest of yesterday's evening drinking yourself into a stupor," she commented lightly.

To a stranger, her words would have appeared calm and utterly devoid of any anger that would suggest their heated argument was still fresh in her mind.

But Sirius knew better.

Experience had taught him better.

Not for a single second did he believe her fury wasn't still simmering underneath the surface, waiting for the proper moment to be unleashed upon him.

However, experience also taught him that themoment would not be today. Nor would it be tomorrow, and likely not even the day after.

As had been customary for so many years, in the days that followed one of their explosive arguments, a fragile truce would exist between them.

For a short amount of time, the house would be spared of any shouts of anger thundering throughout its hallways. Instead, a near-total silence filled with tension would grace its walls as somehow, as unbelievable as it sounded, mother and son would find it within themselves to suppress the intense animosity they held for one another and act somewhat cordially.

At least until someone or something would spark another argument, and every ounce of bottled-up fury would come rushing out again, breaking the brief peace that had befallen the house.

But such a time was still a few days away, and until then, he was content to enjoy the brief moments of relative tranquility.

"That's because I did," Sirius responded, stopping just in front of the portrait. "I felt last night's events warranted a bit of drinking."

"From what Kreacher told me, it was a lot more than just 'a bit'."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Kreacher told you?"

"Of course he did. As soon as you ordered him to bring you the strongest bottle of alcohol we had, he dutifully came to inform me."

"And was this a one-time thing, or will he suddenly pick up the habit of telling youeverything I'm up to?"

"Not everything, no. Just when you're planning to do something utterly idiotic like drinking yourself into oblivion," his mother regarded him with a slight sneer before her gaze shifted to the bottle in his hand. "I hope you know that when you asked for the strongest bottle we had, he took that as meaning you wanted my Aunt Cassiopeia's favorite brandy."

At her words, Sirius brought the bottle up to his face before staring at the label, which wasn't so much as blank but merely completely covered in dust.

As he brushed it away, memories regarding the woman sprang up in his mind. While they were a bit sparse, as he only ever saw the woman at family gatherings due to the fact she was rather reclusive, one thing he could remember was the constant presence of a bottle of hard liquor by her side, much like the one he now held in his hand.

"The German one?"

"Precisely."

"…no wonder I feel like shit."

"You much resemble it as well, although that's hardly surprising," Walburga commentated, unbothered by the glare he sent her. "However, I must admit, what is a surprise is seeing you up and about so early in the morning. With the amount you drank last night, I expected you to be passed out and lying in a heap somewhere in this house well into the evening."

"I'd very much prefer if I still was," Sirius muttered as he massaged his forehead. "At least then I wouldn't have to walk around feeling like my head is about to burst."

"Hmph. Well, that's your own fault. Perhaps next time, you'll think twice about drinking so heavily. Or drinking at all, for that matter," she said, a deep frown appearing on her face when he simply raised the bottle in his hand up to his lips. "And has been the case for so many years, my words have fallen upon deaf ears."

"I have to do something to deal with this headache."

"Then use a potion instead. We have a few still stored away in the basement. Or are you that much of a drunkard that you find drinking yourself into a stupor again to be far more appealing?"

"Drunkard is quite the stretch."

"Says the man drinking directly from the bottle," his mother pointed out, sneering when he made a show of doing exactly that. "At least pour yourself a glass."

"Why?"

"Because you're a Lord, and I expect you to behave like one."

"And when have I ever cared about your expectations?" Sirius drawled, a smirk stretching across his face when his mother huffed.

Walburga made to respond but was robbed of the chance to do so by the sudden appearance of Kreacher, who arrived with a pop and carrying a letter in his hand.

"A letter has arrived from Gringotts, mistress," the elf said before glancing over to him. "It is addressed to dishonorable master."

"Hand it over," Sirius said before his mother could get a word, having perked up at the mention of the bank.

Kreacher hesitated before stealing a quick glance at the portrait as if seeking the woman's approval, which he received in the form of a small nod. The elf begrudgingly extended it towards him before having it snatched from his hand by Sirius, who glared at him.

"Damn elf…You know what?" Sirius bit out before pointing up at the ceiling. "I have something for you to do. I heard a strange noise up on the second floor. Find what it was and deal with it."

"Master is a wizard, is he not? Why not deal with it himself?"

"Because I've been drinking," he told the elf, waving the bottle to emphasize his point. "And since I have a house elf at my service, one that has continuously shown me a lack of respect, I figured, why not have him do it?"

The house elf scowled at him.

"Kreacher has not finished cleaning the bedroom on the first floor."

"It's been nearly a week since you started. How have you not finished?"

"Kreacher is being very thorough."

"All right, then stop cleaning that bedroom and go find what's making that noise on the second floor…That's an order," Sirius gazed intently at the house elf, his eyes unwavering.

Only when the elf finally muttered an acknowledgment for his command before vanishing from view did his expression relax.

"You need to be firmer with him," Walburga said, making him look back at her with an eyebrow raised. "Strike him. Curse him. Whatever it takes, or he'll never come to respect you."

Her absurd suggestion earned an immediate shake of his head as he opened the letter from Gringotts, noting Ugnast's name at the top.

"I am absolutely not going to do that," Sirius mumbled absentmindedly as he began reading, paying little mind to the scoff that left his mother's mouth nor to her assertions thathe lacked the spine befitting of a proper Lord Black.

He knew it was nothing more than an attempt to chip away at the fragile peace that existed at the moment. Truth be told, he would have joined in the effort with a few heated words of his own if yesterday's spat hadn't left him feeling drained mentally and emotionally.

Perhaps the brandy had also played a part in calming him, mellowing him out sufficiently that he found himself reluctant to settle into another argument with his mother. Brief as it would surely be, and with nowhere near the same intensity as the previous one, he would still need to conjure up the proper amount of hostility to match her.

If he couldn't do that, then there was little point in offering a retort. So, he saved himself the effort and, instead, kept his lips sealed tightly together as his eyes drifted down Ugnast's letter.

Sirius would admit being a bit surprised to have received something from her, considering they had just seen each other yesterday. He reasoned thatwhatever she had written would have to involve a sudden development, and he was proven right the more he read the letter as something had occurred.

Nothing truly alarming, yet still concerning enough that a frown made its way onto his face.

"What does Gringotts want?" Walburga asked, making him glance in her direction.

For a moment, Sirius debated whether or not to say anything, but after taking a swig from the brandy, which made her wrinkle her nose in distaste, he decided there was no great harm in doing so.

"Nothing. This letter is just a heads-up from Ugnast about some recent developments."

"And what exactly happened that she deemed it worthy enough to inform you?" she asked, already aware that a new goblin was in charge of the family vaults, the same one who had bestowed upon him the Lord's ring.

It was one of the many bits of information he had imparted to her after dissuading her from the assumption that he had been loyal to the Dark Lord.

Well, more like gleefully told her when she started shouting in outrage.

Was it wise of him to do so?

Not really, but the expression of absolute shock she wore on her face the moment he showed her the family ring on his finger made it hard to regret the decision.

What she wasn't aware of was Lucius's attempt to have the entirety of the Black Family absorbed into his own, along with his alleged role in the deaths of Cygnus and Druella.

And as far as Sirius was concerned, she would remain unaware unless she absolutely needed to know.

He had no idea how she would take that information, and he did not want to take the chance that her reaction would not be in his favor.

Yes, there was a decent possibility she would become incensed since his mother had always been immensely proud and fanatical regarding their lineage. But considering she was just as fervent about the pureblood ideology, it was likely she would find the idea of her line continuing through a proper pureblooded family and not her blood traitor of a son much more agreeable.

Of course, there was nothing she could do that would change the fact that he was now Lord Black or that Harry would one day inherit. However, that didn't mean she couldn't become more hostile towards him if she were to find out the Lordship had almost fallen into the hands of a family that wholeheartedly shared the same ideology she did.

An ideology that sometimes was of far greater importance to any familial connection she had.

I need only remember what happened to myself, my cousin Andromeda, and my uncle Alphard for proof of that, Sirius voiced within his mind before gently shaking his head as he focused on his mother's expectant look. "While she doesn't say how they managed it, apparently, the goblin elders have discovered that I'm the new Lord Black."

Walburga raised an eyebrow at him before shrugging.

"Well, I suppose it was always just a matter of time until they did…I'm actually more astonished it took them a week to do so since, to my understanding, account managers tend to notify them swiftly if there is a new head of house."

Sirius nodded.

"They do, and that would have been the case for our family as well if not for Ugnast. She was the one to recommend we keep that bit of information a secret for as long as possible. And I agreed with her."

"A sensible decision since anyone with a modicum of intelligence would be able to deduce you had recently been at Gringotts and were likely still in Britain. But knowing you, I highly doubt that was the reason why you agreed," Walburga released an exasperated sigh when he gave a slow, uncertain nod.

"I didn't see a need to flaunt my new status as head of the family to the world, especially since there isn't much I'm able to do to make use of it."

"What makes you think that?"

"Perhaps it's slipped your mind, mother, but I'm a wanted criminal. You know, for mass murder?"

"Come now, you're hardly the first Lord to have ever been convicted of a serious crime. There are laws in place that will allow you to carry out your duties even if that isn't in person," she told him, rolling her eyes when he gave no hint of understanding her words. "What I am trying to tell you is that you can appoint a regent…Honestly, Sirius, you should know this, considering the amount of effort I put into trying to educate you in our ways."

"I made it a point to ignore anything and everything you've ever tried to teach me."

"Which has obviously turned out to be a tremendous success since you're unaware of even the most basic of things."

"That's not entirely true. I do know some things, at least enough to get by."

"Knowing 'enough to get by' is far from acceptable for a Lord of this house," Walburga said with a sneer before pinching the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. "But leaving the matter of your complete ineptitude for another time, what did this…Ugnast gain by keeping it hidden? Because she did gain something. You would be a fool to believe otherwise."

"Of course she did. I'm not naïve enough to believe she suggested the idea out of the goodness of her heart," Sirius ignored the small scoff that left the woman's mouth, instead taking a small swig from the whiskey bottle. "Though what it is exactly she gained, I couldn't tell you, but I'm guessing it has something to do with some of the other goblins she has…issues with."

Walburga eyed him for a moment, waiting for an explanation before huffing when none came forth. "I suppose that creature can be left to deal with her matters. As long as whatever she does doesn't tarnish our legacy or wealth."

"I highly doubt Ugnast would do something that would. Not after the amount of effort she put into preserving it," Sirius pointed, getting a reluctant nod from his mother once she recalled how the Black Family secured its present and future. "Even now, she's still working in the best interests of the family."

His mother raised an eyebrow when he paused, waving the letter in the air for a second before opening his mouth to explain.

"Ugnast has convinced the elders to keep the knowledge that the House of Black has a new Lord and that my godson was appointed heir hidden for a bit while longer."

"She convinced the elders?"

"From what she's written, it seems that her success in securing the continuation of the main line has garnered her a bit of favor from them."

"I see…and did she give a hint as to how much time is 'a bit while longer'?"

"Ideally, until the Wizengamot convened for its winter solstice session," Sirius informed, getting an immediate nod of understanding from the woman.

"At which point, it will be discovered that the House of Black once again forms part of its body since each one is obligated to have a representative. In most cases, that would be the head of the family."

"And in my case, it would be an appointed regent."

"Incredible…you can learn," Walburga mocked, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips when he muttered something under his breath. "Moving on, you mentioned that was the ideal time. What about realistically?"

After taking a drink from the brandy, which earned him another small glare, he made to answer her.

"In her opinion, about a week is the best we can hope for before that information gets out," he raised the parchment to wave it again before dropping it back down. "While some of the goblin elders take their position seriously and distance themselves from the rest of goblin society, others are less…inclined to do so. From what Ugnast mentions, those goblins are not opposed to sharing a few drinks with those they consider close friends."

"I imagine they share other things as well," she mused. "And the moment that happens, anything of note said between them inevitably makes its way outside the walls of Gringotts and into the halls of the Ministry."

Sirius nodded as his mind conjured up the name of a man who would undoubtedly be one of the first to find out.

Lucius was not the type of person to graciously accept being denied what he wanted.

As soon as he learned he had become Lord Black and that Harry had been named his heir, the man would use whatever means necessary to make sure his son was once again the one to inherit,even if that meant murdering those standing in the way of that.

While I'm relatively safe hidden inside this house, the same can't be said for Harry. Even worse, he's in the middle of a deadly tournament, he reasoned mentally with a grimace. Lucius might not need to do anything at all…

"I wouldn't be too upset about it," Walburga said, having caught his expression. "The information was always going to come out in the end."

"I'm not worried about that information getting out. I'm more worried about Harry," Sirius murmured, rubbing at his face tiredly. "He's already facing huge scrutiny by being the Boy Who Lived and a Triwizard champion, but the moment it becomes known that he's heir to our family, the amount of attention given to him will only grow. Both wanted and unwanted."

"If the boy is able to step into an arena and face a dragon, then I'm sure he's able to handle having a few extra pairs of eyes looking in his direction."

"Those are two wildly different situations."

"Not as much as you think. The way I see it, the only difference between the two is one will have him torn to shreds at the slightest misstep, while the other is capable of breathing fire," Walburga stated. "So long as he displays adaptability and expresses not an ounce of fear, both of which he has already shown himself capable of doing, then your godson should be able to handle it. Although, I must stress that you inform him he is expected to conduct himself in a manner befitting of one belonging to a house as prestigious as ours."

"That…might be asking a bit much of him. He wasn't exactly raised in a household like ours," he said slowly, grimacing when his mother immediately narrowed his eyes at him.

"What do you mean?" she hissed.

"I mean, he was muggle-raised, so I doubt any of the customs we have were passed down to him."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! You cannot be serious?—This is not the time for that idiotic little joke of yours," His mother said severely, having caught the growing smirk on his face. With a scowl forming on her face, she raised a finger at him when he opened his mouth to say it either way. "So, he knows nothing? Nothing about what being an heir entails, nor how it is he should conduct himself?"

Another sharp hiss left his mother's mouth when he shook his head.

"Then, it is his interest, your interest, and the family's interest that he learns."

"I don't think it's necessary—"

"—It absolutely is! You might have been able to abandon all proper conduct befitting of the heir to the House of Black, as well as renounce the responsibilities associated with it, but that is because you had a younger brother who was able to compensate…Your godson does not have that same luxury," Walburga eyed him firmly as a scowl formed on her lips. "I will not have him bring shame upon our family…Send the boy a letter. Demand he come here as soon as possible so that I may begin instructing him."

"You? You're going to teach him?" Sirius questioned with a disbelieving expression on his face before roughly shaking, strongly protesting against the idea of his mother teaching his godson anything. "Absolutely not! I'm not naïve enough to think you wouldn't take the opportunity to instill the same pureblood ideology you tried to impart onto me."

"Please, now, Sirius…Do not let your mistrust toward me cloud your judgment. If I cannot teach him, then who will?"

"I can teach him."

"That's a terrible alternative. Just moments ago, you admitted that your own knowledge is largely lacking," Walburga said with a sneer that contained a mocking quality to it as she used his own words against him. "You are limited in what you can teach him, and for someone in his position, being taught by someone who is limited is far from good enough. He needs proper instruction. He must have it…and I can give it to him."

With his jaw set and with his lips pursed tightly together, Sirius glared at his mother. As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point.

Throughout his youth, he made every effort possible to disregard anything that might cause him to behave like the other members of his family for fear that he would become just like them. Save for a few bits and pieces, he had largely succeeded in these efforts, but at the moment, he was coming to regret not knowing more about what it meant to belong to a family such as theirs.

While Sirius would try his best to teach his godson the little bits of stuff that he knew, the reality was Harry needed to be taught a lot more.

But he still didn't like the idea that his mother would be the one to teach him, and his mind raced as he tried to find another avenue, setting on the only reasonable possibility he could think of.

"Andromeda," Sirius suggested, not surprised to see the manner in which his mother's lips curled in disgust at the name of her disowned niece. "I can always send a letter to her. See if I can convince her to teach him."

"Ah, yes. The idiotic little girl who ran off with her mudblood lover. By all means, see if you can get her to teach your godson everything he needs to know to properly represent the very family she abandoned and almost certainly wants nothing to do with anymore," Walburga said mockingly. "That is, of course, if you can even get her to listen to what a convicted mass murderer has to say."

"She might listen to me…" But even to his ears, those words lacked conviction.

He would be taking a gamble by placing his hopes on getting his cousin to listen to him, much less help him.

While they might have been on friendly terms when they were younger, he doubted that was the case anymore. It honestly wouldn't surprise him to find out she saw him as no different from the rest of their family. Not after he had been carted off to Azkaban for the betrayal of James and Lily, along with the killing of thirteen people.

Of course, he could try his best to explain everything that had happened that night in an attempt to prove his innocence, but the reality was thechances she would believe him based purely on his words were very low.

"Though, maybe if I could get some Veritaserum," Sirius muttered thoughtfully, instantly earning a scoff from his mother.

"Yes, of course, because that's such a simple matter. There are barely a handful of ways you can attain it. All of them involve the Ministry in some capacity, and if they so much as catch a hint you're looking to get that potion, do not doubt they will have a team of Aurors swarming you," she gave him a pointed look when he opened his mouth to speak. "And before you dare to suggest the less…savory routes, I must stress that they pose the very same risks and, in some ways, are far more dangerous."

Sirius stared intently at the portrait of his mother, his jaw set as he tried to figure out a way to dispute her words, a way to convince himself there was another option, only to come up blank.

"It's best you simply accept it," Walburga said firmly, having noticed a resigned expression begin to cross his face. "Whether you like it or not, I'm the best option you have at the moment."

Sirius scoffed at her words as he raised thebottle to his mouth again, only to scowl when nothing graced his lips. That same expression was soon directed towards his mother once he stared at the portrait again.

"…Alright, fine. You can teach him," he eventually muttered, electing to ignore the triumphant look the woman sent him. "There's a small problem though. He's at Hogwarts."

"And?"

"And in case you've forgotten, the castle is up north in the Scottish highlands while we're in London. How do you suppose he gets here?"

"By sending Kreacher to get him."

"Yeah, of course, obviously," Sirius muttered sarcastically as he shook his head. "Two problems with that. One, I don't think he would be all that enthused to carry out that order."

"He will be if I'm the one that tells him to do so."

"And problem number two, he wouldn't be able to get through the wards."

"Oh, he absolutely could get through them. All house elves can," Walburga revealed, a small smirk pulling at her lips when his eyes widened in surprise. "Although, not without the Headmaster immediately becoming aware of it. But I'm not suggesting Kreacher pop into the castle. Instead, the plan would be to have your godson meet him somewhere outside the wards."

"And then Kreacher can bring him here."

"Exactly," his mother nodded. "Now then, start writing the letter informing him of what our plans are. The sooner you send it, the better."

Sirius nodded, but before he could take a single step toward the study room, Kreacher suddenly appeared, wringing his hands together nervously as he glanced at his mother's portrait. The demeanor of the house elf was not lost on the woman, and she instantly made to discover the reason for it.

"What is it, Kreacher?" Walburga asked, scowling at the elf when he hesitated for a second longer than she approved of. "Speak. Or have you suddenly lost the capability to do so?"

"No, mistress. My apologies, mistress," Kreacher said quickly, ducking his head for a moment before glancing between mother and son.

"Kreacher is here to tell you that Master Phineas wishes to talk."

---

Ignoring all those who strove to grab her attention at the Ravenclaw table with well-practiced ease, Fleur kept her focus on eating all of the pain au chocolat that filled her plate.

It was one of the few pastries Hogwarts offered in the morning, which she ordinarily passed up on, but after having faced a dragon yesterday, she felt a treat was in order. They tasted quite good as well, though, in her opinion, they didn't quite measure up to those offered at Beauxbatons. Nor did the cup of coffee just beside her plate provide the same jolt of energy those at her school usually did.

However, Fleur wasn't braving the public eye, the constant gazes she could sense roaming up and down her form simply so she could enjoy some pastries. She had a good reason to be here.

Not for the first time this morning, her blue eyes darted toward the high ceiling in the dining hall, waiting for said reason to arrive.

Any moment now, one of the school owls would swoop down to deliver a much-expected response from her family. A letter that hopefully contained what she had requested. The sooner she had it, the quicker she could start preparing for the Merpeople whoawaited her for the second task, whose involvement hadn't been at all difficult to figure out. In fact, Fleur only needed to hear the screeching, wailing noise being emitted from the golden egg just three times before realizing she recognized the sound.

Several years ago, before she started attending Beauxbatons,her mother and grandmother had taken it upon themselves to teach her everything they knew concerning Veelas. Their qualities, abilities, connection with fire, and vulnerability to water. They taught her all they could, keeping nothing to themselves, and it was upon touching their weakness that they informed her of those who lived underwater. A sentient magical species called Merpeople she was to be watchful of whenever she delved into the large bodies of water.

When Fleur askedwhy, they told her that relations between Merpeople and Veela were quite tense. No better than those they held with wizards, but fortunately, far from thesame level of animosity werewolves and vampires held for oneanother.

And likely never will be, as despite all the disputes merpeople and veela have had over the centuries, big or small, they never regarded her kind as their enemy.

To them, only one being would ever be regarded as such.

A dark and powerful wizard from a bygone era who was said to have committed repulsive and heinous deeds against them. Such deplorable acts that the very mention of them caused the Merpeople to quiver with fury and revulsion.

The name of the wizard was unknown to Fleur, as was to her mother, grandmother, and the rest of the veela. Even elves, giants, vampires, goblins, and every other sentient magical species that existed in the magical world had not asingle clue what their name might have been. As was intended by the Merpeople, who felt the name of such a monster should be forgotten in the sands of time. Only remembered by the horrible crimes they enacted, a constant reminder of the sheer depths that wizardkind would gladly delve into in the pursuit of power.

Whatever other musings or wonderings Fleur might have had over the matter were put aside as, finally, one of the school owls landed right in front of her. Having caught her attention, the bird stuck out a leg to present an envelope toward her, which she quickly grabbed.

Job done, the owl made to depart but not before grabbing a pastry from her plate, a crime that went unnoticed as the French witch was entirely focused on unfolding the envelope before reading the letter.

Fleur scanned the parchment, a soft smile growing on her lips as she read each line written by her mother, Apolline Delacour. First and foremost, the woman who brought her into this world made sure to convey theimmense pride and affection she held for her daughter before confirming what she'd requested had been sent along. She also offered some suggestions for other subjects she couldlook into, which Fleur made sure to commit to memory.

After having read the letter twice over, she brought her wand out to tap asmall flower drawn in the bottom corner of the parchment, which brought forth a tiny blue gift box no bigger than the palm of her hand. With the smile still on her lips, she pulled off the lid before eyeing the spines of the books that had been shrunken to fit inside.

Merrows of the Irish Sea…Selkies Up North…The Lament of Sirens in Ancient Greece, Fleur read in mind, a finger trailing down each title as she did so before placing the lid back in place.

Intent on heading toward the library as early as possible tosearch for those books her mother had recommended, she made to finish her remaining pastries but was stopped from doing so when a voice reached her ears.

"Ah, Miss Delacour, a fine morning, is it not?" A student said from beside Fleur, making her suppress a tiny sigh of annoyance from leaving her lips at having to entertain wholly unwanted company.

It was inevitable, really.

Despite treating those around her coldly and with complete disinterest, and despite her best attempts to appear utterly unapproachable, some idiot was always bound to develop the stupid idea of trying to speak with her.

How annoying. Fleur voiced in her mind just as today's boldest admirer took it upon himself to sit down beside her. This time, she clicked her tongue, a sound which went ignored.

"And yet, it would be better still if it were to be enjoyed amongst company," It was an older student based on the deep voice that spoke. A tiny bit charming, she could admit, which would have at least garnered a glance in his direction if not for the tiniest slur she could detect. As it was, she simply kept her eyes focused on the pastries before her. "It would give me no small amount of joy to be gifted the honor of sharing this morning's meal with you, Miss Delacour, if it's not too much of a bother?"

"It is," Fleur replied simply as she stashed her package in one of her pockets before standing up from the table, paying more of a glance to the uneaten plate of breakfast in front of her than whoever decided to speak.

"What about your breakfast?" The boy asked the moment she turned to leave.

The joyful trill his voice held let her know he was not at all upset by her sudden departure.

In fact, he seemed to take it as an opportunity to let his eyes roam the length of her body, starting from her light blue knitted jumper down to her beige-colored trousers, something that filled her with no small amount of disgust. Discreetly pulling out her wand from her pocket, she angled it behind her back toward her uneaten plate of food, smirking when jam-covered biscuits launched themselves at the boy.

"I'm no longer hungry," Was all she said before leaving him to contend with the culinary onslaught.

With her head slightly upturned and her blue eyes facing straight ahead, Fleur made her way to leave the Great Hall, paying no attention to the hushed murmurs that brushed past her ears from those already seated. Nor did she acknowledge the enamored and lustful stares that started to fall upon her.

To her, it was the norm.

A regular occurrence she had long since grown to accept would always be a facet of her life.

The grace and beauty she inherently possessed ensured that she would always be the center of attention. If she were to walk the halls of the castle, groups of students would part to the sides before her, and they would watch in admiration as she passed them by. If she were to speak, they would listen, enthralled by the sound of her alluring voice, hanging onto every word that slipped past her lips. Anything and everything she did, no matter how unremarkable and mundane it was, would never fail to draw the passionate interest of those captivated by her presence.

All in the hopes that perhaps one day, iffortune favored them, the complete devotion they showed would catch her eye, and she would gift them a smidgen of interest in return.

Which I will never give to just anyone, Fleur stated in her mind, gracefully stepping to the left to avoid the outstretched hand of yet another boy bold enough to test their luck by offering her a rose. She didn't even spare him a glance as she walked by, rolling her eyes when she heard the sound of someone falling over. Especially to those willing to make a fool of themselves just for the sake of impressing me.

Fleur continued toward the entrance hall before making her way up the marble staircase at its center, intent on heading toward the library.

However, for reasons Fleur couldn't quite dare herself to understand, the purposeful strides she was making became more sedate as she approached the second-floor staircase, the final set she would have to climb before reaching her destination. Coming to a stop at the base, her blue eyes drifted away from the sparse students making their way down, focusing instead on a corridor just off to the side. Reasonably normal in all manners, it was a rather unassuming hallway that Fleur wouldn't normally pay a second glance towards. Yet, in this instance, her gaze felt drawn to the path. One she knew would eventually lead her to the infirmary.

Where Harry was at the moment.

Where he would be for the next few days as he recovered from the ordeals of the first task.

To those who passed by on the stairs, if they had dared to step in front of her and examined her face closely, they would have witnessed the stoic expression be slowly replaced by a concerned one. They would have seen how her well-defined jawline became clenched, how her silvery-blonde eyebrows knitted themselves together, and how a corner of her pink lips turned curved downward.

But none were courageous or foolish enough to do so, allowing Fleur to remain unbothered as she stared intently down the hallway.

Unbidden, the thought of checking up on Harry sprang up in her mind, one that unsettled her just a bit. Not because she disliked the thought of it butrather because she found the idea of doing so appealing.

Really appealing.

So much so that Fleur found herself taking her foot off the staircase and turning toward the side corridor with the intent of paying the young man an early morning visit. However, just as she found herself taking forward, a wave of hesitation began to churn in the depths of her stomach, causing her to come to an abrupt halt.

And once she checked how he was doing,then what? Does she leave once she has?

Does she stay?

And if she stays, they'll have to talk, won't they? But about what? The tournament? The first task?

Fleur shook her head at the last one.

While Harry didn't give the sense of someone who would be bothered recounting the details of his ordeal, she didn't think it would be appropriate to bring it up. Not when he was bedbound, with the memory of how he ended up in such a position still fresh in his mind.

So, if anything related to the tournament is out of the question, what does that leave? Fleur reached out to place a hand on the stone railing to the left, her fingers beginning to drum along its surface as she searched her mind for something to talk about.

Something that wouldn't make things uncomfortable or bring the mood down. Nothing too personal, as well. That was to be avoided. It had to be a topic suitable for the moment, something light but not too light, or else things wouldbecome boring.

However, try as she might, Fleur found herself unable to come up with any acceptable ideas. Soon after coming to that realization, she released a huff of frustration before quickly turning around when, once again, someone dared to speak up behind her.

"I understand your frustration, Miss Delacour. It's easy to get lost amongst the many hallways of the castle, especially since a lot of them look the same," A brown-haired, stocky boy said. His name wasunknown to her, and the dazed look plastered across had her quickly deciding it would remain that way. "It would be my pleasure to show you—"

"Not interested," Fleur muttered, stepping past the boy before heading toward the stars she had originally intended to climb, with any plans of visiting Harry put on hold.

"Perhaps another—"

"I still won't be interested."

"Are you—"

The sound of rushed footsteps rang out from behind her, making her quickly put her wand out before pointing it down at the stairs. Wordlessly, she cast a slippery jinx on a couple of steps she hadjust passed before smirking when a loud yelp followed by tumbling reached her ears.

Satisfied at having dealt with the foolish admirer, which she might have used as a target for which to release her frustration, she continued on her way toward the library, much more content.

However, the feeling was short-lived as once Fleur approached the corridor leading to the front entrance of the library, a student rounded the corner, and it took a considerable amount of restraint on her part not to click her tongue at the sight of their bushy hair.

Of all the people who could have rounded the corner, it had to be her.

As if sensing her annoyed gaze, Granger raised her head from where it had been buried in a book concerning the social development of muggles during the twentieth century. Quickly spotting her approaching form, the girl narrowed her eyes at the French witch before wrinkling her nose in contempt as they neared one another.

Expected, really.

The Gryffindor girl had made it abundantly clear yesterday that she did not like her at all. Not one bit. Fleur wouldn't at all be surprised if she detested the very sight of her, especially after having witnessed the friendly manner in which she and Harry had chatted with each other. It must have eaten the girl up inside to stand by and watch as the young man she so obviously fancied talked to a woman as gorgeous as her.

That particular thought made a small smirk stretch across her face, which only made Granger's harsh glare deepen even further.

Normally, Fleur would be able to ignore disdainful looks sent her way easily enough. She had done so plenty of times throughout her years at Beauxbatons. Still, on this occasion, she found herself all too willing to return it in equal measure as they passed one another. Something the girl did not take too kindly to, judging by the way her hands tightened around the edges of the book.

Fully expecting things to escalate, she began to discreetly reach for her wand in preparation. When the expected sound of spell fire did not reach her ears, she glanced behind her, rolling her eyes when she found Granger once again fully engrossed in her textbook.

"What a boring subject to invest your time reading," Fleur muttered, shaking her head at the departing Gryffindor before continuing toward the library.

She had far more important things to do than to concern herself with a jealous little girl.

---

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts

Thursday

November 26th, 1994

During his short stay in the infirmary, Harry had found himself developing a simple routine of sleeping throughout the majority of the day and eating whenever he would wake up.

Simple, yet so utterly boring.

While Harry knew resting as much as he could was the best possible way for his body to recover from the magical exhaustion he had suffered, it was honestly getting quite absurd the number of times he felt himself dozing off throughout the day.

In the two days he had spent bedridden in the infirmary, he was willing to bet he'd only spent about a quarter of it awake.

And yet, what was even more ridiculous was the amount of food he managed to eat whenever he wasn't asleep. It was easily double what he would normally eat, perhaps even triple. The oddity of which had made him slightly concerned before Madam Pomfrey assured him itwas not uncommon to see in those who expended more energy than they were supposed to. That it was simply his body needing the extra nourishment after such a highly strenuous ordeal he had been through.

However, it hadn't escaped his notice the odd look she had sent him after casting what he assumed to be another diagnostic spell. Nor had he completely missed the fact that soon after, she started supplying him with different vials of potions to go along with each meal. When he questioned the reasons for them, she simply explained it was to offer extra aid in his recovery, and having no reason to doubt the woman's words, Harry drank the potions without much fuss before expressing his gratitude when the pangs of hunger lessened in intensity.

Even if he was a bit miffed that the potions had resulted in him sleeping more.

To be honest, if this frequent slumbering had happened at any other point in his life, particularly during his earlier years at Hogwarts, Harry wouldn't have minded so much.

But not anymore. Not after the past month, where the majority of his time was spent preparing for the first task and busying himself with other things.

Nowadays, he rarely allowed himself the luxury of wasting what precious amount of free time he had available, even lessening the amount of time he spent sleeping in the hopes he could get more things done. It was his new norm, one he had grown deeply accustomed to, and this brief break where he was confined to a bed, unable to deal with everything that needed to be dealt with, made him feel frustrated.

"So frustrated…" Harry mumbled, doing hisbest to dispel the fog clouding his awareness as he came to.

Another reason he disliked sleeping so much the past couple of days was how groggily he awoke, usually requiring him to take several moments to begin making sense of his surroundings.

"What is?" Someone asked from his left. Or was it his right?

Harry couldn't quite tell where the high-pitched voice that had reached his ears had come from, making him pause for a split second as he tried to figure that out before quickly realizing a response was still needed.

"…Sleeping…I'm getting…tired of it," he replied, his words a mumbled and garbled mess that, thankfully, the unknown person still seemed to understand.

"Sleeping is important."

"…It's all I've done these past few days while being stuck in here."

"Well, kind of it's expected, no? The Horntail really did a number on you…nearly skewered you to death as well."

"…So?"

"So, you need to rest. Coming within an inch of dying isn't something you can just shrug off as if it were nothing."

"I've been a lot closer to death than that," Harry stated casually as he finally opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he stared up at the ceiling before turning his head to the side where a brunette girl dressed in Slytherin robes was looking at him, her light brown eyes slightly wide.

"I…guess you have a point," she said lowly, her eyes darting up to his forehead for a split second.

For a moment, it looked like she wanted to ask him something, and if he were to guess, probably about that night before shaking her head, thinking better of it. Something he appreciated since it would have been far too personal a question to be asked by someone hehad only met once before.

While the girl took a moment to gather herself, Harry propped himself up against the headrest andreached over to grab hold of his glasses before turning his attention back to the brunette at the sound of her clearing her throat gently.

"Anyway, you might or might not remember who I am, but just in case you don't, allow me to re-introduce myself. I'm—"

"Astoria Greengrass," Harry cut in, a small smile spreading across his face when the girl's face lit up.

"You do remember me!"

"Kind of hard to forget the girl whose first instinct upon seeing a horribly burned arm was to comment on how wicked it was."

A small blush soon accompanied the wide smile that had spread across her cheeks as she remembered that particular detail. However, she pushed past that reminder quickly, turning her nose up as she crossed her arms.

"I distinctly remember amending my statement."

"And I distinctly remember how insincere it sounded," Harry swiftly replied, amusement gracing his face when the girl rolled her eyes.

"Well, excuse me if I was still caught up in the emotion of seeing the state of your arm. It's not often you come across such a thing."

"…How many times have you seen a burned arm?"

"Excluding yours? Never," Astoria answered with a shrug. "But I once saw my mother burn her finger, though I imagine that's hardly anything more than a scratch for someone who jumped through a dragon's flames."

An amused smile stretched across her face when he shook his head with a huff before growing even wider when his stomach rumbled loudly as a familiar pang of hunger once again made itself known to him.

"Sorry. It's been doing that a lot these past two days, to the point Madam Pomfrey has taken to having a tray of food ready for me whenever I wake up," Harry said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly before turning away from the girl to look around the room. A confused expression grew on his face once he became aware that the infirmary was devoid of any other presence save for themselves. Even the woman in charge of the place seemed to be absent. "Where is she, by the way? Is she not here?"

Astoria shook her head.

"Nope. Nowhere in sight, and believe me, I checked every inch of this place. Even her private chambers."

"You went in there?" he asked in slight disbelief, arching an eyebrow.

"Only because I was concerned," the girl defended herself, nodding empathetically for a moment before suddenly snapping her fingers. She pointed at him, a grin growing on her face. "You said Madam Pomfrey brings you a tray of food when you wake up, right?"

"I did."

"Wooden? Four legs? Enough food to feed for four people?"

"…More like three, but yes."

Ignoring the curious look being sent her way, Astoria sprang up from her seat, nearly tripping over the black book bag on thefloor just beside it before all but running toward another area of the infirmary. Just as quickly as she had left, she returned, holding a large tray in her arms and not an ounce of strain on her face despite the huge amounts of food she was carrying.

"Thank Merlin, there's probably a feather-light charm placed on it. I don't think I'd have been able to bring this to you if there wasn't," she said before placing the tray down on his lap. "I do believe this is yours."

A bit taken aback by the girl's unexpectedly kind gesture, Harry could only manage a quiet "thank you" as he looked at the food in front of him.

Astoria simply waved it off before placing a finger up to her chin, a thoughtful expression settling upon her face.

"Just wanted to help. No big deal, really. Although…" Her voice trailed off as she started making her way back to her seat, grabbing her bag on the floor before pulling out a book from within. "If you feel like repaying this small, tiny favor I just did for you, I wouldn't be at all opposed to receiving an autograph from you in return."

Instantly realizing her gesture may not have been as selfless as he assumed, Harry narrowed his eyes at Astoria, who simply shrugged with a grin. Yet, despite coming to that realization, he couldn't quite prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards. A detail the brunette quickly noticed, which made her smile grow even wider.

Honestly, by all rights, Harry should have been annoyed at her, but the manner in which the girl had gone about garnering an autograph from him and the fact that she was so unashamed about it made it hard to hold any ill will towards Astoria. Plus, he couldn't help but see the faintest resemblance this scenario had to something he had done to Vernon years ago when he tried to gethis Hogsmeade permission slip signed.

There were key differences, of course. In his case, he had not so subtly threatened to make his uncle's life inconvenient, whereas Astoria had acted first, easing his troubles in a small way so as to make him feel indebted to her.

While different methods were used, the idea behind them is the same. Get the signature we want, Harry thought as he held a hand.

With a pleased expression on her face, Astoria opened the book to a specific page before placing it in his hand. Finding an open area on his lap to lay it on, he raised a curious eyebrow towards the girl once he saw the various moving images of a Hungarian Horntail dominating the parchment. At first glance, the dragon appeared to be the same one he had faced only days prior, but a more thorough look revealed thatthis one was much smaller in size.

"Initially, I wanted to have your autograph on the paper the Daily Prophet sent out the day after the first task, but every single picture they had of the champions was either of them getting hurt or screaming out in pain," she mentioned while presenting him with a self-inking quill. "Well, almost every single one. Diggory's were a bit better, but that's not surprising since his turn inside the arena was more straightforward."

The latter part of her statement made Harry pause just as he placed the tip of the quill on the parchment. He nodded slowly and filed away that piece of info before focusing on the first part of what she said.

"You don't give the impression of someone who minds the more gruesome sights."

"I don't. Not really, but if I'm going to have a keepsake of such a memorable event like the Triwizard Tournament, I'd rather it be a bit more pleasing to the eye."

"Good point," Harry replied. "So, anything in particular you want me to write?"

"Just my name is fine, and nothing too formal. I'm not much for that sort of thing."

Harry proceeded to write down his signature, taking extra care to make sure his penmanship was as good as possible and finishing with a flourish. He handed the book back to the girl, who clutched it close to her chest gratefully before the pair's attention was suddenly diverted toward the front of the infirmary by the sound of the doors parting open. Madam Pomfrey soon stepped past the entrance and into their view, with a small wooden case following along in the air just behind her as she strolled deeper into the infirmary.

"Ah, Miss Greengrass, you're here a fair bit earlier than I expected," the woman remarked once she caught sight of the brunette sitting by his bedside before coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. The woman's eyes passed over the tray on Harry's lap briefly before settling upon the younger girl again. "In fact, a lot earlier. I'm quite used to seeing you rushing into the infirmary just before curfew."

"I wouldn't call it rushing, per se. More like striding into the infirmary with a purpose."

"If the purpose is to trip over your own two feet and stumble onto the floor, then I suppose you have a point," Madam Pomfrey said with a twinge of amusement entering her voice.

A feeling shared by Harry as a smile stretched across his face, one Astoria spotted before staunchly avoiding his gaze as she rushed to defend herself.

"That only happened once!"

"My memories from the previous year beg to differ."

"Itonly happened once this year, and that was during the first week of term. It hasn't happened since then."

"A noticeable improvement to how it was before, which I am pleased to have noticed, and no doubt your sister was as well. The frequency with which you ended up sprawled on top of the floor had started to make the pair of us concerned."

Astoria huffed as she crossed her arms.

"Daphne's always concerned, and I doubt that's going to change anytime soon…If ever," she grumbled, a tiny bit of annoyance slipping into her voice before catching sight of him looking at the pair curiously, opening her mouth to elaborate. "My older sister. She's a fourth year, just like you, and is always keeping an eye on me. Always worried about me. Always reminding me of the things I need to do, nagging me about this and that."

Unsure of how to respond to the girl divulging that information to him, Harry simply acknowledged her words with a hesitant nod as he recalled a memory from earlier in the month. One in which he remembered being down in the dungeons, where he had come across Astoria and a taller, likely older blonde girl he vaguely recognized. However, before he could consider asking if said girl might have been the sister being spoken of, he was robbed of the chance of doing so when Madam Pomfrey spoke up again.

"Your sister has her reasons for fretting over you and only has your best interests in mind."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I don't find it annoying sometimes."

"And you're allowed to feel such a way so long as you never allow it to fester into anything more than that," Madam Pomfrey said lowly before switching her focus towards Harry, who had started to fidget a bit as a result of the conversation started to venture into more personal matters. Some of that discomfort must have shown on his face as the healer sent him an apologetic look. "But enough of that. I'm sure Mister Potter here has no desire to continue hearing about your sisterly troubles."

"I do feel like I shouldn't be hearing any of it. Feels like I'm intruding on something personal," Harry stated, earning a small wince from the brunette, whose earlier bit of annoyance had already vanished entirely.

"Oh, I guess you would feel like that. Sorry. Sometimes, I forget myself and start babbling about things that should be kept private, especially when I'm comfortable."

"And there's nothing really wrong with that. Just, you know, keep in mind I'm practically a stranger."

"I wouldn't exactly say you were a stranger…I do know you're name."

"Everybody knows my name."

"…sounded a bit pretentious there."

"My point still stands."

"Fine…" Astoria stretched out the word, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner before eventually grinning at him. "So, at what point is itacceptable for me to start pouring my heart out to you?"

"Preferably once we've known each other a bit longer," Harry told her with a small shake of the head before suppressing a yawn, earning a glance from Madam Pomfrey, who had been watching the pair silently.

"So, not now?"

"Considering this only the second time we've spoken, no. Not now."

"Right, should wait until thethird time we speak to one another."

"That's still far too early."

"Fourth?"

"By that point, you can consider us acquaintances."

"But I already consider us acquaintances," Astoria murmured to him as she crossed her arms before pouting slightly at him. "Are you saying you still see me as nothing more than a complete stranger?"

Harry simply blinked at the girl, once again caught a bit off guard at the blunt way she had posed the question, as well as the manner in which she was gazing at him vulnerably. While he knew the girl was simply faking the emotion, he still struggled to find the right words to say that wouldn't be considered too harsh. Thankfully, and much to his relief, he was saved from having to do so by the woman standing at the foot of the bed.

"Do not bother responding, Mister Potter. I speak from experience when I say she's merely trying to put a spin onyour words and use them in her favor…Despite her age and her antics, she's fairly capable of doing so," Madam Pomfrey advised, allowing him the time to regather his composure. "Best you keep your wits about you whenever she's around."

Harry nodded at the woman's advice before giving the second year a pointed look, smiling in amusement when an innocent expression crossed Astoria's face. "Believe me, I'm quickly realizing that."

"Is that so? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you have. You are rather quick in picking up on things," Madam Pomfrey said, easily spotting their quick exchange as her brows knitted together slightly before turning to give the girl a scrutinizing look. "I hope she hasn't given you too much trouble?"

"Not at all," Harry replied truthfully, earning a pleased look from Astoria. "In fact, she's been a nice change of pace after the slog the past few days have been, and even did me the favor of bringing this tray of food to me."

A look of understanding graced the healer's face at his words.

"Ah, so that's how you managed to retrieve your meal. I last recall leaving it in my chambers, and I started to suspect that you hadgone to get it yourself…I am pleased that wasn't the case. Otherwise, youwould have done nothing but prolong your stay in the infirmary for disobeying my instructions to remain in bed. As well as earned yourself a harsh scolding," she told him firmly before switching her attention back toward Astoria. "Something you have just barely managed to avoid as well, Miss Greengrass. I've told you plenty of times not toenter my chambers."

"Well, you can hardly blame me for doing so when the door was wide open. I was all but being beckoned inside."

"That still isn't an invitation. The only reason you're not being given a stern talking-to at this very moment is because you went in there to get Mister Potter's food."

"An entirely selfless act which I did purely out of the immense kindness I possess and not for any ulterior motives," Astoria stated deeply as she clutched the book still held in her arms a bit tighter to her chest before gracing the woman with an innocent smile when the healer's eyes narrowed just a tad.

An act that made Harry smirk before smothering it a split second later when the older woman's sharp gaze shifted over in his direction.

"And anyway," the girl continued to speak, drawing the attention of the matron back onto her. "If you really didn't want me going in there, then you would have placed some protections at the door. Like Professor Snape does."

"I just might start doing so, if nothing else, to keep a certain Slytherin from entering without permission."

"That's a bit drastic, don't you think? Daphne hasn't done anything wrong."

"I meant you," Madam Pomfrey said, a sigh ofexasperation leaving her when the brunette smiled innocently at her.

"You know, I'm starting to get the impression you're quite the troublemaker, Astoria," Harry couldn't help but chime in, making the girl wave in the air dismissively.

"I would argue against that label. I'm nothing if not a well-mannered and proper daughter of the House of Greengrass."

"And I would consider that description a stretch," Madam Pomfrey said lightly. "At the best of times, you're a handful and an outright menace at the worst, Miss Greengrass."

Instead of taking offense at the woman's words, Astoria simply gave her a smile, which grew wider still when the healer let out another sigh.

After taking a moment to shake her head at the girl's expression, Madam Pomfrey brought out her wand and, with a simple flick of it, made the box still floating behind her come to the forefront. It drifted over the bed slowly, past the brunette at his side, who was eyeing it with an odd expression before settling down on top of the drawers by Harry's bedside.

"Uhm…are those not mine?" Astoria asked softly as she stared at the potions.

"No. These ones right here are his…These are yours."

One more flick of her wand in the direction of her chambers accompanied Madam Pomfrey's words, and a moment later, a second box soared gently toward them before coming to a stop just in front of the second year.

After carefully tucking her newly autographed book into her bag, which soon went over her shoulder, Astoria reached out to grab hold of the wooden container floating tight before her. Staring at it, her eyes shifted toward Harry and the box resting on top of the drawer just beside him, and for a second, it seemed as though she was on the verge of saying something, but instead, she chose to offer him a smile. One that no longer held any hint of mischief but instead carried a small bit of what Harry would best describe as satisfaction. Or perhaps, happiness?"

"I think I should start heading back…I don't want Daphne to begin worrying over where I am," Astoria announced, turning to give Madam Pomfrey a small wave before doing the same to him. "Take care, Harry."

The pair of them returned the gesture before watching silently as thegirl began making her way to leave, and once her steps faded off into the distance, Harry shifted his attention from the doors to the tray of food still resting on his lap. He picked up the utensils and went to start eating while spotting out the corner of his eye that Madam Pomfrey had started to make her way closer, stopping just in front of the drawers before tapping the box with her wand.

In an instant, the cover panned upwards, allowing a three-layered rack to expand and revealing the multitude of potion vials it held that numbered around the thirties.

Having been just about to bring a spoonful of a delicious-looking shepherd's pie up to his mouth, Harry stopped to look at the potions in confusion. An expression the woman quickly picked up on as she pulled out a yellowish vial from the rack along with a light blue one.

"Best you start familiarizing yourself with these, Mister Potter. Even after I deem you've recovered adequately enough to leave the infirmary, you'll be taking them regularly for the foreseeable future," Madam Pomfrey announced as she opened the vials before handing them over to him.

Harry's lips stretched themselves into a thin line, though he still grabbed the vials being extended towards him before pouring the liquids down his throat one after another. But after masking the foul taste of the potions with a spoonful of shepherd's pie, he gave the woman a questioning look.

"Okay…but why? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, there is nothing wrong with you. If there were, I would hardly be allowing you to leave now, would I?...Now, your recovery is going along nicely, and in an ideal world, you wouldn't have a need for these potions past tomorrow. Still, things are a bit…unusual in your case," Madam Pomfrey explained, and at the sight of his brows scrunching together, strove to alleviate any worry he might have felt. "Though it's nothing to be truly concerned about, I assure you."

Harry nodded in understanding, his attention completely on the woman even as he started to eat. While his instinct was to immediately ask what she meant by 'unusual,' he managed to stop himself from blurting out his question.

His restraint earned him an appreciative nod from the woman before she pursed her lips together and mulled over her words before continuing a few moments later.

"You've exhausted yourself, Mister Potter. Physically pushed beyond your limits and expended far more magic than you ideally should have to the point of magical exhaustion. When that happens, it is expected thatyou rest as much as possible so as to allow your body and your magic the proper time to recover. A simple remedy, yes, but it is the best and safest way. And it's what I had you doing these past couple of days…However, I've noticed, as I'm sure you most certainly have as well, that you've done very little other than sleep and eat."

"You just said it was expected."

"It is expected, but only up to acertain point. You're falling into a deep sleep numerous times throughout the day, and when you wake up, it is simply because you are hungry. And these meals you're eating are hardly small, might I add. There's enough food on that tray of yours to feed four students," Madam Pomfrey stated, gesturing to the food on said tray, which was already about a fourth of the way finished. "Again, this is multiple times throughout the day. I wouldn't be at all shocked to find out you've ended up eating more than a week's worth of food in a matter of two days."

"That is odd, I'll admit," Harry murmured, eyeing the amount of food still on the tray for a second. "But couldn't it just bebecause I'm still growing? You know, puberty?"

While it had been a few years since what he could now consider to be his first round of puberty, Harry still remembered pangs of hunger that would hit him during his early teens and the increase in the amount of food he would eat throughout the day.

Though it wasn't exactly to this extent, Harry thought before focusing his attention on the woman beside himwhen she made to reply.

"It would be a reasonable explanation, and it was my first thought as well. Therefore, I've been checking your height and weight frequently since the moment I noticed the oddity…I can say with certainty that you're having a growth spurt."

Harry nodded, believing that was enough of an explanation forwhy he'd been eating so much before eyeing Madam Pomfrey with a curious look when she continued to stare at him seriously.

"However, Mister Potter, while I would normally brush off the sight of a boy still in the midst of puberty eating vast amounts of food as nothing truly noteworthy, in your case, I am hesitant to believe that's all there is to it," she said as she brought out her wand before running down the length of his body. As she brought it back towards her, a series of blue numbers flashed in the air for a split second, the sight of which made Madam Pomfrey frown. "For the simple reason that since the beginning of your stay here, you've managed to grow a little over four inches taller and weigh about thirty pounds heavier."

Harry's eyes widened in shock at her words before quickly darting towards his body, scrutinizing every part of himself he could see with disbelief.

Based on what she had just told him, he would now stand at five feet and ten inches, the same height he had held near the end of hissixth year at Hogwarts. However, in contrast to that time, he was more filled out andnot as slender as before.

Yet, as far as he could tell as he examined himself, he appeared just the same as he had a few days ago.

It wasn't until he lifted his arms slightly into the air in front of him, rotating his wrist as his fingers folded and unfolded, that he noted they felt a tiny bit cumbersomeas if the digits were not quite his own anymore. If he hadn't been concentrating so intensely at the moment, he doubted he would have noticed, but since he was, the oddness now stood out like a sore thumb.

"But…how?" he eventually whispered as he turned back to the healer, beginning to get over the initial shock.

"I am…uncertain," Madam Pomfrey admitted, sighing softly when his eyes narrowed in confusion. "Of course, I have some ideas. A handful of theories that could possibly explain why you've grown so much in such a very short span of time, but all of which I've been forced to discard since each one typically carries rather noticeable signs…Well, all save one, but it's a theory I have trouble coming to terms with since it involves accepting the idea that your magic has decided toact of its own accord to an extent far beyond the norm."

A thoughtful look made its way across Harry's face at her words as the idea of believing his magic just acted by itself didn't seem that farfetched.

"Like accidental magic?" he asked.

"In some ways, yes, although I'm not wholly satisfied categorizing it as such…But pushing that matter aside for the moment, as I'm sure you're aware, cases of accidental magic typically happen when one is experiencing a powerful emotion. In most cases, that is fear or anger, and it needs to be felt with such great intensity that one's magic is compelled to react. A measure of self-preservation, something I will touch upon again in a bit," she explained, earning an immediate nod from him as all of this he already knew. Seeing thathe was following along easily enough, the woman continued to speak. "However, in your case, I do not believe there was ever a moment where you might have felt an emotion strong enough to evoke a response from your magic. At least, not while you've been in the infirmary these past couple of days."

"But on the day of the first task…" Harry mused, understanding what the woman was suggesting and earning a nod from her as she picked up where he left off.

"But on the day of the first task, I imagine things were completely different…If there were ever a moment where you might have experienced such profound emotions, I'd wager it would have been while you were in the arena with a monstrous dragon bearing down on you," Madam Pomfrey told him before arching an eyebrow when he pursed his lips tightly together in response. "Is that not the case?"

"No, no, it's just I need to point out that I wasn't really focusing on what I was feeling while down arena. I was occupied with other things at the time…Most of the emotions I experienced, like fear, would have happened while I was still in the tent waiting to be called," he clarified before rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly once he recalled a small detail. "Which, uh, I might have left in a mess once I was summoned."

"Ah, so that was your doing. I'll have you knowthatthe ministry workers were caught by surprise to see the state of the tent and try as they might, they were unable to determine the cause of it…I believe they had started to consider the possibility thatthe champions had gotten into a bit of a tussle."

"There wouldn't have been much of a tent left standing if that had happened," Harry added with a small grin, earning a faint one in return.

"I suppose not…But anyway, whether you had been in a heightened state of emotion before or during the first task doesn't truly matter. You still felt them, and my theory is the intensity of your emotions provoked your magic to react."

A considering look appeared on Harry's face for a brief moment as hemulled over her words, and only a few seconds later did he pose the first questions that had sprung up within his mind.

"But why react way after the fact? Why wouldn't it have done so while I was facing the Horntail?"

"Who's to say it didn't?" the woman suggested softly, stopping him short and making his eyebrows furrow themselves closely together. "Who's to say your magic wasn't already taking action before you had even stepped foot into the arena but in a manner entirely unknown to you? Doing whatever it could to make sure you survived your encounter with the dragon?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue against the idea before stopping himself short. He stared at the woman at his bedside for a moment, who seemed to understand he was considering her words before turning his attention toward the tray over his lap. His eyes settled upon a bowl of stew, but his gaze was distant as he tried to remember all that transpired while down in the arena, searching for any moments that stood out among a sea of events. And he found them. Two moments, to be precise. In amongst the flurry of activity the first task had been, they were hardly noteworthy. But in isolation, and with him searching for any hint, any impression that would indicate his magic was working behind the scenes, the two memories earned his attention.

The first one that appeared in his head was of himself pacing back and forth aggressively inside the tent with his magic pulsing along in an agitated manner, to the point thatthe furniture that had been inside started to rise into the air. The second memory was of his body being driven into the ground by the Horntail's spiked tail.

Or better yet, the moments right after when he had been lying on the rubble as sheer agony ripped through his body.

Perhaps Harry was seeing things that weren't there, but the manner in which he had mustered up thestrength to raise himself and the way his mind had cleared at the taste of his blood stuck out to him.

Now, he had a great tolerance for pain, and perhaps the robes gifted to him by Salazar played a part in minimizing the force of the attack but being able to continue the first task after suffering such a monstrous strike was an incredible feat. The feat became borderline absurd when he took into consideration the number of wounds he had sustained from that singular blow, the severity of whichhe had only become aware of after the fact.

"There was a moment during the first task where the Horntail drove her tail into me and dragged me along the ground," Harry started to say, his voice low and distant but still loud enough to reach the healer's ears, who grimaced. "I remember lying on the ground in so much pain, hardly able to think, let alone move, and yet somehow, I managed to pull myself up only a few moments later…As if nothing had happened."

"A testament to your resilience, pushed along by your magic wanting to help in your most dire moments," Madam Pomfrey murmured. "Truly remarkable what our magic is capable of doing when seeking to ensure our survival."

"Self-preservation," he added, earning a pleased nod from the woman before a curious expression crossed his face. "All right, so my magic in some way tried to ensure I survived, but that doesn't explain why I'vesuddenly grown so much in just two days."

Madam Pomfrey nodded in understanding.

"I cannot say for certain why that's happened. I can only share with you my own theory, which requires a bit of open-mindedness to even consider," she said to him. "I believe your magic is still acting as if your life is in danger, and in wanting to make sure you survive, has decided tomassively accelerate your growth."

Harry's face morphed into one of confusion.

"But my life's not in danger."

"Not at present, no, but you need to remember that you're still in the midst of the Triwizard Tournament, and until it concludes, your life will remain in danger," Madam Pomfrey said severely, making him grimace at the reminder. "And I'm of the thought that your magic in some way understands this."

"Then, if that were the case, why aren't the other champions experiencing something similar? Their lives are also in danger."

"They are, but there is a key difference to consider. You are still in the midst of growing and will be for a few more years, while the other three are young adults who have already gone through the majority of their growth."

"Still…I'm not claiming to be an expert or anything of the sort, but I do know someone doesn't stop growing at seventeen. There's still a bit left to do."

"You are correct in that regard, but if their magic felt compelled to act in the same manner at their age, it would do far more harm than good," she told him in a serious tone before taking a moment to gather her words. "One's body, along with their magic, aretheirs and theirs alone. Upon a wizard or witch's birth, they are intertwined, growing in tandem with one another until they reach maturity. It is essential that they do because if, at any point during their growth, they fall out of sync, one's magic risks becoming destabilized. A risk that grows the closer to maturity one gets, and with that in mind, I would consider you to be quite fortunate. If there were ever a reasonable safe point where this might happen, it would be at your age."

Harry nodded as he took in her explanation, finding no reason to dispute the words of ahealer who possessed more knowledge concerning the relation between body and magic than he did. For as much as he felt he knew about the working of magic, there were still some matters, some pieces of information he'd yet to come across.

Although, there was a niggling at the back of his mind that there wasanother part at play. Another aspect that was failing to be considered, and it wasn't until he started perusing all that he knew about magic that he finally recalled something he had asked Salazar earlier in the month.

He had presented the question differently soas not to draw suspicion, but the concept of it had remained based on the thought of a younger body holding more magic than it was meant to.

A fact that hadn't changed since then.

And if he were to factor in Madam Pomfrey's theory for his sudden growth, it's feasible that his magic did not accelerate it due to themortal peril the tournament presented but because it required a body that was far more suitable.

Or perhaps it's both. One reason tied with the other…or maybe it's neither, and we're both wildly off the mark, Harry voiced within his mind, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands as just wondering about the behavior of magic made his head begin to hurt.

A tired sigh left him as he brought his hands back down, which earned him a concerned look from the woman beside him.

"Sorry…just….the idea of my magic being capable of something like that just seems so…"

"Outside the realm of possibility. I know. I struggle to wrap my head around such a concept as well, but one must always remember they are dealing with magic. Despite everything we know or claim to know about this energy, there are still vast amounts we still do not understand. Perhaps some of it we never will, and striving to understand the entirety of its nature is a fruitless endeavor," Madam Pomfrey said gently. "But again, I must stress the fact that this is all speculation on my part, and in no way is it concrete. I might be wrong, or I might be right. Either way, there's not much we can do at the moment but let it run its course and aid your growth with a supply of potions."

"I understand," Harry murmured with a nod, his expression one of deep thought which remained in place long after he was left alone to eat in peace.

---

A/N:

Right, first off, sorry for the delay in updating. I had every intention of uploading it at the start of the month, but there were some parts of this chapter that I wasn't satisfied with. Mainly the section with Fleur, which was rewritten, and the one with Sirius and Walburga.

The one with Fleur originally involved her visiting her family back in France, and while she was there, shewould come across something that would become important later on. That was changed entirely, mainly because the whole thing was approaching 7000 words with a lot left to write. It's way too long for a scene that would simply plant an important detail. Of course, it would also introduce other characters, but having them brought in wasn't really important at the time.

The one with Sirius and his mother was changed slightly, mainly the interaction they had with one another. The original piece had them behaving somewhat friendlier with each other, which I felt didn't properly convey the strained and complex relationship they have.

That's the explanation I can give you for the extra time it took to update. Hopefully, the next one is a bit easier to write.

Anyway, I just want to thank all those who follow, favorite, and comment on the story. The fact that people like what I'm writing makes me happy and serves as anencouragement to work on the next chapter.

Take care. Peace.