Harry –

School is going ok. It's weird trying to make new friends at this age. When I was younger, people seemed so much more willing to make new connections. Now everyone already has their cliques, it's like they have a team number limit and aren't accepting new applications. I spent the first few lunches alone, but I've now met Francine in Maths and we sit together.

Dad has been doing ok. He has been spending sometime out in the garden. It's so good to see him up and about. But it doesn't happen every day. I'm trying really hard to not get too hopeful when I see him more active, because sure enough an hour later he's asleep on the sofa when all he did was hang up the wash.

I found mum crying upstairs by mistake. She's been so strong through this, you wouldn't have even known there was anything wrong. Harry, seeing her like that was scary. Parents are supposed to have their shit together. It's only when it's really bad that they break down like that.

I don't know what to do. I know you don't either. I hope it's ok that I continue to vent.

Please keep me posted about how you're doing too – are you in any clubs? How are classes? Is it nice to be with your friends again?

– Ava

Harry stood on the Quidditch field, leaning against his broom and doing his best to avoid making eye contact across the pitch at Ron, who was lined up with the other wannabe keepers. Angelina was talking to them, but they were far enough away that Harry couldn't hear about what.

"Another Weasley, eh?" Katie Bell said. "I'd think we had enough as is."

"Hey!" Fred said indignantly. "You can never have too many Weasleys!"

"That's what your mum must've thought," Alicia sniggered. George tried to whack her with his broom.

"Do we know if the other tryouts any good?" Harry asked.

"I think Vicky Frobisher is supposed to be quite good," Katie said. "But I haven't seen her play for myself."

"What about Ron?" Alicia asked.

"He can be good," Fred said hesitantly. "But he can also be… not so good."

"He does look quite green," George said, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the evening sunset. "Not a great start."

Harry wished he could disagree, but even from a distance, Ron looked slightly ill.

"Don't bug him while he's flying," Harry warned. "Ginny told me about how scrimmages with you two usually go."

"We might have fun winding him up, but heisour brother," George said.

"Yeah, we do want him to be successfulsometimes," said Fred. "And better that he's a Quidditch star than a prefect." Both of the twins pulled a face at each other at this.

At this moment, Angelina blew her whistle and waved the rest of the team over. After briefly introducing the team members to the recruits, she sent them all up into the air for laps around the pitch. It was a smart first task, as it quickly became apparent that not everyone trying out had spent much time on a broom before. Quentin Wallick was able to only make one slow, shaky flight around the pitch before touching down and dismissing himself. Fiona Gallante did better, but refused to fly more than a few meters off the ground ("I'm sorry, Fiona, you can't be keeper if you can'tat leastfly to the same height of the hoops, what did you expect?").

Next were some basic passes. Angelina watched as quaffles were passed back and forth between recruits and team members. A short second year Harry didn't recognize fumbled the quaffle, and rather than chasing after it, let it fall back down to the pitch.

"Why didn't you try to recover?" Angelina asked, but the boy merely turned bright red before descending and stepping off his broom. She sighed.

"Show some confidence, everyone!" She called before blowing her whistle. "Everyone except chasers touch down, Frobisher, you're in hoops first."

Harry watched from the sidelines with Fred and George as Angelina, Katie, and Alicia all took shots at Vicky. She did a fairly good job blocking, only missing after a particularly skillful maneuver on Alicia's part. Geoffrey Hooper was up in the air next, and he did even better – unlike Vicky, he didn't just block the shots but actually caught them before sending them back to a different team member. Harry could see Ron down the sideline, watching intently and fidgeting with the end of his school-loaned broom, breaking off bits of it. Harry assumed it hadn't been intentional, but having Ron go last really probably wasn't the best for him.

When Ron's turn finally came, his ascent to the hoops was a shaky one at best. As he positioned himself, he started drifting unintentionally, and Angelina had to ask him a few times to recenter himself.

"I can't watch this," Fred groaned looking down.

"He can do it," Harry said, trying to sound confident.

The chasers flew to the middle of the pitch, and then began flying up the field. Angelina passed to Katie, Katie to Alicia, Alicia back to Katie, a throw at the hoops – and straight over Ron's shoulder. The twins groaned again, turning away once more. Ron zoomed down, caught the quaffle before it hit the grass, and then zoomed back to the hoops, ears bright red.

"C'mon Ron!" Harry shouted, clapping his hands. "You've got this!"

Ron gave a sheepish nod before throwing the quaffle back to Katie. Although the twins spent more time looking at their shoes than the sky, Harry stared up determinedly. The longer Ron was in front of the hoops, the better he flew. The last several attempts on goal he blocked successfully, even catching one that Alicia tried to fake him out on.

At the end, Ron flew down and quickly joined the other recruits, not making eye contact with anyone.

"The keeper position will get picked and posted by tomorrow morning," Angelina said, also landing. "Check the noticeboard. Thanks everyone for trying out."

The group began to disperse. Fred went over and clapped Ron on the back before heading to the locker room with George. Ron's eyes were still stuck on his shoes.

"You did great," Harry said, walking over. Ron scoffed. "You did, er, you did alright."

"There's no way that I made the team," Ron sighed.

"You don't know that yet, you had some really good saves there."

"Yeah," Ron laughed. "Between the complete misses. I'm going to go get showered."

Harry paused, watching Ron drag his feet towards the locker room. He was about to follow when –

"Hey, Harry!" Angelina called. "Could you go round the field and collect the last of the extra quaffles? I think we might have missed a few."

"Sure," Harry said. He got on his broom and kicked off from the ground, flying low around the pitch. Sure enough, there were a handful of quaffles laying forgotten near the hoops. Harry landed and began to collect them.

Just as he bent forward and touched the leather of the quaffle, a sharp pain zapped through his head. Harry let out a gasp, slapping his palm to his forehead as the pain expanded. It felt like a burning hot knife was being driven into his skull and turned from side to side. Harry fell to his knees, scrunching his eyes closed as blackness threatened to cloud his vision, hissing in pain. His ears became muffled, all he could hear was static. As quickly as the pain had flooded him, it abated. He lay bent over, his face in the grass, breathing heavy, shallow breaths. A sudden flash went through his mind – a dark sky, jagged broken gravestones – as another prickle of pain shot through his scar. Harry's thoughts raced. What was going on? His scar had been prickling on and off ever since Voldemort's return, but this? Such an acute attack?

"Harry?!"

The world was becoming less muffled, his hearing was returning. He realized as he opened his eyes he was no longer wearing his glasses. Feeling around in the grass, Harry could not find where they had fallen to.

"Harry!" Angelina knelt down next to him, her hand on his shoulder. "What happened? Are you ok?"

"Yeah – do you see my glasses?"

Harry felt the cold metal frames press into his hand, he quickly returned the glasses to his face.

"What happened?" Angelina repeated, her concerned face swimming into focus.

"I – I'm not sure," Harry said, still feeling shaky from the sudden pain. His mind was still swimming with possibilities. Was Voldemort nearby? He looked over his shoulder around the deserted pitch, but saw nothing.

"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey – " Angelina said, standing quickly.

"No, really, I'm fine – "

"You arenot– "

"Seriously, Angelina," Harry insisted, slowly getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his knees. "I – I just miscalculated when I was landing and fell over."

Angelina frowned. Harry did think it was a weak excuse for why he would be curled up on the ground, but he didn't have any other explanation. He certainly wasn't going to share what had actually happened with her.

"Gotta be more careful," she said finally, summoning the quaffles from the ground and picking up Harry's broom. "Let me just bring things back to the shed and then I'll walk up with you to the Tower."

"No, really," Harry said, taking his broom back from Angelina. "I'm fine, I can walk up on my own."

Angelina's eyes narrowed before she headed off the pitch towards the supplies shed. "If I find you collapsed somewhere between here and the common room, you're off the team!"

"Got it!" Harry called back, walking towards the locker rooms. Once he had returned his Firebolt to his locker and tossed his Quidditch gear in too, he gathered up his bag and ran out in the direction of the castle. Harry didn't know what this pain in his scar had meant – but it had always been before some kind of warning. Usually that danger was incredibly near. He couldn't not react to it with this kind of knowledge. He had to find Dumbledore and let him know. He would know what to do.

Scrambling up the front steps as quickly as possible, Harry jogged through the empty halls, headed for Dumbledore's office. It felt like it had taken him forever to reach the gargoyle, but eventually it came into view.

"Lemon drop!" Harry practically shouted, skidding to a halt in front of it. The gargoyle did not move. "Licorice wand! Chocolate frogs!"

"What is all this yelling?" A voice snarled from behind him. Harry whirled around, coming face to face with hooked nose of Professor Snape.

"I need to speak to Dumbledore."

"You can make an appointment at an appropriate hour," Snape said.

"I need to speak to himnow," Harry insisted.

"How arrogant that you believe that your schedule is more urgent than the Headmaster's," Snape sneered. "Get to bed, now, before I take points from Gryffindor."

"It's not – I don't think – " Harry spluttered. "It's not about me!"

"I'm glad to hear you have finally realized this for yourself, Potter, nowget to bed!"

"Professor – !"

At that moment, the gargoyle came to life, leaping out of the way and a spiral staircase unfolded in the alcove. Without thinking, Harry jumped forward and began taking the steps two at a time.

"Potter! Get back here!" Snape shouted, following behind him. Harry turned back, seeing the blur of Snape close on his heels – and almost ran straight into Dumbledore. Coming to a faltering halt, Harry looked up the Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore – " Harry said, wheezing with effort.

"What is the meaning of all of this shouting?" Dumbledore asked, looking over Harry's shoulder at Professor Snape, who had stopped a few steps behind Harry.

"I caught Potter out of bed," Snape answered sharply.

"No, that's not – " Harry started, but Dumbledore held up a hand, his eyes still on Snape.

"Thank you, Severus, I will take it from here," he said calmly. Snape's eyes narrowed, but he didn't bother arguing. He turned on his heel and descended the stairs. Dumbledore turned and walked back up the last few steps and into his office. Harry paused for a moment before walking in after him.

Dumbledore's office was more cluttered than usual. There had always been interesting trinkets and instruments adorning side tables and shelves, between stacks and stacks of leather-bound books. But now his usually clear desk was covered in parchment and open books. Piles of books seemed to sit in every corner. Fawkes was dozing, looking relatively withered, in her cage.

Dumbledore took a sea, summoning a teacup and tea pot from across the room. It hovered over and pour a steaming cup of what smelled like lavender tea.

"Now," Professor Dumbledore said, sitting down in a purple high-backed desk chair and taking his teacup into his hands. "What is it, Harry?"

"Sir," Harry said, swallowing hard, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs in front of his desk. "I was out, on the Quidditch pitch, just after practice. Everyone else had gone. I was just collecting the quaffles, and then – my scar hurt."

"Your scar hurt?" Dumbledore repeated. It almost felt mocking the way he said it back to him. Harry felt frustration well in his chest. Why wouldn't he look at him?

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "A lot – as much as when, when I was, when I was in, when… last year."

"When you were in the graveyard," Dumbledore finished. Harry nodded.

"Anything else?" He asked, looking curiously at his tea.

"No," Harry said weakly. He had seen the graveyard, but it was likely a flashback, a ghost of a memory he associated with the pain.

"Hmm," Dumbledore said, sipping his tea. Harry clasped his hands together as his right knee shook up and down. How could Dumbledore be so cool? Where was the urgency?

"Please, sir, I think – " Harry started, but Dumbledore raised his hand again. Slowly, Dumbledore set the teacup down and walked around his desk, towards a tall stained glass window overlooking the grounds.

"Unfortunately, and fortunately, I don't think there's any reason for concern."

"Sir?" Harry said confused.

"Now that Voldemort is back, and gaining power, it is only to be expected that you feel his presence. It wouldn't surprise me if you continue to feel pain in your scar. That is the unfortunate part, there isn't much we can do about it for now."

Dumbledore turned slowly, his eyes finally meeting Harry's. Harry felt the distance still between them, him on one side of the room and Harry on the other. The crystal blue eyes that brought him so much comfort and guidance over the years felt cold and closed off.

"Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Harry. I hope your scar doesn't bother you for the rest of the night."

Dumbledore turned back to face the window. "Goodnight."

Harry sat frozen in his chair. After a few moments, he found his feet again, tossed his bag back over his shoulder, and left the office. As Harry descended the stone spiral steps, anger continued to boil through him. He had been stupid for overreacting to something as small as a headache. Dumbledore was completely right – what was he to expect with Voldemort gaining strength? Worry also crept up the back of Harry's throat. It was the first time Dumbledore had admitted to him there was nothing to do. Voldemort was out there, and yet there was no action to take. They had no plan of action. There was just sit and wait.

The next morning, Ron stood in front of the noticeboard in shock. He'd made keeper. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well done mate," he said sincerely. Ron continued to stare.

"I don't understand," Ron said. "I was rubbish."

"Clearly not," Harry said, gesturing at his name.

"What are you guys looking at?" Hermione asked as she entered from the girls dormitories. Harry pointed again at the notice board.

"Oh Ron! Congratulations! You'll have to make use of that daily planner I got you, though, balancing Quidditch, and homework, and prefect duties."

"Oh c'mon Hermione, let me celebrate for one minute," Ron said exasperatedly. Some color had returned to his face. "So you guys don't think it's a mistake?"

"Nah, mate, definitely not," Harry grinned. He felt a wave of excitement come over him. Ron being on the Quidditch team meant time for just them. It meant walking to the pitch, it meant strategizing in the locker rooms, it meant walks back to Gryffindor Tower as they discussed the successes of practices or games. It meant Ron and him had a thing now. Something guaranteeing that Harry would have someone around.

"Let's go then," Hermione said. "Where's your bag, Ron?"

"Oh I thought I'd come up for it after breakfast," Ron said. "I still need to get ready anyways."

"Ron, we have a prefect meeting over breakfast today!" Hermione sighed.

"What?!" Ron groaned. "I thought that was tomorrow."

"No, it's today," Hermione said crossing her arms. "Go grab your bag."

Ron ran up the stairs and less than a minute later was back down, twisting his tie haphazardly around his neck.

"See you later, mate," Ron said as he passed. Harry watched as Hermione and Ron clambered out of the portrait hole together, squabbling. And just like that, he was alone again.

The rest of the week passed by in a blur of lessons and homework. Harry did his best to keep his temper under control during his DADA lessons, spending the class with his nose firmly in his book, eyes glazed over and not absorbing a single word. Ron and Hermione had now been given their full load of prefect duties, which included patrolling the corridors at night. Harry should have been happy to have so much time on his own, seeing as he had spent the first week of classes trying to get away from them. But now that they were busy with their own duties (and together, of course, typical), Harry couldn't help but feel envious. He did his best to drown himself in more and more medical textbooks.

The library had truly now become what felt like a second home for him. When he wasn't in class, he was in his back corner. Now, though, he made the choice to sit at the table he had found Ginny at. Sure enough, he had eventually run into her one evening. She thanked him again for returning her book ("Mum would have killed me if I had lost it!") and asked him how Quidditch tryouts had gone.

"I saw Ron made the team," she said warmly.

"Yeah," Harry said lamely, flipping the page of "Draughts Against Death".

"Too bad it was only a keeper spot open," Ginny continued. "Otherwise I would have tried out too."

"You play?" Harry's head had jolted up in surprise.

"Yeah, well, kind of – " Ginny laughed. "Don't tell my brothers, but I always steal their brooms and go flying when they're not around."

"What position do you play then?"

"I think I'd prefer chaser the most," Ginny said thoughtfully. "It's the position with the most action by far."

"I can see you as a chaser, yeah."

"What makes me seem like a chaser then?" Ginny asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Well, with six brothers, I imagine you're used to fighting to get what you want," Harry joked. "I can see those skills translating well to being a chaser."

"You're not wrong there," Ginny laughed back.

Although he had been so determined to work without Ron and Hermione around, Harry didn't mind studying alongside Ginny. It wasn't that he got more silent time when he was with her, they talked about a lot of things actually. But she never asked what he was studying. She didn't ask him what was wrong, or if everything was ok. Maybe around her, Harry had realized one particularly light-hearted walk together back to the common room, she didn't ask him those things because when they were together, thingsdidseem ok.

Friday afternoon finally rolled in, ending in double potions – a scheduling decision that only someone as evil as Umbridge could have come up with.

"Today you all will be brewing Invigoration Draughts," Snape had said, flicking his wand at the blackboard. Words and symbols materialized before them, outlining the steps of how to brew correctly. "Three hours is plenty of time for you all to finish your potions, entirely and precisely. Begin."

Harry pulled out his potions kit as Neville walked in the storage cupboard to get powdered mandrake root. Harry made a point of keep his eyes down as he lit the flame under his cauldron. Hermione had stopped trying to get him to work with her during potions, instead pairing up with Ron, but he could still feel her glancing behind her every so often as if to try and start a conversation.

When Neville came back, the filled their cauldron with water and brought it to a boil.

"Want to take care of the dittany leaves?" Harry asked. Neville nodded uncertainly and began shredding them.

"Really want to give him a task like that, Potter?" a drawling voice from the next table over said. "He might not be able to handle such a difficult job."

"Just ignore him," Harry muttered as Neville glanced up anxiously.

"Better double check his work," Malfoy continued, Slytherins snickering. "I overheard him talking with Granger the class before, she had to show him the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise stirring."

"Do you need help, Malfoy?" Harry sneered back.

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine, Potter," he said smugly, holding up his perfectly chopped valerian root. "Unlike some people, I know how to read a recipe."

Harry clenched his jaw but turned away, forcing himself to focus. He couldn't afford to lose more points for Gryffindor — or get any more detentions. Harry placed several peppermint leaves into his mortar and began muddling them with a pestle.

"H-Here, I think they're done," Neville said. His hands were shaking slightly as he passed the dittany to Harry. Some of the shredded leaves looked ragged from Neville's imprecise knife cuts. Harry took them from Neville without a word, choosing the best pieces and tossing them into their cauldron.

"Don't let him get to you," Harry muttered. "You're doing fine."

Neville gave a small, grateful smile. Harry added the dittany, and then the peppermint, stirring the concoction with his wand slowly. Glancing up at the instructions, they were to add the powdered mandrake root once the potion turned mint green. Sure enough, moments later, the potion shifted from cloudy grey to a vibrant green.

"Want to add the powdered mandrake?" Harry asked. Neville nodded, adding a few shakes into the cauldron.

Almost instantaneously, it was apparent something had gone wrong. The powdered mandrake root hit the potion, and the calming green flashed into an icy blue. The liquid bubbled violently, and as the bubbles burst, they seemed to shatter, sending sharp crystalized shards through the air. Neville yelped as the potion exploded into his face. Harry threw up his elbows quickly in defense. The room erupted into noise: desks and chairs scrapes as they were jostled by students flinging themselves to the ground, some students shouting at others to get down.

"You idiot!" Snape snarled, waving his wand. A lid materialized over the cauldron, which bounced about as the combustive contents continued to react. He swept over to their desk, looking through their ingredients before grabbing the jar of mandrake root.

"Longbottom, can you notread," Snape asked. Malfoy snorted.

"S-Sir?" Neville whimpered. The potion had made sharp slashes across his face, some of the cuts looked quite deep. He was doing his best to wipe the blood from his eyes, but was more smearing it across his face than anything else.

"This powdered Graphorn horn!" Snape sneered. "It's not only written on the label, but it's also marked as highly volatile. Fifty points from Gryffindor for such carelessness!"

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn't look up at Snape. He knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from shouting.

"Potter, since your talents clearly don't lie in brewing either," Snape said with disdain, "make yourself useful for once. Take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing."

Picking up his bag, as well as Neville's, Harry took Neville by the elbow. The Slytherins were still snickering as they left, though Harry didn't look around at them either. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. He wanted to punch a wall. Or Snape. Or both.

Once they had made it a fair bit down the hallway, Harry finally managed to ask, "You alright?"

Neville nodded mutely, but the tears welling in his eyes said otherwise.

"Snape's a git," Harry said quietly as he pushed open the door that led to the steps out of the dungeons. "You're not an idiot. You just grabbed the wrong jar. Anyone could've done it."

Neville didn't reply.

Fortunately because class was still in session, the hallways were empty as they walked. Neville's face was quite the sight to see, and Harry was grateful for him that he wouldn't have to deal with points or stares.

Finally they reached the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey must have heard Harry push open the door, because she was already walking out from her office when they entered.

"Oh dear," she said, hurrying forward. "What happened now?"

"Potions accident," Harry said. She tsked quietly, leading them around a curtain to a bed. Harry guided Neville, who could not see well through the blood in his eyes, and helped him sit down.

"I'll take care of Mr. Longbottom first, your cuts don't look quite as bad," she said as she summoned a towel for Neville to begin blotting his face with. Harry frowned, not having realized he had been injured at all, and then touched his face. Sure enough, it felt sticky with blood.

"Here," Madam Pomfrey said upon returning. She held a smaller cloth which she doused in a clear liquid before wiping gently at Neville's face. He hissed quietly from the sting.

"Fortunately," she said, closely examining his cuts, "It doesn't look like there was any damage to your eyes. I think I should be able to heal these cuts relatively quickly, though the skin may be a bit fragile for a few days."

Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and began slowly sweeping it across Neville's face and arms, muttering quietly. Harry stepped away, so that he was behind one of the curtains. There was something that seemed oddly private about healing, like he shouldn't be there for it.

It took a few minutes, but then Neville was walking around the corner, a little pale but otherwise as if nothing had happened.

"Potter, you next!" Madam Pomfrey called.

"Er, Harry," Neville said. "Do you mind if I head the dorm room? I'd like to change into some different clothes."

"Yeah, no problem," Harry said, regarding the blood stains that had dried to his collar. "I'll see you later."

Harry walked behind the curtain and took a seat on the corner of the bed. Madam Pomfrey had conjured a new cloth, and was shaking more clear potion onto it. Harry closed his eyes and took off his glasses, feeling incredibly awkward as Madam Pomfrey patted at his cuts. The potion stung, though not as badly as detentions with Umbridge or his scar hurting the other night.

"There," she said, vanishing the cloth and rolling up her sleeves. "Let me just heal these cuts, then."

Heal. Harry's heart leapt.

"Madam Pomfrey," Harry said suddenly as the witch moved her wand slowly and systematically across his face. "You're a healer."

"Yes?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Do I need to check you for a head injury, Mr. Potter?"

"No, it's just, I've been reading a lot of medical books recently."

"Oh?" She said, lowering her wand. Harry returned his glasses to his face.

"Yes, I was trying to do research on, er, terminal illnesses."

"That's an interesting topic of research," she said as she screwed the cap onto her potion bottle.

"Yes, well, I was most interested in cancer actually."

"Cancer?" She repeated.

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "I was looking for information about it, about healing it."

"Well you won't find anything in the Hogwarts library."

"Why not?" Harry felt his heartbeat pick up.

"Because cancer is a muggle illness," she said. "We don't have treatments for cancer."

It was good that Harry was sitting down, because it felt like the world was falling out from underneath him.

"Oh."

"Why were you trying to learn about cancer, Harry?" She asked, face furrowed in concern.

Harry stared at the floor, the tiled pattern suddenly impossible to look away from. His mouth felt dry.

"I…" he started to say, and then stopped.

"Do you know someone with cancer?" she asked quietly.

Harry paused a moment, and then nodded.

Madam Pomfrey's expression softened with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear this, dear. I wish I had better news for you. But there is no cure for cancer. There are magical ailments we still cannot cure, too, and those are the focus of our medical research."

Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult. "But… there must be something. What about muggleborns? I'm sure they must have had family members who have gotten it. They must have used magic to help somehow."

"There are palliatives," she admitted. "Pain relievers, calming draughts, sleep potions. They help. But they don't stop it. The disease doesn't follow magical logic. It doesn't respond to our healing the way magical maladies do."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, frustration rising.

"Cancer is an internal ailment," Madam Pomfrey explained. "It is the body attacking itself. Typically, our potions and healing spells are used to remove something that originated externally. Other spells used for healing act by boost the existing healing systems of the body, to speed up healing processes. If those are attempted on someone with cancer, it just speeds up the replication of the cancerous cells."

Harry didn't say anything. He felt prickling behind his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said quietly.

"It's ok, thank you anyways," he said standing up quickly, reaching down to get his bag.

"Did I miss some?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"What?" Harry said, feeling dizzy with emotion.

Madam Pomfrey gestured to his bandaged hand. The one with different kind of cuts on it.

"Oh, no." Harry said quickly. "No. Quidditch. Just scraped it. Thanks again."

Before Madam Pomfrey could say anything else, Harry darted out of the room.

That night, Harry dreamt of Mr. Williams again. It was his funeral. Ava was sobbing into Harry's shoulder.

"I thought you said you could help us?" she cried. Harry felt like his chest was erupting, as if his heart was breaking

"I thought I could," Harry mumbled back into her hair, holding her tightly.