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The Time of Destiny | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General Warnings: Death, Sexual Situations, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 503 Summary: Sequel to "The Refiner's Fire." Harry Potter returns to Privet Drive for the last time, prior to his Seventh Year at Hogwarts. Much to the Dursley's surprise, Remus is going to stay with him due to a head injury Harry received on the train. The Dursleys are not happy with this situation, as you can well-imagine. This fic covers both the summer before Harry's seventh year, and his entire last year at school. Canon-based with some OC. Ships, for those who care: H/G, R/H, R/T Hitcount: Story Total: 508956; Chapter Total: 17735 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Author notes: This fic is ***NOT*** HBP-compliant! You will see things in this chapter, in particular, that you will think came from HBP, but they did not — I had them written before HBP came out. So if you see a variation from what you read in HBP, just remember, this story does NOT comply with it, so please don’t bother to point them out as “errors”! Thanks! Many thanks to my brilliant Brit-picker, Kelpie, and my fabulous betas, Starfox, Blakeavich, Iris and Asad! You can join the Yahoo! Group for this fic here. New chapters are regularly posted each Tuesday (EST) on the Yahoo! Group. Harry was sound asleep, lying on his side, his right arm hanging off the bed, his palm lying open, exposing the branded phoenixes and griffins to view. He looked exhausted and very young with his face relaxed in slumber. His mouth was slightly open and he was snoring softly. A flash of light woke him and he sat up. “Merlin?” he said muzzily, looking above him for his phoenix, wondering where he’d been. Suddenly, he saw a red blur zooming out the door, an angry scream issuing from that usually-lovely, soothing voice. “Merlin?” Harry said, truly worried now. He’d never seen his phoenix acting aggressively. He put his glasses on, grabbed his wand and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then got up and tottered weakly to the door, looking up and down the corridor for his phoenix or whatever had disturbed the normally placid bird. “Merlin?” he said again, still softly. He knew he didn’t have to call loudly for the phoenix to hear him. Merlin soared around a corner and up the hallway toward him, landing gently on his shoulder and ruffling Harry’s hair affectionately with his beak. “What’s up, mate?” Harry asked, caressing the obviously unhappy bird. “What are you doing out of bed, Mr. Potter?” a scary-looking nurse demanded as she stormed down the hall toward him. “You are not strong enough to be walking around!” “Sorry,” Harry said, backing into his room. “I just . . . I thought . . . something bothered my phoenix and I came to see what it was.” “There’s nothing here. Go back to bed,” she said, not unkindly. “You’ve probably had a bad dream. That would be quite understandable, after what you’ve been through.” He considered arguing with her, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. With her strong hand under his elbow, he wobbled back to bed and got in, grateful for her support. He hadn’t realized he was still so weak. “Thank you,” he breathed, suddenly exhausted, as the nurse tucked him in. “Do you need anything?” she asked as she finished straightening his covers. “No, thank you, I’m fine,” he said. “Do you know when they’re moving my godfather in here with me?” “He’s still in physiotherapy. I think they’ll move him in here when he returns,” she said. “Go back to sleep, young man. You need to build up your strength.” He nodded, then turned on his side, Merlin tucked closely against his stomach. When the woman left the room, Harry looked at his bird and said, “What happened?” Merlin told him that someone had been there taking a photograph of Harry. Merlin had tried to catch the man, but he’d Apparated away when he saw the bird coming for him. “What the bloody hell was that about?” Harry wondered with irritation. He pondered this for a few minutes, but then the weakness of his body began taking over. He was simply too frail to be angry for long. He yawned, stretched comfortably and began to relax. “Why would some sod want a picture of me sleeping?” He stifled another yawn, truly too tired to care much. “Thanks for looking after me,” he murmured, petting the magnificent scarlet bird nestled so warmly against him. Merlin crooned sweetly in response, then moved gently away and hopped onto the foot of Harry’s bed facing the door, standing guard over his young charge as well as he could. Harry smiled, grateful for having such good friends of every sort, then tucked his hand under his cheek and went back to sleep. The next morning, Harry, Remus and Tonks were just finishing breakfast when Marcus stormed in. “Good morning,” Harry said with a smile, wondering what was bothering the healer. He’d nearly forgotten about the previous day’s incident. “Good morning,” Marcus replied tersely, dropping huffily into the chair beside Harry’s bed. “You seem a bit upset,” Remus said mildly. “Everything OK?” “Fine, fine. It’s these bloody reporters that are the problem,” Marcus growled. “And some damned fool let a photographer in, or else a hospital employee took a photo and sold it to the papers. When we find out who was involved, they will be looking for work elsewhere immediately!” Harry had never seen Marcus so angry. “Photographer?” he said in confusion, but then he remembered. “Oh.” He held his hand out toward Marcus, who handed him the paper without a word. Harry opened it and looked at the front page, then shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “What is it?” Remus asked. “It says, ‘The Boy-Who-Conquered-Voldemort Near Death’ and has a picture of me asleep,” he sighed, tossing the paper to his godfather. “I’m not near death, am I, Marcus?” He gave the healer a cheeky grin. “No, and you haven’t been for a while now. I don’t know how this happened. We did our best to keep the hospital secured for your safety. Whoever did it could have attacked you in your sleep rather than just taking your picture!” “If he had tried, he would have been flashed out of here by one very angry phoenix,” Harry replied. “That’s what got Merlin so upset. He tried to catch the person, but he said the man Disapparated once he got away from my door. Merlin flew down a couple of corridors looking for him in case he was still around, but came back when he couldn’t find him quickly. He didn’t want to leave me alone for long.” “When was this?” Marcus asked. “Late yesterday afternoon, before Remus was moved into my room. A flash of light woke me up, and I thought Merlin was coming back from somewhere. He does wander around on his own at times. He always comes when I need him, so I don’t mind him exploring,” he said, answering Marcus’s questioning look. “But when I woke up after the light flashed, I saw Merlin go through the door, and then down the hall. I got up and went to the doorway, and he returned a moment later. Then a nurse came and told me off for being up and put me back to bed.” “The flash must have been when he took the photo, then,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “Hmm. The nurse may have put on your chart that she found you out of bed, and noted the time. Perhaps we can work out who could have done this once we know what time it happened.” He got up and started for the door. “I’ll check your chart and start some inquiries. I’m so sorry about this, Harry.” “Thanks,” Harry replied. “If Ginny had been here,” Tonks began darkly. “The culprit would have been hexed into oblivion before he could Disapparate,” Remus said with a grin. “And the photo would have never reached the paper,” Harry agreed. “So bring Ginny back!” He grinned, hoping someone would take him seriously. “You wish!” Tonks teased. Harry sighed. “Yeah, I do.” “I’m sorry we weren’t here when you needed us,” Remus said worriedly. “They took me to therapy at a most inconvenient time. Tonks could have stayed with you instead of coming with me.” “I went with Remus so I could learn how to help him with his therapy,” Tonks said with a guilty look. “I should have stayed with you, Harry. “I’m sorry.” “It’s over now, nothing we can do about it,” Harry said with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it.” “You’d better let Ginny know you’re OK,” Tonks said, just as Harry heard Ginny’s voice coming from his ring. “She’s calling me now,” he said with a smile, then pressed the stone in his ring and said, “Ginny Weasley.” When her face appeared above his ring, he smiled and said, “Hi. The reports of my demise are a bit premature. Did that article worry you?” “Only because you were apparently left unguarded!” she said heatedly. “Are you all right?” “I miss you — other than that, I’m fine,” he assured her. “That’s good. Professor Dumbledore is livid! He’s on his way there, I think,” Ginny said. “Why?” “Dunno. I suppose to straighten things out,” she said with a shrug. “How are you feeling today?” “I feel stronger,” he said with a grin. “They may let me leave in another day or two!” “Behave yourself so you can leave then!” she urged him. “I behave!” he said, acting wounded. “Right,” she teased. “I’d better go, it’s time for class. Hermione only just showed me the paper. I thought I should call.” “I’m glad you did. It’s nice to see you. You look pretty today,” he said tenderly. “And you look as if you’ve just woken up,” she teased. “Your hair’s all muddled.” “I did!” he said, trying to smooth down his hair as he spoke. “There’s not much else to do here but sleep.” “Lazybones!” she said, grinning. “Oh, Ron and Hermione and Neville say ‘hi.’ Oh, yeah, Colin, too. And Luna. I’d better go. Talk to you soon!” “Have a good day, Gin,” he said, smiling at her pert face, which soon disappeared from above his ring. “So what’s up?” Remus asked. Harry filled him in on what Ginny had said, and told him Dumbledore was on the way. He’d no sooner finished saying that than his grandfather came striding briskly through the door. “How are you today?” he asked Harry, sitting by the young man’s bed. “Better than the reporters think I am,” Harry quipped, his eyes twinkling. “We’re going to find out who did this and deal with them,” his grandfather promised. “There’s no excuse–” “I’m not that fussed about it, honestly,” Harry said with a smile. “Everyone I care about knows I’m OK. That’s good enough. If I’d seen the photographer, I would’ve hexed him, but really, what harm has it caused?” “Harry, you have no idea what’s going on outside,” Dumbledore told him seriously. “People are mourning in the streets. It’s quite sad, really.” Harry’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Mourning me? Because of that stupid picture?” “Yes. Things are in such an uproar, Minister Bones is beside herself. She’d like you to do another press conference, so people can see you’re alive and recovering well,” Dumbledore said quietly. He raised his hands in anticipation of the protest already forming on Harry’s lips. “I know you don’t want to. I know you’ve been imposed on enough. But in the interest of calming and reassuring the public, Harry, would you consider it?” He sat studying the various expressions chasing each other across his grandson’s face. Finally, Harry sighed. “You think I should do this?” “Yes, I do,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sorry.” “OK. When and where,” Harry said, looking a bit disgusted to be forced to face the press again. “Are you really up to this? We shouldn’t exhaust you,” Dumbledore said, his face concerned. “Marcus says I can go back to school in a day or two, so being up for a little while shouldn’t be a problem,” Harry assured him. Marcus pushed Harry’s wheelchair toward the lobby. “We seem to be having press conferences nearly every time I take care of you, Harry,” Marcus said, trying to be playful. “Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I’m sorry. I know this is taking you away from your patients.” “You’re my patient too, and I feel responsible for this incident. We took every precaution we could think of . . . .” “Don’t worry about it, Marcus. What’s done is done. We can deal with this,” Harry said, surprised at how calm he felt. Marcus left Harry in the corridor and stepped into the lobby, facing the milling crowd. Flashes of light sparked all over the room from photographers capturing the moment. All of the reporters and photographers had been required to show their forearms upon entering the hospital to make sure there were no Death Eaters in the crowd. The lobby was surrounded by Aurors and hospital security staff. “I’m Marcus Pomfrey, a healer here at St. Mungo’s,” Marcus began, his face and voice grim. “Those of you with Quick Quotes Quills can put them away. Mr. Potter will set them on fire if he sees them, as will I,” he said, flicking his wand and setting fire to a Quick Quotes Quill that was still doing its job rather than being put away. His eyes flashed with anger as he perused the crowd looking for more offenders. He finally relaxed when he saw that they were all complying with his instructions. “Now that you’re writing what’s actually being said, I’ll get on with this conference. We have found the hospital staff member who took that photo of Harry Potter while Mr. Potter was sleeping. That staff member has lost his job and is facing legal consequences as a result of his actions. Let this be a warning to others who think they can do what they want to rather than following hospital protocols, which are put in place for the protection of our patients. Those staff members who do not put the patient’s privacy and welfare first will never work in this hospital or any other licensed wizard medical facility in the country, and may face a nice long stay in Azkaban as well.” He glowered at the crowd, his face plainly showing his barely-controlled fury. “Like any of our patients, Harry Potter has a right to privacy. That right has been violated. Such violations will not be tolerated!” He sighed and forced himself to speak more calmly. “Mr. Potter is recovering remarkably well from the injuries he incurred while defeating You-Know-Wh– erm, Lord V-V-Voldemort. He needs rest, a few more potions and a bit of time to get his strength back, and then he’ll be returning to school for his exams. If all goes well, and I fully expect it to, he should be strong enough to begin practicing with the London Lions Quidditch team on time, two weeks after the end of his school term.” He stopped and thought a moment. “I suppose that’s all I have. Mr. Potter?” he said, turning to look down the corridor to where Harry still sat in his wheel chair. With a nurse’s help, Harry got to his feet. He slipped a crutch under his left arm and wobbled into the lobby, standing in front of the crowd in his dressing gown and slippers, but glaring at them as defiantly as if he were arrayed for battle. “As you can see, I’m fine,” Harry snapped. He forced himself to calm down. “Look, I appreciate people caring about how I am, but I’m a person too, and I appreciate my privacy. How would you like it if people sneaked up on you and took pictures while you were sleeping, and then told everyone you were dying? That’s not fair, it isn’t right, and I’m tired of being treated this way.” He glanced around the group, seeing some faces he remembered from the press conference after his scars were worked on. Most of the reporters had their hands in the air. Harry sighed, then said, “I will take a few questions, then I’m going back to bed so I can go back to school as soon as possible. I have exams to deal with in a very few days.” He pointed at a wizened old reporter near the back of the group who was being nearly overwhelmed by younger ones around him vying for Harry’s attention. “Yes, you, sir, in the blue robes and orange hat.” “Thank you, Mr. Potter! I would like to know if You-Know-Who is truly dead. Pictures can be falsified, as you well know, so I’m sure the public would like to hear the truth from you directly,” the man said in a quavering but earnest voice. Harry stifled a growl of impatience with the man for saying “You-Know-Who.” He pressed his lips together, biting back an angry retort, then replied, “His name was Lord Voldemort, and yes, he’s dead. He was completely destroyed. He will never be able to restore himself as he did before. Next question?” He saw Penelope Clearwater’s hand raised and smiled at her. “Yes, Penelope? How are you?” he said, wondering if she knew Percy had died, how he’d died, and if she still cared for him. He wouldn’t mention it if she didn’t. “Hi, Harry. Thank you for taking my question,” she said brightly. “I’m so glad we have something other than boring war talk to discuss with you! We’ve heard you and Ginny Weasley are engaged now. Is that true? If so, when and where is the wedding?” Harry stifled a surprised laugh at her comment about “boring war talk” as he blushed at her question, which wasn’t the type of thing he’d been expecting. He took a deep breath and thought of Ginny, which made him smile. “Yes, it’s true. We’ll be married after she finishes Hogwarts next year. I don’t know where yet — that’s up to her and her family. I told them I’d cooperate with whatever they wanted me to do as long as nobody asked me to sing.” “Why don’t you want to sing?” Penelope asked, grinning at his charming answer and accompanying blush. “You’ve obviously never heard me sing,” he quipped. “It will be a private ceremony — no press. I know that much. Next question?” he said, more relaxed now. “Yes?” He called on an older man. “Yes, Mr. Potter, could you tell us what you think of the war effort?” “What war effort?” Harry said, genuinely curious. “Voldemort’s dead. The Death Eaters are nearly all rounded up, as are the Dementors. Everything should be over now. So what are you asking about?” “I mean, how well do you think things were handled in this last battle?” the man clarified. “Oh,” Harry said, finally understanding the question. “Well, we had Aurors with us this time, and I believe that saved a lot of lives. The D.A. members are well-trained now, but we’re still teenagers and don’t have the training the Aurors do, nor as much experience in battle. Ron Weasley’s strategies worked very well.” He glanced around and noticed some curious looks, and some confused ones. “I don’t know how much you know about what happened. We used the D.A. Flying Squad as the first wave of the attack. They dropped bombs in the house so the Death Eaters either died or ran outside to be captured by the Aurors.” Mentioning the Flying Squad reminded him of a teacher he’d lost. “The Flying Squad was a tremendous help. Losing Madam Hooch was awful. She trained them very well.” “Do you know where she was buried?” someone called out. “Hogwarts or elsewhere?” “I honestly don’t know,” Harry said. He turned and looked into the corridor, where Dumbledore stood waiting for him. At his look, Dumbledore joined Harry in front of the crowd. “Madam Hooch made her home in Hogsmeade for many years, and was buried in the churchyard there,” Dumbledore said quietly. “She was a wonderful teacher and will be greatly missed.” “Professor Dumbledore, what do you think of Harry’s performance in the battle?” someone else shouted. “I think he was magnificent, as you will agree when you see the films that the Ministry made of the battle,” Dumbledore said with a smile. He patted Harry on the shoulder. “No one could have done a better job than he did. He showed tremendous wisdom, restraint, good judgement, and unlimited courage and selflessness. I’m very proud of him.” “Harry, why do you think the Ministry let students fight for them?” a man at the back asked when he was called on. Harry looked at Dumbledore, who nodded and waited for the young man to answer. “I, erm, I don’t think we actually gave them a choice,” he admitted with a shrug. “Everyone in the D.A. wanted to fight. And the Ministry doesn’t have an army of any kind, nor any flying squads. We were able to be a real help to the Aurors, because there simply weren’t enough of them to handle that many enemies at once. The Aurors fought brilliantly — I don’t want to give the wrong impression here — but there were a lot of Death Eaters to deal with.” “Can you tell us how you killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” asked the next reporter Harry called on. “Erm. . . .” Harry hesitated, then looked at Dumbledore and said quietly, “Grandfather, how much–” The crowd had stilled completely when Harry turned to his headmaster, in order to hear whatever they were saying. When they heard Harry call Dumbledore “Grandfather,” pandemonium broke out among the reporters. “Damn,” Harry grumbled, then looked up at Dumbledore. “I’m sorry.” “It isn’t a problem at all, dear boy, don’t worry,” Dumbledore said, patting his shoulder affectionately. He turned to the clamouring reporters. “Settle down, please, or we’ll leave. There, that’s better. Thank you. Yes, you did hear Harry call me ‘Grandfather.’ He’s only recently learned that I am his great-great-grandfather. I’ve kept this relationship secret for many years, but with Lord Voldemort gone, I felt it was safe to tell him. And I can’t tell you how delighted I am to have such a fine grandson.” “Harry, what do you think of all this? How angry are you that he kept it from you?” someone called. “I’m not angry at all, because I understand his reasons,” Harry replied. “I’m just glad to find out that I have relatives who are still alive. I thought they were all dead. Now I find I have a grandfather and some other distant relatives.” He smiled warmly. “I’m very happy about it.” “Congratulations and all that,” another reporter said a bit impatiently. “You haven’t told us how you killed You-Know-Who.” “He’s dead and you still can’t say his name?” Harry said, amazed. “His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. He made an anagram of that name to create the name ‘Lord Voldemort.’ He was a normal human being who went very, very bad. And he’s DEAD! Learn to say his name!” “OK,” the reporter replied, a bit unnerved by the young man’s vehemence. “So how did you kill him?” “I think it’s safe to tell them, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned over and whispered in his grandson’s ear, “It’s not as if any of them could ever do a spell like that, right?” Harry grinned and nodded. “I’d like to give you a bit of background first,” Dumbledore added, turning back to the reporters. “The summer before Harry’s sixth year at Hogwarts, he was stricken with a very rare illness, The Refiner’s Fire. The fact that he survived at all is nearly miraculous. No one under the age of fifty has ever survived it, and of all the wizards in our history who have had it, only three survived at all: Great Merlin, Harry, and I.” He watched as the reporters scribbled furiously, trying to keep up with him. “You might well ask what this illness does to a wizard. Yes, I see all those raised hands. I will answer the question, please be patient. The Refiner’s Fire burns through the wizard, purifying the magic within him, which increases that wizard’s power tremendously if he doesn’t die of the illness. It takes a long time to learn to control these increased powers, which is one of the reasons Harry became my apprentice this year rather than attending a full load of classes like his classmates. A wizard who has survived the Refiner’s Fire has much more power to put behind his spells than an ordinary wizard, but it takes wisdom and experience to use this power properly. Harry has shown a great deal of wisdom in using his power, and has worked hard to make the best possible use of his abilities. He is, by far, the greatest and most powerful wizard in the world today.” “No, I’m not,” Harry protested suddenly. “You are!” Dumbledore smiled sweetly at his grandson. “No, dear boy, you surpassed me months ago.” He patted Harry fondly on the shoulder again, giving him a quelling look so that the boy’s further protests died on his lips. “I’m simply stating the facts. Now then. With that introduction, I’ll let Harry tell you how he defeated Lord Voldemort. Please bear in mind that he could not have done the magic he did without the power he has from The Refiner’s Fire.” Harry was still staring at him, his mouth opened in surprise. When Dumbledore turned and looked at him expectantly, but with a twinkle in his eye, Harry stared at him a moment longer, swallowed hard, then turned to face the reporters again. “Uh. . .OK. Um. . .well, I spent a lot of time researching spells, charms, jinxes, trying to find something that would either get past Voldemort’s defences or contain him until I could do something else to him. I found a Sphere Shield Charm in an old book last term and started working on that, mostly because it was an interesting spell. It’s a very difficult charm to do, but it’s rather useful at times. I used it during the Battle of Little Hangleton when I was nearly worn out and needed to rest, but couldn’t leave, because then Voldemort would leave the battlefield and I’d lose my chance at him.” Harry swallowed hard, the awful memories of that battle as clear in his mind as if they’d happened only hours before. “Well, you’ve seen the films and know what happened then. I worked on the Sphere Shield Charm more this term, and learned how to cast it outward, so it goes around someone else.” “Can you show us?” someone called when Harry stopped to take a breath. Harry instantly cast a sphere around the person who’d called out, shocking that man into dropping his quill, and making the others laugh. Harry dropped the sphere immediately, far too quickly for any of the photographers to capture it. He gave the reporters a brief but cocky grin. “That’s a light version of what I did. But just containing Voldemort wouldn’t destroy him. I knew I had to do something else to kill him. He’d worked hard to become immortal, and ordinary ways of killing a person simply didn’t work on him. After thinking about it for a long time, talking with Professor Dumbledore and Professor Lupin quite a bit, and doing a lot of research, I came to the conclusion that, since his body was created from Dark rituals and potions, and his spirit was pure evil, the evil and darkness needed to be removed from him. After that, he could be killed, or he might just die on his own. I worked out the refining spell–” “Refining Spell?” someone called. “The spell to remove the evil from his body and spirit,” Harry replied. “What’s the name of it?” Harry smiled. “I never named it. I suppose ‘Refining Spell’ will work, since that’s what it does,” he said with a shrug. “I knew I couldn’t do the Refining Spell strongly enough while also holding the sphere, so I taught my girlfriend and two best friends, Ginny and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, how to do the Sphere Shield Charm. Once I had him contained and had concentrated the sphere, they joined me and cast their spheres over mine. They held the spheres in place so I could cast the Refining Spell.” He shrugged. “And that’s how I did it.” “Wait a minute,” a man in blue robes said. “That’s it? How did he die?” “When the sphere imploded, there was just an old man left lying there where Voldemort had been. He died soon after that, so I was told. I was hurt in the explosion — so was Ron — so I don’t remember much after that.” Harry turned to Dumbledore for help. “You were there, weren’t you?” “Yes, I was,” Dumbledore said with great satisfaction. “Harry has left out a few things, which he may not even be aware of. When he was refining Lord Voldemort, a mist enveloped him, his friends and their sphere. Out of the mist came ghosts, quite a small army of them, actually. They were the ghosts of people who loved Harry or were friends of his. His love called them forth to help him in his time of need.” “Wait,” Harry said, turning to his grandfather. “That was real?” “Yes,” Dumbledore assured him. “Do you remember?” “A bit,” the boy replied, his eyes wide in amazement. “My parents? Sirius? Casey and her family? Seamus?” “They were all there, as were many others,” Dumbledore replied serenely. He turned back to the reporters. “There is a power Voldemort never truly understood — the power of love. Ginny and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger spoke words of love and encouragement to Harry while he was refining Voldemort. They showed their great love for him, too, by being there for him, helping him with this very dangerous task. They put their lives at risk for Harry, because they love him. The ghosts played their part because of their love of Harry. He hadn’t planned on their arrival — it was quite a surprise to see them, actually. But they apparently sensed his need and came to his aid of their own accord.” Dumbledore paused, gazing at the young man beside him fondly. “Harry has the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, and despite all the horrors he’s lived through, he still has a tremendous capacity for love. His heart saved the wizarding world, his and those of his friends who gave themselves so willingly to help him in his time of need. Voldemort died and became dust. I made certain no one will ever be able to use Voldemort’s remains for any nefarious purposes by Scourgifying the dust he became. Lord Voldemort is no more.” The reporters sat in stunned silence for a moment, then went back to scribbling furiously. Numerous hands were quickly raised again. “A couple more questions, then I’m finished, all right? Yes, you,” Harry said, calling on a tall thin woman in plum-coloured robes. “What are your plans after Hogwarts, Harry?” she asked. “I’m going to enjoy the two weeks I have off before I start practicing with the London Lions, although given the injuries I’ve had, I suppose I’d better spend that time getting back in shape so I’ll play well,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “Will you make a career of Quidditch, then?” the reporter pressed. “I’m also going to Auror School. I’d like to play Quidditch professionally as long as I can. Then maybe I’ll become a coach, or go into full-time Auror work, I just don’t know yet.” Marcus looked at Harry, who was quite obviously tiring. “All right, you’ve seen him and asked some questions. It’s time he got back to his room so he can continue healing. Thank you for your cooperation.” Harry was soon in his wheelchair being taken back to his room. “Marcus, wait,” he said as they passed an open door. Inside the room, Harry could see Professor Snape lying as still as death on the bed. “What is it?” Marcus said. “I’d like to see Professor Snape,” Harry said firmly. “Wheel me in there, OK?” “He’s not conscious,” Marcus replied. “He won’t know you’re there.” “I’ve heard things when I was unconscious. He may, as well. And I want to see if I can do anything for him,” Harry said with determination. “He saved a boy when he took that curse. He’s saved my life repeatedly. I can’t stand the man, but I owe it to him to try to help him.” “Harry, nothing we’ve done has helped him. He’s teetering between life and death and we can’t find any treatment that works,” Marcus said, his frustration obvious. “Then it can’t hurt for me to see if there’s anything I can do, can it?” Harry said, looking up at Marcus defiantly. When the healer still hesitated, Harry tried to get out of the wheelchair. “Stop, Harry. Sit down! I’ll take you in there, but if you overtire yourself, I’ll take you right to your room and put you back to bed,” Marcus warned. “Clear?” “Crystal,” Harry said, pleased that the healer had agreed. Soon Harry was sitting on the side of Snape’s bed, passing his hands over the man’s chest and trying to sense for wrongness inside his body. Harry made a frustrated sound, then started unbuttoning his professor’s pyjamas. “Hi, Professor. I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s Harry Potter,” he said as he worked. “I’m opening your pyjamas so I can try to see if there’s something I can do to help you. You’ve helped me often enough — I do owe you. I’m glad you saved Alex’s life. That was generous of you.” He went on chatting about the battle, about how various people were doing now, just talking to keep Snape’s mind occupied in case he could actually hear him, as his hands touched and pressed various places, trying to sense what was wrong and if there was something he could do about it. Suddenly, he looked up at Marcus. “It seems as if there’s a . . . a fog over everything,” he said, puzzled. “I haven’t had this kind of feeling with anyone else I’ve worked on. Do you know what’s causing it?” “No, I don’t,” Marcus replied, looking puzzled. “A fog?” “Yeah. Something’s interfering with my sensing him — it’s pushing back against my magic.” Harry shook his head, truly confused. “The only time something has pushed back against my magic when I’m doing this kind of thing was when I discovered Tonks was pregnant. The baby pushed magic back at me. What could be doing that here?” “I have no idea. What are you doing now?” Marcus asked, seeing Harry moving his hands much more quickly over Snape’s body, something he’d never seen the boy do while using his healing powers. “Searching for the source of the fog,” Harry said distractedly. His brow was furrowed as he concentrated. His hands slowed, making smaller and smaller circles as he neared Snape’s left forearm, then finally stilling. “It’s his Dark Mark,” he said finally. “That’s what’s causing it.” Harry dropped his hands and looked from his healer to his grandfather. “Do either of you know how to remove Dark Marks?” “No,” Marcus said. “I don’t believe it’s possible,” Dumbledore said slowly. “What are you thinking, Harry?” “I think the Dark Mark is interfering somehow with the healers’ diagnostic methods. Something is pushing back against my magic when I try to scan him, and it’s centred in his Dark Mark. I don’t understand it, but I think he won’t get better until that Mark is removed.” He studied Dumbledore’s face for a moment. “You don’t know any way to remove it?” “No, I don’t,” his grandfather said, watching Harry’s reaction to this news. “Why?” “I had an idea that I thought would work, but if you don’t know how they’re removed . . . I mean, can it be done at all? I thought my idea would work, but–” He shook his head in frustration. “What’s your idea, Harry?” Dumbledore said quietly. “The Mark looks like a it’s made of spots of ink somehow–“ “Like a tattoo?” Marcus said, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “Yes, like that,” Harry agreed, glad the man understood. “I thought perhaps the spots that form the Mark could be drawn out magically, one at a time, as if they were . . . um . . . well, sort of like those poison capsules Hermione put in my back,” he said with a shrug. “But you know a lot more about these things than I do, so–” “Trust your instincts,” Dumbledore said. “If you think you can do it, give it a try.” Harry gazed back at him for a long moment. Somehow, he felt a torch was being passed. Yes, his grandfather had told the reporters that Harry was now the greatest wizard in the world, but Harry hadn’t believed him. And now, the man he considered to be the greatest wizard in the world had just admitted he didn’t know how to do something, but that he thought Harry could manage it. Harry wasn’t certain how he felt about the odd feeling this realization gave him, but he would have to ponder it later. Right now, Snape was hovering between life and death and Harry thought he could help him, so it was time to get to work. The decision made, the young wizard nodded and placed his hands together just over the ugly Dark Mark on Snape’s arm. With Voldemort dead, the mark was shadowy and smudged-looking, but it still exuded an extreme feeling of evil. Harry began to concentrate, pouring power into his hands, projecting that power into Snape’s skin, the Mark resisting him stubbornly. Light magic fought against Dark in an awesome struggle for domination. Gently but resolutely, Harry’s magic worked the Dark Mark free, one tiny bit at a time. Concentrating so hard on the Dark Mark that he was blind and deaf to anything outside the focus of his attention, Harry worked silently for a long time. He gradually increased the amount of magical power behind his spell until he was surrounded by the golden aura, his hair blowing wildly in an unseen, unfelt wind, constant streams of golden sparks shooting out of the ends of his hair and his fingertips. The sparks from his fingertips spiralled down to Snape’s forearm and spun there over each spot of the Dark Mark, whirling in a cyclonic fashion, creating a vortex that inexorably drew each spot out of the man’s skin, millimetre by millimetre, in a painfully slow process, and then dissolved it. Behind him, the room had filled with hospital staff who had seen the golden light pouring through Snape’s door and came to see what was happening. Dozens of people stood silently around the room, crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder, witnessing a phenomenon they’d only read about in the few reports the Ministry hadn’t managed to keep out of the newspapers. The viewers knew they would probably never see such an amazing thing again in their lives. The room was eerily silent, with no sound at all except the occasional grunts and laboured breathing of the young man at the centre of the brilliant gold aura. Sweat streamed down Harry’s face now and he was trembling with exhaustion, but he was determined to finish what he’d started. Little by little, more of Snape’s skin showed clean and white where parts of the Dark Mark had been. Marcus stood as transfixed as everyone else in the room for quite a while. He knew he was witnessing a miracle in progress, an event that would become a new legend to be passed down through the ages. He’d read about the Refiner’s Fire, but very little was actually known about it. Seeing the strength of a Refiner’s Fire-empowered wizard in action was astounding. Marcus watched in awe. Here was funny, sweet-natured, selfless, heroic Harry, surrounded by light, doing magic beyond anything Marcus could imagine. He gazed at the boy in admiration, but then the healer in him noticed the exhaustion on his patient’s face. “Harry? Harry, stop. That’s enough for now. Come on, lad, you need to rest. You’re not well yourself yet. Harry? Harry, stop!” he said, his voice growing more urgent as Harry either ignored him or didn’t hear him. He reached out, intending to touch the boy’s shoulder, but Dumbledore pressed his arm down. “If you touch him now, you can get hurt,” the old wizard warned him. “What? How?” “Harry is in the midst of a very powerful spell. If you distract him, it could inadvertently be directed at you and injure you. He can’t be interrupted right now.” “He’s hurting himself, Professor! He needs to stop!” “I know,” Dumbledore said sadly, “but there’s no way to stop him until he’s ready to stop.” “Can’t you do something?” Marcus said in frustration. “All I can do to distract him when he’s that focused is to attack him, and none of us want that to happen. He would retaliate and we’d both be injured,” Dumbledore explained. “He’s tiring. He’ll stop soon.” “He’s exhausted already! He’s going to hurt himself,” Marcus cried. “Yes, he may very well do that,” Dumbledore said with resignation. “That’s his way, to give far too much of himself to help someone else.” Harry was shaking hard now, his hands trembling violently as he fought to hold them in place. Suddenly, he gave a great cry of pain and collapsed on top of Snape’s still form, the golden aura, unfelt wind and sparks all vanishing in an instant. Harry held his stomach and groaned feebly. “Merlin,” he whimpered, and with a flash of light, his phoenix appeared and landed next to him, crooning comfortingly. The phoenix seemed to consider his master for a moment, then lifted in flight, grasped Harry’s robes in his talons, and disappeared in a flash of light. “Bloody hell, where did Merlin take him?” Marcus said frantically. “Hopefully to his room. If not, then to the land of the phoenixes,” Dumbledore said sadly. “What?” “Let’s see if he’s in his room. If he isn’t, I’ll explain,” Dumbledore said, pushing his way through the still-crowded room and moving down the corridor in long strides. He found Harry in his bed, Merlin nestled against his stomach and singing his song of comfort to the agonized boy. “Bloody hell,” Marcus said as he began examining his patient. “What happened?” Remus asked in concern. “Merlin brought him in and–” “Harry removed most of Severus’s Dark Mark,” Dumbledore replied. “What? I didn’t know that was possible!” Remus said in shock. “Nor did I,” Dumbledore agreed. “But Harry thought he could do it — and he did. His power is astonishing.” “And it’s nearly killed him,” Marcus said in disgust as he finished his examination and rushed to get the proper potions to treat his patient. Harry began stirring a bit after a long, exhausted sleep. He felt a hand smoothing his hair back from his sweaty forehead and smiled a bit. “Ginny?” he said sleepily. “Sorry, ducks, it’s only your doddering old godmother,” Tonks said cheerfully. “How are you feeling?” “Dod . . .?” he mumbled as he struggled to open his eyes. “Huh?” “Just playing with you, sweets,” she teased. “Come on, open those gorgeous eyes of yours. You’ve slept long enough for now.” Harry managed to pry one reluctant eye open, then finally the other, and squinted up at the hazy face of his godmother, whose hair was currently a magnificent shade of blue. “Hi,” he said with a weary smile. “Hi, yourself! How are you feeling?” she asked, straightening his covers as he began to turn onto his back. “AAAAAH!” Harry cried. He doubled up, lying on his side panting, holding his stomach and trying his best not to vomit from the sudden onslaught of horrible pain in his gut. “Pain potion’s worn off,” Tonks crooned sympathetically. “Marcus will be right here, sweetie, don’t worry.” “Good, you’re awake,” Marcus said as he hurried into the room. “Here’s your potion. Scar on my sister’s arm is my password. Let me sit you up a bit — just relax, I’ve got you.” Finally, Harry’s pain subsided and he began to relax. “What happened to me? I thought I was getting better! I was supposed to go back to school in a day or two!” “Do you remember removing most of Professor Snape’s Dark Mark?” Marcus asked him seriously. “Huh?” Harry said, completely at a loss. “A few days ago, you tried to help Professor Snape, remember? But you thought there was a sort of ‘fog’ over his organs, and you traced that to his Dark Mark. So you tried to remove it, and you did get most of it. You used your full power to do it, do you remember at all? And then you collapsed.” “Oh,” Harry said in a small voice. “Using my power injured me somehow?” “Yes.” “And this happened a few days ago?” he asked in bewilderment. “Have I been unconscious all this time?” “You’ve been drifting in and out,” Marcus replied. “Sometimes asleep, sometimes unconscious. We’ve had a time getting your potions into you. This is the first time you’ve been awake enough to talk to us for more than a word or two.” Harry sighed as he considered what his healer had said. “So how much longer do I have to stay here?” he said resignedly. “At least two more days,” Marcus said, patting the boy’s shoulder. “I know you wanted to go back as soon as possible, but you’ve had a setback.” “OK,” Harry sighed, his voice quite glum. He turned to his godfather, who was sitting up in the next bed. “When are you going back, Remus?” “Tomorrow,” Tonks began. “Well . . . I don’t know,” Remus mused, interrupting her. He ran his fingers over his stomach, chest, and arms. “I seem to be having some sort of relapse.” “What?” Harry said in shock. “What’s wrong, Remus?” Marcus asked, turning to the man in concern. “I seem to need to stay here however long my godson does,” Remus replied with a smile. “I’m going to have symptoms of some kind for another day or two at least.” Marcus smiled. “Actually, you were rushing things a bit trying to go back tomorrow. Two more days will do you good.” “So I won’t be here alone?” Harry said hopefully. “No, we won’t leave you here alone,” Remus promised. “Even if they make me leave, Tonks will stay with you.” “But you need her to look after you!” Harry protested, twisting around to look at his godfather seriously. In his heart, though, he hoped his godparents would ignore his protest. “I can stay at school and let Madam Pomfrey fuss over me if I have problems, Harry,” Remus assured him. Harry lay back in bed and smiled. It’s good to have a family, he thought contentedly. Suddenly, his jaw cracked in a yawn. “I just woke up!” he moaned. “Why am I sleepy again?” “Sleep’s the best thing for you right now, Harry,” Marcus assured him. “Next time you wake up, we’ll give you some dinner. For now, though, go back to sleep.” “’K,” Harry agreed, his eyes already drifting closed. Quiet conversation filtered into Harry’s brain, just a hushed background buzz of familiar voices at first. As other voices joined the conversation, his mind clunked into gear trying to identify the speakers and what they were saying. He fought his way to wakefulness and opened one eye, squinting around to see who was in the room with him. “Hi, ducks!” Tonks said when she noticed his movement. “Are you waking up?” “Guess so,” he mumbled. “Who’s here? I heard voices.” “Sorry. We were trying to be quiet,” Tonks said ruefully. “You have a visitor.” She handed him his glasses. “Thanks,” he said, putting them on and looking around the room. “Grandfather! Hi!” “Hello, Harry,” Dumbledore said fondly as he sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” “Fine, as long as they keep enough pain potion in me,” Harry said contritely. “Apparently I hurt myself.” “Yes, you did,” Dumbledore agreed. “You did a marvellous thing in managing to remove most of Professor Snape’s Dark Mark. I didn’t believe it could be done, to be quite honest with you. You used your full power to do it, which is how you got hurt. You weren’t strong enough at the time to use that much magic. The hospital staff was quite impressed with the show.” The old wizard looked rather amused. “The show?” Harry was confused. “Ah, I forgot. You haven’t really looked at the newspapers since the battle, have you?” Harry shook his head. “Your full powers manifested at last during one of your last fights with Lord Voldemort.” “What do you mean?” “You put on quite a light show when you use every ounce of your power, now that you’re a grown man and your Refiner’s Fire powers have fully developed.” He studied Harry’s still-confused face. “Do you remember how I looked in the Ministry of Magic when I was battling Voldemort and you were being protected by the statue?” Harry nodded. “Did you notice that it seemed as if I was surrounded by light and my hair and beard were blowing in a wind, but there was no wind?” Harry nodded again, frowning. “I am very old and have excellent control of my powers, if I do say so myself,” Dumbledore said with an amused smile. “But when I was younger, before I conquered my Refiner’s Fire powers, I looked much as you did when I used my full powers — my hair and beard blew around, sparks came out of it, and there was a bright glow around my body.” “Sparks . . . came out . . . huh?” Harry said, dumbfounded. “Allow me to demonstrate,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “Now remember, I’m very old indeed, and what you’ll see is nothing compared to how you look at your full power.” He stood up and backed away from the bed and waved his wand. Suddenly, he looked much taller and broader, with a silvery-gold glow around his body, his hair and beard blowing in a non-existent breeze. It was over in a moment. “See? When you do that, you have a strong gold aura around you, great gold sparks come out of your hair and the ends of your fingers, and your hair blows much more fiercely than mine did.” He sat back down and patted the stunned young man on the arm. “It’s nothing to worry about, Harry. It’s wonderful that you’ve matured and developed your powers to this extent. Now we’ll have to work on controlling them. But not today.” “I . . .did that?” Harry said, still trying to get his mind around this strange concept. “I had . . . sparks? Coming out of my hair? And fingers? That’s just weird!” He stared at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. “No, dear boy, it isn’t weird. It’s a display of the truly awesome power you command,” Dumbledore said seriously. “So if that’s my magic . . . how did I hurt myself doing magic? I don’t understand.” Harry was a bit frightened. If he injured himself when he used his full powers . . . but his grandfather hadn’t damaged himself just now, had he? Harry’s brain hurt, trying to understand what he was being told. “You were going to go back to school in two days’ time, remember? You’d asked Marcus to let you go as soon as possible. He was allowing you to return to school to finish healing. He’d told you that you’d need to take it easy for a while longer. Do you remember that?” Harry thought a moment, then nodded. “Right. You were still rather fragile from your injuries. Doing powerful magic like that stressed the injuries beyond their tolerance. That’s why you’re in pain again.” “I hurt myself? Is it permanent?” Harry said, horror-struck. He slid his hands over his abdomen, searching for the damage. Dumbledore put his hands over Harry’s, stilling them. “It isn’t permanent, and there’s nothing you can do to speed things up,” Dumbledore told him. “Even if you could, you’d be straining your body again to do so. Just relax and let the healers do their jobs, all right?” “But I’ll be OK then, right? My magic won’t hurt me again?” “Not once you have your strength back, no,” the old headmaster said with a fond smile. “But, Grandfather,” Harry began, then stilled when he heard a gasp near the door. Suddenly wary, he turned to see who was there. “Professor Snape?” “Hello, Mr. Potter,” Snape said as he came into the room, walking with a cane. “Are you feeling better?” “A bit,” Harry said, staring at his least-favourite teacher. “You?” “Much, thank you. Did I hear you say ‘grandfather’?” Snape said in confusion. “Yes, you did,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Harry is my great-great-grandson. I’ve kept it a secret even from him until recently. Since Voldemort’s death, I think it’s safe for him to know that he has a grandfather, and I must say, I’m certainly enjoying having a grandson!” He turned and patted Harry on the shoulder. “And a fine grandson he is.” Harry beamed at him. “I see,” Snape said slowly, not really ‘seeing’ at all. “Potter, are you up to a bit of conversation? I wanted to speak to you, if you don’t mind.” “Sure,” Harry said, struggling to sit up a bit. “Hang on, ducks, let us help you,” Tonks said immediately. Dumbledore helped Harry sit up while she arranged his pillows so he’d be comfortable. “Thanks,” Harry said with a smile. “Comfy?” she said brightly. “Yeah.” “Do you need anything? Are you thirsty or hungry?” she continued. “You’re really getting into this godmother thing, aren’t you? Or are you practicing being a mum?” Harry said with a fond smile. “A little of both,” she said, blushing. “I enjoy spoiling you, sweets. What can I get for you?” “Something to drink would be nice,” Harry replied. “I’ll be right back,” she said, giving him a pert grin as she turned to Remus to see if he needed anything. Dumbledore stood up and moved away, sitting in the chair by Remus’s bed. Snape pulled an empty chair close to Harry’s bed and sat down, looking a bit tired. “Are you all right?” Harry said in concern. “Considering I was hovering between life and death a few days ago, I’m spectacular,” Snape said acerbically. He bit his lip and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak sharply, Potter. This is difficult for me. I hope you’ll be patient and let me say what I need to.” Harry frowned. What was going on? “OK,” he said cautiously. “I want to thank you for what you did for me. I don’t believe anyone has ever had a Dark Mark removed before. I can’t tell you how . . . how different I feel with so much of it gone. I’ve had it for most of my life. I didn’t realize how it coloured everything — my physical and mental states, the way I react to things. It’s . . . well, it’s quite frankly astounding how much my life has changed in such a short time, with part of the Dark Mark removed.” “I’m glad it helped,” Harry said quietly. He could tell the man was building up to saying something even more difficult, but he wondered what, for Snape, could be more difficult than thanking Harry Potter? Snape frowned. “You have always wondered why Professor Dumbledore trusts me. It’s time you heard the story. I just hope you . . . well . . . never mind.” “You hope I’ll what?” Harry prompted. Snape sighed. “Listen with an open mind. But that’s too much to ask. I have to tell the story, and you have to listen however you can. I won’t blame you for your reaction, whatever it is,” he assured the boy. Harry just gazed at him quietly, waiting for whatever was coming. Snape sighed heavily again and began. “You saw some of my memories in the Pensieve, so you know what my childhood and school years were like, to some extent. When I was fourteen, I did something very foolish. I took the Dark Mark.” “At fourteen?” Harry gasped, astonished. “Yes, and if you interrupt me, it will make it even more difficult for me to get through this story,” Snape said with a frown, his eyes glittering darkly. “Sorry. Go on,” Harry urged him. “At fourteen, as I said, I was a very foolish young man and took the Dark Mark. Voldemort had promised wonderful things — power, respect, comrades in arms, honour — heady stuff to a boy who was so reviled by his classmates and family alike. So I joined him. I’d been interested in the Dark Arts even before I started at Hogwarts, so the things he was offering held great appeal for me. In my fifth year, my Potions professor paired me with a Gryffindor, of all things. He had some foolish notion that the Houses should interact more, become ‘friends.’” He shook his head, his greasy curtains of hair flapping sadly around his face. “My lab partner was your mother, Potter. Lily Evans. She was excellent at Potions.” “She was? I’d heard my dad was, but Mum too?” “Yes, your mum too. Your father was an excellent student, and had a gift for Potions as well as Transfiguration. Your mother was simply brilliant — and a sweet, kind girl, as well. We became friends, good friends. I came to care for Lily more than I can say. I . . . fancied her.” His voice faded and his eyes stared off into a distant past Harry could only imagine. “You fancied my mum?” Harry said, stunned. Snape gave Harry a quelling look and the boy subsided. “By the end of our Seventh Year, I was in love with Lily, but she had eyes only for James.” “That was another reason for you to hate him, then,” Harry said wisely. Snape’s eyes locked with Harry’s for a moment. “Yes, it was. After we finished Hogwarts, we went our separate ways. I heard Lily and James married, and a few years later I heard they’d had a child, but that had nothing to do with me, so I just went on about my business. Sometime before they had the child — you — I was in the Hog’s Head. Voldemort wanted me to keep an eye on Dumbledore whenever possible, so I was there spying on him. I did not know at the time that your mother was pregnant — you need to remember that. I heard Sybil Trelawney give Dumbledore a prophecy about the Dark Lord and some child that would be born —” “YOU were the one!” Harry said suddenly, sitting up straight, his eyes flashing green fire. “You were the one who told him about the prophecy! You betrayed my parents!” “Harry, calm down, please,” his grandfather said quietly, moving toward him and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Severus didn’t know who the prophecy referred to, nor did he hear all of it. Remember, you and I discussed this at length. It could have referred to Neville as easily as you.” Harry tried to slow his racing heart. He swallowed hard, then nodded sharply once, and leaned back against his pillows. “Sorry. Go on.” “As Professor Dumbledore just said, I only knew that it referred to the Dark Lord and some child yet to be born. I hurried to tell the Dark Lord what I’d learned, not knowing at the time that Lily was pregnant, as I said earlier. I had no idea she was in danger, or I would not have said anything at all. I want you to believe that. I would never have willingly endangered Lily, no matter how much I despised your father.” Harry swallowed hard again and nodded, but stayed quiet. “When I learned Lily was pregnant and when her baby was due, I realized she was in danger. I went to Professor Dumbledore and told him everything, so he could do whatever was possible to protect her from the Dark Lord. You know that your parents went into hiding.” Harry nodded. “Quite some time passed, and the Dark Lord asked me to go on an errand with him. I was a bit surprised to see that Peter Pettigrew was going to accompany us.” “You were there when my parents were killed, weren’t you?” Harry breathed in horror. “Please, let me tell the story my way, Potter. It will go much more quickly.” Harry bit his lip and sat back, waiting for the rest of the tale. “I had no idea where your parents were hiding, so I didn’t know where we were when we arrived. Voldemort had Pettigrew and me stand aside — he said it would be his pleasure to deal with these people himself. He did this from time to time, so I didn’t think much about it. I wondered why he’d wanted Pettigrew and me to go with him, but you didn’t question the Dark Lord, not ever. He blasted the door off of its hinges and entered the house, where he began to duel your father. I was shocked to see it was James. I had no idea it was his home, I promise you. It was over quickly. Your father was an excellent fighter, but nothing compared to the Dark Lord — or you, Potter. “James yelled for Lily to take you and run. That’s when the Dark Lord killed him. He then found your mother about to lift you from your crib and raised his wand to kill her. I begged him to spare her life. I told him she was my friend, that she was the reason I was so good at potions — I was his Potion Master long before I started teaching at Hogwarts. He offered to spare her life several times, but she would not leave you. I begged her to run, told her she could have more children in the future, but she simply would not leave you.” Snape’s eyes glittered and he bowed his head. A tear slipped down his cheek, shocking Harry. “I would have gladly given my life for Lily, but it was over before I could do anything. And then he cursed you before her body even hit the floor. I had started moving forward, hoping to save Lily’s child if I couldn’t save her, but he struck so quickly — well, you know how fast he was with spells.” Harry nodded, unable to speak. “When he cursed you and the curse rebounded on him, the house just . . . exploded. I grabbed you and ran outside as debris fell all around us. Pettigrew picked up the Dark Lord’s wand and Disapparated. When I got outside, I set you on the ground, then Summoned your parents’ bodies to get them out before they were buried in rubble, since the house was still collapsing. “I picked you up again, thinking to take you to some place of safety. You looked so much like your father, but you had your mother’s eyes, those beautiful eyes . . . .” His voice faded for a moment. Everyone in the room remained still, waiting for him to go on. Finally, he shook his head and lifted his eyes to Harry’s again. “I finally realized that I didn’t know where to take you, where you might have relatives, what to do with you. So I contacted Dumbledore. When I heard that motorcycle coming in the sky, I put you on the ground and hid, thinking Sirius Black had come for you. I knew if he saw me, he’d kill me, assuming I was the one who’d — well, you can imagine. And the rest, you know.” He sat back in his chair, head bowed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am for the way things turned out, Potter. I would have done anything for your mother. And because I stayed a Death Eater in order to spy on Voldemort, I had to treat you horribly all through your school years.” He glanced up at Harry, a rueful smirk flitting across his face for a moment. “Of course, you look and act enough like your father that you annoyed me on a regular basis, so some of my behaviour was due to that. But mostly, I was maintaining my image as a Death Eater when I berated you in class. And part of it was caused, I think now, by the influence of the Dark Mark on my body. I cannot tell you how different I feel with more than half of it gone.” He straightened and gazed into Harry’s eyes quite seriously. “I know I don’t deserve any forgiveness from you, and I won’t ask it. But I am most sincerely sorry for the many ways I mistreated you over the years, and certainly for not being able to save your parents. I wish things had been different. I couldn’t tell you any of this while the Dark Lord lived. Now that he’s gone, thanks to you, I thought you should know the rest of the story.” He sighed heavily and got to his feet. “And I wanted to thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t removed as much of the Dark Mark as you did, I believe I’d be in that awful limbo forever.” Snape stood watching Harry, as if afraid to move, while the young man sat quietly for several long minutes considering what he’d heard. Finally, Harry looked up into those tormented black eyes and said, “I forgive you, Professor.” He held out his hand for Snape to shake. “What?” Snape said, blanching in shock. “I said, I forgive you,” Harry said seriously, grasping and shaking Snape’s hesitantly offered hand firmly. “It isn’t an easy thing for me to do, but I believe it’s what my mother would have wanted me to do. I’m glad you told me the whole story. I understand a lot of things now that never made sense before. Thank you for that.” As he released the man’s hand, he glanced at Snape’s left forearm, where faint traces of the Dark Mark still remained. “And I’ll finish taking that off when I get my strength back, all right?” “You’d do that after hearing what I just told you?” Snape said, astonished. “Yes.” Snape swallowed hard and straightened his shoulders, staring at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. I’ll . . . I’ll see you at school, then. Get well soon.” “Thanks, Professor,” Harry said. He doubted he’d ever feel truly friendly toward the Potions Master, but he did feel lighter in his heart somehow after forgiving the man. He had a lot to think about. Harry slid back down in his bed, his face thoughtful. “That was a wonderful thing you just did, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly as he took the seat Snape had just vacated. “I’m proud of you.” “It just felt like the right thing to do,” Harry said with a shrug. “You knew all of that?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “It wasn’t my story to tell, Harry, and it would have endangered Severus even more if the facts had been revealed. I hope you’ll forgive me.” “There’s nothing to forgive,” Harry said, grasping the old man’s forearm and giving it a squeeze. “You are a better man than I, Harry, truly,” his grandfather said, smiling at him. “And apparently a tired one. Go to sleep. Get your strength back so you can return to school.” “OK,” Harry said, stifling a yawn as well as he could. He removed his glasses and turned over on his side, his mind whirling with all of the information he had to process. As he pondered these things, he drifted off to sleep. A few days later, Harry, supported by a crutch under his left arm, and Remus, using a cane for balance, walked through the doors of the Great Hall. Dinner was in full swing, with the house tables nearly groaning under the massive amounts of food the house-elves had prepared for the students and staff. Remus stood watching Harry as the young man surveyed the Great Hall. Harry had been smiling, happy to be back at school, but suddenly, his face lit with real joy. Remus followed his gaze down the length of the Gryffindor table and saw a long mane of red hair swinging beyond Neville Longbottom’s back. Ron was seated across from Ginny. He glanced up and saw the two in the doorway, his face splitting in an ear-to-ear grin. Ginny turned to face them and was soon pelting down the length of the Hall, Ron and Hermione doing their best to keep up with her, Ron’s limp much more pronounced as he tried to hurry. Remus looked back at Harry and smiled at the look of pure bliss suffusing the young wizard’s face. Ginny stopped herself just before she would have thrown herself into Harry’s arms. Very carefully, she wrapped her arms around his slim waist and embraced him, burying her face in his chest. “I’m so glad you’re back!” she said when she lifted shining eyes to her fiancé’s face. “It’s good to be back,” Harry said, bending to kiss her briefly. Ron and Hermione arrived just then and careful, gentle hugs were exchanged all around. Remus greeted the three and started walking slowly down the length of the Hall, planning to take his seat at the Head Table. By this time, others had noticed their arrival. Dumbledore stood and led the applause, cheers and whistles that erupted all over the hall. Harry stood with one arm around Ginny, lifting his other hand to wave at his friends at the various tables. As he grinned, feeling more light-hearted than he had in ages, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He drew his wand, but Ginny had already been hexed and fallen to the floor. “Ginny!” Harry cried, broken-hearted. She’d dropped like a stone. He turned to face his attacker and saw a hex coming from Blaise Zabini’s wand. He tried to dodge it and fire back, but his crutch hampered him, his weakness slowed his reflexes, and the hex hit him full in the chest. As he fell, his wand dropped from his fingers. Rage and the devastated feeling that had overwhelmed him the instant Ginny fell concentrated into a burst of energy that flew from his branded right hand and slammed Zabini against the wall, pinning him there. Harry put every bit of his massive Refiner’s Fire power behind the intense bolt of energy that hit Zabini. The Slytherin boy vibrated as he remained plastered to the wall, magical power coursing through him like surges of high-voltage electricity. When Harry’s body slumped to the floor, Zabini was released from the spell but remained pinned to the wall, quite dead. The front of his robes was burned away, revealing distorted images of phoenixes and griffins branded deeply into his chest. Harry lay next to Ginny, barely able to breathe. With a tremendous effort, he turned his head to look at her. Her eyes fluttered open after a moment and he smiled tremulously, glad beyond belief that she was alive. “Gin,” he breathed painfully. “I’m . . . sorry. So sorry.” “What?” she asked muzzily, only just beginning to wake up. Harry slid his hand across the floor and touched her cheek with a trembling finger. “It’s . . . not fair. I . . . was free! Not . . . fair,” he gasped, then collapsed and lost consciousness. Remus had hobbled back to his godson and now fell to his knees beside him. He turned Harry’s body over, tears streaming down his face as he did so. “Harry? Harry?” he cried, touching the boy’s beloved face with tender hands. “Don’t give up now! Hang on!” He lifted his godson in his arms and rocked him, his heart breaking as he felt the boy’s body already stiffening. “No! No, not now! NO!” Ron and Hermione pocketed their wands and knelt on the floor next to Ginny, looking at Harry in Remus’s arms with horror. They had stunned Zabini’s friends who had their wands out and aimed at Harry. “He’s not . . . dead, is he?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “Not yet,” Remus sobbed, “but soon, if he doesn’t get help.” Several things happened at once then. Ron couldn’t deal with the reality in front of him, his best friend dying in Remus’s arms. He shook his head determinedly and turned to his sister, who was still lying on the floor. “Gin? You OK?” he asked, helping her sit up. “MERLIN!” Ginny screamed as Ron clasped her narrow shoulders with his large hands to help her up. “Harry needs help!” As Ginny called for Harry’s phoenix, Hermione pointed her wand at Harry and said, “Finite Incantatum,” but nothing happened. “You can’t undo this kind of spell with a Finite,” Remus told her sadly as he rocked his godson in his arms. “It’s far too complex for that.” “You’ve seen this kind of spell before?” Hermione asked anxiously. “What is it?” “I don’t know the name of it,” Remus began, but was interrupted by the phoenix’s arrival. Merlin grasped his master’s robes in his talons and flashed him away quickly. Remus sat looking dazedly at the empty space in his arms where Harry had just been, tears streaming down his face. “What kind of spell was that, Remus?” Hermione pressed. “A very Dark one. He was barely breathing,” Remus said, struggling to his feet and hobbling as quickly as he could toward the hospital wing, Ginny, Ron and Hermione in his wake. “Fawkes!” Dumbledore cried as he reached the group in the doorway. His phoenix flashed above him. “Take them to the hospital wing, please,” he said, pointing at the four grieving people in front of him. He turned to them and said, “I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” just as Fawkes flashed them out of sight. “He just got out of the hospital!” Madam Pomfrey scolded everyone in general as she fussed over Harry’s still form. He was fighting for every breath, making horrible squeaking sounds, his skin turning a dusky purple colour as it was deprived of oxygen. “What happened this time?” “He was attacked,” Hermione said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I can see that,” the nurse snapped. “What kind of hex was it?” “A Slytherin cast it,” Ron growled, absolutely furious that his best mate had been attacked the instant he’d returned to school from his long recovery after the battle. “Blaise Zabini. Whatever it was, it was a Dark spell.” “Miss Weasley,” the nurse said impatiently, “go to the fireplace and call my brother.” Ginny sat by Harry’s side, holding his hand and weeping as she stroked each long finger in turn. She shuddered in horror as his skin darkened from lack of oxygen until the fine black hairs on his arm barely showed, there was so little contrast with his skin. She didn’t seem to hear the nurse at all. She lifted his hand and pressed his palm against her breastbone, wishing the strong beating of her heart would somehow filter through his fingers into his body, and help him survive. “I’ll do it,” Ron said, his voice low and sad. He limped to the fireplace as quickly as he could and contacted St. Mungo’s. “Marcus Pomfrey, please. It’s an emergency. Harry Potter’s been attacked with a Dark spell and Madam Pomfrey doesn’t know what to do for him,” he told the receptionist who answered his call. “I’ll try to find him, but he’s taken the day off,” she said impatiently. “He thought it would be safe now, with Potter back at school.” “So did we,” Ron snapped, his frustration and anger about to boil over. “Just tell him to get here as fast as he can. Or send Healer Bradford if you can’t find Marcus. Be quick about it! Harry’s barely breathing.” He withdrew his head from the fire and went back to sit by his best friend’s bed. Dumbledore came striding into the room. “How is he?” “Not well, not well at all,” Nurse Pomfrey said as she anxiously examined the young wizard. “He isn’t getting enough oxygen. Something’s terribly wrong with his lungs.” She studied him worriedly for a moment. “Let’s sit him up a bit — that will help him breathe more easily.” Ron lifted Harry’s shoulders and slid in behind him, holding him upright in his arms as he’d done numerous times when Harry was ill or injured and needed potions. “That’s good, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Thank you.” She turned to the headmaster. “I don’t have the right antidote for this kind of spell. Can you do anything about it?” “I saw the spell cast, but I’m not familiar with it,” Dumbledore said, gazing at his grandson with heartbroken eyes. “I’d have to research it to find the counter-spell or antidote, and it doesn’t look as if he has time for that.” “You’re right,” the nurse said darkly. Suddenly Hermione sat up straight. “Gills!” she cried. “That will do it!” She turned to the nurse. “Can you get a tank of water up here big enough to hold Harry?” “Why?” Madam Pomfrey asked, thoroughly confused. “Fish don’t have lungs! It’s perfect!” Ron said, cottoning on. “Will it work?” he asked the nurse. “Will what work?” she said, still not understanding. “I think it’s an inspired idea,” Dumbledore said with a relieved smile. “I can conjure a tank of water for Harry to see if it works. Then if it does, we can bring a real tank up and use that.” He looked at Remus. “Perhaps one of your grindylow tanks could be enlarged for him? It would be sturdier and last longer than a conjured one.” “Yes, I’m sure that would work,” Remus said, looking hopeful for the first time since Harry had been injured. “Would someone please tell me what you lot are on about?” Madam Pomfrey said impatiently as Dumbledore passed his wand over Harry’s body, apparently measuring him, then turned and conjured a tank on the floor near the young man’s bed. “Harry can do a gill transformation,” Hermione explained. “Fish don’t have lungs. They get air into their bodies through the membranes in their gills. If he had gills and was in water, he’d get plenty of oxygen until he healed enough to breathe with his lungs again!” “But Harry does that himself,” Ginny countered, looking worried. “He’s been teaching me how to do it, but I can’t manage it every time yet.” She looked up at Dumbledore. “Can you give him gills?” “Yes,” he said, studying the conjured tank and turning to his students. “You lot fill that with water while I work on Harry, all right?” Hermione and Ron instantly pointed their wands at the tank and began conjuring water to fill it. Ginny was torn between wanting to stay with Harry and wanting to help. Remus patted her on the shoulder and added his wand to the tank-filling effort. “Right, then,” Dumbledore said after a moment’s thought. “I think this will do.” He pushed up his sleeves, then began to pass his wand over Harry’s neck, muttering a long incantation under his breath. “Do it to both of us,” Ginny insisted suddenly. “He’s not going in there alone.” “That’s a good idea,” he said, then included her in the wand movement he was making. Suddenly, both Harry and Ginny had gills. Harry began to choke, unable to breathe at all. Ginny simply held her breath and climbed into the tank, waiting for Dumbledore to Levitate Harry into it with her. She pulled Harry under the water and began to breathe through her gills, watching her fiancé hopefully. Harry wasn’t moving, nor were his gills. Panicked, Ginny pushed on his chin, forcing his mouth open and closed, encouraging him to breathe the only way she could think of. His gills finally began to move. Ginny sat down on the bottom with her back against the glass wall, cradling his head in her lap as she helped him breathe. Several tense minutes later, his mouth was opening and closing on its own, the gills doing their job. His skin gradually lost some of its dusky colour and his lips were no longer blue. Suddenly, Harry’s eyes opened and he looked around, his face terrified, his movements weak but frantic. His hands scrabbled at the glass walls of the tank as if trying to escape. Ginny pressed her hands into his cheeks and turned his face up to look at her. The sight of her calmed him immediately. He mouthed some words to her, then relaxed visibly when she mouthed something back at him. No one outside the tank could make out what they were saying. “It seems to be working,” Remus said in relief as he watched the joy in Harry’s face as he realized Ginny was all right. “I’ll go and get the grindylow tank. I’ll be right back.” He hurried from the room. Harry looked at the beloved face above him. The last he remembered, he’d thought she was dying. His heart swelled with gratitude and love to see she was fine, she was safe, and she was doing what she could to help him. He mouthed, “I love you,” and smiled when she mouthed the same precious words. He reached up with a trembling hand, wanting to touch her. She took his hand in hers and lifted it to her mouth, kissing each finger in turn, then opening his hand and kissing his palm tenderly. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, then held her palm to his cheek and just gazed at her. Even in the eerie greenish light of the water-filled tank, she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Her robes were flapping gently in the current created by air being magically injected into the water to ensure them having enough oxygen. Her long hair floated around both of them in a fiery red cloud. Harry glanced around, trying to sort out where they were and how they got there. He could see there were other people outside the tank, but with her hair in the way, he could only tell that one of them was Ron and another was Dumbledore, simply by their height and hair colour. That small person crouched by the tank closest to him must be Hermione from the mass of dark hair roiling around her head. He tried to smile, then wondered if they could see him at all between the distortion in the glass and Ginny’s cloud of hair. Bloody hell, he thought, what have I got myself into now? His chest hurt horribly, his lungs a leaden weight within him. His robes felt heavy and awkward in the water, their weight adding to the pain in his chest. He let go of Ginny’s hand and rolled onto one elbow, trying to push himself into a sitting position. When that failed, he fell back into her lap and tugged feebly at his robes, trying to get the heaviness off of his chest. Outside the tank, Dumbledore saw his movement and understood. He swiftly Vanished Harry’s robes and Transfigured his briefs into swimming trunks, receiving a wan smile in thanks from his grandson. When the headmaster saw Ginny glance up at him, he tilted his head in question. She nodded, and he Transfigured her robes into a modest black swim suit. Ginny nodded her thanks to him, grateful to be more comfortable in her current situation. She lifted Harry’s head and slipped out from under him, moving around to the side of the tank and settling down there where he could see her more easily. She lifted his head and shoulders a bit and slid her legs under his back and bent them to create a back support for him. She tucked his head under her chin and held his torso in her arms to try to let him be in the more upright position he seemed to want. Harry rested a few minutes in Ginny’s arms, then began moving around again. At Ginny’s questioning look, he pushed gently at her restraining arms and she let go of him so he could find a more comfortable position. He pulled away from her and moved around until his upper back was supported by the glass wall of the tank, allowing him to be even more upright. Then he placed the arm that had been trapped between their bodies around her back, tucking his shoulder under her arm and resting his head on her shoulder again. He lay there panting from exertion, his gills flapping quickly as he fought his weakness. Finally, his breathing slowed to a more normal rate and he finally relaxed in her embrace, closing his eyes wearily. “What will happen if he falls asleep or loses consciousness in there?” Madam Pomfrey asked Dumbledore worriedly as she watched the now slow but steady movement of her resting patient’s gills. “The transformation will hold, and his gills should keep working. After all, he was unconscious when we put him in the tank,” Dumbledore replied. “I do think it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him at all times, to make certain he’s all right.” “Mr. Weasley, go and call St. Mungo’s again,” Madam Pomfrey urged. “Tell them the situation and that I don’t know how to treat this type of hex. They need to send us a healer. We simply can’t move him while he’s in a tank of water.” She shook her head, baffled about what to do to help the boy, who was breathing much better now but couldn’t stay in there forever. “OK,” Ron said, then hurried to the fireplace to contact the hospital. A few minutes later, the hospital wing doors swung open with a bang and Snape came striding in, carrying a self-stirring cauldron in one hand, a small stand and a pot of fire in the other. “I have the antidote here,” Snape said as he approached the bed and noticed Ron walking toward it, having finished his call to the hospital. “Weasley, you know what to do.” He stopped cold when he saw the tank on the far side of the bed. “What is that?” “It’s a tank of water,” Remus explained as he entered the room, Levitating a clean, empty grindylow tank in front of him. “Here, Albus. This is the biggest one I have. How’s he doing?” “Fairly well for now. Let’s get the tank set up and get him moved,” Dumbledore said. “I have the antidote here,” Snape said again. “What’s going on?” “For now, Harry and Ginny have gills so Harry can breathe. His lungs were severely damaged by that spell,” Dumbledore said, finally taking his attention off of Harry’s situation long enough that what Snape was saying finally registered in his mind. “You have the antidote?” “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Snape said impatiently. “He’ll need his gills removed so he can take the potion.” Dumbledore bent down by the tank so Ginny could see him. He tapped gently on the glass. “Miss Weasley? Is he awake?” Ginny looked at him, then down at Harry, who was now completely limp in her arms. She shook her head. “Could you wake him? Professor Snape has a potion that will help him,” Dumbledore said kindly. Ginny rocked Harry’s shoulder, trying to wake him, her movements growing more agitated as he failed to respond. Just then, she noticed his gills weren’t moving. She stood up quickly and hauled on his body, trying to lift him out of the water. She couldn’t speak, since she had gills, but she didn’t need to. The others in the room sprang into action. Dumbledore Levitated Harry out of the tank and onto the bed while Remus cast Drying and Warming Charms on him. Dumbledore removed the gills from Harry, then turned and did the same for Ginny, who was climbing out of the tank on her own, since everyone was ignoring her for the moment. Ron pulled Harry’s limp body into a sitting position with Harry’s back resting against Ron’s broad chest, his head nestled in the crook of Ron’s shoulder. Hermione gently removed Harry’s glasses, trying not to sob as she carefully folded them closed and put them on the bedside table. “What’s your password?” Ginny demanded of Snape in a shrill voice as her brother, best friend and professors tried to help her fiancé. Snape set the cauldron on the bedside table before replying, making sure the cauldron was secure on its stand over the little pot of fire. “His father — and he — saved my life. Potter removed most of my Dark Mark in the hospital, as well,” he said, sliding his sleeve up to show the remains of the mark. He glanced at Ron, who was still trying to get Harry’s body arranged comfortably. Ron’s lame leg was hindering his efforts. “Hurry, Mr. Weasley. The sooner we get this into him, the less he’ll suffer.” “What do you mean, the less he’ll suffer?” Ginny said suspiciously. “Are you going to finish killing him?” she added, her voice on the edge of hysteria. “No, you silly girl. I’m trying to save his life. I owe him mine,” Snape said. “This is the preferred antidote for the Lead Lung Curse.” “The Lead Lung Curse?” Hermione gasped. “Is that what it is? I saw that mentioned in a book once. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” She shook her head, angry at herself. “Poppy?” Snape said, looking up at the nurse. “It is the Lead Lung Curse, isn’t it?” “It has all the signs of it, Severus. I didn’t have the antidote here and was trying to find something that would do,” she said, indicating the huge stack of open books lying helter-skelter on a nearby table. “Thank you for bringing it.” “I learned yesterday that Zabini was researching that curse, so I began the antidote just in case he perfected it,” Snape sneered as he finished dipping a portion of the potion into a small vial. “That’s the first time he’s managed a difficult curse — and the last.” He held the vial toward Harry and glanced at Ron. “Hold Potter’s head up, Weasley, we don’t want him to choke. Poppy, if you’d help him swallow,” he said as he lifted the vial to Harry’s lips, which were rapidly turning blue again. Madam Pomfrey used her wand to cast a Swallowing Spell. Harry coughed, a tight, painful sound, what little air he was taking in rattling and squeaking loudly as it moved slowly through his lungs. Snape pulled the vial away from the young man’s lips when the coughing began. Ron bent him forward and pounded him on the back as the coughing continued. “Cough it up, mate. Better out than in,” he said encouragingly. “Beating him won’t help,” Snape snapped. “Just keep him upright. It will be easier for him to breathe that way.” He put the vial to Harry’s lips once more and got the dose into him this time. “What exactly is the Lead Lung Curse?” Hermione asked hesitantly as a chastened Ron got Harry’s head settled back against his shoulder again. “The book I saw it in only said it was nearly always–” She stopped herself before saying “fatal.” She glanced at Ginny and saw that she, like everyone else, knew the word Hermione had avoided saying. Snape ignored her gaffe. “It hardens the walls of the lungs. He can’t move air if he can’t expand his lungs,” he explained as he set the vial by the cauldron. “That’s why he’s wheezing now. His airways have constricted quite tightly. It’s a fast-acting curse. If I hadn’t had the antidote already prepared, he would have died in another minute or two. The gills bought him some time. If he hadn’t had those, he would have died very quickly and painfully.” “But he’ll live now? He’ll be OK?” Ginny asked, looking almost afraid to hope. Harry’s face was blue once more from lack of oxygen, as were his fingernails. The skin on the rest of his body was already quite dusky again. “He looks awful.” “And I’m sure he feels awful, as well,” Snape replied. “He has a long recovery period ahead of him, and he’s not out of the woods yet. It could still go either way.” “NO!” Ginny cried, tears flooding her eyes again. “He’s been through so much already! It’s not fair!” “No, it isn’t fair at all,” Snape agreed quietly. “He deserves better.” Everyone stared at him in shock, silenced by the Potions Master actually saying something sympathetic about Harry Potter. “How is he?” Dumbledore asked, leaning over his grandson. “Can you tell if the potion is working?” “He’s just hanging on for now,” Snape replied softly, studying the young man’s face with an unusually sympathetic expression. “He has a long way to go, but he’s already moving more air.” He gently took Harry’s limp hand in his and examined the nail beds, which were growing pink again. “See? His body is getting more oxygen now.” He seemed to realize he was behaving in an unusual way, then shook himself a bit and became businesslike once more. He glanced up at the nurse. “He’ll need a dose of this potion every two hours around the clock, Poppy. I’ll go brew some more. It has to steep for twelve hours before it’s effective, so the next batch should be ready when this one runs out.” He dropped his eyes and stared quietly at Harry for a long moment, then shook himself out of his reverie. “He’ll also need a Spitting Daisy Poultice applied every hour around the clock for the next three days. Do you have some on hand?” “Yes, I do,” the nurse replied, glad she had something in stock that would help the boy. “Good. All we can do now is wait,” Snape said, still sitting on the edge of the bed and keeping a close eye on Harry. “What happened after we left?” Remus asked Dumbledore after forcing himself to tear his eyes away from his godson. “Mr. Zabini is dead. Harry wasn’t in control of his power at the time — I don’t think he intended to kill him,” Dumbledore said quietly. “He thought Ginny was dead! Of course he wanted to kill him!” Ron snarled. “So did I, but Harry got to him first.” “I wouldn’t have believed Harry could move that quickly, as weak as he was, and on a crutch,” Hermione mused sadly. “He was so badly hurt, yet he managed to fight back,” Dumbledore remarked, stroking his grandson’s hair gently. “Bless him.” The hospital wing doors opened again and Hagrid did his best to tiptoe in, followed by Professor McGonagall. “How is he?” Hagrid asked, gazing at his young friend with heartbroken eyes. “I moved the body like you asked me, Headmaster. It was stuck ter the wall pretty hard. Professor Flitwick an’ I had trouble getting it off. He’s cleanin’ up the mess now.” “Thank you, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said kindly. “I appreciate your help.” “I contacted the boy’s parents. They were livid, of course, but I had enough witness statements to shut them up,” McGonagall said acerbically. “I understand their being upset about their son’s death, but the way they dismissed his attack on Harry! Appalling!” “The Aurors should find out if they’re Death Eaters that haven’t been rounded up yet,” Hermione suggested, her dark eyes snapping furiously. “Yes, I already contacted them,” McGonagall said, nodding approvingly at Hermione. A sudden commotion from the fireplace attracted everyone’s attention. “What the bloody hell happened to him this time?” Marcus Pomfrey demanded as he brushed the soot off of his clothes, Healer Bradford right behind him. “I’m sorry it took so long — I had taken the day off, and Brad was in the middle of . . . what’s wrong with him?” he said, aghast as he saw the blue tinge still suffusing Harry’s tortured face. “Lead Lung Curse,” Madam Pomfrey said darkly. “What have you done for him so far?” Marcus said tersely, already moving the blanket so he could examine him. “Ron, why are you holding him?” the healer asked suddenly. “Professor Snape said Harry could breathe easier if he was sitting up,” Ron explained. “I don’t mind holding him.” “Poppy, can you raise the head of the bed so Ron doesn’t have to hold him?” Marcus asked as he examined his patient. “He can’t sit here forever.” He glanced up at the redhead. “How’s the leg?” “Fine. I limp, but it’s not painful. It just doesn’t work the way it used to,” Ron replied stoically. “And I don’t mind holding Harry. It’s something I can do for him.” “All right. You can do that for a while. I’m sure it’s comforting to him to have you there.” He looked up and smiled at the redhead. “I wish we could have done better on your leg,” the healer said, shaking his head as he continued his examination of Harry’s still form. “If Harry hadn’t fixed my leg, I’d have a lot more to complain about,” Ron murmured, gently moving Harry’s arm off of his chest so it was out of Marcus’s way. His heart clenched at how limp his friend was. Moving his arm was like moving a rag doll’s arm — it just flopped and lay wherever it landed. Madam Pomfrey told the healers what had been done for Harry so far. “And the gills worked?” Bradford said in surprise. “We’ll have to remember that one. I wouldn’t have thought of it.” “Miss Granger thought of it,” the nurse said approvingly. “Only because Harry does that transformation so he can swim in the lake,” Hermione said sadly. “He thought of it. I just remembered it.” “Well done anyway,” Marcus said encouragingly. “So how is he?” Ginny asked in a small voice. “I won’t kid you. He’s in bad shape. He’ll have difficulty breathing for a while,” Marcus said. “It’s a good job that Professor Snape had that potion ready, or Harry would be in a great deal more danger.” He gave the Potions Master an approving glance. “Thank you, Professor.” Snape nodded in reply. “I’ve never seen this spell before. Have you, Brad?” “I’ve seen it only once, in Algeria,” Bradford replied. “The poor bloke died a horrible death. We had no way to treat him.” He glanced up at the nurse. “I want you to keep excellent records of everything that’s done for him. We’ll be adding this treatment to our medical books.” He turned to Snape. “Could you give me the formula for that potion and any other information you have on this hex?” “Certainly,” Snape agreed. “Why is he still unconscious?” Ginny asked worriedly. “He’s been out for ever so long.” “His body is protecting him from pain,” Marcus said kindly. “Sometimes our bodies know better than we do about such things. He needs time for the potion to work, time to heal,” Bradford added. “If he was awake, he’d be in terrible pain. We’d have to give him pain potions, and those slow the breathing as the patient relaxes. He doesn’t need his breathing slowed any more than it is. So being unconscious for a while is actually helping him. If he’s still out after twenty-four hours, I want to know, but he should be awake by then.” Bradford passed his crystals over Harry’s chest again, then straightened. “It might be more comfortable for him to have gills for the next twenty-four hours, to give the potion a chance to work,” he said. “You’ll just have to remove the gills when you give him his potions.” “What about the poultice?” Madam Pomfrey said. “He can’t have one while he’s underwater.” Bradford turned to Snape. “You’re the expert here, Professor. What do you recommend?” “Leave it off for the next twelve hours,” Snape replied. “Take him out of the water then and apply a poultice and keep an eye on him. If he’s still struggling to breathe and in a lot of pain, give him a minimal amount of pain potion — too much will react badly with the one that’s healing his lungs. When the poultice dries, remove it and put him back in the water. Try him out of the water again every two hours until he can breathe somewhat freely.” “All right,” the nurse said, glad someone knew how to deal with this kind of spell. “If there’s nothing further, then?” Snape asked. He glanced around, then nodded curtly and left, striding briskly toward the doors. “Professor Snape?” Ginny called suddenly. The man turned and looked at her impatiently. “What is it, Miss Weasley? I have things to do.” “I just wanted to thank you,” she said in a small voice. “Oh. Yes. Well,” Snape said, obviously nonplussed. “I’m glad I had the potion prepared.” “Me, too,” she said softly, gazing at him steadily, her eyes brimming with tears. “Right. I’ll . . . um . . . I’ll just go and brew some more, then,” Snape said uncomfortably, then turned and started down the corridor. “May we watch?” Bradford called. “If you wish,” Snape said, waiting for the healers to join him. The three of them disappeared around the corner, talking quietly as they went. “So what now? Back in the tank?” Remus asked when they were gone. “That’s what Severus said,” Madam Pomfrey replied. Hagrid wanted to do something to help, so he lifted Harry gently in his arms and held him tenderly while Dumbledore gave him gills. He then settled his young friend gently in the tank, his huge tears splashing as they landed in the water that quickly covered Harry’s body. The sight of Harry’s limp form sinking in the water broke Hagrid’s great heart. The boy looked dead, and being underwater didn’t help that image at all. He sniffled hard, then lifted Ginny and helped her stand in the tank as her gills appeared. When she ducked under the water and sat down beside Harry, Hagrid pulled out his table-cloth-sized spotted handkerchief and blew his nose loudly after wiping his eyes. “Well, I’d better go an’ . . . an’ do summat,” the gamekeeper said brokenly. “Let me know if there’s summat I can do ter help him.” “We will, Hagrid. Thank you,” Dumbledore said, patting the man’s arm kindly. He turned to McGonagall. “Minerva–” “I will go deal with the Zabinis and whatever else crops up,” she assured him. “You stay here with your grandson. He needs you now.” “Thank you,” the old wizard said gratefully as he sank back tiredly into a cushy armchair he’d conjured moments before. He stared at his grandson lying so still in the tank, as if watching Harry would help him breathe more easily. “Remus?” Hermione said quietly. She’d just remembered something. “You seemed to recognize the spell. Have you seen it before?” Remus sighed heavily, glanced at the tank, then dropped his eyes, as if the sight was too painful for him to bear. “I saw it once, during the previous war with Voldemort. It hit a friend of mine. His body stiffened the way Harry’s did down in the Great Hall. I tried to help him, but there was nothing . . . no one knew what to do. He was in agony,” Remus said, his face anguished at the memory. “He was dead within minutes. It was a horrible way to go.” He shook his head sadly, then sighed. “Severus’s potion seems to be helping,” he said, trying to lighten the dark mood of the group surrounding the bed. Hermione nodded and crawled into Ron’s lap, glad to have his strong arms cuddling her. She sighed and relaxed against him, her eyes, like everyone else’s, locked on that tank where her friend fought for his life. She burrowed her head deeper into Ron’s broad shoulder and hoped for the best. When Harry and Ginny sank to the bottom of Remus’s enlarged and water-filled grindylow tank, Ginny did her best to arrange Harry’s limp body the way he’d done it before he lost consciousness. As she settled his head on her shoulder, making sure his gills weren’t obstructed, she studied his face. He looked so young, much too young to have faced all the trials he’d gone through in his life so far. She smoothed his hair away from his too-pale face. The light filtering through the water gave his hair shimmering highlights that glistened and shifted erratically as it moved in the gentle current. His lashes looked so dark against his too-pale skin. She missed the lovely roses that bloomed in his cheeks when he was excited, happy or cold. The strange underwater light made the faint tracery of scars on his chest and arms stand out brightly against his skin. She’d learned to ignore his scars, and truthfully, since his treatment the previous summer, they barely showed at all. But now, they were greenish-white lines criss-crossing his body in bright, bizarre patterns. They’re probably so bright because his skin is still dusky from lack of oxygen, she mused. The gills were moving air for him, but not nearly enough, he was breathing so slowly. She wondered briefly if her tears would make the water too salty. She sighed as well as anyone with gills could manage, and watched the slow movement of his gills as he struggled to survive. She sat tense and worried as the gills lay closed and still against his neck, willing him with every ounce of strength within her to take the next breath, not relaxing until his gills were wide open once more. And then they would close again, and the stressful cycle would start once more. The hours passed slowly. Ginny was shattered from the strain of hovering over Harry and willing his gills to keep moving. When Harry was removed from the tank in order to be given his potions, she took advantage of the break and walked around the hospital wing, loosening up her cramped legs. She was preparing to re-enter it as Dumbledore Levitated Harry into the water when Ron stepped in front of her. “It’s my turn,” he said stoutly. “You need to rest.” “He needs me!” she protested. “He expects me to be there when he wakes up!” “And you will be — just outside the tank. Harry wouldn’t want you exhausting yourself. It’s my turn now. Hermione can take the next turn. We all want to help him. It’s time you rested.” Nervous but determined, he turned to Dumbledore and said, “Can you give me gills, please, sir?” “Certainly,” Dumbledore said, lifting his wand. “And teach us how to do it, as well,” Hermione added quickly. “Harry’s taught Ginny to do it herself — she almost has it. But we haven’t learned it.” “Of course,” Dumbledore said kindly. He showed them the proper grip and wand movement and said the incantation slowly, giving Ron gills while Ginny stood in the tank holding the unconscious Harry’s hands and watched his gill movement, refusing to let him be alone even for a moment. The headmaster also Transfigured Ron’s robes into swim trunks, making the redhead blush. Ron got into the tank awkwardly, his bad leg giving out when he tried to use it for support as he climbed over the side. He fell in with a splash, coming up sputtering and embarrassed. He looked around nervously for a moment, and then his face became truly alarmed when he found he couldn’t breathe properly out of the water. His sister pushed his head under and he gulped, finally getting his gills moving. She smirked at him a bit as she climbed out. Ron gave her a withering look, then settled on the bottom next to Harry’s still form. He looked around, trying to decide how to make his friend comfortable, then decided the “potions position” was probably the best he could manage. He moved to the narrow end of the tank above Harry’s head and settled his back against the glass, then pulled his best friend up into his arms so he was sitting almost upright. Madam Pomfrey had told them that the weight of Harry’s lungs would be very painful to him if he was lying on his back, so as upright a position as possible would be best. Once Harry was settled into place, Ron relaxed and looked rather pleased with his ability to breathe in the water, grinning cheekily at the girls whenever he caught their eyes. “Go and lie down, Ginny,” Hermione urged her weary friend. “I’ll keep an eye on these two.” “Get me if anything changes — or when he needs his next dose,” Ginny said seriously. “I will. Take a nap or something.” “As if I could sleep,” Ginny sighed, glancing at her boyfriend’s still form. “I wish he’d wake up again.” “Marcus told us his body is protecting him from pain by staying unconscious,” Hermione reminded her. “Yeah,” Ginny said darkly. “That isn’t much comfort. It scares me, him being unconscious for so long, and in the water. He stopped breathing in there once — he could do it again. Do keep an eye on him for me, will you?” “I will — and on your brother as well,” Hermione promised. “Yeah, him too,” Ginny conceded with a small smile, glancing at her brother. “His poor leg. It looks awful, and the water just seems to magnify it.” “Don’t let Ron hear you saying that,” Hermione warned urgently, turning herself and Ginny so that Ron couldn’t see their faces as they spoke. “He’s not as strong about it as he seems to be.” “Yeah, I know a lot of that ‘I’m fine’ stuff is an act he learned from Harry,” Ginny agreed, her tone surprisingly snide. “He will be fine, once he gets his strength back,” Hermione insisted. “He’ll always limp, and it will always be ugly! He used to have beautiful legs! He was an athlete!” Ginny snapped, her fear and grief over everything that had happened to them recently finally exploding in rage. “At least he has both of his own legs! And he’ll still be an athlete! He’ll be a professional Quidditch player soon, for Merlin’s sake! What’s wrong with you?” Hermione hissed, shocked at her friend’s words. Ginny had been so supportive of Ron ever since his injury in the battle. Making such negative comments was out of character for her. “My boyfriend — my fiancé — is lying in a grindylow tank full of water, barely able to breathe even with gills, and you’re asking what’s wrong with me?” Ginny snarled furiously, ready to do battle. “Ladies,” Remus said softly. “Ron’s noticed you arguing.” Dumbledore was also watching them closely. Both girls froze. “Sorry,” Hermione said finally, hanging her head. “Me, too,” Ginny replied reluctantly. Yes, she’d lost two brothers recently, as well as her home, and Ron was crippled for life. Yes, Harry had nearly died from the wounds he’d received in battle, and now twice more since then, but still — Hermione had lost both of her parents and was also grieving over Ron’s and Harry’s injuries. Ginny shouldn’t take out her rage on her best friend, whose heart had been as sorely abused lately as Ginny’s. Truly chastened, she hugged Hermione and then climbed into a nearby bed. She stared at the tank for a long time, tears streaming silently down her face as she tried to deal with the madness of her life recently. She was glad Harry and Ron couldn’t see her clearly if they looked her way. She didn’t want them to worry about why she was crying. Finally, she turned over and fell into a troubled sleep. “What was all that about?” Remus quietly asked Hermione once Ginny had climbed into bed. “I don’t honestly know,” she said with a sigh. “I think she’s had about all the stress she can stand. I feel the same way.” “Well, don’t take it out on each other,” Remus advised. “OK,” Hermione said with a sigh as she sat next to the tank, smiling a bit at Ron as she did so. She saw a sympathetic look in his eyes and gratefully pressed her hand against the glass near him. He pressed his hand against the glass on his side, matching her finger for finger, a slow grin spreading across his face at the huge disparity in the size of their hands. She returned his grin and settled down to keep watch over her love and the young man who was closer to her than a brother. “It’s time for the poultice,” the nurse said hours later. “It can be quite comforting.” Once Harry was Levitated out of the tank, his gills removed and his body dried and warmed with charms, she sat on the edge of the bed and began spreading the poultice on his chest. The fumes were horrible, like manky old socks soaked in skunk perfume and set on fire. “It seems to be helping him,” Ron said in relief after watching his best friend closely for several minutes. “He’s not fighting so hard to breathe.” Ron and the others, however, were all holding their noses until the fumes dissipated a bit. “Oh, we’re such idiots!” Hermione said suddenly. She pulled out her wand and did Bubblehead Charms on herself, Ron and Ginny. “Better?” “Yeah, thanks,” Ron said, sighing in relief. “I don’t want anything between me and Harry,” Ginny snapped impatiently, pulling her own wand and removing the globe around her head. Hermione froze in the face of Ginny’s wrath. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.” Ginny turned and looked at her best friend. “I know. I’m sorry I snapped at you. Thanks for trying. It was a good idea. I just don’t want him to wake up and see me like that. It might frighten him.” “I didn’t think of that,” Hermione admitted, pulling her wand out again. “No, you and Ron can keep yours,” Ginny said, putting her hand on Hermione’s arm. “It’s OK. It’s just me. I can’t bear to have anything between Harry and me right now.” “I understand,” Hermione said, relieved that Ginny was acting more like herself. Stress does strange things to people sometimes, she thought. “You had a good idea, Miss Granger,” the nurse said approvingly as she gave herself a Bubblehead Charm. “Miss Weasley, are you sure you don’t want one?” “I’m sure. How will it look to Harry when he wakes up and sees he’s the only one without a Bubblehead Charm? It might scare him!” “And it’s easier to snog him without the bubble,” Ron said wisely. “We understand.” Ginny blushed a bit and nodded. “Excellent,” Madam Pomfrey said in satisfaction a few moments later. “This poultice generates heat that helps with the muscle aches he has from trying so hard to breathe, and the fumes help open his airways. He’ll be breathing better very soon now.” Everyone was silent for several long minutes, watching Harry struggle for each breath. The poultice seemed to be relieving some of his distress, and his colour improved a bit more. Suddenly he began coughing hard. Ron sat on the bed and pulled Harry up into a sitting position and Harry’s breathing eased again. Ron settled back against the head of the bed and pulled his friend up into his arms more securely, supporting him against his chest, being as careful as he could to not disturb the poultice. “I can set the bed up so it will hold him there,” Madam Pomfrey offered. “This is something I can do for him,” Ron countered with quiet determination. “He shouldn’t need such support for long,” the nurse assured him. “The poultice is helping. He should be able to lie down comfortably again in a bit. Are you certain you want to hold him?” “I’m fine,” Ron insisted. With a nod, the nurse picked up the tray containing the pot of poultice, flasks and vials of potions, and other things she’d used to treat Harry, then went to her office to put them away. “He looks better,” Hermione said hopefully after a long quiet spell, trying to cheer Ginny. “See? His cheeks are pinking up.” “Not enough,” Ginny said darkly. She sat on the side of his bed, ignoring the horrible fumes from the poultice, holding his hand against her heart again, hoping that he could tell she was there, that he was loved, that she was waiting for him to wake up and smile at her. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, unable to bear the sight of his ill face and closed eyes any longer. Ron and Hermione sat in silent vigil, their hearts aching for Harry, for Ginny, for all the traumas they’d suffered in recent weeks. Hermione climbed on the bed and snuggled up against Ron, grateful for the comfort of his warm body against hers, his strong arm around her back. She put her hand on Harry’s shoulder and breathed in rhythm with him, willing him to get well, wishing she knew a spell that would just make this illness vanish and leave him well and whole. She wished she could do something, anything, to see those green eyes teasing her again, to hear his laughter, to watch the joy on his face when he flew, or saw Ginny across a room. But all she could do was breathe along with him, and hope air would soon move through his body as easily as it did through hers. Several long, silent minutes later, Hermione cried, “He’s waking up! Look, he’s opening his eyes!” Remembering Ginny’s concern, she removed the bubble from her head so she wouldn’t worry Harry. Ron nodded at her and she removed his as well, then moved from Ron’s side to sit on the edge of the bed across from Ginny. Ginny’s eyes flew open and she smiled as she stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. “Harry? Harry, how are you? We’re all here, baby. Wake up.” “Gin?” Harry whispered, coughing a bit as he spoke. “You . . .OK?” “Yes, I’m fine!” she assured him. “You saw me when you woke up earlier. Do you remember?” He shook his head slightly. “Well, you did. I’m fine now. I’m sorry you were worried about me.” “I thought . . .” he said, his exhausted eyes saying far more than he was able to express in words. He clasped her hand weakly, his breath coming in gasps as he struggled to talk, to move, to escape the leaden feeling in his chest. “I’m fine now. It wasn’t such a great hex anyway,” she said dismissively. “I think he was just trying to get me out of the way.” “He’d heard about your Bat-Bogey Hex and didn’t want to cross you,” Ron said supportively, hoping to get a smile out of his sister, but she merely looked at him with sad eyes. Ron sighed, wishing there was something more useful he could do. Harry turned his head a bit and saw red hair next to his cheek. “Ron?” “Right here, mate,” Ron assured him, a warm smile in his voice. “I’ve got you. Comfy?” Harry nodded weakly. “Ron? You’re . . . executor,” he muttered, his voice a feeble whisper. “Take care . . . of . . . Ginny . . . for me, ’K?” “You can take care of her yourself,” Ron said resolutely. “You’re going to be fine!” “Don’t . . . feel . . . fine,” Harry replied miserably, then began coughing hard. Blood splattered his chest, the blanket covering his legs and Ron’s hands as he tried to support his friend though the horrible spasms of deep, wracking coughs. Harry’s body sagged in Ron’s arms as he lost consciousness again. “Madam Pomfrey!” Hermione screamed, racing to the nurse’s office. “He’s coughing up blood!” “He’s dying! NOOOOOOOOO!” Ginny wailed in panic. She started rocking in grief, clutching his hand desperately as tears streamed down her face. “I’ll call Marcus again,” Madam Pomfrey said as she examined him. “I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.” Harry lay there much too still, the only motion detectable the obviously painful rise and fall of his chest, each breath making his body shudder horribly. The people who loved him watched each and every agonized breath, breathing with him, as if that would help him somehow. Marcus and Healer Bradford ran into the room, soot billowing behind them as they batted at their clothes. “He’s coughing up blood?” Bradford said in concern, gratefully washing his hands in the basin the nurse held for him and her brother. “Yes, just a few minutes ago,” Madam Pomfrey said, looking quite concerned. “You can see how much it was. I haven’t cleaned up any of it yet.” Bradford and Marcus worked on their patient silently for a while, then looked at each other, nodded and straightened up, both of them sighing with relief. “He’s a lot better than he looks,” Bradford assured them. “He’s moving air fairly well now. He’s in a tremendous amount of pain, but his lungs are actually in much better shape than they were.” He dug in his bag and handed a small vial to the nurse. “Give him one small sip of this now and every fifteen minutes until it’s all gone. Then give him some Strengthening Solution and Blood Restoring Potion in an hour. This potion and the one Snape gave him need time to work before you give him anything else.” “What is that potion?” Ginny asked suspiciously, sniffling hard as she tried to stop crying. “Scar on my sister’s elbow is my password, Ginny,” Marcus said reassuringly, “and I got Brad’s before we came.” “OK,” she said. “So what’s the potion for?” “The curse hardened the tissues in his lungs,” Bradford replied. “Now there are places that are loosening up unevenly, so some areas are soft and working well, while other spots are hard and resistant to the motion of his lungs as he breathes. That’s why he coughed up blood. Those hard places resisted his breathing and tore some surface capillaries when his breathing stretched them. This potion will help soften the hard spots and heal the damaged places as well as opening up his airways. He wasn’t ready for it before. And he’s in so much pain because he has to work so hard to breathe, but he can’t have much pain potion until his lungs have cleared a bit more.” “You said you didn’t know how to treat this,” Ginny snapped, still suspicious. “We spent a long time talking to Professor Snape, and have been researching potions that will treat the symptoms ever since we returned to the hospital,” Marcus explained patiently. “We’re doing the best we can to help him.” Harry suddenly made a soft, sighing sound that startled all of them. “What was that? What happened?” Ginny cried, clasping Harry’s hand against her chest again. She was still rocking anxiously. Marcus and Bradford examined Harry again. “He simply took a deeper breath, Ginny,” Marcus said with satisfaction when they finished. “He’s not breathing normally yet, but he’s on the road to recovery at last.” “He is?” She was afraid to believe them. Harry still looked so weak and ill. “He is,” Marcus assured her. “He’ll be in bed for several more days. I let him come back to school before he was fully recovered, so he was weak to start with. He insisted he’d be fine, that he wanted to be here to take his exams,” the healer said, shaking his head regretfully. “I shouldn’t have listened to him.” “He can be very persuasive when he wants to get out of the hospital,” Madam Pomfrey told her brother with a small smile. “Yes, he can,” Marcus agreed. He glanced at Ginny, who looked ill with worry. “Are you all right?” “I won’t be all right again until he’s well,” she said, her voice breaking. Marcus patted her shoulder comfortingly. “You have all been through hell lately. I don’t know how you’ve stayed so strong. You look exhausted. Why don’t you rest?” “I’m not moving,” she snarled. “He needs me.” Marcus held up both hands in surrender. “Stay there if you want, but he needs you to stay healthy. Have you eaten lately?” She shook her head. “All right then, healer’s orders: Eat something. Force yourself, if you must, but eat something. Drink plenty of fluids, and try to get some rest. Take a nap once in a while, all right? He’s a lot better than he looks right now, I promise you. He’ll be fine soon.” “You’re sure?” she said, a small glimmer of hope finally stirring in her dark, sad eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied with a warm smile. “Four days should do it,” Bradford said, after passing his crystals over Harry’s body again. “Poppy, don’t let him talk you into letting him out any earlier than that, all right?” “Four days,” she agreed. “And we’ll want to examine him before you release him,” Marcus added. “We won’t discharge him until he’s strong enough to deal with the challenges he faces here.” “Anyone who tries that kind of thing again will regret it,” Ron said darkly. “After what happened to Zabini in front of the entire school, do you honestly think someone will try anything?” Hermione asked Ron curiously. “I mean, he was seriously injured and still . . . .” She stopped and shook her head, apparently puzzled. “Still what?” Bradford asked curiously. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to decide how to explain what had happened. “Erm . . . well . . . when Ginny fell, it looked as if she was dead. Harry was devastated, and his attention was distracted just long enough for Zabini to get that curse off. Ron and I had just got our wands out when Harry was hit with the spell and shot one back at Zabini. But Harry dropped his wand — I don’t think it was intentional, he was already very seriously wounded. He sent off that spell, but it wasn’t one I recognized. It was more, um, pure, raw power, and it, erm . . . .” She stopped uncertainly. “What?” Bradford asked, fascinated. How Harry could have managed any kind of spell after being hit with such a horrific curse was beyond his comprehension. “Zabini was, erm, kind of, um . . . glued. . .to the wall,” Hermione said uneasily. “There were electric bolts coming out of his hands and feet and eyes and mouth and the top of his head. It was really disgusting.” “Electric . . .?” Bradford said, confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to describe it. It looked as if . . . erm . . . as if lightning was coming out of his hands and feet and so on,” she explained. “Merlin’s beard!” the healer said in amazement. “And that’s not all,” Ron added. “His chest was branded with images of the phoenixes and griffins in Harry’s palm. They weren’t sharp-edged like the ones on Harry’s hand, but they were distinct enough to know what they were.” “How the hell . . .?” Marcus said, scratching his head. “Nobody knows, not even Dumbledore. He’s still trying to work out what happened. Professor Flitwick and Hagrid had to peel Zabini’s body off the wall,” Hermione said, looking more than a bit green. “It was up there for a while before they could get it off. The whole school saw what happened, so I seriously doubt anyone from here will ever bother Harry again. I mean, he was already dying when he fell, wasn’t he?” Marcus nodded. “And still, he managed such a strong spell without even thinking about it. He just pushed power at him, from the way it looked.” “Pushed power?” Bradford said curiously. “That’s what it looked like. A beam of golden light went from Harry’s hand to Zabini’s chest. I suppose the phoenixes and griffins were inside that light somehow,” she finished with a shrug. “Incredible,” Bradford said, stunned by what he’d heard. “Harry never ceases to amaze me,” Marcus said, looking at his patient. “He’s a remarkable young man.” Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, just watching Harry breathe. It was obvious now that the tightness in his lungs had eased, at least a little. He was breathing without horrible raspy sounds coming from his lungs and his colour was truly improving. Ginny finally broke the silence. “Four days. But he’ll be fine then? He’ll be back to his full strength?” “He’ll need to work out a bit to be ready for his Quidditch practices, but yes, he’ll be fine then unless he has some kind of setback. And I don’t think he’ll need to go back in the tank anymore, either,” Bradford said with a smile. “That was an outstanding idea. I’m going to write a report on it, and give you full credit,” he added, looking at Hermione. She blushed and shook her head. “It was Harry’s idea. I just remembered it.” “And just in time,” Bradford assured her. “I think our work here is done. Let us know if he has any more problems,” he told Madam Pomfrey. “I will,” the nurse assured him. London Lions T-shirts are now available! Click here to order them. |
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