Chapter Text
Tom must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was slowly blinking awake in a warm, comfortable bed. His awareness returned to him gradually. He was exhausted, in a bone-deep, lethargic kind of way that made his throat scratch and his eyelids feel like heavy weights. Slowly, he became aware of noises happening around him; someone was bustling about, their robes swishing as they walked. Beside him was something warm and familiar.
Harry, Tom’s semi-conscious mind supplied, making his lips curve into a sleepy smile. Tom had been so worried, after the two of them had become separated, deep in the bowels of the school…
Tom sat bolt upright, full consciousness returning to him abruptly, as memories of recent events came flooding back to him with horrifying clarity. He looked around wildly, immediately recognising the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. It was dark outside, the stars visible against an inky black sky. Beside him lay an unconscious Harry. He looked small and fragile, his scar looking angry and red against his pale face, but he was breathing, much to Tom’s dizzy relief.
Tom placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and shook him gently.
“Wake up,” urged Tom.
But Harry did not respond, his breath coming out in shallow puffs, his dark eyelashes fanning out across his cheeks. Tom checked him fretfully. A wave of nausea swept over him when he spotted dark, angry bruises around Harry’s neck, in the distinct shape of an adult’s fingers. Tom touched the bruises gently, letting out a distressed noise, before forcing himself to continue his assessment of Harry. He looked pale and exhausted, but other than the horrid bruises around his neck, the redness of his scar and the fact he was unconscious, Harry seemed otherwise unharmed.
After placing his head on Harry’s chest to listen to the comforting sound of his heartbeat, Tom finally gave himself permission to relax. Harry was alive. That was the important thing. Bruises would heal. Exhaustion could be slept away. Harry was alive. That was all that mattered.
It was then that he noticed the intricate web of magic that surrounded Harry’s bed. There were about a dozen different-coloured threads of magic that criss-crossed over Harry. Complicated runes floated in the air above him. They must be monitoring Harry’s condition, Tom realised. This was Healing magic, at its most advanced. As Tom watched with fascination, a bright green thread of magic vibrated and glowed, emitting a low hum, obviously indicating some change in Harry’s health.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling over immediately, her robes swishing against the stone floor, quickly reading the runes above Harry’s bed. Whatever the runes said must have made sense to her, because she gently opened Harry’s mouth and administered three drops of bright purple potion using a pipette. Seeing the gentleness and care with which she handled Harry filled Tom with a sense of ease. Harry was in good hands here.
Slowly, Tom’s eyes drifted over the rest of the Hospital Wing. Neville was in the next bed over. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, but he was awake and sitting upright, sipping on a steaming hot potion that was bright turquoise in colour. Justin was asleep in the next bed down. He looked physically unharmed; Madam Pomfrey must be keeping him in just as a precaution.
One bed at the end of the ward caught Tom’s attention. Unlike the others, it had tall white privacy curtains pulled firmly around it, obscuring the occupant from view. Tom’s breath caught in his throat, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. He had a strong suspicion of what was behind the curtains, but he had to be sure. After checking carefully that Harry looked stable and the runes floating above his body were not doing anything obviously alarming, Tom slipped silently out of their bed. He stroked Harry’s hair in a silent promise that he would not be gone long, and then he walked over to the end of the Hospital Wing, straight through the white privacy curtains, bringing him face-to-face with the occupant in the final bed.
Tom looked down coldly at the charred, blackened, twisted remains of what had once been a man. The skin and fat had been completely burnt away, leaving only the flesh, which had twisted and fused to the bones. Tom stared at the grotesque corpse for a long moment, before nodding with detached satisfaction and turning around, returning to Harry’s bed, climbing in beside him and curling around him like a cat.
“Rest as long as you need, Harry,” Tom said softly. “You’re safe now.”
Tom must have been more exhausted than he realised, because he fell back asleep almost instantly, slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he finally awoke, he was not sure how much time had passed, but it must have been at least a day, because the sky outside now displayed a vibrant orange sunset. Tom rolled over to see that Harry was still sleeping, Madam Pomfrey’s magical threads and Healing runes still twinkling above his bed. For a moment, Tom was not sure what had awoken him, but then he saw Professor Dumbledore standing at the foot of Harry’s bed, alongside Madam Pomfrey.
“Still no change?” asked Professor Dumbledore.
“Harry’s suffering from severe magical exhaustion,” said Madam Pomfrey. “He seems to have used an incredible amount of magic fighting against Professor Quirrell. I don’t expect him to wake up for another two or three days, at least.”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to you about that,” Professor Dumbledore said gravely.
He was not smiling.
“About what?” said Madam Pomfrey.
“His encounter with Quirrell,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Have you completed your post-mortem examination of Quirrell’s body?”
“I have…” said Madam Pomfrey.
“And?” prompted Professor Dumbledore.
Madam Pomfrey sighed.
“It’s as you suspected, Headmaster,” she said. “He was engulfed by Fiendfyre. Every part of his body was destroyed by it. But I must disagree with your previous assessment of it being an example of Dark magic.”
Tom sat up straight in bed, listening intently.
“You don’t think Fiendfyre counts as Dark magic?” said Professor Dumbledore, looking serious. “My dear Pomfrey, Fiendfyre is strongly associated with Dark witches and wizards. If Harry conjured it deliberately, this is very disturbing indeed…”
Madam Pomfrey looked aghast.
“Are you seriously entertaining the possibility that Harry did this on purpose?” she said.
“I am merely saying we must remain open to all possibilities,” Professor Dumbledore said quietly. “Fiendfyre of the intensity that engulfed Quirrell usually requires strong magical intention.”
Madam Pomfrey’s nostrils flared with anger.
“Might I remind you that accidental magic is very common in children,” she said, her tone biting and cold. “Especially young children. Especially when they’re faced with life-or-death situations. Now, based on the fact Harry was brought here tied up in ropes and with clear signs of manual strangulation around his neck, I think we can safely say that Harry was under attack. In such a scenario, it would be completely natural for Harry’s magic to react strongly and instinctively against the threat.”
“It’s not the use of magic I’m concerned about, it’s the Fiendfyre,” said Professor Dumbledore. “It is one of the Darkest spells known to wizardkind. Lord Voldemort himself mastered it at a young age.”
Madam Pomfrey flinched at Voldemort’s name, but did not back down.
“What are you suggesting?” she said sharply. “That Harry Potter is the next Dark Lord?”
“I am suggesting you should not let yourself be blinded by emotion,” said Professor Dumbledore. “I am suggesting you keep a close eye on this boy and report any further disturbing behaviour to me.”
Madam Pomfrey’s face went white with fury.
“Get out of my Hospital Wing,” she said quietly, her voice steady and controlled in a way that was somehow more frightening than if she had shouted.
“But–” began Professor Dumbledore.
“OUT!”
Harry woke up groggily, floating up through a haze of sleepiness that seemed to cloud all his senses. He felt warm and fuzzy and comfortable. Crisp, clean sheets were below him; a warm duvet trapped him in a wonderful layer of warmth. He could hear voices talking quietly around him, so he opened his eyes, momentarily confused by what he was seeing.
He was lying in a bed, but it was not his bed in the Hufflepuff dormitories. Bright light poured in through the large, tall windows, illuminating what he finally recognised to be the Hospital Wing. Tom was dozing beside him. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey sat on either side of his bed. Professor McGonagall was holding his hand, whilst Madam Pomfrey stroked his hair gently. Noticing that Harry was awake, they both smiled at him warmly.
Harry smiled back hesitantly, feeling cautious and confused, before gasping and sitting bolt upright as his memories started flooding back to him. The sudden change in posture left him feeling dizzy and light-headed, but he clenched his teeth against the discomfort. It was imperative that Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey understood the danger they were all in.
“Quirrell’s in league with Voldemort!” Harry shouted in panic, causing Tom to wake with a start beside him. “They’re trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!”
But then, he remembered the inferno. He remembered the terrible way Quirrell had screamed as he had died. He remembered Voldemort’s soul abandoning Quirrell’s burning body and flying away, up through the ceiling, in a rush of black vapour, fleeing the flames that were consuming Quirrell whole.
“Actually… I think Quirrell might be dead,” stammered Harry. “But Voldemort could be back any minute! We’ve got to protect the Stone! And Neville – he’s been knocked out! He needs medical attention now! Has Justin been here? He should have–”
Madam Pomfrey held up her hand to stop his panicked outburst.
“You’ve been unconscious for the last week,” she said calmly. “Mr Longbottom and Mr Finch-Fletchley have been seen to and are both absolutely fine. The Philosopher’s Stone has been destroyed to prevent You-Know-Who from ever using it. And You-Know-Who has made no further attacks against the school or its occupants. Everyone is safe, Harry. Everything’s OK.”
Harry sat there for a long moment, stunned, as the information slowly sank in. There was shock, incredulity, and finally, sweet, sweet relief. He burst into tears, all his terror and anxiety slowly falling away as the news sank in. His friends were safe and well. The Stone had been destroyed, removing it from temptation. And most importantly, Voldemort had seemingly gone away. He had not returned attached to the back of someone else’s head, intent on finishing what he had started and throttling Harry to death.
As soon as he started crying, Harry immediately felt himself being enveloped by three pairs of arms. Tom, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey all held him as he cried his way through his adrenaline dump, his face wet with tears as sheer relief washed over him.
“There, there, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly. “You’re OK. Everything’s alright.”
“We were so worried about you, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall, looking much more like a mother than a professor at that moment. “When Professor Dumbledore brought you here, you were so poorly. We feared… But you’re alright now. That’s what matters.”
“Professor Dumbledore brought me here?” said Harry, wiping away his tears.
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey exchanged a brief glance. There was something in their expression that Harry could not quite place. Not quite apprehension, but perhaps something like caution, or perhaps reluctance.
“As you may know, there are certain magical wards placed on Hogwarts castle,” Professor McGonagall said eventually. “Some of these wards automatically alert the Headmaster if certain conditions are met. One of those wards is the Fiendfyre detection ward. Have you ever heard of that spell before, Harry?”
Harry shook his head.
“Of course you haven’t!” said Madam Pomfrey, nevertheless sounding relieved. “We never doubted it was purely accidental magic.”
“Fiendfyre is a very hot, very destructive type of magical fire. It seems that you cast the Fiendfyre Curse against Professor Quirrell – without meaning to, of course!” Professor McGonagall added hurriedly. “Nevertheless, the spell activated the Fiendfyre detection ward, which alerted Professor Dumbledore straight away. He came back to Hogwarts immediately, suspecting the Stone may be under attack. He found you unconscious in the chamber with the Mirror of Erised, along with the remains of Professor Quirrell. He brought you here for immediate medical treatment, where you’ve been ever since.”
Harry was silent for a long while, absorbing everything. It all felt so surreal. Had it all really happened? It felt like a dream. Three-headed dogs, keys with wings, giant moving chessmen. The mirror, Quirrell, Voldemort… Harry shivered. No, not a dream. A nightmare.
Madam Pomfrey seemed to pick up on his sudden brooding, because she stroked his hair soothingly, shushing him gently.
“You’re alright, Harry. You’re safe,” she said. “It’s over now.”
The feeling of her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp was calming, lulling him into an ever deeper sense of relaxation. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. His head lolled onto his shoulder as he tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Madam Pomfrey helped him to lie back down. Professor McGonagall pulled his duvet up to his chin, tucking him in.
“Rest, Harry,” said Madam Pomfrey, her voice already sounding far away. “Healer’s orders.”
Harry was asleep within seconds.
Tom watched Harry as he slept. He enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching Harry’s chest rise and fall steadily. It was a reassuring sight, one that was badly needed, after the terror of hearing Voldemort order Quirrell to kill Harry on the other side of the black fire. At that moment, Tom’s entire universe had come screeching to a halt. Harry could have died. Tom had been beyond terrified. And so, Tom allowed himself the indulgence of watching Harry sleep, comforting himself with the knowledge Harry was alive and well, aside from some lingering magical exhaustion.
The next time Harry woke up, it was the late evening. Tom watched him blink awake sleepily, Harry’s gaze slowly focusing on Tom’s face. Tom gave him a beaming smile. But then, something terrible happened: Harry began to cry. Tom stared at him in bewilderment, before wrapping his arms around Harry in a tight hug.
“No, no, no! Don’t cry,” said Tom, confused. “Don’t you remember? Everything’s fine. Quirrell’s dead. Voldemort’s fucked off somewhere. Justin and Neville are OK.”
If anything, Harry began crying harder than ever. Tom looked nervously in the direction of Madam Pomfrey’s office at the other end of the ward, but she did not seem to have heard Harry’s cries – yet. Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention, Tom tried to shush Harry.
“What’s wrong?” said Tom. “Tell me.”
Much to Tom’s relief, Harry quietened down. His green eyes looked wide and haunted, his fingers twisting the duvet cover tormentedly. Tom waited patiently for him to speak. Finally, Harry did, his voice quiet and trembling.
“I… I saw Professor Quirrell die,” said Harry.
Tom waited for Harry to continue. When he did not, Tom realised Harry was expecting him to say something.
“I see…” Tom said slowly, frantically trying to figure out why Harry seemed so upset. “Was it… bad?”
“It was horrible!” wailed Harry, clinging onto Tom for comfort, fresh tears leaking down his cheeks. “He was strangling me, but he was struggling to hold on because the skin on his hands started blistering. I think that may have been my magic protecting me. But then, something else happened… This huge fire tornado just formed out of nowhere and sucked him away from me and started burning him alive! He was screaming! He was in pain! And I couldn’t help him. His skin burnt off and his flesh was all pink underneath and…”
Harry shuddered, unable or unwilling to go on. Tom stroked his back gently, finally understanding why Harry was so upset. Quirrell’s death must have been gory to witness. It must have come as a shock, too, since it was not something they had exactly planned in advance. Tom regretted that Harry had had to witness what he had. Tom had never wanted to upset Harry.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Tom. “That sounds awful.”
Harry rested his head on Tom’s shoulder, before picking up Tom’s hand and playing with his fingers anxiously. Tom let him, wondering what else was happening in that mysterious head of Harry’s. When Harry finally spoke once more, he sounded hesitant, almost as if he felt awkward about what he was about to say.
“Do you think… Did you do the fire?” asked Harry. “I mean, you set fire to that predator’s coat, when we were seven.”
Tom hesitated momentarily, before deciding to tell the truth – at least about this part. After all, it was obvious that one of them had done the fire, and Tom did not want Harry to carry any misplaced guilt about it.
“Yes, it was me,” Tom said quietly.
Harry rolled over onto his side to look at Tom directly, a hopeful, innocent look on his face.
“But it was an accident, right?” said Harry. “You didn’t mean to kill him?”
Tom knew that Harry hated violence. He knew that Harry would be very upset indeed if he knew Tom had murdered Quirrell on purpose. Tom did not want Harry to be upset.
“It was an accident,” lied Tom, stroking Harry’s hair comfortingly. “I heard you scream and I felt frightened and then there was this big white flash of accidental magic. Then the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the Hospital Wing beside you.”
Harry flung his arms around Tom, hugging him tightly.
“Oh, Tom! It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing,” Harry said earnestly. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”
Blame myself? thought Tom, incredulously. What was Harry talking about? Was Tom supposed to feel remorse? He had not killed Quirrell for the fun of it. He had killed Quirrell to protect Harry. And Tom would never feel bad about protecting Harry. Harry was everything to Tom. He would do anything to protect him. Anything.
After a moment, Tom realised that Harry was looking at him with an expression of concern, his big green eyes filled with a mixture of tender compassion and sadness.
“Don’t worry about me,” Tom said quickly. “I’ll be OK. We’re both safe. That’s what matters.”
He could tell by the way Harry’s eyelids were beginning to droop that he was getting tired once more, so he manoeuvred them so that they were both lying comfortably, cuddling Harry from behind. Harry fell asleep in Tom’s arms.
Harry was getting stronger by the day. With every passing hour, he had more energy, more sparkle, more liveliness. It was now three days since he had first woken up, and he could now stay awake for hours at a time, rather than minutes. Madam Pomfrey was pleased with his progress. But Harry, he was bored.
Finally, after Harry begged her incessantly, Madam Pomfrey relented and announced that he was allowed to have a maximum of two visitors, but only for up to half an hour per day. Justin and Neville came bursting into the Hospital Wing, making a beeline for Harry’s bed and pulling up seats on either side of him.
“How are you feeling?” Justin asked immediately.
“Much better,” smiled Harry. “Madam Pomfrey thinks I may be able to be discharged in a few days.”
“That’s good,” said Neville, looking relieved.
Then, Neville and Justin looked around surreptitiously, making sure that Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot. They shuffled their chairs closer to Harry’s bed so that they could huddle more easily.
“The entire school’s talking about what happened!” whispered Justin. “Aurors were swarming all over the school last week. They raided Professor Quirrell’s quarters and took a bunch of stuff away as evidence.”
“Everyone’s worked out that us three and You-Know-Who were involved,” said Neville, keeping his voice low. “And because you’ve been in the Hospital Wing all week, they’ve worked out you must have fought against him and won. Everyone thinks you’re a massive hero!”
Harry felt his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.
“Zacharias is furious,” said Justin, rolling his eyes. “Thinks you did it all for attention or something. I told him next time You-Know-Who comes along, he can go and fight him instead! That shut him up.”
Harry laughed. Seeing his friends safe and well lifted a weight from Harry’s chest that he had not even realised he was carrying. Seeing their faces, hearing them talk about school gossip, made everything feel wonderfully normal. Even hearing about Zacharias’ idiocy gave Harry a feeling of relief. After all, he would rather take Zacharias’ petty whining over Voldemort’s monstrous evil any day.
“Some of the details people are making up are insane though,” groaned Neville. “I heard one rumour yesterday that you karate-chopped You-Know-Who repeatedly in the groin until his cock fell off and he died!”
“And I heard another rumour the day before that, that you turned yourself into a unicorn and stabbed him with your horn!” said Justin. “So… what actually happened in the final chamber?”
Both boys leant forwards in their chairs, eager to hear the truth. And so, Harry told them. He told them about how he and Tom had become separated by the black fire. He told them about Professor Quirrell being the one in league with Voldemort. He told them about the terrible face that had been hiding underneath Professor Quirrell’s turban all this time, and how he had attempted to strangle Harry to death, right there in the belly of the school.
“And then Tom had this big surge of accidental magic and set Quirrell on fire,” finished Harry. “Voldemort fled, Quirrell died, and apparently the Stone’s been destroyed, so that it won’t happen again.”
“Crikey!” said Justin, his brown eyes wide with amazement.
“Lucky Tom has magic too,” said Neville.
“Yeah, very…” said Harry.
He did not want to think what would have happened, if Tom had not been able to help.
Making sure Madam Pomfrey was not looking, Neville slipped a chocolate frog out of his robe pocket and into Harry’s hand.
“I know hospital food can be boring, so…” said Neville.
“And here’s another one, for Tom,” whispered Justin, surreptitiously pushing a second chocolate frog into Harry’s other hand. “As a thank you for getting us out of that potions room. I don’t think we’d have been able to solve that riddle without him.”
Tom beamed with happiness. Harry tucked the chocolate frogs under his pillow, before Madam Pomfrey could see and confiscate them. His heart felt so full of happiness he thought it might burst.
“Thanks,” said Harry.
Five days later, Harry was finally discharged from the Hospital Wing.
Harry was thrilled to be back to normal and able to spend his time as he pleased, hanging around the castle with his friends. What he had not fully appreciated, however, was just how much attention he would get from the rest of the school. Justin and Neville had tried to warn him, but for some reason, Harry had underestimated the intense interest the rest of the student body would have about what had happened down in the dungeons between himself and Voldemort.
That first day, from the moment he stepped out of the Hospital Wing, to the moment he collapsed into bed, Harry was bombarded by questions. Everyone was desperate to hear his first-hand account of what had happened: friends; acquaintances; even students Harry had never seen or spoken to before.
“What happened?”
“Did you really karate-chop him in the knob?”
“Was he really controlling Professor Quirrell?”
“Did you duel?”
“Did you see his face?”
“How did you win?”
The attention was overwhelming. Harry gave long answers when he could be bothered, short answers when he could not, and vague non-answers regarding anything related to Tom’s Fiendfyre. By the end of the day, Harry’s patience was wearing thin, which meant that when someone placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder that evening in the Hufflepuff common room, Harry whirled around angrily, fully prepared to tell whoever it was to fuck off, before seeing who it was.
“Fuck–! Oh… hi Cedric,” said Harry.
“Harry! Are you OK?” said Cedric, looking distressed. “Oh, I can’t believe I let you leave the common room that evening! How stupid could I get?! If anything had happened to you… I was so worried when I woke up the next morning and heard something had happened!”
Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before remembering his encounter with Cedric in the Hufflepuff common room, the night they had snuck out to protect the Philosopher’s Stone. After being caught snogging a girl from his year, Cedric had hurriedly waved Harry and his friends along, believing they were just sneaking out to raid the kitchen for snacks.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” said Harry, a little bewildered by the way Cedric’s eyes seemed to be welling up. “You didn’t know what we were up to.”
“I’m so sorry!” cried Cedric, his eyes definitely swimming with tears now. “Can you possibly forgive me?”
“Yes! Yes, you’re forgiven!” Harry said awkwardly, his voice slightly muffled as Cedric drew him into a tight hug. “Everything’s fine. Please don’t be upset!”
Cedric finally let him go, much to Harry’s relief, before retreating rapidly to his dormitory, sniffling as he went. Harry stared at his retreating back, before exchanging a slightly awkward look with Justin, who had watched the whole exchange.
“Poor chap’s a bit sensitive,” said Justin. “Still, it shows he cares, I suppose.”
Feeling tired, they retired to their own dormitory. Harry got ready for bed, bidding a smiling Ernie and a glowering Zacharias a perky goodnight, before drifting off into pleasant dreams of tickling the giant squid’s tentacles and dropping a giant custard pie on Dudley’s head.
He was awoken the next morning by Justin shaking him awake urgently. Harry blinked blearily, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. Tom stirred beside him.
“What’s going on?” slurred Harry, his throat still scratchy with sleep.
“The exam results are out!” said Justin.
Harry and Tom both abruptly came to full consciousness, jumping out of bed and rushing with Justin to the noticeboard in the Hufflepuff common room, where groups of students were crowding around seven scrolls of parchment that had been pinned up, one for each year group. Harry squeezed himself forwards to the first-year results, his stomach doing summersaults as his gaze fell upon the parchment.
First-Year Final Examination Results (Averaged Across All Subjects)
- Harry Potter (Hufflepuff) – OUTSTANDING
- Draco Malfoy (Slytherin) – OUTSTANDING
- Padma Patil (Ravenclaw) – OUTSTANDING
- Terry Boot (Ravenclaw) – OUTSTANDING
- Anthony Goldstein (Ravenclaw) – OUTSTANDING
- Mandy Brocklehurst (Ravenclaw) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Theodore Nott (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Parvati Patil (Gryffindor) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Pansy Parkinson (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Morag MacDougal (Ravenclaw) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Blaise Zabini (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Ernest Macmillan (Hufflepuff) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Dean Thomas (Gryffindor) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Lily Moon (Slytherin) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Susan Bones (Hufflepuff) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Michael Corner (Ravenclaw) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Justin Finch-Fletchley (Hufflepuff) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Seamus Finnigan (Gryffindor) – EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS
- Lisa Turpin (Ravenclaw) – ACCEPTABLE
- Lavender Brown (Gryffindor) – ACCEPTABLE
- Hannah Abbott (Hufflepuff) – ACCEPTABLE
- Ronald Weasley (Gryffindor) – ACCEPTABLE
- Zacharias Smith (Hufflepuff) – ACCEPTABLE
- Neville Longbottom (Gryffindor) – ACCEPTABLE
- Millicent Bulstrode (Slytherin) – ACCEPTABLE
- Vincent Crabbe (Slytherin) – ACCEPTABLE
- Gregory Goyle (Slytherin) – ACCEPTABLE
“Everyone’s passed!” said Justin, audibly giddy with relief as he read the parchment over Harry’s shoulder. “We’ve all got into second year!”
Harry nodded, staring in shock at his name at the top of the parchment.
“Top of the year. I knew you could do it,” Tom said quietly, his chest puffed up with pride. “Well done, Harry.”
Harry grinned until his cheeks ached.
Suddenly, it was the final day of the school year, and everyone was busy packing their bags to go home the following morning. Wardrobes were emptied, books were piled haphazardly into trunks, and students were frantically swapping addresses so that they could stay in touch over the summer holidays.
Harry tried not to show it, but with every passing hour, he was feeling more and more depressed. The Ministry of Magic still had not contacted him about the outcome of his fostering assessment. Without their approval, Harry would not be allowed to live with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. He would be forced to return to the Dursleys, back to a life of misery and abuse.
To distract himself from that depressing prospect, that afternoon he dragged Justin and Neville outside to enjoy what might be his last happy day for several months. They lay on the grass by the lake, swapping stories about their favourite memories from their first year at Hogwarts. For Neville, it was Herbology Club. For Justin, it was being surrounded by magic for the first time. For Harry, it was feeling like he was part of a family.
Then, Justin said the words Harry had been dreading.
“Oh, let’s swap addresses!” said Justin, grabbing a piece of parchment from his pocket and scribbling his address down twice, one for Harry and one for Neville. “We need to keep in touch! You’re both very welcome to visit, if you’re ever in London.”
Neville excitedly wrote down his address too. Harry slowly did the same, that sad, numb feeling spreading throughout him as he did so. The boys swapped addresses. Harry looked down at the scraps of parchment from Justin (whose address showed he lived in Kensington, London) and Neville (who lived in Leeds), before looking up with a grimace as he watched his friends read his address.
“Little Whinging?” said Neville, confused. “But I thought that was where you lived with your horrible aunt and uncle?”
“I never heard back from the Ministry of Magic,” said Harry, lowering his head. “I guess they don’t care if they’re horrible to me.”
“But this is outrageous!” exploded Justin. “You can’t live with them! It goes against your human rights! No, you can live with me over the summer holidays, if you have to! I won’t have you go back to them!”
“You could probably live with me for a bit, too,” Neville said urgently. “I’m sure Gran won’t mind. She might make you do some chores around the house, but that’s better than being beaten up and stuff…”
Harry held up his hands. He was touched by his friends’ concern, he really was, but he did not want to get his hopes up. He knew that the only thing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hated more than having Harry under their roof, was Harry being happy. They would gladly lock him up in the cupboard under the stairs all summer, if they thought it would make him the most miserable.
“Can we talk about something else?” begged Harry. “I don’t want to think about my summer. Justin, you mentioned you’re going on holiday to Italy with your parents for a couple of weeks? Have you ever been there before? What’s it like?”
And so, Justin and Neville reluctantly changed the topic, Justin veering off into stories about the favourite holidays he had gone on with his family over the years, and his excitement for visiting a wizarding village in the Italian Alps for the first time. Before they knew it, it was time for the end-of-year feast, and the three boys trudged their way back up to the castle, heading into the Great Hall and walking towards their respective house tables.
Harry was just about to take his seat at the Hufflepuff table when a whirl of tartan robes came rushing towards him. He looked up in astonishment to see the flushed, sweaty face of Professor McGonagall.
“There you are! I’ve been searching all over for you!” panted Professor McGonagall, out of breath, her usually tidy hair falling messily out of its bun.
“Sorry, I was down by the lake,” said Harry.
“Of course you were the one place I didn’t look,” huffed Professor McGonagall, before thrusting a piece of parchment into his face.
Harry took it with trembling hands, unfurling it to reveal an official-looking document.
From the Department of Health and Social Care, Ministry of Magic for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland
Reference number: GBR1990LTF02
Type: Long-term foster care application
Subject: Harry James Potter
Applicants: Minerva McGonagall; Poppy Pomfrey
Fostering assessment completed by: Fatima Yasin, Social Worker at the Department of Health and Social Care; Sarah Lovell, Social Worker at the Department of Health and Social Care
Departmental approval: Victor Oddpick, Head of the Department of Health and Social Care
Final approval: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic
I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, do hereby approve the application for Harry James Potter to be placed in the long-term foster care of Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, due to the unacceptable standards of care provided by Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley and the absence of any other living relative.
Harry’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. Hope and excitement exploded inside him, along with a healthy dose of disbelief. He needed to know this was real. He needed to know he was reading this correctly. He looked up desperately at Professor McGonagall.
“So… this means–” he stammered.
“You’ll be coming home with myself and Madam Pomfrey tomorrow,” Professor McGonagall said calmly.
“No more Dursleys?” said Harry.
“No more Dursleys,” confirmed Professor McGonagall.
Harry could have burst into song and started dancing on the Hufflepuff table right then and there. Rather than do anything quite so embarrassing, however, he contented himself with letting out one high-pitched screech and then taking his seat between Justin and Hannah, practically bouncing with excitement.
He did not have to go back to the Dursleys! He would, in all likelihood, never see them again! He was going home with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, two people who made him feel safe and secure and cared for. He grabbed Tom’s hand as discreetly as he could under the table, before squeezing and releasing it rapidly in silent celebration. Tom laughed out loud, looking just as thrilled as Harry felt that they would not be returning to 4 Privet Drive.
The end-of-year feast was glorious. Huge piles of the most delicious food appeared in front of them magically. Justin excitedly celebrated Harry’s successful fostering by cutting him an enormous slice of treacle tart and declaring it Harry’s “fosterday”. Even Slytherin winning the house cup could not dampen Harry’s spirits, because for the first time in his life, he was looking forward to going home. He was about to join a family who loved and wanted him.
It was one of the happiest days of Harry’s life.
Perhaps it was the richness of the food, or the sheer relief of not having to go back to the Dursleys, or the fact he and Justin stayed up later than usual playing Exploding Snap, but Harry woke up very late the next morning, pulling his clothes on in a panic when he realised people were already hauling their luggage up towards the Entrance Hall and getting ready to leave.
After a lightning fast breakfast and a lot of huffing and puffing as he and Justin dragged their trunks up to the Entrance Hall, Harry was suddenly faced with the reality of saying goodbye to his friends for the summer. The night before, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had collared Harry after the feast and explained to him that they would effectively be living in hiding over the summer. It was to keep him safe, they explained, but it unfortunately meant it was very unlikely he would be able to meet up with Justin or Neville over the summer holidays.
“We’ll figure out a way to write,” said Justin, hugging him tightly in the Entrance Hall as dozens of other students milled around and did the same. “Magic exists! Even if your address has to be a secret, I’m sure old McGonagall will find a way for us to communicate.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” said Harry, hugging him back, feeling a little silly when he felt tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly before anyone could see. “Have fun in Italy with your parents! I want to see the pictures.”
“Of course!” laughed Justin.
He stepped away, Neville immediately taking his place.
“Have a good summer, Harry,” smiled Neville, wrapping him in a warm hug. “Maybe you’ll have magical plants at your new place! I wouldn’t be surprised if Madam Pomfrey grows her own herbs for Healing potions.”
It was something Harry had not considered before, but he immediately felt himself getting excited at the idea.
“Ooh that’d be amazing!” said Harry, returning the hug enthusiastically. “I’ll let you know. Have a good summer.”
Then, Filch the caretaker was dragging everyone’s luggage away, Hagrid was rounding up the first-years and seventh-years to ride in the wooden boats across the lake, and the professors were rounding up the other years to take them to where they would be taking horseless carriages down to Hogsmeade Station. A hand closed around Harry’s shoulder, and he looked up to see Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey standing there, smiling at him.
“Oh, you don’t need to take Harry’s luggage, Mr Filch,” said Madam Pomfrey, when Filch tried to take away Harry’s suitcase. “He’ll be travelling separately from his classmates.”
Professor McGonagall performed a charm on his luggage that reduced its weight to that of a feather, picking it up easily.
“Can I wave goodbye to Justin and Neville?” begged Harry.
“Of course,” said Professor McGonagall.
Harry rushed outside to the grassy slope where he would have the best view of the lake. Justin, Neville and the rest of the first-years and seventh-years had already disappeared down the stone steps that led to the hidden underground harbour, but around ten minutes later, the fleet of rickety wooden boats emerged through the curtain of ivy that covered the cave entrance.
Harry watched as the boats floated out onto the lake, immediately spotting Justin’s curly brown hair and Neville’s round face in a boat with Hannah and Susan. He waved at them madly, his stomach flipping with emotion when they waved back enthusiastically, before the boats got smaller and smaller, finally disappearing from view.
“Are you ready to go?” asked Madam Pomfrey, giving him a moment to compose himself.
Harry nodded, before realising that he did not actually know where Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey lived. The women began walking confidently in the direction of the forest. Harry had to hurry to keep up. He exchanged a puzzled look with Tom; they did not seem to be heading towards any kind of path or road.
“Where do you live?” said Harry, confused. “How are we getting there?”
“We’ll be Apparating,” said Professor McGonagall. “We just need to get clear of Hogwarts’ Anti-Apparition wards first. The Headmaster is the only one with the power to Apparate within Hogwarts grounds.”
“What does Apparate mean?” asked Harry, frowning.
“It’s a secure mode of transport,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Nothing to worry about, dear.”
Finally, they came to the treeline, stepping into the dark shadows cast by the enormous trees towering above them. Tom and Harry unconsciously stepped closer together.
“Now, our home is under the Fidelius Charm, which means you can only find its location if you’re told it by the Secret Keeper, which is me,” said Professor McGonagall, handing Harry a scrap of parchment. “Read this.”
Harry read the words on the parchment carefully, angling it so that Tom could read it easily too:
The residence of Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey and Harry Potter is Thistle Cottage on Teaghlach Island in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland.
“Have you read it?” said Professor McGonagall.
“Yes,” said Harry.
“Excellent,” said Professor McGonagall, before setting fire to the parchment and vanishing the ashes. “Poppy, do you want to take the luggage? I’ll take Harry.”
Madam Pomfrey took Harry’s luggage and added it to a pile of the women’s luggage, tying all their suitcases together with a silvery piece of magical rope. Professor McGonagall took Harry’s arm firmly.
“Try not to wriggle around too much,” she said. “It’ll feel uncomfortable, but only for a moment.”
That was all the warning he got before Professor McGonagall turned on the spot with a loud crack. Harry experienced a moment of sheer panic as the world went black. Then, a feeling of compression suddenly pressed in on him from all sides, squeezing his arms and legs together tightly, his eardrums aching from the intense pressure. Harry opened his mouth to scream, but his torso would not expand wide enough to let him draw in breath. He could not breathe. Panic bubbled up in his chest – and then, it was over.
Harry was standing on a wide expanse of grass beside Professor McGonagall, Tom immediately materialising beside him. A cool salty sea breeze blew on his face, and ahead of him was an old-fashioned, cosy-looking cottage. It was surrounded by a large, hodge-podge garden that seemed to be a mixture of flowers, vegetables and magical plants. Harry gawped at the sight. Madam Pomfrey appeared with a crack a moment later, holding firmly onto all their luggage. Professor McGonagall smiled as Harry gingerly stepped forwards towards Thistle Cottage.
“Welcome to your new home,” she said warmly.