Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Hari in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend, though he had no complaints whatsoever for once. He still felt awful about having lost the game for the Gryffindors and was glad he didn’t have to face the entire school yet. Hari refused to let Madam Pomfrey get rid of the shattered remains of his old broomstick, no matter how often she tutted to herself whenever she saw it by his bed. Hari knew he was being dramatic about it, but he couldn’t help but feel lost and heartbroken over a broom which had done so much for him in the past.

It wasn’t often that Hari felt he had any talents. He did not often get compliments for any of his abilities, particularly compared to the other, more successful people around him. But flying came naturally to him, like breathing or drinking water. And now he felt it was taken away from him.

Over the course of his time in the hospital wing, Hari got a vast amount of visitors to his bedside. Ginny Weasley showed up with a handmade card for him, blushing and hiding her face throughout telling him she hoped he felt better soon. The Gryffindor Quidditch team also showed up, bringing Oliver Wood with them this time where he awkwardly told Hari he didn’t blame him for falling off his broom. Hagrid also came by with lurid yellow flowers the size of cabbages, telling Hari about a new shipment of Mackled Malaclaws for their next lesson.

Perhaps most surprising was a visit on Sunday evening from none other than Cedric Diggory.

Ron, Hermione and Draco had just gone down to get a quick dinner in the Great Hall, having spent most of the day at Hari’s bedside, when the door to the infirmary opened tentatively. Hari, in the middle of reading his Transfiguration homework over in his lap, had glanced up, nearly dropping his quill onto the floor as he saw the handsome face of the Hufflepuff Seeker peering around the door, looking nervous.

“Are you busy?” Cedric asked.

“You can come in. I don’t mind.”

And then Hari was looking up at Cedric Diggory, standing at the foot of his bed and looking as though he had taken a wrong turn to end up at Hari’s bedside. It felt as though Hari’s whole world had been tipped upside down, it seemed so out of place. Why was Cedric at Hari’s hospital bed?

“I, er, won’t take long,” said Cedric. “I just felt like I should maybe come by to apologise? About the match?”

“You won fair and square, Cedric. It’s okay,” said Hari slightly defensively. He didn’t want to be pitied by Cedric just because of a dementor attack or for the older boy to feel obligated to apologise for catching the Snitch when he didn’t see that Hari was… indisposed.

“I’m not pitying you or anything,” said Cedric quickly, as though reading Hari’s mind. “Just… I tried to get a rematch because it wasn’t fair that the dementors target you specifically for some reason, but even your Captain agreed we won fairly…”

Hari shrugged. “It’s fine. Really,” said Hari insistently. “It was a good catch and you already had a head start anyway. So. You were the better Seeker.”

Cedric’s cheeks had gone slightly pink at that, for whatever reason, one of his hands going to scratch the back of his neck. “You’re, er, a good Seeker, too. I’ve seen you play… obviously,” Cedric replied, growing increasingly awkward. He cleared his throat, straightening up and starting to say something else before the door to the hospital wing had opened once again as Hermione, Draco and Ron returned, carrying bundles of food in their arms.

At their arrival, both Hari and Cedric looked to the door instantly, Cedric’s face going even more scarlet.

“I, er… Gotta go,” Cedric blurted, stepping back from Hari’s bed and moving towards the door. “I’ll see you… around. Bye, Hari.” And then he brushed past the stunned Hermione, Ron and Draco and hurried out of the hospital wing a second later.

“What was that about?” Ron asked, dropping into a seat by Hari’s bed and dumping a wrapped up cheese and egg sandwich onto Hari’s lap. “He better not have been here to brag about your fall.”

“He came in to apologise about the match and tell me he tried to get a rematch,” said Hari, poking at the sandwich.

Draco huffed, dropping several wrapped up cake slices onto Hari rather roughly before sitting in his seat with a frown. “He came to do the absolute bare minimum of human decency, then?” said Draco.

“He said I’m a good Seeker. He’s seen me play before.”

“Oh, the famous Cedric Diggory has seen you play Quidditch before and he thinks you’re a ‘good Seeker’. Oh, that’s wonderful,” Draco deadpanned. Hermione and Ron were both stunned into silence, gaping at Draco’s tone.

“He was being nice!” Hari said defensively. “You guys interrupted us and he… he felt awkward. I’m sure he wasn’t just here for ‘the bare minimum.’”

Hari and Draco shared a sharp look, an unusual uncomfortable tension between them that hardly ever occurred. They had certainly had their fights throughout the years of being close friends, but even this felt absurd to Hari.

“Right, well shall we start eating, then? I’m hungry, too,” Ron interrupted, tearing into another wrapped up package with steaming fried chicken inside.

After the awkwardness between Hari and Draco that evening, they didn’t stay long once everyone finished eating their dinner in uncomfortable silence, only occasionally attempting conversation. Hari was still feeling horrible after they left him to go ‘finish homework’ and didn’t notice Minerva’s entrance until she was standing directly beside him, clearing her throat.

“Oh! Minnie!” Hari startled, looking up at Minerva. She moved like a cat even when she was a human, always appearing out of nowhere and giving Hari heart palpitations. He told her as much.

Minerva smiled, sitting down in one of the now empty seats. “Lost in thought, are we, Hari?” she asked conversationally. “You seem troubled.”

In truth, it wasn’t just his mini-argument with Draco or Cedric’s visit or even losing the match that was worrying Hari. He still had yet to tell any of his visitors about the Grim’s appearance just before the dementors arrived. He wasn’t sure he fully believed in Trelawney’s obsession with death omens, but he couldn’t help thinking about how the two times he had seen that shaggy black dog, he had almost died a second later. The first time, he was almost run over by a giant, triple decker bus and the second time, he plummeted over fifty feet off a broomstick. Was it pure coincidence or was the Grim going to keep showing up again and again until Hari finally died?

Furthermore, every time he thought about the dementors again, he remembered the screaming of his mother before she died, the high, cold laughter of Lord Voldemort as he killed her, the flash of green light… It was all he could dream about.

“Just thinking about everything,” Hari said, summarising vaguely. “Cedric Diggory came by earlier to talk to me, but he was really awkward about it and left as soon as the others arrived. And Draco was weirdly upset about it.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Draco was upset about Diggory’s visit to the hospital to speak with you?”

Hari nodded. “Cedric came by to apologise and that he wanted a rematch. And then he said I was a good flyer and was about to say something else, but then Draco and the others came back and Draco made fun of what I told them Cedric said,” explained Hari, rambling. “It was really weird…”

For some reason, Minerva laughed. Hari blinked, mouth gaping. What could she possibly find funny about this? And why did she look so… knowing?

“Sorry, sorry. Just reminded me of something,” Minerva said, forcing herself to stop laughing. “I am sorry you two are fighting. I’m sure you’ll make up soon. It would be stupid to let a thing like Cedric Diggory come between you. You’ve always been inseparable.”

“Aye, I remember. We’ve always been friends since he came here and I showed him the grounds,” said Hari wistfully. He could remember the day as if it was only weeks ago.

“You two got up to such funny, childish games. If I recall, you both insisted you were married at some point.”

Hari’s cheeks burned and he covered his face with his hands. “We were five! It was just a silly game…”

“The wedding outside Hagrid’s hut with only me, Severus and Hagrid present was lovely.”

Hari huffed, feeling his face and neck burning vibrantly and he scooted down in his bed, pouting. “Did you just come here to make fun of me or did you actually want to say something?” Hari grumbled.

“I just came by to see that you were alright,” said Minerva seriously. “It was a terrifying fall to watch. For a moment, it seemed as though you were… dead.”

“I’ve heard that a lot, lately.”

“People don’t generally tend to survive falling from that height, Hari. If Dumbledore hadn’t been quick thinking, you likely wouldn’t have.”

Hari stared at his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Minerva sighed and leaned over to brush his hair away from his face, as usual. “It’s okay. I suppose I should get used to it, what with your track record.”

Hari snorted, gently shoving Minerva’s shoulder. Feeling significantly better than before, Hari dove into discussing the latest Hogwarts gossip going around.

¤¤¤

On Monday morning, Hari was relieved to finally have some proper distractions again and get moving again. He felt restless, sitting in bed, unable to do anything but wait for the people coming and going with news of the outside world. He was glad to be able to focus on other things like homework and classes and even Zacharias Smith’s taunts about Hufflepuff beating Gryffindor. At least it gave Hari something else to be mad at instead of Draco’s outburst.

In fact, after Smith’s dramatic reenactment of Hari’s fainting from a broomstick, to thankfully very few cheers, Draco seemed to forget he was supposed to be mad at Hari. He ended up hexing Smith’s trousers to split open after yet another jeer about the dementors, pulling Hari by the elbow to their next lesson while telling him to just ignore Smith and not retaliate his taunts.

Draco failed to see the irony in his statement.

“I hope we don’t have Snape teaching us Defence class again. I don’t want to write another essay for him,” Ron grumbled after lunch as they made their way up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with the rest of the Gryffindors.

Thankfully, Professor Lupin was back at the front of the classroom, ready to start teaching again. He looked worse than usual after one of his bouts of illness, his clothes hanging a little loose on his already thin frame and his scars slightly more defined. Draco and Hermione shared knowing looks with each other as they sat down at their desks at the front, much to Hari and Ron’s continuing confusion.

Despite his clear exhaustion, Lupin still smiled warmly at the students as they sat down, chuckling at the students’ complaints about Snape’s teaching methods. The class spent much of the first quarter of the lesson telling him about his insistence on teaching them about werewolves despite not being close to reaching that part of the book and their essay they had to write for him.

“Don’t worry. I can speak to Professor Snape and you won’t have to do the essay.”

Both Hermione and Draco groaned, having already finished their essays well before the deadline.

They spent the rest of the lesson thereafter studying the hinkypunk Lupin brought in a tank. It was a strange, wispy creature with only one leg and carrying a lantern. Lupin told them about how it used the lantern to attract lost people in bogs as they took notes, laughing at the strange squelching noises the hinkypunk made against the glass.

At the end of the lesson, as Hari was making way for the door with Draco, Ron and Hermione, Lupin called Hari back.

“Hari, a word, if you don’t mind?”

Hari doubled back and walked back over to his seat at the front, hopping up onto his desk. He dangled his feet back and forth, putting his bag on the desk beside him.

“I heard about the match,” said Lupin, leaning against his desk in front of Hari while stuffing paperwork and books into his leather bag. Hari smiled as he caught a glimpse of chocolate wrappers among the other items in his bag. “I am sorry I missed it. Is there any way to repair your broom?”

Hari shook his head. “No. The tree smashed it up entirely. Flitwick did try to fix it, but it was no use.”

Lupin sighed, frowning sympathetically.

“They planted the Whomping Willow the year I came here. It’s a nasty piece of work, that tree,” said Lupin. “People used to play games trying to get as close to the tree as possible, but it was far too dangerous. Someone almost lost an eye and another person was nearly killed near it, so they forbid anyone from going near it anymore. I’m not surprised your broom was destroyed.”

“And the dementors. I’m guessing you know about them, too.”

“I did. In truth, I don’t think anyone has seen Dumbledore so angry. They’ve been growing restless, angry that he still refuses to let them onto the grounds. Dementors are notoriously difficult to control at times,” replied Remus. “Am I correct in thinking that was why you fell from your broom?”

Hari nodded. And then, as if the understanding, earnest look Remus was giving him finally broke through his barriers, Hari blurted out the thought he had hardly let himself think. “Why? Why do they affect me more than everyone else? What if I’m just—?” Weak.

“It’s nothing to do with weakness or cowardice,” Remus snapped determinedly, reading Hari’s mind. “A dementor’s existence thrives off people’s sadness and negativity. They force you to relive your very worst memories. You are simply affected more than your peers because you have faced far more horrors than the vast majority of them.”

The wind outside picked up suddenly, rattling the windows and making them both turn towards the sound.

“Much like a boggart, dementors feed off the emotions of those around them. Even Muggles will notice their presence, even though they cannot see them, which just leaves them feeling uncomfortably depressed,” Remus went on, fiddling with his tie idly. “Believe me, Hari. You are not weak. You have witnessed terrible, terrible things in your still quite short life. Even the strongest of people can be affected by a dementor’s presence, Hari. You’ve faced horrors that even grown adults couldn’t begin to imagine in their worst nightmares.

“And you aren’t the only one who has been impacted by the dementors this year, either. I cannot say names, of course, but I’ve had multiple students coming to me for guidance because of the increased feelings of depression the dementors bring. Just because no one else has fallen off their broom doesn’t mean you’re the only person who is feeling their presence strongly.” Remus opened his bag up and rifled around inside for a moment, pulling out a bar of chocolate. “Your reactions to the dementors say nothing about your strength or character and everything about the horrors you’ve faced.”

Hari took the offered bit of chocolate from Remus and turned it over in his hands. “When the dementors get close, I can hear…” He took a deep breath. “I can hear Voldemort killing my mother.”

Remus made a funny sound at the back of his throat and reached out to squeeze Hari’s shoulder tightly.

“Why’d they have to come to the match?” Hari said suddenly, taking a harsh bite of his chocolate. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

“Like I said, dementors are difficult to control at the best of times,” said Remus, putting the last bits of chocolate inside his bag and closing it. “They’re getting restless, not being able to properly feed on innocent souls. They probably couldn’t resist going to the match where stakes and emotions are high. It was an all you can eat soul buffet.” Hari snorted dryly at Remus’ vague joke.

“No wonder Azkaban is so miserable.”

“It’s in the middle of the North Sea, pretty much impossible to get to without magic, but the dementors are defence enough for keeping people in. Most go mad within weeks, forced to live with only their worst memories as company.”

“It makes me wonder how Sirius Black got out,” said Hari thoughtfully. Remus’ bag slipped off his lap and onto the ground with a loud thud. “They’ve said he was as mad as they come and yet…”

Remus bent down to lift his bag from the floor and put it behind him on the desk. His shoulders were suddenly stiff. “Black was incredibly intelligent when we were at school,” said Remus grimly. “I suppose he must have found some way to defend himself from them. I would have believed it impossible, but if Sirius Black was anything, it was impossibly talented…”

“But you made the dementor go away on the train,” said Hari. “And apparently Dumbledore got rid of them as well when I fell off my broom…”

“There’s certain defences one can use against dementors, but it takes an incredible amount of power, particularly to defeat so many at once,” explained Remus.

“What sort of defences? Could you teach me?”

“I’m not an expert at defeating dementors, Prongslet. Quite the opposite. You may think of me highly, but I’m not as good as you think…”

Hari scoffed. “Bullshit,” he snapped, making Remus smile. “You can do that spell at least, can’t you? I can’t afford to lose another match if the dementors come back…”

Remus looked over Hari’s determined, stubborn face for a moment and then let his shoulders sag. “I’ll try and help you, then. But it will unfortunately have to wait until next term as I’m still quite ill.”

“Remus, when you said you’d tell me eventually, did you mean eventually or that you’d put it off until I forget about it?” Hari asked.

Remus laughed quietly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “You know me far too well, Hari.”

The clock on Remus’ clock went off, signalling the time for Hari to go. Hari collected his bag and hopped off the desk, saying goodbye over his shoulder as he stepped out of the classroom once more.