“That’s a funny story.”
At ten til one, Harry was sitting on the steps of his house, fiddling with the pocket watch he had been given. Harry also had the Knut on a chain in his pocket, just in case the watch was just a way for him to track the difference between the timezones and not a portkey, as he assumed.
Either way, in - Harry checked the time again - six minutes, Harry was going to be taken to meet his professor and it seemed as if he were going to be going alone.
Which was fine, Harry wasn’t an infant who needed watching. Sam needed his sleep and Dean… Harry actually had no idea where Dean was, but he rather hoped he would be back before Harry left.
Harry couldn’t imagine that disappearing while Dean wasn’t home was going to go over well when they both returned.
And if Harry thought he needed his brother to go with him for something as stupid as —
“Hey! I’m coming!”
Oh thank god.
The back door of… their neighbor… house burst open and Harry jumped to his feet so he had a clear view of Dean jogging toward Harry, fully dressed and ready to go. Their neighbor (Harry was going to make a list of names if his memory problem wasn’t fixed soon) stepped out and raised his hand at Harry from across the lawns.
“Bobby,” Bobby yelled, relieving Harry. Honestly, people should introduce themselves more often. It was just good manners.
“I was catching Bobby up on the magic bullshit and fell asleep,” Dean explained. He ran a hand through his hair, flattening the part that had stuck straight up, then reached behind himself to pull out a small black gun.
It was a mark of how often Harry had seen either of his brothers with a gun that he knew just from a glance that it wasn’t Dean’s usual firearm.
“Here, take this.” Dean held the gun out the handle toward Harry. “It’s Bobby’s, he filled with silver bullets.”
“Er…” Harry glanced from the gun to where Bobby leaned against the back of his house, obviously watching Harry and Dean. “Why do I need that?” Harry asked Dean.
“Humor me,” Dean said. When that argument wasn’t going to make Harry take the gun, he sighed impatiently. “Dude, because someone’s trying to kill you and they probably won’t stop to let you find your list of spells first.”
“I can’t take a gun in a school full of children,” Harry pointed out. Also, Harry didn’t know for sure that someone was trying to kill him. It seemed likely, based on Harry’s entire life, but there wasn’t any proof yet.
“You can if someone’s trying to kill you,” Dean argued. “Kid, take the gun. I swear to God, I’m not in the mood to argue about it, okay? It’s bad enough that I can’t go to the fucking magical castle, so just - take it.”
Harry didn’t really want to, but Dean did seem incredibly stressed out and since it was Harry’s fault (in a way, though Harry certainly hadn’t asked to be entered in a tournament).
“Where do I…?” Harry trailed off and felt awkward holding the gun. Dean spun his finger and Harry turned.
“Tuck it here, safety’s on,” Dean said as he easily moved Harry’s jacket out of the way and tucked the gun in the waistband of Harry’s jeans. It should have been awkward, but Harry didn’t have time to consider it because the watch warmed up as a warning in his hand.
“Are you coming?” Harry asked. His jacket fell in place, hiding the gun that his brother wanted him to take to a school, and Harry held out the watch when Dean made an annoyed sound of ‘duh’. “You’ve got to grab this.”
“If we’re not back in two hours…” Dean yelled over his shoulder at Bobby just before the portkey activated and Harry and Dean were jerked from their home to… the magical village that was beside… that school.
Harry was going to take notes, honestly.
It was freezing when they landed, Harry fell and landed on his arse, Dean barely fared much better as he wobbled from the portkey. Harry didn’t even get a chance to stand up before a familiar face was before him, offering him a hand with a bemused grin slashing across his face.
“That’s one way to make an entrance,” the bloke… he taught Harry how to make a patronus? Harry knew who he was… said.
Harry grinned sheepishly and accepted the hand. Before he could so much as check to make sure the gun in his waistband didn’t fall, Dean was snapping at the bloke.
“Back away from my brother,” Dean said, pushing himself between Harry and the bloke. “And don’t say his damned name.”
Harry was trying to work through that - why would Dean not want that professor to say Harry’s name? - when another familiar face walked over to meet them. They were just at the mouth of the pathway that connected the village to the castle, Harry could see it looming behind… his friend’s mum’s head.
“Boys!” The woman smiled warmly and Harry returned it without thought. He actually felt rather badly that he couldn’t remember her name, she had always been kind to him.
Harry rather hoped nobody took it personal.
“Oh, he’s quite safe,” the woman told Dean, reaching past the professor to grab Dean in a brief hug. The hug she gave Harry was much longer, probably because Harry wasn’t as uncomfortable as Dean with being hugged.
“Yeah?” Dean scowled at the professor while the woman fussed over brushing imaginary dirt from the front of Harry’s jacket.
“Mhmm,” the woman hummed. It was irritating Harry that she didn’t just introduce the bloke to Dean, clearing up the foggy name that Harry couldn’t grasp.
“The Headmaster sent for him,” the woman told Dean, finally satisfied with Harry’s appearance. She smiled at Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. “My, you’ve gotten so tall!”
“Thanks,” Harry said distractedly. “Er… I’m sorry, could you just—”
“Don’t, nope, nobody say a damn thing,” Dean interrupted. He pointed at the bloke threateningly. “I don’t know why the old man sent for you—”
“I live with—”
“But I don’t care,” Dean went on, louder than the bloke. “I’m his guardian and I’m making the freakin rules, got it? You don’t say his name, you don’t say yours. The school name? Don’t say it. If that’s too hard for you, then leave.”
Harry gaped at his brother. “They’ve got to say their names,” he snapped, irritated. It was like an itch in Harry’s brain, knowing the people and not knowing their names. “I don’t - I can’t…” Harry scowled and threw his hands up, too frustrated and humiliated to properly explain himself.
“Dear,” the woman beside Harry - Harry knew her, Harry could remember meeting her when he was eleven, again the summer that the twins busted Harry out of his relatives house. Harry knew who she was, it was just her bloody name that he couldn’t grasp - squeezed his shoulder kindly.
“It would be best if you didn’t have any recent reminders of names until after your exam,” she said gently while Dean still glared at the bloke.
The bloke didn’t seem much bothered by Dean’s glares, he actually seemed mildly amused as he looked from Dean to Harry, his amber eyes gleaming with repressed laughter. Harry wasn’t amused, and neither was the woman who said that they should head toward the castle.
“Hold up.” Dean grabbed Harry’s arm to hold him back then rocked on his boots for a long second. Harry waited for whatever he wanted to say, but Dean only shook his head.
“Shoot if you have to,” he muttered, sending another distrustful look to where the professor waited with the woman. “And - you know.”
Harry didn’t know, but he still nodded.
“Alright then,” Harry said. He looked around the village and realized that Dean had never been there before. “There’s a pub, down that way,” Harry said, pointing. “I’ll meet you there after?”
“Yeah, fine.” Dean was gruff and brief when he agreed, though Harry could feel his eyes on Harry’s back when Harry joined the other two for the walk to the castle.
If Harry had hoped that Dean’s order that nobody use names would be ignored, he was entirely disappointed.
“You look well,” the professor told Harry lightly as they started walking. Harry didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but he felt a bit sandwiched in with the woman on one side of him and the bloke on the other.
“I read about your accident,” he went on. “I tried to visit, but the hospital was incredibly rude about visitors and I thought it was best not to push.”
The woman tsk’d at the comment, but Harry grinned. The hospital probably only got strict about visitors after Dean blew up over Harry’s photo being in the paper.
“Aside from the name problem and this tournament, I’ve been fine,” Harry said. Harry looked over the professor and thought he looked well too, much better than the last time Harry saw him. Even with the recent full moon, he seemed healthy, happy.
“How’s your… houseguest?” Harry asked, unsure how much exactly that the woman knew. Harry’s friend told him that she spoke with the Headmaster, but Harry didn’t want to risk anything.
“He’s… fine,” the bloke said, obviously hesitating. Harry wasn’t sure if it was for their lack of privacy or not, but he planned on getting a much better answer before he left.
“I tried to get ahold of you both the other day,” Harry told him. “My brothers and I had a case that I could have used some help with.”
“Oh?” The bloke looked over and quirked an eyebrow at that. “You’re working cases with your brothers?”
“Sam’s an auror,” Harry said proudly, receiving a fond smile from the woman while the bloke seemed confused. “He’s the first ever muggle auror.”
“Those boys are absolute dears,” the woman said, gushing as if Sam and Dean were her kids. “It’s thanks to them that I was able to come to this - this ridiculous exam. They were very polite too, dear. They even offered to pay me, which was ridiculous and only a tad insulting. Now, I’ll assume that it was Sam who said it, since Dean knows that you boys are family…”
The woman chattered about Harry’s brothers for the rest of the trip to the castle, which cleared up Harry’s questions on why she was there. When Sam asked if they could find a witch or wizard to go with Harry, he had assumed he would write to the pink-haired auror or one of Sam’s coworkers.
Harry was happy to be wrong, nearly as happy as he was to see the castle when they entered the gates.
Even if Harry couldn’t recall the exact name of the grand building, he could never forget the feeling of home it gave him. That had been the first place that Harry had considered a home, the first place where he had been truly happy.
“It feels like coming home, doesn’t it?” The bloke had his hands in his tan trouser pockets and he looked at the castle with the same awe Harry felt.
Harry considered it for a moment then shook his head.
“Not really,” Harry said vaguely, leaving it at that.
The castle was magical, it had been Harry’s first sense of home. But it wasn’t home anymore, and Harry was relieved to feel that way.
Without Baby in the driveway, Dean’s music blaring through the house while he cooked or cleaned his weapons… without Sam’s books and notes everywhere, his witty comments about Dean being a housewife… it could never be home.
If Harry’s comment was insulting, neither of the adults with him thought so. The bloke ducked his head to hide a smile while the woman patted Harry on the shoulder with a sniffle.
“Of course it’s not your home, dear,” she said, rather sniffily. “Come on now, let’s get this nonsense put in the past so you can get home, hm?”
Harry couldn’t agree more, even if he privately was already resigned to being in the tournament. Harry did take a moment to touch his back, feeling that the gun was still there, when the bloke opened the doors for them.
It was.
Harry nearly laughed as he thought that it truly made him a Winchester then - smuggling weapons filled with silver bullets in a school. All Harry needed was a flask filled with holy water and a knife coated in salt water to finish the transformation.
“Can I assume that if your brother is working for MACUSA that your recent need to speak with me was about the full moon?” the bloke asked quietly as they entered the castle. Harry could hear the noises in the Great Hall, it sounded as if dinner were happening and Harry was relieved to not be gawked at as he was on the weekends he spent in the village.
“It was,” Harry said, automatically heading toward the hospital wing. Harry wasn’t daft, a medical exam would be held in the hospital wing. And Harry was rather well-adept at finding that wing.
“There were two muggles who were bitten, they transformed more than just once a month,” Harry explained. The woman made a soft sound of sympathy and the bloke’s face twisted with unhappiness.
“How appalling,” he said. “Muggles rarely survive the transformation. A curse of good fortune, truly.”
Harry hummed, unsure if he agreed or not. It wasn’t fair for a muggle to be bitten and then die, but what happened to the woman hadn’t been fair either.
“Happy endings all around though, I assume?” the bloke asked, his wry voice telling Harry that he knew there hadn’t been.
“About as happy as the shapeshifter we found in a bank,” Harry dryly quipped. When that sparked the bloke’s attention for a new story, Harry told him about the shapeshifter that had gotten Harry grounded from his cloak while the three of them made it up the stairs.
The bloke chuckled, but the woman didn’t seem amused at all by Harry’s story.
“That sounds terribly dangerous,” she fret. She stared at Harry with hard mum-eyes. “I do hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
Harry crossed his fingers behind his back, “I solemnly swear I have.”
The bloke had a sudden coughing fit to hide his chuckles and when the woman turned away, Harry shot him a cheeky grin.
“Good to see that your spirit is intact,” he murmured. “Let’s talk afterward, I may have some supplies that would help you and your brothers.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, meaning it. He waited for the woman to stride through the doors of the hospital wing before he awkwardly shrugged his shoulders at the bloke. “Er… you wouldn’t want to remind me what your name is, would you? I know it, it’s just… brain surgery…”
The bloke laughed loudly and slung a friendly arm around Harry’s shoulders, guiding him through the doors of the hospital wing.
“And risk earning your brother’s wrath? I’d rather leave you confused for a few minutes longer,” he said.
That was rude. So was seeing an entire group of people waiting inside the hospital wing, all of whom turned to look at Harry when he and the bloke stepped inside.
The Headmaster was there and he nodded his head at Harry. The medi-witch was there. That… woman who Harry rather liked and had taught him transfiguration for three years was there. The bloke that Harry very much didn’t like and who taught potions was also there.
But so were Harry’s friends, both of whom beamed at Harry, even if the girl’s smile seemed strained.
Harry got the impression that his friend’s mum had taken the ten-second lead she had and told everyone not to say anything as they were all staring at Harry intently and silently.
“This is fun,” Harry said, glancing nervously toward his friends.
“Is it, mate?” the boy asked, shaking his head. “How you get yourself in these situations entirely on your own is certainly beyond me.”
Harry chuckled and relaxed at the teasing tone - as if he hadn’t been by Harry’s side for many of the mad situations Harry had been in.
“I think it’s best if we start now, so as to get the most uninfluenced results,” the Headmaster said. He waved a hand toward a bed, a clear direction, and Harry walked over to sit down, the others all following him.
“If you would begin,” the Headmaster asked the medi-witch.
Harry sat with his feet firmly planted on the floor, feeling foolish with so many people watching him. The medi-witch smiled thinly at Harry when she approached, which was familiar.
“I’ll start off by asking your name?” she asked him.
Harry opened his mouth and… damn. It was right there.
When the transfiguration professor coughed, Harry could feel his face burning.
“Er… if you said it I would know it?” he told the medi-witch, trying hard to pretend it was only the two of them. She had seen Harry too often for him too be too embarrassed in front of her. Harry thought that her watching him cry after the quidditch match he lost in his third year was much more humiliating, truly.
“Do you know my name?” she asked him, staring hard in Harry’s eyes, as if trying to gauge if he were pulling a trick on her.
“It’s…” Harry looked over toward his friends, instinctively knowing they would have the answer, but the medi-witch shifted so it was still her he looked at.
“No idea,” Harry admitted. In an effort to sound less stupid, he added, “But I remember every visit I’ve ever had with you.”
“Do you?” she asked. “What brought you here in your first year?”
“I blacked out while trying to save the stone,” harry answered promptly. “We - er… we had a bit of an argument about me going to the feast,” he grinned. She softened some at Harry’s playful addition.
“Were you here in your second year?” she asked.
“Twice,” Harry said. “Once was when… er… the blonde git, sorry, Professor,” he blushed harder when he remembered the Headmaster watching, though he only waved Harry’s comment off with a genial smile. “Er… I broke my arm, the blonde man removed my bones and you had to regrow them.” Harry perked up and smiled again, adding as much charm as he could to it. “‘Nasty business’, you called it.”
She smiled back, a twinkle in her eyes. “And do you know the name of the potion you took?”
“Yeah, it was… oh.” Harry blinked and thought as hard as he could. Harry could remember it tasting disgusting, the exact use of it, he could even recall the color of the potion. It was only the name of it that danced away from Harry’s thoughts.
“No, I don’t,” he said, sagging.
“Can you tell me the name of this building?” she asked, not reacting to Harry’s admission.
“It’s a school for magic,” Harry answered.
“What is it called?”
“Er…”
“And he’s meant to be in a tournament?” the red-headed woman hissed at the Headmaster, shaking her head. “Goodness.”
It went on like that for a few more minutes. The medi-witch asked Harry a variety of questions, some that he could answer and many that he couldn’t. Anything that didn’t involve names, Harry knew. A few basic questions about what simple spells did, Harry could answer. Naming the other people in the room, Harry looked at the floor and hoped nobody took his lack of knowledge personally.
There were even flash cards involved, which made Harry feel as if he were two years old. They had pictures of foods and animals on them, all of which Harry could name without a problem.
“This is absurd,” the potion professor sneered when the medi-witch finished with the cards. He looked much less friendly than usual when he pinned Harry with his dark eyes. “What is your mother’s name?” he spat at him, causing Harry’s stomach to twist.
In the second that it took Harry to begin thinking about that, the woman and the bloke that walked up to the castle with Harry both took up stances beside him and Harry was comforted by the light hand the bloke put on Harry’s back.
And then Harry was both mortified that he couldn’t remember his mum’s name and that he was fairly certain the bloke had brushed his hand on the handle of Harry’s borrowed gun.
“I don’t…” Harry inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, thinking.
“It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off—”
“I’ll do anything, please, please—”
“Stand aside, girl!”
When Harry opened his eyes, he resolutely fixed them on the stone floor as they were prickling uncomfortably. Harry could recall his parents final words with too much ease, but not their names.
Harry knew he was meant to fail the exam, he just didn’t expect to feel so terribly about it.
“I don’t know,” Harry said, forcing himself to sound emotionless, as if it weren’t painful to admit that. The woman beside Harry rubbed his shoulder and the bloke clenched his hand for a moment, when Harry glanced up at him, he was glowering at the potion Professor hatefully.
Which was nice of him, actually.
“I see,” the medi-witch said. “Mister—”
The red-headed woman cleared her throat and Harry just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Surely they could use names… it was driving him mad to feel so mortifyingly blank.
“Will you,” the medi-witch shot the red-headed woman a look before looking back at Harry, “lay back so that I can run a few simple tests?”
“Alright,” Harry agreed. He laid back slowly, ignoring the press of the metal in his back, and looked up at the ceiling while he answered more questions.
“If I told you my name, would you remember it tomorrow?” she asked. She had her wand out, circling it around Harry’s head.
“Probably not,” Harry said truthfully. “I just saw the professor earlier and I’ve already forgotten his name.”
“How many hours ago was that?”
“Six? Maybe seven?” Harry said. He shivered when one of her spells sent a cold wash through his body, but it was quickly followed by warmth. That was then followed by the medi-witch grabbing his arm and yanking him upright with much more force than Harry thought she should have.
“Were you released by the hospital after the car accident?” she asked. She narrowed her eyes at Harry when he must have exposed himself somehow. “The truth, if you would.”
“That’s a funny story,” Harry said haltingly, looking around the room aimlessly in an effort to not look in her very suspicious eyes. “You see - I…” Harry was pinched by the red-headed woman and so he huffed, loudly. “I tricked them into releasing me early,” he said, leaving Dean out of it.
They had thought it was a rather brilliant idea. If Harry had only needed rest, as the wizard said, then there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t go home to rest. It had been funny too, at the time. Harry and Dean, pulling something like a prank together.
Really, it was brotherly bonding.
No one in the room found Harry’s story funny at all when he was forced to explain how he managed to leave the hospital early. Even the bloke with his hand on Harry’s back gave him a deeply disappointed look, and Harry’s friends both shook their heads when Harry looked at them.
“Foolish boy,” the medi-witch said. She turned to the adults in the room who had various expressions of disappointment - and outright disgust and disdain in the potion professor’s case - and gestured toward her office. “I can give you my report in a moment,” she said.
Harry was relieved that the others left for a few minutes. The red-headed woman went with them, insisting that she be given the information to share with Harry’s brother. Then Harry was promptly hugged by one friend and smacked in the head by the other.
“Don’t hit him in the head!” the girl snapped at the boy before she punched Harry’s arm hard. “He’s got brain damage, Ronald.”
Ron, that was Harry’s friend’s name. Harry was so relieved to have at least one name temporarily in his mind that he let the brain damaged comment slide.
Even if it was rude.
“I don’t think it could get worse,” Harry quipped, resisting the urge to rub where the girl hit him. She was stronger than she looked, and obviously teetering between concerned and furious.
“And names should be fine to use,” the ex-professor bloke said, stepping away from the bed so that Harry’s friends could crowd him. He gave Harry a small smile and nod. “I’m Remus Lupin, Harry.”
“Lupin! That’s what it is!” Harry said, delighted to have Lupin’s name back. Harry gave him a genuine smile. “It is good to see you.”
Lupin nodded and then Ron drawled Hermione’s name and Hermione pointed at where the adults had clustered by the office and named them all for Harry.
“You must be terrified,” Hermione said as she hopped up on the bed beside Harry. When she grasped one of Harry’s hands, he saw that her nails were short and chewed up, a sign of her stress he usually only saw around exam time.
“I’m not having the best day, no,” Harry said. He looked to where Ron pulled a chair up to sit at the foot of the bed. “Who else is in the tournament? Dumbledore said I’m the second champion for this school?”
“Cedric Diggory was chosen,” Ron said. He smiled widely with a sly look in his eyes when he glanced at Hermione. “Everyone’s betting on you to win,” he said.
Harry actually threw his head back and groaned. Karma was real, very, very, real.
“I’m hoping I don’t have to compete,” Harry said tightly, imagining himself next to the handsome Hufflepuff student facing off across from a dragon. It wasn’t a flattering image, at all.
“You should be medically disqualified,” Hermione said with a sniff. “The Durmstrang students had to pass a fitness exam before they could come to compete.”
“Oh! Harry!” Ron reached out and slapped Harry’s knee in excitement. “Guess who’s playing for Durmstrang? It’s Viktor Krum, mate!”
Harry’s head snapped forward and he gasped. “No!”
“Yes!” Ron squealed.
“The quidditch player?” Harry clarified. When Ron nodded, Harry felt a bit like squealing too.
“He asked me about you,” Hermione said nonchalantly. Harry and Ron both looked toward her with their mouths open and she rolled her eyes. “He didn’t know who Harry Potter-Winchester was and someone told him we were friends. Honestly, he was a bit thick. I mean, who else would cause such an uproar?”
“Who… who all knows about my name being chosen?” Harry asked slowly, not at all liking the implication Hermione was making.
“Um… everyone,” Hermione told him.
“It was drawn in front of the entire school,” Ron said. He chuckled, “Mate, you’ve got no idea how crazy it got. I think Malfoy wanted to puke.”
“And Professor Dumbledore was furious,” Hermione told Harry with a squeeze of his hand. “Everyone was so confused because you don’t even attend traditional classes!”
“Oh, yeah, you should have heard Susan and Hannah that night,” Ron said. He cleared his throat and mimed tossing his hair over his shoulder before adopting a girlish voice. “‘It’s like whoever is trying to kill Harry Potter this year isn’t even bothering to be subtle. At least Professor Quirrell had the respect to hide his evil plots in a turban, you know?’”
Despite everything, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Even Lupin chuckled from where he leaned against the neighboring bed. It was uplifting to know that people were on his side, but he’d rather everyone stopped saying Harry was going to be killed.
“I really don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Hermione said again. “No offense, Harry, but you’re not exactly in condition to compete.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry lied, his eyes wandering over toward the cluster of adults. Just when Harry looked at them, Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry.
Professor Dumbledore shifted his head side-to-side and Harry was filled with trepidation.
Harry was going to compete, he was sure of it.
And, five minutes later, Harry was told as much. Along with a name for the memory issues he was still experiencing.
“Harry.” Professor Dumbledore joined them with Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley beside him. Ron gave the Headmaster his chair so that Harry could get some answers, face-to-face. Professor Snape left after giving Harry and Lupin both one more look of loathing and Madam Pomfrey had retired to her office to contact the hospital for Harry’s records.
“Poppy believes that you have an injury in your brain,” Dumbledore said. “I believe she’s gathering more information for you and your brothers, it will be more detailed, but in short…”
“In short, it may resolve itself and it may not,” Professor McGonagall said. She spoke bluntly, but Harry saw the lines of stress around her eyes. Hermione made a noise, but Harry only held her hand more tightly as he looked toward Dumbledore for more information.
“So that means I don’t have to compete, right?” Harry asked him desperately. “Sir?”
“I am going to speak with the heads of the other schools and the officials from the Ministry overseeing it, but,” Dumbledore grimaced and opened his hands in a helpless gesture, “I am uncertain that it is possible to have you removed.”
“Which is absolutely preposterous,” Mrs Weasley thundered with her arms crossed and her eyes flashing. “Harry is a child!”
“A child with aphasia,” Professor McGonagall agreed.
Harry forced himself to grin, refusing to whine in front of so many people.
“A soon-to-be dead child with whatever that is,” Harry said. It was a terrible joke, in hindsight. Harry wished Dean were there, he would have laughed even if his hand did the twitching motion as if he could shoot anyone who threatened Harry or Sam.
Nobody laughed and Harry swore that Professor McGonagall actually got a tear in her eye before she gave Dumbledore a pointed look as she excused herself.
“Molly, walk me to my office?” she asked. “I’m certain that Remus can walk Harry back to his brother once they’ve collected the information from Poppy.”
Mrs Weasley faltered. “I should stay with Harry,” she said apologetically. “Dean asked me to stay with him. He’s such a dear, it’s a shame he was never a student here.”
Harry watched curiously as Professor Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow at Professor McGonagall just before the witch fixed Mrs Weasley with an exasperated look.
“I understand,” Professor McGonagall said curtly. “I will be writing to you in the morning though, I’m afraid the twins have been running quite the scheme.”
Harry started to see what was happening and he was too curious about the point of it all to not help.
“I’ll be fine, Mrs Weasley,” Harry told her with a smile. “Dean won’t mind if Professor Lupin walks me back.”
Probably.
“I… oh, alright.” Mrs Weasley bent down to give Harry another long hug, squeezing him quite tightly. “You boys write to me anytime you need me, okay?” she asked. She pulled away and cupped Harry’s cheek with a trembling smile. “This will all be fine. Some way, somehow.”
Harry lied through his teeth as he agreed and then he waited for Mrs Weasley to tell the others goodbye, and to threaten Lupin quite harshly to make sure Harry made it back to Dean safely, before she left.
The instant the door closed, Professor Dumbledore pulled his wand.
“Forgive me, Mister Weasley, I thought your mother might not want to hear about the upcoming task,” he said, not unkindly. “And I must ask you and Miss Granger both to keep what you know to stay to yourselves, is this acceptable?”
Hermione and Ron both agreed quickly and Harry felt a sense of deja vu. When Harry glanced at Hermione and she grinned, he knew she felt it as well. It hadn’t been all that long ago that the two of them were in the Hospital Wing with Professor Dumbledore, being given orders to keep their antics and knowledge secret.
Of course, that time had involved Professor Lupin roaming the grounds as a werewolf and then he stood beside Harry’s bed, watching Dumbledore with the same curiosity that Harry and his friends were.
“The first task is at the end of this month,” Dumbledore said briskly. “As Harry is aware, he will be tasked with retrieving a golden egg from a nesting dragon.”
“For the love of God,” Lupin groaned.
Hermione squeaked, squeezed Harry’s hand, and made very wide eyes.
Ron seemed pale and he reached out to use Harry’s shoulder to balance himself when he swayed.
Their reactions were validating, making Harry feel better for his own very sharp sense of fear.
“Harry, I will be arguing for you to be disqualified, but, and I have Severus checking now, I don’t believe there has been any history of disqualifying a champion in the past,” Dumbledore said quickly. “As such—”
“Harry should start preparing now,” Hermione said, not even blinking at her own interruption of the Headmaster. It meant she was already gone, lost to the mental world of Hermione Land where she solved all of Harry’s problems.
Or made them worse, it was even odds.
“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed. “We will test the tournament contract by having you wait in a separate location. If you’re brought to the first task, you’ll be prepared. If not, we’ve planned in an abundance of caution, understand?”
“Yes,” Harry said. “But, sir, what magic am I going to do?”
“I have no answer for you at present,” Dumbledore told him, sinking Harry’s hope that he had some secret to get Harry past a dragon. “Nonverbal magic would be best, but it’s incredibly difficult and, as excellent of a student as you are—”
Harry sat up a little straighter and looked to make sure Hermione heard that. She didn’t, she was staring at the ceiling, her lips moving silently. Ron saw Harry do it though and he rolled his eyes at him, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“— we don’t have enough time to follow that route,” Dumbledore went on. “As such, I believe we should begin meeting every weekend. Remus,” Dumbledore looked to Lupin, “if you’re available?”
“Sure, of course,” Lupin said without hesitation. He smiled at Harry and it eased some of his concerns. Harry would have Dumbledore and Lupin helping him, that had to be worth something.
“Oh!” Ron snapped his fingers and looked at Harry quickly. “Mate! What if you could get one of those ear things? Like extendable ears but invisible or something?”
Harry didn’t know what extendable ears were, but Ron’s idea snapped Hermione from her thoughts.
“Like an earpiece?” she asked. “He can’t. Electronics won’t work on the grounds, there’s too much magic here.”
Harry, without thinking, reached in his pocket for his phone. The screen still showed the time and Harry flipped it open to show Hermione and —
Hisssss…
“Ouch!” Harry dropped the phone that hissed as it released a bunch of steam and burned his hand. Harry gaped at it then looked at Hermione, “It died!” he said, shocked.
“Harry, I just said electronics don’t work around powerful magic,” she said with a sigh. “You can’t use your phone here.”
Harry felt strange as he looked at his phone. It simply stopped working and landed on the ground, the screen black.
Then Harry shook his head and pushed away thoughts of fires and screams from people buried under wreckage, dying and hopeless. That had nothing to do with magic (but weren’t airplanes electric? did Harry set off any spell when he grabbed his wand? how sure were the others that a demon had caused the wreck?) and Harry had more imminent concerns.
“But…” Hermione was thoughtful as she too looked at Harry’s phone. “I might have an idea. Except,” she glanced at Professor Dumbledore furtively, “I’m not sure if it’s allowed.”
“Aah, as fourteen year olds are also not allowed to compete, we can assume we are working outside the constructs of the standard rule book,” Dumbledore said airily with a twinkling and very approving smile. “Though, as I am a judge for tasks, perhaps it would be a good time for me to check on Poppy’s progress.”
Hermione waited until Dumbledore walked away before she beamed at Harry. It was Hermione’s ‘I’ve solved the mystery!’ smile. It was her best one, really.
It made Harry feel rather warm and reassured.
“The twins have extendable ears, I think I can modify them,” Hermione said in a rush. Harry didn’t know what extendable ears were, but he could guess on context that they would work like earpieces. “I think I can make them like your mirror, where if you say the person’s name, it’ll activate.”
“And this helps…?” Harry asked, not seeing what good that would do him against a dragon.
“Because I can feed you spells during the tasks!” Hermione said eagerly.
“Will that work?” Lupin asked quizzically, his arms crossed and his face considering. “Harry?”
“I… maybe,” Harry said.
“Mate, repeat after me: Ron Weasley,” Ron said.
“Ron Weasley,” Harry mimicked.
“Lumos.”
“Lumos.”
“Snape’s a greasy bastard.”
Harry laughed, “Snape is a greasy bastard.”
“There would be a split-second delay, but… yes,” Lupin nodded slowly when the teenagers looked to him for approval. “That’s a brilliant idea, Hermione. Good job.”
Hermione visibly lit up with Lupin’s praise and Harry rushed to tell her how smart he thought her idea was as well.
“You’ve saved my life again,” Harry told her. “Honestly, what would I do without you?”
Hermione was pink in the cheeks when Ron barked out a single laugh.
“Hermione’s the worst of us under pressure,” Ron said, smirking when Harry scowled at him. “C’mon, you know she is! ‘There’s no wood!’”
That was actually an excellent point that Harry absolutely would not agree with.
“Well, I won’t be eleven and panicked this time,” Hermione said firmly. “I’ll start making the ears, Ron can look into spells to use against dragons. Oh! Ron! Write to Charlie, will you?”
By the time that Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey returned with the information from the hospital, Hermione had assigned all of them jobs, even Lupin. Hermione would make the ears, Ron would write to Charlie, Lupin was apparently in charge of finding ways to charm clothes to be so fireproof that dragons couldn’t even burn them, and Harry—
“You follow the medical advice that you’re given,” Hermione told him sternly, not looking unlike McGonagall with her thin lips and flaring nostrils.
Except McGonagall wasn’t cute and Hermione was.
“You’re cute,” Harry told her, grinning stupidly after listening to Hermione take charge of the entire task preparation.
Harry did not mean to say that out loud. God.
Hermione went very red in the cheeks, though she didn’t seem displeased by Harry’s comment, while Lupin smiled up at the ceiling and Ron pretended to have a coughing fit.
“Er…” Harry needed to fix his own stupid mouth before - before… he couldn’t just say that, even if it was true. “Brain damage!” he cried, flustered.
If everyone else got to say it, so did Harry. And, judging from the heavy stack of parchments and brochures Harry was given, along with a follow up appointment at St Mungo’s, it was an easy sell.
“So… Hermione?” Lupin asked after Harry was allowed to leave the school.
Harry had busied himself with looking over the papers about anomic aphasia while they left so as to avoid looking Hermione in the eyes for too long. It was actually something of a relief for Harry to know that what was wrong with his brain had a name, it meant that it wasn’t a unique ailment and maybe there was a cure.
The paperwork didn’t say there was a cure, which was why Harry tucked it under his arm and refused to look at it again as soon as he left the castle.
Lupin was grinning at Harry, teasing him probably, but once they left the castle grounds Harry had something more important he wanted to discuss.
And if Harry wanted to be teased about Hermione, he’d get it from Sam or Dean, thanks.
“So, your houseguest,” Harry said, blatantly refusing to discuss Hermione and raising a brow at Lupin. “He’s alive, I assume?”
Lupin sobered up at Harry’s no-nonsense tone.
“He is,” he said evenly, his face betraying nothing. “I didn’t know he gave you James’s mirror.”
“Well he did,” Harry said. “And now he’s mad at me and not answering.”
Lupin frowned and didn’t say anything for a while, only walking with his head ducked and his hands in his pockets. Harry waited, hoping that Lupin wouldn’t brush him off. It took them nearly a third of the walk, but Lupin did eventually give Harry an answer, even if it wasn’t what Harry wanted to hear.
“He is incredibly mentally unwell,” Lupin said slowly, choosing his words with care. He stared straight ahead, as did Harry. “He went to prison before he had even fully matured and I think there is a large part of him that is still stuck in the past, stuck in his own head.”
Lupin smiled at Harry, soft and sad. “He does love you, you know.”
Harry hunched his shoulders up, as if he could protect his chest from the uncomfortable ache that Lupin’s words caused. Lupin must have seen that Harry had reached his capacity over talking about things, because he lightened the mood rather quickly.
“Should I ask why you have a pistol tucked in your waistband or is this a Winchester thing?” he asked.
Harry forced a laugh and then explained about Dean and his insistence that Harry took the gun with him. Lupin didn’t seem to disagree with it, he only told Harry to be extra certain the safety was on before carrying it.
“You don’t want to accidentally shoot yourself,” Lupin said, sounding much like he used to when he taught Harry. “My friend did that once. It looked incredibly painful.”
It sounded painful.
The lecture on gun safety carried them clear to the village. It was dark, only the lampposts offered any light, and Harry was becoming impatient to get home. It was brilliant, seeing his friends, but Harry had a dragon-sized weight on his chest that he thought might lighten when he returned home.
So when Lupin held Harry back just outside of the Three Broomsticks, Harry wasn’t immediately grateful to drag out his time there.
“Harry, before you go, I owe you an apology,” Lupin said, looking discomfited. Harry tilted his head, wondering what for, and Lupin shifted uneasily.
“I knew that James wasn’t biologically your father,” Lupin said quietly. “I didn’t tell you because, well, because of Sirius, truthfully. I recall meeting John Winchester, he was a man who made an impression.”
Harry could see that. He seemed to have that impact on people who knew him.
“I knew he hunted witches, and werewolves,” Lupin added wryly. “When I realized that you had no idea about the man, I felt it would have been unfair to saddle you with the knowledge that you had more family who, may not have- well… who I…”
“Who you thought might also be trying to kill me?” Harry guessed, reading between the lines of Lupin’s hesitation. Lupin nodded and Harry considered that.
Harry had wondered why Lupin didn’t tell him during any of the private lessons or chats they shared. It wasn’t unreasonable, really. From everything he had learned about the man, Harry didn’t think that he would have wanted Harry around at all.
And if Harry had learned that before he knew he had a godfather who loved him and wanted him… he probably wouldn’t have taken it very well.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Harry told Lupin. Harry could be angry, but perhaps it was for the best that Harry didn’t meet his father. Harry had a dad, a brave and brilliant hero who died to protect Harry and who invented clever things like Harry’s map and mirror. Harry had his brothers, who knew everything about Harry and wanted him anyway.
There wasn’t any point in thinking about how things could have been different, not when they turned out alright in the end. Sure, Harry would probably be dead in three weeks when he faced a dragon, but what a three weeks it would be.
Lupin seemed to be relieved by Harry’s lack of anger. He gripped Harry’s shoulder and smiled, that one reaching his eyes and warming them.
“For what it’s worth, I think that James and Lily must be incredibly happy for you,” Lupin told him. “They always wanted more children. Though, I believe I recall James once saying that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to father any of them. He seemed to think that he might unconsciously favor them…”
When Lupin winked and held the door open for Harry, Harry grinned back.
Yeah, three more weeks would be great. Harry could probably be eaten by a dragon and feel pretty satisfied with life. Or… hm… almost satisfied. There were a few things he wanted to do before he was killed.