Harry Potter & Patterns
Harry Potter has seen all kinds of injuries. As the ward of the local mediwitch, this is inevitable. He has seen things gruesome. Bloody. And painful. Whimpers and moans and pale, dirty skin, gleaned with sweat.
He’s seen it all. He’s spent years isolated to the Medical Wing alone. What he’s learned is that Hogwarts is a beautiful place. It is filled to the brim with magic and opportunities and. And danger, yes. There’s so much of it. Harry’s seen it all and there is a lot to see.
Sometimes the danger is not from Hogwarts itself -- the classes or the environment; the mythical creatures that come along with them -- but the people. Children alone are a danger but children with wands can be life threatening.
And there’s a pattern. A lot of people do not notice it. Harry understands the reason why.
Preformative House Unity is a common comfort in the Hufflepuff Tower. It’s the idea that someone can be a good person regardless of their House -- that people are not defined by their Houses, blah blah blah. It’s not exactly even a take that Harry disagrees with, but the problem is that it is surface level.
There’s a pattern. It’s that people are not defined by their House, but that Houses are defined by their people. With every environment like the Houses, with its social pressures and political hierarchies, there will exist certain cultures.
Not all Hufflepuffs are nice. Not all Hufflepuffs are loyal. But if you are not nice, not loyal, then the rest of the Hufflepuffs are likely to tut their noses at you; expressing obvious and seemingly collective disapproval. And then you learn. Hufflepuffs are not all nice, but a lot of them are, because behavior otherwise is punished. When you grow older, you pick up the culture and perpetuate it yourself -- regardless of if you mean to. And so the cycle continues.
It is, of course, impossible to make blanket statements about any House and to water down any group of peers into something so two-dimensional is irresponsible. Harry steers away from that.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see what a lot of people do not; a pattern. Ravenclaws are not inherently smart but being dumb is punished. Gryffindors are not inherently extroverted but introversion is punished.
And Slytherins are not all bigoted…
But progressiveness is punished. It is that simple.
So Harry’s time spent, young, in the Medical Wing was spent angry. He sees Muggleborns and Purebloods pour in and notices this pattern, notices that there are more bigoted Slytherins than any other House. Though he loves the color green, loves his boyfriend and loved Fred and George, he cannot help but wonder what the fuck went wrong there.
He’s seen dark spells not used righteously and is angry. He’s seen Blaise bloodied for being lovers with a Puff and is vengeful.
He’s seen a lot (and there is a lot to see) and although he has felt a lot of things about it -- and done a lot of things about it -- he has never felt quite like this.
It’s not the first time one of his beloved has ended up in the Hospital Wing. Likely, it will not be the last. But this time aches more. Maybe it is because, before, the injured party was limited to broken bones and concussions. Small, fixable injuries that will have them out again before the sun meets the horizon. All with the help of magic and his guardian, of course.
The last times something like this happened, there was no need to worry.
But magic, now, is not enough. Magic, now, can only do so much and what it can do? Is not enough.
He has been assured time and time again that he will live. The odds are with him. It has not made Harry feel any better.
And, before, he has been able to act in bouts of vigilante justice. You hurt my boyfriend? Well, now you’re both in the Hospital Wing. Tell me how you like it. His rage and incessant desire for revenge has carried him through incident through incident.
Here, the revenge is already accomplished. Here, the concept of more revenge is far off. What good is a trial if Harry can not batter them black and blue himself? He does not like the legal system's bias, even now that it is toward him.
He has nothing to do with his rage. It burns like a fire in the pit of his chest and the smoke threatens to choke him.
It is the evening after his trial. He has already moved his things back into Hufflepuff Tower. Both he and Snape are glad to be rid of each other. It is a relief. But… it is not a comfort.
Harry enters the infirmary quietly. Ron’s slightly labored breathing fills the silence. Hermione can be heard, too, whispering to his unconscious body. “Everything’s alright,” he hears. “Just a few more days, they say, and everything will be alright.”
The whispering stops once she glances over her shoulder to spot Harry, hovering now toward the end of the bed. She is sitting half-way on the bed with her back to him. From that moment’s glance, Harry can sense no decipherable emotion. Perhaps she is like him. Her heart is busy overflowing.
She turns to Ron again, leaving Harry facing her back. “Harry,” she says, quietly. Harry can’t tell whether she is happy to see him, but any confliction, he thinks, is understandable. “You’re back.”
Harry settles into the chair at the end of the bed, watching the couple. “Yeah,” he says.
“How’d the trial go? Well, if I had to guess. Since you’re here.”
Harry chuckles. She is a smart girl. “Mhm,” he responds. “Too well, actually. I never thought I’d see the Minister like me.”
Hermione doesn’t respond. She is rewrapping the gauze on Ron’s arms and when the old gauze comes away, it comes away bloody. Harry tears his eyes away.
He clears his throat. “How is he? Ron, I mean.”
“Better,” she answers.
“But not well?”
“No,” she says. “Not well. Not yet.”
“But,” and he needs the answer to be yes for reasons he cannot understand, “he will be?” He is not familiar with guilt -- he has flirted with it before but he does not and refuses to bask in it, for any reason. His blood. His heritage. His beliefs. In a world that wants you to hate yourself, the most revolutionary thing you can practice is self love.
And those few things he regrets, he tears out of his journal. But he can’t tear this away. This sticks.
“Yes,” she says. Harry’s shoulders sink with relief, maybe a moment too soon. “Though,” she adds, “there will be lasting repercussions. That’s what she’s saying, anyway.”
Harry swallows thickly. “What kinds of repercussions?”
“He’s going to have trouble walking.” She pauses. “Seeing, too.”
Something rises in his chest. A lot of everything and he is like Hermione here; conflicted. Incomprehensible. I should have killed them, he thinks, viciously. Taking their magic wasn’t enough -- wasn’t equal, wasn’t fair. I should have killed them. But alongside that is, I should have protected him. What use is my rage when paired with rashness? And his thoughts fizzle out.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice catching. “I -- I should have--”
“I know,” says Hermione. And she probably does. She is smart. She had probably fit everything together long before Harry did. “You did what you thought you needed to do.”
And it was fucked up. And it failed. “I didn’t need two decoys,” he insists. “I’m so fuck--”
“Stop that,” she says gently, turning her head to meet his eyes this time. “What is it you say? That you reserve your anger for change?”
“Yeah,” says Harry, voice flat.
“So,” she turns her back to him again. “Reserve it. It’s done. We did the best we could.”
Harry takes a deep breath. She’s right. Of course she is. She is smart. The past is over, unchangeable. Untouchable. For some reason, the feeling does not fade; it lingers on. And then he gets why: “Will Ron feel the same way, if he has the realization we had?”
“No,” says Hermione. Harry’s heart aches at the response. “But he will come along sooner or later.” He will. He always does.
So why does Harry not feel any better? Ron will forgive him. Ron will heal. His perpetrators will be punished -- and though it will not be further done by his own hand, it is something, isn’t it? It is better than, honestly, anything Harry could’ve expected.
So why does Harry still feel so fucking guilty? It’s an ugly feeling. He hates shame. But now, it is not misplaced.
He realizes that he is not only unhappy about his part in hurting Ron, but in hurting Hermione, too. He’s not like Mione. She would have realized this sooner. He clears his throat. “I shouldn't -- I shouldn’t have challenged your beliefs then. I shouldn’t have done that.” There is a time and place for politics and right then…
Well. Right then was not it.
“I know,” she says.
“I’m sorry I forced your hand into accepting me taking their magic.”
“You didn’t force my hand, Harry,” she says, exasperated. “And you aren’t really sorry. I know you are not sorry. You would take their magic twice over if you could do it all over again.”
And he would. And he does not lie often. “Can you blame me?”
She sighs. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I want to.”
Harry gets that. He understands it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. “I understand.”
“I want to. I don’t know if I do, though. You saved him.”
I also put him in danger. “I didn’t--”
She locks eyes with him. “Look at him, Harry. Look what they did. A part of me argues that Pansy and Goyle and whoever don’t deserve what you did to them because of this… But then I look at him,” she turns back to Ron. “And I just can’t tell. My thoughts all fizzle out and all that’s left is feeling. It feels all so silly, if we’re being honest.” Silly. Harry understands that. He understands silly.
“What feelings?” he asks.
“Anger.” She pauses. “Sadness.” She places Ron’s now rebandaged arm back to his side. “I don’t know if what you did was right. But I know it was not wrong. I know it saved his life. So,” she says, “Thank you.”
“I love you.” He feels a little better. He will never regret what he did to the people that attacked him, and he will forever regret what he did to Ron, but he will fight to remain untouched by both of those things. People will hate him for his choice on the field. Ron will, for a little while. And that’s okay. Hermione’s words will make him feel a little better, every time.
“Four days.”
Harry looks up. “Mhm?”
“Until we’re let out on Christmas break,” she says. “They say Ron’ll be stable enough to stay at home before then.”
“Oh,” says Harry. He smiles. “I’m glad.”
“And you will have your first Divination classes, won’t you?”
“Will I?”
“Yes,” Hermione says. She rolls her eyes, but the gesture is forced. Worried. Harry doesn’t get why. “Tom’s got everything sorted out for you to go. He told you this. The day of the incident. Don’t you remember?”
Harry thinks that is a stupid question. “No,” he says. “But that’s cool. Really cool.”
“Yes, well,” she says. “Thank him tomorrow.”
Harry does a mock salute. “Will do. Do you know if anyone else is staying for the break? I know he will be.” That’s a staple of children without parents; we like it better here. Hogwarts is not our second home because it is our first.
“Neville, as always.”
“Are you staying at Ron’s?
“For a couple days,” she says. A smile touches her face. “He always has the best Christmases.”
“And we’ll get the best sweaters.”
“Yes,” she laughs. “We sure as hell will. Do you have a present for Fred and George? And Ron?”
“I’ll give Ron some money.”
Hermione rolls her eyes, like he hasn't done this every year. “Really? How much this time?”
Harry glances at Ron’s body. The bloody and discarded bandages. I’ll give him enough to buy whatever the hell he wants. “Enough to rival the shit I’m getting the twins.”
“And? What’s that?”
“Oh,” Harry grins. “Just wait and see.”