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SIYE Time:8:26 on 29th March 2024
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Gods Bless Accidental Magic!
By Dopeydo

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley
Genres: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Humor, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Spouse/Adult/Child Abuse, Violence, Violence/Physical Abuse
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 306
Summary: Everybody has their limits. As Harry finds his reason to live, he will break many of them… and not all intentionally. As Harry finds his reason to live, he will learn what it means to be broken in turn. There is a great power in friendship, but there is just as great a power in fear. (Crossover occurs late in the story.)

Note: Picks up from halfway through chapter six of PS. Abuse warnings are limited to pre-Hogwarts experiences. Rating is mainly for language.
Hitcount: Story Total: 200336; Chapter Total: 2630
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Many thanks again to my beta readers, Arnel and BobVosh. And thank you to you, the readers, for following this story through all its crazy turns. It's been many years since the speccy kid dreamed up his little fantasy in that room 5 maths class, and I'm proud to have brought my old daydream so far. But there is further to go. I'll post a little epilogue in the coming weeks, and then bring it back with the next volume after the Christmas holidays.
Thank you again!




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held his invisibility cloak tightly about him as the wind began to pick up. The sword and his Nimbus were gently humming in harmony, like music on the breeze.


“Shut up!” said Harry. “Both of you!”


Harry should have been surprised to note that they did. Harry, however, was not paying them the slightest bit of heed.


A life without Ginny... For a moment, Harry wished the basilisk had finished him. Unfortunately, that would have unleashed a young Voldemort on the school, and the dream soon ended.


Grinding the heel of his hand into his forehead, Harry drove the broomstick on. Who to turn to when the person who swore they would never abandon you turns their back? Harry chose the sky. Still, even that was grey and cold.


A shrill bark came to him on the wind. Harry slumped on his broom as Hedwig caught up to him. As much as it comforted him to have her at his side, Harry felt that much worse that he hadn’t been to the Owlery to visit his familiar. She did not seem so bothered by that. Calling to him through the buffeting air, Hedwig swooped in and perched on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, Harry turned the broom skyward and just revelled in the pull of the Earth below. Hedwig’s talons dug into his shoulder as he climbed, but the pain was welcome. It was another constant companion, and somehow the feeling brought a sense of relief, almost as though the stress was escaping through his punctured skin.


Clamping the broom thrust, Harry let them drift to a halt, spinning to point back down at the ground. He knew the moment even with his eyes closed.


FWOOSH


Wind tore at his robes and his face, roaring like lions in his ears. The raw speed of the dive was overwhelming to his senses, but at the same time granted him a clarity he found in precious few places besides. Ginny was angry with him for leaving when she hadn’t been before. Something had changed. And if he wanted her back, he would simply have to find out what that was. Harry gritted his teeth and pulled out of the dive, skimming the grass with the tips of his shoes.


It would be so much easier if Ginny would only tell him what the problem was. It was with some bitterness that he added, ‘rather than break it off with me.’


Feeling the rain run down his face, Harry gave up. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he had his mission, and catching a cold out in the rain was not part of it. Shivering slightly, Harry made his way back into the school. Hedwig flitted around him, making little sounds of concern.


“I’m okay, Hedwig,” said Harry. Hedwig made an indignant kind of squawking sound. “I will be. Thank you, girl.”


She settled back on his shoulder, resting her body against his head.


‘I hope I will.’


Harry grimaced at the squelching sounds his shoes made as he entered the castle. Hurrying to avoid the wrath of Filch, Harry raced up the marble staircase, Hedwig soaring overhead. Too late, he heard a cat mewling, and he ducked into the first corridor that came up ahead. His footprints would likely lead Filch much of the way, but they were almost faded now, and if his memory was not too damaged, he thought he recognised the girls’ bathroom coming up on the right.


Harry slammed the door shut as soon as Hedwig came through, collapsing back against it for support.


“Filth!” they heard Filch cry. “Where did they go, my sweet?”


Harry was sure that he wanted to feel sorry for the man. It seemed unfair to rest so much responsibility on one person, especially with his being unable to practice magic. But considering the army of house-elves who were likely doing the bulk of the work, Harry wasn’t certain how much sympathy the bitter old man deserved.


“Oh,” said Myrtle. “You’re alive.”


Harry looked up to see the bathroom much as he had left it. The only thing missing was Lockhart’s crumpled, steaming body.


“You sound almost disappointed, Myrtle,” said Harry. “Whatever happened to hello?”


Myrtle, who was sitting atop the central sinks, blushed slightly and looked away. “Hi, Harry. Did you get him?”


“I got him,” Harry nodded. “But getting this guy to stay dead is like trying to hold back the tide.”


“I’m sure you’ll do it,” Myrtle said quietly.


“You took good care of Lockhart for me, didn’t you?” said Harry.


Myrtle perked up a bit at that. “Oh, he was really quite happy to go when the Aurors came for him. Shame. He was lots of fun.”


“Bah, good riddance,” Harry smiled. The sword was once again warm beneath his fingertips.


“What’s that, Harry?” Myrtle breathed.


“The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” Harry said, his smile fading in spite of his sense of pride. “It came to me in the Chamber to help slay the beast.”


“Can I see it?”


Metal rang as the sword was drawn, reverberating richly even in the dank toilet. The calligraphic ‘Gryffindor’ engraved along its blade stood, stark as the day it was forged, shouting to all the world of the greatness of its heritage.


“Beautiful,” she muttered, reaching out towards the blade. “Ahh!”


The blade had flashed briefly red where she’d touched it. Harry and Myrtle both stared at her finger. Shockingly red blood dripped steadily from the end, only to evaporate as smoky aether before it could reach the ground. Myrtle’s face was contorted with pain, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Yet she wore a brilliant smile.


“I...” she gasped. “I felt it.”


“Myrtle, you’re bleeding,” Harry said urgently.


“I haven’t felt anything real for fifty years,” she carried on, still sounding utterly tortured. “It... It really hurts, Harry.”


“Why are you happy?” Harry said, incredulous. “Will you heal? Are you going to bleed out? Should I get Madam Pomfrey?”


Myrtle met his eye, and Harry was taken back to that fateful night of Halloween, when the first attack had come. Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party had featured food left to rot for an indeterminate amount of time so as to have the most pungent possible smells and flavours. And even still, the ghosts had only ‘almost’ been able to taste it.


And then Myrtle began to cry.


“For a moment, it was almost like I was a-a-a-live!”


Harry sighed softly, Hedwig fluttering down to land on his shoulder, head cocked. “Myrtle?”


Myrtle quieted a little, floating down to him.


“Can I see your finger, Myrtle?” said Harry.


She stretched out her hand, tremulously, and Harry found himself patting the sword hilt. When the blood had stopped dripping, Harry had suspected, but he could not have been sure. The wound had healed completely. The Sword of Gryffindor was still a sword, but the same magic it had worked upon him in the Chamber worked upon all. It only permanently injured those it wanted to. This wasn’t what he said to Myrtle, though.


“You see that?” said Harry. “You’ve healed. You might not be able to do all the things you used to, but your body still works. You still have life, it’s only a different kind of life.”


“But I don’t want to be dead!” she said angrily. “I don’t deserve to be dead!”


“Everybody dies, Myrtle,” said Harry. “You were murdered. It isn’t fair and it isn’t right. I’ll be avenging you every time a bit of Voldemort crops up, and maybe you can help with that. But it won’t change what’s happened. Sooner or later everyone ends up dead, or a ghost.”


“Even you?” said Myrtle.


“One day,” Harry smiled.


“Have you ever thought about what it’s like?” Myrtle said, sitting in mid-air and swinging her legs idly.


Harry looked at her forlornly. He’d made it through, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether that would be a good or a bad thing in the long run.


“I don’t need to anything,” said Myrtle. “Food, sleep, work... None of it has any meaning. It’s an eternity of nothing, Harry. I’ve spent fifty years in this bloody toilet and the only thing that’s been keeping me going is how angry I am.”


Harry could feel it. She was a hollow kind of presence in the Force, crimson and pulsing with rage.


“The Headless Hunt found something to do,” said Harry. “Being a ghost doesn’t mean you can’t have friends. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”


“Are we friends, Harry?” said Myrtle.


Harry sighed. If only he had the words for Ginny. “Of course we’re friends.”


As he walked back to Gryffindor tower, Harry’s footfalls grew heavier. He found himself staring sullenly at the floor. Hedwig tried to cheer him, but to no avail, and soon she resigned herself to simply waiting it out. Harry had made the simple mistake of wanting to share what had just happened. And the first person he wanted to talk to was Ginny.




“I realise that you have been through a lot, Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “But if you want to pass the year you will need to focus in class.”


Harry gritted his teeth, staring at the blackboard. Perhaps the Jedi were right. He lacked mastery of his mind, and of his emotions.


The more that Harry thought about it, the more real the break-up seemed, and thus the vicious circle kept him locked in the dark corners of his mind.


Why would Ginny break up with him? Why now? After what they had shared... Even if she had changed her mind on the idea of his being trained in a galaxy far, far away, why wouldn’t she say something? Or perhaps what the council had said about his being a cipher was behind it...


Clenching his jaw tightly enough that it hurt, Harry stared down at A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Would having this power simply make him persona non grata amongst his friends? Harry’s blood was boiling as he let go his train of thought. If he did not hone himself into the most skilled sorcerer he could be, all would be immaterial soon enough. He glared at the book, pushing to see through the haze.


‘You have missed months of schooling... ‘


‘Slowing down time is a considerable ability.’


‘You will need to focus.’


Harry fixed his eyes and began to read. Spells began to assemble themselves in his brain, and his wand vibrated to perform them. Still he read, as theories fleshed themselves out before him and concepts grew out of ideas. Still, he read. The rage within him had become a dull roar. His blood was afire, but it was life and energy and though he felt it rushing through his arteries his concentration remained absolute.


Harry was so focused on the words in front of him that he didn’t notice how much he had read until he found himself touching the back cover.


“Have you determined the number of pages in your textbook, Mr. Potter?” said Professor McGonagall.


Harry frowned at her. He’d been studying. It was faster than he usually read, to be sure, but surely that must have been obvious for her to have let him read for so long.


Looking back down at the page number and seeing 326, Harry’s frown deepened. He had remedial potions after this. Why would Professor McGonagall have allowed him to stay past the end of class?


“I read the book, professor,” said Harry.


“Excuse me, Potter?” said Professor McGonagall.


“Is something wrong?” Harry said, looking back down at the book.


Her mouth forming a thin line, Professor McGonagall gave him a look which quite clearly said that she had run out of patience. “How could I determine the lifespan of a transformation?”


“Divide the power applied in Mansel-seconds by the combined masses of the initial and final objects multiplied by the ratio of their masses, divide by the complexity index, and multiply by Potter’s constant,” Harry said with a little grin. “If an anchor is used then you have to do some fancy equations I didn’t understand, and if you recast you just do the equation again and add, but the complexity index factor is halved.”


Professor McGonagall stared at him for a clear ten seconds without saying a word. “This is one of your... Jedi powers?”


“I don’t know,” said Harry. “What did I do? Are you talking about my memory?”


“Potter, you must have read two hundred pages in the space of ten minutes,” said the flabbergasted professor. “With apparently perfect recall.”


Harry stared back. “You said to focus. I just...”


“I see,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding a little faint. “Perhaps this task of ours is more achievable than I had thought. These equations...”


Harry found himself enjoying his first remedial lesson. With Professor McGonagall’s undivided attention, he churned through the syllabus as though transfiguration theory were merely child’s play. Unfortunately, it could only last for so long.


As Harry trudged down to the dungeons for evening potions, Harry found himself wondering what Snape was being dragged away from to teach him. Considering the man’s demeanour, and the dark, dreary conditions he liked to teach in, Harry rapidly reached the conclusion that he did not want to know.


“Mr. Potter,” said Snape coldly, turning with a swish of his robe. “Let me make it crystal clear that I am not here by choice.”


“That makes two of us, sir,” said Harry. “You’ve made it known that you don’t want to teach Gryffindor, let alone me.”


Snape’s eyes dropped to Harry’s hand, where it rested on the hilt of the ancient longsword at his hip. “Ah... Professor Dumbledore told me of the relic’s... affinity for you. Still, two points from Gryffindor for bringing your toy to class.”


The sword was incensed. Glancing down, Harry was surprised that it had not burst into flame.


Harry sat and unpacked his bag, grateful that the class hadn’t started worse.


“Five points from Gryffindor for the attitude, Potter,” Snape said softly.


He had jinxed it.


All too predictably, Potions was about as much fun as putting needles under his fingernails. Harry gritted his teeth through repeated insults aimed at him or his family. The sword was little help, as it seemed perfectly willing to part the fiend’s head from his body. Instead, Harry stored the feeling, letting the rage simmer within him. He felt like a battery.


Snape, too, was growing more incensed as the lesson progressed. Harry could feel the anger rising in the man, and that fed him too.


Finally, when Harry thought his flesh might sear from the energy coursing through his veins, Snape slammed Harry’s textbook shut.


“Sir, I was reading that,” said Harry.


“Ten points from Gryffindor for not paying attention in class!” Snape snarled.


Harry sighed, his hands twitching from the electric charge he was holding back. “You spent the last five minutes talking about how my father’s arrogance got him and those he cared about killed and had now extended to me. That I had the nerve to demand extra lessons to make up for my ‘gallivanting’. Well, sir, it was the headmaster and Professor McGonagall who demanded them. And I am learning far more about potions by reading this book than hearing how my dad was some kind of Gryffindor version of your pet, Malfoy.”


“Ten more points from Gryffindor for insubordination,” said Snape. “Your father was a swine, Potter. He respected nothing and nobody and was lauded for it. His end was likely the first thing he received that he had earned.”


“He must have respected my mother,” said Harry. Snape turned deathly pale. “She married him after all. Why do you never talk about her? I do love hearing stories about my parents.”


“Ten more points from Gryffindor,” said Snape. “And pick up your quill if you intend to learn something.”


“Oh, but I just did,” Harry said. “You’re telling me that all the hassle you’ve been giving me, all this hatred for a dead man, is because you had a crush on my mother and she chose him?!”


“You know nothing of me,” Snape whispered darkly. “Pick up your quill, Potter.”


“I know enough,” said Harry. He picked up his quill. “But please, tell me more about how pathetic of a fool my father was. I’m sure it’ll get me through your exam with flying colours.”


“Every bit as brazen as he, aren’t you?” said Snape.


“Was my mother particularly brazen?” said Harry. “Did she strut?”


“Your mother...” Snape’s jaw set, and he glared daggers at Harry.


“Oh,” said Harry with mock sympathy. “Would talking about my mother be unprofessional?”


“Ten more points from Gryffindor,” said Snape coolly. “Do be careful, Potter. You’ll put your house in last place just from a single class.”


Harry stood and put his hand on Gryffindor’s sword. “While you played with your cauldrons, I killed a thousand-year-old basilisk and saved the school from the return of Lord Voldemort. You go ahead and take as many points as makes you feel warm and special inside.”


Snape’s face contorted with rage. For a moment it seemed that Harry had him completely stumped. “Detention. For the rest of the week. Report to Filch at ten o’clock each night.”


Harry said nothing. He merely smiled at the man who used to be so very intimidating. It wasn’t just swords that he could use to make his enemies suffer.


After a brief period of staring, Snape dismissed him for the evening.


And once again, removed from the pressure demanding him to hold it all together, Harry felt his temples squeezing inward. Pain was an old friend, but not of this kind. He stormed back to his dormitory, not even noticing when Ron tried to hail him in the common room. Taking his Potions book to bed, Harry studied until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.




“So… Harry looks pretty upset,” said Ron.


Ginny glared at him with bloodshot eyes, and he backed up a step.


“Okay, err, you and Harry both look pretty upset,” Ron amended. “Look, I know you don’t talk about stuff with me. Not anymore at least. Please, help me out. I can’t deal with both of you being miserable.”


“Just shut up, Ron,” said Ginny. “Like you said, I don’t talk to you about stuff.”


“Hold on a minute,” said Ron. “I’m still your brother. And he’s my best mate. I care about you two, okay?”


“That’s good to know,” Ginny spat. “Now piss off.”


Ron stood there for a moment, staring at her. She knew she must look a state, clinging to a support post on the bridge over the ravine, her legs dangling over the edge and freezing in the Scottish winds. She hadn’t slept or eaten since she broke up with Harry yesterday… Just thinking about it sent a shiver down her spine. At the time, it had seemed like the only thing she could do. So why did she feel so terrible? Was it the constant anguish flooding through from the only boy she wanted to be around? The fact that she’d fucked things up so much that even Ron had taken note? Or that Harry didn’t need to understand how or why, and it would be enough for him to know that the both of them were happy?


“This is weird, okay?” said Ron. “The two of you are sickening together. You just need to look at each other and you’re all fucking smiles. You’re like… you’re like… I don’t even know what you’re like it’s that bad. This doesn’t make sense!”


“Just fucking go away, Ron!” Ginny said, aiming a flaming hand at him.


Ron’s eyes went wide as saucers, and he staggered backwards. “I… fine! Just sit there and the both of you keep getting more and more bloody miserable. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do about it?”


“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” she muttered as her brother stormed off back to the castle.


Ginny needed help. She wasn’t too proud to admit that to herself, not after everything that had happened. But she was in absolutely no mood to be judged. So she went to the one person who was incapable of reproach.


It was only as she climbed the secret passages up to the seventh floor of the castle that Ginny realised how much of a toll her lack of sleep and sustenance had taken upon her body. She was close to collapse by the time she reached the hospital wing. The sight of Hermione, still laying like stone on the hospital bed, drove Ginny on until she was kneeling at her friend’s side, holding one cold, rigid hand between hers.


“I’m sorry,” said Ginny. She almost snorted in disgust. “That sounds way more pathetic out loud. And I’ve already apologised a billion times, I know, but… I can never make this up to you, no matter what everyone says. But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.”


Hermione said nothing in return. She only stared, unseeing, at the ceiling, and Ginny was suddenly gripped by the need to cry. Balling her hands into fists, Ginny refused to do so. She wouldn’t be undone. Not again.


“I guess it’s kinda stupid to come and talk to you right now, but everyone hates me for what I’ve done,” said Ginny. “Or they would hate me if they knew. Fuck, if Ron’s capable of a human feeling...


“Probably should’ve just found a nice little wall to talk to,” Ginny muttered, only half serious. “Less risk of Madam Pomfrey finding me and taking me in for therapy. HermioneIbrokeupwithHarry.”


For a moment there was deathly silence in the infirmary. Not even a fly’s wing-beat disturbed Ginny’s reflections.


“You know, for a moment there I really thought you might slap me round the face and call me an idiot,” Ginny laughed nervously. “Gods, I hope you don’t remember this when you wake up. Ugh, where do I start...?


“The Jedi Council called Harry a cipher,” Ginny said, anxiously tearing at Hermione’s duvet cover. “They said that he forms bonds, Force bonds... reflexively, and it changes the way people feel about him. They said he’s siphoning our will... Hermione, I was terrified! What if I only care for Harry because his... ability got inside my head and made me feel this way?”


Hermione had no answers for her. Rather preoccupied with her own thoughts, Ginny didn’t pay any mind to the one-sidedness of the conversation.


“I need to know that it’s real,” Ginny muttered. “Is that terrible of me? Can I know that it’s real?”


Perching on the edge of the bed, Ginny stared, distraught, at Hermione.


“You’ve tried to shrug it off for my sake,” said Ginny. “Pretended that he was just a friend to you. But I understand now. He’s everything to us. All of us. Neville sees him as the brother he never had. Both him and Ron would gladly lay down their lives for him, and nearly have. And you... Hermione I’ve seen the way you look at him.”


Ginny sighed, squeezing at her pounding temples.


“What happens when this ability gets some other girl?” she whispered. “Someone prettier? I saw him looking at that new Ravenclaw Seeker, Chang. She’s got such long legs… and I bet she’s already wearing a bra. I’m only eleven, how can I compete with that?”


Hermione only stared at the ceiling.


“He’s Harry Potter,” Ginny groaned. “One day, soon, he’s going to realise that. And now it’s not just the entire country fawning over him. He’s going across the universe, Hermione. He’s only human. When this cipher thing does to some alien girl what it did to us...”


“How dare you?” Harry growled.


Ginny almost fell as she turned to look, to confirm that it was really him. “Did you follow me here?”


“I came to see my friend,” said Harry, fury written all over his face. “This is what the break up was about? Even after all of that with Voldemort? After you nearly died because of these… insecurities?”


“I… wait a minute!” Ginny said, feeling like she’d been pushed over a sheet of ice. “This was a private conversation!”


Harry didn’t pay her any mind. “I was so stupid, thinking maybe you were concerned about this Force crap.”


“I am!” Ginny shouted.


“So why are you back in the same place you always are?” said Harry. “You know, I was genuinely sorry when I found out how he got inside your head. I thought maybe I could’ve done more about this. But you just have no respect for me at all, do you?”


“W-what?” Ginny gaped.


“You’ve been in my head,” Harry spat. “You’ve seen my feelings in a way nobody else can.”


“Feelings that might have come from…”


“So what?” said Harry. “What fucking difference would it make? I loved you, Ginny. And you knew that. And you give so few shits that you honestly believe I would throw that away just because some other girl bats her eyelashes at me!”


“I…” Ginny said, mouth working soundlessly. She’d never seen Harry so angry, apart from when he faced Voldemort.


“Well, I’m sick of waiting for you to grow up,” said Harry. “I’ve taken enough of this. You wanted a break up? You’ve got it.”


“Harry?” said Ginny.


Everything was happening so quickly. But she watched his face for an eternity in that moment. She saw the pain in his eyes. And she knew then that she had pushed him too far.


“I’m done,” said Harry.


He turned on his heel and walked away. Ginny searched desperately for something to say, anything to bring him back. And yet she only choked on her tears as he blasted through the heavy double doors with a wave of an empty hand.




For weeks Harry did little else than train, study and check in on the Petrified. He sat with Neville or Ron at mealtimes, and often both, for Ginny seemed intent on rejecting the company of any of them. But Harry was sitting beside them, or across from them. Never with them. It was not their fault. But Harry’s only true friend now was his training. For without it, no friend of his seemed likely to see another birthday.


A week into Harry’s isolation, Hagrid finally returned to Hogwarts, having spent a period recovering from Azkaban prison. Within his eyes, Harry still saw the wellspring of horror, of memories hoped to be long gone. Harry tried to offer him comfort, but found on doing so that he had no words. The two of them sat together for a few hours on that cold Sunday morning, drinking tea and watching Fang whine piteously in the face of their melancholy.


“You were right, Hagrid,” said Harry.


“About what?” he said gruffly, staring into his mug.


“There isn’t enough human left in Voldemort to die,” Harry said.


Hagrid shuddered, his massive shoulders shaking. “And tha’s why I heard tell of you goin an’ learnin’ to fight then?”


“The best person to protect me is me,” said Harry. “And Professor McGonagall might be right. If I spend all this time in hospital or worse, I can’t protect anyone else either.”


An image of Hermione’s terrified face flashed in front of his eyes, and Harry twitched.


“I’m not goin’ anywhere, ‘Arry,” said Hagrid. “If yeh need me, I’ll always be here.”


“Yeah,” said Harry, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I’ve heard that from a lot of people recently.”


On numerous occasions he deflected Madam Pomfrey’s attempts to offer him counsel, in spite of knowing its potential. On some days, Harry wondered if there was some merit to her and Professor McGonagall’s suspicions that he simply enjoyed suffering. If there was, the least he could do was suffer for a good cause. When he collapsed on his bed each night, his wand was still hot and smouldering.


Even through his vastly accelerated teaching programme, Harry was keeping in touch with Master Jinn. The Jedi was making the necessary arrangements to give Harry the best training he could offer as one man. That aspect of his training would wait until the summer, which meant that Harry would at least have time in the day to sleep. Still, without so much going on to keep him busy, Harry might have lost his mind. But busy he was, and progress came without hesitation. Transfiguration was a strong suit, which was in and of itself quite helpful for his endeavours. To begin with, Professor McGonagall had conjured weights and training equipment for him on a daily basis so as not to interfere with the Quidditch team’s training regimen (and, Harry secretly suspected, to keep him from being swayed back into practising the sport). Without Quidditch as a release, Harry had thrown himself into training with a vengeance, and his burgeoning talent with transformations had rapidly led to his being able to transfigure his own equipment, something that pleased Professor McGonagall greatly.


As May came to a close, the abandoned classroom Harry used for exercise had begun to smell dank with sweat, but Harry did not mind it. In fact, when his Head of House came to check on him and assured him on entering that she would have the room cleaned regularly, Harry had put his foot down. It focused him, as a constant reminder of the work he was doing. Ron would likely disown him for saying so, but he was beginning to truly enjoy it. The strain and the ache in his body made him feel alive. The blood pounding in his head stopped his mind from wandering. The ragged rush of breath in and out of his lungs deafened him to his own thoughts.


And the Force flowed through him.


Magic was a strength he had not truly appreciated before the trials of the spring. He could feel its surge in his wand. Defence and Charms, his true fortes, displayed that strength in the purest possible way. His Banishing Charm showed just as much raw power as all the charms he cast, shattering a matchstick against the stone wall ten metres away, and Harry felt it, but it was not the same.


When Harry channelled the Force, he felt it in every cell of his body. It was the current of his soul, and Harry could only cast one spell that felt like that.


Verdimillious!” Harry yelled.


Master Qui-Gon Jinn’s eyes went wide as he reached out to catch the electric torrent on his lightsaber blade. “Lightning.”


“Is it the same as this?” said Harry.


He did not need to look for a memory this time. He might not ever need to again. Currents of electricity flooded up his arms, sparking and spitting with a rage that was his and his alone.


“They feel the same,” Harry admitted.


“How long have you been capable of this?” Master Jinn demanded.


“More than a year,” he said.


Master Jinn sighed, examining his lightsaber blade, which flickered slightly with an aftershock. “So many hallmarks of the dark side I see in you. Do you enjoy it?”


“The lightning?” said Harry. “It depends. It’s satisfying, but… It’s not fun. I haven’t used it for fun.”


“We will have much to discuss this summer,” Master Jinn had said gravely, though Harry could see his relief. Harry was relieved too. He had only seen one person use the ability before. A man under a black robe. A man who had lived in a video cassette at the Burrow. A man Harry might now one day have to face, if he did not outgrow his conscience.


Even without thought to what problems he might now be caught up in, Harry often found himself staring at the lightsaber that hung over his right hip. He was not the only one, as a student carrying any kind of weapon besides their wand was a sensational rarity, so Harry Potter carrying a sword and what appeared to be a baton caused a storm. But even as Harry rejoined his classes one by one, people seemed to keep their distance. Harry had to wonder what the faculty had told them.


At least Ron and Neville were still there, doing their best to be staunch and stoic and all the other things to be expected of good friends and good Gryffindors. Without Ginny, however, it felt pale and empty. He could see how much the separation had affected them. Having to split their time between the two of them, the way they tensed whenever Harry and Ginny were even in the same room as each other… But there was one thing for which the former best friends could not avoid each other.


“Now I want you to give them plenty of space,” said Madam Pomfrey with her signature warning tone. “To them, time could have passed very slowly or very quickly, and they will wake sharply almost as soon as the potion touches the back of their throats.”


Harry looked briefly about the room as the Healer left. As the victims were all Muggleborn, and precious few of even the magical families were aware of what had transpired in Hogwarts over the first half of the year, only friends and classmates were present. Heads of the students’ houses took their parents’ place to watch over them. Professors McGonagall and Sprout looked solemn, but Professor Flitwick seemed close to tears at the sight of Penelope Clearwater’s frozen form. He was hiding his face behind a pure white handkerchief, and Harry didn’t think he would be able to meet the professor’s eyes even if he weren’t. Harry was right at the centre of this mess, and he deserved whatever retribution these, his fellows, sought from him.


Madam Pomfrey returned carrying two large vials full of a sandy brown-coloured potion. Perhaps to bring a little order to proceedings, it seemed that she had treated Mrs Norris away from her human patients, as some potion was missing from one of the containers. The onlookers waited with bated breath, watching Madam Pomfrey swiftly decant the potion into smaller containers. The potion slipped easily between Colin’s frozen lips. The boy swallowed, jerked, and woke with a start, panting as if he had run for miles.


“Colin?” said a dark-haired boy.


Harry did not wish to intrude, even knowing as he did that Colin had been attacked while trying to see him. Guilt twisted at his stomach as he felt the boy’s eyes on the back of his neck, but he did not know what he could possibly say to Colin. When he had had some time with his classmates, Harry would apologise. Before that, there was only one person he was waiting for.


Justin Finch-Fletchley awoke quieter even than Colin, but scrambled backwards until he collided with the headboard. He calmed rapidly on seeing Hannah, Ernie and Susan, but his eyes flicked over to Harry. Harry stared back, and the boy, to his credit, did not blush or cower. They both turned to see the curious sight of Nearly Headless Nick being revived.


Rather than try to ‘feed’ the potion to him, Madam Pomfrey tossed the potion into the air above him, drawing her wand and freezing it in place. With a few swirling motions and muttered incantations, it spread into a fine, even mist that she levitated to rest within his ethereal, blackened form.


Indus partecrucis in aetheria,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Imbis!


The vapour glowed briefly before disappearing. As if a plug had been pulled, the darkness in Nearly Headless Nick’s body drained inwardly, leaving him in the exact condition Harry remembered from his first day in Hogwarts Castle.


“My word!” said Nick. “A basilisk! Somebody…”


His eyes connected with Madam Pomfrey’s, and he looked faintly embarrassed.


“Ah,” he said. “I see.”


“Thank you, Sir Nicholas,” said Professor Sprout. His jaw dropped at her sincerity.


Harry was distracted by Madam Pomfrey approaching Hermione. He stood closest, opposite from the Healer, while Ron, Neville, the twins and Ginny stood in a loose arc such that Ginny stood stiffly by the footboard. The rest of their dorm-mates had wanted to come, but Madam Pomfrey had set a strict limit on visitor numbers at the door. Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati had left at that, offering their best wishes, but Fay and Rionach still stood outside the door with Hagrid, Su Li and various other students who had found themselves out of favour with the cutoff.


Harry’s eyes landed on Ginny. Her jaw was clenched as she stared at the mandrake restorative draught being measured out. Harry’s stomach iced over, and he turned back to Hermione, and the face that had been haunting his dreams for months.


Her lips could have been made of stone for all that they reacted to the potion being poured through them. The sound of the liquid hitting the back of her throat was unnerving to the point of making Harry’s skin crawl, but he watched. The first thing was a spasm of her hand around parchment that was no longer there. Neville and Ron had long since recounted the story of how they had discovered the beast’s identity, and that of the one controlling it. If Memory Charms were truly as damaging to the mind as Madam Pomfrey thought, Harry’s friends were likely hanging by a thread. Not that that would be any worse than himself.


Hermione’s pupils constricted irregularly, the brown fibres in her iris moving erratically as they tried to decide how much light there was or if they should even be working at all. Her lips moved slightly. Breath. Hermione’s eyes moved, scrolling down to find Ginny’s face.


Hermione screamed.


Harry did not hear what was said next, if anything even was said. His ears rang, and he did not know what to do. A hand grabbed at his robes, and Harry’s mind caught up to see Hermione scrambling backwards, looking up in shock to see him standing there. She panned over her friends, gathered to see her wake, and with a breath that shook her whole chest, she began to sob. It was only then that Harry saw that Ginny was no longer there.


“I…” Hermione cried. “She…”


“Shh,” said Neville, taking her other hand. “It’s over now.”


“You’re safe,” Harry agreed.


Hermione burrowed her face into his stomach, shaking violently as she cried.


Letting out a breath he had not realised he was holding, Harry put a hand on Hermione’s back and stared at the wall. This was why he had to go. And if Ginny was going to suddenly turn around and put their personal wants and fears above the safety of their friends, perhaps she was never the person he had thought she was.


Harry barely heard Percy’s cry of relief. He did not see him and Penelope kiss in joyful reunion. He stood there with his friends, holding Hermione, dreaming of war.

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