Harry sat on the edge of a bed in the hospital wing, his legs swinging back and forth beneath himself. He watched as Pomfrey spoke to Snape. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her. Harry sighed, a bit annoyed. They were talking about him. It was all about what was going on with his magic. But, of course, they couldn’t talk about it with him, too. They had to do their adult thing first.

Harry bit his lower lip; his hands twisted in his lap. He watched her, trying to make sense of her facial expressions. Was it good news? Was it bad news?

He couldn’t tell. 

Harry switched his gaze onto Snape; warmth swelled in his heart. He studied the movement on the man’s face. Snape’s lips thinned occasionally. He nodded once or twice. He lifted an eyebrow. He shook his head. There was no order to them. They happened once. They happened multiple times.

A small part of Harry’s heart said, ‘Dad will take care of this.’ But that was a childlike thought, one which was unrealistic. While Snape was powerful and intelligent, he couldn’t fix everything. If something was wrong, Snape would be just as powerless as Harry.

Harry sighed.

He wished they would discuss everything at the same time. Harry could handle it. She was telling Snape all the gory details about his health and Harry should be part of it. It wasn’t like life hadn’t dealt him crap before. What was something like losing a whole part of his soul and identity?

Nothing much at all.

The longer they talked, the more Harry grew anxious.

What if they couldn’t heal him?

From what Harry had learned in class – or at least the stuff Hermione drilled him on – magic wasn’t a cure all. Magic had done nothing for all the witches and wizards in the hundreds—thousands of stories in history who died at ridiculously young ages. Yet so many wizards had lived well into their hundreds. Wasn’t Dumbledore over a hundred? Hadn’t Dippet died in his mid three hundreds? It didn’t make sense.

The Wizarding World was broken. Absolutely broken.

The Ministry of Magic was too focused on looking ‘good’ for the public. They were too busy sending she-devil-hags to Hogwarts in the effort to push their passive and hands off agenda. Shouldn’t they be busy with curing magical diseases? Nothing too complex, just something for the betterment of the Wizarding World as a whole?

Mmm.

Maybe Hermione would know the answer – since she seemed to know everything else. 

“Harry.”

At the sound of his name, he looked up, a bit surprised he hadn’t noticed them approaching. Snape and Pomfrey stood over him. The man’s lips were thinned.

Merlin, it looked bad.

“So,” said Harry in a light tone. “When do we have to amputate?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” said Pomfrey, frowning and giving him a look of confusion. Even Snape appeared nonplussed by the comment. “Amputate? We don’t need to amputate anything.”

“It was a joke,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. Silence fell over them. He sighed deeply. “All right, so what’s going on? Don’t hold back.”

The adults exchanged the ‘Look.’ Snape nodded sharply. Pomfrey turned her full attention onto Harry.

“Very well, then,” said Pomfrey. She inhaled in a steady breath. “In a healthy growing wizard, you have a magical core. Even squibs have a core, but it’s generally atrophied with little to no magic production.”

Squib?

Harry sucked in his breath, panic slamming into his throat. “I’m not a squib now, am I?” he croaked.

“Merlin, no!” cried Pomfrey with a relieved laugh. “No…” She paused. “But your core has shrunk quite a bit. That alone would not be difficult to recover from, since you’re still growing. Your core would continue to grow, even into your early twenties. That’s not the issue.”

There was another ‘but’ in all this, wasn’t there?

Harry glanced at Snape, hoping to get some kind of support from the man. Snape had his gaze cast downward, a troubled light in his dark eyes.

Wonderful.

“The issue is your magical output is still the same, but your core can’t contain all of it,” said Pomfrey. She waved her wand and a diagram appeared, golden dust glowing and moving fluidly in the air. In the center was a small circular object with dust flowing in and out of it. “Magic is constantly pouring out of your core and into your system. You have free radical magic flowing in your blood. This why when you’re using your magic, accidental or otherwise, it drains your blood.”

His magic was a vampire, then. How delightful.

“It’s not unknown for magic to be in a wizard or witch’s blood,” continued Pomfrey, waving her wand again. The dust disappeared. “However, it’s rather rare and they’re always born with it. In all other recorded cases, they haven’t had issues using a wand nor has using magic drained them of their blood. The magic circulates through the blood and back into their core. The difference is your magic is volatile. Your body views the radical magic as an enemy and tries to get rid of it first when you use magic.”

“Can it be fixed?” asked Harry, wringing his hands together. “Is this permanent?”

“Rest assured, Mr. Potter, I will do everything in my power to get you back to normal,” said Pomfrey, determination in her eyes. “That being said, for now, we have no immediate solution. Your core needs time to recover and grow – and that’s something we can’t force. It could injure you further or even cripple you. Once your core grows, the extra magic in your blood should fade. I’m afraid time is our only answer.”

Should fade?

Does that mean there’s a chance it won’t?

“You’re going to have take precautions for your health,” said Pomfrey, turning to the end table next to the bed and setting quill to parchment. She began to write some things down. “I’ll be prescribing daily blood replenishers for now. You will need to keep a medical pouch on you at all times in case of emergencies. Your teachers will be informed of your condition, as well as your friends. They will be instructed on how to care for you if you fall unconscious for any reason.”

Harry sat there, trying to understand everything. His friends would know. His teachers would know. He’d have to carry blood replenishers with him all the time now… Maybe he didn’t want to know everything. It was too overwhelming. Maybe ignorance was bliss.

“The free radical magic in your blood is the reason why you’re unable to hold a wand,” continued Pomfrey. “You’re going to need to be extra careful. Don’t get injured or cut. If it’s causing wands to explode, we have no way of knowing what will happen if it’s exposed to the air.”

“Wait, I could make things explode with a papercut?” asked Harry incredulously.

“Probably not,” said Pomfrey with a light chuckle. She handed Harry the parchment. “But it’s good to be safe.”

Silence fell between them. What would this mean for him in the future? Would he still be able to pass his classes? It was OWL year. How was he supposed to pass the practical tests at the end of the year? He couldn’t hold a wand. He wasn’t going to pass anything with wandless magic – even if he could suddenly and unrealistically be a world class expert in it.

His hands clenched together, the parchment crinkling slightly.

The actions of one person were still affecting him. Because one woman had decided to use an illegal object on her students, she had caused the death of one student and possibly ruined the magical ability of another.

What about the others? What if something like this happened to some other students? What then? How many of them had been changed? Was it just Harry? Or were there others?

“How much magic can I do?” whispered Harry. His hands clenched together. “How am I supposed to pass my classes?”

A hand rested on Harry’s knee. He blinked, looking down into those dark eyes. Snape had crouched, dropping below Harry’s eye level. The calloused hand stained with potion ingredients squeezed gently.

“We will discover your limits,” said Snape in a low, smooth voice. “Once we determine what they are, we will accommodate for you. You’ll also be taught wandless magic. It’s a difficult path, but you’re strong.”

I… am… strong.

I am strong.

He’s right. I’ll be all right.

Harry drew in a deep breath, his teeth gritting together. He turned his gaze onto Pomfrey.

“Are we sure I’m the only one affected like this?” asked Harry, his voice strong. “What about the others? Selena Moore was really sick there for a while. Can she still hold a wand?”

Pomfrey frowned. “I believe she can, but I think you’re right,” she said with a nod. “While I made sure everyone was safe and healthy, we don’t know the full extent. With your reactions to the quill surfacing, I have new tests to try with the rest of the other affected students.”

“I’ll send out letters to tell them to report to the hospital wing today after classes are over,” said Harry.

“Of course, Headmaster Potter,” said Pomfrey with an acknowledging nod.

Harry blushed, ducking his head. Snape snorted. Pomfrey let out a soft laugh. There was a conflicting light in her eyes. He sucked in his breath when she gathered him into her arms, hugging him tightly. Once Harry got over the surprise, he returned it.

“You’re going to be just fine, you hear, Mr. Potter?” whispered Pomfrey in his ear. She patted him on the back. “Just fine. You’ll get through this.”

Harry pulled away, smiling at her.

“You know, you might consider speaking with Miss Lovegood,” said Pomfrey, giving him a knowing look. “About what’s happened to you.”

“Why?”

“You never know what she might have to say about it.”

“But—”

“And that’s all I’ll say on the matter,” said Pomfrey firmly. “Now out you get. You’re free to go.”

“Oh, good,” said Harry, relieved. He slumped off the bed, thrilled he wasn’t going to be forced to stay overnight or something. He threw back a wave as he darted to the hospital wing doors. “Thanks so much, Madam Pomfrey!”

“Thank you,” said Snape in a low voice, giving her an appreciative nod. 

He followed after Harry, his robes sweeping behind him. Once in the corridor, Harry sighed, his body sagging somewhat. Torchlight glowed in the corridor, flickering never endingly. A hand rested on his shoulder.

“You’re taking this well,” said Snape. There was something soft to his voice.

Harry shrugged. “I guess,” he whispered. “It’s not like I can change anything.”

“You thought of the others, too.”

“Well, of course,” said Harry, frowning. “I’m not the only one the toad tortured.”

There was a long moment of silence between them.

“With each new day spent with you,” began Snape, his voice reverent. “I am continually reminded of how egregiously I misjudged your character.”

Harry mulled the word over in his head. “I’m gonna assume egregious means something bad, right?”

“Correct. You’re learning,” said Snape with a wry smirk.

“Well, someone has to keep up with you.”

The man let out a soft laugh, nearly inaudible. Harry’s eyes widened. The hand on his shoulder gave him a single pat before disappearing.

“You’ll get through this,” whispered Snape.

Harry nodded.

He had to – not having magic was not an option in his future. Because the alternative wasn’t simply finding a way to live a magicless life in a magical world, it was life and death. That much was sure. If he wanted to help the other students, he had to find a way to get around it or heal quickly.

“I better write those letters,” said Harry, determination rising in his heart. “If someone else’s core was damaged, we can’t let that go unnoticed.”

And he had one more letter to send.

Fudge had one chance to put Umbridge on trial for her crimes. If he didn’t, then Hogwarts herself would put the hag on trial – all in front of the residents of the school.

Harry would make that very clear.