Harry and his friends came back to Hogwarts where they resumed work, but where the tempo in classes quickened, and the teachers were pressing on with a different kind of determination than during the autumn. The professors were constantly going on about the NEWT, and Ginny hated it. To begin with, she had difficulties readapting from the freedom experienced during the holidays back to the obligations at school. Moreover, she loathed the extra pressure they were put under because of the upcoming exams. She snapped at her fellow-students and at the teachers and if Harry had not cajoled her into joining him to go to lessons, she would have started to skip classes simply out of spite for the NEWT hysteria as she called it.

After the headlines in the press, Professor Snape was, as expected, darker than ever, with a vibrating impatience beneath the stern surface. It was as if he expected things to explode in his face at any moment. If people had ever dared to contradict him, now was not the time to start doing it. No question of chatting after classes, or confronting him with the authorship of the Potion paper, or asking whatever of him. Harry tried to keep out of Snape’s way as much as possible, sitting in the back row in classes and not saying a word, unless asked.

The reading of the Daily Prophet became an activity filled with anguish. Harry, who usually had breakfast early in the morning, made a habit of coming down to the Great Hall again for a second cup of tea while his friends ate. The papers were delivered by post owls that invaded the hall about that time.

After the piece of writing relating his own mishap at the Xenophoria and a series of new articles with increasing speculations concerning Professor Snape’s motives and different roles during the Voldemort regime, Harry had decided not to read a word in the paper by himself, to spare himself the constant sense of indignation. He relied on Hermione to read for him and relate only the important points. In that way, he kept up to date and yet prevented the speculations from taxing his mental energy. His experience from many years of unasked for fame, had taught him that the untruths and the half-truths in the texts could hurt deeply.

Harry had indeed been badly treated in the press before, in particular during his fifth year at school, after Cederic Diggory’s death at the close of the Triwizard Tournament. The Daily Prophet had taken the Ministry’s stand not to believe his story about Voldemort’s return and depicted him as a sensation-seeking, unstable boy who told lies. It was easy for him now to mistrust the paper as the intimations concerning Snape grew grosser, and to sympathise with its victim.

Snape did not seem to have the same capacity of distancing himself from the writings. The contents of the Daily Prophet could be read by Snape’s temper as accurately as a good Sneakoscope showed danger. Snape devoured his paper at breakfast, as soon as it arrived, and more than once did the students watch him stand up in anger with the paper withering to ashes in his hands. He would grab one of his teacher’s Prophets instead and walk away, muttering and swearing, and everyone would know to stay out of his way that day.

One day at the end of January, Harry received a letter by owl from the chief editor of the Daily Prophet asking him politely for an interview or, if he could not grant them that, at least a comment on whether he was to testify in favour of Professor Snape or not. Harry replied, equally polite, that he had no comment. The next issue of the paper made out that Harry Potter, captive at Hogwarts, under the close supervision of Headmaster Snape, was afraid of expressing himself freely to the press. There were speculations that he would not testify in Snape’s favour and concerned hints as to his treatment at Hogwarts. Harry fumed with anger when Hermione related the article to him.

“Just don’t fall into the trap and make a statement, Harry. That’s what they want and it will only get worse,” said Hermione.

“Quiet is the tactic,” said Ginny, whose spirits had risen as she observed the exciting drama. She was all on Snape’s side, being a keen advocate of personal integrity. “It’s nobody’s business, his love affairs,” she said. “It’s like when Ron tried to interfere with my boyfriends in fourth and fifth year.”

“That was brotherly concern!” exclaimed Ron.

“It was undue interference caused by jealously,” retorted Ginny and a formidable family row ensued with Harry and Hermione as go-betweens.

***

An outing to Hogsmeade the last Sunday in January was spoilt when Harry was surrounded by reporters and other various inquisitive citizens as soon as he was spotted on the main street of the village. He gave his friends a look of resignation over the shoulders of the reporters and Apparated directly back to the gates of Hogwarts. There would be no pleasure for him in Hogsmeade this particular Sunday.

With repugnance and dismay he noticed a splinched hand fall off his arm on to the frozen ground. He could not help if people clung to him when he was to Apparate, could he? They were just not to touch him at all! Harry felt a twinge of guilt, all the same. He turned to ask the Auror on guard to open the gate for him and to return the hand to its owner, but found himself face-to-face with Mr Burgess on the other side of the bars. The young teacher was staring with fascination at the splinched and bleeding hand.

“They’ll fix that at St Mungo’s, they can glue it back,” Harry said defensively.

Burgess grasped the situation eventually and turned to walk back with Harry to the castle. He claimed that the reporters might assault him too, in his capacity as Snape’s employee and that he did not want to be coaxed into saying something disadvantageous about the headmaster.

“I’m lousy at hiding things,” declared Burgess. “By the way, have you heard about the latest developments in the investigation of the attack at Hogwarts this fall?” he asked Harry who shook his head. “Well, I was speaking to Mr Sachs the other day. I relay him sometimes in his task of guarding Draco,” explained Burgess. “Mr Sachs is in Mr Malfoy’s confidence - Draco’s father that is - and the Auror department is forced to give him updates as to their progress in the investigation, since Draco was a victim in the attack. Mr Malfoy is furious because they have not caught the person behind the deed...”

Harry listened distractedly and wondered how Snape bore with Mr Burgess’ slightly incoherent and lengthy fashion of expressing himself.

“Now...” Burgess lowered his voice mysteriously, “they have recently interrogated a number of Death Eaters and low criminals and the rumour that has begun to spread among them, now, is that...” Burgess made a telling pause as he watched Harry intently, “...it is the son of Lord Voldemort that is behind all this.”

Harry stopped dead and stared at the teacher, incredulous. He did not particularly like, nor did he trust Mr Burgess, and tried therefore to compose his features as soon as he recovered sufficiently. He asked carefully for details, but there did not seem to be any. It was merely a rumour, based on nothing.

“That’s a shocking, but probably completely untrue speculation, then,” said Harry politely. Burgess looked a little disappointed. 

A couple of hours later, when everyone was back in the Gryffindor common room, safely under a Muffliato spell, Harry told Ron, Hermione and Ginny what Burgess had related to him. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, petrified with horror, whereas Ginny gave up a snort.

“Someone wants us to start fearing again,” she said shortly. “I, at least, won’t walk into that trap. I refuse to believe there is any son of Voldemort’s.”

“I agree with you completely, Ginny,” said Harry and frowned. “Listen,” he said to Ron and Hermione who still seemed apprehensive, “I really think that Dumbledore would have known and told us if there was any evidence of Voldemort having raised a son. Voldemort, I think, was completely incapable of maintaining relationships and...” Harry started to argue, but was interrupted by Ron.

“You’re so naive sometimes, Harry! You don’t need to maintain a relationship to breed a child! During Voldemort’s reign there were terrifying stories of abductions and abuse and he might have done anything to any woman!”

“But, I’m not even sure he was interested,” objected Harry, “He was so full of himself. Anyway, in the case he did… er… abuse someone or something like that, we’re speaking of a person who would have the genes and the blood of Voldemort, but he wouldn’t have been brought up by him, or taught by him or anything. That person would not necessarily become evil, would he?”

“I would not want to meet him,” said Ron shortly.

“Harry’s right, Ron,” said Hermione. “You can’t judge a person by his birth. It would be the same as saying Muggle-borns are useless at magic. But this is absurd, anyway - Ginny’s probably right: they only want people to be scared at the thought of someone like Voldemort coming back again.”

***

The next morning when Harry was having his tea, Hermione suddenly exclaimed:

“Now I see where they’re getting. Oh, no! This is not good!”

“What?” said Harry. He had studied the faces around the room and everyone seemed calm. There had not appeared to be any particularly exciting news this morning. He had smiled at David who had a Daily Prophet spread out in front of him and gotten a smile back. He had kept his eyes on Snape, in secret, to detect any reaction in him, but Snape remained sombre, yet self-constrained. What had Hermione picked up that they had not?

“This is where they’re getting! We can expect some nasty things. Look! Rita Skeeter has written a book about the Battle at Hogwarts and the death of Voldemort. It’s only a small notice in the “Coming next” section. When the book is released in two weeks time the Daily Prophet promises an extract from the chapter on Harry Potter’s victory over the Dark Lord and their conversation - word by word - before the final duel. And there will be an exclusive interview with Rita Skeeter in tomorrow’s paper.” Hermione pointed at a photograph of the witch whom she had once single-handedly caught as an illegal Animagus and blackmailed out of pursuing her nasty writings about Harry. Rita Skeeter had returned last year with a biography over Dumbledore, published merely a few months after his death, with a lot of tasteless details and half-true speculations.

“Tomorrow! Merlin’s pants! We have double Potions with Snape tomorrow. He'll kill me if I show up,” squealed Harry, uncomfortable at the mere prospect of Rita Skeeter writing about him and Snape and Lily, to the point of being rather short-sighted.

“Tomorrow’s just the interview with Rita Skeeter,” Ron rectified him grimly. “Snape will only torture you slowly. Wait until they publish that chapter on your confrontation with Voldemort.” Harry squirmed in his seat. ”But, back to the Daily Prophet. I wonder who has been talking to Rita Skeeter about the Battle? He or she must have given up his or hers memories to the Skeeter lady. How does she manage to convince people of doing that?” asked Ron.

“There were loads of witnesses when Harry killed Voldemort. Could be anyone who wants to earn some gallons. If it wasn’t for Snape himself, it would not necessarily be a bad thing to relate what Harry said. It’s in the line of Snape’s defence,” said Hermione.

“Not the defence he wants,” said Harry with regret. “And you never know what Rita Skeeter makes out of it.” As Harry stood up, he thought he saw Snape’s eyes rise from a letter in his hand to search for him, but Harry darted off to his lesson without looking back. He was particularly ambivalent about Snape these days. On the one hand he resented Snape’s way of appropriating the Acrumentula paper all for himself, on the other hand he sympathized with the Professor for being so exposed in the press.

The same evening, Harry received a note from Professor Snape saying that Harry had been summoned to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for his Grief Swallower test on the Saturday in a fortnight. Snape declared his intention to go with Harry and prompted him to read a chapter in a book about Healing at the prospect of the test, which Harry, however, had already ploughed through from cover to cover, eager to learn as much as possible about his rare gift.

The next morning saw a gigantic spread of the interview with Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet and, precisely as Harry had predicted, Snape looked murderous and Harry ducked at the back of his class. Snape yelled at all and one indiscriminately, however, and did not in particular target Harry. In the evening, Harry received a new note saying that the Professor had been engaged elsewhere the Saturday in question and that it had been arranged for Mme Pomfrey to go with him to St Mungo’s instead. Harry was not surprised by Snape’s withdrawal, only slightly disappointed, but also relieved.

***

On the fixed Saturday, Harry stood waiting in the Entrance Hall for Mme Pomfrey. He was too nervous to have eaten any breakfast. He did not know why they had to leave so early. They would be at St Mungo’s almost instantly as they were to Apparate. Mme Pomfrey, too, gave a nervous impression as she descended the stairs. Harry was used to see her in her care-witch’s robes which gave her the authority of a teacher. There, in her private clothes and with a funny hat on her head, she looked frail and odd, but she greeted him briskly.

“Good, Harry. You’re here. I thought you might have trouble getting up so early. I’m afraid we won’t have time for breakfast. Maybe later. Quite a lot of paperwork to get through before your test, you see. Let’s go, then.”

It was still dark outside. The snow was gone, but the ground was frozen and slippery and Mme Pomfrey caught hold of Harry’s arm and walked along with mincing steps. She had a lantern in her other hand. Harry had his wand out for light. A faint glow shone through the windows of Hagrid’s cabin and smoke curled slowly out of the chimney. Harry heard a faint drum-roll and guessed one of the kangabbits had alerted Hagrid someone was moving outside. Sure enough, the door of Hagrid’s cabin opened and he barked suspiciously in their direction.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s just me and Mme Pomfrey, Hagrid. Going to St Mungo’s for that test, you know. Have a nice day! Might catch up with you at the Three Broomsticks tonight. Rest of the gang’s going there,” Harry called out to him.

“Good luck to you, ’Arry! You’ll tell us all ’bout it later, eh?” Hagrid called back.

Miss Swan was on guard by the gates. She looked cold and nodded numbly in Harry’s direction as she closed the gate behind them.

“Have you been to St Mungo’s before?” asked Mme Pomfrey.

“When I was fifteen,” answered Harry. He had accompanied the Weasleys to St Mungo’s in his fifth year. Mr Weasley had been injured during a mission for the Order, by a snake possessed by Voldemort. Harry had had one of those dreams where he entered Voldemort’s mind and had seen it happen and been able to alert Professor Dumbledore so that he could save Mr Weasley.

“You didn’t go by Apparition then,” concluded Mme Pomfrey.

“No, we just walked in from the street,” said Harry.

“I’ll guide you. We’re Apparating right inside. St Mungo’s is the only official magical building which allows direct Apparition inside its premises. Injured and sick people are supposed to be able to get inside quickly, you see. I’ve been there a couple of times, but I was trained in a smaller hospital. Here we go, then - ready?”

Harry recognised the gigantic hall where they Apparated. He gathered it was supposed to be at the same time a reception, a waiting room and an emergency department. People sat on rickety wooden chairs in one part of the room. Many of them were asleep with heads dangling in uncomfortable poses. Further away, there were small booths with stretchers where people were lying down. There was a low-voiced buzzing in the background, pointed by high-pitched shrieks and wails from time to time. Harry inhaled the smells of old house, smoke and chemicals, reminding him of the Potions classroom.

Healers in lime-green robes and care-workers with tired faces were moving among the sick. Harry saw a huge fireplace in the middle of the hall and wondered whether it would not be risky with an unprotected fire around all the disoriented and sick people who were staggering about. Just as he was about to take his eyes off the magnificent mantelpiece, because Mme Pomfrey pulled at his sleeve, he was startled by people coming out through the fire. It was a witch with, presumably, her little daughter who was crying and clutching her stomach. But of course, Harry reminded himself, the hospital must be available for people who could not go by Apparition or street transport. These would have come by flo-powder. 

Harry directed his attention to Mme Pomfrey who wanted to consult the receptionist. They were told, a little sharply - but the receptionist must have worked all night as well, Harry thought - that they had taken the wrong entrance.

“No need to go through Emergency when you’re going to see the Administration,” said the receptionist and gave them directions where to head. Mme Pomfrey and Harry launched themselves into the corridors, but had to ask various green-clad employees several times to find their way, at last, to a much calmer hall with a nearly deserted reception desk, except for the young man behind it.

As Mme Pomfrey explained their errand, Harry looked at the wizards and witches who Apparated into the middle of the hall in a continuous stream of people who continued walking on purposefully.  When they passed under an archway that was built halfway up the high ceiling, they made a slow turn and their private clothes changed into green robes of different tints and they were ready for work. Harry thought these rested healers and care-workers would relay the white-faced, tired ones in the emergency department and elsewhere in the hospital. It was as if the building was invaded by fresh reinforcements.

Mme Pomfrey had difficulties with the young receptionist who, it seemed to Harry, made a point of misunderstanding her deliberately.

“Healer Solomon and Healer Bones will not arrive until nine o’clock in the morning. You’ll have to wait and you should have taken the Emergency entrance to access the wards,” he said haughtily.

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Mme Pomfrey with heightened colour on her cheeks. “We’re supposed to meet Mrs Fountainee first, at the Administration. Will you please just tell us where her office is?”

At last, they were guided far away down the corridors, mounted three stores and ended up in a small waiting room at a turret with a view over a London street. Harry had lost all orientation. It seemed to him that they were now in a much older building than the brick store where the Emergency Department was located. Maybe two or more houses were joined together.

They waited half an hour for Mrs Fountainee to show up and when she did, she only gave them one look before entering her office and shutting the door. Mme Pomfrey knocked twice, but was dismissed both times on account of Mrs Fountainee being occupied with very important matters.

Finally, Harry read the small plate at the side of her door which said: Official registers and Grant applications. He made a grimace. He bet Mrs Fountainee mistook them for people who could not pay their hospital bills and had come to apply for an award. He was convinced this would not have happened if Snape had come with him. Mme Pomfrey looked more like his grandmother than a professional care-witch.

“When am I scheduled to do my test?” he whispered to Mme Pomfrey whose face was wrinkled with worry.

“At nine thirty,” she said. Harry stood up and knocked on the door once more. It opened and the thin and peaky-looking witch started off impatiently:

“I have told you...”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Fountainee,” said Harry politely, “but I have an appointment for a test at nine thirty. We’re from Hogwart’s school and we are to clear some paperwork before I do the test. But if you believe we should come back afterwards instead, we will just leave now to look for Healers Solomon and Bones.”

Mrs Fountainee looked at him aghast.

“Harry Potter? Is that you? I didn’t recognise you from the newspapers. You look different. I expected Healer Snape to be with you. That’s why I didn’t...”

“Unfortunately, Professor Snape had another appointment today and could not come. This is Mme Pomfrey, who’s in charge of the Hospital ward at Hogwarts.” Harry made the introductions and they were at last ushered inside the office.

“Oh, we are short of time,” complained Mrs Fountainee. “I was supposed to give you a tour of the hospital, but it will just have to wait until after the test. The certificate must be ready to sign by the healers - if you pass your test that is, but there is no reason not to believe...” she stopped herself from ranting on.

“Why are there two healers present?” asked Harry.

“Healer Solomon is the Chief Healer at St Mungo’s and Healer Bones is present as inspector on the Grief Swallowers’ behalf. I mean - he is one himself, so he’ll be able to assess your ability as a specialist,” explained Mrs Fountainee, more and more nervously, and began to scribble things down with her quill. At last she showed Harry three parchments.

“This roll will be your certificate when the healers have signed it. And this roll will be sent to and registered at the Ministry of Magic to list you officially. This parchment states your obligations to the Ministry as a Grief Swallower. Now it’s time to go. First of all, you need to change clothes in the Administration Hall. Then we’d better Apparate back to the Emergency Hall. It’s easier to find your way from there. Even when you’ve worked for twenty years, like me, at the hospital, it’s easy to get lost in the corridors when you need to move between houses. Follow me, please.”

The Emergency Hall had filled up with people displaying all kinds of odd complaints. At least the care-workers and the healers on the new shift looked rested enough to deal with them, thought Harry. A huge, undisciplined crowd queued in front of the reception desk, but Mrs Fountainee just looked at the board behind it and strode past the waiting wizards and witches to an elevator at the far end of the room.

“We’re mounting to the Department of Maladies of the Magical Core, she said. Harry and Mme Pomfrey followed without questioning her. At length, they reached a heavy door which constituted the entrance to the ward. A corridor so long that Harry could barely see the end of it stretched out before them. Halfway down, on the left side, there was a round, open area with working stations manned by care-workers in dark-green robes. In the middle, a small group of people had gathered, among them two wizards in lime-green robes. Harry had figured out that the lime-green ones were healers. They also bore a sign at their chest of a wand and a bone forming a cross. Mrs Fountainee hastened down the corridor and, still panting slightly from the brisk exercise, introduced Harry and Mme Pomfrey. Healer Solomon, in his turn, expressed his surprise at not seeing Healer Snape - as they all seemed to call Snape at St Mungo’s - with them, but this time Harry left it to Mme Pomfrey to explain the situation.

Healer Bones was a tall wizard with a square, heavy face; Pieces of flesh hung under his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, making him look torn and jaded. He eyed Harry with scepticism and said nothing. Healer Solomon was a swarthy, well-groomed man with a more friendly approach. He asked Harry whether he had enjoyed his tour around the hospital. Again Harry could not give a satisfactory answer to this and left it to Mrs Fountainee to mutter an explanation. A group of young care-witches gazed at them with curiosity when they heard Harry’s name and two of them started to whisper to one another and giggle. They stopped as soon as a sturdy woman who stood at Healer Solomon’s side turned and scowled at them.

“Care-witch Flourish has a patient for you, Mr Potter,” said Healer Solomon. “Healer Bones has made the assessment that the patient is suitable for a Relieving Treatment. We don’t know that much about her. We’re only here to observe you.”

The stout Mrs Flourish led the way into a nearby room where an elderly lady lay on a bed with long, grey hair spread over the pillow around her face. Her eyes were shut, but the tenseness in her face told Harry that she was awake and in pain. A clutched hand rested on the chest. Several of the fleshy fingers bore gold rings with colourful stones enclosed.

“Mrs Starglobe, one hundred and fifteen-year-old witch, ailed by a spitting pancreas, probably caused by a combination of pomegranate overconsumption and a dissolving magical centre. Incurable. Frail. Could not tolerate the Swallowscope yesterday when we tried it. Her children and grand-children have persistently asked for her to be Relieved of her pain during her last moments of life. Potions all have side effects on her.” Care-witch Flourish resumed her patient’s history.

“So that’s when we’re called for,” Healer Bones said resentfully to Harry. Mrs Flourish was done and drew back a little. A younger care-witch with short, auburn hair bent over the patient and wetted the lips of the old woman with some water. She gently stroked a strand of hair from Mrs Starglobe’s forehead to the side. Catching an imperative gesture from Mrs Flourish, she instantly backed off from the bed.

“Go ahead, Mr Potter and show us what you can do. She’s all yours,” said Healer Bones.

Harry looked uncertainly at them. Mme Pomfrey, Mrs Fountainee, Healer Solomon, Healer Bones, Care-witch Flourish and her younger colleague had formed a ring around the bed. It looked like they expected him to start right off. Harry approached the bed.

“Mrs Starglobe?” he asked. He got no reply. He laid his left hand over the clutched hand on the quilt. “I’m going to do a Relieving Incantation for you. Will you tell me about your pain, please?” Slowly the witch opened her eyes. Harry was surprised by the piercing blue gaze that bore through him. All magic was not gone from this body, he thought. Who was she? Who had she been? Mrs Starglobe lowered her hand to her midriff.

“Here,” she said coarsely, “...feels like snakes biting me from the inside. Burning and twitching pain. I should have left long ago... I fought for many days at home before I came to the hospital...I know it’s time for me to leave this world... But my children...and my grand children... I’m afraid...” she looked pleadingly at Harry.

“It’ll be fine, Mrs Starglobe,” he said. “Ready?”

She nodded. Harry lifted his wand and his left hand. He sung the incantation with a clear and gentle voice. At the moment of the transfer, he stood very still and observed his own body react to his patient’s feelings. Pain clutched in his stomach, spread and atoned in the periphery of his body. Every nerve ending took part in the transfer and vibrated until there was no more suffering.

Mrs Starglobe drew a deep breath. A little colour rose on her cheeks and she sat up.

“It’s gone,” she said.

“That’s good,” answered Harry.

“Not only the pain... The apprehension is gone,” she whispered and looked at him in awe. “The apprehension of death. Have you faced death, Healer – you’re so young?” Harry hesitated, but thought that he owed her the truth.

“I was prepared to die,” he said cautiously, “...but I came back.” He smiled at her. She stretched out a hand for him and he sat down on the side of the bed.

“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly with a scrutinising gaze.

“No, not at all. The dying is easy. It’s the apprehension that’s difficult to bear, and the sorrow to leave people you care for behind,” Harry told her. Mrs Starglobe drew a new deep breath and spoke in a strong, determined voice.

“Care-witch Flourish, will you please summon my children. I want to see them today. And after that... hopefully before midnight... Thank you so much, Healer!” Mrs Starglobe looked at Harry with such intense gratitude that Harry felt tears rise in his eyes, but he blinked them away, thinking that Healer Bones might consider them signs of weakness or intolerance to the Relieving. No one said a word, but Healer Solomon led the way out of the room. Healer Bones stayed behind, apparently to examine Mrs Starglobe. They moved not towards the entrance, but further down the corridor.

“Healer!” It was the young care-witch with auburn hair who called out as she came running after them. She stopped in front of Harry. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said breathlessly. “She has fought for days, in so much pain, but so afraid and anguished before death. Now she is prepared to let go and with dignity, too. She was a powerful witch, you know. Travelled abroad a lot... They can cling on for weeks sometimes, the powerful ones, regardless of excruciating pain. You really did a good deed.” Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Healer Bones had caught up with them.

“So you do Apprehensions of death, as well, Mr Potter,” he said with sarcasm in his voice. “That is not a Grief Swallower’s obligation. To relieve her of the pain had been enough. Well, well - my advice is not to get a post at St Mungo’s. They will use you until you fall into pieces,” he continued aggressively. For some reason he seemed upset by Harry’s performance. The young care-witch recoiled from them, gave Harry a last admiring glance and hurried away. “Now, let’s see how you tolerate this. Here you go,” snorted Healer Bones.

Healer Solomon opened a door and gestured for Harry to enter. It was an empty room except for a stretcher and the curtains were closed over a single window. Harry looked inquiringly at Healer Solomon as the Chief Healer made to close the door and leave Harry alone inside.

“What am I supposed to do?” asked Harry with a frown.

“By Merlin’s beard!” exclaimed Solomon. ”Have not Severus told you anything about the test? After all he has gone through the thing himself. And it’s not often in a life time you have a student who’s a Grief Swallower,” Healer Solomon went on disbelievingly.

“Er... I guess Professor Snape has had a lot on his mind lately,” said Harry vaguely. “He gave me directions to read, but it didn’t say...?” Healer Solomon suddenly pierced him with a hard gaze.

“Is it true, what they write in the newspapers? You’re not on speaking terms? You won’t testify for him?” he blurted out.

Harry did not know what to say. His puzzlement must have shown plainly, for Healer Solomon shook his head and apologised.

“Not my business. Hard to make Severus Snape out, isn’t it? He was such a talented healer, you know, but there were rumours... Yes, there were... dark things… And then, shortly after he recovered from his terrible accident, Severus applied for that teacher’s post at Hogwarts and left us. Not that he has not done his fair share of work here during the summer holidays after that... I don’t know what to think.” Solomon shook his head again. “As far as you’re concerned, Mr Potter, you are to lie down, relax and rest. Healer Bones will come and examine you in an hour. If there are any side effects, they will have appeared by then. You are not to be active, as that might postpone the adverse effects we are keen to detect.”

Harry nodded that he understood and let himself be shut up in the room. He lied down, stared at the ceiling and tried to think of nothing. It reminded him of countless times when he had been shut up in his bedroom at the Dursley’s. What annoyed him the most was that he had usually been deprived of food as punishment at Privet Drive, and he was equally roaringly hungry now.

When Healer Bones came back in, Harry rose expectantly, but looked at the healer with caution. It seemed to be a grubby and easily discontented sort of man. He took Harry’s pulse, waved over him with his wand and asked him about the same symptoms Snape had done after his first Relieving on David Burbage. Harry felt just fine and a little impatient to get out.

“You’re unaffected,” said Healer Bones curtly and they stepped out. Healer Solomon stood in the working stations area and waved with a scroll of parchment in their direction.

“I’ve signed it already - guessed you would pass,” he said with an awarding smile as Healer Bones reluctantly confirmed the fact and grabbed the quill from Healer Solomon to sign in his turn. “Mme Pomfrey and Mrs Fountainee went to the tearoom, but they will be back any moment. Mrs Fountainee will show you the hospital and tell you a bit about it. Ah... Here they come. Well, I need to get to work. Very well done, Mr Potter, and I hope to see you soon.”

Healers Solomon and Bones left and Harry was swept away by Mrs Fountainee who had regained confidence in herself. She also seemed eager to compensate for her negligence toward Harry and Mme Pomfrey earlier. Therefore she guided them from one corridor to the next, from one ward to another and through various receptions for more than one and a half hour. She showed them a big lecture hall located in the basement of the hospital and she stopped at length in front of some of the old portraits that hung on the wall, among modern advertisements for various healing potions, and spoke passionately about long passed healers and chief care-workers at St Mungo’s.

Harry made the reflection that Hermione would probably have been able to listen and take all of this in, but he tired quickly and was distracted by passing patients with weird transformations in faces and limbs that caught the eye. They ended up in the Emergency Hall eventually and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they could have some food or return to Hogwarts in time for lunch?

He spotted Healer Solomon again who appeared to be engaged in an argumentative discussion with a young trainee healer. The young woman seemed to be apologising and made an exasperated gesture at the hall that was crammed with patients and buzzing loudly. The care-workers who had arrived fresh in the morning with serene faces were now showing signs of impatience. Their hair stood on end and at places panic broke out as ailed wizards and witches complained about having to wait for their turn, or about being bypassed by newly arrived sick people.

Harry observed a care-wizard take out his wand and shoot a shower of glittering stars over the heads of a bunch of quarrelling people who first startled, then relaxed and continued their conversation in lower and more polite voices. Appeasing stars, Harry thought with interest. He had learnt about them from Mrs Weasley who had taught her children this way of making up with the aid of magic after arguments, which were not unusual at the Burrow. Harry had been even more interested when she had told him that it was Ancient Magic, but had failed to find anything about Appeasing stars in the books. Ancient Magic was poorly documented in the magical world - there seemed to be few remnants left, transmitted only from wizard to wizard.

Healer Solomon caught sight of Harry along with Mme Pomfrey and Mrs Fountainee and came over to them.

“Finished your tour, Mr Potter?” Without waiting for an answer, Solomon continued: “Listen, I have a full list of patients coming for check-ups this afternoon at the ward. Heart conditions, mostly. My assistant has been called in for work here at the Emergency Ward. Claims she was forced to accept, but I suspect she wants the extra money it brings. So if you’d like to go with me, to learn and help me out with a few things, the place is yours, Mr Potter.” Harry bit his lip in exultation - of course he wanted to! He looked at Mme Pomfrey.

“I don’t have classes in Saturday afternoons and I have no other obligations at Hogwarts,” he said, “...so I’ll be delighted to stay!” Mme Pomfrey hesitated.

”I myself need to return to Hogwarts,” she whispered to Harry, “I need to check on the Wing. I’m not sure, you know, that Professor Snape has the patience to attend to the small ailments that frequently occur to pupils...”

”He stayed at the castle, then?” Harry whispered back. Mme Pomfrey averted her eyes.

”As far as I know…” she replied.

“Hmm… Why don’t you go then, Mme Pomfrey,” said Harry. ”I’ll just Apparate right back when we’re finished. If you could please tell Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger that I’ll join them at the Three Broomsticks this evening.” Mme Pomfrey still looked doubtful. “I’m of age,” Harry pressed on, a little embarrassed in front of Healer Solomon. Mme Pomfrey acquiesced and made to leave as Harry followed Healer Solomon to the elevator.