The low, rhythmic hum of diagnostic charms hovering overhead was the first sound to break through the fog in Harry's mind.
Slowly, heavy eyelids fluttered open. The harsh white light of the private ward stung his eyes for a moment before the blurred shapes around him resolved into focus. He was lying in a hospital bed with crisp linen sheets pulled up to his chest. Beside him sat Petunia, her head resting on the mattress, fast asleep while still holding his hand. Across the room, Abigail was curled into a small armchair, quietly clutching a small, hand-carved wooden dragon.
Harry shifted slightly, intending to push himself up, but a sudden dull, throb-like ache shot through every muscle and bone in his body. His magical core felt stripped bare, like a well dried to cracked earth, making even the act of breathing feel heavy.
"Mum..." Harry croaked, his throat terribly dry.
Petunia stirred instantly. Her head snapped up, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, but the second she saw his open green eyes, a choked sob escaped her throat.
"Harry! Oh, thank God!" Petunia gasped, leaning forward and cupping his pale face in her hands. She kissed his forehead repeatedly, her tears spilling over onto his cheek. "You're awake. You're finally awake."
"Mum, easy..." Harry offered a faint, tired smile, though his immediate concern cut right through his own discomfort. "How's Abigail? Are you okay? Is she hurt?"
"I'm fine, Harry," Petunia whispered, wiping her eyes frantically. "And look at your sister. She is completely unharmed. Not a single mark on her."
At the sound of his voice, Abigail dropped the wooden dragon and scrambled out of the chair. She ran to the side of the bed, her face pale but her eyes wide with overwhelming relief. Before Petunia could stop her, Abigail leaned over the mattress and threw her arms around Harry's neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
Harry let out a small, breathless groan as the sudden weight jostled his aching body, but he quickly raised a trembling hand to rest against the back of her head, ruffling her soft hair.
"Hey, Abby," Harry murmured softly, his voice full of quiet warmth. "Told you it would be alright."
"You're an idiot," Abigail sobbed into his neck, her small shoulders shaking violently. "A total, reckless idiot! Don't you ever do that again!"
"Abigail, carefully!" Petunia chastised gently, pulling her daughter back just enough so Harry could breathe. "He is still very weak."
"I am right here, Abby," Harry said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "The cuts are completely gone, right?"
"Yes, Harry," Petunia assured him, her tone shifting into a mix of immense relief and sharp, maternal severity. "She is completely fine. But you... Harry, what were you thinking? The Healers said your magical core was completely empty! You burned your own blood to force the spellwork through! You could have died!"
Harry looked down at his trembling fingers, feeling the deep, aching hollow inside his chest where his magic usually flowed effortlessly. "If I had stopped, the curse would have torn her apart, Mum. I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice to keep yourself alive!" Petunia scolded, though her voice cracked with raw emotion as she held his hand tighter. "Do not ever put us through that nightmare again. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you, Mum," Harry replied softly, accepting the scolding without argument.
The heavy oak door opened, and a senior Healer in lime-green robes walked in, carrying a clipboard. She offered a warm, professional smile upon seeing Harry sitting up.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, it is wonderful to see you conscious," she said, drawing her wand to run a quick series of diagnostic sweeps over his chest. The golden runes flared softly, shifting from a dull amber back to a gentle, healthy blue. "Your core has regenerated just enough to safely process external potions. The physical damage from the blood strain has been repaired, though you will feel quite sore for a few days."
"Can I leave today?" Harry asked directly. "I really don't want to stay in a hospital room any longer than necessary."
The Healer hummed thoughtfully, checking her notes. "Given your extraordinary recovery rate, yes. You are clear for discharge, provided you do not attempt any magic for the next forty-eight hours and take your prescribed core-replenishing tonics."
"Thank you," Harry said with genuine relief.
Once the Healer left to prepare the discharge papers, Petunia turned to Harry with a resolute look.
"We are not going back to the house today, Harry," Petunia explained. "I… I don't think I can handle it just yet. Neither can Abigail. Molly and Arthur have invited us to the Burrow today."
Harry nodded slowly, entirely understanding her sentiment. The memory of the metallic smell and scorched air was still fresh in his own mind. "That sounds like a good idea. The Burrow will b nice."
It took nearly twenty minutes for Harry to get dressed in his normal clothes. His body felt stiff, every joint protesting as Vernon arrived to help him stand. Vernon didn't say much at first, his heavy face grim, but the way he gently supported Harry's shoulder while helping him step out into the corridor spoke volumes about his lingering shock.
They gathered their few belongings, signed the release forms, and walked to the St. Mungo's fireplace lounge. With Vernon carefully supporting Harry, the family took the Floo Network directly to the Burrow, leaving the sanitized white walls of the hospital behind.
The Floo chimed loudly as they tumbled out into the warm, chaotic living room of the Weasley home. The air instantly smelled of woodsmoke, old parchment, and freshly baked cinnamon scones.
Molly Weasley rushed forward from the kitchen the second they stepped onto the hearth, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, land's sakes! Easy there, Harry dear!"
Molly helped Vernon guide Harry over to the soft, worn leather armchair near the fireplace, propping several plush cushions behind his back.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, sinking into the armchair with a quiet sigh of relief.
"None of that, dear. You just rest," Molly said warmly, placing a steaming mug of sweet tea into his hands before turning to Petunia and Abigail to offer them fresh pastries.
Within minutes, Arthur, Sirius, and Ginny entered the living room. Ginny immediately brightened upon seeing Abigail sitting safely on the sofa, rushing over to join her friend, while Sirius let out a loud, theatrical sigh of relief.
"Look at you, pup! Back on your feet already," Sirius grinned, leaning against the wooden mantlepiece. "You scared the life out of all of us, you know."
"So I've been told," Harry replied, taking a small sip of tea as the warmth spread down his tight throat.
Vernon stepped forward, standing beside Sirius with his hands jammed deep into his coat pockets. He looked down at Harry, his broad face tight with an emotion he rarely expressed openly.
"You did good looking out for your sister, Harry," Vernon said, his deep voice unusually rough. He paused, clearing his throat awkwardly before fixing Harry with a hard, unyielding stare. "But your mother is right. Don't you ever stretch yourself that thin again. We are your parents. It's our job to protect you kids, not the other way around. Got it?"
Harry looked up at his father, catching the intense, underlying terror Vernon was trying so hard to hide behind a stern posture. "Got it, Dad."
Vernon nodded once, satisfied, and patted Harry's shoulder firmly.
"Now then," Sirius chimed in, clapping his hands together with a sharp, mischevious spark in his eyes. "Since you're officially surviving and functional, we have a little something to lift your spirits before you head back to school tomorrow."
Sirius turned around and pulled a long, heavy rectangular package wrapped in brown paper out from behind the hallway door. "Consider this an early reward for being the most absurdly brave wizard in the family."
At the exact same time, Vernon reached into the corner near the coat rack and picked up an identical long, paper-wrapped parcel he had brought with him from the car.
Harry blinked in absolute bewilderment as both Sirius and Vernon stepped forward, placing two identical, massive wooden boxes right in front of his armchair.
"Go on, open mine," Sirius urged with a proud smirk.
Harry carefully tore the brown paper off Sirius's package first. The polished mahogany box popped open to reveal a magnificent, state-of-the-art flying broom resting on velvet lining. The gold lettering along the handle gleamed in the firelight: Nimbus 2000.
"Sirius! This is incredible!" Harry gasped, his eyes wide.
"Only the best for my godson," Sirius boasted, puffing his chest out.
Vernon cleared his throat loudly, nudging his own package forward. "Well... go on then. Open mine."
Harry quickly unwrapped the second box and popped the brass latches. Inside lay a second, pristine, flawlessly crafted Nimbus 2000, gleaming just as brightly as the first.
However, as Harry looked closer, he noticed distinct differences. Sirius's broom was the standard, pristine off-the-shelf model fresh from Quality Quidditch Supplies. Vernon's broom, on the other hand, bore fine, custom-tailored adjustments. The tail twigs were meticulously trimmed for razor-sharp cornering, the footrests were angled precisely for a Seeker's lower center of gravity, and a subtle, polished brass engraving along the handle read: Customized for H. Potter – Seeker.
The entire living room fell dead silent for two full seconds.
Arthur Weasley let out a high-pitched squeak of utter astonishment, while Molly covered her mouth with both hands. Sirius stared at Vernon's customized broom, his mouth hanging wide open, while Vernon looked at Sirius's standard box with equal shock.
"You... you bought him a Nimbus 2000?" Sirius blurted out, pointing at Vernon.
"Of course I bought him a Nimbus 2000!" Vernon replied defensively, crossing his arms with a sudden look of pride. "My son was selected for the house team in his first year, why wouldn't I buy him a broom. But I went ahead and got it customized specifically for the Seeker position."
"I went to Diagon Alley yesterday morning!" Sirius argued, though a broad, hysterical laugh was already bubbling up in his chest. "I bought the absolute newest stock model they had!"
Harry looked between the two top-of-the-line racing brooms resting side-by-side at his feet, unable to contain the quiet, genuine laugh that escaped his lips. The sheer absurdity of owning two Nimbus 2000s. One standard and one fully customized for his exact position, before even attending his first Hogwarts flying lesson was completely hilarious.
"Well," Harry said, his green eyes sparkling with quiet amusement as he ran a hand over the custom-engraved handle. "I suppose if the custom model ever needs maintenance during a season, I have the ultimate factory backup."
The entire living room burst into deep, ringing laughter at Harry's remark, the lingering tension finally breaking completely.
Sirius threw his head back, his booming bark of a laugh echoing off the low wooden ceiling beams of the Burrow. Even Vernon, who usually held himself with rigid Muggle propriety around magic, let out a deep, booming chuckle and slapped Sirius on the shoulder.
"Factory backup!" Sirius gasped, wiping a tear of amusement from his eye. "You hear that, Vernon? Your fancy custom tuning is just his primary, and my gold-standard vault-buyer's special is the backup!"
"Custom tuning is essential for high-speed stability, Black," Vernon replied with a proud, puffed-out chest, though his eyes were crinkling with rare humor. "Any proper engineer knows you don't take a factory standard straight onto the pitch."
"Oh, sweet Merlin," Arthur Weasley breathed, stepping closer to inspect the two brooms with wide, fascinated eyes. "Two Nimbus 2000s in one room... Petunia, Vernon, you have no idea. People wait months on order lists for just one of these!"
"Well, he deserves it," Petunia said softly, though her eyes were shining as she watched Harry.
As the laughter settled, Abigail quietly slid off the sofa. She didn't say a word to anyone as she walked over to Harry's armchair and squeezed herself onto the narrow cushion right beside him. She wrapped both arms tightly around his left forearm, burying her face into his sleeve and holding on as if he might vanish if she let go.
Harry didn't shift or pull away, despite the slight ache in his core. He simply adjusted his position to give her more room, resting his right hand over her small fingers and gently squeezing back.
Molly Weasley watched the quiet gesture with a soft, motherly expression before turning toward the kitchen. "Right then! That is enough standing around gawking at flying broomsticks. Dinner is almost ready, and everyone is going to eat until they burst."
"Need any help, Molly?" Petunia offered, stepping toward the kitchen area.
"Not a bit, dear! You sit down and rest," Molly insisted warmly, waving her apron. "Arthur, fetch the extra chairs from the garden shed!"
"Right away, Molly!" Arthur said cheerfully, bustling out the back door while Ginny pulled up a footstool to sit right near Abigail and Harry.
Sirius strolled over to the center of the room, clapping his hands together with dramatic flair to capture everyone's attention. He puffed out his chest, striking a theatrical pose that instantly drew suspicious looks from Petunia and amused grins from the kids.
"Now, my beloved extended family," Sirius announced loudly, holding a hand over his heart. "As the designated fun uncle and Lord of the House of Black, I have officially decreed that the recent dark, gloomy dark-magic nonsense is thoroughly canceled!"
Vernon raised an eyebrow. "Canceled, is it?"
"Completely banished from the calendar," Sirius declared, waving a hand dismissively. "Which brings me to my grand master plan. Starting tomorrow morning, as soon as Harry is safely tucked back into his Gryffindor dorm, I am whisking Vernon, Petunia, and my favorite goddaughter Abigail away."
Abigail peeked out from Harry's arm, her dark eyes blinking in surprise. "Where?"
"France!" Sirius proclaimed triumphantly, throwings his arms wide open. "The land of romance! The land of fine wine, sunlit beaches, exquisite pastries, and absolute, unchecked luxury! We are going to my family's private estate on the southern coast!"
Petunia crossed her arms, though a small smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "Sirius, we are not going to the 'land of romance' with you."
"Why not, Petunia?" Sirius argued dramatically, placing a hand to his forehead as if struck by a tragedy. "Picture it! Rolling vineyards! Golden sand! Me, wearing a fabulous French hat while Vernon attempts to order a croissant in his finest French accent!"
A sudden, high-pitched giggle escaped Abigail's lips. It was the first real laugh she had uttered since the attack, clear and bright in the warm room.
Harry looked down at his sister, feeling a massive wave of relief wash through his chest as he felt her tension melt away.
"See? The little one agrees!" Sirius grinned, winking at Abigail. "And that is not all! Since Ginny here has been such an exemplary friend and protector to young Abigail..." Sirius turned and made a sweeping bow toward Ginny. "...I have secured permission from Molly and Arthur to bring Ginny along for the weekend as well!"
Ginny's eyes went wide as saucers. "Wait, really? Mum, can I go? Really?"
"Yes, only this once, mind you," Molly called out from the kitchen, popping her head around the doorframe with a fond smile. "Abigail will need good company. And both your dad and I agreed it would be wonderful for you girls to have some sunshine."
"Yes!" Ginny cheered, punching the air before beaming at Abigail. "Did you hear that, Abby? We're going to France!"
Abigail gave a small, genuine nod, her grip on Harry's arm loosening just a bit into a comfortable, relaxed hold. "We can look at the sea."
"We will look at the entire ocean!" Sirius insisted loudly. "We will eat cheese that costs more than Nimbus 2000! We will live like royalty!"
"Yeah yeah, the land of romance and you are going there as a single," Vernon said gruffly, though the tightness around his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a calm, satisfied ease. "Quite the ironic situation."
"Well, well Vernon… You never know. I might just find some romance there." Sirius smirked. "You know ladies love me."
"The only thing following you in France will be stray alley cats, Sirius," Petunia remarked dryly, though a genuine, affectionate smile finally broke across her face.
"Ouch, Petunia! Right in the heart," Sirius gasped, clutching his chest with dramatic agony while Abigail let out another soft, bubbling laugh from beside Harry.
"She isn't wrong, dear," Molly called out from the kitchen, popping her head past the doorframe with an amused shake of her head. "Now stop filling the children's heads with nonsensical grandstanding and help set the table!"
"Yes, Molly dear," Sirius replied with a mock salute, winking at Harry before grabbing a stack of ceramic plates from the sideboard.
Arthur returned carrying three wooden chairs from the garden, setting them around the long dining table just as Molly began levitating large, steaming platters of roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables into the center of the room.
"Dinner is served!" Molly announced proudly.
Vernon stepped forward to help Harry stand up from the armchair. Harry kept his movement slow, his body still feeling stiff and his core throbbing with a low, dull ache, but with Abigail holding his left hand and Vernon supporting his right shoulder, he made his way to the table without complaint.
They sat together as the evening sky outside turned into a deep twilight indigo. The Burrow was filled with the clinking of cutlery, the rich scent of home-cooked food, and the steady, comforting hum of joint conversation. Sirius kept up an endless stream of ridiculous stories from their own Hogwarts days, leaving out the darker details and focusing entirely on James's worst broom mishaps, which had Vernon chuckling into his drink and Petunia quietly hiding her laughter behind a napkin.
Abigail barely let go of Harry's sleeve throughout the meal, sitting as close to him as humanly possible, but the shadows in her eyes had lifted. For the first time in two grueling days, Petunia ate a full plate of food, her hands steady as she talked with Molly about charm-treated garden herbs.
As the remaining crumbs of dessert were cleared from the long wooden table, Harry placed his napkin down and pushed his chair back slightly, his movements deliberate and careful.
"Well," Harry said, offering a small, crooked smile to the table. "I suppose I should get back to Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore only gave me permission to pop home for thirty minutes to check on my broom customization, and it has already been three days."
Molly let out a fond, exasperated tut, while Sirius barked out a sudden laugh.
"I doubt Albus is going to dock points for an extended medical leave, pup," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head.
"Still," Harry continued, looking over at Vernon. "Dad, do you think you could Apparate me to Hogsmeade? We can just walk up to the gates from there. I would really rather not take my chances with the Floo Network again. The last time it worked coming out of St. Mungo's might have just been pure luck, and I don't think I should overstep its grace."
"A wise choice, son," Vernon agreed readily, pushing himself up from the table and smoothing down his jacket. "The Apparition point just outside the Three Broomsticks is straightforward enough."
Petunia's face tightened with sudden concern, her hands knotting together in her lap. "Harry, no... you are still so weak. Surely you could stay just one more night? The Healers said rest was essential."
"No, Mum," Harry replied softly, his voice full of gentle finality. "I think me being back at school and out of sight for a little while will be better for all of us. It will give you, Dad, and Abby the space to pack and get ready for France without worrying over me every five minutes. Besides..." He offered a brief, mischevious glint in his eyes. "...I am terribly homesick for my four-poster bed."
Petunia let out a wet, half-amused sigh, knowing full well it was a harmless lie to soothe her nerves. "You are an impossible boy."
Harry stood up slowly, the dull ache in his core pulsing faintly, but his footing was steady. Before he could take a step toward the hearth, Abigail threw her arms around his waist, burying her face into his stomach. Her grip was fiercely tight, holding on with every ounce of strength in her small frame.
Harry didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin lightly on top of her head.
"Take care of Mum and Dad in France, alright?" Harry whispered into her hair. "And get some rest, Abby."
"You take your potions," Abigail commanded, her voice muffled against his robes as she finally stepped back, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "If you faint in class, I'm coming to Hogwarts to beat you up."
"Deal," Harry chuckled.
Ginny stepped forward next, her bright brown eyes warm and full of quiet relief. Without a word, she stepped in and gave Harry a quick, firm hug.
"Don't go blowing up your core again, Potter," Ginny said softly as she pulled back, offering a brave smile. "I'll see you when we get back from France."
"Hold you to it, Ginny," Harry smiled back.
After exchange of warm goodbyes with Molly, Arthur, and Sirius, Vernon stepped up beside Harry. Vernon placed a heavy, protective hand on Harry's shoulder, securing his grip for side-along Apparition.
"Ready, son?" Vernon asked low.
"Ready, Dad."
With a sudden, violent crack that echoed off the cozy walls of the Burrow, the air twisted around them, and both figures vanished into thin air.
The violent pressure of side-along Apparition squeezed the breath from Harry's lungs, pulling him through a suffocating, soundless void before vanishing with a sharp crack.
The quiet cobblestone street of Hogsmeade materialized around them under a twilight sky painted in deep violet and amber. Cold mountain air rushed into Harry's chest, making him cough as the sudden movement jolted his recovering core. His knees buckled slightly, but Vernon's thick arm immediately locked around his waist, taking most of his weight without missing a beat.
"Steady, son," Vernon murmured, his broad frame acting as a solid pillar against the evening chill. He adjusted his grip, pulling Harry's left arm over his shoulder. "Got you. Take a breath."
"I'm fine, Dad," Harry croaked, drawing a deep breath of the crisp Highland air. "Just... core exhaustion doesn't like spatial folding."
"Right. No more spatial folding for a few days," Vernon said firmly. He looked up the winding path that led away from the village, where the massive, shadowy silhouette of Hogwarts Castle rose against the darkening horizon, its high windows flickering with warm torchlight. "Slow walk. No rushing."
They set off together up the wide dirt road leading toward the castle gates. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the crunch of gravel under their boots and the distant rustle of the surrounding forest. Vernon kept their pace deliberate and measured, matching Harry's stiff, aching steps.
"You're sure about going straight to the Headmaster?" Vernon asked as they passed through the tall iron gates, the winged boars glowing faintly with ancient protective wards.
"Yeah," Harry replied, leaning into his father's side as the path sloped gently upward. "I want to ask some questions regarding the magic that hit Abigail. Besides, he is the one who granted me leave to get the broom in the first place."
"Fair enough," Vernon muttered, his jaw setting into a tight line. "Just don't let the old man keep you standing for an hour. You look like a ghost."
By the time they reached the massive oak front doors, the entrance hall was quiet. The students were all gathered in the Great Hall for the evening meal, their distant, muffled voices echoing faintly through the stone corridors. Vernon guided Harry past the marble staircase, navigating the familiar corridors toward the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's tower.
"Sherbet lemon," Harry said to the stone gargoyle, his voice rasping slightly.
The monster leaped aside with a grinding crunch of stone, revealing the spiraling wall behind it. Vernon supported Harry as they stepped onto the revolving stone stairs, letting the magic carry them upward to the heavy polished door at the top.
Before Vernon could even raise a hand to knock, the door swung smoothly inward.
"Ah, come in, come in!" Albus Dumbledore's voice called out warmly from within.
The Headmaster was sitting behind his wide claw-footed desk, his half-moon spectacles catching the soft light of the glowing silver instruments humming around the room. The moment he saw Harry leaning on Vernon, the usual sharp, analytical glaze in his blue eyes vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, bright grandfatherly relief.
Dumbledore immediately stood up, sweeping around his desk and pulling out two plush, high-backed armchairs near the crackling hearth.
"Vernon, Harry, please, sit," Dumbledore said softly, gesturing to the chairs. "I must admit, my heart lifts considerably seeing you back on your feet, Harry. The Healers at St. Mungo's gave a rather grim assessment of your core reserves two nights ago."
Vernon carefully lowered Harry into one of the armchairs before taking the seat beside him. Harry let out a long, quiet sigh as the plush cushions took the weight off his sore joints.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, leaning his head back for a brief second. "The Healers said my physical damage was repaired, but the core itself is just dry. It feels like a dull ache all over."
"Which is precisely why you should be in bed, young man," Dumbledore said, though his tone was entirely devoid of scolding. He raised his wand with a gentle flick, summoning a tray with a steaming teapot and three porcelain cups from a side table. "Tea?"
"Thank you, Albus," Vernon said, accepting a cup and setting it on the small table between them. He turned his steady gaze onto the Headmaster. "We came straight here because Harry wanted to ask some questions about what happened at the house."
Dumbledore's expression shifted, becoming serious and attentive. He sat back in his own chair, lacing his long fingers together over his lap. "I am listening."
Harry took a small sip of the hot tea, feeling the warmth spread down his throat before he began to speak.
"It wasn't a normal attack, Professor," Harry said, his green eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace. "When I Apparated into the living room, there was no sound. No broken glass, no sign of forced entry. But the air smelled of copper and ozone, like lightning had struck inside the room. Mum was unconscious on the floor, hit with some kind of heavy stunner or displacement shock."
"I'm not even sure if I should call it an attack in the first place." He added.
"And Abigail?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"She was suspended in mid-air," Harry recalled, his voice tight as the memory flashed vividly behind his eyes. "There were no visible spell cords or levitation bands. I don't even recognize any of the magic that was keeping her afloat. The magic was tearing into her skin from the inside out, slicing out of her body. It was draining her life force into the floor, using her own life as fuel to sustain the structure."
Vernon's grip on his teacup tightened so hard the porcelain creaked faintly, though he remained silent, keeping his eyes on Dumbledore.
"And moreover, when I tried to heal her," Harry continued, "the magic didn't just break. It backlashed. It tried to consume my own spell to feed whatever the spell was on Abigail. I had to basically overpower it, and even then I completely burned through my core and had to burn my blood to keep the spell going."
Dumbledore sat completely still for several seconds, his blue eyes gleaming with an intense, deep calculation.
"Such a sinister magic," Dumbledore murmured softly, half to himself. "Concentric, self-sustaining, and aggressive enough to feed on incoming magical energy… That is not something I can say I'm familiar with."
"Can it be traced?" Vernon asked, his voice carrying a hard, dangerous edge. "Albus, whoever did that, almost killed my daughter and my son. I want to know if it can be traced back."
"I'm afraid not, Vernon," Dumbledore sighed. "I went over the magical signature left in your living room. But I could only find the inklings of Harry's magic left in the vicinity. Nothing else. It was as if no magical mishap had happened there."
Vernon's jaw tightened, his fingers clenching into a white-knuckled fist against the arm of his chair. "So whoever planted that curse left absolutely no trail. They targeted my home, attacked my daughter, and walked away cleanly."
"For the moment," Dumbledore agreed solemnly, adjusting his half-moon spectacles as he looked between the two of them. "Whoever wove such an intricate curse possessed high-level proficiency in archaic magic. But magic always leaves a shadow, Vernon. I will continue searching through the older archives."
Dumbledore turned his full attention back to Harry, his grandfatherly warmth returning as his gaze softened. "As for you, Harry, your only priority now is absolute rest. I am officially exempting you from all classes for the next two days. You will remain in your dormitory, refrain from any spellwork, and allow your core to rebuild itself."
"Two days, Headmaster?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "I can still attend lectures. Taking notes doesn't require casting."
"You can barely hold your teacup without your hands trembling, Harry," Vernon interjected dryly, casting a stern look at his son. "Listen to the Headmaster. Take the two days."
Harry let out a small, resigned sigh, accepting the verdict. "Alright. Two days."
Dumbledore smiled, turning his head toward the array of portraits lining the high stone walls of his office. He looked up at a painting of a stern wizard in dark green robes.
"Phineas, if you would be so kind," Dumbledore requested gently. "Please locate young Percy Weasley and ask him to come to my office to escort Harry back to the Gryffindor common room."
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black grunted, straightened his high collar, and swept out of his frame without a word.
"While we wait for Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, turning back to Vernon and Harry with a light spark in his eyes, "I have a small bit of encouraging news regarding the school. I spoke with Remus Lupin yesterday evening regarding our vacant History of Magic post."
Harry's eyes brightened slightly. "Remus? Did he agree?"
"He was exceptionally eager, in fact," Dumbledore chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling. "He has spent the last two days reviewing the curriculum and drafting a rather revolutionary syllabus involving actual historical artifacts rather than Professor Binns's somewhat monotonous ghost lectures. I am presenting his formal appointment to the Board of Governors tomorrow morning. If all goes as expected, Remus should begin teaching by next week."
"That is brilliant," Harry said, a genuine smile touching his face. "The students will actually learn something for a change."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed warmly. "And it will be wonderful to have another familiar face near the castle while you settle back in."
Vernon nodded in agreement. "Lupin knows his material. He'll keep the kids engaged."
A sharp knock sounded at the heavy oak door a few minutes later.
"Ah, that will be Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said. "Come in, Percy!"
The door opened, and Percy Weasley stepped into the office, his Gryffindor prefect badge gleaming on his robes. He held himself with his usual rigid posture, but his face softened into genuine relief the moment he spotted Harry sitting in the armchair.
"Headmaster," Percy said with a respectful nod before turning to Harry. "Harry! It is good to see you back. Ron and Hermione have been asking about you non-stop since yesterday."
"Thank you, Percy," Harry said, slowly pushing himself up from the chair. His legs were still somewhat stiff, but the tea and short rest had helped ease the worst of the ache.
Vernon stood up beside him, placing a heavy, supportive hand on Harry's shoulder. He looked down at his son with quiet, unmistakable pride.
"You take care of yourself, Harry," Vernon said, his voice deep and rough. "Take your potions. And don't even think about any magic for the next two days."
"Sure, Dad," Harry said, wrapping his arms around Vernon in a brief, firm hug. "Have a good trip. Make sure Sirius doesn't land himself in trouble."
Vernon let out a deep chuckle, patting Harry's back firmly before stepping away. "I'll keep the idiot on a leash. Go on now."
"Goodnight, Professor. Goodnight, Dad," Harry said, turning toward the door.
Percy stepped alongside Harry, matching his slow pace so Harry didn't have to strain his sore joints. As the heavy office door closed behind them and the revolving staircase began its slow descent, Harry listened to the quiet echo of their footsteps against the stone walls, feeling the familiar comfort of Hogwarts rise up to welcome him home.
The quiet spiral stairs delivered them to the floor below, where Percy immediately adjusted his stride to match Harry's slow, careful steps through the torchlit corridor.
"I must say, Harry," Percy began, keeping his hands neatly behind his back as he kept a watchful eye on Harry's posture. "The entire house was quite shaken when we heard what happened. Ron has practically stopped eating worrying about you, when we learnt everything through Mum's letter."
Harry let out a faint, tired laugh. "I didn't think Ron would stop eating at my expense… I must say I'm quite pleased to hear that he holds me that dear."
"Something like that," Percy smiled slightly, his usual rigid demeanor softening into genuine concern. "Though, on a serious note, we were all deeply worried. When we got that letter about your core and blood exhaustion, Professor McGonagall had to sternly remind Fred and George that flying a broom directly to St. Mungo's was a massive breach of international secrecy."
"Did they actually try that?" Harry asked, shaking his head with a grin.
"They had their coats on and their brooms unlatched before Professor McGonagall caught them in the entrance hall," Percy said smoothly. "So please, for everyone's sanity, take it easy for the next couple of days. If you need anything brought up from the kitchens or extra parchment for notes, just ask."
"Thanks, Percy," Harry said, genuinely appreciating the elder Weasley's quiet thoughtfulness. "I will."
They reached the end of the corridor, stopping before the grand portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Dragon's blood," Percy said clearly.
"Welcome back, dear," the Fat Lady purred softly, sweeping her silk robes aside as the portrait swung open to reveal the warm, crimson-and-gold glow of the Gryffindor common room.
The moment Harry stepped through the portrait hole, the ambient chatter of the room died down completely.
Sitting around the central fireplace were Ron, Hermione, Neville, Fred, and George. The second Ron caught sight of Harry standing in the entrance, he practically knocked his armchair over scrambling to his feet.
"Harry!" Ron yelled, rushing across the room.
"Harry! Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione gasped, dropping her heavy leather book stack onto the table with a loud thud as she hurried over right behind Ron.
Before Harry could even frame a sentence, Hermione threw her arms around his shoulders in a fierce hug. Harry let out a small, breathless wheez.
"Hermione, easy!" Ron warned, grabbing her shoulder. "He just spent two days in a hospital bed!"
"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Hermione pulled back instantly, her face flushed with worry as her brown eyes rapidly scanned Harry's pale face and stiff posture. "Are you alright? What happened? We heard your core was completely drained! Not to mention that you burned your blood! Is your sister okay?"
"I am fine, Hermione," Harry assured her, offering a warm smile as he leaned against the wooden edge of a nearby table to take the weight off his sore knees. "Abigail is completely whole. Not a scratch on her."
"Mate, you look like a walking corpse," Ron said, though his blue eyes were wide with immense, unfiltered relief. He clapped Harry carefully on the upper arm. "When Mum came back and told us what you did... burning your own blood? Blimey, Harry. Don't ever do that again."
"I don't plan on making a habit of it," Harry chuckled weakly.
Neville stepped up from the hearth, holding a warm blanket he had grabbed from one of the couches. "Here, Harry. Sit down near the fire. You're trembling."
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, accepting the quiet gesture with deep gratitude as Neville helped guide him into the plush armchair right by the crackling logs.
Fred and George materialized on either side of his chair like twin shadows, both wearing unusually serious expressions despite the slight smirks on their faces.
"Well, well, well," Fred said low, leaning against the armrest. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence."
"The boy who lived through a magical melt-down," George added, crossing his arms. "You know, Harry, if you wanted to get out of Snape's essay, there were much easier ways."
"Like buying our Puking Pastilles," Fred grinned, though he reached out and patted Harry's shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Seriously though, glad you're back, little brother."
"We were ready to hijack two Cleansweeps and break you out of the fourth floor," George admitted, his dark eyes sparkling. "McGonagall stopped us, but we had a solid extraction plan."
"I heard," Harry smiled, looking around the circle of bright, worried faces surrounding his chair. "Dumbledore gave me a two-day exemption from classes to let my core rebuild itself. So I am going to laze around for the next two days."
"And you are actually going to rest for those two days, Harry Potter," Hermione declared sternly, pulling a cushion up to sit on the rug near his feet. "No studying, no heavy reading, and absolutely no running around the corridors."
"I do intend to do some reading, but sure, Professor Granger," Harry joked, leaning his head back into the soft leather of the chair.