"Dobby, I know you're exhausted, but as a Hogwarts student, I'm asking a lot. Can you teleport Potter and my sister to the infirmary?"
"Of course, Master Weasley!"
"No 'Master.' Just… please, Dobby."
"I can walk…" Harry protested.
"Rest, Harry! You look awful! Dobby, he's in your hands!" Ron insisted.
After witnessing Tom Riddle's destruction, Harry and Ginny were teleported to the infirmary by Dobby at Percy's request. Percy instructed everyone, including Luna, to keep Riddle's identity as Voldemort secret until he consulted Acting Headmistress McGonagall. Harry agreed, too drained to argue. The tension from the ordeal left him reeling. Clinging to Dobby's small hand, he arrived in the infirmary, where petrified students lay. No Madam Pomfrey was present. A Hufflepuff couple gasped at Harry's missing arm, rushing to fetch her.
"Wait here! We'll get her!" one shouted.
"What's going on? Why's your arm gone?" the other stammered.
As their footsteps faded, Harry bowed to Dobby. "Thank you, Dobby… You saved me."
"No, Harry Potter! I merely followed Young Master's orders!" Dobby beamed.
"Young Master?"
Dobby froze, about to punish himself, but Harry stopped him. "It's fine, Dobby. I didn't hear anything. Really, thank you."
Harry realized someone sent the diary to disrupt Hogwarts, and someone—perhaps a child—protected him. Before he could dwell on it, Ginny's sobs interrupted.
"I'll… I'll be expelled! I petrified people, hurt Harry…! Dad, Mum, everyone will hate me! It's over!" she wailed.
Seeing her distress, Harry recalled his own past fears. Despite his foggy mind, he tried to comfort her. "McGonagall's strict, but she won't abandon you."
Ginny shook her head. "I knew the diary was strange. I tried to throw it away, but I couldn't… Riddle was so kind… I couldn't resist."
"Ginny…" Harry remembered Percy's words, cursing Riddle's manipulation. "You're strong. No one died because you fought Riddle's influence unconsciously."
He considered sharing his own battle with a dark wizard last year. "If Riddle had full control, I'd be dead sooner. Everyone would be. The petrified stayed that way—not worse—because you resisted."
"How can you say that!?" Ginny cried.
"I saw someone forced into dark magic last year. You're younger, but despite the pain, you didn't become a dark wizard."
Ginny's sobs stopped. "That person… wasn't always bad, I think. But they did terrible things to survive—tried to kill me, used dark magic without hesitation."
He almost added, I'm the same, but Ginny edged away, frightened. Harry pressed on, relieved she'd stopped blaming herself. "You didn't want to hurt anyone. You fought Riddle without dark magic and won."
Hoping to restore her confidence, Harry smiled as Ginny averted her gaze. (That's fine. She'll recover.)
They sat in silence, awaiting Madam Pomfrey. Exhaustion hit Harry, and he passed out.
Harry drifted between dream and reality, tormented by phantom pain in his left arm. In dreams, he heard Luna's song; awake, he vomited from a strange sensation of flesh regrowing. When he fully woke, someone gripped his left hand—a rough, adult male's hand. Even with eyes closed, Harry knew.
"Sirius…?" He opened his eyes.
Sirius Black, in a suit from the Ministry, clutched Harry's hand, overjoyed. He hugged Harry, earning a scolding from Madam Pomfrey. The scene felt familiar—Ron scolded by Hermione, or Zabini.
"Couldn't help it… Arm okay? Can you move it? Feel your fingers?" Sirius asked.
Harry tested his arm, put on his glasses, and saw Sirius clearly. His arm moved perfectly, sensing the coolness of his glasses. Beside his bed were homework, a lily in a vase, and messages from friends, Slytherins (many unknown), and Hagrid.
"Thank Madam Pomfrey properly," Sirius said, teary-eyed.
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said.
"I'd rather you never get hurt like this again," she replied sternly.
"Yes, ma'am…" Harry fell silent, recalling his missing arm—an extraordinary injury.
"You're just like you were at school, Sirius. No different from when you were with James," Pomfrey chided.
She seemed ready to lecture more but sighed, exasperated by Sirius's glee, and examined Harry. "You're perfectly healthy. Rest today, rehab tomorrow and the next, then return when fully recovered."
"You're the only student to cut off their arm to stop Basilisk venom," she said gravely. "Even a trace is lethal. Reluctantly, I admit the phoenix arrived in time because you acted fast. Why did you do it?"
"To protect Ron and the others," Harry said, recalling the moment. "The culprit thought he'd won, gloating. I couldn't move, but I figured throwing my poisoned arm at him might work."
The last part was a lie. Only because Riddle was Voldemort did Harry realize his mother's love-protected body could be a weapon. Cutting off his arm was almost instinctual.
(Is this boy insane? Sacrificing himself like that… Even if it destroyed a dark artifact, such reckless, destructive thinking…) Pomfrey thought, stunned, maintaining her stern facade. As a healer, she couldn't condone a twelve-year-old acting like a weapon, risking himself and others.
"Well done, Harry. You had no choice. James's son, through and through," Sirius said, contrasting Pomfrey's horror.
She considered reporting to Dumbledore but knew he'd avoid interfering. Still, she gently rebuked Sirius. "Not 'well done.' Potter was nearly killed. Guardians must educate children better."
"Sorry, Madam," Sirius said.
"It's not Sirius's fault. I acted on my own," Harry protested.
"Quiet. You're lucky we treated you, but there's no guarantee next time. You bear the consequences of your actions, but parents have a separate responsibility for how they raise children," Pomfrey said firmly.
Harry bristled at Sirius taking blame but recounted the Chamber events at his request, honoring Percy's secrecy about Voldemort. He mentioned facing the Basilisk, Percy's rescue, and Luna and Dobby's aid. Neither Sirius nor Pomfrey approved of his dark magic.
"Dark magic is hard to heal, Potter…" Pomfrey said.
"After all I said, you used dark magic, Harry?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"To… defeat the enemy. To protect Ron… my friends."
Harry met Sirius's eyes, but the disappointment in them shook him. He'd braced for criticism, but it stung more than expected.
"Given the situation, you had to. Against a Basilisk, survival comes first. I get it," Sirius said, though shocked. He'd already heard the full story from Dumbledore, briefed by Percy, Ron, and Luna.
"To protect friends, huh?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah," Harry nodded.
"I'm no dark magic expert, but Snape explained Protego Diabolica. It risks burning those you want to protect. Did you consider it could've hurt Ginny? Your friends?"
"I… didn't think about it then. I thought my friends would be safe…"
Sirius lightly slapped Harry's cheek. Harry accepted it. Pomfrey watched sternly.
"Don't aim dark magic at friends! You could've killed them!" Sirius said.
"Sorry…"
"Listen, Harry. It's great to care for friends, but don't assume they'll always align with you. Forcing your will on them… You saw someone do that, didn't you?"
Harry couldn't argue. Sirius was right. Azrael's refusal to jump through hoops was natural, yet Harry still valued him. Sirius muttered, "You're not like James. He'd never rely on dark magic."
Harry tried to meet Sirius's gaze but faltered under his disappointed tone, looking down. Pomfrey considered intervening but stayed silent.
(Poor boy, but this is for your own good. Success with dark magic is unacceptable…) she thought. As a healer, she knew dark magic's dangers—untreatable curses, risks of irreversible accidents. A child like Harry couldn't be allowed to wield it. Even Percy could've died, costing Harry his wand and expulsion.
The silence grew heavy. Sirius, seeing Harry's dejection, spoke. "You're not like James, but you're like me."
He ruffled Harry's hair. Pomfrey glared, but neither noticed. Harry stared, stunned.
"I once wanted to protect friends by any means," Sirius said. "I didn't use dark magic, but I understand your feelings."
He gripped Harry's left hand tightly. "Remember what I told you at term's start?"
"'Cherish your friends,'" Harry said instantly. He'd never forgotten, though he'd hurt Ron and Hermione trying to live up to it.
"I wanted to, but I kept messing up—fighting, misunderstanding…"
"That's how it is, Harry. That's okay," Sirius said, lifting Harry's face. His gentle expression surprised Harry.
"Hermione wrote to me, worried about you. She didn't want you using dark magic—for your sake. Friendship's messy, Harry. It's full of misunderstandings."
Harry nodded, recalling Ron's words about Hermione rejecting dark magic. "I fought with her about it. I need to apologize…"
He tried to stand, but Pomfrey stopped him. Sirius chuckled. "The petrified kids are healed with Snape's Mandrake potion. Show them you're okay once you're better—and talk about what you did wrong."
"I promise, Sirius."
Harry shared the term's events with Sirius, losing track of time. Sirius listened eagerly. As he left, he said, "Get strong, Harry. Live proudly without dark magic."
Harry mulled over Sirius's words, longing to see Ron, Zabini, and Hermione. He worked on homework by his bed, regaining sensation in his left hand.
Harry didn't need to rush. That day, Ron and others visited. Ron shocked Harry with news: "Lockhart's been arrested."
"He's facing trial?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, they need to restore victims' memories," Ron said.
Azrael handed Harry the Daily Prophet, headlined "Amnesiac Man: Azkaban or St. Mungo's?" Lockhart's photo showed him dazed.
"He's accountable despite no memory…" Harry mused.
"Your radio had evidence," Ron said. "Probably no murders, so maybe a decade in Azkaban, plus huge fines."
"You could sue, Harry," Azrael suggested.
"Nah, too much hassle," Harry said.
"Right?" Ron grinned.
The article explained Obliviate suppresses memory access, not destroys it. Skilled Obliviators and healers would work to restore Lockhart's victims' honor. Harry hoped they'd succeed.
Returning the paper, Harry stretched, his left arm moving perfectly. Ron looked relieved.
"Best news this year," Harry said. "Anything else? How's Ginny? Hermione?"
"Ginny's fine, back to hexing boys. Dad chewed her out, but she's bounced back," Ron said.
"Typical Weasley. Never stays down," Zabini smirked.
"Tough girl. Gotta be to handle Fred and George," Ron shrugged.
"Her grit's something else," Farkas added.
Harry nodded, feeling Hogwarts' peace restored.
Then he spotted a shadow beyond the bed's curtain—Hermione's bushy hair. His heart raced.
"You okay? You look thunderstruck," Luna said.
"Sorry, guys. Can I talk to Hermione alone?" Harry asked.
(I need Gryffindor courage now…)
He feared delaying would mean avoiding Hermione, breaking his promise to Sirius, and ignoring his mistakes. "Sure, I'll stay…" Ron began.
"No, let's go. I forgot I have a date," Azrael said.
"Wait, we didn't plan a duel!" Ron protested as Zabini and Farkas dragged him out.
"You forgot. Later, Harry. Good luck," Farkas said.
Harry took a deep breath, waiting until their footsteps faded. "Hermione?"
No reply. Fear crept in—did she hate him now?
"You're… mad, right?" he asked hesitantly.
Hermione stepped forward, facing him. Fresh from Mandrake recovery, she looked healthy—buck teeth, wild hair. Her eyes held no fear, warming Harry's heart.
(She's probably been studying nonstop…)
"I'm not mad anymore," Hermione said softly. "Ron told me you nearly died."
"Basilisk venom… losing an arm…"
"It's fine, see?" Harry lifted a vase with Wingardium Leviosa using his left hand, twirling it before setting it down. "Good as new."
"Impressive," Hermione said.
"Better than before, maybe," Harry joked, then grew serious. "I was wrong to force dark magic on you when you didn't want it. I'm sorry, Hermione."
"No, I was wrong!" she said. "I didn't understand you. I never thought of you as a Slytherin, or Zabini—equals. Still do."
Harry nodded.
"But hearing you hated Muggles… I couldn't understand. Discrimination by birth is wrong. I didn't want to believe you or Farkas thought that way. It scared me."
"I don't hate Muggle-borns," Harry said. "Just Muggles. Farkas doesn't hate you either."
Hermione shook her head. "Britain has class systems, and wizards have something similar, but those inequalities should be fixed."
"I thought you were… heroic, maybe," she admitted.
Harry bristled. "I'm no hero! Just a Slytherin. Ron's more heroic than me."
Hermione's face softened at Ron's mention. "Learning you knew dark magic scared me. It felt… wrong."
"Sorry," Harry said, stung by "wrong."
(Of course, forcing it on her would feel that way…)
"I wanted to protect you," he said, meeting her eyes. "You're my friend. I'd do anything to keep you safe."
"I didn't want to lose you."
Hermione's determined gaze met his. Harry fought tears with Occlumency. "If it doesn't help you, I won't force dark magic again. I promise. And… I'll stop hating Muggles."
"You understand. That's enough," Hermione said, radiant.
"But I should've trusted you as a friend," she added. "If we hadn't fought, if I hadn't been petrified, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."
(You'd have been targeted instead…) Harry thought, glad it was him. Her calling him a friend nearly brought tears.
He offered his left hand. "I've got flaws, but… here's to us, Hermione."
"Get well soon, Harry," she said, shaking it.
Harry and Hermione remained friends. Zabini and Ron pestered him for details, but he stayed quiet, embarrassed.
After discharge, Harry grappled with his Muggle prejudice, facing the same internal struggle as Zabini and Azrael. Separately, he stopped practicing dark magic—not out of reverence, but because he only valued it for protecting friends. Still, he knew he'd use it in life-or-death moments. To honor Sirius and protect his friends, he needed strength without it. Harry threw himself into dueling, Quidditch, and studies to escape dark magic's pull.
Don't aim Protego Diabolica at friends. They don't have to accept everything about you.
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