The Three Brothers - Chapter 21

13th June 1992

Harry shuffled silently on his way to the Great Hall for the End-of-Year feast, the chatter of the students around him mixing into an incomprehensible din. He winced slightly as a small pain shot up from his stomach; a result of his repeated requests to be released early from the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomphrey had ȧssured him that although it would take some time, he would heal completely. As Harry’s gaze turned towards Ron, he saw that his friend was busy chatting animatedly with Seamus about the Quidditch League.

Harry shook his head absently. Although he loved Quidditch, Harry often had no idea about anything when Ron would start telling him about the Quidditch League and his favourite team, the Chudley Cannons—which Harry found out too late had a reputation for always being at the bottom.

It was times like these that Harry still felt separate from the Wizarding world. Despite the fact that he had found Hogwarts to be a comforting and accommodating place for him, Harry had no idea about Wizarding culture and etiquettes. Despite being the supposed hero of this world, he was still an outsider for all purposes.

But Harry was glad for his friends. They had made this whole year—the good and the never-want-to-repeat-again bad—totally worth it. Even his exams, which he hadn’t had any confidence in, had gone well. Surprisingly, he had been the top of the class with Mark—who was way more brilliant than him—in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and in the top ten in everything else except Potions.

Potions. Harry remembered the end of the year exams, with Snape prowling around the classroom intimidating everyone as they tried to prepare a Forgetfulness Potion. The greasy bat had spent more time looking over Harry’s shoulder than the rest of the class combined, hoping to catch him making a mistake. But Harry managed to brew an acceptable potion, and so he had passed.

The entirety of this year, Harry had wondered just why Snape was so hell-bent to pick on him. That was until Quirrell and then Professor Dumbledore provided him with the answer. The fact that Severus Snape and James Potter had been enemies at school had been a shock to Harry. Professor Dumbledore had even compared it to Harry’s own feud with Draco Malfoy as an example. Given that, it was no wonder that a mean bully like Snape treated Harry horribly. From what people had said, Harry even looked like his father.

As Harry stepped inside the Great Hall, his sight was filled with green and silver; the enormous room was fully decorated with silk banners in the Slytherin colours in celebration of Slytherin having the highest House points total and thus winning the House Cup. While everyone at the Slytherin table was full of raucous joy, Harry found himself return to gloom as he was reminded again of the hundred-and-fifty points he had lost Gryffindor.

Snape’s biased attitude over the course of the entire year was something the Gryffindors always had to fight against. But his apparent hatred of Harry had only added fuel to the fire. In addition, despite winning at Quidditch against Slytherin, they had lost the recent match against Ravenclaw as Harry had been stuck in the Hospital Wing. So, Harry wasn’t exactly wrong to think that their current position at the bottom of the points tally was, to a large fault, his fault.

Thankfully, most of the older students who had been angry at Harry before seemed to have forgotten about that incident. No one seemed to be particularly angry at him, but somehow that made Harry feel even more guilty about the whole issue; especially since his last conversation with Professor Dumbledore.

There was no denying that he had a tendency to act rashly. Even though he had known—or rather, suspected—that Voldemort was going for the Stone, Harry had rushed in without a plan. It had been sheer luck that none of his friends had died; sitting there, in the Hospital Bed, Harry had spent hours agonising over the very real threat that they all had managed to escape. And, to top it all, he hadn’t even managed to save the Stone.

Any further musings in Harry’s mind were interrupted with the arrival of Professor Dumbledore in the Great Hall. His mind racked with guilt, Harry watched as the chattering of the students came to a halt.

“Welcome, my dear students,” Professor Dumbledore spread his hands wide, his cheerful vibe filling the room. “Another year gone. And what a wonderful year it has been!” Looking at the students now rapt with attention, he continued. “I hope we all were successful in teaching you something new, be it magic or not. After all, that is the true essence of learning.”

A polite applause filled the Great Hall, and Harry found himself joining in despite his sour mood. Professor Dumbledore beamed at them silently before he raised his goblet, everyone else quickly following suit.

“With the end of this year upon us, we now say our goodbye to our oldest students.” Harry turned along with everyone to face the seventh-year students sitting at the nearer end of all the tables. “May their endeavours be fruitful, and they encounter prosperity on whichever path that they choose!”

A hearty applause reverberated in the Great Hall, with even the rest of the Professors joining in; Harry could swear he saw a happy tear in Professor McGonagall’s eyes. Looking at the seventh-year students, Harry wondered if he would ever become as capable as them. They seemed so—grown up. It was what he would look like when it was his turn to leave Hogwarts; something he wasn’t really looking forward to.

As the applause died down, Harry noticed Professor Dumbledore adorn a business-like visage. Taking a small sip from his goblet, he turned to the students.

“Next, we have the House Cup which needs awarding. Right now, the points stand thus,” he said before looking down at a piece of parchment in his hand. “In fourth place, Gryffindor, with eight hundred and forty-seven points.”

“In third place, Hufflepuff, with nine hundred and twenty-one points.” Another polite applause followed from the Hufflepuffs, but Professor Sprout at the Head table looked sour.

“In second place, Ravenclaw, with nine hundred and eighty-three points,” Professor Dumbledore continued, to an enthusiastic applause from the Ravenclaw table. “And finally, Slytherin, with one thousand one hundred and forty-two points.”

To Harry’s surprise, the Slytherin table did not break out in cheers. In fact, none of the Slytherins clapped; no one uttered a single word. Instead, all of them began to bang their goblets in unison. Harry felt sick as the sound of the goblets banging on the wood filled his ears; seeing the feral expression on Draco Malfoy’s face just added to the discomfort.

Harry saw that the other Gryffindors didn’t seem to be any better. The usually cheerful Fred and George Weasley were uncharacteristically reserved. Unable to look at the gloomy faces, Harry’s gaze fell on the Head table, where another surprise greeted him. Instead of having a smug grin on his face, Snape seemed to be scowling at his plate. Before Harry could think of any reason for his sour mood, Professor Dumbledore spoke up again.

“Yes, Yes. Well done, Slytherin.” He waited for the din to subside, and Harry got a feeling that Professor Dumbledore wasn’t done yet.

“However, there are recent events that have yet to be taken into account.”

The entire room went silent at this; Harry knew at once that this was something unusual.

“First—to Mr Ronald Weasley …”

Everyone turned to search for the student in question, and the gangly, red-headed boy beside Harry felt a million eyes examine him.

“.. for what can be considered the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has ever seen, I must award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

Thunderous applause followed not just from the Gryffindor table, but also from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables; Harry realised after a moment that he too was clapping as loudly as possible. Looking at the Head table, Harry could see Professor McGonagall clapping away with a beaming smile full of pride. It took a few moments before the applause dwindled, but Professor Dumbledore wasn’t finished yet.

“Second—to Miss Hermione Granger—for the use of brilliant deduction skills and the use of logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”

The Gryffindors cheered were the loudest yet, with some of the students banging their fists on the table. Harry saw that Hermione had buried her face in her arms. The energy at their table was beyond anything, and Harry quickly calculated that they were now second in the ranking.

“Next—to Mr Neville Longbottom… for excellent observational skills and unflinching loyalty, I award Gryffindor fifty points.”

Another round of cheering and celebrating followed; Neville, who had been ridiculed all year was now being hugged and praised by everyone around him. It took a long time for the cheers to die down this time.

“Finally—to Mr Harry Potter and Mr Mark Smith…” Harry quickly found his nerves on edge, especially since Professor Dumbledore’s voice was now heavy and serious.

“… for pure nerve, outstanding courage, and bravery worthy of Godric Gryffindor himself, I award them each seventy-five points.”

The hall exploded. The cheering and banging were coming from every place except the Slytherins, who had now lost their continued streak of winning the House Cup. At the Gryffindor Table, however, Harry found himself being mobbed by everyone around him. He was given pats, thumps, hugs, and handshakes, with Fred and George even messing up his untameable hair. The sheer joy was infectious, and it took almost a minute before Professor Dumbledore could speak again.

“I think we need a little change of decoration,” he remarked before clapping his hands at once. A loud cheer went up again as the green and silver all around them transformed into scarlet and gold. The large banner of the Slytherin serpent behind the head table was instantly replaced by a golden roaring lion, and Harry saw Snape wear an unpleasant and forced smile on his face as he shook Professor McGonagall’s hand, who was now smirking smugly.

“Now that’s done, lets tuck in.” As soon as he said those words, the feast appeared on the table. Harry looked at the various platters full of delicious foods and felt convinced that it looked grander than the opening feast in September. Or perhaps it was just his joy colouring his perception.

As he started to pile the food onto his plate, Harry looked around at his friends. Ron, sitting beside him, had already started on his steak and kidney pie as he was busy chatting with Fred across the table while Hermione was beaming as she was talking animatedly with a fifth-year girl. Neville, sitting on the other side was laughing along with George; Mark, however, had his eyes narrowed and his face scrunched in concentration. But before Harry could comment on it, Mark suddenly gave a short burst of laughter and turned his attention to the food.

Confused at this, Harry glanced around and saw that the rest of his friends had noticed Mark’s odd behaviour. Ron, his mouth half full, voiced the question.

“Wha’s the ma’der?”

“Nothing,” Mark said dismissively. On seeing the look on everyone’s faces, he relented.

“It’s just that we won the House cup thanks to Ron here,” he said, a smirk evident on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we won by five points, right?” Seeing the confused nods on everyone’s faces, he continued; Harry could see the boy bȧrėly able to contain his laughter.

“You remember who awarded Ron five points for his levitation charm?”

Harry remembered before any of the others did, the absurdity of the situation causing him to splutter out the pumpkin juice back in his goblet.

——————————————

20th June 1992

Mark gave a long sigh as the scenery sped by the window of his compartment. His head resting on the cold glass, Mark recalled the speed with which the past two weeks at Hogwarts had flown by.

Once he had been discharged from the Hospital Wing, Mark had spent all his free time inside the main Hogwarts Library or the simulated Restricted Section inside the Come and Go room. Ever since the Flamels offered him the opportunity to work with them, all he could really think of was trying to catch up to the level of knowledge that would be required of him to even think of beginning this endeavour. He had read all he could in the first two days before realising that it was much more practical to make copies of all the material here and read them at home during the holidays.

From that moment on, Mark had become a literal copy machine; his wand performing the same charm repeatedly as pages and pages of books on alchemy, potions, and magical healing got transferred onto an ever-growing stack of parchment. At one point, Mark went and bought any spare parchment that the other students had not managed to put to use; a fourth-year Gryffindor named Booth even gave him two full rolls for free.

With all of this on his summer reading list along with the summer homework that the teachers had ȧssigned in the last week, Mark knew his summer break was packed. But he wasn’t complaining. If there was even a small chance that he could cure his dad, he was willing to spend every ounce of his free time trying to search for it.

In all of this craziness, Mark had completely forgotten about the exams that had given a couple of weeks before. The results had come in during the past week, and Mark was relieved to see that he had passed Herbology, thanks to Neville and his green thumb. If he was being honest, Mark thought to himself, Neville’s knowledge of Herbology had saved his life—and of everyone else’s—that night.

Mark turned to look at the boy in question, who was currently napping peacefully on the seat in front of him. It was odd that although he had come so close to death that night, Mark found himself only able to look back at the memory with a sense of joy. Somehow, for Mark, it was not a time when he had had a brush with death, but rather the moment an opportunity had arrived to save his dad’s life. And he promised himself to make the most of it.

As he turned back to look out the window, Mark smiled as he remembered the results for the rest of his subjects. Hermione was back to scowling at him since he had tied with her for first place in both Transfiguration and Charms, and with Harry in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Thankfully, Professor Snape didn’t seem to reserve the same attitude that he had for Harry, and Mark was pleasantly surprised at being in the top five of the class in Potions. He’d passed in everything else, and hadn’t bothered any further than that.

Mark had actually been taken aback when the Twins invited him to come over to their house for a week or two during the summers. It took a moment before Mark politely declined, not wanting to spend any further time away from his dad, but he was touched with their warmth. It felt good to have such friends.

Any further thoughts were interrupted as Mark felt the train pull in at Platform Nine-and-three-quarters. It was a long time as Mark bid farewell to all the new friends and acquaintances he had made at Hogwarts, everyone promising to write to each other over the summers. Even some of the older Gryffindors gave him a friendly handshake or pat on the back as he passed them by; it seemed the events of the end-of-year feast had helped him become more recognisable.

Finally, when he was all done, Mark briskly set towards the barrier. He was eager to see his dad; millions of thoughts swirled in his mind as he wondered whether his dad’s treatments were going positively or not. Once he felt the cool air of Kings Cross on his cheeks as he crossed the barrier, Mark looked around to search for his dad. It took a moment before Mark noticed him leaning non-descript on a stone column a few feet away, a copy of the Times in his hand artfully covering his face.

‘Old habits die hard,’ thought Mark as he made his way towards his dad, who now had a brilliant smile on his face.

“There’s my boy.” His dad swept Mark up in a tight bear hug. Clapping him at his shoulders, Mark saw his dad examine him with an odd look.

“You’ve gotten heavier.”

“Is that the first thing you say to your son who’s been away for five months?”

“Well, it is the truth. What are they feeding you lot at the school?” his Dad asked him suspiciously. Mark tried to shrug it off as nonchalantly as possible.

“Well, I did manage to find the school kitchens with the help of Fred and George,” he answered. “And I may have taken advantage of my newfound knowledge.”

“Hmmm.” Mark saw his dad pick up his trunk with one hand. “Looks like I’ll have to include a few activities this summer to compensate for that.”

“Yeah sure, Dad,” Mark replied sweetly. His dad gave him a brilliant grin and thumped him on his back with his free hand.

“So, how was your first year at your school?” Glancing at Mark, he added, “Sufficiently magical?”

“That was a poor one dad,” Mark said as they walked to a black taxicab. “And yes, it was brilliant.”

After his Dad helped the cabbie put Mark’s trunk inside the boot of the cab, he looked at Mark.

“You get up to any shenanigans at your school?” he asked before slipping inside the cab.

Mark shook his head silently as he muttered his reply before getting inside the cab.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

——————————————

13th July 1992

Dear Marky-boy,

It is our solemn duty to inform you that we, Messrs. Gred and Forge Weasley have been raising all manners of hell. Our mother (who you should be on the lookout from now on) is right upset at someone corrupting her already hopeless sons further. Despite our repeated proclamations with regards to the subject, she refuses to believe that we chose the rocker lifestyle (or as Forge likes to say, it chose us).

Ickle Gin-Gin was quite fascinated with your Bass guitar, asking us to teach her how to play. But one look from our mother silenced her on the subject. We do notice her watching our practices, although we are certain she’s more looking forward to meeting the legendary Harry Potter.

You see, ickle Gin-Gin has a crush on our very Boy-Who-Lived, and she refuses to believe our words when we describe him as a brave little gerbil. She rather likes to listen to Ron’s tales of his various ‘adventures with Harry.’ Gred even heard him tell her about a midnight duel involving that little ferret Draco Malfoy from your year; you have any idea about it?

Ron does clam up a bit when she asks him about the thing with Quirrell. He’s been a bit moody lately—all serious like. Even Harry isn’t replying to his letters. We’re trying our best to keep his mood up, but you probably have a better idea what he’s going through.

With that said, what have you been up to comrade? Your last letter was a bit short on any mentions of the various shenanigans you must be getting up to. You are getting up to mischief, aren’t you? Otherwise, we may have to demote from the New Marauders.

Write back soon, oh brother-from-another-mother (trust us, this one’s angry at you),

Gred and Forge Weasley

Mark shook his head with bȧrėly contained laughter as he folded up the letter before tossing it on his desk. Trust the twins to make fun out of everything.

Having been back from Hogwarts for more than three weeks now, Mark had realised that he missed his friends more than he had anticipated beforehand. He wondered whether he should have accepted the twin’s invitation for visiting, but remembered that Mrs Weasley didn’t seem that warm towards him right now. Well, he had unknowingly dodged the bullet for now.

As he remembered what the twins had said about Ron, Mark sighed audibly. The incident with Quirrell had been less of an adventure and more of a nightmare for all of them. It was natural for Ron to not want to share that experience with anyone who wasn’t present that night.

Even he hadn’t told his Dad and Edwin about what had happened with Quirrell and Voldemort; he wasn’t exactly sure how to make ‘My-teacher-was-possessed-by-a-Dark-Lord-and-was-after-a-priceless-artefact-that-I-stopped-him-from-getting-so-he-tried-to-kill-me’ sound good enough. So, Mark had stuck to a story about how he had helped capture a corrupt Professor who was trying to steal from the school. Which was technically correct.

Though Mark found it odd that Harry wasn’t even replying to Ron’s letter. The two if them were thick as thieves back at Hogwarts. Why wouldn’t Harry reply to Ron, then?

As he glanced again at the twin’s letter, Mark ġrȯȧnėd inwardly as the answer struck him. Perhaps Harry was as lazy about written correspondence as he was. It was only at his Dad’s repeated insistence that Mark had grudgingly written letters to his friends. Letter writing was something he had never enjoyed, particularly as all the other instances had been as an exercise during his English class in primary school. Who needed letters when you had the telephone?

It had gotten a bit better once Mark realised that he didn’t have to particularly care about the proper format and other stuff that his English teachers harped on about. But still, a chore to him it was.

By now, he had written to the twins, Neville, Harry, Ron, and at his Dad’s insistence, Hermione Granger. To no one’s surprise, she had been the first to reply, her letter full of subtle questions designed to figure out how much of the summer homework he had already finished off.

Neville’s reply had been all formal, written on some form of a quality parchment in a handwriting which was painfully better than the one he used at school; the result of his Grandmother looking over his shoulder, no doubt. Thankfully, the content of the letter was quite positive. Impressed by his performance at the end-of-year exams and the fifty points he had earned for his ‘unflinching loyalty,’ Madam Longbottom had happily agreed to let him practice on their makeshift drum-set in the conservatory.

Ron’s reply had been lazily short, filled with comments about the Chudley Cannons improving performance at the Quidditch League, while Harry hadn’t replied yet. Mark hadn’t found it that odd at first, but reading that Harry wasn’t replying to Ron piqued his curiosity. Still, it was just three weeks in. Harry might reply to them sometime later this month.

For now, Mark was putting efforts to make his summer as productive as possible. With addition to the new exercise regime his Dad had asked him to follow, Mark spent every ounce of his time reading up on the stuff he had brought home from Hogwarts. There was a lot of stuff that he found especially interesting, and he was nearly finished with the materials on alchemy. Of course, Mark didn’t understand all of it at once—instead having to refer back to different potions textbooks to understand many of the terms and processes that alchemy used. Still, it was an exciting process, and Mark was loving every second of it.

His Dad had been quite understanding of his pursuits, although Mark hadn’t told him about his final goal. Right now, he believed Mark was studying up a lot as he’d been offered to collaborate with very famous wizards called the Flamels. Again, technically true.

Mark wished there was some way for him to show his Dad what all he’d learned at school; the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prohibited students from using magic outside of school. All of the students (even the fifth and sixth-years) had received the reminder pamphlets before boarding the Hogwarts Express home. Perhaps he could ask the twins about it in his next letter. They might have already figured out how to get around the restrictions.

Over the next few days, Mark planned to do some preliminary study of the Elixir sample that the Flamels had given him. Right now, the crystal flask was kept securely in one of the compartments of his trunk. He would only need a single drop for now, just enough to prepare a slide to examine under his microscope that his Dad had gifted him three years ago.

This was the first step towards the goal of finding a cure, and the very thought of it sent a thrill down his spine.

——————————————

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