Harry touched the small glass case on his belt. Inside, a silver disc shone dully. Grandpa Dumbledore had insisted he take this emergency portkey before allowing him to visit St. Mungo's alone.
"You're ready for some independence," Dumbledore had said the evening before. "The hospital is secure, and you can activate the portkey within a second if needed. Just break the glass and touch the disc."
Now Harry stood in front of Purge and Dowse Ltd., the abandoned department store that hid St. Mungo's Hospital. The mannequin in the window wore a green pinafore dress that had seen better decades. Its plastic hand was missing two fingers.
"Harry Potter for Healer-In-Charge Smethwyck," Harry said to the mannequin.
The mannequin's finger beckoned. Harry stepped through the glass, walking into the hospital's reception area. A plump witch in lime-green robes sat behind a desk, sorting through a stack of parchments. She looked up and almost dropped her quill.
"Mr. Potter! Yes, of course - Healer Smethwyck is expecting you." She waved her wand, sending a paper airplane memo zooming down the corridor. "Someone will escort you shortly."
Harry nodded and sat down in one of the wooden chairs. He missed Chrysa already - the Nemean Lion cub had not been happy about staying behind. But hospital rules were clear about no animals allowed.
A young healer clad in the standard lime-green uniform hurried into the reception area, pausing when she saw Harry. "Mr. Potter? I'm Healer Brooks. Please follow me."
Harry stood up, adjusting his white silk robes. The silver threads caught the light as he moved.
"I've heard so much about what happened," Healer Brooks said as they walked down the corridor. Crystal bubbles full of candles floated near the ceiling, casting warm light over the portraits of famous healers. "The Exhibition was incredible. I never knew lightning could be used that way."
"Thank you," Harry smiled. "The lightning sculptures are fun to make."
They passed a door that released green smoke into the hallway. Two healers rushed past, muttering about someone drinking three Pepper-Up potions at once.
"The research team is very excited to meet you," Healer Brooks said. She led him up a flight of stairs. "We've prepared a private room on the fourth floor for the procedures."
"Will Healer Smethwyck be there?"
"Yes, he's reviewing the cases with Healer Nightshade now." They reached the fourth floor landing. "She's leading the research team. Very brilliant witch, graduated top of her class at St. Mungo's Academy."
Harry nodded, following her down another corridor. The sounds of the hospital grew muffled here - no more shouts about magical accidents or footsteps rushing past. Just quiet conversations behind closed doors.
Healer Brooks stopped at a door marked 'Special Procedures'. She knocked twice before opening it.
Inside the room, five healers in lime-green robes looked up from a table covered in medical charts. A tall wizard with silver-streaked hair stepped forward.
"Mr. Potter, welcome. I'm Healer-In-Charge Hippocrates Smethwyck." He gestured to a witch with sharp features and dark hair pulled into a tight bun. "This is Healer Cassiopeia Nightshade, head of our research team."
"Please, call me Harry." He smiled at the group. "I hope I can help today."
"We've selected three cases that conventional healing cannot address," Healer Nightshade said. She tapped her wand on a chart, making it float up. "The first is Marcus Fleming. A cursed music box stole his voice one year ago. We've tried every counter-curse in our records."
"Poor man hasn't made a sound since," another healer added. "Has a five-year-old daughter too."
"I'd like to meet him," Harry said. The silver threads in his robes glistened as he moved closer to examine the chart that had a picture of the man in question. "Where is he now?"
"In the private ward next door." Healer Smethwyck opened a side door. "His daughter visits every day. She's here now, actually."
Harry walked into a comfortable-looking room with pale blue walls. A man sat in an armchair while a small girl with pigtails showed him a drawing. They both looked up when Harry entered.
"Mr. Fleming? I'm Harry." He knelt down next to the girl. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Sarah," she said, holding up her drawing. "Look, I drew Daddy when he could still read me stories."
"That's beautiful." Harry smiled at the picture. "Would you like to help me make your drawing come true?"
Sarah nodded eagerly, clutching her drawing. Behind her, Mr. Fleming leaned forward in his chair, hope clear in his eyes.
"What's that light?" Harry heard one of the healers whisper. "Behind his head?"
"Some kind of charm, maybe?" another responded. "Looks like a circle of light, but it's hard to tell..."
Harry focused on Mr. Fleming, letting the whispers fade away. "This might feel a bit strange," he said, keeping his voice gentle. He reached out with his divine energy refined from both the usual faith and the small bit of potent faith from Dobby, letting it flow alongside his magic. The barely-visible halo brightened just a fraction from the reflection of the divine energy.
"Is that mist?" Sarah asked, pointing at the faint silvery wisps now surrounding her father.
"It's helping magic," Harry explained. He guided the imbued Soul Resonance Mist around Mr. Fleming's throat, using it to disrupt the curse's hold on the man's soul just a tad. The Albedo flames came next, pure silver-white fire that revealed the imperfections in the dark magic binding Mr. Fleming's voice.
"What spells is he using?" Healer Nightshade asked, scribbling notes. "I don't recognize-"
"Shh," Healer Smethwyck said. "Let him concentrate."
Harry had more experience now, and it wasn't difficult to paint around the comparatively weak curse and dissolve it in the divine energy that was amplified slightly by his virtue cultivation and then guided through his Inner Eye that predicted how the curse would react within the next two seconds.
One minute later, Mr. Fleming's eyes widened.
"Sarah?" The word came out rough, barely above a whisper. "Sarah!"
"Daddy!" Sarah launched herself into her father's arms. "You can talk again! The Boy-Who-Lived fixed it!"
Mr. Fleming held his daughter tight, tears streaming down his face. "Thank you," he said to Harry. "Thank you so much."
The surge of faith from father and daughter flowed into Harry, just one level below Dobby in potency. Behind him, quills scratched against parchment as the research team took notes.
"Very touching," Healer Nightshade said. "But how did you identify the curse's anchor point? What spells did you cast?"
"I just do what feels right," Harry said, watching Sarah show her father another drawing. "The magic comes naturally."
"That's not an answer." Healer Nightshade's quill pressed harder into her parchment. "What detection spells did you use? How did you determine where to apply the counter-curse?"
"I didn't use any specific spells." Harry turned to face her. "I can't really explain it."
"Can't? Or won't?" She stepped closer. "Mr. Potter, we've been studying curse removal for decades. Every technique can be broken down, analyzed, replicated. You clearly have a method."
"I really don't-"
"You said the magic comes naturally," she interrupted, triumph in her voice. "So you do know what you're doing. You're consciously directing the magic, aren't you?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Then you can explain the process." She turned to her colleagues. "See? He admits he's controlling it."
"Healer Nightshade," Harry said. "I direct the magic, but I can't teach anyone else how to do it. It's not something that can be copied."
"Nonsense." Her voice grew sharp. "Every magical technique can be studied and referenced. Unless you're suggesting you're somehow special?"
"That's not what I-"
"Do you think being the Boy-Who-Lived means you don't have to share knowledge that could help people?" The words burst out of her. "Or are you just too young to understand the importance of magical research?"
Harry's hand clenched at his side. He took a slow breath, looking straight at Healer Nightshade. "I understand you want to help people. But insulting me won't make me able to teach you something I can't teach."
"Can't teach?" She stepped even closer. "Or won't? People are suffering, and you're keeping secrets because what? You think you're special? Better than us?"
"Healer Nightshade," Healer Smethwyck warned. "That's enough."
"No, it's not enough!" She gestured at Harry. "He's clearly using some form of structured magic. Look at the residual traces! But he stands there, pretending he doesn't know what he's doing, like some mystical child-"
Harry's eyes narrowed. Hadn't he decided that punishing insults was just? He looked at her for a moment longer, giving her one last chance to stop.
"You're just a boy playing at being special," she spat out. "While real healers-"
Mist surged from his open hand straight towards her face. Not the usual silver wisps, but dense fog that made her eyes go wide. She squealed, then screamed as whatever she saw in the mist surrounding her head made her stumble backward.
The other healers reached for their wands, but before they could act, Harry let the mist dissipate. Healer Nightshade sagged against the wall, breathing hard.
"Was insulting me necessary?" Harry asked quietly. "I didn't want to do that."
The room fell silent except for Healer Nightshade's ragged breathing. Virtue energy flowed strong through Harry's meridians, just like when he had healed Mr. Fleming. The same surge of power, the same sense of rightness. Both healing and justice increased his cultivation.
"Perhaps we should take a brief break," Healer Smethwyck said, breaking the tension. "The next patient-"
"No need." Harry turned to another healer. "You mentioned someone whose reflection is trying to replace them?"
"Y-yes." The young healer glanced at Nightshade, who hadn't moved from the wall. "Mrs. Blackberry. She's in the next room."
"Then let's help her." Harry walked toward the door, pausing to look back at the research team. "You're welcome to observe. But please remember - I'm here to heal people, not to prove anything to anyone."
Before anyone could say anything, small arms wrapped around his waist. Sarah pressed her tear-streaked face into his white robes.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Daddy can read me stories again."
Harry knelt down and hugged her back. "Which story will you ask for first?"
"Babbity Rabbity!" Sarah pulled back, wiping her eyes. "It's my favorite, but it wasn't the same when Mummy read it."
Mr. Fleming walked over and placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "We can't thank you enough." His voice cracked. "Having my voice back... being able to talk to my little girl..."
Harry smiled at them both. "Promise me you'll read her two stories tonight?"
"Three!" Sarah declared.
Mr. Fleming laughed - a real laugh, full of joy. "As many as she wants."
Healer Smethwyck cleared his throat. "Mr. Fleming, we'll need you to stay for a few more tests. Standard procedure." He gestured to one of the junior healers. "Please escort them back to the ward."
Sarah and her father left, and Harry noticed Healer Nightshade had moved away from the wall. She stood rigid, not meeting anyone's eyes. The other researchers kept glancing between her and Harry.
"Mrs. Blackberry is ready," one of the junior healers said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
The next thirty minutes passed in focused work. Harry purged Mrs. Blackberry's cursed reflection and helped Timothy Wheelhouse overcome the nightmare curse that had plagued him for months. Each success brought tears and hugs from grateful families, their faith flowing into Harry with surprising strength.
Throughout it all, the research team maintained a careful distance. They still took notes, but their questions became purely technical, stripped of any personal interest. Healer Nightshade spoke only to record specific observations. Harry noticed how she shifted away whenever he moved in her direction, but didn't care too much. He didn't want to punish people, but if they acted in such a… non-virtuous way, he needed to respond appropriately. He could excuse small things, and give people a chance, but she didn't want to take that chance…
"That concludes our cases for today," Healer Smethwyck announced, reviewing his charts. "The results are beyond our expectations."
"Mr. Potter." Healer Nightshade's voice cut through the room. Everyone turned to look at her. "What you showed me in that mist... was that really necessary?"
"Was insulting me necessary?" Harry asked quietly.
She looked away. "No. It wasn't."
"I am very young," Harry said, keeping his voice steady. "I understand that well. But that doesn't mean I deserve to be insulted. I gave you a chance to stop."
"I was frustrated." Healer Nightshade wrapped her arms around herself. "We've spent years trying to break these kinds of curses."
"And I understand that." Harry looked at each member of the research team. "But I can't teach you what I do. The magic comes to me in ways I can't explain to others. When you wouldn't accept that, you chose to insult me instead."
"You made me see..." She shuddered. "My worst fear."
"Yes." Harry didn't apologize, couldn't apologize for being virtuous. "Because that's what happens when people insult me. I won't let anyone treat me that way." The barely-visible halo above his head brightened for a moment as more virtue energy surged through his meridians. "I hope we can work together again, but only if you remember that."
Healer Smethwyck cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should conclude for today. Mr. Potter, would you be willing to return next week?"
"Of course." Harry smiled. "I want to help people. That's why I'm here."
Healer Brooks escorted Harry back through the hospital corridors. The floating crystal bubbles cast different shadows now, making the walk feel longer than before.
"That was impressive work today," she said. "With the patients, I mean."
"Thank you." Harry touched the glass case on his belt. He hadn't needed the emergency portkey after all. "Will you tell them I said goodbye?"
"Of course." She hesitated. "About what happened with Healer Nightshade..."
"I didn't enjoy doing that." Harry looked up at her. "But I won't let people treat me badly just because I'm young."
They reached the reception area. A wizard with steam pouring from his ears waited in line while the Welcome Witch directed a family toward the second floor.
"Same time next week?" Healer Brooks asked.
"Yes." Harry stepped toward the exit. "And please tell the research team they're welcome to observe again. As long as they remember what I said."
He walked through the glass and into the empty Muggle street. The abandoned department store facade looked even more decrepit now. The mannequin with the missing fingers gave him a tiny wave.
Harry touched his white silk robes, smiling slightly. The strong faith from the healed patients and the satisfaction of maintaining proper boundaries. Everything felt... right.
He pulled a small golden key from his pocket. "Flamel Gardens," he whispered. The special portkey activated, and the world spun around him.
He landed softly in the cottage garden. A golden lion cub shot toward him from behind a rosebush. Harry grinned and relaxed his stance, letting Chrysa tackle him to the grass.
"Did you miss me?" Harry laughed as the Nemean Lion cub licked his face. She could have knocked over any human with her strength, but Harry was far stronger. "Yes, yes, I missed you too."
Chrysa made a huffing sound and flopped down next to him, laying her head on his chest.
"I see someone's happy you're back," Nicolas called from the cottage door. "How did it go?"
Harry sat up, gently pushing aside Chrysa's head. "Three successful healings. And I had to punish someone for insulting me."
"Oh?" Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "Tell us over tea? Perenelle just baked scones."
Harry brushed grass from his white robes and followed Nicolas inside. Chrysa padded next to him, bumping her head against his legs as revenge for pushing her away earlier. The smell of fresh scones filled the kitchen, where Perenelle stood arranging a tea tray.
"Welcome back, dear." She smiled and gestured to the wooden table. "Sit, tell us everything."
Harry settled into his usual chair while Chrysa curled up at his feet. He accepted a warm scone and began explaining the day's events - the successful healings, the research team's questions, and finally, Healer Nightshade's insults.
"You used fear mist on her?" Perenelle's brow furrowed. "In the hospital?"
"I gave her two chances to stop." Harry met her eyes. "She called me a mystical child, said I was just playing at being special. I've thought about this a lot - insults can't go unpunished."
Nicolas set down his teacup. "That's quite a stance to take."
"I know." Harry broke his scone in half. "But I've considered it carefully. Justice requires consequences for actions. I didn't hurt her - I just showed her what fear feels like. And my virtue energy approved."
"Your virtue energy approved of frightening a healer?" Perenelle asked quietly.
"Yes." Harry fed a piece of scone to Chrysa. "Because it was the right thing to do. She needed to learn that insulting people has consequences."
"Harry." Nicolas leaned forward. "There's a difference between justice and retribution. Making someone face fear might not be the best way to teach them."
"But it worked." Harry straightened in his chair. "She apologized afterward. And my virtue energy grew stronger when I did it."
"Virtue isn't always about punishment," Perenelle said. "Sometimes it's about forgiveness."
"I did forgive her." Harry frowned. "After she learned her lesson. But I couldn't just let her insult me and do nothing. That would be wrong."
"Would it?" Nicolas asked. "You're incredibly powerful, Harry. Using that power against someone who can't defend themselves-"
"She chose to insult me." Harry's voice rose slightly. "I gave her chances to stop. She didn't take them."
Chrysa lifted her head at his tone, golden eyes watching the discussion.
"We're not saying you were wrong to stand up for yourself," Perenelle said. "But perhaps there were other ways-"
"No." Harry shook his head. "I thought about this. Justice needs to be clear. Direct. She insulted me, so she faced consequences."
Nicolas and Perenelle exchanged looks.
"You can't tell me I was wrong," Harry said, heat rising in his face. "My virtue energy agreed- no, wait, that's not right. The virtue energy responds to what I believe is right, not what's objectively right."
"That's very mature of you to recognize," Perenelle said softly. "But Harry, you seem unusually... passionate about this."
"Because it's important!" Harry's voice cracked on the last word, jumping up an octave. He blinked in surprise, one hand going to his throat.
Nicolas and Perenelle shared another look, this one tinged with understanding.
"I just..." Harry felt strange, almost jittery. Why was he getting so worked up? "She shouldn't have- what's happening to my voice?"
"Ah." Nicolas smiled gently. "Perhaps we should set aside the discussion about virtue for a moment. Your body might be going through some changes."
Harry slumped in his chair, suddenly aware of how warm his face felt. "Changes?"
"Your body is more mature than your age because of some of your… gifts," Perenelle explained. "Remember how we discussed this might happen?"
"Oh." Harry looked down at Chrysa, who nudged his hand supportively. "Is that why I feel so... I don't know. Everything feels more intense right now."
"Yes," Perenelle said. "Your body is about twelve years old now, and that means certain changes are starting. Emotions can feel stronger, harder to control."
"But I'm eight." Harry frowned. "In my head, I mean. And sometimes I feel older than that too, but..."
"This is why we wanted to talk about your reaction at the hospital," Nicolas said. "The anger you felt might have been amplified by these changes."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "So when I used my mist on her, was that because of... this?" He gestured vaguely at himself.
"Not entirely." Perenelle poured him more tea. "You made a conscious choice based on your understanding of justice. But perhaps your emotional response to her insult was stronger than usual."
"I don't like this." Harry's voice cracked again, making him wince. "How long will it last?"
"A few years," Nicolas smiled. "But you'll learn to handle it. You're already showing good awareness by questioning your reactions."
Harry stared into his tea. "Next week at the hospital... I should be more careful about my reactions?"
"Just be more aware of them," Perenelle said gently. "Question why you feel so strongly about things. It doesn't mean your feelings are wrong - just that they might be more intense than before."
"And remember," Nicolas stirred his tea, "you can always talk to us about this. Or Albus."
Harry nodded. The Nemean Lion cub purred and snuggled against his side, the sound helping him feel more centered. He thought about the day - the joy of healing Mr. Fleming, Sarah's tears of happiness, the surge of anger at Healer Nightshade's words. Everything had felt so clear at the time.
"I still think she needed to be punished," Harry said finally. "But maybe next time I'll count to ten first to make sure it's not because of… this."
Nicolas chuckled. "That's a good start."