Harry rubbed at his eyes, drawing attention to himself unintentionally. “Tired?” Principal Johns asked.

“It’s hardly mid-morning, and I just woke up,” Harry protested. “I shouldn’t be tired.”

“You’ve been through a lot in only a few hours,” the officer said gently. “And your body will need more rest than usual while it heals.”

“I arranged for Professor Kingsley to come pick you up,” Principal Johns said. “He’ll be able to escort you to the general track dorm, where you’ll meet up with senior class rep Zachary keLeigwark. Zachary is attending classes at the moment, but I sent him a notice to find you before dinner so he can show you where to get your meals.”

Harry almost protested - he’d barely had some tea cookies for breakfast, and no one had mentioned lunch - but his rolling stomach pointed out that food probably was unwise at the moment. Still. “Sir, you’ll be discussing my future with the officers, won’t you? Shouldn’t I be here for that? I’m old enough to have a say.”

The principal gave a grim nod in response. “You are. You’re also recovering and over tired. You’ve gone through too much for a man your age.”

“I don’t think-“

“Is there anything you’ve failed to tell us?” the principal interrupted. “Anything that might affect our discussion?”

I don’t belong here, Harry thought. And: This place is wrong. “No, sir.”

“Then you’ll need to make do with Professor Kingsley as your escort for the time being. Ah, here he is now.”

With impeccable timing, Harry’s great grandfather walked into the room. Harry felt relief wash over him; finally he’d get some answers! He might not be that close with his great grandfather, but they were still family. He turned and almost spoke, only for the words to stall out in his throat. Dizziness struck when all the blood dropped from his face, his heart echoing in his ears.

Great grandfather Kingsley looked younger. Red colored his once white hair, and the laugh lines around his eyes were cut in half. His cane was missing. He wore a crisp, clean suit without a single flourish, as if in mourning.

“I say, you do look rather pale, young man,” Kingsley said with surprise. “Are you ill?”

That was not a look of recognition. Sympathy, maybe, and maybe some pity. “No,” Harry said. “I’m not ill.”

“You-“

“I can’t advertise that, can I?” Harry asked, daringly interrupting the officer. “You said it would be easy for someone to take advantage. So I’m not ill. There’s nothing wrong.”

“It’s a dangerous deception,” Ben said, “but you’re right that letting others know is equally dangerous. Here.” He handed Harry a card. “If you ever feel pressured, or threatened, or if you think anything’s wrong, you reach out to me and let me know. Or if you remember anything. Amnesia is a tricky matter. Sometimes memories will float to the surface. Don’t hide it if you’re struggling or want someone to confide in.”

Harry took the card with a bit of confusion. No one had helped him deceive people before, and here was an officer of the law offering amnesia as an alternative (and far less dangerous) explanation.

Though the officer thought it was true.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly.