Harry secretly watched Snape as the older man weaved his way in between rows of busily working Potions students - checking their progress thus far like a predatory animal on the hunt. His long black robes skirted across the ground in his wake, fluttering with each fluid movement the Potion master made.

Harry watched him like a hawk. Little the Potion master did escaped his notice. Ever since the beginning of class he’d barely taken his eyes off Snape for more than a few seconds.

“Harry. Harry! Harry, come on, mate, wake up and hand me the stirrer!” Ron’s exasperated voice broke Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry shook himself back to realityand obediently handed his friend the requested brewing tool. “Oh, sorry,” he murmured.

Ron took the wooden spoon and stirred their bubbling cauldron the proscribed twelve times in a clockwise direction, then three time counterclockwise. “Are you alright, mate?” the redhead asked as the potion slowly turned a light green color - something just several shades lighter than what was described in their book - and turned the heat down on the cauldron to let it finish its last phase of brewing. “You’ve been zoning out almost all of class. I had to brew this potion almost all by myself. What’s up?”

“Sorry…” Harry murmured. “Just can’t seem to concentrate today I guess.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that,” he snorted. “Snape’s sure seemed to have captured your attention.”

Harry unconsciously glanced back in the Potion master’s direction. Snape was currently leaning over Dean and Seamus’ cauldron on the other side of the room, eyeing their potion critically as he asked them Potions questions Harry couldn’t quite hear but suspected weren’t earning Gryffindor any points for correct answers.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron said.

Harry turned back to Ron with a sigh. “I’m sorry!” he huffed. “I can’t help it! I just can’t focus on anything right now.”

“No need to get upset, Harry,” Ron said, holding his hands up in front of his chest as if in surrender. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

What’s wrong… That’s what Harry was still trying to figure out.

The Fifth Years were the first Potions class to have Professor Snape since the Potion master’s mysterious absence the day before. No one had known where he’d gone. There hadn’t been any kind of note on the door telling them class was cancelled, or substitute teacher. No one had dared leave though for fear of Snape suddenly showing up at the last minute and taking points from them for being absent. It was only when Filtch came wandering through the dungeons and found the class of Slytherin-Gryffindor students aimlessly milling outside the locked classroom - twenty minutes after class was suppose to have started - that they were dismissed to return to their common rooms. Filtch had then gone off - Harry could only assume - to either find their missing Potions master or to tell Dumbledore about Snape’s absence.

Harry didn’t know what happened after Filtch ordered them back to their common rooms, but he could only hope they eventually found him. He’d spent the entire day keeping a look out for Snape and listening for some kind of hint that someone else had seen him. But no one had. Even Dumbledore, Harry noticed, had looked a little more subdued that night at dinner.

Whatever the case though, that morning had seen the return of the dark and surly man to the dungeons like nothing had even happened. Precisely at the sound of the bell, Snape had come striding into class with his usual sneer and sharp tongue ordering them to read the instructions on the blackboard and to get to work immediately before he started deducting points from anyone he caught dawdling.

Harry had been watching him ever since. Perhaps even a little bit too much if Ron’s complaints were any indication.

“Come on, Harry, tell me what’s going on,” Ron pleaded.

Harry gave a frustrated, near-defeated sigh. “I had another vision the other night before Snape went missing yesterday.”

“And I take it it wasn’t good?” Ron winced.

Harry gave a subconscious glance back in Snape’s direction as if to make sure he wasn‘t listening. “It wasn’t really bad,” he whispered, “at least not at first… It was different from any other vision I’ve had before. I saw Snape in it, but it wasn’t like I was looking through Voldemort’s or anyone else‘s eyes. And Snape was acting like he could actually see me. In my vision he tried telling me something, but before he could I felt his Dark Mark start to burn, and then everything went black and I woke up.”

“What do you think Snape was trying to tell you?”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t know. But it seemed important - like it might be about whatever Voldemort’s planning.”

Ron silently thought for a moment before looking back at Harry with a worried expression on his face. “Are you sure your dream wasn’t actually some kind of trick by You-Know-Who? I mean, if it was real, how could Snape have been able to talk to you in your dreams? And besides, why would Snape have been talking to you of all people? You’re not exactly his favorite person, Harry…”

“I don’t know,” Harry shot back, his tone betraying the first note of frustrated irritation. “Why do I keep having these visions with Snape always somehow in them? Why was he mysteriously absent yesterday? I don’t know! Dumbledore didn’t even look like he knew where he was yesterday. That has to tell you something’s wrong. I don’t know why Snape would have tried contacting me, but he did. Maybe he knows I know something’s wrong and wants me to help.”

“Well, you’re not exactly making any headway in that department,” Ron noted. “This has been going on since the start of school, and you still haven’t figured out what’s going on yet. You even went into Snape’s memories, and didn’t find anything.” He nervously adverted his eyes from Harry and stared at the table. “Harry, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really think you should go talk to Dumbledore. You’re not getting anywhere on your own. And the longer this goes on the more dangerous it’s starting to become for you. What if You-Know-Who is using Snape to contact you and trick you into doing something? You said it yourself you thought You-Know-Who was controlling him with some kind of Imperius Curse. Plus, if Snape really was trying to warn you or ask you for help, why does he keep treating you so terribly? He barely even looks at you without taking points away from Gryffindor, let alone tried actually talking to you. Wouldn’t heat least try to give you a reason to want to help him? If you ask me, all this smells kind of fishy…”

Harry stared at Ron for several moments, unsure of how to respond. Some of the things the redhead had said brought up some very good points. How did he know it was really Snape trying to contact him? What if it was Voldemort. He had no evidence that the Potion master was actually behind his latest vision. After all, just like Ron said, Snape was still acting like the same vindictive snark he always did - not as someone trying to ask him for help. Maybe Ron was right…

No! he told himself firmly.

He knew what he’d seen in his last vision. He knew Snape was somehow trying to warn him. But about what was still the question…

The bell signaling the end of class suddenly rang, breaking Harry out of his thoughts and saving him from having to answer his friend.

“I want a sample of everyone’s potion marked and labeled on my desk before you leave - and everyone’s workstations had better be cleaned!” Snape yelled over the sound of scrapping chairs and students hurrying to leave. “Make sure both partner’s names are on the vial. No credit will be given to those whose names are not on their sample!”

Ron glanced at Harry, but didn’t say anything else as he began ladling a portion of their off-color Shrinking Potion into a vial. Harry sullenly began cleaning up as Ron went to turn their sample in. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Ron’s questions - like his friend no longer believed him…

“You okay, Harry?” Hermione asked, coming up behind him as he evanescoed his and Ron’s cauldron clean. Neville was just finished putting the last of his and Hermione’s Potion tools away- Hermione having successfully finished brewing their Shrinking Potion half an hour ago.

“Fine,” he murmured, not looking up as he shoved some leftover scarab wings back into a jar. He couldn’t see her face behind him, but he suspected Hermione was wearing a slightly worried expression.

“Ready?” Ron asked as he came back up to the table and glanced between Harry and Hermione. “Lunch is in ten minutes and I’m starving.”

“You two go on ahead of me,” Harry said, still not looking up at them as he busied himself with cleaning. “I’m going to be awhile yet…”

“We can wait for you, Harry,” Hermione said. “In fact, here, let me help. I‘ll-”

But Harry cut her off with a sharp look.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” he said, his voice short and clipped. “You and Ron go on ahead. I’ll catch up to you later.”

Hermione worriedly glanced at Ron, as if asking him what was wrong. Ron, however, just shook his head and grabbed her arm, steering her towards the door. “Don’t worry about it, ‘mione. I’ll tell you later…” And then they were gone.

Harry stared after them a moment before turning back to his work station. He was almost done cleaning but purposely took his time putting the rest of their Potion ingredients away and returning their cauldron and spoons to their proper places.

He had something he had to do and didn’t want anyone else around when he did it… He had to be sure…

Within a few short minutes the last of the other students finished cleaning and labeling their potions and disappeared out the door, leaving only Harry and Snape behind in the empty classroom.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry put the last of his Potions ingredients away and walked up to Snape’s desk.

Snape was shifting through a pile of parchments, his face screwed up in its usual scowl. It looked like a batch of Third Year essays by what Harry could see. Harry waited a moment, but upon receiving no acknowledgement from the sour looking Potions master he nervously coughed, “Um… Professor Snape?”

Snape’s eyes snapped up and speared him with their fiery gaze. “Mr. Potter…” he drawled. “Any particular reason you are still here when I specifically don’t remember asking you to stay after class?”

Harry took a deep breath for what he was about to do. He was seriously going out on a limb here. He just hoped he wasn’t wrong. Because if he was… Well, that was something he didn’t really want to think about just yet… He wasn’t sure if he was really playing with a full set of Gobstones for doing this, but Ron’s comments had risen questions he knew he needed answers to. Even if that meant possibly earning himself a lifetime’s worth of detentions...

Schooling his tone, he said, “Er… I was just wondering if you were sick or something, Sir. You missed class yesterday and no one knew where you were.”

One of Snape’s dark eyebrows arched up on his forehead like an elegant question mark. “Oh? I wasn’t aware you were suddenly my personal keeper.”

Harry bite the inside of his mouth. “I haven‘t been, Sir. It’s just that some of the other students were worried when you didn’t show up for class yesterday, andwanted me to ask if everything was alright.”

“And what other students would these be?” Snape asked in a dangerously honeyed voice of curiosity. “Certainly not one of my Slytherins… They would have come to me themselves with their concerns instead of going to the Golden Boy of Gryffindor to do it… One of your fellow Gryffindors then? Please tell me, Potter, who is it? I am most curious to know who else in your House seems so concerned with my welfare.”

Harry scrambled to reply. “Er… Everyone, Sir. Why wouldn’t we be? I mean, after all, this is our OWLs year and if something happens to you, who else would teach us?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, Harry’s lie as transparent as Nearly Headless Nick. “I’ll bet…” Snape drawled, sarcasm dripping off every vowel.

Harry knew he had to change tactics - and quick! - before this got any more out of control. It’d already strayed farther away from what he’d originally come there to ask as it was...

“It’s just that I thought I saw you in the hall the other night before curfew - the night before you didn’t come to class. I just thought you… didn’t look quite well. I was just wondering if you were alright is all… It kind of looked like your arm might have been hurting…”

Snape’s unreadable black eyes bored into Harry’s, as if scrutinizing him for his true intentions. Harry met his gaze undaunted, opening his mind to the other man. Let me help you, he desperately pleaded with his eyes. Tell me what you were trying to warn me about the other night.

Snape studied him carefully over steepled fingers, his eyes never blinking or moving from Harry. For a moment Harry almost entertained the hope that he’d somehow reached the other man when-

“I don’t know what you’re babbling on about, Potter,” Snape said, breaking eye contact. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I wasn’t even in the castle the other night. I was away on business.”

Harry was ready to protest, but was once again interrupted by Snape.

“Now,” he said, standing up from behind his desk in a menacing sweep of robes, “if that is quite all, you can scurry back to your group of friends and tell them the bat of Slytherin is fine and well, and kindly asks them to keep their noses out of other people’s business.”

“But, Sir…” Harry stammered.

“That is all, Potter,” Snape hissed. “I believe lunch is about to start, and I suggest you’d better start making your way upstairs before I start taking points from Gryffindor for loitering in the halls.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry murmured, dejectedly dropping his head. He slowly went back to his workstation and picked up his schoolbag.

Snape watched the boy as he shuffled towards the door, shoulders hunched in defeat.

“One last thing, Potter,” Snape called just as he reached the door.

Harry paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

Snape’s eyes bored into his even from a distance of twenty some feet. “Instead of worrying about what everyone else is doing, I suggest you use more of all this free time you seem to have to worry about such things and remember what you learned in class…”

Harry stared at Snape for several moments of confused silence, his eyebrows scrunching together in the middle of his face. “Um… alright, Sir. I’ll remember that…” And with one last glance at Snape, he left.

Lunch passed uneventfully as did the rest of classes, and before Harry really knew it, he was once again found himself sitting in the Great Hall beside Ron and Hermione eating dinner. He sullenly poked his pork chops, not caring much that his gravy was starting to congeal into a formless sludge on his mashed potatoes.

“Harry, cheer up,” Hermione said, exasperated, as she watched him begin listlessly scooting corn kernels around his plate. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“I told you Snape was still the same ol’ greasy git,” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of candied yams.

“Chew your food, Ron, and then talk,” Hermione snipped. Ron made a face at her around his bulging cheeks. Ignoring him, Hermione turned back to Harry who still hadn’t said anything since the start of dinner. “You shouldn’t get so upset, Harry. You should have known Professor Snape would act like that. I’m not exactly sure why you expected anything else. You’re actually lucky he didn’t take any points away from you, especially when he’s still probably sore about you going into his Pensieve like that-”

“But that was over two months ago!” Harry exploded, finally coming out of his silence and slamming his fork down flat on the table with a thwack. Several people glanced up at him, but quickly returned to their meals at the warning glare Harry shot them. Lowering his voice so he wouldn’t earn anymore looks, Harry hissed, “I know what I saw the other night. I know Snape was trying to tell me something.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything to you after class?” Ron said, finally swallowing his food. “Why‘s he keep pretending like he doesn’t know what you‘re talking about?”

“Maybe he can’t. Maybe Voldemort told him he’s not allowed to tell anyone what’s going on,” Harry said, looking frustrated and upset. “I mean, he’s under an Imperius Curse, so whatever Voldemort says he has to do. That has to be why he didn‘t say anything to me after class.” It was obvious to both of Harry’s friend how desperately he was trying to think of some kind of answer, solution, or explanation - just something to help explain what was going on. Perhaps even something to dispel his unspoken but ever growing doubts…

“Then how would he have been able to try and warn you the other night if You-Know-Who forbade him?” Hermione gently noted, knowing her friend was teetering on the edge of self-doubt.

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair - a gesture of growing frustration. “I don’t know,” he admitted, dropping his eyes to the table. His whole body suddenly seemed to sag, as if finally admitting defeat. He rested his head on both hands, his elbows on the table. “I just don’t know anymore…”

He was so tired… He was so tired of trying to solve these endless riddles and mysterious visions. He just wanted it all to stop and be over with. He was so tired of worrying and trying to help someone he wasn’t even sure wanted or needed his help anymore. Maybe he should just listen to Ron and Hermione and tell Dumbledore everything. Maybe then he or Madam Pomfrey could give him something to permanently drive these unwanted visions from his head. Then maybe he could finally go to sleep without fear of what he might see…

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione’s worried voice drifted to him through his haze of disjointed thoughts.

“Yeah… fine…” he murmured, slowly opening his eyes and looking back up at them. “Just tired.”

Ron and Hermione faces were both masks of concern. “Are you sure?” Hermione asked, visibly worried.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, running another hand through his hair. “I think I just need to give all this worrying a break. I can’t help but think you guys might be right and that all these visions are nothing more than over-exaggerated nightmares…” Harry’s eyes were dull as he spoke, as if he had resigned himself to believing he might be crazy. “Like you said, nothing Snape‘s been doing has been consistent with anything I’ve seen…”

“Harry, it’s not like we don’t believe you or anything…” Ron started.

“I know, Ron,” Harry sighed. “But I’m starting to doubt these visions are real. It has nothing to do with you or Hermione.”

The two Gryffindors glanced at each other, not quite sure what to make of this sudden change. Hadn’t Harry been the one that spent all school year trying to convince them his visions were real?

“Well, if you’re sure, Harry…” Hermione said.

“I am.” Harry firmly replied, as if closing the door on the matter.

Ron and Hermione nervously shifted in their seat, suddenly uncomfortable in their friend‘s presence. Harry said nothing and refused to meet their eyes; and so with a nervous, hesitant air, Ron and Hermione both turned their attentions back onto their now cold plates of food, suddenly not very hungry.

Silence descended over their area of Gryffindor table while the rest of the hall rang with the talk and laughter of students around them.

As Ron and Hermione tried to eat their food and pretend like nothing was wrong, Harry surreptitiously glanced in the direction of the Head Table and the dark figure sitting just to the right of Dumbledore. Snape was currently listening to Professor Flitwick as the smaller wizard flamboyantly gestured with his wand, as if in the midst of telling some exciting story. Snape however looked bored and merely nodded every so often as if feigning attention. Harry couldn’t help but stare at him.

Snape looked totally at ease sitting there -if not a little bit indifferent to Flitwick’s tale - as if nothing in the world was wrong. Harry once again had to wonder if he hadn’t been imagining all those visions over the last few months. After all, he had no evidence they were real - just hunches and several odd coincidences to lead him along. But nothing more. It was nothing less than galling.

Harry shook his head, frowning. Well he was done chasing mysterious clues and cryptic half-clues. If Snape really did want his help, then he could come to him and get it. But he was through chasing him. So far it had gotten him into nothing but trouble.

All of a sudden as if sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Snape looked in his direction, locking eyes with him even from across the Great Hall. Harry froze. He hadn’t even realized he was still staring at Snape.

Snape’s eyes seemed to bore into him, digging to his very soul. Harry found he couldn’t move under the Potion master’s gaze. He almost felt like he was frozen, as if he’d been put under some strange body bonding charm.

For a moment, all sound and movement around teacher and student seemed to bleed away into the background like an inconsequential sound track. All Harry could see was Snape’s eyes staring into his. He suddenly felt as if the older man was trying to tell him something, trying to relay some important piece of information to him through their intense eye contact. He felt something intangible brush against the edge of his consciousness like the gentle prod of some encroaching alien idea. He willingly dropped his mental resistances, leaving himself open to whatever was to come. He didn’t know how, but he knew the revelation this foreign presence brought would finally answer all his questions. He felt his mind blossom open under the other mind‘s mental weight, images of another time and place slowly taking form in the darkness of his inner eye. The hazy outline of people began to emerge from the shadows of his mind. He could almost make out their faces, but they were still cloaked in a dense veil of fog. They slowly began to emerge from the darkness…

Yes… yes… he thought, eagerly opening his mind wider to the invading force. This was it. He was finally going to know the Truth…

He could just start to make out the details of the shadowy forms. He could almost see the face of one… A man. He tried to look closer, but the figure was still wreathed in a thin haze of fog. He squinted harder, trying to concentrate all his energy on deciphering the figure’s features when-

A burning pain shot across his left inner forearm.

A blinding flash of light exploded through Harry’s eyes which was quickly followed by the image of a small black shard sitting in the palm of someone’s hand before he abruptly came back to himself with a snap, as if someone has just hit him upside the head with a Beater’s bat. He suddenly found himself once again sitting in the middle of the crowded dining hall, surrounded by several hundred other students, none of whom were aware of what just happened.

His arm burned fiercely, as if someone had poured acid on it. Harry somehow managed to stifle a cry of pain and cradled his arm against his chest.

“Harry, are you alright?” he heard Hermione worriedly ask, but didn’t answer her.

Looking towards the Head Table, Harry saw Snape clutching his arm too - exactly where Harry held his. No longer looking in Harry’s direction, Snape turned to Dumbledore - Flitwick and his story forgotten - and whispered something in his ear.

Dumbledore nodded quickly, his expression etched with some emotion Harry couldn’t quite place. Snape quietly got up from the table, and not looking at anyone else, disappeared out a side door behind the Head Table.

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm as Snape swept out of sight - as if nothing had happened - but Harry thought he saw a shadow of worry fall over the old Headmaster’s face.

No one else seemed to notice the Potion master’s departure, and the hall continued to ring with the lively sounds of eating, laughing students. Harry felt strangely detached from it all as he staredafter Snape, as if everything around him was some kind of surreal world separated from his own.

“Harry? Harry, are you alright?” Hermione’s voice once more cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.

“What?” he said, suddenly remembering his friends' presence.

Hermione and Ron were both worriedly eyeing him. “I asked if you’re alright,” Hermione said. “You were staring off into space with this real intense look on your face and then all of a sudden you gasped and grabbed your arm. Are you alright?”

Harry glanced down at his left arm which was still held against his chest. Even as he sat there, the burning in his arm slowly began to fade, like the remnants of a bad dream at the first light of dawn. Pulling back his sleeve, Harry examined his forearm. There wasn’t anything there - nothing to explain the sudden pain. He rubbed his forearm several times, erasing the last little bit of uncomfortable tingling from his skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured, looking back up in the direction Snape had just disappeared. “I’m fine now…”

Harry went to bed later that night with a clawing sense of trepidation. After how he’d seen Snape leave the Hall, he knew his sleep was most likely going to be visited that night with more visions of torture and pain.

Hours after his dormmates had turned off the lights and gone to sleep, Harry still lay there in the dark, listening to the soft rumble of their snores as he fearfully awaited the dark abyss of unconsciousness he knew would eventually claim him. The moon had long since set, dawn but a few short hours away.

He’d lied to Ron and Hermione earlier at dinner, he suddenly realized as he lay there staring at the dark canopy of his bed. Oh, he’d begun to have doubts about some of the things he’d seen in his visions, that much was true. Much of it still didn’t add up. But after he’d seen Snape leave dinner the way he did - his usually piercing black eyes shadowed with the look of a man who knew he was about to face a terrible evil - there was no way to deny the cold spike of fear it drove through his heart to think about what he knew he was going to see that night.

For several moments it was like he could actually feel the Dark Mark burning his own skin. That look in Snape’s eyes when he’d been staring so intently into his… it had almost been frightening. Harry shivered at the memory of it. He’d been so sure he’d finally find out what was going on with Snape. But instead he’d been interrupted by the searing pain of the Dark Lord’s brand flaring to life, abruptly breaking his and Snape’s connection.

What were you trying to tell me? Harry hopelessly wondered into the night, as if his Potion master could actually hear him. What is going on with you? Do you really need my help, or is this all just some kind of trick of Voldemort‘s?

He expected no answer, and indeed got none from the shadows of the night. Sighing, Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind - just like he’d been told to do when he’d still been taking Occlumency lessons. He was so tired. His eyes stung with the burn of extended sleep deprivation.

The fear of what he might see when he closed his eyes was strong, but a part of Harry wondered if it might not be important for him to see whatever vision he was destined to see that night. If any… Somehow he felt like he was suppose to see everything he did, as if there wasn't some reason for all these sleepless nights and constant horror.

Harry felt lost. He didn’t know what to do. In his last vision Snape had said time was running out and that he had to hurry.

But hurry and do what? He still didn’t know!

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. He had to find out. He didn’t want to, but knew he had to. There was too much at stake for him not to…

You better not be lying to me, Snape, he thought as he forced himself to relax and welcome the encroaching darkness. I’m tired of trying to solve all these riddles of yours…

He wasn’t sure when he actually drifted off, but the shift from dreamless sleep to sudden awareness was almost dizzyingly abrupt. Like being taken by some kind of supernatural Portkey, Harry suddenly found himself in another place and time - as if he’d been brutally thrown into the lead role of some violent play that was already halfway into it’s third act.

The tortured screams of some unknown person was the first thing to arrest His attention as He came to in His new surroundings.

The next was the realization that the screams seemed to be coming from Him…

“That’s enough,” a cold, reptilian voice hissed.

Strangely, He noted, He didn’t seem to feel any actual pain in His odd disconnected but first-hand state of being…

He felt the invisible weight of magical energy lift from over Him, and He abruptly fell silent, slumping limp to the floor. He lay there prostrate, one cheek pressed to the ground. He felt something cushioning His face against the stones. A mask… It was scratchy and soaked with sweat - probably from the unknown amount of time spent screaming and writhing on the floor… His breathing was ragged and sounded painful even to His own ears. His body was as heavy and cumbersome as a shell of living flesh that refused to move. Tremors shook His beaten body, generated by the shock of curse-torn flesh.

The trim of a long set of flowing black robes swept into His line of sight, its owner's face hidden behind the ring of darkness tunneling His vision.

“This is your last warning, slave!” the mysteriously person hissed. “My patience has run its course! You will attack tomorrow regardless of any reservations you may have, or you will be punished with such a long and painful death this war will be over before I finally take pity on your miserable life and end it!”

He could not find the strength to answer and laid there motionless, silent in his agony.

“Answer the Dark Lord when he speaks to you!” another voice yelled, and before He could protect Himself, a heavy boot connected with His left side.

He screamed in agony and curled up on Himself. His wand, He noticed, was no where to be seen. Another blow came, this time aimed at His back. He once more screamed, but strangely did not try to escape or defend Himself. He did not have the energy to. But moreover, He felt a strange power stopping Him, forcing Him to lay where He did and take their abuse.

“Answer him!” the second voice yelled and stung Him with some unrecognizable curse.

“Y-yes…” He weakly rasped, barely able to find the strength to answer. All that screaming had stolen His voice, reducing it to nothing but a raspy whisper. He teetered tauntingly on the edge of unconsciousness, the welcome cloak of darkness floating somewhere just beyond His reach. “It will be done… A-as you wish,… my Lord…”

The black figure in front of Him seemed to nod - an unconfirmable from where he lay on the floor, but He sensed it all the same.

“What it to be done with him now, Master?” the second man asked. He could actually hear the sneer in his voice.

The black-robed figure disappeared back out of sight, beyond the ring of darkness. “Continue as you were,” he said, carelessly. “Dawn is still hours away and I want to make it perfectly clear I will not tolerate anymore delay from him.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” There was a smile in the man’s voice this time, and He cringed at the sound.

Mercifully though, as the curses and hexes began to rain down on Him once again, He retained consciousness for only a few more minutes before the darkness finally took pity on Him and took Him into its sweet embrace. The pain faded away, and all was peaceful emptiness…

Harry woke with a gasp, shooting up in bed. His skin was clammy, covered with a film of cold sweat. He was shivering violently; but whether from cold or the memory of what he’d just seen, he didn’t know. Breathing rapidly, the boy ran a hand through his bangs, wiping it back from his face. Strangely, he noticed, his scar wasn’t hurting. Not even a tingle…

Harry glanced around. All his dormmates were sleeping, blissfully snoring away in their beds. He looked to the window and saw the sun slowly rising over the horizon, warming the eastern sky with brilliant streaks of red, gold, and pink. The room was still draped in shadows, but was brightening more with every passing moment.

Oh no…

Harry felt his blood run cold. It was already morning. He hadn’t woken up right after his vision like he usual did. He’d slept until the break of dawn.

The cold, reptilian voice of the faceless man in vision continued to echo through his ears. You will attack tomorrow regardless of any reservations you may have… My patience has run its course!

Voldemort…

Harry felt acid churn his stomach. It was already morning. Voldemort had ordered the man in his vision - Snape! There was no denying it! - to finally attack. Today! No matter what he thought Dumbledore would think, Harry knew he couldn’t keep these visions to himself any longer. He had to warn someone.

Scrambling out of bed, Harry barely even managed to grab his glasses, let alone a dressing robe and slippers before he ran out the door, down the steps and out of Gryffindor tower. The halls were empty. No one appeared to stop him or even make themselves known. Harry veritably flew through the corridors, frantic on reaching his ultimate destination. He didn’t know how much time he had. It might already be too late. Who knew how long he’d been sleeping after his vision ended.

Finally, up ahead, Harry spotted the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore’s office.

“Licorice Wand!” he yelled as he came to a skidding stop in front it. The gargoyle obediently leapt out of the way, but not fast enough in the frantic boy’s opinion. Harry took the revolving stairs three at a time, and pounded at the tall oak door at the top.

A momentary silence ensued as Harry stood there outside the office, panting in front of the closed door. Several seconds ticked by with no response and Harry began to raise his fist to bang again. But just as he did, the door suddenly opened to reveal a surprised looking Dumbledore.

“Harry? To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” he said, looking the disheveled looking boy up and down.

“Sir, I have to talk to you!” Harry said, not wasting any time on pleasantries. “I had another vision!”

Dumbledore wordlessly opened the door wide and motioned Harry inside. Harry hurried in and took the seat Dumbledore offered him in front of his desk. The portraits of all the school’s old Headmasters and mistresses whispered quietly amongst themselves, peering down at Harry from their ornate gold frames.

“Now what about this vision?” the Headmaster said, taking a seat on the other side and leveling serious blue eyes at him over half-moon shaped glasses.

Harry immediately launched into a detailed account of his vision, leaving nothing out, not even the identity of the one who’s eyes he’d seen the whole thing through. Dumbledore nodded periodically throughout his account, his expression grave.

“And you believe Voldemort is going to attack today?” Dumbledore asked when Harry finally finished.

“That’s what he said in my vision.”

“Do you know what or who he’s planning to attack?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry could only give a frustrated shake of his head, a sinking feeling starting somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling what Dumbledore was going to say after he answered. “No. He never gave any details. Only that he was going to make Snape attack sometime today.”

“Harry, we went over this before the start of school. Both I and a fully trained Auror checked Professor Snape for an Imperius Charm or anything else of the ilk, and could find nothing wrong with him.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, anger and betrayal warring with each other for dominance. “Sir, I know what I saw, or rather who’s eyes I saw it through! I’m not making this up!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly, “I am not trying to give you the impression that I think you are making these visions up. But with all the ambiguity of these visions, they could easily be taken out of context, or been manufactured to make you believe certain things. Voldemort is not above doing such things.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore quickly silenced him with a raised hand, silently asking him to let him continue uninterrupted. Harry grudgingly complied.

Lowering his hand, Dumbledore once again met Harry’s gaze. “Please, Harry, believe me when I say I believe you when you say you saw what you did last night. But there is no way for us to prove it was real and not somehow produced by Voldemort to influence you into doing something to his advantage. It is not something we can take a chance on.”

“But, Sir,” Harry helplessly argued. “What about this attack he keeps mentioning? He says he’s going to strike today!”

“But we do not know against what or who,” Dumbledore replied. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore stroked his beard. “This is troubling, Harry,” he admitted. “But I am not quite sure what we can do to prepare for an attack we do not even know when or where it will occur, or who it will be directed at.”

Harry dropped his gaze to his lap, unable to meet the Headmaster’s eyes anymore. Dumbledore was right. How could they stop Voldemort when they didn’t even know what he was after? The possibilities were endless, the next just as plausible as the first.

“Would you like some tea, Harry?” Dumbledore suddenly asked, pulling the boy back out of his thoughts. “I was just about to ring for a tea service when you knocked on my door.”

“I’m sorry about that, Sir,” Harry muttered. “I didn’t know what to really do, and thought I should tell you.”

“And I thank you for that. This is not something I would have wanted you to keep to yourself. I will inform the Order and tell them to keep a lookout for anything suspicious.”

“What about Snape?” Harry said, looking back up at Dumbledore. “Someone has to keep an eye on him. He‘s the one Voldemort ordered to attack.”

Dumbledore sighed. “We’ve already discussed this, Harry…”

Harry angrily looked back down at his hands in his lap. He should have known Dumbledore wouldn’t believe him.

As if knowing what the boy was thinking, but unable to do anything, Dumbledore sighed and rang a small bell on the corner of his desk. Half a second later, a silver tea service appeared complete with tea pot, lemon, sugar, milk, cream, two small cups, and a plate of biscuits.

“Here, Harry,” the Headmaster said, passing Harry a cup. “I always find tea helps me relax and look at things from a different angle whenever I find myself frustrated and in need of a moment to think.”

Harry took the cup of tea, but made no move to actually drink it - too upset by the Headmaster‘s apparent dismissal of his vision. Dumbledore however poured himself a cup, added a lemon slice, and sipped it thoughtfully.

“Harry, I do believe you,” he murmured around his cup.

The boy glanced back up at him and speared him with a sharp look. “Then why won’t you believe me when I say Snape’s somehow involved? I know Voldemort’s using him, but no one else wants to believe me.”

Dumbledore sighed and took another sip of tea. “If it will make you feel better, Harry, I will go talk to Professor Snape after this. I have to check on him after last night anyway. He-” he suddenly stopped. Staring into his tea cup he murmured, “Hmm… The tea tastes slightly off today. I wonder if Winky’s been put on tea service again. I will have to talk to the House elves about this…” He looked back up at Harry and gave him a benign smile as he quietly set his tea cup aside.

“As I was saying, I will check on Professor Snape after I relay this latest vision of yours on to the Order. Don’t worry, Harry, we will be ready for whatever Voldemort is planning.”

Somehow Dumbledore’s reassurances did nothing to assuage Harry’s lingering doubts.

Standing, the old Headmaster came back out from behind his desk. Harry also stood, realizing he was being tactfully shown out.

“You must be tired,” Dumbledore said,putting hishand on Harry’s shoulder and guiding him towards the door. “It is still several hours before you have to get ready for class. I suggest going back to your dorm and to try getting some more sleep.”

Harry let himself be guided out of the room, albeit slowly. “You’ll be sure to check on Professor Snape?” he said, eyeing the Headmaster. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore kick him out without being sure he’d check on the Potions master.

“Yes, Harry. I’ll check on him. But I wish you would believe me when I say Professor Snape is not any kind of threat to us. He…” Dumbledore suddenly trailed off, stopping in the middle of the office.

“Sir?” Harry asked.

The portraits all quieted and peered down at them from their frames.

Dumbledore’s face was pale, his eyes shut. His grip on Harry’s shoulder had tightened, as if steadying himself.

“Sir?” Harry called, concern creeping into his voice. He’d never seen the Headmaster like this. He almost looked… sick. “Sir?”

Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes. Looking up at Harry, he forced his lips into a wan smile, but the action did not quite seem to reach his suddenly fevered looking eyes. Harry noticed a sheen of sweet beading across the old Headmaster’s forehead. “I’m fine, my boy,” he said, his voice heavy with forced cheerfulness “Just got a little light-headed all of a sudden… Tends to happen more the older I get. Now, as I was saying…”

But Dumbledore never got a chance to continue what he was saying as he suddenly collapsed onto one knee, clutching his chest.

“Professor!” Harry dropped down beside him, unsure of what was happening. “Are you okay?”

Dumbledore’s breathing was becoming labored, as if each new breath was harder to take than the last. His hand on Harry’s shoulder had begun to shake. “Go get Madam Pomfrey,” was all he rasped.

Harry felt panic like he’d never felt before explode inside his chest. Running to the fireplace, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the flames. “Madam Pomfrey!” he screamed.

Within moments, the school medi-nurse’s head appeared in the flames. “Mr. Potter?” she said, looking startled to see him. “Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s Professor Dumbledore!” Harry said, struggling to remain calm. “I think he’s having a heart attack!”

Madam Pomfrey gasped. “Stand back. I’ll be right there.”

Half a second later she came fully through the fire, her medi-nurse robes billowing behind her as she hurried to her patients side. Harry followed and stood off to the side, not sure what else to do.

“Albus?” she called, trying to gain the Headmaster’s attention. Dumbledore weakly looked up at her, pain shining in his eyes. The medi-nurse’s face was grave as she took out her wand and waved it over the Headmaster’s head, muttering a complex series of spells.

Harry nervously shifted from foot to foot, anxious to hear what was wrong with the Headmaster. What her diagnosis was though sent Harry’s original fears of a heart attack flying out the window.

“He’s been poisoned!” she exclaimed. Pomfrey’s face was frighteningly pale as she lowered her wand and looked back up at Harry. “I can’t tell exactly what it is but it looks like it’s some kind of venom based poison. It’s a fast acting type. He would have had to come into contact with it within the last few minutes.”

Harry’s head snapped back up in the direction of Dumbledore’s table. “The tea!” he exclaimed. “The Professor said it tasted strange. The poison must have been in there.”

“Dear Merlin…” Pomfrey breathed, horror written across her face. “Unless I know exactly what kind of poison it was, I don’t know if I can-”

“My desk,” Dumbledore suddenly rasped, struggling to speak. His breathing was becoming more shallow and desperate with each passing moment. “Harry, my desk… Third drawer from the top… on the right…”

Harry rushed to the desk, panic blinding him to anything else but doing what the Headmaster directed. He frantically began rifling through the drawer - odds and ends and other miscellaneous stuff he didn’t bother identifying spilling to the floor - all the while, not even sure what Dumbledore wanted him to find.

“Sir, what am I-?”

“Albus? Albus, look at me! Stay awake!” Pomfrey shouted, leaning over her suddenly motionless patient. “Albus? Albus!”

Dumbledore had passed out. He was still breathing - his desperate gasps for air still grating the air - but they were getting weaker by the moment.

Harry felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him, threatening to drown him in it. What did Dumbledore want him to find? What in his rat-stash of possessions could he possibly-?

Harry felt his searching fingertips suddenly brush up against something smooth and cold inside the cluttered drawer. Pushing aside several papers, Harry found a row of bottles neatly lining the bottom. He pulled one out and read the label. Shuman’s Solution.

Despite the haze of panic clouding his mind, Harry was able to recognize the spidery script gracing the front of the dark potions bottle.

It was Snape’s handwriting.

A sudden memory flashed through his mind. One from just the day before…

“Instead of worrying about what everyone else is doing, I suggest you use more of all this free time you seem to have to worry about such things and remember what you learned in class…”

Harry gasped. He quickly began pulling bottles out of the drawer two at a time, desperately scouring their faded labels. Could Dumbledore have it?

Please, please, please… he silently begged, praying to whatever deity or higher power that be to hear him. Please let it be in here…

He continued to frantically turn bottle after bottle over in his hand, searching for the one he needed. Suddenly, he stopped, a vial of bright red liquid resting in the palm of his hand.

Dulaver’s Potion, the label read.

Not wasting a moment, Harry clutched the vial and rushed back to Dumbledore’s side. Madam Pomfrey was still desperately trying to revive the poisoned man, her frantic calls and reviving spells falling onto deaf ears and unresponsive body. “Albus? Albus, stay with me!” she yelled, trying another spell.

“Here!” Harry cried, pressing the vial into Madam Pomfrey’s hand. “It’s an anti-poison!”

Madam Pomfrey gave the boy a questioning look, but didn’t waste any time pulling the cork off and pressing it to Dumbledore’s lips. With skill that bespoke of her many long years of working with ill children and uncooperative patients, Pomfrey emptied the vial into Dumbledore’s mouth and manipulated his throat into swallowing with a spell.

For a moment, nothing happened, Dumbledore’s breathing still dangerously weak. But then, as if some heavy weight had been suddenly removed from over the Headmaster’s chest, he drew a long breath of unhindered air into his lungs. His body seemed to relax, but not from the final moment of death as the body released its last tenacious hold on the soul. Dumbledore’s breathing slowly evened and fell into a gentle rhythm.

Madam Pomfrey and Harry both released tense breaths of air they hadn’t even realized they’d been holding.

Dumbledore would live…