Eighteen hours later, Harry sat on his own bed, contemplating all the information he had been given. Or, at least, that’s what the adults around him thought he was doing. Harry was really tracing his magic back through his arm to his core with his eyes open, which was kind of hard.

Or at least he thought that was what he was doing. Professor Snape hadn’t been able to explain much before Madame Pompfrey decided that they needed rest. Harry had gracefully accepted the matron’s word as law and had scrambled back to his bed, while Severus, predictably, had put up a fuss. And, consequently, was dosed with a Dreamless Sleep potion.

Harry had dozed for a bit, but truthfully, if he slept for one more hour he was pretty sure he’d never sleep again. And, rather than point this out to the hospital matron (who got quite tetchy about her patients’ sleep patterns) Harry decided to try it out, even if he felt like sleep would never, ever embrace him again.

What the headmaster, Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape had told him really was a no brainer. Well, at least for him it was. Harry hated complications, and so he striped everything possible down to its barest points and dealt with tem. On the whole, it was much easier.

Mr. Malfoy had been a spy since before Voldemort’s first fall, though no one but he and Dumbledore knew it. He’d been monitoring the Dursely residence for injuries of life-threatening nature, he’d said, and he regretted that Dumbledore’s enchantments prevented him from doing anything else. Because Harry’s accidental magic kept healing him, Lucius never found out about the abuse till it nearly killed him. He had rushed to Surrey with the intention of taking the boy back to the manor to heal him, before going to give the Headmaster a piece of his mind. However, he was interrupted by Harry’s deteriorating state, Snape, and then the Dark Lord. They’d been found out as spies, tortured, and then Harry and Snape had been whisked away by a portkey Lucius had fashioned on the spot. Maybe it was because he was so close to death’s door, but Harry didn’t remember any of this. Especially not circumventing the wards around Hogwarts to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor and rescue Lucius from the trigger-happy Dark Lord.  But apparently he had. Frankly, Harry didn’t believe he had that much power, but the grave look on Professor Dumbledore’s face told him otherwise.

Now, he didn’t particularly like Mr. Malfoy, but that was the man’s own fault. And he wasn’t too keen on Draco, and that was his fault too. But Harry was willing to give them both a chance, even if he could only trust them as far as he could throw them. Professor Dumbledore did, and for the moment, that was good enough for him.

Snape, on the other hand, was a different matter.

Something had changed between the two of them, something Harry didn’t quite understand and something he didn’t think he wanted to look into too closely. Nevertheless, the change was there, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that dealing with it took less effort than he tough possible. In all honesty, Professor Snape was being downright amazing. Harry didn’t know how long this would last, but he was willing to go along with it for as long as it lasted.

As if roused by thoughts of his person, the dark-haired man stirred. Moments later, obsidian eyes snapped up to his, looking accusatory.

Harry smiled. “It wasn’t me, Professor.”

The older man ‘hmph’ed, and sat up. “Do not call Madame Pompfrey, brat,” he ordered, slipping out of bed and toeing on his slippers.

“I won’t, sir,” Harry responded, earning himself a grumpy glare as the man made his way towards the restrooms.

Harry had agreed not to call Madame Pompfrey, but he’d never said he wouldn’t call Snape’s girlfriend. Harry grinned while leaning across his bed to see if the woman was nearby. How Snape of all people had found and tolerated a woman with pink hair Harry was sure he’d never know. He yawned, and blinked in amazement. He was not tired! The teen rearranged himself on his bed just as Snape walked past him.

“Did you sleep at all?” the man asked.

Harry could only shake his head, as another yawn had taken over his mouth. When he recovered, Snape was eyeing him with an amused expression. “Rest then, before Madame Pompfrey comes and finds out, yes?”

Much to Harry’s annoyance, Snape didn’t even wait for him to object, calling Dobby and demanding that he “Bring tea this instant.”  What was worse, Harry couldn’t even express how much this annoyed him, as another yawn had ambushed him again. His eyes closed, and then forced them open. Dobby brought back tea and graced Harry with a smile, and the boy fought to give one in return. Dobby patted his hand, and green eyes slid closed once more.

He was just drifting off to the sleep he swore he wouldn’t succumb to ever again when his scar erupted in pain. No warning, no tingling, just blinding, scorching pain that had him arching off the bed and screaming, clawing desperately at his scar before the whole world and everything in it went black.

*&*

He supposed he should have expected this.

The teacup he had just picked up slipped from his trembling grip and smashed into the stone floor of the hospital wing. He just barely managed to stifle a scream of sheer agony as the sound of many feet stampeding in his direction met his ears.

Maybe he wasn’t as quiet as he had thought.

Predictably, Dumbledore reached him first. He imagined the rest were crowded around his bed, but he could not see or hear them over the debilitating pain searing through his arm. He doubled over, not caring what he looked like. He could not fight it, the agonized scream made it past his lips as he clamped a hand weakly against the smoldering mark.

Bloody hell, Voldemort was angry. He’d never, shit, never felt anything like this. The Cruciatus was nothing in comparison. He continued to writhe and scream with the pain, but it was no longer just in his arm. It had spread, up into his shoulder, down into his legs, up his neck, across his scalp, into his bones, his whole body was on fire, burning and smoldering and dying amidst the demon flames that must surely be attacking his body.

And then, there were hands, touching, pushing him, every inch of contact bursting into excruciating flames. He was going to die. They were touching him, pushing him, keeping him on the tableau of fire, and he would die, he could feel it. He screamed and screamed and begged and pleaded in every language he knew and still it tore at him from the inside out, shredding his bones while still in him, boiling his blood, killing him, killing him, killing him…..Voldemort wanted to kill him…..

And then there were cool hands, passing over his skin, latching onto his wretched arm, a small, painless body curling around his arm, small, blessedly cool hands wrapping around the fire and then there was nothing.

~*~

He came to shortly after, fighting to make sense of what he remembered through the thick cotton in his brain. There were people whispering, but none of them was his Dora and so unimportant for the moment. Unable to repress a shudder at the memory of the pain, Severus took stock of his body. Everything felt a bit shaky, but nothing was missing, and there was no pain. There was a curious weight on his left side though. And what was more, it was breathing. Alarmed, he peeled his eyes open. After a minute of furious blinking, he was able to look away from the bright magical light shining into his face. He had a brief moment of questioning as to why it was there, but quickly pushed that thought away for later.

Ignoring the slight discomfort, he looked towards his left arm and stared. He was correct in his assumption that someone had curled around his arm. It was Potter. The ridiculous child was asleep, pale hands pressed against his forearm, his hand resting in the child’s lap. He could do nothing but stare for a minute, or two, while the room at large realized he was awake.

Blearily he blinked, and turned his head away. There were more people in the ward now than he had remembered. For one, there were two heads of blonde. Had Lucius managed to clone himself? Severus blinked again. No, it was just Draco. However, where had his godson come from?

In addition, why was there a giant dog sitting so close to his bed? Was not there some rule against animals in the hospital wing or something? Who was that talking to the headmaster? He looks familiar. He blinked his blurring eyes. Ah, the werewolf. That meant the giant dog was Black. Of course, it made sense for them to be there. Their ‘cub’ or ‘pup’ had been injured, as they tended to call Harry. Severus could only assume it was a canine thing, trying to associate Harry with their animal alter egos.

There was also Poppy, who was staring at the region of his arm, but not really seeing, and a little ways off, sitting on an empty bed was Professor McGonagall. That was fine, he knew she sometimes stayed over at Hogwarts since Albus couldn’t be persuaded to return to their home, but he had a problem.

Where was his Dora?

As if by magic she appeared, scurrying past the dog that was Black and climbing onto the bed. And once again, she descended upon him, a flurry of hugs and kisses more enthusiastic than before, murmuring utter nonsense about giving her heart problems and writing a will. Severus endured it all stoically, which had nothing to do with the fact that he had not the energy to fight her off, even if he wanted to.

When she was done, she pulled away, and gazed at him with such tenderness that it made his stomach melt. “Scare me like that again, Severus, and I’ll kill you.”

Much to the shock of everyone in the room, except Harry who was asleep, Severus favored her with a winning smile, albeit a weak one. “How about you just kill me now then, and save yourself the trouble?”

Nymphadora was not impressed. She gave him a feral growl-snarl combo, and hopped off the bed. Severus watched her, eyes lit with amusement, as she wove her way to the bed occupied by the Deputy Headmistress, and sat stiffly upon it.

He glanced around at all the taut faces with barely veiled amusement. Maybe he was still a bit out of it, really. Finding his voice he asked, “Is someone going to explain why everyone is standing over my bed, or should I go back to sleep?” His voice was raspy, and his throat sore, but he ignored it. He was far too comfortable to care.

“Your dark Mark is gone.”

Well that certainly had him up and alert . “What?” he asked, his voice nearly breaking. His head snapped around to stare at the limb in question. He nudged the boy away enough to stare in disbelief at his skin. His pale, bare, unmarked skin. Severus gaped. It was gone. After assuring himself that it truly was gone and this was not some elaborate plan set to drive him insane, he turned wide, uncomprehending eyes to the Headmaster.

For once, the ever present twinkle was not present “I have no answers, my boy,” the old wizard said calmly. “It was Harry.”

“Harry?” The name sounded foreign and strange on his tongue, the world was beginning to take on an unreal tinge, things were beginning to spin….

“Yes.” Dumbledore’s voice came from far away as Severus stared at his best friend’s son. “You are screaming in pain, Severus, both you and Lucius, and Harry was so far gone that is scar was bleeding …..he just got up and touched Lucius’ mark ….. climbed over you and latched onto your arm …..never seen anything like it ……truly a special child….

Severus could only stare at the child curled quite serenely around his arm, breathing deeply and taking up space that should be rightfully occupied by his Dora and no one else. But this child, this child was lying here, clutching the arm he had so recently divested of the wretched Dark Mark close to his stomach. For a moment, Severus was lost for words. Then, he found them

“Harry, you infernal nuisance! Wake up this instant!”

Bright green eyes opened briefly before slamming shut. Suddenly the large lamp that had been bathing the two dark haired men in light was put out and all heads turned to watch it bob out of sight. When all eyes had looked their fill and turned to the scene on the bed, Harry was yawning and stretching, face screwed up in proclamation of youthful exhaustion.

“Any wider and you’d swallow us all whole” Severus remarked dryly.

Settling down onto the bed once more, Harry could only smile. “’M tired.”

“Tut! As well you should be!” snapped Madame Pompfrey. Harry, vaguely confused, watched interestedly as she waved her wand over and over, prodded his feet and few times and hit him with a spell that made his hands turn blue. He hadn’t a clue what she was going, really, but it was quite interesting to watch.

Not to mention the things she was mumbling to herself under her breath. Most of it was about ridiculously powerful children performing advanced magic that no one knew was possible, but occasionally she would muter about batty  old men sending innocent children to live with sadistic Muggles, and silly children who hadn’t the sense to tell a decent adult what was happening at home. All in all, the scene was very relaxing, even if he was sharing a bed with his not-so-evil potions professor, and if there was a whole herd of people watching him. Harry got the feeling that this should be bothering him, but found that right then, he hadn’t the strength to do much more than watch with a bit of bemused detachment.

When she was done, Harry turned to his professor and asked, “What did I miss?”, and was rewarded with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow.

And then, suddenly, there was a wand pointed right at his face. Severus instantly tensed, but his blurry eyes sought out the owner of said wand. It was Poppy. He relaxed.

“Madame Pompfrey, are there more tests that need to be ran?” came Lucius’ cultured drawl. “I can volunteer, seeing as Severus is still a mite disoriented.” There was an edge to his voice though, one that it seemed only Severus recognized.

Poppy’s wand never wavered. “You will get yours’ Mr. Malfoy, I can promise you.”

Something about her voice put Severus on edge. He studied her, the matron that had patched him up countless times before. Right now she seemed livid. Unhinged.

It was mind boggling.

Tucked against Severus’ side, Harry froze. Something was wrong. He felt  when Severus tensed and felt a spike of panic. But why was Madame Pompfrey pointing her wand at him. And why did she sound like that?

“You should be dead, Severus,” she said, voice laced with anger. “The Dark Lord should have killed you instantly when he found out you were a spy.” The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. “My, my, you do seem to be quite lucky, don’t you?”

Opening his eyes just a fraction, Harry tried to get a glimpse of what was going on. What exactly had he missed? The last thing he remembered was his skull cleaving open in pain when his scar had seared. Really, he considered, it felt like his head had imploded. All he could see, though, was a wide swatch of his professor’s chest the way the man held him against him. Harry was even afraid to move.

The air was heavy with tension, and the professor was barely breathing. Why was Madame Pompfrey saying these things?

“Nothing to say, Severus?” the older woman taunted.

Severus remained stubbornly silent. Everyone in the room seemed to have frozen, and no one was daring to take a breath.

Madame Pompfrey shrugged, and steadied her wand. “No? No matter. You’ll have enough to say when you’re screaming in agony before the Lord you betrayed.” Harry felt the Professor stiffen, just a bit. “Have you noticed that no one has gone for their wand? It’s not because they don’t want to save you, Severus, make no mistake. There isn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t gladly jump in front of the Killing Curse for you if I so chose to cast it; but that is not my intention.” Harry heard he lick her lips, a loud smack resounding off the cold stone walls. “No, they are all, every one of them, bound by the magic invested in this wing through me.” Here she gave a hollow laugh, and Harry resisted the urge to shudder. Even still, he felt an arm curl around him possessively. “Albus, when you entrusted the Hospital wing in to my care and mine alone, you never dreamed it would be used against you like this, did you?”

There was a pause in which Dumbledore may have tried to answer, because the next thing Harry heard was Professor Snape’s voice asking, “They cannot speak?”

Poppy smiled, and Severus held the boy tighter. “They cannot. Neither can they move, even to blink. Magic truly is a wonderful thing, Severus, don’t you think?”

But he was not entertaining this madwoman. “So you do not plan on killing me? What about the boy?”

Poppy’s humorless laugh filled the room, and Harry squeezed the man holding him tight. Amidst his fear, his mind idly commented that for  the first time since the death of his parents, he had someone to cling to when he was terrified.

“Fishing for information, Severus? Tsk, tsk. I expected better of you. That wasn’t very Slytherin at all.” She sighed, put upon. “But I supposed you have had a rough time of it. And, really,” she said with a truly disturbing look on her face,” it won’t matter in the least if I tell you, anyway. You are, after all, going to die.”

Her wand traveled the length of his body, hovering over his and Harry’s abdomens and shivering dangerously. “I have orders to bring you to my Master. I only just received them today, you know, because this wretched boy,” Harry cried out as she gave him a sharp jab in the side, “had my lord incapacitated all this time!”

In a sweeping motion, Poppy brought her wand up and around, and by the manic gleam in her eye Severus felt the first stirrings of panic. In a move that required all his strength, he bodily picked Harry up and swept him over to the other bed, only to catch the Cruciatus curse himself.

Harry hit the bed and bounced, once, twice, and fell of the edge on the other side. Disorientation didn’t even register with him as he heard Snape, his Snape, scream. Rage flooded through him, there was a rushing in his ear and then fire rose up within him and Harry snapped.

Pure power radiated from his small frame as he hovered above the floor of the room, and a small part of him felt evilly satisfied at the look of terror that crossed the old matron’s face. With one wave of his hand, Snape and everyone else in the room was free, and Poppy was thrown across the room.

He edged closer to her, hovering near and nearer to the floor and paying no heed to anyone. He was absolutely, positively livid. How dare she be evil? Who did she think she was? Did she think she could harm his Snape and get away with it? A spell came whizzing from the direction of the fallen matron, but Harry diffused it before it so much as made it across the room. But NOW, SHE had made him more angry.

A wicked thought crossed his mind as he regarded the witch. What Snape was saying earlier about cores…..Moving on air, Harry swooped down on the witch, who squawked and tried to cover her head. Harry paid her no mind. He knew what he wanted.

Poppy’s magic was green. He didn’t know why, but that irritated him to no end. Nostrils flaring, Harry latched onto the green mass of power circulating in the elderly witch, and began siphoning it away from her person.

“Reducto!” she screamed, sending the red light toward him. Harry grinned evilly as the spell got caught in the raging funnel and disappeared. Was this the right course of action? Harry didn’t know. All he knew was, if this woman served Voldemort, she didn’t deserve magic. If he let her go to Azkaban as she was, there was a good chance she’d escape, and end up hurting some innocent person. This way, she was of no use to the evil bastard, and Harry quite liked putting the snaky-faced twerp out.

He felt the energy building, a ball of power becoming denser and more complete the longer he carried on. Finally, the ball could hold no more and there was no more magic left to drain. Almost gleefully, Harry spun away to the windows, through them open with a single though and released the unclaimed magic into the air.

The atmosphere shimmered. Birds, trees, magical creatures, everything that lived gave a simultaneous cry of joy as the magic flowed through them on its quest to ingratiate itself in nature. Harry, child that he was, smiled and did a little jig. Whatever the question of his motive, this had to be good.  

Slowly, he reached the ground. Someone was hurrying towards him, calling his name, but Harry was very tired. So very tired and though the floor wasn’t the least bit comfortable, it would have to do for the moment. His last thought before the world faded into deep, dark black was that maybe, just maybe, the Headmaster was right. Maybe he did have a little bit of power tucked into him, somewhere.