Severus cast a one-way silencing spell a second before picking up a forgotten glass from the coffee table and throwing it against the wall. It shattered, but even the tiny glittering pieces couldn't appease him. Nothing could unless by some miracle the Headmaster went after the Dark Lord, and the two wizards on top of his current most hated list killed each other for good. 

It was clear the moment Severus saw Harry from the bedroom doorway that his child was in pain and suffering from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. He had suffered under the curse more than enough times to recognize the symptoms even though Harry was trying to hide them. Yet, the child refused to admit he was in pain and for that he blamed the meddlesome old fool who was probably throwing a funeral for his lost lemon drops.

If the Headmaster had done what he was supposed to and told him that he was Harry's father after the Dark Lord died the first time, they wouldn't be in this situation. The trust between Harry and him would be strong, unbreakable, not this juggling act where the slightest shift threatened to break the fragile wisps of trust that he hoped were still there. If only he hadn't trusted the Headmaster, hadn't walked away from his child...

Severus sunk down onto the sofa. It was his fault no matter how much blame could be placed on others, and now that mistake was coming back to bite him at Harry's expense. He placed his head into his hands, his fingers setting to work on his temples to combat his ever-present migraine. He had so much to do, but he couldn't concentrate on anything until he knew the extent of the Dark Lord's damage and Harry's pain levels were managed.

It was a bad sign that the Dark Lord could apparently send curses through the strange connection they shared. Albus had never been forthcoming with the theories he had concerning Harry's scar, and Severus wasn't sure he wanted to know them. The connection's characteristics reeked of the darkest magic, which didn't bode well for his child. Their Occlumency lessons, the only known thing that would combat the connection, needed to be more frequent and intense, but the side effects from chemotherapy made that difficult.

Severus cursed. Everything Harry suffered and was currently suffering through was his fault, even his cancer. The Potions Master couldn't help but think that if he hadn't walked away on that fateful night that Harry's entire future would've been different, more normal. Severus wished he could switch places with his son. He was the one who made the decision, and he should have to suffer for it, not Harry. The child had done nothing to deserve to have a madman and cancer after his life.

"Sir," a shaky, pained voice startled Severus enough to nearly fall off the sofa.

"Harry," he breathed, taking in his son's appearance. Harry was leaning heavily against the back of the chair, his whole body trembling, and any hint of color that Harry had left on his face was gone. "Come sit down," Severus jumped up and approached his son slowly, making sure Harry noticed before he set his hands on his child's shoulders.

"Hurts," Harry whispered as he closed his eyes and leaned into Severus' touch.

"I know," he helped his child to the sofa with one hand while pushing the infusion pump with the other. "Lay down." Severus propped up a few large throw pillows at one end of the sofa for Harry to recline back on before summoning a certain large silver blanket from the linen closet. "This should help," he said, catching the blanket out of the air and spreading it out over Harry.

"It feels strange," Harry curled into a ball.

"The blanket is charmed to help with the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse," Severus sat down on the edge of the coffee table near his son's head.

"But how-"

"Did you really think I, a former Death Eater spy, wouldn't notice?" Severus reached over to brush a stray lock out of Harry's eyes.

"You didn't come," Harry accused, his emerald green eyes piercing into him. "You said I wasn't alone, that I was safe here."

"Did I not feel a silencing charm surrounding your bed upon my return?" he arched his eyebrow. "Madam Pomfrey would've called for me if she had heard, and I would've come instantly, Harry."

"I forgot," the child blushed. "I was angry, still am, but it hurts so much."

"You should've told me right away, silly brat. You don't have to suffer," Severus stood up.

"Where are you going?" Harry rushed out, his hand grasping onto Severus' trouser leg.

"I'm going to floo Miss Adamson so she can either up your morphine dosage or get you something else for your pain," he pried his son's fingers off.

"Can't you just give me something?" the child's hand grabbed onto his trouser leg again.

"Harry," Severus forced himself not to sigh. "While I could give you one extra dose of morphine, Miss Adamson needs to know about this."

"Why? It doesn't have anything to do with my cancer. She doesn't need to know about this," Harry pointed to his scar.

Severus counted to ten. He understood why Harry wished to keep the latest incident from Miss Adamson, but it was possible Harry sustained nerve damage that could be exacerbated by the chemotherapy drugs. It worried him that his son was still feeling the after effects so sharply. The pain should've died down to a bearable level by now. How long had the Dark Lord kept him under the curse?

"It shouldn't be so painful still, should it?" Harry's voice returned to a scared whisper.

"No," Severus admitted, retaking his seat on the edge of the coffee table. "It would be best if we flooed Miss Adamson and let her examine you. She might have some cream or knows of a salve that I can make that's safe to use. I can't give you the potion I developed to help with nerve damage from the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry curled into a tighter ball and whimpered. "Professor, please," he begged.

"What just happened?" Severus took the child's hand into his. "Did the pain get worse?"

"It's shooting up my back," Harry dug his nails into the Potions Master's palm. "It hurts."

"Breathe through it," he encouraged, positive Harry's nails would draw blood. "Concentrate on the sound of waves crashing against the shore. You're at the beach with your toes at the water's edge, ready to take a swim in the warm ocean water," Severus used the familiar words from their guided meditation sessions. "The sun is out and not a cloud is in the sky. You're walking out into the water, your feet sinking slightly in the sand with each step."

"It stopped," the child's nails ended their assault on his palm.

"I'm going to floo Miss Adamson then," Severus rose and moved away before his son could grasp onto him or his clothes again. The sooner Miss Adamson arrived, the sooner they'd know how much damage the Dark Lord did and more importantly, the sooner Harry's pain would be alleviated. 

------

Ron watched as Pig flew away with his letter to Hermione until she became too small to see. He sighed before turning to face the corner of his room. Crumpled up balls of parchment surrounded a small rubbish bin. Ron walked over to the bin and looked in to see that exactly three crumpled up balls had made it in. Well, at least he had made three. The Gryffindor knelt down on the floor and began to gather up the balls of parchment and place them in the rubbish bin before his mother could complain.

"Hey," Ginny called from the doorway. "Are you finished with Hermione's letter then?"

"Yeah. I already sent it with Pig," Ron spun on his knees to look towards the doorway. "You didn't have a letter for Hermione, did you?"

"No. Mum needs to go back to the Burrow to pick up a few things we forgot. Tonks and Moody already made sure it was safe, so Mum wants us to go with her. She said we could fly while she gathers up the things on her list," Ginny shrugged.

"I really don't feel like flying, not when... you know," Ron threw a ball of parchment towards the rubbish bin only for it to hit the edge and bounce off.

"Yeah, me neither," Ginny sighed, moving into the room to take a seat on Ron's bed.

"Do you think Harry will be okay?" Ron gave up cleaning up his mess to lean back against the wall.

"I don't know. I tried to look cancer up in the library, but Mum chased me out once she figured out what I was looking for," Ginny shrugged. "I wish we could see him."

"Yeah, but Mum says we have to wait for Snape to invite us. Like that'll ever happen," Ron rolled his eyes. Snape would never willingly let them visit Harry in his quarters.

"Ron! Ginny! Grab your brooms! We're leaving, and I don't care if you want to go or not. You will come with and at least pretend to have fun and fly!" their Mum's voice yelled up.

Ron and Ginny shared a look of resentment before getting up to retrieve their flying gear and meeting their mother downstairs. It was useless to resist, as she'd just force them to anyways.

-----

Harry watched the professor, err his father walk away from the sofa. He was still angry and confused about Snape apparently being his father, but at least the man was getting Miss Adamson so she could take the pain away. It hurt so much, more than all of the previous times Voldemort sent the Cruciatus Curse his way combined. It was like sharp, tiny needles were continuously poking every inch of his body. He hadn't wanted to leave his room and put his anger towards Snape aside, but he couldn't stand the pain any longer. Harry had to get help or otherwise he'd go mad.

Closing his eyes, Harry tried to return to the beach. He hated to admit it, but Snape's guided meditation tactics had helped him through the last shot of pain, yet without Severus' voice to guide him, Harry didn't get any further than hearing waves off in the distance.

"She's coming," Snape tried to reassure him, his hand ghosting over Harry's shoulder. "It'll be okay."

Harry nodded, appreciating that Severus was careful not to put any pressure on his skin and irritating his nerves further. However, the touch itself was comforting, reminding him he wasn't alone no matter how much his mind told him he was.

"I explained the situation to her, so you wouldn't have to tell her."

"Thanks," he sighed, wishing once more he was just a normal wizarding teenager with normal teenage issues. Ron complained regularly about being overlooked in his family, but Harry would give anything to have such a small issue be his main complaint.

"Harry?" he heard Miss Adamson's cheerful voice above his head, "I'm going to give you an extra dose of morphine, and then I'd like to talk to you a bit while we wait for it to kick in before I examine you, okay?"

"Yeah," Harry opened his eyes, surprised to find Snape sitting on the coffee table again. He expected Snape to be on the other side of the room now that Miss Adamson was here. The man had given him up after all, why would he change his mind, especially about a sick teenager that was number one on Voldemort's hit list? Did Snape feel obligated to take care of him since he was his son? Harry refused to believe that the Professor gave him up to protect him and then obliviated himself. Snape was too good of an occlumens to not notice the obliviation.

"There," Miss Adamson scooted the chair closer to the couch before sitting down. "You should start to feel better soon. If not, tell me."

"Okay," Harry hugged the blanket around him closer, scared of the coming questions.

"Harry, I need you to answer my questions as best you can. It's possible that we may need to change some of your chemotherapy drugs-"

"But the chemo is the only option," he pushed himself up to sit, grimacing as a wave of intense pain flooded his body. "I can't, I don't want to die."

"Miss Adamson isn't implying your treatments will stop," Severus moved to sit down next to him. Unconsciously, Harry leaned against his professor's side. "There are several different chemotherapy drugs, and we may need to switch which ones you're receiving."

"Oh," Harry felt stupid as Snape wrapped an arm around his shoulder. One thing Harry knew without a doubt was that Snape wouldn't let him die if he could at all prevent it. The man had saved him too many times in the past to just let him die now.

"Is the pain you're experiencing typical after a mental encounter with You-Know-Who?" Miss Adamson asked with a small pad of paper sitting in her lap and a never-out quill in her hand.

"Yes-"

"Harry," Snape warned him.

"No," Harry amended with a sigh. Couldn't Snape let him finish a sentence before assuming what his intentions were? "The pain is typical so yes, but usually it fades a lot faster, and it doesn't get worse."

"Gets worse?" Miss Adamson stopped writing to look up at him. "Do you mean periods of escalated pain that come and go?"

Harry nodded. "They really hurt, more than it already does."

"Have the flares been occurring frequently, as in multiple times an hour?"

"I think so," Harry tried to gauge the time between the episodes that were apparently called flares, but it was hard since his body was having a hard time keeping any sense of time with his out of whack sleep pattern.

"On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, what would you say is your pain level?" the Specialist asked as Harry watched her scribble down note after note.

"Fifteen," he answered right away. He had a high pain tolerance from growing up at the Dursleys, and it was the unbearable pain that caused him to come out and seek Snape's help. He couldn't stand lying in his bed waiting for it to lessen any longer.

"And has the pain lessened now?"

"A little," Harry conceded. He no longer wished for unconsciousness to claim him and take away the pain, but needles still felt like they were jabbing his skin.

"Good. Can you lie down? The lab results are in, and I'd like to share them with you both, and then I'll proceed with my examination. Okay?" Miss Adamson said as she retrieved a few sheets of parchment from her pocket.

"Okay," Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he was ready to hear anymore bad news, but maybe the test results were actually good and that's why she hadn't spoken with Snape first?

"To lie down, you'll need to sit up first so I may get out of your way," the Professor said softly in his ear.

"Oh... yeah," Harry forgot he'd been leaning against Snape, angry he had let himself seek Snape out for comfort. He had himself to rely on and no one else. Everyone else always broke their promises, and Snape was proving to be no exception. How could Harry expect to trust to the man that gave him up as an innocent baby? As soon as it grew too much for Snape to handle again, he'd throw Harry out, pass him on to someone else.

Harry pushed Snape's arm off him and sat up before leaning the other way until his head and side hit the pillows and soft surface of the sofa, a wince forming on his face. When Snape moved and took up his post on the coffee table again, Harry lifted his legs and set them down slowly on the sofa, giving his legs time to adjust to the contact with the soft fabric before transferring weight onto his limbs.

"Your ANC count has dropped to 1483.  Below 1000 is what we consider as neutropenia and with that comes a higher risk of infection. It's expected that your counts will continue to nosedive, but as horrible as it sounds, it's a sign the chemotherapy is starting to effect your body and hopefully killing off all the cancerous cells," Miss Adamson smiled.

Harry looked at the Specialist as if she were speaking Greek. The medical information meant absolutely nothing to him, and he really didn't want to understand it. He just wanted to take and receive whatever medications and infusions would get rid of his leukemia and go on with his life.

"I have even better news," Harry watched her look from him to Snape. "The results from the spinal tap are in, and after testing the sample twice, there were no cancerous cells found in Harry's spinal fluid."

Snape snapped his gaze from Harry to Miss Adamson. "None?" The Professor's tone was hopeful and Harry thought he saw the corners of Snape's lips turn slightly upwards. The reaction was so completely unlike Snape that Harry almost forgot for a moment that he hated the man.

"None," Miss Adamson confirmed with a wide smile. "We'll continue with the current series of intrathecal chemotherapy, but there's no reason to add any additional injections at this time."

"Harry?" Snape placed his hand over Harry's. "This is good news. It means less needle sticks and no radiation."

"Radiation?" Harry questioned. They hadn't mentioned that before.

"It's a process that involves shooting radioactive waves at you in order to kill off cancer cells," Snape explained, a light, happy tone lacing his voice.

"Oh, that's good then," Harry responded trying to sound happy. He got that the news was good, and that he should be happier, but it was so hard to focus on that when Voldemort's latest attack still left him with pain and trembling limbs.

"In addition, I've contacted a Muggle hospital in London that we have contacts with and blood and platelets on the way to St. Mungo's for transfusion. Severus, I brought along the forms to sign along with the new consent forms for Harry's treatments," Miss Adamson took a stack of forms from her robes pocket and handed them over to the git.

Harry glared at both of them. When were they going to inform him that he needed a transfusion? After Miss Adamson had already hooked him up to it? "Why did you need to contact a Muggle hospital?"

"You know that each and every wizard and witch has their own magical signature, right?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Well, like Muggles, a wizard's blood contains DNA, but it also contains a trace of his magical signature. When you mix two magical people's blood together, it can cause a severe reaction because the magic may be incompatible. That's why we normally use Blood Replenishing potions instead. A Muggle's blood, of course, has no such magical properties to it, and so it makes it safe to transfuse," the Specialist stood up from her chair. "Are you ready to get the examination over?"

----- 

Severus stood up and walked over to the fireplace to give Miss Adamson room to examine his son. Harry had made it more than clear he was angry with him, but Severus wanted to be there in case his child needed him or decided to suspend his anger. He couldn't blame Harry, but it didn't make it any easier for Severus to stand back while his child was clearly in a great deal of pain.

"I'm going to examine you gently with my hands, okay sweetie?" Miss Adamson kneeled on the floor beside the sofa. "Let me know if it hurts."

The Potions Master watched the Specialist take Harry's right hand and barely squeeze it. Harry murmured a weak ouch and that was enough for Severus to start pacing. He couldn't watch while Miss Adamson tested his son's response to touch, and it seemed that each new spot brought a louder complaint from his child. How many spots did she need to test anyway? It was clear Harry was in pain from head to toe. Couldn't she continue by scanning the child's body with her wand?

"Please," Harry cried.

That was enough. Severus couldn't handle hearing the pain filled noises coming from his child's mouth. He strode down the hall to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, unaware he had been holding it as he leaned against the heavy wooden door.

Severus knew the tactile tests were necessary, had even administered a few while studying Muggle medical techniques, but it had proven too much to see and hear the same tests administered to his child. He couldn't get the desperate, pain filled voice out of his head. If only Harry had anything else but cancer, Severus could take the child's pain away with a simple potion, but it wasn't even safe for Harry to enter the lab with his weakening immune system.

The Potions Master turned around and punched the door. It wasn't fair! He could cure nearly any illness with a few hours and a list of ingredients, but not the one his child was suffering from. What good were potions when they failed you the moment you really needed them?

Punching the door one last time, Severus regained his composure. He needed to show Harry he really cared for him, and he wasn't doing that hiding in his room. Severus wanted to be there for his child, wanted to be the child's father in more ways than biologically. So, with his emotions steeled away, Severus returned to the sitting room to find Harry curled up in a tiny ball, hidden under the silver blanket while Miss Adamson sat in the chair pulled up to the sofa, a frown covering her face.