He was floating in a sea of black; it was blessedly silent and he felt at peace.

But he wasn’t alone, something had come with him; it had followed him in and then wrapped itself around him like a thick, soft cocoon. 

He heard a noise. It was very faint, yet even still — the noise was too much to bear, so he drifted away from it.

Eventually, his sense of awareness reached beyond the loving warmth of his cocoon and when he heard that faint noise again he was able to identify it as a voice. Someone was talking to him. 

He wanted to sink back into the cocoon of love. It was familiar to him now and he didn’t want to leave it — he didn’t want it to leave him.

“Severus, wake up. I’m here waiting for you. Please wake up.”

As the voice and his awareness grew stronger, they began to pull him away from the darkness and away from his quiet place until finally he opened his eyes.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

A heavy fog had settled over the London area just after Samhain and for three days now it entombed the city in a gray blanket of wet.

Bellatrix Lestrange pulled her cape tightly to her, trying to ward off the permeating cold as she walked briskly along the cobblestone road of Knockturn Alley.

She glanced up briefly at the falling minute droplets and sneered. “I hate fog,” she grumbled, just before she yanked open the door to Skulkin Bar, slipped inside and surveyed the room with an intimidating scowl.

The patrons looked up when she entered but immediately returned their attention to their drinks as soon as they realized who it was. They all knew Bella, and knew best not to draw her attention. They came for the cheap liquor and the dark atmosphere. It was not a place for social drinking, but of private drinking for those who didn’t really have anything better to do.

She flipped the cape from off her shoulders, allowing it to drape down her back. Still scanning the room, almost daring anyone to look her in the eye, she pulled her long black hair out from under the fabric and ran her fingers through it trying to offset the effects of the heavy mist.

“Whiskey soda,” she barked and then waited impatiently for the bartender to hand the drink to her. She then strode confidently across the bar and through a back hallway where at its end, she entered a small room to her left.

“What took you so long?” asked Mulciber.

“I was detained,” was all she offered as she set down the glass and took a spot between Avery and Dolohov.  “Has anyone heard anything new?”

They all shook their heads.  

“Why did he stop us?” she asked. “Everything was going perfectly. I don’t know about any of you, but my building was spectacular.”

“If you’d been on time, you’d know that everyone’s buildings were spectacular,” Nott imitated her accent, “and must you do that in public?” 

“Do what?” she looked up in surprise.

“That!” he pointed at her hands.

She simply huffed and went right back to flicking her wand to touch up the chipped polish on her nails.

“Can we please get back to business?” implored Dolohav. “We all know we can’t bring down those buildings without help from the Dark Lord.  Until he tells us to resume, our hands are tied.”

“But why did he stop us?” asked Bella again, this time more emphatically. “No one has answered my question.”

“That’s because we don’t know, Bella,” snapped Avery. “Don’t you think the rest of us are frustrated as well?” His voice now rose with exasperation. “First he’s gone for months. Finally he returns with this stupendous plan, but then he stops us after only one day of operations. It makes no sense. What could have happened?”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Far off in Little Hangleton, a stumpy short wizard stood outside the bedroom of his master; with a trembling hand, he timidly knocked upon the door. “My lord, I have your broth.”

“Enter.”

Peter Pettigrew quietly entered the room and saw that the Dark Lord had finally made it out of his bed. He was now reclining on the chaise lounge, staring blankly out the window.

Peter scurried over and set the bowl of broth on the small side table then went to fetch a warm throw and returned to Voldemort’s side.

“My Lord?” he asked hesitantly.

Voldemort glanced over at the soft woolen blanket and nodded his head.

Making absolutely certain not to touch his master, Peter spread the blanket out to cover Voldemort’s legs.

“Is there anything else my Lord requires?”

Voldemort shook his head. “Leave me.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Peter bowed deeply then hurried out of the room.

Voldemort continued to stare out at the shadowy silhouettes of the shrubbery and trees as they peered back at him through the heavy fog.

He couldn’t actually remember Apparating back to his mansion. He could only remember waking up in his bed the day after his attack on Harry and then lying there for yet another day, immobilized by shock.

He was still in shock or better yet, stunned — stunned with disbelief that Harry Potter had once again overpowered him.

The first time had been all those years ago in Goderic’s Hollow. Potter’s second victory had taken place two years previous when they dueled in the graveyard. Then the annoying brat accomplished this impossible feat yet again last year, when Voldemort had tried to possess the boy — and then there was Samhain, just three days ago.

He’d been certain that this time his method would succeed, but it hadn’t. His efforts in using Legilimency to rip apart Harry’s mind didn’t only fail, it had backfired, as the boy had actually managed to enter his own mind. 

This personal attack was almost beyond Voldemort’s ability to comprehend or accept.

“How dare that impudent child attack me!” He spoke a loud, and to think of it again made him tremble with ire.

He knew he had to find some way to stop his annoying nemesis. Dueling was not an option, for their wands were related.  He couldn’t possess him and now, apparently he couldn’t even use Legilimency.

As the afternoon wore on, his cup of broth long forgotten, Voldemort continued to lie upon his lounge and ponder the challenge of just how he could succeed in killing Harry Potter.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Albus Dumbledore walked wearily along a corridor on the fourth floor of St Mungo's Hospital. Turning a corner, he saw Molly Weasley sitting at the opposite end. She rose to greet him as he approached.

“Oh, thank you for coming, Albus.”

“Is there any change in his condition?”

She shook his head, “No, I’m afraid not." She brushed back her hair. “Has Filius had any luck?”

“He tracked their travels to some ruins in Belize and succeeded in contacting them this morning. Last I heard, they were obtaining emergency international Portkeys and should arrive this evening.”

Dumbledore looked at the closed door. “And how is Harry?”

“That’s why I called you, Albus. You’ve got to do something.  He won’t listen to me, or Arthur. He absolutely refuses to leave.” Her voice began to quaver as her eyes filled with tears. “He’s devastated. He won’t eat or sleep. He’s just sitting there.” She sniffed her nose and drew a shaky breath.  “Would you please try and talk some sense into him? I think he’ll listen to you.”

“Of course, Molly,” He touched her shoulder then headed toward the door.

"Albus, how is Severus?"

He stopped and turned back. "I was with him this afternoon when he regained consciousness. Poppy says he'll be fine."

"Thank Merlin for that."

Dumbledore opened the door and entered the dimly lit hospital room. Harry was sitting beside the bed. He was holding Anthony’s hand and had fallen asleep.

When Voldemort attacked Harry the night of Samhain, his intent had been to use Legilimency to tear apart Harry’s mind and thus kill him; but Harry had automatically thrown up his shield, and inadvertently deflected the attacking force onto Anthony.

Anthony sustained numerous cerebral hemorrhages which had left him in a coma. The Healers believed that if he lived, he would most likely never come out of the coma. If he did come out of it, he would be permanently obtunded.

Dumbledore conjured a chair next to Harry’s and sat down beside him.

Harry was so pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a mess and he was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn for the past three days.

He reached forward and took Harry’s free hand. “Harry.”

Harry woke with a sluggish start, not realizing he had dozed off.

Dumbledore noted the red eyes and nose from crying. “Harry,” he spoke very softly, “Professor Flitwick has located Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein, they will be here shortly.”

Harry looked from Dumbledore over to Anthony. He was so tired he didn’t think he could speak, so he just nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Dumbledore continued, “When they arrive, I want you to go to the Burrow for the remainder of the week. You need to rest. I will arrange for Helena to come and see you.”

Harry sat there looking at his friend lying motionless upon the bed and his eyes welled with tears. “Why did this have to happen?” his voice shook as he started to cry. “Why does he always hurt the ones I love?”

Harry pulled his hand away from Dumbledore’s to cover his face as he broke into sobs, but he wouldn’t let go of Anthony’s hand.

Whatever Albus said, words could never justify what Voldemort had done to these two young men, or to all the innocent people that had lost their lives over the years in Voldemort's struggle for supremacy. So instead of offering an empty excuse, Dumbledore scooted his chair a little closer and reached an arm around Harry. He would sit and hold him while they awaited the arrival of Anthony’s parents, then he would take Harry to the Burrow.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Severus lay upon one of the infirmary beds propped up by numerous pillows. He felt dazed, had a terrible headache and one of his legs was numb. He'd sustained all his injuries as a result of being a little too close to Harry when his magical surge burst across the rose garden.

He was quietly sipping a cup of tea, trying to process the little bit of information Albus had told him regarding the events of that night; that of the three persons injured, the injuries of the intended victim had been the least severe.

Harry broke his ankle when he fell to the ground and was literally exhausted from fighting off Voldemort’s attack. Aside from that he was fine, at least physically. The injuries to Anthony had left Harry an emotional wreck.

He, Severus, sustained a fractured skull and concussion from the hard landing. The nerve damage to his leg occurred when some of Harry’s magical surge passed through him, short circuiting a couple of nerves.  Poppy assured him that they would regenerate, but that he’d have a slight limp for a while.

Then Severus lifted a hand to touch his hair. He hadn’t looked in a mirror yet, but he could certainly feel how thick it had become, for apparently another effect from the surge passing through him was that his hair had grown in length and was now about twice as thick as it had been.

He supposed he could attribute his dazed feeling to the concussion or being hit by a powerful magical surge, but Severus wondered if part of his daze was caused by what he’d experienced that night. 

It was that last memory of Harry's, that overwhelming feeling of love; Harry’s love to be precise, and somehow it had followed him into his own subconscious and had stayed with him, sheltering him whilst he was unconscious.

That strong feeling of being surrounded with love was now only a memory, now that he was awake. That love had withdrawn, or was it that he'd withdrawn from the love? He had no place in his life for love, but yet, there was a tiny part of him that had liked the feeling of being loved, and that tiny part of him wanted the love to come back.

“How are you feeling?” Poppy asked as she passed the privacy screen, startling him from his thoughts.

“Would you please announce your approach? I almost dropped this,” he barked while handing her the now empty cup.

“Ah, I can hear some of that spunk returning. I predict one more day, and then you'll be back to your old self again,” she teased just before performing another round of healing charms on his injured nerves.

“I’ll thank you to save your attempts at comedy for the other patients.”

When she finished her administrations she turned and looked at him with a curious expression.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“You seem different somehow.”

“It’s the hair.”

“No. It’s more than just your hair. Somehow, you’ve changed.”

“Nonsense,” he huffed as he rolled over onto his good side. “Now would you mind Noxing the lights so I can get some rest?”

Happy and relieved at his improvement, she smiled and did as he asked.  “Good night, Severus,”

He listened to her as she walked down the ward and retired to her quarters. Lying there in the darkened room, he thought about how it had felt when he was in his own dark place, and as much as he hated to admit it, that feeling of love wrapped around him had felt nice.  

"But it's gone now," he said quietly to himself.

Then it occurred to him that even if the love had left, he still had the memory of being loved, and perhaps that would be enough.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

"I'll probably be late again tonight," Arthur said with an apologetic expression. 

"Oh Arthur, that will make every night this week."

"There's nothing I can do about it, Molly. With this new proposed directive, the Muggle Relations Department is swamped."

"I know dear, I think it's a good idea but you need help. Is the plan finalized yet?"

"It's still in the preliminary stages right now. Then we still have to find twenty individuals to become the new liaisons; that is no small feat."

"Has Kingsley been able to help? With all his experience..."

"Molly, he's already taken on France in addition to Britain. Fortunately..."

Just then the clock chimed, Late For Work.

"Oh no, I'm late!" He gave her a quick kiss and raced to the Floo. Just before tossing in the powder, he called back, "Don't let Harry talk you into letting him go back to St. Mungos. You know what the Healers said last night."

"I don't think he'll be able to manage much of anything today," she sighed. "Bye Arthur."

After he Floo'd to work, Molly went to Harry's room and peered around the doorway. He was sound asleep, but the covers had slipped of his shoulders and it was cold this morning. 

She tiptoed over to him, pulled the covers up and tucked them around his shoulders, then stood a moment and watched him sleep. 

Dumbledore and Molly had arrived the night before with Harry in tow, along an array of draughts and potions. The Healers had given Harry a quick once over before their departure and determined that he was on the verge of a physical collapse and that he needed to sleep and rest for the next few days. The threat of admitting him as a patient was enough to make him agree to all they prescribed, and Molly was determined to carry out their orders. 

She knew he'd sleep the entire day. Leaning over, she gave him a kiss on his forehead then went back to the kitchen to start preparing some hearty dishes for when he awoke.

By evening, she'd prepared beef stew, a shepherd pie, a dozen pasties, a treacle tart, scones and some nice warm spotted dick.  

The wonderful aroma wafting into his room roused Harry from his sleep. Even though he'd slept almost twenty four hours, he woke up groggy and just thought it was early in the morning.

He felt content and cozy, enjoying the yummy smells of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, thinking about how nice it would be to eat whatever it was she had cooked.

He started to stretch but stopped right away because of a painful twinge in his ankle. What did I do to my ankle? He wondered if he'd fallen off his broom, but then it hit him. He remembered what had happened and the ache that engulfed his heart took his breath away.    

As he lay there in the twilight with the soft background noise coming from the kitchen, Harry thought of Anthony and of how much he loved him. He thought about how cute Anthony was clever and smart yet sensitive, funny and self assured. He thought of Anthony's body and how much he loved to touch him and kiss.

Anthony had taught Harry so much about these things. He'd meant to ask Anthony where he'd learned all of this but now, he never could. His eyes welled with tears and he sank his face in the pillow and cried.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Severus had just poured himself a Scotch and was attempting to limp back to the couch when Dumbledore's voice called out from the Floo.

"Severus, are you awake?"

The hearth came into view as he passed the couch. Looking down at the face in the flames, Severus held his drink out for the old man to see. "Yes Albus, I'm awake. Come through."

He set down his drink, lowered himself onto the sofa and used both hands to lift his bad leg up onto the cushions. 

"Mind if I do?" came Albus's voice from behind him.

Looking over, Severus saw the Headmaster standing at the sideboard with the Scotch bottle in his hand. "Help yourself." He then proceeded to knock back a mouthful.

Poppy had discharged Severus from the infirmary only that morning with strict orders that he rest and recuperate for the remainder of the week. He was more than willing to comply, as the numbness in his leg had graduated into a severe ache, giving competition to the one in his head.     

Albus collapsed onto the wingback chair and the two men took a moment to consider each other.  This was the first opportunity they'd had for conversation since the ordeal of Samhain, five days previous.

"How is Harry?" asked Severus.

"He's at the Burrow, resting. Apparently he slept all of today and Healer Swanson will meet with him tomorrow."

"And Mr. Goldstein?"

Albus breathed in the vapors from the alcohol and then took a sip. "They moved him to the long term care ward on the fifth floor today. His parents are considering transferring him to a facility in Brussels."

"That will be difficult for Harry," Severus was concerned for the young wizard and perplexed with himself for feeling this way.

"Mr. Goldstein's prognosis is not promising, and the facility in Brussels apparently specializes in brain injuries." He took another sip before continuing. "Perhaps it is for the best," his voice sounded defeated. "Harry will waste away, worrying and fretting to no end, trying to keep a vigil..." He let the sentence hang unfinished.

They sat quietly for a while, sipping their drinks and lost in thought. 

"Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you saw what transpired between Harry and Tom."

Severus stared at his drink and nodded in response; the movement caused blue reflections of light to bounce off his thick black hair.

"Can you tell me about the last memories you saw?"

His request hit a little too close to what had become a soft spot for Severus. "Why do you want to know?"

"Please Severus, I'm trying to understand what transpired that night and if there is any correlation between the attack on Harry and the abrupt end to the embassy attacks."

Severus's curiosity was now peaked. "Please explain."

Albus set down his drink and then steeped his fingers as he recalled what he'd seen that night. "Just before Harry's magic surged, the green light … that force which was bombarding him, it dissipated."

"It did?"

"Yes, it did." Now the old wizard sat foreword in his chair. "It was as if Voldemort withdrew his attack a fraction of a second before the surge."

Now Severus set down his own drink. "If that is the case …," he paused a moment as he formulated his hypothesis. "Perhaps that wasn't a surge at all. Perhaps that was simply Harry's shield, and when the Dark Lord abruptly ceased his onslaught, the force of Harry's shield shot throughout the immediate vicinity."

Dumbledore entertained this thought.

"You haven't discussed this with Harry?" continued Severus.

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry is been in no condition to discuss anything of this nature.  He is so distraught; the Healers at St. Mungos almost insisted he be admitted as a patient."

Severus remained silent as he struggled over the fact that he found this news personally distressing.  

"But I still need an answer to my question, if you could provide it," Albus persisted.    

Severus leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, something he tended to do when he felt vulnerable. After a moment, he relayed all the images he had seen that night, both Harry's and the Dark Lord's, clarifying to Dumbledore that Harry had indeed fought back, miraculously employing his own stab at Legilimency. 

"Albus," Severus continued. “Harry not only fought back, but he succeeded in dictating what he showed to the Dark Lord. The last images I recall seeing were Harry's few memories of being loved." Severus actually had to pause a moment before continuing. "They were memories of him being held: by Molly, by you and by... Mr. Goldstein. This last one was quite … private."

Albus was quiet as he grasped the importance of Severus's revelation. 

"It was love," Dumbledore stated plainly.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Severus, last year when Voldemort possessed Harry, he withdrew as soon as Harry's thoughts reflected upon his love for Sirius. In that case, Harry's thoughts had been purely responsive. But this time, it would appear that Harry took this knowledge and drew upon his memories of love, intentionally, and used them as a weapon."

"Dear Merlin."

"Dear Merlin, indeed." Albus responded. "I would imagine this came as a rather nasty shock to Tom. It could explain why he retreated, and perhaps it might also be the reason for the abrupt halt in the attacks upon the Embassies.”

They stared at each other in disbelief. 

"He will have power the Dark Lord knows not..."** Albus whispered the words. "Tom may not understand this power of Harry's, but he certainly knows now, not to take it lightly.”   

~~~~~SH~~~~~