Hana was sitting in the desk chair, humming quietly to herself and swinging her legs, when Snape returned to the room. The little elf perked up at his arrival. "Master Harry had some breakfast, then he be sleeping since shortly after Potions Master went to class," she reported without prompting.

"'Master Harry'?" the man echoed, raising a brow.

"He is not liking being called 'Mr. Harry Potter sir,'" explained Hana.

"I see. Has he been having any trouble sleeping?"

"Not that Hana can tell. Master Harry was so sleepy, he almost fell asleep in his breakfast!"

Snape could imagine the sight, as he had witnessed it from the head table on numerous occasions. Before, he had always assumed the boy had saved his homework until the previous night and had had to stay up late to complete it. Now, however, he wondered if Potter's nightmares weren't a frequent occurrence. Unfortunately, Dreamless Sleep wasn't a potion he could make for the boy because any substitution in the ingredients would render it useless.

"What is wrong with Master Harry?" Hana asked perceptively.

Snape looked down at the elf, whose gaze went from him to the sleeping teen and back again. "I will tell you, but you are not to tell anyone else. If they ask, you do not know."

"Hana won't tell," the elf nodded obediently. "Hana is not knowing anything."

"Mr. Potter is ill," Snape told her. "In fact, it is likely he will die. I have been working to prevent this eventuality."

"Then, Master Harry will be okay. Hana knows Potions Master is best at what he does – he will make Master Harry well."

"I wish that it were so simple."

"How can it not be?" exclaimed Hana. "Master Potions Master Professor sir can make anything!"

"Calm yourself, Hana," Snape hissed at her. "And do lower your voice. Just because I wish to cure the boy doesn't mean I can. Making antidotes takes time – of which I may not have enough."

"But Potions Master will try, yes?" the elf asked, eyes bright with tears. "He will not be giving up?"

"Staying up nearly every night certainly isn't for my own health," the wizard replied. "Despite your faith in my capabilities, I am not infallible. Furthermore, helping the boy will only prove difficult unless he is willing to help himself. I can only do so much for him."

"Hana is not wanting Master Harry to die," Hana murmured sadly.

"Neither do I," Snape whispered, then sighed. "Continue to keep an eye on him for me, Hana. I will return again at lunch time."

"Yes, Potions Master."

The man's footsteps echoed quietly in the short hall and Hana retook her vigil with far less cheer than when she'd started. Harry, a long time master of waking quietly, stared at the wall. Snape didn't want him to die. While the teen didn't exactly believe the man wished him dead, he didn't think he particularly cared one way or the other. He had thought that the man's efforts were merely because Dumbledore required them of him. That was not what he'd told Hana, though. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it.

It seemed like an eternity before he somehow drifted off again, dreaming of a dour Potions professor bent over a cauldron, an energetic house elf at hand, eager to assist him...

0o0o0

Harry knocked his head against the back of his chair. He should have begged off class for the rest of the day, after all. Monday afternoon was double Divination, so now, not only was he bored out of his skull, but he couldn't doze through the class because he'd been sleeping almost the whole weekend.

Worse than this was the fact that the rumor mill seemed to be in pristine condition. Nearly the entire school, apparently, was under the impression that Harry had put his name into the Goblet of Fire himself. While his housemates seemed to think this a brilliant trick on his part, the other houses appeared to consider it a bid for attention.

As this was reportedly the latest instance of Harry's inability to adhere to school rules, the story went, the headmaster had deemed it necessary for him to have more direct supervision from a staff member. Snape had been determined to be the most suitable for this role, as he was both a strict disciplinarian and unlikely to be indulgent with Harry. (Even some of the Slytherins felt a bit sorry for Harry in this regard, though, none of them would ever admit it.)

Harry couldn't even deny this, either. Only six other people knew about his condition – the headmaster, Snape, Madame Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione. His friends only knew that he was sick, but not the severity of his illness. Until it was discovered who had put his name into the Goblet, the other teachers were not going to be told what was wrong with Harry.

"Whoever entered you into the Tournament, Mr. Potter, certainly didn't have your best interests in mind," Snape had told him. "It would be better to err on the side of caution than to risk the knowledge of your fragile health falling into the hands of whoever might wish you dead."

And didn't that help Harry sleep well.

The class finally ended after Trelawney predicted Harry's rather ghastly end for what seemed like the thirtieth time that year. But this time she was "horribly certain." Harry would have to keep his eyes open. As much as Pomfrey and Snape had been making him sleep lately, that shouldn't be a problem.

0o0o0

Harry entered the quarters, closing the door behind him and leaning up against it. It had been nearly three weeks and people were still gossiping about him. Admittedly, much fewer than at first, but enough that Harry still felt the need to avoid others at large. Didn't they have anything more interesting to talk about? Like, maybe, the first task of the tournament that was to happen the following week's Tuesday? Why did it matter anymore that the Boy-Who-Lived supposedly managed to put his name into the Goblet and now had to live with a professor because he couldn't follow rules?

The boy kicked the door with the back of his heel. The whole situation just made him mad.

"Do refrain from abusing my door, Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped in surprise when he noticed Snape sitting in one of the chairs for the first time. The man was calmly reading a potions journal, a cup of tea on the corner of the coffee table.

"You're back early," Snape noted, gaze still fixed on his reading. "I expected you to remain with your friends until after supper."

"I didn't feel much like company," Harry grumbled, taking the several steps to the hall.

"I'm sure they miss the charming demeanor you've been exhibiting of late," the man dryly declared.

His student scowled at him but if he noticed, he didn't comment on it. For his part, Harry had forgotten that Snape only had one class in the afternoon on Thursdays. If he'd remembered, he would have gone somewhere else.

"I'm going to my room," the teen murmured. It was almost strange how quickly he'd come to actually think of it as his, but he had, and he was actually quite content with not having to share a dorm with the rest of his classmates. Well, most of time. He'd never minded before, but now everyone irritated him – especially the other fourth-year Gryffindors. Even Ron and Hermione were hardly an exception.

The boy started down the short hallway.

"Potter."

Suppressing a sigh, Harry stepped back towards the living room. "Yes, sir?"

"You will not be taking your potion tomorrow morning," Snape informed him.

"I won't?" the boy asked in surprise.

Snape closed the journal and set it aside. "No," he said, studying his charge for a moment before he continued. "I will have finished an antidote I'd like you to try tomorrow. You will return here after class. You won't be having supper, so I suggest you eat well at breakfast and lunch."

"It's finished? Really?" Harry couldn't help but feel a bit hopeful.

"I wouldn't be too optimistic, Potter," Snape cautioned, rising from his seat. "It is only a first attempt. In fact, I rather suspect you will have some sort of adverse reaction. Unfortunately, there is no other way to to test the antidote than to have you take it."

"If you don't think it will work, why am I going to take it?" the boy asked, frowning uncertainly.

"Because I'll have no idea how to alter the potion, or if I'm even on the right track, before I know how your body responds to it."

"Oh."

"Don't forget to attend supper," the Potions Master told the boy dismissively. "If you need me, I'll be in my lab." He crossed over to the door in the corner, leaving it slightly open as he often did when he was working.

Harry went to his room, checking the time as he placed his bag on his desk chair. He decided to go find his friends after all, just to take his mind off the possible cure he was to try the next day. He paused just inside his door before leaving again, biting his lip in indecision.

"Hana?" he finally called.

The elf appeared with a pop. "Master Harry is needing Hana?" she asked excitedly. "Master Harry" never called her.

"If the professor doesn't remember to eat, will you be sure to remind him?" the boy requested.

"Hana will remind him!" Hana dutifully announced, thrilled that Harry had a task for her to complete.

"Good – but don't tell him I asked you to do it."

Hana blinked slowly at him. "But, why?"

"Just... don't," said the teen. "Thanks, Hana." He left in search of Ron and Hermione. The elf watched him go, shaking her head. She didn't understand.

0o0o0

"Not now, Hana," the Potions Master growled again.

"But Hana is just reminding Potions Master to eat!" said the elf.

Severus stopped what he was doing before turning to fix Hana with a stern glare. "Who put you up to this?" Hana's right ear twitched and she diverted her gaze. "Was it Albus? Or Minerva? Well? Answer me!"

"Hana isn't supposed to be saying!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands.

"Yes, well, I wish to know who insists that I be disturbed in such a fashion."

"Hana is wanting to tell, but..."

"Did this person specifically say you cannot tell me?"

"He told Hana not to be telling Potions Master he asked her to remind him," the elf uttered sullenly.

The man eyed her critically. Hana was almost never so reluctant to answer his queries. In fact, she seemed to consider herself more Snape's personal elf than a Hogwarts' elf. So, who else would she be so inclined to listen to? Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Was it Mr. Potter?"

Hana's head shot up in surprise. "Master Harry sir is only concerned for Potions Master! Only... he is not wanting him to know, which Hana does not understand... but Potions Master shouldn't be upset with Master Harry. Master Harry is only wanting to help!"

"I cannot imagine why Mr. Potter should even care," Severus declared. He turned back to cleaning up his worktable.

Hana edged the slightest bit closer to him, peering up into his face. "Potions Master?"

"He merely asked that you remind me, not make sure that I eat. Am I correct?" the man asked irritably. Hana nodded, her ears flapping back and forth. "Well, you've reminded me, already. Task accomplished. I will eat when I am finished here and not a second before."

A relieved smiled spread across the elf's face. "Yes, sir!" she chirped. "Would Potions Master like to eat supper in his kitchen?"

He sighed in defeat. "As supper in the Great Hall is nearly over and you will undoubtedly continue to pester me, I suppose I have no choice."

"Hana will make sure it is ready for Potions Master when he is done!" Hana declared, clapping her hands together.

"Yes, yes, very good," Snape grumbled. "Now, will you go so that I may finish in peace?"

"Mm!" Hana gave a quick nod, then with a little pop, she was gone.

Severus scrubbed at the tabletop. He wasn't sure what to make of Harry caring about whether he ate or not. "Waste of time," he muttered aloud, "the boy ought to just worry about himself."

0o0o0

Harry was slumped forward in the chair, chin resting atop his hands as he simply stared at the fluid in the glass in front of him. It smelled of dirt and stale coffee and was the color of liquified grass. While he was certain it couldn't possibly be worse than the potion he usually took everyday, he wasn't so sure he wanted to find out how it tasted.

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that your continued scrutiny will do nothing to improve its flavor," Snape told him dryly. "In any case, it is meant to be a medicine, not pumpkin juice."

Harry turned his head to look at the man, then past him at the mediwitch standing in the kitchen doorway. Slowly, he directed his attention back to the first trial of an antidote for his poisoning. It didn't appear particularly harmful. He straightened up.

"You have no idea what it might do to me?" he asked.

"Nothing concrete, no," the man answered bluntly.

The boy bit his lip. "Could it... could it kill me?"

"Potter, I am not any happier to be using you as a test subject than you are," Snape said impatiently. "I can state with reasonable certainty that the antidote itself shouldn't kill you, but I can make no guarantees. I have already performed every possible test that I can without your involvement. The only way I can proceed further is to know how this potion interacts with the poison in your system. The only way to acquire that knowledge is for you to take it. Unless you'd rather just die, of course, in which case, I shan't waste my time."

"I'll take it," Harry muttered. "I was just asking." He took up the glass and raised it to his lips. Hesitating only a second, he threw his head back and swallowed it down. The brew tasted about the way it smelled, with a slight aftertaste that reminded Harry of licorice.

The two adults moved closer, watching him carefully. "How do you feel, Harry?" Pomfrey inquired.

"I..." Harry paused to think. He didn't feel any different, really. He had drank all of it, however, so perhaps it simply didn't work. The teen opened his mouth to suggest as much, when he suddenly realized that something was very different. Namely, the fact that it felt like his throat was rapidly closing off, preventing the intake of air.

"Potter." Snape's voice, the tone indicating that he expected an answer. But Harry couldn't say anything – he couldn't even breathe. His hands went to his neck, the world already becoming hazy. Someone gripped his shoulder and was speaking urgently to him, but Harry could make out none of it.

He was going to die. It was then that he truly realized how much he wanted to live, how much he still wanted to experience before it was all over. He thought about how he'd never told Ron and Hermione what was really happening to him or how horrible his life was with the Dursleys or how very dearly he valued their friendship. He thought of how he would never have the chance to really know his godfather...

His mind became filled with the image of a beautiful, red-haired woman, who smiled lovingly at him. Then everything went black.