When Dumbledore entered the room twenty minutes later, his robes fanning out behind him in a very Snape-like manner, Harry lay curled on his left side. Mrs. Weasley was stroking his hair as he breathed through the continuing pain in his right hand. Snape had seated himself on the bed behind Harry. He would rest his hand on Harry's shoulder occasionally, and though the touch was rather awkward, Harry appreciated the reminder that he was there.

"Headmaster!" Surprisingly, it was Healer Gannon who got the first words in. Harry rolled over onto his back. The Headmaster was staring transfixed at Harry's hand where a small cloud of red mist had just erupted and was spraying the coverlet with tiny red spots.

"The potion seems to be working the dark magic out through the scar from the Blood Quill," explained Snape. He stood up and both he and Healer Gannon began to apologize at the same time for completely missing the obvious fact that Harry had another curse scar that could be affected by the treatment.

"Headmaster, I cannot explain why we did not consider…"

"Albus, I take full responsibility…"

As Harry watched, the Headmaster lifted his left hand to silence the healer and his Potions Master.

"Enough. I was fully aware of the planned treatment and this complication did not occur to me either. We were focused on Harry's arm and hand and simply did not consider the ramifications of his earlier exposure to the Killing Curse." Dumbledore approached the bed without another word to either of the men. Mrs. Weasley stood and made room for him and Dumbledore took the chair she had just vacated.

"How are you holding up, Harry?" he asked. He brought his left hand up to Harry's face and brushed back his fringe, observing the lightning bolt scar. His touch was light and somehow calming, despite the odd tingling that passed through his scar as Dumbledore's fingers grazed over it.

"I've been better, sir," he answered honestly, gritting his teeth as his hand throbbed again and more red mist puffed into the air.

The Headmaster looked into Harry's eyes over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. His eyes were bright and serious today.

"I deeply regret that you have to endure this, Harry. I'm afraid this whole summer had gotten quite complicated for you. We'll get this sorted out in a trice, right gentlemen?" Dumbledore stood and turned to face Snape as Mrs. Weasley slid back into her chair.

"Severus, do you anticipate a similar effect when the potion goes after the scar on Harry's forehead?" He indicated Harry's hand, which was still puffing out red mist almost rhythmically. "What is your chief concern? Do you believe his life is in danger?"

Harry caught the quick glance Snape gave him before answering.

"No, I do not believe so. I am afraid that the pain may be debilitating as the potion begins to work. Look at his hand." Everyone looked at his hand, even though they'd all been watching it already for nearly three hours. "That curse damage was caused over nearly 24 hours, if the school records are accurate. But the Killing Curse caused the scar on his head. No one—and I repeat—non one—with the possible exception of Mr. Potter himself—knows what kind of pain accompanies that curse."

Dumbledore looked skyward a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. He grasped his right wrist with his left hand and settled them both against his abdomen, contemplating.

"Will the potion be able to remove the residual curse damage, Severus?" he asked at last.

Once more, Severus looked at Harry before answering. "No, I think not. The Killing Curse doesn't typically leave a victim capable of swallowing a potion. The residual damage is usually contained in a corpse." Mrs. Weasley visibly flinched at the statement but Healer Gannon looked far too intrigued for Harry's comfort. But Snape was continuing. "The potion has never been tested against a curse of that caliber. My suspicion is that the potion will attempt to tackle the damage as it is generally intended to do—in the same increments as it was delivered originally." He looked down at Harry's hand again and all eyes followed. Harry's left hand was now wrapped around his right wrist, squeezing tightly.

"So," said Dumbledore a moment later after three more wispy puffs of red mist had settled. Harry was suddenly reminded of the puffing silver instruments in Dumbledore's office but in his current state couldn't manage the guilt he normally felt at the reminder of the destruction he had wrought there. Mrs. Weasley did another "Scourgify"—she'd been keeping after the settling blood most religiously—as Dumbledore continued. "So, we should expect a terrific burst of healing magic, more or less equal in intensity to the shock of the killing curse, but in reverse?"

This time, Snape and Healer Gannon exchanged a glance, but Snape was the one who answered.

"Headmaster…Albus…Harry said something a little while ago, before you arrived. He was repeating something that I said to him two nights ago. Actually, I believe he may have been poking fun at me…" his gaze wandered over to Harry for a moment. "It is an oft-repeated quotation by Friedrich Nietzsche…'that which does not kill us...'"

"Makes us stronger," murmured Dumbledore and Snape together.

"Are you implying, then, that this treatment—if it does not kill him—will make him stronger?" asked Dumbledore bluntly. "That it will somehow end the connection?" Harry's eyes widened at the direct language but he was somewhat pacified to know that Dumbledore's interpretation matched his own.

Snape's answer surprised him.

"Not at all. That might be the case if the potion were able to totally eradicate the effects of the killing curse—the scar, the attendant link to the Dark Lord…" Snape paused and turned quickly to Healer Gannon. "You did NOT hear that," he said, his voice low and menacing. Healer Gannon's eyes widened but he nodded his head in acceptance. "But the potion simply is not—cannot be—strong enough. Mr. Potter's reminder of this axiom made me realize that the original curse did not kill him…"

"You needed a reminder of that, Severus?" asked Dumbledore gently.

Snape looked half annoyed, half amused. "As I was saying," he stated, "the original curse did not kill him. In many ways, it may indeed have made him stronger. Stronger in ways that will help him now and in the coming fight. He is able to resist the Imperius Curse, for example." Snape stopped again and turned toward Healer Gannon.

"I know, I know. Didn't hear that one either," said the healer with a small smile.

"He is a natural Occlumens," Snape continued. "He was able to sustain nearly daily use of the Blood Quill for a two-week period without losing his mind. His defensive spells are his strongest—Expelliarmus, for example. His Patronus is not only corporeal, but larger than life and quite distinct. I am suggesting, Albus," here Snape turned his entire attention to the Headmaster, and everyone else in the room, Harry included, shifted their gazes to Dumbledore, "that Harry Potter has resistive and defensive powers beyond the scope and ability not only of other wizards and witches his age, but of almost all wizards and witches."

Snape fell silent. The room stayed silent. Red mist rose and fell from Harry's right hand several times. Harry's grip on his own right wrist tightened. Finally, Harry spoke.

"But what does that mean?" He touched his forehead, brushing back his fringe and exposing his scar. His hair was damp, his forehead sweaty and creased with the clear evidence of an already long and tense day.

It was Dumbledore who answered. "If, as Professor Snape suggests, your defensive powers were enhanced by the original killing curse—or, more precisely, by the fact that you did not succumb to it—your body may perceive the potion's attempt to remove that curse as an attack, and your magic will resist the attempt to remove it. All in all, I believe this is good news."

"Then why hasn't it been resisting the other curse damage?" asked Harry. He had burrowed back into the pillows—Mrs. Weasley had added another plump one to the standard hospital issue an hour ago, pulling it out of her bottomless handbag with a satisfied smile.

Snape looked thoughtful. Healer Gannon looked intrigued. Snape finally pulled a straight back chair over, flipped it around and straddled it, leaning forward and facing the others.

"We must think this through thoroughly, and in the end, we will still not be sure what will happen if the potion locates the killing curse damage and begins to work to expel it. Healer Gannon, we will need to know promptly when the potion's effects move from his hand. It should progress to the two spots on his arm, return to his fingers and from there…"

Healer Gannon nodded, glancing at the parchment beneath the hovering quill.

"First, consider the potion. The potion is designed to locate and reverse residual damage to the flesh, muscles, connective tissues and bones caused by dark magic or cursed objects. The potion has been used for more than a century in circumstances similar to this one—where the patient has received a new injury that does not heal or that worsens due to the effect of the residual dark magic at or near the site of the injury. The potion contains a temporal agent, locating and healing the newest damage first then progressing backwards to older injuries, in reverse order of when they were received."

"Like Priori Incantatem," commented Harry, shifting on the bed. Mrs. Weasley began to rub his back between his shoulder blades, making him want to purr and groan at the same time.

Snape fixed him with a stare. "Precisely," he said softly. Harry wondered, for a moment, if Snape knew about his experience with that particular spell in the graveyard after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. He mentally removed it from his "things to discuss with Snape one day" list.

"Go on, Severus," said Dumbledore. He waved his wand, silently conjuring a sturdy looking padded chair, and settled down into it.

"In order to work effectively, the potion must know what it is looking for. It—more precisely, the magic it delivers—must be stronger than the original curse. Residual curse damage is not so much damage as it is remnants of dark magic that prevent healing. The potion seeks out this dark magic, overpowers it and expels it."

Dumbledore spoke now. He was facing Harry, but at an angle, and Harry could see a strange light in his eye. From this angle, Harry could see that his beard was tied with what looked like the string from a pair of the Weasley Twins' Extendible Ears.

"What you are saying, Severus, is that the potion will not be effective against the damage from the Killing Curse. It was never intended, thus never customized, to repair damage inflicted by the Killing Curse because simply put, no one survives the Killing Curse." Here he, and everyone else in the room, paused to look significantly at Harry as if, thought Harry, they were in a bad Muggle TV drama. Dumbledore continued. "The curative magic delivered by the potion may or may not recognize the damage at all. If it does, it will not be strong enough to eradicate it. But what will it do?"

Healer Gannon was eying the chart and spoke up before Snape could answer.

"Another blood replenishing potion, I think." He left the cubicle to fetch the potion.

"The potion will attempt to force the curse out and Mr. Potter will experience the original pain in some unknown increment. My assumption is that the potion will fail when it attempts to push out the dark magic. What I do not know, and cannot guess, is how much of a struggle it will be—in essence, how long it will try." He stood again as Healer Gannon entered with Harry's second blood replenishing potion. "No matter the outcome, I suggest we allow the boy a good night's sleep before continuing this process and working on regenerating his damaged nerves."

Harry silently agreed. Here, here! he cheered mentally as Mrs. Weasley helped him sit up against the pillows so he could take the potion. He gagged it down—the potion had a distinct metallic taste—wiping the side of his mouth clumsily with the back of his left hand. He handed the bottle back to Mrs. Weasley then slid down until he was reclining nearly flat. He let the fluffy pillow balloon around his head—it gave him the fleeting illusion that he was back in his water bubble again.

"OK, let me see if I have this all straight." He looked at Dumbledore, then over at Snape. Somehow, taking control of the conversation like this, took made the constant stinging burn in his hand less distinct.

Snape nodded and Dumbledore said "Go on, Harry."

"I'm not going to die. The potion is probably going to attack the dark magic left from the Killing Curse but it won't be strong enough to get rid of it. It's going to hurt a lot. So far so good?"

Snape's mouth was twisted into an odd grimace. If Harry hadn't known better, he'd have thought he was trying to hide a smile.

"That which didn't kill me—the Killing Curse—somehow made me stronger. It's showing itself in my defensive skills. You were worried that my natural defenses might think the potion was attacking me—when it attacked the dark magic in me—but that's not the case or it wouldn't be working now, on my hand."

Now Dumbledore had that funny look on his face. He looked like he was suffering from a mild case of gas.

"So it looks like what we've learned," he continued, "is that even though no one realized the potion might affect my scar, I'm probably going to end up just exactly where I started with my old scar—except that now we know why my defensive skills are good."

"No—it changes everything," said Snape. "You don't see it, do you?" His voice had a timbre, an excited quality, Harry had never heard in it before. It was as if all had been suddenly made clear to him, as if he no longer had to flounder about looking for the right way through in a tangled maze of possible paths.

"Harry, you will win by defense, not by offence. You will defeat him by protecting what you love."

Harry stared at Snape, trying to digest what he said. Dumbledore had said that the power Harry had, the power Voldemort did not understand, was love. He never had understood how love could defeat the Dark Lord, but now, at this moment, he understood what he was capable of in protecting those he loved. Harry felt as if he were in another reality, a reality where Professor Snape smiled triumphantly at Professor Dumbledore, where Professor Dumbledore's eyes sparkled warmly and he smiled broadly at Snape, where tears fell down Mrs. Weasley's cheeks and she kissed him on the forehead and combed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. It felt like a celebration—like they had already won—and for a moment he forgot that Voldemort was far from dead, and that he was in the Auror's Ward of St. Mungo's, and that his hand was puffing mists of blood.

But suddenly, he was flung back into reality. He let out a loud groan, trying to strangle it, as a particulary strong pain spasmed through his right hand and a much larger than usual red cloud hovered over his hand. As the mist settled over his now scar-less hand, he looked up at Healer Gannon, who had begun to quickly scan the hovering chart, then grabbed his forearm as a sharp pain pierced his skin. A stream of blood spurted out. His mouth dropped open as blood drops settled on Mrs. Weasley's sweater. With almost no pause, a second piercing pain, much worse than the first, hit him and another stream of blood followed.

"Basilisk," he muttered, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

A quick blow from the cursed bludger, a flaming pain across his palm and fingers that lasted several minutes and while his right hand spasmed despite the demobilization spell, Snape and Mrs. Weasley were pinning his shoulders to the bed while Healer Gannon threw himself down over his legs as he began to convulse. But Dumbledore, Dumbledore locked eyes with Harry very deliberately as the pain began, blossoming from a prickling tickle to a stabbing blade to a screaming torrent. He tried to close his eyes against it, but Dumbledore's gaze seemed to hold them open.

But he was looking at Dumbledore with other eyes, eyes he'd seen out of before. Dumbledore looked worn and frail, not powerful, not even good. He was an old, twisted man, spent and useless. A surge of evil power seemed to shoot through him but Dumbledore kept his eyes locked on Harry's and they pushed with an unknown force and suddenly, Harry saw the good man, the powerful wizard, the champion of humanity. He slumped, boneless and panting, back on the pillows, eyes still locked with Dumbledore's.

"What was that? What the hell was that?" he panted.

But Dumbledore was faltering, stumbling as he tried to stand again. Snape let go of Harry and moved quickly to push the Headmaster back into his conjured chair, crouching down in front of him. Healer Gannon took Snape's place, scanned Harry quickly with his wand and cast a whispered spell.

Harry tried to fight the sleeping spell, but he was too exhausted to muster any real resistance. The last thing he heard was Snape's voice, quiet but demanding.

"What the boy said, Albus. What the hell was that?"