"Over here!"

"Is it him?"

"Quick! He's so cold!"

Harry could hear voices but didn't know why they sounded so panicked. He knew it was Remus and Dumbledore, but he didn't know why. They were right though, he was cold. Why hadn't his fur protected him?

"Harry. Harry, wake up."

Harry didn't want to wake up and squint into the bright light that was trying to penetrate his eyelids though. He was perfectly content to float where he was. If he woke up, he'd fall and the floating would stop.

"He's alive."

"I trusted you to watch him. He trusted you."

"And I stopped him from going out half a dozen times. He was emotionally compromised."

Harry felt goosebumps on his skin and really wished he had a blanket or something, and was surprised as a blanket magically appeared over him then. It must have been floating too, he thought.

"Let's get him into the castle. He must have been in his other form for part of the night or else he'd be dead. It's below freezing out here."

"His magic may have kept him alive."

"Incendio."

Harry felt a warmth then and wondered what they'd set on fire and why. So long as it wasn't the floating plant, so he could come back and get more tomorrow. Someone picked him up and he was saddened that he was no longer floating on his own. He cracked his eyes open as he was carried away, and saw that it was his patch of asphodel root on fire. Maybe that's why he'd stopped floating.

There were other words that Harry didn't really hear or understand, because voices seemed to swim in and out at the edges of his consciousness, intertwining and mingling until he couldn't tell who was speaking or what words had been said just then or hours before.

At some point, Harry's mind began to clear enough to realize that he was in a bed and was no longer cold, and also that Remus and Dumbledore were somewhere nearby, but not in the same room. He could hear their voices, but they were muffled, as if they were in the hallway. He cracked his eyes open and wished he hadn't as bright light assaulted his senses as it streamed in through a tall window. It looked like the Hospital Wing but as he looked around, he realized that his was the only bed in the small room. It was one of the private rooms usually reserved for students or staff who were contagious with the wizarding flu or some other dangerous malady. Harry wondered if Remus had stayed here at times in his werewolf form, because there were several long scratches in the stones high up on the walls.

Harry strained his ears to hear what Remus and Dumbledore were saying. He'd heard his name several times already. They must have been whispering just outside the door. He listened hard for his name agian, but heard Sirius' instead.

"I'm worried about Sirius. I owled Grimmuald Place and Molly said he hasn't been in for a week and a half. Before that he kept himself isolated."

"Perhaps he is out searching for Severus," said the Headmaster's aging voice.

"I doubt it. You know how they feel about each other."

"Nymphadora did say she'd seen Harry's owl at Grimmuald Place about a week after Severus' disappearance."

"You think Harry wrote to him?"

"I was hoping you would tell me."

"He did write to him once about the Asphodel though Sirius would never tell me what was in the letter. He also sent a short letter over the holiday with a drawing of his animagus form. I think he mostly writes the things that he can't tell anyone else."

"Severus was uncertain if Harry had been in contact with Sirius since the summer."

"Perhaps it would be best if it stayed that way if he returns."

"If. Sirius is still Harry's godfather. If Severus doesn't return..."

"He can't go back Albus. You know that."

"I know you would take him if you could, but the Wizengamot would never allow it."

"He'll be 17 in the summer. Then he can make his own decision."

The two men grew quiet and Harry wondered if he'd somehow made a noise. They began talking again, but it seemed as though they were moving away down a hall, and their voices faded to nothing.

As he stared at the ceiling, Harry thought over what he'd heard. Sirius was AWOL and apparently suffering ­like Harry was, probably because of the letters Harry had sent him. His last one had declared that he hated him. How strange, and silly, Harry thought, that because of what Sirius had done they now both suffered, and not just suffered, but suffered alone, apart from each other. Dumbledore was right. Harry had to go somewhere until he turned 17, and the Wizengamot would never let Remus take him because of his 'dangerous metamorphic' status. Severus was gone, and that just left two options: the Dursleys or Sirius. Harry didn't know which he would choose if he were given the choice. The Dursleys who didn't care for him at all but who'd never raised a finger to him, or Sirius, who had to have cared about him at some point in the past, but who had done worse than the Dursleys had ever dared to do.

He supposed he'd have to deal with the situation when it came time to deal with it. There was still a long time until summer. Right now he'd just have to focus on dealing with his current situation. He was stuck in this room and he could only think of one reason why he'd be here. He must have snuck out and eaten Asphodel. He couldn't remember doing it. He could remember being stubborn and lying on the floor as a bear all day, and McGonagall's visit. He remembered Draco's visit, and Dumbledore sleeping in the darkness. There was also an open living room door and Harry running down the hallway, but nothing beyond that. Harry clenched his eyes closed and tried to recall anything at all, but only came up with a jumble of voices, cold skin, and something on fire.

If he had taken the Asphodel, why wasn't he going through withdrawls right now? The last time, he'd beamed his father over the head with a large heavy book, nearly crawled out of his own skin, and tried to escape several times. This was his first rememberance of this room though. He didn't even know how long he'd been there.

He heard footsteps and the door opened a moment later, admitting Madam Pomfrey.

"You're awake Mr. Potter. That's good to see."

"I take it I did something stupid and foolish?"

"That's not for me to say, but I believe your father would say something like that, yes."

"Asphodel?"

"You were lucky. Professor Lupin and the Headmaster found you passed out in a t-shirt in the Forbidden Forest. How you survived that without frostbite, I doubt we'll ever know."

Harry lifted his fingers to his face to examine them and Madam Pomfrey said, "They're all there. Your toes are fine too."

"But I'm here."

"You were sleeping through a rough couple of days."

"How long?"

"Three. The weekend has come and almost gone. Your friends have been in and out asking to see you but I've told them I've had to quarantine you because of the wizarding influenza."

"You said I was sleeping... does that mean I didnt' take the asphodel?'

"You did. They found a half eaten bunch of raw roots. They're toxic in that form. That's why the root is dried first, to remove the toxins. Because it was in it's root form however, I was able to give you dreamless sleep and calming draughts without them having any adverse effects on you, which was fortunate since I also needed to give you potions to remove the poison from your system."

"Oh. When can I leave?"

"You need another dose of the anti-toxin, and once I'm satisfied that the toxin and anti-toxin have cleared your system, you can go."

She folded her arms then and tapped her finger on one shoulder. "None of the other students who had taken Asphodel were given the same leniency or considderation as you were Mr. Potter. There was no effort to keep what they had done a secret. You were the only one this was done for. You seem determined to undo everyone's efforts however."

I'm not, Harry thought, but didn't say anything. "I realize you asked for help, and otherwise stayed away from the Asphodel until now, but that doesn't excuse what you've done."

What about having a dead father... again? Was that enough to excuse it? "Am I getting expelled?"

"I don't believe you are, though I'm certain you will be punished." Though at her words, Harry thought to himself, 'I've been punished enough.'

"Yes, you have been punished enough," she said, and Harry's eyes snapped up.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"No, but I could imagine you were thinking it. You won't find a staff member here who doesn't think the same. You must realize there are consequences to your actions though. I'm aware why the exceptions have been made for you, but at the same time I'm afraid that the exceptions have become the rule."

Harry frowned. His father had always complained about rules being bent and even broken for him, but that was before he knew they were father and son.

"Don't worry," Harry said, and she stared at him as he rolled over onto his side and stared at the window. "I'll be punished at the end of the school year when they send me back."

Harry heard her make a noise as though she was going to say something, but she didn't, and after a moment she left. Apparently she couldn't argue with his statement.

* * *

His body ached, and he wasn't certain where he was. Every time he opened his eyes, his vision swam and everything around him spun, so he kept them firmly shut. His fingers and hands burned and his feet throbbed. His throat was dry and he didn't think he could form words any longer. He didn't know when he'd eaten last or had a drink of water aside from the small puddle on the concrete that he'd sucked up long ago. He was certain that the only thing keeping him alive was his magic, but he could feel that slipping from him now too. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness so many times, lay there in pain for so long, opened his eyes and been confused and disoriented for so many days, that he wasn't even sure if what he thought was true was reality anymore. Maybe he wasn't magic. Maybe he wasn't who he thought he was, just a drunk bum on the street in an alley, though he was certain he wasn't in an alley. He could smell hay that was frequently wet from rain or snow, and he thought he heard sheep and and the occasional cow.

Who was he then if he wasn't himself? What was he if he wasn't magic? He had the feeling that there was someone he was supposed to stay alive for, but he couldn't remember who. Names and faces sometimes came to him in a disorienting fashion in his dreams, but he was never sure which name belonged to which face and how he knew these people. Perhaps he was going crazy.

If he really was crazy, and the names and faces meant nothing to him, then he wasn't certain why he was holding on, hungry, thirsty, dizzy, and broken. Wouldn't it just be easier to let go? It would be. There was something inside of him that had been holding on for him... something that he thought was magic but was no longer certain. It was like a small warm place at the very center of his soul. It was what made him... him. As it slipped away each day, more of him slipped away with it and he became more disoriented. What if he just let the rest of it go too? Then he'd be done with all of... this. Whatever this was. Was there something else after this? He felt like he should know the answer, because he had had a conversation about it with someone else in some other life. He wished he could remember so he could know the answer.

There was a pop somewhere close by, and he wondered what kind of farm animal would make that noise. Not a sheep or cow. He strained his ears and somewhere not terribly far away he could still hear the noises sheep make. He could still smell damp hay and something else he thought was probably his own stench of decay. Maybe he was already dead and this was what was on the other side. If this was death, he didn't think he liked it very much.

"Wake up."

He didn't move. It took a lot of energy to breath and try to sort through all of these thoughts. Waking up would sap what little of that warmth in him that he had left.

"Come on. Wake up."

No. He thought stubbornly. No, I don't think so. Not today. Maybe not ever. Not if I'm dead.

"Damn it! You have to wake up! Harry needs you!"

Something in him stirred then, something in that warm place. A face from his dreams tried to come to the front of his mind, but all he could see was an empty face with a mess of black hair. There were no eyes or other distinguising features though.

Eyes still closed, he opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry. There was a noise as though there was a trickle of water and the voice was lifting his chin and then water was pouring into his mouth. He drank with some difficulty and weakly raised a hand to push the water away.

He didn't know why he said what he did next, because it made no sense to him, but out of his mouth came, "What did you say mutt?"

There was a sigh. It sounded tired. "Wake up. Harry needs you."

He thought on that. Harry must be the empty face with black hair. Mutt was a strange name for someone to have though.

"Help me up." His voice was so raspy that he wondered if this was what it normally sounded like. He could no longer remember. Strong hands lifted him from under his arms and held him when his legs refused to do their job.

"Don't think this means anything," the voice said.

He laughed then. He wasn't even certain why. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time. Perhaps something deep down inside him thought something was funny. Something from his past life, before he was dead. "Don't think this means you're even with Harry." There were those strange words comming out of his mouth again. Words that weren't his because he didn't know why he was saying them or even what they meant.

"I don't." Then there was a strange feeling and a loud popping noise, and the smell of damp hay was gone, though the smell of his own dying body remained with him, wherever they had gone.