“Why do we have to go to the hospital wing?” Harry asked.

“It is a wise precaution. Dark magic can be tricky, and it is best to be in a place where help is available, should it be needed.” It galled Snape to admit it; he’d have rather stayed in his office where he could have retired to his quarters in peace.

As it was, attempting to siphon off more dark magic less than 24 hours after the last time he did so was dangerous. But time was of the essence, and hopefully, the potion would do its job. “Settle yourself in a bed, Potter, and I will alert Madam Pomfrey to our presence.”

When Snape returned, Harry was sitting on the edge of a bed, hands in his lap, looking nervous. He didn’t doubt the boy dreaded the pain. Pain was never something one got used to no matter how many times one experienced it.

“Drink it,” Snape commanded, handing Potter a vial filled with an opalescent pink potion.  “It’s a calming draught with a dissociative agent. While I can’t give you a pain relieving potion directly, this should help.”

“Did you drink it too, sir?”

“No,” Snape grunted.

“Why not?”

Snape looked at Potter in frustration. The boy truly didn’t know when to stop asking questions. “It doesn’t work that way, Potter. Now lay back and try to relax. The potion should kick in shortly. Let me know when you are ready.”

Snape pulled up a chair next to Potter’s bed and mentally prepared himself as well. Dumbledore had advised him against moving too fast with regard to releasing the dark magic from Potter, but they both knew what was at stake, and if Snape could handle it, it would be better for them all to get this evil out of Potter’s body.

“Ready,” Potter said, his eyes slightly unfocused.

Good, Snape thought, the potion is doing its job. “Give me your hand.” When Potter extended his hand, Snape clasped it from underneath with his left hand. Wand in his right hand, he took a deep calming breath and chanted the words to begin.

It was a curious sensation at first. He could feel the dark magic swirling under the surface of Potter’s skin, gathering like a storm cloud, preparing to fight off the intrusion. Although it wasn’t alive, per se, it seemed to have a will of its own.

It was like using your mind to try and pull a deeply rooted plant from the ground, or in this case, Potter’s very own cells. It didn’t want to budge. Snape had to prod it with his mind, try to wriggle it from its moorings, pulling inch by inch, all the way fighting the scrambling roots from reattaching to surrounding tissues. This was the tiring part; the part that could give him a pounding headache.

Once he’d gotten one root up, and then another, and another, he could start to draw it out, siphon it off, take it into himself. It was when it was pulled from Potter, and when it entered his body, that the pain started.

The more he pulled out, the more pain that was induced. He would pull until he couldn’t stand the pain any longer, until his mind and body objected so strongly that it retreated, making him unable to hold on, forcing him to abandon his efforts. This is where he hoped the mind strengthening potion would help; he was hoping it could make him last longer, and make Potter able to tolerate the pain longer as well.

When the link finally broke, the two ends would separate, and the dark magic would bounce back like a rubber band that was stretched to breaking point and then let go. After that, the darkness would settle and root again.

Potter would experience relief, while Snape would experience the agony of incorporating more dark magic into his body and the pain and exhaustion that the process caused.

But at the moment, the dark magic was still gathering and writhing, fighting him off, trying to stay put. Snape nudged some more, twisting his own magic around the darkness, trying to pull it forth. Just as it broke free of the surface of Potter’s hand, Potter made a mewling noise. Certainly the boy felt something; Snape just hoped it wasn’t as bad as it had been the night before.

And then it hit him, the agonizing punch in the gut as the first strands of dark magic connected with his essence, wrapping their tendrils around his core, trying to strangle him. The pain took his breath away.

He gasped, trying to override the agonizing sensation and maintain his focus. He pulled harder, dragging more of the dark magic into himself, faster and denser, trying to get it all out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t the best idea.

Taking too much at once would only overwhelm his system, make his recovery that much harder, make it that much longer before he could attempt this again. Still, if he could get it all out, get it over with once and for all, he’d do it.

A keening sound rose around him as the pain skyrocketed. Still he kept pulling, forcing himself to go on. In the distance, he heard a small voice whining: Professor, stop. Please stop. Please. STOP.

Still he pushed forward, siphoning more and more, the pain blocking out all else, the keening growing louder and louder in his ears until, just before the world went entirely black, he realized that the keening was coming from him.

“Professor!” Harry cried out as he jumped off his bed and crouched on the floor beside Snape, who lay there seizing, blood dripping from one corner of his mouth. For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do. He was consumed by panic.

And then he remembered: the potion. Snape had set it on the table beside the hospital bed so as to be in easy reach. Harry grabbed the vial filled with the deep red liquid and carefully removed the stopper. Then he waited anxiously until Snape stopped jerking.

Sliding a hand under Snape’s head, Harry titled the man upright slightly. “Professor, you have to drink this. It will make you feel better.”

Harry put the potion to Snape’s lips and held his breath. Slowly, he poured the potion into Snape’s mouth, drop by drop. “You have to swallow, Professor, I can’t do that for you,” Harry implored.

Finally, Snape gasped, swallowed instinctively, and started coughing, and then retching.

Harry jumped back.

As soon as Snape’s airway was clear, Harry tentatively brought the vial up to Snape’s lips again and coaxed him to drink some more. This time, the man did. His eyelids fluttered once but didn’t open. His body was still rigid, as if caught in the throes of agony, though thankfully the keening had stopped. The sound of a human in that much distress had made Harry break out in a cold sweat.

A few terrible moments passed, and then Snape’s body relaxed, melting bonelessly onto the floor. For one, terrible panicked moment, Harry thought Snape had died.

He immediately checked to make sure the wizard was still breathing and was relieved to see his chest rising and falling. Harry sat back on his haunches, relieved.

But he couldn’t leave the man lying on the cold stone floor; blood still trickled from his mouth and sweat beaded Snape’s forehead. A tremor wracked Snape’s body. Raising his wand, Harry levitated Snape onto the bed next to his and went to fetch Madam Pomfrey.

The medi-witch summoned Dumbledore, and both worked frantically to stabilize Snape.

“Tell us what happened,” Dumbledore said.

Harry told them everything he could remember, including that while he felt the pain when Snape was siphoning off the dark magic, it was as if it was in a distant part of his mind, and so it didn’t bother him much.

But for all the pain that Harry didn’t experience, it seemed like Snape experienced it 10-fold. Harry instinctively knew it was too much, and he begged Snape to stop, but Snape either couldn’t or wouldn’t cease what he was doing. When Harry finished explaining what had happened, Dumbledore shook his head.

“Foolish man,” Dumbledore mumbled.

“What did he do?” Harry inquired.

“If I am correct, he tried to complete the ritual all in one go. I warned him against this, but alas, he is still young and much too ambitious at times.”

“But why?” Harry asked. “Why did he do it if he knew it was so dangerous?”

“Penance, I imagine,” Dumbledore said. “For misjudging you so.”

Harry didn’t know what to make of that, so he asked instead: “Will he be alright?”

“Yes, he will be fine. Though I dare say he’ll need to stay in the hospital wing a couple of days, something I am sure he will dislike immensely.” Dumbledore paused. “How are you feeling, Harry?”

“I’m feeling fine,” Harry said, surprised that it was true.

Dumbledore looked him over critically. “Very well, you may return to your dormitory.”

Nodding, Harry hopped off the bed he had used and headed for the door. He took one last look at Snape, who seemed to be resting peacefully now, although Madam Pomfrey had spelled numerous monitoring charms on him.

Better him than me, Harry thought, and then felt the sting of guilt wash over him for the thought.

By the next morning, the rumor mill was abuzz. There were “No Class for the Rest of the Week” signs on the DADA and Potions classrooms. 

Students wondered aloud if something happened between Snape and Umbridge. Speculation ran the gamut from them being dark wizards who’d been arrested, to them being secret lovers who’d absconded together. Harry knew where Snape was, although he only told Ron and Hermione about that, but he, too, wondered what had happened to Umbridge.

He suspected her absence was related to the hearing at the Ministry, but he couldn’t be sure.

Eager to get some answers, he snuck into the Hospital Wing after lunch, hoping to catch the headmaster. He couldn’t very well go to the headmaster’s office to ask just because he was curious.

The hospital wing was bright and empty, save for one bed in the far corner where Snape was propped up, reading a book. His eyes flashed when Harry entered, and Harry felt like he’d been caught spying.

“Have you come to annoy me, Potter?”

“No, sir,” Harry said quickly. “I was looking for the headmaster.”

Snape looked skeptical.

Still standing by the door, Harry wondered if he was suicidal. Nonetheless, he ventured, “I was just wondering about Professor Umbridge’s… er… absence.”

Snape raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“But he’s not here, so I’ll, ah, just be going then.”

As he turned to leave, he caught a motion in his periphery. Snape had set down the book he’d been reading. Harry paused, hoping the dour man might shed some light on the issue at hand.

“The Aurors arrested Dolores Umbridge this morning for the theft of a highly dangerous and illegal magical object, and for use of said object on several Hogwarts students.”

Although he hadn’t said it, Harry knew he was referring to the Blood Quill.

“The students who were injured,” Snape continued, looking pointedly at Harry, “are being treated at St. Mungo’s as we speak.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch at the realization that he may not have to be implicated in this mess, that she could likely be charged based on the testimony of the other students, which was all the better for him. “What will happen to Umbridge now?” Harry asked. 

“As long as she does not return to this school, that is not my concern,” Snape replied.

“Do you think that’s likely? That she’ll return? Sir?”

Harry steadied himself as Snape contemplated him. “I highly doubt it. The headmaster made himself quite clear to the Minister this morning, and considering that the headmaster is also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I rather think we will not have to worry about her any longer.”

As Harry drew in a breath of relief, Snape promptly squashed it with his next words.

“However,” Snape continued, “there is no telling who the Minister will send in her place.”

Harry knew he was right and the thought didn’t sit well with him. Fudge could send someone even worse.

Deciding not to dwell on that topic, Harry took another stab in the dark, hoping it wouldn’t cost him. “Sir, about last night… er…” Harry quelled under the angry look Snape was directing at him. Changing direction, he asked quickly, “Are you alright?”

“Potter, you have intruded on my solitude long enough.”

“Right,” Harry answered. “I’ll just be going then,” he said and quickly exited the hospital wing before Snape decided to curse him for good measure. He felt quite lucky that he had gotten as much information as he had without anything bad happening.

Later that day, when Harry got back to the Gryffindor Common Room, he saw a large notice on the bulletin board stating that all Hogwarts students were required to be present for mandated vision, hearing, health, and dental screenings that would take place over the weekend.

He overheard students asking what the mandatory health checks were about and if they occurred annually. Feeling queasy, Harry slipped back out the portrait hole to take a walk, knowing full well that he was the cause of the new screenings.