Harry Potter woke in the hospital wing. Not that he wasn't used to that. For a long moment he couldn't remember what had happened to land him there. Then, in an instant, it crashed over him like a tsunami, and he hissed in pain as the link burst into life, all the agonies of Voldemort's tortures racking his body as though he were the one being cursed. He thrashed on his hospital bed, tangling himself in the sheets, panting, unable to breathe or think.

Madame Pomfrey was by his side in a flash, her wand out to do a diagnostic charm. Harry was already dragging himself out of bed.

"Stop right there, young man!" Madame Pomfrey never wanted her patients to escape without being treated, especially not patients in such a condition as Harry was.

"Can't!" Harry panted, jade green eyes hooded with pain. "He's being tortured; he's going to die!"

"Whoever it is, the headmaster can take care of it," said Madame Pomfrey, pressing him down. "Now I want you to drink this; you don't need to be having visions right now."

Harry smelled it and realized that it was dreamless sleep potion. "No," he responded, shoving weakly at her hand. She didn't understand! "You need to get Dumbledore. Please!" He gasped, praying it would work. She'd probably just cast a patronus...

But for once in his life, Harry was in luck. Madame Pomfrey looked at him suspiciously over her glasses, but at last seemed to decide that he was in no condition to be sneaking away anyway and left the room in a hurry, the door locking with a smart snick as she closed it behind her.

She needn't have bothered. The minute she was out of the door, Harry struggled unsteadily off the bed, nearly tripping as he untangled his leg from the sheets, and shifted to his phœnix form.

It took a moment to get his bearings, considering the pain he was feeling through the link and the ecstasy of the transformation. Once he had changed, however, the transformation seemed to have muted the link, which wouldn't have been a problem had he actually known where Riddle Manor was. However since he didn't, having only ever seen the inside in visions, he had to close his eyes and try to trace and track the link, which, he felt, was more time that he could spare.

Slowly, ever so slowly, images began to coalesce in his mind, the gloomy corridors and glowing candelabras of Riddle Manor wavering and flickering into view like an old home movie on a bad projector. The world seemed to elongate, dissolving into silence and electric blue fire, and then, all at once, it snapped back into place.

Sounds reasserted themselves. Harry caught himself with a hasty flutter of wings, head still reeling from having flamed, and blinked his achy eyes until the spots went away; apparently even a phœnix can have trouble seeing after being assaulted by bright light. And then cursed thoroughly, although it came out as only a hiss and a clack of his beak. The Death Eaters, and by extension Snape, were nowhere to be seen.

It took him a painful amount of time to find the room in which the Death Eaters were meeting. It was actually an accident more than anything else. He had been flying silently throughout the Manor, trying to locate Snape by the link, when he heard voices through a locked door. Specifically Voldemort's voice. He drew closer, perching on an empty torch sconce as he waited until he had enough energy to flash through the locked and barred doors. It was prohibitively difficult to flash more than two times in quick succession and worse to go through wards...and he would still have to flash out. With a passenger.

"Any last words?" Voldemort hissed mockingly. "Going to cry, Severus? Or beg? I'll make it quicker if you beg..."

Harry would have expected to feel fear through the link, but only an odd sort of clarity and resignation reached him. Snape's next words flooded Harry with surprise. And respect. "Go to Hell, Tom."

An unholy scream rang through all the house, making Harry flinch involuntarily. Then Voldemort roared "Crucio!"

Shock. That was the predominant emotion that Harry could feel. Not pain, not fear, just simply shock. Harry wondered for a second why Snape was so surprised, seeing as Voldemort used the torture curse at nearly every meeting, and then, all at once, it hit him. There was no pain. Not at all. Harry shuddered. That was impossible...wasn't it? Was Snape going insane? What the Hell would happen to Harry if he was mind linked to a mad man? Suddenly Snape's burst of unhinged laughter made a lot more sense.

"Was that supposed to hurt?" Severus drawled. Harry shuddered again. Snape was definitely going mad. Either that, or he'd realized that there was no point keeping up the spy facade. Harry fluttered his wings impatiently, worry filling him. When Voldemort got mad, he got dangerous. To be sure, he was also sloppier, but with Snape outnumbered and tortured, there was no contest.

And Voldemort was most definitely mad. "KILL HIM!" he roared, after a petrified silence. Harry was almost ready to flash... To his shock, the voice of Draco Malfoy drifted through the secured doors

"Avada K-" he began, voice wobbling uncertainly. Then he broke off. "I can't!"

A silence fell, broken only by the shuffling of Death Eater boots and the rustle of Harry tucking his wings more closely around himself.

Then Voldemort hissed "Crucio!" and Draco Malfoy began to scream.

"I trust you have learned your lesson?" said Voldemort coldly.

"Yes! Yes I have!" Draco's voice had a defiant note in it.

Snape seemed to be trying to distract Voldemort, but before he could say more than "Tom", Draco went on: "I've learned I don't ever want to be a murderer, no matter what you do! I've learned that I don't want to grovel- least of all to you! I-"

He was cut short as Voldemort snarled the crucitus again. The link grew incandescent with Snape's fear for Draco.

Then Harry knew, without a doubt, that something had to be done, even if he wasn't quite ready to flash. He knew he'd be more drained, but he couldn't just let Voldemort kill them all! And he closed his eyes so tightly that they ached and flashed through the locked doors.

He reappeared in a lofty room, with ornate ceilings and shabby brocade carpet; evidently it had once been a parlor or a ball room. The Death Eaters were congregating around Voldemort's throne, and Snape was on his knees before it, flanked by two Death Eaters and covered with blood. Closer still to the throne lay Draco Malfoy, with Lucius, still wearing his Death Eater robes, his mask crooked, draped over him, taking the full brunt of a crucitus that Voldemort was casting.

Harry had to do something!

And all of a sudden, some hidden phœnix instinct told him what to do. And he began to sing.

Music, spine-tingling, glorious, unearthly music, rippled through the room, causing even the Death Eaters' faces to transform with awe. Harry swooped between the startled minions, aiming for Snape's shoulder. At last he landed unsteadily, claws scrabbling on the slippery material of Snape's outer robes. One wing smacked the side of Snape's head, and Harry winced internally, but struggled to focus on trying to flash out again without killing himself or Snape.

Harry screeched a phœnix cry of triumph, ringing throughout the room and reverberating through the heating ducts, and gathered strength to flash a final time.

Snape hurriedly grabbed onto Draco and Lucius's robes before Harry could stop him. Not that Harry didn't want them to be saved, but he'd never flashed a single person, much less three and after he had already flashed two times in as many seconds- they could end up in Somalia for all he knew! But it had to be said that no matter where they rematerialized, he would never ever forget the look on Voldemort's serpentine face. Harry made sure to flip him an obscene gesture with one clawed black foot before they disappeared into the formless blue flame of phœnix apparation.

They stayed in the dazzling blue of the void between Riddle Manor and the hospital wing far longer than Harry had ever stayed before. The silence was absolute, and the sapphire magic seemed to swirl around and through them, bathing and filling them with its oppressive, awesome beauty. Harry's eyes began to ache, and his whole body started to tremble with the exertion of keeping his passengers with him during the transit. He was almost afraid...and that was when he reappeared, once again, in the hospital wing, his elegant body sprawled over Professor Snape's unconscious body, and with two defecting Death Eaters hanging off of him.

Harry couldn't move for a long moment; his entire body felt the same sort of lazy bliss as if he had been sunbathing on some tropical coastline, and the stress, not of overexhausting his magic, but of trying to control too much, was starting to wear on his borrowed form. At length, however, he realized that every second he deliberated Snape didn't get treatment, and that the Malfoys would probably need anticrucitus. With a supreme effort of will, he stirred from his place on top of Snape and fluttered to an unobstructed spot on the floor where he shifted back, nerves singing with phœnix magic.

He lost no time kneeling beside his erstwhile Defense Teacher, checking his pulse. What if the flaming had killed him! But no, Snape's pulse was strong as ever, if a little faster from stress, and Harry's phœnix instincts knew he would be ok. Although he was definitely giving him medical attention.

Harry sat back on his heels for an instant to think, and then heaved the unconscious Potions Master onto one of the hospital beds. Then, knowing Snape would not be pleased if he were to cut away his teaching robes, he busied himself with the tiny black buttons and high collar, loosening the garments until they were part way off.

And that was when it hit him. To be sure, Snape was injured, but the bruises were yellowing and almost healed, and several angry red lines denoted what had clearly been nasty cuts only a few hours earlier. Harry frowned, wishing he knew any of Madame Pomfrey's diagnostics. He stopped to think. He was about to fetch one of Madame Pomfrey's medical books, or the witch herself, when one of those curious feelings that he had been having ever since he became an animagus washed over him, and he stopped, mid-step.

It was so faint he might have missed it, had he not been growing hyper attuned to his so-called instincts. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, a chaotic swirl of faint images battered at the edges of his consciousness. Five poisons, one of which had been neutralized and two of the others being well on their way. Six temporary torturing potions, four of which were being leeched from his system as their effects had expired. Some nasty cutting curses, some physical damage, bruises from bludgeoning hexes. Several welts and burns. All the bones in his left hand crushed. His liver, also, had run afoul of a liquidation curse, but there didn't seem to be any damage that a finite incantem and a mild healing spell couldn't fix. What on earth?!

"Accio dittany, tincture of witch hazel, and murtlap salve," he said, struggling furiously to remember what he knew, and what he had learned from Snape's mind. He was not willing to deal with any internal damage on his own, but he wanted to help with the scrapes and welts. The bottles at once flew into his hand, and he began cleaning the cuts with Wizarding antiseptic and healing cream, then plastering the welts with soothing murtlap, occasionally summoning bandages or more first aid potions. It did not even register that he had not actually drawn his wand.

Once Professor Snape had been stabilized, Harry for the first time realized that he wasn't alone in the hospital wing, and that Madame Pomfrey was supposed to be there.

Lucius Malfoy had his wand in hand, and was looking around the hospital wing as though expecting to be attacked, wary grey eyes following Harry's every move. Draco was sitting on a bed, simply in shock. Harry sighed. He couldn't just patch Snape up and let them suffer, could he.

"Accio calming drought, accio anticrucitus!" Harry called distractedly. Two bottles flew into his hand. Harry met Mr. Malfoy's eye. "Catch!" he called, and Lucius, still staring at him, plucked the little brown bottle out of the air with all the ease of a seeker. "Two spoonfuls ought to work to start," continued Harry, not even sure how he knew that. Then he walked towards the bed Draco was sitting on.

"Malfoy?" He said hesitantly.

No answer.

"Draco, look, you need to drink this."

Draco gave him a vacant stare, evidently in shock. Harry didn't blame him. He did not, however, want to deal with trying to get the catatonic Slytherin to drink the calming draught, so at last he simply pressed the lip of the flask to his lips, tipped his head back, and poured the cool fluid down his throat, before starting to stroke his throat as one might a cat.

And that was when he felt the cold wood of a wand pressed to the back of his neck.

He reacted instantly, without stopping to think. In a moment, Lucius Malfoy lay bound at his feet, and the almost-empty calming draught bottle rolled across the floor, trailing the remnants of its contents.

"What the Hell, Malfoy? I could have killed you!"

Lucius Malfoy stared up at him balefully, and not without fear. "I could say the same. What were you giving my son?" he asked tightly.

Harry was so surprised he nearly dropped his wand. "A calming draught, Malfoy, he was going into shock. You think I would go to the trouble of saving your arses just so I could poison him?" He paused, rather surprised by his own boldness- he'd just freaking addressed Lucius Malfoy like an equal. Then he sighed. "I-sorry. It's been a long week." He raised his wand. "I trust that you will at least not hex me until I've finished patching you guys up?"

Lucius nodded unwillingly, and Harry allowed the bonds to dissolve.

And that was when a strident voice issued from the entrance to the hospital wing. "May I ask what, exactly, is going on in my hospital wing?"

Harry glanced back over his shoulder and barely managed to swallow a curse. It was Madame Pomfrey, and she did not look amused. And Madame Pomfrey on a rampage was one step below Voldemort.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he said at length, somewhat distractedly. Blood rushed in his ears as his magic thrummed; what was it trying to tell him? He frowned, focusing on the tingling in his fingers, trying to concentrate.

"What do you mean, the usual?!"

Harry ignored her, as he was walking, trance-like, towards the senseless Potions Master. He had the odd, thrilling impulse to run his fingers over the man's wounds, and by now he knew better than to ignore the magic bubbling under his skin. He paused by the bedside.

Madame Pomfrey was approaching. "What are you doing?"

Slender fingers were brushing, light as butterflies' wings, over the cuts and welts, sapphire fire trailing in their wake. And the wounds were healing, closing, the Dark residue dying away into nothing. Snape shuddered, lips parting slightly, and leaned into the touch with a little huff of air. "Healing him," Harry replied, ever so quietly. "I think Mr. Malfoy needs treatment for the crucitus, though..."

Madame Pomfrey stared. Then, abruptly, she exploded into gear, diagnosing and treating a still somewhat jumpy Lucius Malfoy and mothering a still shellshocked Draco. She had nearly finished with her treatment of the Malfoys, still trying to put a name to the half-familiar face that had taken control of her hospital wing when she heard the shuddering gasp of Severus waking up.

She was instantly by the bed, ready to interfere the instant the stranger finished whatever healing magic he was doing; she would have stopped him in the middle, but that had the potential to be still more dangerous.

Harry was ignoring her, or, more properly put, he had hardly seen her in the first place. Magic was thrumming along the bond with the healing flowing through his fingers, and Snape's chaotic, awakening mind was making his own head ache painfully. "Merlin, professor," he gasped at last, visibly making an effort to focus, "are you always like this when you wake up?"

"It is simply that your imbecilic mind cannot tolerate my intelligence," Snape muttered, still half awake. For him, the insult was almost a form of affection, and Harry's lips curved upwards unbidden.

Harry stroked light fingers across the man's skin again, tracing the last few wounds and causing the Potions Master to shiver. "How do you feel?"

"I feel as though I've been trampled by a hippogryph- what do you expect after a torture session?" Snape said almost sulkily. "And- what in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"Healing you," Harry replied resolutely.

Snape's black eyes narrowed. "Madame Pomfrey can get it from here- last time you tried to heal me you very nearly incinerated me. And I don't want any more...surprises."

"I don't think-"

"No, you don't- you never think! You bloody teleported into the Dark Lord's main stronghold and out with passengers!" Madame Pomfrey stared, wand slipping from her nerveless fingers to clatter on the smooth white floor and roll away. "Did it even occur to you that he might have had anti-animagus wards up? Had you even ever flashed with a passenger before? And now you're practicing more untested, experimental magic on me?"

Harry winced. "If I hadn't tried 'experimental magic', as you put it, you'd be dead!" he snapped at last. "So would Draco and Lucius Malfoy."

"And we wouldn't be bloody mindlinked!" the Potions Master thought furiously, and then, out loud: "Are they ok?"

"I assume so."

"You assume?"

"I was kinda busy saving your arse, professor," Harry said, letting his magic soak into Snape's body, mending it, letting a power as warm and soothing as hot chocolate trickle into the air around them. Unnoticed by either wizard, a faint golden glow was beginning to shimmer between and around the two of them. Lucius Malfoy, the only one in the room who knew what that entailed, drew a sharp breath.

Snape flushed at the mention of his rescue, his thoughts muttering about being saved by a child, because he was too stupid to help himself. That is until Harry slapped him. "Don't think like that, you were taken by surprise, that's all! You think mum would want you beating yourself up for letting down your guard for approximately five seconds? It's not a crime to need help, professor."

The glow strengthened ever so slightly. Snape stared at him, black eyes wide with emotion- at first anger, and then, maybe, something else. "I...Harry..." Three simultaneous gasps sounded in the hospital wing, as Madame Pomfrey and Lucius Malfoy discovered the identity of the mysterious youth and Draco heard his godfather call the hated Gryffindor by his first name.

Harry smiled a little. "Relax. Last I checked, you just came back from a torture session."

"Don't remind me," Snape shifted on the bed, rumpling the sheets as he tried to get comfortable. He paused. "You do need to learn to think things through before you plunge in like a bloody Gryffindor!" he said at last. "You don't know what the implications of your new powers are, nor do you know your limits. You're going to get yourself killed one of these days!"

"Yes professor," said Harry cheekily, green gaze sparkling with warmth. "You do realize that I am a Gryffindor though?"

"You never let me forget it," the Potions Master grumped. "Speaking of, twenty points from Gryffindor for going on a stupid, dangerous rescue mission."

Harry pouted playfully. "You love me anyway."

"Impossible brat," Snape responded, lips twitching. "Only you would be so blase about snatching a traitor out from under Tommy's nose, with a magical animagus form, and then healing me wandlessly."

"Well, when you put it that way..."

At that moment, Madame Pomfrey seemed to shake off her stupor. "I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that I'm still the mediwitch. So while this is quite touching, would you mind pausing your conversation until I can scan Professor Snape?"

Harry jumped back with a squeak that he would later fervently deny. "Yes Madame Pomfrey, sorry," he said obediently, moving over so that she could pass her wand over the prostrate Potions Master.

Madame Pomfrey waved her wand, muttering an unfamiliar spell, and then pressed the tip of her wand onto a piece of parchment. Slowly, ink bled from the tip, steadily forming line after line of text. By the fifth line, the mediwitch was frowning. By the tenth, her eyes were very wide. Her eyes widened still further as the paper began to extend, growing inch after inch. It was a full ten minutes before it even began to slow down, and another five before it stopped. As soon as it stopped, she picked it up and began to read, emotions whiplashing across her face the farther she read, making the occational comment: "No history past the last two days" "not possible!" "he should be dead" "liquidation curse" "punctured lung" "How is he even alive?" and "how is the crucitus damage marked healed?

Still frowning, she put down the paper and began performing a different scan, wand moving in elegant loops while Snape did his best to keep still.

This time the paper was emitted directly from the end of her wand, and it, too, kept on growing, although it took a substantially lower time than the other. Madame Pomfrey let it grow as long as it would, and finally, when it stopped, picked it up and started reading it. This time, her reaction was more drastic. As in, her eyes popped out of her head and she squeezed the paper so tightly that it crunched in her sweaty hands.

She opened her mouth for a moment, and then closed it, rendered speechless by whatever she had read. Finally she seemed to gain control of herself. "Severus," she said in an odd, half angry, half shocked trembling voice, "Is there something you'd like to explain?"

"Well, in order explain, I have to first know what is to be explained," said Severus dryly, reaching for the paper. The humor died from his face entirely as he read, Harry peering over his shoulder.

Magic diagnostic of Severus Tobias Snape, male, age 34

Core status: φ type, integrated

Magic status: replenished, very high levels of free radical magic, much primal and Ancient magic

External magical damage: minimal, healing process boosted

Dark taint: minimal

Aura type: ζ silver and gold

Potential Soulmates: Lily M. Potter, nee Evans (deceased), Irma Pince, Poppy L. Pomfrey

Bond Status: a Sacred Triple Bond with one Harry James Potter, composed of a full mindlink, a soul-bond, and a type Ψ animagus bond.

There was a long, dead silence. Then, finally, Snape sucked in a long breath. "Well," he said dryly, still staring at the parchment, "I believe that this changes the equation drastically."

"Um...so what does it mean?" asked Harry, who had been looking at the parchment from his seat on Snape's hospital bed.

"It means that we can't keep this a secret any longer, and the Ministry of Magic might get the wrong idea," said the Potions Master grimly.

"What do you mean? No one has to know besides everyone in the room, and I can make the Malfoys keep quiet about it."

"It's...not so simple, Potter," Snape told him. "Sacred Triple Bonds are very rare and powerful, and every one that forms is detected by the Department of Mysteries. We should be receiving a Ministry owl by tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Shite," Harry muttered, glaring at the scrap of parchment in Snape's hand as though it were the source of all his problems.

"Indeed," Snape replied, not bothering to reprimand him.

"So, um, you've told me about the implications, but what does the bond thing do," Harry asked after a moment.

Snape stared. "How- you have not heard of a Sacred Triple Bond?"

"How would I?" Harry responded sourly. "Last I checked, professor, I was raised with a bunch of muggles who didn't even tell me magic exists."

Harry was rewarded by the unlikely occurrence of his austere DADA professor facepalming. "I swear I will kill Albus," he muttered, then went white as he remembered that he had actually been ordered to do just that. After he had recovered himself, he went on, assuming his 'professor voice'. "A Sacred Triple Bond is essentially just what it sounds like: that is, a bond of magic that links two people, comprising a mindlink, soul-bond, and shared animagus bond. They are very rare, and can either be formed by several illegal spells and rituals or can spontaneously form between soulmates. Essentially, with the bond you share minds, and your soul is...for lack of a better word, shared with your bondmate. The shared animagus form can mean that both have the same animagus form or that both have a hybrid between the two forms, provided both have an established form."

Harry nodded, trying to assimilate the information he had just been given. Then it all hit him at once, and he stammered impotently for half a minute before seeming to halfway recover himself. "Wait, do you have an animagus form?!" he asked, beginning to panic again.

Snape smirked. "No," he said at last, and Harry slumped in relief. "Although I did take the Draught of Discovery..."

"Why didn't you become a full animagus?"

A pause. "I wanted to, if only to show the mutt that I could. However, I decided that I didn't want the ridicule. I would have been a fruit bat."

Harry giggled, and Snape muttered "Brat," although not without affection.

And that was when Madame Pomfrey's chill voice broke over them. "Give me one reason, just one, not to report this to the proper authorities, Severus,"

Harry and the professor looked at each other, and then Harry blurted out: "We can explain."

"We, Mr. Potter?" said Madame Pomfrey, pursing her lips. "I might remind you that you are still underage."

Harry blushed violently; he seemed to be doing that a lot, recently. "I never- we never-" he broke off, trying to gather his scattered wits.

Snape abruptly came to his rescue. "It was an accident; I did not and would never act inappropriately with a student!'

"That's not exactly better," the mediwich said, still looking at Snape coldly. "Did you use the Servate ritual, then?"

Snape, if possible, grew even paler. "No, of course not!" he burst out, seemingly appalled, and Harry learned from his mind that the ritual mentioned was a ancient magical slavery ritual, one that essentially bound someone permanently to his master; it had fallen out of favor, both because it could render either participant in the ritual a squib or bind them together forever in a forced Triple Bond, if done wrong, and because it was punishable by eighty years in Azkaban and then the dementor's kiss.

"So how did this happen, then?" said Madame Pomfrey, not warming any.

"It was an accident," Snape repeated, raising his dark gaze to the woman's face. "Harry is a phoenix animagus, and he somehow managed to bond me."

"A phœnix animagus? Forgive me if I find that hard to comprehend."

Harry knelt and let the primal magic bubbling inside his core reshape his body, wings arching up over him, one beady jade eye studying the mediwitch, while the other studied the rest of the hospital wing. Scaly black talons skittered on the floor as he took a shaky step; it was much harder to walk in this form.

Of all the wizards currently in the hospital, Severus Snape was the only one who didn't react. Madame Pomfrey was rarely anything but composed, but in this instance Harry was amused to note that at witnessing his transformation her mouth was as wide as Ron's had been. On the other side of the wing, Lucius Malfoy was only slightly more dignified, now that his previous shock had more or less does away. Draco was asleep.

"O...kay, I stand corrected," Madame Pomfrey said shakily. "Severus, might we go over the rest of your scan before we get off track? There are a number of abnormalities here..."

Professor Snape frowned. "Such as?"

"Your core type is here listed as a φ type, but I have in my hospital record cabinet that your core is rather a considerably weaker ω type, for one thing, and your core is fully integrated, and releasing enormous amounts of free radical magic into your blood. While you've always had a semi-integrated core- that was likely one of the reasons potions were and are so easy for you, this is enormously different. Have you been practicing a great deal of wandless magic?"

"I have not, no. May I ask what the implications free radical magic might be? I'm afraid I haven't heard of it."

"Your magic is in your bloodstream. It is not substantially dangerous, but it might make your magic more volatile. Wandless and wordless magic will likely be much easier for you now, but your magic overall will take some readjusting. I suggest getting a new wand."

Snape only nodded, and Harry learned from his thoughts that he hasn't gotten a chance to see Ollivander yet; he was evidently still using Bellatrix's wand.

"Not only that," Madame Pomfrey continued, "But your aura is much purer than it used to be, and more powerful, and you have very little magical damage or dark taint. What in Merlin's name happened to you?"

Professor Snape smiled faintly, making him look years younger. "Have you heard of the rite of Flamma Aeterna?"

"The what?"

"The Rite of Flamma Aeterna." Unexpectedly, it was Lucius Malfoy who answered her. "Dear Morgana's tits, is that how you survived?!"

Snape nodded.

"And Potter was the phœnix?"

"Yes," he replied, smirking. He smirked even more when Lucius toppled over backwards in a dead faint.