Saturday 5th, October 1996

~~~~HP~~~~

It may have been because of the lingering effects of the pneumonia, but Harry absolutely could not breathe causing him to panic even more than he already was over the vision. No matter how hard he tried to suck in the oxygen his brain and lungs so desperately needed, it felt like he was breathing through a narrow straw and he would never be able to get nearly enough. Suddenly, the blurry colors disappeared and all around him was black, only now instead of fear, he felt comforted. Strong arms were practically swallowing his small frame on both sides of him.

"Breathe," he heard a low voice whisper in his right ear, "you need to take slower breaths before you hyperventilate. Try to match my breathing."

Against his chest, he could feel the rising and falling of someone breathing. Without being consciously aware of it, Harry started breathing in the same rhythm of the person talking to him and his brain started to clear. He could see the room around him materialize back into his bedroom at home as his glasses were slipped back onto his face seemingly on their own.

Home... I'm safe at home.

Snape was sitting next to him with his arm wrapped tightly around Harry's small shoulders and the young wizard used that feeling to help ground himself in the present; where there was no death or destruction surrounding him. He was shaking and could taste the salty tears that had coated his lips and the coppery blood from the place he had accidentally bitten his tongue.

He felt a warm wet cloth placed softly against his forehead - to clean the blood from his scar he now realized - and it brought his attention upwards where he met Snape's very worried eyes. He expected to feel the brush of the professor's mind against his own, and was genuinely surprised when it did not happen. He would almost prefer that instead of having to explain it all to the professor. With his panic attack now under better control, and his scar no longer bleeding, he drew his knees to his chest and laid his head on top of them silently wishing all of this to end; the death, the fear, and the torture.

Everytime Harry closed his eyes, flashes of the vision were forcibly cast across them:

The long road that Harry was all too familiar with was illuminated by the soft orange glow of the street lamps. The asphalt street and front gardens of each identical house were damp as if it had recently rained; in fact Harry could almost smell the distinct scent of freshly cut grass mixed in with rain.

Back in his bedroom, Harry's breathing started to increase yet again and his eyes shifted back and forth beneath his eyelids trying to push the vision away from him.

There had to be almost fifty Death Eaters walking up and down the street unlocking doors with a flick of their wands. It was too easy; the muggles didn't stand a chance against them. He could hear the screams of each man, woman, and child as they were dragged from their beds and thrown down into the street. Voldemort himself was standing tall in front of his prisoners.

The orange glow from the street lamps disappeared as glass shattered from the bulbs that were forcibly broken by his loyal followers; leaving the street blanketed in almost pure darkness. Cries and screams were deafening as each resident tried to escape the inevitable. Their efforts would be futile. On his command, green lights were cast from his followers' wands until the entire street went eerily silent.

"Finish it," the dark wizard called to the men and women in dark robes and masks. Without needing any other direction, the Death Eaters turned away from their victims to cast their spells into each house until the entire street was engulfed in flames.

"He's at Privet Drive...," Harry said, his voice quivering from a combination of fear, grief, and adrenaline, "it's all gone... He's killed them all... He knows I'm not there and he killed them anyways. They all died for nothing!"

He was pulled closer to Snape's side and felt the man's rough hand on the back of his head. For the first time, Harry wasn't embarrassed about needing the comfort or about the tears that were still falling down his cheeks. What he'd just witnessed was the most horrific scene to date. Most of the residents in his old neighborhood hardly knew him and yet they had all been killed because of him; because Voldemort was trying to torture him. The Gryffindor couldn't think of any other reason.

Snape tried to move, as if to stand, until Harry grabbed a handful of his bed shirt, silently begging him to stay. If he moved from this position, the young wizard would know it was all real. Sitting here - against the man who literally traveled across the universe to save him - Harry felt safe for one of the few times in his life. Snape would help him, Snape would do whatever it took to make this better, Snape would never leave him.

"I need to contact the headmaster," the professor said, pulling Harry away, still holding firmly onto his right arm in an effort to keep Harry from falling back into the memory of the vision. Using his wand, the professor sent his doe patronus with a message for Albus to dispatch a team to Privet Drive for a possible Death Eater raid. Turning his attention back to the young terrified wizard he said, "Please tell me what you saw."

Harry nodded his head and with a shaking voice he started rambling, "He summoned his followers... There had to be about forty or fifty of them... At first it was fuzzy, like I was underwater...

"Then they went to Privet Drive... He knows I'm not there... He knows my relatives aren't there anymore... But he still... Everyone was in the streets... Then the fires."

He knew he wasn't making much sense, except that was the best he could do. It was all jumbled in his mind with flashes projecting across his eyes and the screams blaring into his ears. In the room, a bright light appeared in the shape of a Phoenix - Dumbledore's patronus.

"Stay put Severus," the voice of the headmaster said through the patronus. "I will be there shortly."

The professor nodded his head, though Harry wasn't sure a patronus could see, and then Snape helped to pull the Gryffindor up from the bed, "Let us go into the sitting room and wait on Albus."

It was Harry's turn to nod. Entering the sitting room, he caught sight of the clock on the mantle, it was already half past four in the morning and he had less than four hours until Healer Smithe would be there for his next round of chemotherapy. Harry was exhausted, not necessarily from the lack of sleep, as he'd been able to catch up on a lot during the week. It was from the constant battle he was always going through against his own body and mind. He was fighting his body against the Leukemia, his mind against Voldemort, and the young wizard couldn't help questioning how much of "just Harry" was left in either of those. Pulling up the last of his strength, he was determined not to lose himself in all of this.

They could not have been sitting on the couch for more than ten minutes when the floo turned bright green and Dumbledore stepped out. The elderly wizard was wearing a conservative set of dark grey robes without any embellishments whatsoever on them. If the situation had been different, Harry would have chuckled because he didn't think the headmaster owned such a plain set of robes.

"All is well," the leader of the Order of Phoenix said carefully, kneeling down in front of Harry taking in the teens distraught appearance.

"That's impossible," Harry said, shivering and shaking his head violently as dread filled him up inside. Snape, who was standing behind him, summoned Harry's red blanket and draped it over his shoulders. It had the distinct feel of a warming charm that penetrated the cold layers of his skin. "I saw it happen! The entire street was completely destroyed; houses were burned down! The dead bodies were everywhere and the Death Eaters were all there!"

"Is it possible it was not Privet Drive you saw?" Dumbledore asked in doubt.

"No," the Boy-Who-Lived said quickly, almost interrupting the man in front of him, "I lived there for almost 15 years sir. I know what I saw. If it didn't happen, then it's going to... He's got to be planning it! You can't let him get away with it! You can't let them all die!"

"It could have been another false vision" Snape suggested coming around to sit in the armchair on the left. "As a way to..."

"To torture me?" Harry finished for him furiously.

"Precisely," Snape answered dejectedly.

"It was so real," Harry was still shivering, not from the cold this time; from pure fear. His body was flooded with fear for the people who used to be his neighbors, even if he hadn't known them well, even if they never stood up against the Dursley's to help him when it was obvious they had some kind of knowledge of what went on in #4. They didn't deserve to be murdered, except they hadn't been murdered... it wasn't real after all. Then the fear he had for the innocent muggles morphed into fear for himself. What would happen to his mind if Voldemort kept on torturing him like this? How long before he went crazy or completely paranoid?

"I will keep the order on high alert just in case," Dumbledore explained standing between the professor and student. The two men appeared to be having a conversation without a word spoken between them. "Severus, should you hear of a summons either directly or indirectly, please let me know immediately and we will send a team back out to Little Whinging."

Snape flexed his left arm and Harry knew the professor had to be dreading the idea of receiving a summons. Harry found himself wondering how often the professor had the burning pain because it seemed less now, or perhaps Harry had simply been too self-absorbed to take notice. That last thought pained him inside and guilt filled him alongside the fear. How could he be so selfish to not know how Snape was doing after everything the man had done for him?

"Do you think you can try to get some sleep?" Snape asked suddenly giving Harry the impression he'd missed pieces of the conversation around him.

"Can I stay out here? On the sofa?" The young wizard pleaded knowing he'd already be allowed to. For some reason, he had the impression that his other self - the one from Snape's old reality - had slept on the sofa often.

"Of course Harry," Snape answered and pulled out his ebony wand to summon Harry's pillow from his bedroom, then set it at the end of the sofa. Harry laid his head down gently before the professor carefully arranged the blankets around him making Harry feel warm and comfortable; inside and out. "The headmaster and I will be right in the kitchen should you need me."

"Thank you Severus," Harry yawned, demonstrating that he was more tired than he let on. "One more thing sir?"

Snape stood still with his eyebrows raised beckoning Harry to continue.

"How did you know I was having a vision?"

"Ah," Snape said giving his head a small shake in disbelief, "I was awoken by your amplified voice; you were screaming."

Immediately, the young wizard's face flushed bright red, "m'Sorry sir."

"Harry, please do not apologize for needing help," Snape said seriously, "especially for something you have no control over. Get some rest while you can, I have a feeling it's likely to be a rough day."

~~~~SS~~~~

It didn't surprise Severus in the slightest when Harry had the vision about Privet Drive that morning. Had yesterday's boggart dilemma not thrown the night off balance, the professor had wanted to tell Harry all about their suspicions of the Dark Lord using the visions as a way of psychological warfare, in order to prepare the Gryffindor for something like this happening. Adding to his list of things to remember - once this round of chemotherapy was completed - they would need to go back to serious Occlumency training so the Gryffindor could at least attempt to block these visions before they started.

When he'd finally woken Harry up from the vision, the teen was completely distraught which was heartbreaking for the professor to watch. It had to be a terrifying feeling to live through something like that and not have any control over it. Severus had done awful things in his life that he still had occasional nightmares over, however for the most part, he was fully aware of what he had been doing at the time and he deserved to be plagued by the screams of those he had killed; intentionally and unintentionally.

What did take him by surprise that morning was when Albus came through with no news on any Death Eater activity in Little Whinging. He would have fully expected to hear that Privet Drive was in shambles based on Harry's, albeit limited, description. In hindsight, the lack of burning from his own Dark Mark should have been a clue all along that this raid had not actually occurred; at least not yet.

Once the young wizard was settled on the sofa and trying to get a couple more hours of sleep before Alton arrived for his chemotherapy, Albus and Severus went into the kitchen for tea. The defense professor pulled his wand to start preparing it as the headmaster took a seat in the chair Harry always chose at the small table. Severus used the time he was distracted to tell the headmaster everything Harry had recalled from the vision.

"What do you make of this Albus?" He asked nervously as he waited for his mentor's response to what he had just explained.

"It's more than possible young Harry picked up on Voldemort's intent for action through the vision," was the first thing the headmaster suggested.

"Anything is possible," the former spy replied. It sounded too much like Albus was using Harry as bait and he didn't like that one bit.

"If this is going to happen and there will be that many Death Eaters away from the manor, I believe we should be ready to move forward with the rescue tonight," Albus's bright blue eyes pierced into the back of Severus's head. When he turned to face the elderly wizard, his hands were held so tightly onto the countertop behind him that his knuckles turned pure white, and he had a dead serious expression across his face. "I know it's sooner than we expected my boy and we already deduced why a raid is an inappropriate time to do this, however if this vision is somehow related to an upcoming event of this size, we cannot let the opportunity be wasted."

"It doesn't change my suggestion that it is highly inadvisable," Severus replied, turning back to finish their tea. "We would still be at a disadvantage by splitting the teams between wherever it is the Dark Lord might go - most likely Privet Drive - and the team to rescue the Smithe's."

"We could have a full-scale reconnaissance planning today until we are sure we can penetrate the manor with as few casualties as possible given the disadvantage of the size of our team," the headmaster continued to lecture once Severus sat down with their tea. "Think about it, Severus, if we plan accordingly, we could get them out as early as tonight, with significantly less interference."

Severus knew strategically speaking this was a bad idea, yet he could not deny how much he wanted to go for it. Since the moment he found out Alton was working against them, he wanted to save Sarah and Mary. Maybe it was because he wanted so desperately to save Lily and Harry, to which he'd failed at both of those in his other reality, or perhaps because deep down he thought that the only way Alton would bring harm to his patient - any patient, not only Harry - was if his family were in danger. By releasing them from the Dark Lord's clutches, he would know, without a doubt, if Alton was voluntarily working with the Death Eaters. What Albus was suggesting would give him exactly what he wanted.

"If - and that's a big assumption to begin with - the Dark Lord is planning to attack a muggle street tonight with that headcount, I would suspect we wouldn't need more than a handful of wands at Malfoy Manor. Therefore, it doesn't hurt to be prepared just in case the opportunity does happen to present itself," the former spy conceded with a high level of skepticism. "To pull this off, Draco would absolutely need to spend the day at Headquarters with Moody going over the map in excruciatingly fine detail."

"That can be arranged," Albus gave a smile at his victory, "And what of you, my boy? Can we count on you to be in the field as we had originally planned?"

"Absolutely not," the former spy said regretfully, eyes lingering at the door towards Harry's direction. He wanted to be there, nevertheless Harry was his first priority, "You know I cannot leave him today. I have to sit this one out."

"We really need you Severus," the headmaster responded, "you were an integral part of the original plan."

"Plans change Albus," the dark haired wizard replied sternly. "You do it without me, or not at all."

Already knowing it was a lost cause to try to convince his defense professor to change his mind, Albus simply nodded and replied, "I will collect Mr. Malfoy this morning and let you know should he have any issue assisting us."

The younger wizard gave a small chuckle. Draco never had issues with people needing him. It would make the blonde feel important, and the fact that Severus would not be there as a liaison between the Slytherin and former Auror would make him feel all the more powerful too. As long as this did not go to the teen's head, they would be fine without him. Instead, today could continue trying to find a connection between the Greengrass family and the Dark Lord.

As if reading his defense professor's mind - which was practically impossible - Albus asked, "Have you uncovered anything about Miss. Greengrass?"

"Nothing of importance yet," Severus replied furrowing his brows, "their family had early connections to the dark arts, however somewhere in the late 1800's their history tapers off before picking back up in the 1920's. From that point forward, there is no mention of their involvement in any of the wars; for either side."

"As one of the last true pureblood families, I have a hard time believing they hold no value on blood status," Albus said unconvinced. "The Weasley's even made a declaration on blood status; that they place no value on it."

"It's possible the Greengrass's view this as a way to realign themselves with their previous dark arts culture," Severus explained with scowl, the feelings of injustice rising within him "If not, and they are in fact 'Blood Traitors', after the attack on the Burrow, I imagine they would be hesitant to speak up against the Dark Lord and in that case they may go as far as to join him simply to maintain their elite status while simultaneously drawing attention away from them."

"I suspect they would fall into the former category," Albus replied sipping his tea like they were simply two old friends catching up on their summer holiday and not discussing the future of at least one of his students.

"If the Greengrass's are so eager to realign themselves with the Dark Lord, I'm sure Mr. or Mrs. Greengrass will be more than welcomed to take the mark themselves," Severus said slamming his hand down on the table. He quickly closed his eyes fully expecting Harry to have heard it and wake up. When the Gryffindor didn't enter the kitchen, he continued with a low growl, "They need not sacrifice their eldest daughter, against her wishes, for their own cause."

Did they know they were practically sentencing her - at best - to a life sentence in Azkaban and, at worst, to her own death? What kind of parents would hand over their child to that kind of life; especially when they were unmarked themselves?

Cowardly parents, that's whom.

"We can both agree to that Severus," said the headmaster gravely, "I believe the best we can do would be to put her and her sister into hiding. We can use Shell Cottage after the Christmas holidays. Although it would make this infinitely easier if one of her parents would agree to accompany them. Does Draco know if both of her parents are lobbying for her mark?"

"I have no idea," the former spy pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I'll inquire about it to him and direct his focus to Daphne's mother. I'm willing to bet if one of them wouldn't want their daughter marked, it would likely be her mother."

The two wizards sat in a companionable silence between them until it became obvious that Severus would have to be the one to broach the last remaining topic they needed to cover.

"What did you make of Harry's magical tests yesterday?"

Albus smiled with that spark in his blue eyes that meant he was feeling overly sentimental, "Do you mean besides his change of boggart?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Severus simply replied, "I have already discussed that with Minerva. If you wish to gossip, I suggest you find her. I'm sure she can fill your head with all sorts of fairy tale endings."

Settling back into his chair, Albus smirked, "I'll keep that in mind Severus.

"As for Harry's overall aptitude, I'm sure you'd agree that it does not seem as if he has lost any magic thus far. I'd be interested to see how it changes over time and how he manages with the new schoolwork compared to his classmates. I imagine he would hold his own at the moment."

"I did take notice of that as well. Even his less than spectacular transfiguration attempts were a small improvement compared to last year," the professor commented, tabling the thoughts of Harry's new schoolwork. If he did unintentional magic in class, it would be impossible to keep from the Dark Lord and it would potentially harm their ruse. "Minerva asked if there could be something that was blocking his magic, which would now be getting demolished by the chemotherapy. It is her opinion that there could be something like that in place; similar to at least one theory about squibs simply having a block on their magical core that cannot be removed."

Albus's eyes widened as he thought this through, "Voldemort's soul fragment? Could the muggle medications be killing it?"

Obviously that was the first place Severus's mind had taken him when Minerva brought it up the previous night. There was nothing he wanted more than to say the chemotherapy would kill the blasted piece of soul, however there was also nothing in his research to support such a claim. Turning his eyes downward, he gravely shook his head.

"I don't believe so," he answered despondently. "All of the texts I've examined come to the same conclusion - the container must be damaged beyond magical repair to release the soul fragment - and Harry would be considered the container. I'm yet to find an alternative theory to save him from that fate."

Albus stood and levitated his tea cup to the sink.

"We are in uncharted territory, my boy. We'll find something. I'll take it from here," the headmaster explained. He placed his hand on the professor's shoulder giving it a small squeeze, "You focus on Harry and Miss. Greengrass."

Without another word, the headmaster left the kitchen with Severus following in his wake. He heard the floo roar before he made it to the sitting room; Albus was gone.

Harry was still sleeping soundly on the sofa and there was less than an hour before Alton would arrive to start his chemotherapy. Usually the professor would have woken up Harry by now, so he could shower and eat his breakfast, however when he knelt down in front of the sofa, Severus couldn't do it. Harry had looked so exhausted after his vision, even though he'd slept well most of the week. The professor placed his hand upon Harry's head as if he were going to push back the fringe of the messy black hair that was missing and held in the tears that threatened to escape. This whole battle was wearing them both down and Severus hoped the next three weeks would go by quickly.

~~~~HP~~~~

Healer Smithe showed up right on time at eight in the morning to collect his blood sample - which seemed pointless as Harry hadn't had chemotherapy in a couple of weeks, so his blood counts should not be too low - and set him up with the antiemetic first. After being up so early that morning from his vision, Harry had overslept and he ended up attempting to eat his breakfast in the sitting room during the antiemetic drip, except he had no appetite and mostly pushed the porridge and fruit around in his bowl.

"You need to eat," Snape reminded Harry as he sat down in the armchair besides the Gryffindor. "You've managed to gain back a little weight and it would be nice if you could keep at least half of it."

"Yeah," Harry sarcastically replied, "I know that, but it doesn't mean I can and I get really tired of hearing people saying that over and over again. It's not like I'm choosing not to eat."

"I am simply trying to make sure you can keep your strength," Snape said, picking up the book on genealogy Harry had seen him now reading more often.

"Who are you looking for in there? And before you say it's none of my concern, I know that already," the young wizard quickly added with a bit more attitude than he intended. "This is called having a conversation and taking an interest in the other person I happen to be living with."

"Don't think you can out Slytherin their Head of House," Snape said peering over the top of the book, "I know exactly what you're doing and it's not going to work."

That should not have surprised me.

"Did you find anything out about my magic from the tests yesterday?" He gave in and changed the subject.

"Quite a lot actually," Snape started before he was interrupted by Healer Smithe coming through the floo. "Perfect timing Alton, Harry was asking about the results from his magical tests yesterday."

That sounded more condescending then it should have.

"Wonderful," the healer said, placing his black bag on the table and pulling the day's chemotherapy medications from it. "Why don't we get the Intrathecal done and we'll discuss the results during the one hour medication."

For reasons unknown to him, Harry was more nervous than usual. It was almost like starting chemotherapy all over again, but this time he knew that the triple medication days - IT followed by the one hour IV, then the four hour IV - were the hardest on his body. With his nerves flaring at high speed, he had a difficult time sitting still for the IT and Snape ended up having to physically hold him in place; something he hadn't needed to do in a while. After what felt like hours, but was probably only one, the first medication was started along with the IV of morphine to help prevent the burning pain from his depleting magical core.

Healer Smithe made some notes in what Harry assumed was his ever-growing medical file, then sat down in the armchair across from Snape. Pulling out two pieces of paper, he handed one each to Harry and Snape then started in on the results from his magical testing yesterday, "Based on your previous records, which you can see in green on this report, you have seen a decrease in magical ability across the board. This should not come as a shock to either of you since we've seen the physical symptoms of this occurring with increasing severity during each round.

"Going forward, you'll do the same set of tests on the day prior to each chemotherapy round and after three or four weeks, we should have a better idea of how long it will take for your magic to be completely depleted. Depending on the results, we may start to add a mid-round test to see if there's any loss during the round and replenishment during your break periods. That would mostly be for academic purposes, since the wizarding community has never seen a case of a strong wizard going through chemotherapy."

That's fantastic, another reason to be different, Harry thought sharply.

Having this conversation literally during his treatment soured his mood significantly. Harry could literally watch the medication going into his port on its way to killing off his magic. Meeting Snape's eyes, he could tell the professor was thinking the same thing he was; that regardless of how little magic he ended up with at the end of all of this, they both knew that was better then how the other Harry ended up using only the potions. Magical levels wouldn't matter if he was dead.

Picking up on his patient's change of attitude, Healer Smithe quickly added, "Remember Harry, nothing is set in stone. This is new territory for all of us. As the chemotherapy decreases over time and your body adjusts to the medications, there is still a good chance the depletion rate can slow down and you'll be left with some kind of magic. Only, it might not be as strong as it used to be."

None of that sounded good to Harry either. In fact, since Snape had told him that he'd been doing magic randomly, he had really hoped for better news than this. Obviously, he couldn't tell either man about how he had gotten his hopes up because he'd feel like a failure for not staying strong through this. All of it brought to the forefront of his mind another question that had been plaguing him. How was it possible that his magic could be potentially strong enough to withstand chemotherapy, yet not strong enough to prevent the cancer in the first place? He hated dwelling in self-pity nonetheless, that was how he felt today.

"A piece of good news," Healer Smithe said joyfully as he tried, unsuccessfully, to raise Harry's spirits, "is that your blood counts looked amazing today. If you keep up with the sanitizing after each guest arrives and continue constant hand washing, you should hopefully get through this phase of consolidation without any further issues, like the pneumonia."

Three weeks. He needed to make it three weeks before they'd do another biopsy and start his next phase. Three weeks and he would be going back to classes because the healer had previously said the next phase should be easier on his body and his immune system. In order to maintain some semblance of sanity, he had been taking this one stage at a time and the next one was coming up, he could almost see the light at the end of this awful tunnel.

"Ok," Healer Smithe called both residents' attention back to him. "It's time to get you started on the four hour and then I'm needed back at the hospital most of today, so Madam Pomfrey will be back for the removal."

It didn't matter to the Gryffindor which person came to remove the chemo line; after all this time, Madam Pomfrey was just as capable as Healer Smithe. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to care more than he did because the look in his professor's eyes showed a skepticism Harry couldn't place. He was sure he'd seen a look like that from the man before and it caused him to panic for a second inside of himself.

Unfortunately, Snape had been right when he said it would be a rough day. By lunchtime, Harry was too nauseated to even consider eating, which did not go unnoticed by Snape. During the first two hours of the chemotherapy, they tried to play wizard's chess and card games, then Harry tried to get some school work done and sketch; all to no avail. Nothing could distract him from the vomiting and the pain that had started deep within his stomach. Snape fussed about their quarters trying to find any which way to help ease the Gryffindor's pain. In the end, Harry was laying on his side facing away from the professor, with one pillow against his lower back and another between his knees, trying to think of any way to distract himself from how he was feeling.

"Severus," Harry called out a little louder than he'd expected for the professor was back to sitting in the armchair next to him. "Do you think he plans when he's going to torture me with a vision?"

"I had hoped you'd fallen asleep," Snape responded, placing the genealogy book and his notebook onto his lap.

"No such luck yet," Harry said, rotating just enough to see Snape.

"Why do you think he's planning it?" The professor asked clearly fishing to see what Harry suspected before giving up any information. Harry had lived with the man long enough to know some of his stalling tactics.

"Well," The young wizard continued breathing heavily through the pain, "I've had a vision during each round of the hell week of my consolidation so far."

"Please elaborate," Snape replied formally; more formal than Harry wanted to hear, leading him to believe the man knew something, otherwise he'd already told Harry he was wrong.

"Well, the first one was the Burrow," Harry was now laying flat on his back and started counting on his fingers to make a point, "then the one of finding Charlie's body at the ministry... Draco's initiation and now Privet Drive. I think those line up correctly."

"Technically, the Burrow vision wasn't before any chemotherapy," the professor corrected; rather quickly Harry thought, "however I also do not believe that vision was intentionally sent. It followed a little more closely to your visions of last year where the Dark Lord was not aware you could see them, correct?"

Harry nervously played with the hem on his shirt, "Yeah... Except for the last one of course."

"Obviously," Snape replied in a voice that sounded just as painful as Harry felt inside.

"But the other three line up right?" Harry was focusing all his might on the ceiling afraid that if he turned his head he'd start vomiting again as a wave of dizziness came over him.

"Are you alright?" Snape asked, ignoring the question that was asked to him. Harry had no idea the professor had gotten up from the armchair until he was kneeling besides the sofa. Harry closed his eyes when Snape's hand brushed lightly against his forehead, "You don't have a fever."

"I'm..." Harry was attempting to respond until he found himself reaching over for the pail which Snape quickly held out for him and he started vomiting into it. When the heaving stopped, Harry stayed leaning over the pail and with a trembling breath said, "I'm fine... Now answer... my question..."

"Unless one of us would like to visit the Dark Lord and demand he tell us his master plan, there is no definitive proof," Snape said helping Harry take a sip of the ginger ale that has been sitting beside his uneaten lunch on the table, and then assisted him in laying back onto his side on the sofa, "However, the headmaster and I agree with your assessment. There is likely a correlation between your chemotherapy schedule and these other visions."

"How does he know?" The Gryffindor asked confused. He didn't want to sound whiny nevertheless he knew he did, "I mean, could it be because we haven't really done more Occlumency? Like, he's getting it from my own mind?"

"It could be something like that," Snape said noncommittally and the young wizard hardly noticed. "There are many options on the table right now regarding this subject. Whatever the reason may be, we will be working on Occlumency some more once you're feeling stronger. That should stop the visions regardless of the reasoning."

Feeling the injustice against him for once again having Voldemort attacking him on top of all the other battles he was fighting, Harry swiped at his eyes to hide his tears. He didn't want to appear weak in front of Snape; not necessarily because he would belittle the Gryffindor anymore, instead it was because he wanted to earn the man's respect.

Poppy came by around four o'clock that evening to unhook his chemo line from his port as expected and change out his morphine to a new bag. With the fresh pain medication, the young wizard didn't try to fight it when his eyes became heavy and he fell into a restless sleep. This was the best part of chemo days, when he could succumb to the darkness - now if only Voldemort would leave him alone during those few restful moments.

The next time Harry awoke it was mostly dark in the room. The lanterns in the corners illuminated the walls in a soft yellow glow and through the enchanted window, he could see rain was falling sideways in sheets out by the black lake with flashes of lightning streaking across the already black sky. He was happy to be living in the dungeons at that moment because even though he normally wasn't afraid of storms, a rain like this in the tower was loud enough to frighten him just a little bit.

Immediately upon sitting up, Harry grabbed for the pail and started to forcefully vomit into it. Having skipped lunch completely and his breakfast being long gone, only the acid bile with speckles of black came out. This time, the young wizard took note of the black speckles throughout the vomit and thought to question Snape about it the next time he saw the man.

I should get a notebook to start keeping track of all this... Like Severus is doing.

The last thought hit him hard inside. That was what a father would do for his son and it was a small detail that had been missing his whole life with his aunt and uncle; someone to pay attention to what he was going through, to think about these things before he did, and someone to go to when you had a question knowing the man would find the answer if he didn't already know it. Being honest with himself, Harry was terrified about it no matter how good it made him feel inside. After Sirius's death, he had more or less forced himself to start accepting the fact that he was destined to be parent-less and alone. Yet here he was living with the most unlikely of a father figure and it made him happy inside; he was content, like this is where he belonged. It made him want to know more about the life he never got to live with the man and at the same time start envisioning where they could end up. What would happen when Harry graduated from Hogwarts? He couldn't imagine never seeing Snape again.

"Severus?" Harry heard from the floo. It was so unexpected, the teen literally jumped and almost fell from the sofa, giving him a flashback to the first day he'd seen Malfoy over the summer. Placing his glasses back on - Snape must have removed them after he'd fallen asleep - he saw the floating face of Dumbledore in the floo. After quick search of the room, Harry saw the light shining underneath the door to Snape's office.

"He's in his office professor," Harry said contemplating if he could make it to the office to tell Snape. "Do you need me to get him?"

"No, that's quite alright Harry," the headmaster said in a calm voice, "would it be ok if I came through?"

"Sure," Harry replied knowing that the professor wouldn't mind his employer coming into the quarters that technically belonged to Hogwarts.

Less than a half minute later, the headmaster was standing in the sitting room and Harry attempted to sit up, but was still too exhausted. At this point, the day had completely worn down his already weak body.

"Is everything ok sir?" The young Gryffindor asked warily. "It's not Privet Drive is it?"

"Everything is under control Harry," the elderly wizard replied.

Harry recognized the deflection from his question and it didn't really make him feel much better about the whole thing. Not wanting to sound ungrateful to the headmaster, Harry chose to not to say another thing about it. Dumbledore bid Harry goodbye before he made his way over to Snape's office and bravely walked in without knocking first.

Finally able to sit up, Harry leaned against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed waiting to see if the recent wave of nausea would pass. When it didn't, he ended up back over the pail - taking note, yet again, at the black speckles littering the bottom of the pail - before both Dumbledore and Snape came bustling out of the office.

"Hi sir," Harry said sheepishly knowing both wizards likely at least heard - if not saw - his latest sick up. "Are you ok?"

"I shall be fine," Snape said very precisely, taking a seat on the sofa next to Harry. "Can you eat? Maybe some broth for dinner or a smoothie?"

"It's worth a try," The Gryffindor said rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't think much else though."

"That will do," the professor said, turning back to the headmaster, who had a far away look in his eyes, and cryptically said, "I'll make the necessary arrangements Albus."

Harry watched as the headmaster nodded then floo'ed somewhere Harry could not hear.

What arrangements does Snape need to make?

Harry never got to ask because as Snape was coming back out from the kitchen, with a tray filled with a bowl of chicken broth with vegetables for Harry to eat alongside a smoothie, floating in front of him, several things happened seemingly all at once. The professor hissed in pain and dropped to the floor holding his left forearm, causing him to lose his concentration and then subsequently the tray to crash to the floor; the loud echos vibrated across the stone dungeon walls and the steaming soup pooled onto the floor. No sooner had Harry gotten up from the sofa and down to his mentor's side that a piece of parchment appeared directly in front of Harry's face that had Draco Malfoy written on it.

"Get the door," the former Death Eater hissed to Harry grimly.

"But sir," Harry tried to explain that surely Snape's pain was more important than whatever the blonde needed at that moment.

"Go let Draco in," Snape insisted through his clenched teeth, "Now!"

The urgency in his voice got Harry moving faster than he had after any of his treatments. Somehow he couldn't put two and two together that Malfoy was being summoned by the same burning that Snape was now feeling.

The Gryffindor pulled the door open and almost jumped at the sight of Malfoy dressed in plain black robes holding what Harry knew was his Death Eater mask peeking out beneath them.

"It's about time Potter," Malfoy said pushing passed Harry. "Is Severus here?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, still in a daze from seeing the Death Eater attire. "He's near the sitting room."

Except Snape was no longer kneeling on the floor by the fallen tray of soup. When the two teens entered the sitting room, the professor was briskly walking out from his office dressed in his travelling cloak.

"Harry," Snape said, urgently drawing Harry's undivided attention to him, "I need to get Draco out beyond the anti-apparation wards so he can answer his summons. Then I'm needed at headquarters for the Order. I don't care what happens while I'm gone, you are not to leave our quarters for any reason. I will send for someone to stay with you if I find I'll be there long."

The Gryffindor's breathing started to increase as he understood what was going on. Dumbledore must have expected something like this to happen; that was why Snape said he needed to make arrangements. His vision was going to happen if the Order didn't get there to stop Voldemort first.

"Go sir!" the Gryffindor said suddenly finding his voice, "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just... Be careful alright."

"Of course I will," Snape said, giving Harry a sad glance before he turned around -grabbing Draco by the arm in the process - and not so gently escorted him out of their home.

Harry was scared. Would Snape be going into the potential battle to fight against the Death Eaters? What would happen if Snape got hurt? What if he died? Harry could feel the grief swelling up inside of him at the thought of Snape dead; bringing him back to his boggart from yesterday.

Between the chemotherapy and the anxiety of whatever was happening almost 500 miles away, Harry wasn't surprised when he ended up in the lavatory sitting against the wall opposite of the loo. His knees were drawn and he had his arms resting upon them cradling his head. Each time he vomited there was more of the black speckled bile he never got a chance to ask Snape about. The burning pain in his stomach was at its worst and he silently questioned when Madam Pomfrey would be back with more morphine.

Deciding he needed a change of scenery - and perhaps something to eat, if for no other reason then to give his stomach something to actually sick up - he pulled himself from the cold stone floor. He had no idea what time it was, how long Snape and Malfoy had been gone, or what time they would be back. That last one weighed heaviest on his mind. It very well could be the middle of the night or early hours of the morning before either of them returned.

Heading back into the sitting room, he smiled at the bowl of soup sitting upright on the table. A quick check of the clock on the mantle and Harry sighed; Snape and Malfoy had only been gone for an hour. Likely nothing really had even happened yet. Lifting his hand to press on his tingling scar, the Boy-Who-Lived almost wished it would start to hurt so he could know what was going on.

He was approaching the sofa when a wave of burning pain started radiating throughout his insides causing him to drop to his knees doubling over onto the floor. Sweat instantly started to bead up on his forehead and he couldn't hold back the vomit until he could get to the pail just out of his reach. Frustrated that now he'd have to clean the floor before Snape came home, the vomit suddenly disappeared leaving behind a sparkling clean floor and a confused wizard.

The floo sprung to life with bright green flames and Healer Smithe stepped out. While the Gryffindor had always been used to being alone and taking care of himself, he'd gotten used to someone being here for him during the worst parts of chemotherapy; like how he felt at that moment. So when his healer - with his friendly, kind face and voice - stepped into the sitting room Harry silently thanked Snape for sending the man to stay with him even after the young wizard said he would be fine alone.

"Harry!" the healer called, rushing over to help the sick teenager up from the floor and onto the sofa. "Where is Severus?"

"He got called out with the headmaster. I take it he sent you to stay with me?" The Gryffindor asked too distracted to notice the confusion cross his healer's face.

"Yes... Something like that," the man sitting next to him said, confidently rubbing small circles around Harry's back.