~~~~HP~~~~

Harry hated everything about the outpatient chemotherapy center he was required to go to every month for his IV and IT treatments. From the sterile smell greeting him the second the doors opened to the cold room where all the treatment stations were set up, he really missed doing chemotherapy back home. He even thought doing chemo at Malfoy Manor was better than the fish bowl at the treatment center, and that had been done by his doctor under extreme duress; an experience he never expected to prefer over the impersonal clinic.

Just as he had last month, Snape accompanied the Gryffindor to his appointment, and Harry knew regardless of his current animosity for the other wizard, ultimately it was for the best. Regardless of doing nothing outside of sitting in a reclining chair while the medications and fluids infused into his port - the small device he'd opted to have surgically placed in his chest before his very first treatment just over a year ago - he knew he was going to be extremely exhausted afterwards. In fact, the rest of the day would be spent between sleeping in his bedroom or camped out in front of the loo in the lavatory he shared with Snape back home. Therefore, his treatment would make the simple act of him walking out of the brick building difficult to do alone. Harry needed - wanted really - Snape there with him and after the year they'd had, he was proud of himself for being able to admit it freely, even if he was upset with the man for calling him out on not writing to his friends.

"Harry Potter?" a smiling nurse called out questioningly, looking around the waiting room for him. The two wizards were sitting in the back of the moderately crowded room, avoiding any of the other six or seven patients waiting for their own treatment time. Harry had decided to stay comfortable for his treatment in a pair of grey running trousers and a buttoned down grey pyjama shirt. He was sure he looked a bit ridiculous in the mismatched style of clothes, however it gave easy access to the port and would allow him to go home and fall right into bed. When he stood, the nurse gave him a kind smile watching him walk towards her. "You and your father can follow me."

Giving a small glance over his shoulder at Snape walking behind him, Harry nervously shifted the weight of his bag on his right shoulder following her lead. Only his second time at the clinic, the Gryffindor took a couple of deep breaths to slow down his racing heart. This whole process reminded him of the day he went to the hospital for testing and received his diagnosis only a year ago. Although good had eventually come from it all, the whole experience had left scars deep inside of him that he wanted to ignore; forever if possible.

"Right this way," the nurse opened a private room where he would eventually get his Intrathecal Chemotherapy - the process of getting the medication injected directly into his spinal cord to prevent the Leukemia from spreading - but first the nurse would collect his preliminary stats. With his chemotherapy medication being "made to order" at each visit - to account for things like his fluctuating weight - each appointment started with having a variety of things done to him: blood tests, measuring his weight and height, and checking his blood pressure, to name a few. The nurse led them into the room and quickly said, "I'll be right back to get your measurements, I need to grab a couple things."

Once the door was closed behind them, Snape unbuttoned the sleeves of his white shirt and rolled them up to his mid-forearm - showing off his dark mark which had finally started to fade - indicating this procedure room was far warmer than the waiting room. Harry wouldn't know, his nerves were too jumbled and he found himself trembling slightly all over, despite the air temperature. The room had a large exam table, where he instinctively jumped up to sit, with two plastic chairs beside it; naturally, Snape took the chair closest to the table. The room overall looked exactly as the procedure room at Healer Smithe's office, where he had his first bone marrow biopsy - the test confirming the Leukemia in his bone marrow and blood. His legs were swinging back and forth filling the room with the crinkle of the papery material covering the table and a soft bang when his heels hit the solid table beneath him.

"Would you please sit still?" Snape demanded, concentrating on the paperwork the nurse had given him to complete.

The young wizard stopped his legs so abruptly, they hit the front of the table with a loud bang almost causing the professor to startle - he was far too collected for a reaction as that - but it did earn him a pointed glare before the dark eyes moved back to the clipboard filled with the various forms.

"Sorry," Harry sheepishly replied. "Do you have to fill all of that out for every visit?"

"It appears so," Snape continued to look through and sign the documents, "at least for the next year when it will then become your responsibility to read over all of this and provide your own consent to the medications they're going to give you."

The Gryffindor thought hard about that statement. He hadn't considered the fact that his treatments were in the muggle world and therefore he was still under Snape's care, as his medical proxy. It was definitely an interesting difference between the two worlds, but before he got a chance to think about it any further, the nurse returned. She was dressed in a pair of bright blue hospital scrubs reminding him a little bit of the bright green robes the healers wore at St Mungo's. She looked around Snape's age and had bright blue eyes and platinum blonde straight hair, similar to Draco's and his parents'; a thought that caused his breath to hitch and his palms to start to sweat.

"Sorry about the wait," she told him, far more cheerfully than Harry thought was necessary. "My name's Samantha and I'll be doing your preliminary work today. Can you confirm your name and birthday?"

At first Harry didn't answer, his mind was too far away, lost in her familiarity and what was about to happen most of the day.

"Harry?" Snape asked and placed a hand on the young wizard's knee causing him to jump. Snape's black eyes watched him come back to the present and Harry shook his head trying to physically clear out the cobwebs that had settled in.

"Erm…" he started, "Harry James Potter, the 31st of July 1980."

"Perfect," Samantha noted something down in his file, "it looks like you're scheduled for an Intrathecal today followed by a one hour infusion. Does that sound correct?"

Harry nodded and that opened a dam to a series of questions - how was he feeling, did he have any of the series of symptoms, she rattled off, was there anything he was concerned about - and a series of tests - blood drawn, temperature taken, and then his height and weight recorded - completed. Samantha went through what to expect and made sure Harry and Snape knew about the side effects he could experience today and into tomorrow, as well as when to call Dr Swanson should something seem wrong. To the young wizard, it was a formality; he was already intimately aware of the vomiting that would strike him around the time they returned home - possibly triggered by disapparation, but Harry refused to stay in Surrey any longer than necessary - and he knew about the nerve pain in his hands, the decrease in blood counts making him more susceptible to infection and bleeding, and that he wouldn't feel like himself again until midday Monday. The whole process took roughly twenty minutes, before they were led back to the waiting room while his blood work was being run to confirm he was healthy enough to get the chemotherapy; he never laughed at the irony of the situation, it was far too sad. Once they knew his blood counts were high enough to survive the plummet from the chemo, Dr Swanson would write up his specific chemotherapy cocktail and they'd be called back to start the antiemetic and pain medication while waiting for the chemo to be prepared. All of that had to take place before his IT and then his one hour IV, thus making a two hour procedure more like four or five hours long by the time they were finally ready to leave the clinic.

"I apologize for blindsiding you this morning," Snape randomly said while in the waiting room.

"So what did Mrs Weasley really want?" The young wizard replied, "Just to rat me out that I hadn't returned Ron's letters? What difference does it make to her anyway?"

"We're worried about you," the answer shouldn't have taken Harry as off guard as it did. Although they had been much more open about where they stood with one another since the Malfoy Manor imprisonment, they also had yet to discuss anything in detail regarding what happened or the prophecy. Harry simply pushed all of that away, tucked it nicely into his Occlumency forest where he could deal with it a little at a time; the problem being, he wasn't dealing with it at all. "I want to help you, Harry, but you need to tell me what's going on first."

The professor was asking a lot from him, asking things he didn't even know about himself. Was he alright? No, that much he knew, but he couldn't exactly explain what the problem was either. Voldemort was dead, meaning he was no longer The Chosen One, his chemotherapy was settling into Maintenance Phase where it would be consistent for the next 30 months, his magic… well, he still had issues with his magic, but he couldn't exactly talk about it surrounded by muggles. So what else could be causing him to feel as chaotic as he did inside?

He closed his eyes, finding himself calming down by focusing on the black surrounding him, and taking a deep breath he started to say, "I-"

"Mr Potter?" The interruption was at the worst time possible and when his eyes burst open at the formal sound of his surname, it took a second for the room around him to come into focus. Samantha had called for them from across the room, "We're ready for you."

The Gryffindor turned and looked over at Snape, whose face appeared more pale than normal under the harsh fluorescent lights and his dark hair framing it, and he narrowed his black eyes making Harry feel extremely self-conscious.

"We'll talk later," Snape whispered and nodded his head, gesturing for Harry to go through the door and officially start his treatment.

Harry had already been completely drained before stepping foot into the clinic and was surprised when he made it through his pre-treatment medications and the horrible IT more or less awake; meaning his eyes were opened and he could answer the plethora of checks and questions, but there was very little he would remember of it all. So by the time he settled into the chair, waiting for Samantha to collect his specifically made medications to start infusing into his port, he knew he had no real chance of staying awake after his predawn wake up call.

~~~~SS~~~~

"He looks exhausted," Dr Meghan Swanson pointed out as she sat in the chair beside Severus's, next to Harry's station during the last of his chemotherapy. The young wizard had fallen asleep before the nurse had even brought his real medication and therefore the professor did not want to leave him alone and exposed to meet with the muggle physician as he'd originally planned. Dr Swanson flipped open the chart on the table beside the chair and lectured, "And his weight decreased more than what's considered 'healthy' for this stage. Has he been sleeping well? Or at all?"

"No," Severus flat out answered, "he hasn't said anything, of course, but I can tell he's either up late into the night or early in the morning… sometimes both."

"Is it safe to assume he refuses to use the sleep aid I gave you last month?"

He wanted to laugh, however the situation was anything but funny. After Harry's capture last March, the young wizard refused any medications to help him fall - or stay - asleep, not trusting he would wake up in his own bed. The former Death Eater could understand Harry's hesitation, as at least one of those same medications aided Draco in being able to get him to Malfoy Manor in the first place, but he'd been told the young wizard had taken the melatonin and that was a step backwards. Severus had hoped, given enough time, nature would take its course and sleep would eventually come back to the Gryffindor. Unfortunately, things only seemed to get worse as the weeks went on.

"Yes," Severus answered, "I've tried offering him tea before bed, the melatonin which he took at the Manor, and he's refused them claiming he doesn't have any issue sleeping."

They both looked down at the young wizard who had finally found the evasive rest he desperately needed. The dark circles under his eyes and the gaunt features - which had started to disappear sometime during the beginning of his Maintenance Phase - around his face had returned. Outside of his hair which had grown back, the Gryffindor looked just as ill as ever. Severus couldn't help being overwhelmed, how could he not notice Harry slipping so quickly into his struggles?

As if reading his mind, Dr Swanson said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, Severus. It's much more difficult to see the subtle changes when you see the patient every day," she tried to reassure him. "Many times it doesn't become obvious until someone outside of the home mentions it."

"I should know what's going on with my-" he stopped himself before finishing the sentence, embarrassed at how he wanted to say his son, on top of the fact that he didn't know what was going on with the teen. Life in Maintenance should have been getting easier and yet Harry was fighting no less than he had in his previously phases. The professor's mind raced back to the start of Phase Two of Consolidation, back when things settled a bit for the Gryffindor with his treatments, until he became mentally troubled during the transition.

"It's never so black and white," she told him, already knowing he wouldn't cut himself any slack. "Harry has a lot of things to work through, and unlike in the past, most of his fight is happening in his head. Remember, just because this part of his treatment is more regimented and predictable does not, by any means, equate to being easy. Not taking into account his-" she looked over her shoulder at the other patients in the room and leaned in closer to whisper "-magic… he's likely having a hard time adjusting to the new schedule and the fact that the people around him might expect him to start getting better, when in reality he is still as ill as before, and has a rough road ahead of him."

Severus thought back to Harry not responding to his friends' letters. Had they dismissed his illness and the significance of its impact on him? Had he done that over the last two months, since being rescued from the Manor? If he had, it certainly wasn't done intentionally.

"That's not even counting," the doctor continued, "his unique position with school and his future or the fact he probably still hasn't dealt with the trauma from his kidnapping. There's a lot going on in a small amount of time."

Harry groaned from the reclined seat next to them, his face far from relaxed; like he was fighting himself inside of his nightmares tainting the little sleep he could find. Instinctively, Severus pulled up the blanket provided by the clinic from where it had fallen down to the Gryffindor's waist to cover up to his thin chest, casting a wandless and nonverbal heating charm in the process. Harry was always cold, no matter the temperature outside or how many jumpers and warming charms he used. Severus watched as the teen he loved settled back down, but his features were still guarded in his sleep. He turned back around to Dr Swanson - who watched his every move - he could see her contemplating what to say about her observation in her head.

"How are you handling it all?" Her sharp question left the professor aghast. "Between taking care of Harry and coming to terms with your own capture, I imagine things have been more difficult than usual."

He shook his head, "Outside of worrying about Harry, I've lived through worse."

"You watched the child you love get killed-" she boldly stated, and held her hand up to stop Severus's predictable interruption, "-you didn't know he would survive, so in that moment you thought he'd gotten killed."

Closing his eyes, Severus brought back the memory of those awful early morning hours of the 16th of May. No, he hadn't known Harry would survive when he jumped in front of the Killing Curse meant for him; he didn't know Voldemort would only kill the soul fragment giving Severus the chance to finally defeat the bastard in once and for all. The dark wizard was gone from their lives forever, nevertheless his presence still lingered within all of them. He had no doubt Dr Swanson herself still had nightmares of her own imprisonment, when she was only allowed to leave her windowless cell twice in the entire two month - for Harry's two IT and IV treatments he did at the Manor.

"Severus," she called his name again, bringing him back before the memory could officially take over, "I've read through Healer Smithe's notes and you've been resistant to get Harry, or yourself, into any therapy. Why?"

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight, then turned back to look down at Harry. That conversation with Alton - and again with Minerva - was practically a lifetime ago. Harry had been having a rough reaction to the painful chemotherapy and wanted to give up. They'd made it through and it never seemed like an issue.

"Harry worked through the issue prompting that conversation," Severus repeated what he'd just thought, "besides… you know he couldn't safely leave the castle. And apparently he ended up not being safe inside of it either."

"It's safe now, correct?" She challenged him. "So why haven't you reached out to get him, and yourself, help?"

"I…"

He trailed off, unsure how to respond. She gave him another half minute - a long and awkward silence - before writing something down on her notepad and tearing it off to hand to him. "It will help you both," she kindly told him, "I am confident saying one hundred percent of my patients see a therapist at some point during treatment… both the patient and his or her family. Cancer is a big adjustment for anyone and you both have your fair share of things outside of the diagnosis to handle. Now this therapist isn't 'one of your kind' or have any relatives, as far as I know, so you'll want to use some discretion, but she's helped out many of my patients make it through their darkest times."

He took the paper and gave a small nod. Why hadn't he thought about this before? There was so much going on at the time, just thinking of the past year made his head hurt: the diagnosis, the first Privet Drive attack, Alton's betrayal, Harry's pneumonia, the horcrux discovery, Christmas, and then the prophecy and Manor; not to mention the shift between Harry and himself from enemy to mentor. When were they supposed to find time in all of that to sit down and talk about it all? Now is that time, he answered himself.

"Ok," he committed, adding it to the suddenly long list of the things he had to handle. "How are you doing with everything since the Manor?"

Normally, he wouldn't have asked such a personal question to someone he technically barely knew, but he could feel her own discomfort with the events as they'd touched on them earlier. Dr Swanson's face flushed as she stood to grab a pair of gloves to check on Harry's IV progress, obviously more to give herself time to gather her thoughts than for the medications.

"I'm surviving," she answered, swapping the last of the chemotherapy for a bag of fluids which Harry ended each treatment with. "I'm taking things one day at a time. My family's been great about it all, but I'm also seeing someone to help me through it."

What could he say to the person whose life had been altered - probably tortured, and thankfully not killed - to save his child; because that's what Harry was to him. Her entire purpose at the Manor, the only reason she'd been kept alive, was to make sure Harry could get his life-saving chemotherapy so he, in turn, could keep Voldemort alive. Honestly, he was surprised she'd agreed to continue treating the Gryffindor after everything she was put through for him.

"Well," the muggle doctor changed her demeanor so suddenly he almost thought someone else had joined in their corner of the room, "he should be ready to go after this bag of fluids, but you're welcome to stay to let him rest as long as he needs. Samantha will check him out once he's ready to go and you know the drill from here. He should stay inside until he's feeling better, remember hand washing and sanitizing especially for the next week, and call me immediately at the first sign of any illness; fever, cough, congestion. He's still considered immunocompromised. Do you need a refill on any of his tablets?"

"No, not this time," Severus answered. The tablet prescriptions all matched Harry's three month cycles - so he wouldn't need a refill until next month - making things easier for him to manage.

"Perfect," she nodded her head far too quickly to seem completely in control, "then I'll see you both back here on-" she flipped through Harry's file, "-the 16th of next month. I don't want to see him any sooner."

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave one more sympathetic stare at the teen before walking away. Severus watched her go to the desk that separated the waiting area from the treatment area and speak with Samantha; most likely to let her know Harry was permitted to finish his impromptu nap. The nap would complicate many parts of their day - such as letting the chemotherapy catch up to him, making disapparating home more painful, or making his already odd sleep schedule even more so - but he wouldn't wake the teen. They'd just have to deal with the fallout as they did with everything else.

The professor spent the next hour watching the other patients - all much older than Harry - come and go as their various treatments started or ended. Most left the two of them alone, only giving a glance to what appeared like a father sitting vigil at his son's side. An older woman, he guessed in her sixties or seventies, went out of her way to pass by him and gave a small nod of her head in approval. It made his insides ache, none of them knew how much he'd messed up in his life and he still was making mistakes with Harry; the last thing he deserved was their approval or, worse, their sympathy.

"I've got the paperwork completed, so he'll be ready to go whenever he wakes up," Samantha's voice came from behind him, a position he hated and in his haste to rectify it he accidentally knocked Harry's bag - which had been sitting on the table beside his chair - to the ground with a loud bang!

"Dammit," he swore under his breath and immediately looked over at Harry who started to stir from the noise, before kneeling down to pick up the fallen belongings laying across the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Potter," the nurse bent down to help him. The contents of Harry's bag had caught his attention and he hadn't noticed her faux pas with his name. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Scattered on the floor around them were the set of Harry's colored pencils and his sketchbook, plus a couple of books the young wizard should not have brought; the most interesting being A Parent's Guide to Accidental Magic. Severus recognized this text from his own library in the sitting room - where he was sure Harry had pulled it from - most likely purchased by his mother when he'd started doing accidental magic around the house as a way to help her husband come to understand what was happening with their son. In the end, it didn't do anything to make Tobias Snape any more accepting of having a wizard as a son. In fact, Severus doubted his muggle father had even opened the damn book. But he was curious over why Harry had this particular book and brought it out to the muggle clinic with him. After the destruction of the soul fragment inside of Harry and the subsequent loss of his magical core block, they knew the Gryffindor's magic was now completely raw and untrained. Alton warned them, not long after Harry had finally woken up, to expect an increase in his accidental magic as it started to manifest itself; no different than a magical child. So far, Severus hadn't seen any magic from the teen at all, let alone anything as extreme as accidental magic tended to be, but he wondered if Harry had noticed some, triggering the need for the book.

The professor tabled that observation for later as he immediately grabbed for the wizarding textbooks, making sure the muggle nurse did not catch sight of them while she went for the art supplies. He had just gotten them safely stowed when he caught a glimpse at the sketchpad in Samantha's hands. It had flipped open and the nurse was now holding it in a way where he could see the top of what looked like angry grey storm clouds, so different from the Gryffindor's typical sketching.

"Can I see-" he started to ask, but was interrupted by Harry sleepy, voice asking "What's going on?"

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," Samantha called out to Harry, simultaneously placing the sketchbook back into the young wizard's bag, preventing Severus from getting a better look at it. "I accidentally scared your father-"

"You didn't scare me," the older wizard finally interjected. Now with Harry awake, he really did want to get home before the side effects hit too hard and disapparation became nearly impossible. "I simply was not expecting you to be that close."

Harry sat up in the chair, causing it to pivot forward and looked down at his empty port, "Am I ready for the chemo?"

"It's already done," Samantha told him with a frown, "you slept through it, poor thing. Do you feel like you can get up?"

Harry's eyes went wide behind his glasses, surely thinking about how difficult the trip home was bound to be. "Yeah," he said with a groan, "we should go."

"There's no rush if you're still sleepy," the nurse helped Harry swing his legs over to the side so he could stand, "Dr Swanson worked it out so you can stay as long as you need."

"Thank you," the professor took the lead of the conversation after seeing the worry in Harry's eyes, "I should get him home where he'll be more comfortable in his bed."

"I understand," the nurse finally conceded, "we'll see you back here on the 16th."

Harry nodded his head and accepted Severus's support to help him walk out of the cancer center. Unfortunately, the young wizard only made it about five meters outside the front door before he was doubled over vomiting into the side garden.

"You should have woken me up," Harry complained with a shaky voice, still bent over with his hands on his trembling knees.

The former spy held in his urge to lecture the teen on his odd sleep habits, and instead focused his thoughts on the piece of paper in the pocket of his trousers with the name of the muggle mind doctor. Harry needed help, that much he knew and this was beyond his capabilities, "That's a discussion for another's day. Let's get you home."

The disapparation from the clinic to Spinner's End was as bad as Severus had expected. No amount of shielding Harry was going to absorb the twisting-feeling enough to prevent the teen from falling onto the street in the alleyway and again, vomiting whatever little substance was left in his stomach. Kneeling down next to the Gryffindor, the former spy thought back to his own painful disapparation from his capture by Lucius, when he had a broken rib and in a full-body bind. Shaking the memories away, he turned his focus to the present; where he had a sixteen year boy barely able to walk the half a block to their home after taking one of the harshest forms of wizarding transportation.

"Come on, Harry," Severus urged the Gryffindor, draping the thin arm around his own strong shoulders. "We're almost there."

Harry simply moaned in response, but did stand, helping the professor get them through the rundown neighborhood. By the time they finally made it back into the home and up the stairs to Harry's room, it was not only after dinner, Severus had come to the decision that the young wizard could not continue to disapparate after treatments; going forward they would need to find alternate accommodations closer to the clinic. It was a battle for another day, as he knew the Gryffindor would protest, nevertheless he'd put his foot down not giving him a choice in the matter; spending two days at a hotel in Surrey was significantly better than disapparating.

Since Harry's chemotherapy the previous month - and his first at the outpatient clinic - fell on the day after term ended at Hogwarts, he had spent the time recovering in the familiarity of their dungeon quarters as the Spinner's End renovations had only just been completed, but they hadn't officially moved in yet. This month, they were settled into their home and giving Harry the chance to recover here for the first time. Looking around Harry's bedroom and into the narrow corridor outside of it, Severus quickly noticed a key detail he'd somehow managed to overlook in their renovation plans. Similar to Shell Cottage, their home in Cokeworth only had a single lavatory. Although it was situated on the second floor between their bedrooms - unlike the seaside cottage where it was on the first floor - it meant once Harry was in bed resting, he would have to get out of his bedroom, down the corridor, and into the lavatory to sick up. Ultimately, he would have to consider adding a door on the Gryffindor's side, but until those plans could be made, Severus transfigured a pail from one of Harry's old trainers and charmed it to self-clean, allowing the young wizard the ability to stay in bed if he wanted and hopefully preventing him from camping out on the lavatory floor.

Having missed Harry's first two months of Maintenance - from being locked up in a tiny cell in Malfoy Manor - it surprised Severus how much more exhausting the once a month chemotherapy felt compared to the weekly treatment they'd fought through for the first nine months of this battle, and he was ashamed to think the small break - while stressful in its own right - had been refreshing. Most of the time between the IV chemotherapy treatments were spent with Harry feeling physically well and it had given him - and presumably Harry - a false sense of security of the road ahead of them.

With a long night coming up, he made his way into the kitchen intending to prepare a bowl of broth for Harry and a sandwich for himself, but ended up at the kitchen table; exactly where his day started with a very blunt conversation with Molly Weasley. He cradled his head in his hands which were propped up on the table and rubbed his temples unsure of when the headache coursing through his brain had officially started. Giving himself a minute to clear his mind, the professor pulled out the small sphere he had first made for the young wizard when they were back at Privet Drive last year. Harry's sphere had been left sitting on his bedside desk and he had the companion; his lifeline to know if the teen needed him while he was away by glowing a shade of yellow, orange, or red - depending on the severity of the issue - when Harry squeezed it. This sphere had seen them in their best and their worst of times, and today showed him just how far they had to go in the war they were fighting on several different fronts.

Gaining his composure, Severus finished preparing their meager dinner the muggle way, thankful his home was set up as a muggle household to give his mind and hands something to focus on outside of Harry's physical health, the young wizard's upcoming birthday, the lingering Death Eaters putting the Order on alert, and both Spinner's End residents' mental health. He pulled a plain white ceramic plate from the shelf, fully intending on transfiguring it into a tray to carry up the ham sandwich - he planned eat it outside of Harry's room to prevent the smells from troubling his already roiling stomach - bowl of chicken broth with rice, bread, and a sliced avocado, however his concentration wasn't anywhere near where it should have been and instead of a wooden tray, he ended up with an elongated white ceramic plate. Although it worked for his purpose, he didn't like to see the amateur mistake, or the visual evidence of his turbulent mind.

Severus was halfway up the stairs, with their dinner levitating in front of him, when he heard it: a loud shattering coming from Harry's bedroom that vibrated out the corridor and down the hallway. His concentration now lost, the tray crashed to the stairs in front of him and he jumped over it with more athleticism than he would have expected from his aching body. The scene he ran into was unlike anything he could have prepared himself for. The window overlooking the polluted river was completely blown out - or inward, based on the shards of glass coating the floor beneath his feet - and rain was pouring into the room, soaking Harry's bed located beneath it. The rest of the bedroom was torn apart, as if the window exploding had caused a shockwave throughout; books from the small bookcase littered the floor, one of the wardrobe doors had broken its bottom hinge and dangled precariously from the top, and the small set of items Harry left sitting on his bedside desk, including his wand out of habit, his sketching supplies, and a cup of water were thrown across the floor. His well trained eyes shifted across the room inventorying everything and at the same searching for the most important piece of the room: Harry. Luckily, the young wizard appeared to be missing when all of this occurred, sending a wave of panic and suspense through his body.

Turning on his heels, waving his wand across the room behind him to start the repairing and cleaning process, he walked out and took a hard right towards the lavatory. The corridor from Harry's side of the second floor to the other side - where his own room was located - could be crossed in less than five strides and just off center, closer to Harry's room, was where he knew the Gryffindor would be. Carefully opening the door to the lavatory, Severus furrowed his brows at the condition of the recently renovated room. Similar to the young wizard's bedroom, the lavatory looked as if it had been completely ransacked. The mirror was shattered, with the shards covering the sink and floor, all of the towels usually held neatly on the shelf and other toiletries were scattered across the floor, and hanging over the loo was Harry; the one person who mattered the most in the chaos.

"Harry, what happened?" the professor asked, bending down again, beside the young wizard.

Harry's emerald eyes were confused as he looked at the room around him. Severus could feel the static energy of Harry's magic encircling them with increasing power as the Gryffindor's anxiety rose.

"I- I dunno," Harry stuttered, leaning back against the wall across from the loo, his dull glassy eyes widening in shock.

Once again, the professor waved his wand to clean up the room around them hoping none of the shards of glass accidently hit them in the process. Harry's blood counts would be at their lowest over the next few days and what would be a small cut to anyone else, could be fatal for him.

"Were you hurt?" He asked the sixteen year old in front of him, visibly checking over where he could for signs of bleeding.

"No," Harry shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Let's get you back into bed," he suggested, helping the young wizard up from the cold floor.

Moving from the lavatory back to the bedroom was far more difficult than he was used to in his Hogwarts home; again, due to the lack of ensuite arrangement. Harry was shaking by the time he made it into his bed, but didn't settle in to sleep. With a wave of his wand, Severus summoned the young wizard's tablet pain medication and handed it to him with the recently refilled glass of water from the desk next to the bed. The top drawer to the desk was left open - an oversight in his haste to fix the room - and it didn't take the former spy's trained eye to see the rolls of parchment addressed to Harry sitting untouched inside of it. What did take his keen sight was noticing the opened muggle envelope tucked under the sketchpad on top. Harry had read at least one letter, presumably from Dudley or Hermione, since arriving home.

"You should start to feel better soon," the professor lied. He knew Harry would not call him out on it, preferring instead to allow hope the pain and nausea would actually pass soon.

"I forgot today is the anniversary of the Privet Drive attack," Harry explained almost out of the blue, "and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's death."

Had it really been a year since that fateful day? Severus's heart lurched at the memory of walking into Harry's bedroom and finding it in shambles; the roof caving in from the attacks and Harry lost beneath the rubble. That had been the day after he told Harry about his old reality, and their first real challenge of what would end up being a completely life altering year. Neither of them could have predicted where they would end up - no much how much the professor had hoped for it - or that things would become so normal between them. Healer Walker had said it best though, without the challenges from last year they never would have overcome the animosity his counterpart had created between them in this reality, but he wished he could have soared Harry the pain.

Focusing away from his own memories and back onto the ill teen before him, the pieces started falling into place regarding the opened letter and Harry's episode of accidental magic. The scene he walked into - specifically the bedroom - was too reminiscent of the Privet Drive attack to be coincidental.

"How do you feel about that?" Severus treaded lightly with the question, not wanting to create any more anxiety over the situation and triggering another magic episode.

"Like shite!" The young wizard exclaimed, "How could I forget something this important?!"

He wanted to tell Harry to give himself a break, that he had a lot going on lately, and no one would hold it against him. But he knew they would be wasted words and wouldn't make the teen feel any better about it all. In that sense, Severus and Harry were very much alike.

"I must admit," the professor started, "I, too, did not consider the importance of the day."

Harry was raking his hands over the blanket on top of him. Each pass carried more aggression and anger seeping from his fingers onto the bedding, and Severus could feel the static of the Gryffindor's magic continuing to build up around them, layering on top of what had started in the lavatory. If he didn't act soon, they risked his raw magic reacting, most likely in a violent manner, and there was no predicting what would happen this time. So, without thinking twice, Severus reached his hand out and took a hold of Harry's; noting how cold it felt. The sudden contact startled the young wizard, but pulled him out from whatever mental chasm he had fallen into. Following the path of Harry's eyes, he turned towards the desk behind him and to the letter tucked under the sketchpad.

"Dudley wanted to come by today," Harry sadly confirmed what had triggered his accidental magic. Severus didn't say anything, choosing to wait in hopes that Harry would be able to finally talk about something that was bothering him. "You're right… I haven't been reading anything from my friends… and now after everything Dudley and I have overcome, I look like the biggest git by not remembering the day his parents were killed - because of me - and couldn't even write back so he wouldn't be alone today."

"He couldn't have-"

"Tagging along with me would have been better than sitting at Aunt Marge's feeling completely alone and seemingly forgotten!" Harry interrupted. "Dudley saved my life, and I feel like I failed him."

"Harry," Severus moved so he was sitting on the edge of the young wizard's bed next to him, where he would be perceived as being on his side rather than against him by sitting on the desk chair, "your cousin will understand that you've had a lot going on. If it will help ease your mind, I'll make a trip to the countryside to personally deliver him a message from you, either written or spoken."

The very last thing he wanted to do after going through whatever the next several nights entailed for them was to visit the sister of Vernon Dursley, however if it helped Harry even a fraction, he'd gladly endure it.

"Thanks," the young wizard half-heartedly mumbled. It wasn't much, but he'd take whatever he could get.

"I think you should read the letters from your friends and respond to them," he ignored Harry's pleading face and lifted his right hand to show the two small scars on them, "if for no other reason than to give Hedwig something to do. She seems far too bored downstairs."

The small sarcasm succeeded in its intended effect and Harry gave a small chuckle. Early in his chemotherapy treatment, Alton had told them Harry was too immunocompromised to have Hedwig stay with him, so the Snowy Owl had lived in the Owlery at school and was now free to come and go from her new perch - complete with several shiny toys attached to it per Hermione's suggestion - downstairs. Still unable to actually live with her owner, the owl was not shy about expressing her displeasure with the arrangements and oftentimes seemed to seek out the professor to make sure he knew of it.

"Ok," Harry eventually replied, though Severus couldn't tell if he was being honest or not. "What did my magic do?"

The professor looked around the room, everything was back as should have been, leaving no evidence of its previous state. Telling Harry about what he was able to do - from a different room no less - wouldn't serve either of them well at that moment. They'd have to discuss it, like everything else going on with the Gryffindor, but tonight wasn't that time.

"Let's just say it was a reaction to your duress over the situation with your cousin," Severus carefully explained.

Harry turned away, pulling his hand from Severus's to look out the window. "You remember what Healer Smithe told me," he said, "every time I use magic during chemo, it's just less I'll have later."

"We will get it figured out," Severus promised, wishing he could take away all of the worry that was so blatantly on the young wizard's mind. No sixteen, almost seventeen, year old should have to think about half of the things Harry had to lately. "I'll speak with Albus, he had some ideas of how to get your raw magic more under control."

At the end of term, Severus had planned to discuss with Albus how to help get Harry's magic into a position to give him as much left over at the end, and - as with so many other things at the end of term - it hadn't gotten done. If he were honest with himself, as the days went on he'd grown angry with the headmaster over his lack of presence at the Battle of Malfoy Manor and in return kept his distance from the man while he worked through his own feelings of everything. It was easier to ignore it all - as he was sure Harry was also doing - yet the time had come to start facing the reality of their situation. Harry needed him to be in control so, regardless of his current animosity towards his mentor, he'd put that resentment aside for Harry's sake and hope his idea could contain the raw magic before the young wizard was able to officially start to retrain it after the end of his treatments.

Most of the rest of the night was spent helping Harry to and from the loo or urging him to eat. Unfortunately, tomorrow wasn't likely to be any easier on them, but he'd push through it; that's what was needed. It wasn't until sometime past midnight, while he sat in a plush chair conjured beside Harry's bed, watching him finally get some relief and rest, that Severus was able to think back on the events of the day; specifically the accidental magic. In all of his time teaching immature witches and wizards, he'd seen - or at least heard - of some unique events caused by accidental magic, though none of them had manifested itself as violently as Harry's had. If this was an indication of things to come, he had his work cut out for him; both in trying to contain it as well as keeping them both safe from it. They had expected accidental magic, however - as Harry had pointed out - any magic used now meant less for Harry when his Chemotherapy ended in December of 1999 and if this kept up at its current rate, he'd have nothing left long before that time. Worrying his lower lip in conflict, he leaned over and brushed the fringe of Harry's hair from his forehead, eyeing the fading scar that would no longer plague the teen, yet there was still so much they had to face ahead of them and so many unknowns still to discover. The one thing he knew - that he could always use to guide his way - he would do anything to help this child, even go back to Hogwarts, putting himself directly into the line of fire for the Order of the Phoenix.