Smoke and Mirrors by JewelBurns
Summary: Sequel to The Choices We Made.

With Voldemort dead and Harry's cancer settling life should be returning to normal for Harry and Snape but things aren't always as they seem. Instead they find themselves challenged in new ways. When dangerous events start after Harry's return to Hogwarts can Snape figure out what's going on before they're torn apart again? HPSS mentor Healing/Coping
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dudley, Hermione, Original Character
Snape Flavour: Snape Comforts, Snape is Depressed, Snape is Desperate, Snape is Kind, Snape is Loving, Out of Character Snape, Overly-protective Snape, Snape is Secretive
Genres: Angst, Drama, Family, General, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Media Type: None
Tags: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Azkaban Character, Hospitalization, Injured!Harry
Takes Place: 7th summer, 7th Year
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Character Death, Out of Character, Romance/Het
Challenges: None
Series: Choices We Made Universe
Chapters: 84 Completed: No Word count: 697412 Read: 514938 Published: 15 Nov 2020 Updated: 30 Sep 2023
The New Plan by JewelBurns
Author's Notes:
ANGST WARNING: Although there's less of a "sucker punch" in this chapter, it still has a lot of angst and talks about facing one's mortality as Harry comes to a decision on if he should go through with treatment. I did a lot of research on cancer in the AYA (Adolescent/Young Adults) population and this reaction is unfortunately seen often in this age group. The combination of putting their life on hold during such an important life stage (friends, school, career choices), combined with the physical aspect of their body changing (hair and weight loss), and the feeling that their choices have been ripped away, typically hits them harder than the other groups. That being said, I am in no way claiming to be an expert on Harry's rollercoaster of reactions to it and this is only my interpretation of how my version of Harry would react.

~~~~SS~~~~

Sunday 12th October 1997

"I've informed Albus of the situation regarding Harry," Minerva explained as she sat across from Severus too early in the morning on Sunday, having gone to bed no more than four hours ago. "He wants to be here when Harry's doctors come by today."

In his more sobered state last night, upon his return to his quarters, Severus informed Harry's former guardian and Head of House of the news they received at his chemotherapy appointment. She'd cried - of course, they all would in the next coming weeks as they adjusted to a life fighting active Leukemia rather than maintaining his remission - but she listened to his rambling without interruption. The anticipated embarrassment over divulging his own fears and his selfish thoughts on how this would impact him or if he would be able to withstand Harry starting chemotherapy over to the other professor never hit him, demonstrating how strong their friendship had grown. Minerva held back her option when Severus mentioned Harry not wanting to do the next set of treatment, and how even if they did convince him to do it, they no longer had a choice in blocking the young wizard's magic first. This led him into a detailed account of his trip to Malfoy Manor - where she instinctively started huffing and hawing over his being splinched and insisted she check the healing of his wound immediately - and finally they discussed what would be needed to get started on the ritual. Though she agreed the step was now necessary, she cautioned him not to overwhelm Harry with it, knowing how much the young Gryffindor did not want to utilize Dark Magic to save his life. Under any other circumstances, Severus would have argued that lying by omission wouldn't sit well either, but a certain level of cunningness would be required to get Harry on board with another regimen of chemotherapy, let alone the Magical Block Ritual.

As she had done last year, Minerva assured him she would handle Harry's academics and also coordinate with Albus to secure the ingredients for the ritual - outside of the Water of Life, which he'd obviously already covered - so he could focus on the young Gryffindor's muggle medications. Their impromptu meeting came to an end in the early hours before dawn, and in his haste to put the day behind him, it never occurred to Severus to ensure his floo were locked so she couldn't return when he'd hardly been out bed yet; still dressed in his pyjamas and slippers when she inappropriately waltzed into his bedroom at not even eight o'clock in the morning.

I should have hexed her.

"Of course you told him," he lamented, making no attempt at keeping the disdain from his voice. At least she'd had the forethought to make coffee for him; never did he have a steaming cup already waiting for him at the kitchen table as he did this morning. Despite the Sobriety Elixir from Narcissa, his head pounded against the inside of his cranium with the beat of his heart and he resisted the urge to throw Minerva out so he could go back to bed. "Did you tell him of my own condition as well?"

For now, he'd play nice.

"No," the single word fell between them like a promise of a secret keeper. She'd hold his inebriated state from his employer, so long as he maintained control over his own actions. She wasn't protecting him as much as Harry, nevertheless, he appreciated her for it. "So what comes next?"

He hated her sunny disposition and outlook on the situation he equally wanted to continue to sulk over and get up to fix. In the daylight, he'd hoped his own thoughts on the subject would lighten, however every time he closed his eyes he watched his son take his last breath and a crippling fear of it being this Harry ripped straight through him.

"Alton and Dr Swanson will be here around eleven to go over Harry's new treatment," Severus began as a plate of buttered toast magically made its way across the table to him, refusing to be ignored. "In the meantime, we've been told to stop any chemotherapy tablets, but to continue with his prophylactic ones." He gave a sad sigh and pushed the plate away. "Unfortunately his immune system will only get worse from here before it gets better. He'll likely have to move back in here permanently."

"I suspected as much," she picked up the plate and firmly placed it directly in front of Severus, her eyes not leaving his until he conceded and took a bite. "And his magic?"

She knew all of this from their conversation in the early morning hours. He should have been frustrated with her over having to repeat himself, but he found going over it again somehow calmed his anxious mind; a fact she likely knew as well.

"I've sent the information on the ritual over to Alton for his review. Though he agrees the Ritual is necessary, he's also checking several other texts just to be sure we've exhausted all of our options," he rubbed his temples as he said it. "Regardless of his findings, unlike last time where Harry's accidental magic was helpful when it flared, this time around it's most certainly not. Therefore he absolutely cannot go through the strong medications without it blocked. Otherwise, I have zero doubt it would kill him before the cancer got the chance."

"He can't seem to catch a break." That didn't require a response, nor was he going to give her one. "And you're certain you can trust Lucius Malfoy with the last ingredient?"

This accusation broke his last nerve and Severus slammed his hand onto the table in response, causing his coffee cup to rattle and the black liquid to slosh over the edge onto the matching white saucer.

"Unless you are willing to travel thousands of kilometers with a human sacrifice in tow," he threatened her, "I don't have any other options but to trust the man who risked his own life to help organize Harry's rescue from within the Manor right under Voldemort's non-existent nose! What else do you expect me to do?!"

His voice shook by the time he finished the last word, and he closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the sympathy in Minerva's; the same sympathy she would need to hide when she saw Harry. Severus, though, needed to gain control of himself; to prove to Harry this didn't bother him, and that it was nothing more than a small hurdle, as opposed to a canyon, for them to navigate over. The lie wouldn't be easy; unlike last year Harry knew what was coming, more so than reading any pamphlets could have prepared him for.

"I don't like having to depend on someone who doesn't have a generous bone in his body," she chided.

"Ultimately, we should be thankful the Malfoy family has such questionable morals throughout the years," he replied with his eyes still closed and massaging the headache from his forehead. A strained silence enveloped them, only broken by Minerva's small sips of her tea.

"I don't know how to tell Harry he won't be able to attend classes," Severus confessed. His voice cracked partially through the statement knowing how much it would hurt Harry to hear. To anyone else school seemed trivial, comparatively, but it was the one piece of the young Gryffindor's life which held any sense of normalcy; a word they'd only started getting used to again and slipped straight through their fingers when they were least expecting it.

Minerva placed her hand on Severus's right forearm giving him a small pat that from anyone else would feel patronizing. "As I said last night, I'll handle his education schedule. I'm sure he'll understand some changes will need to be made."

He didn't believe her, but didn't say a word, not wanting to break whatever hope she had about the situation. Harry would not understand, nor would he take to any of the information they learned today with a positive attitude. The young wizard had seemingly used up all of his positivity throughout the last year and unfortunately Severus didn't think he had enough for the both of them to make it through this in one piece.

~~~~HP~~~~

Confusion clouded Harry's head when his eyelids fluttered open and he saw the ceiling and walls of his dungeon bedroom. His limbs felt heavy, as if filled with sand when he fell asleep, making the physical effort it took to pull himself up and out of bed unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The sun shimmering in from the enchanted window - which now showed the Quidditch Pitch, Harry being unable to see the Black Lake the same way since the flood - told him he slept in later than usual, and though his stomach wasn't protesting his potentially missed breakfast, he was keenly aware it lacked the normal nausea when waking up the day after chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy. The word triggered his mind to yesterday and the memories flooded back to him instantly clearing away any lingering fuzziness. Harry sat with his legs hanging over his bed and his head cradled in his hands thinking over the last twenty-four hours. Relapse. Dr Swanson's words rang in his ears so clearly he might as well have been back in her office. The reason he didn't feel sick - at least not in the typical sense, though his chest was tight and he had a difficult time breathing - from chemotherapy was simply because he didn't have chemotherapy yesterday; instead they found out the cancer had come back. Harry closed his eyes and flashes of his tests at the hospital passed by them followed by his conversation with Snape playing back in slow motion.

Today began the first day of a new battle, one he wasn't really sure he had the energy to fight. If he'd get away with it, he would stay there in bed all day: roll up in his red blanket and stare out the window at the pitch. Eventually it would show the Hufflepuff - or the rescheduled Slytherin? - trials and he could watch them, pretending nothing outside of his room existed. Maybe he could convince himself it was true. But Snape wouldn't allow him to wallow - a word more likely to come from McGonagall than Snape - and so using as much energy as he could muster, the Gryffindor got out of bed and chose another set of equally comfortable clothes - black jogging bottoms, a long sleeved red shirt, and a red jumper - figuring the last thing he wanted Snape to see was him still in the clothes from yesterday. In fact, he wondered if the man could incinerate them so he never had to see the constant reminder of what had happened while wearing them.

He should shower, but similar to last night, he simply didn't have the energy, and no amount of scrubbing or washing would help make him feel better about the situation he was going to walk into. It would only delay the inevitable, and as much as he wanted to do exactly that, ultimately having Snape come searching for him would be worse. Dread filled every inch of Harry's body as he made his way from his bedroom and heard voices coming from the kitchen. The last thing he needed was to start a day like today with socializing.

"Harry," McGonagall's voice, filled with a deep seeded grief gave away her knowledge of what happened yesterday, greeted him as he entered the kitchen, "how are you?"

His former guardian stood at the kitchen counter stirring her cup of tea, her eyes glassy and swollen and her face scrunched in concern for him. Snape sat at the table with his own cup of coffee firmly held between his hands. Since Harry's original diagnosis, the Slytherin had been a constant source of strength, someone Harry knew he could depend on, who had all of the answers. But the man at the table couldn't be any further from that person, appearing equally as lost and broken as Harry. How could they go from arguing over his essays and laughing about the Halloween Ball to barely functioning in less than two days? And what could have happened to warrant McGonagall's presence this morning, Snape hardly being able to make eye contact with her?

"Morning, Professor," Harry mumbled, sitting in his normal chair beside Snape where a bowl of porridge waited alongside his morning medications; notably missing was the second day of his five day chemotherapy tablet he'd been told to stop, leaving only his prophylactic ones. Snape reached out and waved his wand over the bowl to rewarm the breakfast. "I'm alright... Severus told you everything going on?"

Clenching her hands on the countertop behind her, she carefully responded, "Yes, Severus has told me what I need to know. If it's alright with you, I'd like to be here when your muggle doctor and Healer go over the next steps. Albus as well. You may be a fully adult wizard, but we want to help you any way we can."

Harry nodded and sloshed the heavy porridge around in his bowl, knowing he had zero chance of actually consuming any of it.

"Playing with your breakfast will not provide you the nutrients you need," Snape predictably lectured, and for once Harry didn't feel like arguing him so he plucked an apple from the bowl on the table and took a small bite. The fruit was cold - a benefit to living in a magical castle - but the usual sweet crisp taste was replaced by a tasteless ash. The entire fruit might as well have been made of clay. "Dr Swanson and Healer Smithe will be here within the hour to go over the treatment plan with us."

He sounded cold and distant, making Harry feel as if he were being blamed for this. After all, that's what he'd been ingrained to think from the adults around him thought when things went wrong. Harry was to blame and always the one punished for it, but it didn't make him feel any better about it.

Trying to fill the uncomfortable silence, Minerva brought her tea to the table and pulled her chair until she sat directly beside Harry, a little too close for his current mood. "Harry, I want you to know I'm here if-"

"-I'm fine," he cut her off from what was sure to be some sentimental declaration of how she'd help him. He didn't want to hear it. Unfortunately, no one could really help him, at least not in the way he needed. "Really, it's alright… I'll be alright. I just want to get all of this over with."

Harry's stomach rolled as he took another bite out of his apple.

"What'd you give me last night, sir?" Harry broke the stillness first with his question.

"Did you sleep well?" Snape asked. Harry thought he heard a hint of pride hidden beneath the words.

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Surprisingly, I kind of did."

"That was the purpose, after all," Snape responded, a bit more smugly for Harry's liking. "It was a prescription strength tablet. They should be used a bit more sparingly than the others you used to take. Dare I say last night was necessary and tonight you may take another."

Harry nodded almost mindlessly. Once again he was dependent on Snape to keep track of everything and shame over his reaction last night filled him. He should have been more appreciative, especially because this couldn't be any easier on the professor. Not after he watched this disease take a version of himself in his old reality.

But what did Severus say yesterday about it? The cancer didn't technically kill me?

Harry's eyes lit up as he remembered the details from their conversation in his bedroom. Snape mentioned something about there being an error in the potions he'd been taking. But didn't Snape make the potions? To Harry's already chaotic mind, focusing on that instead of his own impossible situation helped to keep his self-pity from settling in. Maybe keeping his mind moving, solving one puzzle after another, would fix all of this he faced. Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to ask Snape to clarify what he'd started last night because the floo roared to life three times announcing the arrival of his doctor's and Dumbledore, so he could start his fight against his Leukemia all over again.


If they tried to fit even one more person in the small sitting room, Harry was certain it would burst. In fact, he imagined the group occupying every seat available - including two conjured chairs in front of the fireplace - looked like the clown cars he'd seen in one of the Dudley's shows; where clowns continued to pour out of an impossibly small vehicle. Harry sat suffocatingly sandwiched on the sofa between McGonagall to his left, closest to Snape in his normal armchair, and Madam Pomfrey to his right, with Dumbledore using the armchair directly across from Snape, Dr Swanson settled into a conjured chair on the right side of the fireplace, and Healer Smithe to the left, beside Snape. Greetings had been made all around for everyone except Harry, who didn't feel much like conversing regardless of who was there. Now with tea and sandwiches - both of which Harry accepted, but placed immediately on the table in front of him - served from the kitchens, they were finally ready to get started. But Harry found he couldn't sit still. Though Snape stared at the young wizard's bouncing leg, he didn't comment on it; probably remembering his own from yesterday, and if he had said something Harry couldn't guarantee he wouldn't make a comment about it back to him.

"So, Harry," Dr Swanson started out in a voice reminding the young wizard why he hadn't liked her when she first took over his care. Realistically, he didn't like the news she brought and her headstrong, almost arrogant attitude - one which saw her patients through more remissions than any other oncologist in Surrey - didn't help. "I imagine the last twenty-four hours have hit you hard."

Six sets of eyes focused on him. "Erm… well, obviously."

She smiled, "Everything you're feeling right now is perfectly normal, but Dr Smithe and I have reviewed your results and think we've come up with a treatment plan that will give you a good chance at not only achieving a second remission, but staying there this time."

Harry looked down at his hands on his laps and watched as his fingers tightly wrapped around one another until he could barely figure out which digit belonged to which hand.

"Harry," this time Healer Smithe spoke, causing the Gryffindor to think he missed part of the conversation.

"Sorry," he quickly averted his eyes from those watching him.

"How much detail on this new treatment would you like to hear?" His Healer offered the same question he asked Harry when they went through his first treatment. Back then everything sounded like a foreign language he was sure he'd never understand and now, despite speaking it fluently - wishing he couldn't - he found he didn't want the extra details.

"Kinda high level?" The teen's voice raised half an octave at the end of his sentence, making it sound like a question with zero confidence; not far from how he felt inside. Snape's eyes watching him told the same story they did before each phase last year: the professor would walk Harry through the information in as much or little detail as he needed later.

Harry cracked a small smile at the expression of triumph Healer Smithe gave to Dr Swanson, as if to say he knew their patient better than she did regardless of actively treating him over less time. Harry couldn't deny his better rapport with Healer Smithe had to do with the man not only being a wizard, but being there for those early months, back when Harry still felt lost in the foreign countryside of Leukemia. But the thought of starting over with Dr Swanson tainted any small joy he'd gotten.

"Well in a way, even though we're doing a more aggressive treatment, it's easier to remember all the steps compared to the protocol you did originally," Dr Swanson handed out a schedule to him and Snape, but having not expected Dumbledore, McGonagall, or Madam Pomfrey in attendance, she didn't have any additional copies. Without missing a beat, Snape duplicated his schedule, handing them to the other three adults in the room. The action drew Harry's attention around the room. Though he may not have had a traditional mum and dad sitting there beside him, he was still surrounded by adults who cared for him, not even counting the students floors above his head - going about their weekend as if nothing Earth shattering was happening in the Dungeons - who were all proverbially by his side too.

I can do this. Harry told himself, releasing a breath and peering down at his new schedule for the first time.

The white muggle copy paper was color coded, a small touch Harry appreciated, with blue, green, and pink, and at first glance appeared to be almost easier than his previous phases. If he read it right, he'd do four days of IV treatments, ten days off, one day of IV, six days off - the first three of which would have chemo tablets to take - and then repeat. The pink he easily identified as the tablet schedule, and the green - falling on the single IV day - was obviously an IV; the same one he currently had at the clinic each month. That only left him the blue, identified as IVs yet he couldn't figure out what the different color signified.

Flipping the paper over showed a description of each medication he'd be given and suddenly he could see where the word aggressive came from: in those first four days he'd get a total of twelve chemotherapy doses; one of which was a continuous IV for the first three days, a different set had to run for a full twenty-four hours on the second and fourth day, and the rest came in three hour IVs every twelve hours on days one, two, and three. All of the oxygen in Harry's lungs were sucked straight out; this would be harder than he thought, and that was saying something. What it didn't answer, though, was the reason for the blue instead of the green for the first IVs.

"As I said," Dr Swanson commanded everyone's attention back to her, "it's really an easy schedule to remember. Like Maintenance, this is done in cycles rather than rounds or phases, called Cycle A and Cycle B-" Harry rolled his eyes, hoping the muggle doctor saw his expression, not caring what the appropriate terminology was, "-with one cycle lasting twenty-one days, and you'll repeat each cycle four times for a total of eight three-week cycles. Assuming remission is achieved and everything continues to progress nicely, you'll then go onto another Maintenance phase, but only for two years."

Twenty-four weeks, Harry sadly thought. He'd have twenty-four weeks of aggressive chemotherapy to endure, followed by another two years of Maintenance. Based on the dated schedule she provided it would start this Saturday the eighteenth and take him all the way until the beginning of April; assuming things went one-hundred percent perfectly.

"Can we start with what these… cycles… mean? And what's the blue?" Harry quietly asked. Now that he looked at the medication list a little closer, he saw the first four days - the mysterious blue - were different medications during the first and second cycle. The blue days of Cycle B contained seventeen doses of medication, starting with a twenty-four hour plus a one hour IV on the first day, six one hours on days two and three, ending with another twenty-four hour and an injection on the last day.

"Actually," he amended his first statement, "can we just do Cycle A today and cover B closer to when it starts?"

"Of course, Harry," that answer came from Snape, for which the young wizard felt grateful. He would temper the information so as not overwhelm Harry as they worked their way through it all.

"So at a very high level," Dr Swanson started again, "you'll start with four days of, more or less, continuous IV treatments. One of which will last the first three days, the rest starting and stopping at different intervals with no more than three at one time. Then after all of that, you'll get ten days off-"

"-I'm going to need that much time to recover," Harry interrupted, already feeling his skin crawl from the phantom poison running through his veins. This was sounding worse and worse the more they spoke about it.

"That's why this regimen gives the ten days," she boldly reiterated. "Then you'll do the same IV you've been doing in Maintenance at the clinic, followed by three days of tablets only, three days completely off, and that's Cycle A."

She made it sound easy, and luckily no one validated her sentiment over it. This was going to be anything but easy.

"Wait a minute," Harry said, shaking his head to clear away some of the confusion, "the green means I'm getting chemo at the clinic, so where are the blue IVs?"

She took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself for what was to come, "Those first four days of each cycle - at least at the beginning - will all be done as an inpatient treatment." Harry blinked his unseeing eyes at her. Understanding he had no clue what she meant, she clarified, "In the Surrey hospital-"

"-No." Harry flat out refused.

"Harry," Dr Swanson bit her lip, patronizingly leaning over towards him, "this is non-negotiable. Not only will you be getting chemotherapy done throughout the day and night, you need to be under close watch for any serious side effects and to protect your immune system."

Harry looked over at Snape for support, "But I did the continuous chemo here last summer. And I was able to stay in the castle the rest of time."

"That was different, Harry," Healer Smithe jumped in and the young wizard wished everyone would stop saying his name when talking to him. "During your continuous chemo last summer you had one medication, now you'll have as many as three running concurrently, but starting and stopping throughout the day. Not only will it be difficult to manage here with only Dr Swanson, Madam Pomfrey, and myself, but your body may not tolerate them and you need to be in a place where you can receive emergency care should you quickly need it."

This didn't sound fair, and yet he knew there wasn't anything he could do outside of refusing the treatment in general; an option he hadn't completely dismissed yet.

"We can only keep you so safe here," this one from Madam Pomfrey. "I appreciate your confidence in me, but there are things I cannot fix. If you'll recall, we had to send students to St Mungo's after the flood for that very reason. Sometimes people need to be under a constant watch or have access to equipment or personnel with a specific set of expertise that, unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn't have."

The room fell so silent, Harry was certain they could all hear his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

"It's only four or five days out of every twenty-one," Snape attempted to rationalize. Harry could hear the pain and sorrow laced in his voice, making him feel guilty for putting the man through this. "And you won't be alone if you don't want to be."

"That's right," Dr Swanson quickly added, "Severus, or even one of your friends, can certainly stay with you if you'd like. And so long as you're feeling well, and everyone takes the proper quarantine precautions, you're allowed a couple of visitors at a time during the day."

None of that made the young wizard feel any better.

"I need to think about it," Harry shamefully replied to his bare feet. Then looking up at Dr Swanson, he questioned, "How long do I have to decide if I want to do this?"

Again, the room fell into a painful, deafening silence.

"At seventeen," the muggle doctor began to speak very clearly, as if she were carefully calculating every word prior to leaving her mouth, "you fall into the category of still being a minor in the muggle world, but close enough to weigh in on decisions relating to your own body. It's a murky grey area where Severus - as your medical proxy - could contest against it. Unfortunately, that process can be both messy and lengthy.

"Right now, I can tell you we caught the relapse early enough that with this aggressive treatment, you have a very good prognosis for a long-term second remission if we start treatment now. I cannot guarantee that will be the case in a month or two. Therefore I recommend you take the treatment while you have the best chance at beating this."

"But it's still my choice?"

The muggle doctor paused momentarily as she contemplated how to answer the question she hated hearing the most from her patients. And regretfully one she received far too often from Harry's age group. The need to feel in control too often clouded their judgment on their future, putting them at an unnecessary risk.

"At seventeen," she repeated, her eye contact never faltering, "no one will forcibly hold you down and place the IV in your port, however you will need to be seen by Dr Snyder - which I recommend bumping up to at least weekly sessions anyways - before you can waive your treatment options. It's to make sure you understand the gravity of your decision. Without this treatment, Harry, you have no chance at surviving this and you will die."

As intended, those last three words sat heavy on Harry's chest. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't know if he was strong enough to do this. So then where did that leave him?

"There's no middle ground?" He naively pleaded. "Something that's not so… much?"

"Unfortunately, a second remission is typically difficult to achieve," the physician honestly told him. "Most of the time I'd start looking at a bone marrow transplant, and that may still be something we have to do depending on how the Leukemia reacts to the early treatment, but without any living parents or siblings, you'd need a strong unrelated donor, and frankly those are difficult to find and rarely see long term success. So to answer your question, no, there is no middle ground and this is your best option for survival."

"Can I think about it?" Harry stared down at his hands in his lap, afraid to see the disappointment in each set of eyes watching him.

"How about this?" Healer Smithe suggested. "We'll get everything started as if you're reporting to the hospital Saturday morning, it's mostly paperwork anyway. Then we won't lose any time while you think it over."

It sounded logical, if a little condescending, but he couldn't turn it down without being complicated for the sake of being complicated.

"Ok," Harry agreed, mostly because he needed to leave the room before all of the walls closed in on him and they wouldn't allow him to leave without at least agreeing to the compromise. "Can I go now?"

"Well there's-" Healer Smithe started, but was stopped by Snape.

"Go ahead, Harry," the professor dismissed, "I'll come by once everyone here has worked out some of the more… boring... details."

Harry stood, rubbed his sweaty palms on his jogging bottoms, and awkwardly gave a wave to the people around him, noticing for the first time that Dumbledore hadn't spoken a word during the entire conversation. Too exhausted to question why the headmaster had to be there to begin with, he made his way to his bedroom - once again foregoing a shower - ignoring the heightened voices radiating behind him. He didn't stop walking until he was snuggled into his bed, with his red blanket tucked over his entire body, where he began to cry hoping all of this would just go away.

~~~~SS~~~~

"What about his magic, Severus?" Alton demanded the moment Harry walked out of sight. "You even said he can't-"

"I know, Alton," Severus practically yelled at his friend, "but he couldn't take any more bad news this morning. Unless of course you wanted to completely push him over the edge? That's a guaranteed way to make sure he denies his treatment all together."

"I have to agree with Severus on this one," Poppy chimed in, her head nodding frantically. "Harry's had a lot thrown at him over the years and while he's taken most of it in stride, he's reached his limit."

Alton shook his head, "The ritual takes three days on its own, plus we need to secure the clay under the full moon... which is Tuesday. It's already going to be a tight schedule, but if we can get everything in place Tuesday night, we can do the ritual Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and he can start chemotherapy in the hospital on Saturday. We get one shot at this. If we miss it, he can't start treatment until next month, and you heard Dr Swanson's very pointed explanation…"

He trailed off and they all knew why. If they didn't start now, who knew how much the cancer would continue to grow and spread before they got their next chance.

"Then we proceed as planned," Albus finally spoke up from the other armchair. "That gives Severus until Wednesday to get Harry on board with the chemotherapy and by extension the Magical Block as he cannot do one without the other and have any chance of surviving."

"I think I'd have better luck facing the Basilisk," Severus quipped, and for a solid minute, no one else spoke.

"If he's away from the school for four days," Minerva continued to stare down at her schedule, "he'll miss at least the Monday and Tuesday of classes-"

"- Minerva," Albus dismally interjected, "without magic, there's very little he can do in classes at all."

"No," Severus refuted. "We are not going to sit here and discuss taking him out of the one part of his life that feels consistent to him."

"I agree with that part," Dr Swanson added. "He needs something to keep his mind busy and motivated the rest of the time he's not doing chemo. Even if it's just auditing classes."

"It's not that easy," Alton chided his muggle counterpart, "unlike a muggle school, he needs magic to participate. Last year, we got away with at least the theory for him to focus on, but since he started this year at various levels, where would that leave him? Fake repeating sixth year again? I doubt that will be fulfilling."

"No," Severus agreed, thinking of Harry and the situation with his essays, "that would be too condescending. He already doesn't believe he's doing anything worthwhile in classes today."

"Albus and I will work on his curriculum, you focus on getting him into treatment. If you need assistance, might I suggest Miss Granger and Mr Weasley. Or perhaps even Mr Malfoy?" Minerva suggested hopefully. "One of them will be able to help get through to him."

"In the meantime," Albus stood signifying the end of their meeting, "we move forward as if everything is going as planned, the Ritual will start on Wednesday, completed on Friday, and Saturday he'll report to Surrey for treatment."

Albus made it sound so simple and Severus hoped to Merlin it would be. A gratitude the former spy had never previously experienced filled him up. Even in his old reality when he son received the terminal diagnosis, he hadn't had this much support. Obviously, he'd been surrounded by those who grieved for him or with him, but it had been different. Harry had been different by virtue of being adopted, where here he had collected a full range of extended family and friends to support him. Now if only one of them could get through to him and help the young wizard see he was worth all the pain this round of chemotherapy would bring, Severus could believe they'd make it passed this.


Hey Sev, it's Mae. I was calling to check in on you and Harry. Samantha couldn't give me any details, but she gave me a ring this morning and asked if I'd heard from you, so I'm guessing things didn't go as they should have yesterday. Hopefully it's nothing, but if that's not the case, I'm here for you both.

Bye!

Severus decided it best to give Harry some time alone after the news he'd received regarding his treatment plan. When he heard the shower start shortly after all of their guests left, the professor settled into his armchair, and closed his eyes, laying his head back to think about the missive he'd just received from Mae. Though happy Harry's privacy had been maintained from Samantha, as a patient of Dr Swanson - where Mae worked most of her week - the news would eventually reach the nurse and for reasons he couldn't quite figure out, he felt he should be the one to tell her. Nevertheless, that would require a trip back to Spinner's End and he didn't need to be a seer to know it would be impossible to do today. Not to mention he had no idea what to say to her, someone who saw this happen probably more often than she'd ever admit to the parent of a patient. No, he'd wait and try to call her back tomorrow. By then, she probably would have at least seen the record of his official diagnosis in his chart and know anyways, but he'd live with that; just as she'd have to live with waiting for his return call.

Severus mentally walked through the week ahead of him. Tomorrow started the second full week of October and with it the start of his semi-private Boggart sessions for his third years, lasting until their official course on the creatures the week of Halloween. Now he wasn't sure how he would fit them in, but at the same time didn't want to make too drastic of a decision - like cancelling them in lieu of an impersonal classwide lesson - should this be more manageable than he expected. Regardless of the situation this week and the upcoming month, he would have to get some help with his classes because if he had a difficult time keeping up last year, it would be arduous.

The clock over the mantle showed almost two o'clock when Severus noticed the shower no longer running. Getting up to check in on Harry, his exhausted eyes glared over the plates, saucers, and cups littering the sitting room table from their earlier gathering. Brandishing his wand to vanish the contents to the kitchen to deal with later, he paused a split second before the nonverbal spell left his thoughts. The teacup directly in front of Harry's spot - oddly in the center of the three person sofa rather than the side closest to Severus's chair where he usually sat - remained full and his sandwich untouched; officially all the young wizard had eaten in the last day was a half an apple. Picking up the plate of food, Severus made his way to Harry's room, the feeling of deja vu creeping over him from their argument Friday night. This time, at least, his knock did not go unanswered, rather a curt "come in" drifted across the threshold warning him of the atmosphere he was about to enter.

Also reminiscent of Friday, Harry stood before his wardrobe aggressively opening and slamming drawers as he dressed, though he dressed as if he were going out into the castle, wearing his jeans - fitting on his slim waist the best they had since the end of his fifth year - and a plain navy blue jumper. Finding the last piece to his ensemble in his drawers, a pair of thick wool socks, the Gryffindor ignored Severus completely as he went back to his bed, pulling on the socks and starting on his trainers.

"Are you going somewhere?" Severus firmly placed the plate of the untouched lunch down on the desk, then pulled out the chair and casually straddled it. "You didn't touch your lunch."

"I heard what you guys were talking about after I left," Harry accused, still not making eye contact with Severus as he tied the laces on his trainers so tightly they would likely cut off circulation in a matter of minutes. The lack of an answer to the professor's questions didn't go unnoticed.

"You shouldn't be eavesdropping," Severus coldly replied.

Finished with his laces, Harry dropped his foot to the ground and stared menacingly at his mentor.

"So that's it?!" He raised his voice, crackling on the last word. "I just shouldn't have been listening in on information that's about my life?! Were you even planning on asking me about the Ritual? Because I can tell you Dumbledore doesn't give a shite about what I think of it, but I thought you were better than him!"

"Harry," Severus rested his arms on the top of the chair to appear less threatening, "I had every intention of discussing it with you when you were in a better state of mind to handle the conversation. You'd basically just told us you'd rather die than spend four days at the hospital. Dare I say you were not, nor are you still, in a clear state of mind to rationally discuss these options."

"What options?!" Harry stood and threw his hands up in the air. "As far as I can tell, I don't have any fucking options!"

"Watch your language," Severus sternly warned, standing to mirror Harry's posture and trying unsuccessfully to hold back his own anger. "I know you're angry, so am I for the record, but don't misdirect it at me."

"Well you're one talking about me and making plans for me behind my back!"

"That is part of my duty as your medical proxy," the professor spat, too tired to keep up the facade and quickly losing control of his anger, "If you remember correctly I wanted to block your magic in the first place! Maybe if you had listened to me, yet again, this could have been prevented!"

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back; much like when he called Lily that awful name. The hurt in Harry's eyes tore through him like a white hot knife, ripping and tearing at every fiber in his body. But the worst part of all was the teen's continued silence; his emerald eyes dulled from pain and confusion rapidly peered around the room at anything and everything besides Severus.

"So you think this is all my fault." Harry's voice didn't tremble. Severus almost wished it had, it would have made his statement feel more like something he could handle.

"I didn't say-"

"-you might as well have!" Harry grabbed his school bag, and aggressively slung it over his shoulder. "Don't follow me."

Not about to take orders from a child, Severus didn't heed the warning and left the room behind Harry out into the corridor.

"Don't you walk away from me," he said, somewhere between reprimandingly and apologetically.

"I need some space, Severus," Harry whipped around to say. "I need some fresh air, and I need some time to think, and I need to be alone. Please-" his eyes practically begged Severus to grant him this one thing, "-do not follow me."

Licking his lips - and going against every single alert in his brain - Severus asked just above a whisper, "Promise me you won't do anything dangerous?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he thought about what that promise would mean, and then nodded his head. For whatever it was worth, Severus wanted to believe him, and so he let the young wizard walk out. The second the door closed, he couldn't control his own body crumbling against the wall and down to the floor.

~~~~HP~~~~

Harry probably shouldn't have come up to the Owlery for two reasons: last he'd been told, he still couldn't be around Hedwig for long periods of time because him was still immunocompromised, and the cold mid-October wind blowing through the open windows quickly froze him to the bone. In his need to put as much distance between himself and the Dungeons as possible, it had been the second place the Gryffindor thought of; after the Astronomy Tower, but seeing Hedwig would brighten his depressed disposition, and so he headed there, instantly regretting the decision not to grab his on the way out.

Despite his running with Dudley most mornings - so long as the weather held - the jog from the Dungeons to the Owlery left Harry completely winded. He didn't think he'd pushed himself too fast, yet when he finally entered the dropping crusted stone room, he had to stop with his hands firmly on his knees so he could sucked in as much oxygen as his lungs could hold. The dry, crisp, cold air burned his airways, but he welcomed the pain, using it to ground him from the last two days of hell he'd just lived through. This physical pain he could handle, this he had control over.

Suddenly, the loud flapping of wings off to the left-handed side of the room caught his attention. Owls of all different colors and sizes began screeching and flying vertically in the room, obviously in an attempt to get away from something on the floor in front of them leaving a trail of feathers in their wake. Hedwig was easily visible in the scuffle by her bright white feathers contrasted against the dark brown rafters and when she saw Harry in her flight to safety, she immediately flew over to his outstretched, waiting arm.

"What's going on over there, girl?" Harry asked his owl, slowly walking over and around the still frantic avians, ducking his head this way and that to avoid a talon to the face. "Ah ha!"

When he reached the edge of the room, directly underneath the window he saw what was no doubt the cause of the commotion: Crookshanks and the small white kitten both crouched down as if they'd been hunting tail feathers.

"Get out of here," Harry brushed his arm down at the two felines, causing Hedwig to walk further up his arm, settling onto his shoulder. "You know better than to be here, Crookshanks!"

Harry swooped down once more, this time making contact with the ginger cat's side shoo-ing him along. He felt the air move around his arm as the kitten pathetically swiped at Harry's hand, trying to protect his new friend. Had Harry been thinking about the situation hard enough, he would have found it odd that the kitten's claws intentionally fell short of slicing open the top of his hand, given his own distraction with Hermione's cat.

"These birds can eat you, y'know," Harry lectured to the kitten, as it ran behind Crookshanks out the door. His eyes suspiciously narrowed as the kitten took one long glance back before heading down the stairs after its friend.

"There you guys go," Harry told his snowy owl, who affectionately nipped at his ear, just as she always did only this time, Harry found himself constantly on edge thinking she would bite him a little too hard and draw blood.

Where he expected the high tower of the Owlery would give him a better perspective to think about his situation, he instead found himself transported to the last time he stepped foot in the building - to write to Sirius. The pain of losing his Godfather - in general, not even accounting for his own actions in the circumstances - opened the floodgate of feelings he tried to suppress regarding his life. Shaking from both the cold and the heavy blanket of sorrow, he held out his arm towards one of the perches for Hedwig to step back onto, giving her wings a ruffle in the process. Harry pressed the heels of his palm into his eyes to stop any tears that dared to fall. He refused to cry over it - Sirius's death, his fight with Snape, or his relapse. No good would come from his tears, or so he tried to convince himself. When a shiver attacked him so fiercely his whole body shook, Harry knew he couldn't stay. Bidding farewell to Hedwig, he carefully walked down the steps so as not to accidentally slip on owl droppings; he'd never hear the end of it from Ron, Seamus, and even Ginny if he managed to break a bone from owl poop.

Threatening rain any moment, the overcast sky and the cold wind kept his walk solitary. Along the way, he went back to his conversation with Snape. Deep down he knew the professor hadn't necessarily said what he did to hurt Harry, and the pain in his onyx eyes told a story of father's grief; that these last two days weren't any easier on the man even if he wouldn't be the one going through the ritual or chemo. Having always been in the action, Harry wondered what it would be like on the other side: watching someone he loved go through everything he had. What if it were Ron or Hermione or… no, he couldn't go there.

"I know you're following me," Harry announced to seemingly no one as he entered the side entrance of the school. Coming to a stop just barely inside the doors, under a lantern for both light and warmth, he closely watched the thick wooden door slowly close. Sure enough, when the gap in the door looked too small to fit almost anything bigger than a kitten through it, the white ball of fluff slipped in almost undetected.

"Who do you belong to?" Harry curiously asked, bending down onto the balls of his feet and reaching his hand out to pet the cat who instantly backed away. "I'm guessing a Hufflepuff.

If cats could give a death glare, Harry was certain this cat had just given him one to rival any from Snape.

"Well, you're not a Gryffindor, except you do seem to spend a lot of time with Hermione's cat," he leaned against the stone wall, falling onto his bottom, unconsciously deciding that talking to the cat was a necessity at this point. "I guess you could be a Ravenclaw. I just don't know many of them too well, besides Luna, of course. I'm still thinking Hufflepuff though, and in that case you should steer clear of Crookshanks. He's a grumpy old cat and probably the reason you thought it a smart idea to harass the owls. Let me help you out... it's not. They hunt things bigger than you all the time."

Harry held his hand out, surprised when the kitten instinctively reached out with his small pink nose to smell his hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the Gryffindor told the unsure feline, and slowly the skittish cat creeped closer to him. "See, look at that," he declared to no one, "I can actually do something right."

Smoothly, Harry retracted his hand, drew his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and laid his head down. He sat in that position - leaning against the stone and the kitten across from him who had lost its attention on him for a spider crawling by - for what felt like hours, but was only minutes.

"I'm just so tired of fighting" Harry confessed to the ball of fluff while it stalked the spider, trying unsuccessfully to catch the bug. Once he started talking though, he couldn't stop, "And no matter what everyone thinks, I really don't have all the answers. Half the time I'm making shite up and the other half I'm just lucky. But no, because I'm Harry Bloody Potter, I must know everything. I wish I could be a cat, it's gotta be easy… getting to sleep and lounge around all day. At least that's what Crookshanks seems to do when he's not hunting something he probably shouldn't be eating."

Harry ran his hands through his long, black hair sadly knowing it would inevitably fall out again. Mourning the loss of something so menial like his hair felt wrong - like something Lockhart would have done - and yet he couldn't control the emotional reaction.

"So what if I don't want to continue chemo or block my magic? It should be my decision right? I don't owe anyone an explanation, especially when none of them are the ones sitting there every day with it?"

Harry lifted his head and the cat must have understood at least something he'd said because it paused with the spider delicately held between its paw and the floor, but in his distracted state, the arachnid escaped.

Resting his chin on his knees, the Gryffindor nodded towards the spider and with a smirk he said, "You lost it."

The cat jumped around and pounced again, his sharp little claws activated for the kill, but came up empty handed; the spider had long left.

"It's back," Harry said to the cat who faced away from him with his tail straight up waiting, hoping for his prey to return. "I did everything I was supposed to, but the cancer came back anyway… just when things were starting to feel good again too. And now I'm supposed to put my life on hold, to block my magic, so I can get even more chemotherapy and hopefully get rid of it, but even that's not guaranteed. I can do all of this for nothing… so it's not as easy of a decision as everyone seems to think. How can Severus not realize that? He's seen what it does to me, and… what if I'm not strong enough this time?"

In his plea to his feline friend, Harry hadn't noticed the kitten saunter back up to him; his wet nose leading his way until he found himself centimeters from the Gryffindor's arm wrapped tightly around his legs.

"I'll do it though," he turned to the cat who froze at the sight of Harry watching him, "not because I don't have a choice, or because I chose wrong by not blocking my magic to begin with... but because deep down, I really don't want to die."

Stating that out loud released something inside of Harry, like the fact that he made one very important decision would make the rest of them come easier. He wanted to find his friends and talk to them and at some point he needed to go back to the Dungeons to iron things out with Snape.

Releasing a deep sigh, he watched the cat sitting completely still beside him, practically frozen. Seizing the opportunity - fueled by the heaviness in his chest starting to dissipate - Harry reached his hand out gently booping the kitten on his tiny pink nose. The action startled the cat to the present where it instantly arched his back and hissed; a sound significantly less threatening than the animal likely wanted.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice echoed down the corridor as her and Ron came running up to him. Her cheeks were red and her hair frizzier than usual, suggesting they were running throughout the castle looking for him.

"There you are, mate," Ron said when they reached him. Harry didn't attempt to stand to greet them. "We've been lookin' everywhere for you. What are ya doin' sitting down there?"

"Just talking to Crookshanks's new friend," Harry smiled at the chance to joke around with his friends - before things took a serious turn when he would have to tell them the news - but when he turned around to point out the white kitten, he was gone. "Where'd he go?!"

Ron shook his head, "You sure you're not seeing things? Maybe it was Peeves-"

"I think I know the difference between a poltergeist and a kitten," Harry aggressively retorted.

"You said a kitten?" Hermione's asked, straightening up and looking around. "Did it look like a Persian cat? White and fluffy?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled, giving Ron a satisfied glare. "It followed me down from the Owlery where I caught him and Crookshanks messing with the owls. Do you know who it belongs to?"

Hermione nervously nodded her head, "Possibly.'

"So, uh," Ron said, sitting down beside Harry, "what'd you say to this cat? Anything to do with why Snape busted into the Common Room demanding we find you?"

"Ronald!" Hermione chided. If she hadn't already sat on Harry's other side, he was sure the redhead would have been hit for the question.

"He came to find me?" Harry ignored their concerned glares.

"Not really, mate," Ron shook his head, then clarified, "he came in to tell us you'd need us and that we should do whatever was necessary to find you."

Harry slowly shook his head, feeling the nerves in his stomach make it roil.

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione gently prodded, wrapping her warm arm around his shoulder. "You're not usually this well so soon after treatment."

Harry closed his eyes focusing on his breathing the way Dr Snyder had taught him to in order to keep himself calm or he was sure his heart would beat right out of his chest. "I couldn't get chemo yesterday…"

Those five words released the last part of the boulder sitting on his chest and Harry found himself telling them everything that happened since yesterday morning. He explained how scared he was sitting in the exam room, all the tests he'd gone through, and the final, crushing, diagnosis. Then he walked them through the treatment plan laid out for him only hours ago - emphasizing the four hard days of inpatient chemotherapy he wasn't sure he could do - and how Snape continued to make plans to block his magic when they'd thought Harry had left. His two best friends didn't ask about the Magical Block Ritual, and Hermione couldn't help crying on Harry's shoulder over the prognosis he'd given them - only three to five out of ten reaching long-term remission - even Ron looked pale and fell quieter near the end of the conversation.

When Harry had released everything building up on his chest, the trio stayed sitting on the floor, a large blanket conjured by Hermione draped over their laps, in silence. Harry had no clue how long they stayed like that, nor did he care. If he could, he would sit there with them forever, and maybe in the meantime, the world would find a way to fall back into its rightful place

"We'll be by you, Harry," Hermione broke the silence first. "I don't care what it takes, I promise, you won't go through this alone."

Harry closed his eyes wishing it could be true, "Be realistic, Hermione, with N.E.W.T.s this year you guys have already been too busy to even breathe-"

"Screw the N.E.W.T.s," Ron declared, causing Hermione to gasp and Harry to give a sad laugh. "I'm serious! I've already told you guys I'm not cut out for these exams and I'm planning to work with Fred and George anyways. I don't need 'em!"

"You mum- ," Hermione started what they all knew was going to be some lecture on the necessity of the examinations.

"-will leave me be," Ron cut her off. "Come on, she loves Harry almost more than any of us, and if anything can get her off my back about these bloody exams, it's spending my time helping him instead of studying."

"I can start researching this ritual…" Hermione conceded, then continued to ramble on, but Harry didn't hear a word of it.

Sitting between his best friends - two pieces he didn't have by him when he started out his chemo last year - the fear inside of him over what was to come lessened to a level where he could logically think about whatever this journey ahead of him threatened to bring. He needed to remember he wasn't alone. Next to him would be his friends - a group who recently expanded to include his dorm mates, and even Draco again - and his family - Dudley, Remus and Tonks, the Weasleys - and of course Snape, by his side, and together they could accomplish almost anything.

To be continued...
End Notes:
Coming Up Next: Malfoys' Interlude: Check-In with Cobb

Since we have a new regimen, the links below will take you to see Harry's Cycle A and overall schedule:

flic.kr/p/2kSBc8R
flic.kr/p/2kSxcAJ


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