~~~~HP~~~~

The first hour or two after Snape left to visit with Dumbledore, Harry tried to fill with sleep, but his mind refused to turn off; frustrating him because his body desperately needed the rest. Images of his friends spending the Sunday afternoon in the library - Hermione, and probably Draco, insisting they catch up on their assignments due in the upcoming week - or out on the grounds attempting to soak in the last bit of sunshine before the dreary winter grey unfolded onto the castle, lasting all the way until at least April, made his insides ache in a completely different way than the chemo running through his veins. The charmed coins his friends had given him had yet to warm to the touch or display any messages from them, leaving him feeling more alone than ever.

Maybe I should write to them first, he told himself, slowly rotating the gold coin in his hands. If the roles were reversed - and one of them were sick and surrounded by muggles - wouldn't he want to know it was safe to make contact before doing so? Kind of like the candle call Snape arranged with Dumbledore, they had a system in place to make sure their magic stayed hidden.

It may have made sense, nonetheless for reasons Harry couldn't exactly understand, he couldn't do it and instead placed the coin in the top drawer of his bedside table, rolled over, and tried to slow his turbulent, racing mind. He rarely mourned over the injustices of his short life, having accepted long ago this was just the hand he'd been dealt and tried hard to focus on the good or what he does have. Yet that afternoon, laying alone in his hospital room, he couldn't stop the unfair feeling from creeping up inside of him. All he wanted to do was live a single year of being as close to a normal teenager as possible. Looking around the white and blue room filled with carefully tucked away muggle medical equipment - and their constant noises - was a constant reminder to him how far from normal he ended up. His childhood had essentially ended and he'd spent it living in a cupboard, being the savior of the wizarding world, and a teenage boy fighting cancer... twice. And so far, the outlook of his adult life wasn't looking too promising either.

Lost in his own negative thoughts, Harry completely missed the knock on his door causing him to jump.

"May I come in?" Christopher, the Child Life Specialist who'd helped him the other day, had his head craned around the door. He patiently waited for Harry to nod before entering the room; his cart of entertainment following in his wake. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Gerrie at the front mentioned you were alone today, and I thought you might want some company."

Harry flushed, not used to the level of attentiveness from the adults around him, something the muggle man picked up, "You can tell me to bugger off too if you'd like to be alone. There's nothing requiring you to talk to anyone here, but I've been doing this enough to get a sense of my patients and I don't get that vibe from you."

He wanted to say he was fine - his standard answer when anyone tried to make a fuss - except he wasn't fine and he found himself too tired to keep up the charade.

"No," he said, sitting up further in his bed, "I think I could use the distraction right now… I'm not going to be able to sleep anyways."

"Figured as much," Christopher said, settling into the chair across from Harry and pulling out a puzzle of the ocean - Harry's answer when he'd been asked his favorite place to visit - silently offering to start it together.

Harry gave an equally silent answer, nodding his approval for the suggested game. As they worked in tandem on the picture, Harry asked about Christopher's job, jump starting an engaging chat about what being a Child Life Specialist entailed. Harry learned his main responsibility was to travel around the pediatric and AYA floors - his specialty was in oncology, but he also spent some time in their neurology ward - and help patients and their families to understand and cope with the illness they faced, and the stresses associated with it. A typical day for Christopher could include a variety of things like helping a new patient adjust to staying in the hospital, organizing events for the AYAs, explaining in the simplest terms possible the procedure a patient might be nervous about undergoing later in the day, walking siblings through the medical equipment in their brother or sister's room to help them feel more comfortable, or listening to parents' fears about the future. But he spent most of his time helping to keep his patients looking, and moving, forward; whether that be assisting through a tough chemo treatment, helping them adjust to doing things in their hospital room like moving around with an IV, or just being there to listen to their latest worries. He often talked to patients about the things they liked, their fears, their hopes for the future, and handling their relationships around them - all of which helped Harry feel more at ease.

"So, Harry, did your dad have to go back to work for a bit?" Christopher nonchalantly asked. They'd been talking about how Harry felt after his first full day here, so the sudden change in topic caused the young wizard to physically recoil.

"Erm, kind of," Harry started, passing a puzzle piece nervously between his hands, "Severus had a meeting with the headmaster at our school. He's a professor there… teaches chemistry, but I don't know why he had to go on Sunday." Christopher's eyes narrowed and understanding the unasked question, Harry added, "He's… well, he's not really my dad... My parents died when I was baby and I grew up with my aunt and uncle."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Christopher told him.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, letting out a deep sigh and continued to stare at the puzzle pieces in front of him, not really seeing any of the colors or shapes. "I don't really remember them, so I guess that helps."

"It's still a loss, and one that is mourned, especially when faced with your own mortality and struggles," the muggle man explained. It didn't exactly make Harry uncomfortable, but the proclamation hit him deeper than he'd expected. A silent minute passed - Harry feeling every bit of scrutiny with each painful second - before Christopher asked, "So then why aren't your aunt and uncle here with you, instead of your professor?"

"Oh," he turned his head, innocently, not exactly sure how to answer the question. He probably should have spoken about it with Snape earlier, seeing as he'd be around muggles while in the hospital. "Well… you see… they died in a car accident and Severus took over as my medical proxy. He grew up with my mum, they were best friends, and we've been... really close."

He didn't exactly lie, and it seemed like a logical enough answer; at least until Christopher spoke again.

"So then are you emancipated?" The muggle placed two pieces of the sandy shoreline expertly into the puzzle back to back giving Harry the feeling he'd done this one many times over in his career.

"I don't- I don't know what that means."

"Emancipation is when a minor is declared an adult prior to actually turning eighteen."

That seemed like it would have been a perfect answer had he known what it meant. As much as he hated to admit it, the topic did bring up a valid concern in the muggle world: if there was a year gap between the wizarding and muggle age of majority, who was his muggle guardian?

"No," Harry confirmed, "I'm not emancipated. I was at school when my aunt and uncle died and then this past summer I've been with Severus because of my treatments..."

The more he said, the more unsure he became. Not wanting to get anyone into trouble, he finally closed his mouth; pressing his mouth into a thin line as a verbal sign he felt uncomfortable continuing.

Christopher stealthily glanced up at Harry, making no move as if to say he'd done anything wrong, and at the same time kept his focus down onto the puzzle. Harry followed suit hoping the conversation had been deemed over. Unfortunately, he'd been wrong for the second time in the hour.

"I believe Miss Rosier, the social worker for the hospital, is planning to stop by here tomorrow morning to meet with you both," Christopher placed all the puzzle pieces from his hand down on the tray to focus on Harry. "Usually Monday is one of my days off, but I'll stop by the nurses station on my way out today to check on her schedule and make arrangements to be here when she arrives." That sounded awfully nice to Harry. Most of the wizarding world would be shocked to hear that not many people would go out of their way for him like that. "Knowing you're a new inpatient, I'm sure she's already done her homework, just in case though, I'll ring her up tonight so she can straighten out what happened after your aunt and uncle had their accident."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, not exactly sure he wanted it straightened out. Things had been going well on that front and he didn't really want to end up in some kind of foster care system - if that even existed - when he had someone he thought of as his father.

"Being that you're so close to eighteen," Christopher reassuringly continued, "she can probably put the emancipation through pretty easily. That is, unless you'd like Severus to become your parent. If he were agreeable to it, of course, and assuming alternative arrangements haven't already been made by your aunt and uncle."

Harry's face turned red. "I'm already seventeen," he responded, "aren't I a little old to be adopted?"

"On paper, you're not, actually. In England, a child can be officially adopted up until the age of eighteen, at which point they simply become adults. Guardianship is a little easier, though not as permanent, as it also ends at eighteen." Christopher smiled, which oddly put Harry at ease, "In reality, no one outgrows the need of a parent just because he turns eighteen. Don't be so quick to discredit the value of it."

When faced with the limited time left he had to be adopted - if that was what he wanted - Harry found himself oddly consumed with not knowing who was responsible for him in the muggle world, and the small chance it actually could be Snape and he'd just not been told about it. Having been responsible for himself most of his life, it shouldn't have bothered him this much, nevertheless it certainly left him with a lot to think about and hopefully, just this once, things would go as he hoped.

Between his body's physical exhaustion and Christopher's visit, Harry eventually managed to fall into some kind of decent sleep. Although it wasn't necessarily peaceful or relaxing, when the young wizard blinked open his eyes out of his dreamless sleep several hours later, greeted by the familiar aching in every single part of his body, he wished he could go back. He'd only been at the hospital for a little over twenty-four hours and while his mind desperately wanted to leave, he knew his body absolutely wouldn't allow it. The constant rotation of chemotherapy had quickly taken its toll on him and the thought of two more whole days of it - not counting any he'd need to stay while waiting for his blood counts to increase - almost made him cry.

You get ten days off, Harry reminded himself, rolling over onto his side, careful not to tangle the lines constantly running to his port, to grab his glasses from the bedside table - though not remembering removing them as he fell asleep - and peered out the window. It had gotten significantly darker and overcast since he'd fallen asleep. The clouds completely covered the sky in a way that he couldn't tell if the sun had recently set or not, threatening to rain or storm any minute. A quick check around his room showed no sign of Snape having returned yet, and he frantically wondered what could be taking the man so long at the castle.

What if there was another attack?!

Pushing himself up on his elbows a little too fast, Harry's head began to pound hard against the side of his skull in rhythm with his heartbeat and a ringing in his ears caused him to have to close his eyes tightly. Sitting completely still in that position, he tried to slow his breathing down hoping to reverse what he recognized as the start of another round of vomiting. Unfortunately - or not, depending on one's outlook - he knew almost instantly the feeling wouldn't subside and quickly grabbed for the sick basin placed beside him as the wave of nausea ran rampant over his weak body. Hardly eating lunch didn't seem to matter because it didn't stop the heaving from its attempt to bring up anything it possibly could from his stomach; even if it was only bile. If he could, he'd will his body to simply accept what was happening to it, but he knew that despite the countless number of times he'd been through it, nothing would ever make it easier on his body; the only control he had was in his own mind.

You can do this, he tried to encourage himself when the heaving subsided. This means you're fighting.

Exhausted, he laid back on his bed and softly closing his eyes, he released a shaky breath. He hated feeling sick, he hated feeling alone, and more than anything else, he hated being stuck in the hospital.

A soft knock on his door had Harry wishing he could wave his wand and lock it instantly. Of course, to do that would require him not being surrounded by muggles and their electronic devices, access to his wand currently stored on his bedside table back home in Hogwarts, and - most importantly - magic running through his veins. Somehow his lack of magic hit him harder this time around than when he thought he'd lost it all last March. Logically, he knew his magic was still there hiding underneath virtually the same block as before, but for whatever reason his inability to access it bothered him greatly and the small reminders like when he wanted to fill a glass with water, levitate the sick basin to him or the lavatory, or summon a book from his bag on the sofa physically hurt him. How would he manage to go back to living in the castle - surrounded by the life he may never get to experience again - knowing he absolutely didn't belong there anymore? If it weren't for his friends, he'd probably ask Snape to go back to Spinner's End, though he'd feel guilty making the professor leave his students amid their latest crisis.

Another knock came, a little more forceful this time, and unable to satisfy his need for guaranteed privacy, the teen rolled over onto his side, facing away from the door back towards the window, and listened to it quietly open then close. Fully expecting it to be a nurse, he waited for her to approach his bedside to check his IVs, but this one didn't approach his bed. Or if she did, it had been done so carefully, her shoes didn't make a sound on the linoleum floor. It took less than a minute for Harry to give into his curiosity - a trait which had gotten him in more than enough trouble throughout the years - and he turned to see who had entered his room.

The blonde nurse standing by the door held a medium sized gift bag with a blue balloon secured to it by a long red string and although he shouldn't have been surprised by her visit, she was definitely the last nurse he expected to see in his hospital room. Not dressed in the typical scrubs they usually wore - all solid colors on the AYA ward, he noted, and no teddy bears, rainbows, or hearts - she stood before him in a pair of muggle blue jeans and a pink jumper under her unzipped dark grey peacoat.

"Severus isn't here," he told Mae, feeling a little agitated to have a visitor not on official hospital business; he didn't want people to see him so weakened no matter who they were. "He went back to school for something."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing I came here to see you, not him," she raised her eyebrows and against his will Harry felt the top layer of his anger melt away. "May I sit down?"

Appreciating her respect by asking for his permission first, Harry nodded, then without any reservations she pulled over a chair closer to his bed, took off her coat, and draped it over the back.

"This is from Dr Swanson's office and the nurses at the clinic," she told him, placing the gift bag ceremoniously onto his bed. "I may have volunteered to bring it by today, hoping you wouldn't mind."

"Oh… so… do you live close by or something?" Harry fiddled with the green tissue paper coming out of the top of the bag and swallowed back another round of nausea, hoping to keep it at bay long enough to rid her from his room. Ultimately, the chances seemed slim.

"Mhmmm," she watched him closely, recognizing the signs of another sick round approaching, but gave him his space to handle himself. "My flat's only about a twenty minute walk to the hospital… fifteen when it's cold outside, thirty when it's sunny and gorgeous."

He wanted to laugh at her small joke, but he found himself again searching for another basin to vomit in as the one he used earlier was still filled; the self-cleaning pail being near the top of the list of things he missed most from chemo back at home. Mae instantly recognized the cause of his panic and managed to get him a clean one from a small storage cupboard near the lavatory - demonstrating her familiarity with the hospital room layout - just in time for him to expel more bile from his stomach. Somehow, the embarrassment he assumed he'd feel over heaving in front of Snape's girlfriend didn't follow. Not only had she seen plenty of patients do it throughout her time as an oncology nurse, making her almost comfortable in the presence of the action, she'd personally helped him the last time he'd been at the clinic. Whereas Snape fell - rather seamlessly when Harry thought back on those early Privet Drive days - into the father-figure role, Mae's presence seemed more like Hermione: a trusted friend, and he felt at ease with her standing beside him.

And when Harry's own hands shook so badly they threatened to drop the basin in his bed, Mae reached over with a set of purple gloves on, to protect her skin from his chemotherapy medications lingering in his bodily fluids, and held the basin for him. Wave after wave of heaving left the teen completely worn out, and when he finally finished, he rested his weight onto his side and closed his eyes.

"M'sorry," he muttered towards Mae, grabbing the offered towel to wipe his mouth, "thanks."

"Hey, at least you managed to keep it all in the basin," she pointed at him, jokingly, then took both soiled bins over to the lavatory where she marked his lost fluids on the chart and dumped them. His cheeks were rosy red by the time she sat back down in the chair by his bed. "Go ahead and open it."

Harry looked down at the bag noticing the Get Well Soon written on the outside. If only it were that easy. Except in the magical world it kind of was that easy: you took a potion and you got better. In fact, besides Mr Weasley's attack in his fifth year, Harry didn't know of anything magic couldn't fix… well, besides cancer and brain ailments; Neville's parents came to mind causing Harry's heart to ache for his friend.

Carefully, Harry pulled away the tissue paper to reveal the gift's contents. The first thing he came across was a card sitting on the top without an envelope. The bright yellow and white front looked like a happy sun with the words Thinking of You written in a black script across the top. Inside had a generic message with about two dozen names signed in pen around it. Most of them he didn't recognize, yet something about each person sitting down to sign their name on a card just for him filled him with hope.

Community.

Dr Snyder's words to him at that last appointment before all of this restarted rang in his ears. In that moment, Harry suddenly realized that even if he didn't feel as if he were part of the community, he had been; and he still was part of it all.

He propped the card up on his bedside table and continued to remove the tissue paper until he found three crossword and word search books, a small notebook, and a set of movies matching the dinosaur posters he saw in The Hub.

"Thank you," Harry said genuinely, averting his eyes away from his guest.

"Is that rugby?" Mae's question shook Harry out of his soon to be turbulent mind. She held the now still picture of his Quidditch team after their victorious win in his third year. "You obviously play?"

"Errr," Harry stalled, unable to remember if the picture had their brooms in it or not, surely his friends would have considered that when they chose to freeze the image, "yeah… I used to at least… that was taken at the end of my last real season."

"Oh?" She placed the picture back on the side table. Then giving him a once over, she asked, "What happened? You look at least two years younger in this picture and I thought you were diagnosed last year?"

"Well," Harry nervously picked at a hangnail on the side of his left middle finger knowing he should leave it be given his lowered immune system. "The year after that picture… my, uh, fourth year… We hosted a competition at my school. It was like a year-long field game thing where we competed against other schools in the area, so the season ended up being cancelled for that."

Her eyes lit up. "Did your school win?"

Of course, she had no way of knowing how loaded of a question she'd just asked, so rather than disappoint her with the real story, he made up what he wished would have happened, "Yeah, we did, actually. An older year won it for us in a pretty close last event. We all partied hard that night, so I guess that made missing the season worth it."

If only…

Mae laughed, "Oh, I'm sure your father loved that."

"I think the professors celebrated just as hard as the students, so he turned a blind eye to it," Harry smirked. The more he thought about this other life - a mix between his own and the one where Snape originally came from - the more he liked it. Too bad he had to continue on and explain what happened during his fifth year, "And the next year, I got completely banned from playing-"

"No way," Mae practically gasped. "Seems like a pretty steep punishment, what'd you do to get that?"

A grimace passed over his face thinking about Umbridge and her reign of terror during one of the worst years of his life, "I kind of got into a fight with another kid for taunting my teammates and I. The professor at the time was a total tosser about it though… She hated me long before the game and luckily didn't come back last year."

Unconsciously, he ran his hand over the scar on his right hand. Had he not opted for his port, how long would it have taken for Dr Swanson to discover the words? And when she did, what kind of explanation could he have given her? Would someone at the hospital, maybe one of the nurses checking in on him while he slept, find it and ask?

"So that would have been two years ago," Mae's brown eyes scrunched up doing some quick math in her head, "which means that last year was because of your diagnosis."

A statement, not a question, because she knew the answer, though Harry answered anyway.

"Yeah," he admitted, bitterly. Being unable to play felt worse when his own body was the cause than even Umbridge's ban. "Obviously, you know I can't exactly play any contact sports when one hit could cause me to bleed out."

"You'll get back there," she tried to reassure him. "I know it's hard to see it now, but you will. You'll be able to join a recreational team when it's safe to play again. Even if it doesn't feel the same, not being on a competitive school team, it's better than nothing."

The consolation she'd hoped to provide did him no good. Although he didn't know for sure, he'd never heard of recreational Quidditch in the wizarding world. If he ever got his magic back, it was something he would be interested in starting, and he had no doubt Ron would join him in starting the group too.

"My brother, Bobby, always wanted to play rugby," Mae offered, "but our mum told him she'd never allow him to, so when he got old enough, I kept him from playing… it's what she would have wanted for him. He didn't talk to me for a good two weeks, but he also never had a concussion, though, so it was worth it. Sometimes the decision best for you isn't always the easiest to make."

A heavy silence fell between them only broken by the sound of the rain pelting outside the window. Harry furrowed his brows wondering when it started. The room had gotten darker with the now almost black clouds rolling in, and he pressed the little button near his bed to turn on the bedside light as a crash of thunder practically shook the room. The Gryffindor typically didn't mind storms - having lived in a castle tower during some of the worst he'd ever seen - yet something about being in the hospital during one made him nervous.

"You know what we need?" Mae announced, drawing Harry's attention away from the window and back to her as she slammed her hands against the soft arms of the chair, pushing herself out of it at the same time.

"Uh… I dunno, what?"

With eyebrows raised to her hairline and her finger pointed out to him, she said, "I'll be right back. I'm pretty sure Christopher is still hanging around here somewhere."

The sheer excitement in her voice, coupled by her contagious, mischievous energy almost instantly turned around Harry's previously sullen mood and, for a moment, allowed him to forget where he was, and what he'd be facing in the upcoming days.

~~~~SS~~~~

Should any of the hospital's security muggles been watching the surveillance footage in lift number four - the only lift heading to the AYA ward at that moment - they would have seen a man with long black, sopping wet hair go from soaked to the bone to perfectly warm and dry in a matter of seconds without so much as a turn of his wrist or movement of his lips. Although that level of nonverbal, wandless magic always left Severus a little more tired than when he at least used the wand movement with his hands or spoke the incantation, desperate times called for desperate measures, and he refused to stay wet - a byproduct from the storm outside - for the rest of the night. He had no one to blame but himself, and although the honesty of that statement stung his pride, he refused to unjustifiably pass it onto someone else. Had he gone straight back to the hospital after leaving Hogwarts rather than meandering the streets of Guildford in some half-arsed attempt to sort through the convoluted thoughts in his head, he would have been tucked away inside the relative warmth of Harry's hospital room when the storm rolled in.

The walk started out innocently enough; a simple miscalculation when disapparating from Cokesworth - where he floo'd after a short rest in his quarters - taking him to the river near the cinema instead of the hospital. Choosing to walk the rest of the way, he never once considered the threatening sky brewing above him. In fact, that part of his journey by foot had been almost pleasant, if not enjoyable without having any expectations placed upon him, so when he finally made it to the front of the hospital he didn't dare stop; half afraid of what would catch up to him if he did and half dreading what waited for him upstairs. Uncharacteristically giving no further thought to his final destination, Severus allowed his legs to continue on their way, right past the hospital's entrance in the direction of the english pub he and Harry had dinner with Mae only a week and a half prior.

Much to his dismay, though, Severus found no more relief the further he walked away from the hospital. Between the "new Order" meeting, his discovery of Draco's latest venture, and Lucius's not so subtle warning, today solidified his own realization that things around him were slipping out of his grasp, and that wasn't something he could run away from. Tabling what he already knew from the meeting in Dumbledore's office and his inability of being able to do much more with Draco and his animagus form, the professor turned his focus onto his potential meeting with Lucius tomorrow morning.

There was no denying whatever Lucius had in mind for "building up his defense" would come at a steep price - from his pocket, privacy, and pride - but one Severus would have to seriously weigh over the next twelve hours. Should he wish to guarantee his privacy, he could simply choose to walk away from his position at the MLD. Severing his employment ties with the Malfoy patriarch would leave the other wizard no rights to dive deep into the professor's business. At the same time, however, turning down the assistance might be too hasty of a decision. Turning the situation around in his mind to approach it as a Slytherin, should he continue to be a suspect to the aurors, as he'd obviously been directly after the flood, the Malfoy's solicitor - along with his expensive expertise - was more talent than he could ever afford, and he'd be a fool to turn down the help should he end up needing it in the end. After all, he had Harry and his students to consider, neither of whom he could help while rotting away innocently in Azkaban.

Unfortunately, the rain started at his furthest point from the hospital, yet he still didn't disapparate back. It took him twenty-two minutes walking in the storm to get back to his original destination, and since none of the winding streets he wandered did much to help him come to a solution, it left him wet, cold, and needing to use his most discreet of magic in the muggle hospital with nothing of value to gain.

"Good evening, Mr Snape," the welcome nurse greeted him as he entered the corridor to check back into the floor; the simple process of handing over his temporary "parent/guardian" badge connecting him to Harry's file. "Staying overnight again?"

"Most likely," he answered, stifling back a yawn. The time above the welcoming station showed half past six. He'd been gone most of the day - far longer than he anticipated when he'd left - and despite his short rest, wanted nothing more than to sink into any semi-comfortable surface to sleep.

Walking down the eerily quiet corridor leading to Harry's room, Severus tucked away his own dread over the situation; it wouldn't do either him or Harry any good to display it. His shoes squeaked across the floor - proof of his limitation to do completely undetected magic - stopping dead in their tracks when his ears picked up a soft laughter ahead of him. As he crept slowly past the closed patient rooms doors, the pleasant sound increased in volume until it reached its height right outside of AYA6: Harry's room.

"That's not fair!" He heard the Gryffindor's scratchy voice complain, laced with more than a hint of humor through it. "I told you this thing has more buttons than I have fingers!"

The voice that laughed, then answered, couldn't have surprised Severus any more had it belonged to Voldemort, and he leaned next to the doorway not needing the visual confirmation of what he already knew by the sound alone.

"If you think I'm going to go easy on you just because you've never played before, you're crazy," Mae's voice taunted, ending with bantering hmph.

"You're dating Severus," Harry replied, as if the statement was utterly obvious, "I wouldn't expect it any other way."

"Is he competitive, then?" Mae asked, muttering a whispered ooh under her breath. If Harry had answered, he did it so quietly Severus unfortunately couldn't hear, signalling to his deductive reasoning skills that his girlfriend had to be sitting in the chair closest to the door. He almost walked in to surprise them, but hesitated when he heard Mae ask an intriguing question, "Seriously, how did you not play a single video game growing up? Isn't that what all teenage boys aspire to do with their free time?"

Severus knew he shouldn't continue to eavesdrop outside of the room - having given Harry a similar lecture too many times in both realities to count - but listening to the comfortable, casual conversing of the two people who currently meant the most to him, plus Harry's sunnier disposition for the first time in a week, healed a hidden wound deep inside of him; one which walking in the rain failed to touch. Listening just outside the door almost had him believing that no matter what had been spoken about at Hogwarts, eventually life would right itself, they'd survive, and not only in the way he'd told Arthur about hours earlier.

"Errr…" Harry struggled with how to respond, "Well, my Aunt and Uncle weren't too big on me watching the telly growing up-"

"-the studious type?"

"-uh, something like that," he hurriedly stated, "and Severus doesn't even have a television-"

"-Like not at all?" His girlfriend's astonished voice made him roll his eyes. She couldn't seem to get past this one major difference - electricity and technology - between the muggle and wizarding world, and he wondered if it would be what finally tipped the scales into telling her about his true self.

Harry laughed, "Does he really come across as-"

"Do I come across as what, Harry?" Severus chose that exact moment to enter the room, unwilling to let the conversation knowingly move onto himself. Who knew what they talked about in his absence, but he certainly didn't want to hear it first hand.

Sadly, Harry was still in his bed looking as tired and sick as ever. His eyes were stained with dark circles, which stood out against his current, overly pale complexion, but despite all of that he had a smile on his face. His long black hair dripped down onto the blanket covering his body and he wore a different set of warm pyjamas, giving away that he'd at least showered - thus at least getting out of his bed once - since the professor had left hours earlier.

Mae sat on a chair pulled up to Harry's bed, on the side closest to the door as Severus suspected, dressed casually in jeans and jumper with her warm coat draped over the back of her chair. Regardless of his question as he entered the room, neither of them turned to address him, and he frowned at the strangest looking contraption he'd ever seen in both of their hands attached to a box leading to the television, each user smashing down the buttons or pushing the stick in no apparent rhyme or reason. Fully engrossed in their game, their eyes never wavered from the screen on the wall showing two animated characters - Harry's a small man with a red hat and Mae's some kind of toadstool - in a small, opened top vehicle racing around a dirt track. Suddenly, Mae's character got hit by what he thought was an empty red shell from behind and spun out of control. It didn't matter though, she'd already crossed the white and black checkered line and was announced the winner.

"Oops, sorry," Harry half-heartedly said to him. Then, as if Severus's return meant nothing to him, the teen turned his attention to Mae, leaned back on the bed and exclaimed, "How do you keep winning? And it's not just against me… I'm total rubbish… but against the computer players too."

"I'm embarrassed to say it's from years of practice," she told him. "Jess and I still like to play when we manage to have time off together. Granted we can't stay up nearly as late we used to, but Mario Kart is always our go-to favorite."

When Severus approached, Mae flashed him a smile as if to say "I've got this under control". Feeling her reassurance radiating through him, he gave her a quick kiss - ignoring Harry's grimace - and sat on the edge of the young wizard's bed, opposite of Mae.

"I apologize for my tardiness although it seems as if you've both had an eventful afternoon without me," he told Harry, who once again shrugged off the statement. "Have you eaten?"

"Lil' bit," Harry nodded. Severus followed his eyesight to a half eaten tray off to the side.

Better than nothing, he thought.

"I brought you some stew up from the cafeteria," Mae pointed to a covered bowl sitting near his makeshift bed. "Harry didn't know if you'd be eating back at the school or not, and with this weather I thought you could use something warm, just in case."

The former Death Eater couldn't remember a time when someone else had thought about his needs in this way; specifically when there was nothing expected from him in return. Lily would have, though it also would have been done under the umbrella of friendship; a relationship he should have cherished more and valued instead of tossing away over blood purity. Although in the years after their falling out he had come to accept his role in it - as well as in her death - he also realized she wasn't completely guilt-free in it. Withholding her acceptance of his sincere apology was equally as childish as him calling her the name was deplorable. He would have walked away from Voldemort had she accepted it, or at least he liked to think he would have… but then where would they all be now? Similar to Harry's situation with Draco and Hermione, could Severus have accepted James - and vice versa - for Lily's sake? That one, he thought, was going too far.

The professor moved over to the sofa to eat his stew while watching Harry and Mae start another round of racing. Slowly, he picked up the purpose of the race - twelve characters battling one another using ridiculous weapons in an effort to cross the finish line first - and although Harry was particularly atrocious at it, he seemed to enjoy the time spent playing. One set of races consisted of four tracks, each adding up to the final score, and the pair made it all the way to the end of the third before they had to pause for Harry's vomiting. This time Severus took the lead in staying beside the young wizard and helping him through it all. When it finally passed, and Mae stepped in to assist, Severus couldn't help watching over her shoulder as she filled out his input and output log. Based on her reporting - of this event and of his earlier meal time - a significant amount of his dinner had stayed down this round. They had to stay focused on the good as much as possible, and tonight Harry managed to secure decent calories.

Harry tried to convince Severus to finish the last race for him, and even Mae's almost juvenile - at least in the eyes of someone who'd lived the life Severus had, realistically acting too old for his age - taunting couldn't make him budge. There were few things in life he would voluntarily subject himself to that level of humiliation, and this certainly didn't qualify for the exceedingly short list.

Mae stayed all the way until visiting hours ended at ten o'clock, meaning she was there for Harry's pre-chemotherapy exam, performed by the hospital oncologist, a Korean man named Dr Shim, and when his next three hour IV started right around nine o'clock. Only a day and half into their first inpatient stay, Severus could easily see the late night chemotherapy bothered Harry the most. Unfortunately, the side effects of this specific medication didn't hit the young wizard right away, meaning he'd be sleeping, or attempting to, when he'd be woken up feeling sick.

"For your next cycle, I'll check with Dr Swanson and see if she can get you in here Friday night instead of Saturday," Mae explained, collecting her belongings to head out for the night. She promised to come check on him - she had gestured to Harry, however Severus suspected she meant him as well - tomorrow after her shift at Dr Swanson's office on the other side of the hospital. Then scrunching her eyes at them, she added, "Typically she starts this specific regimen as early as possible in the morning, which is why you'd need to be here Friday night. It means you'll have a dawn wake up call each day, but then it ends early enough at night to give you plenty of time to settle before trying to sleep. Honestly, I don't know why she wouldn't have done it this cycle, you're bound to be exhausted after all of this."

Harry shrugged, but his eyes were trained on Severus. They both knew exactly why his oncologist hadn't followed through with those plans: The Magical Block Ritual, not that he could tell her so, no matter how compelled he felt about it. Neither wizard said a word regarding the reasoning, and without the ritual needed for his next round of cycle A, he would look forward to the revised schedule.

In the end, long after Mae had left and they patiently waited until midnight for his three hour treatment to end, Severus looked back on their time that night and smiled. Sure, the professor may have wanted to have a moment alone with Harry to discuss the meeting at Hogwarts and check in on the Gryffindor's feelings about his magic, but spending time with his girlfriend and his son was exactly what he needed. Admittedly, having the extra set of hands to help with the young wizard - like when Severus had to assist Harry in navigating into the lavatory while Mae went to grab more ginger ale from the refrigerator in the kitchen - may have also impacted his view of their night. In hindsight, though, those specific topics could, and probably should, wait until they were settled back at Hogwarts. Muggle nurses and doctors constantly flowed in and out of the room, making a slip up about their magical world too high of a risk.

"You love her, don't you?"

Harry's crackling voice caught Severus completely off guard as he sat on his converted bed, every centimeter littered with essays, marking in an attempt to stay ahead this year. Not only were the words Harry said important, but the physical pain he heard in the Gryffindor's voice alarmed him. Putting down an essay on the most beneficial blocking spell, the professor watched Harry, who laid on his side facing Severus, thinking about how his answer would impact the teen. By all appearances the two got along well. Mae kept her space enough not to flood Harry with maternal feelings the teen wouldn't know how to handle, and Harry opened up as much as he could with the muggle. The latter feat was worth more than any vault in Gringotts; Harry didn't trust adults, so to exude this level towards Mae was significant.

"Yes," Severus eventually answered honestly, allowing himself to be at his most vulnerable, "I believe I do love her."

Harry's head nodded against his white pillow case, and Severus dreaded the time when he would inevitably start to find the long hair black strands laying on it one morning. Knowing how difficult the sudden realization of losing his hair was for the young wizard the first time around, Severus almost suggested he shave it off last Friday, but with the last night of the ritual lingering over him the professor didn't want to add to his anxiety. Once they ended up back at school - where Harry would essentially be quarantined in their quarters once again - they could cross that bridge. Given his dosages of the chemotherapy this time, it would need to be sooner rather than later.

"Are you alright with that? My dating Mae and our growing relationship?" The professor carefully asked, not exactly sure what he'd do if Harry said he wasn't accepting of the relationship. He very well could be opening a Pandora's box he had no plans of addressing.

"I like her," Harry almost whispered the sentiment. "She's fun... and she gives you something good to focus on."

Severus released his held breath, relishing the relief he had over the situation, even if he didn't necessarily like Harry's second observation. Seeing the people surrounding him, his family and support system, all with the one thing Severus knew he denied for himself, would be a painful reminder of life moving on without him. Harry didn't expand any further, and the professor wasn't about to tread into those choppy waters unprepared. Later. This topic would fall into the catchall chasm of all the things left unsaid: magic, chemotherapy, relationships, school.

A companionable silence fell over them and the air became so still, Severus thought perhaps Harry had managed to fall asleep. The calm was short lived and broken by Harry's groan - with a matching grimace face - followed by a long, hard shiver. In response, Severus quietly extracted himself from his sea of essays and pulled a small green square from his trouser pocket. Since Mae had been in the room when he arrived, he couldn't return the object he brought for Harry from their quarters back to its original size. Harry's eyes watched his every move, as Severus placed the square on the recliner, took a quick glance at the door to confirm no one was about to enter, then brandished his wand and swiftly unshrink the object. Now in place of the small square sat Harry's favorite green bedspread. Without a word spoken between them, Severus replaced the blinding white hospital blanket with the green one, giving Harry not only extra warmth, but also the comfort from home and a pop of color to the room; not that Severus would care about such a trivial thing.

"Thank you," Harry pulled the blanket up close to his chin, expertly navigating around the lines to his port. A silly grin formed across his sleepy face and then he said, "Y'know, she told me she doesn't live far from here…" a long pause followed the obvious statement, but Severus refused to fill in the intention, "...and, well, I know you've not slept well on the sofa here…" another uncomfortable pause, "what I'm saying is, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't mind if you ever wanted to stay over there…"

The chuckle escaping Severus's throat wasn't nearly as surprising as the uncontrollable flush creeping up his cheeks. He had no doubt regarding Mae's feelings on the scenario, and to hear Harry so blatantly support their relationship gave him the reassurance he hadn't known he needed from the young wizard. However, it was her flatmate Jessica standing prominently in the way, and he hadn't helped the situation after their impromptu meeting the other day. He wouldn't tell Harry any of that, though; the teen already had plenty to keep his mind occupied.

"You look pale," Severus reached his hand out and placed it onto Harry's forehead. No fever. "Are you feeling alright?"

Harry pulled away sharply, "I think you're just trying to avoid an awkward conversation."

"You mean one regarding my personal life that is absolutely none of my son's business?" Feeling almost more embarrassed about his slip up of Harry's unofficial title than the subject of the conversation, Severus scratched his own forehead and sank down into the recliner beside Harry's bed. Severus had no way of knowing what Harry and Christopher spoke about only hours earlier, and how relevant the single word, son, was to Harry in that moment.

"Yeah, that one," the young wizard gave a tired smile. "For what it's worth, I had a good time tonight, with Mae."

"As did I," Severus settled back in the chair and closed his eyes, ready to forget about the essays littering his tiny bed. "You should try to get some rest while you can."

Wishful thinking, he knew, but let the suggestion stand. In addition to Harry's obvious current discomfort, a nurse would be in soon to disconnect his three hour IV, making sleeping now futile. Demonstrating how there really wasn't ever a good time for him to find sleep here.

As if on cue, the sheets rustled to his right as Harry turned in an attempt to find some position that wouldn't tangle his IV lines. Severus reminded himself that his own battle against a bed made more for Filius's stature than his own was better than the object in his chest being tugged at every time he tried to roll over or so much as move. He felt confident saying there wasn't really a natural, comfortable position Harry could sleep in that wouldn't snag his IV some way. Then there was the simple act of getting up in the middle of the night. Last night, Severus had to call a nurse each time Harry needed to use the loo, because he was too overwhelmed with how to work the IV stand and other monitors they had him attached to. As always, the nurses hadn't made a big deal about him asking for help no matter what time of the day or night, but it bothered Severus not to be able to take care of his child. Before leaving at the end of visiting hours, Mae had done a wonderful job at walking him through what needed to move along with Harry, but the reality of the situation was simple: even knowing it all on paper, he felt terrified he would do something wrong and cause harm to the teen.

Severus opened his eyes, squinting against the smaller light still illuminating the room, when he heard Harry's familiar moans coming from the bed. The Gryffindor's eyes were closed, but his pale scrunched face showed he wasn't anywhere close to sleeping.

"Are you in pain?" He asked, approaching Harry's bed already knowing the answer before the young wizard's head nodded. Based on the whiteboard on the wall outlining Harry's medication schedule, he wasn't due for any more pain medication for another two hours. They were in for a second long night.

"How did he die?" Harry opened his dulled eyes and rotated as best he could to face the professor. "The other me. Last week after… erm… you said it wasn't Leukemia. What'd you mean?"

Severus didn't have to think back too hard to the awful day when he was searching for anything to say to convince Harry things would be alright.

"Back there, you died from a mistake made in your potions. Had that not happened, who's to say you would have died from the cancer?"

At the time, it made perfect sense to tell the Gryffindor about the potion error. Harry needed to hear he wasn't fated to die from cancer, even if Severus had the same concern raging through his own mind. No part of him wanted to talk about it, especially as Harry's current discomfort stemmed from his treatment; the same thing which killed him in his old world. But with so much time before his next dose of pain medication, the teen needed something to keep his mind occupied. So Severus tucked his own grief aside, leaned against the bed and began to speak, almost in a trance.

"I didn't know about the potion error until Malfoy Manor," for some reason, it seemed important to state up front that he came to this reality thinking his son had died from cancer. "Not until Voldemort had me brewing the same potions for his use. At first, I didn't even look at the instructions… as often as I brewed them for you, I was confident I could do it with my eyes closed."

"So what changed?" Harry's labored breathing made the inquiry come out more angry than he likely expected.

Severus turned to face Harry, pulling over a chair wanting to be closer than the recliner for when the teen inevitably ended up sick again.

"The preparation for two of the newer ingredients were swapped," he nonchalantly answered as if this mistake - one he lectured his students about relentlessly - hadn't caused his whole world to come crashing down. "And that one, relatively simple change caused the potions to proliferate the Leukemia cells rather than kill them."

Harry frowned, "So who was it that-"

"The potioneer from St Mungo's," Severus interjected. "When we received the new regimen, I verified the validity of the ingredients - that they would do what was intended - however I did not consider their preparation. The addition was so recent, and with so few wizarding children using the potions, no one had noticed the error either."

If his old reality still existed somewhere out there, he hated to think about how many more children would have to die before they located the problem. They'd have to wait for more magical children to be diagnosed with Leukemia, then select the potions route which would eventually fail them. Over time, they'd discover a pattern of the disease worsening around the same timeframe and perhaps years later Harry's cause of death would be updated from cancer to medication error.

Harry's sudden movement from the bed instantly cleared the fogginess from Severus's mind and acting on his instincts - having plenty of experience as to what that movement indicated - he rushed up himself with the sick basin. Harry's body shook through the nausea, made worse by his sore body, and though Severus did everything in his power to comfort him, all the things he'd been doing for a year, he still felt utterly helpless.

"I know you'd probably rather be with him," Harry quietly stated once he laid back onto his bed, his eyes closed and voice giving away his misery, "but for what it's worth, I'm really glad you're here with me."

"I won't leave you, Harry," Severus stated, pushing the fringe of Harry's long black hair off his sweating forehead in order to drape a wet flannel over it. Though he was fully aware he couldn't keep that promise - he'd be leaving to meet with Lucius before dawn tomorrow - somewhere in the recesses of his mind he justified it to himself by claiming he was doing it to try and keep the promise. After all, having the best possible defense would be vital in keeping him out of Azkaban, should the situation turn out from his favor; how could he possibly help Harry if he were locked away for a crime he didn't commit?