~~~~SS~~~~

Sunday, 9 November 1997

Severus gazed blankly out of the hospital window at the reflection of the nearly full moon over the lake situated behind the hospital. Shadows created by the open blinds stretched across his face and chest obscuring portions of himself, reminding him of a prison uniform; everything lately circled back to Harry or Draco. On the other side of Harry's bed - opposite to the teen's collection of IVs on the side closest to the professor - sat a new, albeit temporary, set up of equipment constantly monitoring the young wizard's vitals. They'd been there since the Gryffindor's return from his MRI. Their constant beeping noise irritated Severus's excessively stressed nerves, preventing any semblance of sleep, even if he hadn't woken up a mere ten hours ago. Thankfully he'd brought back an invigorating draught as surely it'd be essential tomorrow to survive the day with any amount of decorum. Despite his annoyance with the new monitors, for each cringe he made at the sound a larger portion of his subconscious relaxed at the confirmation of Harry being well.

As Kathleen alluded to, Harry remained more or less unconscious since returning to his room. The few times he did wake, Severus doubted the teen was lucid enough to actually remember any of it. Needless to say, it left Severus significantly further from the expected apology he built up in his head while getting ready at Spinner's End earlier that afternoon. Somehow he pictured walking into Harry's room ready to explain how his deeply rooted grief gave him no right to speak to Harry, or Dr Swanson, the way he had the previous night. Together, they would then figure out the next steps in his treatment while Severus seamlessly stepped into his caregiver role for the teen. Now, not only did he have the uphill battle of missing the start of the new regimen, Harry went through a medical emergency with his mentor absent and none the wiser. If he were an honest man, he'd admit to the paralyzing fear of entering this new, unknown territory - of Harry quite possibly not forgiving him - starting to settle into his core.

The confrontation with Mae - who he incorrectly assumed wouldn't visit Harry in an effort to avoid Severus - certainly didn't help his dismayed emotions. When did the muggle woman become so intertwined with his feelings? And how was it possible after such a short amount of time - three months of knowing each other - the idea of losing her drove him absolutely crazy? Severus genuinely wondered how the afternoon fared between the two people he loved the most, who were both terribly hurt by his words and actions. If he ever managed to repair the damage done to both of those relationships, Harry and Mae becoming closer would certainly benefit them all. Of course, it meant a lot of assumptions were being made about their future together, but he needed some avenue to prevent the negativity from overwhelming him, and imagining the three of them celebrating Christmas as a family seemed like the best option.

Grateful for the darkness of the room to block out his vulnerability to himself as well as anyone who happened to walk into the room, Severus peered back out at the calm lake. The rippling partial orb of the moon dancing on the surface of the water reminded him of the two werewolves in his life; one of whom he did not recall brewing his monthly dose of Wolfsbane Potion and the other currently sharing a cell in Azkaban with Severus's protege. Tabling Lupin's conundrum for a moment, his mind drifted to Draco and Greyback, of all people, sharing a cell for the next year. The incarcerated werewolf likely didn't have access to Wolfsbane in Azkaban - and the last Severus saw of the other wizard, he lived his life as more wolf than man, so even if given the potion he wouldn't take it willingly - so how did the Aurors plan to ensure the other inmates' safety, Draco's in particular? With the Malfoy Heir being an animagus, however, perhaps the Aurors were gambling on the wolf leaving the small white kitten alone during his time of the month? Wasn't that the rationale behind James Potter and his misfit friends becoming animagi? To keep their precious friend company in the Shrieking Shack? Either way he looked at it, nothing beneficial could come out of the cell arrangements for Draco, yet he was powerless to help.

As much as it pained Severus to compare the two, the werewolves' transformations were too similar to Harry's chemotherapy to ignore. Gazing back at Harry's still sleeping form, he imagined what it'd be like for the teen to do his treatments without the antiemetic to lessen the nausea or the help of the narcotic pain medication aiding him through the worst of his pain. And what if these medications - the ones to help improve his quality of life through his disease - cost more than he, Severus or Harry, alike, could regularly afford? It made Severus think back on all of the potions he recently brewed. There was the Pepper Up for the hospital wing, when he asked for Lucius's assistance in finding a solicitor for Harry's adoption, a task he still needed to follow up on, and a few potions created for his own personal use - which after last night's fiasco they'd likely be poured down the drain - yet regardless of how hard he thought upon it, his mind came up completely blank on the last Wolfsbane he brewed. Frowning, he mentally shuffled through his latest post, having no memory of receiving a remainder from the final Marauder. Horace taking over the brewing task was possible, except he seriously doubted the skill of the aging Potions Master to do it economically enough for Lupin to afford. Ultimately, Severus quickly concluded that with the Order officially disbanded and Lupin no longer on the payroll for Hogwarts, the werewolf must have been going without it these past several months, simply dealing with the reality of his condition in its entirety. At one point in his life, Severus would have publically gloated at the power shift between them; literally the difference between a decent transformation for Lupin or a painfully horrific one. Humbled by Harry's challenges though, he no longer took pleasure in the other man's pain. Watching the young wizard struggle through chemotherapy gave him a new appreciation for the battle his former tormentor faced monthly. The image of Harry suffering needlessly without his supporting medications made him shudder and promise himself to follow up with Lupin about the issue for his next transformation.

With wobbly legs, Severus slowly manoeuvred himself into the reclining chair next to Harry's IV station. Several bags hung at the larger than usual machine configured to continue his chemo at a lower dose, per Dr Swanson's harshly pointed insistence.

"It's very common to have to make these types of adjustments," she admonished him earlier in the night. "We've reviewed his blood work, bone marrow biopsy, and MRI, and have concluded this is his best option. Try to feel a little relief in knowing his Leukemia is not the biggest threat for us to currently treat instead of focusing on the lower dosage.'"

In hindsight, he prided himself for the rationalization he accomplished during the terse conversation. It's like a potion, he convinced himself. They simply needed to balance the protocol based on the most volatile of ingredients. Too much heat on one ingredient, for example, and it'd explode into a heaping, dangerous mess. So even if another ingredient in the potion needed high heat to obtain its highest concentration, brewing it slowly - thirty seconds on the fire, twenty seconds off - balanced the two perfectly. Would the brew ever receive one hundred percent perfection out of each ingredient individually? Never. But a ninety percent outcome beat a melted cauldron every single time. When put in those terms, the decision on how to proceed with Harry's treatment made more sense to him.

A quiet groan came from the bed alerting Severus to a change in Harry. Completely unaware of his moving, Severus reached the edge of Harry's bed at record's pace, somehow remembering to click on the small lamp in the process.

"Harry?" He breathlessly pleaded. In response, the young wizard's face grimaced in pain. Reaching out, Severus placed his hand firmly on Harry's left forearm and squeezed it. "You're alright," he chanted for his benefit as much as Harry's, "you're going to be alright."

The next minute of watching the young wizard's body awaken into a confused state of consciousness passed by excruciatingly slowly until finally he was rewarded with the sight of the Gryffindor's distinct emerald eyes blinking up at him.

"You came back," Harry's first coherent words had Severus releasing the breath he didn't realize he held. The small upturn of the teens' lips silently told him things would be alright between them, although Severus wasn't so sure he agreed with being forgiven so easily.

"Of course I did," he guiltily proclaimed. "I should have been here sooner."

"It s'ok," muttered Harry, wincing while attempting to push himself up in the bed.

"No… it's not," Severus sullenly replied, leaning forward to help the Gryffindor, then methodically handed him his glasses off of the side table. "My actions were uncalled for. I should not have left last night. I made a commitment to you and I intended to see it through."

"Not to me, you didn't," Harry softly whispered. "Made a commitment, I mean. I just kind of… fell into your lap."

Severus bit his tongue, physically and metaphorically. You can't tell him yet, the professor warned himself, but he truly wanted to explain to Harry about his potential adoption. How much pain and uncertainty would it erase from his young mind to know someone wanted him; that he belonged somewhere, cancer and all. Nevertheless, any proclamation made to Harry tonight would look as if he said it as a means to dissolve the tension. Plus, if something ended up preventing the proceedings, the disappointment would be too much. Once Silas came back with more information, he'd tell Harry and officially ask the child he thought of as his son to become his son. In the meantime, though, he needed to do everything to ease Harry's discomfort regarding their relationship.

"I am committed to you, Harry," he seriously expressed, putting all of his conviction behind those words. "I promise you, yesterday was-" his face contorted thinking back upon his juvenile actions, "-unexplainable... not in that I had no reason to be away because I was quite physically unable to be here, but in the sense that my reasoning is not good enough to be forgiven. You needed me here and I let my own emotions get the better of me. For that, I am extremely sorry."

Harry made no eye contact with Severus, he simply bobbed his head through the entirety of the apology. Then gesturing towards the IV station, he asked, "So what exactly happened? I'm back on the chemo?"

Although the dismissal of his apology was preferred over Harry's typical, "it's fine" - a blatant demonstration of the young wizard's lack of self-worth - Severus would be lying if he said it didn't hurt him deeply.

"Yes," he sighed, "you don't remember the conversation we had with Dr Swanson earlier?"

Harry shook his head slowly, a move the professor could tell pained him. "I remember playing video games with… erm…"

"I saw Mae in here when I returned," he offered to alleviate the awkwardness when Harry trailed off. His girlfriend must have explained - in some variety of detail - their argument the other night to Harry. It was the best explanation for the other wizard's distraught attitude towards the couple.

"Oh… well, I don't remember much after that... Something about a seizure and the possibility of my chemo changing because of it."

"More or less, you've got highlights," Severus shifted his weight between his feet. "The new medication caused a fairly common reaction in your brain, triggering the small seizure. Dr Swanson and the neurologist reviewed the results and decided the best course of action is to continue the chemotherapy at a lower dose. I believe they've also added a new medication to prevent any further episodes, as you've been marked as predisposed to them."

"So, am I still changing medications tomorrow morning?" The crack in Harry's voice gave away his fear and innocence. "I'm not going to lie, I can't wait to be off this one. It makes me feel horrible inside. Everything hurts and I'm so tired."

"That may very well be from the seizure too." Severus made a mental note to ask Dr Swanson tomorrow regarding the side effects of the episode.

"No," argued Harry, "I felt awful almost immediately after it started and if… well… if Mae hadn't shown up when she did, I don't know how I would've gotten through it."

"It's not over yet. You'll be on this medication, at its smaller dosage, until five o'clock in the evening tomorrow." He ignored Harry's moaning protest. "You should consider yourself lucky this will only put you back half a day."

"Yeah, yeah yeah," Harry grumbled, "I'm so lucky to be here."

Feeling the weight of his actions, Severus sat down in the reclining chair, resting his arms on his knees.

"About what I said Friday night-"

"I told you it's fine," Harry aggressively interjected. "And I'm the one who kicked you out."

"For good reason," Severus defended the young wizard's action. Harry shrugged. "I promise, I'll stand by your decision on this. It's your body and ultimately, you get to decide what happens to it."

"Except not doing chemo."

"Except not doing chemo," Severus confirmed. "A decision of that gravity… meaning one which will kill you in the end … cannot be made solely by either of us. Anything else, I'll work on stepping aside to allow you to come to your own conclusions prior to voicing my own. I will always be here to advise you, but I won't make decisions on your behalf. Is this arrangement agreeable to you?"

Harry's jawline clenched tightly and Severus felt the tension building up in his own teeth. Although he didn't necessarily believe Harry wanted to stop chemotherapy that night - after all, he had made the declaration to follow Dr Swanson's suggestion on continuing - the professor understood how the young wizard might come to that conclusion at some point throughout his treatment journey. The latest side effects of the chemotherapy took their own toll on Harry's already weakened body. If they swapped positions, an act Severus would do in a heartbeat if feasible, what would he choose to do? Live a life of pain for the small probability of survival or choose to walk away, living his final days as comfortably as possible for however long they lasted? As much as Severus wanted to say he'd choose to die with his dignity, in the present - where he wasn't going through everything Harry had - his self-preservation won out the debate; he'd want to fight until the end.

Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

"Yeah," the hesitation in the teen made Severus nervous, "I can do that now, but if things get bad…"

"I'm not going to hold this as a binding contract," Severus filled in where Harry was unable to explicitly state his need to control the decision for his life, "but understand Dr Swanson also won't allow any life-ending decisions to be made without, at a bare minimum, your consulting with one of your psychologists - Dr Snyder or Dr Wright. Then, of course, as your medical proxy until August, I get the option to weigh in on the final decision."

"Unless she says there's nothing left, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"If Dr Swanson says I'm out of options." Harry shifted his bottom up further in his bed, lifted his knees and draped his arms over them. "That's what I thought she was going to say on Friday… that I had no more options left. So when she told us she wanted to continue the current course, I was… relieved?

"I know it seems like I want to just end it all, but it's not that… black and white. I mean, I hate all of this and some days I just want it all to stop, but at the same time… when I thought it really was the end… I dunno. It's confusing."

"This isn't meant to be something you have to do on your own. I hope you understand that," the contradicting sentence to his previous statement gave him hope. "You have an entire team of physicians to consult on these decisions and they will exhaust every option available to you, should you wish to explore them. And there are many more options, which is what caused my frustration towards Dr Swanson on Friday night. I wanted her to start looking elsewhere, but as she said, this is the best course of action for you. The rest are very good contingency plans, so to say, which I hope you'll never need."

"We don't get back up players in Quidditch," Harry joked with a small smile. "That's how you lost the shortest match in Hogwarts' history."

"Do not gloat. It's unbecoming of you," the Slytherin chided. Staring off at nothing, he thought about his plans for their abysmal team and how they'd all fallen through. What was supposed to be an exciting announcement would now never occur. "I was going to ask Draco to return to the team for our next match."

"Do you think he would've accepted?" Harry brashly asked. Uncharacteristically, Severus shrugged. "Because I don't think he would. He's said too many times, and I completely agree, about how you have to trust your team on the pitch and how his housemates don't exactly elicit a lot of trust lately."

"You've been too removed as of late," Severus cringed at this badly tuned reminder of Harry's pseudo-quarantine, "but things have been changing in our house… primarily driven by the abhorrent result of the last game, nevertheless it's a start."

"You didn't answer my question."

Severus peered over at the Gryffindor. "Yes. I do believe he would have accepted it. Prior to his incarceration, Draco made significant progress within the House and the opportunity to play Quidditch one last year might have swayed him further."

"I guess we'll never find out, huh?"

"No, we won't."

Thankfully, the silence following his dejected words was thankfully interrupted by the latest round of nurses checking on Harry vitals, equally pleased to see the teen awake and lucid. She swapped out one of his IV bags, took his blood pressure, recorded his other vitals, and helped Harry to the lavatory to collect another urine sample for pH testing. During all of this, Severus took the opportunity to change into his bedclothes, pull down the sofa into its bed configuration, then set it up with his own sheet set from Hogwarts - pre shrunk to fit the smaller twin size - and pillows; two underutilized home comforts. Working in their usual efficiency, the nurses' visit lasted less than half an hour, including catching Harry up on his chemotherapy schedule plus answering several of Severus's still lingering inquiries. By the time the nurse departed, allowing the pair of wizards to settle back into their respective beds, it was approaching two o'clock in the morning.

"Why does it always seem like we have these deep conversations in the middle of the night?" Harry randomly asked several minutes after he turned off the light, plunging them back into the moonlit darkness.

"Everything appears unmanageable in the overnight hours," Severus delicately replied, thinking back on his son's death in those same hours. "And you don't have any of the daytime distractions to keep your mind from focusing on the negativity."

"You mean like 'the darkest hour is before dawn' and all that crap," the Gryffindor exasperatedly sighed.

"Technically, no," Severus corrected. "That specific turn of phrase is not entirely accurate as it does not account for the changing phases of the moon in the sky. How many years of Astronomy did you take? And you still managed to forget to consider the moon's appearance in your night sky? Dare I say Professor Sinistra would be disappointed in you."

"You know what I meant!" Harry laughed.

"Of course I did," he turned to face the young wizard's bed, "and my statement still stands. Never overlook those bodies - celestial or human - willing to help shine light in your otherwise dark hour."

The air surrounding him stilled to the point the professor wondered if Harry fell asleep. Choosing not to panic - the constant beeping of the monitors would surely alert him when that became necessary - he stared at the shadow covered ceiling imagining the light and dark pattern ironically caused by the moonlit blinds outlined the path ahead of them. Deep into the middle of one darkened rectangle, if they continued moving forward, a slice of bright light eventually emerged.

"Severus?" Harry's hopeful tone filled the dark room. In response, the professor offered an equally hopeful "mhmm" from his sofa bed. "I accept your apology. And I'm sorry for kicking you out."

"Thank you, Harry." Somehow those three words couldn't come close to expressing the deep relief he felt hearing Harry accept his apology, but they'd have to do; it was all Severus had left inside of him.

~~~~HP~~~~

"Alright, Harry, I need you to follow this with your eyes."

Harry squinted at the small pen floating in front of his face, resisting the urge to reach out and hit the man in front of him - that'll show him my brain is fine. Instead, the Gryffindor kept his mouth shut and followed the light as instructed.

"Good, good," the on-call neurologist - an older man with salt and pepper hair and glasses, whose name Harry already forgot - chanted, watching Harry's eyes move from left to right and back again. With a swift click of the top, the ink tip disappeared, startling the teen back to the room around him.

Overall, the day had been relatively uneventful. After his middle of the night talk with Snape, Harry slept better than the previous night, though the rest was short-lived as his medication continued to wear him down. At the instance of his nurses, the teen took a short and very slow walk around the ward - stopping to give a wave to the few kids he recognized from last month - and then spent the rest of the afternoon reading, sketching, or watching movies on the telly; all in an effort to ignore the pain radiating throughout his body. The only consolation to the day, and where he chose to focus hard onto, was making it through the last of his first medication without vomiting. He'd been nauseated - dry heaving twice in one hour - and had several embarrassing rounds of severe diarrhea, but no actual vomiting and for that he felt oddly grateful.

At around four o'clock the hospital neurologist arrived to administer his baseline testing for the next set of chemotherapy medications - the ones they actually warned him might cause severe neurological side effects. So far the neurologist had him walk a straight line in his room, answer several basic questions - his name, his birthday, the current year - repeat a phrase, touch his fingertips to his nose, and then follow the pen with only his eyes. Harry didn't ask how many tests he'd be required to do before they deemed him sane enough to release his chemo, however, if the rest were anything like these, it didn't give him high hopes of completing them successfully at four o'clock in the morning, the time he'd be getting doses two and four.

Satisfied by whatever he saw with Harry's eye movements, the doctor pulled a piece of paper off the clipboard beside him, folded it into quadrants, then placed it on the tray table. In his almost completely illegible writing, the doctor added 9.11.97 1600hr, 10.11.97 0400hr, 10.11.97 1600hr, 11.11.97 0400hr - the dosage dates and times for this next round of chemotherapy - in the left corner of each box before turning it around to face Harry on the other side of the table.

"Sign your name in this box," he used the muggle pen to point to the space appropriately labelled 9.11.97 1600hr, then offered it to Harry. "It's what I'll use to compare your other writing tests to."

The test seemed simple enough except even before the chemotherapy causing weakness in his hands, Harry's handwriting with a pen wasn't much better than with a quill especially considering the little use for traditional cursive in the wizarding world, forcing him to rely on his old primary school lessons. The physician's pained face while he wrote out his name clearly implied that it'd be impossible to compare his chicken scratch signature to later renditions of it for any significant meaning.

Like he has any room to talk!

"This will suffice. Neuropathy is common in Leukemia patients under your regimens. We're mainly looking for the patient's baseline ability to hold a pen and place it on the paper," the doctor snidely commented.

"Will it get that bad, Dr Hill?" Snape spoke up for the first time since the neurologist began the preliminary testing. Harry appreciated the reminder of his temporary physician's name - Dr Neil Hill.

"It may," the muggle doctor folded up the paper and tucked it, along with his other notes he'd taken throughout the exam, into Harry's file held at the base of his bed for the current physician on call. "I've seen my share of patients on this particular medication end up with one or more of the neurological side effects. Typically it's the small motor skills we see impacted the most, but it's best to test for everything just to be sure. Very rarely are any of them long-lasting. Usually the effects improve when the medication has ceased."

"And if I do end up with any of these issues?"

Dr Hill paused. "The physician on call will work with your oncologist to come up with the best solution to treat your cancer while preventing any long term neurological damage. Most likely it means lessening the dosage or stopping it altogether."

Harry didn't like the sound of the solution. It felt too much like yesterday's experience. Naturally, Snape thought along the same path and asked, "Could his seizure yesterday have any impact on the likelihood of problems today?"

Not remembering much of the seizure or its after-effects, until Dr Hill opened Harry's chart - his eyes feverishly scanning the records to answer Snape's question - the Gryffindor assumed this physician worked on him yesterday.

"They're completely independent," Dr Hill clinically responded. "The cause of his seizure was related to his previous medication and has no impact on today's."

"Brilliant," Harry sarcastically muttered. "You guys sure know exactly how to pick 'em."

"Harry!"

"It's fine, Mr Snape," Dr Hill condescendingly waved off Harry's mood. "I'm well used to the adolescents by now."

The comment made Harry scowl. A good half a dozen witty - at least to Harry - responses came to his mind, but Dr Swanson and two nurses escorting in his next round entered before he had a chance to say any of them.

"Everything looking good, Dr Hill?" His oncologist cheerfully asked.

"If we have a problem at this point, you're a goner."

Harry rolled his eyes at the neurologist's dry attempt of humour.

"He always says that about the first consultation," Dr Swanson whispered to the pair of wizards. "I think it really does annoy him when I ask, which is exactly why I continue to ask."

"I heard that," Dr Hill muttered. "Well, Harry, if things progress as they should I'll see you this time tomorrow for hopefully another set of boring tests. And do be gentle with the overnight staff, they tend to be less delightful than me."

He probably should have said goodbye to the physician as he left, but Harry didn't feel particularly chatty with the man. In fact, looking back, Mae and Christopher - the Child Life Specialist he had yet to see this cycle - were the only people overseeing his care who he'd been particularly friendly with since Healer Smithe. His chest ached with the sorrow of missing his first doctor, even if he did end up temporarily working for Voldemort.

"I come bearing some good news this time," Dr Swanson announced, drawing the attention back to her. "As you can obviously tell-" she waved her hand, gesturing to the two nurses swapping out his IVs, "- your blood work came back acceptable enough to move on with the regimen, meaning you're officially done with the first one until the week before Christmas."

The subtle reminder of his future time in the hospital - on a cycle he already hated with a passion rivalling that of third year Draco - wasn't appreciated alongside the supposed "good news".

"You also have no more continuous infusions until Tuesday evening," Dr Swanson proceeded to walk him through her update. "The chemotherapy aspect of these next two days is merely a two hour IV twice a day - at five o'clock in the morning and evening. The other IV is an hour vitamin which will be given alongside the chemo plus at eleven in the morning and evening. You'll still get all of your supportive medications throughout the day as needed."

Even though no longer being constantly attached to the chemotherapy drugs certainly had its advantages, Harry didn't dare assume it meant it'd be easy. If anything, the smaller duration infusions tended to hit him the hardest if only because he expected the continuous ones to be awful and it left him caught off guard for the others.

"If you have no other questions, you'll start with two drops of this-" Dr Swanson wiggled up a small eyedropper in front of Harry, "- in both of your eyes to prevent irritation commonly experienced in this part of the regimen, then I'll leave you be."

Harry aggressively removed his glasses and held his hand out for the latest medication. "I wasn't exactly lying when I implied you guys could've aligned these cycles a little easier."

"Oh, pardon me, I didn't realize you're the oncologist now?"

The steroid drops instantly stung his emerald eyes the moment the cold liquid touched the surface, distracting the young wizard from the myriad of sarcastic responses he could have said.

"As always, if you need anything, let Molly or Sarah know," Dr Swanson gestured to the two women: one, Molly, was working diligently on setting up the two new IVs while the other was recording his liquid intake and output in the lavatory. "Unless you have any severe adverse reactions, I'll see you when I do rounds on Tuesday morning."

"Have any good plans on your day off?" asked Snape, casually.

"Visiting my in-laws." A sarcastic smile accompanied the doctor's reply. "All I'll add is that my mother-in-law and I have a strained relationship on the best of days and leave it at that."

Somehow the announcement of Dr Swanson's plans on her day off sparked a conversation between the adults which Harry had zero interest in following. So as soon as Nurse Molly officially kicked off phase two of his cycle, he grabbed his sketchbook and pencils off of his bedside table, then settled into his bed to continue his latest sketch. He concentrated solely on his work, allowing Harry to effectively ignore all of the talking from the adults around him. Losing himself with each stroke of his pencil - requiring extra focus on how he held it - the teen never heard Dr Swanson, Molly, and Sarah leave, nor did he have any real concept of how much time passed when he saw Snape's shadowy figure out of the corner of his eye approach his bed.

"Have you told your friends about your results?"

Snape's question shouldn't have surprised him, nevertheless, the pencil in his hand stopped its shading of Hermione's curls and fell limply out of his grip.

"For the most part." The partial lie tasted like poison on his lips. They had asked and he replied, so surely it counted for something.

"Harry," Snape sat down on the edge of the bed, "if you need someone to talk to-"

"-I have plenty of people to talk to," Harry quickly interjected. "Too many actually."

Snape's eyes narrowed menacingly causing Harry to pick up the pencil and resume his sketching. If he ignored the man's glare, maybe he'd drop the subject altogether. Unfortunately, that never seemed to be the case and less than two minutes later the dark voice asked, "Who have you spoken to about it? I haven't seen you in contact with them at all today and we've been in one another's company since your return yesterday. No one's come in to discuss it with you, so enlighten me to whom you believe you've discussed this with?"

In a huff, Harry rolled his eyes, not daring to lift them off his paper to answer. "I didn't say I spoke with anyone, just that I have plenty of people to speak to. There's a difference. And if you must know, I talked about it with your girlfriend yesterday, or is she your ex-girlfriend now?"

Naturally, Snape did not fall for the distraction. "And was it a lengthy conversation?"

"Yes." The second lie came easier and more confidently than the first, an observation Harry deep down didn't like about himself. If he just kept denying it, maybe he'd start to believe it himself. "Really, I'm fi- I accept the situation for what it is. It's alright."

"What did they say?" Snape challenged. "Your friends, I mean."

Closing his eyes, Harry pictured himself back in his bedroom in the dungeons, not too unlike their time a week ago after his chemo at the clinic. In his mind, he pictured his friends sitting around him as he told them the awful news of his failed remission and he gauged their reactions. Hermione would cry and nervously spit out a set of statistics he had no chance of remembering - Snape would absolutely believe that -, Ron would pat on the shoulder with a muttered "rotten luck, mate … hang in there… what are the next steps", and Ginny'd lean in to give him a silent hug. The one person missing from the room Harry focused on the most: Draco's smooth, arrogant and almost angry, "you'll get through it, Potter, you always do." On the surface, it might sound like his struggles would mean nothing to the other wizard, but by now Harry knew better. Those words would be filled with the same fear Harry felt inside although expressed in a way to remind him not to wallow in his own self-pity. At one time in this journey - a time before the relapse diagnosis - Snape used to do that too, and now Harry missed the two Slytherins' perspectives more than any support his Gryffindor friends gave him.

Harry opened his eyes, confidently making eye contact with the professor to further accentuate his lie. "Hermione told me some odd percent of people don't hit remission the first time and Ron didn't really understand, but I'm sure Hermione'll catch him up. So there."

Petty as it was, it made Harry feel a little more in control of the situation by crafting a reality around himself of what he wanted rather than what Snape knew didn't happen.

"And today," Snape crossed his arms as he casually leaned further onto the bed, "I haven't even seen your Galleon. You didn't feel the need to reach out to them?"

"I don't see you calling Mae," Harry retorted.

"Fair as that may be," the professor countered, "you have a perfectly discreet method of communicating with your friends. I do not feel like having a very private conversation using your hospital room telephone where you and a handful of nurses or doctors can overhear."

The statement broke the taboo wall stopping Harry from asking about what happened between Mae and Snape on Friday. In the back of his mind, Harry didn't want to admit he'd hoped the muggle nurse would stop by to see him again, and as the hours ticked by he started to doubt her previous intentions; did she really like spending time with Harry or had she been tolerating him to get closer to Snape? If it was the former and the strained couple crossed paths yesterday while Harry was getting his brain scanned, what happened to cause her to stay away today?

"Mae's not coming back to visit, is she?" His voice betrayed every single emotion he wanted to keep hidden.

In response, Snape turned, tucking his left leg under his right, until he sat firmly on the bed facing Harry, then pulled the no longer in use sketchbook and pencil off of the young wizard's lap and tossed it gently onto the recliner. The longer they both lived in the small hospital room, the faster the space seemed to fill up around them. Long gone were the neat and tidy areas created for all of their belongings - quickly lost due to the middle of the night clothing changes, hasty trips to the loo, and sudden exhaustion leaving whatever his latest distraction sitting abandoned in its incorrect place. Harry thought the mess creeping in on them would eventually drive the normally methodical and tidy professor crazy, yet the man still hadn't commented upon it.

"Being completely honest with you, I don't think she'll be wanting to see me for a while." Snape's statement sat heavily on Harry's stomach. "However I do know you've grown quite close to her, and I can leave you her telephone number - and privacy to make the call - should you wish to tell her so. I don't want to take any part of your support system away from you and if that means limiting myself for however long is necessary so you may play-" he waved his hand towards the television behind his back "-whatever games you enjoy so much with her, then I'll do so."

Harry mindlessly scratched his left arm considering how he felt about the offer. Did he really want to ask his mentor to leave on any given day so he could spend time with the man's estranged girlfriend? No, as much as it hurt him inside it'd be best to cut ties the same as Snape if they broke up in the end.

Suddenly, Snape latched onto Harry's thin wrist and pulled it back from his arm, making the young wizard startle. "Stop or you'll bleed if you continue scratching like that."

Having always kept his fingernails cut short to prevent accidental bleeding, Harry almost wished he had more available to rid the itchiness from underneath his skin, regardless of the risk it'd put himself in. Unwilling to cause an argument - adding to the laundry list of things he no longer had any control over in his body - Harry pulled his hand away and gently tucked it under his legs. He continued to squirm, fighting the urge to scratch, waiting for the lecture on sitting still; one which never came.

"I accidentally told my friends about Mae," Harry blurted out to fill in the silent space between the two wizards. His face instantly flushed at the admission, so he jutted his chin towards Snape's sofa bed without lifting his guilt-ridden eyes and almost incomprehensibly mumbled, "And I lost my galleon… I threw it that way."

To his credit, Snape neither lost his temper over Harry telling his friends about their snarky professor's dating life nor did he appear upset by the lost Galleon. Instead of reacting, he carefully and quietly left the bed to search - on his hands and knees, no less - around the sofa. Silently, the professor slid his hands between the cushions in search of the charmed object Harry knew wouldn't be there. Secretly, he checked the sofa this morning, realising it was missing when he went to tell his friends about the seizure; ironic given his and Snape's previous conversation about Harry confiding in others.

Coming up empty-handed, Snape clasped his hands behind his back. "Please tell me Miss Granger had the common sense to add a layer of protection to the coin to prevent those without a magical signature from seeing its contents," the professor demanded.

It wasn't a question, still, Harry knew an answer was expected. "Erm…" his reddened face twitched thinking back on any evidence his friend might have given that their means of communication was safe if it fell in muggle hands. "I really don't know, sir. I never thought to ask, so I guess it doesn't mean 'no' exactly. I'm sure knowing I'd be around muggles all day she put some kind of protective enchantments on it."

"Let's hope so," Snape closed his eyes and growled, "or we're going to have a bigger problem on our hands than your gossiping about my personal life to your little friends."

So much for keeping his cool in this.

Harry watched closely as Snape massaged his forehead, his hand hiding the scowl Harry knew existed. "Out of pure curiosity, before we get into your abhorrent decision-making skills, how does one accidentally make a statement as such to a group of children?"

"Teenagers," Harry corrected, immediately regretting the decision. "And to answer your question, I don't really remember… it just… sort of happened. You know my brain still gets cloudy from chemo, so maybe that's it? Why else would I have chosen to tell you with everything going on? Clearly, I didn't plan it out."

"Drop the attitude."

Harry scowled, a knee jerk reaction to the command. Lost in his own emotions, he couldn't see how different those three words were to all of the other demands made to him by the other adults supposedly responsible for him in his previous life: Get to your room, boy! I don't want to see you again! You're a freak! These words were said with love; in the same way a father might tell his teenage son - one who wasn't dying of cancer - he was being overly dramatic in any given situation.

"I promise, I didn't mean to say anything to them," Harry eventually acknowledged. "It was while we were at the Three Broomsticks before… erm… well, you see Ron asked me a bunch of questions about you being in Hogsmeade and I might have let Mae's name slip. Then Draco blackmailed me saying he wouldn't tell you I said anything if I told them who she was."

Snape blinked. Twice. Three times, making Harry shift his weight uncomfortably onto his still pinned hand, wanting so badly to resume scratching his increasingly itchy skin.

"I'm surprised you fell for Draco's farce." Snape sighed at Harry's confused expression. "Naturally, he lied to you. I doubt he'd seek me out to discuss my relations, particularly those outside of school and of romantic nature."

"Figured as much," Harry grumbled again.

"So then why didn't you call him out on it?"

"I did," the Gryffindor harshly defended, "but… y'know what? I don't know what happened. And it doesn't matter now anyway, so can we drop it?!"

"You brought it-"

"And I'm sorry I did!" Releasing his hand, Harry started feverishly scratching his arm, doing his best to ignore Snape's sharpened stare. Desperate for a change in subject, he asked, "Did you really do magic in front of Mae?"

Snape's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "She didn't say that, did she?"

"No," Harry violently shook his head. "I guessed based on her description of what happened. I didn't realize adults did accidental magic sometimes."

"Under extreme emotional circumstances, it is possible, although quite rare." Snape's dark eyes clouded. If Harry had his magic - and the ability to do Legilimency - he'd see the professor's memory of breaking the picture frame in his hands the day after his son's funeral. He'd see the blood, as clear as the day it occurred, pooling up into his palm giving Severus the idea to use it in the red potion and drink it. "I've done a small handful of accidental magic since completing my Hogwarts' education, most under dire circumstances."

The heaviness laced in his admission settled into Harry's chest, and, similar to a set of Dementors, it fed on whenever happiness he had inside of him.

"Mae didn't give me any details about what happened," Harry offered, still moving to scratch his side in any indirect way possible. "She thinks you got angry and hit the window somehow."

"Being called out as someone who shatters a window in a fit of rage isn't exactly any better." Snape approached the bed and once again pulled Harry's hand away from his skin. Lifting his warm pyjama shirt, both wizards examined the young wizard's pale skin.

"See," Harry's voice raised up half an octave in an attempt to hide his own fear, "it's fine."

Unconvinced, Snape clicked his teeth. "You're obviously having some kind of reaction to the new medication. I'll go get -"

"You're being paranoid, Severus." Harry hastily pulled down his shirt thinking of anything possible to prevent another exam. He needed a break from being poked and prodded. Besides, even if it meant regretting it later, Harry desperately needed to be able to make one decision regarding his body, and deciding to wait out the itchiness seemed as innocent as any. "The medicine only runs for another hour. I promise if it's still itching when the hour's up, or it gets any worse before then, I'll call the nurse myself."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to," the Gryffindor arrogantly challenged. "You can distract me by telling me what happened with Mae."

Hindsight always had its way of proving him wrong, and if Harry could see what the next two days would bring, he might have taken Snape's concern a little more seriously.