Professor Snape approached Draco Malfoy as he sat in the Slytherin common room, playing wizard chess with Fredericka Fredrick, a Fifth Year. “Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said to get his attention before gesturing with his fingers that the boy should follow.

Malfoy looked up cockily at his professor. With a casual shrug he stood and followed Snape to a dungeon classroom. As Snape shut the door, Malfoy shuffled over to a stool and hitched his hip upon it. He waited for his professor to speak with a tilted head expression of haughty impatience. Snape could not help but be glad to be getting rid of the boy in three short months.

“I have had a complaint about you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Yeah? Can’t imagine who that would have been,” he sneered. “You listening to Gryffindors now?”

“Only the ones I trust, I will admit,” Snape said. “But nevertheless. You had gone quiet and slipped below my attention so it came as a surprise. Not that I didn’t fully expect you would come into your own as a Malfoy once you grew up. I just hoped it would be well after you were no longer my responsibility.”

“He’s made you weak,” Malfoy said quietly. “You wanted that?”

“What you think is of no matter. You are required to heed me, not the other way around.” Snape paced to the high windows before turning suddenly back. “Are you guilty of what Mr. Potter accuses you of? It occurs to me that I have not ever seen you socializing with Ms. Fredrick before now.”

Malfoy shrugged. “What’s it to you? You my baby sitter now?”

“Yes, especially if you are crossing the line,” he replied in a very hard tone. The blond boy was adeptly Occluding his mind, making Snape suspect that Harry was correct. “If I see you again with a student below Sixth Year, I will make your life very miserable indeed,” he promised.

The boy grinned crookedly and shook his head in disgust. Malfoy said, “You fooled everyone.” When Snape did not immediately respond, he suggested, “Or are you fooling them now, maybe? Potter doesn’t seem that stupid, but maybe he is. Dumbledore for sure was that stupid. So easy. Just had to claim to be trying your best—”

“None of that is any of your concern,” Snape said.

“Really?” He slipped off the stool and stepped over to his teacher to peer up at him. “You betrayed…a lot of people…”

“They deserved to be,” Snape stated.

“…on both sides.” Malfoy gave him that sloppy grin again. “It’s truly too bad the Dark Lord, at least, didn’t catch you at it,” he said with a hint of relish at the notion.

Snape grabbed up the front of the boy’s robes and lifted him up to his toes. “Is there a particular reason you are taunting me? Or have your really grown that foolishly overconfident in your own insignificant influence? Your father is not going to be able to do anything for you…ever.” Snape released him, angry that he had lost control. With a frown he headed for the door.

“That’s what you think,” Malfoy whispered.

“Your delusions are your problem, Mr. Malfoy. Just remember what I said,” Snape returned in his most threatening voice.

That weekend, Snape and four other teachers were assigned to respell the castle. Harry watched them at it very early Saturday morning before most students were awake. Hagrid and he stood at the bottom of the steps as McGonagall and Sprout formed a blue field around the main doors. When the glow stabilized, they stepped back and watched it fade to invisible.

McGonagall stepped over to Harry. “Looks like hard work, Professor,” Harry said.

She shook her head. “The castle is designed to hold magic so it takes much easier than an ordinary object would. Every last stone was selected for its metal and crystalline content, especially around the doors.”

Harry considered that if he had ever managed to get around to reading Hogwarts: A History, he undoubtedly would have known that.

Unexpectedly, Neville came out wearing very Muggle clothes, exercise clothes in fact. He looked surprised to find them all standing there.

McGonagall gestured for him to head out. “Good morning, Mr. Longbottom,” she said graciously.

“Morning, Professor,” he said in a questioning tone.

Harry wondered what he was up to that the headmistress was so casual about.

“Just renewing the protective spells, my boy,” McGonagall explained to Neville.

At some point she had adopted Dumbledore’s form of address for them. Harry kept intending to point out its inappropriateness, but could not bring himself to.

“Good idea, ma’am,” Neville stated shyly, with a strange glance at Harry.

Harry wondered at the look and watched Neville as he moved off, went to the corner of the outer wall, and put one foot up on it and bent over his knee. Harry watched his friend rather than the teachers as the risers themselves were charmed. Neville changed feet a few times, then jogged off to the edge of the forest and started around the edge of the lawn. Harry tracked him as he fell into a smooth stride around the lawn edge.

Later, at breakfast, Harry said to Neville, “I didn’t know you ran.”

“I started over Christmas. A Muggle friend of mine got me started on it. It’s really relaxing.”

Harry gave him a doubtful look and returned to nibbling his bacon. Neville did look different, better proportioned maybe, as though he might actually be muscular under his robes. Harry wondered if the running had done that.

“What were the teachers doing this morning?” Frina asked Harry. “I saw you outside with them.”

Harry, noticing Penelope’s gaze come up curiously, blushed. He was finding himself much more concerned about her opinion of things. “They were renewing the protective spells on the castle.”

“Do any of the spells keep people in?” Penelope asked cautiously.

“Just out,” Harry replied reassuringly with a kind smile, thinking that Ginny would not like this look either.

“Good,” she breathed.

“What do I get, Mr. Potter, if I take today’s potion, ice concentrate it, mix it with Dermanus powder and boil it for five days?” Greer sounded victorious by the end of the question.

“Calamnute,” Harry replied confidently without looking up and without hesitating. The other four textbooks were bloody useful.

When Greer spun away with a huff, Frina asked curiously, “Doesn’t the house usually get points for answering such a question?”

Greer spun back around. “What house are you in, young lady?”

“I do not have a house.”

“You are at the Gryffindor table, are you not?” Greer sneered.

“We were not sorted, as you call it. We board in their tower, yes,” Darsha explained calmly when Frina was at a loss for words.

“Ten points from Gryffindor then, for your cheek,” she snapped at Frina.

When Greer had moved on out of immediate hearing range, Frina apologized in an angry, stressed whisper.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry assured her.

“Ron is very keen to win this House Cup?” Frina insisted.

“I think he is going to have to do without it,” Harry stated flatly.

Harry walked back from checking on Hermione and Frina’s wombat for them while they finished up a difficult Arithmancy assignment. The fifth floor corridor was quiet and empty, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He was half-hoping he’d run into Suze, even though he doubted she’d be out alone. He’d been trying for days to figure out how to talk to her, but she was always surrounded by members of the Slytherin team.

At the time she had told Harry to drop it. But as someone with a history of holding things in which he later realized he should have talked to someone about, Harry wanted to try one more time to communicate that lesson before giving up entirely.

Harry was wondering if he could arrange for a Third Year Gryffindor to talk to her in a joint class when his steps faltered. The hair on his arms prickled as though a draft had swept by him. Harry stopped and looked around. The corridor was empty, a half moon was revealed through the dark windows on the end. Even so, he reached for his wand. Nothing moved as he turned his head back and forth and he began to feel a little silly.

Harry let his wand hand fall to his side and took a step along the corridor. The next instant, he was sprawled face down on the floor. He rolled over immediately, propped on one stinging hand, wand held out. No target appeared. He had heard no incantation and had seen no spell trail. Breathing heavily, he moved the aim of his wand around him. The corridor remained utterly still.

“Accio Cloak,” Harry incanted. Nothing happened. He repeated the spell in the other direction, also with no effect.

He shifted to get up but found his legs befuddled somehow. He could move them, but they refused to get under him, making it impossible to stand. Heart racing harder at his predicament, Harry pulled himself along the floor a few feet, slowly, because he did not want to lower his wand and use both hands.

Harry needed help. He aimed his wand at the floor and began a Pravda Bird spell. As he spoke it and the bird emerged, his wand and the bird were blasted away from his hand. His wand skidded along the floor and stopped beside a painted marble statue of Corin Cornelius, who was carved giving a lesson on broom safety. The silver bird spiraled along the wall beyond the statue and vanished in a tiny cloud of silver sparks.

Harry looked frantically back along the path the spell must have taken, peering closely at the air for any sign of disturbance. No sound or movement was revealed. He considered yelling for help, wondered if anyone would even hear him, or if his pride could withstand it.

At the sound of a wand clattering on the floor he whipped his head back around. His wand was resting halfway between himself and the statue now, tantalizingly close.

Wondering again with a jolt of fear what was wrong with his legs, Harry pulled himself along the floor toward his wand. This time there was a spell flash overhead that reflected back and he was thrown forward by a curse. Stabbing pain shot through his skull as his nose and teeth struck unyielding stone.

Harry carefully raised his head and put his hand over his nose, which bled freely. A fancy black boot appeared beside his wand, beneath an invisible hem, someone under a cloak he failed to Fetch. Harry swallowed blood and watched in horror as the boot heel rested on his wand on the uneven stones of the floor, clearly intending to break it.

Harry threw out his left hand, and with all his will, shouted “Accio wand!” In his mind thoughts of Dumbledore setting him up to get that wand mixed with the emotion of the Final Battle, the most important time he had used it.

The wand scraped coarsely out from under the boot sole and hit his palm with a slap. He immediately cast a blasting curse at the spot above where the boot had just vanished. The spell shattered against the wall and echoed up and down the corridor. His aim, left-handed, had not been very good and the figure undoubtedly had moved quickly aside. The miss made him snarl in fury.

Harry rolled to a sitting position and switched the wand to his battered and bloody right hand and cast a rapid succession of blasting curses in an arc, all of them shattering harmlessly on the solid stone walls. As he scanned the hallway again for any small sign, he pressed his face painfully into his sleeve to keep more blood from his nose from streaming into his mouth.

An arc of silence passed beyond Harry’s harsh breathing, until voices sounded from an adjoining corridor. Harry worried that whoever it was might get hurt as well. When the figures turned the corner and saw him on the floor, they hesitated before continuing.

Harry recognized the streaming white hair on the smallest figure. “Did you see anyone?” Harry shouted, his voice flattened by his plugged nose.

The Slytherins approached faster now, all of them pulling out their wands and looking around themselves avidly.

“No,” Suze said as they came into the wider corridor, each of them aiming in turn at the far too real appearing Cornelius. “What happened?”

Harry closed his eyes in a moment of extreme embarrassment. “Someone kicked my arse. Someone under an invisibility cloak.”

He tried to stand up, which, if he had wanted to preserve the remainder of his dignity, he should not have done. Harry groaned and sat back heavily down and pulled his robes aside. His feet were flipped in odd directions. Suze gasped and leaned down to look closer in disturbed fascination. Someone else made a distressed stomach noise.

Calmly, Harry said, “I think someone took the bones out of my legs.” Experimentally, he moved his left leg and below the knee everything flopped bouncing over the stones. With a huff of utter frustration, Harry sat back and said, “Suze, can you get Professor Snape or the headmistress? Please?”

Suze nodded vigorously and stood straight. “Portny,” she ordered Wereporridge, “Take him to the dispensary.”

Wereporridge shrugged his too broad shoulders and stooped down to pick Harry up.

“Hey,” Harry said in alarm, “Don’t you know a Hover spell?”

“You don’t want to see his Hover spell,” Parkinson said dryly, “as much fun as it would be to see him use it on you.”

Harry kept quiet then. Suze ran swiftly ahead of them, light as a dancer and nearly soundless in her soft shoes.

Suze rushed down four corridors and one set of stairs. Professor Snape didn’t answer his office door and the classroom was dark. It was evening, but maybe they were holding a staff meeting.

By the time she made it down the many long staircases to the Entrance Hall, she was out of breath and disgusted by it. She had guessed right, though. Several teachers were meandering before the open door to the staff room, chatting. The four Heads of House were standing around McGonagall.

Breathless, Suze bounded over to them and gestured to explain.

“Ms. Zepher?” McGonagall said in question, putting a hand on Suze’s shoulder.

“Harry,” Suze breathed and watched their expressions and demeanors shift starkly to alarm as she took a breath to continue. “Attacked on the fifth floor…”

“What?” two of them said together as Snape moved quickly by her.

“Team taking him to the hospital wing,” she said urgently to Snape’s back.

He turned his head an instant to glance back before he continued rapidly up the stairs. McGonagall followed behind along with the others.

Harry, to his continued dismay, was dropped onto a bed in the hospital wing. To avoid messing the linens, he yanked off his shoes, bending his rubbery legs disturbingly in the process.

Pansy’s nasal voice rang out for Madam Pomfrey as though for an errant servant, grating on Harry’s battered nerves. Pomfrey bustled over and waved the other students away. They backed off to the other side of the wing and stood there uneasily.

Pomfrey lifted Harry’s chin and looked at his nose. “My, my, what happened, Mr. Potter?” she asked, and for once sounded genuinely sympathetic.

“My face hit the floor when someone hit me with a Reflecting Curse.” No sooner had he said this, than the double doors to the wing burst open and Snape came through them.

Harry dropped his eyes, feeling furiously ashamed. Pomfrey lifted his head again and spelled his nose unbroken. It felt much better immediately, making him sigh in relief. He could even halfway breathe through it now.

Snape came aside the bed as the headmistress entered the wing followed by Suze. “What happened?” Snape asked in alarm.

“Someone got the better of me. Obviously,” Harry replied in disgust.

“Who?” McGonagall asked.

“Don’t know,” he said angrily, gesturing with his hands. “Someone under an invisibility cloak.”

Snape’s eyes shifted to the Slytherin Quidditch players across the room.

Preemptively, Harry said, “If they hadn’t happened to come around the corner, I don’t know what would have happened. I couldn’t manage to hold my own.” Indeed, the notion that he had been expertly toyed with was grinding harder on his pride now that he had the luxury of thinking clearly.

Harry held still while Pomfrey made his tooth grow back in with a long series of loud seeming taps against what was left of the broken one. She then handed him a warm wet towel to clean his face and hands followed by a sip of blood replenisher. “And this: your favorite,” she said pleasantly as she poured out a cup from the distinctive Skele-gro bottle.

“Skele-gro?” Snape asked sharply.

Harry pulled his robe aside and moved a leg to demonstrate. Snape stiffened in surprise at the floppiness of his foot. McGonagall looked grimly thoughtful.

“Didn’t want me running away, whoever it was,” Harry commented darkly as he accepted the cup. He forced the liquid down past the stomach-churning taste and handed the cup back.

“Bad night coming up, Mr. Potter,” Pomfrey said sympathetically as she capped the bottle and set it on the side table.

“To go with my bad evening,” he muttered and dropped back on the pillow.

“No idea at all who it was?” Snape asked, sounding frustrated as he leaned over the bed.

Harry shook his head. “I only saw his or her boot. I didn’t recognize it. It was a nice one, though.”

He pulled out his wand and sat back up to reach the towel to wipe the blood smears off of it. The wooden handle had been badly gouged when he had compelled it to come to him. Maybe Ollivander could fix it, he thought, as he stashed it back in his pocket. At least it still worked.

“I’ll have your friends bring your things for the night,” McGonagall said before turning to leave. “And I’ll speak with you,” she said to the Slytherins, gesturing broadly for them to lead the way out of the wing.

Harry gave Suze a smile of thanks when she glanced back at him before the door closed, relieved she seemed her usual self.

Flopped back again with his hand over his eyes, Harry said, “I was useless. I tried to Accio the cloak away, but that didn’t work. I couldn’t think of anyway else to reveal him…or her.”

“There are a few things you could have tried,” Snape said evenly. “A Bolero spell for example.”

“Can you show me?” Harry asked, desperately eager.

“Tomorrow, certainly. When you can stand.”

Harry moved one limp leg. “Yeah,” he breathed. He shook his head and sighed. “Not really Auror material, I don’t think.”

Snape’s hand moved to his shoulder. “Harry, truly your pride cannot be that fragile,” he said in disbelief, sounding almost amused. At Harry’s dark frown, he added, “We will arm you so it cannot happen again, all right?”

Harry looked away, biting his lips at the pain blossoming in his legs from the Skele-gro. He nodded. Snape removed his hand. “I have marking to do, but I can bring it down here.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said dismissively.

“You are certain?” He looked surprised.

Harry nodded, feeling his wallowing in ineptness and his skeleton regrowing misery did not need an audience.

“Someone will be posted to the outer corridor although this wing is exceptionally spelled against acting on ill intent. You are certain?”

Harry dabbed at his face with the towel again. “I appreciate it, Severus. But it’s okay.”

As Snape stepped hesitantly away, the doors opened to reveal Harry’s friends. Snape raised a brow at them as they passed.

“Harry! What happened?” Hermione asked as she came over, sounding like it might be at least partially his fault.

Ron carried Harry’s pyjamas and kit, which he placed under the bedside stand. He looked too accustomed to doing that. Harry growled, but he sat up a bit against the pillows to explain.

Eventually, his friends were shooed from the room by Madam Pomfrey. Harry took out his things to change out of his school clothes, and buried in between his pyjama top and bottom he found the Marauder’s Map. Grinning at his friends’ foresight, he unfolded it and activated it after checking that Pomfrey was safely in her office.

On the Map the last students were heading for their respective House rooms. J. Finch-Fletchley was still in the library, moving around in the stacks. His friends were walking on the staircase. P. Tideweather was with the other Durmstrang students in the Gryffindor common room along with many others. He scanned all the names on the page. In the House rooms they were stacked up tight together. He did not see an Avery or Jugson among them, or any others he didn’t recognize. Sighing, he folded it up and stashed it in the pocket of his robe and lay down to sleep, confident in the spells on the wing to not let in anyone with ill intent. Desperate for a good rest, he forcefully Occluded his mind as he relaxed into sleep.

“Bella, pst!” a harsh voice whispered.

Bellatrix Lestrange sat up on the thinly padded stone pallet and squinted into the darkness. She hesitated a long time before moving to the cell door. When she did move, it was in near silence. The halo of blond hair was unmistakable.

“Lucius?” she breathed in confusion and extreme suspicion, “what are you doing out of your cell?”

Malfoy looked down the corridor in each direction before replying, “I need your help. I can’t get past the outer guards without an assistant.” He held up a sparkling silver-framed gem on a chain around his neck. “A friend finally came through with this.” He fingered it lovingly. “Some betray while others are brilliantly loyal. One never seems to know,” he whispered, as though speaking to himself. It could have been a pledge to revenge.

She gasped and grabbed the bars hard. “Is that an Ampliment?” she asked hungrily.

“Yes,” Malfoy replied, the word drawn out in a hiss. He stashed the shining thing back inside his robe. “I can only assume you would like to depart this place as well?” he asked cockily.

She laughed quietly. “You always have such a way with words.”

Harry was dreaming, a groggy, pain-filled dream that teased at being pleasant. He breathed out and breathed in another’s warm breath. This jerked him fully into wakefulness just as soft lips found his.

“Ginny,” Harry admonished, very dismayed.

The figure above him stood straight with a gasp and moved off. Quickly, Harry painfully sat up and reached for the bedside lamp just as the door to the wing opened with a swoosh. All he saw was a silhouette with very long hair turning into the dim light of the corridor.

“Peni,” Harry breathed in complete shock. “Ugh,” he groaned.

Compelled to follow, Harry put on his glasses and reached for the carved crutches sitting against the wall at the head of the bed. Rushing, and with his mind still swimming in sleep, he clumsily hobbled across the room. He thunked unceremoniously through the double doors at the end and paused because his hands were shaking on the crutches with exhaustion from carrying nearly all his weight.

The corridor was long empty and his strength wavered alarmingly. He stood swaying on the highly-polished, forked tree branches, trying to figure out what to do. The pain in his feet now overwhelmed his thoughts, making a decision impossible.

A figure appeared at the end of the corridor, billowing robes highlighted by the flickering sconces on the left side. “Harry?” Snape’s voice sounded.

“Did you see anyone?” Harry asked.

Snape glanced around himself in alarm before replying, “No. And since we just finished thoroughly searching the castle, I would hope not.”

He came aside as Harry mumbled, “Maybe I was dreaming, then.”

“Mr. Potter,” Pomfrey said as she strolled purposefully through the doors to the wing. “What are you doing out here?”

Harry’s feet throbbed ominously almost making him choke on his reply. “I don’t know.” He must be insane to be upright on newly grown foot bones, he decided. Only a Crucio had ever been more painful than what he was experiencing right now.

Snape stepped closer and took one of the crutches away before slipping an arm under his. “Take these, Madam,” he said, holding it out.

Pomfrey took one than the other crutch in hand and Snape hefted Harry into his arms. The hospital witch held the door open for them.

“You must have grown,” Snape complained breathlessly as he carried his charge back into the Dispensary.

Harry, stunned silly by the utter relief of being off his feet, did not reply. At his bed he expected to be dumped unceremoniously as Wereporridge had done earlier. Instead, he was lowered carefully to the mattress.

“What ever possessed you to get up?” Snape asked, befuddled, hand moving to Harry’s shoulder as he released him.

Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t want to get into it.”

Numb relief had given way to painful heat in his feet and ankles. Pomfrey’s hands on them relieved some of it as she gently pulled and twisted his feet one way then the other. When she finished, she tossed the duvet up over his legs and stalked away.

Snape straightened the covers as he said, “Trouble sleeping?”

“It’s strange sleeping here,” Harry said, thinking past nocturnal visitors. “The respelling has made the dormitory easier to sleep in. But it doesn’t feel like that here. Like the spells here are all twisted up.” He thought that over more as rubbed his eyes. “And it’s like the shadows are blocked out some when I’m in the tower. Is that possible?”

“Perhaps,” Snape replied, sounding concerned. “A number of night-calming spells were added to the Gryffindor tower with the intent of helping you sleep. That is on top of usual layered protective spells on the dormitories. The Dispensary, on the other hand, must allow for rather gruesome magic at times for repair of tissues.”

Harry tugged his glasses off and set them aside. He dropped his head back on the pillow and closed his tired eyes. “Could use one of those night calming spells right now,” he mumbled.

“The castle has been thoroughly searched. I will be at the end of the corridor for a time until Hagrid takes over for me. With a borrowed wand. So woe to anyone who approaches. Friend or foe.” In a firmer tone, he added, “Do not get up again until morning, Harry.”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry murmured, half unconscious from pain exhaustion.

Harry was in the Forbidden Forest at twilight. An aquamarine light shimmered in the cooling air as a breeze vibrated the leaves above him. A shadow floated by. He stepped back in fear of it but it did not notice him there. Other shadows flashed between the trees, seeking something.

Looking about himself in alarm, Harry attempted to hide, but the towering trunks retreated from him when he approached. He couldn’t hide, and he didn’t seem to have his wand, and he was still in his pyjamas. He wrapped his arms around himself from the chill of the dew collecting on his thin clothes as he moved.

Harry froze in place as two shadows shifted into the open cleared by his own attempts to hide. The shadows raced together, clashed. A horrible screeching went up and the trees faded away, revealing a dull green world.

A crackle of distress shot through Harry, forcing him to his knees. Shadows drew near from all around, hovering, thrashing. Harry reached out a desperate hand toward the wavering shadow in the middle of the cluster as it warped and shrank, drawing in a burst of wind as it plunked inward into nothingness. Other dark forms converged and retreated, thrashing, one shadow pulling at another shadow in their midst, clashing again.

Harry snapped awake with a gasp. The hospital wing enveloped him with its staid antiseptic peacefulness. At the last moment of the dream one well-defined shadow had emerged from the ground close to Harry, full of malevolence, aware of him there unlike the others.

Harry wondered what was going to happen next but he could not recapture it, even by closing his eyes and trying to drift. He was far too wired with alarm, with the prickly feel of that absent existence.

Harry’s face was wet. He dried it with a swipe of his sleeve and hurriedly fumbled for his glasses. Panicking now as the meaning of the dream flooded through him, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for the crutches. Memory of the earlier pain in his feet warred with his extreme need to check on his guardian.

“Mr. Potter!” Pomfrey said as she strode up the wing from her office.

“I have to…” Harry tried to explain.

“You have nothing you need to do at this hour, Mr. Potter,” she stated, hands on hips. Her strict manner relaxed, however, when she looked over his face.

“I have to see Severus,” Harry insisted, heart stopping panic filling him again as he said it.

“I will fetch him, then. YOU will stay put.” She stalked off.

Still holding a crutch in each hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, Harry tried to hold himself steady. It did not work all that well. The soul-deep betrayal, the pain of loss, of amputation had unnerved him badly, and it kept replaying itself in his head as he waited, terrified to think more about what it meant.

Finally, voices could be heard in the corridor. “I’m am sorry, Professor, for disturbing you,” Pomfrey was saying.

The doors opened as Snape said, “It is no matter.”

The crutch from Harry’s left hand hit the floor when Snape stepped into the dim light of the wing. Relief, like a spell of weakness, rendered Harry’s arms useless and he could not retain his grip on it.

Snape strode quickly over and scooped up the fallen crutch, gathered it up with the other Harry still held, and set them aside, his expression intently curious and concerned. The world had restarted and the spinning of it was making Harry’s thought’s tumble uselessly.

Pomfrey took the crutches up and placed them a little farther away. “Only if the hospital wing is on fire, Mr. Potter,” she lectured him.

“Harry, what is the matter?” Snape asked in concern.

Harry clasped his shaking hands together to quell them.

Snape, seeing this, grasped them and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. “Harry?” he prompted again more forcefully.

“I thought…” he started to reply before cutting himself off. He couldn’t think it again. But needing to explain somehow, he said, “Shadows are killing each other.”

Snape sat straight and gripped Harry’s hands tighter. “How close by?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “And I don’t just see it, I can feel it too.” Words failed him, so he fell silent, even though he dearly wanted Snape to understand.

Harry rubbed at his chest where the stab of loss had gone though him in the dream, where a wispy ache had been left behind. In that moment of violence he’d reached out to save the shadow, had done something to himself with that action.

“What is he saying?” Pomfrey asked. She stood between the beds, hands clasped before her the way she held them when she was diagnosing something.

Snape put an arm around Harry and pulled him sideways to lean against him. “I believe he is saying that Voldemort’s former servants are killing each other and that he feels them dying.”

Pomfrey took a step backward. Harry frowned and dropped his gaze so he didn’t see Snape give the hospital witch a most displeased expression.

Snape sighed and said, “You are safe here, Harry.”

“But I want to know what is happening,” he murmured. Strength was returning to his limbs, so he sat straighter under the reassuring weight of Snape’s arm.

“We should inform Minerva anyway. I can summon her,” Snape said, as he reached into his robes for his wand.

“I’ll fetch her,” Pomfrey said, forestalling him. “A little less abrupt to be woken in person.” She spun on her toe and strode out.

Harry let his head fall to the side, onto Snape’s shoulder. The warmth and solidity of him chased away the last of Harry’s mortal panic and with that calm the rest of his strength flooded back as well, as though the visions had half paralyzed him somehow, had not let him fully return to himself.

Eventually, the door opened again. McGonagall hesitated at the sight before her, until Pomfrey’s passing her inspired her to step forward.

As she approached, she put up a hand to stop Snape from explaining. “The Ministry contacted me just before Madam Pomfrey arrived. Seems there was an attempted breakout from Azkaban tonight. A bit of a battle ensued as a result and two former Death Eaters were killed.”

“Who?” Snape asked.

“The Lestrange brothers,” she replied. “It was apparently Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy who initiated the breakout. The Ministry assure me that they are all back in custody now.”

It irked Harry that he had felt such pain and regret at the death of one who had tortured Neville’s parents. In the dream he had longed to preserve him, which sickened him now. He was drawn back to the present by Snape’s arm shifting so that just a hand rested against his back.

“He saw it in his dreams,” Snape explained quietly to McGonagall.

Harry looked away. He didn’t want anyone to know that.

McGonagall stepped closer and said, “I’m sorry, Harry. I wish I had a spell to cut you free of them.” For a moment it seemed she would say more, but she patted his shoulder instead. “Need anything?”

Harry shook his head, still not looking up at her.

Snape asked. “Do you want me to remain for a time?”

Feeling renewed embarrassment on top of shock, Harry shook his head with certainty. “I’m okay now. I actually want to be alone.”

Snape stood up but stood near the end of the bed. Harry put his glasses aside yet again and lay down. Exhaustion tugged at him despite his aching bones. His eyes fell closed on their own but he didn’t think he dare actually sleep.

After a long span fingers touched Harry’s shoulder and then footsteps headed away, scuffing lightly on the stone floor.

As the door creaked open, McGonagall said, “I do apologize, Severus,” before their voices faded out.

In the dim corridor leading to the staircase, Snape asked, “For what? I do not think even Albus could sever him from these remnants of Voldemort’s magic. It is a part of him, probably has been since he received that scar.”

Hagrid saluted them with his wand as they passed him at the corner. McGonagall gave him a smile and waited to say more until the two of them reached the bottom of the stairs before parting.

“That wasn’t what I was referring to.” She smiled wryly and said, “I was apologizing for ever doubting that you could take care of him.”

Snape stiffened and put his hand on the handrail curling upward. “Hmf,” he huffed lightly while shooting her a disturbed look that lacked real conviction. He turned away and stepped up.

She grinned and shook her head. “Goodness, I do hate admitting that Albus was right,” she said to his back.

He paused midway up and turned, still holding the narrow eyed look from before. “Dare I ask about what?” he inquired with some snide.

McGonagall grinned more. “He must have been. Can’t imagine you’ve changed that much,” she commented playfully.

He jerked back around with an abrupt snarl before heading up and through the door to the next wing.