Harry stared at the open roll of parchment in front of him with distant, unfocused eyes. He was only partially aware of the parchment’s title glaring back up at him in bold, black ink. Explain the different properties and uses of powderized monkshood leaves, diluted bat blood, and shaved earwigs; and list what three types of antidotes they are the major ingredients in.

It was his summer homework. Potions, to be exact. Even after being excused from end of term exams because of his participation in the Triwizard’s Tournament the year before, Snape still seemed determined to assign Harry a workload of essays for the summer to make up for his year of missed Potions exams.

Harry ran his eyes over what he had already written. Powderized monkshood leaves his essay began... and that was it. The dark haired fifteen year old tapped the tip of his quill against the desk top agitatedly and glanced up at the small calender hanging above his bed. August seventeenth the calender said. It was only two more weeks until his scheduled return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (He had gotten his Hogwart’s letter only a few days before.) Only two more weeks till start of term and he still hadn’t finished his summer homework.

But somehow Harry couldn’t seem to make his mind focus. The properties and uses of powderized monkshood leaves and diluted bat’s blood, or even the knowledge that his already tenuous grade in Potions hung in the balance what he wrote in this essay, just didn’t seem to matter to him. Nothing seemed to matter to him anymore. Nothing since June twenty-fourth of last term. Not since the third task of the Triwizard’s Tournament...

Harry heaved a heavy sigh and set his quill back down. It was no use. He just couldn’t seem to make himself think about essays or schoolwork right now. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape memories of that fateful night barely two months ago. Even in his dreams he was haunted by images of Cedric Diggory’s body laying dead on the ground and the wretched, red-eyed form of the Dark Lord Voldemort rising from the surface of a steaming cauldron containing his very own blood.

Harry stifled a shiver at the mere memory of it and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a tired hand over his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t been able to get a decent night’s sleep since the night of Voldemort’s return. He felt constantly on edge, waiting to hear even the smallest inkling of information or news about the risen dark lord. He had even taken to hiding outside under the window of the living room in his Aunt Petunia’s hydrangeas to listen to the evening Muggle news. But as of yet he had heard nothing. Not even from his friends, Ron or Hermione, or Sirius. He received a steady flow of letters from all of them, but all their letters basically said was that they couldn’t tell Harry anything about Voldemort or what was going on right then, and that he should be careful until they saw him next. Nor had they mentioned anything about him coming to stay with them at the Burrow for the remaining week or so of break.

The thought of being totally in the dark and feeling as if he was being left out and forgotten was starting to grate on Harry’s nerves. Why wasn’t anyone telling him anything? Shouldn’t he – the person who had actually been there when Voldemort rose back to power – have a right to know what was going on!

Seized by a sudden surge of helpless frustration, Harry took his summer Potion’s essay, rolled it up, and angrily threw it across the room at his open school trunk in the corner. Hedwig, who had been dozing off in her cage with her head tucked under her wing, startled and gave an indignant hoot for being woken like she had. Harry paid her no mind.

Getting up out of his chair, Harry began to pace the length of his room like a caged animal. It wasn’t fair! They didn’t have any right to keep him in the dark like this! He had a right to know!

“BOY!” a sudden voice boomed from downstairs, so loud that it seemed to resonate from the very floorboards. “GET DOWN HERE NOW!” It was Uncle Vernon.

Great... Just what I need right now... Harry grumbled to himself. It was bad enough that none of his friends or godfather wanted to tell him anything, but he had also been stuck all summer at number four Pivet Drive with his Muggle aunt and uncle who hated everything and anything to do with magic and made a concerted effort to let Harry know this every possible opportunity they got.

“BOY!” came another booming yell from below.

“Coming!” Harry shouted back, just managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice for having to do such a thing.

Descending the stairs to the front hallway of his aunt and uncle’s house, Harry was met with a very purple-faced Uncle Vernon. “Where have you been, boy?” he roared as Harry finally stepped off the last step. “I had to call you twice! What’s the matter? Got rocks in your ears or something?”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, though truthfully not very sorry at all, “I was doing homework...”

Uncle Vernon made an angry, strangled sound somewhere deep inside his throat. “Homework, eh? Probably practicing pulling rabbits out of a hat or something like that if you ask me.” Harry didn’t say anything and merely stood there, staring back at his uncle and waiting to hear why he had been called downstairs. “Petunia, Dudley and I are going in to London to get Dudley some new shoes for school,”Vernon said, glaring down at his nephew with clear distain in his eyes.

“I won’t touch anything while you’re gone,” Harry said, immediately assuming Uncle Vernon was about to give him the usually speech about not touching the TV, stereo, or refrigerator while they were gone. “When do you plan to be back?”

Uncle Vernon eyed Harry distrustfully and said, “I’m not going to have to worry about you using your little voodoo magic around the house because you’re coming with us.”

Harry stared at his uncle dumbfounded. “What?”

“I said you’re coming with us. You probably need to buy stuff for that abnormal school or yours and I refuse to drive you back there just so you can go shopping. You’ll come with us now and get what you need. But don’t expect us to pay for any of it. I refuse to put any of my hard-earned money towards buying you cheap magic tricks.”

Harry stood there for a long moment of shocked silence, staring at his uncle in disbelief. Were the Dursleys really going to take him with them into London instead of locking him in his room for the afternoon? Not that the idea of spending a day with his aunt, uncle, and obese cousin was really something he would have willingly chosen to do, but the prospect of getting out of the house for a little while was an offer that sounded almost too good to be true. Over the course of the summer he hadn’t gone anywhere besides walks around the neighborhood and maybe to the park. The thought of being able to get out and let himself become lost in the hustle and bustle of busy London was something he was not about to pass up.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Go get ready! We’re leaving in five minutes, and don’t think we’re going to wait for you!” Uncle Vernon yelled, breaking Harry out of his shocked trance.

“Alright,” Harry said, turning on his heels and heading back up the stairs to grab his school list and money pouch.

Well, at least something that summer was starting to look up...

******

When Uncle Vernon finally parked the car and shut the engine off, Harry flung open the door and literally rolled out of the car with a great gasp of relief. Over the past year his cousin Dudley had to have put on at least a good forty pounds, and now took up almost the entire backseat of his uncle’s company car. Harry had had to spend the entire ride into London tightly pressed against the door with the doorhandle painfully jabbing him in his ribs. But even then Dudley had complained that Harry was taking up his side of the car which then inevitably led to Uncle Vernon yelling at Harry to stop crowding Dudley and stop taking up so much room. Harry was actually surprised the Dursleys hadn’t made him ride in the trunk (though in all honesty he would have rather ridden there than squished up against the door by his cousin). He supposed they were just afraid of what the neighbors would say if they saw him climbing into the trunk and having the hood shut on him...

A light drizzle had begun to fall from the slate gray sky overhead, filling the streets with a fine, misty haze.

“Be back at the car by seven o’clock,” Uncle Vernon said, opening an umbrella and holding it up over Aunt Petunia’s and Dudley’s heads. (Despite Uncle Vernon’s best efforts though, Dudley’ head was the only thing not getting wet by the rain; over half his bulk protruded out from under the umbrella). “And you better plan to find your own food for supper; Petunia, Dudley and I are going out to eat.” With that, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley then turned and began walking away down the street, leaving Harry behind, standing alone in the rain.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry pulled the hood of Dudley’s baggy, second-hand sweatshirt he was wearing up over his head, and started walking down the street the opposite way his relatives had just gone. It was at least ten blocks to the Leaky Cauldron and its magical hidden gateway to Diagon Alley.

At least it’ll give me time to clear my head, Harry thought as he started off, wiping away water from his glasses as he went. Truth be told, he really didn’t mind the thought of walking ten blocks to the Leaky Cauldron. There was something indescribably soothing about walking in the rain. The soft patter of raindrops on his head seemed to help clear his mind and make everything in the world much simpler, though he still probably wouldn’t have minded having an umbrella.

Who knew, maybe his little walk through the rain would even give him time to think about what he was going to write for Snape’s essay.

But as Harry made his way down the misty street, head lowered to the rain running into his eyes, the Boy Who Lived failed to notice a dark, shadowy figure slip out of a narrow side alley and follow after him down the street.

******

If there was one thing in the world Professor Severus Snape, Potion’s Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hated above all else, it was rain. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was just something about it that instantly put him in a dark and unpleasant mood. Perhaps it was how it made everything in the castle feel cold and damp. Or maybe it was how it made everything look so dismal and bleak outside. Whatever the case, he hated rain and woe be to any Gryffindor he had to teach on a wet and dreary day.

He didn’t always have this unexplainable hatred for rain. No, in fact, in his younger years he used to always love a good thunderstorm, complete with forked lightening and clapping peals of thunder. But ever since he began working as a spy for Dumbledore in the inner circle of Lord Voldemort’s ring of Death Eaters, he had acquired this strange abhorrence for storms. Perhaps (though he did not like to ponder the thought overmuch) it was because such storms always seemed to remind him of his dark past and time spent in the service of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Snape, however, pushed these thoughts from his mind and turned his attention back onto what he was doing. Madam Pomfrey was in need of a fresh supply of pain relief potion before the start of school in less than two weeks. Lord only knew what kinds of accidents or injuries were bound to happen this year. After last term, Snap wasn’t about to put it past any student to let a hex or two fly at some other unsuspecting classmate. And then there had been that whole disaster with the final task of the Triwizard’s Tournament...

Snape began to pound harder at the pickled beetle brains in the stone mortar he was working. If only they had figured out Mad-Eye Moody really wasn’t who he said he was sooner... Then perhaps none of this would have happened.

Damn that Potter... Snape cursed, his thoughts almost instantly turning towards the scarred, prodigal wonder boy that seemed to be the living embodiment of everything he loathed and hated. Arrogant. Rash. Self-centered. No sense of rules or authority. The list went on.

If only that boy hadn’t gotten himself into the whole mess and chosen as a school champion, or managed to get to the Portkey that had been disguised as the Triwizard’s cup before anyone else... Then none of this would have happened... Then Voldemort wouldn’t have been able to rise again, even stronger than he was before and ready to wage a second war on the wizarding world.

But then again, Snape was unable to stop himself before he'd already thought it, It wasn’t the boy’s fault he was entered into the Goblet of Fire under the name of a fourth school, or played as a pawn through the entire tournament to be nothing more than a catalyst for the Dark Lord’s return...

Snape snarled at himself and his own treacherous thoughts. The pickled beetle brains he was grinding were now nothing more than a fine brown power at the bottom of the bowl.

That boy is nothing but trouble, he told himself firmly, just like his father.

Giving the now thoroughly powderized beetle brains a few more pounds just for good measure, Snape dumped them into the simmering cauldron he was working over. The viscous material instantly turned a brilliant shade of green and let off a smell that was vaguely reminiscent of wet grass and frogs. Perfect, Snape smiled, gently stirring the bubbling concoction with a long wooden spoon. It never ceased to amaze him how he could always brew the perfect potion without fail.

Setting his spoon to the side to give the potion a little bit more time to simmer before he took it off the heat, the dark haired man turned from the table and slowly made his way across the room to one of the several small openings in the upper portion of the wall that served as his dungeon-office’s only form of windows. Outside he could hear the soft patter of falling rain.

For a few minutes, Snape just stood there, listening to the rhythmic pounding of rain, unable to tear himself away from its hypnotic sound. Though he could not explain it, he suddenly felt - like a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach - that something very bad was about to happen. Something that could possibly affect him and all those around him. Something that could very well possibly determine the fate of the entire world as he knew it.

Feeling unsettled and distinctly ill at ease, but unable to think of anything that could have caused such a strange feeling, Snape turned away from the window back towards his simmering cauldron of lime-green potion.

Damn rain...

******

Harry wasn’t sure when the feeling started, but he felt as though he was being watched. It was an unnerving, persistent feeling that refused to go away. Several times now he had felt compelled to look behind him to find the phantom source of his unease. But every time he did he saw nothing out of sorts.

There were only a few other people out walking the rainy streets with him. They were all Muggles by the looks of it. A mother with her young daughter close in tow hurried by him the opposite direction, several shopping bags tucked under her arm and her bright pink umbrella bobbing up and down with every step. A few other people sat on metal chairs under the large green awning of nearby cafe, sipping their coffee and nibbling on scones. Several other people sloshed past Harry down the street, hurrying to get themselves out of the rain. But that was it. Nothing else out of the ordinary or the least bit suspicious.

Shrugging his shoulder, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Mad-Eye’s own paranoia of being constantly hunted by dark wizards had started out like this: with the insistent, nagging feeling that he was being followed. Harry had to laugh at the idea. I wonder what they would call me if I started acting like Moody, he wondered, Probably something like Mad-Cap Potter or Nut-Head Harry.

Shaking the water out of his bangs as they began to drip into his eyes and streak his glasses, Harry started off again. But after only another block, the same feeling that he was being followed struck again, this time only stronger than everbefore.

Whirling around on his heels, Harry scanned the street behind him. He was just about to declare the street clear again and himself paranoid when out of the corner of his eye he saw what looked like a dark, cloaked figure slip down into a narrow side street half a block down the way. For a moment, Harry wondered if he wasn’t beginning to see things -that stress was finally starting to take its toll. But after another moment of hesitant indecision, Harry knew he had to investigate and find out who it was he thought he saw.

Turning back towards the side street he had seen the mysterious stranger disappear down, the fifteen year old wizard pulled his wand out of his back pocket. He knew he wasn’t suppose to do magic outside of school because he was under aged, but somehow just having the familiar feel of his wand in his hand made him feel better. Better safe than sorry, as his Aunt Petunia always said whenever she insisted Dudley wear his galoshes outside when it rained.

As he made neared the mouth of the side street, Harry pressed himself against the side of the building beside him and peered down into it. He knew how he must look to any body that might happen to stroll past at that moment and see him looking down another street like a constable in one of those American late-night police dramas. But the rain had begun to pick up a little more, and the street he was on was now almost completely deserted. Only a few people sitting around talking in a nearby cafe could have seen him, and none of them seemed to be paying him any mind.

Looking down the street, Harry saw no one and slowly made his way into it. This street looked almost exactly like the one he had just turned down off of except that it was narrower and seemed to have less shops lining it. But like the other it looked completely deserted and devoid of human life.

For a moment Harry just stood there and stared down the empty street. Great... Now you really are acting like Mad-Eye Moody, he told himself sourly. Shaking his head, Harry turned back towards the street he had just come. But just as he was about to put his wand back into his pocket and go back the way he'd come, he heard a low, deep voice speak almost right behind him.

“Well, well, well... If it isn’t the famous Harry Potter...”

Harry almost jumped a foot in the air at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and whirled around on his heels. There, standing barely even five feet away, was a tall, darkly cloaked figure with its hood pulled down low over its face. A jet black wand was clutched in its right hand.

“I thought that was you when I saw you getting out that car with those Muggles,” the mysterious man said, his voice low and somehow undeniably dangerous.

“Who are you?” Harry demanded, instantly bringing his wand up to bare in front of his chest, “Why are you following me?”

“I thought that was you,” the man went on as if he hadn’t even heard Harry, “I thought that was you, but I couldn’t help asking myself how such a pathetic looking little boy could have possibly been the reason for my Master’s defeat...”

Harry froze, his blood running cold. Great... How was it that he always managed to somehow get himself alone and cornered by one of Voldemort’s disgruntled ex-servants?

“But my Master is now returned,” the man went on, “And by your blood no less. And wouldn’t he reward me if I returned to him with you dead by my own hands” Even without being able to see his face, Harry could picture the evil smile etched across the man’s shrouded face by the gleeful anticipation in his voice. “Oh, Lord Voldemort would reward me well! I would become his most trusted servant and second-in-command. With your death, my Lord would finally be able to achieve everything he desires.”

Harry griped his wand tighter and pointed it at the cloaked Death Eater’s chest. “Well, I’m sorry to ruin your day but I don’t plan on dying any time soon.”

“What a foolish little boy you are,” the man laughed, “I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.” Then lifting his wand, the Death Eater leveled it at Harry’s chest. “Avada– ”

“Expelliarmus!”

Both shouting their curses at the same time, Harry was able to stop the mysterious man from finishing the rest of his Killing Curse, but the hooded Death Eater quickly leapt out of the path of Harry’s Disarming Spell and fired off another curse.

Harry managed to block the retaliatory curse, but was driven back several feet into the main street he had come off of by the force of the blast. “Stupefy!” Harry cried as he saw the Death Eater coming at him again with his wand held high to deliver the fatal curse. The hooded Death Eater once more blocked Harry’s spell and deflected it to the side with a wave of his black wand as if he was doing nothing more than shooing away a pesky fly.

Harry was beginning to panic. He needed help. He didn’t know how he was going to defeat this man. The Death Eater seemed able to block every one of his spells without even the batt an eye. He was undeniably one of the strongest dark wizards Harry had ever had to face (except for Voldemort of course).

And he just kept coming...

Unaware of his own actions, Harry took an unconscious step backwards away from the approaching Death Eater. The man was raising his evil looking black wand again, a faint greenish haze beginning to form at its tip.

No... Please, someone help! Harry wanted to cry out as he saw the greenish haze begin to grow darker and more condensed. He tried to raise his wand to fire off another Disarming Spell, but all he could seem to manage were a few red and gold sparks.

The man was once more speaking.

“Avada Kedav–”

But Harry never heard him finish the curse. For just at that moment, he suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires and squealing brakes, and felt a large, powerful mass slam into the right side of his body. He felt himself violently thrown off his feet, sent flying through the air. And just before everything went black, the strangest, most peculiar thought happened to cross Harry’s mind:

He never did get a chance to finish his summer potions essay for Snape...

******

Professor Snape looked up from his work and looked around the room in confusion. He had just been in the process of pouring his finished product of pain relieving potion into individual glass vials when he suddenly felt the phantom sensation of something large slamming into his side. Looking down, he saw that he had spilled some of the lime-green potion he had been pouring when the sudden sensation occurred.

Grabbing a towel, Snape quickly began sopping up the spilt liquid before it could drip down over the side of the table and onto the floor. Damn it... he mentally cursed as he patted and mopped at the spill. Finally finishing, he tossed the sodden towel to the side and glanced around at the empty room again.

What the bloody hell was that? he wondered, moving away from the table and standing in the middle of the room. Unable to answer his own question, Snape wandered over towards the small, barred windows at the other end of his dungeon-office, feeling shaken and distinctly ill at ease with the sudden sensation he just experienced. Looking through the bars into the driving rain beyond, the Potions Master was once more seized by an unexplainable surge of dread and the unshakable certainty that something very bad had just happened.

But whatever that could be, he could not say...

******

The first thing that registered in Harry’s brain as he felt himself return to consciousness was the cacophony of unintelligible shouts coming from all around him. Groggily blinking his eyes open, Harry forced himself up into a sitting position on the cold, wet ground.

“Oww,” he groaned as he felt his whole body protest the movement. He felt like he had just been hit head on by several runaway bludgers. His whole body ached with a pain that seemed to sink into the very marrows of his bones. His head pounded and ears rang with the shouts filling the air.

“I didn’t even see him! Oh my God! Oh my God, what have I done? I’m so sorry! I just didn’t see him! It was like he came out of nowhere!”

Wincing as he forced his throbbing body to stand, Harry looked around at the crowd now filling the once deserted street. Just a few feet away Harry saw a younger man in his early twenties with close cut blonde hair standing beside the open door of a running car. Several other people were huddled close around him, trying to calm him down. But the man didn’t seem to notice them and continued to stare at a spot half a dozen paces in front of his car, his hand clamped over his mouth as if he were about to be sick and his eyes filled with a wild, horrified look.

“I swear I didn’t even see him! I just couldn’t stop in time. I tried to brake, but with the rain on the road... Oh God, is he alright? I didn’t even see him, I didn’t see him! Please tell me he’s ok!”

Looking where the man continued to stare, Harry saw another group of people kneeling over something in the middle of the street.

“Someone call an ambulance!” an older man with thinning grey hair called out over crowd where he knelt next to a motionless form Harry could not make out through the press of bodies crowding around it.

“And tell them to hurry!” a woman beside the man exclaimed. “Oh God, the poor thing...” she breathed, turning her attention back down onto whatever it was everyone was huddling around.

More and more people were filling the street, drawn out of the surrounding buildings and shops by the drama taking place in the middle of the street.

Harry quickly scanned the faces of the growing crowd. He couldn’t see the hooded Death Eater he was fighting anywhere; he must have run away when whatever accident just happened here occurred. Somewhat relieved by that thought, Harry turned his attention back to the small group of people in the middle of the street.

What happened? The last thing he remembered was fighting the mysterious Death Eater in an almost completely deserted street. And now it looked like he had woken up in the middle of some terrible car accident... What happened?

Seized by a sudden surge of morbid curiosity, Harry slowly made his way towards the huddle of people. People moved and hurried about him in an almost chaotic fashion, as if they weren't quite sure what they were suppose to do. But none of them seemed to pay him any mind. Drawing near, Harry stood back and watched as several people kneeling on the ground suddenly stood and moved aside– and then froze.

The thing everyone was huddled around and yelling over was a person. But not just any person. It was a boy. A boy in a large baggy sweatshirt and jeans several sizes too big for his thin frame with wild black hair that seemed to stick up in every which direction. He wore thick glasses and just under his wild mess of bangs Harry could make out the outline of a lightening bolt shaped scar...

The boy was him!

Harry stood frozen to the spot, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. It was him laying on the ground. But he was standing right there! Surely this had to be some kind of mistake or horrible dream. This just couldn't be right!

“Where is that ambulance?” the woman kneeling beside his motionless body demanded, gently taking one of his hands into her own as if trying to offer comfort. “And where are his parents? No child should be let to wonder the streets alone in the rain. Oh dear, he looks no older than my own son...”

“Has someone called the authorities?” someone else called.

“Yes. They should be here any minute. I just hope the ambulance gets here though...” the older man said, “I think this is serious...” As he said this, he shrugged his suit coat off and bundled it under Harry’s head as a makeshift pillow against the cold, wet pavement.

“What happened?” another person asked from the ring of people crowded around Harry.

“Don’t know. Driver of the car said the boy just jumped out in front of him. Tried to stop but couldn’t brake in time. Hit the kid head on...” someone else replied.

“God... poor kid... Do you think he’ll make it?”

Harry stared in horrified disbelief, the words of the huddled group only numbly registering in his frozen brain. This was just not right!

“No! I’m right here!” Harry began to frantically shout, trying to make himself heard over the background murmur of yells and shouts, “It’s alright, I’m right here! I’m right here!” But no one even looked up at him as he pushed his way to the edge of people kneeling around his body. No! This wasn’t right! He was right there! Couldn’t they see him? “I’m right here! I’m right here!”

“Where's that ambulance?” the woman once more shouted, her voice taking on a slightly hysterical pitch.

“Don’t worry,” someone from the back of the group called, “I think I hear them coming.” Even as they said it, somewhere in the distance the muffled warble of approaching ambulance sirens could be heard.

“Can’t you hear me?” Harry shouted almost right in the older man’s ear, “I’m right here!” But the man didn’t even flinch let alone turn his head to look at the boy who stood barely five inches away from him, desperately shouting into his ear.

Why can’t they hear me?! Harry wanted to wail in growing panic. Why won’t anyone look at me?!

But just then another man approached the group of people surrounding Harry’s body and came to stand right next to Harry where he stood watching in growing panic. So close that he could have brushed right up against Harry’s shoulder. Only the man didn’t brush up against him. Rather the man’s body went right through Harry as if he wasn’t even there.

Giving a startled cry, Harry lept back from the man in surprise. He was shaking now as comprehension slowly began to dawn. No! no! no! Please no! Looking down at his hands for the first time since waking, the teenage wizard felt his stomach drop out from under him as if he had been turned upside down on his head. No! no! no! NO!

His hands! His hands! What happened to his hands? No longer were they fleshy pink and solid, but rather a pale transparent grey! He could actually see his feet through them! He was a ghost!

“NOOO!” he wailed in terror, “No! It’s not real! I’m not dead!” But looking at his still, lifeless body laying in the middle of the street, Harry could not deny that what he was seeing was real.

“Make way! Make way!” someone began shouting, “The paramedics are here! Move aside!”

Harry watched in sickening helplessness as the people crowding around his body quickly broke up and began moving away to the sides. The woman holding his hand gave it one finally squeeze before she too slowly stood and stepped away, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she sadly looked down at him before being swallowed from sight by the crowd.

Pushing their way through the crowd, a pair of paramedics suddenly appeared and hurried towards Harry’s motionless body, pulling a gurney piled with bags and other equipment behind them. Kneeling beside the motionless boy, one paramedic leaned down over Harry and peeled one eyelid back as she shined a tiny flashlight into his empty green eye. On the other side of Harry, the other paramedic was cutting away Harry’s sweatshirt to press a stethoscope to his bare chest.

“Did he regain consciousness at any point?” the female paramedic demanded to the hovering crowd.

“No,” someone called back, “He’s been like this the entire time.”

The paramedics worked quickly, examining Harry’s body and taking vital signs.

“We have to get him to the ER,” the male paramedic finally said as he leaned back and ripped the stethoscope from his ears, “He’s suffered several broken bones and possible internal damage, and his pulse is dropping fast.”

Working together, the two paramedics hoisted Harry’s broken body up onto the gurney as gently as they could and strapped him down, all while Harry stood barely five feet away watching in a numbed sort of trance.

“Make way! Coming through!” the female paramedic called, pulling the gurney with Harry’s body as she and her partner hurried away back towards their waiting ambulance with their injured patient in tow.

For a moment, Harry just stood there, lost in what felt like a terrible whirlwind of confusion. What was he suppose to do? Should he follow them or stay here? He just didn’t know. What were you suppose to do when you suddenly woke up and found yourself a ghost no one could see or hear? This wasn’t exactly a situation he could have prepared for. He felt like he had suddenly been set adrift in a turbulent sea of choppy water that was trying to drag him under and drown him in its dark, watery depths.

Unable to think of anything else to do, Harry turned and sprinted after the departing paramedics. They had already begun to lift the stretcher with his body on it up into the back of the ambulance. His body lifelessly bounced around as the gurney was jostled about and shoved into place. Securing it, the two then jumped up into the back of the ambulance after it and took their places on either side of Harry’s unresponsive body.

Harry barely even managed to throw his incorporeal self in as well before the two turned and shut the door behind them and signaled for the driver to go. Sirens blared to life and the ambulance was off. Dazed and terrified beyond words, the fifteen year old wizard hunkered down in the corner of the speeding bus, watching as the two paramedics set to work on his broken body. IV lines were inserted into veins and an oxygen mask fitted over his mouth and nose.

This is all just a bad dream, Harry kept telling himself as he watched them begin sticking tiny circular pads across his heart and chest, Just a bad dream... That’s all this is, just a bad dream... But no matter how long he sat there watching the two paramedics fight to save his life (the irony of them trying to do so while he sat there watching as a ghost hopelessly lost on him) he did not feel himself drawing any closer to waking up from this hellish nightmare.

Dumbledore will know what to do, he suddenly thought, If nothing else, Dumbledore will know what to do... When he finds out about what happened and comes, he’ll know exactly what to do... But somehow even this didn’t seem able to totally banish the frantic terror that was steadily building up inside him.

He suddenly felt the ambulance make a sharp left and speed up a smooth driveway. As the ambulance came to a fast but smooth stop, the two paramedics leapt forwards and threw open the back doors of the van. The male paramedic quickly clambered down and turned to help his partner lower the gurney out of the ambulance and prop it up on its legs so they could wheel it through a set of glass doors with the words emergency room stenciled across them in bold white letters. Harry followed close behind, still feeling as if all of this was just some sort of terrible dream he couldn’t yet wake up from.

His body was swiftly wheeled into a large, white, sterilized looking room off the main corridor of the hospital with several doctors and nurses already waiting for them.

“Status?” one of the doctors asked as he bent down over Harry’s body with a stethoscope in his ears.

“Blood pressure eighty-three over thirty-two and still falling. Kid was hit by a car. Sustained three broken ribs, a fractured tibia, and possible internal damage” the female paramedic said, backing away to let the doctors in closer, “No known family was there with him at the scene when we arrived.”

“Get me two bags of O neg blood, Marge, and then go see if you can’t find any information on this boy’s family from the police. We may need to get them here fast...” the doctor said as one of the nurses turned and hurried out the door. Marge quickly returned only a few minutes later with two pouches of dark red blood and disappeared again.

It looked like utter chaos to Harry as he watched the numerous doctors and nurses work frantically over his thin, lifeless body.

“Blood pressure sixty-five over twenty! Heart rate at thirty-three!” one nurse yelled.

“Someone go call Mathers up in surgury. Tell him we’re gonna have a serious car accident victim coming up soon,” another doctor called.

“Heart rate at twenty-two and still falling!”

“I need more blood over here! The kid’s bleeding out!”

“Sixteen!”

“I need five Ccs of adrenalin, stat!”

“Seven!”

A long, loud drone suddenly filled the room.

“The kid’s flat lined. Someone grab a crash cart!”

Harry watched in frozen helplessness as one nurse turned and pulled a large boxy machine on wheels over to the edge of the table. One of the doctors quickly grabbed two identical paddles up from it and waited as another nurse leaned forward and spread some thick jelly like material on them.

“Ready?” the doctor called, pressing the paddles to Harry’s chest, “CLEAR!”

Harry’s body arched up over the table and flopped back down, his head lifelessly lolling to the side. The electronic whine continued to drone.

“Again! CLEAR!”

Harry’s body once more jumped and fell.

“CLEAR!”

Nothing.

“CLEAR!”

Still nothing. The high pitched, somehow finalistic sound of the monotonous electronic drone seemed to bore into Harry’s brain, drilling into him the unquestionable, horrifying truth of the whole scene.

One of the others doctors ripped off his gloves and angrily threw them onto the floor. “Do you want to call it?” he asked the other doctor with the metal paddles still in his hands.

No! No! No! I’m right here! Can’t you see me! I’m not gone! I’m right here! Harry wanted to rant and rave until the doctors finally heard him or his voice grew hoarse from trying. But no sound seemedable to come out of his constricted throat.

“Yeah... Time of death, three thirteen in the afternoon...”

No...

But there was nothing to change the horrible truth of the matter. Harry Potter, the legendary Boy Who Lived, was dead.

Harry did not know how long he stood there staring at his own dead body. It seemed so surreal. Like he was watching it happen like some sort of movie from far, far away.

One by one the boisterous, beeping machines hooked to Harry’s body were shut off, casting the room into a strange, empty silence. He was barely even aware of the doctors and nurses as they slowly began filtering out of the room, sadly shaking their heads in defeat. It was such a waste, they were saying to one another, he had been so young...

So young... So young... The words echoed in Harry’s ears like an ominous chant.

No. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t happening! There had to be some sort of mistake!

One of the nurses had stayed behind. Gently, in a very motherly way, she went about arranging Harry’s body, positioning his arms and head on the table until he looked like he was laying in peaceful revery. Then retrieving a clean white sheet, she carefully draped it over his body up to his chest.

“You poor thing...” she whispered, tentatively brushing a few stray strands of jet black hair from his forehead, “So young...” Then giving Harry’s pale white face one last look, she turned and disappeared out the door.

Harry stood in the corner of the room, frozen to the spot. With the departure of the last living person from the room, the full magnitude of what happened suddenly hit Harry like a sledge hammer to the gut.

He was dead. He had been hit by a car and killed. He was dead!

Breathing hard as frightened, disbelieving tears began to fill his eyes, Harry blindly reached out to steady himself against the wall beside him. Trembling, the frightened teenager clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting to stave off the flood of tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

He was dead! He was dead! He was dead!

He felt like someone had filled his stomach with acid rocks. He was sure he would have thrown up if it were physically possible in his newly acquired ghostly state. Suddenly feeling very weak in the knees, Harry slid down against the wall to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and huddling into a ball in the corner of the cold white emergency room.

Oh God he was dead! What was he going to do! What was going to happen to him now?

More than ever before – even more than when he had been captured by Lord Voldemort and tied to a tombstone in the cemetery of Tom Riddle’s parents – he wished someone else was there with him. He wasn’t sure what he expected anyone else to do for him, but he just wanted someone there. He just wanted to know that someone he knew knew what happened to him. He didn’t want to be alone...

Oh God what am I going to do? What do I do what do I do what do I do?

Frightened tears were now streaming down his cheeks.

Oh God please help... What am I going to do?

Harry felt sick. He felt like he could just curl up in a corner and die (the irony of such a thought still lost on him).

Please... someone help...

At that moment he suddenly heard a loud, inarticulate shout from down the hall, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps coming straight towards his room.

“Where’s the boy you say? In here?” a deep, familiar voice bellowed.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his stomach leaping into his throat. That kind of bellow could only be made by one person...

As if to confirm Harry’s suspicions the familiar magenta face of Uncle Vernon popped into sight through the doorway down the hall. Following close behind him, Harry could see his Aunt Petunia and lump of a cousin, Dudley, hurrying to keep up with Uncle Vernon’s angry gait.

“Now where’s that god damn boy?” Uncle Vernon bellowed again as he drew nearer, his purple face twisted up in a ugly snarl, “Always getting into trouble and ruining our day out. I swear when I get that boy home I’m gonna–”

But Uncle Vernon never got a chance to say what he was going to do. For just as he came to stand on the threshold and scanned the room, any other angry words he might have uttered seemed to leave him on the swift wings of owls as he finally spotted the small, shrouded figure laying on the ER table. For several moments he just stood there, staring open mouthed at Harry’s still body. Behind Vernon, Harry heard his Aunt Petunia give a small gasp of surprise.

“Sir? Sir!” came another voice from behind Uncle Vernon, this one gentler and more feminine – possibly one of the hospital nurses. “Are you this boy’s family?”

Vernon seemed to recover himself a little bit and looked back at a short, blonde woman who had pushed her way forward to stand next to him in the doorway. “What? Oh... yes. I’m the boy’s uncle.” He glanced back at Harry’s pale, motionless body. “What happened?”

“Poor boy was hit by a car. He was rushed here by paramedics, but they were unable to save him... I know how hard this must be for you and your family right now,” the woman said, her voice changing to a very soft and comforting tone, “My name’s Amy; I’m one of the hospital’s grief counselors. The hospital offers free services for family’s going through such times of grief. If you would come with me I can give you my card and–”

“That won’t be necessary,” Uncle Vernon quickly cut her off, “We won’t be in need of any of your services.”

The woman seemed taken aback by Uncle Vernon’s brusque refusal, but managed to keep her face neutral and composed. “Then I am going to need to ask you to come with me and fill out some paperwork on your nephew,” she said, “He was brought in with no identification and certain forms must be filled out before his body can be released from the hospital.”

Uncle Vernon made a sound that sounded almost like the grunt of a pig. “And I suppose we’re the ones that are going to have to be responsible for the boy’s burial?”

This time Amy, the hospital grief counselor, was unable to keep her emotions from showing. A look of utter disbelief flashed across her face. “What? Sir, surely you must be joking...” she sputtered.

“That boy was left on our doorstep as a baby and left for us to raise and take care of, and now we’re suppose to pay for someone to dig a hole in the ground to put him in?” Uncle Vernon snorted contemptuously.

“Sir, surely your nephew deserves a proper funeral and burial...”

“Deserves? Deserves what? What has he ever done to deserve anything? Even dead the boy keeps finding ways of making us pay for him.”

Amy now had a look of horrified disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand a word of what Uncle Vernon was actually saying. “Sir, if you refuse to take him, your nephew’s body will have to be given a state funded burial and–”

“That will not be necessary,” a low, gravely voice broke in from behind Uncle Vernon.

Amy and Uncle Vernon both wheeled around to see a tall, stately old man with a flowingsilver beard and half-mooned shaped glasses standing there. Beside him stood an older woman with glasses and her hair held in a tight bun at the back of her head. Beside her also stood another man, this one younger with greying hair and a pinched, tired look to him as though he hadn’t slept or ate in ages.

“We will see to everything,” the old man said.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry cried in surprise and unending relief, “Professor McGonagall! Lupin!” Dumbledore was finally here... Everything was going to be alright now...

Uncle Vernon eyed the aging wizard suspiciously for a long moment of silence. Though Dumbledore was dressed in Muggle clothes consisting of dress trousers and a jacket, he had lost none of his powerful aura or presence, and Uncle Vernon seemed to sense this. “You’ll see that the boy’s buried?” he snorted incredulously.

“We will,” Dumbledore answered softly.

Uncle Vernon seemed to accept this and turned back to Amy. “Now where are those papers we have to sign? I want to get out of here.”

Amy stared at Vernon in disbelief. But Vernon did not wait for her to answer and quickly strode off down the hall, leaving her to stare after him.

Harry however was not the least bit surprised by Uncle Vernon’s unwillingness to care if he even got a proper burial. It wasn’t like he ever expected much from him anyway... But when Harry glanced over at his Aunt Petunia, expecting to see her hurrying off after her husband, he was startled to find her still standing in the door, staring at his body with a look he’d never seen on her when it came to him before. What was it? Regret? And was that a faint shine of tears in her eyes?

Harry stood there frozen in shock as he saw his aunt raise sorrowful eyes up to meet those of Dumbledore.

“I never meant for this to happen...” she whispered, staring at the old wizard as if somehow asking him for forgiveness, “I may have never loved the boy or shown him much affection, but I never meant for this to happen...”

Dumbledore seemed to understand and nodded his head slowly.

Aunt Petunia gave one last look at Harry and then turned, ushering a goggling Dudley away. When they had finally disappeared down the hall, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the still, shrouded figure on the table. A deep sorrow seemed to resonate from his ancient blue eyes – eyes that had seen far too much death and grief throughout the many long years of his life.

He slowly stepped into the room, McGonagall and Lupin close behind. The Transfiguration teacher quickly swept around Dumbledore and hurried to Harry’s side, her long green Muggle dress swishing loudly over the cold white hospital tile as she did. As she came up beside the table bearing Harry’s lifeless body, Harry was startled to see her cover her mouth and stifle a cry of despair. Dumbledore slowly came to stand at Harry’s feet, Lupin close beside him.

“Oh Albus...” McGonagall whispered, reaching out to pet back the bangs from Harry’s still, white face. Tear began to form in her eyes.

“Are you his family?” a soft, tentative voice came from the doorway. Amy the hospital grief counselor still stood there, watching the three newcomers closely.

“No,” Dumbledore said, not turning around to face her, “We’re teachers from his school.”

Amy seemed to mull this over for a second. “You were close to him?” she asked.

“Yes. He was one of my brightest students in years. He was almost like a son to me...”

Amy nodded thoughtfully. “He deserved better than those people for a family... At least he had someone that cared for him...”

Dumbledore said nothing and continued to stare down at the body of the young boy in front of him.

“Can you tell me... What was his name?” Amy softly asked.

“Harry. Harry Potter...”

“Harry Potter...” the grief counselor repeated thoughtfully. “I’ll remember that name...” Then with no other words, the woman turned and walked away, the soft tapping of her heels slowly receding down the corridor into the distance.

For a moment neither McGonagall, Lupin, or Dumbledore moved, all seemingly too stunned to do or say anything.

“Oh Albus...” McGonagall whispered, her fingers taking up the slow, rhythmic motion of petting back the hair from Harry’s face, as though she were gently trying to wake him from whatever strange sleep it was that had claimed him.

“How did this happen, Dumbledore?” Lupin breathed, his pale, empty eyes fixedly glued to Harry’s unmoving face. Lupin suddenly looked much older to Harry, as though he had aged ten years overnight.

“It was that damn Mundungus!” McGonagall cried, her one hand that was not rhythmically stroking Harry’s hair now shaking in rage and her eyes filled with tears. “He was suppose to be watching Harry and he left to go check on some shoddy batch of stolen cauldrons! I will kill that man when I see him next, Albus, I’ll kill him!”

Dumbledore, who was usually so levelheaded and calm, shocked Harry to his very core when he heard the old wizard softly whisper under his breath, “So may I...”

“What are we going to do?” Lupin said as if still in a daze, talking more to himself than anyone else there, “How am I going to tell Sirius?” A sick, horrified look suddenly entered Lupin’s eyes. “Oh God... How am I going to tell Sirius?”

This seemed to finally bring Harry out of his trance and back to the present. “Lupin! Lupin, I’m right here!” he frantically called, hurrying over towards the group of teachers around his body. “I’m right here! You have to help me! I’m not dead! I’m right here!” But for all his efforts, none of them even blinked in response.

“That sorry excuse for a wizard...” McGonagall hissed under her breath, her whole body now shaking with rage, “I’ll kill him... I swear I’m going to kill him...”

“No! Professor, I’m right here! Can’t you see me?” Harry cried, trying to reach out and touch McGonagall’s arm to make her look at him, but his hand passed right through her as if there wasn’t even anything there.

“What are we going to do about his body?” Lupin whispered, his eyes somehow more hollow and dead than Harry ever thought a living person’s eyes could look.

“We will take him to Hogwarts...” Dumbledore said, still sadly staring down at his young charge’s face, “I think right now that is the only appropriate place for Harry to be. It was what he considered home...”

“Professor!” Harry wailed in growing distress, “Professor, please! I’m right here! You have to help me!” But Dumbledore did not acknowledge Harry’s presence him any more than McGonagall or Lupin did.

The world seemed to come to a grinding halt around Harry. He felt panic once more rising up inside him. What was he going to do now? He had been so sure Dumbledore would be able to help him. But now what? Dumbledore couldn’t see or hear him any more than anyone else could. What was he going to do? If Dumbledore couldn’t help him, then who could?

Harry stood there lost, feeling as if he was slowly being swallowed by some bottomless pit of helplessness and confusion.

“How are we going to get him out of here, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked, finally tearing watery eyes away from Harry’s face to look up at Dumbledore. “The Muggle doctors will surely stop us if they see us taking Harry out.”

“We will use a Disillusion Charm that will make us invisible to Muggle eyes,” Dumbledore said. Harry suddenly realized how empty Dumbledore sounded, as if he had lost all ability of expressing any other emotion except sadness and grief. “We will take him by Floo back to Hogwarts... It will be the fastest and easiest way to transport him back to the castle. The nearest fireplace network I believe is in the Leaky Cauldron. We will try and be as discreet as possible about it though. Everyone in the wizarding world doesn’t need to know what happened to Harry just yet, though I doubt this can be kept secret for very long... Merlin only knows the poor boy does not deserve to be made a spectacle out of...especially now...”

Neither Lupin or McGonagall said anything as Dumbledore slowly walked around the table until he was right across from McGonagall on Harry’s other side. Reaching down, the old Headmaster gently – almost reverently – began gathering Harry’s limp form into his arms, slipping an arm under Harry’s shoulders and knees.

“Wait, Albus,” McGonagall said, “If we’re going to be seen by anyone else, I will not stand to have Harry seen in such a state.” Leaning across the table, she quickly produced her wand out of her dress sleeve and waved it over Harry’s head. In an instant the large breathing tube that had been inserted down Harry’s throat when he first arrived in the emergency room vanished. With another wave, McGonagall banished all the tubes and wires hanging off of Harry’s body too. It was only when she finished gently tucking the ends of the white sheet draped over Harry’s body around him that she finally looked up and nodded her consent to Dumbledore.

Despite his old, wizened frame, Dumbledore easily lifted Harry’s body up off the table into his arms. Harry’s head hung limply over Dumbledore’s arm, his bangs falling back to reveal his lightening bolt shaped scar beneath. For a long moment of silence, Dumbledore just stood there, staring down at his student’s pale white face. For one horrifying moment, Harry thought he was about to see Dumbledore break into tears. But the old Headmaster seemed to collect himself just at the last moment and croaked out in a low, unsteady voice, “Obscuro.”

Harry saw Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin’s outlines waver for a second as if he were looking at them through a cloud of filmy gas before they quickly coalesced back into clear, definite shapes. He knew they were now invisible to all Muggles that might try and look at them.

Not saying a word, Dumbledore then turned and walked out of the room, bearing the lifeless body of the Boy Who Lived away. McGonagall and Lupin followed close behind, their heads lowered and faces solemn.

Again finding himself at a momentary lost for what to do, Harry broke into a run after them, following them down the white hospital corridor, past the emergency room reception area, and out into the rainy streets beyond. Even if Dumbledore or the others couldn’t see him, he still didn’t want to be felt alone. Nor did he want to be separated from his body.

No Muggle moved to stop them or even look up at them as they passed. Like a silent funeral procession, Dumbledore led them through the twisting maze of London streets back towards the center of the city. Their somber party met no one as they traveled the rainy streets, carrying the body of their fallen child-hero. But as they turned down the street Harry knew contained the Leaky Cauldron, several people Harry took to be witches and wizards because they actually seemed able to see Dumbledore stopped dead in their tracks, staring in open-mouthed shock at the sight they beheld.

Dumbledore passed them all without a word, not even meeting their eyes to show he had seen them. The old wizard didn’t seem to see anything around him actually. He merely stared ahead, eyes unfocused and distant as if lost in deep, anguished thought.

The weathered wooden sign of the Leaky Cauldron finally appeared up in the distance. It swung and creaked noisily in the rain on its hinges above the door, as if mournfully announcing the arrival of Dumbledore and his unhappy burden. As they neared, Lupin wordlessly stepped around Dumbledore and held the door open for him as he passed through into the dimly lit tavern beyond.

All sound and movement instantly ceased the moment Dumbledore walked through the door, carrying Harry’s lifeless body in his arms. No one seemed to even breath in the shocked silence that filled the normally bustling pub as those there turned in their seats and stared in bewildered disbelief at the ones standing in the doorway.

“Tom,” Dumbledore called softly to the Leaky Cauldron’s aging proprietor at the bar, “We need to use the Floo network back to Hogwarts...”

“Of– of course, Headmaster,” Tom stammered, hurrying over towards the tavern’s large fireplace on the other side of the room.

Dumbledore silently crossed the room after him, not even recognizing the stares that followed him from all those there. At the fireplace, Dumbledore silently stepped up into the hearth and turned to face out, Harry’s head lifelessly hanging down over his elbow.

“Hogwarts,” he tonelessly called as Tom threw down a handful of powder for him into the fire. In a flash of green Dumbledore and Harry’s body were gone.

McGonagall went next and also disappeared from sight. As Lupin slowly stepped up to the hearth, Harry felt a jolt of dread course through him. How was he going to travel by Floo if he didn’t have a body? Not really thinking and merely throwing chance to the wind, he leapt forward and squeezed himself next to Lupin in the fireplace as the werewolf grabbed a handful of Floo powder from Tom and threw it down into the flames.

“Hogwarts,” he called and a bright green wall of flames instantly leapt up to engulf them both. Harry felt himself suddenly spinning and whirling down a long tunnel of darkness. Multiple other portals of light sped past as Harry hurtled down through the darkness, signaling the exit points for other Floo fireplaces. But it was only with a sudden jolt that the world stopped spinning and Harry found himself falling out of one of the fireplaces in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Struggling to his feet, Harry saw Lupin trudging off towards the doors of the empty hall.

“Professor!” Harry called out, only belatedly remembering no one else could hear him. Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Harry hurried after him.

In the main entrance hall of the castle, Harry also caught up to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Together the three teachers began to ascend the grand staircase, Harry following close behind them unseen.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore softly intoned as they climbed, “Would you please be so kind as to go fetch Madam Pomfrey for me? I would like to see if she can’t perhaps fix up some of the superficial damage to Harry’s body. If Sirius is to see him, as I’m sure he will want to, I do not want him to have see Harry like this...”

“Of course, Albus,” Professor McGonagall replied and hurried away down a corridor as they came to a landing. Dumbledore barely even acknowledged her departure as she left.

“Where are you taking him if not to the hospital wing?” Lupin asked as they started up yet another long staircase.

“There is a small study just down from my office,” Dumbledore said in his empty tone, “We’ll take him there. It will be more private...”

Lupin seemed to accept this and they moved on in silence.

As they finally reached the next floor and turned down the corridor Harry knew Dumbledore’s office stood, Harry suddenly spotted the ghostly apparition of Nearly Headless Nick floating down the hallway towards them.

“Good day, Headmaster!” he called blithely, “Ghastly weather today, isn’t it? Rain and wind and no end of it in sight. I was just telling the Bloody Baron earlier... I do say, sir! What’s that you got there?” he exclaimed, finally noticing the heavy bundle in Dumbledore’s arms.

“I’m afraid this is our young Harry Potter,” Dumbledore whispered softly.

Nearly Headless Nick floated there for several moments of unbroken silence, staring at the still figure in Dumbledore’s arms. “Harry Potter?” he whispered as if unable to actually believe it.

“He was hit by a car earlier today while out in London,” Lupin explained, seeing that Dumbledore suddenly seemed unable to say anything else, “He died shortly after...”

“Dear God...” Sir Nicholas breathed.

Harry, standing there off to the side, suddenly had an idea. “Sir Nicholas! Sir Nicholas!” he cried, pushing his way in front of the floating ghost. “Sir Nicholas, can you see me?” he called, jumping up and down and waving his hands in front of the only partially decapitated ghost. But Nearly Headless Nick did not look down or even seem to notice him.

Harry abruptly stopped his shouting and stood there in defeat. For one wild second he had thought maybe Nicholas would have been able to see him. Surely a ghost should be able to see another, right? But Nicholas couldn’t, and Harry was once more seized by a feeling of utter hopelessness and fear.

“Sir Nicholas,” Dumbledore finally found the voice to say, “I would be most obliged if you kept this information to yourself for the present moment from any of the other ghosts in the castle.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” the ghost nodded, his head wobbling precariously on his neck as he did.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore whispered and slowly stepped around Nearly Headless Nick who still floated there in the middle of the corridor with a dazed look of shock on his transparent face.

Lupin also made a move as if to go around the stunned ghost, but before he could, Nearly Headless Nick finally seemed to find his voice. “He always was a special boy...” Sir Nicholas sadly whispered to him, “I will miss him.”

“We all will...” Lupin replied softly, unable to meet Sir Nicholas’ eyes. And with out another word, the werewolf strode off after Dumbledore. Sir Nicholas hovered there a few moments longer, gazing after Dumbledore and the limp body of the boy he carried, before he too turned and sadly floated away down the hall.

Harry, however, felt frozen to the spot, as if someone had put a permanent Sticking Spell on his feet.

Oh God... Oh God oh God oh God, what am I going to do?

He felt like he was going to be sick again. It felt like the entire world was closing in on him. Oh God, what was he going to do? No one could see him. No one knew he was there. How was he going to get back? He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t! There had to be some sort of mistake! If he could just tell them he was still there Dumbledore would find a way of helping him. But what was he suppose to do? No one could see him!

Harry felt tears once more stinging the corners of his eyes. But this time he could not find the strength to fight them and fell to his knees by one of the many windows lining the corridor, sobbing loudly.

Oh God what am I going to do? Harry had never felt so scared in his entire life. What was he going to do?

But he could think of nothing, and felt his hopelessness and fear swell to all new heights.

He was completely and utterly alone...

******

That now familiar feeling that something was terribly wrong was back again. And Severus Snape was starting to get annoyed with it. All day long he had been plagued by feelings of unease whose causes he could never figure out. Feeling rather put out and miffed by this continual state of anxiety he was in, Professor Snape was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have just stayed in bed that morning.

Rain drummed loudly against the windows as he strode past them down the darkened corridors towards Professor Dumbledore’s office, only making him more irritated with the world in general. At least in his dungeons he didn’t have to hear the bloody rain falling. But he had been forced out of his office to attend to other matters in the castle. One of whichwas delivering Madam Pomfrey’s fresh batch of pain relieving potion to her in the hospital wing.

Snape’s already existent frown deepened. There was definitely something wrong; he could feel it. After he’d left after giving Madam Pomfrey her potion, he had seen Professor McGonagall hurry past him in the direction of the hospital wing, looking very distraught and as if she were on the verge of tears. Snape probably would have stopped her and inquired what was the matter, but she had all but ran past him as if she hadn’t even seen him. Confused but unable to even venture a guess at what was going on, he had gone on about his business, once again feeling that familiar twinge of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Turning down another hallway, Snape shook his head in disgust. What was getting into him? He was starting to act like Professor Trelawney. Always detecting bad vibrations in the air and expecting the worse. Lord help him if he started seeing ominous signs in the dredges of his potion cauldrons next...

Finally Snape spotted the familiar stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office at the end of the hall. He had to go over a few things with Dumbledore about the extra protective wards they had put up around the castle over summer break.

But as he came up on the gargoyle and was about to give the password (Licorice Wand), out of the corner of his eye, Professor Snape suddenly saw the very man he was looking for step out of another room farther down the hall.

“Headmaster,” Professor Snape called, striding over towards the older wizard, “I wanted to speak to you about some of the wards we–” Snape abruptly fell silent at the sight of Dumbledore as he drew nearer.

Dumbledore looked terrible. Snape felt like someone had just pulled a rug out from out from under him from the shock he received at the sight of the old Headmaster. He had never seen Dumbledore look like how he did now.

He looked like a man of hopelessness and defeat.

Dumbledore’s entire body seemed to exude what Snape once thought were impossible traits to ever be used to describe the great and powerful wizard. But the Dumbledore standing in front of him was only a mere shadow of the Dumbledore Severus Snape once knew. This one’s shoulder slumped forward as if he carried the entire weight of his many long years on them – all his pain, sorrow, shortcomings, and failures. His once bright and twinkling eyes were now dull and empty, filled with an unfathomable sorrow that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He suddenly looked much older to Snape, as if he had aged a hundred years from when he last saw him earlier that morning.

Snape struggled for a moment to find his voice. “Headmaster... what–?”

“Something terrible’s happened, Severus,” Dumbledore croaked in a hollow voice, intercepting Snape’s question.

Snape felt something inside him clench with dread. So he had had reason to worry...

“Dumbledore, what–?” But Snape was once more cut off as a shout and sudden scuffle of hurried footsteps from the other end of the corridor sounded. Turning to look, both men saw one of the least likely persons they would have ever expected to find roaming the halls of Hogwarts come running towards them at full tilt.

“Black...” Snape hissed under his breath without even thinking as he watched the disheveled figure of his childhood enemy, Sirius Black, draw near. But Sirius didn’t seem to even notice Snape standing there.

“Dumbledore! Dumbledore, what happened! Tell me what happened!” the fugitive wizard demanded as he finally came to a stop in front of them and all but grabbed Dumbledore by the lapels of his Muggle jacket and shook him. “Tell me what happened! Tell me he’s alright! Tell me!” he shouted, a wild, frantic look burning in his eyes like living fire.

Dumbledore seemed unable to actually meet Sirius’ gaze. “I’m sorry, Sirius...” he softly whispered, looking down at the floor with slowly tearing eyes, “He didn’t make it...”

Sirius took a stumbling, involuntary step backwards as if Dumbledore had just dealt him a physical blow to the face. “What...?” he choked out like a whimper, “What? No... No, it can’t be. Please... Please tell me it’s not true...”

But Dumbledore only continued to stare down at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Sirius...” he said.

Sirius Black stood there for what felt like an endless eternity of unbroken silence, staring at his former headmaster and teacher in utter horror and disbelief. “No... No, it’s not true!” he cried, starting to push his way past Dumbledore towards the slightly open door behind him, “No! It’s not true!”

“Sirius, please...” Dumbledore began.

“No! Let me see my godson! Let me see him! It’s my right! It’s not true!”

Either knowing it was futile to even try or unable to muster the willpower to actually do so, Dumbledore did not stop Sirius from pushing past him to the threshold of the room behind him.

Severus Snape stood there in silence as he watched Sirius rush to the door, fling it open – then freeze on the threshold. For several moments Sirius seemed frozen, unable to move, his eyes fixed on something within the room Snape could not see. But then with a shuddering, heart-wretching cry of despair, Black flung himself inside the room. A long, anguished wail sounded from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of helpless sobs.

His back still to the door, Dumbledore hung his head lower and shut his eyes, as if trying to somehow block out the terrible sounds coming from within the room.

Looking between Dumbledore and the open door, Professor Snape slowly stepped towards it. Cautiously peering inside, the acerbic Potions Master of Hogwarts felt his blood run cold at the sight he beheld.

Black sat on the edge of a long divan, desperately clutching something limp and lifeless to his chest as he openly wept over it. The shabby form of Remus Lupin stood off to the side, hiding in the dark shadows of the room as he watched his old schoolhood friend helplessly sob over the still figure in his arms.

It was then that Snape suddenly realized what Sirius was holding. It was a body – a very familiar body with jet black hair, bright green eyes, and almost the carbon copy face of his deceased father.

For reasons unfathomable even to himself, Snape gasped in surprise and felt a sick wave of horror wash over him. Harry Potter... dead? The idea in and of itself seemed completely ludicrous – totally insane! Such a thing was just not possible. But there was no denying the horrible truth of what he saw.

“It was a car accident,” Snape suddenly heard an empty voice say from right beside him. Wheeling around, he saw Dumbledore standing right beside him, staring into the room. “It happened this morning... Mundungus was suppose to be watching him and stop his relatives if they tried to take him anywhere. But he went off somewhere and...” Dumbledore could not seem to finish his sentence.

Snape turned back to stare at the still, limp figure clutched in Sirius Black’s arms. A car accident?After teaching the boy for more than four years, being killed by something as random as a car accident seemed like such an... ignoble... death for the young wonder-boy who had single-handedly defeated He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. It just seemed so... wrong.

“Why?” Sirius suddenly cried, clutching the lifeless body of his godson closer, “Why?! Why didn’t we get him sooner? If we had gotten him from those horrible Muggle relatives of his sooner when I wanted to none of this would have happened! Mundungus came to Headquarters to tell me something had happened to Harry. Told me Harry was hurt because his relatives took him into London.” He sharply looked up at Dumbeldore standing in the doorway. “WHY DIDN’T WE GO GET HIM SOONER?!”

Sirius’ words seemed to hit Dumbledore like thrown daggers. The old man hung his head lower and clenched his eyes shut, as if trying to forget his failure.

“Why wasn’t anyone watching him?” Sirius continued to angrily wail, beginning to rock Harry’s body back and forth in his arms, “We should have told him... We should have told him what kind of danger he was in... Maybe then he wouldn’t have left the house. We should have told him. We should have gotten him sooner...”

Dumbledore seemed to try and collect himself enough to say something – perhaps to offer some words of comfort to the grieving godfather – but his throat constricted sharply and he once more looked down at the ground. Professor Snape saw a single silver tear slip from the old man’s eyes and run down his wrinkled cheek into his beard.

“Oh God...” Sirius moaned, tears streaming down his hollowed cheeks, “Oh God, why him? Why him?”

Snape suddenly heard the sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hall. Looking back, he saw Professor McGonagall with Madam Pomfrey close behind her jogging towards them. When Professor McGonagall finally came to a stop beside him in the doorway and saw Sirius Black already there, hugging the still body of his godson close, Snape heard her mutter a curse under her breath.

Glancing over at Madam Pomfrey with solemn eyes, McGonagall nodded for her to go in. Madam Pomfrey stood for a moment unable to move, she too struck immobile and incoherent at first sight of the legendary Boy Who Lived lying still and lifeless on the couch. But then, as if regaining her sense of professionalism, the school nurse moved into the room beside Sirius and looked down at the still figure in his arms.

“Here,” she said gently, reaching down to put a comforting hand on Sirius’ forearm, “Let me see him. I’ll clean him up.” But Sirius didn’t move or even give the impression he had heard her.

“Sirius,” McGonagall said, also moving into the room, “You shouldn’t be here. It is dangerous for you to be out. The Ministry’s still looking for you. If anyone finds out that you were seen in Hogwarts...”

“No, I’m not leaving,” Sirius said, his voice choked with grief but firm with decision.

“Padfoot, there’s nothing you can do for Harry here but put yourself in danger,” Lupin said, finally emerging from the dark shadows of the room, his eyes as hollow and empty as his voice. “Harry wouldn’t have wanted you to get caught just because you rushed here without thinking. Once Madam Pomfrey’s seen to him and cleaned him up a bit, we’ll take him back to Grimmauld Place so you can see him.”

“No...” Sirius said, shaking his head as he hugged Harry closer and fought off a fresh wave of tears, “No... It doesn’t matter what happens to me anymore... Harry was all I had left... It doesn’t matter... He was the only thing I had left to live for...”

No one said anything, too choked up with their own thoughts and emotions to speak. Even Severus Snape standing there in the doorway almost felt sorry for his childhood enemy.

“Severus,” Dumbledore whispered, raising his head up off his chest only enough to glance at Snape out of the corner of his eye, “The other members of the Order must be told about this... I fear when news of this gets out, Voldemort might try and somehow take advantage of this tragedy. Would you please–”

“Of course,” Snape said, already knowing what Dumbledore was about to ask him.

“Severus,” Dumbledore once more called just as Snape was about to leave, “Arthur and Molly Weasley should probably be told about what happened in person... Harry was like a seventh son to them...”

Snape stood there for a moment of silence staring back at Dumbledore. But then with a curt nod of understanding, he turned and strode off down the hall, his long black robes billowing behind him dramatically. He did not look back at the small room in which everyone was gathered.

Striding down the corridor, Snape was overcome by a rush of unfamiliar emotions and troubling thoughts. Harry Potter was dead... The fact of it still hadn’t seemed to fully sunk in to his brain. It seemed so unreal. Though he had never liked the boy (and truthfully had gone out of his way countless times over the last four years to make the boy’s life in Potions class and outside miserable) he had never thought in a million years that Dumbledore’s wonder boy would have one day ended up dead because of some freak accident. It just didn’t seem right!

It was bloody Harry Potter he was talking about for Christ’s sake!

If the arrogant little Annoyance That Lived was supposed to have died, it was suppose to have been in some grand final battle between him and Lord Voldemort. He had been the type of person that would have gone down fighting, unwilling to admit defeat until he finally overcame his enemy or died trying. But not by some freak car accident... No, never some bloody Gryffindor. Nothing less than going out in a big blaze of glory would have ever been good enough for one of them...

But Harry Potter? The boy had died in a car accident Dumbledore had said. He was dead... So where did that leave the rest of them? The boy was suppose to have been one of their greatest weapons in stopping the return of Lord Voldemort's reign of terror. He had been Voldemort’s other half. Where one was dark, the other was light. They were like two sides of a magnet, each being the other’s opposite, opposing force. But now with the light no longer there to neutralize the dark, what would that mean for the dark? With no more Harry Potter, would this mean that Lord Voldemort would finally be free to conquer and destroy everything he had originally set out to more than fourteen years ago? Such a terrible possibility was not something Snape felt he could handle thinking about just yet.

Turning down another corridor, Snape shook his head irritably. Bloody Potter... Why did he have to go get himself killed like that? Even dead the boy kept finding ways to make his life difficult...

But no matter how annoying the boy might have been in life, Snape just couldn’t bring himself to be glad he was gone. He may have been like his father – arrogant, rash, self-centered, with no sense of rules or authority – but that still didn’t mean the boy deserved to die... He had, after all, only been a child...

Snape heaved a heavy sigh of annoyance and frustration. He tried to tell himself there was a war going on and that casualties (even outside ones) were to be expected. It just grieved him (though he would never admit it to anyone living or dead even under pain of the Cruciatus Curse) that such a casualty had to come in the form of the famous Harry Potter himself. Even for being an annoying Gryffindor, the boy had had great potential. He would have truly made something out of himself, though there still was no denying that there had never been any hope for the boy when it came to Potions...

Snape may have gone on in this line of thinking for some time more, but he was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he happened to catch the soft, almost imperceptible sound of a muffled sob come from somewhere nearby. Snape immediately stopped in the middle of the hallway and tilted his head to the side to listen for another confirmation of what he thought he just heard. Half a second later, the sound of another unmistakable sob broke the silence, this time a little clearer and more pronounced. But what startled Snape even more than the sound of crying was the realization that whoever was doing so sounded frightened.

Glancing around the corridor, Snape quickly deduced that the sobbing was coming from a nearby hallway just off from the one he was walking down. Hurrying towards it, the Potions Master stood at the mouth of the new corridor and looked down it. For a moment, he thought it was empty. But then he heard another muffled sob and glanced over to the right where he saw what looked like a person huddled on the ground with his back to the wall and his knees drawn to his chest. The person’s head was bent down over his knees where yet another muffled sob sounded.

Snape was about to open his mouth and demand to know who the mysterious person was, but just then the person finally raised his tear streaked face off his knees and dazedly looked around him like one who was lost and trying to figure out what to do next. His eyes slowly came to rest on the Potions Master standing there at the end of the corridor some ten feet away – and Snape felt his heart stop dead in his chest.

Glancing up at the tall, greasy haired figure suddenly standing there at the end of the hall, Harry almost gave a teary laugh at the cruel irony of what Fate decided to keep throwing at him to top off his already most horrible day in existence. It was Professor Snape. Great... he mentally snorted, feeling fresh tears sting the corners of his eyes One of the last people I would ever want to see on the most horrible day of my life... What next? Draco Malfoy? Wouldn’t that just totally top this whole thing off...

Harry was almost ready to return to his feelings of self-pity and despair when he suddenly realized Snape had not moved past him or turned to go back the other way, but instead, continued to stand there at the end of the hallway as if frozen in place. Glancing back up at the almost statue like Potions Master, Harry was startled to find Snape staring directly at him in what looked like shocked disbelief.

Harry sat there for a long moment of silence staring back at Snape, his tears and fears almost completely forgotten. Quickly looking around him, Harry wondered if perhaps Snape hadn’t seen something else near him that had caught his attention. But Harry could see nothing that would have explained the Potions Master’s sudden, unwavering attentiveness on the exact same spot where he now sat. But then a sudden thought occurred to Harry, something he had all but given up on by now.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry came to stand in front of Snape in the middle of the hallway, watching him closely for any signs of acknowledgment or recognition. Snape’s eyes followed his every movement, watching in wide-eyed fashion as Harry finally came to a stop barely five feet in front of him.

“Professor?” Harry hesitantly asked.

Snape’s mouth opened and closed several times as though struggling to form words. But no actual sound came out.

It was then that Harry finally let that small sliver of hope that had been growing inside him since he first saw Professor Snape looking right at him burst forth in a rush of unending disbelief and joy. For not only was Harry now sure Professor Snape could hear him, but that he could actually see him too...

Harry and Professor Snape stood there for what felt like an endless eternity of silence staring at each other. Rain beat heavily against the windows along the hall which only seemed to make the silence all that more pronounced.

“Potter...” Snape finally found the voice to stammer, still staring at the boy in front of him as if he thought he was going mad.

“You can really see me?” Harry asked, hope tentatively rising in his voice, “You can really see me standing here?”

This seemed to finally rattle Snape out of his trance. “Of course I can, Potter, or otherwise I would not be looking directly at you,” he sneered.

“Professor, you have to help me!” Harry cried, pleadingly looking up at his Potions teacher, “They all think I’m dead! No one else can see me – not even Dumbledore! You have to tell him I’m not dead!”

Snape critically looked Harry’s transparent, grey figure up and down. “Unfortunately, Potter, given your current state of being, I would have to say they are right. Your soul has obviously experienced some sort of traumatic event that it was made to leave your body. This traumatic event is usually what people refer to as ‘dying’...” Despite his cold, uncaring tone, Snape continued to curiously scan Harry’s ghostly form. “My God, Potter, what happened?” he finally asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I don’t know!” Harry wailed, feeling a fresh sting of tears in his eyes, “I was just walking down the street towards Diagon Alley when I see this Death Eater following me. He attacked me and tried to kill me with an Avada Kedavra curse. I blocked him the first couple times, but he pushed me back into the street and was going to use it again, but then I felt something slam into me, and I woke up like this!” Harry knew he was beginning to babble as tears began to stream down his cheeks as if him finally finding someone that could see and hear him had opened the floodgates to all his previously checked fears and stress of the last few hours. “Paramedics came and took my body to the hospital, but they couldn’t save me and all the doctors left, and my aunt and uncle came, but they didn’t even care I was dead, and then Dumbledore came with Professor McGonagall and Lupin, but none of them could see me either, and–”

“Potter!” Professor Snape finally shouted to stop the hysterical teenager’s frightened babbling. Harry instantly felt silent and stared up at his flustered looking Potions Master with transparent tears still shining in his eyes.

Snape took a long, deep breath to calm himself, feeling distinctly annoyed and unnerved to find himself suddenly having to deal with the frightened, hysterical ghost of his least favorite student. Harry was still staring at him, as if pleading for him to help.

“You said there was a Death Eater?” Snape questioned, doing his best to go along with everything Harry had just said, “What did he look like?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, still looking dangerously like he would burst into tears again at the slightest provocation, “He was wearing a hood over his face.”

Snape considered this for a long moment of silence. “It would seem then that there were more outside factors we did not know about involved in your supposed death. If Voldemort or Death Eaters were somehow involved in this, then perhaps this wasn’t just some sort of freak accident. Dumbledore must be informed of this...”

Harry was sure he had never wanted to hug anyone else in his entire life more than how much he wanted to hug Snape right then. Snape was going to tell Dumbledore what happened... Everything was going to be alright...

But just then a high-pitched, sing-songy voice suddenly rang out from overhead.

“Poor Sniveling Severus... Oh, he’s finally gone off the deep end! Everyone knows when you start talking to yourself, that’s the first sign of mental instability! Poor, poor Sniveling Severus! What will Dumbledore say? Probably give him the boot! But then what will poor, sneaking, sniveling Severus do?”

Looking up, Harry saw the head of Hogwarts’ infamous, prankster poltergeist Peeves pop out from the ceiling like a swimmer emerging from underwater. The bells on his tiny hat rung merrily as he somersaulted his way free of the ceiling and started doing cartwheels in the air over Snape and Harry’s heads.

The darkest of looks passed over Snape’s face like a baleful shadow. His lips curled up into a murderous snarl. “Get out of here, Peeves, before I blast you all the way up to the astronomy tower,” he snarled dangerously.

“Oh, poor sniveling, sneaking Severus,” Peeves sang as if he hadn’t even heard Snape’s threat, “Tsk tsk... First talking to himself, then threatening poor little ol’ me with violence... Oh Dumbledore’s not going to like this at all...”

“I said be gone!” Snape snapped, reaching inside his robes for his wand.

“Poor, poor, sneaking, sniveling Severus!” Peeves merrily laughed and cartwheeled away down the hall just as a ball of glowing green light exploded against the ceiling right where he had been floating only seconds before. Peeves laughter echoed down the hallway as he zoomed away, leaving a very angry looking Snape behind.

Harry stood there in complete and utter silence as he watched Snape angrily stuff his wand back inside his robes’ inner pocket.

With a sharp swish of his robes, Snape turned and stalked off towards the end of the hall. Harry stood there frozen, not quite sure what he was suppose to do after witnessing such an encounter. But as Snape came to the end of the hall, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder with a look of clear vexation. “Well?” he sneered, “Are you coming, Potter, or do you need an engraved invitation?” Then, without even waiting, he turned and set off at a brisk walk down the adjacent hall, his black robes billowing behind him.

Harry hurried to catch up with Snape and fell into step close behind him.

“Professor, where– ?”

“Be quiet, Potter,” Snape snapped.

Harry obediently fell silent. Though he probably would have liked to ask Snape several important questions (like where they were going, and how Snape thought Dumbledore was going to help him), Harry did not risk asking them. He didn’t want to risk upsetting the only person that actually seemed able to see him.

Walking along behind Snape, Harry suddenly realized how quickly the anxiety and fear of the last few hours seemed to dissolve into only a mild worry somewhere in the back of his mind. Even though he had never liked Snape (and, yes, at times had positively hated the man), somehow just knowing Snape could see him and was willing to help him was enough to make him actually feel grateful for the dark haired man’s presence. He didn’t even care that Snape had seen him at possibly one of his weakest moments: crying and babbling like that. Just as long as he helped him get back to normal Harry didn’t care if Snape told that damaging little story to the entire Slytherin House! Just as long as he got back...

“Am I correct in assuming–” Snape suddenly said from up in front of Harry “–that since Peeves did not even acknowledge your presence there in the hallway, that no one else but me can see you?”

“So it would seem...” Harry replied with a shrug.

Harry swore he heard Snape growl under his breath. “Well this should be interesting then...” Snape muttered darkly to himself.

Harry saw the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore’s office spring into view down the hall. But instead of stopping in front of it as he expected Snape to do, the Potions Master strode past it towards another door just down the hall. Harry said nothing and followed uncertainly after him. As they neared the slightly ajar door, Harry suddenly caught the sound of murmured voices coming from within.

He curiously glanced up at Snape for an explanation, but the Potions Master said nothing in response. Instead he strode right up to the door and wretched it open without so much as even a cursory knock. Following Snape into the room, Harry was shocked to find it filled with almost half a dozen teachers and none other than his very own godfather!

“Sirius!” Harry cried in surprise but then immediately fell silent again at the sight of his godfather’s wretched state.

His body lay stretched out along a long divan with Madam Pomfrey bent down over it on the far right side of the room. Sirius sat on the edge of the couch close beside him, emptily staring down at his pale white face. He didn’t even turn to look up as Snape swept into the room in a whirl of dark hair and robes. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy as if he had been crying for some unknown period of time. Hair fell messily down around his haggard face, half obscuring it from Harry’s view. But even that was not enough to hide that look of utter despair Harry had begun to see far too much of that day. It was like his godfather had lost all reason to live.

Lupin stood close behind Sirius, watching his friend emptily stare down at their best friend’s dead son. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore stood close together near the door, speaking together in hushed tones. They both fell silent at Professor Snape’s entrance and looked up at him in surprise.

“Dumbledore,” Snape said, walking over towards them, “I have just come across an important bit of information...”

“What is it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked in his empty tone that Snape was beginning to find rather annoying. Dear Lord, the bloody boy hadn’t been that important...

Snape hesitantly glanced over at Sirius on the other side of the room. By now Madam Pomfrey and Lupin had also quieted to listen. Even Sirius had broken himself away from his pitiful mourning to look up at him.

The Potions Master took a slow, calming breath and turned back to Dumbledore, readying himself for the absurdity of his own words. “I have been in contact with Potter,” he said rather hurriedly, “It seems something happened to him just before he died. Just now, I came across his spirit in the hallway. He says he was attacked by a Death Eater right before he was hit by the car. He’s been trying to contact others for help but it seems no one else can see or hear him...”

There! He’d said it! Now all that mattered was if they actually believed him or not.

For an immeasurable stretch of eternity no one there said or did anything except stare at Snape in unbearable, deafening silence. Snape thought he could actually hear rain beating against the windows out in the hall it was so quiet.

Harry, standing unseen near the door, looked around himself worriedly. What if they don’t believe Snape? he suddenly wondered, only now realizing the complications of his situations, Then what? Harry felt that familiar twinge of fear spark somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach.

Finally, as if regaining his composure, Dumbledore looked Snape straight in the eye for the first time since returning with Harry’s body. “And you say you can see him, Severus?” he asked.

Snape could not detect any particular emotion in the Headmaster’s question, but he imagined there was a hint of skepticism in it. Beside Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall tilted her head to the side and quirked an eyebrow at him as if also wondering the same question. Behind him, Snape could feel eyes boring into his back from Lupin and Black on the other side of the room.

Snape felt his face flush with warmth. Why was it nothing could ever be easy for him? “Yes,” he grudgingly answered.

Dumbledore studied Snape’s face for several moments of intense, drawn out silence, as if trying to gauge the truth of what Snape said. “Why is it that no one else can see him?” the old Headmaster then curiously asked.

“I don’t know, but apparently Potter’s been trying to communicate with everyone he’s come across since finding himself in this state.”

“And is he here right now?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape heaved a heavy sigh. He knew it had been only a matter of time...

“Yes,” he said, “He’s right over there...” and pointed to where Harry nervously stood in the doorway, looking scared and confused in his new ghostly state.

What happened immediately next took everyone there by surprise. Even afterwards no one could accurately describe how it happened so fast.

With absolutely no warning at all, Sirius leapt up from his place next to Harry’s body and threw himself at Snape’s turned back. Grabbing the Potion Master’s collar, Sirius brutally spun Snape around and slammed him into the nearest wall. Fisting two handfuls of the other man’s robes in his hands, Sirius angrily smashed Snape up against the wall, holding him several inches off the ground.

Startled cries rang out from the room’s other occupants.

“You bloody bastard!” Sirius screamed into Snape’s face, slamming him against the wall again, “You bloody, heartless bastard!” A wild, crazy light had begun to burn in Sirius’ eyes, as if he had suffered the last little bit of torment he could before he had finally been pushed over the edge into insanity. “You heartless, greasy worm!” he screamed, still holding Snape up by his robes, “You always hated Harry! Even now when he lies here dead, you have to make fun of him! He never did anything to you! Why do you still hold this grudge with James against him? He was just a child! Why do you still have to torment him even when he’s dead? Can’t you even stand the thought of those that loved him mourning him in peace? Are you just that bloody twisted that you have to try and make his death some kind of joke? Is that it?” Sirius screamed, all sense of control gone from him as he once more slammed Snape up against the wall.

“That’s enough!” Dumbledore’s loud, commanding voice suddenly rang out as he and Lupin struggled to pull Sirius off of Snape. “That’s enough I say!”

As if actually obeying Dumbledore or just too drained of wrath to attack Snape anymore, Sirius let go of Snape’s robes and stepped back next to Lupin, hatefully staring at Snape through the haze of angry tears clouding his vision. Snape slid down against the wall to the floor, coughing and sputtering and gasping for breath. Professor McGonagall quickly hurried to his side.

“What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall demanded, kneeling down beside Professor Snape, “Attacking another teacher like that!”

“That heartless bastard,” Sirius hissed between clenched teeth, “I swear if he says one more thing about Harry like that I’ll kill him!”

“You will do no such thing,” Dumbledore said, his voice once again strong and commanding as he stared Sirius down into submission.

“He is dishonoring Harry’s memory!” Sirius screamed, turning his slowly rekindling rage onto Dumbledore.

“Perhaps...” Dumbledore conceded , “But that is no excuse to attack another person – especially another member of the Order – like that.”

“I am telling the truth,” Snape snapped as he unsteadily pulled himself back up off the floor and turned to face Dumbledore and Black, straightening his robes angrily, “I am not lying!”

Sirius looked ready to lunge at Snape again, but Lupin quickly caught his arm and held him back. “As if I wouldn’t be able to see my own godson standing there!” Sirius instead opted to yell when he found his friend’s grip too strong to shake.

Snape returned Sirius’ murderous glare with a contemptuous sneer, as if wanting nothing more than to retort with some stinging comment concerning Sirius’ intelligence. But Lupin was quicker and cut him off before he could say anything of the sort.

“I’m sorry if you find us all a little bit skeptical about everything you just said, Snape,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral, “But perhaps if you had some kind of proof for us...”

Everyone in the room expectantly looked at Snape, waiting to see what he would say.

Realizing he was going to have to play along with their little test before they actually believed him, Snape softly growled under his breath, “Like what?”

Everyone’s gaze immediately shifted towards Dumbledore.

The old Headmaster quietly pondered the question, thoughtfully tugging at his beard as he did. “Perhaps by telling us something only young Harry would know,” he finally suggested after a moment.

“And just what could that be?” Snape snidely drawled.

“How about how I escaped from Hogwarts after you so dutifully turned me back in to the authorities for the Dementor’s Kiss?” Sirius hissed from Lupin’s side, glaring challengingly at his childhood enemy.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I always did wonder how you managed that spectacular escape...” he muttered thoughtfully. Abruptly looking over towards the empty doorway of the room he called, “Well, Potter?”

Jumping at the sudden shout of his name, Harry was startled to see everyone in the room suddenly looking in his direction, though only Professor Snape could actually pin point his exact location, and stared at him expectantly. Everyone else (perhaps with only the exception of Dumbledore) were beginning to exchange skeptical looks with each other out of the corners of their eyes, looking distinctly uncomfortable with having to stare at (what to them) was nothing but an empty spot in the doorway, waiting for some earth-shattering revelation to come.

“Well?” Snape prompted impatiently.

“Umm...” Harry stammered. How did Snape expect him to answer like that when he had just spent the last few hours frantically trying to get anyone’s attention, and now suddenly had half a dozen people staring at him? He just didn’t perform on command like that.

“Hey, if you can’t tell us, Snivellus, just say so,” Sirius said.

“I would suggest you keep your mouth shut, Black, before I permanently shut it for you,” Snape snapped.

Hearing his godfather and Snape’s threats of violence, Harry hurriedly blurted out, “Hermione and I used Hermione’s Time-Turner to go back in time and steal Buckbeak before they could execute him! We rode him up to the west tower and freed Sirius, and then they both flew off together!”

“WHAT!” Snape roared, wheeling back around on Harry. Everyone else in the room jumped, wildly looking around as if looking for the cause of Professor Snape’s outburst. “You and that blasted Granger girl flew that condemned hippogriff up and freed Black! And you used an illegal Time-Turner! I should report you both to the Ministry!”

Harry stared at Snape who stood towering over him like a menacing black shadow, wondering if in his current state Snape still somehow couldn’t find a way to hex him. But then he glanced over the others in the room and saw their expressions, and knew that they now believed.

Sirius stared at Snape wide-eyed and open-mouthed, looking as if he had just lost all ability to speak. Lupin had a similar expression of disbelief on his haggard face. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey exchanged dubious, uncertain glances, having not been directly involved in Sirius’ escape a year before, but were able to read the surprise on the others’ faces. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked rather pleased and relieved, with a wide smile pulling at his lips.

“H–Harry?” Sirius stammered, wildly looking around as if expecting to see his godson suddenly jump out from behind some piece of furniture.

“He’s right here, Black,” Snape snarled as he pointed down at Harry standing right in front of him.

“Well, isn’t this a most unexpected development...” Dumbledore said, a hint of mischievous amusement returning to his once lifeless voice.

Harry desperately looked up at Snape. “Please, Sir, you have to tell them to help me. Tell Dumbledore he has to help. If he can’t help me–”

“Be quiet, Potter,” Snape snapped, “I highly doubt Dumbledore is going to let you stay like this if there is anything in his power to do something about it.”

“Only too true,” Dumbledore agreed, taking a few steps closer to Snape and Harry, a twinkle of renewed hope beginning to sparkle in his ancient blue eyes.

“Albus... are you sure about this?” Professor McGonagall asked, still obviously uncomfortable with the idea of Professor Snape talking to thin air and them reacting to his one-sided conversation.

“More sure than anything else, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied with a grin, “Unless Professor Snape has somehow had the opportunity to interrogate Miss Granger, Harry, or Sirius under a dose of Veritaserum before today (which I highly doubt), there is no other way he could have known such information unless Harry himself told him.” Harry felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes at Dumbledore’s words of assurance. After everything that had already happened that day, he didn’t know what he would have done if Dumbledore hadn’t believed them. He was sure he would have burst out into tears of relief if Dumbledore hadn’t right then looked directly at him where Snape had previously indicated he stood and asked in a low, confiding voice, “What happened?”

In a very slow and halting manner, with Snape grudgingly acting as his middleman, Harry told his account of what happened earlier that day. Dumbledore listened quietly as Snape related Harry’s story, his face growing more and more grave with each passing moment, though every so often would nod thoughtfully. Finally, at the end of his recount, after coming to the part where he had come across Professor Snape in the hallway, Harry fell silent and waited in nervous anticipation for what Dumbledore would say.

Dumbledore tugged on his beard thoughtfully, looking distant and slightly troubled. “This is strange... very strange indeed...” he murmured to himself, beginning to pace along the side of the room. “And you say he began to use an Avada Kedavra curse just before you were hit by the car?” he asked.

“Yes, but he didn’t get to actually finish it,” Harry said, “I saw the green light of the curse beginning to form, but it never actually came towards me.”

“Potter says he didn’t actually get to finish the curse,” Snape related in a bored tone as if he saw the whole business of him having to repeat everything Harry said beneath him, “He saw the green haze of the curse, but it never actually touched him.”

Dumbledore’s frown deepened. “Wasn’t actually touched by the curse...” he repeated thoughtfully, still pacing back and forth. “It’s possible he still might have been caught in the curse’s wash though...”

“What does that mean, Dumbledore?” Lupin asked from the other side of the room.

“It means that though Harry might not have actually been hit by the Killing Curse, he still might have been affected by it. Just because a curse is not fully formed does not mean it has no power,” Dumbledore explained as if he were teaching a regular defense class, “Many curses – especially Killing Curses – radiate out from their conjuror in waves, like ripples generated by the dropping of a stone into a quiet pond. It is usually only when that energy is concentrated onto a single point though that the curse actually becomes fatal. But if the conjuror of the curse is very powerful, or has a great amount of emotional energy behind it, that power can seep out beyond its point of concentration and wash out onto anything within radius of the conjuror. It is a concept similar to wandless magic...”

“Are you saying something like that might have happened to Harry with this Death Eater’s curse?” Sirius asked.

“It is possible,” Dumbledore said, nodding his head slowly, “If the curse was already beginning to form and take shape, he might have already been in curse’s wash; his body and soul would have already begun to separate. And then when he was hit by the car, it would have been like yanking his body away while his soul still stood there in place... Unfortunately though, it is impossible to say for sure since most everyone that is ever attacked by a Killing Curse does not live to tell about it...”

“But that still does not explain why Professor Snape is that only one that can see or hear Harry,” Professor McGonagall said, gesturing over to said Potions Master on the other side of the room who stood near the wall with his arms darkly crossed in front of his chest.

Dumbledore pondered the conundrum carefully. Finally pausing in his restless pacing, Dumbledore glanced over at Snape and (as he correctly assumed) Harry. “Harry, what was the last thing you did before you were hit by the car? And, Severus, please relate everything he says word for word, even if it means you speaking for him in the first person.”

Snape looked less than enthused with having to do such a thing, but wisely held his tongue.

Rather intimidated by the importance Dumbledore was now putting on everything he said, Harry started hesitantly, thinking his words over carefully in his head before he actually said them. “He was trying to use the Avada Kedavra curse. I tried to disarm him, and kept him from finishing it, but he kept deflecting all my spells. We exchanged a few curses, but I couldn’t stop him from coming. He threw a curse at me that pushed me into the street and started to use another Avada Kedavra. I tried to use another Disarming Spell to stop him before he could finish it, but all I got were these weird sparks from the end of my wand. And then... well, I felt the car hit into me, and then I woke up like this!”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Very good, Harry, but when you were trying to use another Disarming Spell and only got sparks, what exactly were you thinking about?”

Harry paused, trying to think back to that exact moment. It all felt like it had been so long ago even though it had been little over a few hours. “I was thinking about...” he began uncertainly, “how scared I was. He was one of the strongest wizards I’ve ever had to fight before. I think he would have even given Lord Voldemort a run for his money. He just kept coming at me, and I kept thinking how much I wished someone else was there to help.”

Dumbledore nodded again. “I see. And who were you thinking about when you wished someone else was there to help you?”

“No one,” Harry said, which was quickly repeated by Snape to Dumbledore and their listening audience.

Dumbledore tugged his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm... Was there anything else you remember thinking about right before or after you felt the car hit you? Anything at all?”

A sudden memory flashed in Harry’s mind at Dumbledore’s prompting. One he had not thought about since then, and what looking back in retrospect seemed so insignificant and stupid now given the circumstances surrounding it the moment it was thought. “I remember thinking about how I hadn’t finished Professor Snape’s summer Potions essay yet.”

Snape was already halfway through his repetition of what Harry said before the words finally registered in his brain and he abruptly stopped mid-sentence. “What?” he exclaimed, whirling around on his heels to glare at Harry.

“What was that, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape glanced between Dumbledore and Harry as if trying to decide which one to yell at first. Finally settling on Dumbledore, he repeated all of what Harry just said, looking as if he could feel where this was going.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Dumbledore gave him an amused smile. “An interesting choice for an Acolyte, but an even more impressive use of old magic...” he chuckled to himself.

Snape however looked less than enthused by the old man’s amusement.

“What’s going on, Albus?” McGonagall demanded, glancing between the two men, “What are you talking about?”

“It would appear young Harry here unknowingly sent out some variant form of an Acolant spell to our dear Professor Snape before he was hit,” the old Headmaster replied with a look that could have almost been classified as pride for his young student.

“And just what’s an Acolant Spell? I’ve never heard of it before,” Sirius demanded, feeling a little put out by not knowing what Dumbledore was talking about – especially when it had something to do with his disembodied godson.

Dumbledore stifled another grin. “An Acolant Spell, if you will, is like a magical distress signal. It is a rare and ancient form of magic used by wizards and witches in times of extreme distress – usually when their lives are in grave danger. The spell in a way binds the soul of the summoner to that of his or her chosen Acolyte – the person they are trying to contact for help. It creates a sort of link between them so that the Acolyte can offer help even if something befalls the summoner and they cannot immediately be reached.”

“But what about Harry?” Lupin spoke up, “You talk about an Acolant Spell as if it only works with the living. Harry, by all accounts and purposes, is dead! How can his spirit still be here?”

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore admitted with a shake of his head, growing more serious, “Unless...” Dumbledore quickly glanced over at Harry’s still body on the other side of the room. Gliding over to it, the old man sat on the edge of the divan Harry was laid out on and produced his wand from out of his pocket. Waving it over the young boy’s body, he incanted, “Vidium Lumesta.”

Everyone in the room watched in awe as a faint, silvery-white light sprang up over Harry’s skin like a pale, enate inner glow.

“Dumbledore... is that... does that mean...?” Sirius stammered, not daring to actually voice what he so desperately wanted to believe.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded, looking for the second time that day as if he would burst with relief, “Though it is extremely weak and barely visible even with the spell, there is still some small measure of life in Harry’s body... He’s still alive...”

Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the room’s occupants. Sirius looked as if he was about to burst into tears again. “Oh thank God...” he breathed, putting a hand up to his mouth to try and hide his suddenly tight voice, “Oh thank God... H–how is this possible?” he stammered, though really not caring at all how it was possible. Just that it actually was.

Dumbledore leaned back from over Harry’s faintly glowing body, a relieved grin pulling at his lips. “I don’t know. It is possible that because of the only half-completed Killing Curse, his body and soul were already beginning to separate, and when he was hit by the car, they were pulled apart before the severance could actually be completed. That would explain why he did not immediately die after being hit. Though his body and soul were separated, they were done so incompletely.”

“But what about at the hospital?” Harry said, “The doctors had me hooked up to all kinds of different machines and all of them said I was dead!”

Snape grudgingly relayed Harry message to the others.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Unfortunately Muggle technology has never been one hundred percent accurate. Haven’t you ever heard of cases of people being pronounced dead in hospitals and then waking up hours later in a morgue afraid but very much alive? I think something like that might have happened in your case. Plus magic has a tendency to disrupt Muggle technology. And for a boy powerful enough to have just unwittingly performed an Acolant Spell, I think such a thing is most definitely a possibility.”

Harry stood there silent, digesting everything Dumbeldore just said. “So... I’m not really dead?” he tentatively whispered.

“It would seem it’s your lucky day, Potter,” Snape snidely drawled. Harry was too relieved to pay him much mind though.

“I’m not dead...” he softly repeated, feeling relieved disbelief wash over him like warm water, “I’m not dead...” He quickly looked back up at Dumbledore on the other side of the room. “So how am I gonna get back to normal?”

Snape gave Harry a small, contemplative look before relaying his question on.

Dumbledore’s face suddenly grew very serious and grave. “That is a very good question, Harry...” he said, standing up from beside Harry’s body and beginning to pace the side of the room again. “Unfortunately, as I said before, Acolant Spells are very rare. I have not heard of one being performed in the last several hundred years. And with the element of a half-completed Killing Curse complicating matters, I’m not quite sure what we really can do. Your body may still be partially alive, but there is no denying that your soul is separated from it. No amount of magic I know of can just glue a body and soul back together again.”

Harry felt his stomach clench. “But you’ll still be able to help me, won’t you?” he asked, a clear note of desperateness entering his voice. He waited a moment for Snape to relay his question, but when Snape just continued to stand there, pretending like he hadn’t even heard him, Harry angrily prompted, “Professor!”

Snape heaved a long suffering sigh. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Potter, stop pestering Dumbledore for answers and give him time to think!”

Dumbledore abruptly stopped pacing on the other side of the room. “What did he ask, Severus?”

“Nothing of importance, Sir,” Snape easily replied.

Dumbledore however did not look convinced. “I will be the judge of that, Severus. Now tell me, what did he ask?”

Snape eyed Dumbledore warily for a moment, as if sensing he was somehow skating on thin ice. “The boy is just demanding to know how you plan to put him right again, Sir,” he replied carefully. “Really, Dumbledore, he is acting childishly. It is nothing I can’t handle myself–”

“I see,” Dumbledore cut him off curtly, “So you are saying that if your situations were reversed, and it was you standing there, you would not want to know how we planned to restore you back to your former self? You would not want to know whether or not you were going to be permanently trapped in some form no one else could see or hear? Is that what you are suggesting?”

Snape looked taken aback by Dumbledore’s sudden chastising tone. “No, Sir, I just–”

“So then you will understand how young Harry must feel right now,” Dumbledore said, not relenting in his advantage at all, “I would have thought that given the current situation you would have at least put this little grudge of yours with Harry aside for the time being to help him. Whether you like it or not, you are his Acolyte now, which means it is your responsibility to help him in any way you can. You are magically bound to do so. You are his voice and only means of communication with anyone else. If he has any questions or wants to know something – even if it seems very insignificant and unimportant to you – I would ask that you please pass it on to whomever it seems appropriate for. I think right now that is the least you can do for him...”

Looking thoroughly chastised, Snape dropped his gaze and nodded his head in embarrassment. “Of course, Sir...” he murmured behind a curtain of dark hair.

Harry stood there silent as Dumbledore nodded and turned to start pacing the room again. He glanced over at Snape, but the Potions Master refused to look his way.

“So what do you plan to do, Dumbledore?” Sirius finally asked after a few minutes of empty silence. “I mean, we have to figure something out. We can’t just leave Harry like this.”

“I know that,” Dumbledore sighed, “But unfortunately Harry’s situation is very difficult and complex. By all accounts he would have been no worse off than if he had suffered a dementor’s kiss...”

Harry saw his godfather’s face visibly pale at the mention of the dreaded faceless guards of Azkaban.

“But surely... there must be something...” Sirius groped, desperately trying to rack his brains for a solution. But he could think of nothing.

“I wonder...” Dumbledore suddenly said, breaking the tense silence of the room as he abruptly stopped pacing. He gave a thoughtful glance over at Snape and where he could only assume Harry stood.

“What is it, Dumbledore?” Sirius demanded, desperate to know what the old wizard might have come up with.

Dumbledore did not immediately reply, but continued to thoughtfully stare in Harry’s direction. “I just wonder... If Harry’s soul was already beginning to separate from his body when he was hit by the car, it is possible his soul may have actually been being pulled in several different directions at once when it happened...”

Everyone there gave Dumbledore confused, inquisitive looks.

“What do you mean, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“I mean, that the body does not naturally go about just randomly releasing its soul. It only does so when it has suffered some traumatic event, or when the body grows too old or sick to hold onto it anymore; such is the normal way of dying... There is a natural, primitive instinct to keep one’s soul in one’s body. So when Harry was caught in the wash of the Killing Curse, his body would have instinctively been fighting to keep it there inside him. But when he was hit by the car, it would have been like a third outside force smashing through the already existing struggle going on between the Killing Curse and Harry’s instinctive pull to keep his soul inside his body. It would have in essence thrown Harry’s soul in three different directions – one towards the Curse, one back towards his body, and one away from both of them from the force of the car smashing into him. That would explain why in some small way, Harry’s body is still alive – he still retains part of his soul. And why he still, in some spiritual way, has a form to appear to Severus in through the Acolant Spell...”

“What are you saying? That Harry’s soul’s somehow been torn in three!” Sirius exclaimed in absolute horror.

Harry stood there dumbstruck, trying to digest everything Dumbledore just said. Was such a thing possible? How could one’s soul be torn into three? It just didn’t make sense. And yet, at the same time, in some odd way, it did...

Harry looked down at his transparent, grey hands, trying to see if he could feel anything amiss – trying to feel if his soul really was torn into pieces. But he felt no different, could feel nothing wrong. How was having a shattered soul suppose to feel like?

Harry looked back up at Dumbledore. “But, Professor, I don’t feel any different,” he said. Snape dutifully relayed Harry’s message, but still refused to look at him, undoubtedly still sore from Dumbledore’s previous scolding.

“No, I doubt you really would...” Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully, tugging at his long white beard. He glanced back over at Harry’s faintly glowing body. “Tell me, Harry, can you feel any kind of pull or strong desire to go back to your body?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he had just gone mad. “Of course I want to go back to my body, Sir! I don’t want to stay like this forever!”

Dumbledore smiled fondly at Harry’s response after Snape relayed it. “No, no, no, Harry, you misunderstand me... I mean, can you feel any physical pull beyond just that of your natural desire to go back? Can you feel your body trying to call you back to it?”

Harry paused and rolled Dumbledore’s question over in his head. Did he feel such a pull? With everything that had happened in the last few hours, he really hadn’t had any time to stop and pay much attention to anything like that. Closing his eyes, Harry tried to concentrate on feeling anything like the sensation Dumbledore described. He stood there for several long minutes of silence. And then, just when he was about to give up and open his eyes again, he felt it. A tiny tug that seemed to reach out and pull at the center of his body somewhere around his navel. It was vaguely reminiscent of what being pulled through a Portkey felt like, but on a much subtler level. If he didn’t stop to actually look for it, he could barely even feel it.

“Yes!” Harry gasped in surprise, “I can feel it! I can feel my body trying to pull me back. But it’s really weak. I can barely even feel it if I don’t look for it.”

“That is good,” Dumbledore said after Snape relayed Harry’s answer, looking very pleased, “If your body is still trying to reunite your soul to it, then there still might be hope of restoring you to your body.”

“That is excellent!” Sirius exclaimed, “What do we have to do to get him back?”

Dumbledore however did not look so enthusiastic. “Unfortunately, it is not that easy,” he said, glancing over at Harry’s body again, “You forget that part of Harry’s soul would have been thrown in yet a third direction – one whose location we don’t currently know...”

“You mean towards the unknown Death Eater that attacked Potter,” Snape said, his arms still darkly crossed in front of his chest.

“Unfortunately I do...” Dumbledore said, “After performing the Killing Curse, the Death Eater’s wand would most likely have absorbed the third part of Harry’s soul when the spell’s connection was severed and the uncompleted spell retreated back into its conjuror’s wand.”

“So what does that mean? That the third part of Harry’s soul is lost to us?” Lupin asked, speaking for Sirius who suddenly looked too horrified to speak.

“Not necessarily, but it will be very difficult to try and retrieve it from this Death Eater’s wand,” Dumbledore said.

“Can we somehow restore the part of Harry’s soul that’s with us now back to his body without the third part?” Sirius asked.

Dumbledore shook his head emphatically. “No. To do so would almost certainly turn out disastrous. Harry’s body is already trying to call the missing parts of his soul back. If it were able to, it probably would have already reunited the part of Harry’s soul that’s with us now back to it. It most likely needs both pieces of Harry’s soul before it can rejoin. If we tried to force the part of Harry’s soul that’s with us now back into his body, his soul would be reformed incomplete. He could possibly be restored back to life, but at the cost of losing an essential part of his very being. And I doubt very much you would want something like that to happen to your godson, Sirius...” Dumbledore said, glancing over at the straggly haired man. Sirius said nothing, but the horrified look in his eyes told Dumbledore everything he needed to know about his answer.

“If we can somehow track down this Death Eater that attacked Harry–” Dumbledore went on, “–we may be able to perform a Priori Incantatem and release the other part of Harry’s soul that’s trapped inside his wand.”

“But I thought you said a Reverse Spell only shows the echo of whatever spell was last used on a wand,” Harry said, remembering that day late last June on the night of the Triwizard Tournament’s Third Task when, while he had stood there locked in deadly battle with the evil Lord Voldemort, he had seen the ghostly figures of Cedric Diggory, an old Muggle man, Bertha Jorkins, and his parents emerge from the tip of Lord Voldemort’s wand. Harry remembered how pained he had been when Dumbledore told him they were nothing more than shadows of Lord Voldemort’s spells – that they weren’t really real.

Dumbledore listened quietly to Snape’s rendition of what Harry said. Nodding solemnly, the old headmaster said, “Yes. I did tell you that. And the same still holds true... at least in normal cases... But I have come to find that whenever it comes to you, nothing ever goes as it is suppose to...” A faint smile tugged at Dumbledore’s lips, as if seeing the humor in his remark, before it was quickly gone again. “The Killing Curse didn’t actually kill you, so what would have been the echo of the curse, should actually be the part of you that was torn in his direction when you were hit by that car. I know it is a long shot, but it is the only possible thing I can think of that might somehow return you to your body...”

Harry nodded his head and quietly stared down at the floor, lost in troubled thought. Snape gave him a half concerned glance out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing and looked back over at Dumbledore.

“Alright then,” Sirius announced, drawing everyone’s attention over to him, “So we have to find the Death Eater that did this to Harry... Do we know which one of Voldemort’s goons did this to him?”

“Unfortunately, Potter said he wasn’t able to see the man’s face,” Snape said, keeping his voice carefully civil towards Harry’s godfather, “He said he was wearing a hood.”

“So then how are we going to find this guy?” Sirius said, agitatedly looking to Dumbledore for answers.

The old headmaster tugged his beard thoughtfully. “Was there anything else you remember about the Death Eater, Harry? Anything that stood out to you?” he asked.

Harry thought back to his battle with the hooded wizard. It had all happened so fast, he really didn’t remember that much about it. The man had been wearing a hood. He couldn’t see anything of the masked Death Eater except his hand and– “He had a black wand!” Harry blurted out, “I remember he had a black wand! I remember it because I’ve never seen a black wand before. Everyone else have brown ones.”

Harry waited for Snape to repeat what he said, but when the Potions Master didn’t, Harry looked over at his expectantly. But unlike before, Snape was not pretending to ignore him. Instead he was staring at Harry with a look of incredulous scrutiny.

“A black wand...?” he repeated, as if slowly rolling that bit of information over in his head.

“What is it, Severus? Do you know who it is?” Dumbledore asked, reading the startled expression on Snape’s face.

Snape’s eyes darkened ominously and a scowl pulled at his lips. “Unfortunately, I do...”

“Well, that’s good then!” Sirius exclaimed, “Then we know who we need to go after.”

“No, Black, that’s not good,” Snape hissed, “You have no idea who it is we're dealing with.”

“Well, enlighten us then,” Lupin said, stepping in between the two before something could break out, “Who is it?”

Snape took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for what he was about to say. “Rowan McCourn...” he said, rolling the name off his tongue as if it left a horribly foul taste in his mouth.

Dumbledore’s face grew dark and serious like Snape’s. “That is not good, Severus...” he said, meeting Snape’s eyes, “Are you sure it could be no one else?”

“No,” Snape said, shaking his head, “There is only one man I know of that owns a black wand... and he is one of the darkest wizards to ever join the Dark Lord’s fold...”

“McCourn?” McGonagall gasped, her face growing pale, “Didn’t he escape capture after the First War?”

“Yes. He was on the Ministry’s Most Wanted list of Death Eaters, but he somehow managed to allude capture and went to ground after the Dark Lord’s defeat. No one’s heard of him in years,” Snape said.

“What did he do?” Harry asked, curious despite the fearful tension caused by the mere mention of the man’s name. It reminded him eerily of the effect Lord Voldemort’s name had on other witches and wizards.

Snape turned his gaze onto Harry and studied him for a long moment of silence, as if assessing his ability to handle such information. “He is one of the Dark Lord’s most dangerous servants,” he finally said, holding Harry’s gaze with dark, fathomless black eyes, “He has committed more crimes than probably any of the Dark Lord’s other followers combined. He is the living example of what one would call a murderous lunatic. He revels in the pain and suffering of others. I once heard he captured a Ministry Auror and tortured him for two weeks straight until the man finally begged for death and killed himself just to escape McCourn’s torment. He has no compunction or capacity for mercy. He would as soon kill or torture you to death than look at you. In some ways, he is even worse than the Dark Lord himself...”

Harry stood there silent, staring back at Snape. For several minutes of unbroken silence, no one said anything, the echo of Snape’s words still ringing loudly in the ears of everyone there.

“So... what are we going to do now?” Harry finally found the voice to ask, his voice sounding timid and scared even to his own ears.

Snape continued to stare at Harry with his piercing gaze, his features dark and foreboding behind a curtain of greasy black hair. “Unfortunately, Potter,” Snape said in a low, ominous voice, “If you are to have any hope of returning to your body, it would seem we're going to have to go after McCourn... and probably into the very midst of the Dark Lord’s inner circle to do so...”

Night had long since fallen over Hogwarts. Rain continued to rhythmically drum against the windows of the darkened hallways, though the occasional streak of lightening would light the sky outside. Silence and darkness seemed to reign absolute except near the door of a small study just down the hall from the stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office; the soft crackle of burning wood and glow of dancing flames spilled through the partially opened doorway into the dark hallway beyond. Inside, the soft murmur of voices could be heard...

“Dumbledore, if I might have a word...” Professor Snape quietly whispered into the headmaster’s ear. “It concerns Potter...”

Dumbledore looked up at Snape. “What is it, Severus?”

“The boy... What is to be done with him?” Snape asked, glancing over at the other side of the room. Dumbledore followed his gaze until it came to rest on the haggard looking figure of Sirius Black sitting on the edge of the divan bearing his godson’s still, lifeless body. The man’s hair hung wildly down around his face, his features bathed in dark, half shadows cast by the roaring fire on the other side of the room in the fireplace. Sirius blankly stared down at the floor by his feet, looking as if he were moments away from collapsing from exhaustion, but was too full of racing thoughts to actually do so.

But while Snape’s gaze seemed to fall on his old childhood enemy, it was really focused on the ghostly, tousle-haired figure sitting close beside Sirius on the couch, unseen to everyone else except himself.

“What do you mean, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“The boy – Potter... what’s to be done with him?” Snape repeated, starting to get slightly annoyed, “I have better things to do other than standing around here all night waiting to act as Potter’s translator. We have already spent all evening trying to decide what to do with him, and still are no closer to finding a solution than we were when I first found him. If there is nothing else I can do here right now, I should be able to go.”

Dumbledore stared at Snape for several moments of silence before he finally gave a small sigh and looked back over at Sirius and Harry’s body. It was true what Snape said. They were no closer to figuring out how they were going to retrieve the missing third of Harry’s soul from his would-be killer than they were before.

The others had already left to try and find more productive ways of helping. Lupin had returned to Grimmauld Place several hours ago to inform other members of the Order what had happened, and to prepare for any possible strikes Lord Voldemort might make against the wizarding world whenever word of Harry’s “death” got out. Mcgonagall had left to take over some of Dumbledore’s duties as Headmaster, and to deal with the endless stream of letters that were already flooding Dumbledore’s office from the countless rumors that had sprung up since that afternoon. Madam Pomfrey had stayed a little longer, tending to Harry’s battered body and mending what broken bones and injuries she could with Harry still in his semi-dead state before she too had left to return to the hospital wing.

Sirius was the only one that absolutely refused to leave Harry’s side. He seemed chained to the boy’s body, as if it was some kind of link between him and his godson’s wandering spirit. Dumbledore just hoped that some kind of solution could be found soon, or otherwise he feared for Sirius’ mental state. The man had already suffered and lost so much...

Dumbledore gave another weary sigh. “Yes. There’s nothing else we can really do right now,” he said, sounding every bit as old as he looked. “It would be best if you went and tried to get some sleep, Severus. I get the feeling none of us will be getting much again any time soon...”

“What about you, Sir?” Snape asked, a hint of concern creeping into his voice as he studied the headmaster’s tired, careworn face, “Will you be getting any sleep?”

“No,” Dumbledore replied, shaking his head, “I will stay here with Sirius. I doubt he’ll want to leave Harry...”

Snape gave Sirius a dark, sideways look out of the corner of his eye. As of yet, Black still hadn’t taken any notice of him and Dumbledore talking about him barely fifteen feet away. He barely even seemed aware of anything around him actually, he was so wrapped up in his own helplessness and grief over Potter. It was really rather pathetic...

“Sir... I don’t think you should have to put yourself out like this for Black,” Snape said with a suppressed sneer. “He will be fine by himself. If nothing else, I say you should ask Madam Pomfrey to give him a strong dose of Sleeping Potion that’ll keep him drugged til noon tomorrow.”

Dumbledore gave Snape a disappointed look. “It is not only for Sirius that I stay here. Though I cannot see or hear him, I do not want Harry to feel as though he’s been abandoned. I will stay here with him while you go rest.”

Snape gave a small, derisive snort. “Somehow I don’t think Potter’s really all that alone...” he sneered, glancing over at Sirius and Harry on the couch, sitting there beside each other looking so sad and dejected. Honestly! And Gryffindors were suppose to be the strong and brave ones... So far he hadn’t seen them do anything else except mope around feeling sorry for themselves. After discussing Potter’s situation for several hours and still coming up with no plausible plan of confronting McCourn, Black had become quiet and sullen, and the boy had practically glued himself to Black’s side. It was like Potter was trying to somehow comfort Black with his presence even though Black couldn’t see him even if he had stood right in front of him and jumped up and down. Really, the boy was starting to get annoying with all this Gryffindor chivaree.

Dumbledore however did not seem to share Snape’s views on the two. “Severus,” he said, leveling a soft but serious gaze on him, “I know how you feel about Harry, but as I said before, I hope you can eventually put this grudge of yours aside and work to help him. You are, after all, his Acolyte, and the only one that can see and hear him. If it was anyone else Harry had chosen as an Acolyte, I would strongly advise them against leaving him right now, even for a little while. He needs someone that can communicate with him here. But I know how you feel about each other, and know that you will need time to get used to the idea of working together. I am not reprimanding you for your feelings toward him, Severus – nothing in this world can make me change the way you feel about him, though in time I hope that will change on its own. All I’m asking is that you remember Harry needs someone to depend on, and right now you’re that only person...”

Snape grit his teeth together in annoyance. Leave it to Dumbledore – the bloody Gryffindor- loving old man – to make him almost feel guilty about wanting to leave the boy. But he had important things he needed to do that didn’t needa fifteen year old ghost following him around everywhere. It was hard enough being Hogwart’s Potions Master and a spy for Dumbledore in Voldemort’s inner circle, but with this added complication of dealing with Potter and being his unwilling Acolyte, Snape was beginning to feel a little bit overwhelmed.

“I will try and return as soon as I can,” he finally muttered after a time. Dumbledore nodded and smiled, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. Snape forced himself not to return Dumbledore’s smile with a sneer. Bloody Gryffindor- loving old man indeed...

Turning away from Dumbledore, Snape swept across the room towards his incorporeal charge. “Potter,” he said, coming to a stop in front of the boy. (He ignored Sirius when the haggard looking man looked up at him in surprise as if only noticing him there for the first time. He then also ignored Sirius’ startled expression when the man suddenly realized just how close Harry was to him by where Snape was looking). The bleary-eyed spirit-boy looked up at him inquiringly. “I must attend to some matters that do not need you trailing after me like some kind of shadow,” Snape went on. “You are to stay here and keep out of trouble. Professor Dumbledore had agreed to stay with you until I return (though I cannot understand why,) and I’m sure Black will be able to provide you with ample entertainment until then. You are not to leave this room and go wandering about the school. I know rules have never stopped you from doing what you wanted before, but I refuse to go searching the entire school for you, so I want you to stay here where I know you’ll be. Is that understood?”

A momentary flash of defiance flared in Harry’s eyes before he grudgingly replied, “Yes, Sir...” Looking up at Snape he then hesitantly asked, “But what if I need to tell Professor Dumbledore or Sirius something? How will they hear me?”

Snape eyed Harry for a long moment of silence. “Then wait. Surely you can survive several hours without anyone answering to your every beck and call. Or are you incapable of such a simple thing?”

Harry was sure any lingering feelings of gratitude he might have had for Snape since first finding him were rapidly beginning to fade. “No, Sir, I’ll be fine,” he muttered tightly, trying to hold his tongue and keep his cool. But it was difficult when Snape seemed so determined to provoke him.

“Come, Harry,” Dumbledore suddenly said, striding over to Snape and looking down at the spot beside Sirius Snape continued to stare at. “Why don’t you come sit here,” he said, conjuring a comfortable looking chintz armchair beside the fire. “I’m not sure what sensations are still left to a disembodied spirit such as yourself, but I’m sure you’d be more comfortable here. And it’ll let your godfather and I know exactly where you are while Professor Snape’s away. I must admit, it is a bit disconcerting not to be able to know where you are,” he added with a smile.

Harry looked between Dumbledore and the armchair. It did look more comfortable than sitting on the edge of the divan like he was. (And it was still undeniable creepy sitting next to his own dead body.) “What about Sirius?” he asked, glancing over at his tired looking godfather, “Wouldn’t he be more comfortable there?”

Snape had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes at the boy’s continued determination to play the hero in every situation – even to those people that were suppose to be the adult figures to him. He dutifully relayed Harry’s question though.

“No, Harry,” Sirius said, shaking his head vigorously after he’d listened to Snape’s rendition. “That’s alright, I’m fine,” he said, trying to force a bit of cheerful assurance into his voice, “You’ve had a rough day, and like Dumbledore said, it’d be nice to know where you actually are...”

Harry still looked unsure though.

Oh for Heaven’s sake... “Potter! Just take the bloody chair already so I can leave,” Snape snapped. “Does everything with you have to be a production?”

At Snape’s angry prompting, Harry obediently leapt up and sat in Dumbledore’s conjured chair.

About bloody time... “Potter’s there,” Snape said, indicating the empty looking chair to Dumbledore and Sirius, “I’ll be back later.” Then swishing his long black robes behind him, the dark haired man swept out of the room like an angry wraith, banging the door close behind him with a heavy, resounding thud.

Silence hung heavy in the air in the wake of the Potions Master’s departure. Left to stare at the empty armchair his godson was suppose to be sitting in, Sirius gave Dumbledore an uneasy glance. Dumbledore however returned his glance with a smile. With a twinkling sparkle in his eyes, he conjured another armchair next to Harry’s and comfortably sat back in it.

“So, Sirius,” he said, sounding like he was doing nothing more than making idle, friendly chit chat, “Perhaps to pass the time, young Harry would like to hear a story. Maybe something about your own school days here at Hogwarts. I distinctly remember one incident in particular that always amused me involving yourself, James, a certain invisibility cloak, Mr. Filtch, and a late night raid on the kitchens that went horribly awry...”

Despite himself, Sirius broke into a wide grin. “I remember that...” he said, a soft reminiscent look entering his eyes. “It was the night after a big Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. We had won and were tied with Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup. So to celebrate, James and I decided to pay a little visit down to the kitchens for a late night snack. Everything was going fine until we were coming back and James accidentally stepped on the tail of Mr. Pennington – Filtch’s cat before Mrs. Norris. You should have heard that cat screech, Harry! It nearly woke up the entire castle. Well, of course James and I had to hide right quick even with his invisibility cloak on because just about everyone was starting to crowd the halls, making it near impossible to move around without bumping into someone and letting them know we were there. So James decides to slip into one of the unused classrooms to wait until things died down and everyone went back to bed. Only we didn’t realize until we were already in the room that what we thought was an empty classroom was actually Professor Talens’, our old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher’s, office. Harry, if you thought having Snape for Potions was bad, Snape was the Easter Bunny compared to Talens. That man, I swear, was pure evil. And wouldn’t luck have it, he was there in the room when James and I crashed in...”

Harry sat there enraptured as he listened to Sirius talk about his and his father’s old marauding days. But as Sirius continued to spin his tale, Harry began to feel all the weight of the day’s stress begin to weigh down on him. Sirius’ voice was soothing, lulling him into a peaceful state of mind. He felt like he could fall asleep. A dull ache throbbed through his spirit-body. He was pretty sure it was the milder version of what he would have been feeling if he was still in his body and recovering from being hit head-on by a speeding car. How he could feel such sensations in his incorporeal state, he couldn’t even begin to guess. Maybe it was the link of his body still trying to call his spirit back to it; Harry didn’t know. Whatever the case, all he knew was that he was tired and sore, and that all he wanted to do was close his eyes and rest his weary soul.

Sirius’ voice was becoming more distant and muffled. Harry could feel himself slipping away into sleep. Darkness was steadily creeping in closer as his eyelids slowly began to drift shut on their own volition. It was so comfortable here. Maybe if he rested a bit then everything wouldn’t seem so hopeless and desperate when he woke up. Dumbledore and Sirius were there. Everything would be alright. And Snape said he’d be back later. It wouldn’t matter if he closed his eyes for awhile... He felt bad about falling asleep while Sirius was telling his story, but it wasn’t like Sirius or Dumbledore would ever know...

******

Damn Potter... Snape scowled, sweeping down the stairs toward his dungeon-office. Perpetually making my life difficult... Snape barely even slowed as he stormed into his office and slammed the door closed behind him. Several jars on the shelves rattled ominously.

Snape swept across the room before throwing himself in the chair behind his desk. But he didn’t stay there long. He was too agitated to stay in one place, and quickly got back up to pace the room.

Blasted boy... he griped, feeling his ire rise even more now than when he had had the boy right in front of him. Why did Potter have to pick him out of everyone else in the wizarding world to be his Acolyte? Was it possible Fate really was out to get him? If it wasn’t, it sure felt like it sometimes...

This whole mess was Potter’s fault! The boy probably had gotten bored and pestered his relatives into taking him into London. That would be something Potter would do... Yes, that’s exactly how it happened... Potter was being his usual spoiled self and had demanded his relatives take him into London, regardless of any danger he might have been in, where he had then come across a Death Eater – and being the usual headstrong Gryffindor he was! – had tried to take one of the Dark Lord’s most powerful servants on by himself. Typical arrogant Potter...

Honestly! Snape thought, Dumbledore goes to too much trouble trying to protect the boy when Potter seems so unwaveringly determined to get himself killed...

And then! to add to Potter’s already long list of faults, he had gone and dragged him into the whole thing! The boy had been hit by a car and his last thought had been about his Potion’s essay? What kind of person thinks about that just before they’re about to die?

A Potter... That’s who. Only a Potter would be so fly-brained as to think of something like that and get someone else who absolutely hated him involved...

Snape scowled and savagely whipped around on his heels to pace the room again. Whenever this is over and the blasted boy is back to normal, I swear I’m going to assign him enough essays to keep him busy til he’s my age... Snape darkly promised himself, also wondering if he couldn’t start deducting points from Gryffindor even though term hadn’t started yet. Maybe then that will teach him not to involve me in his messes...

But as Snape whirled around to pace the room again, he was blind sided by a sudden bout of lightheadedness that had him frantically grabbing for anything to hold on to. He managed to grab hold of a nearby bookshelf before he could fall, and clung to it as if it were some kind of lifeline. He was dimly aware of several glass jars falling from the jostled shelf and shattering on the ground by his feet, but it seemed so far away and distant Snape could do nothing more than clutch the shelf tighter and pray for the dizziness to stop.

Just as suddenly as the attack came, it left, leaving Snape shivering in its wake. Pulling himself up unsteadily, Snape looked around in confusion. What the bloody hell was that? But then, as if in answer to his own question, a sudden thought flashed through his mind like ten foot high, neon red lights:

Potter...

Gasping, Snape flew out of the room and up the stairs three at a time. He heard several portraits angrily yell at him as he sped by, but he paid them no heed. Something deep inside him was practically screaming at him to find the boy, and find him fast. Something was terribly wrong...

How he managed to get there so fast, or by what way he had come, Snape didn’t know. But there, in the distance down the hall, he spotted the stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office. Flying past it to the study beyond, Snape grabbed the handle of the door and wretched it open.

Dumbledore and Sirius both jumped nearly six inches up off their seats as Snape crashed into the room, his stringy dark hair flying wildly around his face. But Snape paid them no mind and immediately looked to the supposedly empty chair near the fire – and felt his heart clench with dread.

The ghostly figure of Potter was still in the chair, exactly where he had told him to stay. But the boy’s head was lolled back against the chair with his eyes tightly shut as if he had fallen asleep. But that was not what Snape found so wrong with scene he beheld. No, not that at all... It was the fact that the boy’s body seemed to be fading that sent a cold spike of fear through the Potions Master’s heart...

Though the boy’s body was already a pale, transparent grey, there was no denying what Snape saw as he watched the boy’s body waver for a moment like a dying candle before flickering almost completely out of sight, before it then slowly faded back to a fuzzy white outline.

“Potter!” Snape screamed, rushing past Dumbledore and Sirius to Harry’s side, “Potter, wake up! Potter!”

The boy didn’t stir.

“What’s going on, Snape? What’s wrong with Harry?” Sirius demanded, leaping to his feet and rushing to the Potion Master’s side.

“Severus, what’s happening?” Dumbledore asked, also getting to his feet.

Snape ignored his audience, trying to focus on the fading boy in front of him. “Potter! Potter, wake up right now!” he continued to shout into the boy’s ear, placing one hand on either side of Harry’s head to lean down over him until he was almost right in the boy’s face. If he thought he actually could have, he would have grabbed the boy by his shoulders and tried shaking him awake. “Potter, wake up right now or I’m going to start taking points from Gryffindor! Potter! Potter!”

Professor Snape’s efforts seemed to finally pay off as Harry finally began to stir.

Issuing a pained, tired groan, Harry weakly tried to blink his eyes open. But they seemed too heavy for him to manage and slowly began to drift close again. His ghostly form once more flickered and faded several shades.

“Potter, I’m warning you, wake up right now!” Snape shouted, a hint of panic beginning to creep into his voice. His hooked nose was now barely inches away from Harry’s face as he continued to frantically shout in the boy’s ear. “Potter! Potter!”

As if finally hearing Snape’s frantic calls, Harry weakly rolled his head to the side, his eyelids fluttering behind his transparent glasses.

“Come on, Potter, wake up,” Snape said, trying to keep calm though he found it hard to keep his panic from welling up.

Harry gave another groan before finally blinking his transparent grey eyes open to dazedly look up at Snape as if he didn’t immediately recognize who he was. As Harry became more awake, Snape saw his body slowly grow more condensed and grey, as if regaining some of his substance.

Harry seemed to finally wake and visibly started, suddenly realizing who it was that was staring him directly in the face. “Professor?” he weakly mumbled, looking around in confusion, “What’s going on...?”

Snape released a long breath of air he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding.

“Severus, what happened?” Dumbledore asked, looking between Snape and the empty looking armchair worriedly. “Did something happen to Harry?” Sirius was anxiously hovering next to Harry’s chair, looking as if he was about to pounce on Snape if he didn’t start talking soon.

Snape gave another heavy sigh and straightened from over the chair. “It appears Potter fell asleep while I was away. I was down in my office when I suddenly felt as though something was wrong, and came back to investigate. It was lucky I did because Potter looked like he was beginning to fade.”

“Fade?” Sirius demanded, “What do you mean fade? Like–?”

“Like he was fading out of existence,” Snape supplied, giving Sirius a dirty look out of the corner of his eye.

“This is not good...” Dumbledore muttered, “Is he alright now?”

Snape glanced down at Harry who sat there frightened and confused. “Yes. He appears to be. He’s awake now and not fading anymore. If anything, I’d say it was him being asleep that caused it, though I have no idea how or why...”

Dumbledore studied the empty armchair Harry sat in. “It must have been the Acolant Spell’s link between you that summoned you back to Harry’s side,” he said, tugging at his beard agitatedly, “If you had not come back when you did, I don’t know what would have happened. Harry could have faded away without Sirius or myself ever even knowing...”

Looking back over at his resident Potions Master, Dumbledore said, “You know what this means, Severus... We can’t risk another incident like this. You must stay with Harry at all times from now on in case something like this happens again. You are the only one that can see him. This fading can’t bode well for Harry; we’re running on borrowed time. His body must be weakening. When he fell asleep, the link between his body and soul must have begun to deteriorate. You have to watch Harry and keep him from falling asleep again. Until we find a way to restore him – and restore him soon – you two must stay together.”

Feeling his heart sink at such an ominous proclamation, Harry glanced up at his least favorite teacher. Snape was also looking at him, an unpleasant sneer pulling at his lips.

Well, Harry thought with a frown, at least they were united in their mutual dislike for one another...

Harry shifted in his seat and looked around Snape’s dungeon-office, bored. The place was dark and creepy, lined with multiple shelves of jarred specimens floating in noxious smelling liquid. Firelight danced across their glassed surfaces, illuminating the outlines of pickled animals and what suspiciously looked like dissected human body parts. But those things had long since lost their initial disturbing quality. After several hours of listlessly staring at them, not even the shriveled forms of pickled hinkypunks could keep Harry’s attention.

Harry gave a bored sigh and shifted in his seat again. He had been there all day since earlier that morning when Snape had announced he had work that needed done down in the dungeons, and had darkly ordered Harry to follow him in compliance with Dumbledore’s order the night before that he had to keep Harry in sight at all times. Harry still remembered the look on Snape’s face when Dumbledore had said that, and felt as if he was now being punished for it by sitting out some sort of unofficial detention.

After reaching Snape’s office, the acerbic Potions Master had immediately confined Harry to a chair in front of his desk and forbidden him to get up or talk for any reason. “I don’t want you poking your arrogant little nose around where it doesn’t belong. And I don’t need your mindless chatter plaguing my ears while I’m trying to work,” had been Snape’s exact words. Said Potions Master was currently on the other side of the room, bent over a caldron of bubbling red liquid.

Harry glanced over at him and glared at the dark haired man’s turned back. Greasy git...he couldn’t help but mentally spit. The man wouldn’t even let him get up to walk around. He had been sitting there for hours and was starting to get nervous and fidgety. It was already getting close to evening. Just how much time did Snape spend everyday brewing his little concoctions?

Harry was half tempted to ask Snape if he could find a book for him to read, but then remembered he had no way of turning the pages, and doubted very much Snape would be willing to do so for him every couple of minutes. Besides, Harry doubted Snape had Quidditch Through the Ages or anything else of the ilk. He probably only had Potion books, and Harry already knew those held absolutely no appeal to him. It was bad enough he had to deal with the subject in class let alone try and pass it off as pleasure reading now... Maybe if he wanted to use them in lieu of a sleeping aide that’d be fine, but he wasn’t allowed to do that either...

Shifting in his seat again, Harry gave an unhappy sigh.

“Are you absolutely incapable of sitting still, Potter, or are you just purposely trying to annoy me?” came an angry bark from the other side of the room.

Harry looked over at Snape, fighting to keep his eyes from narrowing with disdain. Snape however held no such qualms and openly glared at his ghostly charge.

“No, Sir,” Harry tightly mumbled, “I was just wondering how much longer we were going to be down here.”

Snape’s upper lip curled into a condescending snarl. “Why? Not used to not being the center of attention and having everyone fawn over you?”

Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek before he trusted himself not to shoot back with an angry comment. “No. I’m just starting to worry about Sirius. I just want to make sure he’s alright.”

Snape’s scowl darkened. “I assure you your mutt of a godfather is perfectly fine, Potter, as much as I loathe to admit it. I managed to convince Dumbledore to make Black get some rest while we were gone before I left. He probably would have thought it noble of himself if he let himself collapse from exhaustion while hovering there by your body like some kind of lost puppy. Honestly, you Gryffindors are nothing but a bunch of hopeless martyrs – always eager to throw yourselves away at the slightest opportunity of doing something that would make you look like the hero. It’s pathetic. But what’s worse is that everyone always eats it up and puts you on pedestals like it’s the greatest thing in the world.”

Harry clenched his teeth together in silent fury and turned away to glare at Snape’s collection of jarred potion ingredients along the wall, secretly imagining Snape’s face superimposed over each of the pickled swamp toads’ shriveled faces.

As if satisfied with the boy’s reaction, Snape turned back to his bubbling cauldron, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

After awhile, Harry began to feel his anger abate and boredom return. This was worse than being at the Dursleys. At least they made him do chores or some other kind of work that kept him occupied. Here he felt like Snape was purposely trying to test his patience.

Absentmindedly tracing the curves of the chair arm with his finger, Harry began to softly hum the tune of some new rock song he remembered hearing Dudley listen to the day he’d been hit by a car under his breath. He didn’t particularly like the song, but it was the type of song that got stuck in your head whether you liked it or not, and it gave him something to distract himself with. He was almost to the refrain when his unwitting audience finally could take no more.

“Potter!” Snape roared, whirling around on Harry again, “What did I tell you before about keeping quiet!”

Harry looked up at Snape in surprise, having not even realized what he’d been doing until then. “But I didn’t say anything,” he replied innocently, secretly enjoying Snape’s annoyed expression at his feigned ignorance.

Snape scowled darkly. “A likely story,” he snarled, “Don’t try and fool me, Potter, I know how you always go around looking for attention. Always trying to be the center of attention just like your arrogant father before you.”

“Leave my father out of this,” Harry snapped. Why was it Snape always wanted to drag his father into every single one of their confrontations? Why was he so bloody obsessed? “He has nothing to do with this.”

This seemed to spark an old, deeply buried fire in Snape, which he readily latched onto. “I think it most certainly does,” he hissed, drawing himself up to full height so that he loomed like a menacing black shadow. “You know nothing about how your father used to strut around this castle like he was God’s gift to wizard kind – like the rest of us were just put here on this planet to bow down and worship the ground he walked on! Don’t think I don’t see that same streak of arrogance in you! How you always go around playing for other people’s attention – getting into trouble and expecting someone else to bail you out, then expecting everyone else to pat you on the back and tell you how brave you were and what a magnificent job you did. You’re nothing but a spoiled child – doing everything in your power to get someone else to pay attention to you. Well, I’ll tell you right now, Potter, I’m not going to be one of those people. I refuse to cater to your already overinflated ego. I do not tolerate your presence here out of the goodness of my heart. If Dumbledore had not ordered me, I could easily have left you in your godfather’s care without even a second thought. I have better things to do with my time than babysit you. You might find it amusing to make other people drop what they’re doing just so they can pay attention to you, but I don’t.”

Harry sat there frozen. He had heard all these accusations before in some varying form or another from the acerbic Potions Master over the years, but somehow hearing them now, phrased like that, struck a chord deep inside him. A strong, unfamiliar feeling rose up inside him – one of frustration and self-righteous anger the likes of which he’s never felt before.

“Oh, and I suppose you think I purposely let myself get attacked by a Death Eater and hit by a car just so I could go off and have a jolly good time with you?” Harry shot back, unable to contain his indignation for the dark haired man’s animosity anymore, “Well, I have something to tell you, Sir: I don’t want your bloody attention! I don’t want anyone’s! I never have! You think it’s fun going around having everyone stare at you like you’re some sort of animal in a zoo? Well, it’s not! I would give anything just to be like everyone else! I’m tired of being “ famous Harry Potter”, the Boy Who Lived, or whatever else you people call me! I just want to be plain old Harry who doesn’t have people staring at him every chance they get!”

At some point, Harry had leapt to his feet to confront Snape. His hands were tightly clenched by his sides, shaking angrily. A faint gleam of tears had begun to shine in his eyes, threatening to overspill his defenses. He was angry – angrier than he had ever been in his entire life. He was tired of Snape’s scathing remarks and unending snarkiness. He was tired and scared, not knowing if he would ever make it back to his own body again. Why did Snape have to be such a git? Did he really think he wanted to be like this? That he wanted to be magically bound to the greasy man and have to depend on him for help? Because if he did, then he was sorely mistaken!

“You think I like being like this?” Harry went on, his anger burning hot inside him, “That I like being some sort of ghost no one else can see but you? Well, I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t! Right now, all I want to do is go home and go to sleep, and wake up in the morning and find out this was nothing but one horrible dream!”

Silence reigned absolute in Snape’s dungeons as Snape and Harry stared at each other, Harry’s fists clenched by his sides. The Potion Master’s face was unreadable, his features a blank slate of chiseled stone. Harry thought he saw something flash in the older man’s eyes before it quickly disappeared again from sight.

As he continued to stand there staring into Snape’s baleful black eyes, Harry slowly began to regret his angry tirade. He still felt justified in what he’d said, but he was beginning to wonder if it really hadn’t been the smartest thing to do to confront his Potions professor like that. Snape was infamously known for his temper and vengeful nature – especially towards him. What was he going to do now?

Snape seemed to be considering Harry. Whether for good or bad, Harry wasn’t about to venture a guess, but he was beginning to feel distinctly worried and ill at ease. Would Snape refuse to help him anymore because of what he’d said? Would he leave him to wander around as some kind of ghost until he finally faded out of existence? Would Snape actually let such a thing happen? A hint of panic began to creep up inside Harry.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, boring into the boy. “A moving speech, Mr. Potter, but in the end, too melodramatic,” Snape drawled, his lips curling into their usual condescending sneer, “Just like what I’d expect from a histrionic Gryffindor...” Then turning his back on Harry, Snape returned to his simmering cauldron of potion on the table.

Harry stood there for a long moment staring at Snape, confused. That was it? That was all Snape was going to say in reply to the angry tangent he’d just gone off on? He had been expecting fireworks and all he got was a snide comment? Somehow this just didn’t seem right... Was Snape feeling ill or something? He had heard of sleep deprivation doing weird things to people after awhile, but this just wasn’t the reaction he would have expected from Snape...

But Harry was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and tiredly sat back in his chair next to Snape’s desk, counting his blessings for Snape’s subdued reaction and feeling a fresh wave of weariness wash over him. He was so tired; his anger had taken more out of him than he thought. It felt like an eternity since he’d last slept. It somehow felt unfair that in his incorporeal state he should still feel so tired. Giving a weary sigh, Harry propped his head up on his hand on the armrest, wishing he was back in Surrey safe in his bed in Dudley’s second bedroom. It seemed so strange that he would wish he were back in Number 4 Privet Drive for whatever reason, but the Dursleys were the last place Harry remembered being normal before everything had gone so horribly wrong that fateful day. Maybe if he fell asleep, he’d wake back up in Little Whinging with nothing wrong and himself still in his body. Maybe if he fell asleep, he’d wake up and find that all this really was just some sort of horrible dream he could laugh about while he weeded Aunt Petunia’s garden. If only this were a dream...

Harry tiredly rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, forcing himself more awake. But he couldn’t go to sleep. As much as he might have wanted to, the danger of him doing so was too much to risk. Not if he didn’t want to start fading out of existence again and have Snape have to wake him up like that again.

“You better not be falling asleep, Potter,” came a cold voice from the other side of the room, “If I have to stay awake, then so do you.”

Speak of the devil... Harry thought sourly. “No, Sir. I’m fine,” he muttered tightly, forcing his head up off his hand, “I’m just a little bit tired...”

Snape stood straight from over his bubbling cauldron and turned back around to regard Harry. “Well, aren’t we all...” he sneered, fixing a nasty glare on his ghostly charge, “I’ve been awake for the past thirty-six hours and am feeling no more awake now than I was twelve hours ago. You’re not the only one that has to suffer because of your current state, you know,” Snape said, leveling an icy glare at Harry, “It still baffles me why you felt you had to involve me in this whole mess. I don’t know why you thought I would ever be willing to help you. If I had had any choice in the matter, I would have told you to find someone else to play the part of your servant, and to hell with you if you couldn’t find anyone else.”

Harry studied Snape quietly for a long moment of thoughtful silence. “But you’re still helping me,” he softly pointed out, meeting Snape’s cold black eyes, “You could have easily pretended to ignore me, or refused to take me to Dumbledore, but you didn’t. You convinced them I was still there even when Sirius wouldn’t believe you, and came back to find me when I started to fade. You may not like me, but you still decided to help.”

Snape froze, the boy’s words slowly worming themselves down into his brain. It was true. He hated the boy more than words could describe, yet he still had felt compelled to help him – still felt compelled to help him! It was then that Snape suddenly realized that even if he had had a choice to refuse Harry’s Acolant Spell, he still would have accepted it. He would have done so reluctantly, grudgingly, loathingly even, but he still would have helped the boy. His conscience would not have let him do anything else.

Damn Dumbledore, he thought, immediately blaming his unaccountable sense of ethics on the old Headmaster. Meddling old man’s turning me into a bloody Gryffindor...

But he was not about to admit the truth of his moral decision to the arrogant little Annoyance That Lived.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter,” Snape hissed, hiding his discomfort of such an unsettling revelation behind a facade of biting sarcasm, “I am only doing this because Dumbledore ordered me to. We’ve already seen what happens when you are left to your own devices... For whatever reason he seems to think you’re important (though I cannot even begin to fathom why), and doesn’t want you to fade away before we can figure out some way of returning you to your body. Plus, if he had ever found out I had ignored his little wonder boy and left him crying alone in some hallway, he would have ordered Hagrid to sic that blasted three-headed dog of his on me.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at the sudden mental image of Snape running full sprint across the castle lawn, his long black robes billowing crazily behind him, with Fluffy following in hot pursuit. “I doubt Dumbledore would actually do that,” Harry said, still trying hard to suppress a smile, “And besides, you could have always just refused Dumbledore.”

One of Snape’s lips twitched slightly. “One does not simply ‘just refuse’ Albus Dumbledore...” he muttered darkly. Slowly turning back to his worktable, Snape said, “Well, Potter, if you’re going to do nothing else but sit there all night and complain about how tired and bored you are, you can at least make yourself useful and help me. Lord only knows how hopeless you are in class, but hopefully even you can’t screw this up too badly.”

Harry looked over at Snape warily. He wanted him to help? This couldn’t be good... Having Snape in class was bad enough, but to have a one-on-one potions session with him now could not bode well... He probably just wanted to find some other excuse to berate him while they were cursed with each other’s presence.

“Well, Potter? Hurry up!” Snape impatiently barked.

Sighing heavily, Harry reluctantly complied and walked over to Snape’s worktable like a man being led to the gallows.

“I assume you can read?” Snape snidely asked as he pushed a large, heavy bound Potions book across the table to Harry.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry ground out between clenched teeth.

“Good,” Snape said, turning back to his cauldron, “I want you to read the list of ingredients and instructions off to me starting from powdered monkshood leaves. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said, looking down at the page Snape had opened the book to. The potion looked fairly simple, like one they would do in class, but with several brewing techniques Harry had not yet learned.

“Take two pinches of powdered monkshood leaves and three drops Essence of Calamine, and add to base,” Harry read, pausing to allow Snape time to do so and add the appropriate ingredients to the simmering batch of liquid. “Allow mixture to simmer for exactly three minutes before adding two parts diluted bat’s blood and three cloves of chopped nettle root...” They continued on in this fashion for some time: Harry reading the instructions and Snape expertly carrying them out. Except for Harry’s reading, neither spoke to each other. Silence hung between them until Harry finally read the last line of the page and looked up at Snape, watching as he slowly stirred their finished product.

“A bit too thin, but otherwise perfect,” Snape murmured, eyeing the bright red liquid critically. “It must be the rain... Humidity in the air has a tendency to weaken the mixture’s viscosity...”

Harry stared at the potion then looked back down at the book in front of him. “That’s Dulaver’s Potion,” he said, suddenly realizing why several of the ingredients had sounded so familiar to him while he’d been reading. “It’s an antidote. It’s one of the ones you assigned for our summer Potions essay.”

Snape looked up at Harry in mild surprise, quirking a dark eyebrow at him. “Correct. And do you know what its properties are?”

Harry searched his memory. “It’s an anti-poison... Usually for plant and animal derived poisons.”

Snape stared at Harry appraisingly for a long moment of silence, as if trying to figure out if he’d somehow cheated. “Impressive that you would know such a thing, Mr. Potter, when you are perpetually incapable of answering any such question in class...”

Harry felt a small rush of heat on his face. “It’s just that usually in class you’re looking for any kind of excuse to deduct points from me, so I generally try to keep quiet to avoid losing any more points for Gryffindor than Neville already does.”

Snape eyed Harry for a long moment of silence, a thoughtful expression lightening his dark features. “Longbottom always does manage to lose a fair amount of points for your House every time he has class with me...” he said, a small satisfied smirk pulling at his lips.

Harry chose to ignore Snape’s clear enjoyment of Neville’s continued torment, and glanced back over at the simmering cauldron on the table. “So what’s the potion for?” he asked, glancing up at his professor curiously.

“I should think, Potter, that that is none of your business...” Snape replied coldly, beginning to clean his worktable of the unused potion ingredients.

“But it has to be for something,” Harry persisted, “Madam Pomfrey usually doesn’t keep a stash of anti-poisons in the hospital wing.”

Snape shot Harry a clearly disgruntled look out of the corner of his eye. “If you must know, Potter, it’s for Dumbledore,” he said, busying himself with brushing the shaved earwig shells off the table.

“But why would Dumbledore need a batch of antidote? He’s not sick is he?” Harry asked, worry instantly prickling his mind. Dumbledore hadn’t been poisoned had he?

“No, Dumbledore is perfectly fine,” Snape replied in a voice of waning patience.

“But then why–?”

“Potter!” Snape snapped, unable to take the teenager’s relentless barrage of questions anymore, “It is none of your concern! Mind your own business! Or are you totally incapable of keeping your infuriatingly large Gryffindor nose out of–”

But Snape never got a chance to finish his insult, as he suddenly cried out in pain and clutched his left forearm with his other hand.

“Professor?” Harry cried, startled by his Potion Master’s reaction. “What’s wrong?”

Snape visibly fought against the pain for several minutes of silence until he finally straightened and stared down at his covered forearm with a dark, foreboding look. “It’s the Dark Lord...” he whispered, looking up at Harry with ominous black eyes, “He’s summoning his servants to him...”

Harry stared at Snape. “W- what?” he stammered.

“The Dark Lord...” Snape repeated, still subconsciously holding his forearm with his other hand, “He is summoning all those who bare the Dark Mark to him.”

Harry could not seem to make Snape’s words register in his frozen mind. Yes, Harry already knew Snape bore the Dark Mark – had ever since the end of the Triwizard’s Tournament when he had seen Snape show his branded forearm to Cornelius Fudge to try and make him believe Voldemort had really returned. He had also already suspected Snape’s role as a spy for Dumbledore in Voldemort’s inner circle, but that still did not prepare Harry for the shock he received at Snape’s ominous proclamation.

“Come, Potter,” Snape said, already sweeping towards the door, “We must tell Dumbledore of this.”

Harry felt too dazed to make any sort of reply, and dumbly hurried after Snape out the door. As he jogged after his Potions Master through the many dark hallways of the castle, Harry felt a queasy sort of dread begin to work its way up inside him. What did this mean? Why was Voldemort calling his Death Eaters to him? Had he finally heard about his supposed “death” and wanted to celebrate by ordering some sort of massive attack on the wizarding world?

No, Harry told himself to try and quell his rising fear, He doesn’t have enough Death Eaters to do that yet. He must be planning something else...

But somehow thinking this did nothing to stop Harry’s growing dread.

Up ahead of Harry, Snape was walking so fast Harry had to jog to keep up with him. He could tell by his Potion Master’s hurried, uneven gait and ghost white face that Snape was agitated... and scared. And somehow knowing Snape was worried sent Harry’s fears soaring to all new heights.

They had now reached the fourth floor and turned down the corridor leading to Dumbledore’s office. Harry thought he heard rain pounding against the darkened windows of the hall as he and Snape hurried past, but was going too fast to be able to know for sure.

Finally, the stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office sprang into view down the hall. Snape seemed to take this as a sign to go faster and sharply quickened his pace.

Just like the day before when he had found Harry sitting alone in a darkened corridor, Snape did not even pause at the stone gargoyle, and hurried past it to the study beyond as if he already knew where Dumbledore was to be found. Sweeping into the room with his invisible charge following close behind, Snape came face to face with the silver haired man he sought.

Sirius once again was to be found sitting close beside Harry’s body as if he’d never even left, though he did look slightly more rested than when Harry and Snape had left earlier that morning.

“Dumbledore,” Snape said, slightly out of breath, as he hurried over to the old headmaster, “We have a problem...”

“What is it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, a hint of worry instantly springing up in his voice, “Is there something wrong with Harry?”

“No,” Snape said, shaking his head hurriedly, “It’s the Dark Lord... Just now I felt the Dark Mark burning... He is calling his servants to him...”

Dumbledore’s face instantly darkened. “Do you think he might have heard word about what happened to Harry?”

“It’s possible,” Snape replied, looking distinctly uneasy, “He is probably summoning his servants to him to confirm the rumors he’s begun to hear. He will want to know for sure...”

Dumbledore slowly met Snape’s eyes and held them with his own. “You must go to him, Severus. It will be you he will want to question about Harry. He knows you are close to me and that you will have information about what’s happened.”

“But what do I tell him?” Snape asked, looking troubled, “I can’t tell him Potter’s still alive because technically he’s not. Nor would it be advantageous to tell him he’s dead. If I do and we somehow find a way to revive him, he will know I lied, and my position as a spy will be compromised.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes darkened as he tugged his beard agitatedly and began pacing the room. “That may be a risk we have to take...” he murmured, “You must go and tell him something, Severus; he will get suspicious if you don’t.” Dumbledore paced for several minutes of empty silence until he finally stopped and turned to face Snape again. “Tell him only the most basic of what we actually know – that Harry was hit by a car and killed. If Voldemort demands more answers, tell him you saw me bring Harry’s body back to Hogwarts, but did not actually get a chance to examine him yourself. That should give you leeway should we find some way of restoring Harry back to us.”

“But what about Potter?” Snape asked, glancing down at his ghostly charge, “Surely I can’t take him with me to the Dark Lord’s meeting place.”

Dumbledore followed Snape’s gaze and stared at the spot where Harry stood. “I am afraid you must, Severus. We can’t risk you and Harry being apart for any amount of time – it would be too dangerous. Besides, we must find McCourn. He has the missing part of Harry’s soul. If we ever want to restore Harry back to his body we must confront him. And you are the only one that can do that. I doubt very much one who could boost to killing the famous Boy Who Lived would keep quiet about it for long. He will want to be rewarded for it. If he's returned to Voldemort’s folds as I expect he already has, then you are the only one that can get to him.”

“That will be dangerous...” Snape said, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight, “It will be hard for me to get McCourn by himself, let alone take his wand. We will be risking everything if I am caught...”

“I know that, Severus, but it is the only thing we can do right now. We are running out of time...”

Snape heaved a heavy sigh and looked back down at his ghostly charge. “Well, Potter, it looks like if I am ever to be rid of your incessant presence, you’re going to have to come with me...”

Harry stared back up at him, looking quite ill at the notion of Snape’s proclaimed course of action. Snape wanted to take him unarmed into Voldemort’s lair with some unknown number of Death Eaters? Was he mad!

“But, Sir...” Harry stammered, trying to think of something to say to make Snape see reason to the ludicrousness of what he was saying, “How? I mean, I can’t–”

“Potter, if you ever want to go back to your body, you’re going,” Snape growled, leveling a withering glare at him, “I refuse to have you follow me around like some kind of shadow for the rest of my life. Plus, you have nothing to worry about. No one will be able to see you. You are invisible to everyone else except myself, or have you already forgotten that?” he sneered in his usual condescending tone.

“No, Sir. It’s just that... what if Voldemort can still somehow sense me – like how I could sense him through my scar before?”

Snape studied Harry for a long moment of silence. “I highly doubt that, Potter. You are nothing but a disembodied spirit. There is nothing to connect you to the Dark Lord anymore. Now if you are quite done with your theatrics, we have to go. We have already dallied here long enough.”

“Good luck, Severus,” Dumbledore said, nodding his silver head to Snape.

Snape returned Dumbledore’s nod with a curt one of his own and turned towards the door.

“Snape, wait!” came a sudden shout from behind.

Snape paused on the threshold and slowly turned back to regard the room’s last occupant. “Black...” he replied, eyeing the dark-haired man beside Harry’s body suspiciously.

Sirius stared at Snape for a long moment of tense silence before he finally spoke. “Good luck, Snape,” he bit out tightly, holding Snape’s steely gaze with his own, “You’ve taken care of Harry so far, so I’m trusting you with him now. I’m trusting you to bring him back...” Sirius’ words were short and brusque, as if it took everything in him to speak civilly towards his childhood enemy, but there was no denying the sincerity of his words.

If there was anyone there more surprised by Sirius’ words of good luck and trust, it was Severus Snape himself. The Potions Master stared at Sirius for a long moment of silence as if he thought Sirius was somehow trying to pull something on him. But then, with another curt nod, Snape turned back towards the door. “I will try...” he murmured before he slipped like a silent black shadow out of the room.

Harry paused for a moment, giving his godfather and Dumbledore one last look before he too turned and reluctantly hurried out the door after his departing Potions Master. He managed to catch up with Snape halfway down the hall. They walked in silence until they reached the dungeons again. Sweeping into his office, Snape hurried to the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“Hurry up, Potter,” he barked over his shoulder, picking a small canister of greenish powder up off the mantel. He turned and glared down at Harry. “Can you travel by Floo in your current state?” he demanded.

“Yeah, that’s how I followed Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin back to Hogwarts.”

Snape barely even waited for Harry to finish before he scooped up a handful of powder and threw it down into the fire. A wall of dancing green flames instantly leapt up inside the fireplace. “Follow me, Potter,” Snape ordered, stepping into the flames. Harry hurried to squeeze himself inside the fireplace beside Snape.

“Snape Manor!” Snape loudly yelled, and in an instant the two of them were hurtling down a long tunnel of darkness. Harry could barely even get his bearings at how fast everything was happening before he suddenly felt his feet hit the ground in a painful jolt that vibrated all the way up his legs. Stumbling out of the fireplace, Harry looked around to find himself in a dark, richly furnished parlor.

“Stay here,” Snape growled, sweeping towards the door, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry stood there for a dazed moment of silence, looking around the room in which he stood. This was where Snape lived? The room consisted of dark, oak paneled walls and ceiling high book shelves that ran the length of the right side of the room. Rich velvet curtains hung around the windows. Several leather arm chairs sat in a wide semi-circle around the huge fireplace behind him. The room practically screamed of wealth and prestige. Looking around him, Harry was taken aback by what he saw. Somehow Harry could not connect the luxurious setting in which he stood with his acerbic Potions Master. Snape seemed better suited to dark and brooding backdrops – like that of his dungeon office – not this vision of wealth and opulence. This was more like something Harry would expect to see in the Malfoy estate, not Professor Snape’s. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the house looked like.

“You better not be poking your nose into places it doesn’t belong,” came a cold voice from the doorway. Harry turned to see Snape striding back into the room. His long black robes billowed and flared dramatically behind him in the air as he came to an abrupt halt in front of the boy. “Ready, Potter?” he sneered, looking down his long, hooked nose at Harry.

“Yes, Sir...” Harry replied. Looking around the richly decorated room again, he then tentatively asked, “Professor... why did we have to come here?”

Snape’s lips curled into a condescending sneer. “If you would ever actually listen to that know-it-all Granger girl you would know by now that no one can Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. If you have to Disapparate somewhere, you have to Floo yourself out of Hogwarts’ limits. That’s why we’re here. Besides, do you think I would keep something as damaging and suspicious as this in Hogwarts where some over inquisitive student could find it?” Snape sneered, holding a piece of white cloth up to Harry. It took Harry a moment to realize what he was looking at was a Death Eater’s mask. Harry stood there silent as he watched Snape brusquely pull the mask down over his head and pull his black cloak hood up over it.

“What are you staring at, Potter?” Snape snarled, glaring at Harry through his mask slit.

“Nothing, Sir,” Harry said, quickly adverting his eyes from Snape’s face. Though he was not about to admit it, he was slightly disturbed at the sight of his Potion Master actually wearing a Death Eater’s mask. It made him remember what his professor was – or had been in a previous life. Though he knew Snape now fought for the Light side and worked as a spy for Dumbledore in Voldemort’s inner circle, that still did not change what Harry knew Snape had once been to gain such a position.

As if knowing what Harry was thinking, Snape shamefully looked away, almost glad he had his mask to hide his face from the boy’s condemning gaze with. Self-righteous, judging little brat... Snape wanted to hiss. What right did Potter have to judge him? What gave him the right to look at him like that like he knew who he was? But at the same time, somewhere deep inside, Snape couldn’t help but wish he could somehow prove to the boy he wasn’t the same man that first put on that mask all those years ago...

Quickly pushing that unsettling thought from his mind though, Snape turned his attention back to the situation at hand. Like how he was going to Apparate with a fifteen year old ghost to the Dark Lord’s meeting place...

“Come here, Potter,” he ordered.

Harry eyed him warily. “Why?”

Snape forced himself not to growl in frustration. “Because we’re going to do a little experiment.” When the boy made no immediate move of coming closer, Snape angrily barked, “Now!”

Harry finally complied and slowly came to stand in front of his professor. “Now what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Stick out your hand. I want to see if I can’t Apparate with you with me,” Snape said.

Harry looked at Snape hesitantly. “Why can’t we just use the Floo?” he asked. Somehow Harry did not relish the idea of traveling so close to his acerbic Potions Master that they had to touch. He was still rather uncomfortable about the thought of things passing right through him like he wasn’t even there.

Snape however did not seem to care and gave Harry another condescending sneer. “Because, Potter,” he growled, “I highly doubt the Dark Lord would have his secret meeting place connected to the Ministry Floo network. Unless he’s planning to invite a few Aurors over for afternoon tea, I highly doubt he’d leave any way for unwanted visitors to find out where he makes his stronghold.”

Harry was sure if he had any blood in his incorporeal body at that moment, all of it would have been rushing to his cheeks. Leave it to Snape to make him feel like he’d just asked the World’s Stupidest Question...

“Now put out your hand,” Snape once more ordered, “We’ve wasted enough time here.”

Harry was still hesitant and suspicious, but obediently held his hand out towards Snape. His masked professor stepped forward and thrust his own hand out towards Harry until his hand passed through Harry’s. Before Harry could say anything, he suddenly felt as though he was being compressed into a very tight ball. And then, with a loud pop he suddenly found himself and Snape standing in the middle of a dark, overgrown graveyard. Cold rain lashed the air and showered the leaning, moss-covered gravestones that littered the area. A long roll of thunder sounded overhead as if announcing their arrival to that foreboding place of death.

Harry looked around in bewilderment. He felt his heart clench with dread. He knew this place. He knew exactly where Snape had Apparated to. He knew because he’d been there before – after the Third Task of the Triwizards Tournament when he and Cedric Diggory had been Portkeyed from Hogwarts to the cemetery of Tom Riddle’s parents and the place of the Dark Lord Voldemort’s return...

“Professor...” Harry choked, feeling a rush of unpleasant memories.

“Be quiet, Potter, and stay close,” Snape ordered, turning towards the dark outline of a rundown mansion on a nearby hill to their left, “We are now within limits of the Dark Lord’s meeting place. I cannot be seen talking to thin air. Keep close to me and do not wander away from my side for any reason, do you understand?” he growled, looking back over his shoulder at his ghostly charge.

“Yes, Sir...” Harry stammered, hurrying to weave his way through the leaning gravestones and catch up to the older man. As he and Snape made their way through the dark graveyard, Harry forced himself not to look in the direction of a particularly familiar headstone. One that bore the name of Tom Riddle – the one he’d been tied to when he’d been forced to sit there and watch Voldemort return to power through the magic of his very own blood. He also averted his gaze from a flattened area of grass just off to his side where Cedric Diggory had met his end barely even two months ago...

Forcing himself to try and forget that hellish night, Harry hurried and fell into step close beside his teacher, trying to keep his eyes focused ahead on the dark house looming in the distance. Snape glanced over at Harry out the corner of his eye and noted his tense, agitated demeanor, but said nothing about it. He had a good idea what was causing the boy’s unease...

“Keep close,” Snape reminded him as they crested the hill and came into the house’s shadow. Harry said nothing, but found himself instinctively walking a little closer to his professor.

Looking up, Harry was dismayed to note how much more foreboding the old house looked up close. It looked like the very example of a Muggle haunted house... It’s windows were dark and covered with years of grime and filth. Several of the lower windows were broken, their shutters swinging dolefully in the rainy wind. Paint was peeling from the house in several different places as if the building was some sort of giant snake shedding its skin. Harry was sure in its prime, the house had been a handsome piece of architecture any lord or rich family would have been proud to call home. But looking at it now... it made him shiver...

Snape walked purposely up the overgrown, leaf-strewn walkway to the house’s front door and entered as if it were his own estate. It was obvious from Snape’s actions that Voldemort’s followers had no fear of being seen coming and going from their secret meeting place. Harry followed Snape inside and immediately noted the drafty chill and inky shadows that seemed to seep from the very walls of the dark entry hall. Snape, however, did not pause in the front hallway and continued on into the main part of the house, his invisible charge following close behind.

As they transversed the twisting, black hallways of the house, Harry suddenly heard up ahead the soft murmur of garbled voices. He thought he felt his Potions teacher tense a little at the sound as if he were suppressing a small shudder, but couldn’t tell for sure; Snape’s steps did not falter. Heading towards the sounds, Harry saw the first sign of light spilling into the darkened hallway through an open door.

Snape strode towards it, and turning into the lighted room, Harry suddenly found himself standing in a large room surrounded by more than fifty Death Eaters. And there, sitting in a tall, straight-backed chair on the other side of the room facing the door sat the very epitome of everything Harry loathed and hated about the wizarding world...

Lord Voldemort...

At Snape’s entrance, the room became disturbingly quiet, all eyes instantly turningto the newly arrived Potions Master. Voldemort slowly looked up at him, his red, snake-slit eyes narrowing with displeasure.

“Snape...” he hissed in a low, dangerous voice, “You are late. I’ve been waiting...”

“I am sorry, my Lord,” Snape said, bowing low to the resurrected Dark Lord, “But I was with Dumbledore and could not immediately leave without rising suspicions. I came as soon as I could...”

As Snape stood there bowed in what looked like humble servitude, Harry thought he saw Snape’s brow crease with disgust under his mask, as if he was fighting off his own revulsion for having to prostrate himself like that to the evil man before him. But as quickly as Snape’s emotions touched his face, they were gone, and betrayed nothing as he straightened once more to face his “Lord.”

“I assume you all know why I have summoned you here tonight,” Voldemort said, scanning the room in general, though his gaze seemed to linger slightly longer on Snape before moving on. A small murmur ran through the ranks of Death Eaters, but no one moved to actually answer their Lord. “I’ve heard rumors–” Voldemort went on after a dramatic pause “–that Harry Potter, the famous “Boy-Who-Lived,” as they call him, is dead.” Another, more audible, murmur rippled through the assembled Death Eaters. “And I want to know if they are true...”

“Right now all we really have are rumors, my Lord...” came a tentative voice from the right side of the room. Everyone there turned to see one Death Eater slowly stepped forward to address Voldemort in the middle of the room. “Our spies say there is great unrest in the Ministry right now. No one knows where the boy is. Several witnesses in the Leaky Cauldron say they saw Dumbledore come in carrying the boy, but then disappear using the pub’s Floo system. No one knows if the boy is actually dead or alive...”

“Which is precisely why I didn’t ask you, Avery, about the boy when you have nothing new to report to me but rumors I’ve already heard,” Voldemort hissed, leveling blood-red eyes at his cowering servant. “Crucio!” The masked Death Eater instantly dropped to the floor, howling and writhing in pain. No one moved to help him. After several moments, Voldemort finally lifted the curse and again scanned his ranks of now nervously shifting Death Eaters. The masked man, Avery, painfully picked himself back up off the floor and slunk back into rank beside his fellow Death Eaters.

Voldemort’s gaze continued to travel round his ring of Death Eaters until his eyes finally came to rest on Severus Snape again. “Well, Severus... I’m sure you can see my conundrum now,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously in the firelight like those of a predator stalking its prey at night, “Now you must see why I was impatient for you to come. You are the only one of us who is in contact with that senile old man, Dumbledore, and who is considered to be in his confidence.” Voldemort’s snake-like eyes bored into Snape with evil anticipation. “So tell me, Snape...” he asked softly, “Is it true?”

There were several heartbeats of immeasurable silence before Snape finally answered in a schooled, toneless voice, “Yes.”

This time a round of loud exclamations rang out from Voldemort’s hoard of assembled Death Eaters. Harry was not surprised to note that all of them were of some varying degree of excitement and glee.

“The boy’s dead, my Lord! Now you have nothing to stand in your way of taking everything you desire!” one Death Eater exclaimed.

“Good riddance...” said another.

“Oh dear... My son will be absolutely heartbroken!” came a familiar voice over the sea of murmuring black robes which Harry instantly recognized as Lucius Malfoy.

Voldemort’s white, sunken face broke into a wide, evil grin, making him look like a grinning skull with glowing eyes. “And how did this happen, Snape?” he asked, his glee at such an announcement evident for all to see.

Snape met the Dark Lord’s eyes unwaveringly, straightening his back as he spoke. “A car accident, my Lord. He was struck by a car and killed while out in London with his relatives earlier yesterday afternoon. I saw Dumbledore return with his body to Hogwarts sometime afterward.”

“And you are sure that he is dead?” Voldemort pressured.

Harry detected only the slightest of pauses from Snape before his Potion Master smoothly replied. “I did not get a chance to personally examine Potter’s body, my Lord, but the school nurse did, and there is no denying the boy is dead. Dumbledore was practically shattered by grief.”

If it was possible, Voldemort’s evil grin broadened even more. His red eyes seemed to practically shine with unrestrained glee. “Yes, yes,” he chuckled to himself, “The meddling old man always was rather protective of his little fosterling, wasn’t he?” An evil cackle issue from his bloodless lips. “Oh how I wish I could have been there to see Dumbledore’s face when he saw his precious little half-breed savior laying dead on some Muggle hospital table! It would have been worth all those years of waiting just to have seen that!”

Voldemort glanced to his left where a small knot of Death Eaters stood, a dark smile still playing at his lips. “Unfortunately though, the boy’s death did not happen exactly the way Dumbledore might think...” he said, turning towards them, “Why would Dumbledore ever suspect that one of my very own servants could have been the one really behind his precious student’s death? McCourn!” Voldemort called, “Step forward.”

Close beside Snape, Harry tensed as he watched one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters separate himself from the others and glide forward to meet his master in the middle of the room.

“My Lord...” the masked figure said, dropping to one knee in front of Voldemort and bowing his head.

Harry shivered as he recognized the cold cadence and inflection of the voice. It was the same voice of the one who had attacked him in the street... The one who had torn his soul in three...

Close beside Harry, Snape glanced down at his invisible charge, reading the tension and distress in the boy’s clenched jaw and rigid frame. Giving a small flick of his wrist that would have been taken by anyone else watching as only an unconscious twitch or nervous fidget, Snape caught Harry’s attention. Their eyes met for a brief half second of time in which Snape gave him a small but pointed look. It was only as Snape quickly turned his attention back to the middle of the room that Harry suddenly realized Snape’s glance had been one of reassurance – one telling him to wait and that everything was going to be alright.

Slightly taken aback by his Potion Master’s small gesture of reassurance, Harry paused for a moment before returning his attention back to the middle of the room.

“Rise,” the Dark Lord was saying, motioning McCourn up with a wave of his hand, “I believe you have something to show me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” McCourn replied, reaching into his long black robes, “I hope this pleases you...” Retracting his hand, McCourn withdrew a wand from some hidden, inner pocket.

Harry gasped at the realization that the wand McCourn held was none other than his very own.

Snape glanced back down at Harry, his gaze this time more pointed and sharp, warning him not to do anything (though in all honesty, he didn’t know what a fifteen year old ghost could really do in such a situation). Harry fought to keep calm, but found it difficult to stay where he was as he watched McCourn pass his wand over to Voldemort. He wanted to rush forward and grab his wand back from Voldemort’s cold, white, spidery hand, never to let him touch something so innately his ever again. But he somehow forced himself to stay where he was.

“I took that from him, my Lord, after that Muggle monstrosity hit him,” McCourn explained, a malicious note of pride tinging his voice.

“Most impressive, McCourn,” Voldemort said, holding Harry’s wand up to the light, “Most impressive indeed... The wand of the legendary Boy-Who-Lived... or should I say the Boy-Who-Finally-Died?” The Dark Lord languidly rolled Harry’s wand over in his hand, examining it at every angle. “There are not many who can attest to stealing such a treasure...” he said, glancing back down at McCourn with a speculative expression. “If what you say is true, then everything I need to verify your story should be right in here,” Voldemort said, holding Harry’s wand up to McCourn. Then pointing it to the side, Voldemort called out, “Priori Incantatem!”

A silvery light began to glow at the end of Harry’s wand. And then, like the faint whisper of voices on the wind, those there heard the ghostly echo of a young boy speaking from what sounded like someplace far away. “... Stupefy... Protego... Expelliarmus...”

Lord Voldemort’s face twisted into an evil smile. “How interesting... All defensive spells like from one trying to protect himself...” he said, once more holding Harry’s wand up to his face. He stared at it for a moment before looking back down at his posturing servant. “You have done well, McCourn,” he said, his demonic red eyes gleaming with satisfaction in the dim lighting of the room, “I assume you hit the boy with a Killing Curse before he was hit by that car.” McCourn nodded wordlessly, his masked head bobbing up and down. “You have been a loyal servant to me,” Voldemort went on, “And you shall be richly rewarded. I would have liked the boy to have suffered a little more before he finally met his end, and have been the one to kill him myself, but I suppose in the end the result was the same...”

“Thank you, my Lord, thank you,” McCourn said, bowing and scraping to Voldemort as he slowly backed away and rejoined his ranks of fellow Death Eaters around the perimeter of the room. Though he could not see his would-be killer’s face, Harry knew an evil smirk pulled at the masked man’s lips, McCourn reveling in his Lord’s dark words of praise.

“This new development now throws into effect an unforeseen opening for us to accomplish things we never could until now,” Voldemort said, turning back to address the rest of his silent congregation. “With Potter dead, it is time to devise a new plan. The wizarding world will be reeling from news of their “savior’s” death. It is time to make our first strike. Fudge has refused to admit my return. He will be the first to suffer. The Ministry of Magic must know that I have, in fact, returned – and more powerful than before. There is no need for us to worry about Dumbledore or his Order anymore... The old man is grief-stricken and bereft, unable to lead. Now is the time to attack. We are without opposition. His “secret weapon” is no more.”

An evil grin twisted Voldemort’s face as he began pacing along his line of Death Eaters. “Yes... If Fudge does not want to acknowledge my return, then I will make him acknowledge it! So many of my faithful followers still reside in Azkaban... I think it is time we finally freed them and brought them back where they belong...” Voldemort gave a mirthless chuckle and turned to scan his masked congregation. “And once your fellow servants have returned to us, we will prepare to strike the very heart of the wizarding world – the Ministry of Magic. With Potter dead and the Ministry toppled, there will be nothing left to stop me from taking everything I desire. The Muggle and wizarding world will fall to their knees and tremble to know the name of Lord Voldemort again!”

Around him, Harry saw several Death Eaters uneasily shift in place at the sound of Voldemort’s name.

“Lucius!” Voldemort called, turning towards one of the masked figures on the other side of the room, “I am putting you in charge of freeing those trapped in Azkaban. It is also time the Dementors officially joined my ranks. Their loss will be just one more thing to weaken the Ministry and those that oppose me...”

“Yes, my Lord. It shall be done,” Lucius Malfoy said, bowing his masked head.

“The rest of you are to go prepare for the attack,” Voldemort went on, “We make our strike against Azkaban tomorrow evening. By the morning after, I want everyone in the wizarding world to know that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned. And then after that... we prepare to meet our destiny...”

There was a collective murmur of assent from Voldemort’s hoard of Death Eaters and a series of scrapping and bows before they slowly began to filter from the room.

“Snape,” Voldemort called as the rest of his minions left to do his bidding, “If you would stay behind... You too, McCourn. I wish to speak with you both...”

Snape looked up at Voldemort in wary apprehension. He wanted him to stay behind? What could this mean? Usually whenever Voldemort singled him out separately like this, it was to give him some sort of secret mission... But then glancing over at the other masked figure on the other side of the room, Snape suddenly realized it really didn’t matter what it meant. He had to stay close to McCourn to try and steal his wand. The other part of Potter’s soul was trapped in it, so of course, Snape, being Dumbledore’s unofficial errand boy, had to be the one to get it back...

How typical... Snape scowled, Whenever Potter gets himself into trouble, it’s always me that has to bail him out... Snape had to fight with himself not to actually glance down at the boy and give him a pointed glare. Voldemort would surely begin to wonder if he saw him glaring at thin air.

“My Lord...” Snape said, sweeping forward and giving Voldemort an exaggerated bow as the last of the other Death Eaters finally left the room.

“Master...” McCourn seconded, copying Snape as he too gave a bow and came to stand in front of Voldemort beside Snape.

Snape had to fight off the urge to shuffle away from the other man’s presence. Though he was not a man to be easily intimidated or cowed, the physical aura of madness and death Snape could feel coming off the other man in almost palpable waves made him wary and distinctly ill at ease.

“This has been a most advantageous day,” Voldemort began, still languidly rolling Harry’s wand between his fingers, “First the return of one of my most trusted servants, and then news of that meddlesome boy Potter’s death... This certainly has been a most advantageous day...” he murmured with a dark look of satisfaction.

“But there is still much we need to do before we can truly bask in the good fortune of what’s happened,” he then sharply added, looking up at Snape and McCourn with a piercing glance from his blood-red eyes. “While Dumbledore and his Order will be temporarily incapacitated by news of their savior’s death, I am not about to give them any time to recover or compensate for the boy’s loss. Now is the time to strike. With the old man grieving for his fallen hero he will be unable to counteract in time.”

Voldemort walked back towards his high backed chair and laid Harry’s wand down on its armrest, then turned back to face McCourn and Snape again. “We must make sure his attention is kept away from us while we prepare to attack Azkaban and then the Ministry. Snape, I want you to make sure of this. You are close to Dumbledore. Keep him occupied. Keep his attention turned towards Potter. I do not want him finding out about our plans until we actually strike.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape bowed, keeping his eyes carefully adverted to the ground.

Bloody fool if he thinks I’m actually going to keep quiet about this, Snape thought, inwardly snorting at his “all knowing Master’s” ignorance to his status as a double agent for Dumbledore. What he wouldn’t give to be there right before Voldemort finally met his end and was told it was him that had been Dumbledore’s spy within his midst...

“Good,” Voldemort nodded, unaware of Snape’s treacherous thoughts. “McCourn, as I said before, you have done me a great service in disposing of Potter and will be greatly rewarded.”

McCourn bowed low. “It was my honor, my Lord,” he said, a note of hungry anticipation entering his voice.

“You are to be there when we attack the Ministry. You will be there beside me when we walk through the toppled Ministry of Magic’s doors and declare it our own. You will be given power and wealth beyond your wildest dreams, and be one of my most trusted servants. After I have conquered the magical world, I will give you dominion over whatever area you chose. Let no one say Lord Voldemort does not reward those who serve him well...”

“Thank you, my Lord, thank you,” McCourn said, bowing and scraping in such an obsequious, groveling way it made Snape embarrassed to watch it.

Voldemort nodded and waved McCourn up, not really paying any more attention to his continued stream of gratitude and thanks. “You have your orders, Snape. McCourn, you are to go prepare for tomorrow’s attack. Now leave me, both of you. I have much to think about and plan.”

McCourn bowed and obediently began to head for the door as Voldemort turned his back on them and glided towards another door on the other side of the room. Snape paused as he watched them both leave, leaving him alone in the room. Glancing between his invisible charge and the wand laying forgotten on the armrest of Voldemort’s chair, Snape made a quick decision and snatched the wand up and stuffed it into his robes. The bloody boy was going to need that if they ever got him back to normal again...

“Come on, Potter,” Snape muttered under his breath, and quickly turned back towards the door McCourn just disappeared out of. Snape swept out into the hallway, intent on catching up to McCourn before he disappeared so he could try and heist his wand too, but it seemed he didn’t have to. For said dark wizard was already waiting for him just outside the door.

Despite himself, Snape stopped short and jumped back, startled. Harry had to leap to the side to avoid Snape backing up into him. McCourn, meanwhile, leered at Snape through his mask slits like a hungry predator stalking its prey.

“Evening, Snape,” he drawled with an audible grin in his voice.

“McCourn...” Snape hissed, recovering from his initial surprise of the other man’s unexpected presence there outside the door. For one brief, frightening moment Snape wondered if McCourn hadn’t just heard him speaking to Harry and was about to confront him about it. But it seemed Fate was on his side that night, and McCourn hadn’t heard.

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed about my recent promotion tonight, Snape,” McCourn said, a taunting note of smugness in his voice. “I know how much you hated that boy, Potter, and would have liked to have been the one to kill him, but between you and me, I think you’re starting to outlive your usefulness.”

“What are you talking about?” Snape hissed, leveling an icy glare on the other man.

The corners of McCourn’s eyes crinkled as if he were smiling evilly to himself under his mask. “I mean that I couldn’t help but notice how our Lord didn’t mention any kind of reward for you tonight for your many long years of service to him like he did for me. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice that your only importance to him seems to be your ability to babysit the old man Dumbledore. One would think you have nothing to offer our Lord in the way of service like I have. After all, you have been in contact with Potter for the past four years. I should think that given that amount of time you would have at some point found a way of killing him even with Dumbledore watching over him. Are you just that pathetic of a Death Eater that you can’t even dispose of one little boy?”

Snape grit his teeth together in silent fury. He knew McCourn was trying to goad him into action, but Severus Snape was not one to be so easily manipulated. Especially by someone like Rowan McCourn...

“Actually spying for our Lord in Dumbledore’s school can be quite enlightening at times,” Snape replied silkily, meeting McCourn’s gaze with unruffled aplomb. “You’d be surprised what one can learn if one just listens... Like the fact that Potter didn’t really die at your hands at all.”

“What are you talking about?” McCourn snapped.

“I’m talking about that you are living under the illusion that you actually killed the famous Boy Who Lived.”

“You’re the one living under an illusion,” McCourn hissed, “I hit that boy with an Avada Kedavra curse right before he was hit by that car. I killed him!”

“That’s what you think,” Snape replied with a sly smirk, “Apparently you were so sure of your own abilities you didn’t even stay to make sure the boy was actually dead before you fled like some kind of common criminal from the scene. Because if you'd have stayed there even a few more minutes you would have found out Potter was still alive. He didn’t die until after they’d already gotten him to a hospital. Your “promotion,” as you call it, is nothing but a sham.”

McCourn stared at Snape with narrowed, hateful eyes. “You lie,” was all he managed to say in response.

Snape however was not done yet and leaned in for the kill. “No, I don’t... And if you don’t ever want the Dark Lord to find out about your little screw up, I suggest you stay out of my way from now on.” Then giving McCourn one last glare, Snape pushed his way past him, knocking him in the shoulder as he did so.

McCourn hatefully glared after him as Snape strode down the hall, leaving Harry and McCourn behind. Harry stared after him before he finally shook himself out of his daze and hurried after his departing Potions Master. As Harry hurried after Snape, he gave one last look over his shoulder at McCourn who still stood there in the middle of the hall, staring after Snape with murderous eyes.

Snape did not slow as he swept out of the house into the stormy night. Harry called out and hurried to catch up with him, but Snape still did not slow or show even the smallest sign of stopping. It was only when he finally reached the relative cover of the overgrown graveyard below the house that he finally stopped and waited for Harry to catch up.

“Professor,” Harry panted as he came up beside Snape and looked up at his masked potions teacher, “That was brilliant.”

Snape looked at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“That... just now. The way you were talking with McCourn – always keeping ahead of him like that. I’m gonna have to remember how to do that the next time I see Malfoy,” Harry replied.

Snape stared at Harry for a long moment of silence as if he thought the boy might be starting to lose his mind, but finally replied in a voice of dripping sarcasm, “Well, thank you, Potter. I’m glad I can amuse you. But unfortunately we do not have time for this right now. We don’t have much time.” Reaching inside his robes, Snape withdrew two wands – one of them a familiar dark brown, and the other an ebony shade of black.

Harry gasped and stared at McCourn’s jet-black wand. “How...? When...?” he stammered.

“When I bumped into him in the hall. McCourn was too distracted to feel me slip it from his pocket. You don’t think I’m naturally that ungraceful do you?” Snape hissed, putting Harry’s wand back inside his robe’s inner pocket for safe keeping. Reaching up, Snape quickly tore his white Death Eater mask from his face and threw it to the ground with clear disdain. “Now stand back,” he commanded, “I need room to perform the Priori Incantatem.”

Harry obediently stepped back behind Snape. This was it. They were finally going to free the missing part of his soul. He was finally going to be able to back to his body. Everything was going to be alright now...

But just as Snape raised McCourn’s black wand to incant the Reverse Spell, a sudden movement caught Harry’s attention out of the corner of his eye. Looking towards it, Harry felt his spiritual body grow cold at the sight he beheld. Snape also paused and looked in the direction Harry stared.

A man stood there some twenty feet away. He wore long black robes that instantly marked him as one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. But like Snape, this man no longer wore his mask either.

He had a strong, tapering face with long, slicked back black hair. A thin mustache and goatee framed his mouth, accentuating the strong curvature of his chin. He would have been considered handsome by many had it not been for the crazy, murderous fire burning in his dark brown eyes.

“What are you doing, Snape?” the man demanded, his eyes glaring at the unmasked Potions Master.

Harry felt his blood run cold. He knew that voice. He’d recognize it anywhere.

It was Rowan McCourn...

“What are you doing, Snape?”

The words rolled off McCourn’s tongue like venom, screaming of untold danger. His eyes blazed with murderous fire as he glared at the maskless Potions Master.

Snape, for his part, stared back at McCourn with an unreadable expression. But if one knew how to look close and read the acerbic man’s subtle body language, they would have seen the same spark of horrified dread that was characteristic of anyone caught red-handed in the act of doing something they knew was wrong flash across the Potion Master’s eyes.

Oh shit... Snape mentally swore. He would have tried stashing McCourn’s wand away before the other man could see it, but already knew it was too late. McCourn had already seen that damaging bit of evidence still held in his hand for all the world to see. It was going to take a miraculous amount of Slytherin type lying to get himself out of this...

“I said, what are you doing, Snape?” McCourn repeated, taking several steps closer to him in the middle of the overgrown graveyard.

“I don’t think that’s really any of your business, McCourn,” Snape replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral, though full of his characteristic scorn.

“Oh, I think it does, Snape,” McCourn hissed, coming ever closer, “And I think it will also interest our Lord to know that not only did you steal my wand, but also the wand of his enemy, Harry Potter...”

Snape said nothing as McCourn continued his advance – now only half a dozen paces away. Unconsciously, Snape shifted to face the man so that he protectively stood between McCourn and his ghostly charge. Harry stood close behind him, seemingly frozen as he stared at McCourn in horrified dread.

“Imagine my surprise, Snape, when I went back into the meeting room after our little conversation in the hall to find my gift to our Lord missing. And then imagine my surprise when I went to get my wand only to find my own wand missing...” McCourn said, his eyes never leaving Snape’s as he finally came to a stop several paces away from the other man. “I couldn’t help but begin to wonder who would have taken it. And then I couldn’t help but remember it was you who was the last one to leave that room, and the last one to bump into me right before my wand suddenly went missing...”

McCourn’s cold eyes narrowed, boring into Snape with unadulterated hate. “So I have to wonder now, Snape, what you’re up to and trying to do by stealing my wand and our Lord’s trophy prize...”

Snape’s mind whirled, trying to think of something to say. “You didn’t honestly think I was just going to let my little threat about telling the Dark Lord about your little failure to actually kill Potter yourself just hang over your head without having some kind of solid evidence to back it up should I ever decided to use it against you, did you?” he sneered, leveling one of his iciest, most condescending glares on the other man. “Because if you did, you are even stupider than I thought you were...”

McCourn’s lips curled into a vicious snarl. “Watch it, Snape,” he hissed, “Despite whatever you might have against me, I still think our Lord would be most displeased to find out you stole Potter’s wand from him.”

“And what are you going to do? Tell on me?” Snape mocked. He slowly raised McCourn’s wand up to his face and looked it up and down with a speculative expression. “I’m sure if I did a Priori Incantatem on your wand here it would tell us some very interesting things about your final battle with Potter that I think our Lord would be most interested to hear... Like how there’s no completed Killing Curse on it... Shall we take a look and see?” he asked, holding McCourn’s wand out from his body to incant the spell. “Priori Incan–”

McCourn’s eyes flashed murderously. “Accio wand!” he screamed, holding his hand out towards Snape and his stolen wand.

Before Snape could prevent it, he felt McCourn’s wand go flying out of his hand back towards its owner.

“Avada Kedavra!” McCourn yelled, shooting a blast of bright green light at Snape as his wand came flying back into his hand. Snape dropped and ducked behind a nearby headstone just as McCourn’s Killing Curse hit the ground right where he’d been standing barely half a second before.

Harry also leapt back from the spot and ducked behind another headstone close beside Snape.

“Damn it...” Snape swore, whipping his wand out from his robes, “I’d forgotten McCourn can do some wandless magic.”

“What?” Harry demanded, his ghostly face going several shades paler. “How can he do that?”

“Be quiet, Potter, now is not the time,” Snape hissed back at him in a whisper. Carefully looking around the gravestone he’d hidden behind, Snape saw McCourn weaving his way through the leaning maze of headstones straight towards him, his black wand held out in front of him like some sort of evil divining rod. “Suffice it to say he is a very powerful dark wizard. Right now though, I need to worry about not getting myself killed while simultaneously trying to get McCourn’s wand back so I can restore your sorry soul back to your body.”

“Come out, come out wherever you are, Snape!” McCourn sang, his voice carrying loudly through the dark, rain-lashed graveyard. A long roll of thunder sounded overhead as if joining in to sing with McCourn. “I know you’re in here! It’s not nice to skip out on a duel like that. It’s very cowardly. Come on! Be a man and face me! Then we’ll see who gets to be the one to go back to our Lord and tell on the other.”

Snape scowled and gripped his wand tighter. “The things I have to do for you, Potter...” he growled before springing to his feet and aiming a Disarming Spell at the other man. “Expelliarmus!”

McCourn, however, seemed to already anticipate a surprise attack from Snape and deflected his spell with a powerful shielding charm. Snape cursed and ducked behind another tombstone just as McCourn sent a retaliatory Cutting Curse at him. The old grave marker he’d just been behind promptly burst into a thousand tiny pieces and showered the area like stony hail. Ducking and weaving through the old leaning headstones, Snape fired several more curses off at the other man.

But McCourn was able to block or deflect every single one. None of them ever even got close to hitting him.

“Is that the best you can do, Snape?” he mocked as he batted away another one of Snape’s spells and forced the Potions Master to duck behind another tombstone with a deadly Constricting Curse. “Honestly... I don’t know why our Lord keeps you around...”

“I suppose it’s the same reason why he actually believed you would be able to kill off one annoying teenage boy,” Snape shot back as he leapt out from behind a tombstone and fired another Disarming Spell at him.

McCourn had to scramble to leap out of the spell’s path in time, and turned on Snape with a growl of rage and murder burning in his eyes. “Reducto!” he shouted, aiming at Snape again.

The spell came fast and quick. Snape didn’t even have time to put up a defense or duck before he felt the curse slam into his chest and send him flying off his feet into a nearby headstone. The Potion Master’s body hit the moss covered slab with a sickening crunch and crumbled to the ground at its base. His wand flew from his hand and landed half a dozen feet away.

“Professor!” Harry cried, trying to weave his way through the maze of tombstones to get to his fallen professor’s side.

But McCourn was quicker.

Like some black carrion bird of death, McCourn swept down on Snape’s crumbled body and grabbed him by the collar until he had the Potion Master pinned up against the headstone at his back. Weakly clawing at the merciless hands wrapped around his throat, Snape stared back up at McCourn with dark, hateful eyes.

“Oh, I wonder how I should finish you off...” McCourn mused, enjoying the helplessness of his pinned and injured opponent. “I suppose I could always just give you back to our Lord to be dealt with seeing as how it was you that stole Potter’s wand from him. But where would the fun be in that for me? No... I think I’ll think of something else to do to you myself. I have so many new and painful curses I’ve learned over the last few years that I’ve been dying to try... I can always just make up a story later explaining to our Lord why I had to kill you. Maybe something about how I caught you spying for the other side and had to kill you. Wouldn’t that just boil his blood to think one of his most trusted servants was a spy? Think of how he’d reward me then for disposing of you if I told him that...”

Snape couldn’t believe what was happening. First he’d gotten himself into a duel-to-the-death with Potter’s supposed murderer, and then McCourn’d just somehow unwittingly guessed the very thing he was actually guilty of. Did Fate’s cruel sense of irony know no bounds?

“There’s only one thing wrong with your story, McCourn,” Snape hissed, grabbing hold of the other man by the wrists, “And that’s no one would ever believe I’d actually fight for the Light side.” Then violently twisting his body to the side, Snape wretched away from McCourn, pulling the other man off balance with him.

The two men tumbled and rolled over each other in the overgrown grass between the gravestones, fighting for possession of McCourn’s wand. Lightening flashed and thunder crashed overhead as the two grappled with each other, trying to get advantage over the other.

Finally, Snape managed to wrestle McCourn’s wand out of his hands and pointed it up at the other man’s chest. “Expelliarmus!” he cried, and McCourn was sent flying backwards off of him. The Death Eater hit the ground and came to a rolling stop several paces away from where Snape was now struggling to get back to his feet.

“Professor, are you alright?” Harry called from somewhere off to the side.

“Not now!” Snape snapped, keeping his eyes and stolen wand trained on the crumbled figure in front of him. McCourn was slowly getting to his feet, glaring at Snape through a curtain of mussed black hair.

“Oh, that was good, Snape... Better than what I would have given you credit for,” McCourn laughingly sneered, standing to face Snape once more, “I suppose you are capable of some surprises after all.”

“I’d be quiet if I were you,” Snape dangerously hissed, leveling the tip of McCourn’s wand at its owner’s chest.

“Or what? You’ll hex me?”

“Don’t tempt me...” Snape growled.

For one brief, shining moment of time, Snape was almost ready to believe he’d actually won when McCourn suddenly reached his arm out to the side and shouted, “Accio wand!”

From out behind some weather-beaten tombstone, Snape saw his own wand which he’d dropped earlier in their fight come sailing through the air into McCourn’s outstretched hand. “Elos Nexuris!” McCourn shouted, whipping Snape’s wand over his head and aiming it at the startled Potions Master.

Snape tried to put up a block in time, but McCourn once again was too fast, and before Snape knew it, he felt himself violently slammed off his feet by a powerful blast of bright red light. For a moment, it almost felt like he was flying. But then he hit the ground again, and whatever pleasant sensations of weightless Snape might have had for that brief moment of time abruptly disappeared. He felt his arm crushed beneath him as he hit the ground and was almost sure his shoulder had just been dislocated. He rolled several times over the cold, wet ground before he finally felt himself slam into something hard and unforgiving at his back – one of the cemetery’s many gravestones. Pain exploded through his entire body, flaring white in his eyes. And for several moments of unbroken silence Snape just lay there, motionless and still.

“Professor!” Harry screamed as he watched his teacher smash into the faded headstone and land in a boneless heap at its base. Without even waiting, Harry rushed to his fallen Potion Master’s side and knelt down beside him.

Evil laughter echoed through the dark and rainy night. “That was a good attempt, Snape, but I’m afraid you’ve never learned that important lesson that you never put your guard down until your enemy is either completely subdued, or dead. It’s one of the first things they teach you in Defense class. I thought being the Head of Slytherin House, you of all people would already know that, but I guess I thought wrong. I suppose this is just going to have to be one of those proverbial ‘lessons learned the hard way.’ But don’t worry... I promise I’ll make it one you’ll never forget...”

Harry glanced up in horror as he saw McCourn begin to slowly weave his way through the maze of leaning headstones straight towards them. “Professor! Professor, please, you have to get up!” Harry cried, leaning down over his teacher’s motionless body, “Please, you have to get up, he’s coming straight for us!” Instinctively, Harry tried to reach out and shake Snape awake, but his hands passed right through him as though he wasn’t even there. Harry felt his panic rise. Glancing back over his shoulder, Harry saw McCourn getting closer. He was now only several dozen feet away.

“Professor, please!” Harry frantically cried, turning back on Snape with renewed vigor. He felt so helpless. He couldn’t do anything! He had to wake Snape up! He was the only one that could do anything! “PROFESSOR!”

Harry’s desperate cry seemed to finally break through the stupefied haze of pain clouding Severus Snape’s mind, for with a startled gasp the acerbic Potion’s Master came back to full awareness, his dark black eyes flying open and instantly focusing on the ghostly boy hovering over him. “Potter...” he rasped.

“Not now, Professor! McCourn! He’s coming!” Harry frantically shouted, pointing behind him. Snape followed the boy’s wild gesture and saw McCourn coming straight towards them through the uneven rows of headstones.

Snape’s eyes widened, and hurriedly tried to push himself up off the ground. But a blinding bolt of pain shot down the length of Snape’s right arm, temporarily immobilizing him. Snape fell back to the ground with a choked off cry of pain.

Damn it... he swore, clutching his throbbing shoulder with his other hand as he once more tried to sit up. Now what? He knew he couldn’t fight anymore. His wand hand was disabled. Tingling waves of pain raced up and down his entire arm, numbing his hand. He could barely even feel McCourn’s wand (which he’d somehow miraculously managed to keep a hold of during his mid-air flight) in his hand anymore. He wouldn’t be able to block any more spells – let alone any powerful ones he knew the sadistic man he was fighting was most assuredly capable of and willing to use.

Glancing up at the boy beside him, Snape knew he couldn’t go on like this anymore. It was either now or never. He couldn’t wait any longer. If the boy was ever to have a chance of getting back to his body alive, he was going to have to do something now. Before it was too late...

“Get back, Potter,” he ordered.

Harry looked back at him in surprise. “What?”

“I said get back, you stupid child!” Snape hissed, raising McCourn’s wand.

Harry obediently complied and leapt out of the injured Potions Master’s way. Snape shakingly raised McCourn’s wand, his injured arm quivering with the effort it took him to hold it out straight. McCourn was now almost right on top of them. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have time to stop him from doing what he needed to do.

“Priori Incantatem!” Snape roared, pointing McCourn’s wand towards an empty area of grass several feet in front of him between two headstones. An explosion of silvery-white light erupted from the tip of McCourn’s wand, washing over the overgrown graveyard like a tidal wave of liquid moonlight. McCourn leap back in surprise, shielding his eyes from the unexpected explosion of light. Wind savagely whipped the air, roaring like a small hurricane through the rows of headstones.

Harry cried out over the deafening wind and dropped down next to Snape, shielding his eyes from the light with his arm. Snape was also crouched low, struggling to keep the reversed wand steady as light and wind continued to spill from its tip. Disembodied voices could be heard on the wind, screaming as if in terrible pain. Harry wanted to cover his ears to block out the horrific sounds. It sickened him to think how many people McCourn must have tortured and killed to have produced such a terrible cacophony from his evil black wand.

The wind was growing stronger, pulling at the two huddled figures.

“Professor!” Harry cried over the howling wind, “What’s happening? This isn’t normal!”

Snape scowled. “Nothing is ever normal when it comes to you, Potter!” he shouted back, now fighting to keep the wand steady with both hands, “Just wait!”

As if to prove him right, the disembodied screams slowly began to fade away, though wind continued to whip around them. The blinding white light coming from the wand suddenly changed, turning to a pale, silvery blue. The wind began to die. And then, like the birth of some phantom being, the top of a head emerged from the end of McCourn’s wand.

That head slowly gave way to a neck, then shoulders, then the upper body of a thin, tousled haired figure. The ghostly figure slipped free from McCourn’s wand and landed on the ground in front of Harry and Snape in a jumbled heap.

With a startled gasp, the figure shot upright into a sitting position. Looking around wildly, the ghostly figure struggled to its knees, clearly disoriented and confused. Frightenedly scanning the area, it finally spotted Harry and Snape sitting there barely ten feet away. It stared at them for a long moment of silence, its familiar transparent face frozen in an expression of confusion and fear.

“P–Professor?” it stammered, its frightened, bespeckled eyes darting between Snape and Harry as if it couldn’t decide which to look at first.

Harry felt his stomach flipflop with some undefined emotion similar to disbelief, shock, happiness, and relief. The ghostly apparition staring back at him was none other than himself – the missing part of his soul! The spell had worked! He could feel the almost imperceptible pull around his navel begin to grow stronger, like a string tied to his middle trying to tug him back towards his other half.

“You bloody traitor!” came an enraged shout from beyond Harry’s other self. Harry tore his gaze away from his other self to look up and see McCourn standing there like a dark wraith on the other side of the glowing ring of light surrounding his other half. “You damn bloody traitor! You’ve been helping the other side this entire time – Dumbledore and that brat Potter! That’s how you knew about him not immediately dying! He told you! That’s why you were trying to steal my wand and his back! You’re a spy!”

Snape stared at McCourn in disbelief. How could he have possibly known that? Unless... Snape looked back at the ghostly boy beside him and the other part of his soul kneeling in a brilliant ring of light.

Light seemed to spill over the boy and the freed part of Potter’s soul, bathing them in an iridescent glow of silvery-blue light. It seemed to reflect off their transparent grey skin, somehow making them look more condensed and solid. It was then that Snape suddenly realized McCourn must now also be able to see them. How he was actually able to do so, it really didn’t matter. For Severus Snape knew there was nothing he could say or do to get himself out of this situation now...

“You bloody traitor... You’ll die for this...” McCourn hissed, leveling his wand at the downed Potions Master as he began his advance, “I’ll have your head for this and take it back to my Master as proof of your treachery...”

Snape tried to push himself to his feet to meet the approaching wizard, but miserably flopped back down against the headstone at his back, his injured body too battered and weak to manage it. Unable to rise and fight, Snape instead opted to level his dirtiest of glares on the other man. “Well, come and get me then,” he tauntingly hissed, “Show me what you got...” Let no one say Severus Snape went out without at least one final derogatory remark...

Harry, meanwhile, looked on in horror. “Professor, no!” he cried, trying to stand. But as he tried to rise and go to his teacher’s aide, he felt the steady pull on his soul suddenly increase, almost pulling him down onto his side towards his other self. Struggling to his knees, Harry looked towards his other self. He too seemed to be feeling the growing pull on his spirit body.

McCourn was now almost right on top of Snape, leveling Snape’s stolen wand at its owner’s head. “Goodbye, Snape. See you in Hell...”

“Maybe sooner than you think...” Snape replied, his voice calm and resigned as if he’d already expected this sort of death to someday happen.

“Professor, no!” Harry wailed, struggling to go to Snape’s aide. But the pull was becoming too strong. He could barely even move anymore. It felt like he was being pulled by some kind of invisible fishing line attached to his belly button.

McCourn was now right in front of Snape, his wand aimed directly in between the Potion Master’s eyes. “Avada Kedav–”

“NOOO!” Harry screamed. But just as he saw the greenish haze of McCourn’s Killing Curse begin to form, he felt the insistent pull on his body finally become too much and pull him backwards right up off the ground. He felt himself suddenly hurtling through the air, spinning and turning like a tossed rag doll on some wild Portkey ride. Light and shadows spun across his vision, swirling and twisting like some kind of deranged kaleidoscope. A disorienting cacophony of voices and sounds assailed his ears as he hurtled past. The world was nothing but a spinning blur. And then...

Harry felt himself slam into something hard. His eyes shot open, and like a diver breaking the surface after a long submersion, Harry’s body violently arched up over the soft surface at his back, choking and gasping for breath. His lungs felt like they were on fire, stale air choking his respiratory track. He fell back to bed beneath him as a painful series of coughs racked his frame. Pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before exploded through his body.

“Harry!?” a startled cry rang out from close beside him. Several other voices accompanied the first as a loud series of scuffling feet and chairs sounded. Several figures began crowding in around him.

“Harry? Oh my God, Harry! Speak to me!”

“Easy there, Harry, take some nice deep breaths for me...”

“Albus... Oh my word, how did this happen?”

The voices... They sounded so familiar... But Harry could barely focus enough on them to try and figure out who they were let alone focus enough on anything else around him except the blinding pain assaulting his senses.

His entire body screamed with agony. It felt like he’d been hit head on by a hundred runaway bludgers. Fire coursed through his chest and wrapped down around his sides with every irregular, gasping breath he took. Pain shot through his left leg. Hands were on him, trying to sooth him. But it was too much for him to handle.

It was all too real. The sights and sounds... Everything was too real. He felt as though he’d just reemerged from some dark, soundless box into the middle of some noisy, bustling crowd. The dim light of the room stung his eyes like a hundred thousand suns, turning the faceless figures standing over him into nothing more than dark, blurry outlines. Their gentle voices sounded like shouts, tearing at his ears. And the sensations... He felt like he was being torn apart. Though he knew their voices and gentle hands were suppose to sooth him, he felt like he was being drowned in an ocean of sensations. It was all too much... Too REAL!

Crying out his suffering, Harry felt his stomach sharply constrict from the overwhelming flood of sensations.

“Quick, Sirius! A bowl!” one of the voices directed.

Harry felt hands help turn him onto his side. And with no further warning felt his stomach spew out all its meager contents. Gasping and choking on the acidic bile clogging his throat, Harry fought to stop the dry heaves that wrapped like an iron fist around his stomach and sent blinding waves of pain shooting through his body. Finally emptied of everything he had, Harry weakly fell limp against the cushions, disoriented and sick with pain.

“Easy there... Careful now...” he heard the voice once more speaking as gentle hands helped roll him back onto his back.

Harry didn’t resist – he didn’t think he would have had enough energy to even if he wanted to. The world was stilling spinning, everything around him nothing more than a sickening kaleidoscope of darkness and shadows. His whole body screamed with pain. He thought he might faint, but something in the back of his mind told him he couldn’t – at least not yet. There was something he had to tell these people. Something important.

His mind was a jumbled mess. Nothing seemed to make sense. He remembered being in a dark, cramped place, unable to move. But then he remembered falling and hitting the ground, and looking up to find himself staring at his own face beyond of a ring of silvery light. Or was it him staring at himself inside the ring of light? He couldn’t remember. Nothing made sense! He remembered empty darkness. Nothing but a sea of empty darkness... He had felt so alone... But that didn’t make sense either because he remembered being with someone else... Someone who was trying to help him... Someone who now needed his help.

“P–Professor!” he weakly cried, trying to focus his blurry eyes on the figures around him. “P–Professor!”

“I’m right here, Harry. Everything’s alright. You’re back in your body now,” a reassuring voice said from close beside him. Harry weakly rolled his head towards it and saw an old man with a flowing silver beard swim into focus.

Dumbledore...

Harry weakly coughed, trying to find his voice. “No... Have to help...” he slurred, struggling to sound coherent, “Have to help...”

“It’s alright, Harry, just lie back and relax. Everything’s going to be alright,” Dumbledore reassured, putting a gentle hand on Harry’s forehead.

“No,” Harry cried, shaking his head deliriously, “No! Have to help... Snape...”

“What about Professor Snape, Harry?”

“Have to help... In danger... McCourn...” he desperately slurred, trying to make Dumbledore understand. “Snape... in danger... McCourn... He knows...”

“Dumbledore, what’s he talking about?” another voice from Harry’s other side said. Harry looked towards it and saw the haggard, worried face of his godfather, Sirius Black. Behind him also stood Professor McGonagall, her face pale and drawn tight with worry.

“What does McCourn know, Harry?” Dumbledore said, ignoring Sirius.

“That he’s a spy... Going to kill him...” Harry panted, shaking his head. Helpless, desperate tears filled his eyes. “Couldn’t help him... McCourn saw me... Have to help Snape... Please... Have to help him...”

Dumbledore glanced up and met Sirius’ eyes, worry passing between them.

“Please... you have to help him!” Harry cried, desperately clutching Dumbledore’s sleeve. “You have to help him!”

“It’s alright, Harry, we’re going to help him. Don’t worry,” Dumbledore said, pushing the matted tangle of bangs back from Harry’s face in a soothing manner. “Just relax. We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

“No! You have to find him now! Please! You have to help him!” Harry deliriously cried, trying to force himself up to sit. But before he could, a violent series of coughs suddenly seized him, forcing him to break off his frantic rambling. Pain once more exploded through his chest and body, almost paralyzing him. Coughing and choking, Harry fought for breath. He felt something wet spray from his lips and vaguely wondered what it was.

“Harry? Oh my God! Harry!” Sirius cried, gathering his godson to him. Harry felt his godfather run a finger along his bottom lip, smearing the mysterious substance onto it. “Dumbledore!” Sirius screamed, looking down at his red stained finger, “He’s coughing up blood!”

Harry barely registered his godfather’s frantic shouts. Everything was starting to go blurry again. Darkness was creeping in...

“Minerva, go get Madam Pomfrey! Quickly!” Dumbledore shouted, also leaning down over Harry, “He’s still injured from the accident. He needs immediate medical attention.”

Harry was only vaguely aware of McGonagall turning and running out the room. Everything was getting darker. He could barely even see Dumbledore and Sirius hovering over him anymore. The pain was becoming too much. He could feel his consciousness slowly fading. Darkness was closing in.

And just before the darkness finally swallowed him, Harry’s last conscious thought was that of his acerbic Potions Master, and the knowledge that it was probably too late to save him anymore...

Rain lashed the air as booming peals of thunder crashed overhead. Forked tongues of lightening streaked across the sky, illuminating the rain-drenched land below. Through the driving rain, the dark outline of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be seen. To many, the image of an old Gothic castle framed by the backdrop of a violent storm breaking loose overhead would have made them wary to approach. But through the castle’s many windows, golden light spilled out into the night like multitudes of beacons; warm and inviting, beckoning wayward students, both past and present, home.

And it was with this backdrop of crashing thunder and lashing rain that a lone figure cloaked in black made its way up the castle’s front drive towards its light and unspoken promise of safety and comfort.

Reaching a small door off to the side of the castle’s great siege gates, the dark figure fumbled for a moment with the latch before finally murmuring the correct set of spells to gain entry. Light spilled into the night as the door gave way and swept inwards with a strong gust of wind to slam against the inside wall.

“Severus!” a startled cry rang out as the cloaked figure emerged into the castle’s bright entrance hall.

Weak and limping badly, Severus Snape pushed the rain-drenched hood of his cloak back from his face to see none other than Dumbledore himself standing at the bottom of the main staircase. Standing in the warm wash of light, Snape looked terrible. Cuts and scratches marred his entire face. A small stream of half-dried blood ran down along the side of his face from his hairline almost to his chin. He moved stiffly, favoring his right leg and keeping his upper body unnaturally stiff and locked forward. He looked almost ready to collapse, feebly gripping the doorjamb beside him.

“Severus,” Dumbledore called as he hurried to the Potion Master’s side and caught him by the arm just before Snape’s knees buckled and he stumbled forward. “My goodness, Severus, what happened?”

“Potter... Where’s Potter?” Snape demanded, ignoring Dumbledore’s concern for him as he tried to push himself back up to stand.

“Harry’s fine,” Dumbledore soothed, keeping a strong grip on Snape’s arm. “He’s resting now. He gave us all quite a scare when he came back though.”

“What happened? Is he alright?”

“Yes, yes, he is now. But Poppy was quite disturbed by the amount of damage she had to repair when Harry’s soul returned to his body. It seems he suffered quite a bit of internal damage when he was hit by that car. He had blood pooling in his lungs where one of his broken ribs had punctured it. Poppy was able to repair it in time before Harry could have a repeat experience as a disembodied spirit though...”

Snape stared at Dumbledore for a long moment of silence. “So it worked then...” he said. Taking a deep breath, Snape gave a small, unconscious sigh of relief.

“Yes it did, whatever “it” was that you did,” Dumbledore replied with a grin.

Snape stood there in silent thought, bracing himself up with the old man’s help as he felt a wave of unexplainable relief drain his tired body of the last of its strength. Suddenly feeling very weak in the knees, Snape tightened his grip on the doorjamb.

“Come, Severus, let’s go to my office and talk,” Dumbledore suggested, beginning to lead the battered Potions master away. “I’d like to know what happened. When Harry came back he was telling us some very distressing things. He kept saying McCourn suspected your position as a spy and was going to kill you. I was just about to send word to other members of the Order to search for you when you suddenly burst through the doors. For awhile there, I had feared the worst...”

“You should have. McCourn almost killed me...” Snape replied, limping alongside the old Headmaster as they ascended the stairs towards Dumbledore’s office.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing more until he had successfully helped Snape to his office and situated him in a comfortable arm chair next to the fire. Snape hung his head wearily, shaking it in negation when Dumbledore offered him a cup of tea and lemondrops.

Gingerly leaning back in his chair, Snape looked up at Dumbledore. “Why was there so much damage to Potter’s body? Didn’t Pomfrey see to him after you brought him back from the hospital?”

Dumbledore, seated in another arm chair across from Snape, nodded his head. “Yes. But unfortunately there was only so much she could do for Harry when I first brought him back. A Healer must be able to work with the patient’s life energy to help heal them, and at the time Harry had so little life in his body there was practically nothing for her to work with. Needless to say, Harry had a very close call, but was lucky enough to make it out by the skin of his teeth.”

“Luck always does seem to be on Potter’s side whenever it comes to life-or-death situations...” Snape muttered.

Dumbledore merely smiled. “That and someone else always looking out for him and helping him through.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “And I suppose you’re referring to me when you say this...” he sneered.

“Well, you always do seem to be there whenever Harry finds himself in a tight situation and needs help,” Dumbledore smiled.

“If by 'help' you mean me saving Potter’s life without any gratitude or thanks, and getting myself badly injured in the process, then yes, I suppose I always do seem to find myself 'helping' him...”

Dumbledore chuckled softly, but then looked Snape’s battered figure up and down, his twinkling blue eyes growing solemn. “Tell me what happened, Severus,” he said.

Snape heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair, wincing as his injured shoulder gave a painful twinge. “As you can suspect, the Dark Lord wanted to know details concerning Potter’s death. He was quite... pleased... by news of what happened.”

“I can only imagine...” Dumbledore muttered.

Snape snorted in agreement. “I told him what you suggested – that we thought Potter had been killed in a car accident. He seemed to accept that as our story, but knew of McCourn’s involvement.”

“So McCourn did return to Voldemort...”

“Yes,” Snape replied with a nod. “The Dark Lord was excited about news of Potter’s death and has made plans to strike Azkaban sometime tomorrow night to free his incarcerated servants. He wants to take advantage of the chaos caused by the boy’s accident and strike the Ministry while it’s at its weakest. Lucius Malfoy is to lead the attack.”

“Then the Order must be notified immediately,” Dumbledore said, looking grave. “If we can organize a counter attack in time, we might be able to stop Voldemort from freeing any more of his followers, and possibly capture more. If we could catch Lucius in the act of attacking a Ministry institution like Azkaban, there would be no way for him to talk his way out of capture or trial. It would be a major blow to Voldemort’s side to lose someone as influential as Lucius Malfoy.”

“It would,” Snape agreed. “But Lucius is a slimy one. Even if Lucius was caught red-handed freeing the Dark Lord’s servants, I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow get off. His ties to other influential people within the Ministry are too strong...”

Dumbledore grimly nodded. “Only too true...” he said, tugging at his silver beard. “The most we can do is take preventive measures to ensure that those already in the Ministry’s custody are unable to return to Voldemort’s side and hope for the best. The rest is beyond our control.” Looking up to meet Snape’s eyes, Dumbledore then quietly asked, “What happened with McCourn next?”

“After the meeting, the Dark Lord summoned McCourn and I to him. He gave me orders to keep your attention turned to other matters while he made plans to strike Azkaban and the Ministry.” Dumbledore smiled in mild amusement to the irony of Snape telling him such a thing, but did not interrupt the Potion master’s tale. “McCourn he pretty much just told how much he was going to reward him for killing Potter. After we were dismissed, McCourn confronted me in the hallway. We got into a... mild confrontation of words, so to speak, and I managed to lift McCourn’s wand from him without him noticing. Unfortunately, I was unable to perform the Reversal Spell on it quick enough before McCourn discovered it missing and came after me. There was a confrontation, and after exchanging several curses he managed to injure and corner me. I was unable to fight anymore, so I incanted the Reversal Spell in hopes it would somehow free the other half of Potter’s soul so that even if something happened to me, he might make it back on his own.”

“And I can only assumed the Priori Incantatem worked since young Harry is currently back with us in his body...” Dumbledore noted.

Snape nodded. “But it’s strange,” he said, staring into the dancing flames of the fire. “After the other part of Potter’s soul was released, McCourn suddenly seemed able to see him. That was how he figured out I was a spy. I thought I was the only one that could see him because of the Acolant Spell.”

Dumbledore sat in thoughtful silence, studying Snape’s profile in the firelight. “I wonder if McCourn was able to see Harry because of the Priori Incantatem...” Snape looked back up at him and waited in expectant silence for the old Headmaster to continue. Dumbledore however merely tugged at his beard with a thoughtful expression and stared into the fire, seemingly ignorant of Snape’s impatience.

“Why would the Reversal Spell have anything to do with McCourn being able to see Potter’s ghost or not?” Snape finally demanded.

Dumbledore looked back over at him and gave his beard another thoughtful tug. “With the Priori Incantatem complete and the missing part of Harry’s soul released, Harry’s soul would have instinctively begun to try and reunite. I can only assume that with the two parts of Harry’s soul so close together, he would have begun to regain more of his substance and being. In essence, he would have become more like a normal ghost most people would be able to see.”

Snape gave a caustic snort. “How typical... Potter’s victory almost turns out to be my demise...”

Dumbledore studied Snape for a long moment of thoughtful silence before he finally asked the one thing he’d been wondering ever since Snape burst through the doors of Hogwarts, “What happened next, Severus? Harry said McCourn was about to kill you. How did you get away?”

Snape did not immediately answer. Holding his injured shoulder, he turned his face away from the old Headmaster and stared into the fire, its flickering light bathing his features in dark, half shadows. “I’m not exactly sure...” he said, staring into the flames. “After I released the other part of Potter’s soul, McCourn was right on top of me, ready to incant a Killing Curse. The boy was nearby, shouting something, but I saw him disappear as though he’d been pulled away through some kind of Portkey. McCourn incanted an Avada Kedavra, butt instead of killing me, it rebounded back on him as though it hit some kind of Shielding Charm and killed him.”

For a long moment of silence Dumbledore just sat there and studied Snape. “That is most strange, Severus...” he said, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Did you use any kind of charm to protect yourself?”

“No. McCourn was too close for me to do any kind of Shielding Charm in time, and my arm was injured. I don’t know how it happened...”

Dumbledore tugged his beard thoughtfully before looking back up at Snape with a small twinkle in his eye. “I wonder if it wasn’t young Harry that shielded you from McCourn’s Killing Curse...” he said with a grin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed at Dumbledore. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Harry might have been the one to incant the Shielding Charm.”

“I understand that much of what you’re trying to say, old man, but that doesn’t make any sense. Potter was nothing but a disembodied spirit. He had no magical powers at the time. He couldn’t even physically move or touch anything. How could he have possibly conjured a Shielding Charm powerful enough to stop a Killing Curse?”

Dumbledore smiled softly to himself. “It never fails to amaze me how even after so many years of studying and practicing magic, it still always manages to surprise me...” He slowly looked back up at Snape and met the Potions Master’s annoyed scowl with a grin. “I can only attribute your narrow escape with death to your shared bond with Harry through the Acolant Spell. With the other part of Harry’s soul released and his spirit trying to reunite, he would have probably begun to regain some of his magical abilities. In a way, it makes perfect sense for him to have been able to come to your aide like that – even if he was a disembodied spirit at the time. Many spells that involve bonds run like two way roads between conjuror and subject. We saw such a concept play out when Voldemort first attacked Harry as a baby and created a bond between himself and Harry through the scar he gave him. You’ve already experienced this bond I am talking about when Harry began to fade and you sensed it happening. When McCourn was about to kill you, Harry probably used his bond with you to conjure a Shielding Charm before he was pulled away back to his body – however unconsciously so. For a boy powerful enough to have unconsciously cast an Acolant Spell he didn’t even know existed, I wouldn’t put it past his sheer will alone being strong enough to wandlessly conjure a simple Shielding Charm...”

Snape sat there silent, digesting Dumbledore’s words. The boy had saved him? Somehow that made perfect sense. That was exactly something Potter would do. Annoying little showoff...

Dumbledore was scrutinizing him again. But this time there was no hint of sparkle in the old man’s eyes. He looked troubled and apprehensive.

“Sir?” Snape asked.

“What are you going to do about McCourn? He was one of Voldemort’s most powerful servants. His absence will be missed. What are you going to tell him?”

Snape heaved a heavy sigh. “The Dark Lord already knows of McCourn’s death,” he said, wincing slightly as his injured shoulder gave another painful twinge.

“He does?” Dumbledore said, looking at Snape in surprise. “What happened?”

“Apparently some other Death Eaters who had also lingered after the meeting heard McCourn and I dueling, and came to investigate. By the time they got there McCourn was already dead. They took McCourn’s body and I back to the Dark Lord. Needless to say he was quite... displeased by what happened...”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him McCourn confronted me, trying to pick a fight, and that I was merely defending myself. Luckily, McCourn’s reputation for mindless violence precedes him, and the Dark Lord bought it. He was still angry about McCourn’s death though, and saw fit to punish me with several very painful Unforgivables...”

Dumbledore winced and looked Snape’s battered figure up and down. “I am sorry to hear that, Severus. But luckily you were able to make it away alive. I can only imagine what going through something like that with Voldemort must be like...”

“It was nothing I’m not already used to...” Snape muttered, unwilling to meet Dumbledore’s gaze.

Dumbledore studied Snape for several moments of thoughtful silence before moving on. “What are we going to do about Harry? Will Voldemort suspect you when he hears he is still alive?”

Snape gave a weary sigh. “I don’t know. It’s possible. McCourn took Potter’s wand after the boy was hit by the car, and gave it to the Dark Lord as a trophy. Before my confrontation with McCourn, I stole it back.”

“That could prove problematic...” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort will begin to suspect you of some involvement if he hears Harry is still alive with his wand miraculously back in his possession.”

Snape scowled and nodded darkly, not saying anything.

“Well,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, “I guess we will just have to deal with that when the time comes... For now though, you and Harry are safely back with us and that’s all that matters...”

Snape nodded uncommittingly and looked up at the clock on the mantle. It was almost two in the morning. No wonder he felt so exhausted...

“If there is nothing else, Dumbledore, I think I will take my leave,” Snape said, getting to his feet with a wince. “I need to wash up and rest. I haven’t slept in almost two days because of Potter, and feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of Hippogriffs.”

“Of course, Severus,” Dumbeldore nodded. “You might want to stop by the hospital wing though before you retire and have Madam Pomfrey check your injuries. Several of them look very bad.”

“I’ll think about it,” Snape said, moving towards the door in a painful limp. Dumbledore smiled to himself behind Snape’s back. He already knew the acerbic Potions master had absolutely no intention of seeking Madam Pomfrey out. He was too proud and stubborn a man to admit his weakness and have someone else tend to him unless his wounds were anything but life threatening. And even then, Dumbledore had known Snape long enough to know it sometimes took someone to drag the unwilling Potions master to a Healer... But that still didn’t mean he couldn’t try...

Limping the last few feet to the door, Snape opened the door and was about to leave when he heard Dumbledore call after him, “In case you’re wondering, Harry is still in the study down from my office. He’s too weak right now to move down to the hospital wing. You should know he was quite frantic about us finding you when he returned to his body. He was very worried about you...”

Snape paused and looked back at Dumbledore. The old Headmaster said nothing, but leveled a twinkling gaze at him over the rims of his half-moon shaped glasses.

They stayed like that for several moments, the sound of crackling fire the only thing to break the empty silence between them. Finally, Snape gave a caustic snort and pulled one of his trademark scowls. “Well of course Potter would have been worried if I lived or not. If I had died, I would have been a black mark on his perfect track record of saving people.” Then turning, Snape left. But even as he shut the door behind him, he swore he saw Dumbledore smile to himself as if in satisfaction.

Snape decided not to dwell on the old Headmaster’s eccentricities though. He had other things to worry about. Dumbledore’s concerns about Voldemort eventually finding out he was a spy still weighed heavily on his mind.

Damn Potter... Always making my life difficult... This last little stunt may have just jeopardized my ability to spy for Dumbledore besides almost getting me killed... Snape scowled as he descended the spiral staircase from Dumbledore’s office. His right leg was killing him and his whole body felt like it’d been run through a grinder.

I’m getting too old to do this kind of stuff anymore... he mournfully thought as he descended the last stair and stepped into the dark hallway. The stone gargoyle immediately leapt back into place behind him. Looking to his left, Snape saw a faint glow of light seeping into the hallway beneath one of the doors – the study below Dumbledore’s office.

In case you’re wondering, Harry is still in the study down from my office...

For several minutes Snape just stood there, staring at the soft glow of light.

He was very worried about you...

Snape scowled at the memory. What did Dumbledore expect him to do? Go to the boy’s bedside and hold vigil there like that pitiful fool Black? Hardly... It wasn’t like he owed Potter anything...

Except saving your life... some treacherous voice in the back of his head instantly piped up.

Snape stood there in the darkness for several minutes of unbroken silence, torn by a strange sense of obligation to see the boy and his own stubborn pride not to.

Damn Gryffindor–loving old man... he finally cursed, and angrily limped towards the door.

Inching it quietly open, Snape peered inside. The room was dimly lit, a low fire burning in the fireplace its only source of light. But what little light it cast was sufficient to make out the outlines of the room’s only two occupants.

Sirius Black sat perched on the edge of the divan close beside the figure of his sleeping godson. The boy looked terrible. Snape could make out his one leg propped up on several pillows beneath the blankets draped over his body. Bandages wrapped halfway up the his arms. Even asleep, the boy looked exhausted and beaten – like he’d just survived a bad encounter with several dozen Death Eaters. Snape wondered fleetingly if the trials his spirit suffered in the last few days had somehow transferred back to his body when he returned to it.

Snape however didn’t get a chance to ponder that possibility any more as Sirius suddenly looked up and spotted him in the doorway.

“Well don’t you look like something the Squid dredged up from the lake...” Sirius said after a pause, keeping his voice carefully low for his sleeping godson.

Snape gave a small, caustic snort and took a few more steps into the room. “It’s all Potter’s fault,” he sneered. “If it wasn’t for that boy’s constant disregard for doing anything normally, none of this would have ever happened.” Despite his cold, uncaring front, Snape’s voice lacked its usual venom. Looking the boy’s battered figure up and down, he softly asked, “How is he?”

Sirius sighed and looked back down at his godson’s sleeping face, gently smoothing back some of Harry’s wild black hair as he did. “He has several broken ribs and a broken leg. When he first woke up, he had a punctured lung along with some other internal damage Pomfrey was able to heal before they became life threatening. She says he should be fine, but will need a week or so to recover before he’s ready to get up or do anything.”

Snape nodded and stared at Harry’s broken body. It seemed so strange to see Potter like this after spending almost two days in the boy’s company. He had tried so hard during that time to ignore the boy’s presence, but now found himself almost wishing the boy would wake up, or move, or flutter his eyelids – anything just to show him he really was alive.

But Snape was not about to admit such feelings to anyone (least of all Sirius Black) who could misinterpret them for more than they were worth. His unspoken mission now completed, he turned to leave.

But before he could, Sirius called after him, “You know Harry was worried about you before. When he first came back, he kept screaming McCourn was going to kill you and that we had to help. I was afraid we were going to have to strap him down to the couch to keep him from going back after you..”

Snape paused and turned back around. “So I heard from Dumbledore...” he said.

A tense moment of silence ensued, broken only by the sound of snapping wood in the fireplace.

“I think I owe you a thank you,” Sirius finally said, adverting his eyes from Snape as though unable to meet the Potion master’s gaze. “You helped get my godson back into his body, and for that I’m in your debt. Thank you...”

Snape stared at Sirius for several heartbeats of unbroken silence, wondering if he hadn’t just imagined what he thought he heard. Never in a thousand years would he have ever thought Sirius Black of all people would one day thank him – like he actually appreciated what he’d done. Over the years he’d grown used to doing thankless tasks, the ones no one else wanted to acknowledge or deem fit for praise. It was his lot in life – he’d come to accept that. And to be thanked now, by none other than his old childhood enemy... well, it was just beyond his scope of reality.

But the acerbic Potions Master betrayed none of his surprise, and stared back at Sirius with unreadable black eyes. “You’re welcome,” he murmured hesently.

Snape would have once again tried to make a hasty retreat, but was stopped once again by a weak and groggy voice calling after him.

“Professor...? Is that you...?”

Looking back towards the divan, Snape was surprised to find himself staring back into the cloudy green eyes of none other than a very exhausted looking Harry Potter.

Just like before, the boy looked terrible. But somehow seeing him awake only reinforced Snape’s original assessment of the boy’s state.

Harry’s head was weakly rolled to the side, lethargically staring back at Snape. He looked mere moments from drifting back to sleep. But he seemed to be stubbornly holding onto some small shred of consciousness.

Headstrong Gryffindor indeed... Snape couldn’t help but remark with a small grudging of respect.

“Professor... you’re alright...” Harry murmured, visible relief washing over his exhausted features. “I thought McCourn was going to kill you...”

Against his better judgement, Snape slowly came back into the room to stand next to the divan beside Harry and Sirius. “He almost did, but I managed to get away with only a few minor injuries to my person...” he said, leaning over to look at his resurrected charge.

“I’m sorry, Sir...” Harry muttered.

“What for?” Snape asked.

“For not being able to stop McCourn...” Harry answered, “I saw him about to kill you, but I couldn’t do anything about it... He could have killed you and it would have been all my fault. I’m sorry, Sir...”

Snape stared at the boy for several moments of unbroken silence. He could have easily accepted the boy’s apology and left it at that. But somehow not telling the boy the whole story didn’t seem right.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for, Potter – oh, stop playing the martyr,” he hissed when Harry gave a small cry of protest. “If nothing else, we’re merely even now. Dumbledore seems to think you had a hand in blocking McCourn’s Killing Curse.”

Harry stared at him in groggy confusion. “But how?”

“He seems to think that because of the other part of your soul being released, you were able to regain some of your magical abilities, and conjured a Shielding Charm to protect me.”

“But... that doesn’t make sense...” Harry said, “How could I have done that?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ve come to find nothing is ever normal when it comes to you, so I suppose anything is possible for the Golden Wonder Boy of Gryffindor.”

Harry stared at Snape in honest confusion, his eyebrows scrunched together in the middle of his forehead. Somehow seeing that only annoyed Snape more. Damn boy doesn’t even know his own power...

“You should get some sleep, Potter,” Snape said, brusquely standing straight from over Harry with a dramatic sweep of his robes. “It wouldn’t do for you to make your glorious return to the Wizarding World looking the way you do now.”

Then turning towards the door, Snape made as if to leave. But before he turned even halfway around, he suddenly stopped and turned back towards Harry. “Here, Potter,” he said, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a familiar brown wand, “You may need this. Lord only knows I risked enough getting this back for you...”

Harry lethargically stared at his wand as he watched Snape slip it into his hand. “Thank you, Sir,” he whispered.

Snape merely nodded and stood straight again. The boy’s eyes were already starting to drift close, even though he fought to keep them open through a rapid dint of blinking.

“Get some rest, Potter,” Snape said again in way of parting, and turned to sweep out the room.

But he didn’t get far. For just as he reached the door and was about to slip into the inky black shadows of the night, he heard a groggy voice call out to him from behind. “Thank you, Professor... for everything, I mean...”

Snape paused on the edge of darkness and looked back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Potter...” he muttered after a small moment of contemplative silence, and then disappeared into the night.

******

Epilogue

One Week Later...

“Do we really have to do this, Sir?” Harry asked, staring up at the normal looking suburban house of Number Four Pivet Drive.

Snape looked down at his charge with an annoyed scowl. “Oh, stop your whining, Potter. It’s not like you’re staying with these Muggles for the rest of break. We’re only here to pick up your personal things, and then I’m taking you back to Headquarters.”

Harry nodded mutely, but with a gleam of something Snape couldn’t quite place in his downcast eyes.

Snape studied him for a moment of silence, but then turned his attention back to the situation at hand. Namely escorting Potter to his relatives’ house, and then getting him back to Grimmauld Place and out of his hair as quick as humanly possible.

Since recovering from his accident and grand misadventure as a disembodied spirit, Harry needed to collect his things from his relative’s house before start of term. Unfortunately, that also meant he needed an escort. After last week’s mishap, Dumbledore wasn’t about to let his wonder boy out of sight without at least some other member of the Order there to watch his every move.

And somehow the job of babysitting Potter had fallen to him.

Dumbledore had been called away on school business to the Ministry; McGonagall was still working on last minute preparations for start of term; Lupin was currently unavailable because of business for the Order; and Black, of course, was still on the run as a fugitive. Which left only Snape to escort Harry to Little Whinging and back.

It was situations like this that sometimes made Snape wonder if he wasn’t just Dumbledore’s glorified errand boy.

“Come on, Potter, let’s get this over with,” he growled, starting up the perfectly manicured walk towards the door. Harry obediently followed, though trailing noticeably behind.

When they reached the door, Snape stepped back and looked at Harry expectantly, his arms darkly crossed in front of his chest. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward and knocked.

A long moment of silence ensued before they heard the soft rustle of movement inside. The click of a lock being undone sounded, and then the door swung open to reveal one of the fattest boys Snape had ever seen. He looked about Harry’s age, but more than three times his size.

The chunky lump of a boy stared up at Snape in horrified silence, his mouth hanging open at the sight of the brooding Potions Master. As if in a daze, he then slowly looked over at Harry – and promptly screamed.

“Muuuum! Daaaad!” he squealed and bolted back into the house, moving faster than Snape ever would have thought someone his size capable of. “There’s a ghoooost!”

There was more sound of movement inside and two more figures appeared: a horse faced woman and a mountain sized man with a walrus mustache – almost definitely the fat boy’s father. The woman immediately froze at the end of the hall, her face going dramatically pale at the sight of Harry and Snape at the door. The man on the other hand stared at them as if trying to decide whether to play tough and demand to know what they were doing there, or follow his son’s example and run.

Finally, he seemed to recover himself. “What are you doing here?” he roared, pointing at Harry as if accusing him of a crime. “You should be dead! I saw your body in the hospital! I thought I was finally rid of you. What’s this? You freaks can come back from the dead now or something?”

Harry said nothing and just stared down at his shoes as if suddenly finding them of great interest, a resigned, dejected look spreading across his face as if he’d already expected this type of greeting from his aunt and uncle.

Snape glanced at Harry out the corner of his eye, then back up at the purple faced Muggle. Somehow this wasn’t the kind of welcome he’d expected Potter’s relatives to give him. Most people would have been overjoyed to have a loved one they thought dead suddenly come back alive and well – especially, he had thought, from anyone connected to the famous Harry Potter. But it seemed as though his relatives were more afraid of Potter than anything else, and that the boy’s return was almost a nuisance to them. Plus, he had not failed to pick up on the word ‘freak’ in the man’s vocabulary...

“And who’s this?” Vernon then angrily demanded, turning to eye Snape for the first time.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he tightly replied, “My name is Professor Snape; I’m a teacher at Potter’s school. I’ve brought him back to pick up his school supplies and things, and then I’m taking him back to his godfather’s for the rest of summer holiday.”

Vernon’s little pig eyes widened. “So you’re one of them, are you?” he exclaimed, his whole demeanor instantly becoming wary and suspicious.

Snape speared Vernon with a dangerous glare. “And to whom may you be referring to when you refer to them?” he asked.

Vernon faltered for a moment in answering, but finally squeaked, “You know... one of them... One of those freaks that boy is always hanging around with...”

Snape’s eyes narrowed even more, his black gaze boring into Vernon. “If by ‘freak’ you mean a fully trained wizard capable of shredding a pathetic Muggle like yourself to pieces, then yes. I am one of them...”

Vernon stared at Snape in absolute horror, his eyes flicking between the intimidating Potions master and the open door. “Good God then, get inside before any of the neighbors see you!” he cried, starting to lumber his way forward to shut the door behind Harry and Snape.

But Snape was not about to be moved. “I am perfectly fine where I am,” he hissed, halting Vernon mid-step with a piercing glare.

Vernon instantly froze, the door forgotten. “Yes... well...” he sputtered, his purple face going several shades darker.

Harry meanwhile stared at Snape with something close to awe-struck reverence. No one had ever stood up to his uncle like that before, or turned him speechless with nothing more than an intimidating glare.

“H– how?” a sudden voice piped up from the other end of the hall. Looking towards it Snape saw the horse faced woman from before take a few tentative steps closer. “How is he still alive? I saw him in the hospital... How can this be?”

Snape studied the woman for a long moment of silence, then answered in an annoyed, curt tone, “Potter’s soul was temporarily separated from his body because of a half completed Killing Curse being administered on him by one of the Dark Lord’s followers. He was able to be restored back to his body though after a few days by a Reversal Spell being done on the wand of the man who attacked him.”

Vernon and Petunia stared at Snape with blank, confused expressions.

“Professor Snape helped me,” Harry softly amended.

The two of them glanced at Harry and then back at each other, a silent agreement not to ask any more questions passing between them.

“Now where’s your stuff, Potter? I want to get out of here,” Snape said.

“Upstairs,” Vernon muttered, pointing over his shoulder towards the stairs. “It’s all still in Dudley’s second bedroom. Petunia wouldn’t let me throw any of it out after we got back from the hospital.”

Snape looked at Harry. “Go get it,” he hissed.

Harry nodded and started for the stairs. Petunia stared at him as he walked past as if she still couldn’t believe he was actually there. But then, as if recovering from her lingering shock, she stepped forward. “Come on,” she said, motioning Harry up the stairs in front of her with a gentle, almost motherly touch to his shoulder. “Let’s go get your stuff.”

Harry stared at her as if he thought his aunt had just gone insane. Petunia, however, said nothing and just motioned him up the stairs again. Still staring at her as if he thought some space alien had abducted her and replaced her with someone else, Harry slowly turned and went up the stairs. Petunia followed after him, leaving Vernon and Snape alone in the hall.

For several minutes of tense silence Snape and Vernon just stood there, staring at each other. Like a mouse eyeing a hungry cat, Vernon looked Snape’s black robed figure up and down. Inwardly smiling at the Muggle’s obvious discomfort, Snape speared the man with a hard, unwavering glare.

At first, Vernon tried to hold the Potion Master’s gaze with his own, but after several minutes of intense staring, had to look away in defeat. Snape let a satisfied smirk grace his face.

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Vernon gave a nervous cough. “So...” he said, looking everywhere else except the brooding Potions master. “I suppose we’re going to have to take the boy again next summer are we?” he asked with a grunt.

Snape arched one dark eyebrow at him, eyeing the fat man skeptically. “I can only assume so. From what I understand, you are his only living family...”

Vernon gave a contemptuous snort. “Yeah, and for that we have to house, feed, and clothe the boy every summer... And here I thought I was finally rid of him...” he then softly muttered under his breath. His aside however did not escape the Potion master’s ears.

Snape stared at the man through narrowed eyes, his features darkening with some undefined emotion. He began to open his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Harry coming back down the stairs, dragging his school trunk behind him with one hand and juggling his broomstick and owl cage in the other.

“Sorry, Professor...” he muttered, struggling with all his possessions. “I’m ready to go now...” Dragging his trunk to the door, Harry made as if to leave. Heaving his trunk over the threshold, he dragged it out into the bright morning sunlight.

Snape stared after him, not really believing what he was seeing. The boy was leaving without even a second glance back at his relatives. It was like he already knew his uncle’s feelings towards him; though from what Snape had seen of the uncle’s reaction to seeing Harry standing there in the doorway, there really wasn’t any way for anyone not to... There were no goodbyes. No farewells. Just a begrudged, unspoken knowledge he would be back next summer.

This didn’t make sense. It absolutely destroyed everything Snape expected Harry’s home life to be like. He had expected Potter to be welcomed back into the loving, gushing arms of his relatives, but instead all the boy got was an angry ‘what are you doing back?’ And by the boy’s reaction to how his aunt acted earlier, a gentle word and kind touch were not common occurrences either...

It just didn’t make sense. Where was the spoiling and pampering? Where was the endless praise and you-can-do-no-wrong? It was like the boy wasn’t even welcomed in that house. And Snape couldn’t forget the uncle’s repeated use of the word ‘freak’...

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Snape turned to follow Harry out the door. But just as he was about to leave, he paused and looked back at Harry’s uncle. His eyes narrowed, and as if making a last minute decision, he swept back into the house and leaned over the man until his hooked nose was almost right in Vernon’s face.

“I suggest you take better care of your nephew next summer,” he hissed into the other man’s ear. “Because if I ever find out you neglected the boy and allowed something like what happened last week to happen again, I will be back here in half a heartbeat. And believe me... you don’t ever want to see me back here... Because I’ll make sure you wish you were never born...”

Vernon stared back at Snape in horror, his purple face blanching with fear. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a series of inarticulate grunts.

His point unmistakably made, Snape stood straight and swept back towards the door. Harry was still standing there, waiting for him outside. He stared at Snape in disbelief as the Potion master sweep down the stairs like some black wraith. Snape said nothing and just shot him a dark, warning glare.

Harry stood there frozen, wondering if he hadn’t just imagined what he thought just saw. But with a bewildered, halfway glance back at the house, Harry saw his uncle still standing in the doorway, staring after Snape with a horrified expression on his purple face.

“Come, Potter,” Snape called, sweeping past the boy as if nothing had even happened. “Let’s get you back to your mangey godfather. I have more important things to do than stand around here all day...”

Harry stood there frozen for several more minutes of stunned silence. But then, as if pulling himself together, he gathered his things back up and hurried after the departing Potions master.

Maybe things were beginning to look up after all...