Remus pound his fist into the hand rest of his chair, positively seething at the potion's master seated beside him, as the headmaster merely observed reservedly.

“Why won't you tell him, Severus?” he growled vehemently, eyes flashing angrily. “He has a right to know that he has a father that's still alive!”

Snape shook his head, glaring at Remus like he was a bug that he wanted to squash.

“I will do no such thing, Lupin. Potter is quite content believing that his father was an arrogant show-off, albeit a deceased one, and seems to enjoy copying his behaviour to a tee. I see no reason whatsoever to alter his perception of reality, and inform him that his actual father is a spying Deatheater, un-wanting offspring.” Remus glared, but it had no effect on Snape. “Who am I to raise a snivelling little rodent, that will surely make my life even more of a misery once discovering his true parentage? Not to mention the method … of which he was conceived…”

Remus tried to contain his temper, gripping his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Severus … Harry deserves to know the truth, especially after Sirius's death and what he went through with his Muggle relatives. I know you wouldn't treat him like that in a million years, no matter how much you think you hate him. Why don't you just tell him and give him a chance? It's not like you've got anything to loose by telling him. The worst he can do, is hate you as much as you show him you do to him. The alternative is he'll accept you … with time…”

“And why would I want that?” Snape retorted, after hearing out Remus's argument. “Why would I want to accept the Gryffindor Golden Boy, as my own? I'm no parent, Lupin. I'm possibly the worst person imaginable to even contemplate the role…”

“Well then what of his inevitable transformation?” Remus demanded, changing tack instantly. “How will you explain that to him?”

Snape smirked coldly. “Simple,” he stated evenly. “I won't be telling him. I refuse to get involved in any of this.”

“Well, it's a little late for you to say that, Severus,” Remus spat scathingly. “If it weren't for your … involvement … Harry would never have been born!!”

“Yes he would have, Lupin,” Snape ground out between clenched teeth. “The only difference would be he'd've had a different father. That and I doubt Lily would have made it out of that place as unscathed as she did…”

“You call being raped by a damn Deatheater “unscathed?”” Remus burst out, springing to his feet and rounding on the potions master.

“Calm yourself, Remus,” Dumbledore's soft voice interrupted, successfully distracting the werewolf enough to let his anger abate. “Getting violent will do nothing that the past few hours hasn't done already. Now, as to your declaration, Severus,” he turned toward the Slytherin, smiling politely, “I'm afraid that you will be the one to inform Mr Potter of his unfortunately occurring transformation. Don't argue with me,” he added, as Snape opened his mouth to protest. “I went and checked on him this morning, and I must say, that he is already looking remarkably like you … and not only that, but it seems that his body structure has already begun to change…”

“So quickly?” said Remus, his expression clouded with confusion. “But, how…?”

Snape spoke up, so quietly the other two occupants of the room barely heard him, “The speed of the transformation, is determined by the power he is able to wield. Not all of the Dark Lords new warriors would be equal in strength. They actually fluctuated greatly … but, seeing how Mr Potter's has begun so quickly … abnormally quickly I might add … he may be extraordinarily powerful…”

Dumbledore and Lupin allowed this new information to sink in, before glancing at each other for a fleeting moment. Soon breaking the contact, Dumbledore returned his gaze to Snape.

“If his changes are to appear so quickly, then we need to inform Harry of his heritage as soon as possible … and the best person for that, would be the only one that knows almost everything about it…” he trailed off, but Dumbledore's piercing gaze never left the obsidian one before him.

“Very well, Albus,” Snape agreed reluctantly. “I will inform him of what he is, upon his regaining consciousness … but I will not disclose the fact that I fathered him. I would much prefer not having a raging Avatar on my hands…”

At that moment, the fireplace roared to life, and immediately turned a vivid green, surprising all the occupants. Not a moment later, Madame Pomfrey's head popped into view.

“Ahh, Poppy,” Albus smiled. “How are you this afternoon?”

The matron turned her head towards the headmaster, giving him a half-hearted smile. “I'm fine, Albus. I just thought I'd tell you, that Mr Potter has finally woken up … and I might add, that I got a shock when I came out to see him just now…” she added, frowning slightly.

“Why's that, Poppy?” Albus frowned, curious.

“Well, it's just that … he doesn‘t look the same as he did last night. I mean … to name only one: his hair has grown to his shoulders overnight!”

Dumbledore nodded, while Remus and Snape continued to glare daggers at each other.

“Very well, Poppy,” he answered, nodding his head and ignoring his two companions. “Thank-you for informing me. We'll be right down.”

Poppy nodded and promptly vanished from the fire.

“Well then,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “Time to visit the Hospital Wing, wouldn't you agree?”

Remus simply shook his head, as he got to his feet, and Snape scowled deeply, but soon followed suit, following the two wizards from the office, and beginning the trek to see the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

***

“You know, it doesn't hurt as much as it did before,” Harry stated calmly, as Poppy diligently saw to his shoulder wound … which had all but healed in the fourteen hours he had been unconscious. Now, the star shaped scar was clearly visible against his pale skin. It was still a dark red colour, and was now scabbed over, but it was no longer a gaping wound that bled freely.

“I wouldn't expect it to, Mr Potter,” Poppy replied distractedly, still going over the rest of his former wounds, checking to see if it wasn't her imagination, and they really had healed almost overnight. “It's almost healed, strangely enough … and it appears I am not going mad,” she declared, straightening up and peering down at him. “You have most definitely healed almost completely from last night's events.”

“But how is that possible?” Harry asked again, still at a loss as to how that could have happened. “Nothing heals that fast!”

Poppy shook her head. “I've no idea, Mr Potter. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough though…”

“Can we test your earlier theory, then?” Harry suggested, unabashedly.

Poppy blinked. “What theory?”

“The one where you said that if I was to be cut, it would probably heal right then and there?”

“Are you completely barmy?” Poppy scolded, shaking her head at her patient. “That was merely a comparison, Mr Potter. I had no intention of testing such a theory!”

Harry shrugged. “Well then I'll do it myself,” he stated calmly, reaching for the steak knife that had been brought with the meal he had just finished eating.

Madame Pomfrey regained use of her senses, just as Harry had clasped the knife, and started to bring it to his forearm. Immediately, her hand darted out and caught the wrist holding the knife, screeching, “You will do no such thing, Mr Potter! You're here to be healed, not to inflict more harm upon yourself!!”

“But it's just going to be a little scratch,” Harry tried to reason, not submitting the blade. “Come on. It was your idea in the first place…”

“Was not!!”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

The banter back and forth continued, with neither participant relinquishing their hold on the small knife, until a rather amused chuckle echoed through the room, alerting the squabbling pair to the fact that they were no longer alone.

Both Harry and Poppy turned to look at the trio sheepishly, before Poppy released her hold on Harry's wrist, and he likewise replaced the knife on the tea tray.

“Uh … Hello, Professor Dumbledore,” said Harry lightly, waving lamely and giving him a small grin. Remus smiled and shook his head, while Snape simply snorted.

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore answered kindly. “You seem to be enjoying your stay in the ward, for once? Anything wrong?” he asked coyly.

Harry shook his head, but couldn't stop himself from smiling, even a little. What it must have looked like, for the headmaster to walk into the Ward, to find the Matron and her patient, squabbling so childishly…?

Madame Pomfrey seemed to have thought of something similar, and was quickly trying to regain her composure.

“No Albus. There appears to be nothing wrong with Mr Potter, except for the fact that almost all of his injuries seemed to have healed overnight. The only one that is still in need of a little treatment, is the wound on his shoulder, there … and I suspect that even that one won't need treatment by tomorrow morning…”

“Really,” Dumbledore muttered absently, casting a significant glance to the two persons behind him. “Interesting…” he turned to Snape and muttered, “Astonishingly quickly, it would seem…”

Harry frowned at the soft words, but still saw the potion masters jaw clench abruptly, and his eyes grow narrower, almost staring at him appraisingly. Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks, as he looked away from the intense gaze, noticing for the first time since the small group arrived, that he was still shirtless, due to Poppy's examination.

Hastily, he drew the sheets up around his chest and folded his arms, ignoring the restrained chuckling that Remus was issuing.

“Um … Hello Professor Lupin,” Harry mumbled, sparing his old teacher a swift glance, before returning his gaze to the bed covers.

“Hello Harry,” Remus answered, smiling in amusement at his obvious embarrassment. “You don't have to call me Professor anymore, you know? You can call me Remus, if you like?” Harry nodded a little. “How are you feeling, this afternoon?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Are you feeling any different than you did any other day?” Dumbledore asked suddenly, eyeing Harry carefully along with Snape and Remus. “Anything unusual that you haven't experienced before?”

Harry looked at the older wizards in confusion, wondering why they would ask him such a question.

“Um … No sir,” he answered slowly, trying to gauge their different reactions to his answer. “Nothing unusual, … well … not until I woke up, at least…”

“What do you mean, Harry?” Dumbledore inquired, looking innocent. Harry, however, could tell that he wasn't being completely honest.

“Well,” Harry started hesitantly. “When I was taken by Professor Snape last night … I wasn't exactly … um — that is … my Uncle…”

“It's all right, Harry,” Dumbledore cut in gently, smiling encouragingly. “We know what you mean to say. Please continue…”

Harry nodded, trying to rid himself of the slight tremors that had sprung in him at the memories of the past four weeks. “Well, I wasn't well, to say the least. But … when I woke up this afternoon, Madame Pomfrey told me that I'd pretty much healed completely. Almost all the injuries I had, had been healed. The only one that still needed treatment, was my ahh … my shoulder wound,” he finished softly, letting his eyes drift to the potions master, remembering what had happened that night in order for him to receive the wound.

Snape held his gaze for only a moment, but the unspoken message passes between them during the contact. He too, remembered the circumstances behind the wound … and he was equally reluctant to bring the subject up … though for completely different reasons.

“Hmm,” Dumbledore murmured, appearing lost in thought. “Harry,” he started after a short moment. “There is something that you don't know, about yourself, that you should have been told some while ago, but the time just never seemed to be right, nor did we know enough to actually tell you.”

Harry blinked, looking at each of the men in turn, though none seemed to want to hold his gaze; not even the foreboding potions master. Frowning at the fact that something of obvious importance about himself had been kept from him, Harry sat up straighter, ignoring how he was exposing his torso again, as the sheets fell to his waist.

“What?” he asked, rather more forcefully than he intended, making him sound as though he was ordering them to tell him. “What about me?”