Harry felt frustration start to rise as Uncle Vernon scowled darkly at him. "Now, you know what to do, boy," his uncle said curtly.

"Yes, sir," came Harry's reply, his tone flat. Much as he wanted to, he didn't dare be rude to Uncle Vernon - not if he wanted to be allowed out of his room for the rest of the summer. And considering how much pain he'd been in after they'd locked him up for two days as punishment for screaming last week - being able to move around freely seemed to help the pain from the visions - he didn't want to give them any excuses to repeat the punishment. "As soon as Mr. Lockley arrives, I'm to go up to my room and not make any noise."

Uncle Vernon nodded. "We'll have no repeat of that... event three years ago, or you will find yourself back in the cupboard."

Harry simply nodded, not daring to say anything. It hadn't been his fault that Dobby had wanted to save him and decided the best way to do that was to prevent him from going to Hogwarts, but that was hardly something he could explain to the Dursleys.

"Now, here's the list of chores that are to be completed by the time eight o'clock arrives." Uncle Vernon thrust a piece of paper at Harry. "Get to work!"

With a silent sigh, Harry took the paper, squinted down at it, and then headed for the lounge to start dusting.

"It's almost eight o'clock, Vernon," came Aunt Petunia's voice from the lounge.

"Right then, move, boy, now!" Uncle Vernon ordered, gesturing toward the stairs. "And remember, there will be no... funny stuff!"

Harry sighed, but didn't bother to argue that Mr. Lockley hadn't even arrived yet. It wouldn't do him any good; besides, it gave him a chance to work on his homework. The events of the Triwizard Tournament hadn't stopped the professors from providing them with essays to do over the summer, and so far the only one Harry had been able to complete was his Transfiguration essay.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he muttered obediently, and headed up the stairs.

He'd just reached the landing when there was a loud knock at the door. Feeling curious, Harry decided to wait and see what Mr. Lockley was like - all Uncle Vernon had said was that they'd met at the country club last week; a business associate of Uncle Vernon's had introduced them. He crouched down and peered through the railings as Dudley hurried out of the lounge to answer the door.

Harry sneered at the sight of his cousin. Dudley's diet seemed to be working - a bit, at least - because he hadn't actually gotten any fatter over the past year; but he hadn't gotten any slimmer, either. He still looked like a pig in a wig, and looked even pinker than usual because of the suit he was wearing.

Harry watched as his cousin smiled, opened the door, and gestured for their visitor to enter. "Please come in, Mr. Lockley," he said. "May I take your coat?"

Through the railings, Harry caught a glimpse of black hair and a dark raincoat as Mr. Lockley walked in. Then Uncle Vernon stepped out of the lounge and came forward to greet him. "Ah, Charles! Welcome! I'd like you to meet my charming son, Dudley. My wife, Petunia, is waiting for us in the lounge; if you would just give Dudley your coat..."

"Thank you," Mr. Charles Lockley said, his voice silky smooth, and Harry literally froze in shock, staring into the downstairs hall as the man removed his raincoat to reveal a black suit.

It can't be, Harry thought, still staring blankly at Mr. Lockley. It just can't be! Why on earth would he be here?!

He must have made some slight noise, because Mr. Lockley looked up, and bright green eyes met glittering black for just a moment before the man's attention returned to Uncle Vernon. It was enough to confirm his identity to Harry, however.

What the hell was Snape doing at the Dursleys'? And posing as a Muggle, no less?

Harry watched as Snape followed his uncle and cousin into the lounge, and then headed reluctantly into his bedroom, puzzling over the question of his Potions master's presence as he did so. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned anything about this in the letter he'd sent last week, and his Hogwarts letter hadn't arrived yet - it generally came on his birthday, which was still three days away...

So why was Snape here?

Snape gritted his teeth as he listened to Vernon Dursley talk on and on about something the Muggle apparently thought was both interesting and amusing. Snape, however, found it to be neither. All he wanted to do was check on the Potter brat, as Dumbledore had 'requested', and get back to Hogwarts and his dungeons.

He'd caught a glimpse of Potter on the stairs just before Mr. Dursley had ushered him into this room - those eyes were unmistakable - but he'd seen neither hide nor hair of the boy since; and Albus would, unfortunately, never settle for such an incomplete report.

He had noticed that there weren't any pictures of Potter on the walls - only of the fat oaf of a boy who'd answered the door - which was something of a surprise. Potter's fame was obviously not given any attention by his Muggle family.

Just then, Petunia Dursley - who, Snape thought, couldn't possibly have looked any less like Lily had she tried - announced that dinner was ready to be served. Snape felt a flare of relief - finally, he'd be able to check on the boy and get out of here - only to feel it disappear when he saw that there were only four places set at the table.

What about Potter? And how do I ask without revealing myself? Dumbledore had made it very clear that although the Dursleys knew about the magical world, Snape was not, under any circumstances, to reveal himself as a wizard. Not that he would have, anyway, considering the search that Voldemort had going for the Potter boy. Drawing the Dark Lord's attention to Privet Drive could potentially prove to be fatal for everyone.

Throughout the meal - which was quite good, admittedly, although it didn't compare to the ones made by the house-elves at Hogwarts - conversation focused on Vernon Dursley's company, Grunnings. Snape put up with it - reluctantly - because he was, after all, posing as a client; however, he found it even more stultifying than Trelawney's mealtime conversation, which was saying quite a bit.

The only way he managed to keep from hexing the Dursleys was by working out what Neville Longbottom's first detention of the year would be; and once he'd done that, by imagining the reactions of both Peeves and the Dursleys if he were to banish the infuriating poltergeist here. That, at least, was amusing.

Finally, almost an hour after it had started, the meal finished, and Snape escaped to the lounge while Potter's cousin vanished upstairs and his aunt and uncle cleaned up.

Once again, the Potions master couldn't help but notice the distinct lack of any pictures of Potter - or even of Lily - and he was debating the wisdom of simply going upstairs and finding the boy when the sound of a floorboard creaking brought him around.

Potter was standing in the doorway, staring at him with an expression of pure confusion on his face.

"Professor?" he said, so quietly that Snape almost had to strain to hear him. "Why are you here?"

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the boy. Bad enough he'd had to act like a Muggle, but to have to deal with Potter's relatives for over an hour, only to have the boy show up after that miserable dinner... "Believe me, Potter, it wasn't my first choice. The headmaster, however, appears to believe that you require someone to check up on you," he said curtly. "Due to the fact that Mrs. Figg is currently unavailable, I was requested to do so."

Potter stared at him, the confusion on his face giving way to surprise. "Mrs. Figg is a witch?"

Snape sneered. "Honestly, Potter, it's a wonder you've managed to pass each year! Obviously she is. You don't think the headmaster insists you stay here each summer for your amusement, do you?"

Potter winced slightly, shook his head, and then - after a quick glance out into the hall - walked into the room...

And Snape instantly went on the alert.

It wasn't something most people would have noticed, or thought much of if they had; but Severus Snape was not most people. The moment Potter moved, he saw the tremors in the boy's hands, the slight unsteadiness of his legs...

Striding forward, he grabbed Potter's chin before the boy could move away, and tilted his head up - and frowned, as he found what he'd been looking for. Potter's eyes were dilated more than they should be in this level of light.

"P-Professor?" Potter stuttered nervously.

Letting go of the boy's chin, Snape raised one eyebrow and continued to stare at him, taking in the pallor of his skin - which could have been accounted for by the fact that he probably hadn't been outside much, had Snape not known better - and the fact that the slight tremors weren't confined to his hands.

"I-is something wrong, Professor?" the boy continued, still looking nervous.

"How many times have you had the Cruciatus curse cast on you, Potter?" Snape demanded.

Potter's eyes widened in shock. "The Cruciatus, sir?" he repeated. "Umm... twice... both in..." He hesitated, then looked down at the floor. "Both in the graveyard," he whispered. "At the Riddle House... at the end of the Third Task."

After Wormtail had killed Cedric Diggory and revived Voldemort, Snape knew - Dumbledore had told him what had happened. This wasn't the time for sympathy, however - even if he'd really been inclined to offer any. That couldn't have been the only time, not with the symptoms Potter was displaying...

"When else, Potter?" Had Death Eaters gotten access to the boy in some way? But if they had, why hadn't Voldemort mentioned it?

The boy looked confused again. "That... that was the only time, sir..."

Could the symptoms be because of something else?

Unfortunately, there was only one way to answer that question without taking the boy back to Hogwarts - which Dumbledore would not appreciate, if it proved to be unnecessary. Not after what he'd had to go through with the Ministry to get the wards on this house reinforced after the Tournament.

"Stand still, Potter," he ordered sharply, and then placed his hand on the boy's head, and concentrated.

It wasn't easy; it had been too long since he had last performed a scan, and there was something about Potter that seemed to resist it - perhaps Dumbledore was right, and the boy was another Sensitive? - but in the end, Snape managed to confirm his original diagnosis.

"It hasn't been only twice, Potter," he said curtly, removing his hand and taking a step away from the boy. It wouldn't do to seem too intimidating right now; not when he needed to get at the truth. "When else has it happened?"

Potter blinked at him, and then frowned. "I... When... My visions, the ones of Voldemort..." he began hesitantly, giving Snape an uncertain look.

"Dumbledore has mentioned these visions of yours. Go on."

"When he... uses the Cruciatus... I... I feel... some of the pain. It... hurts, when I wake up..."

Before the boy could continue, his uncle suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Boy! What are you doing?!" Vernon Dursley yelled.

Snape blinked in surprise as Dursley grabbed Potter by one ear and started pulling him out of the room. Before he could say anything, however, a searing, familiar pain went through his left forearm.

At the same time, Potter collapsed to his knees, pressing one hand against his forehead, right at his scar.

Dursley scowled. "Get to your room this instant!" he ordered, pulling Potter back to his feet before releasing him. Then he turned to Snape. "I must apologize for my wife's nephew," he said, as Potter staggered and nearly fell against the doorframe. "We've had to raise him since he was a child, but I'm afraid that we were... not terribly successful with him. Criminal tendencies, you know." The Muggle turned back to Potter, and repeated, "Get to your room, boy!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Potter said, in a rather subdued voice. As Dursley turned back to Snape, the boy met his eyes, and whispered - quietly enough that Snape doubted the boy's uncle had heard him - "Hurry, Professor. He's angry - very angry," before slipping out of the room, his hand still pressed to his scar.

"Once again, I apologize," Dursley said.

"That's quite all right," Snape replied, calling on long experience to keep his distaste for the man out of his voice. He might be cruel to the students - partly to support his cover as a loyal Death Eater, partly to try to prepare them for a world that was more dangerous than it seemed while they were still in the relative safety of Hogwarts - but he never ignored it when they were in pain. He couldn't do anything for Potter just at the moment - not when his presence was undoubtedly exacerbating the problem - but...

"I'm afraid I've received a rather urgent... call," he continued, knowing the Muggle would most likely believe he had one of those... 'noble phones', or whatever it was they were called. "I must leave immediately."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing too serious," Dursley said.

"As do I."

"Shall I see you at the club next week?" the Muggle continued, fetching his coat and handing it to him.

"Perhaps," Snape replied coolly. No need to let the Muggle know that the club had only been a way to gain access in order to check on Potter. "Now, if you will excuse me..."

He stalked out of the house, headed down the street past Arabella Figg's house and the wards set up around the Dursleys', and then Apparated away.

Harry curled up on his bed, his hand pressed futilely to his scar as the searing pain continued to rip through him. At least it wasn't as bad as when he was facing Voldemort in person...

Abruptly, the pain eased, going down to the level he'd become accustomed to over the past month. Considering the timing, and when it had started burning, Harry figured that it meant Snape had Apparated away.

As he started to relax, he found himself puzzling over Snape's behaviour in the lounge. Why had the Potions master been so convinced that he'd had the Cruciatus curse cast on him more than twice? And what had happened after Snape had told him to stay still and put a hand on his head? It had felt... strange, almost as though something was probing around under his skin.

Not to mention the fact that Snape hadn't been nearly as venomous as Harry had expected. In fact, if he hadn't known better, he would have thought that the professor was actually concerned about him.

Shaking his head, Harry returned his attention to his History of Magic essay, which he'd dropped on the floor when he'd gone down to talk to Snape. Picking it up, he started to re-read it, only to feel himself beginning to get drowsy.

No! he thought desperately. If he fell asleep now, when he knew that Voldemort had called a meeting of the Death Eaters... The last thing he wanted to do right now was have a vision of what Voldemort was doing. Snape was going to be there - he could provide Dumbledore with the information about whatever happened...

He couldn't seem to keep his eyes open, however. They slowly slid closed, and Harry felt himself collapse on his bed just before the darkness began swirling and pulling at him, and his scar started to burn again...

Snape scowled as he Apparated back to Privet Drive. Potter's... guess? knowledge?... of Voldemort's mood had proven to be entirely too accurate. Even the potion to help counteract the effects of the Cruciatus curse hadn't managed to get rid of all the pain he was in as a result, and he hadn't been one of the ones who had received the worst of it. No, he hadn't been to blame for the Ministry raids - at least, not as far as Voldemort knew. That had been reserved for Avery, Malfoy, and - just on general principle, Snape suspected - Wormtail.

His scowl deepened at the thought of the traitorous Gryffindor. He'd never really thought much about Pettigrew in school - aside from his belief, obviously proven false, that the Sorting Hat should have put him in Hufflepuff. Where the Marauders were concerned, he had generally concerned himself more with James Potter and Black. And knowing what he had of each of them, it hadn't really been that hard to believe that Black had been the traitor; not when he'd nearly gotten Snape killed and Lupin sent to Azkaban for a schoolboy prank.

Wormtail and that mutt are not my concern at the moment, Snape thought then, shaking his head as he reached Number 4 Privet Drive. The boy is.

"Alohomora," he whispered, and the door opened noiselessly. Careful not to make any noise himself, Snape slipped in, letting the door close behind him. Looking around the darkened hallway, he added, "Lumos," and raised his wand to let the light illuminate the area better.

Absently wondering why the Dursleys had a padlock on the cupboard under the stairs, Snape started upstairs, only to have well-honed reflexes freeze him in place as the first step creaked loudly. After a minute or so, when no reaction came, he proceeded - a bit more carefully.

The first room he came to was Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's. Next to it was a lavatory, and then what looked to be a spare bedroom. Checking the room across from the adults', he found it belonged to that obscenely obese son of theirs - Dudley, that was the brat's name.

The last room was next to Dudley's - presumably Potter's room. Opening the door, Snape stepped in - and stopped.

Potter's owl was in a travelling cage on a desk that looked as though it had been broken and badly mended several years ago. Scattered over one half of the room were a bunch of Muggle toys and electronics, all in various states of disrepair. And lying on the floor next to the bed - a small one, with sheets tossed every which way - was a roll of parchment and a broken quill. Potter's room, definitely. The only problem was that there was no sign of Potter himself.

If he's wandering around in the middle of the night in his current state, he's going to consider Longbottom lucky when I get through with him...

Going back downstairs - avoiding the first step, this time - Snape checked the lounge, the kitchen, the back garden, and the cellar. There was still no sign of the boy.

Finally, the only place left to check before he sent an alert to Albus was the padlocked cupboard. Snape got it open with a quiet, "Alohomora," peered in... and swore under his breath.

Lying - either asleep or unconscious, Snape couldn't tell which - on a small cot inside the cupboard was a very pale Harry Potter.

Leaning over, he lifted the boy and carried him out into the hall, laying him down on the floor. Once again he placed his hand on the top of the boy's head and scanned him, and felt his mouth tighten as he contemplated the results.

The damage wasn't irreversible as of yet, but it was extremely close to being so. Forget about Dumbledore's preferences and the Ministry's attitude; there was no way he could treat the boy here, as he'd originally intended - not with the additional damage he'd apparently taken tonight. He was going to have to take Potter back to Hogwarts. And it would probably be better not to leave anything of his here; not with what I've seen of the Dursleys...

Potter's trunk was also in the cupboard; Snape brought both it and the threadbare blanket that was the only thing on the cot out, covered the boy with the blanket, and then headed upstairs. Opening the door to Potter's bedroom again, he picked up the parchment and quill, followed by the cage containing the owl - something told him the broken toys didn't belong to Potter - and started to head back out.

The owl voiced an immediate protest.

Snape stopped and glared at her. "What is it?" he demanded in a hissed whisper.

Spreading her wings - as much as she could within the confines of the cage - the owl turned around and hooted quietly as she pointed her beak toward the bed.

With a quiet sigh, Snape went back to stand by the bed. "Well?" he asked, letting impatience flavour his voice.

The owl bobbed her head toward the floor, and hooted twice.

Frowning, Snape knelt down and felt carefully around the base of the bed. He was somewhat surprised when he found a loose floorboard - surprised, and not a little pleased. It seems Potter does have some common sense after all, he reflected, as he removed the contents: Potter's wand; two textbooks - History of Magic and Charms; several pieces of parchment; what looked like a Muggle journal or workbook; a bottle of ink; two more quills; several letters - including at least one from Dumbledore, based on the handwriting; and Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

Wrapping everything in the cloak - reversed, so that he could see what he was carrying - Snape picked the cage back up and returned downstairs. Potter hadn't stirred at all; he was still lying in the exact position Snape had left him.

Even if he were to shrink the trunk and the cloak, there was no way he would be able to carry both of them, the owl cage, and Potter the entire distance from the Apparition Wards at the border of Hogwarts to the hospital wing; which meant that he was going to have to wake Potter up. The boy would be weak, but at least he'd be able to walk.

Pointing his wand at Potter, he whispered, "Enervate!"

It took a moment before the boy reacted - he really was in bad shape. As Snape waited, a bit anxiously, Potter slowly stirred and opened his eyes. "Mmm...?"

"Get up, Potter," Snape said, keeping his voice as quiet as possible while still managing to speak sharply.

"Pr'fess'r?" Potter slurred, blinking in obvious confusion. "Wha'...?"

"Get up, Potter," Snape repeated. Then he sighed, placed the cloak and its contents on top of the trunk, gripped the boy's arm, and literally pulled him to his feet. "Can you stay on your feet?"

Potter blinked again, the confusion beginning to fade from his expression. "Professor Snape?"

"Well, I'm hardly Binns, am I, Potter?" Snape snapped. "Can you stay on your feet?"

"Umm... I think so," Potter said carefully. He leaned against the wall as Snape released him, but didn't fall. "Professor... why are you here? I mean... you saw I was fine..."

Snape snorted. "You're anything but 'fine', Potter," he said curtly. "Now, I've got your trunk, your owl, and the things from under the floorboard in your room. Is there anything else you need?"

"Need for what?"

Snape gritted his teeth. There were times when he really did wonder about Potter's intelligence, and this was definitely one of them. "I'm taking you back to Hogwarts," he said, enunciating each word carefully - a very effective way of conveying contempt, he'd found. "To the hospital wing. You're going to be there for a while. Is there anything else you are likely to need?"

"Err... only my glasses, Professor," Potter said quietly.

"They are sitting on your trunk," Snape replied curtly. Picking them up - was Potter really that blind? - he thrust them into the boy's hands. "Shall we go?"

Potter put the glasses on, looked around the hall, and then nodded. "Yes, sir." He started to move away from the wall as Snape cast the Shrinking Charm on both cloak and trunk, and stumbled.

Sighing again, and reminding himself that as a Head of House, it did not behoove him to let a student see his impatience, Snape picked up the trunk and cloak and slipped them into his pocket. He then took the owl cage in one hand, and gripped Potter's arm forcefully with the other before starting out of the house.

Once they were outside, he let Potter go for a moment - the boy leaned against the car parked in the driveway - and opened the door to the cage. "We're going to Hogwarts," he informed the owl, closing the door to the house with a casual wave of his wand as he did so.

Hooting softly, she stepped out of the cage and took off. Snape immediately shrank the cage as well, slipped it into the same pocket as the trunk and cloak, and grabbed the boy's arm again. "Come on," he snapped.

Harry staggered slightly as Snape pulled him forward, but managed to regain his footing before the professor said anything.

He felt really, really confused.

The last thing he remembered at all clearly was waking up screaming from the vision of the meeting Voldemort had called Snape to - it had been a very unpleasant one, and Voldemort had been indulging his love of the Cruciatus curse rather freely - and Uncle Vernon shoving him into the cupboard, snarling something about not having his sleep disturbed any further. Then, the next thing he knew, Snape was hovering over him, ordering him to get up, and they were in the hallway. Now they were heading for Hogwarts - though he wasn't sure he understood how they were going to get there... What had happened?

His legs felt shakier than normal, and he couldn't help but feel relieved that Snape was - essentially - holding him up, because the phantom pain from the vision was still very bad. Maybe it was partially because he'd been in the cupboard? The cot in there was rather cramped, especially with his trunk taking up space as well...

"Potter!" Snape said sharply, and Harry blinked, realizing that they had stopped walking.

"Sir?"

"We're going to Apparate to just outside the Hogwarts wards," the professor said, still speaking in that slow, slightly contemptuous tone of voice. Any other time, Harry might have been insulted, but right now he appreciated the slower than normal speech. It gave him a chance to figure out exactly what was being said; his head was so fogged that he couldn't concentrate properly. "It will feel rather strange, but I assure you that I am perfectly capable of Apparating the both of us. Once we arrive, we will proceed as quickly as possible to the hospital wing."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled.

He saw a look of what appeared to be exasperation flicker across his professor's face for a moment, but couldn't focus enough to figure out what it meant.

A minute later, everything in front of his eyes blurred, and he felt cold, as though a freezing wind was biting through his clothes. It lasted only a moment or two, but it felt longer... And then, suddenly, they were standing at the edge of what Harry recognized distantly as the Forbidden Forest.

"Come along, Potter," Snape ordered, and Harry stumbled along beside him, even more grateful for the professor's grip on his arm. Why was he suddenly so weak?

He was concentrating so firmly on putting one foot in front of the other that he didn't realize they'd actually reached the school until he heard the Bloody Baron greet Snape.

"Tell Dumbledore to come to the hospital wing at once," Snape ordered, and then they were walking again...

"Here, sit down, Potter," Snape said suddenly, and Harry obediently sat, only to find that he was on a bed. Blinking, he looked around, and discovered that they'd reached the hospital wing. "Don't fall asleep just yet," the Potions master added, letting go of his arm, and walked off toward Madam Pomfrey's storeroom.

Despite the fact that he was still wearing his glasses, everything seemed to be slightly blurry. He'd thought that when they finally stopped walking, he'd be able to concentrate a bit better on other things; but he'd obviously been mistaken, because he still felt like his head was encased in fog.

He heard a door open, and looked in that direction, squinting in an effort to see without the blurring, and managed to make out the form of Professor Dumbledore approaching.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said, his tone one of complete surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Don' know," Harry mumbled. "Pr'fess'r Snape said... had t' come t' the hosp'tal wing..."

He could just make out a frown on Dumbledore's face, and wondered about it. Hadn't Snape said that it was Dumbledore who'd sent him to check on Harry?

Then Dumbledore looked past his shoulder, in the direction Snape had gone. "Ah, Severus. An explanation, if you please?"

"It will have to wait for a moment, Albus," Snape said, his tone surprisingly curt. Harry had got the impression that Snape respected Dumbledore enough to not be so sharp with him... "Potter!"

"Mmm...?" Harry managed, blinking at the black blur that he guessed was Snape. He was having more and more trouble concentrating...

A cup was thrust at him. He could tell that the liquid inside was a blue colour, but...

"Drink this, Potter," Snape's voice ordered. When Harry just blinked at him again, he snapped, "Now!"

Snape wouldn't try to poison him, would he? No, of course not - especially not with Dumbledore looking on. And Snape was on their side, anyway...

Harry was aware that his thoughts were getting more and more incoherent, and also that Snape was waiting very impatiently for him to take the potion - it had to be a potion, it was blue, after all... He couldn't seem to make his hand move...

"Oh, for the love of Merlin..." The cup was suddenly at his lips, and a firm hand gripped the back of his neck; to keep him still? "Open your mouth, Potter!"

That he could do.

The potion tasted strange, like mint and cream and fire, and Harry felt a soothing warmth start to spread through his body - a warmth that chased away a chill he hadn't even been aware of until it was gone.

The blurriness in his vision had gone - mostly, at least - and he could see Snape and Dumbledore clearly now. Dumbledore looked puzzled, and a bit concerned, and Snape...

Snape looked...

...Worried.

That was strange.

Harry didn't have much of a chance to contemplate it, however, as Snape thrust another cup at him. "Now this," the Potions master ordered.

This potion was familiar - one of Madam Pomfrey's generic Healing Draughts. Reaching up - he could move his hands again - he took the cup from Snape and drank it as well.

"You can go to sleep now, Mr. Potter," Snape said then, and gestured for Dumbledore to move away from the bed. A moment later, he had pulled the curtains closed, leaving Harry alone.

He was still feeling tired, so he lay down and closed his eyes. Dumbledore and Snape were standing just beyond the curtains, talking, and he listened carefully. Maybe he could find out what was going on...

"Visions... feeling the Cruciatus..." Snape's voice said, his tone angry.

"Didn't tell me..." Dumbledore's voice replied, calm but with a touch of concern. "...Damage?"

"...Not irreversible..."

"What... give him?"

"...Potion... Three times stronger... normal dose..."

"Too much!"

"No... necessary... but serious..."

The voices continued, but Harry felt himself drifting away, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.