“So who is this guy and what did he do to Harry?  And why did Niamh faint when she saw him?”

Mika shrugged and shook his head in answer to Ginny’s question.

“I don’t know, Gin.”

“Maybe she knows him,” said Amanda.

“Doesn’t explain why Harry’s in a coma now,” spat Thomas.  “That bloke’s the reason behind it.  I know it.”

“Tom,” said Amanda seriously.  “You said that about Fred and George once and it turned out Harry and Niamh had spelled those water balloons to chase Malfoy and co.”

“That was only one time.”

“Twice.”

“Whatever.  What matters is that I’m generally right about stuff like this.  And that fellow’s bad news.”

Amanda rolled her eyes but Ginny was looking at Thomas.

“I think you’re right, Tom.”

“You do?” gasped the sandy-haired boy.

“Definitely.  Niamh was surprised to see that guy.  And Niamh surprised is never a good sign.”

“Good point,” admitted Amanda.

“But what are we going to do about it?” asked Thomas.

Mika sighed and replied, “Just sit and wait, I guess.  Its all we can do, really.”

“It feels so weird without him,” said Ginny, leaning against Mika.  The white-haired boy nodded and wrapped an arm about her.

“I know what you mean, Gin.  I know exactly what you mean.”

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

“Uhn…”

Niamh blinked blearily as she opened her eyes to the white plaster of the ceiling.

“Oh joy,” she muttered, “the Hospital Wing again.”

She sat up slowly, looking around for Madam Pomfrey.  Instead she saw the still, pale form of her best friend.

“Harry!”

Niamh sprang out of the bed and rushed to her friends, which was partially curtained off.  She started down at him in horror as she was how badly he was hurt.

It was the worst she’d ever seen him hurt, though he’d probably had worse on the streets.  There was a large bandage over half of his head, partially covering one eye.  A half cast was rigged over his chest and a whole one covered his left leg.  He look small lying there like that, his skin pale beneath the slight tan he’d acquired over the summer.

Niamh reached out and brushed a lock of dark hair off the exposed side of his face and whispered, “I knew something was wrong.  S’felt wrong since lunch.  I should have known you’d have some part in it.  You always do.”

The girl sighed and felt her friend’s thoughts, finding them still and unmoving except for some tiny part that she couldn’t reach.

“You’re in a coma, aren’t you?” she asked the still body.  “I can’t feel you’re thoughts.  They’re there but I can’t reach them.  I – I can’t reach them!”  She slammed her hands down on the bed, rage flashing across her face.

“Maybe – maybe if I knew how to use these…these – powers – better I could wake you up.  Maybe I’m strong enough to do it.”  Moisture rose up in her eyes and she brushed it away. “But I’m not!  I’m not skilled enough hand I’m not strong enough!  Oh, God, Harry, mate, I don’t want to lose you too!”

Niamh sank to her knees beside the bed, tears flowing freely now.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, taking his limp left hand.  “I can’t.  Jar can’t.  Gin, Mione, Ron, Mik – none of is can.  And especially your da.  It’d kill him.  I’ve seen the way you two are.”  Niamh bowed her head and continued, “Please don’t leave me, Harry.”

There was a slight pressure against her fingers and Niamh jerked her head up.

“Harry?”

The pale face was still and the fingers limp in hers once again.  But she had touched something and it had responded.  Harry would wake up.  She knew it now.

Just not when.

Niamh sighed and stood up, going over and dragging a chair to her friend’s bed.  As she sat back down, she noticed that his wand and arm holster, Hedwig, and basilisk pendant were sitting on the bedside table.  Almost not thinking about what she was doing, she rolled up her left sleeve and strapped the wand holster about her forearm.  Then she looped the silver pendant around her neck, dropping it down the front of her robes, and picked up the sleeping Hedwig.  The snake opened one black eye blearily, hissed at her, then went back to sleep.

Niamh placed the little snake on Harry’s chest, where she curled up into a ball.  Then she took the limp left hand once more and sat there until she fell back to sleep as well, her cheek pressed against Harry’s hand.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Severus sat in Dumbledore’s office, one foot tapping impatiently on the floor.  He wanted to see his son!  But Dumbledore had pulled him up here to see this boy who had so shocked Niamh and was possibly the cause of Harry’s coma.

The teen, blond hair cropped short and standing up in wild spikes, sat directly in front of Dumbledore with all of the professors seated about him.  Severus was the furthest away from him and could probably see him the best from his position near the window.  The teen was clad in a rather tattered pair of dark blue jeans and barely in better condition shirt.  A ragged black cloak pinned with a plain bar hung over one shoulder, contrasting with his black eyes.

Severus also got a bed feeling off of this boy.  He didn’t know why but he sensed something – something dark.  And besides Dumbledore, he was the only professor who had truly met darkness head-on.

He then felt a twinge in his lower back as he shifted position slightly and winced.  Speaking of meeting darkness, he had done so just recently.  The effects of Cruciatus were hard to throw off but he took them.  This wasn’t like fourteen years before when he was fighting to stay sane and have some shred of goodness in his life.  Now he had his son to protect, not himself.

And this blond-haired, black-eyed child who looked like he’d just stepped out of the very orphanage Severus had spent his own childhood in had put a tiny dent in this plan.

“Where is she?” demanded McGonagall suddenly, her voice loud in the quiet of the office.

Severus smirked and sneered, “Surely you don’t expect Trelawney to come down from her lofty tower?”

McGonagall glared at him and Severus gladly returned it with a venomous one of his own.  Growing up in the same house at Septimius Snape, one learned to glare.  Generally he wouldn’t use one of his best on McGonagall (those were reserved for Voldemort) but he was extremely pissed off.

“No, you…”

“Minerva, Severus,” admonished Dumbledore.  “Please.”

McGonagall glowered at Severus, who ignored her as the last member of the little ‘council’ entered the room.

Rebecca Figg, golden-haired and amber-eyed, smiled apologetically and said, “Pardon my absence.  Peeves strung spider web all about my office door.”

Dumbledore nodded and gestured at the empty seat beside Severus.  As she sat down, she leaned towards the Potions Master and asked, “Does Peeves always put spider webs about people’s doors?”

“Only new teachers,” replied Severus, remembering when the poltergeist had played that trick on him on his first day.  “I’d think that you, being the new DADA professor would know how to keep him away.”

“I should think an ex-Auror would know how to as well,” said Rebecca with a flash in her odd amber eyes.

Severus held up a hand and said, “This ex-Auror yields.  The lady wins.”

Rebecca laughed, a cheeky, bell-like sound.

“It’s good to see you again, Severus.”

“You as well, ‘Becca.”

Dumbledore coughed suddenly and all conversation ended.  Every eye in the room became fixed on the headmaster and the boy seated in the center of the room.

The old wizard swept his eyes over the professors then landed them upon the boy.

“Forgive the rather rude welcome.  You surprised us and put us in quite a position.”

“An’ I’m sorry fer tha’, sir,” said the boy, his voice dark with its Cockney accent.

Severus blinked at that.  His son had had that same sort of accent when he’d come to Hogwarts…

“Might we have your name?” asked McGonagall, leaning forward in her seat.

“Tyls,” replied the boy.

Severus frowned at the name.  He’d heard it somewhere.  But where?

“No last name?” asked McGonagall.

“None tha’ I know, ma’am.  I’m ‘n orphan.  Tha man who raised me called me Tyls.  ‘E always said me parents abandoned me.”

“Your from London, aren’t you?” asked Severus.

Tyls turned towards him and Severus swore for a moment he was looking at…someone else.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“The slums?”

The other professors looked at each other, wondering where this was going but Tyls nodded and said, “Yes, sir.  Aye, I grew up ‘dere.”

“A young wizard abandoned in the slums,” said Severus softly.

“What are you getting at?” demanded Madam Hooch.

“Only what I know from experience,” replied Severus snappishly.  “Unwanted children from wizarding families are generally left in Knockturn Alley.  A wizard or witch may not want the child but never would a one of them leave their child in the hands of Muggle’s.”

“Are you implying that this boy is lying, Snape,” snapped McGonagall, eyes flashing.

“No.  As I said, I am only stating what I know from experience.”  He stressed the last words and a few of the professors looked away from him.  Many of them had been teaching when he was a student and some of them had been in the same class or above/below him.  So they knew where he had grown up.

“Sir,” said Tyls, looking directly at Severus.  “I may ‘ave grown up in London, but tha man who raised me was a wizard.”

“I am certain of that,” said Severus.  “Else you would not have known such a spell as to throw open a pair of heavily warded doors and done injury to a student.”

“Surely his answer satisfies even you, Snape,” sneered McGonagall.

Severus looked at her coolly and stated, “Certainly.”

As she leaned back into her chair, he smirked slightly and added, “For now,” enjoying the angry look that came onto her face at that.

The boy shifted nervously in his seat and Severus turned his gaze upon him, finally remembering where he had heard that name.  It had been before the World Cup, when he, his son, and Niamh had gone to Diagon Alley and the two teenagers had gone out into London.  He had been looking for the two rogues when Harry had come up upon him, talking about a Tyls being hurt.  Could it possibly be the same boy?  But surely not…

“Now that we’ve cleared that up,” said Dumbledore, “might we know what you came here for?”

“To come ter school, o’ course,” replied Tyls.  “Me m – mentor wanted ter teach me himself but I begged so often tha ‘e finally relented.  Unfortunately, ‘e could na come wi’ me.  Somethin’ came up at tha las’ minute.”

Severus caught the stumble when the boy had said ‘mentor’.  He glanced about the room and saw that no one else had.  Except for Rebecca, who sat up straighter and propped her chin on her hand.  And of course Dumbledore had noticed.  He noticed everything.  Severus and Rebecca only noticed because they were both ex-Aurors and had been trained to take notice of things like that.  Especially Severus, who had done a good bit of interrogating under Mad-Eye Moody’s hand.

But what had the boy really meant to say?

“Any other reasons?” asked Dumbledore, whose eyes had not moved off of the boy since the beginning of this little ‘council’.

Tyls shifted slightly and said, “Two frien’s o’ mine.”

“And who would these friends be?” asked Professor Vector.

“Niamh O’Feir an’ ‘Arry Potter.”

All eyes turned on Severus, who said, “I fear both of them are in the hospital wing as of this moment.  Thank your entrance for that.”

Tyls paled.

“Are they alrigh’?”

“Miss O’Feir is fine, just a bit startled by your untimely arrival.  One wonders why.”

Tyls stared at Severus, meeting his calculating gaze with wide eyes.  McGonagall started to say something but Dumbledore held up a warding hand, his blue eyes dark behind his half-moon glasses.

“I ‘aven’t seen ‘em in years,” murmured Tyls.

“Ah,” said Severus, leaning back in his chair.  “A spontaneous sort of visit.  I see.”

“Is this an interrogation?” demanded McGonagall, half rising from her seat.  Severus looked at her coolly, expression unreadable.

“I would say not.  I do not interrogate children.  And not anyone else since I left the Aurors.”

“So sit down,” snapped Rebecca, her golden eyes bright.

McGonagall pursed her lips until they turned white but sat down.  She crossed her arms across her chest and frowned at the two ex-Aurors.

“Whots wrong wi’ ‘Arry?” asked Tyls, his voice breaking the silence that had fallen suddenly.  “’E’s fine isn’ ‘e?”

Severus looked seriously at the boy in the center of the room and said, “No, he is not fine.  Mr. Potter was either standing in front of the doors when they opened or fell down the staircase.  Either way, he has broken ribs and a broken leg.”  The dark professor took a deep breath and added, “He is also in a coma.”

Those professors who had not heard this diagnosis all gasped.  Tiny Flitwick nearly fell out of his chair he was so surprised.

Tyls looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously in his lap, then looked up and said, “I – I never mean’ ter ‘urt ‘im.”  He looked at Severus then at Dumbledore.  “I swear, sir, I never mean’ anyt’ing ter ‘appen.  I never mean’ fer anyone ter ge’ ‘urt.”

“Sometimes things happen when we don’t mean for them to,” said Severus.  “That is why we must be very careful in all we do, incase someone may get hurt.”

Dumbledore looked away from Tyls for the first time during the meeting and nodded slightly to Severus.  He then returned his gaze to the teenager and said, “You may be enrolled in classes.  I presume you are fifteen?  And you know the basics?”

“Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration, sir,” admitted Tyls in a meek tone.

“Ah.  Then on Saturday’s you will meet with Professor Figg to study the years you missed on Defense Against the Dark Arts along with Professor Sprout for Herbology and Madam Hooch for flying lessons.  You will need to choose one more class and your Head of House will help you with that.  Minerva, if you would?”

McGonagall nodded stiffly and rose from her seat, striding over to where the Sorting Hat sat on a bookshelf.  She pulled it down then returned to her seat after placing it on the Headmaster’s desk.

The slit in the brim opened and the Hat remarked, “A bit early for another Sorting, isn’t it?”

Dumbledore nodded at Tyls, who was staring at the Hat.  “We have a new student,” he explained.  “Lately arrived.  He needs to be Sorted.”

“Very well,” grumbled the Hat, “but anymore disturbances and we won’t have a song for next year.  Come, boy, pick me up!”

Tyls blinked then tenavely reached out and picked up the Hat, placing it on his head.  Much like it had done on Draco four years previous, it called out the House before it had even touched his head.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Dumbledore nodded as Tyls placed the Hat back on his desk and turned towards the Potions Master.

“It seems you have a new student, Severus.”

“So it seems,” muttered Severus, eyeing his new student.

“Now that we have that sorted out (pardon the pun),” said Dumbledore, “to the punishment.”

“Punishment?” said Professor Sprout in surprise.

Dumbledore looked at her over the top of his glasses and said, “For bringing harm to another student.  Even if unintentionally.”  He looked at Tyls and continued, “Detention with Professor Snape and Professor Figg, alternating between the two every week until Harry wakes up.  It will be served for two hours, from seven to nine.  Understood?”

“Yeh, sir,” murmured Tyls.  “T’ank ye, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely then said to the other professors, “That is all.  Good night.”

The professors rose from their various chairs and filed out.  McGonagall sent a venomous glare at Severus before she went.  The Potions Master did not have the will or urge to return it.  He was gone, thinking of something else, eyes blank.

Dumbledore noticed this and looked at Rebecca, who was eying the dark haired man worriedly.

“Rebecca, my dear, would you lead our young friend down to the Slytherin common room?  I want a word with Severus.  The password is loup-garou.”

Rebecca arched an eyebrow.  “Who chose that?”

“Young Mr. Davids, I believe,” replied the elder wizard.

“Ah.  Goodnight, headmaster, Severus.”

“Goodnight,” said Dumbledore as she and Tyls vanished out the door and it clicked shut behind them.  He waited for a few moments then turned to Severus, who was still not completely in the room.  Rising from behind his desk, he walked over to the younger wizard and placed a withered hand on his shoulder.

“Severus,” he said softly, smiling when the dark eyes snapped back into focus.

“Albus,” mumbled Severus, rubbing a hand over his face.  “I’m sorry, I…”

“Something is troubling you.”

Severus’ face darkened and he spat, “No shit.”  Then he looked up at Dumbledore and said, “I’m sorry.  You didn’t deserve that.”

Dumbledore smiled and said, “It is good to let your emotions go.”

“You can’t break what the streets taught you,” stated Severus, rubbing his hand over his chin.  Then he grabbed at his left arm and snarled, “Not now.  Not now, damnit!”

“Go,” said Dumbledore, blue eyes grave.

“Harry…”

“Is perfectly fine.”

“I wouldn’t call a coma ‘fine’,” spat Severus as he rose from his chair, right hand clutching his left forearm at the elbow.

“He’s safe.”

“Maybe,” said Severus.  He grimaced as the Mark burned again and hissed, “I have to go.”

“Be careful,” warned Dumbledore.

Severus paused in the doorway to look back at him, his right hand already dipping into the pocket of his cloak where Dumbledore knew the stark white Death Eater mask rested.

“Always,” said the Potions Master as he turned and headed back to the place where he had never wanted to go but had to because of his thrice-damned father.