When the sun finally came up, Severus was still humming the same refrain.  Fearful of breaking the fragile balance that'd allowed Harry to conserve his magic, he'd not budged the entire night.

He didn't know if the boy'd finally fallen asleep; he hadn't moved, and his breathing had become regular, but his body still seemed rather tense.

Through the window, Severus watched the sky as it slowly changed color.

They'd made it through the night.  His spell, still active, showed him that Harry hadn't lost anymore of his magic.  His reserves were low, but not exhausted.

It was time to make him drink some potions.  Severus gently extricated himself, laying the boy on the bed.  He saw his eyelids flutter, but he didn't make a move to sit up.

Stretching, Severus was thoughtful as he took a few steps in the laboratory.  What had actually happened last night?  He didn't believe for an instant that Voldemort had stopped draining Harry's powers.  Something had stopped him, most likely Harry himself, but how?

A remnant of magical mist still flitted around his scar, hesitant.  Taking the necessary potions from Poppy's stores, he returned to the boy.

"Harry…wake up."

The teenager carefully moved one limb after the other.  Lifting his head, he stopped for a moment to stare at the professor.

Severus wordlessly handed him a potion, but Harry didn't make a move to take it.  Sighing, Severus took a chair and moved to sit beside the bed. "Harry, do you know where you are?" he asked.

His answer was a shrug of the shoulders.

"You're at Snape Manor.  Do you remember?"

He thought the boy wasn't going to answer, but he was finally rewarded by a slow nod.

"I'm Professor Snape," he added. "I've no intention of harming you in any way. Take these potions, they'll help you to feel better."

Again, he had to wait a long moment before Harry responded.  Finally, he lifted his hand to take the potion that the professor held out, and swallowed it in a gulp, without making a face.  Severus nodded approvingly, then held out the rest, which he drank without protest.

"That's perfect.  The sun's just come up; do you want to go out and walk a bit in the park?" he suggested.

At these words, Harry startled and shrunk back in the bed.  "No.  No light."

"Do you have a headache?" Severus asked with a frown.

The teenager's mouth twisted, but he didn't answer.

Still, it was progress, of a sort, thought the Potions master.

"Harry, I'm aware you must be suffering, and I'm going to brew some potions as quickly as possible.  But before that, I need to understand.  Last night, the Dark Lord tried to steal your powers, and he came very close to succeeding.  Something finally prevented him, and I'd like to know if it's you, Harry?"

"Yes.  No.  A bit."

"How?"

The boy finally decided to meet his professor's eyes.  What Severus saw there make him shudder; in place of that empty and confused look he'd had since his kidnapping, his eyes now brimmed with a mixture of heightened emotions that seemed to well up from his very soul: anxiety, fear, uncertainty, and something that resembled hope, a mute entreaty…

"You," came the answer at last.

"Me?" Seveus replied, disconcerted. He'd been persuaded there'd been nothing he could do to counter Voldemort's attack.

Harry nodded.

Still watching the boy, Severus sat back in his chair.  He needed to think for a moment.  What had he done, exactly? Potions?  No…  He'd been content to hold Harry in his arms.  A totally unproductive and foolishly sentimental gesture, but he'd not found anything better to do at the time.

"Harry, explain, please," he said gently.

The boy hesitated for a moment, then moved closer to Severus.  With a slightly trembling hand, he took the professor's and placed it against his forehead.  More than ever, his eyes looked like Shadow's, Severus noted, filled with fear and doubt.  If the boy would've had enough magic, then without a doubt, he'd have a cat in front of him just then…

Could Harry be right?  Had this simple contact been enough to repel Voldemort's attack?

No, Harry couldn't transform into a cat…but an instant later, Severus almost had the impression that Shadow had taken the upper hand in spite of him.  Shaking all over, the boy slowly stretched out to prop his head on Severus' knees, his eyes fixed on the window.

More touched than he'd like to admit, the Potions master automatically began to stroke the boy's hair.

"All right, Harry. It's fine.  You're safe now. I wouldn't leave you," he tried to reassure him. Then, his voice hoarser, he said, "I regret I wasn't able to intervene any sooner at Malfoy Manor…the situation was extremely delicate. I had to wait until the last moment, I didn't have any way to keep Lucius and Bellatix from doing…what they did.  Can you talk about it, Harry?"

No answer, but he felt the boy tense.

He continued to massage the back of the boy's neck and his shoulders for a moment, letting him relax, bit by bit.  He hadn't liked to have to ask him so soon, but he couldn't permit himself to wait.  Voldemort was outside, and Harry had to get himself togehter as quickly as possible.

"When Lucius Malfoy kidnapped you at the Ministry, where did he take you, Harry?" he asked as calmly and as neutrally as he could.

As if resigned, the boy sighed. "Malfoy Manor."

Severus communicated his approval with a slight pressure to the back of his neck. "What happened then?"

"Voldemort. You were there," the boy pointed out.

"Yes, I was there," Severus replied softly. "And after that, Harry?"

"You made him leave.  You left, too."  There was a trace of reproach in the teenager's voice.

"That's correct.  You stayed with Lucius and Bellatrix."

"And Nott."

"And Nott," Severus agreed.

"They put me in solitary. In the dungeon.  The walls came together to…just enough.  He talked to me, you know. Voldemort. In my head.  At the Ministry," the boy let out.

"Yes, I know," Severus sighed. "That was especially my fault…I'm sincerely sorry, Mister Potter.  My strategy turned out to be perfectly deplorable, an error that I should've definitely not made," he admitted hoarsely.

He felt the boy's shoulders tense again, but not in the same manner.  It wasn't apprehension this time, but anticipation. Harry knew Severus had something important to say….

"That little act, even here before you left for the Ministry, was only to force you to keep your distance from me.  To not consider me as someone worthy of your trust.  The situation that had evolved here….had unfortunately directly affected the link between you and the Dark Lord."  He shook his head. No, this wasn't the right way to go about this….

"Harry, Voldemort sensed that you'd been lowering your mental defenses since your arrival here at the Manor.  That you felt safe.  In opening yourself to me, you also allowed Voldemort access to your mind.  Knowing that, I wanted at all cost to put an end to it, in a brutal fashion, so as to immediately and definitively sever that connection.  It turned out that my decision was totally erroneous, and the consequences disastrous."

At these words, Harry turned around, his head still propped on his professor's knees, to look at him directly, the question burning in his eyes.

Riveted to the boy's face, stopping short of Legilimency, Severus tried to put all the sincerity he could into the words he spoke.  "I didn't believe a word of what I said that morning in the dungeon."

Harry closed his eyes, and Severus could see his face relax for the first time since he'd arrived.  For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire in the fireplace, and a strange sensation of calm, as his hand stroked the tousled hair.

Then the boy moved slightly to bury the top of his face in his professor's robes, and finally, he began to speak.  "I thought I'd never come back," he said, his voice hoarse and tired.  "When I heard you tell the Headmaster that it'd all been a mistake, that you didn't want to see me anymore, I don't why that was so hard. I thought you didn't hate me as much, because of Shadow.  I felt safe here.  I should've known what would happen.  But I didn't want to believe it, until you refused to go with me."

"Voldemort had already been summoning me for hours, Harry," Severus said gently, "and I couldn't go with you, for fear of making you even more vulnerable."

"But it was just the opposite!" the boy protested.

"I know that now.  My lack of judgment is unforgivable."

He felt Harry relax again, a hand clutched in a fold of his robes.  "It doesn't matter.   At the Ministry, I felt this sensation, not really a voice, but more like someone was taking control of my brain, telling me that if I opened the door, everything would be fine, I could go home.  But it was Malfoy, behind it.  Lucius Malfoy."

Severus continued to thread his fingers through his hair, not making a sound.  Better to let him talk….

"And then Voldemort, at the Manor.  And you.  When the two of you left, they put me in that dungeon with the walls that…that…with the walls that shrank."

Severus stiffened. He knew that room, Lucius' pride and joy, a perverse invention that seemed to be the heart of the old dwelling.  A veritable chamber of nightmares….

"When you told Voldemort to be wary of me, I didn't know anymore what I was supposed to believe.  What you were trying to do. But it didn't make much sense to think you were protecting him, so I preferred to believe that it was to protect me."

"Obviously, stupid child," Severus murmured. "I wanted to buy some time. I was hoping the Order could pick up your trail, or that I'd have a chance to act before Voldemort did."

Harry nodded.  "That's what I thought afterwards. I think. At the time, it wasn't easy, especially when they started with the Cruciatus and all the other stuff."

He stopped for a moment to think back on it again. Yes, all the other stuff.  "Malfoy was there, and Bellatrix and Nott. I didn't recognize him right away.  They made up some games…  They seemed to enjoy themselves," he said bitterly.  "They never stopped.  They took turns, always coming up with new ideas, and Bellatrix laughed the entire time.  And then, in the end, they decided it was enough.  That they could start."

He swallowed hard, and realized after a moment that he couldn't find the words anymore.  He tried to focus on the fingers lightly massaging the back of his neck, relaxing his muscles.

"Harry?" asked the voice above him.  It was comforting, finally.  It was there.  Just there.

And the knot in his throat dissolved.  "I thought about escaping, you know.  But I knew I daren't think of you, in case Malfoy or Voldemort would've sensed it."

Severus wasn't certain that he fully understood the implications of what Harry'd just said.  He was tempted to push the subject a bit further…but it was better not to interrupt him.

"After that, I'm not very sure," the boy said at last with a sigh.

"After what, Harry?" asked the professor.

"Bellatrix…they decided that I was ready to 'start'.  Start.  Like they could still start whatever it was right then.   Yeah, rather, finish it."

It was the first time since his return that Severus sensed anger in the boy.  In a way, he was relieved by it; he still had enough rage to fight for himself.  As with his magic, it would just take time for his strength to build itself up again.

"And then they made me drink one of your potions."

Severus drew in a sharp breath. Oh…oh…one of his potions in the hands of Bellatrix and Lucius?  Now he could truly expect the worst.

"After that, I don't know anymore," Harry said. "I seemed to see things…but that doesn't make any sense."

"For example?" asked the Potions master.

"I think at one point my parents came back to help me, except they didn't do that…and then I got away, or someone saved me, but it wasn't really possible, since it was you who…  And Uncle Vernon…  I don't know anymore if that was before or after…it doesn't make any sense."

"Perhaps it does.  Do you recall the effects of that potion you drank?"

"In the Mafoy's dungeon?  No.  Everything was confusing, but at the same time, it wasn't.  I don’t know anymore.  Am I really here?" he asked abruptly.

"I can verify that you are most certainly at Snape Manor, Mister Potter," Severus replied with a hint of irony.

"It's the only place that seems real," Harry murmured. "Even when I dream, it seems real."

"And that's not the case with Hogwarts?" Severus ventured.

It took a moment for the reply to come, as if Harry were studying the question.  "No," he said at last, his voice suddenly tired. "Not Hogwarts anymore."

"What happened with Professor Dumbledore, Harry?"

"I want to sleep now." There was something desperate in his tone, a hand still clutching the fabric of Severus' robe, as if to tether Harry to the reality of the place.

"I'm going to give you a potion.  But I'd like you to answer me first; it's important, Harry.  What's the problem with the Headmaster?"

"Please, don't send me back there, all right? Not now.  Please," murmured the boy plaintively.

Perhaps he was asking for too much.  Harry had already given so much…but Severus felt frustrated, seeming so close to the crux of the matter.

What was the potion that Malfoy had made him ingest?  What could they've done to provoke such a reaction in the teenager?

It wouldn't do to force things. He would find a way.

"You're not going anywhere, Harry.  I won't send you back.  You'll stay her for as long as you like.  Drink this, and rest, I'll stay here."

Harry drank the potion gratefully, and his hand soon let loose its grasp on the professor's robes. An instant later, he was sleeping soundly.

Severus laid him gently on the bed, and thoughtfully headed for the fireplace.

Should he risk contacting Dumbledore?  The Dark Mark above the Manor was a sign that Voldemort knew of their hideout. On the other hand, this could be a Death Eater bluff.  Whichever it was, the risk was too great; if someone from the Ministry was watching the Headmaster's office at the moment he tried to contact him, which was surely the case, they'd be in serious danger.

No, he had to wait, and hope that Harry's situation wouldn't worsen again.

In one way or another, he suspected that only the boy knew the answers that would allow him to progress.

Talking a jar of salve from Pomfrey's stocks, he returned to Harry.  He used a spell to make sure that he wouldn't awaken, and began to heal the cuts that covered his body.  Again.

With a quick flick of his wand, Severus made the pyjama tops disappear and couldn't hold back a groan: yes, this was definitely beginning to become a habit:  How many times was he going to have to heal these wounds?  Because these were the same ones, it would seem.  These characteristic long red any marks that covered his torso were similar to those that his uncle had inflicted on him, only not as deep, and more numerous.

Frowning, Severus tapped the jar.  It wasn't Malfoy's custom to use such Muggle methods, unworthy of a wizard, and even more of a Death Eater.  What had he been hoping to accomplish, torturing him in this way?

Perhaps he'd just put his finger on something.  The potion, the room under Lucius' control, Harry's confusion about the events, his reaction to Dumbledore.   They'd tried to mentally break him, utilizing his fears. To make him bend, and bring down the potential barriers, and to impact his mind.

Seeing how disoriented Harry seemed, they'd succeeded, in a way. And his expression in the cemetery, that'd been more than despair; it'd been the total absence of hope and light.  The perfect work of a Dementor.

But Harry hadn't given up.  He was certain of it.  He just hadn't got over it.

It remained to discover what he could do to set the boy to rights once more.

Shaking his head, disillusioned, Severus began to cover the lacerations with salve again.  Vernon's work, in some form or another.  A version of Vernon even worse yet than the original, and probably wearing Malfoy's tight-lipped little smile, that amused sadistic gleam he always had, deep in his eyes, during raids against Muggles.

Dumbledore had also been implicated, as well as James and Lily, if one were to believe the fragments of Harry's memory.

The perfect torture, all in all. Severus himself would've never believed it a few weeks earlier, but nothing could affect the boy more than the people who, in one way or another, represented his family.

Without taking into account the Weasleys, whom Harry believed to be dead now...  Brilliant.  Truly brilliant.

And now? he wondered as he covered the last wounds with salve. 

Voldemort was probably there, just outside. He certainly wasn't going to let Harry escape when he was so close to attaining his goal.  The fact that he'd been able to steal his powers, only to have the door slammed in his face at the last minute, and because of a former Death Eater….

The Dark Lord had probably never been so determined to get what he wanted.

Of course, he knew about the Manor. He'd even been there in person, the day when Severus had moved into the newly constructed building.   Nothing as grandiose as Malfoy Manor; he hadn't needed it.  In truth, he didn't use it, save for the dungeons.  That was the only part of the Manor that he liked, the only part in which he didn't feel bothered or ill at ease.

In fact, he'd never liked this place and all it stood for….

He liked the park, the stretches of garden and forest that surrounded the dwelling, and could return to his dungeon without feeling that familiar knot in his stomach that never failed to materialize when he walked though the great door.

When he was tired enough, he could even go up to his bedchamber, through the laboratory exit, and forget where he really was.

The furniture and paintings had remained unchanged since the day he'd first arrived.  Nothing had changed, really, before Harry came.

Even so, he couldn't put the boy in a room prepared by a Death Eater, could he?

Just the idea of Harry in this manor…he seemed to be so at home here, though, running about the rooms with an ease that Severus had never felt in this place…

But Harry also preferred the dungeon.  He was truly a good cat…and a good boy!

Not making a sound, Severus climbed the steps and opened the door to the park. The entire property was warded, of course, but he still didn't want to risk going beyond the boundaries of the garden.

As he expected, the air was cool for the season, and the still thick fog prevented him from seeing more than ten meters in front of him.  Suddenly, the Mark on his arm began to burn intensely, with an unparalleled fury.

A powerful, deafening roar vibrated in the fog, seeming to fill the air around him; Severus looked up into the sky, his hand clenched on his forearm.

Magnified like the continuous rumbling sound, two red eyes cut through the mist, intently scrutinizing the Manor that they couldn't see.

No, Snape repeated to himself, he couldn't see a thing, it was impossible.  But he knew!

Pain radiated from the burn on his arm, pulsing angrily.  Was it fury that was increasing the Dark Lord's powers ten-fold, or was it the powers he'd stolen from Harry?

Harry!  He shouldn't be left alone down there. Turning on heel, Severus quickly went back down the stairs.

The boy was sleeping, still under the effects of the potion.  But he was struggling in his sleep, kicking under the covers, his face protected by an arm. Without hesitation, Severus rejoined the teenager on the bed and held him in a firm embrace. Unacceptable for his wounds to reopen now.

"Harry.  Be still.  You've nothing to fear here, he can't get in."

But good god, if the boy's scar hurt him as much as his Mark did…  The spell he'd cast to visualize Harry's magic was still in place, and he could see the slight but blue mist that still hovered at the boy's forehead suddenly move away, as if pulled by another force.

Clenching his teeth, he pressed Harry against himself, holding him with one arm while he rested the other on his forehead, in a gesture that was beginning to become familiar.  Childish, perhaps, as he wasn't going to hold his magic back with his fingers, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"Harry, take control again, wake up, Shadow, try!  You've done it before!"

The boy had twisted in a spasm when Severus had wrapped him in his arms, but at the sound of his voice, he'd instantly stopped struggling and now pushed with all his weight against the Potions master's hand, as he groaned in his sleep.

So much for resting; best that he be awake for the moment, Severus decided.

"Accio potions bag!

Rummaging quickly in Pomfrey's bag, he pulled out a green bottle that he forced between the teenager's clenched jaws.

He felt Harry shudder, then rapidly regain consciousness.

"Ow!"

"Harry? You have pain?"

"I, yes, my scar, he's trying to get back into my head, I don't know…."

"He's trying to take your powers again. You must stop him, like you did the last time."

"Don't let go of me, please!" the boy pleaded through his teeth.

"Not a chance," Severus promised. "Focus!"

For a moment, it seemed that the world around them ceased to exist, except for the little bit of blue-tinged mist stretched out endlessly before them, caught between two forces.

Then noticeably, almost hesitantly, it began to turn around, moving back toward Harry with unbearable slowness.

Relieved, Severus briefly squeezed the boy's arm with his free hand to encourage him. "Those are your powers, Harry.  They want to come back to you.  Stay well-focused, don't let him have the upper hand!"

He could see drops of sweat forming on the boy's temples, evidence of his effort to fight Voldemort.

Letting go of the covers he clenched in his fists, Harry's hands moved to grab the arm that steadied him, as if holding onto a life preserver.

Severus couldn't help but startle when the boy's fingers clenched his forearm, digging into the burning Mark through his sleeve.

Harry didn't miss his reaction; even with all his attention focused on the powers trying to escape him, he couldn't fail to notice this reflex that was so common to his professor.

The hand on his forehead moved slightly, as if to try and lessen the pain in his scar, and Harry understood.

Mentally reinforcing his defenses, Harry looked away from the scrap of magic still suspended in the air, and with a rapid gesture, bared the professor's forearm.

Severus saw it coming too late.  Moving quickly, he tried to pull his arm away, but Harry gripped him with a strength he didn't know he had; one look at his Mark gave him his explanation.

The Potions master always despised the blackened appearance of the scar on his arm, since the very first day.  It had probably been the first outward symbol of what he'd wished for and achieved, and in the end, absolutely not wanted.  The horror of mutilation in all its splendor, the branding to mark a slave, absolutely nothing glorious or wonderful in all of that.

But what they were seeing now evoked a response far beyond the disgust and revulsion that the Mark normally inspired.

Instead of being uniformly black, the scar was almost bright red at the edges, which had become swollen and ill-defined.  The Mark was spreading, devouring the flesh around it, eating away at it like an acid.

And the slight but undeniable odor it gave off, that of burning skin, left no further doubt.

Very well, thought Severus, a painkilling potion would perhaps be welcome, after all.

But before he could rummage in the bag in search of the precious phial, Harry turned brusquely back to him, his green eyes glittering with a new light.

"He's attacking you," he stated.

"Yes, it would seem so," the professor calmly replied. "That was foreseeable. Nothing very serious, in any case.  Stay focused, this isn't the time to let him get the upper hand.  It's a tactic designed to distract me, don't lose your concentration."

"But your arm…" murmured Harry.  "I didn't know he could…not to that extent…"

"Me neither," Severus answered ironically. "Now, work on closing your mind, and hold on to all of your strength and your power."

"He's doing it because you betrayed him, isn't he?" Harry asked.

"That much is obvious, yes," Severus said, annoyed. "And if you intend to indulge yourself, now, in your little predilection for self-guilt, I warn you straight off that I'll be forced to set your priorities right with more than a few kicks to your behind; have I made myself understood?"

For a moment, Harry was speechless; how could Snape speak so lightly about what was happening to him, and threaten him with what?  Kicks to his behind?  It was positively not Snape-ish of him!

"Harry," Severus finally said, more gently. "Your scar and my Mark are the only ways he has of getting to us.  I'll take care of my Mark, and you, keep him out of your head."

With an agile movement, he took a potion from the bag at the foot of the bed, and downed it in a single gulp.  Without looking away from Harry, he addressed him with a small nod. 

No, it wasn't understood.  Snape was in the process of burning, for Merlin's sake!  How could he sit there and tell him to concentrate, and use his arm as if it were nothing?

The potion didn’t' seem to have much effect on the burn itself anyway; he could still smell the horrible odor of burning meat, and the hand holding the potion was shaking slightly as the professor drank it.

"It's because he has my powers", he suddenly realized aloud.  "Isn't it?  He's stronger with my magic, and that's the reason he can do that to you!"

The professor pursed his lips. "Most likely, indeed. And the only thing you can do is to stop him from having access to even more power," Snape replied.

Harry nodded thoughtfully.  His own magic, used against Snape.  His own powers used against the man, against the professor who'd risked his life for him.  After all the misfortune for which he'd already been the cause….it was out of the question!  They wouldn't have Snape too, not if he could help it!

Resting back against his professor, Harry tried again to concentrate.  He felt so weak, so weak.  It wasn't just his powers that were lacking, but also his strength that the Death Eaters, one by one, had stolen from him.

Sighing, he looked for something to hold onto.  Not Snape's arm, no, nothing that would hurt him any further.   Merlin, he should've cried out when Harry'd gripped his arm, precisely on the spot where the Mark was eating away his flesh!

But what he really needed was something else altogether….

His hand hesitant, he took hold of Snape's right wrist, which didn't try to pull away.  Then he placed the man's palm on his forehead, above his own scar.  It hurt him, yes, but strangely less when Snape had his hand on it.  He'd always hated for anyone to try and touch his forehead, even to look at it.

But Snape…it wasn't out of morbid curiosity, or that sort of fascination that people had when they learnt he was Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Snape himself couldn't care less.  He was just trying to protect him.  Him, not a prophecy.  Harry was sure of it.  After all, he'd tried to disagree with Dumbledore, that Harry shouldn't go to the Ministry.

Things were different now. It was his turn to help Snape, and he could do it.  If Snape stayed at his side, he could manage it.  He needed his strength….

Refusing Voldemort access to the least of his thoughts, Harry began to close the doors to his mind.

Then those of his magic.

It was strange how easy it was to visualize all those tiny doors closing and locking, with a muffled sound that inevitably reminded him of the locks on his door at Privet Drive.

Closed, sealed against all intrusion, with Harry on the inside.

When he'd finished, it seemed that the slight aura surrounding him started to shine more intensely, much stronger.

Finally focusing on the ribbons of power that remained hanging in the dungeon, he tried to draw them to himself. This time with determination.  Once again, he leant heavily against the hand pressing against his forehead, and gathered all his willpower.

He needed his powers; Snape needed them.  If he managed it, he could stay here in the dungeon with the Man in Black.

He felt the ex-Death Eater's arms encircle his chest again, leaving his own arms free this time.  It was good that way, as he no longer needed the strength to sit upright, and he could stretch out his hands toward the scraps of magic.

Even more noticeably than before, the thread headed nonchalantly toward Harry, finally coming to rest against the forehead it'd left a while ago.  It pirouetted for an instant near his scar, then seemed to hesitate, before dissolving against his forehead.

More, he had to have more….

Something seemed to glimmer for an instant in front of the window, before entering the laboratory.  A thin, loose wisp that seemed made of mist-like matter stretched slowly toward him, fluttering lazily.

His powers, he could sense them, his powers were coming back to him because he was calling them, because he needed them.

The opaque thread slowly came closer, ignoring his outstretched hands, and traveled to alight on his forehead, through the Potions master's hand.

Harry felt drained by the effort the task demanded of him, but excitement carried him onward.  His powers were returning to him in the same way they'd left him, and he felt more whole, second by second.

Behind him, he could sense the regular movement of Snape's chest rising with each breath.  The fingers on his forehead moved slightly, like a caress, and Harry knew the professor was encouraging him.  That he was happy that Harry was doing what had to be done.

Harry could feel the heat his Mark was giving off against his chest, despite the thickness of the cloth that separated them.

Redoubling his effort, Harry tried to focus solely on the long blue-tinted thread crossing the laboratory.  He had to think of nothing other than utilizing all his resources.

In the silence of the dungeon, time seemed to have stopped.  Not a sound troubled the slow magical ballet, rocked only by the crackling fire and the two of them breathing.

Severus was amazed by the boy's willpower.  Even half-broken by fatigue and the nightmares he'd had to endure, he was still finding the courage within himself to struggle…and he was doing it for him, of all people, the professor who'd made his life at Hogwarts uncomfortable by any means at his disposal.  Who'd constantly insulted him, belittled him, and tormented him in the name of an old grudge of which Harry'd not even been aware.

And now the boy was holding onto him as if his very life depended upon it, looking for him to save him.

Was he so desperate?  What could it be in him that pushed him to all of a sudden attach himself to an ex-Death Eater, to the professor he hated most of all?

But for the moment, Severus couldn't ask the boy to be rational.  He was there, struggling with all of his strength…and with Severus' as well.

Magic and strength, the two things that Voldemort had stolen from him, and that he now was attempting to take back.  Magic was not bounded by distance, of course, but energy, on the other hand, was constrained by proximity.  Harry was taking what he could, without distinguishing the source, and it was fine that way.

He only hoped that his own strength would be enough to nourish the boy until the end.

For that, he obviously had potions.  He just hoped that Poppy's stocks would be enough to last.

He was truly proud of Harry, yes, proud to see him fight this way, so soon after his kidnapping, to see him apply all his willpower to the only objective that mattered.

The boy was truly a hero after all.  But those imbeciles at the Ministry and the Prophet didn't really know why.

After what seemed to him like hours, Harry felt the hands that'd held him since the beginning move to rest on his shoulders, to force him to turn around.

His questioning eyes met those of the Potions professor.  He seemed much more exhausted than when he'd taken that potion earlier.

"Take a break, Harry. You're doing very well; a few potions will help you not to fall asleep."

Harry took the phials that Snape held out to him, and downed them without a word.  The times when he'd suspected the professor of wanting to poison him seemed afar off.

Severus dosed himself with potions as well, his movements stiffer and wearier now.  He turned to Harry again.  "Do you think you can maintain a status quo for a few minutes, while I check on the potions brewing?" he asked.

His voice was slow and tired, Harry noted as he nodded.  "I feel better, Professor.  I think recovering my powers has the same effect as a potion.  I feel…fuller."

Severus nodded. "The level of your magic has risen considerably.  You can see by the color of the magic reentering your body; it's green now, almost yellow."

Harry looked toward the current of magical mist hanging in the air. "I didn't realize that," he murmured.

"The change occurred almost imperceptibly," Severus explained. "When it's orange, you'll have recovered all your powers.  You're doing very good work," he finished, watching the boy.

There was something so lighthearted and childish in the smile he received in reply, that he felt his lips curl slightly with the hint of a smile.  Sixteen years old or not, the boy needed to hear, more than ever, that he'd done well.

Severus quickly made a round of the cauldrons, adding several ingredients, lowering the flame under certain ones, then turned to Harry again.  "Do you think you could eat something?"

A grimace answered him. "Thanks, but I think I'd prefer to stick to potions for now.  The idea of eating is a bit…no, thanks."

Severus nodded as he handed him another potion, which he swallowed greedily.

Harry was feeling his strength return to him at the same time as his powers, but his body was calling for something more substantial to cope with this sudden influx.

He watched Snape for a moment, busy with his cauldrons.  With precision, like always, but also with a sort of weariness that wasn't usual for him.  "Professor, your arm?" Harry suddenly asked.

Severus automatically brought a hand up to his forearm.  "The pain is less.  He must not be using as much power as before," he replied casually.

Harry nodded. There was something in the professor's eyes to which he wasn't accustomed.  A sort of respect, with something that seemed like affection, perhaps.

He was all of a sudden struck by a familiar sensation, as the room abruptly changed shape, his eyesight sharpened, but something wasn't right, though; he felt pulled every which way, stuck between two worlds.

"Harry!" The anguish in the professor's shout only added to his confusion.

Something was really wrong, and he hurt everywhere, as if skin no longer fit his body…

"Shadow, stupid cat, now's not the time!"

Shadow.  Oh, Merlin!  He'd transformed!  Or rather…  Really?"

He lifted a hand up in front of his eyes, fearing what he'd see.  It was indeed an arm he saw, a human one, for the most part.  The upper half was covered in black fur that he knew very well, having tried to clean it several times with his tongue.  As for the hand, it'd now been replaced by a large paw with elongated fingers, from which extended a set of dreadful claws.

Harry jumped backward, and the cry that came from his throat was a perfect mixture of a meow and a shout of horror.

He turned to Snape with a panicked look, just in time to see him raise his wand.

"Animagus revelio!"

There was a 'pop', and Harry felt his entire body stretch, trying to obey the spell, but in vain.  Rubbing his face against his shoulder to get rid of the horrible itching sensation, he was horrified to feel cat whiskers tickling his skin.

Merlin, if Hermione could see this, she could definitely forget her humiliating experience with Polyjuice; he had to be so much worse off right now.

He heard Snape swear, and an instant afterward, a hand forced open his jaw to pour down the contents of a bottle.

Finally, his body decided to choose: a moment later, he was on all fours on the bed, shooting Snape an imploring look.

For a split second, he thought the man was going to give him one of those scathing tirades that'd earned him his reputation; his mouth opened, then closed abruptly, once, twice…

"Very well, Mr. Potter.  So, we can conclude from this that your powers are partially restored.  Partially.  Take note of this detail for the next time."

The cat meowed weakly, uncertain of what it was supposed to think.  That was it?  No reproaches or sniggering?

But Snape continued to observe him thoughtfully.  "Perhaps it'd be best for you to regain your strength under this form, now that you're there.  Take your time.  When you feel ready to begin again, let me know."

With these words, the Potions master turned back to his work.

But this wouldn't do, Harry thought. He didn't have the right to let the professor suffer when he could do something about it.

Slipping to the bottom of the bed, he approached the professor bending over a cauldron, and delicately stretched out a paw towards his leg.

Snape turned around, and Harry was almost certain that he saw a glimmer of affection pass through the eyes that met his green ones.

"Not now, Harry.  You have to recover your strength. In this form, he can't reach you."

But he can reach you¸ the cat thought.

His thoughts were probably clearly readable on his cat face, because Snape then bared his forearm.

"It's not any worse.  The burning has lessened considerably," he said.

But it's still painful, Harry understood, thinking of his own scar.  The potions had never done much to help it, and probably it was the same for Snape.

He hadn't stopped looking at the professor, who sighed.  "It's a small price to pay, Harry, really.  The choices we make always have consequences; this is one of them, and I've no right to complain.  Things could be much worse, and you did excellent work today.  In truth, I hadn't hoped for so much, far from it.  I'm very impressed," he finished with an appreciative nod.

Shadow stayed still for a moment, flabbergasted and disconcerted.

Was there still a chance that all wasn't lost?

Was there a small, a very small chance that he could still live in the light somewhere?'

That he, Harry, could truly do something that didn't end in total disaster?

 In any case, Snape had been right about one thing: he felt exhausted now.  A bit of sleep could only do him good, if he wanted to make it to the end without losing the hold he had on his powers.

He was getting ready to jump to the bed again when two hands grabbed him and placed him carefully on the covers.

"No need to put a strain on your joints while they're not correctly healed," Snape said.

Yes, Snape.  Always Snape, wasn't it?  Who else?

Not Dumbledore who'd struck him, nor McGonagall who'd cast a Cruciatus at him.  Not his friends who were dead, either, and even less likely, the Dursleys…

In a way, it was hard to believe he was no longer in the cupboard.  It was down there that he lived, not here, in Snape's peaceful dungeon.

He really didn't have a right to this comfort, and the professor's attention; it wasn't logical, not right…

But for the moment, he was Shadow.  He didn't need to think of anything else, just of sleeping, eating, and watching the Man in Black.  It was all that he asked.

Curling up in the covers, he fell instantly to sleep, and dreamed only of the dungeon.

When he awoke, he'd not the slightest idea of how he could've ended up on Snape's knees, who was also sleeping in his armchair.  He didn't remember having woken up, but even more, having been moved in his sleep.

But he felt rested, and if he'd not had the subdued pain that began again when he moved a paw, he would've felt rather good.  His bones seemed to creak like an old door, and his muscles felt as if they'd been put through a grinder…not to mention that burning sensation.  Oh, all right, he hurt everywhere.

He slipped softly to the floor so as to not awaken the Potions master, and set off in search of a bowl.  That always seemed to make the pain go away, he'd noticed.

Nothing was on the floor where the Man in Black usually left it, though, but he heard Snape awaken and stretch out slowly behind him.

He didn't look good, Shadow noticed.  He features were drawn with fatigue, and the circles under his eyes had never been so pronounced.  Was it his fault?  No, he remembered, he'd done all he could to help him; Snape had been happy with him.

He had to do better today.

The Man in Black had already got up and was coming toward him. "How do you feel?"

The cat blinked its eyes in reply.

"Hmmm, I suppose that can be arranged.  However, I fear that potions would be more effective in you human form.  Do you want to eat beforehand?  It seems that cats always have more of an appetite than what's reasonably possible."

An enthusiastic meow answered him, provoking Severus to smile slightly.

"Tuna? Sardines? Mackerel?  Lucky for you that so many potions require fish extracts.  And that Muggles are more than masters in the art of canning them," he grumbled as he emptied a tin of sardines into the bowl for the cat, who eagerly set to it almost before its feet hit the floor.

"Behave yourself, Mister Potter, your total lack of manners is appalling!" he muttered.

The cat ignored him completely, and emptied the bowl in a matter of seconds, before turning its satisfied expression toward him and conspicuously licking its chops.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Very well, can we proceed, Mister Potter, or would you first like to clean yourself up in the feline manner?" he scoffed.  The face the cat made was so human that he had to suppress a smile.  Still scrutinizing the cat, he contented himself with lifting his mouth in a questioning smile.

A hoarse and disapproving meow answered him.  Yes, he was ready….  The cat blinked to let Snape know it understood, and got to its feet in preparation.

The transformation was more difficult than usual, but still less so than the last one.

"Thanks," he said, after regaining his balance. "At least I don't have a mustache this time."

"Don't despair, Potter," Snape said ironically, "that will come."

Harry fell to the bed with a grimace.  For a short moment, their eyes met, and it seemed to the boy that the entire matter of the kidnapping had never taken place.  He'd never left the Manor, Snape had never rejected him, no one had died…

But hadn't Snape precisely said that no one had died?

Everything was too confusing for him to think about it now.  In his human form, things were definitely blacker and more complicated.

Snape must've sensed this, because an instant afterward, all track of humor left his face, as he leant over him.  "Harry, are you all right?"

The boy shook his head.  There were too many things, and…he didn't want to discuss them, not now.  Never, if that were possible.  "I…I don't fell very well.  I don't think the potions are working anymore, Professor."

"Indeed, it's time to take additional doses.  This one first," he said as he held out a bluish phial.

His expression hadn't lost its trace of worry, Harry saw.  His gaze lingered a moment on the hand holding the second bottle; it wasn't shaking, but he could see by the way the fingers clenched the phial, that Snape was still suffering.

It was time to move on to serious matters.

"Professor?" he asked when he'd swallowed the last potion. "I don't see the magic in the air anymore like before."

"That's normal," Snape agreed. "The spell stopped acting when you transformed."  Lifting his wand, the Potions master let out a long incantation that trailed off into a prolonged murmur.  Almost a song, Harry thought.

A moment later, the thin thread of green mist materialized once again, more diffuse, motionless across the room.

"It's not moving," Harry stated, disconcerted.

"Voldelmot can reach neither your thoughts nor your powers when you are in your Animagus form.  In truth, he can't even tell if you're alive.  I tried to make you take that form earlier, when the situation seemed critical, but you didn't have enough magic in you to respond to the potion."

Harry nodded slowly.  That made sense.  Now that he was back in his human form, Voldemort wasn't going to take long to start up the fight for his powers again.

But he had no intention of letting him call the shots.

Snape was staring at him, and seemed to follow his train of thought.  "Ready, Harry? If things go badly, if you feel you must rest, let me know and I'll give you another dose of the Animagus potion.  You seem strong enough for it to work now.  Understood?"

"Understood. You…you'll stay near me?" Harry asked, his voice more pitiful than he would've liked.

Without answering, the professor sat on the bed with his back against the wall and made a gesture for Harry to join him.

Harry obeyed and went to settle in against him, his face turned toward the window.  Hard as he tried to think, he didn't remember having felt such a sense of security before.  When Snape rested a hand on his forehead, letting Harry's head rest on his shoulder as he wrapped a protective arm around him, Harry thought that this was surely the way James would've held him if he were sick, had he lived.

The image of James and Lily reproaching him for being alive, so disappointed in their son, flashed in his memory, and he found himself pressing against Snape a bit more.

Like Shadow did, he thought.  But he wasn't Shadow. He was Harry and he had a task to finish.

A task largely made easier by Snape's presence, though.  Yes, the professor was there, and he could trust him.  Things were truly happening too quickly this summer…

But certain of them were definitely for the better.

Yes, truly for the better.

Without waiting any longer, he applied himself to once again closing each door in his mind. Then, preparing himself mentally for the battle awaiting him, he called the wisp of mist that was stretching out again.

And he absorbed it, slowly at first, then more rapidly as the task became easier.

His powers were returning and his strength with it; it wasn't so difficult anymore, almost exciting to feel the waves of magic break over him, rekindling every fiber of his being.

The mist became yellow, then, as Snape had predicted, orange.

But for all that, the magic in the mist didn't seem to weaken—much the opposite.  When the orange suddenly changed to mauve, Harry felt that something else had just changed , something in the nature itself of the powers he was absorbing.

It was magic, certainly, a powerful magic.  But it wasn't his own.

Behind him, he could feel Snape tense as well.  His fingers brushed across his forehead for an instant, as if he didn't know what to do.

Then he spoke, calmly, but Harry could intuit the hint of fervor in his tone.

"Harry, it's no longer your own magic you're absorbing now.  It's the Dark Lord's powers."