Silence reigned in the dungeon of Snape Manor, where time seemed to have all of a sudden come to a standstill.

"His powers?" Harry murmured with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He felt Snape nod his head behind him.

"Mine are back, aren't they? I've taken them all back?"

"Yes, your magic has been restored to its initial level." Snape's voice was tired and slightly uncertain.

In front of them, the influx of magic still hung in the air. The thick, mauve fog was furiously trying to leave by reversing its direction, but the boy's powers prevented it.

"I can take his powers, like he took them from me. Professor? Can that really work? Can I really steal his magic from him?"

There was an instant of silence, then Snape answered, "It would seem so. The potion shouldn't allow it, but it shouldn't have permitted him to continue to steal your powers that way either. The connection between the two of you is a unique case in magical history, you must understand. It would appear that the balance of power has been reversed, even if we don't know why. It's impossible to predict what might happen now. I can only assure you, without being positive, that this link between your powers will end when the potion's effects wear off in two days."

"And until then—"Harry began.

"Until then, anything is possible," Severus concluded.

"I want to do it," the boy said firmly. He felt the Potions master stiffen behind him.

"Harry, you must fully understand what that means. Each wizard's magic is unique, and it's absolutely not made to be mixed with someone else's. Even if a magical link connects you, your powers have nothing to do with each other's. You magic will fight against this intrusion."

"But he did it very well!" Harry replied.

"That's different. Voldemort is neither totally living, nor truly dead. He's no longer a wizard as you and I are. How he uses magic is very different, and he's powerful and corrupt enough to absorb powers of a different nature and assimilate them without damage. That's not the case with you, Harry," Snape explained.

"But I could deprive him of his powers," Harry said thoughtfully. "Weaken them, at least for a moment. If I manage to steal all his magic, what would happen? To him, I mean?"

"He will not die," Snape replied. "If you managed to absorb all his powers, then perhaps he could definitely be without magic. But Harry, that won't happen. Even in this fashion, stealing another wizard's powers is extremely exhausting, even more so for someone so young. As for draining Voldement of his magic completely, that would take a considerable effort, just to break the last link that ties him to his magic. It's impossible, Harry, even for you. At the most, you could deprive him of part of his powers for a time, until he builds them up again. It's not worth it. Content yourself with preventing him from taking your powers again. That will be already prove exhausting enough to keep up during the two days that remain of the potion."

"But I have to try," murmured Harry. "I can't not do it, it's a chance I'll not have again."

"No, indeed, and that's a good thing," Snape answered.

"I really feel better. Please, let me try?"

The professor sighed. "It's not as if I can stop you, foolish child."

"Sure you can!" said the young wizard. "I need you…." He felt the blush begin in his face. "I can't do it without you. Really. So if you're against it…." He shrugged. "Please, help me."

Severus sat silently for a moment. Then he slowly nodded. "You can try. But if you experience the slightest trouble, the least difficulty, you will stop. Is that clear?"

The boy smiled. Yes, it was a good thing, to ask permission…and to almost be refused because someone was worried about him. If someone had told him there'd come a day when he'd be happy to see Snape keep him from doing what he wanted!

"Yes, Professor."

He felt Snape's hand rest on his shoulder and give him a gentle shove. The Potions master got up with difficulty and headed for the bag containing Pomfrey's potions. Now there only remained some painkilling potions, some Dreamless Sleep, and a few others meant for Harry…but nothing for Snape to regain his strength.

Snape turned toward the simmering cauldrons and slowly went about the preparations. Each movement seemed to require an enormous effort. All the energy the Death Eaters had taken from Harry had been restored to the boy, at the cost of his own this time. It was a small price to pay, but still, it wasn't as if he'd been physically up to par before that. Without the aid of potions, he couldn't support Harry in his battle for Voldemort's powers.

Not that he was sure that he approved of this about-face in the situation. The benefits of this operation seemed more than uncertain; Harry could just as well suffer from this influx of foreign magic as he could profit from it. But if things turned out badly, he could force the boy to transform into his cat form, and in that way stop all outside influence.

The chief advantage that Severus saw in the maneuver was the psychological benefit. Harry needed to fight, to take the upper hand, to direct his aggressiveness and desire to vanquish toward a precise goal! A despondent and terrorized Harry was the worst of situations.

If the boy encountered problems, Snape would handle them in due course. In the end, these problems would not be so serious, or at least that was what he was convinced of now.

It suddenly came to him that Dumbledore would completely approve of his decision to let Harry try to steal the Dark Lord's powers, because he had to give all that he had, didn't he, try everything, even at the risk of his own life?

But Albus was wrong—Harry wasn't a weapon. He was a target, and right now, a victim…a wounded teenager who needed to believe in himself, in someone, and in something. Even if that something had to be the convictions instilled into him by an old, war-weary wizard.

But he knew he was being unfair; Dumbledore wasn't like that. He had more affection for the boy than anyone else probably, outside of his friends.

Good god, and of himself, perhaps…surely.

The boy was his responsibility now. He wouldn't let anyone, even the Headmaster, steer his life per a prophecy uttered by a scatterbrained hysteric, universally known for her systematic and catastrophic erroneous predictions!

That prophecy which had already done harm enough…and because of Snape.

He shook his head. He was much too exhausted to think about that now. But he was beginning to fathom why Albus had been so indulgent with the boy all these years.

Merlin help him, he was starting to become like Dumbledore.

He turned toward Harry, who was resting, stretched out on the bed.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" he asked brusquely.

The boy started. "A bit. But I think the potions are still working," he answered after a moment.

Severus nodded. Pomfrey's potions probably weren't strong enough to completely wipe out his pain. His own potions were ready now; he'd have enough for the immediate future.

He was pleased to think that he was still capable of preparing a potion with his eyes shut, but in the end, he was surprised to note he'd guessed rightly. Incapable of focusing on the measurements and exact gestures required in their preparation, his reflexes had taken over, and the potions were there, as powerful and perfect as ever. He'd been able to prepare the Theft of Magic potion under Voldemort's constant surveillance, after all, so this shouldn't have surprised him. Yes, it'd all definitely started with potions, and would end with them…

With stiff steps, he returned to the makeshift bed and handed the potions to Harry, who swallowed them without a word.

The green eyes staring at his face seemed to scrutinize him intently and inquisitively. Something was bothering him…

"Professor…your Mark?

Snape nodded, his hand moving reflexively to rest on his left forearm. "The summons has lessened greatly in intensity. Nothing unbearable. Do you want to rest a bit before starting again?"

But the boy's eyes suddenly began to shine with a renewed glow. "No. I'm going to take his powers now, and he won't be able to reach you anymore! Never again," he hissed.

Severus felt his throat constrict. That wasn't what he'd expected. What was going on in Harry's mind? Did he really mean what he was saying? Did he even want to protect himself from another attack like the one he'd suffered? Too much rage, too much instant aggression inside him….

"Harry. No," he said firmly. With his good hand, he grasped the boy's chin and forced him to look at him. "Don't ever fight that way."

Harry clenched his teeth, holding Severus' eyes, a bit disconcerted. "What do you mean?"

"To throw yourself into battle, you must possess several things. The will, the courage, and the strength, whatever your weapon. You must know why you're fighting, and be convinced that it's worth it. Rage can be an asset, especially in desperate situations, but there's a very fine line between the rage to vanquish and this impulsiveness that makes you forget why and how. Composure, Harry, and clear-mindedness—you cannot allow yourself to set them aside."

"But I want him to pay, I want him to leave you alone! I sense that I can do it, I know it!" the boy said through his clenched teeth.

"One can win a fight, and lose his soul. Voldemort's the best proof of that."

Harry's face was almost sorrowful now. "I'm not like him…" he murmured.

"No, certainly not. And you never will become like him. If you've taken this notion of absorbing his powers to heart, then do it; but let it be done in a reasoned way and in all conscience. Not out of inner rage. You're not in any shape to withstand this sort of confrontation," Snape said decidedly.

"What do I have to do?" Harry gave in.

"You've managed quite well up until now. Concentrate, don't let your emotions get in the way of your task."

The boy nodded, but Severus sensed his uncertainty.

"Get yourself ready while I finish putting the potions in phials."

Harry sat back against the wall, but still watched Severus, who had the unpleasant impression of having each and every one of his stiff and economical movements examined.

Obviously, if Harry understood he'd be using Severus own strength in the process, he'd give up his plan…

No, he had to let him try. Ever since he'd gained the upper hand in the battle for his powers, the boy had shed that lost, vacant look that disturbed the Potions master so much.

It was worth it. Truly.

He'd anticipated the quantities of potions needed to see them through a week at this rate, and all the available phials were quickly put to use. Pepper-up, painkilling, sleep and, of course, healing potions… Yes, that would be enough; no need to get any other preparations underway. At that point, they'd be back at Hogwarts.

Taking an assortment of potions, he returned to the bed and set the extras close at hand, in anticipation of what was to follow.

Potions were never enough, he knew, and perhaps he wouldn't be able to get up the next time they'd need to take one. In truth, he'd rarely felt himself so close to the verge of exhaustion. If only he could sleep…

It seemed as if years had gone by since the last time he'd really rested. Spying for Dumbledore, at the same time acting the part of a Death Eater, brewing potions, classes, watching over the Slytherins….

No, ever before that, he'd not been in the habit of sleeping soundly.

The worry of his days at Hogwarts, dogged by the Marauders' footsteps , and the anguish that'd grabbed him by the throat as soon as he'd stepped into that familiar house, had hardly offered him a chance to fall into a restorative sleep. Neither the shadow of his mother, nor the protective presence of Dumbledore later on, had succeeded in convincing him that he could be safe while he slept, even in the heart of the Slytherin dungeons.

No, he didn't need to spend an hour each evening, setting up warding spells like Moody. He simply waited, his wand within reach of his hand.

And now, more than ever he felt the weight of his resistance to sleep; he was so worn-out, so exhausted by recent events, that he was no longer sure of being able to make the right decisions.

Lily forgive him if he was wrong, but this time he had to trust his instincts.

Once again, he sat on the bed beside Harry, requiring more flexibility of his muscles than was reasonably possible. The boy didn't appear to be fooled, though, his eyes fixed on him with a fierce expression.

"Professor?"

"Do you feel ready?" Severus asked evasively.

Harry nodded, seeming to hesitate over adding something, then decided not to.

"Eat a bit of something beforehand," Severus said as he handed him a bowl of soup.

The boy swallowed it down without a word, as if it were a potion, glancing furtively at the professor. "You're not eating?" he finally asked.

"Later," Severus dryly replied. He certainly wasn't about to start having his eating habits scrutinized by a sixteen year old teenager whose own were more than questionable!

Harry didn't press him, but the mutinous expression on his face didn't lessen. He bent over to place the bowl on the floor, then turned to Snape with determination. "I'm ready."

Severus searched his face for a moment. They were going to fight, harboring so many uncertainties and erroneous assumptions, all in the pursuit of a goal, the consequences of which they still didn't know.

"Harry, do you know why you're doing this?"

There was an instant of hesitation in the boy's eyes, then a calm assurance. "Because it's important."

Snape couldn't have given a better reason. He nodded and, positioning himself so he'd be able to remain immobile for a long while, motioned for Harry to join him.

Harry slid onto the bed to get closer, then turned toward him. "Professor…I just wanted to tell you thanks, and…I know that it's stupid, but if something ever goes wrong, I want you to know that I really appreciated everything you've done for me. Being here, these last few weeks, have probably been the best hols I've ever spent. It was almost like…." He shook his head in frustration. "I'm sorry for all of it. I promise to do all I can to fix things…thanks for everything."

"Foolish child," Severus murmured. "Or rather, foolish cat. You certainly have no need to fix anything; how many times must I repeat that you you've done nothing wrong in all of this?" he grumbled before he sighed.

"Harry, there are still many things that are very jumbled up in your mind, and that's completely normal. I don't know how…there's not a simple way to consider things. Do what seems important to you, Harry; the most pressing matter at the moment is for you to regain your strength and get back on your feet. The rest is really of little importance."

Speaking was beginning to require a considerable effort, and thinking, even more.

"I want it to stop," the boy said, subdued. "So that no one else gets hurt or killed. I'm the only one who can do it…but I don't know how. I'm going to try, of course, I promise," he repeated.

Snape shook his head and pulled Harry against him. "Whatever happens, Shadow…I'm proud of you."

The words sounded harsh in his mouth, and Severus was almost surprised to hear them. Then relieved. He should've felt irritated or ill-at-ease, but he was too tired for that.

Harry tensed at his words, so Snape closed his eyes and laid his hand on Harry's forehead. At the contact, he felt him relax, until he melted against him.

Severus smiled slightly; it was almost easy to believe, like this, that it was a ten year old boy snuggling against his shoulder. Or a cat. No, a child, definitely a child.

It was a very strange day. Another one. But wherever this matter took him, for once he wouldn't be ending up alone. And someone else needed to hear that as well.

"I won't leave you. You're not alone. Whatever you do or whatever happens, I'm here with you."

And it was a blessed state of exhaustion that allowed the words to flow so freely.

Nothing happened for several seconds, then Harry took a deep breath, and started to systematically close his mind and ready his defenses.

And his attack.

For once in his life, he was going to take the offensive! Oh, of course, it wasn't as if he hadn't already fought a basilisk, or , let's see, Voldemort. But this time, he was on the attack, fully aware of why—not to defend himself, not really.

He had the will, he had the courage, he had the strength, and he had Snape. Oh yes, he had Snape, and he had no intention of losing him. The man was positively ashen, his entire demeanor stiff and pained. Voldemort wasn't content to torture him through his Mark; he was draining his life away as well!

Oh well, Voldemort wouldn't be taking him. Because Snape had done so much for him, because Shadow or Harry needed the professor, desperately needed his presence, the safety and comfort he gave him, and because Harry had no one but him anymore.

No one but him.

Hogwarts was only a refuge, his life a cemetery, but he certainly wasn't going to let Voldemort take the last thing from him that he had.

Whatever that was. Be it a huge empty manor, even a cynical Potions professor who'd become his last defense against madness. Or against emptiness, if that made a difference.

The long thread of mauve mist started to slowly come nearer. It was fascinating to watch, this little dance of the Dark Lord's powers, struggling to return to their master, and yet unable to resist the attraction that Harry imposed upon them.

At the beginning, he only felt a slight tingling, like a mild electric current running through his veins, but nothing really unpleasant…but troubling, perhaps.

The more he absorbed the influx of magic, the more he had the impression of the prickling morphing into a torrent, into a storm inside his body. Actually, he could hear the noise of violent wind beating against all the obstacles in its path! No, it was impossible….

He opened his eyes again; the room was much darker now. And yet, he didn't feel as if much time had passed since they'd started.

What time could it be?

Looking up at the window, he understood. The storm wasn't actually inside his body; it was really the sound of wind he'd heard, blowing wildly around the Manor. The sky was obscured by the gathering clouds, hiding the sun from the last of the evening.

Harry sat up to better see what was happening outside. The hand that'd been on his forehead all along was withdrawn, only to reappear a moment later to hand him a potion.

He took it without thinking. "Is it a real storm?" he asked.

"If your question is whether or not the wind and rain outside are real, they are. As for their occurring naturally, on the other hand, it would seem not. Voldemort is trying to throw you off balance. Or destroy the Manor, I'm not exactly sure," Snape said ironically.

"You really think so?" Harry asked worriedly.

"About the Manor? No. A storm will have no effect against these walls and he knows it. It's a demonstration of strength, probably sustained by the group of Death Eaters gathered around the grounds. Nothing that should worry you. Drink."

Without looking away from the window, Harry drank the potion. "I don't like this," he murmured.

"It's only wind and rain, Harry. The Manor is sound, you have nothing to worry about," Snape said reassuringly.

"It's not just that; I feel like the storm is inside of me as well."

"You've absorbed a great amount of power, so that's not surprising. It'd be best to stop here, at least for the moment."

Harry looked around him, as if he'd lost track of time. "How long have I been doing this?" he asked.

"Five hours. It's time to repeat your treatment," the professor replied.

Harry stretched, then moved to give Snape more room. He really felt better now, despite his wounds and the pain in his reawakening muscles. He could feel the foreign powers struggling to find their place in him, stirring his own magic, sharpening his senses. At least he wasn't exhausted now.

He turned to Snape to share his enthusiasm, but his smile quickly froze when he saw the Potions master's face. He was strikingly pale now; in fact, his entire body, of which the Potions master always seemed in complete control, resembled a marionette that'd been abandoned after its performance. Snape had aged ten years in the space of several hours.

But like Harry, he didn't feel in such bad shape. In truth, if it weren't for fact that he felt vulnerable and poorly in control of his movements, he would've been rather satisfied with the situation.

The potions hadn't been enough, in the end. He'd not thought to have to use so many, and like any good Potions master, he'd expected they'd not be as effective the third time around.

He'd been right. But there was certainly one positive thing about total exhaustion combined with an excessive intake of potions: they'd considerably reduced his stress level.

Oh, he was aware that the Manor was protected adequately, that Voldemort couldn't reach them directly, and that Harry was for now out of immediate danger.

But there were risks: the not so immediate danger, the diverse factors to take into account, and the various levels of analysis and understanding that the situation warranted.

Ah well, Merlin forgive him, but now a single avenue of thought occupied him—that of the current situation, and he was perfectly satisfied with it.

Harry was doing fine. Snape was going to take care of him, make him eat, sleep, and all would go well. Until the next morning at least. After which, there remained a day for them to live through, but that could wait. If Voldemort had nothing better than a miserable storm with which to distract Harry, let him continue to work his mischief.

As for himself, he'd had more than enough of that mischief these past few years.

He reached out for the potions and took three, which he gave to Harry

For a moment, he contemplated the idea of taking one last Pepperup to make sure of staying awake while Harry slept…but he knew it would've been ineffective.

"Do you feel able to eat something solid?" he asked the boy.

Harry jumped to his feet with an energy that would've made the professor smile if the muscles of his face hadn't been completely numb.

"I'll take care of the meal, Professor!" the teenager said enthusiastically.

"I'm not sure…."

"Hey, I manage all right on my own, you remember?" Harry protested.

"I'm not calling your culinary competency into question. On the other hand, the storm might've caused damage to the upper storey, nothing more than broken glass, most likely, but it's unnecessary to take risks," Snape explained. "See what you can do with the stores in the back of the cupboard."

Harry nodded. "Do you need anything else?  A potion?"

"No," Snape said tersely. "How do you feel?"

"Much better, thanks. I feel like I've downed an entire cauldron of Pepperup! And I can feel my powers…it's a rather strange sensation, as if my powers and his got bigger when they came together.  But it's not unpleasant, just the opposite!"

Severus nodded. The boy's aura was a deep, radiant mauve now, nothing abnormal at first glance.

Harry shifted from one foot to the other for a moment, saying, "Don't mean to offend you, Professor, but you look terrible. Is there anything I can do?"

Snape grimaced. "Even more than usual, you mean? No, Harry, I just need sleep, and you do as well."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape didn't give him the chance.

"You surely feel in fine form, but your body needs sleep to recover and correctly assimilate the powers. You'll take a potion if necessary," the professor finished decisively.

The boy nodded reluctantly and headed for the cupboard. Some food supplies occupied the shelves, along with various questionable potions ingredients. He selected two items, and then began to look for pots.

With a quick incantation, Snape made them appear on the table. The professor seemed downright pallid and exhausted. He should've already felt better too, with all the powers Harry'd taken from Voldemort. Harry noticed several empty phials at the end of the bed. Energy potions, what remained of them.

So, what was going on with the professor? Snape had to know what he was doing, though, like he always did…

Harry nervously emptied the contents of the boxes into a pan and said a series of incantations. A bit of flame couldn't hurt; this certainly wouldn't be high cuisine, but it'd be enough for the moment.

And now that he saw the food cooking, it struck him that he was really hungry; his stomach growled approvingly.

If only that bloody storm would stop, the evening would've almost been perfect….

Satisfied with the result, Harry held out a plate to Snape, and sat in the nearest armchair. The professor hadn't budged an inch since Harry'd begun to cook, and didn't make any move to eat, his eyes fixed on the window.

Harry took a few mouthfuls, fighting the urge to devour his plate, and then cleared his throat. "Professor? I can vouch that it's edible," he said with a gesture at the still-untouched plate.

Snape nodded. "I'm sure it is, thank you. I'll do your meal justice later; I'm not hungry right now."

Harry resisted the impulse to tell him that whether he felt like it or not, he certainly wouldn't have had a choice. Best not to venture into that terrain, though; Snape didn't seem in the mood to be patient with him.

Now that his stomach was full, he had to admit that the professor was right; he felt his body relax and become sluggish, ready to fall asleep.

He was startled when Snape finally got up, motioning him to the bed with a hand. "An application of salve to your wounds, and you can sleep. Do you think you need a potion?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and went to sit on the side of the bed. He didn't much like the idea of the salve, but he remembered that Shadow had found it especially helpful on his burns…

"Take off your tee-shirt and lie down," Snape directed as he opened the jar. "It will be easier that way."

What was harder, on the other hand, Harry thought, was to not fall asleep.

Despite the potions, the marks on his back still burned. Like the last time that Vernon….when he'd…  He didn't want to think about it. "I won't have to go back there again, will I?" he croaked out, half-asleep.

"Go back where, Harry?" the Potions master asked calmly.

"To the Dursleys. Vernon said Dumbledore wanted me to stay with them to punish me…but you won't let them, will you? You said I could stay here!"

He felt the fingers on his back tense for an instant, before resuming their gentle motion.

"No, Harry, you're not going anywhere. Dumbledore most certainly doesn't want to punish you, and it's out of the question for you to go back to that family of dengen…  To your family."

"Vernon said he won the trial. To keep me. That Dumbledore didn't want me back at Hogwarts anymore. He has the right, I guess…" the boy sighed.

"Certainly not," Snape sighed in return. "None of that ever happened, Harry. It was…a macabre farce. The hearing was adjourned, obviously, after you were kidnapped."

"No, I saw them, I…he…you know it, you were helping them!" Harry said in cry of frustration.

"That was Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy in the guise of your uncle," Severus said as clearly as he could.

"I was at Privet Drive. In my room…and the cupboard. And Petunia and Dudley…" He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. He didn't want to see Dudley's empty eyes again, his soul sucked out by Dementors, all because of him,  all because….

Snape understood that he wasn't going to rectify this problem very quickly. He obviously should've waited. There was far too much to sort out, and Harry was still too confused, despite his surprising form that evening. He'd truly been impressed by the boy's capacity for surmounting all that he'd had to endure recently. But he mustn't try to go too quickly.

For now, what counted was to reassure him.

"Harry, I promised you I wouldn't leave you, and I intend to keep that promise. You're at home here. I wouldn't allow anyone to take you away against your will, or mine. Is that clear?" he asked.

He felt the boy's muscles relax bit by bit, as his words sank into his mind.

"You're my cat, after all," he said with an attempt at levity.

But Harry didn't laugh. He slowly turned his green eyes to him, and stared at him intently for what seemed like an eternity. Then he smiled, and Severus felt something settle in his chest, something that hadn't been there in a very, very long time.

The eyes closed again, but the smile lingered on the boy's drowsy face.

Severus continued to massage the back of his neck and shoulders for a moment, trying to unknot the muscles cramped by the tension of these past few days. How Harry was still able to find the courage to fall asleep so quickly was a mystery to Severus.

Pulling up the covers to tuck the boy in, Severus finally fell into his armchair.

Harry. His cat. What had the boy been thinking? Whatever it was, it clearly had been something positive.

Merlin, what was he to do about all of this?

But he wasn't worried. No, truly not worried. He knew he'd been right, that for once he'd done what had to be done.

Voldemort could very well blow a tornado around the Manor, and Albus could throw all the prophecies he'd like at Harry, but they couldn't change a thing about what tied him to the boy.

Nor what he felt for him.

Merlin, he was really too tired…

He got up and went to the boy again, running a hand through his hair as he murmured, "Shadow, become Shadow again."

His words must've touched Harry's subconscious, because an instant afterward, the black cat curled up in a ball on the pillow.

Satisfied, Severus hesitated over transfiguring his own armchair into a bed. No, that wouldn't be necessary. He was too tired to do it, in any case.

He fell heavily into the armchair, checking one last time that all the wards were in place, that the cat was sleeping peacefully, and then allowed his own body to succumb to sleep.

oooOOOooo

Though not for very long, it appeared, when he opened his eyes again.

Something was wrong. The storm outside seemed much more impressive, now that it was the dead of night, the leaves and broken branches knocking against the window panes, and the wind whipping in through the fireplace.

But that wasn't what had awakened him.  He leapt up: Harry was in the middle of the room, his back to him, heading resolutely for the stairs leading to the park!

"Harry!"

The boy started, and turned around toward him. His face was immobile, expressionless, his eyes befuddled and vacant.

"Harry, where are you going?" Snape asked with all the calm he could muster.

The teenager turned back to the stairs, without seeming to move, though caught in a dilemma.

He had to go. He had to leave. If he stayed there any longer, something horrible was going to happen to Snape, to him, to everyone. Outside, everything would be fine, he knew it, the voice was telling him, over and over…

Snape swore to himself.

Bloody hell, how could he've forgotten that Harry often transformed in his sleep? Something was wrong with the boy's behavior, almost like a sleepwalker. Voldemort? Probably.

"Harry, come to me, please. You cannot go out, there's a storm outside."

Of course, he could, he had to go out. The storm wouldn't do anything to him, but if Snape got close to him, the man was going to suffer because of him; if he wanted to help Snape, he had to go out and stop Voldemort from continuing to harass him.

"Harry, please? Shadow?" Snape said in that gentle voice he'd not heard before this summer.

Snape.  He wanted to listen to him; he knew he could trust him.

"Shadow?" Snape repeated.

Harry felt the familiar sensation of comfort wash over him, as he used his powers to find the cat within himself…but a portion of his powers absolutely didn't want him to, and struggled fiercely to stop him. It wasn't a lack of magic this time, but an excess, and a clash of powers!

He felt the tension grow inside himself, running through his entire body like electricity, trying to leave, to boil over, to fight…

Voldemort, the red eyes, the dungeon, Snape, the Manor, Lucius, the smell of potions, and Bellatrix who laughed and laughed, Snape who let him fall asleep, safely against him, who promised him he'd be there, Snape so tired; he had to fight, he'd done it before, he wouldn't let the professor down either!

This was his Potions master!

Hand at his wand, Severus forced himself to stay still. He didn't know whether he wanted to run for the boy, or recoil from the flood of magic filling the room in violent shock waves, black and mauve, electrifying the air.

No, this wasn't only Harry, even if Snape could see the waves radiating from his entire body. From under the door and through the window pane, the fog entered like sand swept along by the wind, swirling helter-skelter throughout the room, fighting angrily to find a master.

"Harry, look at me, listen to me; you must get the upper hand; tell me what's happening!"

The response finally came, despairingly. "I have to go out!" Harry shouted. "He can't have you! I have to go out!"

"That's not your decision; keep him from accessing your mind, Harry, push him away! You must not listen to him!"

"You don't understand!" the boy groaned, torn between the two voices.

"The same thing happened at the Ministry, remember, he wanted you to go through the door and everything would be fine, but it was a lie, a trap! Fight, throw him out of your head! Now!"

"I don't want to lose you as well!" Harry shouted.

"I spent the day telling you again and again that I won't leave you.  Must I make an Unbreakable Vow or sign a contract in good faith?" hissed the professor.

"But you're dying. If I don't stop him…."

"I'm not going to die, foolish child!" Snape took his turn to shout. "I'm simply tired; a bit of sleep will be enough to put me to rights, and my Mark is almost silent, now that the Dark Lord is focusing his powers on the storm! You're not obliged to save the world, for the love of Merlin! Nothing will happen to either of us, so long as you don't leave this place! If you go through that door, Harry, I'll be forced to follow you, and we'll both be in grave danger of dying!"

"No, you have to stay here!" Harry answered, struggling to clear his mind.

"I let you go to the Ministry alone; I'm not making the same mistake twice.  For the hundredth time today, I will not leave you."

It was perhaps the hundredth time, but for Harry, it was the decisive one. Snape wouldn't leave him, and he wouldn't leave Snape—it was as simple as that. All that remained was to make the voice understand.

No, he had to make it leave…fight it….

Severus wasn't at the Ministry. He doesn't know. Oh, Harry, he doesn't need you; he's only doing this because he's required to…he's lying to you. He's been lying to you since the beginning.

No…

In the space of an instant, two red glittering eyes, and a scene, flashed through his mind.

Hogwarts, Dumbledore's office, and Snape was there, furious as he paced the room.

"It's out of the question for me to concern myself with this little brat any longer, Albus! I kept him with me because you required it, but it's done now; I don't want to hear anymore about it! It's bad enough to have to play the spy with the Dark Lord, but to pretend to put up with Potter on top of it all? You ask too much of me! Save him from the trap he's got himself mixed up in, or leave him to manage on his own—it's no longer my concern! Good riddance if he gets himself killed, he'll never be able to fulfill his destiny anyway—he much too stupid and incompetent!"

"Severus, he trusts you, and we must make use of that!" Dumbledore replied.

"You're asking too much of me. You know very well that he'll be of no use anyway. Leave him there where he is; we've already wasted too much time and energy on him. I'll not suffer his whinging a moment longer; I've never known a child as obnoxious and unlikable as that one!"

The vision faded away, and the laboratory reformed around him…more or less. The waves of magic swirled more furiously than ever, breaking against the walls to roll back again, making the surrounding air hazy.

The first thing he saw, just a few steps away, though, was Snape's face, watching him, his features etched with worry.

Snape. It would've been so easy to believe that vision a few weeks ago…even a few days ago.

But that scene had never taken place. He didn't doubt it for a second. Like Sirius tortured by Voldemort in the bowels of the Ministry, it had been created from start to finish to torment Harry. Once again.

But Voldemort had no right, no right to take it out on the professor, not after Sirius, not after all the others.

No, he wouldn't let Snape down, and that involved this vision as well.

Voldemort didn't have the right to sully Snape. He didn't have the right to take it out on him. On them. And Harry was going to let him know it. Boring his eyes into the professor's, he endeavored to summon it from deep inside of himself, all that he felt for the man who'd saved him and taken him in.

The hardship, the fear, the anxiety, the joy, the affection, the trust…

And all of a sudden it was too much. For Voldemort, for him…just too much. The presence in his head brutally fled with a scream of rage, and the air around him began to vibrate.

Too much. Too many things, too much time, too much pain, too many emotions, too much…

First it was the slight tinkling of crystal, then a combined noise of breaking glass, bursting forth as all the phials and window panes exploded, shooting hundreds of small shards of glass throughout the room.

Severus had very little time to think. He knew that Harry was doing battle with Voldemort for his powers, and now for the control of his mind. The Dark Lords' magic that had accumulated in Harry's body had probably made the intrusion easier.

Whatever he was trying to do, the boy had the upper hand.  Severus could sense it by the tension in his face. He'd thrown him out, but the delicate balance between his mind and his powers had broken. Harry had brutally set them free, and all this accumulated power wasn't going to be content with just destroying glass….

The protective wards. Harry and Voldemort's combined magic, savagely released against his wards? He wasn't sure if even a Fidelius would still stand after that….

And Voldemort was outside, surrounded by his Death Eaters, ready to kill the boy. In the physical state of exhaustion in which Snape now found himself, he could hardly sustain more that a few moments of attack…even taking into account the fact that Voldemort had been weakened.

Before the shards of glass could even reach the floor or the boy, Severus had made his decision.

He had time to see an emerald-colored shield form around the boy, as his own body fell, as if in slow motion, onto the stone floor of the dungeon.

Ah well, yes, Lily, you were right. Nothing like a bit of sacrificial magic to solve a problem. Totally Gryffindor, of course….

When his head struck the floor, he was already unconscious, a slight smile at his lips. He was finally going to be able to sleep.

oooOOOooo

Everything had happened so quickly. Harry'd instinctively raised his arm to protect his face, when he heard the glass breaking across the room.

But before it could reach him, someone had shouted out something, and Harry found himself imprisoned by a green, iridescent ball that held back the shards of glass.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape collapse to the floor, and then the reality of what'd occurred struck him.

Protego. He'd shouted Protego.

Merlin! What was happening? Protego wasn't supposed to create this type of phenomenon, and the one speaking it wasn't supposed to lose consciousness. At that instant, the shield surrounding him began to swell like a bubble, all the way to the dungeon walls that completely enclosed it. The green flash lasted an instant, before melting into the stone and disappearing.

Not bothering with the potions leaking out onto the floor around him, Harry rushed to the Potions master.

His face was perfectly still, his features relaxed for the first time since Harry'd known him. It wasn't possible, he couldn't be….

Feeling panic overtake him, Harry tried to find Snape's pulse. No, he couldn't have done this, he hadn't….

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Snape's heart was beating, and he was almost certain he saw the professor's chest rise slightly as he breathed.

He hesitated briefly…the potions were unusable now, and he didn't have the slightest idea of what could've happened to the professor.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he undertook to try and rouse him. "Professor Snape?" he tried. "Please? Professor?"

Not the slightest sign of life.

Harry glanced desperately around him, looking keenly for something that could help him. Come to think of it, he wasn't all that sure he wanted the professor to wake up right away. The dungeon was a disaster; the table as well as the floor were covered with liquids and ingredients, most of them not seeming to appreciate their proximity to each other.

A less than inviting smoke rose up from the floor, and the wood of the table seemed to poorly withstand contact with the potions that'd covered it.

Best to get Snape on his feet quickly. Harry hesitated for an instant. He could've probably carried the professor to the bed, but he risked worsening his own wounds that way.

"Sorry, you surely wouldn't approve, but I really don't have a choice," he murmured. He grabbed Severus' wand from the floor and pointed it at its owner.

In a second, he'd placed the professor's inanimate body onto the bed. He hesitated over whether or not to place his wand beside him, before finally slipping it into his belt. If he had to defend himself, it'd be best if he at least had a chance.

Once again, he wasn't entirely certain that Snape would've approved of seeing his student borrow a wand…but he didn't have to inform him of that, did he?

He certainly didn't need to know that Harry had rolled up his sleeve one more time to see how painful his Mark was.

Painful enough, the boy concluded at the sight of the black scar, its borders still a bright red. Voldemort hadn't left his post.

Another look around him told him several things.

First, the tornado of magic that had run rampart in the laboratory was now calm. And as a result, the storm blowing outside seemed to have subsided as well.

Oh really? Subsided? Voldemort had expressed himself enough for now, so he mustn't have seen the point of continuing to threaten them this way.

Harry felt a flush of anger rise to his face. The dungeon, his refuge, was devastated, and Snape was there, obviously unconscious for a while, because of the half-living, half-dead wizard trying to steal his powers!

If Voldemort wanted to play it that way, he wasn't going to be disappointed. Harry certainly wasn't in any frame of mind to let him regain his strength. Snape's spell was perhaps no longer active, but Harry could feel the waves of power coursing through his body, and he felt in full possession of his abilities!

Snape wouldn't be there to support him this time, but it was his turn to protect the professor.

Once and for all.

Harry took a deep breath and got ready to refortify his defenses, when his eyes came to rest once more on the ex-Death Eater's forearm.

A mistake. The man had done the same thing as well, after all. Still, the advice he'd given seemed to make good sense…

No rage. No impulsiveness. One could win a battle and lose one's soul.

Harry felt his throat constrict. He had the will, the courage and the strength…but he didn't have the self-control.

Had Snape lacked it as well, the day he'd chosen to have this Mark placed on him?

One thing was certain: Harry couldn't let himself ignore Snape's warnings, not after what he'd just done for him…

No rage. He took a deep breath, and then another. He was doing this to save both of them. Because he couldn't sit and do nothing. Because he had a chance of winning.

He was doing it because it was his duty.

Securing the locks to his mind, one by one, he began again to draw on the magic he still felt around him. Slowly, without impulsiveness…without rage.

I promise you, Professor, without rage.

Through the window, he could see the stars slowly shift in the sky as the night deepened. There was nothing left of the storm, and he felt the bits of magic he was absorbing become more and more resistant and desperate to return to their master.

But the more he acquired them, the less effort the task required. Snape was right, though; he probably couldn't deplete all of the black wizard's magic. He didn't even intend to try to break through the last barrier. After the demonstration of the night before, it seemed too risky to try that alone…

That didn't stop him from trying his best to empty Voldemort of his resources. There was still that to occupy him, wasn't there?

He would've really liked for Snape to wake up, though. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen, once the effects of the potion wore off. Were they going to find themselves suddenly cut off from one another's powers?

Why was it all of the sudden so easy for him to take the Dark Lord's powers?

The sun was just rising when a movement in the fireplace made Harry jump to his feet. The telltale noise of Floo powder rang out, and the black wand was in Harry's hand before he had time to think.

The intruder entered the dungeon confidently, though, and his green robes had scarcely become visible when Harry understood why: hadn't Dumbledore said that he was the only one who could enter the Manor without being invited?

The boy took a step backward, without lowering his wand. The Headmaster froze in front of the fireplace, his eyes both pained and understanding. "Harry, my boy, I'm happy to see that you're safe and sound. What's happened to Severus?" he asked as he took a step toward the bed.

He had no chance to go any farther.

"Stay where you are! Don't go near him or you'll regret it! And don't think I won't do it, not after…" Harry clenched his teeth, his hand clutching the wand, his eyes boring into the Headmaster's blue ones.

"That's completely unnecessary, Harry, I have no intention of harming either you or Professor Snape; however, it seems urgent that he be examined."

"Not by you. Go back to where you came from; I won't let you touch him," the boy hissed.

"Harry, that's entirely irrational…"

"Don't go near him. Leave us alone!" Harry said determinedly, his eyes more threatening than ever.

"This is very regrettable, my boy, but you leave me no choice," Dumbledore answered, before reaching a hand out to him.

Wandless magic…and nonverbal, Harry had the time to think, before seeing the spell bounce off of him and slam into the walls, which immediately turned green.

"Sacrificial magic," Dumbledore murmured, clearly shocked. "Oh, Severus…."

He cast a glance full of regret at the Potions master lying on the bed, then turned his attention to the teenager coming toward him, wand in hand and eyes full of fury.

"You have three seconds," Harry hissed. "Don't ever set foot in here again, or I swear you'll pay dearly!"

"It's not what you think, my boy, but I believe it's actually preferable for me to go back now. Madam Pomfrey will send you some potions at once. When Severus awakens…could you tell him to contact me straight away?"

Harry didn't answer, his jaw clenched and clearly only a hair's-breadth away from casting a spell at the Headmaster.

Nodding, Dumbledore finally decided to throw another handful of Floo powder, and stepped into the fireplace with one last worried look at the professor. "Harry, I beg you, don't hesitate to call me for even the slightest problem. The situation has turned out well and…."

But Harry'd had enough. Murmuring a spell, he pointed the wand at the Headmaster's chest; the man disappeared in flames, propelled by force of the blast.

The boy smiled. He was fairly sure that this time Snape wouldn't have disapproved of Harry using his wand.

With a sigh, he sat in the armchair. Dumbledore was right about one thing, though; the professor needed healing. He didn't seem to have been injured by his fall or by the glass, but his comatose state couldn't be a good sign. Harry himself really didn't feel all that well, he realized.

The potions had stopped having any effect, which his entire body reminded him of painfully. There was really no point in listening to it, though, as all the potions were now in the process of eating away at the stone floor.

If only Snape could wake up… Whom else could he call? Not the Weasleys, all dead. Not the Order, for the same reason. Certainly not Dumbledore or McGonagall, and Remus was far away on a mission…

"Professor? Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you hear me," he tried, vaguely remembering a first-aid course back in primary school.

Here too, no response. In fact, the professor didn't even seem to be sleeping; his face was much too placid, his body much too still and relaxed; he almost seemed to be dead…

Harry was on the verge of considering going through Snape's bedchamber in search of a potion, when green flames appeared once again in the fireplace.

Feeling his anger grip him, Harry pointed his wand at the grate, ready to cast a spell at the first one who dared to step over the hearth.

But the wait was in vain, as no one tried to force their way through, and when the flames died away, Harry could see a large wicker basket filled to the top with various potions, all labeled.

There was a note from Madam Pomfrey with them:

So, then, Dumbledore had had time to verify that Snape wasn't in real danger. That shouldn't have surprised him, obviously.

But Pomfrey was right; he shouldn't risk the professor's life… If he didn't see any improvement between now and noon, he'd come up with a excuse and call the Headmaster for reinforcements. Which wouldn't keep him from holding him at wand's-length.

After all, Dumbledore hadn't seemed able to attack him—an interesting development! But what had he meant by sacrificial magic? What exactly had Snape done by casting a Protego?

Harry shook his head. There were more urgent matters…the potions. He rummaged through the large assortment of bottles, looking for what might be useful. Madam Pomfrey had suggested a stabilization and healing potion, which seemed completely logical.

All that remained was how to make the professor swallow them.

Ill at ease, Harry went back to his bedside. Remembering the way Snape had done with him, he sat by his head and awkwardly tried to sit him up. The Potions master didn't resist, of course. Supporting his head, Harry carefully opened his jaws and emptied the contents of the phials down the unconscious professor's throat.

"I suspect you're going to hate me for that," the boy murmured.

Pepperup potion would probably be welcome, but considering the empty phials lying at the bottom of the bed, Snape had already greatly abused it; an overdose was really the last thing he needed. If his memory was correct, it took four hours for this potion to wear off.  The usefulness of Potions homework suddenly occurred to him like a revelation.

No, Potions wasn't just a boring, uninteresting class; it really had a real-life application…who would've believed it? A wave of regret ran through him. So much time wasted, complaining about Snape, instead of applying himself to classes that could save lives…one more thing he should tell the man when he awakened.

That…and thank you. Again.

But for now, he couldn't see anything else to do but wait. Carefully lowering the professor's head to the pillow, he took up his place in the armchair and took his turn to drink down several potions. A healing potion and one for pain couldn't do any harm, that's what Snape would've given him, after all.

Relatively satisfied with the result, he settled himself comfortably amongst the cushions and prepared once again to take up the silent fight against Voldemort.

Calm and straightforward. He could do it.

And he did. Hours passed by slowly, smoothly, the magic gliding toward him without interruption. He could sense it weakening, and felt a feeling of triumph steal over him: maybe he was going to be able to vanquish Voldemort after all. Perhaps it wouldn't be any harder than this, sitting in an armchair and calmly changing Voldemort into a Squib! Without magic, his Death Eaters would desert him, and he would quickly be captured, probably killed.

What if it were as simple as that?

It was almost noon when a thick fog began to form around the window. Harry'd already noticed this phenomenon before, but this time, he felt a shudder run through him, forcing him to break his concentration.

It was time to take additional potions anyway…but what could have given him this bad feeling all of a sudden, this anxiety that seized him by the throat?

He went to Snape, who still hadn't moved. No apparent change…the professor seemed neither better nor worse. Harry still couldn't help but feel nervous; something was wrong, and the feeling was becoming more pronounced.

Trying to ignore his anxiety, he began to make Snape drink his potions. Healing, stabilization…and two Pepperups wouldn't be too much. After all, Pomfrey had expressly said he wasn't in danger of poisoning him!

This time, it seemed as if something worked. The wizard's face tensed slightly, making him look more like the professor whom Harry knew. His eyelids fluttered, as if he were dreaming.

"Professor?" Harry tried.

No reaction. Perhaps it was a bit too soon.  Even so, he wasn't pleased by that. He went toward the window to take a better look at the fogginess surrounding the Manor. Suddenly it was really cold, though it was still noon, in the middle of summer.

And all of a sudden Harry understood. The revelation left him breathless and his entire body froze.

Dementors. Voldemort was calling Dementors to the rescue, and he was gathering them around the Manor, probably as close as the wards would allow him.

He couldn't get in, at least Harry didn't think so, but all of them assembled around the property, the effect of it would be enough to make him lose his wits! He didn't want…he couldn't….

Oh, Merlin, Snape! He had to wake up!

The sound of groaning broke into his thoughts. He turned toward the Potions master, full of hope. Although still unconscious, the professor seemed to have emerged from the coma in which he'd been for hours. His head hanging down, he seemed trapped in a

 nightmare, a matter in which the Dementors were surely not innocent.

Harry came closer, torn between curiosity and worry. Snape seemed to be mumbling something, but Harry couldn't make out the words.

He felt an icy sweat break out on his back when the echo of a woman's scream rang out deep in his memory. And when he bent over to hear the words Snape was saying, he felt the rest of his body chill as well.

"Lily…no…not Lily…I beg you…"

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be that.  Snape couldn't be dreaming of the same thing as Harry right now, could he?

But the images of the green light and a young woman named Lily, begging for her life, swept through his mind in a flash, and Harry could feel the almost familiar despair steal over him. If only Snape would wake up….

"Lily… Harry…let him alone, you have no right, not Harry…."

Harry felt his legs crumple beneath him. Snape was dreaming of him. Having a nightmare of someone hurting him. Snape. Him. Even more than the reference to his mother, these last words left him speechless.

The Dementors no longer existed, no more than the dungeon or Voldemort.

Snape's hand closed into a fist, and Harry saw himself take it in his own to open and look at it.

The same hand that had rested on his forehead for hours, as he'd fought for his powers. The hand that had taken care of him.

A moan escaped from Harry's lips, but he didn't know if it was out of despair that the Dementors were seeping into his soul, or out of a relief so huge that it supplanted everything else.

"Professor, please, wake up."

Snape groaned again, but his eyes remained closed.

The fog outside was becoming denser and denser, and was now oozing into the laboratory through the window with the broken pane, lapping at the stone walls of the dungeon.

Harry had to do something now.

 A stag erupted at once, off toward the fog at a gallop, pushing it out of the dungeon before disappearing into the park in the pursuit of Dementors.

Harry felt the oppressive sensation that was gripping him draw back a bit, but the feeling didn't last. He didn't know how many Dementors were gathered outside, but if Voldemort had called them in as reinforcements, he could expect that the entire staff of Azkaban was about to hold its annual conference at the Manor entrance! His Patronus, as successful as it'd been, wouldn't keep them all away for very long.

Indeed, a few minutes later, the fine fog mounted a fresh attack, and Harry felt his throat constrict. Beside him, Snape was restless in his sleep as well.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry cried out again, with more conviction this time.

The reprieve lasted longer than before, but inevitably, the fogginess seeped once again into their hide-out.

An hour and numerous Patronuses later, Harry felt exhausted and close to despair. He wasn't going to be able to do it, there were too many of them, and he was too weak.

But at least he was trying. With a hand that trembled slightly, he lifted the black wand again, and opened his mouth to speak the incantation, but it was a shout that he let out, when he sensed something close suddenly around his fingers.

He quickly turned and then froze, his mouth hanging open. The wand's rightful owner was looking at him, a slight smile on his face, looking more exhausted than ever, but wide awake this time.

"Professor!"

Snape slowly nodded without loosening his grip. He looked up toward the window, trying to get used to the light. "What time is it?" he asked.

Caught off guard, Harry stared at him. Why would the time be important at all? "It's the beginning of the afternoon; it must be two or so," he finally answered.

Snape nodded again. "That's fine."

"Excuse me?" the boy stammered.

"In a few hours, the potion will lose its effect. Everything will be fine," Snape said, his voice strangely calm.

Harry blinked several times, staring at the professor's face.  He didn't know precisely why, since the Dementors' fog was once again threatening to enter the laboratory, but he believed him. Yes, everything would be fine.

Struck with remorse, he cast a guilty look around the room. "I'm so sorry," he said quickly. "Your laboratory. I think I decimated everything."

To Harry's great surprise, Snape laughed softly, almost soundlessly, but a laugh all the same.

"You're not hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "No, when you cast that spell, it was like…I don't know, a green bubble surrounded me, before smashing into the walls. They were green for a moment, but that didn't last, until Dumbledore attacked me and then…"

"Dumbledore?" Snape asked, all trace of humor gone from his face.

"He came a little while after you lost consciousness," Harry explained with an apologetic look. "When I didn't want him to go near you, he cast a spell at me, but it was strange, because it bounced off me and then hit the walls, and they turned green again."

Snape nodded thoughtfully.

"After that," Harry went on, "Madam Pomfrey sent some potions through the Floo. A stockpile of them, but I wasn't sure which I should give you. I, er, I made you drink a healing and stabilization potion, and two Pepperups."

"Perfect. One more wouldn't be too much, I think," Snape said, helping himself to the basket.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked worriedly. "I mean, you'd already taken a lot, before…"

Snape shot him an ironic look, his eyebrow raised.

"Obviously you know better than I," Harry added quickly.

"So it would seem."  The professor's eyes drifted back to the wand that the boy still had a hold of.

Harry felt himself blush, and he held it out to him. "I didn't have anything else handy," he apologized.

Snape took hold of the wand and studied it thoughtfully for a moment. "Were you able to use it?"

Harry answered with a nod.

Without a word, Snape stuck a hand into his robes and pulled out an object, which he then handed to Harry.

His wand.

The boy took it with a smile. "It was there all along?" he asked.

Snape nodded. "Dumbledore found it at the Ministry where it'd been dropped, and I kept it, waiting for you to be in shape to use it."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling again. "I missed it." Actually, he'd thought it lost. Snape's wand had worked, but it simply wasn't the same thing.

Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a vague anxiety spread through him. "Professor, I think I need…" He motioned with his head towards the fog creeping progressively into the laboratory.

The professor handed him a potion, and Harry swore inside himself. He should've thought of it earlier; clearly Snape wasn’t the only one who needed a Pepperup.

An instant later, he felt himself calm again when he faced the window. Without a word, Snape came to stand at his side, and graced him with a half-smile that gave Harry even more energy than the potion had.

Together, they lifted their wands and incanted with a single shout.

A moment afterward, a stag and a doe leapt out, shoulder to shoulder, onward toward the park, pushing back the fog and the cold sensation around them.

Harry turned to Snape, and could finally ask the question that he'd so much wanted to ask that day.

"And now?"

Snape nodded toward the bed. "Now, we wait."

Comfortably situated on the mattress, safe from the Dementors, the two wizards remained silent for a moment, surveying the laboratory.

With a few incantations, Snape had cleaned and repaired most of the damage, and the dungeon once again resembled a potentially inhabitable room.

"Professor," Harry said at last, "the spell that showed my magical aura disappeared, and I'm wondering where my powers are?"

Pointing his wand at Harry, Severus murmured the incantation again. Both of them were silent for a moment, in face of the color emanating from the younger wizard.

"Is…is that a good sign?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"It's impressive, to say the least," Snape replied. "You've probably depleted the Dark Lord's principal magical reserves. At his highest potential, his own aura would be black. The mauve around you is very close to that."

"Do you think I could finish him off before the potion loses effect?" asked the boy.

"Probably not. As I told you, to completely tear away a wizard's last bit of magic requires considerable energy. Voldemort could do it, but it'd be too dangerous for you in the state you're in," Severus explained.

"But…" Harry tried.

'"But you've done excellent work. It will take him some time to regain all his strength again."

"I don't understand why he's staying there instead of going away," murmured the boy. "I don't think I'd be able to take his powers if he were far away."

"At the beginning, he most likely stayed because he thought he could recover them. When it was your Patronus that went on the attack against the Dementors, he probably understood that I wasn't in any shape to fight, and he thought he could reverse the situation. A mistake, obviously," Snape said with satisfaction. "And now…"

"You think he's left?" asked Harry, full of hope. He'd actually felt lighthearted for the past several moments.

"The Dementors couldn't come onto the property, in any case, and our two Patronuses were sufficient to scatter them far enough to lesson their influence. They no longer have any interest in staying. On the other hand, I'm ready to wager that a good number of the Death Eaters are on the lookout nearby."

Harry allowed himself a smile. Because they were safe, weren't they? They'd done it. Really.

The remainder of the afternoon passed by peaceably, Snape seeming to clearly have trouble getting his strength back, and preferring to sit in his armchair as he questioned Harry on his classes…making him put the repaired phials in order.

Wand in hand, the boy obeyed, as he carefully avoided thinking of anything else. When the sun was just about to set, he'd almost forgotten his nervousness and how anxious the day had made him.

He was placing a series of bottles in the cupboard when he felt his muscles stiffen all of a sudden, before relaxing, his legs suddenly weak as jelly. Falling to the floor, he felt every fiber of his body begin to glow, as if charged with electricity, before subsiding, leaving him feeling more peaceful and whole than he had in days.

The storm that had never really abated in his head finally stopped, and his entire body seemed to synch into place, like a completed puzzle.

Snape came to him, and Harry took the hand he held down to help him up. "What happened?" he asked.

"The potion no longer has any effect. Your powers are back in place, and won't be moved again. Or I should say, rather, your new powers," Snape replied.

"They'll really stay. His powers, I mean?"

"Yes," Snape agreed. "You've probably just doubled your own magical level. It's something that will take some time for you to master, though. You've just managed a most singular feat. Harry. I think Voldemort will think twice before he attempts an attack of this sort on you in the future!"

"But his powers?" the boy insisted.

"His magical level is low right now, but it's just a sort of temporary depletion. He'll get it back with time and care. The change in you, on the other hand, is permanent. What I don't know is what effect these new powers will have on you; we'll have to keep a careful watch on that."

"If only I'd had these powers before," Harry murmured. "If only I could've done something."

"What you've done is already extraordinary, Harry; you don't seem to realize this," Snape said with a frown.

"But it's far too late, now that they're all dead. I could've saved them, if only…."

Severus grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and forced Harry to look at him, putting as much conviction into his words as he could. "Harry, listen to me well this time: all that you saw during your captivity never happened; no one wants to get rid of you, and no one is dead!"

But as the boy stared at him, troubled and mournful, a burst of green flames illuminated the dungeon; Dumbledore's head and chest appeared in the fireplace.