With sheets of parchment and charts strewn across the sofa, coffee table, and floor, Severus was no closer in solving the Potter puzzle. He had two neat piles in the midst of the debris field piled onto the coffee table separated into pertinent information and possible pertinent information. Each stack was only a few inches high compared to the piles of useless information. So far, Severus learned that Potter had broken a record amount of bones while in residence at Hogwarts, surpassing even Miss Tonks, was allergic to valerian root, ironic considering Potter's first potions class, and was missing most if not all of his inoculations. Nothing of which pointed to any red flags.  

Severus continued skimming through Potter's files. He was nearing the end with Poppy's charts after Harry returned from the Ministry and slowed his reading to capture every word. The parchment noted her initial diagnostic scans and periodic scans until Potter's release. They all held similar results. Potter's magical core scans showed depletion, but not dangerously low levels. Severus continued onto the latest entry to Potter's file to find similar results. With a growl of frustration, Severus reached the standard ending documents. Documents that Severus thought should be up front, but the medical community thought otherwise.

Sitting up straight, Severus gasped at Potter's magical level documentation. The controversial document gave Severus the proof that Potter was a powerful wizard indeed. The graph marked Potter's power levels at certain ages in comparison to his peers. The teen's magical levels started out in the seventy-fifth percentile as a baby and rose to the ninety-ninth percentile at the age of eleven, continuing to stay there. Under that graph contained a chart of the raw numbers the magical level scans produced.

Potter's latest scan read his levels to be a 517 out of a thousand. The numbers were high, especially for a student who hadn't reached his majority yet. It was almost unheard of for a student to breach six hundred before completing school, and with two years to go Potter was well on his way. Severus was one such student though he didn't come by the number until much later.

Magical level results were generally kept confidential from everyone including the witch or wizard subject to the scan. The Ministry believed it would cause uproar if everyone knew how powerful he or she was and for once the Ministry was right. Besides, it didn't matter as much how powerful a witch or wizard was, but what he or she did with her power. Mediwitches and wizards, however, needed the information to know the dosages of potions to give a patient, but in return for access to the information, they must agree to take an unbreakable vow, vowing to never share a witch's or wizard's level. And for anyone who wasn't authorized to read the files, the chart and corresponding numbers appeared blank. Even teaching the spell to an unauthorized person resulted in an automatic obliviate to the student and a stint in Azkaban for the teacher.

Severus, however, was not bound by such a vow and his unique position allowed him access to Poppy's files, a loophole the Ministry had yet to catch, but due to his honor he had only peeked twice, now three times not counting the time spent perusing his own file. It had proven too tempting not to look upon his godson's and Tom Riddle's file.

Five hundred and up was the range for ninety-nine percent of adult wizards and witches. One thousand marked Merlin's magical levels to which every other wizard or witch was ranked in comparison. Nine hundred to a thousand represented one tenth of one percent of the wizarding population which Severus himself was a member of. He was a proud 908. 850 to 899 represented three percent. 800 to 849 represented a very powerful wizard or witch with ten percent falling into that ranking. The majority of the adult wizarding population ranged from 600 to 725.

It would be interesting to know what Potter's adult level would climb to, typically reached between the ages of twenty and twenty-one. Underground studies predicted that adding two hundred to two hundred and fifty to the level upon commencement of school gave a good indicator of the wizard's potential level. To predict a child's level before seventeen, average the amount of growth each year between the end of first year and the latest school year ending reading. Add that quantity for each year until the child completed school. He started calculating the numbers in his head.

334 - 273 = 61

396 - 334 = 62

457 - 396 = 61!

That couldn't be right! Maybe that five was a six.

Severus scrambled for a sheet of parchment and quill. His hands snatched up a sheet journaling a minor quidditch injury. It would do. Turning the sheet over, Severus began graphing the magical level numbers. Unfortunately, his data included nothing between Potter's first birthday and his first scan done at Hogwarts at age eleven from Potter's first trip to the Hospital Wing, but what could Severus expect from a Muggle-raised boy. Paying attention to the closest end of school year scans, the graph showed a rise in power as it should, but the graph seemed to grow at smaller intervals.

Calculating the difference of growth between each key plot point, Muggle arithmetic skills really were undervalued in the wizarding world, Severus surveyed his findings. Potter's magical levels since he entered Hogwarts while growing grew steadily less every year beyond his third year. The opposite should've occurred as Potter learned to master his magic!

But what was the cause? He knew of no magical diseases or hexes that effected magical levels over an extended period of time. It didn't make any sense. Even if Potter were hit by an undetectable hex, the hex would've done something by now. Not even a miniscule trace of basilisk venom stalled a wizard's magical growth. Severus rose from the sofa, wand in hand. One more reading perhaps would shed further light on the puzzle.

The small room was dark when Severus entered. Living in the dungeons did have its advantages if he wished to catch up on his sleep during the day like Potter was doing. But was the young wizard catching up on the sleep needed for replenishing his core, or was it another clue? Severus waved his wand, the torch beside Potter's bed flaring to life, glowing enough for Severus to see what he was doing, but not enough to wake the brat. The situation was awkward enough without Potter protesting a simple scan.

The soft glow produced enough light for Flurry to crack open an eye though. The little monster of a cat lay curled up between the brat's shoulder blades. Traitor. Flurry always slept on her own pillow at the top of Severus' bed, never on him. But he refused to be jealous over his cat sleeping on Potter. He didn't want the furball sleeping on him anyways. No, for all he cared Flurry could sleep with the brat the whole summer. She just better not beg him for treats.

The potions master turned private investigator picked Flurry up and set the white shedding ball of fur on the ground less she mess up Potter's scan. "Meow," Flurry protested, her eyes almost fully shut against the offending light.

"Let me run my scan, and you can return to your nest," Severus sneered, but the white monster refused to be cowed, standing up on her hind legs to scratch at his robes. "Stop that," he scolded, picking her up to rest on his left hand, holding her against his side lest she try to escape. Severus rolled his eyes as Flurry licked his fingers, boasting in her victory by purring.

Severus ignored the creature that made him wonder daily how he had tolerated her for so long. He had more important things to do like Potter's scan, which he thanked not for the first time the falling apart ancient Prince book of spells for having the magical levels spell among others. Waving his wand in an intricate pattern over Potter's body while uttering a string of Latin, Severus watched as three red numbers changed and flipped, before slowing to a standstill. The red numbers flashed before changing to sparkling gold, an indicator that the number was the final one.

514.

Severus dropped Flurry, his eyes wide. He must've done something wrong. The potions master performed the spell again and one more, producing the same results. 514. But that was impossible! Perhaps his memory wasn't as good as it used to be. That's bollocks and you know it. Your photographic memory has yet to fail you.

Stepping backwards slowly, feeling more afraid for Potter than ever, more afraid than all of his end of term adventures combined, Severus reached the threshold of the door and ran to the sofa, snatching up Potter's official magical scan levels. His latest scan taken right after the Ministry incident, less than two weeks ago yielded a 517, three points higher than the scan Severus performed.

Impossible!

No hex, no disease, nothing caused a wizard's magical levels to drop. Something was wrong with Potter, terribly wrong. Damn Albus for dismissing his suspicions. If his curiosity hadn't been peaked, what would've happened to the boy if this went unchecked?

The potions master strode over to the hearth, throwing a handful of floo powder down. "Hospital Wing - Hogwarts," Severus declared while stepping into the green flames. A moment later he stepped out into the deserted Hospital Wing calling out for Poppy with an undertone of panic to his voice, but one he'd never admit to.

"Severus," Poppy greeted, walking out of her office. She looked him up and down before proceeding, "What's wrong? I see no sign of injury or blood on you."

"Potter," Severus said at a loss for words. How could he explain what he just witnessed to Poppy when he didn't know how to explain it to himself?

"Oh dear. What has the boy done to himself now? I told him to take it easy. I knew I shouldn't have released him," Poppy sighed turning to move about the room to collect necessary potions and supplies into a bag.

"No, that won't be necessary," Severus said, stopping the mediwitch. Was his voice actually shaky? Damn the brat. Why was it always up to him to save Potter. "I shall bring him up here within the hour. He's in no immediate danger," Severus told her, but questioned his own statement. The rational side of his brain reminded him that whatever Potter had or didn't have likely started after the Ministry incident, and if Poppy saw Potter fit enough to be released that morning, he should be fit enough to withstand five minutes alone.

"Of course, Severus. Do as you think best," Poppy began to unpack her bag. "I'll be ready for the boy."

"Thank you, Poppy." Severus turned to leave before a thought crossed his mind. He looked back to the mediwitch. "Might I advise you to seal off the ward while he is present? I think the correct course of action would be to rerun all your scans, plus Muggle tests if those prove fruitless," Severus chose his words carefully. The last thing he needed was for Poppy to begin worrying as much as he was.

"I trust your advice. I'll have the necessities for Muggle tests as well though I must admit, Severus, you are starting to scare me," Poppy admitted, stopping her preparations.

"Not to worry, Poppy," Severus lied dusting off his robes as if the conversation didn't warrant his attention. "I'm sure Potter is fine. It's probably something he received from those reckless Weasley twins."

"Yes, all right. It is better to be prepared for everything. Thanks for the warning, Severus," Poppy said through a forced smile.

The potions master nodded before escaping to the floo where it whisked him away back to his quarters and the frightening puzzle known as Potter.

A rough tongue licked his cheek, startling Harry from his blissful nap. "Go away, Crookshanks," he grumbled, burrowing further into the covers. The cat's nails dug into his shoulder as he moved, and he reached for the offending fat cat to hit air. Huh? Crookshanks was huge, how could he miss her?

"Meow."

Emerald eyes shot open. That was not Crookshanks. He reached blindly for his glasses with his right hand hitting the bare nightstand instead. Where did his glasses go? He always kept them on the front corner nearest to him on the nightstand. Harry pushed himself up to his knees, using his limited vision to locate his glasses. He really had horrible eyesight and the darkness only made it worse. Couldn't he have inherited his mother's eyesight along with the color of her eyes?

Why was it so dark? He couldn't have slept the whole day away. Hermione and Ron would've never allowed it. Well Hermione might've, but Ron wanted to get a few games of quidditch in. Reaching over to the nightstand again, Harry ran his right hand along its smooth wooden surface, too smooth to be his nightstand in Gryffindor Tower.

He scrambled to find something, anything that would give him a clue to where he was. His legs tangled in the bedcovers, throwing him off balance until he almost toppled off the bed. Harry's breathing sped up, his hands groping around him until at last his hand found something. His wand!

Harry grabbed his holly wand, feeling the familiar warmness unique to his wand before uttering a lumos. A dim light emitted from his wandtip, about half the brightness his lumos normally produced. The teen groaned, but at least the spell had worked. He wasn't as defenseless as he could be. Moving his wand around to survey his surroundings, Harry's eye caught the light reflecting off of something. His glasses! He pulled the frames onto his face, allowing his eyes to adjust.

It wasn't much better. It was still too dark to see anything other than shapes. He stood up from the bed. Perhaps the door would be unlocked and there'd be light out there. Harry couldn't be somewhere that dangerous if they left him his wand, or maybe they knew it was near useless to him anyway. The thought made him shiver.

The small trek to the door fatigued Harry despite just waking up. Why was he so tired and cold? Not noticing it until now, his skin was prickled with Goosebumps. It was almost summer, not winter. He shouldn't be cold. He remembered Pomfrey's words about his core depletion, but she didn't mention he'd be this tired or forget important things like where he was. He stopped with his hand on the cool metal door handle, catching his breath. Whatever was out there, he needed to be alert and ready, not weak.

When his breathing became normal, Harry cracked open the door cursing the heavy piece of wood for creaking. "Come on out, Potter," Snape said, his voice devoid of any sign of hatred or sarcasm. In fact, had he detected a hint of worry in his professor's tone?

Bloody Hell! There had to be something wrong if Snape sounded worried.

Harry considered running back to the bed with the unfamiliar cat. It had to be a nightmare. Snape worried? About him? The Gryffindor golden boy? Impossible. And did that mean he was in Snape's quarters? Why? Did the bastard slip him something to get his revenge? The teen gulped as he felt for his clothes, his hands finding his familiar beat-up pair of jeans and tee shirt. Whew. One possible reason scratched off the list.

Just as Harry debated his next move, the potions master himself opened the door, a burst of much needed light coming with him. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, taking a step back, waiting for Snape's tirade. He never escaped the man without one it seemed.

"Did you sleep well?" Snape asked without his trademark sneer.

Harry blanched. Snape being nice? "Yeah, er, yes, sir," Harry forced out. He felt Snape eye him from head to toe making Harry wonder if this were how potions ingredients felt before being chopped up by Snape. He averted his gaze to the bed, anything to get the man's analyzing dark eyes off him. The kitten! "Professor, is that your cat?"

"Yes, but I will have you know she is no ordinary cat, and it would be to your advantage not to scream to the school about my white, fluffy furball," Snape warned. There was that snarky undertone Harry was used to. His felt his shoulders relax. "Perhaps, one day this summer I shall tell you about Flurry." Summer? Merlin! Harry's memory of the night before came crashing down to him. He was to spend the entire summer with the greasy git! "...is expecting us."

No! He'd rather spend the summer with the Dursleys than stay with Snape. He backed up, wishing to flee, but the bloody bat was blocking the door. Harry's legs hit the desk. He had nowhere to go and Snape kept advancing on him. Without a thought to the consequences, Harry whipped out his wand. "Stupefy!" he yelled aiming at Snape's chest.

Only nothing happened. Not even a spark of red light.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled again with his professor an arm's length away. Nothing again. His arm trembled and his eyes darted around the room. There had to be some way to escape. "Back off!" Harry tried, lying to himself that the wet things he felt sliding down his cheeks were not tears. He refused to cry in front of anyone, especially Snape. The professor didn't budge. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Reducto!" Still nothing. He froze with his arm and wand extended, his eyes staring at the holly wand that refused to emit a spark. Fear mixed with disbelief rushed through him, leaving him to wonder if Pomfrey was wrong, and he really was dying.

Severus stared in fear at the boy in front of him. Potter's magic had failed him. Three times! What did that mean? Was the brat losing his magic? Poppy was needed, but first Severus had to deal with the boy.

Snapping his mask back in place, Severus assessed the situation. It was necessary to get Potter calmed down enough to take to the Hospital Wing for he had no answers for the wizard, but first Severus needed to get that wand before Potter did something to it. Severus slowly raised his hand to Potter's wand, moving an inch at a time to not scare the young wizard. He wrapped his hand around it, his hand grazing the smaller, trembling one before sliding it out of Potter's hand. He tucked the wand in his robes to give back to Potter later. The whole time the boy hadn't moved, hadn't even protested when Severus took his wand. Did Potter even realize what just happened?

"Potter, calm down," Severus tried to breakthrough to him. He had no personal experience in calming down teenagers. He always waited until his students finished crying before attempting anything. "Madame Pomfrey is waiting for us. She'll figure it out, Potter."

The teen continued standing there like a statue. It made Severus uncomfortable. What should he do? Hug the boy until they realized how much they hated each other? He looked at his student taking in his appearance. Potter had lost weight in the past few weeks, his skin looked like it hadn't seen sun in weeks, and a nasty bruise colored his upper right arm. Had he done that this morning? No, Severus distinctly remembered pulling Potter down to the dungeons by his left arm. Potter looked dreadful, and Severus found himself feeling bad for Potter against his will.

"Harry," Severus said in a low, calming tone as he placed his hands on either side of the teen's shoulders. "Look at me." Glassy emerald eyes full of confusion and fear met his own. "Take a deep breath." Severus listened for Potter to deepen his breathing pattern, afraid that if he broke eye contact with the boy, then Potter would return to his frozen state. "That's right. Keep breathing."

A few minutes passed with the two of them standing there before the teen tugged against Severus' hold, turning away to compose himself. Severus took a few steps back to make them both more comfortable. He waited while Potter dried his eyes and likely searched for his pride before he cleared his throat to get Potter's attention. "Sit down," Severus suggested motioning to the bed.

Taking his advice, the teen sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to the floor while his hands clenched and twisted the edge of the covers. Potter's cheeks were red in embarrassment, and he looked like he wanted to shrink away. "While you were sleeping, I took the liberty of perusing your file," Severus said, waiting for Potter's indignation. Potter surprised him by pretending to ignore him. "I believe as well as you must that there is something more going on than core depletion. I've found a few clues, but Madame Pomfrey is needed to investigate further." Severus watched Harry tense. "It's most likely nothing a potion or two can't fix," he lied to reassure the boy.

Merlin, they should admit him to St. Mungo's psych ward now. He never lied to make someone feel better. "Come, the sooner we go, the sooner you'll have your answers."

"Okay," Potter answered, his voice sounding choked and forced. Snape escorted the teen to his floo. He held Potter's right arm as he threw down the floo powder, not trusting Potter to not get lost in the castle's floo network. With a call out to their destination, they were off to the Hospital Wing where with a bit of luck the answers lay.