Sitting on the edge of the familiar hospital bed with a white blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Harry dangled his feet while waiting for Pomfrey to begin whatever scans Snape mentioned. He stared at the wall, ignoring Snape and Pomfrey's whisperings that were most definitely about him. Harry was terrified, and he felt horribly alone. Sirius should be there with him, cracking a joke to distract him from the scary, abandoned Hospital Wing and all of Pomfrey's instruments that he never noticed before.

Adjacent to the bed sat a rolling tray covered in a sheet. Harry thought he could make out shapes that appeared to be needles and syringes under the sheet, but he couldn't be sure. It scared him. Harry never saw Pomfrey use needles before. More than anything Harry wished he had someone like Mrs. Weasley there for him. Maybe not someone as smothering, but a person that cared just for him and would reassure him however he needed to be reassured or comforted, but no one was coming for him. His parents and godfather were dead.

"Harry dear," Pomfrey said, crouching down to his level, "sit back and try to relax. These scans shouldn't hurt a bit."

He nodded, situating himself to recline in the hospital bed. To his surprise, Snape summoned a chair and sat down on the opposite side of his bed, taking Harry's shaking hand. Harry resisted the urge to snatch his hand back. Despite the calloused hand belonging to his hated professor, Harry found the gesture oddly comforting, and he was too nervous to question the professor's motives.

"Would you like me to fetch someone for you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought about Snape's offer. Summoning Hermione would result in him having to deal with Hermione's worries as while as his own, something he knew he couldn't handle and Ron's tendency to blow up over the smallest things hardly proved promising or what he needed. He also didn't want his friends to know.

Ever since the Ministry event and the subsequent reveal of the prophecy, Harry found himself not quite loathing his friends' presence, but not quite welcoming it either. He wanted to be alone in a castle where that task proved to be impossible. Ron or Hermione followed him everywhere resulting in him not dealing with anything yet. It was too hard to think about not ever seeing his godfather again or what the prophecy and Voldemort's public return meant.

Adding all that to his wonky magic, sleepless nights, end of term exams, and generally feeling like a trampled chocolate frog left Harry off kilter. Not that he'd admit it to anyone. He just wanted to make it to summer when he could sort himself out. But those thoughts were before Snape escorted him up here. Now, all that seemed trivial to whatever was going on with him. It had to be something bad if Snape was being nice.

Maybe Remus, but Harry hated bothering his former professor right after Sirius' death. Dumbledore was out of the question. He wasn't up to apologizing to the Headmaster for trashing his office, and he was still mad at him for the way Dumbledore treated him all year.

"No," Harry swallowed, his mind screaming at him that his answer meant Snape staying. Somehow, he didn't mind it as much as he should when the other part of his mind reminded him that Snape was the one who believed something was wrong, forcing Harry to seek answers for his wonky magic.

"Severus, perhaps you should fetch Minerva. I may need your assistance later, and she should be informed anyway as his Head of House," Poppy suggested as she wrote down some numbers on a clipboard.

"Of course," Severus said before turning to Harry. "Will you be fine for a few minutes?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. After all, it was only a few scans. Severus stood up, releasing Harry's hand, but Harry refused to admit missing the potions stained hand. As bizarre as the comforting gesture was from Snape, it still helped lessen his anxiety a little. But Snape left the ward leaving Harry no choice but to wonder what Pomfrey was doing to him.

The mediwitch waved her wand over him looking at some display that Pomfrey must be able to see, but he couldn't. He wished he knew what she was looking for. Deep down, Harry had a feeling that a potion or two wouldn't solve whatever was wrong with him.

"Oh," Pomfrey blanched before regaining her composure a split second later, too late for Harry not to notice.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked Pomfrey who began scribbling furiously.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Pomfrey stated, stopping her writing to squeeze his hand. "It just means I need to run a few more tests, but first I have a few questions for you to answer. Do you think you could do that for me?"

Pulling the blanket around him tighter, Harry nodded shivering.

"How remiss of me!" Pomfrey fretted about the wing for a thicker blanket. "Here, dear. Your temperature is a tiny bit higher than normal; tiny enough that I assumed it wasn't caused by a fever."

Harry relished in the warmth brought on by the extra blanket Pomfrey spread over him. "Thank you."

"If you need anything, Harry, don't be afraid to ask. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry responded though he knew he wouldn't. He learned at a young age not to ask for anything.

"Good," Pomfrey said, giving him a small smile while perching on the edge of the bed, clipboard and never out quill in hand. "How long have you been feeling off? Not normal?"

"I don't know," Harry responded with a shrug. He really didn't know, and couldn't tell how much of what he felt was because of his godfather.

"I know it's hard, Harry, but tell me about anything that's not normal for you. I'll be able to discern if it's important or not."

Harry thought for a moment how to start and where, but decided it was best to start before O.W.L.S. "I guess about a month or so ago with the visions. You know I was taking Dreamless Sleep a few nights a week, but on the nights I didn't take it, I didn't sleep much, if at all. I wanted to know," Harry's voice cracked as he looked down at his hands.

"Go on, Harry. It's okay," Pomfrey reassured him, patting his leg.

"I wanted to know what they meant even though they were awful. I wouldn't sleep after I woke up from one, and the days started to blur together. I was tired all the time and probably didn't eat, as I should've. Hermione kept urging me to eat more, but I couldn't. After dinner, I had detention with Umbridge most nights, and then I'd scramble to do my homework before bed," Harry rubbed the back of his right hand where his newest scar lay.

"Were you cold often then?"

"I don't remember. If I was, I ignored it."

"You never came to me for what that horrible witch did to your hand, but did you notice anything different about yours compared to your classmates?" Pomfrey asked testing the waters.

"Not really. I think it might've bled a little longer, but I think that's because I had more detentions with her than anyone else." Harry sighed placing his scared hand under the blanket, out of sight. He didn't see how any of this had anything to do with his wonky magic.

"And when did you notice a change in your magic?" Pomfrey asked. "Be honest."

"Around the same time. It wasn't anything at first. My spells seemed less powerful, but not noticeably. It got worse until at times my spells failed." Thinking back to earlier, Harry wondered what happened to his wand. Did Snape have it?

"Like this morning?"

"Yes, but it happened once before," Harry admitted, struggling to come up with the right words to tell Pomfrey that he had tried to cast an Unforgivable.

"Go on, Harry. It's important," Pomfrey urged.

"I tried to Crucio Bellatrix Lestrange at the Ministry, but nothing happened. I promise," Harry blurted out, his words running together.

"Child, it's all right. I'm not here to judge," Pomfrey reassured him, taking his left hand into hers. "I'd like to show her a thing or two myself."

Harry cracked a small smile while pulling his hand from the mediwitch. He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his head on his knees. "I'm not a child," Harry insisted. He never was.

Pomfrey nodded, conceding Harry's point. "Thank you for answering."

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Why was it taking so long? Usually Pomfrey knew after a flick of her wand, and her lack of answers did nothing to calm Harry's nerves.

"Not yet. I need to run a few Muggle tests, but I was waiting for Professors Snape and McGonagall."

"Muggle tests? Why?" Did that mean he was a Muggle now? Was his magic gone forever? Harry tugged his knees closer.

"Your magical scans show," Pomfrey paused before treading carefully, "well, they don't show that anything's wrong. Sometimes even wizards and witches have to rely on Muggle diagnostics. It's just to make sure, dear."

"Oh, so my magic's not gone forever and I'm not a Muggle now?" Harry asked needing Pomfrey to tell him his thoughts were ludicrous.

"No," Pomfrey confirmed, looking at him with a thoughtful eye. She held out her wand handle first. "Take my wand, Harry."

The teen took the wand feeling a warm tingle creep up his arm. It wasn't the same feeling as when he held his own wand, but he felt its magic nonetheless. He sighed with relief while handing the wand back to the mediwitch. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Tell me, have you ever had any medical tests done in the Muggle world?" Pomfrey asked as she pocketed her wand.

"No," Harry admitted. "Are they going to hurt?"

"Some may feel uncomfortable, but they shouldn't hurt more than when you stab yourself with a sharp quill, and if they do I can give you a pain potion. Do not be afraid to ask."

Harry nodded, his answer confirmed. Pomfrey planned to use needles. He shivered.

"Are you still cold?" Pomfrey asked, jumping up to search for another blanket.

"No, I don't like needles." Harry didn't just not like needles; they gave him the creeps. Just the thought of the sharp metal object piercing his skin made his breathing speed up.

"I don't think anyone does. Don't worry. Professor Snape is very good at drawing blood," Pomfrey said looking towards the door. "He should be back any minute."

Harry's face whitened in panic. Snape was going to take a needle to him? The greasy git would be more likely to cause pain than prevent it for Harry. But then, the professor acted differently this morning.

"Professor Snape is a professional, Harry. He won't let his feelings towards you affect the procedure," Pomfrey summoned a glass of water. "Drink this."

Harry took the glass and sipped, the cool liquid sliding down his throat felt wonderful. "Why does it have to be Professor Snape?"

"He has more experience in Muggle healing methods. Part of becoming a potions master involves studying basic healing, but Professor Snape continued that part of his education. While not a fully trained mediwizard, your professor holds credentials that allow him to treat basic to moderate conditions. A class or two and Professor Snape could have my job. Years ago right after You-Know-Who was defeated the first time, Professor Snape spent quite a few of his summers in the Muggle world furthering his education in healing," Pomfrey explained.

"Are you sure this is the same Professor Snape we're talking about?" Harry could see the potions master furthering his education. The man was perhaps more book smart than Hermione, but in healing? Snape didn't come close to having the bedside manner needed in healing people.

"Yes. I believe he had said that the Muggle education furthered his understanding of potions as well."

Now that was something Harry could believe, and as if on cue Snape slipped into the Hospital Wing followed by McGonagall. "Hello, Harry," his Head of House greeted, coming to sit in the chair vacated earlier by Snape.

"Hello, Professor," Harry replied before starting to bite his bottom lip. Now that Snape was there, surely the poking and prodding would begin. Setting down his glass in anticipation, Harry turned to McGonagall. "Thanks for coming." He didn't know why he was thanking her. It was her duty, but it was nice to have someone there besides Pomfrey and Snape.

"You don't have to thank me, Harry." There was his name again. All day Pomfrey had been addressing him by Harry, and he didn't think he imagined Snape letting his first name slip once in the dungeons either. That worried him. Maybe they were all lying to him in an effort to pawn him off so they didn't have to be the one to tell him he was dying.

"Are you ready to begin then, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked from across the room sans black robes where he slipped on white stretchy gloves that resembled the one Dudley once brought home from Hospital filled up like a balloon.

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Lay back," Pomfrey told him, helping him to get situated and comfortable. He felt McGonagall take his right hand, squeezing it to let him know she was there if he needed her. Harry gulped as Snape appeared above him. The man really was scary when he towered over you.

"I'm going to take a few phials of blood. You'll feel one pin prick and before you know it, it will be over," Snape explained. "Just lie back and talk to Professor McGonagall. I'm sure you could convince her to release your Transfiguration grade early."

Who was this weird Snape who tried to set him at ease, and what happened to the snarky potions master? It was strange.

"Severus," McGonagall chided. "What if I didn't have his test graded yet?"

"I saw it sitting on your desk," Severus answered as he grabbed the tourniquet from the tray.

"Professor?" Harry asked his Head of House. He hadn't thought about his grades, but now that Snape mentioned it he was curious. "Did I do okay?"

"Not a word to anyone. I refuse to have all my students knocking on my office door demanding their grades," McGonagall warned.

"Of course not, Professor," Harry agreed as he felt the tourniquet being tied around his left arm, above his elbow.

"An E. Both for your end of term exam and term grade. You were a few points short on your exam for an O, but you should be proud nonetheless. Provided your O.W.L.S. are satisfactory, I'll be seeing you in class for the next two years."

Harry smiled, distracted from the cool alcohol swab rubbing a spot on his arm. He got an E. Better than he thought he had done. He was hoping he had slid by with an A. The last few weeks of terms were brutal on him with everything that happened.

Flinching at a pinch to his arm, Harry evaluated how his O.W.L.S. had gone. Perhaps there was some hope he could still be an Auror. He knew it all depended on his Potions grade, and for that he needed a miracle to occur. It was too much to hope for his potion sample to be lost, and Snape being forced to admit Harry into his N.E.W.T. level Potions class.

"All done, Mr. Potter," Snape broke through his thoughts.

"Really?" Harry said, not meaning to say it out loud. Nothing had hurt.

"Yes, Potter. Madame Pomfrey is taking the samples to her office to evaluate now. She should have the results in a few minutes," Snape explained snapping off the white latex gloves.

After disposing his gloves and the used syringe, Severus walked to the floo. It was lunchtime and although he wasn't very hungry himself, it was imperative Potter ate. The boy was too thin to miss a meal. He floo called the kitchens, ordering soup and sandwiches to be sent up with some orange juice. It was a little known fact the Hogwarts Kitchens stocked juices other than pumpkin juice, and Potter would benefit from the vitamin rich refreshment. A few minutes later as the over exuberant house-elves jumped at any request made of them, a tray popped up in front of the floo filled with Severus' order. 

Severus levitated the tray over to Potter's bed, setting it down on the side table. Serving his colleague and student before himself, Severus made his own plate.

"Orange juice?" Harry exclaimed in a surprised happy tone. "I never knew you could ask the house-elves for orange juice. Thank you, sir."

"And how would you know how to ask the house-elves Potter?" Severus asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't listen to him, Mr. Potter. Most students who pass through here learn how to reach the kitchens. It is not a crime whilst done before curfew," Minerva said, shooting him a glare. Perhaps he deserved that one. He had coerced her into revealing Potter's grade. "Eat up. I'm sure if you wish for some more orange juice, Professor Snape will kindly ask the house-elves to send up some more."

Severus rolled his eyes. He hadn't meant for his remark to come across as if he was displeased with the boy. Why would he discipline a student for searching out food? It was essential for growing teenagers to get enough to eat, not to mention the added benefit it had of making his students more alert in his class.

A startled cry followed by a loud crash came from Pomfrey's office before the mediwitch darted out of her office, heading straight for the floo and the Headmaster's office. Severus and Minerva looked at each other before he strode into Poppy's office leaving Minerva to deal with Potter. Almost afraid to look, Severus approached Poppy's workbench where her diagnostic spell still hung in the air, the results written in sparkling gold lettering. Leukemia.