Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, June 1996

When Harry woke, the sun was shining brightly into the sixth-year boys' dorm, flooding it with warmth. Groaning, he stretched, his joints popping musically. After putting on his glasses, he took in the room thinking how out of balance it felt being the only one there. The other four beds, with their hangings pinned open to expose the mattresses stripped of their coverings, looked horribly forlorn.

No alarm was necessary when his dorm mates were in residence. His wake up call was usually the cacophony of ‘The Seamus and Dean Show.' Neville, on his stomach, grinning lazily, hair askew, eyes puffy from sleep, would watch the two boys reenact the numerous football games they had attended together over the summer. Ron, unsurprisingly, slept through it all, snoring so hard, Harry found it miraculous the boy didn't inhale his bed curtains.

Upon entering his room in the wee hours of the morning, Harry had gone straight to his four-poster, scarcely registering the fact that it was made up and that his trunk was in its usual spot at the foot of it. He had simply collapsed on top of the covers, already halfway asleep as he pulled his glasses off.

Once on his stomach, the unyielding hardness of his mother's medallion jabbed his right hip. He fished it out and gazed at it for a drowsy moment before wrapping his fingers around it and tucking his hand under his chest. He had then fallen into a dreamless sleep.

Sitting up, Harry idly ran his fingers through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts by piecing together last night's queer events. A shower would help with that, among other things. Looking himself over, he only now noticed how intensely grimy he was from his spill on the road. He frowned confusedly at the dark, rust colored stain on his arm. He considered it a moment before remembering.

Blood. Snape's blood.

Harry shuddered, wondering why he hadn't noticed it last night. Tearing his eyes from it, he stood, narrowly missing cracking his knee against a rocking chair placed next to his bed. Draped over an arm of the chair was a copy of The Daily Prophet. He glanced at the headline, but was distracted by the date: Thursday, 13 June 1996.

Impossible. He frowned, mentally ticking off the days and dates. It had been Saturday, the 8th when...

He looked at the watch dangling loosely at his wrist - a cast-off of Dudley's - and saw that it was 11:15 a.m.

Okay, but it can't be the 13th...

He showered hurriedly, then pulled on some wrinkled clothes scavenged from the bottom of his trunk before making his way to Dumbledore's office.

"Lemon drops." He spoke hesitantly, thinking it doubtful that he would again be granted entrance. But, as before, the gargoyle jumped aside. 

Stepping off the moving staircase, Harry knocked on the door. When there was no immediate answer, he waited a moment then pressed his ear to the door. Hearing nothing, he turned and went back down the staircase. Out in the hallway, he'd almost cleared the gargoyle when he heard, "Harry! You're awake."

Harry spun around to see Dumbledore striding toward him. "Yeah... Um, I was just up to your office."

"I was in the hospital wing sitting with Severus."

"Oh. How is he?"

Dumbledore sighed. "He has fallen into a deep sleep. He may just as well have ingested the Draught of Living Death."

Harry frowned. "But, he was awake last night... He spoke to me!"

Dumbledore looked at Harry strangely and said, "Harry, his condition continues to be rather grave. Healer Brady and Madam Pomfrey believe this sleep might be best as it will give his body an opportunity to heal at its own pace."

"Well, when will he wake up?"

"Soon, I hope," Dumbledore said, briefly touching Harry's shoulder. Harry frowned at the touch. He was concerned, but he wasn't concerned.

"Mr. Potter!" Harry turned. Madam Pomfrey was puffing her way up the hallway. "I left for only a moment and you'd disappeared!"

"Disappeared?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore.

"Headmaster," she said, "I would've informed you Potter had awoken, but when I returned from - well, he wasn't there when I returned!"

"I didn't even know anyone was - There was a rocking chair with the Prophet on..." Harry rounded on Dumbledore. "Today's date, it's not the 13th of June... is it?"

"We might be more comfortable discussing this in my office, Harry." Dumbledore dismissed the school nurse with a nod, and directed Harry back toward the gargoyle.

*WO

Harry sat tensely in a chair opposite Dumbledore's desk.

"Are you in any pain, Harry?"

Not expecting that question, Harry blankly shook his head. Dumbledore nodded approvingly. Knowingly, Harry surmised, and narrowed his eyes.

"Harry, it was very early Sunday morning when I left you at the Tower. You arrived Saturday night after being rescued by members of the Order as Death Eaters had invaded the Dursley's home after murdering them on the roadway. You also witnessed Professor Snape's torture in a vision."

Harry frowned, fidgeting impatiently. He knew all this, and wondered why Dumbledore felt the need to rehash it all.

"Well, it was of little consequence when you were not seen the next day, as we all expected you to be terribly exhausted. But, when no one reported seeing you on Tuesday, I asked Madam Pomfrey to check on you and she found you asleep," Dumbledore said. "She tried waking you. When you did not, she examined you and determined that, though you were simply sleeping, it was an intensely deep sleep, ‘a healing sleep' she said."

Harry was confused. "'A healing sleep?' Like Snape?"

"Similar, but as you had not sustained any visible injuries there was no other logical reason for you to have slept so deeply. That is why I asked if you were in any pain."

Inexplicably, Harry suspected Dumbledore was either being less than truthful or very particular regarding his words. "I wasn't hurt at all during the rescue. I'm fine."

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "And, that is all for the better, of course. Having both you and Severus as patients in the hospital wing -"

"I'm fine," Harry reiterated. In all his years at Hogwarts, he'd spent more than his fair share of days and nights in the hospital wing, and it was by and far the last place he wanted to spend any of his time this summer. "I was just really tired. It's been... a while since I've had a good night's sleep."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, his eyes searching Harry's face. "Do feel free to speak with Madam Pomfrey should your difficulty sleeping persist." Harry nodded, shifting uncomfortably under Dumbledore's gaze. "Well," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands. "I have an appointment I must attend. Perhaps you could sit with Professor Snape for a bit, as you did the other night?"

"Er, no, uh, I don't want to intrude," Harry said in a rush, shifting nervously from side to side.

"You will not be intruding, I can assure you. Severus could use the company." Dumbledore smiled, amused at Harry's skeptical look. "He will not be able to interact with you, of course, but he will be aware of your presence. Healer Brady says it is like a waking sleep, meaning he seems to have an awareness of things happening around him. I, myself, read to him whilst I was there."

"Actually, sir, I think I'll just go back to the Tower. I-I should write Ron and Hermione, let'em know I'm okay. I'm sure they're worried..." Harry trailed off miserably.

In truth, Harry didn't want to write to them, having only horrible news to share. Plus, Ron would already know the details of that night on Privet Drive, what with Mr. Weasley being one of his rescuer's, and Ron would have certainly shared that information with Hermione. But, he didn't want to go sit and stare at an unconscious Snape, either!

"Yes, Harry they have been very concerned about you. I have been collecting their letters for you." Dumbledore pulled open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a small stack of letters, handing them to Harry.

"Thank you, sir."

"And Harry - you would do well not spending too much of your time alone. It will be of no benefit to you. It will in fact have just the opposite effect, keeping you too much in your thoughts."

"Wish I had a Pensieve," Harry grumbled, shuffling the letters about. Dumbledore frowned and rose from his seat.

"They can be rather useful at times, but, you cannot truly escape your troubles by simply removing a few memories. They exist as part of an entire tapestry and are wholly connected so that together, they give our lives meaning. Our memories shape and ground us, connecting us to loved ones. They also provide a wellspring for emotion when we are bereft of it. Removing any part permanently would leave the tapestry frayed and subject to destruction, Harry."

"I'm subject to destruction, regardless," said Harry bitterly.

Dumbledore sighed softly and an intense anger flared up within Harry. He'd been fine an hour ago when he had woken up - sort of. But, now Dumbledore, with his babble of frayed tapestries and memories, was making matters worse.

"I'm going outside... get some air... sir," Harry said, jumping to his feet and jamming his letters into his back pocket.

Before the old wizard could respond, Harry was out the door and down the stairs, never stopping until he burst through the great front doors of the castle. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he decided that the intensely sweet afternoon air was a refreshing switch from the suffocating air of Dumbledore's office.

Descending the stone steps, he made a beeline for the lake and the old oak tree where he, Ron, and Hermione often sat during the school year. It was the same tree under which his father and his friends had spent time. Immediately, a vision of James Potter, Remus and Sirius came to mind, acting as Harry imagined carefree, self-possessed teenagers acted.

His father and Sirius had been as close as brothers and Harry had dreamed of the time - after all the madness to do with Voldemort was over - when he and his godfather could sit and talk about anything, James, Lily... the future.

Now, that future looked as bleak as ever, especially in light of the prophecy. Since learning its contents, Harry had not only had to ingest losing Sirius, but also the staggering uncertainty of his own survival. Wisps of Dumbledore's memory from the Pensieve came to him: ‘And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...'

Harry cursed loudly, wanting to think of light, life, and a future without Voldemort being a twisted part of his destiny.

The two were not related by blood, yet inexplicably, the scar Harry had received that Halloween night so many years ago, had bound him, a baby, now a teenager, to the darkest wizard of the age. That he could never escape that connection without dying or killing another, twisted his insides.

Frustrated with this vein of thought, Harry started back toward the castle.

Back inside, he proceeded to the hospital wing. He peered inside to see Healer Brady standing at the foot of Snape's bed, scrawling rapidly on a sheet of parchment. At the sound of the door opening, Brady looked up and smiled, beckoning Harry inside. Harry was tempted to just turn tail and leave, but he was curious how Snape was doing.

"Harry, it's nice to see you," Brady said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Come to sit with Professor Snape?"

Harry shrugged half-heartedly. "For a few minutes, I guess." He hadn't anything better to do at the moment.

"Wonderful! I just need to finish updating his report."

"'Kay," Harry said, already wanting to leave. Instead, he walked to Snape's bedside. A short stack of books rested on the chair beside the bed. He figured they must be the ones Dumbledore had been reading to Snape.

"It shouldn't take too long. After I'm done I'll need to change the bandages on his hands and apply Murtlap Essence to his cuts," Brady said.

Harry nodded sagely, intimately familiar with Murtlap Essence and its healing traits. He absently rubbed his left index finger over the top of his right hand, feeling the raised ridges of the permanent souvenirs from his detentions with the Wicked Witch of the Ministry, Dolores Umbridge. He vainly wished she were still being borne about by the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. He could just hear that disgustingly girlish voice of hers demanding to be put down because -

 "...wouldn't mind assisting me?"

"Sorry... What?" Harry blinked, trying to clear his mind of the image of a screeching, toad-faced Umbridge.

"You wouldn't mind assisting me, would you?" Brady asked again, regarding Harry curiously. "You okay? You went away there for a bit..."

"Er... I'm fine. Um, where's Madam Pomfrey? I don't know anything about healing."

"She's with Professor McGonagall. I don't expect her back for at least another hour. You'll do fine, Harry. Plus the process will go much quicker with four hands as opposed to two."

Brady lifted his eyebrows expectantly. Harry began picturing Snape awake, looking less than pleased at the idea of Harry seeing him in such a vulnerable state, let alone helping to change his dressings. Harry almost snorted with laughter at the furious scowl he knew would have graced the Potions master's face in that instant.

"Okay," Harry said, grinning deviously.

"Brilliant!" said Brady, answering Harry's smile with a beaming one of his own. "I only need a moment to prepare."

While Brady was gone, Harry perused the books Dumbledore had left. He was surprised to find they weren't mind-numbing potions manuals or journals; instead, they were 19th century wizarding mystery novels penned by a Gizem Schreiber.

Sitting down, he took one in hand and placed the others on the side table. He didn't open it; instead taking a moment to observe Snape's bruised face.

He looked no better than that first night. His eyes, blackened and puffy, competed horribly with his cracked, dry lips; the deep cuts or scratches on his cheeks were reddened and painful looking; and his hands and left forearm were still raw, weeping messes. Harry shifted uneasily, gripping the book tightly, good humor fled.

I shouldn't have agreed to this, he thought. He wouldn't want me sitting at his bedside, pretending like I care! And reading to him? Harry mentally scoffed at the idea. But, if Dumbledore's right, it's my fault he's here, he reminded himself, frustrated at the senselessness of it all and hating his connection to Voldemort all the more.  

He stewed in silence for the next several minutes until he heard Brady's returning footfalls. The young Healer was bearing a tray filled with several bottles of various shapes and sizes.

"You can wash up in the corner, just over there," said Brady, lifting his chin in the direction of a sink two beds down.

Harry went to wash his hands, returning just as Brady had unstoppered all the bottles.

"First I'll need your assistance removing the old bandages from his hands." 

"Okay."

"We'll need to move slowly so as not to aggravate the new tissue. When you see skin, let me take over." Harry nodded silently. "Now, you need only roll it around gently..."

Helpfully, Brady had magically suspended Snape's right arm. Harry easily pinched the edge of the bandage and began to unwind it. Once he saw the mutilated flesh of Snape's hand, he gulped, stifling the instinct to vomit.

"Now, Harry, as soon as I've cleared the last of the bandage away, you must coat his hand with this burn healing paste."

"Okay," Harry said, willing his eyes not to water as he watched the sticky paste bubble and sizzle, working to create healthy skin in place of the ruinous flesh.

Soon, both Snape's hands were bandaged. Brady then administered the salves for Snape's other injuries within minutes.

"Well," he said, "I must prepare his evening doses. Would you mind sitting with him a bit longer?" Seeing Harry's mouth tighten ominously, Brady quickly added, "Just until Madam Pomfrey returns, which should be any minute. I'll just be in her office should you need me."

"Sure." Harry sighed, familiar with how long Pomfrey's ‘minutes' tended to last.

Once Brady left, Harry reached for the book he had been holding before, and began to read aloud.

*WO

That night in the Tower, Harry read the letters he had received from Hermione and Ron, starting with the ones sent the night he arrived at Hogwarts.

Dear Harry,

Ron told me what happened! How dreadful! How are you?

I'm so sorry about the Dursleys. I know you didn't like them, but they were your relatives and their deaths must have been a terrible blow.

With everything that has happened, I know you'll need to talk about things, especially what happened at the Ministry. You must miss Sirius terribly...

What are you plans for the summer, now? Why aren't you at the Burrow? Everyone would love to have you there!

I wish I could go visit, but my parents won't let me out of their sight! Mostly I'm recuperated, but I'm still a bit sore. My mum has hardly left my side since I returned home and she's not been into her office at all. She says she may take off the entire summer to stay home with me! I understand how scared she and my dad were, but it's getting a bit ridiculous, to be honest.

Please respond as soon as you're able, I want to know that you're okay!

Hoping to hear from you soon, love,

Hermione

Harry knew he would have to respond to her quickly or he could expect a letter or more a day from her. He opened Ron's letter next.

Harry,

Tough break about the Dursleys. I would say good riddance to bad rubbish, but I know the blood protections fell as soon as they died, and as hideous as they were, they were your relatives.

 Dad told us about the rescue. Cutting it close with those Death Eaters, eh?

You must be bored out your skull with nothing to do at the castle! Dad says you refuse to come and stay because you're a danger. Don't be a prat! We're in danger whether you're here or not! Blood traitors, remember? It's still early in the summer, just think of all the pick-up Quidditch games we could get in!

Fred and George have been spending a lot of time in Diagon Alley setting up their shop, and being annoyingly secretive gits about it, especially when the subject of where they got the Galleons to open it comes up. Of course, Mum doesn't approve. She's scared they did something illegal, so she's been trying to guilt them into telling her how they got the money, raving on about how she can hardly sleep at night from worry. I wish she'd give up trying to get anything out of them. Though, I must say, I'm curious where they got the money, as well. I wouldn't put it past them doing something moronic, but I hope it wasn't actually illegal... Although, if they got caught, it'd serve them right, not telling me what's going on!

Ginny says ‘hi'. Percy says, ‘I'm still an arse-kissing, boot-licking, Ministry buggering, mother-fu Mum made me cross that out... Fred and George want you to stop by the shop sometime, which is so not on! I'm their bleeding brother and they won't let me anywhere near the place! I don't know why they're being so nice about it with you! Wankers! Argh! That woman can sniff out a swear word in her sleep!

Well, write when you can. I know if Hermione doesn't hear from you, it'll be like when you were ten all over again with letters flying out of the fireplace or something.

Ron

Harry chuckled at the last line of the letter. He remembered well trying to retrieve one of the hundreds of letters flying around the house on Privet Drive as his uncle grappled with him, trying to stop him. Fed up with the never ending flux of letters, Vernon had herded the whole family into the car, determined to find a place that the magical post couldn't follow.

Unfortunately, magic did eventually find them, and kill them, Harry thought.

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996

Harry's days soon came to consist of rising at 9 a.m., taking a light breakfast in the kitchens while listening to Dobby chatter on about the honor of serving Harry Potter, and then heading off to the hospital wing. His routine there was to read to Snape for about an hour, take a break, come back, and read a bit more. He would then have a late lunch, ordering it up from the kitchen by Floo. Also, it had become habit for him to aid Healer Brady in changing Snape's bandages in between reading breaks.

Unused to reading aloud, let alone for hours at a time, the first couple of days reading made his throat raw. Harry was grateful when Madam Pomfrey gave him a cool, clear potion which soothed his throat, along with a strange concoction that smelled of peppermint and warmed instantly when he applied to his jaws if he felt himself tiring. 

But, when the weekend arrived, instead of heading to the hospital wing immediately after breakfast, he went to Hagrid's hut. There he was greeted by a joyful Fang leaping up to place his huge paws on Harry's shoulders while barking loudly and panting his very doggy breath into Harry's face.

"Down Fang!" roared Hagrid, exiting his hut to see what had excited the dog. His wildly bearded face broke into a broad smile upon seeing his guest. "All righ' there, Harry?"

Harry grinned at the familiar greeting. "Fine, thanks. You?"

"Oh, I bin keepin' busy." Hagrid walked over to rescue Harry by giving Fang a nudge, easing the boarhound off the boy's shoulders. "Eh, I'm real sorry abou' the Dursleys," he said, shaking his shaggy head. "I know wha' they were like an' I know yeh didn' git on with ‘em, but fer ‘em ter be killed by You-Know-Who..." Hagrid then gave Harry a gentle pat that rocked him so far forward, he had to take a step or fall over.

Harry knew it was appropriate for people to express their sympathy for his relatives' deaths and he accepted that. But, his feelings regarding the Dursleys were convoluted because they hadn't loved him and had gone to great pains to prove it. While he regretted they'd been killed because of their connection to him, it wasn't as if he had loved them either. Truth was he could not have felt more distanced from the emotions that should have come with grieving for family members, yet he knew full well that the shallow grief he felt for them was more than half of what they would have felt for him had he died. Thus, his response to Hagrid was not unfeeling, but simple.

"Yeah, er, thanks Hagrid."

The half-giant regarded him for a moment as if anticipating some dramatic, emotional breakdown. When there was none, he moved to sit down on his front step.

"Well, like I said, I bin keepin' busy. Grawpy's bin ter visit. Come from his new place in the moun'ains east a' here. He was here the night Professor Snape came back."

Relieved Hagrid had not dwelled on the Dursleys, Harry nodded. "Yeah, Dumbledore told me. It's good you two were there."

"It actu'lly comes down ter Fang," Hagrid said, with a puzzled grin. The dog, lying at his feet, thumped his tail at hearing his name. "Gen'rally he's a righ' coward, but tha' nigh', he jus' bolted fer the road. I didn' have a clue wha' he'd heard.

"Then Grawp got riled as flashes started comin' from the wood on the other side o' the road. I reck'n it reminded him o' seein' me attacked by them Ministry blokes, but he took off after Fang an' tha's how we foun' the Professor - ‘alf dead, he was." Hagrid shook his head sadly and his black eyes flashed wetly.

 "But, he's gonna be okay," Harry said, wanting to comfort the man. Hagrid brightened at Harry's confident tone.

"Yeah, he's a figh'er, Professor Snape."

"So, what have you been up to besides playing hero?" Harry grinned.

Hagrid flushed. "Oh, I bin doin' things fer the Order. Jus' met wi' Dumbledore, in fact."

"What're you doing? I thought after how things went with the giants last year..."

"Oh there's a righ' amoun' ter do here at home. There's other creatures wha' You-Know-Who's bin tryin' ter bring o'er ter his side."

"What creatures?" Intrigued, Harry moved to sit on a tree stump.

"Well, there's the Adar Llwch Gwin."*

"Adar Llwch Gwin?" Harry said, his tongue tripping over the pronunciation. "Never heard of ‘em." 

"Mos' wizards don' know nothin' about ‘em."

Too often Harry found himself ignorant of some fact that was common knowledge in the wizarding world, so Hagrid's statement made him feel infinitely better.

"I on'y know meself ‘cause, well it's me job ter know abou' special animals," Hagrid said with a shrug.

Well acquainted with Hagrid's idea of ‘special,' Harry grinned. Tiny fuming newly-hatched dragons came to mind.

"What are they?"

"They're gian' birds wha' look a lot like a griffin, but they un'erstand English, er wha'ever language is spoke roun' ‘em. They don' norm'lly have a master, but if one can manage to rule o'er ‘em, they're dead easy to command."

"Why don't most wizards know about them?"

"The Department fer the Reg'lation an' Control o' Magical Creatures thought they'd gone extinct," Hagrid said, "but they jus' bin hidin'. Did'n wan' ter be used in no more wizard wars.

"Hunnerd's ‘o years ago they was controlled by dark wizards. Legend is they had a master wha' ordered ‘em ter kill a Muggle king, but when the king got delayed ter the battle, they turned on their master instead. Ripped the poor bloke ter bits..."

"So they're evil?" Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah. They're not dark creatures like D'mentors. In the righ' hands, I b'lieve they're righ' harmless, but they're bes' lef' on their own, I think.

"‘Cept now, You-Know-Who's searchin' fer him an' migh' be righ' close ter findin' out where they bin keepin' themselves. Tha' happens, he'll do whatev'r it takes ter turn ‘em," Hagrid mused darkly. "If they're made ter do his biddin', he'll have some pow'rful strength on his side."

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the stump. "More powerful than the giants?"

"It'd be a frigh'ful army, fer sure," Hagrid said, sighing roughly.

Maybe I should've gone to the hospital wing, read a book, Harry thought morosely as he pondered Hagrid's words.

Giant birds, giant giants, werewolves, Dementors, and Merlin knew what else! How were they supposed to fight that? What did Dumbledore have planned? Voldemort had an army, a real army! The side of light had - Harry Potter. Harry snorted in bitter disbelief.

Sensing Harry's darkening mood, Fang lumbered over. He thrust his large head against the boy's hand repeatedly until Harry scratched him behind his velvety ears. Harry offered a small smile to the dog now resting his head on Harry's knees, leaving a perfectly round circle of wetness where on his tongue lolled against Harry's jeans. He tried to absorb the gentle comfort the boarhound was giving, but his mind was now filled with questions, doubt, and frustration.

‘Power the Dark Lord knows not.'

What power? I'm no more powerful than most of those in my year, especially since we began DA meetings! So, what exactly is this ‘power'? When does it kick in?

 "Yeh all righ', Harry?" Hagrid's beetle-black eyes were creased with concern.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, but, I should probably get back."

"Yep, I'm sure Professor Snape is wond'rin where yeh got off ter." Hagrid grinned slyly, getting to his feet. "He'll be missin' his stories."

"Too right," Harry replied with a knowing smirk.

Hagrid had taken Madam Pomfrey and Healer Brady's thoughts on Snape's ‘sleeping' awareness to heart. After catching Harry reading to Snape one day, Hagrid had made a habit of stopping by the hospital wing, as well.

Whenever he visited, he sat in the chair (magically charmed to enlarge or shrink to suit whoever sat in it by Dumbledore as a courtesy after Harry complained about the horrid discomfort of the wooden one) and recited stories about the ‘int'restin' creature's' he had encountered over the years.

Once, Harry had gone to visit and found Hagrid sitting with his hands resting comfortably on his knees, his deep voice rumbling wistfully about such creatures as streelers, quintapeds, and mackled malaclaws. And of how, though, he had never seen a Yeti, his desire to see one was only second to wanting to own a dragon. He also said that if Gilderoy Lockhart had ever encountered a Yeti, he would eat You-Know-Who's underpants - ‘if the soulless bastard wore any.'  

Harry had quietly snickered and eased the door shut, bemused because he'd never once considered the relationship between Hagrid and Snape, having never really seen them interact. Yet, ever since Harry's first year at Hogwarts, Hagrid had been steadfast in his belief that Snape was protecting Harry. And if Dumbledore were to be believed, Snape had risked life and limb, literally, to save Harry and the Dursleys. While these claims should have effectively doused his cynicism regarding Snape's motives, Harry's feelings about the Potions Master remained muddled.

Harry wished he could just ask the man if he was truly fighting for the side of light. Not that he expected to get an honest answer or an answer period because, admittedly, it was a presumptuous question, but he needed it answered, whether it ruffled Snape's feathers or not.

Then again, perhaps he was better off not knowing. It would be a new and rather uncomfortable reality if the truth contrasted what he had long believed. Even now when sitting with Snape, Harry would catch himself staring at the man, angrily thinking of all the animosity that had passed between them. For that reason, he hoped that what he believed to be the truth was the truth. The established ideal of the heartless Head of Slytherin was easy to manage. Harry wouldn't know how to cope with a heroic Snape, or shadow guardian as Hagrid claimed him to be.

Heading back to the castle, Harry decided it wasn't worth puzzling over if the man wasn't even awake for it to matter.

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts June 1996

Days later, Harry was sitting in his familiar spot in the hospital wing just after lunch. After attending Snape's wounds - with Madam Pomfrey this time - he settled in to read yet another mystery novel, this one titled What's Owed by Lucretia Varney.

The beginning was dull; a boring book combined with a full stomach, a comfy chair and a silent ward created excellent conditions for napping! He was soon curled up sideways in the plush chair, fast asleep, his hands loosely grasping the book in his lap, his thumb marking the page where he'd left off reading.

Since his arrival at Hogwarts two weeks ago, Harry's sleep had been dreamless. Grateful for being spared the repetitive nightmare featuring Sirius, he has given it little thought after a few days. Now, as his sleep deepened, the sun's rays began to shift and darkening shadows began to quickly lengthen. Rain began to clatter noisily against the windows and Harry's eyes began to move rapidly beneath his fluttering eyelids. He twitched and his grip suddenly tightened on the book in his hands.

 He and the others were trapped in the Department of Mysteries, trying to outrun Death Eaters in the room of spheres. They bolted toward doors marked macabrely with bleeding X's, and were repeatedly repelled when they tried to touch the doorknobs. A loud sucking noise caused him to look up. There was Ron, floating above him, the giant squid's tentacles gripping him in a tight embrace as Ron giggled insanely.

The scene shifted and there was Lucius Malfoy in the forest, shouting ‘Crucio!' and casting the curse about randomly, striking Neville and, inexplicably, Draco numerous times. Useless mist filled orbs floated just out of the elder Malfoy's reach. Back at the Ministry, Hermione convulsed and screamed piercingly on the floor as a Death Eater, whose wild laughter made Harry's stomach roil, cursed her. Blood stained Hermione's shirt as she coughed it up, spattering it all around.

Then the veil came in to view. That seemingly innocuous object which had severed his last connection to a love that was protective, genuine, and fortifying. Gut-wrenching hatred gusted within Harry as Bellatrix appeared, her mouth, a black hole of evil, open and shrieking at a man with black hair who began falling backward into the fluttering veil as a curse struck him in the chest. Oddly, he fell, only to bounce back from beyond the veil to be struck down again.

The gruesome scene repeated itself as Harry ran forward, trying desperately to grab the man as he bounced back - so close, Harry could feel the breeze of his passing. His eyes glimpsed those of the falling (writhing) man. They were gray (black) eyes that were stunned (terrified) as the curse made contact. Then the face morphed grotesquely: Sirius, Dudley, Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia. Finally, it fixed into a face that was sallow skinned, marred by cuts and contorted into a scream with accusing black eyes framed by wildly swinging black hair.

 Harry screamed, then vomited.

"Harry!" Someone was shaking him. "Harry, wake up!"

"Professor?" Harry croaked. He heard a voice mutter, ‘Tergeo.'

"No, Harry. It's Healer Brady. Galen."

"Galen?"

"Yes, Harry. Open your eyes."

Harry didn't want to open his eyes. They burned with the images he had just seen, so hot, he feared they just might turn to ash if exposed to air. So, he sat trembling, taking gulping breaths, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs. He swiped an arm across his mouth, trying to do away with the sticky wetness.

"Slow and easy breaths," Brady coaxed, until Harry's breaths did come easier. "Better?" Brady asked.

Harry nodded silently, trying free his mind of that face morphing into the faces of those whose deaths haunted him. 

"Here... have some water."

"No, I'm okay," Harry whispered roughly.

"You're not. Open your eyes..." Then Harry felt fingers on his own, trying to loosen the gouge-inducing grip he had on the book in his hands. "Harry, ease up - let it go," grunted Brady. "Harry, come on -"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry rounded on Brady, his hands raised. The Healer, who had been crouched beside Harry's chair, was sent flying. A sudden thunderclap masked the sound as he crashed awkwardly into a hospital bed - six beds away.

Harry saw the man pull a face as his back slammed into the bed's iron frame. Horrified, Harry sprinted over to help him up. Brady quickly waved him away, groaning as he tried to roll over onto his knees, his face purpling with the effort. Then he cried out, clutching his back. Harry ran to get Madam Pomfrey.

"What happened here?" she demanded upon seeing Brady sprawled awkwardly on the cold stone floor.

"I hi -" Harry began, but was quickly overridden by Galen.

"... my fault," Galen gasped, gazing at Harry with something akin to awe, though it was mixed with a healthy dose of fear. "Clumsy... I dropped... water glass and slipped," he said. Harry gaped in disbelief at the lie.

"Merlin! Where are you hurt?"

"My back," Galen groaned, trying to roll over.

"Be still before you do yourself more damage!" Pomfrey scolded. "Let's have a look." She set about waving her wand along his back. When it turned orange, she stopped and muttered, "Coccyx," holding the wand in place until it glowed white.

"Ahhh..." Galen breathed, standing to stretch and twist his back. "Much better. Thank you."

The school nurse then looked around for the cause of Brady's fall. The glass had landed at the foot of Snape's bed, and Harry knew she was wondering how the Healer had managed to slip on a substance more than three meters away from where he had come to rest.

She gazed questioningly at Harry, who instantly dropped his eyes to admire the floor; Brady calmly returned her gaze when she looked upon him. Instead of interrogating them, as Harry had been sure she would, she turned and banished the broken glass and water.

*WO

That night Harry was exhausted. Before leaving the hospital wing, he apologized profusely to Galen. The healer assured him all was forgiven and suggested he go to the Tower to rest. It was the last thing Harry wanted to do, but he was tired.

He forwent his nighttime ritual of a shower and brushing his teeth, thinking he'd be up in an hour or two for dinner, anyway. The instant his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

*WO

Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, June 1996 (21)

Harry woke to find Professor McGonagall sitting in a high-backed, red velvet chair, which she had surely conjured.

Not again.

He lay there momentarily distracted by the sight of her small, booted feet propped up on a tartan covered ottoman as she perused The Daily Prophet. After a moment, he directed his attention back to the newspaper, squinting at the front page. Unable to make anything out, he gave it up and reached for his glasses.

"Mr. Potter." McGonagall folded the paper and removed her feet from the ottoman.

"Professor," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"How are you feeling?"

Like I've got cotton for brains.

He shrugged. "Okay." He sat up to swing his legs over the side of the bed and cleared his throat. He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on while in the hospital wing. "How long?"

"Two days. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was reading to Sn -, Professor Snape. I fell asleep, and then, er, Healer Brady, sent me back here," he finished, rather lamely. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. He hoped she wouldn't call him out on it.

McGonagall only nodded. "He became worried about you when you didn't show up yesterday morning, so he alerted the Headmaster, who came to check on you. When you didn't wake, he alerted Madam Pomfrey."

"You've been here the whole time?" he asked, embarrassed about having to be watched over in his sleep like a baby.

"No, Professor Dumbledore sat with you for several hours the first night. Then Madam Pomfrey sat with you," she said. "Hagrid came by, with Fang, and Healer Brady was here before I arrived this morning at 5 a.m."

Harry sat, stunned that all those people had once again been in and out of his room, and he had been oblivious to their presence. It unnerved him to be so vulnerable. His ability to awaken at the slightest noise had served him well in the Dursley household. Being oblivious there led to boxed ears, and rotund cousins pinning you to the ground, so he silently cursed his body's feeble state.

"Professor Dumbledore wanted to be informed the moment you awoke," McGonagall said. "I'll just go let him know."

After banishing the ottoman, she stood. Harry noted how deliberate her movements were, and recalled that she was still under Madam Pomfrey's care for the injuries she had sustained at the end of term.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?" She turned to face him.

"How long before you're feeling better?"

She gave him a slight, pleased smile. "September is not so far away."

She left him to contemplate his next move. His mornings normally began with a quick shower. He checked his watch and saw that it was two in the afternoon. He sighed, scratched his arm, then collected his things to go shower.

*WO

Re-entering his room, Harry noticed McGonagall's chair was gone. He dressed and left, thinking he would stop by the kitchens for a bite to eat before going to the hospital wing. When he entered the common room, he was startled to find Dumbledore sitting in one of the comfortable, squashy chairs.

"Sir, I didn't realize you were here," Harry said, hurrying across the room.

"Do not worry yourself, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "Please, sit."

During his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never seen the Headmaster in Gryffindor Tower. He thought the wizened wizard looked odd sitting in such an ordinary, modern chair, as opposed to the more ornate one in his office. He tried to imagine Dumbledore as a student, lounging around Gryffindor common room and had to stifle a laugh.

"It has been a while since I have been here," said Dumbledore, as though he had read Harry's thoughts. He gazed around, a fond look on his face. "In my day the furnishings were rather formal. Instead of the comfortable sofas and chairs you now have, we had Victorian style settees and chaises, very dark, elaborate, and ornamental."

 That explains his office chair.

"But, that is a discussion for another day, Harry. I have been rather busy outside of the castle, and with both you and Professor Snape requiring round the clock attention -" Dumbledore raised his hand as Harry opened his mouth in a furious denial, and said, "I know it was not your intent to require such care, but your - experience demanded it."

"Experience?"

"The wandless magic you performed in the hospital wing." Dumbledore's expression was inscrutable, which unnerved Harry almost as much as his glib statement of Harry performing wandless magic.

"Wandless magic? I didn't perform magic without -" He stopped, thinking back, visualizing the scene; he hadn't had his wand in his hand when Galen was sent flying across the room.

Noting the recognition in Harry's expression, Dumbledore said, "Healer Brady shared with me what happened. He was concerned."

"Why? How is it any different from magic I did when I was little?"

"Then, Harry, you were unaware of your abilities. Now, with five years of magical training and other - experiences, you are developing into a rather powerful wizard." Harry raised his eyebrows. Dumbledore then asked, "Did you mean to harm Healer Brady?"

Harry stared, thunderstruck. "No! He doesn't think - No! I-I just wanted him to leave me alone! I had that nightmare and... I didn't mean to hurt him - I didn't!"

"He believes that, as do I. But Harry, I must say, I have suspected your use of wandless magic since before your arrival."

Harry looked up, his green eyes filled with anguish, confusion and now, anger. He'd been right. Dumbledore had known more than he had let on at their earlier talk. He retrieved his mother's medallion from the pocket of his jeans and began rubbing it desperately.

"Tell me about your vision of Professor Snape in the forest that night. Do not forgo any detail, no matter how insignificant you believe it to be." Dumbledore had moved forward to the edge of his chair, prepared to hang on Harry's every word. There was a curious, almost predatory glint present in his blue eyes.

Harry sat back, folding in on himself, feeling like a field mouse being circled by an owl. He had no desire to recall that night, especially in vivid detail, and he didn't understand why Dumbledore wanted him to do it now. Nevertheless, Harry took a deep breath, relating what he remembered.

Dumbledore watched him intently as he spoke. When Harry finished, Dumbledore asked, "Before you woke, did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Hear anything strange?"

You mean beyond seeing Snape tortured and hearing him scream like he was on fire? Harry thought bitterly. Taking a moment, he mentally ticked through the sequence of events once more: there was Snape, twisting about on the ground, then Voldemort unmasked him and... 

"...a crack. There was a crack, like Apparition."

For a split second, Dumbledore's face betrayed an unsettling mix of exultation and... hunger, but, it lasted only a second before he reverted to a neutral expression. Now it was Harry's turn to lean forward as Dumbledore settled back in his seat.

"So, Snape Apparated out of there," Harry said with a shrug. "He's a powerful wizard."

"It would have been impossible, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Tom always ensures that when he calls a meeting, one does not arrive until he gives the order, nor does one leave unless he allows it."

"So?" Harry regarded the Headmaster's face. After a moment, a preposterous realization hit him. He tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat. "You think I did that?" When Dumbledore's expression remained bland, guarded, Harry - his mocking smile vanished - angrily said, "You do - don't you?"

"Harry..."

"That's not -" Harry croaked, jumping to his feet, fingers grappling with his hair. "I couldn't have done - Not me!"

‘Power the Dark Lord knows not.'

"Harry there is no need to be alarmed -" Dumbledore reached toward Harry, making calming gestures with his hands.

"What? I threw a man across the room - I didn't even have my wand out! Something's wrong... isn't it" - he slapped a hand to his chest - "with me?"

"Harry, there is nothing wrong with you! We can deal with this, do not -"

"We? What do you mean ‘we'? You're telling me that I Apparated Snape from-from some forest, out of the clutches of that evil maniac!" he shouted. "How exactly are we supposed to deal with this?"

"Harry, you can be taught to control these powers. It is simply a matter of determining the extent of your capabilities and following through from there."

Chest heaving, Harry gaped at Dumbledore. Simple was not how he would have described being able to Apparate someone from a half a country away, or casting someone across a room without a wand. It was frightening, unbelievable, and not something he wanted to possess!

It was one more thing to set him apart from those around him; one more thing to make Voldemort even more desperate to do away with him; it was one more thing which Harry had to give himself over to and at that moment, it was too much.

Incensed with the dumbly expectant expression gracing Dumbledore's face, Harry fled the common room before he could do something he would regret.