At 4 a.m., Harry made tea.

He napped on the sofa from 4:30 until 6 a.m., the guidebook on the floor, tented open to a chapter on St. Paul's Cathedral. There were 528 steps to the very top of the dome. He wondered if he could even make the first 257 to the Whispering Gallery.

From 6 until 6:45, he read the lengthy section about Queen Victoria and her short-lived husband, Albert (for some reason he had snickered at Albert's title, Prince Consort). He resolved to see the special widow's crown Victoria had had made, less ostentatious and more befitting the mourning attire she wore for 40 years. The guidebook said the crown was displayed at the Tower of London.

At 6:45, he made toast but could only stomach two pieces.

He fell asleep again at 7, not waking up until nearly 9 a.m.

At 9 a.m., Harry took a shower and put on one of the two sets of clean clothes he'd brought with him.

At 9:30, he pulled his journal out of his backpack, sat down at the desk in the living room and wrote the word "FEAR" at the top of a new page. He wrote about fear until 10:30. He could have written more but all the writing about fear was actually making him more afraid.

Another pot of tea at 10:30, accompanied by some rhubarb and orange crackers he'd found in individually-wrapped packages in a drawer.

At 11, a sound in the hallway had him on the feet and nearly opening the door. But the footsteps went to the other door on this landing. He sat back down.

At 11:15, he opened his journal again and wrote the words "SEA DREAM," leaving several blank pages in case he wanted to continue writing about fear later. He wrote out a narrative of the dream, as best he could remember, then listed the symbolic elements they hadn't yet discussed—the snitch, the phoenix, the pensieve, the minnows-turned-memories, the feather, the Philosopher's Stone, the sword. He remembered the dream ended with him reaching out for Dumbledore's gloved hand, then remembered the blackened hand that had rested on his arm at the cottage. He wondered again what possible curse could have done this to Dumbledore. Then he wondered how Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the world by Harry's estimation, could have gotten cursed to begin with.

He did his physical therapy exercises at noon, three hours early.

At 12:30, he found a can of soup in the kitchen pantry. He heated it and ate it with slightly stale crackers. There were apples in the fridge. He cut one into slices and ate it slowly.

At 1:15 he went through the drawers and cupboard in his bedroom. There were a half dozen identical long-sleeved button-down shirts, some black, some white, hanging in the closet along with what looked like a Muggle party dress. He found a dog-eared novel in the bedside table drawer. It was titled To Kill a Mockingbird and was written by an American named Harper Lee. He took it out to the living room with him.

The pain began at 3:15. He was still reading the novel and dropped it in surprise. No longer centered in the scar, the pain crackled up and down his arms, his legs, his torso. The muscles in his thighs and legs tensed and spasmed.

At 3:28, he was finally able to occlude, after suffering the Cruciatus for thirteen minutes. He didn't keep half an eye open.

At 4 p.m. a bright flash and sharp crack heralded the arrival in the room of a red and gold phoenix. A yellow feather floated to the floor as Fawkes dropped a letter at Harry's feet and then disappeared with another flash and crack. Harry did not stir. The letter, in Albus Dumbledore's recognizable handwriting, read: "S is delayed. Stay inside. Do not use the owl."

At 5:20, a hand on his shoulder and a hoarse, whispered word—"Harry"—brought him back to the flat in London. As consciousness and conscious thought returned, feeling returned to his injured, tortured legs. Harry stifled a scream and drew his legs up even more tightly against his chest.

(Section Break)

"We've got to figure something out, Albus! A 16-year-old can't take that kind of torture. He'll go over the edge." Harry sighed. Hands were rubbing the potion into his injured arm and the pain, which had faded after the first application, eased even more.

"I have read what I could find, Severus. It's been difficult to devote enough time to research with the Ministry still all over the castle. All indications are that he is a type of empath, but tuned into only you at this time. You are not protected under the Fidelius here, so we can likely eliminate that as an explanation of the connection."

"I can do nothing about it, Albus! I have been powerless to stop the transfer. That's why I discussed the other option with Minerva…"

"The other option, as you so cryptically put it, would take months."

"Not necessarily. He may have it in his make-up. He consistently shows signs of magical ability beyond his age-level. A corporeal patronus in 3rd year! And that "D.A." last year! His parents—yes, both of them, though you know it pains me to admit it—were powerful. It could be something he could master in weeks instead of months, Albus."

"Unfortunately, Transfiguration is one of his weaker subjects. Furthermore, can he split his attention, Severus? Should he? You know I will have to start his education on the matter we discussed soon after term starts in September."

"I don't know, Albus. Honestly, I do not. I feel as if I've been broad-sided this summer. This…this connection he had forged with me was not expected."

"Be honest—you have forged this with each other. Think, Severus. Harry and Voldement are connected—Voldemort has seen fit to block that connection since the incident at the Ministry. You and Voldemort are connected, though the connection through the Dark Mark seems to flow only from Voldemort to you and not in the opposite direction. Now you and Harry are connected as well—the three of you forming a perfect triangle, so to speak. We now have three incidences of Harry feeling your pain, but all three times it was pain inflicted by Voldemort. He will likely not feel ordinary pain and emotion. This connection may ultimately be more useful than harmful, given what is likely to come."

"You ask too much, Albus."

"And now I ask more. You must continue to mentor him. For my part, I will teach him as much as I can in the time that I have."

Harry was half-awake, but the part that was awake was closely following his professors. His brain was too foggy still to sort out the meaning in what they were discussing. He tried to feign sleep but when Snape began to rub the potion into his calves, he couldn't help but groan.

"Harry, you may as well open your eyes. I know you're awake."

"Harry, how are you feeling?" Dumbledore's voice was still worry-edged.

Harry stretched and winced and managed to turn to his side. Snape dropped a light blanket over him—he'd been stripped to his boxers, apparently so Snape could administer the post-Cruciatus cream, though he had no recollection of losing his other clothing. He also had no recollection of Dumbledore's arrival.

"Better," Harry managed. "Tight and achy, but much better." He studied the slightly blurry form of Snape. "How about you?"

Snape brushed Harry's question—and his concern—aside. "I am fine. I am accustomed to the pain. Harry, this cannot go on. We must resolve this before you are permanently affected."

"But what about what the Headmaster said? That the connection could be useful?"

He watched Snape and Dumbledore exchange quick glances. "You weren't meant to hear that, and the headmaster was just conjecturing," replied Snape.

A soft hoot from the direction of the window reminded Harry that his owl had appeared during the night.

"Hedwig!" he said. "I found her here—outside the window—when the alarm woke me. She didn't have a letter or anything…"

"I sent her to you when I received Professor Snape's patronus," said Dumbledore. I thought that with the means of sending a missive by owl, you would not be as tempted to use the floo or underage magic while Severus was gone."

"I thought about that," said Harry. "I thought of a lot of other stuff too—that maybe she'd had a letter for me but that it had been intercepted somehow." He made a move to get up off the sofa but Snape's arm pushed him back down.

"You won't want to put any weight on those legs yet," he said.

Harry dropped back onto his side on the couch, groaning slightly as he adjusted his legs. "Why did he do it?" he asked. "Why did he hit you with the Cruciatus?"

"I was the last to arrive," said Snape flatly. Harry knew he was telling the truth. "You don't want to be the last to arrive."

"I made you last," said Harry. "You had to set that alarm, and send a Patronus to Dumbledore."

"I was last because I chose to make you my first priority," said Snape. "This is sounding suspiciously like guilt again. Perhaps more journaling is in order?"

"Severus," cut in Dumbledore. "You need to get into bed. Harry certainly seems better now. Poppy was quite insistent…"

"Poppy worries unnecessarily. I have taken the nerve restorative and have an ample supply of cream here."

"You and Harry cannot possibly navigate London…"

"Then we will stay in the flat tomorrow and continue our holiday the following day."

"Poppy? Madam Pomfrey?" asked Harry. "You said you were OK!"

Snape turned quickly away from Dumbledore and spun to face Harry. His face looked slightly gray and his wand arm visibly trembled."

"I am, as you so eloquently put it, OK.´ In fact, I am better than OK. You, however, cannot yet straighten your legs and your arm has suffered more nerve damage."

"Severus!"

Harry watched as Severus took one more long look at him then turned and walked away down the hall. Dumbledore looked after him for a moment then turned the desk chair around and sat on it, facing Harry.

"You shouldn't yell at him, really," said Harry softly, feeling very brazen for challenging the headmaster.

"Oh? And why is that?" responded Dumbledore with only the faintest of a twinkle in his eyes. It looked to Harry that his eyes wanted to twinkle but came up against a little too much worry to be successful.

"He's just worried about me, I guess," said Harry. He chewed on that thought a moment after saying it. "And scared. Like when Ron's Mom sent him that howler after we took the flying car to school second year. She could have killed him she was so angry—but really she was just scared and worried." Realization about what he had just said hit him. "I…I don't mean that he's worried about me like a parent. I mean he's in charge of me this summer—I'm his student and all. He's the adult…"

But Dumbledore was smiling. "Harry, I believe you are correct. Now…I must get back to Hogwarts. While it may be hard to believe, the re-warding is not yet complete. However, I will send someone here as soon as I get back to stay here with you and Severus until you are back to your normal selves. And tomorrow night, I may need to take you on a little errand with me—if you are feeling well and Severus will allow it, that is."

"An errand?" Harry could not help but be intrigued. An errand with Dumbledore? And why did Dumbledore need Snape's permission?

"Indeed. I find myself in need of a new professor, and the candidate I have in mind needs a bit of persuasion." He left it at that, bid Harry goodbye and left my way of the floo. Ten minutes later, when Harry was beginning to nod off again, the floo flared and out stepped Professor McGonagall.

To his infinite relief, she was wearing her robes and not the black negligee.