When it became apparent that neither Snape nor Healer Gannon would be coming back anytime soon, Mrs. Weasley set her bulky quilted handbag on the bed and proceeded to pull out a worn chess set made of carved stone, a dog-eared deck of Exploding Snap cards and a colorful set of gobstones. She placed them on the bed beside Harry then reached back in and extracted two large hardcover Hogwarts yearbooks, a bottle of ink, a box of facial tissues, several paperback novels (Harry thought they looked suspiciously like the Muggle romances Aunt Petunia was fond of), a quill and a roll of parchment.

"Handy bag, that," commented Harry as she replaced the comb, toothbrush, mirror, wand, pair of gloves, hand towel and bottle of Elven wine she had removed in order to find the other items.

"Infinite expanding charm," she answered proudly. "Doesn't weigh any more than a normal handbag. When Fred and George were little, I carried a pair of Muggle police handcuffs in there along with a Quidditch bat. Did wonders to encourage better behavior in those two…."

Harry eyed the mishmash of items on the bed. Something tugged at his heart, something unfamiliar yet comfortable. Is this what it would have been like to have had a mother when he was smaller? Someone who would have not just met his needs, but anticipated them? He brushed the feeling aside as best he could. It wouldn't do to get weepy or worse—Mrs. Weasley might feel compelled to hug him until he couldn't breathe or hold out a facial tissue so he could blow his nose. Instead, he reached for the Exploding Snap cards.

"Are you up for a game?" he asked, shuffling the cards in his hands. The cards had a homey, familiar feel about them.

Mrs. Weasley smiled and pulled her chair closer to Harry's bed. "I used to be quite good at Exploding Snap," she said, smoothing a place on the bed for the cards. "Taught all of my children everything they know about the game."

"Wow, I'm in trouble then," said Harry with a smile for his friends' mother. And he meant it. He'd never been able to beat either Ron or Ginny at Exploding Snap. Fortunately, Hermione was even worse than he was so he didn't come out on the bottom of the heap every time.

He enjoyed the rounds with Mrs. Weasley immensely. She didn't take it easy on him, but didn't play as cut-throat as Ron and Ginny did. He managed to win a few rounds in the hour that they played, even though he played largely one-handed.

"You must be famished," said Mrs. Weasley, checking her very interesting wristwatch after they finished with the cards and had looked through—and thoroughly enjoyed—one of the two Hogwarts yearbooks she had pulled out of her bag. This one had been from her sixth year—a year before his dad and mum started at Hogwarts. It had been very rewarding to see a photo of Lucius Malfoy with a very serious case of spots.

"I'm not supposed to eat," replied Harry. "Nothing after midnight last night, anyway. And nothing to drink either." He was famished, and thirsty as well. How long did it take to find a healer who specialized in residual dark magic, anyway? Was this an Auror's ward or wasn't it?

"That's ridiculous—letting you starve while they argue over treatment! I'm going to go find Severus and that healer and find out what's going on. You stay put, Harry. Look at this other yearbook, why don't you?"

Harry took the yearbook Mrs. Weasley held out to him. She stood and left the cubicle, closing the curtain behind her.

When the curtain closed, Harry put the book down, rested his head on the pillow he'd been leaning against and, avoiding the pile of items Mrs. Weasley had left on the bed by curling up around them, closed his eyes. He hadn't wanted her to know how tired he was getting—he'd not slept very well the night before what with worrying about what would happen today. He was asleep within five minutes, ignoring his grumbling stomach. It was inevitable that he'd dream, given the circumstances of the day, the stress he'd been feeling and his empty stomach. The dreams seemed to fade in and out quickly, one scene quickly dissolving into another, and he moved restlessly on the bed in his sleep. "Left arm please," said the Admission Witch in his dream. Dream Harry obediently complied, holding out not one but four thin, black hairy left arms. "Sorry," he said to the witch apologetically, pulling back three of them, "Shouldn't have tried to transform into my Animagus form this soon after eating." "We'll need a blood sample next," said the Dream Mediwizard. "Make a fist and we'll take it from the vein near your elbow." "Fist?" said Dream Harry. "How do you make a fist when you're a snake?" He coiled up around himself, looking out at a bemused Snape and an exasperated Molly Weasley through slitted eyes. "Harry, how many times have I told you to cut up your food before eating it?" said Mrs. Weasley, holding up a plate with a dead rat on it. "You'll get indigestion and have disturbing dreams…." "Drink the whole thing," said Madam Pomfrey, holding out a potion vial to him. It was marked "Nu-Nerves" and was at least a liter in size. Harry took the bottle and uncorked it. "No, Harry, let me try it first," said Luna. "It might be poisoned." "I've the antidote," said Snape, holding out a bezoar the size of one of Hagrid's rock cakes. "Don't choke on it."

Harry woke to Mrs. Weasley shaking his shoulder. "Harry, dear, wake up now," she was saying as he opened his eyes, disoriented. He hadn't removed his glasses before falling asleep and he rearranged them on his nose, bringing her face into focus.

"I'm off to find you something to eat. Professor Snape would like to talk with you for a few minutes." She glanced over toward the cubicle curtain, where Harry saw Snape, looking serious and a trifle irritated, standing in the doorway formed by the separate curtain panels.

"Sure, OK. Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said, sitting up and trying to avoid the games and other items on the bed. But Mrs. Weasley was already stuffing things back in her clever handbag, rather nervously, Harry thought. Harry scooted up into his customary position, pillow at the small of his back, shoulders resting against the headboard, then drew his knees up and wrapped his left arm around them. Mrs. Weasley left with a "I'll be back in a trifle, dear," and Snape sat down in the chair she'd used to play Exploding Snap with Harry, turning it around—as was his custom—and straddling it to face Harry.

"I've half a mind to sign you out now and take you to a hospital in France," he said without preamble. "However, I cannot argue with the diagnosis. The dark magic used to inflict some of the earlier damage has interfered—and will continue to interfere—with your healing. The Administrator of this ward and three healers are currently engaged in a heated debate that unfortunately continues to focus more on how a 16-year-old has managed to accumulate such damage than on how to actually cure it. I have had to call in the Headmaster."

Harry was gazing at his hand and arm, which the healer had left unbandaged and unbound.

"One positive thing has managed to come out of this, though," said Snape with a pleased smile. "Umbridge will definitely go to Azkaban. Healer Gannon has already expedited his report to the Wizengamot. One benefit of having Aurors in your pocket."

Harry grinned. It was the injustice of her claims rather than the pain her torture had caused that riled him the most. But now that he was facing more treatment—likely painful—because of her barbaric blood quill…

"What are they going to do?" he asked. "I mean for my treatment—what are the options?"

"In the last two hours," answered Snape bluntly, not sugar-coating it as Harry was sure Mrs. Weasley would have, "they have discussed removing the skin and the surrounding tissues of your right hand. They have also considered a curse-breaker and a potion that is utterly complex and requires several rare ingredients, including phoenix tears. There are several possible severe side-effects of the potion, but at this point, it seems to me to be the most viable of options."

Harry's stomach, already painful from hunger, knotted.

"What kind of side effects?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. Snape looked at him sharply before answering.

"The potion is only effective the first time it is used," said Snape. "If you take it now, it cannot be used effectively again as your body will fight against it after building up antibodies this go around. It is not typically used on someone of your age."

"That's not exactly a side-effect," said Harry, considering the implications.

"No, I suppose it is not," answered Snape. "But it is a very important consideration. The side effects, if you are still interested….?"

Harry nodded reluctantly. He supposed he should hear what he was up against, unpleasant as it might be.

"The most dangerous side effect is that use of the potion may make you more susceptible to damage from future dark curses. I have been working out how to mitigate this effect and may be able to come up with a viable solution…"

"Wait…you were already working on this potion? Before they even suggested it?"

Snape looked at him oddly. "No," he answered.

"But you said it's only been two hours! You've worked out a way to get around that side effect in two hours?"

Snape smirked. Harry was certainly getting used to that look on his professor's face. He tapped himself on the chest twice. "Severus Snape, passionate about potions, remember?" he answered.

Harry rolled his eyes. He found himself doing that more and more after one of Snape's smirks. "OK, but you said there were several severe side-effects?"

Snape sombered. He clearly did not like discussing this particular topic. "In this case, only two that are worth noting. The first I have already described. The second is pain—pain that cannot be controlled or lessened with potions or other means. The potion in essence undoes the original damage and in so doing evokes the original pain."

Harry paled. Even the remembered shadow of the pain that had caused those injuries was nearly intolerable. Snape was eying him closely. "Wow. OK, then." He thought a moment then looked over at Snape again.

"You mentioned other options? A curse breaker?"

"Yes, that…and removing the skin and other tissue on the back of your hand—the area that the healer is most concerned with. The other injuries are less severe and less intrusive. The phoenix tears erased most of the residual curse damage from the basilisk bite. The cursed bludger that broke your arm was not particularly dark—House Elf magic is hard to classify and the fact that it appeared at all in the scan was surprising. As for the knife wound…it is localized and not too deep. However, Healer Gannon's report notes catalogued some more damage to your hand and fingers that we didn't notice earlier as the damage was to the other side of your hand. Do you recall another injury? Exposure to dark magic of any type?"

"Quirrell," replied Harry dully. "End of first year. I…I touched his face…there at the end. And it cracked and turned to…to dust, I guess."

"Harry, I know this is not pleasant—bringing up all of these memories in a single day—but they must be dealt with and the damage mitigated. You do realize, don't you, that damage inflicted to you directly or indirectly by the Dark Lord himself will affect you more because of your shared connection? And will be more difficult to heal?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess so." He noted that Snape didn't chastise him for shrugging. It was one of his most ingrained coping mechanisms and very difficult to break.

"Quirrell was hosting the Dark Lord," continued Snape resignedly. "I think there is no other option than using the potion at this point. We cannot simply remove all the skin and flesh of your hand."

"What about a curse breaker?" tried Harry, more than a little hesitant about ingesting a potion that might make him more susceptible to damage from dark magic, not to mention one that would cause him a great deal of pain. "Bill Weasley's a curse breaker. He works for Gringotts. And he's in the Order of the Phoenix too. Perhaps he could…"

He tapered off. The look on Snape's face told him it was a dead end.

"More than anything else I am concerned about the time element. The curses have to be identified and lifted individually, perhaps by different curse breakers. Success or failure is also hard to judge immediately. If we had more time, it would be a more viable option. But classes start in two weeks…"

Harry was about to argue that he could postpone treatment until Christmas holiday, or extend it over several months using the curse breakers, but he closed his mouth once he remembered Quidditch. He sighed heavily just as Mrs. Weasley came back into the cubicle carrying a tray loaded with food. Even Snape's eyebrows shot up at seeing the sheer quantity on the tray.

"Mr. Potter's height and weight were fairly proportional, Molly," he commented dryly. "Additional food will not make him taller. Or are you planning to feed Hagrid too?"

Harry hid a snicker behind his hand as Mrs. Weasley shot Snape a disapproving look and hovered the tray in front of him. Her hover charm was nearly perfect—the tray was level and secure, almost as if it had feet securing it in place. He supposed she'd had lots of practice with seven children all getting sick from time to time. He eyed the contents of the tray with approval.

"Wow. This looks good. Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he said, looking up at her with a genuine smile. He picked up a corned beef sandwich and began to eat it.

"I thought you'd like corned beef," she said. She turned to Severus. "My Ron loves corned beef, you know."

Snape gave a disinterested "humpth" and Harry nodded as he swallowed a large bite of sandwich and washed it down with cold pumpkin juice. Ron hated corned beef, but he wasn't about to point that out to Mrs. Weasley. Harry finished the first sandwich and started another, finished that and began alternating pieces of fresh cut-up fruit with spoonfuls of chicken soup.

"He did eat last night, Molly," stated Snape as he watched Harry work through his very generous lunch. Harry caught the look Molly gave him—an "I told you so" sort of look—and smiled as he started on his dessert.

"I saw the Headmaster," she said to Snape a few minutes later as she picked up the nearly empty tray. "Is there a problem?"

"There is always a problem when it comes to Mr. Potter," sighed Snape. "Healer Gannon called in the ward administrator to discuss exactly how Mr. Potter received so much curse damage in his short life. As accusations started to fly, I sent my Patronus to Albus and he flooed in." His gaze drifted out to the central area outside the curtains. "Here he is now," he said, stepping aside quickly as Albus Dumbledore appeared in the curtained doorway.

"We have cleared up the concerns regarding Harry's history," he said directly. "And we have discussed treatment options. Healer Gannon brought up the issue of the residual curse damage to the fingers and hand—I believe I am correct in assuming that was from Professor Quirrell?" He looked toward Harry as he asked, meeting Harry's nervous green eyes with his own.

"Professor Snape already asked me about it and that's the only thing I could think of," answered Harry. "I told him about what happened…to Professor Quirrell…when I touched him." He swallowed the bile in his throat. He still hated thinking about that day.

Dumbledore looked over at Snape. "The potion, then, is the only option as far as I'm concerned. I have secured permission for you to use the laboratory here. They have asked about ingredients—Healer Fiscus confirmed that they do have all the ingredients needed in stock but seemed to think you might prefer to find more fresh…"

"The potion will be most effective if the phoenix tears, dragon blood and squid ink are fresh—gathered within 24 hours of brewing. I have some of the other ingredients in my stores at Hogwarts and will gather them directly—at least I can attest to their age and source."

"Fine. You should come to Hogwarts then and get all that you need. How long will it take you to brew the potion?" asked Dumbledore.

"Four to six hours of prep time and six hours to brew," answered Snape. "It is not one I have attempted before…"

"I have every confidence in you, Severus," interrupted Dumbledore. Harry echoed that sentiment silently. Oddly, he was relieved that Snape would be making the potion. "You can start this afternoon, then?"

Snape nodded.

"Then I will request fresh tears from Fawkes—he is close to a burning so I had best be quick about it. May I ask Hagrid to collect the ink from the giant squid?"

"That would be satisfactory," replied Snape. He turned to Mrs. Weasley. "Molly, could you prevail upon your son to provide a vial of fresh dragon blood?"

"Of course, Severus," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'll go floo call the preserve now. I don't see why he couldn't get it back to us by this evening."

Dumbledore bid Harry a quick goodbye then he and Snape walked out of the cubicle and conferred briefly before Snape came back in alone. As soon as Snape was back inside, Mrs. Weasley left to floo Charlie.

"Ask him to get if from Norbert!" Harry called after Mrs. Weasley. She stuck her head back in, looking confused. "Norbert. It's a dragon in his preserve—used to belong to Hagrid," he explained.

"I'll see what I can do," she said, shaking her head and muttering "Norbert!"

Harry turned to Snape. "Do I have to stay tonight, then?" he asked, wishing they could return to Shell Cottage, or at least to the flat in London, instead of staying in St. Mungo's. The Auror's Ward lacked the hustle and bustle of a normal hospital. He had yet to see a nurse of any kind and everything in the ward was oddly still and quiet.

Snape grimaced. "Well, seeing as I'm staying tonight—yes, you will have to stay here. You can help me with the potion, in fact. No need for you to lie about all day."

Somehow, the looming fear of potion treatment was easier to stomach with something to do and with the knowledge that Snape himself would be in charge of brewing the potion.

"How long will the potion take to work?" he asked as he and Snape left the cubicle together to check out the laboratory in the Auror's Ward.

"I hope to speed up the potion's effect," answered Snape, by way of a non-answer. "Probably no more than a few hours in total—if I am successful, that is."

"And if you're not?" asked Harry. "How long does it normally take?"

"As long as it took for the curse to be inflicted," said Snape somberly.

Harry stopped abruptly in the hall and stared at him.

"But I told you…I told you I had detentions nearly every night for two weeks!"

"I know, Mr. Potter. I could not forget that conversation if I tried." Harry and Snape locked eyes for a long moment.

Harry hoped he did not look as horrified and scared as he felt. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he and Snape continued to walk down the hallway back toward the Admissions Desk.

"Severus Snape, passionate about potions, remember?" he said. "Trust me, Harry."

Harry nodded as he felt Snape's arm go around his shoulders and pull him toward him briefly. Snape released him quickly and they continued to walk down the hallway side by side. Harry smiled. For Severus Snape, that was as good as a hug