When Snape joined them in the booth, the Obliviating had already taken place. Harry seemed composed, but looked exhausted and feverish, and he was pale. Ginny looked anaemic as well, but otherwise she seemed calm, with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. Mr Weasley was telling her what had happened the past night.

“...so it was your choice to do the Obliviating treatment, Ginny. You might feel a bit confused for some hours, but then it should be okay. There’re speculations as to long term effects, but nothing negative has been proven to occur according to Healer Schufflert.”

“I remember wanting to do the treatment,” said Ginny.

“What is the last thing you remember before that?” asked Healer Schufflert. Ginny searched her memory and blushed.

“Er... being in the hotel room with Harry before going out...” she said and gave away an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry...”

Harry did not have the strength to smile at her.

“I don’t remember the Trocadero club at all... ” continued Ginny, ”…which is a nuisance... Fleur has told me so much about it, and now I’ve been there, and I don’t even remember it! Was it classy, Harry, beautiful?”

He stared at her and frowned slightly. “Huh... yes,” he answered shortly.

“Well, the Obliviate spell seems to have covered the crucial period of time successfully,” said Healer Schufflert in a brisk tone of voice. “I’ll leave you for now. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions, Miss Weasley. I’ve already told your father that I’ll see you at Hogwarts for follow-up.”

“Once - you can see me once, Healer Schufflert... Because I won’t really have time to go to any mind-soothing sessions like Ron does... I don’t need it, either, I’m perfectly well, thank you... You see, I have Quidditch to think about - trials for the London teams coming up soon and so forth... Sorry,” Ginny finished quickly.

Healer Schufflert pressed her lips together, said goodbye and left. So did Mr Weasley, to look for some food since Ginny declared that she was hungry. Snape administered the Dewcup inhalation treatment again. He worked in silence and kept his reserve towards Harry.

“Why do I need that?” asked Ginny, eyeing the swirling vapour suspiciously.

Snape explained to her.

“We Apparated all the way from Paris? But that’s far too long, what were you thinking of, Harry?” Ginny said reproachfully.

“My mistake, in the heat of everything,” mumbled Harry.

“Harry?” said Hermione. ”I’m sorry Harry, I need to leave. I have to mount to the ward of spell damage to see my mother. She was admitted to St Mungo’s before Easter. There’s a scheduled meeting with her healer today and I need to be there.”

“But of course, Hermione! That’s really important!” exclaimed Harry. “How is she? Have you seen her yet?”

“Only once, the same day you left for Paris, but that’s an improvement in itself. As you know, she didn’t want me to visit at all this autumn, nor at Christmas. So her temper is better, but her memory... well, they don’t know yet, but they’ll try a treatment.” Hermione did not look very hopeful as she spoke. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you back at the Burrow,” Ginny cried cheerfully after Hermione. “It’ll be so nice to return home to Mum,” she rattled on when Hermione had left. “How was it while we were gone, Ron?”

“You’ve only been away two days, Ginny. You came home first, before you left for Paris, remember?”

Ginny pulled a wry face, giggling at the same time. “Sorry.”

“It’s pretty much the same. You noticed that Mum’s obsessed with some project of hers, didn’t you? She locks herself in and spends hours and hours at writing on the task. She collects piles of parchment rolls in the broom cupboard. You can’t open it for everything falling out. Dad says it’s been like that since Christmas. The Burrow is untidier than ever and we have to remind her to cook - and sometimes she even tells us to do it ourselves,” elaborated Ron.

Ginny giggled again.

“Mum’s definitely not herself, but at the same time she’s certainly less sad and depressed, so Dad says we shouldn’t interfere. But she’ll be forced to tear away from her work now, because Mrs Tonks is coming over with Teddy today. And now you two will be home again. Maybe you can do the cooking, Harry, because Mum doesn’t seem to bother anymore... You did well this Christmas - I don’t understand how you learnt to cook so well,” said Ron.

“Your mother taught me this summer... Cooking is the same as potion-making, really...” Harry answered vaguely.

“Harry is good at whatever he does!” Ginny gave him an appreciative slap on the chest with the back of her hand, which made Harry grimace with discomfort. “Oh, here come the sandwiches!” exclaimed Ginny without noticing Harry’s reaction.

Everyone, including Snape, devoured the sandwiches that Mr Weasley had brought back. It was well passed midday and they had all been up early. Harry only took one bite on his sandwich then leant back against the thin wall that delimited the booth to the adjoining one. Ginny was talkative and rattled on about Paris, about the Burrow and about Quidditch, repeating herself frequently and giggling. The others listened quietly and looked at her with consternation.

“Why don’t you eat, Harry?” she asked at one point, heedless of Harry’s miserable countenance.

“I’m still a bit nauseous. It’s a reaction to the Avada Kedavra,” he murmured. Ginny frowned.

“The Avada Kedavra? Which one - the same that killed Fred?” she said, looking confused.

”No, of course not,” replied Ron. ”You get things mixed up, Ginny. Fred was killed during the battle. That’s a year ago!”

”I know that!” said Ginny slightly aggressive. ”What happened then? Were you hurt, Harry?”

Harry looked up at her. Mr Weasley had told her in broad outline what had happened in Paris, but she didn’t seem to have taken much of it in yet.

“Ginny, I killed the wizard who attacked us with an Avada Kedavra,” he said. Her eyes widened and she blinked owlishly a few times before she shook her head.

“You did? Awesome… That must’ve been so dramatic! You’ll tell me about it - not now, though, I want to go home as soon as possible.”

Harry grimaced with exasperation. He grabbed his wand harder and sank back, starting to do anti-nausea spells on himself.

“Is Ginny done with her lung treatment?” Mr Weasley asked Snape.

“One more inhalation and she’s finished for today. We’ll probably have to repeat it tomorrow, though. Did someone give her a potion of some kind?” asked Snape, a bit irritated.

“Yes, Healer Schufflert tried a tranquillising potion against her anxiety when we first arrived – why do you ask?” said Mr Weasley.

“It’s a bit over-effective now that the anxiety is gone,” Snape said bitingly. “I’ve tried to convince the mind-healers that potions of that kind are useless in situations like this. They’re simply too weak and might even worsen the condition. And it merely causes tipsiness when the anxiety fades away.”

“Yeah, I do feel a bit tipsy. Sorry. It’s not unpleasant, though.” Ginny giggled.

Mr Weasley smiled weakly.

“They’re so stubborn at the Department of Mental Conditions. They refuse to make use of Grief Swallowers, even if they know it’s effective. They’re lousy at potions, but still insist on using them, rightly or wrongly,” Snape said vehemently.

“You don’t trust Healer Schufflert’s judgement then?” Mr Weasley asked uncertainly.

“It’s not my place to meddle with a colleague’s assessment. But I think she’s good at talking to people and she probably knows how to do Obliviate spells correctly...” Snape answered dryly.

“We only talk in our sessions,” Ron hastened to say.

“I’m sure Hermione will be glad to hear that...Sorry,” said Ginny and giggled. Ron blushed and frowned at his sister.

“Harry, what has happened to your leg? It looks dead,” Ginny continued thoughtlessly. “And why do you do that spell to yourself. Do you feel sick?”

“Ginny!” exclaimed Ron, “Harry just told you!” Harry leant forward and looked Ginny in the eyes.

“I think this is a part that you particularly do not want to remember, but it’s necessary that you know that I killed a man tonight.” Harry had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing a flicker of fear in Ginny’s eyes. “In self-defence,” he added.

“I’ll try to remember, Harry, I really am sorry,” said Ginny, subdued.

Vertigo hit Harry forcefully. He gasped and closed his eyes. He fought back the nausea for a long time. Meanwhile, Ginny inhaled her last dose of Dewcup potion. Harry groaned and opened one eye. He looked exasperated at Snape.

“When will the sickness go away?”

“It’ll disappear, eventually, when you’re able to relax, maybe after having some sleep. You didn’t make things easier for yourself by going about doing a Relieving,” Snape dryly pointed out.

“It was worth a try,” mumbled Harry and closed his eyes again.

“Of course it was! It was the right thing to do. But you could have called me instead,” muttered Snape. Ginny stifled a yawn.

“I’m tired. We’ve been up... we must’ve been up more than twenty-four hours... or did we get some sleep before we went out to the club, Harry?”

“A short nap,” answered Harry.

“I think we should be going,” said Mr Weasley. “I need to go back to my office and sort things out. Ron, you can take the Flo and return to the Burrow with Ginny, and I’m sure Hermione will stay with you until you’re done with your treatments, Harry. Where is she? She’s been gone some time now.”

Ron explained to Mr Weasely that Hermione was not expected back so soon and Mr Weasley looked distressed.

”I’ll try to contact Bill and have him come over to keep you company, Harry, or Ron will just hurry back to you once he’s left Ginny with Molly.”

“I’m okay, Mr Weasley, I can manage by myself.” Harry sat up more straight to corroborate his statement. “Mrs Weasley will need someone to explain to her about Ginny’s treatment and all that happened and there’s no point in you coming back after that, Ron, as I might be gone. I suppose Mrs Steadfast wants to question me some more before I’m allowed to return. Unless they arrest me or something...”

“I’ll just go to the office for an hour and then I’ll be back and check on you, Harry,” said Mr Weasley.

“I’ll stay with him,” Snape reminded them.

“Great, that’s great of you, Severus. Of course, you’ll give him his treatments, I forgot. Too emotional a day for an old man like me, this... Well then, take your sister safely back home now, Ron, and tell your mother... tell her that I’m sorry for everything and that she can scold at me as much as she wants when I come back in a few hours with Harry.”

Ron pulled a wry face at Mr Weasley who shrugged apologetically and Apparated to his office.

Harry accompanied Ron and Ginny to the big mantle piece in the midst of the Emergency Hall where they were to leave by the Flo. Ginny had difficulties separating from Harry. It was as if her body remembered something that her head did not, and she clung to him for some time before she stepped away from him. Harry was gentle and patient with her and promised to come soon and waved good-bye to her as she walked into the flames and disappeared.

“I hope they sort it out, everything, mate,” Ron said awkwardly to him. “G’bye, see you. Sure you’re okay, Harry?”

“Yeah, take care of Ginny now, and Mrs Weasley,” said Harry. His chest was beginning to feel tight, but his gaze followed Ron steadily into the fire and then Ron was gone too.

Harry stared at the flames for a few seconds before he gasped and doubled up as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He hid his face in his hands and staggered away blindly. Quite a few faces turned towards the anguished young man. A care-worker tried to steer him to the side, but Harry jerked away from him and crumpled up on the floor beside the hibiscus tree pot where he had hidden before. His chest felt so tight and sore that he could not draw regular breaths and he felt the taste of blood in his mouth again. He wriggled and gasped. How was it possible to feel so miserably alone, so abandoned? He tried to calm down and forced himself to keep still, clutching the leg of a pin chair and pressing his forehead against the wooden seat. It felt cold and hard in a soothing way, and he started to mumble things to himself.

He did not know for how long he sat frozen in that position. He had not fallen asleep, but was more like in a trance when a male caretaker kneeled down beside him. He was about the same age as Simmings, Mrs Steadfast’s Auror, and had a sympathetic face.

“Hello, I’m Care-wizard Hugo. Er... Healer Snape wanted me to ask you if you’d like him to do a Relieving on you? He said you know all about them and that I didn’t have to explain.” The care-wizard gestured at a black figure leaning against a pillar at some distance, with his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry shook his head.

“You don’t want him to do it? He thought you’d say no. Can we do anything else for you?”

Harry shook his head again.

“It’ll pass. I’m used to it,” he stuttered. Care-wizard Hugo raised an eyebrow.

“Used to that amount of anxiety? I certainly hope not. Healer Snape told me to give you this Myoviving Potion.” Harry accepted the vial with a shaking hand and drank. He started to cough and spat out some blood in a handkerchief that Care-wizard Hugo conjured up promptly. “It reopened, huh?” said the care-wizard. ”Are you fit to inhale?”

Harry shook his head.

“You need the healing spell first? Can I send Healer Snape over then? He wasn’t sure you’d want him near you. He needs to work on your leg as well. It doesn’t look so good. You won’t object to having him come over?”

Harry shook his head again.

Care-wizard Hugo gestured for Snape to approach. They wanted Harry to sit up on the chair, but he swayed so much that he almost fell off.

“You’ll have to lie down on a stretcher,” said Snape, frowning.

Harry shook his head vehemently which made him cough again. He needed to hold on to something, so to keep himself steady, he turned to the side and clutched the wooden back of the chair against his chest like it was a lifebuoy. He kept his eyes closed, lost himself in mumbling again, and did not bother about Snape who revolved around him with incantations and spells. 

“Does your leg hurt very much?” a bright voice asked after a while, coming from the floor beneath Harry. He opened his eyes and saw a little boy, about five years old, on his knees looking up at him. There was a frank curiosity in the boy’s eyes, but genuine compassion as well. “I think you might be in more pain than me. My hand hurts terribly at times. That’s why we’re here.” The boy lifted his left hand and stuck it right under Harry’s nose. Harry cleared his throat.

“My leg doesn’t hurt, only my chest,” he said hoarsely.

“Your chest? Maybe you hurt your heart. The heart is in the chest. I hope you won’t die,” the boy said, looking at Harry with interest.

“Don’t disturb the wounded wizard, Henry,” a woman’s voice said behind the boy. Harry raised his head a little. “I beg your pardon,” said the woman who was clearly the boy’s mother. They had the same high cheekbones and the same kind of round chin. She addressed both Harry and Snape who was done with Harry’s treatments and had installed himself on a chair beside his student.

“It’s okay,” said Harry and straightened up a bit.

“Do you want to look at my hand?” said the boy. “No one believes me when I say it hurts. Except Mummy.”

Harry took hold of the little hand that was offered to him and studied it a bit dazed. The mother sighed.

“It’s the third time in less than a week that we come to St Mungo’s. Henry doesn’t want to use his hand - he says it hurts, but you cannot see any marks on it. The first time we visited the hospital, they suspected a fracture in the bones of the hand and examined the skeleton, but found nothing wrong. We came back yesterday because he still refused to make use of it and he developed a fever which, however, disappeared before the healer had time to do the examination, and so when they couldn’t find anything, they simply concluded that he’s pretending to get away with things. But Henry’s never been fussy or complained like this before. Today he really made an effort to dress himself, but I could see from his expression that he was in pain and shortly thereafter he developed a fever again. Now it’s gone, just like last time, and you see, as long as he doesn’t use his hand, he’s okay. I doubt they’ll take his symptoms more seriously this time than last. I’m considering returning home again.”

Harry stroked the skin over the back of the boys hand with his index very lightly and the boy shuddered and wanted to withdraw his hand.

“Wait,” said Harry. He held the boy’s wrist gently with his right hand and moved his left hand in the air closely over the surface that hurt. “There’s something in the skin,” he said to Snape, let go of the boy’s hand and bent over the back of the chair as he felt faint again.

Snape leant forward towards the boy with an impassive face to examine the hand. The boy hesitated to give it to him.

“He’s a healer. He’s not dangerous. He can help you,” Harry said encouragingly, peaking at them with one eye closed. Snape did some quick examining spells to the small hand then turned to Care-wizard Hugo who was attending another patient nearby.

“Will you fetch me an examination glove, please?” said Snape. “Everything that is remotely valuable in this place is unconjurable and must be fetched by hand, otherwise it’s stolen,” Snape muttered to the mother. “Does your son frequently play outdoors? Do you live in the countryside?”

“Yes, we do and we’ve got a nice garden next to a deciduous forest. It’s starting to get green this time of the year.”

“Bushwood?”

“Yes, yes, Henry has built a little house between the bushes, he crawls around on the ground. Have you found something?”

“We’ll see if I’m right,” said Snape as Care-wizard Hugo came back and gave him a large black glove. “This, young man, is an examination glove. Pay attention you too, Harry. It’s made of different vegetable fibres and bee wax. It’s dense to material objects and impermeable to liquids, yet permeable to magic. Now I’ll do an Extraction spell. Watch closely.”

Harry opened both eyes. Snape slipped the glove on and held it closely over the boy’s hand, muttering a spell. The boy stirred a bit uneasily, but did not withdraw his hand.

“Look!” said Snape and turned the glove. Harry, Henry and his mother moved their heads closer together to look on the dark tissue where a pattern of tiny white thorns had deposited themselves, drawn out of the boy’s skin by Snape’s spell.

“Thorns from a Silky Cloud Bush, if I’m not mistaken,” said Snape. “The leaves are smooth, but the small branches are covered with these treacherous thorns. They are so small they can barely be seen with the naked eye. They’re slightly poisonous so that’s why he developed a fever every time he used his hand and the poison was released from the thorns. He’ll need some magic salve to counteract the poison that is left in his skin and he’ll be fine after that.”

Care-wizard Hugo took the boy and the mother away to confirm the Silky Cloud Bush diagnosis by comparing the extracted thorns to pictures in a book and to give Henry the salve treatment, and Harry and Snape were left on their own. Harry looked as if he was going to deteriorate again, blanching and grasping the back of the chair harder.

“Did I ever tell you about a patient I once treated, with a thorn behind his ear that took us three days to discover?” Snape suddenly asked briskly. Harry peaked at him.

“N-no?” he answered.

Snape started to tell him the astounding story of a middle-aged wizard who had been brought to the hospital by his wife that complained over her husband’s weird behaviour since a few days. The wizard had indeed behaved strangely at the Emergency ward. He had been suspicious of everything, especially towards his wife, and said very little. He was usually a jovial and talkative man, according to the concerned wife. The healer who assessed the man at the Emergency ward suspected that he had been hit by a Confounding curse and admitted him to the Spell damage ward. The next day, the wizard developed a paralysis of his legs and appeared even more confused. The healer in charge suspected that the wizard’s nervous system had been contaminated by some rare bacterium or virus, but they were unsuccessful in discovering the cause of his condition, regardless numerous blood exams and Revealing spells. Early in the morning the third day, the man was suddenly caught by seizures and Snape, who was on duty that night, was called to the patient’s side.

“He was seriously affected. Blue in his face. Several organs failing him. I managed to stop the seizures temporarily with an incantation. Then I started anew to examine him from feet to head.” Snape paused to reinforce his words. ”Now, this is important, Harry: if something’s unclear, if the symptoms don’t add up, you must not build your diagnosis on the assessments made by other healers before you - you must start anew and make your own examination. In this case, my renewed efforts resulted in my finding a thorn behind his right ear. It was the size of a hazelnut, but no one had discovered it because it was covered by the wizard’s long hair. I removed it, analysed the poison in it, concocted the antidote, gave it to him and he recovered. He told us afterwards that he had had a row with his owl and that it had flown out in the forest, had come back several hours later, dived at him and picked him right behind the ear with its beak. Apparently the owl had stuck the thorn in his skin. He said it was a particularly base owl.”

Harry raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. He had loosened his grip on the chair and listened intently to Snape’s story. Snape bent closer towards him.

“You don’t believe it? Well, to be truthful, neither did I. I thought the husband lied to us. When I discharged him, I sensed the wife’s fear as they were to return home. I think that he realised that his illness had started with her Confounding him. You see, I happened to know the healer who made the initial examination and she swore there was no thorn behind the ear when the patient first came to the hospital and I believed her. No one else did, though. They thought she had missed it and wanted to get away with the mistake. I think that the wife deliberately put the poisoned thorn behind his ear after he was admitted to the hospital, to cause the new symptoms and to confuse us. You see, she was a Care-witch herself and knew how seldom you perform a thorough examination from scratch once you are admitted to a ward. The poison would’ve killed him if I hadn’t found and removed that thorn. However, I couldn’t prove my theory, as the wizard himself accused his owl instead of his wife. Now…” Snape lowered his voice and Harry bent forward to listen to Snape’s whisper. “... someone told me that the wife died two months later. She fell down a precipice. Chased by a werewolf, allegedly, dropped her wand and tripped over the edge.... That was the story...”

Harry’s eyes widened.

Snape went on to tell him other stories, the one more hair-raising and dramatic than the other, about other patients. Harry listened disbelievingly, fascinated. He started to ask questions about healing procedures and made guesses at the diagnosis. His body relaxed and he forgot about his nausea as he listened to and entered into the cases described by Snape.

After a while, the mother and the boy came back with Care-wizard Hugo. They wanted to thank Snape for curing the boy. In the meantime Care-wizard Hugo gave Harry a new dose of the Dewcup Potion.

“Amazing stories, huh?” he said and smiled. “Would you like to become a healer?”

Harry gave away a non-committal sound.

“Healer Snape’s the best,” Hugo declared in a low voice. “I’ve worked with him several summers. You always feel safe when he’s around. Knows his things, if you understand what I mean? No vacillating, acts promptly and efficiently. Some people think he’s grumpy and stiff and unpleasant, but, hey, the most important thing is that he’s good at what he does, no? And he’s always correct with the patients. Haven’t seen him as talkative with anyone as with you before, though... He’s a Grief Swallower, you know...”

“Just because you’re a Grief Swallower you don’t have to be unpleasant,” answered Harry a bit affronted.

“No, no, of course not, I just meant that Healer Snape usually doesn’t bother to behave, if you know what I mean? He doesn’t care what other people may think about him and he doesn’t take pains to be... to be nice. But with you he actually makes an effort... You’re his patient, of course, and his student - and a special student too, I appreciate that, because I recognise you, Mr Potter - and so that’s why he exerts himself, no doubt...”

Harry screwed up his face in puzzlement, not knowing what to think about Care-wizard Hugo’s revelations about Snape. At the same time the mother of the little boy turned to him.

“Thank you very much, young man. Have you considered becoming a healer? You felt that something was wrong with Henry’s hand. No one of the previous healers we met was as sensitive. I think you’d be successful.” Harry coloured a little. “Well, I wish you a quick recovery. Thank you and good-bye.” Little Henry waved at Harry with a small bandaged hand and departed with his mother.

Snape dedicated himself to Harry’s leg again, all while starting on a new story - this time about a wizard who had thrown a party celebrating his fiftieth birthday. It had been memorable and sumptuous with live music and fireworks, dancing fairies and much to eat and drink. When the guests were gone late at night, the wizard was so tired that he fell asleep across a table, forgetting to put the candles that were floating in the air just under the ceiling out, and so a fire had started. He was so fast asleep - probably by the effect of too many fancy drinks, Snape added - that he did not wake up until the entire room was lit and he could not get out. It was, unfortunately, one of those wizards who had never learnt to Apparate. Moreover, he had been careless enough to leave his wand in another room and had no means of extinguishing the fire. From the outside, the neighbours were working to put the fire out. In the meantime, to protect himself, the wizard had found a bin bag made of trapping web that he had swept around his body. Eventually they got him out of the room, but he was severely burnt. That was how he arrived at St Mungo’s where Snape was on duty at the Emergency ward.

“The trapping web is a very strong and resistant magical material, as you now know,” said Snape to Harry. “It had held the fire back from the wizard’s body, but the heat had nonetheless shrunk and melted the tissue into his skin and transformed it into a stiff armour around his chest. It was so tightly swapped around his torso, that it prevented him from taking deep breaths. In combination with the lung damage caused by the smoke, it was fatal and he was suffocating. What was worse was that the trapping web prevented us from healing his lungs. The spells were reflected back by the armour. We were really in a tight corner. He couldn’t expand his chest to inhale and we couldn’t reach his lungs to cure them. Moreover, the heated smoke he had inhaled made the blood in his coronaries clot and on top of everything he suffered from an ongoing heart attack.”

Harry looked at Snape in suspense.

“Trapping web is the strongest material there is. Only goblin metal can work on it. So I got the idea - and this is terrifying, I know – several of the care-workers present couldn’t watch me when I did it - but I cut slits in the trapping web-transformed skin with a goblin-made silver knife, parallel to the ribs.”

Harry wrinkled up his face and put a hand over his mouth.

“Was the wizard still conscious?” he asked.

“The patient howled in pain, and I tell you, I was wise enough not to do a Relieving on him in that situation. Three trainee healers worked on him to lift the pain away to the Swallowscope. The slits, trickling with blood, allowed him to expand his chest and breathe, at the cost of excruciating pain.”

Snape bent forward to Harry again and looked him steadily in the eyes. 

“Now, to cure his heart I had to cut through his breast bone and bend the two halves of the thorax aside to reach his heart and sweep the coronaries clean from clots by hand.” Snape made a pause for effect. “But he survived and kept the trapping web tattooed into his skin. No one dared try to remove it. He looked like a tiger without fur.”

Harry stared at Snape for a long time.

“Naah...” he said finally. “You didn’t open his chest. Once you had made the slits through the trapping web along the ribs, you could point your wand at his heart and remove the clots by magic!”

Snape smiled smugly.

“Took you at least half a minute to figure that out,” he said. “And I’ll tell you: Muggle doctors do open the chest precisely like I described it when they need to repair the coronaries by hand. I’ve seen it when I assisted a Muggle surgeon once when I practiced at a Muggle hospital. They use gigantic metallic instruments to hold the chest open as they work inside. It’s a miracle the patients survive their treatment!”

“Gross!” exclaimed Harry.

Care-wizard Hugo chuckled as he listened to them while attending to a patient nearby. Harry turned to him.

“Has Snape been pulling my leg all this time?” he asked indignantly. “Were the other stories not true either?”

Care-wizard Hugo shrugged and exchanged a glance with Snape, smiling.

“Healer Snape’s been fiddling with your leg, all right, but it does look a lot better now, and so do you, if you don’t mind my saying - so - whatever he did, it worked!” The care-wizard nodded at Harry’s wounded leg that had a better colour than before. Harry opened his mouth to retort when a voice greeted him from behind and he swirled around.

“Hello, Harry!” said Healer Solomon. “How are you? I heard on the news this morning that you were involved in a death fight in Paris, or so they say. Oh, my, you don’t look well at all. Had an ordeal this night, I guess?”

“I’m much better, thank you!” answered Harry almost cheerfully. Healer Solomon raised his eyebrows.

“Much better? Must’ve been pretty bad from the start then... “ He scrutinised Harry’s face. “He’s developing a fever, Severus, had you noticed? He’s your patient, I take it?”

“He is and yes, I noticed. It’s a Magic-Versus-Self Reaction, I’m afraid, but...” said Snape.

“Are you sure? It may be fatal!” exclaimed Healer Solomon, worried.

“I hope not. It was inevitable after what he’s been through, and with his disposition, I suppose. He needs to get some rest soon and in time I think he’ll be okay, trust me,” said Snape calmly.

“I do, Severus, I do trust you. No one so capable, mark my words, Harry... Your headmaster belongs here, not at Hogwarts, but I haven’t been able to persuade him for fifteen years to join us full-time, so I guess I won’t be able to do it today either. I’m glad to find you on good terms with one another, though. I wasn’t sure what to think when you didn’t come with him for his Grief Swallower test, Severus.” Solomon looked sternly at Snape. “Now, have you spoken to your headmaster about what you told me in February, Harry?”

Harry shook his head a bit embarrassed.

“No... er... I... I’ve not had the occasion, but I will... and I have worked on it,” he answered.

“That’s good. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“No, I won’t, I’ll ask him as soon as...”

Healer Solomon exclaimed something as he waved at another healer at the other end of the hall, excused himself, bid a hurried farewell and disappeared again.

“What’s a Magic-Versus-Self Reaction?” asked Harry.

“It’s a complex condition that arises if magic that you perform or witness is in deep conflict with your inner magical essence. Its main features are fever and weakness, sometimes confusion and circulatory collapse. That’s what it’s about briefly, but it’s too complicated to explain more in detail - you’ll have to look it up in the books when you’re back at Hogwarts. What did Healer Solomon mean? Did you want to tell me something?”

Harry looked embarrassed.

“I’ve meant to ask you something but... but, you know, with all that has been going on this winter I’ve not really had the occasion...”

“Now is as good an opportunity as any... Go ahead and ask...”

“Okay,” Harry straightened up and looked eager. “Well, I don’t want you to think that it’s because I’m a Grief Swallower. It started way before that... and my asking you now doesn’t have anything to do with what happened tonight either, despite what was said in Mrs Steadfast’s office... nor with the stories you’ve been telling me, although I appreciate your efforts to divert my thoughts... But I express myself badly,” Harry looked unhappily at Snape who spread his hands, palms turned upwards.

“I’m being patient, am I not?” he said. ”I’m not yelling at you. Take your time.”

Harry smiled a little.

“No, you’re not yelling, for once… Sir...” He found new courage. “It started this summer. I’ve already told you how I performed magic with the Elder Wand on the wounded at Hogwarts after the Battle against Voldemort. A healer called Sheno taught me the incantations that I performed at the side of Mme Pomfrey. I’ve not seen him here at St Mungo’s since...”

“I know him. He’s a skilled healer. I think he left to work in another country for a period of time,” intervened Snape.

“I found it... resting…” continued Harry, ”to be doing something like that after the battle... I had been so extremely focused on my mission since Dumbledore died and when Voldemort finally fell... All I experienced was emptiness... and relief of course, but it was difficult to be happy, if you know what I mean? It was extremely satisfying to heal the wounds and to take people’s pain away and to help them... Very gratifying it was and... I know that I had Professor Dumbledore’s wand at that time, which undoubtedly made it easier, and I’m not sure to perform as well again, but… Back at the Burrow, still with this feeling of numbness, and the nightmares beginning to assail me, I... I started to think about becoming a healer...”

 Harry looked down on the floor.

“I was aware already at the time that I didn’t have the Arithmancy required to enter the program, but out of curiosity I started to read books about healing that I found on the Weasleys' bookshelves and I ordered books from London, too. I found it fascinating. So then I started to learn Arithmancy. I borrowed Percy Weasley’s old schoolbooks and started from the beginning. At the end of the summer, I had reached OWL level. I had this newfound ability to concentrate when I studied and it was pretty simple at the beginning so I made quick progress. I mean, it’s not as if Arithmancy is difficult or anything? It doesn’t really crave magical skills to understand.”

Harry looked up at Snape who gazed back with an impassive face.

“So when the term started I asked Hermione to guide me, because I wasn’t sure I went about it in the right way, but she said that I was. Naturally, sixth year’s Arithmancy was more difficult and with everything else to study my catch-up was slower. But I finished sixth year by Christmas and have started on seventh year. It goes a bit slower still now... but, there are ten weeks left and I think I can make it to NEWT level if I exert myself. Hermione says that I’m way beyond OWL level at any rate and that I might just be able to do it...”

Harry paused and looked expectantly and a bit apprehensively at Snape.

“S-so, I wanted to ask you if you’d give me permission to take the NEWT exam in Arithmancy in June. I only need to manage an “Acceptable” grade and I should be able to apply to St Mungo’s School of Magical Medicine.” Harry held his breath.

Snape stayed silent for a short while. If he was surprised by Harry’s demand, he did not show it.

“What about the Auror program?” asked Snape. “I got the impression that you’re still keen on that too?” Harry looked unhappy again.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he mumbled. “But if I don’t have my NEWT exam in Arithmancy, I’ll never be able to enter medicine and I want to have the possibility to do so. And after tonight... After tonight... I’m not sure I want to become an Auror... Maybe I don’t fit in... I do think it’s important to stop the Dark forces - it’s not that. I’ve had a very strong feeling about that since Voldemort... ever since I was told at the age of eleven what Voldemort did to my parents...”

Snape looked down.

“And being an Auror is a very important job, too. Like finding that cave with the imprisoned people and saving them, for example. And I do like the physical side of the profession, I own that - the fighting, as long as I don’t have to kill. The Double Knight’s Spiral Case Move for example was awesome to do... I just haven’t made up my mind yet, but I feel very strongly about healing. What would you advice me to do, Professor?” asked Harry.

Snape looked taken aback by the question.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “that you must decide for yourself. But you’re right in so much that to have the possibility at all to enter Med school, you need to have a grade in Arithmancy. The problem is that it’s not entirely up to me. Professor Vector, the teacher of Arithmancy at Hogwarts will need to give you her permission and she’s... a bit...”

“Conceited - yes Hermione told me!” exclaimed Harry. “She won’t believe it possible for someone to have mastered her subject without being taught by a proper teacher and she’ll take offence and not give me permission. We thought so, but then we thought that if I asked you to speak to her and maybe she got the impression that you had been tutoring me, then she would probably give me the permission to take the exam. She won’t disagree with you, Professor.” Harry spoke rapidly and fastened his slightly feverish gaze pleadingly upon Snape. Snape’s face turned impassive again as he leant forward.

“Do you suggest that I lie to my own teacher, Potter?” he said in a silky voice. Harry recoiled in his seat.

“No, not to lie... I meant that she’d get the impression of that being the case, without you actually saying so... but... no, of course not, Sir, no, I understand you couldn’t...” Harry yielded under the severe gaze of Snape.

“Good,” said Snape, “...because for one moment I thought I had the average scheming Slytherin student in front of me.”

Harry blinked.

”Sometimes though,” continued Snape silkily, ”I happen to go along with the Slytherins, providing they have an interesting proposal that only needs a... little push in the right direction.” He smiled cunningly.

Harry looked confused first, slightly annoyed at being compared with a Slytherin, but then he smiled back broadly.

“You’ll help me then?” he said in a low, eager voice. Snape gave him a quick smirk before he became serious again.

“I can promise you for the OWL exam, Harry, but I have to think about the NEWT. Let me look at the possibility to have you take it at the end of summer instead. It’d give you more time to prepare. I don’t want the catch-up in Arithmancy to influence your other subjects and I don’t want you to overstrain yourself. You’ll have to recover from this, too, first.”

“And I need to avoid being sent to Azkaban,” said Harry.

”That’s nothing to joke about, Mr Potter!” Mrs Steadfast’s voice sounded grim. She had come up to them behind Harry’s back. Soundy was with her. “We’re not at Azkaban quite yet, but not far from it. The French Ministry has asked for an extradition of you in order to question you properly. The British Ministry’s judge wants to interrogate your before the formal decision is made whether to send you back or not. Initially, the French demanded that both you and Ginny returned to France, and we’ve negotiated ferociously to make them drop the claim on Ginny. Given that you admit to killing the wizard they agreed at last to wait with Ginny, but they want you - now! - in France. They’re furious with you for escaping their custody - which was not formally a custody as they hadn’t even formulated an accusation against you when you fled. They still interpret your escape as a sign of premeditation.”

“But surely, you won’t allow them to send him back to France, Audrey?” said Snape in a shocked tone.

“It’s not up to me to decide, I’m sorry. I’ve used all my influence and exerted myself to argue against it, believe me, but it’s entirely up to the judge. The hearing is scheduled in half an hour, that’s why I’ve come to fetch you. Are you not done yet? You’ve been here for hours?” Mrs Steadfast said impatiently.

“We’ve been delayed by various matters,” replied Snape. ”The lung bleeding reopened twice. There’s only one treatment left for the leg and then we might leave. Miss Ginny’s back at the Burrow.”

“I know, I met Arthur at the Ministry who told me quickly. She was seriously affected, he said.”

“Oh, she’ll be okay,” answered Snape, ”I’m more worried about Harry now. He needs some rest and sleep, or the Magic-Versus-Self Reaction that he has developed might deteriorate dangerously. He’s not fit for questioning, Audrey.”

“Oh, they’ll not take that into consideration, Severus.” Mrs Steadfast arched an eyebrow. ”You’ll be asked to give him whatever potions needed to keep him on his feet and go through with the hearing. Period.”

Harry stared at the floor. His hands had begun to shake and his lips were moving as if he was speaking silently to himself. The temporary respite and the improvement of his condition over the past hours seemed to crumple to nothing in the space of a few seconds. Snape looked with clear distaste at Mrs Steadfast who made an exasperated gesture with her hands.