As it was Sunday, Severus and Covey took breakfast in Snape’s quarters. Sated, refreshed, and secure in the knowledge that Potter was still resting comfortably, they enjoyed kippers and toast and pleasant conversation. They had just finished eating when a house-elf popped into Snape’s quarters. “Master Snape and Healer Cook,” the elf bowed, “emergency message. Poppy is needing you both.”

Severus and Covey bolted from the table and ran for Snape’s floo. The moment they burst from Poppy’s floo, they heard it: a high-pitched wail that was as shocking as it was eerie.

Poppy was struggling to contain Potter, who was resisting for all he was worth.

Snape pointed his wand and bound Potter’s shoulders, torso, legs, ankles, and wrists. He hated to do it, but Poppy’s nose was oozing blood and her lip was cut. Potter was clearly out of control. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his mouth open in that haunting wail.

“Legilimens.” Snape said, tunneling into Potter’s thoughts. Everywhere he turned was darkness. Pure, pitch black, darkness.

“Lumos,” he muttered. It cast enough light for him to see, except that there was nothing to see. “Potter,” he called into the void. The word seemed to echo back at him, empty and desolate. Snape continued searching, through dark landscape after dark landscape, finding no memories and no Harry. Finally, he pulled out of Potter’s mind.

“Poppy, sedate him, now,” he demanded.

“Severus, are you sure?”

“NOW,” Snape roared.

Poppy spelled a strong sedative into Potter’s veins and finally the wailing stopped, Harry’s combative limbs finally going limp.

Covey’s hands were on Potter’s chest but they weren’t moving, and a frown creased her face.

“What’s going on?” Poppy asked.

“Get the headmaster,” Snape said, and moved to place his hands atop Covey’s. “What is it, love?” he asked.

Covey opened her eyes, something she didn’t do in the midst of healing. Her face looked stricken. “I canna find his magic,” she whispered in distress. “Tis like it vanished.”

Snape felt his heart go into freefall and the grim expression on his face told Covey all she needed to know as well.

Moments later, Dumbledore burst from Poppy’s office, Poppy right behind him.

“What is it?” Dumbledore asked.

“Potter’s gone,” Snape said simply.

“Gone?” Dumbledore asked, clearly noticing the magical monitor showing that his vitals were normal.

“See for yourself,” Snape said, motioning toward Potter’s body, which lay quiescent on the bed, still bound by ropes.

Snape watched as Dumbledore picked up Potter’s wrist, closed his eyes, and delved inside the boy’s consciousness. Or lack thereof.

A moment later, Dumbledore released the boy’s wrist, his face one of utter devastation. He stumbled backward and Snape conjured a chair for the old wizard. Dumbledore slumped into it. “Coventry?”

Covey sucked in her breath, fighting back tears. “I canna find his magical trace,” she said. “I canna heal him if I canna connect ta his magic, ye ken?”

Reflexively, Snape moved to stand beside her, taking her trembling hand in his.

“Albus,” Poppy said, “what does this mean?”

“It means,” the headmaster said, “that either his soul has taken flight, or he’s hiding.”

“Hiding?” Poppy asked.

“It’s possible that the last healing was too overwhelming for him and he closed in on himself, so to speak. Imagine a black hole, sucking everything into itself—his magic, his essence, his soul. If that is the case, Potter is still in there, just very well hidden.” Looking to Snape, Dumbledore continued, “Perhaps he is a master Occlumens after all.”

“If that is the case,” Snape replied sourly, “he’s Occluding himself from himself.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this before, Coventry?” Dumbledore asked.

“Once,” Covey said with a shiver. “But he was a cursed child. Darkness through an’ through, ye ken? He hid his true self away so that no one would discover the darkness. When we finally found him, he tried ta kill us all.” Snape noticed Covey absently rub at her shoulder, where he knew she had a jagged scar.

Poppy made a sound of dismay.

“How did you find where he was hiding?” Albus queried.

“I donna know,” Covey said. “I was just workin’ with his magic, tryin’ ta heal him. There were others workin’ on his mind.”

“Poppy,” Snape began, raising his wand and quickly fixing her nose and lip, “how did Potter come to be in the state he was in when you called for us?”

“I was checking his vitals when he opened his eyes. I thought he’d woken up and so I began to talk to him. Then he just started screaming and flailing. It didn’t seem like he even knew I was here.” Suddenly Poppy’s expression cleared. “Healer Cook, you said the other boy was cursed?”

Covey nodded.

“What about Harry’s scar, Albus?” Poppy continued.

“No,” Snape said, shaking his head. “If the Dark Lord was in Potter’s head, I would have felt it.”

“Aye,” Covey added. “Before that boy hid, I worked on him. His magic always felt a bit off, I just dinna ken why. Harry’s magic has always been pure.”

“What do we do now?” Poppy asked all three, wringing her hands.

“We wait,” Dumbledore replied. “Give his body more time to heal.”

Looking to Snape and Covey, Dumbledore said, “Will you two please continue to try and reach him?”

Snape and Covey nodded.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “Please keep me apprised of your progress and let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

No one said the one thought that hung heavy in the air: that if Potter’s soul had already flown, there would be no finding him or coaxing him back.

Hermione was working on her Ancient Runes homework when the Gryffindor common room suddenly went quiet. Looking up, she soon saw why: Professor McGonagall had just come through the portrait hole. With a rising sense of dread as McGonagall seemed to be making her way toward them, Hermione looked to Ron, who looked just as ill at ease.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, “the headmaster would like to see you.”

Hermione felt her legs shake as she pushed herself up from the table. Sharing a fearful glance with Ron, she followed McGonagall out of the portrait hole, leaving behind the stunned silence. The only reason the headmaster would be summoning them was if something had gone wrong.

Hermione shook her head. She always overthought things. Perhaps the headmaster just wanted help with Harry, or was going to invite them to attend therapy with Harry. She tried to focus on more positive thoughts, but her head of house’s grim expression did nothing to ease her mind.

“Licorice wands,” McGonagall said, her voice sounding choked. “Go on up, he’s waiting for you.”

They rode the rotating staircase until it delivered them to Dumbledore’s large wooden door, which was already ajar.

“Mr. Weasley, if you could please shut the door behind you,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you both for coming. Please have a seat.”

Hermione sat, her heart racing, palms sweating.

“Would you like a sweet?” Dumbledore asked, offering his candy dish.

Ron took a red sphere, but Hermione shook her head. She was too nervous to eat anything.

Placing the glass dish back on his desk, Dumbledore sighed, his lined face suddenly showing all of his years.

“I’m afraid I must pass along some unfortunate news about Mr. Potter.”

At those words, Ron must have inhaled the candy, because his eyes had bugged out and he was holding his throat.

Dumbledore waved his wand and the sweet dislodged from Ron’s windpipe and flew out of his open mouth to land in Dumbledore’s hand. Dumbledore dropped it into the bin.

“Perhaps sweets were not such a good idea after all,” Dumbledore pronounced, looking grim.

“Is Harry okay?” Hermione asked.

“It would seem that the answer to that would be no,” Dumbledore responded gravely.

“Is he dead?” Ron demanded.

“Not that we know of,” Dumbledore said, “but he seems to have gone missing.”

“Missing?” Ron and Hermione said at the same time.

“Not all of him,” Dumbledore said, “not his body. That remains in the hospital wing.”

Hermione cried out and covered her mouth with her hand. Ron just looked confused.

“Like he’s lost his marbles?” Ron said.

“We aren’t sure,” Dumbledore said. “His mind is all dark. No thoughts, no memories, no Harry.” Dumbledore paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s possible that he is hiding deep inside of himself.”

“Why would he do that?” Ron asked.

“Did something go wrong with the healing?” Hermione asked.

“Miss Granger, you are as insightful as ever. Indeed the healing did not go as planned. I am not at liberty to discuss all of the details; that right remains with Harry, should he return to us.”

Hermione bit her tongue, trying to hold back the tears. “Can we see him?”

“You may,” Dumbledore said. “I have instructed Poppy to let you visit him whenever you like. It may help if he hears your voices.”

“What are you doing to fix him?” Ron demanded.

“Healer Cook is working on his magic, and Professor Snape is working on his mind,” Dumbledore informed them.

“Snape!” Ron shouted. “Snape hates Harry! He’d just as soon Harry not come back!”

“It's Professor Snape, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore corrected, “and I can see why you’d think that. However, the nature of their relationship has changed in recent months. Did Harry not tell you that?”

Ron grunted, clearly not willing to forgive five years of torment from the Potions Master, no matter the current circumstances.

“Has this ever happened before?” Hermione asked. “A wizard’s mind gone missing?”

“I am looking into that as we speak,” Dumbledore responded.

“Would you mind if I looked into it as well?” Hermione asked.

“By all means, Ms. Granger. The more, the merrier.”

“Could I have a pass to the restricted section?”

“You may,” Dumbledore said with a sad smile. With a flick of his wand, he conjured up a note and handed it to her.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Ron asked, his arms crossed tightly, his face locked in a scowl.

“I think visiting with Harry, talking to him, reminding him of all he has to live for, would be the best place to start.” Standing, Dumbledore added, “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to researching a cure for Mr. Potter.”

The hospital wing was locked when Hermione and Ron arrived. Ron knocked loudly, clearly impatient to see Harry for himself.

Finally, the door creaked open. “Oh, it’s you two,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Come in.”

Once they were inside, Pomfrey locked the door behind them.

Hermione and Ron rushed to the private room at the back of the ward. Madam Pomfrey followed them inside.

“You can talk to him,” Madam Pomfrey said, “but keep it positive. We don’t want to upset him.”

“Can he hear us?” Ron asked.

“When Muggles are in a coma,” Hermione interjected, “they hear everything that is said around them.”

“What’s a coma?” Ron asked.

“Like what Harry is in now,” Hermione said.

“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Ron said.

“How’s he doing?” Hermione asked Madam Pomfrey.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Pomfrey said. “Healer Cook and Professor Snape have been working with him all morning. They went to grab a bite to eat. They should be back shortly, and then you can ask them.” She looked at the two of them, huddled around Harry’s sick bed. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said tentatively after Madam Pomfrey had left. “How are you feeling?” Hermione looked expectantly at Ron.

“Yeah, hi, mate. It’s Ron. Your best friend?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He knows your voice, you prat.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Ron said, “I’ve never spoken to anyone in a comma before.”

“It’s a coma, Ron, and we don’t even know if he’s in one. It might just be a Muggle thing.”

“So what should we talk about?” Ron asked.

“Well,” Hermione said, “um, today is Sunday, Harry. And, we have classes tomorrow, and…”

“Harry doesn’t care about that,” Ron interrupted. “So, Harry, you gotta wake up because the weather is getting nicer now and with Umbridge gone, you can fly again! And if you don’t wake up, I’m going to steal your Firebolt and make you ride my CleanSweep.”

“Ron,” Hermione moaned.

“What?”

Just then, the outer hospital door opened. Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron as voices floated in their direction.

“We can try,” a heavily accented woman’s voice was saying. “It canna hurt anythin’, aye?”

Hermione and Ron watched as the witch and wizard came into view through the open doorway of Harry’s private room.

“Oh!” the woman said, putting her hand to her heart, “I wasna expectin’ anyone else ta be here.”

Snape stepped in behind her, scowling at the sight of them.

“What’s wrong with Harry?” Ron blurted out.

“What he means to say,” Hermione said, giving Ron a dirty look, “is how is Harry doing?”

“No, that’s not what I meant to say, I meant…”

“Ronald,” Hermione scolded in a whisper.

“Tis all right,” Covey said, holding up a hand. “I donna mind answerin’. Ta be honest, we donna really know. Professor Snape an’ I were just discussin’ that.”

“Professor Dumbledore said that Harry might be hiding. Why would he do that?” Hermione asked.

“Tis possible that the memories the healin’ brought up were too much fer Harry ta handle. We think he might o’ hid himself away deep inside himself ta protect himself, ye ken?”

“Protect himself from what?” Ron demanded.

“Ron,” Hermione implored. “Calm down. They are trying to help Harry.”

“If they were trying to help Harry,” Ron replied, “then he wouldn’t be laying here in a comma, or coma, or whatever.”

“Mr. Weasley, you will treat Healer Cook with respect or you will be spending a week in detention with me,” Snape said, glowering at Ron.

Covey put her hand on Snape’s arm. “Tis alright, Sevvie, Mr. Weasley’s just worried about his friend.”

Ron schooled his features and repeated in a less angry voice, “Protect him from what?”

“The pain, I imagine,” Covey responded. “An’ the fear, an’ the memories, aye? We donna really know, but somethin’ was too much fer him, ye ken?”

“How can we bring him back?” Ron demanded.

“We’ll let you know when we figure it out,” Snape said. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have work to do.”

Ron glared at Snape. Hermione was about to ask if they could help, when Covey said, “Nay, let them stay. I have an idea.”

Snape seemed put out, but acceded to the healer’s wishes. “Very well, but stay out of the way.”

Covey flashed them a smile and winked at them.

“What are you going to do?” Hermione asked.

“I’m going ta try ta connect ta Harry’s magic. An’ Professor Snape will try ta find where Harry’s hidin’, aye?”

“How do you find where someone’s hiding?” Hermione asked.

“Occlumency,” Snape said shortly, clearly done with the conversation.

Ron scowled. “Harry hated when you did that to him,” Ron declared. “Why would that bring him back? He’d probably just want to run away from you.”

“Ron,” Hermione groaned. “I’m sorry, Professor. Ron’s just really upset. We know you are trying to help Harry. And Dumbledore trusts you, so we… “ Hermione swallowed, “we do too, don’t we Ron?”

Ron grunted.

“As touching as your words are, Miss Granger, I really must get to work.”

Hermione glared at Ron, and he looked back at her as if to say, “What?”

Sighing, Hermione watched as Healer Covey laid her hand on Harry’s chest while Snape took his wrist. All was silent as both of them concentrated on their tasks.

“Go ahead an’ talk ta him, aye?” Covey instructed.

Hermione glanced at Ron and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said. “We just wanted to come and see how you were doing. We miss you.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said. “It’s really boring without you. Hermione’s pants at chess, and she doesn’t know anything about Quidditch. I mean, what’s a bloke to do without his best mate?’

Hermione gave Ron an exasperated look. “Ginny’s been asking about you,” Hermione added. “She said she really misses the DA. We all do, actually. Neville was getting really good at the spells you taught us.”

They lapsed into silence, when Snape suddenly boomed: “Keep talking!”

Ron and Hermione jumped, glanced at each other, then resumed speaking.