~~~~HP~~~~

Wednesday 29, January 1997

The start to Phase Three of consolidation came just as harsh and fierce as Harry had expected it would. The IV's and IT treatments were always the medicines that drew everyone's attention because of their abnormal delivery and caustic nature - even spilling a drop on his skin could cause burning - but the new tablet chemotherapy he was taking turned out to be just as difficult on his body. At first, taking the extra three tablets a day didn't seem so bad, but by Monday, day three, he noticed a definite difference in him that was far too similar to the steroid he took during Induction back in July. So far this phase was painful, exhausting, and even the thought of the easier Maintenance Phase couldn't shake his turbulent attitude around it. The only good part - and he had to keep reminding himself of this fact - was that he was allowed to use his magic, and even if it were only sparingly he was enjoying getting to hold his wand again.

"Harry?" The soft sound of Hermione's voice brought him out of his inner thoughts and back to their Charms lesson.

Both of the Gryffindors were sitting on the sofa out in the sitting room, Hermione still in her school uniform, as this lesson was directly after her Potion's class before dinner, and Harry was still dressed in his warmest set of pyjamas. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace - where his emerald eyes were currently focused instead of on the textbook laid out on his lap - but it didn't help to push the cold out of his core and bones. Harry turned his head quickly to his friend watching him inquisitively, not at all annoyed that the person she was taking the time to tutor was not paying attention to her lesson.

"Sorry, Hermione," he sheepishly replied, "I didn't hear what you said about… well, any of it."

"What's going on, Harry?"

He didn't want to tell her that the isolation was already getting to him only five days into his fifty days of quarantine. He didn't want to complain that the five separate medications he'd taken in that short time frame felt like they were tearing his body apart inside. Or that he didn't understand why this phase had to be so harsh when only six days ago he was almost perfectly healthy. How was it possible that he felt so normal then, and now the inside of his body literally felt like it was slowly dying? So instead of talking to her about any of that, he decided to ask her about his newest muse, which happened to be her boyfriend.

"Are you going to the game on Saturday?" He casually responded, sitting up straighter on the sofa with the plan to back into the information he was fishing for.

The Gryffindor witch narrowed her eyes at his too obvious deflection. He should have known better than to try to distract her from her inquiry; she was too smart for that. However, that also meant she was intelligent enough to know when not to push him to talk about something that he clearly didn't want to discuss. This was exactly one of those times.

"Yes, I am," she answered, a little guarded for his liking, and then went right back to their notes.

"Are you going to support Slytherin?" It was a natural second question, and he was proud of himself for keeping the malice from his voice when he named her boyfriend's team.

"Seeing as Gryffindor isn't playing," she started with, as if to remind Harry that she wasn't choosing Draco's side over his - or her - own, "I will be there supporting Draco."

"As if he's going to have any problems beating Hufflepuff," Harry half mumbled to himself. There was a long, not at all awkward pause when she'd gone back to reviewing their notes, before he continued to ask, "How's everything going with you and Draco?"

The bushy-haired witch lifted her eyes from her book in a move he'd seen her give Ron plenty of times before, usually when the redhead interrupted her reading. Sure, he hadn't asked a question on Charms, but as his tutor it was kind of expected he would interrupt when he had questions.

She hesitated, but then said, "Things are going really well."

"Have you told your parents about him?" The question was out of his mouth before he had time to consider what he was asking. "You don't have to answer that. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine, Harry," she smiled at him. "Of course I told my parents about him. If nothing else, it became pretty obvious when Apollo kept arriving every couple of days before I went to the Burrow."

Harry could pick up that she was talking about Draco's Eagle Owl, meaning the Slytherin had been in contact with her during the holiday. He wondered what they discussed in their letters to each other, and more importantly if they were read by Voldemort or any of his other Death Eaters before they left Malfoy Manor or arrived back. How much did they know about Hermione's, a muggleborn's, relationship with their youngest recruit? The more this continued, the more Harry was getting concerned for her friend.

"Do they know who he is?" Harry found himself asking. "That he's..."

"The last heir to one of the oldest pureblood wizarding families?" She snapped at him, "and one that preaches about blood purity any chance they can? That I'm the definition of everything they stand against? No, Harry, I didn't think they needed to know that information."

That had pushed her further than he wanted to and the guilt filled him from his toes upward. How was he supposed to know what you told your parents about the person you were dating? He'd never dated anyone, nor did he have parents to tell. Of course, as muggles, the name Malfoy wouldn't mean much and therefore he guessed she got away easy on that one. He picked up his Transfiguration book and continued to listen to her rattle on about Aguamenti which he thought was a spell that would have been helpful to learn years ago. Being that this was his first Charms lesson with his wand, he picked it up from the table in front of him, fully intending on practicing only the movement, but was stopped when Hermione firmly placed her hand on top of his own.

"You can't use that," she reprimanded him, "Professor Snape said you could only use it during the lessons with your professors."

"But he's not here," Harry tried to explain. The professor still had his office hours in the period before dinner, which Harry assumed was planned so he wasn't home for his student tutoring. If he weren't so frustrated with Hermione for her slightly snide comment, he would have laughed at the thought of Neville sitting in the same quarters as Snape while going over his Herbology lesson. On second thought, he probably owed Neville something after all of this; after all, the other teen had volunteered to tutor him in the home of his boggart.

Throwing his wand across the sofa, Harry turned to the second friend he'd ever made and asked, "Did Draco happen to say anything about what happened over the holiday? Or anything about the raid on New Year's?"

The moment the question left his lips, he knew he'd gone much too far; that it had been the last straw.

"I'm not doing… whatever this is… with you," she dramatically gestured her hand between the two of them, her face scrunched up in a look of both disappointment and sympathy, before she aggressively packed up her bag.

"Hermione," Harry started, his heart swelling with shame for putting his friend in this position. "I'm s-"

"He couldn't stop that attack!" She yelled, swiping the corners of her eyes with her left hand. Harry hated himself for making her cry after everything she'd done for him this year. "And if you need any more information on why, then you just have to ask him yourself!"

" 'Mione," he pleaded, and grabbed for her hand when she'd finished packing her school bag, but she pulled it away from him before he could grab a hold of it.

"I know what you're going through is hard, Harry," she said from behind the sofa, about halfway to the door, "and I'm sorry you have to do this, but that doesn't give you the right to ask things like that."

She was right, of course, and he knew it. His emotions had been so unpredictable lately that he didn't even know how he felt about it all. It wasn't like he really needed to know what was going on with the Slytherin. He was just desperate for any information he could get; a silent Voldemort was definitely dangerous and he could feel something inside of him - probably the soul fragment next to his own - that was telling him something was going on. All he wanted was to find out what that was, except he went about it all the wrong ways.

Taking his silence as all the feedback she needed, Hermione slowly shook her head and added, "I'll see you Monday."

His body was in too much pain - originally physical, but now emotional too - to go after her, but it wouldn't have mattered anyways. She left too quickly; slamming the heavy door in her wake, before he even had time to register that she was leaving.

The second half of the week only continued to spiral down until Harry found himself waiting yet again for Dr Swanson to arrive for his next round of chemotherapy on Saturday. This round would only be two IV medications today and he would get the week off from his chemotherapy tablets. While he hadn't said anything, he was hoping that without any midweek medications, his body and mood would stabilize back to normal. Maybe then, he would be in a sound enough mind to fix things with Hermione. At his Herbology lesson the previous night, Neville said she'd been distracted since their row.

"She's late," Snape bellowed as he walked into the sitting room from the kitchen. The professor had been trying to navigate Harry's daily changing mood and in effect, had been in and out of his own foul one. He feared anyone who dared to step into their quarters at any given point from this last week.

"What's the big deal?"

The glare from across the room reminded the Gryffindor of the basilisk and the night of Slughorn's party; an event he was more than willing to forget.

"The 'big deal'," he used air quotes that made Harry feel like he was back in primary school, "is that as the Head of Slytherin, I'm required to be at the pitch this morning."

It sounded odd to Harry, but shouldn't have surprised him too much. Professor McGonagall was always at the pitch when they were warming up before a match. Suddenly, a thought - one that filled him with sadness and relief at the same time - came to his mind.

"You won't be here for my treatment?"

"Unfortunately, I will not be here," the professor rubbed his hand down his face, simultaneously sitting down in the armchair across from Harry, "given that we're playing Hufflepuff though, I cannot imagine it will be a lengthy game."

"You shouldn't say that," Harry jested, "they may surprise you one of these days."

"Somehow I doubt that," Snape replied with a single eyebrow raised, "and you will not be alone for your treatment. Lupin has requested to visit."

"He really requested that?" The Gryffindor asked with doubt laced in his voice, "Since when has he wanted to see me?"

He hadn't meant it as an insult to the last person with any real connection to his parents, but it wasn't like Remus had made any other attempts to see him, so what was he supposed to think about the man? He'd almost prefer to be alone then to have Remus breathing down his neck having no clue what to do. At least at this point, even Mrs Weasley and Professor McGonagall knew how to help him. It was sure to be an interesting treatment.

"All I know is he asked if he could stop by, since Tonks is now working in the castle," the professor explained in an almost uninterested manner.

"And you agreed?" Harry found himself asking, "To leave him here? In your quarters? Practically alone?"

He would have checked if the former spy were the one losing his mind because the Snape he knew - albeit he wasn't technically the same person - would never leave Remus alone in his home, but he just couldn't move from the sofa.

"There is nothing the werewolf can do in here that would go unnoticed," the former spy cryptically said and Harry shivered at the implication.

"You still should have asked me first," the Gryffindor mumbled.

Snape gave him the respect of his full attention before he said, "You have my sincerest apologies then. He stopped by my classroom and I assumed you would be satisfied with the arrangements, seeing as he's been away. If it is that big of an issue, I'm sure Minerva would not mind missing this game today."

There was something in his voice that said it would be a bad idea to make that request, but before he could say another word about it, the floo roared to life and Madam Pomfrey came out, followed shortly by Dr Swanson.

"How's my favorite patient?" Dr Swanson asked, pulling out all of the things she would need to set up his IV of morphine plus his chemotherapy from her bag.

"Let's be honest, you have to travel in a fireplace to get here," Harry replied sarcastically, "I doubt I'm your favorite patient."

Given his aggressive mood lately, relief filled Snape's eyes at his rather rude, but overall harmless comment.

"Any patient going through Delayed Intensification is my current favorite," she smiled at him.

Without missing a beat, Harry said, "You've obviously never apparated before. I guarantee you would never come back if you experienced that."

Knowing Snape was in a hurry, he leaned back against the sofa so they could get started.

"Your blood counts came back a little lower than I would have hoped to see," the doctor explained as she worked on his IVs, "Given that you won't have any other medications between now and next Saturday, I'm not going to delay this treatment, but I think it's best that anyone coming into the quarters should be masked today and tomorrow. It's best to be safe now then sorry later. It's also very important that if you feel at all sick you let Professor Snape know. That means feverish, abnormal stomach pain, chills, or coughing, understood?"

Harry nodded, but his thoughts were stuck on Remus's visit? What would the older wizard think of wearing the muggle medical mask? As if reading his mind, Snape got up to the desk that Harry rarely even noticed in the sitting room and pulled out a box of masks, placing them dramatically onto the table top.

Once the chemotherapy was set up in his port and the IV of morphine in his hand, Dr. Swanson sat in the armchair across from Snape and asked the million galleon question, "How else are you feeling, Harry? Outside of the usual Chemo side effects?"

"It's been a rough week," He found himself saying honestly. He took a deep breath and stared at his hands trying to ignore Snape's eyes on him, "It seems I'm tired all day, and at the same time I can't sleep at night. My body hurts… or aches really. I just always feel like I'm in pain somewhere inside of me and no position helps it. And I'm cold. It sounds stupid and petty to mention it on top of everything else, but I can't seem to get warm."

She wrote down the effects he'd been feeling, nodding her head as her pen scratched away. He wondered how normal all of this was, assuming it had to be very normal because she didn't look at all worried.

"I'm going to recommend adding melatonin before bedtime," she said to Snape - which Harry did not appreciate - while handing him a small slip of paper. "I'm also going to prescribe a stronger pain medication to take as needed.

"So today is only a one hour, followed by another one hour. If it's ok with you, Madam Pomfrey will change the medications. My son has an event this afternoon that I need to attend."

Harry smiled and was about to mention that Snape was in a similar predicament, however one look at Snape's onyx eyes told him that would be a very bad idea. It wouldn't have mattered anyways because the doctor was gone only a few moments later and a slip of parchment popped up in front of Snape that Harry knew had Remus's name on it. Harry groaned, the last thing he wanted to do today was entertain.

Maybe I can pretend to be asleep?

As the murmuring from the door got closer, Harry closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply. Madam Pomfrey fussed around his IV lines and the more Harry pretended he was sleeping, the more he felt himself starting to believe he would actually fall asleep.

"Go to sleep, Harry," he heard the medi-witch whisper to him and it sounded like the best idea in the world. It was odd because he normally didn't sleep this early into his treatment, but after being up most of the night, pacing his room in various forms of pain and discomfort, now he just wanted to be left alone to sleep.

The steps coming into the room were so unique, he could tell exactly who they belonged to and where each person was in the room based on them. Snape's heavy footsteps were confident and quick, so different from the stealthy, quiet steps Harry was used to not-hearing in previous years, whereas Remus's were lighter, slower, and became much more timid the further he walked into the sitting room. A strong hand - Snape's, which had a lingering smell of parchment and potions ingredients - rested on Harry's head, which he automatically leaned into as he was somewhere between being awake and asleep.

"Should he need anything," Snape said in a voice much too quiet to have come from the professor, "send me a message and I'll come right back. Should everything be alright, though, I need to stop by the muggle pharmacy after the match."

"Is that wise, Severus?" Remus questioned with a sense of urgency, "Given the price on your head right now?"

The air was thick as a silence enveloped the room between the three adults.

"I'll ask Minerva to go instead," Harry knew Snape had to swallow every gram of his pride to admit that the former defense professor was correct. It would be an awful idea for him to leave the protection of the school now.

"Is there anything I need to do for him?" Harry heard Remus ask, but he never heard Snape's answer because somehow he managed to fall asleep.

~~~~SS~~~~

He wasn't supposed to go to the Quidditch match today, during Harry's second round of Phase Three of consolidation, however when Albus reported that the guard over Malfoy Manor overheard talk about something at the Quidditch match, he knew he would have to be there. Harry would be safe, though uncomfortable, at home, whereas his Slytherins - specifically Draco - would be exposed on the pitch, even with the extra safety measures they were taking. He was intimately aware that it could be a way to lure him out of the castle's safety, nevertheless he's never shied away from potential danger, especially where one of his charges was concerned.

That was how Severus ended up Saturday afternoon leading Lupin through his quarters to stay with Harry today. He was startled, and slightly worried, to see the young wizard already asleep on the sofa when he returned to his sitting room with the werewolf.

"It's the morphine," Madam Pomfrey answered his unspoken question.

Lupin's stride had slowed as they approached the sleeping Gryffindor. Harry appeared so peaceful, yet Severus knew inside the teen was anything but.

"Is there anything I need to do for him?" Lupin asked, after sitting in the armchair to the right, somehow ascertaining that the other seat was Severus's.

"Nothing in particular," the professor responded as he gathered his traveling cloak. He was already late. "He'll probably sleep until the medications hit his system and then he'll let you know what he needs. The sphere on the table in front of you is yours and he has the other one. If he needs you, he'll squeeze it and yours will light up." Lupin picked up the sphere and held it, rolling it between his two hands, much in the way Severus himself had done when he thought about what that sphere implied. "Give him space though, one of the medications has made him a bit… confrontational as of late. He knows what he needs, so just trust him."

In the last seven months, Harry had run through a gamut of emotions as he faced his own mortality, pushed his body to its limits, and adjusted to the idea that life outside of these walls was continuing to move on without him. None of that compared to the current battle, with his latest aggressive mood, he was going through. At first he gave Harry space as he adjusted to the new medication - the tablets were almost worse than the IVs - however when Hermione approached him on Wednesday after dinner to explain the issue they had during his tutoring that afternoon, he started to pay closer attention to the teen. Harry absolutely should not be getting involved in Draco's business.

The walk down to the pitch gave the professor no reprieve from his racing thoughts; his dark eyes constantly shifting around to make sure everything was in order as it should be. Quidditch was a part of life at Hogwarts he could do without and part of the top three worst aspects of being a Head of House - whiny, homesick first years being at the top of the list - that he could do without. The only good part of the whole process was the rivalry it brought between himself and Minerva. Something about the sport managed to break down that awkward barrier when he came in as one of the youngest professors ever hired in Hogwarts history and made Head of Slytherin. It took him years to become comfortable with the idea of going from being a student to a colleague with the other professors. The hardest of all, or at least the one he anticipated to be the hardest, was Minerva due to their tempestuous history between him and her house; primarily James Potter and Sirius Black. When the week of the first Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match started, Minerva showed a feisty camaraderie he never would have expected from his former professor. Even more amazing was her attitude and acceptance when Slytherin slaughtered the Gryffindor team. From then on, the two of them fell into this odd acquaintanceship, that grew into a friendship, and almost a mentorship throughout the years. He was grateful to have her as a colleague and friend, valuing her opinion almost as much as Albus - more as of late, if he were honest - regardless of what their outward appearance may look like to the rest of the school.

"Nice of you to show up," Draco called him out on his tardiness rather brashly; murmurs passed through the rest of the team at their Seeker's gall - and potentially suicidal - behavior.

Sending a warning glance to the blonde, he replied, "My schedule is not of any concern."

At that moment, Minerva walked up behind his team giving an extremely small nod of her head; enough to let him know that the area was checked and cleared. The plan for the match that afternoon was to have Moody placed on watch at Malfoy Manor, and was to report any movement from the Death Eaters' and Dark Lord's side. Theoretically, assuming everyone there was in line, there would be no surprises on the pitch. Of course, after years behind enemy lines, he knew to expect the unexpected and therefore it wouldn't surprise him if they moved out last night with no intentions of meeting at the Manor beforehand.

With only a quarter of an hour to go before the game, the team had already completed their warm ups and were ready to get out there. No matter what he told others, he would never discount the Hufflepuff team. In his old reality, Cedric was a talented seeker and while it often frustrated Harry to have such a competitor - more so when the Hufflepuff seeker started dating Cho - he enjoyed the challenge that his classmate provided him. Of course, Cedric wouldn't be playing today not because he would have left Hogwarts last year, like his old reality, but because he was murdered by the Dark Lord in an event that did not happen where he was originally from. It was a significant death that did not have to happen and one that he took to heart because by jumping to this reality, he essentially condemned the child to his death. Had the professor stayed where he was, there was only one death there - Harry's - and who knew if the Dark Lord would have ever regained power. To make himself feel a little less guilty, he told himself that it was possible that the evil wizard would have come back anyways, only then they wouldn't have the advantage of the Leukemia being passed from Harry to Voldemort and hopefully killing the bastard.

As long as I find a way to get the soul fragment out of Harry first.

Using his Occlumency, he expertly pushed that thought aside, refusing to let it distract him from his ultimate goal of today: keeping the students safe.

With nothing else to provide on the field, he bid his team luck and went to take his place in the stands. He was sitting besides Minerva - who graciously agreed to stop by the muggle pharmacy for him after the game - with Pomona seated directly in front of him. The Hufflepuff Head of House wasn't nearly as competitive as Minerva or himself, but she acknowledged their current situation with a firm nod. At this point, he couldn't care less what the ending of the game looked like so long as they all left alive and stayed on the Hogwarts grounds.

The game started out as unimpressive as he would have expected. To the rest of the spectators, the game was exceedingly boring, nevertheless it made his job all the easier. Without too much underhanded play going on or head-on conflict, it was clearer for him to see where every player was and if anything was out of place. It also allowed him to keep his eyes off the game, keeping a lookout in the area surrounding the pitch and the stands for anyone who should not be there. In theory, no one with nefarious intentions should be allowed within the wards, however as Harry would quickly point out, that hasn't exactly stopped the Dark Lord in the past.

Based on the gameplay of Quidditch, that the game didn't end until one of the Seekers caught the Snitch, it was impossible to tell where they were in relation to the end. This meant that Severus had no reference as to if they were almost in the clear or not. The longer the game played on - half an hour, a quarter past an hour, hour and a half - the harder it was for Severus to keep his mind focused and alert. As they passed the two hour mark, instead of watching through the steaks of green and gold passing by the stands, he found himself thinking about Harry; wondering how the Gryffindor was handling this round and if Lupin was being helpful, yet not smothering the young wizard. The absolute last thing Harry needed was someone pitying him right now and that was the professor's only hesitation in letting the last Marauder stay there in his place this afternoon. There was a better chance than not that Severus would return home to a sullen, ill teenager and he really wasn't looking forward to it.

Focusing back on the match in front of him, he was surprised it had gone on as long as it had. At this point, unless the Hufflepuff Seeker caught the Snitch soon, not even that would give the Badgers a win. Normally, Summerby wouldn't stand a chance at catching the Snitch against Draco, but the Slytherin had been off his game lately. He'd seen it in classes, in his course work, and even in his attitude in the Great Hall or in the corridors with Hermione. He assumed it had to do with the fact he'd be going into hiding - attempting to distance himself, knowingly or not, from the other students and his studies - but he'd learned from Harry's experience with pneumonia not to overlook the small details. This current slum or distraction could be signs of something more serious.

Lost in his thoughts, and having fallen into a false sense of security by not a single thing appearing out of the usual, he didn't think twice as he saw the two Seekers race towards the Snitch that was hovering near the bottom of the staff stands. Slytherin was ahead 180 to 25 and therefore it really didn't matter which player caught it; his house would be victorious and he could go about his way back to castle: a literal win-win situation. Keeping his eyes always moving as he scanned the edges of the pitch, the door leading to the locker rooms, and the skies heading towards the Forbidden Forest, he focused everywhere except the two players that had converged right at the bottom of the very stand he was sitting in. He heard the Hufflepuff's roaring cheers - apparently the fact that they beat Draco to the Snitch overshadowed the fact that they'd just lost - a split second before a loud blast directly from where the two Seekers were located, and the stands around them shook.

~~~~HP~~~~

"He's going to fail me!" He tried to keep his voice strong, but he knew the weakness could be heard through it.

"No, my Lord, he will not," the strong Death Eater in front of him said, "I will see to it that he is well on his way."

Harry jarred up from his restless sleep, his body protesting every movement he made - from his eyelids shooting opening to his back when he sat up - with his scar burning, yet having no recollection as to why. Just like all the other times he'd been woken up after chemo, he felt the need to sick up immediately. Unlike most of the other times though, he had his wand with him to summon the charmed bucket preventing any embarrassing accidents.

When the nausea finally passed, expelling the meager breakfast he'd managed to eat, he was startled by the soft, but deep voice he'd not expected to be there. He closed his eyes wishing the owner of that voice was anywhere but in the same room with him.

"You're alright," Remus said, and Harry felt the sofa dip down indicating that his father's best friend was now seated right next to him. In fact, the other wizard was so close that Harry could feel the heat radiating from his body onto Harry's freezing one.

"I'm… fine," Harry choked out, shaking his head back and forth, which only managed to make his head pound more than it already was.

He could tell Remus didn't know what to do or say. As someone who had been facing a debilitating disease every month, Harry would have assumed Remus would know how to act around someone in Harry's position, however it became clear that was not the case. Remus pulled back, like Harry had slapped him, and moved to the other side of the sofa.

"Do you need anything?" He softly asked the young Gryffindor, "some water perhaps?"

"I told you, I'm fine," he spat out, but then looked around the room confused. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, something that he didn't do as much anymore. He still had the IV of morphine in the top of his hand - based on how his body was feeling though, it was probably time for another set - but the chemo in his port was gone, as was Madam Pomfrey.

"You don't look fine, Harry," Remus replied. "In fact, nothing about this looks fine."

In another time and place, Harry would have been able to think rationally that the last time Remus had seen him - really seen him, not counting when he brought Snape back from the rescue mission, or when he'd been distracted by Tonk's constant flirting on New Year's Eve - it was when his port had been placed back in July after he'd woken up from surgery. That was before the chemotherapy took his hair, before he lost so much weight that he was almost all skin and bones - enough that starting last week, Dr Swanson had increased his tube feedings to the daytime as well - and before his feeding tube was in place, running from his right nostril across his cheek and behind his ear. It was a big change in a short amount of time, and at this point most people were used to it. His Slytherin classmates had even stopped harassing him, at least before he started quarantine. Who knew what they would say to him when, or if, he ever went back to classes. But he wasn't embarrassed anymore; he had too many more important things to think and worry about.

Remus's voice, which had increased in volume signaling that the young wizard probably missed part of what he'd said, startled him once again back to reality.

"Do you want help getting to bed?"

His light brown eyes broke Harry's resolve. No, he didn't want to go to bed; just because he was sick, didn't mean he wanted to be in bed. Nonetheless, he found himself nodding his head because he didn't want to hurt Remus's feelings.

"This is a nice room you have," the older wizard commented as Harry settled into his bed, bringing the green bedspread around his chest, and he was almost willing to give up the IV of morphine so he could cover up to his shoulders. Remembering the IV caused him to check that the pail was close by because having the IV also meant he wouldn't always be able to make it to loo in time.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. "Did Madam Pomfrey say when she would be back?"

Remus furrowed his brows in confusion, "Is she supposed to be back? She didn't say before she left."

Harry was frustrated for the simple fact that the person entrusted to his care didn't even know about his medications. Working his way backwards, he knew he fell asleep when Remus arrived, meaning he could at least know how long he had been on this bag of morphine and then estimate when the medi-witch would return. "How long was I sleeping?"

"Since I've been here," the werewolf sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, a place usually reserved for Snape or Hermione. "It's been about an hour and a half."

Not nearly long enough, he thought grimly, he still had a long day ahead of him.

At the end of the day, no matter how it ended up, Harry would be proud of himself for withstanding Remus's hovering and - for lack of a better word - smothering. He was by far the worst offender of trying to be helpful, but only managing to get in the way. Snape, and most of the people who'd been around to stay with him, knew at this point that Harry didn't always need someone right next to him every time he sicked up or for every painful moan and groan he made. Snape instinctively knew when he needed help long before he squeezed the sphere, and somehow he was never too early. Remus was trying though, and given Harry's irritability he was proud he'd made it as long as he had without causing any conflicts.

That all changed at dinnertime though. Most of the day had been spent playing chess with Remus between rounds to the lavatory, doing some sketching, or simply talking to the man he never got to see anymore about whatever he was allowed to say from his travels for the Order, Tonks and her constant wooing over him to which Remus blushed and simply said he was far too old for her, and stories about his parents and Sirius. It had been nice to get to hear stories of his parents after they started dating, except Harry couldn't deny his small flicker of defensiveness for Snape. How could his mum not only throw away their friendship, but end up dating the boy that tormented her old best friend? It wasn't too unlike Hermione dating Draco, but by the time they got together the Slytherin had indeed changed and Harry didn't love Hermione like he knew Snape loved his mum. All of that explanation was his justification for feeling overly defensive of Snape. So when Madam Pomfrey stopped by for Harry's last bag of Morphine and to start his evening tube feeding - both processes that made Remus visibly uncomfortable - he was already feeling agitated with the other wizard.

"Is the match still going on?" Harry asked Madam Pomfrey while she worked in his lines. "Seems like Slytherin should have won pretty quickly."

The medi-witch froze mid turn in his IV tubing, a sign that Harry automatically didn't like.

"Oh my," the matron said, "no one's told you?"

Who did she think would be there to tell him something? His heart and stomach plummeted, "Told me what?"

"Slytherin won," she started cheerfully, "although Hufflepuff caught the Snitch. I'm afraid it was a dreadfully boring game until the end."

"What happened, Poppy?" Remus's voice was in high alert, which only caused Harry to worry more.

"I'm afraid there was an…" she paused to think of the right word, "explosion of sorts. Though that doesn't sound right… more of an implosion, really. Either way, it was right at the bottom of the staff stands." She looked at Harry's horrified face, and quickly added, "Everyone will be alright, deary. Nothing a couple potions and healing charms can't fix."

There was something in her voice that told the young Gryffindor she was hiding something. He couldn't help it. Between how sick he was feeling, the worry over Snape, the overall day he'd had, and his varying emotions overall, the tears started falling from the corner of his eyes before he could swipe them away. How could something like this happen? Were they expecting an attack? Was that why Snape needed to be at the match? Too many questions ran through his head that he wouldn't get any answers to. Unsurprisingly, he ended up back over the pail, vomiting bile, the only thing in his stomach at that time.

"I'm sure Severus will be down as soon as he sorts through some of the details," the matron said, somehow knowing that was what had caused his nausea this time. "Just try and rest, Harry. I'm needed back upstairs, but if you need anything have Remus send for me."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said quietly watching the elderly witch walk out, wondering who she had to stop healing to come down here to tend to his medicines and the supplemental nutrients.

A long uncomfortable silence fell over his room between the two Gryffindors left there.

"Whatever Dumbledore's paying her," Harry gave a small, painful laugh, "she deserves a raise."

"What has he done to you?" Remus asked, completely ignoring Harry's attempt at a joke.

"What'd you mean? Who do you mean?"

"Snape," the other wizard spoke quietly, "I've questioned for a while now what's going on… first he was with you at Privet Drive, then you move in here, though Professor McGonagall is technically your guardian now, he took you and your cousin to Shell Cottage for Christmas, and now he's given up his teaching post to do what? Stay here with you?"

Simultaneously, Harry felt an extreme sense of sorrow and anger build up in him. Had it not been for the chemotherapy tablets he'd been taking causing him to be irritable, it would have been a toss up as to which emotion would be amplified out at the absolute last person who had the right to question the current relationship between him and Snape. Remus wasn't there for any of it; he couldn't be with the Order and his transformations. Harry fully understood that and until now, hadn't held it against the other Gryffindor.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," the young wizard growled in warning. "So just… don't."

"All I know, Harry," he moved closer up the bed and instinctively Harry moved backwards and pulled his knees to his chest. He knew Remus wouldn't hurt him, but that didn't mean he had to like him now, "is that a year ago, you probably would have celebrated Severus's premature death. Now, I look at you and have to question if he's had some hand in your current predicament."

"You have no right to say that!" Harry yelled, and then clenched his jaw to try to calm himself down; the last thing he wanted was to be sick during this conversation. "He's the only one who was there for me when I needed help this summer. You have no idea what you're talking about, so stay out of it!"

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Harry," the werewolf's voice was filled with regret, nevertheless Harry didn't care one bit. No matter what he said, the fact was he wasn't there. "It's such a big change, and I know I'm not the only person who's questioned if your staying here has been healthy."

"Nothing about me is healthy, Remus!" As if on cue, getting himself all worked up caused him to be back over the pail once again. This time he felt his former professor lean in and place his hand on the young wizard's lower back, right in the spot that Snape does and helps ground him during the vomiting. When all the dry heaving was done, he stayed leaning over the pail and whispered, "Get out."

"Harry-"

"Get. Out!"

Harry didn't lift his head again until he heard the heavy oak door close. He resisted the urge to cry, but failed miserably. No one would understand what Snape had done for him, and not just helping with his medicine and schedule; no one could understand because there was no one else in the world who was a wizard fighting against a muggle cancer, while holding a piece of an evil wizard's soul next to his own, and living with someone who he loved like his own father; who had literally traveled across the universe - is that what he did? - to save him.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus had, unfortunately, been in the hospital wing far too many times this year; both as a patient himself once and waiting with Harry the other half a dozen times. Unlike every other time though, the normally quiet infirmary was both loud and bustling with activity. He was sitting sideways across the bed -having been threatened to stay in until Madam Pomfrey released him, though he was sure if he wanted to, he could take down the tiny medi-witch without any trouble - trying not to listen to the sounds around him as he waited for the matron to take care of the more injured patients. His bed was tucked away in the back corner of the room, not because he was gravely hurt, like the other two beds near his own, but so that way no one would be able to wander over when Albus finally came by to discuss the incident.

He didn't see it coming. As the two Seekers reached for the golden Snitch, which in hindsight had been more evasive than usual throughout most of the game, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. It wasn't until Summerby got his hand wrapped around its small center that the blast of air discharged from the ball through the entire area around them. The stands had been broken in the blast, causing minor injuries - mostly cuts and bruises - to himself and the rest of the staff, but the panic that came from the other stands around the stadium, as students tried to get back to the safety of Hogwarts, was what brought most of the patients there that afternoon. There ended up being fifty students, most of whom were tiny first and second years, injured in the mass panic, fifteen professors harmed from the damage the stands sustained, and two players severely injured - Draco and Chester Summerby. Draco's distracted mind had ultimately saved him that day. Though he wasn't close enough to be in the fatal range of the blast, his injuries were still far from minor. The Slytherin had suffered massive internal hemorrhaging that even after extensive healing charms and extra strength bruise salve, his torso and arms were covered in yellow healing bruises all around. When Severus had seen the purple bruising before he'd been healed, he'd immediately panicked with thoughts about platelet counts before he reminded himself that this was Draco, not Harry, and that their healing spells would close up any of the internal damage done to the teen. That was the damage caused by the blast. In addition to the hemorrhaging, the implosion had unseated the Slytherin Seeker from his broom causing a whole set of secondary injuries when he fell from the moderate height such as a broken wrist, two broken ribs, and a concussion. His wrist and ribs were healed easily, however neither the wizarding nor muggle world could heal a concussion and therefore it earned him an automatic overnight stay in the hospital wing.

All of those were minor compared to the person laying in the bed to Severus's right. There had been one fatality in the attack that afternoon, and it would weigh on his soul for the rest of his life. Chester Summerby had succumbed to his injuries almost immediately after the attack. Healers from St. Mungo's and Aurors from the Ministry - both of whom were quickly called shortly after the attack - had determined that the Hufflepuff fifth year had died before his body even hit the ground from being thrown off his broom. In a tragic turn of events, what should have been a joyous occasion for the teen - since the odds were heavily in Draco's favor to catch the Snitch - had ultimately cost him his life.

Severus had been there that day to protect the students and staff; to prevent this exact thing from happening and yet he had failed, costing one of his student's his life. Albus and Moody had checked the stands last night and again early this morning, Madam Hooch had required all brooms be handed over yesterday for him to personally check - along with the the Bludgers and Quaffle - for any enchantments, and this morning he and Minerva - which turned out to be only Minerva as he'd been late - examined the field. Nothing came back showing any foul play. Of course the one thing they didn't check was the Snitch and that was simply because the Snitch was supposed to be brand new - never touched, never used, not even available - until right before the start of the game.

"It was meant for young Mr Malfoy," Albus said, approaching his bed from around the curtain. It was not a question, they both knew it to be true.

Raising his wand, he cast a nonverbal Muffliato around them and replied, "I agree that the circumstances are not in his favor. It was not a secret that Slytherin would be playing against Hufflepuff today and it was more likely than not that Draco would catch the Snitch."

"Why would Tom want to kill one of his own? Especially one that has been given a very particular task?"

"Why does everyone think I know why he does what he does?" He frustratedly yelled at the headmaster and stood to start pacing his small curtained off area. "I want to know how they got to the damn Snitch."

"The Aurors and the Order are looking into it, my boy, I can assure you of that."

Time ticked between the two wizards, neither sure what to say. Severus had so many thoughts and feelings going through him, it was nearly impossible to separate them. He could use Occlumency to help compartmentalize them all and provide some relief, but he didn't. He deserved to feel the guilt over a student's death that he should have been able to prevent.

"I failed today," he said out loud only because there were privacy wards around them. It was the only way he would allow himself to show any weakness. "I was late getting to the pitch this morning and left Minerva-"

"This is not your fault," Albus interrupted him, his blue eyes shining fiercely in an attempt to make his protégé know he was not to blame. It was such an odd feeling to be on the receiving side for once; usually it was him telling Harry that exact phrase. "This is the work of the Death Eaters. Your tardiness would not have prevented Mr Summerby's unfortunate death. It seemed they knew exactly the measures we'd go to, and the ones we wouldn't, to keep the match safe."

"We're always one step behind," another wave of guilt passed through him. If he were still undercover in the Dark Lord's inner circle, he could have known about this. Unable to admit that his cover had been compromised by Alton anyway, he lingered on the fact that had he not been protecting Harry the night of the Privet Drive attack, he would still be in the Death Eater ranks. But protecting Harry, even before the child became his son, was his first priority; it had always been his first priority, since the day Lily died. No one questioned his judgment when he made the decision to duel the Death Eaters that night, besides Moody, but that man wouldn't be satisfied with anything Severus did unless it was walking into Azkaban.

"We've made contact with Narcissa," Albus changed the topic, though it may have been because the former spy hadn't been listening to anything he may have said. "I think she'll agree in the end."

If the Snitch attack was an attempt on the Slytherin's life, going into hiding was becoming more important by the day. There was a chance that his cover had been compromised, though if that were the case, the Dark Lord would have most likely summoned Draco and simply killed him when he arrived. There would be no need for the theatrics.

"We need to move this forward," he told the elderly wizard, "and get Draco out as soon as possible. In fact, I'd like him moved into my quarters upon his release from the hospital wing. There are too many children of Death Eaters in Slytherin house."

It wouldn't be ideal. Harry was in quarantine now, but the blonde was already in their quarters twice a week anyways. Harry would have a week off coming up where his blood counts would rebound back up, and as long as Draco was in hiding before his hard quarantine time - the two hell weeks - it wouldn't do any physical harm to the Gryffindor. Mentally might be another story, nevertheless he'd have to deal with it. For whatever reason, Draco had a target on his back and he couldn't be allowed out until they figured out why and how far it went.

"I'll make the appropriate arrangements, Severus," the headmaster nodded sullenly. The former spy didn't envy Albus. He would have to talk to Summerby's parents and explain why their son was killed on the school grounds. He'd have to face the Board of Governor's and walk them through the procedures they did to ensure the students' safety, and then explain how they failed at it. He'd have to make extra inconspicuous arrangements to try to keep another student safe. If anything, this was turning into one of the hardest years they've had since Harry started school here. No, the professor didn't envy the headmaster at all; he simply had two teenage boys that would be living with him full time starting tomorrow, what's the worst that can happen?