Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

The Witness

~~~~SS~~~~

No matter how many times Nadine tried enervate, Harry wouldn't wake while laying in the middle of the street of Diagon Alley, surrounded by more people wanting to watch than actually help. This left Severus to make the quick decision on where to take him: St Mungo's because the young wizard was clearly cursed by something, or the hospital in Surrey where his current physicians worked to help assess his muggle ailments. In the end, he chose St Mungo's as long as Alton could be called in to consult on the bruising - which he watched get more distinguished the longer they delayed in the street - before any magic was used on the young wizard. Ironic given his lunch conversation with Nadine, it brought to light how important a cohesive muggle-magical field actually was in the Wizarding World. There were plenty of instances where a magical person might need or benefit from muggle treatment, and as it stood currently, that just didn't exist. It would be a thought to contemplate on a different day, once Harry was healthy.

Arriving at St Mungo's was a blur of activities, none of which he could do a thing about. In fact, Molly Weasley ended up pulling him into the waiting area while the healers - specifically Alton who had arrived shortly before them - went to work to find out what had happened, and make sure Harry was no longer in any danger. That anxiety-inducing hour felt too much like the time Harry had pneumonia, when the professor sat crumbled in his sitting room with Minerva, waiting. Severus hated waiting; nothing good ever came from one's mind sitting idle for too long in these types of situations.

Only three other families shared the waiting room with Severus, Molly, Ron, and Hermione: each of whom were in separate corners, almost as if they were afraid getting too close to one another would somehow pass their family's ailments along. While he didn't know why the other's were at the wizarding hospital, he knew none of them had a son with muggle cancer who'd just been attacked. The professor waited as patiently as he could, passing the time by pacing the small, impersonal room, leaving only to go grab a cup of coffee. The stark white light emitted from the ceiling agitated his nerves, for reasons unknown to him. For being a place that saw people in their most high-strung moods, he'd expected the room to be as calming as possible, nevertheless this was far from it. The small brown table he claimed as his own, placed in between two of the most uncomfortable sofas in the farthest corner of the room, were quickly littered by his empty coffee cups - one, then two, and four - until finally he'd been called back around dinner time.

The Emergency Ward of St Mungo's was reserved for the patients who were still being evaluated before moving to the correct floor for specialized treatment, or who needed care across several disciplines. Severus assumed Harry fell into the latter category. If this would have happened ten years from now, the Gryffindor would have been whisked away to the Malfoys Center for Muggle Diseases, where he'd have full access to both muggle and magical treatment methods. There wouldn't be healers scrambling around the room questioning and second guessing their plan of action in healing the young wizard. Should they use just enough bruise salves to stop the active internal bleeding - a question posed to Severus during his time in the wait room, and he answered with an emphatic 'yes' - or should they focus on finding the cause of the curse - their first instinct until Alton not so nicely corrected them?

The large ward could hold a total of eight patients, however only two other beds, each with two guests sitting vigil, were occupied. Harry had been given as much privacy as possible by being placed in the farthest corner of the room with the curtain pulled tightly around his area and an Auror standing guard outside. Severus wanted to ask if the Auror - one he didn't recognize as either his former classmate or student - was there for Harry's protection or the other patients', but decided not to stir up any more trouble for the Gryffindor.

Although Harry was considered in stable condition, he remained unconscious. Severus sat by his bedside, with his elbow propped up on his knees, cradling his head, willing to give just about anything for the young wizard to wake up. After the small amount of bruise salve to get the initial bleeding to stop, Alton had immediately started Harry on medication to help his blood clot and help control the internal bleeding caused when he'd been violently grabbed in the street and then subsequently dropped onto the hard ground. Once the bruising was under control, Alton then added a medication to help stop the nerve pain, because, even unconscious, Harry groaned and shuddered every single time he was touched, leading his friend to believe there were after effects still plaguing his weak body. Overall, the combination seemed to help and soon after the regimen started, when Severus could finally see the child, he appeared to simply be sleeping.

"Any idea how long he'll be out?" Came the smooth voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. The head Auror peeked around the curtain to Severus's left.

"That depends," the former Death Eater defensively growled with a sneer, "Are you asking on the record or off?"

"Don't be like that, Severus," the other wizard pleaded, taking the second chair next to Severus's and watched Harry's labored breaths come in spurts, demonstrating just how far he still had to be healed.

Severus couldn't say he was at all surprised when he heard the Aurors were called in immediately after the explosion near Flourish and Blotts; even before Harry had taken a run for his safety. Something like that - especially in the post-Voldemort world - wouldn't be taken lightly. While sitting in the waiting room, Severus had already started to prepare himself for Harry's accidental magic to be blamed for the event. Based on the information he had managed to put together - sitting in the street of Diagon Alley and while pacing across the waiting room - from his own observations of the event, plus Ron and Hermione's accounts, the Aurors would look to Harry as a prime suspect, and inevitably one of them would show up to discuss it with him. Luckily, no one had been hurt in the incident, besides Harry, which would help the young wizard in the end. If they found the explosion was caused by an outburst of accidental magic - something Severus didn't exactly believe himself - there were plenty of precedents they could use to defend Harry to keep him out of too much trouble. That certainly didn't mean it would be easy as most of those cases were due to underaged wizards, not ones with five and a half years of magical education.

"Off the record," Kingsley responded, just as exhausted sounding as Severus felt, "at least for now."

"Alton, Harry's regular Healer, is hopeful once his pain comes down to a more tolerable level, he'll start to wake." That had been the best answer given after Severus incessantly asked the same question to his friend. "At this point, all we can do is wait."

"And he'll be alright?" Severus turned his head and stared at the Auror until he added, "This is still off the record."

"As long as the muggle medications keep working, Alton says he'll be as fine as a Leukemia patient can be after going through everything from this afternoon."

A thick, uncomfortable silence fell between the two wizards who at one point had fought side by side, albeit grudgingly and secretly. Unlike Moody, Kingsley had less of an issue with Severus's change of alliance. If he had, the professor was certain he'd still be left rotting in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Occasionally, Severus felt a sense of respect from Shacklebolt, which was something he rarely received from anyone besides Albus or Minerva, and now Harry, and for that reason only, he'd continue this conversation.

"On the record," Kingsley graciously stated, making it crystal clear they'd transitioned from colleagues to professionals, "we haven't found any sign of foul play against Mr Potter. By all accounts, it appears as if he'd been hit by the Cruciatus Curse - eye witnesses stated he suddenly started convulsing and writhing in pain on the street, yet none of our preliminary findings show the curse being used."

Severus clenched his jaw tight. Being on the record meant anything he said would be used against Harry in the event he was charged with the explosion. Giving himself half a minute, he finally went with a generic enough question to hopefully uncover some information without giving his own hypothesis away, "So where does that leave you?"

Kingsley - fully aware of what the former spy was up to - shook his head with a smirk and answered, "We'll still do an in-depth look at the area, as well as get an official statement from the eye-witnesses." This time, the Auror paused, debating in his own head how much he wanted to provide their potential prime suspect and only victim's parental figure. "Mr Barracks, the wizard responsible for the bruising to Harry's arm, stated he also received an electrical-like shock, causing his abrupt release of Mr Potter. Does that sound like something the Cruciatus can do?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"No," Kingsley leaned over and casually rested his forearms on his thighs, "I'm asking the current Defense Against the Dark Arts Master at Hogwarts and a colleague who I happen to know has more knowledge on these curses than any single member of my team."

The flattery wasn't needed, nor did it change his perspective on the issue at hand: Kingsley Shacklebolt being the Head of the Auror Department and the child he loved as his son in the middle of a more than a little questionable situation. They weren't colleagues right now, and the idea of someone attacking Harry would ultimately be the better of the two scenarios. As a Slytherin, this should have been easy - lie to preserve Harry's perceived innocence - yet he found himself wanting answers to what had happened, and only the truth would get him there.

"That is not a typical characteristic of the Cruciatus Curse," he confirmed. "While the experience is akin to every nerve in the body being shot with an electrical current, since it's not an actual current, it would not be shared should any bystander be foolish enough to touch the victim, or in this case, be holding onto the victim when the curse was used."

"So we're looking for something new?"

"Yes, in many ways," Severus cryptically replied. "I'm sure you've verified Mr Barracks's own innocence on the matter?"

"Naturally," the other wizard answered, "his wand was clear of any nefarious activity."

"That doesn't make him innocent," Severus spat back, "he dragged a teenager through the streets, hard enough to leave quite an extensive bruise I might add. That alone could have killed Harry had he not made it here as quickly as he did."

"Do you want to press charges against him?" Kingsley challenged back, "Think about what that will open up, Severus. The best we can do right now is try to get this to blow over with as little attention as possible… and that will be a challenge in its own right."

"How much damage was done?"

At first the former spy told himself he wouldn't ask; finding out would only make Harry appear more guilty. At the same time, he needed to be able to start planning how to get the young wizard out of as much trouble as possible, and to that he needed to know what they were up against.

"Off the record," Kingsley offered, to which Severus was grateful. This type of information shouldn't normally be available outside of Kingsley's official capacity as an Auror. And it wouldn't be available if Harry hadn't been so vital to the Order and Kingsley not involved with the organization. Severus found himself questioning if Albus somehow influenced this seemingly impromptu meeting in any way; it certainly had the meddling Headmaster's scent all over it. "To oversimplify it, Olivander's was set on fire, followed - or caused by, we're still trying to sort through those details - an outburst of magic. The latter is what caused the surrounding windows to blow out and, at the same time, destroyed several very old charms on the surrounding buildings. Most of the affected establishments will be uninhabitable until new charms can be set up."

"Such as?" Another question the professor knew better than to ask, nevertheless he wanted to know.

"Half of Diagon Alley is held up by balancing or permanent sticking charms, and once they were hit by the explosive magic, they immediately dissipated," Kingsley explained. He paused, silently asking if the professor actually wanted the details, and when Severus gestured with his hand for him to continue, the Auror gave a wary expression and said, "Half of the roof and the entire chimney on Mrs Lott's Swiss Bakery, for example, completely crumbled. Luckily, the old witch was quick enough to escape before she could sustain any injuries. The apothecary saw massive damage in regards to their glass phials, interestingly most of which had an impressive number of anti-breaking charms on them. And the rest saw cosmetic damage - signs splintered, doors charred, things of that matter."

Severus let each one of those pictures fill his vision. With magic, the repairs wouldn't necessarily be difficult, however that really wasn't the concern.

"How bad is this looking for him?"

Kingsley turned to peer over at Harry still laying in his bed, not nearly as peacefully as he had been earlier, which hopefully was a good sign, "I'll certainly let you know when - or rather, if - you need to be concerned for him. We're still early on in the investigation, and things can change quite quickly in this stage. We've checked his wand, of course, but he'll need to be brought in for questioning once he's recovered enough. You should prepare him, because I wouldn't be surprised if they ask to see his memory of the event, especially considering he's of age.

"Beyond that, at this point, we're focusing our efforts on interviewing the eye-witnesses from the street, Mr Barracks, your waitress at Theobold's, and obviously Olivander and Mrs Lotts, though not much has come out of it. There are a few left though, one of which came to us only a couple of hours ago. He's being interrogated as we speak, but if what I overheard before coming here is at all true, I think Harry will be just fine, legally at least. Honestly? Right now your biggest worry should be Rita Skeeter and whatever damage she's likely to put in tomorrow's Prophet."

Severus shook his head, not wanting to consider what the blasted witch would write after seeing Harry assault a man, then go running from the scene of an attack. No matter how he tried to think about it, no good would come from the publicity and he considered contacting Lucius to see if he could run some kind of interference.

"That actually leads me to why I'm here," Kingsley continued, bringing Severus back from his winding thoughts, "I need to ask if you would assist on the interrogation of this particular witness."

Narrowing his tired eyes, the former spy asked, "I don't see how you can think it would be appropriate."

"Trust me, Severus," the Auror leaned over, "you're going to want to be in on this one."

~~~~HP~~~~

Even without his glasses on, Harry knew when he woke up, he wasn't at home on Spinner's End. He recognized the scent of the hospital wing, but he also knew he hadn't been at school - so why would he be at the Hogwarts hospital wing? - and it seemed darker than when he normally woke up there. The white completely surrounding his bed area meant he was partitioned off from the rest of the room, surely in an effort to give him some privacy, meaning he had to be in some kind of medical setting which he quickly confirmed by the plain white, starchy linens he was far too familiar with. In his hazy state, he'd managed to narrow down the options to either the hospital in Surrey or St Mungo's. The metal old style bed frame, far from the technological muggle hospital bed he remembered from his surgery to insert his port, plus the overall lack of muggle medical equipment - outside of the IV stand near his head - tipped the scale to St Mungo's. Though that triggered the question: if he were being treated at St Mungo's, why did he have an IV running into the port in his chest and another on the top of his hand.

Instinctively, the young wizard reached for his glasses to take in the room around him and as he sat up he gritted his teeth in pain. The upper half of his left arm was sore - and most definitely bruised - from being dragged down the street, while at the same time his right side ached; likely from the fall when whoever had a hold of him eventually let go. But more than either of those, his nerves were still extremely sensitive, to where every move he made sent a jolt of fire down his spine and into each of his extremities. Never in all of the times he'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse had it lasted this long or been this difficult to recover from.

Breathing through the pain, Harry reached to the table beside his bed and grabbed ahold of his glasses, promptly shoving them on his face. The entire action brought him to a cold sweat, so he laid back onto his pillow hoping whatever he was experiencing would pass soon. Moving only his eyes, he looked around hoping to get some kind of answers to what had happened. Although he didn't have a window in his partitioned space - how he usually determined what time he awoke in the hospital wing - he could tell it was dark outside based on the lack of sunlight hitting the white curtain; meaning he'd been unconscious for at least half the day. On the right side of his bed stood an IV stand with two bags hanging on it, neither of which he had any clue as to what they were. His bed was completely surrounded by the white curtain - as he'd suspected, for privacy from the other patients in the shared ward - with two small chairs on the left hand side; one of which he could see filled with a slump figure covered in a black cloak, sleeping. Without a doubt, he knew it had to be Snape.

"S-sir?" Harry stuttered, trying to stay completely still otherwise he knew another wave of pain would rush through his weak body. His heart sank when the figure didn't move, so he tried again, a little louder this time, "Sev- Severus?"

Thankfully, that had gotten the professor's attention - because Harry didn't think he had the energy to call out again - and the professor shot up in his chair, startling Harry, causing him to yelp out in pain.

"Try to stay still," Snape instructed, walking up to the bed and Harry would have loved to comply, except his entire body shook from the pain. "Moving will only make it worse. You're at St Mungo's, but you're going to be alright."

At that moment, no part of the young wizard believed him, but he nodded his head to at least let the other wizard know he'd been heard. Snape laid a cool towel over Harry's forehead, and when he continued grimacing in pain after a minute, the Slytherin said, "Let me go and get Alton, I'm sure he can help adjust your medications to get you some relief."

The two minutes of Snape's absence felt like an eternity. Harry would have rather cut off his arms than continue to feel the electrical shocks running through them. He didn't cry - though he wanted to - because he'd been through so much it almost seemed trivial to allow his tears to fall. Luckily, when the curtain next opened, Healer Smithe - with Snape swiftly approaching in his wake - confidently walked up to the IV hanging beside his bed.

"It's good to see you finally awake," his Healer announced, while simultaneously switching bags on the IV stand. "This should help bring your pain levels back down while the rest of the medications continue to do their work."

"Th-thank you," Harry stammered, rubbing his head and feeling his nerves fire on both his fingers and his forehead. "W-what time is it?"

"It's just after two o'clock in the morning," Alton replied, looking through the file he carried into the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by the knight bus," Harry groaned, but the new pain medication made him feel warm and kind of fuzzy inside, "What happened?"

Snape spoke up, taking charge of the situation from the healer, for which Harry found himself grateful. He couldn't remember much of what had happened, just that he'd been at Diagon Alley trying on dozens of dress robes, being pulled by someone, the Cruciatus Curse, and then he'd woken up here. "There was an attack at Diagon Alley. You don't remember anything?"

Harry's dull emerald eyes went wide. An attack? All of the terror from Voldemort's reign should have been behind them. The Gryffindor closed his eyes trying to bring back something from the day. Burning wood. The smell of burning wood hit his nose and his breathing started to rapidly increase. Screams filled his ears... from the attack? He didn't think so. Running, panting, he remembered running away. But why would he run?

"Someone grabbed me," he managed to say, except he didn't exactly remember it as much as he just knew it had happened.

"That's right," Alton spoke up. "You've got an extensive bruise on your left arm and your entire right side is both bruised and scraped up. We used a bit of bruise salve to get it under control before switching to platelets, and now it should heal up nicely on its own. I'll keep a close watch on it the rest of the night and into the morning."

"But what about tomorrow's-"

"We'll see how you're feeling," Snape interrupted him, obviously already having anticipated where Harry's priorities would fall. "It can always be rescheduled for later in the week to give you time to heal."

Had it been any other month, Harry would jump at the opportunity to delay chemotherapy; even only by a couple of days. Unfortunately, being the week before Bill and Fleur's wedding meant any delay would impact his ability to go. He needed every day possible to allow his blood counts to rebound enough for Snape's comfort. Not wanting to complain - determined to get to chemotherapy in the morning, even if it meant he had to take himself there - Harry simply nodded his head and allowed Healer Smithe to finish his examination.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now," the healer said, after going through a myriad of tests, "but you should start to feel better as the night goes on, and with any luck you'll be heading out of here in the morning.

"After some extensive magical testing, we - Healer Walker and myself - were able to determine your raw magic had a burst of energy right around the time you were being dragged through the street," the normally kind looking healer had an expression of pure revulsion on his face as he said that part. "It's likely your magic tried to protect you from the assault, but it became misdirected and while your attacker did feel a jolt, most of the electric current pointed itself inwardly. Generally speaking, that's not what we see in traditional accidental magic."

Harry closed his eyes trying to get a feel for the magic stirring deep inside of him, ready to burst at any given moment. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that it had the reaction it did. He'd noticed something not quite right back when he had his first "post-horcrux removal" chemotherapy. Who would have thought he would prefer to have a piece of Voldemort's soul still lodged beside his own? Things had only seemed to get more complicated since that fateful day and its removal.

"So, what do I do to get it under control?" The young wizard asked. Although not ready to admit to what he'd been experiencing, this had been enough to trigger the much needed conversation.

"After speaking with Severus about some observations he's had lately, it's my professional opinion, as your magical healer, that you start the retraining process now," Healer Smithe unsurprisingly announced. "I know I said you could wait until after Maintenance, but this definitely changes things. You can't have your magic harming you… or potentially others down the road."

Harry didn't necessarily disagree, however, equally unprepared to concede to losing his magic so quickly he challenged, "Isn't there some kind of compromise? So I don't risk losing it?"

"I'm certain there is somewhere on the spectrum," the healer agreed. "Typically, we see accidental magic start to slow once the magical education process begins. Given you've had a large amount of magic deposited to you instead of a gradual increase, it's hard to say how much formal instruction it will take to swing the pendulum - so to say - in your favor. What we need is just enough to taper off the volatility of it, but not enough to cause massive depletion throughout your chemotherapy."

"That sounds complicated and not really an exact science," Harry winced in pain as another shock wave passed through him. During this whole conversation, he didn't miss the observation that, uncharacteristically, Snape hadn't spoken up about the accidental magic issue.

"No," the healer replied with a sigh, "it most certainly is not an exact science. I have a couple of resources I'll be referring to in order to find the right magical regimen to balance your health and safety, while giving you the best chance to be left with magic left two and a half years from now. Understand though, my priority is your health and safety."

Grief filled so much of Harry's body, it had to be seeping out of his pores. After everything he'd been through - the ups and downs - in regards to his magic, the unknown of it had to be the worst part of it all. He almost wished Healer Smithe would have flat out told him they couldn't save his magic. Then he'd at least have an answer, something he could hang his hat on and be prepared for. Having even a small chance of keeping it only caused him more stress through the already stressful process.

"So, then I go back to being a first year?"

This time, Snape stepped in to answer, but when he did, Harry could tell by the tone of his voice he had more to say on the matter, "Minerva and I will speak with Albus and find the best solution for this endeavor."

"Should I even be at school? Am I dangerous to the other students?" The Gryffindor nervously asked, hoping this hadn't been the reason for Snape's standoffish demeanor.

"We don't believe so," the professor curtly replied, a little too quickly for Harry's liking. He then turned to the healer and added, "Alton, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

"Of course, Severus," the Healer answered. "I'll be back to check on your progress, and come the morning, we'll discuss your plans for chemotherapy tomorrow."

Too sore to move, Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes allowing the feeling of his medication to overtake him, determined to do whatever it took to get to chemotherapy in the next - or more like that same - morning.

"I shouldn't have run away," Harry sullenly told Snape once he was certain they were as alone as they could be in a public ward.

"Harry," his mentor pulled his chair closer to the Gryffindor's bed, "you were acting on your instincts and the need to remove yourself from the potentially dangerous situation."

"What about my Gryffindor instincts?!" He argued, "if there had been an attack, I should have been helping those people, not running from it! What I did was something a…"

He stopped himself mid-sentence, trailing off and leaving the last three words 'Slytherin would do' hanging heavily between them. No one would call him out as a coward, rationally he knew that, but the picture it painted couldn't be further from how he viewed himself; and how he wanted others to view him. His parents had stood up and died for him, he should be expected to do the same.

"So what are my options with going back to school?" Harry changed the topic back to one he knew the pair would feel more comfortable navigating through at the early hour. "You said you don't think I'm dangerous to the other students, so what's going on?"

"Will you be honest with me?"

That was asking a lot and Snape knew it. While he hadn't exactly lied about things since the Manor experience, neither wizard could say they'd been honest either. But if Harry wanted the truth - the very thing he had always told the adults in his life he needed - then this would require him to take a leap of faith and be honest with Snape about his magic.

"I think my accidental magic is trying to… I dunno… hurt me somehow," he looked away when he said it, unable to watch the disappointment cross his mentor's face. "I asked Hermione for a couple of books, but so far I haven't found anything about bad accidental magic. In fact, old Pureblood families used to celebrate the start of their child's accidental magic. Which would explain by Neville's family used to torture him to get it to show itself."

Snape shook his head, in disappointment or disbelief, Harry couldn't be sure.

"Thank you," Snape confidently said and the Gryffindor's head shot up in surprise, sending a wave of pain down the back of his neck, "I wished you felt comfortable enough to tell me this sooner. I know how difficult for you it was to say it now, and I appreciate you putting your trust in me.

"As for your magic, you do have options. Remember the case Minerva found regarding the squib who had her magical block removed making her a witch?"

Harry nodded, not at all liking the tone Snape took while telling the story he very much remembered from last year.

"As it turns out," the professor continued, his voice lowering to just above a whisper as he ran his right hand nervously across his forehead, stopping to massage the small muscles between his eyebrows, "the witch had a similar reaction you are now experiencing when she received her full core of untrained, raw magic. Where she differed was that she had been a bit older than you when the block had been removed, and therefore received a full core's worth, instead of a portion of her core. What she quickly started experiencing, however, was described as powerful, angry magic targeted solely against herself. Whereas most accidental magic aids the new witch or wizard, this had overtaken her faster than she could train it."

Harry released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and covered his mouth with his hand. At least being numb all over from this news meant he no longer felt the pain from the electrical shocks still coursing through him. At that point, he would have welcomed the pain because that would be infinitely better than the numbing anxiety currently taking over inside of him.

"S-so," he stuttered, audibly swallowed, and tried again, hoping to keep himself sounding strong this time, "so where does this leave me? Obviously I need to try to retrain it."

Snape waved his wand and a book came flying out from the bag Harry hadn't previously noticed beside the professor's feet. He'd gone home at some point to gather belongings, assuming he'd be staying for a while.

"As I said, you have options," the older wizard opened the book and placed it in Harry's lap, "Albus found a way to replace the block onto your core, without you needing to become a horcrux, which will suppress any of your magic - both intentionally and accidentally casted."

Harry - still numb from the news or from the medications, he didn't care - pushed up on his elbows, accepting Snape's assistance to help him into a sitting position. The book in his lap almost seeped with dark magic and the young wizard knew before reading he wouldn't allow whatever the headmaster had found to be done on him.

Sacrificial Magical Suppression

From the Library of Ashurbanipal
Translation and commentary provided: D.N Skinner

The ancient Mesopotamians, most notably during the 3rd to 2nd millennium, saw a rich migration in linguistic and magical innovations. Akkadian and Sumarian, the two languages in the region, had a cultural symbiosis between them, leading to a shared lexicon and phonological and morphological convergence. Though Sumarian fell out of popular favor, it continued to be used for sacred and religious purposes with heavy bilingualism from Akkadian, which eventually replaced the language entirely in 1st century AD, long after the neighboring civilizations adopted their ritual and mistranslated their texts.

This particular ritual was most commonly used, per the original cuneiform text in Sumarian, to temporarily restrict a wizard's access to their magic. Though initially misunderstood as malevolent - due to cultural assumption and mistranslation - this ritual's intended purpose was neutral in intention. Magic was the ultimate sacrifice that one could offer to their Gods, and in the face of a catastrophic calamity, this ritual was created to appease their deities.

The incantation is to be spoken in Sumarian.

Ingredients:

 

  • Fresh blood of the host
  • Grave dirt taken from a relative of the host
  • Red clay collected from Abyaneh during a full moon
  • A phial of Water of Life from Abkhazia

 

After collecting the necessary ingredients, the host will mix five drops of blood into the Water of Life, and use this to wet the dirt and clay. While speaking the incantation, the host will create two figurines in the shape of dogs out of both clay and dirt. These figurines will be placed under the host's bed for three nights. On the third night, the ritual will have taken hold of the host. He will suffer one night of sleepless dreams followed by three months of dreamless sleeps, as the world will taste and feel bland while he is separated from a part of himself.

"No," Harry flatly answered, snapping the book shut, "I'm not doing this. How can you even consider it after everything Draco went through?"

"It's certainly not an easy decision, but one you should not make lightly," Snape turned away from Harry. "You should understand, though, your magic can kill you before you even get the chance to retrain it enough. Not to mention the risk you run of having nothing left after Maintenance."

In the split second Harry had made up his mind against the ritual, he hadn't considered either of those facts. What good did he do fighting the cancer if his magic ended up killing him anyway? Again, the idea of his destiny to die came flooding back into him from last year. Back then, Voldemort had been his second worry, and somehow that seemed easier than the idea of his magic killing him.

"But Healer Smithe said we can find a balance," Harry pleaded, "if we can, then I don't care about losing my magic. I knew the risk going into the chemotherapy. I can't agree to do whatever it is this-" he tossed the book back to Snape, "-entails if there's another viable option."

"Viable is a subjective word," Snape half mumbled. "There's a chance we won't know when the tipping point hits."

Harry clenched his eyes shut tightly, determined to find a compromise somewhere in their situation. "We'll know if the accidental magic doesn't stop, right?"

"Theoretically," Snape conceded after a longer pause than Harry thought necessary.

"So what if I agree to an all or nothing?" Harry suggested. "I start training it and if, after a time frame you're comfortable with, the accidental magic doesn't at least return to the normal, happy magic, I'll do the ritual?"

"I don't think you're thinking this all the way through," Snape noncommittally stated, "plus, this is hardly the time or place to make these types of decisions."

"Ok, fine," Harry tried again, "how about we revisit on Monday. By then I'll be over the side effects from my chemo tomorrow… or today... and we'll both be in a lower state of anxiety over it."

"Now you sound like your pain medication is working too well," Snape grumbled. "Dare I say, you sound almost rational."

Harry couldn't hold the chuckle and grin from his face.

"I don't need your permission," Harry reminded the professor, "I'm of age, and on paper, you're not my parent. If I don't want to do the ritual, you can't force me."

The Gryffindor had no idea what that statement - claiming he couldn't be forced into a decision which could decide if he lived or died - would mean to Snape. It brought the older wizard back to a different time and place where he had pushed his son too hard, and too forcefully to make what he assumed was the right decision. This time around, he wouldn't make that same mistake.

"I can agree to revisit the topic on Monday," Snape finally answered.

Relief filled Harry's exhausted body. He had no idea how long he'd been awake, but his eyes were now getting heavy when one last stray thought - or more accurately, memory - popped up in his mind. Hadn't he been the one to cause the attack on Diagon Alley? Images of him pushing down the wizard - what was his name? Mr Otis? - seconds before the explosion across from him, allowing him the ability to escape. Fear took over where his sleepiness had previously settled.

"My magic did it," Harry breathlessly said, pushing himself back up into a sitting position. "Why didn't they arrest me?"

"What are you talking about?" Snape didn't hide his own confusion at the sudden shift in conversation and attitude, "I don't see why you think they'd arrest you. For one, you're The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice and fighting cancer, both of which would impact their decision to send you to Azkaban, but more importantly, you didn't do anything wrong."

"What about the explosion? Or whatever that was?" Harry frantically replied, "Didn't my magic do that?"

"Ah," Snape nodded his head, infuriating Harry with his nonchalant attitude over the situation, "as it turns out, the latest theory does not involve you nor your magic as the culprit for that incident. There just so happened to be an eyewitness who saw the people causing the destruction."

"At the exact time I was being bombarded by some crazy wizard?" Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "And who-"

"Draco," Snape answered Harry's question before he could finish, and the single word practically sucked all of the oxygen from the young wizard's lungs. "Draco Malfoy had been there and saw it all."

Chapter End Notes:
Coming Up Next: Malfoys' Interlude: The Transformation

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