~~~~HP~~~~

Wednesday 15th October 1997

"You need to eat," Snape predictably scolded Harry from across the table in the kitchen of their dungeon quarters.

The young wizard swore if he heard any more about his eating habits from Snape, his friends, or anyone else, he'd promptly throw his food against the wall. The pent up emotion within him from the news last Saturday, along with the Ritual beginning tonight, was coming out as aggression and he couldn't stop if he wanted to. He couldn't say he was surprised when his mentor called for him to stay after class this morning demanding his presence for dinner together in preparation for Healer Smithe's arrival. What he expected to accomplish over dinner, Harry could only guess, and in that moment he assumed it was to make sure he actually ate; something Hermione would have had no qualms arguing with him over as well.

"Easy for you to say," Harry complained, taking an exaggerated bite of his dinner roll, "you're not about to start a week of hell."

"If I could-"

"Yeah, I know," Harry frustratedly cut him off, "But just because you say it, doesn't actually make me feel any better about this. I get it, alright, pretty much anyone would be willing to do this for me, but that's easy talk when you're sitting in the cheap seats. I'd like to hear any of you say that after getting your body pumped with the poison."

Snape sighed, making Harry feel guilty for being in another sour mood. It shouldn't be this difficult, and yet every fiber inside of his body wanted to storm out and run away. How far would he make it until either his magic or Leukemia would kill him?

Not far enough, he concluded.

Feeling Snape's glare practically burning a hole into the top of his head, Harry took a bite of his Shepherd's Pie, not bothering to look up to see Snape's smug satisfaction. Normally his favorite of the Hogwarts dinners, tonight - like every other piece of food he'd put in his mouth since his relapse diagnosis - it tasted like ash. He'd force himself to eat it, if only to stop the incessant statement he'd gotten so tired of hearing. The sound of their silverware clinking against their bowls and sips of pumpkin juice - or some kind of wine for Snape - rang loudly against the stone walls as they continued their meal in silence.

"Do you have any questions you'd like to discuss regarding tonight's activities prior to Alton's arrival?" Snape's formal voice only made Harry more frustrated and, if he were honest, a little nervous. In his true fashion, the young wizard started bouncing his leg under the table to work off some of his negative energy. Shifting his body to get a clear view of Harry's leg , Snape added, "I'm going to assume by your inability to sit still, the answer to my question is 'yes'."

"No," Harry argued, clicking his teeth together to stall; Snape sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting, "Fine…" he spat throwing his arms in the air, "what is going to happen tonight? And will it hurt?"

Snape flinched at the second question, an observation Harry would have been proud of himself for noticing had its implications not been so meaningful.

"Tonight will not hurt," the professor very carefully answered, the words obviously chosen with caution so as not to get caught in a web of lies. "In fact, tonight and tomorrow will be more mentally taxing than physically."

"Because I have to make figurines of dogs from my parents grave dirt?"

That time he hadn't meant to sound as condescending as it came out. He really did dread the idea of playing with grave dirt.

"You're certainly taking it better than most would," Snape replied. "I personally would rather spit on my parents' grave dirt than use them to help save my life. But yes, that's the reason why."

The statement was sad and oddly humorous at the same time, allowing him to release some of his anger around the situation. Harry liked to think his parents would be more than willing to give up some of their dirt to help block his magic in order to save his life, however he had to remember Snape's probably wouldn't. Living with the Dursleys had left its own emotional scar on him, but in the back of his mind he knew his parents loved him; enough to sacrifice their lives for him. Snape didn't have that to fall back on.

"So I'm going to make these… dogs…" Harry started, trailing off unsure of himself, but Snape didn't offer any help to finish his train of thinking, "... using some kind of water and my own blood?"

"Exactly. While we - likely Albus - speak an incantation," the professor clarified. "This will then go under your pillow while you sleep for the next three nights."

Harry nodded almost mindlessly. "So that'll put me finishing on Friday night right before I go to the hospital on Saturday?"

"Correct," Snape answered. "It's certainly cutting it closer than I would have liked, but we are fortunate to be able to get this done now."

Fortunate wasn't exactly how Harry would describe it, not that he would say so. The two of them sat as a heavy silence fell between them. Harry took another tasteless bite of his dinner.

"And if I wake up on Saturday with magic?" He hated to ask the question which had been bothering him since he agreed to all of this three days ago. "Then what do we do?"

Snape covered his mouth with his hand - his long fingers covering his lips - and said, "We continue with the chemotherapy as scheduled this weekend and hope by the next full moon we can figure out what went wrong."

The Gryffindor's eyebrows lowered, "But I thought my magic wouldn't allow the chemotherapy to help me?"

"Actually we don't know what it will do," the professor replied, honestly, leaning forward and folding his hand on the table. "If I had to wager a guess, you'd experience the magical core burning throughout the entirety of your hospital stay."

Oh, that's not good, Harry thought to himself. He didn't need to say the words aloud knowing Snape likely thought them too.

"Dr Swanson came by earlier today and left these for you," with a wave of his wand, a set of pamphlets came flying over from the counter into the professor's waiting hand. He slid them across the small table and said, "I expect you to read through them by Friday night. Staying overnight in a muggle hospital will be challenging enough, it would benefit us both to be prepared for whatever we can."

Is he already preparing for the ritual to fail?

No. Snape made contingency plans to his contingency plans - a skill Harry could have used years ago - and that was exactly what he was trying to do. He didn't want to grab the pamphlets, but he did, if for no other reason than to prevent another argument between them. Titles like Understanding Your Cancer's Relapse, Getting to Know: Guildford Hospital - Adolescent Young Adult Oncology Unit, and Preparing for Inpatient Chemotherapy caused him to swallow back the bile threatening to creep up his throat.

"I'll try," Harry conceded, knowing it was the best he could give at this point. "Will you be staying with me at the hospital?"

He hated how juvenile he sounded asking the question, but at the same time he didn't retract it either.

"If you'd like me to," the professor casually offered. "One adult caregiver is permitted to stay with you overnight, but it needn't be me if it makes you uncomfortable."

Harry's head recoiled back, "Who else would I want to stay there?"

Snape held his arms out gesturing he didn't know, "I simply want you to know all of your options." He pointed to the pamphlets in Harry's hand, "The policies are all outlined in there. I highly suggest you look over the one about the Adolescent Oncology Unit. It's where you'll be staying."

A second reminder to read them. Since he'd failed to read through the first set last year, he couldn't really blame Snape for the extra emphasis. Harry thumbed the thick papers between his fingers, but before he could say another word about who would or wouldn't be staying at the hospital with him, a piece of parchment popped up in front of Snape.

"It's time?" Harry asked warily, wishing he hadn't eaten the measly bites of his dinner as Snape slowly nodded his head.

Harry sat silent while Healer Smithe collected the blood using his port, proving Snape correctly that not much was needed and the process wouldn't be traumatic; nowhere near what Draco had endured during the Blood Ritual. He stayed silent when Dumbledore presented the dirt from his parents' gravesite - not offering if it had come from one in particular or a little from both - and the clay from some region Harry hadn't pretended to know, which at first appeared to be their limiting reagents; the one item needing to be collected under the full moon. But when Snape came back from his office carefully carrying the black, thick glass phial of the Water of Life, something made Harry question what made this water necessary for the procedure.

He'd asked the question - "Where did the water come from?" - and had been greeted by three sets of blank eyes staring back at him. A solid minute later, they had yet to move confirming whatever this water was it had to be hardest to collect. Healer Smithe recovered first, mumbling something about taking the water and the blood to mix prior to their introduction into the clay and grave dirt, and swiftly took all the ingredients over to the same desk where Harry had started his two hundred lines to get the process started. It only proved to make Harry more nervous regarding this special water and its origins.

His healer's departure caught Snape's attention and he shook his head in apparent disappointment, squinted his eyes and told Harry, "I was fortunate enough to have a contact with access to this particular ingredient, saving us the extra trip to its native location. Otherwise, I'm afraid we wouldn't have had the time, nor the resources, to obtain it plus the clay and soil."

Soil. Harry wondered the difference between soil and dirt. Shaking his head to clear away the tangent thought, he challenged, "But that doesn't really answer my question. What makes it the Water of Life? And does it have anything to do with why this whole thing is considered dark magic or is it my blood?"

"The Water-" Snape started, but Dumbledore interjected.

"Harry," the headmaster's voice held all the calming and confidence within it that used to make Harry believe the older wizard held all of the answers. At least it had until his fifth year, now the voice sounded condescending and patronizing; two of the three things Harry absolutely hated to hear, the last being sympathy. "As I'm sure you remember from your potions courses, magic which utilizes human blood is considered Blood Magic and although it has the tendency to lean towards being classified as dark magic, it is the intention of its use which qualifies any potion, spell, or ritual as such. There are plenty of potions out there which requires the user's blood in a perfectly safe manner. In this case, using it to intentionally take away a wizard's magic crosses that line… though I must also point out the term Dark Magic or Dark Arts is not necessarily synonymous with evil. In certain circumstances the use of a dark ritual can be beneficial."

"Like we're doing?" Thinking about it like that - as an exception to dark magic - almost helped ease Harry's animosity over the ritual. "Because it's being used to save my life, it's not dark?"

Dumbledore paused a second too long, "One could argue that, however, using Draco's blood in the Blood Ritual helped save Voldemort's life last year, did it not?"

"But he was forced to give his blood," Harry argued, "I'm volunteering mine. Is that the difference?"

"It doesn't do any of us any good to argue the semantics," the headmaster dismissed his worry, "Do you have any other questions while we wait?"

"Yeah," he practically whispered, "why do you need my blood?"

Dumbledore may have initiated the conversation, but Harry's gaze never left Snape's face - the one he'd gotten so used to recognizing an omission of the truth - and didn't like what he saw. The Slytherin lifted his eyes, meeting Harry's and steeled his emotion, another familiar move Harry's hated to see.

"The ritual requires your blood as a beacon, so to say," the younger professor began to explain. "It allows the incantation to recognize your unique magical signature in order to place the block. We wouldn't want the spell to become misaligned, now would we?"

"Erm," Harry stalled, trying to figure out what felt wrong with the reasoning. Leave it to Snape to out smart him, and when his mentor raised his eyebrows waiting for an answer, the young wizard knew he'd lost. "I guess not."

"Here we are," Healer Smithe announced his completion of the preparations. He returned holding two pestles - one filled with damp, pliable clay and the other with a thick mud - and placed them both on the sitting room table in front of Harry. "I've moistened the solids you'll use to create the figurines while Professor Dumbledore recites the incantation. Do you have any last questions before we begin?"

The other three wizards all looked between each other at the irony of Healer Smithe's question. Clearly the other man hadn't been listening to a word they'd discussed. Now that everything sat right in front of him, waiting to come together and start the process, his mind was riddled with dozens of questions, and every single one of them was more important than the one his brain, or mouth, chose to ask, "How big do I need to make the dogs?"

Healer Smithe gave a small laugh, peering into the two blue ceramic bowls on the table; curiously neither of which came from Snape's kitchen. If nothing else, the idiotic question helped to release the tension between the four wizards. "It's not a lot of substance to work with," he admitted, "so however big or small they end up to use all of it. I'd guess around five centimeters each."

Harry poked the clay, half expecting it to attack him. The thought of his blood being used to hydrate the mixture turned his stomach, even if he couldn't see the red tinged water. The clay felt silky under his finger, not at all like the clay he used to mould back in primary school, which always had a sticky texture to it and left residue under his fingernails for hours. Rather this clay almost beckoned him to use it.

"What if they don't look like dogs?" His eyebrows knit together as he looked between the adults surrounding him, watching him as if he were in a fishbowl.

Snape conjured up a picture of a cartoon dog and handed it to Harry, "There aren't exactly detailed instructions for this process, so let's assume they have to bear some kind of resemblance to the animal requested. Take your time and try your best because we are only granted one chance at this prior to treatment starting on Saturday."

No pressure then. Harry swallowed nervously, "What will happen once it's done?"

"Nothing," Healer Smithe answered. "You'll put them under your pillow and go to sleep. Tonight and tomorrow night you'll fall into a dreamless sleep and then Friday night sleepless dreams. Assuming we hit those milestones, when Saturday rolls around you'll have no more magic."

"And it won't hurt?"

"Tonight won't hurt a bit, Harry," his healer strategically said with a smile the young wizard couldn't believe. Given how closely the second answer to this question matched Snape's first, naturally, Harry wanted to ask what the next two nights would be like. Instead, he found himself staring at the two bowls, nodding his agreement, as his Gryffindor courage was buried too far down to reach. He'd just have to wait and see what tomorrow and Friday would bring.

~~~~SS~~~~

Something had gone wrong with the ritual last night. Severus was absolutely sure of it; nothing else could explain why Harry was still asleep over fifteen hours later. Admittedly, there had been very little to go on about the process overall - too reminiscent of his taking the red potion with almost no details on its side effects - and nowhere did it state how long the dreamless sleep would last. Logically, one could assume the young wizard would at least wake up prior to the next night's sleep, but at this point he hoped it would be long enough for the young wizard to be able to eat before his next slumber.

"Still out?" Alton asked, walking into Harry's room and handing him a cup of strong coffee Severus accepted without question.

They decided last night not to leave Harry alone just in case he had some kind of negative reaction to the procedure - something Severus hated to say was more likely than it should have been given Harry's history - and so Severus, Alton, and Albus spent the night rotating out to watch over the young Gryffindor. Severus's observation time started at three in the morning and he chose to miss his classes refusing to leave Harry's side until he awoke, stating he wouldn't be focused on his class anyways. So far, the young wizard had only slept more soundly than Severus had ever seen. All three wizards expected Harry to have woken up sometime around breakfast, but now lunch was approaching and he made no further indication of joining them, causing Severus to believe something had gone horribly wrong.

"He's still sleeping," the professor confirmed to his friend. With a sigh, Alton ran his wand over Harry's body - tucked neatly under his green blanket - running yet another diagnostic scan. "Everything looks good?"

"Yes," the healer answered what Severus already knew. He ran his own scan at least every hour since it became obvious Harry wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. "Did you eat something, Severus? I can take watch from here if you haven't. It'll do you well to get a change of scenery."

Severus shook his head both answering the question and denying the offer to leave.

"Why is this taking so long?" He asked impatiently. "We're going onto sixteen hours! At this rate he'll wake up only to have to turn around and go back to sleep."

"I don't know anything about the Dark Arts and their rituals, Severus," his friend pleaded. "What I can tell you is that his vitals all look fine and he's not in any pain. Outside of that, we can only wait for everything to run its course."

"And what about tomorrow?" The professor challenged, taking a sip of his black coffee and feeling the caffeine hit every cell of his body, almost instantly perking them up. His eyes were heavy and burned with exhaustion, but he refused to move or sleep.

"Since tonight should follow the same as today," Alton told him, "I would highly suggest we all take tonight to rest. If the dreamless sleep is a long, solid night's sleep, we can assume sleepless dreams will be quite the opposite. And if that's the case, we need to keep our strength for it."

Severus agreed, but didn't comment on the suggestion, "And when the block is finally in place? It will be like his magical core dying all over again. From what I was told, he was in an unfathomable amount of pain."

He still hated himself for not being there for Harry during the incident which was as taxing on him emotionally as it was physically. He hoped this time expecting the loss made the pain more tolerable, but, as he had too much experience with, hope could only go so far.

Suddenly, a loud crack rang through the small room and three plates of lunch appeared on the desk. Severus rolled his eyes at the headmaster's simultaneously all knowing presence in the castle and his incorrect belief of Harry having woken up for the meal. Had the young wizard eaten enough at dinner last night? It was imperative for Harry to keep his strength for Saturday, and yet looking back Severus couldn't remember seeing him eat a decent meal since before his diagnosis last Saturday morning.

Silently, Severus handed one of the plates to Alton, and started in on his own as a peace offering to avoid the healer from answering his previous question; an answer he already knew, but didn't want to hear.

"What do you think Harry's realistic expectation on school should be?" Severus asked instead. Although he'd been the one to push the Gryffindor into classes last year, he could see that wouldn't necessarily be the right choice for his relapse treatment. Thinking back to his conversation with Lucius the other day, he added, "And my schedule as well. What can we expect?"

"Similar to his early phases last year, you'll need to be mindful of Harry's lower immune system. Since he'll be at the hospital during the worst of it, he won't necessarily need to be under hard quarantine here," Alton eventually said. "Though after reading through the treatment protocol, you should plan to hold him home for at least a week after his inpatient treatment. For the single treatment at the clinic, it should only be a day or two, until he feels up to moving around again. The second one will be what he's been doing in Maintenance, at least the weeks he had an IT with the IV."

"So he won't be able to do any classes?"

Alton slowly shook his head. "Obviously without magic the classes aren't really beneficial, but he can realistically only attend one week out of every three. Even that may be difficult to manage with his fatigue and pain levels."

"So he can't do anything here?"

"Don't be difficult," the Ravenclaw responded. "You asked, and I assumed you wanted honesty."

"I want solutions," Severus spat back, his eyes dark with his frustration over the events he couldn't control.

"Which requires honesty," Alton's eyes didn't leave Severus's as he challenged the professor. "Don't forget this will be harder on his body than almost anything else he's done so far. My recommendation would be to utilize the sanitation spell as much as possible here in your quarters and let his friends spend time with him. Balance the need for structure to prevent his idle mind with things that won't put too much pressure on him. His body needs time to rest and heal first and foremost. The rest you figure out later.

"As for you? Get help when you need it… I'm serious about that one, Severus, don't try to do this all by yourself. Talk to Albus about flexibility in your classes, which is something the social worker assigned to Harry's care will cover with you both -" Severus conveniently chose to ignore that statement, "- but also don't forget to take some of the time for yourself too, especially when Harry has an entire hospital staff there to help him."

Severus scoffed. All of that sounded great on paper, or talk, in this case, but realistically no one outside of the Weasleys - and the muggle aspect of this would challenge them too much - felt as responsible for Harry as Severus did. But he couldn't deny that far too often his thoughts wandered into the dangerous category where he questioned how this round would impact him personally and professionally. He had the urge to call Mae, and not as someone who could answer the plethora of questions plaguing his mind, as someone who he could wrap arms around and tell how scared he was that Harry would die no matter how hard they tried to beat this and how guilty he felt thinking of himself at the same time. That single confession scared him not only for its content - because too often he dreamed about his son's death - but also about how much it changed the dynamic of his relationship with the muggle nurse.

The two wizards moved onto lighter topics, covering everything from Sarah Smithe's new position at their local library, Mary's increasing accidental magic and her unique control over it - reminding Severus of Lily - and the upcoming Halloween Ball, an event Severus dreaded attending on so many different levels. About an hour into their lunch, and approaching the seventeenth hour of Harry's slumber, the green blanket on the bed started to shift and stir. Relief filled every corner of Severus's body. Acting quickly, Alton pulled out his wand and ran another diagnostic scan on the Gryffindor as he woke up.

"Hold it there. Don't move so fast," Severus instructed, just above a whisper, helping Harry up into a sitting position and handing him his glasses, followed by the goblet of water that came with his lunch. "How are you feeling?"

"Well rested," the young wizard smiled. "I don't think I've slept that well in… almost ever."

"I should hope so, you've been out almost seventeen hours," the professor acknowledged.

"Really?!" Harry's green eyes went wide, "is that normal?"

"For a ritual we have no idea the side effects on?" Severus sarcastically answered, "I guess we'll find out on Saturday morning."

"Good point," Harry muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his bed.

"Are you in pain?" Alton asked, picking up on Harry's uneasiness, and casting a third diagnostic charm. "Everything on your scan is coming back normal, but that doesn't mean there's something the scans don't pick up."

They all intimately knew what kind of things he referred to.

"Erm," Harry's face went bright red, "not exactly… I just really need to use the loo."

"Oh, of course," the professor said, getting up from next to the bed and offering his hand to Harry to help him up, genuinely surprised when the young wizard accepted his assistance.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching now that he had the space and made his way to his ensuite lavatory making a comment about being famished when he caught sight of his lunch plate in passing. Severus closed his eyes against the pain in his chest over Harry's simple declaration over his lunch. As he always did, the professor wished things would stay this calm down and finally ease up on them. Unfortunately, Severus knew all too well they were never that lucky.

~~~~HP~~~~

Friday 17th October 1997

Harry sat on his bed in the dungeons fiddling with the pamphlet between his fingers. The sleek, thick, glossy paper smoothly ran its course from his index finger on his left hand, over and around making its way to the pinkie, then swapping over to his right to repeat the journey. Although watching the paper move about his hands provided a sufficient distraction from the task ahead of him, he'd actually have to open and read it to complete what should have been the simple act of packing for his first inpatient chemotherapy tomorrow morning. Shaking the pamphlet back and forth, he finally paused long enough to see the picture of the Guildford Hospital on the front right under the headline: Preparing for Inpatient Chemotherapy Treatment.

The empty bag at his feet mocked him for not having a single item within it and Harry was brought to when he had to pack his trunk for Hogwarts back at Spinner's End. Things then felt so much more complicated because he had this dark cloud over him, and now that it started to pour - a forecast he'd been waiting on and expecting - it almost relieved some of the pressure. And yet, just like Draco's letters still sitting on his bedside table in the Tower - another task he dreaded doing when he returned because he wouldn't be going back to live there - he found he couldn't open the pamphlet.

Harry closed his eyes and thought of his parents. The ritual, more specifically moulding the dogs with dirt from their graves, had brought back so many unwanted thoughts regarding their death, that he found himself being pulled into the memory of sitting between them last year, when he'd died taking the killing curse for Snape. Not for the first time this week, he questioned if returning from there had been a wise choice. Had he stayed, he wouldn't be facing the pain from having his core blocked or the prospect of essentially four days of multiple, high-doses of chemotherapy. He also wouldn't be able to see and experience Draco and Hermione's relationship growing, or really reconnect with Ron as a brother, continue to repair and grow his relationship with Dudley, or experience a father's love while at school from Snape. He wanted to be here, but at the same time he still questioned if he would be strong enough to handle it all. No one else seemed to doubt him, so why should he. But, it would only be a matter of time before they all moved on; a visual he'd get to see first hand come Hogsmeade or the Halloween Ball if realistically he could attend either of them.

Shaking his head to clear out the negativity, Harry simultaneously opened his eyes and the pamphlet at the same time. Staring back at him, as the second question on the page, was the very text he needed:

What should I bring to the hospital?

1. A list of all medicines you take

2. Clothing: you may wear your own pyjamas, the hospitals, or other comfortable clothing. Remember to keep in mind continuous access to your central line or port will be required. Many patients recommend layers and zip up jumpers as the hospital tends to get cold.

3. Slippers or shoes: please bring a pair of clean slippers or non-skid shoes that are easy to put on and take off. Always wear your slippers or shoes when you are out of bed. Take them off before getting back into bed.

4. Eyeglasses or contact lenses, if you need them. Some types of chemo can make your eyes hurt if you wear contact lenses. Ask your doctor if it is OK for you to wear contact lenses during your specific treatment.

5. Activities and entertainment. You may bring items to help you pass the time while you are in the hospital:

– Books

– Movies and CDs

– Needlework, knitting, crocheting

– Other hobbies or interests

Feel free to bring photographs of family, friends, pets, and loved ones to decorate your room. We want you to feel as at home and comfortable as possible.

Each room has a TV and a VHS player.

If you stay in the hospital because of serious side effects, you may not be able to prepare ahead of time. Your caregivers can bring these items to you during your stay.

Harry felt a tear slide down his cheek by the time he reached the end; it was becoming too real. Swiping the tear away, he started to seriously think about what to pack. Embarrassingly, he'd need to ask Snape for the list of medications he took. While Dr Swanson made sure he could easily identify them during his imprisonment at Malfoy Manor, he wasn't confident enough to trust he knew the dosages of them all off the top of his head. Number two made the most sense and even if his bag remained empty for now, he did have a plan for his clothes - pretty much everything he'd wear for chemotherapy - to keep him feeling comfortable. The less he wore of the hospital's clothing the better he'd feel. The third bullet point - slippers or shoes- made sense too, however he hadn't really considered his feet. Living in a cold castle, he'd either gotten used to pulling his slippers and thick socks on, or literally having cold feet. To help remember, he pulled one of his sketching pencils from his desk and circled it. He skipped number four - there was no way he'd forget his glasses. Leaving him the hardest two to figure out: activities to bring and ways to feel at home. How much time would he have? If he were there getting chemo, or some other medication almost constantly, then it wasn't like he'd be doing anything outside of waiting for the side effects to hit him. Had they even gone over what those side effects would be? If any of the medications were new to him, he could hold onto a little sliver of hope they might not be as bad as the protocol he followed for his initial diagnosis; even if deep down he knew it was only wishful thinking. The rest of the pamphlet went over his care team - a whole different set of nurses and doctors in addition to Dr Swanson - and what to expect; everything from check-in to discharge. The last section he couldn't read yet, it made the whole situation too real for him, and with the last night of the block procedure to get through, for all he knew that would fail and he would have only gotten himself worked up for nothing.

A knock on his door drew his attention away from the glossy pamphlet and over to his doorway. Being only an hour or so after dinner, they still had a few more hours until Healer Smithe would arrive for the start of the procedure; another process he tried to ignore.

"Come in," he said, but with his voice scratchy, it came out not much louder than a whisper. Still, the person on the other side must have heard because the door slowly opened.

Harry smiled - and almost cried, but he wasn't about to admit that - at the sight of Ron, Lavender, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, and Dudley all scrunched up in his doorway to greet him. They were all dressed in casual muggle clothing, ready to start their carefree weekend, and Hermione held a large red and gold bag tightly in her hand.

"Hey, you," Hermione took the first step into his room. "Feel up for some company tonight?"

"What are you guys doing here?" Harry asked, not trying to sound rude, but his brain wasn't in the best mindspace to entertain company.

"Visiting you, you twat," Ron answered, plopping down on the floor next to Harry's empty bag. Taking a peek in, he chuckled and said, "I think you're actually supposed to put things in here, y'know."

The statement served its intended purpose because Harry laughed easing the tension in the air around them. Following Ron's lead, the rest of his group of friends came into the room, settling down wherever they could. Lavender sat on the floor, against his bed practically in Ron's lap, Dudley straddled his wooden desk chair backwards, Draco and Hermione took up the space across from Ron and Lavender against his wardrobe - the Malfoy Heir looking the most out of place sitting on the floor with his legs straight out in front of him, crossed at the ankles - leaving Ginny to sit directly next to Harry on his bed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend this was any other normal moment rather than a farewell gathering, all of them unsure when they'd actually get to see him again.

"Did you need help packing?" Ginny softly asked, looking around his room as if she would know where everything was located and what he may need.

"Yeah, Gin," Ron laughed, "because I'm sure Harry really wants you going through his pants drawer to pick out the ones with the little hearts on them."

No one in the room was surprised when Ginny reached over and smacked her brother across the side of his head. Growing up with six older brothers, the red-headed witch knew how to stand up for herself and had no qualms in doing so. Her combination of maternal instinct and ruggedness was something Harry found oddly endearing.

"I'm good, Ginny," Harry shook his head as his face became hot and flushed. "So why are you guys here?"

"To see you, of course," Ginny giggled, repeating what Ron had told him. "We couldn't let you just leave the Great Hall without a proper good luck."

"And we brought you this," Hermione stood awkwardly and brought him the bag she'd been holding. "It's from all of us, plus something extra from the House."

Draco quickly lifted his hand in the air and said, "I'd like the record to show I didn't get a choice in the horrendous colors of the wrapping. Seriously, you Gryffindor's are so gaudy and obvious, a nice blue would have been sufficient."

When Hermione sat down back down next to her boyfriend she gave him an affectionate elbow to the ribs, causing Harry to wince when she made contact.

"I'll keep that mind, Malfoy," Harry commented while slowly opening the bag to reveal paper with small snitches fluttering around every which way.

The bag was heavier than Harry would have expected and he felt nervous about whatever could be inside, but he couldn't really articulate why. The first thing he pulled out was a book so worn his eyebrows lowered contemplating where it'd come from. The front was a full array of colors almost melting into one another - had it been real, they would have mixed together into an ugly brown covering the paperback - with the title Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy filling the entire space. The lack of moving across it immediately told Harry the book was of muggle origin.

"Whenever my dad needs some time to regroup, he's always reading this book," Hermione spoke up, nervously wringing her hands in her lap. "I sent him an owl asking for the name, telling him I wanted to get you a copy to keep your mind off of chemotherapy, and he sent me his to give to you. There are two or three others that are part of the same series but if you don't like it-"

"-Thank you, Hermione," Harry cut her off, feeling his throat start to swell. He opened the book and flipped through the worn, dog-eared pages. This book had belonged to, and been well loved by, Mr Granger and he'd sent it to Hermione hoping Harry would get as much enjoyment reading it as he had. A man he'd hardly known, had met only a handful of times even, was thinking of him and shared his own choice of text for relaxation. "This looks brilliant, thank him for me."

Next, he pulled out a set of colored pencils and the most elaborate coloring book he'd ever seen, a puzzle of a castle looking so much like Hogwarts Harry questioned if it actually somehow was the ancient castle, and a small portable CD player with headphones - which he was sure Dudley had gotten from Aunt Marge at his last birthday, but Harry didn't want to draw attention to it - and a set of CDs for him to listen to at the hospital, the only place the electronic would function for him. Then came a set of more practical items: earplugs, non-scented lotion, a variety of snacks he wasn't sure he'd be able to bring, and a new set of warm slippers.

The last two items he pulled out almost unravelled him. They were red picture frames with muggle style still pictures placed inside. The first one Harry recognized as being from his birthday - who took the picture or when completely escaped his mind - with Harry and Snape sitting at the picnic style table surrounded by the rest of the guests; the candles on Harry's birthday cake still lit waiting for the young wizard to make a wish before blowing them out. The second picture Harry did recognize and remembered taking, but its original version was definitely a moving wizarding photograph, meaning it had been redeveloped just for him. The photograph was from his third year right after the Gryffindor team had won the Quidditch Cup. Harry and the rest of the team were in their Quidditch robes posing for their victory picture with the whole house out on the pitch, McGonagall proudly standing in the center with Harry to her right gripping the snitch in his hand. Of all of Harry's Hogwarts days, this one had to be one of his happiest, and to be able to bring it with him, to remind him - alongside the one of him with Snape - of what he was fighting to live for couldn't be expressed in words; a time before the triwizard tournament, Voldemort and the Department of Mysteries, a time where Harry genuinely looked happy. As he went to put the frames back in the bag, a slip of folded paper fell from behind the frame. Curious over the contents, Harry opened it. In large cursive script the message Good Luck Harry! was written across the center surrounded by smaller messages and signatures from all of his housemates.

"Thank you, guys," Harry said, hoping his voice sounded calmer than he felt inside. "This means a lot to me… really, you have no idea how much."

"We wanted to put together some things for you to take to the hospital," Dudley explained. "Hermione and Ginny organized most of it, but everyone here had a part."

"I asked Professor Snape if he had any suggestions on what you might need or want while you're there," Ron spoke up, surprising Harry that his friend had taken the initiative to ask the professor. "It may be only a few days, but we all know how much you hate being stuck at the hospital wing, so hopefully some of this will make it bearable."

Draco gave a small scoff, "Knowing Potter, he'll be planning his escape route as they're walking him into his room."

They all had a good laugh over the joke, knowing his feelings about being cooped up in a bed. Harry went to place the bag of goodies into his overnight bag, but Ginny placed her hand on top of his arm to stop him.

"There's one more thing in there," the sixth year told him, giving him a smile while he reached in and pulled out two galleons; one with an odd "S" inscribed on the front and the other looking like a standard coin. With the golden circles held out in his open palm, the others around the room all held out their hands showing off identical coins.

Though Harry knew exactly what they were, Hermione said, "I've charmed another set so if you need any of us, you just have to write into the coin and it will display the message to us and vice versa. This way, even when you come home here, hopefully you won't feel so alone."

Harry nodded knowing it wouldn't come close to showing his appreciation. "Why do I have two?"

"I made a separate one for you and Professor Snape to communicate," Hermione's face flushed a bit as she explained the second galleon's purpose.

"Merlin knows we all don't want to see what you write to Severus," Draco called out, earning him a small scolding "stop it" from his girlfriend.

Harry appreciated the distraction for what it was; a way to divert some of the attention away from the things he didn't want to think about, like if Snape would be staying with him there - something the young wizard changed his mind about almost by the hour - or the last night of the ritual where if everything went as planned he would wake up a squib tomorrow.

"So how's the Halloween Ball planning going?" Harry asked so suddenly, everyone but Lavender looked around at each other almost confused. Ron's girlfriend clapped her hands together excitedly and started on the decorations, food, and music; all things he was sure the Gryffindor witch shouldn't have had a say on, being that she wasn't a prefect.

The friends sat around his bedroom chatting, going over the details of the event. Lucky for Harry, Halloween fell on a Friday and the day before his chemotherapy at the clinic; meaning his blood counts would be at their highest and giving him the best opportunity to go. Assuming he felt well enough to attend in general, he had every intention of being there. What he didn't know was if he'd be able to attend their Hogsmeade gathering the weekend beforehand - where the girls made plans to meet at Gladrags for last minute dress shopping - and if he would bring a date to the ball. Although his friends would all be paired up for the two occasions - the latest gossip being Neville asking Hannah Abbott and Seamus bringing Loretta Cornhill, a sixth year Ravenclaw Harry knew from his Potions and Herbology classes - Harry didn't think it wise to ask someone without knowing if he'd be able to go until the morning of the ball. Images of any witch he asked getting all ready in her dress only to be told her date stood her up would make the occasion more stressful for them both. Lavender contended against his reasoning, but he didn't budge. Regardless of how much more comfortable they had all become with the opposite sex since the Yule Ball, Harry refused to put someone else in the position of waiting on him.

Harry didn't know how long the group sat around his room talking and laughing, and he didn't want to know. Each passing minute was sixty seconds closer to the time when they'd be asked to leave and Healer Smithe's arrival. He didn't want to pack, he didn't want to try to fall asleep with an audience, and he didn't want to leave for the hospital in the morning. Maybe Snape would let him have one of the anxiety tablets if he asked? Would it affect the ritual? All he knew was that he had too much at stake to risk it, and so he'd probably bear down through whatever the night would bring and hope the dawn would come early enough; hopefully, thinking of his friends would give him all the strength he needed to persevere through it.

~~~~SS~~~~

"I never took you as one to entertain a group of teenagers," Minerva jested, sitting across from Severus not at all hiding her enjoyment over seeing the group of Harry's friends walking through his quarters to Harry's bedroom like they owned the place. Though he'd invited them down after dinner to help keep Harry company, never did he expect them to arrive at the same time as Minerva, crossing his two worlds in a way he vehemently tried to prevent.

Given the week Severus had, plus what was to come this weekend, their Friday night tea changed locations from his classroom office to his sitting room, and appropriately went from a cup of tea to a glass of wine; without any commentary on Minerva's previous experience of seeing him with alcohol. Severus knew she needed this time to rationalize what was about to happen just as much he did. No matter how much everyone around him pretended nothing had happened - for Harry's sake as well as their own - the news had hit the entire castle hard. Being more or less quarantined away for the last several days, the professor had no clue if the Prophet had caught wind of it yet. If so, no one had alerted him to it, likely for their own safety. He had three days of papers saved up in his bag to take to the hospital tomorrow where he planned on catching up with the Wizarding World News.

"Entertaining is a stretch," Severus replied to his colleague's heckle, "they're all in Harry's room doing Merlin knows what."

To this, Minerva mischievously raised her eyebrows, "And you don't feel the need to at least leave his door opened?"

Giving a hard sigh, he shook his head incredulously, "For one, I am here and they are on the other side of that wall-" he pointed haphazardly behind him. "More importantly, there are seven teenagers in that small room. Even being outnumbered by your rule defying Lions, I doubt they can get into too much trouble."

"If you say so." Her tone and casual sip of her wine made him second guess his theory. What did she know about her students - the majority of those behind the closed door - compared to his one? "How are things with your lovely lady friend? Does she know about Harry?"

Severus cringed at the title used to describe Mae, but he wasn't about to confirm her suspicion about the official titles they discussed after their movie date. Given Harry's diagnosis though, all of that was now up in the air, and really he had no idea where they stood.

"Don't you find it a touch inappropriate to ask given what's going on?"

She smiled at him. "Of course not. Someone has to think about your needs, otherwise you're likely to work yourself into the ground."

"And you've decided to be that person?"

"It could be Albus," she offered, to which he definitely rolled his eyes. "So you either answer the question about your lovely date or if you've discussed taking time off from your classes."

The way she said the second half triggered a memory from his old reality:

"I need to take some time off, Albus," Severus had told his employer, leaving no room for debate on the topic or question as to why. He stood in the headmaster's office only a short three weeks after Harry's terminal diagnosis, dressed in an almost inappropriately casual attire of jogging bottoms and plain black long-sleeved shirt - a visual testament to his struggles. "It should only be until Harry-"

"Of course, Severus," the other Albus told him, holding his hand up to stop Severus from finishing his sentence. No one let him finish when he brought up his son's impending death. Almost as if they feared speaking it would make it true; Severus, though, already knew the truth even if he still had to come to terms with accepting it. "Take as much time as you need."

"Severus?"

His sitting room seemed to materialize right before his eyes as he was brought back to his current surroundings and situation. He shook his head to clear away the memory he simultaneously wanted to hold onto and forever banish from his mind. This would be different, no matter how similar it felt and appeared at first glance; it had to be, otherwise he didn't know what he'd do.

"I'm fine," he reassured Minerva's worried eyes. He could only assume getting distracted in the memory was his excuse for the information he next provided her, "I called Mae last night to let her know what happened with Harry."

"Mae?" Minerva asked in disbelief, "I do believe that's the first time you've used the young lady's name here."

"Don't get too cocky," he warned, but the slip up warranted a large sip of wine. "She asked to stop by this weekend once Harry's settled..."

The Gryffindor witch waited through his hesitation and when he didn't offer any further information, she prompted with, "And you are unsure how you feel about it."

"Not at all," Severus surprised himself with the honest answer. "It's just not my call to make. Harry may not want visitors around, especially someone who seemingly can draw my attention away from him."

"If Harry's still the same child he was two years ago," she nodded her head knowingly, "he'll encourage the attention away from him and the distraction. I never could understand how you thought he wanted all of the spotlight he's had since entering the wizarding world."

The regret from his counterpart sat heavily on his own chest. Too many regrets on behalf of the old Severus Snape sat there, and yet there was a time not long ago where he would have said that man had to be as he was for this reality to end up this way. Now, he couldn't be too sure about anything outside of what he had planned right in front of him, and for the foreseeable future they'd be taking things day by day until they found they could manage week by week. Severus even considered suggesting Albus replace him as Head of Slytherin with Horace, but the results from the Aurors' investigation - the ones Kingsley had alluded to at their meeting three days ago and he'd hoped would be here prior to his leaving the castle - on the flood would likely come soon and he needed to be there; he wanted to be there for his students and see them through this, to make sure they were indeed safe.

"Tonks will be taking over your courses again while you're unavailable?" Minerva questioned when the younger professor didn't expand on his dating life.

Severus scoffed, "I thought you said if I told you about Mae you'd leave the topic of my work alone."

"Oh, did I?" Minerva feigned ignorance and poured them both another glass of wine.

Taking a sip from his glass, relishing in the warm feeling rushing over his body, Severus seriously questioned why he put up with her sometimes.

"Either we talk about something less life taxing or I think you know your way to the door at this point."

She laughed and turned towards the door leading to the outside corridor. With another smile, she asked, "Then how about your abysmal choice of Seeker for this year's team?"

The Slytherin hung his head, mockingly in shame, "Unlike you, some of us don't hand select our players."

"Oooh," she said, her voice turning serious, "you must be talking about Filius or Pomona then, because I distinctly remember a certain blonde being placed onto your team in his second year."

Once again, he refused to validate her friendly accusation with a reply, but it helped to lighten the conversation and for that he was grateful.

"We can't all have a future Quidditch star on our team," he bantered back. "A legit Quidditch star-" he added when she obviously made to argue over what he was certain would be Wood's current reserve status on Puddlemere United, "- let me remind you Wood only won his last year against Slytherin. So you just wait and see, give it two years when Miss Weasley is no longer here and Gryffindor will be back on bottom."

"How did it work in your old world?" Minerva curiously inquired. "Did your Harry play?"

His Harry. He thought of both of them as his children, but he couldn't exactly tell her such.

"He did," Severus confirmed. "All the way until the end, actually. The potions there didn't do nearly the physical damage to him as the chemotherapy here, allowing him to live a more regular life. It definitely made things equally easier and harder overall."

"I could imagine the end came as quite a shock," Minerva carefully stated, to which he simply nodded. What other action would be relevant? Sensing the overall grief falling between them, Minerva asked, "Will you be reachable while you're out of the castle? In case of an emergency?"

Severus gave a smirk Lucius would be proud of, "Albus and I have come up with a system - quite ingenious really and I've told him he ought to speak with a solicitor on patents for it - that will allow me to be in full contact with the headmaster should I be needed on an emergency basis in my absence." She stared silently back at him, obviously waiting for more information. Severus raised his eyebrows and pulled from an inner pocket in his robes a small candle; no bigger than a muggle birthday candle. A quick wave of his hand over the top caused the object to grow in length and width resembling something closer to those which hung over the tables in the Great Hall. Another wave of his hand and the flame flickered to life, though Minerva wouldn't be able to tell from her position the flame emitted no heat and would not catch a single thing ablaze. "A portable firecall floo."

"May I?" Severus gently leaned over and handed the white candle to the wide-eyed witch. She examined it, turning it on its side, and running her hand across the flame to confirm the safety measures taken. "How do you answer it? You'll still be surrounded by muggles."

"Similar to Harry's sphere," Severus explained the one portion which had been his own contribution to the object, "it will alert me, by warming up rather than glowing, when Albus attempts to use it. That will give me time to make sure I'm in a position to answer. The candle activates at the confirmation of the user's magical signature. This way, should it fall into the hands of a muggle, they would be none the wiser."

"Very smart," she sternly told him, though a hint of pride could be heard in her voice, as she handed the new communication tool back to Severus. Suddenly, a round of laughter came echoing through the room from the corridor outside of Harry's bedroom - loud enough to be heard through the closed door - causing both professors to turn around and stare towards the empty space. A small smile crossed Minerva's face thinking about what could cause such a ruckus and yet how enjoyable that sound was to hear. "He'll be alright this time, Severus," she told the wizard sitting across from her, "you just wait and see."

Severus wanted to believe her, just as he did with every person who uttered those words to him this past week. He wouldn't argue the statement though knowing each person handled his or her grief differently and for some, they needed to stay almost annoyingly positive. And while Severus preferred to be a realist, bordering on pessimist - one who knew the challenges they'd face the moment Alton arrived later that night - he wouldn't dare take away someone else's hope. With his luck, someday he may need to lean on her and borrow it.