~~~~HP~~~~

Saturday 18th October 1997

"You are aware that in order for this to work you actually have to walk into the building, correct?"

Harry glared over at Snape with an expression he hoped the professor recognized as one of his own. Standing before the Guilford hospital with his duffle bag slung over shoulder, Harry knew Snape's sarcastic words were meant to help release the pent-up physical anxiety in them, but it did little to achieve it. The sun was shining brightly behind him, fighting against the chilled air for domination of his comfort. He didn't really think things could get much worse after the last night of the ritual, nevertheless he couldn't get his feet to move, just in case he'd be proven horribly wrong.

Between his battles against Voldemort, his Leukemia, and chemotherapy, anyone would think there wasn't anything Harry Potter couldn't handle; at least physically speaking. And if asked before last night, Harry would have absolutely agreed. However, all of that changed - his entire pain and tolerance scale recalibrated - after the Magical Block Procedure. Where the first two nights had been easy, almost pleasant, the final one left him physically and mentally exhausted, weak, and terrified, all at the same time. The mere thought of having to endure another night reliving his worst nightmares - his childhood memories, all the times Voldemort tried to kill him, and Sirius's death - followed immediately by waking up to a blinding pain every three months was more than enough for him to reconsider this plan altogether. Knowing at some point people were subjected to the ritual regularly sent an instant queasiness to his stomach with his only relief coming from the fact that it had eventually been banned.

With good reason!

Regardless of his personal feelings for the ritual, it had been successful. Healer Smithe was present when he'd finally awaken - fairly sure enervate had been required after the burning pain - and it only took a quick Lumos attempt to confirm his magic was no longer accessible to him, no longer a threat to his life, and that he could now continue on with his muggle treatment without cause for concern. For all intents and purposes, Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived and The Chosen One, couldn't do any more magic than Mrs Figg or Mr Filch. The thought depressed him just about as much as being in the hospital for the next four to five days.

"We're going to be late," Snape reiterated, giving his shoulder a little push and drawing his attention back to the man.

With a hmph and adjustment of his bag, Harry looked over at him and replied, "Gimme a second, alright? This isn't exactly easy."

"Walking is merely the act of putting one foot in front of the other."

Harry could hear the frustration and exhaustion in Snape's voice long before he looked over and saw him pinching the bridge of his nose. Yes, he'd have to move. People continued to pass by them, not giving a second glance to the assumed father and son directly in front of the automatic double doors, completely unmoving, while he worked on steeling his courage to continue.

"Harry-"

"Alright," the Gryffindor cut him off so abruptly he half expected to hear the professor take points from Gryffindor for his cheek. "Let's just get this over with."

"My sentiment exactly." Snape shook his head and with a sweeping arm out in front of him he said, "After you."

Regardless of the words Harry had said, knowing he wouldn't be leaving the building until mid-week hit him hard, making the walk in more difficult than it should've been. In fact, had Snape not been a half a step behind, slowly encouraging - some might choose to describe it more as pushing - Harry to the lifts, he doubted he would have made it. Instinctively, the young wizard made to go to the same lifts he used to get to Healer Smithe's office but was pulled over to a different set by Snape and, trusting the man completely, Harry followed him without so much as a word of question. Standing side-by-side in the small lift, looking at their reflection through the back of the closed doors, amplified just how similar the two wizards were - roughly the same height, long dark hair, and pale, almost pallid, skin - they very much could pass as father and son. Unlike their first time here, Snape did not need to wave his hand for the lift to read his magical signature - nothing about this next adventure would be magical, a thought Harry had to push away - rather he casually pressed the T14 button: AYA Oncology.

"Adolescent and Young Adult," Snape answered the unasked question when Harry glanced at him skeptically. "They specialize in your age group."

If he were hearing this information in any other place, Harry would've probably felt grateful. Having been the only kid during his appointments at the chemotherapy clinic and Healer Smithe's and Dr Swanson's offices decorated for young children, he felt as if he didn't belong in either of those worlds. At least where he was heading, he had a chance to find that sense of "community" Dr Snyder spoke so fondly about.

The lifts opened to a short corridor with a plain brown locked door at the end, reminding Harry so much of his visions from the Department of Mysteries that his palms instantly started sweating. Raising his bag nervously up his shoulder, he cautiously walked a step behind Snape who much more confidently approached the intercom Harry only now saw on the outside of the door.

If nothing else, at least the floor was secure, the young wizard thought to himself.

Later, Harry would feel guilty for not paying any attention to what Snape said or did to get him checked into the Oncology Ward and ready to start his first cycle of this new regimen. Later, once he met other kids on the floor, he'd recognize this was his life and he needed to take a more active role in his own care. At that moment though, he felt weak, scared, and alone.

The AYA Oncology Ward was bright and welcoming in a way Harry had never thought possible for a hospital. The door after the lifts opened directly into a large circular white desk split with a wall separating the front "Welcoming Center'' from the "Nurses Command Center''; terms used by the nurse who greeted them and started his admission process. The walls throughout the ward were bright white with a wide electric blue stripe weaving up and down horizontally through the middle and two narrow neon green stripes, one above and the other below the blue, giving it an almost "cool" feeling compared to the dark, dreary, and dour picture he had in his head all week.

Though his chemotherapy wasn't scheduled to start until one o'clock, an older nurse with short silver hair and calm blue eyes took them into an exam room across from the Welcoming Center. Introducing herself as Gertrude, Gerrie for short, the nurse gave him a series of hospital bands he had to always wear during his stays, and then went right into all the standard exams he knew were required for chemotherapy: height, weight - which went down from his last appointment, much to Snape's disapproving glare -, blood pressure, pulse, and several large blood draws.

Up until that point, everything was very clinical, but as they left the exam room for a tour of the floor before getting settled into his room, Gerrie kindly turned to him and asked, "Is this your first time, dear?"

Her inquiry legitimately confused him, and he frowned as he went back through the series of questions she'd asked him during the exam. They'd gone through his history of chemotherapy, including how he handled - or didn't handle - his last intensive treatment, so why didn't she remember it?

"As an inpatient, yes, this is his first time," Snape answered for him, and Harry's ears flushed with embarrassment. "Harry was fortunate enough to have completed his last regimen at home or as an outpatient."

Gerrie nodded, thoughtfully, "I know it may seem overwhelming now, but by your second or third cycle here, you'll get the hang of it all. I've been at this hospital most of my career and in the AYA specifically for the last two decades. It's the best there is at helping you teens navigate this time."

Unsure how best to respond to the statement, Harry chose to stay silent. Together the three of them walked side by side through the ward where the nurse pointed out areas of interest. The layout itself would be easy enough to remember: a rectangle with the patient rooms all around the far side of the back, and the nurse's station taking up two-thirds of the center. A galley-style kitchen - equipped with a microwave, large refrigerator, and cabinets filled with extra plates, bowls, cups, and utensils - for patients, their families, and the nursing staff took up the other third. Entrance doors on both ends made it conveniently accessible from either side of the ward.

Pointing to the doors on the outer perimeter of the corridor they walked through, the nurse explained, "We only take patients between the ages of fourteen and twenty-three and have a total of thirteen private rooms on the floor, three of which are set up as intensive care units. Most of our patients visit us for chemotherapy, like yourself, but we also treat those who end up with secondary illnesses." Most of the doors they passed were plain, except for two. Those were decorated with names and pictures on the outside showing the personality of the person occupying it, making Harry question how long those two patients had been here. "Currently we have five other AYAs staying with us - six including yourself - all between fifteen and twenty-one, putting you in good company this week."

As if on cue, two other kids turned the corner ahead of them and were now making their way towards them. A girl who looked a couple of years older than Harry walked next to a boy roughly his own age - both pushing an IV stand filled with multiple bags and a beanie or scarf covering their heads - slowed as they approached to give Gerrie a wave, then continued their way, most likely back to their rooms.

"As long as they're feeling up for it and blood count allows it, we highly encourage anyone staying here to walk around and mingle with the other teens. It helps to keep spirits high in a place that sees the worst of situations. We also host a variety of adolescent child life programs including access to a counselor on a regular basis, support groups, and several fitness classes," the nurse told them, rounding the corner of the backside and turning to the longer corridor near the kitchen.

The doors in this part of the ward changed from equally spaced plain beige ones to a wall of windows at both ends with a set of bright blue double doors closest to them, a bright green door at the end, and a red one somewhere around the middle. Harry peeked inside of the set of windows expecting to find a room like the chemotherapy clinic with chairs set up to receive treatment and drew a sharp breath at what he saw. The room itself looked as far away from healing as the young wizard could imagine and more akin to a muggle common room. The walls were blue, though most were covered in posters of all different types of pop culture: from movies like Jurassic Park to bands like the Spice Girls. Harry smiled thinking of the rumors he'd heard circulating around the girl's dormitory of the blonde one being a witch - a Hufflepuff, of course - who had been forced to walk away from the magical world when she joined the girl group. Professor Sprout refused to confirm it, however the more he thought about it, the less he believed it; surely news like that would have been all over the wizarding papers, right? In contrast to the cold, hard linoleum floors throughout the ward, this room had light grey carpeting with geometric circles overlapping in blue, green, and red. It looked welcoming and relaxing at the same time.

Two large plush blue sofas sat in an L-shape in the middle of the room with a small table between them. The set-up reminded him of Snape's sitting room, only where the fireplace would be a large television sat instead. A high tower filled with VHS movies lined both sides of the telly, providing a wide range of videos Harry assumed to be popular teen movies he'd likely never seen. The corner opposite from the window Harry investigated, and under an outside window overlooking the lake, had a grey bench sofa with space for eight wrapped around a white table and three transparent plastic red bucket chairs lining the other side. Two decks of playing cards and a stack of well used board games - if he went based on the condition of the boxes - sat on the top of the table. Harry recognized a stereo system on a shelf behind the table area and what he assumed was a library of CDs beneath it. Another white table sat in the corner closest to Harry with ten transparent plastic bucket chairs in red, blue, and clear. Though the table was empty, a bookcase on the left wall was bursting with every kind of arts and crafts supplies one could ever want to use, papers of all different colors and textures, paints, colored pencils, crayons, markers, sketching books, yarn, beads, cups, and brushes.

"We call this the Hub," Gerrie proudly explained. "It was renovated about-" she screwed her eyes as she counted back the years, "-five or six years ago and gets an update every year or two by one of our bigger sponsors to make sure we have things relevant to the current AYAs. I can confidently say if there's an activity you enjoy, the Hub will have it."

Harry had been left almost speechless. Since he'd been given the news of his next regimen requiring a stay in the hospital, he had images of being completely bedridden. Even in some of his worst days when having chemo at home, he enjoyed being able to move from his bedroom in hopes of finding something to distract him from the miserable sick feeling; it was what he missed most about chemotherapy at Hogwarts. Snape's hand fell onto his shoulder and gave a small squeeze, showing the professor thought the same thing - maybe being here, surrounded by other kids in his same situation, would be somewhat bearable.

After giving them time to look around the currently empty room, Gerrie casually mentioned, "We hold our support group meetings in the Hub twice a week - on Mondays and Thursdays. The feedback we've gotten has been positive overall, and the kids seem to love the counselors and child life specialists who come in to talk with them, even outside of this dedicated time. It's completely voluntary, though we do encourage everyone to attend even if you don't say a word during the hour."

With Dr Snyder's comments from his last appointment fresh in his mind, Harry cleared his throat and nodded, "Yeah, I'll definitely try to."

Whether she could sense his uncertainty about the situation or not, she didn't appear to question his sincerity on the subject. Instead, she shuffled them further down the corridor to the red door. This one did not have a window leading inside, which made sense when he saw the large sign to the left of the door:

Quiet Room/Library

Please respect other's need for silence

She opened the door to a room which could have been an alcove attached to the Hogwarts Library. About half the size of the Hub, bookcases made of a deep dark cherry wood covered all four walls and were filled with books. A comfortable looking burgundy sofa sat in the middle of the room with two armchairs at either end reminding the young wizard of the Gryffindor Common Room. Two end tables near the armchairs held small lamps giving the room a soft yellow glow throughout, making Harry feel comfortable and relaxed. The door closing behind him - causing the room to grow oddly quiet - drew Harry's attention back to Gerrie and Snape, completely unaware he'd walked into the center of the room.

"The patient rooms always seem to have a lot of things going on in them, making this a good place to visit for some peace and quiet," the nurse whispered. "You're welcome to borrow any of the books from here to bring back to your room, we only ask that they get returned before you go home."

The last room on their tour was the green door at the end of the corridor leading to the designated workout room. A physical therapist visited daily - one was there when they peeked in the window working with a boy younger than Harry - to help the patients learn how to safely use the equipment and help with ways to stay active during their hospital stay. Harry genuinely missed his running with Dudley, and if things went well during his treatment, he hoped to be able to try out the equipment.

His check-in, exam, and tour took over an hour and wrapped up back at the nurse's station. While they waited for his file to be handed over to another nurse, Harry peered nervously at a large white board affixed to the wall. The board was split horizontally into three sections, each section labeled as Team Blue, Team Green, or Team Red across the left side in their corresponding colors. The sections all had a set of two names with a list of times and abbreviations, none of which made sense to Harry outside of them obviously being chemotherapy schedules. He gave a juvenile smile when he saw his name - designated as H. Potter (AYA#6): 1300 Mes (24h, D1-3) / Vin (1h, D1), 1400 peg (24h, D1), 2030 cycl (3h, q12H, D1-3), 0900 dox (24h, D4) - fell under the Red Team along with someone named A. Clarke.

"I'm in Gryffindor," Harry whispered to Snape. "Just thought it worth pointing out."

Snape scoffed, then without missing a beat he replied, "Wait until I have a word in private with them and explain how green is your absolute favorite colour... after your eyes, of course, because they match your deceased mother's... and I know if they could manage to place you on the green team going forward, it would drastically brighten your spirits."

Harry's mouth fell open, but the small upturn in the corner of Snape's lips was more than satisfying.

"Harry Potter?" A new nurse, one with jet black wavy hair and a red badge, asked. Harry nodded and Snape protectively placed his hand back on the teen's shoulder. Taking the hint, she smiled at Snape and said, "Mr Potter, I presume?"

"Severus," the professor generically answered.

"It's nice to meet you both," she spoke as she ushered them down the corridor, back towards the patient's rooms, a stack of files held tightly in her arms. "My name is Kathleen and I'm the head of the Red Team this afternoon. I'll help you get settled into your room and work with Dr Swanson to start your treatment. Gerrie tells me you had a rough start to treatment last year and this is your first overnight with us?"

They stopped in front of a closed door practically in the middle of the line of patient rooms. It had a small placard on the left displaying AYA#6 and a set of three red circles down the wall outside of the door.

"Erm… yes, it is," Harry responded nervously, internally ignoring the first part of her question. Remembering Snape's answers earlier, he added, "I was able to do most of my chemo at home the first time around. Not so much now."

She frowned when his voice fell delivering the last sentence. "Well, I can tell you'll have a lot of extra people helping you here and we're all going to do everything possible to make it smooth. Can you give us a chance to do that?"

She sounded so positive about the whole thing, Harry couldn't really disagree. Giving his head a nod, she opened the door to give him the first view of his home until at least Wednesday morning.

The very first thing that popped into Harry's mind was how much brighter the room appeared compared to his expectations, which shouldn't have surprised him given everything else about the floor. The large picture window directly across from the door allowed an ample amount of natural light into the room and went from the ceiling down to a sofa, which expanded out into a bed for a support person to stay if he so desired. His own bed was really the only part of the room which reminded him of a hospital. Though it looked more uncomfortable than even his bed at the Dursleys, being situated in the middle of the left wall gave him a perfect view of the outside from it, a small consolation. A television sat on top of a chest of drawers across from the bed and Kathleen walked him through how to use it, having no clue that she had two wizards in her care who hadn't watched television since staying at Privet Drive, for Harry, and who knew how long for Snape. A door directly to the left of the entryway led to a small lavatory big enough for a sink, loo, and shower with a seat. A clipboard located on the outside of the lavatory door contained a log where he would be required to document all the solids and fluids entering or leaving his body. Kathleen very gently explained that this includes everything consumed from a cup of ginger ale after an emesis event to his normal meals, and whenever he used the loo. So far, the lavatory - its bright fluorescent light, sterile disinfectant smell, and required log - made Harry the most nervous; almost undoing everything the tour did to calm his jumpy nerves.

When Kathleen said he'd have a lot of extra people helping them out, she hadn't been exaggerating. She went on to explain that his team of people would consist of at least three nurses at any given time, several oncologists - from the hospital as well as Dr Swanson -, the AYA'S child psychologist, child life specialists, and a social worker. Overall, the thought of so many people fussing over him caused his heart rate to instantly increase, and when the social worker's name came up, Harry quickly turned towards Snape who, to his credit, didn't seem at all alarmed over her visiting them. In addition to his hospital support staff, he was allowed one overnight support person and two visitors at a time - so long as none of them were currently or recently sick - who could stay until visiting hours ended at ten o'clock each night.

Just when Harry was sure his head would explode from all the information, Kathleen showed him and Snape the location for the nurse call button - someone will always answer if you press it, she'd been sure to emphasize - and left, allowing him to get settled while she went to check on lunch for him and see how his tests went to get started on his chemotherapy.

Toeing off his trainers, Harry flopped down into a reclining chair identical to those in the chemo clinic placed between his bed and the sofa and overlooking the white board on the right side of the television with all his nurse's names, the prophylactic medication he'd be getting, and another copy of his chemo schedule.

He should unpack, set out his belongings and get the room as comfortable as possible, but he didn't have the mental energy for it. Snape stood stoically in front of the sofa, his hands patting the side of his black jeans, watching something - what, Harry hadn't the slightest idea - out of the window. His calm exterior frustrated Harry's overly turbulent one.

"It's a lot to take in," the professor broke the eerie silence in the room. Then he turned towards the Gryffindor and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm bloody brilliant, thanks for asking" Harry aggressively answered, feeling relief from his attitude. "I've always wanted to measure my piss. So glad I have that opportunity now."

The sarcasm pouring through Harry's words didn't generate the reaction from Snape he'd subconsciously been seeking. He was angry about his situation and if only someone could be there with him, maybe he could make some sense out of it all.

"Seeing as at least one of these medications is damaging to your kidneys," the professor clinically explained, refusing to fuel Harry's fire, "unless you'd like to add kidney damage to your growing list of ailments, I'd hold off on your protests."

"Fine," he conceded, crossing his arms protectively across his chest, "Then what about this social worker? What am I supposed to tell her?"

"The truth."

Harry's sarcastic laugh echoed across the small room, "Oh I'm sure that'll go over really well… Sorry ma'am, my two sets of guardians were murdered, so I'm pretty much on my own."

The implications of his statement cut straight through Harry's angry mood. Swiftly, he looked away to avoid the inevitable pain in Snape's eyes, regretting the words the moment they left his lips. With his hands now firmly seated on his lap, the Gryffindor watched himself mindlessly thumb over the face of his watch. The urge to remove it so he could see the inscription - Stay Strong, My Son - was greater than ever. How could he have so easily forgotten how much the other man cared for him? In the midst of things going well, how had it slipped his mind? Now, here Snape stood in the tiny hospital room, prepared to stay until Wednesday - which in doing so would basically put his teaching and research career on hold - and Harry had pretty much thrown it back in his face.

"M'sorry," Harry muttered, meeting Snape's onyx eyes so filled with worry it hurt Harry inside. "I really didn't mean…"

"Harry," the professor said. He sat down on the sofa - so close to the Gryffindor their knees almost touched - leaning over with his forearms on his thighs, "you are not alone in this."

"I know," he admitted. "It's just… hard sometimes to remember."

He let a moment of silence fall between them, thinking of anything he could say in this situation. Finally, Snape spoke up, "And that is exactly what the social worker, and everyone else here, will help you overcome. Because, not even counting myself, you have Minerva, your cousin, and your friends back at school. You are not alone in this, or any other part of your life anymore."

Harry wanted to believe Snape, he really did, but old habits die hard, and he didn't think he would ever get used to having someone there to depend on.

~~~~SS~~~~

The cafeteria in the Guildford hospital couldn't come close in comparison to that of the cafeteria at the Malfoys' Research Laboratory. The food was mediocre, at best, and Severus suspected the hospital managerial staff didn't put too much effort into the cuisine knowing the main patrons were employees and the patients' guests; neither of whom chose to eat there out of preference, but out of convenience. Although Lucius's decision to create a cafeteria promoting a calming atmosphere and ample options of edible, healthy foods was likely borne from his desire to keep his employees on the campus during their breaks - alleviating the risk of anything happening in their absence - and not to appease their bottom line. A man such as Lucius wouldn't need to worry about the bottom line as much as his trade secrets leaving their boundaries.

Severus sat at a round table alone, secluded as much as possible in the corner of the cafeteria, with his measly dinner pushed off to the side in favor of roughly half a dozen thick texts on various styles of charms - all spelled to appear like muggle English, History, or Chemistry textbooks - spread out around him. Dr Snyder would tell him his attempt to start putting together the pieces he'd gathered from his meeting with Kingsley was nothing more than a desperate ploy to distract himself from his and Harry's current situation, and though he'd be partially correct, the former spy equally found himself unable to focus on Harry while his mind continued to work through this latest conundrum.

Outside of Harry's predictably volatile mood, the start of inpatient treatment, so far, had been as difficult as any of them could have imagined. The side effects from Harry's various medications began too soon after the young wizard had finished his first IV and Dr Swanson started his second twenty-four-hour line in his port. At first, Severus worked to convince the young wizard to move into his bed so he could sleep off the effects, just as he would have done after his normal monthly treatments, but it only caused the teen to become more irritable and frustrated. Harry spent the next hour frantically pacing his room from the recliner to the lavatory; carrying his IV stand alongside him, with Severus fingering his wand from the sofa just in case he needed help, Statute of Secrecy be damned.

Eventually, Harry conceded to his recommendation and ended up back in bed but was unable to find any comfortable position to sleep. When his pains were at their worst, he called Kathleen in to see what she could do to help. In that moment he realized the benefit of having a team to help Harry. Not only did she respond immediately to swap out his antiemetic for a new bag, when she recognized how uncomfortable her patient was she called for Christopher, one of the AYA's Child Life Specialists on duty that afternoon. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, a man looking about seven or eight years younger than Severus with long - for muggle standards, anyway - sandy brown hair, matching freckles, and hazel eyes came in pushing a cart full of all sorts of activities to keep Harry's mind off his chemotherapy: playing cards, a handheld video game system Severus had seen Dudley playing last summer, enough books and art supplies to fill his potions cupboard, and a set of headphone connected to a music box with a set of brightly colored CDs beside it. As Kathleen went to work on Harry's medication, Christopher gave a quick introduction of himself to the professor, then he pulled up a chair to Harry's bedside and turned his attention to his newest patient.

Severus sat in the recliner watching in amazement at how quickly this new person got the teen to open up. They talked about Harry's hobbies, places he had visited or wanted to visit, what he liked or didn't like about school, his friends, family, and support system, how Harry handled his pain - did he try to keep quiet or was he more of a screamer? - and how much he understood about what was happening inside of his body. Right before Severus's eyes, Harry let his guard down, and between the new medication and the talking, he had been distracted enough to focus on learning the Gameboy Christopher was shocked the teen had never played before. It reminded Severus of all the treatments back in their home at Hogwarts where Harry would do everything possible to keep his mind far away from his feelings and left the professor to idly read - and subsequently reread - the same page in his book; all the while keeping a close watch on the interaction happening across from him.

At dinnertime, Harry and Kathleen managed to convince Severus to go downstairs to the hospital cafeteria to clear his head for a bit.

"Your health is just as important as Harry's," the nurse had lectured him.

It was exactly how he ended up in the cafeteria pouring himself over a text on cutting spells - a field of magic he should have been comfortable with due to his unique history on the subject - in an effort to try and find one with the ability to stab rather than slice. Unfortunately, it was also where a familiar woman with dark auburn hair had come for her own dinner and mistakenly decided it a sound idea to approach his little corner of the room.

"That's an eclectic set of books you have there," the familiar voice interrupted him.

Severus lifted his eyes from his chapter - currently disguised as a lesson plan for teaching the Periodic Table of Elements - to the sight of Jessica standing on his right. She wore a set of green scrubs, a clear indication she was somewhere within her shift, and carried a tray consisting of the saddest looking sweet and sour chicken and spring rolls he'd ever seen.

"I like research," he coldly answered his girlfriend's flatmate, turning his head back down to his text and notes.

"Well, I can see that," she rolled her eyes; a move Severus thought a bit bold for being the cause of their current animosity towards one another. "I just didn't think your interests included-" she leaned forward and turned one of the texts to face her, "-Seventh Century Middle Eastern History."

Not the best choice of subject, he admitted to himself.

He had two choices: continue to coldly ignore her or allow her to continue down whatever road she set herself on when she walked over. Recognizing she had information she could provide on Jugson and Gibbons, he figured if he played his cards right, he may actually be able to leave there with something of value, and therefore he chose the latter option. Feigning disinterest and not so much as attempting to lift his head, Severus coldly replied, "It really is amazing what one can discover when one actually takes the time to get to know another person prior to casting judgement on said person. My interests are vast."

"Oook… I deserved that," she uncomfortably shifted the weight of her feet, to which the former spy internally smiled. In his peripheral vision, he could see the muggle nurse wavering on her next move, "May I join you?"

Perfect. He had her exactly where he wanted her, a guilty conscience was significantly easier to manipulate. To further his agenda, he did meet her gaze this time - resisting the urge to use legilimency - while simultaneously unbuttoning the cuff of his left sleeve. He aggressively rolled the sleeve up to his elbow and shoved the exposed Mark towards her.

"Are you sure you'll feel safe sitting next to the likes of this?" He spat at her, ignoring the others around them who turned to the sound of their commotion. "I wouldn't want to put you in a position where you fear for your life. But if you're willing to take the risk, by all means sit down."

He used his foot to aggressively kick out the chair directly in front of Jessica, causing the metal legs to clang loudly on the hard, linoleum floor. He heard her gasp at the action, but she sank down into the chair, nonetheless. They both sat there in the strained silence, Severus continuing to take notes - frustrated over his lack of solutions - and Mae stirring her more-likely-boiled-than-fried rice across her plate in the same manner that infuriated him whenever Harry did it. Still, he bided his time; her discomfort was his benefit.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Jessica's voice broke on the last word, "but Mae is like a little sister to me, alright?"

"In my experience, an apology followed by an excuse is just that- " Severus pointedly said, "- an excuse."

The muggle sighed, "She's really been through a lot… plus she's worked hard to get where is and I don't want to see anything happen to her-"

"Such as what?" He narrowed his black eyes at his dinner companion, "What is it you think I would do to her? What does this-" he looked down at his Mark, "- mean to you?"

Jessica shook her head in disbelief, "Honestly-"

"-typically, that's a good place to start."

She frowned, her lips falling into a flat line on her face. He had to tread carefully. If he pushed too hard, she would walk away leaving him with nothing besides aiding the animosity between himself and his girlfriend's best friend, but he could tell his interruption technique was wearing her down.

"Do you always make it this difficult to apologize?" He uncharacteristically shrugged. "Listen... I don't really know what that symbol means. I've never seen it before, and I guess I could have asked you-"

"- should have," he interjected again, "that's the correct term you're looking for."

"Fine," her face flushed, "I should have asked you about it. But if you were me, and Harry came home with a girlfriend sporting the same gang symbol from the patients whose blood you were recently covered in, wouldn't you be a little hesitant to trust so quickly?"

He sat silent; neither agreeing or disagreeing. She could come to her own conclusion on his thoughts, as he knew she would.

"So, what is it?" She rewarded his silence. "The symbol?"

"You were correct in your assessment that it's a… group of people who believe in certain… ideologies that many others do not agree with," he explained the best he could. "But where you were mistaken is that the leader of this group is no longer in power… no longer alive, actually. And therefore, the group is no longer active."

She took a bite of her wilted spring roll and almost too casually commented, "To that, I'd challenge the death of the leader - especially as recently as you claim - doesn't suddenly exonerate the wrongdoings of the followers and ideals they most likely still believe. One doesn't automatically become a good person because the leader they followed is now gone. They still knowingly did awful, sometimes unforgivable things." Severus didn't attempt to argue her point, never had claimed he was a good person, nor would he. "And as for these two guys? Those were some pretty serious wounds they had for not being 'active' anymore. Extremely aggressive. Which only goes to further prove my point."

"How so?" He squinted across their space, silently telling her this information could impact his feelings about her one way or the other. "The injuries being 'extremely aggressive', I mean."

"I've seen a lot of these types of injuries," she vaguely stated, "they were attacking to kill, and make it painful to boot."

"Did the two patients survive?" He knew the answer, of course, but feigned ignorance to keep his cover. He shouldn't know what happened to them and if he did it would only fuel her theory of him.

"Surprisingly, yes," her eyebrows lowered as she thought about that day. "Though I'll admit I don't know how. One should have been dead on arrival and yet…"

She couldn't say anymore, no matter how much he could see the question formulating in her mind.

"So, I take it they were handed over to the proper authorities?"

For a split second he feared she'd caught onto his line of questioning when she squinted her eyes over at him and raised her dark eyebrows. Having zero experience in subtly interrogating muggles - Voldemort had no use for their information before torturing and killing them - he had to make it up as he went, and he'd hoped his original assessment in the woman's ferocity hadn't been misguided.

"No," she cautiously answered. Giving her surroundings a glance to make sure no one paid them any attention, she continued, "I don't know what happened to them. They were there when I left to get supplies and gone when I came back. I half expected to read about their bodies being found, but so far nothing's come up. Actually -" her face scrunched up in confusion, "- now that I think about it, the police didn't come by after we filed the report. I really should look into that."

No, they wouldn't have the muggle police coming to check it out once the DMLE took over. More importantly, though, he didn't want her digging around where she shouldn't be. Not only could it expose the magical world - and damage his relationship with Mae - until he knew what they were dealing with, he couldn't guarantee she wouldn't be putting a target on her back. His own dislike of her didn't mean he wanted her to get herself killed.

"Don't bother," he waved his hand to signify they weren't important enough to chase. "They'll be long by now. If they're still alive, that is-" her eyes widen, "- you did mention their injuries were life-threatening, correct?"

"Yeah," she looked warily over at him. "But if your… uh… the leaders gone, who would attack them?"

That's what I need to find out.

"Honestly?" He emphasized the single word throwing it back at her, "they probably fought each other. When ranks fall as quickly, and messily, as they did, certain… levels don't necessarily recover. They don't know what else to do without a person of power to follow. Some look to join other organizations, but most simply self-destruct."

"Not these guys," she confidently said, and for the first time Severus thought this may pan out. "They were protecting each other. I'm no detective, but I know defensive wounds when I see them. Neither of those guys were fighting in their condition, and if they were, it didn't last long. Had it not been for Taylor, they would have died in that alleyway."

"Who's Taylor?"

A hard sigh. She knew she shouldn't have said that, and he cringed inwardly at his bold question.

"Oh, he's a resident surgeon here," she told him, "and was the one who saw the two get attacked on his way in for his shift. He stayed with them until the medics arrived and came in with them."

The muggle witness… the one Kingsley said they were having difficulty getting to. And he worked, at least for now, in the same hospital Harry resided. It seemed too convenient and coincidental at the same time; two things he absolutely hated, especially together.

"...said he's seen them around his place…"

The phrase piqued his interest and told him he had clearly missed something she'd said. Kingsley reported Jugson and Gibbons lived in a magical community, so if this witness had seen them in his neighborhood, odds were either the muggle witness wasn't a muggle at all, or Taylor had a hand - or a wand - in the attack to begin with.

Hiding in plain sight, perhaps?

"Wait a second," he held up his hand to stop her rambling, "this… Dr Taylor lives near the patients?"

Once again, she looked over at him suspiciously, then went back to her dinner, not answering his question. He'd gone one question too far and knew his free reign of information had come to an end. Disappointment - mostly in himself - filled him up, taking the space between his exhaustion and sorrow. The sound of silverware scraping plates and sips of coffee or tea filled the room around them, but for the longest time, neither one at the table dared to speak.

"Mae told me about Harry," Jessica broke the awkward silence. "I'm so sor-"

Her apology for the second time broke his resolve to play nice.

"We don't need your misplaced sympathy," Severus snapped, slamming his book closed, realizing only at the last second that he'd forgotten to mark his page.

It's not like I was making any progress anyway.

"That's not…" she faltered, and Severus would be lying if he said he took some enjoyment in seeing her squirm under his scrutiny. She'd reached out to him in the first place, but why would she bother if she'd hated him so much? He blamed his lack of sleep and mounting stress for his next actions.

"Do you want to know what I think?" He asked while packing up his books into his bag; the well-used extension charm sure to boggle her muggle mind. Not giving her a chance to answer he continued, "I think you sat down here hoping I'd forgotten the accusations you made against me, and planned to use my son, along with the knowledge you have regarding his diagnosis, as a means to manipulate the situation into your favor. But you know what, Jessica? I can see right through you. Sure, you're sorry about Harry, but none of that changes the fact that you have absolutely no intention of trying to get to know me or my unique situation. I have been nothing but cordial and patient with your attitude… trust me, had that not the been the case, you would have more than known by now-"

"-Is that a threat -"

"-and I have been met with nothing but hostility and insincerity. If you ever decide you'd like to rectify the situation and make an actual attempt to get to know me, I suggest come up with something better than whatever the blood hell this was!"

She leaned back in her chair, her wide eyes watching him in fear and curiosity as he stormed from the small cafeteria not giving a damn about the scene he'd just caused in the very public cafeteria.

Severus took a walk around the hospital instead of going straight back to Harry's room, a small part of him hoping he'd run into a doctor with the name "Taylor - Surgical Resident" on his name tag. That would be far too easy, though, and instead he settled with giving his mind some time to clear before heading back to Harry's room. That was the purpose of getting shuffled off to the cafeteria in the first place, wasn't it? In the end, all he managed to conclude was that he'd have to tell Kingsley about Taylor and the possibility of him being magical. If he turned out to be the witness in question, it would certainly make at least the extraction of his memory to the event easier to facilitate.

Unfortunately, when he finally exited the lift onto the AYA floor and made his way back to number six, he didn't feel any more capable of handling the Gryffindor and his latest mood. Perhaps whatever Christopher had managed to do would last long enough to get the teen through his first dose of the three-hour chemo and to bedtime. Or maybe he'd get lucky enough for Harry to already be asleep. Then he could get some much-needed rest himself or continue his search on cutting charms, knowing he'd already searched through plenty and had come up empty handed.

Harry wasn't asleep when he entered the room, but he was still lying in bed with the television playing a movie neither of them had obviously seen, working on his Herbology essays. A quick glance at the nutrition log hanging on the wall beside the lavatory recorded Harry having eaten a little over half of his dinner; a success leaving Severus feeling equally relieved and inadequate at the same time.

"You don't have to finish those essays," Severus told him, wishing more than anything they could go back to Harry's blatant cheating being the only major issue they faced. As stubborn as the young wizard was, it shouldn't have surprised the professor when he refused, claiming it helped to give him something to focus on and he wasn't ready to give up on the idea of school. Severus dropped the issue and moved to his own distraction; little good it did, though, because nothing in his life was going how he'd hoped when he drank that red potion.

Severus laid awake in his makeshift sofa bed clad with starchy white sheets to match the knit white blanket - a far cry from his usual comfortable, dark linens at home - and the flattest pillow he'd ever used in his adult life, listening to Harry's even breathing alongside the sound of the hospital staff moving outside the door as they made their rounds to check in on their patients. The clock on the wall across from Harry's bed told him it was approaching three o'clock in the morning, and although it all seemed quiet and calm now, only an hour ago - as well as most of the night - had been the complete opposite; the currently silent room plagued with Harry's painful moaning from his medications and too many rounds of severe vomiting.

Though they never officially talked about Severus staying the night, it quickly became apparent that at least for the first cycle, he'd be sleeping on the converted sofa. Most of the evening was feast or famine; either the Gryffindor went about peacefully, or he was up sick and in pain until the wave finally ended. At one point, dressed in his most modest set of black flannel pyjamas, Severus ended up sitting on the edge of Harry's bed holding the teen's still too long black hair back while he emptied whatever he'd managed to eat since dinner into the provided sick pail - one that could not be charmed to self-clean as they not only were in a muggle setting, they needed to record each emetic event as lost fluids - or aid him in sipping from the cup of ginger ale… anything to help because he couldn't make it go away. A reality that pained him greatly. Eventually, the fatigue of his first day hit the young wizard's body hard and Harry fell asleep with Severus laying with him in the hospital bed, unwilling to move to his own until he could be sure Harry wouldn't wake.

Severus should have been sleeping, no one had to tell him that, but between the constant interruptions from the nurses and his brain's inability to turn off, sleep completely evaded him. His latest "distraction" brought him from Jugson and Gibbons and back to the flood. The frustration of being no closer to figuring out how the windows of his own house's Common Room could have broken without it being one of his students baffled him. Naturally, he'd started his research at stasis charms, being familiar as he used them almost daily when brewing potions, but quickly realized the charm could only hold an object in its current state of being until removed with a Finite. Nowhere did it mention the ability to be used to hold another spell and everything he'd read about them and their variants required it to be physically removed. This meant even if someone could put a stasis on the dissolving spell Williamson discovered, it would have had to be taken off at the proper moment from inside of the common room in order to cause the flood.

Only slightly problematic, the professor gravely thought, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Having to remove the stasis charm would not only point to one of his students, but it would also practically be a suicide mission because no one could guarantee survival once being sucked out into the Black Lake. Unable to accept this as being student led, he concluded it either had to be something that could be placed ahead of time - and his quest for time lapsed spells had already come up empty - or someone in the castle had a time turner; most of which were damaged in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in this Harry's fifth year.

A soft beep from Harry's IV pump drew the professor's attention out of his internal struggles and towards the sleeping teenager in the hospital bed. The IV stand stood between the bed and the recliner not far from Severus's head on his flattened hospital-issued pillow. By now, he recognized the sound as meaning one of his continuous medications would need to be changed, and he slowly walked over to see if he could figure out which one. In all the time he'd spent watching Harry's IVs being started and changed out, the professor hadn't considered how they work, and now in his exhausted, almost drunken state, he wondered about the mechanics behind them. When potions were used, the patient drank the potion - or had it spelled directly into his or her stomach - and when it combined with their magic, it worked almost instantly. There were obviously cases, such as Skele-grow and bruise salve, which needed reapplications on a regular basis, but the effects worked quickly. For Harry, his liquid medicine was held in the bag attached to a small tube leading down and into a complicated looking machine Severus couldn't even begin to figure out, before exiting the machine and heading into Harry's port. Whenever a bag had been replaced, the machine had to be reset at the same time, and somehow it knew when the bag was close to empty. In this case, his first continuous bag was nearing empty.

The door opened quietly, flooding the room with the soft light from the hallway, giving Severus an uncharacteristic startle. Turning quickly, he released a strained breath at the sight of the overnight nurse - a thin, pale woman in her mid-fifties, with short brown hair that didn't even reach her shoulders - carrying two IV bags firmly in her hands.

"I'm so sorry, sir," the nurse whispered, leaving a crack in the door behind her as she closed it, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," the professor said, moving to the recliner to give her room to work on the IV.

"How's he been?" The woman kindly asked. "Seems to be sleeping pretty well now."

"I think he's been out for about an hour or so," Severus told her, keeping a keen eye on her every move as she changed out the IV bag.

"Then you ought to try to get some rest too," She admonished. "We always keep a pillow or two under the sofa in the library if you need somewhere calmer. We have a lot of parents go in there for some quiet sleep all the time. Most patients either get used to the constant noises or manage to fall asleep from pure exhaustion and it's the parents who burn themselves out from both ends-" She gave him a pointed look, "-especially on the first inpatient stay. Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint."

Not one to take instructions from anyone, Severus completely ignored her lecture and nodded his head towards the IV and asked, "How does that work? The machine part."

She shook her head recognizing the dismissal for what it was, "It's used to control how much medication he gets over a certain period of time - too little, it's not effective, and too much can be deadly - the pump gets programmed based on the prescription from the doctor and pharmacist to ensure..."

She continued for another sentence or two, unaware that Severus had stopped listening. The idea of using an outside object to meter something else - in Harry's case his medications, in Severus's the Dissolving Spell - over a controlled amount of time unlocked an idea in his head he hadn't considered. If the person who originally cast the Dissolving Spell had a physical way of slowing the spell over time it would ensure he or she wouldn't have to be there when the glass broke; to either cast it in the first place or the finite to end the stasis.

Back at his sofa bed, now completely ignoring the concerned nurse watching him cautiously, Severus unceremoniously yanked out his overnight bag from under the sofa, praying to Merlin himself he'd brought the book holding the answer he sought. Reaching his arm all the way to the bottom of his pile - to the nurse, surely in a manner reminiscent of the old muggle movie Mary Poppins - he thumbed over the pages of each book until felt the distinct aging parchment he knew belonged to Arithmancy of the Ancient World; something he threw in his bag before walking out the door in a last-ditch effort for answers. Using a wandless and non-verbal transfiguration spell, the professor pulled out an ordinary, modern muggle looking book titled Basic Machines and How They Work, earning him an eye roll and a shrug from the nurse as she continued checking on Harry's vitals.

Holding the oddly heavy book in his shaking hands, Severus positioned himself so the small amount of light filtering in from the hallway could be used to search for the chapter he knew would be there:

CHRONOMANCY.

Chronomancy refers to a sub school of magic focused on manipulating time in various ways. In its most simplistic form, the Stasis spell commonly used by potioneers to hold their brewing from one day to the next or in the Culinary Arts to preserve food and wine, can be explained as halting time on the object casted to protect it from the surrounding environment, and therefore is the form of chronomancy most seen in the magical community.

Severus skipped ahead past the history outlining its moral implications and how its complexity and misunderstanding of its use quickly turned the field of magic out of favor with many Western cultures. However, those who wished to learn about the obscure branch of magic could visit one of many active communities in the Middle East still teaching and practicing the art. His eyes continued to skim through pages filled with spells and equations - none of which could be used in conjunction with a spell like the dissolving one - and the creation of time turners as a method to take a person backwards in time. His eyes halted immediately at the word buried near the bottom of the last page: Obcasio

A magical substance found in the depths of Jeita Grotto, an ancient cave system situated in the Nahr al-Kalb valley, Obcasio has the unique ability to slow time to almost a standstill upon any object impregnated by its grains.

Although the substance itself was originally discovered in the early 1400s, its inception only became clear in 1689 when Magical Creature Specialist, Archer Gnats, discovered a population of Sāmma-abram9; deep within the Grotto. Best known for being unfairly associated with leprosy in the Middle East, likely due to its greyish, leprous appearance, translucent, shedding skin, and detachable tail, its name reflects the belief that it somehow transmits a deadly poison that causes leprosy; often rolling in salt to transmit the disease. A sāmm-abram9; in a dream is believed to represent poverty, anxiety, and toxic slander.

While studying these magical creatures, Gnat discovered when the feces of the Sāmma-abram9; dried it became a thick, grey dust and when combined with the rich magical soil of the Grotto it gave it the ability to slow time. When exactly equal parts of feces and soil are mixed, the Obcasio will slow time to its maximum efficacy. The time is reduced by an unknown rate as the concentration of either the soil or the feces increase.

The pieces started to fall into place within Severus's mind about how exactly this could have happened had Obcasio been used on the windows. Knowing the enchantments would break the moment the dissolving spell was cast, the person would have had to work quickly to embed the dirt into the glass, then cast the Dissolving Spell. It would only be a matter of time - how much, Severus still didn't know, but was damn sure he would find out - before the window caught up in time and shattered. Did the perpetrator know it would all happen on one of his mandatory study nights? It seemed too coincidental otherwise, and Severus certainly didn't believe in coincidences. So not only had someone been inside of the castle specifically to do these two acts, but it also had to be premeditated enough for them to calculate, down to the second, when the most students would be there. The requirements for obtaining that information couldn't be ignored: someone within the castle had to provide it, and all it had to be after the start of term; otherwise, the day and time of his study sessions wouldn't have been known. It still didn't relieve the guilt from his students, but it gave him a good place to start his search.

The professor was so immersed in his research, he completely missed the nurse finish up her rounds and approach him on the sofa.

"Pace yourself, Mr Potter," the nurse slowly reached up above his head and clicked on the small snake-like reading lamp. "The best thing you can do for your son right now is remembering to take care of yourself too."

She closed the door behind her, leaving the room dark outside of the small sliver of light which always crept from beneath the door and the soft glow from the newly illuminated lamp so he could continue his research for the remainder of the night without disturbing Harry.