~~~~SS~~~~

Legs sprawled, unflatteringly, to his left and right as he sat on the floor of his office in his Hogwarts quarters, Severus furiously tossed yet another worthless book into one of the messy piles growing around him. Each pile consisted of notebooks handwritten by his counterpart, and various Charms, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes journals and texts. Yet after hours of scouring through them he was no closer to identifying the mysterious ward his counterpart had placed upon Spinner's End – a solution he desperately needed to find if Harry had any hope of safely coming out of his magical isolation.

Despite Severus's initial panic at discovering an enchantment he had no memory of placing upon the foundation of his house – even after diving deep into the recesses of his "other self's" memories – he knew exactly where he would find the answers. When he first arrived in this universe, he had seen the locked box hidden behind his desk, but for reasons he never thought twice about, he hadn't once considered opening it. It seemed every time he came across the damn thing, he suddenly remembered something more important he needed to do, or got interrupted by some random thought passing through his mind, so he had no doubt he'd find it there, still untouched.

In hindsight, Severus had been foolish for missing the now obvious signs of the rather powerful repelling charm he recalled tinkering with back in his Hogwarts days. If anyone had examined his former Potions books, specifically the one he had given Harry last year, they'd find his altered version, as well as the spell to undo its effects. Thankfully, Severus knew the counterspell, and his quick action in casting it before the repelling charm hit him gained him access to a new, vast collection of journals, texts, and notes scribbled in his recognisable handwriting, although he had no memory of writing them. Whatever his counterpart had stored away in the extendable box, it was obviously important enough to not only secure it behind the strong repelling charm but also remove it from his memory, making it the perfect place to search for his missing ward.

Of course, knowing where to look for the spells and actually finding them proved to be two quite different issues.

He began his search by dividing the contents of the overflowing box into two categories, placing all the books and journals on one side of him and all the notebooks on the other. Beginning the larger half, the books and journals, he levitated anything not related to runes or charms – protective, security, and anything in between – to the far end of his desk. The last thing one needed when searching for a needle in a haystack was to get lost in the wrong style of hay or, in this case, take a turn down the wrong subject. Most of the books and journals were about potions; each with a variety of notes outlining sinister alteration requests made by Voldemort to his former self in the year after the dark wizard's return – the year before Severus assumed the other man's identity. Interested in these requests, Severus fought his natural impulse to delve into the Potions texts first and made a mental note to come back to the books at a later date.

Once he narrowed down the texts to a manageable number, he quickly scanned the titles but found that none of them were anywhere near advanced enough to contain an enchantment he hadn't already explored during his investigation at Spinner's End.

What did I expect?! He snapped shut the last volume in his Ancient Runes selection. If I were looking to protect my home from a homicidal dark wizard I spent years defying and spying on, I wouldn't highlight the spell I used, even if I wiped it from my memory. What would I do if I needed to protect my home?

Frustrated by his lack of answers, the high stack of leather-bound, handwritten notebooks caught his attention from the corner of his eye. If someone as careful as Severus wanted to build the most secure defence, one that couldn't be guessed on a whim or found easily through research, he wouldn't choose a single advanced spell to do so. After all, Voldemort or one of the other Death Eaters could break an enchantment by simply finding the source in a book, no matter how complex the enchantment seemed. Severus, instead, likely would have strung together a combination of simpler spells and runes – something he would have had to build himself, and likely documented in one of those notebooks.

The handwritten books fell into two categories: journals detailing his former self's service to Voldemort, including what he had done to prove his loyalty to the darkest wizard of his time, and entries describing the outcomes of the experiments Severus found marked up in the first set of books he looked through. Not long into the search of his counterpart's potion research notebooks, he understood why the other man had taken such drastic measures to hide them away. Had he not first erased the memory of his successful experiments, the double agent would not have been able to convince Voldemort he couldn't get the requested Perpetual Itching Potion – one which would have driven their victims to claw themselves to the bone – to produce anything more than a tickle, despite his dozen of attempts. How many unsuspecting muggles and captured Aurors had he saved from that, or worse, horrific death?

With each new page, Severus experienced an odd mixture of longing for his former life and grief for the Wizarding World in the time before he arrived in this one. Voldemort's return at the end of Harry's fourth year was an event he had not had to personally experience. He didn't have to physically stand tall in front of the man and lie about why he hadn't murdered the eleven-year-old Harry Potter on his first night at Hogwarts. He didn't lose a whole extra year of his life to be a double agent when most of the Wizarding World – led by the Minister himself – refused to believe Albus and Harry about his return, making his decisions of which secrets to tell his two masters, and those to not, all the riskier. If anything, the version of himself documented in these entries had more in common with Draco than with Severus, and he hated that the young Slytherin had to lose so much of his innocence because of those circumstances. Spying for Albus might have kept Draco out of Azkaban last year, and brought him towards the life he was about to build with his fiance, but he would forever carry the scars around with him. These journals were proof of it.

"You realize that it's the holiday season, right? And some of us might have had plans tonight."

After missing the sound of his floor announcing his friend's arrival, Severus's head shot up at Alton's voice above him having briefly forgotten the message he'd left for the Healer about Harry's return to Hogwarts without accidentally killing himself or someone else. Dressed to the nines in a sharp black suit with a pressed white pleated dress shirt, a perfectly tied black bow tie, and shining black lapels, Alton had clearly been at some haughty event that Severus would rather die than attend.

"From the looks of it, don't you think 'might' is a bit of an understatement?" A plush chair appeared beside Alton at the command of Severus's waved wand. "And do you realize that nowhere in my message did I indicate an emergency? Ergo, a succinct call would have sufficed, leaving you to whatever business you had tonight."

With a wave of his hand, Alton dismissed Severus's feigned concern as he sat in the offered chair, simultaneously unbuttoning his coat and crossing his right ankle over his left knee. "Eh, you did me a favour. I was at the hospital's annual Christmas Gala." He said it as if Severus could somehow relate to him in attending such an occasion. Even though they had attended every one of the Malfoy Galas Narcissa invited him and Harry to, Severus always secretly wished he could take Harry's suggestion and skip them. At least in this world, the one benefit he had to his counterpart being an unlikable prat was the distinct lack of any holiday invites. "I hate these parties. Getting all dressed up, eating food I can hardly pronounce, and trying to impress potential donors who pretend to understand a single word I say about my work, is my least favourite part of the job. But it comes with the territory of working at a private hospital and the extra funds roll back into places like the adolescent ward. And at least excusing myself for a patient consultation made me, and the hospital, sound important.

"So, tell me, what's going on with Harry? I saw Dr Swanson's notes about him being discharged this afternoon. His counts looked a little low to me, but given how you can keep his area cleaner than muggles, I'm sure it's why Dr Swanson wasn't concerned. If she had been, she would have kept him longer."

"Well, that's part of the problem. He claims he's feeling great today, better than usual at these blood levels." Severus couldn't hold back his sarcastic laugh at the thought that any other father would be relieved to see his son feeling better rather than scared that his magic might do significant harm at the cellular level. "At least he did until his magic tried to kill him less than a minute after he walked into our home."

"Ah. Hence the…" Alton finished the sentence he was too polite to say out loud by pointing to the disaster Severus created throughout the office.

"Precisely." Severus tossed the most recent notebook he'd been reading into the stack he intended to go over later and dived into the story of what had happened over the last few hours. Alton listened intently, asking thoughtful follow-up questions, as Severus expected, to ensure he understood every magical detail both individually and in context to the overall magical event. How much time passed between the windows breaking and the shards of glass being summoned to you? A minute, a couple of seconds? How did the shock feel to you when you touched him during the Cruciatus-like reaction? How far away were you from the fire and exploding light bulbs? Where is Harry now?

"I have to agree. I've not heard of any accidental magic reacting in such a way, especially towards ambient magic outside of the young witch or wizard with no potential danger to trigger it," Alton replied when Severus finished detailing the two spells he had used to keep Harry safe in his bedroom, and his search for the missing ward. "That being said, I can't say whether Harry's reaction is typical because we both know that the concept of how magic reacts to chemotherapy… or any serious muggle medical treatment… is a vastly understudied topic. That it appears to be following a similar path in Harry as he experienced before, albeit a bit more violently–"

"A bit?" Severus interjected, rubbing at his headache caused by an unpleasant combination of too much critical thinking and not nearly enough food over the last few days. "At this rate, I'm not sure if I should be more worried about it spreading his cancer or it flat out killing him the moment he steps foot into Hogwarts!"

Alton didn't answer right away, something which Severus appreciated. As much as he wanted the other wizard to join in his panic, one of them had to stay rational. "Let's back up a minute," the healer said, uncrossing his legs and reaching into his bag at his feet for a muggle notepad and pencil, "why does Harry have to go back to Hogwarts? Assuming you can find something in all this mess to identify and then disable all the magic in your home, it's safest for him to stay there until we can repeat the ritual. At least that would remove one variable from the equation – the explosive accidental magic."

"Obviously, my first thought was to take a leave of absence to stay with Harry at Spinner's End." Severus sighed, too exhausted to put much of any emotion into his explanation. "Albus would approve it, no questions asked, except Harry would be miserable stuck at home, for even a fortnight. I'm afraid if I condemn him to a magical quarantine right as he's regained some of his optimism, it might be the final straw that pushes him to discontinue his treatment altogether. And after everything he's been through this year, I can't really say I'd blame him. What's the point in living if you're doing it locked away from everyone you love? No. I need to exhaust every opportunity first… so I can tell him I did everything I could to get him back to school. Otherwise, we might as well give up and let him live the last…" Severus hid his face in his hands, overwhelmed with grief at the thought of losing his second son too.

"I understand, Severus. The mental aspect of this is half the battle." Alton said when Severus couldn't go on. "As long as you and Harry are both fully aware that temporary magical isolation may be required, I have a few ideas to regulate Harry's magical strength. If we're lucky… and let's be honest, at this point, we're dealing more with luck than any studied magical theory.. these should be enough to keep the reactions to minor incidents, like summoning a blanket or putting out the lanterns."

"I'm listening," Severus said, strategically avoiding the magical quarantine part of Alton's plan.

It didn't surprise Severus that Alton's first suggestion was for Harry to use as much "innocent" magic as he could in the coming few days to establish an outlet for the chaotic magic pulsing inside of him, fighting to find a way out. It had been successful at lessening his accidental magic in the months prior to the magical block, and with the next ritual only a little more than a fortnight away, they would fully suppress his magic before it could negatively impact his treatment's progress. The second suggestion was for Harry to begin an exercise routine to help him physically release his pent-up energy, in case it also affected his magical outbursts. Given Harry's current physical deterioration since his relapse, it would be tough for Harry to sustain anything rigorous, but Severus knew Harry would embrace this one. The third suggestion caught the professor off guard.

"Are you familiar with an Admonitor?" Alton inquired, scribbling down notes into Harry's ever-expanding file as fast as he spoke them. Without waiting for Severus to answer, he continued, "It's a small cuff Harry would continuously wear which will notify you and me of any powerful spells he casts, either accidentally or intentionally."

"I'm familiar with them, in concept," Severus replied, his interest piqued. Truth be told, he knew about them in concept only – a rather vague history of being used to monitor potential dark wizards. Since the Ministry discontinued their use of the objects long before Severus became a Death Eater, he had no reason to investigate them further. "I thought aurors stopped using those decades ago when they were determined to be susceptible to manipulation and, hence, unreliable."

Alton raised his head, almost shocked to see Severus still seated on the floor in front of him. He dropped the muggle pencil on the file and crossed his hands over both. "You are absolutely correct. If a witch or wizard doesn't want to be caught using a specific set of spells, they are quite easy to manipulate. This made them a terrible tool for the DMLE's purpose. However, Harry has little motive to tamper with the results, so it's ideal for us to observe, and respond, to his magic in real time. Hopefully, we won't see anything critical come up, but if we notice a pattern of escalating magic, we can better address whatever aspect of his magical core is acting up."

"I'll accept that." Severus frowned. "And I'm assuming you just so happen to have a set of these now-rare instruments lying around somewhere? As well as know how to set them up to track the spells we need to monitor?"

"Not quite, but I know someone who does. Let me handle the Admonitor. You concentrate on the siphoning of Harry's magic through him using it," the healer said as he resumed making notes in Harry's file. "Assuming we give Harry the go-ahead to return to school, I believe it would be in his best interest to set up a magical barrier in your quarters here. Something a little more powerful than what you've placed on his bedroom tonight. That way, he'll stay protected from Hogwarts' substantially stronger magic for most of his day and only be exposed to it in small, regulated doses as he leaves. I'll arrange it with Albus. When will you be back? The fourth?" Severus gave a nod. "I'll plan to stop by your place on the second to activate the Admonitor and administer a series of specific exercises to assess his magical threshold. Worst-case scenario, if he's still reacting during my visit, I can return on the third, or fourth if necessary. It will give him two extra days for his magic to settle. Still, you should prepare him for the possibility of a magical quarantine if the tests on the fourth don't go well.

That was one conversation Severus did not look forward to having.

With the plan in place to get Harry back to Hogwarts, Alton tried to delay his return to the hospital's gala by offering to help Severus sift through the remaining books and journals in search of the missing spells on Spinner's End. As much as Severus appreciated his friend's offer, and could use the help, he had to decline as the subjects in these buried documents were not to be shared lightly and waved a quick goodbye to his friend.

Severus uncovered his missing ward about two hours later, tucked away in one of the handwritten notebooks, between a detailed report on the January 1996 breakout from Azkaban and follow-up notes on an Order meeting surrounding Arthur Weasley's attack at the Department of Mysteries. Apparently, his counterpart had designed a custom set of runes and spells after being forced to offer Spinner's End to any of the previously mentioned escaped Death Eaters. The image of his former associates wandering, not so innocently, about his house had Severus wholeheartedly agreeing with the extensive actions taken to protect his work, and his life.

But the identity of the enchantment was only half of the equation, and Severus spent the next hour analysing the notes and tracking down every obscure reference in at least three of the books he had previously disregarded to create the procedure to remove it. Once he felt confident he could execute every single step, wand movement, and incantation by memory, Severus returned the books to their protective box, taking care to keep them organized. With his conversation with Jugson and Gibbon still fresh in his mind, he had to presume they contained some kind of information pertinent to their situation.

A problem for next week.

Right as the lid of the box fully closed, Severus leapt to his feet – an action his ageing body would later regret – and ran to his floo, chanting the incantations the entire way. He had barely scooped up a fistful of floo powder in his right hand when he stopped dead in his tracks, letting the fine ash fall through his spread fingers. How could he almost forget something so crucial to their plan?

He backed away from the floo and dashed through the sitting room into the bedroom corridor, coming to a halt in front of Harry's bedroom door. Cautiously, as if afraid of waking up a sleeping Harry on the other side, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. It seemed like an eternity since they'd been here, and he longed for Harry to return to the room that had always felt most like home, at least to this version of the boy. His footsteps were deafeningly quiet as he made his way to the bedside table where Harry kept his wand, a habit that Severus despised simply because it implied that the young wizard had learned to always keep it close to him while he slept. The cold holly wand seemed foreign in Severus's hands, thicker and coarser than his own wand, but he smiled to himself at how happy Harry, and the wand, would be when they were officially reunited.

~~~~HP~~~~

Releasing a content sigh, Harry dropped the wide wooden paint brush into the can of red paint at his feet and took an unsteady step backwards to get a better view of his masterpiece, or to be more precise, his sad attempt to escape the sense of imprisonment that had been building up within him since Snape's departure. Although the thick, sloppy globs of intersecting red, dark blue, and neon green paint dripping down his wall looked more like Dudley's primary school paintings Aunt Petunia used to display on the refrigerator than any work of art he'd ever seen, he had to admit that it had served its purpose.

It was no secret how much Harry hated being trapped in one place for too long. He hated being confined to this room just as he had hated the sound of Uncle Vernon latching the locks outside of his cupboard – and later, his bedroom –, seeing those awful bars on his window the summer before second year, being quarantined to Snape's quarters last year, and being forced to stay at the hospital, even if he was free to roam the corridors at will. Yes, he understood at least three were for his own good, and he knew that being stuck in this room was hopefully only temporary, but being locked inside anywhere made him stir crazy.

To his credit, Dudley had done his best to help Harry keep his mind off his makeshift imprisonment. They began their night with four, very brief board games – each ending due to Harry's lack of focus and forgetting whose turn it was –, a couple of rounds of cards, and listening to a dozen new artists on Dudley's not-so-portable stereo. Dudley even cooked them a small dinner, more so Harry could take his medication than either of them being hungry, where they shared a good laugh when Dudley insisted even he couldn't possibly mess up a can of soup after Harry teased him about never having to cook a meal in his life. Overall, while far from the worst imprisonment of his life – an honour given to either his dark, musty cupboard, or the months spent at Malfoy Manor, depending on who asked – Harry still found himself unable to relax; stuck in the familiar purgatory of being fidgety despite his exhaustion from his magical afternoon.

So when all the other distractions failed, Harry resorted to his sketchbook, having forgotten how wards designed to prevent any of his accidental magic would also make the charms on his new pencils useless. It took three failed attempts of drawing a simple straight line for him to give up; tossing the book across the room in his frustration. He was midway through ranting to Dudley about how much his chemotherapy was ruining every decent part left of his life when he remembered the leftover buckets of paint and large brushes he and Snape had bought last June to repaint Spinner's End. They had gone to the hardware store together and selected a set of modest colours to test on each room, as well as some 'fun' colours at Harry's insistence – one variation of each Hogwarts house and the darkest black the hardware store offered – to see whether the typically uptight professor would give in. If he remembered correctly, they put the unused, non-magical materials outside in the storage cupboard behind the house.

Getting Dudley to agree to go into the spider-infested cupboard in search of the tools had been the easiest part of Harry's plan. It had been significantly more difficult to convince him that by using the larger brush, with his wall as a canvas, Harry would feel less incompetent at his art, thus giving him a chance to distract him from his current misery. Plus, as he had stressed, once Snape lifted the "magical block" on his room, the professor could easily remove it. Although Harry's logic had been good enough to get him the supplies, Dudley decided not to join in; opting to sit on his camp bed to finish the rest of his marking while Harry indulged in his artistic side.

"Exactly how much of your walls are you planning on painting?" Dudley asked as Harry threw more red paint onto it, taking pleasure in watching it try to blend into the other colours. "Because that section is filling up pretty quickly. And unless you plan on standing in the bed, you're going to have to move it, by yourself, if you want to get to the rest of it. "

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "As much as it takes for either Severus to remove the rest of the magic in this house or for me to physically exhaust myself to the point I don't care. Whichever comes first."

As if the universe timed it perfectly, the door behind Harry squeaked open, not giving Dudley a chance to respond. Harry turned around and his cheeks flushed at the sight of Snape standing in the doorway inspecting the latest addition to Harry's bedroom.

"Then I suspect it's a good thing I returned before you reached our shared lavatory," the professor tutted, announcing his presence. "Dudley, could you please give me a moment alone with Harry? We need to discuss a few things regarding the start of term next year."

"Yes, sir." Dudley didn't hesitate at the command and diligently packed up the looseleaf parchment into his leather school bag. He gave Harry a small smile, one similar to those he'd seen Ron give to the twins when he knew they were going to be lectured by Mrs Weasley, before quietly making his way down the stairs, closing the door behind him.

Now alone with Snape, Harry returned to his new mural, stepping onto his pillows to smear streaks of red paint across the space above his headboard, choosing not to turn around when he heard the other wizard settle onto the bed right behind him.

"You know?" Snape's soft words broke their almost companionable silence. "In the summer following the adoption, I used to lie awake at night wondering what you were like as a child. I used to wish I had anything from your childhood… pictures, artwork, school report cards… to help bridge the empty gap between the newborn from the birth announcement Lily had sent me and the twelve-year-old fast asleep in this very room. It took all I had not to apparate straight to Little Whinging and curse Petunia seven different ways for being such a selfish, hate-filled shrew." Snape's anger had risen near the end, and he exhaled deeply to calm himself back down. "And yet, in all the various images I had of you, I never imagined you as the type of child who would use markers… or, in this case, paint… on the walls of his home."

Harry's arm froze midair, paint dripping down the wall and onto the wooden floor behind the bed, but refused to face Snape. He, too, would have liked some kind of record of his childhood, not that he would say as much, given the current circumstances. "Ironically, I spent most of my childhood scrubbing those walls," he mumbled, sadly, then continued with the red line, connecting it to the edge of the blue one just off the side of the bed. "Believe me, I knew exactly what my uncle would have done if I had coloured on them, and there are better things to be punished for than colouring on the walls."

Snape didn't comment on the depressing reality of Harry's childhood, and Harry was grateful to him for it. He didn't need any help in falling into the pit of despair that had been his life so far. What he needed was help keeping him from tumbling over the edge, so he wouldn't end up in a dark place unable to return.

"Come sit down, Harry," Snape requested, lightly. "There are several important things we need to discuss before we get into your spontaneous mural."

Harry ducked his head sheepishly, and briefly considered doing as Snape asked. Instead, he switched out the brush of red paint for the green one, and politely muttered, "If it's alright with you, can I paint while we talk?"

He held his breath waiting for Snape to consider his request and, whether it was because of his respectful tone or Snape recognising how much Harry needed to move during the conversation, it surprised him to see Snape's head incline just enough for Harry to continue.

"I've removed the final wards from the house," Snape began with Harry painting almost to the same rhythm as he spoke. "It seems Voldemort had intended to use this house for at least one of his followers during the summer I spent with you in Little Whinging – most likely one who had escaped from Azkaban in your fifth year. To prepare for this, my counterpart devised a rather complicated set of wards to keep specific aspects of his life hidden from prying eyes." He waited, likely expecting Harry to ask questions, then went on when the silence lingered. "I discovered the correct combination of enchantments and runes hidden away in my office at Hogwarts, and have effectively disabled them. I also confirmed that the only magic left in the house is the floo, so I've removed both of the protective enchantments on your room-

"Without telling me?!" Harry spun around, ignoring the splatter of paint that coated his bed as a result. As if to prove his point, Snape waved his wand over the mess, cleaning it instantly. Harry violently shook his head. "What if you were wrong about why my magic was reacting?! How could you put me, a-and Dudley, at risk like that?! I could have dropped dead right here, completely unaware of why!"

Snape never wavered in the face of Harry's fury, and in some odd twist of fate, Harry wished for the insecurity of the man out on the stoop rather than the overconfident face staring back at him. "You were safe, Harry," Snape steadily explained. "I hope you know by now that I would never put you, or Dudley, in danger. Dudley and I discussed my plan to remove it if I had found the solution, and he agreed to keep a careful eye on you all night. We didn't want to add any undue stress to the situation."

"It should have been my decision." Harry glared at the man, although the fire burning inside of him was short-lived. How could he stay angry when he could now walk throughout his own house, exactly what he'd been complaining about all night? He dropped onto the bed next to Snape, placing the brush back into the bucket of paint. "Did anyone ever end up living here? Bellatrix didn't sleep in my bed at some point, did she?" He spat the name like he was removing poison from his lips.

"No." Shape's soothing chuckle dissolved any remaining animosity between them. However, that Voldemort didn't ask me about it again should have been a sign he'd lost trust in me at some point. It ultimately led to the attack on your aunt and uncle's house."

"Give yourself a break." Harry leaned in and nudged his shoulder against Snape's. "You were a little busy back then. Y'know tracking me down and dragging me to a muggle hospital against my will."

"I like to think I was more convincing than forceful, but it may be a difference of perspective." Snape drew his right leg under his left to face Harry, and Harry couldn't help feeling guilty at the dark circles under his mentor's eyes; circles he wouldn't have if not for Harry and his complex issues. "Besides finding the solution for here, I also met with Alton tonight to discuss the logistics of your safe return to Hogwarts at the end of the week. We can't exactly remove all the magic from a sentient castle filled with witches and wizards actively practicing magic, can we?"

Harry's stomach churned as he thought about where this conversation had to be heading. Deep down, he had known that Snape wouldn't let him go back to the school; there had already been too many strange events happening there without adding his untrained, chaotic magic. Still, hearing it would make the whole situation too real and he hated the prospect of not seeing his friends again until February – of not being able to say goodbye to Luna or congratulate Hermione and Draco in person.

"I 'spose not," Harry grumbled, his lips doing the bare minimum to form the words. "So am I going to have a babysitter here during the day while you're at school? Or are you going to trust me not to cause too much trouble alone?"

A firm hand on his knee made Harry look up at Snape. "Do you honestly think I'd go through the bother of contacting Alton at a hospital event just to take the easy way out and immediately put you in magical quarantine?"

"Oh." He hadn't considered it that way, but given the situation, he also wouldn't have blamed Snape for taking the easy way out. A deep sigh of relief left his lips. "Based on your tone, I'm thinking not. So, then what is the plan? Hopefully, something quick, because we go back to school in five days."

If asked, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to recount all the details of Snape and Healer Smithe's crazy plan with any level of accuracy, and he was certain Hermione would demand it as soon as he told her what had happened. Magic, relieving pressure through physical exercise, and a monitor whose function he could not entirely understand.

The magic portion was straightforward. Over the next few days, while living in their newly converted muggle-style home, he had to use his wand as much as possible. Although he was still worried about the long-term effects of using his magic during chemotherapy – the excruciating pain of his magical core burning out last year was something he'd never forget – a larger part of him was eager to regain his magical identity. After all, he was a wizard, and no matter how many times he'd told everyone that he wouldn't mind if he lost his magic to leukemia, he genuinely missed the tingle of magic flowing through his body while casting even the most basic of spells.

The exercise component of the regimen concerned Harry the most. On his good days his physical ability was adequate, at best, and flat-out embarrassing on his bad ones, particularly considering how he and Dudley used to go for a morning run around the neighbourhood throughout the summer and continued the routine at the Quidditch pitch up to his relapse. Sure, the logic made sense – any release of the physical tension inside of him would help to reduce his accidental magic – and he assured Snape he'd do whatever he could, but that didn't mean he wanted to see the proof of how far he had fallen in just a few short months.

Most of their conversation ended up being dedicated to the Admonitor, to convince Harry how an instrument rejected by the DMLE for being too unstable might actually protect him.

"This bracelet… or c-cuff–" Harry wrapped his fingers around his wrist, noting how easily his middle finger and thumb overlapped each other, "–it will tell you every single spell I cast?"

"Not quite." Snape grimaced as he shook his head. "In theory, the magical portion is like your current chemotherapy regimen – smaller but more frequent doses versus last year's stronger doses spread further apart. So until the next ritual, you'll be casting a lot of minor spells rather than a few larger ones, and therefore, Alton will only need to configure the Admonitor to report back on any of the more powerful, and potentially triggering spells you, or your accident magic, use." He paused, waiting for Harry to comment. Then, accurately interpreting Harry's silence as his unease about the idea, he added, "We'll develop a list of harmless spells approved for you to use regularly throughout the day. Lumos, Accio, Aguamenti – ones that won't entice your accidental magic to react negatively towards you or anyone else. It should give you a clear idea of what you shouldn't do."

"There goes my plan of hexing Ron every time I see him," Harry quipped, pleased to have earned a rare laugh out of Snape. An icy shiver rushed through Harry's body, and Snape handed him his yellow blanket off the floor before he could move a muscle. "Thanks." Harry wrapped the blanket securely around his shoulders. "If you could find a way for me to use warming charms, I'd appreciate it. Seriously, I'd cast that one all day long."

"I'll ask Alton to review it, but given how your accidental magic set fire to the bannister this afternoon…" he craned his neck around to read the clock on the bedside table behind him, "...or yesterday afternoon, I suspect using any form of heating charm may be out of the question. For now, we'll focus on the three spells I mentioned, plus levitation and cleaning. You'll want to stay away from any offensive, defensive, or transfiguration spells, including conjuring."

"Obviously," Harry snorted.

This time, Snape ignored the comment. "Alton will stop by on the second to test your progress by reapplying the external magic around you and observing how your magic reacts to them separately and then collectively. We'll start small, like setting the dishes to wash in the washbasin and dusting, and then work our way up to the protective wards around the laboratory and house. As long as you don't have any magical mishaps here, we may try a visit to the Burrow or Diagon Alley, for good measure, before plopping you back into Hogwarts."

"Sounds like you've got this all figured out," Harry sighed, suddenly engrossed in seeing his fingers intertwine among themselves on his lap, just like the feelings growing inside of him. More than anything, he wanted to go back to Hogwarts, not ready to give up his first home even though he hadn't truly been a part of it in the last few months. He wanted to see his friends again, to rebelliously hold Luna in his bed, and to feel like any normal seventeen-year-old wizard. On the other hand, he was well aware that by using his magic again, he risked his entire wizarding future. It was almost easier to decide on chemotherapy since the alternative was death, and regardless of what he said during his lowest of lows, he wanted to live. But he also wanted to live as a wizard, making his options bad or worse. "Ok." He shook out his cramping hands in front of him, afraid he'd change his mind if he didn't agree now. "When do I start?"

For whatever reason, Harry hadn't expected Snape to have his wand with him, and was taken aback when the professor held it out to him across the small space between them on the bed. Harry's outstretched palm trembled as it lingered above the chunky hilt, the holly's magic reaching out to him, begging him to grab ahold of it. He stared, unblinking, at it, clearing his mind in a way he hadn't done since mastering his Occlumency lessons last year. Reacting on instinct alone, Harry's hand lowered until his open palm hit the wand base, and he wrapped his fingers around it one by one, from his pinky to his thumb. Snape had hardly released the tip when an electrifying sensation, much different from the earlier accidental Cruciatus, soared through his arm and into the core of his body. Oh, yes, this felt right to Harry, and an overwhelming desire to cast something seized him.

"Start with Lumos, then Nox." Snape's command came as a whisper, or so Harry thought, but the buzz of his magic pulsing through his ears might have made it sound that way. He replied with a nod, his eyes fixed on his wand and unable to move. "To be safe," Snape added, "I'll have my wand ready in case anything besides the illumination of your wand tip occurs."

Three deep inhaled breaths, followed by three equally deep, and rather shaky, exhales, passed before Harry finally yelled out, "Lumos!" with as much conviction as he could muster for a middle-of-the-night test. He didn't expect his first attempt to succeed, so when the tip of his wand shined brightly, he almost dropped it off the bed – strengthening his grip on it at the last moment – and gasped in surprise, "I did it!"

"Now extinguish it," Snape instructed, proudly, from the other side of the bed, though Harry couldn't see him through the intensity of his wand tip.

"Nox." Without hesitation, the wand tip darkened, and Harry's smile stretched ear-to-ear, the widest he'd smiled in weeks. "It worked," he exclaimed as he peered down at the wand laying in his open palms. "And it felt good! Fantastic, really… even better than anything my first year or my first patronus." Snape's steady grasp on Harry's shoulder drew the young wizard's attention up to his mentor – the one person who had always fought valiantly for him at every challenge they faced, both for his present and his future. "Thank you, Severus. This is–" he swallowed a knot of emotion he didn't have the energy to handle at the moment. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Harry." Snape stood, officially ending their conversation just as Harry let out a large yawn, a combination of the exhaustion from the crazy day finally catching up to him and the relief that they now had a definitive plan in place for him. "I'll talk with Dudley and Dr Swanson in the morning about a similar regimen for your physical exercise, and Alton will set up the Admonitor during his visit on the second – assuming all the tests are acceptable." He paused, as if unsure of his next words, and Harry waited for his internal debate to end. "You're not alone in this, Harry," he stated solemnly. "I am committed to seeing you through this… and you will get through this. If it comes down to it, and you need to be quarantined away from magic, I won't leave you here alone and I will arrange for your friends to visit as often as they can. We have only nineteen days until the next ritual, and we will get you there."

Snape's declaration caused a lump to form in Harry's throat, forcing him to nod his head in agreement. Nineteen days in this magical purgatory seemed like almost nothing compared to the years he still had ahead of him, and the months he'd already spent fighting this battle. Besides, even if he couldn't return to Hogwarts in the end, he'd still get to see his friends here and spend those nineteen days living like a real wizard again.

"Oh, and Harry," Snape added, his hand on the bedroom doorknob, ready to open it. Harry peered up at him with a small 'hmmm', and Snape motioned his head towards the newly painted wall beside the bed. "I do believe I approved the cleaning spell. You best use it to clean off that wall."