Harry and Professor Snape stood there for what felt like an endless eternity of silence staring at each other. Rain beat heavily against the windows along the hall which only seemed to make the silence all that more pronounced.

“Potter...” Snape finally found the voice to stammer, still staring at the boy in front of him as if he thought he was going mad.

“You can really see me?” Harry asked, hope tentatively rising in his voice, “You can really see me standing here?”

This seemed to finally rattle Snape out of his trance. “Of course I can, Potter, or otherwise I would not be looking directly at you,” he sneered.

“Professor, you have to help me!” Harry cried, pleadingly looking up at his Potions teacher, “They all think I’m dead! No one else can see me – not even Dumbledore! You have to tell him I’m not dead!”

Snape critically looked Harry’s transparent, grey figure up and down. “Unfortunately, Potter, given your current state of being, I would have to say they are right. Your soul has obviously experienced some sort of traumatic event that it was made to leave your body. This traumatic event is usually what people refer to as ‘dying’...” Despite his cold, uncaring tone, Snape continued to curiously scan Harry’s ghostly form. “My God, Potter, what happened?” he finally asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I don’t know!” Harry wailed, feeling a fresh sting of tears in his eyes, “I was just walking down the street towards Diagon Alley when I see this Death Eater following me. He attacked me and tried to kill me with an Avada Kedavra curse. I blocked him the first couple times, but he pushed me back into the street and was going to use it again, but then I felt something slam into me, and I woke up like this!” Harry knew he was beginning to babble as tears began to stream down his cheeks as if him finally finding someone that could see and hear him had opened the floodgates to all his previously checked fears and stress of the last few hours. “Paramedics came and took my body to the hospital, but they couldn’t save me and all the doctors left, and my aunt and uncle came, but they didn’t even care I was dead, and then Dumbledore came with Professor McGonagall and Lupin, but none of them could see me either, and–”

“Potter!” Professor Snape finally shouted to stop the hysterical teenager’s frightened babbling. Harry instantly felt silent and stared up at his flustered looking Potions Master with transparent tears still shining in his eyes.

Snape took a long, deep breath to calm himself, feeling distinctly annoyed and unnerved to find himself suddenly having to deal with the frightened, hysterical ghost of his least favorite student. Harry was still staring at him, as if pleading for him to help.

“You said there was a Death Eater?” Snape questioned, doing his best to go along with everything Harry had just said, “What did he look like?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, still looking dangerously like he would burst into tears again at the slightest provocation, “He was wearing a hood over his face.”

Snape considered this for a long moment of silence. “It would seem then that there were more outside factors we did not know about involved in your supposed death. If Voldemort or Death Eaters were somehow involved in this, then perhaps this wasn’t just some sort of freak accident. Dumbledore must be informed of this...”

Harry was sure he had never wanted to hug anyone else in his entire life more than how much he wanted to hug Snape right then. Snape was going to tell Dumbledore what happened... Everything was going to be alright...

But just then a high-pitched, sing-songy voice suddenly rang out from overhead.

“Poor Sniveling Severus... Oh, he’s finally gone off the deep end! Everyone knows when you start talking to yourself, that’s the first sign of mental instability! Poor, poor Sniveling Severus! What will Dumbledore say? Probably give him the boot! But then what will poor, sneaking, sniveling Severus do?”

Looking up, Harry saw the head of Hogwarts’ infamous, prankster poltergeist Peeves pop out from the ceiling like a swimmer emerging from underwater. The bells on his tiny hat rung merrily as he somersaulted his way free of the ceiling and started doing cartwheels in the air over Snape and Harry’s heads.

The darkest of looks passed over Snape’s face like a baleful shadow. His lips curled up into a murderous snarl. “Get out of here, Peeves, before I blast you all the way up to the astronomy tower,” he snarled dangerously.

“Oh, poor sniveling, sneaking Severus,” Peeves sang as if he hadn’t even heard Snape’s threat, “Tsk tsk... First talking to himself, then threatening poor little ol’ me with violence... Oh Dumbledore’s not going to like this at all...”

“I said be gone!” Snape snapped, reaching inside his robes for his wand.

“Poor, poor, sneaking, sniveling Severus!” Peeves merrily laughed and cartwheeled away down the hall just as a ball of glowing green light exploded against the ceiling right where he had been floating only seconds before. Peeves laughter echoed down the hallway as he zoomed away, leaving a very angry looking Snape behind.

Harry stood there in complete and utter silence as he watched Snape angrily stuff his wand back inside his robes’ inner pocket.

With a sharp swish of his robes, Snape turned and stalked off towards the end of the hall. Harry stood there frozen, not quite sure what he was suppose to do after witnessing such an encounter. But as Snape came to the end of the hall, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder with a look of clear vexation. “Well?” he sneered, “Are you coming, Potter, or do you need an engraved invitation?” Then, without even waiting, he turned and set off at a brisk walk down the adjacent hall, his black robes billowing behind him.

Harry hurried to catch up with Snape and fell into step close behind him.

“Professor, where– ?”

“Be quiet, Potter,” Snape snapped.

Harry obediently fell silent. Though he probably would have liked to ask Snape several important questions (like where they were going, and how Snape thought Dumbledore was going to help him), Harry did not risk asking them. He didn’t want to risk upsetting the only person that actually seemed able to see him.

Walking along behind Snape, Harry suddenly realized how quickly the anxiety and fear of the last few hours seemed to dissolve into only a mild worry somewhere in the back of his mind. Even though he had never liked Snape (and, yes, at times had positively hated the man), somehow just knowing Snape could see him and was willing to help him was enough to make him actually feel grateful for the dark haired man’s presence. He didn’t even care that Snape had seen him at possibly one of his weakest moments: crying and babbling like that. Just as long as he helped him get back to normal Harry didn’t care if Snape told that damaging little story to the entire Slytherin House! Just as long as he got back...

“Am I correct in assuming–” Snape suddenly said from up in front of Harry “–that since Peeves did not even acknowledge your presence there in the hallway, that no one else but me can see you?”

“So it would seem...” Harry replied with a shrug.

Harry swore he heard Snape growl under his breath. “Well this should be interesting then...” Snape muttered darkly to himself.

Harry saw the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore’s office spring into view down the hall. But instead of stopping in front of it as he expected Snape to do, the Potions Master strode past it towards another door just down the hall. Harry said nothing and followed uncertainly after him. As they neared the slightly ajar door, Harry suddenly caught the sound of murmured voices coming from within.

He curiously glanced up at Snape for an explanation, but the Potions Master said nothing in response. Instead he strode right up to the door and wretched it open without so much as even a cursory knock. Following Snape into the room, Harry was shocked to find it filled with almost half a dozen teachers and none other than his very own godfather!

“Sirius!” Harry cried in surprise but then immediately fell silent again at the sight of his godfather’s wretched state.

His body lay stretched out along a long divan with Madam Pomfrey bent down over it on the far right side of the room. Sirius sat on the edge of the couch close beside him, emptily staring down at his pale white face. He didn’t even turn to look up as Snape swept into the room in a whirl of dark hair and robes. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy as if he had been crying for some unknown period of time. Hair fell messily down around his haggard face, half obscuring it from Harry’s view. But even that was not enough to hide that look of utter despair Harry had begun to see far too much of that day. It was like his godfather had lost all reason to live.

Lupin stood close behind Sirius, watching his friend emptily stare down at their best friend’s dead son. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore stood close together near the door, speaking together in hushed tones. They both fell silent at Professor Snape’s entrance and looked up at him in surprise.

“Dumbledore,” Snape said, walking over towards them, “I have just come across an important bit of information...”

“What is it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked in his empty tone that Snape was beginning to find rather annoying. Dear Lord, the bloody boy hadn’t been that important...

Snape hesitantly glanced over at Sirius on the other side of the room. By now Madam Pomfrey and Lupin had also quieted to listen. Even Sirius had broken himself away from his pitiful mourning to look up at him.

The Potions Master took a slow, calming breath and turned back to Dumbledore, readying himself for the absurdity of his own words. “I have been in contact with Potter,” he said rather hurriedly, “It seems something happened to him just before he died. Just now, I came across his spirit in the hallway. He says he was attacked by a Death Eater right before he was hit by the car. He’s been trying to contact others for help but it seems no one else can see or hear him...”

There! He’d said it! Now all that mattered was if they actually believed him or not.

For an immeasurable stretch of eternity no one there said or did anything except stare at Snape in unbearable, deafening silence. Snape thought he could actually hear rain beating against the windows out in the hall it was so quiet.

Harry, standing unseen near the door, looked around himself worriedly. What if they don’t believe Snape? he suddenly wondered, only now realizing the complications of his situations, Then what? Harry felt that familiar twinge of fear spark somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach.

Finally, as if regaining his composure, Dumbledore looked Snape straight in the eye for the first time since returning with Harry’s body. “And you say you can see him, Severus?” he asked.

Snape could not detect any particular emotion in the Headmaster’s question, but he imagined there was a hint of skepticism in it. Beside Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall tilted her head to the side and quirked an eyebrow at him as if also wondering the same question. Behind him, Snape could feel eyes boring into his back from Lupin and Black on the other side of the room.

Snape felt his face flush with warmth. Why was it nothing could ever be easy for him? “Yes,” he grudgingly answered.

Dumbledore studied Snape’s face for several moments of intense, drawn out silence, as if trying to gauge the truth of what Snape said. “Why is it that no one else can see him?” the old Headmaster then curiously asked.

“I don’t know, but apparently Potter’s been trying to communicate with everyone he’s come across since finding himself in this state.”

“And is he here right now?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape heaved a heavy sigh. He knew it had been only a matter of time...

“Yes,” he said, “He’s right over there...” and pointed to where Harry nervously stood in the doorway, looking scared and confused in his new ghostly state.

What happened immediately next took everyone there by surprise. Even afterwards no one could accurately describe how it happened so fast.

With absolutely no warning at all, Sirius leapt up from his place next to Harry’s body and threw himself at Snape’s turned back. Grabbing the Potion Master’s collar, Sirius brutally spun Snape around and slammed him into the nearest wall. Fisting two handfuls of the other man’s robes in his hands, Sirius angrily smashed Snape up against the wall, holding him several inches off the ground.

Startled cries rang out from the room’s other occupants.

“You bloody bastard!” Sirius screamed into Snape’s face, slamming him against the wall again, “You bloody, heartless bastard!” A wild, crazy light had begun to burn in Sirius’ eyes, as if he had suffered the last little bit of torment he could before he had finally been pushed over the edge into insanity. “You heartless, greasy worm!” he screamed, still holding Snape up by his robes, “You always hated Harry! Even now when he lies here dead, you have to make fun of him! He never did anything to you! Why do you still hold this grudge with James against him? He was just a child! Why do you still have to torment him even when he’s dead? Can’t you even stand the thought of those that loved him mourning him in peace? Are you just that bloody twisted that you have to try and make his death some kind of joke? Is that it?” Sirius screamed, all sense of control gone from him as he once more slammed Snape up against the wall.

“That’s enough!” Dumbledore’s loud, commanding voice suddenly rang out as he and Lupin struggled to pull Sirius off of Snape. “That’s enough I say!”

As if actually obeying Dumbledore or just too drained of wrath to attack Snape anymore, Sirius let go of Snape’s robes and stepped back next to Lupin, hatefully staring at Snape through the haze of angry tears clouding his vision. Snape slid down against the wall to the floor, coughing and sputtering and gasping for breath. Professor McGonagall quickly hurried to his side.

“What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall demanded, kneeling down beside Professor Snape, “Attacking another teacher like that!”

“That heartless bastard,” Sirius hissed between clenched teeth, “I swear if he says one more thing about Harry like that I’ll kill him!”

“You will do no such thing,” Dumbledore said, his voice once again strong and commanding as he stared Sirius down into submission.

“He is dishonoring Harry’s memory!” Sirius screamed, turning his slowly rekindling rage onto Dumbledore.

“Perhaps...” Dumbledore conceded , “But that is no excuse to attack another person – especially another member of the Order – like that.”

“I am telling the truth,” Snape snapped as he unsteadily pulled himself back up off the floor and turned to face Dumbledore and Black, straightening his robes angrily, “I am not lying!”

Sirius looked ready to lunge at Snape again, but Lupin quickly caught his arm and held him back. “As if I wouldn’t be able to see my own godson standing there!” Sirius instead opted to yell when he found his friend’s grip too strong to shake.

Snape returned Sirius’ murderous glare with a contemptuous sneer, as if wanting nothing more than to retort with some stinging comment concerning Sirius’ intelligence. But Lupin was quicker and cut him off before he could say anything of the sort.

“I’m sorry if you find us all a little bit skeptical about everything you just said, Snape,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral, “But perhaps if you had some kind of proof for us...”

Everyone in the room expectantly looked at Snape, waiting to see what he would say.

Realizing he was going to have to play along with their little test before they actually believed him, Snape softly growled under his breath, “Like what?”

Everyone’s gaze immediately shifted towards Dumbledore.

The old Headmaster quietly pondered the question, thoughtfully tugging at his beard as he did. “Perhaps by telling us something only young Harry would know,” he finally suggested after a moment.

“And just what could that be?” Snape snidely drawled.

“How about how I escaped from Hogwarts after you so dutifully turned me back in to the authorities for the Dementor’s Kiss?” Sirius hissed from Lupin’s side, glaring challengingly at his childhood enemy.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I always did wonder how you managed that spectacular escape...” he muttered thoughtfully. Abruptly looking over towards the empty doorway of the room he called, “Well, Potter?”

Jumping at the sudden shout of his name, Harry was startled to see everyone in the room suddenly looking in his direction, though only Professor Snape could actually pin point his exact location, and stared at him expectantly. Everyone else (perhaps with only the exception of Dumbledore) were beginning to exchange skeptical looks with each other out of the corners of their eyes, looking distinctly uncomfortable with having to stare at (what to them) was nothing but an empty spot in the doorway, waiting for some earth-shattering revelation to come.

“Well?” Snape prompted impatiently.

“Umm...” Harry stammered. How did Snape expect him to answer like that when he had just spent the last few hours frantically trying to get anyone’s attention, and now suddenly had half a dozen people staring at him? He just didn’t perform on command like that.

“Hey, if you can’t tell us, Snivellus, just say so,” Sirius said.

“I would suggest you keep your mouth shut, Black, before I permanently shut it for you,” Snape snapped.

Hearing his godfather and Snape’s threats of violence, Harry hurriedly blurted out, “Hermione and I used Hermione’s Time-Turner to go back in time and steal Buckbeak before they could execute him! We rode him up to the west tower and freed Sirius, and then they both flew off together!”

“WHAT!” Snape roared, wheeling back around on Harry. Everyone else in the room jumped, wildly looking around as if looking for the cause of Professor Snape’s outburst. “You and that blasted Granger girl flew that condemned hippogriff up and freed Black! And you used an illegal Time-Turner! I should report you both to the Ministry!”

Harry stared at Snape who stood towering over him like a menacing black shadow, wondering if in his current state Snape still somehow couldn’t find a way to hex him. But then he glanced over the others in the room and saw their expressions, and knew that they now believed.

Sirius stared at Snape wide-eyed and open-mouthed, looking as if he had just lost all ability to speak. Lupin had a similar expression of disbelief on his haggard face. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey exchanged dubious, uncertain glances, having not been directly involved in Sirius’ escape a year before, but were able to read the surprise on the others’ faces. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked rather pleased and relieved, with a wide smile pulling at his lips.

“H–Harry?” Sirius stammered, wildly looking around as if expecting to see his godson suddenly jump out from behind some piece of furniture.

“He’s right here, Black,” Snape snarled as he pointed down at Harry standing right in front of him.

“Well, isn’t this a most unexpected development...” Dumbledore said, a hint of mischievous amusement returning to his once lifeless voice.

Harry desperately looked up at Snape. “Please, Sir, you have to tell them to help me. Tell Dumbledore he has to help. If he can’t help me–”

“Be quiet, Potter,” Snape snapped, “I highly doubt Dumbledore is going to let you stay like this if there is anything in his power to do something about it.”

“Only too true,” Dumbledore agreed, taking a few steps closer to Snape and Harry, a twinkle of renewed hope beginning to sparkle in his ancient blue eyes.

“Albus... are you sure about this?” Professor McGonagall asked, still obviously uncomfortable with the idea of Professor Snape talking to thin air and them reacting to his one-sided conversation.

“More sure than anything else, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied with a grin, “Unless Professor Snape has somehow had the opportunity to interrogate Miss Granger, Harry, or Sirius under a dose of Veritaserum before today (which I highly doubt), there is no other way he could have known such information unless Harry himself told him.” Harry felt tears prickle the corners of his eyes at Dumbledore’s words of assurance. After everything that had already happened that day, he didn’t know what he would have done if Dumbledore hadn’t believed them. He was sure he would have burst out into tears of relief if Dumbledore hadn’t right then looked directly at him where Snape had previously indicated he stood and asked in a low, confiding voice, “What happened?”

In a very slow and halting manner, with Snape grudgingly acting as his middleman, Harry told his account of what happened earlier that day. Dumbledore listened quietly as Snape related Harry’s story, his face growing more and more grave with each passing moment, though every so often would nod thoughtfully. Finally, at the end of his recount, after coming to the part where he had come across Professor Snape in the hallway, Harry fell silent and waited in nervous anticipation for what Dumbledore would say.

Dumbledore tugged on his beard thoughtfully, looking distant and slightly troubled. “This is strange... very strange indeed...” he murmured to himself, beginning to pace along the side of the room. “And you say he began to use an Avada Kedavra curse just before you were hit by the car?” he asked.

“Yes, but he didn’t get to actually finish it,” Harry said, “I saw the green light of the curse beginning to form, but it never actually came towards me.”

“Potter says he didn’t actually get to finish the curse,” Snape related in a bored tone as if he saw the whole business of him having to repeat everything Harry said beneath him, “He saw the green haze of the curse, but it never actually touched him.”

Dumbledore’s frown deepened. “Wasn’t actually touched by the curse...” he repeated thoughtfully, still pacing back and forth. “It’s possible he still might have been caught in the curse’s wash though...”

“What does that mean, Dumbledore?” Lupin asked from the other side of the room.

“It means that though Harry might not have actually been hit by the Killing Curse, he still might have been affected by it. Just because a curse is not fully formed does not mean it has no power,” Dumbledore explained as if he were teaching a regular defense class, “Many curses – especially Killing Curses – radiate out from their conjuror in waves, like ripples generated by the dropping of a stone into a quiet pond. It is usually only when that energy is concentrated onto a single point though that the curse actually becomes fatal. But if the conjuror of the curse is very powerful, or has a great amount of emotional energy behind it, that power can seep out beyond its point of concentration and wash out onto anything within radius of the conjuror. It is a concept similar to wandless magic...”

“Are you saying something like that might have happened to Harry with this Death Eater’s curse?” Sirius asked.

“It is possible,” Dumbledore said, nodding his head slowly, “If the curse was already beginning to form and take shape, he might have already been in curse’s wash; his body and soul would have already begun to separate. And then when he was hit by the car, it would have been like yanking his body away while his soul still stood there in place... Unfortunately though, it is impossible to say for sure since most everyone that is ever attacked by a Killing Curse does not live to tell about it...”

“But that still does not explain why Professor Snape is that only one that can see or hear Harry,” Professor McGonagall said, gesturing over to said Potions Master on the other side of the room who stood near the wall with his arms darkly crossed in front of his chest.

Dumbledore pondered the conundrum carefully. Finally pausing in his restless pacing, Dumbledore glanced over at Snape and (as he correctly assumed) Harry. “Harry, what was the last thing you did before you were hit by the car? And, Severus, please relate everything he says word for word, even if it means you speaking for him in the first person.”

Snape looked less than enthused with having to do such a thing, but wisely held his tongue.

Rather intimidated by the importance Dumbledore was now putting on everything he said, Harry started hesitantly, thinking his words over carefully in his head before he actually said them. “He was trying to use the Avada Kedavra curse. I tried to disarm him, and kept him from finishing it, but he kept deflecting all my spells. We exchanged a few curses, but I couldn’t stop him from coming. He threw a curse at me that pushed me into the street and started to use another Avada Kedavra. I tried to use another Disarming Spell to stop him before he could finish it, but all I got were these weird sparks from the end of my wand. And then... well, I felt the car hit into me, and then I woke up like this!”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Very good, Harry, but when you were trying to use another Disarming Spell and only got sparks, what exactly were you thinking about?”

Harry paused, trying to think back to that exact moment. It all felt like it had been so long ago even though it had been little over a few hours. “I was thinking about...” he began uncertainly, “how scared I was. He was one of the strongest wizards I’ve ever had to fight before. I think he would have even given Lord Voldemort a run for his money. He just kept coming at me, and I kept thinking how much I wished someone else was there to help.”

Dumbledore nodded again. “I see. And who were you thinking about when you wished someone else was there to help you?”

“No one,” Harry said, which was quickly repeated by Snape to Dumbledore and their listening audience.

Dumbledore tugged his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm... Was there anything else you remember thinking about right before or after you felt the car hit you? Anything at all?”

A sudden memory flashed in Harry’s mind at Dumbledore’s prompting. One he had not thought about since then, and what looking back in retrospect seemed so insignificant and stupid now given the circumstances surrounding it the moment it was thought. “I remember thinking about how I hadn’t finished Professor Snape’s summer Potions essay yet.”

Snape was already halfway through his repetition of what Harry said before the words finally registered in his brain and he abruptly stopped mid-sentence. “What?” he exclaimed, whirling around on his heels to glare at Harry.

“What was that, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape glanced between Dumbledore and Harry as if trying to decide which one to yell at first. Finally settling on Dumbledore, he repeated all of what Harry just said, looking as if he could feel where this was going.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Dumbledore gave him an amused smile. “An interesting choice for an Acolyte, but an even more impressive use of old magic...” he chuckled to himself.

Snape however looked less than enthused by the old man’s amusement.

“What’s going on, Albus?” McGonagall demanded, glancing between the two men, “What are you talking about?”

“It would appear young Harry here unknowingly sent out some variant form of an Acolant spell to our dear Professor Snape before he was hit,” the old Headmaster replied with a look that could have almost been classified as pride for his young student.

“And just what’s an Acolant Spell? I’ve never heard of it before,” Sirius demanded, feeling a little put out by not knowing what Dumbledore was talking about – especially when it had something to do with his disembodied godson.

Dumbledore stifled another grin. “An Acolant Spell, if you will, is like a magical distress signal. It is a rare and ancient form of magic used by wizards and witches in times of extreme distress – usually when their lives are in grave danger. The spell in a way binds the soul of the summoner to that of his or her chosen Acolyte – the person they are trying to contact for help. It creates a sort of link between them so that the Acolyte can offer help even if something befalls the summoner and they cannot immediately be reached.”

“But what about Harry?” Lupin spoke up, “You talk about an Acolant Spell as if it only works with the living. Harry, by all accounts and purposes, is dead! How can his spirit still be here?”

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore admitted with a shake of his head, growing more serious, “Unless...” Dumbledore quickly glanced over at Harry’s still body on the other side of the room. Gliding over to it, the old man sat on the edge of the divan Harry was laid out on and produced his wand from out of his pocket. Waving it over the young boy’s body, he incanted, “Vidium Lumesta.”

Everyone in the room watched in awe as a faint, silvery-white light sprang up over Harry’s skin like a pale, enate inner glow.

“Dumbledore... is that... does that mean...?” Sirius stammered, not daring to actually voice what he so desperately wanted to believe.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded, looking for the second time that day as if he would burst with relief, “Though it is extremely weak and barely visible even with the spell, there is still some small measure of life in Harry’s body... He’s still alive...”

Murmurs of disbelief rippled through the room’s occupants. Sirius looked as if he was about to burst into tears again. “Oh thank God...” he breathed, putting a hand up to his mouth to try and hide his suddenly tight voice, “Oh thank God... H–how is this possible?” he stammered, though really not caring at all how it was possible. Just that it actually was.

Dumbledore leaned back from over Harry’s faintly glowing body, a relieved grin pulling at his lips. “I don’t know. It is possible that because of the only half-completed Killing Curse, his body and soul were already beginning to separate, and when he was hit by the car, they were pulled apart before the severance could actually be completed. That would explain why he did not immediately die after being hit. Though his body and soul were separated, they were done so incompletely.”

“But what about at the hospital?” Harry said, “The doctors had me hooked up to all kinds of different machines and all of them said I was dead!”

Snape grudgingly relayed Harry message to the others.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Unfortunately Muggle technology has never been one hundred percent accurate. Haven’t you ever heard of cases of people being pronounced dead in hospitals and then waking up hours later in a morgue afraid but very much alive? I think something like that might have happened in your case. Plus magic has a tendency to disrupt Muggle technology. And for a boy powerful enough to have just unwittingly performed an Acolant Spell, I think such a thing is most definitely a possibility.”

Harry stood there silent, digesting everything Dumbeldore just said. “So... I’m not really dead?” he tentatively whispered.

“It would seem it’s your lucky day, Potter,” Snape snidely drawled. Harry was too relieved to pay him much mind though.

“I’m not dead...” he softly repeated, feeling relieved disbelief wash over him like warm water, “I’m not dead...” He quickly looked back up at Dumbledore on the other side of the room. “So how am I gonna get back to normal?”

Snape gave Harry a small, contemplative look before relaying his question on.

Dumbledore’s face suddenly grew very serious and grave. “That is a very good question, Harry...” he said, standing up from beside Harry’s body and beginning to pace the side of the room again. “Unfortunately, as I said before, Acolant Spells are very rare. I have not heard of one being performed in the last several hundred years. And with the element of a half-completed Killing Curse complicating matters, I’m not quite sure what we really can do. Your body may still be partially alive, but there is no denying that your soul is separated from it. No amount of magic I know of can just glue a body and soul back together again.”

Harry felt his stomach clench. “But you’ll still be able to help me, won’t you?” he asked, a clear note of desperateness entering his voice. He waited a moment for Snape to relay his question, but when Snape just continued to stand there, pretending like he hadn’t even heard him, Harry angrily prompted, “Professor!”

Snape heaved a long suffering sigh. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Potter, stop pestering Dumbledore for answers and give him time to think!”

Dumbledore abruptly stopped pacing on the other side of the room. “What did he ask, Severus?”

“Nothing of importance, Sir,” Snape easily replied.

Dumbledore however did not look convinced. “I will be the judge of that, Severus. Now tell me, what did he ask?”

Snape eyed Dumbledore warily for a moment, as if sensing he was somehow skating on thin ice. “The boy is just demanding to know how you plan to put him right again, Sir,” he replied carefully. “Really, Dumbledore, he is acting childishly. It is nothing I can’t handle myself–”

“I see,” Dumbledore cut him off curtly, “So you are saying that if your situations were reversed, and it was you standing there, you would not want to know how we planned to restore you back to your former self? You would not want to know whether or not you were going to be permanently trapped in some form no one else could see or hear? Is that what you are suggesting?”

Snape looked taken aback by Dumbledore’s sudden chastising tone. “No, Sir, I just–”

“So then you will understand how young Harry must feel right now,” Dumbledore said, not relenting in his advantage at all, “I would have thought that given the current situation you would have at least put this little grudge of yours with Harry aside for the time being to help him. Whether you like it or not, you are his Acolyte now, which means it is your responsibility to help him in any way you can. You are magically bound to do so. You are his voice and only means of communication with anyone else. If he has any questions or wants to know something – even if it seems very insignificant and unimportant to you – I would ask that you please pass it on to whomever it seems appropriate for. I think right now that is the least you can do for him...”

Looking thoroughly chastised, Snape dropped his gaze and nodded his head in embarrassment. “Of course, Sir...” he murmured behind a curtain of dark hair.

Harry stood there silent as Dumbledore nodded and turned to start pacing the room again. He glanced over at Snape, but the Potions Master refused to look his way.

“So what do you plan to do, Dumbledore?” Sirius finally asked after a few minutes of empty silence. “I mean, we have to figure something out. We can’t just leave Harry like this.”

“I know that,” Dumbledore sighed, “But unfortunately Harry’s situation is very difficult and complex. By all accounts he would have been no worse off than if he had suffered a dementor’s kiss...”

Harry saw his godfather’s face visibly pale at the mention of the dreaded faceless guards of Azkaban.

“But surely... there must be something...” Sirius groped, desperately trying to rack his brains for a solution. But he could think of nothing.

“I wonder...” Dumbledore suddenly said, breaking the tense silence of the room as he abruptly stopped pacing. He gave a thoughtful glance over at Snape and where he could only assume Harry stood.

“What is it, Dumbledore?” Sirius demanded, desperate to know what the old wizard might have come up with.

Dumbledore did not immediately reply, but continued to thoughtfully stare in Harry’s direction. “I just wonder... If Harry’s soul was already beginning to separate from his body when he was hit by the car, it is possible his soul may have actually been being pulled in several different directions at once when it happened...”

Everyone there gave Dumbledore confused, inquisitive looks.

“What do you mean, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“I mean, that the body does not naturally go about just randomly releasing its soul. It only does so when it has suffered some traumatic event, or when the body grows too old or sick to hold onto it anymore; such is the normal way of dying... There is a natural, primitive instinct to keep one’s soul in one’s body. So when Harry was caught in the wash of the Killing Curse, his body would have instinctively been fighting to keep it there inside him. But when he was hit by the car, it would have been like a third outside force smashing through the already existing struggle going on between the Killing Curse and Harry’s instinctive pull to keep his soul inside his body. It would have in essence thrown Harry’s soul in three different directions – one towards the Curse, one back towards his body, and one away from both of them from the force of the car smashing into him. That would explain why in some small way, Harry’s body is still alive – he still retains part of his soul. And why he still, in some spiritual way, has a form to appear to Severus in through the Acolant Spell...”

“What are you saying? That Harry’s soul’s somehow been torn in three!” Sirius exclaimed in absolute horror.

Harry stood there dumbstruck, trying to digest everything Dumbledore just said. Was such a thing possible? How could one’s soul be torn into three? It just didn’t make sense. And yet, at the same time, in some odd way, it did...

Harry looked down at his transparent, grey hands, trying to see if he could feel anything amiss – trying to feel if his soul really was torn into pieces. But he felt no different, could feel nothing wrong. How was having a shattered soul suppose to feel like?

Harry looked back up at Dumbledore. “But, Professor, I don’t feel any different,” he said. Snape dutifully relayed Harry’s message, but still refused to look at him, undoubtedly still sore from Dumbledore’s previous scolding.

“No, I doubt you really would...” Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully, tugging at his long white beard. He glanced back over at Harry’s faintly glowing body. “Tell me, Harry, can you feel any kind of pull or strong desire to go back to your body?”

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he had just gone mad. “Of course I want to go back to my body, Sir! I don’t want to stay like this forever!”

Dumbledore smiled fondly at Harry’s response after Snape relayed it. “No, no, no, Harry, you misunderstand me... I mean, can you feel any physical pull beyond just that of your natural desire to go back? Can you feel your body trying to call you back to it?”

Harry paused and rolled Dumbledore’s question over in his head. Did he feel such a pull? With everything that had happened in the last few hours, he really hadn’t had any time to stop and pay much attention to anything like that. Closing his eyes, Harry tried to concentrate on feeling anything like the sensation Dumbledore described. He stood there for several long minutes of silence. And then, just when he was about to give up and open his eyes again, he felt it. A tiny tug that seemed to reach out and pull at the center of his body somewhere around his navel. It was vaguely reminiscent of what being pulled through a Portkey felt like, but on a much subtler level. If he didn’t stop to actually look for it, he could barely even feel it.

“Yes!” Harry gasped in surprise, “I can feel it! I can feel my body trying to pull me back. But it’s really weak. I can barely even feel it if I don’t look for it.”

“That is good,” Dumbledore said after Snape relayed Harry’s answer, looking very pleased, “If your body is still trying to reunite your soul to it, then there still might be hope of restoring you to your body.”

“That is excellent!” Sirius exclaimed, “What do we have to do to get him back?”

Dumbledore however did not look so enthusiastic. “Unfortunately, it is not that easy,” he said, glancing over at Harry’s body again, “You forget that part of Harry’s soul would have been thrown in yet a third direction – one whose location we don’t currently know...”

“You mean towards the unknown Death Eater that attacked Potter,” Snape said, his arms still darkly crossed in front of his chest.

“Unfortunately I do...” Dumbledore said, “After performing the Killing Curse, the Death Eater’s wand would most likely have absorbed the third part of Harry’s soul when the spell’s connection was severed and the uncompleted spell retreated back into its conjuror’s wand.”

“So what does that mean? That the third part of Harry’s soul is lost to us?” Lupin asked, speaking for Sirius who suddenly looked too horrified to speak.

“Not necessarily, but it will be very difficult to try and retrieve it from this Death Eater’s wand,” Dumbledore said.

“Can we somehow restore the part of Harry’s soul that’s with us now back to his body without the third part?” Sirius asked.

Dumbledore shook his head emphatically. “No. To do so would almost certainly turn out disastrous. Harry’s body is already trying to call the missing parts of his soul back. If it were able to, it probably would have already reunited the part of Harry’s soul that’s with us now back to it. It most likely needs both pieces of Harry’s soul before it can rejoin. If we tried to force the part of Harry’s soul that’s with us now back into his body, his soul would be reformed incomplete. He could possibly be restored back to life, but at the cost of losing an essential part of his very being. And I doubt very much you would want something like that to happen to your godson, Sirius...” Dumbledore said, glancing over at the straggly haired man. Sirius said nothing, but the horrified look in his eyes told Dumbledore everything he needed to know about his answer.

“If we can somehow track down this Death Eater that attacked Harry–” Dumbledore went on, “–we may be able to perform a Priori Incantatem and release the other part of Harry’s soul that’s trapped inside his wand.”

“But I thought you said a Reverse Spell only shows the echo of whatever spell was last used on a wand,” Harry said, remembering that day late last June on the night of the Triwizard Tournament’s Third Task when, while he had stood there locked in deadly battle with the evil Lord Voldemort, he had seen the ghostly figures of Cedric Diggory, an old Muggle man, Bertha Jorkins, and his parents emerge from the tip of Lord Voldemort’s wand. Harry remembered how pained he had been when Dumbledore told him they were nothing more than shadows of Lord Voldemort’s spells – that they weren’t really real.

Dumbledore listened quietly to Snape’s rendition of what Harry said. Nodding solemnly, the old headmaster said, “Yes. I did tell you that. And the same still holds true... at least in normal cases... But I have come to find that whenever it comes to you, nothing ever goes as it is suppose to...” A faint smile tugged at Dumbledore’s lips, as if seeing the humor in his remark, before it was quickly gone again. “The Killing Curse didn’t actually kill you, so what would have been the echo of the curse, should actually be the part of you that was torn in his direction when you were hit by that car. I know it is a long shot, but it is the only possible thing I can think of that might somehow return you to your body...”

Harry nodded his head and quietly stared down at the floor, lost in troubled thought. Snape gave him a half concerned glance out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing and looked back over at Dumbledore.

“Alright then,” Sirius announced, drawing everyone’s attention over to him, “So we have to find the Death Eater that did this to Harry... Do we know which one of Voldemort’s goons did this to him?”

“Unfortunately, Potter said he wasn’t able to see the man’s face,” Snape said, keeping his voice carefully civil towards Harry’s godfather, “He said he was wearing a hood.”

“So then how are we going to find this guy?” Sirius said, agitatedly looking to Dumbledore for answers.

The old headmaster tugged his beard thoughtfully. “Was there anything else you remember about the Death Eater, Harry? Anything that stood out to you?” he asked.

Harry thought back to his battle with the hooded wizard. It had all happened so fast, he really didn’t remember that much about it. The man had been wearing a hood. He couldn’t see anything of the masked Death Eater except his hand and– “He had a black wand!” Harry blurted out, “I remember he had a black wand! I remember it because I’ve never seen a black wand before. Everyone else have brown ones.”

Harry waited for Snape to repeat what he said, but when the Potions Master didn’t, Harry looked over at his expectantly. But unlike before, Snape was not pretending to ignore him. Instead he was staring at Harry with a look of incredulous scrutiny.

“A black wand...?” he repeated, as if slowly rolling that bit of information over in his head.

“What is it, Severus? Do you know who it is?” Dumbledore asked, reading the startled expression on Snape’s face.

Snape’s eyes darkened ominously and a scowl pulled at his lips. “Unfortunately, I do...”

“Well, that’s good then!” Sirius exclaimed, “Then we know who we need to go after.”

“No, Black, that’s not good,” Snape hissed, “You have no idea who it is we're dealing with.”

“Well, enlighten us then,” Lupin said, stepping in between the two before something could break out, “Who is it?”

Snape took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for what he was about to say. “Rowan McCourn...” he said, rolling the name off his tongue as if it left a horribly foul taste in his mouth.

Dumbledore’s face grew dark and serious like Snape’s. “That is not good, Severus...” he said, meeting Snape’s eyes, “Are you sure it could be no one else?”

“No,” Snape said, shaking his head, “There is only one man I know of that owns a black wand... and he is one of the darkest wizards to ever join the Dark Lord’s fold...”

“McCourn?” McGonagall gasped, her face growing pale, “Didn’t he escape capture after the First War?”

“Yes. He was on the Ministry’s Most Wanted list of Death Eaters, but he somehow managed to allude capture and went to ground after the Dark Lord’s defeat. No one’s heard of him in years,” Snape said.

“What did he do?” Harry asked, curious despite the fearful tension caused by the mere mention of the man’s name. It reminded him eerily of the effect Lord Voldemort’s name had on other witches and wizards.

Snape turned his gaze onto Harry and studied him for a long moment of silence, as if assessing his ability to handle such information. “He is one of the Dark Lord’s most dangerous servants,” he finally said, holding Harry’s gaze with dark, fathomless black eyes, “He has committed more crimes than probably any of the Dark Lord’s other followers combined. He is the living example of what one would call a murderous lunatic. He revels in the pain and suffering of others. I once heard he captured a Ministry Auror and tortured him for two weeks straight until the man finally begged for death and killed himself just to escape McCourn’s torment. He has no compunction or capacity for mercy. He would as soon kill or torture you to death than look at you. In some ways, he is even worse than the Dark Lord himself...”

Harry stood there silent, staring back at Snape. For several minutes of unbroken silence, no one said anything, the echo of Snape’s words still ringing loudly in the ears of everyone there.

“So... what are we going to do now?” Harry finally found the voice to ask, his voice sounding timid and scared even to his own ears.

Snape continued to stare at Harry with his piercing gaze, his features dark and foreboding behind a curtain of greasy black hair. “Unfortunately, Potter,” Snape said in a low, ominous voice, “If you are to have any hope of returning to your body, it would seem we're going to have to go after McCourn... and probably into the very midst of the Dark Lord’s inner circle to do so...”