Author's note: Hello, I'm back with the sequel to 'The cave incident'. First of all, I must apologize to all readers who were unpleasantly surprised by the change in rating. Yes, The love accident will contain some adult themes (Harry's twenty, no other explanation needed :D) and so it was necessary for me to take this step. For those of you who don't want to read the mature content, however enjoyed TCI, I will give a warning at the beginning of each 'improper' chapter.

Thank you for your understanding.

Rating of this chapter: K+.

Special note: TheSecretUchiha kindly agreed to be my beta even for the sequel, for which I'm immensely grateful. Thank you!

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Back to school, part 1

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26th December 2000, early in the morning

Hogwarts

Harry Potter was dreadfully, totally cold. Chilled to the bone. And what was worse, he was also sore as if he just finished a fistfight with a furious troll. And lost.

And he couldn't even complain about that because he knew he shouldn't be wandering outside in the wee hours of a winter morning dressed only in his trousers and undershirt, especially after trying to beat down opponents who could easily overpower him hundred times.

Unlike Harry, ordinary people were wise enough not to do such foolishness.

As for that, normal people didn't usually carry around their archenemies either.

But Harry did all of that, because no matter how much he tried, he didn't exactly belong among 'ordinary people'. Such abnormal things happened to him - well, if not every day then very often. He learned to live with this 'curse' - or whatever it was – during his twenty and a half year long existence, but sometimes it was more difficult than ever before.

Just like now.

He looked up at a pair of winged boars sitting on top of the tall pillars on either side of an ancient gate. These silent guardians patrolled the large castle grounds for centuries.

Hogwarts … the only place where he ever truly felt home.

He repressed a rush of nostalgic memories which relentlessly jumped back into his vision and looked down at the yew wand in his palm, which he 'borrowed' from its master.

Harry couldn't believe what he was about to do but it wasn't like he had any other choice. He took a quick glance at Lord Voldemort whose head still rested on his shoulder; those cruel, sanguine eyes were peacefully closed and the warm breath against Harry's neck was still quick and shallow.

"Er, I wonder if I can do the spell correctly with this wand," he wondered. "I guess there's only one way to find out."

The Dark Lord didn't show any response. From what he saw, Harry could confirm that the man was apparently uninterested in the course of events at the moment.

"Okay..." the raven-haired youngster said quietly, disregarding Riddle's indifference. He closed his eyes too, took a deep breath and imagined 'the toad' and 'the bloodsucking freak' being kicked out of their posts, running away from the Ministry the same way Umbridge galloped from Hogwarts at the end of his fifth year. He let the feelings of rightful justification fill him to the brim, then he opened his eyes and called out aloud.

"Expecto patronum!"

A huge, brightly shining stag erupted from the tip of the yew wand, crossed the high wall in one monumental leap and quickly trotted towards the castle.

"Wow," he whispered. "Cool. It worked far better than I expected."

Voldemort didn't share his enthusiasm. He remained as unresponsive as before and Harry decided to use his impassivity as he rubbed his cold arms and then snuggled under his archenemy's long, heavy cloak so his limbs wouldn't be exposed to a greater risk of frostbite. He frowned a little and informed his unaware companion quietly. "Someone should come here soon and open the gate. Hopefully, it won't be the Headmistress in person."

Harry had absolutely nothing against Professor McGonagall. Actually, he admired the way she managed to govern the school in those difficult times. But he was also well aware of the fact that she was not going be thrilled to see him together with 'the main source of the difficulties'. Harry had to prepare very good arguments if he wanted to get the necessary help for Riddle and couldn't deny that he was worried whether he could pass this 'entrance test'.

After a minute or so, he could finally see a wobbling light of someone's wand approaching the gate. Harry squinted and tilted his head sideways, trying to recognize the person. For some reason he recalled how Snape came to retrieve him here, on the very same spot at the beginning of his sixth year. Deep inside he was immensely happy that his previous Potion and DADA teacher couldn't be the one coming here, because Harry was certain he would not be able survive that encounter. Though, it would probably be Snape's sneers and snide comments that would ultimately kill him, not the actual flash of green light.

Harry shook his head and let his previous Professor rest in peace, before he could start turning in his grave.

And then he realized that he just wasted two precious minutes by thinking of Snape instead of finding an acceptable explanation for Voldemort's presence.

"Fantastic," strained through gritted teeth. "Simply fantastic."

The only thing he managed to do in the rest of the time was lay Riddle down on the cold pavement. The teachers and the members of the Order would probably kill the Dark Lord first and only then ask what the hell he was doing here. And Harry was not willing to take that risk.

Just as the young raven-haired wizard placed his unmoving companion on the ground, he heard the chains snake backward and the gate creak open. That simple sound made his heart jump right into his throat. It continued to pump the blood into the rest of his body from that unusual place, making his whole head throb.

Harry gulped idly as a tall witch in emerald green robes emerged in front of him. Her face was strict and her lips were firmly sealed. Her black hair with several silver strands was drawn into a tight bun, emphasizing her rigor and dignity.

She slowly lowered her wand, its shining tip pointing directly into Harry's face.

Professor McGonagall.

For a second Harry wanted to utter a vicious swearword, but fortunately stifled it in the very last moment. He rubbed his sore chest and coughed instead.

"Good evening … er … morning, Professor," he said quietly.

"Potter," she said plainly and raised her eyebrow as she contemplated the obvious lack of his clothing. Then she spoke in a stern voice again.

"Mr. Weasley informed me that you would come. I was told that the Fidelius Charm over the Order's base is not working properly. You've encountered an intruder."

The mention of that name immediately brought Harry's thoughts on his best friend.

"How's Ron?-!" he barked out, the other things such as a polite reply to the elder were suddenly unimportant.

The Headmistress's eyebrow jumped even higher. The gesture showed Harry that she didn't appreciate his reaction, nevertheless she excused his outburst.

"Young Mr. Weasley would be better if he had been given the healer's attendance sooner. However, Madam Pomfrey is very experienced. There's no need to fear for his life."

As Harry exhaled in great relief, McGonagall stepped aside and spoke again.

"Come in, Potter. You must not linger outside. You of all people should know how dangerous it can be."

At that point Harry's easement was wiped away as if it never existed. His heart returned to its previous spot in his neck.

"Er … Professor...," he began, wondering how to explain things when no ideas were coming.

"I didn't come alone … but please … stay calm … if you can," he said haltingly and, as the Headmistress's eyebrow nearly reached the top of her forehead, he stepped aside a little so she could see who exactly was lying on the ground behind him.

Her reaction was just as fierce as he expected. First, she made a sound as if she was drowning, then her chin dropped and her wand surged up, her eyes narrowing as she thought of the nastiest spells she'd ever heard. Harry jumped back in front of Voldemort, raising his hands in the air.

"Out of my way, Potter!" she screamed out, determined to exterminate the Dark Lord right on the spot.

"NO! PROFESSOR!" Harry yelled back. "Look at my hands! LOOK at my hand!"

She ignored him and Harry began to panic as she raised the wand to push him away.

"JUST TAKE A LOOK AT THE GODDAMN WAND IN MY HAND!" he screamed and her strict eyes involuntarily glanced in that direction. And she stopped, staring at it, completely silent.

"It's his wand, right?" Harry said quickly, urgently. "If it's his wand, then he doesn't have one, does he? It makes him … rather … harmless."

When her eyes finally left Harry's hand and looked right into his face, Harry could see how utterly incredulous she was. She placed a hand over her chest, squeezing her robes as though she was having a heart attack, and took two shaky steps backwards.

"Potter...," she gasped.

"Potter," she said again, her voice growing stronger. "You … you've really … defeated … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? That's … but … that's absolutely impossible!"

Harry didn't have time to feel insulted by the little faith she had in his abilities. Instead, he was happy that he managed to pull her out of her killing frenzy. Now she would listen to him at least.

"No, I didn't," he said quietly. "Professor, what I'm going to say now will surprise you, but please believe me that I am deadly serious about every word."

She said nothing, only blinked numbly. Harry had never seen her so befuddled as she was right now.

"Professor," he said slowly, quietly. "Voldemort's dying and I can't let that happen. I must save his life. But I can't do that without the help of the teachers of Hogwarts."

Just as expected, she paled considerably and staggered backwards.

"You must do … what? Potter... This is ... utterly … insane! I'm not the youngest … so if this is some kind of a morbid, terrible joke then I swear..."

Harry took a resolute step towards her.

"Professor … how could this be a joke?" he implored and bored his eyes into hers, hoping she would see how serious he was.

"Do you trust me? Do you trust my judgement?" he continued, fighting despair which grew inside him when he didn't find any understanding in her gaze. "Because Dumbledore did."

She shook her head.

"Do you know what you're asking, Potter?" she said breathlessly. Her voice became steadier as she continued. "Because I cannot take this upon myself. Whatever reason you have – and I believe it must be a reason of incredible importance – I will not willingly let You-Know-Who enter Hogwarts. That's out of the question!"

Harry bit his tongue so hard it began to bleed.

"What if I take the responsibility?" he asked quietly. "The children are not in the school, so they are safe, right? I swear that he will be gone before they return. He will not have his wand, he will be tethered. Still, if anything happens, only I will be responsible for it. Professor … I beg you … not for me, certainly not for him, but for everyone else. Because he's the only one who has enough power and knowledge to stop the true horrors from happening."

She stood there, staring at him long enough for Harry's teeth to begin to chatter.

"Why would he … oh, well," she said then, her voice biting. "I don't know what horrors you're talking about, Potter. Honestly, if you weren't so resistant to the Imperius Curse I would prefer to believe that you were bewitched. But as your mind is generally too difficult to influence, this is probably not the case." Her voice grew colder. "Although, you could easily be possessed by You-Know-Who," she said and pointed her wand directly at him again.

It never occurred to Harry that she could think that and it surprised him how logical it seemed to be. It would be a risky, yet easy way for Voldemort to get into Hogwarts. However, Riddle would have to be able to possess him in the first place, which has been proven to be a problem in the past.

"Professor," Harry whispered quietly and rubbed his cold arms nervously. "You surely remember the fight between Dumbledore and Voldemort in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic five years ago. Riddle couldn't defeat the Headmaster and so he decided to possess me, hoping that Dumbledore would kill me to get rid of him." Harry closed his eyes recalling the horrible pain he felt. Then he opened them again, speaking quickly. "But neither of us could stand that feeling. I though that Professor Dumbledore mentioned to you that … that Voldemort cannot control my mind … in any way."

She pursed her lips, her wand twitched in her palm and then she slowly lowered it to the ground.

"You really aren't You-Know-Who, Potter," she said with an even more restrained voice. "He would never call himself with his … muggle name."

She stared at him for another moment and then she finally, imperceptibly nodded.

"I shall listen to you, Potter … this once. I know that Dumbledore trusted you and that he was probably right about you in all aspects. Have it your way then, if you think that saving him is necessary. Still...," she paused for a second and though she said yes, her face showed a strong disagreement. "Still, I can't help but worry..."

Harry's knees nearly buckled in relief.

"Thank you, Professor," he breathed out.

"Don't thank me, Potter!" she snapped. "I'm not doing you a favour! I do however expect you to give me a full and precise explanation as why it is so essential to keep that beast alive! And if I do not find it justifiable, he will die that instant. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Professor," Harry muttered as he levitated Voldemort from the ground and shackled him with a binding spell.

"Also, Potter," she continued with revulsion, as Harry seized their enemy's body and carried it inside. "I cannot guarantee that Madam Pomfrey will be willing to take care of that … that vicious criminal. You must not hold it against her if she refuses to help that ...that gruesome murderer."

"I'm fully aware of that," Harry said very quietly as he did not wish to agitate the Headmistress any further.

He watched her seethe quietly as she closed the gate and felt as if he just climbed Mt. Everest. It was extremely difficult, he should be happy that they made it that far, but if he wanted to save Riddle's life, there was still more than one obstacle ahead.

"Professor," Harry began quietly as she led him towards the castle, her pace fast and stiff. "Has Hermione arrived yet?"

Harry needed to know how she dealt with the Aurors and also if she was all right.

"No Potter, I have no information on Ms. Granger," she snapped without turning back to him and Harry didn't elaborate on it further. Professor McGonagall was obviously in a very ill mood and he didn't want to make it any worse.

As they were approaching the castle quickly, Harry's eyes drank in the familiar view. He couldn't wait to get in and warm up his frozen body by some nicely heated fireplace.

Just as they reached the staircase and Harry began to climb it up, he had a strange feeling that somebody just called his name. He stopped, looking around, listening intently. Even the Headmistress halted her pace, unusually impatient.

"Harry!"

Now Harry recognized the deep, grumbling and slightly inarticulate voice.

"Hagrid!" Harry called back, delight filling him as he looked around to see his old friend – before he froze in terror. It occurred to him that it wouldn't be the best idea if Hagrid saw him right now. He glanced at professor McGonagall, hoping she would tell him what to do.

"HARRY!"

Oh no, Hagrid was almost there and the face of Headmistress was blank, unreadable, unhelpful. Harry couldn't decide his next action, he needed to get away, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

And then the half-giant was before him and Harry could only throatily mutter.

"Eh … hello Hagrid."

His friend didn't seem to notice his uneasiness. His bearded face beamed in happiness as he spoke to Harry so quickly that he almost became incoherent.

"Lo Harry! So good to see yeh! I jus' got up, makin' a snack for Fang when I look'd out the window and saw yer great stag runnin' 'bout. And I knew right then tha' yeh're here Harry an' I hurried after yeh so I could welcom' yeh back..."

"Th... thanks a lot ... Hagrid," Harry stammered, still frozen.

The half-giant suddenly halted, blinked his sleepy eyes, finding something strange about Harry's visage, something redundant about him. It seemed that he couldn't momentarily comprehend what it was. The expectation of an approaching doom made all Harry's muscles tense.

Professor McGonagall was aware of the crisis too as she resolutely intervened.

"Well, Hagrid, Mr. Potter is certainly glad for your kind welcoming. I'm sure he won't mind talking to you later. Now, if you excuse us, we have...," she said firmly but couldn't finish the sentence as Hagrid suddenly bellowed.

"HARRY!"

Of course, it was not going to be that easy. Hagrid finally woke up enough to realize what exactly that 'redundant thing' on Harry was.

"Look, Hagrid...," Harry began – and could only jump aside to protect himself and the Dark Lord from the smite. His Seeker's reflexes saved them from being smashed by a huge cane which the half-giant used to support his tremendous weight as he walked.

"DON' WORRY HARRY! I'LL SAVE YEH! I'LL GET HIM OFF YEH!" Hagrid roared as he brandished the cane around Harry's head.

"HAGRID! … STOP IT! … I DON'T …. I DON'T NEED TO BE SAVED!" Harry yelled back as he tried to avoid another dreadful impact. It was a pretty difficult task with such a heavy body on his back.

Worse, Hagrid didn't listen to him, he just kept babbling something about saving Harry and squishing You-Know-Who.

Fortunately, it was the moment when the Headmistress stepped in again. With a flick of her wand Hagrid's cane disappeared and he glanced at his empty hands in utter surprise and then at the Professor, a silent question in his eyes.

"Hagrid," she said firmly. "Calm down first. Then you can go to wake up the rest of the teachers. We must increase the security around and in the castle. Apropos, you don't have to worry about Mr. Potter's well-being. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is currently his … captive." McGonagall glanced at Harry as she emphasized the last word.

Hagrid looked flabbergasted.

"Blimey … Harry...," he muttered in an astounded voice. His mouth moved idly for several seconds and then he straightened his back and nodded to show that he was ready to take the best care of his duties.

"Righ'youare, Professor McGonagall, ma'am," he said towards the Headmistress and looked back at Harry.

"Yeh'll tell me everythin' later, will yeh Harry?" he said and winked kindheartedly at the young wizard before his wide body waddled away into the deep gloom of the early dawn.

"See you later, Hagrid!" Harry called behind him in a slightly uncertain voice. Deep inside he was relieved again and grateful that the Headmistress decided to help him. He couldn't possibly assault Hagrid – or anyone of his friends - because of Voldemort. That was something unthinkable. So he was really glad for this outcome. Mollified and a little more confident he followed Prof. McGonagall who quickly walked upstairs and approached the huge, oak front door of the castle.

She tapped the massive door with the tip of her wand and once they glided open, Harry could finally breathe in a slightly warmer air carrying a familiar smell of torches and a musty odour of an old building. Once they entered and McGonagall closed the door again, she led him wordlessly through the empty corridors towards the hospital wing.

Harry found it somehow depressing to see the castle depopulated like that. He recalled that he used to spend almost every Christmas holiday here, but he never really noticed the lack of students at that time, because his friends never left him alone. Now, while he quickly trotted behind Professor McGonagall, dragging the Dark Lord along, feeling his sharp chin bruising his shoulder, he felt the true weight of a burden he picked for himself. No one will be able to understand his decision. No one will truly want to help him. It was a very oppressing experience. To make it all worse, he couldn't stop worrying whether Madam Pomfrey would run away screaming after seeing her new patient. And even if he miraculously managed to convince her to help Riddle, who said that she would know what to do right away? They'll probably have to call Professor Slughorn and Harry had a feeling he would have a serious problem facing the accusing stare of yet another person.

Maybe he was growing soft. When he lived by the Dursleys, he was being stared at like that all day long and he learned to live with that. But for past three years he was mostly surrounded by his friends who tacitly suffered his complains and mood swings which he couldn't hold back after Ginny's death. Yes, it definitely made him weak.

He had to pull himself back together. Now.

They entered the hospital wing and Harry gritted his teeth, mentally preparing to face the nurse's shock and revulsion. How could Voldemort possibly live with that? Maybe the lack of empathy and his ignorance of other people's feelings made him immune to their detestation.

"Stay here, Potter," Professor McGonagall said strictly and Harry nodded and watched her until she disappeared behind a white curtain where Mr. Weasley and Ron were probably recovering from their injuries.

Now he had to wait which was always the worst part.

First, he focused on keeping his breath steady. To distract himself he began to pace which helped him to get some warmth into his body. Then his thoughts began to wander and he considered all the things which happened tonight, thinking about how much time Riddle had left. He quickly skipped that thought as it made him unnecessarily distraught.

Harry continued to pace for another minute, then the next one and still no one was coming.

The warmth ultimately got under his skin and the sleepiness began to cloud his mind. Only the stress he still felt and the adrenaline in his veins kept him upright.

Also, his back was sore and his lungs still hurt, so he ultimately decided to place Voldemort on the nearest sick-bed so he could sit down and alleviate the pain.

Another moment ran by and Harry gradually became nervous. What if Madam Pomfrey refused to help Riddle? She could at least tell him this to his face. But, maybe she was too scared of Voldemort to even come here.

The feeling of defeat began to rise in the youngster's chest again. Did he get so far to ultimately lose? It seemed to be his fate lately.

A soft lisp of the curtain and quiet steps told Harry that someone was coming. He jumped down from the sick-bed where he patiently waited, trying and failing to keep his breath slow.

It was the Headmistress and yes, also the nurse. Harry pursed his dry lips, wondering what to say first.

"Madam Pomfrey...," he began, but she only raised her trembling hand and spoke in a quiet voice.

"Minerva told me that you need to save your … prisoner. She said it is very important. She also told me who that captive is. I ultimately agreed to … to check if there's something I can do. But first, we will wait for the guards. I will not approach him until they come."

Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall, feeling a new surge of gratification towards her, but she refused to meet his eyes. She only glared at Riddle's unmoving body, clenching her hand around the wand as if she fought back the urge to see his intestines.

"Who'll be the guards?" Harry asked quickly to change the course of his thoughts.

"Professor Slughorn, Professor Flitwick and I," the Headmistress responded, her eyes never leaving Voldemort.

"So they know..."

"Every member of the staff is already informed, Mr. Potter," she said so strictly that it almost sounded as a retort.

"They must finish the Protection Charms first. Our safety is the priority. You do not oppose that, am I right?"

"No, not at all," Harry muttered and they waited another moment in a heavy silence until quick, almost running steps could be heard coming closer and closer … and then a corpulent figure of Horace Slughorn and a very short Professor Flitwick appeared in the door.

"We're here," Horace breathed out heavily. "Where's my hero … oh, Harry! Boy! Come here and show yourselves to me! You are so … so brave, young man! And such incredible skills you possess! You're not only an excellent potion maker, but you're also a great, brave fighter! Your parents would be so proud of you, you'll make the first class Auror, I bet...You're already...!"

"Professor!"

The Headmistress fortunately stopped Horace's tirade, before Harry's head could explode from five or ten different reasons.

"We don't know what happened yet. There's no reason to make preliminary conclusions. Mr. Potter only agreed to explain everything later. Until then we will try to … deal with this matter."

Horace nodded quickly and pulled out his wand and Professor Flitwick did the same, both of them looking at Voldemort with apparent apprehension. McGonagall turned to Madam Pomfrey then.

"Poppy, if it is all right with you...?" she asked quietly and the nurse slowly nodded and stepped closer to the Dark Lord, pulling out her wand as well. Harry was glad for her bravery and how she managed to hold back her aversion when she performed the examination.

After a minute or so she took a step backward and spoke aloud.

"I've only found one severe injury though it couldn't possibly cause his current state. Beside that there's nothing wrong with him except for...," she paused and looked at Harry. "There's absolutely no trace of magic within his body and that is certainly a life threatening situation for a wizard. I've never seen anything like that before, but ... I've read once that this could be a consequence of consummation of the ..."

"Fortiserum," Harry finished instead of her, avoiding her eyes.

Horace, who stood beside him gasped for breath and turned to Harry, gaping at him disbelievingly.

"You've … you've made Voldemort drink the Fortiserum … in order to defeat you?"

It slowly began to be too much to Harry. He really needed some sleep, his eyes began to close against his will, but he also wanted to know if Ron was getting any better and where Hermione was, he wanted Voldemort to get well too and he really wanted everyone to stop thinking that he was the one who had a duel with Riddle.

"No, Professor," he said tiredly. "Not because of me. It's too long story to tell now. The question is … do you have the antidote?"

Harry felt that everyone stared at him again, but his eyes were glued only to Horace's face.

"Eh … you know … boy…," the old wizard began. "I cannot possibly store the Forbidden potions. You know the rules," he muttered, fidgeting.

"But Professor, I'm not asking for the Fortiserum itself! I need the antidote, which is not forbidden, is it?" Harry raised his tone a little.

Slughorn glanced briefly at McGonagall who looked more stern than usual.

"My dear boy," he mumbled. "Such an experienced potion maker like you must surely know that the antidotes for the Forbidden potions are prepared directly from the Forbidden potions. Also, they cannot be stored for a longer period than three days, so … usually they are stored in the form of the Forbidden potions... There are exceptions of course, but that's not the case of the Fortiserum, I'm afraid."

Harry of course didn't know that. It made him as breathless as if he just fell from the broom during the Quidditch match.

"Besides, all of this clearly belongs to the scope of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Why won't we inform the Aurors who we've captured so they can come here and deal with him? Also, if it is interrogation that you're after, Potter, then I assure you he can be awaken even in this state. There's really no need for me to hurry to the basement and prepare the antidote," Horace continued, becoming more and more calculating.

"But Professor," Harry said quietly and slowly turned to him again. "Didn't you just tell me that you have no Fortiserum in your repository?"

Slughorn, suddenly aware of his mistake, slightly paled and looked at the Headmistress who crossed her arms, watching him expectantly.

"Oh … eh … well … you know … just a tiniest little flask … merely for scientific reasons of course!"

"Let's make an experiment then," Harry said in the same quiet, persuasive voice, his eyes not leaving the old man.

"Please, Professor. I really need that antidote now. Can you do that for me?"

"But...," Slughorn opened his mouth only to be interrupted by the young wizard again.

"I don't want to interrogate Voldemort. I need him alive. And the Ministry must stay out of this."

"Potter … but why?" It was Professor Flitwick who asked that, yet Harry could see the same question in the eyes of everyone else.

He inhaled deeply to keep his voice steady. It stung his lungs.

"I promise I'll explain everything later, but for now … please just trust me."

Harry's statement was followed by a grave silence, which was ultimately broken by Professor Slughorn's gruff voice.

"Well, Potter … let me tell you something. Even if I was willing to make that antidote, it would not help him in his current state. It's too late."

Harry's head turned to him so fast that something cracked in his spine.

"What d' you mean?" he asked and his voice lapsed.

Horace nervously glanced at Minerva, then smoothed his maroon dressing gown and cleared his throat.

"Err … Basically, the antidote seals the remaining magic within the body cells which helps the exposed person to survive until the effects of Fortiserum fade away. He, however, already crossed the - let's say - 'point of no return'. As Madam Pomfrey said, there is no magic left to be sealed within his body cells. The antidote cannot work then."

Harry's breathing stopped completely. He staggered backward, ignorant of their confused stares.

"But … it means...," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he slowly turned to Voldemort and came over to him, his steps heavy, unsteady.

The antidote won't work...

"No," he muttered, biting his hurting lips again and again. "We're finished … I … I … can't..." His fingers desperately clutched at the silky black robes.

He couldn't get another word through his painfully constricted throat.

"Potter?"

The Headmistress rarely showed any disturbance, but she did right now.

"What is it? What exactly are you talking about?"

But Harry couldn't talk over the huge lump in his throat.

It was over.

He couldn't look at anyone but Riddle. He remembered him saying: 'Besides, it's too late...'

He didn't pay it any attention then … but now...

Ron, Hermione, Arthur … all of them would be dead already if Riddle didn't come to burn Negura to ashes.

The Dark Lord failed to kill that vampire, but he still unwillingly saved their lives and whatever hatred Harry felt towards him before, it suddenly didn't matter … or not so much. What happened tonight only fueled his weird, abnormal feelings which he abhorred less and less… and now everything should be over?

First Angelina, then Sheena and now … Volde … Tom?

Why?

His mind drowned in deep grief and therefore he barely processed what was happening around him. He heard some new voices, someone was asking after Ron and Arthur. Reluctantly, he forced himself to pay attention.

"Why did you say we're finished, Harry?"

Harry looked up after hearing that familiar deep and slow voice. The previous Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood beside McGonagall, glancing between him and Voldemort while squeezing his wand tightly.

"Hermione didn't have time to explain everything," he added when he didn't get immediate response.

But Harry couldn't just answer him. The best he could do was to force another groan form his throat.

"Luckily, I have a time now," said a slightly breathless woman's voice instead of him.

Harry sucked in the breath and turned around. He heard it correctly. It was indeed Hermione together with Neville, Fred, Luna and the others. They all seemed to be all right, which was clearly the first and also the last of today's good news.

Everyone looked at her, copying Harry's sudden movement, growing tense in expectation. Harry didn't know, couldn't even guess, what she was going to say. She witnessed too much after all. Just what exactly she thought about him after seeing that … incident with Riddle? He would have been really worried if it still mattered to him. But since Voldemort was going to die anyway, he could hardly care about it for any longer. Nothing could possibly make it any worse.

"Harry's talking about Dragomir Negura, the Leader in Umbridge's service, the master of falsehood," she said. "He's actually an extremely powerful vampire, who's capable of using a wand and hence pretending to be a wizard. All Harry meant is that if this vampire - who already killed hundreds, maybe thousands of people - loses the only opponent who's potentially able to stop him, then we are all finished. By the way, it was Negura who broke into the Order's base, attacking everyone without another reason beside a blood lust."

The tension in the air grew exponentially. Every member of the Order who didn't witness that incident stilled, staring at her in shock and disbelief.

"That's why You-Know-Who should not die," she continued with an even voice. "If he dies, we all will be at the mercy of a vampire, who even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could not defeat."

It was hard to describe how grateful Harry was for what she said. But it was just one part of him. His other half was still drowning in despair.

"But it's too late," he finally whispered quietly. "Voldemort's beyond any help."

"Not necessarily...," Madam Pomfrey began, but Professor McGonagall raised her voice to suppress the growing murmur, which was basically made of quiet exclamations as everyone wanted to take a view of Voldemort on the sick-bed and discuss what Hermione just said.

"Hold on a moment! If I understand this correctly, you're trying to say that we should help You-Know-Who to fight against the Ministry? And even if you're correct Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger," the Headmistress said darkly, "even if Negura – or whatever is his name – is who you suspect to be, why should we help You-Know-Who to defeat him? Wouldn't it be better to let You-Know-Who die and fight only against one evil wizard – or vampire? Imagine them join their forces together against us...!"

"Professor," Harry responded immediately as he fully recovered his lost voice, "with all respect, if I remember correctly, I have been given a chance by the prophecy to defeat Voldemort, not Negura. And if that vampire managed to beat Voldemort so much," Harry continued loudly, pointing at Riddle's unmoving body, "then he's probably even greater than Dumbledore was. What chance do we have to stand against someone like that alone? By the way, you don't have to worry about Riddle joining him. I'm certain that something like that would happen only over Voldemort's dead body." Harry finished and his eyes jumped back to Madam Pomfrey in desperation to hear the end of her unfinished sentence.

"Also, I don't understand why we are even discussing this when there is no chance," he added in a quieter tone, hoping to bring back the topic.

"There is a small chance," Madam Pomfrey opposed. "I think Mr. Potter is right about one thing. We should first try to save that … that … him and discuss the possibilities later. So, now I must ask everyone who's got no business in here to leave instantly, because this is a hospital wing, not a Great Hall or a classroom!"

Then she turned to McGonagall, speaking in a softer voice.

"We can … probably save him, but only with your agreement, Minerva," she said.

The three seconds before she eventually nodded did very weird things to Harry's heart.

But she ultimately agreed and the youngster could finally exhale the breath he didn't know he was holding inside.

Reluctantly, the other members of the Order began to back off until only the previous group of five people and one patient stayed in the room, except for...

"Ms. Granger!" Madam Pomfrey called after her. "You may stay here as well. I've seen how capable you're at healing at the end of that horrible battle three years ago. I will need a spare hand which I can count on."

Harry watched them, slowly retreating to join the rest of the Order. The first flicker of hope flared back to life inside his chest and he let it fill him, relishing in its light after those disastrous minutes of total desperation. He was not needed here anymore, but the important thing was that the Dark Lord, the man he used to hate more than anyone else, maybe still have a chance to survive.

"Horace, please go prepare the antidote quickly. Filius, Minerva, I still need you to keep an eye on him … for all cases. Mr. Potter … where are you going?"

Harry halted, looked at Professor Slughorn who passed him in haste and then back at the nurse, confused.

Madam Pomfrey needed him? Why?

Hesitantly, he returned to Voldemort's bedside.

"Yes, Ma'am?" he asked.

"Well, as it was you who insisted on saving him, you might as well do it."

"I … what?" Harry's eyes grew wide. "I … I know practically nothing about healing, I have no idea what to do in such a complicated case and..."

Madam Pomfrey stopped his tirade by raising her hand.

"I'm very well aware of that. You will only supply him with a small amount of your magic which will be sealed by the antidote inside his body cells, keeping him alive until the effects of Fortiserum subsides. If he survives the transfer and a recuperation period, then his body will start producing his own magic again. The only question is, are you willing to do that, Mr. Potter?"

She looked at him, half expecting to see him refuse.

But Harry nodded, even though deep inside he was totally unnerved.

"I guess I can do that… Is it by any means dangerous?" he asked, although the only thing he really wanted to know was what exactly he should expect from the procedure.

Madam Pomfrey glanced at him, keeping her face stiff.

"Magic-sharing is quite a common thing in healing. It shouldn't be dangerous if you do exactly what I'll tell you. And if you're afraid that you might transfer some of your special powers into him by chance …," she paused dramatically, "...then you don't have to. It doesn't work like that, your magic won't reside in his body permanently."

"Okay," Harry said after a while and nodded slowly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Touch his skin."

"Right … eh … what?"

"Touch his skin, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey repeated, probably taking a little satisfaction in his hesitation.

"Eh … where?" Harry asked, gazing down at the pale, unmoving face and then back up at the nurse. He noticed that Hermione smirked briefly and tried to hide it right away. Harry failed to see what could possibly amuse her. Girls acted very strangely sometimes.

She obviously noticed his discomfort and leaned to him, whispering quietly.

"Wherever you want Harry."

Harry looked at her again, this time glowering a little.

"Fine," he snapped and moved over so he stood at the bedhead. Then he pressed his palms against Voldemort's cold, slightly sunken temples.

"Is it all right like this?"

"Yes," Madam Pomfrey replied curtly and raised her wand above Riddle's chest. "When I say let go, you will remove your hands from that ... his face, is that clear, Mr. Potter?"

"Absolutely," Harry confirmed.

"Very well, now you Ms. Granger. When Professor Slughorn brings the antidote, you will make You-Know-Who drink it. Don't forget to make him swallow it, even if he wakes and protests. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Hermione replied calmly, though she paled a little.

"Good, let's begin."

Now Harry was tremendously anxious, wondering what the hell he had agreed to. He wanted to help Voldemort and he even stopped asking himself why, but that magic-sharing sounded … well, much too personal for Harry's taste. He really hoped it won't force him to share anything too private with Riddle, because there were certain things he didn't want Voldemort to know. Though, as there was no other choice he had to suffer through it no matter what.

To distract himself he turned to watch Madam Pomfrey mutter some incantations, dreading the moment when he starts to feel something.

But he didn't.

Was it all right?

Probably not, considering Madam Pomfrey's gloomy expression.

"Mr. Potter, you must stop resisting it," she said firmly. "Otherwise it's not going to work."

"I'm not doing anything!" Harry protested immediately.

"You're sealing your magic inside," she repeated. "You don't want to share it with him, which is of course understandable, but..."

"I'm not doing anything!" Harry yelled in frustration. "How am I supposed to stop 'sealing' it?-!"

He looked down at the empty, unmoving face, suddenly horrified that Voldemort won't survive because of another of his failures. He despised himself for that although he knew deep inside that he deserved to fail. He wasn't improving in anything. After Ginny's death he only drank, sobered, complained about everything and drank again. They didn't kick him out of the Auror's training because of Kingsley, who was his friend and also the Minister for Magic. But that episode of his life was over and now he desperately wanted to improve and catch up with everything he neglected.

And he needed to save Riddle because that invisible fist around his heart would crush it if he couldn't accomplish that...

"You must want to share it," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, while Harry still gazed at the smooth, pale face, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of it.

"I must want to...," he repeated and gulped idly. "I want to..."

A soft mist slowly clouded his mind.

Save him.

His fingers began to burn. Then his whole hands. Every square inch of his skin which touched the Dark Lord's was scorching.

It was too much, it almost hurt him. He had to grit his teeth to bear with it. He felt Voldemort's facial muscles tense under his burning palms. The tension went downwards, contracting muscles on Riddle neck, then arms, trunk and finally his long legs, which involuntarily jerked.

"That's better. It will be enough soon," Madam Pomfrey said, but Harry barely listened to her as he was too engrossed in that experience.

It surely wasn't supposed to feel the way he felt it because there was nothing really intimate about it. He was only aware of some force moving out of him and spilling into the body below. However, that single thought made Harry blush like a teenager who just woke up form his first wet dream. He fought that flush in his face with all his might, focusing on the discomfort in his hands rather than his stupid thoughts. When the burn in his palms became too unpleasant, he had to find something else to pay attention to and so he watched the snake-like slits of Voldemort's nose move quickly as the man breathed faster.

It didn't really help him to relax; quite the opposite. Harry felt like he might catch fire any moment. He couldn't tear his eyes off that face, he was completely attached to that skin, those thin, white, barely visible lips, those closed red eyes he needed … he needed to see them open... He must see them open...

"POTTER!"

Someone screamed into his ear and tore him away from Riddle, but Harry didn't mind, because he saw them … he saw their sanguine color...

That brief look of surprise and discomfort etched deep inside them...

Harry staggered backwards, his legs felt weak, and he could hardly breathe, his lungs and hands burned horribly.

"I … I...," he muttered and turned to see McGonagall support him, but not looking at him and then Madam Pomfrey by the corner of the eye.

"What was that, Potter?-! Why didn't you listen to me when I told you...?-!"

"I'm all right … I'm fine ... I just think I need to sit down for a moment," Harry said in a surprisingly confident, composed voice.

He disentangled himself from the Headmistress's grip, straightened his back, readied himself to say something more … and fainted.

R&R