Thanks to the readers who caught my brain-fart in the last chapter. It has been updated. You'll likely recognize some direct quotes from the book in this one. Very thankful to TheHelpfulNeighborLady (AO3) for her work as my beta reader!

Snape proved to be a dedicated research partner now that he was aware of the situation. He still seemed suspicious, and he began chastising Harry several times for things that students were forbidden from doing, before he would remember that Harry was no student. They poured over texts, and postulated theories back and forth about brewing, the Mutamorph Potion itself, and what may have fallen out of his first year textbook.

By Wednesday, they were no further ahead, and sat dejected with an empty teapot and books strewn all over Severus' desk.

'You claim that the Mutamorph Potion works only with the assent of the users,' Snape said, suddenly.

'Yeah,' Harry said, still feeling morose.

Snape sat up straighter.

'Did you assent to the switch?'

'No,' Harry admitted. 'But the potion wasn't finished. The addition of dried lilac and wolf's-foot clubmoss create the consent requirement, as far as I understand it. I hadn't added those, yet.'

Snape frowned, pushing his curled hand into his mouth as he thought. After a few moments, his eyes lifted and met Harry's.

'This may not be reversible.'

'I have to try,' Harry insisted, feeling a nervous weakness flood his system. His pulse raced weakly in his neck. 'I can't live like this.'

Dropping his hand, Snape narrowed his eyes.

'Like what?'

'Like this!' Harry snapped, standing from his seat and beginning to pace. Standing so suddenly made him dizzy, but he managed to stay balanced. 'It's exhausting enough being surrounded by children all the time – believe me, you have my sympathy – but having to pretend to be one as well... it's beyond exhausting.'

'You are free to be yourself here,' Snape reminded him.

'Yeah, well, unless I want to get detention after detention, I can't really just hang out with my professor night after night, can I?' He folded his arms over his chest petulantly. 'It's not just that, though. My life was...'

'In shambles.'

Harry looked at Snape, who was giving him a knowing look. The man sat back in his chair with a slight air of smugness.

'And you've brought nightmares, panic attacks, and flashbacks with you, Potter.'

'I had friends,' Harry hissed defensively. Snape's words were striking very sore nerves. 'Fam- I had family.' Hot tears filled his eyes before he could turn away. Not even one sob and he was struggling to breathe normally.

Snape looked vaguely perturbed.

'They're gone,' Harry said softly, his tears falling. 'And it's not the same.'

Harry slowly grabbed his books off the desk and swallowed his heartbreak. Snape watched him with an unreadable expression. When Harry made for the door, Snape did not stop him.

After crying himself to sleep, Harry slept rather well without any potion. Thursday, he woke feeling nauseated, and only had a weak cup of tea at breakfast. He fell asleep in History of Magic, but Draco kept prodding him awake so he avoided trouble. He felt weak all day, and he figured he really should perhaps eat something again.

Friday, Harry was overwhelmed with both Draco talking nonstop about the upcoming Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch game on Saturday, but also Ron's demands to prove himself by cheering for Gryffindor. Draco of course overheard, and so the bickering began once more. He distracted himself by stuffing himself with food at every meal, despite his protesting stomach. When nothing came back up, he counted it as a victory.

Saturday dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter or everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. Harry was on edge, wondering if Quirrell would act today. Realistically, he should have been on the lookout the whole time.

'You've got to eat some breakfast.'

'I don't want anything.' He could skip breakfast and eat a hearty lunch like he did the day before. But he was certain that this time, something would come back up.

Draco gave him a look.

'You're going to waste away to nothing, Potter, and then Snape will have my arse for not looking out for you.'

Harry scowled at him. He felt terrible and would much rather be in bed, but he couldn't not be at the Quidditch match. He had to know.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars, and Draco promised to let Harry borrow his shiny, gold-plated pair. He had yet to hand them over, however, and mostly left Harry on his own, though he did occasionally describe what he saw.

Harry sat them not too far from Ron and Hermione, and gave them a hesitant wave. Draco snapped at him to stop when Hermione enthusiastically waved back. Ron grinned and waved, too, once he saw how upset it made Draco.

'Why are you friends with them,' Draco insisted under his breath.

'Why are you friends with me?' Harry countered.

'You provide a strategic advantage to my life,' Draco said promptly with an arrogant smirk. Harry nudged him with an elbow. Surprisingly, Draco accepted it with a good-natured smile.

As the teams assembled on the pitch, Harry realized he hadn't thought to ask who was playing for Gryffindor.

'Who's the Gryffindor Seeker?' Harry asked after Draco didn't respond to his heavy hint that he should, in fact, make good on his promise to share his binoculars.

'McLaggen, I think?'

Harry groaned inwardly.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up into the air. They were off.

'And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –'

'JORDAN!'

'Sorry, Professor.'

It seemed Oliver Wood's game plan for McLaggen was to stay out of the way, but he kept dipping down to shout at his fellow players. Harry felt his stomach do a sharp twist, and not necessarily from nerves. He felt almost smothered, as if he couldn't get enough air. He wrapped his arms around his middle and huddled down. Draco was staring, enraptured, through his binoculars.

'Slytherin in possession,' Lee Jordan was saying. 'Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?'

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Seekers Cormac McLaggen and Terrence Higgs both saw it and dropped into dives. Harry's stomach lurched and he broke out in a sweat.

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below – Marcus Flint had blocked McLaggen on purpose and McLaggen's broom span off course.

As the Gryffindors screamed for foul, Harry doubled-over and vomited. The shouting from the crowds drowned out the sound, but Draco caught a whiff quickly enough.

'Potter, what – eurgh!'

Harry felt himself hoisted back up to sitting, and his face magically cleaned. The world swayed dangerously and Harry tried moving to right it, but Draco held him still. The blond looked paler than usual.

'I think I'll go back up to the dorm,' Harry said weakly, as Gryffindor took a free shot on Slytherin's goal. 'Not feeling well.'

'Obviously,' Draco spat, but there was no venom behind it. 'Next time warn me, and I won't wear my good boots.'

Harry waved him off, and stood. The Quidditch pitch instantly faded to black, and Harry felt himself fall. Students around them made sounds of alarm, and Harry heard Draco shush them authoritatively as he shook Harry.

'Potter!' he hissed. 'You're creating a spectacle.'

Slowly, Harry's vision came back.

'What did you do to Harry?' Ron came climbing angrily through the stands towards them, Hermione following behind.

'Nothing, Weasley,' Draco snapped. 'He's ill.' As if to demonstrate, Harry's stomach lurched and he vomited again. This time, the students in front of them became disgusted, getting up to move away.

'Harry!' Hermione said worriedly, pushing towards him. She sat next to him and quietly gasped, then began frantically rubbing his back. 'We need to get you to the hospital wing.'

Someone's spellwork – probably Draco's again – cleaned him up, and the skin around his mouth began to itch. His vision was greyed out, and sweat was beginning to soak his robes.

'I already told him that,' Draco snapped. He sounded stressed. 'You think it's that easy to make him move?'

'Harry, let's go,' Ron commanded beside him as Hermione moved aside. Suddenly, he was hoisted by his left arm, and Ron's shoulder nestled underneath his armpit. A more hesitant set of arms took his right arm, but Draco's familiar presence pressed into his side.

'I'll go ahead and let Madam Pomfrey know,' Hermione said breathlessly.

'No!' Harry insisted, his voice whingeing instead of commanding, as he intended. 'Please find Professor Snape.'

Hermione looked conflicted, and hesitated.

'Snape, Granger!' Draco shouted. 'Go get him!'

She turned and ran down the stands as fast as people would move out of the way. Harry's vision kept greying in and out as Draco and Ron all but carried him out of the stands. Slytherin broke out in a cheer as they got to the ground level.

'No!' Ron said in dismay, but Draco sneered.

'Your team is terrible, Weasley. Just accept the loss now, it will be easier in the long run.'

'Gryffindor is good,' Harry insisted softly. Draco scoffed.

'I'll let that one go since you clearly aren't in your right mind.'

Draco led the way to the Slytherin dormitory, and let them in only after Ron swore he wouldn't tell anyone the password, nor use it himself.

'It's there for a reason, Weasley.'

They laid Harry on his bed, and Draco was able to turn a pair of socks into a bucket. It had the same colour pattern as the socks, though, and was slightly pliable. Draco's nose wrinkled in disgust when Harry heaved again. Ron paced and avoided looking at him.

The door opened and Snape stepped inside, followed by Hermione. His eyes narrowed on Harry.

'Thank you for fetching me, Ms. Granger. Mr. Potter and I will need some privacy.'

Hermione nodded and scampered out of the room quickly.

'That includes you, too,' Snape said pointedly to Ron and Draco. Ron turned red and followed Hermione, but Draco made much more of a fuss, as it was his room, too.

'Just get out,' Severus snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

At last they were alone. After casting a silencing charm on the door, Snape folded his arms across his chest.

'I should be celebrating Slytherin's victory right now,' he said tersely. 'Tell me this is something you already know how to resolve.'

Harry shook his head, swallowing hard.

'I don't know what's happening.'

Snape raised an eyebrow.

'Are you dosing yourself indiscriminately?'

'No!' Harry insisted. He had to swallow hard as he tasted acid. His eyes watered. Thankfully, it passed. 'I… I don't think so?'

Snape crouched down so he could look into Harry's face, and Harry recoiled in embarrassment. He did not want to be so closely inspected by Snape right now. Scowling, Snape grabbed Harry's chin and brought it forward. His eyes looked over his face, and then he inspected Harry's hands, feeling his clammy palms with his long, potion-stained fingers. For a brief moment, Harry felt warm, safe, and well.

But then Snape withdrew, and the sickness roiled heavily in his gut.

'I will need to assess your emesis.'

'Great,' Harry said weakly. 'Stand by.'

They remained in silence as Harry sat, waiting for his stomach to churn hard enough to warrant vomiting again. He struggled to keep his breath, and his head throbbed. Snape finally moved toward him, pressing two fingers into his neck.

'Your pulse is rapid,' he commented. Harry nodded, pulling away. Taking a step back, Snape gave him room to vomit.

When he sat up, Snape traded him a wet cloth for the small bucket Draco had produced. As Harry wiped his face, Snape cast a number of spells on the bucket, included a de-smelling charm. He looked utterly repulsed, nonetheless, as he spelled a small amount into an empty glass phial he withdrew from his robes.

'You carry empty potions phials with you everywhere?' Harry asked with a feeble chuckle. Snape eyed him critically.

'Yes,' was all he said. He pocketed the phial and vanished the sick out of the bucket, transfiguring it into a proper metal bucket, which he placed at Harry's bedside. He breathed deeply through his nose and crouched down again beside Harry.

'I will need to take some of your blood, as well.'

Harry nodded. It was a routine medical procedure he was used to. He rolled up his sleeve. Snape gave him a look and took his left arm to roll it up. It was still unmarked.

'It should be done on your non-dominant side,' he said, by way of explanation.

'I know.'

Snape wrapped his hand around Harry's bicep just above the elbow and firmly squeezed. Harry's veins stood out quickly, and Severus poked at them with his wand.

'Phlebaposyro,' he murmured, and then tapped a second empty phial, pressing it against Harry's skin next to the vein. It filled magically with Harry's blood until Severus extinguished the spell.

Snape stood, pocketing the phial.

'You should rest.'

'That sounds nice,' Harry muttered, laying down. He hoped the world would stop swaying so much, soon.

Severus had specially chosen a selection of snacks from Hogsmeade and brought them to Potter under strict orders to eat nothing except what he had bought. He suspected poison, but given all the ways poisons could be administered, he would start with food and rule out routes of exposure from there.

He did not realize Potter's life would be in his hands so early in his Hogwarts career. The boy – no, man – had denied that this had happened in his previous life, but Severus wasn't quite sure he believed him. He barely believed that Potter wasn't just an eleven-year-old boy. Suddenly, Harry Potter being gifted wasn't that ridiculous of an explanation for things.

Refining Potter's blood took most of Sunday morning, but by lunch, he finally had an answer.

It was cyanide poisoning.

Most poisons acted through their magic; their ingredients alone were usually fairly innocuous. It was the brewing process – almost always suitably complex – that created the magic of death. Magical poisons were meant to be subtle. Some could easily be masked as other substances. One left no trace at all. They were meant to destroy physically, emotionally, psychologically. Besides kill you, many drove you insane first, or disabled the body so painfully that death was a welcome relief.

Cyanide was so basic, it was almost muggle. But in the magical community, it might have been overlooked in favour of a more complicated explanation.

He sat at his desk, staring at the various products of Potter's blood and the small sample of cyanide. Potter had a moderate level in his blood and needed an antidote quickly. As Severus gathered the required ingredients and tools, his mind ran over the various ways Potter could be exposed to cyanide. It could be inhaled, absorbed through the skin, or even eaten. He could brew an antidote, but it would be virtually useless unless they were able to identify how Potter was being poisoned.

'It will take four days to brew the antidote.'

Snape was up front with Harry's prognosis, for which he was grateful. He needed nothing to be sugar-coated.

'You do not seem to be surprised.'

Harry sighed.

'Would you sit?'

He gestured to his bed. As awkward as it was to have Severus Snape sit on his bed while he lay in it, it was more uncomfortable to have him standing over him. Stiffly and slowly, Snape sat on the very end of Harry's bed.

'An attempt was made on my life at about this time in my first year,' Harry explained. 'My first first year,' he added.

'And?' Snape demanded.

'My broom was cursed. I very nearly fell to my death.'

'In class? By whom?'

'It was at my first Quidditch game. Gryffindor versus Slytherin.'

Snape scowled.

'First years do not play Quidditch.'

Harry heaved a deep sigh.

'I did.'

'And?'

Harry looked at Snape for a moment, taking note of his speculative, black eyes. It was hard to imagine that Snape didn't remember it. He looked away.

'You saved me.'

Snape looked satisfied.

'You are one of my students,' he said, as if it were all in a day's work to save a student's life with elaborate counter-curses or brewing antidotes.

Harry snorted.

'I wasn't that time.'

Snape narrowed his eyes.

'You were in Gryffindor?' he asked dangerously, as if Harry had just uttered the most insulting of epithets.

'I was,' Harry said with a chuckle. 'And the youngest house player in about a century.'

'Minerva would never allow it.'

'She was very determined to beat Slytherin.'

Snape looked as though he were contemplating a smile, but then he frowned.

'Who cursed your broom?'

Harry took a deep breath.

'Quirrell.'

After being shepherded to classes by Draco, and closely monitored by all his friends during the week, Harry met Snape at the door to his quarters after the last class of the day on Thursday. Snape had the antidote with him, and directed him to remain in the kitchen.

'The dose is substantial for Coalamin Solution,' he warned as he took out a large syringe with a wickedly long needle. 'It also must be administered via intramuscular injection.'

Harry instantly felt weak.

'That's fine,' he said, unconvincingly.

Snape drew the dark red potion up into the syringe and held it aloft to check it, priming it with a gentle squeeze.

'The thigh or buttocks would be best.'

'Great,' Harry muttered, hiking up his robes and leaning over the counter. 'I'll just think of England.'

Snape smirked and moved behind him.

He felt a painful pinch in the lower part of his right cheek, just where it peeked out from his pants. A burning sensation filled the whole muscle before spreading down into his leg, and up into his back. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his lips as he pushed his forehead into the countertop. He banged his head a couple times to serve as a distraction, but the pain continued and spread through his whole body like fire. Snape casually draped Harry's robes back over him as he stepped away just as Harry's legs collapsed and he slid to the floor.

'Potter!'

Harry was sweating. He could feel it beading on his face before spilling down his forehead, cheeks, and throat. Snape knelt over him, but did not touch him, an amused light in his eyes.

'It will pass,' he said confidently.

'I feel like I'm on fire,' Harry ground out, tears leaking out of his eyes. His mouth was salivating to the point of foaming as he spoke. He moaned loudly as an outlet for the pain, and turned his head away from Snape.

'Your body is purging the cyanide.'

'Through my pores?' Harry growled.

'Yes.'

'Fuck me,' Harry groaned.

It passed, as Snape promised, several minutes later. Harry lay on the floor, his robes soaked, his face covered in sweat, tears, and spittle. Snape handed him a towel, and Harry wiped himself before Snape helped him up.

'You must shower.'

'I will,' Harry promised, but Snape pointed at one of the doors he had spelled shut during his last visit.

'I won't have you traipsing through the halls soaking wet. Through the second door. Do. not. touch. anything.'

Harry opened the door Snape directed him to, and walked through a dark bedroom to another open door. He still felt slightly dazed by the treatment as he stood under the pelting water. The coolness from the shower soothed his prickling skin, and he found his robes had been cleaned and dried – as best they could be, magically – after he got out. Snape was sitting at the kitchen table with tea when he came back, and directed Harry to sit.

'The house elves have not reported anyone tampering with your food, or anyone else's,' Snape told him, fixing him a cup of tea. 'And there are few and far between sources of cyanide in the castle in general.'

'But you found it?' Harry asked, wrapping his hands around his cup of tea. He hadn't felt so disconcertingly normal in a long time.

Snape inclined his head.

'It was in your nutritive potions.'

Harry stared at him.

'What?'

'At the beginning of the year, I arranged to have your diet supplemented with a nutritive potion. To help you gain weight.'

Harry sat back, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

'Why?'

'I do it for all my snakes,' Snape said, dismissively. 'You are small for your age.'

Harry smiled at Snape in wonder.

'What?' he snapped, defensively.

'You just... you're always looking out for me. Saving me.'

A small crinkle appeared in Snape's forehead for a moment, but it disappeared.

'I admit to being curious as to why you insist on repeatedly putting yourself into situations where you need a saviour.'

'Just to see if you'll come running,' Harry smirked, taking a sip from his tea.