A/N-Sorry for the delay in posting. Lots of review to last chapter, which was polarizing to say the least. My responses can by found on my forum here on fanfiction, a link to which is on my profile. I would also like to point out that Harry Potter in this story is 11 years old. He is not a bad-ass, he's not a genius, he doesn't know more than the centuries-old witches and wizards around him. He has a rare ability, but he is not a super-powerful, super-smart master of all he surveys. He's a kid over his head. And if he hurts enough, like most 11 year old boys, he'll cry. As a father of one myself, I'd know. Please try to remember that.

Thank you for reading.

Chapter Ten: Windows to the Soul

Ron screeched when the door opened abruptly, in the process nearly falling out of his chair. Harry and Neville both jumped not because of the door, but because of Ron's reaction. When they turned, though, they saw not Professor McGonagall, but Professor Burbage.

"Mr Weasley, Mr Longbottom, please return to your rooms," the Muggle Studies professor said. "Mr Potter, we need you in the Hospital Wing."

"Good luck, Harry," Ron said.

"Sorry we didn't stop him," Neville added again.

"I know, thanks, guys," Harry said sincerely before following Professor Burbage out into the dimly lit hall. He slowed to a stop when he saw a tall, black-skinned man in crimson-coloured robes waiting only a few feet away. The man's magic was a bright, brilliant flame that gave his dark eyes the look of burning coal.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," the man said in a deep, mellifluous voice. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I've been asked to look into what happened today at the Quidditch match, and of course now this."

Harry tried to speak, but he couldn't form words. He felt Burbage's hand on his shoulder and looked up at his favourite professor in terror. "Harry," she said quietly, "he's not here to arrest you. We simply need to know what happened. Mr Finnigan has yet to wake, and is showing signs of a powerful and destructive curse to his magic."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you have to believe me!" Harry begged, tears gathering at his eyes.

"Son, we just want to know what happened," Kingsley said kindly. "Come on, let's go see how Mr Finnigan is doing."

The walk to the hospital wing seemed to take hours, though the wall clock when they arrived said it only took ten minutes. He saw Madame Pomfrey standing by a far bed, along with two people in light blue robes with a caduceus on their right breasts.

Behind them, their arms folded across their narrow chests in oddly mirror-like stances stood Dumbledore and Professor Snape. The two men's magic could not be more opposite—Dumbledore's ancient power was like crystallized fire, a flame so old and strong it seemed to almost solidify in his chest. Snape, on the other hand, looked like a blanket of cold, wet night as he stared contemplatively at the boy in the bed.

"Mr Potter, Headmaster," Burbage said.

Harry stumbled and came to a stop, wiping at his red, swollen eyes. "I didn't mean to, I swear!" he said again.

"Didn't meant to what, Mr Potter?" Dumbledore asked with one raised brow.

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I don't even know," he admitted. "I don't even know what I did."

"You stilled his magic, Potter," Snape said in a coolly acerbic tone. "In the same way as the dragon pox. What you've done is worse than turning a person into a Squib. At least Squibs have the benefit of a long life and health from the magic within them. Mr Finnigan is quickly losing his magic entirely, and it's possible he will not survive the process."

Harry's stomach clenched as if someone hit him, and he fought hard not to throw up. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled tearfully again.

"Many murderers don't, the first time," Snape said.

"Severus, enough," Dumbledore said. Though he spoke softly, he still wielded a tone that required immediate compliance. Snape nodded while the headmaster looked closely back at Harry.

"Mr Potter, as you might imagine, this is a serious issue. While I believe you had no true intent to do lasting harm, nonetheless lasting harm is exactly what might happen. We need to see what has occurred. While we have devices to view memories, in the interest of time I need to perform a spell that would allow me to view your memories. I can do this as a licensed Legilimens with the Ministry of Magic, in the presence of representative of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. However, I will not do so without your permission."

"Do you…do you think it would help Seamus?" Harry asked weakly.

"In truth, Harry, I believe it is our only hope."

"Okay, then," Harry said.

"Subject's cooperation has been noted," Shacklebolt said in an officious tone.

The ancient wizard bent over until his brilliant, shimmering blue eyes were mere inches form Harry's. "Think of what happened, Harry, and I'll do the rest."

Harry was expecting something—a waved wand, words of a spell, or even a flash of light. Instead, it was a faint tickling in the back of his mind, like a thought he knew was important but that he could not fully recall.

Dumbledore nodded and backed away. "Mr Finnigan was under the Imperius," he said coolly to Shacklebolt. "While the colour of his eyes was a clear indication, with the rather remarkable way Mr Potter perceives magic, it was even more obvious that another's will had supplanted Mr Finnigan's."

"But why?" Burbage said, aghast.

"To elicit a response," Snape said in a cold tone. "To see if the son could do what the mother could. And now we know he can."

"More important, we know what was done," Dumbledore said. He straightened stiffly and looked to the two healers. "You will need to fetch Healer Carlisle, please. We need an Aether to resolve this."

"Yes, Headmaster," one of the healers said.

Pomfrey volunteered her Floo connection, and moments later the two had walked away. "Back to your room, then, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We can discuss this more tomorrow."

"Professor, please," Harry said. "Seamus…I…I thought he was my friend. What does Imperius mean?"

"It is an Unforgiveable Curse, the use of which guarantees a stint in Azkaban," Snape said. "It suborns a person's will and forces them to do whatever the caster wishes."

"So it wasn't really Seamus who tore up my mother's book? Or said those things about me?"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Sir, if it's not too much trouble, could I stay until he's alright? I need to see it, sir. Please?"

When Dumbledore looked back at the remaining healer, she shrugged. "We have no idea what Healer Carlisle will say," the women said. "Perhaps we should let Mary decide if it is an issue."

"I'm amenable," Dumbledore agreed. With twinkling eyes he looked back to Harry and nodded. "Have a seat over there, Mr Potter. We will let Healer Carlisle determine if your presence will hurt or hinder."

"Thank you, Professor!" Harry gushed before taking his seat.

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey returned with the first healer, and a second woman also in light blue. Harry found himself staring at her in confusion since her magic looked unlike anything else he had seen. Where everyone else's magic was contained wholly within their body, this young woman's magic seemed to radiate within and without her body in a shimmering, sparkling cloud that surrounded the space several feet in every direction around her. When she looked at him, Harry felt a sudden rush of…well, not music, but a definite tone. It sounded like a symphony orchestra tuning its instruments, at first terribly discordant until it came together in powerful, hair-rising perfection.

"My goodness," a lyrical voice said. The sound of her voice echoed within the perfect tone that seemed to dominate Harry's senses—not taking away, but adding a counterpoint. The woman's voice itself was music to the magic in the air.

"Wow," Harry said. "You sound beautiful!"

"Healer Carlisle?" Dumbledore asked. His voice did not fit within the symphony, adding a mild dissonance to it.

"He's an actuating Aether," came the beautiful voice. "By Morgana, he's actuated himself to my own senses as if he were an audio-phonic Aether. I…Mr Potter, listen closely. It is important that you look away from me, do you understand?"

"You sound so pretty, though," Harry whispered, brought almost to tears at the thought of being away from such a beautiful sound.

"Headmaster, he's starting to bond," the voice said with an urgency like percussion to her music. "It's instinctive. He can't be here!"

Suddenly rough arms grabbed Harry. Cold, hateful wet smothered the flame of the music that dominated Harry's perceptions, and as soon as his mind cleared he realized Professor Snape had carried him out of the Hospital wing. Great, terrible grief struck in the cold emptiness that remained after the music was gone.

"Bring it back!" Harry screamed, trying to fight his way loose from the implacable grip. "Bring the music back! Please, don't take it away! Bring it back!"

Snape ignored him and carried him all the way to the Gryffindor common room. It was already past curfew when he opened the door. Only a few sixth and seventh years were up. The Gryffindor's stared in shock at the sight of Professor Snape holding a struggling, screaming Harry Potter in his arms

"Weasley," he said, spotting the Fifth Year prefect. There was no male seventh year prefect in Gryffindor that particular year. "Show me Potter's room. Now! The little vermin is beginning to irritate me."

Weasley jumped to his feet without comment and led Snape up the stairs to the First Year's room. Snape followed the prefect into the room to find the younger Weasley boy sound asleep, but Longbottom awake. He jumped to his feet when he saw who entered and said, "What's wrong?"

"Go back to your bed," Snape snarled, before slamming Potter down. "Hold him, Weasley," Snape said.

"Leave me alone!" Harry screamed, even while he sobbed. "Bring the music back, please!"

"What's happening, Professor?" Percy asked while fighting to hold the struggling eleven-year-old down.

"None of your concern," Snape said, while at the same time searching his robes before removing a clear potion. He mercilessly grabbed Harry's jaw and pried his mouth open before pouring the potion down Harry's throat, and then immediately forcing the boy's jaw shut until he saw Harry had swallowed it.

Almost immediately Harry's struggles weakened. "Bring it back, please," he sobbed. "It was so beautiful, please…." His last word faded into a deep slumber.

"Five points to Gryffindor for your assistance," Snape muttered. "I am returning to the Hospital Wing. I would tell you not to speak of this, but there would be no point."

With that, Snape strode out of the room. "Blimey, what was that about?" Ron said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The noise had awakened him.

"Harry being trouble, I suppose," Percy said with a speculative look down at the boy.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Mary Carlisle, Hogwarts Class of 1984 and the youngest Master Healer in St. Mungo's, leaned back from the now gently sleeping Seamus Finnigan with a satisfied nod. "It's done." She tiredly looked over to Pomfrey and added, "He's not to do any active magic for ten days minimum. He can attend Muggle and Wizarding studies, but no Charms, Transfiguration or Herbology."

"Even Herbology?" Pomfrey said.

"He can't afford any drain on his magic until his core replenishes itself. Fortunately, Mr Potter's accident did not damage the magic-producing cells within Mr Finnigan's marrow, but it was a close call. The boy would be dead within a fortnight if I had been even an hour later."

"Then we owe you a great debt of gratitude," Dumbledore said. "Before you leave, may I entice you with some tea?"

"Perhaps a little."

"Do you mind if Professors Burbage and McGonagall join us?" Dumbledore asked.

"Of course," Mary said, obviously sensing what the conversation would be about. "Perhaps Madam Pomfrey would like to join as well?"

After thanking and dismissing the two other healers, the five of them made their way to the Headmaster's office. They had just settled in for a light tea when Professor Snape entered the room as well.

"Healer Carlisle," the Potions Master said with a nod. "I gave Mr Potter a sleeping draught. He was extremely emotionally distraught."

"And he will be for the next few days," Mary said with a sad smile. "In fact, I'll probably take a calming potion myself and take the next day off."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"Simple, I almost bonded to the boy," Mary said, sounding as mystified by the fact as those she spoke to. "It was completely involuntary—I could no more control my magic than he could. In fact, we came close enough that he is going to be suffering from the effects of a pre-bond breaking. I would recommend we keep him on a regimen of calming draught for the next three days and then watch him closely after that."

She stopped when she saw everyone in the room staring at her. Smiling sadly, she said, "It was an Aether effect, Professors. I've read about it, but never experienced it myself. And when you consider that I already have a bonded love match with a good man, that should tell you something."

"Witches can't bond twice," McGonagall said.

"But Aethers can," Mary said. "Which is why, conversely, we don't like to share our men. Ben is a good man and a skilled healer, but he is not the most powerful wizard in the world. I chose him because of the man, not the magic. But when and if I choose for him to bond with another, there's every chance I'll bond with her too, and frankly I'm not sure I want that. I'm sure Mr Potter's mother was in a similar situation."

"The Ministry is going to want to know if Mr Potter was culpable for Mr Finnigan's injury," Snape said from where he stood behind McGonagall's seat.

"If he were older, I would say yes," Mary said. "However, the damage was too disorganized and ineffective to have been more than accidental."

"Ineffective?" Pomfrey exclaimed. "Mr Potter almost destroyed that boy's magic!"

"If it had been me attacking him," Mary said with calm assurance, "he would have died in an instance of true soul death. For me, it would be intentionally pulling his soul out of harmony. I assure you, as a healer, I could do so with any witch or wizard. For Mr Potter, it would be visually based, but with the same effect. I believe there is also a tactile aspect to his ability. If he had any skill or control, he could have killed Mr Finnigan instantly. I will testify that this was a case of Aether-based accidental magic resulting from extreme provocation. He was provoked, was he not?"

"Mr Finnigan was under the Imperius curse," Dumbledore confirmed. "It is Professor Snape's opinion that he was being used to test whether or not Mr Potter possessed native soul magic by actors unknown."

"Well, that question has been thoroughly answered," Mary said. She stood to leave before tumbling to her knees. Pomfrey rushed to her side. "Goodness, that took a lot out of me," she said with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Please feel free to use my Floo," Dumbledore said.

"Thank you," Mary said. Before she reached the fire, she said, "I have heard a rumour that a second Aether will be starting here next year. Is that true?"

"Why yes," McGonagall answered.

Mary stopped and turned to face everyone in the room. "Then listen, do not let Harry even see this girl, ever, until he is old enough to bond. It would be a completely involuntary bond for both of them."

"Thank you for the warning, Mary," Dumbledore said. "And for your help today. Good night, my dear."

"Good night." With that, Mary Carlisle disappeared in a billow green flame.

"Well, for next year at least, keeping him and Ms Lovegood apart should be easy enough," McGonagall said. "Just keep him out of the Great Hall during the sorting and I can't think of another time when they would have opportunity to see each other at a short enough distance to risk a bonding. The occasional meal should be safe enough, as long as they are kept at their separate tables."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Charity, given that Mr Potter has shown you a certain level of trust, I think it best if you give him another copy of his book. Mr Finnigan unfortunately was quite thorough in his destruction of the first. Mr Potter is likely unaware that it is a widely read book and so multiple copies are available."

Charity smiled sadly. "I'll let him know."

"Is the boy to be punished, then?" Snape asked.

"He has suffered enough tonight," Charity snapped at the Potions Master.

"I'm inclined to agree, Severus," Dumbledore said. "However, it is ultimately Professor McGonagall who will decide, given it happened within her house."

"I will discuss it with the other boys before I decide," McGonagall said. "In the meantime, it is late, and I'm sure you are all tired. I bid you a good night."

She and Pomfrey left together. Snape lingered, looking from Burbage to Dumbledore. "The boy is a walking disaster waiting to happen," he said darkly. "He has no control over his emotions at all. It is only luck and his own nervous stomach that prevented him from falling into Ms Johnson's clutches. I know he's important, Headmaster, but he cannot be allowed to go on like this. If you are not careful, the boy will bond before he is ready, and the precious Boy-Who-Lived will end up a vegetable for the rest of his life."

"Then perhaps he needs to learn Occlumency," Burbage suggested.

Snape raised a questioning brow. "What?" she demanded. "I'm a Squib, internalized magics are the only kind I can practice. I can't teach him because I can't perform Legilimency, but I am accomplished Occlumens."

"I am a professor and a Head of House," Snape said. "Not to mention I have two rather… demanding wives. When would I have time to train a mere First Year in the arts of the mind?"

"I have every faith you shall make time," Dumbledore said with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

"Headmaster?" Snape asked, confused.

"Severus, someone tried to kill Mr Potter during his Quidditch match, and then used an Unforgivable Curse to escalate a boyhood scuffle into a life-threatening event. Until we find out who is behind these attempts, Mr Potter is in danger. Why Imperius a boy to pick a fight when they could just as easily do the same to a witch to seduce Harry? As you pointed out, Mr Potter comes from an unhealthy home and is emotionally unstable as a result. It would be frighteningly easy for a witch to bond him, which would be as good as killing him."

"But Occlumency would give him some level of defense," Charity pointed out. "Occlumens have been proven to have conscious control over their magic, which would include the bonding instinct."

"Such Occlumens are masters with decades of experience."

"Or one beautiful, red-headed girl who had attained mastery so thorough she was able to love her friend without forming a bond with him," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape reared back as if struck.

"It is not an easy thing I ask of you," the headmaster continued. "I am aware of that. But we both know Harry is too important to risk. Please, Severus, if not for me, then for Lily. Do this for him."

"Why can't you teach him?"

"Because I am too old, Severus. Just that one instance of Legilimency with him was trying. His mind is painful to me," Dumbledore admitted sadly.

Snape looked down, cheeks flushing. "I will not tolerate any foolishness from the boy," he said. "He may have his mother's eyes, but that is James Potter's face I have to look at."

"You are a good man, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"And you are a poor liar, Albus. Good night."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

The next morning, being a Monday, saw Percy Weasley walked into the room to gather the first years. Ron and Neville were both dressed and ready, having learned the routine long ago. Harry, though, remained in bed with his curtains drawn.

"Come on, Potter, time to get up!" Percy said sharply.

"No!" came the muffled reply.

With a sigh, Percy flicked his wand, causing the curtains to yank open abruptly. With a muffled scream of anger, Harry pulled the bed's comforter over his head. "Potter, it is time to go!" Percy said. "I'll not have the First Years tardy under my watch! Get up now!"

He stepped across the floor and pulled the comforter off. In doing so, he was completely unprepared for Harry to fly off the bed screaming in pre-adolescent rage while flailing his fists. Percy was so startled he did not have a chance to defend himself and the two tumbled to the ground with Harry on top screaming, cursing like a sailor and punching as hard as he could.

"What is happening here?" McGonagall said as she walked in.

"Percy tried to wake up Harry and Harry just went mental!" Ron said.

McGonagall ground her jaw, lifted her wand, and in a second Harry froze. Percy pushed the boy off and scrambled to his feet, flushed but relatively unscathed. "That bloody little…"

"Mr Weasley!" McGonagall said. "Did you not see the note in your prefect's box instructing you to let Mr Potter alone? He is excused from classes today."

Percy started from McGonagall to Potter and then back again. "Er, no, I didn't Professor. I'm sorry. Is he…what…?"

"With all that happened yesterday, Mr Potter is distraught and will be excused from classes for today and tomorrow, and possibly Wednesday as well. Now, please take his classmates to breakfast."

"Yes, Professor."

When they were gone, McGonagall released Harry, who scooted into the corner of the room in a ball of misery. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the boy. "Mr Potter?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please don't…."

Alarmed, McGonagall knelt down, took the boy's hand and squeezed it enough for him to feel the magic of the contact. It immediately broke whatever dark place his mind had retreated to. He looked up at her with red, swollen eyes, and sobbed. That single sound seemed like a dam breaking, and he started wailing with such intense, emotional agony it actually made McGonagall's magic cringe under his touch.

Carefully, she removed a potion. "This is a calming potion, just like Wood gave you before your game," she said. "It will help with what you're feeling."

He took it without comment, and in moments the worst of his crying dried. "It feels like someone stabbed me in the chest," he muttered while wiping his nose. "I don't even know what happened. I don't cry—not like this. Why does it hurt so much?"

"Oh child," McGonagall said. "You almost formed a bond with Healer Carlisle. Neither of you were at fault, but it was very, very dangerous. Professor Snape probably saved your life by removing you."

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Lad, it wasn't your fault," McGonagall said sternly. "It was a condition of your mutual magic. Knowing that doesn't make the hurt any less, but it is not your fault, and no one blames you."

"What about Seamus?"

"Mr Finnigan will make a full recovery."

Harry sagged a little before burying his face in his hands. "When you came last summer I thought everything would be better, but it's not. I'm still a freak, even among the freaks."

McGonagall took the boy's tear-streaked face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Listen to me, Harry," she said firmly. "You are not a freak. You are your mother's son—if you stand out it is because you are extraordinary, not freakish. I'll not have you speak that way about yourself, not within my hearing. I owe it to both you, and your parents. Do you understand me?"

He wept a little more even as he nodded.

"Good lad. Now, I'll have the elves bring you breakfast. Stay in your room and read or relax. We'll talk again tomorrow. Right now, you need peace and quiet for the potion to work. If you need anything, ask for an elf."

"Okay, Professor," Harry said in a small voice.

With effort, McGonagall pushed herself up right before hoisting Harry to his feet. He climbed back into bed, since he was still in his over-sized pyjamas, and turned his back to her.

With a nod, she left the room to ensure the boy had food to eat.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.