Disclaimer: I'm not JK rowling and I make no money off of this, yo

Warnings: Minor swearing, maybe more?

Whoa, left the last chapter on a major cliff hanger. Sorry about that! Anyways, thanks everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed/etc. Estoy bien. It would also be reaaaally great if you all told me how you felt about thiiis chapter!

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It was strange, he'd never expected it to burn. One moment he was flying serenely over the water's edge and the next... well, he wasn't entirely sure. One thing he was sure of though was that something had hit his head, there was a stinging slap of frigid water against his skin, an overwhelming confusion and then the rapid onset of disorientation. The oppressively black water had claimed him, wrapping him in a sheath of cold and total darkness, until he held his breath for so long that the need for oxygen was the only thing he knew.

Air!, air!, air!, his lungs and his brain and his blood cells screamed. Air, air, air, air, air, air, air; the singular thought occupying his mind was so resonant that he forgot what the very word meant, he just knew he needed it now. Responding to the overpowering command, he took a deep (and hopeful) breath despite the fact that he was intimately aware that there was no oxygen. Instead of refreshing, slightly cool sensation he had almost expected, there was it's antithesis- burning. Instantly, liquid fire scorched his windpipe and incinerated his lungs, causing him to scream and wretch uselessly into the void. He wouldn't be heard, not down here. The abyss was his only company.

For a standstill moment in time, as all conscious victims of some terrible fate tend to do, Harry had the all-encompassingly, bone-chilling question pervade his mind: Am I going to die? The boy started to struggle desperately but stilled for moment, and in the omnipresent blackness, where there was only himself and the things he'd been avoiding, a surprisingly honest question followed up: Do I really care?

He recoiled slightly, at first startled by the idea that he was depressed enough to kill himself. No, not kill himself- he wasn't suicidal! He just, well, he just wouldn't care too much if he did happen to die. It wasn't suicide at all, the teenager thought, it was death via inaction and that wasn't so bad. Yes, it wouldn't be a bad idea at all to just let himself float into the darkness, rapidly become so exhausted he wasn't aware of his surroundings... wasn't aware of himself, or of the terrible things he did, forget everything... forget Cedric... forget Voldemort... forget his hands... and just... and just... die. It sounded almost nice, actually.

Suddenly, whether it was because his brain was oxygen-deprived enough to start hallucinating, or the final fight-or-flight mechanism was kicking in, flashes of old memories flickered as if on a slideshow in front of his eyes...

Kind brown eyes floated in space before him, "Yer a wizard, Harry."

"Give me the stone, foolish boy!" Devilish red eyes...

The sensation of warmth zipping down his arm and causing red sparks to shoot out of a newly-acquired wand; smiling,

"Curious, very curious" Eyes gleaming grey, crinkling around the edges...

Hermione and Ron and Neville and Luna... disjointed memories of laughter, sunshine;

"Freak, worthless freak!" a familiar voice screeched in his ear,

The scent of sterility and bedsheets, another voice, onyx eyes... "I don't know what foolish things those relatives beat into your head but you never have been, never were and never will be a 'freak'."...

"Not able to see how much people care about you, foolish boy..." Anger, more onyx eyes,...

The boy wretched, trying futilely to choke out the fire in his stomach and lungs... the water was like a heavy weight on his limbs, pinning them in place... He didn't want to die, he realized. He didn't want to die at all; what would Hermione and Ron and Mrs. Weasley and Fred and Neville and everyone else do without him? They cared about him, and if he died because he didn't try then it was all his fault... If he died, then there was no purpose for Snape to stuff all of those expensive potions down his throat... People depended on him, god dammit!

If he died here would he never hear the sound of laughter again? Would he ever feel the sensation of sunshine on his face again? Did he really want to die without ever knowing what it was like to fall in love, or to go without hearing the funniest thing he's ever heard, or without thinking the most mind-blowing thought he'll ever think? No, no, no... he didn't want to die here. It wasn't worth it.

With the last burst of energy he had, he struggled with desperation against the water, only causing it to stir slightly around him. The boy screamed into the void, knowing he wouldn't get a response but hoping for it dearly, realizing he was getting nowhere... that it was useless... that death was imminent.

No, no, no, no! Please, please! Life had only just started... I just got here... please, please... something, anything please.. help, help me.. he pleaded, begging relentlessly for fate to lend him minuscule mercy. He choked, eyes closing the more he gave up, having the most intimate understanding of death he'd ever had. Funny how it wasn't Voldemort that ever made him feel so helpless before, it was merely water... He was too tired to struggle against the leaden weights on his arms and legs, too tired to hold his breath and soon too tired to think...

It was right before his eyes fully closed that he thought he saw something glimmering flash distantly before them; Silly... there was nothing. Unconsciousness crept up on him, ensnaring his mind rather quickly and finally giving him a little leeway before death would inevitably sink its talons into him, ripping his soul mercilessly from his body...

The last bubbles escaped from his mouth, causing the lifeless husk to sink lower and lower into the murky depths.

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Scratching with a busy quill onto a piece of parchment, Dumbledore hummed blithely to himself. It had been a very busy day, with the tensions between him and ministry causing quite the strain on obstructing the next uninformed political decision Cornelius had almost made, yet it was all over now. Sitting back in the plush red arm chair tucked behind his desk, the Headmaster finally relished in the rare relaxation he had allowed himself.

Everything was going well today; much of the staff, including Minerva, Fillius and Pomona had arrived for the rest of the summer to create their syllabuses and prepare for the students.

The man spun strands of grey beard with his wrinkly fingers and contemplated how interesting the summer had been. It had certainly been eventful, he conceded, with Harry having quite the entrance. Smiling sadly, he felt a harsh pang of guilt in his chest that he had allowed the innocent boy to stay in an abusive household. Just the term 'abuse' and 'Harry' thought in the same sentence made the man cringe slightly, and he wiped discreetly at the tears brimming in his eyes. Dumbledore was infinitely happy that the boy made it to Hogwarts before it was too late, and that he had been forgiven; what was really important was that Harry was safe, happy, and healthy.

Startled out of his thoughts by a rather insistent chirping, he looked with a confused smile at Fawkes. "Fawkes, what's wrong?"

The irritated phoenix squawked indignantly and ruffled his feathers, flying busily in circles and singing a discordant tune before disappearing out of an open window in a flash.

The Headmaster blinked, confused.

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A spark. A flash. Like someone lost in a blizzard trying to kindle a small fire with sticks. Warmth suddenly, and a flourish of brilliantly white light expanding rapidly throughout the water. It had started in his chest; a glowing mass making liquid warmth traverse through his veins and nerves, stopping briefly in his hands. The ball in his hands lit up with a shimmer of gold, making the formerly invisible tendrils fill up with the liquid light... and then a vaporous white spread out from the body and illuminated every corner of the lake with a wondrous glow.

Abruptly there was nothing and the thin line between life and death thickened inch by inch, until eventually the two concepts were so far from each other that they disappeared. A faint light shining dimly just past his eyelids. Red and gold feathers. A chirping. Water pouring out of his gut. And perhaps most significantly, the wondrous yet painful sensation of air. Pure, wonderful, brilliant yet still terribly burning AIR.

The light dimmed slightly and was then confined to a soft glow in his hands.

Shivering violently, the oxygen deprived, pale blue boy opened his blurry eyes. A bird... Fawkes?..nudged him gently, pulling a thick and warm wing over his frame. Harry grunted his thanks due to his inability to speak, comforted yet completely unaware of his surroundings.

He supposed it was over now, and somehow he had made it out of the water or he was dead. Either way, he was exhausted and warm so he allowed his eyelids to close softly. Breath evening out, before he could slip into sleep the damned bird nudged him again... rather hard this time! Fawkes squawked in his ear loudly and nibbled on his ear. "Ow... stop it..." he ordered ineffectually in a breathy whisper. Instead, the insistent bird ruffled her feathers further and suddenly made a booming song arise from his throat.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, ears popping painfully as the earsplitting sound echoed throughout the school grounds.

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Hunched over a table for hours, carefully cutting potions ingredients, Severus was thoroughly startled and dropped his tools with a clang when he heard a booming noise in his ear. Well, that was the second time this summer. What would be causing that at this late hour?

A combination of surprised and perplexed, the man stopped what he was doing and hesitantly followed the sound throughout the castle. Was it a warning of some sort? Perhaps meant to inform him of something? Severus furrowed his brow in consternation, the sound of his brisk footsteps like thunder claps booming through the hallways and his robes billowing ominously like black clouds.

Looking in his peripheral view, he saw a grim Minerva nod her head towards him as a way to say that she was 'equally as confused' and 'was going to follow the sound too'. They trod side by side in mutual silence, waiting for whatever verdict there was going to be. While many odd, unexplained things had happened throughout the history of Hogwarts, and it was a plausible idea that this sound could just be meaningless, there was a heaviness within it that made Snape feel uneasy and dreadful. It had something to do with the Potter boy, he could feel it.

Soon the song had led the pair outside of the castle and towards the lake edge. With squinting eyes, Severus examined the shore line that was hard to see in the darkness. One thing which stood out was the Headmaster's red and gold phoenix, Fawkes, that seemed to be crouched over a silhouetted figure. The man's usual composure withered away the closer he got, and despite the darkness of night, he felt his suspicions as to whom the figure was bubble in his stomach. He paled and his fast paced tread transformed into a full blown run the moment he saw a black, wet mop of hair contrasting with the Phoenix's bright feathers.

"Lumos Maxima!" the man nearly yelled, dropping to his knees on the marshy lake side and paling. Harry. It was Harry.

Grabbing for the boy's wrist and thanking whatever god there was for the faint pulse, he performed a variety of diagnostic charms and conjured large, warm towels. "Dammit, boy, what the hell have you gotten yourself into now?" he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.

His heart dropped like a weight into his stomach as he wrapped Harry into a series of towels and got an even closer look at how pale and disoriented the boy was. Minerva, accompanied by a nervous Pomona and Fillius, soon stopped right next to him and there was a collective gasp, "Mr. Potter!"

Steadfastly ignoring the small crowd, Severus gently scooped the teenager into his arms and huddled him into his voluminous robes. He spun around towards the direction of the hospital wing, closely tailed by the generally affable Phoenix who was uncharacteristically worried about the small boy. While the professor had known Fawkes to be a bright, very companionable bird, he had never seen him this engrossed in the happenings of a student at Hogwarts. The other professors followed him grimly, shouting out exasperated and unanswered questions such as "What is he even doing here?" and "What happened?".

Harry looked up at the assembly of people, confused and more tired than he had ever been in his life. If he could just go to sleep...

"Mr. Potter, if you dare fall asleep than I personally promise you that I will make hell seem like an amusement park." a threatening, baritone voice whispered in his ear, startling him out of sleepiness.

Severus looked at the boy forebodingly. He was probably suffering from acute hypothermia due to being in the cold water for so long, and if he fell asleep... well, he might never wake up. The thought chilled the professor to the bone. "Well, don't just stand there! Cast heating charms, make yourselves useful!" he yelled to the procession of people.

Fillius jumped with a startled squeak and quickly cast charms on the boy as well as the surrounding vicinity, Pomona meanwhile scurried to the green houses in search for some plant remedy that would deal with the inevitable fever and Minerva transfigured more blankets for when they reached the Hospital Wing.

"Potter! Tell me, what's another name for wolfsbane?" Severus barked in Harry's ear.

The boy looked wearily at the man, feeling his confusion surge exponentially. "Wuhh..?" he inquired; was he in potions' class right now? Summer sure did go by fast... "Monkswood... monksweed? Nunplant?"

Soon they had reached the infirmary and the boy was gently laid onto a bed, still wrapped in now-wet towels. Minerva and Severus worked smoothly together; prying the towels away, transfiguring his sopping wet clothes into dry ones, stuffing potion after potion down his throat. It seemed nearly endless for the poor boy and meanwhile Fawkes watched the happenings with a rather protective gleam in his eye.

Shivering and too exhausted to be properly angry, they made the boy stay awake for hour after hour- watching him, piling blanket after blanket on him no matter how hot he said he was getting, slapping him awake and performing charms on him. All in all, it was an extremely unpleasant experience which he would not care to repeat. Throughout the night, he could've sworn he felt drops of warm phoenix tears on his forehead and, it may sound crazy, but sometimes, he almost felt as if he could... as if he could somehow understand what the bird above his headboard was chirping? But that was obviously crazy and he reassured himself that it was all the medication he was getting.