A/N: It's taken me a great deal of time to even start this chapter, much less sculpt it into the finished product. Too many exams, too many essays, and WAY TOO MUCH going on in my life to fit this in anywhere. It's gotten to the point where it's a toss up between working on this or sleeping, and sorry, but I often choose sleep. But here it is, and review if you feel so inclined. Thank you, Miss Laine.

00000000000000000 Chapter 36: Mending 000000000000000

Despite their newly-agreed-upon truce, Harry couldn't help but feel on edge as he and the Potions Master sat silently at a heavy oak table, scanning through dusty and ancient books.

If it hadn't been for the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall behind him, he would have been easily convinced that no time at all was passing—Snape never spoke, nor moved any more than necessary to turn a page. Harry had the distinct feeling that he'd read much of this information before, and he had; just in different versions, depending on what book he happened to have open.

There was nothing new, nothing that he hadn't half-figured out already. The castle was in France, on the coast. It was old, invisible, and impenetrable.

Except by him. And, probably, Voldemort, who could also 'see' the fortress in his dreams.

Finally, when over three hours of silence had passed, Harry felt obliged to speak. The only reaction he'd gotten out of Snape so far had been a few half-glances whenever his arm or leg or shoulder had suddenly felt the need to twitch, reminding him irritatingly of his not-so distant recovery.

He was wasting his time now, though, and Snape seemed to be waiting for him. He cleared his throat, not wanting to interrupt Snape too abruptly, and then spoke quietly. "Don't suppose you've found anything yet, professor?" he asked, careful to use the man's title.

Dark eyes looked up quickly, then back down at the pages before them. "No."

"Oh, er," Harry said, not really expecting that to be all the Potions Master said. "Well, I'm not finding anything new…"

"Nor am I," the dark-haired man finally conceded. With a sigh, Snape shut the book in front of him, a plume of ancient dust stirring. "There must be a better way of doing this," he muttered.

"We—we had one idea," Harry said, remembering what he had discussed once with Luna.

"And?" Snape demanded curtly. Harry rubbed his head tiredly, then answered.

"I see this place in dreams, only not always," he explained as best he could. "And they're not really dreams, nor are they really visions, which the vision-blocking potions would block. They're more like…actually being there, I guess."

"Your point?" Snape demanded mildly, sounding as if he didn't want to sound impatient.

"We found a potion that is supposed to give you sort of out of body experiences," Harry admitted. "It might be enough…"

"Absinthe and nightshade?" Snape asked, then snorted in derision. "You wish to take a potion that makes you hallucinate as well as sick? Are you completely stupid?"

Harry glared. "I told you that it was only an idea. We don't know if it'd be enough to let me see the place, and, since I can't exactly get absinthe, then trying it out was out of the question."

"Mmm," Snape mumbled, thinking things through suddenly. "Perhaps a different concoction…absinthe and wormwood…would work. It is less…deleterious, and has the same hallucinogenic properties."

"I'm willing to try it out," Harry said quickly. "We've got to find this place."

"I will think about it," Snape said. "Until then, do what you wish."

Harry nodded, getting up and surprising himself with how stiff he had become. His left thigh muscles cramped up sharply as he stood, forcing him to brace himself on the table and wiggle his lower leg until the cramps ceased.

"The pain is not easing?" Snape demanded. Harry started, not realizing he was being watched.

"It's better than it was," Harry said, shrugging. He stepped away from the table, testing his leg and finding it sturdy enough. "Just surprising me every now and then. I didn't expect to feel this…" he wasn't sure what word he was looking for, but Snape filled it in.

"Old."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Just wait until you're thirty," Snape muttered, then cleared his throat as if realizing he'd almost made a joke. "Be back here at five this evening for supper," he instructed. "We will discuss any possible potion ingestion then."

Harry nodded again, then left the room, eager to find something, anything else to do.

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When he returned that evening, it was after he had done some of his Christmas homework and had written short letters to Ron and Hermione, telling them only vague suggestions of what had happened recently. He wasn't even sure if he'd be allowed to send the messages, or if they would be safe.

Come to think of it, he realized, he wasn't even sure if anyone else in the Order or associated with the Order had been hurt or was in danger. Grimmauld Place had probably been evacuated, he figured, but were the Weasleys safe? Were the Grangers? He'd had no contact with anyone, and, honestly, he hadn't been thinking about anyone much in the past day or so.

He resolved right then and there to change that. He'd been so wrapped up in his depression and hurt feelings that he'd completely forgotten about the welfare of his friends. It was time he stopped moping around, wallowing in his anger at everyone, and started focusing on the priorities in his life.

Friends.

Family. Remus, really.

Killing Voldemort.

Although he really wasn't sure what order he wanted to put those three things in, he knew they were the only three things that really mattered. Voldemort had to die before he could really live…as the prophecy stated…and he couldn't find the energy and strength to do that without the help and support of family and friends.

He just hoped they were enough.

Snape was in the dining room already, two vials in front of him. One, small and dark, held very little potion kept contained with a heavy cork. The other was much larger and held what looked like a calming draught.

The man looked up as he came into the room, eyebrow raised. "Potter."

"Sir," Harry said, feeling the familiar uneasiness return. It felt like Snape could pounce at any moment, whether to attack him physically or verbally he didn't know.

"Are you certain you wish to attempt this?" Snape asked, holding up the smaller vial. Harry hesitated, watching the dark liquid slosh slightly, then nodded sharply.

"If it'll even give me a chance to see this place again, then it's worth it," Harry decided. "I don't see any other choice, really. The books are getting me nowhere."

"I must warn you," Snape said slowly, setting the vial back down. "There are dozens of deleterious effects caused by this potion, namely chronic nausea, muscle pains, headaches, and nightmares. Any conditions you presently have…such as your most current injuries, will be aggravated by this potion, and your predisposition towards having headaches will increase."

"I get it," Harry said, wondering why he did these things to himself. "This is going to hurt for a long, long time after I take it, and you don't think I should."

Snape eyed him flatly. "I would suggest waiting."

"We don't have time to wait," Harry said. "Every day that I don't work to find this place is one more day for Voldemort to find it himself. You can't hinder him any more…my fault…and I can't mislead him in any way…again, my fault."

"Again with the guilt-heaping," Snape muttered, looking irritated. Harry sighed, feeling like he was physically forcing himself to push his anger at the comment aside.

"Look, I say I'm willing to do it, but if you think it's a terrible idea, then say so. I'll find another way to figure out the location…even if it takes months," Harry said.

Snape hesitated, then stood, taking both vials with him. "I would suggest eating, first. There is a light meal for you in the kitchen. Once you are finished, meet me in the sitting room."

Harry nodded, realizing Snape must have been planning to do this from the beginning, and walked into the kitchen, still wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

When he made it back out to the sitting room, Snape had transfigured the leather couch into a bed that had railings all around it…to keep him from rolling off of it, he figured. Snape sat at a desk in one corner of the room, the vial in his hand.

Harry took it with a muttered thanks, then sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up after toeing of his shoes. "How long will this keep me under?" he asked uneasily, uncapping the vial.

"Approximately eight hours, if it works properly," Snape said from his corner, not looking up from whatever he was now reading. "I have several potions that should negate the effects if you are under too long."

"Well, here goes," Harry said, forcing the waver of doubt out of his voice as he tilted the potion down his throat. Knowing that he was swallowing something just a step above an outright poison.

He expected it taste terrible, and was pleasantly surprised when it tasted like licorice mixed with something sweet. It went down smoothly, and he set the vial down before relaxing back onto the bed.

That wasn't so bad, he thought, smiling, a moment before his stomach suddenly flip-flopped, making him feel exceedingly light headed. "Wow," he said aloud.

"Pardon?" he heard Snape ask. He turned his head, smiling automatically as his vision swam wildly, and found Snape.

"I said wow, Snapey," he said, relaxing back on the pillows behind him. "Everything's swimming. It's…wow."

"I should take points," Snape muttered. "Shut up and pass out already, Potter."

"Mmm, don't want to," Harry said, feeling younger suddenly. "Like staying up, even if I do have to stay in the cupboard."

"I suppose I should have told you that you'd be a little loose-lipped under this potion's influence," he heard Snape say, sighing.

Harry laughed, the first easy laugh he'd had in a long time. "Loose-goose-moose-uh," he said. "Do moose live in England?" he asked.

"Dear Merlin," Snape said, sounding exasperate. "If I didn't want to be sure you don't suffer from some sort of melodramatic panic attack, I'd silence you, Potter. You're wearing on my nerves."

"Umbridge didn't like me either…she used to cut my hand up, to get me to be good…over and over…"

"Potter, you're making very little sense," Snape responded.

Harry nodded. "That's what my potions professor says," he agreed. "I don't have any sense at all."

"I would have to agree."

"My uncle says I'm a stupid good-for-nothing, though," Harry brought up. "Is stupid the same as senseless?"

"How long do you plan to keep on talking, Potter?"

"You know, he used to always say he'd beat the sense out of me…or magic…no, that he'd beat me senseless!" Harry figured out what he'd meant to say and felt quite triumphant. "Dudley sure did…"

There was a long…or what he felt was long…silence after his last comment. Finally, though, Snape spoke again, his voice quiet and tone flat.

"Shut. Up. Potter."

"Hey…d'you think this potion's making me a little odd, sir?" Harry suddenly asked. "Everything's…everything's…getting fuzzy…"

"So kind of you to state the obvious," Snape said.

Harry thought perhaps Snape said more, but his brain was filled with cotton and he couldn't hear anything. A moment later his vision swam entirely out of focus and he completely lost track of reality.

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Water crashed violently against the rocky shores behind him, sending salty spray cascading up into the air, to be borne by the wind until it reached where he stood, staring up the steep hills at the stone castle that loomed large in front of him. Wind whipped the grasses and trees wildly, shoving him sideways with its force, and he stepped forward, staggering his way up the sodden hill and towards the stone structure.

He didn't see anyone else, but somehow he knew that others were there, waiting for him to come closer. Was it an ambush, he thought? Or were they there to help him? It didn't matter much, he decided. He had to keep going forward, no matter what. It wouldn't do any good to stay where he was at, standing exposed on a hillside and letting the rain and wind tear through him.

It seemed like his steps were becoming less effective, he realized, as it took him almost a dozen steps to get even a few feet closer to the fortress. It felt like time was running out, and he sped up, moving his legs faster and breathing harder as he as much as ran up the slope.

No one stopped him or even appeared as he ran forward, coming slowly closer and closer to the dark stones. He couldn't remember why he wanted to reach them or what he was going to do when he did, but he kept moving, kept running. He had to get to them.

He had to.

"Potter."

He didn't stop. He had to make it.

"Harry Potter, turn and face me like a man."

He kept running.

"Silly boy."

"SHUT UP!" he shouted, but didn't stop moving. He was so close, he could see the moss growing on the stones, the water dripping down them in dark rivulets that reflected the lightening that occasionally split the sky.

"You won't make it without facing me first, boy."

"NO!"

His voice echoed across the hilltop, bounced off the stones and echoed all around him.

NONONONoNoNonononono…

He could see the stones in front of himself now, within arms reach. How had he gotten so close, so suddenly?

Without hesitation, he reached out and laid his left hand flat upon them.

"Damn brat," a cold but somehow mellow voice said. He was in a sitting room, watching a dark-haired man lean over a pale, sweating teenager. "I hope this is worth it."

Harry watched the teen shudder and shake in his sleep, left hand spread as if reaching for something. "No, no, no, no," the teen muttered, voice slurred and weak.

"I should never have agreed to this, Potter."

Harry realized very suddenly that he was watching Snape, who was in turn watching over him. His memory flooded back in a sudden dizzying burst, and he remembered taking the potion before falling into this vision. Vaguely, he recalled some of the things he'd said before passing out, and wondered if he'd ever stop embarrassing himself in front of Snape.

Not likely, he decided, as he watched himself toss and turn even more, shuddering from head to foot and pushing away all of Snape's attempts to help him. "Hold still, boy," Snape muttered softly, trying to tuck blankets around him.

But he watched as he pushed the blankets away, again reaching forward with his left hand. Harry realized that, in this vision, he was touching the wall with his left hand. Interested, he removed his hand—

The vision of the room and the two in it disappeared in an instant, leaving him staring at blank stones. Feeling frantic, he reached out again, placing his hand flat against the stones once more.

"He is searching for it," a cold voice broke through.

He was in a dark chamber, with torches lighting up the stone walls. Drab hangings adorned the walls, and only one chair resided in the room. A throne, really.

And upon it sat Voldemort, dark robed Death Eaters kneeling before him. He looked angry, Harry noted, and the anger was clearly directed at one Lucius Malfoy, who had just spoken.

"Hass he found anything?" Voldemort demanded.

"It is in France, possibly. It's invisible and undetectable by any spell, dark or otherwise," Lucius said, practically cowering away from his master. "I—we have not learned anything else, my lord."

"Isss the boy aware of the sssspy?" Voldemort asked quietly.

"No, my lord. He does not suspect at all," Lucius assured the dark lord. Harry realized with a cold stab of fear that this meant someone, someone who he trusted, was spying on him. Was a Death Eater, or at least a Death Eater wanna-be. He forced that fact into his brain, willing himself not to forget it, and then refocused on the conversation as Voldemort spoke once more.

"Ssseven of you will sssearch the coassst linesss until you find thisss plassse," he hissed. "If you fail me I—"

Voldemort stopped suddenly, looking around sharply. "He iss here!"

Everyone stood suddenly, knowing what their lord meant. "Foolss! Not physically!"

Harry realized that Voldemort was talking about him. He tried to pull back from the stone, but suddenly he couldn't move.

Searing pain washed through him, starting from his scar and dripping down through his body, and he cried out, trying to rip himself free of the stones.

But they didn't release him. Instead, he felt cold, slimy tendrils of something trickle through his brain, scrabbling through is skull as if searching for something…and, as Harry forced himself to Occlude, finding nothing.

The fingers withdrew, and Harry sagged back, exhausted.

He was too tired to realize that he was free of the stones until he looked up again and saw that he was staring at gray stones, lightening and rain all around him. "What was that?" he wondered aloud, unwilling to touch the stones again until he knew how to get free.

He stood, until then not realizing that he'd sunk to the ground, and staggered back from the wall…

Only to feel cold arms wrap around his chest, pulling him tight against something boney…he looked down, struggling wildly, and caught glimpses of pale, spider-like hands clutching him tightly, pulling him away from the fortress.

Voldemort had him, held tight to his thin chest so that Harry felt for a moment that he could even feel the monster's heart beating. "Let me go!" he screamed, struggling harder.

Voldemort laughed aloud, suddenly throwing him down onto the ground. "Pathetic boy," he hissed. "Foolish to think yourssself so powerful."

"Get…away from me," Harry panted, struggling back to his feet even as the agony in his scar redoubled, forcing tears from his eyes at its intensity. "You can't hurt me here," he bluffed.

Voldemort sneered, stepping forward with his wand raised. "I don't have to, stupid boy!"

Harry bit his tongue hard, bracing himself, and was not surprised. The pain didn't come from any curse…rather, it came from everywhere at once, driving him to his knees though he did not shout out.

At least, not until the agony grew even greater, making him lose all focus on reality as the pain stripped away his every thought. A scream tore from his lips as he fell face first onto the muddy ground.

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He woke to what felt like someone slamming a boat oar across his face. Realistically, he knew it was just a hand patting his cheek gently in an attempt to rouse him, but his nerve endings thought differently. They reacted as if he were being burned alive, and he opened his eyes with a snap, staring up into the dark eyes of Snape.

"It…" he started to say, then began to cough roughly, his ribs protesting wildly while his head swam painfully.

He tried again, this time more slowly. "It worked," he rasped. "I—I found out more information."

"How do you feel, Mr. Potter?" Snape demanded.

"Uh…" Harry took a quick assessment, wiggling his fingers and trying to move his legs. That proved to be a mistake, as his previously calm thigh muscles in his left leg suddenly seemed to realize that they were hurting and twitched anew before cramping painfully. "Ow," he said stupidly, staring at his leg. He'd never in his wildest nightmares imagined he'd be the one sitting there wondering how he'd gotten himself so messed up. He'd always thought it'd be someone else…at least someone older, anyway. "Everything hurts," he reported. "Nothing too unexpected, I guess. Uh…I guess I feel kinda nauseous, but not that bad really. I just…ache," he summed up. Snape nodded, handing him a flask.

Harry drank without comment, throwing the icy liquid as far back into his throat as possible before swallowing. Immediately, some of the pain was alleviated as well as his nausea. His head cleared perceptibly and he blinked a few times in order to really get his bearings.

"What did you learn?" Snape demanded.

Harry took a moment to collect himself. "Voldemort's got a spy," he said first. The most important thing. "Someone's in Hogwarts spying on me and knows what I've found out so far. I can't even think of who it might be, though."

"I have a few…suspicions," Snape said softly. "But do go on."

"Um…I still don't know where the castle is, but I've got a better idea of the terrain. We might be able to narrow down the amount of coastline we have to search. And something…else…"

"Yes?" Snape queried.

"Did you ever try to tuck blankets around me when I was out?" he asked.

Snape looked insulted. "Pardon me?"

"Hm," Harry said, taking that as a no. "Well, I thought that I was having…er…well, when I touched the stones, I got sucked into visions that brought me back here. And I saw you telling me that you shouldn't have agreed to this and some other stuff, and then I saw another one in which Voldemort was talking to Lucius about the person spying on me." He sighed. "So I guess that one wasn't real either."

Snape looked thoughtful. "I think, perhaps…that you did in fact see truthfully."

Harry stared, then tried hard not to look like he had. Snape was as good as admitting that he'd tucked him in! "So that means…what, I see the real world when I'm in contact with the stones in my 'visions?'"

"So it would seem."

"So…now what?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat confused about everything. "I do it again, try to figure out just where the heck I'm at…or do we narrow down the search to those chunks of coastline that are rocky with steep hills behind them?"

"You will not be ingesting that…potion…again for some time, Potter," Snape snarled. "You're very lucky that so far your only side effect has been muscle tremors."

"What?" Harry said, and looked down, following Snape's glare. Sure enough, his left thigh muscles were twitching without his say-so. Even worse, he hadn't realized it had been happening. "Shite," he swore softly.

"Language, Mr. Potter," Snape chided mockingly. "You quite literally asked for it."

"What—" Harry started to ask something, but Snape cut him off.

"We will examine French coastline, Potter, and attempt to narrow down the possibilities that way. But that doesn't happen until you are recovered enough to stand on your own."

"I'm fine!" Harry protested, swinging his legs out of bed. Before he could even set them down on the floor, though, his left leg suddenly seized up, burning pains slicing through him from hip to toe.

Clenching his teeth and ignoring Snape's mocking smirk, he slowly maneuvered himself back into the bed. "You're to stay in that bed until I come back," Snape ordered, turning to leave. "If I even find out that you've move so much as a foot from that bed, I will forcibly restrain you."

"Fine," Harry grumbled, laying back. The pain in his leg eased as he relaxed, and he fell into a light doze.

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He woke up on his own with the distinct feeling that it was much, much later than it had been. There was a platter holding a steaming bowl of soup next to him, floating idly in midair, and floating next to that were several books that had "Atlas" scrawled across their fronts.

Although he didn't actually feel hungry, he forced himself to drink the soup, knowing that he hadn't eaten in quite some time. After the first few swallows, though, his stomach seemed to realize that it needed fed and he was able to finish the entire bowl. Besides filling him, it warmed him up considerably. Oddly, he hadn't realized until then that he'd been cold.

Sighing, he stretched on the bed, feeling his spine pop and creak with the movement, and rubbed at his right shoulder, which was cramped up with painful knots. They slowly eased, leaving him feeling weak but otherwise pain-free. He didn't even want to think about walking, but an urgent need was making itself known.

Somehow, he had to get from this stupid bed, out into the hall, down the hall, past the dining room, past the kitchen, and to the bathroom. And soon, his bladder was telling him quite urgently.

He forced himself to sit up, swinging his legs out of the bed as he had before and slowly settling onto feet that seemed quite happy to avoid any weight-bearing duties. He was amazing when he was able to stay standing after only a few attempts, and began walking towards the door of the sitting room.

Sometime about halfway to the door, his steps degraded to a half-shuffle, but he kept moving, slipping out the door and stumbling his way down the hallway towards the bathroom. He felt ancient, well past his sixteen years, and the way in which his joints ached and his muscles felt absolutely useless served to only increase his perception of his age.

By the time he reached the door, he was out of breath and spots were dancing around in front of his eyes, but he managed to use the toilet without falling over, and even washed his hands and face without too much difficult. That came when he attempted the walk back to the sitting room, where the books he needed still floated patiently, waiting for him.

His harsh breathing echoed heavily in his ears, and he staggered heavily when he clumsily bumped into the wall when he turned a corner. He could barely see the hallway just a few feet in front of himself, and he had the odd feeling that he wasn't wearing his glasses—although he could feel their slight weight on his face.

"Mer…merlin," he breathed, the soup in his stomach threatening to resurface. He stopped walking for a bit, trying to catch his breath, and rubbed his leg, trying to physically crush the twitches that were even now beginning in his muscles. "Stop it," he muttered, blinking slowly and trying to figure out just how much farther he had left to walk.

He was just pushing himself away from the wall once more when he heard footsteps. Coming towards him. A chill went through him as his mind flew to the suddenly only plausible explanation—death eaters were in the house, coming to kidnap him.

He felt for his wand, but it wasn't in his sleeve, nor was it tucked in his waistband, in his pocket, or anywhere else. Panic was building up in him now, and he faced the source of the footsteps, hand outstretched.

"Potter!" a sharp voice exclaimed, the same instant that Harry's panic reached its peak.

A red light exploded from his outstretched hand, catching the dark figure straight in the chest and flinging him down the hallway, until he slid to a stop somewhere out of his foggy sight. An instant later, his brain caught up and he realized with a chill that he'd just stunned Snape. Any possible truce they could have had was gone, Harry thought miserably, wondering if he was even capable of crawling forward far enough to find where the man had come to rest.

In the end, he didn't have much choice, and he shuffled forward, finally, after what felt like miles, reaching the still unconscious professor. "Dammit," he muttered, breathing out heavily. "Merlin…what've I done now?" he asked no one in particular.

He knelt next to Snape, noting that the man was, thankfully, still breathing, but had a large lump on the back of his head and his wand had dropped from his fingers. "Er…enervate?" Harry asked almost, hand aimed at Snape.

Nothing happened, though, and Harry thought about going for his wand. Just imagining how far way that would be, though, stopped him from following through. There was only one other option, then, and though he didn't want to he grabbed Snape's wand and raised it unsteadily.

"Ennervate," he tried again.

"Ah!" he yelped. Burning pain seared through his scar as the spell worked, but even as he dropped the wand in order to clap a hand to his forehead, Snape stirred, sitting up sharply.

"Potter! You stupid fool!" Snape snarled before glaring at him fully.

The glare turned to more of a stare, and Harry looked back owlishly, rubbing his scar even as he sat back on his heels, too weak to stay just on his knees. "Thought…er…" he tried to explain, but couldn't.

"Did you really think that death eaters would infiltrate my home without my knowledge?" Snape demanded. "Your idiocy astounds even me, Potter!"

"Well…uh…" Harry floundered, wishing Snape would stop talking so loud and would let him just go back to sleep.

"Where is my wand?" Snape demanded. Harry felt for where he had dropped it and handed the length of wood back to its owner, wondering why his hands were shaking so much.

Snape took it, looking it up and down once before swiftly rising to his feet. "Get up, Potter. If you made it this far, you must be feeling better."

Harry shook his head, worried that by opening his mouth to answer he'd be inviting his stomach to reject the soup.

"Now!"

Harry shook his head again, feeling even less clear-headed, and groaned aloud when Snape took his arm and hauled him to his feet. He watched as Snape looked him over, seeming to realize that he wasn't anywhere near all right, and then his vision lurched even more.

"Potter, what have—"

Harry didn't even have time to warn Snape before he threw up violently, soup reappearing in a rush and quite effectively soaking both his own right arm and Snape's left side.

Then, he blacked out.

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It was getting to be a regular occurrence, he decided somewhat moodily. Passing out awkwardly, then waking up in a strange bed, staring up at a strange ceiling and wondering why life couldn't be even a teeny bit normal. Because it was really starting to wear on his health, he complained silently. He didn't know how much longer his brain could deal with passing out and waking up repeatedly. It was just…ridiculous.

"Awake again, I see," Snape commented from somewhere behind his head. Harry tilted his head back, ignoring his stiff muscles, and saw that Snape was seated where he had been previously, again reading some book.

"Uh, I guess so," Harry responded dumbly, feeling supremely confused. Snape didn't sound mad…just normal. Slightly mocking, with a hint of snideness.

"Wishing to perform any other spells upon my person?" Snape asked. Harry shook his head, then slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"I thought you were a Death Eater," Harry pointed out. Snape sneered at him, turning back to his book.

"Of course. In my home, without my knowledge. Because that happens all of the time, Potter," Snape said flatly. "Next time you feel the need to attack me, be warned; there will be ugly consequences."

"Well, it's not like I was really thinking straight," Harry said. Snape stared at him, expression even.

"What were you doing up in the first place, Potter?" he demanded.

Harry knew he was turning red. "Er…I had to find the toilet," he finally explained.

Snape sighed. "You should have waited, boy," he said. "I was alerted the instant you woke up, and I would have been down in a few moments."

"Well, like I said, I was a little fuzzy on things," Harry said again, feeling defensive. "I didn't even remember to take my wand with me," he added.

Snape suddenly looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Huh?" Harry said, surprised at the sudden interest. "Uh—I just said I was fuzzy on things."

"No, about your wand!"

"Er—I didn't remember it?" Harry asked, feeling for a moment as if this were some exam.

"How did you stun me, then?" Snape demanded.

Harry recalled the wandless spell suddenly. "Um…sometimes I do wandless spells…you know, when I really need something to happen, I think."

"No, I do not 'know,'" Snape echoed mockingly, then turned serious once more. "How long have you been capable of these…wandless…spells? How many have you performed?"

"It happens occasionally. Since a couple of months ago, I think. And it's only happened three or four times," he answered. "Why?"

"Have you spoken to anyone about this?" Snape demanded, ignoring his question.

"I told Dumbledore about the Lumos I did. He said it might just be accidental magic, but he didn't make it sound like it was that big of a deal," Harry said.

"Fool! Did you tell him that it was a specific spell? If I am to assume it was similar to this…occurrence, then it was the spell you needed, at the time you needed it! Purposeful wandless magic!"

"I still don't get—"

"Potter! Listen to me closely, and try to get this through your head—wandless magic is something only the accomplished witch or wizard is capable of. Very few perform any before they are forty, and fewer still are capable of performing spells of any strength. Unless these incidents are exceedingly coincidental—"

"So you're saying I'm doing something I shouldn't be able to do, at an age when it should be impossible," Harry summed up, feeling both interested and tired. Honestly, he didn't want any new abilities. He just wanted to be left alone.

"For one, Potter, you've defined the problem correctly," Snape said flatly.

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A/N: I feel incredibly bad that I left you guys so long that some of you thought I'd abandoned this story. I haven't nor will I, but it's getting difficult to write and even more diffucult to type. Classes are killing me, and my grades have to come first.

Anyway, this one's a little longer, so as to give you something more to read, but I have to warn you that the next update may be a long time coming. Classes will be starting up again soon (It's winter break), but I'm going to keep at this. Towards the end, it'll get quicker, too, since I know how it goes.

BTW, there are only about eight-ish chapters left of this. I'm working on a new, seventh-year canon story that I'll post someday, but for now rest assured that come hell or high water I will finish this thing.

Thanks,

Miss laine

PS: Sorry about any grammar mistakes or spelling errors. A few of my more…amusing…mistakes have been pointed out, but honestly if I went back and edited these I'd probably never post. Editing essays for school is really my limit these days.