God... I'm so terribly sorry for not updating sooner, but real life decided to interrupt and I simply didn't have the time to continue writing. I hope the wait was worth it!

And please, this chapter is not beta-ed. I somehow couldn't reach either of my betas because my e-mail progam doesn't work at the moment. If there are any really terrible mistakes in this chapter, please send me a PM.

Enjoy!

Chapter 35

Harry stared at Remus with his mouth slightly agape, before a big smile broke out on his face. "You'll be teaching once again? That's absolutely fantastic!"

The werewolf ruffled his hair. "Thanks a lot cub. I'm definitely happy to be back." He winked. "I'm the best teacher you've had so far, after all!"

"And he's sooo modest!" cried Sirius and wiped an invisible tear from his face. "Little Moony's all grown up now, teaching the little Potty-prankster!"

"Can it, Padfoot," scoffed Remus and Harry smirked at their display. "I don't think Harry of all people needs to be taught either pranks or how to defend himself."

Harry's smile faded slightly and he shook his head and plumped down on the bed next to Sirius. "That's not true… I don't think…" He sighed. "To be honest I don't think I can hold a candle to Voldemort's skills… he's a madman, true… but he knows his stuff. If it comes down to a one-on-one duel in the near future… well…"

Harry left the rest unsaid and looked down at his hands, clenching them slightly, ignoring the concerned looks the two last marauders send him; he gave them a slightly fake smile. "Anyway, Remus, how in the name of Merlin did Fudge agree to let you teach again?"

The two friends exchanged a short look at the abrupt change of topic and Sirius shrugged his shoulders before leaning forward. "Y'know pup, although I'm a convicted murderer, the name of the House of Black still holds a lot of influence in the magical world. Fudge – the slimy little coward he is – doesn't want to get on Draco's bad side. He knows that despite his age, Draco could politically destroy him. "

Harry gave him a skeptical look. "Dray's that important?"

Sirius nodded his head. "Yes and no. First of all, until Lucius Malfoy has another heir - produced in a legally sealed wedding - Draco's still the next in line to inherit the Malfoy-name and fortune. So, with two very influential names on his side, he's one of the most dangerous enemies a politician can have." Sirius calm face morphed into a mischievous one. "What Fudge doesn't know is that Draco's not the legal heir of the Black-family, but you are."

Harry gave a start. "I-I am?"

Sirius ruffled his hair, just like Remus had done before. "Course you are! You're the closest thing to a son I've got, after all! You'll inherit everything I've got, unless I have a son or daughter of my own… or decide to change my will! Even if I should have a child – and you have to agree that it's bloody unlikely for me to meet the right woman to help me with that - you could still be my heir if I deem it necessary."

"Thanks," replied Harry, not knowing what else to say.

"But let's stop that mushy stuff, before lil' ol' me starts crying." Sirius gave him a smile. "Say, how does your resistance training against the dragon-blood go?"

Harry's eyes widened in sudden realization and he looked at his watch, before he shot up from the bed and sprinted towards the door. "SHIT! I gotta go guys! Or else Snape's gonna kill me for being late!"

"Uh…" Sirius looked at Remus, who simply shrugged his shoulders when Harry disappeared faster than they could blink.

"I believe Dumbledore mentioned something about the cub's lessons being at five o'clock…" said Remus only before he started walking to the door as well. "C'mon, Paddy. Let's go and unpack your basket, your bowl and your dog-treats."

…HPHPHP…

Three hours later when Harry's head had just hit his pillow, Nicolas Flamel, or Professor Nick Edison – as he was known as to most of the people at Hogwarts – quietly paced around in his office. His eyes weren't fixed on anything specific as he turned around when he had reached one of the high bookshelves on the wall. Even though he was over six hundred years old, he looked as if he was only around forty. The relatively young-looking face however was set into a troubled frown.

Despite what everyone believed (or at least a certain group of teenagers) his office and lab wasn't located in the Room of Requirements, but in a secret passageway on the third floor corridor. As far as his knowledge went, it was not even on the Marauders' Map.

On his way back to his large desk on the other side of the room, right in the corner, he passed several small tables with bubbling and sizzling cauldrons on them – occasionally stopping to check if everything was okay.

The cauldrons emitted at least six different colors of smoke that started to mingle at the ceiling, forming a rainbow-colored cloud over the old Alchemist's head. Without so much as looking at it, he extinguished the flames under one of the cauldrons with a wave of his hand. Nicolas's eyes followed the cauldron, as it silently floated over to another shelf near the large window that gave him a formidable view of the Black Lake – although not now, for it was dark outside.

Suddenly his eyes fell on the reason, why he felt so troubled.

He simply sighed and shook his head when he reached his desk and stared at a small vial he had put on it a few hours ago when he had finally had the time to examine its contents.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his quiet musings and with another wave of his hand, the large door opened. When he saw, who entered, Nicolas gave a short smile, before turning around and going over to the fireplace, where a large teakettle was hung up.

The person that had entered was the only other person in Hogwarts who shared his love for potions. It was the only person, who was able to understand the finer parts of the art of potion-making understand the beauty of it and knew how to look at a bigger picture that emerged after mixing different ingredients together. A picture which the brewer alone was the painter of. The brewer alone was capable of destroying or creating things.

Sure, talking with Dumbledore - Nicolas always joked that with him he wasn't feeling like he was talking to a child (at least not that much) - was fun, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts didn't really share his enthusiasm about potions.

He put the kettle back on the fire after he had filled it with water and turned around.

"Good evening, Nicolas," greeted Severus Snape him with his usual silky voice.

Nicolas shortly eyed the man, who had respectfully and cautiously waited at the door and nodded. "Good evening, Severus. You may enter; none of these potions are in danger of exploding if you pass them too fast."

Snape nodded, still careful not to let his robes create too much wind which would disrupt the fire under each cauldron, and went over to Nicolas, who gestured to a comfortable armchair right next to the fire.

"I presume, it's black tea with a little bit of Firewhiskey for you, as always?" he asked conversationally.

Snape nodded and rubbed his temples. "Certainly, be sure that it's highly appreciated."

Nicolas nodded once more and sat down on the opposite of Snape. Although the two of them knew each other for months now, they still talked to each other rather formally – simply out of respect for the other.

When the tea, that had prepared itself, was put in front of Snape, Nicolas took a closer look at the much younger Potions-Master. He looked tired and worried.

"Tell me Severus, what is it that makes you look so troubled?"

Snape took a large sip of his tea and regarded Nicolas for a short time. "I could ask you the same, but the thing that troubles me is that Potter-brat!"

Nicolas had to suppress a chuckle. "Again?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Snape exasperated – although his mood was only betrayed trough the slight raise in his voice – his expression remained neutral. "I have no idea what to do with him anymore! I just had another lesson with him and it's as if he simply stopped making progress!"

Nicolas raised a single eyebrow in question. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Snape put his cup down and leaned back in his chair to get more comfortable. "For weeks now he is able to withstand the effects of the blood for about twenty minutes, but that's it."

Nicolas nodded his head and traced the corner of the small table in front of him with his fingers. "I believe I don't need to ask if you have already tried several different ways to make him last longer."

Snape titled his head slightly to the side. "Indeed. To be honest, I'm at my wit's end when it comes to that boy."

With a sigh Nicolas stood up and went over to his desk, where the small vial was located. "I was afraid of that. Severus, I think we have a much bigger problem at hand than we first thought it to be. Would you please come over here?"

Snape, now a little anxious – as you could see on his stiff posture – set his teacup down and slowly walked over to him. Nicolas took the vial, its red content glittering in the light of the fire and held it out for the resident Potions-Master to take.

It didn't take long for Snape to give a reaction. His eyebrows arched up and his lips thinned. "Undiluted dragon-blood… Nicolas, do I even want to know?"

Nicolas sighed and placed the vial back on his desk. "I'm sure you remember when Harry blasted Umbridge across the room two days ago, yes?"

Snape's lips curled into a small satisfied smile. "How could I forget?"

Nicolas allowed himself to give a small smile in return, but then his eyes hardened. "This vial of dragon-blood fell out of her pocket."

Snape opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes went to his left forearm, where Nicolas knew, the Dark Mark was branded into his skin and his right hand clutched the fabric of his arm.

With a deep breath, Snape looked up to him again. "So… the Dark Lord knows that…?"

Nicolas made a helpless gesture with his hands. "I don't know if Umbridge was able to tell Voldemort or if she just acted on her own accord. I don't even know how she found out."

The Potions-Master shook his head and you could practically see how his mind ran a mile in a minute to find a solution. Finally, he looked at Nicolas once more, with an expression that clearly told those who knew Snape's usual facial expressions that the man was at a loss.

The Alchemist took pity on him and with a wave of his hand; two crates came flying out of a near cupboard. He handed them to Snape, who took them without a word and simply stared at him.

"This," Nicolas gestured to the slightly smaller crate, "contains ten small vials of the Elixir. Each of them is only filled half." He pointed to the larger crate. "This one however contains twenty full – although slightly smaller than normal – vials of dragon-blood."

Snape nodded and sighed slightly, before a scowl made its way to his face. "So you believe it's wise to increase the amount of blood and decrease the use of the Elixir."

"Oh, no," Nicolas bit his tongue, before continuing. "Ten of those vials contain diluted dragon-blood; I trust you'll be able to know which ones." He looked Snape in the eyes. "It's time to bring the blood directly into his body."

Snape's eyes widened and then he nodded, albeit a little reluctantly it seemed. "I just hope it doesn't kill him. If yes, I blame you for that."

Nicolas smiled at the younger man. "I will take full responsibility but… it is simply the only way to continue."

…HPHPHP…

Harry groaned and turned around in his bed. He was not sure, what woke him up, if it was his aching body, or the sunlight illuminating the room. He was only sure, that he definitely didn't want to be awake yet.

He hissed slightly when he tried to move his pillow over his face to hide from the sunlight. His whole body felt as if a horde of hippogriffs had trampled over him… three times!

After two failed attempts he decided to give up and opened one eye to glare at the window, when suddenly a loud screech made him jump. He immediately had his wand out and searched for the noise.

He found it, when another screech nearly made his eardrums burst and looked up at the ceiling.

A small black and grey owl flew circles around his head and if a bird was able to glare, he was sure, the bird did just that at the moment. The sudden adrenaline disappearing, he clenched his teeth when his muscles protested at his movement. He looked at his hands. 'Wow… the lesson with Snape yesterday sure did a number on me…'

He stretched his arms and yawned, when suddenly a sharp pain appeared on his left hand. He cursed softly and glared at the owl which stared at him, with its beak still lingering near his skin. His eyes travelled to the letter it had clutched between his talons and he held his hand out. The owl screeched again and dropped the letter, not without scratching him though…

"Blasted bird," he cursed loudly and sucked the blood off of his finger.

"Shut it Potter! It's too early for one of your tantrums!" called a grumpy-looking Blaise from his bed. Harry paid him no attention and unfolded the small piece of parchment.

…HP…

Be in my office in five minutes sharp or be in detention for the next month.

S.S

…HP…

Harry blinked slightly and glared at the owl when it finally decided to leave. "As moody as its master…" he murmured angrily and longingly looked over his shoulder to his pillow and then at his wristwatch. He blinked again. It was seven o'clock… and he had to be at Snape's office in… how long had the owl been waiting for him anyway?

Jumping out of bed and ignoring the pain that shot through his muscles like needles, he grabbed a pair of jeans and a thin pullover and changed into them as fast as he could.

…HPHPHP…

"HE DOES WHAT?"

Harry was desperately hoping that he had heard wrong. He was sitting in Snape's office – surprisingly the man had offered him a cup of tea – and was now seriously considering drowning himself in said liquid.

Snape titled his head to the side, his expression more serious than Harry was accustomed to. "Indeed, the Dark Lord knows about the effects dragon-blood has on you."

Harry's head fell down on the table and he heaved a sigh. He stared blankly at the plain white teacup right in front of his nose.

"Kindly remove your head from my desk," scowled Snape, "I just polished it and don't need it ruined."

With a jerk, Harry sat up and stared at the Potions-Master. "You… Voldemort's gonna off me for sure now and all you're worried about is that I will ruin your desk? That's friggin' unbelievable!"

Okay, Harry knew that he was getting slightly hysterical now, but could you blame him? He of all people knew best what dragon-blood did to him and if Voldemort really knew about his weakness, he was sure to exploit it as soon as possible. 'Best just hide under a rock and die…' he mused silently to himself. Snape arched an eyebrow at him, unfazed.

"If you have calmed down, would you listen to what I have to say?" the Potions-Master sneered impatiently.

Harry straightened himself and nodded.

Snape waited for a few moments, before he nodded as well. "Nicolas found a vial with dragon-blood in the Great Hall, after you… threw Umbridge across the room."

Harry didn't say anything.

"He said that he saw Umbridge loose it. It was in her pocket. If she knows about your weakness, the Dark Lord probably does as well. Nicolas and I talked yesterday after our lesson was finished and came to the conclusion, that there is no other choice than to put your training to an extreme."

With a gulp, Harry looked at the Professor. "And that means, Sir?"

Snape pointed at two crates behind him that Harry hadn't seen before and turned around to extract a small vial with shimmering red liquid out of one. He held it into the light.

"This," he said, "is diluted dragon-blood. It consists of a quarter of water and the rest is blood. You" he pressed the vial into Harry's hand, "are to drink it up entirely."

Harry blinked and then something in him registered what Snape had just said. He shook his head. He really needed a break it seemed. His brain was getting slower each day.

"Excuse me Sir, but are you mad?" he asked finally, disbelief lacing his voice. "You think I would actually drink that stuff?"

Snape rose to his feet and glared at him. "You will drink it and you will do it now!" he barked, his face only inches away from Harry's own. "Merlin help me, or else I personally see to it, that you will have a quick dead as soon as possible before the Dark Lord is able to get his hands on you!"

'Did he just… in his twisted and unfriendly way… say that he's worried about me?' thought Harry and first looked at his Professor and then at the vial in his hands.

He uncorked it and tried to ignore the tremble in his hand as he raised it to his lips. "Well then… cheers…"

He emptied the vial with one large gulp and gagged slightly at the metallic taste and at the thought of what he had actually just swallowed. With a shudder and shaking hands he put the vial on Snape's desk and looked at the man, who was intently staring at him.

Suddenly Snape stood up and Harry was baffled when a door appeared behind his desk. The Professor opened it and signaled him to follow. He stared when the billowing robes disappeared through the door and then slowly followed the man.

His limbs started to shake more violently when he entered a room that seemed to be a mix between a living-room and a professional potions-lab. Snape stood next to a comfortable looking sofa near a big fireplace and without further ado Harry found himself sitting on it.

"Professor… wh-"

Suddenly Harry felt his body go rigid, as stars appeared before his eyes and every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire. He knew that a scream must have made its way out of his throat and he felt himself fall to the side.

'G-great…' was his last coherent thought, before everything went black.

…HPHPHP…

Snape started pacing around in his quarters after casting a cushioning-charm on the trashing Harry Potter and ensuring that he wouldn't fall off of the sofa. He tried to drown out the youth's screams and groans of pain with very little success. If he didn't know better he would have thought the Cruciatus was put on him.

He had expected a very violent reaction after his talk with Nicolas the evening before, but seeing it for himself made him feel slightly sick. He was used to seeing torture, heck he was used to being subjected to torture and he guiltily admitted that he was also no stranger to torturing someone himself… you had to do so if you wanted to stay alive in the Dark Lord's ranks. But it had always been people he hadn't known... it might sound heartless, but it just didn't affect him this much.

His hairs suddenly stood to an end when a low rumble made several of the small jars of potion ingredients, which stood in his quarters, crash to the ground and the lights started flickering. His eyes narrowed and immediately travelled to his temporary charge.

He was not able to see the magic pulsating around Potter, but he could certainly feel it. Looking around he was glad to have put a shielding-charm on his most valuable possessions beforehand. As much as he admired Nicolas Flamel, at the moment he felt like cursing the man into next week for this was his idea.

His eyes never leaving the youth that had already screamed himself hoarse, he quickly strode back into his office and took one of the vials of Elixir out of it and stashed it into his pocket.

Nicolas had not been very specific as to when he thought he should administer the unusual antidote and Snape had decided to only use it if things got really out of hand.

His eyes narrowed when the teenagers back arched off the sofa and a low hiss was heard from his mouth. He went over to him and felt his forehead. As he had anticipated it felt hot to the touch and with a flick of his wand a cold cloth appeared in his hand.

"Hold still now…" he said even though he knew Potter couldn't hear him.

He put the cloth on the teen's forehead and was ready to put a sticking charm on it when another hiss disturbed the silence of the room, directly followed by two more.

Snape shuddered inwardly. That had definitely sounded like Parseltounge… not like a simple hiss of pain. He jumped slightly when Potter's hand jerked to his forehead.

He scolded himself for his jumpiness and even though no one would be able to see it, put the familiar scowl back on his face. Another hiss sounded trough the room and Snape went over to the fireplace, cursing himself when he felt goose bumps appearing on his skin.

He threw a handful of floo-powder in it and waited shortly before simply saying: "Nicolas, I believe his shields are down."

Not even ten seconds later, Nicolas Flamel stepped through the fire and Snape nearly did a double-take when he was followed by Albus Dumbledore who took one look at the struggling Harry and then turned to Nicolas, the usual twinkle gone from his eyes.

"Nicolas, I must ask you, no, the both of you: Do you really think, that this is wise?"

Nicolas didn't bother looking at Dumbledore and immediately went over to the sofa. He kneeled down in front of it and carefully pried the hair away from the teen's sweat-soaked forehead to get a look at the famous scar. A vicious sounding hiss came out of Harry's mouth and the only indication that Nicolas was startled or surprised, was the slight jerk of his hand.

Snape didn't need to see the scar to know that it had to be inflamed, just like Dumbledore had often said it was when Voldemort tried to mess with the young wizard's head.

When he looked at the Headmaster he was slightly surprised to see the man look so grave and felt his eyes narrow further then they already were.

"It is as I feared then…" he heard the Headmaster whisper and Nicolas rose to his feet once more and looked at Snape and then nodded to Dumbledore, before returning his eyes to Snape. "Severus, I don't like to say it, but our situation just got a whole lot more complicated."

"Is it even possible?" said Snape and rolled his eyes. "You already said it was complicated yesterday."

It was Dumbledore who answered. "Believe me, my boy, that was nothing."

Snape finally snapped. "Albus, what are you even doing here?"

Dumbledore sighed and looked at him over his half-moon spectacles. "Nicolas contacted me with the help of Fawkes and told me yesterday – just after you left it seems – about the circumstances that led Harry to his current predicament. I was worried when I heard of Nicolas's plan but, alas, I saw no other way as well."

His eyes went to Harry, who now clutched his scar again and this time it wasn't a hiss that came from his mouth, but a painful moan.

Suddenly Harry's eyes snapped open and the three men nearly took a step back at the glare he gave them. Dumbledore was the first to have his wand out when the youth's eyes shimmered red for a second and then turned back to the familiar emerald green, only to get back to red in an instant.

Snape and Nicolas took out their wands as well.

A look from Dumbledore told Snape, that he should not blow his cover as a spy and he subtly titled his wand in the Headmaster's and Nicolas's direction so that it would look, as if he was ready to attack them in an instant.

"One and the same, but in essence divided," Harry said with a raspy voice and turned the full force of his glare on Dumbledore. His eyes were, although still flickering, emerald once more. "Mind explaining what exactly that means, Headmaster?"

Well, I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! Please Review!

Dark Phoenix of Slytherin