A male nurse met them by the lifts and escorted them to Iece's new room, down instead of up. Draco and Harry looked at each other, associating basements with muggle morgues. The wizard nurse read their uneasiness.

"It's just a precaution. We have a basement ward for errant magic. The walls are more reinforced. Sensitive equipment sits behind them. Your daughter isn't the only one who's magic has gotten away from her. A handful of patients have to be quarantined away from the other rooms. Everyone down here is receiving suppression therapy to weaken their magic throughout their treatment."

They both breathed easier, and welcomed the smiling face of Rankar when the doors opened.

"Right this way, gentlemen." There appeared to be more energy in his greeting than necessary, and a bounce in his step. "You two have been so very patient to wait. I thank you. It has paid off. Iece is sleeping. Her magic is calm, but I'll explain everything. Follow me to my little corner."

They walked behind him, taking in the silence of the ward. The place looked empty, with only a fragment of staff. Above, floors were bustling with the race to meet every need, but time stood hushed and strangely unmoving down here. The place looked deserted, with mayonnaise-colored tiles leading them through a rat maze of empty corridors and closed off rooms.

"This isn't my normal office, but it'll do. Many of my colleagues, and myself, have had to modify our work areas to better manage the, uh, chaotic disruption that you saw earlier. Please forgive any disarray."

He led them to a room dominated by medical equipment, but all of it covered in translucent tarps. They passed by racks of IV poles, folded wheelchairs, and stacked industrial cases of disposable gloves, bed dressing, and gowns.

"Here we are." He gestured to storage boxes that they were meant to sit on. Behind him, his workspace consisted of a laptop, an intercom, and files balanced magically on top of steel cabinets. As a wizard, he could've created the illusion of more space and appropriate surroundings, but his make-shift space only confirmed that his greatest attention had been reserved for their daughter.

Harry was growing antsy, torn between needing to see Iece and knowing he had to be prepared for what was wrong with her.

"First, I am working with Mrs. Geneva now, since I am privileged to know more of your backgrounds. To be honest, she has handed the case over to me for the time being. I have induced a very deep, theta sleep in your child, to suppress her magic. Once we got her temperature down, everything else came back in line as well. Her bloodwork, her scans, her aurelic signature. Her magic. As of right now, she is absolutely fine."

He paused to make sure it was sinking in. Harry and Draco looked like they were memorizing his words for a test later.

"What you saw earlier, was such a spike in her magic, that her hormones could not regulate her body temperature. We had to get it down, and quickly. I warn you, when you see her, she will have a rather striking pink tint to her skin. That's the effect of the medication in the ice we used. We had to go with old fashioned techniques, packing her body and bringing her core temperature down until we had a grasp on things. Any attempt to use magic, gave us unpredictable results. She shut our equipment down, but she still responded to synthetic medicines."

"So she's going to be okay?" Harry just needed to hear that.

"She will. But not without potion therapy. And not around you."

Harry's mouth fell open.

Rankar hurried. "I have a theory, and it's just that. She had her first episode a few hours ago. It was like a big bang, yes? Nothing went back into place. Her irises expressed completely different genetic traits. She couldn't settle. Then your friends restrain you. You are out of it. Your daughter is calm again. She arrives here, her scans show only the aftermath of seizure-like aberrations, but her blood work is normal. She's making things float around her bed, but no cause for alarm. All magical flare up decreases as she falls asleep. Her eye color returns to normal. She rests with Draco by her bed. Meanwhile, you wake up. I leave her to come see you. I'm told that her restlessness began as soon as I left her, and grew into crying fits. Twenty minutes later, her magic is out of control, her eyes have changed, and you had the misfortune of seeing her packed in ice to dull her outbursts that much faster. Between your friends and I, we stun your ability to use magic, and her fever drops within seconds. Even our ice wouldn't have produced results that fast. The sedative I gave you exaggerated your physical relaxation, so that the cessabit charm was even more effective. Your daughter has not stirred since. Anomalies in her blood levels have disappeared and its returned to normal, and as I said, her tests show only the expected results of someone recovering from severe stress."

Seeing that Harry was too offended by the implications, Draco needed it spelled out for him. "So, she isn't reacting to abrupt changes to her body? It wasn't an allergic reaction?"

"Oh, it was. The first time. But nothing went back into place. It opened the door to this. Listen, her signature is so strong, she was always going to express powerfully. Her body was always going to have to learn to regulate her magic. Maybe not this soon, but it was coming. Once it escaped her, it seems to want to be in sync with Harry. It activates with his outbursts, his wakefulness, and his leap to strong emotion. She's too young to be upset about anything that can't be resolved with ice cream. But Harry saw the dramatic change in her and reacted. He hasn't stopped reacting. Not on his own. I think that when she's conscious, her magic aligns with his and she's literally expressing his emotions through her magic. It's all undirected, of course. Neither one of them is controlling it enough to do anything meaningful with it."

Harry brought both hands to his head. "Oh my God." He arched his back into an anguish that had his head hitting the wall.

Rankar said what Draco was thinking.

"Calm down. Before I continue, are you going to be okay? Because I can give you another shot without using the charm. In fact, before I let you see her, I recommend it. Just to get you through the night."

Harry nodded, taking his hands down. He looked shaken and Draco noticed that his cheeks weren't merely red, they looked like they were striped with welts. Rankar caught Draco's eye, as if to say, 'That's what I'm talking about.'

"Obviously, we can't keep her asleep, so we'll have to keep her quarantined and observe her magic around you. Things could stabilize between you on their own. If they don't, we can discuss a few treatment options. All of which will work to suppress her magic, allowing it to release in a more controlled way. And that's what we think we know."

He opened his hands as if he were giving a big finish to a performance. It was far too chipper for Draco's liking.

Rankar's optimism would not be daunted. "While unconsciousness has been induced, I suggest you use this evening to rest with her. We have chairs that convert to beds. We'll make you as comfortable as we can. For the next twenty-four hours, it's observation only. If she has no more episodes, we'll consider releasing her with short-term, prescription strength suppressants. But that's not a solution, especially for a child so young. That will simply let you take her home without flare ups from her magic. In theory. Sometimes we have to use trial and error before we find the medicine that works for her. There will be potion supplements as well."

Harry's voice drug thickly from the back of his throat. "It'll be safe for me to be around her? Tonight, and after I take her home?"

"Quite safe, if my theory is correct. Only observation will prove me wrong. The more time you're able to spend with her while she's here, the better I'll be able to see if my hunches are correct. In fact, I can test my findings very easily, but you're exhausted and you'd be better off resting. We can put my theory through rigorous tests later. Right now, your daughter is a mere thirty meters away from where we sit. I haven't received any alerts to her status. Her vitals show no change. I'll arrange another shot for you in two hours, and I'll leave you both to spend the night with her. We can talk alternative treatment in the morning."

They didn't argue with him. Draco made a quick call to the Weasleys and to the the Minister's lead assistant, insisting that Harry would have to cancel his next lecture appearance.

Rankar led Harry to Iece's bedside.

Soothing low lights surrounded her bed in blue shadows. Only her head and shoulders were visible above the covers. Her hair had been bundled to the top of her head by a scrunchy. A spray of white strands wound across her pillow. It was still wet, and clung to her scalp like an infant's. The ice was gone, but she looked swollen. Her skin looked so pink, it could've been stained. In spite of the child-sized bed they'd given her, she still looked like a baby in it. She was, and Harry fought down the urge to pack himself in beside her, even if he had to hang off the bed. He would've done it, but she had a mess of tubes attached to her. He didn't want to risk disturbing any of them.

He settled for leaning down as close as he could get. Close enough to hear her breathing and smell the faintly sour saltiness of her distress. How she'd screamed and cried, unable to understand what was happening back at Hermione's. That was the last image he had of her, before he'd been attacked. Ranker said her vitals were normal, but he could still sense her struggle on her. He wanted to bathe her. He wanted to cleanse the whole event off of her and put her in sheets that smelled of her nursery, her bubble bath, and her stuffed toys. Bracing himself, he held a finger tip to her thin eyelid and pushed it open. Satisfaction curled on itself inside of him when he saw that her irises where their normal dark color. He hadn't damaged her beyond repair.

He rubbed her cheek. "Hold on, sweetie. I'll get you home."

That touch pulled him closer, until he buried his head in the top of hers and inhaled until he was satisfied that a part of her was physically inside him. Her sweaty scalp was his, and she would not have to bear that sticky discomfort alone. It was his fault, after all.

He heard Draco ask if he wanted Jipsy to bring anything specific from their flat. He said no, but was thankful when she turned up later with their toiletries and changes of clothing. She also manifested a small dinner of potato soup in a bowl made entirely of bread, a salad, and grilled cheese. The aroma was so comforting, that Harry didn't have to take one bite, to benefit from how delicious it tasted. He still wasn't hungry, but he was content to unfold his bed-chair and move it as close to the railings on Iece's bed as possible. He snaked his arm through them to stroke her hand. Jipsy popped in again with a mug of hot tea, left it on the table for him, and popped back out. She was so great. He'd have to tell her.

Draco used the hospital facilities to shower. He had to walk down the hall to a shared bathroom. When he returned in a plush navy bathrobe and slippers, he looked oddly out of place amid hospital functionality, but sportingly did his best to adapt. Harry resisted the urge to comment on exactly how comfortable did he need to be? To him, hospital stays were so uncomfortable, it didn't matter what you wore. But he knew the real answer. Draco needed to wash the day away. To reset himself. Clean clothes were highly symbolic to him. Water pouring over him was emotional recalibration, which was exactly why Harry wanted to put Iece in a warm bath. Beneath the robe, Draco wore casual joggers and not pajamas, to Harry's relief. He mused to himself that he had two princesses on his hands. Not one. And he'd have to take care of them both.

"What are you grinning at?" Draco asked.

"I'm just thankful. I'm glad you're here and that she's okay. She will be, anyway."

"Yeah, well, enjoy those hospital drugs while you can. Life isn't going to be so rosy if we have to put her on suppressants. My cousin had to take them. It put her in a fog, and messed with her comprehension. She started school late, and fell behind her peers for the next five years. They were always changing her pills, trying to get them right."

"Who?"

"Who do you think? That lunatic crazy enough to fall for a werewolf."

"Tonks? Remus' Tonks"

"Is there another one? We called her Dora."

They stared at each other until Draco realized his mistake. "Dammit, sorry. Sorry!"

"It's okay," Harry said, not sure if an un-drugged Harry would think it was okay. But he wasn't going to hold Draco to standards of perfection that he himself could not meet. They'd both fucked up today.

"It's not okay," I didn't mean to be insensitive. My cousin was awesome and I'm sorry I only got to know her through my own family's disdain. She seemed finally happy with Remus. She turned her back on everything to be with him, because everything had turned its back on her. Her ability to shift so easily to other forms, was as embarrassing to my family as… as having a werewolf for a relative."

He looked lost in his guilt. His last minute attempt to exchange his words for more honorable ones, left him out of sync with himself.

It reminded Harry that the day had been a big one for Draco too. "I know you didn't mean it like that. Sit down and eat the dinner Jipsy brought you."

Right then. Draco nodded. He'd reached the point where he had to be told what to do. Sleep was surely just around the corner. It seemed that as soon as his stomach was half-full, his eyes were drooping over his spoon. "I have to lie down."

He maneuvered his bed-chair on the other side of Iece. He and Harry looked at each other, with her lying in between. It was a moment so full of sleepy appreciation and reprieve from anxiety, that they dared not spoil it by talking.

They stayed silent for so long, Harry thought he was asleep, when he said, "You know, my cousin's hair and eye color changed with her mood. Maybe Iece has a little of that. Don't let that scare you."

He was right. Tonks had been a metamorphmagus. A brilliant one. But they both knew it wasn't the same. He was thinking on this, when Jipsy popped in again. This time, she carried Iece's little yellow sachet, the one with toys and bubbles inside. The one that Draco had let her carry on the plane. They watched her float it from the foot of the bed, onto Iece's lap.

"She'll want to play when she wakes. Her magic wants out."

The sentiment was cute, but Harry was touchy about the topic and her comment sounded odd.

"What do you mean by that?"

Draco interrupted. "Nothing. She means that Iece is strong and will be up on her feet tomorrow." He looked for Jipsy to back him up.

Her bony shoulders lifted apologetically. "No, sirs. She'll not leave that bed tomorrow. She needs more time. The body does most of the work while she sleeps. It needs her out of the way."

Harry sat up. "What work? Is it her magic? It's trying to heal her, isn't it?"

"Yes, it has lots of work to do. You needn't worry."

"Told you." Draco sounded uncertain, in spite of his choice of words.

Harry looked into Jipsy's huge eyes. "You can feel other people's magic. That's how you chose your contract. What does her magic feel like to you? Is it troubled? Is she in pain?"

If she understood that he was speaking in code, for things he really couldn't say, she didn't let on.

"Not to worry, sir. She came to teach you." She pointed at him. "Her magic is more like yours, than the one you fear. Her troubles are because her magic is good, not because it's bad. It won't take his pattern."

They stared. She spoke as if she knew their secrets.

Harry stepped out a little further. He had to, remembering what Thella had told him about being psychically attacked. His hand went to the talisman he'd been absently wearing. It stayed inside his shirt. He was supposed to think of it and reach for love in his heart, whenever he sensed trouble, but that hadn't occurred to him since he'd had it. When shit went down, love was the last thing on his mind. If Lucius was interfering with Iece, Jipsy might sense something and not know what it was. Just like he could feel things that he couldn't prove to anyone. Lucius did have something to do with this. Something more than the obvious.

"Is he hurting her? From a distance, or from his influence in her blood?" If she knew who he was talking about, this would tell him.

Jipsy sounded like some village sage when she spoke. Patience and clues were crammed into the pace of her gentle speech. "Her father is not trapping her, if that's what you fear. Not like he traps you. Her magic knows him and protects her. He will not hurt his own blood."

That should've comforted him, but it didn't. It confirmed that she knew who he meant. What else did she know? He suddenly wondered about her age, and knew elf years were far different from human years. She was young by elf standards, a "twenty something," but far older than the oldest human Harry knew.

"She's here because of him," he told her. "She's sick because of him."

She shook her head. "No, sir. She is being sick, because she is growing. Her magic pulls on the magic of her fathers, to assist her. She will have wings that are different from any butterfly that either family has seen. Those colors are strange to you, but they are not bad. Her magic has its own path."

That only frustrated Harry. Seeing Iece lit up like that wasn't okay. It had felt like pure danger. Pure warning, that something was out of control. Not her magic, but something that wasn't supposed to get to her. He felt it, but even he couldn't quite face it."

"You understand bloodlines and magic in a way that we don't. Can you tell where her magic comes from, just by looking at her?" Could all elves easily see past his lies to who her real parents were?
"I feel the magic in the blood. It tells me where to go and who needs my service. Very early, my training was with a great wizard family. I left the horde of my kind, to work with humans. That's our tradition. That's one way that we learn about the world, and how to get on in it. When I was new in their home, I was there for the birth of a female. I was allowed to play with her, but not to bound my service to her. We elves knew what was coming because of her magic. She grew into a strong witch. And sure enough, her family cast her out when her magic would not obey theirs. If I had been bonded by loyalty to that family, I could not have looked after her. I tried to help her when I could. As she made her own life, with her own husband, she shunned me. She thought I was spying for her family. But she accepted my help at times when she had no choice. She was too proud to ask for help. When she had a child, she forbade me to ever come to her again. She had cut ties with the magical world and I never saw her again.

"Eventually, I was sent away, and advised to commit to no other family. I had to leave myself free for this strain of magic. I was told that I would see it again, and it would need me. It would remember me. I continued my training and became extremely helpful to the houses I served, but I took no contract beyond a few human years. That way, I have lots of experience. I meet lots of different people, magic and without magic, from all over. And when Mr. Malfoy offers his contract, I see the magic of that child I played with. I see it in your baby's name. In the sound of her name, and in her presence. It is like a sound hidden within a great noise. A song played perfectly by one who is surrounded by those who play out of tune. It is like music. I signed immediately and hope that you are pleased with my service. There is nothing wrong with her magic or her blood. She is as she's meant to be."

That little story stunned Harry. The way Draco had gone pensive, staring up at the ceiling, meant that it had captured his imagination as well. Elves who came through Gringotts, came with a resume type of history, of their qualifications. But you never got to hear the details of intimate connections, and with good reason. Your choice to hire had to be based on sound abilities, not because that was the elf who had served Napoleon at the Battle of 'I Can Kill As Many People As I Fucking Want.'

"And who was this girl?"

"I cannot tell you."

Draco's eyes stopped roaming the ceiling. He looked at Harry.

Harry ventured, "Who was the family?"

Jipsy shook her head. "That name is hidden behind secrecy wards. I cannot speak it."

"What can you tell us?"

"That her magic is good. Misunderstood, but good."

From what Harry remembered, someone had to pay a lot more than money to affect a secrecy ward. At least, a Gringott one. They had to pay magic. Who could possibly want to hide a connection to a family, that badly? To the point that no one could speak of it and trace the blood back to the name? It reeked of Pureblood logic and disgusted him.

"Is the ward on the family name original, or is it of Gringott's making? A service they've provided?"

"Both, sir. And the blood. Or I would have told you already. All I can do is follow her and keep her safe."

Lucius. It had to be some Malfoy family scandal, paid off. They had the money. They had the power to hide blood they didn't like. All of this had to be coming through him. He didn't know who Draco's ancestors were, but he knew they were prejudice. He could just see some girl cast out of everything she'd ever known, just because she picked the wrong boy to fall in love with. That story was as old as magic. If Jipsy had never been bound to serve them for life, would her name still be recorded in their family archives? Draco wouldn't necessarily have known anything about her. Jipsy was before his time. Even before Lucius' time. But she was trying to tell them what she knew. It was because of Lucius Malfoy's blood, that his daughter was suffering the way she was. He'd gotten that much right.

She couldn't speak the family name, but she'd provided enough clues. She obviously knew everyone's secrets, including his. She kept them so well, he couldn't get mad at her for not telling on others, when she would never tell his. Besides, no one cared about who she'd served decades ago. It was all about protecting Iece now. And Jipsy's knowledge only seemed to empower her to do so more.

"So you can't tell me the name. That doesn't mean I don't know it, or it hasn't been referenced a hundred times today." He would never be free from that name. "I know that Lucius' magic is behind my daughter's problems. You can't tell me it was his family that you worked for all that time ago, but I can guess it. You're loyal to us, not him. Thank you for telling me what you can. No matter what Rankar finds, you've confirmed exactly where all of our problems are coming from. I couldn't prove it and I sound crazy. But you've seen how Lucius' magic is attacking my daughter. If I have to travel the world looking for protection that can keep him out, I will. She can't help it if she has his blood, and it's hurting her."

Jipsy leaned over his bed. Her head barely rose above his foot. She grabbed it.
"No, Harry, sir. His blood is not hurting her. His blood is bringing calm. It is your blood that causes a storm. It is your family magic, that makes great demands on her tiny body."

"Me? My family? Who was the woman in my family?"

Draco had lain back down. Now he sat straight up.

Jipsy's eyes were sad and luminous. Harry knew what was coming. Her head went from side to side, as if she'd told him a dozen times. "The wards will not let me speak the names that you need. That doesn't mean you can't find them. And they have nothing to do with the Malfoys. Do not fear Lucius or his crimes. The magic in you conquered things like that long ago. Your daughter will help you let it go."

He wanted to argue with her about his family, and was going to, until she mentioned that. When it came to that night, something in him backed down. Even if she could read his magic like a book, and she knew everything, he didn't feel safe talking to her about it. He could tear Lucius' name apart all day, but he couldn't face that.

His family. There's no way that could be true, he wasn't a pureblood. Maybe his dad came from purebloods, but he was the product of a muggle-born mother, and just thinking in those outdated terms made him want to puke. It went against everything he stood for, to have to consider all these genetic biases.
He said, with too much tightness in his voice, "You're dismissed." He'd kick himself later, he was done talking. He deliberately steeled himself against the gentle acceptance in her expression. He was pissed and he wanted her to know that. Even if it wasn't her fault.

If Draco had anything to say, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut for a while. Harry lay there, feeling his eyes burn with stress that wanted out. There was no way he could finish this fucking tour. He couldn't go twenty-four hours without something catastrophic happening. What the hell was tomorrow going to bring? He'd call the Minister and cancel the rest of his dates. His child was sick, who gave a fuck if they understood.

A minute after Jipsy's exit, the edge of a torn piece of paper appeared in her spot. It singed around the edges, telling him that it was printed with magic. It hovered a second, before falling onto the bed. He picked it up and saw the words 'Arcanus-Detolae.'

He read it aloud, hoping Draco had a clue. He knew Arcanus was Latin for 'secret', but the other one didn't make sense to him.

Draco answered immediately. "It's the name of a confidential ward. For security. The more impacting a secret, the stronger the security will be around maintaining it. She's telling you that if you know the name of the ward used, there's a possibility you can undo it. She wants you to know."

Harry detected a bit of smugness. Draco's family honor was just vindicated by Jipsy. Maybe to him, but not to Harry.

He grabbed the talisman around his neck and squeezed it like a stress ball. Love. Love, love, fucking stupid love, which he couldn't conjure right now. Did Thella even know what she was talking about? His mind wouldn't even let him imagine puppies or furry baby chicks, how the fuck was he going to fill it with love right now? After that bombshell? His family, not Lucius'? That didn't even make sense.

His head rolled and Iece's sleeping form came into view. Her pink skin still looked hot, but was cool to the touch. Her hair had dried in a wispy mess all over her pillow. It made him remember how the talisman was created in the first place. He'd connected it to the happiest thing he could feel, and it was her. She'd worn a yellow dress that she didn't really have. She was smiling and running to him. And the world around her blistered with sunlight that could only come from a dream. And that was how he'd felt. That symbolized the happiness she made him feel. If love was so powerful, why were they here? Answer him that, Thella. His parents had certainly loved him. He certainly loved Iece. Why was this happening?

Because we forget to love, her voice whispered. He saw her two-toned skin. He remembered something else she'd said.

'You summon your father's wisdom, yet two men step forward. They don't share the same worlds.'

He froze. His family, not Draco's. Not Lucius. His blood was causing her magic to go haywire? Had Thella given him a clue before it ever became relevant? When he'd asked to speak to his father, two men had stepped forward in the spirit world, not one. But she couldn't tell him who the other man was.

'This man is something else to you. Something primary.'

She'd called him 'Snake.' But he knew it had to be Snape. How was Snape primary to him?

Snape, who'd been there all along, who'd saved his life more times than he could count. More than he'd probably ever know. He thought about the image that had inspired him to look for Snape to begin with. He'd been thrown from that damn train, into a ditch, with water an inch from covering his face. He'd seen his teacher's reflection in it, and couldn't forget it. He couldn't dismiss it as a near-death hallucination. He hadn't seen it because he wanted to see it. He'd seen it because Snape had been there. Had saved him again. Snape was connected to him. Snape knew dark magic. He knew secrecy. He'd know a ward like Arcanus-Detolae. He'd know how to undo it. He might just know everything. He was alive. The CIUM had confirmed it, though it was still hush-hush to the general Wizard populace.

Maybe it was time Harry resumed his search. Screw the tour. It was just making him sloppy with distraction and keeping him vulnerable to attack. Snape had answers and he wanted them. His daughter's health might depend on it now. But he didn't know anymore about Snape's whereabouts than he did before. He had nothing to go on. Except…

"Draco. The CIUM told me that Snape isn't dead. They confirmed it. But they can't find him. If he's alive, why does he have a Headmaster's portrait at Hogwarts? The castle's magic doesn't lie."

When Draco didn't answer, he thought he was finally asleep. But Draco's reply was slow and groggy.

"The castle's magic is inviolate. It doesn't lie. It can't be corrupted. It appointed a portrait to honor Snape because it knew the truth. He was a rightful headmaster. That, more than anything, tells me that Snape is dead."

"And that's just what Snape would want everyone to think. It works in his favor."

"The point is, it couldn't exist if your new pals were right, now could it?"

"Wizard paintings can be manufactured. Commissioned. Look at our chocolate frog cards. There's nothing sacred about the magical techniques that allow a picture to move. Snape's headmaster portrait is a fake because he isn't dead. He could figure out a way to acquire a portrait, that would make anyone who claimed him to be alive, sound like an idiot. No one's going to go looking for him, with a painting that couldn't exist unless he were dead, hanging on the wall."

Draco sighed, clearly wanting to fall asleep. "Unless he did die. And found a way to come back, that the castle hasn't recognized. Go to sleep, Harry."

Far from sleep, Harry almost sat up. Draco's words electrified him. That tremor, running up his body, felt like truth. Draco hadn't been there in the boathouse when Snape passed away in his arms. If he let his mind go there, he could still feel him. He'd had no pulse. His whole body was slack. Even the iron grit in that face, that had intimidated everyone for so many years, was let go. Being smeared with his blood, and holding his weight, had left an intimate knowing of him, that Harry could never wash off. He did die that night. And yet, Harry wasn't the only one with evidence to the contrary. He suddenly knew what he had to do.

"I have to go back to the school, then. I have to research portrait magic. Stand before it. Talk to it."

"That portrait doesn't like you, remember? He won't talk to you. Those things behave in accordance with their reputations."

"So he'll be surly, that doesn't bother me."

"He'll be an asshole. But more to the point, it's not really him. It's just the way the castle remembers him. You'd be getting your hopes up for nothing."

"I don't care. It's my only tangible connection to him. Ariana, Dumbledor's sister, led me into the castle's secret passage when Death Eaters took over. Portraits can interact in a meaningful way. I'd have to clear it with McGonagall, but I'm sure she'd be fine with it."

"Not if she knew what you were thinking." Draco sat up. His hair stood in thick tufts, where he'd wallowed, unable to sleep for listening to Harry and Jipsy for the last hour.

"Look," he said, 'He was a brilliant wizard. I would not put it past him to be alive. I believe what the Goblins told you about his ashes."

He'd forgotten he'd told Draco about having them analyzed.

"I just have trouble believing that he could be out there and not reach out to us. Especially since he alone knows what you went through to get her into this world. He saved us. Not just during school, but that horrible night. And the way he drilled me on what to do when she came. The way he had food for us. For the baby. The way he had spells that we would need when you back on your feet and had to travel with her. He thought of everything. Yes, he could be alive. But so many people wanted him dead. And two years is a long time to be on the run. If he were alive, he would've signaled to us by now. He may have been alive a year ago, six months ago even. But the fact that he's vanished so well, makes me think he'll never be able to come out of hiding. They'll kill him. So if he is alive, I kinda don't want you to find him. It's not safe. Let it go. Don't go trying to talk to that portrait."

Draco had a point, but Harry's desire caught fire. He'd have to keep his mouth shut about it. He looked down at the talisman he'd been rubbing. He felt better, now that he had a lead. The thing looked like a big Cheerio, and he thought of Iece sitting up in bed with Draco, eating from a baggy full of dry cereal. She liked fun things. It was supposed to be tailor made from his magic and his love, complete with his mother and father's protection. He decided that she was better off with it than him. Focus on love, Thella had said. Well, there was no greater example of that than her.

He unfastened it and got up to put it around Iece's neck without disturbing her. Once he had it fastened, he kissed her and laid back down. Stroking her arm lulled him to sleep. Everything felt better, now that there was something he could do.

Avi Rankar sat on the edge of his cot and rubbed his eyes, waiting on his Keurig to produce a perfect cup of coffee. He had never learned to tolerate the vending machine potwater and gas station public crude, that passed for gourmet coffee, for so many of his colleagues. If he had to spend two-thirds of his life camping in cramped hospital basements, focusing non-stop on cures to alleviate the ailments of the world, he was going to do so with the best cup he could afford. And that was not prepared by anyone else's hands other than his own. It was his only vice, and he got ill-tempered if he couldn't enjoy the first cup alone. He missed his large office in Dartford.

He'd only been asleep for two hours, but that was enough to recharge him. He had a problem to lick and he was close. He'd been comparing the Potter child's blood and magic scans on the hour, watching for fluctuations. He'd missed the shift change, that gave him a new set of staff to work with. He knew all of them, so it shouldn't have been a problem, to have his instructions followed by a completely different assistant. But one glance at his desk, where the samples should've been, told him that his wishes had not translated to the morning staff.

He stifled a curse and took a deep breath. He wanted a shower, but reminded himself that the Potters were fully expecting to take their child home today. He thought of Harry and Draco as 'The Potters.' He couldn't release her until he could confirm that her charts were within normal range of contained magic, and he so much wanted to give them that.

He looked over his schedule and set to planning follow up treatment in a report that would go in Iece's files. When the woman responsible for not getting him his samples, passed by his make-shift office, he flagged her down.

"Ah, Wanda, there you are. Wanda?"

The woman almost didn't stop. She was balancing charts on top of a large sheet-box full of doughnuts. A cardboard tray of spill-proof cups sloshed in her other hand. She exaggerated the effort it took to stop and listen while balancing her items at the same time. She was an older, stout nurse, with a lovely head full of rust-colored hair braided into a winding bun. And when communication challenges came up between them, he concentrated on this feature of hers to maintain his professional charm.

She blinked at him inquiringly.

"Did you get the Potter child's blood this morning? I requested an early analysis to cross-reference with her levels from yesterday. It was supposed to be on my desk this morning."

Wanda was neither impressed nor intimidated. "Yes, you said the little girl quarantined. I saw the chart. She's gone. We assumed you moved her."

"Why would I move her? She can't be gone." That made no sense whatsoever, and the laughter in his tone assured her he couldn't believe he had to tell her that, not to mention that they were both wasting valuable time because she hadn't followed through. He had no intention of copping an attitude, but he did want her to know that he needed her willing cooperation and hardiest professionalism. He preferred to keep females pleased with him. It was an endearment he'd learned from his father, who had been deeply superstitious about pissing women off, believing they were the source of 'all beauty in the world.' While he didn't believe that, he certainly knew the world was a better place when they were happy. And for some reason, he just hadn't won Wanda over yet.

Wanda sat her doughnuts down. "I wasn't here for all the craziness yesterday. But the morning crew says there's no little girl in Ward Q. There's two serious cases of flu-toxia, a comatose teen, and a little boy in forced suppression."

He knew the mistake immediately. "That's absurd, what's his name? His chart is obviously wrong."

"Icky Potter, I believe. Arrived last night. Allergic shock. I wasn't here, but to hear what went on, I'm glad I missed it."

He sipped his coffee. "Her name is pronounced 'I'as in ice, and 'eese', like geese. Iece Potter. She's in Ward Q, basement D-3. Would you please demonstrate your competency and get me ten milliliters of her blood, a signature separation, and a global correlation score, so that I can tell her fathers shes going to be fine and send her home?

"With all due respect, Doctor, I was in there this morning. I bathed him myself. I may have screwed up his name, but I think I'm competent enough to know a male child when I see one."

He hadn't meant to snap at her. He didn't have time for this. As much as he enjoyed being of service to the wizard metropolis at large, it was moments like these, the tiniest straw on the proverbial camel's back, that his own private practice sounded better and better. Wanda was a lead nurse, who had fifteen years seniority, and really did deserve his greatest effort to be patient. He was about to apologize when he remembered something.

His mouth stopped before he could speak. Something Harry had said early on in their sessions. Something haunting both young men. The trials, which he'd followed with professional interest, came back to him. Draco Malfoy. Part of his father's sentencing had come from being found guilty of knowingly allowing his son to be the victim of that sociopath's customized spell. He let his son be cursed.

Without saying another word, Rankar jumped from his cot, upsetting the magically stacked files on his desk. Papers went flying. He ran from the room, followed by Wanda, who hastily sat her cups down on the boxes serving as his table. When he saw Draco conducting business by phone, pacing outside the child's room, he slowed his pace and waved. He also motioned that Draco was not to disrupt his call just because he'd arrived. Draco looked uncertain, and watched him enter Iece's room with Wanda in tow.

Inside, the room was silent and empty, except for the child. Chairs had been folded up and put back in their places. Bundled clothing was the only hint that the room was being occupied by anyone else.

"Where's Harry?" he wondered aloud.

"Bathroom?" Wanda was guessing.

Rankar locked the door with his wand and eased himself over to Iece's bed. He felt her skin, noting an improvement in her color and the gentle ebb of her breathing. He noticed the charm around her neck and the sachet that had fallen to the side of her lap. He moved her tiny arm and drew her covers back. He was glad to have another professional witness, and they both peered down, leaning their heads together, as he lifted the thin gown covering her. She'd been given a self-cleaning diaper, good for six-hours, as opposed to a muggle catheter.

He sees exactly what he expects to see. But Wanda, sees something very different. She gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. "No. That's impossible."

She shook her head and took a step back. Her hands gripped themselves prayerfully in front of her chin.
Her reaction tells him what he needs to know. He needs to delay the child's release until he can see the change for himeslf.

"I'm not crazy," she was saying. "I sponged him down, myself. His fathers stepped out. One of them took a shower, the other was on the phone."

"Calm down. She's down here because she has volatile magic. That's why we're suppressing it. You haven't done anything wrong. Her chart simply no longer reflects her true identity. We'll do something about that as soon as we understand it better."

"Doctor Rankar, this is not normal. I don't know what happened. That was a little boy an hour ago. With the same face, the same hair, the same everything. Except that."

"And now she isn't. I'm really going to need those tests before we can mention this. Please Wanda, do not say a word of this to anyone. If this is what I think it is, her gender will change sporadically until her magic stabilizes. She cannot go home today. I need more time to observe her and determine if there are clues in her vital signature that warn when such changes are going to take place. I must be armed with as much information as possible, before I approach her fathers. This is going to be difficult enough. Do I have your word, to say nothing for now?"

She nodded vigorously, but closed her eyes against the wrongness she felt. She'd seen a lot of things in fifteen years, but not this. Nothing like this. And in one so young.

Avi waited on his results. All he could do was draw links between the numbers he was seeing, her symptoms, and the variations within her magical scans. They told him nothing of what was really going on at a magical-molecular level. For that, he needed more time and more invasive resources. He looked back over his hourly scans and found a pattern. Wanda had said she'd witnessed the change an hour before they looked in on the child. He noted what the scans recorded an hour before her bath, and waited for them to repeat. In the meantime, he avoided Harry and Draco, knowing that the hard data he needed would appear in hours rather than days. By noon, he had his data. He had a pattern of her magic, a snapshot of what her vitals and signature were doing when the change was about to happen. And with Wanda by his side, he had visual proof of the change itself.

He sat in his workspace waiting, trying to decide on the most appropriate words to use. His findings were unprecedented. The child's eye color changed with her temperature, and it was her biggest indicator that her physiology was undergoing any kind of metamorphosis. When her eyes were dark, she expressed her normal female genitalia. When her eyes were gray, she expressed that of a male. At a chromosomal level, she was female. But that wouldn't matter to the world in which she had to live.

He looked at his watch. He'd made Harry and Draco wait long enough. He couldn't put off telling them any longer.


Thanks everyone! Hope you enjoyed the updates. :-)