A Deeper Connection: A New Beginning

by ThroughPestilencesAndFamines

Part II of A Deeper Connection: After the first year of successfully manoeuvering Dumbledore's net of obstacles and schemes, Harry tries to resurrect the bodyless Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor. But did be succeed? Eventual Harry/Tom The story is Beta read by my two fantastic Betas AliceNight and Silver Flight :D A big thank you to the two of them!

8. The English Patient

On his way back to consciousness, many things shot through the Dark Lord's mind.

First of all and most importantly, his Occlumency shields were back up again. Thankfully, the demons of his past were secured once more, banished to the deepest and darkest corners of his mind, kept under tight, almost unbreakable wraps. After decades of constantly keeping up his defences, it had almost become second nature to him.

Well, the fact that his defences were up even though he had been unconscious proved that it, in fact, had become second nature to him.

Thankfully.

He did not think that he would have been able to cope with the demons of his past yet again. Especially not now. Luckily, he was spared.

The second thing he realised was the absence of pain. While parts of his mind still felt raw and tender, like he, and not Harry, had split his soul, it was nowhere near the pure agony the Dark Lord had felt when the slither of his Equal's soul had been placed within him, ripping through his mind. Also, the terrible void which had been left after his successful Resurrection was no longer there. Harry's Horcrux had taken its place, although it had not yet been fully integrated into his soul. He guessed that much like the time it took to heal the fractures of one's soul after killing, the Horcrux and his soul would eventually consolidate, growing together as one.

It would only need time.

From experience, he knew that on average, it took between three to seven months for a fractured soul to heal completely, of course depending on the severity of the fractures and if a Horcrux had been created in the process.

Unlike what most witches and wizards believed, the mutilated soul could recover from the creation of a Horcrux, although the process was overall more complex and time-consuming, and depended on the size of the slither that had been cut off the main soul. If one were careful and did not extract more than ten percent of their soul, fifteen at the very maximum, their magic would slowly heal and replace what had been removed. Without further disturbances, a percent of one's soul would be restored within a month's time. It was truly magical what one's magic and their soul were capable of repairing.

Still, if one had dared to cut off a larger part of one's soul, there would not be enough soul and magic left to replace what had been lost, leaving the witch or wizard doomed to a hollow existence for all eternity.

Thankfully, Tom had never made that mistake, although the creation of the diary, his first Horcrux, had been a close call that he wished to never repeat again. Then again, he did not have the information back then he had now. He had learned from his nearly fatal mistake and perfected the art of creating a Horcrux. Still, by now, there were no plans to further split his soul. He already had six Horcruxes. He did not need more as his soul was already split in seven parts. Since seven was the strongest magical number, further Horcruxes would only destabilise his soul, or the construct his soul had grown into.

He only hoped that his soul would learn to accept its newest addition.

While Harry's soul had welcomed the unintentionally created Horcrux of the Dark Lord, he had been much younger, his soul less developed than Tom's was now. He guessed only time would tell if their souls were truly compatible. At least the Dark Lord's soul and magic were not actively fighting his Equal's Horcrux.

Opting to no longer focus on the dilemma that was the intricate construct that was his and Harry's soul, Tom concentrated his magic to push further towards consciousness.

The first thing he noticed was that he was lying on something soft, something too soft to be the mattress he and Harry shared at Spinner's End. While he was musing to himself that it was becoming a sort of tradition for him to wake up at Malfoy Manor after one of his many experiments had backfired slightly, the warm body next to his stirred, "It is nice to see you back amongst the living, Tom."

For a brief second, he was blinded by the sun, shining brightly outside, already high in the sky, before his deep crimson eyes focussed on the Avada-green ones of his Equal, "I am glad to see you, too, Harry."

Opposite of the Dark Lord, the corners of his Equal's mouth curled into a wide smile, "Ever since I was awake, I could feel you. It… it is just wonderful… almost like it used to be."

Feeling the pure joy being transmitted by the strengthened link, the Dark Lord could not contain his emotions any longer as his lips mirrored the expression of his Equal, "Thank Merlin that it worked. Blessed be Lady Magic."

"Indeed," Harry agreed, his eyes shining with life, "blessed be Lady Magic for guiding us."

For a moment, the Dark Lord and his Equal simply enjoyed the silence filling the guest chamber of Malfoy Manor, both revelling in the fact that they had indeed succeeded against all odds. The connection between them was back.

At least sort of.

Like a muscle, it had to be exercised. Knowing the two of them, Tom was sure that they would progress in no time. In that regard, they were equally stubborn and persistent.

"How long have you been awake?" Tom asked eventually.

"A couple of hours," Harry shrugged his shoulder, "maybe."

"And the first thing you did was to disable the Monitoring Charms to not alert Narcissa," Tom chuckled, "am I right?"

The smirk on Harry's face told him that he was indeed correct.

"Not that I mind," the Dark Lord chuckled, "being without so many watchful eyes right now is rather nice. Anyway, how long did it take you to convince Narcissa to put us in the same room in the first place?"

The face of his Equal told him that something was wrong.

"You did not ask her?" Tom continued, his voice laced with concern as his hand found Harry's, "what happened after you extracted the slither of your soul? You… you should have stayed conscious after all."

Since he doubted that Narcissa had not required any persuasion, the only logical conclusion was that Harry had lost consciousness, too, following the extraction of the slither of his soul. Under normal circumstances, this was not supposed to happen. One did not pass out following the completion of the Sacrifice. If one had botched the ritual and removed a larger part of their soul, it might happen. Since Harry appeared to be healthy and his magic was as strong and vibrant as ever, something different must have happened.

"Well, after I extracted the part of my soul," Harry began to explain, hesitation in his eyes as he was looking at Tom, "I wanted to place the slither, but there was resistance as if something was blocking my soul-"

"My Occlumency barriers," the Dark Lord sighed.

"I thought you wanted to lower them," his Equal continued, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I did, but it was not enough," Tom continued, "I felt that the slither of your soul wanted to connect with its intended vessel but my Occlumency barriers, or at least what was left of them, were still preventing passage. Therefore, I had to lower them completely."

"Completely?" Harry asked, his eyes big with surprise, "but… but…"

"I know that I should not have to lower my defences," the Dark Lord said quietly, "but in order to succeed with our plan, I had to. I knew it was the only way."

"I wish there had been another way," his Equal sighed, their eyes meeting. Before he could say anything, Harry had already continued, "It certainly explains quite a lot."

"Please tell me you did not experience any backlash through the Horcrux and the newly established and strengthened connection," the Dark Lord said after a few seconds, his voice barely above a whisper.

Opposite of him, his Equal lowered his head in confirmation.

Without thinking, Tom moved forwards, wrapping his arms around Harry, "I am so, so sorry. You should have never experienced that. I… I should have prevented this… Should have shielded you from the darkness of my mind. I am so sorry, Harry. You did not deserve to suff-"

"Tom, stop!" Harry's voice cut through his rambling, "it was not your fault. We should have considered the possibility, but we did not. Now, it is too late. Still, I survived and to be quite honest with you, I am glad that it happened."

Tom was about to open his mouth in protest, when a finger on his lips silenced him, "Do not interrupt me. You know all about my demons. After all, we have experienced them together. Therefore, you know me better than anyone else. You simply get me. From my best to my worst memories. While you have talked about your demons, you have never shown me any memories. I know it was to protect me, especially since I was still very young, but I always wanted to help you. Now that I have seen and experienced you demons, I think I understand you much better than before. With my newfound knowledge, I can also help you much more than before because I now understand what forced you to become the wizard you are today. Before, I knew you but not as good as I do now. I would not want to have it any other way. Never. Because now, we are even."

Feeling rather touched by the declaration of his Equal, the Dark Lord pulled the raven-haired boy closer, burying his face in his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent, while trying to process what he had just heard.

"I am glad you see it that way," Tom eventually cleared his throat as he moved back slightly, his arms never loosening the embrace, "still, I have to ask how much you did experience."

For a moment, Harry remained silent. Then, their eyes met, "Everything from the moment I suppose you lowered your Occlumency Shields until you passed out, after which I lost consciousness as well."

"Everything?" Tom asked, his eyes open wide, "but that should be impossible… Unless… How much of your soul did you cut off?"

"Tom, this was my decision," his Equal began, not even once twitching under the intense, yet concerned gaze of the Dark Lord, "it was not a mistake, and nobody forced me to do it. It was all on purpo-"

"How much?" the Dark Lord repeated.

Taking his time, his Equal finally answered, "Seven percent."

The Dark Lord's jaw dropped, "But you already placed three percent into the tin sold-"

"I know that it was reckless," Harry interrupted him, his voice calm and determined, "I was aware of the danger and still did it. I simply had to. After all, seven is the most powerful magical number and thus, the most complementary and strongest to your soul. Furthermore, the Horcrux residing inside me is not much smaller either. It had to be balanced. I knew that one is not supposed to remove more than a tenth of their soul, but the books never say that one cannot remove a tenth. I took my chance and fortunately, my soul feels fine. I did not remove too much, Tom. I am fine."

"Thank Merlin," Tom said before pulling Harry closer once again.

They stayed that way, savouring the knowledge that they were one step closer to achieving the connection they wanted and needed.

Eventually, the Dark Lord cleared his throat, "I think it would be unwise to prolong this much further. Are you ready to face Narcissa?"

In retrospect, Tom had to admit that he had not been ready to face the worried witch. As he and Harry were walking down the stairs the next morning to join Severus for an early breakfast, he mused that, maybe, just maybe, he had underestimated the Lady of the Malfoy family, especially after she threatened to stay in the same room should Harry or Tom ever be under her care again as she learned that her Monitoring Charms had been disabled once again. After wordlessly enduring her tirade for a while, he had lost track of how many Diagnostic Charms had been cast on him. Narcissa could be scary. When she finally stopped, they had been quite keen to get back to Spinner's End.

"Have the newspapers arrived yet?" Harry asked, letting himself sink on his usual chair, Tom by his side.

Lowering the latest copy of the Daily Prophet bearing a large picture of Bartemius Crouch Senior with the latest news of the on-going investigation against the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Severus eyes briefly stopped at the lack of space between his two supposed wards, before answering, "Not as of now, but the Elves should be back soon."

"Splendid," Tom replied, pouring himself a large cup of coffee before reaching for a piece of toast. He had almost finished his breakfast, when a soft pop announced the arrival of one of the Potter House Elves, a tiny elf by the name Rosemary if Tom remembered correctly. Once he had thanked the Elf, Rosemary popped away, her cheeks bright red, still unaccustomed to the kindness of her new masters.

Once Rosemary was gone, all eyes in the room turned to the stack of newspapers in the middle of the table. Not being one to prolong things, the Dark Lord reached for the latest edition of the Surrey Advertiser.

While the front was covered with the news of the latest loss the English national football team had sustained at the hands of the French at the current European Football Championship in Sweden, he found what he was looking for on page 3, a large black and white photograph of the burnt-out ruins of what had once been Number Four, Privet Drive. Underneath, the article painted a grim picture of what was believed to be caused by an accidental short circuit, most likely within the distribution board of Number Four, Privet Drive. When the fire brigade had arrived, there had been not much left to do except to prevent the fire from spreading to the neighbouring houses. When the flames had finally been put out well after dawn, not much had been left of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Their burnt carcasses had been found in their bedroom, their position leading to the assumption that they had died of carbon monoxide poisoning. They were survived by their son Dudley, who luckily had stayed at a friend's house.

Satisfied by the conclusion the Muggle policemen had reached, the Dark Lord handed the Surrey Advertiser to the Potions Master.

For the most part, the Muggle investigators were right.

Except two small details.

First of all, the Dursleys had not died of carbon monoxide poisoning. While traces of the colourless, odourless, and tasteless gas had been found inside their systems, it had been put there posthumously with the help of a little Spell Harry had invented and taught to Severus. Not that the Muggles would ever notice.

Secondly, the short circuit within the distribution board of Number Four, Privet Drive had not been an accident. Although he would never openly and certainly never publicly admit to it, the Dark Lord and his Equal knew their way around electrics and electronics. With the instructions provided by Tom and Harry, Severus and Corvus did not even have to resort to their magic to start the fire. It was the perfect crime.

With Lucius being explicitly banned from participating, not that the Lord of the Malfoy family needed much persuasion, the chances of the whole operation going wrong were slim to nil.

Since Severus and Corvus had both sworn on their magic that the gemstones aimed to hide the usage of magic within the limits of the property from the Ministry of Magic had been removed, the Dark Lord doubted that anyone bar Albus Dumbledore would suspect foul play.

"With such good news," his Equal chuckled, looking at the Dark Lord with longing eyes, "I think we can fully concentrate on the Cleansing Rituals now."

With the trial of the three Lestranges only ten days away, it was about time to start with the removal of the Dark Magic caused by the creation of the Horcruxes. Walking into Courtroom Ten basically reeking of Dark Magic would be slightly suspicious.

Only slightly.

Therefore, it was better to get rid of the evidence.

Furthermore, Tom, and he knew that Harry shared his sentiment, was simply looking forward to spending a bit together with his Equal with no further obligations bar the Cleansing Rituals.

For the most part, their plan worked. The Cleansing progressed well.

Sadly, the arrival of a barn owl during breakfast the next Wednesday changed everything.

"Harry, I am afraid you cannot ignore nor postpone this," Severus sighed once he had stopped scanning the letter which had been handed to him, "given that Bla… your godfather did not contact you sooner, I am afraid that Dumbledore is somehow involved, probably to get you away from the bad influence that I am."

"I think we agree on that point," the Dark Lord interjected before his Equal could open his mouth, "still, I think we can spin this in our favour."

Opposite of him, a single eyebrow of the Potion Master shot upwards, "Explain."

"First of all," Tom began to explain, his voice light, "I have been wanting to contact Healer Gibbon for quite a while now. Since the upcoming trial of the Lestranges is less than a week away, this is just the perfect opportunity to make sure if he is still true to our cause. Given the content of the letter and the fact that he wrote and signed it himself, although on behalf of Sirius Black, chances for a private meeting are high."

"Secondly," Harry continued, "we might be able to get my godfather thinking. To make him change perspecti-"

"Black and thinking?" the Potions Master snorted, "those two words do not go together. I must remind you that Sirius Black was never one to use his brain and his stay in Azkaban certainly will not have improved his already questionable state of mind. Furthermore, he has been in Dumbledore's pocket ever since he arrived at Hogwarts. If you plan to make him reconsider his allegiance, I am afraid your time will be wasted."

"Severus, I am not naive enough to believe that my godfather will just change sides," Harry said, his voice calm but filled with determination, "still, after witnessing how Dumbledore used him as scapegoat, I think he deserves a chance to live the life he was denied, a life of his own choices. He might not join our cause, but he might not join Dumbledore's order either once he has made up his mind. For that, he needs time to heal, both physically and psychologically. Unlike the old goat, I am willing to grant him all the time he needs."

Ignoring the critical gaze of the Potions Master, Harry turned his attention back to his breakfast.

Two days later, Tom, his eyes already Glamoured, was once again wearing a Muggle jumper. This time, there was a large neon Miami Vice logo printed on the front surrounded by palm trees. Meanwhile, Harry's jumper was sporting a Twin Peaks logo. Such a shame that they would not be visiting Malfoy Manor today. Maybe there would be room for a surprise dinner there. Maybe.

"Shall we depart?" Severus asked, sounding slightly impatient and certainly not in the best of moods as he was eyeing his two wards. As usual, he was wearing nothing but black. Obviously, Wizard-made.

A few moments later, the three wizards stepped out of the fireplace at the reception area of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Given his supposed unfamiliarity with the magical transportation method, the Dark Lord stumbled, almost falling over his own feet, before Severus' strong hand prevented him from landing on his nose.

"Welcome to St Mungo's," a pump, slightly exasperated blond witch clad in the magical hospital's standard lime green robes greeted them, "how can I help you?"

Behind her, Tom could see the same rickety wooden chairs and the same unorderly accumulation of outdated magazines and brochures on wobbly tables that had been there the last time he had visited the magical hospital more than three decades ago. Even the few dusty plants looked the same. Sometimes, it was astonishing how little the Wizarding World changed. At least the patients in the luckily not too overcrowded waiting area of the neighbouring emergency room had changed.

A few minutes later, they were on their way to the fourth floor of the magical hospital. Avoiding the suicidal lifts in favour of the stairs, they soon arrived at a door bearing a sign with golden letters reading Janus Thickey Ward. The ward itself was dedicated to the long-term treatment of spell damage, ranging from poorly performed Memory Charms to the victims of the Unforgivables. Once they had passed through the door, they turned away from the colourful entrance of the Janus Thicky Ward on the right, instead heading for a much smaller, inconspicuous door to the left void of any signs.

Unlike the lively noise which had filled the rest of St Mungo's, this part of the magical hospital was eerily quiet. Given that all doors leading from the lengthy hallway were closed, the lack of noise was hardly surprising.

Still, this part of the magical hospital could not be more different from the usual chaotic, slightly shabby, underfunded state of St Mungo's. Like the last time the Dark Lord had been there, the white on all walls was spotless, the oaken floorboards looked like they had been freshly oiled, the furniture was well cared for, and the pleasant but not oer-powering smell of disinfectant and detergent was in the air.

"Welcome to Ward 46," a slightly raspy but not too deep voice to their right with a faint Eastern-European accent greeted them, "you must be Heir Potter. May I please check your and your companions' identification to fill out your visitor's form. Afterwards, Healer Gibbon will be waiting for you."

The voice coming from behind a reception desk belonged to a Witch who appeared to be in her late twenties. Her long blond hair was tied to a tight bun. Unlike her colleagues of the other wards of St Mungo's, she was wearing white robes instead of lime green ones which were perfectly tailored to her petite frame. A small badge reading Healer Poniatowski was pinned to her robes. Behind her, rows of rows of meticulously organised and labelled records covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Once the healer had added their names to the relatively short list of visitors, Healer Poniatowski led them deeper inside Ward 46, stopping before the only open door.

Inside, a tall Wizard was sitting behind an elegantly carved wooden desk, hunched over a large stack of parchment while occasionally taking notes. Much like Healer Poniatowski, he was wearing white robes, while the remainder of the office spoke of somebody who valued order above anything else.

"Healer Gibbon," Healer Poniatowski cleared her throat, "Heir Potter and his guardian Lord Prince have arrived."

"Thank you, Grzmisława," Walter Gibbon's impressive tenor thundered through his office as he rose from his chair, offering a hand to the Dark Lord's Equal, "Heir Potter, I am delighted to see you. I am Walter Gibbon, Healer in charge for your godfather Sirius Black's recovery and Senior Healer of Ward 46. Please, come in."

Once Harry and Healer Gibbon had shaken hands, the latter quickly enquired about Harry's companions, "While I am familiar with Lord Prince, I am afraid I do not know the young gentleman accompanying you."

When he was politely asked for his name, the Dark Lord had a hard time keeping a straight face. Even after all those years, the slight German accent of the tall, broad-shouldered Healer was still present, although it had been a lot more pronounced when they had started at Hogwarts together in 1938, "I am Thomas Prince, sir, Lord Prince's cousin twice removed."

"Pleasure to meet you, Heir Prince," Walter Gibbon replied, before signalling everyone to take a seat in front of his tidy desk.

While sitting down and inspecting the neat and tidy, yet tasteful office, waiting for his old dormmate to properly start the conversation, Tom could not help but think about the Healer in front of him and his rather unusual ancestry.

While Walter's father Godfrey was a British Wizard and a healer himself, although a rather mediocre one at that, his wife was not from the British Isles.

Kriemhild von Wied-Neuwied was a German Witch and the youngest daughter of the late Lord Gerhardt von Wied-Neuwied, the head of an old but overall rather insignificant German pureblood line from the north of what was now known as Rhineland-Palatinate.

While the family trees of most British Pureblood lines were interconnected with the old families of Wizarding France, Spain, and North America, reaching back hundreds and hundreds of years, one nationality that almost never showed up was German.

For as long as everyone could remember, German Witches and Wizards had rarely if ever married outside the patchwork that was the German Wizarding Empire. The reasons for that were multifaceted.

The German Wizarding Empire was home to one of the largest Wizarding communities in the world. Reaching from its western border with France, marked by the Rhine, all the way up north to Denmark, encompassing most of Italy in the south, and to the Dnieper, its border with Russia in the east, it was larger than its Muggle equivalent, the Holy Roman Empire and its later successor, the German Reich, had ever been. Because of its size, geographically and population-wise, it was large enough to sustain its lines without fresh blood from the outside, something which was frowned upon within the Empire.

Much like their French counterparts, the German Pureblood lines had ruled the countless territories which formed the Empire of both Wizarding and Muggle world before the Statute of Secrecy had been established in 1692, leading to vast fortunes accumulated by most Pureblood lines. Unlike their mostly Light French neighbours, most German Witches and Wizards were born with a Dark affinity, something they were highly protective of. Maintained by a careful selection of partners and extensive teaching of the Dark Arts, the German Wizarding Empire had become a haven for the Darker sides of magic alongside neighbouring Russia, also home to a majority of Dark Witches and Wizards. Because of the emphasis on Dark Magic, marriages outside of the Empire or occasionally Russia to those communities considered Light were frowned upon or even forbidden by the German Wizarding Reichstag, the governing body of the Empire consisting of the Lords of the thirteen most powerful Pureblood lines and an equal number of elected representatives.

The Dark Lord guessed that the overall insignificance of the House of Wied-Neuwied had been the only reason why the marriage between Godfrey Gibbon, a Dark Wizard himself, and Kriemhild von Wied-Neuwied had not been forbidden by the German Reichstag, alongside the fact that Kriemhild's older brother Gustav had ensured the continuity of the line.

When Tom had first met Walter during the welcoming feast after both had been sorted into Slytherin, the strong German accent and his rather pronounced Dark aura had immediately caught his attention. Although the half-German Wizard had first looked down on the Mudblood of Slytherin , they had eventually become friends and Walter had been amongst the first to receive a Dark Mark shortly after they had graduated from Hogwarts.

Since the Gibbon family had never held any political power within the British Isles nor inherited a Wizengamot seat, Walter had followed his father's footsteps and had become a Healer, a far better one than his father.

Given his rather 'German' approach to life, he had become a rather controversial figure at St Mungo's. While he was one of the best, maybe even the best and innovative Healers the British Isles had seen in decades, his strong sense for order, punctuality, high standards for trainees, and his rather biting sarcasm did not make him a favourite amongst most employees at the Wizarding hospital as well as amongst some of its more mundane patients during the mandatory weekly shifts in St Mungo's emergency room.

Fed up with the continuous clashes with his co-workers, the dull nights treating boils, minor poisonings, and mending broken bones, and the overall lack of progress within Healing, Walter Gibbon had threatened to leave St Mungo's in favour of relocating to Germany unless he was allowed to set up his own medical ward far away from the daily madness of the magical hospital. Eventually, the hospital management had given in, afraid to lose their best and most efficient Healer, although under the condition that the stubborn Gibbon would be responsible for the funding himself.

Of course, that point had never been a problem.

Financially backed by the wealthy Dark Pureblood lines of the British Isles and the Dark Lord himself, obviously in exchange for some private Healing appointments, Ward 46 had been opened soon afterwards, focussing mostly on the experimental treatment of complicated medical cases. Eventually, Ward 46 had become a haven for research within the field of Healing and a top address for the most gifted, aspiring Healer apprentices all over Europe, although British applicants rarely got accepted.

While Walter Gibbon used to be an active Death Eater, regularly participating in some of their more delicate and dangerous missions, the Dark Lord was relieved to see that his allegiance had not been discovered. His status as an impartial Healer had most likely protected him. Still, Tom was determined that Dumbledore at least suspected Gibbon's favouritism of the Dark ways given his preferred company during his Hogwarts days and the sponsoring of the influential Dark Pureblood families of the British Isles.

"Pleasure to meet you, too, Healer Gibbon," his Equal said once everybody had taken their seats, "and again, thank you for your kind invitation."

Opposite of them, the corners of Gibbon's mouth curled into a polite but short-lived smile before morphing into his professional mask once more, moving straight to business, "Heir Potter, from the content of the letter you received I assume that you are aware that your godfather Sirius Black inquired for your presence. Before you are granted to see him, I have a few questions for you. What do you know about his current state?"

"Well," Harry began, squirming slightly under the intense gaze of the blue eyes of Walter Gibbon, "I was present during the trial. Therefore, I saw Madam Bones' memory of her visit to my godfather."

"I see," the Healer continued, making use of the small pause of his opposite, "and what did you deduce from the memory concerning his health?"

"From what I saw and from what I read about the Dementors and Azkaban," his Equal explained, carefully selecting each word, "I certainly see why he should be here at St Mungo's."

"I think we can agree on that assessment," Walter Gibbon's voice thundered through his orderly office, "Heir Potter, do you know why we know so little about treating the after-effects of long-term exposure to Dementors, especially after a… stay in Azkaban and why the case of your godfather therefore is so… interesting to us here at St Mungo's?"

When Harry was shaking his head, the Healer continued, "Healers like myself rarely get to treat a patient like Sirius Black because the majority of those sentenced to lengthy stays in Azkaban either do not survive their incarceration, or they die shortly afterwards since most former prisoners lack the financial resources to see Healers here at St Mungo's. Therefore, we know surprisingly little about the long-term effect of such prison sentences. Thankfully, we have gained a few insights during the last few days, but what we have discovered is not good."

"How… how bad is it?" Harry asked, his voice wavering, "how… how is my godfather?"

"When he arrived here, his magic was the only thing keeping him alive. Of that, I am most certain," the Healer explained, as always directly starting with the hard truth, "his organs were on the verge of failing, his bones are dangerously brittle, including several poorly healed fractures, his muscles have been reduced to the state of a coma patient, and his overall vitals indicate that he has been living in a state close to hypothermia for far longer than advisable."

"Oh…" a whisper escaped Harry's lips, "shit… ehh… sorry."

"Despite your selection of words, I would say it is a rather accurate assessment of the physical state of your godfather," Healer Gibbon said, not at all perturbed by the choice of wording, "of course, we have done everything in our power to improve his state. Currently, your godfather is on a rather strict Potion regime to rectify all the damage. Still, I am afraid he has a long way to go."

"How long?" his Equal asked, his voice still barely above a whisper.

"Honestly, I do not know," Walter Gibbon answered, "I wish I could tell you but given the slow progress your godfather has made so far, I estimate that he should stay on his current medication for at least six more months, preferably longer."

"That is a long time," Harry sighed.

"Yes, it is," the Healer continued without further ado, "but given the damage he sustained and the amount of time he spent in Azkaban, I think this should hardly be surprising, which brings me to my next point. Since the Ministry of Magic will cover his entire treatment, which I personally think should be taken advantage of as long as possible, and because of his current state, it would be foolish for Sirius Black to leave St Mungo's before his health has been restored to the fullest."

"Indeed," the raven-haired boy nodded his head along to the last words of the Healer.

"Unfortunately, your godfather does not agree with our assessment," Walter Gibbon continued, not shunning the facts, "he seems quite determined to leave St Mungo's as quickly as possible to take care of you, Heir Potter."

"Me?" Harry asked in surprise, "but… but I… I have never met Sirius Black and I am already living with Severus here, who knows me and takes care of me better than I could ever hope for…"

"Just to clarify this once and for all," the Healer said, "you do not share Sirius Black's opinion regarding his wish to take care of you."

His Equal was nodding his head before Gibbon had finished, "While I want to meet my godfather and get to know him, I think above all, he deserves as much time as he needs to heal and fully recover. Given what you just told me, I think it would be foolish to leave St Mungo's in his current state, especially because of me."

"I am glad to meet such a reasonable young man as you, Heir Potter," Healer Gibbon offered one of his rare smiles to the young Wizard in front of him, "I just wanted to discuss this issue with you before the first meeting with your godfather."

"Thank you, Healer Gibbon," his Equal said, before shifting in his seat, his back straightening, "has he displayed this desire to take care of me ever since he was transferred here, or is it a... recent development?"

"The latter," the Healer replied curtly, his eyes slightly narrowing in suspicion at the changed posture of his opposite.

Ignoring the expression of Walter Gibbon for now, Harry continued with his questions, "Tell me, Healer Gibbon, did it start after a visit from Albus Dumbledore?"

"Why would you ask that?" the Healer coughed, his eyes growing wide.

Not reacting to the changed demeanour of his opposite, Harry simply repeated his question, "Did Sirius Black first express his desire to take care of me after a visit from Albus Dumbledore."

For a moment, everyone within the office remained silent until the Dark Lord moved his hand to his temple, a quick sequence of hisses escaping his lips, before focussing his deep crimson eyes on one of his oldest followers, "Answer his question, Walter."

" Ich werd bekloppt," Walter Gibbon whispered as he stared at the young Wizard with deep crimson eyes, his own bluw eyes even growing wider, "my… my Lord… but… but how?"

"Knowing you, I assume that this office is secure," Tom said, only continuing when the Healer had nodded his head, "when I went after young Harry here, I ended up destroying my own body, courtesy of a nice little scheme by Albus Dumbledore which I had unfortunately overseen, leaving me as a helpless spirit. Thankfully, Harry here would host me for the next decade during which we discovered the extent of Dumbledore's manipulations, before helping me regain a body. We are on the same side. Harry is as Dark as I am. Now, your answer, Walter."

"Of… of course, my Lord," the Healer hastily stuttered, "Dumbledore visited Black the day before he started to mouth his desire to be released. How he influenced Black, I canno-"

"Legilimency, Walter. Legilimency," the Dark Lord explained, "it certainly would not be the first time he invaded the mind of Sirius Black. When Black saved Harry out of the ruins of the Potters' hideout in Godric's Hollow, it was Dumbledore who sent Black after Pettigrew. I was there, watching him from Harry's perspective."

"But… but why?" Gibbon asked, clearly at his wits end concerning the actions of the Lord of the Light, "Black was one of his best fighters and most loyal followers."

"Yes, but he was also the wrong guardian to raise me since he would have ensured that I was a strong and independent Wizard," Harry chuckled, "since Dumbledore needed an abused, easily malleable sheep, he disposed of Black and dropped me at the door of my magic-hating aunt's family. Unfortunately, with my lovely Muggle relatives now out of the picture, a sick, quite possibly insane Sirius Black appears to be the better caretaker than Severus, at least in the eyes of Dumbledore."

"I see," Walter Gibbon finally said, looking at the raven-haired Wizard with wonder, "so you want to avoid living with your Sirius Black."

"Obviously," Harry snorted, "but I have another question for you, Healer Gibbon. Since you talked a lot about the physical state of my godfather, how is he doing psychologically? Is there anything left of his sanity after a decade spent in the charming presence of the Dementors of Azkaban?"

"As surprising as it may seem," the Healer began, "he seems rather sane to me, well, as sane as a Black can be. I asked him why, and he told me it was because he was innocent and the Dementors could not extract said thought since it was not a happy one after all."

"Interesting," the Dark Lord said, his fingers gently tapping a rhythm on the wooden office table ahead of him, "would you mind further investigating the surprising impact of innocence concerning the exposure to Dementors, Walter?"

"How?" the Healer asked eventually.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, his voice icy, "If you are still true to the cause, which I hope you are, Walter…"

"Of course, my Lord," Gibbon answered quickly, "always. The Dark is my home."

"Very well," Tom said, his fingers stopping their drumming, "as you are most likely aware, the Lestranges will be questioned by the Wizengamot on Monday. You know me and I rarely misjudge those around me. I have known Rodolphus and Rabastan and they never revelled in torture."

"Unlike Bellatrix," Walter Gibbon sighed.

"Yes, unlike Bellatrix," the Dark Lord repeated, his lips curling into a sinister grimace of a smile, "if I should be right, which I more than hope, I would be delighted if you could assist them throughout their recovery since the Ministry surely will not assist them like they have Sirius Black. This will be especially important since Harry and I will most likely not be present to supervise their recovery as we will be at Hogwarts. As always, the Galleons for any medical treatment shall be taken out of my vault. I am sure you remember which one since the Goblins have informed me that you have continued to use it as per my instructions."

"Furthermore," his Equal continued, reaching for one of his pockets, producing a large stack of parchment, "we want you to monitor the progress of this therapy we have developed, aimed to counteract long-term physical effects of Azkaban much more effectively and faster than the current mixture of standardised Healing Potions. Here, have a look at it."

"You developed this?" the healer eventually asked, his eyes moving from the stack of parchment in his hands to the Dark Lord.

"Harry and I did," Tom chuckled before turning serious once more, "we have tested the Advanced Nutrition-Potion and the Enhanced Bone-Strengthening-Solution. They work without fault. Together, they should at least half the recovery time of long-term detainees of Azkaban. The remaining Potions should be safe to us as well."

"Have you tested them?" Walter Gibbon asked, sounding concerned and curious at the same time.

"Gibbon, if it calms your nerves," Severus' familiar drawl echoed through the office for the first time as he made his presence known, "I have reviewed all Potions at least twice. While the recipes might appear slightly unconventional at first glance, they are expertly crafted and obey all laws of Potion-making. I vouch for that."

"You have heard him," the Dark Lord chuckled, sounding far more amused than he should be at the face of the Healer, "furthermore, I would never administer something potentially dangerous to those I consider mine. Study the notes as long as you desire. Observe the Lestranges as closely as you like. As long as they recover, I do not care. Should you be content with the results of the Potions, you may publish your findings. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, my Lord," Walter Gibbon answered, his eyes darting between his Lord and the stack of parchment.

"Now," Harry cleared his throat while Tom was once more applying Glamours to his eyes, "I think it is time to convince Sirius Black that leaving St Mungo's is indeed an awfully bad idea."

Upon first seeing the eldest son of Orion Black, the first thought which crossed the Dark Lord's mind was that the memory of Sirius Black presented by Amelia Bones had been rather flattering as opposed to the skeletal torso and the skull-like head not covered by a thick hospital blanket. There was hardly anything left of the tall, well-built man with his fair skin, and his lustrous black hair who had fought opposite of the Dark Lord so many times, seemingly not afraid of injury or death. If it had not been for his shining grey eyes, one could have easily assumed that Sirius Black was dead.

"Harry!" Sirius Black tried to exclaim, failing miserably as his frail voice broke, while trying to push himself off the mattress with his skeletal arms and spindly fingers upon laying his eyes on the four Wizards who had just entered the room. Before anyone could react, his arms gave in and his body fell back on the mattress.

"Mister Black, while I am glad to see your enthusiasm in light of your visitors, I think it is still inadvisable to leave your bed," Healer Gibbon said while crossing the room with quick steps, checking the vitals of his patient while Remus Lupin, who so far had stayed in the background and looked like he had not slept in days, rearranged the blanket so that Black's skeletal torso was covered again, his head now the only part of his body poking out.

Once all vitals had been checked and two vials of Potions, most likely a standard Nutrition-Potion and a Strengthening Solution given their colours, had been administered, Walter Gibbon turned to his patient, a stern look in his eyes, "Mister Black, I will now leave you with your visitors. Should you try to overtax yourself once more, I will know immediately and I am afraid your guests will have to leave, Mister Lupin included. Am I understood?"

After a few seconds, Sirius Black finally nodded his head.

"Splendid," the Healer said before leaving the airy room.

For a moment, nobody spoke a word. Then, the Dark Lord saw one of the occupants of the room shift as Sirius Black's eyes landed on Severus Snape, his arch enemy, as he once again tried to push himself upwards, "Harry, why… why is Sniv… Snape here?"

"Hello, Sirius. Nice to finally meet you," his Equal spoke, smoothly stepping between the school rivals, effectively shielding the Potions Master from view, "you cannot believe how happy I was when Pettigrew was discovered, and your name was cleared."

"Well, so was I," the last of the Black family's main line spoke, his eyes briefly turning to his godson before immediately returning to his nemesis, "still, I want to know what HE is doing here."

"Well, I had hoped to postpone this discussion a bit," Harry sighed, still standing between the two adversaries, "while I will answer your question, I ask you to listen. Please, do not interrupt me, Sirius. Can you do that?"

For a moment, his godfather did not answer. After a slight nudge by Lupin, he finally nodded his head.

"Thank you, Sirius," his Equal said before taking a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, "I am not sure if you are aware of this, but after that fateful Halloween night, I was placed with my mother's sister's family, the Dursl-"

"You were placed with those disgusting Muggles?" Sirius Black growled, once again trying to push himself off his bed before realising that he had interrupted his godson, "sorry, Harry, but I never liked them."

"Neither do I, Sirius," his Equal continued, not bothering to hide the bitterness and hatred in his words, this once forgiving his godfather for his interruption, "my time with them certainly was not pleasant since they treated me worse than most would treat their House Elves. Luckily, my magic always protected me from far worse. Enough of that. When I was finally told that I was a Wizard after I turned eleven, it was Severus here who took me to Diagon Alley and more importantly, to Gringotts. There I had to confirm my identity to gain access to my vaults. Long story short, it turned out that my godparents were still alive to hopefully take care of me, although the Longbottoms, blessed be their poor souls, and you were out of the picture. Still, there was a fourth option none of us were aware of. It was Severus here, who my mother had named my honorary godfather much to both of our surprise. I spent the remainder of the holidays with him since I obviously did not want to return to the Dursleys and got to know him better during the last school year before eventually deciding to stay with hi-"

"Harry, you can stay with me now," the hoarse almost barked voice of his godfather echoed through the hospital room, "you will not have to stay with that-"

Sirius Black did not get to finish whatever insult he had been trying to say as his godson's much firmer voice thundered through the room, "I told you to not interrupt me again, Sirius. I am more than aware that you and Severus do not get along and you only want the best for me, but I am most certainly not staying with you."

Despite the dying lights in the eyes of his godfather, Harry continued, "Do not take this personal, but for now, Severus is the better option for me. First of all, I do not know you. This is the first time we have ever met, or at least that I remember meeting you. On the other hand, I have known Severus much longer. Secondly, and I think this is the more important reason, I do not want to be selfish and deny you the opportunity to heal. You should-"

"I am fine, Harry," Sirius spoke up, his fragile body and his breaking voice speaking a very different language.

"No, you are not," his Equal said sternly, "Healer Gibbon informed me on your current physical state and as far as I can tell, St Mungo's is the best place for you to stay and heal, especially since the Ministry will cover all expenses-"

"As if I would care for the Ministry's money," the last of the Black family's main line spat, "I could easily get my Potions from somewhere else and-"

"Did you know that the majority of those released from Azkaban die without proper care?" Harry asked, his Avada-green eyes fixed on his godfather, who was looking at him, his jaw slightly unhinged, "I do not want to lose you like I have lost my parents just because you were denied the right medical treatment. I want you to heal, get you back to your old strength so that we can spend time together without me constantly worrying about your health. I really want to get to know you but not at the risk of your well-being and your life. I have lost so many already. James and Lily. I do not want to lose you, too. Do you understand now why I do not want you to leave St Mungo's, Sirius?"

For a moment, the stubborn grey eyes of his godfather appeared to be burning holes into his Equal before he finally averted his eyes, nodding slightly, sinking deeper in his cushion.

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry whispered. Once his words had stopped resonating, the room turned silent once again, although the Dark Lord could not help but notice that Remus Lupin looked rather relieved that his friend had finally stopped struggling, apparently having finally come to reason.

Eventually, the silence was broken by the Werewolf, his voice carefully polite, seemingly eager to change topics, "Severus, I never knew that you had a son."

"While Thomas is my ward and I agree that there are some similarities," Severus' familiar drawl echoed through the hospital room, causing a frown to appear on Sirius' face, "he is not my son, but my cousin twice removed, although I care for him and Harry like they are my own."

The looks on his godfather's and Lupin's faces told the Dark Lord that neither of them felt comfortable at letting children anywhere near the Potions Master. The remainder of the conversation was rather awkward, even more so than before. Tom was rather relieved when Healer Gibbon told them that it was time to leave ten minutes later. With Harry promising to write to his godfather as frequently as possible, they finally left St Mungo's, once again having prevented one of Dumbledore's schemes.