"Oh, no," muttered Harry as his stirring stick slipped out of his tired, numb fingers and clattered to the cold dungeon floor. He bent to pick it up, trying to keep his eyes open.

He'd stumbled back into the Gryffindor tower around one o'clock in the morning and collapsed into his bed, bothering only to half-fling the Invisibility Cloak off. For the next four hours he had been continually plagued by questions running through his head and an agonizing anxiety over Sirius's letter that nearly tore up his insides. Fred and George had returned minutes after, their arms no doubt laden with sweets. Harry was sure they had fallen asleep instantly, whereas he was lucky if he had gotten more than two hours of sleep. He had missed breakfast, as well, waking up wide-eyed and frantic in a cold sweat from some half-remembered nightmare to find the dormitory empty.

At least I was on time for Potions, thought Harry as he dully kept track of the counter-clockwise stirs under his breath. Five to the right, five to the left, push it away from yourself quickly once, then immediately add the cooling agent. One...two...three...

Tired as he was, Harry was determined to avoid trouble with Snape today: the Potions master was in a terribly foul mood, and Harry, for the first time, couldn't blame him. He'd had no idea Jumping Jellybeans could be so destructive; the Slytherin-Gryffindor class had walked in to find shards of glass still on the floor, several holes burned through the floor (Harry shuddered to think exactly what the acids in those vials had been intended for), and a sneering, nasty-tempered professor who looked no less exhausted than Harry did. More than once in less than ten minutes had Harry found himself the receiver of a hateful, suspicious stare.

...four...five. One...two...three...I didn't do it this time, Snape, you hook-nosed, greasy-haired, miserable--

A sudden explosion made Harry stumble to the side, causing his fifth turn, which was supposed to be measured and slow, to jerk into a rapid circle. Thinking quickly, Harry stepped forward sharply and pushed the stick through the translucent red liquid, away from himself, and dumped in his pre-measured amount of cooling agent. The light blue powder filled the thin potion in smoky, billowing clouds before evening out into a lovely shade of lavender.

Feeling close to alive for the first time that morning, Harry glanced over at the commotion while straightening his glasses: a crowd of students had gathered around Crabbe, who was covered in boiling, deep crimson liquid. His cauldron lay in half-melted pieces on the floor. Snape was pouring cooling agent over him with no thought to measurement. Much to Harry's satisfaction, Crabbe didn't escape without several burns on his arms and face.

"Come on, you idiot." Draco Malfoy had pushed through the ring and given Crabbe a shove toward the doors with an apprehensive glance at Snape's thin, pale face, twisting into unprecedented rage. Malfoy ushered his thug out of the dungeon, Goyle lumbering behind, in record time. The entire class stared after them, struggling to bank their howls of laughter under threat of Snape's (increased) wrath.

It was Ron who finally snickered, somewhere in the back of the room. Harry recognized his friend's voice, but apparently Snape didn't; the Potions master's black eyes flicked in cold anger over his students in search of the culprit.

Harry, realizing that standing behind and just to the side of Snape was not a good idea, began to back away, but his empty stomach chose just that moment to make its displeasure known. A loud, hungry growl filled the classroom.

That was everybody's undoing. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike erupted into laughter.

Professor Snape turned sharply on his heel and glared down at Harry, who still stood a few inches short than he. "Do you find this funny, Potter?" he spat.

Harry was the only one in the room who wasn't breaking down into mirth. "I'm not laughing, sir," he replied over the noise.

Snape took a step forward, bringing his foot down hard into a puddle of still-hot Freezing Potion. Several drops of it flew up onto Harry's bare arm and immediately began to burn.

"Ah, God!" Harry fumbled for the remaining cooling agent, grabbed a handful, and smothered it over his forearm. There was a hissing noise as the powder extinguished the heat. Before Harry could check to see if he had been burnt badly, his scar gave a warning throb. There was enough time left for his green eyes to fly wide before the dull pain ripped into a splitting agony. Harry clutched the edge of his desk as his knees buckled, one hand clapped over his forehead, his face distorting into a tortured expression.

He couldn't even swear. It was as though he was under the Crutacious Curse all over again.

After endless seconds, it passed, leaving Harry with only a light-headed, disoriented feeling. Panting, he opened his eyes and found his gaze instantly locked with Snape's. The Potions master was clutching his wrist, his knuckles white. His nostrils flared as he struggled to take controlled, even breaths.

Somewhere underneath that sleeve, Harry knew the Dark Mark was burning.

"Potter." Snape's voice trembled audibly in the dead silence. "Get to the hospital ward."

Harry only stood there, frozen.

"Are you deaf, Potter? I said go!"

Hermione suddenly appeared behind Snape and shoved past him, hard enough to make the professor take a step for his balance. Snape's black eyes flashed dangerously, but Hermione took no notice.

"Come on, Harry," she murmured, placing a firm hand on his back and steering him to face the back of the room. "Come on, you'll be okay..." Harry struggled to match Hermione's stride with his own shocked, stumbling steps.

"Weasley, you stay here!" he dimly heard Snape snarl.

His classmates parted--no, recoiled--as Hermione led him to the door. Before she could open it, though, it swung inward of its own accord to reveal Dumbledore in the doorway.

"Professor Snape?" A hint of suppressed worry passed over Dumbledore's face as his sharp blue eyes took in Harry's pale face and Snape's shaken expression. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, Headmaster," replied Snape tersely, reaching out to right an upset vial. He winced.

"Of course, Professor...I was wondering if I could borrow Harry here for a moment?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione spoke up, her tone subdued but still severe, "Harry needs to go see Madam Pomfrey."

"Ah." Dumbledore laid a quiet, reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "In that case, I will escort him. Professor Snape."

Snape nodded sharply. Harry was gently pulled into the corridor and led to the hospital wing, the hollow sound of the heavy door swinging shut reverberating in his ears.

****

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry reached for another slab of Chocolate and devoured it ravenously. Madam Pomfrey had tended to his minor burns and left in a huff as the Headmaster had insisted on speaking to Harry alone.

"Harry?" Dumbledore was watching him with grave eyes.

Harry looked away at the hospital floor for a moment. "My scar," he finally said. "It started hurting again."

Dumbledore said nothing.

"It...it's never hurt like this before," he went on. "Not even when...when..." The image of Cedric Diggory's dead body flashed across Harry's eyes; he flinched and didn't finish. His shaky breath seemed to fill the room as he dug his nails into the hospital bed. "I thought my head was going to explode." He stared down at his knees. "Volde...he's back, isn't he?"

"Say Voldemort, Harry. Fear of the name only increases fear of the person."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though he had just endured a sound beating. "Voldemort's back."

"I'm afraid he is. But perhaps this might make you feel better," Dumbledore said at length. Harry's head jerked up as he felt a gentle pressure on the mattress; an envelope addressed to him in Sirius's handwriting was lying next to him. With a soundless cry of joy Harry snatched the letter up.

"What...where..." Harry did his best to look surprised.

Dumbledore was studying him keenly. "I suggest, Harry," he finally said, "that you get more sleep. Bags under the eyes are unbecoming." The Headmaster's eyes did not sparkle.

Harry's mouth opened and closed twice without anything to say. With a wan smile Dumbledore turned and left the ward, closing the door softly behind him.

Fair enough, thought Harry, but Dumbledore's persistently sober mood troubled him. Unwilling to dwell on the implications, he quickly ripped the envelope open and anxiously pulled out his godfather's letter with trembling fingers.