A/N: Didn't you just looove the sneaky Poppy/Severus undertones in the last one? I'm such a perverted thinker, honestly.

And now, for the exposition!

4 – The Truth Appears

"You were poisoned," Dumbledore says, haltingly. "We managed to retrieve a sample of what you were eating and drinking at the time, thanks to your astute friends, and Professor Snape has been testing it –"

"Poppy, let me out this instant –" Snape's muffled voice sounded unnecessarily loud to Harry's ears, and he twisted his head that way, only to see a stern-looking Madame Pomfrey bustling about her table, on which a cauldron was now bubbling thickly above a spurt of blue flame. She was acting like she couldn't hear anything but the sound of the cauldron, and it jolted Harry, that familiar sense of the woman's disgust for anything unconnected with the good health of her patients –

"Harry," Dumbledore said, again, and he returned his attention to him, before realising just how far round his head had turned – "Harry. You must be calm," Dumbledore's voice brought him sharply back from the brink of a horrified scream, and Harry practically dived onto the bed and opened his wings without thinking, for shelter – "Can you hear me?"

"Yesh," Harry said, a little pathetically, wondering why he felt safer under the cover of the wings. It was a nice feeling – pity they'd have to go –

"Professor Snape tested the suspect food and drink, and found that your steak-and-kidney pie was poisoned with a rare variant of phoenix tear solution. One," Dumbledore's voice grew more agitated, "that had probably been altered with a specific Dark spell, so it would reverse the normal healing process of the tears, and kill you."

Harry gulped, mind racing – Voldemort was obviously behind this, but he wasn't quite sure how.

"Professor Snape, as you can probably guess, was most alarmed on discovering that you had survived the poison," Dumbledore continued. Harry poked his head out from under his feather shield and stared at the man – what does he mean, 'most alarmed'? Snape's probably the only person who knows how to make the thing… "He was alarmed, Harry, because the potion is immediately fatal, without exception. Egestion of it, or rather, removal of it, speeds the rate of death. To the knowledge of the wizarding world, he only known method of surviving the administration of such a potion, Harry, is to become a phoenix oneself."

"No," Harry said quietly, eyes still trained on Dumbledore, clearing his throat hard, which seemed to make a difference, seemed to help him clear his speech, if only for a sentence or so. "I can't – I didn't –"

"No, Harry, not of your own free will," Dumbledore said kindly. "Rather, your mother's sacrifice, and possibly the fact that you have already been healed by phoenix tears –"

"My mum's – but – Voldemort –"

"Negated the properties of the sacrifice as regards to himself, and himself alone." Harry stayed silent, now fighting hot tears, tears that seemed even more eager to fall than usual, eager enough that he let them. He ducked his head back under his – the feathers, just in case. "The sacrifice's effects still stand, Harry – the wards on the Dursleys' home would not work, else." Harry tried to stop crying, but couldn't – it felt almost infinitely satisfying and horrifying how much he was weeping into the pillow, and though the had the awful idea that Dumbledore knew he was crying, could not bring himself to stop. "What we need right now, Harry, is your cooperation – myself and Madame Pomfrey will need to ask you some questions, which will sometimes feel invasive, but need to be answered so that we know exactly what to do."

"An' Shnape?" Harry mumbled, sniffing slightly.

"Professor Snape will likely not be seeing you for the next few days, until your condition has stabilised somewhat, Harry," Dumbledore replied, perfectly straight faced, Madame Pomfrey harrumphing in the background.

"He'll stay out of your way or be drugged out of your way, Potter," she said briskly. "There's no one I know like that – that man for disobeying simple instructions –"

"Unsh-unstable?" Harry said, heart sinking as he fought to clear his throat again. Before Dumbledore could answer, Madame Pomfrey was bustling over to him and moving him firmly out of the way, poking carefully (and respectfully, some part of his brain insisted) at his feathers as she spoke.

"I should think so, Potter – you had a tantrum when you woke for the first time, and just tried to put an end to our Professor Snape. Justifiable, I might add – he was deliberately insulting." The – now that he thought about it – alien-feeling, new-seeming part of his brain preened arrogantly, muttering about his territory, and Harry tried to make sense of what she'd said – just because he'd thought Snape had been insulting to him didn't mean much on the scale of things, did it?

"Bu – bu' he'sh alwaysh li' tha'," he forced out, starting to relax the wings as Pomfrey made invisible notes and commented under her breath about his – markings? – and –

"Then he's a fool for thinking he could be like that in this situation," Pomfrey snapped, stroking his right wing thoughtfully, the disapproving expression on her face at odds with her gentle gesture. "You are clearly traumatised, and it is highly unlikely that whatever saved you saved you simply by changing your physical makeup. The workings of magic are never foolish, and always thorough, despite what we might think." She sniffed. "I am sure that thinking like a phoenix must come into surviving that poison somehow – Albus? Do you remember what incantation is needed to activate the –"

"La vostra morte è necessaria me," a muffled, disgruntled-sounding voice said, interrupting. "Literally, 'your death is necessary to me' – one of the most powerful and exhausting Dark Italian rituals that exist. If I had any idea –"

"Don't even think of leaving that room, Professor!"

"I wasn't trying, you foolish woman!"

"Severus! Poppy!" Dumbledore gave the bristling Madame Pomfrey a level look, and regained the seat she'd ousted him from as she grudgingly moved to the other side of Harry's bed. "We have more important things to do than argue over the behaviour that was exhibited by Harry and Professor Snape this afternoon, am I understood?" Pomfrey huffed and stalked off to her potion-table-thing, and a snort could be heard from the vicinity of Madame Pomfrey's office.

"She said I wash unshtable," Harry pointed out uselessly.

"You are," Professor Dumbledore agreed, surprising him. "Your feather coloration changes in your sleep, and your pattern has changed five times over the last three days. Yes, three days," Dumbledore said, blue eyes serious and slightly sad. "You were out for most of the first day, I believe – but that does not matter now. What matters," he said, shifting wearily in his seat, "is where we go from here."

Harry nodded slowly, and struggled into a seating position, trying hard not to hit Dumbledore inn the face with his right wing, and not quite succeeding. After Madame Pomfrey had finished berating them both for being careless enough to let him sit up and tartly asking if Dumbledore would be finished talking to her patient by the end of the month, Harry turned his face to Dumbledore's, his back straightening resolutely.

"I'm ready to lishten," he said softly, and Dumbledore nodded and began.

Preview of Chapter 5: Transpose

The next few days were absolutely horrible. Harry woke each day, ready and raring to go, swearing to himself that it must be a dream and he must have a fever to be imagining things that were so real, and every day he was proved wrong by not much more than the feathers on the wings on his back.