Notes - I'm sorry it's been a while, guys, but if you've been following this or others of my stories, then you know how appalling I am at updating. You might not believe me :D but this chapter has been sitting on my harddrive for ages - I'd forgotten to post it! So here it is, and as I'm past my exams and onto my holidays now, I'm hoping to get cracking with this again soon. I've just got to wrap a few things up then I'm going to force myself to apply some work to this, as I'm actually really excited about this plot and the characters.

Anyway, here's to you peeps and hope you like it.

Chapter 7 – Paradigms Shift and Circumstances Change

Saturday dawned. Unfortunately, its beauty was masked in a blanket of murky grey cloud, which shed its load on the small castle below it, causing the lake to overfill, parts of the grounds to become swampy, and the lesser-maintained parts of the castle to be dripping with rainwater.

Harry was oblivious to this however, until Ron shook him roughly awake, concern shining in his brown eyes.

"Harry, it's Quidditch practice – Harry, wake up!"

"Wha'?" Harry opened his eyes blearily, swearing as Ron opened the curtains to let in the feeble sunlight. To the redhead, there was good reason to be concerned. Harry, with usually tanned, slightly freckly skin, was pale with spots of red on his cheeks. His face glittered with moisture, and his usually sharp emerald eyes were slightly glazed – more so than usual when he woke.

"God Harry, you look bloody awful!" Ron exclaimed, feeling his temperature with the back of his hand. "And you're burning!"

"Thanks," the teen remarked dryly, half falling out of bed in an attempt to get up.

"No, stay there," Ron said, pushing him back down. "I'm getting Hermione."

Harry groaned, but it was too late. He was already gone, dashing down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He nearly fell asleep again before they returned, but even the meagre light was affecting his head, so he just lay there in pain, listening to their footsteps pounding in his head as they raced up the stairs.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, laying her desperately cool hand on his forehead.

"'m alright," he muttered, and she chuckled weakly.

"You are most definitely not alright," the brunette replied, grabbing the jug of water and dunking her scarf in it. "I was going to go to Hogsmeade with Ginny," she explained as she wrung it before placing it on Harry's head. "But I think I'll stay instead."

"No, go, enjoy yourself," Harry tried to say, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Ron, go and fetch Professor McGonagle – she'll know what to do."

Ron nodded, leaving his girlfriend behind to tuck Harry back in (making him feel like he was three years old, or invalided), and to try to give him a glass of water.

It took Ron half an hour to figure out that McGonagle was on duty in Hogsmeade, and he reported back to the pair. Harry tried to insist he felt much better, but when Hermione suggested he get up and prove it, he could get no further than the end of the bed before falling.

"You don't think it's, You Know Who?" Ron asked quietly, shutting the dorm curtains. Hermione snorted.

"Yeah – the Boy Who Lived can't possibly have a simple fever, can he? Has to be poison, or something."

Ron had the decency to blush. Then he was shooed out again to find Professor Snape.

In the dungeons, Ron knocked nervously on the door of easily the scariest teacher in school, and waited for a reply. It didn't take long – five minutes later, the door opened, to reveal the man himself. Harry's father.

"Um, sorry to disturb you sir," Ron started, before he was interrupted.

"What is it Weasley? If you hadn't noticed, it is a weekend, and I have better things to do than wait on you."

"It's Harry sir – he's sick."

"Is he?" Snape replied, one eyebrow rose. "How fascinating. And this affects me, how?"

"Well," Ron lowered his voice. "You're his father and everything, and we didn't know who to go to-"

"Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure, is fully capable to deal with one minor cold, even if it is being suffered by the Boy Who Lived," Snape sneered, carefully hiding the flash of concern that hit him for a moment.

"But-"

"Yes, Mr Weasley?"

"Um, nothing sir," Ron replied hesitantly. The door slammed in his face, and he was frozen there for a moment, before it hit him. Bastard! They all knew Snape was a complete git to everyone, but to his own son? Riled with anger, he glared at the door for a moment, before setting off for the Hospital Wing.

"Mr Weasley! Do not run in the Hospital Wing!" Madam Pomfrey berated, and Ron stopped, panting for breath.

"It's Harry, he's sick…"

"Has his head of house been informed?" she said briskly, summoning a bag to her.

"No, McGonagle's in Hogsmeade," he replied, getting his breath back somewhat.

"And where is he?"

"Gryffindor dorms. Hermione's with him."

Pomfrey nodded, striding out. Ron followed her, and they walked up the corridors and staircases that was the fastest and most direct route to Gryffindor Tower.

"What are his symptoms?"

Ron thought quickly, a frown appearing on his features. "Um, fever, headaches, he says everything hurts. He's weak – he couldn't get up. Oh, and the light hurt his eyes."

Madam Pomfrey's footsteps sped up. "And why hasn't the silly boy been to see me before?"

"We tried to tell him," Ron replied, "but he wouldn't listen – he thinks there's nothing wrong with him."

The mediwitch muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'delirious'.

The Fat Lady immediately let them in on seeing the nurse, barely hearing Ron call the password to her as they walked in. Pointing out the stairs, Ron followed her up, trying to get the younger students who were curious about the mediwitch's arrival to leave them alone.

Harry looked as bad as ever in the half-light, and closed his eyes tight as she lit her wand tip to get a better view of him.

"Right, out you two – I'll have to examine Mr Potter," the nurse shooed, and reluctantly the pair left to guard the door while she worked. First, she checked Harry's temperature and pulse through Muggle techniques, before resorting to her wand to scan his body for the virus. Frowning, she dug in her bag for a fever-combating potion and helped him to drink it, and then a pain-relieving potion.

"Now Mr Potter," she started sternly, "your friends tell me you've been ill for a few days – are they right?"

Harry nodded, feeling sleepy.

"Why did you not come to me before?"

"Didn't want to disturb you," he mumbled. "Thought it would go away."

Madam Pomfrey tsked.

"Have you been eating properly recently?"

He nodded.

"And any other symptoms?"

He shook his head. The nurse frowned. "I must say, this is quite baffling. I can find no trace of virus or contagion, or even anything foreign in your body at all. You appear to be ill without having a cause." Thinking, she redampened the cloth on his head. "I shall ask the headmaster for help in having you transferred to the Hospital Wing – I think that would be best. You may sleep, and I'll ask your friends to stay here while I talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry nodded slightly, before falling back into sleep.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me boy?"

Harry groaned, opening his eyes that seemed to be made of lead. Blinking against the onslaught of light, the hazy image of blue eyes and white beard came into focus. Dumbledore.

"He's as awake as you're going to get, headmaster." Pomfrey's voice, he recognised. Glancing around languidly, he spotted an expanse of white on his other side that appeared to be her.

"Harry," Dumbledore again, leaning forwards. "It is imperative that you tell us anything you can about this illness."

"Wha'?" he tried, his throat feeling like someone had viciously attacked him with sandpaper.

"Your illness," he repeated. "When did it begin?"

Harry thought. It required effort. Effort was painful.

"Las'," he slurred, "las' month."

"Last month?" Dumbledore exclaimed, hurting Harry's ears. Weakly, he nodded. "And this has got progressively worse?"

He nodded again, feeling consciousness slip from his grasp.

"Harry, Harry!" he called, and the teen forced his eyes open to focus blearily on icy blue ones. "Remus is coming. We are going to find out what's wrong. Hang in there."

Harry nodded, just once, before fevered sleep took him over.

"How is he?" the werewolf asked in a low, worried voice, walking up as he saw Dumbledore exit the Hospital Wing.

"Not good," the headmaster replied gravely. "I fear he has been poisoned."

"Poison?" Remus repeated, shocked. "How?"

"I'm not sure," the older man replied, thinking. "He says that this has been going on for over a month. It is possible that this has been engineered to coincide with Halloween tomorrow." He looked up at his ex-Professor. "Go to him Remus, he needs someone he can trust now."

Remus nodded, before entering the Wing, to start his vigil next to Harry's bedside.

In another part of the castle, Severus Snape was interrupted from his glass of wine by another knock on the door. Cursing, he stood up and opened it to reveal his godson.

"Draco," he greeted, letting him in.

"How's Harry?" the blonde asked without preamble.

"How am I supposed to know?" Severus sneered, hating himself for it.

Draco's eyebrow rose elegantly. "You're his father."

"I had realised," the older man replied, his tone lightly sarcastic.

"Is he sick?"

The question caught him off guard. Spinning round, he caught the teen in a hard stare.

"How did you know?"

Draco stared back evenly. "It's not poison."

Severus stared at him for a long moment, before throwing a handful of powder in the fire.

"Headmaster!" he barked, and was swiftly rewarded.

"Ah, Severus, I've been meaning to talk to you…"

"About Harry?"

The headmaster shot him a look. "Yes, how did you know?"

"Weasley," he replied, "and Draco," he gestured, so that the professor noticed the pale teen.

Albus' eyebrows rose. "How did you know, Mr Malfoy?"

"There's something I haven't told you, headmaster," Snape cut in, drawing attention back to himself.

"He's not been poisoned," Draco piped up, and with a sudden movement, Dumbledore fell into the room.

"I think," he replied mildly, "that an explanation is in order."

"Over the summer, something happened to me, sir. Something else than what you already know," Draco began, cutting over his godfather. "Something very peculiar. Have you ever heard of a race of wizards known as the Phoenix Lords?"

Albus' eyes lit up. "Of course," he breathed. "You mean to say that you…?"

"Yes," Draco replied simply. "And so is Harry."

"Harry, a Phoenix Lord?" Severus interrupted, disbelievingly. Draco turned to him and nodded.

"I can sense him – ever since the beginning of term. He's changing."

"Then the sickness…" Dumbledore mused.

"Yes. It's a sign of who he is to become," Draco said, his eyes seeming to merge into bluey silver.

Albus gazed at Draco in interest. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr Malfoy, which type are you?"

"Water."

"Water? Then you have healing powers? Will you be able to help Harry?"

Draco shook his head slightly reluctantly. He knew what the change was like. "No, even if I tried I couldn't. And if I could, it might affect the process."

"Severus, Mr Malfoy, I think you should go to the Hospital Wing. Inform Madam Pomfrey of this information. I want you both to stay there," the headmaster said firmly, glancing between the pair.

"But headmaster," Severus protested. Albus shook his head.

"Harry needs you," he said quietly. "And you need to realise that you can care for him."

With that, he turned back to the fireplace, and with a surge of purple flame, he disappeared.

Severus walked reluctantly into the Hospital Wing, Draco following not far behind. As they entered, Remus looked up from where he sat beside the only occupied bed, his whole expression tired. He didn't speak, though he briefly looked like he wanted to, before turning back to look at the boy in the bed.

Approaching slowly, he felt Draco stop to linger by the door, not wanting to intrude just yet. After all, he and Harry were on rather strange terms at the best of times. And he wanted to see his godfather's reaction.

"How is he?" Severus asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that hung over the room.

"Not good," the other man replied not looking up. "High fever, aches, pains, shivers, convulsions – name it and he's probably done it. The only thing we haven't had yet is vomiting – and if he's been poisoned…"

"He hasn't been poisoned," the professor replied curtly, not wanting to divulge the secret even to a member of the Order, and a trusted friend of both Dumbledore and Harry.

"Then what?" the werewolf was confused. He assumed that Snape was here because of what he had scented the moment he had seen the boy – the dark, trademark scent of the older man that could mean nothing other than kinship. He was confused, but over the years had got used to it – and there were more pressing matters at the moment. No matter who his father, Harry was Harry, and he was ill.

"I-I'm not at liberty to say. How are you?" he asked, and though there was no trace of concern in his tone, Remus thought he saw a flicker of it in those dark eyes.

"As well as can be expected with the full moon tomorrow," Remus answered, rubbing his weary eyes. Severus hovered just beyond the bed for a moment, before Remus noticed his strange behaviour and stood. "I think I'll go and find Professor Dumbledore."

"He's in his office," Draco volunteered, and the werewolf nodded, masking the confusion on his face well, before leaving the three alone.

Slowly, as if he wasn't aware he was doing it, Severus walked up to the bed and sat down in Remus' empty chair. It was uncomfortable, but he'd had worse, so he ignored it and tried to do something he probably should have done a long time ago – re-evaluate Harry Potter.

After a few seconds, he shifted position, and decided to start simply. Reasons I Hate Harry Potter. First and foremost was his obvious link to his father – James. Then he realised the stupidity of that. If Harry truly was his father's son, and Severus hated him, then that didn't bode well for his own psyche. So, scratch that off the list.

His arrogance in class, and everything else. Time to look for an example… his thoughts came upon the Potions lesson so long ago it had become a dusty memory. First lesson for first-year Harry. He had played his usual routine of scaring them witless – bottle fame, brew glory, stopper death – it was a real killer that speech. He was quite proud of it. But that year, he had been interrupted by the brat, scribbling away in his book without paying a blind bit of attention. That was right then – from the first, Potter had been arrogant.

Wait. Another memory flashed a card – of marking the nincompoops homework. Mostly crosses for Harry, making him on par with all the muggleborn students – a sure problem for the Boy Who Lived. As he closed the book, curiosity bit him, and he turned to the front page to see what the boy had written in his lesson.

Bullet points in a childlike scrawl:

- Bottle fame

- Brew glory

- Stopper in death

He had stared at the words for a long moment, before shaking his head and turning to the next book. Now he thought about it, sat at the same boy's bedside, he turned it over in his mind. The boy had been taking notes – which showed eagerness to learn, and though misguidedly copying down the wrong material, he had been organised. Hmmm.

All right, so he wasn't like James, and he wasn't as arrogant. There were other things about Harry that irked him. His heroics, for example. Expression tightening, he remembered the rage he had felt when the idiot had rescued his mutt of a godfather. Taking his worst antagonist from under Severus' very nose, and getting away with it. And just the next year he had brought the Wizarding World to the war that now threatened to split it in two by taking that Portkey.

But that wasn't right either, he finally allowed himself to think. Fourth year it had been a complete surprise to all of them – and if Dumbledore hadn't seen it, then how could a fourteen-year-old boy? Judging by the story he had been told by the headmaster, the boy had handled himself well. Managing to escape alive from the Dark Lord's clutches was quite a feat. Doing it with a dead body, after being battered and bruised with the world turned against you and still only a child – he sighed audibly.

There was the Black thing, true. But here, faced with this evidence, the boy lying painfully ill in front of him, he was starting to wonder if there wasn't something behind that too. His relatives, those muggles – he had heard stories, and none of them were shining. If the rumours were to believed, then Potter would've lunged at the first father-figure he had seen. Either way it seemed likely that the image he had long held of Harry James Potter standing proud, smirking and rising above the world was crumbling – the smile fading to form a thoughtful expression tinged with sadness, the proud and tall boy sinking, shoulders bowed, the arrogance gone from his eyes.

"You are quite an enigma, Mr P-," he paused in his quiet contemplations. "Harry." Glancing over that familiar face known throughout the world, he sat back, steepling his fingers.

Remus' first instinct was disbelief.

"A, a what?"

"A Phoenix Lord," Dumbledore replied patiently, sitting down behind his desk. The ex-Professor remained standing. "A being of high magical prowess and extensive healing or combat powers, the ability to fly, and considerable mental skill."

"…Harry?"

"Yes," the headmaster sighed. "According to Mr Malfoy, there is nothing we can do until the transformation runs its course."

"Are you sure-?" Remus bit his lip on the question, but Albus already knew what he was asking.

"I think we can trust Mr Malfoy, given the circumstances," he said firmly, but not caustically. The werewolf nodded regretfully.

"Do you mind if I go back? I, I want to be with Harry," he asked quietly. To his surprise, Dumbledore shook his head.

"Actually Remus, I have a task for you. I want you to inform the Weasleys, and stay with them. A happier family I have not yet met, but their concern may drive them to visit, and I don't want any more attention drawn to this than necessary."

"Of course, Albus," Remus replied, disappointed and confused.

"Thank you Remus." With a hand to his shoulder, the headmaster dismissed him, and returned to quiet contemplation beside the darkened window.

There was an argument in the Hospital Wing. Actually, there were several arguments that were building up to lead to an impression of complete and utter chaos.

Harry was, predictably, still lying ill and unconscious in bed, unaware of the panic and disruption he had unwittingly caused.

Malfoy stood beside his bed, and, to the only person paying attention (surprisingly – Hermione), looked for all the world like he was standing watch over the young teenager. They were on relatively good terms with Malfoy Junior, or at least she and Harry were. Somehow it was right that he should be there, like a silent guardian angel.

The shouting was coming from Ron, and slightly surprisingly, Snape. The Potion's Master was demanding to know why 'Potter's Dream Team' were there, and Ron was replying at length about how they cared for Harry more than him. Madame Pomfrey was trying to calm everybody down and out of her wing, but was only succeeding to add to the noise.

Edging towards the bed, Hermione caught Draco's gaze as he looked up.

"I think we should do something," she said quietly. Malfoy nodded.

"Yes. My godfather tends to overreact at the worst of times," he replied neutrally. "If you take Weasley out, I'll deal with him."

Hermione nodded, and turned to try to drag her boyfriend away. She was stopped by Malfoy's restraining hand resting on her shoulder.

"I'll keep you informed of his progress. Don't worry," he said quietly, and she nodded, half-smiling in thanks. She had no idea where this new Malfoy had come from, but she could definitely get used to it.

With all the experience she had gleaned from the Weasley women, Hermione figuratively rolled up her sleeves and went in, dragging her boyfriend out the other end. Draco moved forward to defend the two as they left, and calmly put up with his godfather's anger until they were both out of the room, and Pomfrey had huffed her way back into her office. Then he turned back to Harry.

"You aren't doing yourself any favours by fighting with his friends." Severus scowled at him. "Oh stop that," Draco replied irritably, his own emotions rising to the surface. "You look like a four year old whose toy broomstick has been confiscated."

"I am your legal guardian," Severus replied coldly. "I should be treated as such."

"You're hardly acting like a responsible adult, let alone a father and godfather," Draco pointed out. "Just wait until you've got your own emotions sorted out before trying to play with others."

His godfather glared at him as he resumed his place beside Harry's bed, and placed one cool hand against the feverish forehead. Draco frowned, then relaxed, closing his eyes.

Severus stood there for another moment, before sweeping out himself. Draco smiled to himself briefly, eyes still shut. And people suspected the Headmaster of manipulating them. Ha.

A few hours passed, and the steady stream of people coming up to ask them where their famous friend was, was still increasing. An increasingly irate Hermione finally snapped at Dennis Creevy to go away and mind his own business when he approached her in the Great Hall at lunch. It was only when the shocked young student had fled her presence that she flushed with shame and buried her face in her hands. Still smarting over the earlier dispute, Ron simply put his arm around her whilst toying with his mashed potato with his fork in the other hand.

It became public knowledge very quickly that the Wizarding world's Saviour was very ill, and to not approach any of his friends for fear of having their heads bitten off. But it was still hard for the three, forced away from the Hospital Wing and not knowing anything about what was going on.

Bizarrely, at the end of lunch, Snape approached the Gryffindor table, his face almost placid.

"My conduct earlier was most unacceptable," he said stiffly, quietly. "I wish to apologise."

Ron's mouth dropped open. Hermione resisted the urge to reach across and shut it for him.

"Thank you Professor," she replied equally quietly, understanding his need for discretion. "But it's alright, it's a trying day."

The Potions Master nodded curtly and walked off, leaving the rest of the Gryffindor house staring at the two friends, wondering why they hadn't lost house points or received detentions (they clearly hadn't heard a single word). Sighing, Hermione threw down her unused fork. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she reached across and closed Ron's mouth.