When we last left our dear friend snape…..

He stared carefully at the drain, his eyes wide. There was a circle of reddish color around it, and some on the sides of the bath as well. Was that – blood?

He squinted some more and then came to the conclusion that it was most definitely blood. Wizard's blood. But for there to be remnants of it in the bath still…..there would have had to have been a lot of it.

He straightened abruptly and swept his outer robes back on, stalking silently into the outer room, the bathroom door swinging jerkily behind him. Quiet as a mouse, he crept into the sleeping boy's room.

"Lumos" he whispered. A thin beam of light shot out of his wand, and he flicked it gently to nudge the covers off of Harry's arm. Another flick lifted the sleeve up, and the light from the tip of his wand threw into sharp relief the many ridges and gashes that ran up and down the boy's arm from wrist to elbow. Snape grimaced. Just as he had suspected.

Silent as ever, he slowly and gently let the magics drop everything back into its proper place and crept out of the room. He dropped into a chair with a sigh, running his hands through his hair once more. What was he to do with the boy?

Harry woke all at once, all his muscles tensing as he held himself absolutely still, not even a change in his breathing betraying his current state of awareness. His eyes darted about and he reached out with his magical senses, making sure that the room was secure before he sat up.

He looked around the unfamiliar chambers for a moment before finally realizing where he was. Letting out the breath he'd been holding in a rush of air, he slowly eased himself out of bed, whispering a wandless charm that told him the time.

5:40 flashed in the air before him, and he sighed, wishing that for just one day, he could stay in bed. If only he could slip into sweet oblivion, and forget everything that weighed him down as surely as if he carried sacks of stones on his back. He felt like Sisyphus, condemned to eternally roll a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down again when he neared the top. No matter what he did, the pain never stopped.

At least, he hadn't been able to make it stop.

Until now….

Trancelike, Harry reached for his wand, and waved it in a slow circle over a quill that was sitting on his bedside table. He used no words, just a mental image of what he wanted and the desire that burned within him.

Within seconds, the quill shimmered and shifted form to become a sharp, shining, straight razor.

Harry smiled grimly and settled back onto the bed, settling the cold metal against the skin of his arm at the same time.

For a little while, at least, everything would be all right.

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Snape groaned and shifted in his bed, his head pounding mercilessly. He covered his eyes with his arm for a moment, before giving up and flinging the covers off of himself. Rising, he stalked to the small medicine cabinet that he kept in his room, opening it and reaching out to grab a headache reducing potion. Pulling out the cork, he sniffed it and then downed it, not even noticing the foul taste.

He waited for a moment, and then sighed with relief as the potion took effect. Setting the bottle aside to be washed later, he pulled his wand from his pocket.

"Tempus," he said, flicking it carelessly at the air before him. 6:08 flashed in the air momentarily, before he banished it with another flick of his wand. He stretched, wondering why he felt like there was something that he had to do. Shaking his head, he turned and walked into the main room, throwing on a loose robe as he went.

He stepped through the doors and immediately felt as if something were amiss. Scanning the room, he noticed that there was a robe slung over the back of one of this chairs. Then he remembered: Harry Potter was asleep in his guest bedroom. He also remembered all the events of last night – the secrets, the tragedy, the boy's self-infliction – he would have to do something about that, he knew.

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. What was he supposed to do with the boy? He was no shrink, nor was he of any relation to the boy. In fact, he had no real responsibility for the child at all. And yet….

And yet….

There was something in the child, something that reminded him painfully of himself, at the boy's age. Perhaps a bit…..too much.

Almost absentmindedly, his fingers traced his left forearm where a thin ridged line ran from his elbow to his wrist, under even the hideous Mark that scarred him. It would always be there...to remind him.

And no matter what he did, the boy's face always seemed to be hovering in the back of his mind, sweet and yet jaded with the tragedies of his life.

He could not let anything else mar that too-scarred body.

Setting his jaw with a grim determination, he strode up to Potter's door and knocked three times before walking in.

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Under normal circumstances, Harry would have known the moment Snape was up.

He would have been sitting up in bed, alert to every movement the man made, regardless of the fact that he was in the other room.

He would have put the room back in order before there was even the slightest chance that Snape could walk in, making sure that there was no reason for him to be under suspicion.

But these were not normal circumstances.

Harry jumped, his eyes wide, at the sudden pounding on his door. He only had time to throw a fleeting illusion spell over himself and his room, before Snape burst in the door.

"Yes?" Harry said, struggling to keep his voice and breathing even.

Snape looked around, his black brows snapping together in a frown.

Ha, Harry thought. You will find nothing out of the ordinary.

But to his dismay, Snape did not turn and exit the room, as he had expected. And with every moment that Snape was in the room, there was a greater chance that his weakness would be discovered. So while Snape scanned both him and the room, Harry surreptitiously flicked his fingers, clearing up the blood on the bed, on the floor, and on his robes. To the casual observer, however, nothing had changed – it was all still hidden under his illusion spell.

Snape stepped forward, his brow still furrowed.

"Potter," he said, his voice uncertain. Harry flinched slightly at the return to his surname.

"Yes?" Harry repeated, silently thanking his instructors over and over for training him to keep his emotions in check, no matter what the situation.

Snape clenched his fists, then sighed, drooping slightly.

"Are you…..all right?"

Harry looked at him in surprise. This was not what he had expected, not at all. He wasn't sure what the man wanted, but he wasn't going to give it to him.

If only he didn't look so cute when he was angry…..

Harry shook his head. "Fine, sir," he replied. "I just woke up, and I was going to prepare to return to Gryffindor Tower."

Snape stared at him for a moment, irritation glittering in his eyes.

"If you wish to do so," he said slowly, "you are welcome to stay here for however long you need to…..recover. If you feel that you are ready to face the world, however, you are free to go at any time."

And with that, he turned and strode out of the room.

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I did my job, Snape thought. I asked if the boy was all right. He said he was fine. Job done.

His conscience threatened to overpower him, however. He knew perfectly well that the boy was not fine.

And there had been the smell of blood in the air.

Head in his hands, he cursed himself and his idiocy. The boy could be dying, for all he knew, and he had done nothing. What kind of a teacher was he – what kind of a friend was he?

It didn't even register with him that he was starting to regard the boy as something other than an idiotic student.

Rising from his chair, he turned back to the boy's half-open door. He reached it in three long strides –

Only to find the room empty, the boy gone.

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Harry winged his way furiously down the corridor, his tiny wings aching with the phantom wounds that would return as soon as he resumed his human form. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, but he had to get away from the dungeons. He finally decided on Gryffindor Tower – he should at least change, before going back to face Dumbledore.

When he got to his room, a familiar tingle in the back of his head told him that someone had tried to contact him, and his shields that he had placed about the room had been touched – recently.

He went swiftly to his bed, and pulled out his scrying-bowl. Pulling the curtains tight around the bed and sealing them with a whispered word, he set to work, once more casting his power out and into the heart of the Vale.

Looking down into the bowl, Harry saw that the Vale had not gotten any better. During his struggle and recovery, more and more of the elves had fallen ill, and there were nowhere near as many healthy ones to care for the afflicted. His heart sank as he shifted his Sight and saw that the black cloud that was the disease had moved to cover most of the Vale.

Slightly panicked, he tried to locate Eldwyn. He was unsuccessful. The elf must either be deep in a trance, or else—

:Harry:

There came a light, questioning touch on his mind, and he turned his attention to the speaker. It was Llyrithen.

:Harry, is that you:

:Yes: he answered, concern colouring his thoughts. :Where is everyone? Is Eldwyn all right? Has anyone else died? Are you all right:

:Slow down, child: she admonished, her voice just as worried. :Most everyone else is sick. There are only a few healthy people remaining. We have lost close to a third of the Vale to this disease – Eldwyn fights it as we speak. I can only pray that he will be able to hold it off and return to health.:

Harry sat back a moment, stunned. Nearly a third of the Vale? And Eldwyn was now sick….what was he to do?

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Alright, kiddies, what do you think he should do? I know, it's been like half a year since I updated and this isn't very satisfactory. But I've been sitting here trying to get out of this plot rut I'm stuck in. I have no idea where to go from here. So what do yall think? I know Harry is going to go back to the Vale…duh….but who should he bring? Snape, Hermione, anyone else? Maybe Lupin, and have the elves freak out over the monster?

So send in those reviews, and tell me what you think I should do. I know, I'm a horrible person because I can't even write my own damn story. Go me.

And yes, the story has turned morbid, because I'm in a morbid mood…..

"But I'm just an emo kid and nobody loves me-
I'm just an emo kid from a poor family…."

Lmao. Start those reviews coming!

hands out cookies for nice patient readers