Disclaimer: Again, not mine. Just wrote this piece...

A/N: Sorry it took so long for an update...here's the second part. I'm not quite sure whether the rating will change or not...Also, yes, this is AU. Clearly. However, I have no time to do math, so the ages are what they are. Message me if you wish to discuss, but I don't think it matters for this piece. This is less conversation, more prose. Not quite sure if this is less rushed, but I certainly hope so, in case anyone does feel the first chapter is a bit rushed...^^

~ / ~

Chapter 2

Three months before...

It was the last week of school, the end of term. Soon, he would have to go back to a home that didn't want him, return to parents who didn't want him. Like a package sent back because of defects, he would be sent away from the one place he felt a little more like himself. Yet it was summer again, and he would have to work for no reason, refrain from using magic, and endure his punishments. The worst part was that he wouldn't be able to see a single friend – although he didn't really have friends. Not him. He was too hard a person to get along with, too hard a person for the majority of his peers to understand. Much like everything else in his life, this, too, seemed to be another thing he would be denied. He often wondered what it would be like to have a real friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to share secrets with, someone who would understand, but not pity him. No, he hated pity. He wanted someone to be silent and, for once in his life, listen to him. He wanted someone to share all his desires and fears. Someone who could accept him for what he was, without reservation. Someone like…

He slipped into a dream-like trance, unaware of his surroundings. A cool hand touched his forehead. A calm voice whispered in his ear. He felt at ease, his body relaxed. He had no idea who it was, although the touch and voice seemed to be feminine. He continued to lay, immobilized and uncaring, for a few more moments.

~ / ~

As the moments passed, a faint odor touched his nose: lavender. Only one woman he knew wore lavender-scented perfume. Groaning, he tried to sit up, only to have a light hand press his chest back down. For the first time, he felt something soft beneath him and realized he wasn't laying on grass, but soft cotton sheets. He was in a bed. Startled, he opened his eyes and blinked in surprise.

The Hospital Wing was large and quiet. Most of the beds were empty. His was located in a far corner, tucked away from the door. He tried to focus his eyes, but he felt as though the world was spinning. His gaze was strictly on the figure sitting next to his bed. The person was leaning over towards him, hand now resting on his shoulder. He could still feel the same cool touch on his shoulder as he had on his forehead earlier. He wasn't sure if he was wearing a shirt or if her touch was always like that, icy enough to be felt through clothing. He shivered involuntarily, causing the woman to move the blankets towards his chin and tuck them in more forcefully around his body. He wasn't sure if the woman used magic or performed the task manually since his eyes were still adjusting to his surroundings. Forcing his arms to move, he rubbed his eyes and tried to blink in an attempt to clear them, as if the mental fog he saw would dissipate by such a simple action.

His head pounded and hurt as if he had imbibed one too many butterbeers. He stared at the woman with drunk goggle eyes, not quite sure he was seeing her right. He attributed her odd appearance to his double vision. She was perched on the chair, looking a bit more disheveled than normal. Her face was concerned and she seemed to be saying something to him. He shook his head in an effort to indicate he didn't hear and to try to clear his ears.

She repeated, "Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

He blinked again, his expression still a mix of shock and surprise. He nodded and tried to speak. "Why are you here?"

It came out harsher than he had wanted, but he couldn't really control his voice.

The woman frowned, brow furrowing even more. His voice must have sounded odd, so he tried to clear his voice and speak again. Before he could try, the woman laid a cold hand on his mouth. "Don't push yourself, lad."

He nodded again and whispered, "Why am I here?"

She looked at him thoughtfully before answering, "You had fallen asleep by the lake. You were brought here –" she stopped abruptly, then continued. "Your belongings were brought as well. I wanted Madam Pomfrey to check you out, just in case." Her brow furrowed again. He didn't need to know everything now. "Rest is what you need. Term doesn't end for another week and a half. Are all your O.W.L.s done?"

He nodded yes, but really, owls? Was his mother okay? She was the only one he ever wrote to, although he never received any owls in return.

She saw his confusion and sighed. "I've talked with Professor Slughorn, your Head of House," she frowned again, as if Horace Slughorn was also in trouble. "He is working on a potion and I will watch you until he arrives. It should be later this afternoon."

Afternoon? he thought. "How long have I been here?" he rasped.

She leaned in further to hear him. When he repeated the question, she answered softly, "It's been two days already, lad." He was startled. "Easy now," she said calmly, placing her hands on his chest to ease him back down to the bed.

He hadn't noticed it before because he had been lying down, but his whole body felt numb every time he tried to sit up. He wondered if he would be able to sit up properly and how it had happened. He also wanted to know why it was her sitting with him and why she had looked so disdainful about Professor Slughorn. Although Slughorn was a true Potions Master, he often neglected students, especially if they were of little interest to him.

Not knowing what to do, he nodded and closed his eyes.

The woman relaxed in her chair a bit as he closed his eyes, keeping her hands on his chest. When she thought he was fully asleep, she moved to his shoulders and lightly rubbed his upper back. Whether she was attempting to relax him or comfort herself, she wasn't sure. It didn't seem to bother him, so she moved her hands towards his neck and then up to his face. She caressed his cheeks, rubbing the backs of her hands and her fingers across his face. She traced his angular jawline lightly, almost like a cat affectionately rubbing against her owner. She smiled at the thought and decided to try it out.

A few moments later, she was curled up on his shoulder, her brown– and gray-striped cat head nestled in the crook of his neck. In what she supposed would be called a dreamless slumber, he had wrapped his left arm around her body, fingers brushing through her fur. Occasionally he rubbed her fur with his face, no doubt some side effect of a dream, she believed. She would purr to quiet him, and he seemed to respond to her meows. She hoped he would have a nice, deep sleep. Her vigil so far had been quite terrifying. Even in cat form she could remember it, and her cat form usually repressed the majority of her human emotions and concerns.

~ / ~

~ Three days before ~

She had just finished her last class when she happened to glance out of the window. She saw an encounter between the Marauders and the Slytherin. She saw the Marauders walk away and the Slytherin boy was left lying on the ground. She knew trouble when she saw it, so she had hurried down to the lake. Slipping his robe open at the top, she blanched and levitated him onto a stretcher she had magically conjured. He needed medical attention immediately.

Poppy had been wonderful. She had been as unobtrusive as possible, asking as few questions as necessary, and was quick in fixing up the Slytherin. He would heal overnight, but Poppy warned that he would probably sleep for a few days. Between studying and the practical O.W.L.s, he would be drained of energy and needed to recuperate. Minerva nodded and told Poppy not to bother her. She would keep watch and alert the other witch if anything changed. Poppy laid a comforting hand on Minerva's shoulder and whispered, "It's not your fault, you know." Poppy left Minerva to keep vigil as there were other patients to attend - most had the flu or injuries from classes. None of them would stay overnight, but the sooner Poppy saw them, the more time Minerva would have alone with the Slytherin and the less eyes the better. Poppy always thought an empty infirmary, though not giving her work, was much preferred to a crowded Hospital Wing. After all, it was much easier to get well if there were fewer inquisitive students prying about.

~ / ~

That first night had been horrible. He had tossed and turned, cried out in his sleep, and was shivering as if he was freezing. She had tried to soothe him by talking in a low voice. She placed a cool hand on his forehead and tried to force his arm and leg muscles to relax so he could breathe properly. When he turned in his sleep, she sat next to him on the bed and rubbed small circles on his back in an attempt to let him know that he wasn't alone. He turned back over and his arms had wound around her waist, as his body snuggled against hers.

Fear swamped over her. What if someone came into the Hospital Wing? What if someone saw her lying there with one of her students? Panicking slightly, she tried to jerk away from his arms, only to have him clamp her closer to him. His arms were like a vice and his grip was incredibly strong. Gasping, she settled back down on the bed until his grasp lessened enough for her to breathe comfortably. She then remembered Poppy saying that no one would enter the Hospital Wing unless she let them in. And if someone tried to sneak in, she would know. It was comforting to know that Poppy had meant it, but Minerva was taking no chances.

However, for this poor boy, she would take the risk. Settling back on the pillows, trying to ease the boy in his sleep to relax more, she lay on the bed. She had moved his right arm, but his left arm was still wrapped around her waist, his head resting on her stomach. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, but his breath was shallow. His eyelids fluttered occasionally, but he barely spoke or mumbled. Maybe once in the seven hours of sleep he said something, but she couldn't make out what it was. She wasn't sure, but now that he was physically touching her, he was peaceful. His face, which before had been contorted in pain, now bore something that resembled a smile. Maybe it was a smirk, but his expression was certainly more relaxed than previously. His whole body, in fact, had visibly relaxed. The muscles didn't stand out so much and his body was more limp than tense.

She looked him over and was astonished to see how thin he was. Sure, she had always known him to be a skinny boy. Tall for his age, but thin and small compared to the others. He certainly would make a fine Seeker or Chaser for his agility and height, but definitely no Beater. Yet, she was surprised at his strength. She had always supposed him to be scrawny, but his arms had clamped on her body with such force that the wind had literally been knocked out of her lungs. She marveled at his form, now lying half on top of her, and felt a chill run through her. She had never been held like this before. If he knew, she was sure he would freak out and deny it entirely. He would be mad and probably hold a grudge against her for the rest of his life. He may not even take another class with her because of it. She sighed and tried to get some sleep herself.

~ / ~

She woke up and carefully lifted herself up and out of the bed. She retreated to her rooms to get ready for another day of teaching. Making her way towards the Great Hall, she stopped in at the Hospital Wing once more. Walking to the only occupied bed, she promised the boy in a whisper that she would return as soon as possible. He seemed to mumble in his sleep, so she called Poppy and asked her to watch him when breakfast was over in the Great Hall. Poppy agreed, and the two witches had walked out together, gossiping about the various staff members and both lamenting Horace's tendency to be absent whenever he was truly needed. Laughing, they agreed that Horace had a talent for slipping away when Hogwarts needed him.

~ / ~

Minerva returned when classes were over. She found Poppy in the Hospital Wing tending to some Quidditch players. Practice had apparently taken a rather less than appealing turn and, while trying out a new tactic, a Chaser, Beater, and Seeker had been injured. When Poppy was finished, and all three players had left, Minerva cleared her throat and looked at Poppy meaningfully. Poppy sighed and led Minerva to the Slytherin's bed.

Minerva looked at the boy and asked if the diagnosis had been performed. Poppy replied that she had run several diagnostic spells. She had tended to his jinxes and hexes and any other injuries he had maintained over the past few months, but could only say that rest would heal him. She seemed more on edge and, upon Minerva's prodding, revealed that the boy had quite a few scars no magical diagnosis could explain nor heal. She had been able to ask Horace for a potion, however, and, answering Minerva's inquiring raised eyebrow, admitted that she had cornered him and asked in the most menacing tone possible. Laughing, Minerva agreed that that sounded more like the truth. Poppy admitted that it would take at least a day for Horace to have the results, though, since the potion was complicated. The ingredients were simple, but to prepare and boil each ingredient took time. Minerva furrowed her brow at this. She had never been particularly good at potions, but to hear that such a potion might be complicated ate at her thoughts.

Poppy took the chance to bustle away, claiming the need to attend to some paperwork Albus had asked for, regarding the physicals of staff members. Mumbling something about paperwork herself, Minerva settled down in the chair and summoned her essays that had been awaiting her in her rooms. Although the fifth years had O.W.L.s, the other years still had homework. Minerva whistled softly as she wrote busily, keeping an eye on the sleeping boy. She kept milling over the potion Horace was supposedly preparing, wondering what it could be and why the steps might be so complicated. However, her lack of knowledge in Potions and Herbology prevented her from reaching any satisfactory conclusion.

~ / ~

That second night wasn't as bad as the first. She knew what to do. Although he had tossed a bit during the day, it wasn't as bad as it had been the previous night. Before he could move, she settled herself in the bed, lying next to the boy, and let him feel her presence by gently stroking his hair. He moved towards her in his sleep and curled up against her, head resting on her stomach once more. His arms snaked around her: one around her waist, one around her neck. Not sure what to make of it, Minerva relaxed and breathed normally, hoping he would follow her lead. They lay that way for most of the night. He occasionally turned or moved, barely whispering little nothings. He didn't fuss and relaxed entirely when she held his body in both her arms, hands resting on his back.

She knew it was wrong, but it felt right. Even though he was her student, she felt obliged to hold him and console him. To offer comfort and protection. He needed someone and that someone was her. Could she help it?

A nasty, little voice in her head sang out that she was lonely and wanted someone.

Her eyes welled up at that thought. Angrily, she dashed away the imminent tears before they could fall from her eyes. Looking down at the young man lying in her arms, she cradled his head and thought about having children. If she could have children, yes, she'd want them. But the likelihood of that happening was zero to none. She laughed inwardly at the thought. Her job wouldn't allow her to meet many people outside of Hogwarts, and she certainly did not see herself leaving anytime soon. She supposed she might meet someone over the summer, but her sense of duty made it impossible for her to have a summer fling.

Sighing, she realized she felt old, older than twenty-five. She felt like an old maid. But if that was the case, why did she feel something for this boy, this young man. True, he was in Slytherin, but she had always supposed that to be the fault of the despicable Sorting Hat. She had never liked the thing, but it was tradition to let it sort the incoming First Years, and she could neither argue with age-old traditions nor convince Albus to abandon them. She had been Albus's right-hand supporter from the beginning, but although he looked to her for advice and consul, he had never seen that the abominable tradition of the Sorting Hat needed to be abolished. He had allowed it to continue, and see what it had done? Minerva was sure that the young man next to her would have done well in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. He certainly was no Hufflepuff, but then again, Hufflepuffs were highly underrated. Many were put down as being too wimpy or not good enough. Yet many had excelled. Just look at Poppy and Pomona. They were both excellent examples of Hufflepuffs, Minerva thought, nodding unconsciously.

A single tear fell down and landed on the young man's cheek at the thought of the Sorting Hat's mistake. Desperately wiping her eyes, Minerva tried to gently wipe the droplet from the boy's face without waking him. Stupid, she thought, giving up after several attempts. She didn't want to prod him too much for fear of disturbing the boy, but that single darned tear had trailed down his face and onto his shirt. Embarrassed, she shifted, lay back, dismissed the thought, and tried to grab some sleep while she still had the chance. She hoped he wouldn't notice, as Poppy had said there would be little chance of him waking before noon.

Once more at dawn, she extracted herself from the gentle embrace and made her way to her rooms. She got ready for the new day and returned to the Hospital Wing. Whispering comforting words to the boy, she called to Poppy and talked jovially with the other witch about the doings of Hogwarts and what the Daily Prophet was reporting. Walking together, side by side, towards the Great Hall, they discussed whether it was true or not that the murders were organized crime or haphazard wizard killings.

~ / ~

He woke up hours later with his arms around a very pretty gray and brown tabby. Blinking, he at first didn't know where he was, too drowsy to think. After laying with his eyes open for a few more moments, he remembered his earlier conversation and sat up quickly, startling the cat into alert wakefulness with his sudden motions. Apologizing to the cat, he picked it up gently, set it in his lap and pet it.

The cat purred appreciatively and relaxed once more, reclining in his lap. Her head nuzzled against his hand as he stroked her fur.

He whispered to the cat and confided in the feline as though he were writing in a journal or diary. He spoke of his fears and dreams, his goals and ambitions, his cowardice and his shame. He spoke of all the times the Marauders had confronted him and of his regret that he hadn't backed away or that he wasn't good enough to beat them. He ground his teeth and spit out that he knew he was better than them because he got better grades, but he could never surpass them in their little contests. He gritted his teeth and admitted that Lily was what he thought he wanted, but after their fight and her behavior, he realized she, too, was something he could never have. He didn't understand her, and he was bitterly glad that she had chosen the Marauders over him.

A sad chord struck his voice and he froze, caught between tears and frustrated anger. The cat meowed softly and jumped up onto his shoulder, settling around his neck. The cat's tongue licked his neck soothingly, while her head nudged his chin playfully. The boy giggled when the cat began to nibble and lick his ear. It felt odd for him to giggle and laugh, for him to smile and feel giddy with pleasure. It was an odd feeling, this happiness, although he was sure it would be a fleeting sensation. For the time being, he enjoyed it. This would be a night he would remember.