So sorry for the delay in publishing the chapter! I was suffering from just a bit of writer's block. I realized what the problem was quickly enough though: if I kept on with the story as I had planned, you all would have had to suffer through a few more more chapters of back-and-forth between Harry and Severus - which I thought would be starting to get boring - so I did a massive bit of revision and rearranged the plot points. :D

Hopefully things will move along with a better pace now and you'll get some of the (many) questions in this story answered.

Enjoy!

..O..

Chapter Eight: A Little Bit of Understanding

...oOo...

Potter complied after a second of hesitation, holding out his hand, palm-upwards.

"Don't look so alarmed, Potter. Severus chided, reaching out his own hand, "It's not as if I'm going to bite it off; I lack the appropriate amount of- ah... corporeal aptitude."

"Oh? I hadn't noticed..." the boy returned, rolling his eyes.

When was it that Potter learned to be so sardonic?

Severus bit back a retort and instead focused on the movement of his hand, lowering it over Potter's until their palms touched.

There was that warmth again, just as he had expected to be there, and he tried to focus on the sensation; to dissect it. It happened instantly at the point of contact, and spread up through his arm; sluggishly, at first, then quicker as it reached his shoulder and beyond; pulsing as if it were being propelled through him with a heartbeat he did not have. It was more than just a warmth. It was exhilarating. Positively enervating.

But what was it? And why did it have such an effect on him?

"Is there a point to this?" said Potter, his brows knotted together while he studied their slightly intersecting hands.

"Indulge me for a moment longer. Stay still, if possible."

Potter made a noise – almost a moan – nodding fractionally, and the fingers of his raised hand twitched, seemingly cramped, then stilled once more.

He was just testing a sudden idea, Severus told himself, he was not drawing out the contact for as long as possible.

Focusing intently on Potter's hand – just as he had done before with the rafters in the Great Hall and desk behind him – he tried to picture the properties of the boy's hand; muscle, blood, bone and sinew, and drew up his memories of the feel of skin, and the warmth living flesh.

If he focused enough, he theorised that he may be able to connect with Potter's hand as he had done to other objects, be able to come in contact with it as if he were a solid being.

But, even with the intensity of his will to physically grasp Potter's hand with his own, it amounted to absolutely nothing, and he passed straight through the offered extremity as if he wasn't there at all, though the warmth suddenly flashed through him more strongly than it had previously.

Severus heard the boy gasp softly.

Puffing out a slightly disappointed breath, Severus withdrew his hand, mind now somewhat fogged by the heady feeling left behind by that warmth which, it appeared, grew stronger the longer the contact was drawn out for.

Potter instantly snatched back own hand as well, balling it into a fist and clutching it tightly with his other hand.

"Cold?" Severus asked, remembering experiencing the odd coolness when coming in contact with a ghost before he had become one himself, "My apologies."

Potter shook his head, thin-lipped, uncurling his fist and waggling his fingers uncertainly, "No... Gone."

"What?" said Severus, taken-aback.

"It felt like my hand disappeared." said Potter, opening and closing his fist a few more times, "It was just cold at first, and then – when your hand went through it just now – " he open it one last time, flicking out his fingers, palm-upwards, in a one-handed half-shrug, "Poof!"

"'Poof'...?" Severus echoed faintly, baffled; he hadn't anticipated Potter having a reaction like that to his little test, "Are you certain it is not simply numbness caused by the cold?"

The boy had started shaking his head before Severus had even finished his sentence, "I'm sure. I thought that too, but I've been half-frozen before – went swimming for a sword in a frozen pond, you know? – and this wasn't the same as that... no burning or anything like that; just nothing there at all."

"Why didn't you say something?" Severus snapped, slightly alarmed. The boy looses all feeling in one of his limbs, an obvious side-effect from Severus' ministrations, and he says what?

Nothing, that's what.

What if the hand had dropped off? – it was highly unlikely, of course, but the example was valid.

Potter merely shrugged.

Infuriating boy!

"And now?" Severus bit out, shunting his annoyance into a dark corner in the back of his mind.

"I'm fine now. It faded – or came back? – just after you stopped doing whatever it was you were doing- What were you doing?"

Oh, thank Merlin... For a moment he thought he may have unknowingly damaged the boy permanently.

"Testing a theory- two, in fact." said Severus, relieved, turning over this new information in his mind.

What was he supposed to make of it? His own response to any contact with Potter was strange enough on its own. To think that Potter was experiencing something similarly strange, but in almost the opposite way, made it so much more of a conundrum to him that Severus was not sure what do do next.

"And...?" Potter pressed, looking at him expectantly, "Your theories?"

"They are both difficult to explain..."

"Try me."

Trying to shake his mind clear of the fog that still clouded it, Severus pondered how he could describe what was happening to him accurately, while still keeping it as succinct and understandable as possible, for Potter's sake.

Even though Severus acknowledged that he had been misjudging the boy for a long time, now being enlightened to this fact did not mean that he was going to instantaneously begin over-estimating him either.

Shifting uncomfortably under Potter gaze, Severus moved to stand by the desk he had been sitting on earlier; he'd use it for a prop, it would work well enough.

"Simply put," Severus began, running his fingers through the dark, wooden top of the desk, "This seems to be the only way I am able to interact with the environment – usually." pulling his fingers back out of the wooden panel, he focused on it, imagining the way the wood would have once felt to him; the rough grain of the pine, the hardness of it, "However, if I were to concentrate on something, and make myself believe that I can touch that something-" he brought the heel of his hand down on the desk, and satisfactorily 'hit' it rather than sink through it, though it did not cause a sound, "- then I can. To an extent."

Potter's head had cocked to one side, watching Severus' fingers silently drum against the desk.

"That's what you were trying to do with my hand..." Potter stated, understanding dawning in his eyes, "But, it didn't work?"

"Obviously not." Severus sighed, crossing his arms, "I imagine you would know if I had succeeded. But perhaps the ability does not apply to living beings... or it simply does not apply to you in particular. "

Potter nodded, the asked him "Can you feel that?" jerking his head towards Severus' hand.

Severus shook his head, "No." he said and flattened his palm against the desk's surface and caressing it, slowly, regarding the movement thoughtfully as he spoke, "I feel a... resistance, of sorts. A pressure. And there is a certain sensation that comes with it – a coolness, if you like – But, no, I cannot 'feel', as such, as I once did; texture is lost on me, as is temperature, and everything seems to feel the same to me regardless of what it is made from. However..."

He paused in thought.

How could he describe the sensation the boy inflicted on him in a way said boy would understand? He could barely understand the concept of it himself.

"... you appear to be an exception to that rule."

Potter's eyebrows lifted in silent question.

"I may not be able to touch you as I can this-" he patted the desk for emphasis, "-but, contact with you is unlike anything else I have encountered thus far... You said you felt cold to you at first and yet, for me, it was the polar opposite."

"Heat?" Potter, asked looking a little put off.

"Indeed, but... it is so much more than simple heat..." Severus couldn't help the tone of reverence that entered his voice as he spoke, locating the faintest trace of the heat that still lingered within him, "It is like..." he searched for the right word, but Potter beat him to it.

"Magic." the boy stated simply, then added as an afterthought, "That's weird though. I didn't think ghosts could use magic..."

Severus paused as the boys word sunk-in, then shook his head disbelieving.

Yes, and that magic has apparently lost you your head. Why hadn't he thought of it himself? – It was so obvious! – But if the warmth he felt was magical energy and, as Potter had said, ghosts could not use magic, did that mean...

Was he absorbing Potter's magic?

No, that couldn't be right.

An yet it made so much sense.

"I think you may be right, Potter." he said, "Aside from you hand, do you feel anything else? Tired? Drained?"

Potter shook his head, looking confused, "No. Nothing like that. And my hand only- er- disappeared for a minute." he raised his hand and waggled his fingers under Severus' nose for emphasis. "Why?"

There was no reason for Potter to lie, Severus knew, but he could not tell if the boy was telling the truth or not – his ability with Legillimency had died with him, it seemed – And the boy's insistence that he was fine did not reassure Severus enough to give him the peace-of-mind he desired.

"I think it may be best if you and I do not come in contact again." said Severus, "Not until I- we know for sure that whatever happened to you, and the magical energy I feel, is not potentially harmful..."

"Alright..."Potter nodded, eyes wide, "You think it could be dangerous?"

"Potentially. Yes, I believe so."

Severus hoped he was wrong.

He hadn't gone through all that he had during his life protecting Potter, and eventually dying for the cause, only to come back as a bloody ghost and kill the boy by sucking him dry of his magic.

...oOo...

Harry's hand had only felt cold, that was all, and he hadn't suspected that anything was different while Snape did whatever it was he was doing to it. But, in the space of a heartbeat, his hand had gone from being simply to to completely gone, which contradicted the fact that he could physically see that his hand was still clearly attached to his arm, but he couldn't feel it any more. It was as if all of the nerves in his had simultaneously died.

Then Snape's own hand had simply slipped straight through it, and the feeling once again returned to his seemingly detached extremity.

He'd had to clutch at it with his other hand to reassure himself that he hadn't lost all feeling in it.

And Harry hadn't said anything to Snape about it sooner, because there was nothing he could have said; he'd had barely had enough time to comprehend what had happened, and Snape pulled away before his mind had caught-up with events and he'd thought to yank his hand away.

Harry could see that Snape was fuming over it, but he had the sneaking suspicion that the man was dismayed more than anything by the thought that he may have hurt Harry in some way.

Harry wasn't going to apologise though. As far as he was concerned; he'd done nothing wrong.

As for everything else that he'd learned in their lengthy conversation – the connection between them. The magic Snape felt when he came in contact with Harry. – All of it surprised Harry greatly, but he did not know what to make of any of it.

But he did wonder when it had begun, and what had caused Snape to come back in the first place.

"Aside from you hand, do you feel anything else? Tired? Drained?" Snape was saying, looking down his nose at Harry critically.

Harry's knee-jerk reaction was to shake his head, but truthfully he did feel tired. He'd been feeling tired all day though, so he didn't think anything of it.

"No. Nothing like that. And my hand only- er- disappeared for a minute." he raised his hand and waggled his fingers under Snape's nose to push his point across. "Why?"

For a moment he thought Snape had picked up on his little white-lie, but he seemed to dismiss the thought after a moment's deliberation.

"I think it may be best if you and I do not come in contact again." said Snape "Not until I- we know for sure that whatever happened to you, and the magical energy I feel, is not potentially harmful..."

"Alright..." said Harry, nodding, but he was confused, "You think it could be dangerous?"

"Potentially. Yes, I believe so."

The loss of feeling in his hand was concerning, for sure, but why did Snape believe it could be dangerous?

Thinking it over, the answer was easy enough to guess, even for Harry.

"You're taking my magic." he said bluntly, quite shocked by his realisation, and instantly regretted saying it when Snape stopped short, eyes narrowing at him darkly. Harry sounded like he was accusing the man of theft.

"You think so, do you?" said Snape, softly.

"No!" he said quickly, waving his hands quickly and hopping up from his seat on the desk, "That sounded bad- I'm sorry. I meant- well, that's what you think, don't you? That's why you don't want me to touch you, isn't it? You're afraid you might hurt me somehow."

Harry mentally slapped himself then; Snape wasn't afraid of something like that.

Snape eyed him for a long moment before seemingly putting aside any anger he had over Harry's misspoken accusation. "It is." he conceded, and Harry was surprised the man didn't deny being afraid, "You came to the same conclusion, I see."

"I did." said Harry, then went on hurriedly, "But I don't understand how it's possible. I think I said it before, but... I didn't think ghosts could use magic?"

"They cannot."

"Then how can you be taking mine?" said Harry, hoping the man would tell him something that negated all possibility of it being true, "How can you take something you can't use?"

"I don't know..."

Harry wanted to ask him why he didn't know; Snape had always seemed to know everything – or he had always acted like he did at least – but now he seemed to be just as confused as was.

Snape was tied to him, Harry understood that, but if Snape was sapping his magic, even though ghosts were not supposed to be able to use magic in the first place... then that meant that either; it was not magic that the man was absorbing, or...

"Are you sure you're actually a ghost?"

Snape stared at him.

"What do I look like to you, Potter?"

"A ghost." said Harry, and it was true; Snape did look like a ghost – all silvery and see-through, "But... I dunno. Maybe you're a different kind of ghost? You could be like Peeves or something; a poltergeist."

"No." Snape stated, flatly.

"Why not?"

"If you had been paying any attention to your classes during your time here, you would know that a poltergeist is a completely different being to a ghost – that is, if Peeves himself did not harangue you enough to give you a first-hand demonstration of that fact."

Harry felt his temper flare, "Call me a dunderhead or whatever then, because I can't remember. Alright? I know they aren't the same thing, but there really isn't that much of a difference between them besides how they look is there?"

Snape sighed, shaking his head, "I cannot be a poltergeist because I was once alive. They are all spirits, that is true, but poltergeists are beings unto themselves; they were never alive at any point in their existence."

Harry instantly felt like an idiot; how could he have forgotten that?

"Do you see now?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

Snape smirked all of a sudden, "I will give you this, Potter; you actually made me doubt my own existence for a moment. Well done."

"That wasn't what I wanted to do..." Harry mumbled, feeling guilty now. He looked away.

"I understood that." said Snape, "However, your thoughts do have some merit to them... they have given me an idea."

Harry's head swung back to stare at the man, who smirked again.

"You and I are going to find ourselves a ghost."

...oOo...

Fifteen minutes later, Severus was floating along behind Potter, en route to seeking out a ghost, other than Severus himself, that they could pick the mind of for some much-needed answers.

As Potter had thrown his ideas at Severus, about being a poltergeist or a special kind of ghost and such, Severus had realised that he had not actually come face to face with another ghost since his awakening that morning; perhaps they could see Severus – there was no reason why the shouldn't be able to – and he could ask them about this link to Potter, if anything of the sort had happened to them when they first become ghosts themselves, his supposed syphoning of Potter's magic, or why he became a ghost in the first place when he had had no desire to do so.

Of course, actually finding a ghost was easier said than done; they wafted around the castle as they saw fit, and , as such, pin-pointing the location of one, especially one that would be talkative enough to aide them, in a castle the size of Hogwarts, would be about as difficult as finding that fabled needle in the proverbial haystack.

Only one of Hogwarts' ghosts was ever in the exact same place, or not far from it, all day, everyday, as she had been since 1943.

So, after a moment of refusal and a groan from Potter when Severus told him exactly what he had planned, they had headed off to the second floor.

The girl's bathroom on the second floor, to be exact.

"She's going to love this." Potter grumbled, as he climbed the final few stairs to the second floor.

"You say that as if it is a bad thing."

Potter grimaced, "It is a bad thing." he hissed quietly, passing a trio of students that were magically repairing a section of wall that had apparently been shattered in the battle the day before. "Myrtle loves talking about her death..."

"And that is exactly what I want to ask her about."

"You don't even know if you'll be able to ask her yourself. Then I'll have to talk to her instead and she- she..." he shuddered, "She likes me."

"And being liked is a dreadful thing... Really Potter, take your nose out of the air."

"That's not it at all!" Potter snapped, glaring at him from the corner of his eye, "She like likes me."

Like likes...? It took a moment for the meaning of that to occur to Severus, then he burst out laughing.

Potter flushed.

"I see." he snickered, "You really do have admirers everywhere. Even in other plans of existence."

"It's not funny! She even followed me into the bath once."

Severus just laughed again at that, "Oh, but it is, Potter. It is."

The boy lapsed into an embarrassed silence and rounded the corner at the end of the corridor.

"Oi!"

Potter stopped short, and Severus pulled up behind him.

The youngest Weasley boy stood just a little ways down the corridor, wand in one hand and the other raised in a wave. Some of his elder siblings were located further along, magicking various pieces of wall back into their rightful places, or righting a suit of armour or portrait, while others stopped to look when their brother shouted. As did Granger, who hovered close by Ronald, dropping the magically levitating piece of stone she was working with.

Ah, of course... he'd overheard the Weasley boy talking about making repairs on the second floor earlier.

"Blimey mate," said Ronald, walking up to Potter quickly, "Did you fall into the loo or what? We were wondering where you'd nicked off to... Ginny went looking for you."

Potter shuffled his feet. "Er- I got... sidetracked."

"Doing what?" asked Granger as she joined them, standing beside Ronald, who sheepishly slipped an arm around her waist.

Oh dear God...

"Potter, please tell me your friends are not... ugh... no- don't tell me; I can guess."

"What did you expect?" Potter murmured under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" said Granger, brown eyes narrowing at Potter suspiciously.

"I- er... was helping someone. Lending an ear..."

"Who?"

"I'd rather not say..."

Weasley and Granger exchanged a meaningful look, the kind that people exchanged when they agreed on something serious that could not be said, and were about to become a united front against it (or for it, if the situation called for it).

"Look, mate..." Weasley began, in a tone that was obviously meant to be one of placative understanding, "We get that you're a bit stressed out – we all are – but, seriously... you've been acting weird since you came back from- from... yeah, getting you know who-"

"Jeez, Ron. I'm not going to break down into a blithering mess if you say his name. Would be better than calling him that – youmay as well call him bloody Voldemort..."

Severus winced inwardly.

"Snape, then. And that's not what I meant, and you know it." Weasley went on, "The point is that we can see that it's bothering you. We're all worried about you, mate, so why won't you talk to us-"

"I'm fine!" Potter cut in sharply, "Look, you don't need to tell me that you think I'm going mental – I've been telling myself that plenty enough already – but if I tell you what's bothering me, neither of you are going to believe me-"

"Harry!" Granger cried, looking hurt, "When have we ever not believed you?"

"I can think of loads of times, but that's not the point-"

"Hey!" Weasley looked angry now, "I know there've been a few times where we didn't believe you at first – and I know I was usually a bit- or a lot of a prat about them it too – but you always made us come around eventually. You always proved-"

"That's just it, Ron: I can't prove anything right now. You won't understand."

The pair gawked at him.

"Harry..." Granger pleaded, softly, "Won't you give us a chance? We can't even try to understand if we don't know what's going on..."

Potter started shaking his head, but Severus stopped him.

"She has a point Potter."

The boy turned his head enough to look sideways at Severus.

"If you are going to go so far as to tell them that you yourself think you're loosing your mind, and then refuse to tell them the reason for your self-doubt, they are going to think you truly need help and probably stage an intervention. They will want to force it out of you eventually... you may as well tell them the truth."

Potter snorted disbelievingly.

"Don't listen to me if you wish," Severus snapped, "But forthright honesty certainly cannot make your current predicament any worse at this point."

"Harry?" said Granger, the pair were watching Potter dubiously.

The boy breathed in deeply and sighed.

"I'm being haunted by the ghost of Severus Snape."

...oOo...

..O..

Thanks again for all of your reviews last chapter, I was so doubtful of it, but you all seemed to enjoy it anyway. :) I think I'm my own worst critic.

And, oh, look; another cliffish end... whoops... chapter nine should be up soon (now that I've fixed my issues with it).