A/N: I do not own this series, I do not make money off of this, please don't sue me!

Chapter Seventeen: Healer Fondorn

Severus' jaw ached. One of the Aurors had backhanded him as they appeared on the small island that held Azkaban. Severus had known the man from his previous trials and tribulations with the ever-vigilant wizarding peacekeepers. He wanted to curse them all, preferably with his wand in hand and no Unspeakables near by.

The towering gray structure of Azkaban robbed him of his ire. A shudder worked its way down the length of his spine. Even on the cold and dreary shores, the overwhelming power of the Dementors leaked from the stones. Severus dug in his heels, but to no avail. Two Aurors took him by the arms and dragged him towards the prison.

The temporary cells, Severus knew from bitter memories, were on the upper levels of the prison. They were not patrolled by Dementors – usually. Exceptions were sometimes made, he knew quite well. His stomach tried to rebel; acid and bile burned the back of his throat. Fear washed down his skin, making him shake. His jailors laughed and threw him into the small, gray cell. It was bare, save for the four solid walls and the small window set high near the ceiling.

Severus picked himself up from the floor with a shaking show of courage. Bloody Gryffindor of me, he pressed his lips together to keep back the hysterical laughter that wanted to bubble up. He arranged his robes with trembling hands. He was in the process of brushing down his front when he felt it approach.

It was a feeling he had never been able to forget. In his worst nightmares he was trapped in the prison, forgotten by Albus, by Lucius, by everyone, in the deepest heart of terror. The creeping approach of the Dementors was always the same. First a cold rush, as though the winter wind had found purchase in the middle of a summer's day. It touched the back of his neck, raising the small hairs there.

Then the feeling would creep down his spine. He backed up until his back hit the far wall of the cell. His jailors, it seemed, had not forgotten him at all. Neither had the Dementors. The sheer presence of the creatures flooded the tiny chamber. It was right outside.

The click of the latch pushed the air from his lungs in a low moan. They had never gone so far before. The door swung open on squealing hinges. Severus ground his teeth together, sliding down the wall as the Dementor glided into the cell.

His screams echoed down the corridor for hours.

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Sirius paced back and forth in front of the den's quiet fireplace. The soft tick of the clock kept time. The sweating glass of amber-colored alcohol was held in a loose grip at his side.

He saw Ginny rise from her seat. He turned to see Healer Fondorn enter the room. The man had been Sirius' favorite family Healer since he was small.

"What's the news? Is Harry going to be all right?" Sirius wanted to pounce on the man and shake the answers from him.

Healer Fondorn took a seat on one of the stiff formal couches. "I'm afraid the news is both good and bad."

"Good and bad?"

"Whatever they were giving Harry was – well, he's going to be rather ill until it drains from his system."

Sirius grip strangled the cut crystal in his hand. "What. Did. They. Do. To. Him?"

"Now, Sirius, don't jump to conclusions," the Healer had the audacity to say.

"Jump to conclusions…"

"From what I could see of the potions in his system, and from what little Harry was able to tell me, he believes that they were trying to help him."

"Help. Him."

"Yes, apparently the Healer they had claimed there was nerve damage –,"

The glass slipped from Sirius' fingers. "What?"

"But," Fondorn gave him a sharp glance, "I doubt that there is anything wrong with the boy at all. He's a young wizard and their magic always bounces back against the odds, if they're strong enough."

Sirius saw Ginny give a small start and then turn away. "Did the potions hurt him in any way?"

"Aside from making him ill," the Healer spread his hands. "What worries me are the contents of the potions he was given."

"What do you mean?"

Fondorn rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It is possible – from what you've told me of Mr. Potter's – ah – escapades – that they may have been feeding him an alternative formula."

"What!"

"Now, Mr. Potter denies this with a vengeance. But many of the same ingredients are in the potions I could recognize were in the boy' system."

"I don't understand. The potions you could recognize?" He let Remus guide him down into a chair.

"From what I can piece together, the Malfoys let that Healer of theirs have free reign over the boy. The potions they gave him, for this supposed nerve damage have never been approved. They are all still in the experimental stage of research."

The world went gray around the edges for Sirius. "Is he – I mean…"

"Rest assured, Mr. Black, we're sure to have caught him in time." The Healer's eyes scrunched to slits as a smile split his face.

"How – how do we…fix him?"

"Bed rest for a few days. Then get the boy up and out of the house. Good exercise and the bracing outdoors will put him right in no time."

"And this nerve damage? What do we do if…"

The Healer waved it off. Something tight in Sirius' gut relaxed at the man's ease. "I'm sure it's nothing. Boys his age do not get nerve damage, even from a Dark Potion. If he shakes or has difficulties, I imagine they're from the Malfoy's coaching."

"Coaching?"

"They wanted him sick. They fed him potions and fussed over him. Believe me, Mr. Black," the Healer held his gaze as he leaned forward. "Mr. Potter seems almost – I'm afraid to say it, but…"

"He seems what?"

"Attention hungry." The calm gaze kept the nervous panic at bay in Sirius' heart. "I'm telling you this as a family friend, Sirius. The boy – you will have to be vigilant."

"Vigilant for what?"

"The Malfoys may have…fostered a need for attention in the boy." The Healer seemed to be picking his words with care. "From what you could tell me of the boy's history, his constant thrust into the spotlight was reluctant. Which is understandable. But his confinement with the Malfoys may have made him see that in a different light."

"But Harry hates attention!" Ginny exclaimed.

Fondorn spared her a brief glance. "I'm sure he says that."

"But he does! We all know it. Look at how he handled all of last year!"

"And when he defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, all his reasons to hate being pushed into the spotlight went away," the Healer retorted. "The boy was primed, every year, to expect something disastrous. The Malfoys have filled that idea in his head with this nerve damage nonsense."

Sirius balled his hands into fists. "So what do we do?"

"It is imperative that you do not give into the boy's ideas that he is some sort of lynch-pin in every evil plot in the wizarding world," Fondorn held Sirius' gaze. "He needs to be broken of that thought pattern."

"Broken?" Remus stirred at Sirius' side.

"He needs to be of healthy thoughts to better his body, Mr. Lupin." Sirius felt a thrum of tension go through his lover. He patted a bony knee.

"He'll be fine," he told them all. "If all he needs is some positive encouragement, well, then that's what we'll do. We all love Harry and if this is what you recommend…"

"I do."

"Well, then we'll do it. Right, Remus?" He turned to Moony. The tension was still tight in the werewolf's body. He caught the pale amber eyes with his own. It took a long handful of seconds, but Remus nodded back.

"Okay. Okay then." Sirius let out a long breath. Healer Fondorn beamed at him. "We can do this. We're Gryffindors. This'll be a snap."

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"It's a what?" Harry stared at the potion in his hand.

"A Pepper-Up potion!" Sirius was perched at the edge of his – very bright – bed.

Harry weighed the vial in his hand. "You…want me to take a Pepper-Up potion?"

"Yes."

"But Sirius, I have to –,"

"Ah, ah, ah." The animagus waggled a finger at him. "Potion first!"

The world was still hazy at the edges of Harry's vision. His time with Sirius' Healer was murky at best. He remembered retching a few times and bony hands prodding at his sides, but little else.

"But –,"

"Potion, young man." Harry blinked at the stern note in his godfather's voice. Fine, the peevish voice in his head snapped. I'll take the damn thing and then he can listen.

He forced the liquid down his throat. It collided with his empty stomach and made it lurch.

"Keep it down, now." Sirius smiled at him, the skin around the older man's eyes folding into faint crow's feet. There was such warmth in the man's tone. It soothed some scared part of Harry's heart. His godfather was here. Everything would be all right now.

Once he could speak without vomiting, he handed the vial back to the older man. "Sirius," he began. "I have to tell you some things."

"Yes, I'm sure you do." Sirius set the vial down on the bedside table.

"I – while I was at the Malfoys – well, even before then – some stuff happened."

"Stuff, Harry?"

"I…I saw some things. You know," he gestured vaguely at his head. He still felt half a fool saying these things out loud.

"Did you?" His godfather was taking it all remarkably well.

"Yeah," Harry took a deep breath. "I – when I got to the Malfoys – I, well, there were problems, but then I started having visions again…"

"Ah," Sirius nodded. "Right when they started treating you for this nerve damage stuff."

"Yes – no, actually it started when the magic came –,"

"The magic came? You didn't say that before."

His godfather was being too calm. "Professor Snape and the Malfoys said that at sixteen a wizard's power had a – a rite of passage or something. But mine came later –,"

"Harry," Sirius reached out and took his hand. "The Potter family renounced all claim on that ritual. It couldn't have happened to you."

"Huh?"

Sirius frowned. "Well, I think the Potters renounced the claim. Either that or you were to renounce it when you started school –,"

"Huh?"

"But you couldn't have known about it anyway." Sirius' free hand waved it away. "Besides, it has to happen at your birth hour. It never happens later."

"But the Morrigan said…"

"And now the Morrigan has arrived?"

"Sirius, listen to me!" The world wobbled on its axis. He eased back down onto his pillows, clutching at his head. "That wasn't a Pepper-Up potion," he managed to whisper.

"No, Harry." Sirius helped him back down.

"But…"

"Harry," Sirius ran a warm hand over Harry's forehead. "You need to rest. Rest and sleep."

"But…"

"You're confused and I know the Malfoys filled your head with a lot of stuff." The animagus kept his voice to a low murmur. "I know they told you that you had to be important. That you had to be the center of everything. But all of that is over now, Harry. The bad guy is dead. We've won. It's time to be a regular boy."

"But…" His tongue felt heavy inside his mouth. His mind flailed at the lethargy that swept through his bones. "But the…visions…Pythia…I have to…tell you…what I saw…"

"It's all lies, Harry. You didn't see anything. Your bond with Voldemort is gone." Sirius tucked the disgustingly bright comforter up to his chin. "Sleep, Harry. You'll understand it all soon enough. You just need to rest now."

"But…" But Harry's eyes slipped shut against their own volition. Sleep clamed him as Sirius' voice chased him down into dreams filled with evil adults and poison tea parties he had to sit through.

Harry's rest was anything but peaceful.

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Draco wanted to curse something. He wanted to smash something. He wanted…He closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly. He wanted a lot of things and none of them were his to grasp and he hated it.

It had been over a day since the Aurors had taken Severus from them. Since Black had taken Harry from them. Since the Ministry had taken the Manor's wards from them, since the riots had smashed his grandmother's hothouse and taken that sanctuary from him, since…

Draco's nails cut bloody half-moons into the palms of his hands. They had not slept since everything had happened; Draco was running on pure stubbornness and several Pepper-Up potions. His father, he knew, was running on rage and that alone.

Lucius Malfoy was a sight to behold. His blond hair was pulled back in a tail at the base of his neck. His normally ornate robes were abandoned for dire black. They were dueling robes, with short sleeves and easy access to his wand. Draco had followed his father's lead. The Aurors had brushed them off the day before. Now with their intent clear – and their host of lawyers to accompany them – they were being treated with the respect they should have been given the first time they arrived.

Draco hated Azkaban. He had never been there, had never wanted to go near the dreaded place, but his second father was more important than fear, more important than anything and he wasn't going to let the man down.

Lucius was handling the Aurors in charge of the prison. Draco was there to watch and learn. The older blond was rigid with tension; both of the adults had spent time in prison at one point. Draco hadn't known how much it still affected his father. He hoped Severus was holding up against the strain.

"You will release him now." Lucius' snarl echoed in the corridor. They had started in the main office of the prison, until the man had walked away from them. Lucius had not let that deter them. They followed the man deeper into the gray building, even as the elder Malfoy began to fidget. It was a sight Draco hoped never to see again.

"Mr. Malfoy," the man had a particularly nasal quality to his voice. "The paperwork on Mr. Snape –,"

"Professor Snape."

"On Mr. Snape has not come through. There is no way to release a prisoner without the correct paperwork."

"And my lawyers say otherwise."

The man in charge, Auror Smithe, stopped and turned to face them. His thinning hair was combed over a large, wrinkled forehead. The grating smile revealed yellowing teeth. "Your lawyers can take their objections to the correct offices. You have no authority here, Mr. Malfoy. Leave, before we're forced to…" The smile grew on the man's face. "Before we're forced to incarcerate both you and your son. It would be unfortunate, since we only have one temporary cell left, and well, age before youth. Your son would have to go down into the more…" Smithe licked his lips and smiled again. "The permanent cells. You do remember them, don't you Mr. Malfoy?"

Rage washed over Draco. "You pathetic –,"

"Stop." Lucius' voice had lost all inflection. Draco froze at the sound. He knew that tone. His father drew himself up to his full height. "Very well, Auror Smithe." Lucius had his own smile for the man. It made Smithe fall back a wary step. "Come, Draco," Lucius never took his eyes from the other man. "It seems as though we must go hunting elsewhere." Lucius tilted his head to one side. "I will remember this," he informed the Auror. Smithe's smile dimmed and died against the rage in Lucius' eyes.

Together, father and son stalked from the building. Owls burst from their lawyers' hands the moment they cleared the doors. Several were left at the prison to wait for instructions. Lucius took Draco by the shoulder and whispered into his ear. He nodded at his father's request, gripped the man's arm once and took the port key that the older man gave him. With a shared glance, Draco vanished from the prison's shores with a loud pop.

In the empty corridors of Hogwarts, a student had returned. Draco gripped his wand in one hand and marched for the Headmaster's offices.

End Chapter Seventeen

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!