a/n: A couple of notes. I'm afraid I've been a bit inconsistent with the original Harry Potter material, at least concerning medics and St. Mungo's. In the series, medics are not called doctors but "Mediwizards" or "Healers"; but I'm keeping Melrough's doctoral status, because to me, it simply means he is an expert in his field. Also, the robes of the St. Mungo's personnel are supposed to be lime green; honestly, if I were a patient, that color would drive me bonkers; my choice of dark blue is a bit easier on the eyes (lesser healers and nurses will wear light blue). Also, there is actually no "Mental Matters" ward in St. Mungo's, much less any one floor or ward for psychological trauma. The closest thing they have is the ward for permenant residents, the "Janus Thickey" ward. Since Mungo's is the only hospital ever mentioned in the series, it seems rather odd that they wouldn't also be able to treat psychological problems in witches and wizards as well as magic-related illnesses and injuries.

PS. I have Severus sizzling somewhere in here ;D

PPS. HUGE thanks to EbonyRaven, who brought it to my attention that I hadn't posted this chapter. –facepalm-


Part IX: A Dagger of the Mind

He was not horrified. He honestly wasn't.

Reason number one being that he was Severus fucking Snape, ex-Deatheater, ex-spy, Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and he simply didn't do horrified. Reason number two being that the situation hardly warranted any such feeling of horror. Nevertheless, none of this stopped him from staring disbelievingly at the sight before him.

Medi-witches and –wizards all clad in dark blue robes filed hurriedly out of the private ward, brushing past Severus without a word, as if he were a statue fixed to the spot, gaping, stunned. He himself barely acknowledged their presence; they didn't even have faces to him. All other details of his surroundings were lost on him, so transfixed he was on the one thing that wasn't there.

Five feet from him was the bed. The sheets were wrinkled, a pillow torn open, feathers littering the bedding and the floor—the white, immaculate floor, which was aspersed with something that looked and smelled and was, unmistakably, blood.

And, like the faces of the medi-wizards, all of that filtered through his wide black eyes and fell into meaninglessness, completely eclipsed by the one detail that actually mattered:—

Luna Lovegood was gone.

"Mr. Snape!"

He didn't recognize the sound of his own name, the syllables rolling around meaninglessly in his shell-shocked brain as he tried to make sense of the image before him. bed. Torn. Feather. Blood. Empty. Luna. Gone.

"Sir." Again someone addressing him, but a different voice now, and spoken closer this time, right next to him actually, and someone had put their hand on his shoulder, was attempting to steer him out of the room.

Without warning and without thinking, Severus whirled, hands outreached like claws, roughly grabbing hold of the front of someone's robes. Brutally, he shoved them backwards into the pristine white wall, pressing in close and snarling—

"Where?! Where—is—she?" He slammed the person against the wall again, causing the brunette head to knock back, limp like a doll's.

Whilst he was busy terrorizing the person in his grip, someone else had approached and was now tugging adamantly on his shoulder and upper arm, trying to pry him off. "Snape!"

Thickly, through his spurt of fury and anxiety, he recognized the voice of Dr. Melrough, and his arms involuntarily loosened their harpie-like hold on the young man before him.

"Mr. Snape," Melrough said calmly, "Please put the intern down."

He blinked. Into focus swam the pale, pock-scarred face of a petrified 20-year old who looked as though he might lose bladder control any second.

Slowly, as if reluctant to let go of his prey, Severus lowered the boy to the ground, having lifted him a few inches off the floor in his panic. Like a frightened rabbit, the intern stood stock still where Severus let him down, not even twitching as Severus removed his hands and took a step back.

In the periphery, Dr. Melrough was looking between the men, something like a wry smile twisting his mouth. He turned to the young intern. "You can go, Mr. Matthews."

The young man gave one last cautious look at Severus—and then all but bolted from the room, speeding after the other medi-wizards exiting the infirmary.

Severus looked after him somewhat dazedly, nostrils still flared and hands curled in anger. He nearly jumped when the voice of Melrough floated over to him:

"Are you all r—"

"Where is she?" he asked rounding on Melrough and fixing him with a fierce black stare. "Where is Lovegood? What happened?"

Melrough met his gaze somewhat uncomfortably. "She has been moved to the Mental Matters ward; two medi-wizards left with her ten minutes ago."

"Wh—"

"She had another attack. Last night."

"But—"

"I do not know what triggered it. But this morning, Miss Maggie and I found her in the lav, playing with broken bits of mirror. She had tried to jump through it, is what she said. There were also two other broken mirrors in the main infirm. It took a while, but eventually I managed to calm her down. I had Madame Pomfrey alert St. Mungo's. I am sorry, Severus; there was no choice."

"You cannot let her stay there!" Severus growled. "She—"

"Right now, she is a serious danger to herself," Melrough interjected, eyes and voice hardening clinically. "It is obvious that you and I alone cannot keep her from harm; this is what is best—"

"What is best—?!"

"—at the moment. No—stop, will you just listen? I have figured it out."

Severus, who'd been opening his mouth to interrupt angrily, was quieted instantly by that last phrase. His dark eyes widened, but his voice was narrow with suspicion. "Have you?"

Melrough nodded. "Yes. And you cannot help me find a treatment or cure if you continue to let your emotions get the best of you."

And Dr. Bryan Melrough, for all his professionalism and hard exterior, almost flinched at the perfectly lethal glower the Potions Master leveled him with.

"Quite."

The word was like the drop of an icicle.

Melrough surveyed him, pleasant face drawn tight. Pursing his lips, he nodded, and motioned. "Now then. For you to fully understand this, I need to gather my sources and materials. May I meet you in half an hour? Your private lab?"

Severus could feel the jagged scratch of tension, like a slow knife in his lungs, and he willed himself to focus. Being an angry prat wasn't going to solve anything. Wasn't going to help her. . . .

"Yes, fine. Half an hour."


It occurred to him in retrospect, as he let the heavily-laden down doctor into his private study/laboratory that Melrough had suggested that specific amount of time to allow him to cool down sufficiently. Sitting there in the bleak stillness of his rooms, all of his emotional training self-man-handling came back to him in spades, and he rigorously berated and schooled himself on his lack of professionalism. Where did he get off acting like a bloody teenager, anyway? He'd always had a temper, and tantrums weren't all that uncommon, but Merlin's balls, he'd been atrocious lately. It was almost embarrassing.

And it was with that in mind that he kept his expression and movements cool and fluid; he did not quite trust himself to speak, though, so he said little as he helped the doctor with his papers and books.

Once everything had been laid out of Severus' hastily cleared work-table, Melrough placed his hands on either side of the tabletop and let out a mild sigh.

"You are a Potions Master," he addressed Severus. "One of the best, so far as your credentials and achievements can tell me. I assume that in your course of study you have covered, at least briefly, alchemy and metaphysics?"

Severus alit on a stool across from him, crossed his legs, and folded his arms on the table. "Yes, I did," he replied smoothly, not bothering to mention that "brief" hardly described his lengthy study of the former art.

Melrough nodded. "Right. So you are familiar with how the body, spirit, brain, and magic work in tandem in a witch or wizard?"

"Familiar, yes."

"Did you study death at all?"

The air around them, chill and lifeless as it already was, seemed to grow instantly colder. ". . . I am not sure I see where you are going with—"

"What about the effects of severe physical and mental trauma?"

The pause that ensued before he spoke next stretched out even longer than the first.

"What is this? What is going on?"

Melrough frowned, running a hand fretfully through his blonde shock of hair. "I'll take that as a 'no' then. Okay." A contemplative sigh. "I think I can—this is a bit difficult to explain, and maybe a bit more difficult to fathom—but it's the only possibility—"

"Melrough."

"Right, sorry." Another pause. Deep breath. "Do you remember the photos I showed you? Post Malfoy Manor?"

The image rose sharp and vibrant in his mind. "Yes." Of course. Every detail. "She looked like. . . ."

"Like death," Melrough finished. "Like a corpse. Out of curiosity, I asked Madame Pomfrey to produce again for me Ms. Lovegood's medical record, so I could examine it more closely—her injury assessment in particular." The doctor's kind eyes were flashing with a kind of excitement, while at the same time his mouth twisted in worry. "We try not to look a gift horse in the mouth wherein survival is concerned, but I had to wonder. . . ."

Melrough's hand slipped under a sheath of papers, from under which he drew a familiar manila folder. He opened his carefully, splaying his hands out over pages of measurements, notes, and medical logs. "Even Madame Pomfrey didn't really notice it at the time; she took in all the details, but didn't form a conclusion from them. Based on her notes, there is absolutely no way Miss Lovegood should have lived through the beating that her body took. "

Severus frowned, confusion settling in comfortably between strictly-enforced calmness and bubbling unease. "But, she did; and, physically, she is recovered. I was under the impression that her main problem now was psychological."

"That's just it. She didn't survive."

Severus forgot to breathe.

"At some point during her stay at Malfoy Manor, Luna Lovegood died."


Severus had been ready to declare the good doctor bonkers right then and there, at least for a few minutes. Overworked, overstressed, there was absolutely no way he could possibly be suggesting—but, over the course of the next half hour, as Severus listened to Melrough explain all of his doubts ebbed away.

And slowly but surely, pieces of the maddening puzzle began to click together.

What Melrough was proposing, once fully explained, actually made quite a bit of sense. As a mediwizard specializing in trauma (particularly mental trauma), Melrough had done some extensive studies as a pre-Med student on death as a result of various kinds of mental, physical, and magical trauma. In a dissertation he wrote, he observed that most traumatic deaths were caused by physical or magical forces; and, in the event of these types of deaths, there is a very specific order by which the elements of a being—mind, body, and essence—perish or vanish. The average trauma-related death is as follows: the body first gives out, almost immediately followed by the death of the mind, after which the essence, or soul, will exit the body. As with most things in nature, this order is in place for a reason; and there are dire results of this order being interrupted or changed.

"The mind is the glue that holds body and soul together," Melrough explained, "It's the channel through which everything is translated. Thus, the mind is nearly always the second element to go. Once the channel snaps, the soul is free to make its exodus."

Nearly, being the keyword. There were, Melrough informed him, cases wherein the mind or soul goes before the body; the result of this is the altogether horrifying "vegetable state", wherein the body is essentially a shell half-full.

"When most people think of death, they think in physical terms—in bodily death. But that isn't the case. Interestingly, death as defined by the medical community is the absence of both mind and soul, which are more intrinsically linked than mind and body or soul and body. So, technically, those people in so-called 'vegetative states' are dead, as well as anyone who has received the Dementor's Kiss. Their minds and souls died first. Mental death, or Sententia Mortis, is similar, but worse: the mind dies, but body and soul are left still attached, and soul is basically imprisoned in the body. In such cases, the order of nature is interrupted."

"So, essentially, you are saying that the sheer existence of such people is an abomination?" Severus supplied.

"Ish. The real abomination is when nature attempts to correct this abnormality, and butchers it badly—which is what I think happened with Ms. Lovegood. My theory is that she suffered from temporary mental death."

Severus raised a single black brow. "'Temporary'?" he echoed skeptically.

Melrough nodded. Yes. And how was that possible? In some witches and wizards, the magic-infused soul is extremely potent; rarely when such individuals experience mental death, the soul will establish a new link with the body, and generate a new mind from the old. Sometimes, the soul will actually initiate mental death with the pre-design of mental rebirth— a curious defense mechanism that has just as much potential to damage as to save. It was ingenious, Melrough insisted, but seldom successful.

"There are only seventeen cases in recorded of mental death followed by a subsequent 'rebirth', as it were. In all seventeen cases, the subjects eventually went insane and died. None of the cases are detailed so well as the sister of the Greek Vasilios Takis. His journals depict his sister as behaving normally for the most part during the day—but, she would have recurring night-terrors. It got to a point where he thought she was possessed."

"Like Lovegood."

"Yes. Just like Luna. The only conclusion he could draw was that, somehow, her 'dead' mind was effecting her new one. Which leads me to another conclusion: the attacks are not night-specific, but sleep-specific; it's only during sleep that the new mind would be unguarded enough to allow the old access or chance to fetter around."

Severus nodded. That explained quite a bit, such as why the attacks only started recently. He recalled Luna's bleary, tired, but smiling face. Because I don't dream. I remember. She'd said she hadn't been sleeping—to ward off these night attacks?

"But it makes me wonder," Melrough was musing, "what about Potter? Potter died as well, and the circumstances surrounding his death would indicate that it was either mental or spiritual. But, he's not suffering the same symptoms in as far as anyone knows."

Ah. Finally, his arena of expertise. Severus shook his head. "No, he is not—but Potter did not die. I don't suppose you are familiar with Horcrux theory?"

A sick look crossed Melrough's face. "No, thank you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Relax. It is not as ghastly as you might think. I had been doing an extended amount of research for the Dark Lord before Potter 'took him to school' so to speak. It's quite fascinating."

"So I've been told."

It wasn't an accusatory tone that the doctor took, but Severus definitely detected a certain amount unease. He looked at the younger man curiously.

Melrough had the good grace to look sheepish. "You, ah . . . you're still kind of a hot topic. I was in the faculty room the other day and was . . . well, I wouldn't go so far as to say warned against you, but . . . I mean, nobody doubts that you've proven your worth—"

Oh. Severus rolled his eyes. "You have been told about my less than noble past and my affinity for dark magic."

Melrough nodded.

Severus refrained from grimacing. Peachy. Spend the last twenty years of your life protecting a brat and, incidentally, the rest of the wizarding world from a psychotic and powerful madman, and peope still think you're up to no good. "Whatever gossip your ears have been subjected to is of no importance now. I am not suggesting we fool around in Horcrux magic; I simply thought it might shed some light into our situation." He paused, tracing a long forefinger around a burn-mark on the wooden table as he thought.

"Potter was unknowingly made into a Horcrux," he mused, "and Horcruxes are magically equipped to defend themselves, whether they embody inanimate objects or living things. It's one of the reasons they are so difficult to destroy; they behave like a parasite, but will protect their host if attacked. When the Dark Lord attacked Mr. Potter, the Horcrux projected itself in defense, so what the Killing Curse actually destroyed was the Horcrux, not Mr. Potter. Actually. . . ." he trailed off suddenly, expression gone pensive.

Noticing immediately the shift, Melrough perked up. "What?"

Fingers now prancing slowly and somewhat idly across the papers strewn over the work-table, Severus' mouth thinned as he methodically sifted through his thoughts. "You mentioned, did you not, that the Greek—Takis?— deduced that his sister's old mind was effecting her new one."

Melrough nodded. "Yes."

"That would imply that the old mind remains attached to . . . well, the rest of the elements. That, instead of dissipating, it lingers, latched onto the new mind like a barnacle or said-parasite. Somewhat like a Horcrux."

"And?"

"And, parasites can usually be removed."

Melrough considered him for a long, serious moment. "That's dangerous," he said finally, quietly. "And I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"But I do."

Fluidly, Severus stood and turned to the wall on his right, against which leaned a large, fairly old mahogany cabinet. Stepping up to it, he waved a hand over a drawer on the left side, a the knob glowing faintly red as the wards around it fell beneath his hand. Carefully, he pulled it open, and extracted a large stack of blank papers, which he brought over and laid upon the work-table before Melrough. The doctor looked down at the empty papers, confused.

"What's this?" he asked.

Allowing himself a small smirk, he replied, "A trick I learned from a certain werewolf." He waved a slender hand over the sheaf of papers, and muttered, "Nostalgia."

Instantly, ink seeped into the papers, curving into a delicate and neat scroll that was unmistakably his own.

"The Dark Lord told almost none of his followers about his use of Horcruxes. Once the artifacts began to be destroyed, however, he had to entrust a few people with the information—one of those few being myself. He commissioned me to do extensive research on them; in that research, I eventually (perhaps inevitably) came to the baffling conclusion that Mr. Potter was also a Horcrux—which made perfect sense, based on the Prophecy and what Albus had told me about the necessity of the boy's demise. And, as much as I thoroughly despise the boy, I couldn't help but wonder if there was another means of removing the presence of the Horcrux from Potter's being. The thought led me up a very interesting avenue of research. This," he plated a hand on the papers for emphasis, "is my Transference Theory."


For the next half of an hour, all that was heard was the shifting of old parchment, the excited murmurs coming from the doctor as he read through Severus' research, and the occasional comment from Severus as he explained a finer detail. As he read, the young doctor's comportment transformed from slightly despairing and overwhelmed to excited and hopeful. After completely going over the main portion of the theory several times, he looked up at his companion with shining eyes.

"Do you think—?"

"It seems like our best bet. We cannot simply obliviate Miss Lovegood. A pensieve, though based on the same principle, will not be adequate either, as it will not eradicate the tumor but only dull the memories. But this technique transfers the parasite to an object, like Horcrux magic. Unfortunately, the theory is yet untested, and the magic is fairly complex . . . but I cannot see an alternative."

Melrough shook his head once vigorously. "No. And this seems just brilliant enough to work—but . . ." he tore his eyes away from the papers and looked at Severus, expression having darkened again.

"The magics and mechanics of Death Science aren't exactly concrete," he said. "It's a soft science, like psychology—some physicians are a bit skeptical about it. And mental rebirth is more or less unheard of, save for the seventeen cases I mentioned." Setting the papers back down, the young doctor leaned back. "I attempted to bring up Mental Rebirth at a conference about six months ago—I've never got such a negative reception in my life. The healers my age looked at me as though I ought to join the inmates, and the veterans gave me indulgent smiles and condescending comments about 'replacing rationality with rashness'. It was embarrassing."

"So your diagnosis will not be accepted?"

"Not necessarily. I know a few other specialists who would be willing to back me up—especially after they have a chance to review Luna and her files. The main obstacle is that there have been so few cases, no one has ever really researched how to treat or cure it. Your method . . .well, new treatments have to undergo a lot of inquiry and testing—it's quite a process. It could be a year before you are allowed to attempt such magics on Ms. Lovegood."

Severus narrowed his eyes, slightly irked. His one good idea—hell, his one brilliant idea—and it looked as though it was going to be shot down. "Sure they can be convinced—I refuse to allow her to rot in there for a full bloody year."

"The EUMA—that's European Union of Magical Ailments, the ones you'll have to convince—have only exempted new treatment from full processing three times in the last four decades. Not promising, but it could happen."

"I see," Severus muttered briskly, more than slightly irritated now. He felt like he was wandering endlessly through a maze, coming upon dead end after dead end; the feeling of lost helplessness weighed down on him, made him sizzle with defiance. "What about preventative measures? Are there any that can be taken to prevent more severe night-terrors? There were a few nights she spent in the hospital wing where her nocturnal afflictions were only mild—'tossing and turning' as Pomfrey described."

"To what end, though?"

"To buy time before another major attack. Perhaps enough time to convince someone at St. Mungo's or a handful of specialists of the veracity of our claim."

Melrough shook his head; the poor doctor looked rather haggard, and it was evident that he was also experiencing some amount of frustration. Despair, however, was the predominating emotion. "There are none that we know of—no technique or spell—" Melrough halted suddenly, expression clouding; he brought his attention from the manuscripts before him and tilted his head, giving Severus an odd look.

"Actually, the only differentiating factor was your presence."

Severus was taken aback. "What? I—" oh, hell. "Nevermind. If that is what it takes" his presence, familiar and unthreatening (read: comforting, protective) "then find some way to procure for me daily visits—"

"She's top security and considered dangerous; she's only allowed two hour-long visits per week, and under strict supervision—"

"Damn it, stop telling me what we cannot do and tell me what we can!" Severus snapped. His half-shout echoed throughout the dungeon lab's thick stone walls.

Melrough, ever unaffected, was not disturbed by Severus' obvious and appointed ire; if anything, he became more despondent. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Something useful would be welcomed," Severus muttered.

Melrough frowned. "Fine. Then ask me about something you consider 'useful'. What would you like me to tell you first?"

If there was a smidgen of irritation in Melrough's voice now, Severus barely heard it. All his attention seemed suddenly focused inward, and one could practically hear the wheels in his brain churning frantically; his black eyes had taken on a hard, glassy look, and his mouth was slowly twisting into something resembling a serpentine smile.

"You could start by telling me how impregnable St. Mungo's is."

Melrough's lower jaw just about hit the floor. "You can't be serious."

Severus looked at him, raising a crisp eyebrow. "As many would doubtless inform you, I am little else."

"But that is comple—"

"How far are you willing to go for your patient, doctor?" Severus asked coolly, drawing himself up to full towering height. "What exactly are your obligations to her? I am not her doctor, but she is one of the few decent people I've been privileged to call a friend, and I will do damn well everything in my power to aid her."

"But it'sm. . . illegal," Melrough protested, if somewhat weakly.

"Are you that concerned about the legalities? If we follow protocol, she could very well be locked away for months, perhaps years. If it worries you that much, you can tell the authorities when it's all over that I forced you. They would have no problem believing you if you said as much. There are plenty who still consider me a threat."

"And you'd trade fates with her that easily?"

"Yes."

Melrough studied him ruefully, somewhat cautiously, as though Severus were some great stalking beast who may or may not pose an immediate threat. His mouth thinned into a taut line, and his blonde brows wrinkled ever so slightly.

After a long, intense pause (filled with nothing but the immense gravity of Severus' best inky glare), Melrough's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"All right; fine. But this is for her, not because you're all but threatening me," he clarified.

"Good. Then find out everything you can about her security situation and contact me when you have enough information."

With that, Dr. Melrough stood, nodding curtly. "I'll floo the head of Mental Matters and make an inquiry," he said, beginning to gather his materials. "Oh," he dipped his hand into his robe-pocket and pulled out a small white object on a chain, offering it palm-up to Severus.

Carefully, Severus plucked the pearl and its chain from Melrough's outstretched hand, and he cradled it in his own. A nearly-undetectable aura emanated from it, and it seemed almost to be alive in his hand.

"She asked me to give this to you, before they took her away," Melrough supplied by way of explanation.

Severus nodded, curling his hand over the stone. Deftly, he dropped it into the pocket of his own robes, where it lay heavily, reassuringly. "Thank you," he said.

As he watched the young doctor get up and swiftly exit his lab, Severus mused that it was rather fortunate that Melrough had agreed so easily. He had, actually, been prepared to exert real force— which would have been unfortunate, as he was beginning to be mildly fond of the doctor.


Miles away in London, in a private room of St. Mungo's Mental Matters ward, Luna Lovegood hummed softly to herself.

Medic intern Gary Matthews watched in silence as the medi-wizard he was shadowing waved his wand over the strange, slight young girl, performing a series of general diagnostic tests. The medi-wizard, an older man with fine white hair, dictated aloud notes which Matthews was busily recording in the medical file of "L. Lovegood."

Finishing up a notation, Matthews stole a glance at the patient again. Her file said she was sixteen, but she was so small it was easy to believe her younger. Large, electric-blue eyes gaped out curiously from her delicate face, framed by sunny-pale wisps of tangled hair. If it weren't for the large purple-black circles under her eyes and the bandages on her arms, hands, forehead, and legs, she would have looked like a nymph. She certainly had an otherworldliness to her, a strange fey-like aura only enhanced by the constantly dreamy-surprised look she wore.

For the moment, all of her attention was focused on the doctor, who was examining the Binding Bracelet on her wrist. Absently, Matthews scratched the back of his head, fingers grazing over a small bump. He grimaced and gingerly prodded the area. Damn. That bastard had knocked him pretty good. At the thought of the tall, dark-hair, enraged man that had almost pummeled him that morning, Matthews suppressed a shiver. He wasn't an expert (yet) but by all accounts, it seemed far more plausible to put that man inside this ward, rather than the pleasant, quiet girl sitting on the bed.

As he stared, L. Lovegood glanced away from the doctor, leveling her disturbing eyes at him. she smiled, displaying dimples and the glimmer of white teeth.

He smiled back, stomach twisting slightly. It didn't quite sit with him, young girl like that in this ward with this level of security, arms and ankles bound by magical restraints, a Binding Bracelet on her wrist. He had been told about her fits, though he hadn't gotten there in time to see it for himself. The injuries she had sustained were plain physical evidence of said-attacks—but she was so placid, so mild.

L. Lovegood, who had continued to stare at him, suddenly closed her mouth, pressed her lips together and began humming, soft and sweet. A not-quite tune, just a string of notes.

The medi-wizard, noticing the shift in his patient's attention, turned to look back at Matthews, who stood stock-still, quill still posed to paper. Then the older man looked back at his patient.

"We're done for the day," he said finally. He stepped away from the bed and walked towards the door of the room. "Say good bye to Miss Lovegood."

Matthews tucked her file under one arm, and inclined his head. "Goodbye, Miss Lovegood."

She said nothing, only waved cheerily at him as he turned and headed out the door.

The sound of her humming seemed to follow him all the way down the hall.


"Running the risk of making you hate me, let me just say . . . you aren't going to like this."

A few hours later, they were in conference again; this time, instead of retreating to Severus' private lab, they opted for the living area of his quarters. There was really no point to be in the lab anyway, and Severus was beginning to feel the edges of weariness slinking through him. Sitting in an armchair by the hearth was definitely a more welcome idea than sitting in the cold on a hard wooden stool.

Melrough was sitting across from him also in an armchair; unlike Severus, who was reclining easily, Melrough was hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in worry. His eyes were currently searching Severus' face for signs of irritation. And though the words were forbidding indeed, Severus simply continued to watch the younger man calmly, waiting for him to continue.

Seeing that there was no scowl looming over his companion's features (yet), Melrough took a deep breath and continued. "I contacted Dr. Standish, and he informed me that Luna is doing well. She's is, and I quote 'stable, cheerful, and musical'—but she has also been issued new arm and leg restraints, and is confined to her room until further notice. She's also been giving a Binding Bracelet, which temporarily dampens her ability to use magic. This is useful for cases like hers when her magic is slightly haywire; but, a detrimental effect of the bracelet is that reigning in the magic creates a certain amount of pressure on the patient."

"What about security?" Severus asked carefully.

Melrough grinned in a sardonic, sort of self-depreciating kind of way. "Ah. That's the fun part. She's top security, so there will be a guard in the room with her at all times, at least for the first four days of her stay—yes, I know it's silly, and a waste of personnel resources. But that's been the policy for ages. Aside from having someone in the room with her around the clock, there are also medi-wizards, orderlies, and security personnel patrolling her ward block constantly."

Severus noted with slight amusement that the doctor had ended on a note that reeked somewhat of triumph. He steepled his fingers and looked at the man mildly (if "mild" were even a possible expression for him). "Do not sound so pleased. I hope you do not think that such small obstacles will dissuade me."

Contrary to what Severus expected, Melrough's expression did not fall in disappointment or incredulity. Actually, his little grin grew, though still resembled a grimace. "No. I get the feeling you'd blast down the very walls of the hospital to get to her."

"Impractical, but it is something to consider."

"I'm slightly jealous you know," Melrough returned seriously. "Of your determination."

Severus shrugged. "I have nothing to lose."

"I do. They could take away my license."

"I can place you under the Imperius, if you like."

Melrough looked at him darkly; Severus merely raised and lowered one shoulder. It was only an offer.

Choosing not to reply, Melrough continued. "So. You can choose to wait a week until her security status is lowered—"

"Not an option."

"—or, you can act sooner and have a greater risk of detection and subsequent failure."

"We cannot wait that long, Melrough. There is no telling what could happen to her in four days in such conditions."

"I know, I know. But there is only one conceivable way we might be able to gain admittance to the room and be alone with her. Her in-room guard or nurse changes every six hours. The night watch, starting at nine, will be overseen by doctors. I can fill in for the first watch and let you in. But there's another problem in that: she'll be administered sedatives to help her sleep around seven, which means she'll almost definitely be asleep by eight. There's the possibility that she could have an attack before shift change, in which case she'll have an entire team flitting around her."

Severus took this information in, eyes focused on the tips of his fingers where they met each other. He made a sound low in his throat, almost a hum, something he occasionally did involuntarily when he was contemplating something particularly difficult.

When Severus said nothing, Melrough made the meek addendum, "And all this assuming you can correctly perform the magics of your Transference Theory."

At that, Severus' gaze flicked to him sharply, eyes glinting like jets. "I can."

"What object are you going to use?"

Wordlessly, Severus slipped his hand into his robe and produced the pearl.

Melrough nodded. "I figured. Although I'm not sure I understand the significance."

Tucking the precious object back into his robe, Severus responded, "It is an interesting story. You will have to ask her about it."

"I think I will."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, neither of them having anything much to say. Finally, Melrough gave a little cough, straightened up his navy robes, and said, "I am returning to London today, since there is little need for me to remain here now that my patient is gone. This evening, I will request to participate in the night-watch. It will give me an opportunity to study Luna's condition and to better assess the security situation. I can only get you into the room with her; getting into the hospital undetected is up to you."

Severus nodded. "I know." He stood from where he was sitting at the worktable and followed Melrough, who was heading for the door. "Contact me as soon as you have sufficient information."

"Of course." Once they reached the door, Melrough halted, and turned to look Severus in the eye. "These magics . . . are you sure of them? You did say it was untested. . . ."

"The technique is essentially a form of Occlumency, which I am particularly skilled at."

"But is there a chance you could hurt her?"

Pause.

"I refuse to let that happen."

Melrough looked down, and fiddled absently with the cuff of his robe. "You could get into serious trouble for this," he informed quietly. "Even if you succeed, you could still be charged with a severe offense. Not just for breaking in, but for performing unsanctioned magic on a patient. What's worse is that, from a legal and medical standpoint, the magic you're proposing to use is technically Dark."

As his words filtered through Severus' mind, he suddenly felt very, very tired; the last couple of days were catching up on him, exhaustion creeping into his veins. He appreciated Melrough's help and maybe even his company, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be left to solitude.

Wordless, he pushed open the door, not gesturing but obviously meaning for Melrough to leave. No doubt aware of the sudden slump of Severus' usually rigid shoulders and the weariness welling in the depths of his eyes, Melrough graciously stepped through the doorway; however, when he was standing on the other side of the threshold, he turned around to Severus once again.

"You really care for her, don't you?"

If he had the energy, he might have laughed, low and bitter.

Instead, he curled his lips in a not-smile, and replied as he closed the door:—

"Whatever gave you that idea?"