THURSDAY, 23 JULY

Harry spent the entire morning keeping himself distracted over packing a bag and nervously milling about the Burrow. He was trying to think about literally anything but what he would be doing that afternoon.

He'd told them all he didn't need them to come along, but Mrs Weasley insisted and he finally caved, not that his protests would do much good anyway. Mr Weasley had taken the day off from work and was sitting in the living room with Ginny while the both of them watched George lose rather spectacularly against Ron at wizard chess.

"Come along, we'd better floo over or Harry will be late."

Mrs Weasley shooed her husband and children out of their seats, herding them all over to the hearth. She handed the canister of floo powder to Harry after the rest had gone through, taking a moment to speak to him without the audience.

"Harry, this is a really brave thing you are doing. I just don't know if you will get any thanks for it in the end."

"I know that. I know that. But I think I have to do it anyway. If I don't, I... I really will end up hating myself... He needs to be able to work, I think, or he's just going to sit there in that house in Cokeworth all alone and go mad, or something. He might do anyway, but I can't just walk off and leave him to destroy himself."

Mrs Weasley pulled him into another tight hug and Harry squeezed back. He wished that this could be somebody else's responsibility, somebody else's problem. But in the end, it was his burden to take up or abandon entirely.

Harry pulled at the thin robe that the nurse had ordered him to change into behind a curtain. It was flimsy and did little to cover him and he felt naked. He listened to Smethwyck and Watkins explain the process to him one more time, trying not to look at the crowd of his friends seated a few feet away. His holly wand was stashed together side by side with Snape's blackthorn in an inner pocket of his bag, currently held for safekeeping in Ginny's lap.

He could feel Snape's silent gaze on him as well, but steadfastly refused to even glance in the man's direction. He wasn't sure if he was more grateful or more alarmed that he would be placed into a deep bewitched sleep during the actual transfer of his magical energy.

Finally, Smethwyck led him over to the side of Snape's bed, pushing him to sit on the edge of the mattress. The man turned his head slightly, still staring up at Harry. He looked almost frightened, Harry thought, which seemed like such an absurd notion that Harry nearly laughed.

Smethwyck reached over and removed Harry's glasses and held them out toward the crowd. Mr Weasley stepped forward and took custody of them, his now-blurred face smiling nervously at Harry as he retreated back to his place.

They had all been ordered earlier to remain at a distance and, above all else, not to attempt any sort of interference or intervention, or they'd all be ordered out and barred from the ward until everything was complete. Professor McGonagall had snorted derisively at the man, as though daring him to try it.

Smethwyck placed his wand at Harry's temple, as though he were preparing to extract memories for a pensieve. He met Harry's unfocused gaze and cast the first spell.

"Dormire"

Harry began drifting sideways as his eyes closed of their own will. He felt himself being lifted and moved by several sets of hands and stretched out on his back on the bed against Snape's side, the fevered heat of his body like a furnace against the thin shrift Harry was dressed in.

Then, he felt nothing.

The waiting seemed interminable. It had been at least an hour, now.

Minerva nearly had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching for her wand. A crowd of witches and wizards surrounded the bed in a circle, murmured incantation rising and falling as their wands pointed down at their patients, raising eddies in the visible magic as it flowed like water. Smethwyck's wand was held higher above them, a streak of light like lightning flowing up and down into the center.

What started as a faint glow beginning just above the heart of each, slowly growing in size and intensity, now surrounded them both. And what had begun as two separate auras, with a distinct line between them, were now, finally, beginning to coalesce, like two soap bubbles merging into one.

The light around Harry had been nearly unbearable to look at, a piercing, clean white light, like the sun at noon. Severus's had been relatively dim and vaguely off-color. Sickly looking. That clean, white light now began to suffuse the other's weaker glow, like little jets of flame tearing away one by one, dissolving into Severus's magic. They had begun tearing off more quickly and Smethwyck shifted the height of his wand, dampening down on the flow until they returned to their former pace. The healer was sweating bullets, now, though Minerva felt not a shred of sympathy for him.

This was a wholly inadvisable thing, she thought. She knew Severus needed this, desperately, but the risks to Harry were really unconscionable, even if Smethwyck was arrogant enough to believe he could pull off a complicated spell like this on the first try. There had been no way to turn Harry off of the idea once it had been offered to him, though, and despite the fact that she'd gotten him to at least sleep on it, she had already known he could not be swayed.

That didn't mean she wouldn't be having words with both Smethwyck and the head healer of St Mungo's later. In fact, she intended to have several words with them, and possibly the Ministry of Magic as well. There was no way this utter fiasco could fall within the Hippocratic oath that all healers were required to make when they began their training. First, do no harm. She sent a silent prayer to any god that might be listening that Harry would come out of this ultimately unscathed. He was a strong young man, but not invincible.

She squinted through the brilliant light surrounding him and could just almost make out the outline of his form where it lay within. You never could just stand aside, could you?

Eyes watering, Minerva turned aside and looked across the line of seats at the Weasleys. The two boys were gripping the edges of their seats and craning forward to watch. Arthur and Molly were leaning together, their hands clutched between them. Ginny had pulled her feet up onto the chair, hugging the satchel Harry had brought with him under her chin. A few drying tears streaked her face, although she was no longer crying for the moment.

Minerva's attention was pulled back to the action ahead of her as Smethwyck suddenly raised his wand above his head, holding it as high as he could stretch. The intermingled magic below pulsed, finally having reached some sort of equilibrium.

Smethwyck brought his wand down like a sword, slashing through the center of the light. Minerva cried out and lifted an arm to shield her eyes as the mass of light burst, shooting outward to fill the entire ward like a sun going nova. Her heart skipped a beat as a thread of magic shot through her and out the other side like she were made of nothing.

The dancing light suddenly halted and then pulled inward, streaking back toward the two supine forms, darting back into their chests, leaving only the barest shimmering thread flashing between them.

Smethwyck staggered to the side and one of the witches caught him before he fell.

"Well, that was quite a thrill, wasn't it? Smashing success!"

It took all of Minerva's willpower not to pull out her wand and hex the man where he stood.

The first thing he noticed was that the ever-present pain in his body was gone. The second, that his hands were not shaking. The third, that he was not alone.

The last clear memory he had was of being at home in his own kitchen and hearing an unfamiliar witch's voice casting the Cruciatus curse at his back.

Other, more muddled memories swirled around in his mind. One face was present in nearly all of them. At times it was like looking into a blurry mirror, but many years ago. Other times, he had thought that he'd been looking at Lily, into her worried green eyes. Most of the time, the two images had somehow coalesced into one young, troubled face peering down at him for some unfathomable reason.

He was no longer in pain, but he felt exhausted, like he'd not slept in weeks. And just where the hell was he?

Smethwyck leaned over him and Severus stared up at him crossly. You, again.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr Snape."

Severus shifted on the bed, suddenly encountering another warm body. Startled, he propped himself up and was suddenly looking at the unconscious form of Harry Potter.

"Why the bloody hell am I laying on a bed with him—"

Smethwyck pushed at him until he was laying flat again, ignoring the dead weight of boy next to him for the moment.

"He volunteered to donate a bit of his innate magic to patch up the damage in yours, but I'm afraid we went just a tad overboard. I'm confident he'll recover completely, but you'll just have to tolerate his proximity for a few days as the connection between the two of you recedes completely. We couldn't cut it off entirely without risking harm to the both of you. It will die down on its own, but unless you want to do yourself and him both an injury, you will need to be patient."

Severus glared at the man.

"This is highly inappropriate, for all manner of reasons, there has to be an alternative! And who the bloody hell allowed him to do such a damned foolish thing in the first place?"

He began rolling toward the far edge of the bed, intending to remove himself from the situation. "Of all the idiotic, harebrained schemes, leave it to Potter ..."

A sharp pain flared in his chest, leaving him falling back and gasping for breath. He heard a small noise from Harry on the other side, but the boy didn't wake. Smethwyck just stood back, shaking his head with a slightly twisted smile.

"Well I won't restrain you, but as you can see, it would be highly inadvisable for you to move away from him at the moment. And before you waste your breath dragging your son's name through the mud any further, it was my idea. And it worked a treat! He will recover in a few weeks or so, and you, as you might have noticed, are more or less back to normal, if tired. That too will pass soon enough, if you stop flailing about and rest."

Snape groped at the place where his wand was normally hidden and nearly spit in frustration when his fingers found nothing. He wanted no more than to curse that smug expression off of the healer's face.

The earlier exhaustion, however, had him obediently slumping back down onto the mattress. He carefully kept as much of a gap as space would allow between himself and the boy. Of all the humiliating situations he could find himself in, being effectively tethered to Harry Potter , even for a few days...

He glanced to the side irritably at the offending boy and scoffed. He's gone and let his hair grow out. Just what the hell is he playing at?

FRIDAY, 24 JULY

Severus lay on his side and tried to ignore what was at his back. The nurses continually fussed over the boy and clucked like mother hens. It was hardly as if the brat were going anywhere! Not that he minded them keeping everything tidy, given that he couldn't get away at the moment. The situation was beyond absurd. I should be dead right now, twice over.

Harry did not wake, however much the hospital staff handled him. He would sometimes shift and talk incoherently in his sleep and Severus had to resist the urge to jab him in the ribs with an elbow. Well, at least he doesn't snore.

But why couldn't the stupid boy just leave him alone? Why did he have to keep turning up and saving him, by proxy or otherwise? Couldn't he see that Severus didn't want saving?

"Well I must admit, you do seem more your old self, Severus."

He sat at the edge of the bed, as far as he could go without provoking another heart-stabbing pain like he'd experienced the day before.

"Apparently."

"So you'll be returning to Hogwarts in September, then? I've got a few candidates but have not made any sort of final decision on either the Defense or Potions positions. It would certainly make the choice much easier if you'd return."

"What, and have somebody else's bereaved mother turn up and have a go at me? Minerva, you can't possibly think that it's a good idea. I might be able to use a wand properly again, but that does not change anything else."

"I think we can handle the occasional attempted murder these days, what with all the experience we've had over the last seven years. Indeed, you'll be far safer among the rest of us than skulking about in Cokeworth. If Mrs Otterburn could track you down there, I doubt it would present much challenge for anyone else. Her son had been promising enough, but I don't recall her being much of a student herself. I suppose Anthony took after his father. It is certainly a pity he ran afoul of the Death Eaters last May, but that really wasn't your fault, whatever his mother assumed."

Severus sat for several long minutes, unsure of himself. He shouldn't have to make these sorts of decisions. He should be dead . These problems should not belong to him. The room felt like it was tilting on a crooked axis.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Otterburn. I doubt Harry killed her outright, he simply hasn't the stomach for it."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, indeed he does not, to his credit. Mrs Otterburn is in Azkaban awaiting trial, I believe. Harry managed to incapacitate her quite thoroughly, though not until after she'd bruised him up quite badly. I'm surprised one of the Aurors hasn't turned up already to get a statement from you. I suppose they'll be along soon enough. Also, you are changing the subject, Severus, and do not think I didn't learn years ago how to tell when you are avoiding a discussion."

Severus scowled at her. She had a captive audience and knew it and damned if he didn't resent the hell out of her for taking advantage, even though he well knew he'd be doing the exact same thing if the situation were reversed.

"Oh, do give it up, Severus. You may have a while to consider the offer, it won't be a pressing issue until the middle of August at the earliest. I suppose if you prefer you can ply your living brewing common potions for the masses, as you know full well there isn't enough of a market for the more interesting ones to pay the bills, but I somehow can't see you doing that for long."

Severus shifted, his eyes following Minerva as she walked around to the other side of the bed. She brushed long, black hair away from Harry's face, and ran a fingertip gently down the thin line of the boy's nose.

"He really does rather look like a softer version of you, you know. Lily's influence I suppose, she was such a pretty lass... I don't know why you insist on denying him so vehemently, Severus, he's quite a fine young man on the whole. A bit rash, perhaps, but so are most at his age."

Severus clenched his jaw, not quite to the point of grinding his teeth, his temper somewhat blunted by his lingering exhaustion. Minerva pulled at the cover, tucking it around Harry's thin shoulders as the boy turned toward her touch, dark hair once again spilling across his pale face.

"He was better off as Potter's son and you know it. Lily certainly had enough good sense to realize the obvious."

Minerva crossed her arms and tilted her head back, appraising him. He tried not to let it unnerve him, but the stance and expression nearly made him feel like a student again himself.

"James Potter is dead, Severus. You are not. And you have Harry to thank for that, lately, although in some ways I suppose he was simply returning the favor, as it were. Still, he did not have to do what he has done, no one forced him."

Severus sneered at her.

"I certainly did not ask him to—"

"No, Severus, you did not. Indeed, you seem to hold very little value in your own life these days—do not think I have not noticed that as well—but obviously Harry sees something in you that he has deemed worth preserving, and that is one subject where I do trust his wisdom and judgment, despite his youth. If he is going to emulate Albus Dumbledore in any fashion, a knack for seeing the value hidden within the perpetually stubborn and ill-tempered is far from the worst choice. I doubt many others would continue to make such an effort after all the rubbish that's come out of your mouth over the years."

Severus hunched in on himself somewhat, feeling terribly exposed. Minerva shook her head at him in exasperation.

"One of these days, Severus, you're just going to have to take that stick out of your arse and lighten up. Life goes on, as they say, so learn how to deal with it. And stop treating your son like something you stepped in, for Merlin's sake. He doesn't bite!"

At that, the witch turned on her heel and strode out of the ward before he had a chance to formulate a response.

Severus pulled the pillow from under his head and pulled it over his face, briefly considering an attempt at smothering himself, however unsuccessful the action was likely to prove. He ached for something to put him out of his misery, suffering as he was from acute over-exposure to Weasleys .

If Molly Weasley attempted to touch him again, he would not be held responsible for his actions. She'd suddenly gotten the notion that he was an appropriate target for her obsessive mothering, pulling at blankets and mucking with pillows as though he were a child to be tucked in.

At least she'd finally given up on him and moved back around to Harry again, who was in no state to care one way or another. He turned his head slightly beneath the pillow, tiring of the warm, stale air he was re-breathing.

Who am I kidding, he probably eats up the attention like a glutton, said one voice in his head.

Well of course he does, it's not as though nasty old 'Tuney ever gave a toss about him, and doubtful even a shred of affection, replied another.

He's a spoiled brat.

They locked him in a damned closet.

They probably let him get away with everything.

They nearly starved him, to the point that he's a good half-foot shorter than he ought to be .

Severus rolled over, still holding the pillow across his eyes, blocking out the room as much as possible and muffling the voices of Harry's visitors.

He's nobody's father and certainly not fit for the title, by any definition, any more than his own violent, alcoholic excuse for a father had been. Despite Minerva's musings on the subject, he knew full well that there was nothing the boy could possibly "see" in him. Potter was forever rushing headlong into danger if he thought there was even a chance he could save somebody else, no matter how wretched or undeserving. It was a habit that had made his task of keeping the child alive far more complicated than it should have been. It didn't even matter that it was him; he could be literally anybody at all and Harry would move Heaven and Earth to spare him.

He didn't deserve such a son.