Title: Lusus Naturae

Chapter: Chapter Four

Ratings: M for Mature Muggle

Warnings: Abuse, Death, and Otherwise

A/N: Where are we going and are we there yet? I'm just going to keep writing and find out.Next chapter will be more action less feeling, I believe.

It was dark out when Harry opened his eyes, or it seemed to be. He was curled on his side clutching his knees to his chest and wondered if he was still in the closet. He distinctly remembered clawing his way across the floor boards to put distance between himself and -

Harry unfurled his limbs and pressed himself upright. His hands sunk into the surface below him and found it to be pliant and warm. Certainly not the qualities of the wooden floor in his closet. He blinked against the darkness hoping to discern the outlines of his surroundings, but found nothing.

He noticed, then, a pressure around his face and reached up to examine it. A wide band encircled his head. There seemed to be room allowed for his eyes. It didn't take him long to understand it for what it was: a blindfold. Unfortunately it did not allow for the tears that welled up in his eyes at the revelation to escape.

"Hello?" Harry whispered, tugging on the blindfold that did not budge. "Is anyone there?"

No one answered. His frown deepened and he found his lower lip wobbling as those damned tears collected at the corners of his mask.

Perhaps he was in jail. That's what happened to killers. He couldn't be sure, of course, if he was one, but he was fairly certain he had hurt his aunt very badly. She had fallen to the ground like a frozen statue, toppling over as if she were made of stone.

That said, Madame Pomfrey had been able to save Hermione from her petrified state. It wasn't outlandish to think they could do the same for Aunt Petunia. Not that Harry thought she deserved the same treatment.

As he sat and cried and thought about it, Harry wasn't sure he felt bad about it at all. They had left him locked in his room like it was a jail. He knew how they treated him was bad, but this summer was worse by far. They had never made him mess himself in a corner of his room for days at a time before. It was probably Dumbledore's fault. Those stupid mustard robes had been a step too far for the Dursleys who prided themselves on keeping up appearances. Harry had begged them not to send him back like this. He knew Uncle Vernon would be angry. They hadn't listened! It wasn't his fault.

A soft sound at the edge of his hearing tore him from his thoughts.

"Hello?" he whispered again.

There was nothing but silence for a moment, until someone answered him. The voice was so close that he jumped in surprise.

"Hello," they croaked at him.

"Who's there?"

"Who are you?" The voice was stronger this time. "What are you doing here?"

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Dark," they answered. "In the dark."

"You can't see either?"

"I can hear."

"I can hear you. I'm Harry."

"Harry."

"Yes."

"Harry... Potter."

"Yes."

Severus Snape stood at the foot of Potter's hospital bed, calling the boy's name. The observation charm Poppy had laid over the sleeping child had alerted Severus to movement only a minute ago, but when he arrived from the next room the boy was still again. The wizard rubbed the exhaustion from his face and checked the time.

"Harry?" he tried again.

Potter looked like a miserable heap of deathly white skin and scales at the center of the bed. Poppy had warned him the boy had been kicking off the covers in his fitful sleep, despite his tanking body temperature. With a wave of Snape's wand the blankets rose up over the sleeping child once more and he moved to resume his reading in the next room. If he hoped to have a better solution to the problem at hand than the blindfold by the time Potter truly awoke, he needed to move quickly.

"You know the Ministry's stance on Lycanthropy and Vampirism," Poppy said accusatorily. "They'll have him listed on some registry for the rest of his life. Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, reduced to a second-class citizen of the Wizarding World, whether they find a cure or not."

"And if it kills him?" Severus mused. "I doubt even Dumbledore can cover up the death of a student."

"I thought you were more worried about the boy killing you?"

"The two are not mutually exclusive."

Poppy stood from the desk she now found herself sharing with the Potions Professor in the small alcove of her office in the Infirmary Ward. She slid a stack of rolled parchments from the desk top to return to storage as she went.

"What of the muggles?" she asked.

"Obliviated. The Headmaster insisted he be the one to handle it."

"Hmm."

"Indeed," he said in accord with her dubious tone.

"I'm not sure I understand what is going on with either of them," Poppy admitted softly, coming to stand beside the comparatively young wizard in her company. "Albus has never been one to abide by the rules, but this?"

"We agreed," he reminded her. "The moment Potter's condition reaches a critical state, we agreed we would intervene."

"At the cost of our jobs, no doubt."

"A worthwhile cause."

"Coming from you? High praise indeed."

Staring into the green flames dancing in the hearth of his office, Albus Dumbledore contemplated the dire situation in solitude. While many accused him of omniscience and most believed him barmy, Albus was neither of the sort. He was vulnerable to doubt as much as any man, wizard, or otherwise. As he considered the severity of his next course of action, he had many doubts indeed.

Taking a pinch of floo powder from a crescent shaped dish on the mantle, Albus whispered an incantation over the green powder before he blew it into the fire. He took a healthy step back as the flames reared and then grew in height, quickly lashing out to lick at the underside of the shelf that jutted out of the wall above it. When the emerald green turned to a haze of white flames, he stepped up to the floo once more.

"Nick, my old friend," he called, stooping to duck his head into the fire. "Can you hear me?"

"Albus? Where are you?"

"In the floo," Albus said patiently.

Soon after, the face of the man who spoke appeared in the coals of the floo before him. It was understood between the two that such an occasion arose only under dire circumstances.

"Out with it, man!" the other wizard demanded.

"I believe I should step through," Albus stated gravely.

"Nonsense. Speak!"

"It's about Harry Potter"

"Again?"

"- and a Basillisk."

There was a myriad of sounds to greet him when Harry awoke again. The pressure of the tight band around his head was ever-present and no light penetrated the darkness provided by the blindfold. He tugged at the constricting mask groggily as he uprighted himself.

"Mr. Potter," a voice called from his right. "Back with us, then?"

"Madame Pomfrey?"

"Yes, child. You are at Hogwarts. You're safe."

It took him a moment to come to terms with the assertion. Especially while trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and working on comprehending that to be a futile task. A pair of warm, gentle hands came to join his own. She pulled them away from the blindfold.

"It is a temporary precaution," she explained softly. "We will remove it when we can."

"How did I get here?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore retrieved you."

"Is - Am I in trouble?" he asked quietly.

"Not as such, Mr. Potter. Your condition has progressed, however. Professor Snape and I are working on it. Now, if you are able, I need you to drink a few potions."

Harry was reluctant to agree, but disagreeing with Madame Pomfrey was rarely an option.

"As soon as you're done, we will have the kitchens send up breakfast, hmm?"

"Alright."