Philomena

**Medical Magic***

Dumbledore abruptly slammed the Encyclopedia of Mesopotamian Mages shut and frowned in consternation as one of the many intricate silver instruments on his desk began to emit red smoke rings.

The Personalis Monitor, keyed to Severus Snape's health and prosperity, was quite a neat little tool that emitted different signals for different stages of well-being. At the moment it was indicating a medical emergency.

Swiveling around in his chair to face the fireplace, Dumbledore took out his wand and aimed it at the mirror on the mantle.

"Activare."

Fawkes let out a mournful trill.

"He knew somebody was watching," Dumbledore told the bird, "and I wasn't going to use it again... but his life is in peril."

The reflection of his office swirled counterclockwise in the mirror until it became a blur, and then slowly swirled back, becoming a window into the front room of Severus' quarters.

Severus lay slumped by his door in a crumpled heap of robes.

Albus let out a slow hiss. Fawkes left his perch, flew to the arm of the Wizard's chair, and peered at the image.

"He's still breathing," Dumbledore said. "Thank Merlin."

Albus thought rapidly. Snape refused categorically to be treated by Poppy, insisting when he did need care on going to his own private Healer, claiming that a particular condition of his required a Specialist.

Snape had, in his usual paranoid way, refused to discuss it despite Poppy's assurance that she was quite qualified to take care of anything he could possibly have. At Albus' insistence, he had prepared a way for the Healer to be summoned in case of emergency.

The Headmaster remembered quite well how that request had been received. After a great deal of shouting, Severus had locked himself in his quarters for several hours, during which time the Wards showed tremendous Floo activity. He had returned with a long thin ivory box, complete with a list of terse instructions on the use thereof.

In vain the Mediwitch and the Headmaster had pleaded that it would be far easier and safer to simply inform them of his condition, or at the very least give them the Healer's name so he could be summoned by more conventional methods. Severus had put his foot down, claiming that his medical information was by law nobody's business but his own.

Dumbledore had eventually, resignedly, accepted the box, and given his Oath not to use it unless Snape were both unconscious and in serious danger. Hoping against hope that he would never need it, he had stashed it away. Now, Severus' conditions for its use were fulfilled. It was time.

With a sudden energy Dumbledore leapt to his feet, accidentally dislodging Fawkes who fwumped to the desk with a disgruntled squawk.

Crossing the room, Dumbledore pushed a large hourglass and a bottle of Ogden's Old out of the way, reached into the recess of the shelf, and pulled out the ivory box.

He set it carefully upon his desk and slid the lid open. Taking a pinch of the dark powder it contained, he tossed it into the air. He hit the substance with the spell engraved on the lid before it could dissipate.

"Adveniat!"

A beam of golden light erupted from his wand. The powder collected itself in midair, forming a solid core, as the shaft of golden light coalesced into a ball of fire around it.

Albus took an involuntary step backwards as the ball crackled with intense energy. It flared into an enormous pulse of flame before zooming from the room through the window. The glass shattered and scattered onto the floor in a cascade of glittering light.

"Let's hope to Merlin that works," said Dumbledore, casting a Reparo charm on the window. "Fawkes... do what you can."

Fawkes trilled once and disappeared.

XXX

Harry Potter stared at the man who had just walked in. "What did you say?" he asked.

Igor Karkaroff stepped in and shut the door behind him with a snap. Here was a dilemma he had not anticipated. Of all the people to run into while looking for his cousin, the Boy Who Lived was the most problematic, save perhaps the Dark Lord, or Dumbledore.

Igor blinked and decided he would brave-face his way through this matter, just as done in much more dangerous situations. Carefully not sparing the boy a glance, he brushed passed him and headed for the Supply Cabinet.

"Excuse me."

Harry followed the man across the room with his eyes. He wasn't a teacher, or even one of the board members who occasionally visited the school on inspections and the like.

"I beg your pardon," came Potter's voice from behind him, "but the cabinet's warded to give you nasty stings if you take anything from it outside school hours."

Igor turned and glared at the boy, who didn't look particularly fazed. Perhaps his eyes weren't as intimidating in this new face as they were glittering, or perhaps Potter was simply used to the far more intense glares of his Potions Master.

"I am looking for Professor Snape," said Igor silkily.

Harry took a deep breath. "He's not available at the moment, sir."

"He said he would be here to see me," lied Igor.

"But he's not," Harry pointed out unnecessarily. "Are you sure you've come at the right time? It is a bit late..."

"Yes," Igor said, rounding on the boy, "quite late. Ten o'clock. Past curfew."

Potter shrugged. "I have been given special permission," he lied.

"I have no way of knowing that," countered Igor, "but I have no time to waste on trivial matters."

He swept from the room and stifled a sigh when he heard the boy following him.

"You'll pardon me," said Harry, catching up with the man and lying through is teeth, "but you see the corridor you're heading towards is off limits to those not in the student body or the faculty."

"I doubt that shall cause me much trouble," said the stranger unperturbed. "I am expected."

"In the wrong room apparently," Potter pointed out, "and in the wrong potions cabinet."

"Mr. Potter," hissed Igor, whirling to face the boy, "you are in the wrong place, at the wrong time, speaking to the wrong person."

Harry bit his lip. He had done it again; recklessly getting himself into something he knew nothing about.

"I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled, backing up slightly.

With a flash of apprehension, Igor realized that he could not afford to leave a suspicious Boy Who Lived in a corridor. There was no knowing what he would might say, or to whom, and if Snape were in the state Igor suspected, it wouldn't do to have others getting in the way.

"Too late, Mr. Potter," he hissed, grabbing the boy by the collar of his robes. "You will come with me."

"I will not," protested Harry, reaching for his wand.

Igor, however, had his wand out already, and quickly held it to Harry's throat. "You will," he repeated. "And quietly."

Harry wrenched the stranger's wand away from his neck and scrambled away.

"You will," repeated the man again, "or Professor Snape will die."

After a split second of indecision, the boy's shoulders slumped in compliance.

"Quickly," insisted the stranger, grabbing him roughly by the arm and propelling him forward. "March."

Harry obeyed. With a growing sense of guilt he realized that not only was he probably in quite a bit of trouble, but Snape was going to be very angry with him. He had gone and shown the same recklessness he'd promised he would avoid at all costs.

He ought to have retreated at once and gone for help, the loss if points for being out after curfew had been a stupid thing to worry about. Worse yet, the stranger seemed to know precisely where Snape's quarters were located, and was heading there with quick, sure steps. If he knew this and had the appointment he claimed, why had he come to the classroom first?

Harry decided he had two choices, either to bolt for help and hope he could get it before the man carried out his threat, or stay and hope the Wards made short work of the stranger.

Gritting his teeth, Harry decided that while running to alert the staff was the more active choice, it was far more likely to end in disaster, especially as the man would be presented with his retreating back as an excellent target. Better by far to wait until the wards distracted the man...

XXX

Dumbledore paced his office. Above all, he hated feeling helpless and he could do nothing, as he was bound by his promise not to assist Severus himself, or send any Healer other than Severus' own.

Fawkes was not a Healer, a fact Albus had conveniently overlooked when he had given his Oath. It was a loophole that had given him some comfort up to now.

He chanced another glance at the mirror. Fawkes was still crying over Severus, and Severus was still not moving.

Albus itched to do something. To call for Poppy or St. Mungo's, to run down and at least make sure the man was still breathing, but he had promised, and he would keep his Word.

Suddenly, he broke off his pacing and stared at the mirror. Severus' Floo had flared up and a young man tumbled out onto the Hearth.

The man shouted something and ran to Severus' side, rolling the unconscious man onto his back to check his pulse.

Albus let out a sigh of relief. Help had arrived.

XXX

As they reached Snape's door, the stranger's grip on his arm did not lessen. Without breaking his stride, the man cast several spells in quick succession, then confidently grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

Harry gasped as he was dragged into the room. For the second time that evening, he was treated to the sight of an unconscious Snape, this time being fought over by a flustered young man and an agitated Phoenix.

"Who in the name of the nine Hells are you?" roared Igor.

"The man's personal Healer," snapped the other man, who could not have been older than twenty. "He's got a blood imbalance that -"

"I know," replied Igor, sinking to his knees beside him. "I'm afraid I've poisoned him. Here. I've brought..."

Harry stared at the scene before his eyes disbelievingly. Severus lay on the floor, his hair spread about his face like a fan, limbs splayed. Kneeling beside him was the first man, who looked like a cross between a much older Ron and a hawk, and the second, who resembled Snape, but far better looking, getting out a series of metal pieces and cable, beginning to fit them together frantically. Fawkes was shrieking and diving at both men, in a furious flurry of red plumage.

The Healer ducked to avoid Fawkes newest onslaught and shouted, "Get rid of that bloody songbird!"

Suddenly, the scene simplified itself dramatically in Harry's eyes; Snape was lying helpless on the floor, one man had admitted to poisoning him, the other claimed to be his Healer, and Fawkes didn't like either of them.

Harry realized abruptly what to do. "Fawkes," he shouted, "Go back to Dumbledore!"

Fawkes swirled in midair, let out a trill and disappeared.

"First decent thing you've done in your life, Potter," snapped Igor. "And pray shut that door before some idiot decides to pass by."

Harry pulled the door shut, hoping to Merlin that Fawkes had understood, and was going to get Dumbledore.

The Healer, free of distractions, had finally managed to set up a complicated series of small silver gadgets, attached to each other by electric cables.

"Give me a hand here, boy," he said. "Get on his other side."

Harry dropped his bag of books to the floor and joined the supposed Healer.

"What is that?"

"A Diatragnostic P. N.," said the Healer, as though that were obvious, getting out a roll of thin black tape.

"Couldn't you just use a spell?" asked Igor. "We haven't much time."

"You've admitted to poisoning him," snapped the Healer. "Pardon me if I don't care much for your advice. Get out of my way."

Practically shoving the man aside, the Healer grabbed Snape's right wrist, unbuttoned the sleeve, and rolled it up. Setting a small metal disk on the pulse point, he taped it firmly in place.

"You," he said, activating and shoving one of the gleaming silver devices towards Harry, "watch that node, and tell me if it gives a reading."

Harry stared at the machine in his hands. It looked like a cross between an alarm clock and an engine. It was a mess of unrecognizable gleaming metal parts, squeaking and churning, topped with an LCD screen, blinking zeros.

"Yes, sir."

The Healer set the two other devices, and seemed satisfied with whatever it was they told him, before rounding on Igor.

"All right, out with it, who are you, and what have you done to him?"

Igor held up his hands in defense. "It was an Antidote," he protested.

"Antidote," repeated the Healer with a dangerous glint in his eye. "What has he been poisoned with?"

"Nothing yet," explained Igor, "it was a preventative measure. It wasn't supposed to have this affect. I had no idea his blood had altered since my last reading."

"You've no business giving him readings," snapped the Healer, fussing with one of the machines.

"And you've no business treating him," countered Igor. "Who authorized you?"

"Russ himself," replied the Healer. "He told me you were a suspicious lot. Here."

Finding what he was looking for rummaging a bit in his pockets, the young man handed Igor a slightly squashed scroll.

Not one to take chances, Igor cast a Detection Charm to be sure the object wasn't a trap, before unsealing it. He skimmed the note, nodded curtly, and handed it back.

"It is well," he said. "You may proceed."

"It's a bit late to allow him to proceed," Harry pointed out, looking up from the screen. "He could have killed the Professor ten times over already. And while you may be satisfied, I'm afraid I still don't know either of you from Adam. For all I know, you could both be trying to kill him."

With a roll of his eyes the Healer passed the note to Harry, who glanced at it. There, in handwriting he recognized from dozens of scathing commentaries on admittedly average work, was Severus' looping scrawl:

To Whom It May Concern,

It is my business whom I choose for my Healer. If you hinder this man, I shall very likely die, in which case I shall never forgive you.

Sincerely, Severus Snape.

Potter blinked twice, couldn't think of a thing to say, and handed the scroll back. He was as confused as he could ever remember being, save for the time he'd first found out about his Wizarding blood, and he was at a complete loss as to what to do.

Abruptly, one of the devices began to emit piecing high-pitched beeps. The Healer scrambled into action, pulling out several objects from his pack. One in particular caused Harry's eyes to widen in surprise, and Karkaroff's to narrow in doubt.

Gleaming in the dim light was a hypodermic syringe.

The Healer gave neither of them time to think. He rapidly preparing his equipment, until the sinister needle was ready, grabbing Severus' left arm, and rolling up the sleeve. He stopped and hissed abruptly, running a finger along the nearly healed scab that ran from the Dark Mark to his wrist.

"No wonder he's anemic," he said, "I'll kill him for this once I've got him healthy again."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" asked Karkaroff, trying to sound unperturbed. "I've got a Blood-Replenishing Draught with me - It'd be easier. I wasn't sure what had caused the imbalance, so I brought something for each conceivable circumstance so that I could use some Diagnostic Spells as soon as I arrived..."

"Keep your New Age rubbish to yourself," snapped the Healer, trying to find a vein. "He can douse himself with whatever he likes, but not when I'm here. Asphodel, wormwood - complete tosh, all of it! No wonder he gets into these situations."

He took a pause from his rant to insert the needle and carefully inject. Harry winced, feeling the violent urge to knock the needle out of the man's hand.

"I told him years ago!" continued the Healer, when he'd finished. "'Stay away from that alternate healing tripe.' I said. 'If you keep it up don't come crying home to me when you're lying unconscious in somebody's dungeon.' Did he listen? No! And just look what happened!"

Igor coughed. "What've you injected him with?"

"Bit late to be asking that now," returned Harry, his voice a trifle high.

The boy had never taken well to the sight of needles or blood, and had thought that Wizards simply didn't use them, as he had never seen one in any of his numerous Infirmary visits.

"Precisely," snapped the Healer, putting a plaster over the wound. "You. Boy. Run and get some water. Cold."

Harry jumped up, thinking he could both get the water and see what on earth was keeping Fawkes from fetching Dumbledore, but got no further than the door. The moment he touched the handle he was thrown back so violently he barely kept his feet.

"Oh Bendis," cursed Igor, jumping to his feet. "I should have known he didn't only have Wards preventing entry..."

The Healer looked up sharply. "Bendis? You don't just so happen to be an expatriated Bulgarian New-Age Witch, too?"

Igor drew himself up to his full height. "I am a Wizard," he hissed. "And, yes, Bulgarian. Though what you mean by new age is beyond me. I'm over thirty five."

The Healer shook his head impatiently. "I still need water," he pointed out, "regardless of whether you can open the door or not."

Igor drew his wand and conjured a pitcher of water and a glass and set it down by the Healer.

"Took you long enough," snapped the Healer. "Handkerchief?"

Harry pulled his out, thankful that it was clean, and handed it over. "Stat."

"Stat? Stat?" replied the Healer, dipping the handkerchief in water and wringing it out. "I'm sure you have no idea what it means. Just saw it in some crazy medical soap opera. It means 'at once'. I say it and you respond by doing it at once."

"Medical soap opera," repeated Harry, watching the man dab Professor Snape's forehead. "You aren't a Wizard, are you?"

"Wizard?" repeated the Healer distractedly. "Sweet Lord, no. - He'll need a Jolt. He's not coming to."

"A Jolt?" repeated Igor. "Now look here. I'm not going to stand idly by and -"

"Then don't," snapped the Healer. "Give me your hand, lets see if you're compatible."

"It would help if you explained," replied Igor. "What in the name of Jove is a Jolt?"

"Damnit man, I can't explain," snapped the Healer. "It would take hours - days, considering the fact that you probably never heard of a blood transfusion - I need you to give him some of your... Energy. Power. Magic. Whatever it is you call it."

"That's impossible!" protested Igor. "By all the laws of Metaphysics!"

"Not by the laws of physics and engineering," returned the Healer.

"Wait," interrupted Harry. "You're talking about something like a blood transfusion, but with Magic, yes?"

"Right," answered the Healer. "But if I can't get him a Jolt of it quickly, there shan't be much point."

Gryffindor impulse took over and Harry held out his wrist.

"If I'm compatible."

"There's only a small possibility otherwise," said the Healer, grabbing Harry's hand and pushing up the sleeve, then taping the same type of disk to his wrist as he had to Severus'. "It shan't hurt much and there's no chance of draining you."

Attaching the disk with a cable to one of the nearby gadgets, he pressed several buttons and seemed satisfied with the "PoSalFi" that blinked in the screen.

"You'll do. Lie down, by his arm..."

Harry complied, thinking that this was perhaps the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life.

The Healer fussed, attaching Harry's disk by one cable to Severus' disk, and, with another, to one of the meaner looking devices he hadn't yet used.

"I'll set it on two for now. If that doesn't work, we'll go higher. Ready?"

Harry nodded. "Right, then."

The Healer slammed down a switch, and with a crackle, Harry felt something shoot down his arm. He cried out in surprise. Blue flames shot down the wires into Severus' disk, and a Jolt passed through the Professor before he fell limp once more.

"Level three," announced the Healer. "Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer the Healer pressed the switch again. The blue fire shot down Harry's arm again, this time almost painful in intensity. The sparks shot towards Severus, who once again jolted violently, before lying limp once more.

Panting, Harry lifted his head slightly to watch as the Healer concernedly fussed over Severus, checking his pulse, and then each of the gadgets in turn.

"Is it ... electricity?" he asked.

The Healer shrugged. "Might as well be, considering the way it behaves. I'll have to set it at five... this will hurt. Ready?"

"All right," replied Harry, falling back and screwing his eyes shut.

Igor watched in frank uncertainty and not a little fear as the machine was activated for the third time. Potter's back arched as the blue whatever-it-was sizzled down his arm, crackled over the wires, and stabbed into Severus. Severus jolted, let out a strangled cry, then weakly tried to sit up.

"It's all right, Uncle Russ," said the Healer, arresting the other man's motion and settling Severus back down. "It's me. Now lie still."

"Uncle Russ?" repeated Igor in a shout. "Who in the name of Merlin are you?"

Snape blinked blearily as a strange face swam into view, wearing Igor's Aura. Suddenly Snape realized just what he'd been missing - that mask, that work of art, couldn't have been done by Igor. Not the way it hid everything, while not obstructing the sight or speech of the wearer. Florean.

"Cousin?" he asked. "You got my note, I hope?"

"Yes," replied Igor testily. "But this young idiot got in the way of my doing you any good."

"Don't try and talk now," said the Healer, busying himself. "You've lost plenty of Energy, and while I've transferred quite a bit, I couldn't risk raising the-"

"From whom?" Severus asked wildly. "Who's Magic have you - "

Harry coughed.

Severus turned and saw Harry Potter.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted. "I didn't... I mean, I..."

"He means," interrupted the Healer, "that he's saved your life."

Snape shut his eyes as though to shut them all out.

"You were in very bad condition," the Healer went on. "It was lucky the boy was here at all. I couldn't have done it without a donor. You know I can't -"

Snape took a deep breath and turned to Harry, staring at him with an indecipherable expression.

"Mr. Potter," he said slowly, "why are you here at all? I told you to wait."

"It's eleven o'clock, sir," Harry explained quickly. "I waited for you and when you didn't come, I took the time to practice, but then he arrived and said he wanted to see you and then that you'd die and..."

"Your Gryffindor nature naturally took charge," finished Snape.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," said Igor. "I had no idea... the Potion must have been too large a dosage, I had no idea your balance would have gone so far from the norm since my last reading."

The Healer untaped the disks from both Harry and Snape and began to pack his equipment.

"Your condition is now stable, Uncle Russ," he said. "You'll need plenty of sleep, take it easy, and for heaven's sake, don't go drinking herbal remedies without knowing what they are."

"Why is your Healer calling you his uncle?" asked Igor in confusion.

"You've got a niece you never told me about," said Snape tiredly. "I trust I'm permitted to have a few relations."

"But you're an only child!" protested Igor.

"So were you," Snape pointed out.

Just then the Floo flared to life, and Albus' head popped into the fireplace. "All right there, Severus, my boy?" he asked. "You gave me a bit of a scare. Why don't the lot of you pop up to my office, have a nightcap, and talk this over?"

***Cycle of Debt***

On the way to Dumbledore's office Harry wondered how much trouble he was in. He could think of several rules he'd broken, none of which he could explain in any way Dumbledore would approve of.

To begin with, he was out after curfew. The Headmaster had overlooked that before, but only when Harry had the excuse of Occlumency, or battling Voldemort. Harry wasn't supposed to be learning anything with Snape at all outside of the scheduled Occlumency sessions, and Voldemort hadn't attacked, so he had no legitimate excuse.

Secondly he had acted recklessly, had broken into a Professor's private room. One could possibly say he'd endangered his Professor's life.

Lastly, there was the possibility that Dumbledore would find out about his illicit lessons, and there was no way he could excuse himself of that charge. All in all, Harry thought he'd be lucky if he managed to get off with only a month's worth of detention. He morosely followed the Snape, the Healer, and the stranger a few paces behind giving half an ear to their conversation.

"- an injection of Plenirserum," the Healer was explaining, "but that wasn't enough. You were still in critical condition. So I had to give you a Jolt. This fellow was singularly unhelpful, so I used the boy."

"I say now," protested Igor. "You hadn't explained at all what you were doing! How was I supposed to -"

"Do shut it," snapped the Healer. "Jolt of level five did it."

"Level five?" repeated Snape. "Are you mad? We've never tested that conclusively on a human donor!"

"Well, there wasn't exactly a generator or a wall socket in sight, was there?" said the Healer. "You insist on living in a bloody medieval castle!"

"Mordred," said Igor suddenly.

"Beg pardon," said the Healer, "but that was quite a non sequitur."

"Your brother Mordred," Igor repeated. "I'd always thought your parents had made him up to justify not instating you as heir since they didn't want to disinherit you outright, or to ..."

Harry Potter used his head for the first time that day and cast a Privacy Bubble about the four of them. Snape shot him a cool calculating look before giving a curt nod, and returning his attention to his cousin.

"Mordred existed, yes," answered Snape heavily. "A Squib, though they would never admit as much. I helped him escape from the Manor early on, and he disappeared into the Muggle World."

"Which would explain why your nephew is..." started Igor.

"Perfectly normal," finished the Healer.

"Muggle," supplied Snape.

"Ah," said Igor. "We're even then. I had a niece I didn't tell you about, and you have a nephew..."

"I knew there was a reason our family didn't have grand reunions," drawled the Healer, "but Uncle Russ is still ahead of you. I've a brother."

"Damnit, Severus," cried Igor in exasperation. "Two?"

"Well it's not my fault," returned Snape. "I'd tell you to take it up with Mordred, but he's passed on."

"I'm sorry," murmured Harry quietly.

The three turned back, giving him odd looks before returning to their conversation. Harry shrugged and concentrated on keeping the Bubble moving with them.

"He's your cousin I presume," said the Healer. "Which would make him my..."

"First cousin, once removed" answered Snape. "You really ought to have been introduced earlier. Mr. Hubert Snape, meet Mr. Igor Karkaroff."

"Charmed," the two said together, obviously not charmed at all.

"Igor Karkaroff?" repeated Harry. "But he's dead."

Again the party stopped, and whirled to look at Harry with identical condescending expressions.

"Well," said Igor airily, "if you believe everything the Dark Lord tells you..."

"Ah," said Harry. "You've changed."

"Glamour," said Snape and Igor together.

"I see," said Harry.

The party continued on its way.

Igor abruptly began to snicker. The others looked askance at him. "Hubert?" he finally choked out between his laughter. "What sort of a name is-"

"Damnit," Hubert snarled. "If your mother's name was Genevieve, and your father's name was Mordred, you'd have an immensely stupid name, too."

"It's not immensely stupid," protested Snape, "it's traditional. There have been a great many heroic Huberts."

"At least I've a better name than my brother," huffed Hubert. "He's got Humbert."

"Your parents had some preoccupation with Teutonic names," mused Igor. "That mean bright."

"Bright in the sense of intelligent, or in the sense of color?" asked Harry.

Hubert gestured towards his hair. "What's it look like?" he snapped.

Snape grinned nastily. "It's better than having a perfectly ordinary boring name like Harry Potter."

"Is that his name, then?" asked Hubert. "He didn't say."

Harry blinked. "Yes, that's my name."

He'd wondered when the eventual babbling and gawking at recognition would happen. It didn't.

"Charmed," said Hubert again. "As I was saying before we brought up family history, you've received a level 5 Jolt from Harry over here."

Snape abruptly swore violently under his breath, in what sounded like very old English or possibly even Anglo-Saxon.

The party stopped dead again. "What the devil?" asked Igor. "You've just had your life saved, what's wrong?"

"Just that," snapped Snape. "Life debt. Damn him, he's repaid my Life Debt to his father! Stupid boy!"

Harry took a step backwards as Snape rounded on him.

"Do you realize what you've done?" shouted Snape. "You've caused a cycle! I've had to save you over and over, but that's not enough for you! You have to place me in your debt as well! You've just caused an endless cycle of debt for the both of us!"

Harry gulped.

"Eh... what?" asked Hubert.

"Bloody Hell," sighed Igor. "You've done it this time, Potter."

"What?" protested Harry weakly. "I just... I mean, I... er..."

"Calm down, Uncle Russ," soothed Hubert. "It'll be perfectly all right. You're bound to be a bit distraught after everything that's happened. Let's just get where we're going, and then we can have a nice relaxing cup of tea..."

"Potter, Snape had a life debt to your father," explained Igor, "which was never repaid and so was passed down to you. Life debts passed down cannot be repaid, but are continuous. Professor Snape must continue to save your life at every opportunity presented to him while you are under no obligation to repay him, since he is repaying his debt. You've just made the obligation is mutual. If I'd known, I'd have -"

"Mutual?" repeated Harry. "You mean that..."

"You are required to protect me, as I am required to protect you," said Snape.

"That doesn't make any sense!" protested Harry. "You owed my father a life debt. You've repaid him by saving me. Now I've saved you. You therefore owe me."

"Mr. Potter," snapped Snape. "It doesn't make sense - it's Magic. Spells are fixed and unrelenting. Magic has no understanding, no brain, and no sense of circumstance. It simply is. While some can be worked to accept changed circumstances, most are immovable. Whether your target moves out of the way or not, your Spell still moves where you aimed it in the first place.

"I owed your father," Snape continued. "It is impossible for me to repay your father. Your father is dead. However, the Magic does not understand this. It crackles on, unaware, fixing itself to the nearest thing to James it can find, namely you.

"I am therefore compelled to rescue you by any means in my power from whatever danger you thrust your Gryffindor neck into. But no matter how much I do so, the Magic is unsatisfied - it knows I have not repaid James, the closest substitute of James.

"Your saving me warps the Magic from its path. You returned to me a life saved, the same service I repaid James. The Magic recognizes the debt as foreclosed. James gave and I repaid."

"I still don't understand," protested Harry. "If my father gave, and you repaid isn't that over? You don't owe James anymore, you owe me."

Snape shook his head. "Magic doesn't understand. It realizes that the item James gave me, was returned to your care, and then back to me. It doesn't understand that a life saved is not a thing. It realizes that I paid more than once, to your care. It realizes that you still have what I gave you, and that James did not receive that."

Harry blinked. "I don't understand."

"Think of it as a computer program," said Hubert unhelpfully. "When it gets into a loop and eventually crashes..."

Harry scratched his head. He didn't understand either Magic or computers. "You're saying, that in effect, you've been ... paying James all this time, to my name, so to speak, but ... ah... er... the Magic won't recognize that James received it unless I give it back?"

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's precisely what I mean. It may not make sense to a Gringotts Goblin, but as far as the Magic is concerned, you are a substitute for James. Acting on his behalf, you returned my payment, acknowledging the debt as null and void."

"If it's null and void, then how can I possibly owe you?" protested Harry.

"The debt to James is null and void," explained Snape. "Since you gave it back effectively indicating that the debt was cancelled. That James didn't want it back. However, the Magic realizes that I gave to you multiple times, and only one was owed to James. The others, which it had hitherto discounted as a futile effort to repay James, now count against you. You now owe me for several past events in which I saved your life. And I now owe you for this time that you saved my life."

Harry looked quite desperate by this time. "Why does it accept that I cancelled your debt, when it can't accept that I've accepted your repayment?"

"I don't know!" roared Snape. "Nobody knows! The Life Debt Cycle is a rare event, but nevertheless, Nicholas Flammel studied it for over two centuries trying to find out why it worked the way it did, and he failed. I haven't got two centuries. I don't know why the Magic accepts one transaction and not the other. Nobody understands!

"The only explanation I can give you is that we are trapped in a cosmic joke. A paradox. A Magical accident. You owe me a life. Every time you repay that life, I shall owe you a life for that life you pay me. It's an endless cycle. It can't be understood, much less stopped."

Harry took a deep breath, tried to understand, and failed miserably. "We will be obligated to protect each other?"

His eyes bored into Harry's, unreadable and icy.

"I'll do my best," said Harry. "I'm... sorry."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Not a word to a soul."

Harry nodded in return. "Of course, sir."

"Onwards," said Igor lightly. "Time for the intricate art of verbal misdirection."

"It's not as though we need explain anything," said Hubert. "After all, I've my oath of patient confidentiality. Or I would if I were a doctor at all..."

"You're not?" asked Harry blankly. "Then what -"

Again, the group stopped to face him. He gulped.

"I'm a perfectly normal human being," supplied Hubert. "What you'd call, I believe, a Muggle. Though I may not be able to produce that Energy you'd call Magic myself, I am perfectly capable of using machines and so on that manipulate it.

"I have studied engineering and physics extensively, along with the physics of your Magic, which Uncle Russ taught me. I believe he calls that Metaphysics, and explained that in your world it's a legitimate field of study, while in ours we associate it with ridiculousness like palm readings and such.

"A combination thereof allows me to manipulate both sources of Energy. That, with a bit of basic medical training, allows me to quite well care for those medical emergencies of my Uncle's which he does not treat himself."

Igor nodded with the air of one who does not quite understand, but is too proud to ask.

"So Magic is related to Electricity?" asked Harry. "It certainly seemed like what you used a moment ago. Normally electricity goes berserk at Hogwarts..."

"Magic, as you call it, is a peculiar sort of Energy," explained Hubert, glad to be on his favorite subject. "I'm not sure what one would call it scientifically, since one can't isolate it, but it behaves partially like electricity, sometimes like magnetism, sometimes even like nuclear force. I'm working on a complete classification system of different types, their effects, and how to work with them in a technical fashion for those who can't manipulate them naturally."

Harry hurried, trying to keep up with the swift paces of the others. "In other words, you're trying to make Muggle technology usable by Wizards and Magic usable by Muggles."

"Precisely," answered Hubert. "You see, I've seen a bit of both worlds, and it seems a bleeding shame that they're separate. If we'd just worked together centuries ago we'd have a common body of knowledge and would probably have worked out some symbiotic relationship before now. If they could use our technology and we could use their Magic, it would eliminate a great deal of the prejudices abounding in your world."

"It isn't just our world with prejudice," protested Igor. "Muggles are just as likely to -"

"Yes, but not against Wizards," returned Hubert. "One can't be prejudiced against something one doesn't know exists, and you do hide fairly well. Those things that we do notice, we either simply classify as unexplainable phenomena, or explain it in terms of our own realm of possibilities.

"You, on the other hand, know about Muggles, but refuse to examine them, their works, or their way of life, completely blind to their abilities on account of their disability to use your Energy.

"It may have made sense to hide during the Dark Ages, when you were known, to a certain extent, and hunted. But even then you could have taken a stand and proved to them that Magical ability has nothing to do with morality, or even that half the people they were convicting had no Magical ability.

"Now, even though mankind is mostly civilized enough to be above petty superstition, you refuse to acknowledge this and hide under the assumption that if we did know about you, we'd either exterminate or exploit the lot of you.

"I don't quite follow that school of thought, considering that even though we are the majority, you have more than enough Power to eliminate us, or wash our memories of you. If we tried any less than peaceful action against your world, you'd exterminate us."

"Please, Hubert," said Snape. "Spare us your political theory for the moment."

"But Uncle Russ!" protested Hubert. "They need to be told -"

"I agree with you," said Harry abruptly, "but Professor Snape is right. We can't waste time discussing this now. Albus is going to want an explanation, and I'm sure none of you want to discuss family history with him over sweets."

Igor grimaced. "He mustn't know I'm alive," he said. "Nobody was supposed to know I was alive."

"Too late now," Hubert pointed out.

"He knows I have nephews," Snape thought aloud. "He doesn't know who or where they are. I think I can pass you off as ... a distant relation."

"Who just so happened to be visiting Hogwarts at this time?" protested Igor. "It'll never work. It's too much of a coincidence."

"If you don't mind my saying so," said Harry. "You can say he's a contact for you, with some information. An informant from... Transylvania"

"I don't look remotely Transylvanian," said Igor. "He'll never believe that."

"But he would believe that you would pretend to be Transylvanian" explained Potter. "You see, the less you explain, the more believable you are. If you explain for half an hour that you're related in some convoluted fashion to hide the simple truth, he'll think you've made it up. But, if you give him a short story, with little detail, he'll have less reason to suspect you, or at least, he'll believe he knows what parts are fact and what parts fiction."

Snape coughed. "One would think you made lying to the Headmaster a hobby, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "Lies of omission, I suppose. Which is precisely the way he deals with me. I give as good as I get."

"Much as I hate to say it," said Igor, "Mr. Potter has a point."

Snape groaned. "Let me do the talking. Unless directly addressed, the lot of you had better keep your mouths shut."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor Snape."

Igor sighed. "You always were better at misdirection than I was."

Hubert shrugged. "I can always use so much technical jargon that I confuse him to pieces," he said. "I'm an expert at making people's eyes glaze over."

"If you'd be so good as to break the Privacy Bubble, Mr. Potter," said Snape. "It would not do for him to think we had more to hide than we do."

Harry cancelled the Charm with a barely audible sigh of relief. It had been hard to maintain considering how tired and drained he was to begin with.

They had at last reached the gargoyle. Snape glared distastefully at it. "Sugar Quill."

The gargoyle jumped out of the way, the door opened and the four stepped onto the staircase, which slowly began to screw upwards.

"Like an escalator," mused Hubert, "but not as smooth."

Snape shot him a glare, at which his nephew looked sufficiently contrite.

The staircase ground to a halt and they crowded onto the landing. Dumbledore's door opened of its own accord.

Dumbledore smiled like the Mona Lisa and beckoned to them. "Ogden's Old, anybody?"

Igor nodded. Dumbledore poured him a shot, as they sank into the chairs indicated.

Fawkes gave a shriek, attacking Hubert who gave an exasperated cry and tried to shield his head.

"Fawkes," admonished Dumbledore, filling his own glass, "You are not to attack my guests!"

Fawkes gave a distressed squawk and flew sulkily back to his perch, not taking his eyes off Hubert.

Hubert sighed. "Is that what I think it is?"

"A Phoenix," said Albus. "I don't understand his reaction to you. He's never attacked anybody to have helped those loyal to me."

"He does, however, attack Muggles," said Snape.

"A Muggle who can see Hogwarts?" asked Dumbledore. "Fancy that."

"I've cast an Exemptionis Familiaris on him," explained Snape. "He can see Magic, Hogwarts, Dementors, and just about everything else in our world. But that's not what you called us up to discuss."

"No, no," said Dumbledore. "I'm just concerned about your health, my boy."

"His blood balance was off and reacted badly with a potion," said Hubert. "It's been restored with an injection of Plenirserum; his energies had been significantly weakened by his exposure to certain substances, so I gave an Energy Transfusion, Jolt level five, the donor being Potter. Their energies were compatible, being Type 2b."

Dumbledore blinked. "I see."

"So, with a little rest, he ought to be back to normal in a few days," finished Hubert. "He mustn't overexert himself."

Albus nodded. "And Mr. Potter, whatever were you doing out and about so late?"

Harry looked at the floor. "I couldn't sleep. It's rather stuffy in the dormitories, so I went for a walk to get some air. On the way I met this man..." he trailed off, indicating Igor with a nod of his head.

Snape took over at this juncture, shooting a glare towards his nephew. "He's a contact of mine. We were supposed to meet tonight, but given my ... accident, I hadn't met him on time."

"Well, it all worked out excellently, didn't it?" said Dumbledore happily. "Though I do wish you'd reconsider your medical arrangements, Severus. You nearly died."

"He did nothing of the kind," protested Hubert. "He quite nearly lost his sense of balance and put his circulatory system in a great deal of danger. He'll be quite all right, as I said, with some rest."

Igor said nothing, quietly knocking back his drink.

"If you don't mind, Headmaster," said Snape, "in spite of the outcome of his nightly stroll, Mr. Potter is still breaking quite a few school rules..."

"Fifteen points, Mr. Potter," said Albus quickly, lest Snape take more than that, "I'm disappointed in you."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I had better be getting back home," said Hubert, rising. "I've probably been missed already."

"Quite right," said Snape, rising as well. "I'm sure the Headmaster would not object to your using the Floo."

Albus gave a wave of his hand towards the fireplace.

"I'll see you over Christmas of course, Mr. Snape," said Hubert, taking a handful of the green powder. "Good bye."

The roar of the flames muffled the Healer's destination as he disappeared.

Snape and Igor exchanged glances.

Albus, noticing the tension, but misreading it, said, "You two probably have much to talk about."

Snape shook his head curtly. "Good night, Albus."

Snape turned on his heel, robes billowing. Igor followed silently, as his cousin swept from the office.

Harry took a deep breath before looking up. Albus was giving him a grandfatherly smile.

"Is there nothing else you would like to tell me, my boy?" he asked.

Harry thought a moment. "Actually," he said, "I have a question."

Albus nodded.

"How did you know the Professor was ill and where we were?"

Dumbledore spread his hands. "Hogwarts has many secrets."

Harry shrugged. "I was just wondering if you had something like the Map, or if it was something else. Portraits, perhaps, but he hasn't one in his room..."

Dumbledore merely smiled. "Thirty points to Gryffindor."

Harry started. "Whatever for?"

"You've saved Professor Snape's life," said Albus quietly. "And Professor Snape's life is worth far more to me than rules about curfew."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. "May I go now?"

Albus sipped at his drink. "You did say you couldn't sleep and there is something I've wanted to discuss with you for some time. Now's a good a time as any."

Harry nodded warily.

"You see, my boy," said the Headmaster, "we've been discussing the security measures in place for you."

Harry blinked at him and said nothing.

"We have been considering lifting the restraints on your movements," Albus continued. "It's not at all healthy to keep you cooped up in the castle, you know."

"Are you sure, sir?" asked Harry eagerly. "You said it wasn't safe..."

The Headmaster spread his hands. "Nothing is ever completely safe. I do not, however, wish you to roam the Grounds unprepared."

Harry nodded, waiting for the catch.

"You are a target for Voldemort," said the Headmaster. "You could be attacked at any time. You need to learn more Defense than the other students here."

"You want me to take extra lessons?" asked Harry.

"I am giving you a choice," said Albus. "Either things remain as they are and we must keep you within Hogwarts walls for your own safety, or you must agree to take extra Defense Lessons with Professor Snape."

Harry blinked. "I already have extra lessons with Professor Snape for Occlumency," he said. "I wouldn't wish to take more of his time. Wouldn't Professor Argain normally teach his own subject?"

Albus shook his head. "Professor Argain may be our current Defense Professor," he said. "However, he is not the best to teach you the finer points of Wand to Wand Combat."

Potter frowned pretending to consider it. He was already taking extra lessons with Professor Snape and making them official couldn't hurt. "Has the Professor agreed?"

"I have not yet discussed this with him," replied the Headmaster, "and I will not unless you are willing to take the lessons. If not, well, we will continue as we have been."

Harry grimaced. How dare the Headmaster bribe him with freedoms that were granted every other student, including several who were probably itching to kill him? He gritted his teeth, resolved to act as though he weren't happy with the arrangement.

"I'll do it," he grated out.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "I'm sure the Professor will inform you when and where you need to be. Mind you, it is far to late in the year to replace Gryffindor's Seeker..."

"And Quidditch is too dangerous for one in my position," finished Harry. "What if Professor Snape refuses to teach me?"

Albus smiled enigmatically. "Oh, I'm sure he'll agree," he said.

"Can I go now?" asked Harry, anxious to leave, afraid of giving something away.

The Headmaster smiled. "Good night, my boy."

Harry nodded, and left.

Albus leant back in his chair and chuckled to himself. "It will work out perfectly," he said to himself. "The more time Severus spends here, the less he can become involved with the Death Eaters. We do need information, but I can't afford to lose him and I'm afraid if he gets much closer to Voldemort he'll be found out. Not to mention the threat of poisoning by Lucius Malfoy..."

Fawkes gave a trill.

"Of course, I'll have to monitor the lessons," Albus said to himself. "We can't have Harry learning Dark Magic. Just the Defense he needs."

Fawkes preened.

"And it's good to know that his Healer does know what he's doing," Albus continued. "Very good."

XXX

Harry descended the staircase as it screwed its way back down and tumbled out the door, just in time to see Snape and Igor disappear around the corner at the end of the hall. He followed quickly figuring that they couldn't complain since he needed to follow the same route for a while to get to Gryffindor tower.

"... meddling old man," Snape was saying as they turned the corner. "Remind me to tell my nephew that the next time I say 'let me do the talking' then I shall do the talking."

"He did all right," said Igor. "Dumbledore didn't question anything he said..."

"Probably filed it away to look up later," groused Snape. "I wouldn't put it past him to have an Audari Charm recording every word said in his office."

Harry caught up with them, joining them on staircase six a split second before it began to move.

"Mr. Potter," said Snape dangerously. "It is far to late for you to be skulking about."

Harry nodded. "I'm on my way back to the tower," he said. "And I'm sorry about earlier."

Snape sighed. "I suppose I cannot blame you," he said. "Damnation, though. What is it about the Potter family that causes them to recklessly save my life?"

Harry shrugged. "We can make up the lesson later," he said. "I just wanted you to know that Dumbledore is going to try and make you give me extra Defense lessons so that he can let me out of the castle again."

Snape shook his head. "Even when he takes my advice he works behind my back. Very well, Potter. Don't look too put out when you hear I've accepted."

Harry nodded and nearly fell flat on his face when the staircase slammed into the landing. "Good night, Professor," he said, righting himself with aid of the banister. "And thank you."

"Good night," said Snape curtly, sweeping off in the opposite direction. Igor stared after Harry for a moment, a frown on his face, before following his cousin.

***Carpe Noctem***

"I'm sorry about the Potion," Igor said as soon as they were back in Severus' rooms, the wards replaced. "I was foolish to rely on readings that old... I should have known that your balance would be prone to fluctuation."

Severus sighed. "I shouldn't have given in so readily," he said. "I was foolish to accept it without testing. Let us speak no more of it."

Igor nodded. "Your nephew is very much like you."

Severus shrugged, sinking into a chair and waving Karkaroff to the other. "I brought him up. His brother as well. Mordred died, and his wife, well..."

"Not willing to face the possibility of magical sons?" Igor guessed.

"No, not willing to face reminders of Mordred," sighed Snape.

"I hope you will let me get to know them," said Igor. "I've so little family as it is."

Snape shrugged, "If you like."

Igor sighed. "Now, if you don't mind, you'll explain why your blood is so far off balance."

"I still wear the white mask, Igor," Severus said with a grimace. "I'm glad it is just my blood that is being affected and I'm not missing a limb or worse."

Running his hands through his glamour-altered hair, Igor said, "If there is anything I could do to help, to make up for my carelessness..."

Snape leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. "If I'm not mistaken you received your mastery in Blood Magic."

Igor nodded, then realizing his cousin couldn't see him, said, "I did. And you could have done so as well with much better results if you hadn't chosen Potions."

"I've not practiced in a while," Severus admitted, "though I'm sure you have, the regulations in your country being what they are."

Karkaroff licked his lips in thought. "I have practiced. It is my Mastery, after all, and I taught a bit of it, together with Defense."

"I nearly have a solution," said Snape, "but it requires an expert."

"What are you trying to accomplish?" asked Igor.

Snape smiled tiredly. "Sabotage."

Igor grinned. "I'd be glad to assist."

XXX

Harry checked his watch. Eleven thirty. If he took Snape's Dreamless Sleep he wouldn't wake until at least nine thirty, an hour and a half after classes started. Sighing, he resigned himself to a sleepless night.

Rummaging about in his bag, he found the Marauders Map and activated it with a tap of his wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The map swirled and finally showed what he wanted to see, the Gryffindor Dormitories. Knowing that all of his mates were sound asleep, he smiled in grim satisfaction, wiped the map clear and replaced it. It was time to visit Myrtle.

Not noticing that the a figure from one of the portraits was following him by a small distance, from frame to frame, Potter headed for the second floor wondering for the hundredth time why hallways couldn't stay put.

Reaching the bathroom, he eased the door open and tiptoed inside.

"Myrtle?"

"Yes?" her quavering voice answered, as she materialized over the sink. "Come to mock me have you? Not even left alone in the middle of the night..."

"Myrtle, please, it's just me," said Harry soothingly.

"Harry," she said, brightening considerably which made her look like some odd sort of lantern. "You've come back."

"I said I would, didn't I?" said Harry easily, dropping his bag by the door. "Seen any interesting baths lately?"

Myrtle sighed. "Peeves found out," she moaned. "Fixed all the taps so you can't look through them. Nasty, nasty thing, he is."

Harry tsked and shook his head. "So sorry about that."

He had learned long since how to humor Myrtle. He needed to remain on good terms with her to have access to what he now affectionately thought of as his practice room.

She sniffed unhappily. "He's not even a proper ghost. I heard the Baron say that he's ... but I'm not allowed to tell." With a wail she began to weep ghostly tears, dimming to a dull gray.

"It's all right," said Harry, kneeling by his bag to get out his ball of rope. "I'm sure Peeves is just jealous of you. After all, he never really lived, much less experienced such an amazing thing as death."

As he'd hoped, Myrtle brightened again, with a sigh that was almost cheerful. "Yes, death is such a lovely thing. Are you sure you don't want to? You could join me, you know. Life is so long and can be very boring."

"I told you, Myrtle," said Harry, "when I die, if I come back, I'll stay with you."

"If you come back," sniffled Myrtle. "Don't know why you like to live so much. I tell you, it's ever so much easier being dead, except for the Ministry. They don't let you haunt anybody you really want to. I deserved to haunt Olive."

"Of course," said Harry, "but you see, if I died now, people wouldn't like it. They'd overrun the place."

Myrtle let ought an unhappy whimper. "I can't ever have what I want! Poor me, poor 'moaning, stupid, fat little Myrtle.' They would, too. Run in and yell at you for dying, and then make fun of me. 'Fat Myrtle. Pimply Myrtle'..."

"I've seen pictures of Olive Hornby," Harry lied, "she was probably terribly jealous of you."

The ghost let out another wail of despair. "What good does it do?" she shrieked. "Everybody loved Olive! Everybody listened to her! Just because she hated me, she said all those things, 'poor ugly nearsighted fat, Myrtle...'"

"Open up," Harry hissed in parseltongue. A sink shifted, revealing the rather mundane entrance to the Chamber of Secrets - a sewer pipe.

With a grimace, Harry wrapped his rope several times about a hook he'd recently discovered on the inside of the piping wall and knotted it securely.

"Bye, Harry," sniffled Myrtle. "And remember... if you die..."

"Of course," said Harry. "Happy haunting."

Grabbing the rope, swinging into the pipe and bracing himself on it's opposite wall, he hissed the command to shut the entrance. The sink swung into place, leaving him in complete darkness.

He blinked several times before his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, then began slowly letting himself down. Harry had developed this method of descent to avoid odd questions about laundry covered in slime, not to mention the fact that falling down a slide several stories long with no way to slow down or stop was extremely unappealing. Most importantly he didn't have a Phoenix to fly back out with.

Gritting his teeth, he began to let himself down slowly, hand over hand, using his feet to keep from swinging into the walls. As always he held onto the hope that his rope would hold, but should it fail, that the Cushioning Charm from his last visit was still adequate.

After what seemed an age, his feet touched the ground and he let go of the rope. Drawing his wand, he finally risked light.

"Lumos."

His shoes made squelching noises in the damp as he walked. He scrambled through the narrow opening left from Lockhart's accident and continued on until he reached the wall with Slytherin's seal.

"Open up," he hissed again. The snakes parted and the stone slide smoothly open, allowing him to pass through.

The first time Harry had been in the Chamber he had been out of his mind with fear and worry. Now he could see how pathetically ugly the place actually was. The carvings were cruder than he remembered and he could now tell that the green glow, which had so horrified him as a second-year, was caused by the slime and mold everywhere, not by any ancient Magic.

Harry had spent a long time searching for a place to practice. He had returned to the Chamber as an absolute last resort when he had realized that not only could nobody follow him there, but also that not even Ron or Hermione could find him with the Marauders Map. The Chamber was the only room in the Castle not shown.

At first he'd been worried and a trifle squeamish about going there again, considering that as far as he knew the dead basilisk had never been removed. However, by chance, the King of Serpents had been covered, thankfully without a specimen handy, in Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid had explained that due to their highly toxic nature a Basilisk would be preserved by its own venom for several centuries before it could begin to decompose.

Aside from being a bulky nuisance on the floor, the snake was no problem at all. Harry entered the final chamber and shuffled passed the coiled remains. He began to practice defensive Spells until he passed out from exhaustion. He'd long since arranged for Myrtle to come down if ever he didn't return on time - even the deepest sleeper would wake up if a ghost passed through them, and, being a ghost, she could simply float through the walls and pipes, without any need for parseltongue or passwords.

XXX

"- there's a very large probability that if you use your blood as the trigger, especially considering the new complication of the Cycle of Debt, it will react with his mother's Protective Magic somehow," Igor speculated excitedly.

Snape had shown Karkaroff his notes on the Blood Magic Project and Igor had leapt at the chance to work in his favorite field. With so many variables and unknown factors, the unique situation couldn't help but draw his interest. Like a Niffler after a glimmer of metal, he dove into the Spells and Potions information, considering all possible ramifications.

"On the one hand, the protective magic might override the Malignant Intent your allies are trying to infuse it with," Igor went on avidly, "but on the other, there might just be an incredible backlash against the Dark Lord, when his Intent clashes with all the protective Magics. What do you think, Severus?"

Igor, getting no answer, looked up from the dozens of charts and calculations to see that his cousin had fallen asleep. Feeling a bit guilty for getting so wrapped up in the project, that he had forgotten Severus had just had a very close brush with death and had been prescribed much rest, Igor rose and taped Snape lightly on the shoulder.

"If you sleep in that chair," Igor said, "you'll wake with a horrid crick in your neck."

Instantly Snape tensed and his eyes flew open. Seeing Igor he let out a groan.

"Here," said Igor, helping his cousin to his feet, "get to bed. I'll come see you as soon as I find a way to make it work."

Severus allowed himself to lean on his cousin as far as the bedroom door. "Good night, Igor," he said. "And do get Florean to get rid of that ridiculous face before you forget."

Igor started. "How did you know about Fortescue?"

Snape smiled tiredly. "I taught him myself. Good night. Travel well."

"Good night, Severus."

XXX

Ronald Weasley sighed and stared at the pattern overhead in his four-poster. Something had woken him, but he wasn't sure what it had been. There was no sound except for the quiet breathing of his roommates, and Neville's snore. He groped about on the nightstand for his wand and cast the Tempus Charm. Four in the morning.

With a sigh, he fell back onto his pillow. It was too early to get up, but he found himself far too alert to go back to sleep. Mentally he went over his timetable. Divination first, then Care of Magical Creatures, Lunch. Double Astronomy in the evening. Was all his homework finished?

Suddenly, the creaking of the Dormitory door disrupted the stillness. Ron, carefully quiet, gripped his wand and readied a stunning curse, waiting for the intruder to make the first move.

Hardly daring to breath, Ron strained his ears, hearing the stealthy footsteps come closer. The stranger was headed directly to Harry's bed! Heart in his throat, Ron parted curtains just enough to see out, 'Stupefy' on the tip of his tongue.

Sensing movement the intruder whirled about. Ron let out a relieved sigh, a bit embarrassed at nearly having stunned his best friend.

"Harry," he hissed, "what the bloody hell are you doing up this early?"

Harry looked round hastily to be sure he hadn't disturbed anybody else before crossing to Ron's bed. "Couldn't sleep," he whispered. "What are you doing up?"

Ron shrugged. "Something woke me up. Probably you prowling about downstairs. You had me scared stiff."

Harry scrambled onto the bed, after kicking off his shoes, and sat cross-legged on the end of it. "Sorry."

Ron stared at his friend for a moment before he said, "You know, it's odd that you never go anywhere when you can't sleep except to study in the Common Room, but you always come back with slime on your shoes."

Harry ducked his head. "Would you believe me if I said I took a walk by the lake?"

Ron grinned and shook his head. "Nah. There're half a dozen Wards set to ring an alarm if you set foot outside after dark."

Harry grimaced. "After dark? All the time."

Ron sighed. "You couldn't sleep?"

Harry nodded.

Ron replaced his wand on the nightstand and shut the curtains. "Couldn't sleep or afraid to sleep?" He resettled himself under the covers. Harry didn't say anything.

"Look, mate," said Ron, "I understand. After Ginny - I had nightmares so bad during that summer, I went over and over it in my dreams. We got there too late, or Lockhart managed to wipe my mind blank, or you didn't make it out. Got so that I'd stay awake all night so I wouldn't have a dream. Bill knocked some sense into me before school started though, than Circe."

"Ron, I've taken care of the nightmares, I told you," Harry said. "Snape gave me Dreamless Sleep. I just stayed up too long to take it and..."

"And you stayed up until four am so that you'd be too tired to dream," finished Ron, "but now that it's so early you're afraid to go to sleep even if you won't dream because you won't wake up in time."

Harry sighed. Ron crossed his arms behind his head.

"Look," said Ron, "I'm your best friend. I'd much rather that instead of sneaking off to wherever you sneak off to, you just woke me up. All for one and one for all and all that."

Harry gave a wan smile. "It's not that bad."

Ron returned it with a stern look. "Harry, I'm serious. You always say it 'isn't that bad'. Your letters always say, "I'm fine," but a few years ago my brothers and I had to break you out of your room. Hermione once said you had a 'saving people thing,' but I think it's less about the other people and more about yourself. Why don't you understand that you're worth something, too?

"It's all right to bother your friends at two in the morning when they're asleep. Merlin, I've bothered you at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep, and that wasn't because of You-Know-Who, that was just exam nerves.

"I understand that with all the rules they've dropped on your head, no Quidditch, no leaving the castle without escort - you might want some air. But - look at yourself. You've got bags under your eyes big enough to pack for an overseas vacation."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry I haven't been telling you everything," he said. "It's just that... I've realized exactly how badly I can hurt somebody just by... I don't want..."

"Harry, you don't understand. I'm your friend," Ron whispered fiercely. "I may not always have been the best friend, and we have had fights, but even in first year I could figure out that there was a certain risk involved in being associated with you, and I haven't left you.

"I know He-Who-Must - I know Voldemort is after your blood. I know Death Eaters are after you. I know you still blame yourself for everybody that has been hurt or worse... I've faced Death Eaters too, Harry.

"I know you always put others before yourself, and that you do everything you can to make sure nothing happens to me, Hermione, or my family," he went on, "but ... remember the chess game, first year? If that Queen had been Lucius Malfoy, and the King you could checkmate had been Voldemort, I'd have done the same thing. I'd do it now."

"Don't," said Harry in an anguished whisper.

"If Hermione were kidnapped and held," said Ron, "and the only way to rescue her was to lay down and die, you'd do it wouldn't you?"

Harry looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Of course."

"Then why don't you understand that we'd do the same for you?"

Harry shook his head violently. "That's different."

"Why?" asked Ron harshly. "You put your life on the line to save Sirius, but I don't think you've even considered that act as something of value. And you still hold yourself responsible when he died because he did the same thing for you. Why is it all right for you to do something and not ok for the rest of us? Why does everything have to be your responsibility?"

"I..."

"Listen to me, Harry," said Ron earnestly. "I don't care if you have nightmares about Death Eaters or Potions Exams. I don't care if you're in danger from a Bludger or Avada Kedavra. I'll help you with any of it. All of it."

"I can't," said Harry.

"Can't what?"

Harry leaned back onto one of the bedposts and wrapped his arms around himself. "Ron, last year... I was so glad to have you at my back. You've no idea how sorry I am that you were hurt, that I put you in such danger without making sure it was necessary first.

"I realize what I have to do and I realize I can't do it alone. But some of the things I'm doing to prepare are illegal. While I don't care that somebody finds out about me, I... there's somebody helping me. I can't betray him. Not to anybody. Not ever."

Ron nodded slowly. "You may not be able to tell me who he is, but you can tell me what you are doing...?"

Harry took a deep breath, teetering on the edge of giving away his secret.

"I may not be much help," said Ron, "but... it looks like you need somebody to spill to. And if the only thing I can do to help you is listen, then that what I'll do."

Harry shut his eyes and said the sentence that had been echoing in his brain for days.

"I am learning Avada Kedavra."

Ron nodded, "I was wondering whether they'd make you."

Harry sat up quickly. "You - you mean you don't -"

"Don't what? Hate you for it? Want to run screaming into the night? I've known you were probably going to have to kill Voldemort since he came back," said Ron. "I didn't expect Wingardium Leviosa to do the trick."

"How can you be so -?"

"Matter of fact?" asked Ron. "You know, once you think about complicated problems long enough all the outside edges disappear. I thought about it along time, until all the little things disappeared and I saw that it was very simple; either you kill him, or he kills you. I'd much rather you be the one that stayed."

Harry blinked. "I... thanks, Ron. For... everything."

"It's too late to sleep now, Harry," Ron said, sitting up. "But it's early enough to talk."

Harry shook his head. "What's there to say? I'm taking lessons in illegal Defensive and Offensive Magics, and I'm... I'm getting good at them. That's what scares me. I have dreams where I... where it's all so easy, and I become like him, like Voldemort. Because it's easy, and I can have whatever I want if I do, and...now, in the dreams, it isn't Voldemort I'm afraid of, I - " he broke off with a shudder.

Ron opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out a small phial, and tossed it to Harry who caught it reflexively. "Pepper up," Ron explained.

"But- isn't that just to cure colds?" asked Harry. "Isn't that what makes your ears fizz?"

Ron shrugged. "It's a brand name. They make the Hipworth Potion for colds, but also this one. Its proper name is Aqua Vigori, or something like that, but... you can tell if somebody's ears are smoking or not, so you always know which one they're talking about. Take it now, and you'll be up and alert till about noon. It's Tuesday, so we're free after that until Astronomy..."

Harry stared at the bottle in his hand. "Thanks."

"You know," said Ron, "it's the only thing I've ever seen Professor Snape take."

"You sure?"

Ron shrugged. "He was in a hurry between class and something else. I don't think he realized I was still there. Odd, though. You'd think he'd make it himself."

Harry blinked. "Maybe it's something too simple to be worth his bother."

Ron snickered. "Actually," he said, "I heard a rumor that he brews all the potions in the Infirmary, and just refills the old bottles."

Ron snicker grew into a hysterical infectious giggle. Harry clutched his sides and laughed with his friend, not really knowing why it was funny in the first place. Finally, Harry came to his senses enough to shush his friend before they woke their roommates.

For a while they said nothing.

"What are you going to do when the war's over?" asked Ron abruptly.

Harry shrugged. "If..."

"Don't you dare say 'if I live'," threatened Ron. "You're going to survive this war if it kills you. I mean - er..."

Harry smiled. "I was going to say, 'if they let me.' I'll disappear. Imagine what people'd be like if I actually got rid of him. I'd have to get away. Don't know what I'll do, or where I'll go, just somewhere where nobody will recognize me. Where nobody would know what I'd done."

Ron blinked. "And after it's died down and you come back?"

Harry smiled. "You'll be the first to know."