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             The Canis Capellum cleansing potion was starting to collect in the waiting goblet. It fell with a slow, steady drip of red-black drops. When Mr. Potter reached full consciousness and kept awake and aware, I would reduce his medication to one round of cleansing potion a day, and eventually to one a week, perhaps even to one a month. Hopefully Le Clair could continue to pony-up blood to me until such time as I could declare Mr. Potter fully cured.

             On the opposite end of the table, the restorative draught was brewing, exactly ten minutes behind the first potion. It hadn't reached the condensation apparatus yet. But soon it too would be dripping into the second, waiting goblet. This potion's light golden color always reminded me of a pale ale. The smell of lemons filled my workshop and drifted into the bedroom. I had plenty of the anti-venom salve left. Harry's wounds were healing very nicely. Someday he would have no more than small puncture points as a reminder of the encounter.

             I glanced over at the shelf where I had placed the vial of potion Mr. Potter had given me, the one he had procured from Professor Volkova by rather dubious means that were still not as yet clear to me. It was nestled among other medicinal curiosities that I had collected over the years, right between the blue 'Tears of an Angel', used by professional mourners in need of a good weep, and the sickly grey 'Ghost of a Chance', used to release spirits chained to particular locations. I picked up the greenish vial from Harry and swirled it around, holding it up to the light of the candle that burned in the far corner.

             A bindy. Who would have guessed it? Not just a bindy, but a Benedictus in Tenebris created by one of Volkova's vampire-hunting ancestors, and passed down generation to generation, carrying with it the binding protection of love and blood and generations of family ties. It might even contain drops of blood from each person who had carried it. I shivered at the thought of what power I must be holding. This wasn't just of sentimental value to Volkova. No doubt it was the most priceless thing she owned. Why did she also need a Gallahad Elixir when she had this? A regular bindy would protect children from nightmares, surround them in a sense of comfort and warmth. Her bindy could set up continuous circles of protection around her in battle, as deep as the number of family members who had carried it before her. I could destroy this, of course, and thereby reduce her powers even further. But I had something else in mind entirely.

             I moved to the bookshelf and leafed along the backs of books. My finger stopped on a black leather volume with a golden Latin inscription: Media Vita in Morte Sumus. Why would someone need to carry both a bindy and a Gallahad Elixir? I flipped through the pages, still holding the vial in my hands. Gallahad. Gallahad. Of course not. It wasn't listed. The Benedictus was though. I turned to the correct page and laid the book open next to the goblet that would soon be holding the restorative draught.

             The Benedictus in Tenebris Potion: first attempted in the fifteenth year of Our Lord, using the sacred blood of the Eternal Savior, blessed son of Our Heavenly Father...

             One of many reasons I detested reading magic manuscripts copied by wizard monks was their unnecessary cluttering of the basic facts with Muggle religious nonsense.

             ....our Lamb, our Love, our only Salvation....

             Several paragraphs down, I found what I was looking for.

             In cases of inheritance that involve passing the Benedictus to a child not of the blood line....

             I paused, and read it again.

             In cases of inheritance that involve passing the Benedictus to a child not of the blood line, it is necessary to add the blessing or the blood or the skin of the natural parent of the intended inheritor.

              Would I be able to create a bindy for Potter? I didn't have blood or skin from James or Lily. I did have those two hairs that Harry had found in his fencing suit, but would they be enough of a tie between Harry and Lily to protect the boy? I sighed deeply and stared at the vial. I could ask Volkova what she knew on the topic, I supposed. As loathe as I was to admit it, Anna was familiar with potions, and she had to know more about this one than I did.  

             A movement in the other room caught my eye. I glanced up, putting the vial down and closing the book. Harry was standing against the doorway, concealed in the shadows, watching me with his dimly glowing eyes. He leaned his arm on the doorway, and his cheek against his hand, lowering his eyes before raising them again. My heart jumped into my throat, and all the hair on my neck stood up.

             "Mr. Potter," I whispered, nodding casually to him. He scratched dimly at his scarred forehead, his brow furrowing. He blinked sleepily, lowering his eyes again.

             "I lost my glasses," he mumbled.

             "Yes, you did," I offered a half-smile. "Lupin said he would retrieve them for you."

             How long would he be conscious this time? He processed my words slowly, but he did understand me. This was progress!

             "Was someone licking my ears?" he asked. I groaned, and shook my head.

             "No. You imagined that."

             "Did someone bite me?" he asked.

             "Yes. How much do you remember?"

             "My neck hurts," he complained mournfully.

             "I imagine it does."

             "Do you have a mirror?"

             "If you sit on the bed, I will bring you one."

             He agreed with a nod, wandering vaguely back into the bedroom. I raced around the table to follow him. He pushed his way on top of the covers, lying on his stomach, resting his head on his arms. I closed the door to the workshop, and rushed to the bathroom. I searched high and low for a hand mirror, and found one buried in the linen cabinet. I sat gingerly on the bed when I returned, unable to help myself staring at his backside. How was it that someone who looked like a standing frog in uniform trousers could be hiding such a tempting, rounded backdrop under his clothes? I carefully put a hand on the small of Harry’s back. He shivered at the touch.

             "Where am I?" Harry asked.

             "In my rooms," I answered.

             "Why?"

             I gave him the mirror, and he rolled onto his side. When he raised it to look inside, his eyes shot open wide. He jerked upright with a gasp of horror, his mouth remaining open.

             "Mr. Potter?"

             He moved the mirror up and down, left and right. Suddenly he glared accusingly at me, certain I was to blame.

             "What's wrong?" I asked.

             "I'm NOT reflecting!" he bawled loudly.

             "Well, of course you're not, stupid boy. You were bitten by a vampire," I told him plainly. Harry gasped again, and responded with a rather terrible scream.  

             "A VAMPIRE!?"

             "Oh, calm down," I scolded him. "It's not as bad as all that. You're much better today."

             “I’m a vampire?!” Harry screamed again, full blown with panic this time.

             "Shut up and give me that mirror," I frowned. He threw it at me, and I narrowly caught it. That's all I needed– seven more years of bad luck. The way my life was going, one would have thought I'd broken a mirror every day of my life. Potter started pummeling at me with both hands balled up. Blows rained down on my head and shoulders.

             A blast of gold and purple energy heralded Dumbledore's arrival in the bedroom. As the billows of smoke and light vanished, and I blinked away swarming dots, Dumbledore rushed towards the bed.

             "Harry? Harry? What's wrong? What's the matter?" the Headmaster asked, putting a calming hand on the boy's shoulder.

             "I've been bitten by a vampire!" Harry sobbed, putting his hands over his face.

             "Yes, dear. I know. But you're much better today. You'll be yourself in no time at all," Dumbledore consoled. Harry gave another sob, this one quick and short.

             “It’s not as bad as all that. Quit over-reacting,” I scolded as I put a hand on his other shoulder. He collapsed against me, heaving with tears.

             “It’s all your fault!” he accused.

             “I didn’t bite you!” I defended.

             “Severus,” Dumbledore snapped at me. Harry’s crying quieted down. His head slumped in my lap. He was asleep once more.

             "I should have broken it to him more gently, I suppose," I murmured. Dumbledore flared at me like a spitting cobra, his fury making his glasses turn crimson in the dim light.

             I peeled away the charmed velvet blindfold, and touched the bridge of Harry's nose. To my surprise, Potter's eyes opened at me. I quickly covered them with my hand.

             "Potter," I said, clearing my throat. "Close your eyes."

             Harry mouthed the word 'why', and it was then I remembered I had failed to remove the Laryngitis spell I had cast on him last night, after having endured another round of wandless magic and several hundred roving fancies again. I think Hagrid and I found them all, but I was constantly running a free hand over my backside, searching for bite marks.

             "Are they closed?" I asked. Harry nodded. I slowly lowered my hand, and encountered long dark lashes, soft crescents of shadow on his pale skin. "A necessary precaution, I'm afraid."

             He mouthed 'why' again.

             "Think you can stay awake more than five minutes this time?" I asked.

             'What? What happened?'

             I could make out the words, but only just.

             "Again? I've told you three times already. You don't remember?" I blurted.

             Harry shook his head, ducking away from my loud voice.

             "All right. But this time, take notes," I quipped. "Let me get you comfortable."

             I guess this meant I wouldn't get to bathe him again tonight. Pity.

             "Do not open your eyes," I warned him, raising the cloth. I moved slowly and carefully over his face, washing his cheeks and the hollows of his eyes. "Do you remember Halloween night?" I questioned. He furrowed up his brow. I could almost hear him trying to think, clogs turning together on the wheels in his mind. After several seconds, he nodded. "Do you remember being bitten?" I questioned cautiously, worried that Dumbledore might poof into the room at any second. To stall, I began to unbutton his shirt. I knew it was perfectly clean, but I wanted to undress him again, my toy, my lovely, perfect patient. He shivered when I touched him. "Don't worry. I need to put on the anti-venom. Hold still. Try not to squirm."

             I touched the salve to his bite, and he protested with an open-mouthed, silent cry. I felt my cock rising at the sight of him. Oh no. Oh no. Think unsexy thoughts. Think about frog guts. Think about roadkill. Now was not the time to ponder that reddish-pink mouth and all it promised.

             "I'm sorry. I had to take your voice away. You were casting spells in your sleep, conjuring things, doing the kind of wandless magic that would make a lesser wizard drop from exhaustion. Wandless magic! At your age and in your condition! I can't count the number of times I've had to vanquish your Patronus. This room was literally filled with roving fancies. I had to get Hagrid's help with the Norwegian Ridgeback. The laryngitis is only temporary, I assure you, as is the blindfold."

             Which was really a pity, because I rather liked him quiet and blind. It left me free to imagine all manner of perversities I could exact and he'd never even know it was me. Yet as I stared at him, those perversities were disappearing into smoke. He gave a small yawn and hunched down tiredly.

             "If you want to talk for a little while, I can remove the spell. But only if you promise to be on your best behavior."

             He nodded, and I left his bite alone long enough to pick up my wand and undo the spell. He cleared his throat and I went back to work. But he began to protest.

             "Limit yourself to one or two words at a time," I said.

             Words like 'yes please', and 'fuck me' would be nice, but I didn't think that was likely to happen.

             "Stop," he said. Yes, that was the word I had expected. "Hurts," he added. Oh great. Now I felt perfectly miserable.

              "I know. I do apologize," I tried to sound soothing. "You're very sensitive. I'll be more gentle," I said. "It has to be done though. The reversal is nearly complete. You don't want me to stop, do you?"

             "Reversal?"

             So I spent another five minutes of my life telling him yet again how he had been bitten by Henri Philippe Le Clair, and how I was pulling him back from the brink of undeath by the skill these hands alone. Again, he did not thank me. What did I have to do to prove myself to this boy??

             "'Lumina?" he questioned. I caught my breath and hoped he didn't notice the change in my voice.

             "She has gone back into hiding; I insisted on it for her own protection."

             "Volkova!" Harry sat up as if he intended to get out of bed. I captured him in my arms and breathed in the beautiful scent of him. He was smelling much better these days, what with his steady improvement and daily baths. Twice daily. Sometimes three times daily. The point was, he smelled better.

             "It is coming back to you. Good. Volkova followed you into the forest, after you followed me into the forest. If I have my way, you will be in detention until you graduate," I threatened. He didn't respond.

             I took a moment to ponder all the wonderful ways I could annoy him while he was in these detentions. I slid around delicious thoughts of how many hard wooden desks and benches I wanted to bend him over. Of course there was that pesky promise I made to Dumbledore about keeping the boy a virgin as long as possible. But there were plenty of things I could do to Potter without stealing his virginity. He was a virgin until I penetrated him, or he penetrated me. That left plenty of room to work.

             And yet, those detentions could be put to much better use than meaningless fooling-around. There were so more things I could teach the boy– I could expand his knowledge of Dark Arts ten-fold inside a month. Oh hell. What was happening to me? At what point did I even consider that teaching magic to Harry Potter was more important than having sex with Harry Potter? When exactly had I started even contemplating sex with Harry Potter?

             "But truly," I continued, "I should have never been there in the first place. Dumbledore took off a layer of my skin, he was so angry with me."

             That wasn't half what Albus would do if he caught a whiff of my depraved thoughts. I scooted over to the side of the bed and left Harry sitting in the middle. Shame poured off of me. Could Harry sense it?

             "Volkova followed you, tried to attack Illumina, and drew Le Clair out of his hiding place in the forest. You got in the way between Le Clair and Volkova. Chalk up another deed to Gryffindor courage," I chuckled hollowly, putting a hand to my healed shoulder. How well had Volkova's ripped cheek healed? Would she carry her scar as long as I would carry mine? "Well, no matter. Illumina took Le Clair and disappeared before Volkova could regain her senses. Volkova, more's the pity, is still here at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insists on keeping her around, but he took away her hammer and stakes. He even took away her shifting sand. She was crushed by that."

             Was the boy paying attention to me at all? He gave a small cough, and I nodded, going on to explain that she had been sniffing around the area in search of him.

             "Dungeon?" he questioned. I couldn't help but laugh at the timid sound.

             "Yes, you're in the dungeon," I said, sitting closer again. "If you close your eyes and listen very closely, I'll bet you can hear the students in the Slytherin Common Room."

             Not that they would help him if I decided to have my way with him. I wanted him on the floor in front of the fireplace first, so I could see the flames glowing across his skin as I fucked the living daylights out of him. No. No, on second thought, that would never do. I’d slept there with Illumina once, obviously not with the fireplace on, but granted, that would have only stirred up painful memories.

             "No peeking. Keep your eyes closed. I'm going to put a goblet to your face. You are going to drink the contents of the goblet."

             I was curious how my patient would enjoy the taste of his Canis Capellum while awake. Once I had the goblet to his mouth, he did try, bless him. It took at least two minutes to finish it though. He swallowed again and again. I feared he might be gearing up to vomit on me, but he was only testing the taste on his tongue. He made such a face that I couldn't help my grin.

             "Here. Mostly water this time, with a bit of lemon and what-have-you. It'll taste much better."

             The what-have-you could be explained later. No one liked to hear they were drinking a restorative draught, let alone one that contained mother's milk.
            "Better?" I asked. He reached for the goblet again. I gave him more, gave it to him until he had had enough, rambling on a bit as I wiped his wet mouth and then pulled off his shirt. I replaced it with another as quickly as I could. He reacted to the feel of the material against his skin. I watched him purr with pleasure at the silky feeling. I didn't know where Dumbledore was buying these, but they must have cost an arm and a leg. I wondered if they were laced with a spell to make them pleasant-feeling.
             We had reached the moment of truth.

             "Could you lie down a bit? It's easier to get your bottoms off if you're horizontal."

             I couldn't have planned a better response. He gasped and clutched his clothes tightly.

             "What? You're not going to get shy on me at this point, are you?" I pushed him down on the bed and loomed over him. "Who do you think has been doing this for two weeks?" I scolded. He shivered, and I immediately felt guilt rising in me instead of lust. I carefully removed his bottoms, being sure not to caress his thighs or stroke his calves. I quickly replaced the pants, tugging the new ones up around his waist. He reached for a hand, and I held onto both of his. Again, my guilt outweighed my lust. His timidity was evident. He was all but shrinking away from me, following every move of my hands with his own.

             "Don't be afraid," I heard myself say. Who was this man with so much pity all of a sudden? "I'm sorry if it's a terrible shock to wake up and find you're with me."

             And a damned terrible shock it must have been. I rambled out the rest of my explanation, about my deal with Dumbledore to cure Potter or go to Azkaban. I was certain of my ability to cure Potter, but I had not been sure he could respond to my abilities. Often the cure is not in the hands of the healer, but in the hands of the patient himself. Again the little bugger didn't mutter one word of thanks. Maybe he was still too dazed. I pulled Harry upright, not realizing that he was staring at me while I buttoned his shirt. I continued to ramble until I reached the top button and stared at his face. Reddish orbs gazed back.
             "Now's the point where I tell you about the after-effects you have to watch out for, starting with the charisma spell I can't seem to rid you of."

             Should I tell him about the smell? The drooling? The fangs? He hadn't levitated in several hours. Perhaps that was gone. I put my hand over his eyes.

             "Close them," I ordered.

             "No," he replied firmly.
             "Don't be peevish," I snapped.

             "Mirror," he demanded. I refused, laughing out loudly.

             "Not after last time."

             "Last time?" he puzzled.

             "I gave you the mirror. You screamed and passed out. Dumbledore heard you all the way up in his office. He came down here and spent three hours ripping me apart."

             He had actually spent three long hours screaming at me until my hair frizzed.

             "Mirror," Potter insisted. I had an urge to smack him. He put out his hands. He was going for the edge of the bed. I threatened him with a spanking. He did not heed the warning. I grabbed him before he got further away, and he began to struggle with me. Weakened as he was, to be honest, it wasn't much of a struggle. I rolled him onto his stomach and gave him one stroke against the backside with the flat of my palm. He was so shocked and angry. When he spun back over, hissing and baring his fangs, I held him firmly down to the bed, calming my racing heart, willing myself not to get any more angry with him, or any more excited at the prospect of pinning him to the mattress. Harry stopped struggling, and gave a soft whimper as he turned his face away. The sound of it went straight to my heart. I had hurt him? What had I done?

             "I haven't hurt you, have I?"
             I remember saying the words, and leaning close to him. The next thing I knew, I was waking up the next morning to the sound of Dumbledore's mirthful voice.

             "Rise and shine, Mr. Snape. How's our patient today?"

             “Yes, it would appear so,” Dumbledore answered me as I pulled myself slowly upright. Said obnoxious prat, Harry James Potter, was balled up under my covers, curled into a shape that would have perfectly fit the right side of my aching body. How long had I lain here in one position? Exactly how long had Dumbledore been standing over me smiling like that?

             “How did you— ?”

             “A very loud startle spell does the trick every time. You were awake in a flash.”

             “How long have I— ?”

             “Don’t fret. It’s only been twelve hours. You must have needed the rest."

             “He did it to me again, after all my precautions. How did he do it?”

             “At the risk of offending your sensibilities, Severus, it could have been far more horrible.”

             “Could it?”

             “If the worst thing you’re compelled to do under a charisma spell is give someone a cuddle, I’d have to say you got off lucky. Although, truth be told, that might not be the most prudent choice of words.”

             Chuckling to himself at his cleverness, Albus sat down in the chair to the right of the bed. Tilting his head to one side, the Headmaster slid his long fingers around one of Harry’s hands, tenderly smiling at the sleeping child. Sure, Fang Boy looked rather innocent at the moment, didn't he?

             “He’s grown, don’t you think?” Dumbledore asked. “His cheeks, more angular? His jaw, more defined?”

             “It’s hard to say,” I answered dully.

             “He’s taller, to be sure.”

             “I don’t notice,” I replied, wondering how the Headmaster could tell how tall Potter was when his present posture resembled that of a curled-up pill bug. Harry was sleeping with a contented expression though. That was unusual.

             “I haven’t seen him for several hours. I notice,” Dumbledore whispered. “He’s continuing to respond to your treatment?”

             “Yes, quite well, in fact,” I nodded. “I wasn’t at all sure he would respond to me. But we’re making excellent progress.”

             “Except for suppressing the charisma spell?” Dumbledore pressed.

             “I’m trying everything I can think of," I defended.

             “I’m afraid we may have to wait for Mr. Potter to learn to control it himself. You’ve done very well, Severus.”

             “Thank you, Headmaster,” I whispered, bowing my head. I didn’t feel as if I’d done well at all. I felt as if I’d narrowly escaped a one-way ticket to Azkaban Prison and the life-long enmity of a man I much admired. It wasn’t time to celebrate yet, or pat myself on the back. I had a lot of work to do before Mr. Potter was going to be himself again.

             “The Gryffindors are begging to be allowed to see him, but in light of your small difficulty today, I’ll have to tell them no for the time being,” Dumbledore continued. “They’ll be disappointed, but they will understand.”

             “What are we to do about Volkova?”

             “She will be staying, Severus. In spite of your reservations about her previous occupation, I must say she's been a valuable addition to our staff. You're the only one who hasn't been able to see that, and I understand why, of course, but it's time for you both to set aside your differences and try to get along.”

             “She's been pacing around outside the perimeter of my quarters, Headmaster.”

             “She’s expressed great concern for Harry.”

             “With all due respect, sir, she probably wants to put a stake in Harry.”

             “You are always ready to assume the worst, Severus. What can I ever do to cure you of this needless pessimism?”

             The question, I assumed, was a rhetorical one, because he did not linger for an answer. Dumbledore patted Harry on the head, and stood away from the bed. He patted my arm in a similar, condescending fashion, and headed towards the door. I followed him out of the bedroom to find Minerva was sitting in the outer chamber on the very edge of my favorite leather couch. She had straightened the green throw and was even now considering tidying the landslide of books on the coffee table.

             “Is he alive?” she asked Dumbledore. “Oh!” she exclaimed when I appeared into the light. “We were terribly worried, or we’d’ve never rushed in. I waited here until Albus made sure you were both decent. What happened?”

             “Harry mesmerized Severus," Albus answered before I could. McGonagall tried out a smile, a dangerous risk I must say.

             “That’s three times, Severus. What did he make you do?"

             “Cuddle,” Dumbledore whispered. McGonagall shook her head.

             “I can see why you have such an expression, in that case.”

             “Thank you for your concern,” I said dully.

             "You probably needed it. When was your last decent cuddle, Severus?"

             "When was yours?"

             "Professors, let us mind our manners," Dumbledore intervened.

             “Can I....I’d like....” McGonagall began, clearing her throat nervously.

             “Have a peek, but don’t disturb him. He’s asleep,” Dumbledore said. Minerva hurried to the doorway and peered inside.

             “A bit of light would be nice,” she insisted.

             I snapped my fingers, and the lamp standing beside the bed came on, emitting dim rays across the bedroom. Not satisfied with the view from the doorway, McGonagall crept inside. I growled at her, but she ignored me. She sat on the side of the bed, and I clenched my fists. When she leaned down, whispered into Harry’s ear, and planted a kiss on his hair, I nearly came unglued. Dumbledore kept me prisoner in the doorway as McGonagall got up from the bed. She dried her eyes as she came back to Albus and me.

             “It’s all my fault,” she whispered. I closed the door after dimming the light once more. I thought I had seen the movement of a leg under the covers, but I would check once Dumbledore and McGonagall were out of my hair.

             “How exactly is this your fault?” I wondered. This was the seldom-mentioned flipside of Gryffindor courage– Gryffindor guilt.

             “I told him I’d give him those teeth for a month, and look what happened to the mite,” Minerva fretted. “I should have never said those words.”

             “Minerva, there’s no use blaming yourself,” Dumbledore consoled.

             “No, you’re right,” she sniffed.

             “It’s much easier if we blame Severus,” Dumbledore said, giving me a hard look that went straight through me so quickly it took my breath away. He smiled again almost as quickly. “Hagrid will be here to relieve you in an hour,” Dumbledore told me. "You need a walk around the grounds. A bit of daylight and sunshine will set you right."

             "My patient needs me."

             "You will remain out of this room for two hours. Is that clear?" Dumbledore’s voice went down a full octave, and a menacing blackness burned in the depths of his eyes.

             "Yes, Headmaster," I intoned meekly.

             “Oh, and I have good news besides,” the Headmaster murmured on his way out my front door.

             “What’s that?”

             “The opposite of bad,” Minerva quipped. I would have choked her, but she was too quickly out into the hallway.

             “Lucius Malfoy has made the Daily Prophet this morning."

             “I thought you said it was good news,” McGonagall huffed.

             “It is good news,” Dumbledore said. “I like the new Lucius very much.”

             “It won’t last forever, you know,” I reminded him.

             “Too true. I’m sure he’ll celebrate his return to nastiness by caning the nearest house elf,” Albus agreed grimly.

             “What did Lucius do to make the Prophet?" I asked, cringing.

             "He's made the largest donation in St. Mungo's history, allowing them enough money to build a teaching hospital on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It's to be called the Wilhelmina Sapientia Malfoy School for Medical Training."

             "After his mother?" I choked back a laugh.

             "He's owled me asking for help in staffing, once the facility is completed," Dumbledore went on.

             "He named it after his mother?" I puzzled. "But Lucius hated his mother."

             "Any luck finding Volkova's bindy?" McGonagall asked.

             "I'm sure I will stumble across it soon," I replied. Minerva raised a brow, but Albus ushered her out the door. I walked them to the head of the corridor, and was about to close the outer door. McGonagall and the Headmaster were whispering between themselves.

             "Did you?" Albus asked.

             "Mm hmm," Minerva hummed.

             "Did it take?"

             "Mm hmm."

             "Are you sure?"

             "One true way to find out," she challenged.

             "You'd better be right," the Headmaster replied.

             A shadow on the ceiling barely outside the portal caught my eyes. Anna Volkova was withdrawing into the darkness, unaware I had already detected her. I glared in her general direction.

             Back in the bedroom, I found Harry lying awake, staring up at the ceiling. I sat on the bed, gathering up his wrist and testing his pulse. He blinked sleepily at me, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

             “Are we in your rooms, Professor?” he questioned.

             “Well spotted,” I replied. Somewhere in the near darkness through which Mr. Potter could see but I could not, I could hear my shrunken head collection talking among themselves.

             “Professor?” Harry whispered in genuine dismay. “My neck hurts. Someone bit me.”

copyright © 2004 Polliwog Press