-spinner-

             “Sleep now?” he asked.

             “I’m going to go clean up,” I said, motioning to my intermittently-wet and bedraggled state. “I shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. Why don’t you try to wriggle into these?” I suggested, handing him his pajamas. He unfolded them and held one half in one hand and one half in the other.

             “You sure these are mine?” he asked, brow wrinkled with puzzlement. I held the bottoms sideways against my left leg, and came up six inches short in material.

             “Yes,” I replied, giving them back to him.

             “Hm.”

             “The Headmaster took the liberty of sending for them. I suspect they are spelled to be intentionally soft against your skin.”

             “Because of the...” Harry motioned with one hand up and down quickly, encouraging me to finish the sentence for him.

             “Hyperactive state of your senses, yes.”

             “That’s why I can hear so clearly, and why lights are so bright?”

             “Yes.”

             He nodded again. “Will it stop soon? It gives me a headache.”

             “It should diminish as you get better. I’ll be right back,” I said, patting him on the top of the head before leaving the room. I made quick work of a shower and change of clothes, trying to decide what to order from the kitchens for the child to eat. He might be ready for more than broth or soup. Should I tempt him with sweets at this point? I was having a sudden craving for Greek food. Tzatziki and nice, tender lamb. Maybe some kalamata olives? Warm pita bread. Cucumbers. Have to ask the kitchen elves to leave out the garlic though.

             As I dressed in the bedroom, I gazed unhappily at my precious books. They were stacked haphazardly in front of the bookcases. Once Harry was asleep tonight, I’d try my best to get them back in order and on the shelves. How many centuries of knowledge had been narrowly in danger of being utterly destroyed? I caressed one wrinkled spine before heading back out into the front area.

             “Let me see your hand. Other hand, Harry.”

             A soft, feminine laugh stopped me dead in my tracks. Hermione Granger was standing in front of Harry at the divan, helping him into the top half of his sleeping clothes. The door was wide open. There was a bright, gaudy scarlet package on the coffee table. On top of the package was Harry’s wand. Next to the box were several large tomes marked with the Hogwarts emblem, which denoted they were from the library.

             “She had it all this time?” Harry asked Hermione, yawning at the end of the sentence.

             “Oh, your teeth are shorter,” Granger noticed, sitting down beside him and taking his chin in her fingers. Harry frowned at her, and she let go. “Yes. Professor McGonagall made her cough it up. Claimed she had been waiting for the right opportunity to give it back to you. If McGonagall hadn’t pressed, Volkova would still have your wand.”

             “Like when she was burning my hand with holy water wasn’t a convenient time?” Harry muttered.

             “Yes, I quite agree,” Hermione said. She tucked Harry’s pajama tails around his back and sat down again. I cleared my throat, and Granger leapt to her feet. “Professor?!” she exclaimed. “I was just, that is, I knocked, and Harry let me in.”

             “You were to leave the package outside the door. I don’t remember asking you to knock,” I told her solemnly. Harry gave a tiny, amused smile, and pulled Hermione down with a tug on the hand.

             “You’re going to need your glasses,” I said, heading back into the bedroom in search of the spectacles that Lupin had given me. I could hear their voices as I lingered. Perhaps a few minutes of contact with one of the Gryffindors would convince them to stop standing watch outside the dungeon exits. I lingered longer.

             “That’s an awfully big box,” Harry commented.

             “Professor McGonagall took a few things out already. She added warm sweaters, two of them. The boys couldn’t come to a consensus about what you needed. I tried to tell Neville and Seamus that you didn’t need your Quidditch goggles, and they were all upset at me. Ron put in all your wizard cards, and your map.”

             “The goggles might have been useful. Everything’s very bright and very loud. And if I may say so, you smell odd.”

             “Odd?” Hermione replied.

             “Different. Strange. Ultra-feminine.”

             “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Do you have bat sonar or....oh, I get it.” 

             “What?”

             “Nothing,” Hermione sighed.

             “What?” Harry asked impatiently.

             “I remember. It’s in the books. Hypersensitivity. Read the books. Oh, and I included parchment and quill and ink, in case you want to reply to any of the letters.”

             “It’s a nice odd,” Harry said as Hermione stood up. She gave me a nervous look as I returned, carrying the glasses. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry added.

             “I know,” Hermione murmured. She darted a scared look at me, and took Harry into a quick hug.

             “It’s kinda musky and warm and female,” he continued. Hermione kissed the top of his head and stood away from him.

             “Good evening, Harry. Good evening, Professor,” Miss Granger said. She made the fastest departure known to human kind. Her feet were out of the hallway even before I reached the door to close it. I heard the corridor door close, and the hum of the wards as they sealed. Halfway up the hallway, I spotted Harry’s towel and my robe lying on the floor. Suddenly, Potter was at my elbow, gazing down the hallway.

             “I’ll get them,” he said.

             “You go sit on the divan and decide what you want to eat. I’ll get them.”

             “Okay,” he yawned. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to get them.”

             “All right. So noted. Sit,” I ordered.

             “Did I say something insulting to her? She was gone really fast,” Harry said when I was back in the room. I folded my robe and shook out the towel, hoping he had had the sense to pull on his pajama bottoms before answering the door.

             “Most women might find it objectionable if you tell them they smell odd.”

             “Different. Not a bad odd.”

             “She’s menstruating. That’s what you sensed.”

             “Ugh.” Harry made a face. I shook my head at him.

             “It’s natural human biology. Nothing to be scared of.”

             “Ugh,” he repeated.

             “Did you have any clothes on when you answered the door?”

             “YES! You think I was raised by wolves?” he exclaimed, pausing for another yawn. “Not that wolves wouldn't have been a welcome change," he smiled faintly.

             “Dinner?”

             “Sleep?”

             “You need to eat. You need your medication. You may sleep in one half hour. Can you stay awake that long?”

             “Sleep,” Harry repeated. I cracked open the case and thrust the glasses onto his nose. He blinked at me, and opened his eyes very wide.

             “Glasses. Good idea. I can see you much better.”

             “Is that such a good thing?” I asked.

             “Yes,” he smiled.

             “I will take the liberty of popping over to the kitchens. Don’t blow yourself up while I’m gone. It won’t take ten minutes. Do not go to sleep,” I said, handing him his wand. He nodded, and I went to the fireplace.

             Half an hour later, the food tray had been picked entirely clean of anything resembling edible matter. I sat in the corner of the divan. Harry was lying on his side with his head balanced on my leg, breathing in a very contented manner. He smelled of warm pita bread and cucumbers and roasted lamb. He was holding his wand in one hand, lazily turning it around his fingers. I couldn’t believe he was lying there with his head on me. It was very difficult to resist petting his hair. Of course, maybe it was my imagination, but that might have been the reason he was sprawled against me. Maybe he wanted me to pet his hair? I put a tentative hand into his locks, and his smile curled happily.

             “Am I free to bring you Greek food again?” I asked.

             “Mm hmm,” Harry purred.

             “It’s beautiful. You’ll have to see it some day.”

             “What’s that?”

             “Greece. All blue and white, and the Mediterranean,” I sighed. “Simply wonderful. There are olives everywhere."

             “Some day,” he agreed. “She was going to keep my wand until you gave her back her....what the heck is a bindy?”

             “I will explain it all tomorrow. For now, you need your medication before you are dead asleep. Up,” I urged, lifting him by the shoulders to a seated position. I put his wand on the table beside the contents of the box. Several letters fell off, along with a pair of undershorts and a few mismatched socks. He got to his feet slowly, hanging onto my arm.

             “I liked the joke book,” he said. I made a face at him and tugged him along. He picked up the book in question– it had a cheap, shiny black cover, and a drawing of a small vampire child who was grinning to show off an impressive set of fangs. There was a small square on the back that proclaimed it was from the ‘Granger and Granger Family Dental Service’. If it were at all possible to remove points from Gryffindor House for Hermione Granger’s mother’s sick sense of humor, I would have done so, except for the fact that Harry was decidedly more cheerful than he had been mere hours before. Dark and wicked chuckles followed me into the bedroom. “What is a vampire’s favorite fruit?” he asked.             

             “I wouldn’t know.”

             “Nectarines,” he giggled. “What’s a vampire’s favorite ice cream?”

             “How many of those tasteless things are in there?”

             “One hundred and one,” he told me. “What’s a vampire’s favorite ice cream?”

             “You told me already. Vein-illa.”

             “Oh. Yes. I did. Vein-illa,” he giggled, sitting down on the bed and flipping more pages. “I didn’t ask you this one.”

             “Merlin, help me,” I said, rolling my eyes.

             “One more?”

             “One more. That’s it. Make it a good one.”

             “What’s a vampire’s favorite soup?”

             “Here,” I said, bringing back a goblet of Canis Capellum. He closed the book and set it aside, taking the goblet from me. It took three tries, but he finally finished it all, and gave me back the goblet. I switched it for a brimming portion of restorative draught. He quickly swallowed that as well. “You aren’t too full, are you? Does it taste differently on top of solid food?” I worried.

             “No. Still bloody awful. Thanks for asking.”

             “Under the covers,” I said, motioning him inside. He folded up, scooting over. I returned the goblets to the lab and closed the door, bringing back the jar of salve.

             “What is a vampire’s favorite soup?” he asked. I unbuttoned his top three buttons, and put my salve-dipped fingers against his bite.

             “Is it in good taste, making jokes in your condition?” I wondered. “I don’t know. What is a vampire’s favorite soup?”

             “Scream of tomato,” he grinned. I rolled my eyes, rubbing his neck. He twisted his head, and tilted his chin down. “You’re right. It’s in very poor taste. But it’s kinda funny too,” he murmured.

             “It is my turn to ask you a riddle. What is red and sticky and sweet and bites people?” I asked.

             “It’s not Le Clair, I’ll tell you that much,” Harry frowned, very peeved. “What is it?”

             “A jampire,” I whispered. Harry’s smile returned. I rebuttoned his shirt, and he burrowed down against the pillows. “On the topic of biting people, I need to ask you a serious question, Mr. Potter.”

             “Mm hm?” he nodded sleepily. I took off his glasses, and pulled the covers close around him.

             “This bruise,” I said, touching the mark on my neck. “Can you remember the circumstances under which I received it?”

             “Mm hm,” he nodded, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You spanked me. I bit you. We’re even.”

             “If you charisma me again, you’re going to have to wear the blindfold until you return to Gryffindor Tower, or until your ability to cast the charisma spell by glance alone goes away. Is that understood?”

             “Yes, sir.”

             “Furthermore, Mr. Potter, there will be no more biting on your part of any of my parts. Is that understood?”

             “Yes, sir. Jampire,” he smiled.

             “I must insist that until your ability to cast the charisma spell without thinking diminishes, or until you learn to control it, you must avoid singing out loud, making speeches, or running for political office.”

             “I can’t sing. Why would I want to make speeches? And I am not a politician. I’m a Gryffindor. Politician is such a Slytherin career choice.”

             “I’m glad you understand me.”

             “Do I have any?” he asked, lifting his chin and moving his neck side to side.

             “Should you?” I wondered. His eyes were gleaming. “What exactly did you command me to do?”

             “I asked,” Harry flushed pink but ventured on. “I asked you to make me feel better. I think you sorta misunderstood me. I had no idea. Are you trying to read my thoughts?” he asked, pulling slightly away.

             “What did I do to you?” I asked, feeling horror and concern bite through my blood like ice-cold poison.

             “Nothing dangerous. I mean, you started kissing me, and I was scared at first, but you weren’t hurting me, and I thought ‘wow, this is nice’, and you hate me, don’t you?” he shivered, covering his eyes with both hands. “By nice, I mean it felt, wow, you know?”

             “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wear the blindfold,” I said.

             “But I didn’t do it on purpose,” he protested. I dug through the drawer and retrieved the charmed velvet cloth. “I can’t help it.”

             “I know. But I must insist. Hands, please,” I said. He lifted his hands, and I folded the material over the bridge of his nose and around behind his head. “What else did we do besides kiss?”

             “That’s all I remember. I fell asleep,” he replied.

             “The truth, Mr. Potter.” 

             “Kissing. That’s all.”

             “I have a vial of Veritaserum right in my lab.”

             “Kissing. That’s all,” he repeated.

             “There will be no more kissing,” I scolded tenderly. “I am not your sheep to command at will. Is that perfectly clear to you, Harry Potter?” 

             “Yes, sir,” he mumbled. I smoothed his damp hair, and he yawned.

             “Sleep,” I ordered.

             “Mm hmm,” he nodded. His fingers traced the edges of the velvety cloth.

             “I don’t recommend you use your clairvoyance on that blindfold,” I said, turning the lights up slightly.

             “Why not?”

             Suddenly he sat up right in bed, his mouth wide open.

             “I told you not to,” I chuckled.

             “That may be the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen,” he gulped, lying back down.

             “You need to get out more,” I replied, picking up the first book and starting to sort.

             “Ugh,” he commented, rolling onto his side away from me. “Ewwwww.”

             “Stop focusing on it.”

             “Ugh...” he repeated. I sat on the bed and gave him a small shove.

             “What do you mean, ugh?”

             “I’ll never be able to look Madam Hooch in the face again,” he told me.

             “You go and drink half the punch bowl at the Faculty Yuletide Party and see how stiff your resolve is,” I retorted.

             “Not just your resolve,” he mused sleepily. “How could you? You were married.”

             “Good night, Mr. Potter,” I growled.

             “It might be useful,” he whispered.

             “What’s that? For blackmail purposes, you mean? Not bloody likely. Neither Hooch nor I have much money.” 

             “No. Tracking people.”

             “Tracking what people?” I asked, starting with the book sorting again.

             “People,” he whispered. I stared at the shape of his body under the covers, wondering about pouncing on him and covering him with a pillow until he piped down and fell to sleep. He was lost but for one shoulder and the hint of a hip. Kissing. He had been so casual when he told me about it. Kissing? I was kissing Harry Potter? Somewhere, James Potter was cursing my very existence. Maybe that explained his surprise about the bath. Didn’t he remember any of the other baths I had given him? If not, perhaps that was a good thing.

             “What is it this time?” I asked as Harry sat up again and fumbled for the side of the bed. I grabbed his knees and stood up slowly.

             “We would find Voldemort!” he said excitedly, trying to take off the blindfold. “Why can’t I get this stupid thing off?”

             “It’s spelled, dear boy, to prevent you being able to remove it,” I said, pushing him back against the bed. “It is time you were asleep.”

             “But with this tracking, this clairvoyance! I have to talk to Dumbledore! Don’t you see? We could find Voldemort! We could find Voldemort!”

             “Harry, how can you be so naive? Don’t you think Albus Dumbledore already knows he’ll be able to find Voldemort with your clairvoyant ability? Hmm? Don’t you think a wizard as cunning and deep-of-thought as Albus Dumbledore already struck upon that idea?”

             “Oh.” Harry deflated slightly. “Doesn’t he want to start right away?”

             “You have to be well enough to use the clairvoyance to its full ability. You have to learn to control it.”

             “He doesn’t trust me fully. He thinks I’m dangerous?”

             “Mr. Potter, it is the Headmaster’s most fervent wish that you are very dangerous,” I mused, pushing his shoulders back against the bed. He squirmed around to sit up, and I put my hand on his forehead. “Dormi. Dormi sine somnium. Dormi sine dolor. Somnus ingens aequor est. Bibe guttatim. Dormi. Shhhh. Dormi sine somnium. Dormi.”

             “What was ‘at?” Harry mumbled. He started to recognize the feeling as he sank back against the covers. “You spelled me to sleep, didn’t you?”

             “You would have preferred a mallet to the cranium instead?” I asked, caressing through Harry’s wild locks where they were sticking up in half-dried tufts.

             “But eye contact. Eye contact. Hermione said,” he complained. I covered his mouth with my hand.

             “Shut up and go to sleep, or I will smother you.” 

             I felt his lips open. Warm wetness greeted my palm. I yanked my hand away. Harry gave a devious smile, chortling deeply as he flashed his ever-shrinking canines at me.

             “Shut up, go to sleep, and don’t you ever try to bite me again,” I warned in a quiet whisper. Harry’s smile faded, and he began to breathe evenly. I pushed him under the covers, propped up his head on his pillow, and returned to my book sorting.

             "Harry!" I shouted.

             The sound of splashing water in the bathroom calmed my heart. I hurried to the door and tried the knob. It was locked. I found this befuddling because I had never to my knowledge ever used the lock on this door, and hadn't been sure it had been equipped with one until now.

             "Professor? Is that you?" Potter called from inside.

             "Who else were you expecting?" I asked grimly, leaning on the wooden barrier and catching my breath.

             "Oh, thank goodness," Harry continued. "I'm having a problem here."

             "Mr. Potter, what are you doing out of bed?" I asked. From the echo in his voice, I could tell he was either near the tub or actually sitting in it.

             "I fancied a bath, and, well, you were sleeping, and I was sure I could do it for myself. I feel like I smell terrible. Is that normal?"

             "What seems to be the difficulty?" I asked.

             "Aside from the fact I'm still wearing this stupid blindfold? I was fine for a few minutes. I got dizzy though, and I feel so tired all of a sudden."

             "Are you lying in the tub?"

             "Yes, sir."

             I retrieved my wand with a quick tug towards the side table, and tapped the brass handle.

             "Alohamora. What?" I added, stopped on the threshold by Harry's shrill cry of protest.

             "I'm naked!" he exclaimed.

             "All the more reason I need to get you out of there, before you catch your death in a cold. You should be in bed," I chided.

             "You can't come in," he said. I opened the door and approached the tub, making sure he saw I had my hand over my eyes. Of course, he couldn't tell because he had the blindfold on yet. But I made the gesture nonetheless. "I can't believe you barged in like that," he grumbled.

             "Here," I muttered, handing him a towel. He snatched it from my grip, and slid back down in the tub. I carefully peeled the soaking wet blindfold off his face. “I don’t understand why you’re so completely embarrassed by your body. It’s not as if you have extra parts or some horrible deformity. Besides, I have seen you naked so often in the last couple of three weeks that frankly your bare skin is rather everyday by now.”

             “Sorry. I’m not so easy about being naked as all that. The water is moving up and down. Why does it do that?”

             "The tub has an anti-drowning spell on it."

             "That's clever," Harry said softly.

             "Are you decent?" I asked.

             "Yes, sir."

             I opened my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring down at him. For his part, Harry offered a meek smile and lowered his head, trembling under the huge, green thing he held over his lap. He pulled the stopper in the bottom, and the inch or two of water below the spell-line drained away with a gurgle that echoed my growl of annoyance. I had to wonder, recalling myself at his age, if he had come in here not for a bath but for masturbation privacy. I lifted a second towel from the racks and knelt by the tub, putting it around his shoulders.

             "What's the matter with me?" he asked as I lifted him carefully under the knees and back. I carried him to the bed and set him on the mangled covers that were trailing on the floor. A quick glance at the timepiece told me it was around five in the morning. Would the house elves be around in the kitchen yet? The child must be hungry. I should get them to bring him something suitable, something that would put some weight on him.

             "You were bitten by—"

             "Yes, I got that part," he nodded limply. "I'm so weak. One minute I'm fine, but the next I can hardly draw in a breath."

             "You're going to be like that for a few weeks. It will take you time to rebuild your strength. Be patient. You’ve been mostly dead all month. My suggestion is that you tell no one else about your condition besides those who already know."

             "It's not what I expected," he said, putting one hand on his neck where the eight marks left in him by Le Clair were continuing to heal.

             "What were you expecting?" I asked, taking one of the towels away from him and drying his hair in a slowly, meticulous manner that I hoped he didn't find alarming or amusing, or arousing at all.

             "In the movies...." he began, but stopped when I snorted.

             "Fiction, Mr. Potter."

             "Two holes, that's it. That's what I was expecting," he finished. I took one of his hands into mine and dried it, then turned it over to expose the wrist.

             "If Monsieur Le Clair were a cobra, perhaps," I demonstrated, poking with two fingers at the main vein of his arm. "Certain proteins in a vampire's saliva do mimic the anti-coagulant properties of several species of snakes and bats alike, not to mention the lowly mosquito. However, a two-hole bite would do very little towards Monsieur Le Clair's ultimate goal, that of drawing as much blood out of you in as small an amount of time as possible."

             "The more holes he can poke, the faster he can drink?"

             "Precisely."

             "There's got to be twenty of them," Harry muttered.

             "Eight, actually," I corrected, letting go of one hand and taking up the second. “He’s apparently grown two extra canine teeth on top and two on the bottom. Or he’s filed down others.”

             "Well it was rude, damned rude of him."

             I nodded, making a consoling face.

             "He scratched you," Harry remembered.

             "Yes."

             "You and Professor Volkova."

             "Yes."

             "Did it hurt?" he asked.

             "Yes, immensely. You?"

             "Thought I was gonna die, it hurt so bad," he replied in Hagrid's manner. "But after a few seconds, it didn't hurt at all. It felt....it felt good."

             "Were you afraid?" I asked.

             "Only at first," he said. I moved the towel and my hands down his shoulders, around his chest.

             "Where did you leave your pajamas?" I asked, kneeling in front of him and wrapping my towel around his waist, moving it side to side and up and down to dry his back. He studied me, leaning slightly forward and opening his eyes wider. I immediately let go of the towel and covered his face with my hands. "Mr. Potter, one more charisma spell hits me, and I'm going to use an oculus obscuro on you. Do I need to explain to you what that means?"

             "I'm guessing it's not pretty."

             "Oculus. Eyes. Obscuro. Venture a supposition, Mr. Potter."

             "You'll blind me."

             "Why don't you try asking for what you want instead of turning me into a sheep at your command, hmm? Open your mouth and use the words, 'Professor, I would like'," I murmured.

             "Professor, I would like to know why you're helping me."

             "I made a bargain with the Headmaster. If I saved your life, he wouldn't pursue Henri Le Clair, or allow the resident vampire killer to do so."

             "And if you don't save my life?"

             "I agreed to go to Azkaban Prison, and happily."

             "Who decides if you've saved me or not?"

             "Facts speak for themselves, or at least they should. You aren't craving blood, are you?"

             "Um, no. But steak. Red meat. A big juicy steak sounds tempting. Is that bad?"

             "No."

             "Or sausages, perhaps?" His face lit with excitement at the thought. 

             "You can digest normal food. You have green eyes again. Your teeth are relatively normal. Your skin is warm to the touch," I said, tugging my towel out from behind him and parting his legs in order to dry them one at a time. "You haven't levitated in nearly forty-eight hours. No. I stand corrected. I believe being able to stick to the ceiling yesterday counts as levitating. As for the charisma spell, I shall have to consult the texts Hermione brought you to read, and see what I can do to remedy the matter. What she was doing with these texts I have no idea.”

             "The dreams. Will the dreams stop?"

             "Which dreams? The precognitive ones?"

             "No," Harry whispered, avoiding my eyes.

             "You mean the sexual ones? Those particular dreams are a good sign."

             "Are they?"

             "It's your body's way of telling you to fight for your life, to extend your life by procreation, to continue your blood line if at all possible."

             "I'll really never be able to look Madam Hooch in the face again," Harry confided. "That's your fault, you know? Dumb blindfold."

             "Are all your fantasies linked to Quidditch?"

             "No," he frowned. "Professor, I would like," Harry began, stopping mid-sentence when my hands travelled a bit farther up his thigh than either of us planned on.

             "Sorry," I whispered, watching his face flush crimson on cream. "Go on. What were you saying?"

             "I would like to know why Dumbledore allowed Volkova to burn me."

             "He was testing me, to see if I would run back to your rescue."

             "Does he often hurt one person to test another?"

             "Not often. Only when he deems it necessary, I hope."

             "He wouldn't listen to me when I told him that Volkova was holding sway over him. Told me I should relax and not fight them," Harry trembled. "I don't know if I can trust him after what they did yesterday. I mean, every time I turn around, I learn something else about him that makes me wonder. Really makes me wonder."

             "It's all right to wonder, but you must continue to trust the Headmaster. In spite of his often-unpredictable methods, I truly believe that he has your best interests at heart, Harry. He's not trying to hurt you. He cares about you very much."

             "How can you be sure?"

             "I have my reasons. I've seen him with you. I've sensed the way he feels about you. He loves you, and he wants to protect you."

             "He needs me to defeat Voldemort."

             "True."

             "Is his affection for me based solely on the requirement, on the hope, that I will defeat Voldemort?"

             "No," I assured him. "Yesterday, well, yesterday was an example of him being cruel to be kind."

             Harry stared at me, and thoughts went through him that filled his eyes with pity.

             "He's done that to you? Been cruel to be kind."

             "Yes, he has."

             "Did he burn you?" Potter asked, rubbing his left palm with his right thumb.

             "No," I smiled. "He took me to see Artemis McGonagall."

             "She was very kind to me. What did she do to you?"

             "She confined me under a suicide watch until I persuaded her I wouldn't kill myself."

             “That’s horrible.” Harry's eyes went wide. "How did you get away from her?"

             "Secret mind-control technique. She has no idea to this day that I spelled her," I whispered, touching my finger perpendicular to my mouth. "Shhh."  

             Harry nodded, another timid smile bending his mouth thin for a second.

             "It's like Illumina, the way she divorced you. Was that being cruel to be kind?"

             "Yes, in her own way. Let's not talk about that, hm?" I pleaded, stroking down with one calf with the towel before moving to the other. "I'm not good with uncomfortable topics. If we're to get along until you are well enough to return to the dorms, there are two topics I would like for you to avoid."

             "Illumina?"

             "That's one of them."

             "As you wish. What's the second? My father?"

             "No. We can talk about him all you like."

             "What's the second topic?"

             "Lie back and let me dry you off," I said, standing up in front of him. He gazed up at me, vaguely alarmed at my request, but he lay back against the bed as I had asked. "Where did you leave your pajamas?" I asked, moving my hands gently between his legs. His beautiful skin went crimson clear to the neck, and he closed his eyes. I had to touch him to dry him, it had to be done, but I tried not to linger, nor to stroke him too roughly. I kept my eyes on his face, but perhaps that wasn’t a good idea either. I found myself staring longingly at his mouth.

             "Dumbledore got attacked by roving fancies twice, eh?" the boy murmured, fighting for a smile that made a meager appearance. He was trembling all over. "They're in the bathroom."

             "Roving fancies?" I tensed. So did my hand, thus tightening my grip on him.

             "Pajamas," Harry gasped. I felt as if a jolt ran through my arm when he gasped.

             "Sorry," I intoned, letting go of him.

             Harry nodded. I took away both towels and walked quickly to the bathroom. When I returned, he was under the covers, holding them up to his shoulders and gazing at me with a suspicious expression.

             "How long until I can go out in daylight?"

             "I'm not sure."

             "Uh oh."

             "You see, to be very honest, although my recommended method of treatment for victims of vampire bites has in fact worked before," I began.

             "Hagrid told me so," Harry nodded.

             "Yes, well, even though it's worked before, it seems that every patient has had varying degrees of normalcy once the initial indicators were reversed."

             "I may not be able to go back out in sunlight?"

             "You'll be able to. It's a question of when, how much, how often, and what precautions we must take to ensure that your condition does not become a matter of gossip either around the school or in the wizarding world at large. I regret to inform you you've already made the front page of the Daily Prophet at least once while you've been ill. If you step outside and begin to sizzle, the cat will be out of the bag."

             "You have any sun-screening potions?" Harry asked.

             "As a matter of fact, I have many. Arms," I ordered, holding up the pajama tops. "Harry?"

             A wide yawn greeted me. Potter raised his arms, and I slid the silken material onto him while being careful not to touch his sides or his back.

             "I might sleep a while more," Harry said.

             "A capital idea. I very much approve. But I thought you were set on sausages?"

             "Later. Professor, I would like—"

             Another yawn stopped him. I waited patiently, trying to figure out how I was going to get pajama bottoms on a seated person buried under layers of blankets.

             "What would you like?" I asked blandly.

             "My glasses. Everything's so blurry."

             “After you sleep a while more.”

             Harry agreed, snuggling down under the covers and stretching his long legs.

             "Mr. Potter," I intoned, holding up the bottoms.

             "Couldn't I just–"

             "No, you may not lie around half naked," I said crossly, thrusting them under the covers from the side. "Put them on. Don't make me get my wand."

             Harry disappeared under the covers and fumbled with the pajama bottoms. One set of toes jumped out of the side of the covers, and the naked inside of his knee emerged teasingly. When he settled on his back once more, having drawn on the clothing, I sat carefully next to him. I was so very grateful that he did not flinch or scoot away. It took me several seconds to push away the mental image of his naked thighs.

             "Which side of the bed do you prefer?" I asked. He waited a beat, and a quirky grin sprang up.

             "The outside, of course."

             "Move over, discipulus horrendus."

             "You're calling me dirty names in Latin, aren't you?" Harry asked.

             "Discipulus. Pupil. Student. Disciple, if you must. I gather you can figure out the second by yourself?"

             "Horrendus. Yeah. I know what that means," Harry whispered, scooting over to the right. I moved under the blankets, breathing in the wonderful clean scent of him, and decided I'd better keep a respectful distance between us if I had any sense. He was the one to burrow against me. "How would I say 'pointy-nosed git' in Latin?" he asked.

             "Nasus idem rostrum?"

             "What does that mean?"

             "Nose like the front of a ship."

             "Nas-oos ee-dehm rohs-trum."

             "Nasus idem rostrum," I repeated. He closed his eyes.

             "Na-zeus eat'em row-strum."

             "Nasus magnus," I whispered. Harry put his head on my shoulder and wrapped up in my arms.

             "Tell me the sleep spell," he said. I watched him with wary eyes.

             "So you can knock me out?" I smirked.

             "No. I just want to learn it."

             "Wait. Did you say 'learn' and 'want' in the same sentence? Let me try very hard not to die of shock."

             "What's the spell?" he persisted sleepily.

             "Dormi."

             "Dor-mee."

             "Dormi sine somnium."

             "What does it mean?" Harry asked.

             "I will teach you another time," I promised. "Rest now."

             "Dormi. Dormi sine somnium," Harry repeated, dropping back into slumber. Seconds later, his eyes opened to greenish slits. One arm went around my shoulders, the other around my waist. He brushed his nose to mine, one side and slowly the other. "Professor?"

             "What would you like?" I inquired, mastering the shiver in my limbs, and desperately attempting to banish the mental thought of his bare thighs again. The thought was utterly shattered by the feeling of his mouth against my cheek.

             "Thank you." Harry dribbled the words delicately against my rough skin. I could feel his breath. I could feel his lips. My heart stilled in my chest. His mouth brushed mine, wet upon dry, before his head ducked under my chin shyly.  

             "My pleasure," I rasped. He moved as if to kiss me again, and a jolt ran through us both. He pulled back from me and puzzled briefly.

             “Why do you keep shocking me?” he asked.

             “I’m not shocking you,” I insisted. “But you felt it too?”

             “Could we be imagining it?” he asked.

             “It’s probably the cold air. There’s lots of electricity in the air in winter,” I replied.

             "The Mistress bid me bring this to him," Volkova's house elf said, bouncing a quick curtsey.

             “I’ve been waiting for the books about her family history for three days. Will she send them soon?”

             “Yes, soon. She would like to see Mr. Potter first.”

             "Tell me what's on the tray," I said, delaying her as Harry emerged from the bedroom, walking slowly and carefully towards the nearest horizontal surface, which happened to be a chair.

             "Hi, Malchik," he said happily. "Oh, sausages!" The elf darted past me and ran for him. I threw the tray into the air and caught the edge of her cloak. She seized one of Harry's hands, putting her small face in his palm. I let go of her cloak and stared at the tray. It was floating a foot from the floor. All the plates were a kilter, but nothing had spilled.

             "Oh, master!" the elf cried, trembling on just this side of ecstacy.

             "Nice to see you too," Harry said, completely embarrassed. Malchik pecked several kisses to his hand before standing next to him, holding onto both his hands. I believe she’d’ve clasped him about the knees if it were at all feasible. She sniffed at him, touching his chin.

             "Canis Capellum?" she questioned. Harry looked to me, and I nodded. I lifted the tray, and the plates aligned themselves accordingly. Malchik crept a hand over Harry's bite, and watched his face as she focused her magic into it. Potter went all shivery. "Cleansing potions. Anti-venom salve. What about the restorative draught? The necessary ingredients have to extraordinarily pure."

             "I didn't realize you were familiar with the healing arts," I said dryly, putting the tray in the air right next to Harry. I meant to peel Malchik off of him if necessary.

             "Out of necessity, yes," she replied. She touched Harry's burnt palm, rubbing soothingly. "Poor child. Poor child. The Mistress was very distressed that she hurt you, even more that she frightened you."

             "You and she work well as a team," Harry said. He withdrew one hand from Malchik's grasp, his smile widening to a wicked curve on one side. "Perhaps you'd like to stay and talk a while?"

             "No. I don't mean to intrude," Malchik refused. "You should eat, and you need to rest. How long can you stay awake at one go?"

             "He's up to three hours today," I commented. Harry continued to hold Malchik's hand, though she was trying to pull it from his grasp. She was growing afraid on him. What had she sensed?

             "I think you should stay," he said, lowering his voice and gazing at her intently. "Tell me what's on the tray? Any more holy water?"

             "No," Malchik promised, finally managing to pry her hand away. She put both hands on the tie he had given her, which hung loosely around her narrow neck. She bobbed to Harry and took several careful steps back from him. Harry picked up one bowl, holding it in his grasp. Malchik was going pale. "Mr. Potter is concentrating his clairvoyance," she said nervously.

             "Dobby made the soup under Professor Volkova's direction," Harry told me. "Nothing harmful."

             "I'll be going. But if you need anything, call for me. I will hear you," Malchik stammered.

             "The biscuits are from Volkova's own stock. Her favorites. Clear from Venice."

             "Not too sweet. Easy on the stomach," Malchik promised, taking another step nearer to the fireplace floo, and sure escape. Potter picked up one of three goblets on the tray and removed the cover.

             "A blessing cup from the altar at the Shrine of Our Lady of Sorrows," Harry smiled wickedly. "It's the church where Anna was baptised. She's friends with the Father. He gave her the cup as a gift for exorcisizing one of his church members."

             "She slipped you altar wine?" I gasped. “Don’t touch it! It will burn your insides like fire," I warned.

             "It's going to be hard to keep secrets from you, isn't it, Mr. Potter?" Malchik asked. Harry sniffed at the wine, swirling the reddish liquid around in its confines.

             “No. It’s not altar wine. Only the cup is sacred,” Harry said. Malchik trembled, stepping forward again nervously.

             “But you can hold a blessed object and the metal does not burn. That is a good sign. It’s a very good sign,” she whispered, her eyes wide and round. I moved to scoop up the goblet, but Harry pulled it away from me, turning the cup to the light.

             "Volkova will continue to test me until she believes I am cured, won't she?" Harry asked. Malchik was shame-faced and scared.

             “Yes, Mr. Potter. It is her duty. She must do what is commanded of her.”

             “Commanded by whom?” Harry wanted to know. Malchik quickly snatched the goblet away from Harry, vanishing it into nothingness. Harry stood up, looming over her.

             "I most humbly apologize," Malchik said, bowing to Harry. At that moment, an intense pain went through my Dark Mark. I had to sit down, holding my other hand over the throbbing, stabbing, molten anger in my arm.

             "How's your scar?" I faced Potter. He swayed visibly and dropped back to his chair. He went through the motion of putting hand over his right eye, blinking dizzily. It was as if he wasn't sure where to find his head, let alone his scar. "That's what I thought," I added.

             "Master?" Malchik murmured, taking Harry's left hand and holding onto it. "What is it?"

             Harry lifted his head.

             "He wants to talk to you," Potter told me. I nodded, and the boy's face lit up with fear. "You can't go," he whispered.

             "I have no choice," I replied. "You," I commanded Malchik, who shrank momentarily from the sound of my harsh voice. "You are bound by magic to protect your master, are you not?"

             "Yes, I am," she replied, bowing quickly.

             "You must stay right where you are until I return. You must remain and protect your Master," I said, indicating Harry. Potter looked ready to protest, not understanding what I was doing. "You must let no one cross this threshold until I return."

             "Please, Professor. You can't go," Harry pleaded.

             "No one can cross the threshold until I return," I repeated to Malchik. The little elf stroked Harry's hand, bobbing to me.

             "I will protect my master," she promised.

copyright © 2004 Polliwog Press