AN: I'm not going to say anything about this fic. If you want to know, you
must read.
Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, nor is anything connected to him. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to sulk in my dark corner over this.
Chapter One: O-sigma
The pain didn't bear thinking about. Now, if only he could find something distract his mind...
Severus opened his eyes. And immediately shut them again. That had hurt. A white-hot lance of light had speared through his head and now his head was throbbing at triple time.
Okay. First thing's first. Where was he? And, more importantly, was he safe? Severus was much more cautious about opening his eyes this time. It still hurt, but his eyes slowly adjusted to the light of the room, which turned out to have been rather dim in the first place. His surroundings slowly materialised out of the haze as his pupils contracted.
He was in the hospital wing, safe back in the school. The only thing that bothered him about this was that he had no recollection of returning under his own volition. Answers. He needed answers. And he wasn't going to get any lying here. The throbbing in his head had subsided and he decided that he wasn't wounded as bad as he had first thought.
Then he made the foolish mistake of moving. Or, at least, attempting to move. He gasped sharply, then bit down ruthlessly on his reactions. It didn't matter how badly he was wounded, he would *not* allow his mask to slip; that was what had landed him in the position in the first place.
He quickly decided that moving could wait a little longer. It seemed that he was, in fact, wounded as badly as he had first thought. Or perhaps worse.
Never one to wait idly for things to happen, he decided to do the only thing available to him at the moment: he assessed what he could of his wounds. Moving as little as possible - it hurt too damn much, not that he'd let anyone know - he manoeuvred into a semi-reclining position on his pillows. His head spun at this simple movement. When his vision cleared, he looked down at his body.
Well. His hands weren't broken. That was a plus.
A plus that hardly registered against the staggering number of negatives. There was not a patch of skin visible that retained its natural colour. Every inch of his skin was covered in burns, bruises, welts, slashes and abrasions in every colour of the rainbow and a few shades of black and brown besides. That wasn't the worst of it. A slash across his abdomen oozed the black blood indicative of a bleeding liver. Both shins were broken, bent at odd angles. Several toes were missing from his left foot. His right shoulder was dislocated and he didn't think there was a rib in his chest that wasn't at least cracked.
Severus didn't understand. He had presumably been in the hospital wing for a considerable amount of time. So why was he still in such an appalling condition? Surely, it couldn't be put down to the gross incompetence of the nursing staff. As much as it galled him to admit it, Severus knew Poppy Pomfery was a first-rate medi-witch.
So why not administer to his wounds?
Severus tried to yell for the matron. All that escaped his mouth was a dry hack and spots of blood. His left hand shook as he wiped his mouth. So. It seemed he was as badly wounded on the inside as he was on the outside. He stared blankly at his trembling hand for a long moment, then balled it into a fist, digging his nails into his palm.
If he had hoped the sharp pain would help him to focus, he was sadly disappointed: the tiny pricks were lost in the sheer haze of pain he was enduring. He swallowed hard several times, hoping to reclaim some semblance of a voice. He needed somebody to shoot questions at. He needed somebody to rant at. It was Severus's tried and true method of diverting his attention from the agony. But he needed a *voice* to simply *summon* someone, before he could even consider breaking into one of his famed tirades.
He hazarded another try. This time, the most he could produce was tiny rasp. His neck corded as he clenched his teeth. It was almost enough to make him cry in sheer frustration. Almost. Severus Snape did not cry. Nor did he give up.
He was about to try to speak for the third time when he was saved the effort.
From beyond the curtains obscuring his bed came the voices of Albus Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey. And they just so happened to be discussing him. Severus decided it would be prudent to conserve his energy until it was absolutely necessary. If they were going to answer his questions for him anyway, he saw no reason inform them of his lucidity.
'He hasn't been healed yet?' Dumbledore's voice ever so slightly accusing and Severus silently agreed with the sentiment.
'I've told you before, Albus. We cannot risk it.'
Severus stirred. Why the hell not? Dumbledore cleared his throat beyond the curtain.
'Explain it to me again.'
There was a pause, and Severus could almost see Poppy gathering all her patience to deal with exasperating old wizard. Generally, he would agree with her. But not when he wanted to hear the reasoning behind the singular lack of medical attention paid him.
'He has simply lost too much blood. Whoever did...' there was another pause, and Severus would have sworn he could hear Poppy swallowing against bile, '...that...to him knew what they were doing. They deliberately bleed him.
'As it stands, he has barely enough blood in him to keep him alive. Surely you recall that the healing spells depend on assistance from the patient's own body? If we cast the spells on him in his state, they would consume him.'
A pregnant silence and Severus felt his heart sinking. He knew what came next.
'Well, what can we do for him?'
'What Severus really needs is a blood transfusion.'
'You need my permission? Poppy, the boy is obviously in great need. Go ahead and give him the transfusion.'
Again, a silence and Severus was shaking his head, knowing that beyond the curtain, the medi-witch was likely mirroring his actions.
'No? Why not?'
'It's not as easy as that, Albus. The blood types, not to mention the *magic* types have to match.'
'I'm afraid I don't understand.'
Severus snorted. That was obviously an understatement. However, he'd let Pomfrey explain it.
'You know there are different magic types, some of which are not compatible with others?' presumably, Dumbledore nodded, because Poppy continued, 'Much like that, there are several different blood types. For a transfusion to take place, we have to match *both* the *blood* type and the *magic* type, otherwise the body rejects it, and goes into shock.'
A grave sound from Dumbledore, but Severus knew there was worse to come.
'Severus, unfortunately, has the rarest of all combinations. O-type blood combined with sigma-type magic. I'm sorry, Dumbledore, my records show no one else with that blood type.'
Severus closed his eyes in resignation. He knew that had been coming, but to hear it said out loud...
'But... surely...' Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words.
'I'm sorry, Albus. Perhaps a blood relation would have had the right blood- magic type, but you and I both know that Severus is the sole surviving member of his family.'
Well, that wasn't *strictly* true. Severus was just glad Dumbledore didn't know that. He was quite positive that the Headmaster would have no qualms about dragging the boy into this. Severus had decided years ago to take that particular secret to the grave. And if it caused him to reach that grave a little sooner then expected, then so be it. He only regretted that he would not get the opportunity to see the boy at least one last time.
Dumbledore stirred on the other side of the curtain. His voice sounded decidedly smug when he spoke.
'A blood relative, hmmm? Well, I don't know about that, but I think, perhaps, I *do* know of one person that might conceivably have the correct blood-magic type to assist Severus.'
Severus froze.
Oh shit.
The old codger *knew*. He had no idea *how* the blasted Headmaster knew, but he did. No. He couldn't let him contact the boy. It was time to break his silence. He summoned all his strength and was inordinately pleased that his voice didn't fail him.
'Albus.' It hardly sounded like his voice, but at least it was audible.
The curtains parted and Poppy hurried to his side, checking him over. Dumbledore followed her, and Severus ignored the medi-witch in favour of pinning a glare on the man.
'Ah! It's good to see you finally awake Severus. I must say you gave us quite a scare when you...'
Severus rode roughshod over Dumbledore's words.
'I forbid you to bring the boy into this, Albus.'
Well. At least that shut the meddling old man up.
'I don't know how you know about him, but I will *not* allow you to contact him.'
Unfortunately, he seemed to be rallying. Severus hurried on, hoping to convince the stubborn wizard before it was too late.
'You have no right to tell him anything, Albus. I don't want him here and I do *not* want his blood!'
Poppy was staring back and forth between the two men, trying to figure out what her patient was getting so worked up about.
'Severus! Calm down! You'll aggravate your injuries.' Once reassured Severus had a better hold on his emotions, she turned to Dumbledore, 'Albus, what is he going on about? You know of someone with the same blood- magic type as Severus?'
Severus answered 'No!' at the same time Dumbledore was saying 'Yes.' Poppy was more confused then ever.
'One says yes, the other says no. Which is it? I need to know if there is a possible blood donor!'
'There's no one! I don't know any one with the same blood-magic type as m...' Suddenly, Severus lost his voice again, but this time it was due to Dumbledore's wand. He was addressing Madam Pomfrey.
'I'm not entirely certain, but I suspect there may be one person that would have the same blood-magic type as Severus.' He turned back to the fuming Potions Master, 'Now, dear boy, I'll lift the charm if you agree to be reasonable.'
Severus glared, but eventually nodded. Dumbledore lifted the spell, and he immediately started talking.
'I don't want him told, Albus! Don't you think I would have done so before now if I wanted him to know? You can't go against my wishes in this! If I haven't told him in all the years that he's been at Hogwarts, what makes you think I'm going to change my mind now? No. I refuse to let you go to him.'
Severus glared at the Headmaster. Dumbledore's face was impassive. Damn. Damn damn damn. Stubborn old cote. He wasn't going to give in was he? The glare turned suspicious.
'The moment you leave this room, you're going to go and collect him, aren't you,' he accused.
Dumbledore had the gall to smile.
'I'm never going to convince you otherwise am I?'
The infuriating smile widened.
'Fine.' Severus realised he sounded petulant, but he didn't care at the moment, 'But if you tell him *anything* I will quit on the spot, and deny it all to the press.'
The eyes were twinkling now.
'Of course not, Severus. It's not my place to tell the boy.'
With that, Dumbledore swept out of the ward, leaving Severus glaring at his retreating back. The Headmaster was off to collect Harry Potter.
Aunt Petunia screamed.
Dudley squeaked and moved at unheard-of speed for him, vacating the kitchen with all possible haste.
Uncle Vernon went the most intriguing colour of purple.
Aunt Madge promptly fainted, crashing to the floor as she fell from her chair.
Her dog, Ripper, yelped madly and scurried out of the room, his tail between his legs.
Harry, meanwhile, had both fists stuffed in his mouth, trying not to laugh madly at the antics of the muggles he lived with. Who would have thought anybody could react so badly to seeing a wizard apparate into the middle of their kitchen? Speaking of which...
Harry took several deep breaths before stepping forward and addressing the most recently arrived occupant of the kitchen.
'Professor Dumbledore?'
Harry decided his Headmaster looked distinctly odd in the middle of a muggle kitchen. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that he had miscalculated slightly and was currently sitting in the middle of the kitchen table wearing an up-ended plate of biscuits on his head and holding steaming cup of tea in one hand. Harry forcefully repressed the urge to laugh as Dumbledore looked up.
'Ah, Harry!' he absent-mindedly took a sip of the tea in his hand before setting it down and clambering of the table, scattering biscuits as he went, 'Just the young man I was looking for.'
'But... I'm sorry, sir, but....'
'Why am I here?' Harry nodded dumbly, 'I shall get to that in a moment. Won't you introduce me to your relatives?'
Harry glanced wryly around him. Aunt Petunia had joined Madge in a dead faint and Uncle Vernon was crouched over them both, alternating between glaring blue murder at the Professor and contemplating bolting for the door.
'I, um, think they're rather... busy at the moment. Why don't we go into the lounge and get out of their way.' Harry indicated the door and Professor Dumbledore followed him into the sitting room. Dudley and Ripper, who had both taken refuge behind the couch, squawked and headed off up the stairs at high speed. Dumbledore stared after them.
'Strange family you have Harry.'
Harry snorted and gestured his professor to a seat and taking one himself.
'If you don't mind me asking Professor, why are you here?'
Professor Dumbledore's expression turned suddenly grave and Harry felt a chill of foreboding.
'I came to ask you to return to Hogwarts, Harry. A situation has arisen that it seems only you may have the ability to remedy.'
Harry paled.
'It's not... anything to do with Voldemort is it?'
Dumbledore looked startled for a moment, as though the idea had not even occurred to him. Harry relaxed again, but then wondered what could possibly be going on that *he* could help with.
'No, it's nothing like that. However, it *is* a case of life or death. Hagrid found Professor Snape at the edge of the grounds in the early hours of this morning. He was in bad shape. It would seem he had a worse than usual encounter with the Death Eaters.'
Harry shivered.
'Is he okay?'
'No, Harry, I'm afraid he is not. Madam Pomfery cannot heal him as he had lost too much blood. Before any spells can be cast on him, he requires a blood transfusion.
'That is where you come in.'
'Me?'
Dumbledore nodded.
'I believe you and Professor Snape share the same blood-magic type.'
Harry was confused now, 'Blood... magic?'
Dumbledore nodded again, 'Mmmm. It would seem that there are different types of magic, much like there are different types of blood. A blood transfusion on a wizard requires that both the blood type and the magic type match.'
Harry wasn't feeling particularly eloquent and stuttered a simple, 'Oh.'
'You happened to be the closest wizard with a blood-magic type the exact match of Professor Snape's. What I need to know now, Harry,' Dumbledore was leaning forward slightly, staring fixedly into Harry's eyes, 'is would you be willing to return to Hogwarts with me and give Severus a much needed blood transfusion?'
Harry didn't even pause to consider; he nodded his assent. Snape may not be Harry's favourite person in the world, but he could hardly let him die when it was in his power to save him.
'Wonderful!' Dumbledore beamed and clapped his hands together, standing up. 'I'll just go and inform your uncle while you collect all your things.'
Harry stared blankly at him.
'Sir?'
'Your trunk, broom and owl. I'm sure you'll be needing them all over the summer.'
'You mean..?'
'Hmmm? Oh! Yes, you'll be remaining at the school over the summer. What if Professor Snape was to have a relapse?'
Harry wasted no time in collecting Hedwig, his trunk and Firebolt. He almost didn't trust his good fortune. He was spending summer at Hogwarts! And the only cost to him was a little blood.
TBC
AN: So? Do you like the first chapter? It make take me a while to post the next chapter cuz I'm kinda working on five others fics at the same time. I blame my Muses. They're pushy.
Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, nor is anything connected to him. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to sulk in my dark corner over this.
Chapter One: O-sigma
The pain didn't bear thinking about. Now, if only he could find something distract his mind...
Severus opened his eyes. And immediately shut them again. That had hurt. A white-hot lance of light had speared through his head and now his head was throbbing at triple time.
Okay. First thing's first. Where was he? And, more importantly, was he safe? Severus was much more cautious about opening his eyes this time. It still hurt, but his eyes slowly adjusted to the light of the room, which turned out to have been rather dim in the first place. His surroundings slowly materialised out of the haze as his pupils contracted.
He was in the hospital wing, safe back in the school. The only thing that bothered him about this was that he had no recollection of returning under his own volition. Answers. He needed answers. And he wasn't going to get any lying here. The throbbing in his head had subsided and he decided that he wasn't wounded as bad as he had first thought.
Then he made the foolish mistake of moving. Or, at least, attempting to move. He gasped sharply, then bit down ruthlessly on his reactions. It didn't matter how badly he was wounded, he would *not* allow his mask to slip; that was what had landed him in the position in the first place.
He quickly decided that moving could wait a little longer. It seemed that he was, in fact, wounded as badly as he had first thought. Or perhaps worse.
Never one to wait idly for things to happen, he decided to do the only thing available to him at the moment: he assessed what he could of his wounds. Moving as little as possible - it hurt too damn much, not that he'd let anyone know - he manoeuvred into a semi-reclining position on his pillows. His head spun at this simple movement. When his vision cleared, he looked down at his body.
Well. His hands weren't broken. That was a plus.
A plus that hardly registered against the staggering number of negatives. There was not a patch of skin visible that retained its natural colour. Every inch of his skin was covered in burns, bruises, welts, slashes and abrasions in every colour of the rainbow and a few shades of black and brown besides. That wasn't the worst of it. A slash across his abdomen oozed the black blood indicative of a bleeding liver. Both shins were broken, bent at odd angles. Several toes were missing from his left foot. His right shoulder was dislocated and he didn't think there was a rib in his chest that wasn't at least cracked.
Severus didn't understand. He had presumably been in the hospital wing for a considerable amount of time. So why was he still in such an appalling condition? Surely, it couldn't be put down to the gross incompetence of the nursing staff. As much as it galled him to admit it, Severus knew Poppy Pomfery was a first-rate medi-witch.
So why not administer to his wounds?
Severus tried to yell for the matron. All that escaped his mouth was a dry hack and spots of blood. His left hand shook as he wiped his mouth. So. It seemed he was as badly wounded on the inside as he was on the outside. He stared blankly at his trembling hand for a long moment, then balled it into a fist, digging his nails into his palm.
If he had hoped the sharp pain would help him to focus, he was sadly disappointed: the tiny pricks were lost in the sheer haze of pain he was enduring. He swallowed hard several times, hoping to reclaim some semblance of a voice. He needed somebody to shoot questions at. He needed somebody to rant at. It was Severus's tried and true method of diverting his attention from the agony. But he needed a *voice* to simply *summon* someone, before he could even consider breaking into one of his famed tirades.
He hazarded another try. This time, the most he could produce was tiny rasp. His neck corded as he clenched his teeth. It was almost enough to make him cry in sheer frustration. Almost. Severus Snape did not cry. Nor did he give up.
He was about to try to speak for the third time when he was saved the effort.
From beyond the curtains obscuring his bed came the voices of Albus Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey. And they just so happened to be discussing him. Severus decided it would be prudent to conserve his energy until it was absolutely necessary. If they were going to answer his questions for him anyway, he saw no reason inform them of his lucidity.
'He hasn't been healed yet?' Dumbledore's voice ever so slightly accusing and Severus silently agreed with the sentiment.
'I've told you before, Albus. We cannot risk it.'
Severus stirred. Why the hell not? Dumbledore cleared his throat beyond the curtain.
'Explain it to me again.'
There was a pause, and Severus could almost see Poppy gathering all her patience to deal with exasperating old wizard. Generally, he would agree with her. But not when he wanted to hear the reasoning behind the singular lack of medical attention paid him.
'He has simply lost too much blood. Whoever did...' there was another pause, and Severus would have sworn he could hear Poppy swallowing against bile, '...that...to him knew what they were doing. They deliberately bleed him.
'As it stands, he has barely enough blood in him to keep him alive. Surely you recall that the healing spells depend on assistance from the patient's own body? If we cast the spells on him in his state, they would consume him.'
A pregnant silence and Severus felt his heart sinking. He knew what came next.
'Well, what can we do for him?'
'What Severus really needs is a blood transfusion.'
'You need my permission? Poppy, the boy is obviously in great need. Go ahead and give him the transfusion.'
Again, a silence and Severus was shaking his head, knowing that beyond the curtain, the medi-witch was likely mirroring his actions.
'No? Why not?'
'It's not as easy as that, Albus. The blood types, not to mention the *magic* types have to match.'
'I'm afraid I don't understand.'
Severus snorted. That was obviously an understatement. However, he'd let Pomfrey explain it.
'You know there are different magic types, some of which are not compatible with others?' presumably, Dumbledore nodded, because Poppy continued, 'Much like that, there are several different blood types. For a transfusion to take place, we have to match *both* the *blood* type and the *magic* type, otherwise the body rejects it, and goes into shock.'
A grave sound from Dumbledore, but Severus knew there was worse to come.
'Severus, unfortunately, has the rarest of all combinations. O-type blood combined with sigma-type magic. I'm sorry, Dumbledore, my records show no one else with that blood type.'
Severus closed his eyes in resignation. He knew that had been coming, but to hear it said out loud...
'But... surely...' Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words.
'I'm sorry, Albus. Perhaps a blood relation would have had the right blood- magic type, but you and I both know that Severus is the sole surviving member of his family.'
Well, that wasn't *strictly* true. Severus was just glad Dumbledore didn't know that. He was quite positive that the Headmaster would have no qualms about dragging the boy into this. Severus had decided years ago to take that particular secret to the grave. And if it caused him to reach that grave a little sooner then expected, then so be it. He only regretted that he would not get the opportunity to see the boy at least one last time.
Dumbledore stirred on the other side of the curtain. His voice sounded decidedly smug when he spoke.
'A blood relative, hmmm? Well, I don't know about that, but I think, perhaps, I *do* know of one person that might conceivably have the correct blood-magic type to assist Severus.'
Severus froze.
Oh shit.
The old codger *knew*. He had no idea *how* the blasted Headmaster knew, but he did. No. He couldn't let him contact the boy. It was time to break his silence. He summoned all his strength and was inordinately pleased that his voice didn't fail him.
'Albus.' It hardly sounded like his voice, but at least it was audible.
The curtains parted and Poppy hurried to his side, checking him over. Dumbledore followed her, and Severus ignored the medi-witch in favour of pinning a glare on the man.
'Ah! It's good to see you finally awake Severus. I must say you gave us quite a scare when you...'
Severus rode roughshod over Dumbledore's words.
'I forbid you to bring the boy into this, Albus.'
Well. At least that shut the meddling old man up.
'I don't know how you know about him, but I will *not* allow you to contact him.'
Unfortunately, he seemed to be rallying. Severus hurried on, hoping to convince the stubborn wizard before it was too late.
'You have no right to tell him anything, Albus. I don't want him here and I do *not* want his blood!'
Poppy was staring back and forth between the two men, trying to figure out what her patient was getting so worked up about.
'Severus! Calm down! You'll aggravate your injuries.' Once reassured Severus had a better hold on his emotions, she turned to Dumbledore, 'Albus, what is he going on about? You know of someone with the same blood- magic type as Severus?'
Severus answered 'No!' at the same time Dumbledore was saying 'Yes.' Poppy was more confused then ever.
'One says yes, the other says no. Which is it? I need to know if there is a possible blood donor!'
'There's no one! I don't know any one with the same blood-magic type as m...' Suddenly, Severus lost his voice again, but this time it was due to Dumbledore's wand. He was addressing Madam Pomfrey.
'I'm not entirely certain, but I suspect there may be one person that would have the same blood-magic type as Severus.' He turned back to the fuming Potions Master, 'Now, dear boy, I'll lift the charm if you agree to be reasonable.'
Severus glared, but eventually nodded. Dumbledore lifted the spell, and he immediately started talking.
'I don't want him told, Albus! Don't you think I would have done so before now if I wanted him to know? You can't go against my wishes in this! If I haven't told him in all the years that he's been at Hogwarts, what makes you think I'm going to change my mind now? No. I refuse to let you go to him.'
Severus glared at the Headmaster. Dumbledore's face was impassive. Damn. Damn damn damn. Stubborn old cote. He wasn't going to give in was he? The glare turned suspicious.
'The moment you leave this room, you're going to go and collect him, aren't you,' he accused.
Dumbledore had the gall to smile.
'I'm never going to convince you otherwise am I?'
The infuriating smile widened.
'Fine.' Severus realised he sounded petulant, but he didn't care at the moment, 'But if you tell him *anything* I will quit on the spot, and deny it all to the press.'
The eyes were twinkling now.
'Of course not, Severus. It's not my place to tell the boy.'
With that, Dumbledore swept out of the ward, leaving Severus glaring at his retreating back. The Headmaster was off to collect Harry Potter.
Aunt Petunia screamed.
Dudley squeaked and moved at unheard-of speed for him, vacating the kitchen with all possible haste.
Uncle Vernon went the most intriguing colour of purple.
Aunt Madge promptly fainted, crashing to the floor as she fell from her chair.
Her dog, Ripper, yelped madly and scurried out of the room, his tail between his legs.
Harry, meanwhile, had both fists stuffed in his mouth, trying not to laugh madly at the antics of the muggles he lived with. Who would have thought anybody could react so badly to seeing a wizard apparate into the middle of their kitchen? Speaking of which...
Harry took several deep breaths before stepping forward and addressing the most recently arrived occupant of the kitchen.
'Professor Dumbledore?'
Harry decided his Headmaster looked distinctly odd in the middle of a muggle kitchen. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that he had miscalculated slightly and was currently sitting in the middle of the kitchen table wearing an up-ended plate of biscuits on his head and holding steaming cup of tea in one hand. Harry forcefully repressed the urge to laugh as Dumbledore looked up.
'Ah, Harry!' he absent-mindedly took a sip of the tea in his hand before setting it down and clambering of the table, scattering biscuits as he went, 'Just the young man I was looking for.'
'But... I'm sorry, sir, but....'
'Why am I here?' Harry nodded dumbly, 'I shall get to that in a moment. Won't you introduce me to your relatives?'
Harry glanced wryly around him. Aunt Petunia had joined Madge in a dead faint and Uncle Vernon was crouched over them both, alternating between glaring blue murder at the Professor and contemplating bolting for the door.
'I, um, think they're rather... busy at the moment. Why don't we go into the lounge and get out of their way.' Harry indicated the door and Professor Dumbledore followed him into the sitting room. Dudley and Ripper, who had both taken refuge behind the couch, squawked and headed off up the stairs at high speed. Dumbledore stared after them.
'Strange family you have Harry.'
Harry snorted and gestured his professor to a seat and taking one himself.
'If you don't mind me asking Professor, why are you here?'
Professor Dumbledore's expression turned suddenly grave and Harry felt a chill of foreboding.
'I came to ask you to return to Hogwarts, Harry. A situation has arisen that it seems only you may have the ability to remedy.'
Harry paled.
'It's not... anything to do with Voldemort is it?'
Dumbledore looked startled for a moment, as though the idea had not even occurred to him. Harry relaxed again, but then wondered what could possibly be going on that *he* could help with.
'No, it's nothing like that. However, it *is* a case of life or death. Hagrid found Professor Snape at the edge of the grounds in the early hours of this morning. He was in bad shape. It would seem he had a worse than usual encounter with the Death Eaters.'
Harry shivered.
'Is he okay?'
'No, Harry, I'm afraid he is not. Madam Pomfery cannot heal him as he had lost too much blood. Before any spells can be cast on him, he requires a blood transfusion.
'That is where you come in.'
'Me?'
Dumbledore nodded.
'I believe you and Professor Snape share the same blood-magic type.'
Harry was confused now, 'Blood... magic?'
Dumbledore nodded again, 'Mmmm. It would seem that there are different types of magic, much like there are different types of blood. A blood transfusion on a wizard requires that both the blood type and the magic type match.'
Harry wasn't feeling particularly eloquent and stuttered a simple, 'Oh.'
'You happened to be the closest wizard with a blood-magic type the exact match of Professor Snape's. What I need to know now, Harry,' Dumbledore was leaning forward slightly, staring fixedly into Harry's eyes, 'is would you be willing to return to Hogwarts with me and give Severus a much needed blood transfusion?'
Harry didn't even pause to consider; he nodded his assent. Snape may not be Harry's favourite person in the world, but he could hardly let him die when it was in his power to save him.
'Wonderful!' Dumbledore beamed and clapped his hands together, standing up. 'I'll just go and inform your uncle while you collect all your things.'
Harry stared blankly at him.
'Sir?'
'Your trunk, broom and owl. I'm sure you'll be needing them all over the summer.'
'You mean..?'
'Hmmm? Oh! Yes, you'll be remaining at the school over the summer. What if Professor Snape was to have a relapse?'
Harry wasted no time in collecting Hedwig, his trunk and Firebolt. He almost didn't trust his good fortune. He was spending summer at Hogwarts! And the only cost to him was a little blood.
TBC
AN: So? Do you like the first chapter? It make take me a while to post the next chapter cuz I'm kinda working on five others fics at the same time. I blame my Muses. They're pushy.