The days stuck at Spinner's End weren't exactly enjoyable, but Harry managed to avoid driving Snape completely mad. That had to be considered a major achievement, considering he had spent the last days of the school year concluding that Snape's snide remarks were directly responsible for Sirius's death. Forgetting wasn't an option, and every time he remembered, Harry felt his blood boil.

  He didn't provoke Snape because he wasn't eager for the greasy-haired bat to force-feed him more foul potions. He avoided confronting the man as much as possible. Dumbledore still hadn't visited Harry as promised, which left him feeling disappointed. Was the Headmaster going to abandon him again, just like last summer?

  Since he wasn't allowed outside in case of a "fit," and certainly not allowed to fly, Harry killed time by studying the massive collection of books in the sitting room, jotting down some interesting charms so he could practice them when he returned to Hogwarts. Most of the time, he holed up in his room, writing to his friends a few times a week. What surprised Harry was that Draco Malfoy also sent a letter, without a specific recipient address, clearly indicating the blond git had absolutely no idea where Harry was and was relying on his family's posh black owl.

  Harry,

  I sincerely apologize for the incident at the end of the school year. I absolutely did not intend to attack you. It was an accident.

  Professor Dumbledore said you would recover, but I am quite worried. I hired someone to translate the part written in Ancient Runes in the book about that curse. It is not an easy ailment to treat. I sent the first letter to your aunt and uncle's house, but the owl returned. Where are you now, and how is your health?

  I know that after all our conflicts in the past, it is difficult to make amends, but I genuinely want to be friends with you seriously this time.

  Draco.

  If he hadn't overheard the confrontation between Luna and Malfoy, Harry might have given more thought and attention to the blond's last words. However, now, reading the letter, he only felt a chill realizing how much effort Malfoy had put into tracking down his whereabouts. Harry crumpled the parchment and shoved it into a small trash can under the bed before unfolding the latest edition of the Daily Prophet from that morning. There was no way he was going to reply.

  The news these days was consistently bad. Auror Chief Rufus Scrimgeour had replaced Fudge as Minister for Magic. Despite being a seasoned fighter against the dark forces, it seemed this new Minister couldn't prevent the Death Eaters from collapsing the Millennium Bridge over the Thames, plunging dozens of cars into the water, causing horrific massacres, including the murder of Amelia Bones, or creating violent storms in the West that affected thousands. Harry wondered how Snape had managed to avoid participating in those killings and had been holed up at home for the two weeks he had been there.

  He still had to drink that disgusting, bitter potion at ten o'clock every night. The sudden sharp pains in his stomach, chest, and back had lessened but still occurred at least once a day. The vomiting of blood, initially relatively infrequent, a few days apart, had peaked at three times a day by the end of the first week, and Snape had had to brew a double dose of the antidote to ensure the brat didn't bleed to death. After the second week, the number of incidents decreased, but Harry still had to be prepared to throw up at any time of the day. He couldn't remember if there was any spot in his bedroom that hadn't been stained with his blood, but he had definitely broken at least three bowls during meals because his hands trembled violently during an attack. That was probably the only instance where Professor Snape hadn't flown into a rage and given Harry a thorough dressing-down.

  However, the carefully maintained atmosphere of cohabitation shattered one day.

  On Saturday, after adding the final ingredient to the cauldron at two in the morning, barely keeping his eyes open with sleepiness, Snape turned down the heat and dragged his exhausted body out of the laboratory. The potion needed to simmer until the next morning. Increasing the dosage for Potter had made the brewing process longer and more difficult than usual. However, Snape was determined to finish it early because he had orders to fulfill for St. Mungo's Hospital the next day. The number of patients admitted had spiked dramatically since the beginning of the summer; the reason was obvious.

  Too tired to think straight, as he left the laboratory, he only remembered his comfortable bed and forgot to lock the door. The next morning, Snape was startled to find the door only closed, not locked, and immediately went to check the cauldron. The liquid inside was still simmering, but instead of the perfect blue he had anticipated, it had turned a dull orange.

  What the…?

  Snape was always confident in his brewing abilities. He had made several batches over the past two weeks; how could it have gone wrong? The shock on Snape's face turned into fury and rage. He stormed out of the laboratory, ran up the stairs, shoved open Harry's bedroom door, and dragged him out of bed, shaking him violently and yelling, "You ungrateful, insolent brat! I have tried to treat you with kindness, and you repay my efforts to heal you by ruining my potion?!"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Harry was startled, instantly awake, staring in astonishment at Snape. His glasses hadn't even been put on yet, but Snape was so close that he could see the man's face contorted with anger. Harry was bewildered, stammering, "What? No…"

  "Don't lie! You sneaked into my potions laboratory last night and ruined the antidote!" Snape roared. "You are just like your vile father, always trying to sabotage others!"

  The anger Harry had suppressed for days over Sirius's death, combined with the frustration of being falsely accused, made him snap. He shoved Snape hard, yelling, "I never went into your potions room! Don't accuse me!"

  "You little liar, doing it and then denying it! Who else is in this house besides you?" Snape shot back. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead already, do you understand? Do you think everyone will coddle you and overlook your insolence like they do at school?"

  "DO YOU THINK I NEED YOUR TREATMENT?!" Harry bellowed, pointing a finger at Snape's face. "BECAUSE OF YOU, SIRIUS IS DEAD, YOU MURDERER! IF IT WEREN'T FOR DUMBLEDORE, I'D RATHER DIE THAN SET FOOT HERE. YOU CALL MY FATHER VILE, THEN WHAT IS SOMEONE WHO HARASSES AND BULLIES STUDENTS BECAUSE OF A GRUDGE AGAINST THEIR FATHER FROM SCHOOL? DO YOU THINK YOU'RE SO GREAT, YOU COWARDLY MURDERER!"

  The last trace of color seemed to drain from Snape's face. At this point, he completely lost control, his blood boiling, forgetting everything else, even the fact that the boy was ill. He raised his hand, and a powerful slap landed squarely on Harry's face.

  SMACK!

  The boy fell to the ground, clutching his cheek, stunned. But the professor seemed to be in a frenzy, lunging forward and kicking him in the ribs. Punches and kicks rained down on Harry. He wanted to fight back, but Snape was too strong, the strength of a man nearing forty easily overpowering a teenage boy. Snape seemed to have gone mad, hissing, "Don't, don't call me a coward! You are just like your father, insolent and disrespectful, without any manners. You will end up just like him!"

  He grabbed Harry's collar and hauled him up, glaring into his eyes. "Listen here, Potter, this is not Hogwarts where you hide behind Dumbledore's shadow. This is my house, and I can beat you to death before he even knows and can intervene. If no one has taught you respect, then today, I will make sure you learn it properly!"

  He dragged Harry roughly out of the room, down the stairs, into a hallway, and down to the cellar, throwing open a heavy wooden door and shoving the boy inside.

  "You will stay here until you regret what you said today!" he gasped and slammed the door shut, locking it.

  Alone, Harry looked around. It was a pitch-black cellar, with only a small ventilation hole letting in a faint light, just enough to illuminate a few old brooms in the corner. Cobwebs hung everywhere. He had seen the young Snape locked in here by his father when he was a child during an Occlumency lesson last year.

  Harry scoffed; did the old man think he would break? He hadn't even touched that potions room and was being falsely accused. Just like how he would rather carve lines into the back of his hand during Umbridge's detentions than deny the truth about Voldemort's return, this time too, Harry would defend the truth to the end. It had felt so good to spit those words right into Snape's face. Look at that, well, he cursed his father, but he was even worse, beating children.

  Harry's body ached as if he had been run over by a car. Snape hadn't held back at all. He tasted blood in his mouth; the slap had probably made his gums bleed. In the dim light, his arms and legs were covered in bruises, and the kick to his ribs was excruciating. He lay in the cellar, breathing softly, his mind drifting to Luna, Ron, and Hermione.

  Professor Dumbledore, you said he wouldn't hurt me.

  You were wrong.

  As he went up to the sitting room, Snape's rage hadn't subsided, but just then, a Patronus in the form of a phoenix flew in through the window and spoke in Dumbledore's voice, sounding very weak:

  "Help me, Severus. To the Headmaster's office. Help me, Severus."

  Since the beginning of the summer, the two professors had agreed that unless it was extremely urgent, Dumbledore would not summon Snape to the school to ensure he could be present with Harry.

  Without a second thought, Snape grabbed the jar of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and threw it into the fire, shouting, "Hogwarts Headmaster's office!"

  Dumbledore was slumped sideways in the high-backed chair behind his desk, looking half-conscious. His right hand lay limp at his side, blackened and shriveled. Snape muttered incantations, pointing his wand at Dumbledore's elbow, while his left hand poured a goblet full of thick, golden potion down the Headmaster's throat. After a moment, Dumbledore's eyelids fluttered and opened.

  "Why are you wearing that ring? It carries a deadly curse; surely you realized that. Why did you even touch it?"

  The ring with the black stone lay on the desk in front of Dumbledore. It was cracked, and the Sword of Gryffindor lay beside it. Dumbledore frowned in pain.

  "I... was a fool. So tempted..."

  "Tempted by what?"

  Dumbledore didn't answer.

  "It's a miracle you managed to get back here!" Snape's voice was sharp with anger. "That ring carries a curse of extraordinary power. All we can hope for now is to contain it; I have already confined it to one hand."

  Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand and examined it with the expression of someone considering a curious, rare object.

  "You are a very skilled healer, Severus. How long do you think I have?"

  "I cannot say for certain. Perhaps a year. There is no halting completely a curse of that magnitude. Eventually, it will spread; it is the kind of curse that grows stronger over time. If only you had summoned me sooner, I might have been able to do more, to buy you more time!" Snape said bitterly.

  "Thank you so much, Severus, a great life debt," Dumbledore said. "But now, before you scold me for my tardiness, perhaps you should return home to Harry."

  Snape's face went white. Without a word, he rushed to the fireplace, Flooed back to Spinner's End, and dashed down to the cellar. He had completely forgotten about Potter all day while he was busy treating the Headmaster. The boy was sick; what if the pain or vomiting of blood had suddenly flared up? How could he have been so stupid as to forget about his illness and lock the boy in that cellar?

  As he unlocked the cellar door and let the light from his wand illuminate the interior, Snape's heart stopped for the second time that day.

  On the dusty floor littered with debris, Harry Potter lay motionless in a pool of dried blood. The metallic scent was overwhelming. The boy's eyes were closed, and his face was ashen white as a ghost.

  "POTTER!"