Disclaimers:  I do not own either Gundam Wing or Harry Potter.  I am making no money with this.  This story is purely for
entertainment purposes only.

Notes:  Quatre gets help for the serious problem he is suffering through.

Soldiers of Sorcery

Part Twenty-Nine

Quatre was trying to stay awake, really he was . . . but he was so tired and it was difficult to keep his awareness from fading.  
Harry was walking beside him, his arms around Quatre’s exhausted body.  His presence was all that was holding Quatre up at
the moment.  Quatre was sure that if Harry let go of him, he’d collapse to the ground in a heap . . . he was just weary and
wanted to sleep, wanted so desperately to lie down and rest a bit.  

The iciness in his body had lessened.  He was still cold, but it wasn’t so bad as it had been.  His chest ached from the scratches
given to him by that person in his dreams, his heart aching from knowing that he was being assaulted at this very moment.  His
weariness was just another side effect, his defenses weakened so that if he fell asleep again, he’d be at the mercy of his
mysterious assailant.  He was scared, terrified of going to sleep, of being left alone and vulnerable to manipulation.  This wizard
out to get him could control Quatre’s body when he was unconscious . . . could make him sleepwalk to wherever it was he
wanted Quatre to be.  It was a frightening experience.

Quatre blearily watched his surroundings, trying to keep track of where he was.  He knew where he was going . . . to see
Professor Snape in the Potions classroom, but he couldn’t really tell how far away from the dungeon classroom they were.  His
mind was hazy at best, a faint voice whispering in the back of his mind and telling him to give up his struggles.  Quatre tried to
ignore it, knowing it to be too dangerous to give in, and instead focused on the way Harry’s arms felt around his body, leaning
more heavily against the young man’s strong body.

And then it happened . . . the first crack appeared in his mental barriers.  Harry’s concern and fears for Quatre’s safety drifted
into the Arabian’s mind, Harry’s deep dread that something terrible would happen, causing Quatre nothing but worry in return.  
Quatre snapped to awareness, pushing Harry away from him, backing up against a stone wall as he shook his head vigorously to
clear it, his hands firmly pressed on the wall behind his back.  

He hadn’t wanted to sense Harry’s feelings.  In fact, he had been trying to keep everything out, to protect himself from getting
overwhelmed again.  He was losing it again . . . too quickly for him to protect himself.  As he stood there, he vaguely started to
feel the others in the school, flickers of emotions taunting his senses for brief moments.

“Quatre?”  Harry asked, Professor Dumbledore standing behind him.  Their concern for him wafted through Quatre like a wave,
weakening him further.

“I . . . I’m losing control again.”  Quatre stammered, wrapping his arms around himself as his body broke out into intense

Dumbledore stepped forward hastily, grasping Quatre’s arm.  “Come, we can’t waste time.  He needs help now.”  The kind
Professor said to Harry.  “Carry him . . . there’s no other choice.”

Harry nodded, rushing forward and sweeping Quatre into his arms.  Quatre shivered, the contact only heightening Quatre’s
perception of Harry’s emotions, laying them open for the blonde’s senses.  Quatre set his head against Harry’s shoulder as he
was carried through the halls, trying in vain to push aside the foreign emotions that were beginning to run rampant in his mind.  
He could tell they were close to the Potions classroom now, a familiar painting had caught his eye as they rushed past it.

Quatre’s body jerked in Harry’s embrace as they neared the classroom, an image of a snakelike man flickering through his mind,
followed by screams and pain as a strange mark was imprinted on someone’s forearm.  These were not his own memories, but
Professor Snape’s . . . the link they shared due to Quatre’s previous overload had resulted in Quatre being more open to the
Professor’s thoughts and feelings than anyone else’s.  Usually, Quatre was able to push them to the back of his mind, but he
was too tired now, too weakened by this attack on his mind and body.

The images continued, the emotions of Professor Snape repeatedly consuming him.  Pain, suffering, and death swirled around
him, memories of cruelty and harshness, one bitter memory about someone who resembled Harry quite a bit . . . perhaps a
relative of his.  Then there was a tall blonde man with cold gray eyes . . . he kind of reminded Quatre of Draco Malfoy, yet this
person was older . . . maybe he was a relative of the cruel Slytherin that had taunted Quatre just this afternoon.  

The man was speaking in this memory of Snape’s, but Quatre couldn’t hear the words.  He only felt the pain, could only see the
anger in the man’s face.  The feelings that Snape exuded in this memory made Quatre feel certain that this blonde man was a
lover, or at least that Snape had been infatuated with him.  He could feel the pain in Snape’s memory as his heart was crushed
by a lover’s rejection, a cruel strike to his face following, which Quatre could swear that he felt himself.

These feelings and sights grew stronger as Quatre was brought closer to the classroom . . . the pain of these memories
scratched gouges in his soul.  “Stop . . .”  Quatre whimpered, digging his fingers into Harry’s shoulders.  “Stop . . . it’s too
much . . . I can’t take it!”  He closed his eyes, barely noticing as he was carried through the open doorway and into the

“What’s going on?”  Professor Snape’s familiar snide voice demanded.  Quatre shivered in response, cringing away from the
source of the voice, his eyes darting around wildly as he tried to find a way to escape this.  He didn’t want to feel the pain in
Snape’s heart . . . the emotions he hid from everyone, the ones he seemingly dwelled on constantly.  It hurt too much.

“Serverus, I suggest that you think of nicer things right now.  Young Mr. Winner has been mentally attacked and is having
trouble controlling his empathy.”  Professor Dumbledore said, stepping into the room and gesturing for Harry to take Quatre
over to a chair.

Professor Snape frowned, but nodded.  Harry set Quatre down in the chair, moving aside when both Professor Dumbledore and
Snape stepped closer.  Quatre cringed, pulling his legs up close to himself and wrapping his arms about them, gently rocking
back and forth on the seat out of desperation.  He wasn’t able to concentrate, his mind cluttered with Professor Snape’s
emotions and memories, the torment of others flitting around as well, although not so strong as Snape’s were.

“Why did you bring him here?  Why isn’t he in the hospital wing?”  Professor Snape asked, looking Quatre over.

“Something is stalking his dreams, trying to get him somewhere by causing him to sleepwalk there.”  Professor Dumbledore
stated.  “We need something to keep it from happening again . . . or at the very least to help him resist the call.  This person is
also able to reach through and physically attack him.”  Gently Dumbledore gently moved Quatre’s legs away from his quivering
body, carefully drawing open his robes and shirt to show the scratches that were on his chest to Professor Snape.

Professor Snape nodded, frowning deeply.  “Yes, however first might I suggest calming him?  It will do no good to give him a
potion to protect him in his sleep if he’s too wound up to rest.”

“That will be up to you, Serverus.  The link you two share is most likely what is causing such an intense reaction.”  Dumbledore
replied, closing Quatre’s clothes over his shivering body again, then taking a step away from the pale blonde.

Snape sighed.  “I do not like people nosing around in my memories where they do not belong, but as I have no way of stopping
him, I suppose a focal point in my mind would do the trick in this instance.”  He said, to no one in particular.  He knelt in front
of Quatre, grasping the sides of his face and forcing Quatre to look at him.  “Concentrate, Mr. Winner.  Focus on the image in
my mind, the one I’m thinking of now.”  He said firmly.

Quatre stared hard into the Professor’s eyes, using all his skills of concentration to focus on just what Snape had told him to.  
Slowly, an image appeared to Quatre . . . no, it was more like a memory of Snape’s.  He saw from Snape’s perspective as the
Potion’s instructor graded papers for one of his classes.  The man sighed, dropping his quill and turning his attention to a
window as he stood and crossed the room to it.  He looked out, and Quatre noticed that this window was high off the ground,
perhaps in one of the towers . . . Quatre wondered why Snape was up here doing his grading.  

Still, the memory continued and a figure passed across Snape’s line of sight.  Snape’s eyes followed it, a feeling of happiness
flooding him as he watched Draco Malfoy fly past on a broomstick.  Draco was probably just flying for the hell of it, to enjoy
himself, Quatre knew from Ginny that Draco had been kicked off the Slytherin Quidditch team after failing his classes last year.  
Snape was intently focused on Draco, his eyes roaming over his body, his feelings strongly anchored on the blonde youth.

Quatre felt like an intruder now, knowing it wrong to spy on such a personal memory, but it had been the one that Snape had
told him to focus on, so he had little choice in the matter.  He watched the memory replay over and over again, Snape’s
emotions always escalating with each pass that Draco made on that broomstick of his.  It was apparent that the teacher was
infatuated with the blonde youth, his feelings betraying that guarded secret.

“Better?”  Snape asked, removing his hands from Quatre’s face and rising to his feet again.

Quatre nodded.  “Yes, sir.”  He answered.  With the single memory constantly replaying in his mind, Quatre was able to push
aside the other foreign emotions of the rest of the school.  It was a great relief not to be tormented by the overbearing feelings
of strangers.  He exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his tired body.

Professor Snape said nothing in return.  He merely turned and walked away, heading over to a cabinet and opening it.  He
rummaged around for a few moments, the sound of glass hitting glass coming from what he was doing.  He walked back over a
few seconds later, his arms loaded with glass vials and jars of different shapes and sizes.  Carefully, he dropped them all onto
his desk, starting a fire under his cauldron.

Effortlessly, he mixed a brew, adding ingredients without measuring.  He was made for his job, obviously knowing his potions
so clearly that he could do them without checking to see if the recipe was right.  It was a relief to Quatre to know that his
emotional well-being was safe in the hands of such an expert.

Quatre tried to remain awake, but after a few minutes of watching Professor Snape work over that steaming cauldron, Quatre
began to feel quite drowsy.  He fought the closing of his eyes, but found he couldn’t keep them open for very long.  Fear
slammed into him, although it did little to keep him conscious.  

In the back of his mind that voice grew stronger, whispering viciously to him, wearing down his remaining strength.  The
coldness returned and Quatre shivered violently until his body got too cold to even do that.  “Give up, Quatre.  You’re mine.  
These fools can do nothing for you.  They can only delay the inevitable.  I’ll have you yet.”  And then there was laughter, cold
heartless laughter that ate away at Quatre’s soul.

A slicing pain tore down his arm and Quatre’s eyes flickered open.  He gasped, realizing that he had fallen asleep, although he
had been fighting it.  He looked over, noticing that Dumbledore and Harry were both intently watching Professor Snape’s
progress with the potion.  They hadn’t been watching him so he couldn’t have been asleep for very long, maybe just an instant.  
Pain throbbed in his arm, reminding him of the dream that had seemed to take minutes.

“Harry?”  Quatre called out, his voice tired and fearful.

Harry turned to him, immediately crossing the distance to stand in front of Quatre.  He dropped to his knees, looking on in
concern.  “Quatre?  Are you okay?”

Quatre shook his head, attempting to control his ragged breathing.  “I fell asleep . . . it happened again.”  He rolled up his sleeve,
revealing a portion of the long, bleeding gash that went from shoulder to wrist.

“Professor Dumbledore?”  Harry called out, taking hold of Quatre’s wrist and turning his arm so that the elder professor could
see the bleeding wound better.

“Oh dear.”  Professor Dumbledore sighed.  “You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

Quatre nodded.  “I didn’t mean to . . . I tried not to.  I’m tired.  I’m sorry.”  He shuddered.

Harry set a hand on Quatre’s face, frowning.  “He’s getting cold again.”

“Get him up . . . walk him around.”  Dumbledore suggested, then turned to Snape.  “Is it almost finished?”

“Nearly done.”  The Potion’s instructor replied without raising his gaze.  He continued to stir his brew, adding ingredients now
and then.

Harry’s arms circled Quatre’s tired body, helping him rise to his feet.  He leaned heavily on the young professor, his legs feeling
as if they were weighted down.  Still, he walked as Harry led him around, going nowhere but around the dungeon classroom.  
Quatre forced his eyes to remain open, not willing to give in to the temptation of falling into a slumber again.  Who knew what
that person meant to do to him.  He was afraid to rest, afraid of being hurt yet again by this strange presence in his mind.

Time grew meaningless to Quatre, the minutes melding together as he strove to concentrate and stay aware.  It could have been
moments, or perhaps hours, but eventually Professor Snape announced the completion of the potion.  Harry helped Quatre over
to a chair again, setting him down and taking a seat close by, his hand firmly set on Quatre’s arm and giving him only a minor
amount of reassurance.

Professor Snape approached, a small glass jar held delicately in his hand.  Quatre blinked tiredly, his eyes focusing only to see
that the bottle contained a liquid colored a vibrant red.  It almost seemed to glow . . . it was strangely appealing to Quatre, but he
didn’t know why.

Snape pulled a round jar from within his robes, handing it over to Harry.  “See to it that this is applied to his injuries.  It will
soothe the pain, hasten the healing, and prevent scaring.”

Harry nodded.  “Yes, of course.”  He said quietly, holding the jar while watching Quatre with concern written all over his

Professor Snape knelt down in front of Quatre, holding the small bottle of red liquid.  “Now, this will work very quickly.  It is a
potent tonic.  It should be taken every night.  I’ll make sure to have a dose prepared and ready daily.”  He raised the bottle,
holding the edge of the glass to Quatre’s lips.  Quatre lifted his hand, setting it against the Professor’s, not missing the shiver
that went through the man’s body because of Quatre’s chill temperature.

Quatre drank, blinking in confusion as the taste of caramel filled his mouth.  The liquid warmed him, spreading through his body
and coating his throat as it was swallowed.  It tasted delicious, not like what Quatre had assumed it would be like . . . caramel
was his favorite flavor.

When the last of the delicious nectar had been swallowed, Snape took the glass away.  Quatre blinked tiredly, his vision growing
hazy as he looked around him.  A deep feeling of calmness seeped into his being.  Every fear he had vanished from his mind as
he silently slipped from awareness.  Snape had been right . . . it did work quickly.


Harry watched with deep concern as Quatre’s eyes quickly fell shut, his head drooping until it was obvious that he was asleep
where he sat.  “You’re sure this will work?  Will he be all right now?”  Harry asked, protectively clutching the jar that Snape had
handed to him earlier.

“He’ll be well.  But his attacker has to be found.  The potion is only a temporary solution to this problem.”  Snape stated, rising
to his feet once more.  “He cannot remain at Hogwarts indefinitely.  As soon as he leaves, he will be vulnerable to this wizard
hunting him.  A potion cannot help if the man gets desperate enough to kidnap him personally.”

Professor Dumbledore sighed deeply, closing his eyes briefly.  “Yes, I know this, Serverus.”  He turned to Harry.  “Harry, why
don’t you take Quatre back to bed . . . I’ll return to my office and contact the Ministry of Magic . . . they should be informed of
this threat to the young man.”

Harry nodded, taking a few steps closer to Quatre.  He bent, carefully easing Quatre out of his seat and into his arms.  Adjusting
the weight, Harry turned and strode out of the room, carrying Quatre’s unconscious form in his arms.  When Quatre awakened,
Harry would be sure to get some food into him . . . he was undoubtedly going to miss lunch, there was no need for him to miss
dinner as well.

He ignored the stares of the students and took Quatre back to his room.  Laying Quatre down on his bed, Harry carefully
stripped him of his clothes, although he left the youth’s boxers on.  He took the lid off of the jar that Snape had given to him.  
Dipping his fingers into the purplish gel, Harry delicately smeared the substance over Quatre’s injuries.  He watched as the gel
vanished only a few moments after being spread over the skin, seeping into the injuries that it had covered over.  Harry covered
the jar again, then set it aside.

He stripped off his own clothes, then set his glasses on the bedside table before laying down beside Quatre.  Harry pulled the
blankets over the two of them, wrapping his arms around Quatre’s pale and slender body, frowning when Quatre’s skin still felt
a little too chill for his liking.  He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Quatre’s neck, settling himself beside the young blonde and
holding him carefully.  He hoped that Quatre would recover, that this person threatening him wouldn’t take drastic measures to
get him.

In his arms, Quatre turned, moaning lightly in his sleep.  He cuddled closer to Harry, pressing his face up against his chest and
smiling.  Harry smiled in response, enjoying this reaction as well as the close contact.  “Sleep well, Quatre.”  Harry whispered,
applying another kiss to Quatre’s cool forehead before laying his head on the pillow and closing his own eyes.  Sleep didn’t take
too long to overcome him and he fell into a slumber, protectively cradling his blonde beauty against him and hoping for their
future together . . . hoping that they would have a future together.

To Be Continued . . .