"Albus..." She whispered wearily.

The old man looked from his Potions master to his great- great grandson cradled in her concerned arms. "Oh dear..."

In his quarter century as a headmaster, and nearly more than eighty years as a teacher, Albus B. P. W. Dumbledore had known many, many children. But in all his one hundred and five years of life, he had never seen any child's future look as bleak as this one's did. When an old man looks at a child, he should see a better world to come, but when this old man looked at this child, he only saw impending doom. Which was beyond the obvious ‘‘bad'' considering that the boy had ‘‘the power the dark lord knows not.'' Fate had a cruel way of resting the future upon those who had enough burdens to bear. To think, he was only seven and the world already depended on him.

During his silent musings, the headmaster had ceased to acknowledge the student body as they formed a semi- circle around the bizarre scene. Whispers had broken out among them, and the Hogwarts rumor mill was at it again. As none of them actually heard the short breathy conversation between Dumbledore and the potions master, the students speculated. Weren't vampires nearly immortal?

He would have laughed had the situation not been so dire. It was thus that the mediwitch found him when she entered the hall Had it not been for her ability to stomach nearly anything (or was it her veteran healing sense?) she most likely would have fainted (were those Hufflepuffs unconscious?). Mind snapping back to the task at hand she surveyed the scene, eyes locking on Snape. "What happened?" she ground out. Silence reigned once again.

A few tense moments and then a student spoke. "HeadmasterDumbledore- had- just- explained- that- we- might- not- be- having- potions- for- a- few- days- and- then- Snape- came- in- holdting- that- boy- and- then- went- blaistic- when- they- tried- to- help- him- saying- something- about- healing- the- boy- first- "- breath- " a- and then he passed out from blood loss."

"Thank you Miss Brooks." the mediwitch replied quietly, easing a potion down Snape's throat. As his breathing became less labored after a quick spell, she turned to the boy in Minerva's arms. Horror was etched in her features. A few digonostic spells determined the problem(s). She shook her head dejectedly; a few students would later report that the mediwitch had actually been dismayed at the thought of healing! With a swish of her wand Snape was floating beside her. Motioning for Minerva they left the hall - Dumbledore trailing in a rather detached manner - still mumbling under his breath. Not a sound, not a word nor a whimper was heard from the spectators. Then pandemonium broke loose.

"Quiet!!!" Flitwick squealed. All eyes traveled to the usually quiet, though enthusiastic professor. "Professor Snape is in the best of hands I assure you ("A damn shame, too..." a Gryffindor whispered). I suspect that you will all be further informed tomorrow. Due to the present circumstances everyone is to be in their dormitories in twenty minutes."

"Lay him down, quickly now!" The boy was gently rested upon the soft linens.

At this point many thoughts were going through Madam Poppy Pomfrey''s head, but perhaps the most prominent was ‘‘Why did I actually take this job in the first place?'' Seeing children hurt was always painful. The younger, the more so.

It was blatantly obvious what had happened to the boy. He had been beaten - likely abused and neglected (children don''t get that thin out of choice) as well. She had seen much as a partially certified healer (working in a school ensured that) but never had she seen such an agonizing case.

Snapping back out of her thoughts she summoned a number of potions and some tubes and needles. This was going to be a long night.

Severus awoke when the morning light was hitting him in just the wrong way. And he was too hot. Wasn''t he supposed to be in the dungeons? Come to think of it, why was there a window in the dungeons anyway? Weren''t they supposed to be underground?

And then the memories came back. Confusion, memories, Albus, ridiculous errand- running, waiting, annoyance, a boy in a closet, a potential son, being stabbed, running bleeding and half dead looking into the great hall (full of spectating, rumor spreading students) and then passing out. He groaned. He really hated the start of term.

Pulling himself to a sitting position Severus surveyed the overly white room. Hospital wing, he realized.

But if he was here, than where was his son- ?

"Ah, You''re awake." Amazingly, the headmaster wasn''t wearing his ridiculously happy ‘‘Life is grand!'' smile on his face. It was rather sober and saddened actually.

He withheld a sneer.

"I have both good news, and bad news."

"Then get on with it you loony old coot."

Albus blanched ever so slightly.

"Good news first then I suppose. The good news is that the boy is alive."

Severus desperately tried to keep a small grin from sneaking onto his face.

"The bad news is that he''s in a heavily comatose state."

Severus had the urge to hit himself. Closing his eyes slowly, he regained his composure. Letting out a sigh he asked the question Albus had been undoubtably dreading. "Can I see him?"

The headmaster nodded solemnly, transfiguring his Potions master''s hospital gown into a more suitable set of black robes. A kind gesture perhaps, but he was completely capable of transfiguring them himself. Oh how he hated being treated like a student...

He was ushered into the hidden private room in the back of the wing. The illusion melted away as he stepped through the doorway.

And there was his son. Sterile blankets and sheets encased him, making him nearly indistinguishable from a small Egyptian mummy. But the fact that he was breathing (though by a ventilation spell) and the absence of rotting flesh were some obvious differences.

Various potions hung in the air, connected to the boy with small tubes that snaked in and out of the body and blankets. He was remarkably cleaner than before, but crimson still matted his black hair. The more minor injuries had been left unhealed - Snape presumed this was to prevent magic overload.

Carefully he lifted the blankets to see the state of the rest of his son''s body. The small torso was wrapped in gauze, and all the limbs were in casts.

Was the internal damage so bad as to keep Poppy from healing the bones? Gently setting the blankets back down, Severus sat in the nearby chair.

Silently he was handed a medical report by Poppy. Albus watched as dark eyes scanned the grim report, momentarily widening before fluxing back into their usual cool, calm form.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose Dumbledore made his way out of the room, followed by Poppy.

The broken family needed some time alone.