The wooden chest held twenty-four padded partitions, each of which cradled a glass vial with hinged stopper. Half of the vials had already been filled and sealed. Another dozen empty vials waited on the desk. Albus Dumbledore set his wand aside and called for a house elf. Sighing wearily, he leaned back in his chair and sipped the promptly delivered cup of tea.

I’m getting too old for this.

Sorting and storing the vaporous strands was delicate, exacting work. He hadn’t expected the child to provide so many memories. . .had he been alone with the boy, he would have limited the number Harry gave him. But with his brooding Potions Master witnessing the process, Albus had found no subtle way to dissuade the boy from loading his Pensive with memory after memory. Even with half the vials filled, the Pensieve still glowed brightly with the telltale radiant blue mist.

I wonder if twenty-four vials will be enough.

A glance at the spinning brass clock on his desk confirmed that he had already spent over an hour separating each memory and depositing it in a vial. He was beginning to wish he had followed his first instinct and destroyed them all. But as tiring as the process was, he had remembered Severus’ earlier precautions, and had to admit they were sound. The day might come when he needed to overturn his original decision and take the boy away from the Muggles. It would seriously endanger his plans, and was certainly not a desirable choice – a choice he would adopt only as a last resort. But if time and experience had taught him anything, it was that the Fates were unpredictable. Even his finest intrigues could be crushed in one unforeseen event - the tragedy of the Potters and the Longbottoms had proven that. So despite his misgivings, he had decided to store the boy’s memories against possible future need. Albus Dumbledore liked to keep all of his options open - even unlikely ones.

He frowned thoughtfully at the glowing Pensieve. Of course, the sorting process would go much faster if he took a quick look at each memory, instead of working blindly, but his reluctance to do so was still too strong. He really didn’t want to view those memories. He knew vaguely what they might contain – he had seen enough from his staff’s perspective to speculate on the boy’s home life. That speculation was distressing enough – he didn’t want those suspicions confirmed. He told himself it wouldn’t matter : that the truth wouldn’t alter his course. But he was too old and wise to deceive himself.

You’re a coward, that’s the crux of the matter. You don’t want your conscience troubled by the guilt of how your actions have hurt Harry. You don’t want to face the consequences of your choices.

But Albus reasoned there was more to his reluctance than the possible resulting guilt. He was afraid that full knowledge of Harry’s hardships might sway his decision. He already regretted that circumstances had forced him into this position. If he viewed details of the boy’s wretched existence, he might be influenced to abandon his long term strategy in order to rescue the child from his misery.

You’re soft on the boy. You didn’t expect to grow to love him. So like my dear James. . .so brave and pure. . . why is it that the best and brightest must always pay the price for peace? Why must the innocent be sacrificed?

He didn’t know the answer to this philosophical enigma – one of the most heartrending injustices of life. He had long since ceased looking for the answer. He had learned to accept the inevitable and to find ways to live with his chosen course, ignoring what he would not , or dared not change.

It was Severus who taught me that lesson. His pain. . .his tragedy was my teacher. I’ve lived too long with the shame of that failure. I won’t repeat it with Harry.

He sipped his tea, allowing his tired mind to wander in the past – to remember the frightened young Death Eater who knelt at his feet professing his sins that crucial moment long ago. Albus hadn’t bothered with the Pensieve that night. With Severus’ unconditional consent, he had entered the wounded young man’s open and vulnerable mind. What he saw there, left him breathless with horror and grief.

Severus had assumed that the Headmaster’s anguished reaction was based on the dark deeds that he had reluctantly performed in the service of his evil master. Even now, more than a decade later, he probably still believed that Albus silently condemned him for his misdeeds, despite his many sacrifices for the sake of redemption.

But Albus’ sorrow was not for the mistakes the young man had made. Severus’ sins were grievous, but not nearly as shocking as they might have been. Albus had seen much worse… he, himself, had done worse in the name of the Light. But Severus’ innate scruples had burdened him with excessive guilt. He possessed strong inflexible principles – far too noble for any mortal man or wizard to live up to – and because he could not forgive himself, he never expected Albus to. It was one of the shrewd young wizard’s greatest misconceptions.

What Severus never understood, was that Albus’ dismay at his shared memories was not for his Death Eater activities. Albus’ sorrow lay in the younger wizard’s earlier memories : memories of his childhood and years at Hogwarts. Viewing those had forced Albus to acknowledge what he had steadfastly overlooked in the past. He had failed Severus. He had seen and ignored the boy’s pain. He had allowed House prejudice and his fondness for James distort his perception of the young Severus. Albus didn’t blame Severus for his misguided alliance with Riddle. . .he blamed himself. His neglect and indifference had driven the boy into darkness.

I wasn’t there for you, Severus. I didn’t offer the support and compassion you needed. I made the same mistake with Tom. . .I won’t make the same mistake again.

As if his rumination had summoned the object of his musings, a soft chime alerted the old wizard that the required password had opened the outer door to his office and activated the revolving stairs. Severus was on his way up to see him.

No one knew how the Headmaster always knew who was about to visit him. Albus never revealed his secret, for he liked being thought of as vaguely omniscient – but many would have been surprised by the ludicrously simple answer. Regular visitors to the Headmaster’s office were keyed to his wards with a unique signal attached to the individual. There was a distinctive alarm for each staff member, as well as one for expected students. A variety of whistles, chimes, bongs, tweets and gurgles combined to identify the visitor; even that foolish prat Fudge has his own alert (one that sounded suspiciously like the braying of an ass.) Unexpected or uninvited guests were announced with a loud hoot like a startled owl – a piercing noise that usually gave Albus time to slip out of sight and identify the intruder from concealment before confronting them. The signal for Severus Snape was a single low melodious chime, so Albus was prepared when the somber Potions Professor knocked on his inner door and entered.

“Good evening, Severus!” Albus twinkled cheerfully at him.

“Headmaster,” Severus prowled across the room and slumped into the chair across from him.

“Lemon sherbet?” Albus smiled at Snape’s grimaced refusal, amused by the customary rejection. He doubted Severus knew the favored candies were laced with a mild calming draught, but the Potions Master’s natural suspicion prompted him to refuse on instinct.

“How’s Harry?” Albus asked, savoring one of the sour confections. Fortunately, habitual usage had made him immune to the candy’s slight effects.

“Asleep. . .thank Merlin!” Severus growled, rubbing his brow with a frown. “The brat is exhausting to be around – even when confined to bed!”

Albus chuckled. “I confess there are times I wished I still had the energy of a twelve-year-old lad.”

“Not I,” proclaimed Severus crossly. “I disliked rambunctious children – even when I was twelve myself!”

“Hmmm - you were an unusually solemn child, if I recall,” Albus admitted. Not wishing to pursue this particular topic, he redirected the conversation. “So, I’m glad to hear that Harry has regained his strength. Do you think he is well enough to return home tomorrow?”

Severus shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he drawled impassively. “He’ll be free to leave the Infirmary in the morning. Better he were at home, than wandering about the halls getting into trouble, I suppose.”

“Poppy must feel he is well enough if she’s decided to release him.”

Severus peered at him from under slightly hooded eyes. “Madame Pomfrey seems surprisingly untroubled by Mr. Potter’s condition. Funny, that. . . . .” he added thoughtfully. “Normally, she is unduly overprotective of any child suspected of . . .ill-treatment.”

“Perhaps she realizes that the situation is not as serious as we originally believed,” Albus offered.

“Is it not?” Severus gazed pointedly at the vials and Pensieve between them on the desk. “Did your jaunt through Potter’s juvenile memories reassure you?”

“Partly,” Albus admitted uncomfortably.

“So the spoiled prat was exaggerating his mistreatment?” Severus sneered, his ebony eyes glittering dangerously.

“Not really. There is no doubt the Muggles have been less than kind to the child. But I don’t believe he is in any serious danger there.” Albus sighed forlornly. “In truth, I dislike returning him to a home where he receives so little compassion and support. . .but I still believe it is the safest place for him, and it’s best he remain where he is.” He glanced at the wizard across from him.

Severus’ expression was cool and unreadable. “When will you tell Potter your decision?”

“Tonight, after dinner. I’ll explain everything to him.”

“I’ll tell Madame Pomfrey to have a calming draught prepared, in case the boy is too elated to sleep,” Severus sneered nastily.

“Harry’s a strong lad,” Albus replied brightly. “I’ve no doubt he’ll manage.”

“If you say so, Headmaster,” Severus replied indifferently.

“And, of course, you will ensure that Harry receives better treatment in future when you speak with the Dursleys, won’t you, Severus?”

“Naturally,” Severus smirked unpleasantly. “It is a conversation I look forward to with keen anticipation.”

Albus fought his own urge to smile. “You will be careful, won’t you? We wouldn’t want to attract negative attention from the Ministry, after all.”

Severus arched a brow. “I will make certain my actions aren’t traceable,” he conceded.

“I appreciate your discretion,” Albus nodded with satisfaction. “Speaking of the Ministry, I managed to smooth over Harry’s little incident of ‘accidental magic’ the night before you retrieved him. You may tell him not to worry – all charges have been dropped. I have also informed my sources in that department that a member of my staff will be visiting #4 Privet Drive in the morning, and they assured me that they will ignore any legal magic performed on the premises tomorrow.”

Severus snorted at his emphasis on the word legal. “How kind of you, Headmaster. Isn’t it fortunate that legal magic used creatively can still be most effective?” His clipped words dripped with venom, and Albus shuddered in spite of himself.

“I almost wish I could accompany you,” he admitted darkly.

“I have asked Professor Flitwick to come with me,” Severus replied. “His skill at memory charms could prove useful.”

“Excellent idea!” Albus agreed. “Will I see you for breakfast?”

“I think not,” Severus took his cue and rose, knowing that he was being dismissed. “I mean to get an early start. As soon as we have the brat all sorted, I intend to return immediately to the Continent. My mission there has been delayed long enough. I have an important meeting scheduled in Belgrade in two days time. My contact there is tenuous - I don’t wish to risk losing him due to Potter’s childish predicaments.”

“Severus, I do wish you’d at least try to be more sympathetic to the boy,” Albus sighed. “I expect tomorrow will be difficult enough for him – don’t make it more unpleasant than necessary. The boy will need understanding and support.”

“Don’t worry, Headmaster,” Severus strode to the door and turned, gazing at him in an odd, inscrutable manner. “I’ll take care of Gryffindor’s Golden Boy for you. . . you have my word.” His robes billowed even more dramatically than usual as he stalked out.

Albus listened to the grinding growl of the stone stairs as they spiraled down to release Snape into the empty hallway. As he warmed his now cold tea with a wandless wave, he was unaware of the tiny figure that awaited the Potions Professor in the shadows of a nearby alcove. If he had heard the two words the taller wizard uttered, he wouldn’t have understood their significance. But the smaller figure did, and rushed off to pass the words along.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

“We’re on,” Filius hissed, poking his head into Minerva’s office.

Minerva scowled and nodded. “Sev’s chambers?” she mouthed silently.

“Thirty minutes,” Filius whispered. “I’ll find Pomona.”

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Albus rooted around in a lower desk drawer, searching for his private candy stash. He selected a rum toffee, peeling the gold wrapper carefully. Popping the candy in his mouth, he sucked pensively, lost in memory. Severus’ presence had brought that fateful night back to him even stronger than before.

Viewing the penitent Death Eater’s troubled memories and learning the truth of Severus’ unhappy youth had made his next task even harder. He remembered he had been sorely tempted to spirit the broken young man away on the spot. . .to soothe his guilt and shame, to hide and protect him from the consequences of his tragic choices. But Albus hadn’t been able to disregard the opportunity Severus’ defection provided to the war effort. So he had demanded the young Slytherin’s Loyalty Oath then and there, and convinced him to turn himself in. Albus himself notified the Aurors, who, after demoralizing failures and losses, were eager to bring one of Voldemort’s followers to justice.

Albus didn’t know what befell the young wizard during the long three weeks in the hands of the vengeful Ministry. He didn’t want to know. It was enough that the experience produced the desired results. As soon as Severus was released, he had stumbled back to Hogwarts, straight into the Headmaster’s waiting arms.

Albus could have spared the repentant young Death Eater much of the suffering he had clearly endured during his incarceration. He could have intervened sooner. . .he could have made certain the overzealous Aurors refrained from some of their more notorious interrogation techniques. He could even have used his considerable influence to get Severus released into his custody. But he was certain that the young wizard’s conscience needed – even desired punishment to atone for his mistakes. Severus needed penance in order to forgive himself.

Unfortunately, the poor stubborn fool had never forgiven himself. . . not even after his torment. And it was clear Severus had suffered. He had returned to Hogwarts a shattered shell of the young man he once was. It had taken him nearly three months to recover from the ordeal. But he had recovered. . .and his overwhelming gratitude to Albus for his release, and for his belief in him, had cemented an unshakeable, enduring loyalty.

So great was Severus’ gratitude and subsequent devotion to Albus, that he accepted all of the Headmaster’s conditions without complaint. He had turned spy for the Order, placing himself in almost constant mortal peril. He had accepted the teaching post at Hogwarts, even though he disliked children and had no love for the profession.

Gratitude. . .that was the ultimate motivator, wasn’t it Severus? Gratitude. The debt you owed me for your absolution. Gratitude and your own remorse made you mine. Gratitude has bound you to me and to Hogwarts forever.

Albus let his thoughts wander to a different lost child . . .a bright, bitter, misguided orphan who turned from the Light long ago. I failed you, Tom. I admit it freely. I waited too late. . .and I lost you.

Yet another abandoned boy lay in the Hogwarts Infirmary this very moment. This time Albus would get it right from the beginning. . .he would secure the boy’s trust and gratitude early enough to ensure his destiny.

Harry already loves Hogwarts – already considers this his home, he told me so himself. And why wouldn’t he? What else does he have – an unloved orphan with no other true home but here? His childhood has been much like that of both my lost boys: he has suffered as Tom and Severus did. His suffering and neglect reinforces his need for my protection and guidance. After his lonely summers, he will crave Hogwarts like a thirsty man craves water. His suffering will prime him to accept my influence and training.

But I won’t make the same mistakes I did with the others, Harry! I won’t wait too late this time – won’t leave anything to chance. I will offer you the pity and understanding I denied them. I will be your one solace in a harsh world. . .the Light in your darkness. Like Severus, you will turn to your beloved Headmaster in your loneliness and misery, and find love and encouragement. I will be the grandfather you never had. I will mold you and teach you – groom you for your fate. I will be your mentor – your guide - your leader, and you will be my loyal champion. And you will be grateful for my care, Harry. . .so very grateful. . . nothing will be able to shake your faith in me. Your devotion to me will be absolute. You will be mine.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Harry ate alone in the Infirmary. After earnestly promising Madame Pomfrey not to leave his bed for any reason, he had convinced her to join the rest of the staff in the Great Hall for dinner. Roker brought him his nutritional potion and his dinner tray. Harry had been very pleased with the shepherd’s pie and green beans the elf provided (Real food at last!) and had even asked for a second pumpkin custard. He didn’t get the second helping of pudding. (Honestly, that elf scowls more like Snape every day!) But Roker did bring him another tall glass of ice cold milk. Harry really loved cold milk. He’d never had it at the Dursleys, and when he’d first tasted it at Hogwarts he was hooked. He had missed Hogwarts’ food tremendously since summer started.

After he had eaten, he listlessly paged through his Charms text. He wasn’t in the mood for studying. . .the good food had made him a bit drowsy and he couldn’t seem to concentrate. The week in the Infirmary had deprived of him any privacy, and he was thoroughly tired of Madame Pomfrey’s constant pestering. But while he had initially enjoyed having the ward to himself for a change, now that he was alone, the huge room seemed awfully empty and isolated.

I’m lonely. I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish that sodding Dobby hadn’t stolen my letters!

He wondered what Hermione had written to him. He wondered if Ron had actually written. He wondered how they were and what they were doing.

Whatever it is, I’ll bet it’s a whole lot more fun than lying in the Infirmary, or being locked in your room. . .a lot better than getting thrashed, I’ll bet!Harry grimaced. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you silly berk! You should be glad that Ron and Hermione are having fun. . .even if it is without you.

Thinking about his friends wasn’t helping his loneliness so Harry turned his mind to other thoughts.

I wonder where Snape is. He usually comes around at dinner to make sure I eat. He hasn’t been to see me all afternoon! Oh, well. . .he probably has better things to do. . .he can’t be sitting around entertaining you all the time. Other people have lives too, Harry!

He realized that he hadn’t seen any of the other Professors either – not since lunch, when Professor McGonagall had brought him some books from the library.

I wonder where everybody is? Professor Flitwick said he’d play a game of chess with me today. I wonder why he didn’t come?

By this time, Harry would even have welcomed a visit from Professor Sprout. . .even though she did tend to look at him that way. . .like he was a stray puppy she found by the side of the road, or something.

I wonder why Professor Dumbledore hasn’t come back. He’s had those memories all afternoon. . .surely he’s had time to look at them by now. I wonder what he thinks. He must think I’m pathetic now - a total wanker! What’s he going to do now? Will he let me stay here? Will he let me go to Ron’s house until school starts? He wouldn’t make me go back to the Dursleys, would he?

This line of thought only made him feel worse. He had to find something to keep his mind occupied, or he’d go mental thinking about this stuff.I know! I’ll write Professor Snape a thank you letter!

He had been thinking about this for several days. He had already thanked the man a few times, but after all Snape had done for him, he felt like the simple words just weren’t enough. Snape had saved his life – again! – or least saved him from a brutal beating. And he’d healed him, and talked to him. . .even brewed special potions for him. Harry was pretty sure that when a bloke saved your life, something more was required than just saying ‘thanks’. . .he just wasn’t sure what.

Then he remembered how Aunt Petunia used to write a ‘thank you’ letter when someone gave her a gift. . .(well, someone important, anyway. . .and only if the gift was expensive.) She wrote letters to Uncle Vernon’s rich clients who sometimes sent pricey Christmas gifts to people they did business with. And once, the Vicar’s wife had invited them to a posh dinner with a bunch of upper crust, very influential guests – even a few nobles - with lesser titles, of course! (Uncle Vernon’s description). His Aunt Petunia had written the Vicar a long, effusive thank- you-for-inviting-us-we-had-a-lovely-time letter the next day, and even sent flowers!

Harry didn’t think Professor Snape was the type to appreciate flowers. . .and Harry knew he would feel pretty stupid picking a bouquet for the dour wizard. . . but surely saving someone from a beating and healing them was more admirable and gallant than a dinner invite, and deserved at least a nice letter!

Harry drew some clean parchment out of his book bag and pulled the bed cart closer. He laid out his parchment along with the shimmery purple ink, and the Hanson’s Never-Leak quill Snape had given him for Christmas. He stared at the parchment for a moment, frowning.

Maybe I’d better practice first…write a first draft and get it just right…then I can copy it over with the nice ink and quill.

He retrieved an ordinary school quill from his bag and a scrap of parchment he had used earlier for History of Magic notes. With his brow furrowed in concentration, and his tongue poking habitually out of the corner of his mouth, he began to write:

Dear Professor Snape,

Uhmm. . .now what?

I am writing this letter to thank you for all that youhave done for me. Thank you for saving my life and for coming to Surrey to check on me. I am very grateful to you for stopping my uncle fromhurting me and especially for making him fly through the air like that. Thank you for bringing me back to Hogwarts and healing me. I didn’t know you had brewed special potions just for me, but it was very nice of you.

What else? Hmmm….

I know it must be very boring to check up on me all the time and to listen to me whine about my problems. Thank you for listening. It is hard to talk to most people about this kind of stuffbut I don’t mind so much telling you, because you listen really well. (And you don’t make that pity-face like some people do. . .I really hate that, don’t you?!)

I know you said I didn’t have to keep on thanking you, but what you did was really special and I wanted to write you this letter so you would know how much I appreciate it. Maybe someday when we’re really old you will find this letter and read it, and then you can laugh about that silly git Harry Potter and his dopey letter!

Thank you, and I guess that is all I want to say.

Sincerely,

Harry J. Potter

Harry re-read the letter carefully. Sounds okay. Maybe he won’t mind it too much.

Then he switched to his good quill and ink and slowly, carefully, wrote out a clean copy. When he was done, he was rather proud of his effort. It reminded him of his writing lessons with Snape those first few months at Hogwarts, and the letter was very neat. . .at least it didn’t have any ink spots or splatters. He reckoned even Snape might be satisfied with his penmanship.

He proofed the letter one more time. It made him feel a little sniffley, which both surprised and embarrassed him. Blinking back the unwelcome moistness in his eyes, he carefully folded the letter. Then he got out his sealing wax and Gryffindor stamp and with the help of a transfigured match, he melted the wax and sealed the letter.

He wrote: Professor S. Snape on the front in big letters and blew on the ink until it was dry.

I’ll ask Professor Sprout to send it to him by school owl tomorrow. I don’t think he’d like reading it in front of other people. He never reads his mail in the Great Hall like everyone else. . .I wonder why?

He piled his books on the cart and hid the letter under his Potions Book. He didn’t want Madame Pomfrey to see it. . .she was pretty nosy, he’d noticed, and she might say something and he didn’t want to explain it.

He was contemplating calling for Roker and asking for another glass of milk, when quiet footsteps in the corridor alerted him to approaching visitors. He was delighted to see Snape enter the ward, but less delighted by the sight of Professor Dumbledore following close behind him. Snape halted and turned to the Headmaster with a sour glare.

“Perhaps it would be best to wait for Madame Pomfrey,” he said to the Headmaster in a low tone. “She was right behind us. You might wish to ask her for a calming draught first.”

“Ah, yes,” the Headmaster agreed absently. He turned and waited by the door, waving down the hall for the medi-witch to join them. Pomfrey entered the ward, looking a bit put out, and led the old wizard to her office.

Snape crossed over to Harry’s bed and gazed down at him with an odd intensity. “Been behaving yourself, Mr. Potter?” he sneered.

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered, staring up at him. What’s wrong? Why does everyone look so jumpy?

Snape leaned over Harry and shoved the bed cart out of the way. From his bent position, he looked straight into Harry’s startled eyes. “Whatever happens. . . .don’t panic!” he whispered urgently. “Everything will work out.”

Harry blinked at him in astonishment as Snape straightened and flicked his wand to bring a second chair to the bedside. Before Harry could even begin to respond to the professor’s mysterious behavior, Dumbledore came out of Madame Pomfrey’s office, with a very disturbed medi-witch in his wake.

“I want you to know I don’t approve of this, Headmaster,” she hissed softly, giving Harry an apprehensive look.

“Don’t fret, Poppy. . .all will be well,” Dumbledore gave her a peculiar look. She blinked once and retreated into to her office and closed the door.

The Headmaster ambled over to Harry’s bed and sat down beside him. He smiled a reassuring little smile, the twinkle in his eyes a bit dimmed by sadness, and studied the boy in the bed. “Poppy tells me you are fully recovered, Harry. I was most glad to hear this.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry murmured nervously. Something bad is happening. Why do Dumbledore and Pomfrey look so sad? And what did Snape mean – don’t panic?!

“Now that you are recovered, I am sure you are ready to leave the Infirmary,” Dumbledore continued.

“Yes, sir,” Harry watched him warily.

“And now we must decide what’s to be done with you, my boy,” the old wizard said somberly.

“Can. . .can I stay here? Until school starts again?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Harry. I believe I’ve explained before that it is against school regulations.”

“Oh,” Harry fought the sudden dread that chilled his gut. “Can. . .I mean, may I stay with Ron? His family invited me!”

“They invited you for the last two weeks of August. I have agreed you may visit them then, but this is only mid-July. Six weeks is a bit too early for a visit, I’m sorry to say. The Weasleys have a very large family. . .I’m afraid caring for another child for that long a time would place both excessive responsibility and undue financial strain on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. We don’t wish to burden them too much, do we Harry?”

“No, sir,” Harry whispered, swallowing around the hard lump in his throat. Uh, oh. Here it comes. “Then. . .then what will happen to me? Where will I go?”

---- --- ----

Despite Snape’s warning not to panic, Harry had been unable to suppress the sheer terror that overwhelmed him with the dreaded words that left the Headmaster’s lips. He begged shamelessly, too shocked to be embarrassed by his tearful pleas.

“Please, sir! Don’t make me!” he sobbed, struggling when Snape held his head and tried to pour the calming draught down his throat. “You don’t understand! Uncle Vernon will kill me! He hates me! And he hates wizards! He’ll blame me for everything! For the Professors coming in the house, and for knocking him out…and for taking me away! Don’t you see, he’ll blame me!” Harry wailed. “Please don’t take me back! He’ll murder me!”

‘Now, now, Harry. . . .calm yourself, my boy,” Dumbledore patted him on the arm as Snape finally forced the potion on him. Harry swallowed convulsively. His stomach churned with horror and he fought the sharp nausea.

“No one will hurt you. The Professors are going to talk with your family. . .they’ll make certain no harm comes to you,” Dumbledore reassured him kindly.

Harry wanted to punch him right in the nose. He would have too, if the strong potion hadn’t started to work. His mind clouded as the spike of fear receded, and he couldn’t seem to lift his arms. When his lips went numb, he swung his resentful gaze to Snape’s worried face. “Wha. . .wha’ jou do?” he mumbled dazedly.

“Double dose,” Snape admitted tersely. “Calm down – don’t fight it. It will make you sleep.” He gave the Headmaster a scathing glare. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. You’d better leave now, Headmaster. You’ll only upset him more, and he shouldn’t struggle against the effects of the potion.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore rose, looking rather disturbed. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know it’s not what you wished, but it’s for the best. . .you’ll see.”

Harry ignored him. Even in his increasingly muddled state, his anger at the Headmaster paled beside the gut-wrenching anguish of Snape’s betrayal. As the Headmaster shuffled sadly away, the Potions Professor lowered Harry’s head to the pillow and straightened the disheveled sheets around him. When Snape tucked the blanket under his drooping chin, Harry found the strength to grab his sleeve weakly.

“You promised,” he whispered hoarsely. “You swore!”

“Shhh,” Snape whispered back. “Don’t be afraid, child.” His black eyes glistened. “Trust me, Harry.”

It was the last words Harry heard before darkness overtook him.