Harry stirred, his mind rising slowly from sleep into a hazy consciousness. Right away he knew something was different, but he couldn't place it at first. He lay still for a minute, trying to determine what the odd sensation was. It finally came to him with a ripple of surprise.

I don't hurt.

A quick mental catalog of his body confirmed it. For the first time in days, he didn't hurt. Nothing on his body hurt - not his cheek where Vernon had smacked him, or his bum, where the belt had added to the damage from the night before. Even his sunburn seemed to be gone. He then became aware of another difference. . .he realized he felt clean and comfortable. The surface beneath him was soft - nothing like his hard lumpy mattress - and he was covered with something warm and velvety, that smelled of lavender and fresh air. The scent was vaguely familiar. He fingered the covering, marveling at its softness.

"Harry. . . .Harry?"

A deep voice sounded quietly from somewhere nearby. It was a familiar voice, but the tone wasn't right. It conveyed a gentleness that seemed out of place for the distinctive drawl.

"Wake up, Harry."

Harry struggled to open his eyes. His surroundings were a blurry mosaic of light and shadow. A tall dark blob hovered beside him and he recoiled instinctively.

"Easy, Harry. You're safe," the voice soothed. "You're all right. You're at Hogwarts. Nothing will harm you."

Harry relaxed a fraction, reassured but confused. A hand swam into his fuzzy view and his glasses were eased onto his nose. As his vision sharpened, he looked up into the somber gaze of his Potions Professor. Harry blinked groggily at him, rubbing his brow with a frown.

"Good evening," Professor Snape said.

Bewildered, Harry glanced around. He recognized the room and squinted at the darkening sky beyond the Infirmary windows. "What. . ," his throat was parched and his voice cracked hoarsely. "What time is it?"

"Around eight o'clock in the evening," Snape replied, sitting in a chair beside him.

Harry licked his dry lips. He felt dazed, as if still half asleep. "How long. . .?"

"You've been asleep most of the day," Snape answered. "Do you remember coming here?"

As the sleep-induced haze began to lift, unpleasant memories rushed back in a chaotic jumble . The bars. . .Uncle Vernon's fury. . .then Snape storming into his room. . .his uncle smashing against the wall. Snape. . .Snape saw him being thrashed. . .Snape knew. The shameful recollection triggered a painful constriction in his chest as if his heart was being squeezed and Harry cringed. He had to look away from the wizard's concerned stare. He wanted to crawl under his covers and return to the blissful ignorance of sleep.

"Drink a little water, Harry," Snape instructed, bringing a cup to his lips.

The mention of water shifted Harry's attention to an uncomfortable pressure in his bladder. He pressed his lips together, refusing the drink, and glanced across the room at the door to the lavatory. He realized he desperately needed to pee but still felt oddly weak, like his body didn't want to move.

"You need water, Harry. Come on, now," Snape urged coolly.

Harry shook his head, struggling to think of a way to voice his necessity. The idea of admitting to his intimidating professor that he needed to pee was beyond embarrassing. . .but having an accident in the bed was potentially even more humiliating, and he realized he had little choice. "I can't. I need. . ." he broke off and blushed, looking back at the lavatory.

"What, Harry? What do you need?"

Harry reflected briefly on the irony that allowed Snape to seem to read his every thought when he was up to mischief, but that failed to do so now, when the annoying skill would be appreciated. "I need the loo," he mumbled in embarrassment.

Snape didn't even blink. "You're still too weak to walk, Harry. I'll get you a bedpan."

The image of a plastic bucket sprang into his mind, sending a wave of shame flooding over him. A flash of memory. . .an acrid smell filling his cupboard until it made him nauseous. . .his aunt's voice taunting him in disgust. "NO!" Harry jerked back in mortification, the shouted refusal escaping his lips before he could stop it. He froze, peeking up at Snape in fear.

Professor Snape grimaced, then a spark of comprehension filled his cold black eyes. "All right. Never mind. There are other ways to handle it." He waved his wand over Harry's body, muttering something. Harry was surprised and more than a little confused when the pressure in his bladder abruptly ceased. He sighed in relief and gaped at the professor. "It's an elimination spell, commonly used with unconscious patients."

"Will you teach it to me?" Harry asked instantly. He thought of all the times he had been locked up with only the loathsome bucket for relief. Such a spell could come in very handy.

Snape nodded slowly. Something shifted in his aloof expression. . something that looked oddly like guilt. "You may use the lavatory when you're a little stronger."

Harry pushed himself up awkwardly, his arms shaking a bit with the effort. Several pillows abruptly slid behind his back, propping him up. When he moved, his vision swam for an instant, then settled again.

"Would you like that water now?"

Harry nodded, still avoiding Snape's gaze. He sipped the cup gratefully - the cool water felt heavenly to his parched mouth and throat. When the cup was empty he asked the next question that troubled his mind. "Why am I so weak?"

"You were severely dehydrated and suffering from heat-exhaustion," Snape replied. "This was exacerbated by malnutrition. You were also running a fever this morning, although your temperature in nearly normal now. Your strength should return in a day or two, if you eat and continue to drink plenty of fluids."

Harry leaned back against the mound of pillows behind him and sighed wearily. The likelihood of having to remain in bed in the Infirmary was depressing. Still, it was better than the Dursleys.

"Do you think you could eat a little broth now?"

Harry shrugged. Food didn't really sound very appealing, but he did want the weakness to go away.

Professor Snape called for Roker, who popped into view holding a tray. When Snape took it from him, the house elf disappeared. "I know plain broth is not particularly appetizing, but you need to eat lightly at first," Snape commented.

Harry nodded his understanding. He knew from experience that rich food on an empty stomach would only make him sick up. The Potions Master set the tray on the bed cart at the foot of his bed and rolled it into place before him. Harry dutifully spooned up the warm broth under Snape's watchful eye. "Tomorrow, if you're feeling better, you may try some toast for breakfast, and perhaps a poached egg." The professor sounded almost apologetic, but Harry thought the prospect sounded wonderful. It had been weeks since he'd eaten anything as tasty as an egg.

As he ate, Harry glanced around the Infirmary to avoid looking at Snape. He wondered why his Potions Master was tending him, instead of the strict Hogwarts medi-witch. "Where's Madame Pomfrey," he asked curiously between spoonfuls of broth.

"She is on holiday. She will be back in a few days," Snape answered. "You will have to endure my limited healing skills until she returns," he added, a slight smirk in his tone.

Harry blushed, as a drop of soup dribbled from his spoon. He hadn't meant to sound ungrateful or imply he objected to Snape's care of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered miserably. "I didn't mean. . ."

"I know," Snape said simply, handing him a napkin to wipe his chin. "Try to finish all of it."

Harry complied without protest. When he was done, the Potions Master vanished the tray and moved the bed cart out of the way. "Do you wish to go back to sleep now?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not really sleepy. Just tired."

"Then perhaps you are ready to talk a bit?"

The professor's inquiry sent a ripple of shame and apprehension down Harry's spine. The very last thing he wanted to do was talk about what Snape had seen. He dropped his gaze to his hands, plucking nervously at his blankets. "I. . .I want to thank you, sir," he murmured uneasily. "For taking care of me, and for. . . you know," he ended helplessly.

"There is no need to thank me," Snape answered mildly. "I am sorry I didn't ensure your safety and wellbeing. If I had known what was happening, I would have come sooner."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He could hardly believe that the haughty professor was apologizing to him for something that wasn't even his fault.

"Harry," Professor Snape said quietly. "How long has it been like that? How long has your Uncle been hurting you?"

Harry felt his warm face grow even hotter. Shame and despair rose up in his throat, choking him. He couldn't speak. . .he felt like he could barely breathe.

Please! Don't! Don't ask. . .don't make me tell!

"Harry? What's wrong?"

NO! I can't! Please don't!

Harry turned his face away, pressing his cheek into his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. His body began to tremble, and he felt dizzy. When a cool hand touched his arm, he jerked in fear.

"It's all right Harry," Snape sounded slightly alarmed. "Never mind. You don't have to talk about it right now. Relax, Harry."

Harry wished he could relax. He wished he could catch his breath. The thought of exposing his shameful secrets to Snape sent him into near panic. He rolled onto his side, away from the man, and panted anxiously. He was dimly aware of Snape standing and leaning over him.

"Calm yourself, child," the man's words were shockingly gentle. "Breathe slowly." A cool hand sifted the hair at the back of his neck. Harry remembered that hand. . .it had stroked his head while he had slipped in and out of sleep earlier. "Take a deep breath, Harry. Let it out slowly," the silky voice instructed calmly. "That's right. Another breath....slowly. . .let it out. . .very good, Harry. Again."

Harry succumbed to the voice, following the directives without thought. As his breathing calmed his head began to clear and the panic diminished slowly. The hand stroking his head and neck felt so soothing, he stopped shaking without realizing it. "That's a good boy," the voice praised. "In and out. . .slowly. You're all right. Don't worry now. Everything will be all right." The hand moved down to rub his back. It felt comforting, but confusing as well. Harry didn't know if he wanted it to stop, or go on forever. He felt so odd. . .bewildered; sad; ashamed, and wonderfully safe all at once.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Harry. I didn't mean to pressure you. You don't have to talk right now. Just relax. Keep breathing. You're doing very well. That's right - that's a good boy."

The man's approving words filled Harry's heart with a gratifying relief that he couldn't express. No one had ever said those words to him before...no one had ever called him a good boy. He knew he should refute the words. He wasn't a good boy. . .he was a freak. . . a worthless burden. He knew this, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it out loud to the man. It didn't matter. Snape had seen. He knew how weak and pathetic Harry was. He was just being kind, although Harry couldn't fathom why. He was too grateful for Snape's comforting words to argue. . .to say what he was sure they both knew was true. Harry fought an urge to cry. He suddenly remembered the Potions Master holding him in his room. He remembered crying in the man's arms like a baby and the memory made him burn with shame. He wouldn't cry now. . .he couldn't. He didn't want Snape to think he was a total wimp.

"Harry? Please turn over and look at me," the cool hand was now tugging gently at his shoulder. "Please, Harry."

He couldn't deny the mild plea. Snape had saved him from Vernon. He had brought him back to Hogwarts. He had no right to refuse him anything. He surrendered to the insistent tug and rolled onto his back reluctantly, but still couldn't bring himself to look at the man.

Snape brushed his bangs back off his forehead with a touch that was unexpectedly tender. "It's very hard to think about these things - I understand. I won't ask any more questions or make you talk about it right now. All right?" Harry kept silent, twisting the blanket in nervous fingers. "Lie back and rest. The important thing to remember is that you are safe. No one is going to hurt you again."

A cup of water appeared in front of him once again and Harry drank, letting the cold water dissolve the painful lump in his throat. He snuggled his head back into the soft pillow and closed his eyes with a soft sigh. He heard the Potions Master return to the chair and settle on it. There was a long silence broken only by the distant sound of night birds warbling outside the open windows.

"If you don't feel like talking now, perhaps you would be content to listen?" Snape spoke slowly, almost hesitantly. "I would like to share something with you, Harry. . .something that might help you. Will you let me?"

Harry almost gave in to a sudden impulse to stare at the man. Snape wanted to share something? With Harry? The idea was so bizarre he couldn't resist a faint flutter of curiosity. His professor didn't move - he was apparently waiting for some kind of response, so Harry nodded slightly. When Snape waved his wand, enclosing them both within a faintly glowing bubble of silence, Harry's curiosity intensified.

"This is something I would never normally discuss with anyone," Snape began a bit stiffly. "Especially a student. . .but I feel I can relate it to you, because you, unfortunately, will understand it." He paused a minute and Harry dared a quick curious glance in his direction. Snape leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled at his chin. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he had forgotten Harry was there. Harry lay very still, afraid to break the man's pensive mood.

"My father, Tobias Snape, was a weak, bitter man," the Potions Master said bluntly. "He was a Muggle, and a drunkard. He could never hold down a job for long. He was known throughout the community as a bully and a thug. He was particularly hard on me. . .there was never any love lost between us, I'm afraid. He criticized and berated me continually. He never beat me severely, but I had plenty of thrashings when I was young, and he did everything in his power to make me feel worthless and insignificant."

Harry held back an urge to gasp. He understood instantly what Snape was telling him. . .that his father was like Uncle Vernon.

"But I was luckier than you," Snape continued softly. "I had my mother. She was my advocate. . my solace. She was very young when they married - just out of Hogwarts. He was fifteen years older, and very domineering. Even though he was a Muggle, and she was a talented witch, she lacked the confidence to stand up to him. You see, her father was a powerful wizard, and equally tyrannical. Long before she married my father, my grandfather - Purcell Prince - had brutally crushed any trace of self-confidence she may have possessed, and she had been conditioned to be totally submissive. She wasn't strong or brave enough to defy my father, but she did her best to protect me from the worst of his drunken rages, and she comforted me when she couldn't. She was a gentle, loving soul. . .and her love sustained me through an otherwise wretched childhood."

Harry stared openly at his teacher now, mesmerized by his quiet words. He could feel the man's discomfort. He had never heard the aloof professor speak a word about his personal history before, and he sensed that Snape disliked revealing so much about himself. Harry wondered at the undisguised tenderness in Snape's tone as he spoke of his mother, and he felt inexplicably saddened by the man's poignant revelation. He was so caught up in the Potions Master's tale that he dared to voice a barely audible question. "Is. . .is she still alive?"

"No," Snape replied evenly. "Mother died when I was ten. A month later, my grandfather - Purcell - took custody of me, removing me from my father's home. I never saw Tobias again. He died two years later. . .the drink finally killed him."

Harry frowned indignantly. "Your. . .your father just let him take you?"

Snape snorted, a bitter smirk on his lips. "I expect Tobias was more than glad to be rid of me. And it's not like he had any choice. My grandfather was a notorious dark wizard - he hated my father, and wouldn't have hesitated to kill him. . .in fact, I'm rather surprised he didn't. Grandfather had disowned my mother for marrying a Muggle, and had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her half-blood child. But after she died, I think he couldn't stomach the thought of his only grandson being raised by a loutish Muggle, so he brought me back to the Prince Estate. He sent me off to Hogwarts a year later."

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured sadly. He knew how lonely being an orphan was. . .he couldn't remember his mother and father, but he still missed them. It must have been much worse for Snape, who had known his parents - and who had obviously loved his mother. A shiver of pity for the solitary professor seized his heart, and he searched for some comforting words to offer. "At least you had a grandfather, and you got to live in a wizarding family, eventually."

"Family?" Snape sneered sardonically. "Technically, I suppose. . .but Purcell was hardly what anyone would call the ‘family' sort. He was a cold, ruthless man, even more brutal than my father. He despised me for my father's blood, and made it his mission to eradicate any trace of Tobias from me. He never hit me - he preferred to use dark curses to punish me - to purify the Muggle traits in me, he called it," Snape growled. "The only approval he ever showed me was when I proved to have a talent for potions. It was a talent I most likely inherited from my mother, who was a gifted potions student in school."

Snape turned to look at Harry, his fathomless black eyes glittering. "I didn't tell anyone how my father or my grandfather treated me. . .not until many years later, when I was a young man. I was too ashamed to tell anyone. I felt I was weak and cowardly for not standing up for myself. . .particularly against my father."

Harry stared at him in shock. He had been so wrapped up in Snape's story, he had forgotten his own predicament. Snape's words cut into him like a razor-sharp blade.

"I was just a boy," Snape continued. ". . .but I was a wizard, after all, and my father was a Muggle. I felt I should have been able to defend myself. . .I blamed myself for letting him hurt me and my mother."

Harry's heart thumped loudly in his chest and his palms grew sweaty. He knows. . .he understands. . .he felt like I do. . .

"It wasn't until I was older that I learned the truth, Harry. I wasn't to blame. I was just a child. . . a child who had been conditioned from birth to fear and obey my father. Even my mother, a grown witch, didn't challenge him. How could I - a little boy - have hoped to protect myself from him?"

Snape leaned forward, ensnaring Harry's gaze in his own steely stare. "I finally understood that it was not my fault. It was my father's fault. He was a bully - a heartless bastard that took his own frustrations and failures out on a little boy - his own son - just because he could. And my grandfather was no better. He blamed me - an innocent child - for something my mother did - something I couldn't change. They were my family, Harry! It was their responsibility to care for me, to look after me and love me. They failed - not me!"

"It was the Headmaster who finally helped me see the truth. He made me understand that I wasn't to blame for the way my family treated me. He made me see that they were wrong - that I wasn't bad or useless! That I was worthwhile - that I was better than they were! He helped me understand that I had nothing to be ashamed of - that I never deserved their harsh treatment," Snape shifted forward on his seat, gently grasping Harry's hands. Harry could barely breathe, but couldn't seem to take his eyes from the man's solemn, intense face.

"No child deserves that, Harry. No child deserves to be mistreated - to be starved or beaten - to be made to feel unloved or unworthy. I didn't deserve that, Harry," Snape said softly. "And neither do you."

Harry tried to swallow the hard lump lodged in his throat. He couldn't stop the tears of heartache and confusion from spilling over his cheeks.

He wanted to believe the words. . .he wanted so much to believe them that it hurt. His stomach churned and unwelcome memories flashed in his mind. The Dursleys' insults. ..the harsh words. . .the thrashings. . .the humiliation. Every act of cruelty and loathing he'd endured - every hurt and disappointment seemed to tumble and spin in his head like a raging storm. The sharp, turbulent ache in his heart grew and surged, filling him up inside until he thought he would explode.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it. A wild desperate longing overpowered him, crashing through the barriers he had constructed over the years to shield his heart. He had to reach for something - some refuge to fill the vacuum of his battered defenses. With a hoarse sob, Harry lunged across the bed, clambering onto the lap of the startled wizard beside him. He flung his arms around Snape's neck and hung on for dear life.

He felt the man stiffen - heard his sharp gasp, but he couldn't let go - he'd come too far to retreat. Burying his face on the Potions Master's shoulder, he clung frantically, praying with all his heart that the man wouldn't reject him. If he did. . .if he shoved him away now, Harry knew he would shatter into little pieces.

For several long, tense moments, Harry held his breath. When Snape's arms slowly slid around him, tightening in an almost painful embrace, Harry wept in relief. He cried like he hadn't cried since he was very small . . since before he had learned it was wiser not to. He cried for every unhappy moment in his short, miserable life. No longer able to contain his grief and anger, he bawled into the man's soft robes like a wounded toddler.

He had no idea how long he clung there, his body quaking, his chest heaving in harsh sobs. Only the strong arms wrapped around him kept him grounded - kept him from sinking into a black despair that clawed at him, trying to drown him in dark forgetfulness. After what felt like hours, exhaustion finally overcame the flood of sorrow that had seized him. His sobs petered out into whimpers and hiccups. His eyes burned and his temples pounded with a vicious headache. Harry turned his head, resting his cheek on Snape's shoulder. He was embarrassed to realize his tears had made the man's robes damp and soggy. Sniffling woefully, he finally loosened his taut grip around the professor's neck.

Does he hate me now? Does he think me a sodding great crybaby? Is he ashamed of me?

Embarrassment and self-doubt began to twist in his stomach and he wondered if he should just get off the man and hide under his blankets. But his fears were sharply relieved when Snape moved a hand to the back of his head and began to lightly massage his neck and scalp. Harry sighed and relaxed bonelessly against the broad, comforting chest. He felt too peaceful and safe to be ashamed. Right then, in that protective embrace, nothing mattered any more but the gentle hand caressing his head - the arm around his waist that held him close. He felt strangely light and empty, as if every ache in his heart had drained away.

When Snape wordlessly handed him a handkerchief, Harry scrubbed at his wet face and blew his nose noisily. The wizard then removed Harry's streaked glasses, produced a damp flannel and carefully wiped his face. The cool wet cloth felt good against his hot, sticky face and swollen eyes, and Harry sighed shakily. Still not speaking, Snape poured him a cup of water. He gulped gratefully, surprised to realize how thirsty he suddenly felt. When Snape took back the cup and set it on the bedside table, he pulled Harry back against his chest, resuming the light massage at the base of his neck, carding his fingers through Harry's hair. With his other hand, he rubbed Harry's back slowly, up and down his spine. Harry couldn't ever remember feeling so totally relaxed and weary. He snuggled his face against Snape's shoulder.

"Better now?" The man's soft, silky voice murmured against his brow.

"Mmmm," Harry scarcely had the energy to answer. "I. ..I got your shoulder all wet," he muttered contritely.

"No matter," Snape dismissed this lightly and stroked his hair. Harry lifted a hand to rub his aching temple. "Headache?" Harry barely nodded. The Potions Master murmured something, his wand materializing in his hand. A potion bottle floated into view. Snape plucked it from the air and placed it against Harry's lips. Harry swallowed, shuddering a bit from the familiar bitter taste. Then Snape enfolded him in his arms again and continued the slow stroking of his hair.

Harry sighed, cuddling against him in dazed contentment. He knew he should be embarrassed. He should feel foolish, curled up on his professor's lap like a two year old, crying all over him. He knew he was too old for such childish behavior, but he found he was too worn out to care. As he felt himself succumbing to exhaustion, slipping into that dreamy fog just before sleep, odd thoughts flickered through his mind.

Is this what other kids feel? Is this what a parent's comfort feels like? This safe, calm feeling - like everything will be all right and nothing could hurt him, as long as those arms held him. . .? Is this what having a Dad would be like?

A wondrous peace settled over Harry as he drifted off to sleep.

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

Long after Harry fell asleep, Severus continued to cradle the too-thin boy in his arms. His habitually repressed emotions were running amok, battling inside him chaotically. He felt vulnerable and raw: re-living his own agonizing childhood, and sharing the excruciating details with the boy had been far more painful than he cared to admit. But those were old, familiar wounds. . .they didn't baffle him nearly as much as the unexpected new emotions that prodded him.

Relief was the strongest - relief that he'd been able to break through the boy's self-protective barriers. Relief that Harry had finally released his pent-up anger and shame. The boy's heart-rending sobs had been cathartic and long-overdue. He needed to acknowledge and release the pain before any healing could begin.

Severus had expected the boy's breakdown - he hadn't expected Harry to throw himself into his arms. When the distraught child had scrambled onto his lap and clutched at him, Severus had momentarily frozen in shock and trepidation.

He didn't really know how to console a child, and having a sobbing boy on his lap was frankly far outside his comfort zone.

Of course, he had comforted Draco a few times when his godson was just a toddler, but that was some years ago. Physical affection was frowned upon in the cold, stilted Malfoy household, and Draco had quickly learned to do without. Lucius and Narcissa rarely touched their son, and anxious for their approval, Draco had grown predictably remote and standoffish. He had hugged Severus stiffly on a few rare occasions, seeming as uncomfortable with the contact as his godfather. But Draco had never impulsively thrown himself at Severus. When Harry had done it, Severus nearly choked.

He had instantly realized that he couldn't reject the boy - the damage to the child's trust would have been irreparable. But once he had given in to it, Severus found, much to his surprise, that he didn't mind having Harry on his lap. The boy's slight weight felt good against his chest. . . his warmth and his skinny arms around his neck were oddly soothing. Even the child's smell - a peculiar pungent blend of salt, boyish sweat and potions - wasn't unbearably repulsive. Harry's weeping fit had awakened a fierce protective instinct in Severus, that had both startled and frightened him. And yet he was amazed how content he felt just holding the child.

Severus glanced down at Harry's now peaceful face, a flushed cheek snuggled against his shoulder, and a strange warmth spread through his heart.

James Potter would rotate in his grave if he could see this.

The quirky thought made him smirk with amusement. He brushed a stray curl off the boy's cheek and shook his head in bewilderment.

What am I going to do with you, boy?

Harry shifted in his arms, nuzzling closer, as if needing the reassurance of as much contact with Severus as possible. Severus tightened his hold, rubbing the narrow, bony back soothingly. He frowned down at the boy's bare feet, dangling limply beyond his thin pajama pants. Dragging the blanket off the bed, he wrapped it around the boy's form and cast a fresh warming spell on it. He watched the child sleep with a small pang of regret.

I should have done this for Draco. Every child needs physical reassurance. . . needs to be held.

He could still recall a faint memory of his mother's embrace.

I shouldn't have let my own reserve and detachment deny him this.

He wondered if it was too late. If he were to suddenly hug Draco, would the boy welcome the touch or pull away in embarrassed distaste.

Severus smirked down at the sleeping boy in his arms.

What have you done to me, Harry Potter?

He didn't bother to answer his own question. He now recognized the long-forgotten warmth in his heart that this wounded, fragile boy had kindled. Only four other people in his life had ever ignited that warmth. One was his mother, who had loved him unconditionally. One was an old wizard with twinkling blue eyes, who had once forgiven him and had held him as he wept, turning his darkest hour into a new beginning. One was a delicate infant boy with hair the color of moonlight, who had clutched at his fingers and solemnly jabbered baby sounds at him as if certain Severus could understand him. And one was a pretty teenaged witch with flame red hair and laughing green eyes, who had dared to befriend him when no one else would.

It was several hours later before Severus' stiff, tingling legs forced him to lift the sleeping boy and settle him on the bed again, tucking the blankets around his slender shoulders. He paced a few moments in the hushed, deserted ward to bring the blood back to his numb legs. Then he stretched his stiff weary back, and sat back down to resume his silent vigil.