Lingering after Potter fell asleep to make sure the boy didn't need a painkiller gave Severus time to reflect back on the procedure. Those helpless eyes so full of pain had cracked open an iron shut door Severus promised himself to keep shut after Lily's death.

He looked back at Potter. The boy appeared fragile, certainly shorter than most of his year mates. And thin! The child's ribs jutted out when Potter's body wasn't hidden under layer after layer of clothing. Severus found it hard to believe the child was a few months shy of sixteen. Had the child always looked this way and he failed to notice it, too concerned with pinning the child as his father's clone?

But Severus realized for the first time the boy wasn't his childhood enemy or anyone like him. James Potter would've kicked and screamed over that bone marrow biopsy where as his son more than sucked it up. The child hadn't even questioned the necessity of the test, just went with it.

In fact, the boy's latest actions reminded Severus more of himself as a teen than James Potter. Severus immediately reneged that thought all together. Potter won over Lily in the end. It was preposterous to think Lily might've carried his child instead of Potter's. His Lily. The same Lily that lived on in her sick, orphaned child.

Severus rubbed his temples feeling a headache forming. He refused to think about Lily and what might have been. That chapter in his life was over long ago, and there was nothing he could do to change it. So why was a buried memory refusing to stay buried? Instead it flapped and swirled around like a teasing snitch.

Having no other choice, Severus brought the memory forward and immersed himself into it. He found himself starting at his teenaged self and Lily during their fourth year.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin sat on the ground atop the astronomy tower huddled under blankets to keep out the cold. Flurries floated down from the sky as the sun set, giving way to moonlight.

"It was so horrible, Sev," Lily cried curled into Severus' side.

"What happened Lily? Why did you disappear early for Christmas holidays?" Severus asked holding Lily close as she cried onto his shoulder. Her curtain of dark auburn hair sheltered her from the world.

"Jesse, the leukemia it killed him!"

Severus gasped, stunned. "But the doctors said he was doing better."

"They were wrong," Lily forced out in between sobs. "He was so small and helpless when I saw him. It's why Mum and Dad pulled me out early. So I could say good-bye."

"Oh, Lily," Severus pulled her closer, rocking her in his arms where she fit perfectly.

"It was so scary, Sev. There was nothing we could do, but let the doctors keep him comfortable until he died two days before Christmas."

"I'm so sorry," Severus whispered into her hair that smelled like fresh berries, sweet like her.

"But the worst was on Christmas Day when Mum and Dad encouraged us to open our gifts. Jesse's were still wrapped and waiting for him under the tree."

Severus violently ripped himself out of the memory leaving him feeling nauseous with a headache from hell. He swallowed down the bile at the back of his throat before downing several potions from Poppy's stores. He had forgotten all about Jesse, Lily's brother who died of leukemia at age three. How could he forget the little boy Lily adored and always had stories to tell Severus about?

More importantly, it was all but confirmed Lily's son had the same cancer her beloved baby brother died from. Severus cursed fate. The same disease that ruined Lily's favorite holiday forever now threatened to take her son, her son with her brilliant emerald eyes.

The same eyes he knew would continue to haunt him except in Harry. Severus couldn't continue to treat the child, the same one who looked at him so desperately in pain while he was helpless to end it, like he had treated him for five years. It was worse than seeing small children killed in Death Eater raids because he knew the boy, even if it most of their time spent together ended in Severus' rage, and as the boy's eyes reminded him, Lily's son.

Severus knew what he had to do. He had to ensure that Lily's sick child survived. To make sure the boy lived to become a man if only for Lily and the promise of happy Christmases to come. Determined to see to it, Severus left Harry to sleep to start developing the treatment plan to save Lily's son.

Harry woke up to a darkened Hospital Wing and pain in his lower back. "Careful," Snape warned him as he started to move. He felt Snape's arms around his back, helping him to sit up. The hands were gentle as if he were a delicate potions ingredient. "Here," Snape placed his glasses into his hand. 

"Thank you, sir," Harry croaked. Snape handed Harry a glass of water, which he sipped glad to wash away the icky coating left in his throat and mouth from sleep. "How long was I asleep? I didn't mean to."

"A few hours, but it's quite all right Potter. You needed it," Snape cut him off before he could apologize further.

Harry blushed in embarrassment. It felt like all he was doing lately was sleeping. Not that it did any good. He was just as tired as when he fell asleep. Had Snape stayed by his side the entire time? Surely not, the man had better things to do than sit with him, right? 

Silence fell between the two, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Harry let his mind wake up before trying to figure out a way to ask if the results were in yet. "Um, sir?" he stuttered, "the test?"

"Are you fully awake then?" the Potions Master asked, and Harry noticed his professor seemed to avert his gaze to anywhere but at him. Was it so bad the professor couldn't even stand to look at him anymore?

"Yes, sir," he confirmed. He wished Snape would just blurt it out.

"Then Madame Pomfrey is waiting for you," Snape said offering his hand to help Harry off the procedure table.

"Sir?" Harry asked, his fear rising. Why couldn't Snape just tell him?

"Come, Potter. Madame Pomfrey will tell you the results," Harry relented accepting Snape's help off the table. "And Potter, I'm here if you need someone."

Did Snape really say that? To him? Harry Potter?

Harry felt like he was facing that Muggle execution device that chopped of the victim's head. The gui...guil something. He was scared of what lie on the other side of the door. Harry wanted to go back to yesterday when his wonky magic was just that, wonky, not something that required scans and needles. But a nudge to his back reminded him he couldn't hide from the truth forever.

Stiffly, Harry made his way back into the main area of the Hospital Wing. McGonagall sat at the foot of the bed that might as well be considered his, conversing quietly with Pomfrey. Both appeared misty-eyed as they looked up at him, abruptly cutting off their conversation. Harry gulped. That was never good news.

"Come sit down beside me, Harry," McGonagall said, patting the bed next to her. Harry crossed the room, a slight limp to his gait. Was it supposed to hurt this much? It was a deep pain, one he felt down to his bone.

 He sat down beside his Head of House who immediately starting fussing over him. "Are you warm enough? We'll just wrap this around your shoulders." McGonagall rambled wrapping a blanket around him before he could even answer.

While his Head of House was as loyal to Gryffindor as a parent to her children, the witch was stern, and wasn't an affectionate Head of House like Sprout with her Hufflepuffs. Through all his years and near-death adventures, she never lost her sternness and more importantly, McGonagall never fussed over a student. It was unnerving.

"Minerva," Snape snapped.

"Oh, sorry," McGonagall apologized, snatching her hands from him.

"It's okay," Harry reassured his professor before turning his attention to Pomfrey. "Ma'am?"

Pomfrey gave him a sad smile while she kneeled in front of him. "Did you study the body in Muggle primary?"

Harry blinked. What kind of question was that? "A little. We learned some of the names of bones and things like that. I don't remember much," he paused trying to figure out why she'd ask that question. "Are you trying to tell me I need another test and need to know how to explain it?"

"No, dear. No more tests," Pomfrey said taking his hands into hers.

"Then you know what I have?" Harry asked.

Pomfrey nodded. "You have a Muggle disease that magical scans cannot detect."

"But Professor Snape can make a potion, right?" Harry asked wondering how horrible it would taste. Potions could heal everything. That's what Snape basically preached in his first Potions class.

"Harry, do you know what cancer is?" Pomfrey asked, avoiding his question. Harry shook his head feeling McGonagall throw an arm around him, pulling him close to her side. He started to tremble not liking whatever this cancer thing was. "It's a disease affecting your cells. Do you know what cells are?"

"The building blocks of life," Harry remembered from a Muggle science class.

"That is correct, dear. Now, with cancer, cells start to go a little haywire and attack your body."

"So this thing, cancer, it's bad? Like cancer itself is Voldemort and the bad cells are his Death Eaters?" he tried to wrap his brain around the concept.

"That is one way to look at it, a very original way to describe it, but yes, that is quite accurate." Pomfrey reasoned.

Harry shrugged. Most of his thoughts revolved around Voldemort lately, so it wasn't a surprise that's what he came up with first.

"There are different kinds of cancers depending on where those cells, cancer cells originate. Some cancers are in the blood and one type is called leukemia," Pomfrey stopped to take a deep breath, and Harry knew what she was going to say next. "Acute lymphoblastic leukemia or ALL is what you have, Harry."

Before Harry could comprehend what it meant, he was engulfed by both McGonagall's and Pomfrey's arms. Harry searched for Snape. His professor stood leaning against the wall, blending into the shadows, and Harry gave him a pleading look.

"Poppy, Minerva," Severus scolded, "Give Potter room to breathe."

They retreated, but continued to hover over him.

Cancer. His body had its own Voldemort and pack of Death Eaters. As if one wasn't enough. But was cancer a wannabe Voldemort or a full-fledged dark lord? Would this be the Voldemort that killed him before the real one got his hands on him?

Terrified, Harry hugged his knees to chest, creating his own little bubble of personal space. "I just need to take a few potions, and I'll be better, right? My cells will go back to normal and my magic, too. This is the reason for my magic, isn't it?"

"It is," Snape confirmed stepping forward, his voice steady yet laced with sympathy. "Unfortunately, Harry, a potion or two isn't going to get rid of your cancer. Rarely does a wizard have cancer, few enough that potions haven't been created to treat it."

What? No potions? Impossible. Snape could develop one, and he'd be fine. As much as Harry detested potions, Snape knew his subject.

"Instead, Muggle medications will be used for treatment. Some of them are nasty and may make you feel worse before you feel better, but it's the only way to get rid of the cancer cells," the Potions Master explained.

"I'm dying?" Harry blurted out wishing to flee, scream, and disappear all at the same time. He didn't want to die. Harry wasn't ready; he had so much left to do.

Snape placed a finger under his chin, forcing him to look into Snape's eyes. "Listen to me. You are not going to die," Snape whispered in a voice that made Harry believe the professor would obliterate each and every one of his cancer cells before letting him die. "You will beat this."

"Yes, sir," Harry responded automatically feeling himself sink into blissful numbness. "Your treatments are scheduled to start Sunday, and we will discuss them in further detail tomorrow morning. Potter?"

Harry didn't respond, not really hearing Snape's words. Instead, he escaped into himself, clearing his mind to protect himself behind a thick layer of slippery ice where cancer Voldemort couldn't get him. Snape would be proud.

Potter was going to breakdown. There was no question if, the only variable remained when. Severus sighed, dropping the conversation he was trying to have with the child who withdrew into himself. It was no use. The boy wasn't listening to him anyways.

He glared at Poppy and Minerva. The two hadn't helped when they practically smothered him. "I'm taking him back to my quarters," Severus declared ready to be back in the safety of his dungeons, away from his emotional colleagues. It would also give the child some breathing room, but no, he wasn't doing it for Potter...Harry. He was doing it for himself.

"Is that best, Severus?" Poppy piped up. "Perhaps, it would be better for him to stay here, at least overnight. Minerva could retrieve Harry's friends. I'm sure they're worried sick about him."

"It'll be Potter's decision when and if he decides to tell his friends, and I don't think he's up for visitors. I am taking him," Severus repeated, gathering up the underweight child in his arms, his strong arms holding the boy tightly against him. "Minerva, I expect you'll be able to come up with a believable lie for Harry's friends?"

"Yes, Severus. Take good care of him," Minerva said on the verge of tears.

Severus restrained from snapping back at the Deputy Headmistress knowing she was only voicing her concern over her favorite student, not suggesting he'd do otherwise.

"I will." And with that declaration, Severus escaped into the floo carrying the precious cargo entrusted to him.