Frantic shouting heralded Harry's sudden appearance in the main courtyard of the school. There were not many students who were not currently attending the final task, but fortunately, there were some. Moments after he'd returned, three of the teen's schoolmates had gathered around while a fourth hung back uncertainly.

"Is that –" the boy began, looking like he wanted to flee rather than wait to have questions answered. After all, people weren't supposed to randomly arrive in the courtyard, by portkey or otherwise.

"It's Harry Potter," confirmed a Ravenclaw boy. Spying the necklace laying next to the Gryffindor's wand hand, he pulled out his handkerchief and cautiously wrapped it, seeing no other possible portkey in sight. "I think this is responsible for his little trip," he said, setting it carefully aside.

Meanwhile, one of the others, a muggleborn, had the presence of mind to press her fingers to the side of Harry's neck. "He doesn't have a pulse!" she exclaimed.

"He's dead?" squeaked the student who was still standing. A couple others had paused in passing at this point.

"Don't just stand there!" the girl snapped angrily as she and her classmate turned Harry onto his back. "Run for help! Madame Pomfrey, or the first teacher you can find!"

The Ravenclaw and the other three ran to obey as she quickly instructed her friend how to aid in CPR. They took turns doing rescue breathing and compressions until Professor Sinistra arrived, followed closely by the mediwitch. Professors Dumbledore and Snape showed up a short moment later, just as Madame Pomfrey was able to get the unconscious boy's heart going again.

"Let's get him to the hospital wing," the mediwitch said briskly, features drawn in worry. The adults started towards the doors, Harry carefully hovered between them.

"Professors!" the girl who'd known to perform CPR grabbed up the cloth-wrapped necklace and moved to the closest of the staff members as he turned. It was the Potions Master. "Professor, this was next to Potter's hand when he appeared. We think it's a portkey. Neil wrapped it in his kercheif, just in case."

Snape accepted the small bundle with a short nod. "Thank you, Miss Landon. The headmaster will want to speak with each of you, so be certain to make yourselves available."

"Yes, sir," said Miss Landon as her friend nodded.

The Potions Master did not immediately follow the others to the hospital wing, instead going first to his private lab and taking the floo to Poppy's office. As the mediwitch got Harry settled into a bed, he waited in pensive silence, gaze fixed on the scene. Time had run out, he realized morosely. There was no more waiting, no more chances. Only one.

"We should give this to the boy, now," he declared, moving forward once there nothing more to be immediately done for the boy. Snape held up the vial holding the latest antidote. Albus and Poppy knew what it was, but Sinistra did not and looked on in mild confusion.

"Now?" Poppy protested. "You said this was the one you were the most uncertain of!"

"What other choice do we have?" Snape questioned.

"We could at least wait until he regains consciousness, then give it to him."

"And the likelihood that Potter will regain consciousness at this point?"

The mediwitch's mouth pressed into a hard line before she turned to the headmaster for support. "Albus!"

"I'm afraid you and Severus know far more about healing than I, Poppy," Albus responded carefully.

"If we delay, we may lose any chance of saving him at all," the Potions Master pressed.

"And what if this is the antidote that just kills him? Then, what?" Poppy argued.

"If it doesn't work, he is likely dead, anyway," Severus countered. He stepped closer, holding the vial out to his colleague again. His tone was heavy when he continued. "Harry has already lived longer than anyone else infected by this poison. You know I have done everything in my power to ensure his survival. I... I don't like gambling with his life anymore than you do, but there are no other options for him. Not anymore.

"Poppy, we should give him this antidote, now," Severus reiterated.

Reluctant, Poppy reached out to take the vial. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "If you would help me, then?"

"Of course."

Dumbledore had led the Astronomy professor from the room as they debated, leaving them alone with the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived. Snape situated himself next to Harry, gently supporting the boy against his side. Standing at the bedside, Poppy fed the potion to the boy with great care, quietly murmuring a charm to make him swallow. Once it was gone, she stood back, watching as her coworker ran a hand over Harry's hair. She wasn't sure he was aware of doing so.

"Now what?" she questioned aloud after running a diagnostic spell over the boy. There was no change. She hadn't really expected any.

"Now, we wait," Severus voiced the obvious. He was still holding the boy. Poppy made no mention of it.

0o0o0

Cedric Diggory had won the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts. The Hufflepuffs had been exultant, as well was their due. For once, the oft-overlooked house was in the spotlight. Their jubilation was short-lived, however, overshadowed by far solemner news.

Voldemort had returned. Not only that, but Harry Potter lay comatose in the hospital wing after his latest confrontation with the evil wizard.

The Potions Master had stationed himself at the boy's bedside, unwilling to leave. It was Albus who finally convinced him to do otherwise, insisting that he go to Voldemort and reprise his role as spy. Naturally, the Dark Lord was displeased that his servant had failed to appear in the graveyard the first time he had called.

Severus knelt on the ground, face almost pressed to the floor, a residual tremor coursing through his frame. The agony of the Cruciatus Curse was nothing compared to the worry piercing his heart, however. To think that he cared more for the fate of Harry Potter than the harm wrought upon him by a madman.

"How can I be certain that your loyalty is not to that old fool?" Voldemort demanded.

"As I have told you, my lord," Snape repeated himself, "it was my desire to convince Dumbledore that I am true to the Light. I had to make him believe that my return to you was at his bidding. It has been a long time, master – a spy could only aid your return to power."

"Oh? Are you truly loyal to me, Severus?"

"Always, my lord," the Potions Master murmured reverently. He found he could sympathize with the way Harry had felt towards his antagonist.

"It is my understanding that Harry Potter has been residing in your quarters all year," the object of his loathing informed him.

"At Dumbledore's command," Snape spat distastefully. "The boy is a troublemaker in need of constant supervision. The rest of the staff were considered too good for the task, so the old fool placed him with me. I could not make a move against the boy without Dumbledore knowing. It was a most unpleasant year, my lord. It is such a great relief you have finally returned."

"So you claim," Voldemort sounded unconvinced. "Look at me."

Severus met the man's gaze, allowing him to see what he wished.

Voldemort gave a chilling smile that was meant to be warm. "It is good to know there are still some on whom I can depend," he said. "In light of that, I have my first task for you. It is a simple one, for which I am certain you are more than capable."

"What is it that you desire, master?" Snape inquired, his nose once more to the floor.

"I have... a headache and the muscles in my arms are sore. I suspect Wormtail made a mistake with the ritual. You are to bring me the appropriate pain draught, immediately. Make it, if you have to, but don't delay."

Were he not staring at the ground, the expression which flickered across Snape's face would have surely given him away. As it was, rather than the Dark Lord's cold, high tones, he was instead hearing a teenaged voice disrespectfully demanding, 'Why can't I have a stupid pain draught?'

"My pleasure," Snape replied, barely suppressing the purr of satisfaction which threatened his tone. "Right away, my lord."

0o0o0

Severus did not immediately go to Voldemort upon completing the requested potion. With everything that happening, the delay was believable. It was only a couple of days before the Dark Lord called a meeting. The Potions Master made sure he was one of the first to arrive, profusely apologizing for not having brought the draught sooner. Voldemort had retaliated with a brief crucio, but he had drank the potion.

The spy had smirked against the floor, murmuring a single word under his breath before returning slowly to his feet. A house elf popped into the room, disappearing again just as quickly. She was ignored. Soon, the other free Death Eaters had arrived, circling their mad lord upon his throne.

As the man stood to address them, he paused, bringing a hand to his throat. His head felt a bit better, but breathing was slowly becoming difficult. Crimson eyes instantly fixed upon the Potions Master.

"What is the meaning of this?" he hissed.

"Shrake fin, my lord," Snape answered promptly, tone unmistakeably smug. "Incorporated into the strongest dose of a traditional pain draught. You see, you made one mistake in your return: you used Potter's blood and in doing so, you posioned yourself."

At that moment, as Voldemort's loyal raised their wands in his defense, aurors burst into the room, having arrived outside the wards when Hana led to the location. As spells began to fly, the Potions Master hurled a blasting curse at Nagini. Unable to breathe, let alone utter an incantation, Voldemort was unable to protect her. His wand dropped from his fingers as he sank to the floor.

Snape made his way to the man, wanting to personally ensure that Voldemort perished. Wand aimed at the Dark Lord, he stopped over him. Voldemort glared up at him and the Potions Master was able to catch his fading thoughts.

"Traitor, Snape. Curse you. Do not think you've won. You'll be sorry..."

"Never again because of you," Severus declared after the man's mind went dark. There was probably still time to save the man. After all, a person was supposed to be able to live up to three minutes without air. He did nothing, however, simply continuing to stand there as the aurors rounded up the last of the gathered Death Eaters.

Barty Crouch Jr. was hurling invectives at him, as were some of the others. Snape only smirked. Finally, Kingsley and one of his coworkers moved towards him. Only then, did the Potions Master move, crouching beside Voldemort to press his fingers into the man's neck.

"He has no pulse," he stated indifferently. He withdrew his hand and stood. "Lord Voldemort is dead."

0o0o0

The new defeat of Voldemort and the capture of the majority of his loyal death eaters, including Barty Crouch Jr, who had been impersonating Mad-Eye Moody, was cause for great celebration. Nonetheless, it seemed that few were in the mood to celebrate, nearly every mind drawn to Harry Potter and his fate. So many cards and gifts had arrived for Harry that Madame Pomfrey finally had to have them delivered elsewhere. Soon, school had officially ended and the students went home, some with great reluctance.

And still Harry slumbered.

Snape spent the majority of his time in the hospital wing. So much of that was spent pacing that Pomfrey thought she could see a line being worn into the floor by the man's restless movement. For the most part, they left one another alone, neither feeling up to interaction.

Poppy was checking on her patient, her mild relief over the slight improvement in his condition dampened by the fact that Harry was still unconscious. Assuring that his vitals were all stable, she decided to cast a poisoning diagnostic on him. The last time she'd done so had been the day after his encounter with Voldemort and it had shown that nothing had changed. While she couldn't say what compelled her to check it again, she knew it wouldn't hurt.

At first, she thought she had made a mistake, so she performed the scan a second time. Then, a third. "Severus!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Snape demanded, quickly closing the distance between them. "What is it?" Whatever it was had to be terrible – the woman was practically shaking all over.

"I-it's gone!"

"What's gone?" he looked over the boy, as though expecting one of his limbs had disappeared.

"The poison, Severus!" Poppy finally managed in her excitement. "The antidote worked!"

The Potions Master stared at her. "You're certain?" The mediwitch (who had taught him most of the medicinal magic that he knew) motioned for him to run the scan himself, which he did. "It worked," he murmured. "But why didn't it show up before?"

"Merlin, I don't know," the woman replied. "Maybe the antidote needed more time to work its way through his system, or perhaps I cast the charm wrong. Either way, you've done it, Severus. The poison has been neutralized."

"Then, that means..." Severus began, trailing off uncertainly.

"I'd say that means Harry's chances of pulling through this have dramatically increased."

0o0o0

Nearly three weeks had passed since Voldemort's second death. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, its light filtering through the tall windows of the hospital wing at Hogwarts. In a far corner of the ward, on the only occupied bed in the room, a fourteen-year-old boy slowly opened a pair of bright green eyes.

He was small for his age and rather too thin, his complexion paler than it ought to have been. Messy black hair stood out starkly against the clean, white pillow as he slowly turned his head, squinting at his surroundings as though he needed glasses to see clearly. Finally, his gaze came to rest on a man seated in a chair close to his bed, his attention absorbed by the book sitting in his lap.

"Sir?"

The man's head snapped up, dark eyes resting upon the boy before him. He closed the book and rose from his seat. "Poppy!" he called over his shoulder, even as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter. You've been asleep for quite some time." He placed a hand on the boy's forehead, the corner of his lips turning up fondly as the younger wizard leaned into the touch.

Harry's eyes began to drift shut again, before widening in alarm. "Voldemort!" he exclaimed hoarsely.

"Is dead, Harry," Snape told him.

"No!" the teen rasped. "I saw him. He..."

"He is dead, again," the man amended. "When he used some of your blood to regenerate himself, he was also poisoned. Unlike you, he didn't have anyone who was careful to make sure he didn't imbibe any potions that would cause him harm. The headmaster has a theory as to what allowed him to resurrect himself and is working to prevent it from happening again. So, you see, Harry, you might never have to worry about Voldemort, again."

"He's really gone again?" the boy queried anxiously.

"He's really gone."

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he accepted this reassurance, allowing his eyes to drift shut again. "I had a dream," he whispered after a moment.

"What did you dream about, Harry?" Severus prompted, brushing back an errant strand of hair that had fallen into the boy's face.

"I dreamed... that we were making potions," he murmured. "Hana was there..." His voice trailed off as he drifted off to sleep.

Snape couldn't help but give a gentle smile. "We will brew together when you are well again," he promised the slumbering teen.

"Severus?" Poppy briskly approached the bed. "I'm sorry I didn't come right away – I was out. Is everything alright?" She looked back and forth between her colleague and her patient.

"Yes, Poppy," Severus answered. There was an unmistakeable warmth in his tone and the gaze resting on Harry was fond, almost paternal. It almost seemed that she was looking at a different man, altogether. "I daresay everything is nearly perfect."

The child of his heart would have agreed.