A boy with raven locks lay on the ground, bleeding. He gasped slightly, his emerald eyes flashing, as another wave of pain coursed through him.

He smiled slightly. He had done it. Yes, he had fulfilled his destiny by destroying Voldemort. Forever. He broke into dry, hacking coughs.

An older wizard with greasy hair and black robes came running up to him, limping slightly. "Potter," he said, trying to control his anxiety after shooting sparks into the sky. "Hang on, Dumbledore's coming with Pomfrey. They're taking you back to Hogwarts.

Harry shook his head slightly. "No, they won't," he said sadly. He knew he would never make it. Not after he had been poisoned. He knew that the basilik's venom was spreading through him even as he spoke.

"Don't say that," Severus snapped as he tried to heal the worst of the boy's cuts. Inside, he was a turmoil of emotions. Sadness, anger, fear, despair... all that and more, whirling inside him, threatening to rip his self-control away from him. He looked into those emerald eyes but quickly turned away, shuddering inwardly at what he saw inside them. Instead of the fear he had expected, there was nothing. Nothing except calm serenity. He saw acceptance, peacefulness. No, the Boy-Who-Lived was not afraid of Death. He wanted it.

Those eyes, so empty of emotions, shook him to the core. How could one lay dying, but not feel any fear at all? Feel no regrets, no last wishes? He inwardly shook himself out of his reverie. No, he mustn't think this way. Potter would live to terrorize him and Hogwarts again. Soon.

Harry bit down on his lips once again as another wave of pain hit him. He tried to stop his trembling, but Snape obviously saw it. He turned away, not wanting to see the pity in the other's eyes. He hated pity. It made him vulnerable. And most of all, he couldn't stand to see that paricular emotion in the eyes of his parent. Especially a parent who didn't want him.

Deep down, he felt scared. Scared to hell by the fact that he was dying. Would it hurt? Would it be painful? Or would he just drift away, fading into nothingness? Well, no matter. He would find out soon.

Severus frowned inwardly when he saw the boy stiffen with pain. There was something wrong with the child, other than the fact that he was bleeding and had just been through the most terrifing event in the century. Although what, he did not know. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the last unbroken bottle of Healing Potion. He knelt by the boy's side as he brought the vital up to Potter's lips. "Drink," he ordered.

"No," Harry half-whispered. He knew there was no way the potion would work. Not with the basilik venom inside him. He would just be wasting it. "Professor, it's too late." He paused slightly as he felt himself fading slightly.

Severus saw that the boy was slipping away. Hysteria overtook his thoughts, but he beat it down ruthlessly. It would help none of them if he panicked now. "Nonsense," he said, sneering, as he tried to keep the pain of seeing the boy like this out of his voice. He tried to once again make the child drink the potion.

Harry turned away. "P-Please, Professor," he begged, hating how weak his own voice sounded. "Don't make me." He smiled through his pain. "I... I only want..." Merlin, he felt tired, so very tired...

Severus wanted to force the boy to drink, but curiousity overtook him. "What do you want?"

"I---I want to t-thank you. Thank you for everything, Father." There, he had said it. It was over. Now, he could rest. Reaching up wearily, he placed his hand on the Potions Master's shoulders as he let out his love and affection for his father, placing it in his touch, showing it by the way his fingers brushed softly and gently over the black robes. Allowing a small smile to grace his lips, his eyes closed as he drew one last, shuddering breath. Then, he was gone.

Severus gasped, looking down at the broken body of his son. The boy had known. Had always known, but had never mentioned it to him at all. Looking down, he felt Harry's fingers brush his shoulder. Weak as the action was, he felt such emotion, such... love in the single motion. He saw the admiration shine through as the boy's eyes finally closed. But no... he didn't deserve love, didn't deserve admiration. He was a Death-Eater, a murderer... He didn't deserve to father any child, especially not Harry Potter.

"Harry, how?" He whispered sadly as he lifted the boy into his arms, holding the child tenderly as he allowed his loving touch to cradle Harry's head. "Why? Why didn't you tell me you knew? Oh, God, Harry..."

For the first time, he wept, truly wept, as he allowed the tears to come. The waves of sorrow, tears... he let go of all his emotions, his anger, sadness, regrets... Sobs shook his body as he allowed himself to wallow in pain and self-loathing.

He didn't know how or when, but Albus finally came later. The Headmaster tried to pry the boy from his fingers, but he refused to let go. No, he could never let go. All he could think of was how the child had known about his birth, had known all along, but never told anyone for fear of ruining the Potions Master's life. Of how selfless the Gryffindor had been, how young the boy had been as he lay there alone in his own blood, dying in pain.

Finally, after hours of persuasion, he let go of Harry and watched dully as the nurse took the boy's body away. He allowed himself to be led back to Hogwarts. Allowed Dumbledore to put him to bed. Finally, he felt his tears run out. And Severus Snape wept no more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The funeral took place next evening. The wizarding world came to bid their lost hero goodbye as they saw the boy one last time.

That night, Severus sat outside, alone by the Astronomy Tower as he watched the peaceful view of the Lake and the Forbidden Forest. Only then did he allow himself to cry again, the father that never had a chance to know his son. He let the tears come as he wepted, wepted for Harry, for the selfless boy that had sacrificed himself for the sake of the wizarding world. He mourned for the once so innocent child that would never be, for the boy that he never had the chance to truly know. The moon hung over the cold, midnight sky. Far away, in the distance, a wolf howled in mourning.