For the first time, Harry fully understood why Voldemort was the most feared wizard of his time. The anger—hatred—the Dark Wizard projected was tangible. It radiated from him in waves, causing the circle of death eaters to scramble back. For his part, Snape stood without fear—or so it appeared—as Voldemort descended on him.

"Crucio," Voldemort spat. Instantly, Snape was on the ground writhing in pain. He valiantly held back his screams, allowing only a moan to escape him. Harry had never seen a man subjected to the Cruciatus for so long. When the curse was finally lifted, he worried about the man's sanity.

It took a while, but Snape finally moved, pushing his body up on a shaky set of legs. He stood, as tall as his battered body would allow. His pain was evident, but he didn't show any fear.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the structure, an explosion was heard. It must have been strong, because the low rumble shook the walls. Everyone stood stock still, many staring nervously at Voldemort.

A small—but very evident—smirk crossed Snape’s lips.

Voldemort turned and pointed towards a random Death Eater at the door. “You,” he shouted, sending a spark from his wand. “Go, see what is happening. In his anger, those simple words seemed like a horrible curse. Needless to say, that Death Eater sprinted from the room.

Meanwhile, since Voldemort’s back was turned, Severus started to limp over towards his wand. It was a rather pitiful effort and no one bothered to stop him. Before he reached his destination, Voldemort turned and fixed Snape with a glare that made Harry shudder. The boy barely saw the wizard’s wand move before Snape was once again writhing on the ground.

This time, when the curse was lifted, Snape’s recovery took much longer. But the stubborn man did try to stand. In an instant, Voldemort was crouched on the ground, right at Snape’s side. With a flick of his wand, Snape was flipped on his back. Volemort reached up his bony fingers and pinned Snape’s eye open.

“Legilimens,” Voldemort hissed.

Snape’s feet twitched as he sucked in a breath of air. The rest of the struggle wasn’t evident to those watching, but Harry had some vague idea of the mental battle Snape must be fighting.

After a couple of minutes of this, some of the Death Eaters relaxed a bit, feeling safe enough to move closer together. Wimps, Harry thought.

Without warning, Voldemort was on his feet and once again cursing Snape. He shouted out curse after curse in a rapid, unrelenting fashion. Many of them Harry had never heard before. The result was evident, though, as Snape’s blood began to pool around his body. All through the torture, though, the man didn’t cry out, other than a few muffled moans. By the time Voldemort finally stopped, Harry’s face was streaked in tears.

The evil wizard spoke quietly, but his voice carried. “You will die knowing that your plan failed, Severus. I will still use the boy for my curse. The Ferratilis Potion will be completed. Soon the world will be mine and it will have been you who helped me most.”

When the Dark Lord looked up, the group of Death Eaters visibly quailed. The man who had been sent to check on the explosions looked ready to soil himself.

“It-it was the potions lab. And the—”

Voldemort raised his wand and the man was silenced.

“Remove them first,” their master spat. The order wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, so no one moved. “Now!” And suddenly every Death Eater was scrambling to obey. The lucky ones, the one who had Snape levitated and the other who held Harry behind the neck, were allowed to direct them out of the room. As they were led down the hall, Harry could hear Voldemort yelling orders.

Unfortunately, Harry was shoved out first, so he was unable to turn around and check on Snape. As they walked down the hall, their two captors were arguing.

“Should we up them in separate cells?”

“We should just put them together.”

“But what if they’re supposed to be separated?” Harry didn’t think these men seemed all that intelligent. He almost opened his mouth to make his own suggestion… Voldemort wants you to let us go.

“The Dark Lord didn’t say.”

“Well, if he wanted them separated, you can be the one to suffer.”

“Should we check Snape’s robes?”

“The Dark Lord will be expecting us back.”

“But what if Snape’s got something important?”

“And what if we’re late getting back to the meeting?” Harry noticed the man beside him shudder.

At the room, Harry was flung inside, the force strong enough to make him fall painfully to the ground. Moments later, Snape was levitated in and dropped as well. The door was flung shut and locked, but Harry didn’t care. He slowly crawled over to Snape, his knees and wrists protesting sharply.

“Snape!” Harry whispered urgently. The man’s eyes were closed and Harry was terrified that he might discover Snape to be dead already. “Snape,” Harry said a bit louder. He rested a hand lightly on the man’s chest. Every bit of Snape’s exposed skin was bruised or bleeding. “Snape, please,” Harry begged.

Snape’s eyes fluttered open. “Potter,” he said—his voice labored and raspy.

“Snape?”

“My robes,” Snape fumbled around, trying to find something. He pulled out a potion. “I’m sorry; it’s only a weak healing draught. I thought they would search me.”

“It’s okay,” Harry responded, more afraid now. Snape sounded so different; the man would never talk like this. He wanted his snarky Potions Master back, barking orders.

“Drink, Potter,” Snape snapped.

“You need it more than me,” Harry protested.

Strange enough, Snape laughed, a coughing weak laugh, but a laugh none the less. “Potter,” Snape explained, “I’m well beyond that healing draught’s capabilities. It would only serve to postpone the inevitable. Now drink.”

“Please,” Harry begged, holding out the vial.

“Potter!”

When Snape opened his mouth, Harry took the opportunity to poor the potion in his mouth. He almost panicked when Snape began coughing violently.

“Potter,” Snape snapped. The man’s eyes were fixed in his regular glare, but Harry was sad to note that it didn’t hold the same power. With a shaky hand, the man pulled out another vial. “Drink,” Snape commanded.

This time, Harry did as he was told. Soon thereafter, Snape had another vial thrust into Harry’s hands. The boy rolled his eyes and drank the second potion.

When Snape pulled out a third, Harry protested, “Your turn, Snape.”

“Potter!” Snape warned.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s nothing you can do. I won’t drink another one unless you do too.” Feeling brave, Harry held the vial to Snape’s lips. Slowly, he poured the potion into the man’s mouth.

They continued this process until Harry was feeling a bit nauseous. A lot of Harry’s pain dissipated markedly, although his wrists still hurt. Snape looked a little better; at least his hands shook less when he reached around in his robes.

“All right, Harry,” Snape said. “You don’t have much time.” He pulled out a necklace from his robes. It had a small golden serpent hanging from it. “Put this on.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, as he did what he was told.

“A portkey.”

Harry quickly tried to pull it back over his head, afraid he’d disappear any moment, leaving Snape behind. But the necklace had shrunk around his neck, fitting too tightly to be pulled over his head.

“You can’t take it off, now,” Snape explained. “And it won’t work until you get out of the Dark Lord’s wards.” Snape held up a green wand.

Harry recognized it instantly. “A Wheezes joke wand?”

“It opens most simple locks,” Snape explained. “Now, you need to take corridors that lead down and to the right. If you see someone, hide and wait. They should be distracted for a while.”

“Wait, but you’re coming with me.”

“Harry, I can’t stand.”

“But—“

“No. Now, shut up and listen. Once you get to the underground tunnel, I want you to run as fast as you can. Eventually, you’ll get to a ladder. Climb up and continue running. Once you get past the wards, the portkey will work on its own.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Harry responded.

“Potter, don’t be an idiot!”

Harry ignored the man and crawled over to position himself in front of Snape’s head. With his broken wrists, he reached to hold Snape under the armpits. He attempted to pull the man up. "Get up, Snape!" Harry cried. With all of his strength, he tried to pull Snape up, but his wrists screamed in agony. Even if it wasn't excruciating, it was unlikely Harry would be able mange Snape's weight. "Please, get up," he continued to plead, "I won't leave you."

"Harry," Snape said in a hoarse whisper. He reached behind his head and weakly pushed Harry away. "Harry, go. You must go… save yourself."

Harry bent down and wrapped his arms around Snape's face, giving the man a light hug. "No, please. I don't want to lose you."

Snape grabbed Harry by the scruff of his pajama top. “Potter, go. If you play the hero, my death will mean nothing. The Dark Lord will complete his curse as soon as he can. Now, get out.”

“I’m sorry, Snape,” Harry cried.

“It’s. Not. Your. Fault!” Snape snapped. He thrust the green wand into Harry’s hand. “Now go!”

After a moment of hesitation, Harry stood. Vaguely he started to obey, but he planned to keep an eye open for some way to take Snape with him. He walked over to the door. Feeling awkward, he held up the wand. Pointing at the door, he gave it a flick.

He was surprised when he saw the heavy handle move; he hadn’t expected the wand to actually open the door. His surprise quickly turned to fear as he saw a man entering the room. Hurriedly, Harry hid the wand up his sleeve.

Lucius didn’t give Harry a moment’s glance as he pushed the boy roughly to the ground. “Severus, you idiot!” he shouted.

Harry slowly got to his feet. He wondered what he should do—what he could do—to help Snape.

“Get up, Severus,” Lucius commanded coolly.

“You know I can’t,” Snape responded.

Casually, the man leaned over and grabbed Snape by the arm. Positioning his feet squarely on the ground, Lucius pulled Snape up quickly.

Snape groaned in pain, but Lucius ignored him. “Come,” he commanded, pulling Snape towards the door.

Without much choice, Snape followed, his feet moving only to keep himself from falling. Once he reached the door, however, Snape stopped. Holding onto the doorjamb, he refused to move.

“Not without the boy,” Snape said. Lucius gave Snape a hard look. To which Snape added, “I saved your son.”

Lucius glared. “That boy is not your son,” he spat.

Snape’s face held a look Harry’d never seen on the man before. It was almost a silent plea.

“Fine,” Lucius responded. “But he’s got to keep up. And if you die, I’m bringing the boy back.”

“Potter,” Snape called. Instantly, the boy was at his side. Somehow, Snape managed to cling to the boy protectively, while using the small child as a crutch at the same time.

Without hesitating, Lucius continued to roughly pull Snape down the hall. His pace was anything but sympathetic to the two wounded individuals. Harry wasn’t about to complain, though, lest he get left behind. Obviously, Snape had similar ideas. Harry almost said something, when they chose a stairway that led up. He didn’t, though, when a strong feeling told him to keep his mouth shut.

Harry nearly screamed when a couple of men walked out from a door. At first they looked confused and then they reached towards their wands. Lucius was faster, though, and both men were on the ground before either could utter a word.

Without hesitation, they continued on. Harry stepped carefully over the men’s bodies, in case one might not be completely sedated. Although Harry had a sickened feeling that both were dead, even though he hadn’tcaught what Lucius had said.

At the end of the hall, they reached a room that looked strangely normal. It was obviously an office—fit for a wizard, of course—with parchment, quills, old tomes, and various wizarding gadgets. There was even a magical plant on the man’s desk, complete with silver colored flowers. Next to it was a framed picture of both Narcissa and Draco, standing regally in fancy garments. The fire was burning warmly; all in all, the room looked quite comfortable—not really something one would expect to find in the heart of Voldemort’s lair.

Lucius walked over to the fire and threw some floo powder in. “Malfoy Manor,” he directed. And then turning to Snape, he said, “You first.”

“The boy comes with me,” Snape replied, pulling Harry towards the Floo.

“Of course,” Lucius replied as he and Snape stepped in.

Falling through several gates, injured and sq ueezed tightly by Snape’s side, was a rather unpleasant feeling. Both of them had difficulty landing properly and, instead, fell to the ground.

After a moment’s rest, Snape slowly rolled to his hands and knees as he attempted to crawl away. Harry scrambled to his feet and tried to help Snape up. Being too weak, there really wasn’t much he could do.

“Lucius has the anti-portkey wards; as well,” Snape reflected calmly as if commenting on the decorum.

“Should we try to get away, before he gets here?”

“No, we can trust him.”

“Are you sure?” Harry replied. “Because…” he trailed off. He wasn’t so sure he could say it right now. Over the past few days, Harry’d gathered quite a lot of evidence to prove otherwise. Painful evidence. Memories he was trying desperately to ignore at the moment.

Lucius stepped through the Floo. He ignored Snape and Harry and started calling for house elves. When the first one arrived, he commanded, “Go to Hogwarts and retrieve my son, now.” To the second, he said, “Tend to this man’s wounds.”

Quickly, the elves moved to comply as Lucius left the room. Harry was startled when the elf levitated Snape’s body.

At the same time, Snape had reached out and grabbed Harry by the upper arm. “Stay with me,” he commanded.

Harry nodded; he never intended to do otherwise. He had to sprint in order to keep up with the elf and Snape’s floating form. His legs protested at the movement. Even though his body was feeling much better after the healing potions, he still felt extremely tired.

Snape was deposited on a large four-poster bed in what appeared to be a guest room. In no time at all, the elf went to work, cleaning and sealing wounds, as well as making the man drink a plethora of potions. Harry sat back and watched, hoping he could do more. When the elf started to open the front of Snape’s robes, Harry attempted to look away. He knew the proud man wouldn’t want him to see. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the marred skin.

Just then, the elf disappeared.

In its absence, Snape pulled himself up to a sitting position. The action left him coughing. Harry instinctively came closer, wishing a pat on the back would make things better, but Harry knew this wasn’t just a normal cough. He was scared to notice that Snape had coughed up blood.

Catching his breath, Snape casually sifted through the supplies the elf had brought. Selecting something, he said, “Potter, come.”

Opening the canister, Snape gathered a bit of the paste on his thumb. When Harry was near enough, he started to smooth some over the boy’s brow.

“You’re hurt worse that I am,” Harry protested. He’d hit his head days ago; the bruise was healing fine on its own.

“My injuries require skills higher than my own,” he replied. “Show me your wrists.”

“I think they’re broken,” Harry said, as he lifted them up. “But are you going to be okay?”

Snape grabbed the left one and began rubbing the paste into the bruises. Harry winced a little at the rough handling, but soon the pain started to lessen—a little. “Perhaps I will live,” Snape said indifferently, “if I see a proper healer.”

The elf popped back into the room. “Master Lucius is wanting you to come,” he said.

The elf moved forward to levitate Snape again, but the man waved him off. “I’ll walk,” he said. Harry strongly doubted that that would be a very good idea, but he wasn’t about to tell Snape. Instead, he ran over to the man’s side to offer as much support as he could. He was glad that Snape didn’t protest, but, by the amount of weight he ended up carrying, Harry was sure Snape had no other choice.

Together, they shuffled their way to a grand staircase. Harry almost laughed at Draco’s befuddled look when he noticed Snape and Harry.

“Father, what’s going on?” he asked in alarm. Narcissa was there too, looking rather worried.

“You have five minutes,” Lucius informed his family. “If you have something important you want to keep, go get it. We will not be returning.”

“What?!” Draco shouted.

“Draco,” Lucius snapped. “I don’t have time for this. Five minutes.” Turning to Snape he continued, “Severus, you need to decide where you’re going. I’m not dragging you with me.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice that Lucius’ family was still loitering around, looking confused and a bit frightened.

“Draco,” Lucius snapped again. Seeing the boy take an involuntary step backwards, the man’s anger seemed to wane. He walked over to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, son… I’ve—” Lucius stopped talking and grasped his arm, Snape too tensed. “He’s calling.”

Immediately there after, Harry clutched his head—the pain was intense. So much so, it caused him to fall to his knees. Snape fell after him, hissing in pain from the sudden movement.

“He’s angry,” Harry gasped.

“He’s here already,” Snape tacked on. To add emphasis to his statement, the door banged loudly, as if victim to a strong blast. Snape tried to help Harry stand up, when he too, couldn’t manage on his own. “Occlude, Potter,” Snape snapped.

Harry immediately did as he was told and his efforts actually seemed to make a difference. With his head clearer, he was able to stand up and tried to help Snape do the same.

“Draco,” Lucius directed, as he pulled Snape to his feet. Draco wandered over, and Snape’s right arm was unceremoniously thrust over the boy’s shoulder. “Take them down to the emergency floo. Watch out for your mother.”

“Wait,” Draco cried. “You’re coming too right.”

“As soon as I can,” Lucius responded. Even Harry could tell it was a lie.

“But Father—” Another loud bang sounded at the door. This time, the force was strong enough to shake the whole manor.

“Draco, take care of your mother,” Lucius said, reaching out a hand to brush Draco’s face. The blond nodded in assent, but still looked reluctant to leave. Lucius pulled out a wand from an inner robe pocket and handed it to Snape. “Take care of my family.” Lucius looked towards his wife; she nodded in response to an unspoken message.

“Come, Draco,” she directed cordially, as if there was nothing going on at all.

Following his mother, Draco led Snape to a hidden staircase. Snape had a hold of Harry with his free hand. The grasp was actually tight enough that it hurt, but Harry didn’t know if that was due to Snape or if his arm was injured. As they left the room, Harry turned back to see Lucius pull out his familiar wand.

The group was able to move with a surprising amount of speed. Draco, with his mind set, was able to pull Snape along with determination similar to that of his father. They only paused momentarily when another blast sounded; no doubt Voldemort had broken his way into the manor. Harry was beginning to wonder when they would finally make it to their destination. He was feeling winded and ready to fall to the ground. To his right, he was sure Snape was feeling poorer. He expected the man to pass out any minute. To make matters worse, Harry was sure that Voldemort was gaining on them.

Finally, they made it to a small room at the end of the hall. All it had was a lightly burning fire. Draco dragged them over to it, and took a jar of powder off of the mantel.

“Where should we go, Mother?” he asked in a shaky tone.

“Severus, take care of my son,” the woman responded.

Quickly, Draco turned around. “Mum?” Looking up towards his mother, Draco could see Voldemort himself stalking down the halls.

Narcissa had her wand raised, saying all sorts of protective and shielding spells, everything short of shutting the door. Harry was confused about that, until he realized the door wouldn’t make any different anyway.

Suddenly, Severus’ reached over to the jar of floo powder in Draco’s hands. Without turning, Snape threw the powder over his shoulder and into the fire. “Albus’ office, Howarts,” he said.

Voldemort was nearer now. Two words, a swish of his wand, and a small amount of greenlight and the woman’s body fell limply to the floor. Her death was rather meaningless, Harry thought—she hadn’t really bought them any time.

From off to the side, Harry could hear Draco screaming. Not knowing what else to do, Harry tensed, waiting for death or perhaps some painful curse. He hadn’t expected to fall backwards, but since Snape was, his little body followed.

Traveling through the floo with three individuals was much worse than two, especially since it felt as though his feet remained at Malfoy Manor. When his back landed on cold stones, Harry was surprised to look up and notice some of Dumbledore’s odd trinkets. Before he could really gain a sense of the room, though, the necklace began to heat up and he felt the familiar sensation of a portkey. He briefly wondered why Hogwarts, of all places, didn’t have anti-portkey wards. He fell again, onto another hard stone surface, but this time, he felt a little warmer. Looking around, Harry realized he was in Grimmauld Place, the basement to be exact. Near where his cot used to be…

“Mother!” Draco was still crying. The boy leapt to his feet, ready to run forward to his mum, only to notice he was somewhere new. “We have to go back!” he yelled. “We have to save her! Mother!”

Trying to get up, Harry realized he was feeling woozy and wondered if he had hit is head. Instead of standing, he decided to roll over and check on Snape. The man had his eyes closed. “Snape,” Harry called, gently prodding the man’s shoulder. He became a little rougher, though, when Snape didn’t respond. He started to yell the name, in a panic.

He never noticed the others enter the room, until strong arms were prying him away from the Potions Master.

“Ssshh, Harry it will be okay,” Remus comforted him.

Harry fought against the man, until he saw Madame Pomfry kneel down in front of Snape. He slightly relaxed, then, content to stand and watch. Harry wasn’t given the chance, though, as Remus took the opportunity to fully scoop the boy up into his arms. Again, Harry tried to fight back, but his attempts were much weaker now.

“Snape,” Harry cried.

“He’s going to be okay,” Remus responded.

Harry doubted the man was being honest with him. Even if Remus wasn’t meaning to lie to him, he knew there was no way the man could know for sure if Snape was all right or not. But in any case, his words were reassuring, and Harry found himself relaxing again. He didn’t understand why, but he was just so tired. Harry fought to stay awake, listening intently for any mention of Snape’s condition. As it was, all he could hear was Draco’s cries. He was shocked to see, though, that the boy was being comforted by Molly Weasley.

He couldn’t watch too long, because Remus was carrying him up the stairs. Squirming, Harry tried to get away; he didn’t want to leave Snape behind. Remembering that, Harry shuddered, he almost had.

Remus looked back down at him, “Just calm down, Harry, everything is going to be okay, now.”

At those words, Harry could have cried. As it was, he was just too tired. He did calm down, though, resting his eyes until giving in completely to sleep.

xxxxx

Harry didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke up, he found himself in a hospital bed. The room, however, was unmistakably still in Grimmauld Place. To be more exact, it was the study that had somehow been remodeled to resemble Hogwart’s hospital wing. Earlier in his life, Harry would have considered this room to be his worst nightmare. But at the moment, it was heaven.

On his right, Remus sat close, with his head lying on the bed. The man was fast asleep, with his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder. Off to his left, he could hear the Headmaster and Madame Pomfry discussing Snape’s condition.

“It doesn’t look good,” Madame Pomfry explained. “There’s nothing more I can do, however. He’s had his limit on healing draughts. Now all I can do is wait and see if his body takes over. If he lives until the morning, then I will be able to give him more potions.”

Unable to prevent it, Harry fell asleep once more. When he woke up next, the room was now dark, but a faint glow allowed him to see well enough—even without glasses. He tried to remember when he last saw those, but decided not to think about it. Remus was still sitting with him, fast asleep. Madame Pomfrey was gone now, but Harry could make out the Headmaster’s form on the far side of Snape’s bed.

This time, Harry had the strength to sit up. Quietly, he tried to creep out of the bed, hoping not to disturb Remus’ werewolf senses. Once he was on the ground, Harry realized the man must be drugged, because he hadn’t even stirred.

Walking over to Snape, Harry surveyed the proud Potions Master. He sighed deeply when he became sure Snape was still alive. Looking closely at the man, guilt flooded him. This was all my fault, he thought. If it weren’t for me, Snape would never have been found out! If Snape lived, Harry didn’t know what he could do to make it up to the man. But if Snape died… Harry shook at the thought, holding back panic and tears.

Harry reached up to touch Snape’s shoulder. He didn’t know if waking the man would be a good idea or not, but he suddenly wanted to see the man’s glare. Snape needed to stand up and stalk out of the room. Snape needed to tell everyone that he was fine… Gently as ever, Harry let his hand settle on Snape’s shoulder—he didn’t know if the contact would hurt the man or not. Rethinking his plan, Harry quickly pulled his hand away.

“Harry Potter,” Madame Pomfry chided. “You should be in bed.”

Harry cringed at the woman’s voice. She was so loud. Dumbledore had woken because of it, yet Harry noticed Remus had not… and neither did Snape.

“I want to stay with him,” Harry replied, surprised at how dry and sickly his voice sounded.

“Certainly not,” she continued. Coming near, she appeared ready to carry the boy physically if he refused.

Harry didn’t know how to react.

“Let the boy stay,” the Headmaster commanded.

“What?!” Madam Pomfry sputtered. She was momentarily off balance, but quickly her demeanor righted itself and soon she spoke in her authoritative voice. “Harry Potter is recovering from a number of injuries as well as physical, mental, and magical exhaustion. He needs to rest.”

“Poppy,” Dumbledore responded. “Would sitting next to Severus cause Harry further harm?”

“No, but he—”

“He can rest later.”

“Albus, this is—”

“Poppy, leave him be.”

The woman stood with her arms crossed, clearly displeased, but she didn’t argue further. After checking Snape over, she left the room. Harry could hear her muttering as she walked down the hall.

They sat in silence for a while. Harry noticed that Dumbledore was holding Snape’s hand. He vaguely wondered what the man’s reaction would be to the show of affection. Perhaps Snape wouldn’t want Harry to see it. Maybe Snape wouldn’t want Harry to see him at all. The man looked so frail and vulnerable. But instead of shying away, Harry wanted to reach out and take the other hand. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the man; he didn’t want to hurt him.

“How is he?” Harry finally braved to ask.

Dumbledore paused a moment before responding. “He’s, unwell. Poppy has done as much as she can, but…”

“I know,” Harry whispered, sparing the man from repeating the news. For some reason, Harry was hoping to hear a different response. Surprisingly enough, what he really wanted to hear was some sugar-coated half-truth.

Harry grew quiet again, as the thought of Snape’s death overwhelmed him. He noticed from Dumbledore’s grasp on Snape’s hand, that the thought overwhelmed the old man, too.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said quietly.

“Harry—”

The boy ignored him, and continued to speak. “Snape should have attacked me, or something. He could have put on a good show for Voldemort, you know. And then rescued me later. Or something… It’s all my fault!”

“No, Harry,” Albus responded. “It’s not your fault.”

Harry listened to the man; he tried to let the words sink in. He wanted to believe it wasn’t his fault, but he knew the truth. There were so many things he could have done. For one, he could have been a normal sixteen-year-old boy, and stayed in his room after a nightmare. Or, in the corridor, he should have been able to outsmart Crabbe and Goyle…

“Severus came to me,” Albus said, breaking the silence. Harry wondered if the man was talking to him, or if he was just reflecting. “It was after a raid, fairly bad as I recall. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. When he asked for my help, I could instantly tell he was sincere. Do you know what my initial thought was?”

Harry shrugged, but looking towards the Headmaster, he realized the question was rhetorical.

“I thought, Severus could be an amazing asset to the Order; being deep within Tom’s circle. So I asked him to become a spy.” Dumbledore paused. “I was prepared to coax Severus into agreeing, but I didn’t have to. Severus agreed at once.” The old man paused again. “He’s saved so many lives.”

“He saved me,” Harry mused. Watching Snape’s chest move slowly up and down, Harry finally felt able to reach out and hold the man’s hand. Afterwards, Harry added, “I shouldn’t have needed saving. I should never have gotten caught in the first place. I—”

“No, Harry,” Albus said, effectively silencing the boy. “It’s not your fault. You see, it was I who asked him to spy.” After moving a stray lock of hair out of Snape’s face, Albus continued. “Severus came to me and I sent him back… When he came to me for help… I sent him back to Voldemort.”