“He’s back… Voldemort, he’s back.”

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore turned away from the pensive and closed his eyes tiredly, glancing at the tall imposing figure that stood just behind him. He took his wand from the sleeve of his robe and carefully lifted the silver memory strand to a white haired temple. Dumbledore sat down heavily in the large chair behind his desk and looked up.

“Severus, you felt it burn?”

Snape stepped out of the shadows and towards the mahogany desk, unbuttoning the sleeve of his robe as he did so. He rolled it up to reveal what would have been a black skull… but it was instead inflamed, an angry red that was weeping pus around the edges.

“He’s been calling for hours now, Albus. What do I do?” Snape said quietly, the only indication that he was in any pain was the slight tensing of his jaw as the mark seemed to pulse on his very skin.

Dumbledore sucked in a quiet breath and moved his eyes from the mark to stare back into his colleague’s back eyes.

“You should not go back, Severus. You’ve been missing for hours from this meeting, he will be suspicious… you may not come back.” He said, boring into Snape’s gaze.

Snape glanced away and unrolled the sleeve from his forearm, buttoning it neatly around his wrist before striding purposefully towards the office door. He took twisted the handle and looked back at Dumbledore with a hard gleam in his eye.

“I promised you I would do everything for the side of the Light, Headmaster. I will continue until the bastard is forever dead and gone. You know I must go back.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes in regret, “I don’t want to ask this of you.”

“Then don’t.” Snape said, opening the door.

“Severus.”

Snape turned back around, eyes solemn and his hand clutching the doorknob, “Yes.”

“Go to the hospital wing and take the emergency potions kit… you remember how. Carry it with you and take the portkey.”

Snape nodded and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

Albus Dumbledore hung his head.

“Good Luck, Severus.”

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter felt like he could cry. Just curl up into a little ball in the corner of his hospital cot and hide from the world that seemed to have no end of tragedy for him to endure. Harry was dressed in the standard pinstriped hospital pajamas and lay, snuggly tucked, into the farthest bed from the infirmary doors. He was shaking too… whether from cold or shock, he didn’t know.

What Harry Potter did know was that he was alive while his classmate, fellow Hogwarts champion, and friend, was dead.

Harry let out a choked sob and felt as though the uniform walls of the hospital wing were closing in on him. It seemed like the night’s events were finally registering to him, the terror of being transported by portkey, landing in a graveyard, watching Cedric Diggory be killed, and tied to a gravestone while seeing Voldemort’s rebirth.

Harry wiped harshly at the tears that had some how escaped from his tightly closed eyelids and sucked in a rasping breath. Damn it all! Why was he crying? Like some selfish, overemotional first-year! Harry drew in another shaky breath.

Why wasn’t there any one there to save him? No one ever came to save Harry… it was always Harry that saved the day. God, how many times had he wished to just be a normal student? Was it too much to ask for someone to care? Harry gave a particularly violent sob that echoed through the infirmary. It was no use; he’d always been alone. Alone…

“Potter?”

Harry yelped and fell off the right side of the bed as a voice sounded out suddenly from the hospital wing entrance. Harry moaned quietly as his nerves screamed out in pain and his arm took the brunt of the fall, jarring his shoulder.

And then suddenly, he wasn’t on the ground anymore. Surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him and deposited him back on the bed and Harry could see who had lifted him. It was Professor Snape.

Harry stared, wide eyed and tears forgotten, as Snape gave him a look and then swished his wand, making the bed covers rise from the ground and tuck themselves around Harry, tight as a straight jacket.

Snape eyed him for a moment before crossing his arms and speaking.

“You know, Potter, the object of the Infirmary is for you to get better not worse.”

Harry stared down at the bedcovers and clenched a bunch in his fist. His glasses slipped down his nose before he raised a shaky hand to push them back up. “Sorry, Sir.”

Harry heard a sigh and then a hand suddenly touched his hand and wiped the moisture off his face. Harry stiffened and then darted a glance at his Professor. The bed dipped as Snape sat beside Harry and he heard a whoosh of air being let out in frustration.

“There’s no use crying about it, Potter.”

Harry sniffled and was forced to look up when a finger hooked under his chin. Snape was looking at him with such intensity that he nearly lost himself in those two black holes.

Snape sighed and withdrew his hand.

“I know that, Sir.” Harry said softly, “I just… I don’t want to be the one that’s always alone.”

Snape got up from the bed and stood by Harry’s side. He looked at Harry pointedly and pulled a potion vial filled with a dark blue potion from his robes and set it on the bedside table.

Dreamless Sleep.

“You are never alone, Potter. You’d do best to remember that.”

Harry watched as Snape turned and headed towards the doors.

“Thank you sir.”

“You’re welcome, Potter.”

Harry watched the door shut and suddenly felt that maybe he wasn’t so alone after all. Maybe, just maybe, he had some one there for him too.