Poppy stared at him, completely befuddled. "Severus? What is it?"

Severus slowly shook his head again, as if that simple action could change things. But it was true. He knew in his heart it was true. In the back of his mind, he could vaguely recall Potter's bewilderment at Severus' fury, and the way he'd denied it when Severus had accused him of reading the journal. But Severus had been too infuriated to notice or listen then.

If only he had.

Guilt and remorse clogged his throat, making it difficult to speak, but he finally managed to say in a hoarse voice. "I thought he'd read my journal while I was gone. That's why he was cleaning my lab."

"That's what caused this?" Poppy gasped, looking horrified. "But didn't Harry tell you what happened?"

"I...didn't give him a chance to explain," Severus admitted, his voice barely above a whisper by now. He was finding it hard to look Poppy in the eye. "I was too angry."

Poppy's lips thinned, the way they did when she was very upset, but all she said was, "I am much too tired to discuss this rationally now. But Severus, you ought to get on your knees and beg that boy's forgiveness."

She swept out of the office, leaving him alone with his guilt.

After a few minutes, Severus followed her back into the infirmary. Poppy was standing close to the fireplace, speaking quietly with a small house elf who was wearing the oddest assortment of clothing items that Severus had ever seen. The elf nodded eagerly, almost jumping up and down with excitement, before hurrying over to perch on a cot near Albus' and Potter's sleeping forms.

Before retiring, Poppy went back to check on her patients one more time, pausing by Albus' bedside first before moving over to Potter. She waved her wand over him, then gently ran her fingers through his hair and let her hand rest on his brow for a few seconds before she turned away to go to another cot and lay down upon it, falling sound asleep almost as soon her head touched the pillow.

Severus glanced longingly at yet another empty cot, but instead of going to it, he felt drawn to the boy's side. Potter was still pale and there were dark shadows under his closed eyes. Severus swallowed hard and wondered what in the world he would do once the boy regained consciousness.

He would have to apologise, of course. He dreaded it...apologies didn't come easily for him, but he had to. It wouldn't do any good. Potter would hate him...more than ever. But regardless, Severus knew he still had to apologise. Really, he should do more. Poppy was right. He ought to get on his knees and beg Potter for forgiveness. He'd misjudged the child badly. It had been his mistake, but Potter was the one who'd suffered because of it.

As he remembered how Potter had bravely endured the terrible pain for hours, Severus felt an inexplicable urge to smooth the child's hair back from his forehead, as Poppy had done, and reassure him that everything would be all right.

Then he scowled at himself. What had gotten into him? Potter was still an arrogant little brat. Or was he? For the first time, a tendril of doubt crept into Severus' mind. He tried to shove it away. Of course Potter was spoiled and conceited. Severus had watched the boy for years. He knew Potter was insufferable. Severus' actions over the past five years had been based on that incontrovertible fact. He could not start doubting it now.

And yet...

He had misjudged the boy about the journal. He couldn't deny that. He'd also been wrong about Potter's Muggle relatives and the way they had treated him. Was it possible, just possible, that he might have misjudged the boy in other ways, too?

Severus glanced over at Albus, who still lay on his cot, peacefully unaware that Severus' world was tipping on its axis. His mentor had tried, over and over again, to convince him that Harry Potter was nothing like his father James, that the boy was really kind-hearted and generous and in many ways, humble and unassuming.

Severus could have dismissed Albus' words as just more of the old wizard's blatant favouritism for his pet Gryffindor, and in fact he had done that for years, but Poppy was fond of Potter, too, and had always staunchly defended him against Severus' accusations.

So had Minerva McGonagall, and despite being the Head of Gryffindor House, Severus had to admit that she was always scrupulously fair to the students, even his Slytherins. She had been fond of James Potter and his cronies, but even so she had not been blind to their faults and she had punished them severely when she had realised they'd been bullying Severus.

Even Norie and Zan liked Potter, and they'd only known him for a week, while they'd known Severus for years. At first, he'd been annoyed, almost feeling as if Norie and Zan were being disloyal by becoming fond of the boy, but now it gave him pause.

All the people he liked and respected had told him that he was mistaken about Harry Potter. Could it be that they were right and he was wrong? Could he have allowed his own prejudices to blind him to the boy's true nature?

"Master Professor, sir? Is you needing something?" A small voice interrupted his thoughts.

Severus glanced over at the elf. He started to say ‘no', but then something made him ask, "You think highly of Harry Potter, don't you?"

The elf nodded. "Oh, yes, sir! Harry Potter is a very great wizard."

"Why? Why do you like him?" He expected the elf to blather on about Potter's fame, the way he'd defeated the Dark Lord fourteen years ago.

Instead the elf said, "Harry Potter has always been kind to Dobby, sir. He has always treated Dobby with respect, even when Dobby was just a poor slave to the Malfoys. Harry Potter always listened to Dobby, even if he didn't take the advice. But he always listened and treated Dobby as an equal."

"Thank you." Severus sighed and decided that he was simply too tired to ponder the matter any further right now. He was about to fall asleep on his feet. He moved towards an empty cot, but before lying down, he turned back to the elf.

"You're keeping watch over Potter and Albus, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master Professor, and waking Madame Pomfrey if they need her."

"Wake me, too," Severus requested. Then he let himself collapse onto the cot and fall asleep.

***

Madame Pomfrey had been right.

He did feel much better. His chest felt bruised and sore, but it didn't really hurt to breathe anymore. Harry sighed in relief and opened his eyes. Daylight again. He thought the sun had been setting when he'd finally been able to drop off into sleep, so it was probably the next day...unless he'd been out of it for several days, which was entirely possible.

Moving slowly and cautiously, in case the pain started up again, Harry eased himself to a sitting position. He was still in the Hogwarts' infirmary. His red striped shirt and blue jeans were gone, replaced by soft green pyjamas. His glasses were resting on a table beside his cot. Harry slid them on and looked around.

Dumbledore was lying on the cot beside him, wearing a dark blue robe and apparently sound asleep. His right hand and arm were heavily bandaged, from his fingertips up to the elbow.

Harry stared at him for a while, wondering what in the world had happened. He couldn't imagine anything being able to hurt Dumbledore, but it seemed that something had. But surely he would be all right. He had to be.

Finally tearing his gaze away from the headmaster, Harry turned his head and froze. Snape was resting on another nearby cot. As always, he wore black robes. His eyes were closed and he, too, seemed to be asleep. But you never knew for sure with Snape.

Harry bit down on his bottom lip and then drew in a sharp breath at the sudden pain. His lungs gave a fierce twinge and Harry closed his eyes and was still for a moment before slowly taking another breath. There...that was better. He just needed to take gentle breaths.

He reached up to touch his lip, realising that it was puffy and tender. Oh, yes, he'd bitten down on it for hours yesterday...or whatever day it had been. He'd barely noticed that pain at the time, his lungs had hurt so much worse.

Harry opened his eyes again to stare at Snape. He should hate the man. He should be terrified. He was still Snape's slave and Snape could do anything he wanted to him. Hadn't the man said so, when he'd been screaming at Harry for looking in the journal? Hadn't he said that he could beat Harry or starve him or do anything at all? And then all this had happened.

Harry supposed he did feel some resentment and fear, deep down, but mostly he just felt numb. He hoped it lasted, because feeling numb was better than the way he'd been feeling ever since Sirius had died.

Sirius.

At the thought of his godfather, a horrible wave of grief swept the numbness away. Harry wanted it back. He didn't want to feel anything anymore. Feeling hurt too much. It might be his greatest strength, as Dumbledore had said. But Dumbledore didn't have to live with the overwhelming pain that Harry had to.

Yes, numbness was much, much better. It was almost as good as being asleep. Harry wished he could just sleep forever, and not have to face Snape again, or Voldemort or Death Eaters. For that matter, he wished he could just go ahead and die. That would be even better than sleeping because then he could be with Sirius again. He could be with his mum and dad.

What would that be like? To get to meet his parents, to be able to talk with them and see them, not just in a photograph but in person? If only he could be with them and with Sirius again! They had all loved him. They had all loved him enough to die for him.

Harry wanted to be with them so much that his eyes filled with tears at the idea. He wanted to be able to hug them and tell them he loved them. He wanted them to hug him in return and tell him that they loved him, too. He would never be an unwelcome burden to his parents and Sirius. They would want him. They would never do anything to hurt him. He would be safe and wanted and loved...if only he could be with them.

But he couldn't. He couldn't die now. According to that horrible prophecy, Harry was the only one who had a chance of defeating Voldemort. He couldn't give up and let Voldemort win. What would happen to Ron and Hermione if he did? What would happen to the rest of the Weasleys, and Neville and Luna and Ginny? What would happen to all the courageous Order members who fought so hard against evil? Or all the innocent people that Voldemort would hurt and kill if he came to power?

No, Harry couldn't die now. He had to beat Voldemort.

Then it struck him with the force of a bolt of lightning. He couldn't die now...but after, after Voldemort was gone, then he could. Then he could go be with his mum and dad, and Sirius...and he'd be free.

He was still dreaming about the wonderful possibility of being with his real family, being free from all the pain and fear, being free from Snape, when Madame Pomfrey came bustling in from her office, carrying several vials of potions. She saw at once that he was awake and came hurrying over.

"Harry, dear, how do you feel?"

She must have been worried. She usually called him ‘Mr. Potter' like all the staff, except once in a while when he was really hurt or she felt very concerned for him.

Harry tried to smile at her. "All right, I guess." His voice was a little raspy.

"Any pain when you breathe?" She set the potion vials down on the table beside the cot and drew her wand, quickly checking him over.

"Not really." At her sharp gaze, Harry explained, "I'm a little sore, but it doesn't really hurt. It's not anything like before."

Madame Pomfrey finished her diagnostic spells and relaxed. "You seem to be healing well. That's very good news. I do think you're going to be all right."

Well, that was good. He would need to be healthy to defeat Voldemort.

"Madame Pomfrey, can you tell me what day it is?" Harry asked.

"Yesterday is when you were in such bad shape. You feel asleep at sunset, and slept through the night and part of today. It's just after lunch. I didn't know you were going to wake up so soon so I went ahead and spelled a nutritive potion into your system a little while ago when I woke up." She sat down on the cot and reached for his hand.

"Harry, Severus explained to me what happened, and we figured out that it was my moving his journal that led to all of this. I feel responsible and I'm so sorry that you were hurt."

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't your fault."

They both looked over at Snape, still sleeping on the cot. Madame Pomfrey spoke slowly, hesitantly. "Harry, Severus' behaviour was inexcusable. I can't blame you if you aren't able to forgive him. But I do know that he didn't mean for you to suffer. He was as shaken as I've ever seen him, especially when he realised that you were innocent."

She paused, as if waiting for Harry's reaction, but Harry didn't know what to say. Maybe Snape hadn't meant for him to be hurt, but he sure hadn't given Harry any chance to explain. He never gave Harry a chance about anything. He never had.

Harry didn't say anything and Madame Pomfrey patted his hand. "You have every right to be angry and resentful. Severus owes you a very big apology. But I did want you to know that he didn't mean for you to be hurt so badly, or at all, really." She sighed. "It's time for your potions, dear."

Harry took the potions, and within minutes, he'd fallen asleep again.

***

Severus woke up at dinnertime. He was surprised at himself for sleeping so long...all night and all day...but he had been completely exhausted. Poppy admitted that she'd napped again too, in the afternoon after dosing Potter. They sat in her office, with the door open so they could keep an eye on their patients while eating shepherd's pie and salad.

"So he woke up?" Severus knew Potter had, but for some reason he kept trying to get Poppy to talk about the boy, without being too obvious about it.

She nodded. "Yes, briefly. He seems to be healing well. He may be prone to catching colds and respiratory infections after this, so he'll have to take care not to get chilled, especially when winter comes. But with a little care, we should be able to keep anything from becoming serious. You'll need to keep a stock of Pepper-Up Potion and Fever Reducers handy, Severus, so you can treat him at the first sign of an illness."

He nodded. "I will."

For a little while they were quiet. Then Severus asked, "How is Albus?"

"He's doing pretty well, I think. He'll probably wake up tomorrow."

Severus bowed his head. He wanted Albus to wake and to be all right, but he dreaded having to tell him about Potter. Poppy had already read him the riot act and he was unsure how Albus would react. Severus wondered which would be worse, for Albus to be angry ( this happened only on rare occasions, but Albus was a fearsome sight to be behold when he was truly angry ) or for Albus to be disappointed. He almost thought he would rather face the anger than for his old friend to gaze at him with those sorrowful, reproachful eyes.

"When do you think Potter will wake up again?" He asked after another interval of silence.

"I hope he'll sleep through the night. He needs the rest." Poppy sighed, a little sadly. "I don't know if he will, though. Harry is a light sleeper. I think he has pretty bad nightmares a lot of nights. Ron Weasley has hinted at that before. He came to me a few times this past year, to get some Dreamless Sleep potion for Harry. He said Harry wouldn't come himself, but that he hardly ever slept a night through since the Triwizard Tournament."

"That's understandable," Severus said quietly. He hesitated, then ventured, "I thought Potter had dealt with the pressure rather well."

Poppy considered. "In some ways, yes. Harry is strong and courageous, and I think his friends help him a lot. But I also think he keeps a lot of things buried deep down. I worry about him sometimes. There's only so much one person can bear, Severus, and Harry is still only a child. It's all very unfair."

She gave Severus a sidelong glance, realising that all evening he'd found ways to keep their conversation centred on Harry. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was angling to get to know the boy better. Could it be possible? Well, she would do anything she could to help Severus see the real Harry. With deliberate casualness, she began sharing her memories of Harry.