Harry flew around the stadium frantically trying and failing to find the golden snitch in the pelting downpour. He had to admit that he was rather glad for whatever spell Snape used on his glasses to make sure they didn't fog up or get misty as he flew around. However, the spell unfortunately didn't go for the rest of his body.

The wind had kicked up, which made it impossible for his hood to remain up so he looked like a drowned rat. In fact, he felt like one too. His broom was slick from the rain, and he nearly slid off a dozen or so times in the last hour. He had managed so far to avoid the bludgers, but that nearly became a fulltime job for Harry. It seemed like the things were gunning for him, which he knew was impossible.

When Harry saw the small fluttering snitch, he instantly zoomed off after it. He foolishly focused solely on the snitch and assumed that the Weasley twins would keep the bludgers from him as they had been doing all game. However, had he looked back, he would have seen that lightning had struck one of the twins and sent him into a freefall.

Bam! Harry instantly screamed out from the horrific pain to the side of his head. His hand reached up to touch the sore spot, but everything soon became fuzzy. Soon darkness settled in, and before Harry knew it, he was flying…without a broom…speeding towards the ground…with no protection. However, those thoughts didn't cross the young boy's mind. The only thing that did was the universal ouch followed by other words that probably wouldn't have made sense if he spoke them.

Several successful castings later by the numerous professors in the stands, Harry's unconscious body hit the conjured cushions with a soft landing. The headmaster followed by Harry's head of house was the first to arrive on the field of the Quidditch pitch. Snape and the rest of the professors were next to arrive with Snape leading that pack with his ebony wand already drawn conjuring the stretcher. Not a single professor said a word because each of them was all too shocked.

It seemed like mere moments after reaching the badly injured Gryffindor Seeker that Madam Pomfrey was tending to him in the Infirmary. She expertly transfigured his soaking uniform into a hospital gown. The tray of her medical supplies quickly appeared next to her, and she rapidly started to treat Harry. She first waved her wand over him to see just how bad his injuries really were. Granted, she could see the injuries were bad by the amount of blood already bubbling to the surface. She winced at her diagnostic. He had numerous fractures to his skull and a severe concussion. However, while the others would not take it as good news, the fact that Harry had slipped into a coma was certainly better news than she had thought she'd learn from her diagnostic. She knew that as long as Harry was in his coma, it would protect his higher brain functions while she worked on healing him.

Madam Pomfrey cast her mending charm and grimaced when she heard the cracking from Harry's head near the wound as the bone fragments snapped back in place. It was yet another good reason for him to be in coma. She'd hate to have heard his screams of pain from that. She then cast a rather complex healing spell, which helped stop the gushing blood. Casting another diagnostic, she sighed. She had in fact managed to heal him physically. Mentally, though, she knew it'd be an entirely different story. Harry's brain needed time to heal from the injury, and she'd make sure that occurred. In the meantime, though, she was going to give the lecture of a lifetime to the idiots who thought it would be a good idea to allow Harry to play Quidditch as a first year.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" she growled as she trained her wand on him. "Have you lost your mind?" she snarled with a glare. "That boy is eleven years old! Eleven," she yelled emphasizing loudly. "And you thought it was a good idea to allow him to play Quidditch?" With her temper already flaring dangerously, she released a bit of uncontrolled magic, which made several potion bottles explode violently.

"Poppy, control yourself," McGonagall quietly said. The matron's wand instantly went to her.

"And you, Minerva, how could you?" glared Madam Pomfrey. "That boy is just a child! How could you stoop so low and use him like this? He is eleven, Minerva!" She then angrily shook her head. "I reported to you my results from the start of this term. You knew what his home life was like, and how it has affected him physically. And you still thought it'd be a good idea to send an eleven-year-old child out onto that pitch without any experience playing it? You two should be ashamed of yourselves."

"If you believe for a moment that I knew this would happen, then you're sorely mistaken."

"Oh, of course you didn't know, Minerva," the matron snarled. "That's not the point. The point is that there was an exceedingly great chance he'd be injured during a game, and you still sent him."

"I regret that his being out there was my fault, Madam," Snape quietly spoke up. He didn't flinch at all when she whipped her wand at him. However, nor did he react at all. "The boy came to me with concerns, and I had mentioned that it'd get him a chance to understand his father better." The wand instantly lowered, which made Snape sigh.

"You?" the matron replied in disbelief. "Severus, I would expect if from those two, but you? Are you honestly that heartless that you would send your son knowingly—?"

"He is not my son, Madam," Snape responded softly.

"After all this time, Severus, you still dispute the results? I even gave you—"

"No, Madam, I do not dispute what the results state. I do dispute, however, the fact that Potter supposedly is my son. He cannot be my son, Madam. It is not physically possible. At the time of his conception, I would have been deep in the Dark Lord's ranks. There would have been no time for me to have snuck off to become intimate with Lily Evans while also hiding it from Potter Sr."

"So you're saying that without a doubt, you aren't that poor child's father?"

"Yes, Madam, that is exactly what I am saying." Snape then glanced towards Harry. At the sight of the boy not moving, he pushed back the urges to close his eyes and tremble as any normal father would if this happened to his son.

Snape, however, couldn't be a father to Harry. He didn't know how because his only role model of what a father embodies was his own, and that amounted to drinking, yelling, and sometimes beating. He had always promised himself that he'd never hurt his child as his father hurt him so he pushed away temptation. Another reason why he couldn't be Harry's father was that he knew what would happen. He'd lose Harry just as he lost Lily. He wasn't necessarily sure he could deal with that loss a second time. However, here Snape was, standing next to his son's bedside in the Infirmary as the boy slipped deeper and deeper and further and further from him. Perhaps there was a flaw in his reasoning.