When Severus walked in, he hoped Harry would greet him, as he normally did when they were in his chambers together. When Harry didn't, Severus sighed sadly.

"Harry, I'm home!" he called out instead. There was no reply. Severus began to feel a little annoyed that Harry would ignore him like that. He wasn't asking for the boy's approval or forgiveness; just an acknowledgement.

"Harry I would appreciate it if you would answer me when I'm talking to - " He cut himself off when he caught sight of the note on the table, in Harry's sloppy script, addressed to "Sir."

Severus began scanning the lines quickly, and the further he read, the more his features paled. Finally, not even registering the last paragraph properly, Severus let the paper drift to the floor as he rushed into Harry's room.

It was a good thing he was a spy and a soldier first. If he weren't, perhaps he would have been too overcome with emotions to properly register the situation. Which was not to say that he was entirely emotionally divorced from the situation. It meant that he was able to shove those feelings aside long enough to do what had to be done, and do it effectively. He rushed to Harry's side, first checking for a pulse and breathing. The pulse was weak and the breathing shallow, but they were there. Severus breathed a sigh of relief as he began to examine the bottle Harry must have used.

He smelled the bottle and checked the color and consistency of the last few unconsumed drops. Without further analysis, Severus couldn't be sure, but he thought he knew what Harry had done to the dreamless sleep potion. A sloppy, but effective, method of lethal poisoning. For once, Severus was glad that Harry was as incompetent as he was with potions. Given more skill and some different ingredients, Severus knew Harry would have been dead instantly.

Without a second thought, Severus scooped up Harry and draped him over his arm. Then, careful not to choke the boy, Severus gently probed his fingers down Harry's throat, trying to induce vomiting. Harry lost everything that was in his stomach. It wasn't much. Severus was disappointed in that. Harry's stomach must already have emptied after he took the potion. It had been worth a try, though. He laid Harry back on the bed.

Harry's potions skills were abysmal at best, and Severus didn't dare hope that Harry had written down his experimental potion. Just in case, unwilling to leave any leaf unturned, Severus rushed to his lab and checked for any spare parchments, notes, anything. He found nothing. Feeling panic rising in the back of his throat, Severus took a moment to occlude and reason out his next step.

He couldn't be sure how to counter Harry's potion. It was experimental, and, therefore, he could only make an educated guess about it. Hell, he wasn't even certain he knew what Harry had done to the potion, much less know how that portion would react with Harry's body chemistry. It would all come down to guesswork, something Severus didn't like. He would have to take a stab at what he should do. He would have called a healer from St. Mungo's, except that he was well aware when someone swallowed an experimental potion, St. Mungo's was in the habit of contacting him. He might be no healer, but he knew his potions.

"Hang on, Harry," Severus breathed, as he pulled a cauldron down from one of the shelves, frantically pouring chemicals together. His best bet, he figured, was to make Harry dream. If he could induce any sort of dream state, there was a good chance he would also be neutralizing the lethal component of the daught.

Harry already had experience with the addictive qualities of dreamless sleep. The active ingredient, when too concentrated, could be lethal. It's not uncommon with addictive substances, when handled wrong, they can become deadly. Harry must have read that somewhere and filed the information away. The substance, when added in appropriate amounts, dulled a person's brain waves to inhibit dreams. When taken enough, the potion became both addictive and ineffective. When the ratios were thrown off, the same substance that made dreamless sleep effective could dull the person's brain waves so much that the brain would stop waving, so to speak. It would completely shut the brain down.

Either Harry hadn't put enough in his potion to kill him as quickly as he imagined, or he hadn't taken it that long ago. Then another thought occurred to Severus. It could have been that Harry's system, still recovering from the addiction, had retained some immunity, and his body was reacting better to the overdose than some other witch or wizard.

Through all his thoughts, Severus continued to brew as only he knew how. It was, perhaps, the quickest potion Severus had ever made. In a few fifteen minutes, he had an antidote complete. It wasn't nearly as strong or as effective as a properly brewed antidote would have been, but it would see to it that Harry had a chance to live long enough for Severus to brew the real thing.

Racing back upstairs, Severus sat next to Harry's unmoving form. He still was breathing. Severus hadn't allowed himself to think of the possibility of Harry's death when he was brewing. Quickly, Severus propped Harry up and poured the antidote in his mouth. He massaged Harry's throat, encouraging him to swallow. Once the entire antidote was down, Severus noticed Harry sigh once, and his breathing became more regulated. It was a good sign.

Severus went back to the lab to brew the real antidote, now that Harry had a chance of living out the next few hours. If the temporary stabilizer had worked that well, Severus felt confident that the stronger potion would bring Harry around. He set about making the dream inducing potion properly, and after a few minutes, the potion was ready to mind itself for an hour. Severus went back upstairs.

He felt uncomfortable in Harry's room. He had promised not to intrude, and while it was definitely justifiable for him to care for his son in his room, Severus opted to carry the boy to the couch instead. Severus picked him up, and realized that Harry was still too light. Perhaps he would never put on as much weight as Severus would like. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Harry was currently dead weight. His head lolled back in an unseemly fashion as gravity determined the position Harry would assume.

Severus laid him out carefully on the couch, propping him up a bit with a few threadbare pillows. There wasn't anything for Severus to do now, but watch and wait. He went back to the kitchen where he had dropped the note and reread it, more carefully this time.

"Oh, God, what have I done?" he whispered, placing the parchment on the table. He went back to the living room and pulled a chair close to the couch. The house was deathly still and he could hear each of Harry's breaths. Every time the boy exhaled, Severus feared he wouldn't hear the next one.

Severus' panic and worry was beginning to catch up with him, now that the immediate emergency medicine had been taken care of. His concern as a parent was beginning to kick in. He reached out and took Harry's hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. He tried to close his eyes and collect his emotions, but it was to no avail.

"Harry, hold on," he pleaded again. "You can't die. I need you." Severus kept telling himself that Harry would be alright once the full strength antidote was complete. A gut feeling told him it wasn't going to be that simple. Nothing in his life was ever that simple.

He held Harry's hand in both of his own, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Severus' stomach was twisting with the fear that Harry wouldn't pull through. Just as Harry had stated it would be impossible for him to cope with Severus' death, Severus also thought it would be impossible for him to cope with Harry's.

The hour slipped away slowly, and reluctantly, Severus rose to complete the antidote. Minutes later, he returned with the bottle, and administered it. He would have to keep Harry in the dream state until he was sure the poison had run its course - a minimum of twenty-four hours. After that, it was entirely up to Harry. Severus hoped his intervention was enough. If Harry had lost his will to live, it was entirely possible that he wouldn't come out of his self-induced coma, even if the poison was removed from his system and he didn't die. Was that any better than death, really?

Severus resumed his position, holding Harry's hand. He didn't know how long he sat there, waiting expectantly, for any sign of change. He felt the back of his eyes burning. The waiting was the worst part. It allowed the worry to eat away at him, letting his imagination create the worst possible scenarios.

Suddenly, Severus moved to the couch and sat close to Harry. He reached out and touched the boy's face. It was burning up. Puzzled, Severus frowned. A fever wasn't a usual side-effect of either an altered version of dreamless sleep or the antidote.

"I'll be right back, Harry," Severus whispered, as he rose and walked back to Harry's room. Looking for any clues, (perhaps Harry had taken two potions?), he found a pile of soaked clothing thrown in the corner. They was the same clothes Harry had been wearing that morning, and Severus suddenly realized that, yes, Harry must have changed at some point. In his single-minded goal of preserving Harry's teetering life, Severus had failed to notice.

It had been raining earlier that day. It was the most reasonable explanation, that Harry had been out wandering, against his orders, in the rain. Severus wasn't surprised. It made sense that Harry would want to go for a walk to mull things over before he died. Severus couldn't begrudge Harry that desire. Severus himself knew that he would want to do that if their positions were reversed.

He cast a quick drying spell on the clothes in the corner. It wouldn't due to let them mold and he didn't have time to deal with them any other way. Concluding that Harry's fever was the result of careless wandering in a cold rain, Severus fetched a washcloth. He went to the bathroom and soaked it in cool water. He was reluctant to give Harry a fever reducing potion since he couldn't be sure how that would react with the dreamless death.

After wringing out the extra water, Severus stalked back to the living room. Harry still rested peacefully, alive. Shifting Harry's sleeping form, Severus positioned himself on one end of the sofa, Harry's head resting in his lap. He laid the cloth over Harry's burning forehead and ran his hand through Harry's messy mop of hair.

"Keep breathing," Severus pleaded. He had to wait six hours before administering the next dose of the dream inducing potion. There was nothing left for him to do for Harry save sit up with him and monitor his status, perhaps changing the wet cloth occasionally. Leaving Harry's side for more than a few minutes was out of the question, though. He was going to be awake if Harry needed anything, whether in his last few moments or if he woke up.

While waking up at this point was nigh impossible, Severus feared the worst, that suddenly Harry would gasp his last and he would be helpless to stop it. He continued stroking the boy's hair absently.

If it wasn't some evil maniac trying to kill them, it was something else trying to end one of their lives. Severus covered his face with his hand, still trying to hide the emotions, even though there was no one to witness. It was no use. He released a strangled sob, then another, as he tried to retain his dignity. He was glad there was no one there to witness him fall apart.

If Harry died then, Severus knew he would never forgive himself. He'd probably kill himself right after. If Harry died, it would be his fault, entirely and solely his fault. He never thought his comment would bring about such dire consequences. Sometimes, it was the littlest things that made the biggest impact.

One line from Harry's note stood out in Severus' mind. I wish you could love me. Severus didn't know how else to show his love. What else could he do? He'd tried to provide for Harry, tried to be there for him, protect him, and had even been prepared to die for him. Didn't Harry know he loved him, more than he loved any living person? He wished he knew what to do for the boy.

"Harry, I love you like if you were my own child from birth," Severus assured the unconscious form. "If Lily and I had been married, and I conceived you, I would love you the same way."

Severus' tears fell into Harry's mop, shining and glistening. Absently, Severus hoped that somehow that would wake him up and everything would be better. Nothing happened. Things like that were reserved only for fairy tales. They didn't happen in real life.

"Don't let him die, please," Severus sobbed. "God, please, save him. Don't let him die."

Severus realized it was one thing for him to suffer. He doubted he would be entirely upset by that prospect. He knew he deserved it, for everything he had done, and he was willing to pay the price. What he was unwilling to accept was that someone like Harry should be the one to pay. If there were some magic he could wrought to exchange their places, he would.

When the next six hours had passed, and Harry's heart still worked, Severus gave him the next dose of dream inducing potion. He was loath to leave Harry for even a moment, but he had to go get the antidote in order administer it. He didn't want the bottle breaking as it came up the stairs if he used a summoning charm.

He had since controlled his emotions enough so that his eyes were no longer leaking saltwater. It didn't mean he was feeling any better. If anything, the worry had eaten a hole in him, and he was simply feeling numb. That didn't stop him from constantly murmuring encouragements to Harry or his prayers, begging for his son's life to be spared. He didn't know if Harry or God was listening, but it was worth a try.

Kneeling by the couch, Severus continued to pray. He slumped on his heels, elbows on the couch as his folded hands interlaced fingers.

"Please, someone, listen to me!" he begged. "I'll do anything, just save his life! I would even sell my soul if that would ensure his life. Please. Please." Tears began afresh. Severus grabbed Harry's hand and brought it to his face, trying desperately to get Harry to respond, hoping for some miracle from heaven.

"Harry, I wish I could go back in time and change things," he began between broken sobs. "I wish I could have saved you sooner. I wish you never stayed with your relatives. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, leaving you there. Minerva warned him. I warned him, eventually." Severus' voice broke. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I tried so hard to be everything you needed."

Minutes wasted into hours, and hours grew into days. Severus never left Harry's side for more than a few minutes at a time, and he certainly didn't sleep. Well, perhaps he dozed off a few times, Severus thought ruefully, but they had only been short periods of time, and accidents at that. Occasionally, hunger would drive him to the kitchen just long enough to sustain life, nothing more. Severus wept continually, comforting Harry and begging the Creator for mercy. He couldn't remember a time he had wanted anything as much as this, except to have Lily's life spared all those years ago. Now he was begging a different Lord for her son's life.

When the fourth day dawned, Severus had almost given up hope. Harry's fever hadn't gone down, despite the cool compresses and the water that Severus had spelled into him. Harry had gone in and out a few times, sometimes speaking incoherently in his dreams. Severus hoped that was a good sign, though undoubtedly the fever was influencing his dreaming state as well. Finally, he risked a fever reducing potion, which had brought it to a more manageable level, but Harry stopped any vocalizations at that point. Severus hoped he hadn't inadvertently poisoned the boy himself

Severus' heart jumped and he sat forward in his armchair when he noticed Harry stir. This was the first time since the fever reducer that Harry had shown any signs of life outside of breathing and a heartbeat. Severus hardly dared hope that this could be the moment when Harry rounded the bend. Suddenly, Harry sat up, his eyes snapping open, gasping. He looked confused and terrified. Severus breathed a silent thank you to heaven, letting his eyes close for a moment in sheer gratitude.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"What happened?" Harry groaned, glancing in his direction. Harry smiled ever so slightly, cautiously.

"You've been very sick," Severus explained, unsure of how much Harry remembered. "You've been going in and out, talking absolute nonsense at times. I've been worried sick about you. How are you feeling?"

"Am I dead?" Harry asked, very quietly.

"No," Severus answered, swallowing slightly. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if Harry still wanted to die. "Not unless I missed something important." Harry tried swinging his legs off the couch, but that didn't go as well as planned. Harry began gasping for breath almost as soon as his feet hit the floor. Severus murmured incoherent, comforting sounds to the boy as he laid Harry back on the couch. Then he resumed his former position as well.

"Where am I?" Harry asked.

"You're at Spinner's End, and this is the summer after your fifth year," Severus answered, skeptical, beginning to worry about Harry's memory.

"Oh," Harry moaned. "I had quite a dream then."

"You've been asleep for several days," Severus admitted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was a screwy dream," Harry began. Severus was shocked to not get an immediate no. It was the first time Harry had not explicitly declined the offer. "You and mum were married, and you were McGonagall's and Voldemort's son - "

"Wait, what?" Severus interrupted. He laughed a little, nervously, recognizing a twisted version of things he had murmured to Harry over the last four days.

"And we were trapped in the potions lab for a weekend, and you held me, and then Dumbledore was really Ron who had gone back in time - "

"You weren't kidding," Severus interrupted again. Perhaps holding Harry had been the right thing to do if it had made it into his dream. "It was screwy. Continue."

"And he poisoned both of us, and you had to make an unbreakable vow of servitude to Voldemort - " Severus made a face, but didn't comment on that. Harry must have been paying very close attention, or at least his subconscious was, to all the drivel he had said over the last four days. "Sorry," Harry apologized suddenly, misinterpreting the dark look on his face.

"It's alright," Severus assured him.

"And then you broke the vow when he ordered you to kill me, and you died, and he killed me, and McGonagall killed him, and we were both happy in heaven."

"It sounds like the most un-nightmarish dream you've had in a long time," Severus observed, noting silently to himself that if that wasn't to be counted a nightmare, then those that were were just all that more horrible.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and smiled softly. They were silent a few moments. Then Severus slipped to his knees from where he had been sitting and brought Harry into a close embrace. Harry resisted initially, but then melted. Severus rocked Harry back and forth.

"I'm so glad you're still alive," Severus gasped, feeling tears creeping up on him again. Hadn't he cried enough gallons in the last four days? "You were so close to death."

"I think that was the point," Harry sniffled. Severus didn't let go or loosen his grip at all.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed. "Please, please forgive me." Severus felt Harry nod.

"Why did you say it?" Harry genuinely asked, his voice small.

"I make poor decisions when I'm angry," Severus explained. "It's not an excuse, but it's the truth. I haven't had anything to lose in a long time." If it were possible, Severus pressed Harry even closer. "I don't want to know that feeling again, ever."