Harry did not know how long he stood there staring at his own dead body. It seemed so surreal. Like he was watching it happen like some sort of movie from far, far away.

One by one the boisterous, beeping machines hooked to Harry’s body were shut off, casting the room into a strange, empty silence. He was barely even aware of the doctors and nurses as they slowly began filtering out of the room, sadly shaking their heads in defeat. It was such a waste, they were saying to one another, he had been so young...

So young... So young... The words echoed in Harry’s ears like an ominous chant.

No. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t happening! There had to be some sort of mistake!

One of the nurses had stayed behind. Gently, in a very motherly way, she went about arranging Harry’s body, positioning his arms and head on the table until he looked like he was laying in peaceful revery. Then retrieving a clean white sheet, she carefully draped it over his body up to his chest.

“You poor thing...” she whispered, tentatively brushing a few stray strands of jet black hair from his forehead, “So young...” Then giving Harry’s pale white face one last look, she turned and disappeared out the door.

Harry stood in the corner of the room, frozen to the spot. With the departure of the last living person from the room, the full magnitude of what happened suddenly hit Harry like a sledge hammer to the gut.

He was dead. He had been hit by a car and killed. He was dead!

Breathing hard as frightened, disbelieving tears began to fill his eyes, Harry blindly reached out to steady himself against the wall beside him. Trembling, the frightened teenager clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting to stave off the flood of tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

He was dead! He was dead! He was dead!

He felt like someone had filled his stomach with acid rocks. He was sure he would have thrown up if it were physically possible in his newly acquired ghostly state. Suddenly feeling very weak in the knees, Harry slid down against the wall to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and huddling into a ball in the corner of the cold white emergency room.

Oh God he was dead! What was he going to do! What was going to happen to him now?

More than ever before – even more than when he had been captured by Lord Voldemort and tied to a tombstone in the cemetery of Tom Riddle’s parents – he wished someone else was there with him. He wasn’t sure what he expected anyone else to do for him, but he just wanted someone there. He just wanted to know that someone he knew knew what happened to him. He didn’t want to be alone...

Oh God what am I going to do? What do I do what do I do what do I do?

Frightened tears were now streaming down his cheeks.

Oh God please help... What am I going to do?

Harry felt sick. He felt like he could just curl up in a corner and die (the irony of such a thought still lost on him).

Please... someone help...

At that moment he suddenly heard a loud, inarticulate shout from down the hall, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps coming straight towards his room.

“Where’s the boy you say? In here?” a deep, familiar voice bellowed.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his stomach leaping into his throat. That kind of bellow could only be made by one person...

As if to confirm Harry’s suspicions the familiar magenta face of Uncle Vernon popped into sight through the doorway down the hall. Following close behind him, Harry could see his Aunt Petunia and lump of a cousin, Dudley, hurrying to keep up with Uncle Vernon’s angry gait.

“Now where’s that god damn boy?” Uncle Vernon bellowed again as he drew nearer, his purple face twisted up in a ugly snarl, “Always getting into trouble and ruining our day out. I swear when I get that boy home I’m gonna–”

But Uncle Vernon never got a chance to say what he was going to do. For just as he came to stand on the threshold and scanned the room, any other angry words he might have uttered seemed to leave him on the swift wings of owls as he finally spotted the small, shrouded figure laying on the ER table. For several moments he just stood there, staring open mouthed at Harry’s still body. Behind Vernon, Harry heard his Aunt Petunia give a small gasp of surprise.

“Sir? Sir!” came another voice from behind Uncle Vernon, this one gentler and more feminine – possibly one of the hospital nurses. “Are you this boy’s family?”

Vernon seemed to recover himself a little bit and looked back at a short, blonde woman who had pushed her way forward to stand next to him in the doorway. “What? Oh... yes. I’m the boy’s uncle.” He glanced back at Harry’s pale, motionless body. “What happened?”

“Poor boy was hit by a car. He was rushed here by paramedics, but they were unable to save him... I know how hard this must be for you and your family right now,” the woman said, her voice changing to a very soft and comforting tone, “My name’s Amy; I’m one of the hospital’s grief counselors. The hospital offers free services for family’s going through such times of grief. If you would come with me I can give you my card and–”

“That won’t be necessary,” Uncle Vernon quickly cut her off, “We won’t be in need of any of your services.”

The woman seemed taken aback by Uncle Vernon’s brusque refusal, but managed to keep her face neutral and composed. “Then I am going to need to ask you to come with me and fill out some paperwork on your nephew,” she said, “He was brought in with no identification and certain forms must be filled out before his body can be released from the hospital.”

Uncle Vernon made a sound that sounded almost like the grunt of a pig. “And I suppose we’re the ones that are going to have to be responsible for the boy’s burial?”

This time Amy, the hospital grief counselor, was unable to keep her emotions from showing. A look of utter disbelief flashed across her face. “What? Sir, surely you must be joking...” she sputtered.

“That boy was left on our doorstep as a baby and left for us to raise and take care of, and now we’re suppose to pay for someone to dig a hole in the ground to put him in?” Uncle Vernon snorted contemptuously.

“Sir, surely your nephew deserves a proper funeral and burial...”

“Deserves? Deserves what? What has he ever done to deserve anything? Even dead the boy keeps finding ways of making us pay for him.”

Amy now had a look of horrified disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand a word of what Uncle Vernon was actually saying. “Sir, if you refuse to take him, your nephew’s body will have to be given a state funded burial and–”

“That will not be necessary,” a low, gravely voice broke in from behind Uncle Vernon.

Amy and Uncle Vernon both wheeled around to see a tall, stately old man with a flowingsilver beard and half-mooned shaped glasses standing there. Beside him stood an older woman with glasses and her hair held in a tight bun at the back of her head. Beside her also stood another man, this one younger with greying hair and a pinched, tired look to him as though he hadn’t slept or ate in ages.

“We will see to everything,” the old man said.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry cried in surprise and unending relief, “Professor McGonagall! Lupin!” Dumbledore was finally here... Everything was going to be alright now...

Uncle Vernon eyed the aging wizard suspiciously for a long moment of silence. Though Dumbledore was dressed in Muggle clothes consisting of dress trousers and a jacket, he had lost none of his powerful aura or presence, and Uncle Vernon seemed to sense this. “You’ll see that the boy’s buried?” he snorted incredulously.

“We will,” Dumbledore answered softly.

Uncle Vernon seemed to accept this and turned back to Amy. “Now where are those papers we have to sign? I want to get out of here.”

Amy stared at Vernon in disbelief. But Vernon did not wait for her to answer and quickly strode off down the hall, leaving her to stare after him.

Harry however was not the least bit surprised by Uncle Vernon’s unwillingness to care if he even got a proper burial. It wasn’t like he ever expected much from him anyway... But when Harry glanced over at his Aunt Petunia, expecting to see her hurrying off after her husband, he was startled to find her still standing in the door, staring at his body with a look he’d never seen on her when it came to him before. What was it? Regret? And was that a faint shine of tears in her eyes?

Harry stood there frozen in shock as he saw his aunt raise sorrowful eyes up to meet those of Dumbledore.

“I never meant for this to happen...” she whispered, staring at the old wizard as if somehow asking him for forgiveness, “I may have never loved the boy or shown him much affection, but I never meant for this to happen...”

Dumbledore seemed to understand and nodded his head slowly.

Aunt Petunia gave one last look at Harry and then turned, ushering a goggling Dudley away. When they had finally disappeared down the hall, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the still, shrouded figure on the table. A deep sorrow seemed to resonate from his ancient blue eyes – eyes that had seen far too much death and grief throughout the many long years of his life.

He slowly stepped into the room, McGonagall and Lupin close behind. The Transfiguration teacher quickly swept around Dumbledore and hurried to Harry’s side, her long green Muggle dress swishing loudly over the cold white hospital tile as she did. As she came up beside the table bearing Harry’s lifeless body, Harry was startled to see her cover her mouth and stifle a cry of despair. Dumbledore slowly came to stand at Harry’s feet, Lupin close beside him.

“Oh Albus...” McGonagall whispered, reaching out to pet back the bangs from Harry’s still, white face. Tear began to form in her eyes.

“Are you his family?” a soft, tentative voice came from the doorway. Amy the hospital grief counselor still stood there, watching the three newcomers closely.

“No,” Dumbledore said, not turning around to face her, “We’re teachers from his school.”

Amy seemed to mull this over for a second. “You were close to him?” she asked.

“Yes. He was one of my brightest students in years. He was almost like a son to me...”

Amy nodded thoughtfully. “He deserved better than those people for a family... At least he had someone that cared for him...”

Dumbledore said nothing and continued to stare down at the body of the young boy in front of him.

“Can you tell me... What was his name?” Amy softly asked.

“Harry. Harry Potter...”

“Harry Potter...” the grief counselor repeated thoughtfully. “I’ll remember that name...” Then with no other words, the woman turned and walked away, the soft tapping of her heels slowly receding down the corridor into the distance.

For a moment neither McGonagall, Lupin, or Dumbledore moved, all seemingly too stunned to do or say anything.

“Oh Albus...” McGonagall whispered, her fingers taking up the slow, rhythmic motion of petting back the hair from Harry’s face, as though she were gently trying to wake him from whatever strange sleep it was that had claimed him.

“How did this happen, Dumbledore?” Lupin breathed, his pale, empty eyes fixedly glued to Harry’s unmoving face. Lupin suddenly looked much older to Harry, as though he had aged ten years overnight.

“It was that damn Mundungus!” McGonagall cried, her one hand that was not rhythmically stroking Harry’s hair now shaking in rage and her eyes filled with tears. “He was suppose to be watching Harry and he left to go check on some shoddy batch of stolen cauldrons! I will kill that man when I see him next, Albus, I’ll kill him!”

Dumbledore, who was usually so levelheaded and calm, shocked Harry to his very core when he heard the old wizard softly whisper under his breath, “So may I...”

“What are we going to do?” Lupin said as if still in a daze, talking more to himself than anyone else there, “How am I going to tell Sirius?” A sick, horrified look suddenly entered Lupin’s eyes. “Oh God... How am I going to tell Sirius?”

This seemed to finally bring Harry out of his trance and back to the present. “Lupin! Lupin, I’m right here!” he frantically called, hurrying over towards the group of teachers around his body. “I’m right here! You have to help me! I’m not dead! I’m right here!” But for all his efforts, none of them even blinked in response.

“That sorry excuse for a wizard...” McGonagall hissed under her breath, her whole body now shaking with rage, “I’ll kill him... I swear I’m going to kill him...”

“No! Professor, I’m right here! Can’t you see me?” Harry cried, trying to reach out and touch McGonagall’s arm to make her look at him, but his hand passed right through her as if there wasn’t even anything there.

“What are we going to do about his body?” Lupin whispered, his eyes somehow more hollow and dead than Harry ever thought a living person’s eyes could look.

“We will take him to Hogwarts...” Dumbledore said, still sadly staring down at his young charge’s face, “I think right now that is the only appropriate place for Harry to be. It was what he considered home...”

“Professor!” Harry wailed in growing distress, “Professor, please! I’m right here! You have to help me!” But Dumbledore did not acknowledge Harry’s presence him any more than McGonagall or Lupin did.

The world seemed to come to a grinding halt around Harry. He felt panic once more rising up inside him. What was he going to do now? He had been so sure Dumbledore would be able to help him. But now what? Dumbledore couldn’t see or hear him any more than anyone else could. What was he going to do? If Dumbledore couldn’t help him, then who could?

Harry stood there lost, feeling as if he was slowly being swallowed by some bottomless pit of helplessness and confusion.

“How are we going to get him out of here, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked, finally tearing watery eyes away from Harry’s face to look up at Dumbledore. “The Muggle doctors will surely stop us if they see us taking Harry out.”

“We will use a Disillusion Charm that will make us invisible to Muggle eyes,” Dumbledore said. Harry suddenly realized how empty Dumbledore sounded, as if he had lost all ability of expressing any other emotion except sadness and grief. “We will take him by Floo back to Hogwarts... It will be the fastest and easiest way to transport him back to the castle. The nearest fireplace network I believe is in the Leaky Cauldron. We will try and be as discreet as possible about it though. Everyone in the wizarding world doesn’t need to know what happened to Harry just yet, though I doubt this can be kept secret for very long... Merlin only knows the poor boy does not deserve to be made a spectacle out of...especially now...”

Neither Lupin or McGonagall said anything as Dumbledore slowly walked around the table until he was right across from McGonagall on Harry’s other side. Reaching down, the old Headmaster gently – almost reverently – began gathering Harry’s limp form into his arms, slipping an arm under Harry’s shoulders and knees.

“Wait, Albus,” McGonagall said, “If we’re going to be seen by anyone else, I will not stand to have Harry seen in such a state.” Leaning across the table, she quickly produced her wand out of her dress sleeve and waved it over Harry’s head. In an instant the large breathing tube that had been inserted down Harry’s throat when he first arrived in the emergency room vanished. With another wave, McGonagall banished all the tubes and wires hanging off of Harry’s body too. It was only when she finished gently tucking the ends of the white sheet draped over Harry’s body around him that she finally looked up and nodded her consent to Dumbledore.

Despite his old, wizened frame, Dumbledore easily lifted Harry’s body up off the table into his arms. Harry’s head hung limply over Dumbledore’s arm, his bangs falling back to reveal his lightening bolt shaped scar beneath. For a long moment of silence, Dumbledore just stood there, staring down at his student’s pale white face. For one horrifying moment, Harry thought he was about to see Dumbledore break into tears. But the old Headmaster seemed to collect himself just at the last moment and croaked out in a low, unsteady voice, “Obscuro.”

Harry saw Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin’s outlines waver for a second as if he were looking at them through a cloud of filmy gas before they quickly coalesced back into clear, definite shapes. He knew they were now invisible to all Muggles that might try and look at them.

Not saying a word, Dumbledore then turned and walked out of the room, bearing the lifeless body of the Boy Who Lived away. McGonagall and Lupin followed close behind, their heads lowered and faces solemn.

Again finding himself at a momentary lost for what to do, Harry broke into a run after them, following them down the white hospital corridor, past the emergency room reception area, and out into the rainy streets beyond. Even if Dumbledore or the others couldn’t see him, he still didn’t want to be felt alone. Nor did he want to be separated from his body.

No Muggle moved to stop them or even look up at them as they passed. Like a silent funeral procession, Dumbledore led them through the twisting maze of London streets back towards the center of the city. Their somber party met no one as they traveled the rainy streets, carrying the body of their fallen child-hero. But as they turned down the street Harry knew contained the Leaky Cauldron, several people Harry took to be witches and wizards because they actually seemed able to see Dumbledore stopped dead in their tracks, staring in open-mouthed shock at the sight they beheld.

Dumbledore passed them all without a word, not even meeting their eyes to show he had seen them. The old wizard didn’t seem to see anything around him actually. He merely stared ahead, eyes unfocused and distant as if lost in deep, anguished thought.

The weathered wooden sign of the Leaky Cauldron finally appeared up in the distance. It swung and creaked noisily in the rain on its hinges above the door, as if mournfully announcing the arrival of Dumbledore and his unhappy burden. As they neared, Lupin wordlessly stepped around Dumbledore and held the door open for him as he passed through into the dimly lit tavern beyond.

All sound and movement instantly ceased the moment Dumbledore walked through the door, carrying Harry’s lifeless body in his arms. No one seemed to even breath in the shocked silence that filled the normally bustling pub as those there turned in their seats and stared in bewildered disbelief at the ones standing in the doorway.

“Tom,” Dumbledore called softly to the Leaky Cauldron’s aging proprietor at the bar, “We need to use the Floo network back to Hogwarts...”

“Of– of course, Headmaster,” Tom stammered, hurrying over towards the tavern’s large fireplace on the other side of the room.

Dumbledore silently crossed the room after him, not even recognizing the stares that followed him from all those there. At the fireplace, Dumbledore silently stepped up into the hearth and turned to face out, Harry’s head lifelessly hanging down over his elbow.

“Hogwarts,” he tonelessly called as Tom threw down a handful of powder for him into the fire. In a flash of green Dumbledore and Harry’s body were gone.

McGonagall went next and also disappeared from sight. As Lupin slowly stepped up to the hearth, Harry felt a jolt of dread course through him. How was he going to travel by Floo if he didn’t have a body? Not really thinking and merely throwing chance to the wind, he leapt forward and squeezed himself next to Lupin in the fireplace as the werewolf grabbed a handful of Floo powder from Tom and threw it down into the flames.

“Hogwarts,” he called and a bright green wall of flames instantly leapt up to engulf them both. Harry felt himself suddenly spinning and whirling down a long tunnel of darkness. Multiple other portals of light sped past as Harry hurtled down through the darkness, signaling the exit points for other Floo fireplaces. But it was only with a sudden jolt that the world stopped spinning and Harry found himself falling out of one of the fireplaces in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Struggling to his feet, Harry saw Lupin trudging off towards the doors of the empty hall.

“Professor!” Harry called out, only belatedly remembering no one else could hear him. Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Harry hurried after him.

In the main entrance hall of the castle, Harry also caught up to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Together the three teachers began to ascend the grand staircase, Harry following close behind them unseen.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore softly intoned as they climbed, “Would you please be so kind as to go fetch Madam Pomfrey for me? I would like to see if she can’t perhaps fix up some of the superficial damage to Harry’s body. If Sirius is to see him, as I’m sure he will want to, I do not want him to have see Harry like this...”

“Of course, Albus,” Professor McGonagall replied and hurried away down a corridor as they came to a landing. Dumbledore barely even acknowledged her departure as she left.

“Where are you taking him if not to the hospital wing?” Lupin asked as they started up yet another long staircase.

“There is a small study just down from my office,” Dumbledore said in his empty tone, “We’ll take him there. It will be more private...”

Lupin seemed to accept this and they moved on in silence.

As they finally reached the next floor and turned down the corridor Harry knew Dumbledore’s office stood, Harry suddenly spotted the ghostly apparition of Nearly Headless Nick floating down the hallway towards them.

“Good day, Headmaster!” he called blithely, “Ghastly weather today, isn’t it? Rain and wind and no end of it in sight. I was just telling the Bloody Baron earlier... I do say, sir! What’s that you got there?” he exclaimed, finally noticing the heavy bundle in Dumbledore’s arms.

“I’m afraid this is our young Harry Potter,” Dumbledore whispered softly.

Nearly Headless Nick floated there for several moments of unbroken silence, staring at the still figure in Dumbledore’s arms. “Harry Potter?” he whispered as if unable to actually believe it.

“He was hit by a car earlier today while out in London,” Lupin explained, seeing that Dumbledore suddenly seemed unable to say anything else, “He died shortly after...”

“Dear God...” Sir Nicholas breathed.

Harry, standing there off to the side, suddenly had an idea. “Sir Nicholas! Sir Nicholas!” he cried, pushing his way in front of the floating ghost. “Sir Nicholas, can you see me?” he called, jumping up and down and waving his hands in front of the only partially decapitated ghost. But Nearly Headless Nick did not look down or even seem to notice him.

Harry abruptly stopped his shouting and stood there in defeat. For one wild second he had thought maybe Nicholas would have been able to see him. Surely a ghost should be able to see another, right? But Nicholas couldn’t, and Harry was once more seized by a feeling of utter hopelessness and fear.

“Sir Nicholas,” Dumbledore finally found the voice to say, “I would be most obliged if you kept this information to yourself for the present moment from any of the other ghosts in the castle.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” the ghost nodded, his head wobbling precariously on his neck as he did.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore whispered and slowly stepped around Nearly Headless Nick who still floated there in the middle of the corridor with a dazed look of shock on his transparent face.

Lupin also made a move as if to go around the stunned ghost, but before he could, Nearly Headless Nick finally seemed to find his voice. “He always was a special boy...” Sir Nicholas sadly whispered to him, “I will miss him.”

“We all will...” Lupin replied softly, unable to meet Sir Nicholas’ eyes. And with out another word, the werewolf strode off after Dumbledore. Sir Nicholas hovered there a few moments longer, gazing after Dumbledore and the limp body of the boy he carried, before he too turned and sadly floated away down the hall.

Harry, however, felt frozen to the spot, as if someone had put a permanent Sticking Spell on his feet.

Oh God... Oh God oh God oh God, what am I going to do?

He felt like he was going to be sick again. It felt like the entire world was closing in on him. Oh God, what was he going to do? No one could see him. No one knew he was there. How was he going to get back? He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t! There had to be some sort of mistake! If he could just tell them he was still there Dumbledore would find a way of helping him. But what was he suppose to do? No one could see him!

Harry felt tears once more stinging the corners of his eyes. But this time he could not find the strength to fight them and fell to his knees by one of the many windows lining the corridor, sobbing loudly.

Oh God what am I going to do? Harry had never felt so scared in his entire life. What was he going to do?

But he could think of nothing, and felt his hopelessness and fear swell to all new heights.

He was completely and utterly alone...

******

That now familiar feeling that something was terribly wrong was back again. And Severus Snape was starting to get annoyed with it. All day long he had been plagued by feelings of unease whose causes he could never figure out. Feeling rather put out and miffed by this continual state of anxiety he was in, Professor Snape was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have just stayed in bed that morning.

Rain drummed loudly against the windows as he strode past them down the darkened corridors towards Professor Dumbledore’s office, only making him more irritated with the world in general. At least in his dungeons he didn’t have to hear the bloody rain falling. But he had been forced out of his office to attend to other matters in the castle. One of whichwas delivering Madam Pomfrey’s fresh batch of pain relieving potion to her in the hospital wing.

Snape’s already existent frown deepened. There was definitely something wrong; he could feel it. After he’d left after giving Madam Pomfrey her potion, he had seen Professor McGonagall hurry past him in the direction of the hospital wing, looking very distraught and as if she were on the verge of tears. Snape probably would have stopped her and inquired what was the matter, but she had all but ran past him as if she hadn’t even seen him. Confused but unable to even venture a guess at what was going on, he had gone on about his business, once again feeling that familiar twinge of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Turning down another hallway, Snape shook his head in disgust. What was getting into him? He was starting to act like Professor Trelawney. Always detecting bad vibrations in the air and expecting the worse. Lord help him if he started seeing ominous signs in the dredges of his potion cauldrons next...

Finally Snape spotted the familiar stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office at the end of the hall. He had to go over a few things with Dumbledore about the extra protective wards they had put up around the castle over summer break.

But as he came up on the gargoyle and was about to give the password (Licorice Wand), out of the corner of his eye, Professor Snape suddenly saw the very man he was looking for step out of another room farther down the hall.

“Headmaster,” Professor Snape called, striding over towards the older wizard, “I wanted to speak to you about some of the wards we–” Snape abruptly fell silent at the sight of Dumbledore as he drew nearer.

Dumbledore looked terrible. Snape felt like someone had just pulled a rug out from out from under him from the shock he received at the sight of the old Headmaster. He had never seen Dumbledore look like how he did now.

He looked like a man of hopelessness and defeat.

Dumbledore’s entire body seemed to exude what Snape once thought were impossible traits to ever be used to describe the great and powerful wizard. But the Dumbledore standing in front of him was only a mere shadow of the Dumbledore Severus Snape once knew. This one’s shoulder slumped forward as if he carried the entire weight of his many long years on them – all his pain, sorrow, shortcomings, and failures. His once bright and twinkling eyes were now dull and empty, filled with an unfathomable sorrow that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He suddenly looked much older to Snape, as if he had aged a hundred years from when he last saw him earlier that morning.

Snape struggled for a moment to find his voice. “Headmaster... what–?”

“Something terrible’s happened, Severus,” Dumbledore croaked in a hollow voice, intercepting Snape’s question.

Snape felt something inside him clench with dread. So he had had reason to worry...

“Dumbledore, what–?” But Snape was once more cut off as a shout and sudden scuffle of hurried footsteps from the other end of the corridor sounded. Turning to look, both men saw one of the least likely persons they would have ever expected to find roaming the halls of Hogwarts come running towards them at full tilt.

“Black...” Snape hissed under his breath without even thinking as he watched the disheveled figure of his childhood enemy, Sirius Black, draw near. But Sirius didn’t seem to even notice Snape standing there.

“Dumbledore! Dumbledore, what happened! Tell me what happened!” the fugitive wizard demanded as he finally came to a stop in front of them and all but grabbed Dumbledore by the lapels of his Muggle jacket and shook him. “Tell me what happened! Tell me he’s alright! Tell me!” he shouted, a wild, frantic look burning in his eyes like living fire.

Dumbledore seemed unable to actually meet Sirius’ gaze. “I’m sorry, Sirius...” he softly whispered, looking down at the floor with slowly tearing eyes, “He didn’t make it...”

Sirius took a stumbling, involuntary step backwards as if Dumbledore had just dealt him a physical blow to the face. “What...?” he choked out like a whimper, “What? No... No, it can’t be. Please... Please tell me it’s not true...”

But Dumbledore only continued to stare down at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Sirius...” he said.

Sirius Black stood there for what felt like an endless eternity of unbroken silence, staring at his former headmaster and teacher in utter horror and disbelief. “No... No, it’s not true!” he cried, starting to push his way past Dumbledore towards the slightly open door behind him, “No! It’s not true!”

“Sirius, please...” Dumbledore began.

“No! Let me see my godson! Let me see him! It’s my right! It’s not true!”

Either knowing it was futile to even try or unable to muster the willpower to actually do so, Dumbledore did not stop Sirius from pushing past him to the threshold of the room behind him.

Severus Snape stood there in silence as he watched Sirius rush to the door, fling it open – then freeze on the threshold. For several moments Sirius seemed frozen, unable to move, his eyes fixed on something within the room Snape could not see. But then with a shuddering, heart-wretching cry of despair, Black flung himself inside the room. A long, anguished wail sounded from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of helpless sobs.

His back still to the door, Dumbledore hung his head lower and shut his eyes, as if trying to somehow block out the terrible sounds coming from within the room.

Looking between Dumbledore and the open door, Professor Snape slowly stepped towards it. Cautiously peering inside, the acerbic Potions Master of Hogwarts felt his blood run cold at the sight he beheld.

Black sat on the edge of a long divan, desperately clutching something limp and lifeless to his chest as he openly wept over it. The shabby form of Remus Lupin stood off to the side, hiding in the dark shadows of the room as he watched his old schoolhood friend helplessly sob over the still figure in his arms.

It was then that Snape suddenly realized what Sirius was holding. It was a body – a very familiar body with jet black hair, bright green eyes, and almost the carbon copy face of his deceased father.

For reasons unfathomable even to himself, Snape gasped in surprise and felt a sick wave of horror wash over him. Harry Potter... dead? The idea in and of itself seemed completely ludicrous – totally insane! Such a thing was just not possible. But there was no denying the horrible truth of what he saw.

“It was a car accident,” Snape suddenly heard an empty voice say from right beside him. Wheeling around, he saw Dumbledore standing right beside him, staring into the room. “It happened this morning... Mundungus was suppose to be watching him and stop his relatives if they tried to take him anywhere. But he went off somewhere and...” Dumbledore could not seem to finish his sentence.

Snape turned back to stare at the still, limp figure clutched in Sirius Black’s arms. A car accident?After teaching the boy for more than four years, being killed by something as random as a car accident seemed like such an... ignoble... death for the young wonder-boy who had single-handedly defeated He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. It just seemed so... wrong.

“Why?” Sirius suddenly cried, clutching the lifeless body of his godson closer, “Why?! Why didn’t we get him sooner? If we had gotten him from those horrible Muggle relatives of his sooner when I wanted to none of this would have happened! Mundungus came to Headquarters to tell me something had happened to Harry. Told me Harry was hurt because his relatives took him into London.” He sharply looked up at Dumbeldore standing in the doorway. “WHY DIDN’T WE GO GET HIM SOONER?!”

Sirius’ words seemed to hit Dumbledore like thrown daggers. The old man hung his head lower and clenched his eyes shut, as if trying to forget his failure.

“Why wasn’t anyone watching him?” Sirius continued to angrily wail, beginning to rock Harry’s body back and forth in his arms, “We should have told him... We should have told him what kind of danger he was in... Maybe then he wouldn’t have left the house. We should have told him. We should have gotten him sooner...”

Dumbledore seemed to try and collect himself enough to say something – perhaps to offer some words of comfort to the grieving godfather – but his throat constricted sharply and he once more looked down at the ground. Professor Snape saw a single silver tear slip from the old man’s eyes and run down his wrinkled cheek into his beard.

“Oh God...” Sirius moaned, tears streaming down his hollowed cheeks, “Oh God, why him? Why him?”

Snape suddenly heard the sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hall. Looking back, he saw Professor McGonagall with Madam Pomfrey close behind her jogging towards them. When Professor McGonagall finally came to a stop beside him in the doorway and saw Sirius Black already there, hugging the still body of his godson close, Snape heard her mutter a curse under her breath.

Glancing over at Madam Pomfrey with solemn eyes, McGonagall nodded for her to go in. Madam Pomfrey stood for a moment unable to move, she too struck immobile and incoherent at first sight of the legendary Boy Who Lived lying still and lifeless on the couch. But then, as if regaining her sense of professionalism, the school nurse moved into the room beside Sirius and looked down at the still figure in his arms.

“Here,” she said gently, reaching down to put a comforting hand on Sirius’ forearm, “Let me see him. I’ll clean him up.” But Sirius didn’t move or even give the impression he had heard her.

“Sirius,” McGonagall said, also moving into the room, “You shouldn’t be here. It is dangerous for you to be out. The Ministry’s still looking for you. If anyone finds out that you were seen in Hogwarts...”

“No, I’m not leaving,” Sirius said, his voice choked with grief but firm with decision.

“Padfoot, there’s nothing you can do for Harry here but put yourself in danger,” Lupin said, finally emerging from the dark shadows of the room, his eyes as hollow and empty as his voice. “Harry wouldn’t have wanted you to get caught just because you rushed here without thinking. Once Madam Pomfrey’s seen to him and cleaned him up a bit, we’ll take him back to Grimmauld Place so you can see him.”

“No...” Sirius said, shaking his head as he hugged Harry closer and fought off a fresh wave of tears, “No... It doesn’t matter what happens to me anymore... Harry was all I had left... It doesn’t matter... He was the only thing I had left to live for...”

No one said anything, too choked up with their own thoughts and emotions to speak. Even Severus Snape standing there in the doorway almost felt sorry for his childhood enemy.

“Severus,” Dumbledore whispered, raising his head up off his chest only enough to glance at Snape out of the corner of his eye, “The other members of the Order must be told about this... I fear when news of this gets out, Voldemort might try and somehow take advantage of this tragedy. Would you please–”

“Of course,” Snape said, already knowing what Dumbledore was about to ask him.

“Severus,” Dumbledore once more called just as Snape was about to leave, “Arthur and Molly Weasley should probably be told about what happened in person... Harry was like a seventh son to them...”

Snape stood there for a moment of silence staring back at Dumbledore. But then with a curt nod of understanding, he turned and strode off down the hall, his long black robes billowing behind him dramatically. He did not look back at the small room in which everyone was gathered.

Striding down the corridor, Snape was overcome by a rush of unfamiliar emotions and troubling thoughts. Harry Potter was dead... The fact of it still hadn’t seemed to fully sunk in to his brain. It seemed so unreal. Though he had never liked the boy (and truthfully had gone out of his way countless times over the last four years to make the boy’s life in Potions class and outside miserable) he had never thought in a million years that Dumbledore’s wonder boy would have one day ended up dead because of some freak accident. It just didn’t seem right!

It was bloody Harry Potter he was talking about for Christ’s sake!

If the arrogant little Annoyance That Lived was supposed to have died, it was suppose to have been in some grand final battle between him and Lord Voldemort. He had been the type of person that would have gone down fighting, unwilling to admit defeat until he finally overcame his enemy or died trying. But not by some freak car accident... No, never some bloody Gryffindor. Nothing less than going out in a big blaze of glory would have ever been good enough for one of them...

But Harry Potter? The boy had died in a car accident Dumbledore had said. He was dead... So where did that leave the rest of them? The boy was suppose to have been one of their greatest weapons in stopping the return of Lord Voldemort's reign of terror. He had been Voldemort’s other half. Where one was dark, the other was light. They were like two sides of a magnet, each being the other’s opposite, opposing force. But now with the light no longer there to neutralize the dark, what would that mean for the dark? With no more Harry Potter, would this mean that Lord Voldemort would finally be free to conquer and destroy everything he had originally set out to more than fourteen years ago? Such a terrible possibility was not something Snape felt he could handle thinking about just yet.

Turning down another corridor, Snape shook his head irritably. Bloody Potter... Why did he have to go get himself killed like that? Even dead the boy kept finding ways to make his life difficult...

But no matter how annoying the boy might have been in life, Snape just couldn’t bring himself to be glad he was gone. He may have been like his father – arrogant, rash, self-centered, with no sense of rules or authority – but that still didn’t mean the boy deserved to die... He had, after all, only been a child...

Snape heaved a heavy sigh of annoyance and frustration. He tried to tell himself there was a war going on and that casualties (even outside ones) were to be expected. It just grieved him (though he would never admit it to anyone living or dead even under pain of the Cruciatus Curse) that such a casualty had to come in the form of the famous Harry Potter himself. Even for being an annoying Gryffindor, the boy had had great potential. He would have truly made something out of himself, though there still was no denying that there had never been any hope for the boy when it came to Potions...

Snape may have gone on in this line of thinking for some time more, but he was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he happened to catch the soft, almost imperceptible sound of a muffled sob come from somewhere nearby. Snape immediately stopped in the middle of the hallway and tilted his head to the side to listen for another confirmation of what he thought he just heard. Half a second later, the sound of another unmistakable sob broke the silence, this time a little clearer and more pronounced. But what startled Snape even more than the sound of crying was the realization that whoever was doing so sounded frightened.

Glancing around the corridor, Snape quickly deduced that the sobbing was coming from a nearby hallway just off from the one he was walking down. Hurrying towards it, the Potions Master stood at the mouth of the new corridor and looked down it. For a moment, he thought it was empty. But then he heard another muffled sob and glanced over to the right where he saw what looked like a person huddled on the ground with his back to the wall and his knees drawn to his chest. The person’s head was bent down over his knees where yet another muffled sob sounded.

Snape was about to open his mouth and demand to know who the mysterious person was, but just then the person finally raised his tear streaked face off his knees and dazedly looked around him like one who was lost and trying to figure out what to do next. His eyes slowly came to rest on the Potions Master standing there at the end of the corridor some ten feet away – and Snape felt his heart stop dead in his chest.

Glancing up at the tall, greasy haired figure suddenly standing there at the end of the hall, Harry almost gave a teary laugh at the cruel irony of what Fate decided to keep throwing at him to top off his already most horrible day in existence. It was Professor Snape. Great... he mentally snorted, feeling fresh tears sting the corners of his eyes One of the last people I would ever want to see on the most horrible day of my life... What next? Draco Malfoy? Wouldn’t that just totally top this whole thing off...

Harry was almost ready to return to his feelings of self-pity and despair when he suddenly realized Snape had not moved past him or turned to go back the other way, but instead, continued to stand there at the end of the hallway as if frozen in place. Glancing back up at the almost statue like Potions Master, Harry was startled to find Snape staring directly at him in what looked like shocked disbelief.

Harry sat there for a long moment of silence staring back at Snape, his tears and fears almost completely forgotten. Quickly looking around him, Harry wondered if perhaps Snape hadn’t seen something else near him that had caught his attention. But Harry could see nothing that would have explained the Potions Master’s sudden, unwavering attentiveness on the exact same spot where he now sat. But then a sudden thought occurred to Harry, something he had all but given up on by now.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry came to stand in front of Snape in the middle of the hallway, watching him closely for any signs of acknowledgment or recognition. Snape’s eyes followed his every movement, watching in wide-eyed fashion as Harry finally came to a stop barely five feet in front of him.

“Professor?” Harry hesitantly asked.

Snape’s mouth opened and closed several times as though struggling to form words. But no actual sound came out.

It was then that Harry finally let that small sliver of hope that had been growing inside him since he first saw Professor Snape looking right at him burst forth in a rush of unending disbelief and joy. For not only was Harry now sure Professor Snape could hear him, but that he could actually see him too...