“No don’t kill her!” – He awoke with sweat-covered sheets, wet pyjamas and a
pulse that felt like his heart was about to explode. He sat up straight on the
corner of his bed, tears still streaming down his face. His chest hurt from
screaming his lungs out and he felt something sticky dripping down his
forehead but didn’t bother to care. He had taken five painkiller potions the
night before and had just dreamed of his mother's murder again. Looking
around to see if he had woken up Ron or Dean, he remembered that he put a
silencing spell on his bed, so they would not be disturbed by his screams every night.


Searching for his glasses, he put on his robe and left the dormitory through
the portrait hole. He just wanted to be alone. After these bad dreams, the only
escape for him was to wander the school grounds or walk on the school
premises. He didn’t care if he was caught or not. Didn’t even care to wear his
invisibility cloak. The only thing that he needed now was for him to get away from that place, to forget about what he had just seen.
“I killed her” he repeated while walking with his head lowered to the ground. His scar hurt so much that he had to press his hand onto it to make it stop. That’s where he noticed the blood. He must have been dripping that blood on the ground the whole way up here. Although feeling dizzy he shrugged it off and found himself just outside of the forbidden forest. He decided to just sit by an old tree and breathe in the fresh and ice-cold air.


Each breath he took hurt his swollen throat even more but at least that meant that he was still alive. Shivering from the breeze, he hugged himself with his cloak and tried to keep his thoughts blocked and controlled.
All that he managed though was uncontrolled sobbing and shaking. He just can't do this anymore. He can't bear the pain anymore. The visions Voldemort
let him relive every night. Dumbledore shutting him off and ignoring him.
Especially right now, where he would need him the most!
“Why me?” he screamed.
Although only a very hoarse sound came out of his mouth the sound echoed
on the lake and he jumped from it. He buried his head again, felt dizzy, and
something wet coated his black uncombed hair and face.


Suddenly he heard something. Was it the wind? Alarmed he drew his wand.
“Who is there?” he whispered and sounded more scared than anything..
Another branch moved weirdly in the distance.
He stood up but regretted it immediately. A pain so strong shot through his
skull that he thought he was hit by ten cruciatus curses. He tried to scream
but no sound came out. Instead, his legs gave way. Before he could hit the
ground though, steady hands grabbed him by the shoulders and lowered him
to the ground.

“Potter!” – it was the voice of Severus Snape.
“What on earth happened?” No answer.
“Potter?” The boy was now lying in front of the kneeling Snape, who placed
Harry's head on his knees. “Can you hear me?”
The boy was shaking uncontrollably now.
The only answer was a slight groan and whimpering.


“Lumos!”.
The boy that lay before him looked almost dead. Snape suppressed a wince.
Harry's cloak was soaked with blood. His scar had burst open. His face was
almost unrecognizable. “Who did that to you, Potter? Answer me!”
Severus drew his wand once again to perform all the healing spells that he knew.
Nothing seemed to be working. “P-Harry! Wake up!”
He was desperate. Didn’t know what to do. He had lost so much blood.
“You have to work with me, Harry.”
“Professor?” Harry whispered carefully.
“Yes! That’s it Potter stay awake for me. You must help me for these spells to
work. You have to have the will to live! Come now! Open your eyes and I will
perform another spell on you.”


“Don’t.” This time this answer was clear. No hoarse throat, no whimpering.
“What did you just say?” Even though he heard him.
“I said don’t. I am not worth it. Please, just leave me alone.”
“Potter! You are dying! Your scar! I don’t know what caused this, but it is ripped open! You have to help me!”
“I am sorry Professor.” Harry closed his eyes again and welcomed the familiar
sensation of unconsciousness.
“No. You can't do this to me! Not now! I- “

But he was cut off by feeling that Harry's pulse was coming to a halt.
“No! No!” He must have woken up the whole castle by now. The echoes of his
screams glided over the pitch-black lake. But he didn’t care. All he cared for was the boy in his arms. The boy he couldn’t save.

A heavy teardrop rolled down his cheek. He knew it wasn’t his fault, he knew he was the best healer there was. It was Harry's will to die that hindered him from saving him. And that pained him even more. What must the boy have to have endured for him to feel this way? Why didn’t he help earlier? He just watched. Always watched him from a distance. Protected him from the shadows. Just as Dumbledore ordered him to do. He could never fulfil his true role in the boy’s life. And now the only thing that he cared for, his own flesh and blood was dead. He couldn’t save Lily. And now he couldn’t save their son. And all of that just because he needed to spy and treat his own son like a foreigner. And he didn’t even get to tell him the truth. Another tear fell down his cheek. This time it landed not on his coat but on the boy's forehead. It dripped down his scar.

Suddenly the boy's hands that Severus still held onto, gripped his.
“What the- “?
“Harry?”
The boy squirmed a bit. Severus held onto him tighter.
“You are safe with me Harry. I am so glad that you are back. I thought I had lost you.”
Tear after tear the scar began to close, and Harry opened his eyes.
“Professor? Why are you crying? What happened?”
Severus couldn’t hold back a small grin. The cheek of this child.
“Because, Mr. Potter I thought I had just lost you. I think we need to have a little talk about what happened tonight. And what the future will bring.”
“What exactly do you mean, sir?” Harry rasped.
“I mean Harry, that if I am not mistaken, and I seldomly am, you were just saved not by me, but by very old magic which only occurs in between families.”
“So-. I mean. What are you implying sir? Are you saying-?”


“Yes Harry. I am your father.”


There was a long silence that followed.
But after that the color returned to Harry's cheeks and he was feeling a lot
better. Like all the weight and burden was lifted off his shoulders. And warmth. Warmth from the inside. He didn’t know if Snape put a spell around him or if the professor's body kept him warm. But he couldn't remember a more peaceful moment in his life. He was not alone. He did not have to deal with Voldemort alone. He did not have to mourn his mother alone. He had a father. A real one.

He was finally at home.


THE END