It was dark when Severus woke up. He blinked a few times, then shifted tentatively as his eyes adjusted to the total blackness. He sat up, surveying the fuzzy shapes around him. He prodded at one of them, and his hands met flesh. Another Death Eater, then. He remembered. A rush of angry words, a flash of bright green, then more flashes, red and red and red. He didn't recall any of his own pain; unconsciousness had blotted it out, but he felt the familiar aches and tingles throughout his body, sure signs of a recent Cruciatius Curse. His eyes were as well adjusted as they were going to be now. He noticed the cloaked figure near the window, his hand silently stroking a large, coiled snake that lay on the windowsill.

Voldemort seemed to hear the noises of Severus stirring; he inclined his head half an inch to the right before turning to face him.

"Severus," he said softly. "Come."

Severus complied, picking his way through the bodies strewn across the floor. The landing was dark, and he followed the Dark Lord, the only light coming from the moon shining through the windows every few feet or so.

Voldemort brought them to the dining room door, flicking it open with his wand. Nagini slithered through it at their feet, and Severus tried to ignore the dull nausea churning in his stomach.

"Sit," Voldemort said, and Severus took the proffered chair. Voldemort settled himself at the head of the table.

"This mishap is…unfortunate," Voldemort finally said. Severus waited; he knew how to read the Dark Lord, could tell by the way his syllables and accents fell if he should answer him, could read the simmering rage beneath apparently calm words. Now he waited.

"Something has to be done."

Severus did not know what he meant, but he could tell that it was something dangerous.

"What did you have in mind?" Severus said.

Voldemort did not answer for a few minutes.

"I need to consider the matter further. But," he said slowly, "something will need to be done at Hogwarts."

"At Hogwarts, My Lord?"

"Yes," said Voldemort. "We have infiltrated before. We can do it again."

"It would not be…impossible."

"Nothing is impossible for the Dark Lord."

Severus inclined his head.

"I will need you there. When the time comes."

"Of course, My Lord."

Voldemort raised his slitted, red eyes to Severus's. Severus met them unflinchingly, and Voldemort smiled coldly.

"Very good. Now get off to Dumbledore. You have some excuse for your absence?"

"Yes, My Lord. I will say that I was away gathering rare potions ingredients."

"Very well," said Voldemort. Severus understood his dismissal and apparated into the night, ignoring the icy stab of fear he felt at the thought of Voldemort's latest plan.

000

When Harry woke up that morning, he didn't realize where he was. Everything was so warm and soft and comfortable he didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want the lovely darkness to end.

When it came to the point that he couldn't pretend to be asleep anymore, Harry opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, and it took him a minute to remember that his glasses were on the bedside table. He put them on and sat up in bed. The light was warm and soft, streaming through the tall windows and lighting up the mostly vacant room. Harry got out of bed and pulled the curtains open from around his bed; there was another curtained bed to one of his sides, which he assumed was Draco's. He glanced to his other side and received a small, pleasurable jolt at the sight of its occupant.

"Remus is still here?" Harry asked Madam Pomfrey, who had just bustled over from his bed carrying a potion-laden tray. She set it down on his bedside table and nodded.

"Full moon a few days ago," she said quietly, handing him a vial. "And he was already so weak from that incident, poor thing."

"He'll be alright?"

"Yes, yes, he should be up and about in no time."

"What's this?" Harry asked, turning the vial she had offered him in his hand.

"Pain reliever mixed with nourishing potion," she said. "Now drink."

Harry titled the potion back and swallowed it in a few gulps, handing it back to Madam Pomfrey with a grimace.

"Dumbledore should be stopping by soon," Madam Pomfrey said as she took the empty vial back. "He said to wait here for him."

Harry nodded as she headed back to her office. He sat back down on his bed, his hands pulling at a stray thread he found on the comforter. After a few minutes of nervous picking and pulling, he noticed the freshly laundered robes laid out at the foot of his bed and pulled them on, then sat back down and waited for Dumbledore.

Harry wasn't sure how much time passed before Dumbledore arrived, only that it seemed far too soon. He knew what conversation was coming and he didn't want to have to have it now; couldn't it wait for another time? Or perhaps they could just ignore the issue, as they had for all these years. That thought stung, and he swallowed against the sudden feelings that burned in his throat.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, once he had swept into the Hospital Wing, long silver robes trailing out behind him. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. Perhaps Dumbledore seemed to notice the strain behind his words, for his eyes seemed to focus more sharply on Harry's. Harry looked down.

"I thought," Dumbledore said quietly, "we might take a walk outside?"

Harry understood that the question was open for him to decide. He nodded, and followed Dumbledore out of the Hospital Wing and out into the sunny grounds.

000

It was far too beautiful outside, Harry thought. The sun kept peeking out from behind the light smattering of clouds in the perfectly blue sky, and a light breeze lifted the edges of the leaves and the grass. Hagrid's hut sat cheerily on the corner of the grounds, even though the curtains were drawn and no smoke was rising from its chimney. The entire thing, the sloping grounds with the little cluster of greenhouses on one side and the wide lake and the ruffling edge of the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow creaking in the distance—all of it made another lump rise in Harry's throat, one that was much harder to swallow.

He and Dumbledore walked for a while in silence until they finally reached the lake. Once they had started circling it, Dumbledore spoke.

"I know that you have been through rather a lot lately," he said quietly. "But as I have told you before, I find it is better to talk things out as soon as possible—especially things that have gone unsaid for far too long."

Harry was silent beside him.

"As I told you last term," Dumbledore said, "I placed you in your relatives' care because I believed it was the best place for you. The wards there were stronger than any protection even I could have devised for you. I thought, if Voldemort were to come back sooner than later, it could save your life."

Harry still did not speak. He had heard this all before. He thought he even understood it. But he didn't want to hear it, hear Dumbledore's reasoning behind it; that just made it more difficult to bear.

"I understand, sir," Harry said quietly. "I—I don't think we need to talk about it."

Dumbledore stopped walking then, and Harry reluctantly paused beside him.

"Harry," he said. "I have done a great disservice to you. As often happens, I have overlooked the smaller details in place of the bigger picture. Even though those smaller details often turn out to be the most important."

Harry could not bear it. He could not bear to look into Dumbledore's lined face, which suddenly looked so much older to him than it had before. He could not bear to see the sorrow in those blue eyes, which he had so often felt were piercing into him, were understanding him. Why couldn't he understand now that Harry didn't want to talk about it? That nothing Dumbledore could say would make it okay, could quell the sick feeling in Harry's stomach?

"I am very sorry, Harry," Dumbledore finally said, when Harry did not respond.

"I know, sir," said Harry quietly. And he did. "Can I go now?"

Harry left as quickly as he could, leaving Dumbledore standing alone beside the lake, looking more tired than he had ever seen him. Harry tried to ignore the burning of his eyes on his back.

000

Once he was out of Dumbledore's line of sight, Harry walked more quickly; he didn't know where he was going, only that he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Dumbledore as possible. He found himself back at the Hospital Wing and pushed the doors open without thinking.

Draco was still asleep, the curtains still drawn around his bed; Harry felt a sharp twinge of regret, and was turning to leave when someone spoke to him.

"Harry?" It was Remus, his voice somewhat weaker than usual. He was sitting up in his bed now, his arms and chest bandaged, eating from a tray of food before him.

Harry paused, and walked back toward him.

"Hi," he said quietly, dropping down into the chair at his bedside. "How are you feeling?" Harry thought it would be nice to focus on someone else right now; perhaps he could avoid how overwhelming it was to be himself at the moment.

"Much better already," Remus said, "Madam Pomfrey is brilliant at healing spells. I'll be back to normal in no time."

"That's good, good," said Harry, not noticing the way he was running his hands through his hair and smoothing them over his robes.

"Harry," Remus said slowly, his brow creasing, "Are you alright?"

Harry did not know how to answer that, and the quiet concern in Remus's voice almost made tears spring to his eyes. He blinked these away impatiently and cleared his throat.

"Yeah," he said, standing up. "I just need to – to get going."

"Okay," said Remus, and Harry was unbelievably grateful that he did not press the issue. "Would you come see me again, sometime, though?"

"Of course," said Harry, and he meant it; but right now, he could not stand to be around anyone. The need to get away was pressing at him as firmly as his need to leave Dumbledore had. He nearly knocked over the chair in his haste to leave, and he averted his eyes from Remus's as he left as quickly as he had come.

000

Harry wandered around the castle for a while, but he found the complete silence and emptiness unnerving, especially since most of the portraits stared at him or whispered loudly when he passed. He soon found himself outside again.

He wandered around the grounds, letting the physical activity occupy his thoughts, enjoying the burn in his legs as he climbed the gentle slopes. He ended up back at the lake again, but Dumbledore was nowhere to found now. Relief washed over him as he slid down beneath a beech tree. He stayed there for a while, watching the sun reflect off the surface of the still water.

Now, finally, he could not stop his thoughts from coming. There was nowhere left to run.

He remembered long hours spent in his cupboard, hours so long he thought he would go mad in there; empty stomachs and fighting for scraps of food, sometimes picking them out of the garbage, he was so hungry; times when he wished even that his aunt would slap him, if it meant having someone touch him; punches to the stomach from Dudley and glasses snatched off his face, crunched beneath an unforgiving foot on the gravel of the playground; angry fists and biting words when Harry would make strange things happen on accident, and then the hours sitting alone in the dark afterward, trying to keep his tears quiet enough so as not to enrage his uncle further; and always, the aching, lonely feeling in his chest, the one that never went away, the one that peaked when he looked at his aunt and uncle and cousin and wondered why he couldn't be a part of that, why they didn't love him.

And yet he had needed to do it, hadn't he? He was Harry Potter. He had not been a normal little boy, even then; there were some things more important than being hugged and having your own room, weren't there? There were some things more important than having to deal with a few slaps and not enough food, weren't there?

He squeezed his eyes tight, then, ignoring the wetness on his face. He wished he could feel anything else right now; he wished for blinding rage, anger that would leave him shouting and smashing things. But he didn't feel that now, couldn't. He wasn't angry at Dumbledore, even though he wished, desperately, that he could be. He was too weak to be angry at the man who had left him there to rot for ten long years. Dumbledore's sad blue eyes kept swimming in front of his vision, the tired, pleading note in his voice.

And Harry understood that Dumbledore had done what he thought was best. He understood that sometimes, sacrifices were necessary. And that from him, they always would be.

000

Harry didn't hear the crunch of feet at first, snapping twigs and sharp grinding against the gravelly sand at the edge of the Lake. He didn't notice that Draco had joined him until he was sitting down beside him.

Neither boy said anything to each other. Harry did not bother to wipe the wetness from his face. Draco did not bother to hide his red-rimmed eyes.

They sat like that, side-by-side on the shore of the lake, long after the sun had sunk behind the trees.

A/N: Sorry for all the angst, haha. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! As always, thank you for reading and let me know what you thought!