With fists clenched at his sides, his heart thundering in his chest, and panic in his dark eyes, Severus strode through the fire into Albus Dumbledore's office.

"Albus," he shouted into the empty room. "ALBUS!"

The older wizard appeared around the corner, rubbing his eyes in confusion. "Severus? What's the matter?"

"You need to get Potter. Now." Severus demanded.

"Harry is with his relatives. Why-"

Severus cut him off. "Harry was the child I met in the alley over the Summer. He killed Antonin Dolohov."

Albus studied him with a grave expression. "Who knows?"

"As of now, only us," said Severus, pushing a strand of hair out of his face with a shaky hand. "But Lucius is getting closer to the truth. It won't take much for him to figure it out."

The headmaster gestured toward an armchair in front of his desk. "Sit down, my boy. You look pale."

Severus felt anger seeping through his extremities. "I do not have time to sit, Albus!" He spat. "The boy is in danger. The Dark Lord is growing stronger. You need to take action, now."

"Voldemort," Albus began, ignoring Severus's involuntary shudder. "cannot hurt Harry. The Dursley house is the safest place for him. He doesn't need protection."

"Like hell he doesn't," Severus snarled. "He is not safe there."

"Of course he is," Albus insisted with a wave of his hand.

Severus thought back to the skinny child with empty eyes that had walked into Hogwarts a few months ago, the same child he'd seen stumbling around the apothecary desperate to find pain potions and bruise salves.

"He was injured at the start of term, Albus! That muggle assaulted him!"

"You have no evidence to prove that, Severus," the old man said tiredly. "Besides, you gave him that amulet. If he needs assistance, he'll alert you."

Would he? Severus didn't know. If his suspicions about the boy were true, Harry may have planned a suicide once before. On top of that, Severus knew that Harry had a bad habit of harming himself when he was in distress. Would he ask for help if someone else was seriously harming him? He hadn't when Draco had thrown nearly thrown him to his death. He had just let it happen. Did he still wish to die?

"I'm not so sure about that," Severus admitted. "I can't prove what he was planning to do with that gun, but he was depressed for months, and he went up to the astronomy tower alone."

"Are you implying that he's suicidal?"

Severus would have snorted if the situation hadn't been so serious. It was as if Dumbledore was completely blind. Or more troubling, Dumbledore just pretended not to see. But Severus knew he could never accuse the headmaster of such a thing without serious repercussions.

"If he wasn't suicidal before, he probably is now. Black died right in front of him. That would be traumatizing for anyone," Severus explained carefully. "Besides, you saw how broken he was. Plopping him back in the house of a family that hates him is not good for his mental state."

"Mr. Potter will not do anything to harm himself. He knows his position in this war."

Severus froze and raised an eyebrow. Surely, he hadn't told him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I had to tell him about the prophecy."

Severus saw red. Who was this man, and what had he done with the honorable, Albus Dumbledore, the man who had sworn to protect the children of Hogwarts, the man who always did what was right instead of what was easy? Would Albus truly do something so heinous for the greater good?

"Why in Merlin's name would you tell him that?" Severus growled through clenched teeth.

"Watch your tone, Severus," Albus said sharply. "It was necessary. I didn't want him to do anything irrational. He needs to grow up and prepare to fight or there is no hope of winning this war."

"He's a child."

"It's far too late for him to be just a child. When Voldemort comes back, it will not matter that he's not of age."

Severus sighed, suddenly at a loss for words. Albus was right about that. Voldemort would go after Harry, and the boy would get no sympathy for being young. Still, he refused to condone Albus for what he had done. It was much too early for such a burden to be placed on Harry's shoulders. He was far too unstable. Severus worried what the boy would do.

Albus stared at Severus as if he could hear his internal dilemma. "Don't fret, Severus. Harry will not kill himself. He knows what he will have to do. He's not selfish enough to end his life."

His patronizing tone was too much for Severus to handle.

"Are you insane?"

Albus's eyes narrowed slightly. "The situation may not be ideal, but for now, it will have to do. Harry can return to school after the holidays."

Severus scowled at him.

"He will be fine."

"I made a vow, headmaster. I will not break it. I will not stand by and let something happen to that child if I can prevent it."

Albus Dumbledore's face suddenly looked much darker than Severus had ever seen it. He spoke slowly and sharply, "you will not intervene. I know what is best for Harry. Do not forget that it is you who is in debt to me."

"But-"

"No, Severus. I will hear no more of this. Now, please go."

Without another word, Severus walked into the fire and disappeared.


Harry woke to the muffled sound of knocking, but he didn't turn to look at the cupboard door. He had never felt so weak. His head felt much too heavy to lift from the floor. His hands were shaky and frail. His body refused to move at all, even when he willed it to. He was sure that this weakness was the result of starvation and dehydration, but he just couldn't make himself eat or drink anything. He was too tired.

He let out a shaky breath, his chest barely rising and falling beneath the fabric of his thin, oversized t-shirt. Had it always been so dark in his cupboard? He wasn't sure. It seemed as though the longer he spent in the tiny room, the less he could tell if his eyes were opened or closed. Was he blind now or was this what dying was like?

Harry wondered if everyone would forgive him if he just slipped away. Would Sirius? Would his friends? Would Dumbledore? Everyone was all counting on him. He was supposed to protect them. But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

The door to his cupboard never opened. Instead, he heard the shrill creak of the Dursley's front door and the low growl that came from his uncle.

"Whaddya want?" Vernon asked impatiently.

Harry wasn't surprised by his uncle's lack of manners. Vernon certainly wasn't a patient man.

Then he heard another muffled voice, an unfamiliar voice. It was a man. "Mr. Dursley?"

Harry wondered what the man wanted. If he was a salesman, it was likely that the door was about to be slammed in his face.

"Yes. That's me. Why are you here?"

"I was hoping to ask you about a firearm that was registered in your name. It was discovered at the scene of a crime."

Harry stiffened. Who was this man? What did he want? What did he know?

"Well, I certainly don't know anything about that! My gun was stolen months ago!" Vernon bellowed.

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of dread as the man's voice grew clearer, closer. Perhaps he had stepped inside to talk. "You say it was stolen, yet no official report was ever filed. Is there a reason you didn't inform the authorities?"

"Now, who are you? Who do you work for? I don't know what you're trying to accuse me of, but I assure you it wasn't me. That gun was stolen by my nephew. Little criminal that one. Always has been."

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Mr. Dursley. I'm just trying to understand the situation," the man said. "Now, what is your nephew's name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter," the man repeated slowly. His voice became higher, more excited. "Is he here?"

Vernon paused for a moment. "No. No, of course not! I have no idea where he's gone. He ran away. No longer my responsibility."

"I see."

"So, what did the little bastard do?"

"Well, the circumstances are still a bit unclear. We don't know exactly what happened, but it appears that your gun was involved in a man's death."

"He murdered someone?"

"That has not been proven yet."

"I see," Vernon said contemplatively.

Harry listened closely as the man thanked his uncle for the information and promptly left. It sounded as though he was in a hurry. Probably in a rush to tell the ministry… or worse, Lucius Malfoy. Harry shivered.

He was so panicked by the conversation and its consequences that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching his cupboard.

Gigantic, purple hands shot through the doorway and wrapped around Harry's thin wrist, yanking him from the floor and dragging him out into the hall. He winced as the skin on his side scraped across the rough surface of the wooden floor. His head jerked wildly from side to side. The floor and ceiling and walls seemed to swirl around him, leaving him disoriented.

Harry stifled a gasp as he was roughly pinned against the wall.

"HOW DARE YOU!" His uncle bellowed. He leaned in close to Harry's face, his eyes lit with a fire far more dangerous than Harry had ever seen.

"Wha-" Harry sputtered.

Vernon jerked Harry forward by the front of his shirt and then slammed the back of his head into the wall. "You. Murder. My. Sister." He spat, slamming his head back roughly with each word.

Harry's skull exploded with pain. His vision went dark, but he was still aware of his uncle's putrid breath hot against his cheek.

"You. Steal. From. Me."

Harry could feel blood, sticky and warm, trailing its way through his messy hair.

"You. Force. Your. Way. Back. Into. My. Home. Endanger. My. Family."

The blood was dripping now. Harry could tell.

"You. Bring. Others. To. My. House. Asking. Me. Questions."

His feet, barely touching the ground, skated through the freshly made puddle of red, slinging droplets right and left.

"Fucking. Murderer." Vernon threw his nephew to the ground, placing a wide dress shoe into Harry's spine and stealing his breath.

Harry's hands slipped against the bloody floor, trying to get enough traction to push himself up.

"Stay still," Vernon growled.

Harry felt the weight on his back disappear and he was finally able to take in a deep breath. Large hands gripped his arms and flipped him over so that he could see a blurred version of his uncle's round, red face. The man placed his meaty fists at Harry's neck, their skin only barely meeting. Vernon did not squeeze. Harry wasn't sure why, and his uncertainty was more distressing than the violence had been.

Vernon leaned down close to his nephew, staring deep into his eyes with a devious smirk. "You know, that daft old headmaster of yours told us all about you," he started, lightly trailing his finger across Harry's throat, threatening him silently. "Warned us how traumatized you were. Told us to be extra kind," he guffawed. "Wanted us to keep a close eye on you, make sure you didn't hurt yourself. He thinks you're crazy."

Even overwhelmed by fear, Harry couldn't help but feel hurt by this. Dumbledore expected so much from him, pretended to have faith in him, and still he told everyone that Harry was barmy.

"It's not as if we could stop you. I mean, we tried of course, but a crazy, demented boy like you just couldn't be stopped."

There was a dark undertone to Vernon's words, but his grin only got wider.

"You refused food, were rude whenever we tried to comfort you, you started banging your head into walls. What were we supposed to do?"

Harry felt goosebumps rising on his arms. He knew where this was going.

"And then I came home from work and found you," Vernon whispered coldly, "hanging from the tree outside."

Harry shivered. He knew that Vernon wasn't bluffing. The man had hated him for his entire life. He had always been searching for ways to harm Harry. And this was the perfect way for him to dispose of Harry for good. They both knew it.

"They won't.. believe it," Harry sputtered. "They'll know it was you," he said, but he wasn't sure it was true.

"Oh, they'll believe me. According to the old coot, they can barely get you to eat, you hurt yourself on purpose, and you're known for attention-seeking behavior. Suicide is just the next logical step."

Harry suddenly felt as if the gouges he'd made on his arms were glowing bright for the world to see. His uncle was right. He was going to die, and no one would ever know the truth.

Harry could feel the fear coursing through his veins. But why? Wasn't this what he'd wanted? Hadn't he been fantasizing about death for months, just praying for an ending to this misery?

Yes. But not like this, not by the hands of his uncle. He wasn't ready yet.

Who would protect the wizarding world from Voldemort? That was Harry's job, and no one else could do it. Dumbledore had told him so.

That was his sole reason for living: to protect. That was why he hadn't slammed his own head into the wall. That was why, even though he was weak and tired, something in him refused to stop breathing, refused to let his heart stop beating. Hermione and Ron and his classmates and his teachers and their families all deserved to be safe. That was why he couldn't let Vernon do this. That was why he suddenly felt reenergized and determined to live. That was why, with a frail, trembling hand, he fished the amulet out of his shirt and slammed his index finger into its glowing green center.


Hi everyone! Thanks for reading! I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I was really busy and I kind of lost my inspiration to write for awhile. Then, recently, I received some new reviews. I was really surprised to learn that people were still following the story and waiting for new uploads. That really motivated me to spend some time writing, and I finished this chapter as quickly as I could. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!