When he awoke, it was as if from a long sleep. He was sleep-drunk, groggy and tired. The first thing he was aware of was the burning on his arm. It hadn't burned like this since the Dark Lord was at the height of his power. He scrambled for his sleeve, barely processing that he was in the hospital wing in his nightshirt.

He pulled up his sleeve and gasped when he saw the Dark Mark there, as stark against his pale skin as the day the Dark Lord had burned it on him. The brand had never disappeared, but it had faded with the years, even if his memory of it could not. He heard someone tsk—Madam Pomfrey, probably—but he looked up to find the entire brood of Weasleys, huddled together and crying over a small form covered by a white sheet. His gut clenched—there were few students so slight, fewer with that mass of red hair…he couldn't have failed, not like this…

A small hand slipped into his own. He blinked and the world came back into focus around the face nearest to him. It was Hazel Potter, her eyes red rimmed and face streaked with tears, but very much alive.

Without thinking, he pulled the child to him and held her tight. Hazel sobbed into his shoulder and returned his embrace. "It's my fault," she whispered. "It's my fault Ginny's dead."

"Miss Potter…"

The Weasleys were all looking at her now, faces speaking to confusion and pity, but not blame. Still Hazel jabbered on, voice getting louder and shriller with each word she spoke.

Severus couldn't follow her words, still groggy from sleep, and felt a wave of powerful, calming magic wash over him. Hazel's mouth still moved, and she still raged and wept, but he heard nothing. If it hadn't been for the youngest Weasley boy's sniffling, he might have thought he went deaf, but it was simply Hazel who had been silenced. She didn't seem aware it, or didn't care, as Madam Pomfrey wrenched her from his side, led her to a nearby hospital bed, and gave her a calming draught.

"Albus," he croaked.

"Not here, my boy. Not now."

With those whispered words, Albus returned to the Weasleys side, putting a gnarled hand on Arthur's shoulder as Molly wept. Arthur was several years older than him, but the years had never seemed so much as they did now. The older man was weighed down by an impossible grief, and looked as if he might die from it. The children all looked impossibly young, looking down on their dead and impossibly younger sister who would never grow up…

A horrible feeling of guilt washed over him, overpowering in its strength. To think, he had been relieved when he realized it was Ginny Weasley…when he realized it wasn't Hazel. What kind of person did that make him? He never fancied himself a good man, but he had never been glad of a child's death either.

But that wasn't it. It was Hazel's survival he was glad of. She was the one he swore to protect, she was the one…the Chosen One, on whom all their hopes rested. If she had died…his life wouldn't be worth living. He would have been destroyed, with nothing to live for but the memory of two dead women he had loved and wanted nothing more than to protect. But as it was, he saw Arthur weeping in earnest now, supported by his oldest boy. To think, that had he not happened upon Hazel that night, he and Albus might be weeping in his stead.

A violent blast of magic issued from Hazel, who was gripping her knees and sobbing. The heat of anger gave way to a cold hopelessness, an icy chill that reminded him of Azkaban. That the girl could be feeling this…he longed to reach out to her, but his duty kept him pinned to the bed. Somehow, the Dark Lord had returned. The brand on his arm spoke to that. He would have to retreat to the shadows, leave someone else to fill the role of guardian and protector. He mourned for Hazel's lost innocence, and his own dark fate.

*HP*

Ginny was dead, and it was her fault. It had all been like a game to her before, one refereed by Albus and Professor Snape, who would ensure no real harm came to anyone. Everything would be all right, because it was Hogwarts and it had to be. She had believed that, even as she sought answers, because Hogwarts was safe, Hogwarts was home, and Albus was here…

But she had kept him at arm's length because she was afraid. She didn't believe in him, as he had believed in her. Hazel had given him too little credit, assumed he would cart her off to the loony bin, when even Daphne and Hermione knew better. The portrait was right. She was a fool. She was one of the monsters. An unwitting monster, but a monster all the same. Ginny was dead, the Weasleys broken, and it was all her fault, because she hadn't trusted Albus or the professor, who had proved time and again they were on her side.

Madam Pomfrey cast a sticking spell to keep her on the bed, but Hazel still thrashed. She couldn't remember a time when she felt anything so strongly as she felt this guilt and grief. Ginny had been good and kind and didn't deserve to die. Hazel wanted desperately to go back and see it all undone. She would rather Albus think her insane and Snape hate her than for Ginny to be dead—those things could be undone, but death could not be.

"Albus!"

Her voice still did not sound. It was selfish, but she wanted him, the only adult to ever give her comfort. She knew his duty was to the Weasleys, but she needed him, and he had promised to always be there. Why wasn't he here? Why couldn't he stop this? He was Albus Dumbledore, and she believed in him, his greatness and his wisdom. But there was a dead girl not twenty feet away that spoke to his fallibility, and the guilt she was left with proving her own lack of faith. If she had told Albus, this never would have happened.

Madam Pomfrey pulled her into a hug, but Hazel didn't want it. Madam Pomfrey didn't understand. She didn't deserve her compassion. She wanted Professor Snape's anger, or Albus's disappointment. She wanted all the things that six months ago would have left her sad and hurting, because the pain was too much. She didn't want to be human.

A blond head poked through the curtain, and Madam Pomfrey pulled in the hulking form of Dudley Dursley. He had lost weight while Hazel was petrified, was taller and more stocky than fat. His pale face was tinged red, but he didn't hesitate. He went to Hazel's bed and embraced her.

"I missed you," Dudley said, so softly Hazel scarcely believed he had said it. Hazel wrapped her arms around him. She never thought she would find comfort in her cousin, but he was the last of her family. Maybe it was her mother's sacrifice that bound them together, or maybe Dudley had simply grown up while she wasn't looking. Whatever it was, Hazel didn't care, and sobbed into his shoulder as he held her tight.

"It's okay. It's okay."

"Albus," she croaked, surprised to find her voice again.

"He's with the Weasleys. He promised he would be here soon."

And then as if summoned, Albus appeared, looking impossibly old and worn. Hazel grasped Dudley's hand and looked up at Albus with tearful eyes. Albus sat on the bed beside Dudley and took her other hand.

"My dear girl," he said.

"It's my fault. I should have told you."

"No," he said, with such finality that Hazel almost believed him. "You should have told me, yes. But the fault lies with Lord Voldemort alone."

"You could have stopped him, if I told you."

Albus smiled sadly. "If only that were true. I have never been able to stop Lord Voldemort from doing anything, much as I wished it to be so. I could frighten him, for a time, when he was a boy…but his wickedness always found new outlets. Hazel, find comfort in the fact that you did your best, however poor that may seem to you in this moment. You could not have known the outcome, nor even the stakes. You are a child."

"Children can be monsters," she said, recalling the portrait's words.

"Even if that is so," Albus said gently, "You are not among their numbers. You are good and kind, and never forget that."

He fixed her with a piercing look, one that saw into her very soul.

"I don't understand."

He patted her knee. "Someday, Hazel, you will."

But Hazel doubted if someday would ever come. Feeling good and kind seemed as remote and incomprehensible as the portrait's cruel words, on that fateful night, the one that seemed as near as yesterday but was months in the past.

"There was a portrait," Hazel said. "I-I think it must have been Salazar Slytherin. He said the basilisk was his first…he called me a monster. He blamed me for the attacks! But it couldn't have been me, could it?"

"A portrait?"

Hazel nodded, confused by Albus's sudden intensity. "I could…hear…the basilisk. I didn't know what it was, I swear! But it talked to me, and I followed it…I just wanted to know what it was. I wanted to stop it before anyone got hurt. But I got lost in the dungeons, and every turn I took led me back to this creepy portrait. It was empty at first, but then there was an old man with a long silver beard. I asked him for help, but he laughed and called me Tom Riddle. He called me a monster and set the basilisk on me!"

Albus put two warm hands on her shoulders, a solemnity in his eyes that she had never seen. "And what else did this portrait say?"

"He went on and on about immortality and greatness," she said. "He said I had dirty blood and a maimed soul—but, that can't be right? There's nothing wrong with me, is there?"

"Of course not," he said. "You are not to blame, Hazel. Not for any of it."

*HP*

Albus looked older than he ever had. Even though Severus only knew him as an old man, there was always an ineffable energy about him, one of a much younger man. But tonight Albus looked his hundred years. His blue eyes did not twinkle. Tears pooled in the bottom of his eyes. Severus wished he knew what to say, but all that he did know was nothing he could say would make it okay. Not for the Weasleys, not for the girl, not for Albus.

"It's not your fault, Albus."

His voice was still weak and raspy from months of disuse, but the words were confident. The Dark Lord was to blame—how he did not know, but the mark on his arm spoke to that clearly.

"All the children in this castle are under my care."

"You're not God."

Albus hummed in response, standing up, his mourning robes of plain black as dramatic as his festive robes of resplendent magenta. Fawkes crooned behind him, his molting grey feathers heralding the Burning Day soon to come. Albus stroked the phoenix, who nuzzled his hand.

"You did well to protect her."

If it was possible, Albus sounded even more weary. But Severus still didn't have his answers.

"How did the Dark Lord do it? The girl was petrified, so he couldn't have been acting through her."

"I have a theory…my boy, did Hazel tell you of a portrait when she found you?" Albus didn't wait for him to answer. "She told me of a curious portrait, one that seemed to be Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Impossible. No portraits of the Founders exist."

"That we know of, my boy. She shared her memory of that night with me. She thinks the portrait was insane," Albus said, his voice strained. "—but I rather think he saw clearly. Perhaps more clearly than you or I have ever seen the girl."

"Speak sense, Albus."

"As yet, I have only a theory—and what a horrible one it is! – but, my boy, I will not share it with you tonight. As it is, we have a young child to mourn. Let us not add more to that count."

*HP*

The Great Hall was decorated with banners of black, the livery of House colors gone as the whole student body united to mourn Ginny Weasley's death. Parents were interspersed with their children, the great brood of red-headed Weasley's gathered together beside Albus. Professor Snape stood at the back of the hall with the other teachers, all of them watching with sad and solemn faces. Daphne and Hermione sat on either side of her, and the three girls clasped hands. Dudley sat on the other side of the table, a teary-eyed Cedric and stone-faced Adrian beside him.

"Today," Albus said, when a silence settled over the hall. "Today, we acknowledge a terrible loss. I imagine few of you knew Ginny Weasley well—indeed, I did not, for I scarcely had time to get to know her. She was taken from us far too soon. She was just a child, one who had only ever dreamed of coming to Hogwarts with her brothers. She had no time to learn much about herself, and even less time to learn about the wonders of magic. She was painfully shy, but a loyal and true friend to those who knew her well. I mourn this child that I will never get to know, and I weep for her family, and all that could have been. Let us all be reminded that the sweetest of lives are all too short and let us remember that and mourn Ginny Weasley."