Disclaimer: Don't own it. Duh.


Everyone was rushing around. After the most recent attack, there were too many deaths. Too much to do. Harry knew that it was his fault. It had to be. They wouldn't have been targeted it they weren't friends of his. They wouldn't have died if it wasn't for him.

Not paying attention, Harry lied on the couch, facing the back. He could no longer cry, but his face was wet from the tears and he was shaking. He held the knife from Sirius in his hand tightly, not caring that it was cutting deep into his hands. Not caring that his blood was staining the seat. Not caring that he might be losing too much blood.

He vaguely wondered if he was going into shock. At the moment, though, he didn't care as he brushed away the thought. No one else cared, so why should he? After they brought him to headquarters, he was bluntly told that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had killed the entire Weasley and Granger families. Now, they were all busy with something, not paying any notice to the boy who had just lost the only family he had ever known.

Harry didn't notice when the house went quiet, or when a door somewhere in the house slammed shut, causing the portrait of Sirius' mother to start screaming. Didn't notice when the portrait was finally shut up. They didn't even notice he was still there . . .


Severus Snape slammed into the house, then cursed himself as the infuriating portrait started screaming. A few minutes later, after finally getting the curtain closed, he stalked downstairs. At it were, he had no time to warn the Order. The Dark Lord was suspicious at the time, and wouldn't let any servant leave, putting wards around the room to prevent any escapes.

In his attempt to stop it, his cover was blown. He was lucky that he was able to sneak away before the Dark Lord realized exactly what had happened, but the damage was still caused.

What he saw downstairs was the last scene he expected. Potter was there, on the couch, and appeared to be sleeping. But what caught his attention was the dark red stains that cover the lower back of the couch.

"Potter!" he hissed. When he received no response, he went to the brat and turned him over onto his back. "Potter, wake up!" Severus noticed how pale the boy was, and he began to worry. He noticed the knife in the boy's hand, and Severus paled himself.

Taking quick action, he carefully, but quickly, removed the knife from the bloody hands and took out his wand. Whispering an incantation over and over again, he attempted to heal the cuts. He was able to stop the now-slow bleeding, but the wounds were too deep to heal so quickly. Making sure Potter had a pulse, which indeed was dangerously light and slow, Severus ran to the potions stores to grab a few bottles of blood replenishing potion.

Since Potter was still unconscious, it took longer than Severus would have liked to get the boy to swallow the potions. The last one down his throat, Severus checked the boy's pulse. A little stronger, Severus sighed. There was nothing to do but wait to see if the potions were received in time.

Severus assessed the situation more carefully, now that he had nothing to do but watch Potter. By the way the knife was being held, he assumed that a suicide wasn't planned. Probably in shock over what happened, he guessed, then cursed, out loud this time, the ones who decided to tell Potter without staying around to see how it would be handled. He couldn't believe that there was no one in the house to watch a most likely, extremely depressed child.

As much as he hated Potter, he didn't wish for this to happen to him. It was obvious since the brat's first year how close Weasley, Granger, and Potter were, and they had only gotten closer in later years. It was obvious that the brat would take the news very hard. Why hadn't someone taken notice? he wondered. Surely, someone talked with him. It was obvious that no one did, though. He wouldn't be sitting here, waiting to see if the boy died from blood loss, if someone had talked with him.

After about an hour of musing over little facts about Potter, like how he really wasn't much like his father, despite his insolent rule-breaking, and where Potter's relatives were at a crucial time like this, Potter moved slightly. It wasn't much, but enough to show that the boy had gained at least some consciousness. It wasn't much, but it gave Severus a sliver of hope that the boy would survive.

"Potter," Severus tried. He didn't expect an answer, but he saw the boy's body tense up. Taking it as a signal that Potter heard him, he spoke again. "How are you feeling?" he asked in a flat voice, hoping it didn't sound like he cared. Because he didn't.

"Ugh . . ." was the brat's weak answer.

"What a pleasure it is to hear your incoherent mumbling," he sneered in response, hoping it would get an answer.

"If you don't have anything nice to say," Harry said weakly but didn't finish. "Just leave me alone."

"Potter, I found you here, bleeding and nearly dead. Which is what you would be, if I hadn't been here. Show respect."

"Professor, I just want to be left alone."

"And you will be, Potter," Severus said in an oddly soft voice. "Just as soon as I make sure you won't kill yourself."

"Why? I'm sure it would make you happy," the boy whispered.

"You have a life ahead of you, Potter, no matter the obstacles. It will do you no good to waste it by harming yourself, intended or not. Grieve as you must, then move on, Potter," Severus said, then left the boy, without the knife, to think about what he was just told. Severus knew the brat would recover. He recovered from everything. Severus knew the brat wouldn't be ready to start school in a week, but he was willing to help. Even if it was in his own, blunt, crude way, he was willing to help.

That is what would matter in the end.


FIN