Albus entered the rooms of the History professor early in the morning. As always the past weeks when he visited those particular quarters, he felt the sadness and emptiness that lingered in them. Retrieving the tests Harry had designed for his NEWT classes, he turned to leave when a soft sob caught his attention.
"Phoebe?" In a corner of the room, his secretary sat huddled in a tight ball of misery. Knees pulled up to her chin, arms hugging her shins and tears pouring down her face.
"Come, child," he gently coaxed her up and led her to the couch, "my poor girl, it has been too much for you, has it not?"
Accepting the lurid pink handkerchief, Phoebe rubbed her face, not caring about the Muggle cosmetics that she used to make her scar stand out less.
"Harry's dying, Albus," she finally said, her voice flat and hopeless. "I'm going to lose him. He has days, perhaps. I – he is in so much pain, he…today he requested that I find someone…"
She couldn't bring herself to finish.
"Find someone to finish it?" Albus softly supplied, tears running down his own face.
"He said the Killing Curse is mercifully painless. He asked me if I could not do it myself, to find someone who can. But how can we, Albus? I can summon up anger and hate at the fates for taking him from me, but I can't hate Harry! And I don't want to!"
Her voice had gotten a hysterical note to it and the Headmaster pulled her in his arms.
"My poor children," he whispered, "I still hope for a cure for Harry, but it is not entirely true that the Killing Curse works only on hate. It works on intense emotions, and hate is summoned most easily of those. But intense love will make it work as well. I beg you, however, do not give up yet. There must be a way."
Phoebe sighed deeply. "His healer is coming by this afternoon. Come with me, Albus? You and Severus? Harry and I need your support, and Harry wants to say goodbye to Severus before…before he gets so ill he scares the boy out of his wits."
sssssssss
That day at breakfast, Dumbledore made the most difficult announcement he ever had to make.
After calling for silence, he stood up, his eyes already watery. "Children – I have bad news. You all know Professor Potter has been on sick leave for a while now. It is becoming clear that he…that he won't be coming back…"
Chaos emerged in the room while the Headmaster tried to regain his composure.
"QUIET!" Hermione roared, her own face wet with tears.
"Thank you, professor," Dumbledore nodded sadly at the Potions Mistress, "Professor Potter is dying. The curses he sustained during the war have become unmanageable. His own magic reserves have depleted staving off the inevitable. Unless a miracle happens, he will not outlive this week."
The silent students solemnly regarded the old wizard. Many were crying, including a large portion of Slytherin House. Fiona sobbed quietly.
"We live in a world that is full of miracles. However, we also live in a world where death has long been our close companion. Death is…is the final adventure…and knowing Harry Potter, he will enjoy that adventure to the fullest, even if both he and we wish he would stay with us much longer. Sometimes, despite all our magic, there is no choice."
Dumbledore sat down, his eyes on his plate, fearing that if he looked up, he would see a green-eyed boy sit at the Gryffindor table with his friends, always in that same spot, the place where he had seen him grow from eager child to determined adolescent.
Whispers began to emerge, but the inhabitants of the castle had lost their appetites and the Hall emptied early.
"Is Phoebe with Harry?" Hermione asked timidly, "do you want me to babysit Severus today so you can join them?"
Albus shook his head. "I'm taking Severus with me this afternoon. Harry wants to say goodbye to him first, before the effects of his illness are…are too visible."
sssssssss
Molly sobbed into her husband's shoulder.
"Oh, Arthur, I can't believe this, it can't be happening, not now that he was finally happy…"
The balding man tried in vain to comfort his wife while fighting with his own emotions. His twin sons had come to the Burrow, but had locked themselves in to their old room as they always did when they had been upset as children.
"We can't…can't begrudge him going to his parents and Sirius," Arthur muttered, "but Phoebe, poor Phoebe…"
ssssssssssss
The Headmaster slowly walked the corridor to Harry's room, slow not only because of grief, but also to adjust to the walking speed of the child holding his hand.
"Harwy now?" Severus asked. Dumbledore picked him up.
"We will see Harry soon," he kissed the dark head, "do you remember what I told you, sweetheart? Harry is very sick, and the Healers can't help him anymore. Harry will be going away soon, and he won't be able to come back. That's why he wanted to say goodbye to us."
The child's lip trembled. "Harwy not go, Sev'rus want Harwy to stay!"
"We all want Harry to stay, darling," Dumbledore cuddled the boy, "but we don't always get to choose."
They walked into the room. Phoebe smiled and held out her hands to Severus, who let himself be lifted in to her arms.
"Harry is very sick, honey, so you have to be quiet. Can you do that?"
Overwhelmed with the impressions of the hospital room, Severus nodded. Phoebe approached the bed, where the pale and thin face of her husband rested on a pillow, his green eyes closed.
"Harry, love? Albus and Severus are here."
Harry slowly opened his eyes and despite the immense pain, managed a smile. "Hello Severus. How is my boy?"
"H-Harwy?" Severus's eyes filled with tears.
"Come, junior, come give me a hug," Harry invited. Phoebe gently lowered the boy on the bed where Harry managed to get his arms around him. Severus stroked Harry's face.
"Harwy sick," he concluded sadly.
"Yes, Harry is sick," the young man admitted, "Will you be a good boy and give Phoebe lots of cuddles for me when I'm away? And much, much later, when you're all grown up and an old man, you're going to come on the adventure too and we'll have lots of fun, alright?"
Severus nodded. "Here," he slung his favourite stuffed animal onto Harry's chest, "Harry have Bo."
"Sweetheart, are you sure? You always take Bo everywhere." Phoebe sat next to them.
"Harwy needs Bo," Severus explained, "Harwy not be alone."
Suddenly Harry looked away. "Take him away, Phoebe," he said, his voice tight with tears, "Please. I don't want him to see me fall apart. Take him away."
Phoebe lifted the boy and handed him to Dumbledore.
"Alright, love, it's alright," she whispered as she kissed Harry's face, "it's alright."
"I need to sleep a bit," her husband's eyes closed again, "Phoebe?"
"I'll be here when you wake up," she promised.
A little while later, Dumbledore and Phoebe sat with the Healer next to Harry's bed. Severus was playing with some empty potions bottles on the floor.
"I won't try to deceive you," the Healer sighed, "Mr. Potter has days at best."
"We already suspected," Dumbledore held Phoebe's hand in his, "is there nothing, nothing at all that you can do?"
"No," the Healer answered, "Mr Potter did not want to try the treatment we developed, and there is no other…"
"Wait," Phoebe interrupted, "what treatment? He didn't mention it."
"Didn't he?" the Healer looked at the boy. "That you brought the child made me hope he had reconsidered…See, we know of course that child is Severus Snape. We have wands and diagnostic spells as well. And since everyone else bearing the Dark Mark is dead, the boy is the only chance Mr Potter has."
"Severus no longer has a Mark," Dumbledore shook his head.
"He does. The link to You Know Who is gone, but the dark magic that created it still lingers. We can extract it and use it to neutralize the dark magic in Mr Potter's body. We have found that sometimes it takes dark magic to defeat dark magic. However, Mr Potter refused because of the risks to the boy."
Phoebe stared at Severus. "What risks?"
"Mr Snape bore the Mark for so long it's magic has integrated with his own. Extracting it could cause him to go into shock and die. That he is now a child could prove either a curse or a blessing. His body is more likely to go into shock, but his link to his magic is not as strong now as when he was an adult, presumably making it easier for his body to adjust. It could go either way. He could die or end up a squib. A wide variety of things can go wrong. Mr Potter felt it was wrong to subject the child to that and has forbidden us to contact you about it. However, he is now dying…"
"You broke your promise," Harry's voice rasped, "I told you I won't risk Junior."
"Harry…" Albus took the nearly skeletal hand in his, "why didn't you say anything? We could have discussed it."
"No, Albus," Harry's voice sounded strong and sure, "You will NOT risk Severus for me, not again. You have made him put his life on the line for me too many times."
He then turned to this wife. "Phoebe…"
"Shhh, my love," she softly placed her finger on his lips, "I know. I cannot bear to lose you, but Severus's life is not ours to take. If we would – well, there are things much worse than death…"
Despite her brave words, she collapsed, hid her head on Harry's chest and cried.
Albus sat in shock. He stared at the boy, then back at Harry and at the boy again. He moaned softly as old memories came rushing back, all the times he had chosen Harry over his Potions Master, the hurt look on the adult Severus's face at Harry's first leaving feast, after his third year, all the times Severus had risked everything to save Harry and was scorned and ridiculed as a reward.
What kind of a monster was he, that even now he would not immediately reject anything that endangered his child?
"Albus," Phoebe's broken voice brought him from his tortured thoughts, "don't blame yourself. This is a choice no one should ever have to make. You don't have to make it. That was Harry's point in keeping it from us, so that we wouldn't have to."
Dumbledore looked up at her. "I made that choice over and over again in the past. I – can't let Harry die, but I can't risk Severus either…"
"You have to let me die, Albus," Harry smiled, "You said it yourself when I was eleven. Death is not so bad, just the next great adventure. Tom once said…" he gasped for breath and coughed, "Tom once said that I lived on borrowed time. I'm glad…Phoebe," he reached for her, "love you, Phoebe."
"Shhhh, rest now, love," Phoebe stroked the dark hair, "rest. I love you, Harry."
"No, Phoebe. Pain…enough now. Do…Killing Curse. End it," he wheezed.
Helplessly, Phoebe turned to Albus. "I can't, Albus! Please…"
Dumbledore hesitated. Then he pointed his wand at the suffering young man.
"Morpheus Maxima," he cast the strongest sleep spell he knew.
Harry slumped back, his body relaxing in the first real sleep he'd had in days.
"This works only once," Dumbledore lowered his head, "he will not wake up again until he is cured, or dies."
Harry Potter slept, blissfully unaware of the grieving people staring at his now comatose form.