Snape lunged forward, kneeling beside Harry, his hand trembling as he searched for a pulse on the boy's exposed neck.

  He had been there for hours, vomiting a pool of bright red blood that now slicked the floor. Was he even alive?

  He had to be alive. Snape couldn't imagine what it would be like if Potter died, especially if it was his fault. What would he live for then?

  Feeling the faint throb of the boy's pulse, Snape shook violently, flicked his wand, and whispered the incantation:

  "_Vitalis Revelio!_"

  A wisp of silver smoke, as fine as silk, streamed from the wand tip, swirling and coalescing into an elliptical screen that hovered just above Harry's chest. The screen glowed faintly, displaying luminous ancient characters that shifted and rearranged themselves, indicating the boy's physical condition. Snape's black eyes widened in horror.

  "Acute blood loss…fever…the poison is likely spreading…Blast it!"

  He scooped Harry into his arms and bolted out of the dungeon, charging straight into his potions lab. With a flick of his wand, he transfigured the bed from his own quarters and placed it there before diving towards the medicine cabinet in the corner.

  "Toxin drain…toxin drain…where is it?" Snape muttered to himself.

  Grabbing a vial tucked deep within the cabinet, he rushed back to Harry, uncorked it, and poured the entire silvery liquid into the boy's mouth. Though unconscious, Harry's body convulsed, resisting the potion.

  "Swallow it, Potter!" Snape hissed. "If you want to live to curse me, then swallow it!"

  He pinched the boy's jaw, forcing him to drink the bitter draught. When the vial was empty, Snape was at the cabinet again, frantically rummaging through it, pushing aside various ingredients until he seized three vials of Blood-Replenishing Potion. This was an extremely rare potion Snape brewed himself, one that stimulated rapid red blood cell production within thirty minutes, highly sought after at St. Mungo's for treating patients with severe blood loss. Uncorking the vials, he poured the liquid into Harry's mouth, then raised his wand, murmuring incantations that sounded like a soft chant.

  If it had been ordinary vomiting of blood, it wouldn't have caused the toxins to spread throughout the body like this. Perhaps in his furious beating of the boy this morning, he had inadvertently damaged his liver, impairing its ability to filter toxins. Snape had never intended to hit the boy, even if he had ruined the potion, but he had lost all control when he heard Harry's curses. He had acted exactly like Tobias Snape: beating a child brutally and then locking him in the cellar.

  He worked frantically until the red blood cell count in Harry's body returned to a stable state. Only then did Snape's violently pounding heart begin to calm. However, the fever persisted. Placing a cool cloth on the boy's forehead, he wiped away the sweat, leaned back against the medicine cabinet, and sighed. Throughout his career as a Potions Master, he had never felt such terror as he did today.

  But Snape's respite was short-lived. Bruises were now visible on Harry's arms. He lifted the boy's shirt and saw more on his ribs and shoulders. Snape buried his face in his hands, filled with immense regret.

  He had sworn he would never follow in the footsteps of his drunken, abusive Muggle father. He had promised Dumbledore he wouldn't torment Potter, and now he had failed on both counts! No matter how insolent and unruly Potter was, he had no right to beat him and lock him away like that. If Lily were alive, she would have every right to kill him.

  Unfortunately, he was out of potions for physical bruises. Snape glanced at his cauldron. He wanted to rest, but his conscience wouldn't allow it. He wanted the bruises on Potter's body to disappear before the boy woke up. Heavily, he walked to his brewing table, raised his wand, intending to cast a Vanishing Charm on the dull orange potion inside. But just then, a layer of ash on the surface caught Snape's attention.

  He scooped it out with a metal spoon. It wasn't ordinary ash; it was the chalky residue characteristic of powdered silver leaf after being heated over low heat for a long time.

  But the potion for Potter's ailment didn't require powdered silver leaf!

  Snape froze, staring down at the glass jar containing powdered silver leaf lying nearby.

  "No. No… I…"

  A memory flashed through his mind: reaching into the ingredient cabinet behind him for powdered green tea while the cauldron was brewing. His eyelids drooped. A fleeting moment of drowsiness. A lapse in control, and he had… grabbed the wrong jar because the colors of the two powders were quite similar.

  "No… it can't be…"

  Snape was stunned, his face paler than the plaster on the walls. He clutched his head, unable to believe the truth.

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  The boy hadn't done anything. It was he, in his weariness, who had made the critical error. Perhaps he had even forgotten to lock the door because he was so desperate to return to his familiar bed.

  "Merlin… no…"

  As Snape carried Harry out of the potions lab, intending to go upstairs, he saw that Dumbledore was already sitting in the living room. Snape froze in his tracks.

  "How long have you been here?" Snape asked.

  "Since you were forcing the potion down his throat. Your face in your office was so distraught that I suspected something was amiss and Flooed here," Dumbledore said coldly. He looked unwell, his face ashen. Perhaps sitting for hours waiting for Snape was a great strain on the health of a man with a charred hand.

  Yet, the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were as sharp as ever, piercing right through Snape. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he asked softly, "Did you see everything?"

  "Yes, I saw everything and waited until you had finished treating him," Dumbledore stood up from the sofa. "Take Harry back to his room, and then you will explain to me why he was in such a critical condition."

  Snape had never seen the Headmaster look so angry. The gaze was like a blade slicing into his heart. After carrying the boy up to the second floor, Snape returned, not knowing how to explain.

  He felt like a student caught red-handed violating a most serious school rule.

  Standing before Dumbledore, Professor Snape didn't dare meet those blue eyes. He stared intently at the floor, recounting everything that had happened, without adding or omitting anything, without making excuses. He had been completely wrong.

  After listening, Dumbledore remained silent for a long while, still looking intently at the man in black robes. Snape would have felt a sense of relief if the Headmaster had simply shouted at him.

  "You have disappointed my trust, Severus," Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice even, but enough to make Snape tremble.

  "I apologize," Snape mumbled.

  "The person you need to apologize to is not me, but Harry," Dumbledore's voice was sharp. "Your behavior was no different from that of a monster. Legally speaking, the Ministry has full authority to intervene and give you a one-way ticket to Azkaban for child abuse."

  Snape remained silent. He had nothing left to defend his actions.

  "What will you do when he wakes up?" Dumbledore asked.

  "I will apologize to him," Snape said softly, still not daring to look Dumbledore in the eye, "and hope for his forgiveness."

  "And if he doesn't forgive you?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

  Snape didn't know what to say, his throat tight with bitterness.

  It would be no surprise if Potter didn't forgive him. If he didn't report it to the Auror Office, that would already be a huge concession.

  "I told you I would not forgive you if you harmed him, Severus," Dumbledore said. "And now it is time for you to pay for your sins."

  Snape raised his head, looking intently into Dumbledore's blue eyes.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Look at Harry properly, for once," Dumbledore said sternly, his eyes sharp. "See him as an individual, not as James's or Lily's son. Cast aside all the prejudices you hold, Severus, and see the kind of person he truly is. Today's mistake arose from the negative bias you have stubbornly held towards Harry for the past five years. I want you to change, Severus, and realize how wrong you have been."

  Throwing Snape an angry and disappointed look, Dumbledore said, "I am too weary from the injury to my hand and must rest for a while, or I won't be able to carry on, but I will return. And Severus, when Harry wakes up, kneel down and beg for his forgiveness."

  With that, he walked to the fireplace and tossed Floo powder into the flames.

  When Harry woke up, his head was pounding, his entire body ached terribly, and his mouth was parched. He didn't recognize the ceiling above him; it didn't seem to be his own room, but at least he wasn't in the cellar anymore. A dark figure in black robes was sitting at the end of the bed, head bowed.

  "Water…" Harry said softly.

  The figure immediately lifted its head, and Snape shot to his feet. "Potter, you're awake."

  Harry looked at his professor, his eyes unfocused, and mumbled, "Water…"

  Snape hurried to the bedside table, a few clinking sounds followed, and he returned with a glass of water. He helped the boy sit up and held the glass to his lips. Harry gulped down half of it.

  He lay back down on the bed, looking out the window. It was pitch black outside.

  "Where am I?" Harry asked quietly.

  "My quarters," Snape hesitated for a moment before answering. "I didn't dare leave you in your own room. It's easier to keep an eye on you here. You have a fever, Potter."

  Harry closed his eyes. Wizards didn't usually suffer from common Muggle ailments like infections or fevers, unless they were the consequence of a magical illness. He had vomited blood in the cellar for too long, thinking he was about to die, and Harry had sincerely wished he could die to be with his parents and Sirius.

  But he was still alive.

  Opening his eyes, Harry said softly, "I didn't go into your potions lab."

  "I know, Potter," Professor Snape replied heavily.

  He took a deep breath, feeling that what he was about to say was the most difficult thing in the world.

  "I apologize to you for what I did. I was… too rash in my accusations and in hurting you. I will not blame you if you cannot forgive me. I was completely wrong. I promise that from now on, I will never do such a thing to you again."

  "Once again, I sincerely apologize."

  Even with a high fever, Harry was stunned into full alertness by Snape's words.

  He was apologizing?

  Was the sky falling?

  He beat him, left him for dead, and then just said sorry? Harry gave a weak smile.

  He looked out at the night sky through the window. The moon was very bright tonight. He wished Luna was here, wished Ron and Hermione were by his side right now.

  If his parents were still alive, he wouldn't have ended up in this situation, would he?

  Harry turned back, looking directly at Professor Snape, and said, "You always called my father a coward. I used to despise his actions myself when I saw the memories in the Pensieve, but today, I have seen someone even worse. Severus Snape, you cursed my father, but you are not even a tenth of the man he was."

  "You shouldn't have saved me. If I had died today, I would probably be with my parents and Sirius now."

  "You led him to his death, and you almost killed me too. I do not accept your apology, Snape."

  Harry's green eyes stared fixedly at the Potions Master. A cold and hateful gaze.

  "Please leave, I want to rest," he said.

  Then, Harry pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

  The room fell into absolute silence, until a long time later, a time that felt like a century, he heard Professor Snape's footsteps receding and the wooden door closing.

  Harry opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, his mind filled with thoughts of Ron, Hermione, and Luna.

  A single tear rolled down his cheek.