The stiff and unyielding Potion's Master made his way hurriedly toward the school infirmary. Anyone who knew him well enough would see he was deeply upset. The news had filtered down to him late in the afternoon. "Potter was there again." He had to wait until now to be sure of secrecy. At this late hour, he was sure to have the place to himself with the boy. It had to be this way, it was the only way to keep him safe. As he stepped into the vast room, his eyes searched for the familiar form with the pale skin and the ravenblack hair.

Spotting him on the small bed in the far corner, he hurried over, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He rested his wrist on the boy's forehead. "Hot." He muttered. He brushed a stray lock of hair aside and took a pale hand in his. A frown creased his face with worry. "I'm sorry you had to go through this again, Harry." He said softly. "It certainly isn't fair to you."

He sat there, silently studying the still face. "He looks so much like James. I hate him for that." He thought angrily to himself.

His face twisted into an ugly mask. "No. That's not why I hate you. I hate you because you are mine and no one can know." He thought bitterly.

An hour or even more passed. He sat there silently, holding the boy's hand. Once in a while he would brush the hair from his face. The boy was restless in his sleep. A tear glittered in the corner of his eye. The older man's visage softened as he brushed it away. "No, that's not true. I don't hate you. I can't. I love you. I have to love you because you are her son, because you're mine." He sighed sadly.

He slowly rose to his feet and brushed the hair aside. He bent and placed a brief, soft kiss on the fevered brow. He turned and silently left the room as dawn approached.