Harry drifted into a feverish sleep. It was a restless slumber filled with phantoms of Sirius falling through the Veil and Bellatrix's triumphant laughter. Then, in his hazy state, he felt someone grip his jaw and pour a cool liquid into his mouth. Harry wanted to push them away, but he was too exhausted. And then he fell asleep again, this time without any dreams.

  When he awoke, it was daylight. Dumbledore was sitting right beside his bed.

  "Good morning, Harry," he smiled, his eyes looking sunken. "Are you feeling any better?"

  The Headmaster had returned to Hogwarts the previous night. Despite his exhaustion, he had only managed a short nap, spending the rest of the night contemplating what had happened to Harry. He couldn't escape his own responsibility in the matter, as he was the one who had asked the boy to stay in Spinner's End, confidently asserting that Professor Snape would not harm him.

  Harry raised a hand to his forehead. His fever had subsided, and his body ached less, but he still felt weak. He realized his clothes had been changed into pajamas.

  "Professor Snape stayed up all night watching over you," Dumbledore said. "He offered to take over when I arrived this morning just before dawn."

  Harry shuddered. So that meant Snape had changed his clothes?

  Oh, God…

  In his entire life, probably only Aunt Petunia had ever changed his clothes when he was a tiny baby, too young to be aware. The thought of a stranger, and that stranger being the old git he loathed like poison, Snape, doing it…

  This was bloody awful.

  He turned to look at the Headmaster, saying flatly, "What are you doing here?"

  It was one of the most difficult conversations of Dumbledore's life. Harry had trusted and listened to him, only for Dumbledore to shatter that trust. He wasn't yelling or smashing things around the room like the last time the two of them had spoken after the uproar at the Ministry. Of course, he was ill, but even if he were healthy, Dumbledore suspected he wouldn't. Instead, Harry's indifferent gaze made the apology even more agonizing to utter.

  "It was my fault," Dumbledore said heavily. "Even in my wildest imaginings, I could never have foreseen that Professor Snape would do such a thing to you. Merlin knows, I am utterly, utterly shocked and angry, Harry."

  He raised a hand as if to touch Harry's shoulder, but withdrew it when he saw the boy flinch away. His thin hands clenched, the veins standing out as if he were trying to suppress a fury that wasn't directed at Harry.

  "I was wrong," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "For trusting too much in the self-control of a wounded man. I apologize, Harry, not as your Headmaster, but as someone who promised to protect you. I trusted Severus because he has always kept his promises… albeit in the harshest way. But I forgot that a heart full of scars can wound others because it doesn't know how to heal itself."

  "I have asked Professor Snape to apologize to you," Dumbledore continued. "I believe it will be a blow to his deepest pride."

  Harry remained silent, looking out the window as if he hadn't heard a word Dumbledore was saying.

  "But after a long night, I realize that is not enough. I will ask Snape to make an Unbreakable Vow with me."

  It was this statement that finally made Harry turn to look at Dumbledore with disbelief.

  "An Unbreakable Vow?" he exclaimed, remembering Ron's story about how the twins had once nearly tricked him into making one when they were younger.

  "If Professor Snape ever hits or locks you in the cellar again, he will die," Dumbledore said simply, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the next day's weather.

  "So from now on, Snape won't hit me because he's afraid of dying, not because I deserve to be treated kindly? That sounds really… heartwarming," Harry laughed, a twisted smile on his face. "You know what? Maybe I should thank Snape. Thanks to him, I've learned that even the promise of the person I trusted most can be broken. Now I don't have to have any illusions about anyone anymore."

  As Harry uttered those words, the room seemed to be enveloped in a thick silence. Dumbledore's usually wise eyes flickered quickly, as if he had just been stabbed in a vital spot. His half-moon spectacles slipped down his thin nose, but he didn't bother to push them back up. The hand resting on his knee trembled slightly, his wrinkled fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his robes, unconsciously twisting it into creases. For a moment, an unconcealed pain flashed across Dumbledore's face, his wrinkles seeming to deepen. He let out a long breath, a breath that trembled as if it were about to dissolve into a sob.

  "You are not wrong…" he said, his voice low and rough. "I deserve those words from you."

  Bowing his head, his shoulders slumped in a gesture of surrender, he no longer seemed like the greatest wizard of the century, but just an old man who had just realized he had lost the last precious thing: the trust of the child who had once seen him as a beacon of light. His shadow on the wall seemed to shrink, and in that moment, one could see that Albus Dumbledore was not a legendary figure, but just a human being, with all his weaknesses and regrets.

  Harry had never seen Dumbledore like this before.

  He had expected an explanation, a knowing shrug, or even the inscrutable, profound gaze that the Headmaster often used when he wanted to avoid a direct answer. But no. There was only a trembling old man in front of him, his hands clasped tightly together as if to hide their shaking. It was then that Harry noticed Dumbledore's charred hand, shriveled like deadwood. Combined with his weary, sickly appearance and sunken eyes, Harry suddenly guessed that something very serious must have happened to him recently.

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  A cold sensation spread from his chest to his throat. Harry swallowed hard, suddenly realizing he was clenching his teeth so tightly that his temples throbbed. He felt the anger inside him strangely deflate.

  "I don't forgive Snape," Harry said, his voice low, "but… I don't want you to go through anything like that again either."

  He gestured to Dumbledore's blackened hand.

  "The Unbreakable Vow… alright. But I don't need it."

  Dumbledore was silent, his eyes brightening slightly, but still cautious.

  "Harry…"

  "But if Professor Snape ever touches me again," Harry continued, his voice calm but with an underlying threat, "so help me God, I will make him pay under the law. And when that happens, don't expect anyone, not even you, to plead for Snape."

  A moment of silence. Then Dumbledore nodded, a small but significant nod.

  "I understand."

  Harry struggled to sit up in bed, swaying slightly, his head swimming. Dumbledore quickly stood up to support him. Harry stiffened slightly but didn't push him away. The two of them left the room and walked to the bathroom door. He stopped, his voice softer.

  "And… you should go back to school and rest. You look terrible. I hope when I'm better, you'll tell me why your hand is burned like that."

  Then he opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Dumbledore standing there, his charred hand trembling slightly, but this time not from pain. A small smile touched his lips – not one of happiness, but one of recognition that even with the cracks still there, Harry was still Harry, still caring in his own way.

  After Harry finished his personal hygiene, he returned to the room to change into a fresh set of clothes and went downstairs, still having to hold onto the banister and occasionally experiencing dizziness. He walked slowly, his legs a little shaky. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, having probably Flooed back to Hogwarts.

  There were footsteps from the hallway. Snape emerged from the kitchen, and upon seeing Harry, he walked to the bottom of the stairs, as if on guard, fearing Harry might stumble and fall at any moment. Harry noticed this and gave a faint smile. As he stepped onto the last stair, Snape reached out and touched his forehead. Harry flinched, instinctively recoiling, but the man's hand held him firmly.

  "Quiet, let me check your temperature," he muttered, his voice noticeably softer than usual.

  Snape waved his wand and scanned Harry briefly before releasing him.

  "Better than yesterday, but still feverish. Perhaps by late evening you will be well again."

  He avoided the boy's eyes. After the incident in the cellar, though unspoken, he knew that all the efforts of the past two weeks had come to nothing, and they would have to start over. Not to mention that Harry's body would be weaker and more susceptible to illness due to his severely compromised immune system. And it was all Snape's fault.

  Breakfast was already laid out. Harry sat and ate as usual. He had no intention of starving himself or making a show of cooking for himself. He was too tired to play games with Snape. However, still feverish and weak, he swallowed the food as if chewing stones. Snape also remained silent, eating while reading the latest issue of the Daily Prophet, but Harry was certain that once or twice, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the professor watching him.

  While eating, Harry suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening. He leaned to the side and vomited violently. The food had barely reached his stomach, mixed with fresh blood that splattered onto the kitchen floor. Snape shot to his feet, flicked his wand to summon a vial of potion from his lab, went to Harry, and poured it down his throat. The movement was swift, but his demeanor wasn't as harsh as before. Harry snatched the vial and gulped it down. The nausea subsided, but his whole body trembled, and he broke out in a cold sweat, his limbs feeling heavy.

  "I will brew more potion for you," Snape muttered. "We will need to increase the dosage by one every day."

  Harry said nothing. He stood up, wanting to go upstairs, but his legs wobbled, threatening to give way. Snape reached out to support him, but Harry brushed his hand away. The professor stood watching him struggle to hold onto the kitchen furniture to stand, his brow furrowed. Snape walked over and picked the boy up. Harry flinched and hissed angrily, "Put me down!"

  "Quiet, I don't want you to fall and die here," Snape mumbled.

  Harry gritted his teeth and whispered, "I don't forgive you, Snape."

  The man's body stiffened, his black eyes contracted, but immediately returned to their normal state. He said nothing and walked straight upstairs, his steps quick.

  Holding him in his arms, Snape noticed how thin the boy was. Although he had always been slender, he was clearly thinner than before. Probably due to the illness. He silently suppressed a heavy sigh.

  As Snape pushed open the door to Harry's room, a snowy owl swooped in through the window.

  "Amber!" the boy exclaimed joyfully and struggled to get down immediately. He stumbled, almost falling as he ran towards the owl, taking the package and letter.

  It wasn't one of the Weasleys' owls. Snape had been observing Potter closely as he was responsible for his safety. He was slightly surprised and asked, "Whose owl is that?"

  Harry excitedly tore open the package, revealing a book with a cover depicting a man in a saffron robe. He turned back and said, "Luna's."

  "What did she send?" Snape frowned. He knew Potter had become friendly with the odd Ravenclaw girl towards the end of the previous school year, but he hadn't expected the boy to be so delighted to receive a gift from her.

  Harry didn't answer, unfolding the letter and reading it, a smile spreading across his face. Snape had never seen him smile like that before, a gentle smile, so different from the way he laughed with Weasley or Granger, and certainly never directed at him. The light filtering through the narrow window frame cast a thin, honey-colored layer over Harry. The boy sat on the floor, his thin legs drawn up slightly to his chest. His messy black hair caught the warm sunlight, the fine strands shimmering like silk as he tilted his head slightly. His emerald eyes sparkled, luminous like a lake touched by the wind, the sunlight passing through them making them so clear that Snape, standing at the door, could even see the reflection of the words on the paper.

  The letter was written on familiar yellow parchment, the neat script very pretty.

  "Dear Harry,

  I just found this book in a shop in Devon. The owner said it had been waiting for you on the shelf for two years. I finished reading it in just two days and thought it was wonderful.

  The book is about destiny – not the kind Professor Trelawney talks about with her gloomy prophecies. It tells about how everyone we meet comes into our lives for a reason, whether it's to love us, to teach us a lesson, or simply… to remind us to drink chamomile tea before bed (like my dad always does). They come because of fate, and they leave because of fate, not sooner, not later, all within a delicate plan of the universe, not at all random. After reading it, I feel so lucky that we have had enough fate to know each other.

  I thought you might like it. Or not. But if you finish reading it and feel sleepy, don't worry – it's just the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks trying to steal your negative thoughts. They quite like philosophical books!

  I hope you get better soon. And remember, if Professor Snape annoys you, just imagine him wearing a pot on his head – I've tried it, it works very well!

  Always believing in the extraordinary,

  Luna

  P.S. I drew a Moonfrog for you in the corner of the letter. It's smiling^^"

  Looking down at the cover of the book, "All Things Arise from Destiny," and the image of the monk in his saffron robes, Harry murmured softly, "Wish you were here right now, Luna."

  Snape stood motionless, hearing those words, and with a gentle movement, he stepped out and closed the door.