Harry awoke to cold stone beneath his cheek and the heavy hush of the Hospital Wing. Candlelight flickered overhead. Every muscle ached, and for a moment, he couldn't remember why.
Then the images came flooding back—the Dementors, Sirius collapsing, Snape bleeding, and that blinding silver stag.
He sat up sharply.
"Easy, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey, rushing over with her usual fuss. "You're lucky you're not worse off. The others are still recovering."
"The others?" Harry asked, blinking hard.
"Your professor, Mr. Black, Mr. Malfoy..." She hesitated. "Even Professor Lupin. Though he's been... moved."
Harry pushed the blankets aside. "Where's Snape? Is he—?"
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "He insisted on being discharged early. Said there was 'too much idiocy' happening for him to rest properly. I warned him—half his robes were torn open, and he lost a dangerous amount of blood."
She looked at Harry with unusual softness. "He nearly died protecting you all, you know."
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know."
---
The Weight of Silence
Later that night, Harry found Snape outside, standing alone by the edge of the Black Lake, robes flapping in the breeze. His left arm was wrapped in bandages. He didn't turn when Harry approached.
"You should be resting," Snape said flatly.
"You too."
Snape huffed, a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "I don't rest, Potter. Not really."
They stood in silence for a long while, the moon's reflection rippling in the dark water.
"You saved us," Harry said at last.
"I did what needed to be done."
"You almost died."
"I've done that before."
Harry frowned. "But why? You hate Sirius. You don't like me. So why risk—?"
Snape finally turned, his eyes catching the moonlight. "Because I made a promise. A long time ago. To someone who meant more than my pride."
Harry stared at him. "My mum?"
Snape didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The silence between them changed—no longer heavy with suspicion, but with something else. Understanding, maybe. Or at least the start of it.
After a while, Snape spoke again, his voice lower now. "That Patronus… The stag. It wasn't mine."
Harry's heart skipped. "I saw it. Across the lake."
Snape studied him closely. "Then you understand. You're more like your father than I care to admit. But… that was Lily's magic, too. Her strength."
Harry swallowed. "I thought it was my dad."
"No," Snape said. "It was yours."
Harry blinked. "Mine?"
Snape nodded slowly. "You conjured it. In the moment when it mattered most. You found it in yourself."
"But… I didn't even know how."
"You didn't need to," Snape said. "That's the thing about true magic. It finds its way when your heart is clear."
Harry looked away, unsure of what to say. Part of him wanted to argue. Another part—deep down—knew it was true.
---
A Moment Unspoken
As they stood watching the lake, Snape spoke once more, softer than before.
"What happened in that Shack... it wasn't justice. It was survival. Justice may still come—for Black, for Pettigrew. But it won't be clean. It never is."
Harry glanced up. "And you?"
"I don't know what I deserve," Snape said. "But I know what I want to protect. That will have to be enough."
He turned then, stepping away.
"Wait," Harry called. "Professor."
Snape paused.
Harry hesitated, then said, "Thanks."
Snape didn't smile. But something in his eyes flickered—like warmth behind glass.
He gave a small nod, then vanished into the shadows, his robes swirling behind him like smoke.
---
Meanwhile…
In a quiet corner of the castle, Draco Malfoy sat alone in the Slytherin common room, staring into the fire. His father's letter burned a hole in his pocket.
So Pettigrew was the traitor. Not Sirius. Not the man his father had warned him about.
Snape had protected Potter.
And Draco wasn't sure who he was supposed to hate anymore.