Harry heard McGonagall, but he couldn't get himself to move. He stood blankly in place. His eldest son took his hand a moment later and pulled— his blood-slicked hand gripping tightly to Harry's sweaty palm—but Harry resisted.

"No," he said. He felt liable to vomit. "No, I have to—I'm going with my son,"

"Harry," McGonagall said, "Let Poppy—"

"No! No, I need to be there, I'm going there. I don't want him—alone," brief memories of all his nights alone in the Hospital Wing. Harry's hands were quivering; James tightened his grip as if to steady Harry, and that only made him feel worse. He was the dad—he should've been comforting James. But he couldn't function beyond his panic. "Send James and Lily to Molly and Arthur's...do whatever you want with Carrow, I don't care, I just need to be with my son."

McGonagall parted her lips as if to argue, but she never got the chance. Lily raced over to Harry's side and took his other hand.

"I'm going, too! I want to see Albus!"

"No, Lily, you need to go to—"

"He's my brother!" Lily exploded, outraged. "I'm going too!"

"You are not!" Harry boomed, both louder and harsher than he'd meant to. Lily burst into frightened, furious tears. Harry had seen her cry more this month than he had the entirety of her last year, but he didn't have time for this. He didn't have time to argue with his stubborn daughter—he just needed to find Al, needed to make sure that he was okay (alive), needed to make sure that he wasn't alone.

Lily snatched her hand from his and turned around so her back was to Harry. He ran a quivering hand through his hair and took a steadying breath.

"Lulu," he said gently. "You're going to Gran and Grandad's house. AND THEN—" he had to raise his voice to near screaming-volumes to drown out her angry cry. "You'll get to visit Al once he's stable. Okay?"

Sad, broken sniffling. Both Lily and Harry turned towards it. Scorpius's head was bowed as he cried softly. He was so upset he was physically shivering as if he'd been immersed in ice water. McGonagall was fixated on him, desperately patting his back, whispering things Harry couldn't make out from where he was standing, but it didn't seem to be doing much good. Lily shot one last hateful look Harry's way and then crossed over to Scorpius. She wrapped him up in her arms in a way so reminiscent of her mother that it made Harry heartsick. Scorpius was still shaking.

"Please, send them all to Molly," Harry begged McGonagall. He began edging backwards, the frantic anxiety pulsating through him making it impossible to remain still. "First thing. She can get Scorpius to Draco."

He shook from James's grip and turned, bolting down the corridors, indifferent to anything but getting to the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible. He collided painfully with Neville right as he sped into the corridor right outside of the Hospital Wing doors.

"Harry!" Neville cried frantically, but Harry pushed him to the side and kept moving, on and on, through the doors, his eyes scanning the beds—

There. His son. Feeble, pale, purple streaks spanning across his torso, his arms, his legs. Madam Pomfrey's hands were trembling just slightly as she poured some silver concoction over Albus's skin. Harry knew from that small sight that her efforts were not going well at all.

And Albus—hemorrhaging internally, blood dripping from his nose and his ears, face ashen—was asking for his mother. Over and over, his voice younger and more frightened than Harry had heard in years. It pulled out the most instinctive pain Harry had ever felt. His stomach bottomed out. His eyes burned. He could've doubled over from the intensity of it. All he knew was that this was his child. His suffering (dying?) child. And he couldn't do anything to ease his pain. Nothing had ever hurt worse, and he'd felt every pain out there.

"I want my mum," Albus wept, "please, I want my dad and mum. Please."

"Shh now, Potter, don't speak, don't get upset—"

"I want to tell them— I want to see them!" Albus insisted. And it occurred to Harry that Albus thought he was dying. His legs grew weak and threatened to buckle from underneath him. He was at Albus's bedside in an instant, his hands quick to settle on his son's face.

"I'm here, Al, it's okay," Harry comforted. He used the sleeve of his cloak to wipe at the blood streaming from his son's nose. Albus seemed horribly disoriented.

"Dad," he said, "Dad, it hurts, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't!"

"What? No. No, Al, don't apologize, there's nothing to apologize for," Harry said. His cloak sleeve was already drenched in blood, but the blood was still pouring out. Harry was gasping for breaths. He turned to look at Pomfrey. "Fix this, fix it!"

"I have to send him to St. Mungo's. I don't know what else to do. Neville says this is what—..."

Madam Pomfrey broke off. Harry paused the pointless staunching of Albus's nose and glared at her.

"What? What?!"

"Harry." Neville crossed over to Albus's bed. He was teary-eyed. "I think the Carrows used this during the Battle of Hogwarts. We found the bodies at the end. We didn't know what...they were just drained of all their blood...but their skin looked like this."

Harry stared at Neville until Neville was a blurry mass. He couldn't understand what Neville was saying. It didn't make any sense. That couldn't be true. Because this was Albus. This was Harry's son. He couldn't.

His horrified disbelief was ruptured by the sudden, panicked sound of Albus choking. Harry spun back around and Madam Pomfrey rushed forward. Albus's lips were parted; dark ruby blood was bubbling up his throat, spilling frothy and thick from his lips. His green eyes were widened in panic, his nails clawing at his throat, a horrible, retching sound tearing from him as he struggled to inhale.

"Harry! Harry, what's going on?! My mum said McGonagall said—"

There was the sound of something falling. A horrified cry. Harry couldn't even get himself to move long enough to glance back at his wife.

"Roll him over!" Pomfrey shrieked at Harry, tearing through his frozen state. He quickly shoved Albus over onto his side. Ginny reached the bedside right as Pomfrey began siphoning blood from their son's throat.

"What happened?! Harry, what happened?!"

"Longbottom! Neville, get the gurney, get the Floo powder, tell them all you know, tell them we're coming, tell them it's critical—"

Neville tripped in his haste to obey. Albus began choking again in the brief second Pomfrey had stopped her siphoning. Ginny's hands were on Albus's purple chest, shaking and searching, as if there were a way to help him that she hadn't yet found. Albus was peering up at her, an odd expression in his eyes. Harry realized, with a sickening lurch to his heart, that it was hope. Like she might be able to fix this. Like he was five years ago again, running to mummy with a skinned knee; like a kiss and a quick healing charm could mend it all.

"Mum," he said, "I'm—" he coughed hard; blood spurted all over Ginny's face, all over Pomfrey's arm. He began seizing violently right afterwards. His eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw locked, barring Pomfrey from being able to siphon anymore. Blood trickled at an alarming rate from his ear canal; his eyes grew distant. Pomfrey panicked.

"Now! Longbottom, tell them we're coming now—I don't care how long the wait is!"

"No," Ginny gasped, as Pomfrey levitated Albus onto the gurney and rushed towards the fireplace in what seemed like an impossible amount of time. Ginny darted after them. "Not without me! Not without me! Don't you dare!"

But Pomfrey had already exclaimed 'St. Mungo's!' by the time Ginny reached them. Albus disappeared from them in a swirl of green. Harry's knees buckled. He hardly felt the sting as his knees slammed the ground. He thought he might be sick, and his entire sleeve was drenched with his son's blood, and the bed he'd been on was red, and Harry couldn't lose him, he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't—

His wife slammed into him. Her hands gripped the front of his cloak.

"What happened?! What the hell happened?! What's wrong with our son?!"

Harry couldn't find the words. Ginny shook him.

"Harry!"

Without warning, after a few more long moments of his stunned silence, she burst into tears. Overcome with the horror of what they'd both seen, she fell back onto her bottom on the floor, her left hand rising to press over her blood-splattered mouth. Harry was beginning to feel like none of this was real. Not the sticky blood on his sleeve. Not the eerily quiet Hospital Wing. Not the blood on Ginny's face and neck. Not his strong wife crumbling to pieces beside him on the Hospital Wing floor. It was a nightmare. It was the worst nightmare he'd ever had. It had to be.

"Ginny," Neville said quietly. He walked over. He immediately sank down, so he was sitting on the floor, too. He pulled his cloak sleeve down and reached forward, gently wiping some of Albus's blood from Ginny's face. "Halloran Carrow used one of his dad's curses."

"On my son?" Ginny croaked. "Why?!"

"He was aiming for me," Harry said. His voice sounded dull and empty. He felt empty. Something had shut off inside.

"We've got to go; we have to go to St. Mungo's." Ginny grabbed onto Harry's arm and tried to pull him up with her as she stood, but he couldn't get himself to move. He just kept picturing his son's face, blood-drenched and panicked. If he hadn't put up a shield...if he'd just let his kids handle it, the way he'd always handled things when he was their age...why did he insist on pretending he knew better, just because he was an adult? He didn't. He caused this. If he hadn't intervened, he could've taken the curse; that was only fair. He had lived longer than he'd ever imagined, had he not? He could have spared Albus this. He could have spared him more pain.

Ginny wasn't having it. "Harry!"

He couldn't feel anything until she took his face firmly in her hands. He met her steady gaze.

"Harry," she repeated, but it was softer this time. Her cheeks were shining, still damp from her tears, pink and brown streaked from the smeared and dried blood. "It isn't your fault. But you need to find a way to break through this, because I'm going to St. Mungo's, and I'll be incredibly cross if I have to go alone."

Alone. No—he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't make her do that alone. He focused on the feeling of her palms against his face, and then the chilly bite of the stone floor through his trousers, and then the far-off sounds of rapid whispering coming from outside of the Hospital Wing. Focusing on the physical helped bring his mind into sharper clarity, but he almost wished he hadn't. He was floored by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and dread.

"St. Mungo's," Ginny prompted.

"St. Mungo's," he agreed. His lungs felt tight. He stood and they hurried towards the fireplace.

"Aunt Ginny? Uncle Harry?"

They turned around to see Roxanne hurrying towards them. The whispering Harry had heard earlier was courtesy of a tangle of sleepy students from nearly every house, grouped around the open doorway of the Hospital Wing, watching with morbid curiosity. Harry didn't know how long they'd been there, but he figured it couldn't have been very long; if Roxanne had seen Albus that way...

"What happened?! What's wrong? Where's James? Where's Lily? They weren't in their dorms. Why is there blood on your face, Aunt Ginny?"

She looked uncharacteristically young in her worry. She was wringing her hands. Her usual confident flame was dimmed to a flicker. Her hair was wrapped in a silk covering and her dressing gown was hastily tied. The entire school must've heard rumors by now. How did word spread so quickly?

"Al was attacked by Halloran Carrow," he said. She deserved to know. Albus's family deserved to know. "He's at St. Mungo's."

"What? Carrow in my year? Is Al okay, what happened, can I go with you?"

"No, I need you to stay. Let Louis, Hugo, and Rose know. Lily and James are with Gran."

"But—"

"We'll send for you and your cousins once he's...when he's..." Ginny broke off, her voice thick and wavering. Roxanne was horrified.

"Aunt Ginny? How bad is it?"

Harry found the strength to reach over and wrap an arm around Ginny.

"We'll send for you as soon as we can. Stay together," he told Roxanne.

He and Ginny stepped into the Floo. Harry's voice was shaking so much that he doubted they'd end up where they were meant to.

They didn't. They tumbled out into some poor elderly wizard's kitchen. He jumped, spilled half his mug of warm milk down his front, and had just barely begun stuttering 'H-Harry Potter?!' when Ginny apologized and Harry tried again. Finally, they spun into St. Mungo's. It was exceptionally busy for the late hour. Ginny stumbled over to the reception desk without even bothering for her dizziness to pass.

"Our son, Albus Potter, he—"

The receptionist immediately stood. She rounded around the desk and wrapped an arm around Ginny's shoulders.

"This way, Mrs. and Mr. Potter," she said, guiding Ginny towards the lifts. Harry briefly registered the fact that they were being personally escorted, but the reasons for such were too terrifying to consider. He trailed after them, his heart pounding and his nausea peaking once more. She brought them to the fourth floor. She walked them past the rooms dedicated to normal spell damage to a dark set of double-doors, leading to an area exclusively for Dark Magic. She pushed them open. There were five beds. The only one occupied was the one their son was in. His skin was unusually white and there were four healers grouped around him, including—

"Uncle Harry!" Victoire spun around, tears sparkling in her clear blue eyes, and flung herself into Harry's arms. He was too shocked to hug back. Ginny lifted his arms for him and wrapped them around their niece; he quickly tightened his hold.

"Victoire, is he okay?"

"We're doing all we can. He's lost so much blood. He was bleeding everywhere. We don't—we don't know what to do," Victoire admitted. Her voice tore near the end. Harry saw Ginny stumble from the corner of his eye, and when he glanced over, a young man with hair the color of freshly-dug earth caught her. Teddy hugged her fiercely, his eyes turning from Albus-green to Ginny-brown, his face ashen no matter which skin tone he shifted to.

"Weasley," another healer called quickly. Victoire stepped back from Harry, wiped at her eyes, and returned to the bed. She began siphoning blood with her wand like Pomfrey had been doing. Another healer was steadily administering what Harry recognized as Blood Replenishing potion. Another was waving their wand in a series of dizzying circles over Albus, murmuring words that made a multi-colored glow envelop him. The fourth was overseeing it all, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She caught Harry's eye. She looked away.

Teddy brought Ginny over to a row of chairs beside Albus's bedside, but Ginny had no interest in sitting. She shrugged Teddy's arm off and came to stand beside Victoire.

"How can I help?" she pleaded.

Victoire glanced once at Ginny and seemed to instinctively sense what Harry did—that she was on the cusp of panicking. Ginny was not the sort of person who panicked easily, so the idea of that appeared to be as terrifying for Victoire as it was for Harry. She quickly took Ginny's hand and showed her the correct way to hold Albus's head steady. Harry approached the end of the bed. He set his palm on Albus's calf. He drew in a shallow, shaky breath. Teddy came to stand at his side, his arm wrapping firmly around Harry's shoulders. Harry let his eyes shut as he drew in another stunted breath. His godson stood steady, holding Harry up, his hair gradually shifting to the darkest of blacks.

It was the longest night that Harry had ever lived—and he'd lived some very long ones.

He and Ginny spent most of it standing at Albus's beside, doing anything and everything the healers asked of them, their hands shaking from too many mugs of tea and coffee, their knees aching from hours of standing. Neither seemed willing to sit. They both refused to rest. And Albus bled, and bled, and bled.

"You should bring everybody here," Victoire told them around five that morning, her eyes shadowed and soaked. The words squeezed the air from Harry's lungs. He spent the next five minutes in the adjoining toilets, sobbing so hard he nearly vomited, his mind a mess of bodies falling through veils, of bright green lights wrenching screams from throats, of the sting of realizing you'll never speak to somebody again. The missing. All the longing and the pain and the tragedy. A shifting glimpse at memory after memory: the first time he cradled Albus and the perfect weight of his tiny body (so fragile but full of weighty potential all at once), Albus's first time saying dada and the way he'd giggled so proudly, his tiny hand in Harry's as they visited his grandparents' grave on Halloween, his shrieking laughs as Harry tossed him up into the air and the perfect trust shining in Albus's eyes. He replayed it all until the memories felt like punishments.

Ginny was unreachable in a way he'd never seen before in all his decades of knowing her. She didn't seem to hear anything the Healers said. She stretched out on the bed beside their son, her arms holding him close like he was a toddler camping in their bed after a nightmare, her eyes bone-dry but somehow aching even more for it.

And Al didn't wake. He didn't stir. He was far away, untouchable, drained dry and in constant pain (as one of the Healers cruelly mentioned while in earshot). After hours of this, with no progress being made, with their son hemorrhaging faster than the Blood Replenishing potion could be administered, Harry found himself wondering if perhaps their efforts were inhumane.

Their entire family came, even Uncle Charlie. Ginny didn't move from Albus's side, but her eyes diligently took stock of every head.

"Where's Scorpius?" she asked Harry. They were the first words she'd spoken in hours.

"I don't know...Molly, did you send Scorpius off to Draco already?"

"Draco collected him within minutes of arriving," Molly answered. Her words were barely audible over her sobs. She was lying on Albus's other side, her shaking hand stroking his hair back.

Harry met Ginny's eyes. Words weren't needed. He nodded once, rose from the chair, and headed towards the doorway. He was blocked by Hermione.

"Where's Victoire?" she demanded. She pushed urgently past Bill, past Ron, past Percy, her arms full of ancient books, and in her hand was a vial of brownish liquid; it looked vaguely familiar to Harry, but he wasn't able to focus on it long enough to recall why. "Victoire—I used Veritaserum on Carrow and his remaining family, and if there is a counter-curse they all managed to fight the potion and none would admit it. They all swore it's never been used since the Battle of Hogwarts, and all those victims died within the hour, and nobody really knew why. But I think—come here, look, I broke into the Department of Mystery's library, I think we should try this—"

Hermione and Victoire stepped over to the side. Hermione opened the topmost book. Harry hesitated for a moment more, but then he locked