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Harry awoke to a vicious knocking at the front door of his home. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, the morning light spilling in and warming his body. He turned over to see Ginny still sleeping soundly beside him. Why did he have to be the light sleeper? He wished he could sleep like his wife did and sleep through anything.

After a few minutes more of lying in bed while the obnoxious knocking from the front door continued, he finally groaned at the fact that this visitor wouldn't leave them alone. He pulled a t-shirt on over his head before setting off down the stairs. He grunted under his breath. “It's bloody Saturday. It's my day off.”

He wondered who the visitor could possibly be. If it was any member of the family, then they knew better than to come over on a Saturday before 8 AM while the rest of the house would surely be asleep. Besides, a Weasley hadn't knocked on the front door in ages. They just let themselves into the house these days.

He finally reached the front door, rubbing his eyes again, and he opened it to see a young boy who lived down the street. The boy of about twelve looked frantic, and he burst as soon as he saw Harry. “Mr. Potter! Come quick!”

“Hold on,” encouraged Harry quickly. It was too early for such urgencies. He yawned. “Slow down. What's the matter?”

“It's your son! One of them. Albus, I think. He's hurt! Come quick!”

At that, Harry suddenly felt awake. Just how hurt did the boy mean? He felt his face grow hot with the pulsing panic of adrenaline. He didn't turn back to even grab a pair of shoes or change out of his pajama pants. He left the house, leaving the door wide open, and he instructed the boy to take him to his son.

He waved his hand in an encouraging fashion, and they set off together at a sprint through Godric's Hollow.

Harry could immediately tell that something had gone amiss within Godric's Hollow that morning. Something wasn't right, and was that something due to whatever Albus' injured state may be? Harry hoped it wasn't that severe, but the sight of the neighborhood said differently. Those who had already been awake for the morning were on the front porches of their homes, gnawing on their nails in fright, and those who had yet to awake were still inside and sleep in peaceful ignorance.

Harry hated the way his neighbors looked at him. With looks of pity and sorrow. He could feel his heart clenching in his throat.

They weaved through the narrow streets, and finally, the boy led him to a street just around the corner from the village's local pub. And there, in the middle of the street, a crowd was gathered around a mass on the ground. People were gawking and pushing at one another, trying to get a better look at whatever site it was.

Harry pushed his way through the crowd, demanding his entrance. “Get out of my way! He's my son!” he begged.

Hearing such a claim, the crowd parted for him and allowed him entrance. And there, lying on the ground completely motionless, was Albus.

A woman Harry had only spoken to a few times in passing who lived in Godric's Hollow knelt beside Albus. She held his head in in her lap and ran her fingers through his hair like a mother would, comforting him how she could. Harry was immediately grateful for her kindness, but he couldn't think about that. Not now.

He was more stunned by the pool of blood Albus was lying in, and there was a noticeable gaping hole in his t-shirt. Beneath it was an open wound, deep and bloodied.

Harry covered his mouth with a cry. “Oh my God, Albus,” he gasped out and fell to his knees on the blood-stained cobblestone in front of the spectacle for Godric's Hollow to see.

The woman looked to him with tears in her eyes. “My son and I found him like this on our morning walk. I sent him to get you as soon as we realized who he was.”

“T–Thank you,” he told the woman and gathered him into his arms. He took Albus' limp form from her, and he patted his son's pale cheek. “Al? Albus, can you hear me?!”

He was frantic. He had so many questions, so many worries, and so many emotions coursing through him. What had happened? Who had done this to him? Clearly he had been attacked, but by whom? There was a name far off in the distance of his mind. Parker, it seemed to whisper, but he had to deal with that later.

He had to tend to Albus.

Most importantly, was he even alive? The thought sent Harry reeling into a wave of panic, and he shook his son's shoulders. “Wake up!” he begged.

“I've been trying,” said the woman desolately. “He has a heartbeat, though, and he's breathing. He just won't wake.”

Harry nodded. At her words, he pressed two fingers to Al's throat and felt for a pulse. There, beneath his fingers, he felt the beating of his son's heart. It was weak and slow, but it was there nevertheless. It was hope.

“I have to get him to St. Mungo's. Mrs.—” he cut off, giving her an inquiring look for her name.

The brown haired woman nodded, understanding. “Mrs. Morgan. Jess Morgan.”

“Will you please go to Ron and Hermione Weasley's home. It's just adjacent from mine, and will you please tell them what's happened and that I've taken Albus to St. Mungo's. Tell them Ginny and Lily are still asleep. They will know what to do from there, but please. I have to get him help. I don't have the time.”

“Of course,” Jess Morgan said encouragingly. She swiped the tears away from her cheeks and nodded.

Harry slipped his arms under Al's body, one arm under his knees, and the other went around his back. He heaved him up into his arms; it was quite a difficult task. It had been a decade since he had carried any of his children. They had all grown up too fast, and to top it all off, Albus was much taller than he was. But Harry managed. No matter how much he struggled, he forced himself to manage. He had to. He had to carry him delicately, for he didn't want Al's wound to worsen.

When he was standing and had a strong hold on his son, Harry apparated directly to St. Mungo's. He appeared in the entrance of the Intensive Care ward and immediately pushed forward to the receptionist at the desk.

“He's been stabbed. He needs help immediately,” said Harry in a rush.

“Oh!” the receptionist quickly gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. She pointed down the hallway off to the left. “That way. They will tend to him right away.”

Harry nodded and set off down the hall. Before he could even go too far, a few Healers spotted Al's state and rushed to one of the rooms off to the side. When they emerged, they had a stretcher to place Al on. Almost against his will, Harry set Albus down on the stretcher and watched the Healers take his son away on the levitating stretcher. He gnawed on the nail of his thumb as he watched two Healers lean over the stretcher as it levitated down the hall. They were already working on him before he was in a room; they ripped off his torn and bloodied t-shirt and began to inspect the wound.

They were saying things to one another in quick, yet collected voices as they turned the corner and faded from Harry's vision. Another Healer emerged from the room where they had brought out the stretcher and turned to Harry with a look of sympathy.

“We will do what we can for him. We'll have a better understanding of the situation once the other Healers have inspected him more closely. When he has been assigned a room, we will inform you. For now, we'll have to ask you to remain in the waiting room. I'm Healer Mathis, though, if you have any questions or need anything at all,” the man said kindly to Harry.

Harry gave a pained sigh. The Healer was all too kind, but he didn't want to sit and wait. He had seen the state of his son; Albus was in pain and he had been hurt greatly. Harry didn't just want to sit and wait for his son to get better. No, he wanted to help. He wanted to make his son better. He hated feeling absolutely hopeless. Especially when it came to his children. He had sworn three years ago that he would never let any more harm come to his children, and now look at what had happened...

Albus could be dying.

And he couldn't do anything about it. Not now at least. He had missed his chance when he could have made a difference. It was well into morning now, so how long had Albus been out in the streets like that? He and Ginny had gone to bed before Al had come home. They did that often. Their children were responsible adults now; they went out and came back when they pleased. They always did and nothing had ever gone wrong. They used to wait up for them or ask them to at least wake one of their parents up so they knew they were home safely, but their world was such a safe environment these days that they didn't do that anymore. Nothing had ever given them reason to continue doing so. Nothing had been out of the ordinary last night. Albus had gone out with James, Lily, and Scorpius. It had been completely ordinary.

And yet Harry hadn't known. He hated himself for letting such a thing happen to his son.

He nodded his thanks to the Healer and was left to wallow in his panic and misery for his son. He wandered to the waiting room, where an assortment of people were waiting. Some were fairly relaxed; others were panicked like Harry. He envied those who seemed to be at ease. Clearly their loved ones weren't potentially on their deathbed. He held his head low between his knees, running his hands through his hair as he sat and waited.

Before he could hear from Healer Mathis, though, Harry heard the sound of rushing footsteps, and he looked up to see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny racing toward him. Harry rose and embraced his wife as she flung herself into his arms.

For a woman who was normally so calm and collected—save for her temper—she seemed to be on the edge of breaking. Harry knew, though, that the injury of one's child could do that to someone. He stroked her hair as he held her.

When she pulled away, she was frantic. “What's happened? Ron and Hermione came over and said that you'd brought Albus here! That he's been hurt!”

“He has,” he replied, trying to keep his calm. If Ginny was going to lose it, then Harry most certainly had to keep composure. He had to be Ginny's stronghold. “One of the neighbors came knocking this morning to fetch us. A boy led me to Albus. He was just lying in the street. H–He's been stabbed, Gin. I don't know how or who did it, but as soon as I got to him, I brought him here.”

“Stabbed?” gasped Hermione, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Yes,” swallowed Harry. “In the stomach. By some sort of dagger. I didn't see the weapon anywhere near him,'s bad. And who knows how long he was lying in the streets before someone found him!”

“H–He was attacked?” Ginny blanched. “In Godric's Hollow? Our son was attached in Godric's Hollow?”

“Yes, dear,” whispered Harry.

He could see his wife's panic. In order to keep her calm, he reached out for her again and engulfed her into his arms. He eyed Ron and Hermione. They both looked frantic, and Ron appeared sick to his stomach, but they all entered a painful silence. They waited for what felt like ages until Healer Mathis finally entered the waiting room.

When Harry immediately rose to his feet, the other three adults quickly followed suit.

“He's stable. For now,” the Healer reassured. He looked down his long nose to Harry and the rest of Albus' family, his gaze downcast and sorrowful. “We've done what we can, but—”

He broke off and looked to the other three. He asked before continuing on. “Are the three of you family? Perhaps this news is best suited for just the parents, for now.”

Harry and Ginny looked to one another. They shook their heads in unison; Ron and Hermione could know. They were always kept on the same page in everything they did.

Harry spoke up. “This is my wife—Albus’ mother—and this is his aunt and uncle. They can know.”

“Very well,” Healer Mathis cleared his throat. “We've stabilized him for now, but Albus has endured a great injury. Whatever he was stabbed with was no ordinary dagger. The dagger was laced with a paralysis potion and a poison, a very rare one at that. It appears to have been coated in basilisk venom. The interior of the wound was laced with the venom. We've healed what we can of the wound, but I'm sorry to tell you that there is no known cure for basilisk venom. The venom is slowly spreading; his attacker was careful enough to let the dagger only be against Mr. Potter's skin for a short amount of time. Not much venom was released into his bloodstream, but it was just enough to make the wound...fatal.”

Ginny's knees buckled and she leaned against Harry for support. “H–He’ll die?” Ginny blubbered.

Healer Mathis looked sympathetic to the four of them. “I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs. Potter, but yes. He will die.”

Hermione let out a whimper and she took leaned against Ron and wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law.

Harry's mouth was agape. He didn't know when he had begun to cry, but his cheeks were wet with his tears.

“That cannot be,” he begged.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Potter,” Healer Mathis said again. “We've done what we can. The wound has closed up, but we can only do so much in removing the venom. He will be given blood transfusions to thin the venom and to ease the pain. We cannot fully extract the venom, as we cannot transfuse his entire blood supply. The wound and his pain will only worsen with time. We can only make him comfortable now.”

“You...” began Harry. He refused to believe it. He would not accept the fact that his youngest son was dying. He was only nineteen! “There has to be something you can do!”

“I'm afraid not. There is no known cure for the venom.”

That was when Harry remembered something. Something vital. Something that could save his son's life.

There was a cure to the venom. He had seen it; he knew it. It had happened to him. His eyes went wide with the remembrance of his first time in the Chamber of Secrets. When the other three seemed to notice that Harry was struck with an epiphany, they looked to him in anticipation.

“But there is,” he murmured. “Of course there is.”

“Harry?” asked Ron, his brow pulled together in questioning.

“Phoenix tears!” he blurted.

He could save his son! All he had to do was find a phoenix, and luckily for him, he had access to nearly every location within the Ministry. Including the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And certainly there would be one or two phoenixes in the department. The Head of the Department would certainly let him use a phoenix to save his son.

The others seemed to have the heavy weight of Al's impending death lifted from their shoulders as they realized Harry was right. Albus could be saved; there was finally a light in such a dark situation.

“You're right!” beamed Ginny. “Go to the Ministry! Now! And bring back tears. We can save him.”

Harry nodded and turned to Ron. “Ron, please tell the rest of the family about Al's situation. Get James from his flat, and Lily is still asleep at home. I'm going to get a phoenix. He'll be all right.”

He left them without further ado. He impatiently walked the halls of St. Mungo's until he finally reached the entrance of the hospital where apparating was allowed, and he departed from the hospital with a crack. As soon as Harry reached the Ministry, he could tell the news of his son had traveled fast. He was normally greeted with beaming smiles, but instead, he noticed the eyes of the workers who were there on the warm Saturday looking at him with their eyes downcast, their expressions knowing of the trauma that had happened to Albus Potter.

Harry tried to avoid any and all eye contact and set his mind only on the mission at hand: to obtain the tears of a phoenix. He was quickly in the elevator and headed for the Magical Creatures floor. The elevator came to a jolt upon his arrival, and he quickly jogged down the hall and to the offices area of the department. He found the majority of the cubicles and offices abandoned, as they should be on a Saturday, but he gave a sigh of relief when he spotted a friendly face.

“Rolf!” Harry called impatiently and weaved his way between the cubicles to reach Rolf Scamander.

Rolf looked up from his desk where he was flipping through a copy of the Quibbler, most likely admiring his son’s work, which he held upside down and had been taught to do so by Luna with no doubt. He jumped up when he spotted Harry.

“Harry!” gasped Rolf. “I heard about the attack. I am so sorry. How is he?”

“He's been mortally wounded, but that's why I'm here. I can explain more later, but for now there's something you can do for me.”

“Of course,” Rolf said kindly. “Anything.”

That was the thing Harry admired most about Rolf Scamander. His kindness. He had a phenomenally kind heart and joyful spirit, and as such, Harry hadn't been surprised in the slightest when Luna had introduced him to Rolf, and it only made the more sense to Harry why their children were such buoyant souls.

“Can I borrow a phoenix?”

“A phoenix?” Rolf looked stunned by his request, as if it wasn't at all what he had been expecting from him.

“Yes, a phoenix,” answered Harry. “Only a phoenix's tears can save him now.”

“Oh, Merlin,” sighed Rolf in shock. He rubbed his temple, but he did not waste a second in even considering his answer to Harry. He went back to his desk, pulled out a drawer, and began shuffling through a pile of keys.

“Aha!” he burst when he pulled out a long, red key. He motioned for Harry to follow him. “This way.”

Harry was quick to follow Rolf in his shadow. They weaved through the offices, and he led Harry to another area of the department. He unlocked the main door with a silver key hanging from his belt loop, and he led Harry inside the main area where any animals were kept.

They passed a number of doors, behind each of which lay a certain kind of animal that the Ministry was currently trying to either un-jinx or heal whatever misfortune it had encountered. They finally came upon a red door, and Rolf unlocked it with the key he had fetched from the drawer.

When he opened it, it revealed rows upon rows of large, comfy cages for the rooms designated animals: phoenixes.

Harry moved to look inside it; however, Rolf became still in the door way. Harry prodded Rolf's shoulder.

“Rolf?” he questioned. “What is it?”

“Oh, shit...” swore Rolf under his breath.

He turned to look Harry in the eye. His face paled, and he looked as if he would be sick.

“Harry...” sighed Rolf in an expression of pity.

“What?” whispered Harry in fright. He could feel himself growing frantic from Rolf's demeanor. What was wrong? What had happened? He felt the hole he felt in his stomach grow bigger and deeper with despair, and he could feel it falling and falling into nothing but dread.

“The phoenixes. They're gone.”

A/N: Edited 9.21 for grammar and accuracy.

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