HOSTAGE CRISIS

By MegaRouge (aka BamfWriter)

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"Mr. Rubeus Hagrid?"

The half-giant looked up from his gardening and smiled at the stranger.

"Aye, that's me," he said in his rough, grumbling voice. He tossed his hoe aside, dusted his hands off on his trousers and approached the tall, thickset, pale-haired man. "What can I do for yeh?"

The strange man studied a sheet of parchment he had clipped to a board, chomping on the smoldering stub of a cigar. "I have a...what do you call it...flobberworm for you." He indicated the rugged, wobbling crate at his feet, and handed the clipboard over to the giant man.

"Oh!" Hagrid said with a smile. "I'm sorry, of course. I've been expectin' 'im." He took the tiny quill in his massive paw of a hand and managed to scrawl something resembling his name.

"Yer not the usual feller, is why I didn't know what yeh needed," the huge man explained with a kindly smile.

"He's on vacation this week." The blonde man smiled broadly as he took the clipboard back from the groundskeeper. He indicated the castle with his chin, and asked amiably, "Can you direct me to the Potions master, please? I have a delivery for him as well."

"Sure," Hagrid said, "but you'll have to lose the stogie before you go inside. School rules."

"Of course," the stranger said, dropping the cigar and grinding it under his boot.

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Ten minutes later, the large, fair-haired man was making his way stealthily along the corridor of the lowest floor of Hogwarts castle. He ducked into an alcove as he heard several students approaching. Tossing aside the clipboard he'd stolen from a recently-deceased delivery man, he pulled a silvery cloak out of the voluminous pocket of his robes. He wrapped it around himself, and covered his head.

Totally invisible, Sylvus Bentram, paid assassin and Potions expert, made his way toward the dungeons.

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"Oh bloody 'ell,' Ron muttered as he and the other Gryffindors filed into the dark, dank Potions classroom. "I'm not up to double potions today," he muttered, "I'm just not up to it." He glared as his best friend Harry chuckled at him.

"Ron, when are you ever up to Snape's classes?" the bespectacled boy joked.

"Good point," the redhead conceded with a half-smile.

Hermione sighed and pushed past the two of them, as if eager to get her seat and start undergoing Snape's torturous lesson. Partway to her seat, she paused, and turned to look at the enormous cabinet against the wall at the rear of the classroom.

"That's odd," she murmured.

Harry and Ron eyed her.

"What's odd?" Harry asked. He looked when she pointed.

"The cabinet is open," she said, cocking her head curiously. "Professor Snape is adamant about it never being unlocked unless he is in the room." She stepped toward the structure. "Should I close it?" she wondered aloud.

"I wouldn't," Ron muttered. "It's probably a test. The greasy git probably wants someone to close it, so he can yell that he wanted it open, or some such...."

"Sit down and shut up."

The three of them jumped as the low, gravelly voice echoed through the room. Snape banged the classroom door shut and clomped in his black boots to the front of the room. He tossed his cloak over the back of his chair, and pointed his wand at the board, where the instructions for the day's lesson appeared.

"You know the drill," he muttered, sitting at his desk. "And let's take care with the sandworm bile, it doesn't grow on...." The Potions master's voice trailed off, and his black eyes went wide as he noticed his cabinet.

Hermione, Ron and Harry watched as Snape all but flew across the room to the storage cabinet. He peered inside, head twitching slightly as he seemed to take a visual inventory. When he stepped back a little, as if stunned, the three Gryffindors looked at each other curiously.

He turned slowly toward his students, black eyes wild with rage. Slowly, he stalked toward them, face going white, lips thin. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him so angry, when he wasn't the target.

"Someone," Snape growled, "has stolen items from my private stock." He leaned on the desk at the front of the classroom and fixed his glare on Harry. "What do you know about it, Potter?"

Harry blinked. "Nothing, sir! Truly!" His heart began to pound in his chest. The Potions master stared at him for a moment longer, then moved to pace around the classroom.

"There are three items missing," Snape continued, voice low and dangerous. "All three of these ingredients are carefully controlled substances, and unless you are a certified Potions master you can go to prison simply for having them in your possession." His black eyes darted around the room, as if searching for some sort of guilty aura around one of the students.

Harry glanced warily around. All the other students looked just as bewildered as he felt. It didn't look as if anyone in the class had been the one to steal from the professor.

"If one of you has taken these items," the man in black continued, "you may return them to me now, and I promise you that you will not be punished, and no points taken from your house. I will not even raise my voice to you. You have my word." Snape raised an eyebrow at the amazed gasp that rustled through the room.

"Yes," he murmured, "THAT is how serious this is." He waited, but there was only silence. His long fingers began to drum nervously on the desktop as the silence stretched. After a minute he moved to the podium at the front of the room, grasping the edges of the structure as if to draw strength.

"These three ingredients," he began quietly, "when combined in the right quantities, can produce a poison so deadly that a single molecule is enough to kill an adult human being."

There was another ripple of gasps from the students, and several of them looked around to see if their neighbor might be the guilty party.

Snape went on, almost pleading. "Is there no one in this classroom who understands the importance of what I am...," suddenly he broke off and straightened, staring at the far end of the classroom.

The students turned en masse as the classroom door unlatched and opened by itself.

The Potions master narrowed his eyes, and stepped down from the podium. He quickly crossed the room, paused at the open door, and then stepped warily out.

Ron, Harry and Hermione watched. Then they glanced at each other, and slipped out of their seats. They moved to the door and peered around the jamb.

Snape was walking slowly up the hallway, cocking his head curiously, as if listening.

With a glance at one another, the three Gryffindors crept after Snape as he moved silently along, watching the Potions master with undisguised curiosity. He seemed to sense them, for he turned suddenly.

"Go back into the classroom, children," he murmured, distractedly.

They didn't move.

"Sir...what is it?" Harry asked softly.

Snape eyed him, as if considering scolding, but then sighed. "I thought...I could have sworn I heard...never mind." He had started back toward the students, when suddenly he froze. He raised his head, sniffing. Then he looked at the trio before him.

"I don't suppose one of you smoked a cigar before my class, did you?" he asked stealthily and softly, barely moving his lips.

Three pairs of young eyes went wide. "No sir!" said Ron.

Harry's brow furrowed, and he sniffed. He too, could smell the faint, stale, acrid odor of cigar smoke from someplace nearby.

Snape turned and looked once more up the empty hallway, then began to walk along. The trio followed, keeping a few feet behind the tall Potions master. When he stopped, they stopped. He turned to them again, eyes intense. Glancing pointedly down, he slipped his hand into his frock coat and withdrew his wand, holding it close to his body as if hiding it from someone behind him.

He locked eyes with Harry. "Ready?" he mouthed.

Harry blinked twice to let him know he was, his own hand slipping casually into his pocket.

Snape lifted his head and cleared his throat. "I'm imagining things, children. Let us return to the classroom and we shall...ACCIO CLOAK!" Snape whirled and flung his outstretched hand behind him.

There was a rustling, and an invisibility cloak seemed to materialize out of the very air a half-meter in front of Snape. It flew into his hand, and he froze as the cloak's owner was revealed, aiming his wand straight at the Potions master.