Chapter 10


Severus was halfway up the stairs before he wondered if Albus would be in his office. The Headmaster had been unusually busy as of late, and though Severus would never admit it to anyone besides himself, he had come to value the old man's vast magical knowledge and, on rare occasions, advice. Recent events aside, Albus understood a great deal about him. Where certain ... delicate matters were concerned, he was well and truly the only person he could talk to.

"Severus," came Albus' voice before he had even knocked on the door. "I thought that might be you. Come in, my friend."

Severus pushed the door open and, with his typical grace, if less than his typical flare, walked into the circular room. His eyes flickered to the portraits on the wall where Headmasters past snored loudly, feigning sleep. "You're unusually observant today, Albus," he said gruffly. He walked into the center of the room and drew up a chair.

"Oh no," said Albus amiably, straightening behind his massive claw-footed desk and dipping a quill, "I merely heard the stairs moving, Severus. As I was not expecting anyone, I could only assume it was you."

"Indeed?"

Albus looked up at him and smiled. "Quite so, dear boy. Unfortunately, none of the other professors seek me out for conversation the way you do. Biscuit?" The tin tray he pushed forward was brimming over with treats.

Severus eyed the tray distastefully. "Have I ever, Albus, accepted a biscuit from you?"

The Headmaster deposited his quill into a silver ink pot and picked one of the treats up with his thumb and forefinger, studying it closely. "Have you ever heard the Muggle expression, 'There's always a first time for everything', Severus? Quite ingenious, really." He chuckled cheerfully and popped the biscuit into his mouth. "I daresay I shall keep asking until you accept."

"You waste your time, Albus."

The Headmaster chewed thoughtfully, spilling a few crumbs onto his white beard. "It's neither here nor there, I'm sure, but I suspect you have come to me with a purpose other than refusing hospitality." He removed his spectacles and proceeded to clean the lenses with the excess material of his sleeves. "What is the trouble?"

Severus sat perfectly straight and still in his chair. "There are things which need to be discussed, Albus."

"Very well, Severus. I am listening, though I should forewarn you that I must away to the Ministry within the hour."

Severus balled his hands into tight fists. His voice was dangerously soft. "This far exceeds the incompetence of whatever mess you're required to fix at the Ministry." His eyes flashed. "I wish to speak with you about the Dark Lord."

Albus looked up sharply. "You have something to add to your report of the encounter Harry and Miss Granger experienced in the Forbidden Forest?"

"You refer to Potter by his first name," Severus scowled bitterly, "and yet no other student is worthy of that honor. Tell me, Albus – are you playing favorites?"

The Headmaster leaned forward. "It is an old habit, I'm afraid, where Harry is concerned. I have been much more invested in his well-being these eleven years than that of any other student – as you very well know, Severus." His voice was more commanding when he continued, "Do you have something to share with me about Lord Voldemort?"

Severus rose from the chair angrily. "How many times, Albus, have I begged you to not use that name! How many? Your foolish notions of names aside, you cannot nor will you ever know the effect that name has upon me!" He rolled up the sleeve on his left forearm for emphasis, showing delicate bone-white skin marked with the worst sort of curse.

"Severus," Albus said gently, "I forget myself, old friend." His gaze flickered momentarily to the Dark Mark. "Please, sit back down. I wish to hear whatever it is you have come to tell me."

It took a moment, but eventually Severus sank back into the chair. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands.

"Quirrell," said Severus miserably.

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow, watching the younger man intently. "Have you confirmed our suspicions, Severus?"

Severus did not look up. "He ... is what you think he is, Headmaster. I am certain."

"The unicorn," Albus stated evenly, his words full of unspoken meaning.

A muscle tightened in Severus' jaw. "Yes," he whispered. "If there was any part of Quirrell truly left ... it – disappeared with the murder of the first unicorn. Even if we had known how to save him from being the Dark Lord's host, it is ... well beyond that hope now."

Albus leaned back in his chair, returning his spectacles to the bridge of his crooked nose. Finally, he said, "Thank you, Severus. Your service to me has proved, once again, to be invaluable."

Severus raised his head and focused his black eyes forward. "And what is your plan, Albus?"

"To keep my friends close and my enemies closer, dear boy."

Severus sneered. "You have a death wish, then – or one for Potter."

"No, I do not think so, Severus. Harry is a good boy – "

"He is no such thing! It is Granger who tries to speak sense to him!"

Albus raised his eyes to look at him. He played with his beard thoughtfully, scattering some of the crumbs that had fallen there eariler. "Undoubtedly," he agreed after a moment. "I believe we should be grateful for Miss Granger's continued friendship with Harry."

There was a lapse in conversation as Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. The room was silent but for the Headmaster's curious, spinning instruments that puffed smoke and whirled loudly at random moments. "I do not understand you, Albus. You know Potter is aware of the Stone and you know he suspects me. You know what Quirrell is." He stared at the Headmaster, incredulous. "Need I speak more to you, Dumbledore? It is only a matter of time before Potter foolishly decides to take matters into his own hands! You yourself have just told me of your invested interest in the boy – of how you've watched him these many years. Surely you understand he will act rashly."

"Severus," said Albus brightly, "we must trust in that most wonderful gift which is free agency."

"Free agency?" Severus spat, incredulous. "Then explain my purpose here in protecting the brat! Where is my agency?"

"You have already made your choice, Severus," answered Albus gently. His lips twitched beneath his beard. "A fact which you very well know."

"You mock me, then. What is this agency you profess? You expect Potter to follow the rules as much as any other professor – as much as Minerva would. What you are doing, Albus, is dangling the boy for bait."

"Severus – "

Real anger flowed from him now. "You have always kept your cards very close to your vest, Dumbledore. I am at your service, such as it is, and yet you insist on keeping your designs private even from me! But I am far from foolish." He stood up and began pacing. "The labyrinth beneath the school – naturally the Dark Lord is sorely tempted. You yourself allowed Quirrell to place one of the enchantments in an attempt to provoke him. Tell me, Albus, your frequent and erratic visits to the Ministry – were those merely your way of luring Quirrell to that end? Knowing he would be all too eager to act the moment he knew you were absent? To trap him?"

The Headmaster blinked innocently and reached for another biscuit.

"The Dark Lord need not be fully in power for him to be dangerous," Severus sneered. "And you appear to have a childlike disinterest in that."

"Enough!" ordered the Headmaster sternly. His eyes flashed angrily as his voice rang out, echoing ominously in the otherwise silence. For a moment, Severus was frightened; Albus Dumbledore could be a formidable wizard when he wished to be. The Dark Lord, even, had known that. "I have my own reasons in this, Severus."

The Headmaster's gaze was heavy, and Severus eventually looked away. "You always do, Albus." He rose from the chair and made for the oak door. "I believe I have endured as much conversation as I can for one night."

"Severus," said Albus, not unkindly. "I ask you to trust me."

Severus snorted and reached for the brass handle. "As I have asked you to trust me."

Later that evening, stalking through the dungeons, Severus listened for a rustle, a voice, a noise – anything that might indicate a student was where they ought not to be. But nothing came. Silently, he flicked his wand and light burst from it, blinding his eyes as he walked toward the Slytherin common room. The moment his vision adjusted, he waved his wand carefully in front of him to better see in the otherwise dark corridor.

He felt unusually alert. Whether it was the knowledge of Quirrell's involvement with the Dark Lord or something else entirely, he did not know. But something probed at the edge of his consciousness. Something insistent and real. There was no point in denying it. His instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion; he wasn't so foolish as to ignore that now.

This much he was certain of: Quirrell – and subsequently, the Dark Lord – was after the Sorcerer's Stone.

He hurried through the trapdoor to check on his charges before he returned to his own quarters. What he saw made him jerk inadvertently.

"Miss – Parkinson?" His voice faltered.

The girl was lying on the floor, completely immobilized. Her eyes blinked up at him in horror, though her body remained perfectly still. He rushed forward and knelt over her, muttering the counter-curse as he lifted her to a sitting position.

"Who did this?" he demanded, the moment she regained function in her jaw.

She swallowed twice and rubbed her throat, coaxing her vocal cords to life. "Hermione, sir. It was Hermione Granger."

Whatever Severus was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn't that. "Miss – Miss Granger?" he repeated stupidly.

Parkinson nodded and made to stand. "Yes, sir. She left hours ago. She was sneaking out again – trying to lose Slytherin points," she pouted pathetically, "like always."

Severus started. "Explain."

Parkinson shrugged. She proceeded to dust off her night robes and ran a hand through her hair – which was, at present, sticking up wildly in every direction. "That's all she said. Oh – and that she'd been looking for you. She hasn't come back yet. No one's been in the common room and I've been laying here for hours – "

He felt himself grimace. He grabbed the girl's shoulders roughly – more harshly than he intended to – and said in a rush, "You're certain she didn't say anything else? Where she could have gone – what she was planning to do?"

Parkinson appeared frightened. She shrank back from him. "No, sir." She shook her head. "Only that she thought it was important. I'm sure it could have waited until morning – when we're allowed to be out in the halls."

Severus removed his hands from the girl as though they'd been burned. He stood quickly and drew his wand. "Back to your dormitory, Miss Parkinson." He turned to leave.

"But sir!"

He whirled around. "Are you at all injured?"

"N-No, sir."

"Then get back to bed."

He was certain she was staring after him, at the injustice of it all. He didn't care. The fact that Granger was yet again violating another school rule meant only one thing to him: Potter was involved. And if the precious Boy-Who-Lived was recruiting Granger for another asinine scheme, he was certain that it had to do with the Stone.

Hurrying through the dungeons, half-running, he cursed himself for a fool.

You've placed the girl directly in harm's way. Potter's long down the trapdoor by now, and Granger –

He shook his head and shot up the stairs. If the girl had been harmed because she had followed his instructions .... No. He refused to allow his mind to wander any further. The very thought made him nauseous. He had never intended for her to take his request literally. He had merely wished for her to try to talk some sense into Potter's thick, thick skull.

Anxiety jolted in his chest. Did she or Potter know how to get past the three-headed beast? And if so, what of the other enchantments? Devil's Snare could easily kill a man – he trusted Granger had read how to defeat it in Herbology – but could the girl think on her feet?

He ran through the Entrance Hall like a madman, his robes fanning out like a banner. The ghosts floating around lazily cursed at him emphatically as he barreled forward. As he ran, he visualized each of the enchantments beneath the castle, creating a mental checklist of the tasks required to reach the Stone. Almost immediately, he winced. Minerva's chessboard would require the most amount of time. He only prayed Potter was as pitiful at chess as he was Potions.

The marble steps streaked away beneath him as he climbed upwards still, and by the time he reached the third floor he was all but gasping for breath. Ignoring a rather painful stitch in his side, he continued at an urgent pace as he flew down the corridor, coming to an abrupt stop in front of an already half-opened door.

"Dammit," he cursed, his chest heaving.

With his wand pointed ahead of him, he cautiously pushed the door open the remainder of the way and peered inside.

The huge dog growled and snapped at him immediately, lunging forward with three sets of massive teeth. Severus side-stepped it and backed toward the wall – eyes scanning for the harp. Rationally speaking, he was surprised the entire school hadn't awoken from the noise. And then, of course, his mind caught up with itself: Albus, at least, had retained the foresight to cast a silencing charm in the chamber.

The beast dived forward and Severus dodged to the left, rolling head-over-feet to get out of the way. He came up in a crouch and searched the room wildly.

The harp!

At last he spotted it – turned over on its side in the corner of the room; it glinted as beautifully as any diamond in the rough. He flicked his wand at it as the beast lunged for him again, and immediately the sound of a slow-spreading tune filled the chamber. The dog lurched to a stop mid-lunge and blinked down at him weirdly, and six bloodshot eyes began to slowly droop.

With his chest heaving, Severus slowly rose to his feet, keeping his wand trained on the beast until all three of its heads fell to the ground. One of the mouths fell slack, and a tongue rolled out. The other two began to snore.

But before Severus could make it two steps toward the trapdoor, something burst out of it.

His hand flew to protect his eyes out of instinct, and when he blinked again he saw two bodies tumble across the room, even as a broom zoomed to a crash and snapped with a sickening finality against the far wall. He turned back to the trapdoor, recognizing the form of Miss Granger immediately.

It was Weasley, however, who spoke before Severus could assess any damage. "P-Professor Snape?"

Ignoring the boy, he rushed forward to Miss Granger, who was looking around the chamber dazedly.

"Miss Granger, are you injured?" He was mildly surprised by the slight panic of his voice. He crouched down beside her and stared at her face, searching for any visible sign of trauma to her little body.

She blinked slowly and looked up at him. "Professor Snape?"

He nodded. "Yes. Are you at all hurt?"

She looked down at herself as though she were taking stock. She flexed her hands and stretched her legs. "I – I don't think so."

Something unclenched inside him. He glanced over at the boy. "Weasley?"

Mr. Weasley was looking at him as though he too, like the dog, had three heads. His gaping mouth and wide eyes would have been comical but for the current situation.

"Weasley!" Severus shouted, annoyed. "If you are capable of speaking, do so. Where is your wand, boy? You own it for a reason."

"I, er – "

"Your incompetence astounds me, Weasley. Are you injured?"

"He hit his head," said Miss Granger from beside him. Her voice was low and quiet. "I think he was knocked out."

Severus considered this. "And Potter?"

The girl ducked her head to her chest, ashamed. "He's gone to get the Stone b-before You-Know-Who can get it."

Severus felt hysteria creeping into him. "How far – look at me, girl! How far did Potter get?"

She sniffled miserably and ran the back of her hand across her nose. "As far as you could go, sir. He – drank the potion to walk through the black flames when I left him and, oh –Professor Snape! I'm so sorry! I tried to tell him it wasn't you. I really did! He – he wouldn't believe me!"

Curse the boy and all Gryffindors.

Miss Granger continued to murmur incomprehensibly as tears slid down her cheeks.

"Miss Granger," he said finally, filling his voice with authority. "Cease your blubbering this instant. You have more sense than this." She blinked and looked up at him, her brown eyes dark and tortured. "You are to get yourself and Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing. You will go nowhere else. Inform Madam Pomfrey of what has transpired and wait for me there. Do not speak with or acknowledge anyone apart from Professor McGonagall, should you chance upon her. Do you understand?"

She hesitated and then nodded. "Yes, sir. But Professor Dumbledore – "

"The Hospital Wing," he ground out. "Now, Miss Granger."

She blinked. Her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears. "Yes, Professor."

He helped her up, taking her small hand in his and pulling with little effort. She stumbled slightly; he caught her elbow.

"Weasley?" The boy had been mostly silent through the entire exchange. In any other circumstance, Severus would have found the lack of noise refreshing. Given the fact the boy likely had a concussion, however, he quelled his gratitude.

Weasley blinked with confusion. "Harry – "

"Get yourself to the Hospital Wing, Weasley," Severus said, crisply. "I will take care of your precious Potter."

Severus moved quickly though the room toward the trapdoor, carefully avoiding one of the dog's massive paws. "Lumos!" He directed the light of his wand down the dark shaft of the trapdoor and peered inside.

"Professor Snape?"

He looked up. Miss Granger's voice sounded small and pathetic in the echoing chamber. Weasley, he saw, was now standing, at least, though he leaned heavily on her for support.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he snapped.

Even from this distance he could see her chewing on her lower lip. "Er, please, sir – be careful."

Severus grew very still. He held her gaze for a few heartbeats, and then he took a breath, and jumped through the trapdoor.

"Weasley, did you – ow – hurt your leg as well?"

They hadn't even made it to the stairs and Hermione was already sweating. She had lost count of the times Weasley had stepped on her foot.

"Huh?"

He leaned on her heavily, one arm draped about her neck while the other flopped uselessly to his side.

"I asked if you hurt your leg," she breathed. "You're – leaning more than when we were down the trapdoor." He had a few inches on her, and in the lull of the bleak night Hermione half-carried him awkwardly through the dark corridor.

"Nah, m'fine, Granger. Really." He seemed disoriented. Dazed. Hermione wasn't sure that he was truly aware of his surroundings.

He seemed well enough down the trapdoor. How do concussions work, exactly?

She grunted, trying to shift his weight against her. "I think you have a concussion, Weasley. You've a nasty bump on the side of your head behind that gash, and – "

"You're really wonderful, Granger. Have I ever told you?" His face took on the air of complete befuddlement; his lips twisted into a lopsided smile. "Wonderful."

If her face registered surprise, Weasley certainly didn't see it. "You're – mad, Weasley. What's wrong with you? You flew us out of the trapdoor! And now – " she grunted. "Can you take the stairs, do you think?" They had finally arrived at the marble staircase. "We've still got to go down two floors – "

"What is going on here?" A familiar voice, laced with stern suspicion rang out loudly.

Without brushing her bangs out of her face, Hermione looked up. "Professor – McGonagall?" She felt a slow-spreading relief seep into her aching bones.

The Gryffindor Head of House was glaring down at them, looking very angry, indeed. She wore a tartan bathrobe which she clutched firmly to her chest with one fist, while her wand was clasped tightly in the other hand; light burst from it and created a harsh contrast against the otherwise dark surroundings. "I suggest the both of you explain yourselves this instant."

"Professor – "

"And you better make it good, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall warned, shaking her wand at her. "I'm sorely tempted to expel you both on the spot for deliberately disobeying school rules yet again. No, do not interrupt. I don't care if you are the brightest first-year student the school has seen, your flagrant disregard for rules and authority supersedes anything you can write on parchment, Miss Granger."

"Please, Professor," Hermione begged, nearly collapsing under Weasley's weight, "You don't understand. Professor Snape asked me to take Weasley to the Hospital Wing. He's got a concussion."

The lines between Professor McGonagall's forehead disappeared, though she was still frowning intensely. With a nearly inaudible tisk under her breath, she moved her wand light around Weasley's head and gasped quite suddenly, adjusting her glasses as she peered closer at him. "What on earth happened?" she demanded.

Weasley groaned and sank further against Hermione. "Professor Snape's gone down the trapdoor to stop Harry from getting himself killed," Hermione explained, locking her knees to support the boy. "You-Know-Who is trying to get the Sorcerer's Stone, you see, and Harry thought he could get to it first – you know. And stop him."

Professor McGonagall stared at them blankly for a moment. "Potter's gone ... after the Stone?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Please, ma'am, is Professor Dumbledore back from the Ministry? You-Know-Who is down there or will be down there and – Professor McGonagall! Where are you going?"

The Gryffindor Head of House was moving faster than Hermione would have ever given her credit for, back up the marble stairs.

"Professor!"

"Get Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing, Miss Granger! I will do what I can to contact Professor Dumbledore."

"But what about Professor Snape?" Hermione cried. "Someone needs to go help him! Oh – Professor McGonagall! Wait!"

"Granger," said Weasely dreamily, half-hanging off her shoulder, "I feel ... really bad."

Hermione, who was still staring at the space Professor McGonagall had only just occupied, blinked slowly and looked up at him. The gash on his forehead continued to seep; there was a steady stream of red dripping into one eye.

"Come on, Weasley," Hermione groaned, adjusting her grip on his waist, "we've got to get you to Madam Pomfrey. Can you help me walk a little, do you think?"

Weasley, in whatever state of consciousness he was currently in, seemed to consider that. In the end, he rolled his head to the side, which was the closest thing to a shrug Hermione would receive.

"You smell like honey," he said, slurring the words together, "and ... old Quidditch shoes."

Hermione, doing her best to not be offended, dragged Weasley down the stairs to the first floor. With a great deal of effort, she stopped outside the Hospital Wing doors and leaned against the cool stone wall, wiping her brow with the back of her free hand. Finally, after she caught her breath, she kicked one of the doors with her left foot so it opened a little, still supporting Weasley with the weight of her right leg.

"Madam Pomfrey?" she called as the door swung on its way back to a close. "Please, are you in there? We need help!"

Silence.

Hermione grunted, and kicked at the door again, leaning in closer. "Madam Pomfrey! Please, I've got Wea – er, Ron Weasley here. He's got a nasty cut on his head! I need some – "

She cut herself off when she heard footsteps hurrying toward them. An instant later, the doors swung outwards and a very disheveled-looking Madam Pomfrey stood before them, adjusting her night cap and blinking furiously into the dark corridor.

"What's the trouble?" she asked immediately, once she caught sight of them. And then her gaze honed in on Weasley's forehead like a Seeker to the Snitch. "Good gracious! In here – yes. Oh, dear me, I'll levitate him, you poor thing. No, you're coming in here too, Miss Granger. That's right. Come along."

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand at Weasley and Hermione nearly sank to the floor in relief once she felt the release of his weight. The mediwitch carefully guided Weasley to the nearest bed and lowered him with delicate precision onto pristine white sheets.

"Is – is Weasley going to be all right?"

"I'll patch him right up, Miss Granger. What happened to the poor thing? Not to worry," she said quickly, cutting Hermione off from any explanation, "I'll have him up and on his feet again in no time."

Madam Pomfrey proceeded to bustle around Weasley's bed, muttering and complaining about students getting contusions and who knew what else all while under her watch. She skillfully waved her wand this way and that before hurrying across the room to a cabinet that housed a variety of colorful potions and vials.

Hermione sank into a straight, hard-backed chair at the opposite wall and watched with a vague sense of interest. Her mind kept wandering back to the third floor – to Harry and Professor Snape.

What if You-Know-Who reached the Stone before Harry? Would Harry know what to do? True, he had survived an encounter with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby but ... would he be that lucky again? And what about Professor Snape?

Involuntarily, she imagined him down there, rushing like a madman to find Harry. Unbidden, a little bubble of something swelled in her chest. Professor Snape had never been after the Stone. After all Harry's accusations and ridiculous prejudices, he had only been trying to keep them safe. The thought made her want to cry with joy. But ... was he safe?

"Madam," Hermione said quietly, watching as a blue pulse of magic surrounded Weasley, "I think that Professor Sna – er, what is that?"

"A diagnostic, dear. And once Mr. Weasley is all sorted, I'm running one on you as well. You look as though you've seen a dementor." She looked utterly frustrated by the thought of it.

"A – what?" The term was vaguely familiar, though for the life of her, Hermione couldn't pinpoint the exact definition in her current state of ... whatever it was she was in.

"Never mind, child. Why don't you lie down on a bed? I'll only be a few more moments."

Hermione slid off the chair with little grace and shuffled across the room toward the nearest bed. She pushed herself up onto the mattress, but didn't lie down.

"Madam Pomfrey?" she asked, after a particularly long pause, "You should know there's a chance that ... Harry Potter and Professor Snape could be injured as well. I – "

"Injured?" the mediwitch sputtered, turning around sharply and fixing her gaze on Hermione. "Whatever gives you that impression?"

Hermione blew out a breath in frustration and fell back on the bed, blinking up at the ribbed ceiling. She felt the keen exhaustion of the past few hours like a literal weight on her chest. "Weasley got hit by one of those giant chess pieces below the school," she began. She covered her eyes with her hands and groaned. "Harry was trying to stop You-Know-Who from stealing the Sorcerer's Stone – and we all went down the trapdoor to help him. Professor Snape must have found out somehow – he was there when Weasley and I made it back up. He went after Harry to stop him from getting himself killed." Her voice faltered. "I – I don't know what's happened; I don't know if they're all right."

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Mr. Potter," she said slowly, "knows about the – Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Yes." Hermione flinched, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Can't someone do something? Professor McGonagall said she would try to fetch the Headmaster but – "

"That's quite enough, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey interrupted, striding towards her. Opening her eyes, Hermione saw Weasley asleep beneath the covers of his bed. "You've clearly been through an ordeal, and I won't hear another word of it."

"But – "

"I'm very serious, Miss Granger," the mediwitch scowled, hovering over her and beginning a complex series of motions with her wand, "those who can help are already doing so, it seems. I will be prepared to deal with any injuries as they come, and you – you will stop worrying yourself into a state. When was the last time you had a proper night's rest?"

"Well, I – " She pressed her eyelids tightly together and then tried to open them wide. "I didn't get much sleep last night ... or this last week, I suppose. We've all had our end-of-year examinations and I – I suppose I've been studying during a good portion of the night."

"Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey said insistently, after stifling a small gasp, "You are in need of Dreamless Sleep Potion and a Calming Draught. Furthermore, it appears you've been neglecting your meals on top of everything else – you're skin and bones!" She was running the same diagnostic as she had on Weasley; a pulse of blue magic surrounded Hermione, tingling warmly over her skin. "You're doing yourself no favors by starving yourself, Miss Granger. Your exam results will mean very little in the long run if you have to be hospitalized." Her voice was stern and angry.

"I'm – I'm going to be hospitalized?"

The mediwitch frowned, as though she were considering the possibility. "Not if I have anything to do with it," she said eventually. "But you're getting some sleep this instant – yes, get under the covers, dear. And I'm having the house elves fix you a hearty meal for when you wake."

Two little vials were pressed into her hands as Madam Pomfrey reached under the covers to remove Hermione's shoes. "Drink the blue one first. It's the Calming Draught. Yes, the whole thing. And then the Dreamless Sleep straight after."

Hermione brought the vial to her lips and tipped her head back. It was sweet, and not at all unpleasant. She immediately slumped in silent relief.

"Now the Dreamless Sleep," Madam Pomfrey was saying. She conjured a chair and put Hermione's shoes atop the cushion.

Obediently, Hermione drank the contents the second vial. A second later, when she was too exhausted to move, Madam Pomfrey took the empty little glasses out of her hands and fixed the covers high up around her chin.

"That's right, dear," the mediwitch said while she bustled around her bed, and Hermione's eyelids hung ever heavy. "Sleep."

Severus burst through the doors to the Hospital Wing in typical, dramatic fashion. Albus followed closely behind him.

"The nearest bed, I think, Severus," the Headmaster said. "Poppy?"

Severus grumbled to himself as he carried Potter through the Hospital Wing, even as Poppy emerged from her office, looking decidedly frazzled.

"Severus? Albus? Is all well? Oh my – is that Mr Potter?"

"Yes," Severus snarled, moving around the first bed, where Weasley snored loudly. "Where do you want him, Poppy?"

She gave him an irritated look. "Here, Severus." She gestured to the bed next to Weasley's. "Of course any of these will do. What's wrong with the boy?"

Severus remained silent as he moved to where Poppy indicated. Let Albus answer the questions, he thought, annoyed. Very carefully, he lowered Potter onto the bed. He kept one hand behind the boy's neck while he moved a pillow beneath it. An instant later he stepped backwards, utterly horrified. Had he gone mad? Much of the pain and anger of his past had been associated with this boy – and here he was, fluffing a pillow for the brat. And as if that wasn't enough, the idiot had nearly gotten himself killed – along with two other students tonight. Not to mention himself.

"He had a most unfortunate run in with something very evil, Poppy," Albus was saying.

"Don't you dare be vague with me, Albus," Poppy said icily. "I need to know exactly what happened so I can properly treat the boy – "

"Only insofar as it is concerned with his well-being, my dear Poppy," Albus interrupted conversationally.

"Albus," Poppy snapped, "Miss Granger already informed me that You-Know-Who was beneath the school – though Merlin knows how that came to be." She gave Albus a dirty glare, as though she held him personally responsible. "Tell me, was there any Dark magic involved?"

The Headmaster sighed wearily and conjured a chair to sit beside Potter's bed. "There are marks on his arms from where Quirrell grabbed him. I would begin there, Poppy. Perhaps take a look at his scar."

Poppy looked at him blankly. "His – scar?"

Albus shrugged, though there was obvious meaning in that small action.

Severus scowled and turned away from the group, and his eyes scanned the room until he caught sight of a little body beneath white sheets. His heartbeat quickened anxiously as he moved hurriedly forward.

Miss Granger's mass of hair was splayed out across her pillow and she was turned away from him, folded in on herself into an impossibly tiny ball of female. The scratches and red marks he had noticed on her face when he had seen her earlier were now gone – healed, evidently, by Poppy.

He felt a sudden flare of panic at the thought that he could have lost her, one of his students, this night. Had he not promised her parents and Albus to keep her safe? Had he not promised himself? And yet, because of his own foolishness and carelessness, it was he who had sent the girl into a deathtrap. He was utterly disgusted with himself. The thought made him want to literally vomit. Standing there, staring down at her helplessly, he Accio'd a chair from the far side of the room and sank down into it.

Looking down at her carefully, watching her chest slowly rise and fall beneath the sheets, he wondered how she could appear so incredibly unthreatening and frightening to him at the same time.

Frightening because he was not entirely sure what he would have done had he failed to save her.

He held his breath for a moment, and then let it out very slowly. Naturally, he was concerned for all students within his care. As their teacher and mentor, it was his job to see to it that they were protected, and to look after their general well-being. Miss Granger, however, was ... different somehow. How to explain it, to verbalize it, he didn't know. He simply knew that in his mind, he regarded her apart from the rest.

Logically, it was likely due to the fact that in a very real sense, she required more protection than the other Slytherins. She housed a dangerous secret of her true bloodline – one which, if revealed, would be potentially deadly. She was, in every sense, a complete contradiction of terms: the Muggleborn Slytherin. After nearly a year, Severus marveled at it still. In all his life he would never have expected such as thing as her. As such, it had been his duty to watch over her carefully, to make certain her parentage remained a secret.

In the process of observing her, it hadn't taken much longer than a single lesson for him to notice her mind was astonishing. He suspected her impulsive need to go above and beyond each and every assignment was her way of proving she belonged in the Wizarding world. He had known only one other Muggleborn who had strongly displayed that similar need.

But despite her overzealous desire to show off – Miss Granger was brilliant. He had seen it countless times in their private lessons; her clever mind absorbed every word that left his lips. Naturally skilled, she understood concepts far beyond the lessons of her year. In a way, it warmed him. Seeing a student actually grasp a concept was one thing, but to see one apply it and – dare he hope it – think on their own was something else entirely.

He hadn't seen anyone as skilled in Potions since ... her.

He allowed himself to compare Miss Granger to Lily – but only for a moment. The similarities were few and far between, and he was surprised he had thought to compare them at all. In the next instant he was watching her sleep again. Her little hand was curled around the sheet, as if she had pulled it close to her face.

"Severus?" Albus called out cheerfully, distracting him. "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Poppy believes Mr. Potter will likely make a full recovery."

He looked up and affected a bored expression. Poppy had disappeared into her office – likely to obtain some potion for Potter. "Ah, yes, Albus, how glorious it will be to have your little Gryffindor protegé amongst us once more."

Albus appeared delighted, all traces of his earlier worry from when he had intervened and stopped the possessed Quirrell were gone. "You are quite right, Severus. And how is Miss Granger doing?"

"I suspect we should ask Poppy," he replied waspishly, "given that she is her caretaker." He felt his anger flare again.

At that very moment, Poppy bustled back into the Hospital Wing, levitating a number of colorful vials and cradling an extra blanket. Having apparently overhead the tail end of their conversation, she supplied in brisk tones, "Miss Granger will be fine in due time, Severus, though the girl is seriously lacking in nutrition and suffering from sleep deprivation."

He felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord. "What?"

"The girl simply hasn't been sleeping," Poppy said as the threw the extra blanket over Potter. "And it's clear she's been eating next to nothing. She's skin and bones, the poor thing!"

Severus looked back down at Miss Granger. The one wrist bone that was exposed over the blanket jutted out rather prominently. He frowned deeply. How had he been so unobservant?

"Do you suspect," he asked carefully, "an ... eating disorder?"

Poppy looked up at him, though not without sympathy. "No, and thank heavens, Severus. From what she informed me, she's been running herself ragged these past few weeks studying for her exams. I doubt she's had a full night's rest in ages – not to mention a proper meal. I've given her Dreamless Sleep for now. The moment she awakes, I'm having the House Elves bring her something with sustenance."

Severus nodded, privately grateful he didn't have to tackle that particular issue. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was simply that he would have no idea where to begin. It had been his experience that Slytherin women, in general, were rather taken with themselves.

"If Miss Granger was so foolish to starve herself in order to receive acceptable marks on her exams, then perhaps a short stay in the Hospital Wing will teach a lesson that mere discipline could not."

"Severus!" Poppy exclaimed, indignant.

"I'd wager she did better than acceptable," Albus chimed in dreamily from Potter's bedside.

Severus scowled. "You do her no favors by mollycoddling her, Poppy," he said, smoothly. "If she refuses to use what we all know to be a capable mind, then she will suffer the consequences and, dare we hope, learn from such foolhardy behavior." He rubbed his left forearm absently. "I, for one, do not wish to see her incapacitated, Poppy, though perhaps this is a lesson best learned sooner rather than later. If she neglects her health with such flippant disregard now, I daresay she will not survive as a N.E.W.T student."

Poppy frowned. "Ever the optimist, Severus."

"Ever the realist," he corrected.

"And how is Mr. Weasley?" Albus asked, shifting the attention from Severus' charge.

"Mr. Weasley? Oh, he'll be fine by morning, I'm sure," said Poppy. "I'd like to keep him for a day or two, of course. Concussions are tricky things." She looked down at her hands, then directed her gaze warmly at Miss Granger's sleeping form. "She dragged him the whole way hear, you know. Tiny little thing that she is." She shook her head, as if in disbelief. "A Slytherin helping a Gryffindor – I never thought I'd see the day."

"Then you are every bit as prejudiced against my House as the rest of the Wizarding world," Severus snarled.

"Oh, Severus. That's not what I meant – "

"Severus?" Albus interrupted innocently, "Would you, perhaps, join me outside for a moment? I believe we've worn out our welcome, and Misters Potter and Weasley and Miss Granger are in need of a great deal of rest, as I'm sure Poppy would agree."

Poppy frowned. "They are," she conceded, "though – I haven't had a chance to look over either of you. Are you at all injured? Miss Granger said that – "

"We are unharmed," Severus said coldly, standing from his chair. He glanced once more at Miss Granger and then moved the chair back to the wall with a quick flick of his wand.

"Well, you better not be lying – the both of you," Poppy said stiffly. She fluffed a pillow on one of the empty beds inanely. "If I find out later that either of you was hurt and you didn't tell me – don't look at me like that, Severus; you always lie about your well-being – I'll personally murder you both."

Severus suppressed a smile and bowed his head in departure. "Until then, Poppy. I trust you'll think of a clever way to do it."

"Of course," she replied passionately. "I am a Ravenclaw, after all."

Severus smirked and left the Hospital Wing. Albus had already removed himself to the corridor and was currently regarding an elaborate tapestry on the west wall, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

Even from several feet away, Severus could tell something was troubling the Headmaster. The blue eyes that always – damn them – twinkled with perpetual optimism and hope were clouded. A deep line had set up residence between two rather bushy, white eyebrows.

"Albus – "

"If you'll follow me, Severus."

They made for the stone gargoyle in relative silence. Severus took the stairs slowly, partly from his own exhaustion, and partly because he suspected Albus was just as tired as he was. Outside, the sun was dawning bright and clear, and early morning rays peeked carefully through Hogwarts' windows. It was only when they were safely ensconced in the Headmaster's office and Albus had walked in, paused, and then leaned against the front of his desk that Severus spoke.

"How is it, Albus, that the rules which govern Hogwarts never seem to apply to you?"

The Headmaster looked up wearily, though a small smile twitched beneath his beard. "Why, whatever do you mean, my boy?"

Severus walked over to a window and crossed his arms, looking out over the grounds. In the far distance, he saw the glow of Hogsmeade, still likely slumbering at this early hour. "Apparation," he said simply. "You got to Potter before I did. You informed me that you would be away at the Ministry."

Albus smiled. "I suppose being me does have its advantages, Severus."

"Don't play coy, Albus. You expect me to believe you're suddenly the bashful bride?" He snorted loudly and turned from the window. "You've never shied away from regaling the heroic tales of your accomplishments before." Severus was fully aware he was acting quite beyond what etiquette considered to be polite, but he was past caring. He deserved – no – he was entitled to answers after everything he had done for the man. "I have never heard of anyone retaining the ability to Apparate within Hogwarts' walls."

Albus smiled wryly. "There are more important concerns at this point, Severus, namely Lord – " He paused when he saw the younger man's murderous expression. " ... Namely the man formerly known as Tom Riddle."

Severus watched the Headmaster for a long moment. He nodded.

"Good. Now, while I must commend you on rushing to save young Harry's life, it would be wise, I think, for the time being, that you stay away from the ... entity that is Tom Riddle."

Severus stared blankly. "What?"

Albus brought his long fingers to his lips and steepled them slowly, staring out at some nondescript point straight ahead of him. It was a long time before he spoke. "I do not want Tom Riddle knowing that your loyalties are with me."

Severus calculated for a moment. "You expect him to return." It was not a question.

"Tom is out there, most certainly. Perhaps searching for another body. He ... left Quirrell to die, of course."

"That – " Severus started, and then stopped himself. It was true that there had been no love lost between himself and Quirrell – before he had become host to the Dark Lord's soul – but seeing his crumpled, mutilated body beneath the school had done more than unnerve him. He felt sickened. Dirty. It was ... far too real.

"That," he began again, slightly more hesitant, "is the Dark Lord's way with all of his followers."

Albus nodded but didn't look at him. "Yes. Mercy was never one of Tom's finer points, was it?"

"Potter delayed his return to power," Severus said evenly, "but only delayed it."

"Yes," said Albus. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It surprised Severus that he allowed himself to appear so weak. "I think so."

"And when the Dark Lord returns," said Severus, walking slowly around the circumference of the room, "you'll want someone on the inside. Someone you can trust." He paused for a moment, feeling the proverbial darkness loom around him like it always did. Finally, he added, rather significantly, "Again."

"Yes, Severus," said Albus, returning his spectacles to the bridge of his nose. "I was grateful you were held up at the chess game and that I was able to reach Harry before you did." He pushed himself from his desk and stood tall, looking up at the portraits of Hogwarts' former Headmasters and Headmistresses. His voice took on a somber tone when he continued, "I fear that Tom will seek further retribution now that his plans have been foiled by Harry a second time. We cannot be so foolish as to think he will remain in hiding indefinitely."

"No," agreed Severus quietly, "we cannot."

The Headmaster turned from the portrait wall and regarded Severus with a look of infinite sorrow. "I fear that I must ask too much of you yet again, Severus."

Severus, for his part, did his best not to wince. Of course Albus would ask this of him. In retrospect, it bothered him that he actually had the audacity to be surprised. It was, after all, this end that he had committed to over a decade ago – to protect Potter with his very life (if it was so required), and to help destroy the Dark Lord – though properly, this time. Albus was merely reaffirming what he had already agreed to.

He supposed he should have felt some sense of fear, of loss for the life that would be taken from him. But he didn't. It was rare, really, that he felt much of anything at all anymore. And what else did he have to live for?

Nothing, a voice in his mind answered.

He forced himself to not think of the journey ahead. To focus, rather, on the present. Because there was one thing he was certain of in all this – and it was a certainty unlike anything that he had known before – and that was that he would be blessedly, wonderfully dead before the end unfolded.

No man can serve two masters.

Standing there, staring into Albus' flat, hollow eyes, Severus knew that the Headmaster understood that truth as well.

"You have but to ask me, Headmaster," he said, very softly.

Albus nodded, and his shoulders rose and fell in an inaudible sigh. Behind his spectacles, his blue eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Severus – "

"Do not try to comfort me, Dumbledore," Severus snapped. He lifted his wand and pointed it at him, thoroughly disgusted. "You ask this of me – this one great thing – do me the courtesy, at least, of not pretending that you are sorrowful." He half-choked on the words. "I know you are not."

"Severus," Albus tried again, reaching out to touch the younger man on the shoulder, and then evidently thinking better of it, dropping his hand to his side, "How could I be anything apart from sorrowful, my boy? You undervalue yourself. You are like a son – "

"I am what you wanted me to be," Severus said coldly, cutting him off very business-like. "Nothing more."

"Severus – "

"No." Severus held up his hand firmly and shook his head. "I have no wish for pity, nor for your blubbering sentimentalities, Dumbledore. This conversation is finished. I, once again, have agreed to do what you asked me those many years ago. There is nothing further to be discussed." He stalked over to the door and then hesitated. "You will not attempt to send me sweets, scarves, or any other number of inane gifts in an attempt to make yourself feel better. The first owl I see with any assortment of packages attached to it, I swear to you, Albus, I will end my employment at Hogwarts immediately, and you shall never see nor hear from me again."

And then Severus quitted the Headmaster's office, slamming the door behind him with an emphatic bang.

Standing alone and silent, Albus Dumbledore removed his spectacles and hung his head, rubbing his eyes wearily to wipe away any trace of tears.

"Only Merlin knows how much I care about you, Severus," he murmured.

A/N: Well, there you have it - not a single JKR quote! It took a little longer than I anticipated, simply because I had to do some research and imagine why, possibly, Dumbledore didn't act in getting rid of Quirrell sooner given his knowledge of what he truly was. It's left a little vague in this version of things because .... I really and truly don't get Dumbledore sometimes. (if ever)

I was overwhelmed by the reviews last chapter. Thank you for your wonderful words! I've already started on the next chapter, and am quite excited to move into CoS and leave SS behind. Onward we go!

A special thanks to Borgprincess for being my beta AND personal research assistant. :)

-Liz