FLIGHT OF THE DRAGON

If there was one thing to be said of one particular Potions Master it was that he was absolutely furious; not with himself, or the insufferable child he despised so, but with the headmaster.

He knew perfectly well what was going on and he'd beggared off to get away from the school so Voldemort could get in and dispose of the girl.

He also must have known she would go after the precious mineral guarded by many elements of certain death to save her fellow wizards and witches from a fate worse than death (because if Voldemort were to succeed, no one would stand a chance.)

Seriously, did the headmaster think Severus Snape was completely stupid?

"Well, your plan didn't work anyway," the dark-haired man said to no one but himself.

Yes, the Dark Lord was dead now; he had no way of coming back. And Quirrell was gone too. Served him right though – poor excuse for a Ravenclaw he was. Clearly not the brightest flame in the pumpkin or he wouldn't have a sadistic murderer on the back of his head.

More than anything, he considered, however, was that he, the no-nonsense teacher who hated children (exactly why he was in a job dealing with them, he didn't know) had to be the one to go and get the girl from the chamber instead of the perpetrator of the incident. He would never use the word 'accident' – he knew the headmaster was to blame for all this.

On the plus side, however, when Snape had gone into the chamber to take her to the hospital wing, she was in a coma, for which he was glad. It meant he could move her without causing her pain.

He must have spent five hours over her bed helping Madam Pomfrey to clean her up. The matron, of course, had told him she could handle it alone but he made a point of expressing his view. "Give me an occupation or I shall run mad."

Naturally, of course, the school nurse was none-too-pleased by his persistence.

Whilst cleaning her wounds, Madam Pomfrey suddenly stopped and jumped. Yes, old wounds had been opened. It was her back, all covered in blood and old scars. She didn't know if it was injury going through the event or abuse suffered at the hands of another. Some strangely looked like belt buckle marks.

As the nurse left the scene to calm herself down, the teacher continued to wash the girl's hair. Yes, even Severus Snape was capable of washing hair.

He even dried it personally and brushed and combed it. If he was completely honest, he found it quite therapeutic and comforting, as though he wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of his life.

Section by section he brushed, mulling over recent events. He knew exactly where those marks came from all over her back, though – both places.

He was fully aware of the triple-headed beast guarding the stone; he'd been attacked by it himself and knew full well it was a killing machine.

If his calculations were correct, the girl was attacked by its giant paws and pushed down the trapdoor, as though the dog thought she deserved it. He had other ideas of the belt marks.

Had he not begged and pleaded with Dumbledore not to send her to the Dursleys? Hadn't he said "I'll take her; she'll want for nothing?" But, no, the manipulative old coot just had to dismiss the idea.

And what had his excuse been? "You would do it only for Lily, not for James."

At the moment, Severus Snape really hated that man – the headmaster, of course, not his childhood enemy. Thinking on it, James Potter did mature enough to save his life and, had he been allowed, taking the girl in to raise as his own would be a life debt owed.

But the headmaster just had to have it his way. He'd also chosen to ignore Hagrid's latest pet and it worried the potions master to think that he didn't care about the welfare of the students or his colleagues, letting the dragon run free and set everyone on fire.

Shaking himself from his unwanted thoughts, he looked down at the scarred girl before him. "I'll do it for you and you alone. Dumbledore doesn't deserve the favour," he sighed, as he then set the hairbrush on the cabinet beside the bed and left the hospital wing for his office to collect his thoughts before committing the deed.

He left the half-giant's home at eleven o'clock that evening, when all the students (prefects included) were in bed, with the dragon in a cage with a blanket adorning it. He didn't want any rule-breakers out after curfew seeing him carrying an illegal animal. Besides, even if they were stupid enough to defy school policy, what business was it of theirs anyway?

As he made his way up to the Astronomy Tower, he could think of nothing but the girl and danger she put herself in to save her fellow magicians.

As he pondered over recent events, he was glad he decided to remove the dragon from the premises.

He had been cruel to her and she had only asked a perfectly innocent question. She wasn't forcing him into it and made it perfectly clear it was his own choice whether he decided to or not.

Now he was pursuing his own choice and it was all because of her.

She'd never been cheeky or sarcastic to him, unlike so many of the other students, and he'd never heard her say a bad word of anyone.

And so, he met up with Charlie Weasley after twelve months since the dragon breeder graduated, and handed Norberta over to him.

"She will be taken good care of," Charlie had said. "And tell Fern I said hi."

Three days later, Fern roused from her coma with a rather sore neck and aching back.

Squinting in the light, she looked at the clock beside her. From the looks of it, it was thirty-two minutes past five and she could feel the sun peering through the clouds to warm her face.

As she moved to sit up, she smacked her head on the swivel-tray in front of her and it took her a few moments to regain her sight.

Before her eyes sat a mound of goodies and get well soon cards, one of which was signed by the first year Gryffindor boys, who, even though Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan didn't know her that well, knew Ron liked her so she therefore must be a person worth wishing the best for.

"Who sent all this?" she asked herself, picking through the mounds of sweets looking for any name to thank later.

Looking over to the bedside cabinet, she noticed a box wrapped in silver paper with a lemon-yellow ribbon tied around it. Attached was a note:

The dragon has flown. It's the least I could do. Mr. Weasley says 'Hi.'
S.

The way 'Hi' was written suggested to Fern that whoever wrote the note wasn't overly-keen on the familiar term.

But, who was 'S' and why was it the least they could do?

Gingerly she opened the present in her hand, as though afraid it might explode. Imagine her surprise then when she was met by the sight of a beautiful silver- no, white gold – bangle. Engraved upon it was 'Fernanda Mary Alice.'

Exactly where the 'Potter' was, she didn't know but supposed maybe the extra six letters wouldn't fit. It was a lovely thought, though she didn't know who sent it.

Regardless, she put it on her left wrist straight away and admired it. 'Whoever you are, S, thank you. It's beautiful.'

A/N: Sorry for the late update and I know this chapter isn't the best but if I don't put something up, this story will never get finished.