A/N: Happy Snow Days!

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Chapter 24
Witnesses

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"You're not still mad at me about this morning, are you?"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione told him, putting down her Butterbeer on the ancient Three Broomsticks Table. It had been weeks since term began, and she was at her wits end with him.

Harry wasn't in exactly the best of moods, so she had decided to be as brisk as possible with him. It wasn't as if he would listen to her, anyway—not about that stupid book, and certainly not now.

On top of the fiasco with Mundungus, who Harry had caught in possession of Sirius' stolen goods, he was still peeved at her about yet another argument over the Prince's book. That, and they'd just endured another visit from Slughorn. The portly and currently rather sloshed Professor was as hopeful as ever that Harry would attend his next dinner party. It would be the third meeting of the so-named "Slug Club" (excluding the one Hermione had missed on the train), and the third Harry would miss. Sluggy was oblivious to the fact that every invitation was driving the stubborn Gryffindor further away—and putting him in an even worse mood than he was before.

Hermione, herself, had attended two parties so far, and they weren't that bad… when McClaggen wasn't trying to strike up conversations with her about mundane things like what shampoo she used, at least, or bragging about his "Quidditch" prowess. Honestly, could he be any less pigheaded? Still, McClaggen aside, she rather liked that Slughorn took the time to ask her about her parents, even though they were muggles… and she liked talking about healing with people other than Pomfrey. Ron and Harry tended to get a glazed look on her face when she brought up anything remotely complicated, but those in the Slug Club seemed genuinely interested in her abilities.

She could see why Harry wouldn't want to come... there was no doubt in her mind that Slughorn would bring up his accomplishments just as he did hers. For Harry, however, all of what he was known for, especially the event that he was most famous for, was associated with terrible memories for him.

As if sensing what she was thinking, Harry suddenly shot her a venomous look, "You really don't know how to let things go, Hermione."

She sighed—couldn't he ever take his frustrations out on Ron, instead of her?

Spiteful, despite her wish, she snapped back, "No more than you do."

The boy's green eyes darkened. Surprisingly, he held his tongue. Ron looked apprehensive, and refrained from speaking at all, as if afraid anything he might say would set either of them off into another tirade.

At this point, the mood was unlikely to lighten: a product of the weather and the growing tension. Hermione wasn't exactly a peach herself, these days. She was passing most of her classes, but only barely—showing just enough mastery to warrant 'acceptables'. McGonagall had pulled her aside to express that she was concerned, but she'd been easily brushed off with a few promises to do better. The witch didn't seem entirely convinced, but had relented, for now.

But for how long would that last? While she wouldn't mind explaining her predicament to her head of house, she couldn't seem to find the words.

It really wasn't necessary, she supposed; she would live, even if she failed…

She snorted at the thought, once a great fear of hers, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her, likely thinking she was laughing at him.

McGonagall knowing would make her life easier, but she supposed she could just talk to Dumbledore about it. He would find a way to placate her. She had been meaning to meet with him, after all... there were a few things she wanted to ask him. She just hadn't found time. iI between making sure Harry didn't accidentally hurt himself with one of the Prince's spells and researching about healing rituals for Snape, she had a very slim window for personal endeavors.

"Gods, I've been a miserable lout, haven't I?" Harry choked out a surprised laugh, surprising his two best friends.

Hermione didn't hesitate to say: "Yes."

He shook his head at them both, then downed the rest of his Butterbeer. There would be no more fighting, at least.

"Shall we call it a day and go back to school?"*

By now, he'd grown aware of the furtive glances being sent his way by a group of fourth-year girls and was avoiding glancing to his left at all cost. Still, Hermione appreciated the calming tone he now adopted, and was proud that he'd grown at least marginally since. The witch nodded to him, and Ron agreed. They finished off their drinks, hoping the Butterbeers would last them long enough that they wouldn't freeze on their way back to the castle.

The witch slung her arm through both of the boys', "That was sort of refreshing, wasn't it? To get out of the castle?"

Ron seemed disturbed by her suddenly cheery tone, his cheeks red from the frosty cold. Harry merely gazed on ahead of them, overcome by some distant demon. She tried her best to hold on to her sense of positiveness, but it was lost on the two of them.

Although they weren't aware of this, this was the first time she'd been outside the castle grounds since… well, since the ministry (excluding her visits to the Shrieking Shack, which wasn't exactly an ideal vacation spot and was protected by Hogwarts' wards via Dumbledore and Snape). She rather found she enjoyed the new scenery, but admitted that she felt slightly off-kilter… while the security was increased tenfold around the village, she couldn't help but be reminded of her particular vulnerabilities, and proud that she'd braved it, besides... and survived, to boot. Not that the Death Eaters would be stupid to attack Hogsmeade, considering the amount of aurors she'd noticed skulking about.

Honestly, what had she been afraid of?

"Say, 'Mione, we've got a few hours... do you think you could help me with that Charms essay?"

"Again, Ronald?" She huffed, "That's the third one this—"

"It has nothing to do with you, Leanne!"*

She and Ron and Harry couldn't help but listen in on the conversation ahead of them, the voices growing so loud that they drowned out their own. It was not because they were getting any closer; no, it sounded like the beginnings of a row.

As the trio rounded the slope, they happened upon a peculiar sight—Katie Bell and a girl whose name she could not quite recall—were arguing over a package which Katie held. When it fell to the ground, Katie lunged for it, as she might a baby that had fallen from her arms… and at once, her body spun into the air. She was left eerily suspended—just as the candles were in the Great Hall, as if caught in some invisible force-field.

Hermione and the rest watched, helpless, as her body grew unnatural still, as if the very air had frozen and Katie with it. Something was wrong, of course… Katie's expression was blank and whatever was happening left a bad taste in their mouths. Not a one could find a voice to speak out against it, as if whatever hurt her had stolen that, too.

And then, to their unsurprised horror, Katie let out a blood-curdling scream.

So much for avoiding stressful situations… thought Hermione, who felt her body seize in fear at the sound.

The rest was a large blur of movement. Leanne, whose name was suddenly remembered, attempted to grab Katie but slipped on the ice. As soon as Ron, who was more athletic, made contact with her body, the spell seemed to shatter. The witch fell, toppling over the boys who'd attempted to catch her with the swiftness they dealt with quaffles. Both Ron and Harry struggled to hold her down, as she was writhing violently—tell-tale signs of something sinister; dark magic.

Hermione at once reached into her shirt, pressing her wand against the sickle rather than the galleon, summoning both Snape and Pomfrey. Because there was nothing else she could do, she stood, mute.

Harry, satisfied that his team-mate could restrain the cursed girl without him, disappeared toward the school, "Stay there! I'm going for help!"*

"Can't you do something?" Leanne spat at Hermione as she dropped to her knees to help Ronald, taking Harry's place.

They both struggled to keep Katie from harming herself—or them.

It felt like a cheap lie, but it was the only one she had, "No… I haven't mastered diagnostics yet—and it's not safe for me to try, not knowing what the curse is."

Even with the talismans, she knew she was no match for whatever this was.

Leanne dropped her head in hopelessness, obviously distressed at seeing Katie so miserable.

Thankfully, Harry returned quickly with help: Hagrid. And although she couldn't tell the others, she knew that Pomfrey was preparing the hospital wing for Katie's arrival, and Snape was on his way to intercept the victim. The sooner he got to her, the better.

Hermione hesitated—she should go with them, as she was Pomfrey's assistant, but what was there that she could do? This was Snape's forte, clearly… even Pomfrey would admit that.

"It's Leanne, isn't it?"* Hermione asked as she approached Katie's friend, after Hagrid had disappeared, his captive's screams dying on the wind.

Leanne could only nod.

"Did it happen all of a sudden, or—"*

"It was when that package tore."*

Hermione immediately went to the package and crouched down. Ron bent down beside her and began to reach for the necklace, the thing which had caused this horrible event.

"Don't touch it!" Harry said, a fraction before she did.

Ron snatched his ungloved hand away, looking slightly confused that he would even try.

"I've seen that before…" the Boy Who Lived explained to them. It had been on display in Borgin and Burkes in Diagon Alley, or so he testified, "Where did Katie get a hold of it?"

"Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the loo at the Three Broomsticks holding that package, said it was a surprise for somebody back at Hogwarts and she was to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it… Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiued and I didn't even realize!"*

Leanne began to cry, which spared Hermione from having to deal with the pitied looks that Ron and Harry sent her, as if the mere mention of Imperius would send her into a depressed spiral.

"Did she say who gave it to her?"*

"No, she wouldn't tell me, and when I pressed her, she flipped out! I—I tried to… but…"

The girl grew even more emotional.

"Let's get her to the castle—"

"Wait," Harry pulled his scarf from around his face and, even though Ron and Hermione cringed as he did it, wrapped up the necklace in it, careful not to touch it with his hands.

Hermione focused on her patient, Leanne, trying to both comfort her and warm her up. Behind her, Harry began to rant about Malfoy—how he must have been responsible, as Harry had seen him looking hard at the necklace in Knockturn Alley a few years back. It must have been what Draco had been collecting the day Ron and Harry had followed him.

While it was a plausible suspicion, it was not a concrete one. Accusations like that were taken very seriously by people like Malfoy, however far he'd fallen from grace with his father's imprisonment. If Harry went spouting off about it to just anyone, there would be consequences.

"I—I dunno, Harry,"* said Ron, who understood the dangers of slander in their world, and Hermione was once again glad for his presence, "And besides, didn't she get it in the girls' bathroom?"*

"She said she came back from the bathroom—doesn't mean that's where she got it!"*

Harry opened his mouth to argue.

"McGonagall," Ron warned, urging Harry to halt his rantings before she overheard.

The stern witch accosted them to follow along after her, eager to collect their testimonies of what had happened. When she saw that Harry was clutching something, she demanded he tell her what. After he explained, she let out a displeased "Good lord."

As soon as they reached the castle, the necklace and the scarf were passed to Filch, who was to deliver it to Snape. After he'd relented its care, Harry gave Filch a mistrusting look. The squib did not notice, as he had hurried off, toward the infirmary.

The castle seemed receptive to their urgency and they made it McGonagall's office quickly. Hermione numbly listened as she asked them questions about what had happened, offering no testimony. She was trying to wrap her brain around it all: who would hurt Katie? What curse could do such a thing? Was this the act of a Death Eater? Had they been targeting someone else? Who?

When her head of house sent Leanne to go collect a Calming Draught from the mediwtich, Hermione offered to go with her.

"Very well, then, Granger. I assume Potter and Weasely will explain what happened just as well without you."

Hermione ignored the biting tone of her head of house (they were all on edge, so it was understandable) and gathered Leanne once more in arm. Her classmate seemed to have grown very quiet, likely in shock now as her hysteria had passed, and clung to Hermione's arm as if it were a life-raft. They traveled slowly but surely to the infirmary, not too far from McGonagall's office.

"Hermione, dear, how are you?"

"Fine," she spared Pomfrey no smile, only a courteous nod, "Where's Katie?"

"With Professor Snape," Madam Pomfrey admitted. She sent a look toward a curtain in the corner. The witch stepped toward them and felt a terrible sensation overcome her. She shivered and backed away.

When she met Hermione's eye, Poppy's gray-green irises were not as clear as they normally might have been. It wasn't every day, or every year, that she had to deal with a patient who had been cursed to unconsciousness—well, at least, it had been nearly five months since the last time. And once again, she'd relented her job to Snape, who must have known more about dark magic than anyone at Hogwarts.

And what do the other healers do when they have to deal with such things?

Hermione frowned at the thought. Once again, they would be lost without his knowledge of the dark arts. Leanne, beside her, drifted forward, then stepped back, just as Hermione had—she could sense the magic, too.

"Madam Pomfrey, I believe Leanne needs a Calming Draught?"

"Yes, yes, that is likely best. You know where they are," she was concentrating on the diagnostic, attempting to assess the damage the curse might be doing to her interior.

Hermione sat Leanne down on the bed, drawing the curtain to prevent anyone who might enter from bothering her. She began to clean the tears off of her face and collected the Calming Draught, asking her if she'd found anything she liked in Hogsmeade, what her plans were for the week, if she'd been to any of Slughorn's Parties (she had, Hermione remembered seeing her... her mother was a Charms prodigy, or Transfiguration; Hermione couldn't recall)—anything to distract her from the memory that the younger witch was trying to blot out of her mind.

After a time, Leanne began to actually answer her questions, rather than nod or shake her head. The potion had taken effect.

"Would you like me to escort you back to the Common Room, now?"

"Can't I stay here?"

"Of course, Leanne, but you should definitely try and get some sleep if you do."

"You're right," Leanne sniffled, but otherwise seemed eerily at ease with the world. She curled into a ball, staring at the curtain blankly.

"Goodnight," Hermione said, letting her hand slip out of Leanne's as she led her to the exit. She knew Leanne would sleep.

When she righted the curtain, she headed for Madam Pomfrey, who was swiping through diagnostic after diagnostic. They were hastily made, but by the looks of them, they were Katie's. Half of them were black, which did not pose a good sign.

"What can I do for her?"

"Nothing, my dear," the mediwitch said, smiling at her sadly, "This is out of my realm of capabilities, obviously, or I wouldn't be standing here pretending to be doing something useful myself."

Hermione laughed at her obvious embarrassment, but it was clipped and tasted like ash.

Poppy sighed, sensing that her young apprentice, as Snape called her, would not be cheered, "Whatever it is, I won't dare break Severus' concentration."

"He's attempting to keep the curse from spreading?"

"Yes, and I do believe he is going to nullify the object, if he can; I believe he will succeed. She was extremely lucky, she was—barely touched it at all… then again, if it weren't for the hole in her glove, she might not have been cursed at all."

Hermione frowned.

Was it lucky? Wouldn't she have been luckier not to have a hole in her glove, at all?

"I've already contacted St. Mungo's. We'll keep an eye on her for the night, but tomorrow she will be admitted."

"It's that bad?" Hermione murmured. Even she hadn't had to go to Mungo's—but, then again, had she, she might not have survived the summer. The records of the hospital were much more public than those of Hogwarts.

"Unfortunately, yes. I won't know for certain until Severus finishes, which should be soon," Pomfrey admitted, "But either way, we shan't fret. I have a good feeling that you and your friends arrived just in time to spare Katie's life... had you sent that message half-a second later…"

She trailed off. Hermione, however, was unconvinced that it had made much of a difference.

If I'd been paying attention, I could have prevented it, she thought. Hadn't Snape taught me Occlumency for a reason? So I'd be more aware of my surroundings? What good is it to know if I don't use it?

"You mustn't blame yourself, Hermione," Poppy reached out and grasped her by the shoulders, "There was no way to know."

Couldn't she feel it, now? Coming from behind the curtain? Why couldn't she have felt it before?

Because you were two busy pretending the world was all sunshine and daisies—the exact opposite of what Snape has been trying to show you for months!

She should have known! What had hurt Katie was dark, dark magic, black as night—and it was strong enough that it was obscuring everything that she adored about Professor Snape's…

Was that it? Was that what that feeling is? The scent, the sounds, the warmth? His… magic?

Curious. Why was it she could sense his and no one else's?

The nurse persisted, drawing her from her thoughts, "Come now, you'll stay and keep me company, won't you, while I wait for Severus to finish?"

She nodded, eager to distract herself from the burgeoning guilt she was beginning to feel.

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By the time night arrived, Severus was exhausted. One, he hadn't expected to waste three hours of his life attempting to keep a fatal curse at bay from one of his students, let alone two more removing the curse from a bloody necklace. Two, he hadn't expected that he would find traces of his godson's magic all over the bloody thing. It was better to destroy it completely, and he did so.

Luckily, by the time the aurors arrived to the hospital wing to collect it from him—hours after the girl had been cursed, thanks to Albus' careful interventions—he'd managed to do just that. The headmaster would be pleased that he had… it wouldn't do to have his assassin behind bars before he could succeed in killing him. Tonks, luckily, managed to placate the other two aurors, who were highly irritated that they had no evidence. Of course, they were suspicious of him, but he was used to suspicion, whether it was unfounded or not.

Grimacing at the macabre thought, he washed his face with Augamenti from the bedside of Katie Bell, who had at least been stabilized if not completely healed. He thought, briefly, of his godson. Severus pitied him for inheriting his father's lack of sense. Draco, he had determined, was a bleeding idiot, just like Lucius.

Not only was the headmaster gone until Monday, which essentially made Katie's ordeal all that more unnecessary, but the Malfoy heir was being sloppy about his assassination attempts—any trained killer would know how to cloak their magical essence. Of course, Draco wasn't a trained killer, he was a stupid teenager, but he was also almost half-certain that Draco was trying to get caught, just so he could get arrested. At least in Azkaban, he could be with his father, and would be safe from Voldemort. Relatively… but not for long.

Draco never was one for looking ahead. He lived in the now, and it was proving to be his undoing.

"Bloody imbelice," he hissed.

He'd tried to reason with the boy, but he'd been poisoned by Bellatrix into believing that Severus was working against him. Why he believed his aunt, he didn't know, but to think on it too hard would only cause him emotional pain that he was unequipped to deal with.

By the time he emerged from Katie's bedside, long after she had stopped screaming, Granger, who he had both heard arrive hours ago, had fallen asleep. Naturally, she'd had a long day, having witnessed such a thing. Being around dark magic was always exhausting for someone like her, someone good and innocent, and, in her weakened state, she would be especially vulnerable to emotional distress.

Had she ever seen such a curse? He doubted it. It was one thing to endure dark magic, and another completely to see it unfold before you.

"Severus," Pomfrey fretted as she headed over to him, "Are you alright?"

The witch clucked when he set a warming charm on Miss Granger, as she'd been shivering even beneath the blanket. From there, he smirked at the worrisome mediwitch, who was avoiding his gaze. He could tell she'd been worried about his intentions for the girl—likely assumed he would wake her and send her off to her tower where she belonged.

But he was not so cruel as to wake her from slumber. In these times, it was hard to come by. He of all people knew that.

"...Katie Bell?"

"Stable. But you already knew that."

"Yes, well... it was hard not to hear," Pomfrey muttered, "Dawlish always was a loud one, wasn't he? I swear, if she'd died because of their stubbornness—"

"They posed no harm. By then, I was merely monitoring her for any unexpected consequences," Severus told her irritably, wincing. His neck was aching from hunching over the girl and his back was, literally, on fire.

"Hmph... still," Pomfrey sighed with relief, seemingly ignorant of his non-compliant silence, "Should I check on her, then?"

"She's fine, for now, unless you feel you must oversee my work," he insisted dryly, as he leaned over Miss Granger.

"No, no, that won't be necessary."

He inspected her closely, taking the opportunity to drape one of the spare blankets around his charge's shoulders. His fingers lingered; despite the warming spell, he felt the coldness of her skin and he cast another over her, for good measure.

"She worked herself up, I think," Pomfrey began to say, this time speaking of Granger, "I had her practice her wandwork in my office; I hope that's alright… just year one spells."

He nodded. He trusted Pomfrey to know what to do if Granger had another reaction, not that he expected one would ever come. But you couldn't be too sure.

The witch seemed proud to say, "She likely won't wake until late tomorrow morning."

It as likely true... while cold, Granger was out like a light.

As he settled into the chair beside her, he bit back a groan of pain. He wanted very much to find a drink, or eight. The remnants of the curse—Bell's curse, not his—burst onto his tongue like a stain, copper and iron and…

"Severus? Will she recover?"

He blinked his eyes open. Had he drifted off? "Granger?"

"No… Miss Bell."

"I have restricted the curse, but I cannot cure her."

"There is nothing you can do for her?"

"Nothing more, no," he admitted, "Luckily, the curse's effects are fixable, but she will recover with only one remedy…"

"What?"

"Time," his eyes fixed hers poignantly.

"Ah… but she will recover fully?"

"I believe so, if she has the will to survive. It is lucky she is young and healthy, to begin with."

Pomfrey wrung her hands, and a haunted look he had seen in many of the other older residents of Hogwarts when they read the papers or discussed the news fell upon her weathered face, "Severus, who would do this terrible thing?"

He avoided her gaze, choosing instead to glance toward the slumbering witch, "I do not believe this object was intended for Miss Bell."

"Then… who?"

He gazed backwards towards her, shrugged. She should know there were only two people at Hogwarts who might be worth risking the security to kill. And they both knew who would try to kill the Chosen One and his most notorious protector. Any Death Eater would be glad to see to the task, but, unfortunately, the only confirmed Death Eater at Hogwarts was himself. Following his train of thought, she chose to leave that conversation as it had ended, with subdued uncertainty.

Poppy paced toward the window, peering over the dark trees and the shimmering black lake.

"I wonder, Severus... are you going to tell me about—Severus?"

He was asleep, head tilted back ever so slightly against the chair. Even in sleep he appeared stiff, uncomfortable, all joints and limbs and angles.

His thin mouth was a grim line and his eyes were barely closed, as if he would spring awake at any moment. Every inch of him seemed prepared to jolt awake, to fight... save the long, worn fingers on his left hand, which was gently hovering over the hospital blanket, over-top Granger's curled fist. There was something there, something perhaps slightly untoward... a closeness that should have made her feel worried, concerned, but instead made perfect sense.

She didn't dare drape a blanket over him, worried he might wake, but she did draw the curtain, sparing them scrutiny by those who might not understand.