The day began with the snap of the fingers, a cigarette, and the abject fury of one Poppy Pomfrey.

She caught him by the window overlooking the slope that ran down to Hagrid's empty hut, stubbing the butt out on the granite pane and exhaling a cloud into her clean air, and quite promptly ejected him from her Hospital Wing so that he could blacken his lungs someplace she couldn't watch. She'd even made sure to hex his robes into his face so that he could hide his blood-stiff jumper from any students he might pass. It was only a quarter past six, and the castle was cold and dark. All was going according to plan.

First he retreated to the dungeons, where he washed and reapplied his bandages, and donned himself in the most intimidating set of robes he could dig out in such limited time. He checked himself briefly in the mirror and crushed the impulse to Glamour his face so that he looked less peaky. Perhaps tomorrow, but not today. Today, he needed peaky.

So he took a deep breath, let his shoulders slouch, and trudged out of the room with three separate diuretics, two laxatives, and a vial of pure Snargaluff essence tucked into his pocket. And then he turned right back round in the corridor outside his rooms and grabbed a serum that gave the drinker ghastly genital warts, for good measure.

It was still early enough that the first of the students to be out of bed were yawning and bleary-eyed, but it didn't last long. Severus was making no effort to hide his sorry state. And the students, in turn, made no effort to hide the wide berth they gave him once they caught sight of whatever expression was currently on his face. It made his skin crawl to see the little terrors staring at him in such horror, but he knew full well if he didn't play the part properly, there would be no conceivable way Umbridge would believe she'd simply contracted a bug off him rather than been purposely sabotaged.

So he lumbered and sniffled, snarling wordlessly at all those who dared get in his way, even his own snakes. He reached the Great Hall at his slowest speed on record and settled himself with agonizing stiffness into the seat besides the one Umbridge normally took. There was no need to fake the pain. His entire body radiated with it, rippling up his spine with every breath. Sparks shot white-hot through his stomach every time he moved. Severus felt miserable. Thankfully, however, he was more than a little well-versed in the talents of spreading misery.

Umbridge made her way to the high table as the sun crept high and the Hall filled out. She settled herself in the chair next to Severus, as he'd hoped she would, and paused to study him. He made a point to conjure a handkerchief and blow his nose in her general direction. For a moment he was worried he'd gone too far, because her eyes flickered to a different seat a distance away—but then Potter, with uncharacteristically good timing (the entirety of the decade's reservoir, most likely), loped in with Granger and Weasley in tow. Umbridge stilled like a cat who'd caught sight of a mouse. Or perhaps, Severus thought snidely, like a frog who'd spotted a particularly juicy fly.

The irony was not lost on him that they both intently watched the boy settle himself among a horde of red-haired hellions. It rankled him. He sawed at his eggs to vent his frustrations, splattering ketchup like blood over his plate.

Severus waited patiently all throughout breakfast for an opportunity, but it was only as the meal was winding down to an end and Umbridge had nearly finished her second helping of sausages that he found his opening.

Her eyes were fixed on Potter across the room. Potter, who'd arrived far earlier than was the norm, and was snatching peeks at the head table as though trying to catch somebody in the act. Catch him in the act, more than likely, because Severus had not forgotten what Minerva had let slip the night before. Potter had been the one to rouse the alarms on his state. You will regret that dearly, Severus tried to press at him during his own quick glances. And then, because he no longer had any eggs to relieve his anger towards, he forced a sneeze like an explosion right into the platter of kippers in front of him.

In an instant, Filius shot to his feet next to him, swearing under his breath and looking properly vexxed. His movement caused a ripple effect over the high table as others turned his way, and with them all distracted, Severus flicked his wand out of his sleeve and aimed towards a pot of coffee, which promptly upended itself in Pomona's lap. She leapt up with a shriek and at last Umbridge tore her gaze away from Potter.

Severus took the precious few seconds he had available to poison her sausages and doctor her tea, faking sneezes all the while. He was pretending to mop snot away from his face when the commotion died down and Pomona was on her way to the Hospital Wing. And with no more than a disgusted sniff and a shake of the head, Umbridge tucked back into her breakfast.

And privately, where he knew neither she nor the students could see, Severus smiled into his napkin.

Defense that morning was…interesting.

It began much the same as it normally did; with Umbridge trying to goad him, and Harry struggling to keep his temper in check. They'd been set to task learning the theory of Reducto, a very dull endeavor that consisted of flipping idly through the pages they'd been assigned without truly reading them. Harry could almost swear Seamus was snoring into the book he'd propped upright on his desk. He felt almost as though he'd been placed in a secondary History of Magic classroom.

And then the grumbling began.

It started out soft, like Ron's stomach sounded in the lesson before they let out for lunch. No one seemed to pay much attention until a second, louder grumble resonated in the silence like a foghorn, and finally Harry looked up from the page that had begun to blur in front of his face. For a moment he didn't know where it had come from—until it came a third time, and Harry locked eyes with Umbridge from across the room.

Umbridge, who was visibly sweating.

Then the smell hit. And suddenly Harry wasn't all too concerned about what Umbridge looked like, because at his side Hermione had gone as stiff as a board and behind him Ron was gagging out a, "What the bloody hell is that?"

All around him, people were muttering and waving at the air around their faces in a vain attempt to relieve themselves of the stench in the room. Harry lifted the front of his robes to his nose and tried to breathe through his mouth.

"Hem hem,"said Umbridge, though her smile was strained and her eyes were bulging from her head, "children, I did not tell you to stop reading."

"What's that smell?" Pavarti cried, pushing her chair back. It made an ungodly screech against the floor that only heightened the feeling of impending chaos in the room.

"I did not see you raise your hand, Ms. Patil," Umbridge sang, now gulping air like she was drowning. "Children, I must insist you return to your reading, or—"

Harry heard the largest gurgle of them all, and Umbridge's face drained of color so quickly she looked blanched. Then she snapped, in a voice pitched far higher than usual, "Class is dismissed! Everyone out, all of you."

None of them waited for her to take back the words. In an instant, Harry and the others were shoving books back into their bags, shoving chairs aside, and streaming from the room like they were being pursued. The classroom door slammed shut behind Dean, who jumped in alarm at the suddenness of it all.

"What the hell was that about?" Ron demanded, glancing at the closed door. He, Harry, and Hermione rushed away with the others.

"I might have a hunch," Harry said, and they both turned to look at him. "I'm hoping I'm right."

"Potter," Snape said with the barest hint of a sneer, "stay behind. We need to discuss the tripe you've attempted to pass off for an essay."

Snape's tone was caustic and his eyes were cold and cruel, but at his words, Harry's heart leapt in his chest. He glanced once at the wall of classmates pushing themselves out the door, and met Malfoy's eyes. He mouthed something, but Harry was too focused on reigning in the smile that was threatening to break out over his face. "Yes, Professor," he said, hoping he looked as though he was holding back an angry outburst rather than a joyous one.

Ron and Hermione lingered at the threshold, but Harry waved them off and at last the door snapped shut, and he and Snape were alone.

"You did something to Umbridge," Harry said without preamble, lifting his hand to hide his grin, "didn't you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're speaking of," Snape said dismissively. He was sitting stiffly at his desk, shoulders oddly hunched. The feverish sheen to his eyes had faded considerably, but he still looked drawn and sickly. And just like that, Harry's glee faded. He knew what Snape really wanted to talk about; it had been weighing on him from the moment he made his decision. Harry wasn't an idiot—he'd been aware from the start that Snape would know who had told. He'd just hoped that maybe…maybe Snape would be out for the count a bit longer, give him some time to come up with a reasonable excuse for having seen McGonagall.

But Harry didn't have time, and he was certain he wouldn't have been able to come up with a good enough excuse, anyway. "I told McGonagall," he said to his shoes.

"Yes," Snape hissed, "I am aware."

Harry didn't look at him. He didn't want to see what sort of expression was on Snape's face. "You can't be angry with me, you know. I'm just giving you back as good as you've given me. And anyway, it looked—it looked bad. Really bad. Did you, er, go to the Hospital Wing? Or did Dumbledore take care of it, maybe? How—how are you?"

When he glanced up, Harry found Snape had squeezed his eyes shut, and lowered his gaze again before he could catch him staring. "Potter, it does not—"

"—matter?" Harry finished, and clenched his fists at his sides. He shouldn't have expected anything less than this. "Yeah, you say that a lot."

"It doesn't concern you," Snape ground out. "It is not your job to worry about the Dark Lord, or sneak about trying to glean information of his plans. This extends to worrying yourself about me. What you are supposed to be doing is schoolwork. Schoolwork, and studying. Leave concerns about the Dark Lord and his plans to others. It is not your job."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Because it's yours, isn't it," he muttered.

"Yes," Snape said, voice gone suddenly silky, "it is."

The expression on his face was one of supreme satisfaction. And that was, of course, because Harry had inadvertently stepped right into a trap. But he wasn't about to back down. "I don't know if you've somehow forgotten, but the Dark Lord murdered my parents. It's a little hard not to concern myself with him, Snape."

Now Snape stood up, even though the movement obviously pained him. He began to rearrange the classroom with his back turned. "I haven't forgotten." His tone was as hard as ice. "Nor do I expect you to."

Trying to find something with which to distract himself, Harry looked around the room. Neville had forgotten what looked to be a Transfiguration essay, and at the desk Crabbe normally sat at was a coagulating heap of…something slimy. "Then what? Am I supposed to just let you bleed out alone? When would you have gotten help for whatever that was? You say it's not my concern, but maybe you don't realize it is my concern, because I think it matters. You think I don't care if you die? Trying to stop the man who's after me?"

"The situation is infinitely more complicated than your miniscule brain can understand," Snape said, closing himself off like a book snapping shut. "Spare me the false platitudes."

"They're not false platitudes!" Harry burst out, breathing hard. "I know you don't think I should, because summer is over, but I actually give a damn about you. I don't care if you think I shouldn't." Knowing he'd begun to lose momentum, and that defeat was on his horizon by the way Snape's lip had curled into a familiar sneer, Harry finished lamely, "And I know you care, too. You gave me the book."

The sneer slid off Snape's face in increments, leaving him with an odd expression Harry couldn't even begin to guess at. Eventually, when the bell had already rung and Harry was readying himself to leave, Snape said, "One day you'll understand, Potter. Don't say I didn't warn you. If you leave now, I will write you a note. But if you insist on carrying on with this frankly absurd conversation, I shan't bother. Make your decision." Snape turned then, and pointed to the door.

Harry didn't budge, out of stubbornness now more than anything. "I have Binns next. I don't even think he knows I'm alive."

"He's about to find out," Snape said, still pointing. "Out, now, or you'll find your pumpkin juice tampered with come morning, and unlike Dolores Umbridge, your laxative will not be so slow to act."

At last Harry stormed from the room, tearing Neville's essay along with him as he went. The door slammed shut behind him. And Snape did not call after him.

Later that evening, Harry received a letter from Umbridge. He was to serve detention with Filch until further notice.