A/N: All italicised text belongs to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Chapter Twelve

It was empty. Making his way to Dumbledore's quarters, Snape was interrupted by a returned Patronus from Minerva.

"Severus, we need to talk. Albus has been suspended, and there are several new arrangements for the students. Come to my office, and I will fill you in."

More than mildly irritated that neither had thought to mention this during his confinement, Severus returned to the floo.

Five minutes later, he was sitting opposite Minerva, discovering that it did not matter that he knew what the monster was. Dumbledore was suspended and would not return for the foreseeable future.

"Minerva," Severus said urgently, hoping at least she would be able to do something. "The monster is a basilisk. I don't know how it has been getting around, but that is the only reason why students have been petrified but not yet killed – and why they were all found with odd objects." McGonagall simply stared at him, dumbfounded by the revelation. "Basilisks kill by looking their prey directly in the eye, but nobody has looked it directly in the eye. Mr Creevey had his infernal camera; Justin must have seen it through Nearly-Headless-Nick. Still, Nick couldn't die twice, so he just got petrified as well, and Hermione and Miss Clearwater had that mirror; they must have worked it out and used it to look around the corner where I found them. It all makes sense. Even Filch appreciated the other day that there are fewer cobwebs around the castle he needs to tend to," McGonagall looked slightly puzzled. "Spiders flee from Basilisks," Snape explained quickly. His eyes imploring Minerva to agree and take action.

"Even Hagrid mentioned someone killing roosters! The crow of a rooster kills them." They both sat silently for several moments, Minerva appearing to process the information.

"And Potter can hear it," Snape added, "He can talk to snakes; you may remember it was revealed at the failed duelling club." That prompted a moment of recognition; however, McGonagall continued to look perplexed, struggling to arrange her thoughts to form an effective plan.

"Severus, we still don't know where the entrance is." Snape stared at her blankly. "Even now that we know – or at least suspect – what is endangering the students, we are no closer to actually keeping them safe because we don't know where the Chamber is. As much as I hate to say this, but we are one more incident away from closure, and I don't see how we can find the Chamber before that inevitably happens." Recognition dawned, and Snape was suddenly crestfallen.

"Of course. But Dumbledore must have some idea, surely? He must know?" Minerva shook her head.

"If he does, I am not aware of it. As far as I know, he has no idea what's going on. If he knew, I believe he would have caught the culprit by now." Severus nodded absentmindedly, hopelessly trying to think of a solution.

"What do we do?"

"I will tell Albus, the Board of Governors have requested he does not reside at the school during his suspension, but he will answer my Patronus. I shall do what he thinks is best, but I believe it may simply be to just wait and see if the entrance is revealed." Snape sighed; she looked so resigned to the supposedly inevitable fate of the school. "And brew the Restorative draft, of course, they will be ready in a week, according to Pomona, so we can start waking students up by the end of May. I think once we don't have a hospital wing full of petrified students, the Governors will look more favourably upon us remaining open despite the circumstances." Snape nodded once more, vacating his seat and returning the cold tea Minerva had handed him when he stepped through the fire.

Reached his quarters, Snape sat in his armchair and sighed; he had changed absolutely nothing, as usual. Grangers' letters were strewn on the floor, exactly where he left them. All this inside intel on Potter and what had it changed? He had monumentally invaded Granger's privacy in a capacity that, if he told her, he would probably never be forgiven and all that had happened was he had given himself a panic attack and almost died. Really what had been the point of the past six days? Severus' thoughts spiralled viciously around him; it had achieved little save him demonstrating an evident weakness to his students. He felt very foolish now that all the excitement was over.

With the next two and a half days completely free (his marking already completed rather extensively), Snape decided he would dedicate the remainder of his day to repairing Granger's letters which he had so callously disregarded and – somewhat bizarrely – he felt like lesson planning.

Two and a half hours later, all correspondence was returned to the box in perfect condition, showing absolutely no signs of interference. Severus' examination and consideration revealed that he did not know whether an accidental compulsion charm had been placed upon the letters. It was exceptionally difficult to tell since – had the spell been in place – it had achieved its aim of Severus' reading the contents. Still, it was also bound to be accidental magic as - if Granger had really wanted his help, she could have just asked - thus, it was complicated to detect. The nature of accidental magic meant it was not channelled with an intention; therefore, an object would rarely retain a memory of the spells' impact upon it, unlike when being used for intentional magic.

I could use it for an excuse; Snape had considered for the past hour or so. Granger would, more than likely, believe me. After all, I know more about magic and can use that to my advantage. Severus did not know why he placed her opinion so highly, but he had no desire to disappoint her and lose the trust she was beginning to put in him. If he told her the truth, he doubted she would ever view him the same. But could he really lie to a child for years? Five more years, Snape pointed out to himself. She will become an adult and, hopefully with my guidance, become an expert Potioneer. She is interested in the subject, and there is nobody else to teach it; what if she found out later and dropped Potions altogether. He shuddered at the thought. What a waste that would be of a brilliant mind. He sighed again; at least that could wait two weeks. He could decide when she woke up.

"Severus!" Minerva's head was in the fire. "Albus is very grateful that you have discovered what is in the Chamber, however, agrees that since we have no way of finding the entrance, there is little we can do. Our consensus is that we should attempt to wait out these last two weeks before the students are unpetrified and refocus after that. There are a number of new measures in place that you can familiarize yourself with over the weekend, before the staff meeting Sunday night. We are hoping that we will be able to essentially stave off the opportunity for any attacks. Once the students are awake, they may be able to tell us something." Severus grunted his assent and returned to his desk as Minerva's head flickered back to flames, leaving a scroll on his carpet.

The remainder of Snape's weekend passed in relative peace; Sinistra was monitoring the house in his stead, and – he had to be honest – it had been rather nice to have a break, even if it did come at the expense of most of the blood in his body. After going over the new – very stringent – measures designed to keep the students out of harm's way, Severus found himself writing out lessons for Granger. He was not sure what had prompted him to do it but, since he no longer had to plan any of his other classes, he enjoyed the excitement that came from designing precisely what a student would learn with him. It was something he usually did only for the children he tutored, and then it was generally confined to simply, generally safe concoctions. But with Granger, there was a wealth of opportunities. Severus doubted he would stick to the structure he had now imposed upon himself. Still, he certainly enjoyed listing everything he could teach her.

Prompting many bouts of guilt, Snape had lapsed more than once into silent contemplation. A habit preserved from his youth but neglected in recent years, Snape had often found hours of comfort in peacefully sitting and... well imagining. He had no other word for it. As trivial as it sounded, he enjoyed escaping from his honest thoughts. It had turned eventually into a form of occlumency for him, but sometimes, he just allowed himself to dream. This weekend all that he could conjure were images of Granger. The delight on her face when she understood something; the little routine she had before every potion: cauldron, tools, ingredients, hair up, sleeves up, begin. It was a pleasing reflection of his own methodical approach to brewing – though she had never seen him do so – and he had missed it. Severus found himself daydreaming of the simplicity of their classes; a potion, perhaps tea shared, and then she left. Such enthusiasm for knowledge, it was hard for him to completely ignore. She was right – time seemed to stop. Just in those moments, in the hour or so they spent together. Nothing else seemed to exist beyond that room. It was delightful. He missed it.

Snape decided he would begin teaching her more useful Potions – and not just potions if she wished. He could teach charms and transfiguration, almost all subjects he had at least some experience in. Healing Potions: many of which were simple and thus an excellent place to start. That would sustain them for at least the rest of the year. Start with Pepper-Up and slowly move towards a pain-relief potion and Dreamless Sleep; hopefully, she will enjoy that. Snape enjoyed brewing them himself; it was a calming experience brewing something so easy and straightforward. He could do it in his sleep, but it would be nice to have help. Since he brewed all Potions for the Infirmary, it did take a considerable portion of his time to complete them all; another pair of hands would not be refused. So long as they were Grangers'. She wouldn't be able to brew the quality required for the Hospital Wing but in a year or two, maybe if she kept up the progress.

The week felt like one of the longest Snape had ever endured; even individual classes seemed to drag until Snape felt sure someone had changed all the clocks. Potter and Weasley didn't even give him any trouble; they appeared more than a little lost without their brain cell and incidentally were a great deal more terrible at his subject. But even point loss, detentions, and Draco's insistence that he should apply for Dumbledore's job could save his dour mood. It darkened further with Lockhart's insistence that the first word from anyone petrified would be that 'it was Hagrid'; Snape felt a great deal of pity for the man. They had a cordial relationship, and Severus would wish Azkaban on very few men despite all appearances. He shuddered, just thinking of someone there allowed several memories he would rather forget to resurface. The sheer cold of the place, Snape could feel it in his bones, despite almost sitting in the fire, even his occlumency could not save him there. His mind had been filled with Lily and him, cradling her dead body. So utterly lifeless. If he could have spoken, he would have wished for death – or madness. Whichever was quicker.

Snape shook himself. The mandrakes were ready! Pomona had come running towards him in the corridor earlier as he made his last round of patrol. He had assured her that brewing would commence the very next day, but he needed sleep first. There could be no possibility of him ruining this potion. Besides, tomorrow was a Saturday; most of the Potion could be done then; it would only require the final ingredient a week later.

He really ought to be glad, Snape thought. The week had been long, but he had needed it to finalize all the exams students still had to take. Aside from his OWL and NEWT students, all year levels were still required to take exams in one week, and thus the teachers were forced to write them. Although Snape rarely rewrote them completely, they were usually adjusted in order to reflect what the year had focused on as it was inevitably different from the previous one. Some years questions were omitted on the basis that he had not had time to teach the students the content. Unfortunately, his classes had to be averaging an Acceptable, and thus, he was often forced to spend more time than necessary on simple potions stupid people could not understand. If he could have failed eight-five per cent of the year-level, Snape would have, but alas, Dumbledore had standards.

A day early, Granger, Snape mused as he finally added the Mandrake juice. It was an odd experience watching a Mandrake grow for the express purpose of being deconstructed and turned into a potion ingredient. Still, he decided that was neither here nor there. Students would be awake again by the end of the day. It just needed to stew for 12 hours more. Donning his teaching robes, Snape made his way to his first class.

But the bell to signal break never came.

Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall's voice, magically magnified.

"All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room.

Immediately please."

Snape herded his students out of class as swiftly as possible; fearing the worst, he hurried from the dungeons, taking as many shortcuts as he could. The expressions seemed to range from puzzled to downright scared, all resigned to the fate of Hogwarts. They were almost there, mere hours away from answers, and it was all over. Minerva began to address the silent congregation.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard.

Not her, please don't be her. He begged thin air. What if the monster – or whoever was controlling it – realized she knew their secret. It was too coincidental, surely. She is taken just hours before she will awake and be able to tell the story herself. They must have known but how on earth. How on earth could they have known?! His voice felt oddly disembodied.

"How can you be sure?"

It must be a mistake. Maybe she was just moved somewhere. How would a snake carry someone? It wouldn't work. Severus' vaguely registered Filius crying. Forever, her skeleton would lie there forever. Somebody does something! He felt like shouting. Snape loathed being helpless, but this outweighed all previous feelings of powerlessness. At least in his past, he had had an entity to which he could direct his hatred. Someone he could hate and chose to do nothing about it – for his own safety. It was rare he felt such despair for a person he did not care about.

"Which student?" Hooch was saying. Severus' braced himself; he wasn't sure he had the strength to hear it from Minerva. She would always give the utmost concern to her little lions, but he didn't get the impression she really knew Granger. Not that you did! He reminded himself. Perhaps not, but all the more tragic. Nobody ever got to know exactly what her mind could do.

"Ginny Weasley,"

Snape started and tried not to let out an audible breath. Weasley. Not Granger. Thank Merlin, he thought. Twelve hours and she can tell me exactly what happened. Everything she knows. At least the Weasley's understood the situation; he couldn't imagine how one would go about telling Muggle parents that their child had just mysteriously vanished. No trace, no proper explanation. Not like they could sue. It would have been truly devastating. The Weasleys, on the other hand... well, they had a lot of children.

The staff-room door banged open again. Bloody Lockhart. Actually...Snape considered the best candidate to expel at least some of his stress and anger. He glanced around briefly and noticed that all of his fellow teachers seemed to share his curated look of pure hatred.

"Just the man," he said. "A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

Pomona took over, then Filius, and finally Minerva, until Lockhart fled from the room. Coward, Snape thought wickedly. At least they acknowledged they had no idea what was going on. He, on the other hand, pompous prick, thought he knew everything. Severus felt he would happily erase him from his memory entirely.

Following Minerva's orders, he informed the Slytherins they would be returning home the next morning; she had granted all students the remainder of the day off to pack, so he left them to it. One check of the potion and a patrol later left Severus no less stressed as to the fate of their future.

Lunch was a miserably subdued affair. People were either feeling sorry for the Weasley's or for themselves at the school closing so abruptly; either way, the mood was positively bleak.

The Potion was finally ready. Snape bottled it carefully into twelve small bottles – easier than measuring dosages individually – and made his way to the Infirmary. Entering, he found Poppy waiting eagerly for him.

Working quickly, they needed to determine that each student was responsive, and then they could be given time to recuperate. Severus had made sure earlier that Poppy was stocked with a muscle relaxant for the students once they could walk around; he had heard being petrified could leave a person relatively rigid. Snape was grateful Granger was in the farthest bed, hoping vaguely that it would be him waking her. Unbeknownst to him, Poppy was very intentionally staying to her side only, checking the students very thoroughly for any ill effects. Having seen the disastrous impact Miss Granger's words had upon Severus, she deemed it sensible to allow him to bring her back to life.

Finally reaching her, Snape poured the potion down her throat, scanning her face for movement as her arm fell back to her side. Her eyes opened; she appeared slightly dazed but smiled slightly as recognition dawned on her face.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Snape said softly. "Welcome back."