Well reviewers, I agree. Harry needs to get a brain.

And here we see the cogs finally beginning to turn. But will it be in time?

The Order used owls as little as possible. They thought it would attract attention. And only certain owls could even find 12, Grimmauld Place.

Hedwig was one of them. Harry was in the midst of a fierce argument with Ron, Fred and George about the relative merits of their favourite Quidditch teams when she arrived and began to beat her great snowy wings against the window. Mad-Eye and Tonks had already left, saying they had business to attend to. Lupin still lounged at the table, chatting to Mrs Weasley.

Harry looked up in surprise. He had left Hedwig at Hogwarts, thinking she would have more fun there. She would have been more or less confined to quarters if he had brought her with him to London. He supposed he wasn't too surprised she had followed him; Hedwig loathed being left behind.

Mrs Weasley let her in, and Harry held out his wrist for her to perch on. She ignored this, however, and swooped around the kitchen screeching. Fred and George ducked as she skimmed above their heads.

Then she landed on Harry. She did not nestle onto his wrist or his shoulder, however, but proceeded to peck him. Hard. Often. Her huge amber eyes stared meaningfully into his own.

"What is it, Hedwig?" Harry asked softly, wishing he could understand her. He checked her carefully, but she bore no message. "Has someone sent you, or have you come of your own accord?"

She flapped her wings and squawked urgently, and then flew once more around the kitchen in an agitated manner.

"She's come from Hogwarts," Harry said abruptly. "I think she's trying to tell us there is something wrong at Hogwarts. Hedwig's clever, she must have realized she needed to tell someone…"

Mrs Weasley looked worried and bewildered. "Hogwarts? I thought only Severus was at Hogwarts."

"Then maybe there's something wrong with Snape." Harry's heart began to beat faster.

He ignored Mrs Weasley's exasperated interjection. "Professor Snape."

A thought occurred to him, and he pulled the Fireheart stone out of his pocket. "This has been going all funny as well.. Hermione thinks it used to belong to Snape…could the stone –well, know - if there really is something up with him?"

Lupin rose and peered at the Fireheart; its blue flame still leaped and blazed furiously.

"It's certainly Severus' old stone," he said slowly. "It's very distinctive. I remember him wearing it in his final year at Hogwarts."

Hermione had jumped up and retrieved the book Harry had bought. She leafed through its pages.

"Firehearts as protections…how to channel your energies….guarding yourself while you sleep… controlling explosions…oh, here, let's see…Firehearts as warnings…"

She scanned the pages swiftly; Harry tried to read over her shoulder but she was turning the pages too fast for him to keep up.

"Well," Hermione said finally, looking up. Her face was anxious. "Firehearts are keyed to the state of their wearer. But occasionally stones can forge such a strong bond with previous owners, they will still respond to any serious disturbances in their life-force fields. That's especially the case if a stone has been in one family for generations."

Harry swallowed. "So, the stone would react if Snape's life was in danger. Snape's in trouble. We have to go to Hogwarts."

Mrs Weasley and Lupin exchanged loaded glances, and then looked down.

"What?" Harry demanded, staring disbelievingly from one to the other. "Why are you looking like that? We have to do something!"

"Unfortunately," Lupin said kindly, but with sorrow in his voice. "Professor Dumbledore has raised the emergency wards at Hogwarts. Nobody can get in. And nobody can get out. I'm sorry, Harry, but the best we can do is alert Dumbledore immediately. If there is a problem, Severus has most likely already done so, anyway, but… Molly, will you take care of that?"

Mrs Weasley nodded and headed out of the kitchen.

"So we're just going to leave him!" Harry said angrily.

"Harry," Lupin replied gently. "What else can we do? We cannot reach him. And he is probably fine, anyhow. If he is inside the house and has hurt himself, the house elves will take care of him, you know. How long has that stone of yours been acting strangely?"

"Hours," Harry said dully. "I didn't know… I didn't realize… Hours."

"Then in all likelihood, Severus has already contacted Dumbledore, and whatever the problem was will doubtless already have been sorted out." Lupin's voice was soothing.

Hedwig swooped across the room and gave Lupin a particularly vicious peck on the head.

Go, Hedwig, thought Harry. He was still not convinced, either.

A thought struck him.

"Perhaps I can get through the wards!" he blurted out. "Dumbledore must have told the emergency wards to let me pass, because I came here after he had already raised them! OK, that's it then, I'll just go and check up on him…"

Mrs Weasley had returned and heard Harry's words.

"Harry," she said sharply. "You will do no such thing. If there is danger at Hogwarts, you are the last person we would send to sort it out."

"But I'm the only one who can get through the wards!" Harry protested, raising his voice.

"No," she said with finality. "And I have removed the Floo powder from the room upstairs, so let that be an end to it."

Harry stared at her, his mouth dropping. She had taken the Floo powder! Then that was it; he had no means of getting to Hogwarts, and he just knew something was badly wrong.

"Harry, I am sorry," Mrs Weasley sighed, looking at Harry's distraught face. "But all we can do is wait for Dumbledore. And we don't even know for sure there is anything to worry about."

We do, Harry thought rebelliously, looking at his Fireheart. Now he knew what it was reacting to, that violently gyrating blue flame made his breath come faster.

He banged out of the kitchen and stamped upstairs to the room he shared with Ron. His mind was working furiously. But he could think of no way round this. What could he possibly do?

A few moments later, Ron and Hermione popped their heads round the door, rather nervously.

"Harry," Hermione said, "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not!" Harry snarled at her. He was hunched up on his bed, arms around his knees. "The man who just saved my life, again, and has spent the last couple of weeks looking after me is in trouble, and nobody is doing anything about it!"

Hermione and Ron sat on the bed. "Saved your life again?" Hermione inquired. She narrowed her eyes. "Harry, this illness of yours. What happened, exactly?"

Harry looked down, flushing. "The Dursleys beat me up, OK? They locked me in a cupboard and just left me. Then Snape came and got me, and took care of me.. I was really ill for nearly a week…"

"The Dursleys beat you up?" Ron repeated incredulously, failing to notice that Hermione was frowning at him and shaking her head. "Those fat, useless Muggles? Bloody hell, Harry! Why didn't you tell anyone? Or do something about it?"

"Because," Harry said through gritted teeth, "Dumbledore told me that at all costs I had to stay at the Dursleys for six weeks. BECAUSE, I didn't even have my wand, and how was I supposed to get in touch with the wizarding world without owls? And BECAUSE, it is difficult to do anything at all when you are locked unconscious in a cupboard!"

And because, he added silently to himself, he hadn't wanted to tell his friends. He didn't want people to know.

Ron's mouth sagged open on a long "oh".

"Harry," Hermione said hesitantly, "is there any chance… do you think…well, could this be a trap?"

She bit her lip, and watched his reaction with apprehension. This was, after all, very similar to the way in which Voldemort had lured Harry to the Department of Mysteries the previous year. He had sent him visions of Sirius being tortured there, and Harry had gone dashing to the rescue, only to end up in need of rescue himself. And Sirius had died.

Harry slammed his hands against the bedcovers. "No," he insisted. "It isn't a trap. From what you said, Hermione, only me or Snape could have that effect on the Fireheart, right? And it isn't me, is it? So whatever's disturbing the stone, it must be coming from Snape, not Voldemort. Right?"

"Er…" Ron put in. He looked as if he expected Harry to punch him at any second. "But what if Snape is…er….helping to set the trap…..?"

Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulders to prevent him lunging at Ron.

"Stop it," she said sharply. "That will hardly help. Listen, Harry. We're just trying to figure it out and consider the possibilities, OK?"

Harry nodded curtly. The debacle at the Department of Mysteries, and then the near-kidnap at Hogsmeade, had taught him the value of reflection before action. At least in theory: his instincts remained the same. He wanted to charge in and do something.

"OK," Hermione said. "Ron thinks Snape might be setting you up. Ron, why would Snape do that? He has helped Harry on loads of occasions. I mean, he rescued him from the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade just last year…"

"Could have been a trick," Ron argued. He had thought this for a long while. "Snape pretends to rescue Harry, gets himself hurt just badly enough to be convincing, and then, hey presto. Dumbledore has lost his spy in You-Know-Who's camp, and You-Know-Who has got a spy in the Order who people trust because he is supposed to have saved Harry's life…"

"But surely Voldemort would have wanted Snape to get rid of Harry by now? Or at least hand him over?" Hermione asked logically.

"Will you two shut up!" Harry snapped. His hands were knotted tightly in frustration. "Snape hates Voldemort. And he could have polished me off any number of times, and hasn't."

"Why are you so sure Snape hates You-Know-Who?" Ron demanded flatly. "I don't trust him. And, well, I reckon I might be able to help you use the Floo, Harry, but you've got to convince me this isn't all just some big trap…."

Harry looked up in hope at Ron's words, then chewed his lip. "Because of everything he has done for the Order. And because…oh, because of what Voldemort has done to him!"

"What's that, then?" Ron demanded. Harry was silent. "Well, if you don't trust me, Harry, I'm not helping you and that's that."

Harry drummed his fingers on the bed and made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat. "Oh….but don't tell anyone else, OK?" He told them how Voldemort had mutilated Snape.

There was a shocked silence.

"You're kidding…" Ron breathed.

"Look, don't talk about it! And never mention it to anyone," Harry said, with force. "And I was totally helpless when he picked me up from the Dursleys, he could have hurt me or killed me easily. No-one else was there, he could have done anything. And he didn't, he healed me. Satisfied? All right, then. You said you could help. How?"

Ron grimaced. Harry could tell he still wasn't entirely convinced Snape was really on the side of the Order. But he could hardly deny Snape had not hurt Harry, and there had been ample opportunity for him to do so.

"Please, Ron," Harry said finally after a long, silent moment. His eyes met Ron's.

"Well." Ron heaved a sigh. "All right….I only hope I'm not going to regret this though, Harry…I must be mad. But you don't suppose Fred and George let my mother control the supply of Floo powder in this house, do you? They have a secret stash. And I know where it is…So OK, mate, you win. I'll get you some, all right?"

Ron slipped quietly out of their bedroom, muttering under his breath. "Mum is so going to kill me…."

Hermione looked even more worried now. "Oh! Oh, Harry, you can't go on your own. What if something dreadful really is happening?"

Harry was resolute. "Not much choice, Hermione. Nobody else has a chance of getting past the wards. And think about it: if nothing can get into or out of Hogwarts, then Snape must be stuck there on his own, and he must be hurt in some way…Perhaps in the grounds, if the house elves aren't helping him…"

That did make sense. Hermione nodded, reluctantly. She looked broodingly at the Fireheart stone. Then the pupils of her eyes dilated. "Harry…" she breathed. "Look…"

The stone in his hand was darkening before their eyes. Its blues and greens were shading into colours so deep they could almost have been black. Hermione grabbed the book on Firehearts and ruffled through it frantically. "Colour changes," she muttered to herself. "Significance of colour changes."

She found the right passage and looked up, horrified.

"Harry," she whispered. "I think Snape is dying…"