Reviewers! Stahchild, thanks so much for the praise. I'm glad you find this entertaining and reasonably realistic. :) Infall and Shiba: you guys … Wow. Thanks for keeping up with the fic and offering so much support along the way. EAV: I'm glad you like the dialogue! I've been working very hard on it. Angel: Heck, yes, the Trio sticks together. And "Merlin's balls," as funny as it is, is not mine. It seems to be a generalized Harry Potter author-ish thing, because I've read it all over the internet, but I think I first read it in Aspen in the Sunlight's A Year like None Other, a mammoth work (still in progress) that I highly recommend. She's got her own Tauri archive for it, but you can link to it from her author profile on this site.

Anyway, here's more!

CHAPTER SIX: Disaster

"We have to act, you mean," Ron said. "Right, count me in."

Hermione nodded. "Good. Well, fortunately, we have something on our side besides ourselves: an antidote."

She pointed at the last page, and Ron held it up near her wand. The last column on the page was titled "PERSPECTUS NOVA." It listed ingredients and instructions, and the very last paragraph had its own curious title: "AFTERCARE."

"Unfortunately, it's hellishly difficult to brew and it takes 15 hours to mature. And the, er, patient, as it were, needs to have stopped taking Fizz to get it to work. So I think before we act, we should get a supply of it and hide it in my dormitory," she said.

"Why should we use your dormitory? Ours isn't good enough?" Ron asked, sounding a bit affronted.

Hermione stared at him. "We're using my dormitory because it's boy-proof, you twit. We can't let Harry get his hands on this stuff! Honestly, didn't your little topple down the stairs last year teach you anything?"

Ron turned red. "All right, fine! One dose does the job, then?" he asked, changing the subject.

Hermione snorted. "Try six. It needs to be administered three times a day for two days. After the last dose, the description says something about an explosion of some kind, but it's not really clear. It doesn't sound fatal, but the description is so vague… And the two days leading up to it is no walk in the park, apparently. One of these anonymous people in here called the treatment period '48 hours in hell.'"

Ron made a face. "How are we going to give it to him?"

"Slip it into his drink, I think." Ron made a very sour face, but she pressed on. "Look, I hate being so … Slytherin … about this, but he just can't get wise to us until this is over. If he resists the treatment, there could be real problems."

Ron ran a hand through his hair and mumbled something grouchy and incoherent.

"And we have to act immediately. Harry could very easily kill himself or worse, get caught and thrown out of school."

It was a mark of the situation's seriousness that Ron didn't comment on the order of Hermione's worries. He wasn't happy about tricking Harry, but at the moment he and Hermione were completely in agreement. They had to move on this, and they had to move now.

"Do we have what we need for the antidote?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Not everything. Three of the ingredients can only come from … specialized storage."

Ron decided to ignore that remark for the moment. "So he needs two days for the withdrawl …"

"And a quiet place to sleep and recover when it's over," Hermione said.

"Today's Wednesday. We should gather ingredients and start brewing early tomorrow morning, then," Ron said heavily. He didn't relish the idea of sneaking around behind Harry's back (or waking up early), but it had to be done. "Then Harry can take the stuff on Friday and Saturday and sleep it off on Saturday night."

Hermione was completely in "clinical" mode. "I need help gathering the ingredients, but you leave the brewing to me. As for Harry, he'll need some privacy. How will you get the dormitory to yourselves on Saturday night?"

"Oh, that'll be easy!" Ron said, considerably cheered up by the fact that he didn't have to brew the potion. "Dean and Seamus are crushing on Parvati and Padma, and Lavender goes everywhere Parvati goes. If I ask Neville to take Ginny with him, they can all go to Hogsmeade. I can get the blokes and the blabbermouths off the premises, and no one will be the wiser."

Again, it was a mark of the situation's seriousness that Hermione didn't yell at Ron for referring to her roommates as blabbermouths.

Severus Snape was sitting at his desk in the potions classroom, ignoring the large stack of student essays in front of him and staring off into space, twiddling his quill. Anyone who might have happened by and glimpsed this would have assumed he was momentarily looking up from covering students' work with scathing, ego-shredding, red-inked comments. But this was no mere glance. Indeed, the Potions Master had been stuck in this pose, his long, hooked nose slightly in the air and his dark, cold eyes half out of focus, for quite a few minutes. Snape was pondering.

Specifically, he was pondering one of the most annoying people he'd ever had the misfortune to teach: Harry Potter. Something was just not right with that boy these days, and it was proving to be even more of a frustration to Snape than his usual dealings with the brat.

Snape began to play with his quill again. His eyes headed south, and through his greasy black fringe he registered first-year Amelia Pinckney's latest incomprehensible bit of gibberish, a four-paragraph "treatise" on Strengthening Solution. But he wasn't really looking at it.

If Snape was honest with himself (and he always made a point to be), pissing off Harry Potter was what he looked forward to on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The boy couldn't help it; he was just such a satisfying verbal punch-bag. It was always a perverse pleasure to say something nasty to him in class, if only to watch Lily's eyes blaze with anger behind James' glasses. It was cathartic. It was a release-valve from the pressures of teaching and spying and leading Slytherin house. Hell, it was fun.

But Potter just hadn't been himself lately, and Snape was very irked. Why, just yesterday he'd tossed off a few choice words about James Potter, in class, and those bright green eyes failed to narrow. That pale face remained impassive and calm. There was no response to any taunting anymore. In fact, there didn't seem to be much of a response to anything anymore, except instructions.

That was perhaps the most disturbing thing. Potter had a temper, everybody knew that, but it had mysteriously vanished, leaving in its place a focus so sharp that every one of his potions lately had been, well, spectacular. As foul as the descriptor seemed to Snape (particularly in describing anything remotely related to Potter) it was the only word that would do.

"How is he doing it?" Snape mumbled.

And there it was. The 1,000-Galleon question. Because Potter had to be doing something, and knowing that little swot it was something a) stupid, b) dangerous, or c) some combination thereof.

A sudden gong noise caught his attention and he looked at the clock on the far wall. It was 10 o'clock – hardly late, but Snape could feel the long day catching up with him. The Potter situation could wait. What he needed right now was a little time to unwind. Perhaps skewering the writings of some intellectual Ravenclaws in his chambers, near a roaring fire with cocoa and biscuits close at hand, would suit him better than working in his lonely, cold dungeon classroom.

That's the ticket, Snape decided as he stood and gathered the essays into a neat pile. Just the thought of a hot drink, followed by clean pajamas and a warm bed, brought a tiny smile to his tired, sallow face.

"Maybe even a nightcap," he muttered. "Merlin knows I could use it."

With a wave of his wand he sealed the door behind him that led to the storage area, and a few more wand flicks locked all the various and sundry cabinets around the room. He left quickly, his black robes billowing out behind him, stopping only to spell the classroom shut before he turned on his heel and headed for his chambers.

Harry staggered through the portrait-hole at quarter past nine. He clambered into the common room just ahead of Neville, who was still chattering away about how beneficial it would be to start an orchard of Sour Spimmifidae. Both of them were dusty and their faces were streaked with dirt and sweat.

Hermione and Ron were sitting in front of the fire. They both looked up a tad nervously when Harry came in. He acknowledged them with a nod and went for the stairs, intent on having a shower (and another shot before bed), when a harsh whispering reached his ears. He turned around for a brief moment and caught the oddest sight: Hermione looking stern and Ron looking slightly hysterical.

Deciding they were probably still fighting like they were at dinner, Harry figured it was best to ignore it. He and Neville walked up the stairs together, Neville babbling away happily and Harry nodding at intervals, pretending to pay attention.

Quarter to midnight, and the castle was freezing. The walls were pitch-black between the torches, and Ron grunted in discomfort as he moved. He and Hermione, both in their pajamas, were creeping along together under Harry's invisibility cloak. Harry had no idea they were using it, as Ron had waited until he heard Harry snoring before "liberating" it from his friend's trunk. However, since Ron was so much taller than Hermione, he had to crouch awkwardly to stay hidden underneath it and his knees were not happy at this prospect. They had both started complaining a few minutes ago.

To make matters worse, it was horribly cold, and wearing only a patched dressing gown over his nightclothes wasn't stopping the shivers. He huddled closer to Hermione for a bit of warmth.

"I still think this is a bad idea," he whispered. "And I can't believe that you, of all people, actually had it."

"Will you shut up?" Hermione hissed. "You'll make Filch come running, or worse, that dratted cat. We can't get caught down here!"

Ron stopped talking. Hermione was right. True, they were both Prefects, but this was not their patrol area, and they would have a hell of a time explaining themselves to Filch if he cornered them. Mercifully though, they soon came to a stop. Ron gulped as he eyed the massive, heavy doors to the dungeon classroom where Snape taught Potions.

"For the last time," he asked quietly, "Are you sure this is the only way?"

"Positive," Hermione replied grimly. She stepped out from under the cloak and became visible. "You sit down by the door. Pull the cloak over yourself and keep watch."

Ron nodded. Hermione had arranged to do the sneaking this time, since she had already proven an adept potion ingredients thief their second year. He, in turn, plopped down on the floor, pulled his aching knees up to his chest, and covered himself completely with the cloak.

Ron disappeared and Hermione looked at the heavy door with a gulp. It was locked, but that was easily managed.

"Alohomora!" she muttered, pointing her wand at the door.

It gave a creak and swung open, revealing the empty Potions classroom, dark and dank, with air so frigid that she saw her breath. She gathered her dressing gown around her and stepped inside, eyes wide as she headed for the entrance to Snape's private storage area. She kept her gaze straight, determinedly avoiding the creepy bottles full of creepy things that lined the walls, because they were even creepier in the dark. A sliver of artificial moonlight had penetrated the room. It streaked across her frightened face as she passed the window.

Beyond the moonlight, though, the front of the room was in total darkness. Hermione felt her way along, fingering the corners of stations 1 and 2, until she gently bumped into some wood and realized that she had reached Snape's desk. Just beyond that was the wooden door to his private stores. At least she didn't need to see to perform this spell. She raised her wand and was just about to mumble it, when all of a sudden there was a loud POP behind her, followed by a deep, angry male voice that shouted …

"All right, who's in here! Show yourself!"

Hermione jumped about a foot and whirled around. Snape was standing in the dimly lit center of the classroom, wearing green pajamas, matching slippers, and a black dressing gown. His greasy hair was knotted and hanging in his tired eyes as he looked left, right, and center with his wand thrust in front of him, an ugly snarl tugging at his lip.

Blast. I must have tripped an alarm, Hermione thought, her breathing coming hard and fast. She attempted to scuttle behind Snape's desk in the dark, painfully scraped her shin on the corner, and fell on her hands and knees.

"Oh, that's it. Lumos!" Snape yelled.

Hermione froze. Her mind, however, went into overdrive. When Snape's wand ignited, he would attempt to find her in the dark. Perhaps she could double back, scurry out behind him before the light caught her, and this wouldn't be a complete disaster.

Or not.

Snape's shout, instead of igniting his wand, turned on all the lights in the classroom and Hermione, now scared out of her mind, moved on instinct. She tried to creep away from the light, knowing even as she did it that this was a spectacularly stupid thing to do. Snape was sure to notice the movement.

She was not disappointed. In an instant, she heard steps in her direction. A man's large, bony hand grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her to her feet. She stood face to chest with her Potions Master, who did not look pleased to see her. He let go of her quickly, as though she were something slimy, and glared at her.

"Miss Granger, what is the meaning of this?" he growled.

And Hermione, normally so in control, could only splutter, "I … Wa … He … Er …" She had no idea what to say to Snape, because honestly she hadn't planned on getting caught in the first place.

Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "Stop gibbering and explain yourself like a rational human being. What are you doing sneaking into my classroom in the dead of night?"

Hermione hung her head. She was completely at a loss. Rational thought flew out the window and panic took over. What the hell is Ron doing out there? Picking his nose? And then … Wait a minute, that pop. Snape Apparated! And Ron's still outside! He might not even know! Oh, if he walks in, this whole thing will blow up in our faces…

Snape derailed her train of thought. "Oh, I think I know," he said bitterly. "You thought it would be a lark to test the wards I set up! See if you could wake me from a dead sleep when I need my strength to teach you tomorrow morning!"

"N-N-No, sir!" Hermione said, horrified at the accusation and yet pleased that Snape (most likely out of fatigue) had not figured out why she was actually here.

Snape snorted. "You are a Prefect, Miss Granger. Honestly, I expected better behavior from you. Now answer my question."

"Y-You answered your own q-question, sir."

"Codswallop," he said, and stepped forward. (She stepped back.) "You are Harry Potter's friend. Something is going on with that boy. And considering what a trouble magnet he is, it can't possibly be legal."

Hermione blanched.

"Ah," Snape said, a most unpleasant smile snaking its way onto his face. "It appears I have hit on something true." Hermione took another step back. (Snape took another step forward.) "Generally, Miss Granger," he hissed dangerously, "when idiots try to invade my classroom in the dead of night, they are not here to test my wards. They are here to steal something."

"I p-prefer the term 'l-liberate,'" Hermione said, trying desperately to bury her fear.

"Do you."

Snape was looming over her now, quite peeved, with a frightful expression on his face. There was something unholy and terrifying in his dark, haunted eyes. And Hermione, for all she wanted to, was unable to look away. She stepped back again and bumped against the counter of work station 3. There was nowhere to run. Bile began to rise in her constricting throat.

"For the last time, tell me why you are here, Miss Granger," Snape snarled.

"I w-will n-n-not," she said.

"You won't." Snape let out a breath through his hooked nose in frustration. He seemed to be making a decision. "Then I'm afraid," he said angrily, "that you leave me no other choice."

For a brief moment, confusion replaced Hermione's fright. What in the world was he talking about?

She was half-way through "I beg your pardon?" when Snape pointed his wand at her heart and roared, "LEGILIMENS!"

TBC

Yes, I'm evil, I admit that. (ducks tomatoes) However, I won't have a chance to post for the next four days, and I didn't want to wait too long between "chappoes," as Shiba said, (LOL) so I figured I'd give you this to munch on. Think of it as a snack. If the site doesn't do something screwy, the main course will be up on Sunday.

By the way, any comments about how I wrote Snape (how he could be improved, if he worked, if he didn't, etc.) would be much appreciated. Thanks!