Hi everybody. Well, many days late and a dollar short, as usual. Sorry about that. Huge school obligations (which continued long past what I originally planned on), and then bizarre problems on the site, have kept me from publishing … until now. I just recently had a free day and managed to produce a mammoth chapter called "Thursday," the size of which I decided would scare people. I cut it in half and I am publishing both halves. So basically, you get two chapters in one shot, and yes this is a sad, sad attempt to appease you all for being so unbearably late. Sorry! Enjoy.

Reviewers who hit chapter 9: I'm posting my responses at the end of "Thursday, part II." Just so you know. :D

CHAPTER TEN: Thursday, part I

Damn, not again, thought Harry. He'd taken some with breakfast and even gotten excused from his first class (twice) to take some more. But Potions was only halfway over, and while the human stressor known as Severus Snape had just been chucked out after making a scene, Harry was starting to spasm. His left hand was shaking, and the twitch was rapidly spreading up his shoulder and into his chest, making all sorts of normally stationary muscles twist up and release in a jerking motion. He needed another sip, and right now, before anyone noticed him.

"P-Professor Dumbledore?" he asked quietly, raising his hand slightly and trying to prevent it from wobbling. "May I have a pass, sir? I need the restroom." In some dim corner of his mind, Harry knew that three weeks ago he would have been far too ashamed to say that in front of a bunch of Slytherins. But that was three weeks ago. This was now.

Mercifully, Dumbledore gave him a sage nod and dismissed him. Harry was out the door like a shot. Ten seconds of heavy breathing down the corridor, and he was in sight of the Boys' sign, decorated with a little wizard.

He didn't make it. Twelve feet from the restroom the world tilted to the left, and he dropped to his knees and slammed hard against the wall. His chest was constricting, his whole face curled into a wince as he pressed his wobbling hand to his front and gritted his teeth, gasping of air. Everything was shaking now. With one colossal effort, he managed to flip himself so his back was to the wall.

The twitching was so uncontrollable that he couldn't even get to his flask for a moment. He settled instead for trying to hold himself in check and staring around. The torches were always lit down here in the dungeons, their bright yellow flares lighting the way and bringing out the warm, glossy, obsidian glow of the black stone walls.

They also highlighted the sparkles in the extravagant, brilliantly-colored Slytherin tapestry displayed across the hall. It was a beautifully rendered picture of something called "The Peacock War." Figures of birds with proud plumage were cawing and fighting, doing their best to fend off a giant serpent. They weren't having much luck. Harry watched as the serpent lunged forward and ate one of the birds.

Even after waiting a moment, he was still shaking so badly that it was nearly impossible to put flask to lip, but he managed it in the end. Some of it dribbled out and splashed down his front. He capped the flask again with shaking hands. And finally, after an eternity, the twitches went away. Never before had it taken so long. Still leaning on the wall, his breath coming far too quickly, Harry stared at the tapestry, vying desperately for control over his shaking body. And that was when he noticed it.

The shimmering tapestry had gone many shades of gray. The torchlight was diamond white. The walls were made of shadows. Harry blinked, hard, and the whole scene snapped back into color. But for a few seconds, the entire world had gone black and white.

Odd, that.

Hermione spent the rest of the morning dreading lunch. Ron had to be alerted, and soon. Of course he would be upset when she mentioned Snape, but better informed than a sitting duck, she figured. She took one trip to the restroom that ended up being a trip back to her dorm to check on the potion. It was puke green (one of the many intermediate stages), and smelled like her grandfather's arthritis cream. She stirred it, wrinkled her nose, and idly wondered if she'd done it right and it would eventually turn odorless and clear. It didn't look that promising at the moment.

After class she grabbed some fruit in the Great Hall and headed straight for the library to spend lunch alone. Ron would know where to find her.

At half past noon, Ron scarfed his lunch in the Great Hall and took off to find Hermione. There had been the usual unintentional bit of excitement in Care of Magical Creatures (some idiot nearly got a hand bit off by a Firecrab), but there were more exciting things going on than that. Had she gotten the potion to work? And what happened in class? Knowing Hermione, she was in the library, all alone, eating an apple and poring over some enormous, ancient tome that no one else would even think to pick up, much less read.

Ron dashed to the library and burst in. Madame Pince glared at him. He ignored her and headed straight for the study tables at the back. Sure enough, there she was, reading and taking notes from some book. At least, that's what it looked like from far away. Close to, it was apparent that Hermione wasn't reading. Her eyes weren't moving at all. She wasn't writing anything either, just moving the pen in the air over the same spot on her parchment and twirling her bushy hair with her free hand.

Ron sat down across from her and she looked up. Her eyes were clouded and her face was grey.

"Hermione?" Ron asked timidly. Something was wrong … on top of everything else that was wrong.

"Snape knows," she said.

Ron sat back in shock. "What?"

"Well, he doesn't technically know anything," Hermione clarified. "But he thinks I Obliviated him and he suspects you knocked him out. It's a short, angry leap from there to our mutual friend."

Ron cursed under his breath. This had all gone to hell. "Can he do anything to us?"

Hermione scoffed. "Of course he can. He's Snape! We do have a little luck, though. Dumbledore sent him to his room until classes are over."

Ron couldn't help it. A smile popped out. "Sent him to his room? Did he ground him, as well?"

Hermione's lips pinched, and that was the last of Ron's smile. It was not seen again for several minutes as he listened, open-mouthed, to Hermione's tale of what Snape had done in Potions class. By the time she finished, Ron was staring. Stomping in like a lunatic and demanding a Legilimency test? The man was frightening and nuts, and he was onto them. Best cut the tension, then.

"Well, there goes his Christmas bonus," he cracked, and then quickly regretted it.

Hermione, obviously in no mood for jokes, was glaring at him. "Pay attention. The potion's fine, it's brewing in my room. It will be ready at eight tonight. And Snape is out of the way until 3:30. But that leaves four and a half hours of brewing to go once he's erm, 'released,' as it were. I'll watch it, but you need to take care of Harry."

The comment left Ron scratching his head.

Hermione's plan had seemed pretty clear-cut yesterday, when it was just 'brew the potion and help Harry dry out.' But he couldn't remember what exactly the 'help Harry dry out' part entailed. In fact, he wasn't even sure they'd ever discussed it.

"So … right. What do we do again?"

Hermione's reaction made him snort. He always thought that little "nnnrgh!" noise she made when she was annoyed was pretty funny.

"We will not do anything. How many times have I told you? We absolutely can't get caught together, Ron! When the potion's ready, I'll signal you with a DA coin. You will then get Harry alone and get his hip flask away from him … permanently. And you'd better make it look like an accident, because he can't make us for this until he'd all dried out. I'll head up and clean out your dorm of any illicit ingredients."

That made sense to Ron, at least in theory. But there was just one thing …

"Erm, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"How exactly am I supposed to get his flask away from him and make it look like an accident?"

"Ron, you have …" Hermione checked her watch. "Approximately seven hours to think about that. I'm sure you'll come up with something. Now make yourself scarce. I have to pretend to work."

Ron felt a shiver run down his spine. This wasn't going to be easy. "What do I do until tonight?"

"Act natural."

"Well, what if I see Snape?"

"Walk away."

"Oh yeah?" Ron finished, feeling clever. "And what if Snape comes after me, what then?"

Hermione blinked twice at him and said, quite matter-of-factly, "Run."

Snape was staring at his lunch with a look generally reserved for bad news and anything concerning Hufflepuff house. His breakfast was still untouched, but this latest arrival, a plate of steak and seasoned rice courtesy of the house elves, was jiggling itself a bit and doing its best to look appetizing. Snape turned away from it with a snort. This was ridiculous. Here he was, a teacher and a very powerful wizard, Obliviated by some nitwit Gryffindor, brained by her accomplice, and now stuck in his chambers, which, incidentally, he felt his incompetence fully deserved.

All he could do was thank whatever gods existed that Poppy had made no noise to announce her presence outside his classroom that morning. It was humiliating enough that Albus had loudly sent him away in front of the students. They didn't need to know that the nurse had actually taken him back to his room, pushed him inside and locked him in, and he had been too angry and confused and … weak … to fight back. No one needed to know this, especially not his Slytherins.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, his mind scolded. What sort of horrible example had he just set for them? Rowing with the Headmaster? Charging in like a madman and threatening a candidate for Head Girl? Of course he'd had his reasons, and the whole situation was incredibly unfair. But life was incredibly unfair. And if it was one thing he impressed upon his students, it was that cunning and preparation were everything when it came to fighting that unfairness.

How ironic. After all his coaching on discipline and self-control, he'd stomped in howling with rage and acted like a bloody … Gryffindor. The very word made him wince. How on earth was he going to fix this? Surely the story of what happened had spread through the school by now. The Slytherins needed to know that this was merely an aberration, that he was still the same, still their Head of House, still capable of looking after them. A house meeting would be in order, definitely. Tonight.

Locating his calendar in the study, he found the correct month and day, took out a quill and wrote "House Meeting – all Slytherins please report to the Common Room at 7 pm," in elegant script. Despite his throbbing headache, he kept his dark eyes focused and watched as the words shimmered green for a moment then returned to black. His message had just appeared on the giant calendar above the Slytherin common area's fireplace.

That, however, would hardly be enough to attract his students. So he sighed and added another line: "Topic of discussion: Professor Snape." Then, thinking that might not even be enough, he threw in one last thing: "Refreshments will be served."

Overkill, perhaps, but at least that would ensure attendance at this meeting he would lead … provided Albus came by and let him out before he went stir-crazy and tried to escape through the charmed windows. He went back to his breakfast table and sat down heavily, still ignoring his food, his cramping stomach, and his aching head. Now that the blinding anger was ebbing away, and he was done with his little duty of calling the meeting, he was raw with humiliation. And worst of all, the Headmaster, a person whose friendship and trust he could ill afford to lose, now had obvious doubts about his competency.

"I am not a drunk," he said to nothing. "And I am fully in control of myself."

Then his mind asked him a question that had been plaguing him since he got back from his row with Albus.

Are you sure?

No, he wasn't. When the Headmaster came to speak to him, though, he knew he had to be, or risk straining his relations with the man even further.

Snape scratched his head. Surely there was some way he could give Albus better proof of what happened to him. He absently looked up and saw the shadow of some flying thing as it flitted by the charmed window. And it hit him.

Of course! He winced as the idea didn't just enter his mind … it practically blew the door off its hinges and stomped inside. He could have kicked himself for forgetting about them!

Ignoring his food again, he stood up and made for his library.

It was a quarter to four. Classes had let out fifteen minutes ago, and somewhere in the back of Harry's head, he knew that he should have been eager to avoid schoolwork and go play some Quidditch with Ron. Instead, he was in the library, studying and keeping his eyes on his textbook. It was the least disconcerting thing he could find to stare at. After all, what better to keep his focus than by looking at black words on pale parchment?

His vision had been going wonky all day, and for some reason he found this didn't bother him very much. The periods of black-and-white were getting longer every time he took a drink (every hour on the hour). It finally happened at around three o'clock. Harry's world went permanently into the realm of ciaroscuro.

The appropriate phrase would have been "much to his surprise, he didn't care," but the fact was that Harry had no surprise left; no care left, even. Nothing really mattered anymore, and his vision seemed to reflect that. Without color, there was less feeling, less meaning.

Then again, his life had never meant much to begin with.

At a quarter to four, Dumbledore un-spelled a secret dungeon door, walked into an apartment, and was greeted by an unexpected sight. After the outburst that morning, he expected the Potions Master to be climbing the walls, but Severus Snape was doing no such thing. Instead, he was sitting at his breakfast table, two untouched plates of food before him, and reading a book. He looked up just as Dumbledore closed the door behind him and tapped it with his wand.

"Albus," he acknowledged.

Dumbledore inclined his head, regarding the teacher warily. "Severus. Calmed down, I trust?"

Snape marked his place in Batty for Bats: a Guide to Scottish Specimens and carefully set it down on the table. He was making a show, albeit a very subtle one, of looking imperious and in control … normal, in other words.

"Considerably," he replied.

Dumbledore did not honestly believe this, but the younger man no longer looked like a wild-eyed lunatic, so he took a seat across from Snape in another wooden chair and regarded him through his half-moon spectacles. He stared until it was almost rude, and then sighed. Best get this over with quickly.

"I know you don't appreciate small-talk, Severus, so I will come straight to the point. You must tell me what happened last night, and you must be truthful. I will not leave until you do."

"I was attacked," Snape said evenly.

Dumbledore took off his spectacles and rubbed his nose. "Severus, please. The bottle. Did something happen? I need to know."

Snape appeared slightly cross. He looked down his rather prominent nose at Dumbledore. "Albus, how many times do I need to tell you? Nothing happened! Even if I had been called to a Death Eater meeting and seen something horrible, a fact to which I would have alerted you immediately, I assure you that nothing I could have witnessed would ever bring me to take shots of whiskey, straight from the bottle, no less, until I passed out. You know that."

Dumbledore was caught. He did know that. And as much as he wanted to pin down some sensible reason for having found one of his teachers in such a bad way, the fact was that this sort of behavior was more suited to someone like Argus, or Hagrid. But Severus? It just didn't make sense. The man preferred his liquor well-aged and in a glass, not fermented willy-nilly and spilled all over his night-shirt.

"Let's assume, for the moment, that you were attacked," Dumbledore said. "Do you have proof? And by proof, I do not mean your grouchy, hazy memory of the event, which, even you must admit, is far from objective."

"I understand your point," said Snape. "Very well, since you find my perspective unworthy," he tossed off casually, "what if you were to see a version of events that did not come from me?"

Dumbledore felt slightly hurt at Snape's remark. He did trust the man, just not when it came to Gryffindor. But Snape would only dig in further if he reacted like "Albus," so he reacted like the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"If you are again suggesting that I Legilimize poor Miss Granger, who you terrified so thoroughly this morning," he replied coldly, "I will tell you no."

"I was hardly suggesting that," replied Snape. "I meant another perspective, a completely objective one."

He steepled his fingers, and Albus knew that look in his eyes. The Potions Master was gauging the Headmaster's every facial expression. Dumbledore decided to take the bait. It would be the perfect way to see if Severus really had his wits about him.

"Go on."

Snape nodded. "Very well. As you obviously know, I am a bit … cautious … in maintaining my classroom than some of the other teachers in this school, since I am forced to stock very powerful ingredients and keep them around nosy children."

Dumbledore almost snorted when Snape said "cautious." "Paranoid" was more like it. But he let him continue, even conjuring himself a pot of tea and a cup. He served himself and listened.

"Since the incident with the Boomslang skin four years ago, I decided to add an extra bit of security to the dungeons, particularly at night. The idea seemed harmless enough, and so I didn't alert anyone."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and took a sip of tea. Snape's 'harmless ideas' over the years had, more often than not, been not quite as harmless as he had intended.

"I see. And what was this idea?"

"Security Bats," said Snape.

There was a long, highly uncomfortable pause during which Dumbledore looked at Snape as though debating which ward at St. Mungo's would be best for him, and Snape looked anywhere but at Dumbledore.

"I beg your pardon?" the Headmaster asked finally.

"Security Bats," Snape repeated firmly.

Dumbledore put down his tea. "Severus, erm, bats are … not easily trained, particularly to attack things."

"Oh, they don't attack," Snape explained. "They simply watch. They've been working downstairs for me for years."

Bats that kept watch, of all things. Now Dumbledore had heard everything.

"Severus, please do not be insulted, but have you ever heard the phrase 'blind as a bat?' I fail to see how having bats act as guards would be useful."

"Their eyesight leaves much to be desired, yes, but their hearing is impeccable. They can catch things most humans miss, particularly in a completely dark room."

Dumbledore stared at the tired, unshaven man before him and felt compelled to take off his glasses and rub his nose again. If it was anything he hated seeing more than a half-deranged, rumpled Snape, it was a half-deranged, rumpled Snape with a point.

"Fine," he conceded. "But you can't say you employ them, Severus. That's madness."

"I don't employ them, it's more like an equal trade-off," Snape responded, slightly annoyed. "I have arranged for the bats have a temperature-regulated cavern to themselves and plenty of food, and in return, they watch the classroom for me at night. Since there hasn't been an incident since the Gillyweed, I'd almost forgotten they were there."

"And how many bats … er … are in your service?" Dumbledore found himself asking, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"There are approximately fifty. It's a colony of pipistrelles. I don't keep in close contact with them, but their numbers have been growing over the years. Really, for all I know, they send out a different group of watch-bats every night of the week. That's why I've been brushing up on my bat-calls." Snape indicated his book on the table. "I need to go down to the cavern and figure out who was on duty last night."

This was making a terrifying sort of sense, Dumbledore realized. "In other words, you are telling me that a bat would have seen, and remembered, mind you, what happened in your classroom."

"Yes," said Snape, obviously making a huge effort to rein himself in. "However, bat memories are notoriously short, so it is imperative that I locate the appropriate bats before last night 'gets away from them,' as it were. If I can persuade you to come along, I am willing to catch them, and then you may take a look into their minds, tiny as they are, and see everything that went on. Since you obviously don't trust my version of events, you may have the first look at what happened to me."

Snape sat back and crossed his arms. Dumbledore drained the last of his tea and thought for a moment. So Snape wanted to leave his rooms to catch bats, did he? He thought that sounding moderately sane and organized and snarky would be enough to do it? He chuckled. He wasn't about to be manipulated that easily. Really, for all of Severus Snape's intellectual gifts, the man could be phenomenally stupid sometimes.

"Very well, Severus, I am willing to accompany you on your bat hunt … but I'm afraid it will have to wait for a while."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Well you see," Dumbledore said, standing up and making a big show of looking elderly and frail, "I charmed the door when I came in. It will not open for you or function normally, nor will your day clothes reappear, until you eat, rest for two hours, and take a bath."

Snape face had gone slack and white. "Wh-What?" he said, then rallied quickly. "Albus, I understand your reaction this morning, throwing me in here, but I am a grown man."

"Oh yes, as you have so recently proven," Dumbledore replied, softening the dig with a little smile. "Come now, Severus. Eat something," he urged, motioning at the untouched breakfast and lunch. "The sooner you do, the sooner you can rest. The sooner you rest, the sooner you can clean yourself up and put on clothes." He ignored Snape's angry stare and swept to the door. "And the sooner you do that, the sooner this door will open. You can then moderate your house meeting and settle your Slytherins, something which is of the utmost importance to you, I am sure. Good day," he finished gently and slipped out the door, closing it and spelling it shut behind him.

Dumbledore stopped outside the door and listened. He heard some stomping around for a few moments, some annoyed muttering, and finally jumped at the sudden explosion of "RAARRGH!" that came through. But he just wrote that off to Snape's general frustration with the universe and went on his merry way.

TBC

By the way, before you go on, please tell me if the concept of Security Bats struck you as funny, odd, stupid, etc. I'd be very interested to know. Thanks!