Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HDPM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"Parseltongue"

"normal speech"

Harry's thoughts

CHAPTER FOUR

Cracked Ice

Snape was troubled. He had just dismissed the last straggling students loitering after such a disastrous class. His brows furrowed and his dark eyes lost their focus as he pondered the situation. Not only had amounts of his most prized ingredients gone missing, someone had broken through his wards to do it, and replaced them with a wave of their wand! It was preposterous! No one could accomplish such a feat! He was a powerful wizard himself and had accordingly erected some of the most powerful wards ever heard of. To have replaced them as well in such a short amount of time was incomprehensible! He wasn't even able to trace the wand that aided the wizard. To make matters worse, his first class of the year had blown up in his face - literally – because of that insolent Potter brat, and to top it all off, he had just had a sudden insight as to what potion the thief was brewing.

Due to the precise amount of ingredients taken, he saw the connection in the combination and was able to add up the facts. Someone was preparing Yerasimos' Hope. Another thought caused him to pause; this in turn meant that someone had consumed the fatal Quandary!

This conclusion was terrifying, due of course to the extremely dark nature of the potion, and more so because Snape knew for a fact that it hadn't been developed in over 200 years. The Ministry had burned all information on how to make it, and while many Potions Masters were able to speculate what was in it, none were brave enough to delve any further. Therefore, the person who had made it was either incredibly stupid to experiment with such ingredients, or exceedingly smart. Or both. Snape's face twisted even further with this thought.

Thankfully, he had a spare period now and was churning over these disturbing revelations in his head while he embarked on his favourite pastime: stalking through the corridors in the cool air of the dungeons. Upon hearing voices up ahead, he turned into a narrower, rarely used passage. He really didn't want a confrontation with pesky students, his beloved Slytherins or otherwise.

Snape crept further into the dark, arriving at the abandoned classroom that stood at the end, and thought he might gather his thoughts in the quiet for a few minutes. He reached out to turn the handle of the heavy oak door, only to be surprised to find it locked. Snape's brow knotted as he tried to open it once again. He never locked this door. There was nothing worthwhile in the classroom for the wretched students to take.

Taking his wand out of his sleeve, he pointed it at the door and muttered a powerful "Alohomora," and the door gave an ominous creak as it opened inwards. Stepping cautiously into the chamber, he could hear muffled movement as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. A dark figure was over in the far corner, thrashing about violently and trembling. He took quick strides across the room.

"Great Morgan…" he uttered as he happened across the cauldron containing the antidote. Not once while he was absorbed in his internal ramblings had he considered the poor soul who had to endure the two extremely vicious potions. Refusing to feel ashamed, he realized he was actually in the presence of greatness. This was the wizard who had re-discovered Yerasimos' Quandary, the one who had dismantled his wards with the wave of his wand.

He turned to the shuddering figure now to offer aid. There wasn't much to him, he thought as he encountered barely more than skin and bones. The person suddenly twisted his neck, throwing the masses of black hair out of his face. With this chance to discover the identity of the victim, Snape leaned closer and peered at the ghostly white face in the gloom.

Inhaling sharply, it was a few moments before he could gasp: "Potter!"

He grimaced as he caught sight of a certain scar, no he wasn't mistaken. All the evidence was telling him Potter had brewed the potions. He couldn't believe it though. His Potions skills were abysmal; someone else must have done it and used him as a sort of tester. Yes, that explained it… Shaking his head to clear the conflicting information, Snape raised his wand, ready to send an alarm signal to the Headmaster. Holding the wand high above his head, he drew breath to voice the incantation when -

"Don't!" A pale hand grasped at the front of his robe and drew him down level with his face. Potter had woken up. "Don't…" he whispered a second time.

Snape was about to ignore the young man, but was shocked to find that amidst so much pain, Potter's eyes were sharp and focused, giving credence to his plea. The Potions professor didn't understand. Surely in his hour of need, the Golden Boy would beg for his keeper. Though why anyone would trust that old manipulator he could only guess.

The boy's eyes were slowly losing clarity and were drifting shut again. The effects of the seizure were taking their toll and Potter was succumbing to exhaustion. With a final shudder, the body in Snape's arms went limp.

"Shit." The shaken Potions Master told the darkness.

After an internal argument that lasted some seconds, Snape decided to help the brat – not as an act of kindness mind you, but because he would be able to hold it over the boy's head if need be. There was also the matter of clearing up the Yerasimos' Quandary and Hope issue.

After the hesitation, he finally tossed his head and cast Mobicorpulus and felt the figure of Potter rise horizontally into the air beside him. Deciding that discretion was necessary, he removed his outer robe and draped it over the prone form, successfully masking his more recognizable features from view.

Slipping into the deserted corridor, Snape looked around before guiding the hovering form out of the door. Wanting to get out of the halls as quickly as possible, he barely made sure the floating figure was following before striding off in the direction of his lab. Hurrying to his door and forcing the body before him, he didn't notice an elegant blond figure surreptitiously watching him from the shadows.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Snape estimated that he had at least an hour and a half before the more eager students started to arrive for his next class after lunch. Where to put Potter? There was only one thing for it. Looking over to the door which separated his private quarters from his lab, he let out a snarl that had been long overdue.

Gliding over to the thick wooden panel, he lifted several powerful warding charms before summoning the boy. He conjured a cot and levitated the still form onto it. He then thought to draw screens around it in case his patient was partial to privacy. Not that he cared. He just didn't want to have to deal with the sight of Potter lying prone in the corner of his sitting room. Deciding that he'd like his outer robe back, he stepped within the enclosed space and gently pulled the heavy black material away from the boy's face. In this light it was easier to inspect the Gryffindor's condition, and he gaped at what he saw.

One of Potters eyes was swollen shut while the other had a razor thin white scar running from his cheekbone to above his eyebrow, almost seamlessly joining the infamous lightening bolt. The back of his head was matted with congealed blood, so thick he was unable to locate the wound. His nose had recently been straightened and as such was swollen, with dried blood in the nostrils. Potter's jaw which many deemed strong and defined had a blue tinge to it as though it had been reset and his lips were split and bloodied.

His eyes were then drawn down to the hands that lay at his side. Two of the fingernails of Potter's right hand were missing, and his left hand curled in such a way that led him to believe the bones had been crushed. Carefully lifting the hand, he slowly felt beyond the wrist and was able to confirm that the arm was broken, and judging by the movement of the shoulder joint, it was at least dislocated.

Harry's breathing was labored, and when Snape lifted his shirt and pressed down on the lightly muscled chest, the unconscious form winced. Three ribs were broken and a couple of others had fractures. He was extremely lucky he hadn't punctured a lung, which wouldn't have been surprising due to the movement in the seizures. Snape went on with the examination discovering numerous other injuries.

Suddenly, something cracked inside the professor. It was the cold ice barrier around his heart which he had worked so hard to construct. For how could it not shatter when such a shocking display of battered innocence lay before him?

Snape had seen many beatings before at the hands of the Death Eaters, yet this one seemed to be the final straw, the clincher, he could take no more. Especially not in the form of Harry who always appeared to be naive and inexperienced in the dark dealings of the world. Harry used to be his one aggravating constant, seemingly wide eyed and irritatingly brash. Now his view of The Boy Who Lived would change forever.

It was at this point in his thought process that it became certain. Snape vowed to whatever deity watching over Wizard Kind, that he would always be there for Harry, and would protect him like he would his own kin.

"I'll kill them." was the bleak promise he made to whoever did this to the emerald eyed boy.

"Kill who, Severus?"

Snape started violently and stepped out from behind the screen to face the advancing intruder.

"Stay where you are, Draco."