Severus Snape seethed in the library, wanting very badly to demolish something. Stupid, stupid Gryffindors! Years of dealing with the Dark Lord and Albus had inured him to his own anger - he simply balled it up inside him, squishing it down to a filbert in size. Having done that, he listened carefully. It seemed that the youngest male Weasley was still yelling (and Potter had headed up to "calm him down", hadn't he?) Better him than me, Snape thought with some satisfaction. Let the young Potter get tears and snot all over his shoulder - or better yet, get punched out for bothering his intemperate friend. Snape frowned slightly, as he listened a bit more carefully. There were the usual noises from the kitchen (apparently Molly Weasley hadn't heard exactly what her son had called his "best friend"). No crying? Finding himself more than usually curious, he headed up the stairs, soft enough to not make them creak unduly. Not a sound. Raising an eyebrow to himself, he wondered if Granger was simply reading, before accidentally thinking that there might be other pleasures she might be pursuing. Hastily banishing the thought from his mind, he headed downstairs quickly.

He paused, lightly, before entering the study again, noting that no one was especially watching him. Still, he put up a quick ward to banish eavesdroppers into the Thames (it was one of the few he could do wandlessly, as he had used it often enough to deal with Black and his crew - a simple thought of the glee he had enjoyed would inspire the ward's construction) before muttering to himself the Malfoy's London Home as he strode into the Floo. I have to get there before Malfoy does, or he'll never admit anything. Otherwise, he'd never have used the floo - it was simply too dangerous to admit to the Order what he was doing to help out his Slytherins. They wouldn't understand, anyway.

Snape strode out of the Malfoy's floo as if he hadn't just been spun around, a wordless thought clearing all the ash off himself. Looking at the two brutes on the couch, and the three girls braiding their hair at the table, Snape inwardly smirked, as he growled, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

The entire room paused, falling as silent as a tomb. It wasn't the normal response Snape got from his Slytherins, but he relished it nonetheless (truth be told, he wouldn't want it all the time). He wasn't surprised that the two elephants didn't feel the need to speak, but the twittering birds - well, he had at least expected Pansy to say something. Wait - were they blushing?

Finally, after a pause of at least fifteen seconds, Crabbe shrugged and said, "Out."

"Explain." Snape said commandingly, and - finally - Pansy Parkinson started showing some of the discipline that had convinced Snape to make her a prefect.

"He left yesterday. About midmorning. I didn't see exactly when - I was settling a small dispute with the Greengrasses." The strength of the glare she shot at Daph and Tori left no doubt in Snape's mind that it had been more than a minor disagreement.

"And no one thought to tell me?" Snape snarled.

"Of course we did," Tori said mildly. "But we didn't know how to reach you safely. Look, here's the letter."

Snape tried hard not to look mollified, knowing that it was a loosing proposition from the start. Finally, he sat on the couch, crossing his lanky legs as he crossly waited for his godson to show up. If he doesn't show up, I am going to draw his guts for garters.

[a/n: interstitial piece, Snape's perspective. Write me a review?]