Severus Snape was coming back from gathering potions ingredients, which meant that he rather inconveniently had freshly harvested moonlilies in one arm (in a basket, naturally), and had still-cheeping chiggers in the other (in a jar, so they didn't fly or burrow away - or into his skin, which would be more inconvenient). So, naturally, he dropped the chiggers on the ground when his left forearm started to burn.
First, he cursed a blue streak, while stamping his feet and staring at the fleeing vermin. Those are going to be hell getting out of the dormitories. Snape smirked - by sheer fortune, he was closer to the Hufflepuffs dormitory than the Slytherins. Maybe I'll tell Pomona in the morning.
Gently setting down the moonlilies, and charming them with a delicate notice-me-not charm (The entire hallway would still smell of the deceptive fragrance, but if students hadn't learned to beware bewitching substances... he'd rescue them in the morning).
Snape strode towards his office, wondering what in heaven's blazes had gone wrong. There were so many things to choose from - had Lucius finally overstepped, or made it clear to the Dark Lord that it was a game? If the latter, they were both in big trouble. Dragon-sized you might say.
Or maybe the Dark Lord wanted to celebrate - perhaps he'd captured an Order member, or a dozen muggles for a Dark Party (everyone got just as stinking drunk as a Light Party - Snape should know, but the sexual festivities were a good deal less consensual).
Inside his office, he donned the Death Eater mask - glad that his school robes would pass for somewhat-hurried Death Eater attire. As he strode out one of the "secret" tunnels, he transfigured his robe into a long cloak - it was just tinkering, but still vital.
As he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Snape sniffed the air lightly - stepping outside the borders of Hogwarts was dangerous in the best of times, he needn't fall prey to a centaur or a werewolf. At his age, that would be humiliating. The air smelled crisp and clean, so Snape stepped out and spun on his heel.
With a clap like Thunder, Snape appeared in the outskirts of the Manor. Great, striding through shite again, Snape thought darkly,* Guaranteed to improve my mood.
Snape mentally locked down all his emotions, hiding everything - even the impatience, beneath the dark waters. On the strand, Snape constructed his sandcastle - what he wanted the Dark Lord to see today, down to how much he despised Dumbledore and his reverberating hatred of James Potter and Sirius Black - that reverberated on Harry Potter until the boy's skull rang with the hatred and the well-deserved vengeance.
Snape's eyes and ears were alive, using his peripheral vision and straining his ears to find any company. It was empty, at least out here. The Dark Lord had grown complacent since His Return. Snape remembered a time when there would have been guards, even in the most warded of Manor houses.
Pettigrew was there to greet him. Because of course he was - Pettigrew couldn't possibly leave and do something useful, could he? He was a spy, but one who crawled and crept into small crevices. Snape had a thousand uses for the man, if only he could be trusted. Pettigrew couldn't be trusted for anything - not the Dark Lord, the Light, the Dark, not Lucius, not Snape - there was plenty of ambition in the snivelling man, but the fear tended to run over everything, and he'd bend to the person closest to him at the moment. Please don't kill me! was his motto.
Snape gave Pettigrew a curt nod as he strode by, leaving Pettigrew to call after him, "He's in the blue room." Snape kept his smugness behind his Occulumency. A good sign, that - The Dark Lord gave punishments in the Throne Room (really, a winecellar in the basement, but the lack of natural light meant the spots would hit the Dark Lord, leaving the rest of them in shadow, or vice versa, as he pleased.).
Snape entered the Dark Lord's presence, which felt like entering a basic* miasma, where your entire self would erode in time. Snape knelt on one knee, before humbly saying, "My lord." Was it a new assignment?
"Severusss..." Lord Voldemort said, "Today I felt something most curious indeed. Out of the mind of Harry Potter, I felt a deluge of emotion."
Snape, still kneeling, looked up at the Dark Lord, and spat, "He is a Gryffindor, sire." His voice radiated assurance and smugness as he continued, "Their emotions run amok quite easily I've found." Beneath his mental ocean, in the muddy unconscious, his mind scrambled for any sign of what had happened. There was nothing, he learned, as he looked down at the mucky sand... spread flat on the oceanfloor.
"Do you, perhaps, know what might have caused this emotional outburst?" the Dark Lord inquired, those blood red eyes boring into Snape's black eyes. Snape held his gaze steady - to do otherwise was certain death.
"I do not, sire." Snape responded, "I could have caused it, surely enough, as could Draco Malfoy - who the blasted Potter brat considers his rival." Naked lies, Snape thought, deep in the ocean's dark depths. Malfoy doesn't know enough about Potter, not really - Potter's easy to rile, but this? I could have done it - hell, I could have broken him... but...
"Fool that he is," The dark Lord said, without specifying who he was talking about. "Do you think Malfoy might have caused it?"
"No sire," Snape said, lifting his lip in a sneer, "Malfoy wouldn't poke Potter without backup, and I was supervising Crabbe and Goyle at the time." What in blazes was Potter up to now?
"If you're certain, Severus, then I needn't summon him here."
"That might be noticed, sire. I am confident in my assessment."
"Find out, for me, if you can," The dark lord said, in his vastly-foreshortened mercy.
"I shall, sire." Snape said.
"Very curious, that a stripling boy might manage..." The Dark Lord broke off, "Standing order: keep the boy alive. He interests me." Shite.
"As my lord commands," Snape said, bowing until his neck was parallel to the floor.
"You are dismissed." The dark lord said.
Snape stood and stalked off, keeping his determination at the forefront of his mind. It was only as he apparated to Hogwarts, that he peeked beneath his darkling ocean again. The Dark Lord doesn't know why Potter had an outburst. But he looked! Snape froze at the thought, mind whirling. How?
Snape strode towards Hogwarts with one thought in mind: wringing the truth out of Potter, howeverlong it took.
Disillusioned, Snape entered through the front door of Hogwarts, sparing not a moment to sooth Filch, who seethed with irritation at the interruption of his routine. His mask was safely stored in a pocket, and his robes were reverted to Ordinary School Robes (as he had a dozen, it would go without comment).
Snape headed towards the dungeon, first, hoping that the map he had would prove useful. A relic of his schooldays, it wasn't his originally - but he hardly doubted the owner would object to his very chary use of the dratted thing.*#*
Snape's office was off the beaten path, and deliberately so. The Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms were in easy to find areas - Snape never wanted people to be accidentally nearby his office. Too many things to go wrong with that, including seeing people who weren't supposed to be there. To aid in the gloomy, "This is not a fun place, do not come here" vibe, Snape had dimmed and diminished the lights, until there were only pools of light in between thick shadows. It had served tolerably well - the Weasley Twins proved more puissant and contrary than most, of course.
On the wellworn stone, smooth as water, Snape glided like a shadow of a shade. He was surprised, but carefully did not show it, when he saw the Bloody Baron in front of him. He passed beside the ghost, saying not a word. He trusted if it was important, the ghost would stop him in his tracks.
Quietly but swiftly, Snape strode towards his office. Time was of the essence, but - even before that, he had to know what happened.
Two and a third turns away from his office, Snape heard a soft and strangled whimpering. Cursing inside his head, he turned, navigating by sound in the dark hallways, finding a dark, small alcove. Snape knelt, carefully on the outside of the alcove, remaining mostly hidden. He muttered a soft Lumos, illuminating the area as if by candlelight through a smoked glass.*!*
Snape's eyes saw the glasses first, and then the dark hair, "Potter," he breathed, as softly as a falling leaf. No response. Harry Potter just sat there, curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth, eyes closed.
Snape shifted, moving into the alcove and slowly brightening the light to that of a full candle, "Potter!" Snape demanded, in a soft voice.
No response.
Snape's hand flashed out, cracking against Potter's face, as Snape demanded, "Potter!" his voice echoing unnaturally in the clammy quiet. Cursing inside his head, Snape cast a simple spell, enlarging Potter's head to three times the size.
Then, with a rather put upon sigh (one never knew who might be watching), Snape picked up the boy, tossing his head over Snape's back, and hauled the child towards his office. I'm getting too old for this... Snape thought, internally muffling a groan. Potter may be the lightest child in his year, but he's still near grown.
Snape shrugged Potter onto his desk - the boy hit it with a boneless thunk, sending half-corrected essays flying. Snape saw Harry curling up into a ball, and then rolling to a sitting postion, as Snape watched. Snape wasn't an expert on catatonia, but he thought this didn't look quite right.*~* Jerking out of his reverie, Snape started casting silencing spells, secrecy spells, anti-eavesdropping spells.
Burn him, I don't have time for this, Snape thought, as he at last canceled the swelled head charm (it was a rarity, and perfectly mimicked a very common potion - he'd never hoped to have a use for it, but he'd learned it anyhow).
"Potter," Snape snapped, looming over the boy. Nothing.
"Harry," Snape said, letting the weighty word drop from his lips with an excess of care that would undoubtedly be read as sarcasm. Still nothing.
Snape studied Harry for a moment, then walked behind him - Snape's black eyes growing wider as Harry didn't move. Snape knew he was acting threatening enough to evoke a threat response, a learned reflex. Potter's unresponsiveness meant that he'd shut the world out - and effectively, which was something Snape himself had never been able to manage. With his eyes closed, Snape couldn't even try legimancy if he'd wanted to - and who knew what Legimancy would do to the truly bereft of their senses?
Snape snarled, sounding inarticulate for a moment, as his hand pounded once on Potter's back - so hard that the boy's body jerked. Snape's voice boomed, "Boy, get up."
At that, Harry Potter blinked, starting to look around - more frightened than anything. Some self-preservation, at least.
Snape strode into view, elegance personified. Now, for some answers. "Potter, report." Snape snapped, his voice a perfect drill-sergeant on parade.
Harry's spine straightened, as if by some mythical metal rod, and he opened his mouth to speak.
Snape watches, as Harry Potter stares into nowhere - not, as before, because he wasn't aware of his surroundings, but because he's remembering.
"I was... upset. No, no that's not it. More than upset." Harry's green eyes look up at Snape, who holds himself in a controlled parade rest - by sheer force of will retaining the pretense that enables Potter to report, rather than think. Snape wants to crouch down, meet Potter's eyes dead on, and see.
"I was... everything, all of it, all at once. All the feels, cascading through me." Harry said, his voice sounding leaden. Snape's eyes tried to find, in Harry's face, what had caused it. Almost unnaturally, his face is still, only his mouth moving - as if his whole face had been dipped in wax.
"The Dark Lord described it as a deluge." Snape said dryly, sounding unimpressed.
"It ... was a lot, hot cold, bright and dark." Harry shook his head, "I could have handled it if I was just angry." Snape heard the ring of truth in that statement. What had caused this major malfunction? Snape thought with irritation. Of Course, The Dark Lord wants to know. Hell, if Albus heard a whiff of this, he'd want to know too. And that would be all Snape needed at this point, faked sorrow and understanding at how he couldn't possibly be expected to pry something out of gritted Gryffindor teeth.
"The Dark Lord only put up minimal shielding," Snape sneered in sympathy, "I wouldn't want to be bothered by adolescent angst, either." Of course, that is my other job, hated as it is. Snape thought grimly.
Harry looked at him, and seemed to shrink, somehow, pulling back inside himself.
Cursing at himself, Snape cracked, "Go on."
"I... I felt him, trying to worm his way into my mind." Harry said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of a very un-Gryffindor fear. Not that I'd feel much better, Snape thought wryly, If the dark lord was invading my undefended mind.
"And?" Snape said, demanding with the question, letting Potter choose what he told.
"I..." Harry sits there blinking, vaguely staring into the distance, "I was curious. I wanted to know..." Snape was once again left pondering how in blazes this child had managed to convince the Sorting Hat that he would be a good fit for Gryffindor. "Charge Ahead" Gryffindor - Snape's mental image was of Sirius Black, unreasonable and doggedly determined, "Blow it to Pieces, and then Ask Questions" - Alastor Moody for that one, though really half the Auror Corps fit the mold, after he'd trained them.
Harry hung his head, "I don't think I got much out of it, really..."
"What happened?" Snape asked, rapidly discarding any concept of interfering with Potter's line of thought.
"I... wasn't interested in my memories... I was interested in him..." Harry said, almost stuttering. "My mind chose the landscape - unconsciously, you know." Yes, I do know, that's a novice mistake...
Harry swallowed a gulp. "It was a big, open grassy field - my memories were in the grass, I remember that part - they weren't important, though."
"I had all my attention focused on him, and- I was a dog, sir. A big, black, curly-haired dog." Oh, the gods are laughing now. Snape bit back his sarcastic wit, and waited.
"He was... he was a ball." Harry said, his voice cracking into small hoots of laughter as he spoke - the edges of hysteria starting to creep back in. "I was playing chase with it." Harry looked up at Snape, his glass green eyes wide, "I don't think he liked it, much."
Lord Voldemort has always liked being in control, so, no, I don't think he liked it very much. Snape bit back any words.
"I threw him in a circle of stones, so the grass wouldn't burn." Harry said, "And then I coughed up some fire, and he left in a puff of smoke." Oh, how appropriate. And they tell me this boy is a wizard.
"Then what happened?" Snape rapped out.
"I came back to myself," Harry said, "Was me again, not just the part of me that wanted... that."
Harry looked up at Snape, who's surprised to not see a shred of distrust, "You know occulumency. You'd be able to tell me what I just did. And... I ought to report interactions with the Dark Lord, sir. That hasn't changed."
Snape gave a nod of acknowledgement, trying to work out for himself why Potter had been near comatose when he'd arrived.
"You weren't there, sir." Harry Potter said, "And then it hit me - I'd had the Dark Lord in my mind." Harry started rocking again, and Snape was about to grab his chin and force him to make eye contact, when Harry Potter asked, "What do I do? Sir, what do I do now?"
Snape looked at Potter, his dark eyes faintly disbelieving. Potter wanted all the answers, and without having given Snape much more than a fragile reed to hang, well, anything on - schemes or hopes or plans. "Perhaps, with all the information, I might be able to offer some guidance."
"What do you need?" Direct and straight to the point, Gryffindor.
"What exactly caused your emotions to spiral so? It is unusual to see you so discombobulated." Snape said, his eyes showing the dark glint of curiosity.
Harry Potter nodded - a short bob of his head, "Yeah." Oh, how eloquent these Gryffindors be.*%*
And then, something odd happened. Potter's jaw jutted forward, his beryl eyes glinting like stones.*!* Snape recognized that look - it was so quintessentially Gryffindor it made his teeth ache*!*!*. It was the look Lily had had when she didn't want to say something. Lily'd plant her feet in the ground, and wouldn't be moved. Not that Snape couldn't talk her around... eventually. But it had always taken time...
Locking up his impatience (which shouted at him to shake the answer right out of Potter), Snape looked again at Potter. There was something about that look... It niggled at Snape, like something just on the edge -
Abruptly, his mind caught up with itself. That jutting jaw and grim eyes was the spitting cousin to a look that Malfoy had had on his face... after the debacle at the Hall of Mysteries, when news had been scarce, and Malfoy had feared Lucius sentenced to Azkaban without even a show trial. It was the look of a child battening down the hatches to avoid an explosion - hoping that the ship would contain the press of feelings.
Snape wrestled, then, with the unfamiliar thought that Potter might actually be right to withhold information. Nobody wanted the Dark Lord summoned to Potter's mind twice in one night. And if Potter was stuffing his emotions into a locked chest...
Then Snape ought not to try Legimancy. Too much risk of tugging at the wrong memory.
Worse, Snape knew he'd be bothered by this mystery until he thoroughly understood it. As if I needed one more thing to think about!
"At this time," Snape said softly, "It would not be a good idea to verify whether this so-called defense of yours was a fluke. You are to treat it as such."
Snape studied Potter, thinking what he should really say - wondering if saying anything would cause Potter to explode like a bomb. Snape looked Potter up and down, and said shortly, "We will talk later. I must report to Dumbledore. Stay here for now." Snape hoped that Potter would merely conclude that Snape was reporting Potter's own experiences, and not another holiday at the Dark Lord's.
Severus Snape strode through the empty, deserted halls of Hogwarts, returning to his office, where Potter awaited (or possibly slept, it was late at that, and as insensate as he'd been, catatonic did not equate to true rest).
It was strange, Snape thought, to wake up, blinking and bleary eyed, and discover the world had been turning while you were asleep. At least, that was the way it had felt to him, as Dumbledore had calmly asked him, "Do you think I ought to speak with him?"
And yes, it was true that Potter was no longer The Chosen One, and thus Dumbledore's interest would quite naturally wane. But...
Still.
There was a time when Dumbledore had never even considered asking what Snape thought of his relationship with Harry Potter. And, to ask it in such a way... to nearly - or maybe actually - hand the decision making off to him...
It was unsettling.
Not nerve-wracking, no. That was reserved for the niggling question (growing larger by the moment, like the worm that ate the WorldTree, bringing Gotterdamerung upon us all) of What had upset Potter so? Had Snape a ready answer, even if it was wrong, the question would have been shoved aside. And, with adolescents, easy answers were often close to hand. But... Potter hadn't a romantic relationship, nor even one "in the offing" nor stillborn even - he'd been granted the chance to take anyone he'd care to ask (and with a ready response of "to keep the Potter Mania at bay"), and he hadn't made any move at all. Nor was this the motion of someone whose interest had been caught by someone already in a relationship. Oh, Snape knew well the indulgent sighs and "woe is me" attitude of the unrequited love, that generally ended up with someone poisoned, or eyes blackened, or other inconvenient departures from Snape's usual day.
Snape sighed, and started again from the top, his feet winding their way unguided back to his office, following routes so well-worn he didn't need to think about them.
An Emotional Storm.
generally caused by unpleasant revelations... And for Potter to be so emotionally guarded, so intent on locking his emotions down...
Snape didn't like it. It didn't fit well with his own model of the boy, and Snape liked to think that he could predict Potter better than Potter knew himself...
Snape stepped back, put a different face on things. What would cause Ron Weasley to act like this? (aside from the lad's lovelife, which was obviously not the issue) Weasley had what Potter lacked - a family. And Weasley might have broken at unpleasant revelations about his parents (were there any, Snape had yet to find them. Molly might be a bull in a china shop most of the time, but she was an honest bull, even as she broke the china). Or possibly about his brothers.
Snape smirked, the look on his face devoid of humor - his eyes cold and dark. That had possibilities, Snape thought, but Potter'd already seen how shiftless his friends could be. And... besides that, Snape couldn't see any possible reason why Potter'd pull punches about his friends' betrayal.* * It wasn't like it wouldn't be obvious in the morning - neither Potter nor his friends were accomplished liars, and it only took one side of a broken trust to see the breach.
No, no and no, Snape thought, considering. The Potters were dead, and the Dursleys couldn't possibly have caused this - they'd disappointed Potter too much and too early - any childhood need for approval had been promptly squashed. And the Dursleys' hadn't an owl to write Potter, besides. And if Potter was going to explode about James, he'd probably have done it last year. Might have done, even, Snape thought, whatever had happened tonight had been something extreme. Potter's general bulldogged anger built out of frustration wouldn't have done this...
Snape stopped, cocked his head to one side, as if he was hearing something through the stone walls of the dungeon corridor. Dumbledore... the old goat had always seemed to have a great fondness for the young Potter. If Dumbledore had breathed an improper word, said something he damnedly shouldn't... Snape nodded slowly, his hands curling unnoticed into fists. That, at least, would explain some reticence on Potter's part. Snape took three deep breaths, reminding himself that this was all supposition, and perhaps even less than that.
As Snape's hands loosened, he strode toward his office, feeling on firmer ground. He would do as he usually did - watch and wait. There were times for decisive motion, but they were few and far between. Perhaps, though... Snape let half a hundred paths and thoughts swirl in his head as he neared his office door. It was a good thing nobody dared read his mind, Snape thought with a hidden snarl, They'd drown in the half-done plans and the myriad paths he considered to tread.
Harry Potter had waited, but he wasn't very good at waiting. So he'd been picking at something that he'd just realized was going on - Quiddich. Or, more properly, was not going on when it shoulda been. He'd forgotten, really, been quite distracted by... well, the rest of his life. But it was nearing the end of October, and he hadn't heard a peep about Quiddich from Ron Weasley. Well, not Hogwarts Quiddich at least. Chudley Cannons were a whole different story, but they were also the most losingest (is that a word?) team ever, so the general amusement was in "how did they lose this time?" Apart from Ron, everyone had nearly universally concluded that the Cannons could have Viktor Krum as Seeker, and the Irish Chasers, and STILL lose, somehow.
Harry hadn't questioned why he was up in the air, could just grab a broomstick and go. The pitch was generally reserved, and Harry knew that. But when he'd been out for a flight, it hadn't been about practice at all... just therapy. It was a queer thing, the ability to go up in the air and just let all his problems go away... Snape said he felt like that during a fight too, didn't he? Well, then it was the press of problems, NOW things to deal with. With Flight? It was all about not having any problems at all - flying came effortlessly to him, it always had. Oh, sure he could work up a sweat, but that was physical. Dancers would understand, he was sure of it - the physical demands came, but there was nearly no thought involved. Just motion.
Snape returned, and Harry's body moved to shoot to his feet. He suppressed that impulse, turning around to see Snape closing the door gently. Probably doesn't want to wake up the whole dungeon, Harry thought wryly, Though it is odd that he didn't come back through the floo. He hasn't barred Dumbledore from entering...?
Harry's eyes (and head) followed Snape as Snape moved towards his desk. Turning to face Harry, Snape said softly, "Take your time sorting through your own mind. But don't take too long,"
Snape's tone had turned grave at the last, and Harry looked questioningly at him. "The Dark Lord wants to know what was running through your head. I shall endeavor to prevent him from assigning that task to Bella," Snape chuckled mirthlessly, "When he wants craft and stealth, he assigns me the task, as he has done today. When he desires charm and deceit, he assigns Lu Malfoy. But when he wants blood and answers, he assigns Bella Black." Nevermind that she was actually a Lestrange, huh? Somehow everyone insisted on using her maiden name.
Snape swallowed and continued, "Bella's idea of extracting information from you would be finding some of your friends to torture. And she hasn't been quite the same since Azkaban. She makes mistakes, now. Her use of torture is nowhere near as exact or precise as it used to be."
"Like the Longbottoms?" Harry asked.
Snape's piercing eyes seemed to look straight through Harry, "That was intentional. Bella despises being thwarted, and she had been given a task by Her Lord. She intended to make an example out of them."
"She really did, didn't she?" Harry said somberly.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not the example she thought." Snape said, leaving the words to percolate through Harry's head.
Harry thought back to a question he'd meant to ask Snape - and then promptly tried to talk himself out of asking (because he didn't want to spend more time with Snape). And then promptly decided to talk himself into asking, because 'acting normal' was the easiest way to convince Snape that nothing was truly wrong. And Potter wanted Snape looking at anyone but Harry at this point. Harry had a lot on his mind, after all. More people staring at him was not likely to help fix things. "Is that why you sprang that lesson on us today?"
"What makes you think I 'sprang' it on you?" Snape said softly, in that subtle suede tone he occasionally used.
"It would have made a great introduction, sir. You're quite notorious for yours, you realize?" Harry said dryly. The corners of Snape's mouth curled for a second at the compliment.
"And?" Snape prompted.
"If you had this on your mind at the beginning of the year, you'd have used it then." Harry said promptly.
Snape nodded, "I would have. Bella's taken to giving 'presents' to the Order, recently." Snape's tone told Harry that he'd better not ask how bad it was. "She's also taken to using the Cruciatus on new recruits who can't handle the gory parts." Snape's tone turned grimmer, as he said, "And, as I said, she's not as precise as she once was." That sounded melancholy, tinged with a bit of nostalgia. The sound of someone who'd cared for her, once... "They deserve at least a chance to acclimate, wouldn't you say?" Snape's dark humor danced over his tongue.
"You'd know better than I would, sir." Harry said, mentally cursing his tongue. Why did I have to say that?
"You have two paths, from here forward, Potter." Snape said, as he stood and headed for the door, "You can attempt to be very small, and very boring, and hope to dwindle into unimportance in the mind of the Dark Lord." Snape turned and looked Potter in the eyes, "I trust you know what the other one is."
Potter's eyes widened, and he said grimly, without a smile on his face, "Path Gryffindor." Which was to say, that yes, he really could run up to Lord Voldemort and try and kill him. You know, without the prophecy, that obviously wasn't about Harry Potter. He could do that. He wasn't going to do that, not on your ruddy life, but he could. Snape, it appeared, would rather present a false choice instead of ordering him about. Well, Harry considered, maybe that hadn't gone so well in the past, had it? Harry suddenly remembered first year, and Minerva McGonagall telling them that the Stone was taken care of.
Snape nodded curtly, his hair falling into his face again, and he said, "We'd best be taking you to Gryffindor's Tower, shouldn't we? The time grows late." And Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out if Snape just meant the late hour, or if he was hinting at the larger walked in silence the many flights up, and Harry was still pondering that as the portrait swung shut behind him.
Snape turned, and headed downstairs, but not towards his own chambers. Instead, he turned towards the Headmaster's office, laying a subtle tripwire in a way that Dumbledore would probably not notice. It took a subtle mind to see a spell tuned to someone else's essence, after all. And this one would only tug at Snape if Potter passed the Gargoyle.
As Snape headed downstairs, he swiftly constructed a plausible reason for urgent discussions with Albus - the state of Zambini, Nott and Malfoy would always work. Dumbledore had no idea how closely he monitored his own House, so he'd think that Snape had newly acquired information on the three amigos. Nothing would be further from the case, but Snape needn't admit that...
* *Snape, you're being a blinded idiot.
*%*Play off shakespeare - "Oh what fools these mortals be."
*!* Beryl is the mineral. Emerald (and aquamarine) are the "precious" form. Never say that Snape actually refers to Potter as being precious.
*!*!* Not from sweetness, no. from the strain of grinding his teeth.
*~*Potter's actually got most of it down pat. He's missing waxy flexibility, but then again, that's not an always thing. Snape, as admitted above, is not an expert. He's just the closest person to the problem, and most definitely not used to asking for help.
*#*James' map, in case that wasn't clear. And no, Snape didn't keep the "I solemnly swear I am up to no good" passphrase.
*!*Very, very dark. Just barely enough illumination to identify someone by. Like moonlight, except yellow not blue. Deliberately chosen to not startle someone clearly in some distress (or worse, blind them).
*black humor.
**like lye