Harry shivered and cast another warming charm, telling himself he'd build a fire if Snape didn't return in the next ten minutes. This, however, had been his mantra for well over two hours, and he was still loathe to do it. If Snape returned pissed, he wanted to be able to vanish into the night with the man none-the-wiser. Sighing, his breath ghosting in the bright moonlight, he burrowed further into his fall cloak and began to read the next chapter in his Transfiguration textbook. Hermione had shown him a spell that let you read in low or nonexistent light. Strangely, it worked only on the written word. You couldn't use it to see in the dark. That was, apparently, a completely different spell developed by someone else. Harry was still waiting for someone to return the book that would let him learn that spell. Pince had assured him he was next in line, but since they were well past the due date, it could take weeks, or even months, if it was returned at all before Pince retrieved it in the Spring. Hermione had talked him out of ordering the book just to learn that one spell, but he was starting to think that he might find more than just that spell in the book. Being so relatively new and fascinated by magic, he still loved learning new spells, and household spells would someday be useful.

Harry leapt, falling back off his stump, as a massive crack echoed in his small clearing, scaring birds and a thestral foal out of the trees. Harry, stunned when his head struck a root, caught hold of himself just as the forest began to settle again. He sat up with a groan and struggled to remember why he was here, and what that sound had been. His dull eyes sharpened the slightest bit as he remembered Snape, and what that sound had meant. But that sound had been much louder than anticipated. When Snape had left it had been a gentle crack, and this was like thunder striking the ground. Harry looked around the moonlit clearing and froze when he saw the lifeless lump in the very center. He scrambled to his feet, ignorant of his pounding and swelling head, and collapsed back to his hands and knees beside the body of his Potions professor. He rolled Snape over, his breath whistling through the pinhole that was his throat. He checked for a pulse and found one, then checked for breathing and found that, too. He sat back on his heels in gratitude, staring up at the distant moon, the lump in his throat loosening it's hold. Snape groaned lightly, then began to sit up, a hand to his broken, bleeding nose.

Harry, who had seen the state of Snape's face, and was fairly certain he would find worse beneath the stifling robes, reached out and put his hands on Snape's shoulders before he could try to stand.

"Don't, Professor, you're hurt," He said.

Snape turned and glowered at him. "And what do you intend to do about that, Potter?"

Harry frowned, then realized there was nothing he could do, with no medical training whatsoever. Making a quick decision, he scooped Snape under the arm and began to drag him to his feet. Snape struggled against him fleetingly, giving Harry an idea of just how badly he was injured.

"We need to get you to Pomfrey," He said firmly.

Snape jerked his arm free, nearly falling again once he was entirely unsupported, before Harry wrapped an arm around the man's waist and drew the arm he'd been holding over his shoulder. He turned and started back toward the school, and Snape came along unwillingly, unable to pull free again.

"Do not take me to the Hospital Wing," Snape snarled breathlessly. "Unless you wish to put my life at risk."

Harry's footsteps faltered. "Oh, she… she's not in the Order." He realized, continuing on his course towards the castle. It had never occurred to him that not all of the teachers and staff at Hogwarts were involved in the war. He felt stupid for never realizing that before. "I'll take you to your rooms, then. But you need medical attention, so what do I do about that?"

Snape didn't respond. Harry glanced up to the Headmaster's tower and saw there were still no lights in the windows. Dumbledore wasn't back yet, so no help there. He figured if nothing else he could go to McGonagall, who he knew to be in the Order. She might be back by now. She'd been leaving when he'd gone to her before heading to Dumbledore's, but she could, hopefully, have returned in the last few hours.

He hefted Snape as quickly as he could back to Hogwarts, Snape's feet moving methodically even as he leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder. Harry began to feel an intense pressure at the base of his spine at the man's silence. It was not a normal silence. Risking looking away from his path, he looked at Snape, who was bent nearly to eye level. Despite the movement of his feet, Harry could see that the man was barely conscious. Walking was likely all he could focus on, like a man who knows death is near. Harry sped up until he was dragging the man before stopping and drawing Snape up into his arms, like a bride. Short and wiry he may be, but weak he was not. He kept up a vigorous routine of exercise, had since he was very small, always in an effort to stay one step ahead of his enemies. It was habit, after it had proved useful against Dudley and Vernon, and it still regularly came in handy. Carrying Snape proved easier than he'd first assumed. The cloak, bunched up between their bodies, proved to be barely a hindrance. Without any forethought, or knowledge that he could do so, his magic pressed open the locked doors into the school, and then locked them back as he moved across the Entrance Hall to the dungeons. The stairs proved tricky, but soon he was rushing down the corridor to the Potions Master's office. Again, the door opened without his consent, closing firmly behind him, the wards untouched. He looked around the office and wondered how he was going to get Snape into his rooms when he wasn't even sure the entrance was through here. It wasn't like there was a door. He shifted Snape gently as he took a second look around the room, trying to figure out if there might be some sort of sign on the walls. Snape's eyes fluttered. Then normally bright obsidian eyes, now turned dull and lifeless as volcanic ash, took in his surroundings. His arm, which had been resting on his stomach, rose and gestured to a bookshelf.

"Poisons Puissants." He croaked the French words, before his head fell against Harry's shoulder and his arm dropped.

Harry moved over to the shelf and scanned the titles. Gently, he eased Snape's legs down, supporting him with his own body, as his left hand reached out and touched the spine of the book Snape had named. Magic sparked off his finger and the bookcase slid aside. Harry frowned. That was oddly low security for the Potions Master's private quarters, if just anyone could open the door with their magic. Supposing it had to do with his magic's ease with the previous doors, he picked the man up again and carted him into the small living area beyond. He spotted a door, one of two, to his right and went that way, still operating on instinct and adrenaline. His instincts proved miraculously right as he walked into Snape's bedroom and placed the man on his bed. Snape didn't so much as stir, suggesting he'd used the very last of his energy in directing Harry to his quarters.

Harry went back out into the living room, praying that the man kept floo powder on hand. He didn't like the idea of leaving to collect McGonagall in person. Anything could happen in his absence. He began to search frantically around the fireplace, looking for some container which might hold the magic grains. His adrenaline started to ebb as he failed to find what he needed, and clear thought returned. McGonagall hadn't said where she was going, but he couldn't even be sure she was back yet, either, so leaving Snape to go and collect her could prove a complete waste of precious time. He stepped back, trying to think what else he could do. He didn't know for sure if any of the other professors were Order members. He couldn't remember seeing any of them at the Order meetings he was finally allowed to be privy to.

Groaning, the Gryffindor ran his hands through his short, wavy hair that had replaced the perpetual rat's nest he'd had before he'd grown it out. He turned away from the cold fireplace and his eyes lit on the bookshelves that dominated the other walls. He began to move along the shelves, instinctively looking for what he couldn't even be sure was there. He found it directly across the room from the fireplace, a shelf of books dedicated to healing magic, including the book he wanted from the library. He withdrew this book first, Home Care, then a second entitled Urgent Care. He carried both into Snape's bedroom, thumbing through the first. It literally meant care. It was mostly cleaning and organizing spells, but there was also a lot of first aid and patient care. There were spells and potions that acted as temporary relief for whatever ailed someone, but also spells for cleaning, dressing and feeding. Harry stopped on the spell for undressing and winced as he imagined the hell he was going to catch from Snape for doing this. He raised his wand and read off the spell, focusing his intent. He looked up to find Snape sans clothes, save his undergarments, his robes and trousers folded at the foot of the bed, his socks lain atop them and his boots resting on the floor. Harry stepped forward, and then opened the second book. He found the spell he thought might be there and raised his wand again, running it over Snape's body as he focused his intent. It was amazing how easy these spells seemed to be. Outside of Defense, he rarely mastered a new spell in less than a few days, usually longer. These, however, seemed merely to pass through him, as if they were second nature to his magic.

The scan produced a roll of parchment, terrifyingly long, that contained all that was wrong with his Potions professor, who frankly looked like hell without his robes. His slim, lightly muscled body was riddled with bruises, and his skin quivered, his nerves shot from exposure to the Cruciatus. Several ribs were cracked; he had a broken wrist, and a broken nose and black eye to round it off, as well as a pretty serious concussion. Harry opened both books on the bed to their table of contents. A scan of each showed that they had what he would need. The bruising needed a potion, as did the cracked ribs, brain swelling, and shot nerves. It would take spells to clean up the blood and heal the full breaks of his nose and wrist. Making a mental list of the four potions he needed, he stepped back into the living area and hoped he wasn't wrong as he opened the only other door besides the lavatory in Snape's room. Beyond he found a private laboratory. Against one wall were two more doors, both open. In one he found the ingredients Hermione had somehow accessed in their Second Year, and in the other he found a store of potions. He scanned each shelf, pulling the carefully labeled phials from the two topmost shelves before descending the ladder again and hurrying back into Snape's bedroom. He lifted the man's shoulders and braced his head as he poured the four phials, one after another, past pale lips. Snape, still semiconscious, swallowed willingly enough. Harry watched as the swelling and dark stains on parchment skin began to recede, a feeling of relief like he'd never known swelling in his chest. Next, he returned to the end of the bed where the books still lay and began casting the necessary spells, flipping back and forth through the books until Snape finally looked like himself. Better, even, when Harry overcorrected his nose to repair the old damage that had made it crooked before. Sighing deeply, Harry collapsed back against the wall, his work done, and slid down, his knees drawn up against his chest. Part of him wanted to stay, just to be sure he hadn't missed some life-threatening damage he couldn't see, but he knew he hadn't. And if Snape, sleeping peacefully now, awoke to find him here, he might think Harry was looking for repayment of some kind. With one last furtive scan showing nothing further threatened the Potions Master, Harry left the apartments and dungeons that housed the man he had every reason to hate but had never quite entirely managed.

On the Fifth Floor, he came upon an even more dreaded confrontation than Snape waking to find him in his rooms. Ginny Weasley popped out of an alcove, dressed scantily in a lightly buttoned school shirt and a skirt too short for the dress code.

"I was waiting for you," She said in what Harry supposed was meant to be a sultry voice.

Harry swallowed. "How did you-?"

"We all noticed you were gone, silly," Ginny murmured. "I knew you'd come through here, so I waited for you. How could you keep me waiting for so long, Harry?"

"I didn't ask you to do that," Harry said quietly, very aware of the sleeping portraits up and down the corridor.

Ginny sidled towards him. "I don't mind waiting for you, Harry. I know you've been playing hard to get, but I really think we're past that. You know we're meant to be together."

"No, we're not," Harry said firmly, putting a hard hand against the girl's shoulder to keep her at arm's length. "Gin, I'm sorry, but I do not love you. I never will. You are way more intense than I know how to deal with. You were talking baby names after only two weeks together."

Ginny gasped delightedly. "So, you did notice!" She sighed. "Yes, Harry, let's make a baby." She dodged around his hand and began trying to climb him. Harry struggled with her. Finally, he grasped her arms, hard, and pushed her away.

"Ginny, stop it!" He said loudly. "I don't love you!" He winced as several portraits began to awaken and lowered his voice. "You're crazy, Gin, you need help."

An amazing transformation happened then on the younger Gryffindor's pretty, developing features. A vicious snarl overtook the look of adoration and Ginny began fighting against him, tearing at Harry and her own clothes and screaming unintelligibly. Harry struggled to contain and calm her. One of her clawed hands scraped against the knot at the back of his head, causing him to cry out. Within minutes, there came the sound of pounding footsteps and a light bobbing down the corridor. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Pomfrey came to a stop just as Ginny calmed.

"Potter, what did you do?!" The woman asked, looking at the girl who'd collapsed to the floor in a weeping heap.

Harry gaped. "I didn't do anything!" He fired off. "She just went crazy when I told her I didn't love her!"

"A likely story!" Pomfrey harrumphed, picking up the weeping child. "We'll see what your Head of House has to say. Come on."

Harry followed, in shock, as Pomfrey led Ginny, still wailing, back down the corridor towards the Hospital Wing. She settled Ginny on a bed, then bustled to her office. Two flashes of green light later and she bustled back out with McGonagall on her heels. Harry, still completely stunned by Pomfrey's assumption that he had attacked his ex-girlfriend, stood near the girl.

"Potter, apparently, has attacked Miss Weasley," Pomfrey bit out sharply.

"I didn't!" Harry said, his voice cracking. He looked with wild eyes to his Head of House. "She attacked me! I was just trying to keep her from hurting me or herself!"

McGonagall looked over both of her students with a critical eye, apparently unaffected by the late hour. Harry saw that she was still wearing the traveling cloak she'd been in before she left, as if she had only barely returned to the school. She turned to Madame Pomfrey. "I believe Mister Potter," She said firmly. "Miss Weasley has been harassing him almost constantly for over a month, and look at how she is dressed."

"All the more reason for him to attack her!" Pomfrey cried. "Just look at her! Her clothes are torn, and she's a mess. If the Headmaster were here-!"

"He would agree with me," McGonagall sniffed. "Mister Potter is incapable of inflicting the kind of harm you accuse him of."

"Then what was he even doing out past curfew?" The matron demanded.

Harry swallowed. "I- I was… I was in the dungeons."

"A likely story," Pomfrey sneered a second time. "What would you be doing down there? You've no friends in the dungeons." She looked to McGonagall. "He's clearly lying."

His Head of House eyed him carefully, and Harry mouthed "Order" while the matron's eyes were turned away. McGonagall gave a stiff nod, turning to Pomfrey. "I don't think it matters why he was out. If we ask him, we might ask Miss Weasley, as he hardly needed to draw her all the way down here if he wished to attack her."

Pomfrey glowered at him, clearly wishing to argue further, and Harry was taken aback by her easy insistence on his guilt. For one thing, he couldn't believe her thinking him capable of attacking his fellow student, a girl, no less, and for another he couldn't believe she'd assumed right away that he must've and refused to be swayed.

"Ask her!" Harry demanded.

Pomfrey made no move, but McGonagall did exactly that.

Ginny whimpered in response. "He hurt me," She moaned. "I just wanted to talk to him, and he hurt me! Look!" She gestured to the fresh bruises on her upper arms, and Harry gaped.

McGonagall frowned, clearly not believing the girl. "Well, I shall investigate this further," She said, if only to appease the irate Hospital matron. "For now, Poppy, you should tend to Miss Weasley. I will escort Mister Potter back to his dorm."

Harry, still a little broken by the loathing glare and accusatory gaze of his ex-girlfriend and one of his favorite teachers, followed jerkily as McGonagall dragged him out of the wing.

"I- I didn't do anything, Professor," Harry stammered disbelievingly.

"I know, Potter," His Head of House answered stiffly. "However, I do require an explanation about what you were doing out of your dorm."

Harry hesitated. "I was with Snape," He admitted, biting his lip. "I followed him after I ran into him outside Professor Dumbledore's office. He'd been summoned. When he returned, I was still waiting, and lucky thing, otherwise he'd still be unconscious in the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. I brought him back to his rooms and healed him."

McGonagall's quick steps stopped, and Harry froze beside her.

"How could you have healed him?" She demanded.

"He had books. The spells were easy, and he labels his potions well," Harry explained.

McGonagall hummed curiously but started moving again. They walked all the way back to Gryffindor in silence. When they paused outside the Fat Lady, McGonagall spoke again.

"I will do my best to dispel this rumor before it begins," She said stiffly. "However, if Miss Weasley cannot be swayed to tell the truth, I don't know what I can do."

Harry swallowed thickly. "I'll… I'll think of something," He said, licking his dry lips. He had no idea how he could fix this if Ginny told everyone he attacked her. He couldn't tell everyone he was with Snape. For one thing, no one would believe him, and for another, he couldn't stand the thought of airing the man's dirty laundry even to Ron and Hermione. It would be a complete breach of trust.

His mind racing, and yet completely blank, he entered Gryffindor and went to his bed. He froze at one of the windows in his dorm and opened it, summoning his school bag and Transfiguration text from the Forbidden Forest where he'd left them. An impossible distance away, the silhouettes leapt from the deep shadows of the trees and came hurtling towards him, slowing just before they slammed into his chest, allowing him to snatch both from the air. He dropped his bag beside his bed and his book on his night table before collapsing atop the blankets. He rolled onto his back and stared, unseeing, at the canopy above his bed. What the hell was he going to do? Even if it came down to no other choice, he couldn't see himself describing Snape's vulnerability to the man's students, and if he did do it, it could lead to a repeat of Malfoy's orders to kill Dumbledore, only it could be any Slytherin, and Snape would be the target. So, if he couldn't tell the truth, how was he going to lie convincingly, even if he could come up with a lie?