02
Contrary to popular belief, Ronald Weasley did care about his friend's well-being. So much, in fact, that he'd done something quite unusual.
He thought.
Okay, that was probably quite unfair. No, no, a more proper way to say it was that he was thinking about food.
Well, that wasn't quite right either.
No, no, no. Ronald Weasley wasn't thinking about food. No, not at all. Ronald Weasley was thinking about why on earth soup, of all things, was a breakfast item. And more importantly, since when did Hogwarts have mushroom soup on the menu?
For as long as he could remember (a good four years of his time at Hogwarts), the school had never served mushroom soup. Pumpkin soup, tomato soup, pea soup, yes, but never, never in a million years, had there been mushroom soup.
Until today.
And of course, it had been served at breakfast, where Harry could conveniently choke on previously mentioned soup while Hermione, admittedly the brains of the bunch, wasn't around to ensure his safety.
(Granted, Professor McGonagall had gotten the job done just as well, but Ron ultimately trusted Hermione more.)
Ron frowned, looking down at the parchment on which he had scribbled down the facts.
One, Hogwarts didn't serve mushroom soup, especially not at breakfast.
Two, Hogwarts served mushroom soup today. At breakfast.
Three, Harry was allergic to mushrooms.
Four, Harry knocked off Voldemort in a surprisingly simple way (it was a story best saved for another time, but the one thing that was common knowledge was that it involved pigeons - lots of pigeons) and people, namely Death Eaters and other bigots with sticks up their butts, were upset about that.
The conclusion?
Someone was out to get Harry, by poisoning him with mushroom soup, and no one had even noticed.
Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin. The panicked thought rattled its way through Ron's head before bursting out the other side in a moment of clarity. Clarity as in pure and sheer panic.
…
Fred and George looked up as one at the scream that rattled the rafters of Gryffindor Tower. They looked at each other.
"One of yours?"
"Nah."
At that, the two shrugged, and decided that obviously someone else had thought it was a good idea to prank Ron with spiders.
In their defense, the last time their little brother had screamed with such volume was the time that they'd pranked Ron with plastic spiders.
…
Having released that moment of clarity, Ron again sunk back into the folds of invincibility that all teenagers seemed to believe that they possessed, and so, he continued to think.
Harry was in the Infirmary, and in no shape to investigate. Hermione was still busy in Hogsmeade. Crookshanks was a cat, and while Ron was worried about Harry, there were still things he wasn't willing to do – like teaming up with a bloody cat of all things.
Besides, while Ron was sure that Crookshanks was a smart critter, the cat wouldn't be much help if he needed someone to back him up in a duel. That meant he needed someone skilled with a wand, someone who knew how any possible suspects thought (cough, cough, Death Eaters), and someone who was smart.
He needed someone who could sneak around, undetected, he needed someone who was a good detective, he needed someone who was a good spy, he needed someone who knew how Death Eaters worked. He needed… he needed…
He needed Snape.
Ron took a moment to process this.
He needed Snape.
Oh, Merlin.
…
It was a Saturday – a sunny beautiful day (in spite of the cold weather and snow dusting the grounds of Hogwarts), a wonderful day, a glorious day; mainly because Snape didn't have to deal with a bunch of brainless snivelling idiots on this day. At least, he wouldn't have had to deal with any adolescents at all, if it weren't for the incessant knocking on the door of his personal quarters.
Snape briefly wondered if he could pretend that nobody was in at the moment, and that by ignoring the knocking, whoever it was would go away.
Snape waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Well, whoever it was on the other side of the door must've either had knuckles of steel and were very persistent, or had bloody knuckles by now and were very, very stupid.
Sighing through his nose, Snape reluctantly left the comfort of his armchair, glided over to the door (even though no one was there to appreciate his visual smoothness), and flung it open with a sharp, "What do you want?"
The youngest Weasley boy, looking pale enough to challenge Snape's complexion, shook where he stood, but his fear did not stop him from blurting out, "It's the soup! Someone's out to get Harry with soup!"
Snape stared at the red-headed boy, and slowly regained his senses. "Potter has allergies." Snape stated calmly, fighting back the feeling of déjà vu.
"Yes, sir."
"To mushrooms."
"Yes, sir."
"Which were in the soup."
"Yes, sir."
"I thought Madame Pomfrey made that quite clear to all of us."
"Yes, but," Ron protested, "the soup, sir, the soup!"
"Yes, what about the soup?" Snape snapped, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. Potter had allergies to mushrooms. Mushrooms were present in the soup. The facts were straightforward – any simpleton would have grasped them by now. Was the Weasley boy slow or something?
"It…" Ron stammered, "it was served…"
"Obviously-" Snape began snarkily.
"…at breakfast." Ron finished in a whisper.
Snape froze. "What?"
"The soup was served for breakfast!" Ron sounded a little hysterical. "Who serves soup at breakfast?!"
Snape opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. It was a really good question – who indeed? The last time he checked, the house elves at Hogwarts weren't the type to suddenly change their menu without good reason. Which meant, Snape felt for sure, that something unusual was going on.
Although a deliberate poisoning did sound a bit far-fetched, Snape knew by now to not underestimate the going-ons in regards to the snotty Potter brat.
Snotter. Heh. That's a good one… Snape shook off the small detour.
Anyway, Snape knew to not underestimate the trouble Snotter could get in, if the issue with the pigeons and the Dark Lord was anything to go by. The hook-nosed man heaved a long sigh through his hook-nose as it became apparent to him that he was not going to be able to spend his Saturday in the privacy of his quarters. No, he was probably going to spend it gliding through the castle and hunting down whoever had changed the menu at Hogwarts to include mushroom soup at breakfast.
Snape flicked a glance at the old grandfather clock in his living quarters and consoled himself with the fact that it was well into the afternoon, and he wouldn't be forced to spend long on the issue.
Good. Snape thought viciously as he strode out of his quarters and closed the door behind him before the nosy Weasley child could take a closer look inside. Without another word to the red-headed boy, Snape headed down the hallway, in the general direction of the kitchens. Half a second later, he realized he had a shadow; a freckly, orange-haired teenaged shadow.
Snape spun around, taking the time to discretely ensure that his robes flung out as dramatically as they could possibly be, and turned on very intimidating glare down at the boy. "What are you doing?"
"Following you. Sir." The Weasley boy stated the facts blandly.
"And why are you doing that?"
Ron thought for a moment. There were quite a few reasons why – Harry was his friend, and someone had tried to poison him. He wanted to see the culprit being caught. And since he carried the title of 'best friend', it was Ron's duty to make sure that the culprit was caught before he or she could make a second attempt on Harry's life. And so, Ron opened his mouth and answered, "Harry's my friend."
Snape stared at the boy, like he had grown another head. "Look, your insipid little notions of friendship will not assist in this investigation-"
"With all due respect, sir," Ron interrupted, "Harry's my best mate, and I'm not going to back down. I'm investigating as well, whether you like it or not."
Snape considered giving Weasley detention for the rest of the term, but ultimately decided not to dish out the punishment, since handing out detentions these days – thanks a lot, Albus – required copious amounts of paperwork. Snape simply didn't have that much time to waste.
"Fine." The Professor ground out and spun around, not turning around to check that the Weasley boy was keeping up.