A/N: Thanks to everyone for feedback so far! I haven't replied to individual comments because I am trying to push out as much material on this as possible while I'm inspired.

On a side note (mostly, shameless self-promotion), if you can't get enough Snape, I am also currently working on a Harry/Snape adoption fic that you can check out! (Snape's Promise).

As always, all feedback is super appreciated, and thanks to everyone for reading!

Snape had just set the classroom back in order for Professor Binns and was gathering up his notes when the door to the room burst inward. To his utter shock, his seventh years trooped back in—or, a good portion of them, at least—all of them pale to the extreme. He easily picked out the two Slytherins, Draco and Daphne, as well as Potter, Longbottom, and the Lovegood girl. Where Granger and her Witless Wonder had gotten off to he didn't know and didn't care.

He wondered what could have possibly inspired them to return to the class when he saw the unconscious body levitating in behind them, guided at the tip of Potter's wand.

Pansy Parkinson. And Snape could already see the great deep gash that passed in a diagonal line from her forehead across her chest all the way down to her right thigh. Snape's mind was already working a mile a minute, trying to piece together what had happened.

Clearly it had not been a skirmish between his students. Potter wouldn't be bringing the unconscious girl in, no other student bore a mark (though after Parkinson's deplorable spellwork, that was hardly surprising), and beside that, they all knew better.

Potter carefully lowered the girl, his former student, down before the man, his face ashen.

"Professor, we heard her in the corridor," Potter began. "The cut—is it—"

Snape almost snorted at Potter for the ludicrous suggestion he nearly voiced. As if his spell was widespread knowledge. A quick wave of his wand over the girl's body confirmed the obvious. "A Severing Charm," he muttered, sinking to his knees. "I need silence," he warned the students testily as he appraised the wound.

The warning had been more for show than anything. He knew his students, and their collective gravity now was highly palpable.

"Vulnera sanentur…." Snape uttered the incantation carefully, feeling each syllable in his mouth as he traced along the deep gash. He moved slowly, careful not to pass the tip of his wand along until the he was certain the spell had done its work. He repeated the incantation twice more, tracing the girl's wound just as carefully each time. He was satisfied to see that, on the third pass, the muscle began to knit and the open wound began to reseal.

It was crude, compared to what Poppy could and would do for Parkinson. But the procedure had served its purpose.

Snape wasted no time admiring his work. He quickly checked the girl's pulse—feeble, but there—and observed her breathing for a full minute before at last rising and turning to address the two Slytherins.

"What happened?" he demanded quietly. His stony voice made his expectation of a concise, immediate answer very clear.

"I don't know." Draco was very pale, his lips nearly bloodless, and his eyes were filled with a bright, terrible fear. "She went on ahead in a huff, and we just—we heard her scream, heard the spell—and we found her like this."

Without turning to face them, Snape commanded, "Lovegood, Longbottom, go directly to the hospital wing and inform Madame Pomfrey of what has occurred. Have her prepare essence of dittany."

Luna and Neville turned to leave the classroom immediately.

"The Floo," Snape snapped, thrusting his chin at the classroom's fireplace.

In seconds both Luna and Neville had disappeared through the grate in a flash of green fire.

Snape conjured a stretcher beneath Parkinson and lifted her body gingerly once more, though he let it hover there in the middle of the classroom.

"Did you see who was responsible?" Snape demanded, directing the question to no one in particular.

"No, sir," Draco replied promptly. "By the time we arrived she was already on the ground."

"And I didn't get there until after Draco," Harry provided.

Snape ignored him completely, his burning black eyes flickering between Draco and Daphne. "And Miss Parkinson has not, I assume, been picking fights in her spare time?" he inquired dangerously, his words positively icy.

He did not have time for this nonsense, not anymore. Besides, how colossally stupid could the girl be? Surely the idiot knew she had a massive target painted on her back…. He'd been surprised, in all honesty, to see the girl back at all, especially after there had been rumors of her and her family receiving death threats.

Snape noticed how Malfoy's eyes fell to the side, evasive. Daphne swallowed thickly and began blinking very rapidly. Pathetic attempts that Snape saw through immediately.

"Speak," he growled.

Draco opened his mouth, but he shut it again, like a fish gasping for air.

But it was Daphne's clear voice that rang out, to Snape's surprise, to answer his question. "She hasn't, sir. She's been keeping her head down, but…."

"But?" Snape pressed.

Daphne cast a nervous glance at Potter.

Snape followed her gaze, though he was utterly confounded. He didn't like the boy, but Potter certainly wasn't the kind to go cursing classmates for fun, especially not this year. He'd even seemed to have bury the hatchet with Malfoy. As far as Snape could tell, he'd fully embraced the atmosphere of fragile harmony forged in the wake of the Dark Lord's fall.

Not that the boy had ever really gone looking for trouble, he thought. Not with other students. He was just easily provoked, with a massive ego as fragile as glass, meaning that trouble naturally sought him out.

So the Slytherins' nervous glances in the Chosen One's direction remained a mystery.

"But Potter has it in for her?" Snape guessed sarcastically.

"I don't—" Potter began indignantly, but Snape cut him off.

"Quiet, Potter." Had the boy thought him to be serious? "Miss Greengrass? Miss Parkinson kept her head down, but…?"

Daphne cleared her throat. "There's a lot of whispering and—and hostility, and… sir, this is really a House matter—"

"And I am not your Head of House," Snape reminded her curtly. "Spit it out."

"Sir," Potter interrupted, "I could leave—take Pansy down—"

"Don't move, Potter. I want a word."

Snape couldn't help to feel a little pleased when Potter remained rooted to his spot, not even a grunt of protest.

Daphne's eyes flickered to Potter one last time before they fell back to the ground. "Professor, I'm sure you've heard what people say." She dropped her voice low, so that it was barely a whisper. "That we should never have come back. That we have no right to show our faces here again, after everything…."

"And what does this have to do with Miss Parkinson having been cut nearly in two?"

Daphne flushed. "Well, some people are doing more than whispering and shooting dirty looks."

Snape's lips pressed together even more tightly. "There have been other incidents." It was not a question, and he did not wait for confirmation. "Why, pray tell, have you not gone to Professor Slughorn, or better yet, the Headmistress?"

A slight blush pinkened the girl's cheeks. "As if she would do anything!" Daphne hissed. "You were there—you know how she treated us. Locked us in the dungeons, all of us!" To Snape's surprise, there were a few tears sparkling in the corners of the girl's eyes.

"If I remember correctly…." No, Snape stopped himself. It was not the time. "Very well, then why not speak to Professor Slughorn?"

The girl dropped his gaze. "Professor Slughorn is very… busy," she sneered. "You know, with his precious little club… besides, he would just tell us to try to mediate through the prefects…."

"Malfoy?" Snape demanded, keeping his voice low. "Have you said anything?"

The blond shook his head briefly, his jaw clenched.

Daphne suddenly fixed her nervous blue eyes on Pansy's levitating body. "Is she going to be—"

"She will be fine," Snape reassured her swiftly. "The two of you will accompany her down to the hospital wing and wait for me there, and together we shall have a word with Professor McGonagall—"

"Sir!" Daphne protested. "No, you can't! It will only make it worse—"

"I do not believe I asked your opinion on the matter, Miss Greengrass. Go. Do not make me ask twice."

Draco's watery eyes flashed over to Potter for a moment too, then rapidly back to Snape. "She's right, professor," he croaked. "You have no idea—"

Snape leaned down so that he was level with the two students, though he recognized as he did so that the distance was now considerably shorter than it had once been. Draco was nearly as tall as he was.

He dropped his voice to a deadly whisper, one that he doubted even Potter would hear. "I would wager that I do have an idea of what it is like to find yourself on the wrong side of a war," he told them both quietly, making sure to keep his expression fierce and foreboding. "We will discuss this later, after Miss Parkinson's injuries have been seen to."

To his grim satisfaction, both students lowered their heads, kowtowed. Draco was the one to use his wand to assume control over the Levicorpus charm from Snape, and carefully maneuvered Parkinson's body before him down through the hall.

Once the door to the classroom clicked shut behind them, Snape sighed and turned to Potter, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot, his wand clasped in his hands behind him. The boy's gaze flickered up to him expectantly.

It was too strange, Snape thought, to see Potter looking at him so… normally. Ah, but he'd set the tone for their dynamic long ago, he thought to himself.

And Potter was the one changing it now, gazing at him politely with bright green eyes, waiting for instruction. Though he was satisfied to see just a slight hint of nervousness behind his Gryffindor bravado.

"Yes, sir?"

Too strange, he thought. Not a word of premature protest, no insistence that he'd done nothing wrong. Just respect, and a bit of fidgeting.

Snape drew a deep breath. "Do you still harbor any animosity for Miss Parkinson?" he asked Potter abruptly, searching the boy's gaze.

That got a rise out of Potter, just like before. "I didn't curse—"

"I am not accusing you. I am asking a simple question." Snape fought the urge to shoot a sneering remark at the boy about him losing his temper. Old habits died hard….

Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back his irritation. "I am well aware that it was Miss Parkinson who suggested last year that you be given over to the Dark Lord to appease him. It was an act of cowardice, and you've every right to harbor resentment. But I am asking you now, point blank, if you do, indeed, still bear her some ill will for that and her role in last year's events."

Events. Such a nice euphemism for war, Snape thought.

Snape could see the question forming on Potter's lips, could hear it echoing in his mind. What's it matter? A rude, useless evasion that would prolong this conversation, which by all accounts should have been rather short and simple.

But the boy's lips stilled and, instead, he answered rather plainly, "No."

And Snape believed him. He nodded, more to himself than to Potter. "Good. Then I have a request."

Potter's eyebrows shot so high at that they nearly disappeared from his forehead. "A request?" he asked incredulously.

Snape arched a brow at the boy. "Yes. A favor."

Potter still looked bewildered, but he managed to pick his jaw up from the ground. "Right. Yeah. What is it?"

"Miss Parkinson will likely be in the hospital wing tomorrow, still recovering from this run-in." He could not believe he was asking this.

But it was logical, he told himself, a means of keeping peace. And Potter was, for some reason, chomping at the bit to do him favors and kindnesses—likely due to misplaced guilt—and Snape knew it would be foolish not to take advantage of the situation.

"If you would, drop by her bedside and visit for a short while. Bring friends. Make your visit public."

Harry was nodding slowly to himself. "In short… get the message across that it's not okay to hex Slytherins just because of… past events. Without riling people up or anything. Just show my support and sympathy."

Potter chose to adopt his euphemism. The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. And the boy was usually so blunt, so ineloquent. At least he'd had drawn the proper conclusion, meaning Snape wouldn't have to lead him to it by the hand.

"Precisely."

A lunatic grin suddenly split Potter's face.

"Is something funny?" Snape demanded flatly. Had the boy been brain-damaged when he'd been hit with that Killing Curse again?

"Well, no," Potter admitted, though his lips were still stretched wide and his eyes were full of mirth. "I just—I was trying to imagine Dumbledore prodding me into doing the same thing." He adopted his best kindly-grandfather voice. "Harry, a small gesture of kindness can go a long way to mend fences—er—bridges…." Harry dropped the weak imitation. "Something like that."'

Was the boy saying that Snape had somehow become as manipulative and meddlesome as Dumbledore?

"Though it's nice to be asked to do something without it being presented as a riddle," Potter mused.

Snape could not fight his grin at that, though it remained small and tight. Yes, he'd often felt the same way.

"I'll go," Potter agreed, though it was an unnecessary statement of the obvious at that point. "Was there anything else?"

"No. You're dismissed."

But still Potter lingered. "I, ah, I haven't had a chance to do any research—"

"I thought we'd agreed you would update me when you actually found something useful?" Snape inquired dryly.

"Right."

"Well?" Snape demanded. "Do you want to be escorted back to your Common Room like a First Year? Is that why you're still skulking here?"

" 'Night, professor," Harry mumbled hastily, and without further invitation ducked out of the classroom.

Snape shook his head to himself. Too strange, he thought.

But in a way, it was nice to not be putting quite so much energy into loathing the boy.

XXXXX

Ron stared blankly at the three other Gryffindors over their table in the library, as if they'd all suddenly turned into goblins.

"We're—what?" he repeated stupidly.

"Visiting Pansy," Ginny repeated slowly, making sure to stretch the words out. "Keep up."

"Bloody hell, Harry, first you want us to have tea with Snape, and now we're visiting random Slytherins? I mean, it's awful that she got sliced open, but I don't see how that's our problem."

Harry was glad that Ginny and Hermione at least seemed to be on board. He'd thought to ask Luna and Neville, but he hadn't run into them before lunch.

Hermione glared at Ron. "Right now, there are some students out there who think it's okay to go around almost killing the people they don't like. If it was Slytherins who'd cursed some random Hufflepuff—"

"Point taken," Ron muttered. "But I'm just saying, they kind of brought it on themselves—"

Harry huffed and slammed his book shut, causing Ron to flinch. "We can't afford to think like that. If we can't find a way to heal and move on from this without demonizing an entire house—"

Ron raised his voice just a little too much. "It's not like Malfoy and all them just pinned some insulting badges on and ran around the school with them. They worked alongside You-Know-Who. Parkinson would've tied you up with a pretty bow and given you over—"

"She was scared. Everyone was. And it's done now, so there's no use dwelling on it. Besides, whoever did this to her is just as bad as any Death Eater."

Ron looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes. Hermione gazed at the table somberly. Only Ginny met his eyes, her brown eyes blazing.

Ginny definitely understood, Harry thought. She was fierce in everything—in her loyalty, in her defense of her friends, and now in her compassion.

"I think it's a brilliant idea to go," Hermione murmured. "Dumbledore would be proud."

Harry lifted a hand to his unruly hair. "Yeah… about that…." He cleared his throat. "It was actually Snape who suggested it."

All three of them stared at him now, dumbstruck.

"Snape?" Hermione asked faintly, as if she'd finally managed to dislodge the word from her throat. "He's making you—"

"He requested I go," Harry corrected her. "His words, not mine. Thought it might help discourage more incidents."

Another silence stretched between them.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who broke the silence. "Makes sense," he agreed. "Should we, uh, make a card or something?"

A very faint blush colored Harry's cheeks. "Already have one." He dug around in his bag for a moment, rustling the contents before he finally managing to draw out the card he'd enchanted the previous night. It was just a simple little charm that caused the gold letters spelling GET WELL, PANSY to drift lazily over the front of the card like leaves on the surface of a still pond.

Ron grinned a little at the sight of the blatant Gryffindor colors. "Bit too subtle, don't you think?"

"Shut up," Ginny muttered as she took up her quill and inked it.

Ron turned his smirk on her. "Did you help? It doesn't sing, does it?"

"You want to join Pansy in the hospital wing?" Ginny threatened, brandishing her quill at Ron.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I could write a letter to George," Ginny mused as she signed her name with a flourish before passing it to Hermione. "He was telling me that he's working on a few prototypes. He was looking for a test subject…."

That actually managed to shut Ron up.

"I think I have a spare box from Honeydukes," Hermione suggested helpfully as she added her own signature to the inside.

"Er… already got that covered, too." Harry rummaged in his bag again and pulled out the spare box of chocolate frogs he'd pulled from under his bed.

Once they'd all signed, they packed up their things and together made their way toward the hospital wing. All of them knew well enough to linger at the entryway to the Infirmary until Madame Pomfrey gave them the all-clear.

The witch had been ministering to a small Hufflepuff boy with a swollen eye a few beds down. She spied the four of them rather quickly, though, and bustled over to their side, her stern face pinched with suspicion.

"Don't tell me there's another case of—"

"Actually," Harry interrupted her, "we're here to see Pansy Parkinson. Is she up for visitors?"

The witch barely managed to hide the surprise in her expression. "Yes… she is. Mr. Malfoy is currently at her side, along with Miss Greengrass."

The woman stated it neutrally, but after seven years of bitter rivalry, it was clear to Harry that she meant it as a warning.

"That's nice. We weren't planning on staying long. Just wanted to check in on her."

Madame Pomfrey's brow knitted together a little, but she did not question him further. "Miss Parkinson is just down there, fifth bed from the last on the right."

"Thanks," Harry murmured, and together the four of them made their way over to their classmate's side.

Draco was sitting hunched in a chair at her bedside, next to a younger girl who looked remarkably like Daphne Greengrass. Her sister, Astoria. Both Slytherins looked up at the group, startled.

Harry couldn't help but note that Draco had deep rings beneath his eyes. He wondered how long the blond boy had been sitting there.

"Potter," he mumbled, his gaze drifting back to Pansy. There was no malice in the word at all. It was a simple acknowledgment, a greeting.

"Malfoy," Harry replied evenly. "How's she doing?"

Pansy lay on her back, tucked beneath the blankets, her long dark hair splayed around her against the crisp hospital linens. The deep gash that had once split her face was now just a faint pink line, though it was definitely highly visible, and almost as wide as a piece of cable. She looked peaceful enough, though, as she dozed there.

Malfoy had to swallow before he could answer. "Pomfrey said she lost a lot of blood. She's had half a dozen blood-replenishing potions by now…."

Harry cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. None of the Gryffindors had moved to take a seat, and so they hung awkwardly a in a small cluster a foot or so from Pansy's bed. Harry offered out the card and box of chocolates to Malfoy, whose brow arched in surprise.

"It's from all of us."

Malfoy took the box gingerly, as if he thought it might explode, and set it at next to the small pile of gifts and cards that had accumulated at Pansy's bedside.

"Will they be able to erase the scarring?" Hermione asked, breaking the awkward silence hanging between them.

Astoria was the one who answered. "Professor Snape said that it will take several applications of essence of dittany, but eventually it should be good as new."

Harry chose to look at his shoes as he recalled the last time Snape had been forced to bandage up a student and apply dittany. Malfoy himself, after Harry had sliced him open with Snape's own curse two years prior…. He still felt sick at that memory.

"Good," Hermione murmured. "Lucky Professor Snape was so close…."

"Very," Draco agreed.

The six of them lapsed back into a tense silence again, their gazes resting mainly on the stone floor of the infirmary.

"Has Pansy been out this whole time?" Ginny asked at last. "Was she able to say who did it?"

Draco and Astoria both shook their heads slightly.

"She was up a bit last night," Draco said. "Long enough to have a bit of dinner and answer Snape's questions. Said she didn't see who it was, and that she couldn't remember what the voice casting the charm sounded like."

"Do you think she knows, though?" Ginny pressed. "Maybe she's afraid to say anything…."

Draco's expression tightened. "No idea," he muttered, his voice frail and husky.

"Well, hopefully they figure out something soon," Ginny said, "or someone comes forward. It's sick to think that someone would do this…." She gestured to Pansy.

"Yeah," Draco mumbled, no conviction in his voice.

Silence again.

Finally, Ron said, "So, uh, we'd best get going. We've all got potions coming up, don't want to be late…."

Draco and Astoria both murmured faint farewells, their eyes fixated on Pansy.

Harry lingered while the other three turned to stroll out, studying Pansy for just a second longer. The girl looked comfortable, he thought. He felt his stomach tighten as he pondered the possibility that her attacker might come back and try to finish the girl off. He hoped that Snape or McGonagall or someone had set up some wards to keep her safe, just in case.

"Potter."

Draco's voice unexpectedly cut through Harry's dark contemplations.

"Thanks." The word cracked a little.

Harry lifted his head to meet Draco's haggard gaze for just a second. He dipped his head, just barely, in acknowledgement. Then he strode off to catch up with Ginny and the others.