The corridors were eerily quiet. And the silence exploded in Harry’s ears as he hastened toward the dungeons.

Walking as quickly as he could, Harry mentally kept track of the remaining minutes until curfew. He figured there had to be at least eleven or twelve to spare. Harry supposed he could jog to save time but immediately realized that doing so would cause him to look like some sort of sod, eager to make it back to his common room for fear of severe penalty. Besides, there were already enough first years making complete fools of themselves, flushed and determined as they sprinted down the corridors…

Unconsciously lost in the steady rhythm of his soles pounding against stone, Harry was surprised to find that he’d nearly reached his destination. Hurrying over to Snape’s office door, Harry hesitated. Would Snape be angry at him for cutting it so close to curfew? Slowly, Harry leaned over and pushed his ear up against the door.

Nothing.

Teeth clamped around his bottom lip, Harry raised his fist, allowing it to hover for a second before knocking. Twice.

Harry waited.

But again, nothing stirred beyond the thick, wooden door.

“What a bloody waste,” Harry whispered, plunging his fist into the pocket of his robes as he took a step back and gazed pitifully at the sealed entrance.

He’d lost track of the minutes.

Suddenly, Harry heard the faraway pattering of uneven, muffled footsteps. Glancing around Harry instantly remembered where he was. And he knew who was following close behind.

Slytherins.

Harry swore under his breath as he ducked around the nearest corner, feeling completely idiotic.

He could handle running into Malfoy again. Harry was almost sure he could keep his temper under control if the git tried to have a go at him. However, a group of Slytherins hurling towards him was a different story. Harry wasn’t frightened…he was alone. And he wanted to stay out of trouble…especially after yesterday.

As Harry stood with his back pressed against the cool stone for the next minute, reality splashed him like ice water. What was he doing? And what would the Slytherins think if they knew that Harry was in the dungeons for something other than detention? It was odd to think that the man Harry had once loathed was now the adult he was scampering off to for permission. Only ten minutes ago, asking Snape to escort them to the hospital wing had seemed like such an instant, natural solution. But now, as he held his breath, smashing his sweaty palms against the wall, Harry was shocked by his own abruptness. Unlike last year, the image of Snape had floated to the front of his mind among the distress. Not McGonagall. Not even the headmaster.

It was bizarre.

Harry would never classify Severus Snape as nice. Sure, he had his microscopic moments of mercy. But Snape didn’t smile or laugh. And he never let Harry get away with anything. The man was strict, and his spankings hurt.

But the way he’d lifted Ginny was mind-boggling to Harry—as if she weighed no more than a feather. How could someone so sharp and stony on the outside manage to handle Ron’s baby sister like glass?

Ginny had looked awful. Thinking about it made Harry’s stomach twist painfully. Her hair was matted, and even her freckles were paler than usual. Although Ginny barely spoke to him, Harry had never seen her look as small and frail as she did this afternoon. But despite Ginny’s dismal, current condition, Snape had promised that she’d be all right. And more than anything, Harry wanted to believe him.

The footsteps were louder now.

As subtly as possible, Harry peeked around the corner. Huddled in sporadic clumps, none of the Slytherins seemed to be paying much attention to each other. There was little talking, and their shoes hit the floor in quick, resolute steps toward their common room. The sight was almost as strange as the flailing first-years. But not as comical…

Harry waited until the noise faded. His skin was beginning to prickle with warmth when he realized that the curfew was closing in on him. Was there even five minutes left?

Don’t panic, Harry, he told himself as he took deep breaths, waiting for the smothering waves of heat to subside.

And then something else occurred to Harry: maybe Snape was in the hospital wing. That was only two floors up and the staircase was nearby. If Harry hurried, he might be able to make it before his time was up. And if the potions master was elsewhere, at least Harry could tell Ron that he tried. He might even be able to see Ginny from the infirmary entrance.

Taking one more second to peer carefully around the corner, Harry made up his mind. And slapping the wall lightly with his palm, Harry pushed himself forward. He jogged the entire way.

****************

The meeting had been swift, and Severus was glad. He was anxious to get back to the dungeons; however, after the exceptionally stern lecture he’d given to his House over the new curfew, he doubted that even Malfoy would try to weasel his way around this one.

It was three minutes to six o’clock. And Severus expected each and every one of his Slytherins to be in the common room.

The tight-lipped chatter still lingered behind him as Severus strolled out of Pomona’s office. He gazed at the vaulted windows. The sunlight was already beginning to dissolve gradually, as it was the first week in December and bitterly cold among the grounds.

Although the holiday vacation was a little more than a week away, Severus was certain that the castle would lack its usual air of lighthearted, rambunctious vigor now that the students were unable to flit about the corridors at all hours. In normal circumstances, the man would have been positively thrilled to spend a week’s worth of quiet evenings alone in his chambers without the nuisance of straggling, wayward adolescents.

But not now.

The Weasley girl still lay weak and barely responsive in the hospital wing. And although the diary bearing the former name of the Dark Lord was in the headmaster’s possession, Severus was clueless of its connection to Ginny.

Albus’s explanation had been frustratingly sparse. But Severus knew that the diary was dangerous.

The few minutes he had held the sodden book in his hands, its leather binding felt clammy and cold—corpse-like against his own skin.

Scanning the hospital beds, Severus stared at the stiff form of Colin Creevy. He allowed his eyes to linger on the frozen, pinched face a moment longer before checking on Ginny Weasley. The thin bedding clung loosely around her tiny frame, and her head was nearly ensconced in the large pillow. She appeared much smaller wrapped up in her bedclothes.

Suddenly Severus caught sight of an equally undersized form hidden back among the shadows.

He squinted.

A glint of lantern light reflected off of a pair of glasses.

And then Severus nearly choked on his own tongue as a tangled mop of short, raven hair began to materialize against the darkness.

It was Potter.

Gritting his teeth against the exasperation that threatened to engulf his temper, Severus brushed back his own longer, black locks. He rested his hand at the top of his head, clenching his hair into his fist as he willed his temper under control, struggling to understand how Potter could even think of breaking curfew on the very first night it was set. How many times was he going to have to warm this child’s behind before he learned to follow the rules?

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Severus realized that Potter hadn’t even seen him. Instead, the boy was standing over ten feet away from the sleeping figure of Ginny Weasley, gazing at the girl with confused eyes and an empty expression.

Severus cocked his head as he watched the boy chew his thumbnail in a way that he’d noticed him doing quite often. Did Harry truly care this much about the Weasley girl or was he simply embarking on another game of Detective Potter?

The first chime of the infirmary clock resounded throughout the room indicating the new hour.

Potter continued to nibble on his thumb but he began to glance around nervously. As he did so, he caught sight of his professor and visibly cringed.

Severus locked eyes with the boy and willed himself to relax his face, suddenly startled by the tightness of his own jaw line. A small part of Severus felt encouraged by the child’s reaction. Potter should be apprehensive over his disobedience. Perhaps he was learning something after all... However, Severus wanted Harry to learn the importance of discipline and respect, not develop a constant fear of a swinging hand. There was a difference.

The man began to take a step forward and saw Potter’s torso stiffen as if he’d sucked in his stomach. Pausing, yet raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Severus changed his tactic. He gestured toward Harry with a single beckoning finger.

Stalling only a second, the boy obeyed.

****************

Harry’s throat felt as if it had been clamped shut by invisible teeth. Suddenly, every reason he’d had for waiting around for Snape seemed incredibly pathetic.

He glanced up hesitantly into his professor’s firm, yet surprisingly neutral countenance.

“It is now several minutes after six o’clock, Mr. Potter,” Snape exclaimed, tucking his hands away in the folds of his robes. “I believe you realize by now that you are not exempt from the rules, regardless of your status. Therefore, an explanation is in order…”

“No, sir, I know…” Harry replied quickly, trying not to fidget. Standing in front of Snape like this was making him nervous. “I wasn’t…erm…disobeying or anything…” The words rolled off of Harry’s tongue in an unfamiliar fashion. He felt like a hapless five-year-old caught with his hand in the jar of biscuits.

“That is not an explanation, Potter.”

“I was looking for you,” Harry spoke up before Snape could begin lecturing him over his inarticulate mumbling. “There was still twenty minutes until curfew, and I needed to ask you a question, but you weren’t in your office…and then I thought that maybe you would be here in the infirmary ‘cause of Ginny, and Ron’s really worried, professor, so I had to do something—“

Snape held up a hand and closed his eyes briefly as if blocking out the sound. “Take a breath.”

“You said you wanted me to explain…”

“I know what I said, Potter,” Snape retorted, “And unless you’d also like to be admitted to the hospital wing tonight for hyperventilation, I suggest you calm down and attempt to make sense.”

Harry stared. “I’m not hyperventilating.”

“Just continue,” Snape instructed tiredly. “It is now five minutes past curfew.”

The slight irritation in the man’s tone seemed to speak of Harry’s ill-fate. And the boy picked up on it immediately. He shifted his eyes over towards Ginny for a small moment before staring at the floor. Lately, for some reason, Harry began to lose his nerve just when he depended on it the most.

“Ron was upset about Ginny,” Harry explained softly. “We tried to see her this afternoon, but Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t let us…did she tell you?” He peered up at Snape carefully.

“No, she didn’t,” the man replied. He’d lowered his voice. “But her decision was made with good reason, Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley is not in any condition for company.”

Harry swiveled around to gape at the occupied bed as if to silently agree. “She looks really bad, professor,” the boy whispered as he kept watch over his mate’s sister.

Snape remained silent for a moment.

“She is in Madame Pomfrey’s care, Harry,” he reflected after a short while. “She’ll be all right.”

Without turning around, the boy barely nodded. There it was again. The promise.

“You sought me out, Mr. Potter, why?”

At the man’s words, Harry finally averted his eyes back to Snape. The man was supporting himself carelessly against the iron bed frame with one hand.

“Ron couldn’t see Ginny because of the new curfew, and I thought that maybe if I asked you to take us, you would…” the boy replied with a shrug. “I heard your voice and Professor Dumbledore’s…and a load of other teachers somewhere in the back room, so I figured I’d wait for you instead of walking back and getting caught by Mr. Filch.”

“Ingenious,” Snape quipped, smirking slightly. But there was no malice in the man’s expression.

Harry tried his best to smile a little but couldn’t. His cheeks felt as if they were molded over with concrete. Harry knew he wasn’t explaining himself very well. Merely twenty minutes ago, everything seemed perfectly logical. However, the longer he stared at Ginny, the more he focused on the trivial things—like the number of times her chest inflated with oxygen. It seemed as if her breathing had become one the most important things in the world.

All of a sudden, Harry felt a warm hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t need to turn around to identify the towering presence behind him.

It’s all my fault… Harry thought immediately, seeking comfort in the self-conviction.

Even with the warmth seeping through the shoulder of his robes, his chest ached, and Harry couldn’t help but exhale heavily, puffing out his cheeks as he did so.

“Why do you worry about her so?” Snape’s deep voice rumbled from above.

Chewing on the tip of his thumb again, Harry shrugged weakly. He didn’t know why he felt like he’d just taken a hundred bee stings right in the stomach. He didn’t know why he felt so miserable and responsible. Ginny was the only girl besides Hermione who didn’t giggle at him…or point… She was very quiet. But Harry felt he should have paid more attention to her. Someone should have…

“She’s little,” he replied lamely.

Snape sniffed lightly in response and reached around, removing the edge of Harry’s thumb from his teeth.

Tucking his damp thumbnail into a fist, Harry stuffed his hand into the pocket of his robes.

“Come along, Mr. Potter,” Snape instructed.

A rush of air ruffled the back of Harry’s hair as the man swept his robes around briskly and began strolling toward the door to Madame Pomfrey’s office.

“Where are we going?” Harry wondered outloud, hurrying to keep up with the potions master.

No response.

“Erm…am I in trouble?” the boy asked, his stomach threatening to plummet to his shoes.

“Miraculously, no.”

“Then what—“

“I am escorting you through the floo, silly child,” Snape interrupted. He stilled abruptly, jerking his head impatiently to get Harry moving.

“To where?”

“Enough questions, Potter,” Snape chided as he steered Harry forward with determined fingers pressed between the boy’s shoulder blades.

*******************

Harry felt that Snape’s secretive tactics were becoming far too annoying.

Once again, he sat in the man’s chambers, tapping his fingers against the arm of the sofa he was perched on.

“What about Ron?” Harry remembered suddenly, leaning back and stretching his neck to try and discover what Snape was rifling through on the shelves behind him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will be arriving tomorrow to visit their daughter. The rest of their children will be able to accompany them.” His voice was muffled among the scraping and shuffling of items that Harry couldn’t identify.

“Oh…” Harry answered, resting back on his elbow. “What about Hermione?”

What the hell is he looking for?

“If the Weasleys allow it.” He continued his search.

Harry nodded, even though Snape couldn’t see it. Sitting up, he resumed his light drumming of the upholstery.

After another fruitless moment of investigation, the professor straightened up, emitting a frustrated growl.

“What?” Harry questioned, spinning around.

But again, Snape stifled a response. He reached over and slid open the nearest desk drawer, scavenging through a pile of small items that scraped the wood heavily. Finding nothing, the man slammed the drawer loud enough to cause Harry’s eyes to flutter in surprise.

Harry frowned at Snape in perplexity as the potions master gave one final flick of his wand…without any results.

Harry pressed his lips together to keep from laughing as he wobbled back and forth slightly—trying to balance on the arm. Snape’s hair was beginning to look a bit more frazzled than normal.

However, the man’s glare immediately frosted over any hint amusement on Harry’s part. Pulling a somber face, Harry pressed his toes against the rug and slithered off the arm onto the cushion, landing in an unhappy heap.

Considering the boy for a short moment, Snape strode forward and crouched down in front of him. Keeping his eyes on Harry, the man reached into the high neck of his robes and pulled out a thin, weathered chain. A small, oval-shaped locket dangled at the end. Wordlessly, Snape removed the chain with a gentle tug. He leaned over and slipped the warm necklace over Harry’s head, allowing the brushed silver disk slide down his chest as he fastened the clasp.

“Erm…” Harry stammered, glancing down at his chest, “I’m not really—“

“Hush,” Snape commanded quietly. “What I have just placed around your neck acts as wand-activated portkey.”

“A what?”

“Only certain portkeys can be activated by the touch of a wand, and I have two of them; one seems to have been misplaced.”

“What’s a portkey?” Harry asked, nudging his glasses with the knuckle of his forefinger.

“A charmed item that transports you to a different location,” Snape explained quickly. “This one will take you directly to Professor Dumbledore’s chambers. A password is not required.”

Harry watched as Snape fingered the small locket for a second before pulling Harry’s collar away from his neck and slipping it down to rest against the bare skin of his chest. Waving his wand in a circular motion over Harry’s collar bones, Snape muttered a strange incantation.

A soft violet light glowed warmly around the chain still visible at the boy’s neck. And then the chain vanished. Eyes widening, Harry pressed his palm against his robes where the locket once lay. He could still feel it against his skin. It was the most peculiar sensation.

The twelve-year-old lifted his brows at his professor who seemed to be waiting for a reaction.

“Brilliant.” Harry smiled.

“Indeed, Potter,” Snape replied in a clipped tone, “And undoubtedly life-saving.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of that.

“You will hold fast to this portkey and keep it around your neck at all times,” Snape began in a serious tone that had Harry perched and attentive. “It only takes two rapid taps of your wand to activate. I shall teach you the incantation soon, as the portkey requires a specific location.”

“Like a password?”

“Very much so,” Snape continued with a nod. “I am giving this to you, Potter, because the situation involving Miss Weasley and the diary—“

“And the Chamber?”

“And perhaps the Chamber…” Snape repeated. “The situation has become dire, and the headmaster is calling for extreme caution. And seeing as you possess an exceptional…skill in hearing something no one else can, we need your help.”

“You do?” Harry piped up, genuinely taken aback.

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Snape affirmed, shifting in his crouched position. “However,” he continued, tipping the boy’s chin up with his fingers, “You will only aid me…or the headmaster…or any other professor under strict supervision. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry exclaimed.

He pressed his fingertips against the tiny bump under his school shirt. “What are you going to wear, then?” Harry inquired. Snape was resting an arm on top of his knee as he gazed thoughtfully at the boy.

He ignored the question. “Do not remove it from your neck. Not even in the shower. If you lose it…”

Harry held his breath, waiting for the part where Snape threatened to whip his bottom until he was unable to sit for a week.

But the man only swallowed tensely. “You won’t, will you Potter…” he asserted, his tone firm. It was not a question.

“No, I won’t,” Harry promised directly, shaking his head.

And this time, he meant it.