Hermione was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, completely encaged in a circular stack of books.

Almost all of her hair had worked its way out of the knotted ribbon and her face was flushed and creased in serious concentration.

Standing in his rumpled t-shirt and pajama bottoms in the middle of the common room, Harry rubbed his forehead as he stared at her.

“Hermione…” Harry began in a dry and sleepy voice, “It’s not even six o’clock in the morning. What’re you doing?”

The pages of her book rustled as she flipped through them at a furious pace.

Harry waited a long moment, but Hermione didn’t respond.

“Hermione…”

She thumbed another thin page.

Another pause. Harry shifted his weight impatiently.

“Oh, come on, Hermione—“

“That’s it!” the girl exclaimed loudly, sitting up straight and holding the book only a couple inches away from her face.

Harry jolted madly, nearly skidding back a foot at Hermione’s enthusiastic cry.

The expression on the girl’s face was frozen somewhere between elation and horror. She turned the thick volume over her knee to mark her place as she glanced over at Harry. Her peculiar expression quickly melted into a befuddled frown.

“Why are you up, Harry?” Hermione asked softly. Her loose hair floated about her puffy face.

Harry breathed deeply, willing the rhythm of his heart to slow. He moved forward tentatively and lowered himself onto the warm carpet, sitting next to the mountainous pile of literature.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied groggily, shoving aside a stack. “And Neville’s snoring was really starting to get to me… Why are you up, Hermione? What’ve you found?”

She grimaced oddly, staring down at her overturned book for a few seconds before she shifted her eyes back to Harry. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“I might…” Harry said with a shrug. He tucked his chilly toes further into the creases of his folded legs, searching for warmth. “Just tell me.”

Sucking in her breath and stiffening, Hermione delicately lifted the heavy volume and passed it over to Harry, the pages flopping noisily against each other as she thrust it forward.

Blinking to relieve his eyes of the grit and fuzziness, Harry stared down at the faded ink and curly text.

A basil-what? He couldn’t pronounce it but skimmed through the definition anyway.

“What about it?” Harry wondered. He wiggled a fingertip beneath the wire of his glasses that rested across the bridge of his nose. Scratching lightly at the itchy spot, Harry squinted at the text again to get a better look.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed as she rose up on her knees. She leaned over and thumped her forefinger down over the allotted paragraph. “A basilisk…it’s like a giant snake…but look at this…” she continued, pounding the tip of her finger so forcefully that it paled against the page, “…its eyes have the power to kill a person!”

Harry snapped his head up. “A giant snake? But what…” He trailed off, darting his eyes over the Hermione’s impatient stance. And suddenly, for some reason, Harry understood. At least he thought he did…

“But Colin was only petrified…” Harry continued.

“Well, yes, but he was holding a camera, Harry. You saw him yourself that night in the hospital,” she pressed on hastily, shifting excitedly on her knees. “Direct eye-contact with a basilisk is fatal—I realized that, and I’ve been thinking about this for hours—but then it finally came to me, only just a minute ago…”

Trampled you over is more like it, Harry thought.

“—maybe Colin only saw the basilisk through his lens!” Hermione breathed. “Maybe that’s why he was petrified and not killed…”

“But...I mean,” Harry stammered, his cloudy brain trying to decipher it all, “How would he have seen it? That doesn’t make sense.” His whole skin was beginning to prick with clammy, cold sweat at the idea of a creature like that existing.

Hermione entwined a frizzy clump of hair in between her fingers as she considered the question. “Well, I don’t know exactly,” she replied thoughtfully. “But it’s a giant snake, and you’re a Parselmouth, Harry! Wouldn’t that explain why you’ve been able to hear it and no one else?”

“Erm…maybe?”

She rolled her eyes at Harry’s hesitancy and gently removed the book from his grasp. “It’s quite likely, actually. That’s what made me begin researching different types of magical serpents in the first place. How could I have been so stupid not to realize that you were only hearing Parseltongue?”

Harry glanced out the window. The sky was still as black as ink. He felt jittery—unsure whether it stemmed from nerves of excitement or apprehension. The concept was completely outlandish. But with everything Harry had experienced in the wizarding world over the past year and a half, it wasn’t impossible.

And that thought alone was terrifying.

A violent shiver slid down Harry’s spine and spread over his shoulder blades as he continued to stare at the darkness beyond the cloudy pane. “If that thing really does exist,” Harry murmured, “I guess it at least makes sense that Slytherin’s monster would be a giant snake. Maybe you’re right, Hermione…”

“I know I’m right,” Hermione replied with her usual air of confidence. “It the only thing that makes sense.” She stood slowly, wincing as she stretched the tight muscles in her legs. “Do you think we should tell Professor McGonagall?”

“She won’t believe us…”

Harry felt like his voice was floating above him—echoing from the ceiling. He scraped his fingernails against the burly rug.

“She might, Harry,” Hermione exclaimed, gazing down at the boy. “The teachers obviously know something dangerous is going on…why else would they have given us a curfew?”

Harry finally stood as well. It was awkward having someone as assertive and unpredictable as Hermione glowering down at him, even if she was one of his best friends.

“But wouldn’t they have figured out it was a basilisk by now? They’re not daft…”

“Yes, I realize that, Harry,” Hermione said, now averting her concentration to her poised wand as she began levitating her books one by one up the stairs. “But not everyone knows that you’ve been hearing the basilisk….well, apart from Ron and me…and Professor Snape.”

“Dumbledore knows too.”

A floating book crashed into the stone wall with a papery splat.

“He does?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. Genuinely stunned, she lowered her arm as she gawked at Harry.

“Yeah, he does,” Harry answered, tugging at his baggy pajamas as he surveyed Hermione’s face—her expression nearly as wild as her hair. He wasn’t in the mood to delve into the small tantrum he’d thrown in front of Snape and the headmaster over that. But if Hermione was in a prodding mood…

“I don’t understand…” she whispered as if speaking to herself. “How can Dumbledore not know about the basilisk?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe he does.” He secretly thanked Merlin and everything else sacred that Hermione hadn’t pressed for details.

And then an idea washed over him. “Come with me to talk to Snape after breakfast. You can tell him what you’ve found, and we can ask him. Ron won’t care…he’s not even eating breakfast this morning, so he won’t know where we’ve gone.”

The thought of speaking to Snape about the whole thing loosened some of the knots in Harry’s stomach. And Hermione would undoubtedly find that odd. However, for once, Harry didn’t feel like analyzing it.

The girl tangled her hair around her finger at a furious pace. “What if he’s angry at us for meddling? McGonagall nearly ripped our heads off last year—“

“Yeah, that’s exactly why we shouldn’t tell her,” Harry interrupted, leaning against a stuffed arm of one of the nearby chairs. “I don’t think Snape’ll get angry.”

He said he needed my help.

“What about Ginny?” Hermione inquired in a small voice. “Don’t you want to visit her?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry replied immediately. “She’ll be fine, though…her mum and dad are coming early. We can go after lunch or something…”

It was the first time Harry found himself spewing forth and maybe even believing Snape’s words.

Hermione hesitated for a while longer.

“Oh, all right,” she finally sighed. “If you’re wrong about this, Harry…”

“I’m not.”

“You might be…” she insisted.

Harry rolled his eyes, not even dignifying the girl’s customary skepticism with a response. After a moment of watching Hermione crouch and gather books, only to be shooed away when he offered to help, Harry finally padded sleepily back up the steps to his dormitory.

The plan was set.

They would meet in the common room at eight-thirty. And they would follow Snape after he got up from the table so they didn’t have to go searching for him. After all, there was no way in hell that Harry was going to sidle up to the head table and have a chat with the professor.

Completely ridiculous. And embarrassing.

Besides, everyone would think he’d gone nutters if he suddenly leaned over his most hated professor’s morning omelet to inquire about a rare magical creature.

Harry shivered under his covers. The sheet felt cold and wet against his skin.

Even though his eyes were swollen with fatigue, Harry knew he wouldn’t get anymore sleep this morning.

Neville snorted loudly again, and Harry ended up smashing the pillow over his face, swearing quietly into the plush.

Listening to his own breathing, the boy clutched at his blankets, feeling uneasy.

Did Snape really know about the basilisk?

And if he did, a single though continued to jab at Harry’s brain like a dull needle:

Why didn’t he tell me?

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

Harry hardly heard Hermione’s explanation as they stood awkwardly next to Snape somewhere between an unfamiliar first floor corridor and a set of stairs that most likely led to the dungeons.

Instead, he had been watching Snape’s face for the slightest sign of emotional betrayal.

But there was none.

A subtle tilt of the man’s head was the only indication that he’d even heard what Hermione had said.

“Potter aside, who else have you shared this information with, Miss Granger,” Snape inquired stiffly, shifting his steely glare between the two.

Harry’s insides crumpled in disbelief. He felt Hermione inch towards him.

“I haven’t told anyone but Harry, sir,” Hermione said quietly. “Everybody knows that Harry’s a parselmouth, but he hasn’t told anyone besides Ron and me that he can hear the basilisk.”

Harry felt a scowl pulling at his face. What did it matter if anyone else knew about the basilisk?

But at least Snape hadn’t banished them from his sight… Yet.

“She hasn’t told anyone,” the boy followed up, with much less care and respect than his friend. “Just because Hermione’s the one who found out doesn’t mean she would go and blab important stuff like this to just anybody…”

Snape shot Harry a look with his penetrating pupils.

However, the boy summoned up every ounce of bravado he possessed, forcing himself to stand his ground. His stomach protested, but he ignored it.

“First of all, Mr. Potter,” Snape began in a deceptively soft voice, “this important ‘stuff’ that you speak of is a mere possibility. It is probable, yet we cannot be sure.”

“So does that—“

“Secondly,” Snape continued, raising his voice, “a majority of the professors in this school are aware of this possibility and others. However, until we can be certain, nothing will be disclosed to anyone, most especially the students.”

Hermione nodded.

But Harry could only stare, his eyebrows knitted.

Once again, Snape opened his mouth to speak.

“Then you’ve known—“

“If you interrupt me again, Mr. Potter, I will dock points,” Snape scolded, pointing his finger in Harry’s face.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, looking away. Part of him was grateful that Snape hadn’t threatened to blister his rear end or something equally embarrassing. But the gesture alone seemed to promise more than docked points if Harry kept up with his disrespect.

He knew it, and so did Snape.

Harry just hoped Hermione didn’t.

He scratched at one of his warmed, prickly cheeks as he clamped his lips together and waited for Snape to start talking again. Harry stared at Snape’s chin in order to avoid eye contact with him. He didn’t dare look at Hermione either, even though the boy could sense that she was aptly surveying the tense, yet restrained situation.

It was odd to think that Hermione didn’t realize how typical an exchange such as this had become.

“Your suspicions are valid, Miss Granger,” Snape continued, his tone milder than before.

Harry snapped his attention away from the man’s chin immediately.

Did Snape just say something nice to Hermione? Harry glanced over at his friend.

Hermione ignored him, silently bobbing her head a second time.

“But you must know,” the professor continued, directing his statement towards the two of them, “the Hogwarts staff is more than capable of handling this. You need not concern yourself over something that you cannot control. That you will not attempt to control. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione answered instantly in her grown-up, polite voice that Harry remembered her using while interrogating Professor Binns over the Chamber of Secrets.

“Both of you.”

Hermione elbowed Harry in the ribs.

“Yes, sir,” Harry finally said.

Snape nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Miss Granger, you may go. Potter, you will stay.”

It was obvious from the reluctant grimace on Hermione’s face that she would rather hang around and ask a dozen more questions. But miraculously, the girl turned, offering Harry a weak, sympathetic nod over her shoulder.

Bloody hell, Harry thought. Did Hermione think he was in for it?

He watched the girl’s hair bouncing in a steady rhythm as she rounded the corner. Harry was truly shocked. He’d expected Hermione to have hounded Snape over the issue until they both received a month’s worth of detentions. But she’d surrendered so easily. It was astounding. He’d definitely have to ask her about it later.

An instant later, Snape’s unwavering voice yanked Harry’s mind out of the cloud of thought it was currently drifting through.

“…wish to discuss the matter further…” It was the only snippet of the silky assertion that Harry had grasped onto as he emerged from the fog.

He shook his head quickly in confusion, virtually sidestepping whatever Snape was talking about. “You didn’t tell me about the basilisk… You knew, but you didn’t tell me,” the boy accused. The entwined sensation of hurt and annoyance was slowly squirming its way into his chest.

“Suspicion is vastly different than knowledge, Potter. The basilisk has only been a possibility—one that has only recently surfaced,” Snape replied, holding out his hand and snapping his fingers to get the child moving. “And I’ve just said that we’ll continue this discussion in the classroom if you feel you can act maturely enough to follow without throwing a fit. Now, come.”

Harry’s sour expression was unyielding. When he didn’t move, Snape calmly reached out for him.

But Harry jerked his arm back.

“No, just forget it,” Harry snapped quietly. “If you all think I’m too much of a baby to know—“

“Do not go any further,” Snape admonished, reaching for Harry again, catching him about the upper arm this time. He pulled the boy forward firmly.

“Stop,” Harry whispered emphatically, glancing around wildly to make sure that no one was around to witness Snape tugging him forward like a disobedient toddler. However, before Harry could take inventory of any witnesses, Snape turned and grasped his other arm.

He lifted the protesting child bodily and deposited him like a sack of potatoes on a nearby window ledge.

Outraged, Harry wrenched one of his arms back as hard as he could to free it of Snape’s fingers.

However, as his arm slipped free with a quick jerk, Harry’s elbow cracked against the sharp corner of the edging around the window pane. The pain exploded, and Harry lost his breath. He could have cursed, but every small noise snagged in his throat. Harry nearly doubled over from the intense burn that erupted. The tips of his fingers tingled in misery. And the image of Snape’s creased face swam hazily before him.

God, that hurt.

Harry closed his eyes against the concentrated sting, waiting for the unavoidable I told you so, Potter—or something equally snarky.

But a second later, the boy felt a hand around his wrist, stretching his arm out. Strong, but gentle fingertips tapped his own away and began massaging the knobby joint in a circular motion. Harry moved away the hand that had been cradling his elbow, allowing anything that would help relieve the ache.

“You do not defy me,” the man’s voice cut through the ebbing pain. But even as he scolded, Snape continued rubbing his fingers over Harry’s elbow, bending and straightening the child’s arm as he did so.

Harry opened his eyes slowly. The smarting in his elbow was less acute, but he still felt like an idiot. The momentary bravado had seeped out of Harry and dissolved like steam. Undeniably twelve-years-old again, Harry hung his head as Snape finally released his arm. He placed his smaller fingers over the buzzing warmth and sniffled lightly, realizing that his eyes must have watered a bit from the pain.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled.

Snape emitted a low, rumbling noise of acceptance.

“We will remain here for as long as it takes you to get your temper under control. Take deep breaths. Do not speak.”

Harry glanced up, shifting his eyes back and forth, almost certain he could hear the sporadic pattering of footsteps all around him. “It’s under control,” he said quickly.

“Most of the Slytherins take another corridor to the dungeons. No one is watching,” Snape replied firmly.

“But…”

“Do it now, Harry.”

Sighing, the boy leaned back against the frigid window pane. He breathed evenly and quietly, concentrating mostly on the thick, frosty scent of the winter air that seemed to waft through the glass. Harry found a tiny, smooth white stone lodged among the plaster and ran his thumb over it as he waited.

The potions master said nothing, leaning his shoulder against the edge of the stone wall as he gazed at the slouched, silent child.

Harry wiggled around on the ledge. The coldness of the stone was becoming uncomfortable, even through his jeans. But the small trace of defiance had crept out as Harry relaxed against the window, listening to the wind and occasional crackle of ice on the branches.

The smarting of his elbow was nearly non-existent now. How long had he been sitting here?

He looked over at Snape again. But instead of speaking, the man only raised an eyebrow as if that minuscule motion asked the wordless question.

“I swear I’m okay now,” Harry said. “I’m not angry or anything. But can I stand up? My bum is freezing.”

Snape smirked wryly. “As that is its only ailment, consider yourself lucky, young man.” He gestured with a small wave of his hand. And instantly, Harry slid down, his slightly pinked-cheeks the only indication that he’d heard the dry remark…at least Harry hoped Snape was being sarcastic.

The idea of walking down to the damp, cool dungeons for the countless time this weekend was less than appealing, so Harry simply leaned his head against the corner of the wall—carefully this time—and tried to think of something that would convince Snape that he could speak to Harry where they stood.

“If there really is a basilisk somewhere in the school,” Harry began softly, “What are you and Professor Dumbledore gonna do about it?”

It was a weak commencement, but it was the best Harry could come up with.

Snape sighed deeply, resting his palm against the ledge the boy had just vacated. “The headmaster has instated the curfew before holiday break to give the staff some time to collaborate…”

“I get to come too, right?” Harry spoke up without thinking. Not only had he interrupted…again…but Harry knew he’d also just proposed something of which Snape would never approve. His teeth immediately sucked in his bottom lip.

But phenomenally, Snape appeared to be considering the matter. The man stared thoughtfully at Harry for a long moment.

“We shall see.”

Crestfallen, Harry began picking at a protruding stone with his fingernail. He should have known that was coming.

“But you were going to tell me about the basilisk, weren’t you?” Harry asked, rolling his head back and forth against the bumps on the wall in tiny movements. His voice sounded small and brittle in the empty corridor, and Harry hated it.

“Perhaps,” Snape said with a nod.

Perhaps?

“You said you needed my help, though,” Harry continued, fighting against the accusatory tone that was trying to punch its way out of Harry’s throat again. “If you want my help, I need to know things, Professor.”

“No, you do not,” Snape retorted simply. “It is not your job to save the school when it is in jeopardy.”

“I’m not trying to…”

Snape held up a hand, and the boy instantaneously fell silent.

“As professors of this school, our first priority in a time of peril is to keep the students safe. You, Harry, are a student of Hogwarts. Therefore, you also will be protected. Your scar—your status—even last year’s event with Quirrell and the Stone does not exempt you from that.”

Harry tried to swallow to relieve the dryness in his throat. It was odd, but for some reason, he had a hard time including himself among the other students. Aside from Ron and Hermione, Harry always felt as if he were staring at everyone through a bubble.

He focused on the dulled tips of his professor’s black shoes, unsure of what to say.

“You are not to worry,” Snape said simply. “Though we require your assistance in this situation, the headmaster and I are not depending on you to fix it. It is not your duty.”

Harry peeked up at the man through his fringe.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Potter?” Snape asked in a grave tone.

Harry nodded.

“Good,” Snape replied. “Now the headmaster and I have arranged a meeting tonight after curfew in which you are welcome to attend a portion of it.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise and pushed himself away from the wall. Brilliant, he thought.

“However,” Snape continued, “there will be no plotting with your little friends over anything we have discussed or I will confine you to your dormitory for the rest of the week. Believe me, Potter, I will know…”

No, you won’t, Harry thought amusedly. But he wasn’t planning on plotting anything. If Snape was telling the truth about the adults having everything under control then, for once, he wouldn’t have to.

“I’m not going to say anything,” the boy said earnestly. He brushed back his fringe and glanced over his shoulder as an older student he didn’t know cross the end of the corridor without averting his attention to either of them. “When should I come down?”

“I will come collect you,” Snape informed the boy.

Harry froze.

“Seriously?”

“Very much so, Mr. Potter,” the professor replied, smirking yet again.

“Erm….all right…” Harry stammered, shrugging. But then a vision of Snape marching into his dormitory smothered his senses, and Harry nearly collapsed at the thought. His insides coiled in dread. “Could I meet you in front of the Fat Lady instead?”

Snape narrowed his ever-darkening eyes.

“Please?”

A small pause.

“You may,” the man finally answered. “Six-thirty sharp, Potter. If I find you wandering the corridors…”

Harry leaned back against the wall, stemming the urge to pound his head and plug his ears as his professor prattled on.

Snape never seemed to tire of the sternness and scolding. But at least the man was consistent… And Harry had to admit that it was decent of Snape to meet him outside of the Gryffindor common room instead of barging in and embarrassing him.

He couldn’t begin to imagine the look on Ron’s face if Snape would have decided to do that…