Harry leaned over the railing that extended from the stairs in front of the Fat Lady, ignoring the pressure of the wood against his belly.

He kept glancing back every few seconds towards the sealed portrait, almost positive that he could hear Ron’s irritated squall and Hermione’s breathy admonishments.

Only two more minutes until six-thirty.

Balancing on his toes as he bent over a bit further, Harry gazed down at the stacks of shifting staircases. He listened to the muffled grinding of stone against stone for a while, attempting to distinguish a timely pattern among the swinging steps.

There was none.

Harry suddenly heard the distinct creak of the portrait opening. Swiveling around, he watched the door swing back and forth in tiny, jerking movements, as if someone was trying to push himself out and another was yanking the door closed.

“…just need to ask him a question, Hermione!” Ron’s brash whisper slithered through the open crack.

Leaning his elbows against the railing, Harry pressed his lips together as he observed the almost comical display of the twitching door and the Fat Lady’s outraged expressions as her portrait was wrenched back and forth.

“Absolutely not, Ronald,” Hermione scolded in a muffled, tight voice. The rest of her sentence was spewed out brokenly as the door opened and shut. “…special permission…just leave him alone!”

Finally, the door slammed shut and stilled.

The Fat Lady scowled, yet breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry simply turned back around and resumed balancing on the nearby railing. He wasn’t sure whether he should feel grateful to Hermione or guilty for leaving Ron behind. His stomach was currently dueling it out. But neither emotion was prevailing. Lately, it never could make up its mind.

I guess that’s the trouble with me, Harry thought.

However, the boy’s musing was interrupted as he caught sight of the dark, unmistakable form of his professor strolling through an archway entrance and immediately ascending the stairs. His features were grave and calm as usual, yet by the way the man bustled forward, Harry could tell he was in a hurry.

Straightening himself up, Harry gripped the railing with one hand as he waited for Snape to climb the last half of the steps.

“You’re on time, Potter,” Snape commented as he reached the top.

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied with a squint, “You said six-thirty, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

The man clutched two handfuls of either side of his open robes as he glowered determinedly at the small boy. He twisted his lips in thought.

“What?” Harry asked quietly, settling his side against the railing as he waited for Snape to say something. He was all-too familiar with his professor’s billowing stance to feel even a hint of intimidation.

“Have you completed all of your assignments for tomorrow, Mr. Potter?” Snape inquired, darkening his glare as his eyes raked over the child’s informal deportment.

“Er…”

“No?”

“No…I mean, yeah…” Harry shook his head to clear it. “I mean, yes, sir, I’ve got some of it done.” He hadn’t been expecting this question. “Why?”

“Some? What in Merlin’s name have you been doing all day, Potter?” Snape growled.

“Nothing!” Harry insisted.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Well that much is obvious…”

“No, I mean I haven’t been fooling around all day like you think I have,” Harry explained crossly, pushing his glasses up roughly on his nose to rest between the frown lines wrinkling his brow. “Besides, you’re the only teacher who assigned an essay the week before the Holidays. Not even Professor Binns did that to us…”

“And you, Potter, will be the only student completing two essays for me before class tomorrow if you proceed with this childish tone,” Snape continued, pointing a finger in Harry’s direction. “Now follow me.”

“Wait,” Harry cried.

Snape spun around impatiently.

Harry scratched his forehead with a fingertip. “How come you asked me about my assignments? How late is the meeting—“

But before Harry could finish speaking, the Fat Lady’s portrait was thrust open with such force that it banged against the wall and vibrated as it trailed back.

“…it’s important, Hermione!”

Ron turned, swaggering triumphantly forward.

However, he instantly jerked to a halt, his pinched face pinked, as he stared, wide-eyed, at a stiff, sneering Snape and an amused Harry.

“Erm…nevermind, mate, it can wait,” Ron stammered with a reassuring nod. Backing up a few steps, he scrambled for the handle and closed the portrait carefully.

“I told you, stupid…” Hermione’s voice faded as the door clicked firmly behind the subdued redhead.

The Fat Lady huffed and muttered a string of indignant complaints as she straightened her skirts.

Harry glanced tentatively up at Snape. He was shocked to see that the man was smirking in a soft way. Biting his lip to curb the laugh that threatened to pull at his lips, Harry caught Snape’s eye and shrugged.

“Interesting choice of friends, Potter,” Snape remarked dryly. He held out a beckoning hand. “Come along.”

“They’re brilliant, actually,” Harry said with a smile as he walked toward his professor’s side and began plodding down the steps.

“Exceptional…”

But the sarcasm only made Harry grin wider.

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

They’d been sitting in Dumbledore’s office for nearly fifteen minutes, and in Harry’s opinion, the meeting was turning out to be rather uneventful.

The discussion so far had revolved mostly around the status of the new House rules and recently employed curfew. Harry didn’t care. The common room had been noisy and hot last night. There had been nowhere to sit. So naturally, Hermione had sneaked up to the boys’ dormitory for a few minutes to discuss Ginny in private. And the three of them had ended up going to bed before eleven, because really, what else was there to do?

Harry allowed his mind to drift, perking up every once in a while when he heard something potentially interesting. Dumbledore and Snape would eventually have to get to the good stuff…

He focused on a shape-shifting flame that flickered from a wax-oozing candle propped on one of Dumbledore’s bookshelves. It reminded him very much of the hours he spent lying on his back at the park last summer, watching the clouds transform into various animals and people until the sun nearly burned a hole through the front of his t-shirt.

Suddenly, the word Weasley caught Harry’s attention and his mind drifted back into focus again.

“…is still rather unresponsive, even among her family,” Dumbledore informed quietly.

“Who? Ginny?” Harry piped up. Finally, something interesting. He lifted his head from his propped-up elbow and sat up straight in his chair. “How is she, Professor?”

“Do not interrupt, Potter,” Snape chided from beside him before the headmaster could respond.

Harry glanced over at the potions master in a defensive manner. “I’m not interrupting. I just want to know how Ginny is doing.”

Snape leaned forward menacingly. He spoke quietly. “I do believe you weaseled your inquisitive way into the headmaster’s explanation. That is known as an interruption. Perhaps you require a dictionary…”

Harry glared. “Perhaps I don’t…”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, causing the professor and student to abandon their miniature quarrel and return to the present. “Health-wise, Miss Weasley is quite well, Harry,” the man clarified serenely. “However, she has revealed little about the diary that was found in her possession. And I’m afraid the child becomes vastly upset when questioned.”

Harry gazed over the headmaster’s drooping wrinkles. And for the first time in a long while, Dumbledore looked old. Old and sad.

“She won’t even tell her mum about it?” Harry asked meekly. That didn’t seem like Ginny. Yes, the little girl was very shy, but Mrs. Weasley was kind and helpful. Why was Ginny being so secretive? What did she have to hide?

“Her parents have decided not to press the matter until she has regained her strength—“

“But I thought you said she was well…” Harry broke in.

“Potter!” Snape growled in disapproval. Harry snapped his attention toward the stern man.

“What?” the boy cried. He shifted around so his seat was nearly hanging off the edge of his cushion. His right hand clutching the top of the backrest to steady himself, Harry gaped at his professor in confusion. “What did I do now?”

“Mind your cheek,” Snape scolded in a frosty voice. “You do not interrupt the headmaster when he is speaking. You allow him to answer your question fully, and only then may you politely—“

“I know how to have a conversation, Professor,” Harry exclaimed. He was becoming irritated. “I’m not an idiot…”

Dumbledore cleared his throat once again. More forcefully this time.

Harry twisted around, leaning back into his previous position. “Sorry,” the boy apologized lamely, sensing the disapproval in Dumbledore’s eyes without even having to look at them. Bowing his head, Harry chanced a brief glance at Snape. The man was slumped over on his elbow, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers in the way Harry’d witnessed more times this year than ever before.

Am I the only one who makes Snape look like that? Harry wondered.

“As I was saying,” the headmaster continued tranquilly, “Madame Pomfrey has suggested that Miss Weasley be allowed to rest under her supervision in the hospital wing until the end of the first term arrives on Thursday. Her parents will visit frequently to ensure the child is comfortable.”

Harry waited this time until he was positive Dumbledore was finished. He shifted his eyes quickly towards Snape, but the man seemed to be drinking in the words, as he rested two fingers against his temple.

“So that’s it, then?” Harry asked, glancing between the two adults in the room. “That’s all you’ve got planned?”

Snape looked over at him, obviously plucked out of his thoughts.

“We are doing the best we can, Harry,” Dumbledore assured him.

“But what about the basilisk?” Harry continued, feeling his muscles tense. The desperation swirled in his chest and began to crawl out of his throat, unrestrained. “What are we supposed to do about it? Maybe Ginny saw it and it scared her.” Harry gasped. “Maybe she’s a Parselmouth too!”

Dumbledore raised his brow as he ogled the boy.

“Don’t be stupid, Potter,” Snape said quickly through clumsy lips.

“I’m not trying to be!” Harry breathed. The thoughts were flowing out of his mouth unconnected. “But wait—Ginny also wrote in the diary that she was losing her memory. Did you know that? Maybe that’s why she’s frightened. What could that be about?”

“There is nothing written in the diary, child,” Dumbledore exclaimed, staring curiously at Harry.

“There’s not?” Harry froze. “But I saw her write it… What if the ink was washed away by the toilet water?”

“That is quite enough of your incessant babbling, Potter!” Snape barked, grabbing hold of his upper arm.

But Harry wiggled free, pushing himself up out of his chair.

“You can’t just let everything fall apart,” Harry pleaded with Dumbledore, who reached over and placed a gentle hand around the child’s forearm. “I don’t want to go back to Surrey. We’ve got to do something—“

Harry felt Snape’s iron hands gripping him firmly about the shoulders, and he swallowed his words.

“Silence, Potter.”

Silence? Snape hadn’t said that in a while. Had he really gotten that carried away?

Harry stumbled backwards a bit as Snape began tugging him toward the door leading to the corridor. “Excuse us, Headmaster,” the man continued.

“No…” Harry groaned. But he knew better than to struggle.

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

The instant the door clicked shut, Severus rounded on the suddenly repentant child.

“I’m sorry…” Harry attempted quickly, tensing his shoulders up in the large hands that still held him solidly.

“Don’t you ever pull away from me like that again, do you understand?” Snape reprimanded.

“When? Just now? I didn’t…” Harry felt like he was speaking through a handful of cotton fluff. He hated getting yelled at. Hated it.

“No,” Snape clarified, holding him fast about the arms, “Before you pounced on the headmaster like a bumbling lunatic. What in the world has gotten into you?” He gave the thin shoulders a jostle.

“You said you had everything under control! But you haven’t even thought about anything that I said!” Harry accused. “What if—“

“Mr. Potter,” Snape began, crouching down, “Before we proceed any further with this discussion, you will listen carefully, because I do not fancy repeating myself, do I?”

Harry shook his head, cringing at his current lack of personal space.

“No, I do not,” the man agreed. “Now… I have been extremely patient with your disrespect and abominable attitude—especially this evening. But my patience is wearing thin. I have fourth and fifth year essays to grade after tonight’s meeting. I must brew a new batch of dreamless sleep potion for Madame Pomfrey. Do you hear me, Potter?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry swallowed, trying not to let his emotions bleed onto his face. Snape was raving like a bloke in a mental ward.

“Additionally, I am developing a migraine that has only increased in intensity thanks to this blasted encounter with you and the headmaster. However, mark my words, Mr. Potter, regardless of the endless night I have ahead of me, I will not hesitate to spare a few of those minutes to drag you by your ear to my chambers and tan your miserable hide if this behavior continues. Is that absolutely clear?”

Harry nearly choked. Snape may have gone mad. But he definitely wasn’t joking around.

“Well?”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “You’re not going to pass out, are you? You look funny.”

Not dignifying the concern with an answer, Snape reached around with an open hand and clipped the boy smartly at the base of his rear.

“Ow…” Harry ground out through gritted teeth, immediately craning his neck over his own shoulder.

But Snape caught the boy’s cheek with three fingers, accompanying his head back to its original position.

He stared at Harry with a determined gleam in his coal-black eyes, keeping his fingers pressed against the squashed cheek until he received an answer.

“Yes, sir,” Harry finally mumbled. “I seriously didn’t mean to yell—but can you just listen to me for a second… please?”

Snape removed his hand from the boy’s face, sighing exhaustedly.

Harry moved his jaw around to relieve the slight tingle. “Ginny’s really, really shy. And I know she isn’t telling her mum or dad much of anything yet, but maybe she’s afraid of something. Maybe she thinks her mum’ll be mad. Mrs. Weasley can really shout when she’s riled.”

“Go on,” Snape drawled, leaning a shoulder heavily against the wall.

“Erm…okay, well, anyway,” Harry continued, encouraged by the professor’s allowance. “I was thinking that maybe I could be the one to get her to talk.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, she looked at me in the bathroom—do you remember that day?”

“How could I forget, Potter?” he answered humorlessly. The man closed his eyes for longer than necessary.

“Well when she looked at me, I felt like she wanted to tell me something. And if you weren’t there, she might have.”

Snape opened his eyes, gazing at the restless, inarticulate child with interest.

Harry licked his parched lips. He felt the goosebumps rise on the skin of his belly. Glancing down, he noticed that his fingers were tangled in a good three inches-length of his t-shirt.

Rolling his eyes for the second time that evening, Snape reached over and pinched the hem of Harry’s shirt between a thumb and forefinger, tugging gently.

Relaxing his knuckles, Harry watched as the cotton slid easily over his hands and back down to hang by his waistband.

“The staff of Hogwarts, as well as the headmaster, is doing everything in its power to help Ginny Weasley and keep the rest of the students from harm. Currently, we do not have all the answers, but neither do you, Potter. And you must refrain from jumping to conclusions and working yourself up,” Snape exclaimed as he embarked on what Harry knew to be the beginning of one of his infamous lectures.

Harry barely nodded in response.

“Now, you claim Miss Weasley wrote that she was losing her memory,” Snape pressed on, “yet, you failed to mention this bit of information to an adult.”

“I forgot…” Harry admitted weakly. He felt his face grow hot. He’d mentioned it to Ron and Hermione, but Snape was right. What good would that do now?

“As we sometimes do,” the man supplied. Harry glanced up at him through the smudges on his glasses. God, those lenses were rubbish.

“So, erm…do you think the memory thing makes a difference? Will that help you figure out what’s wrong with her, I mean?…”

“Perhaps.”

“Want me to ask her about it?” Harry said quickly. He held his breath. Approaching Ginny on his own was the only useful thing he could think to do at the moment. He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping with all of his might that Snape would agree.

The potions master studied him for a moment.

“Do you believe you can deliver your proposal to the headmaster in a collected manner?”

Wow, Harry thought, staring up at Snape in earnest, did he actually just listen to me?

“Yes, sir, I can,” the boy said solemnly, earning a strange smirk from his professor.

“Very well.”

Snape nodded towards the door handle, and Harry obediently reached for it.