“Regardless if the attacks have ceased, Albus, it is imperative that we take action immediately,” Severus stated gravely after several silent moments slouched in pensive silence.

Pressing his potion-weathered fingers against his lips once more, Severus remained stabilized only by the points of his elbows pressed into the leather-covered arms of his usual chair in the headmaster’s office.

No one but Albus Dumbledore viewed Severus in such raw form so frequently. The potions master was well aware of this, realizing early on in his career that his exceptional skill for Occlumency was no match for the elderly man. Not even the Dark Lord could penetrate Severus’s façade as acutely and instantaneously.

Exhaling meaningfully, Dumbledore offered Severus a brief, slack smile, indicating his consideration of the matter as he tapped his thumbs against his folded hands with the gentlest of movements. At last, inclining his head, the headmaster drew in a preparatory breath.

“The Christmas holidays are almost upon us, my boy,” Dumbledore began, ignoring the twitch of outrage around the professor’s eyes at the mention of such a casualty. “And therefore, the students will have all dispersed by late Thursday morning.”

“And until then?” Severus pressed, lowering a curved knuckle to his chin.

“We carry on as usual, Severus,” Dumbledore replied.

Snape stared, unblinking.

“As usual…” he repeated, his countenance and words equally drained of emotion. “There are precisely eight students who are planning to remain at Hogwarts for the entire holiday, Headmaster…Potter included. We cannot possibly carry on with any measure of thorough investigation—“

“I am well aware of this,” the old man interrupted quietly, lowering his chin as he inclined his thin, gray brow. “Minerva is presently making arrangements with a majority of the parents. I believe Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley were simply remaining on the grounds for Harry’s sake.”

“How unexpected…”

The headmaster’s eyes shone with amusement at the blatant cynicism, yet he allowed the words to hang in the air, unhampered.

“Everyone will be accounted for, Severus,” Dumbledore assured him after a moment of basking in the silence.

“And Miss Weasley?” the potions master inquired, shifting his eyes briefly towards the partially fogged window

Dumbledore hesitated. The harsh winter wind rasped across the bare tops of the nearby trees.

“She will return to her parents with the rest of her siblings.”

Likewise, Severus shifted in his chair, employing his own bout of reluctant stillness. He knows what I am going to say, the man thought, sensing the unspoken words in the headmaster’s unfocused blue eyes.

“We are missing vital information, Albus…” Snape began carefully, “…information that can only be given to us by Miss Weasley, granted she regains her memory.” He lingered silkily over the last few words, raising a dubious eyebrow.

“You do not believe the child, Severus?”

Despite the headmaster’s inquisitive inflection, Snape deduced a solid statement within the delivery.

“The Weasley girl is frightened,” he said wryly. “However, she has recently delivered important information to Potter—information that she has obviously kept secret from her family. I believe she is at least mildly aware of what happened…”

“I agree with you, Severus.”

Snape immediately shifted his eyes towards the headmaster, cocking his head slightly. “In what regard, may I ask?”

Dumbledore’s eyes warmed over with an unseen smile. “In regard to many of your concerns, my boy,” the aged man assured him. “However, I believe that the issue of the diary, most importantly of Ginny Weasley’s peculiar experience with it, must be carefully explored before we do anything rash.”

The wind whistled thinly among the sharp crackles of the flames.

“You’ve just informed me of her potential release, Albus.”

Dumbledore nodded once, slowly, in concurrence. “I have.”

And then it was as if his brain and the headmaster’s had intertwined, for Severus suddenly understood the intent of such a simple statement. Perhaps the vital information they sought was encased and waiting in the mind of another sleeping child…

He tilted his head, his face taut with obvious exasperation as he laced his finger tips together. “How very odd that you allow an impetuous twelve-year-old boy to be the first to proceed with such delicate exploration…” he quipped around a disdainful smirk, the words heavily coated with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that Potter is currently lying in bed, nearly as disoriented as the girl?”

“He has retrieved your portkey, Severus,” Dumbledore calmly reminded the man. “And it appears as if the child most willingly relinquished possession of the locket.”

“The girl claims to have been given the locket by the Dark Lord,” Snape ground out, his tone of voice climbing in volume and intensity.

“Tom Riddle…” Dumbledore corrected patiently.

“The same bloody person, Albus!”

“Not necessarily, Severus,” the headmaster considered, tapping together his fingertips together in a thoughtful, mysterious way that never failed to infuriate the potions master.

Avoiding eye-contact and reclining in his chair slightly, Snape pressed his teeth together, willing his heated temper to recede.

“When Potter wakes, he may be able to clarify a few unanswered questions,” he began, studying the slanted books lined along the glossed wood. Severus swallowed thickly before resting his eyes on the headmaster once more. “But his work is finished. If the Dark Lord is at large in some unknown form, we are taking too great of a risk allowing the boy to get involved. He’s a child, Albus. And he is meagerly trained in Defense.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes had dulled but still remained soft as they skated over the small tin of lemon drops resting at the corner of his desk. He gazed fondly over the indented lid, but this time, his fingers made no move to select one of the tart sweets. “Harry possesses great potential…” the headmaster vocally mused. “You are well-aware of this, Severus.”

“I am only aware of Potter’s current state of mind, Headmaster,” Snape countered, quiet and unwavering. “And at the moment, he proves to be nothing more than a confused boy who would have undoubtedly done more harm than good had he meddled further in the situation than I have allowed. Potter must first learn the importance of discipline…”

“Who is to say he hasn’t, Severus?” Dumbledore interrupted casually. Smiling softly, the man’s eyes regained their customary sparkle as he finally reached for his tin of sweets.

Snape frowned uncouthly as he watched the headmaster pry away the tin’s lid with a distinct pop, revealing the clinking bulbs of sugar and smiling contentedly at the simplicity of such bliss.

“The child tests his limits…”

Lowering his spectacles onto the tip of his nose with a pinch of his finger, Dumbledore set aside his untouched sweets and fixed the potions master with an appraising look. “From what I have seen, Harry seems to obey you.”

Severus nearly chortled in disdain. The child didn’t obey him. He had to fight Potter every step of the way. Although… Potter had relinquished the locket on his own accord…eventually. Severus was almost certain he would have had to resort to a harsh threat. But he hadn’t. Potter had even followed him willingly into Pomfrey’s office. However, the most surprising phenomenon of the day remained corked and buried deep in the pocket of his robes.

Clearing his throat, Severus erected his posture and changed the subject. “You believe that the diary is connected to the Chamber, do you not?”

“Perhaps.”

“The Dark Lord is a Parselmouth, Albus,” Severus began, choking back his irritation towards the headmaster’s ambiguity. “A basilisk can only be controlled by one who speaks Parseltongue—its master.”

“In other words,” Dumbledore supplied, choosing and fingering a lemon drop. “The Heir of Slytherin.”

Snape nodded curtly. “Precisely. However, there is no indication that the Dark Lord has materialized. And as Miss Weasley shows no signs of a physical intrusion…”

“I do believe that perhaps…” Dumbledore paused an instant, turning the lemon drop over and over in his fingertips.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps…a mental invasion would be nearly as damaging,” the headmaster said softly.

For a long moment, the silence of possibilities throbbed throughout the vast chambers.

How could this be?

“The Dark Lord is in a weakened state, Albus,” Snape reminded him. Long fingers rested across his lips once more. “It would be nearly impossible for an individual’s mind to be penetrated...” he trailed off.

“It would,” Dumbledore affirmed.

Deftly, he replaced his lemon drop among the others in the lightweight tin.

Severus stared at the man, the familiar sensation of acid sheathing his stomach. There was something else. Something Dumbledore was dissecting in his impenetrable mind. And he wasn’t speaking of Legilimency. The Dark Lord was impeccably skilled at both. Albus was considering something…different. Something far more dangerous.

Severus was certain.

“There is something you wish to keep hidden from me concerning the diary, Headmaster,” Snape accused, feeling young and manipulated. “Perhaps you simply do not trust me…”

Instantly, Dumbledore’s eyes shifted sharply upward, impaling Severus without reproach. “I have entrusted Harry in your care, my boy,” he plainly stated. “That alone should speak volumes.”

The headmaster’s gaze was relentless. Severus felt as if he’d been backhanded.

The wind shrieked across the grounds again as both headmaster and professor waited for the tension to subside. “What about Potter?” Severus inquired, his eyes resting on the edge of Albus’s desk. His jaw set. “I have a difficult time believing that you would send the boy back to his relatives for such a short time, regardless of the impending investigation.” He glanced up—eyes weighted as if there were stones in the sockets.

Sealing his half-empty tin of sweets, Dumbledore caressed blunt edge with his thumb. “Keep him close, Severus.” The headmaster looked at his aged student starkly. “Keep him close.”

Breathing in the stale scent of candle wax and winter that seemed to linger in the headmaster’s chambers, Severus surveyed the subtle movement of the withered thumb.

And after a while, perhaps only to himself, he nodded.

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

“…arry?”

The voice cut in and out of his dreams.

Ginny was trying to climb up the slimy cave rocks in her nightgown and bare feet. Her soles were spotted with red from the sharp points of stone. Harry tried to climb too, but he couldn’t lift his legs. He felt as if he were moving through water. Ginny glanced over her shoulder. The circles underneath her eyes were black—like she’d smeared Aunt Petunia eye make-up underneath… She called out to him, but her lips were as frozen as his legs. ‘I’m trying’…he wanted to call. But what was it he was trying to do? She kept climbing. Ginny was using her knees this time. He could hear her voice…but now there were two. Two…

“…not in a coma, Ron, he’s only sleeping!” A harsh whisper floated from somewhere around his head.

The pillow felt hot pressed against Harry’s face. Limbs weighted and clumsy, he rolled over on his back—slowly, his right foot tingling with sleep.

He heard a throaty gasp. And then the light flooded his vision as his eyes opened into slits. The mattress was dipped down from both sides, tightening the blankets unbearably around Harry’s stomach. He was smothering.

“Professor?” Harry blinked, slapping his palm lazily his night table to search for his glasses.

“Professor? Who in the sodding hell—Ow! You’ve already hit me there once!”

Harry’s senses came back to him in a rush.

Oh dear God…

Pressing his glasses onto his nose, Harry tried to sit up, but he was trapped. Trapped underneath his best friends who were currently perched on either side of him on the mattress.

“Hermione…” Harry groaned, his cheeks pasted over with heat from sleep and shock. He could feel the hair plastered to the back of his head and sprouting a dozen different directions. “Why are you— How are you in here?” Even breathing was a chore. Harry could feel his heartbeat in his forehead; although, the pain was nearly gone…

She disregarded the question. “Harry, you missed class today,” Hermione critically observed as she sat back on her heels. Her face was pinched with worry, the ends of her braids frizzy as ever. “Are you sick?”

Ron was still staring at Harry with flared nostrils and a wrinkled forehead as he sat with one foot resting on the floor, the other folded up on the bed.

“Erm…no…I’m not sick,” Harry muttered, using all his strength to push himself up. Taking the hint, Ron and Hermione stood for a few seconds allowing him some slack before plopping back down and hanging on his explanation. “I barely slept last night, so I was told to spend the day in bed…I guess.” Harry rubbed his eyes thoroughly, his glasses bobbing on his forehead.

Hermione fidgeted with the edge of the folded sheet. Harry didn’t have to go any further. It was obvious that Hermione understood. “Why haven’t you slept, Harry?”

“Oi! I’m tired too! I nearly fell asleep three times in Binns’ class this morning,” Ron complained. “You don’t see McGonagall letting me sleep the day away… That’s lovely of her.” The boy scrunched up his nose in a scoffing manner.

“Oh, shut it, Ron. You’re always thinking about yourself…” Hermione breathed in disgust before quickly turning her attention back to Harry.

His head was beginning to throb again. Why couldn’t the blankets just jump up and bury him alive?

“What did I miss?” Harry asked hastily to avoid further confrontation. He reached underneath him and yanked out a warm, flattened pillow. He rested it on his lap, burrowing a fist in either side of the lump of feathers.

Ron was still brooding, his mouth as curved as his furrowed brow.

“Not much,” Hermione informed him. “Professor Binns didn’t give any homework. But we still have Potions this afternoon, and you know how Snape is…”

Potions?

“What time is it?”

“Almost twelve-thirty,” Hermione replied, absently straightening out the bed sheets with little tugs. “We ate lunch as fast as we could. It was odd sitting in class without you.”

“Yeah…” Harry mumbled, staring at his still-creased shirt. “Sorry.”

“Oh, and guess what McGonagall told us…” Ron suddenly spoke up, causing Harry to snap his attention towards his sporadic friend.

“What?”

“Let me tell him, Ron,” Hermione insisted in a proficient manner. “You’ll get it wrong.”

“I won’t either! You always tell everybody everything,” the redhead argued, gesturing emphatically.

“Just tell me…either one of you. I don’t care,” Harry said in an increasingly clipped tone. Their bickering was becoming too much to handle.

“We’ve got to go home over Christmas, Harry,” Ron blathered speedily, leaving Hermione open-mouthed and exasperated.

The girl huffed through her nose and rolled her eyes. “Yes, they’re contacting parents and having them make other arrangements. Professor McGonagall’s already sent a letter to my mum and dad.”

“And I guess my parents decided just to stay home instead of visiting Bill in Egypt…” Ron added.

Home? Harry felt his entire body flush hotly.

“Wait…” Harry shook his head briskly, confused. “What for?”

Ron shrugged. “A load of the teachers’ll be restrained over the holidays…”

“Detained, Ronald!” Hermione corrected.

Harry’s ears began to buzz. He couldn’t go home—not to the Dursleys. Harry hated Christmas at Privet Drive. They didn’t want him there.

“Detained doing what?” Harry asked. His voice was high and frail.

“Dunno,” Ron replied. “But Ginny gets to come home to, so it obviously doesn’t have anything to do with her.”

“Ginny?” Harry echoed. “Does she know?”

He began kicking at his blankets. Ron and Hermione stood once again to allow Harry to free his feet. Once he was uncovered and panting as the cool, delicious air rushed over his limbs, they promptly sat back down.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ron answered. “But you can come home with me if you’d like, Harry. Christmas at our house isn’t half bad. I mean, Mum listens to Celestina Warbeck all day long, but other than that, it’s pretty wicked. Fred and George put firecrackers in the snow piles and explode them when Mum isn’t watching.”

“Idiots…” Hermione muttered to herself, rolling her eyes a second time.

But I’m supposed to stay and help, Harry thought. He really did want to go home with Ron if he was truly invited. However, he knew there was a reason why the professors were clearing the school. What was going to detain the teachers? What if they were going to look for the basilisk? And in that case, didn’t they need Harry?

He knew one thing was for certain: he wasn’t going back to the Dursleys for Christmas. The mere thought of sitting against the wall while Dudley opened up his mountain of presents made Harry’s feet sweaty and his stomach churn.

“Lunch is almost over, Harry,” Hermione cut in, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you feeling well? Do you want to go Herbology with us?”

Harry thought about this for a moment. He was supposed to be resting. But there was no way he could lie in bed all day and let this issue slide. He had to find Snape.

“No,” Harry said quickly, crawling between Ron and Hermione and sliding off the edge of his bed. He reached for his trousers that were draped over his trunk with the rest of his uniform. “I’ve gotta do something.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked suspiciously.

Hermione, who had been fluffing his released pillow, turned and studied him, waiting for a response while she propped up the inflated rectangle against his headboard.

“Well…” Harry began, folding his trousers over his arm. “I just have to…” He stopped, biting down hard on his bottom lip. Ron was his best mate. But Harry just couldn’t deal with his scorn at the moment. He would tell Hermione later. Ron always seemed to deal with information about Snape much more easily if it was delivered second-hand. “I have to find out where I’m supposed to go for Christmas.”

“My house,” Ron stated easily as if spending the Holidays at the Burrow had been Harry’s plan all along.

“I have to ask,” Harry said again, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “Hey, Hermione, I need to change…”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she stood with the heels of her hands against her hips. “Oh!” she exclaimed, slight embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Well, for goodness’ sake, Harry, at least wait until I’m out of the room!” Hermione scampered toward the exit with quick steps, cupping her hand at the side of her face to shield her eyes from potential exposure.

“Obviously…” Ron muttered, shaking his head.

Smiling in accordance, Harry slipped his pajamas down, only to scrape them back up as Hermione bellowed from the middle of the stairway:

“You really ought to come to Herbology, Harry!”

“He’s in his pants, Hermione. Go away…” Ron called back, grinning wickedly as he listened to her annoyed, diminishing mutter and pattering footsteps. He glanced back around at Harry, shaking his head. “I told her she wasn’t supposed to be up here… Have you ever known anyone so mental?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Harry shrugged as he stepped into his trousers.

At least I don’t have to keep much from her, he thought. But deep down, Harry knew that he’d be lost without either one of his friends. They certainly balanced each other out…

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

Harry barged into the Potions classroom, out of breath and itching with sweat underneath his robes and uniform. He felt like he could have slept for another three hours. But in his opinion, this was urgent.

The room was empty. Didn’t Snape have a class in ten minutes? Wait, no, Harry thought. It’s a single period. He’s got doubles only…

Would he be in his Chambers?

Harry let the door click shut, paying little attention to how carelessly he’d released it. However, the loud bang that resounded behind him barely registered in his determined mind.

Nearly jogging ahead, Harry halted, jerking back in surprise as the door to Snape’s office was thrown open so forcefully, it smacked against the stone wall.

Malfoy strolled out, swiping an arm across his face, followed by Snape, who was moving twice as swiftly. Stealing a glimpse at his approaching head of house, Malfoy tried to break away.

Harry pressed his palms against the wall, leaning forward slightly. He watched, stunned, as Snape caught and pulled Draco back by the collar of his robes, catching him by the arm and muttering sternly in his ear.

The Slytherin hunched up his right shoulder and tried to tear his arm out of Snape’s grasp. But the man yanked him back easily, encircled his waist with one arm while the other grasped and threw aside his loose robes, walloping Malfoy’s backside three times in rapid succession.

Harry winced and smashed his back against the wall, caring little that the material of his robes was snagging on the sharp edges of the rock.

No bloody way, Harry thought as he listened to Malfoy cry out angrily and blubber something about his father. Naturally.

Harry pinched his thigh as hard as he could to keep from laughing. How lucky was he to witness the slimeball getting it? Surely, Harry didn’t act like such a pathetic baby during his punishments. At least he hoped he didn’t…

Harry heard the distinct swoop of robes and pounding of heels against stone before he actually saw Snape barreling forward. Tentatively, Harry peeled himself away from the wall. However, the look on Snape’s face when he noticed the boy standing next to his office sobered Harry right up.

“Mr. Potter!”

The sharp tone caused Harry’s bottom to prickle in fear. Tensing up, he scooted back again until his heels hit the wall.

Okay, definitely not funny anymore…

But suddenly, Snape halted, standing several feet away from Harry. Taking a deep breath, the man closed his eyes for an instant as he swept a few dangling strands of hair back into place.

Breathing harshly, Harry could only stare at him.

“You’re out of bed, Potter,” Snape stated, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before using the same forefinger to beckon the child forward.

Harry gripped the wall, ignoring the sting of the stones scraping against his palms. “No, you’re going to smack me.”

“Not unless you continue to cling to the wall like a slug,” Snape replied without humor. “To me.” He gestured with the stiffest of nods.

“I feel loads better,” Harry began carefully, moving forward with tiny steps. He felt his face warming and couldn’t look at Snape. He stared at the man’s black-clad middle until his professor tipped his face up with two fingers underneath his chin.

Harry’d expected that.

He quickly placed his knuckles against the boy’s forehead before releasing Harry’s chin with his other hand. “Explain yourself,” Snape ordered, his features betraying nothing.

Gripping a handful of his robes in one fist while tucking a thumb within the other to keep from chewing on it, Harry decided to simply bypass the expounding preface. Snape wasn’t much for small talk anyway.

Harry inhaled in preparation, resting his eyes on the curve of Snape’s nose. It was the best he could do. “I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys over Christmas...” Harry mumbled, his face flaming with disgrace.

Snape said nothing for a moment. And the quiet was beginning to wear away at Harry’s nerves. Wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, Harry nudged at his glasses with a finger, sparing a glance at Snape in the process.

Finally, his professor bobbed his head in a single, significant nod. “I know, Potter.”