“Well, what are you waiting for? You should be writing this down!” A horde of first-years immediately bent over their parchments and began scribbling frantically, and Severus relaxed slightly. The students had just arrived back yesterday, and so far the first day of his return to teaching was going reasonably well. The third years had been appropriately cowed by his I-am-back-and-I-don’t-plan-to-tolerate-any-of-the-nonsense-you’ve-no-doubt-been-getting-away-with speech, and while there had been a few more mutters in the fifth year Gryffindor-Slytherin class that followed, they’d had four previous years of him as a professor and none of them had been willing to be the first to try his temper. Harry had even managed—somehow—to convince the Granger girl to partner Longbottom so although their potion hadn’t been up to her usual standards it hadn’t been down to his either. Fairly relaxing, as that class went. He had seventh year double potions next and didn’t expect any great amount of trouble. Well, assuming no one else plans to murder me, but I suppose that’s a chance I’ll just have to take. It was a mixed class, but presumably anyone who’d made it that far with him knew better than to try anything so patently ridiculous. The first years weren’t making potions today, and he fell back into lecture mode easily enough. It kept them busy until the lesson ended.

“Severus, do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” He was surprised to see the librarian down here…she didn’t often leave her sanctuary. “Is there something that I can assist you with?”

“I wanted to borrow Mr. Potter for his detention today, actually. I’ve been trying to decipher the papers that were brought up from the Chamber, and frankly I haven’t had any success at all.”

“And you believeHarry can help?” I wasn’t aware that any particular cryptographic skills came with the title of Brat-who-lived.

“Well, I understand that he was the one able to access the rooms…he may see some key that I don’t. Something…Parseltongue.” She said the word with obvious distaste, and Severus refrained from rolling his eyes by only the barest margins.

Yes, clearly written Parseltongue is the answer. That’s why you see so many snakes out writing their memoirs. Still…. “I’ll bring him up, if you like. The parchments are in the library?”

“Of course. What time should I expect you?”

“Quarter past eight.”

She nodded slightly and turned to go as the students began to trickle in. He shook his head and checked the ingredient shelves one last time…he was still of the opinion that letting students near cauldrons the day after they returned from a holiday was suicide, but since Slughorn had announced brewing sessions for OWL and NEWT level students upon their return…. Well, he might not be willing to contradict that—he certainly didn’t want any ridiculous rumors circulating that he was easing up on the students—but he wasn’t about to leave anything lying around that would cause anything beyond a mild explosion either.

“We’ll be preparing the base for Veritaserum today,” he began when the last student had slipped into his seat, “as you should all be well aware. Now, as I very much doubt that any of you have so much as thought about your studies over the holiday, we’re going to review the entire process. And Merlin help anyone who can’t answer a simple question.” He glared at the students, selecting the last to arrive as his first victim since he was slouching down in his seat obviously trying to avoid Severus’ eyes. You’d think by the seventh year they’d know better. “Mr. Curtis, we’ll begin with you. Perhaps you can tell me the appropriate type of cauldron we should be using?”

“Uh…metal?”

“Well, yes, seeing as a plastic cauldron would very likely melt.” Metal, Merlin help me. “Five points from Hufflepuff for such a ridiculously inane response. Mr. Weasley, what type of cauldron should be used?” The twins exchanged glances, and he glared. “I suggest one of you answer correctly or I’ll be taking twice as many points from Gryffindor.”

“Silver threaded,” Fred answered

“And the other Mr. Weasley, how many drops of mugwort essence should be added before we begin to heat the cauldron?”

“Six if you want the Veritaserum to blow up in your face; two if you just want it to turn green.”

“Five points from Gryffindor for insolence.” He considered for a moment. “However, two points to Gryffindor for understanding what will occur if that particular ingredient is added at an inappropriate stage.” And if they’d discovered that fact by some form of trial-and-error he really didn’t want to know. He’d hoped that he’d be free of the twins after OWLs, but it had turned out—much to his dismay—that they’d considered potions ‘useful’ and therefore actually managed the Outstanding he required to continue their studies rather than goofing off during the examination as they had in so many of their other subjects. Damn them. He shook his head and glared at his next victim. “Miss Maclaud, at what stage should the mugwort essence be added?”

After twenty minutes of quizzing that lowered the standings off all of the houses—except his own, of course, old habits died hard—by between ten and twenty points, he allowed them to begin brewing. It was successful enough, as such things went. No major explosions, and no one requiring a trip to the infirmary. He dismissed them with a warning about being much better prepared for their next classroom session and waved the vials over to shelf to be graded at a later date.

“Professor?”

“Mr. Weasley…s. May I help you?”

“It’s…is there any news about Dad?” George asked. “Harry said you still hadn’t come up with anything new yesterday, but….”

Severus snorted. Harry had become something of a constant figure in his rooms during break, at least during the afternoons, and he had no doubt that the boy had kept the Weasley brood up to date on everything he’d been doing. Unfortunately, what he’d been doing hadn’t been much of late. After the test with the rabbit—which was still hopping around in that cauldron in his laboratory for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of—St. Mungo’s had managed to find a volunteer willing to test out the venom. Severus didn’t know where they’d found such an idiot, but somehow they had. And while the venom had caused said idiot to lose a great deal of blood, the wound had eventually closed just as the rabbit’s had. They healers had tried various locations for the wound—legs and arms, primarily, even their moronic volunteer didn’t want to be stabbed in the abdomen—but each time had yielded the same results. Which had left himself and the other potions masters at a decided standstill. They could still experiment, but if they didn’t even have a sample of whatever was in Nagini’s venom that was affecting Arthur’s wounds…. “I’m sure you will be among the first to know as soon as anyone discovers anything.”

They exchanged glances and sighed in unison. “Yes, Professor,” Fred agreed.

///////////

Harry arrived in his quarters promptly at eight—although from the look of things he must have come running directly from Quidditch practice—and Severus raised an eyebrow. “Back on the pitch so quickly?”

“Over the holiday Angelina came up with a couple new things for us to try. Have you had any luck with the venom?”

“Not since the Weasley twins asked me this afternoon. Go feed that rabbit and attempt to make yourself presentable; Madam Pince thinks you might be able to help translate those notes so we’ll be spending your detention in the library.” Technically he didn’t have to be there, of course, but he was curious himself about what Slytherin might have written.

“She doesn’t like me,” Harry muttered.

Assuming he was talking about the librarian rather than the—male—rabbit, Severus made a dismissive gesture. “She doesn’t like anyone, particularly brats with a penchant for rule-breaking. However she specifically asked for you so I imagine she’s willing to tolerate your presence for the sake of those papers.”

“But how can I help?”

“She thinks it has something to do with Parseltongue.”

“But…snakes don’t write.”

“A fact I am well aware of, however….” He shrugged and waited for Harry to rejoin him, and they made their way up to the library.

Madam Pince looked down her nose at them—both of them, she was another colleague who remembered Severus as a child, he knew—but after a moment she ushered them into her private office where the pieces of parchment they’d brought back from the Chamber were spread about the desk, all with a faint blue glow surrounding them.

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked.

“Read them. It all looks like…hissing…to me.” She looked supremely offended, and Severus bit back a smirk.

“Um….”

Harry looked up, and Severus shrugged. “I suppose you might as well try.”

He leaned over the boy’s shoulder as Harry took a seat in front of the parchments. It did look like hissing…he’d noticed archaic letters when he’d glanced at it before, but upon closer inspection it was mostly S’s and H’s with the occasional vowel mixed in. As far as individual words…well, he didn’t see any. Harry leaned over to trace a line.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Reading it. I guess.” Harry shrugged. “I’m trying.”

Her face went red. “You can’t touch it! Getting your grimy little fingers all over such an ancient document…all that dirt and oils and Merlin knows what else! You’ll have in it pieces! You don’t touch it, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Harry made a show of leaning well back, and this time Severus couldn’t hide his smirk. Not that he should be condoning that sort of behavior of course—he’d reprimand the boy later—but Merlin knew Pince could be irritating. “Can you make out anything?”

“Hsss…isss…shhsss….slllssss….” He shrugged. “It sounds like hissing, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I thought you said it sounded just like English when you were speaking Parseltongue?”

“When I’m speaking Parseltongue it does, but that’s not Parseltongue.”

“What else would it be?” Madam Pince demanded. “Professor McGonagall said that everything in that…place…was activated by Parseltongue.” Her eyes narrowed, and she glared. “Unless it’s some sort of secret that only people that speak…snake…can understand?”

“If I knew what it said, I’d tell you,” Harry objected. “Really. But it doesn’tsay anything.”

“I still think you’d be better off looking for some sort of code,” Severus agreed. “Granted that it’s hardly my area of expertise, but….”

Her face became even more pinched, which, if Severus had been asked, he would have said was impossible. “I suppose you’re of no use to me then.”

Severus bowed slightly, tapping Harry’s arm. “Come along, Mr. Potter. It seems we’re better off spending our time elsewhere.”

“Yes, sir.” He was silent until they reached Severus’ quarters. “I would have helped if I could have!”

“I know that, Harry. I didn’t expect that you could in the first place, but it was easier than arguing with her about it.”

“Oh.” He considered for a moment and then obviously dismissed the matter. “Professor, can I ask you something?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I suppose.” It’s not as though you’ve ever refrained in the past.

“At the Department of Mysteries…well, can I destroy it?”

Severus frowned, sinking down into his armchair and waving at Harry to have a seat on the couch. “Destroy the Department of Mysteries?” It would certainly be an improvement, but I’m not sure anyone at the Ministry would approve….

“Not the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy. You know, the one about me?”

Severus opened his mouth and then shut it again. “Of course I know about the prophecy. But why? The Dark Lord can’t touch it.”

“But he knows it’s there. If I destroy it then nobody else can get hurt like Mr. Weasley.”

Ah, the saving-people instinct reasserts itself. “Harry, what happened to Mr. Weasley—”

“Isn’t my fault. You keep saying that. But it’s true, isn’t it? If the prophecy wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have got hurt.”

“It’s entirely possible that Nagini was just scouting around the Ministry and Mr. Weasley was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You don’t believe that,” Harry said after a moment. “And neither do I. It’s not like anyone would have to know….”

Severus bit back a half-smile at the wheedling tone. “Regardless of whatever you and I might believe, the Department of Mysteries—and the Ministry in general—take a dim view of citizens wandering about destroying their property.”

“But all I’d have to do would be—”

“Let the prophecy be,” he interrupted firmly. “And sit down. I’m not sure whether this is supposed to be an Occlumency lesson or an actual detention, but I suppose Occlumency practice can’t hurt.”

“Can you teach me Legilimency sometime?”

The randomness of the teenage mind. Still, since he wasn’t attempting to pursue the ludicrous idea of sneaking into the Ministry, Severus was willing to indulge a bit. “Perhaps this summer if your Occlumency shields are strong enough.”

“I really don’t have to go back to the Dursleys’?”

“What? Certainly not, I thought we’d sorted that out months ago.” His eyes narrowed. “Has someone implied otherwise?”

“No. I just…wasn’t sure.”

Severus gritted his teeth. Idiot muggles. “You will not be returning to that house. I expect it will be the Burrow, or perhaps Grimmauld Place. Now, Occlumency?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you. Legilimens.”

He dismissed the boy after an appropriate length of time, unsurprised to find an owl arriving shortly after with notes from the St. Mungo’s potions masters. Alastor had finally given up his ridiculous notion about hand delivering everything—or he’d managed to get it through his thick skull that Severus was going to ignore him regardless of what he said—but there wasn’t a great deal to report anyway. Arthur had been sent home with a roll of self-sealing bandages to be replaced at appropriate intervals, and they’d call him back in when they had something that might actually work.

///////////

“Ah, Severus,” Poppy greeted as he arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast.

That expression never bodes well, somehow. “Can I help you?”

“You have a free hour now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, more because if he lied it would be obvious than any desire to actually admit that he did.

“Could you possibly help me with something?”

She looked perfectly innocent, and Severus wondered idly if the position of Dark Lady was still open. “But of course.” The sausage on his plate received a vicious stab. She was probably going to provide him with a list of mindhealers or something equally idiotic.

“Well?” Severus demanded, stepping into the infirmary. There was a student—probably a first or second year—tucked into one of the far beds, but he appeared to be asleep.

“Ah, Severus, come in.” She waved him into her office. “Severus, this is Healer Kerrigan; Peter, Professor Severus Snape.”

Merlin…. He glanced back, but dashing for the door would be a bit obvious. This mindhealer was a bit younger than the last had been…if he’d been alive at all during Grindlewald’s reign he wouldn’t have been much more than a child.

“Pete, please, the man said with an all-too-ingratiating smile, offering a hand. “May I call you Severus? Or is it Sev?”

“Severus is fine.” Well, it isn’t, but it was certainly better than the alternative. Bloody idiot. Severus grasped the limp hand for the shortest amount of time possible. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He thought he’d actually managed to be even less sincere with that statement than he had with the last mindhealer.

“Of course, of course. Now, I understand that my arrival here is probably a bit of a shock—”

“Somehow, not as much as you might think,” he interrupted dryly, turning to glare at Poppy only to find that she’d left the office. Coward.

“But it’s important that what happened to you is dealt with before it becomes a permanent part of your psyche,” the man continued.

Before it what “Oh?”

“Now, Madame Pomfrey obviously hasn’t been able to tell me any of the particulars, but it’s clear that you’ve suffered a grievous loss, and dealing with such a thing—”

“I’m sorry, but you seem to be laboring under the terrible misconception that I need some sort of help. I assure you that that is not the case.”

“Now, I wouldn’t presume to instruct you in your profession; I’m sure you wouldn’t try to do the same in mine.” He smiled again.

Would you care to make a wager? The man’s smile was making his teeth hurt. I think I’d employ Lockhart as a therapist before you.

“Tell, me, you seem like an intelligent man. Do you have any particular artistic pursuits?”

“I beg your pardon?”Harry, at least, has the excuse of his age for popping up with random thoughts at bizarre times.

“Artistic pursuits. Do you paint?”

“No.”

“Perhaps sing?”

“No.”

“What about dance?”

Severus jaw worked for a moment. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, what do you do to relax?”

“Invent poisons.”

Pete chuckled. “Very funny. You have an excellent sense of humor.”

“I was serious.”

“Oh.” The room went silent.

“Would you care to see?” He invented the occasional curse or two as well, but he’d wait on those until he saw whether this idiot took the hint or not.

The man stared for a moment. “Anger is a perfectly normal reaction to this sort of tragic event, but you must find a way to release that aggression—”

“I’ve always found plenty of opportunities in my day to day work to release aggression.”

“Really? What do you do here?”

“Teach.” Obviously.

This time the mindhealer stared for a moment longer. “I’d think that another outlet would be more appropriate for your rage.”

There are always my colleagues. “Did Poppy tell you how I lost my arm? Or my eye?”

“Of course not, patient confidentiality prohibits—”

“I had it cursed off by the Dark Lord and his minions. You know him—Voldemort?” He had to force himself to say the name, but it was worth it to see the other man wince. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to prepare for. However, should I meet any deranged artists, I’ll be certain to point them in your direction. Poppy!”

She hurried over from where she’d been tending the lone student. “Severus, five minutes is hardly—”

“I don’t paint, I don’t sing, I certainly don’t dance, and—”

“Dance?”

“Apparently he considers it an appropriate relaxation technique.”

She glanced back at the office door. “Severus, you need to talk to someone—”

“Not him.” He shook his head, searching for something that she would accept. “Honestly, if he cringes at the Dark Lord’s name, do you really think that he’s an appropriate person to help me?”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Still…. Well, thank you for trying.”

He considered asking her—again—to stop trying to help him, but as she had yet to take the hint he very much suspected that it would be a waste of good oxygen. And he did have a class to teach.

///////////

He’d worked out most of his annoyance with the mindhealer on his fourth year class and was halfway through a lecture to the second years on the brewing of the Swelling Solution—liberally punctuated with acidic comments about how they should already know all this and how did they expect to get through Hogwarts with such useless excuses for memories—when an owl fluttering into the classroom distracted them all. He glared at the girl that tittered when it knocked over the stack of papers on his desk, making a grab for the parchment it carried. “Give me that, you bloody bird.”

It clacked it’s beak at him, talons finally finding purchase on the back of his chair, and then it offered its leg.

What in Merlin’s name…? He recognized the writing, though, that of the thorough-but-dull St. Mungo’s potions master. He’d certainly seen enough notes in that hand by now. After a quick scan of the paper, he transferred his gaze to the class. “All of you, I want two feet on the precise preparation of ingredients followed by a step-by-step description of the brewing process for the Swelling Solution by your next class. Now out.” They looked confused—nothing new there—and he glared. “Out! Class is dismissed!”

This time they took the hint, and he dropped down into the seat and began to read the letter more closely. After analyzing countless samples of Weasley’s blood and coming to the conclusion that whatever was keeping the wound from healing wasn’t in it, they’d moved on to searching for other vectors. The skin test had yielded something…the wording was annoyingly vague, and he scrawled a note canceling potions classes for the rest of the day and left it stuck to the door of the classroom.

“Severus, can I help you?” Albus asked as when he barged into the study.

“I need to use your floo; I just received some news from St. Mungo’s.” There was a public terminal in the hospital lobby…patients didn’t generally use it because of safety issues, but visiting relatives did, and it was safer than apparating himself. Even if the Ministry was monitoring floo usage they shouldn’t think anything about it. And if anyone else was monitoring…well, trying to kidnap him out of St. Mungo’s proper would be about as idiotic as one could possibly get. I suppose I should keep an eye open for the elder Crabbe and Goyle.

Albus waved a hand. “By all means. Should we expect you for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I’ve left a note on my door canceling classes for the day; if I haven’t returned by dinner, could you inform Harry that our Occlumency lessons tonight are cancelled?” Or his detention, or whatever else he’s supposed to have with me tonight? I need a bloody calendar to keep track of that boy. He waited until the headmaster nodded and then tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. “St. Mungo’s.”

The waiting room had the usual handful of people, the parents with children who’d been in accidents of some sort, the occasionally work injury…. He pushed past them all and headed up to the Potions and Plant Poisoning ward. Technically not Weasley’s problem, but that’s where the laboratories were located so it seemed the most likely destination.

“Can I help you?” a young man in the robes of an apprentice healer asked as he entered the ward.

“I’ve come to speak to the potions masters employed here. I’ve been working with them on an venom antidote—” no need to specify just whose venom—“and I just received word that they’d had a breakthrough.” Close enough, anyway.

“Of course, this way.”

The laboratory was quite large and impressively clean, with ingredient cabinets lining two of the walls, bookshelves the other two, and workbenches laid out through the center.

The youngest of the lot, a man somewhere in his mid-twenties, looked up at Severus’ entrance. “Professor, this is a closed—”

“As I’ve been working with you on the venom Weasley was poisoned with, I’d think—”

“Leave him be, Timothy,” an older woman snapped. “Snape, correct? Gretchen Ogden. I remember you from the Italian conference a year or two back. Excellent work on the Wolfsbane research.”

He bowed slightly. “As I recall your research was also well-presented.” Although he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it related to.

“These are my colleagues Roland Johnson and Timothy O’Leary.”

O’Leary…yes, I do remember him. Managed a NEWT in potions though I always believed it had to be dumb luck. Well, he’d identified the genius making random guesses about antidote ingredients, anyway, which meant that Johnson must have been the one to send the owl. “I received your note about some kind of contamination on Weasley’s skin….”

“We haven’t managed to identify any precise ingredients yet, but it seems to be some sort of anti-sticking solution.”

Severus frowned. “And combining that with anti-coagulants…damn.” That would work; most people would concentrate on the anti-coagulants—as they had been doing—rather than looking for any other cause for massive blood loss. If Weasley had died that day as no doubt the Dark Lord had intended, they still wouldn’t have any clue. “Do you have a sample?”

“More than he would prefer, I’d say.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head.

“As soon as the healers realized what we’d discovered—we finished the basic analysis this morning—their solution was to cut away the infected skin. I told them to wait, that we had a better than even chance of discovering an antidote, but….” She shook her head again. “It was an unpleasant process, as I understand it, but the wound did start to scab over almost as soon as they were done, and the healers delivered all of the infected skin to us for development of an antidote.”

“A bit after the fact, I’d say.” Granted that we’d have had to take some of the skin to sample anyway, but that’s ridiculous.

“And I’d agree, but since I very much doubt that he’ll be the last victim at least it shouldn’t have to happen again.”

Johnson offered him a jar containing what was obviously a fold of skin. “If you’d care to participate in the research…we were planning to send it with a courier this evening, but since you’re here there’s no reason not to deliver it directly.”

“Of course.” Severus tucked the jar inside his robes. “I suppose I will be going then.”

“Keep us informed as to your research,” Ogden ordered, and he nodded.

“Certainly.” Although he wouldn’t be putting half as much effort into it as he would have if Weasley was still infected…Merlin, cutting off the infected skin. It wasn’t a solution he would have arrived it. He took the steps back down to the waiting room quickly, halting suddenly at a large hand on his chest. Goyle. Brilliant.

“Can I help you?”

“You left.”

“Well, yes, seeing as You-know-who was planning to kill me, it seemed to be the thing to do.” He glanced around, but the half-dozen others in the waiting room didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. He wished that he could see behind him…there was usually a Crabbe with a Goyle, and both tended to follow a Malfoy. He hadn’t seriously thought that he’d be in danger here. “If you’ll excuse me, I need go be going.”

He tried to push past, but Goyle pulled something out of his pocket that had to be a portkey—or at least he couldn’t come up with another reason that the man would be carrying a jeweled pendant—and he brought up his bad arm automatically. It wasn’t much use in a grappling match, but then again Severus wasn’t much use in a grappling match either. He clamped down on a roll of skin on Goyle’s upper arm and clamped the metal pincers together as tightly as his muscles would allow.

Goyle howled, and something hit him Severus behind. He let himself fall with the shove, scrambling away from his attackers. The woman at the front desk finally realized that something was amiss, shouting that she was calling for the Aurors, and Severus took the opportunity to dive into the floo.

He landed sprawled out in Albus office, rolling onto his back immediately and shouting the appropriate commands to close the floo. They probably wouldn’t pursue him here, but then he hadn’t thought himself in any immediate danger as long as he staying inside St. Mungo’s either.

Albus had lurched to his feet at Severus’ arrival, wand drawn. “What’s wrong?”

“Goyle. At St. Mungo’s. Someone else too; I didn’t get a look. Are there Aurors with Weasley?”

Albus face hardened. “Molly is with him, I’m sure, and probably Bill, but I’ll see to it that someone else is sent as well. The floo is being watched, then?”

“I can’t imagine how else they’d have known I was there. I didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary on the way in, and I only spoke to an apprentice healer and the potions masters.” Of course it was possible that one of them was a spy, but if that was the case he’d likely already be dead. And why the Dark Lord would bother putting someone Severus didn’t know in St. Mungo’s as a spy on the random chance that he’d show up at some point…. Merlin. “The Weasley children. And Harry. Do they know that Mr. Weasley is back in St. Mungo’s?” He suspected not since the Weasley girl had been in his fourth year class and hadn’t seemed more anxious than usual, but if they did they’d be trying to get there, and….

“No. I received a note from Molly shortly after you left, but she didn’t want the children to get their hopes up if it didn’t work. I think she was planning to have them visit this evening if it did, but perhaps a note would be better.”

“I would say so.” They wouldn’t like it—and neither would Harry—but if the Dark Lord was really willing to risk a kidnapping from a bloody hospital…. He shook his head. He was fine. The attack had been precisely as competent as one that he’d expect from Goyle senior. “Excuse me, I need to take the skin sample they gave me to my lab and get it in a preserver if I’m going to get any useful information out of it.”

“Of course, but are you certain that you shouldn’t see Poppy first?”

At least he refrained from making any comments about Severus’ ruffled appearance. “I’ll be making a trip there shortly, as it happens.” His need of a second eye was no longer something to put off for the future, not after an attack like that.

Skin appropriately stored, he took the stairs to the infirmary quickly. She’d managed to find an entire catalogue with arm replacements, surely there had to be at least a few options for eyes.

“Professor?”

He twisted towards the bed on the far end of the ward. “Harry? What are you doing here?”

Harry made a face, hopping down off the bed and coming to stand in front of him. “We were working on shields in Defense, and mine slipped.” He turned, showing Severus a row of green spikes growing out of his spine. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing important, I just need to consult with Poppy on a personal matter.” He caught Harry’s shoulder and turned him again, studying the spikes for a moment. “I’m tempted to ask which of your dunderheaded little classmates would consider a spell that gives someone spikes useful in any manner of offensive attack, but I’m not sure I really want to know.”

The boy grinned. “Professor Moody. We were supposed to be defending against transfiguration attacks, and it’s an easy one to see coming.”

“Of course.” He would. “And why couldn’t he just repair the damage himself?”

“My shield didn’t fall so much as collapse inwards, and a couple of the spikes got fused to my spine. He said Madame Pomfrey would be better to sort it all out.”

Severus made a mental note to bring this up the next time Alastor decided to insult his potions. “And where is our friendly local healer?”

“Dealing with a first year who got bit in Care of Magical Creatures. She said she’d be right back.” Harry’s eyes narrowed as he considered Severus for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“I heard at lunch that you cancelled your classes for the day.”

Ah, the rumor mill. “Mr. Potter, you may cease to fuss now. It is nothing that concerns you.”

“But you’ve never—”

“I’ve finally decided that being able to watch what my students are doing while my back is turned is worth any inconvenience that a magical eye might bring,” he interrupted. “And you may feel free to pass that information along to your little friends.”

Harry grumbled a little, obviously not finding that an appropriate answer as to why Severus had cancelled his classes, but until the headmaster and Molly decided what to do about Arthur’s recovery, Severus wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Severus? What are you doing here?”

“I need a word with you when you have a moment, but I believe Harry here has a prior claim to your time.”