It was now nearly two months since Harry’s life had changed completely, and he was finally beginning to feel like he belonged at Hogwarts. It had been weird to realize that an entire magical world existed alongside everything he’d always known, but that was an easy adjustment compared to getting used to having people care about him. It still felt strange to have people smile at him and greet him pleasantly as he went about his day, and it was downright peculiar to think that his professor worried about how he was feeling and whether he was eating properly. He was so used to being a “burden”, a “curse”, and a “useless ne’er-do-well” who was only grudgingly tolerated that it was really odd to think about someone liking him and voluntarily taking care of him. Of course, Professor Snape didn’t go around saying soppy stuff about how much he loved Harry or gooey mush like that. But the way he was super-protective of Harry and went spare if the boy used terms like “freak” to describe himself told Harry everything he needed to know.

He was still taking the nutritive potions, so he’d thought it wouldn’t make that much of a difference if he missed a meal or snuck some chocolate frogs, but Professor Snape had threatened him with a three foot essay on obedience the one time he had been so late he’d nearly missed dinner. Harry didn’t want his professor to get all upset, especially since it was obvious that not only did Snape actually care if Harry ate (and what he ate) but he was also actually paying attention to where Harry was and what he was doing. Harry had never before had anyone bother to keep track of him. The Dursleys only noticed if he got in their way or wasn’t around to do his chores.

So when Halloween approached, and all the teachers and students were burbling about the great feast, Harry knew it would be both ungrateful and rude to tell his professor he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to spoil the night for Professor Snape and the rest of the Slytherins, nor for his friends in Gryffindor, so he decided the best thing to do was to keep his problems to himself.

Of course, that was easier said than done when you have not one but two best friends. Ever since the Great Battle, Harry had considered Hermione Granger a close friend. At first, Ron had been a little uncertain about her; after all, she was both a girl and a bookworm. But after the revelations about her family, he was too scared to tell her to shove off, and within a week her willingness to help with homework as well as her clever ideas for pranking back the twins had cemented her place in Ron’s heart as well as Harry’s.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” she asked over lunch. “You seem distracted.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron echoed, pausing from where he was shoveling in more food. “Aren’t you looking forward to the feast tonight?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “I don’t really want to go.”

Ron stared at him as if he had grown another head. “What! Why not?”

Harry looked away. “I just don’t.”

“Have you told Professor Snape or McGonagall?” Hermione asked practically. “Maybe you could be excused.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to have to explain everything. I mean, what difference does it make if I’m not there?”

“Just more for the rest of us!” Ron agreed happily, then sobered at Hermione’s expression. “I mean, if you don’t want to go, mate, I don’t see why it’d be such a bad thing. It’s not like you’re skipping class or something.”

“Exactly!” Harry agreed. “So you think I can just skive off?”

Hermione frowned. “I think you should ask permission. What’s so hard about that?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Blimey, Hermione. I think you’d get permission if you went to the lav and decided you needed to – OW!”

“Don’t you be vulgar, Ronald Weasley!” Hermione said fiercely. “And just because I don’t try to get into trouble is no reason to make fun of me.”

“Okay, okay,” Ron said hurriedly. “Calm down.”

“I think I’ll just go to the library instead of the feast,” Harry told them. “No one else will be there, and it’s easy to hide in the stacks so Madame Pince doesn’t see you.”

“I’ll go with you, Harry,” Hermione offered. “I wasn’t really looking forward to the feast either, to tell you the truth. After all, it will all be sweets and lollies and my folks would kill me if they knew I was eating all that sugar.”

Ron paled. Like the other purebloods, he now was terrified by the thought of dentists in general and Hermione’s parents in particular. “Don’t get them mad at you!” he urged, panicked. “Go to the library like Harry wants.” He paused. “Erm, I guess I could come too,” he added unhappily, poking at his food.

Harry exchanged a hidden grin with Hermione. They both knew how much their friend, the “bottomless pit”, had been looking forward to the feast. “Gee, mate, I was kind of counting on you to go to the feast and cover for us,” Harry said in disappointed tones. “I mean, I know it’s not really fair of us to expect you to go by yourself –“

“No, no!” Ron said hastily. “It’s okay. I’ll go. You’re right. It would look suspicious if we were all missing, but this way, I can make it look like we’re all there.”

And so, that evening, Harry and Hermione were ensconced in a hidden corner of the library, working on their homework – and making extra notes for Ron – while their friend merrily stuffed himself with their fellow Gryffindors.

Snape frowned as he looked around the packed Hall. It was even more insane than usual, with many of the children in fancy dress and everyone continuing to sit willy nilly around the Hall rather than in neat tables by House. He was trying to ensure that his first year snakes didn’t eat themselves into food comas – which usually ended with midnight stomach aches and tearful visits to the infirmary – and that the Potter brat didn’t take advantage of the holiday to ingest an entire colony of chocolate frogs.

Where was the little bugger? Surely that messy mop of hair should be easy to spot in any crowd? Where – ah, well, at least there was a Weasley, and the right one, no less. Snape swooped down upon Ron and regarded the sticky faced brat with disapproval.

“Have you lost your napkin, Mr Weasley?” he demanded.

“Sorry, Professor,” Ron swallowed hastily and scrubbed at his face, removing most of the smeared icing.

“We will have to address your atrocious table manners soon,” Snape promised awfully, then glanced around the table. “Where is Mr Potter?”

“Erm, I think he just went to the loo,” Ron said helpfully. “That’s his plate right there,” he said, pointing to a plate with half a sticky bun and several lollies on it.

Snape sighed and fought back a desire to confiscate the sweets. “Tell him that he can have the remainder of what is on the plate, but nothing more! Do you understand?”

“Yessir. Finish the plate. Nothing more.”

“Thank you,” he forced himself to be civil to the urchin, and swept away. The children would all be bouncing off the wall like pixies before the evening was through, and Albus – the big idiot – was the worst of the lot. “Do you like ice mice, Severus?” the Headmaster offered a plate as Snape resumed his seat.

Snape gazed down his nose at the proffered dainties and said in as chilling a voice as he could manage. “No, thank you.”

“It’s a pity his disposition didn’t improve with his looks,” Hooch muttered from two seats down.

Snape politely picked up the plate in front of him. “Care for a caramel apple?” he invited.

“Ooooh! My favorite!”

“In’t that what nearly pulled out all yer teeth las’ year?” Hagrid asked around a mouthful of sticky toffee pudding.

“MMMMfffffMMMM!” she wailed, her teeth firmly embedded in the apple.

“Dear, dear,” Snape mourned. “How could I have forgotten?”

Hooch gave him a furious glare but was too intent upon extricating herself from the apple to do much else. She whimpered, turning to Pomfrey and McGonagall for aid.

“That was not very nice, my boy,” Dumbledore said reprovingly, making Severus feel like a naughty eleven year old.

“She wasn’t nice either,” he muttered rebelliously, thereby sealing his likeness to one of his first years. The Headmaster twinkled at him, and he just knew that the ancient wizard was going to say something nauseatingly wholesome.

“TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!” Quirrell’s panicked screams happily prevented Dumbledore’s little homily, and in the ensuing chaos, the caramel apple issue was quickly forgotten.

Dumbledore quickly ordered the Heads of House to escort their students to their respective Towers, where the wards would keep out a troll or other dangerous creature. Then the staff would regroup and search the castle until the troll was captured. “I am going to escort Madame Pomfrey back to the Infirmary,” Dumbledore told Snape, "then I will meet you and the other Heads back here.” He paused. “If the troll is in the dungeons, perhaps your Slytherins should take refuge elsewhere?”

“I’ll take Hagrid with me. Between us and my prefects, I believe we’ll be able to make it to the entrance safely, but if not, we’ll detour and I’ll board my students with Filius’. What about the – item? Surely this is a distraction to permit someone to make an attempt at it.”

“I’ll go check,” Minerva said quietly, coming up behind the men. “If the troll is in the dungeons, my students are unlikely to encounter it.”

Albus nodded then went to take the medi-witch to her well-guarded quarters. Snape gave Hagrid and his prefects orders to gather the snakes in concentric rings by year, with the firsties in the well-protected center, before hurrying off to check on Harry.

He couldn’t find either Harry or Ron, but did catch Percy by the sleeve. “Have you seen Potter?”

“No, sir, but the first group of students have already headed up to the Tower with half the Quidditch team. Once I get the rest up there, I’ll do a head count and make sure he and Ron are safe.”

Snape nodded once and hurried back to his students. He knew better than to challenge Percy’s protective streak. He would make certain his youngest charges were accounted for.

With Hagrid, Flint, and Jones protecting the rear of the group, and himself in the lead, Snape led the way to the Slytherin dormitory. They encountered nothing, not even a ghost, en route, but Snape didn’t relax until Flint was climbing through the portrait. “All present and accounted for, sir,” the prefect reported. “We counted noses before we left and no one left formation.”

“Good. You and Jones go around and reassure everyone, especially the lower years. Encourage them to continue the feast. I’ll return as soon as the troll is captured and the castle is secure.” The portrait closed behind Flint, and Snape added an extra layer of security to the wards.

“Come,” he told the half-giant. “I want to check on Harry, and then we’ll rejoin the other staff members.”

He hurried to the Gryffindor tower, only to find that the Fat Lady was rattling in her frame. “No!” she was shouting furiously. “I’m not to open until there’s an all clear!”

“Open up, you bloody stupid portrait! Let me out!” came the muffled tones from inside the dormitory. “I swear I will hex the paint right off you if you don’t OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!”

“Well!” she exclaimed, affronted. Then, catching sight of Snape, she gave a very unpleasant grin and opened.

Percy Weasley tumbled out, falling directly into Snape’s arms. The Potion Master set the boy back on his feet with a thump. “I thought your Head of House spoke with you about your language, Mr Weasley,” Snape began forbiddingly.

“They’re gone, Professor!” Percy interrupted, frantic. “Ron and Harry and Hermione. They’re all missing. They’re not in the tower, and no one knows where they are!”

Snape let loose with a blistering series of oaths that made the Fat Lady cower, covering her ears, while Hagrid and Percy stared in astonished admiration. “Get back in your tower, Mr Weasely. I will find those little idiots and Merlin help them when I do.”

Percy nodded and turned to reenter the portrait. “Oh, and Mr Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor for your atrocious language.”

Percy choked. “But, Professor, you said –“

“Five points or a floo call to your mother, Mr Weasley. Your choice.”

The prefect swallowed. “Five points sounds very reasonable, sir.” He fled into the portrait before his honorary uncle could change his mind.

Snape glared at the closed portrait, cast an extra layer of warding, and then muttered, “And ten points to Gryffindor for excellence in looking after your House.” Then he collected a grinning Hagrid with a look and rushed back to the Great Hall and the other professors.