Harry sat bolt upright, the killing curse still echoing in his mind. Dumbledore had turned to him, a look of shock on his face, a question hovering on his lips.

Just then there was a loud pop and a man, nearly unrecognizable and moaning in pain, appeared on the floor two feet from Harry’s chair.

“Severus,” Dumbledore cried, falling to his knees beside his comrade.

“Potter,” Snape rasped, his chest heaving with exertion, “not safe,” he forced out, “at Hogwarts.”

“Harry’s not safe at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore echoed.

But Snape had turned his head to the side and vomited. Blood and bile spewed from his mouth as his body convulsed. As Harry watched in horror, the potion master’s eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

“Harry, floo Madam Pomfrey to come to my office at once!”

Harry nodded, but didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He sat stunned, watching as Dumbledore waved his wand over Snape’s many bleeding gashes, cleaning and healing as he went. In some distant part of his mind, Harry wondered if he was going into shock.

“Now, Harry!” Dumbledore barked.

Harry jumped, the headmaster’s tone of voice snapping him out of his stupor. He rushed to the fireplace to call the mediwitch.

As Harry turned back to the wizard bleeding on the headmaster’s floor, he caught a spark of gold amidst the deep red stains. As if being drawn to the snitch, he reached out for the glowing yellow locket, its broken chain lying loosely across the potion master’s palm. Harry realized that this was the object that had likely saved Snape’s life.

A moment later, Madam Pomfrey stumbled into Dumbledore’s office from the fireplace.

“Oh, good heavens, Albus! Was it He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore breathed, despair clear in his voice. “I’ve healed what wounds I can, but I’m afraid he’s very badly injured.”

Madam Pomfrey ran her wand over Snape’s still body in a diagnostic spell.

Harry heard mutters of “broken bones” and “crushed cartilage,” “internal bleeding” and “organ damage.” He’d never seen the headmaster look so grim. Harry closed his eyes at the implications, not opening them again until Madam Pomfrey spoke.

“He really should be taken to St. Mungo’s, Albus.”

“I know,” Dumbledore sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “but he wouldn’t be safe there.”

Harry looked between the mediwitch and the headmaster as some sort of silent communication occurred.

“Very well,” Madam Pomfrey said, rising to her feet and conjuring a stretcher. “We need to get him to the hospital wing right away. I’ll call Healer Barnaby to assist.”

“Is it safe to move him?” Harry asked.

As if recalling his presence, Dumbledore turned to him. “Harry, you may return to your dormitory. Surely you are exhausted.”

“No,” Harry said, a bit too loudly. “I mean, I’d like to stay, if it’s okay, Professor.” After all, Snape had stayed the night with Harry when Harry had been beaten to within an inch of his life.

Dumbledore gave him a long look and then nodded as Madam Pomfrey levitated Snape onto the stretcher. Dumbledore cast a disillusionment charm over the potion master’s body and the three of them rushed alongside the stretcher, through the deserted corridors, and to the hospital wing.

Members of the Order arrived as Madam Pomfrey and Healer Barnaby worked hurriedly over Snape in the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall had stepped in to help, handing over medical supplies and potions as requested. Arthur and Molly Weasley bustled in, looking alarmed. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin were right behind them. A few minutes later, Alastor Moody stomped in, his magical eye spinning madly in its socket as it took in the details of his surroundings.

“Potter,” Moody growled, drawing everyone’s attention to the dark corner in which the boy stood.

“Harry,” Lupin called. “Are you all right?”

Harry nodded, unable to find his voice.

“Harry here brought me the news,” Dumbledore said quietly. “That is how I was able to alert the Order so quickly.”

The Order members present stared at Harry in a way that made him feel contaminated. He knew, without it being said, that they knew that he was in Voldemort’s mind, seen through the evil wizard’s very eyes. He felt his anger flaring; if he’d have learned Occulumency like they’d wanted him to, he’d have never been able to alert Dumbledore to the danger that Snape was in.

As if to draw attention away from Harry, Arthur Weasley cleared his throat. “How did Severus manage to get back to Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Emergency portkey,” Dumbledore murmured. “He kept it with him always, just in case.”

Harry’s fingers tightened around the golden locket with the broken chain that was now in his pocket.

Kinsley Shacklebolt strode into the hospital wing then, exuding both power and elegance as he moved. “How is he, then?” Kinsley asked, taking off his burgundy cloak and hanging it over his arm.

Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore exchanged a pointed glance.

“It’s too soon to tell,” Dumbledore replied.

Harry looked to where Snape laid, still deathly pale and barely breathing. Those obsidian eyes which had held so much hatred were closed against the world. Cuts and bruises made a grotesque patchwork across his face, chest, and arms. And that was just what Harry could see. The internal damage, which he’d heard the healer and the mediwitch discuss, was much more worrisome, not to mention dangerous.

“…isn’t safe for either of them to remain here,” Dumbledore was saying.

Harry looked up, vaguely realizing that he’d heard Dumbledore mention his name. The Order members were grouped in a tight circle, a couple of feet away from Snape’s bed. Harry edged closer.

“Not Potter either?” Moody growled.

“Severus brought with him a warning,” Dumbledore replied.

“What sort of warning?” McGonagall asked.

“He was in no condition to give me more information,” Dumbledore responded.

“There are children of Death Eaters here at Hogwarts,” Moody said. “Likely they’ll be under direct orders to kidnap Potter. Not to mention what they’d do if they discover that Snape is still alive.”

Harry’s attention drifted from the conversation again as he watched Madam Pomfrey dribbling blood replenishing potion into the Snape’s mouth. The healer, meanwhile, was waving his wand in an intricate pattern over Snape’s abdomen, uttering what Harry presumed to be a healing spell.

“If he wakes up,” McGonagall said, sniffing loudly.

“If he’s sane,” Moody added in his gruff voice.

Harry startled. The gut-wrenching vision of Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, Neville’s parents, who’d lost their minds after being subjected to the Cruciatus curse too many times, flashed across his consciousness.