“He’ll need around-the-clock care,” Madam Pomfrey called from her post at the head of Snape’s bed.

“I can help,” Nymphadora Tonks volunteered.

“Me too,” Harry said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Harry?” Arthur Weasley inquired.

“I mean,” Harry said, swallowing audibly, “I know we haven’t gotten along these past years, but he’s saved my life countless times, and I… well… you said it wasn’t safe for either of us to stay here, so I might as well…”

“No one expects you to, dear,” Molly Weasley said sympathetically.

Dumbledore raised his hand and silence fell. “Perhaps Harry has a point. Let us first decide, though, where they will be safe.”

“Order Headquarters,” Lupin suggested, and heads nodded.

“That would be the obvious choice,” Dumbledore replied, looking pointedly at Harry.

“Albus,” Madam Pomfrey called, “it would be really helpful if Mr. Potter could tell us which spells were cast against Severus.”

Harry stiffened as everyone’s gaze turned towards him. He looked away and tried to concentrate. So many curses and insults had been hurled at Snape that he struggled to separate out specific spells from all of the chaos. He felt Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder, leading him away from the fray.

“Harry,” he said softly, “I know you must be very tired, but anything specific you could remember would be very helpful.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I know they cast the Cruciatus curse, many times, and some others I didn’t recognize,” Harry rubbed his scar against the pain, trying to remember caused him. “The Death Eaters were all yelling things at the same time…”

“I know, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “Would you mind very much if I removed the memory from your mind and looked at in the Penseive? We might be able to pick it apart and isolate which spells were used.”

Harry nodded.

“Just think about what you saw,” Dumbledore said as he extracted a long, golden thread from Harry’s left temple.

“What’s up, mate?” Ron asked, using his fists to rub the sleep from his eyes. Suddenly, Ron sat up straighter in his bed, pushing his red and gold curtains fully out of the way. “Why are you packing your trunk?”

“I have to go,” Harry said.

“Go? Where?” Ron asked. “What’s going on?”

“Voldemort discovered Professor Snape was a spy. That’s who I saw being tortured last night.”

“So why do you have to go?” Ron asked again, swinging his pajama-clad legs onto the floor.

“Snape said it wasn’t safe for me to remain at school. Moody reckons the kids of the Death Eaters will come after me here now that Snape is out of the picture.”

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron said. “Where will you go?”

“Order Headquarters, I guess,” Harry said, smashing the rest of his belongings into his trunk with more force than was necessary. He slammed the lid and sat on top of it, his hands between his knees.

“Uhhh…” Ron muttered.

“I can’t believe I have to leave,” Harry bit out. “It’s bad enough I have to go mid-term and miss Quidditch and be stuck there with Snape, but…”

“With Snape?” Ron said.

“Order Headquarters is Sirius’s house,” Harry continued.

Ron’s mouth curved into an “oh.” No words came out.

“It’s just going to be really hard being there with Sirius gone…” Harry put his head in his hands. Sirius’s death was still a fresh, raw wound. He took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of his emotions. Too much had happened in too short a time. He had gotten his friends injured and his godfather killed in the Department of Mysteries, and when Uncle Vernon had learned of Sirius’s death, he no longer feared the wizard’s retribution. The beating that followed had nearly killed Harry, and would have, if Snape and not arrived. And now Snape’s double agent status had been discovered, and Snape had nearly been killed as well. Harry’s head spun.

“How long?” Ron breathed.

“How long what?” Harry snapped.

“How long will you have to be gone?”

“Oh,” Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know.” Harry shrunk his trunk into the size of a Muggle candy bar and put it in the pocket of his robes. He didn’t look back as he walked out of the dormitory, Ron following behind him.

“Harry,” Hermione called as Harry emerged. “I’ve just heard.” She put a hand on Harry’s arm when he reached the bottom of the stairs “We’ll come visit every weekend, won’t we Ron?”

Ron looked surprised, but then smiled broadly and nodded.

“And Professor McGonagall said that I should send copies of my notes every day for you to study and that I can tutor you as needed.”

Harry nodded and looked away, not wanting his friends to see the overwhelming emotions that were crashing in around him. He hadn’t gotten more than two hours of sleep the night before and the importance of what had happened and what would happen next weighed heavily on him. He didn’t want to have to say good-bye to his friends on top of everything else.

“Maybe Dumbledore will let us come with you,” Ron said, clearly excited by the idea.

“Yeah, right,” Harry said. “You aren’t the ones in danger.”

“We could be,” Ron said thoughtfully. “Someone might think they can get to you through us…”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded, “he’s got enough to worry about without you putting ideas in his head.”

“I was just saying…” Ron retorted.

“Thanks,” Harry put in quickly, trying to diffuse the ever-present bickering between his two best friends, “but I’ll need you here. To keep me apprised of what’s going on.”

Ron looked slightly mollified by the thought of being useful.

“Harry,” Hermione asked tentatively. She looked around the common room to make sure no one could overhear them. “How is Professor Snape?”

Harry grimaced. “Not good.”

“Will he live?” Hermione asked, a tremor in her voice.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. He didn’t want to admit that even if their former potion’s master did live, he might not be whole. “He can’t stay here either, or go to St. Mungo’s. Moody said that someone would try to finish what Voldemort started.”

“So where will they send him?” Hermione asked.

“He’ll be staying at Headquarters too, I guess. Madam Pomfrey said he’ll require twenty-four hour care.”

“Blimey, he must be a mess,” Ron commented.

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Well, at least he won’t be able to give us a hard time for awhile,” Ron said cheerfully.

“Ron!” Hermione scolded.

“What?” Ron said.

Harry turned away as his friends began to argue. He looked out over the deserted common room, memorizing its comfortable burgundy couches and chairs, its scarred wooden tables, the fireplace that Sirius had spoken to him from. Sirius.

“Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, touching his shoulder in concern.

“Is it your scar?” Ron asked, looking startled.

Harry realized he must have made a sound of distress, though he couldn’t recall. “Nothing,” he muttered, “I’m just really tired.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Hermione asked.

“Not much,” Harry replied. “Listen, I’m going to go check on Professor Snape before I grab some breakfast.” Harry glanced toward the clock. It was 6:30am; they were the only ones in Gryffindor who were awake. “Dumbledore said he’d meet me at 7.”

“We’ll go with you, Harry,” Hermione said. “Just let me throw on my robes.”

“Me too,” Ron said, absently fingering the buttons of his flannel pajamas.

Madam Pomfrey looked up as Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the hospital wing. “No visitors,” she said promptly, stepping out from the curtains to shoe them away.

“How is he doing?” Harry asked. When Madam Pomfrey hesitated, Harry added, “I was here last night.”

“So you were, Mr. Potter, but your friends…”

“Already know,” Harry interrupted.

“Professor McGonagall told me this morning,” Hermione added. “She asked me to help with Professor Snape’s…”

Both Harry and Ron looked sharply at Hermione, who promptly shut her mouth and flushed a bright red.

“With Harry’s homework,” she corrected. She clasped her hands together and looked expectantly at Madam Pomfrey.

“Oh, alright then,” Madam Pomfrey said, stepping aside. “Just for a minute.” She returned to her patient’s bed and fluffed his pillow.

As the trio approached Snape’s bed, which was shielded by floor-length white curtains, he felt his anxiety increase. How much had the healer and the mediwitch been able to do in the time that had passed? He inhaled sharply at the sight before him: Snape was covered to his waist, his arms bandaged at his side. A think violet paste coated his chest and neck, making the bruises and gashes there shimmer as the healing paste did its job. His face was nearly black from bruising, his eyes swollen shut, his lips split. Most startling, though, was his now-bald head, where a jagged gash ran from his left temple all the way to behind his right ear. Harry was not surprised when Hermione gasped and quickly covered her mouth. Ron looked green and put his hand on Hermione’s arm, whether to steady himself or to comfort her, Harry wasn’t sure.

“How is he?” Harry asked again. Looking at the badly damaged man before him, it sounded like a stupid question.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “He’s out of immediate danger,” she said, “but he’ll have a long road of recovery ahead of him.”