~~~~HP~~~~

Wednesday 1st October, 1997

For the fourth night in a row, Harry hardly slept. He tossed and turned, unable to shut down his racing mind - the top of which was the document he found in Snape's book and Draco's odd behavior in helping to identify its purpose - to fall into any sleep, let alone a restful one. Last night, sitting up in his bed trying not to disturb his dormmates made him feel lonelier than ever, and this time - probably triggered by the encounter with Draco at the library - it brought back the memories of him refusing to sleep until Draco had been returned from the Blood Ritual. No matter how many times he told himself they were safe, his mind kept pulling him back in time, making sleep even harder to come by than before.

By Wednesday morning, Harry could admit that the lack of real sleep had a negative impact on his overall mood. Over breakfast that morning, while trying to ignore Ron and Lavender making plans to meet at the Room of Requirement after classes - for what he didn't want to think about - Harry had committed to trying to work his way out of his sour mood and gave himself until Friday, a solid week since his last good night's rest, until he sucked it up and went to Madam Pomfrey for help. The plan had seemed solid to him, if for no other reason than to hold himself accountable for the things he could control, and he liked to think he would have gone through with it if only Ackerly had left him alone at the end of Defense class that morning.

We can't all shag a professor to get away with murder, the third year Ravenclaw had told him after getting reprimanded for kicking Harry's chair.

The Gryffindor had obviously heard the rumors being whispered behind his back since returning to school, and he started to question if he and Snape had been talked about like this last year when he'd been quarantined away in the professor's quarters. Either way, the blatant attack on top of the argument he'd had with Hermione about Snape's change of personality left him feeling simultaneously drained, restless, and agitated. So when Snape requested his presence for dinner in their quarters, followed by instructing his detention to be served there, it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Little did he know what a chaotic night it would end up being instead.

He hadn't intended to start the argument with Snape at the end of dinner - and he definitely didn't mean what he'd said about not wanting to stay there - but all through the strained event, Ackerly's annoying, volatile voice taunted him through his ears. He hadn't felt this type of anger since his fifth year when the mental connection to Voldemort started, giving him little hope in controlling it as their conversation turned to his own sleeping habits. The Gryffindor wasn't sure if the accusation legitimately came from Snape's inherent ability to tell that he hadn't been sleeping, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion Ron helped lead the professor to this conclusion mostly due to the strange timing of his friend's own confrontation only yesterday. Sometimes he really wished everyone would leave him be; stop asking him how he felt, and stop acting like he could break at any moment.

Kingsley's arrival had been an unexpected, much needed interruption. Never had Harry felt so happy to see the head auror, though in hindsight, he shouldn't have continued arguing with Snape in front of the other wizard. The professor had always been a private man, so in that regard, even Harry knew he'd crossed a line. The fact that Snape had him doing lines - no, a list, not lines - out in the sitting room while they conversed in his office told Harry the visit was anything but casual. Of course putting those pieces together made Harry antsy to know what was going on, at the same time though, he wasn't suicidal enough to attempt to eavesdrop, knowing it would be the last thing he did on this Earth.

Looking down at the empty parchment, the young wizard tried to focus his restless energy on the assignment at hand: to write every single thing on his mind.

The punishment made absolutely no sense. Why did Snape care what he had on his mind? And how did it have anything to do with hitting Ackerly in the first place? He dipped his quill tip into the inkpot so forcefully the whole thing almost tipped over and he was genuinely surprised the tip didn't break right in the pot.

1. I hate Severus Snape

Per Snape's suggestion, it seemed like a good place to start.

2. I hate Severus Snape

3. I hate Oliver Ackerly

4. I need to sleep

5. Why can't everyone leave me alone?

6. I'm bored in my classes

7. My magic is fine

Those first seven came to him much faster and easier than he imagined, though the thought of writing two hundred seemed daunting. For good measure, he added three more I hate Severus Snape to round out his first ten. He'd just finished the "e" on the last "Snape" when the lanterns around the room - and the quarters as a whole - turned red and a high pitched siren radiated throughout. Obviously some kind of alarm, Snape came rushing out of his office.

"What's that?!" The teen yelled as loud as he could, his hands covering his ears to keep out the noise.

"Stay here!" Snape instructed, pointing back to the desk, then flung open the door and stormed out of his quarters with Kingsley in his wake.

Not one sit on the sidelines, cancer be damned, Harry didn't think twice as he followed the other two wizards out into the hallway. Relief temporarily poured through Harry as he exited the room to find the alarm noise wasn't wailing throughout the corridor. Had the blaring sounds continued into the tight space, the young wizard could almost guarantee his ears would be bleeding. Whatever relief came from the lack of alarm was replaced when he saw the normal lanterns shined an odd bright yellow - not a sun light color or normal flame, but a deep yellow like the crayon he used to get from Dudley as a kid because his cousin claimed no one could see yellow anyways - illuminating the entire corridor, leaving no shadows in the normally dark space. Up ahead, he could hear people yelling and an overall state of panic not too far around the corner. Snape had already made it halfway down the corridor, between their door and the right turn leading to the Slytherin Common Room - a location Harry wasn't supposed to know about - when the Gryffindor stopped and called out to the man.

"What's going on?!" he demanded, yelling in as confident of a voice as he could manage. Regardless of their fight, Harry truly wanted to help however he could; at least until the terrifying sight of Snape furiously running up to him filled his vision.

"Do you have the inability to follow even the most simple commands?" The professor screamed, reminding Harry of before: before the potion brought the man to this reality, before they made amends, before Harry started to depend on him. "Go back and do not come out until I return, understood?"

If the Gryffindor hadn't already been irritable from his lack of sleep and Ackerly's crude comment, he probably would have understood Snape's insult came from a place of love. Given the circumstances, though, he had no hope of logically reaching that conclusion. Instead, he pursed his lips together in defiance, feeling his cheeks twitch in the process, turned, and ran back into the room he'd been banished to. Slamming the door behind him, leaning against it with all his weight, Harry let himself seethe in his fury.

Who does he think he is? He's not my parent! Harry dangerously thought to himself. He should just leave and go back to the Tower, or try to talk some reason into the professor a different day. Thinking over his options, he walked into the room - oblivious to the water starting to enter under the door as he moved away - and looked around. The idea hit him like a herd of hippogriffs. He was now all alone in Snape's quarters, it would be the perfect time to return the Dark Arts book completely undetected. Practically running to his school bag beside the desk - with his guaranteed to be unfinished lines sitting on top - he pulled out the book which had been almost burning a hole in his mind since he'd accidentally brought it back to school.

Where should I put it?

The million galleon question. The sitting room had so many books in the bookcase, he knew he'd be able to put it almost anywhere without Snape noticing it. The most logical place though - outside of being in the professor's office, where Harry didn't dare to walk into - would be on the highest shelf closest to the office door. Snape kept most of his dangerous books out of visitor's unsuspecting reach; this one an obvious exception for reasons Harry didn't want to consider.

Pointing his wand at the Dark Arts book, fully intending on levitating the text up to the decided upon shelf, he paused. The image of the shipping document filled his vision and without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he pulled it out of the book, placed it on the desk, and pointed his wand, then whispered,"Geminio."

Nothing happened. Frustration grew within the young wizard. Of all the times for his magic to choose to be complicated, it had to be when he needed it to work quickly and effectively. Without knowing how long Snape would be occupied, he needed to duplicate the parchment and get the book placed as quickly as possible.

Thinking back about what Leilani Catts told him during their first Charms class, he tried again, much louder this time, and almost jumped for joy when the parchment split into two identical copies.

"Yes!" He rejoiced to no one, pride swelling inside of him. Stuffing the duplicated copy - in case Snape could identify the original versus a duplicate - in his bag on top of the desk, he proceeded to successfully levitate the book up to the highest shelf directly to the left of the office door.

With it now out of his possession, Harry almost immediately felt better; like a piece of his anxiety had broken away. His mind was clearer, and so he decided to stay and finish his lines - no matter how ridiculous the exercise seemed - and he had just made it back to the desk when his feet splashed in about two or three centimeters of water. Carefully, he bent down to touch the water, sending a shiver up his spine from the coldness of it.

Where would this have come from? He thought, turning around and noticing it covered almost everywhere in their quarters and appeared to be coming from under and around the door leading out into the corridor.

The Black Lake! The thought hit him at the same time he questioned if the windows in the Slytherin Common Room could ever actually break open.

~~~~SS~~~~

Severus didn't have time to deal with the defiance that crossed Harry's face and could only hope that the child would - for once in his life - listen to the prevailing logic of the adult overseeing his care.

The lanterns in the normally dark shadowed corridor showed a bright yellow, providing plenty of light across the area; a reaction to the emergency wards to allow the students to exit the Dungeons safely. With his wand brandished and a series of spells, everything from Stupefy for an enemy to Aguamenti for a fire - however he'd be surprised if anything could catch fire in a castle made of stone - sitting on the tip of his tongue, he continued down the corridor to catch up with Kingsley. The noise from up ahead which originally started as panic yelling started to rise exponentially.

Water. The sound he heard was water flowing through the corridor racing towards him at some unknown, but definitely high rate of speed. If he hadn't been distracted by Harry's appearance, he would have recognized the danger immediately and been prepared. Instead, a second after the answer came to him, a wall of rapidly moving, frigidly cold water - obviously from the Black Lake - came barreling down the corridor, sweeping him right off his feet. The force of the water hitting him knocked the wind from his lungs and he had to fight against the urge to inhale underneath. He felt the current push him down, where his back and head scraped against a stone surface - either the wall or the floor, he couldn't tell which direction he currently faced - and continued to drag him against his will away from his destination. Immediately, he started to try to regain his composure so he could restand, to make his way to the Common Room.

With the first initial wave behind him, the pressure from the water evened out enough for Severus to rise to his feet, though the current in the waist deep water made moving difficult and slow. As much as he wanted to go back to make sure Harry had made it into his quarters safely, doing so would make returning to the Common Room nearly impossible and he needed to get to his students who he knew were in danger.

As the professor reached the corner of the corridor leading towards the entrance of Slytherin's Common Room, the current in the water continued to increase and he found the only effective way to move through it was by gripping the stones along the wall to help give him leverage. Assuming the source of the water came from the windows somewhere within the Slytherin Dungeons, if he could only get around the turn, he'd be able to stand on the staircase - the one leading to the upper part of the castle - about three meters to the left and across from the main Slytherin entrance to assess the damage.

"Severus!" Kingsley called from up ahead just as the professor rounded the sharp turn. The auror stood on the same staircase Severus had been aiming to get to, and he had at least twenty students - all injured in one way or another - sitting up on the landing behind him. For now, they'd be safe because knowing the little he did on fluid dynamics, the entire dungeons would have to flood before the water level would rise up those stairs. Even then, it would only continue to rise until equilibrium could be maintained with the level of the lake outside; still, enough water to do major damage, but they'd have time to act.

"What do we know?" Severus commanded, just as Albus, Minerva, and Poppy made their way down the stairs, the last not paying any attention to the chaos around her, instead focusing on conjuring stretchers for the injured students and levitating them up to higher ground.

"The charms on the windows in the Slytherin Common Room have failed," Albus answered with more panic in his voice than Severus had ever heard. "I've evacuated the upper levels, but we need to get in to repair the glass and replace the protective charms."

No shite, Severus thought, but didn't dare comment. With one last push to cross the current, almost getting swept away again, Severus successfully reached the stairs. The door to the Common Room was open - having either been opened automatically when the windows failed or forced opened by the rushing water, it didn't matter to him - and water continued to pour out. The staircase being slightly off center from the entryway, combined with another staircase on the other side of the door leading another three meters down into the Common Room, meant even without anything happening Severus wouldn't be able to see what was going on inside. He watched as books, parchment, and quills raced out going almost haphazardly left or right down the other corridors, taking serious note of the lack of people exiting.

"How many students do you think were inside when it broke?" Kingsley practically read Severus's mind.

All three of the other adults looked to Severus for answers, and the blood completely drained from his face as he made a sickening realization: it was Wednesday night.

"What time is it?" Severus frantically asked, trying in vain to remain in control of his rapid thoughts.

How long did Harry and I spend having dinner? How many first through fifth years do I have? Do they actually follow the bloody rule I set?

"Why does-" Minerva started, but got interrupted by Albus.

"It's a quarter to eight."

"Dammit," Severus swore. "It's their study time-" he yelled, throwing his hands over to the door, "-they were all in there!"

"Oh my," Minerva said, covering her mouth with her hand.

Turning to Kingsley, Severus demanded, "How many went up already?"

The other wizard took a fraction of a second too long to answer, so Severus menacingly yelled, "I asked you, HOW MANY HAVE GONE UP?!"

That certainly got his point across, "Thirty-five? Maybe a little more, by the time I made it here. The ones who stayed couldn't safely move on their own."

"Think for a minute, Severus," Albus spoke quickly, watching the Defense Professor start to formulate a plan in his head, "the doors to the dorms would have sealed once the water reached their threshold. They're safer in there, at least for now, than they would be out here."

"You don't understand," Severus practically cried, "they were told to work in the Common Room and not enough have come out yet!"

Suddenly, as if something holding the water inside had broken apart, another strong gush of water poured from the entrance doors and with it two third years clinging tightly to one another. Luckily, the pair of witches were pushed towards the main stairwell - as opposed to the other direction - and close enough for Severus to lunge out and grab onto the closest one with his right hand. He pulled with all his might against the force of the water, not noticing Kingsley balancing him out by holding onto his left arm. Between the two wizards, they managed to get the castaway students onto the stairs, handing them off to Poppy for care.

"There must be some residual magic trying to hold back the water," Severus hypothesized, not caring if anyone had even heard him or not. He didn't think - how many times had he told Harry not to do the very thing he was about to do - and acting on instincts alone, Severus pushed his way from the stairs into the almost chest deep water, adjusting his feet to balance as the water continued to try to push him down.

"Severus, wait!" The professor turned and watched Kingsley and Albus enter the water, also struggling against the current to make their way to the other side of the corridor. "You get the students out, we'll work on fixing up the windows."

Severus gave a curt nod, and together the three wizards prepared to breach the doorway. With the second surge of water equalizing, getting into the Common Room wasn't nearly as complicated as Severus would have expected, however he quickly learned that had been the easiest part of their journey.

The Slytherin Dungeons were set up with the Common Room positioned below the doorway by about two and half meters, with a stone landing followed by a set of stairs leading down to the main floor. The water levels reached just below Severus's chest height, meaning the entire room below the stairway was completely underwater. Having lived in these rooms for seven years, followed by being the Head of House for the last seventeen, seeing his stomping ground completely torn apart left him wary inside.

The windows on the wall directly across from him were shattered, only the top third of each still having any glass intact - presumably from the protective charms still in place - and given the flow of water coming in, at least another third below the waterline was being held by residual magic; the back up spells placed as a means to protect them as much as possible should the first fail. An assortment of cushions, books, robes, quills, and even some fish floated across the surface in the rhythm of the current. Destroyed. His first real home had been utterly destroyed.

Severus's attention was brought back to their present situation by the sight of Kingsley and Albus, both with a Scuba Spell consisting of a stronger, more targeted bubble head charm as well as a warming and waterproofing spell on their clothing firmly in place, taking off into the murky, frigid water. Stopping the water would only be the first step, but it was a necessary first step before anything else could be done. Turning his focus to his job - the search and rescue - Severus surveyed the scene around him. A quick count showed about forty students scattered around the top of the water, all holding onto the moulding and archways Severus had never put much thought into during his many moments in the room, but would never be able to ignore again.

His aching body flooded with relief when he saw Draco treading water with Hala next to him, holding onto the archway leading towards the boys' dormitory, not wanting to admit his fear that Draco's newly added dorm might not have included the emergency sealing charm should a disaster such as this occur. The blonde appeared beaten up and held his arm at an odd angle telling Severus something in it had been broken.

He had two options when approaching the rescue of the students: swimming out and bringing them back one by one to where they could stand on the platform - at least most of them could stand and be above the water - or sending something over to them and pulling them in. The latter made the most sense since he doubted he'd be able to swim across the current in the middle of the room as many times as it would take, but with the students injured they wouldn't be able to grab - or wrap around themselves - unaided. Based on the time since the alarm first sounded, he had no doubt the students would be tiring soon, so whichever he chose, it would have to be quick.

"Professor!" He heard the familiar voice of Hala call out to him. "Let me help you."

"Stay right there, Miss Khatib!" He directed, but she listened almost as well as Harry did and instantly started swimming towards him.

"Get out," he demanded, yelling down at her as she treaded water in front of him, being too short to touch the bottom. "Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey are waiting on the staircase outside."

Little did he know, the Transfiguration professor had created and set up barriers to funnel the students out of the Common Room doorway and straight to the stairs. The two barriers - one on each side leading to the bottom stair - were made of a netting material to allow the water to flow freely, but the students could not cross.

"I'm a good swimmer," she claimed in a voice far too serene for the situation at hand. "I'll swim out to them. Give me a rope… you don't have much time, Professor."

The way she said it, so demanding and so sure of herself, brought Severus back to their conversation only four days ago. Had she seen how this ended? Even so, he still could not risk endangering the life of a student to assist in his duty.

"I'm a good swimmer," she reiterated, no less adamant about assisting and somehow reminding him of Lily at the most inopportune moment.

"Yes, you mentioned that more than once," the professor grudgingly stated and, against his better judgement - which seemed to be happening far too often as of late - he conjured three ropes long enough to span the length of the Common Room and a muggle life jacket. The first rope he tied around her small waist, and then tied the other side to his own, so he would always be attached to her, then placed the life jacket around her with stern instructions to fasten it closed. The second and third ropes he made a slip knot in and handed the rounded part to her while wrapping the other sides around his forearm.

"Go," he told her, gesturing to Draco first, "drape the loose end over his head and under his arms, then tug on the rope when he's ready to go. I'll pull him in and you can swim off to the next student and start preparing the rope. I'll levitate this one back over to you once the student is out to safety so you don't have to come back each time."

She took the two ropes and started swimming to Draco. The Malfoy heir looked worse for wear compared to the others and Severus questioned if he'd tried to help any of his classmates. It would be such a Gryffindor move - not unlike what his small housemate would be doing any second - but it would also show his growth of character. Before Severus knew it - much faster than any eleven year old should be able to swim - the rope in his right hand tugged hard and he started to pull Draco to safety. The blonde was floating on his back, in the position Hala had sent him off, and kicking his legs to propel himself using the rope as his guide.

"Here you are," Severus told Draco, helping him to his feet, suddenly aware just how tall the teen had grown. "Are you hurt?"

"Goyle's in the lake! And… and..." Draco frantically said, seemingly ignoring his question. "When the glass broke, they just… I tried to hold onto them..."

"We'll get them," Severus reassured the teen, unsure if after all this time they'd recover any of those students alive or only the remains of their bodies. Another sharp tug on the other rope alerted him to the next student ready to bring in. He pulled the rope from around Draco's shoulders, careful to navigate as easily as possible around his obviously broken collarbone, and said, "Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are on the staircase outside waiting for you. Hopefully they've called in some help."

Finally, he levitated the newly freed rope off to Hala while he reeled in the next student - the younger Greengrass sister. This continued in a rhythmic fashion with Hala swimming from student to student, grabbing the rope he sent off to her and helping each of her classmates secure it under their arms. As the time moved on, the current - out to the lake and inwardly - started to slow, signifying the successful work Albus and Kingsley were doing to close up the gaping holes. He dared not to think about the next step: somehow getting any of the students from their dorms.

One problem at a time, he told himself. As long as the sealing charms held, the students would be safe there. Hopefully, those emergency spells would stay intact better than those on the window, otherwise since the dorms were below the Common Room, there would be no students left to save. His stomach churned at the thought and the subsequent conversations he'd have to have with their parents.

Shaking his head clear, he focused on the last student's - young Mr Nott's - arrival to him, with Hala returning directly afterwards. The relief he felt was short-lived though, because just as he sent Nott and Hala out into the hallways a loud boom echoed across the room from the top portions of the windows breaking open, and another wall of water came crashing towards him. He had just enough time to cast Diffindo on the rope around his own waist, successfully disattaching himself from Hala and ensuring she wouldn't be pulled away from safety. He felt his feet get swept out from underneath him due to the undercurrent pulling him into the room as the wall of water from the newly broken window simultaneously pushed him down, slamming his head hard against the stone stairs. Instantly, the world around him went black and his last two thoughts were: he hoped he'd be able to hold his breath and that Kingsley remembered Harry was still in his quarters.

~~~~HP~~~~

In hindsight, deciding to leave the quarters hadn't been the brightest of ideas. Had Hermione been there with him, Harry knew she would have given him a lecture on water dynamics - is that a thing? - telling him that opening the door would break the seal holding the water on the other side away from him, causing the room to completely flood. Of course, the Gryffindor witch wasn't there, therefore he was shocked when he pulled open the door and a wallof cold lake water crashed into him, knocking him straight to the ground. Not having expected to be met by the water, the young wizard hadn't thought to take a breath, and as he struggled to stand against the water rushing in to fill in the newly opened space, he felt himself start to panic. His lungs burned as he fought against the urge to inhale, and it felt like hours until the current calmed enough for him to stand in the now waist deep flooded threshold. The room, and their quarters as a whole, were ruined. Water littered with debris continued to flow in through the door - Harry now unable to close it against the incoming pressure - and he hadn't the slightest clue of what to do.

Severus! The Gryffindor thought. He's out there!

Listening to his instincts screaming for him to go help, Harry waded the best he could out into the corridor, all the while ignoring the aches coming from his left side and down his left leg. He allowed his adrenaline to fuel him with only the thought of getting to Snape and doing what he could to get the Slytherin students to safety.

The corridor was filled with as much water as their rooms, so moving about was easier than Harry had expected. The bright yellow lanterns lit the way to the staircase, just ahead of the Slytherin Dungeon, going up to the main floor of the castle. The sound of the water flowing through the castle, hitting against the stone walls whenever jostled, made him nervous. This was unlike anything he'd ever thought possible at Hogwarts; somehow worse than Voldemort trying to obtain the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, or even the Chamber of Secrets with a basilisk slithering around the pipes petrifying students. He held onto the stones of the wall to help guide him and keep him upright as he walked against the current and towards the panicked sound of students ahead of him.

"Hello?" He uttered, pulling himself around the corner on the same side as the Slytherin Entrance and opposite of the stairs - his original destination - where he saw McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey placing injured students onto stretchers and sending them up the stairs. Notably missing was Snape and Kingsley. "Professor McGonagall! Over here!"

"Harry?" His former guardian questioned at the same time Madam Pomfrey huffed, "Mr Potter, what are you doing over there?"

Someone, Harry assumed Professor McGonagall, had set up a net running on each side of the entrance doors - held open by the water continuing to flow out - so as not to miss any students who may float out of the room. Using the net as a guide, Harry held on tightly and followed it across the corridor, grabbing McGonagall's outstretched hand to help hoist him over the net and onto the stairs.

"Get up to higher grounds, Potter," she instructed him with a nod of her head back to where Madam Pomfrey worked. "And let Poppy check you for injuries."

"I'm fine," Harry reassured her, then asked, "where's Severus?" He followed her worried eyes to the door leading into the room currently filling with water from the Black Lake. "I have to go-"

"You are not going anywhere near that room," the professor admonished, her voice trembling as she said it.

Harry wanted to argue. Actually, he wanted to push past her and run into the room anyway, pretty confident that even in his weaker state, he could make it past the elderly witch. The only thing that stopped him was the sight of Draco's platinum blonde hair approaching them from the doorway. The Slytherin appeared confused, like he wasn't expecting to walk out of the completely flooded Common Room into an equally flooded corridor and stairwell. His right arm was holding up his left as he slowly made his way across, using the current from behind to help propel him forward. Harry's emerald eyes met Draco's dull grey ones and a pang of sympathy he couldn't hold back hit his stomach. A student's Common Room should be their safe haven, and not only had the other teen's been broken - reminding the Gryffindor of when his own dorm has been broken into by Sirius, an assumed mass murderer at the time - but since Draco had orchestrated Harry's kidnapping in an attempt to save Hermione's life, he would never feel the same security every other Hogwarts student had when entering their House. Harry could have done more to help the other wizard, he should have done more instead of hiding away from the magical world at Spinner's End all summer.

Harry pushed his way past McGonagall until he stood on the last step and reached his right arm out to help grab Draco. The Slytherin carefully let go of his left arm and grabbed ahold of Harry's hand to help steady himself up onto the stairs. Standing face to face Harry could see the pure exhaustion in Draco's eyes and evidence of the ordeal he'd just been through: his clothing soaked, his arm clearly broken, his lips tinged blue from the length of time spent in the cold water, and the scrapes and cuts marking his otherwise pale face. Harry wished he had something of use to tell the other teen, but they both knew from experience that in a situation like this, no one wanted to be patronized and told everything would be alright. And so he remained silent, hoping his body language conveyed all he needed to say.

"Here you are, Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey shuffled her way over and wrapped Draco in a charmed warm blanket, then walked him over to the landing ten stairs up; high enough to be out of the water level.

Harry made eye contact with McGonagall, daring her to tell him to get back, just as another student, Astoria Greengrass, made her way from the flooded Dungeon. Once again, Harry reached out to help her make her way across and up to Professor McGonagall who brought her to Madam Pomfrey on the upper landing. The Gryffindor didn't know how many students had been in the Dungeons - either in the Common Room or the dorms - when the glass broke, and it didn't matter; he'd stay however long it took. As his classmates started coming out one at a time in a slow rhythm, he continued reaching out and guiding them to their Transfiguration Professor. Occasionally he'd take a step off the bottom stair and into the corridor, earning him a stern "Harry!" from McGonagall, but he only did that when absolutely necessary; for those who were too short to walk across the space without the water going over their heads, or those too injured to cross safely. Together he and McGonagall worked in tandem, quietly, quickly, and as efficiently as possible.

His arms were tired and his body cold and sore, yet Harry didn't stop until he had ahold of the second year Nott - too focused on his duty to remember this child's uncle binding him in the Malfoy Manor drawing room - and the Slytherin announced he had been the last one rescued from the main Common Room. So where were the rest? Were they still stuck down in the dorms? Would Snape stay in there until every student had been rescued?

Harry briefly considered if he should accompany Madam Pomfrey to the hospital wing rather than wait for Snape. Based on his last encounter with his mentor, Harry doubted his presence on the stairs would go over well. He never got a chance to decide though, because a wave of water came pouring out of the room pushing Hala out with it. Using his last push of energy, Harry lunged from the stairs toward the small witch, not noticing McGonagall helping to hold him back. He managed to grab hold of her robes before the current took her down and he - with McGonagall's help - pulled her out to safety.

The water level continued to rise, causing Harry to have to back up two steps in order not to be pulled out into the stronger current.

"What's going on in there?" Harry asked Hala. "Where's Severus?"

"The headmaster almost had it closed," she cryptically told him. "And then it broke again."

"Where is Severus?" He repeated louder, in hopes this time she would understand what he had been asking.

"The other wizard…"

When she paused, it took all of Harry's might not to shake her to get her to answer him. Someone had to see Snape in there!

"Kingsley," Harry offered her the only other option he could think of for the other wizard.

"Yes," she confirmed, "he'll get it closed."

Harry ran his hands irately through his long wet hair, almost pulling it out in the process.

"Minerva!" The sound of the second best person Harry could hope to hear at that moment, Dumbledore, exclaimed from the common room.

The headmaster looked almost dry as he struggled through the now shoulder deep water, a grave expression painted on his face. A raft floated out of the door behind the headmaster - at a much slower pace showing Kingsley had almost completely repaired the window - carrying a collapsed figure, immediately identifiable as Snape. From his vantage point on the stairs, Harry could only see that the professor laid completely still, his entire body soaked, with a steady stream of blood running down his head, coloring the water pooled up on the raft.

Harry went to take off into the water, but McGonagall's firm grasp - stronger than he'd thought possible and more maternal than he'd been prepared for - held him back.

"No,"Harry shook his head rapidly, "he has to be alright."

Hadn't the last real thing he'd said to Snape been about him not wanting to live there any longer? How could he be so stupid?

Lost in his thoughts and impending grief, the young wizard completely missed when Dumbledore reached the stairs and McGonagall managed to pull him all the way up to the landing where Nott, Hala, and three other younger Slytherins still waited, also anxious to see if their Head of House were alright.

Somehow through all the noise in his head, Harry managed to hear Madam Pomfrey call out, "He's alive, now everybody move out of my way so I can get the professor up to the hospital wing at once."

"You go with them, Harry," McGonagall instructed, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze, then turning to Dumbledore she added matter-of-factly, "I'll stay to help you and Kingsley drain the water."

Harry mindlessly nodded. For the first time ever, the hospital wing sounded like an amazing idea.

The adrenaline coursing through Harry's body started to subside the moment he'd been led to one of the beds in the overfilled hospital wing by a healer who'd been called from St Mungo's. Suddenly, he could feel every ache and pain shooting through him and he started almost convulsively shaking from the cold seeping into his skin. The friendly healer who'd first assisted him to the bed, - she'd given him her name, but he couldn't remember it - immediately dried his heavy, wet clothes, then wrapped a charmed warm blanket around his shoulders and he found himself saddened that the warming charm wasn't nearly as powerful as his red or yellow blanket from Mrs Weasley. Completely distracted by the noise around him, Harry didn't notice the healer run her wand over him to start the diagnostic charm.

Under normal circumstances, the infirmary could hold around twenty beds, and in the young Gryffindor's plenty of visits he'd yet to see half of them filled at once. He knew they had to be similarly filled after the attack at the Quidditch pitch last year when Chester Somerby had been killed, however Harry had been downstairs in the middle of chemotherapy - waiting anxiously to hear of some kind of news - during the horrific event. That night, beds had obviously been conjured and rearranged to fill in as much space as possible, then set up in stations: a triage section to assess the incoming students - where he currently sat -, curtained off treatment areas, and space in the back where those who needed to stay overnight could have some privacy. Unfortunately, on two occasions Harry had seen students taken via portkey to St Mungo's, his heart heavy at the thought of what they may need that couldn't be done at Hogwarts.

"Excuse me?" Harry jumped at the feeling of the healer's hand placed on his shoulder, causing her to startle a bit. "Sorry for frightening you," she told him, handing him a set of white and blue striped hospital wing pyjamas, "your diagnostic scan showed a severe hematoma along your left side. I'm going to need you to change so I can do a proper exam."

"Where's Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked, "she brought Professor Snape up here. I need to know if he's alright."

As Madam Pomfrey rushed Snape up to the infirmary, Harry tried his hardest to keep up with her. His body had other plans though, because not even halfway up the stairs he had to slow down, finally limping into the room a good ten minutes after Snape should have already been here.

"Your professor is being worked on right now, dear," the healer explained. "Once he's stable, I'll get you whatever information I can."

"You don't understand," Harry pleaded, "I have to go-"

"You are not going anywhere, Mr Potter," the familiar voice of Healer Walker floated in from behind his partition a second before she opened it - Harry took the chance to crane his neck to see if he could find Snape - and entered his tight space. "Thank you Suzann," she told the first healer, "I'll take over here. Mr Potter requires a unique treatment plan."

The healer, Suzann, placed the pyjamas at the end of the bed, gave him a smile and left out the same part of the partition Healer Walker had entered in, giving Harry no better view into the room.

"Where-"

"Madam Pomfrey and another healer from St Mungo's are working on him now," she roughly explained, reading over the results from the diagnostic charm. "Now, I need to look at the damage to your side. I'm going to have to call in Dr Swanson to see what we can use for you, but I suspect she'll bring something to stop the bleeding, an antibiotic to prevent any infection from being in the water, and some kind of pain medication. I expect you to be in these- " she handed him the pyjamas again," -when I return. Only after you're taken care of, and as long as he's in a stable condition, will you be able to see Severus."

Her stern voice, one he was certain she'd perfected from years of dealing with difficult patients, left him no room for debate. She didn't even wait for him to say anything before she abruptly left. Alone in the small space, only large enough for the bed he sat on and for a person or two to walk around it - the rest needed to create similar setups for the other dozens of students - , Harry started to take off his now dry clothes. When he'd gotten dressed out of his uniform this afternoon for dinner with Snape, he hadn't expected to be swimming through the Black Lake in the Dungeon corridors, otherwise he would have doubled up on his jumpers, because while they were no longer wet, the cold had already seeped deep into his bones. He longed for a hot bath, but wouldn't likely get one until Snape's quarters were fully repaired or Ron gave him the password for the prefect lavatory. Navigating his arms out of his Gryffindor Quidditch jumper proved to be more difficult than expected due to the pain on his left side and his arms being sore from pulling in dozens - but not nearly enough to account for the whole house, a thought which terrified him - of Slytherin students out of the water. With his shirt now removed, Harry finally got a good look at the damage caused by the initial surge of water into Snape's quarters. His entire side, from under his arm down to his hip - disappearing below the waistband of his blue jeans - was covered in a deep red bruise, dark enough to make him wince at the thought of what it would look like tomorrow when it turned purple.

Maybe I can get some bruise salve on it instead.

His lower half hadn't fared much better, but he decided it best not to take an inventory of his wounds. No matter how bad they looked - and probably were inside - it didn't compare to what he'd seen coming out of the Slytherin Common Room or around the hospital wing.

As promised, Healer Walker returned with Dr Swanson in tow, both women looking disappointed in his inability to sit on the sidelines and out of trouble. Healer Walker explained Harry's diagnostic scan while the muggle doctor set him up with muggle medication - he'd stopped asking about it all at this point, but assumed it would be some combination of what he'd been told earlier - through his port. Being two and half weeks from his last chemotherapy, she'd been pleasantly surprised at the healing the wounds were done on their own. Still, the young wizard would have probably given his left little toe to get a bruise salve, because although his life might not be in danger, it didn't mean it didn't bloody hurt.

By half past ten, Harry had been moved to a bed near the back of the wing, having been told he had to stay overnight while his medication ran, but as with every other night - combined with the still bustling of the hospital wing - his mind wouldn't turn off to get any sleep. Dr Swanson offered him a sleeping tablet, already knowing his answer, and so he sat up in bed listening to the healers do their magic on the next round of students, those saved from the dorms and in the best condition of everyone. He had yet to hear anything about Snape and his condition. What he would give to hear the man's acerbic voice lecturing the people fussing over him, to know that his mentor would be just fine. Hermione showed up well after curfew, reporting to McGonagall that the Great Hall had been converted into sleeping quarters for the displaced Slytherins and for the second time that night, Harry thought about Sirius and his entry into the castle. She walked their Head of House through the arrangements made, Anthony Goldstein responsible for conjuring cots and Hermione working with the House Elves to provide warm beverages, her voice getting closer to his curtained off bed as she spoke.

He heard her pause at the end of her over detailed report and asked, "Is Harry here?"

McGonagall didn't respond, but Harry heard two sets of soft footsteps approaching his bed. Acting quickly, the young wizard shuffled down in his bed and closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. It's not that he didn't want to talk to his friend, but he'd had enough people fussing over him for one night and her sad brown eyes would only make him feel more guilty about leaving the safety of Snape's quarters to begin with. The rustling of the curtained partition told him the pair of witches had entered, so he laid completely still.

"Oh Harry," she said, disappointedly, then brushed the back of her hand against his left cheek and carefully removed his glasses from his face. "How do you keep getting yourself into these messes?"

If he had any inclination to speak with her, he would have told her he hadn't been trying to get into trouble and that who knew if McGonagall could have gotten all the students over to safety by herself. But he didn't want to talk to her, or anyone else, so he continued to feign sleep - listening to Hermione tell him a story about three brothers who cheated death to their ultimate demise - until he heard the chair scrap across the floor, and felt her hand brush the hair from his forehand, before placing a soft kiss where it had laid.

"Sleep well, Harry," she told him, then quietly crept from his small room and over to Draco's based on the sounds around him.

The adrenaline from the night must have had a bigger effect on the young wizard than he thought possible, because at some point he had managed to fall asleep. When he next awoke, the room around him was silent and still; all of the injured students having been attended to and were either sleeping in the Great Hall, staying overnight in the hospital wing, or sent to St Mungo's depending on the severity of their injuries. Grabbing his glasses from the small table beside his bed, he tried to figure out the time based on the amount, or lack of, daylight coming through the windows. The sky was still a dark black, leading him to believe it had to be deep in the middle of the night. His IV of muggle medication was still attached to his port, however the bag was fuller than he last remembered, meaning Dr Swanson had been by recently to change it out. Unfortunately, as he shifted in his bed, his side still ached horribly.

Moving the IV stand with his hand, happy to find it moved under his touch, the young wizard swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up needing to use the loo. Holding the IV stand in his right hand, he carefully peeked around the edge of the partition to see if the coast was clear.

On his way back to his bed, Harry counted at least three dozen beds occupied - based solely on the tightly closed partitions around them - and his stomach dropped. How could something like this happen in the first place? He'd made it halfway back to bed when an opened partition caught his attention. Doubling back, he almost fell over at the sight of Snape laying in the bed, still unconscious. Carefully, the Gryffindor navigated his way into the space, careful not to touch the partition and risk drawing attention to himself. If possible, the professor's face was paler than usual. His head had a white bandage - still tinged with red from where he'd been bleeding - wrapped tightly around it, a stark contrast from his dark black hair sticking out from beneath it. He looked so different from the normally proud, stoic man Harry knew. Being here, like this, would be the last thing Snape would ever want.

Deciding to stay for a bit, Harry sat down in the closest of the two empty chairs, resting his head on the top of his closed fists.

"You know, if our roles were reversed, you'd be irately lecturing me right about now," Harry honestly spoke. "You'd be going on and on about how I shouldn't run into every single dangerous situation like it's my responsibility to fix everything. I know they're your students, and so it's not exactly the same, but I still need you here.

"I guess we're more alike than either of us thought, huh?" Harry ran his hand down his face, avoiding the tubing for his IV in the process. Steepling his fingers and pressing them against his lips, he released a shaky breath. "I didn't mean what I said tonight. Things have been so… different this year… and there's just… It doesn't matter, though, I shouldn't have said it."

"Are you actually trying to wake up the entire wing?" Draco's voice from behind him startled Harry. He turned just as the Slytherin started to enter Snape's temporary room, "You look like shite, Potter."

"Yeah, well, you don't look much better," Harry retorted. "Should you be up and moving around?"

"Probably not," Draco softly announced, plopping himself down in the chair next to Harry. "The broken bones they could fix up fine, but I have some kind of concussion from hitting my head on more surfaces than I can remember, and apparently that can't be fixed with magic, so here I get to stay here tonight. If I'm being held captive, I might as well get to move around."

"I'm not exactly sure it works like that," Harry shook his head, confused by the Slytherin's logic, "but it's probably for the best you stay the night."

"Well, unlike you," Draco arrogantly, stated, "I'm not exactly used to ending up here every other week. But I'll make sure to remind you that 'it's for the best' the next time you're complaining about staying here."

Somehow the idea of Draco considering them on talking terms again in the future hit him hard. Ultimately, he did want to fix things between him and the Malfoy heir, and the events from that night couldn't make it any clearer to Harry.

"Why don't you just go ahead tell me exactly what's on your mind?" He'd said it sarcastically, with a touch of humor in his voice, not expecting Draco to actually take him seriously.

For whatever reason, though, probably a side effect from his head injury, the blonde dramatically turned to him and said, "Let's start with you being a total prat."

"Wait," Harry held a hand to stop what he was sure would be an unfiltered tirade, "why do you think I'm being a prat? I haven't said a single thing about what happened."

"That's exactly why," Draco argued. "Glad you can see things my way."

Harry shook his head, not following the strange logic Draco had somehow come up with, "You're going to have to give me a little more than that."

Giving a sigh, Draco looked over at the bed where Snape laid completely unconscious, as if he could simply be sleeping.

"I saved your friend," the Slytherin started, "I literally did what you would've done in the same situation, sacrificed yourself if it meant keeping Hermione alive. Only you would have been praised for doing something so selfless and brave. Instead, the kid with the Dark Mark gets skewered, and you sat on your arse and let the world think I'm some piece of shite. Classy move there, Potter."

The irony of what the blonde said wasn't lost on Harry, and he couldn't deny it being the truth. Had he known about Hermione's life being in danger when Draco first showed up that awful night, he probably would've marched himself into the manor on his own accord. What would have changed then? Had he known? Draco could have been spared his own imprisonment and being sliced open every other night for the bloody - quite literally - ritual, Hermione would have been saved, and everything else? Well, he couldn't exactly say what would have come of their time at the Manor without the Malfoys' assistance. Why couldn't it happen this way then? It took Harry a second to remember the young Slytherin had been monitored. It had been why he kept cutting Harry's pointed questions off. All of that, though, was in the past and the Gryffindor finally understood the need to move on.

"Well, I'm sorry, alright?" Harry told the other boy, "I should have spoken up about what happened. I had… my own shite going on... and it was easier to ignore it all."

"Eh," Draco uncharacteristically replied, making Harry wonder if he shouldn't be taking advantage of the other boy's loose tongue due to his head injury. "We all had our own shite to deal with after that. I mean, we were supposed to die, right? Let's be honest, you probably did die from your stupid Gryffindor bravery and that's not the kind of stuff you can sweep under the rug."

Harry almost laughed, "Is that your psychologist talking?"

Draco's face contorted in an unfurled anger, "Damn my father! And what the hell is Severus doing telling people this shite! Does nobody know how to keep things to themselves anymore? I don't want my business talked about all over the damn school."

"Has anyone ever told you that you curse a lot when you have a head injury?"

"No," he bluntly answered, then repeated, though Harry was sure he hadn't realized he'd already said it, "unlike you, I don't end up here every week."

"That was low," Harry responded, sitting back in his chair. "So then where does that leave us?"

"I'm not sitting around a campfire singing songs with you, that's for sure," Draco narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor and turned his head inquisitively.

"I'm not asking you to," Harry replied, hardly offended. "I just know we can't keep avoiding each other like we have been. But the things that were said back there-"

"How about this," Draco interrupted him, gratefully putting Harry out of his awkward misery, "Let's just forget about what we may have said in the room, alright? And we can't use it against the other. Neither one of us expected to walk out of there and I certainly don't want some of my… less than desirable actions making their way into the school gossip circles."

Harry had to legitimately think back at what the other wizard could be alluding to. There had been plenty of things he didn't want the school to know about - mostly the way he'd been treated growing up - which Draco could, and mostly likely would, use to his advantage someday. Then the nights the blonde returned from the Blood Ritual flooded to the forefront of his mind. How many times did Narcissa clean him up in the lavatory? Almost every time. And then there were the times Draco admitted to being scared about the rituals. Now Harry understood how Draco could feel just as vulnerable as he did.

"I can agree to that," Harry nodded.

"And you have to let me get one good punch at you."

"That's ridiculous," the Gryffindor laughed, hoping the blonde's head injury was the cause of the odd request. "For one, I think we can both agree, neither of us are in any condition to fight, and besides, Madam Pomfrey would have a fit."

"Doesn't have to be now, Potter," Draco pointed to his head, implying for Harry to think about it, "It can be years from now for all I care. You owe me for leaving me high and dry to the Wizarding media."

"Doesn't matter when it is," the Gryffindor exclaimed, "I'm not just going to let you hit me!"

"Why's that?" Draco taunted with a sly expression on his face as he leaned closer to Harry, offering out his hand to shake, not unlike their first time on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago, "Scared, Potter?"

Harry gave the other teen a scowl, but one without a gram of malice behind it. He looked down at the pale hand being offered, placed his own within it, and looking back up directly into Draco's grey eyes, he said, "You wish."