Monday morning was pre-NEWT potions, a class made up of four Gryffindors – Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom (which surprised no one more than the poor squib himself), five Slytherins – Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Morag, and Theodore Nott, five Ravenclaws, and two Hufflepuffs. And Professor Snape. Who was absent for the first time in his teaching career.

Draco had a bad feeling as he glared at the empty desk in the front of the dungeon classroom. His right foot kept twitching, the only indicator of his increasing anxiety, and he stilled it with firm pressure from his left foot. He knew Severus had been called Sunday evening, had seen the man’s arm twitch, nearly knocking over his goblet, had watched him lean over and tell something to Dumbledore before hurrying out.

The Slytherin had spent the rest of that evening waiting in the man’s chambers for his return, a bottle of pain-relieving potion on hand, but he hadn’t returned before curfew. Finally, Draco had been forced to leave, knowing that it would be better to be well rested so he could help tomorrow than to stay up worrying tonight.

But morning had come, and Severus still wasn’t back. This was bad, he could feel it in his bones.

The Gryffindors seemed to have a different opinion of the circumstances, though, and Draco turned around to glare and sneer at Weasley who was, no doubt, joking with Potter and the Mudblood about the ‘evil’ professor. However, when he turned back he got his second, third, and fourth shocks of the day.

Weasel was joking with Longbottom, not Potter.

Potter wasn’t even in attendance.

Granger was watching him far too closely for his comfort.

Draco sneered at her, glanced at the Wonder Boy’s empty seat, and smirked. Granger lost her calculating look as she glared back. The Slytherin turned back to his contemplation of the front of the class. Was there some sort of connection between Potter’s absence and Severus’ disappearance? He sincerely hoped not, because, while it was bad enough that Severus had likely been exposed as a spy, Potter’s capture as well might be the proverbial straw that could break the hope of the light side.

The other students was starting to get restless, and there was talk among the lower life forms (Hufflepuff and Gryffindor) of just skiving off. Luckily, about halfway through the class the door opened and a man walked in. He had dark skin, a shaved head, and the bearing of an Auror.

“My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” the man said. “I will be your substitute potions professor from now until Professor Snape’s return. Do not worry about your professor, he had to take an unexpected leave of absence to visit an ill relative. Now, I’ll just take roll.”

He started reading names off a short scroll, starting with ‘Abbot, Hannah’ and moving down. Finally, he got to ‘Potter, Harry’ and paused when no one answered.

“Where is Mr. Potter?” Shacklebolt asked, looking at the Gryffindors.

“We…don’t know, sir,” Granger answered softly. “We haven’t seen him since dinner last night.

Shacklebolt’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but he just nodded and moved on. Now Draco was really worried. A missing Potter was never a good sign, and could mean Severus was in danger; he might have to talk to Dumbledore if this wasn’t resolved soon. With any luck, the ridiculous codger would actually give him a straight answer.

He snorted softly to himself. Yeah, right, and Voldemort will go into skin crème sales.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Bellatrix laughed at the boy’s foolish pronouncement, the sound high and cold, grating on Severus’ ears.

“And what do you propose to do about it, widdle baby Harry?” she cackled. “You have no wands, no means of escape. You are at our mercy. Or you would be, if we had any!” She shrieked at her own joke.

Potter stayed silent, posture stiff and proud, and Severus pulled himself up weakly to stand by him. He was tempted to use the wall for support – his ankle had been twisted at some point while he was stunned – but wouldn’t sacrifice his dignity to save himself a modicum of pain.

Placing one hand on his young companion’s shoulder, Severus said firmly, “It is not your job to protect me, Potter”

“Yes it is,” Potter responded, softly and sadly, but with absolute certainty, as if he were commenting on particularly dismal weather.

“Potter, as much as you would like to believe otherwise, the world does not revolve around you!” Severus snapped. “I am a fully grown adult wizard and perfectly capable of fighting my own battles. Now stand down.”

Potter didn’t spare him a glance. “No,” he declared softly, but with force and conviction.

“You should really follow your professor’s advice,” Voldemort hissed with amusement. “What are they teaching at Hogwarts these days? Obviously not respect for your betters. It is proper to bow when someone of my power graces the presence of lowly scum like you and the traitor.”

“You are not my better,” Potter stated calmly, “and I will not bow to you.”

“Haven’t two years’ time taught you anything, Harry?” Voldemort drawled. He waved his wand and Potter’s back arched back like a bow before snapping forward. Severus recognized the spell, though he hadn’t been placed under it since he was young and foolish.

Amazingly, though, Potter seemed to be fighting it, his jaw clenched so tight he was likely in danger of cracking his teeth. The boy’s spine seemed to writhe and ripple under the opposing forces of the dark spell and his own will. Voldemort showed no outward signs of agitation, but Severus could see his blood red eyes growing darker with anger, his slit-like nostrils flaring. The obeisance spell ended abruptly and Potter almost stumbled, but caught himself quickly, standing up and placing himself just in front of his professor again.

"Crucio!" Voldemort snapped.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Almost a full week had passed since Snape and Harry’s disappearance, and the whole school was on edge about it. Every time the portrait hole opened, Hermione found herself looking up eagerly, hoping it was the boy hero returning home. She never had such luck, though, as each time it was one of the Creevy bothers, or Alicia Spinnet, or Lavender Brown, or Ginny; never Harry Potter. She had taken almost twice her share in Prefect duties, walking the grounds nearly every night, hoping and praying to find some sign of the black-haired boy.

Meals in the Great Hall were, without exception, a dismal experience. Harry’s seat was still open next to Ron and across from Hermione, and it seemed more cold and empty than it ever had when Harry had simply been late or in the hospital wing, and whenever Hermione tried to avoid looking at it, she’d inevitably look at the staff table, notice Auror Shacklebolt sitting in Professor Snape’s seat and be reminded that the head of Slytherin was missing as well. And that was all disregarding the food; when the house elves served Harry’s favorite dish Ron refused to eat a bite of it.

“It’s not fair for us to eat it when Harry can’t,” he’d mumbled defensively when the other Gryffindors stared at him. After that, everyone in Godric’s house ate around it.

Hermione thought they wouldn’t be quite so worried if Professor Snape hadn’t gone missing as well. The general consensus was that Snape had turned traitor to Dumbledore and taken Harry to Voldemort; it was the only thing Ron agreed with the Slytherins on. Not a day went by that the redhead didn’t get into a fight because one of that house had taunted him about Harry being beaten by a Slytherin. Lately all it took was a:

“Hey Weasley, think Potter likes his new accommodations?” from that wheedy little Nott boy and Ron was throwing insults. Or curses. Or punches. He received a month of detention Thursday for biting and, thankfully, hadn’t tried it since.

Amazingly enough, Malfoy seemed reluctant to join in this vein of speculation, and was growing more and more worried by the day. Hermione was one hundred percent sure that the blonde wasn’t worried about Harry, so she figured he was worried about Snape. Of course, the fact that Malfoy was human enough to have feelings such as worry wasn’t something she could ever convince Ron of, so she didn’t have anyone to discuss her theories with. Except, perhaps, the headmaster.

So, that Saturday evening about a half hour after dinner (she had to put the finishing touches on her homework first) Hermione made her way up to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.

She’d never actually been up there before, but Harry had once told her that the password was always some sort of sweet, so Hermione started guessing.

“Pumpkin pasty.” Nope. “Sugar quill.” Nothing. “Cockroach clusters.” No. “Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans?” No. “Maybe muggle sweets, then. Er…mars bars?” The gargoyle didn’t even blink. “Maltesers?”

With the grinding sound of stone on stone, the gargoyle leapt aside, revealing a twisting staircase. As Hermione watched, it began to move upward, and she hurried onto a step. Hermione stared at the central, stationary pillar in fascination, wondering what sorts of spells and construction would be needed to make a stairway turn and move upward. She was fairly certain it had to do with some form of screw, since most magical mechanics could be broken down into one or two simple machines, but there was certainly more to it than –

The stairs halted suddenly in front of an old, breaking Hermione’s train of thought. She raised her hand to knock, but before her hand could even touch the heavy wood, a voice inside called, “Please come in, Ms. Granger,” and the door opened by itself. Inside was a large, circular office with scores of knick-knacks lining the walls on shelves and inside glass cabinets. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, and in one of the unbelievably padded chairs in front of him sat none other than Draco Malfoy, glaring at the intruding girl.

“Have a seat, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore said kindly, motioning to the armchair next to Malfoy. “I believe you both are here for the same reason.”

Malfoy whipped his head around at that to turn his glare on the headmaster.

“I believe you are mistaken, Professor Dumbledore,” the Slytherin objected coldly. “She-” he flicked a glance at Hermione, “- is here about Potter, no doubt. I am here about Professor Snape.”

“Well since they’re likely in the same place, it does amount to pretty much just one issue, doesn’t it?” Hermione snapped back. Malfoy rose quickly, attempting to tower over her despite his slight frame.

“Don’t tell me you believe those ridiculous rumors that Professor Snape killed your precious golden boy!” he snarled.

“Draco, my boy, please calm down a moment,” Dumbledore interjected. “I do not believe Hermione was referring to the rumors circling the school, but rather to the idea that Harry was somehow captured and Severus was forced to reveal his position as spy in an attempt to save him. An attempt which, if the fact that they have yet to return is any indication, did not succeed.”

“You don’t think they’re…” Hermione choked on the word.

“No, I do not believe they are dead,” the headmaster assured her.

“Of course not,” Malfoy added disdainfully. “If the Dark Lord killed the precious Boy Who Lived, do you really think he’d keep it a secret? And Severus would probably make a very good ‘demonstration’ do dissuade any from attempting to oppose him. Please, Headmaster, I’ve worked that much out on my own, and I did not come here to divulge my own information to Granger. Tell me what you know or suspect, or refuse outright to tell me anything so that I may stop wasting both our time.”

Hermione gasped slightly at the arrogant tone Malfoy took with the headmaster, but waited eagerly for Dumbledore’s answer. The old man sighed and seemed to age ten years before her eyes.

“Unfortunately, I do not know much more than you, Mr. Malfoy,” he admitted. “I know Harry crossed the wards alone at approximately eight o’clock Sunday evening, approximately half an hour after Severus was called, and that Severus’ emergency portkey is no longer on his person, but beyond that I can only guess. Rest assured, I am using all my power to find Harry and Severus so that they both may be returned safely as soon as possible.”

Hermione looked down at her hands as they rested in her lap and sighed, hearing Malfoy echo the sound. They both stood up and thanked the headmaster before leaving and returning to their separate common rooms.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Potter flinched and his muscles trembled under the first wave of pain, but Boy jumped in quickly to take the spell before retreating with it, locking the magic and the pain away.

“In crucio veritas, Voldemort,” Potter ground out. “And I am truth.”

“So you can take pain of the body now,” the shriveled, snake-like man sneered, lifting the spell. “Let us see how you take pain of the heart. Inecto.”

Thick chains sprung from Voldemort’s wand and wrapped around Potter before he could move, fastening themselves to the wall behind him and pulling him flat against it.

“Bellatrix, have your fun now; see if you can make our dear Severus scream,” Voldemort ordered. Potter struggled and snarled as the woman grinned and drew her wand, but there was nothing he could do against the restrictive chains.

Helplessness, he cried out silently, I hate helplessness! I don’t know what to do!

Don’t worry, I’ll take over, Tom said solemnly. Potter gratefully relinquished his hold, knowing he would be there when he could help again, waiting just beneath the surface for Voldemort’s voice to call him forth.

Tom calmed their lungs and forced their face from the furious snarl into a cold, hateful mask. There was nothing he could do for Professor Snape now, except to give Voldemort as small a victory as possible. Bellatrix’s eyes flicked to him and she pouted at the change, but he just glared back.

Snape had, apparently, noticed the slip in attention and lunged at Bellatrix, trying to get her wand from her hand. She shrieked and howled like a wounded kneazel, scratching at Snape’s eyes with the long, sharpened fingernails of her free hand, but the large man succeeded in pinning her against the wall.

“Ah ah ah, Severus,” Voldemort chided, smirking cruelly. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to young Harry, would you?”

Snape paused, but didn’t release Bellatrix. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and he flicked his wand slightly. Tom felt the chains around them constrict, starting at their solar plexus and forcing the air out of their lungs. The chains all up their torso started constricting as well, making it harder and harder to breathe. Then, finally, the one at their neck tightened, cutting off their air supply completely. Tom knew their eyes were bugging out and their mouth was open and gasping at air that would not come, knew that such a display would not help in the situation at all, but he was powerless to stop the body’s reflexes while he was busy fighting internally.

Boy, stay away, you can’t take away this pain! he insisted, trying to force the older, childish personality back.

Boy hurts, always Boy, only Boy, Boy countered sadly.

We need to stay strong for Snape, Tom said adamantly, looking at the others for support as Boy tried to push past him.

Always for Snape, James argued. What about Harry? He’s being hurt, and Boy takes over when Harry’s being hurt.

Not this time! Tom growled desperately, but his moment of distraction had cost him dearly. Boy, no!

Tom watched with horrified fascination as Boy took his place in Harry’s body.

“No, no, please no!” Boy mouthed, shutting their eyes tight. The chains loosened fractionally and they were suddenly able to breathe just enough.

“What was that?” Voldemort asked with relish. “What did you say, boy?”

“Please don’t hurt Boy,” Boy begged. “Please. Sorry, so sorry. Don’t hurt Boy Uncle!”

Tom cursed, loudly and fervently, wishing with all his might his words were coming out of Harry’s mouth instead of Boy. Boy couldn’t comprehend that someone other than Uncle Vernon would hurt them, so he automatically addressed any attacker as ‘Uncle’. That he had done so in front of Voldemort was the worst possible scenario. If this went on, Voldemort would taunt Harry about it, and that couldn’t be allowed.

It was time for drastic measures.

Tom strode up to James and grabbed him by his collar. “Release It,” he commanded.”