The Great Hall rang with the excited murmur of students. There wasn’t a person that didn’t have his or her head leaned towards the person beside him, whispering in hushed tones about what’d happened that morning. No one seemed able to believe it. After all, it was completely impossible! But the blaring headlines of that morning’s late edition Daily Prophet and other Wizarding newspapers confirmed that the unthinkable was indeed true.

Headmaster of Hogwarts Poisoned! screamed the eighty point font of the front page headlines. Murder Attempt at Hogwarts! Dumbledore Almost Killed!

How the news leaked so fast into main stream knowledge was still anyone’s guess. But it was suspected the leak occurred when Madam Pomfrey fire-called St. Mungo’s for a consultation after the foiled murder attempt on the Headmaster’s life. After all, the school’s medi-nurse had only a limited knowledge of poison and such - the general environment of school children and teachers not giving her much experience with murder attempts and deadly poisons - and had wanted to consult an expert in that field in case of future complications. Unfortunately though, someone at Mungo’s had talked, and within only several hours, it seemed all of Wizarding England knew of the botched murder attempt. The front lawn of Hogwarts was teeming with crowds of anxious reporters, all of them jockeying to get an interview or some kind of official statement from the school’s Deputy Headmistress. McGonagall, however, refused to make any such statement to the shouting crowd and had left them standing at the front gates of the school until the time they either gave up and went home or she told Hagrid to let Fluffy loose on them.

Possibly the only thing Pomfrey had managed to keep secret from the vicious rumor mill was the identity of the one who’d actually saved the old Headmaster’s life. And for that small favor, as the one responsible sat there listening to the frightened, speculative whispers of those around him, Harry was immensely grateful.

“How could this have happened?” Hermione was saying, her face pale as she set aside her edition of the Daily Prophet and looked up at her two best friends. “How could someone have actually snuck into Hogwarts and poisoned Dumbledore? That… that’s just impossible!”

Ron too looked dumbfounded. He’d barely even touched his breakfast since hearing the news. “How could someone have gotten past all the wards and stuff?” he said. “I mean, I know Snuffles did it the year before, but he’s an Animagus and knows all the secret tunnels and passageways around the school. How could someone sent to kill Dumbledore have gotten in without being seen?”

“Aurors are questioning everyone,” Hermione whispered. “The portraits, teachers, ghosts - everyone! Even the House elves! But no one saw anything suspicious this morning or the night before. It‘s like the person who did it just Apparated in, poisoned the tea Dumbledore was going to drink, and then Apparated out - and before you say it, Ron, I already know no one can Apparate inside Hogwarts. I’ve told you that a thousand times before and know it can’t be done myself.”

Ron actually looked disappointed at not being able to point out Hermione’s mistake for once.

“Well then how did this person get in?” Ron said, frustrated. “I mean, who could be smart enough to get past all of Hogwarts’ defenses?”

“By already being inside and being someone no one would suspect,” Harry said, speaking up for the first time that morning.

Hermione and Ron both looked at him, startled by the conviction in their friend’s voice.

“What are you talking about, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“I had another vision last night,” the boy replied, not meeting their eyes but staring at the table as if trying to bore through it with his gaze. “I saw Voldemort torturing Snape and telling him he was suppose to attack sometime today. I woke up and went to try and tell Dumbledore, but he pretty much ignored me. While I was there, Dumbledore rang for tea, and then… well, you know the rest…”

Hermione and Ron stared at Harry, speechless with surprise.

“You mean, you were actually there?” Hermione said, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“So that’s where you were this morning…” Ron said. “And you think Snape was the one that tried to kill Dumbledore?”

Harry nodded.

For a moment, no one spoke, the boy’s revelation hanging ominously in the air.

“So…” Hermione hesitantly said after a few moments, “that must mean you somehow helped save Dumbledore’s life. After all, you were the one that went to try and warn him You-Know-Who was going to attack.”

Harry gave a mirthless snort. “Yeah. But do you want to know what the real crazy thing is? It was actually Snape that helped me save Dumbledore.”

This time Hermione and Ron couldn’t stop themselves from crying out in surprise, which earned them several curious looks from those around them. They hastily lowered their voices and stared at Harry, dumbstruck.

“What? How? I thought you said it was the greasy git that poisoned Dumbledore in the first place,” Ron hissed, struggling to contain himself.

Harry speared Ron with a dark look. “For the last time, Ron. Stop. Calling. Him. That.” Harry didn’t raise his voice -his tone remaining deceptively calm - but the subdued promise of wrath he managed to convey in those few short words made Ron lean back in his seat in surprise, his mouth firmly closed. Taking a deep breath, Harry went on. “Remember when I stayed after class yesterday to talk to Snape? Well, he basically pretended to not know what I was talking about. But before I left he told me ‘to remember what I learned in class.’ I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but when Dumbledore was laying there poisoned, I remembered what he said, and remembered the potion we learned at the beginning of term, Dulver’s Potion. It‘s a strong anti-poison.”

“But if he just told you to remember what you learned in class, he could have meant anything, Harry,” Hermione said, hesitant as though afraid of how Harry might react. “He might not have even meant anything by it.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I know he was trying to warn me. I just know it. He probably knew Voldemort was going to make him poison Dumbledore - or at least try to kill him - and that’s why he told me that. He knew I’d remember what to use to counteract the poison.”

“How would he know that?” Ron asked. “He’s never seemed to put much faith in your Potions knowledge before. Why would he now? And in particular, how could he have been trying to warn you if You-Know-Who has him under some kind of spell that makes it impossible for him to tell anyone what You-Know-Who’s doing to him?”

Harry sat there in thoughtful silence.

“He must be trying to fight whatever spell Voldemort’s using on him,” he said after a moment. “He must only be able to give ambiguous hints. That would explain why he kept pretending to not know what I was talking about - he couldn’t actually tell me! And that might also explain the weird dreams…”

“Okay, fine, sure, whatever. Snape was trying to warn you. But I still don’t understand why you,” Ron insisted, punctuating his sentence with a finger thrust directly at Harry’s chest. “Come on, Harry. You have got to admit it, the man hates you. Why would he be trying to warn you of all people?”

Harry sat there in silence, unable to answer. The question had also crossed his mind several times over the last few months. “I don’t know…” he murmured. “Maybe I’m just the only one that’ll listen…”

An awkward silence descended over their part of Gryffindor table, the three friends suddenly unwilling to meet each other‘s eyes.

Hermione was the first to break the odd tension.

“Have you warned anyone about this, Harry?” she asked softly. “I mean, after what happened with Dumbledore this morning, I don’t think anyone inside the Order is going to ignore you anymore about Snape.”

Harry shook his head. “No. After I found the potion and Madam Pomfrey called McGonagall and other people for help, they kicked me out of the office and didn’t give me any time to try and tell them.”

“But you have to tell someone,” Hermione insisted, exasperated. “If You-Know-Who can make Snape poison the Headmaster, who knows what else he’ll make him do. Harry, you’re probably only one name down from Dumbledore on You-Know-Who’s death list. He might send Snape after you next.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I know.” He tiredly massaged his temples. “I know I should tell McGonagall or someone else, but what if she doesn’t believe me either, or thinks I‘m hallucinating? I have no proof it was Snape that actually poisoned Dumbledore except for my visions and own instincts. Dumbledore himself didn’t believe me Snape was dangerous until he wound up poisoned on the floor. And now he’s locked up in the hospital wing where I can’t talk to him.”

“You still have to tell somebody,” Hermione said, unrelenting.

“Hey, speaking of Snape, where is he?” Ron suddenly interrupted. “I haven’t seen the greasy- Er…” he glanced at Harry. “I mean… I haven’t seen him all morning. Do you think he ran away?”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. “If Professor Snape disappeared, all the Aurors would be after him right now. Obviously, since they’re still searching the castle, he’s not on their immediate suspect list. Besides he’s not the only teacher I haven’t seen today.They've tightened security, so most of the teachers have been put on patrol around the school, or are helping Aurors search for clues.”

Ron snorted in disgust.

Harry however was too distracted to pay his friend’s animosity towards their resident Potions master any mind. “Snape has to be trying to fight against the Curse Voldemort used on him,” he said, talking more to himself than Hermione or Ron. “That’s the only thing to explain why he’s been trying to warn me. Even Voldemort said he was a master Occlumens and could fight an Imperius.”

“Isn’t that why you said You-Know-Who used something on him in your vision?” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “A black stone…”

Hermione gasped, her eyes suddenly widening. “Oh my… I completely forgot because of everything’s that’s been going on!” She wildly began rummaging through her school bag before extracting an extremely old, page tattered, leather bound book. She pushed aside their uneaten breakfast, and set the book in the middle of the table. “Remember how you asked me to see if I could find any information on what you think you saw in your vision, Harry?” she said. “Well, I think I may have finally found it…”

Harry and Ron both leaned in closer, curiosity shining in their eyes.

Hermione flipped through the battered book, the yellowed pages crackling as she did. She opened it to a certain page, then leaned back to allow Ron and Harry to see.

“It’s called the Verarbeitung Stone,” she explained. “I found this book in the Olde Magik section of the library. I actually only came across it by mistake. I was researching the use of ancient spells on objects for a Charms essay when I found it.”

She pointed to the illustration on the second page of the text - a woodblock print of a black stone the size of a grapefruit sitting in the palm of a Medieval wizard‘s hand. “I thought the picture looked kind of familiar to what you described…” she explained.

“Supposedly,” she went on, “in the late eighth century, this Stone was created by a famous Germanic alchemist by the name of Abelard Heindenlieder. It had the ability to magnify a witch or wizard’s own magic by several times and give them extra powers. It was originally created with the intention of only being used during complex spells that might prove harmful to the caster because of their intensity, but because it was found the Stone also had the ability to override another witch or wizard’s latent magic, it became a sought-after item for dark wizards.

“In 903, Ulbrecht the Bloody, a notorious dark wizard of the time, killed Heindenlieder and stole the Stone. He began using it for dark purposes and used it to enslave himself a small army of witches and wizard he planned to take over all of Europe with.

“Fortunately, he was defeated, but legend says the Stone was shattered during the final battle, and its shards lost. Since then, the story of the Verarbeitung Stone has become something of a legend and mostly forgotten. Until now that is…”

Harry stared at the book, trying to take in everything Hermione just said.

“Do you think this is what You-Know-Who used on Snape?” Ron wondered, staring at the faded illustration. “Do think he somehow got a hold of one of those stone shards Hermione was talking about and used it?”

Harry could only shake his head. “I don’t know…” he murmured, overwhelmed with possibilities. Was it possible this was what was behind the Potion master‘s odd behavior and attempt on the Headmaster‘s life?

“All the Stone shards were lost over a thousand years ago,” Hermione said. “It would have to be a one in a million chance one of them actually still exists.”

Harry stared at the illustration, studying the dark outline of the legendary Stone. “Maybe…” he murmured, “but there’s still that one in a millionth chance one did…”

There were no classes that day because of the lingering chaos of the Headmaster’s attempted murder. Except for meals, everyone had been confined to their common rooms. Harry never got a chance to talk to any of the teachers that were there to oversee the Great Hall at mealtimes, and saw neither hide nor hair of McGonagall all day. Nor, he was unease to note, Snape. For all he knew, Snape wasn’t even in the castle anymore.

By dusk that evening, Harry was beginning to wonder if he could actually put off not telling anyone his suspicions any longer. Voldemort had already made a show of how much power he had over Snape by making him attack the Headmaster. Who knew what he might make him do next. The possibilities were endless, and Harry knew he couldn’t protect his Potion master anymore. He had to tell someone else, even if that meant turning Snape over to the Ministry to help rid him of Voldemort’s influence. He’d already seen how effective he’d been trying to help Snape by himself, and Dumbledore had been the one to suffer the consequences. He couldn’t let Voldemort use Snape to hurt anyone else.

He could only hope Snape wouldn’t actually be held accountable for the murder attempt if the Ministry somehow got a hold of him. Hopefully McGonagall would know a way to keep the situation within the Order and help him that way. Otherwise the Potion master might be faced with bias charges and sent to Azkaban, which Harry shuddered to think. Because - in his mind at least - it was his fault it had come to this at all. If only he’d tried telling someone about Snape earlier instead of waiting until he did, maybe Dumbledore wouldn’t have had to almost die...

So, accompanied by Hermione and Ron under his father’s Invisibility Cloak, Harry and his friends stealthfully made their way towards the Headmaster’s office where they knew McGonagall was most likely to be found.

“Ouch! Watch your elbow, Hermione!” Ron whispered.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault,” Hermione tartly replied. “We’re getting too big for all of us to fit under Harry’s cloak anymore.”

“Shh!” Harry hissed. “Someone might hear us.”

The three navigated their way carefully through the darkened halls. As of yet, they had yet to met anyone else in their nocturnal wandering - not even Filtch - which was lucky considering the increased patrols around the castle. The sky was brilliantly clear outside, every star it seemed visible in the heavens. The moon was bright and pale, and flooded the hallways with silver-white light. Outside, the castle’s snow-dusted grounds shimmered like an ethereal dreamscape from another world.

“We’re going to get into so much trouble if we’re caught,” Hermione whispered, nervously adjusting the cloak over them for the fifth time in half as many minutes. “If Filtch or one of the other teachers catches us-”

“They won’t if you just keep quiet!” Ron hissed.

Hermione sent him a nasty look around Harry, who had somehow found himself in the middle.

“Nobody asked you for your opinion, Ronald. I don’t even understand why we had to come. I mean, Harry’s the only one that needs to talk to McGonagall. I don‘t understand why-”

“Because I need you two to back me up in case McGonagall decides to do what Dumbledore did and ignore me,” Harry cut her off. “She might- Everyone quiet! Someone’s coming!”

The three teenagers quickly huddled off to the side out of the middle of the hall and quieted, pulling the invisibility cloak tighter around them. As they watched, a silvery form glided towards them down the hall.

Nearly Headless Nick…

The ghost looked like he was on patrol, the ghost’s eyes carefully scanning the hall as he went. Most likely he was there on McGonagall’s orders, the Deputy Headmistress taking no chances of another attack happening while Dumbledore was still recovering in the Hospital Wing.

The three friends all tensed as the ghost glided down the hall and suddenly stopped only several paces from where they hid under Harry’s cloak. Harry felt Hermione and Ron both hold their breath, none of them daring to make a sound.

Nearly Headless Nick stood there silently in the middle of the hall, staring at the spot Harry and his friends stood with a suspicious look on his transparent face. The ghost’s pale grey eyes shifted back and forth over the spot, as if trying to see or hear something else to confirm his nagging suspicions.

It took Harry a moment to recognize it, but he suddenly realized Nearly Headless Nick looked uneasy - as if he suspected the presence of some unknown spirit with him in the hall (which was ridiculous given he was one himself, but nevertheless that was the impression Harry got).

Sir Nicholas floated there for several more moments of tense silence, staring uncertainly right at Harry through his invisibility cloak, before with an uneasy shake of his severed head he floated off. “Drat these feelings…” the ghost murmured as he disappeared down another hall. “If this is Peeves playing some kind of joke on me I swear I’m going straight to the Bloody Baron with this…” And then he was gone.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared after him for several minutes just to be sure the ghost didn’t return.

“What was that about?” Ron whispered. “It was like he actually knew where we were.”

“Odd,” Hermione agreed, staring after the Gryffindor ghost. “I’ve read about ghosts being able to sense one another, but never about one being able to sense a living person…”

Harry felt an unpleasant suspicion worm it’s way up inside him and chose not to say anything in response, but rather turned his attention back onto the task at hand. “Come on. We still have to get to the Headmaster’s office and talk to McGonagall. We’re just wasting time here.”

Hermione and Ron glanced at Harry strangely, and fell into step beside him as he started off down the hall.

“Harry…” Hermione softly whispered as they turned down another hallway and made for the stairs, “do you know what that was about back there? With Nearly Headless Nick, I mean.”

Harry said nothing in response and pretended to focus on navigating the three of them up the stairs under his cloak.

“Harry?”

The unspoken question attached to his name hung like an ominous presence in the air.

Reluctantly, Harry gave a sigh. “I’ve been noticing Nearly Headless Nick and a lot of other ghosts acting strangely around me ever since I came back to school last September.”

For a moment, none of them spoke as they came to the third floor landing and turned down the hall that led towards the Headmaster’s office.

“Do you think,” Hermione tentatively ventured, “that since you spent several days as a ghost last summer, Nearly Headless Nick and the other ghosts can somehow sense you?”

“Don’t know,” Harry replied. “It almost seems like it, but I don’t know why they would. I’m not a ghost anymore.”

“But what about what happened with you and the hourglasses?” Hermione said. “Remember how you thought it was just a dream, but then it suddenly came true? You might still have some kind of link to the…” -she visibly groped for an appropriate word- “spiritual world. I know it sounds ridiculous, but how else can you explain what happened to the hourglasses and why Nearly Headless Nick and the other ghosts act so strangely around you. They might be able to sense your connection to them, but just don’t know what to make of it since you’re not truly one of them anymore.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, Hermione’s words making more sense than what he wanted to admit. It was possible… but still something he didn’t want to acknowledge. If it was true, him having some kind of link to the spiritual realm would seriously make his life a lot more complicated than it already was; and that was something he really didn’t need right now, or ever, for that matter.

“Maybe. But…” Harry suddenly trailed off, stopping dead in the middle of the hall. Hermione and Ron also stopped, the three of them all staring ahead was if listening for something that could not be heard with human ears.

“Did you just feel that?” Harry said, his voice echoing down the empty corridor into darkness.

Hermione and Ron both nodded. “Yeah,” Ron whispered. “It was weird. It felt like-”

It came again. A heavy thump that seemed to pulse through the very air. It resonated deep within each wizard and witch, like a gentle shove against the core of their magical being. Another one came, this one stronger than the last, as if whatever was making it was getting closer.

“The wards!” Hermione visibly paled underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. “The wards are falling!”

Another thump pulsed the air, buffeting each young wizard and witch with the weight of its collapse.

“Someone’s breaking into the castle,” Hermione said, fear now lacing her voice. “But that’s impossible. How could-?”

“Come on!” Harry yelled and sprinted away back down the hall they‘d just come, not even bothering with the invisibility cloak anymore. “We have to go see what’s causing it!”

The three raced through the halls. Every few seconds they felt another ward fall, as if the very walls of Hogwarts were falling down around them. It was a frightening feeling, one that sent a cold spike of fear shooting through them with each successive collapse.

They could hear the unintelligible murmur of frightened voices echoing through the hallways now, others in the castle also aware of the castle’s falling defenses.

“Harry, what’s causing this?” Ron yelled as they ran through the now brightening hallways - torches magically springing to life down all the passageways as if in response to the falling wards.

But Harry didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied with his own panicked thoughts to put voice to the fear swirling around his head.

Please, please, please don’t let it be what I think it is… he desperately prayed to whatever deity or higher being it was that could hear him. Please don’t let it be what I think it is…

They finally reached the front hall of the castle. McGonagall, Flitwick, Filtch, and several other teachers were already there, worry etched into each of their faces as they stared at the barred and warded door, wands drawn. Harry noticed that a certain dark haired man was not amongst them.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall yelled as she suddenly turned and caught sight of the boy and his friends running towards them. “What do you think you’re doing here? Someone‘s trying to break into the castle. It‘s not safe-!”

“Professor! I know who’s trying to break in! It’s-!”

Another thump rent the air. But instead of being followed by yet another, everything suddenly fell silent. A strange, ominous tension descended over the castle, like the proverbial calm before the storm. No one moved or even seemed to breathe, all of them staring at the barred siege door.

“What happened?” Professor Sprout finally ventured after several moments of no movement or sound. “Is it over?”

“I’m not sure,” McGonagall said, taking several steps towards the door. “I’d almost say that was the last ward falling but-”

The world suddenly exploded.

For a moment Harry almost felt like he’d been caught in the middle of a nuclear blast; he’d once seen a documentary on it about a city in Japan that had had a devastating bomb dropped on it when his aunt and uncle had gone out to dinner one night and Dudley had forgotten to turn off the television. For a moment, the world was nothing but a fiery void of light and sound. He felt himself violently sent flying through the air, and then-

Pain. That was the first thing to register in Harry’s mind when he came back to himself half a second later. As he unsteadily pushed himself up onto his bleeding hands and knees to take stock of where he was and what happened, he was startled to find himself suddenly outside. Around him, bodies and smoking debris littered the once virgin white lawn of the castle. Twisted metal and blackened chunks of wood lay everywhere, half burying him underneath them.

It took a moment for Harry to understand what had happened. Behind him, nothing remained of the castle’s siege door except a smoking hole in the castle’s outer wall. Dazedly staring at the devastation around him, Harry became aware of the cries and groans from those around him. Several other people were also pushing themselves up out of the wreckage, but he couldn’t make out who they were in the moonlight. Ron and Hermione - who had been right beside him no more than thirty seconds ago - were now nowhere to be seen.

He painfully pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the nearest figure he saw. It lay half buried under a smoking beam of wood. He dropped down beside it and pushed the beam away, then rolled the motionless body over onto its back.

It was Professor McGonagall.

For a moment, he almost thought she was dead, her face so frighteningly still and plastered with ash and soot no life could possibly remain. But then she suddenly drew a painful gasp of air, and looked up at him. Her tartan green robes were burnt and torn - much like his own robes probably were.

“Professor,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s going to be alright. I don’t know what happened, but the door-”

“Harry,” she urgently rasped, as if struggling for breath. “Go to the Headmaster’s office… Fire-call the Order for help…”

“Professor…”

“Now, Potter! Quickly! I‘ll be alright.”

Harry numbly stood, his mind still too dazed from the blast to disobey the Deputy Headmistress’ order. He turned back towards the castle and the sea of devastation separating him from it. Looking at it now, he saw he had to have been thrown at least two hundred feet. He still couldn’t make out any sign of Ron or Hermione. He thought he saw Filtch pulling himself and a singed looking Mrs. Norris out of the debris, but couldn’t make out the identity of anyone else he saw getting up. He desperately wanted to look for his friends. But McGonagall’s order drove him on. He had to get help. The castle was under attack. He had to get help before he could come back and look for them. He could only hope they weren’t one of the ones not getting up on their own power…

He managed to navigate several unsteady feet through the wreckage before a sudden sound stopped him dead in his tracks. It was several sounds actually. Several dozen, one right after another…

They were the loud pops of people Apparating to within only several hundred feet of the castle - an impossible thing according to Hogwarts: A History no more than five minutes ago before the wards had mysteriously fallen.

Before Harry knew it, he was surrounded by several dozen black figures in masks.

Death Eaters…

“Well done, slave!” a cold voice rang through the night, drawing Harry’s attention to it. “This is exactly what I wanted you to do from the beginning!”

A spike of pain shot through Harry’s scar, momentarily blurring his vision. Turning towards the voice and blinking back the pain, Harry saw the visage of the one who’s skeletal face haunted his worst fears and nightmares…

Voldemort…

The Dark Lord’s face was a chilling image of glee. “Well done, slave, well done!” he laughed, his skeletal face split in two by the frightening mockery of a smile. “Come out and survey the fruits of your labor!”

For a moment, Harry didn’t know who Voldemort was talking to. But then he followed the Dark Lord’s gaze back towards the smoking remains of the castle-

And there saw Severus Snape framed in the gutted wall, his wand held limp by his side as he slowly dipped his head in recognition of the Dark Lord’s praise.