1996

“I wish you were coming with us,” Ginny sighed as she pulled away from Harry on the sofa.

Harry brought Ginny back into his arms. “Me too,” he agreed before kissing her again.

Ginny smiled. “I could stay here,” she offered in a teasing voice but Harry’s heart skipped a beat anyway at the thought. The idea of the two of them here together, alone, was certainly a pleasant one.

“You could.” he answered in all seriousness and Ginny leaned closer to him, nestling into his side.

“I can stay if you want me to, Harry.” Her tone this time was solemn as well, and Harry knew she was giving him a chance to back away from the commitment he’d made.

Harry sighed. He hadn’t spoken to Snape since he and Remus had walked into the Potions classroom with Harry on Thursday evening. As soon as Snape had reversed his Disillusionment Charm, he’d informed Harry that Voldemort was calling.

Fear had gripped Harry instantly and Snape had assured him quietly, “I will be fine.” And then his father had continued, his voice hardening, “Do not leave the Tower. Is that clear?”

Harry had nodded shakily, his heart beating faster as his father studied him briefly and then Snape was Flooing away, his face a blank mask.

Harry stayed up most of that night, alternating between pacing and re-writing the same two lines of his Potions essay. His friends had tried to stay up with him, until Harry had finally ordered the dozing Gryffindors to leave the common room.

Ginny of course, had refused to go and so Harry had eventually sat down on the sofa, pulling Ginny to him. He had wrapped an arm around her as she put her head on his shoulder, whispering quietly to her to sleep. Ginny had obliged and though Harry hadn’t meant to, he soon fell asleep as well. When he’d awoken early the next morning, he and Ginny had been inexplicably covered in one of the blankets from Harry’s bed and there was a small vial, labeled Essence of Clover in a tidy, familiar script, sitting on the low table in front of them.

Harry had seen the Potions Master in the Great Hall yesterday at dinner but had not dared to make eye contact with him. And even though Harry had been touched by Snape’s gesture, he was incredibly nervous to see the man. He had no idea how he was supposed to act around him anymore…he was even less sure about what he should call him when he saw him next…if indeed he managed to call him anything at all.

“Harry?” Ginny prodded, breaking into his thoughts.

“Sorry,” Harry smiled. “I’ll be all right,” he tried to assure her as she studied him.

“I’ll be here when you finish with Snape,” she promised and Harry smiled at the thought, just as Ginny’s friends came loudly down the stairs from the dorms. Their chattering stopped immediately as they saw Harry and Ginny together on the couch.

“You’d better go, Gin,” Harry said resignedly as he pulled her to her feet. Ginny stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss and Harry blushed as the giggling started. Ginny rolled her eyes and with a little wave to Harry, she allowed herself to be shepherded from the common room by her friends.

Harry sighed and flopped back onto the sofa, wishing that he hadn’t agreed to spend the day with Snape. He was in the middle of debating whether or not to just stay in the common room when Ron’s voice rang out in exasperation, “Why does it take so long for girls to get ready?”

Harry twisted his head around to watch as Ron and Neville descended the rest of the way down the stairs. He grinned at his agitated friend. Harry thought of mentioning that Ginny rarely seemed to need any more time than he did to get ready but thought it would probably only irritate Ron further so he just shrugged, “I don’t know, but judging by beauty alone, it should be you who takes longer.”

Ron made a face at Harry which he returned. Neville, standing next to Ron, looked extremely nervous. “You all right, Neville?” Harry questioned his reticent friend. Neville nodded jerkily.

“Neville’s got a date,” Ron informed Harry conspiratorially. Harry drew closer to the arm of the sofa, so he could get a better look at the nervous boy.

“Really? Who with?” he asked and then Harry laughed as Neville, with cheeks flaming, quickly stammered out the name of one of the Ravenclaw girls Harry had forced upon him the other day. “Brilliant!” Harry congratulated his friend and Neville actually managed a timid smile.

Ron, bored quickly of the talk of Neville’s conquest, stomped over to the stairs and called out impatiently, “Hurry up, Hermione!” He opened his mouth to shout some more but Hermione appeared then and Ron quickly snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks warming with a pleased blush. Hermione stepped into the common room; Ron smiled stupidly at her.

Harry, biting his lip to hide his grin, shook his head at his bumbling friend. Hermione was smiling shyly at Ron and Harry had to admit, she did look nice.

“Wow, Hermione,” Ron breathed appreciatively and Hermione blushed in response. Not even moving his eyes from his girlfriend, Ron asked distractedly, “Ready, Harry?”

Wanting to answer in the negative, Harry pushed himself to his feet and waited for Hermione and Ron to quit staring at one another. “I’m ready,” he accentuated pointedly and shook his head as the mildly dazed pair turned and walked out the portrait hole. Harry and Neville followed them.

They walked down to the entrance hall, where Neville met his giggling date. Neville, stammering even more than he had in class, offered the Ravenclaw his elbow which she accepted with another titter. For some reason, the two overly nervous couples made Harry miss Ginny even more.

Most of the other students had already left through the big double doors and Harry leaned against a wall, watching them go. He straightened up automatically when he saw Snape spinning slowly down from Dumbledore’s office; Remus was standing one step above him. Remus smiled when he saw Harry. Snape ignored Harry completely as he turned toward the dungeons, his dark robes flapping behind him. And even though Harry knew his father had no other choice right now, Harry couldn’t help the frown that twisted his lip.

Remus’ light touch against his shoulder made Harry jump a bit; he hadn’t realized he was so jittery. “Ready for your detention?” his friend asked, his tone light. Harry nodded and with his nerves jangling ferociously, Harry turned and followed Remus down toward the dungeons.

They reached the Potions Classroom much too quickly for Harry and before Remus could push open the door, Harry grabbed his arm. Remus looked over at him in surprise. Harry felt sick. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Harry?” Remus’ eyes shone in concern; Harry looked away. “What’s wrong?” Remus asked him.

Harry shook his head. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to…” he trailed off, his fingers twisting against Remus’ sleeve.

Remus gingerly removed his arm from Harry’s grasp and cupped a hand around the back of Harry’s neck. He urged Harry to look up at him, and when Harry did, Remus smiled, the expression an echo of that day in Mrs. Weasley’s kitchen.

“It’ll be alright,” he promised quietly. Harry tried to nod but he ended up simply staring morosely into Remus’ gentle eyes.

The door to Snape’s classroom swung open. Harry turned toward the towering man in the doorway. The Professor was glaring down at both of them and Remus removed his hand from Harry’s neck.

“Do you intend to loiter outside my classroom all day?” Snape inquired, his voice ringing with sarcasm.

Keeping his gaze averted, Harry mutely shook his head and scooted past his father, and into the Potions classroom. He watched, his bottom lip clamped firmly between his teeth, as Snape slammed the door right in Remus’ surprised face.

Snape spun around, the glare still firmly in place. But then his father’s features shifted, so that he was only frowning slightly down at Harry. “Are you unwell?” he inquired.

Harry blinked in surprise at the bewildering question. “Sir?”

Snape’s stern mouth turned down further. “You are pale,” the man explained and took a quick step toward Harry, one of his hands reaching out to graze the palm against Harry’s forehead.

Harry shook his head away from Snape’s light touch and backed up a couple of steps. “I’m not sick,” he denied.

Snape’s hand fluttered uselessly back to his side and the familiar mask slipped back into place. Snape nodded curtly. “Was there something in particular you wished to accomplish today?”

Harry stared. “No, sir,” he answered truthfully. He gestured half-heartedly to the sack slung over his shoulder. “I brought my assignments,” he offered, hoping his father wouldn’t accuse him of laziness…or perhaps procrastination. Snape was, after all, the one who had assigned Harry the two foot essay, that was due on Tuesday, an essay which Harry hadn’t even started yet.

“I could use your help with a potion I am brewing,” Snape informed him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Harry.

Harry shrugged, turning his eyes toward the large blackboard in the front of the room.

“A verbal response is considered polite,” Snape rebuked.

Harry turned his eyes back to the Professor. “Fine,” he agreed and Harry swallowed as Snape’s jaw tensed.

“Come, then,” was all the man said and Harry had no choice but to follow Snape toward the Floo.

Side by side, they stepped into the classroom Floo and out of Snape’s own. Snape didn’t even pause; he continued on toward a door to the left. Harry followed him into a pristine lab, everything perfectly ordered and labeled. Harry grinned, somehow finding this room perfectly, well…Snapeish.

Harry stepped interestedly toward a gently bubbling cauldron.

“Do not touch anything,” came Snape’s sharp command.

Harry pulled back from the cauldron and asked curiously, “What is it?”

Snape began taking flasks and vials from a tall storage cabinet, glancing at Harry as he answered, “Wolfsbane.”

Harry leaned toward the cauldron again. “When does Remus need to start taking it?” he asked as he reached a finger out toward the rim of the cauldron, though he was careful not to touch it.

Snape had finished organizing his little group of ingredients. He glowered at Harry and Harry brought his hand back away from the cauldron, his own lips turned down in a frown. How careless did his father think he was?

“Today,” Snape informed him as he turned back to his supplies.

Harry didn’t answer. He set his bag down on the floor, sliding it with his toe until it was underneath the table. Then he stood uncertainly, with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans.

“I need the stalks of three Juniper roots sliced into half-inch pieces. The measurements need to be exact. Do you think you can manage that?”

Snape had trained his black eyes on Harry again and Harry stiffened at the question. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure even I can manage that,” he said sarcastically.

“Excellent,” Snape drawled and gestured dismissively to the pile of Juniper roots on the table.

Well this was certainly much more fun that a day in Hogsmeade would have been, Harry thought bitterly as he chose three roots from the pile. With a knife exactly like the one Snape had drawn blood with weeks ago, Harry began the meticulous chore of slicing. “What are we making?” Harry asked, not even bothering to temper his curt tone.

He saw Snape’s hand tighten against the pestle he was holding. “We are adding to the Wolfsbane,” his father told him, barely moving his lips as he spoke.

Harry stopped slicing as he looked up at Snape in surprise. “But Juniper’s not an ingredient in Wolfsbane,” he objected.

Snape’s face relaxed a measure, as if the man was relieved he had known the ingredient list of Wolfsbane Potion. As if he was glad that his son wasn’t a complete moron when it came to potions. “I have been working on an improved formulation,” Snape explained and Harry forgot his annoyance.

“Improved? How does it work?” he wanted to know.

“Lupin no longer experiences the effect of the full moon.”

“What?” Harry demanded, flabbergasted. “He’s cured? Why didn’t he tell me?” he asked, stunned and bewildered at this news. Remus didn’t have to turn into a werewolf anymore? Ever?

Snape didn’t even look up as he said dryly, “Perhaps because you never asked him.”

Harry looked up sharply at the implication in Snape’s statement. But before Harry could deny that he had been selfish in his friendship with Remus, Snape continued, “And, he has not been cured. The Potion simply allows Lupin to retain his strength and sanity during the three day period during which he used to lock himself away.”

“Simply?” Harry repeated, amazed at what Snape was telling him. “That sounds pretty complicated to me…not to mention bloody brilliant!” he finished enthusiastically. Snape raised his eyebrows, as though in a shrug of acceptance of Harry’s compliment. Feeling energized by the idea of helping his friend, Harry happily went back to his slicing, asking as he did, “How did you figure it out?”

Snape made a small noise, which might have been a snort, or a chuckle. “Albus and I have been working on the new formula for years. Lupin is not the only werewolf.”

Harry nodded, beginning to understand. “So the Headmaster’s trying to recruit werewolves to the fight against Voldemort?”

His father nodded. “Yes.”

Harry finished slicing the last root. He set the knife down and moved the small pile close to the cauldron of simmering Potion. “Is that where Dumbledore went…to recruit werewolves?”

Snape hesitated before answering, “No. Add the slices, two by two,” he directed and Harry complied with the first two pieces of Juniper root.

“But it does have to do with Voldemort, right?” Harry pressed, paying no attention to Snape’s frown as he continued to put the slices in the cauldron. “Is he recruiting someone else?” he wondered, eyeing his father eagerly for an answer.

“The Headmaster’s doings are not your concern,” Snape told him, his voice harsher than it had been a moment ago.

Harry was not bothered by Snape’s tone though. He leaned forward, his palms pressing against the warm table top. “Everything Dumbledore’s been doing since I survived Voldemort’s curse has concerned me though, hasn’t it?” Harry’s tone was filled only with curiosity and even Snape couldn’t have accused him of insolence.

------

Severus narrowed his eyes at his son, taken aback by the lack of sarcasm in the boy’s question. And he really didn’t know how to respond. Harry was of course correct in that virtually everything the Headmaster had done during the past 15 years had somehow involved him. Severus did not want to answer in the affirmative however, and give Harry any more reason to search for further answers about Albus’ whereabouts. Harry had enough to worry about without burdening himself with things he could not change.

“Harry,” Severus finally said quietly, hoping the invocation of his son’s name would still Harry’s temper, “there are some things that you need not know.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Everyone’s been telling me that for years…and they’ve all been wrong. If I had known more about Voldemort…about everything from the beginning, maybe Sirius wouldn’t have had to die.”

Harry’s face revealed his deep distress and Severus wished he could somehow find a way to ease his son’s pain. But he couldn’t, because Harry had a point. As much as he’d hated the mutt, Black’s death had been pointless…and avoidable. Even though Severus would have denied it vehemently during the past years, Harry was not stupid. Things might have turned out very differently if Albus had told Harry about the prophecy from the beginning.

Severus pursed his lips, thinking how best to respond but Harry turned away, dropping in the last two slices of Juniper root. “Does Remus still need to take the Potion for a week?” Harry asked, changing the subject. And although his voice was soft, Severus knew he was still thinking about Black.

Severus obliged grudgingly to his son’s wish to switch topics. “Yes. But it does not need to be fresh, as with the earlier version. Lupin can take a flask with him while he’s away.”

“Away?” Harry’s head shot up immediately. “Where’s he going?” he demanded, his voice rising in what Severus could only call panic. Severus frowned at his son. He had assumed Lupin would have told Harry already.

“He’s leaving the castle this evening. He’ll be away for several days,” he offered and Harry’s cheeks paled a bit.

“Where’s he going?”

“He will be on an errand for the Headmaster,” Severus explained and if possible, Harry’s alarm seemed to heighten and Severus watched in disquiet as his son’s hand trembled against his knife. Severus frowned further. Why should this news distress the boy so much?

“Is Dumbledore trying to kill everybody I care about?” Harry snapped suddenly, his voice sounding somewhat strangled. Severus stepped toward him, almost instinctively, but stilled abruptly as Harry stepped back a pace.

“I’m all right.” The lie was even more transparent than the fear in his son’s eyes.

“Lupin will be fine,” Severus tried, keeping his tone purposely disinterested, hoping that Harry could see there was no reason for his excessive worry. But Harry folded his arms over his chest and snorted.

“Right. And I suppose next you’re going to tell me that you’ll be fine as well, once Voldemort finds out about us or even after he decides to kill you for his own amusement?” he asked sarcastically.

Severus raised an eyebrow in Harry’s direction. “The Dark Lord is not going to kill me, Harry,” he assured his son, trying to keep the amusement from his voice. Really, the child was overdramatic.

Severus was quite startled when Harry suddenly erupted, “Oh, would you stop calling him that? Voldemort, it’s Voldemort! You’re not a bloody Death Eater, dammit! Even Ginny and Hermione can use his name! Why can’t you?”

Severus, in those next minutes, was extremely glad he had erected his shields when Harry had shown the first signs that morning of doing exactly what Albus and Lupin had assured Severus he would. The Potions Master’s pursed lips were the only outward sign of his inner irritation at Harry’s outburst.

He told himself firmly that allowances had been made for Harry’s disrespect for the past five years. And he insisted further, that it would do no good right now to chastise his son. Not when Harry was in such a fragile state.

Fragile? Merlin, what was he doing? Severus narrowed his eyes and remarked smoothly, “As you have never been a spy, you are not likely to understand.”

Harry continued to glare at him. “Yeah, well…it was a right daft idea to become a spy for Voldemort in the first place,” he muttered.

His temper gripping him, Severus retorted, “Would you have preferred me to allow Eileen to kill your mother?”

“She died anyway,” Harry shrugged and Severus had to turn away, his rising fury urging him, with a strong push, to shake his son. Severus drew in a deep breath and turned around again. Harry’s face was deathly white and he was watching Severus, his lower lip trembling with either fear or anger, likely both.

Severus relaxed his jaw and forced calm to rule his tone. “I am not going to reject you.” He saw no reason to continue this ridiculous scenario, no matter how the wolf had insisted that Harry would not realize he was testing him. It would be best to simply deal with whatever his son was feeling.

Perhaps not, Severus amended as Harry was staring at him, apparently dumbfounded by Severus’ premature declaration. Severus swore silently as he heard the soft whoosh of the Floo and both he and Harry turned toward the door.

Severus, so caught up in his tense interaction with his son, hadn’t realized how long they’d been in his quarters. But surely it wasn’t time already. Severus left the lab quickly, after placing a Stasis Charm over the waiting ingredients and telling Harry sternly to stay where he was.

Minerva’s face was floating in his Floo.

“You are early,” Severus told her.

Minerva pursed her lips in annoyance. “Albus needs to speak with me.”

Severus nodded and directed, “Five minutes.” Minerva nodded curtly and then she was gone.

Harry, for once, had actually listened; he was still waiting as the Potions Master came back into his lab. “We need to return to the classroom for a short time.”

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked immediately, seeming to have forgotten they had just had words.

“No. Come,” Severus commanded and without another word, he and Harry were heading back into the Floo Network.

As soon as they stepped out of the classroom Floo, Severus pointed to the low table in front of his desk. Harry approached it and then turned back to stare at the Professor.

“I believe you know what to do with those,” Severus said tonelessly and his son gaped at him.

“Frogs?” he asked incredulously.

“Consider it as a punishment for your Privacy Spell in the common room.” Severus spun around and went to sit behind his desk, smirking to himself as Harry sputtered.

-----

How the hell had Snape known about the Privacy Spell? Damn. The man really did know everything. Making a face, Harry took the first frog gingerly in one hand and made a careful slit down the dead amphibian’s middle, deliberately ignoring the squeaky squelch of the flesh as it ripped open.

Harry pried the organs one by one out of the frog, glaring resentfully at his father with each pluck. Well that’s what he got for actually talking to the Professor. When Snape refused to acknowledge Harry’s glower, Harry gave up and just concentrated on the task. As he began gutting the second frog, he thought about Snape’s words in his private lab. What had he meant, he wasn’t going anywhere?

There was a sharp rap on the classroom door; Harry glanced up. Snape waved his wand and the door creaked open. Harry groaned inwardly as Malfoy sauntered in, followed closely by a very annoyed-looking McGonagall, her face even more pinched than it normally was. Well it was no wonder, with that haughty sneer plastered all over the Slytherin’s face.

“Minerva, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape greeted and Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the overly easy tone of his father’s voice.

“Good morning, Professor. Lovely morning,” Malfoy breezed, ignoring Harry completely as he swaggered toward Snape’s desk.

“Forgive the intrusion,” McGonagall apologized. “I won’t be long,” she promised and Snape nodded.

“It is no intrusion, Minerva. Take your time.” Snape was definitely up to something, Harry decided as he turned back to his frogs, having to force himself not to glance up at his father.

“Thank you, Severus.”

Snape inclined his dark head and McGonagall, with a glare at Malfoy, exited as swiftly as she had entered.

“Gutting frogs, Potter? Fitting,” Malfoy smirked.

“Pity I can’t give you something to suit you as well,” Harry returned, his hand itching for his wand.

“I was not aware that conversation was part of your detention, Potter.” Harry clenched his jaw, even though he knew Snape was playing a part right now. He returned unwillingly back to his punishment, trying not to think about how Malfoy was most likely grinning in glee at Snape’s cold reprimand.

“Mr. Malfoy, come with me,” Snape added to the Slytherin and though Harry didn’t watch them go, he heard the soft click of his father’s office door closing. Only then did Harry look up, pursing his lips as he futilely tried to hear something, anything from beyond the door.

What was Snape up to…with Malfoy, no less? Snape had said it was something that would be too dangerous for Harry to know about, but that told Harry very little. They always told him that…and every single time it had turned out that Harry would have fared much better with even just a bit of that ‘dangerous’ knowledge. Harry was very tempted to press his ear up against the door but knew it would be pointless, not to mention incredibly stupid.

The door opened shortly and Harry hastily cut into another frog from the pile. He looked up again at Malfoy’s smooth comment. “You’d think after all your detentions with Snape, you’d have the technique mastered by now, Potter.”

Harry glared up at the self-serving Slytherin. “Unless you’d like to give it a try, Malfoy…sod off.”

Malfoy tilted his head, as if he found Harry’s crude suggestion merely curious and then the Slytherin walked right up to Harry and held out his manicured hand. Harry stared at him. “The knife, Potter,” Malfoy explained, his fingers flexing toward the tool in Harry’s fist.

Harry made a face at Malfoy. “Sure, Malfoy. I’ll just let you do my work and then Snape’ll come out here and give me another detention for my trouble.”

Malfoy frowned at him and then shrugged and drew out his wand, pointing it in Harry’s direction. Without even pausing to think, Harry had his wand out, aiming it straight at Malfoy’s chest.

“Drop it,” Harry ordered and Malfoy actually laughed.

“Oh, Brilliant, Potter. You think I want to hex you even though McGonagall’s coming right back? Even a Gryffindor should recognize the flaw in that plan,” he chortled and Harry gritted his teeth, feeling extremely foolish.

“I’m surprised you’re able to recognize the flaw, Malfoy…I didn’t realize Slytherins could even think,” Harry jibed, keeping his wand steady.

Malfoy sniffed disdainfully at the insult. “As if Gryffindor is full of intelligence. Your little blood traitor friends certainly aren’t, especially Weasley after his little mishap at the Ministry of Magic last term,” he smirked.

“I’d much rather have ‘blood traitor’ friends, then a coward of father who has nothing better to do than kiss the arse of a murdering psychopath,” Harry retorted, his voice turning hard.

Malfoy’s wand hand lifted ever so slightly, so that his wand actually was aimed at Harry this time. “You don’t know anything about my father, Potter” the other boy bit out.

“All I need to know is that your father is a Death Eater,” Harry told Malfoy scornfully.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared. “And just what is your father, Potter? Oh, that’s right. He’s dead, along with your Mudblood mother, who got herself killed saving your worthless life.”

His rage complete, Harry demanded loudly, “Expelliarmus,” and Malfoy’s wand flew from the other boy’s grip. “Take it back, Malfoy,” Harry ordered the Slytherin, as he leveled his wand straight between Malfoy’s perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“Lower your wand, Mr. Potter,” Snape’s silky voice ordered from his office. Harry didn’t even look at him. “Now,” his father hissed and then he had Harry’s wand arm in a firm grip, though there was virtually no pressure applied, while Malfoy’s wand was plucked out of his other hand.

“Let go of me!” Harry insisted fiercely but his father ignored him and then Harry was being spun around in the same direction Snape had just come from.

“Get in my office,” Snape commanded fiercely and used his grip to propel Harry toward the open door. Harry set his jaw and complied, though he stomped more than walked through the doorway, slamming the door loudly behind him.

“This is your idea of following orders?” his father’s voice hissed from the other side of the door.

Apparently Snape’s Silencing Spells only worked one way. Grimacing, Harry pressed himself closer to the door, trying to quiet his breathing so he could hear.

“I’m sick of your orders!” Malfoy claimed and Harry heard the crash of wood against stone out in the classroom, although he couldn’t be certain which of the Slytherins was having a tantrum. Harry figured they were both equally likely to be.

“You know perfectly well that these are you father’s instructions, Draco.” Draco? Harry’s stomach danced.

“Sod my father!” Malfoy yelled, followed by another crash.

“You’re father’s trying to protect you,” Snape tried to tell his Slytherin, apparently ignoring what Harry now knew was Malfoy’s childish tantrum.

“He should have thought of that before he joined You Know You. Instead, I’m supposed to become a murderer!” Malfoy’s voice was hysterical now and Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest. A murderer?

Snape’s voice was quieter as he answered, though there was not a hint of gentleness in the tone as he stated matter of factly, “You are not going to murder him, Draco.”

“But Dumbledore-” Draco started to protest.

“Dumbledore has taken care of everything. He’s been preparing this for a long time.”

“And what about Potter? That prat deserves-”

“Mr. Potter is not your concern. I have him under control,” his father told the Slytherin boy smoothly and Harry began to tremble. Under control? What in the bleeding hell did Snape mean by that?

“But his werewolf is leaving.”

“Who told you that?” Snape asked sharply.

“I have sources as well, you know,” Malfoy answered smugly. Harry heard his father utter a particularly foul curse and Harry knew at once that he had to see Remus. Where ever Remus was going, it was obvious nobody, especially those who associated with the Malfoys, was supposed to know about it. And, no matter what Dumbledore or Snape had to say about it, Harry wasn’t going to let Remus go off to be killed…or worse.

The Floo was there, enticingly in front of him and Harry, with an irrational tug in his chest, moved toward the fireplace. He wasn’t going to wait around here while Snape and his pet Slytherin nonchalantly discussed whether or not Malfoy was going to become a murderer.

Harry had no idea whose murder it was they were trying to avoid, but Harry was certain his own fate would be sealed as soon as his father realized Harry had left the office, but even the threat of a slow, torturous death meant very little to Harry right now. And, if Snape was going to share his secret plans with the likes of Draco Malfoy and leave Harry completely in the dark, well then his father could just go to hell. Ignoring his conscious as it screamed at him this time to stay put, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and threw it down, calling out quietly, “Remus Lupin’s quarters-Hogwarts!”