January started absolutely miserably at Hogwarts.  A sudden snowstorm swept through the area the first weekend students were back, and pre-Christmas grades had all been returned, adding a sullen mood to the common rooms of the four houses. Whereas in the last semester there were still holiday festivities to look forward to, it was now just bleak winter surrounding them.   Harry sat in the back of the fourth floor History of Magic classroom with Hermione and Ron, tuning out Binns completely as he stared at the snow piled up against the stone corner of the windowpane nearest him.  It looked freezing outside, and the stone wall didn't give much illusion in the way of warmth or comfort.

Harry sketched idly on his note parchment, drawing little stick men and crudely figured death eaters facing a hive of bees, very much like the image he'd told Snape about in Amsterdam.  Binns seemed to be getting his second wind about the Battle of Kerrowmoar, and Harry wondered if in fifty years Binns would be lecturing about the boy wizard who sat in his class and planned the demise of Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War.  Looking down at his badly animated stick figures, which were unsuccessfully summoning the beehive, Harry amended his statement.  The boy who sat in class and came up with stupid ideas.

After History of Magic and dinner, Harry and his friends slowly made their way back up to Gryffindor tower.  It was likely to be full of students with slight cases of cabin fever, but the night was too bitter cold to spend anywhere else and with luck, they could sit in Harry and Ron's dorm while the other boys lounged in the common room.  Passing through the portrait hole, Ron stretched on the other side and made a beeline for the notice board, where a bright parchment had caught his eye.  Apparition lessons would be starting soon for those turning seventeen that year, and a wide grin broke out on Ron's face.  He jabbered all the way up to their dorm about how brilliant it would finally be to learn to apparate, and Harry smiled along.  Harry was looking forward to apparition, but he was more excited about learning to fly.  Snape, having realized from the Advanced Potions Making textbook that Harry learned much better by reading the instructions, theory, and examples; had written out a small fourteen page booklet all about learning how to fly.  He'd also spelled it so only Harry could read it, as it was a rare skill and one that was best kept unannounced in Harry's arsenal.

They were due to start the practical flying lessons in February, and Harry was determined to have memorized Snape's manual by then.  For now, since he'd gotten all his homework done for the evening, he sat on his bed and set the marauder's map out once more.  Ambrose the Wizard and Kermit the Dragon, glad to be out of the nightstand drawer, walked all over the map in an attempt to keep up with the students trudging back and forth from the library and great hall respectively. 

Hermione sat on Ron's bed, leaning against one of the bedposts with her homework in her lap, her legs stretched out and feet tucked under Ron's crossed legs, but Harry wasn't sure that it was for warmth.  The room was rather warm, a steady fire going in the old fashioned stove in the centre of the room; the smell of snow soaked woolen clothes mixing with the drying terrycloth towels that were draped over the thin wrought iron grate that surrounded the stove.  Harry's window was slightly cracked open, allowing a tiny breeze of fresh chilly air to enter, causing the corners of Dean's football posters to flutter slightly.

Harry sat silently for a few moments, parchment resting on a book on his lap as he stared at the letter he'd written.  Merely half a foot long of parchment, and he'd run out of points to make. 

"Hey Ron, your brother Bill is a curse breaker, right?"  Harry asked, tapping on Peeves' nametag and making Kermit pounce on it.

"Yeah, for five years now."  Ron replied, snatching a set of notes from Hermione.

"Has he ever come back with...well has he ever been hurt on the job?"

"Loads of times."  Ron scoffed, pretending to not be bothered when Hermione glared at him and took her homework back.

"Really?"  Harry was suddenly curious, as other than the fang earring and a faint scar on the back of Bill's hand, he looked remarkably unblemished.

"'Course.  He lost three of his toes permanently one year, turned his skin purple last June for a month and a half, banished his own clothes more times than I can remember, oh, and he has a hell of a time getting our names right."

"Your names?"  Hermione asked, re-wetting her quill expertly and without spilling a drop on the bedspread.

"He never calls us by the right names on the first shot. Usually calls me Fred or Charlie.  Even Ginny gets called something different. That started a year after he went to Egypt."  Ron was obviously amused at his brother's troubles, but Harry knew the ribbing was good-natured. With the exception of Percy's treachery for the Ministry, the Weasleys were a very close-knit family.

"So no one cares that he's not quite right all the time?" Harry asked casually, staring at the moving names on the map.

"Nah. Not all of us can be perfect."  Ron answered, flexing his muscles in an obnoxious attempt to flirt with Hermione.

She smacked him on the shoulder with their transfiguration textbook.

"What are you worried about, Harry?  Charlie has all sorts of dragon burns and gashes on his arms, no one says anything about them either."

"Just thinking ahead."  Harry shrugged, aiming for nonchalance.  "I'll have to face Voldemort soon, and I'm just thinking of what might happen. The prophecy isn't exactly encouraging."

Both Ron and Hermione stilled as they looked at him. Neither had been told what the exact contents of the prophecy were.

"Can you tell us what it said, Harry?"  Hermione asked gently.

Harry stared at the map and then at his toys, before helping Ambrose climb up onto Kermit and ride on him for a while.

"Neither can live while the other survives."

The room was deadly quiet for a few moments, save for the scratching of Kermit's feet on the map and the toy's occasional hiccup.

Hermione gave Harry a calculating look, before answering carefully. 

"Madame Pomfrey's always been good at putting you back together."

"Yes, she has been."  Harry agreed with a small smile.

"I reckon Snape won't let you do anything too stupid."  Ron added.

"Just make sure that if I lose my mind, you two are the ones who give me my memory back. I don't want him knowing everything we've done here."  Harry grinned, suddenly feeling better. It didn't matter if he came back from the battle missing an ear or thinking that the sun was green.  Ron and Hermione would be there for him.

"We haven't been that bad."  Hermione stated, sounding affronted.  "You two have broken many more rules than I have."

"Mmm. Remember Aragog?"  Harry asked Ron, the latter whom visibly shuddered.

"Are you sure you want that memory back, mate?"

"Why not, I've got other nightmares now."  Harry laughed.  Hermione, who'd been filled in on the trip to the Forbidden Forest back in their second year, looked like she wanted nothing to do with the memory either.

"Hey look, Malfoy's on the map."  Harry suddenly pointed with his wand, noticing Malfoy again by the fourth floor library. Oddly, three house ghosts and Dumbledore seemed to be in the area as well.

"Did you ever figure out what he was doing by the secret passage, Harry?" Hermione asked, dropping her books and coming to sit on Harry's bed to get a better look at the map.

"No, Dumbledore told me to leave it."  Harry mumbled distractedly.  He flipped through a page of the map to the dungeons and saw Snape prowling around in his office.

"I think something's going to happen. Tonight." 

Kermit wiggled his tail and butt a little as he jumped on Snape's nametag.

"Are you channeling Trelawney now?"  Ron asked, sitting up in bed and abandoning his work.

"Ha ha. Not on your life."  Five seconds later, a new tag appeared on the map and Harry felt his gut clench.

"But I think that proves my theory."  All three leaned over to the tag that had just appeared at the fourth floor secret passageway, to make sure they were reading it correctly.

Fenrir Greyback.

......

While the original definition of chaos theory was entirely too mathematical for Harry's tastes, he did like to use it as a loose definition for the kind of trouble he was generally good at.  The one where he went in with entirely too much more courage than brains, something Snape would probably label his Gryffindor hero complex.  However, as they ran down the hall with Harry's invisibility cloak bundled in his arms, Harry figured that Snape would probably be best to help them in whatever fight was going to pop up.  The only problem was, the dungeons were a time wasting reroute.  Just as he was about to call Dobby and ask Dobby to deliver the message, Harry rounded a corner and tripped over a gargoyle's foot, sprawling out on the floor and scraping up his palms.

"Ooww, dammit."  His wrist flashed warmly and Harry checked his watch, to see that it was glowing pinkish.  Enough to bug Snape, but probably not enough to get him to come, seeing as Harry triggered that level of alarm on an embarrassingly often basis. An idea sprung to his mind and he waved Hermione and Ron away as he kicked at the base of the statue, finally releasing the stone battle-axe. It swung down in an arch towards him, and Harry had barely enough time to roll out of the way before it crashed into the stone floor and chipped itself with a loud clang.  This time his watch burned, and it was flashing red.  Harry grabbed his map from Ron, who was staring with an open mouth at him, and demanded: "Point me Snape!"

"That was a stupid way to get his attention, Harry!"  Hermione finally admonished.

"Yeah, but it worked." Harry answered, pointing at the label of Snape that was moving up the stairs at a rather impressive speed.  The trio raced along the hallway themselves, finally slowing down when they reached the small side stairs for the fourth floor corridor.  Slipping under the invisibility cloak, the three crept up the stairs and followed the voices of Malfoy and Dumbledore.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, bit of an odd spot for a stroll on this lovely Wednesday evening."

Malfoy stood guarded by the mirror entrance, watching Dumbledore with narrowed blue eyes.  "You should know this isn't a stroll."

"Yes, I regret I do.  I am sad to see which side you have chosen, Draco."

"Rubbish. I've chosen the winning side!"  Draco held his arm up shakily, pointing his wand at Dumbledore.

Harry felt movement as Ron silently held up his arm and covered Hermione's gasp with his hand.

"Have you?"  Dumbledore asked gently.  "There is a werewolf on the other side of that mirror whom is just waiting for you to make a mistake, and I believe that his means of advancement is a bit more violent than you are accustomed to."

Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed hidden under the invisibility cloak, standing in the alcove near the library hall. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape slip into the shadows by a statue.

"Greyback is a family friend. My father -"

"Your father has lost much over the past year, especially in the eyes of Voldemort."  Dumbledore stated, still standing rather calmly. He had not drawn his own wand, but Harry knew very well that he could easily disarm Malfoy.

"That's why I'm doing this, to redeem our name." Draco sneered, jutting his chin out and holding his head highly.  "I'm going even further than he asked, and when I succeed, I will be his second in command. Not my aunt, not my parents, and especially not Snape."

Harry was rather taken back by the sheer arrogance of Draco.  He wasn't bluffing, he was very confident in himself to step into a game as a mere child, a war that he'd been born into, and take up a role that was far beyond his abilities or understanding.  Harry was rather certain that Draco had no idea what horrors awaited the second in command to Voldemort.  He looked crazed, drunk with the potential for power, and Dumbledore's gaze hardened.

"Do you think it's wise to divert from your assignment? I don't expect that Voldemort appreciates such initiative."

"He will understand."  Draco answered, venom dripping from his words as he steadied his grip on the wand.  "Once he has Potter, he will understand."

Harry saw Malfoy finger a small chalice, one with very little decoration on it, which looked eerily similar to the goblets that they used at the tables in the great hall.  Harry suddenly got a rather sick feeling in his stomach as he understood what Malfoy had planned.   Malfoy probably intended the potion he'd ordered from Greyback back in August to use in the drink that Harry would normally have at a meal in the great hall.  At least this time there wasn't a portkey involved, Harry thought grimly.

Hermione stiffened beside him as the mirror opened and Fenrir, in full human form, stepped out.   Harry saw Snape stand straighter as well, and that his wand was drawn.

"Time's up for speeches, Dumbledore.  Your protection of the innocent little kids of this school ends tonight."  Greyback was tapping his wand against his palm and had a wicked smirk on his face.  Dumbledore was watching them with caution, and Harry saw the slight twitch of his wand hand seconds before the chalice Malfoy was holding glowed faintly, in a sickly green colour that Harry recognized was a positive result for a portkey check.

"Good evening, Fenrir. That protection was offered to you as a child as well, if you remember.  Hogwarts has never turned away a student, even one with lycanthropy."

"I don't need your pity. Soon my kind will be running much more than the forest and backwoods."  Fenrir growled.

"You are one of a kind, Greyback, to our good fortune."  Dumbledore nodded his head and opened his arms like an invitation and Greyback's eyes took a predatory look.  Harry twitched, wanting to jump out and defend the headmaster, fought with himself to stay still.  He could see Snape creeping closer.

Harry wasn't sure who attacked first.  Draco stood off to the side as Fenrir advanced, and it seemed that Dumbledore almost danced as his robes twisted, catching Fenrir's rush and clothes lining him in the chest. An "accio" chalice was called at the same time, and before Harry could squeak, Dumbledore and Fenrir popped out of existence.

"Shit!"  Draco cursed, spinning around angrily.  He didn't notice Snape step out of the shadows, nor Harry's wand appear in mid air as they both cast expelliarmus, knocking him out.

Harry threw off the cloak, leaving Ron and Hermione standing slightly stunned.

"I think he's cleared the passageway."  Harry said, standing with wand drawn over Draco while Snape incarcerated him with a rope spell.

"Open the door."  Snape nodded, rolling the unconscious Draco onto his side. "Granger, fetch your head of house immediately and speak to no one else. Weasley, do something to block the main hallway."

As Ron moved down the hall, conjuring ropes with a ‘maintenance' sign to block the hall, Harry touched the solid mirror.

"Through the looking glass." He murmured, noticing the mirror shiver like it had the last time.  Inside looked much different; the path was completely unblocked, and there was a large open area at the entrance, filled with a few sacks of supplies.

"This is ridiculous."  Snape muttered, before stepping into the mirror and pointing his wand down the long dark passageway.  He took a minute to keep his arm steady and aim true before firing a reducto curse that sailed a good two hundred yards down the passage before hitting a curve in the wall and exploding, blocking off the passage way again.

After scanning the map with Harry for a moment, Snape conjured his patronus and sent a coded message out.  Harry assumed it was going to the next in command in the Order.  McGonagall and Hermione arrived shortly after, and Snape called Ron back to where they were standing.

"We will need to discuss the events immediately with the staff. Summon the staff and have them meet us at the Headmaster's office."

McGonagall sputtered in confusion, but Snape pointedly reminded her that she was deputy headmistress.

"The headmaster summoned a portkey meant for Potter, and is now locked away somewhere with an angered Fenrir Greyback."  Snape explained, standing up and levitating Malfoy.

Ron and Hermione shuddered at this, but followed McGonagall as she started for the stairs.  Harry followed silently still trying to understand that Malfoy had completely intended to kidnap Harry, and Dumbledore went instead.  He was rather angry on one hand, as it had not been hard for Draco to bring a portkey to Hogwarts, and he was a bit unsettled by how easy it would have been for Harry to accidentally touch it.

A very warm and heavy hand found its way to Harry's shoulder, and Harry felt a slight squeeze as Snape guided him to the back stairs and towards Dumbledore's office.

"You will not fight alone."  Snape murmured, leaving his hand there for Harry's support.  "Though when this is over you will be grounded. Don't ever use the watch like that to summon me again."

"I didn't have any other way, it was the quickest."  Harry stammered, knowing exactly how stupid his actions were. 

"Says the youngest boy to summon a corporeal patronus in years." Snape responded back sternly. He flicked his wand, dropping Draco a foot towards the floor while he summoned his patronus.  Malfoy continued floating along in front of them at a much lower height as the silver doe pranced over to Snape.

"Deliver to Harry Potter.  You are forgiven this one time, never let it happen again."

Harry could have sworn the doe rolled its eyes, just by the way it tilted its head.  But it did walk over to him and parrot back Snape's message.

 "Got it."  Harry mumbled.

....

Snape and McGonagall allowed Harry, Ron and Hermione to stay in the headmaster's office while the other teachers gathered for the emergency meeting.  They sat huddled in an old armchair that Snape had levitated into the room from...somewhere. Harry thought it might have even been from Dumbledore's personal rooms.  The invisibility cloak was folded uselessly in his lap, and they all stared ahead at the desk, not saying a word.  Startled reactions ripped through the room as the staff members entered and were informed of the circumstances regarding Dumbledore's disappearance.  Malfoy, who remained unconscious and tied up while slumped against a wall, received quite a few glares from the professors as the tale went on.

"To summarize," Snape said, his deep voice carrying around the room and holding every single person's attention, "the headmaster is currently located wherever it was Malfoy intended to portkey Potter.  He is accompanied by Fenrir Greyback, an unhinged rogue werewolf that the Dark Lord is rather fond of."

"Can we send Fawkes out to located Albus?"  Professor Flitwick asked, his tiny face furrowed into a very serious look.

"We shall try.  He wasn't in the office when we arrived."  Professor McGonagall answered, nodding to the empty perch.

"Severus, in your time spent - researching - the death eaters, have you come across any sort of containment area that Mr. Malfoy may have chosen to use?"  Professor Sprout left off the "for Harry", but she gave a concerned look their way.  Crazed wizard or not, she did recognize that the three were merely still children.

 "The Dark Lord has many strong holds, but it seems Malfoy took it upon his arrogant self to be ingenious, and-"

Snape was cut off by an eerie groaning noise that sounded like the castle was shifting its old bones in its foundation.  The room started to grumble, and portraits woke up with stiff yawns and mutterings while the frames took on lives of their own, slowly shifting around the room. It was rather surreal, and Harry started to feel slightly motion sick from the sight.  Snape and McGonagall, who were staring at the wall behind the headmaster's desk, suddenly lost whatever colour had been left in their faces.  Harry blinked as another photo frame materialized and began to fill itself in, canvas seeping along the walls from the tapestries in the room, paint slipping off Dumbledore's more vibrant gadgets and impressing into the portrait like a bizarre form of osmosis.  Finally, the portrait fully formed, and Harry fought to blink away tears. It couldn't be.

"It seems I am a bit late for the meeting."  Professor Dumbledore said, his gentle voice apologetic for reasons other than his mere tardiness.

"Oh Albus." McGonagall breathed, holding her hand clenched above her heart. The other professors lowered their eyes at the sight, and Harry found Snape's black gaze directed straight at him, concern mixed with a flash of pain.

....

Dumbledore's death was not announced immediately, instead the teachers felt it best to delay the notice until everyone had gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast.  It had been a very long meeting the night before, and the three had spent it mostly in Snape's dungeon flat.  Snape had sent them there, stating that he felt at peace knowing that they could not get into typical trouble wandering about the castle, and Harry had taken his friends down, knowing that Snape really meant that he wanted Harry safe in the flat for the night.

Now, as they watched their classmates stunned looks and horrified eyes, Harry realized that Snape had never told him how Dumbledore had actually died.  He probably never would, as it was a death that Malfoy had most likely intended for him.  Harry stabbed at a rasher of bacon on his plate as McGonagall's voice strained to keep together during her speech.  Draco Malfoy had been an arrogant little prick of a child, but a child nonetheless when Harry had met him.  Not six years later, he'd become a power-hungry sociopath who'd planned Harry's murder in cold blood.

Harry pushed his plate away, noting that Ron hadn't touched a single piece of food. McGonagall announced that classes had been cancelled for the day, and that a funeral would take place for Dumbledore on Sunday.  Two more lives were ruined because he existed.  The greatest sorcerer he'd even known had been felled, and a boy had been carted off to St. Mungo's under heavy guard and a fake name, unlikely to be released for quite a few years.

He suddenly became aware of the speech ending and stood up abruptly, wrapping his cloak around himself much like Snape did when the latter wanted to make an imposing presence.  Harry did it out of comfort though, and his friends remained silent as they exited the Hall and headed for fresh, bitter air.

....

Late at night, after Ron and Hermione had escaped the packed common room to go to the Room of Requirement, Harry drew his invisibility cloak around himself and checked his map.  He stuck his Kermit and Ambrose toys into his pockets and walked down to the dungeons.

Snape was sitting in his wingback chair, a book in his hands and the candles low.  His hair had fallen forward, and Harry figured he'd been reading the same page over and over.

"Hi Dad."  Harry said quietly, dropping his cloak on the floor and slumping into the couch.

Snape looked up with a defeated gaze, one Harry had never seen on the man's face before.  Harry realized that Snape had spend most of the day dealing with Slytherins who were intimately connected through their families with Voldemort, and in a meeting with McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait.  Details had not been shared with anyone, but Harry had been told enough to know that Dumbledore had defeated Greyback before he died, and that it had not been an easy battle.  Harry suspected that he didn't want to know any more.

"I have nothing to give you."  Snape exhaled, running his fingers ragged through his hair. 

Harry nodded, recognizing that Snape was telling the truth.  He'd helped Harry over the past half year with Harry's insecurities, fears, and need for comfort, but this time he couldn't give it.  He'd known Dumbledore longer than Harry had, and had probably been much closer to the man than Harry, Hermione, and Ron had ever realized.  Dumbledore had always strongly defended Snape; maybe Harry would ask another day how Snape had earned such an honoured level of trust.

Harry sat still on the couch and tucked his feet under him as he glanced around the room.  Snape was dressed in loose grey slacks that had a few faint stains on them, most likely from brewing, and a dark blue turtleneck.  There was a steady fire burning in the fireplace, small flames licking the blackened stone sides of the hearth, and Harry noted two blue salamanders darting around broken bits of glass surrounding the glowing white embers.  The glass looked to be from rounded potion vials, and Harry figured that Snape had smashed them earlier as he dealt with the headmaster's death.

"I don't have anything to give either."  Harry commented slightly unsure of what else to say.  When Sirius had died last June his schoolmates had just glanced at him with sympathy, and his relatives had avoided him. Sitting with company, however quiet said company may be, was actually helping to comfort him a little in the way of knowing that someone else felt as horrible as he did.

Snape seemed to tilt his head upwards in slight acknowledgement before pulling himself out of the chair and tugging on Harry's jumper sleeve to get him up too.  They went into the kitchen and Snape removed a small black cauldron from the cupboard, placing it on a stand and lighting a flame beneath it.  He reached past Harry's shoulder to the small teak shelf that had been stuck on the wall beside the icebox, and snatched the second unlabeled tin from the left.  Snape asked Harry to retrieve two mugs, before pouring water into the cauldron.  The water made a soothing hissing noise as it hit the hot iron, and Harry watched Snape deftly pop the tin lid open and inhale the scent of the loose leaf tea inside.

"Scottish breakfast tea."  Snape answered Harry's unasked question.  "A sturdier flavour, I find...encompassing."

The cauldron water finally came to a boil and Snape ladled hot water into a waiting white teapot, which he swished around to warm the ceramic before dumping the water into the sink.  Two heaping teaspoons of tea were added, and the cauldron water poured in.  Harry got the distinct feeling that this was almost a ritual for Snape, a ritual in making the proper pot of tea that had been passed down through a generation or two.  The tea cosy that was placed on the teapot was faded brown knitted one, with an orange and tan coloured leaf knitted into the centre, and looked like it might have belonged to Snape's grandmother once upon a time. 

"It is strange how a teapot can represent at the same time the comforts of solitude and the pleasures of company."  Snape said to himself a few moments later, pulling a rounded metal sieve out of the cutlery drawer and placing it over his mug.

"Do you want me to go back to my dorm?"  Harry asked, watching the tea being poured and the leaves catching on the sieve.

Snape paused and seemed to be debating something with himself.

"No.  But I won't have you moping on my couch. Fetch the cribbage board." 

Harry spent the rest of the evening sitting on the couch, coming up with ridiculous scoring combinations to fifteen and randomly regaling Snape with funny memories of Dumbledore.  Snape had been right, of course.  The tea was earthy and had filled him with an encompassing warmth from his stomach out.  At midnight he vaguely remembered being marched down the hall to the guest room, and tucked under the covers.  He was quite certain, however, that he felt much better than he had in the morning.

.......

The first class of the day for Friday was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Harry hoped that Snape would go easy on them.  The whole school had spent the day before feeling rather lost, unsettled over the death of the headmaster. Snape had told him the night before to be on alert and to be prepared over the next week for Voldemort to take action, as now that Dumbledore had died, the next steps in the war would be fast paced.

Snape welcomed them into defense class with a slightly softer sneer than usual and Harry stared warily at the small wooden crates that sat on everyone's desk.  He sat sandwiched between Ron and Hermione, keeping his eyes down and wanting nothing more than to disappear to Stockport, to his bedroom and the warm knit blanket that was on his bed.  He had absolutely no desire to be taking notes.   

Harry listened silently as Snape started the lecture, talking about Malaysian red scuttle crabs, which were apparently used in many dark potions and rituals in Asia, and on their own had a nasty habit of stealing shiny metal objects from homes and people camping.

He idly wrote down what they ate and what preyed on them as he thought of Wednesday night.  Malfoy's absence in he class was conspicuous, but no one was asking about it yet.  Harry blinked back wetness that had suddenly invaded his eyes.  Last semester, during that disastrous lesson with the headmaster, Harry had accused Dumbledore of not deserving mercy.  In the end, the man had died for him.  He nearly scratched through the parchment on his desk as he wrote "I'm sorry", and wondered if the Dumbledore of the portrait could forgive him.

"Potter." Snape's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.  "Pay attention, or face detention tonight."

Harry looked up and blinked as the rest of the class stared at him, and Snape crossed his arms at the front of the room.

"Yes sir."  Harry answered in a monotonous voice.  He pulled the box towards him and flicked the lid, letting Ron open it fully.

"This is a baby scuttle crab, and while it is slightly more docile than the adult version, you will still lose a finger if it pinches.  I make no guarantees that appendages will be successfully re-attached."  Snape growled, leveling them all a look.   Low chatter took over the room as everyone started on their boxes, flipping lids and arguing over who was going to pick up the bright red crab inside.

"Miss Parkinson, grab it with both hands to prevent it from pinching."  Snape glared, annoyed at the theatrics the girls of the class were displaying.  Out of the corner of his eye he watched Harry stick his hand directly into the crate and yank the crab out.  Someone shrieked as the crab continued flying in an arc away from the box as Harry flung his arm, a pained look on his face.

"Fuck!" 

Snape whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes at Harry, who was grasping his left hand.

"Ten points for cursing, Potter."  Snape sneered as he stalked towards where Harry was standing.  "Weasley, catch the crab."

Ron, who was doing a passable imitation of a floundered fish, finally snapped to attention and chased after the crab when Snape drew his wand out of his sleeve.  He'd finally reached Harry, who was starting to go white and look very confused.

"I got stung again."  Harry said, sweat breaking out in tiny beads on his forehead as he started to shake.  He held his hand up and Snape yanked it close, locating the bee stinger.  Once again he used his wand to remove it, before grasping Harry's chin with his hand and holding it almost painfully tight.

"Pay attention, Potter. Where is the pen?"

Harry gave him a startled and very worried look, but didn't answer. Panic was starting to set in his eyes, and Snape wondered why the crab hadn't eaten the bee in the box.  He barely paid any mind to the other students who were staring in open curiosity and shock at what was happening.  Harry was shaking as he stood partially held up by Snape, his voice becoming highpitched as he tried to explain how he was feeling.

"Accio epipen."  Snape muttered, pointing his wand at Harry.

It burst out of his backpack and flew towards Snape, who popped off the protective lid, causing most of the class to gasp and two girls to yelp when he swung his arm down forcefully and jabbed Harry in the thigh with it.  The needle passed through several layers of clothes and Snape held it there for a moment, waiting for all the medicine to inject itself.  Harry was swaying forward and grasped Snape's arm to keep from falling.

"Granger!" Snape barked, capping the needle again and putting it into his own pocket. "Report to your head of house that we are going to the hospital.  Everyone else, contain the crabs, seal the boxes, and you are dismissed.  Heathcote, tell Hagrid to retrieve his crabs."

And with that, leaving a stunned class and two very worried Gryffindors, Snape cast a hasty featherweight charm, picked Harry up, and stormed out the door.

....

Both Hermione and Ron took off in a dead run towards Professor McGonagall's office, encountering her halfway to the actual spot. She was carrying a rather large and worn leather case, and Ron realized that she was taking this week's work to the headmaster's office.

"Harry's hurt!"  Hermione blurted, stopping the professor mid stride.

"I beg your pardon?"

"In class, Professor. We were looking at Malaysian scuttle crabs and something bit him."  Ron answered, a bit calmer than Hermione.  They continued walking, McGonagall hurrying them towards Dumbledore's office.

"Snape said he was taking Harry to the infirmary, but we've just passed by the infirmary, and they aren't there."  Hermione, one normally to trust professors and see both sides of the story, was in a state of agitation that Ron had rarely seen her in before.

McGonagall held her hand up to silence her.

"Miss Granger, focus. What were his exact words?"

"He actually said the hospital, Professor."  Ron admitted, scratching his arm nervously.  "And he whacked Harry in the leg with some sort of yellow tube he found in Harry's pocket."

"Right after Harry was stung by a little yellow..." Hermione trailed off, the pieces finally clicking together. "Harry's allergic to bees, isn't he?"

"Yes." McGonagall snapped, before turning to the gargoyle and speaking the password.  As she ushered Ron and Hermione into her office all three avoided glancing at the newest portrait behind the desk.

"Tell me exactly what happened."  McGonagall ordered, pointing her wand at a small door to the side of Fawkes perch, which held a rather thick mail slot opening.  She summoned Harry's school file, and listened intently to their explanation.

....

The emergency room smelled slightly coppery, with a mixture of antiseptic and dry rubber from the machines and thick wheels of the beds that passed by with regular occurrence.  Snape, in his hastily transfigured black muggle suit, walked determinedly up to the admittance desk, carrying a partially lucid Harry.

"Bee sting."  Snape barked, glaring at the nurse.  "Already had the epipen."

The nurse gave him a puzzled look as she waved for a stretcher, and Snape dumped Harry on it.

"What's his name and how long ago?"

"Approximately ten minutes ago." Snape answered, slyly fingering the wand in his pocked and confounding the nurse over the small fact that it was January, and thus rather out of season for a bee sting.  He rolled Harry a bit on the stretcher and pulled off the robe.  His jumper and trousers was fine, but Hogwarts robes were rather difficult to explain as part of a school uniform.

"And his name?"  She came around from the desk and looked at Harry's eyes.

"Harry Potter."  Snape replied, no emotion in his voice whatsoever.  A heart monitor was set up for Harry as he was pushed into a private A&E cubicle, and a small white plastic bit was clipped onto Harry's finger, to measure the oxygen levels in his blood.  Snape sent one last spell, obliviating the nurse, before he disillusioned the hospital bed and wheeled Harry out of the emergency area and to the first private room he found down the hall.

Hooded green eyes watched his every movement as Snape pulled a vial out of his pocket and shooed away a silver tabby cat patronus that had popped into the room. Snape took a second to check his watch and noted that the angry red face was slowly fading back to a healthier pink.  No time to think about that now, Snape figured, putting the robe at the end of the bed and popping open the vial.  The Dark Lord would be there in less than fifteen minutes.

"Gryffindor bravery is overrated."  Snape muttered, holding the vial to Harry's lips, and then tipping the cool liquid inside.