Friday had passed in a daze, and Saturday Harry was determined to keep his mind off Snape by having Ron play him at chess. Usually there was no room for mind-wandering then. He knew his friends were concerned about him, but he wasn’t sure he could even begin to explain what was wrong.

“Checkmate,” Ron said with a sigh. “C’mon Harry, you know I like chess but five games on the trot is a bit much, isn’t it? Do you wanna go flying? No offence, but you look like you could do with the fresh air.”

Harry had to admit later, it had helped a bit. Flying wasn’t so much a distraction, but he felt his worries slipping away slightly as he circled the pitch on his Nimbus, and raced Ron around the stands.

“Told you,” was the first thing Ron said after they had dismounted. “You look a lot less pale now, mate.” He paused, and Harry tensed up again, waiting for the Question. “Harry … you seem really down, the last couple of days. Hermione said to give you time, you’d tell us when you’re ready, but I can’t … Is something wrong?”

Harry bit his lip. “Sort of.”

“You know you can talk to us, mate.”

“I know. I just … Hermione’s right, Ron; I need some time.”

Ron nodded, though he looked unhappy. “Alright, then. Don’t tell Hermione I asked, okay?”

That weekend was the first Hogsmeade visit. Harry didn’t know how he was going to stand it. The thought briefly occurred to ask Snape to sign his permission form—but the idea was laughable. Of course he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even smile at Harry in public, let alone put his name to a form supposed to only be signed by a parent or guardian.

Harry felt more depressed that ever, a mood that worsened still when he ran into the very person he had been trying to avoid. Snape had walked in on his tea with Lupin, and for the minute or so he was there, it was as if nothing had ever happened. The only clue as to the fact that the whole confession had not just been Harry’s imagination was Snape’s, admittedly very brief, glance back at him as the door closed.

The Halloween Feast cheered him up somewhat, although the mood was instantly killed when the Fat Lady’s portrait was found attacked. Some while later as Harry lay on the Great Hall floor, staring up at the bewitched ceiling, he wondered sleepily what else could possibly make him feel more cursed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have.

-

After a long sleep back in the Tower, Harry and Ron went for a walk. Classes were cancelled and most students were in their common rooms, but Harry felt he needed to stretch his legs and Ron insisted on coming with him. Halfway down the fifth-floor corridor, Harry stopped and Ron walked into him.

“Can you hear that?”

They both strained their ears, and it came louder—this time Harry could make out the words.

“Somebody help me!”

“This way,” Harry said, and ran towards the voice, Ron in hot pursuit.

“Harry, slow down!”

“Someone’s in trouble, Ron; can’t you hear it?”

“Yeah, but you could be walking into a t—” Ron broke off as he collided with Harry again.

“I think it’s in here.” Harry pushed the classroom door open, and Ron followed.

For a long moment, the room looked empty. But without warning, as if from thin air, a very large creature appeared, crushing the desks beneath its taloned feet, two glittering pupil-less fixed directly on them.

“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered.

“It’s a dragon!”

A huge tongue of scarlet flame shot towards them. Harry reacted on instinct; he pulled Ron to the ground, acting as a shield for his friend, and was engulphed in the blaze himself. For a long moment, he could feel only a burning heat, and then everything went black.

-

When the Headmaster turned up for breakfast the next morning, Severus thought he looked exhausted. He himself had spent all night making potions in his lab, and he was sure Albus looked more weary than he did. The Great Hall was filled with a din, which subsided as Albus stood at his place at the High Table and addressed them all.

“I am sure most of you, by now, must have heard the rumours of a dragon in the school.”

Severus dropped his goblet with a clunk, and gaped at Albus, before turning to stare at the rest of the staff. Poppy, Minerva, Hagrid and Lupin were all missing; the rest looked almost as weary as Albus did. The Great Hall broke out into whispers.

“It pains me to confirm that the rumours are true.” Gasps rang through the hall. “Last night two students came across one in an empty classroom, and the dragon in question has now disappeared. There is no need to panic,” Albus said firmly as the hubbub grew louder. “A thorough search of the school has been conducted and this school is dragon-free.” Severus swallowed hard. “As yet we do not know how it managed to get in. If anybody has any information that might be relevant, please speak to a teacher. Thank you.”

Severus stood up as Albus sat, and hurried over to the Headmaster’s chair. “Albus, how come I don’t know about this?”

“You were in your lab, Severus. You are always telling us not to interrupt for fear of making a fatal mistake. And the danger has passed, now.”

“What happened?” Severus urged him, and a stone dropped into his stomach. “Albus, who—who were the two students?”

“Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They’re in the Hosp—”

Severus hurtled out of the hall towards the Hospital Wing.

When he arrived, he found Ron wrapped in a blanket sitting on one of the beds, looking shaken, his hair singed. There were curtains drawn around another bed. “Weasley,” Severus addressed him sharply.

Ron started and looked round, visibly paling when he saw him. “Y-yes, sir?”

Severus pointed to the curtained bed. “Is Potter in there?”

Ron nodded. “Yes, sir. Madam Pomfrey’s working on him now.”

“I need you to tell me what happened.” Severus tried a slightly gentler tone.

“I’ve already told Professor Dumbledore—”

“Tell me. I need to know every detail.”

Ron started to describe how he and Harry had been lured to the classroom, and how the dragon had appeared out of thin air.

“What kind of dragon?”

“Sorry?”

“What did it look like?” Severus said with gritted teeth. Ron frowned.

“Why’s that important?”

“You never know, Weasley, it might be. Just tell me.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we were a bit preoccupied with the fact that it was trying to kill us.”

“You must have noticed the colour, at least?” Severus growled.

“Oh … white-ish, and kind of shiny.” Ron paused. “Will knowing that help Harry?”

Severus’ insides clenched. “What happened to him?”

“He got burned by the flames, sir. Only … he wasn’t burnt. He doesn’t look burnt, anyway, but Madam Pomfrey seems worried … I’m not sure why, she won’t let me see him yet.”

Without another word to Ron, Severus strode up the ward and pulled aside the curtains.

“Severus!” Poppy scolded him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Severus said, ignoring her question.

She bristled, but pulled the curtains back behind him and answered. “I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on here at all.”

Severus swallowed as he looked down at his son. Harry was asleep or unconscious, and looked fitful; his face was flushed.

“He has a temperature—very­ high. It’s off the charts, Severus; by all accounts he should be dead. And that’s not all. Do you see a single burn on his skin? Yet Weasley swears he caught the full blast of the flame—his clothes were reduced to cinders. I’ve been running diagnostic check after diagnostic check, and … well, just look at the results. I can’t make it out.”

Severus took the sheets she passed him, already having an idea what they would look like.

“Have you seen anything like this before, Severus? You have more experience with the Dark Arts than I do.”

“I’m not sure,” Severus said. “Maybe. Why don’t you let me examine him; I might be able to find something … and you look like you could do with some sleep,” he added gently.

It took a few more minutes of persuasion before Poppy would leave her patient in Severus’ hands, and go for what was clearly a long-needed kip. Severus cast a silencing charm around the curtains to be safe, and sat down next to Harry. He lay a hand on his forehead, wincing—Poppy was right, his temperature was far too high to be normal. He stroked back Harry’s hair, trying not to touch the skin.

“I’m sorry, my boy,” he whispered. “But it’s going to be all right, you’ll see.” Severus drew back his hand, and busied himself casting a powerful and complex illusion spell.