“Severus?” Lupin asked. “Are you all right?”

“How long has Potter been a vampire?” Severus croaked in a voice most unlike himself.

Weasley rounded on Albus, looking furious. “You told Snape?”

“Professor Sn—” Minerva tried to correct her pupil, but Severus, for once not caring about the insolence, rode over her.

“How long?”

“Since the summer,” Weasley mumbled, glaring at him. “What do you care?”

It was a fair question, and almost threw Severus for a moment. If it had been asked five minutes ago, he would have dismissed it completely—he cared about defeating Voldemort for good, but otherwise felt nothing for the boy destined to do that. He certainly didn’t feel any guilt over his lack of attachment.

“Maybe you can enlighten me as to the intention of your little escapade, Potter.”

“Have you any idea how much dragon blood costs, Potter?”

“Sir, please! Please don’t do it—give me more detention, take more House points, take all my belongings away—anything! Just please don’t do this!”

“Mr Potter helped me move the rabbits into the room; he was the last to see them …”

“Irma sent me to ask you for the Apprang books.”

“When did you say these books went missing?”

“What would I want with a load of rabbits anyway?”

“This is ridiculous; why would anyone steal …? No, I must have put it down somewhere else …”

“Tell me, Potter, what made you so desperate to go into the Forbidden Forest for that you performed powerful accidental magic?”

He hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared to put together the signs and realise what a deep mess the boy was in. He hadn’t cared to notice when Potter was practically at death’s door. He hadn’t cared to find out why the boy had been so … desperate, that night he had cast the leash. Why he had begged Severus not to.

Begging was not in Potter’s nature. But Severus hadn’t seen it for the warning sign it was.

Everyone was watching him, and Severus had a feeling that his face was not as impassive as he usually liked to keep it. He struggled to put his mask back up and, only when he felt capable of speaking in his normal tone, spoke.

“What time was this argument?” he directed sharply to Weasley.

“Er … about nine o’clock. Just after Harry got up. Why?”

“I believe I may have been the last one to see him.” Severus swallowed. “We should start our search in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Harry wouldn’t go in there,” Weasley protested, though he didn’t sound certain. “We’ve had enough bad experiences in there to last a lifetime.”

“I caught him trying to enter the Forest on Saturday morning,” Severus insisted. “I escorted him back up to Gryffindor Tower, but if that’s when he disappeared, I’m betting he went back once my back was turned.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start,” Albus said, looking grimmer than ever. “Let’s go.”

-

Hermione had not been happy about remaining behind while Ron went with the teachers, but reluctantly agreed that, firstly, someone needed to wait in case Harry turned up, and secondly, as the person who drove Harry away, Ron should do what he could to help find him.

The rescue group divided once they came to the Forest, to cover more ground. Out of concern for Ron’s safety, it was agreed he would go with Dumbledore. The other three teachers moved out separately.

“Professor,” Ron said quietly once the others were out of earshot, “um … not that I want to second-guess you or anything, but …”

“You want to know if I am sure telling Professor Snape about Harry was a good idea.”

“Yes,” Ron said, grateful that Dumbledore had been the one to voice it. “He hates Harry, Professor. If anyone would take advantage of—”

“I realise Professor Snape does not have a, er, promising track record as far as Harry is concerned,” Dumbledore said. “But I do not believe for a moment that he would stoop so low as to use this against him.”

“But if he does?”

“Then I will ensure he sincerely regrets it, and you will be free to tell me ‘I told you so’,” Dumbledore said, lightly but with a serious undertone. Ron could see Dumbledore really didn’t believe that Snape would do such a thing—Ron personally wasn’t convinced—but he also got the impression that Dumbledore would not allow Snape to get away with it if he did. This thought helped slightly.

-

Severus couldn’t believe he had been so stupid.

A vampire. Harry Potter, a vampire … Merlin, that explained everything. He really wished it didn’t.

Severus trudged through the ankle-deep mush of slush and dead leaves, wand in front of him, shivering despite his cloak and scarf. With every step, he cursed himself bitterly. If Black got to the boy now, it would be all his fault.

Why oh why hadn’t he seen the signs for what they were? The missing rabbits combined with the books and the dragon’s blood should have screamed at him. Poppy hadn’t actually said what had gone missing from the Hospital Wing, but Severus was prepared to bet anything he owned that it had been packs of blood.

Albus was right. Severus really was blind when it came to Harry Potter. He was willing to believe anything except what was right in front of his nose.

As he searched, Severus kept thinking, with an increasing sense of guilt, about the less obvious signs. The ones that he still should have noticed. The ones that, somewhere in the back of his mind, he had noticed, but thought nothing about. The boy’s visibly decreasing health. Lack of energy. Withdrawing socially. Apparent lack of appetite. Quitting the Quidditch team, which had caused a party in the Slytherin common room when the news got around the school.

Honestly, it was a wonder the boy was still alive. Severus shuddered. If Potter hadn’t managed to break the leash, it could have caused him to starve to death. Whatever way he spun it, Severus was responsible.

He had to find him. And not just to ease his own guilty conscience.

Severus came to a crossroads, and paused. Two paths crossed, giving him three potential directions. He didn’t debate for long, though. They were all leaving a trail of coloured light behind them, to show where they had been, and Albus’ purple one had come from one of the paths and gone down another. That left one path that had not yet been covered. Severus turned right, still trailing a green glow behind him.

It occurred to him that Potter might have left the path, but he hoped not. Surely the boy wasn’t that stupid. He had, as Weasley said, been in this Forest before and knew at least some of the dangers. And if he had left the path, he would be impossible to find.

Severus had walked for what felt like hours, frozen to the bone, and crossed a river and a path walked earlier by Lupin, when he saw it. A flash of light among the dense trees, like a spell. He stilled, looking upwards, but no sparks—green for finding Potter, or red for trouble—were fired.

He didn’t dare call out. To make a lot of noise in the Forbidden Forest was like swimming up to a shark when you were covered in blood—just asking for trouble. He gripped his wand tightly and left the path, heading in the direction of the light.

Whoever had made the light was gone when Severus reached the place he thought it had come from. There were footsteps in the slush—too indistinct to tell him who had made them, but since they were fresh, Severus followed. They crossed a tiny track and ended in a patch of large oaks, one of which was surrounded by a mixture of footprints—both human (as far as he could tell) and some sort of animal.

It didn’t take Severus long to find out what kind of animal.

He was rounding the tree to see if they continued the other side, when a low growling made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he slowly turned around.

-

Ron was exhausted, but couldn’t allow himself to stop. Every time thoughts of how cold he was, or how sore his feet were, crossed his mind, he remembered the hurt look that had crossed Harry’s face when Ron had yelled at him. It was enough to keep him going.

They hadn’t spoken much during the search, since Dumbledore had warned that it would not be wise. Once or twice they had come across one of the other teachers’ magical trails—or Hagrid’s, who due to not being allowed to do magic, was unravelling a ball of string—but had come across nothing living, save for a few ominous rustlings that had stopped when Dumbledore had cast a spell. It was quite a shock when a ball of ginger fur streaked up, and placed itself in front of Dumbledore, who had to stop suddenly for fear of tripping on it.

“Crookshanks?” Ron said in astonishment.

The cat ignored him and proffered a scrap of parchment at Dumbledore. Wearing a puzzled expression, Dumbledore took the parchment and read what was written on it. His eyes widened.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

Dumbledore hesitated.

“Is it about Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me see it!” Ron was aware that he was ordering his Headmaster, but he didn’t care. Dumbledore deliberated for a moment before handing the note over.

It looked like whoever had written it had tried to disguise their writing. Ron didn’t dwell on that for long.

Dumbledore,

Harry Potter needs help. Long story short, he is a vampire, starving, and suicidal. He is currently sleeping in the Forest. The cat will lead you to him. Please help him.

A friend