It was shortly before the end of term that things came to a head.
“Dumbledore is away, and we found out Hagrid told Snape – or someone else, it doesn’t matter – how to get past Fluffy. I’m going through the trapdoor tonight. I know you said to stay out of it, but he will use the Stone to help Voldemort and we are all as good as dead if that happens.”
Tonight.
Severus looked at his clock. It was past curfew. He had had a very busy day, which had kept him out of his office until now.
And hadn’t Granger loitered near his quarters earlier today?
Dear Merlin, he really was not paid enough for this.
Briefly, he considered disguising himself, then decided it was safer not to. If Quirinus knew how to get past that infernal dog, then he might very well be trying to steal the stone, and Quirinus would recognize his voice.
He did not need to have his cover blown in addition to a fight to the death.
After asking a portrait to alert Professor McGonagall that he was pursuing some children through the trapdoor, he lost no time.
The hellhound called Fluffy was easily pacified with a hummed version of Scarborough Fair, the devil’s snare had never been any challenge, and the flying key had been so mistreated it could hardly fly anymore. Poor thing.
When he saw the troll, he knew that Harriet had been right. Quirinus was in there. The child would not have been able to do this.
He found them in the room with the game of chess.
Just in time to see the young Weasley boy be hit over the head.
Severus winced. Those defenses had never been designed with children in mind. If this didn’t kill them, then his riddle surely would.
And he had expected troublemakers to sneak in. He had just reasoned that they would be the likes of James Potter and deserve no better.
He was having second thoughts about that, now.
“Granger! Potter! What do you think you are doing out of your common room at this hour?”
They swiveled around. “Snape! But – but …”
“Not liking the nickname of Girl Who Lived is no sufficient reason to try and get yourself killed, Potter”, he snarled. “And that’s Professor Snape to you.”
“If he is here”, Granger said in a stage whisper, all but ignoring him, “Then who is trying to steal the Stone?”
“The Stone? You thought I was attempting to steal the stone? I assure you, Granger, I have no desire to prolong my suffering under people’s idiocy by extending my presence on this sinful earth. Speaking of which, Weasley seems in dire need of assistance, lest he shuffle his mortal coil.”
“But – but sir, someone is trying to steal the Stone!” Harriet insisted.
“And he may try so for a while longer. I would be rather surprised if anyone got past my protection. Professor McGonagall should arrive any moment.”
The mention of their Head of House seemed to make the girls trust him at least a little. They stepped closer, and their eyes followed him as he went to examine Weasley’s prone form.
“Head wounds always bleed a lot, so I am afraid I may not yet hope to be rid of a foolish student.” He conjured a stretcher and moved Weasley to it, which elicited a pained groan from the boy. Good. Being unconscious for any longer would not bode well for the boy’s future academic performance.
“You two, walk where I can see you.”
They made it to the right side of the room just in time before the chess pieces moved back into position.
After a long trek back to the trapdoor, Severus made Harriet put the hellhound to sleep and levitated the children up.
Just in time, it turned out, to meet Professor McGonagall.
Shortly after her, Dumbledore arrived.
For some inexplicable reason, the headmaster seemed almost a bit disappointed that Severus had apprehended the children.
And he perked up considerably after being told that they had gotten as far as the chess game. Had the insane old coot planned for this?
If he had, he did not admit it to Severus.
Dumbledore dealt with Quirinus, in what way he did not want to tell, but the end result was that Quirinus ended up in St. Mungo’s with what Dumbledore claimed was just a worse version of the fearful demeanour Quirinus had shown all year.
Severus had gotten on rather well with the muggle studies teacher, but not well enough to visit him in hospital.
**
Summer started alright for Harry.
Dudley was much too frightened of magic to play his favourite game of Harry-hunting, so Harry spent a lot of time just walking around outside.
She made friends with a black cat, and things were looking rather good, when one day, it started raining.
Harry had never been afraid of a little rain, and she really didn’t fancy having to deal with the Dursleys before it got too dark to stay outside any longer.
So she stayed outside, and when she felt sick the next morning, she didn’t think much of it.
Only when she realized she felt exhausted after going to the bathroom, and could definitely not walk down the stairs, she got worried a bit.
Still, it was nothing too serious.
She fell asleep, and when she woke, it was the next morning and Aunt Petunia was standing over her bed. “Get up, lazy girl. Dudley wants his breakfast.”
“I can’t” she whispered, hardly even feeling able to speak. “I’m sick.”
Aunt Petunia huffed. “Very well, then. Stay in bed if you don’t want breakfast.”
Harry had hoped her aunt would see that she really was sick when she didn’t come down for breakfast, or lunch.
By dinnertime, it was clear that if Harry wanted something to eat, she had to come down to get it herself.
And she was not sure how long she would survive without food. She did not feel hungry anymore, but she did have that faint feeling she often had when she hadn’t gotten enough to eat.
None of her friends had answered her letters. Probably too busy having fun … and it wasn’t like she had asked them for help, in the last letters she had written, she had just complained about being bored.
Still, she did not want to burden them with her problems. What would they even do? Send food? They could, probably, but really, it was silly.
This was a problem she could solve herself. She just had to pull herself together a bit.
So, she waited until the Dursleys had gone to bed to descend the stairs. She had to take a break every couple of steps, and every time she sat down, her body felt heavier and heavier, and it became harder and harder to get up again.
If only she could risk taking a nap … after a short nap, she would feel much better, she was sure, but she could not risk the Dursleys finding her asleep on the stairs.
At last, she had made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed some sliced bread and ate it hastily, leaving crumbs all over the floor.
Too tired to get a broom, she swept them under the nearest cupboard as well as she could and took a plate, heaped some more bread on it, then got a glass and filled it with water.
It was the glass. The glass was a bad idea. She had not even reached the stairs when she saw silver spark swirl in front of her eyes, everything went black for a moment, and the much too heavy glass fell from her grasp, landing on the tiles with a noise that seemed to sound through the whole house.
And Harry knew, as soon as the Dursleys saw what she had done, hell would break loose.
She leant against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself as if to protect herself. But she could not protect herself. She was too weak to fight, to even run away.
If only the Prince was here to pick her up and carry her away …
Oh.
The portkey. He had told her to only use it in an emergency, that the place it took her to was not that safe … but then, staying here would … not be good. She had never refused to pick up after herself. If breaking a plate and cleaning it up again got her locked in the cupboard for days, she did not even want to imagine what they would do to her for being too weak to clean up the glass shards.
How much more unsafe could any other place be?
Uncle Vernon was already awake, his steps sounding like those of an angry elephant bull. Probably. Harry had never had an angry elephant charge towards her.
Hands trembling, she took the portkey out from under the old shirt she used as nightgown and gently knocked the phial against the wall.
It crumbled like eggshell, and when she closed her fingers around the tiny lily blossom, she noticed there were no sharp edges.
What happened afterwards, she could not remember later. When she came to her senses, she was lying in very cold, very wet and very high grass.
Well. The Prince had said it was no safe place. But he had also said he would come get her if she went there.
Which was what she was hoping for. If he didn’t get her … well, at least it was quiet here. Peaceful. No angry Dursleys. And the wet grass felt pleasantly cool on her hot forehead.
It also made her shiver with cold, but all in all, the blessed silence and the knowledge no Vernon Dursley would grab her collar and threaten to beat her – perhaps actually beat her, though he did not often dare to – made up for it.
Chapter 11
To be continued...