Chapter Four

The next morning began with Herbology. Harry and Ron both spent the class almost asleep, while Hermione took notes and had her hand up at almost every question – as usual. Care of Magical Creatures followed. This was normally one of Harry's better subjects, since his long-time friend, Rubeus Hagrid, held the classes. Hagrid's love for odd creatures – or monsters, as most students would name them – made the classes—interesting.

However, today Hermione had to poke him in the side when she noted he was not paying attention.

"Harry," she whispered.

"Huh? What?"

“Are you okay? Perhaps you need to go to Madam Pomfrey – perhaps you’re not okay after—”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “Just a bit tired.”

“But Harry, that Bludger—”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. "But I do need to talk to you and Ron later. Can we go to the common room after lunch?"

Hermione, sensing that what Harry was going to tell them was important, said, "We'll go to my room instead. There's more privacy there."

Harry nodded, and Ron shot them a curious look. Hermione leaned over to him to whisper what she and Harry had just agreed on. He looked surprised, then shrugged and went back to listening to Hagrid talk about the Shaebey he held in his hand. It was, for once, a fairly cute little bugger, with big eyes watching the class questioningly. It had small arms with hands that didn't look proportional; the eight fingers looked all too many. The same went for the feet, which had eight toes and looked too big. Its body looked like that of a small baby; pinkish in colour, soft and round. The creature seemed content in Hagrid's hand, for it closed its eyes and seemed to go off to sleep.

“The Shaebeys are useful too,” Hagrid said. “They have some protective magic, but most of all, it’s their hair the Potions masters are after. It has some great healing qualities to it.”

Harry took notes for a moment, but then drifted off into daydreams again, until Hermione poked him once more.

The lunch passed blessedly uneventfully. Draco noted that Harry no longer glared at the Slytherin table, instead having found a curious new target for his attention – Severus. Did Potter worry about him the same way Draco did? It should not be so – Severus had always been horrid to the other houses, Gryffindor in particular, and Potter most of all, and even though it might have lessened since the fall of the Dark Lord – Severus had even given Granger points on her perfect potion once – it would not erase six years of verbal lashings and hatred. But something troubled Potter about the professor, because he kept stealing glances at Severus.

Severus looked pale. Of course, the man had always been averse to sun – but his colour had turned almost ashen now. Dark circles fell as shadows beneath his eyes.

He looks like he may fall down dead any second, Draco thought.

Draco noted how the man only pushed his food around on the plate, never taking a bite. He also saw Professor McGonagall shooting concerned glances at her co-worker. Severus either did not notice or ignored them. Knowing how attentive Severus usually was, Draco assumed the latter.

Something was off, wrong, and considering the timing, Draco would bet that his father had something to do with it. What? And did it really matter? Draco knew his father had been the reason for Harry’s—Potter’s—accident too, but he had no proof and thus, he could do nothing.

Draco sighed to himself, and realised absentmindedly that he too only pushed his food around on the plate. Suddenly he did not feel hungry anymore, and so he stood and walked out of the hall. Crabbe and Goyle looked dumbly after him.

Harry, Ron and Hermione finished lunch quickly. They had only another half hour before their next class – double Potions, of all things – would begin, so they had to hurry. They rushed up the stairs towards Hermione's room, and when they finally reached their destination, all three panted heavily from the exercise.

Ron slumped down on the bed, while Hermione sat down in her reading chair. Harry opted to stay standing, and before long, he had begun pacing.

"So," Ron began, "What are we doing here?"

Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, and he stopped in mid-stride. He thought for a moment, his face scrunching up a bit, before beginning.

"You know that day—the first day the parents were here? Before all the Quidditchstuff?" Hermione and Ron both nodded. "Well, after the feast—Hermione, you had already left with your parents, and I was sitting with Ron and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, talking."

“Yeah," Ron said, “You left me with Ginny and my parents."

Harry nodded. "I was on my way back to the dorms, when I saw a figure standing in the hallway. Turns out, it was Snape."

"Snape? What did he do this time? Deduct fifty points from Gryffindor for breathing?" Ron asked, irritated simply from hearing the hated professor’s name.

Harry shook his head at his friend. "Kind of—but not really. I mean, he did take points, but—it was weird." His voice trailed off as he remembered the night. "He looked sick. He was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily – he looked ready to fall down. I don't think he even noticed me at first."

Hermione and Ron sat quiet, both confused. Ron said, “So—Snape was sick?”

Harry nodded. “I think he was. And I think he still is. Have you seen him the past few days? He looks bloody awful.”

“So what?” Ron asked. “He’s a nasty git and he’s gotten the flu. Who cares?”

“I think I have to agree with Ron here,” Hermione said.

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “It feels like something else.”

“’Feels like something else’?” Hermione echoed hesitantly. “What do you mean?”

“For one thing,” Harry said, “if it was the flu, why doesn’t he just take one of the anti-flu potions? But more importantly—I had a Quidditch accident that was no accident at all this weekend, and Snape happens to get sick at the exact same time. It seems like too big a coincidence.”

“So,” Ron said doubtfully, “you think Malfoy has something to do with this too? Aren’t they friends? Snape and Malfoy—they seem like the same kind.”

Harry shrugged. “I really don’t think so – Snape did ensure our side’s win with his spying activities, and if I’m not mistaken, that turn of events has made Lucius lose quite a bit of money, as well as most of his reputation.”

“Not to mention the way Snape was ogling Mrs. Malfoy,” Ron sniggered. “Eyes wide as plates.”

Harry nodded. “That, too.”

"So this is why you've been watching the High Table so carefully?" Ron asked.

Harry gave another nod. “I wanted to see if he got better – but really, he looks like a walking corpse.”

Ron, who obviously had a hard time caring about the professor at all, snorted. “He can’t get any uglier than he already is.”

“Ron!” Hermione chided. “Be nice.”

Ron did not quite look abashed. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“If Malfoy – Lucius – has done something, this is serious,” Hermione said. “Curse or potion – I’d say potion, because it’s harder to trace than the magical signature of a curse.”

“And we all know that he doesn’t want anything traced back to him,” Harry said.

“Slimy git,” Ron muttered. “Should be in Azkaban for life with his son.”

“Draco hasn’t really done anything to us lately,” Harry said, a need to defend him appearing suddenly. Flashes of the help Draco had given him on the night after the fated Quidditch game passed through his mind. “I really don’t think he’s like his father at all.”

“A git is a git is a git,” Ron huffed. “And both Malfoys are gits.”

“Perhaps we should talk about what to do about Snape,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “Harry, what do you propose?”

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to tell you all of this so that you could keep an eye out as well. I know Snape's not our favourite teacher—" he gave Ron a look "—but he's a hero, and he’s been a great help even though he’s been nasty. And something is wrong, I just know it – and he doesn't want to admit it."

Ron said nothing. Snape was really not his favourite teacher – in fact, he was without much doubt the teacher Ron hated the most. Still, he did not deserve to be poisoned, least of all by a former Death Eater who quite possibly fit the bill of being even nastier than Snape. Upon Harry’s pleading look, Ron relented.

“We'll keep an eye out,” Hermione said, standing up. “Now we need to get down to the dungeons. Our class with the subject of this conversation is about to start, and it wouldn’t do for the Head Girl to be late.”

Professor Snape normally entered the room with his cape billowing out behind him. His eyes would travel over the class, and he would sneer at the Gryffindors, possibly deducting points for something trivial. Then he would reach his desk, and within seconds the class would quiet down.

He knew before he reached the door that today would not be like that.

Severus' head spun, the edges of his vision becoming blurry from time to time. His body felt as though on fire, yet chills ran through him, causing him to shiver. His hands trembled, he knew, and he hid them in the pockets of his robes. If he had looked in a mirror, he would have been met with a pale face and lifeless eyes, hair matted down and greasier than usual because of the sheen of feverish sweat on his skin.

His world was on end, and he could not make sense of it. A part of him realised that this was something worse than the flu – had it only been that, then his anti-flu potions would have been effective – and yet he did not want to admit it. He hated weakness.

The strength it took just to open the door seemed draining.

The class watched him with emotions ranging from fear – Neville Longbottom – to anticipation – Draco Malfoy. He spared a glance at Longbottom, and the boy shrank back. Then Severus' eye went to Harry Potter. He was surprised to find the boy looking straight at him, with a look of – what was that? Concern? No, it could not be. The brat had never cared for anyone or anything but himself. Just like his father.

Only that's not true and you know it, a voice inside his head told him.

Shut up.

He stumbled forward to his desk, fighting the nausea. He managed to press the queasiness down, and turned around to face his class. He would not show weakness in front of them. Too many years as a spy had given him excellent acting skills.

“Today we are going to brew a Healing Potion that Madam Pomfrey needs. It is a simple enough potion, though I don't doubt some of you dunderheads will mess it up.” He shot a look at Neville, amazing himself with how easy it was to play the part of 'greasy git of a Potions professor'. “Chapter seven, paragraph one through six, will tell you exactly what you need to do. Do not waste the Shaebey hairs.” He waited a second, then sneered, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

The class immediately began bustling around the room to the ingredients cabinet. Snape saw Potter and Weasley get together, as well as Granger and Longbottom. Malfoy paired with Pansy Parkinson. For once, he did not care, and he made no move to change the pairings. He only felt like going to bed.

Get a grip! he sneered at himself, but without success.

Settling for the second best alternative, he slumped back in his chair and began grading second year papers. When his vision blurred so badly he could not see the writing, he still moved a paper from one stack to the other so that no one would notice anything out of order.

Ron and Harry huddled closer. While keeping a close eye on the potion, they talked and stole glances at their professor. Harry had seen the obvious shock on both Ron and Hermione's face when Snape entered, and it had not been without reason. The man looked worse than they had been able to see from the distance of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Close up, they could see his bloodshot eyes, the grey tint to his skin, and the shake of his hands.

He looks completely exhausted, Harry thought as he stirred the potion.

Snape had sat down and looked like he was grading papers, but his movements were slow and uncoordinated. The usual grace, which Harry had to admit that the man had, was gone.

"He should go to Pomfrey," Ron whispered to Harry. "He looks bloody awful."

Harry nodded. "I wonder why Dumbledore hasn't made him go yet. I mean, no one could take a look at him and not realise he's sick."

"Yeah, Dumbledore or McGonagall," Ron replied. “McGonagall mother-hens him, I’d reckon.”

Harry smiled slightly. "I’m sure she’s tried getting him to Pomfrey and he probably refused. She sat during lunch today and watched him, but she didn't say anything."

"Potter, Weasley, would you be so kind as to enlighten us to the subject of your conversation?"

Harry and Ron looked up and found Snape suddenly standing only a few feet away from their table. The boys’ cheeks flushed red. Neither wanted to share their conversation.

“It was nothing, sir,” Harry stammered.

“Five points each from Gryffindor for lying.”

His voice isn't—He sounds different than normal, Harry thought.

Harry heard Draco snigger, but it was easy for Harry to ignore with so many other things on his mind. He put a calming hand on Ron's shoulder as Ron shot murderous looks, first at Snape and then at Malfoy. Whatever worries for Snape Ron had felt had now dissipated. 

Snape continued his way around the room. Harry heard him praise Malfoy and the other Slytherins for their “well made potions”, while he scowled at Neville. Neville had, for once, done nothing wrong – the potion was hard enough but with Hermione for a lab partner, he had been hindered from making mistakes – but Snape could always find something to criticise.

Suddenly, everything happened very fast.

Professor Snape walked down the aisle between the tables once more, watching the students. His black robes billowed behind him, yet not like they normally did for Snape did not walk at the speed he usually did.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath and stopped, right by Harry and Ron, grasping the side of the table for support. His other hand went to his chest, gripping his robes tightly.

He looks just like he did a week ago, Harry thought. Scratch that – he looks a hundred times worse!

The class had stopped stirring their potions and the students all watched as their teacher's shoulders heaved with every breath he took.

“Professor Snape?” Harry asked quietly.

The Potions master's head shot up and he met Harry's eye for a brief second. Nothing Harry could see in those eyes fit with  Harry’s image of Snape – fear filled them to the brim. Snape looked truly terrified. Harry gripped Snape's hand in his, just as the professor fell to the floor. A sickening thud echoed through the room as Snape hit the stone ground. He landed in a lifeless heap, his face contorted with pain and one hand fisted in the robes around his heart.

The room was silent.

“Sweet Merlin – get Pomfrey!” Hermione said.

No one reacted – not until Hermione's Head Girl genes kicked in, and she took control.

“Harry, check his pulse and breathing – give CPR if he’s—” she did not finish, and she did not have to. Harry knew. “Ron, go to Dumbledore and tell him what happened. Neville, go to the Hospital Wing and find Madam Pomfrey. Seamus, bottle up one of the Healing Potions so that we can give him some.”

Ron and Neville had already run off. Seamus hurried over to Hermione and Neville's finished potion, and started pouring some into a vial. But before he could get it to Hermione, Draco Malfoy reached out a vial to her, with his finished potion in it.

Harry, with two fingers to the unconscious Snape’s throat, keeping track of the man’s weak pulse, saw the doubt in Hermione’s eyes.

“I’m not my father,” Draco said, “and my potion is just as good as yours. Take it.”

Hermione thought for only a second more, before snatching it out of Malfoy’s hand. Harry raised Snape’s head and Hermione poured the healing potion into his mouth. Some dribbled down the side of his chin, and Harry was struck by the strange insanity of the situation – they might be saving their hated Potions professor’s life.

But Harry could not have left, no matter how strange the situation. Not only was he shell shocked over what had happened, but also, Snape still held onto his hand.

“Come on, come on, come on – that should give you a kick enough to wake up,” Hermione muttered.

She bit her lip when the healing potion seemed to do nothing. The rest of the class moved around the room, some going through the potions in Snape's cabinet to find something to help him. Others sat still in their chairs, just watching their professor with wide eyes. Someone was crying.

Malfoy returned to the trio on the floor. “Here. Anti-poison, with healing herbs in it.”

“Anti-poison? Why?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“Why not?” Draco countered, but despite the harsh words, Harry could hear the worry. “If he hasn’t been poisoned, it won’t do any harm and if he has—he’s probably already taken it, but it still won’t harm him.”

Hermione, who knew this to be true, allowed Malfoy to administer the potion to the still unconscious Snape.

Snape stirred a few seconds later, but did not quite wake. His eyes opened and closed and he mumbled something unintelligible, and Harry saw Malfoy take Snape’s other hand and squeeze it briefly. Then Malfoy’s gaze met Harry’s, and he dropped Snape’s hand, a flush on his cheeks telling Harry he was embarrassed for the display of emotion.

No more than three minutes later help arrived, although it felt more like a small eternity. Dumbledore strode inside and knelt by his young Potions master's shaking body. His hands went over the man's face, continuing down his throat and chest. Madam Pomfrey came running only a few seconds later, and she quickly produced a stretcher to put Snape on. Within another minute, they raced Snape towards the Infirmary.

Dumbledore stayed behind to take care of the shocked class.

“I know you all have questions, but at the moment, I have no answers,” he said. “For now, the rest of this lesson is cancelled, and you are free to go. If you could keep this quiet for the sake of Professor Snape, I would be grateful.”

The class trailed out of the room slowly. Some shot looks at Dumbledore, others began talking softly amongst themselves again.

“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, would you mind staying?” Dumbledore asked, and the three did, Ron mouthing that he would wait outside as he went. “What happened?”

Harry looked between Hermione and Malfoy first, before speaking. “He's been sick for several days, Professor. Ever since the first feast with the parents, if not before that.”

Dumbledore nodded, but Harry could not tell if his words were news or not to the Headmaster.

“He looked like death warmed over when he got here today, but he went on. We were making healing potions and then, he was walking and watching us, when he suddenly stopped. He—he gripped the side of the table as well as his robes around his chest.”

“He looked like he was in pain,” Hermione said quietly. “If he’d been older and overweight, I’d have said a heart attack, but—”

“Then he just fell down,” Harry said.

“We fed him some of the healing potion we've just made,” Malfoy supplied. “Shaebey healing potion. And one of the professor’s own anti-poison draughts.”

"I hope that wasn't wrong," Hermione said, looking at the floor. It had seemed like the best thing to do at the moment.

"No, no, most certainly not. A healing potion is at its best when it is just made, which is why Professor Snape continuously has to stock up Poppy’s cupboards," Dumbledore said. He paused for a moment. "Ten points to each of you for quick thinking. Now, you should return to your dorms."

The three nodded, and parted ways with Dumbledore. Malfoy glanced at Harry, who did not know quite what to make of the boy, and then they separated, Malfoy heading towards the dungeons and Harry to the Gryffindor tower.

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