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Harry had never seen anything more terrifying in his life than the sight in front of him:
Snape.
Smiling.
Not kindly. Not warmly. Just… smiling.
Which, to Harry, might as well have been Voldemort offering him a hug.
He was almost certain Snape must be plotting sothing awful.
"Co with ," Snape said curtly.
He spun around, robes snapping as he strode ahead. Harry and Ron followed with their luggage, not daring to lift their heads. They stared at the floor like two scolded puffskeins, too nervous to breathe loudly.
The scent of dinner drifted faintly from the Great Hall, but even that comfort felt distant. Instead of guiding them toward the feast, Snape took them down the stone steps into the cold, damp basent corridors.
Then he pushed open his office door.
"Inside."
Harry and Ron shuffled in. Every jar lining the shelves glistened with floating, vaguely horrific things. They didn't want to know their nas—knowing Snape, they probably had them.
"Ah, the famous Harry Potter. Famous again," Snape said, voice dripping with venom. "Front-page headline in the Daily Prophet. Marvelous."
Harry clenched his fists.
"I rember the last ti you made headlines," Snape continued. "Lockhart's book signing, wasn't it? You left your brother behind, posed with a celebrity, and advertised his books—and your own fa—for him. A mutually beneficial arrangent, I suppose."
Harry snapped, "I didn't—! The platform wouldn't let us through—"
"Yes, yes," Snape cut in. "So you decided to make a grand entrance by flying to school. Quite thrilling, I imagine."
"It wasn't— I didn't want attention! We couldn't get on the train—"
"No other choice? Really?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "The great Savior of the Wizarding World couldn't send a letter with his owl?
Couldn't send word to his brother?
Or, heaven forbid, go back to the Burrow and wait for the Weasleys to sort it out?"
Snape's cold gaze slid to Ron.
"I seem to recall Arthur Weasley works in the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts… and yet his son—booming through the skies in a flying car."
Harry and Ron's faces went ghost-pale.
Snape savored it before dropping the real blow.
"Perhaps the Savior hasn't heard. Half an hour ago, his brother suffered a magic riot."
Harry's breath stopped.
"Almost lost control," Snape went on. "Covered in blood. Sent to the hospital wing. All because of soone's little stunt."
"You're lying!"
Harry's voice cracked.
Ron shouted, "Yeah, that's impossible!"
But Snape didn't blink.
"Is it? He is your brother, after all. And not mine. The boy begged anyone to tell him where you were—'Just tell and I'll do anything,' he said." Snape imitated Darren's trembling voice with cruel accuracy.
Harry shook his head wildly.
"No—No, he was fine this morning! Mr. Flal only took him to talk about the Heir business—how could he—how—?"
"Ha. I wouldn't know," Snape said coolly. "Perhaps being the brother of the famous Harry Potter causes certain… stresses. Especially when one's fa keeps getting overshadowed."
"I DIDN'T THINK THAT!" Harry shouted. "Tell —Is Darren okay?"
Snape sighed dramatically.
"Oh, I'm only the poor Potions Master. Not a Healer. All I can do is stand here while the Savior screams at ."
"I want to see Darren—"
"Quiet!"
Snape's roar shook the jars on the shelves.
He leaned close, voice low and dangerous.
"When I inspected the grounds, I noticed a very valuable Whomping Willow was severely damaged."
"That's only a big injury for us, though!" Ron blurted.
"Shut. Up."
Snape's second roar was worse.
"It's unfortunate I'm not your Head of House, or I'd have you expelled on the spot.
But…" Snape smiled thinly. "I can fetch soone who can."
He swept out, robes billowing.
Harry and Ron stood trembling.
Fired?
Expelled?
And Darren—
Harry's mind spiraled.
Darren might die because of him.
He might be thrown out of Hogwarts.
The portraits of his ancestors would curse him.
He'd end up back with the Dursleys, stripped of everything he'd gained.
No friends, no magic—nothing.
And Darren…
Darren, who always protected him…
Darren might be gone.
Tears welled up before he even noticed.
"Potter."
Snape's cold voice returned.
Harry jerked his head up—and saw Professor McGonagall standing behind Snape.
"Professor—Darren—is he all right?"
McGonagall sighed, her expression softening.
"I'm glad you still rember him, Potter. Otherwise I'd be ashad on Darren's behalf. He's alive. And Severus's potion worked remarkably well."
Harry sagged with relief.
McGonagall added, "Don't make that face. Severus is the best Potions Master. Of course, if we count the future—Darren may outshine him soday."
She cleared her throat.
"And now… let's talk about you two."
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