Amare Speculae

Chapter Six

AN: Well. I feel like a right prat right now. Apparently I only ever get things done when I don't have the time. Like now. Sorry about the whole delay through the holidays. Good news, I'm no longer half dead! Well, unless you count freezer burnt flesh from standing in a snow storm waiting for the bus. Gotta love Colorado weather.

Anyway, I actually have a thing. Like, seriously. It exists. With words. And a plot ish thing.

Enjoy!

~Kiro
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It happened one Wednesday evening at the very beginning of March, after one of their remedial potions lessons. Severus's lips were just retreating from Harry's and the portrait just swinging open when the sounds of running footsteps reached their ears. One hand still resting on the back of Harry's neck, Severus lifted his face to see a sixth-year Slytherin skid to a stop outside his doorway.

The sandy-haired boy was breathing harshly, eyes wide as he tried to comprehend the scene before him. At Severus's growl, he shook his head and temporarily abandoned his mental processing in order to explain the situation that had brought him bounding there in the first place.

"It's McCloud, sir. He was trying to brew that new potion- for revealing true love or something like that, and he exploded the cauldron. The entire place is covered in soot and McCloud won't respond to ennervate."

Severus growled, his eyes flashing, as he stormed out the door, pulling Harry with him.

"You, Creed, to to the hospital wing. Inform Madame Pomphrey that a case will soon be arriving with severe lung damage and most probably paralysis from overdose of alcoholic Tonic of Carabell fumes."

The young man scurried off just as they reached the open door to the smoking reserve potions lab. Outside was a crowd of fifth and sixth year Slytherins, all gathered around a prone form or hanging anxiously about the outskirts of the throng. Severus fixed them all with a death glare to beat all death glares and they scooted away, hanging indecisively along the edges.

Severus knelt beside a young, soot-covered Slytherin in tattered robes, prodding for a pulse. Harry, free from the man's grip, came up to kneel at his right shoulder, retrieving his wand. As Severus checked the kid's condition, Harry watched warily.

The kid looked to be about fifteen years old, thin and with high cheekbones. His features were hard to distinguish beneath all the soot, but his hair was medium length, dull with the filth covering it. As Snape's fingers smudged the soot at the boy's throat and hair, Harry saw that he had tan skin and black hair. He was probably an arrogant heartthrob by the way the girls of the crowd were crooning and making teary eyes at his prone form.

Harry shook his head. Obviously the boy had been trying to prove something, or thought he had exceptional potions ability, or, most likely, both. Harry found that he couldn't work up much sympathy for the brat.

A moment later, Harry was stirred from his acerbic musings as Severus lifted his head.

"I want all of you who knew about what McCloud was attempting to wait for me in my office. I trust that you know to tell the truth. The rest of you, clear out."

As all but about four of the children ran off through the corridor, the commanding professor turned his no-nonsense gaze to Harry.

"Come, we need a stretcher to carry him to the hospital wing. Magic is not safe to use on him in his current condition."

Harry dutifully conjured a stretcher and together the two men slung the injured sixteen-year-old onto it. Standing, they picked up either end and, with one last snarl and glare to the boy's friends and sycophants who tried to follow, headed off toward the hospital wing.