Out of doors, a crisp clear night enveloped the grounds of Hogwarts, bathing the castle in the soft, shimmering light of the moon. It was by this light, filtering in through the windows, that the irate professor of Potions stalked erratically from shelf to shelf in the library, where he was randomly pulling book after book down from its place.

Despite this, it appeared that Severus Snape's search was in vain, as each heavy tome was forcibly and disgustedly returned to its casing nearly as soon as it was tugged free and leafed hastily through. Not until a large stack of weathered parchment fell from a top shelf, however, did he seem to wake from his frenzied state and, gazing about he grimaced at the mess of scattered papers, disheveled and uneven rows, and piles of books. Come morning, he could without a doubt expect a stern lecture and a boxing of the ears to ensure proper library etiquette in the future from Madam Pince.

Leaning dejectedly against a table, he drummed his fingers on its surface and sighed in defeat. Had he found the text he needed, the harried hour of rummaging would have been worthwhile. Motivated by the deviant wickedness of it all, he'd been sorely tempted to stay up all night concocting the brew, if only for the amusement of seeing Minerva's face come morning when their "headmistress" hastily excused herself from breakfast in a fit of retching.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he continued to wonder at the fact that it had been the stoic, ever do-right Head of Gryffindor who had so nonchalantly hatched the devious plot to poison Dolores Umbridge. How the woman could possess such a ruthless, cunning nature and yet have avoided being sorted into Slytherin was beyond him; even after all these years of working side by side, she still had presence enough to catch him off his guard and shock the hell out of him. Recalling how he had nearly spit his whiskey halfway across the staff room when she'd suggested it, Severus allowed himself a small grin in the darkness of the library. Even he had to tip his hat to the old girl and concede that giving Umbridge a case of gastroenteritis had been a stroke of pure genius that was not entirely all that unbecoming.

Cloaked as he was by visions of scheming against Dumbledore's less-than-able successor, it took a moment before the shouts and wild howling reached his ears. Brows knitted together in consternation, Severus crossed his arms and slid slowly away from the table to approach the windows. Peering out over the school property at the sight below, all light-hearted mischief fled immediately from his mind.

Slanted down across the dark grounds, silhouetted by the light pouring from the cabin, Severus could make out the shape of several figures surrounding the considerably larger form of the Hogwarts groundskeeper and his boarhound. A low growl of outrage rose from his throat when he saw the unmistakable strings of red light shoot from each wand, and he curled his fingers into fists. The crude baseness of it all -- how dare that vulgar woman take such presumptuous actions as to order such an outright attack on a trusted member of Albus Dumbledore's staff!

Glaring down at the commotion, one of the fiery stunners meant for Hagrid was intercepted by Fang, and he watched as the half-giant swung a huge, meaty hand at one of his assailants. The wizard went sailing across the lawn and, Severus was unashamedly glad to see, did not get up. He scoffed in contempt; it was their own fault, anyway, if they'd thought they could take the tremendous man down with naught but a few stunning spells.

Without warning, a pool of rich golden light illuminated a square of dark lawn directly below, and the professor surmised that someone had flung open the front doors of the castle. A moment later, and his guess was proven correct as yet another dark figure appeared from within before darting away towards the scene of bedlam taking place before the cabin. He could only hope that Umbridge hadn't planned on reinforcement; but then, leaning forward slightly to squint through the inky twilight, he found the movements of the figure to be rather intimate with the day-to-day affairs of the school. Leaning even further towards the glass pane and resting a hand on the sill, his expression softened with dawning realization.

"Leave him alone! Alone, I say!"

The voice was faraway and tinny, laced with unfathomable fury, but there was no mistaking it. Both hands gripping the sill and nose practically pressed against the glass, Severus watched through uneasy eagle eyes as she hurtled recklessly across the dewy grass, throwing caution to the wind. He wanted to barrel heedlessly after her, to force her back to the castle by any means necessary -- after all, Hagrid was a grown man, he could take care of himself -- but before he could turn, he knew. He knew and he felt the realization of what was happening hit him full-force; horrified beyond all measure, powerless to do anything, he stood rooted to his spot in the library and watched the scene play before his eyes.

She was halfway across the grounds when the blazes of red light turned to her in rapid succession, one following right after another. Pupils dilating, Severus shook his head slightly, silently demanding the bearers of those cursed wands not to take suck a drastic course of action, hoping –

But then in an instant the beams had collided with her, and she was lifted several feet into the air; just hanging, suspended and illuminated by a glow as red as fresh blood. Her back was to him, but he could see her face plain as day in his mind's eye and he imagined she must be wearing an expression of shock mingled with the ever-dangerous furor of her Gryffindor nature.

When she was thrown forcefully to the ground like a discarded rag doll, Severus felt the breath expel from his body as though he, too had been slammed backwards. So intent was he in waiting for her to rise that he took no notice of the giant hybrid fleeing into the black forest with an unconscious Fang draped about his shoulders; nor did he notice the group of wizards milling about before the groundskeeper's home, unsure of what their next move should be.

"Get up," he rasped, finding his mouth gone suddenly dry and his tongue feeling abnormally thick. "Get up!"

It became a demand, an insistent and direct order, and the longer she took in complying, the deeper became the dreadful ache gnawing at his insides. He was forgetting to breathe, and it was making him dizzy. Inhaling deeply, he raised a tight fist and pounded on the window. The ache was overwhelming him, smothering him in its icy clutches, and he continued to pound until the glass splintered.

"Goddamn you, get the hell up!"

Panting heavily, Severus leaned his forehead against the frame and laid his palm flat against the cool glass. His voice was infinitely quieter and cracking when he spoke again.

"Get up. Please, Minerva, just get up."

Many long moments passed before he found himself capable of regulating his breathing to slower, more controlled, albeit shaky, inhalations. Regardless, his pulse still pounded frantically through him as the numbing sensation of shock began to overtake his body. Unable to force his limbs to move, he clenched his eyes tightly closed in an attempt to rid his mind of the horrible imagery of what he had just witnessed. If he could only clear his mind of the fog quickly infiltrating it, or overcome the thunderous rushing in his ears, he thought it possible that he might be able to awake from this dream to find nothing had happened and all was as it ought to be.

But when Severus opened his eyes again he was not met with the dark velvety folds of the curtains of his canopy bed; instead he was greeted by the glow of several lights, and though they were not the harsh red illuminations used prior to these warm yellow twinkles, he knew he had not been hallucinating. While he could no longer make out her form through the dark night, instinct told him that Minerva McGonagall still lay crumpled and motionless where she had fallen, and it was his responsibility to –

Blinking through the black haze, the soft shining wand lights had begun to move across the grounds. Apparently, Umbridge and her motley crew were making their way back up to the castle; he watched the flashed moving steadily closer in short, swinging arcs, all the while feeling as though he'd been placed under a full body bind, when suddenly it occurred to him that they would soon pass directly where his rival Head of House surely remained. With a gut-wrenching twist the thought that Dolores Umbridge would revel in the disposing of one of Dumbledore's top supporters entered unbidden into his mind and succeeded in breaking him from his stupor.

Fighting against a sudden wave of nausea, Severus shoved aside all thought and emotion and turned swiftly on his heel. Desperate now to stop any possible wrong-doings, he took flight and was gone from the library in a swirl of black robes.

It took him just under two minutes to reach her side. The others took three.

Later he would be glad he had had that extra minute to compose himself, for one look at his colleague's lifeless body was all it took to feel the vise tighten inexorably across his chest and to allow the sour taste of bile to leap unpleasantly to the back of his throat. She was sprawled haphazardly across the lawn, and the front of her robes were tattered apart and charred. Noting with trepidation the sickeningly sweet smell of singed flesh lingering in the air, he raised his wand a bit higher and, by the light that it cast, he was able to discern that the stunners had left her torso badly burned.

Suppressing the urge to vomit, Severus fell to his knees on the moist ground beside Minerva and grasped her wrist, testing for a pulse. Just as he was beginning to feel cause for concern, a faint rhythm fluttered beneath his fingertips; this gave him some relief, and he released the anxious breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. She shivered slightly in her unconscious state, and he hastily removed his cloak and slid it over her quiescent frame, as much to keep her warm as to aid in the preservation of her dignity and sense of decorum.

No sooner had he done so, however, than did the imperious voice of Dolores Umbridge reach his ears. "Well, Snape, is she alive?"

The tone of her voice made the answer she was hoping for all too obvious, and the professor felt a sudden surge of hatred well up inside of him. Nevertheless, he schooled his face into what he hoped was a mask of indifference and lifted his stony eyes to lock with hers, but his response was interrupted by the arrival of Professors Flitwick and Sprout.

"My word, what on earth happened?" Sprout exclaimed, eyes wide and clutching her heart in dismay. "I ran into Professor Tofty on my way out of the staff room, and he –"

"Professor McGonagall deemed it suitable to directly interfere with an official inquiry of the gamekeeper," Umbridge replied stiffly. "Naturally she had to be restrained. It's only good will that keeps me from firing her here on the spot!"

Severus barely managed to contain his enraged snarl. "Headmistress," he began through clenched teeth, "it seems that the professor may be in need of medical assistance –"

"Oh, come now, I'm sure she'll bounce back right enough." But the look on her face harshly belied this sentiment. Dismissing the notion with an airy wave of her hand, she beckoned her assistants and once more turned her step in the direction of the castle.

Flitwick sputtered in protest, his voice high and shrill. "But Dolores, surely you don't – that is to say, you wouldn't just leave her here like this?"

Pausing mid-stride, Dolores Umbridge glanced back over her shoulder, a nasty smile playing over her ugly, toad-like features. "Why, Filius!" she simpered, "perish the thought!" And with a short, barking laugh, the four Heads of House were left to be consumed by the night.

Still holding Minerva's wrist firmly in his hand, Severus gazed up despairingly into the crisp night. The moon had vanished behind the turrets of the castle, but the stars were out in abundance, all winking cheekily and appearing to laugh at his vexations. Fog was beginning to creep its way into his mind again; he was shaking, his throat was constricting, and breath would not come. How could this have happened? All as he had stood by and watched –

He was ripped from his sullen thoughts by the sudden stillness beneath his fingers. Cursing, it took a moments' search to find the pulse once more, erratic and weaker than it had been. "Hold on," he murmured, so quietly he wasn't even sure if he'd spoken the words aloud. "Hold on, I won't let you go." And, smoothing a stray strand of loose hair back away from her ashen face, Severus slid his arms beneath her body and struggled to his feet with some difficulty.

She was dead weight, with her arms hanging askew and her head tipped eerily backwards, and he took a moment to steady himself. The moisture from the damp earth had soaked into her clothing, and in the back of his mind, he found himself wondering at the fact that she, who had always radiated the searing fire of her House, could now feel so cold and damp.

"I'm taking her to St. Mungo's," he rasped out. His voice was coarse and insistent, and sounded very unlike his own. He glanced down at Minerva, helpless in his arms, and watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. Who knew how much damage had already been done with this wasted expanse of time? Holding her tightly to his chest, he glared at his associates. "Go back to the castle. I'll send word if I'm not back by morning."