Silence is the Price

----- Harry Potter and his wonderful world belong solely to J.K. Rowling, who has my apologies for mangling her brilliance like this.






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Since Amy had not found anything in Snape’s office, Henry thought they ought next to look in his private quarters. Amy had gone white as paper at the suggestion, but had nodded her agreement. Tomorrow, Saturday, was the beginning of a Hogsmead weekend, and Henry hoped to take advantage of it. Surely Snape would be as eager as the rest of the teachers for a holiday, and while he was gone they could safely rummage through his rooms. The only problem, so far as Henry could see, was finding the teachers’ quarters, as he had no idea where they were. He supposed the Weasley twins might have an inkling. Amy was more concerned with a different problem. Today was Friday… and she was due to serve detention with Snape.


“How’re you going to get out of it? It’s not like Snape’s just going to excuse you,” said Henry worriedly.


“He’ll have to if Madame Pomfrey insists,” Amy said grimly. “What’s the nastiest jinx you know?”


“I’m not going to jinx you!”


“Then I’ll do it myself. I can’t go to detention today.” It was taking a great deal of effort to keep her voice strong and steady. There was only the barest hint of a waver as she added, “I don’t think I could survive it.”


“I don’t think you could survive the jinx either. It’d take something really strong or Madame Pomfrey will have you cured in under a minute.”


“Remember that Gryffindor last year who was in covered in cat hair? She was in for more than a week… wonder what she did?”


“What about a combination?” asked Henry, struck. “You jinx yourself and I’ll curse you at the same time. It’ll hurt more, but it’ll take longer to sort out.” Amy nodded grimly.


“Let’s do it then. I’ll use a jelly-legs jinx and you-”


“Amy, wait.”


“No, let’s do it quickly, before I lose my nerve.”


“Amy…”


“Just do it.” Amy squinched up her eyes, bracing herself.


“Amy!”


“What?” She opened her eyes.


“It’s eight in the morning. At least go to classes first. If you jinx yourself now Madame Pomfrey might be able to cure you by seven.”


Amy blinked. “Right.” She stuck her wand back in her pocket.


“Come on, we’re late for Herbology.” Henry turned to leave. Amy grabbed his shoulder.


“Promise me you won’t tell anyone.” Henry’s mouth tightened to a sharp line.


“I mean it Henry. You can’t tell anyone. You can’t act any differently. The most important thing on your mind today is next week’s Quidditch match.” After a moment’s pause Henry nodded shortly. Amy let go of his shoulder.


They did not have potions today, so Amy was a bit less tense, although her eyes darted when she walked down the corridors, scanning for Snape, and she jumped skittishly at loud noses. At lunch she would not enter the Great Hall to eat, insisting she was not hungry and that it was nothing to do with Snape sitting at the teachers’ table. In the end Henry brought her a sandwich in the alcove next to the Arithmancy classroom, all but force-feeding her when she refused it.


The day passed quietly enough, and at quarter after six they were back in the small alcove. They’d skipped dinner for, as Amy said, “I’m probably going to be sick after, so what’s the point?” They’d decided on the Furunculous Curse, for visual effect, and the tickling charm Rictusempra, for a bit of noise and chaos.


“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Henry grumbled, raising his wand reluctantly.


“Do you bloody have a better idea?” snapped Amy. Her nerves were fraying more and more as seven o’clock approached. “Let’s get this over with.”


Annoyed, Henry suddenly found himself a bit less reluctant to cast the spell. He wondered for an instant if that had been her intention, then quickly cleared his mind to concentrate on the business at hand; Amy had already begun counting to three. She held her wand gripped in both hands, pointed toward her chest. Henry had never actually seen one of the metal wands muggles used to kill each other -gums - but he thought that would be how they held them


“Rictusempra!” He yelled, at the same time Amy cried “Furuncle Elitosum!” Her spell reverberated up her arms in a flash of yellow light, meeting the silver from his wand in the hollow of her throat. Her wand fell with a clatter to the floor and she doubled over as if the wind were knocked out of her. She groaned and curled into a ball, one hand clutching the rough wall of the little alcove as if for support. She looked up at him. She’d gone a delicate shade of green, and when she lifted her face he saw that her pupils had contracted until her eyes where almost completely white. Then she grimaced, crying out in pain.


“Rictusempra doesn’t tickle when you mix it,” she said weakly.




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Luckily for the students of Hogwarts, Madame Pomfrey was not the sort to ask questions. As Amy was in no condition to talk, Henry explained what had happened while Madame Pomfrey helped her into a hospital bed. He skipped the part about the problem being self-inflicted, trying very hard to make it sound like she’d been hit by students passing by without actually outright lying.


“I always get a crop of these right before a Quidditch match,” she said, clucking her tongue sympathetically. “You’re a beater for Ravenclaw, aren’t you?” Amy nodded, then winced and put a hand to her head.


“Positively barbaric what you children do to each other these days.” She patted Amy’s hand before turning to one of the many cupboards of supplies along the wall. “Not to worry. I have an elixir that will have you up and about in time for the Hogsmead trip tomorrow.”


“Madame Pomfrey,” said Henry hesitantly, “Amy’s supposed to be serving detention tonight. What should I tell Professor Snape?” He tried his best to sound concerned, and not in the least hopeful.


“Well she won’t be going anywhere tonight. Here.” She snatched up a spare bit of parchment and scribbled hastily on it. “Take this to Professor Snape. Tell him Amy will be ready to serve her detention on Monday.” Henry seriously doubted that Amy would ever be ready to serve another of Snape’s detentions in the whole course of her life, but he nodded agreeably and took the note. He said goodbye to Amy, who looked miserable, but relieved, and headed down to the dungeons as Madame Pomfrey poured a spoonful of a poisonous-looking yellow medicine for her latest patient.




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When Henry arrived Snape was working at his desk. He did not look up as Henry knocked and entered the potions classroom.


“You’re late, Ms Price,” he said, and there was a subtle, malevolent undertone of glee in his voice. “Five points from Ravenclaw and another detention on Monday. Let us hope it will teach you the value of punctuality.”


“Amy’s not coming.” Snape’s head snapped up, and an expression of very ugly rage passed over his hook-nosed features before he managed to compose himself, settling into his usual sardonic sneer. Henry’s heart was beating very fast. He would dearly love for Snape to say or do something to provoke him. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, but he was most definitely hoping.


“Mr. Abbot.” Snape looked as though he were tasting something very foul. “Go and collect Ms Price. She has a detention tonight, and I shall be forced to take further steps to discipline her if she does not arrive soon.”


“She’s sick…Sir.” Henry infused the word with as much disdain as he thought he could get away with. Snape’s eyes flared, but he said nothing. “I have a note from Madame Pomfrey. Here.” He handed the note to Snape, who scanned it quickly, his lips tightening to a thin white line. The shadow of rage flitted across his face again and he crumpled the note between his long fingers.


“Thank you Mr. Abbot,” he said, not looking at Henry, “you are excused.”




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Amy grimaced as another wave of pain rolled through her body. The elixir Madame Pomfrey had given her had tasted foul, and done nothing to ease her discomfort. Amy privately suspected that this was deliberate on Madame Pomfrey’s part; she may not ask questions, but that didn’t mean a student wouldn’t pay for her crimes. Too miserable to sleep, she had tried to make herself as comfortable as possible, and was dozing, eyes half-closed, when she saw Snape enter from the other side of the room. Her brow creased and a small, high whine escaped before she could stop herself. Madam Pomfrey looked up from her chair and offered her a sympathetic smile before her eye was caught by Snape’s approach.


“Oh, good evening Severus. Can I help you?” She rose to meet him, a few feet away from Amy’s bed.


“Poppy.” Snape inclined his head a fraction and gave her a greasy smile that almost managed to look friendly. “You have one of my students. She’s due for detention tonight, and I really must insist that she serve it.” Madam Pomfrey shook her head.


“You mean Ms Price? I’m sorry, but it just won’t be possible. She’s much too sick. Can’t it be put off ’til Monday?”


“If you insist, I suppose it will have to be.” Snape’s face was calm, but Amy saw his fists clench white behind the folds of his robe. He turned to face her, and with his back to Madame Pomfrey he allowed the full force of his fury to play across his face. She nearly quailed beneath the heat of his gaze, but fought valiantly to keep her own expression neutral and indifferent. When he spoke, his voice betrayed none of his emotions.


“I’ll see you on Monday then, Ms Price.” He turned and left the room, Madame Pomfrey returned to her chair and her book, and eventually Amy’s heartbeat slowed and steadied. She was sick, and anxious, and in a great deal of pain, but the strain the past few days had put on both her body and mind proved to be more than she could bear. Finally, finally, she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.