Chapter 1: Under-appreciated efforts

Not again... Severus Snape sighed. Every year, Hermione Granger repeatedly, unfailingly, and definitely annoyingly thrust her hand in the air to answer a question in every class.

You're such a know-it-all. Everyone already knows so there's no need to prove yourself.

Severus glared at the offending bushy-haired girl. "No one? I see that, as usual, you Gryfindors thought it beneath yourselves to even crack open your textbooks over the summer. It's no wonder I have to deal with your stupidity every year." At this, Severus's glare landed on Neville.

The Slytherins were smugly smirking on the left side of the room. Since this was, after all, their last year, they thought it befitting if they showed some maturity. After all, sycophantically guffawing was soooo last year. The Gryfindors, on the other hand, were silently scowling at the injustice they regularly faced in Potions. They'd learned over the years that keeping quiet was better than facing the consequence of outbursts.

Unfortunately, Harry and Ron (especially Ron)always seemed to forget that lesson.

"Can't you see, you slimy old git? Hermione's got her hand raised. She knows the answer, why didn't you call on her? And why didn't you include your precious Slytherins in that other comment, huh? None of them had their hands raised either!" Ron face was a bad mixture of mottled purple and deep red. He had stood up and banged his fist on the table, spittle flying during his tirade. Harry, on his right, had stood up as well, but allowed his best mate to get his say first.

Just as Harry was going to say his spiel, Severus cut in smoothly, "20 points each from Gryfindor for your disrespect and class disruption."

Harry yelled, "I didn't even get to have my say, professor. At least let me earn my punishment!"

Severus smirked, "Well, there you go." Still smirking, Severus continued to explain the answer and assigned the class a 10-ft. Essay due next class.

When the lunch bell rang, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were the first ones out the door. They quickly made their way out of the drafty dungeon, trying to put as much distance between them and Snape.

"I hate that...that...argh!" Mere words didn't seem enough for Ron to express his loath for their Potions Master.

"I know, Ron," said Hermione soothingly, "We all do." Her expression changed from comforting to indignation. "I especially hate how he never calls on me, pretends he can't see my hand, then proceeds to torture the Gryfindor half of the class on their not knowing the answer!"

Ron calmed down. Somehow, though he and Hermione often had fights themselves, her yelling at or about someone else had a relaxing effect on him, as if one of them was enough to bash whatever was bothering them, and the other would just be the silent support.

Harry grinned at his friends. They balanced each other perfectly. Sure, they fought, but Ron's lightheartedness and violent temper complimented Hermione's seriousness and cool temperament. They were made for each other.

As they turned the corner towards the doors to the Great Hall, still bashing Snape while exercising their vocabulary, Harry felt his scar hurt. His hand automatically reached towards his forehead, but stopped halfway, as the pain went as quickly as it came. Hermione caught the gesture.

"What is it? Did you see something? What do you feel?" The concern in her eyes annoyed him, but only slightly.

"It was nothing, just a small itch..." Harry often had random prickles throughout the day, and they usually didn't bother him anymore. He also didn't tell Ron and Hermione about them, knowing exactly how they'd react, so he barely let anything seem amiss. He slipped up this time though, as he was distracted with bashing Snape.

"Harry, are you sure, mate? Should we stop by Dumbledore's office or someth--"

"No, Ron, as I already said, it was nothing," Harry said shortly. He sighed internally. He knew this was how they'd react. I should have been more careful. There's no use worrying them over the little things.

Still slightly concerned and suspicious, Ron and Hermione let the subject drop and simply sat at their usual spot in the Gryfindor table.

At the teachers' table, Severus glanced briefly at the trio as they sat down. He had caught the little episode by the Hall's entrance, and he would have thought nothing of it had he not suddenly felt a pain on his left forearm.

What?! Right now? It's in the middle of the day! Everyone's at work; does the Dark Lord really think that we'd just leave at his every beck and call? Severus silently cursed under his breath as he quickly got up and left on through the door on the left. Of course the Death Eaters would all come. They would if they valued their lives. But, this was unusual. Though the Dark Lord kept a tight reign on his followers and made them prove their loyalty at no moment's notice with whatever came to his whim, he still allowed them to live their regular lives, preferring to interfere during the night, weekends, and sometimes, holidays.

Severus reached his quarters, threw some Floo powder into the fireplace, and shouted, "Malfoy Manor!" just as Dumbledore banged open his bedroom door, slightly panicked, and yelling, "No, Severus, wait!"

Severus already had most his body in the emerald fire and before Dumbledore's warning registered in his mind, a hand roughly pulled him from another grate and into the whirling flames.

Severus very nearly landed on his face on the cold marble floor of one of the Malfoy's many drawing rooms. He pulled himself together, his face clear of all emotions, despite his unusually less-than-graceful entrance. He glanced to his right, noting Bellatrix, slightly sneering and daintily wiping her right hand on the side of her black robes.

"Ahh, Severuss, my dear boy. Glad you could join us." Lord Voldemort sat regally on a throne-like armchair, seemingly nonchalant. On either side of him was Lucius and Narcissa. Bella had moved over next to her sister. They were the only ones in the large semi-dark room, and Severus's sense of foreboding increased. Where were the others? But, like the good spy that he was, he kept his emotions and thoughts in check. He moved towards the Dark Lord, ready to kneel and make his usual greetings, when he was suddenly hit with a curse.

Thrown backwards and slamming into the mantle, Severus had no warning before the Cruciatus hit him. A cold, high laugh was the only thing heard besides the crackle of the flames and Severus's quick and ragged breaths.

"Ssoo, Sseveruss, you thought you could fool me? ME?! I'm disappointed. I thought you knew better than to betray the Dark Lord. Crucio!"

Severus was prepared this time and dodged the curse, but barely. How?! How did he find out? His thoughts racing, yet keeping his face blank, Severus slowly got up, his black eyes meeting red ones. "My Lord. I am sorry to say that I do not know what you mean. I? I would never betray you. I am your trusted servant, your spy."

"Spy!" spat Voldemort, "Yes, a spy, but not mine. No, you've always been that old fool's spy, haven't you? ANSWER ME AND DO NOT LIE!" Voldemort threw another curse at Severus, but as he was about to dodge it, two other spells hit him in the back. As Severus was spun by the force of the spells, he caught a glimpse of Lucius and Bella with their wands out, the former with a grim expression, and the latter, a triumphant one. Narcissa had a slight frown, but was merely staring at the floor. Voldemort was still sitting, and the last thing Severus heard was cold, high laughter before he fell to the ground, unconscious.