I AM RETITILING THIS STORY. NOW TO BE CALLED 'HARRY POTTER AND THE DARK SECRET.' SUMMARY WILL SOON CHANGE. SORRY FOR ANY INCONVENIENCES.
(A/N:)
I imagine that those of your who are reading this story and so kindly have kept up with my updates so far have had the intelligence and understanding to know that I am only able to continue this piece on the basis of a restrained time-frame. However, I am happily picking this story up once more through the spring and summer months, and, if all goes well, will continue to update until fall. My sketchy goal is to have a new chapter set for reading every two or so weeks, though no doubt I will go over. I welcome inquiries of any sort, and any kind of helpful reviews I live off of, including constructive and thought-provoking criticism. Please keep in mind that this chapter-length Harry and Snape story though based generally on events of canon, will sometimes meander away from certain hard cold book details, as my main goal does not focus on this but KEEPING THE CHARACTERS TRUE. Contact me with questions about anything that seems hazy, and don't forget to review!
After the spinning had stopped and Harry's feet were planted firmly, he slowly opened his eyes, at first not being able to discern anything but complete darkness. As his vision adjusted itself, the shadowy form of Snape came into view beside him, and further in the distance, other forms of an indeterminable nature that from his viewpoint vaguely resembled gliding spectres. They moved with a god-like precision through the shapeless nothingness of their surroundings, and for some odd reason Harry found himself thinking of the time in class when Mad-Eye-Moody utilized a spider to give a demonstration of the unforgivable killing curse. As Snape prodded Harry closer through his bonds, he felt an instantaneous chill sweep over him which evoked the immediate realization that the shadowy figures were dementors. 'Perfect,' he thought wryly. Snape and dementors clumped together in an area so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face was certainly no more idealistic than competing for Horcruxes with Voldemort, but the thought of what was to come was cruel. Before he had time to ponder over the meaning of their presence, a series of surrounding creaks went off, and what looked to be cutouts detached themselves from the wall of faceless blackness, quickly becoming animated. They moved in the same direction the dementors had gone. At this point Snape's stride suddenly became more forceful, and Harry fought himself not to trip as the tip of his former teacher's wand pushed him brutally forward, the ropes binding him rendering his mobility doubly difficult.
After they had been walking for a few minutes through the barely penetrable gloom, the mad thumping of Harry's heart nearly in his throat making him light-headed, an unearthly light slowly materialized from an unknown source, providing him finally with a view of their environment. Unable to stop himself he gasped, though the reaction sprang more from his surprise than it did shock; at least a dozen Death Eaters stood lining a semi-circle, their hooded eyes all drawn toward the center. But that was not what made the back of Harry's neck prickle as though the wind was tickling them. The quality about the scene which made everything eerie and filled him with certain dread was the point which drew the Death Eater's gaze so profoundly- absolutely nothing of consequence that held the interest in everyone's eyes lay shimmering in a small pool that couldn't appear to make up its mind about whether it wanted to stay in its current form or become a liquid, and emanated such an intensity of brightness that Harry found it hard to keep his eyes upon it. Yet, something about the way Lord Voldemort's followers kept looking at the strange thing grasped Harry's fascination, and, in spite of his desire not to watch the light, he found his eyes travelling to the enigmatic source completely against his will. It was as if everyone was waiting in anticipation for an epic deliverance, and whatever the green light harbored promised not to disappoint.
A rush through the trees alerted Harry to the woods encircling the group, and in the split second he looked away from the burning light he was immediately touched by an odd indescribable sensation, which transposed nearly immediately into a rock-bomb of simultaneous forces that hit him like a ledge. In a slow, nearly mechanical movement, he tried to double over in a gasp of pain in an effort of utter failing, his eyes travelling once more to that unnamed source against his will, whose energy was now pulsing with a heat that somehow caused his body to ignite with whatever evil the thing harbored. His instincts informed him before Lord Voldemort's arrival, while Harry's being became filled with a catapulting terror, one which seemed unreasonable considering his life's role. A thin robed figure slowly emerged in the proximity of the flaming pool, and Harry could not tell if it was Lord Voldemort who took on the pool or whether the light merely vanished in the wake of his emergence. But any discerning on his part would have been impossible, for at that moment Harry's scar exploded with a ghastly pain in response to which he doubled over, thankfully noting that he was in control of his faculties once more through the haze. Somewhere through his distress he heard a mad cackling, and near his side he felt an odd twitch.
"My lord." A whiff of air roared past him and the ground nearby to him trembled. The red in his eyes darkened slightly as a wavering form passed in front of his line of vision. Harry was strangely aware of the hushed silence that had closed over the circle since Voldemort's arrival, and through his suffering could feel rather than hear a hushed series of interchanges being processed. After a timeless moment, the previous vibration of the ground repeated itself, this time channeling over to his place of infamy. In a split second, his scar erupted. White fingers splayed in front of his face through red eyes before something cold and rubbery shocked him out of his horror, causing him to open his eyes fully.
"Harry Potter." Harry gazed steadily at him. He looked around for a brief moment. His eyes travelled to each of Lord Voldemort's solidly swathed Death Eaters before turning towards his right slightly. Snape stood a couple of centimeters behind Voldemort. His elbows were crossed before his chest resting against his spidery long fingers. His black eyes were plastered upon Voldemort and his face was cold and implacable, giving no sign that he was aware of Harry's gaze. His hands tightened over his bindings inadvertently.
"The great Harry Potter sees fit to grace us once again with his presence. We are truly honored. Perhaps he would like me to bow?" A ring of laughter permeated the circle, coupled with a few guffaws and a familiar cackling. The throbbing in Harry's head made him feel as though it had taken a hammer's beating, the intensity of it instilling his hands with the urge to press down upon his scar. "No? You wouldn't like me to bow Harry?" His sibilant sigh lingered in the air for a moment, though after the vanishing wake of the sigh continued to tease everyone, he realized that Voldemort expected an answer.
"No, I wouldn't," he ground out.
"Ahhh." Voldemort seemed almost disappointed. "Well I had hoped . . . but there is no need to worry. When one has power there is always a route of defeat. You are a honed tool of the great Albus Dumbledore." A subdued murmur of laughter arose from Lord Voldemort's followers. Voldemort paused for a moment to allow the effects of his words to settle. "So in allowing of this epic sacrifice he has also inadvertently allowed you to gain power." Harry stared up into snake-like face, for once completely at a loss for words. "You do not understand? No, I suppose not. Yet still, we are not so dissimilar, you and I." The hem of his black robes brushed past him as Voldemort began to pace, and Harry involuntarily recoiled. He seemed to be almost talking to himself. "I have become the most powerful wizard that ever lived, but the grounds in which I was born were not worthy of my feet. I overcame this barrier- I obliterated my worthless father at the first available opportunity. I saw the failings which surrounded me and I could not allow it. I knew of a way to triumph- to have the world at my hands so that I would be able to utilize it as I saw fit. I had learned to recognize uselessness early and what a danger it was, so I was easily able to incorporate that knowledge into a better skill. I was able to exterminate the flaws which burdened my childhood on a universal scale for a greater cause"- He threw his head back and a slur of mirthless laughter escaped him, so tangible in its eeriness that Harry's neck hairs curled- "though, even I must admit that I did not know my cause of power to be so disrupted." Voldemort stopped speaking. He gazed at Harry oddly through his slitted eyes, curiously almost.
"In some ways . . . " He trailed off into ominous laughter once more, but there was something different about it this time. A scythe seemed to cut through Harry incomprehensibly striking him with a terrible feeling of foreboding, but missing his heart apparently, for it was suddenly surging upward in a mad spiral. He swallowed against his bile. The thundering in his ears conversed in a harmony with the dawning realization that consecutively hailed him. A slow second permeated, in which a line of silver slashed across him. Harry barely registered it as his ropes came off in a magic that simultaneously seemed to sweep them aside as well as crack them off of him like a coconut.
"Face me, Harry Potter." Harry heard a stir as the Death Eaters drew slightly closer, a murmur of anticipation controlling them. As he stood up shakily through the heat of his pain, his eyes alighted briefly upon Snape. He had not moved from his former position behind Voldemort. His face was so still and smooth it seemed to be set in marble, his expression coolly inscrutable. Harry tried to rid himself of all thoughts of him and the confused muddle Snape generated in his head as he slowly brought his eyes back to Voldemort. The formed pigments behind his slitted eyelids were a grossly eerie phenomenon of gleaming red rubies- ping-pong balls. "You are truly a novelty." Voldemort's lips curled into a smile. Harry's body became lined by a stiffening force which rippled with another manifestation that strengthened his constitution. It worked in tandem with his mind. Involuntary though the newcomer may have been, Harry was grateful for the momentary numbness that swept away any remnant of his fear. "Crucio!"
Harry immediately fell to the ground in agony, his limbs shaking uncontrollably as the murderous pain of what felt to be a hundred smooth knives sunk into him, his scorching vision making him unable to discern anything save vague shadows from his surroundings. He clamped his mouth tightly shut against the curse, unwilling to give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him scream. After an endless moment the spell was abruptly lifted. For a second Harry lay gasping, listening quietly to the rumbling guffaws rifling through the Death Eaters, then slowly fought himself into a sitting position.
"Ahhh . . . so Harry Potter shows his valor. Your mudblood mother too was exceedingly brave, brave enough to sacrifice herself so that I would spare you." Voldemort then turned towards Snape. "Give him his wand Severus." Snape gave Voldemort a curt bow. Harry's heart was thumping so loudly that it mixed with the throbbing in his scar that still lingered, making him unable to distinguish between the two meters. He did not dare look up as Snape handed him his wand. As he felt his fingers close around the smooth wood, he felt a faint surge of reassurance swell inside him. "Step closer to me, Harry Potter." Before Harry had even moved, he heard a rushing noise behind him, and turning slightly, saw that the Death Eaters behind him had closed the last few feet where he had been sitting, completing the semi-circle so that he and Voldemort were entirely surrounded. He noticed for the first time Lucius Malfoy standing among the grouping that flanked his rear, who was standing next to none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. When she spotted him looking at her she let out a low cackle.
"Baby Potter having to put up a hard fight? Don't worry, no doubt you'll be joining your precious godfather soon." As Harry gazed at the strong feature of Sirius' killer his terror was momentarily misplaced as hatred seeped into his veins. He glared daggers at her, wishing he could hex her on the spot.
"It seems you have hit a soft spot Bella." Voldemort said softly. He sounded almost amused. Harry turned slowly back around to face Voldemort. He became sharply aware of something heavy in his left pocket. He nonchalantly slipped a hand into it and ran his fingers over it lightly, and nearly started. It was the Cerebellum.
He was a bit wary of the object. Snape had mentioned that it was an extremely potent piece of dark magic, and Harry had no doubt that he was correct in his assessment. As he gazed back into Voldemort's face he tried to do some quick thinking.
"I have tired of playing with you Harry." His voice sounded almost loving, curling itself into the air like black silk. Harry felt a chill creep up his spine. The thundering of his heart was murderous. His mind was spinning. Where would the orb take him?
"You have thwarted me for the last time. Albus Dumbledore's strung puppet has admittedly staged a show better than I had thought possible, but it was only a matter of time before those strings were cut. The final act has finally come to a close." As Voldemort raised his wand, as he could hear the collective intake of breath from all the Death Eaters, he made a split-second decision. Harry's hand closed tightly around the orb. He clamped his jaw together and he concentrated as hard as he could on escaping, on the Horcruxes he still had left to find, on his need to live, on Ginny . . . he felt himself spinning as his feet lifted. He rose into the air and had a brief glimpse of Voldemort and his Death Eaters down below him, before the spinning quickly became faster and everything went black, sweeping him into space to the accompaniment of diminishing chaos that tapered off completely as he left the scene entirely. There was a minute in which he had no sense of time, or space, or air, and then a thud. He opened his eyes falteringly for a moment to the setting of a dark room, then the physical exhaustion of his body overcame him, and he promptly passed out.
A wiggling form danced before him tantalizingly, making Harry stretch his hands in a stunted effort to catch it. The form then wavered knowingly, its indiscernibly pale pigment taking on a more lurid green color, beginning at once to twist and writhe. His heart in his throat, Harry awoke with a start, only to glance blearily around to see nothing but shadows before him. His hands abruptly fell back down at his sides. His awareness was sharp enough for him to realize that he was lying on the floor of a building of some sort, lined with shelves of books encircling some type of living arrangement, before the pain in his head became too much and he again screwed his eyes tightly shut. With his eyes closed, he tried to take what little stock he could of his surroundings. From what little he had been able to see of his brief image, he knew he was obviously in someone's living quarters. The room was furnished so scarcely that he could not tell whether the house's inmates were muggle or wizard. He cracked his eyelids open once more slowly, this time paying closer attention to the room's detail. In addition to the shelves which took up the majority of the enclosure a sofa, chair, and small table sporting a haphazard assortment of books was barely detectable through the depression. From the layout of these items in alignment with the shelves he had a feeling that he had apparated somewhere near one of the room's edges. He craned his neck slightly in a pathetic attempt to determine what lay behind him, but the pain in his head immediately retaliated against this idea; Harry resignedly allowed his head to fall back. Dejectedly he sighed, closing his eyes again in tired defeat. Before he knew it, he had slipped back into blissful unconsciousness.
When Harry finally awoke for the second time he felt as though he were skipping steps. A thin light filtering through the room cast stripes across him placing him for a moment in a dream of heavy warmness. He basked in this for no longer than an instant before he awakened fully, the thought that he didn't know where he was entering his mind causing him a startled jolt. Bathed in light the room from before was unrecognizable, and in one fell swoop two things hit Harry: first, that it obviously must have still been night when he last woke, and secondly that the house in which he had apparated undoubtedly belonged to a wizard. Now that he could see the room clearly the threadbare sofa with its matching chair, though overused, were arranged so that the sides were showing, and Harry could see where patching up had been done in some places using spell work. He gently craned his head to peer more closely at the books stationed directly across from him in an attempt to see some of the titles. The only one he could make out was that from a thick black volume whose spine was slightly to the forefront of the others and was engrossed in thick gold letters. A Complete Guide to Dark Magic: Not for the Faint at Heart, was written plainly across it. So this was the house of a dark wizard, Harry thought grimly. He desperately hoped it did not belong to one of Lord Voldemort's followers, but he knew there was an excellent chance that it did. Unbidden, the thought came to him that he fervently needed Hermione.
A loud bang accompanied by someone caterwauling brought him out of his reverie. Somewhere in the rear of the house a low hiss sounded, followed by a short interchange that was decidedly indiscernible. A second later a door banged, then everything went quiet. Harry instinctively reached into his pocket, hoping desperately that his wand was still with him. When his fingers closed around the smooth wood he breathed in an inadvertent sigh of relief. He struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the achy protest of his body, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement. A voice in his head was doubting this act in adherence to the fact that the room did not appear to house a door, at least not to his knowledge, but Harry did not care. After a moment however in which nothing happened he relaxed a little. Until the bookshelf in front of him began to move.
The wall across from him turned before Harry had even had a chance to gain his footing, and he cursed himself for not being aware of all the entrapments of the room. Not underestimating the identity of the person, he had a curse upon his lips and his wand raised, but, before he was able to speak the curse aloud he was promptly disarmed.
A thin black-robed figure stepped into the room. His heart beating erratically, unable and not caring to see which of Voldemort's followers had somehow found a way to follow him to his refuge, Harry immediately tried to think of another avenue by which to defend himself.
"Sit back down Potter," a voice hissed which immediately filled him with ire. Long white fingers that he could almost have mistaken for Voldemort's slipped from under the man's sleeves and pulled off the faceless hood.
Harry did not move, and for a moment just stood there staring dumbly at him." As much pleasure as it would give me to incarcerate you again Potter, surprising as it may seem, there is unfortunately more to do tonight than involves you," Snape said, almost waspishly. Harry did not have a clue as to what was going on, but in the face of both wands pointing at him he sat down reluctantly, though he continued to watch him warily.
Snape scoured the room's perimeter waving his wand in a series of complicated arcs. Harry could not help noticing that he was walking rather slowly. After giving his wand a final flicking and making some sort of crossbow, he turned to Harry and began muttering under his breath. Harry drew back slightly, not sure what to expect. Snape merely gave his wand a quick flick however, creating an arc of colors around his torso that dissipated as quickly as they had come. He pocketed his wand, turned on his heel and left through the same entrance he had come through, leaving Harry feeling slightly befuddled.
Unwittingly, and- entirely against Harry's judgment- the willpower in his limbs failed slightly in his effort to remain upright, causing him to fall back once more. He was furious that Snape had taken his wand. The thought of being in Snape's house made his blood boil, creating a murderous rush of adrenaline that threatened his comfortable position. However his energy stores after the night seemed to have been brutally snatched from him, leaving him feeling strangely numb. He lay there for a moment immobile, trying not to think, or move, or feel . . .
After a few minutes Harry vaguely registered the bookshelf in front of him turning. He heard a soft swishing noise nearby. A moment later a vial of some sort was thrust into his hand.
"Drink this, Potter," Snape said roughly. Harry grasped the vial in his hands and looked down at it. The potion was a slightly murky, darker pigment but did not look quite as foul as what Snape had given him two days ago. Still slightly suspicious, he brought the vial to his lips. For the first time he noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. Trying not to think about it, he quickly downed the potion.
Upon finishing the vial, a movement upon his bodice caused him to jerk backward slightly. He felt the odd sensation of something being slipped out of one of his pockets, then felt a whoosh as an unidentifiable shadow teased the corners of his vision. Harry struggled to keep his eyes upon it as the object finally slowed and fell neatly into Snape's outstretched hand, its true form immediately becoming recognizable as the portkey which he had used a few hours ago. Snape began muttering under his breath, waving his wand in now precise circles around the Cerebellum. The orb spun once, twice, then quieted. He slipped the orb into his pocket, apparently satisfied.
"Er- sir?" asked Harry. The shaking in his hands had stilled and he felt some measure of strength return to him. "Why did you enchant the Cerebellum to take me here?" Snape stared down at him over his hooked nose. His cold black eyes were unfathomable. "As you have undoubtedly figured out by now Potter, the Dark Lord is exceedingly furious by your escape," he said, speaking slowly. Harry nodded quickly, his heart beating a bit faster than normal. "The advent of Lovegood, Weasely, and Granger the other day whom you led into the school- endangering all of their lives in the effort I might add- " He paused for a moment, smirking. Harry felt fury rise within him, but desperation for answers and unusual fatigue coursing through him forced him to remain quiet. "-ending in their eventual escape only added to the Dark Lord's ire. An appropriate location for you-" Snape's mouth twisted over the word as though it he had swallowed flesh-eating slug repellent- "was in order." He looked at Harry as though he were a particularly disgusting potion experiment that had gone wrong, his face portraying his obvious disgust at having Harry in his house. For a moment, a strange bow shot him away from reality and Harry felt some bizarre sense of satisfaction come over him. He shook his head to himself. "What about Ron and Hermi- er- my friends?"
"They too are being held at quarters which are appropriate," Snape said shortly, in a tone which suggested that their welfare was of little difference to him. Harry stared up into his pallid face and found himself wryly hoping that his friends had fared better than he had. "Why did you think this was a safe location for me sir?" He asked, slightly sarcastically.
"Manners, Potter," Snape said softly, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Rest assured that this arrangement bears no link with a fervent desire for your company, odd as that may seem." Harry was about to retort, but unfortunately, his stomach chose that moment to voice its discontent. Snape's lower lip curled. Harry gritted his teeth as he felt his cheeks burn.
"Although your obviously overlarge Gryffindor nose thrives on information, I think- ah- other needs are in order," Snape said smoothly. Harry simply glared at him, feeling suddenly exhausted. Snape turned swiftly. As he left the room, he again noticed the limp that he seemed to be trying to hide. At that moment a thought struck him. Perhaps Snape was hit with a curse by Voldemort, he thought frantically. Had he been discovered? If that was the case there would have been no need for him to keep you here, a voice which bore a suspicious resemblance to Hermione's contradicted. Harry felt slightly calmed by this notion. Although he did not trust Snape, there was no doubt that he would not want him there any longer than was necessary.
As Harry watched Snape's black robes whip out of the room, the weariness which had been threatening him chose that moment to hit him in full measure. He sat back down unintentionally. He took a moment to take a mental stock of his injuries. Although the pounding in his head still lingered slightly, he realized that, to his surprise, although his entire body was sore, the effects from the Cruciatus curse were less painful than they might have been. The potion had obviously lessened the aftereffects of it, but the curse itself should have been powerful enough to withstand some of the potion's healing benefits, at least from what Harry remembered. But then, had the curse itself been all that powerful? He was suddenly doubtful. It had certainly been extremely painful, but if he was completely honest with himself, when Voldemort had struck him with the curse at the end of the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year the pain had probably been more agonizing. He frowned inwardly. The relieving powers of the potions Snape had given him wasn't what puzzled him, it was rather the fact that he had been given the potions in the first place. Unaware of his actions, he sank further down onto the hard floor, his eyelids starting to droop. His hunger forgotten, Harry soon fell into a doze. However it didn't last long, for upon the moment the turning of the bookshelf announced Snape's return. Unwilling to be caught off his guard, he forced himself into a sitting position.
"Though you are doubtless waiting for your dinner to come sweeping to you on a golden platter, I have more important things to do with my time than nurse your already overlarge head Potter," Snape sneered. As he left the room, Harry pondered the idea of skipping dinner altogether. Unfortunately, instinct told him that this was not such a great idea, annoyingly reminding him of the long drawn-out months that had tormented them with a scarcity of food-intake. Reluctantly therefore, he got up a minute later and followed Snape through the passage.
As Harry came through the other side of the dark tunnel by the courtesy of what felt like another shelf if the feel of the ledges were correct, the presentation of the room immediately took a hold of his senses. However why this should be puzzled him slightly, for there was nothing about the room which seemed particularly interesting. It was framed by rather tall cabinets portraying a shabbiness which made no bother to hide either a substantial age or evidence of a history of cruel abuse, which was broken at the right hand wall to allow room for an equally shabby counter that supported a small sink. A circular wood table sat in half shadows further into the room's left side, half-hidden behind the end of the line of shelves facing him, as though it had been rather hastily pushed aside in a make-shift effort of proper arrangement in the shoddy room. Harry frowned. Something about the table was niggling at him, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.
Snape's back was turned to him as though he chose not to acknowledge Harry's presence. Eyeing him a bit apprehensively, Harry walked over to the table and sat down. Ironically enough, he was seated next to the only window he had seen in the house according to his determination of it up to date. The mesmerizing effect of the rain pattering against the pane played cruelly upon his current drowsiness. Struggling against its tantalizing effects, he turned away from the window.
At the cabinet singled out from the its vast family in which Snape had been doing something obscure, he had now stilled in the decided form of a shadowy black figure which sharply made its presence plain through the gloom. Reminded of the Death Eater's particular choice of arrival in the forest hours before, Harry involuntarily shivered. With a slow, jerkily cut movement, Snape turned toward him. As Harry looked into the black eyes that seemed nearly to float through the swirling demonic shadows, he felt unnerved. Snape was moving closer to him, his gimp leg thumping roughly against the worn linoleum. When he was close enough so that his face straddled the threshold of the light's shaft, Harry could see him clearly. His face was illuminated as though by a demonic beast, his jaw rigid, his pale forehead beaded with drops of sweat. A horrible, and incomprehensible feeling of dread pooled in the pit of Harry's stomach.
"You are not going to like what I am about to do Potter," Snape said, speaking rapidly, "But I need your full, and, absolutely utmost, cooperation."
(A/N:) A big thanks and many imaginary hugs to those of you who reviewed my last chapter, and my apologies for not being able to post them on this page due to the length of time it has taken me to update. However, be aware that I will most certainly begin to post them in my newest editions out of my appreciation! But please, keep in mind that I cannot answer to those of you that don't log in!
