Hidden Things
Thief

Harry becomes involved in a dangerous spell that reveals the frightening truth about Snape and could also give Voldemort his chance to kill him. Alternate Universe - Sixth Year.

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The night had come when Harry was ready to return back into the world of dark time visions and disjointed half-truths. Knowing it could be all night before they learned anything from this, Hermione had opted to allow Ron to be the designated watcher who would check on him every little bit to make sure things weren't getting out of hand, but she fully expected a detailed report in the morning, of course. To tell the truth Harry was a bit nervous about this. He had been too tired to think of it the other night, but being awake now and able to process what he was getting himself into, he worried just a bit about what might happen if he screamed or did anything else equally as embarrassing. As they sat in their beds waiting for the Gryffindors to be well asleep he kept shooting Ron grim glances that made his friend roll his eyes.

It was about midnight by the time Ron got up off his bed, padding to Harry's in the moonlight, and settled down at the foot of the bed. "Don't worry about it, Harry. If I see you moaning or something I'll shove your pillow over your face until you're still." He grinned and bumped Harry's feet.

"Thanks," he responded, uncorking the potion. It did feel better with his friend watching over him, knowing what was up. He considered more than once telling Ron about Snape too, but then he would imagine the other's disgusted expression and kept his mouth shut. "All right. I'm taking it now." Lifting the potion to his lips, he took a tiny swig, noticing that despite the jokes his best friend was watching a bit apprehensively, as if he were hoping there wouldn't be any emergencies or rushed half-explanations that would get them into trouble. The bitter substance slipped down Harry's throat slimily, decidedly more unpleasant now that he was more aware of the rank taste. Lying back on his bed, Harry watched the ceiling blur as he whispered, "Ostendo Paternus."

The familiar sick feeling washed over him, but this time he was prepared for it and steeled himself against it. Fading in from the black behind his closed eyes were the surroundings of his own common room. Harry blinked and sat up, wondering if perhaps the potion had lost its potency, but saw things were not as they should be. As he lost his concentration the vision began to flicker. "Dad," he breathed, his voice seeming to carry sharply across the room. His breath was visible before him, swirling and then dissipating in a shower of stars.

A figure across the way moved in bed. The other beds were not occupied, leaving him alone with this single person whom he assumed could be no one else but his father. Harry stood up to investigate the sleeping figure, then fell back as a wave of dizziness overtook his senses. Gritting his teeth, he hissed, "Dad," and concentrated on forcing all but the idea of seeing his dad from his mind. He opened his eyes, watching the room spin, willing it to calm for his sake.

Pushing himself back up, Harry stood up again and the ground shivered beneath his feet. Stones fell from out of their place in the floor, revealing an endless pit of blackness underneath. Watching his step made the world before him darken. He knew he would never make it if he focused on that instead of his father. But what would happen to him in this strange world if he fell into one of these black holes? The form in bed stirred again and he thought, I'm coming, Dad.

Taking a leap of faith he stepped out onto the dark patches of missing stones and found himself on solid ground. His eyes were playing tricks on him. He focused on the meaning of this vision, wondering if he was seeing a memory or some strange fantasy of his father forged from his own thoughts. Would his father speak to him? Would he recognize him and say things only James Potter would say? Or would it be an echo of himself merely saying things Harry wanted to hear?

His bare feet hit the cold stones softly, drawing him across the dorm until at last he stood by the bed. The sheets sprawled across it were emerald, he noticed, then watched as the color completely faded into a monochromatic view of the room around him. Harry knit his brow and reached for the blanket shielding his father from him, drawing it back quickly and frowning. His father was not there, but instead there nestled a coiled, black snake, flitting its tongue out.

The snake stretched and slithered off the bed, hitting the floor that seemed coated in some sort of strange powder. Harry watched it wiggle its way towards the stairs, then disappear into the shadows. He didn't know what this was supposed to mean, if anything, but decided he would learn nothing more here, so he followed, concentrating on the idea of the snake leading him to his father. Wind seemed to whistle through the castle as if a great door was open and in the distance he heard chimes tinkling, calling out to him. He rushed down the stairs to catch up with the snake.

At the foot of the steps was not the Gryffindor common room, but the cool of the castle stones beneath his feet. The snake had disappeared, leaving him alone in the soundless halls. "Dad?" he called out, hoping for a verbal response. There was none. And then a shadow teased at this senses. The footsteps of booted feet incited him to chance the form around a corner. He caught the scent of chemicals brewing, could taste the bitterness of the air. And more than that he felt something he did not expect. Fear charged the air mixed with a dull pain that had been blunted by time. He saw the dark shadow stalking ahead, but try as he might he could not catch up and no calls would evoke a response. Why was his father so afraid? Why was the air filled with such unpleasant emotions?

Harry raced after him and flew around another corner, stopping short as he felt soft grass beneath his feet and saw the vision of trees ahead of him. He was outside the castle, facing towards the Forbidden Forest. The stars were all weeping from the sky only to be replenished as if they had never even fallen. At his feet he saw the snake curling, black eyes glittering up at him. As it began towards the woods he followed without fear of his own, though that of the shadow he followed permeated the surroundings like a heavy smoke.

As he passed the threshold of the trees he lost sight of the snake once more, but it ceased to matter as he set eyes on a shadow moving ahead. "Dad?" he called and the form stopped a moment as if he had heard, but then carried on quickly, deeper into the woods. "Where are you going? Why?" There was no reply. Was this a memory of something his father had done? Perhaps he was afraid of getting caught, or maybe he was following after Lupin for the first time during one of his transformations. Maybe it had nothing to do with anything. It frustrated Harry to feel the answers so near and yet out of his grasp.

The brush stirred as the shadow he tailed moved on, then stopped suddenly in a clearing where leaves littered the earthen floor. These were not the leaves of fall, turned brow and collapsing from seasonal death, no. These leaves were green and full of life, heavy and moist as they rained downwards, spiraling on currents of air. Harry saw upon each one a burn etched into the floral flesh, a mark in the shape of a skull and from the mouth of it burst forth a snake that fell from the leaves onto the dirt. They each disappeared in a tiny puff of smoke.

Moonlight dripped down through the trees, shedding light on a tall form in black standing amidst the falling leaves. Feeling a thrill pass through him Harry stepped closer and gasped loudly. This was not his father, not James Potter. Dark hair framed a pensive face revealing black eyes that carried fear. It was Snape, only not like he had ever seen him. Gone was the hatred, the sneering bitterness that lined the professor's face. Snape was nervous, trying to master himself. He lifted his left arm and rubbed reflexively.

Harry was utterly confused, murmuring, "Ostendo Paternus," as if it would change what he was seeing. He concentrated hard on the desire to see his father, but nothing changed and the strange connection he had felt towards the shadow of what he had thought to be James Potter remained. Harry felt himself go cold at the association. It was as if his very blood cried out, bonded to this bitter person before him, but he could not see how it could be true. He refused to believe it.

Snape paced before him a moment, his eyes moving here and there as if he were rehearsing something in his mind or preparing for an exam. A cold breeze passed over Harry, bringing with it another wave of nausea. He felt himself losing control, being defeated by this misunderstanding. The vision faded as his teacher apparated away, leaving Harry alone in the woods. Angry but determined, he brought the desire to see his father back into his mind full force and the ground shook roughly as if resisting.

And then orange light began to bleed into the darkness. Walls seemed to grow from the dirt floor and a roof appeared as if it had always been there. Harry had seen this room before in his dreams. His heart seized in a sudden fear. Robed figures surrounded a chair where the Potions Master knelt in servitude. Even if this was a mere vision and Voldemort could not see him, he still shied away from entering his enemy's field of vision.

"Rise, Severus," Lord Voldemort ordered in his snakelike, demanding voice.

The Potions Master came to his feet and bowed his head. "How may I serve?" His robes had changed from his common clothes to the black mantle of a Death Eater.

Voldemort gave a cruel laugh. "You wish to serve and that is well with your Lord. Tell me, did you know the Mudblood child's parents had been moved from their filthy Muggle home?"

Harry gasped, then covered his mouth quickly. Professor Snape looked uneasy. "I knew, Master," he replied, not offering any more than that.

The Dark Lord's shadow moved as if he were nodding thoughtfully. "You knew and you did not tell me." He waved his hand dismissively as Snape opened his mouth to retort. "Crucio."

His teacher fell to the floor in agony. Harry watched Snape gasp and writhe, his own eyes wide and his throat constricted in shock of witnessing this moment. When it ended Snape did not move until Voldemort commanded it. "Master," his ragged voice whispered hoarsely. "I did not know where they were."

"I see. It matters little now. What does matter is that you know never to hold anything, no matter how minute it may seem, from me again, Severus, my poisoner?" The title made Harry swallow. Was Snape currently poisoning innocent people?

The Potions Master nodded softly and it was then Harry decided he had seen far too much. He shoved all ambition to see his father out of his mind and thought fervently of the safety of Hogwarts, the waiting of his best friend, even the feast at breakfast. As the walls began to crumble the last he heard was Voldemort hissing, "How strange," and then everything went black.

This time Harry did not remain asleep, but woke up with a pounding heart and lungs that were desperately trying to take in oxygen. He sat up and covered his mouth, trying to calm his shattered nerves. No, it couldn't be right. The trance had to have gone terribly wrong, for he had seen no glimpse of the man he knew was his father. Perhaps Snape had been thinking of James Potter or perhaps this vision's importance superseded any other choices Harry might have made, but there was no way that blood bonded feeling could be real between he and the teacher that hated him. Harry felt sick, but didn't throw up despite how his insides churned.

As everything calmed down, leaving him feeling unusually hot and drained, Harry glanced around and saw Ron on his own bed, asleep sideways as if he had leaned back with the intent of resting his eyes before rising again later to check on his friend. Harry did not want to wake him for this. He was not sure he truly wanted to be awake for it himself. But be that as it may, he was assailed by a sudden cough that seemed to drain what little energy he had left. Harry covered his mouth with the back of his hand, trying desperately to balance volume control with the confusion swallowing him whole, and ended up waking his friend anyway. Thankfully the others remained either blissfully unaware or did not care to pursue it.

"I'm up," Ron whispered, sitting suddenly and rubbing his eyes. He spotted Harry in distress and was on his feet in an instant, coming to his side. "What's the matter, mate? You all right?"

"I'm fine," Harry wheezed, managing to get himself under control momentarily. His chest felt heavy and his lips tingled. "I've gotta lay down, Ron." Dizziness swirled through him, giving him the beginnings of a headache.

His friend nodded and helped him, drawing the blankets up over him and watching. If Harry had been more awake he would have noticed Ron's worry, but he was too drained to notice much or even care. His eyes closed easily and his body, feeling much too heavy to be his, settled into a single position he drifted off to sleep in. He didn't feel his best friend get up, didn't hear him sink into his own bed or see the eyes that remained upon him for the next twenty minutes.

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The Forbidden Forest was a dangerous place, now more than ever before. Each time he entered he knew there was danger of disrupting the tentative agreement the Centaurs had with Dumbledore that allowed him passage. And more than that there were other unwholesome creatures within these woods, not to mention that giant Hagrid was foolishly allowed to keep around (which he shuddered to imagine meeting in the dark). There were few good reasons to enter the Forbidden Forest, so terrible it was, but it was a welcome sight to Severus Snape.

After apparating he took a moment to lean against a tree, so drained was he from enduring the Cruciatus Curse. Oh, he had been prepared for it sure enough, before he had even gotten the summons. The Dark Lord would naturally want to know why this little bit of information had not been given readily, for Granger was no ordinary Muggle-born. The friends of Potter had a special place in the Dark Lord's plans. But no matter how prepared one was to receive their punishment, there was nothing quite so terrifying as hearing that one single word pass those cold, pale lips.

More than just the pain of the Cruciatus, there was always the fear that the Dark Lord would carry it into a disturbing pastime before making the final kill. Severus pushed himself up from the tree and began stalking towards the school, reflecting on it darkly. The Dark Lord killed when he was angry and he killed when he deemed the servant in question became a liability.

Well, Severus had certain bought back his usefulness tonight. How utterly fortunate it was that he had caught Potter when he had. Such gift of knowledge he had been able to hand to the Dark Lord, that a man he called servant was teaching his enemy defense, learning each and every technique the boy could forge. Oh yes, Lord Voldemort had been pleased by the prospect of having a hand in teaching Potter how to bring about his own downfall. This news had bought Severus a great deal of security for the coming few months.

As he entered the castle he found it pleasantly dark and devoid of child, colleague or ghost until he came into the main entrance hall where a familiar form waited on the stairs. He pursed his lips in irritation, but held back, knowing the Headmaster was only there for his welfare. "Hello, Severus," Dumbledore said in his age softened voice.

"Headmaster," Snape replied with a moderate inclination of his head.

The old wizard measured his appearance before moving those all seeing blue eyes to his own black ones. "Shall I awaken Poppy to lend you assistance?" When Severus shook his head and failed to say anything more, Dumbledore went on. "Did anything of note happen?"

He was not going to get out of this as quickly as he would have liked, so answered freely. "He was angry about Miss Granger's parents having been removed from their home. Of course that resulted in what you would imagine. He has very specific plans for Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley for their friendship to Potter." Drawing in a breath, he moved on with the next order of business. "The Death Eaters have little doubt Lucius Malfoy will walk free very soon. Avery mentioned links that Lucius has in the ministry. Old favors that can be called in. I expect we will be seeing evidence of his rather exotic tastes surfacing in the Muggle attacks."

"Was there any mention of who would be attacked next?"

Severus nodded. "A seventh year Ravenclaw by the name of Wallace. Graham Wallace I believe. Two days."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed gravely. "They have already been contacted and have moved from their home into hiding. Anything else?" His piercing gaze settled on Severus.

Snape shook his head and looked towards the door to the dungeon meaningfully. "As you can see it was not an extended stay. I do not wish to be rude, Albus, but..."

"Ah yes," Dumbledore said, allowing a small smile to cross his features. "Of course. How terribly unobservant of me."

"Not at all-"

The older wizard waved his hand. "Rest then, if you are certain you need no attention."

Severus inclined his head gratefully, then turned as the Headmaster began up the stairs. He moved swiftly down into the dungeon as if fearing another interruption, even going so far as to leave a young Hufflepuff in the middle of exiting their House common room with merely a warning glare that sent her back into her common room squeaking in startlement.

Once in the confines of his personal quarters, he locked the door and wandered a little less hurriedly towards a cupboard where he kept his Firewhiskey. Tonight was a night that called for it and he was in no mood to deny himself any form of comfort. Pouring himself a glass, Severus glanced once upon his personal desk at some papers that required grading, then sank down into a large black chair near the bookshelf. He was so tired that even the trek to his bedroom seemed too daunting a task to be handled right now. He was going to be exhausted for classes tomorrow.

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Author: Ruse angelruseATgmailDOTcom

Disclaimer: Harry and company belong to the wonderful J., whom I thank personally for the deliciousness that is Snape.