Chapter One: The Mysterious Affliction
Severus Snape did NOT feel well. He had not been feeling himself for some time
now. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had been making potions for the whole
entire week, non-stop. And maybe it was because of that; he felt ill each time
he collected any ingredients for any potion. Oh dear. He was becoming nauseous just from the smell of it now.
What in the world was wrong with him? He was *the* Potions Master of Hogwarts
so there wasn't a plausible reason about why he would suddenly not be able to
stand even going near any potion he was brewing.
He was finally able to finish the Wolfsbane Potion he had
been making and deliver it to Remus Lupin. By now he felt groggy and dizzy. The
ground spun in his office. As he caught a glance at the calendar on the way
down to the floor on his faint, he realized it was two days away from the first
day of school.
He woke up feeling sore and bruised. He had fallen flat on his face when he had
collapsed. He felt the sour bile rise up in his throat and ran to the bathroom
just in time to throw up the contents of his dinner. He heaved and gagged and
vomited until they subsided, leaving him with a felling that he had just thrown
up all of his intestines. He washed his face in the sink and then looked in the
mirror. His mirror was magical, like all of the rest at Hogwarts. But right
before his enchanted mirror started moving and talking, he caught a fleeting
glimpse of a Potions Master who was just a middle aged man, lacking the usual neutral,
cold look that he usually had. Pale face, yellowish skin color and glossy,
glazed over eyes of a sick patient looked back at him.
He was frightened. Frightened, as he had not been for nearly 15 years.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
On the first day back at Hogwarts, there was one empty seat at the staff table.
It was Severus Snape's seat.
"Hey, what's up with Snape?" Ron asked Harry.
"I dunno, maybe he's sick or something."
"I hope so," replied Ron.
"You know, he might be really ill. Maybe he's not getting enough
rest," said Hermione, worriedly.
Ron and Harry laughed into their breakfast.
"Really, 'Moine, that's the first nice thing you've said about him in 5
years," Ron chuckled, " 'he's not getting enough rest', honestly, if
he's sick he probably deserves it."
Their attention was diverted by the hundreds of owls rushing into the Great
Hall to deliver the mail. A Daily Prophet owl dropped the newspaper into
Hermione's lap and swiftly left. Neville got a letter from his grandmother,
complete with a long list of warnings and precautions against forgetfulness and
Dark Magic.
Hermione sighed.
"Looks like Fudge still doesn't believe in the rise of Voldemort. See,
"Ministry of Magic Dismisses Cases of Unknown Deaths as Accidental
Deaths". And they expect the public to believe that?!! How stupid
can you be?" She spluttered with rage.
"Hey Hermione, cool it. Fudge is a stupid, pure-blooded prat. Some people
are already starting to believe Dumbledore rather than Fudge. And one day soon,
just like Dumbledore said, everyone will remember Fudge as the Minister who
stepped aside and gave Voldemort another chance. Stop worrying for now,"
said Harry.
They all fell into a depressed silence. Harry was right, there was no point in
worrying now. They had all been worrying about Voldemort attacking Harry over
the summer and it hadn't occurred yet. It was no use worrying, it would happen
one day sooner or later and on that day, Harry would confront Voldemort for the
sixth and hopefully the last time. Now, they had started worrying about
innocent bystanders getting killed because the wizarding community was
pitifully ignorant about what they were up against. Of course, what Harry had
just said stopped all of the Gryffindor's from voicing their worst fears and
going crazy from anxiousness. But that didn't stop them from thinking about it.
Something made them all look up.
"Hey, you guys," Ron said excitedly, poking people in the ribs,
"McGonagall is passing out the term's schedules!"
Sure enough, the stern faced Head of House was passing out schedules to seventh
years. In a few minutes, she was standing by the fifth years.
"Well," she said, "it certainly helps passing out the timetables
when all of the students in one year sit together." Her mouth was set in a
thin, grim line.
They knew why first years were sitting next to each other and second years and
so on. Everyone at Hogwarts had taken to sitting next to the people in their
year. They had reckoned that it was safer in numbers than alone. But it seemed
that the reckoning had only gone so far as to include all of the Houses except
Slytherin. If you looked over to where the green robed, silver sashed
Slytherin were sitting, they were all sitting in a humble jumble of mixed
years.
"Ooh, I've got Arithmancy first!" Hermione exclaimed.
Ron and Harry groaned.
"We've got Trelawney," they said in unison.
"I wonder who's teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts. Moody's gone
right?" said Harry.
"Good point," Ron chipped in.
They had noted the fact that there was only one empty seat, which was Snape's,
during the Sorting, while there was no other seat empty for the new Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher. They pondered for a while.
"I bet Snape didn't get the job again," Ron said
"When do we have Defense Against the Dark Arts?" asked
Hermione.
"Damn, it's the last period we have on Thursday." answered Harry.
"That's such a long time," sighed Hermione
"Anyway, guess what we have after Divination,"
"What?"
"Double Potions."
"Bull. It just had to be right before lunch. Now I'll always be in a bad
mood while I'm eating," said Ron.
The now depressed three split up and headed towards their classes. Hermione ran
off excitedly to Arithmancy while the other two dragged their feet to the hot
stuffy room upstairs.
"You know what Ron?" said Harry.
"What?"
"I'm beginning to wish that I quit this class when I still had the chance
to, like Hermione did."
"C'mon Harry, you've been saying that for practically all of the summer
holidays. Get over it. You'll pass the O.W.L.'s for Divination. Just make up a
bunch of rubbish. You know she'll gobble it up like a sponge," said Ron.
"Listen to your own advice Ron. Who was the boy that was complaining his
head off last year, huh?"
"Ok. So I was being a prat last year. This year, you're the one being a
prat."
They pretended to punch each other and with that last comment, they had reached
the small trapdoor leading to their class.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Snape felt horrible. He realized that he had missed the Sorting Ceremony. He
remembered vaguely that he had thrown himself onto his bed after looking at
himself in the mirror. His mind whirled with thoughts. Thoughts of the past,
present and what was happening to him. He thought, I need to get a Pensive
one-day. I feel like I am going insane. As he replayed those last few
thoughts, he remembered that he had class soon. If today was the first day of
classes he would have Potions with the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins. He
quickly threw on his characteristic black robes and ran a hand over his face,
trying to make his expression the neutral blandness of the Potions Master.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Their Divination class had been uneventful as usual, while Hermione's class had
been "fascinating". The threesome walked slowly together towards
their Potions class. When they reached the gloomy and damp dungeons, they saw
that most of the Slytherins were already in their seats. As usual, they headed
towards the back row where they usually sat.
Snape walked into the classroom and everyone fell silent. He looked pale and
haggard as he began his lecture for the newest potion they were making.
Harry whispered, "You were right, Hermione, I guess he really was
sick."
"Probably caught a bug or something," replied Hermione matter-of-factly.
"Then why doesn't he go see Madame Pomfrey or something?" said Ron.
"You three, in the back. Well, well, if it isn't the famous Harry Potter
and his sidekicks. Everyone will split up into groups in order to make this
potion. Potter, you go with Malfoy. Miss. Granger, you will go with Miss.
Patil. Weasley, go with Longbottom. And ten points from Gryffindor for
whispering!"
Snape's voice was coated with malice but his steely black eyes lacked the usual
glint that they had whenever he picked on the three.
Harry wondered why Snape's eyes were not acting like normal.
Snape suddenly doubled over in the middle of explaining how to make the Quodpot
Solution. He was hit with an intense pain coming from his abdominal area. It
was like the searing pain that he had experienced when he had gotten his Dark
Mark branded onto his left fore arm, except even worse than that.
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked up from their conversation to see Snape stagger,
clutching his stomach and grab onto the nearest desk to support himself.
Everything went all hazy and the dungeon spun around him, but when he grabbed
onto the desk, his mind cleared. Snape knew that he was not in the greatest
condition to teach, so he stood up and announced, "Class dismissed. I seem
to have a headache. Your homework is to write an essay explaining the uses for
the Quodpot Solution." He struggled to say his instructions as evenly as
possible. It took all of his effort not to gasp in between each word he spoke.
The fact that he had a headache was a total lie and he knew it. The class,
murmured and gathered their belongings, and filed out. Snape strode quickly to
his office door, to hide his increasing weakness and went inside.
They had walked all the way to the Great Hall's entrance, when Harry suddenly
stopped.
"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Ron.
"Ah...I think I left my quill in there," he said, pointing to where
the Potions classroom was located, "you guys go ahead to lunch. I'll be
there in a second."
As Harry headed back towards the dungeons, he thought about all of the fun
times he had had having Snape as a step-dad in his other life. Something
must be seriously wrong, if he dismisses his class without a real explanation thought
Harry.
He reached Snape's office door without realizing it. He knocked. There was no
answer. He listened carefully for any sound of life inside his Professor's
office. He heard a very slight moan. He knocked again. Receiving no answer, he
tried the door. Finding it unlocked; he went inside.
There, on the couch, was a very unusual sight. Snape was lying on the couch and
for all he was worth; he seemed like a dead man. Both of his arms were crossed
over his stomach, clutching it almost deliriously. He was curled up into a
slight ball. His face was contorted with pain. He had gritted his teeth and it
seemed that the pain was making him unconscious.
"Professor?" said Harry. Snape did not seem to hear or recognize his
voice.
Harry went over and touched his hand. It was very clammy. Not to say cold also.
He's not dead, is he?, asked a subconscious part of Harry's brain.
"Professor?" yelled Harry again. Panic washed over him like a wave.
He went over and practically bellowed into Snape's ear.
As if the bellow had awoken him from a deep trance, Snape opened his eyes
slowly. As Harry's face swam into focus, he croaked,
"ŠPotterŠwhat'sŠwithŠm-'' His face crumpled into an expression of agony
once again. The pain was like a red-hot sensation that started in his stomach
and spread throughout his entire body, making him almost delirious.
Seeing that the Potions master had fallen into unconsciousness and the
statue-like position again, Harry did not go running to Dumbledore like a
first-year. Thinking that comfort would ease his pain, he summoned a pillow and
cast a warming charm onto some blankets. There was always a draft in the
dungeons, so he carefully covered Snape in the warmed blankets. He then left
the room, and closed the door quietly.
On his way back to the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione came running towards him.
"What happened?" asked Hermione breathlessly.
"Yeah, what happened Harry? You missed lunch," said Ron.
"We're also about to be late for our next class, Herbology," Hermione
reminded.
"Erm...I couldn't find my quill so I went to get another one,"
spluttered Harry feebly. He wasn't ready to tell them about his other life yet.
Over the summer, before he went to stay at Ron's, he had had a fascinating yet
near-to-death experience. He had touched a Port key near Privet Drive, placed
there by a Death Eater, and it had transported him into a world ruled by
Voldemort. This was a life where his mother had not died, where Harry Potter
had been sacrificed to live as His servant. Severus Snape was his step-dad and
he had two brothers. Everyone in that life had lived in fear of an attack.
Harry had grown up living in a family and having a happy life. Until he
realizes that on his 15th birthday, that he is to act as a double agent like his
step-dad, acting loyal to Voldemort and reporting back to Dumbledore and the
Aurora Department. After living his new life as it is for almost a whole year,
he recognized the fact that Voldemort was planning a major Death Eater attack
that would bring about a major blow to the entire wearing community. He
understands that this life is one not meant to be, and figures out a way to go
back to his real life. He succeeds in pulling it off and lands back in his real
life a week later (for some unusual reason, 10 months in his other life was
equivalent to a week in his real life). After that, he had gone to stay at
Ron's house until the term started.
"What do you reckons wrong with Snape?" inquired Ron, to the others.
"I don't know. Hazard a guess, Hermione?" lied Harry.
"Gosh. You two can be so stupid sometimes. Probably, sick isn't he? He'll
probably go to the Hospital Wing sooner or later anyway," said Hermione.
"In any case, since when did we start to worry about Snape's health?"
said Ron
"You're the one who started this conversation Ron," replied Harry,
"Obviously, Hermione isn't worrying and neither am I. Like she said, he'll
go and get it fixed at the Hospital Wing. He'll be back in no time." Harry
tried to end the conversation.
"Yeah. Oh, look, here comes Neville."
"Aren't we late to Herbology?" asked Neville, once he caught up with
them.
"Drat. We are! C'mon, lets go!" Harry said.
With a reproachful glare, they slid into their seats after murmuring a hurried
apology to Professor Sprout. They sat down on the greenhouse floor, joining
their classmates who were furiously taking notes on how to re-plant a___.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Snape woke up after a very relentless sleep. He remembered dismissing his fifth
year Potions class, and for some odd reason, he remembered seeing Potter's
face. Odd, he thought. He wondered who had put the warmed blankets and
pillow on him while he had been unconscious. It couldn't have been Potter. He
probably had just imagined his face.
The pain had lessened considerably, which was why he had been able to ponder about some things. The dyspepsia, or so he thought, must have come from something he had eaten. The only thing he had eaten was his dinner from two days ago. He had thrown it up anyway.
Could it have been something he drank at the Death Eater Party with Voldemort last week? They had all gathered around and had had to drink to the health and uprising of Lord Voldemort. He was still acting as a double agent for Dumbledore. He had sniffed his drink very throughly before drinking, though and he had detected no poison in it. And whoever heard of a potion that took effect a week after being taken? In all the books he had on potions on his bookshelves, none contained a potion like that.
The pain came back, and this time it was like needles and pins being stuck all over his body. No, this was definetley no indegestion. Before he fell back into his painful unconsciousness, he remembered something that Dumbledore had said to him when he had been foolish and young,
"Evil feeds off of peoples' fears, Severus, fears and pain."
