The Wrath of Revenge

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."