As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Even though the weather had become increasingly chilly, Harry, Ron, Dean and Seamus seemed to spend more and more time outside.
It was, in part, due to the Quiddich season finally kicking off. Harry had discovered (after a few more lessons) that flying could be enjoyable. Not having to watch Neville fall off his broomstick and break various limbs had certainly warmed him up to the idea of flying. Watching the older kids on in their House play was always a fun weekend activity. Dean had discovered that the library was full of books covering Quiddich (it turned out that the sport had many, many rules), which he and Harry used to brush up on their limited Quiddich knowledge.
Hermione Granger had come out of the troll incident relatively unscathed. The word was that Professor McGonagall had found her slumped in the hallway and immediately taken her to the hospital wing. Hermione reportedly did not remember anything past the troll bursting into the bathroom. Ravenclaw did not lose any points (because who could blame Hermione for not knowing) and the boys came out of their little adventure scot-free. When all was said and done, it couldn't have gone better.
The black spot on Harry's existence at Hogwarts still remained Professor Severus Snape. Instead of becoming nicer as the holidays approached, like the other teachers seemed to be, Snape just became worse. He had also developed a nasty limp.
"He looks like a man who's up to something." Dean mused one grey November day as the boys sat out on the grounds.
Harry glanced over to where Dean was looking. Professor Snape was limping furiously towards the castle, muttering something under his breath.
"Yes he does." Harry agreed, his eyes narrowed. Snape was not one of his favorite people, a feeling the professor obviously shared.
"I wonder how he hurt his leg?" Ron mused, watching the dark figure moving awkwardly towards the castle.
Seamus frowned, "I do' know. Seems like if he got hurt, Madam Pompfy'd be able to set him right real quick."
"Maybe she can't fix his injury quickly. Maybe there's some sort of curse on it." Harry mused.
"Or he doesn't want her to take a look at it." Dean said darkly, his eyes also following Snape across the grounds.
"He's a teacher." Harry reminded his friend with a frown, "He can't be up to something illegal or shady. Dumbledore or someone would find out."
"Would he?" Dean said mildly, looking back down at the book he was reading, "I heard that Snape has Dumbledore wrapped around his little finger."
"Where did you hear that?" Seamus asked, narrowing his eyes at Dean.
"From Ron."
Harry and Dean both looked at Ron. Ron smiled guilty, holding up his hands in front of him, "It was just something that I overheard my dad saying to Fred and George."
Ron's father worked for the Ministry of Magic. Harry figured that Mr. Weasely was a reliable source of information.
"What did your dad say?"
Ron shrugged, "I didn't hear the whole thing, but I guess that Snape used to be a Death Eater."
Seamus paled and Dean looked solemn. Harry was just confused.
"What's a Death Eater?"
Ron looked at him in surprise, "You don't know?"
Harry tried not to let his irritation show, "Of course not Ron. I was raised by muggles-remember?"
"Oh! Right-sorry, I forgot." Ron smiled apologetically, "A Death Eater was a follower of You-Know-Who. They were sort of his minions, I guess." Ron laughed awkwardly and then coughed, "Sorry-not really something to laugh about…"
"No, it's not." Harry agreed. He felt like his stomach had turned to ice, "Why does Dumbledore allow Snape to teach here if he-?"
"He reformed." Ron said simply, shrugging, "Apparently he went to Dumbledore and said that he was sorry for everything, and then switched sides. Dumbledore believed him-testified at his hearing and everything."
Harry frowned, but said nothing.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Dean asked quietly. Out of all of his friends, Dean was the best at noticing when Harry became quiet.
"Yeah," Harry said, his eyes still fixed on where Snape had disappeared into the castle, "I'm fine."
He was lying. Ron's entire story just didn't sit right with him. Aunt Petunia had told him time and time again, People don't change, Harry-they just show you who they really are.
A man who helped Voldemort, the man who killed my parents and a lot of other people, works for my school. Harry thought, his hands clenching into fists. And Dumbledore lets him.
Maybe Albus Dumbledore wasn't as wise as everyone thought.
Harry thought of the mysterious limp that Snape was now sporting. Maybe Dumbeldore couldn't tell that Snape was up to something. Harry thought. Maybe he's too blind to see it.
Harry steeled his resolve. He was determined to find out what Severus Snape was up to. He would do whatever it took.
Harry didn't have much time to dwell on the potentially nefarious intentions of Professor Snape, Lessons had become increasingly difficult as they moved closer to Christmas. Harry had found it harder and harder to concentrate in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He always seemed to have a head-ache in that class; a little throbbing point of pain behind his scar. He liked the subject well enough-but headaches were distracting.
"Stop squirming Harry." Dean muttered during one class in late November.
"Sorry." Harry whispered miserably, pressing a sweaty hand to his forehead.
They were taking an exam on the various methods of possession. Harry had been trying to concentrate-he really had been, but every time he looked up from his exam a throbbing, acute pain would shoot through his scar.
Harry managed to finish the exam and turn it in before running out into the hall and vomiting into the first suit of armor he saw. The suit of armor did not appreciate that and promptly flicked him off. Harry muttered and apology and sank down to the ground, leaning heavily against a wall.
"You should really visit Madam Pomfy and get that looked at, mate." Dean said, coming out of the classroom and sitting down next to Harry, "Your headaches are just getting worse. That's not normal."
Harry sighed and leaned his head back against the cold stone of the corridor wall, "I've told you-I've been to the Hospital Wing four times! Madam Pomfy says there's nothing actually wrong with my head! She just thinks I'm trying to get out of Defense!"
"I wouldn't blame you if you were." Ron said, coming out of the classroom with a swell of other students, "Quirrill is dead boring."
"For someone who spent so much time abroad, you'd think he'd have something more interesting to lecture on than 'the five best types of garlic'." Seamus agreed, coming up on Ron's left.
Harry smiled gratefully at his friends. Now that he was out of the Defense classroom the throbbing behind his eyes had become significantly more bearable. Dean offered Harry his hand and Harry grabbed onto it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.
"But, seriously Harry, you should go see if one of the teachers can help you with those headaches." Dean said seriously, once Harry was on his feet.
"Madam Pom-"
"She doesn't know everything." Ron cut Harry off. "I mean, she's a right good witch, yeah? But your headaches are just getting worse."
"Maybe Professor McGonagall will know what to do?" Seamus suggested, 'She always puts me right after one of my explosions."
Harry nodded a little absently, lifting one hand to rub his still aching scar.
"Maybe I will go and see if one of the teachers can help." He said.
Dean and Ron nodded their approval.
"Worse case you're allergic to something in the defense room." Ron said, clapping Harry on the back.
Harry split off from his friends. They headed down towards the Great Hall for lunch and Harry turned down a hall on the second floor, towards the staffroom. He lifted his hand to knock on the door when he heard loud arguing coming from within the staffroom.
As a rule, Harry Potter did not eavesdrop. Aunt Petunia had told him time and time again that it was unspeakably rude. But Harry was of the opinion that sometimes, the benefits of eavesdropping outweighed its rudeness.
"Damn that fucking three headed dog!"
Harry decided that this was one of those times.
He didn't press his ear to the door, but he did lean in quite a bit, his nose almost touching the wood. There were two voices talking inside. One (the angry one) was unquestionably Snape. The other (Harry thought) might be Filtch.
"Ouch!" Snape hissed.
"Sorry, sorry…"
"You will be sorry if you don't-ah-be more careful!" Snape sounded angrier than Harry had ever heard him (and Harry had heard him quite angry).
"I don't understand why-oh- that beast has to guard it!"
"Security, I'd imagine." Filtch said.
"I know that!" Snape snapped. Then; "Blasted thing, how are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"
Filtch muttered something in reply. Harry leaned back from the door. A three headed dog? He didn't even know there was such a thing. And what could it be guarding? And why was Snape trying to get at it? Harry was so busy pondering these questions that he didn't hear the tell-tale sounds of chair scrapping and footsteps until it was too late.
The door swung open before him. Filtch stood, framed in the doorway. Harry's eyes flicked behind him and a horrible scene met his eyes.
Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled, obviously old scars had re-opened. He was holding clean bandages in one hand and bloody ones in the other. For a moment, all three just stared at one another. Then-
"POTTER!"
Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped and backed up a few steps.
"I…my head-" he stuttered.
"GET OUT! OUT!"
Harry ran, before Snape could take points from Gryffindor. He sprinted to his common room as fast as he could, dodging Fred and George on the way. He didn't stop until he was safe in his room. He dropped onto his bed and stared up at the canopy.
So Snape is up to something. Harry thought. And it involves something hidden at Hogwarts.