The dungeons were far colder than usual tonight, the chill seeping through the thick stone walls. Severus Snape sat at his desk. The single candle on his desk flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room. His fingers drummed against the heavily worn wooden desk, his mind was now a tangled web, going through all the possibilities. Each one, more infuriating than the last.
He had nearly lost the boy.
It had been too close, closer than he ever wanted to admit. He could still see Harry, pale and dazed, tumbling through the air as he caught the Snitch.
Snape exhaled slowly, his fingers now tightening against the chair's worn leather. Someone had tried to kill Harry, his first instinct had been Quirrell, but nothing was certain. Not yet. There were still too many pieces missing from the puzzle, too many shadows shifting within the castle walls. And with no Quirrell in sight, he could not demand answers.
His first thought is to leave. Take the boy and flee the castle, disappear into the shadows. But he knew better than anyone that leaving was near impossible. Harry was still far too weak to apparate, and even if he could, there were few places in the wizarding world where they would be safe. The castle, for all its dangers, at least provided a shield against most forces that wished to see the boy harmed.
Severus knew he needed to play the game differently. He needed to earn back Dumbledore's trust, feign obedience, and dig deeper into the tangled web of secrets and lies surrounding the boy. Only by remaining close could he control the threats looming over Harry.
Harry was fast asleep in his dormitory, tucked away in the bed across from Gregory Goyle, his injuries still fresh from the near-fatal fall at the Quidditch match. Snape had watched over him for hours, reluctant to leave, his office was positioned mere steps away, ensuring that he was close enough should anything happen.
The candle wavered, its light casting long, restless shadows along the walls. Snape ran a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping at the edges of his mind, yet sleep was a luxury he could not afford. Instead, he rose from his chair and strode towards Harry's room. He pushed the door open soundlessly.
The room was dim, the enchanted windows allowing only the faintest hint of light to filter through. Goyle lay sprawled in his bed, snoring softly. Across from him, Harry slept fitfully, his brow furrowed, his breathing shallow. The blanket had slipped slightly from his shoulders, and Snape's hand twitched with the urge to fix it, but he forced himself to step back.
He watched for a moment longer before retreating. He would keep guard. The boy would be safe.
Harry made his way to the Great Hall, his body still aching from the brutal fall. Every step sent a dull throb through his limbs, but he pushed forward, determined to move past the lingering pain.
Waiting just outside the entrance, Hermione stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her Ravenclaw robes pulled close as if shielding something. Her usual air of confidence was spoiled by hesitation, an expression rarely seen in Hermione Granger.
The moment she spotted him, she strode forward, grabbing his uninjured arm and pulling him into a brief but fierce embrace before quickly retreating into the shadows of a nearby archway. Her grip was firm, urgent.
"I'm glad you're okay, Harry," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. Then, with an unmistakable edge to her voice, she added, "But I need to tell you something."
Harry tensed.
"Snape," she murmured, eyes darting toward the staff table in the distance. "I saw him cursing your broom."
Harry frowned, shaking his head. "I don't think—"
Hermione cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. "He started casting before anything even happened. And when you were barely holding on, he didn't call for help. He didn't panic. He just watched."
She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "And it's not just that, Harry. He is always lurking, always watching you. After the troll attack, he's everywhere."
Harry swallowed, a knot forming in his stomach.
Before Harry could respond, Hermione shot him a final, meaningful look. "Please be careful, Harry. Stay away from him, from what I have heard, he is not to be trusted."
With that, she turned and hurried toward the Ravenclaw table, casting him one last glance before vanishing into the crowd.
Still lost in thought, Harry slid onto the Slytherin bench beside Goyle. The Great Hall buzzed with conversation, a vibrant hum of voices filling the vast space. Students from every house were still chattering about the Quidditch match, recounting the most thrilling moments. Harry's spectacular dive, his near-fatal fall, and his miraculous recovery.
The moment he sat down, several Slytherins turned to him with eager expressions.
"Potter!" Lucian Bole smirked, raising his goblet in salute. "That was either the most reckless or the most brilliant catch I've ever seen. Either way, you stole the win. Nicely done."
A chorus of agreement rippled down the table, and a few Slytherins carefully patted him on the back as if he'd just secured the House Cup himself.
"Yeah, you really scared the hell out of us for a second there," Daphne Greengrass chimed in, her blue eyes still holding a hint of concern. "You do realise you almost died, right?"
The table continued to discuss the match in-depth, but Harry barely heard them. Their voices blurred into background noise as Hermione's words replayed in his mind.
Harry felt his appetite wane, the food on his plate was suddenly less appealing. His gaze flickered across the room, landing on the staff table. Snape was there, his expression unreadable as he methodically cut into his meal.
If anyone knew something about Snape's past, it was Goyle.
Leaning in towards Goyle, Harry kept his voice low. "What do you know about Snape?"
Goyle snorted. "You mean besides the fact that he's a miserable sod?"
Harry didn't smile. "I mean before he was a professor. Before the war."
Goyle's fork paused mid-air, his thick brows knitting together. He glanced around before lowering his voice. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
Goyle set his fork down, his usual dull-witted expression sharpening. "Snape was a Death Eater. A real one. Like my father, he took the mark."
Harry's stomach twisted.
Goyle leaned in closer, voice hushed. "My father said he was dangerous. When the Dark Lord fell, Snape swore loyalty to Dumbledore, but no one believed it. They think he's still playing both sides, just waiting."
Harry felt his pulse pounding in his ears. "Waiting for what?"
Goyle shrugged. "For the Dark Lord to return."
A cold weight settled in Harry's chest.
Maybe Hermione was right.
Maybe Snape wasn't protecting him.
Maybe he was just making sure Harry didn't die before he was useful.
Swallowing hard, Harry forced himself to meet Goyle's gaze. "Goyle…what is the mark?"
The evening fire crackled low in the Slytherin common room. Casting an eerie glow as the last few Slytherins trickled off to bed, the common room became incredibly silent. Harry sat in his usual spot by the window, absently running his fingers over the spine of a book he wasn't reading.
His mind was still tangled with Hermione's words and with Goyle's insider information. Harry had managed to stay clear of Snape all day. Fear crept inside him at the thought of seeing him, knowing what he knew to be true of the man. Harry rubbed his temples, frustration building, he sat questioning Snape's allegiance, he was most likely a traitor.
He barely had time to register the soft, deliberate footsteps behind him before a voice, calm and knowing, broke the silence.
"Good evening, Harry."
Harry turned sharply, finding himself face-to-face with Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster stood there in his deep blue robes, his silver beard flowing like liquid moonlight. His usual twinkling eyes were unreadable, filled with something more solemn than Harry was used to seeing.
"Headmaster," Harry greeted, shifting uneasily in his seat. It was strange, Dumbledore never came down to the dungeons, it was a place of hushed whispers and secrets, and yet here he stood, perfectly at ease, as if he belonged in the darkness.
"I do hope I'm not intruding," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping over the emptying common room. "But I have something that belongs to you."
Harry frowned. "Belongs to me?"
With an almost theatrical air, Dumbledore reached into his robes and withdrew a bundle of shimmering fabric, draping it over his arm like an offering. The moment the firelight caught it, Harry's breath hitched. The material was nearly translucent in the dim glow, rippling like liquid silver. It wasn't just fabric; it was pure magic.
"This," Dumbledore said softly, "It is a family heirloom of sorts. I believe it's time it was returned to you."
Harry hesitated before reaching out. The fabric was impossibly light in his hands, smooth and cool against his skin. He barely needed to hold it up to know what it was.
An Invisibility Cloak.
His heart pounded in his chest.
I believe you may find it… useful," Dumbledore said cryptically.
Before Harry could press for more answers, movement in the corner of his vision made him stiffen.
A tall, shadowy figure stood at the entrance to the common room, black robes billowing as he stepped forward. The dim green glow from the enchanted lanterns cast deep shadows across his angular features, making him look even more severe than usual.
Snape.
His dark eyes, heavy with exhaustion yet keen with scrutiny, flickered between Harry and Dumbledore. There was something in his gaze, something sharp, almost dangerous.
"Headmaster," Snape's voice was smooth, but laced with something tense. "What a surprise to find you here."
Harry tucked the cloak out of sight, thankfully, Snape had not seen it.
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said warmly, as though Snape had merely stumbled upon an old friend and not the headmaster delivering a secret heirloom to a student. "A rare visit, I admit, but sometimes I feel the need to explore."
"I was hoping to speak with you," he said at last. "Privately. In my office."
Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. "Of course, Severus. Shall we?"
Snape's posture remained rigid, but his voice turned cold and clipped. "Potter, get to bed. Now."
Harry flinched slightly at the venom in Snape's tone. It wasn't his usual brand of disdain, this was harsher, more biting. But there was something off about it. Forced, almost.
Snape did not wait for a response. Without another glance at Harry, he turned sharply on his heel, his robes snapping behind him as he strode through the entrance. Dumbledore followed at an unhurried pace, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
Harry exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the fabric hidden in his lap. His newly gifted invisibility cloak.
This was it.
If Snape was asking to speak with Dumbledore privately, and with that kind of urgency, Harry needed to know why. Harry moved swiftly and silently, draping the cloak over himself and following the pair.
Snape and Dumbledore were already halfway down the hall, their footsteps echoing in the eerie quiet. Harry quickened his pace, careful to keep his breathing steady, his steps soundless as he trailed behind them.
They ascended the dungeon stairs, the torches flickering ominously as they passed, casting long distorted shadows across the walls. Every nerve in Harry's body was alight with adrenaline, the anticipation of whatever lay ahead thrumming through him like a live wire.
At the entrance to Snape's office, the Potions Master muttered a low incantation, and the heavy wooden door creaked open. The moment they crossed the threshold, Harry darted forward and slipped in just before it swung shut.
He pressed himself against the far wall, barely daring to breathe.
Snape took a slow, measured breath before finally breaking the silence.
"I must apologise for my behaviour lately, Headmaster."
Harry frowned beneath the cloak. Apologise? That wasn't what he expected.
Dumbledore merely raised a curious brow, his expression unreadable. "Oh?"
Snape inclined his head stiffly. "I allowed my judgment to waver," he admitted, though his voice was devoid of any true remorse. "Allowed myself to entertain the idea that perhaps the boy was different."
The words sent an immediate chill down Harry's spine.
The boy. Not even Potter this time. Just the boy.
Dumbledore observed Snape carefully, but said nothing, allowing him to continue.
He stepped forward, closer to Dumbledore, his expression darkening further. "He is a danger to himself and to others. Mark my words, Headmaster, the boy will be the death of someone before the end of his time here."
Harry felt his pulse hammer in his ears.
Dumbledore sighed, looking suddenly older. "You judge him too harshly, Severus. He is a child."
Snape sneered. "A child who has already managed to find himself at the centre of two near-fatal incidents before Christmas. Tell me, Headmaster, does that seem like a mere coincidence to you?"
Dumbledore's expression remained composed, but the warmth in his voice had cooled. "I had thought, Severus, that time would grant you the ability to see past old grudges."
Snape's eyes flashed. "Time has only proven that my true instincts were correct. "Rules, to him, are mere suggestions, much like they were to James Potter. I suspect he believes himself above them, just as his father did."
Harry's stomach twisted violently.
Dumbledore hesitated, then said, "Very well. But Severus I hope, in time, you will come to see that Harry is not the boy you expect him to be."
Snape's lips twisted. "I highly doubt it."
As the door creaked open, Harry flattened himself against the cold stone wall, barely daring to breathe. His pulse pounded in his ears, each frantic beat a reminder of how exposed he truly was. The Invisibility Cloak felt insubstantial against his skin, a fragile barrier between himself and discovery.
Dumbledore stepped into the corridor with the unhurried grace of a man who missed nothing. For one dreadful second, Harry was certain the headmaster's piercing blue gaze locked onto his, as if the cloak were nothing more than a flimsy veil. His stomach clenched, his breath hitched, had he been caught?
But Dumbledore said nothing. He merely closed the door behind him with a quiet click, his expression unreadable, his presence an unspoken command.
Harry wasted no time. The moment Dumbledore turned, robes sweeping behind him, Harry slipped out, moving in perfect sync with the headmaster's measured steps. He kept close, his heart hammering, each step a gamble that Dumbledore wouldn't sense his presence.
Inside the office, Snape exhaled slowly, His shoulders, rigid with barely contained frustration, eased just slightly as the moment passed.
Dumbledore had taken the bait. Now Severus only had to play his role well enough to keep the old man believing it.
Harry should have instantly ran back to his room. He should have thrown himself onto his bed and tried to bury the seething betrayal threatening to consume him.
But he couldn't move.
He had trusted Snape.
He had wanted to trust him.
Now, all he could feel was the slow, searing burn of anger creeping through his veins.
Silently, he turned and slipped out of the office, the bitterness in Snape's voice still ringing in his ears.
"He is not worthy of my concern."
Harry swallowed hard, his throat tight.
If that was how Snape truly felt, then Harry had no reason to trust him ever again.
Snape's words played over and over in Harry's mind, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.
For months, he had clung to the fragile belief that there was something more beneath Snape's cold exterior. That the way Snape had saved him, watched over him and even spoke to him wasn't just obligation or some sense of duty. He had thought that despite the man's bitter words and harsh demeanour, there was something real there.
He had been a fool.
Snape despised him.
He always had.
Every word had been an act, a calculated game. Snape had played him, manipulated him into trusting him, only to turn around and spit on that trust the moment he thought Harry wasn't listening.
With a sharp motion, he yanked off the cloak and threw it into his trunk, the fabric pooling in a heap of silvery shimmer. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat on the edge of his bed, his head falling into his hands.
Thank you for reading, my story is taking a turn away from the original storyline, it will not follow the same path as the original, as with the way the invisibility cloak has been introduced etc. So please no reviews saying it is inaccurate, that is the point of this story. The next chapter will also be up very shortly.