+++Snape+++


Monday morning: Double Potions. Or was it Tuesday? Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, found he didn’t really care.
The classroom was filled with the quiet chop-chop-chop of ingredients being prepared. Cauldrons bubbled and hissed, and even though Snape had not uttered a threat or an insult this morning, the few conversations held at the work benches were done in hushed whispers.
Snape, normally moving silently through the classroom, ready to catch any trouble makers, hadn’t moved since sitting down behind his desk. He was exhausted. Too exhausted to bother with anything anymore. This strange numbness had been with him for the last weeks and somewhere at the back of his mind a part of him was alarmed by it. But he was too far gone to do anything about it.
The only relief from the numbness were, ironically enough, Death Eater meetings. When in the presence of the madman and self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort, Snape’s mind was alert and sharp like it always had been. He had to keep his wits about him and luckily, he still could. This meant, however, that he was aware of all the gruesome things that were going on, he couldn’t shut out the terrible things he had to witness and they burnt themselves into his soul.
In a way it was a relief to be back in the dark dungeons and sink back into his numbness. Teaching had become more than a burden these days. It was utterly pointless and draining.
His eyes roamed over the students who stood bent over their cauldrons and he realized that he didn’t even know which class he was currently teaching. Whispers seized, when the student’s felt their teacher’s eyes sweep over them. Snape had a fierce reputation and it paid off now, giving him control over the classroom without having to say a word.
His eyes settled on a student with unruly black hair in the first row.
Potter.
It was quite alarming that not even the sight of his worst enemy’s son could evoke any emotion from him. Maybe he should take a few points, just for good measure? To keep up appearances?
“Potter,” he drawled.
The boy looked up in disdain. He obviously expected to lose some points now – one way or another. His student’s green eyes grew puzzled when Snape kept looking at him without making any comment.
“Sir?”
Not even Lily’s eyes staring back at him could evoke any form of emotion. Snape knew now that something was very wrong. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just shook his head and turned his head away from Potter.
“Professor!” a panicked voice called out from somewhere in the classroom.
Something stirred inside Snape. He was out of his chair in a moment. Panicked students in a Potions class were never good.
Out of habit he had immediately moved towards Longbottom’s desk, expecting the boy to have caused some disaster. That was his mistake. It hadn’t been Longbottom, but Malfoy who had called him. He should have recognized his godson’s voice.
When he realized his mistake and turned to Draco, the students had already fled from a fiercely glowing cauldron that was humming dangerously.
Nevertheless, Snape ordered them to, “Stay back!”
He strode towards the cauldron, while all the students left their desks and fled to safety in the far corners of the room. A protection shield couldn’t be cast now. The potion was most volatile and any form of magic could set off an explosion. Snape knew exactly what had gone wrong. Draco had added the wormwood and clove too soon and the only way to keep the cauldron from exploding was to -
A sharp hiss could be heard and the teacher knew he was too late.
“Take cover!”
*
+++Harry+++

Something was off with Professor Snape. He hadn’t taken points in the last few lessons and even though Harry knew how ironic this was, he started to get worried. What was the dungeon bat brooding over that he even lost interest in tormenting his least favourite students? Whatever kept Snape occupied, it couldn’t be good. Harry didn’t trust the dark wizard, no matter what Dumbledore said, and the brooding silence of the man made him nervous.
“Potter.”
Harry froze. With the wooden spoon he had used to stir his potion still in his hand, he looked up guiltily. Had Snape read his thoughts? But he hadn’t looked him in the eye! He couldn’t have …
Reluctantly locking his gaze with his Professor, Harry was surprised to find none of the usual hostility and hatred in the man’s eyes. They seemed to be expressionless, nearly void of any emotion. His teacher looked at him, but Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that Snape didn’t really see him.
“Sir?”
Without a word Snape turned his head away from him. Harry was confused. Did he do something wrong? Did Snape want him to come up to the front? With a quiet sigh, Harry abandoned his potion and walked around his desk.
“Professor!” Malfoy called out to their teacher and there was uncharacteristic panic in his voice.
Understandable, for when Harry looked at Malfoy’s glowing, humming cauldron, he too felt panic rising inside him. This couldn’t be good.
“Stay back!” Snape ordered and briskly walked towards the cauldron.
Was he mad? Why didn’t he just cast a protection charm around it first? Or created a containment field?
Harry’s wand slid into his hand from out of his sleeve and while the other students scrambled to the corners of the room, he stayed where he was, his eyes firmly on their teacher.
Snape had nearly reached the cauldron when a loud hissing filled the air.
The teacher stopped in his tracks. “Take cover!” he ordered and the students dived under the desks, bumping into each other while they scrambled to safety. Harry too edged away from the cauldron, thinking that maybe he should hide under Snape’s desk, but he stopped when he saw that their teacher hadn’t moved. Snape’s eyes were glued to the dangerously hissing cauldron and no emotion could be seen on his face.
“Professor!” Harry called out, but his voice was drowned out by the high shriek that emanated from the cauldron as it started to move on the table. The boiling potion splashed onto the table and ate holes into the wooden surface.
Snape turned his head into Harry’s direction, his expression unreadable. The cauldron exploded.
Harry acted on pure instinct. He called out a spell that send his teacher flying through the classroom and out of harm’s way just as pieces of the exploded cauldron were flung through the air and the poisonous potion splashed on the ground where Snape had been standing only moments ago.
When the roar of the explosion was over, a deathly silence settled over the classroom. It was only disturbed by the sizzling of the potion as it burned holes into their classroom floor.
Snape got to his feet swiftly. With a wave of his wand the destroyed cauldron and the rest of the potion vanished. He looked up and let his eyes wander over the students still hiding under the tables, probably checking if any of them were injured.
Harry found he couldn’t take his eyes of the dark Professor who acted now as if nothing had happened.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. His voice was calm, but sounded uncomfortably loud in the quiet classroom even though he had spoken softly.
Draco got to his feet shakily, his face paler than usual. “Professor … I … I am sorry … it wasn’t really my fault …”
He stopped when Snape just looked at him without commenting.
“Sir?”
“You will attempt to brew this potion again, Mr. Malfoy.”
Malfoy hung his head. “Tonight?” he asked.
There was a quidditch match on. Snape wouldn’t deprive his own team of their Seeker, would he?
“Tonight, and every night for the rest of the week.”
Malfoy’s head shot up. “What? But …”
Snape ignored him. “Class dismissed.” He turned back to his desk.
The students didn’t have to be told twice. They got their school bags and hurried out of the room. Furious whispers started as soon as they went through the door. Had Snape really just given Draco Malfoy detention? For the rest of the week?
Under normal circumstances Harry would have been as excited about this as his fellow students, but his mind was on other things. He watched his Professor and tried to build up the courage to speak.
Snape didn’t seem to notice that he was still here, or maybe he just ignored him.
“Are you alright, sir?”
His Professor didn’t look at him. “Class dismissed, Mr. Potter. That includes you as well.”
Harry listened carefully, but he didn’t hear any of the usual hatred in the man’s voice. He stepped around the desk, fully aware that he was invading his teacher’s space, and faced Snape.
“Sir,” he repeated. “Are you alright?”
Snape looked up, his expression blank. “You made sure of that, didn’t you, Potter?”
Harry froze. Was Snape reproaching him for saving him? “You … you didn’t move!” he defended himself. “I had to do something! That cauldron …” The boy stopped and searched his teacher’s face.
“Why didn’t you move out of the way, sir?”
Snape returned his stare. He didn’t answer for some time and Harry felt his blood run cold. The Snape he knew would have ripped his head off by now. He would have hexed him into next week for even attempting to have a conversation with him. Why wasn’t he? Why wasn’t Snape taking points and rejoicing in the idea that he could expel Harry now for using magic on a teacher? He would have tried to twist the whole incident to his advantage somehow only months before.
After a long moment Snape broke their eye contact. “You’ll be late for your next class, Potter.”
With that the teacher turned around and left the room, leaving a very confused and worried Gryffindor behind.

Sirius’ room in his old family home looked like that of a teenager. Harry usually loved being here and imaging Sirius when he was his own age, lounging moodily on the bed and launching spells at the cracked and battered plaster of his ceiling. Today however, sitting at the old schoolboy desk under the huge window and facing his godfather, Harry was frustrated with Sirius for the first time ever.
„I should have gone to Remus with this!“ he said and angrily pushed his chair back. “You are not even listening to me!”
“Harry!” Sirius finally sat up straighter in his chair and stopped changing the colour of Harry’s socks for fun. “Why are you so angry? And why do you want to waste the precious little time that we can spend together with talking about Snape of all people?”
Harry clenched his fists. Outside, birds chirped loudly and their brooms stood in the corner of the room, beckoning him silently. But Harry had lost all interest in flying with Sirius today. “I told you, Sirius,” he said. “Something is wrong with him …”
“Of course, something is wrong with him!” Sirius interrupted. “He is a slimy git and a Death Eater …”
“Didn’t you listen to what I said?” Harry fumed. “He didn’t move out of the way when the cauldron exploded. I think … I think he wanted to be killed …”
Sirius barked a humorless laugh. “Snape? Letting himself be killed by a potion? Come on, Harry! He won’t do us that favour.”
Harry stared at him. The cruelness of Sirus’ words hung between them, cold.
Sirius scrambled for anything to say. “Why do you care anyway?” he said, flipping his wand into the air and catching it as if his words meant nothing at all.
Harry shook his head. “Why don’t you?” he asked quietly.
Sirius was taken aback by the disappointment he could see in his godson’s eyes. “Harry …”
But the boy turned around and walked out of the room. He didn’t storm off in a huff, but Sirius was sure his godson didn’t want him to follow. How had their pleasant afternoon turned into this?
He had been looking forward to this day all week. The rare occasions on which he could meet Harry were a real blessing to him. Sirius was sure he would lose his mind if he was trapped in this house for too long with nothing to do, and a visit from Harry was always a welcome change.
And now Harry was disappointed with him. Sirius had never shared this with anyone, but his secret fear had always been that one day Harry would stop looking up to his godfather and realize that Sirius wasn’t such a great man after all.
From downstairs came muffled voices. People were arriving for the Order meeting. Sirius had hoped to go flying with Harry after the meeting, but he heard the distinct whoosh of the floo-network being activated and Harry’s voice, probably going back to Hogwarts. Sirius growled and kicked his chair through the room. Their afternoon had been perfect – care free and wonderful. And then everything changed. Why? Because of that greasy git. Why was Harry worried about Snape all of a sudden anyway? Did that Slytherin somehow trick him? Did he play with the boy’s mind?
He must have done! Sirius couldn’t imagine a Potter being worried over Snape for any other reason. It was Snape, for God’s sake! He would throttle that Death Eater when he next laid eyes on him. Snape was Snape and nothing would change that. It was the one constant thing from his former life that Sirius could cling to after his break-out of Azkaban.
James and Lily were gone. His relationship with Remus was still somewhat strained despite their best efforts to make up for the lost years. Dumbledore … Well, there had been a time when he had trusted Dumbledore without a doubt. But the Headmaster had believed him to be guilty and hadn’t interfered when he was sent to prison without a trial. Even though Sirius could understand it, it still created a rift between him and the older wizard.
And then there was Snape. He had hated Snape in school, after school, through his years spent in prison and he kept on hating him now. Snape was not to be trusted, a Death Eater who turned spy? Well, Sirius was wary around him and had no problem voicing his suspicions and riling the old bat up. It was a fight that never ended and he needed it to stay that way.
Suddenly feeling that the room was too small, the house suffocating him, Sirius stormed out of the room and down the stairs to the entrance hall. The portrait of his mother shrieked and insulted someone, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. He needed some fresh air, he needed to get out of this rotten place. With a flick of his wand, he opened the door and then transformed into Padfood. He was out of the door and in the garden even before any of the arriving Order members saw him.
The black dog raced through the high grass that covered every patch of the grounds surrounding his family home. He had played in here as a boy, he knew every corner of the grounds. It was liberating to race through them now as a dog. The wind ruffled through his long fur and he felt his muscles working while he pounced through the garden. All thoughts drifted from his mind, all that was important now was to run.
Run, run, run and maybe find something to chase.
He reached the edge of the grounds and the end of the wards securing his house. The wizard knew that he should probably stay inside the wards, but the dog didn’t care. He left the grounds and explored more of his surroundings.
Members of the Order apparated in front of the wards as their meeting was about to start soon, but none saw the black dog hiding from them. Sirius knew he should probably get back, but the Order meetings frustrated him a lot. There was always so much to do and no one would allow him to be part of it. No, he had to stay hidden, he had to lie low for a while … for how long? How much longer could he stay sane trapped in this place?
The dog shook its head and started to explore the garden of an abandoned house that bordered his own garden. It was much more interesting than thinking about the Order.
A noise behind him made him freeze in his tracks. Sirius’ body reacted as the body of a dog. He stood completely still, his ears flat to his head. His mind, however, was still the mind of a wizard and he forced his body to move and hide under a bush. That noise had been the distinct crack of someone apparating. Was it a member of the Order? But why would he choose to apparate here in this garden? It was more likely that it was someone with something to hide, who didn’t want his arrival to be known.
Sirius contemplated turning back into his human form as it was easier to think then and he would not be distracted by the urge to chase a squirrel that was running up a tree next to him. However, before he could make up his mind, a man stumbled into his line of vision.
Snape.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Sirius started to growl quietly. What was Snape doing here? Why wasn’t he apparating in front of the house like all the other Order members?
The Potions Master stumbled and nearly fell to the ground, but he caught himself as he grabbed the branch of a nearby ash tree. Sirius smirked inwardly. It would be fun to witness slimy Snape fall and crack his head open …
Snape however didn’t do him that favour. He gripped the branch of the tree firmly, his knuckles turning white, and steadied himself. If he hadn’t been a dog, Sirius would have frowned. There was a scent coming of the Potions Master that strongly reminded him of the coppery smell of blood. He looked sharply at the Potions Master, but could see no obvious injuries. Of course, any stains would be well concealed by the thick black material of his robes. Snape’s face was pale, but the git spent most of his time in the dungeons – no wonder he was pale.
It was then that Sirius noticed the shaking. Snape’s whole body was wrecked by tremors. The man let go of the branch and slowly lowered himself to the ground until his back rested against the broad trunk of the tree. One trembling hand came up to cover his face, while the other curled into a fist and punched the soft moss that covered the ground he was sitting on.
Then he sat still. Still, apart from the tremors that ran through his body and his shaking shoulders.
Sirius stared at him. Was Snape crying?
No, it couldn’t be. Snape didn’t cry. He fumed and snarled, he sneered and leered - Sirius had seen that happen many times over the years. But never ever had he seen the Slytherin cry – no matter how much they harassed him.
But he was alone now, wasn’t he? Or at least he thought he was.
Sirius thought that it would be best to turn back into his human form as the dog had the strange urge to approach the other man and offer some form of comfort. That was just unthinkable!
Before he could transform, though, he noticed that Snape had changed his position slightly. The hand that had covered his face, dropped to his side and for the first time Sirius caught a glimpse of the Potions Master’s face. There were no tears in his eyes, so he hadn’t been crying. Nonetheless, the pained expression of the other man’s face was so intense that for a moment Sirius wished Snape would cry and release whatever was going on in his mind.
The Potions Master opened his robe and rummaged through one of its inside pockets. After some struggling, he retrieved a vial with a shimmering liquid from it. He held it up, squinting at it briefly, before uncorking it with shaking hands and downing its contents in one gulp.
Nearly instantly his tremors ceased.
Of course.
The dog shook its head. The Cruatius Curse. Snape must have been cursed before he came here. But how …?
Sirius cursed inwardly when the answer came to him. He really had to change back. Being a dog slowed his mind down. Snape had come directly from a Death Eater meeting. Slowly, the man in front of him stood up as if he wasn’t trusting his legs yet. He lowered his head slightly, his black hair falling forward and hiding his face from Sirius’ view. He stood completely still for some time. Then he raised his head again and his face was a blank mask. Not a trace of emotion could be found in it. Sirius shuddered and had to suppress the urge to whine. Now wasn’t the right time to give away that he had witnessed Snape’s arrival. He sat completely still and watched as their spy moved through the garden and headed towards their Order meeting, looking for anybody else as if nothing had happened at all.

“All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.”
W. Shakespeare; Macbeth, Act 5, scene 1

Chapter 3

“Snape.”
“Black.”
Sirius had waited until the Potions Master had left the garden of the abandoned house before racing through the garden himself and taking a shortcut back to his house. He then transformed back and walked casually through the long grass just as Snape came up the cracked path.

For a moment Snape held his gaze, maybe expecting some sort of insult from his school time nemesis. Sirius was waiting for the insults as well, but somehow the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. He searched the other man’s gaze, trying to find some emotion in those dark eyes. But still, Snape’s eyes were just as impassive as his face. He swept by Sirius and entered the house.
Mrs. Black started to screech in her portrait as yet another blood traitor entered her house, but like all members of the Order Snape simply ignored her.

Sirius followed the Potions Master into the living room where the other Order members were already assembled. Most of them were talking amicably among themselves, but Sirius noticed that some of the friendly chatter ceased when Snape entered the room. A few Order members shot him wary looks and Moody stared at him with open hostility.
The Potions Master ignored them, just like he had ignored Mrs. Black, and walked up to Dumbledore. “Headmaster”, he said quietly. “I must speak with you.”
Dumbledore looked up. “Of course, Severus.”
Moody glared at Snape. “Secrets, boy?” he rasped, making the rest of the conversations stop abruptly.
Some of the Order members tensed, expecting Snape to lash out at Moody like he usually did, but their spy just shrugged and left the room to talk with Dumbledore in private.

####

The meeting that had started so strangely turned into a hectic rescue mission that needed to be organized. Snape had told Dumbledore that an attack on a Muggle home was planned for tonight and the Order would step in to save the Muggles.
Ideas and plans were thrown back and forth, heated discussions took place and finally it was agreed on a plan of action. Usually, Sirius would have been in the middle of it all, highly frustrated that, again, he would not be part of the action. This time, however, his attention was more than once drawn to Snape who had retreated back to the far corner of the room and watched the hectic bustle impassively. Didn’t he care what would happen with the information he had passed on?
“I’ll go there with Remus, Tonks, Arthur and anyone who can hold a wand and fight and we’ll not only save the Muggles, but catch as many of those Death Eaters as possible!” Moody’s voice boomed through the room, drawing Sirius’ attention back to the discussion. “That is, if we can trust Snape’s report and don’t walk into a trap,” Moody added nastily, with a glare at their spy. His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the smooth dark surface of the old table, as if waiting for Snape to retaliate.
Snape, however, showed little to no reaction to words that would formerly have evoked a biting answer from him. He stood, with his arms firmly folded over his chest, leaning against the wall as if he wanted to merge with the shadows hiding in every corner of the gloomy room.
“What if his report is correct?” Sirius asked, not taking his eyes of Snape. “And we arrest those Death Eaters – won’t the others get suspicious? What if they suspect Snape to have given away this information?”
Snape moved his head slightly to look at Sirius. “They might. I’m the only Death Eater who knows about the operation without being part of it. It is probable that their suspicions will fall on me.”
Sirius looked at him incredulously. “And you are willing to risk that?”
Snape returned his stare blankly. Looking at the drawn face of his school time nemesis, Sirius suddenly recalled his own words from this afternoon.
'Why do you care anyway?'
And Harry’s voice rang through his head. 'Why don’t you?'
Fighting off those memories, he turned around and glared at Dumbledore who sat at the head of the table. “And you? Are you willing to risk it?”
Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “We have been careful so far. They don’t suspect Severus yet.”
“Can we be sure about that?” Remus interjected, putting a calming hand on Sirius’ shoulder for he could sense that Sirius was about to snap with frustration. “We can’t afford to lose the information Severus is providing.”
We can’t afford to lose our spy, was what he was really saying.
The discussion picked up again, but Sirius only half listened to it. Were they worried about their spy or about Snape? His eyes drifted over the crowd of Order members. Was anyone here worried about Snape for Snape’s sake? Dumbledore, maybe. Sirius’ eyes swept back to Snape and he wondered if he himself had started to worry about him, just like Harry. It seemed the Potions Master was playing tricks with his mind as well.
Damn that Slytherin!

####
+++Snape+++

The water ran over his hands. Snape watched it, half expecting it to turn red. It didn’t, of course. He took his hands back while the water continued to run. Potion stains could be seen on his pale hands and no scrubbing would erase them. It wasn’t the potion stains that he was concerned about, though. His hands went for the soap again.
'All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.'
Snape’s hands were not little and he never liked perfumed soap. Or Shakespeare for that matter. Still, it were the words of that muggle play that ran through his head as he held his hands under the running water again. The water was hot, he could feel the steam coming of it as he bent over the bathroom sink. He also felt the water nearly burning the skin off his hands, but the pain didn’t really reach him. It seemed his body was as numb as his mind.
Headquarters was deserted. Everybody had left in a hurry after they finished their meeting. They had agreed that it would be best to bring the muggles to safety before the Death Eaters could attack. Thus, all the Death Eaters would find when they arrived would be a deserted house. Moody and a few others would stay behind to make sure Voldemort’s followers wouldn’t turn on other houses once they noticed that the birds had flown. They were not to attack the Death Eaters though, if they didn’t turn on other muggles first. Moody had been furious, but most of the Order members had agreed that it would be better to handle the situation like this in order to minimize the risk for their spy.
Snape stared at his hands that were turning red under the constant flow of water and wondered why he didn’t care.

“Bloody hell!” A hand reached over the sink and turned off the water. “Sweet Merlin, Snape, what on earth do you think you are doing?”
Black.
Of course, the mutt had to stay behind while the others were out on their rescue mission. How could he have forgotten that? Snape was also sure that he had closed the bathroom door, but maybe he had forgotten that too.
“Snape?”
The Potions Master didn’t answer, didn’t even turn his head to look in Black’s direction.
“Snape?” Black sounded insecure, something that briefly registered in Snape’s mind, but again, he couldn’t muster up the energy to focus on it.
A hand came to rest on his arm and the Potions Master flinched. Instantly, the hand was dropped again and Snape finally turned his head to look at Black.
The other wizard looked nervous, a bit panicked even. At any other time, it would have been a pleasure to make the mutt squirm a bit longer. But all that came over Snape’s lips now was a question that surprised both him and Black.
“Do you know Shakespeare? “

####

+++Sirius+++
When the Order members had left, the dark smothering silence settled over the house again. It was a silence that drove Sirius mad. More than once he found himself whistling silly tunes just to break it. He didn’t need to this time, for as he stepped into the hallway, he noticed that the silence was broken here by something else. There was the sound of running water coming from one of the bathrooms upstairs. Apparently, the house was not as deserted as he had thought. But who …?
Of course. There was one other member of the Order who couldn’t join in the rescue mission.
Sirius looked up the stairs, frowning. What was Snape doing? The water had been running for ages and he knew for a fact that there was no shower in that bathroom, only an old bathtub that hadn’t been used in a long time. Sirius shook his head. Why would Snape decide to have a shower in his house of all places anyway?
The sound of running water kept on ringing in his ears and Sirius started to get worried. Was Snape drowning himself up there or what? As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Sirius felt an unfamiliar stab of guilt. He marched up the stairs. Time to get to the bottom of this. When he reached the landing, he saw that the door to the bathroom was ajar. The Potions Master was bent over the bathroom sink, holding his hands under the stream of water. Steam rose from the water and hung heavy in the air.
“Bloody hell!” Sirius pushed open the door as he caught a glimpse of Snape’s red and shaking hands. He reached for the tap and turned off the water, nearly burning his fingers on the hot metal. “Sweet Merlin, Snape, what on earth do you think you are doing?”
The Potions Master didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t even move. His eyes were still focused on the red skin of his shaking hands, though Sirius doubted that he actually saw what he was looking at.
“Snape?”
Snape’s hair hung into his face and kept Sirius from getting a good look at the other man. What was going on here? Had their spy finally snapped under the pressure?
“Snape?”
Tentatively Sirius reached a hand out to the motionless man and laid it on his arm. The reaction was instant. Snape flinched violently and Sirius drew his hand back, startled by the Potions Master’s reaction. He didn’t attack him, for Merlin’s sake! Did Snape actually know where he was? Or was his mind still focused on the Death Eater meeting he had returned from earlier?
Finally, the Potions Master turned his head and looked at him. Sirius gulped when he met the dark gaze of the other man. What was going on in Snape’s head?
“Do you know Shakespeare?”
The question was asked in a calm, emotionless voice, but it startled Sirius nonetheless.
“Wh-what?” He took a step back.
Snape’s lips twitched, a ghost of his usual sneer flickered over his face before his expression turned blank again. “I should have known that you have no interest in Muggle literature.”
“Don’t be daft,” Sirius snapped. “Of course, I know Shakespeare.”
Reading muggle literature had been one way of annoying his mother. Well, reading wasn’t really the right word for it, maybe. He had never had the patience to work his way through any of the books, but he had stacked them up on his bedside table in plain sight for his mother to see.
“What has that to do with anything?” he asked Snape who had lapsed into silence again.
“Nothing,” the man said. He looked back at the sink and reached for the soap again.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Sirius firmly gripped Snape’s wrist.
That brought some life into the stoic Potions Master. “Let go of me, Black!”
“I will,” Sirius said grimly. “Once you stop this nonsense. Do you want to burn the skin off your hands? Merlin, Snape, I never thought you were one for washing anyway! Your hands are clean, damn it!”
Something flashed in Snape’s eyes and he managed to pull his hand out of Sirius’ grip. “They never will be,” he muttered.
Sirius frowned. “What?”
But Snape just shook his head. The anger had vanished from his face and he looked eerily calm again. Sirius found himself wishing the man would snarl at him again. “What do you mean, they will never be clean?”
Snape looked up, his gaze boring into Sirius eyes. “Did you ever feel you can’t get the stench of a place out of your clothes or the dirt from your hands, Black?”
Sirius took in a sharp breath. He knew exactly what Snape was talking about. When he had left Azkaban, he had thought that he would never be able to get clean, no matter how often he showered. He nodded, slowly, never breaking eye contact with Snape.
Something shifted in Snape’s gaze and when he spoke again, Sirius knew, even though he never had been a sensitive person, that he shouldn’t interrupt whatever the Potions Master had to say.
“What about guilt then? Do you think one can rid oneself of the guilt by doing something good? How can we wash ourselves free of our past deeds when we can’t even get rid of the stench that lingers with us?”
Again, Sirius knew what Snape was talking about and the other man seemed to sense that.
“You blame yourself for Potter’s and Lily’s death, don’t you, Black? All those years in Azkaban couldn’t rid you of the guilt you feel over the role you played in their demise.”
Sirius flinched, but Snape went on mercilessly. “They tell you it is not your fault, they tell you that you couldn’t know what Pettigrew was. And still, you know that it was you who insisted to change the secret keeper and you blame yourself for it.”
All Sirius could do was stare at Snape. It was painful to hear his inner conflicted thoughts being voiced by someone, yet somehow it was oddly relieving as well.
“A wrong choice, a wrong decision. Does it have to haunt us for the rest of our lives?” There was pain in Snape’s eyes. Finally, the blank expression crumbled and for a moment Sirius could see a lurking vulnerability in the usually cold eyes.
He slowly shook his head. “No.” His voice sounded hoarse. “We made a mistake, Snape, we both did with disastrous consequences – not for us, but for others, which makes it worse to bear. But we can make up for it. We have to. It would be another mistake to let ourselves be haunted and paralyzed by our past.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “How insightful, Black. I’m surprised.”
Sirius smirked, welcoming the return of Snape’s sarcasm. “Yes, well, I have my moments.”
Silence followed that was neither strained nor pleasant. Finally, Snape turned around, the rustling of his robes breaking the silence. “I’ll see you around, Black,” he said, his voice neutral again.
“Can’t be helped.” Sirius gave him a weak grin.
Snape didn’t grace that with a comment but strode towards the door. Halfway through the door, though, he stopped.
“Black,” he said, not turning around.
“Snape?” Sirius tensed, wondering whether Snape would thank him now for their conversation. It was an odd thought.
“Do me a favour,” the Potions Master drawled. “Obliviate yourself.”
Then he left, his robes swishing around him as he walked down the stairs.
Sirius stared after him until he heard the click of the hallway door that told him that the other man had left.
“And why didn’t you obliviate me yourself?”

4

Snape woke up the next morning after a surprisingly good night's sleep. He had been unable to sleep properly for so long, he had nearly forgotten what it felt like to wake up and feel refreshed.
His gaze drifted to the clock on his nightstand. It was still early in the morning, he could turn over and have a few more minutes of sleep. But now that his mind was awake, he knew sleep wouldn’t come. Snape held up his hands and looked at them critically. They were steady and the skin wasn’t burned. He hadn’t done too much damage this time. Black had made sure of that.
A sneer found its way to his face. Who would have thought he could have a civil conversation with the mutt? It had been a painful conversation, but somehow it was also relieving to finally give words to the thoughts that haunted him. Maybe this conversation was the reason that he had found some sleep that night? Snape shook his head and pushed the thought aside. Nonsense, conversations with Black tended to rob him of his peace of mind, not restore it.
The Potions Master got up. As he reached for his thick morning robe, he noticed cobwebs in the corners of his normally so meticulously kept bedroom. Dust had settled on his books. He retrieved his wand from the bedside table. How had he not noticed this before? A few muttered spells later and the room was fresh again, just how he liked it. Snape walked quietly into his living room, banishing dust and cobwebs as he went. A nice cup of coffee would be just what he needed now. It was still too early for breakfast, but he could use the time to come up with an idea how he could blackmail the mutt into silence. He should have obliviated him when he had the chance.

####

+++Harry+++
The ceiling of the great hall was blue this morning, mirroring the bright autumn day outside. The hall was filled with the chatter, munching and slurping of his schoolmates, but Harry only reluctantly dipped his spoon into his bowl. The porridge was lovely, like always, but somehow it tasted like cardboard to him. He forced himself to swallow it. His gaze drifted to the headtable where his teachers were sitting, sipping their coffees, and talking quietly among themselves. Well, not all of them, of course. Snape didn’t talk to anyone. He had his usual scowl on his face and his gaze scanned the students in front of him as if he was daring them to give him a reason to take points.
It looked as if the old Snape was back, as menacing as ever.
Harry wasn’t satisfied with that impression. What he had seen in his Professor’s eyes during their conversation after the incident in his last potions class had shook him to the core. Snape’s eyes had been dead as if the man had given up and his body was just an empty shell.
Harry shuddered and quickly looked back into his porridge bowl. Feeling sick, he pushed the bowl away. There was no way he could finish his breakfast with his stomach churning like this.
“Harry, mate, are you ok?” Ron, sitting opposite him at the long table, peered at him critically. Then his gaze fell on the half-eaten bowl of porridge. “Are you going to finish that?”
Harry shook his head and Ron took that as his cue to grab the bowl and finish what Harry had left.
Harry gave a quiet sigh of relief when his friend turned his attention back to food and didn’t question him further. Hermione wouldn’t have been distracted that easily, but she wasn’t there. She had said something about researching for an assignment and had left early to get to the library before their first lesson.
Double Potions. Again.
Scarping noises could be heard when the students around him got up and left for their lessons.
Harry gathered his courage and got up as well. “There’s no time like the present,” he told himself. If he wanted to talk to Snape, he would have to come up with something now.
He couldn’t imagine the man listening to him if he just went to his office or stopped him in the corridor. But he needed to talk to Snape, even if just to calm his worried mind. But how? Snape had to call Harry to him himself, otherwise he wouldn’t even listen to him. And what better reason would the Potions Master have to call Harry to his office than a detention?
Harry gulped, wondering if he had lost his mind without noticing. The Potions Master really was famous for coming up with the nastiest detentions. It would bring him to Snape’s office, though. Alone. And that was what he needed.

####

Students turned their heads to look at him and whispers followed him as Harry made his way to the dungeons that night. Someone thumped him on the back.
“Well done, mate!” It was one of the older students, Harry couldn’t remember his name. “Chin up! Show that greasy git what you think of him!”
Harry mumbled something under his breath and quickly walked around the next corner. Rumours about his potions lesson had spread like a fire through the school. Maybe he shouldn’t have called Snape an oversized bat. It would have been enough to let his cauldron explode. They were brewing a harmless potion. He had been drenched in it after the explosion and no harm was done. That would have earned him a detention, surely. But Harry had been so keen on getting a detention – he feared he had overdone it a bit. Inwardly he cringed when he recalled the murderous expression in his teacher’s glittering black eyes and the icy tone when he spoke to him.
“Detention, Potter. Report to my office tonight at 8pm sharp.”
He got his detention, but he had a feeling he would be stuck in the dungeons until curfew, maybe even past that. Well, it would give him enough time to come up with an idea of how to approach Snape. The Potions Master was probably still fuming even though hours had passed since their lesson. Would he even listen to Harry after his behaviour in class today?
A couple of ghosts floated by him and gave him the thumps up and a posh looking lady in a portrait winked at him as he passed her. Not even the ghosts or the portraits liked Snape. It made Harry feel even worse. He couldn’t have cared less a week ago, but now …
The closer he got to Snape’s office, the quieter the hallways got. No one, not even the Slytherins, dared to lurk here.
Harry reached the door that he had entered with dread so many times and lifted his hand to knock. Before he could do so, however, the door swung open by itself, revealing the office behind it.
Snape leaned against his desk, his arms folded over his chest. “Come in, Potter,” he said, a slight sneer creeping into his voice. “Postponing the inevitable has never worked in anyone’s favour. You are late already.”
Harry’s eyes darted towards the clock on the wall behind his teacher and really, it showed that he was ten minutes late. No way! Maybe he had taken his time coming here, but ten minutes? Snape must have set the clock to be fast.
“We’ll have to add those ten minutes to the end of your detention and another half an hour to make up for your tardiness. It seems you are going to stay here quite some time, Potter.” Snape’s dark eyes bored into him. “Come in, I said.”
Harry quickly stepped into the office.
The door swung shut behind him, causing a chilly gust of air to wash over him. Harry shuddered, cursing himself for his stupidity. What had he been thinking to get himself in a detention with Snape? The man was still angry, he could read it in his body language and he wasn’t a bit fooled by Snape’s calm demeanor. He had spent enough time in the man’s presence to know that a calm and angry Snape was worse than a snarling one.
“Sir …”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “So, you finally found your voice again, Potter? For a moment I feared Filch’s nasty cat had gotten your tongue. Pity,” he turned away from Harry. “It would have been too good to have a silent Potter for once.”
Harry cleared his throat. There was nothing for it. The more time he spent here, the more time he had to lose his courage all together and not say anything. He figured it would be best to start with an apology, even if he suspected that the man wouldn’t accept it.
“Professor Snape,” he said, stepping forward a bit. “I wanted to …”
Snape whirled around and fixed him with one of his famous cold stares. “And why would I be interested in what the golden boy wants?”
“No!” Harry said quickly. “No, I meant to say – I … I want to apologize, sir.”
Snape’s eyebrow went up again and he opened his mouth to say something, but Harry quickly continued. “I’m really sorry for what I said this morning. I don’t know what had gotten into me, sir, and I … I’m sorry I said all those nasty things to you …”
Snape smirked. “My, my,” he said. “Who would have thought that I would ever hear an apology out of your mouth, Potter?” His face hardened. “Don’t believe for a second that this stammered apology will get you out of detention, boy,” he hissed. “If you know what’s good for you, you don’t try that again. Save your false apologies for those who are stupid enough to listen to them.”
“But …” Harry started to protest.
“Congratulations, Potter,” Snape sneered. “You just earned yourself an additional detention for trying to trick your way out of this one.”
Harry clenched his fists. He suddenly remembered why it was so easy to hate the Potions Master. Maybe he shouldn’t have been concerned. Snape seemed to be the same old git again.
Someone snickered behind him and Harry whirled around.
Malfoy.
The Slytherin was kneeling in one corner of the office with his arms elbow-deep inside a slimy cauldron. Disgusting slime covered his robes. Nevertheless, an arrogant smirk was plastered all over his face when Harry gaped at him.
“You can join Mr. Malfoy in his task of cleaning those cauldrons,” Snape said behind him. A stack of crusty cauldrons, one worse than the next, leaned against the wall next to Malfoy.
Harry could have kicked himself. How could he have forgotten about Malfoy? The boy had gotten himself into detention for the rest of the week after he caused the explosion that nearly killed Snape.
Well, at least the Potions Master wasn’t going easy on the spoiled Prince of Slytherin. That was something to cherish in this whole damn situation. Harry walked over to the cauldrons, cursing himself and his luck. All of this was such a pointless waste of time. There was no way he would be able to talk to Snape with Malfoy present. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the cleaning supplies that stood next to the cauldrons and started on the most disgusting one. Snape hadn’t said anything about magic, but Harry had spent enough detentions here to know that using magic was out of the question.
He scrubbed away furiously, ignoring Malfoy’s whispered comments and focusing solely on his task at hand.
Maybe he had been worried for nothing. Snape seemed as evil as ever. Maybe he had imagined that defeated look in the man’s eyes after the explosion … Harry’s mind wandered back to their conversation that day and he shuddered. No, there was no way he imagined that. Something had been wrong with Snape and he wasn’t sure if that was all in the past now.
His musings were cut short by a sharp pain shooting though his scar. Harry flinched. The wire brush he had used to scrub the cauldron clattered to the ground. He felt Malfoy's eyes on him and gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to press his hands to his forehead. He didn’t want to give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him in pain or give the Slytherin more reason to spread some Potty-is-possessed-rumours.
A quiet hiss could be heard from Snape’s desk and Harry’s eyes snapped up to his teacher.
Snape clutched his forearm and when he looked up, his gaze locked with Harry’s. For a moment, there was a silent understanding between them. They both knew what was going on. Harry couldn't know that Snape had returned from a Death Eater meeting only the day before and that a second one being called in so soon was never a good sign. He did know one thing, though, judging from the searing pain in his scar. Voldemort was angry.
Snape broke their eye-contact first. He released his arm and quickly stepped around his desk. Without a word, he walked through a door that led from his office to his private quarters. Harry's eyes stayed on the door that their teacher had left ajar. What would Snape do now? Would he get someone else to supervise their detention?
“What a lovely apology, Potty,” Malfoy hissed, making the best of the absence of their teacher, oblivious to what was really going on. “Oh Professor,” he said, his voice a high sing-song. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what got into me … Maybe the voices I keep hearing in the dark …”
“Stop it, Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, too occupied with his thoughts to get offended.
Malfoy snickered, but didn’t get a chance to answer as Snape stepped back into his office. He wore a long, thick traveling cloak. Harry was sure he wore his Death Eater robes underneath it and had the mask stuffed away in one of the many pockets.
“You’re lucky,” Snape said, his voice as cold and indifferent as ever. “It seems my presence is requested elsewhere. I can’t waste my time looking after you tonight. Get back to your dorms and be here tomorrow night at 7pm sharp to continue your detention.”
“But that’s an hour earlier than usual!” Malfoy called out. He quickly clapped his mouth shut, though, when Snape shot him a glare.
“You were saying, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Nothing, sir,” the boy mumbled and got to his feet.
“I thought so. Now leave, both of you.”
Malfoy didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried towards the door and with a quick “good night”, that was clearly only meant for Snape, he left.
Harry got to his feet as well, looking at Snape worriedly. “Sir …”
“Out of my office, Potter,” Snape snapped. “Now.”
Harry nodded. His Professor didn’t have any time to lose. He probably would be late for Voldemort’s meeting already. The boy quickly made his way to the door. When he pulled it open, he heard Snape’s footsteps behind him. The Professor left the office after him, pulling the door shut and muttering something under his breath, probably a charm that would seal his door.
Without so much as a glance in Harry’s direction, he turned around and strode down the dark corridor.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. When there was no sign of Malfoy or any other student, he looked back to Snape. “Good luck, Professor,” he whispered, not sure whether the man could still hear him.
Snape froze in his tracks. For a moment Harry thought he might turn around again, but then he just continued walking down the dark corridor. Harry followed him with his eyes until his teacher vanished around the next corner.

5

“Damn it!” Harry whispered fiercely. He threw back his covers and slid out of bed. His dorm was dark. Only Dean’s soft snores and a few muttered words from Neville, who always talked in his sleep, broke the sleepy silence. Harry pressed both hands against his throbbing scar. Voldemort was raging, he could feel it. There was no way Harry would find any sleep soon. He might as well sneak out of his dorm and just have a quick look in the dungeons to make sure a certain snarky Potions Master had made it back from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Harry closed his eyes. His bare feet were getting numb with the cold of the stone floor. Snape would not be pleased if he caught him. It would mean another detention, for surely Snape would never believe that Harry was worried about him. Harry couldn’t believe it himself, but he was. And that worry kept him from sleeping just as much as the pain in his scar. A heavy feeling of dread had been with him ever since he had witnessed Snape being called to Voldemort’s side this evening. Annoyed with himself, Harry sighed and hurriedly grabbed his shoes. He slid his hand under his mattress and pulled out his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s map before quietly leaving his dorm.
The common room was deserted. Embers glowed softly in the fireplace in front of which Ron and Harry had played wizard’s chess this evening after Harry had returned so early from his detention. Suffice to say, Harry’s thoughts had been on other things and Ron had beat him even quicker than usual. Sitting down in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, Harry activated the map his father and his friends had created and scanned it anxiously. Snape was not in his quarters. He wasn’t in his lab or the classroom. He wasn’t on the grounds either or –
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Out of the blue, tiny footprints with the label “Severus Snape” had appeared in the corridor leading to Snape’s quarters. Apparation? No, Hogwarts was warded against that. How then? Was there a secret entrance into the castle even the Weasley twins didn’t know about? It would make sense that the Order’s spy had his own ways of entering the castle. Harry felt he should be relieved now, knowing that Snape had made it back. However, his eyes stayed glued to those tiny footprints and his worry grew the longer he looked at them.
What was Snape doing?
At first, the footprints had remained where they had appeared as if the Potions Master wasn’t moving at all. And then they moved – slowly, erratically, going forward one step, then two steps back, one step to the side, three steps to the other side . . .
Harry frowned. This didn’t make sense. Unless Snape was dancing a jig in the dark dungeon corridor. . .? No! Harry paled when he finally understood what was going on. The map slipped from his fingers. Staggering. Snape was staggering down the corridor.
In a flash, Harry was out of his armchair. He threw the invisibility cloak over his head and was out of the common room before the Fat Lady even woke in her portrait. On the ground, half hidden under the armchair Harry had just vacated, lay the Marauder’s Map. The ink on the map faded before anyone could see the tiny set of new footprints that had suddenly appeared in Severus Snape’s quarters.

#####

“What is going on here tonight?” Harry thought as he pressed himself against the cold stone wall, holding his breath as Dolores Umbridge walked past him. He was never so grateful for his invisibility cloak.
The dungeons were unusually busy tonight. First, he had seen Filch slinking around the potions classroom and now Umbridge had turned up too. The witch walked past the portrait that led to Snape’s quarters, her wand in her hand. She looked around, making sure she was alone in the corridor. Harry could have told her that she was – well, apart from himself, of course. Filch had disappeared again and there had been no sign of Snape, even though Harry was absolutely certain that it had been this corridor where he had seen his professor’s footprints appear on the map. He cursed himself again for leaving the map behind.
Umbridge stopped in front of Snape’s quarters, something akin to impatience and hungry anticipation edged into her features. What was she waiting for? Did she want to intercept Snape? And if so, why? Harry had seen the barely concealed disgust in Snape’s eyes when he was forced to talk to Umbridge. He couldn’t imagine that Umbridge was here for a nice social call.
A noise, soft, like someone suppressing a cough, broke the heavy silence in the corridor. Harry froze, trying to figure out where that noise came from. It sounded very close.
Umbridge raised her wand. “Severus,” she called out, her voice sickly sweet. “Is that you?”
Only silence answered her.
“Severus?”
It was odd to hear anyone address his dour Potions Master by his given name, but Harry didn’t have time to think about that. Umbridge moved forward again. Harry waited, his back pressed against the wall, as Umbridge walked down the corridor and then around the corner, her wand raised, listening intently.
Harry released a long breath when Umbridge’s pink cloak disappeared around the corner. How did Umbridge know that Snape had left the castle in the first place anyway? Harry suppressed a disgusted snort. The answer to that was obvious. He had always suspected that their useless DADA-Teacher had close connections to Voldemort’s circle and this proofed it, didn’t it? He still didn’t know why Umbridge – and possibly Filch – were trying to intercept Snape, though.
Something brushed against the hem of his cloak and Harry’s heart nearly jumped into this mouth. He glanced down and looked directly into Mrs. Norris’ eyes. The cat was staring up at him. Could she see him despite the cloak? Hadn’t Hermione mentioned something like that? Where Mrs. Norris was, Filch was never far behind. Glancing around quickly, Harry spotted the door to an abandoned classroom that was slightly ajar. He made a split-second decision and dived into the room, closing the door firmly, but quietly behind him. Instantly, there was scratching at the door and he knew that the cat tried to follow him.
Harry bit his lip. “Bloody cat,” he muttered. If she attracted Umbridge’s attention or brought Filch here, he would be in trouble – especially if Mrs. Norris could really see him despite the invisibility cloak.
“Language, Potter.”
This time Harry’s heart nearly leapt out of his mouth. He whirled around and stared at the corner of the room where the voice had come from. In the dark, he could only just make out the shapes of the school benches behind him, the shelves along the walls, but also, nearly completely concealed by the dark shadows in the corner, the outline of his Potions Teacher.
“Sir!” Harry rushed towards him. “Are you alright?”
Snape didn’t answer, but scowled at something slightly to the left of Harry. Harry glanced in that direction, but couldn’t see anything. It took him a moment to realize that Snape couldn’t see him and was glaring at where he thought Harry was. Harry swiftly pulled the cloak off his head, smirking when he saw Snape start for just a second.
“Lumos,” Harry whispered, raising his wand. The smirk vanished quickly from his face when he got a good look at his professor. His teacher was as white as a sheet. “Professor,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, it seems,” Snape drawled, his voice steady despite his ghastly appearance. “Out after curfew again, Potter? Sneaking around the castle with your blasted cloak?” A silent cough shook Snape’s body. He steadied himself against the wall, closing his eyes as if in pain. Harry took an uncertain step forward, but Snape shot him a glare that made him freeze in his tracks. His professor straightened up, a look of sudden wariness softening his glare. “For once, it seems we’re in the same boat, Potter. We both don’t want to be found by either of those idiots currently walking the corridor.”
Harry nodded. He leaned against one of the school benches. “Umbridge and Filch?” he said quietly. “Why are they here? Are they waiting for you?”
“Obviously.”
“But why …?”
Snape huffed and for a moment it seemed as if he wouldn’t answer Harry’s question. Harry could practically hear him grinding his teeth in frustration. “To find out whether I will report to the Order,” Snape finally ground out. “Or to stop me from doing so by keeping me until it is too late.” He pushed himself off the wall. “I need to get to my quarters.”
But Snape swayed on his feet and had to grab the back of a nearby chair for support. He stumbled against one of the school benches. A dusty old globe that had been standing on the bench toppled over. Moving with the speed of the youngest Seeker of the century, Harry darted forward and caught it before it could smash on the ground. Both Snape and Harry released a long breath. Harry gently put the globe back on the table and Snape managed to straighten up and walk towards the door.
Harry knew better than to voice his concern, but he walked closely beside his teacher, ready to reach out and steady him, even if Snape would bite his head off for that. “Did they find out that you work for the Order?” he whispered.
“Of course not!” his teacher snapped. “I wouldn’t be here if they did, daft boy! But some of my 'friends' are suspicious and managed to convince the Dark Lord that measures should be taken to keep me under observation.”
Harry wondered briefly why Snape was so open with him. He hadn’t expected his teacher to share anything with him. The answer was given to him only moments later.
Snape stopped in front of the door, his voice low. “If I’m incapable of contacting the order, Potter, you’ll have to do it. Can you convey a message without messing up too badly?”
Harry swallowed down the comeback he had on the tip of his tongue and simply nodded. “What message?”
Snape never got the chance to answer him.
Another scratching could be heard from the door. Snape backed away quickly, a scowl on his face.
Then they heard Filch’s voice through the door. “What have you found here, my lovely? Good cat!”
Hurried footsteps clattered down the corridor and then they heard Umbridge’s sickly sweet voice. “Let’s take a look, shall we, Argus?” Umbridge purred, as if she was the cat Filch had been talking to. Filch gave an involuntary yelp, probably surprised by somebody else out in the corridor.
“I happen to be looking for someone,” Umbridge said sweetly, and even though he couldn’t see her, Harry could imagine her false smile. “You too, I assume? What a coincidence!”
Snape grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him back to the corner where he had been hiding. “Extinguish your wand, Potter!”
“Nox!” Harry whispered and threw the invisibility cloak over them both. He just managed to conceal Snape before the door opened with a creak and both Filch and Umbridge walked in.
“Lumos!” Umbridge raised her wand over her head, flooding the room with bright light. Filch and Umbridge scanned the room, but apart from dusty school benches, a forgotten book on a table and chairs randomly piled into corners, there was nothing they could see.
Harry held his breath, only too aware of his Potions Teacher next to him. He felt the heat radiating off Snape’s body even though the hand that had clamped down on his shoulder and stopped him from squirming was icy cold.
Filch walked deeper into the room, eyeing each corner suspiciously, but wasn’t able to see anything.
With some relief Harry noticed that while Mrs. Norris had come into the room too, she didn’t walk up to them. She glanced in their direction, but then suddenly turned around and fled out of the room. Harry smirked. If she really could see them despite the invisibility cloak, she surely had seen Snape as well. He had heard rumours that Snape was the only one not bothered by the caretaker’s cat and that was proven now. The boy shook his head. Snape was feared by students and animals alike.
Harry jumped, startled, when his teacher’s hand, which was still clutching his shoulder in a painful grip, suddenly clenched. Being forced to stand so close to his teacher, Harry noticed that tremours ran through Snape’s body. The aftermath of the Cruatius Curse? The tremors increased and Harry had to grab the cloak more tightly in order to prevent it from slipping to the ground and revealing them.
The cloak rustled under his fingers, but thankfully, Umbridge chose that moment to let out a big, annoyed huff and turn around. “This is a waste of time. Your useless cat probably just smelled a mouse!” She left, and Filch followed, muttering under his breath.
They heard them walking down the corridor, still arguing. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and stepped away from his teacher. “That was a lucky escape.”
Snape straightened up. “I need to borrow your cloak.”
Harry backed away from his teacher. “Can’t you use some kind of charm to make yourself invisible?” He knew with absolute certainty that he would never see his cloak again if he handed it to his Professor.
“I’ve no time for your stupid questions, Potter!” Snape hissed. “It is of the utmost importance that I contact the order or you’ll have seen the last of your friend Weasley and his family.”
Harry stared at him in horror. “The Weasleys? Are they in danger?”
“Their house will be attacked in an hour,” Snape stated bluntly. “Now stop being in my way.”
Numbly, Harry handed the cloak to Snape. His head whirled with questions. Ron had gotten permission to leave after the afternoon lessons today to celebrate his great-aunt’s birthday with all his family. He hadn’t been too keen on meeting his extended family – but it was a good excuse to get out of school.
Snape took the cloak and walked past Harry towards the door, but he didn’t get far. Halfway across the room he stumbled and nearly fell to the floor. Harry rushed forward and steadied him. Snape flinched, hissing sharply, but he didn’t push Harry away. Instead, he put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, wordlessly, and leaned on his student, while Harry threw the invisibility cloak over them once again. Painfully slowly, they made their way towards the door
More than once they had to stop, allowing the Potions Master to regain his breath. Harry was sure Snape was in a lot of pain, but apart from an occasional sharp hiss, the man didn’t show his pain. Not like Harry, whose hand flew to his scar when it gave a particularly nasty throb. Cursing himself silently, Harry quickly pulled his hand back down, but he could feel Snape’s eyes on him in the dark.
“Why are you here, Potter?” Snape asked suddenly.
Harry reached out for the door handle. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“And I assume it is just a coincidence that your nightly wanderings brought you here of all places?”
“Yep.” Harry turned the door handle before Snape could say anything else. They stayed silent as Harry carefully opened the door and peeked outside. The dungeon corridor was deserted once more. Moving slowly, Snape guided Harry past his office and then made him stop in front of the huge portrait that marked his private quarters. A wizard in old-fashioned clothes, sitting on top of a rather bored looking horse, was glaring down at them from out of a tranquil woodland scene. Could he, too, see them despite the invisibility cloak? Harry had never really paid any attention to the portrait before, but like any of the portraits guarding private rooms or common rooms, this one would not let them in without the password or proper procedure.
Snape cursed under his breath. “I need your wand, Potter.”
“What?”
“Your wand. Now.”
Under any other circumstances Harry would have refused to trust Snape with his wand. But his friend’s safety was at stake and he knew that Snape wouldn’t ask for his wand unless it was necessary. Reluctantly, he handed it over, feeling the smooth wood twitch under his hand as Snape took it. The wand itself didn’t seem to be happy to be given to Snape, but as Harry had handed it over willingly, it worked for the Potions Master.
Snape tapped each corner of the portrait and muttered something under his breath. Harry thought he could just make out the word bezoar, but couldn’t be sure.
Apparently, Snape needed a wand and his password to enter his quarters – but where was his own wand? Harry couldn’t imagine Snape giving his wand up willingly.
His Professor pressed the wand back into his hand and stepped out from under the cloak as the portrait swung to the side and revealed the entrance to his quarters.
“Stay under the cloak and stay back,” he said. The words were spoken so quietly, Harry nearly missed them.
His Professor steadied himself on the wall next to the entrance and then stepped into his quarters. Harry was about to follow him, when Snape’s voice made him freeze in his tracks.
“Lucius,” Snape sneered. “What a pleasant surprise. Did you miss me already?”
Harry shot a startled glance into the quarters and saw the blonde wizard sitting in an armchair in front of Snape’s fireplace. His Potions Teacher must have feared that he wouldn’t find his quarters empty.
“I was told to wait here for you,” Malfoy replied coldly. “Conveniently enough your floo is still connected to Malfoy Manor.”
“And why wouldn’t it be?” Snape walked further into the room and Harry marveled how he managed to give the impression that he could walk without any effort. The Potions Master sat down in a second armchair, facing his visitor. He regarded Mr. Malfoy coldly. “We are old friends, are we not, Lucius?”
“Yes,” Malfoy sneered. “And that’s why I came here. To make sure you arrive safely after this night’s … ordeal.”
Snape’s hand clenched briefly on the armrest of his chair, but otherwise he showed no emotion. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You’re here to see whether I try to contact my dear headmaster and relay any information about the attack that’s going to be launched on the Weasley home at midnight.” Snape spat Dumbledore’s title as if it was something highly unpleasant. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Malfoy. “You shouldn’t have gone through all these trouble, Lucius. The Weasleys have proven to be a most troublesome family of muggle-lovers and blood-traitors. It is about time that they are taught a lesson.”
“So, you …” started Malfoy, but stopped abruptly when he noticed that the entrance to Snape’s quarters was still open.
Snape followed his gaze. “Would you mind closing that for me?” he said lazily. “I don’t feel like getting up again and someone insisted that my wand should be taken from me until I have proven my loyalties.”
“Relax, Severus,” Malfoy said. “I have your wand and I will look after it. If the Dark Lord is satisfied with my report, you’ll have it back in no time.”
Malfoy drew his own wand and the portrait slid back into its original position, leaving Harry staring at it. Snape was trapped. There was no way he would be able to convey his message. For once, the Order’s spy had to rely on him to get his message to the others.