There must be other exits, Harry thought desperately. There must be. Or a window that wasn't barred. The hairs in his neck were still standing up, as if eyes were boring into him. He quickly rubbed the back of his neck and tried to shrug the feeling off, but that didn't work.

Nervously fingering his pockets, he decided to put the cloak on. Before his death, Dumbledore had impressed it upon him to keep it with him at all times. So he did. It wasn't there. Harry was sure that he still had it when he had gotten into the car. The thought of it getting lost or stolen made him feel sick.

He walked up the spiral staircase to the second floor. The children's ward again. It was called "Arran View".

What a misnomer. The children here wouldn't have been able to see anything.

The windows were rather high up, small and dirty. And, like his own back at the Dursleys, heavily barred.

He looked for anything useful on the floor, but didn't quite know what. There it was again. Footsteps. Harry twirled around on his heel, only to see a piece of paper moving and a flash of... something. A shoe maybe.

Someone was here with him. And that someone was wearing his cloak.

The realisation hit him hard and for the first time he was able to imagine how difficult it was for people to defend themselves against him when he wore it.

But... if the person had wanted to kill him, he would have already done so. Unless... unless he or she also felt that strange sensation of the magic being sucked out of him with every spell. Maybe the person was just waiting for the right opportunity? He had, after all, being set up by someone. Why here though?

Harry decided to run out the children's ward, leave the door open and close the next door right behind him. It worked. Now in a different ward, which looked like the one for the adults, he stood there, not moving, pointing his wand at the door.

Panting for breath, he checked if the invisible intruder could come though another door. There was one, but it was shut. The invisible intruder would, of course, suspect Harry to be waiting at the exact spot where he was, so he came up with a plan. Soundlessly, he picked up several pieces of rubble and threw them further and further along the corridor. It sounded convincing. He threw the last one directly at the other door. A piece of string was lying further along and Harry checked the length. It was about right. With the weakest spell he knew and using as little magic as possible, he attached it to the doorhandle on the other door and pulled. Then he threw another stone behind the door.

He had done all this without moving his position. Harry was sure, that the other person suspected him on the opposite side of the corridor. Now he waited, his heart pounding against his chest, his wand pointing at the door.

Slowly, it started opening, a black wand appeared, held by a hand. Harry knew that stained, rough hand. It belonged to Snape.

Harry felt his temperature rise and his blood boil. Hatred overcame him and a strong feeling for revenge. This was, after all, the man he hated most. Right after Voldemort. With all his weight, Harry threw himself against the door until he heard a crack. And a loud groan.

He took Snape's wand, then opened the door and reached for the body that must surely be there and removed the cloak. A gasping, pale looking and wandless Snape stood right in front of him. Harry had both wands directly pointed at his chest and Snape, as if he had just been caught robbing a bank and was surrounded by the police, slowly raised his hands, staring furiously at him.

"Potter, you idiot! I'm here on Dumbledore's orders!"

No, he wasn't fooled by this. Snape had killed Dumbledore, he'd seen it with his own eyes. And he was Voldemort's right hand man. Harry also wasn't fooled by the raised hands, surely, his "professor" had something up his sleeve.

"No you aren't," was Harry's only retort.

"There is no time for explanations, we need to get out of here..."

Harry snorted sarcastically. In one of the Prophets Hermione had send him, he had read that Snape would possibly become headmaster of Hogwarts the following year. If he was trapped, that wouldn't be possible. However, he would also not be able to hunt down Horcruxes. But suddenly, Harry seemed to be less eager to break out, because that would mean he'd be partially responsible for every crime Snape would commit. Every child he'd murder.

"No, Snape. I'll stay. I have no intention of helping you to get out of this place."

"Potter, I am on Dumbledore's side! Have you ever bothered trying to find out more about the curse on his hand? It was killing him, he was dying and he preferred his death to be of use."

"You expect me to believe this?" said Harry bitterly. "The Order would have told me..."

"The Order doesn't know and you haven't been told because you are incapable of occlumency!"

Harry slowly shook his head. It was impossible. Snape was clever. Of course he'd make a story like that up. But... if it was true, he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

Well, Harry thought cynically. There is one way to find out. The thoughts didn't seem to come from him, but instincts told him what to do. Imitating the wand movements he had seen so many times in his fifth year, he pointed his wand at the greasy git and shouted: "LEGILIMENS!"