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Severus looked down at his hands and scowled darkly. “Why am I so small?” he muttered to himself. If there was anything worse than being a twerp, the boy could not think of any at the moment.

Looking around his bare room, the child sighed, hoping that no one was awake yet. When his father was awake - or pretty much any time- he was nasty. And Severus would be damned before he got caught by his father again. He did not want to see Lily sporting a new bruise on his face. She had already started asking questions.

Hustling out of the attic room, the little black haired boy peeked around the corner of the stairs, praying that he would hear his father snoring. Waiting with ever tense muscles, Severus held his breath as he waited patiently. It was still fairly early in the morning, his father should still be sleeping after being in his drunken stupor last night. The boy winced as the pain in his backside came back to him.

But Severus was thrust from his thoughts when he heard the all too familiar sound of his father’s heavy breathing. Smirking, the little Snape crept down the stairs carefully, making sure he would not hit any of the squeaky boards. Despite being drunk almost constantly, his father was not the normal drunk as even the slightest noise could rouse him. In the back of his mind, Severus wondered why it had to be his drunken father that could not just be dead to the world, like every other bum when passed out.

Ignoring the growling in his stomach and pressing on, the bright obsidian eyes glanced around the room once more before he walked silently to the door. That hadn’t been so bad! For the first time ever, Severus had managed to sneak out of the house without getting caught. That was quite an accomplishment! He’d have to tell Lily th-

“What you doin’ up, eh?” The little color the child did possess drained from his face instantly. Turning around slowly, the small boy looked up to see the furious, haggard face of Tobias Snape. “I asked you a God damn question brat!” the older man shook the child senseless.

“I-I-I w-was j-just gunna g-go out s-side,” Severus shook with terror as he tried to fight off the headache his father had given him.

“What the fuck did I tell you ‘bout bein’ useless, boy!” he father shrieked. “Stuttering like some God damn pussy!”

Severus’s eyes grew wide in horror as he watched his father take off his belt. “P-please sir!” the nine year old pleaded. “I-I didn’t m-mean to be worthless! I-I was just gunna get out of your w-way! Honest!”

“Lying little bastard!” Tobias roared. “I’ll teach you to run away, you fucking little coward!”

Covering his head as best as he could, Severus fell to the floor as his father’s belt rained down from above. He cursed himself for not being braver. He really was a sniveling little coward...

Harry walked into his bedroom to find his professor thrashing about weakly. Rushing over, the young wizard tried to calm the older man, but it seemed that he was lost in some sort of dream, or rather, nightmare. From the looks of it, the terror had to be pretty bad as Harry could not ever remember seeing the hated teacher look so horrified.

A muffled moan escaped the ill man’s lips as his head lulled over to the side. But after a few minutes, the professor calmed again, and Harry was left staring into the hated face of the Head of Slytherin. Why did the bastard have to look so vulnerable? Severus Snape and vulnerable were hardly synonyms that came to mind when speaking of the great and terrible dungeon bat. But then Snape and hurting hardly registered either.

Sighing dramatically, Harry looked over to find Hedwig awake and watching the scene before her. She did not seem to appreciate her master paying more attention to the wizard she had always believed he hated. Smiling unhappily, the Boy-Who-Lived walked up to the cage and stroked the top of the owl’s soft head. “Don’t worry girl,” he cooed. “He’ll be gone soon. I promise. But right now, he needs our help. No matter how disgusting he is,” he muttered the last part under his breath. It truly was a difficult thing to keep up, hatred was.

Deciding that he should check the man’s temperature, Harry walked back over to the still form and placed his small hand upon the white forehead. As expected, the man still had a fairly high fever, but Harry was confident it would break soon. After all, the potions fed to the invalid Snape had made himself, and although it was painful to admit, Snape was a damn good Potions Master.

Frowning in thought, Harry decided that the professor needed some help with keeping the fever at bay. Peeking his head out the door, Harry waited and listened to discover where exactly in the house his relatives where. Not surprisingly, the boy tracked them into the kitchen. Grinning, he left the safety of his room and snuck into the hall, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

The trip to the bathroom was much longer than the young wizard would have liked, but once there, he set to work. He found an old bowl under the sink that had been given to Petunia by her mother and filled it with water as he grabbed several washrags. Let him call me a foolish boy now! Harry thought in triumph as he left the bathroom and started his journey back to safe waters.

There were a several instances when his ill thought out plan had Harry cursing under his breath. The first being when he heard Dudley get up from the table and announce that he was going to go out with friends, but first needed to get a couple things from his room. The second when the full bowl of water sloshed around until some spilled on the floor outside of his room. And the third when he was so distracted about the water mark that he forgot to keep moving and heard Dudley pound up the staircase.

Unable to think of anything to do, the only thought that came across the young Gryffindor’s mind was HIDE! As fast as he could, Harry opened the door of his room with his foot and immediately went for his desk where he set down the bowl of water before running back over to the door and shutting it swiftly. He leaned against the door and waited with baited breath.

The thudding up the stairs evened out and turned into the normal thudding of Dudley’s mass as it moved along the hallway. Harry stood stone still as he hoped his cousin would just thunder past and march right back down the stairs. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

The loud foot steps ceased and Harry stifled a groan. “MUM! DAD! Harry made a mess out here!” came Dudley’s vindictive call.

“Shit,” the green eyed boy sagged against the door.

There came another sound of a chair scrapping against the tile in the kitchen before more booming came. Aw shit! It’s Vernon! Harry panicked.

Uncle Vernon could not come into the room, not with Snape lying there in all of his pale glory! But Harry was supposed to be in his room, and the Muggle would want answers and would therefore barge in. But he simply could not come in! Where was Aunt Petunia when you needed her?

“He spilled something on the floor, daddy,” Dudley’s voice brought Harry back from his panic. Not entirely sure what he was really doing, the young wizard opened the door, stepped out, and closed it again in a blink of an eye.

Both Dursleys seemed surprised at first, but Vernon got over that soon enough. “What’s this then?” he growled pointing to the water mark.

“Water, sir,” Harry answered swiftly.

“What the bloody hell were you doing with water?” the fat man’s face turned purple.

“I was…I was getting my owl some water,” the boy lied well enough.

True to character, Vernon did not seem to like that answer much at all. Before Harry could have done anything to protect himself, the big man swung and caught his nephew with his fist in the side of the face. “Stupid freak!” he spat. “What did I tell you about talking about your unnatural, freaky things?”

“Not to,” the raven haired boy replied quietly, holding the side of his face in pain.

“That’s right!” it seemed Vernon thought he had covered a lot of ground with that declaration. “Now get back into your room! Your aunt doesn’t want to see you, and neither do the rest of us, so get!”

Harry scrambled to get back into the safety of his room. He opened the door only big enough to allow him in before he slammed it closed behind him. He waited, panting, until he heard the unmistakable sound of his uncle locking him in, the first time that summer. One lock, two lock, then three, then four, until the man was satisfied and walked away. Outside, Dudley laughed, as though there was something terribly funny about being belittled and hit.

Unlike all of the other times when Harry had a run in with his uncle, this time the young wizard found that he was not in the least bit angry. In fact, he was totally and utterly relieved! That was it? A quick chastisement followed by a single hit? He’d take that kind of punishment any day! Vernon must have been in a real hurry today or Harry was sure the man would’ve done much more… and much worse.

Closing his eyes and taking a moment just to stand there and breath, Harry calmed his shaking nerves before walking over to the passed out professor. Why was it that Snape could make his life a living hell and not even be awake for it? The man had to have had all of this planned. How else could he so neatly devastate everything in Harry’s path?

Realizing that he was only trying to find excuses to hate the man, Harry sighed once more before pulling up a chair beside the bed and soaked a cloth into the bowl of water. As gently as he could, the boy began dabbing the face of the ill wizard, hoping that cold water would feel good against his inflamed skin. It was actually the first time the boy had seen the Potions Master flush without a murderous glint in his eyes. Truly, the man was just down right scary!

But in an unconscious state, Snape was nowhere near being as big of bastard as he was when he was awake. True, the events this morning were not really the professor’s fault- as far as Harry knew- but Harry could not dismiss the feeling that this was all some big, sinister plot to make him miserable. Something was not right here, and the Gryffindor was determined to find out what it was.

Pulling back the covers some, to dap the neck, Harry’s eyes caught on what looked like a scar on the man’s neck. Unable to stop himself, the boy peeled the blanket down farther until it was resting at the master wizard’s hip. Green eyes went wide in astonishment.

There, on the pale wizard’s neck, was a long, jagged scar that twisted down until it ended in the center of his chest. But that was not all. There were similar scars all over the Potions Master’s body; on his torso, on his arms. What kind of torture had the man been through to earn such stripes? But what really caught Harry’s attention, was the fading tattoo of a skull with a snake coming out of it on the man’s left arm. The Dark Mark.

Horrified, Harry pulled his hand away as though Snape’s skin were made of acid. Snape? Snape was a Death Eater? Sure the Potions Master seemed to fit the stereotype, but still! Was the Slytherin running from the Ministry and that was why he was hurt? Was he, Harry, right now housing a man that would truly kill him once he was well? Did Dumbledore know about this?

Of course Dumbledore would know about this, Harry tried to compose himself and still his racing heart. Yes. Yes, Dumbledore knew about this. The old man knew everything. There was no way that Snape would have been able to hide being a Death Eater for all these years from the Headmaster. Dumbledore had ears everywhere, and seemed to know, even when the Ministry didn’t, just who was to be trusted and who you should keep an eye on.

Wise words, Harry realized. Yes, the Headmaster had been speaking of Snape’s Dark Mark, the old man knew. Snape was almost constantly within Dumbledore’s inner circle and was always called when the old wizard needed help or advice. Perhaps, as crazy as it sounded, that the professor was a spy? It was a thought anyway. A quite plausible thought once you thought about it. Snape was a single, young wizard with an extraordinary gift for potions and the dark arts. He was the perfect fit for the Death Eater mold, but he was also the perfect spy, having no family, as far as Harry knew, and having no close friends to get in the way.

No friends…

A painful jolt in his heart caused Harry to look down at his professor with a new light. The man really did not have any friends did he? The closest that the Gryffindor had come to see was Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster. But then they were co-workers too, which always made such friendships sticky; at least to Harry it would. And with Snape’s prickly manners and sarcastic demeanor, it would not surprise the boy a bit if the Potions Master did not have any friends outside of the Hogwarts staff.

And yet, Harry felt sorry for him. He knew what it was like not to have any friends. Dudley had kept everyone away from him when they were little and had eventually had the whole class calling him a freak or something of the sort. He knew what it was like to be lonely, but why then did Snape not at least try to be civil? Why did he hold everyone had arms length with his sharp tongue and glares? Was there something else there that Harry was just not seeing?

Harry jumped a foot in the air when all of a sudden, Snape sat up with a laud gasp. Large emerald eyes watched as the white of Snape’s eyes turned into a fathomless black pits, and he began to sway in a eerie rhythm.

“The Serpent’s child will shed his skin, the Head of Snakes shall conquer. Where once was light shall be light again, the darkness looses its menace. The hidden face shall be destroyed, the masks will slowly slip away. The forgotten shall be recalled, and hidden secrets all exposed. Betrayal and treachery shall be the road, but loyalty and love shall endure. Only when the crescent moon is high, and the stars are bright is the hour of unveiling. Where once was light, light shall prevail.”

The great baritone voice seemed to shake the room, bouncing off the wall. It was an unearthly sound, Snape’s silky voice, as it thundered in his throat. It pierced the young wizard still against his chair and he was helpless to do anything but listen and stare.

Dumbledore frowned at the boy that was sitting across from him. True, it had been several weeks after Severus Snape had come and begged for the Headmaster’s help to turn him from the path of darkness, but the old wizard still had his misgivings about the Death Eater. The boy fit the mold perfectly for a Death Eater, and his acting was not all that bad.

“What is it now, Severus?” Albus asked curtly, finding he did not have much patience with the boy.

“Sir,” the boy’s deep voice still startled the Headmaster. “The Dark Lord is on the move again. I fear that he is planning an attack in a Muggle neighborhood soon. Where at, I cannot say, as I do not know.”

“Hmm,” the ancient wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Could it be because Voldemort suspects you as a traitor?”

Blue eyes watched intently as the boy flinched at the name. “No, sir. He does not suspect me.”

“Why not?”

At the question, the young wizard’s head snapped up and his usually masked features betrayed insult and fear. “Because of my Occlumency,” he snapped. “He cannot penetrate my shields.”

“Are you so sure?” the Headmaster raised an stern eyebrow. “He is a powerful wizard, Severus, don’t become too overconfident just because you are good, because the chances are that he is better than you. Do not look at me like that,” Dumbledore scowled. “It is not an insult, but it may very well be true.”

“I am not being arrogant,” the raven haired wizard growled. “I am being truthful. I know the Dark Lord cannot penetrate my shields. He has tried on more than one occasion, and I am good enough that he believes me utterly loyal to him. Even before I came to you,” here Snape pinned the older wizard with a powerful glare, “I still have my own secrets I do not want the Dark Lord to find out.”

A thick tension filled the room as the two wizards stubbornly remained quiet. Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully as he watched the angry teenager seethe. So young, so full of hatred. “What secrets?” Dumbledore said at last.

“Damnit old man!” Severus shot up and glared down at the Headmaster. “Things about my childhood, things about people I’ve cared about! Why don’t you trust me?”

“Because you are a Death Eater!” Albus lost his temper and stood up imposingly. “You expect me to trust you when I do not even fully know the reason you’ve decided to suddenly betray your master?”

The boy positively shook with rage as his obsidian eyes glistened dangerously. “You want to know why?” it came out as a quiet hiss, sounding much more menacing than his shouts. “It’s because I can’t kill people anymore. I can’t burn down anymore homes. I can’t watch children plead for their parents’ lives and I can’t watch parents cradling the bodies of their children. I can’t do this anymore, this isn’t what I thought it would be. I can’t keep going around killing people just because they’re Muggle-born! I can’t do it! I won’t hurt Lily!”

The speech was met with silence. Dumbledore stared at the boy in front of him with twinkling blue eyes as Severus realized that he had shared more information than he had planned to. “So,” the Headmaster’s voice softened. “It’s because of Miss Evans that you realized your error.”

“No!” the boy snapped, but then paused. “Not just because of her,” his voice lost its venom.

Sitting down, the curtain of black hair covered the lost and confused face of Snape. Dumbledore followed suit, and sat in his chair, eyes scanning over the child. “Headmaster?” came the quiet plea. “Please believe me when I say I’m sorry.”

That was it. Those words, that tone, that expression was enough to wipe away anymore of Albus’s distrust. Severus was trying, he was really trying. The boy had realized his mistake early and was trying to make amends for his sins. The Slytherin had even accepted the role of spy just so he could help bring an end to Voldemort’s power.

“I believe you, Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly. “But we will need something to go on if we are to win the war.”

Just then, the boy’s eyes turned completely black and he slumped forward. Panicked, Albus, with much greater speed than anyone would have thought, ran to the front of his desk to catch the boy. He’s poisoned! He’s poisoned! Tom knew he was a spy and has killed him! But before these thoughts could solidify into real fear, the boy sat back up.

“A child will be born of the maiden of fire, her emerald flames burning to defy. The child, whose face must be hidden, will thrive. The enemy shall wail, the wrong name he’ll understand, Slytherin’s heir will be lost. The child will hide, a mask he’ll adorn, until the day of the black one’s returning.” With that, Severus fell into the arms of the startled Headmaster, leaving Albus in an uncomfortable position.

The boy had a vision? The boy was a Seer? Why hadn’t he known this?

Waving the boy back into the chair comfortably, Albus ran to his desk and took out a very large, very old tome. It was a book of every prophecy ever uttered in Europe since the first century. The Headmaster had taken it from the Ministry of Magic in the event that Voldemort took over the Ministry, as he had gotten very close to doing.

Flipping the pages until the very last, Albus searched the page, trying to find the words that Severus had uttered only a moment before. When it appeared that it had not been a true prophecy, the page suddenly started to glow and, in green letters, words began to write themselves upon the paper. Staring in amazement, Dumbledore reread through the words Severus had spoken again and again.

Glancing up at the unconscious boy, the Headmaster smiled sadly. “I trust you now,” he whispered gently. “But how ironic that you prophecy about the child of James and Lily.”

Closing the book, Dumbledore transfigured a couch into a bed and laid the tired young wizard upon it, taking off his boots. Severus would never remember his predictions, nor would Dumbledore know that he would unwittingly destroy four young lives in the near future. But such was the way the sight of the Seer worked.