Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 8: A Hidden Aid

When he awoke, Harry had a glorious moment of confusion as to where he was. He kept his eyes closed and tried to sort out the fogginess in his brain.

Bitterness in his mouth was the first thing to clue him in. That feeling one had when waking up from a nap, that nasty taste in your mouth that makes you desperately want to brush your teeth-this was worse. Remnants of dried blood were itchy and flaky across his chin, his nose was full of it.

His eyebrows furrowed and then his face went slack with realization.

Once it came back to him, he wondered how he'd ever been able to forget. He'd seen a friend die, a life flicker out of existence...and the one responsible might very well be in this room with him, watching patiently for some sign of movement just so he could begin his daily process of killing any hope Harry had left. The glowing light from the fireplace painted the inside of his eyelids a flickering brownish orange, and still he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. There was too much to think about, he had too much to plan. It would be no more than a day before Voldemort brought him back, they'd enjoyed his obvious distress far too much to hold it off longer than that.

One day. He had less than twenty-four hours to escape before he would find himself drug back to that pit of Hell, and this time, it might be one of the children that he was forced to watch die.

That couldn't happen.

He'd been knocked unconscious by Thomas after witnessing Elizabeth's last breath, he hadn't even had time to fully realize she was gone before blackness was closing in on him. Fully awake now, Harry forced his hands to remain still and just listened to the quiet of the cabin, soft snores from one of the children almost gave the place a peaceful feeling, an air of contentedness...but his stomach was full of ice.

The words, 'Tell them I wasn't afraid,' echoed in his mind until it was all he could think of. Elizabeth hadn't been afraid, or perhaps her mind was too far gone to even remember what fear felt like. The floor was cold and hard, his body ached with the desire to stretch and try to relieve some of the aches from the many times he'd suffered under that awful curse. But if he moved and woke one of the two sleeping children...then the questions would begin, and how could he even attempt to answer them.

How do you tell a child that their mother is dead?

He didn't even have any personal experience with that to draw from. Harry had grown up just knowing that his mum and dad were dead, he couldn't remember anyone saying it, unless it was an insult laden with lies, "If you keep up with that attitude you'll come to same shameful end that your parents did! Dead on the side of the road!"

Even before he could fully comprehend what that word 'dead' meant, he knew it implied that they would never come back.

It had not stopped him from hoping though.

Harry bit savagely into his already sore cheek. There was no time to dwell on that, there was no room for self pity in this situation. His life had been handed to him and now he had to make the best of it.

Slowly he opened his eyes. From where he lay on the floor, he could see that Thomas, or at least his feet, were no where in sight. Perhaps he was licking his wounds, Voldemort had reacted about the way Harry thought he would.

With careful movements, Harry pushed himself off the floor, his whole body seemed to throb from multiple wounds and the ghostly memory of cruciatus. His eyes stung with tiredness, being knocked out did not provide the same rest that sleep did. With the tips of his fingers, he rubbed grit out of the corners of his eyes and turned toward the sound of light snoring.

The two children were bundled close together under Elizabeth's cloak, just the top portion of Parker's head could be seen. Their faces were peaceful. Something inside Harry twisted painfully at the thought of them waking up to their mother not being here.

When they asked about her, Harry had to be prepared. He couldn't tell them the truth, not yet, not until they were far away from this place. He'd need them both to be of sound mind for when they either made their escape or were rescued. One way or another, they would be getting out of here, it was just a matter of time.

Someone must have been warned by now that the wards at the Dursley's house had fallen. Maybe Snape had been present tonight-that was a dangerous thought and Harry quickly focused on something else. Thomas did not seem to be nearby, but you could never be too careful when people's life's were at risk. Harry knew this now. He would not be responsible for revealing the man as a traitor of Voldemort if anyone was around to steal his thoughts.

Harry massaged his sore ribcage and furtively looked around for anything he might be able to get his hands on, anything that could give him a chance of escape.

There was no way of telling what time it was, for the only window in sight had been covered by a thick black material so no light could shine through. Harry was exhausted though, he wanted to sleep and not wake up until the door to the cabin was broken down and someone came to their rescue...

But sometimes, you have to be your own hero.

Lizzie shifted then, and Harry glanced at her guiltily. Perhaps she could sense his tension, it was heavy in the air.

She blinked tired eyes open and they seemed about to close again when her gaze focused on Harry and she frowned. Sitting up and waking her brother in the process, the young girl looked around the room quickly before asking Harry, "Where's mum?"

Parker stopped rubbing his eyes almost immediately and looked at Harry for the answer.

Harry swallowed but his mouth was too dry and his words came out hoarse.

"She's...left for a little while."

"Where'd she go?"

He hadn't thought that far. "Er, the bad man wanted to talk to her, I'm sure she'll be back soon. Maybe you should go back to sleep and when you wake up, she might be here."

The words felt cruel in his mouth, he was speaking lies meant to protect them, but they were still lies.

Parker looked at his sister for guidance but the little girl was still staring at Harry.

"You've got dirt all over your face," she said and before Harry could get up, she'd scrambled to her feet and was soon standing right next to where Harry sat.

Her eyes narrowed in on his cheek and his swollen lip.

"That's blood, not dirt! What happened? Who hurt you?"

She had placed her hands on her hips. Lizzie's obvious concern and frustration at his apparent bad health was touching, and yet it made Harry's eyes unexpectedly water and his throat suddenly seemed to be full of stones.

Lizzie turned and grabbed her mother's cloak off of Parker without even an apologetic look, though the younger boy didn't look offended as she came back to Harry's side. Before he could even protest, she had used her short, thin arms to wrap it around him.

She pulled it close at Harry's neck and nodded to herself in satisfaction.

"There, you looked soooo cold, and if you get sick then we'll all get sick!"

Her logic was flawless, and Harry could only nod at her, his eyes betraying him, but not to the point that the tears rolled down his face.

Elizabeth would be proud of her.

"Thank you," he said, his tone gruffer than he'd intended but the girl didn't seem to mind.

"When's mummy coming back?" Parker asked, moving closer to Harry until he was leaning against his side.

Harry turned his face away, hiding the truth that his face kept trying to give away.

"Hopefully she'll be back soon."

His hands moved to keep the cloak closed tightly around him, his thumbs rubbed the silk lining absentmindedly. It seemed like Elizabeth had been quite confused earlier, one minute she was talking nonsense, the next she'd been asking him to relay her last words to the two children that sat around him now.

The cruciatus must have started to tear at her mind, that was the only reason Harry could think of for her to ask him to 'do me a favor, and take care of my cloak.'

Lizzy was quietly talking to Parker, who still seemed worried that his mother wasn't around.

Harry looked down at the cloak and sighed.

Then, he blinked, and looked at the silk lining. It was tastefully striped satin, but the color was what interested him the most. It was silver and green.

Slytherin colors on a cloak belonging to a lady who had been brave and kind to him, characteristics not linked to any Slytherin he was aquatinted with. It was a bit of a shock to Harry, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he had never met a Slytherin that liked him. Had someone asked him, he would have placed Elizabeth in Ravenclaw.

But, maybe in his mind, the houses were more important than what they should be. There was a bit of guilt that sat on Harry's shoulder's the more he thought about it, he'd become someone that associated the Slytherin house with only vile people.

Truthfully though, people like Snape and Draco Malfoy didn't really help to give Slytherin house a good name.

Cunning and ambitious weren't bad traits, Harry could have used more of the first trait right now. Maybe if he'd let the Sorting hat put him in Slytherin he'd already be miles away from Thomas...maybe Elizabeth would still be alive.

Mind heavy with guilt and his head drooped low, Harry scooted until his back was against the wall then squeezed Parker close to him. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to stop his thoughts from flying about his head, there seemed to be a constant headache behind his eyes, and his nerves were damaged from the on slot of Cruciatus.

Seeing how angry Voldemort had become was worth it, Harry would rather die than let the monster think he'd broken him.

The children were quiet once again and on the verge of sleep. It was all there was to do here in this wannabe cell room. Sleep, eat...and wait for death.

He might as well close his eyes too, Harry decided, perhaps with a few minutes of sleep he'd finally get an original thought that could help them escape.

The quietness of their little side of the house was slightly unnerving. Only the steady breathing of the two children could be heard, and without meaning to, Harry found that his breathing pattern suddenly matched theirs, three heartbeats all echoing the same sound.

Several minutes later, his eyes grew heavy with sleep, and his hands lay limp in his lap.

It's always been my favorite, but I don't think I'll be needing it much more...it's old, and worn, the pockets have holes...

Were her words going to haunt him forever? Harry groaned very lightly...but there was something about that sentence that made him repeat it in his mind, and then out loud.

"The pockets have holes," he murmured softly once, and then again. "The pockets...have holes."

Harry felt like a loon for speaking out loud, but at the same time, he felt brilliant.

There was something about that statement, Elizabeth had said it so clearly. There was no hint of hysteria in her voice, not even a touch of dreaminess to imply she was half-sane. The Death Eaters had laughed like she'd cracked, and it had caused Harry to believe she had. Maybe that's exactly what Elizabeth wanted.

Slowly, not sure why he was even doing it, Harry reached into the cloak and felt around for the pockets. Finding them, his fingers slowly searched all the way around the lining, first the left pocket which was perfectly fine, and then the right.

The right pocket had a very small hole, just big enough for his pinky to fit in, and feeling around, Harry noticed to his great shock, that there was a lump behind the fabric.

Something was hidden there.

"Positively Slytherin," Harry murmured, and the words had never been more complimentary.

His green eyes were wide and a smile spread on his face, it made the inside of his cheek ache, but he was too thrilled to care.

Elizabeth, even with all the pain she had been in, was trying to convey something to him. After almost an hour of that dreadful curse, and the first thing on her mind had still been protecting her children.

Harry was not careful when he ripped the pocket open, though he did turn his back slightly away from the light of the fireplace as a precaution just in case Thomas wandered in. He felt around once the hole was large enough to fit his hand inside, and his fingertips touched a very soft pouch. There was a pocket inside the original pocket, it was a little paranoid, and yet Harry could only think of how awesome it was too, for whatever it held could be there means of escape.

Pulse racing, Harry carefully pulled the small item out to examine.

It was a small satchel made out of a fine black satin, it had a drawstring closing and whatever was inside, it was very light.

Biting down on is lip, Harry held his breath and pulled the satchel open. He squinted in and then frowned...what?

Turning back towards the light, Harry tilted the satchel for a better look at the contents. Nope, the light didn't make it look any better. It was clearly the dried leaves of some plant.

How depressing.

Shoulders drawn together, Harry stared at the dark brown leaves and resisted the urge to do something silly and destructive. Like crush them into a very fine powder and blow them in Thomas's face.

How in the world was this supposed to help him? Though momentarily blinding Thomas sounded fun, it wasn't without it's many flaws, and Harry was sure that was not their purpose, if they had a purpose at all.

"You shouldn't touch that."

Harry jerked back against the wall, hands quickly going to hide the satchel. Parker watched him anxiously.

"I was just looking," Harry said, and felt stupid for how defensive the words came out.

"Mummy says you shouldn't touch that, it can make you really sleepy, or make you really sick."

"Er...if I touch it?"

"If you eat it," Parker replied.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, because the boy almost sounded like he spoke from experience, Harry asked, "Did you know this was in your mum's cloak?"

Parker nodded, "She always has stuff in her pockets."

"What did your mum do?" Harry asked curiously, though he was beginning to think he already knew.

"She made potions for a store."

It was then that Harry realized what exactly he could use these ugly little leaves for, and his heart sped up in his chest.
......................... 

Though the floo would have been quicker, Severus decided to take the long walk back to the dungeons when he finally left Dumbledore's office late that night. He'd recounted the events that had transpired, what his thoughts were on the situation, whether the Headmaster wanted to hear them or not, and then taken the recent memory from his mind so Dumbledore could view it himself in the Pensieve.

He knew very little about the young man that had captured Potter, and even less about how exactly he'd managed to do it. However, this much was for certain, he was just as lost as Severus himself had been at that age.

To seek out The Dark Lord, repeatedly, bringing him 'gifts'...if he wanted to just be made a Death Eater, he would have just asked, unless he already had and the Dark Lord refused him to see what else he would bring as an offering.

The Dark Lord was not one to pick and choose his followers, take a look at the ones he had so far, for heaven's sake. It wasn't reassuring to know that the young man had Potter in his care.

Potter had better not get himself killed before they could come up with a way of aiding his escape. When Severus had seen the boy kneeling there before the Dark Lord, his breathing had hitched in his chest without his permission. He'd only become a spy to keep Potter safe until he could fulfill his destiny. To see him there looking filthy and frail, so different from the bold, irritating child he'd taught for so many years, it was enough to make him dizzy.

What if this was Potter's last stand before The Dark Lord-he wasn't prepared. Severus didn't think he ever would be. In that moment, staring at him from under his Death Eater mask, Severus saw a bruised, malnourished child.

It terrified Severus. But then...then Potter had fought back.

He'd straightened up, putting on a brave face even from his place on the cold floor and taunting the Dark Lord that he, "could have sent an invitation".

The oddest sense of pride had filled Severus. The fight hadn't been knocked out of him, it reminded Severus to play his part as long as possible, he may be the only hope the boy had, if he didn't get himself killed first. The brat just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, where was his sense of self-preservation?

Baiting the Dark Lord, knowing that his anger would have to be unleashed on someone, and it had indeed been released.

Severus closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. The corridor was empty, and he stood there in the near darkness, the flickering of the slowly burning torches on either side the only sound to be heard besides his controlled breathing.

Elizabeth Murdock had been one of the most brilliant minds in the Potion's industry to date. Her remarkable abilities in brewing advanced and rare potions was only outmatched by her skill in dealing with people. She was well liked, her small shop frequently visited by not only usual customers, but by other master's of the art who sought out her opinions.

Severus had never asked for her help in anything he was working on, but he had found himself discussing his own ideas with her. She had been a very good listener.

Though he no longer allowed himself to place anyone he became acquainted with in the 'friend' category, she had probably come the closest.

He would dearly miss those conversations.

The Dark Lord had taken yet another bright light out of the world. Severus hated him for it, he wanted him dead for it.

Yet, the only way to see him dead, was to save Potter's ever-in-danger arse.

Gritting his teeth, Severus strode off down the hall and to his dungeon. There would be no sleep tonight.
............................

"What's wrong with you, Potter? You're moping like a teenage adolescent in the depths of despair."

Harry lifted his eyes to gape at Thomas who was leaning moodily against the door of the cabin. His expression scared Harry and caused the words he wanted to yell at the man to dry up in his throat.

Thomas's mouth was tight with anger, his hair greasy and his pallor sickly.

"It's too bad that neither of us had things go the way we planned," Harry said quietly and slowly, his eyes glancing over at the two children he now considered to be in his care. They both had their eyes closed, but he thought their breathing was a bit too fast for them to truly be asleep, he bit his lip so Thomas wouldn't see the small smile that pulled at his mouth.

His words caused Thomas to throw himself into a chair.

"No, but it's not over yet. He was impressed by what I've done, impressed enough to believe I could be trusted with you in my care until he decided to slit your throat." Thomas looked over at him from under his dirty fringe, a ill-meaning smile on his face.

Harry knew his face didn't look as brave as he wanted it too. It was more a mixture of bravery and being scared. Scavery. It would have to be enough.

"I'll miss our little talks, Potter."

"You mean me being forced to listen to your rants about revenge?"

"Still so funny, even with your head inches away from the guillotine."

"That's a bit messy, even for Voldemort."

Thomas laughed, and sat up straighter in his chair. "Come on over here and make me some tea, Potter. One last cuppa before I lead you to the slaughter."

"Make it two," Harry said as he stood up from the cold floor and crossed into the kitchen. Though his body still ached all over from the cruciatus and his hand still twitched without his permission, the thrill from finally having an escape plan in place seemed to override the remnants of his pain.

Thomas laughed again and it sounded strange...well, stranger than normal. Harry looked at him with furrowed eyebrows as he prepared the teapot.

"Are you drunk?"

Thomas snorted and put the shield back up between Harry and Elizabeth's children. His demeanor was worrying, it was like being near a dog that had been tied up for a long time. Harry could almost feel the desperation and skittishness rolling off of him.

"I can't allow myself the privilege of being drunk. Maybe once you're dead."

Harry gritted his teeth and stared at the tea pot, urging it to boil faster. "You really like to talk about my impending demise, don't you?"

He could almost feel Thomas's smile, "Maybe I'm in denial. Hiding my pain behind cruel words. You know, the plan to capture you took months of hard work. I had to plot, and plan and spy on you and your family. It didn't take too much for that Muggle to hate you, but getting him to kill that cat did take some convincing." Thomas sighed, "It took a lot of hard work to get you here, Potter. Now, you are pretty much dead meat. I just think it's a waste."

Glancing at him over his shoulder, Harry didn't bother to hide his worry. In his life he'd dealt with many people all with varying levels of insanity, he didn't know yet where Thomas fit in on that scale.

The tea has steeped long enough and Harry poured a large cup for Thomas and then one for himself as well. After placing the tea in front of Thomas, Harry sat across from him and bathed his face in the warm steam from his cup.

The fire was hot on his back and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, not caring that he could feel Thomas watching him. It was the comfiest he'd been in a long time, it would be so easy to lay his head on the table and let his mind drift far away.

He heard Thomas sip his tea quietly and Harry opened his eyes to glance over at Lizzie and Parker. Their position hadn't changed, they were under their mother's cloak, still oblivious to what had happened to her.

"Did you tell them?"

Sharply, Harry looked at Thomas, and gritted his teeth. "No, and you shouldn't either. Just leave them alone."

"It would be easier coming from you, than say, tomorrow when they see her body hanging from-"

Harry knocked his mug off the table, tea flew across the room and hit the wall. The ceramic cup broke as soon as it hit the floor, and yet all Harry could think is that he hadn't even realized he'd stood up.

"Shut up, you don't get to talk about that. Ever."

Thomas looked darkly amused. He drank more tea before spelling Harry's mess away.

"I'm surprised 'The Dark Lord'," he said sarcastically, "didn't do much worse to you after the way you spoke to him."

Harry considered not responding, then he saw the truly curious look in Thomas's eyes and shrugged quickly.

"He expects it from me now, this has been the third time I've seen in him the past couple of years. We always have a verbal sparring match and then he goes off about how amazing he is...and then I get away." It sounded like bragging, but Harry knew it was just the honest truth. "If my insults make him riled enough that he loses his temper, that's fine, it just shows his Death Eaters how he truly is. He's not human, but he's also not an indestructible God. He gets pissed off, and he makes bad choices."

"I didn't see you get away this time," Thomas taunted and drank some more tea.

"The night's not over," Harry replied smoothly.

Thomas just lifted his eyebrows and took another long sip of tea before standing up and stretching his arms straight above his head.

"As much as I'd love to hear you complain about your current situation, I'm tired." Harry glared at Thomas and received only a smirk in return. "Go back to your side of the house now, if you stay quiet I might even allow you to choose your last meal tomorrow," he laughed and gestured for Harry to get up and walk away, their little tea party was over.

Standing up, Harry sent one last glare at Thomas, who smiled-then, his eyes grew confused.

He grasped the table with both hands and as Harry watched his knees began to shake.

Wide eyes shot towards the tea he'd been drinking for the past fifteen or more minutes, never noticing the slightly different taste from the normal Earl Grey he'd had Harry make for him the past couple of days. Face growing pale as his breathing quickened in fear, Thomas tried to form angry words as he realized that his captives had tricked him.

"What's wrong with you, Thomas?" Harry asked softly. "You're acting a little dramatic, even for you."

Thomas's eyes were full of hate and terror, perhaps he was just beginning to think of what would happen when Voldemort's lackeys found him unconscious. Eyes fluttered shut and he fell over into the floor with a loud and painful sounding 'thump'.

Suddenly, Harry could hear crickets from outside the cabin, he hadn't noticed them before-probably Thomas had warded the house against all outside noise.

"What happened to him?" Lizzie asked quietly as Harry went around the table to poke Thomas in the chest with his foot.

He was out cold and probably would remain that way for at least the next five hours.

Lizzie and Parker had stood up and were watching him with no sign of sleep in their eyes. Harry smiled grimly and looked back at Thomas, there was blood leaking from his nose from where he'd hit the floor.

"I guess his tea was just too strong for him."

With that, Harry bent over Thomas's still form and pulled out his wand where it stuck out of his pocket. It felt wrong because it wasn't his wand, and yet, he could also feel the magic coursing underneath his hand, just waiting to be unleashed.

"Come on, kids, let's get out of this hell hole."

Chapter End Notes:
Harry's channeling his inner Slytherin, he's so sassy! Please take a moment to review, I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas as to where this will go now. ;)

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