Chapter 6
The next day, Harry found himself sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts actively trying not to focus on the lesson, but his ears kept picking up the shrill, grating sounds of her voice.
Professor Umbridge was droning on about some basic theory, her sickly sweet tone a stark contrast to the voice he had become the most used to hearing.
He had been sleeping well lately but had woke this morning with a terrible feeling of dread. It had been gnawing at Harry all day, and Umbridge was certainly not helping to calm his nerves.
If he thought too long, he could feel it—the darkness in the back of his mind, the cold tendrils of Voldemort’s presence, inching closer and closer.
Harry’s heart began to quicken its pace and his scar prickled painfully.
What’s happening? Harry thought to himself, alarmed at the sudden acceleration of his breaths and the sweat that had accumulated on his brow.
He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead and lowered his gaze, trying to push the sensation away.
“Ah, ah Mr. Potter!” The witch tsked. “Keep your mind focused on the lesson!” Umbridge’s voice landed a direct assault on his ears as she stepped closer to address him again.
Every step she took seemed to shake the Earth, and Harry felt like his soul was being squeezed between bony fingers as the darkness grew stronger, more insistent.
The room seemed to blur around him, and Umbridge’s voice faded into the background as Harry’s vision tunneled.
Not here, he thought desperately. I have to get away... Have to find… Snape.
He needed him, needed his help to fight this off before it was too late. He wasn’t ready to do it alone and he knew it.
In a moment of desperation, Harry bolted from his seat, ignoring the startled gasps and murmurs that followed him as he rushed out of the classroom.
“Harry!” Hermione called after him, but he didn’t stop.
He sprinted down the corridors, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel Voldemort’s presence growing stronger, a dark, suffocating force that threatened to consume him. But just as Harry felt himself slipping, he saw Snape at the end of the corridor, his black robes billowing as he hurried toward him.
“Professor!” Harry gasped, stumbling toward Snape.
Snape’s expression was one of immediate concern as he caught Harry by the shoulders, steadying him. “Potter, what’s happening?”
Harry clutched at Snape’s robes, his vision swimming. “He’s... he’s in my mind. I can’t—can’t fight him off.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, he pulled Harry close, his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he began to guide him back toward the dungeons. “Come with me. We need to get you somewhere safe.”
But it was too late. The moment they reached the entrance to Snape’s chambers, Harry’s body stiffened, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Snape barely had time to react before Harry collapsed, his body convulsing as Voldemort’s presence overwhelmed him.
“Harry!” Hermione screamed, her voice filled with terror as she and Ron caught up to them, stopping short when they saw what was happening.
Snape knelt beside Harry, his hand on the boy’s forehead, his face twisted with both anger and fear.
“Potter, fight him,” Snape hissed, his voice low and urgent. “You have to fight him!”
“Legilimens!” Snape cried out, casting the spell fervently at Harry.
His mind came crashing into the young man’s, and inside Snape saw with terrifying clarity the face of the Dark Lord staring back at him.
In that instant, Snape was aggressively thrown out of Harry’s consciousness, the force casting him to the floor.
Harry’s body jerked violently, until finally, it stopped.
Snape rushed to his side but faltered when Harry’s eyes opened.
They were no longer the vibrant green that Snape knew—they were dark, filled with a malevolent light that sent a chill down all of their spines.
“Ah, Severus,” a voice that was not Harry’s came from his lips, cold and mocking. “I see you’ve taken quite an interest in my little puppet.”
Snape’s blood ran cold as Voldemort’s voice echoed through Harry’s body. “You’re not welcome here,” Snape spat, his hand tightening on Harry’s arm. “Release him!”
Voldemort’s cruel laughter echoed through the dungeon. “Oh, Severus, you should know better by now. Better than to interfere with my plans.”
Snape’s mouth was thin, and his face even more pale than usual as Voldemort continued to confront him.
“Oh yes. I can see how you’ve come to care for the boy. And I have to be honest, I had my suspicions about you, but had hoped you’d be smart enough to know not to double cross me!”
Voldemort’s power surged through Harry, and Snape felt a searing pain on his left forearm. He hissed in agony as the Dark Mark burned, the black tattoo glowing ominously on his skin. He clutched at his arm, trying to resist the pull, but the pain was overwhelming.
“Traitor,” Voldemort sneered through Harry’s mouth. “You thought you could escape me, Severus? You thought you could hide your betrayal?”
Snape gritted his teeth, his vision blurring as the mark burned deeper into his flesh, the smell of flayed skin corrupting his nostrils.
“You… will not win,” he growled, his voice trembling between ragged breaths. “I will not let you have him.”
Voldemort laughed again, a cold, hollow sound that filled the room. “We shall see, Severus. We shall see.”
But before Voldemort could continue his taunts, the door to the chamber burst open, and Dumbledore strode in, his wand raised and his eyes blazing with fury.
“Tom, release the boy,” he commanded, his voice ringing with authority.
Voldemort’s laughter faltered, and he turned Harry’s head to face Dumbledore. “Ah, the old fool comes to save his precious pawn. How touching.”
“Leave, Tom,” Dumbledore repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “You cannot hold him. Not while I am here.”
For a moment, Voldemort hesitated, the darkness in Harry’s eyes flickering as if the Dark Lord was considering his next move.
Voldemort used Harry to look Snape dead in the eyes, the darkness threatening to drag those present into an endless abyss.
“You will not die an easy death, Severus.” Voldemort hissed. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”
Then, with a final, cruel smile, the smothering presence receded, and Harry’s body went limp, collapsing onto the floor.
Snape’s heart pounded as he reached out to hold the unconscious boy, his hands trembling with a mix of fear and rage. Tears welled up in his eyes as his body was wracked with pain and the sight of Harry’s pale, lifeless face struck him.
“Potter,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking.
But Harry didn’t respond, his breathing shallow and uneven. Snape could feel the warmth of the boy’s life slipping away, and he tightened his grip, unwilling to let go.
“Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice was urgent, but filled with deep sorrow. “We must get him to Madame Pomfrey.”
Snape lifted Harry into his arms, pure agony striking his body, and rushed towards the Hospital Wing.
As they moved, he was vaguely aware of Ron and Hermione following behind, their faces pale and stricken, but his focus was entirely on the lilting lifeforce he carried in his arms.
Dumbledore walked ahead of them, his face grave and wand still drawn in case Voldemort tried to strike again. The silence between the group was thick with unspoken fears, and the only sound was the soft rustle of robes and their quickened breaths.
Madam Pomfrey, always alert to the emergencies that seemed to plague Hogwarts, was already preparing a bed as they hurried in. Her eyes widened when she saw Harry’s pale, unconscious form.
“Merlin’s beard, what happened?” she asked urgently, rushing to Snape’s side as he carefully laid Harry down on the bed.
“Voldemort,” Dumbledore said tersely, his voice strained.
Madam Pomfrey’s face blanched as she began to work quickly, casting diagnostic spells over Harry’s still form.
Snape watched, his heart pounding with fear and frustration, knowing that this was far from over.
“Severus, take a moment to breathe,” Dumbledore murmured, placing a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “We need you strong for what’s to come.”
But Snape couldn’t pull his gaze away from Harry. The boy looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought of losing him—of failing him—was unbearable.
As Madam Pomfrey worked, Ron and Hermione hovered nearby, their faces etched with worry and confusion.
“Harry’s strong. He’ll be alright… won’t he?” Ron asked.
“Strength is not enough against the Dark Lord,” Snape replied, his tone harsh and laced with a deep-seated fear. “He will exploit every weakness, every fear. Potter must learn to shield his mind, or he will be consumed.”
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his blue eyes filled with sadness. “Voldemort’s connection to Harry is stronger than ever. We must find a way to sever it, or at the very least, protect Harry from its effects.”
Ron and Hermionie swallowed. The severity of Harry’s condition had just revealed itself, and they were utterly powerless to help.
Madam Pomfrey finished her examination and looked up, her face drawn. “He’s stable for now, but his mind… it’s been through a terrible ordeal. He needs rest, and he’ll need constant monitoring.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Snape said immediately, his voice firm.
Dumbledore gave him a searching look, as if weighing the depth of Snape’s resolve. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well, Severus. But you must be prepared for what may come.”
“I know,” Snape whispered, his gaze returning to Harry. “But I recognize his tells. Now that I am here, he will be safe as long as I stand by.”
Madame Pomfrey raised a brow at the comment, curious as to how the two had become so close. It was understandable for many a person to become close with Harry Potter, but for the cold-hearted Professor Snape to deem anyone worthy of concern was a rare sight indeed.
The healer bid the Headmaster a good day, and had a difficult time ushering the two Gryffindors to the exit, but with a promise of an immediate visit come daybreak, she finally managed to send them away.
She returned to the Potions Master and treated his arm, marred with a terribly twisted scar, but no dark mark in sight.
Snape watched as she treated it silently, knowing full well what had previously marked his skin there, but she did not comment on what was now gone.
“I’ll treat it again tomorrow.” She said as she stood from Snape’s side. “With diligent care, we may be able to prevent any permanent scarring.”
Snape nodded, and Madame Pomfrey departed without a word, leaving her patient and his vigil in peace.