The Spy and the Savior

Snape didn’t waste any time snatching up his letters and delivering them to Hedwig. The owl hesitated, looking over at Harry, who was at this point slumped down on the floor and against the wall. The boy looked over at Snape, still extremely wary of the man. He had absolutely no idea what those letters could contain, and for all he knew, they could be intended for the Death Eaters.

“Who have you written to?” He spoke, eyeing Snape with an obvious look of disdain. The man’s brows furrowed and a sneer came across his face. Ah, that was the Severus Snape he knew. He could deal with this version of the man, but the quiet and awkward one? Forget it. 

“The Order. We don’t have much time, Potter,” The Slytherin replied curtly. “Will you let your owl send them or not?”

“We?” thought Harry. He didn’t miss that word choice. Whatever Snape had scribbled done for a better part of an hour, it concerned the both of them. The Order was just as distrustful at the man as Harry was himself. They all knew he really killed Albus Dumbledore, and they all knew that hateful mark that resigned on the man’s left forearm. However, if Hedwig delivered the letters, then maybe the rest of the members would send help. He knew the Death Eaters, and had come face to face with many of them. Hell, he was face to face at the current moment. He knew that if he or Snape took even half a step off the property, they would be dead. Not to mention that Harry could only keep the Potion Master hidden for so long before the Dursleys found out. 

After a moment of hesitation, he finally gave a brief nod. “Fine, send them.” 

Hedwig took the letters into her beak, and bolted off the second Snape told her where to go. She must have sensed the urgency in the room. 

Harry almost immediately missed his owl companion, at least she would’ve kept him company while he was forced to watch Snape. He leaned back against the wall, letting his head hit it slightly. His scar still had a whisper of a burning sensation, and his head was thundering with the situation at hand. He heard the man let out a wince as he sat back down on the bed, which creaked quietly underneath his weight. He didn’t bother to look up. There was no doubt that this whole ordeal would mess around with his plan of leaving to find the horcuxes. 

He decided to stand up and pace around the room, just to have something to do. The Dursleys gave him little to nothing other than his chores to keep him busy. Now he was locked in here, which gave him nothing to do. He could still feel the Potion Master’s anger in the room, making the already awkwardness in the air even worse. He thought about asking the man what he sent to The Order, but he knew it would be in vain.

Speaking of which, how would he explain to The Order what was happening? The others despised Snape just as much as he did right now, and to Harry’s knowledge, the man wasn’t part of The Order anymore. Without a doubt, The Order would think Snape was faking all of this. Even Harry himself wasn’t completely convinced that the bitter man wasn’t. He had no reason to believe that Snape was on the light’s side, and it would be extremely difficult to make him believe it as well. Snape was a spy, after all. Deceiving was what he was best at, he had done to everyone he knew. The other professors and The Order, the whole Wizarding world. 

The boy turned around the look at Snape, who was still visibly in pain. His hand was clutching his left forearm—his Dark Mark. Was it hurting? Harry had never given thought to the strings Voldemort would have on his puppets, not just physical ones like the Mark, but mental and psychological ones as well. He thought back to his fifth year at Hogwarts, back when Snape was still giving him private lessons on Occlumency. He had mentioned that the Dark Lord could break his victim’s mind with ease, someone who didn’t even had such a link to him. What could he do to someone who had sworn his loyalty to him, who had a magical bond with him? The thought made Harry’s stomach turn, and his gaze drifted down to the Potion Master’s left forearm again. Voldemort—the most powerful wizard at the current moment—was livid with Snape before he knew the man was still alive. What would he be like when he found out that not only was Snape alive, but was at the one place he couldn’t get to him? Had that been the reason why Snape had decided to come to him out of all people? Because he knew Voldemort wouldn’t be able to kill him if he was under the Dursley’s roof?

All of this was causing the boy a massive headache, and he felt exhausted enough already. His body was still stiff and sore from the abuse he had suffered from Uncle Vernon. He put an end to his pacing, and laid down on the floor. He could practically feel the man’s eyes burning a hole through his back, the silent judgement was far too noticeable. He didn’t give Snape the satisfaction of a reaction. He exhaled deeply and shut his eyes. Well needed rest, that’s what he needed.

***

Rage. A heavy cloud of rage that wasn’t his own surrounded Harry, so thick that he felt like he was choking on its poisonous fumes. He glanced around his surrounding, nothing but a vacant void of onyx. He found himself paralyzed in a kneeling position, and a vague and sharp stinging sensation pierced his forehead. He wasn’t alone within his nightmare, within his mind. He could feel Voldemort’s anger, his hatred. 

He couldn’t get enough air to breathe, he felt like he was suffocating. But he couldn’t have been, this was in his mind. But the stinging and the suffocating felt so real, so vivid and lucid. The stinging grew more prominent, and a ringing grew loud in his ears. He couldn’t tell if that was Voldemort’s doing or his own. The resentment grew more intense as well, and so did Voldemort’s presence. Whispering that were closer to hisses than anything had began to mix with the ringing. The boy was terrified of looking up and seeing the dark wizard.

A chuckle echoed throughout the void before a cold hand grasped onto Harry’s jaw and tore his head up. Voldemort was grinning down at him. The stinging feeling became a burning one, and it quickly spread throughout his whole body. Was this what Snape was feeling when he clutched his Mark?

Ah, so you do know where Severus is, hm? Voldemort’s thoughts leaked into his own in a low hiss. He was always annoyingly strong, always able to endure the worst. I should have killed him when I had the chance! The man’s thoughts made filled with venom, and grew into shouting. Harry let out a sob, his whole body felt like every nerve was consumed by flames. Voldemort’s grip grew stronger on his jaw, beyond bruising. Merlin, it felt so unbelievable real. If Harry woke up and saw his jawline all purple and pained, he wouldn’t be shocked. 

I assured you already, Harry. He will die. Everyone you hold dear will die. Does the Chosen One truly believe he’ll succeed? The dark wizard leaned down, a snarl on his face that would put Snape’s to shame. You’re just a boy, and you’ll die one as well. I have been far too tolerant with you and your little friends for far too long! 

If what Harry felt before was flames, then what he felt now was molten lava. It was beyond excruciating. Beyond any words in every dialect of every species on earth. He couldn’t even give a weep, no. He was far past that level of pain. All he could do was peer up into the abhorrent eyes of the Dark Lord.

Two hands grasped Harry’s body, his shoulders in particular, and he felt himself being turned over.

Potter! A low voice shouted, shaking him a bit. It wasn’t Voldemort’s, no this one had an undertone of concern. The touch on his physical body made the molten feeling even worse, and he shut his eyes tightly. Potter! The voice repeated, sounding more rushed and feared as before. 

Voldemort hummed. I never thought Severus would be so concerned about you. Then again, I never thought he’d be a traitor as well. The Dark Lord’s disrelish felt like it was seeping into Harry’s very soul. He shoved Harry back and the boy was free falling through the darkness.

***

Harry was shocked to even wake up, and more shocked to see Snape looming over him, with his eyes widened in… worry? He couldn’t question it much before he began aware of the aching sensation on his forehead, right where his scar was. He let out a sharp wince at it. He knew it wasn’t a simple nightmare, and he knew Snape knew that as well. The man’s grip on his shoulders loosened, and a few other voices could be heard in the room. 

The voices sounded familiar, but Harry wasn’t conscious enough to make them out. 

“Harry! Let go of him you fool!” Someone spoke, another male no doubt. Arguments broke out, voices blending into another. He felt his eyelids drooping and leaned against something warm… who was holding his shoulder again? A deep voice shouted something before some form of a thick, almost syrupy liquid that tasted like cough syrup was slipped down his throat before he promptly passed out against the firm warmness. For the first time in weeks, Harry didn’t have a single nightmare. Not even a dream. 

He woke up with a start, and found himself surrounded various The Order of the Phoenix members, and amongst them was Snape.