Serpentine
Sleep served as a reprieve from his situation. The bone tiredness that had weighed heavily on him since his appearance on the island had kept Harry near constantly sleeping. Yet, every time he woke up the drowsiness remained and pulled him under not long after he’d opened his eyes.
Hunger pains were what woke Harry once again. The stabbing pain in his stomach followed by the unhappy grumble of his body demanding food alerting him that he hadn’t eaten in awhile. It was different than it was with the Dursley’s because he knew his limits, and knew if he got desperate he could sneak food from the very back of the cabinet. It wasn’t surprising to him that his watchers didn’t know how to care for a human.
When his stomach let out another audible grumble he sighed and opened his eyes. The bars of his cell welcomed him to the land of the living, their rusted and wrangled appearance fitting in with the unwelcoming air of his cell. Back during his first hours there, Harry had planned an escape, but he never followed through with his plans due to those bars. It looked like just touching them would infect him with tetanus. Never mind the fact that he was on a damn island in the middle of a raging ocean. Then his legs…. And now escape was near impossible, it hurt to think about his missed chance. He hadn’t even tried.
Deciding it was time for his routinely check up on his body, Harry reached down to pat his legs in the hope that feeling had miraculously returned to them. He stopped when his hand came into view and stared for a moment, uncomprehending. It had to be a trick of the light. But, when he wiggled his fingers Harry felt his heart drop in his stomach and rise up his throat, as if trying to flee his body. It definitely wasn’t a trick of the already dim lighting in his cell, his arm was grey. His fingers and forearm had lost all visible muscle mass while he was asleep and the tips had darkened.
Harry couldn’t even recall when the drastic change to his body had begun, too occupied with thinking about the outside world and his regrets. But he knew that the last time he’d seen his arms they looked normal, if a little thinner due to lack of food.
It felt like he was in a nightmare, his brain unable to process that this could possibly be happening. When he wiggled his fingers again, they mirrored how he wanted them to move, but the blackness visibly crawled up each of his fingers to encompass the first knuckle. He clenched his fist in morbid curiosity, only for his nails to sharpen to points and meld with his skin to form familiar claws right before his eyes.
The absence of pain as the newly formed claws dug into his hand was barely worth acknowledging, his mind was at its limit.
Finally, the dementor currently with him made itself known in his field of view and thrummed down at him.
So close… almost complete. Harry flinched away from the words that rattled in both his head and ears in unison. They had an echoing and breathy quality, indicating that the words weren’t English, or anything human. It felt dark and scary, and seemed to darken the skin on his arm.
Jerking his other arm acting as his pillow out from under his head, Harry let out a strangled noise as he saw the same incredible skinniness and unnatural colouring. He’d always been unhealthily thin, but this was taking it to an entirely different level. Even the knobbiness of his elbow and finger joints had shrunk, as if his bones themselves were shrivelling up along with him. Harry was sure he could wrap his long, twig-like fingers twice around his forearm.
With nausea bubbling up his throat, Harry forced himself to drop his arms against the stone that should’ve felt cold, but didn’t. He desperately looked away, wanting his arms gone. He swore the dementor above him cooed at him before pressing a clawed hand against his forehead. The demented attempt at comfort made a sob escape, but no tears would fall, his body too deprived to spare any.
Merlin was he hungry.
______________________________
The welcoming scent of freshly cooked food wafted throughout the great hall. Students and teachers alike enjoyed the first famous Hogwarts banquet of the school year.
When plates grew empty the buffet disappeared. Dessert replaced supper, and the younger ones dug into the fancy delicacies. The 15 scoop tall ice cream tower drizzled with chocolate sauce in particular was quite popular.
Once everyone had their fill the trays of sweets disappeared back from whence they came. Heads directed themselves toward the staff table in preparation for the Headmaster’s yearly speech.
“We also wish to welcome our new defense against the dark arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge.” Said person tittered. “And I’m sure you’ll all join me in wishing the professor good luck.” Dumbledore continued.
As he continued to address the school, a distinctly feminine clearing of the throat interrupted from behind him. Faces displaying shock and dread turned to the witch slowly standing to her feet. The silence that encapsulated everyone turned uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome.”
The hall of students was utterly silent for the first time during a welcome speech. An oppressing sense of wrongness came from the unusual silence. First years eyed the older students warily as all houses collectively watched the pink clad witch address them with false cheer. The older Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike swiftly realized this was the Ministry’s way of taking control of Hogwarts. They’d all read the paper at least once to know what was going on, if only vaguely, in the realm of politics.
A certain blonde vowed to write to his father that night about the Ministry’s poor choice in High Inquisitor of Hogwarts.
The speech continued, with the majority of the students tuning out while waiting for their dismissal. It was the ending that had them listening, the sense of unease thickening in the air.
“Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect would can perfected and prune practices that ought to be prohibited.” The fake giggle that ended the threatening speech ground against the ears of the staff and students. It was only duty that had the great hall hesitantly applauding as the witch retook her seat among the staff. (If you ignored the googly eyes Caretaker Filch was making as he clapped encouragingly.)
“Thank you Professor Umbridge, that really was most illuminating.”
A few more words were spoken regarding rules and banned items. Caretaker Filch got particularly excited when Albus read off the list he’d come up with. All before the students were sent off to their dormitories.
The Headmaster watched over his students from his position at the staff table as they slowly made their way out. He knew Dolores through his position as Chief Warlock, although he’d recently been removed due to the slandering of his name. He knew the witch had a fierce hatred for creatures and those who spoke out against the ministry. Albus had contemplated if the witch’s apparent respect and love for the Minister was god-worshipping, or simply her sucking up to Fudge to gain influence in the Ministry. She was a Slytherin after all.
He couldn’t help but let his eyes gravitated toward the Gryffindor duo that had been distinctly silent during the entire feast, once a trio. There was little chance Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley wouldn’t draw Dolores’ attention, with their loyalty to the late Mr. Potter. The new professor would likely bait them into trouble, he suspected, to show the other youth the power of the Ministry.
The headmaster wouldn’t know how right he was in that moment until it was too late.
Once he knew his students were settled in and the castle was quiet, Albus retired to his office to look over some paperwork that had been awaiting him. The crescent-moon spectacles he wore sat on the end of his nose as he skimmed through school documents for the upcoming year.
The wards on the gargoyle went off, signalling the arrival of the new Professor. Albus waited a moment before allowing entry without the password and could tell when the gargoyle slid aside to allow the witch in.
A minute passed before a quick succession of knocking echoed through his office. Fawkes ruffled his feathers from where he’d been sleeping before returning his head into the feathers of his back. Albus spared the phoenix a fond look before announcing for Umbridge to come in.
“Ah, Albus. I must say that is a most fascinating path of entry to your office,” she hemmed as she took the seat before him, continuing. “I wanted to question you about the supposed curse on my current position, and why you have yet to seek aid from the Ministry instead of scrambling to hire every year.”
It clearly wasn’t a question, but he decided to receive it as one.
“Good evening Dolores. And regarding your inquisition, I have to say that this supposed curse is a very tricky work of magic. A year into my role I investigated such a curse and found it to be so.” Lie, but she didn’t know that, Tom didn’t curse the position ‘till ‘69.
“Things have changed quite a bit since you were appointed headmaster. Perhaps a second set of eyes would be better equipped,” she turned her head up as she looked down her nose at him. “I also wanted to let you know the Ministry’s declaration for my presence requires me to have unlimited access to all of Hogwarts and her boundaries. That includes your office I’m afraid.”
Albus made sure to hide any sign of irritation at her words and instead nodded in understanding. He felt the approach of Severus Snape due to his warded gargoyle, knowing the instant he gave the password and began his assent.
“I will take note of such declaration once it has reached my desk, Professor Umbridge.”
When Professor Umbridge didn’t speak for a moment he looked back down to his paperwork in a clear dismissal. The portrait of Phineas Black grinned at the interaction below him, such entertainment he’d missed.
Catching the not so subtle hint, he watched as Dolores stood, slightly disgruntled but satisfied for now and made to exit the Headmaster’s office. She was interrupted when the double doors opened once again to reveal the infamous Severus Snape.
“Greetings Severus,” Albus spoke up from where he shuffled papers, not even glancing up. He heard Dolores’ restrained huff as she clearly took note of it. “Please come in, Professor Umbridge was just departing.”
“Good evening Severus,” Professor Umbridge nodded to the sour man before finally exiting the office.
The duo waited for the woman, and once she’d gone beyond ear’s reach Snape turned to the old Headmaster and lifted his sleeve. Clearly displayed against his unhealthily pale skin, the dark mark writhed. It’s Inkiness, once shadowy and grey now black and distinct on its victim.
“You know what this means, don’t you my boy?” He sounded older as he regarded the mark on his spy’s arm.
“Obviously,” the spy drawled. “He called not ten minutes ago. I’m merely informing you incase I return in less than desired circumstances.” Severus drawled out, face like stone.
He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Albus believed the poorer the condition Severus returned in, the more reassuring it would be. He couldn’t battle against Voldemort if the man had his mind. With his previous mental state it was easy to turn the public against the Dark with all the raids going on.
A Dark Lord with a cunning mind was a far more dangerous beast to tackle.
“Very well. Send a patronus once you’ve returned. Oh, and Severus?” He paused the man from leaving. “If He questions you on the boy, only allude to the rumours created by the Ministry.”
He could only hope that Voldemort gave away useful information regarding Harry Potter. He’d have to view the memory he’d obtained from Arabella to quell his paranoia till his spy returned.
The potions professor nodded and made his dramatic exit, robes billowing and doors opening up before him.
____________________________
The chilling cold surrounding Malfoy Manor was dreadfully familiar to Severus as he made his way toward the front gates. Memories of the war over a decade ago emerged from his occlumency barriers, one’s that he swiftly locked back behind sturdy walls. He had to have a clear head if he was to survive this death eater meeting.
He hardly paused in his footsteps as the wards granted him passage into the manor’s grounds. The dull clouds blocking out the sun was an apt representation of the position he found himself in. As a spy Severus knew he would live a shorter life than others, but he’d come to terms with his mortality with the constant presence of death around every corner. The passed decade had been a respite, but he would’ve been loath to let his skills suffer due to complacency. He was better than that.
Little had changed inside Malfoy Manor, the heaviness and partially concealed fear in the air stood out as the only difference from the last time he’d visited his friend and godson. As he traversed the halls, portraits all with very similar platinum blond hair and composed faces looked on. By the time Severus had reached the doors to the meeting room, nearky 20 minutes since his summons. His only hope was that he wouldn’t be punished too severely for his apparent tardiness.
Faces turned as he forced the doors open with magic and billowed into the room filled with his fellow death eaters and their Lord. It was the first time he’d seen the Dark Lord in 15 years. The bald, inhuman creature seated at the head of the table so drastically contrasted with what he remembered of the man that, had it not been for the large snake at his shoulders, Snape would’ve doubted it was Him.
“Severus,” The high pitched, sibilant voice sounded so remarkably different from what it used to be. “It truly is a welcoming sight to see you once again. Why, you look just as you did 15 years ago.”
Severus could identify the familiar sharpness that lay just beyond the surface of that voice, waiting for someone to show weakness to strike. The same sharpness that once put countless wix* to death, that currently threatened the very foundation of magical Britain.
“My Lord,” he bowed with proper respect. He was intimately aware of how low and how long he held himself in reverence before taking the open seat to His left. Many of the seats at the table were empty, their occupants either dead or in Azkaban (or foolishly hiding from the Dark Lord).
“Now we may begin,” the Dark Lord spoke, drawing Severus out of his thoughts.
The meeting went on with occasional crucio’s thrown at those sitting at the table, but far less than Severus had expected. It seemed that upon his resurrection, the Dark Lord had regained some of his past mindfulness. A dangerous observation momentarily touched on by him under his impenetrable occlumency shields.
“What of Harry Potter, my Lord?”
The question immediately had everyone’s full attention, not that it had strayed from the Dark Lord in the first place. But death eaters sat straighter in their seats, masks of neutrality fell on many faces. Severus privately marvelled at the bravery or sheer stupidity of the speaker as the wizard continued on.
“There are rumours that the boy has fled Britain. I-I believe there’s also one that says he was kissed by a dementor, my Lord.”
Silence. It was no secret that the Dark Lord wanted to be the one to vanquish the brat.
Sheer stupidity it is, Severus thought as a red light shot from the wand of their furious Lord. The sharpness underlying his new features roared to the surface, screaming danger, back away. Serpentine would be the only word to describe such a look. Mixed with the intoxicating feel of dark magic as the spell hit its target, Severus knew the upcoming battle between light and dark was going to be far worse than the last.
“I have no use of rumours forged by mindless sheep. Our goals remain the same, the Ministry will fall, and the dark will rise.”
Despite the blatant torture, his conflicting emotions, and the threat of the Dark Lord’s wand turning on him as he gave his report, Severus maintained his apathetic mask. The mess of emotions he was feeling firmly locked behind his occlumency barriers.
No one brought up the topic of Harry Potter again, and the meeting finally ended with a flick of His hand.
“I shall call for you soon, my friends. Our imprisoned brethren depend on us.”