Potions was particularly horrible. Professor Snape had assigned a potion that was designed to make a person's skin fire-resistant. Ironically, Harry and Ron had gained a total seven burns between the two of them by the end of class. Of course, Hermione's potion was the perfect orange colour with thick yellow vapour coming from the surface. Snape barely looked at her once he had realized that there was nothing he could criticize, giving the impression of being quite disappointed.

Harry's potion was a thin, crimson red liquid giving off a faint scent of burnt hair; while Ron's was pink, and so thick that he could barely stir it. Not to mention that Ron had burned him self so badly that he had had to go to the Hospital Wing, knocking over Harry's cauldron on the way.

Everyone had left the dungeon, leaving Harry to clean up the massive amount of blood-like liquid from underneath his seat. He was fuming, letting Snape's snarling remarks and the Slytherins' howling laughter play over and over as he scrubbed the floor with the towel in which Snape had thrown at him. Even Neville, whose potion was a bright, bubbling indigo didn't get that kind of treatment. It was times like these when Harry considered using a few of the jinxes he had learned over the years on Snape, just for the entertainment...

The door of the dungeon had opened and Harry nearly hit his head on the bottom of the desk. He peered over the top, catching the deep violet robes of Professor Dumbledore gliding through the room toward Professor Snape's desk. It was odd for Harry to see him there, for he hardly saw Dumbledore in other professors' classrooms. Though, it wasn't just that. It was also the fact that Harry had not talked to Dumbledore since the last school year, only seeing him from a slight distance at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix over the summer.

He had made a point to no longer bother Dumbledore about his scar hurting. It didn't matter any more; it happened too often to make it unusual. Especially since the Order of the Phoenix had been brought to session during the summer holidays. Voldemort was back; no matter how much the Ministry of Magic didn't care to believe it or how much Harry didn't want to believe it.

Dumbledore waved his hand, making a chair from the back of the room glide towards him.

“Severus,” he said, sitting across from Professor Snape. “I don't mean to intrude.”

“There's nothing you are intruding on,” Snape said in his usual, low and monotoned voice. “Just the peace that follows yet another obnoxiously disappointing fifth year class.”

Dumbledore took no notice of what was being said, sitting back further in his chair. Harry started to panic. Snape had forgotten about him being there.

“How's Mr. Potter doing?” Dumbledore asked. “He's bound to be shaken after this past holiday and I haven't had the chance to talk to him in person. I believe the boy is avoiding me.”

He broke out into a chuckle that rumbled deep from his chest. Harry had jumped at the mention of his name.

“If you are talking about his sanity, I believe it's in tact,” Professor Snape said. “Although, his Potions assignments would earn him a ticket straight to St. Mungo's permanent facilities....”

Dumbledore nodded, suddenly becoming more serious. The twinkle in his eye was no longer apparent as he leaned onto the arm of his chair. An odd sense of silence flowed through the room, leaving Harry barely able to take in a weak puff of breath, for he feared to be overheard.

“Have you heard of the where-abouts of Voldemort recently?”

Harry, losing all sense of feeling, dropped the red-stained towel onto the floor with a soft slosh. He had known that Snape was part of the Order, though he doubted how much help he could bring. He was, in fact, an ex-Death Eater. And according to Harry, there wasn't much to confirm the “ex” part. However, while staying at Sirius's mother's house, he had noticed that when Snape would sweep through, he appeared to be up to something. He was taking care of a task under the order of Dumbledore.

Snape twitched just like one of Ron's family did when Voldemort's name was mentioned out loud, though Harry knew it wasn't the same fear that the Weasley's possessed. It was a fear that came out of mere habit. The fear that still clung to his mind when his master's name was spoken without its proper title; an action of stupidity that could earn a Death Eater's torturous punishment.

“Yes,” he said, clenching his jaw slightly. “And I have been meaning to discuss the matter with you.”

He looked like he was trying as hard as he possibly could to make sure that Dumbledore didn't hear or see the concern in his voice or expression, but Harry, for a split second, saw worry flash across his pale, angular features.

“He's travelling toward France,” Snape continued, composing himself.

“Ah,” Dumbledore sighed, nodding. “I see.”

“He's making a point to find new followers in different locations. Of course, the French are as ignorant as the Ministry. They are oblivious and will not believe what is coming until they have to see him for themselves. Of course, everyone knows that it will be much too by late then.”

Dumbledore took this into consideration, gliding his hand down his long beard. Snape was turning paler by the second, his eyes flickering over to a green gemstone set on the top of his desk. Harry would have felt a little gratitude towards him for being on his side about the Ministry not believing Voldemort was back, but he knew he had no choice but to believe it. He had the mark on his arm to prove it, the searing pain to remind him.

“Do you think he's noticed anything?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

Snape's jaw tightened even more. “I'm sure he's considered it, but he's been very perturbed by all of his Death Eaters.”

“And you are sure he is going towards France?” Dumbledore's elbows were propped up on Snape's desk as he peered over his moon-shaped spectacles.

“Yes,” Snape said quickly.

“I should make sure Madame Maxime knows he's coming near in the mean time.” he said, standing. “Although, I would think it will be temporary unless he plans to hide there for a while.”

Snape looked like a small shock of electricity had jolted through him. He stood and walked around his desk to stand between Dumbledore and the exit of the dungeon as Dumbledore himself returned his chair with a wave of his wand.

“Yes, Severus?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

Snape's concern was now much more apparent, though he still made an attempt to hide it. “I'm no longer confident of how long he will believe me...He's already caught a few in the attempt of fooling him.”

“What are you saying, Severus?”

Snape looked irritated by the fact that Dumbledore wasn't catching on to what he was trying to say. Harry was just as confused, silently cursing the fact that his knees were swimming in the old, luke-warm potion.

“I'm saying,” he whispered. “It's only a matter of time before he finds out... and it's something that I can't be sure of how he will handle when he does find out. If I'm fortunate he will kill me, but those who betray him hardly get what they want, correct? He usually goes for something that would hurt much more before giving the satisfaction of death. Death is much too forgiving.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore mused. “You do realize that you cannot turn back? He will be just as malicious with you if you turn your back on him.”

“I am aware.”

“Severus,” he said, sighing, his head cocked to the side. “If there is something you want me to take care of, I can assure you that it will be sought after.”

Harry was now on all fours, looking through a crack in the side of the desk to get a better view. The bell had started to ring, though he made no attempt to move to the Great Hall for dinner.

Snape swallowed and jutted his chin up in another attempt to look unconcerned. It only served to make him look more on edge.

“Albus,” he said. “...My daughter. She's in France and it's obviously no longer a safe area, not that Hogwarts is precisely the place to be...”

Harry's heart lurched out of his chest. Surely, he had misunderstood what Snape had said. Professor Snape didn't have a daughter. He didn't have any family. Everyone knew that. And, most of all, Snape was never concerned for anyone; well, he never said it out loud, in any case.

After a long pause, Dumbledore leaned across the desk, eyeing the professor.

"Do you find this the safest choice?" he asked. "She would have to tread very carefully."

Professor Snape nodded slowly, as if taking what the Headmaster said into careful consideration.

"Yes," he answered. "I have already made arrangments with the Malfoys'. They seem pleased, and most imortantly, oblivious." He looked up, linking their gaze. "Everything will be set with your consent."

Dumbledore smiled, his face gentle, showing a sympathetic expression.

“She's enrolled at Beauxbatons?”

“Correct.” Snape was now back to looking completely uninterested, his face emotionless. Nevertheless, Harry thought he heard a very small sigh of relief.

“I'll tell Madame Maxime to send her immediately,” Dumbledore said reassuringly. “We'll have a private Sorting Ceremony and have her settled into a secure dormitory as soon as possible.”

Snape merely nodded, lost in thought as he stared at his desk. Dumbledore placed his hand on his shoulder, making him wince in an uncomfortable way.

“How is she, Severus?” he asked. “Well?”

He shrugged off Dumbledore's friendly gesture. “After the past four and a half years, you would know just as much as I, but her letters seem pleasant enough.”

Dumbledore nodded softly. “Yes, I suppose communications have been limited. Well, that is soon to change.”

With a gentle whoosh of his cloak, he was gone, leaving the dungeon as quietly as ever. Harry felt like someone had just stunned him, not quite in the position to move.

Professor Snape didn't waste any time standing there. He grabbed a piece of parchment from the drawer of his desk, quickly scratching a note on the back of it and folding it messily next to the clear, green gemstone which held down a batch of detention essays. He walked to the back of the room and opened the cage of a wary looking black and silver owl, attaching the note to its leg and virtually pushing it out of an open window.

Harry held his breath as Snape walked past the desk he was under, but he seemed too distracted to notice him. Slouching behind his desk, Snape laid his head on part of the flat surface that wasn't occupied by bottles or bowls or books.

“Mr. Potter, go to dinner. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry's eyes grew wide as he froze in place. Snape's voice didn't sound angry or even annoyed, merely uninterested in his over all existence.

He fumbled his quill and wand back into his school bag, his face turning nearly as red as Ron's would have in the given situation. Snape didn't even look up as he slowly walked past his desk and out of the dungeon, still in shock. And while he would have loved to have run as fast as his legs would take him, his legs simply strolled across the corridor, up the stairs, and into the common room; leaving Harry in a hopeless daze, no longer hungry for dinner.

The Death Eater's Heir
Chapter Two

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all sitting toward the back of the Potion's dungeon. Snape had not made his appearance, though they couldn't have cared less. The past few days had gone by in a whirl wind of point deductions from Gryffindor, courtesy of Professor Snape himself. All of them were ridiculously pointless; at one point, Harry got thirty points taken from Gryffindor for running out of ink in class and not thinking to bring extra. Snape had called it a disruption of the class for irresponsible ignorance.

He knew that it was simply the fact that Harry over heard his plea to Dumbledore about bringing his daughter to Hogwarts the past Monday. Snape didn't like to seem vulnerable, and no matter how hard he tried that night to not look concerned, he knew that Harry had saw through it. And for that, Harry would be punished.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet?" Hermione asked, unzipping her book bag.

Harry shook his head, too tired to comment. He had stayed up for hours the past night writing an essay on Hellebore and why it is important to add it to a Draught of Peace potion. Hermione had helped him with it, ultimately finishing it when he had fallen asleep at the common room table, but showed no sign of lack of sleep.

She pulled out the paper and sat in front of Ron and Harry, her face slightly eager. Harry's eye rested upon a moving picture of himself - a picture that was taken last year at the Tri-Wizard Tournament. There he was, being pulled off of Cedric's dead body, the Diggory's rushing over toward him. He looked younger, much more vulnerable than he would have liked to have been seen as, gripping at Cedric's robes. He looked so scared, so beaten.... Harry felt like he was going to throw up.

He thrust the paper away from himself, looking away. Ron glared at Hermione.

"What's your problem?" he asked her, looking at the paper once more. "Merlin, Hermione, Harry's seen enough of this trash."

She huffed. "I'm sorry, Harry, but that wasn't what I was trying to show you. Look."

She pointed at a small article on the bottom right hand corner of the paper. It could have been missed by anybody, having no more than three sentences to it. Although, this was Hermione, and she was personally incapable of overlooking even the smallest of articles.

Two people have went missing in France this past week, both from the same area- Alderic Arceneau and Blythe Rufus. The two have been known to be in each other's company, and are expected to be together.

Harry arched an eyebrow, the sick feeling in his stomach forgotten. "That's it?'

Hermione took the paper, folding it and returning it to her bag. "Yes, and if you ask me, it's the Ministry who got the final edit."

"You think You-Know-Who has something to do with this?" Ron asked, wide-eyed. "That's why the Ministry would edit it, I mean. My dad's been talking about how they have people looking over the Daily Prophet before it's released to the public. They don't want anyone to jump to conclusions. Dad thinks it's bloody ridiculous."

She nodded, setting up her cauldron. "That's exactly it. The Ministry is the one that is in support of making Harry look like a complete liar, and the Daily Prophet is okay with it for the simple fact that it gets them money in the end. Now, every time something like this comes along, they have to down size it in order to make it less important."

As Harry went over the article in his head, something clicked, and his stomach was twisting again, reminding him of what he had heard Snape say:

“He's making a point to find new followers in different locations. Of course, the French are as ignorant as the Ministry. They are oblivious and will not believe what is coming until they have to see him for themselves. Of course, everyone knows that it will be much too by late then.”

The dungeon door swung open, slamming against the wall beside it. Everyone jumped, Harry's thoughts faltering in the silence that abruptly followed.

“Today, there will be no Potions assignment, for I'm afraid Mr. Potter needs a break from brewing before destroying the castle with one stir,” Professor Snape said, stalking across the floor. His voice was in its usual form, not much more above a whisper, but getting the respect of a deep shout.

The majority of the class was in high spirits, whispering to each other in relief. Draco turned around and gave a twisted smirk in Harry's direction.

“Yes!” Ron whispered, turning to Harry. His face fell when he saw the unmistakable glare and temper radiating off his friend.

“Before I destroy the castle with one stir?” he hissed.

Hermione looked over at him sympathetically, her lips tight. “Well, Harry, you have been having trouble in Potions for the past few lessons...”

Harry fumed. “Because of him! He's determined to have me fail this class, I swear it.”

Ron shrugged, giving a small smirk. “Well, at least we don't have an assignment today.”

“Mr. Weasley, I don't recall mentioning that there was not an assignment,” Professor Snape interjected from his desk, his nose buried in a paper he was reading. The class looked up from their happy whispers.

Ron gulped. “But-”

“If my memory serves me right, I said there was no Potions assignment, correct?” Now Snape looked up, one jet black eye brow arched. “Your assignment for the day is to copy the notes on the board.” He flicked his wand, making white chalk appear on the black-board as if it had always been there, but no one had ever noticed. “Hurry and get your quills out. The notes do not like to linger, and will be replaced by more. You will have a test first thing next class, and I expect perfect marks. Especially from you, Mr. Potter, for I would think that even you couldn't mess up a simple test from notes.”

Snape's eyes lingered on Harry's, daring him to argue. Harry's blood was boiling beneath his skin, his jaw clenched so tight, it ached. No, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

Harry felt a hand on his, making him turn toward Hermione. He had not even realised he was breaking his quill in his fist.

At the end of the notes, Ron and Harry were clutching their cramped hands, cursing the retched black board. They had been writing for a straight hour, and Harry wasn't even sure what they were writing about. He was just thankful he had bought some new ink. He wasn't about to get caught being guilty of irresponsible ignorance again.

Hermione rolled up her parchment as the bell rang through the halls. She seemed much less fazed by the massive amount of notes, looking at her watch.

"I think I have to time to make it to the library before Herbology," she muttered. "I'll see you in class."

She stocked off, her hair bouncing with each step. Ron rolled his eyes.

"It's not like she needs to study for her OWLs or anything," he murmured bitterly. "She could pass a NEWT test right now if she wanted to."

Harry pulled his bag on his shoulder, frowning. "At least she'll make something of herself one day. I'll be lucky if I make it out of the OWL exams alive."

"No truer words have been uttered," Professor Snape said from his desk. He stood from his chair and started to walk over to where Harry was standing, looking like a vulture. Ron looked over at Harry nervously. The room was empty besides the three of them.

Ron started to leave very reluctantly, Harry silently urging him to do so. At this, Professor Snape was slightly amused.

"What, Mr. Potter? Haven't let your accomplices in on your eavesdropping results?" he asked once the dungeon door was closed.

"No," Harry answered. "And I have to get to Herbology, Professor."

Professor Snape's eyebrows raised. "Oh, I'll write you a note for your absence. We have something to take care of. Now, come."

He was already stocking across the room, his long black robes billowing behind him. Harry nearly had to jog to keep up with his long strides.

"What do we have to take care of?"

They were going down the corridor, straight for Dumbledore's office. The halls were full of scurrying students, all jumping out of the way of the Potions Master.

"You couldn't possibly believe I'd let you go around as enlightened as you are," he answered nonchalantly. "Since the day you stepped foot in this school, you have known things that no boy should ever know. Well, Mr. Potter, this is my business. And I would prefer you to go about with your rule-breaking and stay out of it."

"I don't want to be in your business," Harry hissed. "It was an accident."

"Everything is an accident with you," Professor Snape snarled back. "When are you going to get it through that stubborn head of yours that everything that has happened to you during your stay at Hogwarts were never accidents?"

They stopped abruptly at the two statues in front of Dumbledore's office, the both of them fuming.

"Pumpkin Pasties," they both said with force, glaring at the statues as they sprung to life and gave them access to the entrance.

Professor Snape arched an eyebrow at Harry. “I am not going to even ask how you knew the password,” he growled. “Just one more accident, I assume.”

He grabbed the door and flung it open, making Harry have to jump out of the way of the door's rebound.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, drinking a cup of tea and looking over a letter that was before him. Fawkes caught sight of Harry as he sat down in an armchair beside Dumbledore's desk, swooping down from his perch and onto Harry's shoulder. Snape stood rigidly beside him.

"Severus," Dumbledore said. His eyes were on Harry. "Is there a problem?"

"Mr. Potter overheard our conversation a few nights ago."

He looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye, scowling. Harry turned his attention to Fawkes, petting and staring intently at the soft feathers.

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said, nodding. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional on Harry's behalf."

Snape's scowl deepened. "No matter how intentional it was, he still heard confidential matters that I have no doubt he will spread along the corridors."

Dumbledore looked calmly over at Harry. "Yes, I agree that he did hear some information that should have been kept between you and I."

Professor Snape was furious, his eyes blazing. He shot a black look in Harry's direction.

“Just like his father! Always getting into matters he had no business in!”

Harry stood, shaking with fury.

“What are you going to do, Mr. Potter?” he continued, mockingly. “Shoot some amateur hex at me? Even your father had more practicality than that.”

Harry hadn't even noticed that his wand was raise, or even in his hand for that matter.

“My father was loyal.”

The professor's black eyes glinted. “And look where that got him.”

Harry advanced his wand, his face hot. Their eyes never disconnected, and the words from Harry's mouth slipped out with a deep satisfaction.

“At least there are people who mourned when he died, people who still mourn. Will there be anyone to mourn your death, Professor?”

The point of the Potion Mater's wand was directed at Harry's forehead before he could catch his initial reaction. Harry never wavered from his stance.

“Lower your wand, Severus,” Dumbledore said, his voice sounding reprimanding.

But Professor Snape didn't flinch, his eyes seeming to cast a spell of their own.

“Close your eyes, Mr. Potter, and we can have this ordeal dealt with,” he said, taking a few steps closer. His voice was painted thick with threat.

"Oblvi-"

"Severus!" Dumbledore said quickly. "I cannot let you use memory altering charms on Harry. It could cause permanent damage. You of all people should know that, and Harry is in no position to be going through a memory alteration.”

Snape's mouth clamped down, an irritated grunt coming from his large nose.

“Now,” he continued. “I am deeply sorry, but Harry has just as much of a right to know what is going on with Voldemort as you and I. He is the center of this."

Harry and Professor Snape lowered their wands, still glaring at each other profusely. Snape broke the gaze with a snarl.

"The boy doesn't know the first thing about what is going on outside of these castle walls. He has an idea, yes, but he is lost in his little adolescent thoughts of how a war is brought on."

Harry sat down slowly, gripping the arms of the chair. He didn't even have time to be offended. A war? His stomach was doing flips and turns, making him wish he were near a restroom once again.

"I think you should give Harry a little more credit," Dumbledore said, softly.

Snape looked like he had had an old sock shoved in his mouth, his face twisting in distaste.

"I will give Mr. Potter all the credit in the world for reckless luck," he said. "But none for fighting a war."

Dumbledore sat behind his desk motioning for Snape to sit as well. Professor Snape sat very rigidly on the edge of his seat, putting his wand back in his robes with his jaw clenched.

"Harry can be trusted with your secret," Dumbledore said. "Can you not, Harry?"

Harry didn't dare say a word.

The emotion of deep disgust came over Professor Snape again, his eyes darting angrily between Harry and Professor Dumbledore. "Why should I have any trust in a boy who continuously bends rules to his liking and spends his free time creeping along the corridors finding forbidden things to stir?"

Dumbledore's face pulled up in a smirk, his eyes flickering to Harry and back again. "The same reason I trust a man who was once a boy that bended a rule every so often himself."

"That is not quite the same, Professor," Snape argued.

"Oh, I think it is very much the same," Dumbledore said cheerily. "Lemon drop?"

The older wizard motioned to a silver platter covered in small lemon candies. Harry reached and grabbed one, thrusting it in his mouth as if he were famished. Snape looked at them like they were maggots, his lips going in a tight line.

"Harry, you have Herbology, correct?" Dumbledore asked. "Let me send you with a note..."

He flicked his wand toward a scroll of parchment, making it glide over to him along with a pen. As it floated over the desk, a smaller piece of parchment fell out, landing in front of Harry face down.

"Ah!" Dumbledore said excitedly. "That's where I put it!" He picked up the parchment and flipped it over, revealing that it was a small photograph.

"Thought your daughter might like that," he said, handing it over to Snape. "I'm quite fond of that picture. It does you justice. Don't ask where I found it. Thought I'd tidy up a little... Well, as you can see, I haven't done that in a while."

Snape's face went emotionless at the picture, his eyes not moving, but staring blankly at the image. Harry studied him, noticing the way his hands were shaking. He was tempted to look over the professor's shoulder.

"I... appreciate that, Albus," he said, taking one more look before stuffing it in his robes. His voice was very low, carrying just as much emotion as his face.

“Rosalind was a determined one, was she not?” he said, smiling softly.

Snape shot out of his chair. “I've got a class waiting for me, Professor.”

And with that, he was gone.