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 by Ironic Inspiration
Chapter Notes: Major thanks to Phily, who edited the chapter! She did amazing job on converting to a more UK langauge. Please enjoy my story!