Smoke and Mirrors

Classes the following day were an abomination for Severus. He found his mind wandering to Miss Granger at the most inopportune times, and he had to use all of his iron will to block out these intrusions.

Of course, it wasn’t helping that The-Brat-Who-Lived was sulking around the castle, sending glares that clearly showed what he thought of the Potions master.

Death Eater, the fierceness in his green eyes clearly spoke, it is you and your scum associates that took her away. Severus didn’t need Legilimency to interpret those heated glares, as he had been on the receiving end of hundreds of them throughout the course of his life. Nevertheless, he caught himself scowling more often than usual as the day progressed and taking house points by the bucket load. Especially from Gryffindor.

Therefore, when his left forearm burnt late in the evening, it came almost as a relief, even though it might mean his own torture and subsequent death at the hands of his Dark Master. He gathered up his cloak and mask and made his quick exit from the castle and its grounds.

Severus swiftly Apparated to the Dark Lord’s bastion and hurriedly made his way inside. When he reached the entrance that led to the main throne room, he paused for a millisecond before pushing upon the weighty door, crossing the threshold into the snake’s pit.

Head bowed, he scrupulously eyed his surroundings, taking note of the other Death Eaters who were already present. He made his way up to the hefty throne where the dark shadow of his Master sat surveying his most loyal followers.

Severus knelt before the Dark Lord, his head bent; he concentrated solely on maintaining his Occlumency shields.

“You may rise, Severus.” The cold hiss sent shivers down his spine, making the fine hairs at the base of his scalp stand on end.

He suppressed the need to shiver as he rose, standing before the serpent-like man and peering directly into his red eyes. Severus knew that the madman standing before him would search his mind, if for no other reason than to let him feel his power. Feeling the telltale signs of Legilimency at work, he poured all of his strength into not letting his walls disintegrate.

He allowed a series of inconsequential pictures – unruly pupils, colleagues, even a glimpse of a surly Potter – float to the foreground of his mind. Satisfied that there was nothing of importance, Voldemort withdrew.

“What news of Hogwarts?” Voldemort’s voice caressed his ears almost like a whisper, but much more sinister.

Severus felt that explaining what the Dark Lord had just witnessed within the confines of his mind to be redundant, but he ploughed on nonetheless.

“It seems that our Head Girl, and one of Potter’s close friends, has disappeared completely,” Severus answered whilst straightening up and smoothing out his Death Eater robes as he ascended. “It has been weeks since she was last seen. Her whereabouts is a complete mystery and is causing great concern at the school.”

“And what do you know of this?” Voldemort asked, narrowing his cold red eyes shrewdly and peering into the black eyes of his servant.

“Nothing, my Lord; I was wondering whether perhaps you could shed some light on the situation?”

Voldemort had his wand out before Severus could even blink, pointing it at his heart.

“I trust, Severus, that you do not have the temerity to question me?” he hissed, his eyes narrowing further until they were barely visible beneath his serpentine eyelids.

“No, my Lord, I was simply curious,” Severus back-pedalled swiftly, letting his posture droop; it was never wise to show anything but fear in the face of the lunatic.

“It is not your position to be curious, you are required to follow my orders, nothing more,” Voldemort hissed, before abruptly changing the subject. “Tell me, how is the Potter boy faring?”

“Not well, my Lord. He has become moody and withdrawn, pushing away all those who want to help him.” Severus had noted the quick change of topic and filed it away in his mind to replay when he was safely within his rooms in the dungeons.

“Good, good.” Voldemort could not conceal his evident glee as he stood, laying his wand by his side and walking past the man who was standing a metre from his throne.

Severus turned, his eyes never leaving the figure of the Dark Lord as he glided away. He knew he had come close to being cursed with the Cruciatus, and his heart still hammered loudly in his chest. Being cursed came with his role as a double agent, but each time it took just a little more out of him, just a little longer to recover.

Voldemort stopped, his head cocked to one side as though he were contemplating something.

“I have every confidence in you, Severus – no doubt you still have the ability to make the Potter boy's life as difficult as possible?”

The question was more of an order, thrown at Severus as Voldemort turned to face the dark-haired wizard.

“Yes, my Lord. Though I must be careful, now more than ever. With the old fool thwarting my every effort, I cannot seem to be too harsh on the ill-bred boy,” Severus returned, a sneer making its way to his face.

“Try harder Severus, I wish the boy to be completely vulnerable by the time he is standing before me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus repeated.

With a wave of the long spider-like digits, Severus knew he was dismissed. Not wanting to linger for longer than necessary in case Voldemort changed his mind and decided to curse him, he left as quickly and inconspicuously as possible.

When Severus made it past the anti-Apparation wards, he lifted his wand and thought of Hogwarts.

***

Albus was seated behind his desk as Harry paced before him, muttering to himself as the elderly wizard watched him move back and forth. Fawkes let out an ear-piercing cry from his stand, which caused Harry to come to a standstill and look up at the phoenix. As both wizard and magical bird eyed each other, neither of them blinking, Albus watched on for a few minutes in fascination. Each was attempting to impel his will on the other, and under any other circumstances he would have laughed out loud at the fierce looks on both of their faces. As it was, he could not afford such a delay and cleared his throat.

Harry turned his attention now to the headmaster and scowled. Albus knew the young man was angry, but he did not want a repeat performance of Harry’s fifth year, so he motioned for him to take a seat.

Harry crossed his arms angrily across his chest; there was a magical hum radiating from his body as he stiffly took the proffered chair and continued to glare at the headmaster.

Albus cleared his throat once more; although his face gave nothing away, he was dreading what he was about to do to the boy.

“Harry,” Albus started in the fatherly tone he reserved only for a special few, Harry being one of them, “I want to extend my humble apologies for my outburst earlier this morning. I did not intend you to find out that way, and for that, I hold nothing but deep regret.” He looked straight at Harry then and saw him relax a little.

“These are dangerous times; Miss Granger knew the risk, and that is why I tried to persuade her not to go to her parents' house, but she was adamant. In the end my hands were tied and with no other reason to hold her here, I had to let her go.” Albus wore a distressed look on his face.

Very convincing, Harry thought even as he opened his mouth to retort.

“Then why didn’t you place an Order member to watch over her?” He found himself standing and shouting at the old man who looked, if it were possible, even more frail and tired than Harry had ever remembered seeing him.

“Why didn’t you protect her? You, Albus Dumbledore, defender of the weak, seer of all. Why didn’t you save her?” Harry felt deflated as he let the tears flow freely down his face. “Why didn’t you stop her from going to her parents', make her see the dangers that were out there? She was one of my best friends; you could have told her she was in danger, convinced her to see reason.”

“And don’t you think I tried?” Albus replied wearily.

“I don’t know what I believe any longer,” Harry responded dejectedly. He sighed loudly as he pushed up his glasses as if they, and not his tears, were the cause of his blurred vision.

Fawkes trilled loudly, and both heads snapped up and over to the perch. The large phoenix stretched its magnificent wings and took off out of the castle through an enchanted window that appeared in the side of the castle wall.

Both wizards watched as Fawkes flew towards the Forbidden Forest, and Albus knew he would be receiving another visitor before this night was out.

Standing up, he brought the attention back to himself, and Harry’s head whipped around, focusing on the headmaster.

As Harry stared into the headmaster’s eyes, he got the distinct feeling that Hermione was truly dead, but that wasn’t right, was it? And he clung stubbornly to this belief with all his might.

Albus endeavoured to break through Harry’s thoughts; he wasn’t as open-minded as Ronald Weasley, and he had some difficulties planting the false memories, as well as activating the Rem Celare in his mind. Harry fought him every step of the way, but in the end he simply was no match for the older, more practised wizard.

Seconds later, Harry woke up on the floor, a concerned-looking Professor Dumbledore hovering over him. As he tried to stand, the old wizard held him down with one hand pressed firmly to his shoulder.

“Are you all right, Harry?” he asked. Harry tried to nod his head, but even that slight movement made everything feel fuzzy and out of focus.

“I believe you should go to the hospital wing just to make sure,” the professor said as he helped Harry to stand. He walked him slowly over to the armchair and sat him down. Walking to the fireplace, he threw in a handful of Floo powder from the mantel. “Poppy,” he called out, and the matron's head appeared in the fireplace.

“Yes, Headmaster,” she promptly replied, her head appearing in the green flames looking faintly frazzled.

“Mr Potter has had a brief fainting spell, and I want him in your care tonight,” he stated, looking sternly at the mediwitch.

She nodded her assent as she stepped through the flames and walked up to the chair that was currently occupied by Harry.

Placing a firm hand under his armpit, she raised him into the standing position.

“Come along, Mr Potter,” she said in her no-nonsense voice, “a little bit of respite is all that you need.”

She quickly ushered him into the green flames and to the hospital wing, but before she did so she gave Albus a frown that clearly stated that she would speak to him later.

Albus took his seat behind his desk once more and waited for his next visitor. He was weary and greatly wished for the warmth of his bed. At that moment, Fawkes flew back in through the enchanted window and landed on his desk. A vibrant screech announced the return of his Potions master onto the school grounds.

“Thank you, Fawkes,” the wizard said, reaching out his hand to stroke the phoenix's head. “Thank you.”

***

Severus Snape anxiously ascended the spiral staircase, not willing to wait for it to rise, and he raced up the revolving stairs to the headmaster’s office. He barged through the door, neither knocking nor waiting for a response. He knew the headmaster would already know of his impending arrival. He barrelled onwards to stand before the large desk that took up the majority of the room.

Albus looked up to find his dishevelled Potions master and spy standing before his desk.

“Anything to report, Severus?” he asked, steepling his hands in front of himself with his elbows resting upon the desk.

“The Dark Lord knows nothing about Miss Granger’s disappearance,” Severus replied, willing his breath back to normal as he gasped for air.

Dumbledore just raised an eyebrow as though waiting for the younger man to finish.

“Damn it all to hell, Albus,” Severus roared, “why are you just sitting there acting as though everything is well? You and I both know that Potter will not succeed without Miss Granger at his side, and you will lose what little hold you have over the boy.” He sneered as he took in the headmaster’s calm composure.

“It has all been taken care of,” Albus replied in a nonchalant tone.

Narrowing his eyes at the old man seated before him, Severus took in a deep breath, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“And what exactly does that mean?” he asked, his voice teetering on the brink of exploding.

“It means what it sounds like. I have spoken to both Mister Potter and Mister Weasley, and it is settled. They shall not be running off to perform any heroics, as they have accepted Miss Granger’s fate.”

“What have you done?” Severus asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he were almost afraid of the answer.

“What needed to be done: nothing more, nothing less, my boy,” Albus replied, still in that all-too-calm voice that grated on Severus’s nerves.

“But, Albus, if she was not taken on the Dark Lord’s orders, then I fear that she has fallen into the hands of one of my brethren and even now could be going through what I would not wish on my worst enemy,” Severus said, appealing to the headmaster’s conscience.

One of his students, a child that he had sworn to protect, was out there, more than likely being raped and tortured, whilst they were here discussing her abduction as if she were inconsequential.

“My hands are tied,” Albus said as he held up both of his arms in the air. “What did Tom want to see you for tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

“He wanted me to give him my reassurances that I would continue to alienate the boy and make it most difficult for him to fight when the time comes,” he replied, his voice a mere croak in his throat as he eyed the old man still seated calmly behind his desk.

“And what was your response?” Dumbledore asked, giving Severus the impression that he was looking down on him when it was he, Severus, who had the height advantage.

“I told him precisely what he wanted to hear. That I would indeed continue to isolate Potter,” Severus continued, rubbing his temple with his right hand. He could feel a nasty headache approaching, and all he wanted was to go down to the dungeons and take a potion and, perhaps, a shower.

“Was that all?” Albus enquired, raising his bushy eyebrows until they nearly ascended into his hairline.

“Of course,” Severus snapped back at him, “do you honestly think I would hide anything from you?”

“No, Severus, I don’t,” Albus retorted, a slight smile hovering over his lips.

Severus scoffed at this and abruptly turned his back to the headmaster.

“If that is all, I wish to get changed.” Severus sulked, his back still firmly to the headmaster.

Albus took in his attire – the midnight-black of his Death Eater robes – before adding with a sigh, “That will be all for tonight, Severus.”

No sooner were the words out of Albus’s lips, than Severus fled his office, black robes flying behind him, and descended hastily into his dungeon home.

***

Sitting at breakfast the next morning, Ron held his head in his hands. He had had the most dreadful past twenty-four hours of his short life. Harry had not come back to the Gryffindor common room last night, and after a quick detour to Professor McGonagall’s office, he had learnt that Harry was in the hospital wing, nothing serious, he was just being kept for observation and would be down for breakfast the next morning.

Ron had contemplated sneaking out under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak to see him; his hand was poised over the lock of Harry’s trunk, but out of nowhere a feeling of dread came over him, and instead he went straight to bed, pulling the curtains around his four-poster forcefully and curling up under the covers.

He had brought all of Harry’s books down for him and had them sitting on the seat next to him in anticipation of Harry’s arrival. As though Ron had magically summoned Harry, the doors to the Great Hall opened and in he walked.

Harry’s head was hung low as he shuffled his feet. Clearing his books from the seat next to Ron, he sat down and positioned the books on the floor behind him. A mumbled 'hello' later, Harry started heaping his plate full of scrambled eggs.

Ron turned around in his seat to look at his friend. He looked tired and his brows were pushed together as if he were deep in thought.

“Everything all right there, mate?” Ron whispered, eyeing Harry.

Harry was saved from answering that ‘no, nothing would ever be the same again’ when the Great Hall erupted into a flurry as the morning post owls arrived. A large barn owl swooped down, dropping a letter into the middle of his scrambled eggs.

He sat there as if frozen; the serving-spoon fell from his grasp as he stared at the all-too-familiar neat script on the front of the envelope. Ron gaped at the letter. It seemed as though he too had recognised the penmanship of Hermione.

How could he not recognise Hermione’s handwriting? Harry thought bitterly to himself as his hand automatically took up the letter from his breakfast.

With shaking hands, he tore at the envelope and reached inside for its contents, his eyes quickly scanning it for a hint that his best friend was still alive and well.

But how can that be so? He had seen with his own eyes last night, before he passed out, the broken remains of her body from within the headmaster’s Pensieve.

His stomach did a somersault as he continued to scan the letter. Finishing it, he let it fall to the table and Ron quickly snatched it up with greedy fingers, reading it with lightning speed.

Harry suddenly wasn’t hungry any longer, and his stomach was doing flips as he took in large breaths behind his hand. He looked up towards the Head Table, his hand still covering his mouth as though it too was frozen in its place.

Ron’s mouth was open as he stared at Harry, a look of disbelief crossing his face. Harry was still looking towards the Head Table, his eyes narrowed. He frowned as he saw the headmaster gazing at him. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the tabletop, dropping his hands into his lap.

Harry had become aware of the fact that Ginny was sitting next to Neville, a few seats across from him. She was ignoring him, but every so often her eyes would flick over to his direction, and when he did catch her eye she would deliberately turn her focus back to Neville, placing a hand on his arm.

Harry snorted at this and picked up the glass of pumpkin juice in front of him to disguise the noise. His attention had been diverted for a minute, but then his thoughts returned to the troubling letter that he had just received. The contents were not disturbing, quite the contrary, as it had stated that she was in good health, but that her Aunt was still ill and it would be some time before she could join Harry and Ron once more. If he hadn't seen the headmaster’s Pensieve last night, he was sure that he would have just skimmed the letter and continued with his meal.

But he knew otherwise. It had to be a clever forgery, but by whom? Why keep up the pretence of the story that Professor Dumbledore had led them all to believe was the truth? Harry had a feeling that there was more than one Death Eater amongst the students; perhaps one of them had told Voldemort about the headmaster’s speech, and Voldemort was now mocking Harry? But to what end? Something didn’t quite add up, and he tried his hardest to think, squeezing his eyes closed with all of his might, but his mind only came up blank.

Opening his eyes, he looked over to Ron. The letter was screwed up in his right fist. His face was a mixture of emotions as he grasped harder still on the parchment in his hand.

Taking another drink from the glass, he turned as if to speak to Ron, but his eyes were subtly scanning the Head Table. The headmaster was talking to Professor McGonagall whilst the other teachers were either too busy in their own conversations, or eating. Scanning the line of professors, his gaze came to rest on the Potions master who at that precise second was looking right at him. Instead of his usual scowl or glare, the surly professor looked apprehensive. Harry was taken aback, but before he could properly take it in, Snape's face changed in an instant to a blank expression and he dropped his eyes to study his plate.

Since when does Professor Snape back down from a challenge? Harry mused as he once again faced his cold breakfast, placing his glass beside his plate and picking up his fork. He'd never heard of the student who could outstare the Potions master, and it was always Harry who broke eye contact first in any confrontation with the Professor.

Harry had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that there was something else going on, but for the life of him he couldn’t think what it was.

***

A/N: Thank you to all of my wonderful and thought provoking reviewers. If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear your thoughts on my story so far.

To my wonderful betas, AmyLouise and deathofme, thank you so very much for finding my mistakes, making my writing flow better, and the Latin translation. You both mean the world to me.