Nothing Hidden

They reached Hogsmeade in the dead of night. They met no one as they walked through the village.

Snape ushered Harry into what looked like a decrepit shack, but which on the inside turned out to have all the comforts of home.

They didn't speak as they changed into clean robes, found in a cupboard, and Snape did his best to heal their scrapes and bruises. There was food in the cabinets, but Harry was not hungry and Snape didn't feel up to arguing. Finally, Harry fell asleep on the only bed.

He found himself trapped in a nightmare, in which hooded figures chased him all over Hogwarts. They looked like Death Eaters at first, then Dementors, and finally each wore Voldemort's face.

Harry woke to find Snape standing over him, holding down his shoulders.

"Quiet!" he commanded in a hoarse whisper. "Quiet."

"Voldemort . . ." Harry panted as he tried to catch his breath.

"There's nothing," Snape released him and sank tiredly onto the edge of the bed. "No disturbance in the village."

Harry had one gruesome thought: Perhaps the inhabitants were all lying dead in their homes. He shook his head to clear the image.

Snape shoved the Marauders Map toward Harry. The parchment was blank.

"Does it work outside school grounds?"

Harry couldn't recall. He tried to activate the map, but nothing happened. Either it didn't work away from Hogwarts, or it had been damaged, or . . .

Or there was no longer anything to show.

Harry slumped down in bed. He was still exhausted after his fitful sleep, and there was an ache in his chest that he couldn't ignore. If there was anyone left, wouldn't they come? Dumbledore, Lupin, Sirius — were they all dead?

Snape was studying him. There was none of the usual sneer on his thin face, only exhaustion and sadness. For a split second his weary face reminded Harry of the first time he saw Sirius, a short time after his godfather had escaped from Azkaban. Like Sirius, Snape looked weighed down by grim thoughts and worry.

They had loathed each other for four years, ever since Harry arrived at Hogwarts, but now Harry felt instinctively that whatever dislike Snape had felt all this time, he had always been ready to protect Harry at any personal cost. All the times he had thought that Snape might still be loyal to Voldemort haunted Harry now.

Outside, the sun was rising. Snape went to the window and looked out. In the pale dawn light he saw the village beginning to stir, evidence of normal life returning. Here, it looked as if nothing had happened, and yet only a short distance away he knew lay a scene of carnage.

Had Lupin survived? And Black? Did help arrive in time? Snape's grudge did not run so deep that he wished either man dead. And the loss would likely destroy. . . He glanced over his shoulder at Harry Potter, who lay unmoving and pale on the bed.

All that responsibility, on one boy's shoulders.

It was laughable, Snape thought, that this boy was expected to fight Voldemort. Would have been laughable, he amended, if the situation were not so grave.

And they expected him to be like James Potter! Snape felt a surge of burning anger. The boy expected it of himself!

Granted, James Potter had been a brave man. Brave; but rash, and blinded by his emotions. They had idealized him to the point that he had lost all semblance of humanity. James Potter had not been perfect; he had not been a saint. A hero? Maybe. But hardly a saint. They wanted the boy to emulate him? Well, he would! To live up to their expectations he would face Voldemort — and meet the same fate.

They are all convinced the boy looks like James Potter, Snape thought bitterly. He knew better. They saw only what they wanted to see. The dark hair, the glasses. . . The blasted glasses! Just because Potter - both of them, he added grimly - was too daft to correct his vision with a simple spell even a squib could manage! It was maddening.

He fought to control the fury washing over him.

No, he corrected himself. Not maddening. Always before, he had thought it was convenient. And if the ever-present specter of James Potter gave the boy strength, then it was also necessary.

But the boy wouldn't live up to James Potter's image. He couldn't, when . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock. On the bed, Harry sat up abruptly. Snape motioned for him to stay where he was.

Death Eaters didn't generally knock, but Snape held his wand ready as he opened the door.

Harry craned his neck to see around Snape. Sunlight streamed into the room, and all Harry could see was the outline of the man standing in the doorway. But that was enough.

"Sirius!" he jumped from the bed, and nearly knocking Snape out of the way, rushed into his godfather's arms.

Snape was looking so aggravated that Sirius rushed to explain.

"Albus sent me. The ministry was at Hogwarts in full force, but he wouldn't reveal your location," he said over Harry's head. "You are to return immediately to the school."

Snape nodded, and began to collect their few belongings.

Sirius looked down at Harry's pale face.

"You don't know how worried I was," he said softly.

"I thought you were dead," Harry whispered. "You and Professor Lupin."

He saw Sirius' face twitch and his breath caught.

"Professor Lupin . . . is he . . ." Harry couldn't finish.

"No," Sirius sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, "only injured."

"Badly?"

Sirius met Harry's eyes.

"Yes," but seeing Harry's face fall he added, "but not fatally."

He tried to change the subject. "Ready?" he asked Snape, who had in fact been waiting for an opportunity to interrupt the conversation to ask the same thing.

They left Hogsmeade and began the long walk back to Hogwarts.