Nothing Hidden

Two days later, as Dumbledore was about to pour tea for Sirius and Lupin, Snape walked through the staffroom door. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Since the night of Voldemort's death, Snape had stayed in seclusion. He had gone up to the North Tower, aware that he alone knew that Professor Trelawney had fled Hogwarts many days earlier. In the circular room, surrounded by crystal balls and other articles of Divination, both the past and the future had haunted him.

He wasn't ready to face them, but he knew that sooner or later they would come for him. He preferred to get the inescapable over with on his own terms.

He sat down in his usual chair, but refused to meet their eyes.

After a moment of painful silence, Dumbledore launched into a summary of the Ministry's efforts to round up the remaining Death Eaters. When he finished, instead of an animated discussion there was another silence.

It seemed to Snape that they were avoiding looking at him, except for Dumbledore, who studied him as one would study a bug under a magnifying glass.

They had spent an uncomfortable two days. So many questions ran through their minds, but none dared to voice them to the others. It was as if saying it would make it unbearably real.

Someone had to speak, or they might sit there until the sun set.

"I believe you owe us an explanation, Severus," Dumbledore said softly.

"Do I?" Snape snarled, too quickly, as if he had anticipated that very question. "Frankly I don't see whose business it is, other than my own."

"And what about Harry?"

"What about him?" Snape demanded. "There's no reason why it should concern him. He has what he wants — parents who had lived exemplary lives and left impeccable memories."

Outside, Harry's ears pricked up and he leaned closer to the door. He had been allowed out of bed that morning for the first time, but Dumbledore had refused to let him read the Ministry reports that had arrived by owl that afternoon. Harry felt that he had a right to know what was going on outside of Hogwarts. Voldemort was dead, he knew that much, but Harry felt as if he had a large gap in his brain. Now here they were, sitting in the staffroom, talking about him behind his back! Talking about his parents, the subject Harry was most sensitive about. Why did he always feel that everyone knew more about his parents than he did? It was nothing short of unjust.

"You intend to let him live the rest of his life based on a lie?" Harry heard Lupin ask.

"I intend to let him live in peace!" Snape pounded the table with his fist, his anger getting the better of him. "I intend to let all of us live in peace! Let the dead stay dead."

"Is your concern for the dead, or yourself?"

"What difference?" Snape muttered. Out loud, he said, "My concern is for all involved. I will not speak ill of the dead; the heroes of the Wizarding World. There is no one who will benefit from the truth. I choose to let it rest."

Harry swallowed a bitter lump.

Not speak ill of the dead? How many times had Snape done exactly that? For four years it had been one of his favorite ways to antagonize Harry.

What was the truth about his parents, something even Dumbledore did not know but Snape did? And he wouldn't tell! What right did Snape have to conceal the truth?

He couldn't listen anymore. Pulling himself up, Harry stole silently away from the staffroom door.

Shortly thereafter, in the hall outside the staffroom, Dumbledore caught up with Snape.

"Severus, a word please," he motioned for Snape to follow him, away from where their conversation might be overheard.

"Please," Dumbledore held up his hand as he saw that Snape was about to protest. "I only ask that you listen."

Snape nodded wordlessly.

"I don't understand," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I don't understand, but I accept. The truth will remain hidden, per your wishes."

He stopped, Snape thought he was finished.

But Dumbledore continued, more gently, "But if you want him, Severus . . ." Dumbledore's eyes searched Snape's, "I believe it can be arranged."

"What do you mean?" Snape frowned, not understanding.

"If you had kept up with current events, rather than hiding out in the North Tower," Dumbledore smiled weakly at Snape's stunned expression, "then you would know the chaos the world is in right now. Harry will need a guardian. Someone we can trust explicitly. I had intended it to be myself, but there is no reason why it can't be you. Simply continue doing what you did this summer."

He saw that Snape was about to refuse, and hurried to add, "Think about it Severus, and feel free to let me know your decision at any time."

Then, not allowing Snape to make his decision known, Dumbledore left him standing in the middle of the hallway.

Below them, Harry was stalking down the dungeon corridor.

He intended to collect his things from Snape's room. In his fury, Harry was exaggeratedly irritated by the thought of his trunk being there. Furthermore, he intended to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map while Snape was out. Why take the chance that Snape would decide to keep them?

He was passing the last of the Potions classrooms when he was grabbed from behind and dragged inside the pitch black room.

Over his mouth pressed something cold, metallic. Around him he could just make out the outlines of desks and chairs. He was being dragged backwards toward the farthest corner.

Harry struggled to free himself, but couldn't. He was still weak from the ordeal of two nights ago.

On the first floor, Sirius came out of the infirmary and frowned to see Lupin and Dumbledore coming toward him.

"Harry's not with you?"

"No, I haven't seen him since this morning," Lupin exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, who also shook his head.

"He isn't with . . ."

"No," Snape's icy voice interrupted from behind him.

They exchanged a worried look.

"He wouldn't go wandering off," Sirius said uncertainly.

"Of course he would," Snape sneered. "The arrogant brat probably thinks he can take on every Dark Wizard in the country now."

But even Snape didn't believe it.

They split up, searching the rooms on the first and ground floors.

As he looked into the empty staffroom, Snape suddenly remembered that he still had in his pocket the Marauder's Map. Quickly he took it out, and watched a map of the school appear. Then moving dots, one each for himself, Dumbledore, Lupin, and Black, appeared on the parchment. Down in the dungeons another dot, a large one, moved erratically, its label indecipherable. Snape looked closer, his nose almost touching the paper.

The next moment he was running toward the dungeons staircase, in his haste not thinking to alert the others.

Harry had finally broken away from the man who held him. It had been a matter of conserving his energy and letting his captor tire out from dragging his full weight. As soon as he was free, he darted away. He couldn't go very far, for fear of making his predicament worse by tripping over a desk in the darkness.

Unable to see, he quickly became disoriented. Where was his attacker? When had the door been shut, cutting off whatever dim light could have come from the torch-lit corridor?

"Lumos," he whispered, and the tip of his wand lit up.

Looking straight at him from only a few meters away was Peter Pettigrew.

As soon as Wormtail saw Harry he raised his wand, a curse ready to leave his lips.

From the other side of the wand, Harry had not been blinded by the sudden light. In those few moments, he had time to prepare. When Wormtail's hex came at him, he was able to deflect it.

The same situation again, the same slow circling dance, Harry thought dully.

"Pettigrew!" Snape's angry voice called out from the doorway. Harry hadn't seen the door open, his eyes intent on Wormtail.

Clearly, Wormtail was also unprepared for the interruption.

The past few day had been a sort of hell for him. His Master was dead. The Death Eaters had turned on him, knowing him to be weak. He had come to Hogwarts in one final, desperate attempt to prove himself by avenging the Dark Lord.

Now, seeing Snape, he panicked. Only one thing came to mind.

Harry and Snape both saw at the same time what was about to happen. Their eyes met and locked across the room; Snape in the doorway, Harry pressed against the back wall. Snape saw that there was nowhere for Harry to go to escape the blast; something that Harry understood just a few moments earlier.

There was no time to speak, no time for any kind of signal. As Wormtail's wand swung down, Harry pried the cork from the small bottle Snape had given to him during the attack on Hogwarts. It had lain in the pocket of his robes since, and now, in the most desperate moment, he had heard Snape's words clearly inside his mind: Remember . . . a last resort.

Harry felt rather than saw the explosion. Shrapnel flew in all directions. Under his feet a fathomless chasm opened, and he was falling down into the blackness. As he spun around and around, Harry's weakened physical state acted against him. Long before he would have hit the bottom, Harry lost consciousness.