Disclaimer: I don't even own a car. Any characters or fictional locations previously mentioned in a Harry Potter book or accessory belong to (her majesty) J.K. Rowling. Everything else belongs to reality or myself.

Summary: HP/OC, HP/SS, OC/(Mystery CC). Accused of a horrid crime, Harry must go into hiding, with Snape being his only lifeline.

Warning: SLASH (i.e. Male/Male relationships - don't like, don't read)

Rated: R - Adult situations. Violence.

Hidden

by Maven Cree

Part I: Odds and Things

Chapter One: The Death Of Harry Potter

The courtroom was ominously silent. The boy cast his eyes up at the coliseum styled viewing gallery. Hurt, angry, hateful eyes glared back at him.

"Have you anything to say before your sentence is carried out?" The Magistrate said, drawing his attention to the man in front of him.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders; squared them as much as he was able to. Heavy magical chains attached to his wrists kept him secured to the floor he stood on. He stuck his chin out defiantly.

"Very well. Minister…" The Magistrate stood to the side and nodded to Cornelius Fudge.

"Bring in the Dementor," Fudge announced, his voice echoing in the wide court.

Two large, heavy oak doors opened and the torches on the walls flickered. A few dimmed, but most went out completely. The courtroom became unearthly cold and every witch and wizard present hugged themselves in a futile effort to keep that feeling out of their bones.

A large, dark, hooded figure corrupted the light of the doorway. It seemed to glide into the room, displaying an elegance it had no right to possess.

It approached the condemned prisoner and for the first time since his sentence had been announced, the boy began to tremble. He tried to take a step back, but the chains held him fast. The Dementor stopped less than a metre from its victim. Two vile, scaly hands descended from its dark sleeves. The hands rose and with horrid slowness, pulled back the low-slung hood. Gasps and shrieks of terror flooded the courtroom. It was the first time a Dementor had ever removed its hood in public. Those who saw it's gaping mouth usually never saw anything else again.

The prisoner began to shake his head.

"N—no…" He began weakly. "No p—please… I'm nnot--"

He dropped to his knees as the Dementor approached him. The ability to speak seemed to have left him and he mouthed silently against the nightmare the creature was creating in his mind.

The Azkaban guard reached down and pulled its victim up with one hand and positioned the boy's head with the other.

As it lowered its gaping, sucking mouth, many in the gallery turned away.

The boy was barely capable of thought as the creature's face closed over his.

His body shuddered violently as his soul was torn from him.

It only took a minute, before the Dementor dropped the empty shell back onto the stone courtroom floor.

The creature re-set its hood and left the courtroom and its gallery of observers to their stunned silence.

Harry Potter was no more.

He hurt.

Everywhere.

Every hair, every follicle, every unfortunate bit of skin.

He wanted nothing more than to sink back into the nothingness from which he had just been delivered.

"Wake up, Mr. Potter."

Huh…? He'd know that voice anywhere. But what was Snape doing in his dormitory?

"Potter."

Or maybe he was in the hospital wing because he hurt so much. He really couldn't remember what he'd done to cause himself so much discomfort.

"POTTER!!!"

"WHAT?! --ow!" The throb in his head told him that yelling was definitely not a good idea.

"We have very little time, Potter. Get. Up."

Harry opened his eyes slowly. It was dark. Very dark. Only one dim lamp in the corner lit the room and it was so low that the flame was almost completely blue. Harry drew his eyes from the lamp to the shadow looming near to him.

"Professor Snape? Where…"

"You are safe. That is all you need know of your whereabouts for the moment. Sit up and drink this."

The seventh-year Gryffindor painfully pushed himself up and looked wearily at the dull cup being handed to him.

"I would hardly go through the trouble of saving your pathetic life just to poison you at my convenience."

Save my life? Harry thought. When did he… What's going on?

The Potions master pushed the cup closer to the boy and Harry took it. After a final pre-emptive grimace he downed the potion. The grimace, as it turned out, was not really necessary. The potion had a cool, orange-like taste to it. Harry's aches immediately began to vanish.

"Thank you," he said quietly, handing the cup back to his professor. Snape nodded slightly and placed the cup on desk. He sat down in the chair at the foot of Harry's bed.

Now that his head had cleared, Harry was able to take in more of his surroundings. He was in a small room; an attic room he guessed from the slant of the ceiling. The room was fully wood and very old by the smell of it. There were two doors, a desk and a tiny cabinet. There was the low springy bed he was sitting in and Professor Snape was in the only chair… watching him intently.

"What…? Where are we, Professor? What's happened?"

"You're dead, Mr. Potter."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, but he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "I--I'm what?"

"Dead," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Tell, me. What is the last thing you remember?"

Dead? What was he on about? He wasn't dead. Not that he'd had any frame of reference, but Death didn't hurt like he'd been hurting. At least he'd assumed it didn't…

"Potter, I was in no means joking when I said that we have precious little time. Tell me what it is you remember."

Snape spoke in that soft, yet threatening voice that send horrid chills down Gryffindor necks during class time. It wasn't one to be ignored.

"I—I remember…" Harry closed his eyes. "School… No! Hogsmeade! It was the last Hogsmeade weekend. Ron, Hermione and I…oh…" Harry gripped his head.

"Go on," Snape prompted.

"We got… We got separated… I—"

Harry abruptly stopped talking. His eyes grew impossibly wide. "Voldemort…" he whispered. "I was with Voldemort! But how… I don't… Uhh!" He gripped his head with both hands. "It's all so fuzzy… I can't really remember everything…"

"A side effect of being magically kept unconscious for such a long period. Most of your memory should return to you in time."

Harry merely blinked at the teacher.

"As for what you have missed," he continued, "Professor Dumbledore was assassinated, you were tried and convicted for the crime and administered the Dementor's Kiss."

"Dumbledore is dead?!"

"According to the rest of the world, yes. But a select few know that he still lives… somewhat."

"Somewhat?"

"The Killing Curse which hit him, did not have enough power behind it. He lives, but is unconscious. And not likely ever to wake up."

"He's in a co-- Wait! I was convicted?!"

"And given the Dementor's Kiss. I was wondering when that would hit you. You Gryffindors aren't very quick.

"Would you just tell me what the hell is going on!"

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Given current circumstances, I shall let your impertinence slide… this time." He re-settled himself. "As even you have no doubt surmised, you have not fallen victim to a Dementor."

"And I know I didn't try to kill Professor Dumbledore. I couldn't have!"

"May I continue?"

Harry nodded.

"I am telling you this only because when things are kept from you, you have an annoying habit of trying to dig said information. An action, which could get us both Kissed or killed in this instance, so listen carefully.

"Three weeks ago, you were found in Professor Dumbledore's office, standing over his apparently dead body, your wand vibrating from the release of a powerful curse.

"But--"

"You then proceeded to Curse Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley and Professor McGonagall with the Cruciatus, as they were the ones who happened upon you after the apparent murder."

"Are they--"

"You cursed several more students and faculty during your escape attempt, including your precious Professor Lupin."

"Wuh—"

"You were finally apprehended by two Aurors at the edge of the forbidden forest."

Harry sat in stunned silence. Snape continued.

"Before the Aurors disapparated with you, I and several others heard you shout, and I quote: "I was sick and tried of being manipulated by that old bastard. Voldemort will give me what I want." And then you were gone."

Harry thought he was going to be sick. He didn't remember doing any of this.

"The trial, if you could call it that was swift. You denied nothing. You basically claimed that you had seen the so-called light, and its name was Voldemort. Of course, several charms and potions were administered to you in order to ensure that you were in fact acting of your own volition. When it was determined that you were not acting under any magic, duress or coercion, you were found guilty. This morning, your sentence was carried out in front of an overly packed courtroom. You were Kissed by the Dementor, but, as it happens sometimes, your body could not take the stress. You had a heart attack and died."

"……..I'm…..I'm going to--"

Snape calmly pointed to the door at his right. Harry stumbled from the bed, pushed his way into the washroom and emptied the contents of his stomach (which was mostly bile) into the toilet.

It was several minutes before he felt able to return to the other room. He collapsed, quite ungracefully, face first onto the bed.

"If you are done with the theatrics…"

"Aw eh o gay?"

"English would be preferable, Mr. Potter."

Harry lifted his face from the sheets.

"Are they okay?" He repeated. "Ron and Hermione, Professor Lupin and the others?"

"For the majority, their curses were ended shortly and there are not lasting physical effects. They have their minds," he said, anticipating Harry's next question. "They also have a healthy hate for you."

"They… hate me…"

"Would you expect anything less, given their experience?"

Harry let his eyes drop. He sat back up. "You said the majority."

"Lupin remains in a coma. He had the unfortunate luck to be standing at the top of the fourth floor staircase when you cursed him."

Harry swallowed and tried to keep the bile from rising up again.

"Now perhaps you would care to hear what actually happened?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"I did not know the full truth myself until just after the verdict. I knew that you were innocent, but my… reputation has left my opinions rather suspect. And with Dumbledore… gone, my own freedom is hanging on by a thread. It is by Dumbledore's word alone that I am not currently residing in Azkaban fortress. So you can understand that I will be extremely vexed if you mess this up. Your life is not the only one at stake here."

Harry nodded again, this time his eyes showing that he understood the weight of the situation. "How-- How did you know I was innocent? I mean, you've always behaved as though you hated me."

"Behaved?"

"How did you know?" Harry asked again, ignoring the comment.

Snape looked rueful.

"You're your parent's son."

"But--"

"We have wasted enough time, Potter. Do shut up."

Harry clamped his mouth shut. That question could wait for another time.

Satisfied he would not be interrupted again, the Professor continued.

"After you were found guilty and taken to Azkaban to await sentencing, I was summoned to the Dark Lord's service."

Harry was aware for several years of the Potion Master's role as covert operative within Voldemort's ranks.

"He had an important mission for me. A delivery of sorts. Much was my surprise when he led me to a cell with you in it. You were barely conscious, and incoherent. The Death Eaters had apparently been using you to brush up on their Cruciatus skills. Voldemort informed me that the person awaiting sentencing in Azkaban was a Death Eater by the name of Iliad DuBell. Mr. DuBell was… new and had never been marked, nor seen by any other of us, save for the one who recruited him. Voldemort kept him in special standing because he bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain "Boy-Who-Lived", whom our dear Lord despised."

"He looked like me?"

"Of course that wasn't enough. The Dark Lord needed him to pass for you without question."

"Polyjuice."

"A temporary solution. After DuBell was taken into custody, he was waited out and carefully observed in order to rule out that very possibility. No, Voldemort needed something that time and cancelling charms could not affect. Who would ever have suspected the Dark Lord of resorting to Muggle methods to further his cause? Have you heard of something the Muggles call 'Plastic Surgery'?"

Harry's eyes widened.

"Quite impressive really. The Muggles can make themselves look like anyone else and without magic. Unfortunately, the Muggle world is now bereft of its greatest proclaimed plastic surgeon. Voldemort persuaded him to work on this special project and then compensated him accordingly."

Harry didn't need any further elaboration on that point. He knew that the doctor was dead.

Snape appraised the young man momentarily. He appeared to be taking everything rather well, if you excluded the initial vomiting incident. He knew that eventually, the full intensity of the situation would hit him, so Snape felt it would be best to tell him everything at once. He would have time to process it later.

"So you kidnapped me from Voldemort."

Snape snorted. "Hardly."

"Then why--"

"If you'll allow me to finish?"

Harry bit down on his lip. His forehead grew red with contained rage.

Good, Snape thought. With anger comes fortification and the boy would need that in the coming days… and months.

"It may not come as a surprise to you that Voldemort possesses a rather sadistic way of thinking. He wanted you dead, yes. But he wanted more than that. Through framing you, he brought shame to you and your family line. And even that was not enough. What better vengeance than to have you destroyed by the very people you were trying to protect?"

Harry gaped at this but said nothing.

"Hence came my role in this little drama. It was arranged that I, as your teacher was to visit you in Azkaban after the verdict. I would not be alone, however. You, the real you, was with me, unconscious and levitated under an indivisibility cloak. I was to make the switch, leave you to your fate at the Ministry and deliver Mr. DuBell to a noble Death Eater's Demise."

"He wanted him dead too?"

"No loose ends, Mr. Potter. I'm certain the only reason I still live is that Voldemort requires a spy inside of Hogwarts. Plus, I daresay Voldemort would hardly want a visual reminder of his greatest pain in the arse working right under him."

"So what happened?"

"A change in plans that only I know about. Upon my visit, I informed DuBell that Voldemort had changed his plans. That he was to continue playing the part of Harry Potter and accept the given sentence, even if it meant his death."

"And he agreed?!" Potter gasped incredulously.

"I told him that he could die for the glory of our Lord… or that he could die at the hand of our Lord. Given the option…"

"…Yeah…"

"I floated your body back out of Azkaban and disapparated, with the pretence, to any other Death Eater eyes that might be observing, of going to kill DuBell… and dispose of the body."

"But wouldn't Voldemort have wanted evidence?"

Snape smiled inwardly. Perhaps there was hope for the boy yet.

"Indeed. And I provided him with said proof. This is where the Polyjuice Potion comes in."

"But that's temporary. Even in death."

"Unless said person was disposed of using the Killing Curse."

"…You…You…"

"Very articulate Mr. Potter."

"Who did you kill?"

"A monster disguised as a Muggle disguised as you. A Muggle murderer who took delight in the sadistic torture and killing of small children. One who continually slipped through the Muggle justice system."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"And you discovered this and set it all up in the space of a day," he asked suspiciously.

"I make it a point to always be prepared… such as a small cache of Polyjuice at the ready. And I always have in mind three or four Muggles of said calibre should the need for a corps ever arise."

The suspicion in the boy's eyes lessened, but did not leave completely.

"And now that you know the full story Mr. Potter, I would ask… no, I demand your word that you will not go digging for further information. That, as I am the sole reason you still draw breath, you will obey my every word and generally not do anything that will likely get the both of us killed. Swear it on your mother's grave."

Harry looked at the wooden floor.

"Swear it!"

"I swear," Harry responded in a small voice. "On my mother's grave. I'll do as you say."

"Good," Snape said curtly. He stood. "I have stayed too long as it is," he murmured.

"So what happens now? Where am I going to?"

"You will remain here in this room. There is food in that cupboard there, enough for several days. Use the fire to warm it. You will remain as quiet as possible. No magic. You no longer have your wand, but wandless spells are just as detectable. Harry Potter is dead to the world. Think of a new name. One without connection to your former life. I will return when I can, hopefully before a week has passed."

"Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life here?"

"While the thought of keeping you prisoner here or altering your appearance so that you may work as my servant had occurred to me, the answer is no. I have arrangements to make. For now, do as I've said."

Snape moved to the other door and opened it.

"Professor?"

He stopped, his back to the room. In his peripheral, he could see that Potter's back was still to him, his head low in self-pity.

"Thank you."

"…You're not through this yet, Potter," Severus said, and then left, locking the door behind him.

To be continued.