Disclaimer: Me no ownsy.

A/N: All right, all right! I've finally finished working at it – and I present to you and extra juicy and gory and angst-filled chapter as a peace offering. Please… Don't kill me! If you do, then I won't be able to write anymore…

The Unlikely

Chapter Six

Years ago…

Darkness engulfed him and he swallowed it, choking back a silent scream.

His wrists felt raw and twisted, a tight, rough grip holding them in place. The rope burned against his skin, almost causing him to hiss as it heated up again, causing his wounds to cauterize and burn again and again.

His whole body was slack, from weakness and an all-encompassing hunger. He hadn't eaten in days.

He heard something – a metallic, spine-tingling scrape, and his shoulders tensed a little as he felt something thick and oily and wrong slither out from the shadows that surrounded him.

A stilted, gravely laugh whispered in his ear, setting each hair on end and something slick and wet slipped up the shell of his ear.

"Ka… Ka… Shi…" Rumbled Orochimaru all too familiar gloating voice.

The traitor chucked again, humming to himself.

"My, my… But you're so young, Kakashi dear. What was the old man thinking, sending you out here? Hmmm?"

Kakashi gave him no answer, lips pressed tight and grimacing.

"Did he think that, being young, you would slip past my notice? Is that it, Kakashi?"

A sharp gasp tore through his throat as something pierced the soft flesh of his hand; the fine edge of cold metal idly traced the groves of his palm.

"Come now, Kakashi… What was Sarutobi thinking? Tell me. What. Was. He. Thinking?"

The metal left it's position, but a sliding wet liquid still remained, trickling down his arm. Something grasped the back of his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as his head was harshly yanked back, neck jerking awkwardly.

Hot breath played about his clammy skin. "What's he planning, hmm? Just tell me, Kakashi, and I'll stop… I'll make the darkness go away…"

It was tempting, the boy admitted to himself. The endless dark was constantly taunting him, grasping him between his nerves and under his skin. In the depth of the darkness, gruesome, bloody images had obscured his senses – his father, hunched over a glinting metal, blood sliding down pale, clenched fingers and dripping onto the floor.

Dripping… Drip…

Drip…

The sound repeated itself, and a cold awareness reminding Kakashi with a jolt that it was his blood smearing the cell, not his father's – never again his father's, he was dead and gone – and so would he, he was sure, Orochimaru would definitely kill him this time…

Unless…

His lips parted with a dry snap, coated with sticky blood and dried saliva. "Orochimaru…" He croaked. A sudden, tense interest filled the air and he could feel Orochimaru pausing in place, fingers loosening against his hair, stopping in anticipation.

"He… He thinks…"

A pause, as he drew in a dry gasp for air.

"Y'should go… F'ck yourself…"

Something hard and fast flew against his face and he lurched against his bonds, already feeling his face bruising.

"You'll pay for that, Hatake brat…" Murmured the traitor, and the last thing he heard before slipping back into the darkness was an echoing, cruel laughter.

Hanabi let out a slight shriek of annoyance as she punched her fist at a wall, immediately regretting her hasty action as her knuckles throbbed in protest. She huffed, leaning back against the stone.

Stupid wall. Stupid castle. Goddamn that stupid flaming chicken for landing her in an empty hall. Why did she think she could find other people by leaving the room and wandering? Every time she called out, the sound seemed to stop dead. When she'd first arrived, she had felt an undercurrent of dread from the walls – and how was that even possible? – But that feeling had gone away, and as she walked, Hanabi swore she could feel amusement in the air, which was only aggravating as she must have been out here for hours, wandering in circles! It was like the – like the castle was doing it… On… Purpose…

Oh, no. Nooo. It wouldn't dare, would it? This thrice-damned hunk of rock?

Hanabi felt herself develop a twitch as she spotted a moving portrait that she knew she'd seen before - honestly, moving portraits? This place was insane. A mad house. For serious, mind-bending nutters; and she'd be joining them soon, if she didn't find a way out in the next few minutes.

It was weighing down on her mind a lot, the fact that she couldn't rely on her bloodline limit. When she'd left that grand hall, she'd expected to be able to give a leisurely glance with the byakugan after walking for a few minutes, and to immediately see a fellow shinobi.

But the walls. Weren't. Working. She couldn't see through the damn things! Stupid, insane magic. Can't trust the stuff. Why the hell had she agreed to this lark? She was set to be the clan heir! She shouldn't be wasting her time in some foreign, decrepit old castle.

Where was everyone -?

- And then, as if reading her thoughts, an ANBU appeared before her. She stiffened and jolted backwards – hitting the wall with her head, damn, she was still leaning against the stupid thing – scowling at the man.

Where the hell have you been?! She wanted to say, but she wasn't foolish. It was an ANBU – the captain, if her guess held true. Definitely not wise to piss one of them off, no telling what could happen, or where you'd wake up the next day. She'd heard the rumours surrounding that Naruto boy, and the day he'd pranked all the ANBU's coffee. No, definitely not a wise idea. Hanabi wasn't as pompous or arrogant as people thought. She knew her place in the world, and wouldn't try to subvert her superiors.

The ANBU chuckled. "Sorry, Hyuga-san. It's been quite an eventful day, and no one noticed you arrive. We've all been busy, and have either not had the time to find you, or were unawares of your presence here.

She frowned, crinkling her nose. That sounded… Oddly scripted. Like they couldn't have just sent a bloody bunshin to find her? Yeah, yeah.

Hanabi sighed. "I don't care. I'm tired. I've got a mission. Where's my room?"

Ooh, demanding. Tenzou rolled his eyes beneath the mask. Hopefully, she'd learn to grow up a bit in the wizarding world. Maybe this strange, twisted place could do someone some good, anyway. He knew that he, at least, didn't like the whole 'stone and mortar' scheme; it didn't quite fit with his fighting style. Nothing natural seemed to grow within these cold stone walls. And yes, by nothing natural, he also included the students; if Moody, Snape and Dumbledore were any indication of how the generations to come would turn out, anyhow.

Getting his mind back on track, seeing the moody pre-teen's scowl deepening and her eyes narrow, he quickly led the girl to her room, and told her that he'd come and get her when the Hokage was ready to see her.

As he leapt away down the corridor, hearing the door reprimand Hanabi on how to be polite –"Saying please once in a while wouldn't hurt, you know; I swing long and hard all day to guard this room! A little gratitude is the least you could show," – and her following sounds of frustration, Tenzou had to admit that he felt quite cheered up.

Severus remembered the day of The Dark Lord's rebirth; not because he had helped, or because he had been there. No, what made that day memorable was why he had been summoned, mere hours after the cold corpse of that Diggory boy had been sent back to the school.

The first thing he remembered was the chilling, painful spasm in his forearm before the feeling spread its icy cold fingers up his nerves, setting them tingling harshly in its wake. He had gasped for air then, as the summoning had taken its hold and he'd stumbled to the forbidden forest to dissaparate.

He'd landed on his knees – a practiced move that he hadn't needed in a long, long time, head bowed and arm still throbbing from the dark mark. Voldemort had loomed above him, a vicious look snarling his features.

"Where is Potter?" it was low and ominous, almost a hiss.

Snape felt his thoughts turn dark. It was always about that Potter, even though no one had seen neither hide nor hair of him since the night he was destroyed. That stupid 'Harry Potter' day reminded him hatefully every year, and that fool headmaster hadn't stopped chattering about how he was sure the boy was still alive and well.

"No one knows, my Lord. He has been presumed dead since the day you went after him."

Voldemort's serpentine features twisted once more. "That boy mocked me. He made himself known to me today, and for his disrespecting actions he will die."

Understandably, this startled the potion's master. "My Lord? He was here?"

The Dark Lord sneered. "Not here, you fool. In my mind – it was legilimancy of a different kind. I want you to keep an eye out – no doubt Albus will find some way of locating the boy. If you see him, inform me immediately."

"My Lord, what of the boys appearance? We know nothing other than the features he held as a child." Snape could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His head span at the implications of what the Dark Lord had spoken of.

"A lightning-bolt shaped-"

He struggled to hear the rest of the words as the pounding grew louder and louder. It thundered through his ears as he strained to hear –

- The pounding of someone's fist against his chamber door. That it was, and nothing more. He half muttered a curse as the noise, instead of growing louder, grew more rapid and sharp. Getting out of bed, he yanked the door open, scowling his meanest.

"What?!"

Minerva stood on the other side of the threshold, with an unimpressed look on her face. "What indeed. Severus, Poppy wants you to brew a potion to extract the poison from mister Hatake; it seems that the magic has already rooted itself to the man, and Tsunade's chakra can no longer stop it from slowly decaying him from the inside."

Snape huffed, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow. Basilisk poison was… Different. Too different from any other venom. If that stubborn Kakashi hadn't already gained a good degree of immunity to other snakes, then even the small amount of basilisk poison that he'd ingested through various means would have already killed him. He was a damn lucky fool.

He was glad he needn't bother gathering supplies, as there was already a good set in the hospital wing (for emergencies, the matron had justified). Making sure he was presentable, he bid good day to the deputy head, and made his way to where that Hatake was.

He stepped inside the wing to find it only slightly lit, the shinobi moving restlessly in his bed, brow scrunched and sweating. Snape sneered at the sight, making his way toward the bed.

"Finally ready to take a potion, eh?" Unsurprisingly, Kakashi didn't answer. Snape sneered again, pulling his wand out and lightly resting it against the crook of the shinobi's elbow. He steadily drew the wand away, taking with it a sample of blood. Moving to the other side of the wing, he dropped the crimson fluid into a cauldron, and began casting spells on it, the results of which made his eyes widen.

Dear Merlin – Kakashi's blood was two-percent infected by the basilisk poison! He turned to stare incredulous eyes at the bed-bound shinobi. How was he still alive…?

He sighed and shook his head. No, no time for pondering on the how's and whys; he had to find a way to counteract what had already been infected. Even so, as he prepared his ingredients, he still wondered on the man's reaction to the poison. And that was the real clincher, wasn't it? The fact that Kakashi's body had even reacted; Basilisk poison was so potent, the body failed before it could even begin to react. Yet… This Kakashi, he was an anomaly. Even with the fact that he'd only ingested a very small percentage of impure poison, it still should have shut his systems down and put him into a deep coma, at the very least.

Except, it didn't happen. Minerva had even told him that, for a brief period, Kakashi had been awake and aware – responding to external influences! It just didn't make any sense.

As Severus set the potion to simmer, he reached into an inside breast pocket of his robes, withdrawing a crystal vial that shimmered even in the dim light. Carefully taking the stopper off, he let a single drop fall into the potion, making it sizzle and change into a substance that resembled molten gold. Using phoenix tears was the only thing he could think of adding to the elixir successfully; it should be able to target the remaining poison and eliminate it accordingly, before any more damage to the shinobi was done. It was a very rare ingredient, but thankfully the headmaster had a plentiful supply, which was the only reason he was trying to administer the tears a second time. Before, Kakashi's chakra and the mixture of poisonous basilisk magic had rejected the tears; they'd slid down his lips and away from his mouth, repelled by the chaotic mess the shinobi had made of himself. It didn't make sense. By all means, it should have worked then, but for some unknown reason it just hadn't happened. And Snape wasn't a man that liked not knowing things; he would find out what was different about this particular shinobi.

As he administered the serum, he noticed the shinobi's features relaxing almost immediately, smoothing out and no-longer displaying such devastating anguish. Good. It looked like the magic was finally taking.

Almost without thinking, Severus took a cool, damp cloth and began dabbing it against the man's face. It wasn't because he cared; rather, he knew that both Pomphrey and Tsunade had been working tirelessly for several hours to keep this man stable enough so that his chakra wouldn't immediately reject any foreign magic (This was why shinobi and wizards shouldn't work together, Snape thought. It's simply impossible). They were both dozing in the hospital's office, and it would take a man more cruel than he to force two women awake for the simple task of lowering a temperature and making a patient more comfortable.

Snape's finger slipped slightly off the cloth, making contact with Hatake's skin – immediately, the shinobi's face scowled and gritted his teeth, a pulse of something making it's way down Severus' arm and apparently causing the other man pain. Snape stopped, fascinated, and touched him again. The results were the same, and made the wizard wonder; was this magical, chakra, or just because the shinobi had overly sensitive nerves from his fever?

Strangely enough, each touch caused the man to sweat heavily from his brow. Snape had just about found his little experiment boring and unnecessary, when something in his vision made him stop cold where he stood. It was no longer just clear beads of sweat that fell from the man's forehead, but rivulets of blood had also made their way down the man's face. The headband he wore was turning a deep, grungy purple as he stood there and watched. Snapping himself out of his morbid trance, he quickly pushed up the headband to see what was causing the bleed, only to step back with eyes widened in shock.

Lightning-bolt shaped scar.

No – no, it couldn't be possible. It wasn't. Shouldn't. Couldn't. This – this shell of a man wasn't…

Lightning-bolt shaped –

The messy hair. Hint of green in his eyes. Face shaped so familiar, a tangible joining of two faces he once knew.

He pulled his hand up to rub at his eyes – was this a hallucination? – To find warm, wet liquid smeared from his fingertips. He looked down to find blood on his hands and his own sleeve stained from underneath. With trembling fingers, he rolled it up – the dark mark, red and raw and stark against pale skin – bleeding and clotting and screaming down his flesh and - and –

- And it all made sense. The attitude. The immediate, subconscious dislike – and the extreme, negative reaction to the Dark Lord's magic. He looked up to see the lightning-bolt scar red and raw and bleeding in the same, harsh way.

It was nonsense; men – boys – couldn't age this much in such a short time. It shouldn't be possible – but apparently, this unlikely situation was actually happening. It was then that Kakashi's eyes seem to drag themselves open, blearily focusing on his own – they stood there, staring at each other in what seemed an age, but was in reality only a few seconds. Kakashi broke the gaze first, eyes twitching to just over Severus' shoulder; it was all the warning he had as a powerful grip grabbed his neck and spun him around to face a blaze of fury; Tsunade had awakened, and was not happy.

"You – Death Eater! What the hell have you done to him?!"

"I – I –"

Snape found it difficult to breathe in this grip, let alone speak. He was still in shock at the astounding revelation that Hatake Kakashi and Harry Potter were not two different people. That asking one to search for the other had been pointless. That they had all been lied to. That the answer to all the wizarding world's problems was right there, lying weakly on a hospitable bed. And Dumbledore had been right; that stupid, old fool had somehow known all along.

A hoarse, barely inaudible croaking came from behind them. "Mm… 'kay..."

Immediately, Tsunade dropped Snape from where he'd been held and stormed her way to the shinobi's bedside. "Oh, Kakashi! You're alright!"

The man managed a crooked half-smile. He coughed, sounding like he was ripping his throat in two. "Wha'… Happened? I – I though'… I wa'… I wa' f'n'…"

"I'm so sorry. We made a mistake. We – I - thought that, since you were up and talking, that you were fine. We didn't… I'm so sorry we stopped the heavy treatment then. So goddamn sorry."

Snape looked on, realizing all that this man had been through in just one day. Bringing down a basilisk, being poisoned, going into tachycardia, slipping into a coma but being pulled out, and then slowly, apparently getting better. Waking up, being able to actually talk and communicating – only to seizure and go into cardiac arrest less than an hour later, poison still running through his veins, even now.

Snape had thought that, out of most wizards, he was one of the most durable. He'd survived being poisoned, tortured, attacked, brutalized, and humiliated… But he doubted that even he would be able to talk if he ever went through what Kakashi was going through now, let alone survive it.

It was strange. He'd never felt any respect for a shinobi before, especially not after riling them up and getting threatened. But this one… Hell, even despite his true identity, Severus couldn't stop it, and admitted to himself that he respected the man. Boy. A Potter. He respected a bliddy Potter. And no one would ever get it out of him.

Snape's eyes darkened, wand raised against the pair. "You lied to us." Just because Har-Kakashi had is grudging respect, didn't mean he trusted him. Either of them. Not after they'd all been betrayed.

Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "No. We didn't; we just… omitted the truth. What are you going to do now, Snape? Run off to both your masters and tell them of this? Are you going to bring both sides of this war down on Kakashi?"

The grip on Severus' wand tightened noticeably as he glanced down at the weak, immobile Hatake. The fools were right, and he damned them for it. If Albus knew… It might not be good news. Then again, it might not be bad, either; the headmaster's precious weapon against the Dark Lord, already trained and dropped off on their doorstep. If Albus new, others would, too; the Order would be told. If word got out, he'd have to tell the Dark Lord…. They would loose the element of surprise; this secret manoeuvre that could win them the war…

Slowly, deliberately, and without breaking eye contact, the wizard lowered his arm. Protecting a Potter – he'd laugh miserably at himself if it wasn't so serious. The Hokage relaxed at his gesture, seals un-forming from her hands.

"No," he said, voice low and heavy. "I won't say anything. You can keep your secrets… For now. If I feel it would be in my best interests to inform others, well… Until then." He turned and left, cloak twirling behind his strong stride, a small smirk playing across his face. He was the one with the power now. He held all the cards. It was only a question of which hand he should play.

It wasn't until he'd long gone that Tsunade let herself glance back at Kakashi, whose eyes were shut, a grimace across his features. This… Hadn't gone according to plan. A wizard knew the truth, far too soon for her liking; anytime was too soon for Kakashi.

Gently, she smoothed back his hair and mopped up the blood. "Relax, Kakashi. You've been through a lot. Let's get you better first, yeah? We'll worry about everything later."

She took his hitai-ate from him – it needed cleaning, sodden with blood as it was. She motioned to the wall across from the bed, and a figure materialised from the stone. "Come, Tenzou. You can report to me while I clean this mess up."

The other shinobi gave a curt nod, leaving behind a wooden bunshin to guard his now sleeping captain, and prepared to convey the news of a pissy, spoilt brat that needed a good kick in the behind, if it were up to him.

Back in his room, Snape collapsed on his bed, massaging his temples. Dear lord… What in Merlin's name was going on?

"Sasuke…" Came a long, drawn out whine from behind the boy in question. He twitched, face falling into a familiar scowl.

"I'm booored… Entertain me, bastard."

The Uchiha turned to glare at his teammate. "Find a board game or something; I'm not your playmate."

Naruto huffed and blew out his cheeks, eyes squinting and lips pouting. "C'mon, Sasuke-bastard. Everyone – even Sakura! – Is gone on the most exciting mission ever, and poor old us are stuck in boring old Konoha."

The other boy sighed. Ho boy… He knew where this was going. Again. Probably the same as yesterday, too – but faster.

As if he'd known what the boy was going to ask, Sasuke reached into his side pouch and brought out a large, bulging back of strong salt. The packaging was clear, with a bright red exclamation mark hastily scribbled on the front. A few white grains fell from his pocket.

Naruto's face became alight with glee. "All right… You spike their coffee. I'll cause the distraction this time."

Despite himself, Sasuke felt a smirk twitch at his lips. "Distraction? Dobe, you're a walking distraction. I only pray to whatever god listening, that it's a better 'distraction' than that pathetic farce you attempted last time."

"Oi," the blonde warned, although a grin still split his face. "No worries; no harem jutsu this time. I have… Something different in mind…" He giggled, and with a face of utter seriousness, brought before Sasuke a bucket full of the most nauseatingly coloured paint the Uchiha had ever seen, a handful of bright pink permanent markers, and a foul-smelling bag of something he really didn't want to know the contents of.

Sasuke's face twitched. "This… Isn't even funny, stupid." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "The ANBU are seriously going to kill you this time. They'll have you drawn and quartered."

Sasuke didn't dare admit that he'd been thinking of a plan along the same exact lines. No… It was entirely possible that Naruto's special brand of idiocy was entirely infectious.

Yes. Today, they'd definitely have to be a lot faster.

Ron remembered the day that everything changed. His belly had been warm and full, body relaxed and lethargic as he ambled alongside the other Gryffindor first years. He wondered about the troll that had gotten loose; was it big and bloody, or bogey green? Did it smell and screech, and lumber on large, rotting feet? Did it –

"Hermione,"

- Came a whisper from behind him. A scowl weighed down his face as his mood was sharpened by the mere mention of that annoying, bossy know-it-all. He didn't like her; not one bit! Her hair was too bushy and her teeth were too large and she enjoyed homework, of all things.

Even so, Ron strained his ears to hear the rest of Lavender's conversation; he was a curious little boy, and the topic was mildly interesting.

"It's such a shame," continued Lavender, "Poor Hermione; she didn't even get the chance to eat anything at the feast."

"Yeah," added Parvati, "I heard she'd been in the girls bathroom, crying. I think someone bullied her."

Lavender rolled her eyes. "You know she's probably going to complain about missing an important meal of the day later. And then we'll have to cheer her up – again!"

The rest of the chatter drowned under the buzzing between Ron's ears. A sudden lurch of horror gripped him, and his pace slowed to a halt.

Hermione… She hadn't been at the feast… She didn't even know about the troll!

Ron felt the beginnings of panic crawl up his spine. No… No, he had to warn her – before it was too late. As soon as his brother's back was turned, he ducked into the shadow of an alcove, and waited for the rest of the Gryffindors to file their way down the corridor. Once the last person had turned the corner, he ran down the other end and leapt down the stairs.

Breath coming in short gasps, he approached the toilets, blood pounding quickly and harshly against his ears.

"Hermione?" He called, but no one was around. He turned the corner, and was about to call again, but was cut off by a terrible crashing sound and a gut-wrenching, piercing scream.

It was a girl's scream – Hermione's scream!

His legs rooted in place as they shook, refusing to remove. No… No… His mind chanted over and over and over again, as the cracking and crashing and scraping of porcelain continued until - until…

… Until the screaming suddenly stopped.

Ron's mouth went dry, his mind numb. The sudden silence shocked him, and then a low, rumbling groan caused him to stumble back, almost collapsing against the stone wall behind him.

What if – what if she was unconscious? She'd be – could be – the troll would kill her!

A sudden energy possessed him as he sprinted across the remaining distance, only for a harsh, deep gasp to almost choke him as he inhaled, lungs straining at the sudden influx of cold air.

The bathroom was unrecognisable, bathroom doors and sinks demolished and strewn across the wide room. The mirrors were cracked and smashed and scattered across the floor. And there, lying motionless under a smattering of rubble was a small limp body. The ragged, tangled brown hair was splayed around the blue-tinged pale face, smeared in bright red. Her forehead was wrong – caved in – crushed – it oozed blood, eyes rolled back and glazed. The mouth hung open, lips torn and curling against her chin which jutted out at the wrong angle - her body was twisted wrong – all wrong – and she was dead – dead – deaddeadDEAD and it was all HIS FAULT –

A familiar groan loomed ahead of him, and there, by a heap of debris, a hulk of – of something, shifted and moaned, rising until it was ten feet tall and two men wide. The Troll's leathery skin was a pasty grey, mottled and dank, pours seeping a grungy milky sweat. The limbs looked long and heavy as the arms draped against the tiles, torso bulked out and meaty, legs squashed and out of proportion. It squatted low against the floor, back hunched, small head squinting at him through beady black eyes and a yellow, snarling maw. It had no visible ears, and the skin across it's face looked stretched and taught, nose pressed upwards against it's own face, nostrils flaring and bunged up with a thick substance.

It sniffed – the rattling breath snorting the snot into it's lungs, which it then spat out harshly, the murky liquid spraying over Hermione's prone form – and the sight of the monster insulting her memory in such a way set such a rage inside of Ron that he almost went blind from it.

He roared and leapt forward, swinging his wand around – swish and flick – WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA – the crudely carved club shooting from the floor, away from the beast's grip and impacting with the underside of it's chin, head snapping back as it stumbled, dazed.

But he didn't stop there; his wand arm, shaking, continued to lash out and brutally attack the troll with its own weapon, watching in grim satisfaction as the monster would twitch and spasm against the full force of his anger.

"MR WEASLEY!" Came a hurried, panicked voice which snapped him out of his rage, arm stopping and dropping by his side as he realized that the troll had stopped moving two minutes ago.

He turned to his head of house, face stark and pale, red hair bright and fierce against his tear-streaked wide-eyed face. He sniffed – and gave a half-sob, half-wretched gurgle of delirium.

"It – She – sheshe-" Professor McGonagall took a step forward, but stopped as he stumbled back. "I – I – I couldn't stop it professor I'm so –I'm so – It killed her professor – It killed her- "

Whatever rage had been keeping his legs upright was suddenly spent and they collapsed beneath him, not noticing as the professor cradled him, feeling hollow and empty and raw.

He stared, feeling hollow and numb and emotionless, as Professor Snape crouched over the body of the schoolgirl. An emotion – grief? Regret? – Passed over the man's face, before his head lowered in a slight token of respect. A spidery, calloused hand reached forward.

Hermione Granger's cold dead eyes closed for the very last time.