(A Month Later, Gryffindor Tower)

(Dream Sequence)

//He growled slightly. Of all nights, why did Voldemort have to choose the one after the last day of exams? That was horribly unfair.

/But then,/ he reflected bitterly, /when has Voldemort ever been fair?/

Sighing, he resigned himself to a night without any real sleep. /Guess I’ll be asking Severus for more Dreamless Sleep potion tomorrow,/ he thought. /Should’ve Occluded my mind before I fell asleep, at least./ But he had been too exhausted to do so.

As the inside of Riddle Manor came into view, a place he was, by now, awfully familiar with, he found himself in the midst of a circle of Death Eaters and swallowed uncomfortably. As many times as he had witnessed this, he had never gotten used to it. Severus had said that was a good thing.

You did not want to become immune to human suffering.

His scar started burning fiercely as Voldemort stormed into the middle of his Death Eaters, scattering Pettigrew and Malfoy, along with Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Bellatrix Lestrange, and any number of others, obviously incensed. “Nott!” he roared. The man scuttled forward and kissed the hem of his Lord’s black robes. Voldemort lashed out and caught him in a stomach with a kick. “You’re absolutely sure that brat of yours was correct?!”

He felt like he had been socked in the stomach himself (and to some extent, he had). Nott’s son was reporting back to his father? What did that mean for Severus?

His answer came a moment later.

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” Nott senior wheezed. “H-He has never lied to me and n-never will. I-It is true, Snape’s a traitor. He-he has been spying for Dumbledore since he w-was fifteen.”

He suddenly felt incredibly sick. “Oh, Merlin…” whispered in horror. “Please, Merlin, NO!”

Voldemort growled. His scar started searing, sending him to his knees. “Back to your place!” barked. Nott quickly scurried away and back to where he had been standing in the circle as the Dark Wizard started pacing rapidly back and forth in the center of the circle, swearing aloud, before making more coherent sentences, “So, Snape’s a spy, is he? A traitor. Well, we’ll soon fix that. A bit of the Cruciatus Curse and several others should do it. And maybe some Veritaserum, to see what he and the old fool have been up to. Malfoy!” This also barked. Malfoy senior followed Nott’s example, scuttling forward and kissing the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes.

“My Lord?” questioned as he straightened.

“See that the safehouse in the Black Forest of Norway is prepared.”

Malfoy bowed, smirking evilly. “With pleasure, My Lord.” And swiftly exited whatever room the meeting had been held in.

“Pettigrew! Crabbe! Goyle!”

Peter Pettigrew, Crabbe senior, and Goyle senior stumped forward and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes, the two once-Slytherins shooting sneering looks at the once-Gryffindor as they straightened.

“Yes, my Lord?” chorused.

“See that the Veritaserum is properly brewed, and I mean properly. Understood?”

“Understood, my Lord,” Pettigrew squeaked.

They, too, bowed and exited the room, the two much larger Slytherins mercilessly shoving Pettigrew along. Not that he cared.

He could not care about *anything* right now, except for the very real fear that had settled into his bones. For the first time ever, perhaps, he realized just the extent of his care for the Potions Master.

Putting it simply, he loved him. Rather like a mentor, or---dare he hope it---a father.

And right now, that man was in very real danger.

Riddle Manor began to disappear around him as he forced himself toward wakefulness. He had to get up! He had to warn, and to the best of his ability, protect him! He had to---//

(End Dream Sequence)

“SEVERUS!!” Harry awoke with that cry on his lips, shooting bolt upright on his bed. Early morning sunlight streamed in through the open drapes of the window in Gryffindor Tower’s sixth year boys’ dormitory. His scar was twinging. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, uneven and harsh---he was sweating. His heart was pounding furiously against his ribcage and felt as though it would take flight at any moment.

Reaching up and touching his cheek, the sixteen-year-old was shocked to find it wet. And not with sweat, either.

In his bed across from Harry, Ron thrashed awake. “Huh? Whazza…”

The other Gryffindor did not answer, feeling sick. Quickly, he grabbed his non-school clothes---a light-weight, dark blue, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of his cousin’s old khakis---throwing them on without a thought. He shoved his feet into his sneakers, grabbed his glasses, but did not take his wand, too upset and worried to remember he had promised his Professor to carry it at all times. He had never taken the necklace the older wizard had given him off, not once, not even when bathing, so that was around his neck already.

He did not notice, however, that it was glowing red…

As he tumbled off the bed, narrowly avoiding crashing into his bureau, he shoved his fingers through his unruly dark hair…only to whirl around seconds later, fist cocked and pulled back in preparation for delivering a punch, as a hand landed on his shoulder, completely startled.

Ronald Weasley jerked back from his best friend, startled himself. “Bloody hell, mate!” Exclaimed. “You’re as tense as a bow string!” His red hair was sleep-mussed and his pajamas rumpled.

Breathing heavily, Harry hurriedly lowered his fist and stated, without preamble, “Ron, I’ve got to find Snape---*now*!”

The other boy was even more startled. “Wha---?”

“Go back to bed, Ron!” snapped. Noting that his friend was taken aback at his tone, the Boy-Who-Lived sighed and rubbed his forehead, practically squirming in place. “Sorry,” muttered. Then, “It’s Saturday,” he explained, the tiniest bit more calmly and with the tiniest bit more guilt, “You don’t have to be up, yet.”

With that, he brusquely pulled away from the other boy and burst through the dormitory door…

Nearly running over one quite astonished Hermione.

“Harry!” the girl exclaimed in shock.

He grabbed her hand to steady her: “Sorry about that, ‘Mione,” he apologized rapidly.

“Quite all right, Harry,” Hermione assured him as she regained her balance, studying his face intently. Perplexed.

Harry’s nerves chafed at the delay. “I don’t want to be rude, Herm, but I’ve got to find Professor Snape. *Now*!”

And with that, tore down the stairs from the Sixth Years’ floor, leaving his two friends staring after him. They had never seen someone move *quite* so fast before.

There was an exchange of glances:

“Marauders’ Map?” Ron.

Hermione, nodding, “Marauders’ Map.”

Tearing through the Gryffindor Common Room, ignoring the surprised shouts of a few early risers, Harry burst through the portrait entrance concealing Professor McGonagall’s office without so much as a knock.

“Harry!” the startled witch cried, her head jumping up from where she had been reading a Muggle novel and sipping her morning tea. She placed the china cup and saucer on her wooden desk with a clatter.

Panting slightly, the sixteen-year-old stumbled over to her and slammed his hands on the desktop, staring intently into her widened eyes. “I need to see Professor Snape! *Immediately*!”

Minerva, shaken, and her mind whirling, managed to answer, “I believe he is in the Great Hall, but---”

“Thank you!” exclaimed, then he rushed out the door without waiting to hear the rest of it.

“Harry!” Minerva shouted after him, and disregarding her tea and book, rushed out after him.

She nearly collided with Hermione and Ron.

“Professor!” the two cried.

Glancing quickly at them, her stride forceful and fast, she ordered quickly, “Come with me.”

Without objection, they obeyed, following hurriedly in her wake.

Harry rushed into the Great Hall through the open doors, looking harassed and frantic. His mind was one blurred haze of panic and worry. It did no good to tell him to calm down, that much at least, was currently impossible. His eyes arrowed to the Head Table, briefly meeting the inquiring, twinkling gaze of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, before quickly sweeping over the rest of the table.

Once. Twice. No Professor Snape.

Growling, torn between anger and enormous anxiety, he whirled away and smashed his fist against the extremely thick, extremely heavy wooden door behind him---it shattered. He did not notice it, his mind still reeling from his nightmare, but Albus did.

Quickly excusing himself, he stood gracefully to his feet and headed at a rapid clip towards Harry. After all, it was not every day that the Boy-Who-Lived burst into the Great Hall so early in the morning, clearly upset about something. And it *certainly* was not every day that he completely demolished one of the gigantic oak doors to the chamber itself.

About then, Harry’s attention was suddenly drawn to the pulsating heat against his skin. Quickly, he pulled up the necklace. The Celtic pendant was glowing a vibrant red.

“Damn it, Severus,” he growled, “I’m going to kill you!”

With that, he grasped the pendant and disappeared…just as Albus reached out to touch his shoulder. The Headmaster’s hand passed through empty air.

He blinked. “My…” murmured.

At that moment, Minerva, Hermione, and Ron screeched to a halt in the entrance. Their eyes immediately went to the Headmaster and the shattered door.

“Wha---?” gasped by Ron.

Minerva turned to the older wizard. “Albus?”

The man clasped his hands behind his back, still looking at the door, and replied serenely, “It would seem, Minerva, that our young Mr. Potter is currently rather upset with our resident Potions Master.”

The three blanched. “But Harry loves---” Hermione started.

Albus turned and nodded to her, still with an infernally serene smile. “Severus. Yes, I know. It would appear, Ms. Granger, that Severus does, too---although I am sure you are already aware of that.” The girl blushed at his words and the two students were obliged to duck their heads. The venerable wizard continued, “He gave Harry a very powerful gift, rather ancient, too. It just took him to wherever Severus is now.”

At that, Hermione and Ron snapped their attention down to the Marauders’ Map. Harry’s footsteps abruptly reappeared in the entrance to the clock tower garden of Hogwarts, the one that laid before the bridge to Hogsmeade.

“There!” Ron exclaimed. And with that the two teens rushed off, Albus and Minerva on their heels.

Harry appeared in the clock tower entrance with a slight ringing of bells, catching sight of Severus’s black-clad form heading towards the bridge, and stormed down the steps after him. The air fairly crackled with his power and soon enough, as his eyes began to burn with the first hint of tears, the gate which prevented access to the bridge slammed shut, causing the Potions Master to whirl around in shock to face him.

“Don’t you *dare*!” cried, every word enunciated clearly, every word riddled with emotion. He was still stalking towards him. “Have you even *looked* at your pendant?!” this demanded.

Severus’s eyebrow raised, though it was clear he was scrambling for control. “Mr. Potter, what *exactly* are you doing out here this early in the morning?”

But Harry would hear nothing of it. He was now less than two feet from the man. “What does it *look* like I’m doing?!” snapped. His hands were clenched at his sides and his breathing was labored from emotion. He had read the truth in his teacher’s eyes. “You *did*, didn’t you?! You’ve looked at your pendant, but you…you’re still going!”

“Mr. Potter, I hardly think---” the Head of Slytherin began.

“*Don’t* say it’s not my concern! It is! You’re *not* going; I’m not letting you! I can’t! I *won’t*!” The teenager looked stunned that this was even coming from him. His breath was hitching.

Severus’s face took on a tender look as the boy’s outburst struck him straight in the heart. He dropped softly to one knee, so that he was eye-level with his student, dark robes billowing about him. A slight breeze picked up strands of his black hair and caused them to waft. “Listen, Potter,” his voice was laced with unconcealed gentleness, “as strong as you are, this is something I do not believe you have any control over. I will come back.”

Harry’s own voice was *definitely* thick at this point. It cracked: “Th-They know you…you’re a spy…”

Severus’s tone gentled further. “And I know they do. But I *will* come back.”

The sixteen-year-old shook his head violently. “*Don’t* make promises you can’t keep! Don’t throw your life away!”

The Potions Master sighed. “Harry,” this was the first time he had ever used the boy’s first name; neither noticed, “I must go. The consequences will be far worse if I do not.” To emphasize his point, he reached out and squeezed the teenager’s shoulders tightly before he released him and stood. Severus nodded gravely to the young Gryffindor without a word. Then turned, and moved to leave.

A small hand slipping into his larger one halted him.

The boy’s voice was incredibly unsteady and wavered, as he barely managed, “Y-You don’t understand. All…all that I am, all…that has been given to me…y-you hold the key to that.”

Severus had since turned back to face him. “Occulmency?” quietly.

Harry shook his head. “Not just,” whispered.

Soft and confused: “Harry?”

Voice equally soft, the teenager answered, “Don’t you know?” He drew the man’s hand closer, trapping it between his two smaller ones. As he raised his head, a tear trickled down his cheek. The first.

Severus’s chest tightened. “Harry…” He knelt on the ground again. Just as he went to wipe the tear away, the Potions Master suddenly hissed in pain and jerked his hand away, grabbing the Dark Mark.