BOY-WHO-LIVED-SIGHTED

A Daily Prophet Special Report

After almost two weeks of utter silence concerning the fate of the famous Boy-Who-Lived , Harry Potter was spotted today in Diagon Alley, London. After receiving numerous reports of Potter sightings by Alley patrons, Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter was first reporter on the scene. Apparently shopping for new school supplies for the upcoming year, Harry Potter was spotted in Flourish and Blotts bookshop, very much alive and well despite rumors he had been killed two weeks ago in a fatal car accident in Muggle London.

When asked where he had been for the past two weeks, Potter refused to answer and replied with a, “no comment,” before being hurried away by several of his fellow students.

Rumors abound as to what actually happened after the alleged car accident the week before.

“I saw Dumbledore come into the Leaky Cauldron carrying Harry Potter in his arms,” says one Leaky Cauldron patron who was in the pub the day of Potter’s supposed accident. “He looked dead. I mean, I’ve seen people unconscious or sleeping before, but that kid really looked dead. I’ve never seen Dumbledore look like the way he did either. He looked like You-Know-Who just overran the Ministry and declared himself Minister of Magic.”

Albus Dumbledore is another public figure that has made himself scarce for comment these past two weeks. Despite virtual information blackout at the Ministry concerning Potter’s whereabouts and well-being, Dumbledore remains elusive and tight-lipped with details about Potter’s supposed accident and death.

“Dumbledore was probably behind this whole thing,” said Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, when asked for information concerning Potter’s disappearance. “I wouldn’t put it past him to kidnap the boy so he could take him back to Hogwarts and brainwash him while he says the boy was in some kind of accident. After all, we all know how mentally unstable the boy already is after that big fuss he made last June about You-Know-Who coming back. Dumbledore even had the audacity to send a letter to the Ministry saying Potter was fine and in his care, but when I demanded to see him to make sure he was alright and not having his mind filled with stories of Dark Lords and whatnot, he refused to let me see the boy. I am currently petitioning the Wizengamot that Dumbledore be censured and taken off the board of governors for his blatant obstruction in a Ministry investigation.”

Albus Dumbledore, as before stated, remains unavailable for comment to these allegations of kidnaping and obstruction by the Minister of Magic...

Hermione trailed off from her reading and looked up from the paper to Harry and Ron, who were all sitting around her on Harry’s bed in number twelve Grimmauld Place. The article just went on for another page and a half with more background information about Harry’s accident that had already been reported a hundred times within the past two weeks in almost every Wizarding publication in England.

She slowly folded the Daily Prophet in half and set it aside on the bedcover.

“It’s amazing how much attention you get for just going out and buying a new set of spell books,” she said.

Harry snorted and leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “Yeah, well, after all that trash people kept saying the other week, I’m surprised I actually made it out of Diagon Alley alive. I thought people would get tired of mobbing me by now, but I guess I was wrong. That Rita Skeeter almost took my head off when she first saw me. For awhile there, I thought I was going to have to use a strong Repelling Charm to get her to leave me alone. Too bad Mrs. Weasley couldn’t get my school supplies for me when she went to get them for you guys the other week...”

“Well, you really can’t blame people for wondering what happened to you, Harry,” Hermione said. “You have to admit, you getting hit by that car was really shocking. No one knew where you were or if any of those rumors you were dead were true. It was real chaos there for awhile – especially with Dumbledore refusing to tell anyone where you were or what actually happened.”

“Well, it wasn’t like he could actually tell them where I was,” Harry argued. “Otherwise, he would’ve been giving away the location of the Order’s Headquarters. If people knew I had actually been attacked by a Death Eater and turned into a ghost, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. They’d start calling me the Boy-Who-Came-Back-From-The-Dead! Plus, if I had to try and explain what happened, it would raise a lot of dangerous questions about how I got back – like about Snape spying for Dumbledore, the Order, Sirius... It’s just too dangerous to let anyone outside the Order know what actually happened...”

“But, Harry, you actually died!” Hermione exclaimed. “If Dumbledore hadn’t been able to find a way to get you back, don’t you think he would have eventually had to tell people what happened to you? You aren’t exactly someone that can disappear without anyone noticing...”

“I know that, but that doesn’t mean people have to pounce on me like that and start poking me to see if I’m still alive or not,” Harry muttered.

Hermione gave a soft sigh. “I understand that, Harry. I’m not saying people have any right to mob you in public places like that, it’s just that... You actually died...” Hermione looked down at the bedcover and seemed to become lost in her own thoughts. A distant look glazed over her eyes. “You were so lucky. We almost lost you... That must have been so scary... Being alone like that with no one else able to see or hear you...”

“Not as scary, I bet, as having to spend all that time with Snape,” Ron broke in. “That must have been really horrible, mate.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment. “It wasn’t that bad...” he murmured.

Ron snorted. “Yeah, assuming you knew you didn’t have to spend the rest of your days following Snape around as some kind of ghost. I’m surprised he actually helped you. I would’ve definitely thought he’d ignore you or at least try and bottle your soul as some kind of ingredient for one of his potions.”

“Ronald!” Hermione exclaimed. “Professor Snape helped get Harry’s soul back into his body. I think we should thank him for what he did.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. He was probably only helping Harry so he could get something out of it for himself.”

Hermione sighed and shook her head in helpless frustration.

Harry, meanwhile, remained quiet and said nothing. He didn’t want to get involved with this conversation. Even now – over two weeks after his frightening ordeal as a disembodied spirit – he still didn’t know how he felt about Snape. At times he wondered if it all hadn’t been some kind of weird dream. But then he’d feel a painful twinge go through his still tender, healing ribs and be forced to remember his encounter with McCourn and unexpected misadventure with Snape. Looking back on it all from the comfort and safety of his friend’s company in his godfather’s house, he sometimes wondered how he survived those two frightening, uncertain days.

“So, Harry,” Ron suddenly said, breaking Harry out of his thoughts, “you never did tell us: how in the world did you get stuck with Snape of all people as your... whatever you call it – that person that had to help you when you did that spell?”

“An Acolyte?” Harry supplied.

“Yeah, that.”

Harry hesitated. He’d already told Ron and Hermione much about what happened with Snape, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to share that tiny detail about just how he and Snape had been forced to work together. Somehow having his last dying thought being about Snape and his summer Potion’s essay made him a little embarrassed to share such a thing with his friends.

“Er...”

But luckily, just at that moment, Harry was saved by Mrs. Weasley calling up the stairs to them. “Children! Time for lunch!”

Taking that opportunity for all it was worth, Harry popped up from the bed and hurried for the door. “Coming!” he yelled.

Ron and Hermione stared after him with confused expressions.

“You hungry or something, mate?” Ron said. “Usually it’s me that’s first off in running for meals.”

“Er... yeah, that must be it.” Harry mumbled. He could feel his face beginning to warm in embarrassment.

Ron and Hermione exchanged dubious glances, but didn’t press the matter anymore. Getting up, they followed Harry out the door, and together the three of them made their way downstairs towards the basement.

As they were carefully tiptoing past Mrs. Black’s portrait in the hallway, they came across Fred, George, and Ginny coming out of the front parlor to go down to lunch too. Upon seeing Harry, George gave a mock cry of fear and jumped backwards.

“Ah! A ghost! Fred, help me!” he cried, pretending to swoon with fright against his brother.

Fred made a show of catching his twin and righting him before he could fall. “Geez, Harry, you should watch out. You almost scared George half to death. Can’t you find some other way to have fun instead of scaring other people like that? I know if I had been a ghost I would use the situation to its fullest extent too, but this is just starting to get ridiculous...”

“Stop it, you guys,” Ginny scolded, though a small smile pulled at her lips. “Leave Harry alone. You shouldn’t make fun of what happened to him.”

“Oh, come on, Ginny,” George said, giving Harry a friendly slap on the back. “We’re just having fun. Harry knows we’re just joking.”

“Yeah, you can’t go through life being so serious,” Fred seconded. “We would’ve only had to be serious if Harry hadn’t been able to get back in one piece. But since he’s fine now, we can make fun of him as much as we want.”

“Thanks, guys,” Harry sarcastically murmured.

“No problem, Harry. Just don’t go walking though any walls while Fred and I are working on our experiments,” George said. “We don’t want to be scared so bad by a ghostly apparition of yourself that we accidently blow up half of Headquarters.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing that,” Hermione said. “If your mother found out you’re still making those joke toys of yours–”

“Children! Hurry up! Food’s getting cold!” Mrs. Weasley’s sharp voice rang from the basement.

“Hermione, be quiet!” Fred hissed, leaping forward to cover her mouth with his hand. “Mum might hear you.”

Hermione wrestled her face free of Fred and glared at him. “Well, it’d serve you right if she caught you,” she said, spearing the twins with a stern look that would have made Professor McGonagall proud. Then turning on her heels, she started for the basement stairs. “If you want to keep doing your experiments, that’s fine, but if your mother ever asks me if you’re still doing them, I’m not going to lie for you,” she called back over her shoulder before disappearing down the stairs.

Fred, George, Ron, Harry and Ginny all stared after her.

“Well that was uncalled for...” George muttered under his breath.

“At least she said she wouldn’t tell on us unless Mum actually asks,” Fred said.

A worried look passed between the twins.

“We should probably hurry up and get down there before Mum gets to talk to Hermione alone...” George whispered.

Fred nodded in agreement, and before Harry, Ron, and Ginny could say anything, the two disappeared with a loud pop.

“I wish they’d stop doing that...” Ginny murmured. “Mum’s starting to get annoyed with them Apparating everywhere. Ever since they passed their Apparition test, it’s like they’re incapable of walking anywhere like normal people.”

Ron and Harry snickered. Somehow the thought of the twins ever acting like normal people – even by Wizarding standards – was a complete joke in and of itself.

“Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry,” Ron said. Harry and Ginny nodded, and the three of them headed downstairs.

The basement of number twelve Grimmauld Place was a large, dark, roughhewn room built almost like a dungeon under the ominous Black mansion. A slight chill hung in the air, but since it was near the end of August, the cold was a welcome relief from the summer heat. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling and a long wooden table took up most of the middle of the room.

Already sitting there at the table they found Hermione, Fred, George, and Sirius. Mrs. Weasley was busying herself at the stove.

“Hey, Harry, we were just starting to wonder where you guys were,” Sirius called when he saw the last three kids come down the stairs.

“We were just talking in the hall,” Harry replied as he took a seat next to his godfather at the table.

Sirius nodded. “So I was thinking after lunch we’d start cleaning the drawing room. Molly says there’s a whole infestation of doxies in the curtains.”

“Sure,” Harry said. Though cleaning was not high on his favorite-things-to-do list, he was happy to do anything that let him spend time with his godfather and friends – even if that meant spending an afternoon ridding the Black family mansion of doxies and its other unwanted pests.

“You might want to check the writing desk while you’re up there too,” Mrs. Weasley said as she laid a lunch of cold meats, cheeses, and bread out on the table for them. “I think there might be a boggart inside.”

“No problem,” Sirius said as he, Harry, and the others started in on the food. “We’ll get Mad-Eye to look at it too just in case there’s something worse in there. Knowing my mother, it could be anything...”

Light banter and talk filled the basement as they ate their lunch. But then, just as they were starting in on seconds, the fireplace on the other side of the room flared green and the black robed figure of Severus Snape stepped out into the room.

All talk immediately ceased and a tense silence filled the room.

“Is Dumbledore here?” Snape demanded, scanning the table with dark, penetrating eyes. “I must speak with him immediately and he’s not at Hogwarts.”

“He’s upstairs in the library,” Sirius said, making a conscious show of picking at some cheese on his plate with a fork so he wouldn’t have to meet the Potion Master’s gaze.

Snape however seemed just as uneager as Sirius to engage in conversation, and swept towards the stairs without even a second glance back at the table.

Harry stared after Snape as the Potions master disappeared up the stairs. Ever since his misadventure as a disembodied spirit, Snape and Sirius’ previous hostility towards one another had changed to a tense, unspoken truce. It was like they had agreed to just ignore each other rather than acknowledge each other’s presence outside of a professional, fellow-Order member courtesy.

Snape’s decision to ignore Sirius, however, seemed to have also carried over onto Harry. Whenever Snape was in the house for a meeting or to speak to Dumbledore, it was like he specifically went out of his way to avoid the teenage Gryffindor. The way he avoided meeting Harry’s eyes – or even looking in his direction – when he first entered the room confirmed Harry’s already lingering suspicions of that...

The sound of the basement door closing behind Snape at the top of the stairs reverberated through the silence that still hung in the Potion Master’s wake.

For a moment, no one moved or said anything. But then, like the passing of some ominous storm cloud from overhead, the first tentative voice broke the silence.

“Is it me, or does he remind you of the Grim Reaper?” George said.

“George!” Mrs. Weasley scolded, though no one seemed to pay her any mind.

“You got that right...” Fred murmured in agreement, picking his half-eaten turkey sandwich back up for another bite. “That man is just downright scary...”

“How did you stand being alone with him for so long, Harry?” George asked, turning on the quiet teenager. “That must have been really weird...”

“Yeah, did you find out any dark and interesting facts about Snape the general population of Hogwarts doesn’t know about?” Fred eagerly joined in.

Harry could feel everyone staring at him, waiting for him to answer. He knew they wanted him to give them some kind of dirt on the brooding Potions master, but the truth was, Harry wasn’t sure what he really thought about Snape anymore. Too much had happened in the last two weeks for him to really believe Snape was the evil, cold-hearted man he once thought he was. There was something more to Snape Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that still remained a mystery to him...

“Um – No, no, nothing...” Harry lamely murmured, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes. “I really didn’t get a chance to spend that much time with him...”

Fred and George looked particularly disappointed by Harry’s answer.

“Come on, Harry,” George begged. “There’s got to be something you can tell us!”

“Boys, leave Harry alone and finish up with your lunch – we have the drawing room to start on,” Mrs. Weasley sharply ordered, once again saving Harry from more uncomfortable questions.

The twins gave their mother a disgruntled look, but left Harry alone nevertheless.

Conversations slowly picked up where they’d been left off when Snape came in, and everyone went back to their lunch. But as Fred and George began sending small cubes of cheese flying at Ron while Hermione ducked under the table to avoid being hit, and Ginny and Sirius laughed as Mrs. Weasley tried to restore order, Harry continued to thoughtfully stare up the stairs after Snape. 

Even though it was midday, the Black family house was gloomy and dark. Shadows seemed to seep from the very walls themselves and paint the air in varying shades of black and grey. Snape nevertheless navigated the halls with ease. He was used to dark and foreboding places. They had become part of the mystique he’d adopted since his earliest days at Hogwarts as a young, outcast boy trying to make a reputation for himself. Unfortunately, his reputation for being associated with things of a darker nature seemed to have carried over into his adult life – and more than Snape really liked to admit. There were not moments when he secretly didn’t wish he could leave all the secrets and shadows behind and live a normal life in the light.But Snape did not dwell on these thoughts as he made his way towards the Black family library. He had long ago accepted the consequences of his choices and resigned himself to the life he now led. There was no way for him to change the past or who he was now. All he could do was do the best he could to make up for his past mistakes, and hope he made no more. And he was determined to do so by helping Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix defeat Lord Voldemort. 

Even if it killed him...

Snape finally came to the door of the library. With only a precursory knock to announce he was coming in, Snape entered.

The Black library was a vast, dark room filled with rows upon rows of tall, heavy bookshelves groaning under the weight of countless books ranging from topics as mundane as care for magical plants to tomes of Dark magic that wouldn’t have even been allowed in the restricted section of Hogwarts. And it was in this room of dusty volumes and ancient knowledge that Severus Snape found Albus Dumbledore.

The old headmaster slowly looked up from the book he was browsing and gave the Potions master a nod of greetings. “Hello, Severus. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

Snape wasted no time and immediately launched into the reason for his presence. “Tonight, Dumbledore. The Dark Lord plans to attack Azkaban tonight. An hour ago I felt the Dark Mark begin to burn. That’s the signal for his servants to prepare for the attack.”

Dumbledore slowly replaced the book he’d been reading back on the shelf and leveled troubled eyes on Snape. “So Voldemort’s finally rescheduled his attack on Azkaban then, has he?” he whispered. “I’d thought he would have waited at least a little bit longer before he renewed his plans to free his other followers...”

Snape scowled in reply. “He seems to think the Ministry is still in enough upheaval from Potter’s accident to make a successful strike. He was incensed when he first heard Potter was still alive and had to abandon his plans. But he’s since redoubled his efforts to see that Azkaban falls. Lucius Malfoy is to lead the attack.”

Dumbledore sighed and tugged his beard. “I will inform the Order immediately then. We must prepare for a counterattack. Do you know when the attack is suppose to be?”

“Not for certain, but I can only assume sometime around midnight,” Snape replied.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. For a moment he stood there in silence, staring at Snape with troubled blue eyes. “Do you think Voldemort suspects you had anything to do with Harry’s return?” he finally asked after a lengthy pause, putting to voice the fear that’d been slowly growing in the back of his mind for the past two weeks.

Snape’s usually impassive dark features mirrored Dumbledore’s own apprehension. “I don’t know for sure. As I said before, the Dark Lord’s anger was without bounds when he heard Potter was still alive. There were few that escaped his wrath those first couple of days... He questioned me about my false report, but I told him that I had been mistaken about his death, and that when you brought Potter back to Hogwarts it was only for him to recover under the school nurse’s care instead of leaving him in a Muggle hospital.”

“And did he believe it?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape did not immediately answer. “He was suspicious... Especially after Potter’s wand went missing after McCourn gave it to him as a trophy...”

“What did you say?” Dumbledore persisted.

“I said nothing,” Snape replied with a scoff. “Voldemort questioned everyone that was at the meeting that night to find out what happened to it. He even went so far as to Legilimens several of his servants, but he never actually found out what happened to it...”

Dumbledore smirked. “Lucky for us you are a master Occlumens...”

“That and the only other man that actually knows what happened to Potter’s wand that night being dead...” Snape snarkly added.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, yes... It is most unfortunate the way McCourn met the end he did...”

Snape snorted. “Somehow I don’t believe you actually mean that. He died trying to kill me. I feel no remorse for him or the way he died... If anything, he deserved what he got...”

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side. “It’s true McCourn was guilty of many crimes... I suppose that old Muggle saying ‘those who live by the sword die by the sword’ was proven true... It was just lucky Harry was there to repel McCourn’s Killing Curse...”

Snape’s face instantly darkened. “It was Potter’s fault I was being attacked by a Killing Curse in the first place,” he scowled. “That boy has a notorious habit of getting everyone else around him killed.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly under his breath. “Yes... Bad luck always does seem to follow Harry wherever he goes... Luckily though, he always has someone else to look out for him...”

Snape, however, didn’t seem to share Dumbledore’s amusement.

“Potter’s little misadventure might have just jeopardized my position as a spy, Dumbledore,” he said, leveling a dark look at the old headmaster. “I may have helped Potter get his soul back, but he might have just ruined my chances of spying on the Dark Lord for much longer. The Dark Lord is not stupid and will begin to suspect my involvement.”

“You’re right, Severus,” Dumbledore said, becoming serious. “You’re in a very dangerous position now. You must take extra caution about what you say and do from now on while in Lord Voldemort or any one else’s presence. We will leave you where you are for now, but the moment you begin to feel as though Voldemort or any of his other Death Eaters are onto you, you are to leave immediately and return to Headquarters. We can protect you here should you ever be discovered. But until that time, I can only ask that you continue your work as a spy.”

“I’ve already accepted the risks involved with being a spy, Dumbledore,” Snape said. “I’m not going to stop now.”

Dumbledore nodded his head gratefully. “Thank you, Severus. Your services are invaluable to the Order.”

Snape said nothing but inclined his head in silent acceptance of Dumbledore’s recognition.

“Where do you plan to be tonight during the attack?” Dumbledore then asked, studying the Potion master in the dim grey light of the room.

“To not rise suspicions, I will probably have to be in the Dark Lord’s company,” Snape replied, a look of revulsion passing over his face. “He will want those not directly involved in the attack with him...”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very well. You will probably be better placed near Voldemort anyway. We cannot risk you being anywhere near Azkaban during the counterattack; you are already in a dangerous position. We can’t have your position as a spy compromised anymore than it already is...”

Snape nodded and turned back towards the door. “You will inform the Order?” he said, looking back over his shoulder.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. I’ll contact Moody and Shacklebolt to have them inform other Aurors at Azkaban immediately. Don’t worry, Severus; we’ll be ready for them.”

Snape accepted this with another nod and started for the door, his black robes billowing behind him.

Staring after the departing Potions master, Dumbledore softly called after him, “Good luck, Severus.”

Snape paused on the doorway and looked back at Dumbledore. Then with one last nod, he disappeared from sight, not knowing his luck was about to run out...

Snape tried not to pay much attention to his surroundings as he swept up the decrepit front steps of the old Riddle House. Because whenever he did, he would immediately find himself beginning to question his sanity and continued intelligence of spying for Dumbledore inside Lord Voldemort’s hoard of Death Eaters.

Over the years, his time in Lord Voldemort’s service had taken him to many different places – and none of them really that bright or pleasant. But if there was one place Snape could not bring himself to get used to, it was the old Riddle estate.

The Riddle House was a leaning old manor house set just outside the town of Little Hangleton. Years ago, it had been a proud and handsome structure, one of the grandest buildings for miles around. But it long ago fallen into neglect after the mysterious deaths of its former owners some fifty years ago.

Weeds choked its front yard, and filled its fallow fields. Its paint was chipped and grey, peeling away from its sides like the skin of some giant snake. Its windows were broken and dark, its shutters banging dolefully in the wind. If anything, the place reminded Snape of a Muggle haunted house.

But there were things far more sinister than just restless spirits or untamed ghosts roaming its darkened hallways; because for the past several months now, the old derelict house had become Lord Voldemort’s main meeting place for him and his hoards of Death Eaters.

Snape forced himself to betray no outward sign of unease as he passed over the threshold into the house’s dark interior. Though there was little in the world that could make the acerbic Potions master of Hogwarts so ill at ease, the Riddle House never failed to send a small shiver down his spine. Voldemort had chosen for his main base of operations well – even if only for its aesthetic purpose of intimidation and fear...

Snape navigated the gloomy manor house easily; he’d walked these hallways enough from all his past travels to the Riddle House for meetings to be able to find his way through the place blindfolded. But that still didn’t mean he had to enjoy going there...

There was only one time he hadn’t been apprehensive about entering Voldemort’s stronghold. But he was pretty sure that was because he’d been more concerned about making sure a certain teenage ghost wasn’t going to follow him around for the rest of his life instead of worrying about Voldemort’s old house. He supposed the boy’s presence had helped stave off the worst of the unease such a building inspired, but if given the choice again, Snape would have forgone the presence of his Gryffindor companion... Lord only knew how much trouble that boy had caused him...

He’d been lucky to make it away from Little Hangleton still alive – let alone with his espionage position still intact. His encounter with McCourn had been closer than what he liked to admit. If Potter’s soul hadn’t already been beginning to reform – thus allowing him to conjure a powerful Shielding Charm – Snape didn’t want to think how that night might have ended...

Snape scowled under his Death Eater’s mask. That boy was more trouble than he was worth. It was amazing he’d lived so long to even see his fifteenth birthday... It was even more amazing that it always seemed to be him saving the trouble-making Gryffindor from every conceivable misadventure he got himself into. Sometimes Snape had to wonder what he’d done in a past life to deserve such a fate...

But Snape pushed those thoughts from his head as he ventured deeper into the house. The boy was back in his body, and he was once again free of the boy’s presence. All was back as it should be. Now, if things could only stay like that, Snape could consider himself a happy man.

A faint light was now visible at the end of the hallway. Snape forced himself back to the present, and made his way towards the light. As he’d told Dumbledore earlier that day, the Dark Lord had summoned his servants for one last meetings before tonight’s attack on Azkaban, and he couldn’t afford to be late. He was already in a precarious enough position as it was from Potter’s misadventure to risk any more suspicions by being late.

Hopefully Dumbledore had warned the Ministry and other members of the Order by now and were ready to meet Lord Voldemort’s attack with a counterstrike. If everything went right, this attack could possibly weaken Voldemort’s side and help gain an upper hand for the Light side.

But until that time, Snape would just have to keep quiet and see how the night’s raid went. After all, that was a spy’s job: to wait and watch...

He could hear the low murmur of voices now. Most of Voldemort’s followers must have already arrived. Squaring his shoulders in preparation of what was to come, Snape swept into the large room at the end of the hall.

As Snape suspected, most of Voldemort’s top-ranking followers were already there. The room was like a vast ocean of black. White masks bobbed here and there amongst the sea of black robed figures like buoys on choppy water. Many of the Death Eaters stood together in small groups, speaking in hushed tones.

Snape couldn’t see Voldemort or make out any sign he was anywhere nearby, and so took up a post by himself near the door. Though he was masked like everybody else, he had no desire to be recognized and drawn into conversation. The less he interacted with other Death Eaters, the easier it was for him to safeguard his position as a spy inside Voldemort’s ranks.

But it seemed Fate was not on the Potion master’s side that night, and his entrance had attracted more attention than what he wanted...

“Well, well, well... If it isn’t Dumbledore’s watch dog finally come out of his dungeons to grace us with his presence... And here I was beginning to think you were too ashamed to show your face here again...”

Snape instantly recognized the cold, silky voice of the Death Eater that approached him, and scowled under his mask. It was with great effort he forced himself to keep a civil tone.

“Lucius...” he drawled.

The elder Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at Snape through his mask slits. “I wasn’t expecting you to show tonight, Severus. I’ve seen so little of you these past couple of weeks I could only assume you were in bad standing with the Dark Lord. But I guess I was wrong... After all, I suppose anyone can make a mistake. I just can’t help find it amazing though you couldn’t tell if Potter was really dead or not. That’s usually something you don’t make a mistake about...”

“Like I told the Dark Lord,” Snape dangerously hissed, “I never got to actually see the boy after Dumbledore brought him back. I could only assume things from what little information I actually had at the time.”

“I’m sure...” Lucius sneered. “Isn’t it just miraculous though how Potter always seems to evade death even when you’ve had so many opportunities to kill him over the last four years. Even with Dumbledore watching over him I would think you still should have been able to dispose of one little boy. One would almost have to think you’re not trying hard enough...”

“Dumbledore has more security around that boy than a vault in Gringgots,” Snape darkly hissed. “Don’t think I haven’t tried ridding the world of that annoying little brat. But every time I try and make a move, Dumbledore always shows up at the last minute and ruins my plans.”

“I’m sure he does...” Lucius replied with a derisive look in his pale grey eyes. “It’s such a shame McCourn wasn’t able to actually kill Potter. The Dark Lord was so pleased when he heard about the boy’s death. I suppose it’s best McCourn died when he did though... The Dark Lord would have probably killed him for his failure anyway when he heard Potter was still alive.”

Snape gave a disgusted snort. “What is truly a shame is that the Dark Lord didn’t get a chance to do that... He probably would have made him suffer longer than what I got a chance to do. McCourn barely got what he deserved...”

Lucius eyed Snape through narrowed eyes. “Yes... It’s rather strange McCourn died the way he did right before Potter’s wand mysteriously went missing. You know the Dark Lord is still very curious to find out what happened to it...”

“I’m sure he is,” Snape casually replied, keeping his voice carefully devoid of emotion as though he really didn’t care what Lucius was talking about.

“Wouldn’t it be strange if Potter’s wand suddenly turned up back in the boy’s possession?” Lucius then slyly asked. “After all, how would Potter ever know where the Dark Lord’s meeting place was unless someone told him or there was someone working for Dumbledore inside the Dark Lord’s ranks...”

Snape felt himself begin to grow wary and guarded. Lucius’ line of questioning was starting to become dangerously uncomfortable. Somehow Lucius’ tone didn’t lead Snape to believe the elder Malfoy was asking these questions without some kind of suspicion fueling his cryptic hints...

“That is an interesting theory to explain where Potter’s wand might have gone,” Snape replied, “but to the best of my knowledge, he had to get a replacement wand after his run-in with McCourn. So I guess that disproves your theory of the disappearing wand.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed at Snape. “I guess it does. After all, what do I know about the going ons of the Light side. That’s why we have you. It’s your job to spy on Dumbledore and his little band of do-gooders. That’s what makes you so important to the Dark Lord after all... Just be careful, Snape. Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you know everything about the ones you’re spying on...”

Then giving Snape one last pointed look, Lucius turned and melded back into the press of other Death Eaters crowding the room.

Snape stood where he was for several minutes staring after Lucius, trying to decipher Malfoy’s last parting words. What did he mean by that? Did Lucius suspect his position as a spy for Dumbledore? And how did he seem to know about Potter having his wand back? Was he in danger of being exposed? These and other disturbing possibilities crossed the Potion master’s mind.

But Snape didn’t get a chance to ponder his situation anymore as a sudden hush came over the room, and everyone turned to face the front.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.

Like some living vision of the Grim Reaper, Voldemort glided into the room through a side doorway. His blood red eyes scanned the room as he moved, seeming to catalog everyone’s attendance or absence. Snape felt Voldemort’s eyes slowly come to rest on him at the back of the room, his icy gaze boring him for what seemed like an endless half second of eternity. But then, like the passing of some terrible evil, Voldemort moved on. A violent shiver went down Snape’s spine.

Finally coming to the front, Voldemort turned to face his followers. Another long pause of silence ensued as Voldemort scanned the room one last time. Several Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“My followers,” Voldemort finally said, breaking the tense silence of the room. “Tonight we prepare to do what none have done before: strike Azkaban prison. Tonight we will make our first decisive strike against the Ministry of Magic and those who would dare to defy us. Many of your fellow Death Eaters sit locked in Azkaban as we speak because they chose to sacrifice everything they had to follow me. They did not renounce their allegiances to me, or go into hiding when I was struck down and turned into a broken spirit by a miscalculated Killing Curse. They remained faithful to me even when the Ministry sentenced them to life in Azkaban – a terrible fate only eclipsed by the Dementor’s Kiss. And it is for this reason and others we go to free them tonight. Their sacrifices and loyalty will not go unrewarded. I will not leave those that show such loyalty to me rot in prison...”

A cry of devotion went up from Voldemort’s hoard of Death Eaters, cheering for their master’s plans and supposed concern for their own well-being. Snape snorted softly to himself. If only they knew how fast their caring master would sacrifice them the moment it was most advantageous to him, Snape thought with a scowl. Poor deluded fools...

Voldemort was talking again. His followers’ cries died away almost instantaneously.

“This attack will not only free those that have given more than many of you here have to my cause, but it will also be a final declaration to the Wizarding world that I am truly returned. With this attack, those in the Ministry that still fight to deny my return will be forced to recognize once and for all that I, the great Lord Voldemort, am alive and well, and ready to unleash my reign of terror onto this country once again!”

A collective shudder went through the room at the sound of Voldemort’s name, but the Dark Lord hardly even seemed to notice. Looking into the crowd, he loudly called, “Lucius! Come forward!”

Snape watched as Lucius proudly made his way to the front of the room, the others Death Eaters parting like water before him. Kneeling before Voldemort, Lucius bowed his head. “My Lord...” he said.

Voldemort red eyes glimmered darkly in the candle light as he motioned Lucius back up. “Rise, my faithful servant. You have proven yourself loyal to me and cunning, so I am entrusting you with leading tonight’s attack. I expect nothing but success from you and will forgive no failure. I know there are those close to you in Azkaban and expect to welcome them back into our company very soon... ”

Lucius bowed low. “You honor me, my Lord, with this mission... I will not let you down.”

Voldemort nodded distractedly. Turning back to his other followers he said, “The rest of you know your orders. Do not fail me. This is only the beginning of what is to come. Let all those that stand against us tremble at the name of Lord Voldemort and his strength. Now go and prepare for tonight’s attack!”

An answering cry of determination went up from his hoard of Death Eaters, and they all began to drift away to fulfill their master’s command. Snape began to turn to follow the rest of them out, but just as he was about to reach the door, a cold, serpentine voice called after him. “Snape... If you would please stay a moment...”

Snape slowly turned back to see Voldemort still standing at the head of the room, Lucius close beside him.

Swallowing his misgivings, Snape swept to the front of the room and bowed low at the waist. “My Lord...”

Voldemort stared at Snape with cold red eyes, his pale sunken face bathed in dark half-shadows. If any lesser man had been in the Potion master’s place right then, he would have surely shrunk away in fear. But Snape stood his ground and held the Dark Lord’s gaze undaunted.

Voldemort seemed to sense Snape strong resolution, and grinned in satisfaction. “You are a brave man, Snape,” he slowly drawled. “There are few others like you amongst my followers...”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Snape replied, bowing at the waist again.

“That is why I want you to accompany Lucius on tonight’s attack.”

Snape sharply looked back up at Voldemort. “What?” he stammered.

Voldemort gave Snape another nasty grin. “Tonight’s attack is crucial in establishing my return to the Wizarding world, and I want no mistakes. Though I trust Lucius impeccably with carrying this mission out, I want another of my trusted servants there to make sure all goes according to plan. You have proven yourself countless times over to be intelligent and skilled in ways of combat. I want you there on the front lines...”

“But, my Lord,” Snape said, “I run the risk of being exposed if I am captured or spotted during the attack. To send me on this raid would run the risk of me possibly losing my position as a spy in Hogwarts.”

Voldemort however didn’t seem to hear. “You will be masked during the attack and with several dozen other Death Eaters; you will not be recognized. Nor do I expect you to be captured. We will strike so quickly, the Aurors will have no time to recover or mount a counterattack. I also trust in your dueling skills should such a situation arise, so I have no fear of you being discovered.”

Snape desperately racked his brains for some other reason not to go, but could think of nothing. Bowing his head in defeat, he softly whispered, “As you wish, my Lord...”

“Very good. Now go and prepare for the attack. We move out soon.”

“Yes, my Lord...” Snape whispered, and bowed one last time before heading for the door.

As he came to the threshold he chanced one more look back over his shoulder towards Lucius and Voldemort. He saw a pointed look pass between them, and felt a cold chill run down his spine. And it was with a growing sense of unease he left to ready himself for the coming night.

A little over an hour later found Snape hiding on the banks of the River Acheron – the main waterway separating Azkaban from the rest of the world. Across the vast expanse of water the prison’s dark outline could be seen against the inky black sky. There was no moon overhead to give off their position or alert their enemies to their approach – perfect conditions for a surprise attack.Snape crouched lower behind the prickly bush he’d been stationed. He forced himself not to growl in frustration. This was shaping up to be a perfectly horrible night. First, he’d had a particularly unpleasant confrontation with Lucius Malfoy and now had him suspicious to his loyalties. Then, he’d been ordered to join the attack on Azkaban which was now fated to wind up disastrous for him no matter which side won. And then! to top everything off, he’d been stationed behind this godforsaken bush to wait for their signal to move. Was there no justice in this world? 

Fighting off the urge to send a particularly nasty Incinerating Charm at the offending shrub, Snape waited in silence for some kind of sign from his fellow Death Eaters. Several minutes passed before he suddenly heard the soft rustling of leaves and branches somewhere off to his side. His wand held at the ready, Snape spotted Lucius slowly creep his way towards him through the shore’s dense brush line.

“Snape,” Lucius hissed, crouching down beside the Potions master, “we’re ready to move.”

Snape nodded and followed the elder Malfoy out onto the beach. There was little to no security on the mainland’s beach to worry about being spotted by the prison’s guards just yet. Along the rocky shoreline, at least three dozen other Death Eaters emerged from their hiding spots to join Snape and Lucius on the river edge.

“Everyone knows the plan,” Lucius whispered. “There’d better not be any mistakes...” Then pulling his wand out, he conjured half a dozen small, wooden boats. Their bottoms thumped dully along the river bottom; their prows bobbed gently up and down in the cold, choppy water. “Once out on the water, there’s no talking,” Lucius hissed. “We don’t want to be spotted until we’re already inside the prison. If I hear any unnecessary sound, I will personally make sure that person talking will be left behind to enjoy Azkaban’s hospitality. Is that clear?”

There was no dissenting answer from any of the other Death Eaters.

Lucius nodded. “Good. Now get in.” No one wasted any time, and quickly divided themselves up amongst the boats.

Somehow Snape found himself in the same boat as Lucius. Lucius also noticed his sailing companion and gave the Potions master a dark look. Snape responded in kind. Neither was glad to share the other’s company – especially after their confrontation earlier that evening...

Pushing off shore, they guided their boats towards the foreboding island in the distance. As they glided soundlessly across the water, Snape stared in the direction of the hulking prison. He could only hope the Aurors were already stationed at the gate, lying in wait for them to attack. Though he knew if he was captured his position as a spy – for either side – was pretty well shot, he knew the Light side couldn’t afford to lose this battle. This was possibly going to turn into the first decisive battle of the war... All he could do to settle his restless nerves was know that he’d done everything he could to warn Dumbledore and the Order beforehand. Let come what may now...

But Snape was brutally torn away from any shred of comfort he might have had as he suddenly noticed the boats veering off to the far side of the island, away from the main landing docks.

“Where are we going?” he softly whispered to Lucius. “Why aren’t we heading for that docks? That’s the only entrance into the prison.”

Lucius shot Snape a withering glare out of the corner of his eye before tartly whispering back, “That’s what you think. The Dark Lord has had a secret informant inside Azkaban for the past several months. It seems someone tipped them off we were planning an attack tonight. But it really doesn’t matter... We have another way in that won’t entitle us having to fight an all out war just to get in through the front gates. They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late...”

Snape stared at Lucius in horror. There was another entrance? This wasn’t good... He’d been expecting Voldemort to attack through the front gate – the only entrance he knew of into the prison. All the Aurors were going to be waiting there for them to attack, not through some other side entrance. What was he going to do? He had to warn them...

But Snape didn’t have time to think of a way to alert the guards; for just at that moment he felt the boat grind up against the island’s rocky, desolate shore. Around him, the other Death Eaters were already getting out of their boats and hurrying onto shore. Snape followed more slowly, still trying to think of some way to surreptitiously warn the guards inside.

Lucius led their band to the base of the prison’s outer wall. A hundred feet of sheer, unscalable rock face stretched up over them to the ramparts high above. Snape couldn’t see any sign of guards on top it. Silently cursing to himself, Snape hurried after Lucius and the rest of his Death Eaters.

Lucius followed the bulwark for several dozen yards before suddenly coming to a stop in front of a small group of trees growing up alongside the dark wall face. Their limbs were twisted and black, gnarled from years of struggling for life out on the island’s harsh, unforgiving rocks. Pulling a section of dead branches aside, Lucius uncovered the entrance to what looked like a small drainage tunnel.

Snape peered past him into the yawning black mouth.

“This is it,” Lucius said. “Wands out and ready. It’s a battle from here on in.” The other Death Eaters followed Lucius’ example and pulled their wands out. “Lumos,” Malfoy incanted, and slipped into the tunnel.

Snape followed after Lucius, his own wand held up and radiating a soft, blue light from its tip. A dank, rotten smell filled the air, making Snape glad he had his Death Eater’s mask to help block out the worst of the stench. Sludgy water splashed around their feet, echoing far into the unknown depths of the sewers. No one spoke or made any kind of noise except for the soft splash of their feet.

For some time they transversed the dark, winding passages. Though he had long ago lost track of their route, Snape felt as though they were now somewhere directly under the prison.

As if to confirm Snape’s suspicions, Lucius suddenly stopped in front of a small side tunnel branching off from the one they were currently traveling. Everyone come to a halt behind him.

“We’re now directly under the main prison block,” Lucius whispered. “This tunnel-“ he gestured to the tunnel beside him“-will lead us almost directly up to where we want to be. This will also be our main escape route. Should you be cut off or unable to get back here, head for the main gates and try to steal a boat to get back to shore. The rest is up to you. Should you fail, do not bother coming back to base. The Dark Lord will not forgive failure...” Then holding his wand up high to light the way, he slipped into the new passageway.

Snape and the others followed him. For several more minutes they traveled the winding tunnel in silence. Snape could feel the gradient slowly rising the farther they went. Suddenly, up ahead, he saw a faint light shining at the end of the tunnel. Lucius killed his light as did the rest of them as they neared.

Coming to a barred grate at the end, Lucius gave one last look over his shoulder to the other Death Eaters crowding the tunnel behind him. “For power and glory,” he said. Then with a powerful curse, Lucius sent the grate flying backwards off its rivets with a deafening crash.

The rest of what happened next was like a blur to Snape. Like a black stream of death, he and his fellow Death Eaters spilled out into Azkaban. Running through the halls, they made their way towards the main cell block where the ones they were there to free were kept.

Turning a sharp corner, Snape and Lucius – running at the head of the line – suddenly found themselves face to face with two Aurors coming towards them down the hall.

Lucius immediately raised his wand and aimed it at the nearest guard. “Avada Ked-”

“Stupify!” Snape screamed and cut Lucius off before he could finish his curse. The two Aurors simultaneously fell to the ground, unconscious but still very much alive.

The masked blonde sent Snape a scathing glare, but didn’t have time to demand why the Potion master had aborted his Killing Curse before the startled cries of more guards coming down the hall rang out. Curses and hexes began to fly as Death Eaters stormed past them to meet the approaching guards. Screams and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Snape tried to block out the horrible sights and sounds as he and Lucius were forced to abandon their confrontation and run again. It was like he was trapped in some kind of nightmarish dream he couldn’t wake up from.

As they ran, the Death Eaters began to separate, dividing into smaller groups to spread out into adjoining halls. Taking the opportunity, Snape veered off from the others into another passageway. From what he could tell, they were in the center part of the building – too far away from the gates for the Aurors there to know they’d already infiltrated the prison. If he could somehow get closer, he might be able to set off the alarm and let them know they were already there.

As he ran he could hear the sound of battle echoing down the hallway towards him. He had to hurry. Lucius and the rest of his gang sounded like they’d already reached the main prison block. If he didn’t hurry, Lord Voldemort’s other followers would be set free, and what few Aurors still guarding the cells would be outnumbered more than five to one.

Quickening his pace, Snape sharply turned down another passage. But as he did, he felt himself collide with what felt like a red robed brick wall coming the opposite direction. Stumbling backwards, Snape instinctively drew his wand at his unknown attacker. Though he was going for help, he knew any Auror he met would immediately take him as an enemy and deal with him as such.

But it seemed Luck was on Snape’s side that night; and the man he’d run into was a secret ally.

“Shacklebolt? It’s me!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up to the side as he stared down the wand suddenly aimed in his face.

“Snape?” Shacklebolt said, his eyes widening in surprise as he recognized the voice behind the mask. He quickly stepped back from Snape and lowered his wand. “What are you doing here? Dumbledore said you were going to be with Voldemort during the attack.”

“That’s what I thought too, but I somehow got dragged into this... Listen, Lucius found another way into the prison and is in the main cell block as we speak. He’s going to free the Dark Lord’s other followers. He has about three dozen other Death Eaters already with him, so if you don’t want Azkaban overrun by Death Eaters, I suggest you warn the other Aurors at the gates and get them down here now!”

Shacklebolt visibly paled. “I had a feeling something was wrong when we didn’t see anyone coming for the gates...” Looking at Snape, Shacklebolt gave him with a worried look. “Snape, you can’t be seen here; you have to get out. Other Aurors are going to be coming any minute now and we can’t risk you being seen. Can you get back out the way you came in?”

Snape shook his head. “No. Lucius and the other Death Eaters are covering all the hallways back to the tunnel. If I go back that way, I’ll be seen and questioned why I’m leaving.”

Shacklebolt glanced behind him down the hall he’d just come. In the distance, he could hear the faint sound of footsteps hurrying towards them. It seemed the alarm had finally reached the Aurors at the front gate and they were now coming to help.

“You have to get out of here,” Shacklebolt said, grabbing Snape by the arm and steering him towards another hallway. “Go down this hall until you reach the north corridor, then follow that to your right for a hundred feet. There’ll be a room to your left. Inside is a hidden tunnel that will lead you to the beach; just use a Revealing Spell to find the entrance. Once outside, sneak back to the docks and take one of the boats there back to shore. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Snape nodded, a little bit startled by the concern in Shacklebolt’s voice. Though both of them were in the Order and on the same side, Snape was not used to the idea of someone else going out of their way to help him like this.

“Good. I’ll make sure no one follows you,” Shacklebolt went on, still urging Snape towards the hall. “Keep quiet and don’t let anyone see you.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Snape replied. “I’ve been doing this for longer than I care to admit and know how to evade capture.”

The sound of running feet was getting closer.

Shacklebolt quickly turned back to Snape. “Go. I’ll direct them away from you while you get away.”

Snape nodded and made as if to leave, but then stopped and turned back. “Be careful. Lucius almost killed two Aurors already. He and the other Death Eaters aren’t going to use just Stunning Curses; this is an all out war now... They’ll be aiming to kill...”

The Aurors were almost right on top of them now.

Shacklebolt gave Snape another nod and waved him towards the hall. “Go. I’ll see you back at Headquarters once this is all over.”

Snape didn’t need anymore urging and sped away down the hall. Shacklebolt also turned and ran the other direction to meet the coming Aurors.

Unbeknownst to either Order member though was that their little encounter had not gone unobserved. For hiding in the shadows of an adjacent hallway, a dark robed figure watched the two separate and disappear in their respective directions. And it was with a murderous fire burning in his pale grey eyes that Lucius Malfoy turned and hurried back towards his fellow Death Eaters.

Severus Snape was going to have much to answer for...

The Riddle House was as dark and foreboding as it had been when Snape first arrived earlier that evening. Only now, Snape was too tired to really care about the old house’s frightening atmosphere.It had taken him longer to get back than he thought it would. After leaving Shacklebolt, he’d followed the Auror’s instructions and escaped out onto the beach without anyone seeing him. Unfortunately, by the time he’d gotten out, the whole prison had been alerted to the Death Eater’s break in and had been put on full alert. He’d had to wait almost an hour before it was safe enough for him to steal a boat back to the mainland. After that, he’d had to hike several miles before he was finally free of the prison’s Anti-Apparition wards so he could Disapparate back to Little Hangleton. 

Wearily making his way up the front steps, Snape entered the house. All he wanted to do right then was to go to bed and sleep. He felt like he’d just survived the longest day of his life. Unfortunately, he knew it’d probably be several more hours before he’d be able to go to sleep. From what he’d been able to see outside the prison while waiting to steal a boat, Voldemort’s forces had been scattered by the Aurors’ quick recovery and counterattack on the prison block. It looked like many of the Death Eaters had been either captured or killed in the attack, and Snape knew Voldemort was going to want a report.

Making his way through the house, Snape came to the room Voldemort had held the meeting earlier that night. A low fire was burning in the fireplace, casting long dark shadows across the room. The room was empty except for a small cluster of black robed figures at the front. There, Snape also found the Dark Lord Voldemort sitting in an old, high backed chair with Nagini wrapped in a coil at his feet.

“Severus...” Voldemort hissed at the Potion master’s entrance. “What took you so long?”

The other Death Eaters crowded around Voldemort all quieted and turned to watch Snape kneel at their master’s feet.

“I was separated from the rest of the attack party and had to find my own escape route from the prison. It seems the Aurors were quicker to mount a counterattack than we anticipated,” Snape replied, keeping his head humbly bowed to the Dark Lord as he spoke. “I had to sneak to the docks and steal a boat before I could get far enough away to Disapparate. I came back as quickly as I could.”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed a crimson red. “I see...” he drawled in a dangerous hiss. “And no one helped you find a way out for you to hurry back here to me?”

Snape felt something inside him tighten in warning. “No, my Lord,” he carefully replied. “I tried getting back to the rest of the group, but I was cut off by a group of Aurors coming to confront us. I would have stayed and fought but I was too outnumbered.”

Voldemort’s skeletal face contorted into an ugly mask of wrath. “Is that so?” he said. “Then why is it Lucius here came to me saying he saw you consorting with a Ministry Auror during the attack, and that he gave you instructions on how to safely get out of Azkaban so he could, I quote, ‘see you back at Headquarters...?’”

Snape sharply scanned the group of Death Eaters standing around Voldemort and spotted Lucius’ cold, grey eyes staring back at him from under his mask, challenging him to deny what he’d seen.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, my Lord,” Snape replied, not about to accept his defeat. “I met no one in the halls except the group of Aurors coming to stop us. I met no one like Lucius accuses me of...”

“Liar!” Lucius shouted, stepping forward. “I saw you. I followed you after you tried slipping away from the attack without anyone noticing to go warn the Aurors at the gate. You’ve been spying for Dumbledore this entire time, you traitor!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Snape shouted back. “I would never betray our master!”

“Enough!” Voldemort roared, and leveled blood red eyes at Snape. Aiming his wand at the Potion master, he hissed, “Legilimens!”

Snape fell to his knees from the force of the Dark Lord’s attack, holding his head in agony. It felt like hot blades were cutting through his skull, trying to tear his brain to pieces. A stream of unorganized thoughts and memories flashed before his eyes. But before Voldemort could see anything damaging, Snape managed to Occlude his mind and close it to the Dark Lord’s invasion. Sweating and panting from the effort it took to push the Dark Lord from his mind, Snape remained kneeling on the floor.

“Very good, Severus...” Voldemort softly hissed. “But it will do you no good. I already know you’re spying for Dumbledore. I’ve had my suspicions ever since Potter’s little accident. I thought it was very strange how he suddenly reappeared alive and well, and one of my best Death Eaters wound up dead with you somehow involved in both incidents... I also don’t doubt you were behind the boy’s wand disappearing and turning up back in his possession...”

Snape slowly picked himself up off the floor and narrowed defiant eyes at Voldemort. Tearing his Death Eater’s mask off, he threw it to the ground with disgust. It was no use trying to deny his true allegiances anymore... If he was going to die, he was at least going to do it on his feet, facing his enemy like a man. “So you know...” he said, contemptuously staring back at Voldemort and his pack of Death Eaters. “Go on and kill me then like the murderers you are...”

Voldemort chuckled softly under his breath. “No... not just yet, my dear Severus... You have much you must be punished for before you can be granted the release of death...”

“May we do it, my Lord?” an eager female voice said from beside Voldemort. “It’s been so long since we’ve had any fun... And we’re so out of practice...”

Voldemort’s snake-like lips contorted into the wicked parody of a smile. “Why of course, Bellatrix,” he grinned. “Thirteen years of Azkaban is far too long a time for you to miss the joys of torture...”

Snape stared at the masked woman. Bellatrix Lestrange... Of course Voldemort would be sure she was one of the first ones he freed from Azkaban... She was possibly one of the most psychotic murderers in Voldemort’s fold. No doubt some of the other Death Eaters in the Dark Lord’s presence were other convicts Lucius and his gang had managed to free before the Aurors had showed up...”

Bellatrix’s eyes shined with an almost predatory gleam as she stepped towards Snape. “Poor widdle Potions master...” she crooned in a high-pitched baby voice. “Someone should have taught you not to betray the Dark Lord. Because it might be the last thing you do... Crucio!”

Snape fell writhing to the floor. He struggled to aim his wand at Bellatrix to stun her through the haze of pain clouding his vision, but before he could, he felt his wand brutally ripped out of his hand by a powerful Disarming Spell cast by one of the other Death Eaters.

A small circle of Death Eaters formed around the downed Potions master. One by one, they took turns cursing him. Crucios, Contorting Spells, and Fire Charms were only some of the spells they used. But Snape refused to give them the pleasure of hearing him scream, and bit down on his tongue to keep himself from crying out. He didn’t know how long they tortured him, but he finally heard Voldemort shout out over their curses, “Enough!”

Snape lay there motionless as the Death Eaters backed away from him, trying to reorganize his shattered thoughts and strength. His body screamed in agony. Every inch of him hurt. Pain coursed through his body so intense Snape couldn’t seem to remember a time he hadn’t hurt so much. A small line of blood ran down his lip to his chin. He couldn’t be sure, but he felt as though several ribs were broken and one of his ankles was horribly sprained, if not permanently twisted.

Swallowing his misery, Snape painfully pushed himself to his knees and glared at Voldemort through a curtain of mussed black hair. “Kill me...” he rasped, wiping the line of blood from his face. “You’re not going to break me like this, and I’m not going to amuse you by trying to beg for my life or ask you for mercy. So stop playing around and just kill me...”

Voldemort met Snape’s demand with a wicked grin. “No, no, no, Severus... You misunderstand what I intend to do with you. I don’t want you dead – at least not yet, that is... I have much bigger plans in store for you... Even though you have proven yourself a traitor and spy, I can still think of several ways you can be useful to me...”

Snape glared at Voldemort. “I’m not going to do anything for you,” he spat. “My days of doing your bidding are over. And there’s nothing you can do to make me.”

But Voldemort hardly seemed put off by the Potion master’s vehement declaration. “Oh, I think there is,” he chuckled, staring at Snape with malicious red eyes. “I’m going to make you do for me what you’ve been doing for Dumbledore all this time. I know it’s a crude method of manipulation, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the Imperius Curse?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he otherwise betrayed no outward sign of emotion.

Voldemort laughed at the Potion master’s reaction. “I know what you’re thinking, Severus, but it won’t work. I know you can fight off the Imperius Curse. You are, after all, a master Occlumens... The Imperius Curse would barely even last five minutes on you... But I have something else that will make sure you remain completely under my control...” Turning to Lucius, the Dark Lord nodded his head.

Through Lucius’ eye slits, Snape saw the elder Malfoy’s eyes sparkle with malicious glee. Reaching into his robes, Lucius pulled out what looked like a tiny stone shard from some hidden, inner pocket. It was half an inch long, and such a deep purple coloring, it shined almost black in the dancing light of the fire. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, Lucius slowly approached Snape with it.

Without even knowing what it was, Snape could sense something unspeakably evil about the tiny stone shard and knew he could not let it touch him. Gathering his strength, he tried to make a run for the door.

“Restrain him!” Voldemort yelled.

“Crucio!” Bellatrix’s voice rang out, and before Snape could even get to his feet, found himself once more writhing on the ground. The curse was quickly cut off, and Snape felt several hands grab him and pull him to his knees facing Lucius.

Snape struggled for a moment against the two Death Eaters holding him, but he was too weak from his previous torturing to fight them, and had to abandon his struggles.

Voldemort slowly got to his feet and joined Lucius in front of Snape. Snape openly glared at them, hatred burning in his eyes.

“I suppose this is it, Snape,” Lucius said, tauntingly holding the stone shard up for Snape to see. “Too bad Dumbledore isn’t going to be able to help you out of this one...”

“I’ll see you rot in Azkaban before this war is over, Lucius,” Snape softly hissed. “And I’ll make sure I see you in Hell,” he added to Voldemort, spitting at the Dark Lord’s feet.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed dangerously. “We’ll see about that...” he hissed, and motioned for Lucius to proceed.

A vindictive look shining in his pale, grey eyes, Lucius grabbed a fistful of Snape’s hair and brutally forced his head down. Pushing the Potion master’s collar back, Lucius pressed the stone to the base of Severus’ neck.

Snape cried out as he felt the stone touch his skin. It felt like black ice. He could almost feel the dark magic radiating from its core as it began to magically sink into his neck. Thrashing and screaming at the undescribable pain it caused him as the stone disappeared beneath his skin, Snape fought for release. But his restrainers only gripped him tighter and held him immobile.

Snape’s tortured screams reverberated through the room as Voldemort slowly stepped forward and raised his wand at the writhing Potions master.

“Imperio!”

Snape’s helpless cries continued to wordlessly echo into the night.

Meanwhile, several hundred miles away, Harry Potter woke up screaming in a cold sweat...

“NO! PROFESSOR! NOOOOO!”

“Harry! Harry, come on, mate, wake up! Harry! Harry!”

“Professor, no! NOOOO!”

“Harry, wake up!”

It was with a sudden jolt Harry was finally rattled out of his sleep and back into consciousness. Disoriented and damp with sweat, Harry frantically looked around, hyperventilating and shaking like he’s just run a marathon. A blinding pain throbbed through his scar, making him dizzy and almost faint with pain. But he ignored the pain and tried to focus on his surroundings. Desperately trying to get his bearings on where he was, he was only distantly aware of Ron hovering by his bedside, one hand still on his shoulder from shaking him awake.

“Harry, what’s wrong, mate? What happened?” Ron worriedly asked, his face a ghostly shade of white in the dark shadows of the room.

“He’s in trouble… We have to help him…” Harry said, finally focusing on Ron and staring at him with an almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Help who?” Ron said, looking very confused and frightened. “Who are you talking about?”

“Professor Snape,” Harry said, frantically trying to make Ron understand. “I saw it. It was like a dream, only worse. Voldemort knows he’s been spying for Dumbledore. He did something to Snape. There were other Death Eaters there too. They were all torturing him. We have to help him!” Kicking his bed sheets off, Harry struggled to stand. “I don’t know what Voldemort did to him, but Snape’s hurt. I have to tell Dumbledore.”

“Harry, whoa, whoa! What are you talking about?” Ron said, grabbing Harry by the arm to try and calm him down. “What do you mean you saw You-Know-Who? Like in a dream?”

“No! Like I was actually there!” Harry cried, trying to wrestle his arm free from Ron.

“Harry, you’re talking madness. There’s no way you could have actually seen that unless you’re psychic or something. Are you sure you weren’t just having some kind nightmare?”

“I know what I saw, Ron!” Harry angrily shouted. “I wasn’t dreaming! Snape’s in trouble!”

Ron looked ready to try and calm his friend down again, but just then the sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hall sounded. Half a second later, the room to Harry and Ron’s room burst open with Sirius stumbling into the room followed by Lupin and Mrs. Weasley clutching a dressing gown around her frilly nightshirt. Behind them, Harry also saw Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George in their pajamas crowding around the doorway, staring into the room with frightened, confused expressions. It seemed his screams had woken up more people than just Ron…

“Harry! What happened? What’s wrong?” his godfather cried, looking around the room as if for intruders. His wand was raised and at the ready, as did Lupin’s beside him.

“Dumbledore! I have to talk to Dumbledore! Snape’s in trouble!” Harry cried, rushing towards Sirius.

Sirius gently grabbed Harry by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Harry, Harry, calm down,” he said. “Now what are you going on about?”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “Professor Snape’s in trouble. I saw it in a dream - only it wasn’t really like a dream. It was like I was actually there. Voldemort knows Snape was spying for Dumbledore and did something to him. He and a bunch of other Death Eaters were torturing him. Please, I have to talk to Dumbledore. Snape, he-”

“Harry, calm down,” Lupin soothed, trying to make sense of the teenager’s frantic babble. “Now how did you see all this again?”

“I told you, in a dream! It was like I was actually there looking through Voldemort’s eyes. He did something to Professor Snape. He knows he was spying for Dumbledore and was punishing him.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just having a nightmare, dear?” Mrs. Weasley worriedly asked over Sirius‘ shoulder.

“No!” Harry said, starting to get frustrated. “It was too real for it to have been a dream.”

“He said his scar was hurting when he woke up,” Ron piped up from somewhere behind Harry.

“Your scar was hurting?” Sirius demanded, leaning forward to search Harry’s face as if trying to actually see his godson’s phantom pain.

“It’s gone now,” Harry said, dismissively waving his godfather’s concern away. He was started to get frustrated. Couldn’t they understand Snape was in trouble and needed help? “Please, I have to talk to Dumbledore. Professor Snape’s in trouble. I think he’s hurt. They were all torturing him and then Voldemort did something to him… I can‘t really remember what though. I just remember seeing a flash of light and Professor Snape screaming, and then…” He trailed off uncertainly. “Please… I have to talk to Dumbledore…”

Sirius studied his godson for a long moment of silence, looking torn by indecision and worry. Finally though, with a heavy sigh, he glanced over his shoulder and said, “Molly, can you watch the boys for me while I go contact Dumbledore? I’m not sure if there’s really anything to worry about, but he should at least be told about Harry’s scar hurting. This may be some kind of new trick of Voldemort’s to get at Harry…”

Harry was about to argue what he’d seen could not have been a trick, but Sirius was already moving towards the door.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, slipping past the others in the doorway and out of sight.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence hung in the wake of Sirius’ departure, everyone staring at Harry with uncertain, wary expression. As if trying to dispel the sudden awkward tension, Mrs. Weasley blithely said, “Well, come on, dears. Let’s go down to the basement for a spot of hot chocolate. I doubt any of us will be getting any more sleep tonight until Dumbledore gets here and we figure this whole thing out.”

Harry didn’t particularly feel like a “spot of hot chocolate” after the torture he’d been made to see, but he nevertheless let himself be guided out the door by Mrs. Weasley and Lupin, his friends following close behind.

It was an awkward silence everyone found themselves sipping hot cocoa in several minutes later. Harry couldn’t seem to make himself focus on anything else around him as he numbly stared into his untouched mug of cocoa. No matter what he did he couldn’t seem to totally dispel the memory of Snape’s tortured screams from his mind. All he could think about was the pain he’d seen in the Potion master’s eyes, the helplessness of his struggles as he’d watched Snape be dragged in front of Lucius Malfoy and had something tauntingly held up in front of him.

What that was exactly, Harry couldn’t quite remember. He just remembered wanting to wake up and not have to see anymore. Somehow seeing Snape reduced to such a helplessness state was distinctly unsettling and wrong.

Harry caught himself once more glancing at the clock for the tenth time in half as many minutes. How long did it take for Dumbledore to get there? It felt like forever since Sirius had left to get him. Didn’t they know they needed to hurry? Snape was in danger and they were all sitting there sipping hot chocolate. Harry felt his frustration mount.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione worriedly asked, noticing her friend’s white-knuckle grip on his mug.

Harry forced himself to relax his hold a bit. “No. This is ridiculous,” he said, glaring at the worn tabletop. “Where’s Dumbledore? He should be here by now.”

He felt his friends all worriedly look up at him, their eyes almost physical weights on his skin. He heard Mrs. Weasley bang several pots together somewhere behind him near the stove, almost as if to purposely make noise for a distraction. Lupin cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Harry…” George tentatively said, “are you sure you weren’t just having some kind of dream when you had this… vision, so to speak? I mean, that’s not exactly something people usually have.”

“Like I told Ron and Sirius, I know what I saw!” Harry snapped. “I saw Professor Snape getting tortured by Death Eaters and no one here seems to want to believe me. He could be dying for all we know, and no one else seems to care except me!”

“Harry, it’s just that having visions like this aren’t normal,” Hermione tentatively spoke up. “Especially when you say you saw it as though you were looking through You-Know-Who’s eyes…”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry hotly retorted. “Professor Snape’s in trouble, and we’re sitting here drinking hot chocolate like nothing‘s wrong.” He angrily shoved his mug of cocoa away. “We should have people out there looking for him right now, not sitting here waiting for Dumbledore.”

“Harry, Professor Snape is more than capable of taking care of himself,” Lupin said. “He knows more curses and hexes than anyone else in the Order. I‘m sure he‘s perfectly fine.”

“It’s kind of hard to take care of yourself when you’re wandless and being tortured by half a dozen Death Eaters,” Harry angrily shot back.

“What’s got you so worked up about Snape all of a sudden?” Ron said, eyeing his friend skeptically. “I thought you hated the greasy git.”

“Don’t call him that,” Harry snapped.

Another suffocating pause of silence filled the room, everyone staring at Harry in surprise.

Feeling his friends staring at him again like he was some kind of stranger masquerading behind a Polyjuice Potion, Harry heaved a frustrated sigh. “Look, Snape helped me when no one else could after my run-in with McCourn. If it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have a body right now and would probably still be floating around Hogwarts trying to get Nearly Headless Nick to notice me. I owe him. It’s my fault he’s in trouble now too. Voldemort said he found out Snape was spying after he helped me get my soul back…”

“I’m sure Professor Snape’s fine,” Ginny said, trying to sound reassuring. “You probably just had some kind of bad dream. I bet Dumbledore will get here and tell us Professor Snape is perfectly fine and back at Hogwarts.”

Harry was about to assert once again that he had not been dreaming when he happened to catch the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Turning in his seat he saw Sirius coming down the stairs, followed by the one person Harry wanted to see more than anyone else right then.

“Dumbledore!” Harry exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

“Ah, Harry, my boy. I hear you just had something of a bad dream you needed to speak to me about,” the old headmaster said as he descended the last step and came to stand in front of the riled teen. “What happens to be the problem?”

Dumbledore was wearing a bright purple dressing gown with gold sash and tassels. He also had matching slippers and nightcap still on his head. For a moment, Harry felt guilty for waking the headmaster up, but then he remembered his vision, and quickly launched into an explanation.

“Professor Snape’s in trouble, Sir. I just saw it. Voldemort knows he’s been spying for you. I saw Lucius Malfoy and a bunch of other Death Eaters torturing him. Snape wanted them to kill him, but Voldemort wouldn’t let them. I think he said he was going to use an Imperius Curse on Snape, but I don’t remember for sure. Lucius had something he used on Snape. I saw the professor screaming and then a flash of light; and then I woke up. I think he’s hurt...”

Dumbledore’s usual benign, smiling face was worried and pale.

“How did you see this, Harry?” he asked, sounding very anxious.

“In a dream. Only it really wasn’t a dream. It was like I was actually there. I saw it as though I was looking through Voldemort’s eyes. It was really strange, but I know what I saw. I wasn’t dreaming. My scar was hurting when I woke up, and-”

“It’s alright, Harry, it’s alright,” Dumbledore quickly cut him off. “I believe you. I don’t think you could have seen such a thing in a normal dream.” Distractedly tugging his beard, Dumbledore began to pace along the side of the room. “I was worried when Severus didn’t check back in with me…” he murmured to himself. “Kingsley said he’d seen Severus during the attack, but that he’d gotten away safely… Something must have happened afterwards…” Dumbledore quickly glanced over at Lupin. “Remus, please alert other members of the Order. Contact Minerva, Kingsley, and Emmeline. Tell them to organize search parties and look for Severus. Search everywhere: Hogwarts, Hogsmead, wherever they think Severus might be.”

“Are you sure about this, Dumbledore?” Sirius spoke up, looking very unsure.

“Very much so. I don’t believe this was just some kind of dream Harry had - of that I am almost positive. I believe Harry when he says Severus is in danger. We must find him as soon as possible - both for his safety and ours…”

Sirius still looked doubtful, but Lupin ignored him and left to do what Dumbledore asked.

Turning back to Harry, Dumbledore said, “Now, Harry, this is very important. Do you remember anything else about what you saw? Do you remember what Lucius used on Professor Snape, or what they might have said once he was under the Curse?”

Harry desperately racked his brains, trying to remember the last part of the vision he‘d seen. “Not really. I just remember Professor Snape trying to get away and screaming when Malfoy touched him with whatever he had. It was small. Only about this big.” He held his hand up to indicate an inch with his fingers. “Whatever it was, it was shiny and black. Lucius put it against his neck, and then Voldemort performed the curse. But what it was I don’t know. Voldemort didn‘t say. He just said he needed it because he knew Snape could fight off an Imperius Curse…”

Dumbledore thoughtfully stroked his beard, looking very troubled. “Thank you, Harry, that was very helpful. I’m just hoping I am wrong about what I think it is you actually saw though…”

“What did I see, Sir? I really don’t understand what’s going on. How could I have seen what I did? It was like I was looking through Voldemort’s eyes. It was like I was actually him…”

Dumbledore didn’t immediately answer, but continued to restlessly pace back and forth along the room. Finally giving a heavy sigh, he turned back to Harry and said, “I believe what you experienced was a temporary sharing-of-minds, so to speak, with Voldemort because of your connection with him.”

“My connection?” Harry weakly repeated, not liking the idea of sharing anything with Voldemort, let alone his mind.

“Your scar, Harry,” Dumbledore said, pointing to his lightening bolt marked forehead. “When Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby and gave you that scar, I believe he created a sort of mental link between you and him. I feared something like this might happen when he returned to power, but I was not expecting such a direct connection…”

Harry numbly stared at Dumbledore. He didn’t want to believe such a thing was possible - that he could actually see into Voldemort’s mind, and possibly, the Dark Lord into his. It was a sickening, frightening thought. It made him almost wish everyone was right and that he’d only been dreaming when he’d seen Snape getting tortured.

“But… How?” Harry floundered, not wanting to immediately accept Dumbledore’s explanation. “Why only now? Voldemort’s been back since June. Why would I only start getting visions like this now?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I don’t know for sure, Harry, but I believe - and this is only assuming my theory is correct - that you will probably be getting more of them as time goes on. I do not want to make anymore guesses until we know more, but it is probably due to Voldemort regaining more of his former strength that you are starting to have these visions. It could also be due to Voldemort experiencing some strong emotion while you were in a weaker, more vulnerable state of mind - namely sleeping - that allowed you to see what you did. But until we know more, Harry, I really do not want to hypothesize more…”

Harry stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. He’d just told him he might be mentally connected to Voldemort and he didn’t want to talk about it anymore? Didn’t he realize the implications of what he’d just said? The horrible possibilities?

“But, Professor-”

“No, Harry. Until we know for sure, let’s not speak about this anymore. It’s useless to speculate and guess when so many factors are still unknown. Let us wait for word on Professor Snape…”

Harry helplessly stared at Dumbledore, wanting to make the old man talk. But Dumbledore was once again pacing back and forth across the room, staring at the floor and tugging his beard as if oblivious to everything else around him.

Glancing over his shoulder as if searching for support from one of his friends, Harry was somewhat startled to find half a dozen sets of eyes staring back at him. There was a strange look in their eyes - even Sirius’. Harry couldn’t quite name it, but he was immediately taken aback by the sight of it.

And then he realized what it was.

It was fear.

For a long moment of silence Harry just stood there, frozen in place. He could almost feel their eyes boring into him, eyeing him like he was some kind of dangerous animal that could lash out and strike at any moment, or that he might possibly turn into Lord Voldemort at any second.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped, an unfamiliar emotion rising up inside of him at the sight of his friend‘s wary looks.

The immediate spell seemed broken. Like coming out of some sort of trance they all looked away and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Harry tried to catch one of his friends’ eyes, but none of them seemed to want to look at him anymore.

Feeling his desperation rising, Harry looked to his godfather for help. Sirius met Harry’s gaze, but it was uncomfortable and not very reassuring. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, but the headmaster was still lost in thought, pacing along the other side of the room.

Harry suddenly felt more shunned and alone than he ever had in his entire life. If this was how his friends and family looked at him, how would others when they found out about his mental link with Voldemort? Would they also look at him with that same wariness and fear?

Almost definitely… he thought with a sinking heart. They would start calling me the next Dark Lord just as quick as it would take the Daily Prophet to write a front page special report…

“Harry?” Hermione called, noticing the sudden look of despair spreading across her friend’s face. “Are you alright…?”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied, feeling as though his insides had suddenly twisted into a tiny knot. “Just leave me alone…”

Hermione looked somewhat hurt by his curt dismissal, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. The thought of those he loved looking at him like he was some kind of monster was too much for him to deal with just yet.

A long waiting game ensued. No one spoke or made any kind of noise as they all sat there in silence waiting for word back on Snape. Minutes seemed to stretch on for hours. Harry didn’t know how long they sat there, but he felt like he was being slowly tortured. He could hear the clock softly ticking behind him, almost as if to punctuate the slow passage of time. Harry felt his anxiety increase with every soft, infuriatingly slow tick tick of the clock. What was taking so long? Had they found Snape yet? What if he was hurt? Voldemort said he didn’t want to kill Snape, but what if something else had happened after he’d seen that flash of light and woken up? Could he be hurt? Might they have found him but had to take him to St. Mungo’s? What if Voldemort had ordered Snape to attack anyone that tried to find him? What if-

The loud roar of the fireplace flaring to life sounded on the other side of the room.

Harry leapt to his feet as the flames disappeared and a tall, red-robed figure stepped out of the fireplace.

“Kingsley,” Dumbledore said, coming up beside Harry to met the Auror. “What happened?”

“We found him,” the Auror replied. “He was making his way back to Hogwarts when we found him.”

“Is he alright? Was he hurt?” Harry demanded, pushing his way in front of Dumbledore to talk to Shacklebolt.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself,” Shacklebolt replied, stepping to the side just as the fireplace flared behind him, almost as if on cue. A half second later, a tall, dark figure ducked out of the fireplace, pushing a section of black, stringy hair from his eyes as he stood straight and faced the room.

“Is there something wrong, Headmaster?” Snape slowly drawled, only sparing Harry a small, dismissive sideways glance before turning to address Dumbledore. “I wasn’t expecting to return and find a full fledge search party waiting to meet me at the gates…”

“We received word that you might have been hurt,” Dumbledore replied. “Harry here says he saw Voldemort confront you about being a spy and says that you’ve been exposed.”

“Did he?” Snape drawled, glancing at Harry again with a cold look in his eyes. “Well I assure you no such thing happened. My position as a spy is still very much intact.”

Harry started at Snape in confusion.

“But I-”

“Harry was quite concerned by what he saw, Severus. He said Voldemort was torturing you along with several other Death Eaters,” Dumbledore said before Harry could say anything else.

Snape gave Harry another dark look. Harry was immediately taken aback by it. Since his accident two weeks ago, Snape’s outward hostility and dislike for him seemed to have changed into a quiet, indifferent acceptance of the young Gryffindor. But the look Snape gave him now was cold and full of disdain - like how he always used to look at him before. Harry felt an unexplainable distress rise up inside him at the sight of Snape’s renewed contempt. He had just been starting to get used to Snape’s new dismissive attitude towards him…

“The Dark Lord was unhappy with tonight’s raid on Azkaban and, as usual, took his disappointment out on his followers. He was also displeased that I had been separated from the rest of the group when I went to warn the Aurors at the gates, and thought that a few Crucios were in order. But as to whatever Potter is talking about, I have no idea…” Snape said, giving Harry another cold look.

Harry desperately tried to make his mind work, unable to accept what he was being told. “But Lucius Malfoy said he saw you meet Shacklebolt in the hallway and told Voldemort about it,” Harry insisted. “He said he knows you’re working for the Order.”

Snape’s upper lip curled, staring at Harry as though he were some kind of nasty smear on the bottom of his boot. “I don’t know where you’re getting this, Potter, but Lucius Malfoy was with the rest of the other Death Eaters during the attack. He never left the main prison block once the attack started.”

Dumbledore stepped forward. “That may be, Severus, but Harry says he saw Lucius and Voldemort put an Imperius Curse on you. For safety reasons, I’m going to have to ask Shacklebolt to check you.”

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously, glaring at Harry.

“Shacklebolt, if you would…” Dumbldore said.

Shacklebolt nodded and stepped up to Snape. Holding his wand over the Potion master’s head, Shacklebolt murmured a complicated series of spells, making a small halo of light appear at the tip of his wand. Running his wand up and down the Potion master’s body, Shacklebolt finally stepped back and said, “He’s clean. I can’t find any trace of an Imperius Curse or any other type of lingering spell on him.”

Harry stared at Shacklebolt in disbelief. This wasn’t right. “But I saw Lucius use something on him! He put it in his neck.”

Snape and Dumbledore both looked at each other. Snape was starting to look very disgruntled and annoyed. “Dumbledore, this is ridiculous. Why are you listening to him?” he hissed. “I shouldn’t have to be subjected to this preposterous line of questioning.”

“I know, Severus,” Dumbledore soothed. “But these are serious allegations, and I’m going to have to ask you to humor an old man and let me see your neck.”

Snape looked ready to protest farther, his dark eyes glittering brightly in the dim light of the basement. But then, as if just wanting to get it over with, he bowed his head and let Dumbledore approach. Dumbledore gently parted the back of Snape’s hair and pushed down his collar. Taking his wand out and incanting a spell much like the one Shacklebolt had just used, he ran it back and forth over Snape’s neck. Finally cutting off the spell, he let Snape straighten and said, “Thank you for your patience, Severus. You‘ve helped put an old man‘s fears to rest.”

“So I take it I passed Potter’s little test then?” he sneered, glaring at Harry out the corner of his eye.

“Yes. I can’t find anything wrong with you,” Dumbledore replied, putting his wand back in the pocket of his purple dressing robe.

“Does that mean I can leave then?” Snape growled. “I do not appreciate being called to Headquarters in the middle of the night just because Potter had a bad dream.” Dumbledore nodded distractedly. Turning in a swirl of black robes back towards the fireplace, Snape paused and looked back over his shoulder. “The next time Potter says he had such a vision, I suggest someone giving him a strong Sleeping Potion - preferably one that’ll keep him knocked out until next Christmas… Maybe then we won‘t have to put up with these childish stories of his…”

And then with only one last pointed glare at Harry, he disappeared in a green plume of flames.

Harry stood in the deafening silence left in the Potion master’s wake, staring at the empty fireplace where Snape had been standing only seconds ago. He could feel eyes staring at him, boring into his back, but he could not bring himself to turn around and face them. He already knew what they must be thinking. And it was with a growing sense of doubt, Harry began to wonder if what he’d seen had really been real or just a figment of his own troubled imagination…

September first.

Usually this day was one of happiness and joy for Harry, as it signaled the start of term for Hogwarts. But Harry could not seem to find anything to be positive about today.

Dark green hills of the English countryside rolled by as the Hogwarts Express slowly chugged its way north. A dreary, slate gray sky stretched from one horizon to the other outside the rain-streaked window Harry sullenly stared out.

The day had started out miserably. Everyone had been tired and ill-rested when Mrs. Weasley came to wake them up that morning and get them ready for the train. A certain unspoken tension seemed to hang over the house, Harry’s vision the previous night still a lingering thought on everyone’s mind. No one said much of anything as they left Grimmauld Place. Sirius had accompanied them to King’s Cross in his Animagus form, but even his godfather’s presence was not enough to dispel Harry’s despondent mood. Seeing Lucius Malfoy on the platform of nine and three-quarters when they arrived had not helped much either.

Somehow seeing Draco’s father standing there like nothing was wrong only the day after he’d seen him torturing another human being like it was some sort of game was enough to make Harry almost sick with rage. But what made it worse was that he had no actual proof Lucius had actually done anything, and no one seemed willing to believe his vision was real. Never mind the countless issues of the Daily Prophet being sold at the train station with seventy-five font headlines screaming about the breakout from Azkaban the night before…

Staring out the rain-lashed window, Harry felt his teeth clench together in frustration, anger, and nagging puzzlement.

Just what happened last night? His vision had seemed so real there was no way for him to believe it was anything but. But nothing seemed to fit. Snape had denied it’s authenticity, and Shacklebolt and Dumbledore had pronounced Snape free of any Curse. Nor had they found any trace of the object Harry had seen Lucius use on Snape. Could it be he was wrong and really had only been dreaming when he’d had his “vision” like everyone said?

Somehow that just wasn’t a satisfactory enough explanation…

“Come on, Harry, cheer up already,” a voice said, breaking through Harry’s angry thoughts. “You’ve been like this all day. It’s not the end of the world you know.”

Harry looked away from the window and gave Ron a dark look. “Easy for you to say…” he muttered. “You don’t have everyone thinking you’re off your rocker.”

Hermione gave a heavy sigh and closed the book she’d been reading with a snap. “Harry, no one thinks you’re off your rocker. We all told you so last night. You just had a bad dream, that’s all. It’s nothing to get worked up about. It was probably just brought on by all this stress you‘ve been under. I mean, what with what happened at the Triwizards Tournament, and then that whole thing with your soul getting torn in three… I‘m actually surprised you haven’t had a dream like this sooner…”

“But don’t you think it’s strange I knew about the attack on Azkaban when none of us heard anything about it?” Harry said, instantly jumping on the subject. “I saw Snape getting tortured and then Voldemort do something to him. Even Dumbledore believed me. There has to be something more to this than what we actually see!”

“But Dumbledore couldn’t find anything wrong with Professor Snape,” Hermione pointed out. “Even Shacklebolt did a test on him and said he couldn’t find any type of spell on him. Plus, you might have heard someone in the Order talking about the attack the other night when they were all at Headquarters for that meeting, and just stored it in your subconscious where you later remembered it in a dream. There are a lot of explanations about why you could have seen what you did.”

“And you don’t believe Dumbledore when he says I might have some kind of connection with Voldemort?” Harry said. “What I saw was too real for it to have been a dream - it had to be real!”

“Harry, do you realize what you’re saying?” Ron said, sounding a little bit uneasy. “You sound like you actually want to be able to see into You-Know-Who‘s head…”

Harry gave a sigh and stared back out the window. “I don’t want to be able to see into Voldemort’s mind, but I can’t think of any other explanation,” he murmured. “Don’t you remember how I said my scar was hurting when I woke up? That’s exactly how it felt like last summer when Voldemort was trying to come back to power. There has to be some kind of connection between us. That‘s the only thing that would explain what I saw last night…”

“Harry, I don’t think that’s something you actually want to go shouting on about,” Ron said. “People might start to get the wrong idea if you start saying you can actually see into You-Know-Who’s head.”

“Yeah, I’ve already seen how that generally goes over with a crowd…” Harry darkly muttered. Ron and Hermione didn’t say anything in response. Neither of them could deny their own reactions when Dumbledore said Harry might be mentally connected to Lord Voldemort.

Harry noticed their guilty looked and angrily glared back out the window.

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded, “it’s not that we don’t necessarily believe you, it’s just that it’s kind of a farfetched story… We’re just worried about you. After everything that’s happened-”

“See, this is what I’m talking about!” Harry interrupted her, angrily whipping back around to glare at her and Ron. “You say you believe me, but then in the exact same sentence you try and tell me I was just having some kind of dream! I know what I saw! When will you two believe me? I’m not crazy! There’s something going on here and I’m going to figure out what it is with or without your help, so you‘d better decide once and for all if you‘re with me or against me.”

“Alright, alright!” Hermione squeaked. “We believe you!” Ron mutely nodded beside her, looking rather frightened of his friend.

Harry seemed to relent and leaned back in his seat, gloomily staring out the window. Hermione and Ron shared an uneasy look. This was a whole new side of Harry they’d never seen before.

“We believe you, Harry…” Hermione tentatively reaffirmed, nervously glancing at Ron, “but if what you saw wasn’t a dream, then why is it nothing seems to add up? I mean, Professor Snape said he wasn’t attacked by Lucius, and Dumbledore said even he couldn’t find anything wrong with him. So why would Snape deny he’d been attacked unless it didn’t actually happen?”

Harry glanced back at Hermione, but there was no longer any anger in his eyes, only a determined look to figure this mystery out. “I saw Voldemort put an Imperius Curse on him,” he said thoughtfully, “so he must have forbidden Snape to warn anyone in the Order. But there’s definitely something wrong with Snape. I could tell when Shacklebolt brought him back to Headquarters. He was acting strange.”

“What do you mean?” Ron said. “He didn’t seem to be acting any differently.”

Harry hesitated, not quite sure how to articulate the change he’d seen in Snape towards him since their grand misadventure the other week. How could he explain or make his friends believe Snape’s hostility towards him had cooled? It was a previously unconceivable thought - and not one Harry could actually prove, especially given Snape’s attitude towards him the night before.

“He just was…” he murmured, leaving his friends to draw their own conclusions. “But Voldemort definitely did something to him…”

“What do you think You-Know-Who might be planning to make Snape do?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe use him to get information about the Order or Dumbledore with. Snape has almost free run of the school and is involved in almost anything to do with the Order.” A sudden, frightening thought occurred to Harry. “He could make Snape do anything… especially with no one watching him. No one else believes he’s under Voldemort’s control except us.” He looked back up at his friends with an intense look in his eyes. “We have to keep an eye on Snape and make sure he doesn’t try anything. If Voldemort orders him to do something, he’s in a position to destroy the whole Order and possibly the school. We can’t let him do that.”

Ron and Hermione both paled, the implications of what Harry said slowly sinking in.

“But how are we going to do that?” Ron said. “We can’t follow Snape around twenty-four hours a day. We have classes, plus he can leave school anytime he wants.”

Harry looked thoughtful and stared back out the window towards the dark, rolling countryside. “We’ll just have to do the best we can,” he said. “No one else believes me Voldemort’s using Snape except you two. Until we know what Voldemort’s up to, we’re just going to have to keep a close eye on Snape and make sure he doesn‘t do anything…”

After giving Hagrid a quick wave, he, Ron, and Hermione made a dash for the carriages that would take them up to the castle.

“I hope Dumbledore doesn’t give a long speech this year,” Ron said from under the hood of his drenched school robes as the three of them splashed their way towards the carriages. “I’m starving…”

“You’re always starving,” Hermione shot back, her usually bushy hair plastered to the sides of her face by the rain. “Do you think he’ll say anything about what happened to you the other week, Harry?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder towards her other friend.

But Harry didn’t answer. He’d stopped dead in his tracks several paces back, the driving rain apparently forgotten. Ron and Hermione both stopped too and stared at their friend in concern.

“Harry?” Hermione called.

But Harry didn’t answer. He seemed frozen to the spot, staring at something past them in complete shock.

“Harry!” Hermione called again, a little louder as she tentatively came closer.

Harry finally seemed startled out of his trance. Looking at Ron and Hermione with a strange, frightened look in his eyes, he stammered, “Don’t - don’t you guys see them?”

Ron and Hermione both exchange confused glanced.

“What are you talking about, Harry?” Ron said.

Harry looked past them again towards the line of horseless carriages being filled by Hogwarts students. “Them! Those things pulling the carriages!” he exclaimed, pointing at the offending carriages. “Can’t you guys see them?”

Ron and Hermione both glanced at the carriages but couldn’t see anything to explain their friend’s sudden fear of them. “There’s nothing there, Harry,” Hermione softly said, looking at her friend in concern. “They’re just carriages charmed to move without anything pulling them…”

“No they’re not!” Harry shouted, his voice ending in a frightened hitch.

He stared at his friends in disbelief. How could they not see them - those horrible things standing in between the carriage poles? They looked liked black, bat-winged horses. But they were skeletally thin - their ribs and hip bones protruding from under their black scaly skin - and had fiery red eyes that seemed to glow in the late evening gloom. As he stood there staring in disbelief, one of the winged horses gave a snort and stamped its foot in the mud, gnashing the air with sharp fang-like teeth.

Harry took a horrified half-step backwards.

“Oh, you can see them too?” a light, airy voice suddenly said behind him.

Startled, Harry jumped almost two feet into the air. Whipping around, he came face to face with a blonde girl with protruded blue eyes that had a strange, dreamy, faraway look to them. A magazine was resting open on her head like some kind of teepee rain hat. Harry thought he saw the word Quibbler written across it.

“W-what?” he stammered.

“You can see them too,” the girl repeated, pointing in the direction of the horse-like creatures. “I didn’t know you could see them. But you’re Harry Potter, so I guess there’s lots of things you can do that I don’t know about.”

Harry momentarily forgot about the horses and just stared at the girl. “Um, I guess… What’s you’re name again?” he asked, feeling like he’d suddenly been transported into another realm of reality.

“Luna. Luna Lovegood,” the girl replied with a far-away look still in her eyes. “I’m in Ravenclaw; one year behind you.”

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione at this, but they seemed just as lost as he was for what to think about this girl.

“So, um…” Harry stammered, glancing back over his shoulder again. “What are those things?”

“Oh, the Thestrals?” Luna said as if black bat-winged horses were a normal, everyday sight. “They pull the carriages. I’ve been able to see them since my First Year. I didn’t think anything of them until I found out not many other people can see them.”

Harry was somewhat caught between feeling relieved that someone else could see them, and an undeniable dismay that the only other person that could was this strange girl.

“So why can only we see them?” Harry asked, still feeling rather dazed.

“Hm,” Luna hummed, her dreamy eyes half closing in concentration. “I think I remember it has something to do with seeing death. I saw my mother die when I was young, and I heard you saw Cedric Diggory die last year, so I suppose that must be it...”

“That’s what I’ve read too,” Hermione piped up. “Thestrals are suppose to be bad luck…” She glanced at the horseless carriages. “I never knew they were the things Hagrid had pulling the carriages though…”

“Well,” Luna said. “We’d better go. The carriages are going to be leaving soon…” And giving her makeshift magazine hat one last adjustment to keep the rain from running into her eyes, she started off for the carriages.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared after her for a moment before they hurried to catch up.

“What House did you say you were from again?” Ron asked as they came up beside Luna.

“Ravenclaw,” she replied.

Ron and Harry shared a skeptical glance behind her back.

“So what magazine is that?” Harry asked, trying to make small talk as they neared the carriages. “I’ve never heard of-”

But he never got a chance to finish what he was about to say; for just as they were nearing the carriages, the winged horse hooked to the carriage they were about to get in suddenly shook its dragon-like head and looked straight at Harry. Harry abruptly stopped, frozen to the spot by the beast’s fiery gaze.

As he stood there, he saw the other Thestrals also look up and stare at him. Together, like a singular being, the Thestrals all turned to face him. Startled cries rang out from other students as the carriages seemed to move on their own accord to face Harry in a wide semi-circle. Those students not already in the carts stared at Harry in a mixture of surprise and fear. Those inside the carriages had similar expressions of confusion as they stared out the tiny carriage windows.

For a long breath of silence, nothing moved or even seemed to breathe. The soft patter of rain was the only thing to be heard.

The Thestrals stood there silent, like a ring of demonic black sentinels around Harry. He could feel their blood red eyes boring into him. One Thestral snorted and pawed the mud, a jet of whispy, smoke like breath shooting from its nostrils and curling in the rainy air. Another gnashed its teeth and pumped the air with its large, bat-like wings.

Harry took a frightened step backwards.

The Thestrals took a collective step forward, hewing him in closer to the middle of their circle like a pack of predators.

Harry felt a cold wave of fear wash over him. Were they going to attack him? This had never happened before. Could he take them all on by himself?

But he never had to find out as a loud, gruff voice suddenly broke the tense silence like a hammer through a pane of glass. “’Ey! Wha’s goin on ‘ere?”

Harry whirled around to see Hagrid standing at the base of the station platform. The half-giant was possibly the most welcome sight Harry thought he’d ever seen right then.

Striding forward, Hagrid came to stand beside Harry. “Problem, ‘arry?” he asked.

“T-the Thestrals,” he stammered, pointing at the ring of skeletal black horses. “I don’t know - I was just walking towards the carriages and all of a sudden they just…” He motioned towards the ring of horses again.

“Huh,” Hagrid grunted. “Tha’s never ‘appened before… They’re usually so well behaved…” Looking back towards the Thestrals he clapped his hands and whistled loudly. “Alrigh’ yous, back inta line!”

As if actual obeying Hagrid, the Thestrals slowly backed away from Harry, snorting and pawing the ground as if disappointed by Hagrid‘s untimely intervention.

As Hagrid went to get the Thestrals back into line, Harry could feel dozens of eyes staring at him. Students not already in the carriages were standing dumbfounded in the rain, staring at him as if he’d just grown three extra heads.

Another long pause of silence ensued - Harry just standing there, frozen under the weight of his peer’s accusing eyes.

“Well, that’s never happened before,” Luna’s airy voice rang through the silence.

Like coming out of some sort of trance, Harry felt himself snap back to reality, and became uncomfortably aware of all the people staring at him.

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione timidly called. “Let’s get a carriage…”

Harry nodded absentmindedly and hurried to hide himself behind Ron, Hermione, and Luna from everyone else‘s gaze.

“There yeh go, ‘arry,” Hagrid blithely said as he held a carriage door open for the four of them. “They shouldn’ give yeh any mo trouble now.”

Harry mumbled a quick word of thanks and ducked inside the carriage, wanting to sink into the cushions and disappear.

“That was neat,” Luna said several moments later when the carriages began to move. “How did you make them do that?”

Harry stared at the floor, dumbfounded and confused. “I don’t know…” he murmured. “Can Thestrals somehow know you can see them?”

Luna’s large, protrudant eyes stared at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she replied in her dreamy way. “I’ve been able to see them for the last four years, and they’ve never done anything like that before. Maybe they just liked you…”

Harry somehow highly doubted that. But Luna had already turned her attention to drying out the magazine she’d been using as a rain hat earlier and seemed to have already forgotten the incident.

Ron and Hermione meanwhile tried to give Harry a reassuring look, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes.

No one said anything else the whole ride up to the castle.

Throughout the entire meal, Harry just sat there wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Ron and Hermione tried to be reassuring, but even they could not shield him from everyone’s gaze or stop their Housemates’ curious questions.

“Hey, Harry, what’s this about you dying the other week?”

“What did you do down at the station? That was creepy…”

“You feeling alright? You don’t look so well…”

The worse though was Draco Malfoy right before the feast. “Hey, scarhead!” he’d shouted across the tables. “I heard about your little accident last week in London. You’d better be careful… You never know when another “accident” might happen…”

Harry tried to eat, but couldn’t find his appetite. No matter how hard he tried to focus on his plate, his eyes constantly seemed to drift towards the Head Table where a dark-robed figure sat.

Between only occasional bites of food, Harry watched Snape like one studying a new and curious animal. From what he saw, Snape didn’t seem to be acting any differently. Several times throughout the meal, Harry observed Snape exchange several words with Dumbledore. But their conversation seemed light and inconsequential - the Headmaster not giving any outward sign he was worried about his spy’s compromised loyalties, or that there was anything wrong with Snape. Snape, for his part, seemed to act like he always did: cold and aloof, giving no one the impression he was the least approachable person.

At one point towards the end of the meal, Snape seemed to suddenly sense Harry’s eyes on him and looked up in the direction of the young Gryffindor. Their eyes met, locking onto each other even from across the Great Hall. For a long moment of time of silence, they just stared at each other, the noisy hall fading away into the distant background of Harry‘s consciousness.

Harry felt himself frozen by the Potion master’s gaze, as though he‘d just been hit by a powerful body-binding curse. Something flashed through the older man’s eyes, his dark black eyes boring in Harry as though trying to somehow reach out and touch him with his mind.

It was almost like Snape was trying to tell him something…

But then, as if coming back to himself, Snape’s eyes suddenly sharpened to two black pools of cold disgust, glaring at Harry with the same animosity and hatred he’d had for the past four years of their acquaintance.

Harry was taken aback by the sudden shift. Startled and just a little bit scared, Harry looked away, shaken by the venom he’d seen in the other man’s gaze.

He didn’t look up at Snape again for the rest of the meal.

Listlessly stirring his mashed potatoes and gravy together into a formless grey mess on his plate, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what he’d thought he’d seen in Snape’s eyes right before he’d looked at him with such hatred and wrath. But try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what that might be…

When the Feast finally ended and everyone began to get up, Harry leapt up from his place and sped for the door, not waiting for Ron, Hermione, or any of his other friends. He heard them call after him as he weaved his way through the crowd of other students, but didn’t stop. Just before the end of the meal, he’d begun to feel the weight of eyes staring at him again - the distraction of empty stomachs no longer there to stem the stream of hushed whispers and fearful glances from his fellow students.

Pushing past of the tiny First Years fearfully standing together as they waited for Prefects to take them to their dormitories, Harry jogged through the halls and up the stairs towards Gryffindor tower.

“Bolgia,” Harry panted when he finally came to the portrait of the Fat Lady. The Fat Lady raised a curious eyebrow at him as though she couldn’t understand what he was doing there before anyone else, but swung the portal open nonetheless.

Harry rushed past her into the Gryffindor common room gratefully. He didn’t want to be around any other people at the moment, or have to answer any more uncomfortable questions. He was tired of being stared at and talked about. He just wanted to be alone - even if only for a few minutes - so he could rearrange his jumbled thoughts. So many strange things had happened in the course of only day, Harry felt like he was on the fast track to a nervous breakdown.

Hurrying up the stairs to the dormitories, Harry found his, Ron’s, and their dorm mate’s luggage already there. Kicking off his shoes and jumping into bed, Harry pulled his bed hangings closed and laid back, staring at the bed canopy with his hands resting over his stomach.

As he felt his body gradually begin to relax into the mattress, Harry heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed the pinch of skin between his eyes under his glasses. His head was beginning to hurt, making him wonder if Hermione really hadn’t been on to something about stress starting to get to him. He certainly had been under a lot of it lately…

Dropping his hand back onto his stomach, Harry wearily stared up at the canopy, trying to erase the image of his classmate‘s eyes from his mind. Granted he’d become used to stares over the years because of his title as the Boy-Who-Lived, but the stares he was garnering now were making him feel distinctly ill at ease and alone. These stares he was getting now were different. Before they’d only been curious, grateful, perhaps even a little bit awe-struck. But now they were frightened. Accusing. Suspicious… He could almost feel the apprehension and fear radiating out from those around him when he‘d been sitting in the Great Hall and at the train station, and even earlier the night before in Grimmauld Place.

Rolling onto his stomach with a heaved sigh, Harry buried his face into the pillow. He wished he was back in Grimmauld Place - away from his everyone’s accusing, suspicious eyes, and their uncomfortable questions. He was tired of being looked at like he was some kind of monster that could pounce at any minute, or that he might possibly be going insane. He just wanted to have a normal life. Not one filled with Dark Lords, mysterious visions, or looming danger. He just wanted to be a normal teenager who’s greatest fears in life were upcoming exams, Quidditch games, and who he was going to ask to the dance. Was that really too much to ask?

Trying to calm his raging thoughts, Harry closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Maybe if he laid down for a few minutes, he’d calm himself down enough to talk to his dormmates whenever they came up from the Feast. And it was with that hopeful thought in his mind, Harry lay there in the dark and let the tension slowly melt away from his body…

“Harry! Harry, wake up, mate! It’s just a dream! Harry wake up!”

Full consciousness came back to him like a sledgehammer to the head. Before he could even get his bearings, he curled up onto himself, clutching his forehead as a white hot bolt of pain sliced through his scar.

“Harry! Harry, are you alright mate?”

Harry felt the pain subside enough to let him think properly - though it still throbbed painfully - and looked up into the worried blue eyes of Ron. His breathing was ragged and his throat raw. A cold sweat drenched his school robes, which he saw that he was still wearing although it was now completely dark outside with cold moonlight filtering in through the windows. Ron was in his bedclothes. Over his shoulder, Harry saw his other dorm mates all staring at him from the safety of their beds, worry and fear etched into their faces.

“Harry, are you alright man? You were screaming like someone was torturing you!” Ron exclaimed, still gripping Harry by the shoulders tightly.

“I saw it again!” Harry exclaimed, his body shaking as he looked up into his friend’s frightened eyes. “It was like I was him again! I saw him torturing someone. I think it was Snape!

“Harry! Harry, calm down!” Ron yelled, trying to calm his hysteric friend down. “It’s alright…”

“No… I have to see Dumbledore. Something’s wrong,” Harry said, struggling to his feet. His voice was shaky and pleading, his movements unsteady and weak as though he‘d just been blindsided by a bludger to the head. Ron had to help steady him before he was finally able to stand on his own. Rubbing his throbbing scar, Harry forced himself to focus on Ron. “I have to talk to Dumbledore. Please, go get McGonagall. I have to talk to Dumbledore…”

For a moment, Ron looked torn by indecision and worry. But then looking over his shoulder, he shouted to Neville, “You heard him! Go get McGonagall! I’ll stay with him until you get back.”

Neville didn’t put up any form of protest and raced for the door, forgetting all about slippers or even a night robe to throw over his pajamas.

Harry meanwhile had sat back down on the bed, too dizzy to stay standing any longer. He held his head with one hand as the other gripped the comforter in pain. Somehow it felt like the throbbing in his scar was getting worse instead of abating like it‘d always done before…

Ron remained by his side as he fought the pain, a silent support in his suffering as they waited for their Head of House to arrive. Harry wasn’t sure who was more scared, him or his friend.

Finally, just when Harry was about to ask Ron to find someone else to go find McGonagall, he heard the door to their room open and saw a worried looking McGonagall hurry into the room, followed closely by a pale-looking Neville.

“Potter, what happened?” she demanded as she shooed Ron out of the way and knelt in front of her distressed pupil, worry evident in her eyes.

Harry was finding it hard to focus on the older woman in front of him. The throbbing in his scar still wasn’t going away, starting to make him panic. What if it didn’t go away this time?

“Professor…” he weakly pleaded. “I have to talk to Dumbledore… I had another vision… I think Professor Snape’s in trouble…”

“Are you sure, Potter?” McGonagall said. “I heard about the last vision you had concerning him…”

Harry felt his scar give another intense pulse of pain, making him grip the comforter tighter. “Yes,” he choked. “Please… I have to talk to Dumbledore… Professor Snape‘s in trouble…” The world suddenly seemed to lurch to the side, his vision blurring dangerously around the edges.

“Potter?” McGonagall called, her eyes widening as she stared into her student’s pale face.

“My scar…” he murmured. The shadows of the room were beginning to meld into a sickening kaleidoscope of darkness and moonlight. His entire head was now spinning. An odd buzzing sound had started in his ears and was getting progressively louder. “Still hurts…”

And then it was like the world suddenly tipped on end.

“Potter!” he heard McGonagall shout from somewhere beyond the crazy meld of shadows twisting his vision.

But he never got a chance to answer her.

He felt himself pitch forward, and for a brief moment of time he felt like he was freefalling. And then…

darkness…

“So I see our young Mr. Potter has finally woken up…” a bemused voice said from somewhere to Harry’s left.

Turning his head towards it, the young Gryffindor was rewarded by the sight of Hogwart’s old Headmaster sitting in a comfortable-looking, high backed armchair close beside his bed.

“Professor Dumbledore…” he rasped.

“I heard about last night’s excitement in the tower…” Dumbledore said, leaning forward to meet Harry’s gaze. “It seems you gave your dorm mates and Professor McGonagall quite a scare… Professor McGonagall immediately fire-called me after she‘d brought you here to the Hospital wing. She said that you were asking to see me before you passed out.”

Gingerly sitting up against the headboard, Harry turned towards Dumbledore. His head throbbed slightly at the movement - like the remnants of a lingering headache - but he forced himself to ignore it. “I had another vision,” he said without preamble. “I left the Feast early so I could be alone, and I guess I fell asleep before anyone else came up… It was like I was Voldemort again. It was like I was looking through his eyes… He was standing in a large room waiting for someone when Lucius Malfoy came in with another man. Both were wearing masks. I couldn’t see his face, but I think the other man was Snape… They started talking about the attack on Azkaban. Voldemort was pleased with having fifteen of his followers back, but then he started torturing Snape… He said he wasn‘t going to stop until he lost his voice from screaming…” he slowly trailed off, unable to go on, sickened by the memory of what he‘d seen and heard.

Dumbledore sat for a long minute of silence tugging his beard, staring out the window towards the brightening horizon with a troubled look on his face.

“Did you actually hear Voldemort identify either of the men in your vision by name?” Dumbledore finally asked after what felt like an eternity to Harry.

“He did for Malfoy,” Harry replied. “But the other one he didn’t… But I know it was Snape!” he vehemently declared.

Dumbledore stared back out the window and agitatedly tugged on his beard again.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Harry said, a hint of angry hurt tainting his voice.

Dumbledore looked back up at Harry. “Of course I do, Harry. By Professor McGonagall’s account of how she found you last night, I have no doubt in my mind you experienced some kind of psychic connection between yourself and Voldemort. But you must admit there are some inconsistencies with your recount of what you think you saw. I know for a fact Professor Snape was here at Hogwarts last night, and that he hadn’t been called to Voldemort’s side. He always informs me when he’s summoned.”

“But he could have been ordered not to tell you he was leaving by Voldemort!” Harry insisted. “They did something to him! They’re controlling him! I know it!”

“Harry…” Dumbledore said, very patiently. “Professor Snape was examined by myself and Kingsley Shacklebolt. We could detect nothing wrong with him.”

Harry stalled for a moment, desperately trying to think of something to make Dumbledore actually listen to what he was trying to say. “But he’s acting differently! I noticed it after my first vision in Grimmauld Place. Something’s not right!”

Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Harry… please believe me when I say I’m not trying to write off what you say you saw. I worry about Professor Snape almost constantly. I worry about the dangers he constantly faces because of what he’s doing for the Order - what risks he always has to take. He has possibly risked more for the Order than anyone else. And these visions of yours trouble me greatly. But, Harry, you must admit that what you’ve seen and what actually is seem to greatly differ from one another - at least when it comes to Professor Snape that is…”

Harry suddenly felt as though someone had just poured a bucket of ice water down his back. Dumbledore didn’t believe him… No matter what the old man said, when it came down to it, he was just like everyone else: he didn’t believe him…

It was at that moment that Harry decided he couldn’t trust his visions to anyone else again, save perhaps Hermione and Ron. They were going to have to find out what was going on by themselves…

“…with Professor Snape.”

The name of Harry’s Potions professor abruptly pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the present.

“I’m sorry, Professor. What was that?”

Dumbledore studied Harry closely over the rims of his half moon-shaped glasses for a long moment of silence before patiently repeating, “I said, I fear these visions you’ve been having might be part of some trick Voldemort is using to somehow get to you. That is why I want you to start taking measures to prevent Voldemort from entering your mind again… I want you to start taking Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape…”

Harry was barely able to focus on McGonagall as she lectured at the front of the room. Even though it was only the first day of classes, the strict Head of Gryffindor was already off and running on a complicated lecture explaining the proper techniques of Transfiguring potatoes into pocket watches. Harry truly did try to listen to what she was saying, but just couldn’t seem to do it. His mind was too far away, roiling in a storm of confused thoughts and emotions.

He’d been released from the Hospital Wing earlier that morning after his talk with Dumbledore - after the old Headmaster had explained his plans for the young Gryffindor’s new study of Occlumency.

Harry was still trying to come to grips with what Dumbledore had proposed.

“These lessons will be of the utmost importance to you, Harry,” Dumbledore had said. “You must learn how to close off your mind to Voldemort. These visions are a sign of his growing power. If he somehow finds a way to control you or infiltrate your mind, all will be lost. You must learn to push him out. It does not seem he knows of your ability to share minds with him yet, but when he does - and I have no doubt he eventually will - he will try to somehow use it against you to his advantage.”

“But, Sir,” Harry had countered. “Why Professor Snape? Why can’t you teach me?”

Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. “I fear to do so would only raise the risk of your connection with Voldemort being discovered sooner. Voldemort does not seem to know you can see into his mind just yet, but if I were to try and teach you how to close your mind, he would almost assuredly sense my presence and learn of your connection with him. That is why I want Professor Snape to do so. He is a master Occlumens and knows how to avoid Voldemort’s detection. Plus, from what I’ve seen and know, you and he already have a working relationship established considering what happened only several weeks ago…”

“But, Sir…” Harry persisted. How could he make Dumbledore understand? “Something’s changed with Professor Snape since then. Something’s happened to him. He-”

“Harry,” Dumbledore sharply cut him off. “I trust Professor Snape with my life. Though he may seem harsh at times, he is one of the most honorable men I know. He has never given me any reason to doubt him. You yourself should know what I mean… He risked his life for you when your soul was separated from your body.”

“I know that, Sir, but-”

“Harry. I know you and he have had your differences in the past, but please believe me when I say I know he would rather die than see you or any of his other students die or get hurt. You can trust him in this task…”

But could he really?

That was truly the question.

Sure Dumbledore said he trusted Snape, but did Dumbledore see Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort put an Imperius Curse on said Potions master? No. And did he even believe Harry when he’d told him that Snape was now a danger to the school and the entire Order? No.

He was going to have to be careful. If Dumbledore still refused to believe him, he was going to have to be extra careful around Snape. Who knew what the man might do with no one else watching him. He’d barely even tolerated Harry’s presence, let alone spared him anything more than a fleeting sneer, before their grand misadventure together a week ago. But with Voldemort now controlling him, Harry wasn’t sure he could trust the man enough to turn his back on him to even tie his shoe anymore. Who knew what Voldemort might order him to do…

Harry must have been in deeper thought than he realized because it wasn’t until he felt the presence of someone standing over him that he was startled back to the present.

“Mr. Potter, I assume you heard me when I told the class to begin their in-class assignment?”

Harry winced and guiltily looked up at his Head of House who was currently standing over him, arms crossed, with a stern look on her face. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall…” he murmured. Looking around, he saw all his other classmates were already hard at work trying to Transfigure their potatoes into pocket watches. Across the room, Hermione had already managed the basic form, though its back face was still spotted with several sprouts.

McGonagall eyed Harry for a moment before her face slowly softened and a concerned look entered her eyes. Lowering her voice so only he could hear her, she said, “Dumbledore told me you spoke with him earlier this morning. He told me what happened… I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stay with you until you woke, but other students in the tower were woken by your screams and had to be quieted... Are you alright now? You gave us all quite a scare…”

Harry adverted his eyes from his Head of House and stared at his desk. “I’m fine now… ” he whispered. “Professor Dumbledore and I spoke, and he thinks he knows a way to stop these visions from happening again...” Even though he wants me to learn from the man I always see getting tortured in them… he mentally added.

“I’m glad to hear that,” McGonagall said, though she continued to study him over the rims of her thin spectacles.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He really hoped McGonagall wasn’t going to ask him any more questions. It was embarrassing enough he’d fainted in front of her the night before, but he was also sure Dumbledore had already told her the contents of his latest vision, and doubted she believed its authenticity any more than Dumbledore did.

For a minute it looked like McGonagall was going to ask or say something else. But then with a slow nod of her head she said in her usual crisp tone, “I won’t hold much against you today considering what happened last night, Potter, but please try and pay more attention in class.”

“Yes, ma’am…” Harry murmured.

McGonagall nodded in satisfaction and wandered away, checking on the other students’ progress thus far. Harry tried to focus his attention on the potato in front of him and the incantation McGonagall had just spent the last thirty minutes teaching, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to focus.

He and Neville were the only two unable to properly Transfigure their potatoes by the end of class.

“He thought I was misinterpreting my vision just like he did last time!” Harry angrily replied. “He didn’t believe me when I said it was Snape I saw. He said it could have been anyone wearing that mask, but I know it was him!”

“Calm down, Harry,” Hermione soothed. “At least he’s taking these visions seriously enough that he wants you to learn Occlumency.”

“Yeah, and from Snape no less…” Harry scowled. “He doesn’t believe anything’s wrong with him even though I know there is.”

“Hey, speaking of the greasy gi-” Ron began, but then seeing the sharp look he got from Harry, carefully rephrased, “er… I mean, grumpy ex-Death Eater… Where is he? He hasn’t shown up for lunch yet, and I didn’t see him at breakfast.”

Harry and Hermione both followed their friend’s gaze up to the Head Table and saw that their Potions master was indeed absent just Ron like pointed out.

“You’re right,” Hermione murmured. “I don’t remember seeing him this morning either…”

“That’s probably because he’s flat on his back in the dungeons, half dead from being tortured all night,” Harry hissed.

Ron and Hermione both stared at Harry. They’d never seen their friend so righteously angry before - at least whenever it’d come to their resident Potions master and spy…

Glancing back at the Head Table, Ron awkwardly tried to break the tension. “Dumbledore doesn’t seem to be worried though… He seems to be in his usual good spirits…”

Harry scowled. “That’s because he doesn’t believe anything’s wrong with Snape…”

“I wonder if anyone’s had Potions yet…” Hermione thoughtfully murmured. “Maybe someone’s seen him… Hey, Ginny!” she called down the table. Ron’s sister leaned into view from a mass of Fourth Year girls half way down the table.

“Yeah?”

“Have you or anyone else you know had Potions yet?”

Ginny looked thoughtful for a minute. “We were suppose to second period, but there was a sign on the door saying it was cancelled. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Hermione replied with a forced smile.

As Ginny turned back to her friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shared veiled looks.

“See. I told you something was wrong,” Harry hissed under his breath.

“That doesn’t prove anything yet,” Hermione said. “Something might have come up with the Order that Professor Snape had to cancel class for.”

“Or he’s laying half-dead in the dungeons from being tortured all night,” Harry once again affirmed.

“Oh, Harry, stop jumping to conclusions,” Hermione huffed. “If anything we’ll see him tomorrow. We have double Potions with the Slytherins.”

Ron groaned at such an announcement and slouched down in his seat. “Maybe we’ll see him before then at dinner,” he said. “At least then we won’t have to put up with him doting all over Malfoy and his gang of gorillas just yet...”

Hermione didn’t say anything, but Harry swore he saw her give a small sniff of agreement under her breath. Looking back up at the Head Table and the only empty seat there, Harry found himself secretly hoping Snape really would show up for dinner - the first time in all his years at Hogwarts he’d actually found himself wishing for the Potion master’s presence.

As it turned out Snape did not show up for dinner that night; and from what Harry overheard from other Years, no one had had Potions that day, or seen any sign of the elusive man and his billowing black robes. It was like he’d completely disappeared. Harry thought he’d even seen Dumbledore glance at Snape’s empty chair at one point during dinner with a slightly worried look in his eyes. But the Headmaster’s attention had been quickly refocused on McGonagall as she leaned over to talk to him.

Unfortunately, despite the growing mystery of the Missing Potions Master, Harry was forced to worry about other things in his own immediate life. Namely the renewed, and even more unwanted attention of his fellow classmates. Apparently the Hogwart’s grapevine had once again lived up to its usual standards, and by ten o’clock that morning ninety-five percent of the school had heard about his episode the night before and how he’d woken up half his House screaming.

It had apparently even made it as far as the Slytherin common room because one of the first taunts out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth that day was, “Aw… I heard poor little baby Potter had a bad dream last night… Maybe someone should leave the light on for him…” Which was then immediately followed by the mindless laugh track of his neckless goons, Crabbe and Goyle.

Everywhere Harry went, he felt the eyes of those around him following his every move, watching him like he might suddenly attack, or he might be Lord Voldemort in disguise.

Though he tried to ignore them, there was no way for Harry to be completely indifferent of other students‘ reactions towards him. It was impossible for him not to notice the way everyone seemed to suddenly quiet the moment he stepped into a room, or the way the whispers immediately started back up as soon as he left. He saw the looks he got as he walked down the halls, and could almost feel the cold, accusing weight of fingers pointing at him as him as he passed.

Ron and Hermione were sympathetic and stayed by him the entire day, but they were only several of the few. By the end of the evening, Harry could finally take no more and retreated to the sanctuary of his room before even the youngest of the First Years had begun to wander off to bed.

Lying there, staring up at the canopy of his bed Harry felt more isolated and alone than he’d ever had in his entire life. Never had he had people treated him like such an dangerous outcast before - not even the Dursleys. And that was saying a lot…

When sleep finally did claim him - hours after his roommates had already drifted off - Harry continued to restlessly toss and turn in bed. He had no visions that night, but at one point in the dark hours of the morning he woke up in a cold sweat, the memory of a masked man screaming and writhing on the floor still playing like a horrible movie his mind’s eye…

But in all honesty, he was too tired and nervous to care.

He’d barely gotten any sleep the night before. Breakfast and first period Herbology had been a total blur. He felt like he was going through the day on autopilot. His head felt like it was wreathed in some dense, cottony fog; and no matter how hard he tried, his mind continually seemed to wander. Ron and Hermione had noticed his distant, quiet demeanor that morning at breakfast, but thankfully had not asked him many questions. He didn’t think he could have handled an all out inquisition from them if they had. He had too many other things on his mind…

One of which being Professor Severus S. Snape…

The air was becoming progressively chiller the deeper the three Gryffindors delved into bowels of Hogwarts. Harry felt his stomach constrict with nervousness the further they went. It was time for Double Potions. But unlike yesterday when he’d been on an almost desperate warpath to find the whereabouts of his missing Potions master, Harry now felt his Gryffindor courage falter a little bit at the thought of finally seeing the man he’d just spent the last two days constantly thinking about. He could honestly say he was not looking forward to spending two class periods with the man he’d seen getting tortured by Voldemort twice now in his dreams…

Would Snape even be there today, Harry found himself wondering as he and his friends walked. Would he once again be mysteriously absent, or would he be back? What if he was back? What if Voldemort was planning to put in action whatever scheme he was planning to use Snape for? What if-?

All too soon, Harry found himself standing outside the door to Snape’s classroom. For a moment, he just stood there, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked, studying his friend‘s face worriedly. A similar expression was mirrored in Hermione‘s face.

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, shaking himself out of his trance.

“You sure, Harry?” Hermione said. “You look a little pale…”

“I’m fine,” Harry repeated, and headed for the door. Together the three entered the already half-filled classroom. The front of the room was empty, Snape no where to be seen.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, the three took a bench together in the back of the room. Unfortunately, Harry’s arrival had not gone unnoticed, and a murmur instantly picked up as students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin leaned their heads together and began speaking in low tones. Harry saw not a few people turn to stare at him or point in his general direction. He might have been able to ignore his schoolmates’ unwelcomed attention and pretend like nothing was wrong.

But it seemed Fate was not on his side that day…

“So did poor widdle baby Potter have another bad dream last night?” a cold, mocking voice rang out over the murmur of other voices.

The background chatter immediately died down as Harry looked over towards Draco Malfoy on the other side of the room. Behind the blonde Slytherin, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled dumbly to their leader’s bad impersonation of a baby-voice. Several other Slytherins tittered softly.

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry hissed.

“Or what? You’ll break down in tears and cry all over my shoes?” Malfoy jeered.

“Harry, calm down,” Hermione pleaded as she watched her friend’s face become a startling shade of red. And not from embarrassment. From rage.

“I said stuff it, Malfoy!” Harry snarled, pushing himself to his feet. “If you only knew half of what’s actually going on right now you’d be running home to your mother! Not to mention that sadistic psychopath father of yours!”

“How dare you call my father that!” Malfoy hissed, anger flashing through his eyes. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle leaned forward, cracking their knuckles at Harry menacingly.

Harry, however, was not intimidated in the least.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he hissed. “Don’t you know what your daddy-dearest does for a living? Don’t you know how he goes around torturing other people for his own enjoyment? I don’t know what you “Purebloods” necessarily classify that as, but in the Muggle world, that’s what we usually call a sadistic psychopath…”

“How dare you!” Malfoy cried, leaping to his feet, wand drawn.

The room was now deathly silent, everyone staring at the two boys in horror.

Harry also raised his wand. He knew he was stupid starting a fight right in the middle of school, but Draco’s mocking voice coupled with the haunting images of Lucius Malfoy torturing a helpless person was too much for him to stand any longer.

For a moment, no one moved or even seemed to breath, everything focused on the two boys in the middle of the room. Draco and Harry simultaneously began to raise their wands, hatred burning in both their eyes, when-

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!”

Harry and Draco both froze. Everyone else in the room stared in horror at the one’s who’s voice just turned all their blood to ice.

There, standing silhouetted in the door like some towering black wraith was Severus Snape. His piercing black eyes quickly took in the scene before finally coming to rest on Harry and Draco.

“Potter started a fight and was trying to curse me, Sir!” Draco cried.

Snape glared at Harry. “Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Harry was about to protest, but then remembered what Draco had said really wasn’t that far away from the truth (even though Draco had been the first to draw his wand). That fact however still didn’t stop a small note of outrage from worming its way up inside of Harry. In some warped and very indirect way, he’d been trying to avenge Snape. And this was how he was rewarded?

“If you are quite done standing there getting all red in the face, Mr. Potter, perhaps we can begin the lesson?” Snape snidely drawled. “Or would you like me to deduct another twenty points from Gryffindor?”

Behind Snape, Draco gave Harry a triumphant smirk.

“No, Sir,” Harry hissed between clenched teeth. Dropping back into his seat, Harry tried to calm his breathing and stop the dangerous surge of anger he felt right then towards Malfoy and Snape - the man he’d just spent so much time defending.

Snape eyed Harry for a long moment of silence as thought waiting for him to say something else before finally turning away with a disdainful sneer and sweeping to the front of the classroom, his long black robes billowing behind him. Tapping the blackboard with his wand, a long list of complicated brewing instructions appeared. “I assume everyone has done their summer homework?” he said, scanning the classroom with piercing black eyes. Several students shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Snape’s gaze happened to fall on them. “I hope for all your sakes you did because it will count for ten percent of this quarter’s grade.”

Snape’s eyes roamed the class again as if waiting for a groan or some kind of sound of complaint. When he saw he would receive none, he went on, “The first potion we will be studying this section is Dulaver’s Brew. Can anyone tell me it’s properties and ingredients - besides Miss Granger, that is…”

Hermione’s hand sank back down onto the table, a disheartened look spreading across her face.

Snape slowly scanned the silent sea of faces staring back at him. “No one else?” he sneered. “Well isn’t this just a shame… What I truly want to know is how the Headmaster expects me to teach this class of dunderheads when no one even knows what the potion they’re brewing is suppose to do. I will die of shock if anyone actually passes this course and goes on to NEWT level. This potion was part of your summer essay. If no one can-” Snape abruptly stopped his tirade. Staring at the table in the back of the room with an almost surprised look on his face, he drawled, “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

Harry slowly lowered his hand and met his Potion master‘s unyielding gaze. “Dulvar’s Potion is a powerful anti-poison. It’s usually used for animal or plant derived poisons. It’s three main ingredients are powered monkshood leaves, diluted bat blood, and shaved earwigs.”

Snape narrowed his eyes and stared at Harry for a long moment of silence as if wondering if he’d somehow cheated. “Correct…” he finally drawled. Eyeing Harry for another moment, Snape slowly turned back to the blackboard. “Brewing for this potion will be in two steps; the first of which consists of…”

Leaning back in his seat, Harry quietly listened as Snape went on with his lecture. Any other time, Harry might have been upset at Snape for not awarding him any points for his correct answer, but over the last few days, House points suddenly seemed to have lost all meaning to him. There was a war going on, and something very strange was afoot. Somehow Harry didn’t think Voldemort was going to care who won the House Cup at the end of term while he continued to try and take over the Wizarding world…

As Snape continued to lecture, Harry found himself surreptitiously studying the older man for anything that might explain why he’d been absent the day before. From what Harry could see, there was nothing wrong with the surly Potions master. He looked like he always did: long black robes, greasy lank hair, piercing black eyes, and ever present sneer. There was nothing to indicate the man had just survived a long night of torture at the Dark Lord’s own hands. But then again, the Cruciatus Curse never left any visible marks on its victims, so there was no way for him to rule that out just yet. Snape had also had a full day to recover. To anyone else, that might not have been enough time. But to a skilled Potions master who knew which pain draughts and healing potions to take, it might have been just enough to ensure no one found out about what’d happened. Except for Harry, that is, who was not about to be dissuaded by anyone that his visions weren’t real…

As Harry sat there studying the acerbic Potions master even closer, he began to notice several little things that both surprised and startled him. For one, although Snape didn’t seem to be limping around in any sort of noticeable pain, there was no denying there was a certain tension around the acerbic Potions master. His body language was strained and over-alert, like one expecting to be attacked at any moment. His eyes - though sharp and calculating as always - were somehow also dull and shadowed, as if they were really the eyes of some old man who’d seen too much in the course of his long life and was now wearied by the world and all of Life‘s hardships. Glimpsing beyond the Potion master’s stern façade, Harry couldn’t help but think how tired and… drained… Snape suddenly looked, even if he knew no one else chose to see it but him.

Harry sat there in thoughtful silence. Seeing these things, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if they’d always been there, or if they were results of what he’d seen in his latest vision. Certainly being a spy was not an easy job, but… had Snape always looked this strained?

Harry found himself distinctly unsettled by the thought. Even though Snape had never been his most favorite person, that didn’t mean he liked the idea of the man who’d saved his life so many times slowly being worn away. For that was exactly how Snape looked: worn down and strained around the edges. But Harry couldn’t be sure if that was from being both Hogwarts’ Potions master and a spy, or from some other horror haunting the Potion master’s life… (Namely one red-eyed murder by the name of Lord Voldemort…)

Class continued despite the unsettling storm of thoughts going around Harry’s head, and it wasn’t until they were brewing their own potions that a thick acrid smell filling Harry’s nose suddenly brought him back to the present.

Thick purple smoke was beginning to billow off the surface of his cauldron and fill the air with noxious fumes. Other students were beginning to turn and stare at him.

Harry looked into his cauldron. What should have been a bright red mixture was now an ugly maroon sludge. Quickly consulting his textbook, Harry saw he must have forgotten to add the shaved earwigs before the ground nettle root two steps ago.

Harry mentally kicked himself. He knew he shouldn’t have let his mind wander away like that… especially in Potions…

Grabbing a bottle of shaved earwigs, he quickly added them to the smoking concoction, hoping it might help. But instead of the mixture turning red like he hoped it might, the botched potion instead began to bubble in wet, gurgly pops; slopping maroon sludge over the side onto the table.

The smoke was getting thicker now. Several students were beginning to cough and hold their sleeves up over their mouths.

His cauldron began to rattle ominously in its stand over the fire. More sludge was beginning to bubble over the side onto the table. The smoke was now so thick, Harry could barely see Hermione anymore to ask her for help.

Its contents burbling like hot tar, his cauldron gave a little jump in its stand. The smell was getting even worse. As his cauldron gave another volatile jump, Harry could finally take no more of the smell and backed away, holding his sleeve up over his mouth.

Where’s Professor Snape? he frantically thought, trying to look through the cloud of smoke for the man. Doesn’t he see I need help…

As if in answer to the boy’s thoughts, a dark figure suddenly materialized out of the smoke by Harry’s side.

“Evanesco! Vapora!”

In an instant, the air magically cleared, all traces of the noxious fumes suddenly gone. Harry inhaled a deep drag of clean air. Around him, other students were also dropping their sleeves and taking deep breaths of air.

Glancing into his now-quiet caldron, Harry saw it was completely empty, his botched potion nowhere to be seen as if it had never even been there. With a tiny feeling of dread, Harry slowly looked over and met his Potions master’ gaze.

Snape stood with his arm folded across his chest, glaring at Harry down his long, hooked nose. “Not even the first day of class and already you’re botching simple potion assignments… If it’s not Longbottom, I suppose it would have to be you… I wonder if you can even tell us what it was that you did wrong? Or is that asking for too much?”

Harry felt a small flush of warmth on his cheeks, but managed to keep his voice steady. “I forgot to put the shaved earwigs in…” he murmured.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you though you could remedy that by putting them in after you’d already put in the ground nettle root?”

“Yes…”

Snape gave a disgusted snort. “Of course… Why am I not surprised… That’s exactly what I’d expect some Gryffindor to do. If they can’t do it properly by actually listening to instructions, they automatically try to fix it by brute strength without even thinking about what it is they’re doing. Ten points from Gryffindor. And I want to see you after class…” Then turning his back on him, Snape swept back towards the front of the room. “Everyone else back to work!” he barked. “Ten more minutes, and I expect a sample of everyone’s potion on my desk and everyone’s workstation cleaned up by then!”

Harry felt a flash of anger go through him as Snape sat back at his desk, but forced himself to remain calm. He wasn’t going to let Snape get to him. He wasn’t going to let the older man’s snarky attitude stop him from finding out what was wrong with him. He was going to help Snape even if he ended up assigning him detention for the next four months. Maybe he was being stupid, or maybe it was his own Gryffindor determination, but he was going to do it…

Dropping back into his seat, Harry shoved his books back in his bag. With only ten more minutes of class, he didn’t have time to brew another sample for today’s assignment. It looked like he was going to get another zero… What a great way to start off the years…

When the bell finally rang ten minutes later, everyone quickly headed for the door. Ron and Hermione hesitated for a moment as if uncertain whether to leave their friend or not, but Harry waved them on with a forced smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right there,” he assured them.

When it was only Harry left, the young Gryffindor hesitantly looked towards the front of the room and the dark man sitting there. Gathering his bags, he hardened himself and went to stand in front of Snape’s desk.

Snape glanced up from the papers he was grading as Harry came to a stop in front of his desk and glowered. “I am sure Dumbledore has informed you of his wish for you to take Occlumency lessons?” Snape said without preamble.

Harry blinked in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting after Snape told him to stay behind (probably another ringing for almost blowing up the classroom), but the Potion master’s question caught him slightly off-guard. He’d almost completely forgotten about the Headmaster wanting him to take extra lessons he’d been so preoccupied with other things the last few days...

“Yes, Sir,” he replied warily.

“You will begin Occlumency lessons this Friday after dinner,” Snape curtly informed him. “Be here on time or I will not hesitate to deduct fifty points from Gryffindor. I am not doing this out of the goodness of my own heart and am not looking forward to this Friday any more than you are. But seeing as the Headmaster is set on it, it seems I have no choice in the matter…”

“One never does simply ‘just refuse’ Albus Dumbledore…” Harry mumbled under his breath, almost fondly.

His aside however had not escape the Potion master’s ears. Snape looked at him strangely for a moment as though startled by the boy’s choice of words. Harry thought he saw some familiar emotion pass over the Potion master’s eyes - like he’d suddenly remembered something important but was confused by its meaning. But then, as if shaking himself out of some kind of trance, Snape’s eyes once again turned cold.

“You are dismissed, Mr. Potter,” he said and turned back to the rolls of parchments he was reading.

“Yes, Sir…” Harry softly murmured, a little bit disheartened by Snape’s dismissal for reasons he couldn‘t quite explain, and then left.

“This isn’t fair!” Ron wailed as he threw his quill down and slouched in his seat. “Not even a week into classes and already the they’re assigning us more work than what we did all of last term! And McGonagall’s the worse! She wants six feet of parchment on how to transfigure vegetables into multi-part instruments by Monday!” Scrunching his face up into a look of utter suffering, he tossed his half-finished roll of ink stained parchment onto the mound of books and papers already cluttering the middle of the table. “And she’s not the only one. We have a five foot long essay for Snape, and another one for Flitwick. It’s not fair, I tell you!”

“Oh, Ronald, stop it,” Hermione sighed. “The professors warned us end of last term that our Fifth Year was going to be the hardest one yet. We have OWLs to study for, and all the professors want us to be prepared for them. This is going to be a very important year. You should have studied over summer holiday like I did. Then you would have been more prepared for the start of term.”

“But it’s only the first week of classes!” Ron cried. “This just isn’t right! It’s torture! And it‘s Friday to boot! This is going to take all weekend to do! What were they thinking when they assigned us all this work? Don’t they know they actually have to read and grade this stuff?”

“Maybe if you stopped complaining and just did your work for once like you’re suppose to do instead of sitting here complaining, then maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about having to do it all this weekend. You still have a few hours before dinner to get some of it done,” Hermione shot back, started to get annoyed with Ron’s whining.

Giving Hermione an indignant look, Ron glanced at the last member of their group. “What do you think, Harry? Don’t you think all this work is total codswallop?”

For a moment the dark haired boy said nothing and just continued to stare at the heavy book in his lap. It was obvious by the distant in the look in his eyes that he wasn’t really reading, let alone retaining any knowledge from the heavy textbook he was staring at.

Glancing at Hermione before focusing back on his friend, Ron leaned forward and shouted, “Hey, Harry!” right in the boy’s ear.

This seemed to finally have the desired effect. For with a little jump, Harry startled back to the present and blinked. “What? What did you guys say?” he hastily said, looking around at his friends.

Ron and Hermione both eyed their friend worriedly. Slowly setting down the book she‘d been reading, Hermione leveled a concerned look at him. “Harry, are you feeling alright?” she asked. “You haven’t been acting like yourself at all this past week. You’re always so quiet, and whenever we talk to you it’s like you have to come back from a million miles away to answer us. Is everything alright?”

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and heaved a sigh. “Yeah… I’m just a little bit tired’s all…” he said.

His friends however were not about to believe such a simple excuse. “Come on, mate. We know something else is wrong,” Ron said. Glancing around the rest of the crowded commons room, he leaned forward and cautiously whispered under his breath, “You haven’t been having more visions of You-Know-Who, have you?”

Harry sighed and ran a tired hand over his eyes under his glasses. He really didn‘t want to talk about this right now, but he knew his friends weren‘t going to leave him alone until he did. And he knew they weren‘t going to believe anything but the truth… “No…” he sighed. “At least not exactly, that is... But the last couple of mornings, I’ve been waking up with my scar hurting. I don’t know what to make of it, but it reminds me a lot about the summer before our Fourth Year when Voldemort was still trying to come back to power.”

Ron and Hermione’s expressions both turned grave. “Harry, why didn’t you tell us your scar was hurting?” Hermione asked, sounding a little bit hurt.

“I didn’t want you guys to worry about it…” Harry murmured.

“Have you told McGonagall or Dumbledore about this?” Hermione asked, looking worried.

Harry vehemently shook his head. “No. You’ve seen what happened the last couple of times I’ve tried to tell Dumbledore something’s wrong. He doesn’t want to believe me, or it always looks like I‘m making things up.”

“Yeah, but why not tell us?” Ron said.

Harry glanced at his two best friends and felt what little energy he’d been holding onto for the past few days begin to falter. He was so tired… Sleep was starting to become a precious commodity. Every night he went to bed wondering if this would be the night he’d have another vision - if he’d once again have to witness the torture and pain of another human being through Voldemort’s eyes. The last few nights he’d just laid there in bed staring at the ceiling, fearing the empty darkness of unconsciousness and what horrors might await him there. But even when exhaustion finally pulled him into slumber and he had no other visions, every morning he’d wake up with a dull throbbing in his scar, reminding him of his connection with the Dark Lord. It was becoming hard for him to focus on anything for very long, or find the energy to do much more than sit and let his mind drift.

Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself to meet his friends’ worried gaze. “I didn’t tell you guys about my scar hurting because I didn’t want to get you involved with something you can’t actually help me with.”

“Harry, you don’t have to deal with this on your own,” Hermione softly affirmed. “Even if we don’t know what’s going on with these visions of yours, that doesn’t mean we can’t at least be there for you. You never know how we might be able to help. And it’s not like we don’t believe you either… I mean, after Snape went missing that first day of classes, we never doubted you.”

“Speaking of ‘ol Dark and Scary, don’t you have some kind of lesson with him tonight?” Ron said.

Harry groaned and leaned his head back against the chair. “Yeah… My first Occlumency lesson’s with him tonight after dinner…”

“Tough break…” Ron muttered.

“Ronald,” Hermione scolded, then turned back to Harry. “Maybe Professor Snape can help you do something about your scar hurting,” she said.

Ron looked doubtful. “Are you sure that’s really such a good idea? I mean with You-Know-Who controlling Snape with some kind of Imperius Curse and all?”

Harry’s expression became dark at the mention of Hogwarts’ caustic Potions master. Over the last few days, he’d taken to watching Snape’s every move like a hawk. It’d become something like an obsession to him. Whenever at meals or in the Potions classroom, Harry would rarely let the other man out of his sight for more than a few minutes. But while Harry continued to watch Snape for any sign something wasn’t quite right with him, he never saw the man act any differently than how he always used to. At times it almost made Harry wonder if he wasn’t really looking for something that wasn’t really there, and there really wasn’t anything wrong with his Potions professor.

But that didn’t mean he was about to take any chances just yet…

“Ron’s right,” he said. “I can’t let Snape know I can still feel Voldemort besides just during these visions. If Voldemort ever found out, I don’t want to think about what he might do with that kind of information…”

“Still…” Hermione murmured, “you should probably tell Dumbledore about this…”

Harry leveled a steel-hard look at her. “No. This is something I have to do myself…”

Dinner was a tense affair that night. Harry barely even touched his food he was so nervous. While everyone else around him excitedly talked about what they were going to do that weekend, all Harry could think about was his looming Occlumency lesson with Snape.

A part of him dreaded the thought of being alone with his ill-tempered Potions master. What if Voldemort had somehow found out about his extra lessons with Snape and was planning to use Snape to attack him while there was no one else there to help him? Not to mention the fact that Snape had reverted to his old ways of constantly berating him every opportunity he got…

But at the same time, a small part of Harry was almost looking forward to talking to Snape with no one else there to interrupt. He had not missed the look in Snape’s eyes that first day of class when he’d been asked to stay behind. It was like he’d somehow gotten through the Imperius Curse and reached the man mentally enslaved behind it. That tiny spark of recognition in Snape’s eyes right before they’d turned cold again told Harry he couldn’t give up on saving Snape just yet. He had to at least try…

When the meal finally ended, Harry headed for the dungeons with a tight ball of mixed emotions roiling around his stomach like a pair of fighting dogs. He had absolutely no idea what to expect. Would Snape treat him like he always did, or would he maybe be able to reach him again? He could only hope it’d be the latter…

By the time Harry actually stood in front of Snape’s classroom, he’d managed to work himself into a right nervous state. For several minutes he didn’t move, even when he heard the clock chime seven o’clock somewhere high above him in the main part of castle. Well, this is it… he thought nervously, and knocked.

“Enter,” Harry heard a cold voice call through the door.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry slowly turned the handle and opened the door.

The Potions room was dark - as it was usually wont to be, even during the day - with only a few torches burning around the perimeter of the room. Looking towards the front of the empty classroom, Harry found Snape sitting at his desk hunched over a stack of essays, the soft scratching of his quill the only thing to break the tense silence of the room.

Without even looking up from his papers, Snape said, “You’re late.”

“But the clock just chimed seven a minute ago…” Harry replied.

“I know, and what did I tell you about being here at exactly seven o’clock?” Snape sneered, still not looking up from his grading. “Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness.”

Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something that might potentially get him more points deducted from Gryffindor, or worse. Well, it looked like Snape was still going to be playing the part of snarky bastard it seemed…

Determined not to let Snape get to him, Harry silently waited until Snape finally set aside his quill and looked up at him with a cold sneer in his eyes.

“Sit,” Snape commanded, pointing towards an uncomfortable looking chair in front of his desk. Harry did as he was told, and again waited for Snape to speak.

Snape steepled his fingers and scrutinized Harry over the tops of them for several minutes of unbroken silence, his dark black eyes boring into Harry like two tangible spears. Harry struggled not to squirm under the Potion master’s gaze but was finding it rather hard not to. From what little time he’d spent with Snape for those two days of the summer, he’d learned that Snape had an uncanny ability to make almost anyone squirm under his gaze.

“I assume Dumbledore has informed you what he expects you to learn from these lessons?” Snape finally said after what felt like an eternity to the young Gryffindor. “I would hate to think that I am wasting my time trying to teach you something you do not even comprehend…”

“Dumbledore wants you to teach me how to keep Voldemort from reading my mind,” Harry replied.

Snape’s face twisted into a disgusted sneer. “Occlumency is not what Muggles so ignorantly refer to as ‘mind-reading.’ The mind is not some kind of book a person can just pick up and page through at will. It is a multi-layered entity composed of complex thoughts, memories, and emotions. A person using Legilimens to look into another’s mind must shift through the storm of thoughts and memories to get a clear picture of what he or she wants to learn.”

Harry wasn’t sure what Snape’s real definition of Legilimens was, but it sure sounded a lot like mind reading to him.

Snape leveled coal-black eyes at his pupil over his fingertips and continued in a low voice, “Occlumency teaches a person to keep another from entering his or her mind by using methods that essentially cloud the intruder’s view of one’s true thoughts and emotions. Dumbledore has expressed his concerns that you might have some kind of connection to the Dark Lord through your scar. Thus, he wants you to learn how to shield yourself from the Dark Lord’s invasion.”

“But Dumbledore said he doesn’t think Voldemort-”

“Do not use the Dark Lord’s name in my presence!” Snape snapped, cutting Harry off so sharply, Harry actually choked on the last part of his sentence.

Sitting there for a moment, Harry stared at Snape, frightened by the intensity of the Potion master’s outburst, before he hesitantly said, “But Dumbledore always uses his name. He says fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”

Some unfamiliar emotion flashed through the Potion master’s eyes. “That is because Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards of this age, and is probably the only person the Dark Lord ever feared himself. Thus, Dumbledore has a right not to show fear in the face of the Dark Lord’s name. You and I, however - even though you are too arrogant and sure of yourself to acknowledge the Dark Lord’s true power - have no right to do so. It would be wise for you to realize that before it someday gets you or someone else around you killed.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, not quite sure what to say in response. A small niggling of anger stirred his chest, but he forced himself to ignore it. He wasn’t going to let Snape’s familiar taunts and accusations get to him. Clearing his throat, he carefully rephrased what he had originally set out to say. “Dumbledore said he doesn’t think Vol-… the Dark Lord knows about our connection yet…”

Snape contemplated Harry for a moment. “I doubt that myself. If he knew of such a thing he would have almost assuredly tried to use it against you by now.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Snape walked to one of the many shelves lining the far side of the room and returned carrying a heavy stone bowl. Harry immediately recognized it as a Pensieve like the one he’d seen in Dumbledore’s office and looked into the previous year. It’s surface swirled like smoky water, or watery smoke. It was difficult to say which one exactly…

Snape carefully set the basin on the edge of his desk. Then pointing the tip of his wand to his left temple, he slowly extracted a long silver thread. The thought-strand dangled from the tip of his wand like a fine gossamer string as Snape carefully deposited it into the Pensieve‘s swirling silver surface. Harry watched in curious silence as Snape repeated this several times. Why would Snape need a Pensieve, he wondered.

Finally dropping one last thought-strand into the swirling grey mixture of the Pensieve, Snape turned back to Harry with his usual sneer in place. “If anyone asks you about these lessons, you are to tell them that you are taking Remedial Potions with me,” he said. “After your performance in class last Tuesday, I do not think anyone will doubt it…”

Harry felt his face flush, but forced himself not to fall for Snape’s bait. He wasn’t going to let the man get to him.

“Now stand up and face me,” Snape ordered.

Harry did.

“The first thing of Occlumency is to learn how to clear one’s mind,” Snape informed him as they faced each other from a distance of about ten feet. “Every night before bed, I want you to practice doing that. For now though, I want you to try and push me from your mind.”

“You’re going to look inside my mind?” Harry sputtered in horror. He hadn’t really been expecting this. There were a lot of memories, both from Hogwarts and when he‘d still been living with the Dursleys, that he’d rather have no one else ever knowing - least of all Snape…

Snape meanwhile gave him a nasty sneer. “Of course, Potter. How else did you expect to learn how to push someone from your mind unless you actually tried it? What did you expect? Me to give you some kind of written essay? Occlumency is not something that can be learned by just reading books - it is a learned physical skill. Now put your wand up,” he ordered, raising his own at Harry. “You may use any method you can to try and push me from your mind, but you are to focus on Occluding your mind and emptying it of all thoughts and emotions. Do you understand?”

Harry slowly nodded. The more Snape explained the art of Occlumency, the more nervous he became. Just how exactly did one push another from his mind, he fruitlessly wondered.

“I will be gentle this first time,” Snape said. “Now close your eyes and empty your mind of any thoughts and emotions.”

Harry very reluctantly complied. He didn’t like the thought of closing his eyes on Snape, especially when said Potions master was currently pointing his wand directly at him. He had also not forgotten the looming possibility that Snape was under orders from Voldemort to kill him at the first available opportunity. But then again, wouldn’t he have just done that the moment he walked through the door alone?

“Calm yourself and empty your mind,” he heard Snape’s say from beyond the darkness of his closed eyelids. “Let all your thoughts and feeling seep out from you. Focus on clearing your mind. Focus on calming your thoughts until there are none left there for you to clam.”

Harry took several deep breaths. He felt the tension slowly seep out of him just like his Potions master directed. Snape’s deep voice was calming and… somehow comforting to him, like how he remembered the man’s presence when he’d been a disembodied spirit several weeks before. For reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend, he knew he was safe.

“Are you ready?” he heard Snape’s voice again.

Harry nodded.

“Good. Now open your eyes and look at me. Occlumency and Legillimens depends partially on eye contact.”

Harry did so, green irises meeting black.

“Remember to keep your mind clear and emotions down,” Snape once more directed. “On the count of three. One - two - three - Legillimens.”

A flood of disjointed memories flew past Harry’s mind’s eye. Him as a young child being chased up a tree by Aunt Marge’s pit bull… Dudley and his gang of bullies chasing him through the school yard… A giant snake in a dark, subterranean cavern rearing back to strike… Voldemort’s resurrected, skeletal body rising from a cauldron of bubbling red liquid, his slit-like eyes glowing red…

Harry suddenly found himself back in Professor Snape’s classroom, kneeling on the floor though he didn‘t remember falling. He was breathing hard. Sweat was beading across his forehead.

“That was pathetic, Potter,” Snape’s voice ripped through his still jumbled thoughts. “You didn’t even try to push me out.”

Harry shakingly pulled himself back up onto his feet. He swayed slightly for a moment from the mental onslaught he just experienced. If that was Snape going through his memories gently, he didn’t want to know what it was like to have said Potion master going through them on an all out rampage...

“I thought I told you to clear your mind,” Snape snapped, glaring at Harry disapprovingly. “You let your emotions from the memories overwhelm you, making it impossible for you to focus on pushing me out.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry weakly apologized, though he really didn’t know why. Did getting Legillimized somehow jumble your thoughts?

“Try again!” Snape angrily barked. “And focus on clearing your mind this time like I told you! On the count of three. One - two -three - Legillimens!”

Once more a stream of disjointed thoughts ripped through Harry’s mind. A werewolf howling at the round, silvery disk of a full moon… A rat transforming into a short, pudgy man… He and a bushy haired girl his own age desperately trying to summon a Patronus as a swarm of ghostly black apparitions glided towards them… A man standing over his hurt Potions master as he was pulled away from them by some invisible force, knowing the man was going to kill his teacher…

Harry once more found himself on his knees breathing hard in front of the towering black figure of his Potions teacher. His temples throbbed, making his vision blur slightly around the edges.

“Just as pathetic an attempt as the first!” Snape barked. “Were you not paying attention to anything I just told you?”

“I’m trying!” Harry shot back as he pulled himself off the floor again.

Snape’s eyes flashed and he raised his wand at Harry again. “Once more!” he barked. “Wand up! One - two - three - Legillimens!”

For the next hour the routine repeated itself: some of Harry’s worst memories being brutally torn from his mind before he suddenly found himself back in Snape’s classroom with Snape towering over him and berating him for his inability to push him from his mind.

“Again, Potter! One - two - three - Legillimens!”

Him swimming through murky green water only to find himself suddenly face to face with an amphibious looking person with a three pronged spear in its webbed hand… Him standing before a tall mirror with a turban-wearing man demanding to know where Dumbledore had put the stone… Him following Dumbledore as the Headmaster bore his lifeless body away, unaware of the ghostly boy trailing behind him, frantically trying to get his attention…

“Potter, this is an utter waste of my time if you are not going to even make the attempt to push me out! Do you want the Dark Lord to be able to pry your mind open and see your most inner thoughts like this?”

Harry angrily shoved himself to his feet. His knees were staring to hurt from falling on them so much. His head was now throbbing painfully like he had a bad headache. The Potion master’s constant belittling was also starting to grate on his nerves though he struggled to keep his cool.

“Again, Potter! Should I even bother to remind you to clear your mind? Legillimens!” Snape didn’t even bother to count this time.

Again another string of unpleasant memories flooded Harry’s mind. A white, rotting mouth leaning towards him from underneath a tattered black hood…

No… He didn’t want to see this anymore…

An army of Deatheaters appearing out of nowhere while he sat there tied to a headstone… A werewolf…

No! He didn’t want to see this anymore!

A masked Deatheater coming towards him, his wand raised to incant the deadly Killing Curse…

No!

“NO!” Harry heard himself scream, and felt a wave of defensive power surge through him.

He suddenly found himself seeing more memories. But this time they were not his own.

A tall, ill-tempered looking man with a hooked nose yelling at a cowering woman while a tiny, dark-haired boy cried in the corner… The same boy, a little older, jealously watching a group of Gryffindor boys show off to a group of giggling girls… One of the dark-haired boys from Gryffindor calling him names as others laughed… A masked man coming towards him holding a shiny black stone shard that practically screamed of evil…

“POTTER!”

The irate yell startled Harry back to the present. He was somewhat surprised to find himself not kneeling on the ground this time. Ten feet away, Snape was glaring at him, his black eyes blazing as he visibly shook with rage.

“What do you think you were doing, Potter?” Snape savagely hissed.

“I- I’m sorry, Sir,” Harry lamely murmured, still shaken by some of the images he’d just seen. “I don’t know what happened…” It was then that Harry suddenly realized he must have somehow seen into Snape’s mind when he retaliated against the Potion master’s Legillimens.

Snape murderously glared at him. “We’re done for the night,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Get out.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice, and hurried for the door. He knew when to make a hasty retreat when Snape was in such a volatile mood. You managed to keep more of your limbs and House points that way…

But as Harry rushed out the door, he glanced back one last time at his irate Potions master, the images of Snape’s memories still playing in his head. Though all of them were rather unsettling, Harry had not missed the last one which particularly intrigued him.

The one with the black stone shard…

Early Saturday morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the unused classroom Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves in. The door was closed and warded against any unwanted eavesdroppers by several well-placed silencing charms. The castle however was still relatively quiet, most of its students taking advantage of the weekend reprieve to catch up on some much needed sleep. That however was not enough to keep Harry from checking the wards on the door one last time.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked, slightly concerned by her friend‘s unusual behavior.

“Yeah, mate,” Ron yawned, his mouth opening so wide Harry wondered if his friend’s head couldn’t come unhinged at the jaw. “I was planning on sleeping-in today. Why’d ya have to go and wake us up and drag us down here? Why couldn‘t we have just stayed up in the tower and talked in the common room or at breakfast?”

“Because I needed to talk to you guys where no one else could hear…” Harry said.

“About what?” Hermione asked.

“My Occlumency lesson last night…”

Ron’s mouth abruptly snapped shut from another jaw breaking yawn and straightened up in his seat, suddenly alert. “Oh yeah… I forgot… You got back so late last night I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before I’d already gone to bed. What happened?”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, but agitatedly tugged at his shirt cuff, his restlessness apparent to both his friends.

“Did something happened?” Hermione worriedly asked.

“I guess…” Harry murmured, his expression troubled and distant.

“Did that greasy git say or do something to you?” Ron demanded, leaning forward in seat.

Harry shot Ron a dark look at the name he’d used, but didn’t call him on it. “No. Snape didn’t do anything to me,” he said. “Well…” he then thoughtfully amended, “he did kind of look through my memories, but I guess that was the whole point of the lesson - to learn how to push him out. Even though he really hasn’t taught me how to do that yet…”

Ron and Hermione both cocked their heads at him, not really sure what he was talking about. Seeing their blank looks Harry gave them a brief summary of his lesson the night before.

“So Snape was actually looking through your mind?” Ron said, looking horrified at the thought. “That must have been horrible. Did he say anything about it?”

“No. He just kept saying I wasn’t trying hard enough, and that I had to try harder,” Harry said, getting frustrated just by the memory of his bruised knees and his numerous failed attempts to push Snape from his mind. “It was only after an hour or so that I finally got so frustrated that I think I kind of… lashed back at him. That’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about…”

“Why? What happened?” Hermione said, leaning forward.

Harry gave a heavy sigh and stared at the floor, the images he’d seen still playing like a movie in his head. “I think when I pushed back I somehow looked into Snape’s mind myself… I saw some of his memories…”

“You what?” Ron exclaimed, his jaw dropping in surprise. “What did you see? Anything good? Tell us!” Though he might have never liked their surly Potions master, there was no denying Ron didn’t hold a certain amount of curiosity for the dark haired man. Hermione also leaned a little bit closer, eager to hear.

“I think I saw some of his memories from his childhood…” Harry slowly replied, still trying to understand some of the visions he’d seen himself. “But there was one… the last one I saw before Snape pushed me out of his mind and threw me out. I think it’s from the night of the Azkaban attack - when I saw Voldemort put him under an Imperius Curse.”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Hermione said, her eyes wide with excitement. “What was it?”

Harry‘s eyes narrowed in concentration. “I saw a man wearing a Deatheater’s mask coming toward Snape. He was holding something in his hand. It kind of looked like what I remember Malfoy and Voldemort using on Snape in my vision. It was small and black. It kind of looked like it may have been some kind of stone…”

“A stone…” Hermione thoughtfully murmured, stroking her chin as she thought. “I wonder what kind of stone You-Know-Who would have tried to use on Snape… I mean, I‘ve heard of wizards using magical objects to help increase their strength or to help facilitate some kind of spell before, but I’ve never heard of anyone using a magical object on another person quite like this before…”

“Why would You-Know-Who use a stone like that on Snape?” Ron asked, glancing between his two friends.

Harry frowned. “Snape’s too good of an Occlumens to be kept under a simple Imperius Curse for long. I remember Voldemort saying he could throw it off within only a few minutes.”

“Like how you did when that fake Moody put that Imperius on you last year in class…” Hermione said.

Harry nodded. “Almost any kind of spell can be fought. But if Voldemort’s using something on Snape to make him unable to fight back, there’s no telling what he might make him do.”

“Harry…” Ron hesitantly began, “maybe you should go to Dumbledore about this. If what you saw in your vision was true then Dumbledore would almost have to believe you. He’d know what to do about Snape.”

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore would be much better equipped to deal with this than we are.”

Harry violently shook his head. “No. I don’t trust him anymore. I’ve told him twice now that there’s something wrong with Snape, but each time he’s refused to believe me. He even set me up to start taking private lessons with Snape right after I told him Voldemort was controlling him!”

“But, Harry, if Snape really is being controlled by You-Know-Who, then Dumbledore would be the best one to help him,” Hermione said.

“I already told you! Dumbledore won’t listen to me!” Harry shouted, starting to get annoyed. “He’s not going to do anything until he actually sees Voldemort’s controlling Snape for himself, or Voldemort orders Snape to kill someone! I’m not going to tell him, and neither are you two. We’re just going to have to figure this out on our own.”

“What about McGonagall?” Hermione tried. “Or Sirius, or Lupin or Tonks? They’re all in the Order. They’d listen to us.”

“Anyone in the Order would just go straight to Dumbledore,” Harry said, shaking his head as he restlessly got up to pace. “Plus it’s not like anyone else seems to care about Snape right now. I know for a fact Moody doesn‘t like him, and would probably take any excuse he got to lock Snape up rather than actually help him.”

“Well, it’s not like Snape is Mr. Congeniality or anything,” Ron muttered. “You have to admit he’s not very nice - to us or anyone else we know. He always goes around sneering at people like he’d rather slice them up into potion ingredients before ever talking to them...”

Harry abruptly stopped pacing and glared at his friends, anger flashing through his eyes. “You know…” he hissed, “it’s comments like that that sometimes make me wonder if Snape really doesn‘t have a reason to act like he does if this is how people treat him…”

Ron looked slightly taken aback by his friend’s reaction, and sat there stunned as Harry angrily continued. “So you think just because Snape isn’t the nicest guy in the world that he doesn’t deserve someone else to help him?” he hissed. “I admit he’s not the nicest person, but he helped me this past summer when no one else could! He risked his life for me when he could have just as easily turned his back and walked away! It’s because of me Voldemort found out he was spying for Dumbledore in the first place and put him under this curse. I owe him! If you think I’m just going to pretend like nothing’s wrong or leave it for someone else to take care of while Voldemort goes around using Snape as some kind of puppet, then you can just go sit on the wrong end of a broom!”

Ron goggled for several seconds at his friend before hurriedly sputtering, “It’s not that I don’t want to help him or anything…”

Harry gave Ron a doubtful, very knowing look.

Ron actually did his friend the favor of looking guilty, his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red. “Look, Harry,” he softly amended, “it’s not like I want to see Snape under some kind of Imperius Curse or anything - especially from You-Know-Who - but… do you really think we can help him ? We’ve never actually learned how to break another person out of a curse like this. We could do more damage than good if we don’t know what we’re doing - not to mention what Snape might do to us if we don’t get it right! This is something for Dumbledore or someone else to deal with…”

Harry’s angry face softened somewhat, and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I know… I’m at as much of a loss what to do as you are... But we can’t trust Dumbledore. He’d only blow us off again and say I was imagining things.”

“I can try doing some research in the library,” Hermione tentatively offered. “There has to be something about what you saw You-Know-Who use on Snape. I’ll check and see if I can’t find any information about objects being used to control people.”

Harry gave Hermione a small smile. Leave it to her to think that the answer to any question could be found in a book. But he wasn’t about to pass her up on her offer just yet. “Thanks, ‘mione,” he murmured, suddenly feeling very tired. He hadn’t managed to get much sleep the night before. He’d stayed up almost the entire night laying in bed thinking about what he’d seen when he’d thrown Snape’s Legillimens back at him. So many more questions had been raised by what he’d seen than just that of the mysterious black stone.

Just who were those other people he’d seen in Snape’s memories? He had a fair idea of who the boys in Gryffindor colors were, but who had that other man been that was yelling at that woman? Could those have been Snape’s parents? And had that been Snape crying in the corner? Somehow those images - so far removed from the cold, harsh man he knew today - were somehow disturbing…

“When do you think you can start?” Harry asked, forcing himself to shake himself out of his - no, Snape’s!- memories.

“Well, today I guess,” Hermione replied. “There shouldn’t be many people in the library since it’s only the first week of classes, so- OW! Ew! What is this stuff?”

Cackling laughter filled the room as the three teenagers ducked for cover. Harry hid under a desk just in time as another water balloon filled with some unidentifiable sticky substance exploded on the ground right where he‘d been standing only several seconds before.

“Ha ha! The bushy-haired girl wasn’t fast enough! I’ll get you again!”

“Go away, Peeves!” Hermione yelled over the poltergeist’s laughter as he sped around the room, throwing more sticky-filled balloons at them.

“Ooo, and what are the little kiddies going to do to make me?” Peeves cackled as he sent another balloon flying at Ron’s head. “I’m just having some fun!”

“Stop it, Peeves!” Ron yelled, chancing a glare from under the desk he was hiding behind. “I’ll go get the Bloody Baron!”

Peeves laughed and did a somersault in the air. “The Bloody Baron is all the way down in the dungeons with the Slytherins. He can’t do anything to help you!” the poltergeist laughed as he sent another balloon exploding against the top of the red-head’s desk.

A hail of balloons rained down on them, coating the classroom in sticky goo.

“I’m warning you, Peeves! Beat it!” Harry yelled, shaking a fist at the jeering poltergeist.

The poltergeist puckered his lips and blew a raspberry at the dark-haired teen. Then winding up, he threw another sticky filled water balloon at Harry.

The balloon hit the desk Harry was hiding behind and exploded into a spectacular mess, a glop of wet, sticky stuff spattering Harry’s face and glasses. Peeves whooped in triumph and did another set of handsprings in the air.

Wiping the sticky goo from his glasses, Harry felt his anger begin to slowly boil. Standing up from behind the desk, Harry turned to face Peeves, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. “I. Said. Beat it!” he yelled, a wave of magic surging through him as he did.

There was a loud clap of energy, and as though hit by some kind of some kind of invisible Stinging Hex, Peeves gave a startled yelp and grabbed his bottom with both hands. The mischievous spirit stared at Harry for several moments as though suddenly seeing him as a potential threat. A mixture of shock, fear, and anger flashed through the poltergeist’s beady little eyes.

“Nasty wizard!” he yelled. Then turning tails, he disappeared through the ceiling, only sparing one last glare at Harry before disappearing from sight.

Silence reigned in the goo-splattered room for several moments until Ron finally found the voice to speak. “Harry… How’d you do that? That was amazing! No one except the Bloody Baron and maybe Dumbledore has ever been able to control Peeves like that!”

“Harry, you didn’t use your wand,” Hermione said, staring at her friend almost in awe. “That was wandless magic you just did! But it was really powerful. Even I felt the magic coming from you. How did you do that?”

Harry seemed just as stunned as his friends and stared at his hands as though in some sort of daze. “I don’t know…” he stammered. “I mean, I don’t remember even doing anything…”

“Well, whatever you did, that was awesome!” Ron exclaimed. “I doubt Peeves is ever going to bother you again by the look he gave you before he ran off!

“I guess…” Harry murmured. “It must have just been some kind of fluke. I mean, he was starting to get on my nerves…

“Harry,” Hermione said, coming out from behind the desk she’d been hiding behind and eyeing him carefully, “only really powerful wizards can do wandless magic like that. Usually wandless magic is uncontrolled and chaotic; but you managed to focus your magic just on Peeves without even realizing it. And…” Hermione noticeable hesitated. “Technically you shouldn’t have even been able to do what you did at all…”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione was pale, staring at her friend in nervous trepidation. “Peeves is a poltergeist. He doesn’t technically have a corporeal body. In a way, he’s like a ghost. And wizards can’t hex or curse ghosts - they don’t have any kind of body for magic to work against…”

“What are you trying to say, Hermione?” Harry said, feeling a small knot of unease beginning to curl in the pit of his stomach.

Hermione held her friend’s worried eyes with her own. “Just that you shouldn’t have been able to do that…” she said, her voice ringing with a strange sort of finality through the empty classroom. “Normal magic doesn’t work on spirits.”

As Harry, Ron, Hermione drew near, Harry was dismayed to see that they were once again cursed to share classes with the Fifth Year Slytherins.

“Well, well, well… If it isn’t little baby Potter finally come to grace us with his presence!”

Harry inwardly sighed, already anticipating such a greeting when he’d first spotted Draco Malfoy and his gang of cronies standing in a group in front of Hagrid’s hut.

The other students - both Slytherin and Gryffindor - who were already waiting there for their professor to arrive turned to watch as Harry, Ron, and Hermione came to a stop in front of Malfoy and his gang.

“Have any more bad dreams, Potter?” Malfoy snickered. Crabbe and Goyle both chuckled behind their leader.

“Just one about seeing your ugly mug,” Harry smoothly replied. “But I got over it pretty quick…”

Malfoy’s upper lip curled into a snarl worthy of Professor Snape. “You’re acting pretty smart for someone who woke up his entire House screaming and crying in his sleep.”

“Well, like I said, you do have a pretty frightening face…”

The Slytherin’s cheeks flushed a nasty shade of red. “Watch it, Potter…” he hissed. “There are worse people in this world than me you should be afraid of…”

“I know. Just look at those ugly gorillas you call friends behind you,” Harry replied, pointing at Crabbe and Goyle. “At least I didn’t have any dreams about them yet… Madam Pomfrey would probably have had to drug me to get me back to sleep if I’d seen either of them…”

Crabbe and Goyle both looked ready to lunge at Harry, but Malfoy motioned them to stay back with an angry wave of his hand. “You know what I mean, Potter,” Malfoy hissed under his breath so low only Harry could hear him. “I know what happened the other week before school started. I know about what really happened with your little… accident in London… Don’t think He won’t send others after you. You’d better be careful. You never know when another “accident” might happen…”

Harry narrowed his eyes at blonde. “Are you threatening me, Malfoy?” he hissed.

The Slytherin boy gave him a sly smirk. “Maybe… But then again, I don’t want to ruin your surprise, so I won’t say anything else. Just know that there are people out there eager to… meet your acquaintance…” then turning his back on Harry, the Slytherin sauntered away. Crabbe and Goyle hesitated a moment before sullenly following after their leader, disappointed about not getting the chance to use their fists on their least favorite Gryffindor.

Harry angrily glared after Malfoy for several minutes before the blonde finally disappeared behind a group of other Slytherins.

“What was that all about?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know, but that’s the second time Malfoy’s mentioned my accident in London. He must know it was really a Death eater attack and not just a car accident like all the papers said.”

“Do you think Lucius might have told him about it?” Hermione asked.

“Probably,” Harry replied. “He probably went and gloated to Draco all about it after McCourn went back to Voldemort and told him he’d “killed” me.”

“If Malfoy keeps dropping all these hints about another “accident” happening, do you think he might know about some other plan You-Know-Who has to get to you?” Hermione whispered, careful so no one besides the three of them heard.

Harry thoughtfully ran a hand through his messy hair. “Maybe… But it’s hard to tell if he’s serious, or just being cocky and making things up to rile me.”

“Do you think he might know about Snape?” Ron whispered.

Harry stared at his friend for a long moment of silence. The idea had also crossed his mind. “Who knows,” he replied. “Snape certainly is in a position to be ordered by Voldemort to kill me - and right under Dumbledore’s nose too… But if Voldemort was after me right now, don’t you think he would have already had Snape attack me?”

Ron and Hermione both shrugged their shoulders, just as perplexed as Harry was. The three of them might have continued analyzing the Slytherin’s cryptic warning but a loud voice rang over the milling students and forced them to end their conversation. “All right, e’ryone! Gather roun‘! Great lesson fer ya taday!”

As everyone looked up, the towering form of the giant Hagrid emerge from the shadowy boughs of the Forbidden Forest beside his hut.

“E’ryone follow me. Our lesson taday’s waitin’ fer us!”

“We’re going into the forest?” someone asked.

“A’ course! The animals wer’ studyin’ taday don’t really like sunlight, so wer’ gonna go inta their natural environment. You‘ll luv em!”

Harry saw several other students exchange uncertain looks. Hagrid was not known for presenting the most tame of animals to teach, and any animal that did not like sunlight did not bode well…

“Al’ight! Ev’ryone follow me!” Hagrid merrily called, oblivious to his students’ nervous looks as he disappeared back into the shadowy forest.

The students stood there uncertainly for several moments before tentatively following after their giant professor.

“What do you think Hagrid has planned for us?” Ron nervously whispered to Harry as the class delved into the forest, crashing clumsily through the underbrush. “Hopefully not one of those giant spiders he seems to be so friendly with…”

“I don’t know, but knowing Hagrid, it’s probably something with sharp claws, three heads, and a nasty disposition towards people,” Harry whispered back, trying to hide his own nervousness. Why couldn’t Hagrid just teach a normal class for once? he helplessly wondered.

“Well, I just hope it’s something that’s actually going to be on our OWLs,” Hermione said, pushing a low hanging branch out of her way. “This is a very important year for us academically. Care of Magical Creatures is a substantial part of the exams, and we can’t afford to miss out on anything.”

Ron and Harry both rolled their eyes. Not even the second week of classes and already Hermione was stressing out about their tests at the end of term…

The class continued to follow Hagrid deeper into the dark forest for what felt like forever.

“Are we these yet?” Ron desperately panted half an hour later, his hair sticking to the sides of his face with perspiration. Scratches crisscrossed the red-heads face from several low hanging branches he’d encountered during the course of their trek. Harry glanced at his friend’s sorry state and knew he probably looked no better. His shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin under his robes and he felt like he was getting eaten alive by bugs. Beside him Hermione was trying to fight off a swarm of nasty little bugs flying around her head. Around them the other students were all looking a little worse for wear themselves - their faces all covered in varying degrees of dirt and sweat. Even the perfect little prince of Slytherin, Malfoy, looked like he’d just survived three months alone in the jungle.

“We have to be,” Harry replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Any farther and we’re going to come out the other side of the forest!”

“All ‘ight, e’ryone!” Hagrid called from the front of the group. “’ere we are!”

A groan of relief went through the class as everyone gathered around the giant. They were standing on the edge of a small, gloomy clearing. The area was dark, the sun barely visible through the trees the canopy was so thick. In the middle of the clearing, there were several unidentifiable skinned animal carcasses laying on the grass, their bloody bodies glistening dully in the weak light.

Everyone huddled closer around Hagrid, not liking the dark atmosphere or the ominous dead animals.

Hagrid however seemed unfazed, and lifted two fingers to his mouth before whistling sharply into the forest. The whistle echoed into the distance, nothing moving or making noise in its wake.

The class stood in tense silence as they waited for whatever animal Hagrid had decided to teach them today. For several minutes, nothing happened. The students began to get antsy. Several began to exchange skeptical looks. Harry was about to glance at Ron and Hermione to whisper something when he suddenly heard a branch snap softly underfoot.

The class instantly became quiet, everyone looking in anxious trepidation towards the other side of the clearing. Harry squinted into the gloom. For a moment, he could see nothing. But then he suddenly saw movement from in between the trees. From the distance, he couldn’t immediately tell what it was. Squinting harder, he watched as another dark shadow passed between two trees, weaving its way slowly closer to the clearing. Whatever it was, it seemed to move like liquid shadows - one minute there, the next minute not. It was only when the mysterious animal came almost to the very edge of the clearing that Harry suddenly realized what Hagrid was teaching that day.

Glowing red eyes stared back at Harry as two black, bat-winged horses slowly emerged from the darkness and sniffed the air, their dragon like snouts flaring at the scent of fresh blood.

Harry gasped and took an involuntary step backwards.

“Thestrals!” he sputtered, staring at the skeletal horses in horror. A wave of unpleasant memories from the day at the train station assaulted him.

Everyone else in the class stared at him, not understanding what he was talking about.

“Ah, so you can see ‘em, can ya, ‘arry?” Hagrid said, nodding his burly head. “Kind of expected that afta wha’ happened las’ year with that Diggory boy… Can anyone else see ‘em?”

Harry was surprised to see Neville tentatively raise his hand, as did another boy Harry didn’t know from Slytherin.

Hagrid nodded again. “Neville, thought you might be one. Heard from Dumbledore ‘bout yer grandfather dying when you wer‘ young... And Mr. Kaslin I see…”

“My aunt…” the boy murmured under his breath.

Hagrid gave him a sympathetic nod.

“What are you talking about?” Lavender Brown spoke up, looking confused by the exchange. “We can’t see anything. There’s nothing there.”

“Ya sure about tha’?” Hagrid smiled. “Take another look,” he said, pointing to the middle of the clearing where the dead animal carcasses were.

What the class saw had many student gaping in horror at what they saw. Harry could only imagine what it must be like to see strips of flesh being torn from the dead animals and then disappearing into thin air. The Thestrals, meanwhile, didn’t pay the gawking class any mind as they continued to enjoy their meal.

“What’s going on?” Malfoy cried, staring at the disappearing animal carcasses. “What’s eating those things?”

Hagrid gave the gaping boy a wide grin as though he enjoyed the opportunity share his knowledge of (arguably dangerous) magical creatures. “As I think ‘arry said, these beauties ‘ere are Thestrals. Only tame herd in all of England. Trained ‘em myself. Does anyone know why only some of ya ‘ere can see ‘em?” Hagrid then asked the class, although he automatically looked to Hermione.

“Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen death,” Hermione replied.

“Correct,” Hagrid nodded. “Ten points ta Gryffindor.” Glancing back at the middle of the clearing, the giant then said, “Well, it looks like the Thestrals are almost done eatin’ so I want e’ryone ta go up an’ give ‘em a pet. Thestrals are usually pretty friendly once they’ve eaten, so don’t be ‘fraid.”

The students exchanged skeptical glances. ‘Usually friendly? Coming from Hagrid, that meant they were almost guaranteed to bite…

“Now how ‘bout we ‘ave the three that can actually see ‘em go first?” Hagrid suggested, still blissfully unaware of the children’s unease.

Harry, Neville, and the Slytherin boy all shared slightly panicked looks.

“Now don’t be shy!” Hagrid smiled, nudging the three towards the two Thestrals that now stood eyeing them curiously. “They won’t bite ya!”

Swallowing nervously, Harry slowly inched towards the two Thestrals with Neville and the Slytherin boy following close behind. The Thestrals didn’t take their eyes off the three students as they drew near. Harry saw their nostrils flare as they sniffed the air. One of them stamped its hoof and bat its wings.

“Now just hold out yer hand an’ let ‘em come to you,” Hagrid called encouragingly as the three finally came to a stop several paces away from the winged-horses.

“This is crazy!” the Slytherin boy hissed under his breath.

Harry couldn’t help but find himself agreeing. But he nevertheless did as Hagrid suggested and held out his hand, trying to hide his fear from the two dragon-like horses. Neville and the Slytherin hesitantly followed his example.

For a moment, the Thestrals just stared at them. Harry was unnerved to see that they seemed to be staring directly at him and not at either of his companions. He felt their blood red eyes boring into him and was once again reminded of the day at the train station. It was like they sensed something different about him…

Slowly, one of the Thestrals took a step forward. Neville and the Slytherin boy both ducked behind Harry. Harry meanwhile stayed his ground. He’d heard about dogs being able to smell fear and attacking if they sensed any weakness from their prey, and wasn’t about to test that theory being the same with Thestrals. He didn’t think he would get very far if he ran before the two horses overtook him anyway…

The one Thestral slowly came forward, sniffing Harry’s hand when it finally came close enough. Harry felt its warm breath puff against his skin and fought against his natural instinct to retract his hand before the horse-thing could bite. But the Thestral didn’t bite. Instead, it took several steps closer and gently nudged Harry’s hand with its nose, letting the boy tentatively touch its head. Harry was surprised to find the Thestral’s skin slightly scaly like that of a snake’s, but surprisingly warm at the same time.

The other Thestral slowly came forward and nudged Harry too, butting him in the side with its nose. Harry suddenly found himself surrounded by both Thestrals, petting them as they jockeyed with each other for his attention.

Neville and the Slytherin boy meanwhile both looked on in amazement, as did the rest of the class.

“Wow, Harry,” Neville whispered. “They seem to like you.”

“A little bit too much if you ask me,” Harry replied as he struggled to indulge both horses at the same time. He was once again butted in the side as one of the Thestrals tried to regain his attention and moved its head so Harry could pet its neck.

“How’d you get them to do that?” the Slytherin boy asked. “I wouldn’t have ever thought Thestrals were so friendly…”

“Neither would I,” Harry replied, still petting the two. “Why don’t you guys try and pet them before they knock me down.”

Neville and the other boy stepped forward and held their hands out towards the Thestrals, but before they could even touch them, both Thestrals reared out of their reach and glared at them with blood red eyes. One of them pawed the ground and bat its wings threateningly at the two. Neville and the Slytherin both quickly backed off, able to take the hint that the Thestrals didn’t to be touched.

When the two other boys were far enough away, the Thestrals slowly returned to Harry’s side and nudged him again, urging him to continue petting them. Harry hesitantly did, completely confused by the two Thestrals.

“Huh,” Hagrid grunted from the side of the clearing as he and the rest of the class looked on in wonder. “That’s strange…”

“Those things almost bit us!” the Slytherin boy cried, staring at the two black horses fighting for Harry’s attention. “Why won’t they let anyone besides Potter near them?”

“Don’t know…” Hagrid shrugged, mystified by the Thestrals’ actions himself. “Usually they treat e‘ryone the same… Plus I can’t say I‘ve ever seen ‘em this friendly before. Even towards me… They must just like ‘arry ‘s all…”

Harry however wasn’t sure if he really liked that idea. The Thestrals were still nudging and butting him with their heads, fighting for his attention. “Hagrid!” he called. “What should I do? They won’t leave me alone!”

The giant pulled his burly beard nervously. Harry suddenly realized that this had never happened before and the giant really wasn‘t sure what to do. “Try walkin’ away,” he called.

Harry tried to do so, but the Thestrals just moved so that he was once again caught between them and forced to pet them. “Hagrid!” he helplessly called.

“Just ‘old on, ‘arry! I‘m comin‘,” he said and began to move towards them. As Hagrid approached though, the two Thestrals suddenly looked up and snapped their teeth at him, halting the giant mid-step. Hagrid stared at the two horses in surprise as if they really had bitten him.

This was starting to get out of hand.

The Thestrals were once again butting Harry with their heads, batting him back and forth between them. This had to stop. If Hagrid couldn’t help him, then he was going to have to do something himself…

In a rash act of bravery, Harry grabbed both Thestrals by their snouts and said in a loud, commanding voice, “Stop it!”

Both Thestrals froze. Harry felt them tremble slightly under his hands as if suddenly afraid. Their warm breath tickled his hands as he stared into their eyes, not daring to blink and break eye-contact. Slowly, both Thestrals bowed their heads to him in submission.

Harry wasn’t sure who was more surprised; himself, Hagrid, or the rest of the class.

Did he just get these Thestrals - one of hardest to train magical animals there were - to actually listen to him?

The Thestrals didn’t move, their heads submissively bowed under Harry’s touch.

“It’s alright…” Harry softly murmured, suddenly feeling bad about yelling at the two horses. He gently pet their scaly heads to show he wasn‘t angry with them anymore. “It’s alright… Just stop being so pushy…”

The Thestrals slowly rose their heads, reassured by Harry’s voice, and tentatively nudged his hands again with their noses.

“It’s alright… It’s alright…” he continued to murmur, gently stroking their scaly necks. “Now go on. Get out of here,” he then said, giving them one last pat and motioning them away. “Go on.”

As if actually listening to him, the two Thestrals bat their wings and trotted off, disappearing back into the shadows of the surrounding forest. Harry stared after them a moment before slowly turning back to face Hagrid and the rest of the class.

All of them were staring at him with something akin to awe.

“Not bad, ‘arry,” Hagrid said, staring at the young Gryffindor appraisingly as if suddenly seeing him in a different light. “I’ve never seen Thestrals listen to anyone like that before. They sometimes listen to me, but even then they’re kind of ‘ard to control… They‘re kind of like Hyppogriffs like that…”

Harry meanwhile had nothing to say in reply and could only stare after the two black shadows disappearing into the forest…

Days came and went. Homework was given and detentions were assigned. The Weasley twins released a herd of Hinkypunks in the third floor corridor which caused Filtch to go on another one of his back-in-my-day-we-used-to-stretch-disobedient-students-on-the-rack-for-detention rants, even though he couldn’t prove it was actually them. McGonagall started to teach how to Transfigure ink pots to coo-coo clocks, and Hagrid moved on from Thestrals to Unicorns. Peeves was keeping a suspiciously wide berth from Harry and his friends, but attacked a group of Second Years with another onslaught of syrup-filled balloons. Neville managed to melt not one, not two, but three caldrons in Potions class that week, and Professor Binns was as boring as ever. A Hogsmeade visit was scheduled for that Saturday and everyone was looking forward to the weekend.

And so, all too soon, Friday rolled around and Harry once again found himself standing outside of Professor Snape’s office at exactly seven o’clock.

Just as the bell began to toll, Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Enter,” a deep voice called from beyond.

Harry opened the door and once again found the classroom dimly lit with Snape grading papers at his desk.

“I see you are on time for once…” Snape said as Harry came to a stop in front of his desk. “A pity… I was hoping for a chance to deduct more points from Gryffindor…”

Harry didn’t say anything and just stood there in silence.

Snape finished looking over the rest of the scroll he was grading. When he finally wrote a big red T at the top of the paper and tossed the scroll to the side, he finally looked up and eyed Harry. “Have you been practicing Occluding your mind every night before bed like I told you to?” he asked.

Harry, in all honestly, hadn’t. With all the strange things that had happened lately, emptying his mind of everything was about as likely as Voldemort ever winning Witch Weekly‘s Most Charming Smile Award. Nevertheless, he replied, “Yes, Sir.”

Snape gave him a skeptical look as though he knew Harry was lying. “We’ll see…” he murmured, almost as a threat.

Getting up, Snape swept to the other side of the room where he once again took down a Pensieve from the shelf. Harry watched in silence as the Potion master carefully extracted half a dozen silver memory threads from his head and deposited them in the bowl. Finally finished, Snape turned back to Harry.

“Wand out,” he ordered, leveling his own at Harry. “Remember, empty your mind. Let go of any thoughts or emotions you might have and focus on clearing your mind. Are you ready?”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded.

“On the count of three. One-two-three- Legillimens!”

A rush of disjointed memories assaulted Harry.

Him in a cramped, dark place while heavy footsteps pounded overhead… A gapping, rotting mouth leaning towards him from under a tattered black hood… His own body laying on a hospital table while a doctor sadly announced a time of death - all while he stood there watching from the other side of the room…

Harry suddenly found himself back in the present, gasping for breath on his knees in front of a glowering Potions master.

“Pathetic, Potter,” Snape scowled. “I can clearly see you haven’t been practicing like you so claimed. I know you think you are better than everyone else, but even you need to practice. Occlumency is not something one can learn without actually practicing! Now get up and try again!”

Harry unsteadily pulled himself back up onto his feet and faced Snape. His knees throbbed painfully, still sore from the week before. But he wasn’t about to show such weakness and once again leveled his wand at Snape.

“One-two-three-Legillimens!”

Once again Harry found himself assaulted by a string of unpleasant memories.

A Hungarian Horntail, lunging at him with open jaws, ready to snap him in half… Hermione laying in the Hospital Wing, as stiff and lifeless as a statue… A werewolf howling at the full moon…

“Potter, that was the most pathetic attempt yet! A Hufflepuff First Year could do better than you!”

Breathing heavily, Harry pushed himself back to his feet. “I’m trying!” he snapped. “Maybe if you actually taught me what to do instead of just going through my memories like a bull in a China shop, then maybe I’d know what to do!”

“Watch your tone,” Snape hissed. “I will not be spoken to like that.”

Harry gritted his teeth and muttered none too sincerely, “Sorry…”

Snape studied Harry closely for a moment, as though waiting for another outburst from the boy. Harry defiantly met his gaze, but didn’t say anything else, though his jaw unconsciously clenched and unclenched with simmering anger. His resolve to keep a non-antagonistic view of the man was starting to wear thin.

Snape’s dark eyes bore into him, as though considering whether or not to rise to Harry’s bait. “Alright, Potter,” he finally sneered. “Since you seem to need it spelled out for you, I’ll explain. But pay attention because I’m only going to tell you this once.” Crossing his arms across his chest, he slipped into his usual teaching mode. “To successfully Occlude your mind you must empty your mind of all thoughts and emotions like I’ve told you for the last thousand times. Exploiting the emotions of someone is one of the easiest ways to look into another person’s mind. They are like the back door into seeing one’s true thoughts and feelings. That is one of the reasons why you are failing so miserably - you let your emotions from your memories distract you and lose focus.”

“Then how do I stop that from happening?” Harry demanded.

“If you would let me finish without interrupting, then maybe I could tell you,” Snape snapped.

Huffing, Harry crossed his arms and waited for Snape to continue.

“There are many different methods of clearing one’s mind,” Snape went on. “Some rely on the ‘blank-slate’ method in which one completely empties one’s mind of all thoughts. This is considered one of the easiest methods, and the one I instructed you to use. But since that seems too difficult for you to manage, we will have to try something else…” Going over to one of the many bookshelves lining the room, Snape selected a thin, leather-bound volume. “This book described several different methods,” he said, coming back and handing the book to Harry. “I suggest you read it before out next lesson.”

Harry glanced at the title - Clouding the Mind - before Snape regained his attention.

“The method I want you to try tonight though is call Grounding. It is a technique in which one focuses on a particular memory that is not necessarily happy, sad, or anything, but rather neutral in nature. The memory might be comforting, perhaps, but nothing more. If any other emotions are attached to the memory - whether good or bad - it will give the person invading your mind an opening to attack. This is the method I myself find most successful when Occluding, but it requires a certain amount of concentration above just that of clearing your mind.”

Harry stared at the book in his hand. He hadn’t actually been expecting Snape to go to such lengths to explain different methods of Occluding when he’s snapped at him like that. He was actually surprised Snape hadn’t kicked him out right then and there for speaking out of line. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to snub the Potion master’s suggestion…

“What memory do you use?” he tentatively asked.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Potter,” he sneered.

“But if I know what memory you use, then maybe I’ll know what memory I can use,” Harry explained.

Snape noticeable hesitated, but then with a put-upon sigh said, “Each one’s Base Memory differs depending on what meaning it holds for that particular person. I, for instant, focus on memories of brewing complex potions because it offers me a neutral base to ground my mind on. I highly doubt though that you would associate such feelings towards potions… I would expect you would ground yourself with memories of riding a broom or that barbaric sport, Quidditch.”

Harry stared at Snape, utterly taken aback by his introverted Potion master had divulged such personal information.

“Do you have such a memory?” Snape asked, ignoring the boy’s surprised look.

Harry searched his mind. What memory did he have that was comforting, but really didn’t have any positive or negative connotations? He considered for a moment using Snape’s suggestion of rising a broom, but had to scrap it in the end. Flying held too many happy memories for him. In a way it was strange. To produce a Patronus you needed to focus on your happiest memory. But to Occlude your mind, thinking of anything positive or was just as detrimental as focusing on something negative.

Snape was starting to look impatient.

Harry desperately searched him memories for anything he could use. What was something neither positive or negative, but at the same time a source of comfort? Did he even have a memory like that? He didn’t think-

And then he suddenly knew.

“I have one,” he announced, meeting his professor’s gaze.

“Very well,” Snape said. “Close your eyes and focus on that memory. Do not let your mind wander or otherwise I will be able to break into your mind with barely even trying.”

Harry frowned but closed his eyes as he was directed.

“I want you to visualize your memory,” Snape’s voice said from beyond the veil of darkness of Harry’s closed eyes. “Release all emotions and focus solely on your chosen memory. Don’t let anything distract you. Just focus on your memory…”

Snape’s voice seemed to dim a little as Harry focused inward. He felt his breathing slow and his body begin to relax.

He was in a dark, dilapidated mansion. There were multiple people gathered together in a large room - all of them wearing dark hoods and masks. A snake-like man was seated in a high-backed chair at the front of the room. He knew he should be anxious if not frightened. But strangely he wasn’t. He felt assured. Safe. He knew no one else could see him - no one but the tall figure standing beside him. He felt safe because he knew the man wouldn’t let anything happen to him…

“Are you ready?” Snape asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied, slowly opening his eye. “I’m ready.”

“On the count of three. One - two - three - Legillimens!”

Harry felt a pressure against his inner mind, like someone was squeezing his head from the inside. The pressure was moving around, almost as if probing for an opening…

A Death eater coming at him with his wand raised…

No…

Him beside the tall masked man… He knew he was safe…

A rat slowly morphing into a short, pudgy man…

No.

The tall dark man standing beside him within a crowd of Death eaters, assuring him with a simple hand gesture that he was safe…

A snake-like man rising from a bubbling caldron…

No!

The tall dark man beside him…

“No!” Harry’s voice echoed through his own ears as he aimed his wand at the invading source.

A startled cry brought Harry fully back to himself. He was surprised this time to find himself still standing. But as he focused his attention on the one that should have been standing in front of him, Harry felt any jubilation at his victory instantly disappear.

Instead of finding himself on his knees this time, it was Snape on the ground, doubled over holding his chest.

“Professor!” he shouted and rushed to the Potion master’s side. “Are you alright?”

It took Snape a moment to catch his breath before his shakingly rasped, “Most impressive, Potter… A Stinging Hex while simultaneously fighting off a mental invasion… A notable improvement from your previous failed attempts…”

Harry didn’t know whether to be shocked by Snape’s thinly veiled words of praise or even more frightened. Surely he didn’t hit Snape that hard that he was actually complimenting him now, did he?

Taking his elbow, Harry helped Snape rise. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what happened. I just-”

“Stop apologizing,” Snape snapped, shaking off Harry’s hand and gingerly moving back behind his desk to sit. “That was what I’ve been trying to teach you to do all along - to push someone from your mind. You took long enough, but you were essentially successful in the end…” Sitting down, Snape winced as he leaned back in his chair, still holding his chest with one hand. “At least it seems you finally found an Occluding technique you can do…” he murmured, though not with his usual venom. Harry once again had to wonder how strong of a Hex he’d used.

“I think we’re done for today,” Snape went on. “You are dismissed.”

Harry was about to turn and leave, but then stopped. Snape had already gone back to his grading. His quill scratched noisily across the parchment, underlining a word here, leaving a scathing remark there. Hadn’t he been telling himself these Occlumency lessons might give him an opportunity to talk to Snape and possibly find out what was going on with him?

It was several moments before Snape looked back up at him. “Is there something else you wanted, Potter?”

Harry hesitated, not quite sure what to say. “Um… I was just wondering if everything was okay, Sir… With you, I mean…”

Snape stared at him for a moment as if Harry had just announced he was going to become Trelawney’s Divination apprentice. “Whatever are you going on about, Potter? I would hardly have ever thought you would care about my personal life, or that it was ever even any of your business to begin with.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped… “Er… I just mean that I overheard some other Order members talking about what you’ve been doing for the Order lately, like with that Death eater raid on Azkaban the other week…”

“You mean the one where you got half the Order to go out looking for me in the middle of the night because of a bad dream?” Snape drawled.

“Yes, Sir…”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. “And why would any of that concern you?”

Harry didn’t immediately answer. “It’s just that we’re all in the Order,” he softly murmured, “whether officially or unofficially… We all have to stick together if we’re ever going to stop Voldemort…”

Snape stared at Harry, not even correcting him for his use of the Dark Lord’s name. “I suppose so…” he murmured. “But things are never as easy or as cut and dry as you Gryffindors might like to believe. There is always someone in the group that must be sacrificed for the good of the rest…”

“I don’t like to believe that, Sir. I don’t want to have to sacrifice anyone…”

For a moment, neither one said anything.

Student and teacher stared at each other, green eyes meeting black. Snape’s eyes seemed to bore into Harry, as if searching to see if the boy was sincere.

Harry met the Potion master’s questioning gaze. I’m here to help, he silently tried to plead. Let me help you…

Snape’s eyes, meanwhile, betrayed none of the man’s own thoughts. They were like two pits of ink, swallowing him into their bottomless depths…

A Death eater was coming towards him, holding a black stone. The stone was evil. He knew he couldn’t let it touch him. But he couldn’t move. Two other men were holding him immobile as the man came closer. The stone’s black surface reflected the room’s dim light evilly, as if revealing in the soul it was about to corrupt…

Harry came back to himself with a gasp. He was only partially aware of Snape talking as if nothing had just happened.

“Then that is the reason the Hat would never sort you into Slytherin (amongst other reasons…) Now, if you are quite done wasting my time, Potter, it is time for you to leave.”

Harry could only mutely nod, still confused by what he’d just seen. Just what had that been? He slowly headed for the door.

“Potter,” Snape called after him just as he reached the threshold.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, almost as if in a daze.

Snape studied him for a moment with his piercing black eyes. “Don’t forget your book,” he curtly reminded him.

“Sorry, sir…” Harry mumbled as he hurried back and retrieved the book Snape had given him to study.

Snape didn’t look back up as Harry hurried out the room.

Harry lay that night staring at the canopy of his bed for several hours before he finally dropped off to sleep. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but he knew he had to be dreaming. 

He dreamed that he was walking through Hogwarts - or at least walking was the closest word to describe how he was moving. He almost felt like he was floating, though he felt his feet moving beneath him. He drifted along, wandering the halls not quite sure where he was going, or why.

Moonlight flooded the deserted corridors, creating bright pools of light in the inky darkness. He was on the second floor, east wing. The school was strangely peaceful without other students running around everywhere. It reminded him of when he used to use his father’s invisibility cloak to sneak out in the dead of night to go on one of his adventures. But this time it was somehow different…

He was now at the stairs. Even though it was the middle of the night, the staircases continued to move back and forth between levels. He took one that led him to the main floor of the castle. He didn’t know where he was going, but he felt drawn, as if something was calling him, pulling him along by a fragile thread…

None of the portraits looked up or even seemed to notice him as he passed. As he descended towards the ground level, he came across Mrs. Norris standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks halfway down the staircase. Mrs. Norris was going to see him and alert Filtch. He was going to get in trouble. He had to hide. When she saw him-

But it was too late.

Mrs. Norris swung her large golden eyes in a wide arch around the corridor, as if hunting for misbehaving students out past curfew. Her eyes seemed to glow like those of a Jack o’ lantern in the darkness. But as her head swiveled ‘round and looked up the staircase right where Harry was standing, her eyes passed over him as if he wasn’t even there.

He stood there in confusion as the cat gave one last look around the empty hall then silently padded away down another corridor. Confused, but strangely unconcerned at the same time, Harry continued on. Something was urging him on, pulling him towards it like a silent Siren’s song.

He wandered down another hallway, heading towards the middle of the castle. As he turned down another darkened corridor, he saw a silvery figure appear at the other end of the hall. Humming a cheerful song, the Gryffindor ghost Nearly Headless Nick floated towards him.

Harry began to open his mouth to call out to the friendly spirit, but then noticed that just like Mrs. Norris, Nearly Headless Nick didn’t seem to notice him. Harry paused and watched as Sir Nicholas came closer. As the ghost drew parallel to him and was about to pass him, he suddenly stopped.

Harry silently watched as Nick cocked his partially severed head to the side as though listening for something. Glancing around as though he could sense someone else nearby, Nicholas frowned. Both of them stood there in the hallway for several minutes, the deafening silence of the night stinging their ears.

But then, shrugging his shoulders as though writing off his unease as unfounded paranoia, the ghost floated off, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the hall.

For some reason Harry didn’t seem to care. He felt strangely disconnected from everything, as though he were caught in some ethereal walking dream.

The pull to move on was growing a little stronger. Forgetting his encounter with Nearly Headless Nick, Harry moved on. As he continued on, he began to recognize where he was going.

He was heading towards the dungeons.

Why he was being drawn there he could not say. All he knew was that there was something calling him towards it.

As he drew closer to the top of the stairs leading down into the deepest bowels of the castle, Harry felt a slight burning sensation begin to spread across his left forearm. It grew stronger as he came to the top of the stairs. He stood on the edge of the stairs, staring down into the winding black darkness below. The burning sensation began to grow painful, now snaking up the length of his arm. His vision began to blur.

No… He had to go on. Something was calling him.

He started down the stairs. His arm was now afire with pain. Taking one step at a time, Harry had to concentrate on placing one foot down in front of the other. His vision swam. He felt as though the world suddenly lurched to the side. Harry had to grab the wall to steady himself as he continued to push himself down the spiraling stone stairs. The pain in his arm flared white before his eyes.

He had to get there. Whatever was drawing him to it was growing desperate in its need for him to hurry. He had to get there and help.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Harry shakingly put a foot down onto the next step. But this time he could no longer find the strength to hold himself up. His arm flared again, and his vision tunneled dangerously.

The pain was becoming too much. He could no longer focus on anything around him. He felt his grip on reality slip. He pitched forward down the stairs, unable to concentrate anymore beyond the pain to catch himself.

And just before everything dissolved into black, Harry’s last coherent thought was that he would be unable to go to whatever had been calling to him…

It had been a typical lazy Quidditch-less Saturday. Because of the lack of reason to get up early, most students had opted to sleep in late, not getting up until almost lunch time. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, but for most of the Fifth Years, Hogsmeade was beginning to lose its novelty. And with the past week of intense lessons and heavy homework loads, the idea of sleeping in held much more appeal than the idea of hiking to the crowded village.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat ensconced together in a removed corner of the Gryffindor Commons Room. It was only moderately populated that afternoon - most of the aforementioned students either still lounging around in bed or bemoaning their workload in the library.

The three Gryffindors had been some of the ones that had found staying at Hogwarts more appealing than going to Hogsmeade, though for different reasons…

“Really, Ronald, sleeping in till past lunchtime is unacceptable! Think of how you could have used that time to study instead of laying around all day in bed not doing anything.”

“Oh, come off it, Hermione! I’ll have plenty of time tomorrow to get all my homework done. Plus, you’ll give me you’re notes to copy, so what‘s the big deal?”

Hermione’s lips pursed into a thin, white line. “You know, one of these days, Ron, I might decide not to lend you my notes. So maybe you should pay attention in class for once and start taking your own notes!”

Ron made a scoffing sound. “You wouldn’t do that to Harry and me. You like us too much. You’d never let us fail if you could help it.”

Hermione grit her teeth and muttered, “Well, I’m starting to give it thought... Maybe if you two failed a big test for once, you’d see how much you need to learn how to study and take notes for yourself without my help. Then maybe you‘d actually learn something for once.”

“That’s harsh, Hermione. But I still say you wouldn’t do it. The minute you saw Harry or me struggling, you’d be over here in a heartbeat giving us your study notes and telling us the main points of the lesson.”

Hermione was starting to get rather red in the face. “Oh, you think so, do you? Well let’s see how generous I am when you two start panicking about next week’s Charms test. I bet neither of you two have even started reading the chapter. But don’t expect me to give you my notes! I want to see how you two do on your own for once without my help.”

Ron gave her a cocky, skeptical look before glancing at the silent third member of their group. “You hear that, Harry? She says she’s not going to help us with our Charms test. How much you want to bet she’s lending us her notes before Tuesday. She… Harry? Hey, Harry? You listening to me?”

Harry shook himself out of what were clearly troubled thoughts and looked up at them. Hermione and Ron both studied their friend worriedly. Harry looked terrible, and - thinking about it now - had been unnaturally quiet all morning. He had stayed in bed longer than even Ron that morning, but still looked like he’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked as though he were lost in some sort of daze. Though stranger and stranger things have been happening to their friend lately Ron and Hermione could safely say their friend’s current state made them even more worried then usual.

“Harry,” Hermione tentatively asked, “are you alright?” Then lowering her voice, “Did you have another vision of You-Know-Who last night?”

Harry stared at her with dull green eyes for a moment before hoarsely answering, “No. But I did have this really weird dream… It almost felt like one of my visions, but it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t looking out through Voldemort’s eyes or anything. It was like I was myself. But it wasn’t like any kind of normal dream I‘ve had before, so I don‘t really know what to make of it.”

Hermione and Ron both leaned forward in their seats.

“What was it?” Ron demanded. “What did you see?”

Harry related his strange dream the night before of him wandering Hogwarts, unseen by anyone else as he followed the pull of some silent call.

Hermione and Ron seemed just as perplexed as their friend, and questioned him intensely about it.

“That’s strange… What do you think was calling you?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. It was like I somehow knew where I should go though.”

Ron leaned forward in his seat. “Where were you going?”

“Towards the dungeons. I remember being at the top of the stairs that go down to the Potion classrooms, but I woke up before I could reach the bottom…”

The three friends all shared troubled looks. It was unnecessary for any of them to say who lived in the dungeons near the Potion classrooms - one who’s loyalty to the Light side was currently in question…

“Do you think it might have been some kind of trick of You-Know-Who‘s?” Ron said. “You know, like he was trying to somehow lead you out of the castle so he could get you?”

“No,” Harry replied, shaking his head again. “I don’t think Voldemort had anything to do with last night. Although…” He trailed uncertainly.

Ron and Hermione both leaned forward, sensing Harry had just remembered something important.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry chewed the bottom of his lip before slowly replying, “I remember my left forearm hurting in my dream. Right where-”

“You-Know-Who’s Dark Mark is,” Hermione finished for him.

“Yeah. But like I said, it wasn’t like any other kind of vision I’ve had before,” Harry said.

Hermione looked thoughtful. “If you say it wasn’t a vision than maybe it really was nothing more than a dream…” She sounded almost hopeful that that was all it really was.

Harry didn’t say anything in response and for several minutes, the three of them just sat there in silence, mulling over the details of Harry’s strange dream. A group of excited Third Years suddenly came bursting into the Commons Room through the portrait, talking excitedly about their excursion to Hogsmead. It created an almost surreal contrast to the tension surrounding the three older students.

Frustrated and tired and unable to think of any explanation for his dream, Harry ran a hand through his perpetually disheveled hair. “Have you started any research on that black stone I was telling you about from my visions, Hermione?” he abruptly asked.

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. “I have. But I haven’t had much luck with it yet. I checked all the main reference books concerning magic stones and other objects used for magical purposes, but I haven’t found anything like what you described. I wanted to try and start on a different section, but with all these tests coming up next week I‘ve been busy studying and making notes, so…”

“That’s okay,” Harry assured her. “I understand. But we have to figure out what I saw in Snape’s memory soon. This is important. If we can figure out what it is, maybe we can figure out a way to help him…”

“Whatever the case,” Ron spoke up, “all this talk of visions and evil stones is starting to make me a little bit nervous. Are you sure you don’t want to tell anyone about what‘s going on, Harry? Not even Sirius? I bet he’d be able to help you somehow.”

“That’s a good idea. You should write and tell him what’s going on,” Hermione agreed. “He’ll be worried if he finds out you’re still having visions and didn’t tell him.”

Harry still had doubts about telling anyone else about his visions or continued concern for his Potion master’s welfare. But he doubted telling Ron and Hermione that would do much good. They didn’t seem to want to believe him when he said he couldn’t trust such information to anyone else but them. Dumbledore had proved too many times already he didn’t believe the authenticity of his visions, and Harry was tired of having them written off as mere dreams. This was serious and he knew he couldn’t trust anyone else to do anything about it but himself.

He knew Sirius would be worried if he ever heard he was still having visions, but he doubted his godfather would be very worried if he told him that they always seemed to concern an old Slytherin classmate of his…

Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to voice such concerns to his already worried friends…

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry softly murmured, not meeting his friends’ eyes. “I haven’t talked to Sirius in a long time anyway. He’s probably wondering if I dropped off the face of the planet or something… I’ll write him later tonight.”

This seemed to placate his friend and soon the conversation moved away to other topics. But in the back of Harry’s head, the nagging feeling that something was wrong never quite fully left his mind…

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind of unsettled thoughts as he lay in bed later that night listening to the snores of his fellow dorm mates. Exhaustion pulled at his senses, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to make himself relax and go to sleep. He restlessly tossed and turned in bed, unable to get comfortable. Finally throwing himself onto his back, Harry stared up at the canopy of his bed.

Snape had been missing earlier that evening at dinner. Any other year, Harry probably wouldn’t have cared, let alone even noticed. But with all the strange things happening since his accident in London the week before school, he’d found his Potion master beginning to occupy more and more of his waking (and sleeping) thoughts.

Why hadn’t he been at dinner? Had something happened? Technically it was the weekend and many of the teachers were usually absent from one or two meals, but Snape rarely ever missed a meal…

Harry restlessly rolled onto his side and stared out the window on the other side of the room. Silvery moonlight was streaming in from outside. Harry somehow found the nocturnal brightness ill-suited to his dark and troubled thoughts. Rolling onto his other side, Harry turned his back on the silvery light.

Was he looking into Snape’s absence too much? Because he’d slept in so late that morning, he hadn’t seen if Snape had been at lunch or breakfast. Maybe he was just being paranoid. But no matter what he told himself, he couldn’t help but think that last night’s vision had had something to do with Hogwart’s Potions master. After all, why would he have been going towards the dungeons? And why else would his left arm have been hurting unless it was somehow connected to Snape? He was the only Marked person in the whole school, and there was no denying that almost all of Harry’s visions the last few weeks had somehow involved Snape.

But then again, he, Hermione, and Ron had all agreed that what he’d seen last night had only been a dream…

Sighing, Harry rolled back onto his back.

He was so tired… It felt like every night he lost a little bit more sleep because of these visions and strange dreams. He wondered if things kept going as they were if he would at some point not be able to sleep at all.

He was just so tired. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and go to sleep. Maybe he should try and see if he could get some Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam Pomfrey. It was too late to get any now, but maybe tomorrow he could ask her…

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm his troubled mind. He felt his exhaustion once again pull at his senses, gently lulling him towards the brink of consciousness. He didn’t fight the darkness though. He was so tired…

He once again found himself wandering the halls of Hogwarts in a dreamlike, disconnected state. Something was calling him, urging him on. He mindlessly followed it, somehow knowing where he was going even though he didn’t. The portraits and different hallways seemed to drift past him as though he were moving along on some kind of invisible current.

He came to the moving stairs and took a flight that led him to the main entrance hall of the castle. He didn’t see anyone else around, and paused for a moment to admire the emptiness of the deserted hall.

The giant hourglasses containing the House Points of the four different Houses stood on the other side of the hall. By the current standings, Ravenclaw looked as though it was in the lead by at least several inches of shining blue sapphires. Gryffindor and Slytherin looked about equal, rubies and emeralds fighting each other for dominance. Hufflepuff’s topazes stood only several inches below that of the two other Houses competing for second place.

Harry admired the towering hourglasses. The different gems shined brightly in the moonlight filtering in through the windows. They were somehow eerily beautiful, like the treasure from some exotic, distant world.

The pull tugging at the back of Harry’s mind reached out to him again, urging him to hurry. He had to go.

Harry turned away from the hourglasses. But as he began to walk away, he suddenly felt a searing pain shoot across his left forearm.

Grabbing his arm, Harry fell to his knees, unable to fight the pain. He felt tears sting his eyes. It hurt so bad! How could anyone stand this kind of pain? He felt as though his entire arm was on fire.

He had to clench his teeth together to keep from screaming out. He felt as though the pain was trying to consume him, slowly inching its way up his arm.

Harry clutched his arm tighter to his chest. No! He couldn’t let the pain take over him like this. He had to fight it! Focusing his mind and magic on the indescribable pain invading his body, Harry pushed back, willing it to leave him.

But the pain refused to recede. Almost like a thinking entity, it pushed back, trying to invade his very mind now.

But Harry was not about to let it have its way. Concentrating harder than he ever thought he had before, the boy fought back, trying to push the pain from his body. He felt his magic swell. A silvery blue aura appeared around him, manifested by the strength and determination of his will. He felt it surround and envelop him - a cloud of pure raw magical energy.

The pain still refused to leave him.

Concentrating harder, Harry pushed back, screaming between clenched teeth as he felt the magical aura of air around him compress and then suddenly expand, exploding in a great burst of unrestrained magic.

Harry heard the sound of shattering glass and then the tinkling sound of cascading jewels on the flagstones behind him. Jewels scattered everywhere, showering the entrance hall in a rain of precious stones.

But Harry was hardly even conscious of it all. The pain was slowly receding, bleeding away from his arm like a bad dream.

He felt darkness rise up around him, his body completely spent from the energy needed to fight the unholy invasion. He felt as though he were suddenly falling. Falling forward into darkness.

He didn’t fight it as his vision went black and the room slowly faded away.

Harry woke the next morning feeling exhausted and distinctly ill-rested. His eyes were gritty and red from lack of sleep, and he felt strangely drained. He somehow forced himself out of bed and got dressed.

I have to talk to Madam Pomfrey today about getting some Dreamless Sleep Potion, he told himself as he pulled a semi-clean robe down over his head. After last night’s dream they’re all going to lock me in St. Mungo’s if I tell anyone what I saw. I swear these dreams are getting weirder all the time…

Ron was almost irritably perky as they made their way downstairs to breakfast. Harry had to force himself to focus on what his friend was saying.

“… and Dean Thomas was saying yesterday that since the Chudley Cannons decided to trade Michael Holloway for a new Beater from Scotland they might have a chance at winning the championship now. I haven’t heard much about this new guy, but they say he’s really good! Beat out all the other people trying out for the position. After Holloway’s performance last season, I can’t say this new guy could be any worse. Dean said that one of the Irish teams were also looking to sign him, but that the Cannons beat them to it.”

“Mm hm…” Harry mumbled, only half listening to what Ron was saying. “That’s nice…”

Ron glanced sideways at his friend, as though he knew Harry hadn’t caught of word of what he’d just said. Frowning, he asked, “You okay, mate? You look a little bit worn around the edges. Don’t tell me you had another vision last night!”

Harry tiredly shook his head. “It wasn’t a vision. At least I don’t think so… It was another dream like the one I had yesterday…”

Ron gave his friend a commiserating look. “At least you didn’t wake up half the tower this time,” he joked.

Despite himself, Harry smiled. Leave it to Ron to make him at least temporary forget about his troubles… “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Think about what Malfoy would say if he heard that happened again.”

Chuckling, the two hopped a staircase leading to the main floor. As they descended the stairs, they saw a mass of people - both students and teachers - crowding the main entrance hall. None of them were moving towards the Great Hall. Many of them stood in small groups, whispering and pointing to an area on the other side of the hall which was too crowded for Harry and Ron to see around.

“I want to know who did this!” Harry heard Filtch angrily yell over the excited murmur of the students. “Who did this?”

Harry and Ron spotted Hermione on the edge of the crowd and came up beside her.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, trying to peer over the heads of the other students. “What’s Filtch screaming on about?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she replied. “I just got down here myself. But some of the other people said that somebody vandalized school property. Dumbledore and all the other teachers are trying to figure out who did it. Filtch is just about fit to be tied and threatening whoever did it with the rack and boiling oil...”

Harry glanced towards the other side of the hall where everyone else was crowded. Leaving Ron and Hermione, he made his way towards it. Pushing his way through the crowd, he finally came to the edge of the scene.

Filtch was standing next to Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and several other teachers, all surveying the destruction before them. Harry felt his blood run cold at the sight he beheld.

The hourglasses containing the House Points of all four Houses were broken - shattered as though someone had taken a blasting curse to them. Broken glass lay everywhere. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and topazes littered the floor, mixed together like a colorful assortment of Christmas candy.

Harry could only stare, unable to believe what he saw. It was exactly like in his dream…

But dreams were just that - dreams! They didn’t come true. It had been a dream that he’d accidentally broken the House hourglasses when he’d been fighting off the pain in his arm. There was no way it could have actually happened!

But then how else could he explain the shattered glass and jewels scattered across the floor?

Hermione and Ron stared at their friend as they tried to process the fantastic story Harry had just told them.

“Harry… are you sure about this?” Hermione said, her pale with shock.

“Yes!” Harry cried, pacing back and forth in front of them. They were currently back in Gryffindor tower, hidden away in Ron and Harry‘s room. Everyone else was still downstairs, surveying the damage in the entrance hall. “It was just like in my dream last night! All four hourglasses were broken! But how could that happen? It was just a dream!”

“Harry, calm down, mate,” Ron pleaded. He’d never seen his friend this agitated or frightened before - not even when he’d just come back from facing Voldemort - and it was starting to scare him. “There has to be some kind of explanation for all this.”

“What kind of explanation?” Harry shouted, looking as if he was on the verge of hysterics. “How else do you explain me having a dream where I broke the House hourglasses, and then all of a sudden the next morning it actually comes true? What kind of explanation could there possibly be for that!”

“Harry, calm down!” Hermione shouted, grabbing her friend by the arms to stop his almost frantic pacing.

Harry let her stop him, but he still refused to calm down. “Then how do you explain this?” he demanded, looking at her as though her answer was the only thing that could assure him of his sanity.

“Calm down,” she once more said, meeting his frightened gaze and willing him to calm down. “Just take a deep breath and let’s try to figure this out.”

Harry did as he was directed and slowly began to regain his composure.

Seeing her friend was a little more rational now, she calmly said, “Now, tell me what happened again.”

Very slowly, Harry retold his dream, leaving nothing out. He waited in almost painful suspense to see what his friends would say.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Harry,” Ron said. “I almost know for a fact you never got out of bed last night. I would have heard you if you did…”

“But then how do you explain the hourglasses?” Harry asked, still looking overwhelmed and confused.

Ron could only shrug his shoulders. Hermione meanwhile tried to sound reassuring. “I’m sure we can figure this out,” she said. “Maybe… maybe while you were dreaming you somehow… I don’t know, unconsciously stretched out your magic and broke the hourglasses. It’s not impossible. You’ve already seen how uncontrollable and destructive unconscious magic can be if someone’s upset or in an extreme state of distress.”

“I wasn’t in an extreme state of distress!” Harry protested. “I was asleep!”

“And from all the way up in the tower?” Ron said, sounding skeptical. “I’m not as smart as you are, Hermione, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard of anyone getting so upset that they accidentally broke something from the other side of the castle. You’d have to be unimaginable powerful to do that, and even if the person was, if they were using unrestrained magic they probably would’ve destroyed everything in between too.”

Hermione crossed her arms in defeat and racked her brains for some other kind of explanation. “You said in your first dream no one else could see you…” she said, looking up at Harry.

“Yeah… Well, at least Mrs. Norris and Nearly Headless Nick couldn‘t…” he replied.

“Is it possible that you might have actually been there last night?” she asked.

Harry stared at her as though he thought she was going crazy. “Hermione, Ron just said he didn’t hear me leave the dormitory last night. How could I have been there?”

“Don’t you remember what happened this past summer, Harry?” she said. “Don’t you remember when your soul was separated from your body?”

Harry stared at her as if she’d just hit him upside the head with a brick. Was she actually serious? “Hermione, what are you trying to say? That my soul somehow left my body and was wandering around the school? How is that physically possible?”

“It was psychically possible five weeks ago,” she replied. “Five weeks ago your soul physically left your body and spent two days wandering around as a ghost no one else could see. Why can’t you consider that as a possibility now?”

“Because when my soul was ripped out of my body by a half-completed Killing Curse and torn into three pieces, I wasn’t sleeping in my bed dreaming about wandering around the school breaking House hourglasses! That was a completely different situation! I would have died if I hadn’t accidentally sent that Acolant Spell out to Snape.”

“Harry, your soul left your body,” Hermione said. “Its connection to you was in all senses severed except for a tiny thread. You were technically dead. Nothing like your case has ever happened before or been documented, but isn’t it possible that your soul might be able to somehow… disconnect from your body if the psychological and spiritual conditions were right? I‘ve read reports of people putting themselves into such deep traces that they have outer body experiences. And since you‘ve already had one of those, why, theoretically, couldn’t you have another?”

Harry was having trouble accepting what Hermione was trying to propose. “Are you trying to say that my soul somehow left my body last night and actually broke those hourglasses?” he said, sounding as skeptical as he looked.

“Anything’s possible…” she murmured, blushing slightly at the absurdity of her own theory.

Harry, however, paused and pondered what she said for a moment. Was it possible? Might he have actually had an outer body experience, or whatever Hermione had called it? He did remember the sensation of gliding through the halls so effortlessly - unseen by anyone else - eerily similar to those two days that past summer. But that was absurd! Completely impossible! No one’s soul just randomly got out of their body and wandered around.

But - once again - how else could he explain those broken hourglasses?

Harry was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of believing what Hermione had proposed. He didn’t want to believe that his soul could actually leave his body and go wandering around the school. He remembered how frightened he felt those two days of the summer… unsure if he’d ever be able to get back to his body. He didn’t want to have to worry about that again. Why couldn’t he ever just have a normal life?

“I really think you should tell Dumbledore about this,” Hermione’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

Harry frowned and looked up at her.

“She’s right, mate,” Ron said. “Outer body experiences, broken hourglasses… I really think you should go tell Dumbledore. This is starting to get too big for us…”

Unlike every other time Hermione and Ron had suggested going to Dumbledore, Harry was starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t listen to them. Ron was right. This was starting to get out of control.

But… could he trust Dumbledore to believe him?

“I don’t know…” he murmured.

“Harry… You can’t keep avoiding Dumbledore like this,” Hermione said. “He might be one of the only people that can help you.”

“I know that,” Harry sighed. “But… I need to try and figure this out for myself first…”

Hermione and Ron shared exasperated looks, but knew any more effort on their part to make Harry listen would probably just be wasted.

“Have you written to Sirius yet?” Hermione asked.

Harry noticeably hesitated. “No. Not yet…”

“Harry…” Hermione had a warning tone to her voice.

“I know! I know! I will!” he yelled, throwing his hands up into the air. “I’ll write him!”

“I hope so,” she said, eyeing him skeptically. “He’ll be really worried if you don’t talk to him soon. He may be able to help you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, glancing out the window. “He might…”

Sunday passed and Monday came and went without Harry keeping his promise to write to Sirius. The mystery of the broken hourglasses remained unsolved though Filtch loudly vowed to find out who did it. There weren’t any clues as to who might have broken them, but everyone knew Filtch secretly suspected the Weasley twins - the identical banes of his existence - and began keeping an uncomfortably close watch over them. Nevertheless, on Monday afternoon, part of the third floor corridor was mysteriously turned into a tropical swamp. 

Tuesday dawned overcast and cold, whispering the approach of an early winter. With mixed emotions, Harry found himself heading towards the dungeons with his fellow Gryffindors for Potions.

Most of the Slytherins were already there when he, Ron, and Hermione arrived. Draco Malfoy looked up at their entrance, but only gave Harry a nasty look as the three took their seats in the back of the room - forgoing his usual derogatory greeting. It was only minutes until the start of class and even Draco knew there wasn’t enough time for him to start a proper fight with his arch enemy. Harry however wasn’t about to complain. He had started coming purposely close to the start of class to avoid such confrontations.

Right on time, at the first toll of the bell, the door to the classroom flew open and the dark, wraith-like figure of Severus Snape swept to the front of the room.

“I hope for all of your sakes that you actually bothered to read last week’s reading assignment,” he said as he turned to glare at the class. Several students cringed under his gaze. “Today we will be brewing the Deflating Potion as described in chapter seven of your books.” Turning towards the empty blackboard, Snape waved his wand and a complex series of instruction appeared. “Get to work.”

Students immediately broke off into pairs and began gathering their equipment and ingredients. “I’ll go get our supplies,” Harry said to Ron. “You go get our cauldron set up.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded. Hermione, meanwhile, had gone to pair up with Neville and was already instructing him on what ingredients to get from the cupboard.

As everyone settled down and began brewing, Snape got up to make his rounds. He slowly went from table to table, checking the students’ progress thus far. As usual, he favored the Slytherins with praise and points, while he seemed to make a conscious effort to berate and belittle the Gryffindors as much as possible and take away as many points as he could.

Harry scowled as Snape came up to Crabbe and Goyle’s table and rewarded them five points for their off-color, egg-smelling potion.

“No matter what You-Know-Who might have done to him, you have to admit Snape’s still the same old snarky bastard,” Ron whispered under his breath. Harry had to admit he really didn’t have anything to disagree with Ron about.

Meanwhile, several tables away, Snape had made his way over to Neville and Hermione’s table and leaned down to examine their potion.

Harry already knew there wasn’t anything wrong with their potion (not with Hermione working on it!), but also knew Snape wasn’t going to let them go without at least saying something nasty about it. He paused in his own brewing to listen.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Snape said, eyeing the properly colored, lavender-smelling Deflating Potion as though it were a cauldron full of dragon-droppings, “can you tell me what active ingredients give this potion its light purple coloring?”

Hermione began to open her mouth to answer, but Snape cut her off. “Miss Granger, I would suggest you not to answer that unless you want three weeks worth of detention. If I remember correctly I did not ask you. I want him to answer this himself.”

Hermione slowly closed her mouth in defeat, giving Neville a look that seemed to say, I tried.

Neville, meanwhile, stared at Snape. Harry could almost see his mind freezing up.

“Well?” Snape growled.

“Um… It’s because of the… the…” Neville helplessly trailed off.

Snape glowered, staring at Neville down his long, hooked nose. “Mr. Longbottom, I find it difficult to actually comprehend the depths of your ineptitude to understand even the simplest aspect of potion making. Are you truly this stupid or do you just delight in annoying me? Honestly! It amazes me sometimes how you managed to make it even this far in Potions. If it wasn‘t for the continued help of Miss Granger, I doubt that you would have even passed your First year. I dread to think what you will score on your OWLs in June! Now if it is at all possible, pull together whatever scant knowledge you might possess of this subject and answer the question!”

Harry felt himself begin to get angry. He’d seen Snape single Neville out like this before and berate him, but something about this particular time hit a nerve with him. As Snape continued to verbally strip down the cowering boy, Harry felt something inside him snap.

A surge of magic pulsed through the air. Loud shattering pops filled the room as shelves of bottled potion ingredients around the classroom suddenly exploded. Broken glass flew everywhere. Students screamed and ducked for cover. Snape himself had to shield his face from flying glass.

As everyone slowly came out from under their desks and looked around in confusion, Harry stared in disbelief at the destruction around him. Had he just done that? The room was covered in shattered glass and foul-smelling liquid. No one had escaped the explosion unscathed. Most were just splattered with unidentifiable liquid, but several other students were bleeding from shallow cuts caused by exploding glass. Everyone was talking, loudly demanding to know what just happened.

As though in a daze, Harry slowly glanced at his Potion master.

Snape was looking directly at him. Harry felt himself cringe under the older man’s gaze. It was like Snape knew it was him…

“SILENCE!” Snape roared. Everyone in the room instantly became quiet. “Class is dismissed. All those injured, report to the Hospital Wing. Everyone else is to return to their dormitories and shower immediately. If anyone experiences any kind of ill-effect from the liquids you came in contact with, you are to report back to me as soon as any kind of problem becomes apparent. Is that understood?”

Everyone nodded and began moving towards the door.

“Mr. Potter, if you would stay behind…”

Harry froze, Snape’s voice sending an icy chill down the length of his spine. He knew!

Hermione and Ron lingered in the doorway, worriedly staring after their friend, but Harry waved them on. This wasn’t going to be good and he didn‘t want anyone else to see it…

As the last of the students disappeared out the door, Harry was left standing in the almost ominous silence of the empty Potions classroom.

Snape was currently stooped over on the other side of the room, surveying the damage of his broken potion jars. His back was to Harry, but Harry didn’t miss his almost dangerously calm voice. “Care to explain what that was all about, Potter?”

Harry inwardly cringed. “I- I don’t know what you‘re talking about, Sir…”

“Don’t think me stupid, Potter!” Snape hissed, whirling back around to glare at him. “I know perfectly well you were behind that little show just now!”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened! I just-”

“Just what were you thinking? That was possibly the most shameful display of uncontrolled magic I’ve ever seen! I might have expected that from some untrained First Year, but I would have thought a Fifth Year might have been able to maintain at least some shred of control over his magic! It‘s just like what I keep telling you in Occlumency: you let your emotions get away from you! That’s why it always takes you so long to push me from your mind!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t pick on Neville like that I wouldn’t get so mad and ‘let my emotions get away from me!’” Harry shot back. “Why do you always have to do that? It’s not his fault he doesn’t understand Potions. Why can’t you help him for once instead of treating him like he’s some kind of- of-”

“Idiot?” Snape offered.

Harry glared at him.

“Whatever you might think, Potter, there are reasons for my method of teaching.” Harry stared at Snape as though he’d just told him he was going to receive an O in Potions. “Stop looking at me like that, Potter,” Snape hissed. “I treat Mr. Longbottom so harshly because that is the only way to make him actually focus on what he’s doing. He is so hopelessly scatterbrained, the constant fear of how many points he might lose for his House is the only thing that makes him focus enough so that he doesn’t blow up half the Potion labs.”

Harry stared at Snape. He’d never considered the possibility that there might be some actual purpose behind the Potion master’s cruel treatment of the boy. He had to admit, Neville always did seem to come to Potions a little bit more focused (albeit fearful) than he did to any other class… “You still don’t need to be so mean…” Harry murmured.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment. “I’ll be sure to give your suggestion some consideration,” he snidely replied. Harry frowned at Snape’s usual sarcasm. “Nevertheless,” Snape went on, “I would suggest you learn to control that temper of yours. I would hate to see any more of my personal potion ingredients destroyed or anymore hourglasses needlessly broken…”

Harry felt his blood run cold. How did he know he broke the hourglasses? “W- what?” he stammered.

Snape gave Harry a pointed look but didn’t reply. His eyes seemed to bore into him, swallowing him into their inky depths…

There were two men holding him though he struggled frantically against them. A man was standing in front of him, holding a black stone shard in his hand. The stone was evil. He couldn’t let it touch him! The man in front of him stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pushing his head down to expose his neck. No! He couldn’t let it touch him. He couldn’t-

Harry came back to himself with a gasp. His head swam from the violent stream of images he’d just seen. Snape was staring at him with his piercing black eyes.

“You’d better go get cleaned up, Potter,” Snape curtly said. “With all those different potions on you, I’d hate to see how they might react with one another once they seep through your clothes onto your skin.”

Harry couldn’t find the voice to reply as he turned and hurried out of the room as if Fluffy itself was chasing him. He felt Snape’s eyes follow him as he left. But he didn’t dare glance back to see.

That night Harry had another vision. He could almost feel when the shift occurred that alerted him that his dreams were no longer his own. It felt like his mind was being violently plunged into a vat of icy water…

He was once again in the dark, dilapidated mansion. Two men - both wearing masks- were in front of Him, one kneeling submissively at His feet while the other stood off to the side.

“What is taking so long?” He demanded, staring at the kneeling figure. “You have had almost a month! Why have you not yet attacked?”

The kneeling figure bowed his head lower, the edge of his hood almost brushing the ground. “Forgive me, Master. I am doing my best, but I have not yet had an opportunity to strike. Dumbledore is watching me too closely…”

“Inexcusable!” He snarled. Drawing His wand, He aimed it at the kneeling figure. “Crucio!”

The kneeling figure collapsed onto his side, spasming and screaming horribly. Finally He released the curse.

“I am warning you, servant, if you cannot find an opportunity to attack, then you’d better make one! Because if you do not, and you fail me, I will make sure that you wish you were never even born. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master,” the kneeling figure rasped, painfully pulling himself back up onto his knees. “I beg you for forgiveness and another chance to prove myself worthy.”

“Oh, you will have another chance to prove yourself worthy, servant,” He hissed. “But this inexcusable delay of yours will not go unpunished. Lucius! Show our wayward brother what the cost of displeasing me and making me delay my plans is.”

“Of course, Master,” the other man bowed. Stepping forward, he aimed his wand at the kneeling man. “Crucio!”

The kneeling man once more fell writhing to the floor, his screams echoing into the pitiless black night…

Harry didn’t know how long his ears echoed with the tortured screams of the masked man or how long he watched him helplessly spasm across the floor, but it was with a blinding pain throbbing through his scar that he finally woke up, screaming and shaking just as violently as the man in his vision…

DEATH EATER ATTACKS ON THE RISE!

A Daily Prophet Special Report

October 14, 1995

Ever since last August’s attack on Azkaban, more and more reports of Death eater attacks and Dark Mark sightings have been reported across Great Britain - some even as far away as Hawick in southern Scotland.

“We smelled smoke and came to investigate,” says Eileen Teederlake, a neighbor of the Kirkwick family of Glocshire, England. “At first we thought it might just be some kind of kitchen fire or something. But when we got closer to the house, we saw You-Know-Who’s sign over the Kirkwick’s cottage. I can’t even describe what we saw when we went inside. It was terrible. I’ve never seen so much blood before in my life.”

Pearl and Marcus Kirkwick (ages 42 and 44) were founded brutally murdered. Aurors say that there were signs of a violent break in by several unknown assailants, and that traces of several Unforgivable Curses were found on their bodies. Though the families of the dead refuse to comment, there is evidence that the couple was involved in an anti-Deatheater resistance force during the First War.

The Kirkwick’s murder, however, is not the only tragedy of its kind to occur. Over a dozen have been reported in the past two weeks.

The Ministry of Magic refuses to make a full comment about this recent string of violent attacks on ex-resistance fighters of the First War, but says that it is doing its best to see that no more attacks occur.

“We have the entire Auror’s office looking into the matter,” says Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. “There is no reason to panic. Every available resource the Ministry possess is currently being used to solve these heinous murders.”

When asked if the possibility that You-Know-Who might actually have returned just like Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, reported last June after the tragic TriWizard’s Tournament incident, Fudge refused to comment and abruptly ended the press conference.

“There is no reason to believe any of these stories Harry Potter made up about You-Know-Who coming back,” commented aide to the Minister, Mr. Percy Weasley. “Just because the Dark Mark has allegedly been seen over the scenes of these brutal attacks, there is no reason to believe He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is actually behind them. There is the greatest possibility that these attacks are nothing more than the doings of You-Know-Who’s followers that managed to escape last August from Azkaban. These stories have absolutely no basis on reality.”

There are many though that are beginning to wonder if the Boy-Who-Lived might not be telling the truth. After last June’s tragic events at the TriWizard’s Tournament…

(Story Continued on pg. 4)

Harry couldn’t stand to read anymore and tossed the paper aside.

“Problem, Harry?” Ron asked around a mouthful of half-masticated sausage and hot cakes.

“No…” Harry muttered as he sullenly poked at his plate of scrambled eggs. “I’m just suddenly not very hungry…”

Hermione glanced up from her own breakfast and gave Harry a commiserating look. “I read what they wrote in the paper…” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes.

Ron and Hermione shared worried looks.

“So are you ready for tomorrow’s Quidditch game?” Ron asked, abruptly changing the subject and forcing himself to sound upbeat. “I’m kind of nervous myself. Tomorrow’s going to be my first game. Wow, Ravenclaw… I think we can take them though. Do you have any suggestions to help me get ready?”

Harry glanced at his friend. It was kind of strange talking to Ron like this - as players on the same Quidditch team. Ever since the now infamous Hourglass Incident three weeks ago, Filtch had pulled strings (with the help of the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and Ministry-appointed Officer to Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge) and managed to suspend the Weasley twins from playing Quidditch that year. Harry felt bad about being partially responsible for the twins’ suspension, but certainly wasn’t about to go to Dumbledore and try to explain what really happened.

Thus, two unexpected spots had opened up on the Gryffindor team, plus two other spots from players that had graduated the previous year. Try outs had been held, and despite several false starts, Ron had managed to secure the Keeper position. Surprisingly, Ron’s sister, Ginny, had also done well and come away with one of her older brothers’ old Beater positions.

Harry was still trying to come to terms with the thought of playing with two of his best friends.

“Not really…” he murmured. “I think we’re about as prepared as we can be. Angelina’s been pretty tough on us in practice the last few weeks. All I can really say is get a good night’s sleep and eat a good breakfast tomorrow.”

“Gee, that sounds really familiar…” Ron joked. “Sounds a lot like what we used to tell you before games…”

“How have you been sleeping, Harry?” Hermione softly interrupted, studying her friend’s face closely. “You haven’t said anything about having any more visions or strange dreams lately… Have they stopped?”

Harry noticeably hesitated. It had been several weeks since his last vision. But he wasn’t about to delude himself into thinking that his visions and strange dreams were actually over. Every so often he would feel his scar give a painful twinge or get unexplainably light-headed. Something told him it was only a matter of time before his visions someday came back. The question was just: when? Every night he went to bed dreading that that would be the night they’d once again return with a vengeance.

“Um, yeah. It seems like it,” he said, knowing even then he wasn’t really telling the truth.

Hermione looked unconvinced.

“Do you have Occlumency tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, not really thrilled with the idea. Despite being able to throw Snape out of his mind that one time, he hadn’t really made any more improvements since then. The Occlumency book Snape had lent him had helped him learn to control his emotions a little better, but beyond that, his mind was still like an open book for his Potions professor.

He’d kept a close eye on Snape the last several weeks since his last vision - trying to figure out if it’d actually been Snape he’d seen in his dream - but he hadn’t noticed anything particularly out of place with the older man. Snape was still as surly and unpleasant as always. Harry also hadn’t seen any more strange visions while in the other man’s presence.

“How much longer do you think you’re going to have to take these lessons with Snape?” Ron asked, now helping himself to a plate of bacon.

“Don’t know…” Harry murmured. “Until I learn how to keep Snape from looking into my mind I guess…”

“Tough break…” Ron muttered, grabbing one last strip of bacon just as the bell for first period rang.

“Come on,” Hermione said, standing up and gathering her bag. “We have Herbology then double Charms.”

Ron groaned loudly. “But I haven’t finished my essay for Flitwick yet,” he moaned.

“Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you spent all last night playing Gobstones with Dean instead of doing homework,” Hermione said.

Ron made a face at her behind her back as she turned to leave. “Come on, Harry…” he scowled, also getting up from the table. “Let’s go before she starts yelling at us for wasting time at Quidditch practice instead of studying…”

Harry mutely stood and followed Ron. It did no good trying to mitigate one of Ron and Hermione’s frequent tiffs. Sometimes it was best just to sit there quietly and not say a word…

But there was more on Harry’s mind that morning than not drawing attention to himself while Ron and Hermione argued. He had an Occlumency lesson later that night.

And he was not looking forward to it…

Exactly as he did every Friday evening at seven o‘clock, Harry found himself standing outside the door of Professor Snape’s classroom. Just as the bell began to toll, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Enter.”

Harry went in. Snape was at his desk, as usual, grading papers. He barely even looked up as Harry came to a stop in front of his desk.

He didn’t acknowledge his student’s presence as he finished grading the essay he was working on and scratched off a big red P at the top of the scroll. Getting up with an abrupt sweep of his robes, he went over to one of the bookshelves lining the room and took down an old Pensieve.

Without a word, he brought it back to his desk (just as he did every lesson) and began extracting silver memory strands from his temple. Finally finished, he pushed the glowing Pensieve to the side of his desk.

With cool, perfunctory movements, he swept to the other side of the room and faced Harry. “Wand out,” he ordered.

Harry sighed and did as he was told. It was the same every week. It had begun to be a sort of routine: Snape started the lesson without so much as a parting glance at Harry while Harry stood there waiting to be acknowledged; and when he finally was, it was usually in a manner that made him feel like he was some disobedient First Year reporting for detention.

“You seem to have made some progress since you started using the Grounding method the other week, but you are still horribly pathetic at throwing me from your mind once I’m in,” Snape said.

Harry didn’t say anything in response. He was used to Snape’s comments by now. After taking six weeks of private Occlumency lessons with Snape, one learned to grow a thick skin…

“Focus on your Base Memory,” Snape ordered, aiming his wand at Harry. “But unlike last week I want you to actually focus on keeping me out. This technique does not do any good unless you actually try to push back.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. After all these weeks with no progress except for that one time, he was starting to get frustrated.

He was in a dark, dilapidated mansion. Death eaters were everywhere. He was surrounded. But he wasn’t afraid. The tall, dark man was beside him, reassuring him that he was safe…

“Are you ready?” Snape asked.

Harry slowly nodded. “Yes.”

Snape leveled his wand at Harry. “On the count of the three then. One - two -thre-”

“Professor!” The door to the classroom suddenly banged open.

Harry and Snape both spun around towards the door. Draco Malfoy was standing there, panting slightly in the doorway. His expression abruptly changed to one of surprise upon realizing there was someone else there besides his Head of House - namely his arch enemy, the Boy-Who-Lived.

“May I help you, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape calmly drawled, turning to address him. “Mr. Potter and I were in the middle of a little Remedial Potions brush-up.”

Harry never thought he’d seen Draco look so happy. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. What he wouldn’t give to curse that smirk of that arrogant little Slytherin’s face…

Grinning like his namesake animal, Draco tore his eyes away from Harry and back to Snape. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “There’s been some kind of disturbance in the main hall. It seems Peeves attacked a group of students going back to their common rooms after dinner with water balloons. It looks like they were filled with syrup. Dumbledore wants you to come help sort out everything. He also wants you to bring the Bloody Baron if you can…”

Snape scowled and swore under his breath. “Very well, I’ll be right there.” Pocketing his wand back in his robes, Snape turned to follow Draco out the door. “You stay here, Potter,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do not touch anything while I’m gone. If I come back and find out you were sticking your nose into places it doesn’t belong, you will be gutting Blast-Ended Skrewts until the day you graduate!”

Harry mutely nodded. Snape never made idle threats… “Yes, sir…” he murmured.

As Snape swept out the door, Draco hesitated in the doorway and glanced back at Harry. “Remedial Potions?” he snickered under his breath, then disappeared after Snape.

Harry grit his teeth as the door banged close behind them. “Mirror-kissing little weasel…” he muttered under his breath. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he fell back into the chair in front of Snape’s desk.

Great… now he was going to have to wait until Snape got back to finish their weekly lesson… And who knew how long that was going to take… Knowing Peeves, if Dumbledore was asking Snape to find the Bloody Baron, whatever he did must have been bad…

Leaning his head back against the chair, Harry listlessly looked around the room. The classroom was once again lined with bookshelves of bottled potions ingredients, all of them glowing eerily in the dim torchlight. It looked like Snape had wasted no time in replacing everything he’d broken the other week in his explosion of unrestrained magic. Looking around Harry felt a little guilty. He wondered how much it had cost Snape to replace everything…

Resting his elbow on the armrest and cradling his chin in his hand, Harry gave a sigh. How long was this going to take? He wanted to get back to the tower. They had a Quidditch game tomorrow, and he wanted to get back before it was too late. Despite not having anymore strange dreams or visions, he hadn’t been sleeping very well the last few weeks. He wanted to try and go to bed early that night in hopes of getting at least six hours of sleep…

With another bored sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. As he sat there staring at the ceiling, he happened to notice a pale, shimmering silver light reflected against the stones. It seemed to dance, like magical fairy-light from another world.

Abruptly sitting up in his chair, Harry looked in the direction of the strange glow. There sitting on the edge of Snape’s desk was the Potion master’s Pensieve.

Harry stared at it a moment. Then, almost as if he’d been hit in the head by a Bludger, he gasped. A thousand different thoughts raced through his mind as if a floodgate had just been released.

Snape had left his Pensieve! All his memories he didn’t want Harry to see if he had another accidental backlash were in there. What if he’d left some memory in there that might explain what was going on with him - what Voldemort had done to him?

Harry knew he shouldn’t look, but the possibilities of what might lay inside were too much for him to ignore. What if there was something in there that might give him a clue as to how he could help his Potions master?

He knew he shouldn’t. He really knew he shouldn’t, but…

Getting out of his seat, Harry went to the side of the desk. The Pensieve’s surface swirled a smoky grey, like misty water.

Harry glanced over his shoulder towards the door. It was tightly closed. The room was empty. No one else could see him. It was going to take at least twenty minutes for them to take care of Peeves… Maybe more if Snape had to go look for the Bloody Baron… Harry’s heart was now beating madly against his chest.

Taking a deep breath, Harry took hold of the Pensieve’s sides and plunged headfirst into its smoky depths.

For a moment it felt like he was freefalling, but then with a weird head-over-heels sensation he found himself standing in the middle of one of Hogwart’s many hallways. By the sight of the statue of Balfred the Incompetent, Harry knew he had to be on the third floor. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed into the hall from the windows, creating bright pools of light along the corridor.

Harry looked around. This didn’t look promising. If Snape had hidden some memory of Voldemort mentally enslaving him, he would’ve thought it would’ve been in some dark, foreboding place - not in the middle of Hogwarts in broad daylight…

Harry glanced around the hall, confused. Just where was he? This didn’t make any sense. Why was he in Hogwarts?

As if in answer to Harry’s unspoken question, he heard the bell that signaled the end of class ring. Along the length of the hallway, multiple doors banged opened and streams of students began to fill the hall.

Harry stood in the middle of the suddenly crowded hall. Everyone was talking and laughing, glad to be out of class. As students of every House began to push past him (and even through him a some points), Harry hurriedly looked around. Where was Snape? This was his memory after all…. He had to be around here somewhere…

And then he saw him.

For a moment Harry could only stare.

Coming out of the second door to the right walked Severus Snape. Only there was something distinctly different about the Snape Harry saw before him. For starters, Snape looked like he was no older than Harry himself…

This teenage-Snape looked much like his older self, Harry noted. His hair was long and lanky just like his older version’s, and just as greasy. He had the same shallow complexion, overly thin frame, and long hooked nose. The only thing that struck Harry as different was the brighter, somehow more alive look to this younger Snape’s eyes. They were not as masked and impenetrable as he remembered his Potion master’s being. He could not help but wonder what had happened to Snape in the years between this memory and the present to make the man he now knew’s eyes so much darker and untrusting…

Snape barely looked around as he turned to the left and strode away down the hall, his black robes billowing behind him in a fashion that was only slightly less dramatic than his older self’s.

Harry hastily followed him.

The foot traffic in the halls began to thin as Snape and Harry went along, but a majority of the students seemed to be heading in the same direction. Harry noticed that Snape didn’t talk to anyone else as he walked like Harry usually did with Ron and Hermione between classes. It was almost like he was trying to hide himself within a crowd…

Most of the other students seemed to pretty much ignore Snape as he passed, too caught up talking with their familiars about Quidditch, the latest scandal of who was caught snogging who behind the Quidditch pitch, and plans for that weekend’s Hogsmeade visit.

Harry didn’t pay much attention to the noisy chatter as he struggled to keep up with Snape‘s long strides. But as Snape turned down another hallway leading to the moving staircases, Harry caught the sound of a very familiar voice behind him.

“Aw, come on, Remus! Let me see your notes! We have Transfigurations after lunch and I didn’t get a chance to read the chapter yet.”

Harry abruptly spun around, searching for the voice. Did he really just hear that? Was it really who he thought it was?

There, several yards behind Snape in the middle of a press of other students walked the owner of that familiar voice.

“Sirius?” Harry gasped. Sure enough, walking there beside a younger, less-greying version of Remus Lupin, was Harry’s own godfather, Sirius Black.

“Come on, Remus,” Sirius pleaded, tugging at Remus‘ sleeve as they walked. “Let me see your notes.”

“You really should do your own reading,” Lupin replied, trying to ignore his friend. “You won’t learn anything for yourself if I do. And that won’t do you any good.”

“Like hell it wouldn‘t!” Sirius exclaimed. “I won’t pass our quiz today if you don’t!”

“Then that should teach you to do your own homework.”

Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how much this younger Lupin sounded exactly like a certain other Gryffindor he often found himself and Ron relying on to help them out of an academic bind.

“Please, Moony?” Sirius begged, now pulling a convincing puppy-dog face on his friend. “Please? I won’t pass this quiz if you don’t help me…”

Lupin looked torn by indecision. But then, with a heavy, put-upon sigh of defeat, he said, “All right… I‘ll let you see them at lunch…”

Sirius grinned broadly.

“How ‘bout me, Remus? Can I see them too?”

Harry just about stopped dead in his tracks. No… It couldn’t be…

Harry had never heard this particular voice before, but it was one that he’d often heard in his mind late at night when he’d tried to imagine what that person might have sounded like…

Keeping Snape carefully in sight, Harry dropped back until he was only several paces in front of his godfather and Lupin, just slightly to their left. A group of other students shifted aside, giving Harry a clearer view of the two boys and their companion.

Harry felt his heart nearly leap into his throat.

There, walking beside Sirius and Lupin strode the younger version of Harry’s father, James Potter.

Harry was struck dumb by the similarities he saw between himself and this ghost of the past. His father’s hair was just like his own: sticking up in every which direction as though determined never to be tamed; his hands could have been Harry’s; their faces had the same narrow curve; and even from a distance of several yards, Harry could tell that he and his father were within mere inches of each other in height.

“What do you mean let you see them too?” Remus demanded.

“Just that,” James replied with a sly smile. “Sirius and I were busy last night with other important matters that kept us from reading our Transfiguration.”

Lupin gave an incredulous snort. “Yeah… important matters… Would these ‘important matters’ happen to be you and Sirius running around after curfew under an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Maybe…” James smirked.

Remus gave a heavy sigh. “Fine… You can see my notes with Sirius at lunch…”

Harry was surprised by how fast Lupin caved to his friends’ wishes. He knew if he’d ever admitted to not doing his homework because he’d been out after curfew, Hermione would never have let him or Ron see her notes.

“Can I see them too, Remus? I read the chapter, but I’m not sure if I actually understand it…” a small, mousy voice spoke up.

Harry did a double-take and only then realized there was another person walking beside his father and friends. Of course… He’d almost forgotten about the fourth member of the old Marauders…

Harry had to crane his neck to see the small, mousy boy walking until-then unnoticed on the other side of the group. Peter Pettigrew was just like Harry imagined he would at such an age. He was a short, unimpressive boy with a round, rosy face. Walking beside James and Sirius, he looked oddly out of place, like a puppy running with a pack of wolves.

“Sure,” Remus replied, offhandedly.

“Hey, look who it is,” Sirius suddenly said. The three Marauders and Harry followed Sirius’s gaze towards a group of girls walking several yards in front of them. At first, they looked like any other group of girls walking together between classes. But then Harry noticed one of the girls in particular. One with long red hair; and as she turned to talk to one of her friends - familiar green eyes which Harry saw every time he looked into a mirror…

His mother…

James’ hand nearly flew to his hair, as though afraid it might have somehow fallen into place.

Sirius chuckled under his breath. “Why don’t you just go talk to Evans, James? I know you want to. All she can do is say no again just like she’s done every other time you‘ve asked her out.”

“Or curse me into next Thursday…” James muttered under his breath.

Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to find this all very funny, and laughed heartily at his friend‘s disheartened frown.

James scowled deeper, but didn’t say anything. He sullenly shoved his hands into his pockets.

Sirius continued to chuckle merrily. But as he turned to look forward again, Sirius’ whole body suddenly stilled, like a dog that had just caught the scent of a rabbit. “Hey, James,” he said, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face, “here’s something to take your mind off Evans…”

James followed Sirius’ gaze, and smiled. “Snivellus… Excellent…”

Harry turned to see what they were looking at and spotted Snape halfway up the hallway, his long black robes billowing behind him.

“Hey, Snape!” Sirius yelled, him and James picking up their pace.

Almost as if he’d been expecting an attack, Snape spun around, his wand already drawn. But he didn’t get a chance to fire off any kind of spell.

“Expelliarmus!” James yelled.

Snape’s wand flew out of his hand and landed several yards away. The young Slytherin made a dive for it but was stopped by Sirius shouting, “Locomotor mortis!”

As if all his muscles had suddenly frozen, Snape fell face forward onto the ground, his entire body as rigid as a board.

Other students in the hall by now had stopped to watch. Several tittered softly at the downed Slytherin. Remus and Peter hung back on the edges of the circle that was slowly forming around the three. Remus looked hesitant, as though he knew he shouldn’t really be there watching. Peter meanwhile watched James and Sirius hungrily with an eager look of anticipation in his eyes.

“How was class, Snivellus?” James asked, slowly circling the young Potions master.

“I was watching him during class,” Sirius replied. “Had his nose glued to his notes the entire time. I’ll be surprised if he’s able to read them tonight from all the grease.”

Despite the spell freezing his muscles, Harry could make out a muffled string of obscenities coming from Snape’s frozen lips. A look of pure hatred shined in the Slytherin’s eyes as he stared up at his attackers.

“What was that, Snivellus?” James asked, pretending to lean down to hear. “I couldn’t quite hear you. Maybe you should clean your mouth out so I can understand you. Scourgify!”

A stream of bright pink bubbles spewed out of Snape’s mouth. Snape choked helplessly, gagging on the soapy mixture.

“Leave him ALONE!”

Sirius and James both jumped and wheeled around, as though expecting it to be a teacher. James’ hand flew to his hair again.

It was Harry’s mother.

“Hey, Evans,” James said, his voice suddenly deeper and more mature. A suave, handsome smile pulled itself across his face as he ran a hand backwards through his already disheveled hair.

“What are you doing?” Lily demanded, glaring at Sirius and James with something akin to disdain. “What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing really,” James replied. “But it’s more of the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…”

Many of the onlookers laughed. Sirius and Peter also joined in, but Harry noticed that Remus was strangely quiet, staring off to the side as if intrigued by one of the portraits. Lily was also ominously quiet.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you…” she said, glaring at James. “You’re nothing but an arrogant bully, picking on other people just because you can. Leave him alone!”

“Go out with me,” James quickly blurted out. “Go out with me and I’ll never even look at Snivellus again.”

Lily looked like someone had just placed something foul smelling under her nose. “Never,” she hissed. “I’d never go out with you even if you were the last wizard on earth.”

“Ouch. Tough break, mate,” Sirius said.

Behind them, the spell holding Snape captive was slowly wearing off. Spitting out soapsuds, he began to crawl inch by inch towards his fallen wand.
James was staring at Lily with a wounded look. “Come on, Evans,” he said, holding his hands out beseechingly to the side. “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking, and I won’t ever bother old Snivelly again.”

“I said no,” Lily repeated firmly.

“I told you all she could say was no,” Sirius chuckled behind James.

James scowled darkly in defeat. Turning away from Lily, he glanced back at Snape. But just as he began to turn, a flash of light cut the air and a bright red slash appeared across his cheek. Snape was slowly pushing himself to his feet, still unsteady from the lingering Impediment Jinx, with his wand aimed directly at James’ face.

Murder flashed through James’ eyes, and before Harry could really follow what was happening, Snape was suddenly dangling upside down in the air, his robes falling down around his face to reveal two skinny white legs and a pair of graying underpants.

The surrounding crowd broke out into scattered laughter and cheers. Sirius, James, and Peter laughed uproariously.

“Let him DOWN!” Lily screamed. Her face was a dangerous shade of red, glaring at James with utter loathing.

“Of course,” James said, and flicked his wand sharply. Snape fell into a crumbled heap at his feet, shouting an unintelligible string of swearwords and hexes as he did. Quickly untangling himself, Snape scrambled to his feet and aimed his wand at James.

“No you don’t! Locomotor mortis!” Sirius shouted, and Snape once more fell to the floor, paralyzed.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily screamed. With only a flash of movement to warn them, Sirius and James suddenly found themselves staring down the length of Lily’s wand. They both exchanged wary glances.

“Come on, Evans. Don’t make me curse you,” James said.

“Then take off the curse,” she said.

Huffing quietly, James turned and murmured the counter curse to release Snape. “You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus,” James said as Snape scurried back to his feet. “Next time she might not be here to help you.”

“I don’t need help from some filthy little Mudblood like her!” Snape shouted. Then turning to Lily, “Mind you own business!”

Lily blinked, as though she’d just been physically hit. “Fine,” she said, briskly turning away. “I won’t bother next time. But you should think about washing those pants of yours…”

“Apologize to Lily!” James shouted, his wand aimed threateningly at Snape.

“I don’t want anyone to make him apologize, and least of all by you!” Lily said, rounding back on James. “You are just as despicable as the worst Slytherin.”

James sputtered for a moment before hastily blurting, “What? But I’d never call you a- you-know-what!”

“Oh really? Going around messing up your hair because you think it makes you look cool like you just got off a broom! Picking on other people when their outnumbered and helpless just because you can! Showing off with that stupid Snitch! Honestly, Potter, you and your friends make me sick! It‘s a miracle that broom of yours can even get off the ground with that enormous ego of yours!” Then turned sharply on her heels, Lily stocked off, leaving James staring after her.

“Evans! Evans, come on! Come back!”

But Lily didn’t even glance back at them.

James helplessly looked at Sirius. “What’s with her?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Don’t know, but I think she might be a little bit stuck up if you asked me,” Sirius replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, maybe…” James murmured. With a vindictive fire burning in his eyes, he sharply turned back on Snape. Before the Slytherin could even put up a defense, he was once again disarmed and dangling upside down with his robes around his face.

“Who wants to see me take Snivellus’ pants off?” James called to the surrounding crowd. Several cheers answered his question, but Harry never found out if his father actually de-pantsed Snape or not; for just then, Harry felt a vice-like grip grab his arm.

Harry was abruptly spun around and found himself - with a stab of horror - staring up at a fully grown, extremely angry looking Severus Snape.

“Having fun, Potter?” he hissed dangerously.

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say, fear freezing his tongue and mind. “I- I-”

He suddenly felt himself rising. The sunny hallway slowly dissolved away, then with another strange head-over-heels sensation, Harry felt his feet connect with the damp stone floor of Snape’s classroom.

Snape’s hand was still wrapped around Harry’s upper arm, squeezing so hard Harry‘s hand was starting to go numb. Snape’s bottom lip was quivering, his face flushed red with rage.

“So… did you enjoy what you saw, Potter?” he snarled, gripping Harry tighter. “Think it was funny?”

“N-no. I-” Harry weakly stammered, but Snape cut him off. His grip on Harry’s arm got (if possible) even tighter.

“Funny man your father… A true comedian. It’s no wonder he was so popular in school…”

Harry was man enough to admit it: he was scared. Terrified, actually. He’d never seen Snape look so angry, like he was mere seconds away from literally turning Harry into chopped Potions ingredients…

“Did you laugh, Potter?” Snape said, shaking Harry so hard that his glasses slid down his nose, threatening to come off. “Did you think it was funny to see your father and friends outnumber and attack someone else? Did you?”

“No! I-”

“Get out!” Snape screamed, pushing Harry away from him with all his might. Harry hit the ground hard, landing on his rear. “Get out of here, and don’t you dare repeat anything you saw here to anyone else or so help me-”

“No! No! I won’t- I’d never-” Harry stammered, quickly backing away from Snape.

“GET OUT!” Snape roared, murder burning in his eyes. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

Harry didn’t need to be told again, and all out ran for the exit. As he wretched open the door and flew into the hallway, he heard something shatter above his head against the wall - probably one of Snape’s bottled potions ingredients. But he didn’t stop to see.

Harry didn’t stop running until he’d put more than three floors and several dozen potential witnesses between himself and his enraged Potions master. Leaning against a wall panting for breath and waiting for his heart to stop pounding, Harry felt a sick feeling begin to slowly well up inside him.

Besides the wave of self-loathing he felt for doing something so disrespectful and violating as looking at someone else’s private memories, Harry felt physically sick by everything he’d just seen. He knew what it was like to be picked on and teased - the Dursleys had seen to that very early on in his childhood. But what really twisted Harry’s gut was that from everything he’d just seen, he now had to wonder if Snape really wasn’t right when he said his father, James Potter, was as arrogant as he’d always said…

“I am getting tired of waiting, servant. What is taking so long?” He was so mad He didn’t even wait for the kneeling figure at His feet to answer before He leveled a brief Cruciatus Curse on him.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” the figure rasped when He finally lifted the curse, “but I still have not had an opportunity to strike. The castle is heavily watched. I cannot go anywhere without being seen by at least three dozen individuals. The portraits themselves prohibit me from moving around the halls freely.”

“That is no excuse!” He hissed.

“Please, my Lord,” the masked figure begged in a dead, toneless voice, “I just need a little more time. Your wishes will be completed. It will be done shortly after Christmas break, I promise. I- AH!”

The masked figure collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain from another Cruciatus.

“Why not before, or during?” another masked figure demanded, coming up behind the kneeling man. His pale blue eyes glinted evilly under his mask as he laid another Unforgivable on his masked victim. The kneeling figure fell writhing to the floor, screaming piteously, but strangely did not try to fight back.

“Now, now, now, Lucius, don’t get too carried away,” He said, interrupting the other man‘s curse. “We still need him alive…”

“Forgive me, my Lord,” the man, Lucius, said, bowing his head.

Turning back to the crumpled figure on the floor, He narrowed His eyes in disdain. “My faithful servant does raise a valid point however…” He said. “Answer him, traitor!”

The kneeling figure slowly - painfully - pulled himself back up onto his knees to answer. He humbly bowed his head. “I need to wait until after the holiday so I can use the time everyone else is gone to complete my preparations. Otherwise, it will jeopardize my plans.”

He angrily swept His robes behind Him and paced along the room. “Very well. But mark my words, servant, if this fails you will be severely punished.”

“I understand, my Lord,” the kneeling figure bowed. “I will not disappoint you.”

“I hope for your sake you do not,” He replied. Then turning to the third man in the room, He said, “Lucius, I wish for our fallen brother here to truly understand that I will not tolerate any more failure on his part. I am sure many of my other faithful servants will also want to help give him an incentive not to fail…”

“As you wish, Master,” Lucius bowed.

Harry abruptly bolted upright in his bed, hyperventilating and shaking, his eyes wide and filled with terror. His entire body was drenched in sweat. The sheets and blankets were twisted around him, tangling him in a tight cocoon.

He frantically struggled to untangle them, almost panicking when he couldn’t immediately free himself. Finally he managed to push the sweat-sodden sheets from him, and leaned back against the headboard, still shaking and gasping for air.

As he sat there trying to catch his breath, he suddenly realized he was sobbing in between his desperate gasps for air. Salty tears were mixed with the cold sweat soaking his face. Harry shakingly reached up and pushed the sweaty bangs from his face, struggling to control himself. His scar was throbbing painfully, pulsing in time with the pounding of his heart. Harry choked back another sob and pushed himself out of bed, trying to keep quiet. Ron was sleeping on the other side of the room, oblivious to his friend’s state of distress. His gentle snores echoed loudly through the otherwise oppressive silence of number twelve Grimmauld Place.

Moving stealthfully in the darkness, Harry grabbed his dressing robe from the end of the bed and went to a large window-seat near his bed that overlooked the back gardens of the old Black estate. Small tremors were still coursing through his body as he sat and curled himself up by the window, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Silver moonlight streamed into the dark room, silhouetting Harry’s huddled form against its brilliant backdrop. Beyond the frosted glass, fat snowflakes lazily drifted past the window, dancing in the wintery December breeze. Harry dully watched them flutter past. His body still trembled, but he felt himself beginning to slowly calm down.

Taking a shaking breath, the boy pressed his forehead against the window pane, letting the icy chill of the glass soothe the painful throbbing in his scar.

Another one, he bitterly noted. They’re getting worse…

The words echoed through his ears like an ominous chant. This was now his fifth vision in the past three weeks. And they were progressively getting worse. Each new vision seemed to be more violent and painful for the masked man he always saw in them than the last. Harry knew in his heart of hearts who the man was, but for the life in him couldn’t think of anything to do to help him, or make the visions stop. No body but Ron and Hermione seemed to believe him that they were real…

Harry stifled another sob and pressed his face against the glass, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

It had now been almost two months since the disastrous Pensieve incident. Since then, all Occlumency lessons with Snape had abruptly ceased - and understandably so. Every time he looked back on that disastrous night, Harry wanted to curse himself with a strong Stinging Hex.

He knew he shouldn’t have looked, but at the time he’d been so sure there might be some clue as to what was going on with Snape in the Potion master’s Pensieve that he hadn’t even thought about what else might have been in there. Harry wanted to kick himself. He felt like an idiot - a complete, memory-violating idiot…

He still remembered the bitter anger in his Professor’s eyes when he’d pulled him back out of his memory. He should have known better than to snoop around in someone else’s private things. After so many years of getting into trouble for being places he shouldn’t have been and doing things he knew he shouldn‘t, one would have thought he’d have learned by now!

Harry gently bumped his head against the window, wishing he could go back in time and stop himself from looking into Snape’s Pensieve. Then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad now…

Besides stopping his Occlumency lessons, Snape’s vindictiveness towards him in Potions class and out had nearly doubled. He could barely walk through the same room as Snape without losing at least twenty points for Gryffindor. In his last Potions class before Christmas break alone, Snape had deducted a total of eighty-five points from him for having a dirty cauldron; not cutting his dandelion buds small enough; starting a fight with Malfoy - which was the Slytherin’s doing, as usual; and (this one was his favorite) for his shoes making too much noise when he’d gotten up to get his potions ingredients. Not to mention the week after he’d looked in Snape’s Pensieve, the Potion master had deliberately broke his potion sample at the end of class after Hermione had already cleanedhis cauldron for him; thus ensuring him a zero for that day’s lesson…

But despite all this, Harry couldn’t bring himself to actually hold anything against the spiteful Potions master. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if anyone else ever went through his memories like he’d done with Snape‘s. Granted Snape had gone through his memories too during their Occlumency lessons, but that had been under different circumstances; and Snape had taught him some useful Occluding techniques before he‘d been so stupid and gotten himself thrown out. If only he hadn’t gone and destroyed his only chance of ever learning how to stop seeing those horrible visions…

Harry leaned his head back against the window frame and sighed, wishing he could go back and change everything. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have a Time Turner, and even if he did, he doubted it would’ve made any real difference. What was that old Muggle saying about curiosity and the cat..?

Snowflakes continued to lazily cascade past the frosty window.

He hadn’t told Dumbledore about Snape stopping their Occlumency lessons, nor had the old headmaster come to him concerning them, but Harry had a sinking suspicion that Dumbledore already knew. Every time he happened to catch Dumbledore’s eye at dinner or in the halls, he saw a look of sorrow pass over the old man’s face, like he’d somehow disappointed him. Every time he saw that look in the Headmaster’s eyes he wanted to go straight to Snape’s office and beg him to continue their lessons. But he already had an idea of what Snape would say in response and had no wish for anymore Potions ingredients to be thrown at his head…

He couldn’t really blame Snape for being angry. After what he’d seen in his Pensieve it was no wonder Snape harbored such an intense hatred for his father and Sirius. He’d never really put much weight to Snape’s bitter comments about James and Sirius’ old Marauding days before - just attributing them to exaggerated childhood feelings of jealously and inadequacy. But after what he’d seen… It was no wonder Snape always got angry at the mere mention of them. He probably even thought Harry was going to go and tell everyone he knew about what he’d seen.

Yes, looking at it carefully, he could definitely understand the Potion master’s anger…

But what was worse than ruining his only hope of learning how to successfully Occlude his mind was that he had no idea what he could do to mend the tentative channel of communication he’d begun to open with Snape through their weekly Occlumency lessons together. He didn’t think it was something he could fix by something as simple as going to Snape’s office and apologizing. That would be too easy. Plus, if Snape actually did accept his apology, he would probably start wondering even more if Voldemort wasn’t somehow controlling the surly Potions master…

Harry sighed in frustration.

No matter what he did, he knew he had to somehow talk to Snape. These continued talks of plans and mysterious attacks did not sit well with Harry. He was going to have to watch Snape very carefully when he got back to school… Plus, with the growing intensity and frequency of these ominous visions, Harry was beginning to worry for the acerbic man‘s welfare. This last one in particular had left him feeling physically sick to his stomach. No matter how many times he saw a person getting tortured, it still made him want to vomit in revulsion…

Harry had to wipe away another trail of salty tears from his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was still crying…

Outside, the snow was coming down in thick billowy sheets, each individual flake illuminated by the moon’s silvery glow. Staring out into the night’s inky depths, Harry had to wonder if Snape was out there somewhere; still being tortured by Death eaters, or perhaps making his way slowly back to Hogwarts to recover. It was hard to say for certain, and Harry wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know…

The soft rumble of Ron’s snores brought Harry slowly back to the present. Staring into the thick shadows on the other side of the room, Harry could make out Ron’s rumpled form, snoring blissfully away into his pillows.

Harry smiled wanly to himself and looked back out the window.

He wished he could sleep like Ron: without worry or nightmares. But it seemed that even some of the simplest things in life were not to be his…

The only consolation he had in this growing nightmare that was his life was the start of Christmas break. For the first time in all his years at Hogwarts, he wasn’t spending the holidays at school. It had taken some finagling, but Sirius had managed to make arrangements with Dumbledore to let Harry come spend Christmas break at Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione had also been invited along with all the other Weasleys; so for the first time in many years, the old Black mansion was filled with the activity and sounds of many people. Though it was still a week before Christmas day, there was a certain note of anticipation in the air. One could barely help but be effected by the general happiness that filled the house - especially when Mrs. Weasley seemed so intent on making sure everyone was fed, warm, and generally felt at home.

But for all the efforts of Mrs. Weasley, his godfather and friends, Harry couldn’t seem to get into the Christmas spirit. He felt like there was some ominous black cloud hanging over him, refusing to relinquish its hold over him…

He suspected his friends and Sirius had also begun to notice his abnormally quiet demeanor. But as of yet, none of them had said anything.

As Harry sat there staring into the cold winter night, he began to notice the drafty breeze seeping through the window and past his dressing gown. Before long, his hands and feet had grown cold and numb.

Harry shivered. His bed lay several feet away, inviting and warm, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to leave the window. He was afraid of what he might see if he went to sleep again.

Harry ran a tired hand over his eyes. He was so tired. Since the start of term that year he’d barely gotten even of handful a full nights’ rest. Every night he’d lay there awake, staring up at the ceiling, afraid of what vision he might see that night before slowly drifting off into fitful sleep. Needless to say, it was nothing short of torture. And not even the sanctuary of the old Black mansion, it seemed, could offer him release from his nocturnal visions of torture and torment. And even after all this time, he still couldn’t think of anything to do for his acerbic Potions master…

It seemed utterly hopeless…

Harry had to fit to fight back the sting of frustrated tears burning his eyes.

He couldn’t think of anything to do. Once again, he found himself wondering if he shouldn’t finally go to Dumbledore about his sleepless nights and reoccurring nightmares. Even if Dumbledore didn’t believe him, maybe he could still somehow help him make them stop…

As another drafty breeze seeped through the window and chilled his skin, Harry was once again forced to acknowledge the icy night wind.

What is it with wizards and drafty old buildings? he mentally griped. They seriously need to look into Muggle central heating…

He wished it wasn’t so cold.

Rubbing his hands together, Harry pulled his robe tighter around him. It was starting to get cold. He knew he could go get a blanket, but didn’t particularly feel like getting up. He pulled his legs up closer to his chest and leaned his head back against the window frame, trying to ignore the cold.

Outside, snowflakes continued to swirl through the air, locked in their ancient hypnotic dance.

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there staring out the front-covered glass, but he eventually felt himself begin to grow sleepy. He felt more at peace now than he did before, the falling snow having helped soothe his troubled mind. Strangely, he also felt warm, like the winter draft was no longer there. Exhaustion tugged softly at his sense, urging him to go back to bed.

Harry tiredly rubbed his eyes. He felt better now. At least a little bit… He felt he might be able to go to sleep now. He just hoped he wouldn’t have any more visions that night.

Getting up, he made his way back to his bed and crawled in. As he laid there listening to Ron’s gentle snores, he tried to clear his mind of everything - just like how Snape always told him to. Despite the lingering fear of having another vision, Harry slowly drifted off into shallow, restless sleep.

Unbeknownst to Harry though as he glided through the empty darkness of unconsciousness, was the thin film of moisture fogging the window he’d just been sitting beside. Water dripped down the glass from the icicles hanging outside from the window eves. Even the snow that had begun to accumulate on the outside window ledge had disappeared, melted as though hit by some powerful Hearting Charm.

But Harry noticed none of this as he fell into deeper sleep.

The basement kitchen/ dining room was filled with the numerous voices of laughing, talking people. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the Weasley twins were all in attendance, valiantly trying to make a dent in the huge feast Mrs. Weasley had prepared for lunch. Only Ron seemed to be making any headway.

Sirius, sitting in the midst of all the children and enjoying the fresh sense of Life they’d brought back with them from school to the old Black house, laughed at some joke one of the twins had just told. Lupin was also there, sipping quietly on his tea while his friend boisterously joined in to the table’s general chaos.

“Harry, dear, eat some more. You’ve barely even touched your sandwich,” Mrs. Weasley said as she leaned over Harry’s shoulder, as though inspecting his plate to see if he was ready for more.

“I’m just not very hungry, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied.

“But you didn’t eat breakfast this morning,” she said, eyeing him closely. “You slept in so late, I was afraid you were going to sleep through lunch too. Are you not feeling well?” She leaned down and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

“No, no,” he hastily replied, pulling away from her. “I was just really tired, s’all.” He knew even then how feeble his assurances sounded.

Mrs. Weasley, just as expected, looked unconvinced.

By now, everyone else at the table had quieted to listen.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Sirius said, looking concerned. “Are you not sleeping well?”

“I’ll say,” Ron interjected as he paused in taking another bite of his turkey sandwich. “I’ve heard him get up in the middle of the night several times the last few weeks. Driving me nuts - no offense, mate…” he quickly added.

Everyone glanced back at Harry, waiting for him to answer.

Harry racked his brains for something to say. He knew he couldn’t lie without his friends and godfather somehow knowing, but he also didn’t want to tell them the truth of what was actually going on.

“Er…” he murmured.

“Are you still having visions?” Hermione abruptly asked, sending the room into sudden, absolute silence.

“No, no,” Harry hastily lied. “I just had a bad dream last night. That’s all. Nothing to get worried about.”

“What do you mean still having visions?” Sirius demanded, not even listening to what his godson was saying. “Dumbledore told me you were taking lessons to learn how to stop them.”

“I was but-”

“He’s not taking them anymore,” Hermione butted in, meeting Harry‘s angry gaze as she did undaunted. “He hasn’t been for the last two months.” Harry felt a prickling of betrayal at his friend’s unwelcomed offering of information. She’d been on his case for the last several weeks about not taking Occlumency lessons anymore, and apparently still hadn’t given up on it.

Sirius stared at Harry. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t need anymore lessons,” Harry hotly shot back. “I don’t understand why everyone is making such a big deal about it.” He wasn’t really sure why he was getting so upset. Maybe it was because of all his friends and godfather questioning him like this - like he was some kind of criminal on trial - or maybe it was just frazzled nerves from lack of sleep. But whatever the case, Harry felt like he was being pushed onto the defensive.

“It’s a big deal because it’s important for you to learn how to stop these dreams you keep having,” Lupin calmly said. “And if you no longer need these lessons, then why are you still having visions?”

Harry had nothing to say in response, and sat there in sullen, angry silence as Lupin went on. “Dumbledore is worried Voldemort might be trying to somehow influence you with these dreams. We don’t know what he might be planning. That is why for both your sake and the Order’s you have to learn how to Occlude your mind like Dumbledore says.”

Harry knew it was going to come to this, but knew he couldn’t keep it secret any longer. “Well that’s going to be a problem seeing as how Snape won’t give me lessons anymore.”

Anger flashed through Sirius‘ eyes. “What do you mean he won’t give you anymore lessons?” he shouted. “Why that greasy little snake… I knew it was a bad idea to let Dumbledore trust him with something so important. I swear I’m going to go straight to Dumbledore about this! This is the last time that forked-tongue git does something like this. What happened, he got bored and decided he didn’t want to waste anymore of his precious time? Just wait until I tell Dumbledore…” Sirius actually began to stand, anger spurring him to immediate action.

“It’s not his fault!” Harry angrily shouted, meeting his godfather’s startled look. “It’s not Snape’s fault he won’t give me lessons anymore…” he softly repeated, dropping his gaze to the tabletop. “It’s mine.”

Sirius looked like a sail that had suddenly lost all its wind. “What? Why?”

“Because I looked at something of his I shouldn’t have while he wasn’t there,” Harry murmured, not quite able to meet his godfather’s eyes anymore. “He came back and caught me…”

“What were you looking at?” Lupin asked.

“His Pensieve.”

“Oh, Harry…” Mrs. Weasley sighed in disappointment. Everyone else seemed to share her sentiments. Lupin shook his head sadly. Even Sirius looked disappointed by his godson.

Harry slouched down in his seat, once again feeling like something the size of an ant.

“When did this happen?” Lupin gently asked.

Harry sighed. “I don’t know… About two months ago. Before the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match…”

“Why did you go looking through Snape’s Pensieve?” Sirius said. Harry winced at his godfather’s stern tone. He’d never reprimanded him or disciplined him before, but Harry could tell his godfather was very angry with him right now.

“Snape’s been acting strange ever since the raid on Azkaban last August,” Harry vehemently tried to explain. “I tried to tell everyone that Voldemort’s done something to him, but no one will listen to me. Every time before we had Occlumency lessons, Snape would put memories into his Pensieve. I thought they might have something to do with what Voldemort did to him, so when Snape left to go check on something, I thought that might be my chance to find out what was wrong with him…”

“And I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?” Lupin noted.

Harry had to force himself to answer. “No…” he bit out under his breath. I found something worse, and both you and Sirius were involved.

“That was inexcusable, Harry,” Sirius said, looking very grim. “You shouldn’t have done that, even if it was Snape.”

Harry stared at his godfather, appalled. Even if it was Snape? He might not have necessarily liked his Potions master, but something about his godfather‘s comment made him want to go to his Professor‘s defense. Why should it have mattered if it was Snape or not? No matter whose memories they were, he knew he shouldn’t have looked.

Once again the sour memory of what he’d seen in Snape’s Pensieve came back to him.

“I don’t know,” he softly whispered, meeting Sirius’ eyes coldly, “it kind of seemed like something the old Marauders would have done…”

Sirius and Lupin both stared at him, startled expressions on both their faces. A sudden tension filled the room.

“Well, since everyone’s done with lunch, I think you should all go upstairs now,” Mrs. Weasley said, hurrying to break the tension that had formed between the three with forced cheerfulness. “Come on, everyone! Upstairs! That means you too, Fred. Ginny, would you mind staying behind and helping me clean up? Hermione, dear, could you go up to third floor and see if you can‘t find anymore Christmas decorations for the front parlor? Ron, why don‘t you go with her?”

Everyone slowly got up to leave, not willing to defy Mrs. Weasley’s orders. Harry, however, was not about to let his godfather and Lupin get away so easily. He had questions, and knew he couldn‘t put off asking them any longer, even if he dreaded the answers.

“Can I talk to you two?” he asked as the others began to move for the stairs. “Alone?”

Sirius and Lupin both exchanged looks, before Sirius finally replied, “Of course, Harry,” and led them upstairs. As the others went their separate ways - giving Harry one last worried look over their shoulders before going to each of their individual tasks - Sirius, Lupin, and Harry headed for the Black family library.

As Sirius closed the door behind them, Harry turned to face them.

“What did you want to talk to us about, Harry?” Remus asked. Sirius came up beside him and waited for Harry to answer.

Somehow now faced with the opportunity to ask his godfather and ex-professor the questions that had been haunting him for the last two months, Harry suddenly felt his resolve begin to waver. Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to know?

Sirius and Lupin were patiently waiting for him to begin, concern shadowing both their faces.

Harry took a deep breath and began. “Remember how I said I looked in Snape’s Pensieve?” he asked. Sirius and Lupin both silently nodded. “Well, I saw one of his memories. It was from his days as a student at Hogwarts. Both of you were in it…and my father…”

Lupin solemnly averted his eyes from Harry - as if he knew where this was going - while Sirius said nothing in response except perhaps perk up a little at the mention of his old friend.

“All of you were in the hallway between classes,” Harry went on, hurrying now to get it all out before he lost his nerve. “I think you were going to lunch, I’m not sure. But my dad was upset about some girl and you-” he looked at Sirius “-tried to cheer him up by distracting him… There was a boy in the hall with you. He wasn‘t doing anything to you, but you pointed him out to my dad, and…” He couldn’t find the words to go on. He struggled for a moment to say what he’d asked his godfather and ex-professor there to say. But for the life in him, he couldn’t find the words to do so. It left too much of a bad taste in his mouth to even try to form the words he wanted - no, needed - to say.

“The boy you saw was Snape, wasn’t it?” Lupin said, his eyes distant and filled with the ghosts of old memories. “I think I know what incident you’re talking about…”

Harry couldn’t hold back anymore and blurted out the one word that he’d been trying to understand since witnessing that painful memory. “Why?” He stared at Sirius, as if beseeching him to tell him everything he’d seen was nothing more than some kind of trick - that his father and godfather weren’t really the arrogant bullies he’d seen in his Potion master’s Pensieve.

“Why did you do that?” he desperately pleaded. “Snape wasn’t doing anything to you. He was just walking down the hall when you attacked him. And my father actually tried to get my mother to go out with him by promising not to pick on Snape anymore.”

Lupin took a deep breath and sighed. Sirius looked suddenly uncomfortable, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“You have to understand, Harry,” Lupin began, “that we were very… let’s just say, wild and insensitive in our younger days at Hogwarts - your father and Sirius especially…” He gave Sirius a somewhat disapproving glance out of the corner of his eye. “They even made me a Prefect to try and keep those two in line. But I am ashamed to admit that I somewhat failed in that area. Sirius and James got away with a lot of things they probably shouldn‘t have while in school.”

“Oh, come on, Remus,” Sirius huffed. “We weren’t even half as bad as how you’re making us out to be. You’re making it sound like James and I were some kind of bullies.”

Harry couldn’t help but bite back that that was exactly what he thought they’d been from what he’d seen in Snape’s memory.

Sirius seemed to notice his godson’s skeptical look, and gave a heavy sigh. “Harry,” he said, “by the time of that memory you saw, Snape and your father had already established a long running grudge with each other. They were still hiding in wait and cursing each other around corners all the way up until graduation. I can safely tell you their feelings for each other were mutual.”

“But I still don’t understand why you attacked Snape like that in front of the whole school. He wasn’t doing anything to you, and my father decided to pick on him just because he was upset about a girl. And you helped him.”

Sirius heaved another sigh. “Harry… I admit, James and I probably shouldn’t have done what we did. But like I said, feelings were mutual between us and Snape. He could give just as good as he got.”

Harry stood there a moment, silently rolling that over in his mind, trying to accept that as an excuse for the blatant, unprovoked attack on a younger teenage Snape. In a way, he believed his godfather when he said Snape probably got back at them somehow. After spending so many years being taught by the acerbic man, he had no doubt in his mind that his Potion master would not have quietly accepted such abuse. But… did that really absolve his father and godfather of any blame?

Something deep inside him couldn’t accept that. He’d experienced too much bullying and name calling himself in his younger years with the Dursleys to be able to forgive someone - even his godfather - so easily for such a crime.

“What about my mother?” Harry softly asked. “She didn’t seem to like my dad very much…”

Sirius chuckled. “Aw, Lily? James couldn’t stop himself from liking her. She gave your father quite a hard time trying to convince her to go out with him.”

“But she said she never would,” Harry said, remembering his mother’s vehement declarations that James Potter was one of the last people on earth she’d ever consider going out with.

“Yeah, well, she stuck to that promise for awhile,” Sirius chuckled, smiling fondly at the memory. “But James finally managed to win her over with his charms and they started going out their Seventh year. And the rest, as they say, was history… ”

Harry nodded silently, still unexplainably torn by conflicting emotions. Everything he’d once believed about his parents and godfather had been torn apart, rearranged, and glued back together into a picture that was much like its original but still bore the tears and folds of where Harry‘s original preconceptions had been ripped apart and repaired, but not completely erased or put together in the exact same way as they were before. He felt a little better now hearing his godfather’s and Lupin’s own side of the story, but at the same time he knew he would never be able to think of Sirius or his father in the same way again. The memory he’d seen had been unbiased and indisputable - seen for what it really was from an outside party’s point of view. There was no denying what had actually happened, no matter what Sirius said about Snape and James’ hatred going beyond just what he’d seen.

“Harry, I know you might not want to do it, but you need to see about taking those lessons with Snape again,” Lupin said, bringing the boy back from his thoughts. “They’re very important. Both for you and the Order. You’re putting yourself in danger by not learning how to keep Voldemort from getting into your thoughts. You have to talk to Snape about giving you lessons again.”

“He barely even looks at me without taking twenty points from Gryffindor, let alone will let me actually talk to him,” he said in frustration.

“Have you tried apologizing?” Lupin pressured.

Harry sighed. “No. And I don’t know how I can… He‘ll probably just think I‘m lying or trying to pull his leg.”

“I could talk to Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “If I tell him Snape’s stopped giving Harry lessons, he’ll make Snape do it. That way the greasy git won’t be able to squirm his way out of it.”

Lupin shook his head. “That’ll just make things worse, Sirius. He’s already angry that Harry went through his memories. Having Dumbledore make him continue Occlumency lessons isn’t go to help Harry. Snape might start giving him lessons again but if he‘s still angry, he could easily decide not to teach him anything useful.”

Sirius scowled and crossed his arms, knowing his friend was right.

“When’s the next Order meeting?” Harry tentatively asked. “I know there were a few the last couple nights. Maybe I can talk to Snape then before the next one and apologize.”

Sirius and Lupin both exchanged guarded looks.

“What?” Harry demanded.

“Snape hasn’t been to any meetings lately,” Lupin explained. “Even Dumbledore looked a little worried when he didn’t show for the last one. None of us have actually seen him since school let out for Christmas break.”

Harry felt a chill race down his spine. “Are you sure? Dumbledore doesn’t know where he’s been?”

“Not that I know of,” Lupin replied. “Dumbledore really didn’t say anything about it. Only that he was slightly worried that Snape wasn’t there.”

Sirius snorted. “He’s probably with Voldemort and his little pack of Death eaters for the holidays. You know, spying, or so Dumbledore says…”

“How can you say that, Sirius?” Lupin said, giving his friend an incredulous look. “After all he did to help Harry last summer. I would have thought you’d show at least a little bit more respect towards the man who helped save your godson.”

Sirius grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but - looking chastised - didn’t say anything else.

Meanwhile, Harry felt a nauseous feeling of unease begin to form in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling Snape was with Voldemort for the holidays just like Sirius thought, but not for the same reasons.

With the icy winds of January that heralded the start of the New Year also came the inevitable return to school Harry and his friends had dreaded ever since the beginning of break. The Hogwarts Express was an orchestra of sounds of students all busily exchanging stories of Christmas break with each other, and before too long, they once again found themselves on the snow covered grounds of Hogwarts.

As Harry got out of the horseless carriage that had brought them up to the castle from the train station, he was glad he decided to wear the jumper Mrs. Weasley had made him for Christmas that morning. The wind was bitter cold and seemed to cut right through his robes and heavy cloak like a knife. Ron was also sporting his usual maroon Christmas sweater with a big gold R on the front.

“Come on, Harry, it’s freezing!” Ron yelled as he and Hermione hurried through the snow for the welcome warmth of the castle.

“Coming!” Harry called as they disappeared into the front hall, not even waiting for him. Not many other students were loitering outside because of the cold, but Harry didn’t feel like going in just yet. He had something he wanted to do first.

Walking to the front of the carriage he’d taken up from the train station, Harry gave the Thestral pulling it a gentle pat on its scaly haunches. “Hey there, bud,” he said as it swung its dragon-like head around to look at him.

Despite its demonic appearance, the Thestral happily began nudging his side with its nose like a friendly horse. “So you remember me, huh?” he laughed as he continued petting the creature’s scaly head. Since his second encounter with Thestrals during Care of Magical Creatures he’d gotten used to the idea of the frightening-looking creatures having such a strange affinity for him, and decided to make the most of it. After all, he’d never really had a pet before (besides Hedwig), and couldn’t help but think of Thestrals as some kind of big friendly dog. With wings. And scales… and fiery red eyes…

Aright, maybe they weren’t quite the same thing as a dog, or even a horse for that matter. But they did seem to like him and that was all that really mattered, however strange it was. Maybe if he kept this up he could someday learn how to sic them on Malfoy. Now wouldn’t that just be bloody brilliant?

Harry smiled just at the thought of it.

The Thestral eagerly bowed its head to him as he began scratching behind its ears and flapped its wings contently.

“They really seem to like you,” a dreamy voice suddenly said behind him.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw the same blonde girl he’d taken a carriage with on the first day back to school last September. “Hey… er, Luna,” he said, having to think a moment to remember her name. Luna. Luna Lovegood, that was it. From Ravenclaw. “How was your Christmas?” he nervously asked. Something about those faraway eyes unnerved him. At least she didn’t have a newspaper on her head this time.

“Fine,” she replied in her dreamy way. “Yours?”

“Fine.”

Luna slowly came up beside him and reached out to pet the Thestral. The demon-horse shied away from her and snorted unhappily. Then, leaning closer to Harry, it cocked its head so he could reach behind its ears. Luna dropped her hand in passive defeat, her distant expression not changing.

“Why haven’t gone inside yet?” she asked.

“Em, just didn’t feel like it,” Harry murmured.

“I heard Malfoy talking about you on the train. He was telling all the other Slytherins about how you’re taking Remedial Potions with Professor Snape. Is that true?”

Harry grit his teeth angrily. “No. He’s lying.” Once again he found himself entertaining the image of Malfoy running away from a pack of hungry Thestrals. Maybe he really would have to see about how much influence he had over the Thestrals when they left for the train next June… It was something to think about at least…

The last carriage of the students was getting let off and hurrying for the castle.

“Well, I guess we should go,” Harry said, and gave the Thestral one last pat on the neck. He and Luna began heading for the castle, walking beside each other in unease silence.

When they reached the front hall, Luna gave Harry a small nod and dreamily, “See you later, Harry,” then drifted off for the stairs.

Harry stared after her for a moment. Strange girl…

Shaking himself out of his thoughts he looked around for Ron or Hermione. He didn’t see either of them. Most of the other students were drifting off towards their individual common rooms, so Harry figured that was probably where his friends had gone too.

He headed for the stairs leading to Gryffindor tower. Several of the portraits shouted out greetings and late New Years salutations to him as he passed. As Harry reached one of the landings between floors he noticed a ghostly apparition coming towards him down the stairs.

“Sir Nicholas!” he called.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” Nearly Headless Nick greeted and hovered on the stairs several steps up from him. “I was just on my way to look for you.”

“Look for me? Why?”

“The Headmaster said he’d like to speak with you before you settled back in your dormitory, and sent me to find you.”

“Did he say why?” Harry asked. Although he got along with Dumbledore pretty well, an unannounced summons to the Headmaster’s office still managed to set the delinquent schoolboy part of his mind racing with possible things he might have done to warrant such a request. But he couldn’t think of anything he might have done. He’d only just got back to school twenty minutes ago!

The Gryffindor ghost shook his severed head. “I’m sorry, he did not. He only asked me to find you. He also said to tell you that the password is ‘Licorice Wand.’”

Harry nodded as Sir Nicholas drifted past him down the stairs, his mission now complete. Harry couldn’t help but notice how the ghost didn’t say goodbye or try to make any kind of small talk with him. Usually, Nearly Headless Nick would have spent five minutes or so just asking him about his holiday. But recently Harry had begun to notice that Nick and some of the other ghosts he used to be on good relations with had begun to act uncomfortable in his presence. It was like they were nervous or fidgety, and wanted to get away from him. And he didn’t know why. They didn’t seem to act that way around anyone else. All he knew was that they’d started acting weird towards him around the start of school that year.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry started up the stairs again, now turning in the direction of Dumbledore’s office. Maybe he should ask Dumbledore about it. Maybe he’d know if he’d somehow offended Nearly Headless Nick or one of the other ghosts last year to make them act so strangely around him. Assuming he wasn’t somehow already in trouble with the Headmaster that was… He still wondered what Dumbledore’s summons were about.

Before too long he found himself standing outside the door to Dumbledore’s office. “Licorice Wands,” he said, and the stone gargoyle obediently leapt aside. A magical door appeared along with a set of revolving stairs beyond. Harry took them and ascended to the tall oak door leading to Dumbledore’s office proper.

A hesitant knock on the door was answered with a muffled, “Come in!” from beyond.

Harry slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Dumbledore’s office was warm and pleasant, a merry fire burning in the fireplace. Gadgets and unrecognizable magical objects whirled and tittered from almost every shelf of the room. Fawkes was sitting on his perch on the other side of the room and trilled happily at Harry entrance. Several portraits of the old Headmasters and Mistresses stirred from their naps at the phoenix’s greeting and curiously peered down at him from the walls. Dumbledore’s desk was piled with stacks of parchment and official looking documents along with even more mysterious knickknacks the old wizard had collected over the years. And it was behind this overflowing desk of papers and gadgets that Harry found the one who’d summoned him.

“Ah, Harry, my boy, sit down. I wanted to talk to you,” Dumbledore smiled when he glanced up and saw the boy standing in front of his desk. “Lemon drop?”

“Uh, no thank you, Sir,” Harry replied and took a seat opposite the old Headmaster. “What was it you wanted to see me about? I‘m not in some kind of trouble am I?”

Dumbledore maintained a smiling face, but it drooped just ever so slightly, letting Harry know that no matter what Dumbledore said, there was something troubling the old Headmaster. “Trouble? No, no… Not necessarily. But I did want to talk to you about something rather… unsettling that’s come to my attention. Your godfather tells me that you are no longer taking Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.”

Harry slouched back in his seat and sighed. “Sirius told you? He promised me he wouldn’t…”

“Harry, these Occlumency lessons are very important. I wanted you to start taking them so you could learn how to keep Voldemort from entering your mind. Several people have mentioned to me that you are still having visions, or nightmares at the very least. It is imperative that you learn how to keep this from happening.”

Harry sighed. “That’s what everyone’s been telling me…”

“Sirius didn’t give me any details, but he said something happened between you and Professor Snape to cause the cessation of your lessons. Would you like to tell me what that might have been?”

Harry bit his lower lip nervously. Dumbledore’s gentle face quietly assured him that he would not be accusatory or judgmental of whatever Harry told him, but Harry couldn’t help but feel that if he did, he’d somehow lose the other wizard’s respect and esteem. “I… Let’s just say I did something I shouldn’t have and violated Professor Snape’s trust,” he murmured.

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. “I see.”

Harry felt shame once again burning his cheeks. He knew he should just tell Dumbledore everything: about how he’d looked in Snape’s Pensieve and seen a memory he knew he shouldn’t have, and that was why Snape had ended their lessons. But he’d chickened out at the last minute and couldn’t bring himself to admit what he‘d done. He almost wished Dumbledore would question him more about what he did so he didn’t feel like he was somehow lying to the old man.

But Dumbledore didn’t. Perhaps it was because he already knew.

“Whatever it is you’ve done to make Professor Snape so angry with you Harry, you must talk to him about starting lessons again,” Dumbledore said with a grave look in his normally twinkling blue eyes. “It is of the utmost importance that you do. I will speak to Professor Snape and-”

“No!” Harry blurted out. Dumbledore looked at him questioningly, leaving Harry scrambling to explain. “No, that’s alright, Sir,” he said as smoothly as he could. “It’s just that I want to apologize to the Professor before you or anyone else talks to him about giving me lessons again. I just feel it’s something I should do. You know, as an act of respect…”

Dumbledore studied him closely for several moments of breathless silence. For a moment Harry was almost afraid Dumbledore was going to ask him about what he’d done to make Snape stop giving him lessons again, and his reasons for doing so. He knew he should probably tell Dumbledore about what he‘d seen, but at the same time he didn’t want the Headmaster to think he was being sucked in by Voldemort’s “false” visions and try to once again assure him that everything was alright with Snape when Harry knew it wasn‘t.

Finally though, after what felt like an eternity to the guilt-ridden boy, Dumbledore nodded his head. “Very well, Harry. But I am going to ask that you speak to him soon. I can’t stress how important these Occlumency lessons are for you.”

“Yes, Sir…” Harry replied, relieved.

“Now, with that’s out of the way, I’m sure you’d like to go back to your dormitory to freshen up before dinner,” Dumbledore then said in a much lighter tone. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a lemon drop before you leave?”

“No, Sir, I’m fine,” Harry said and got up to leave. He was just about to close the door behind him when he heard Dumbledore call after him one last time.

“Be sure you speak with Professor Snape, Harry.”

Harry hide his face behind the door before he softly replied, “Yes, Sir…” and shut the door behind him.

True to his word, Harry did try to approach Snape with an apology. But despite even his best attempts to corner the surly Head of Slytherin, Harry couldn’t seem to find an opportunity to speak with him in the days following his return to school. In Potions class he was always surrounded by other students - half of them Slytherins and the other half Gryffindors who would all begin to wonder why he was trying to talk to Snape - the known bane of his Hogwart’s existence - if he tried talking to him during class. In the hallways, there was again always the chance of being overheard by eavesdroppers which Harry couldn‘t risk. And no matter what time Harry went, he could never seem to catch Snape in his office. 

He even tried earning himself a detention with Snape to get an opportunity to talk to the man in private. But when he “accidentally” broke a whole bottle of armadillo bile on the floor (an almost assured two weeks worth of detention!), Snape merely snapped at him and deduced sixty points from Gryffindor.

Frustrated and starting to run out of ideas, Harry couldn’t help but feel that Snape was actually trying to avoid him.

He knew he was probably imagining things, but nevertheless, the feeling persisted.

And so it was, several days after his return to Hogwarts, that Harry found himself getting ready to go to bed, still feeling frustrated and angry about his Potion master’s continued elusiveness. With each passing day he became more anxious. Voldemort’s words in his last vision continued to haunt him. These continued hints of an attack - most likely on Hogwarts by the sound of it - were troubling. Was Voldemort going to use Snape to somehow infiltrate the castle or attack someone? And if so, who or what was Voldemort’s target? Him? Dumbledore? Someone else? He didn’t know. The possibilities continued to haunt him.

“Night, Harry,” Ron said as he climbed into bed and gave a jaw-bending yawn. Their other dormmates were already in bed; Semus reading a Muggle football magazine by wandlight while Dean and Neville were already fast sleeping behind closed curtains. Neville’s snores rumbled softly through the bed hangings.

“Night,” Harry replied, and crawled under the covers.

Ron punched his pillow several times to fluff it up a bit before flopping down onto his side. “Do you think I can see your History of Magic notes before breakfast tomorrow?” he sleepily asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry mindlessly replied.

Ron glanced at his friend. “You okay, mate? You’ve been acting a bit… strange… ever since we got back from break. You feeling alright?”

“Yeah. It’s just…” Harry glanced at their fellow dormmates. Dean and Neville were already asleep and it looked like Semus was getting ready to turn in for the night. Making a decision, Harry cast a quick Silencing Charm on his and Ron’s side of the room, and leaned over the bed towards his friend. “Do you think Snape’s been avoiding me the last couple days?” he whispered.

Ron looked taken aback by his friend’s unexpected question. “Avoiding you? I wouldn’t say so. I don’t know about you, Harry, but I almost wish he was. He took a hundred and fifteen points from Gryffindor today in Potions. If it wasn’t for McGonagall giving us extra points in Transfiguration to try and make up for it all, we’d be in the negatives!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Harry hissed. “I’ve been trying to talk to Snape for the last several days, but every time I try to he’s either surrounded by other people, or “conveniently” not in his office.”

“I think you’re imagining things and getting yourself worked up over nothing,” Ron replied. “Besides, why do you need to talk to Snape so badly?”

Harry frowned and told his friend about the last vision he’d had at Grimmauld Place - the one hinting of some kind of mysterious attack on Hogwarts. Ron listened with rapt attentiveness.

“Are you serious?” he whispered. “Do you think You-Know-Who’s going to make Snape attack the school?” A sudden thought occurred to him. “What if he’s actually after you and trying to use Snape to get to you? It might be dangerous for you to be going out of your way to talk to him like this. He might try to kill you.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Harry said, “but I’ve been keeping a close eye on him, and he doesn’t seem to be planning anything - at least that I can see… But I’m not about to drop my guard. I know Snape’s smart, especially if he’s been able to hide Voldemort controlling him from Dumbledore so long. That’s why I have to try and talk to him - so I can try and find out what he’s up to. I know Voldemort’s planning something and he’s going to use Snape to do it.”

Ron looked worried. “Do you think we should tell someone about this?” he asked.

“No. I’ve already tried telling Dumbledore, but he’s still pushing for me to take Occlumency lessons with Snape like nothing‘s wrong. I’m not going to get any help from him, and apparently Sirius was the one that told Dumbledore about Snape stopping lessons in the first place, so we can‘t tell him either. He’ll just think Voldemort’s somehow brainwashing me with these dreams.”

“We should at least tell Hermione,” Ron said.

Harry nodded tiredly. “Yeah. I suppose so. She’d figure out some way of keeping a better eye on Snape than any of us.”

Ron gave a sigh and rolled back onto his back. “Yeah, assuming she’s not pulling her hair out about NEWTs,” he murmured. Then yawning so wide Harry heard Ron’s jaw actually pop, he mumbled, “Well, goodnight, mate…”

“G’night,” Harry murmured.

He sat there leaning against the headboard of his bed for several minutes, staring ahead into nothingness, until he heard the first soft rumble of sleep coming from the rumpled mound in Ron’s bed.

Sighing with some emotion he couldn’t quite place - frustration, exhaustion, hopelessness? - Harry consigned himself to the fact that answers were once again not soon in coming, and laid down. Laying there, staring up at the ceiling, Harry listened to the even cadence of Ron’s snores.

It looked like he was in for another sleepless night. The constant worry of what evil plans might be getting set into motion that very moment refused to relinquish its grip on the boy’s tired mind. Horrible possibilities continued to pop up from the garden of an overstressed imagination.

What if Voldemort really was after him? What if he’d ordered Snape to attack him when everyone least expected it? What if it was something worse? What if he’d found out about the Order and where it’s Headquarters was? What if he ordered Snape to attack there?

Harry felt nearly sick with uncertainty and the endless stream of unanswerable questions plaguing his mind.

Laying there in the dark, Harry closed his eyes and tiredly rested the back of his arm across his face, covering his eyes.

What is Voldemort doing to you? he helplessly wondered, as if Snape could actually somehow hear him and answer. What should I do?

For several minutes Harry lay there, letting the snores of his dormmates and gentle beating of his own heart help lull his restless thoughts. He felt himself skirting along the edge of unconsciousness, his senses becoming more dull and body more detached. And then-

He was walking through the halls of Hogwarts. How he got there he didn’t know. But by the look of the portraits lining the walls, it looked like he was somewhere on the other side of the castle - no where near Gryffindor tower or his nice warm bed.

Harry’s feet seemed to move with a mind of their own, bearing him away into the dark shadows of the night. He didn’t know where he was going, but his feet seemed to. He strangely felt no need or desire to try and halt his mysterious wandering, and let them guide him where they may. He felt like he was being drawn towards something.

As he turned a corner into another hallway, he suddenly saw a dark figure standing motionless beside a window half way down the hall. Moonlight streamed into the hallway, bathing the figure in a large pool of ethereal moonlight. As he came closer, Harry instantly recognized the black-robed figure before him, his harsh features unmistakable.

It was Professor Snape.

The Potion master seemed oblivious to his student’s presence as Harry drew closer; his eyes distant and unfocused as he stared out the window into the frost covered night. Snape’s face was emotionless - a passive mask - but his eyes betrayed a deep sense of hopelessness. Harry felt the sudden urge to try and reassure the man that everything would be alright, that everything wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed.

But Snape still didn’t acknowledge his presence, as if he didn’t even know he was there.

Harry suddenly realized he must be dreaming (or having another vision) and that Snape couldn’t see him. It was strange. Usually in his visions he watched things happen from the viewpoint of some actor unwilling playing the role of someone else. But this time he was distinctly aware of himself and knew for a fact that it was actually him standing there now.

For a moment he wondered why he was there. Every other time he’d seen who he suspected was Snape in his dreams, the man was always either being tortured by Death eaters or questioned by Voldemort. But there was no sign of Voldemort or any other Death eaters around, and he and Snape were both obviously still within the protective wards of Hogwarts.

“Time is running out…”

Harry jumped, the sudden whisper startling him.

“What?” Harry stammered.

At first Snape didn’t seem to hear him; his eyes still blankly staring out into the dark recesses of the night, as if trying to somehow see a world far beyond the reach of this one. Harry wondered for a moment if he’d somehow imagined Snape speaking.

But then the Potion master’s eyes slowly swiveled towards him and speared him with their gaze. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.

Snape could see him…

“Time is running out,” the Potion master whispered, his eyes staring straight into Harry’s eyes as if looking into his very soul. “You must hurry.”

Harry, still shocked that Snape seemed able to see him, stammered, “What? I don’t-”

“You must hurry,” Snape insisted, not listening to him. “There is not much more time. You must-”

But before Snape could warn Harry what he must do, he suddenly clutched his left arm and doubled over it, screaming through gritted teeth. Harry stood there helpless as the Potion master battled the crippling pain attacking him.

“Hurry,” Snape rasped, a note of desperation entering his voice. “You must hurry.”

Harry felt a small burning sensation begin to creep along the skin of his left inner forearm. Before he could even realize what was going on, the tingling pain exploded into full blown torture, eliciting a cry of pain from him similar to Snape’s.

“Hurry…” Snape pleaded through gritted teeth. “Before it’s too late…”

“Too late for what?” Harry cried through the pain, clutching his arm.

Harry’s vision was beginning to waver, the silver-black nightscape of the empty hallway beginning to fade.

“There‘s not much time…” Snape’s voice pleaded through the thickening veil of darkness clouding Harry’s vision. “You must hurry before-”

No longer able to fight it back, the darkness surrounding Harry crashed down on him, swallowing him in its dark embrace. The pain coursing through his arm suddenly disappeared.

And then, all was darkness…

The next morning Harry woke to a dull burning sensation in his left arm. And for that entire day, no one saw any sign of Hogwart’s surly Potions master.

Harry secretly watched Snape as the older man weaved his way in between rows of busily working Potions students - checking their progress thus far like a predatory animal on the hunt. His long black robes skirted across the ground in his wake, fluttering with each fluid movement the Potion master made.

Harry watched him like a hawk. Little the Potion master did escaped his notice. Ever since the beginning of class he’d barely taken his eyes off Snape for more than a few seconds.

“Harry. Harry! Harry, come on, mate, wake up and hand me the stirrer!” Ron’s exasperated voice broke Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry shook himself back to realityand obediently handed his friend the requested brewing tool. “Oh, sorry,” he murmured.

Ron took the wooden spoon and stirred their bubbling cauldron the proscribed twelve times in a clockwise direction, then three time counterclockwise. “Are you alright, mate?” the redhead asked as the potion slowly turned a light green color - something just several shades lighter than what was described in their book - and turned the heat down on the cauldron to let it finish its last phase of brewing. “You’ve been zoning out almost all of class. I had to brew this potion almost all by myself. What’s up?”

“Sorry…” Harry murmured. “Just can’t seem to concentrate today I guess.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that,” he snorted. “Snape’s sure seemed to have captured your attention.”

Harry unconsciously glanced back in the Potion master’s direction. Snape was currently leaning over Dean and Seamus’ cauldron on the other side of the room, eyeing their potion critically as he asked them Potions questions Harry couldn’t quite hear but suspected weren’t earning Gryffindor any points for correct answers.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron said.

Harry turned back to Ron with a sigh. “I’m sorry!” he huffed. “I can’t help it! I just can’t focus on anything right now.”

“No need to get upset, Harry,” Ron said, holding his hands up in front of his chest as if in surrender. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

What’s wrong… That’s what Harry was still trying to figure out.

The Fifth Years were the first Potions class to have Professor Snape since the Potion master’s mysterious absence the day before. No one had known where he’d gone. There hadn’t been any kind of note on the door telling them class was cancelled, or substitute teacher. No one had dared leave though for fear of Snape suddenly showing up at the last minute and taking points from them for being absent. It was only when Filtch came wandering through the dungeons and found the class of Slytherin-Gryffindor students aimlessly milling outside the locked classroom - twenty minutes after class was suppose to have started - that they were dismissed to return to their common rooms. Filtch had then gone off - Harry could only assume - to either find their missing Potions master or to tell Dumbledore about Snape’s absence.

Harry didn’t know what happened after Filtch ordered them back to their common rooms, but he could only hope they eventually found him. He’d spent the entire day keeping a look out for Snape and listening for some kind of hint that someone else had seen him. But no one had. Even Dumbledore, Harry noticed, had looked a little more subdued that night at dinner.

Whatever the case though, that morning had seen the return of the dark and surly man to the dungeons like nothing had even happened. Precisely at the sound of the bell, Snape had come striding into class with his usual sneer and sharp tongue ordering them to read the instructions on the blackboard and to get to work immediately before he started deducting points from anyone he caught dawdling.

Harry had been watching him ever since. Perhaps even a little bit too much if Ron’s complaints were any indication.

“Come on, Harry, tell me what’s going on,” Ron pleaded.

Harry gave a frustrated, near-defeated sigh. “I had another vision the other night before Snape went missing yesterday.”

“And I take it it wasn’t good?” Ron winced.

Harry gave a subconscious glance back in Snape’s direction as if to make sure he wasn‘t listening. “It wasn’t really bad,” he whispered, “at least not at first… It was different from any other vision I’ve had before. I saw Snape in it, but it wasn’t like I was looking through Voldemort’s or anyone else‘s eyes. And Snape was acting like he could actually see me. In my vision he tried telling me something, but before he could I felt his Dark Mark start to burn, and then everything went black and I woke up.”

“What do you think Snape was trying to tell you?”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t know. But it seemed important - like it might be about whatever Voldemort’s planning.”

Ron silently thought for a moment before looking back at Harry with a worried expression on his face. “Are you sure your dream wasn’t actually some kind of trick by You-Know-Who? I mean, if it was real, how could Snape have been able to talk to you in your dreams? And besides, why would Snape have been talking to you of all people? You’re not exactly his favorite person, Harry…”

“I don’t know,” Harry shot back, his tone betraying the first note of frustrated irritation. “Why do I keep having these visions with Snape always somehow in them? Why was he mysteriously absent yesterday? I don’t know! Dumbledore didn’t even look like he knew where he was yesterday. That has to tell you something’s wrong. I don’t know why Snape would have tried contacting me, but he did. Maybe he knows I know something’s wrong and wants me to help.”

“Well, you’re not exactly making any headway in that department,” Ron noted. “This has been going on since the start of school, and you still haven’t figured out what’s going on yet. You even went into Snape’s memories, and didn’t find anything.” He nervously adverted his eyes from Harry and stared at the table. “Harry, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really think you should go talk to Dumbledore. You’re not getting anywhere on your own. And the longer this goes on the more dangerous it’s starting to become for you. What if You-Know-Who is using Snape to contact you and trick you into doing something? You said it yourself you thought You-Know-Who was controlling him with some kind of Imperius Curse. Plus, if Snape really was trying to warn you or ask you for help, why does he keep treating you so terribly? He barely even looks at you without taking points away from Gryffindor, let alone tried actually talking to you. Wouldn’t heat least try to give you a reason to want to help him? If you ask me, all this smells kind of fishy…”

Harry stared at Ron for several moments, unsure of how to respond. Some of the things the redhead had said brought up some very good points. How did he know it was really Snape trying to contact him? What if it was Voldemort. He had no evidence that the Potion master was actually behind his latest vision. After all, just like Ron said, Snape was still acting like the same vindictive snark he always did - not as someone trying to ask him for help. Maybe Ron was right…

No! he told himself firmly.

He knew what he’d seen in his last vision. He knew Snape was somehow trying to warn him. But about what was still the question…

The bell signaling the end of class suddenly rang, breaking Harry out of his thoughts and saving him from having to answer his friend.

“I want a sample of everyone’s potion marked and labeled on my desk before you leave - and everyone’s workstations had better be cleaned!” Snape yelled over the sound of scrapping chairs and students hurrying to leave. “Make sure both partner’s names are on the vial. No credit will be given to those whose names are not on their sample!”

Ron glanced at Harry, but didn’t say anything else as he began ladling a portion of their off-color Shrinking Potion into a vial. Harry sullenly began cleaning up as Ron went to turn their sample in. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Ron’s questions - like his friend no longer believed him…

“You okay, Harry?” Hermione asked, coming up behind him as he evanescoed his and Ron’s cauldron clean. Neville was just finished putting the last of his and Hermione’s Potion tools away- Hermione having successfully finished brewing their Shrinking Potion half an hour ago.

“Fine,” he murmured, not looking up as he shoved some leftover scarab wings back into a jar. He couldn’t see her face behind him, but he suspected Hermione was wearing a slightly worried expression.

“Ready?” Ron asked as he came back up to the table and glanced between Harry and Hermione. “Lunch is in ten minutes and I’m starving.”

“You two go on ahead of me,” Harry said, still not looking up at them as he busied himself with cleaning. “I’m going to be awhile yet…”

“We can wait for you, Harry,” Hermione said. “In fact, here, let me help. I‘ll-”

But Harry cut her off with a sharp look.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” he said, his voice short and clipped. “You and Ron go on ahead. I’ll catch up to you later.”

Hermione worriedly glanced at Ron, as if asking him what was wrong. Ron, however, just shook his head and grabbed her arm, steering her towards the door. “Don’t worry about it, ‘mione. I’ll tell you later…” And then they were gone.

Harry stared after them a moment before turning back to his work station. He was almost done cleaning but purposely took his time putting the rest of their Potion ingredients away and returning their cauldron and spoons to their proper places.

He had something he had to do and didn’t want anyone else around when he did it… He had to be sure…

Within a few short minutes the last of the other students finished cleaning and labeling their potions and disappeared out the door, leaving only Harry and Snape behind in the empty classroom.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry put the last of his Potions ingredients away and walked up to Snape’s desk.

Snape was shifting through a pile of parchments, his face screwed up in its usual scowl. It looked like a batch of Third Year essays by what Harry could see. Harry waited a moment, but upon receiving no acknowledgement from the sour looking Potions master he nervously coughed, “Um… Professor Snape?”

Snape’s eyes snapped up and speared him with their fiery gaze. “Mr. Potter…” he drawled. “Any particular reason you are still here when I specifically don’t remember asking you to stay after class?”

Harry took a deep breath for what he was about to do. He was seriously going out on a limb here. He just hoped he wasn’t wrong. Because if he was… Well, that was something he didn’t really want to think about just yet… He wasn’t sure if he was really playing with a full set of Gobstones for doing this, but Ron’s comments had risen questions he knew he needed answers to. Even if that meant possibly earning himself a lifetime’s worth of detentions...

Schooling his tone, he said, “Er… I was just wondering if you were sick or something, Sir. You missed class yesterday and no one knew where you were.”

One of Snape’s dark eyebrows arched up on his forehead like an elegant question mark. “Oh? I wasn’t aware you were suddenly my personal keeper.”

Harry bite the inside of his mouth. “I haven‘t been, Sir. It’s just that some of the other students were worried when you didn’t show up for class yesterday, andwanted me to ask if everything was alright.”

“And what other students would these be?” Snape asked in a dangerously honeyed voice of curiosity. “Certainly not one of my Slytherins… They would have come to me themselves with their concerns instead of going to the Golden Boy of Gryffindor to do it… One of your fellow Gryffindors then? Please tell me, Potter, who is it? I am most curious to know who else in your House seems so concerned with my welfare.”

Harry scrambled to reply. “Er… Everyone, Sir. Why wouldn’t we be? I mean, after all, this is our OWLs year and if something happens to you, who else would teach us?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, Harry’s lie as transparent as Nearly Headless Nick. “I’ll bet…” Snape drawled, sarcasm dripping off every vowel.

Harry knew he had to change tactics - and quick! - before this got any more out of control. It’d already strayed farther away from what he’d originally come there to ask as it was...

“It’s just that I thought I saw you in the hall the other night before curfew - the night before you didn’t come to class. I just thought you… didn’t look quite well. I was just wondering if you were alright is all… It kind of looked like your arm might have been hurting…”

Snape’s unreadable black eyes bored into Harry’s, as if scrutinizing him for his true intentions. Harry met his gaze undaunted, opening his mind to the other man. Let me help you, he desperately pleaded with his eyes. Tell me what you were trying to warn me about the other night.

Snape studied him carefully over steepled fingers, his eyes never blinking or moving from Harry. For a moment Harry almost entertained the hope that he’d somehow reached the other man when-

“I don’t know what you’re babbling on about, Potter,” Snape said, breaking eye contact. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I wasn’t even in the castle the other night. I was away on business.”

Harry was ready to protest, but was once again interrupted by Snape.

“Now,” he said, standing up from behind his desk in a menacing sweep of robes, “if that is quite all, you can scurry back to your group of friends and tell them the bat of Slytherin is fine and well, and kindly asks them to keep their noses out of other people’s business.”

“But, Sir…” Harry stammered.

“That is all, Potter,” Snape hissed. “I believe lunch is about to start, and I suggest you’d better start making your way upstairs before I start taking points from Gryffindor for loitering in the halls.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry murmured, dejectedly dropping his head. He slowly went back to his workstation and picked up his schoolbag.

Snape watched the boy as he shuffled towards the door, shoulders hunched in defeat.

“One last thing, Potter,” Snape called just as he reached the door.

Harry paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

Snape’s eyes bored into his even from a distance of twenty some feet. “Instead of worrying about what everyone else is doing, I suggest you use more of all this free time you seem to have to worry about such things and remember what you learned in class…”

Harry stared at Snape for several moments of confused silence, his eyebrows scrunching together in the middle of his face. “Um… alright, Sir. I’ll remember that…” And with one last glance at Snape, he left.

Lunch passed uneventfully as did the rest of classes, and before Harry really knew it, he was once again found himself sitting in the Great Hall beside Ron and Hermione eating dinner. He sullenly poked his pork chops, not caring much that his gravy was starting to congeal into a formless sludge on his mashed potatoes.

“Harry, cheer up,” Hermione said, exasperated, as she watched him begin listlessly scooting corn kernels around his plate. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“I told you Snape was still the same ol’ greasy git,” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of candied yams.

“Chew your food, Ron, and then talk,” Hermione snipped. Ron made a face at her around his bulging cheeks. Ignoring him, Hermione turned back to Harry who still hadn’t said anything since the start of dinner. “You shouldn’t get so upset, Harry. You should have known Professor Snape would act like that. I’m not exactly sure why you expected anything else. You’re actually lucky he didn’t take any points away from you, especially when he’s still probably sore about you going into his Pensieve like that-”

“But that was over two months ago!” Harry exploded, finally coming out of his silence and slamming his fork down flat on the table with a thwack. Several people glanced up at him, but quickly returned to their meals at the warning glare Harry shot them. Lowering his voice so he wouldn’t earn anymore looks, Harry hissed, “I know what I saw the other night. I know Snape was trying to tell me something.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything to you after class?” Ron said, finally swallowing his food. “Why‘s he keep pretending like he doesn’t know what you‘re talking about?”

“Maybe he can’t. Maybe Voldemort told him he’s not allowed to tell anyone what’s going on,” Harry said, looking frustrated and upset. “I mean, he’s under an Imperius Curse, so whatever Voldemort says he has to do. That has to be why he didn‘t say anything to me after class.” It was obvious to both of Harry’s friend how desperately he was trying to think of some kind of answer, solution, or explanation - just something to help explain what was going on. Perhaps even something to dispel his unspoken but ever growing doubts…

“Then how would he have been able to try and warn you the other night if You-Know-Who forbade him?” Hermione gently noted, knowing her friend was teetering on the edge of self-doubt.

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair - a gesture of growing frustration. “I don’t know,” he admitted, dropping his eyes to the table. His whole body suddenly seemed to sag, as if finally admitting defeat. He rested his head on both hands, his elbows on the table. “I just don’t know anymore…”

He was so tired… He was so tired of trying to solve these endless riddles and mysterious visions. He just wanted it all to stop and be over with. He was so tired of worrying and trying to help someone he wasn’t even sure wanted or needed his help anymore. Maybe he should just listen to Ron and Hermione and tell Dumbledore everything. Maybe then he or Madam Pomfrey could give him something to permanently drive these unwanted visions from his head. Then maybe he could finally go to sleep without fear of what he might see…

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione’s worried voice drifted to him through his haze of disjointed thoughts.

“Yeah… fine…” he murmured, slowly opening his eyes and looking back up at them. “Just tired.”

Ron and Hermione faces were both masks of concern. “Are you sure?” Hermione asked, visibly worried.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, running another hand through his hair. “I think I just need to give all this worrying a break. I can’t help but think you guys might be right and that all these visions are nothing more than over-exaggerated nightmares…” Harry’s eyes were dull as he spoke, as if he had resigned himself to believing he might be crazy. “Like you said, nothing Snape‘s been doing has been consistent with anything I’ve seen…”

“Harry, it’s not like we don’t believe you or anything…” Ron started.

“I know, Ron,” Harry sighed. “But I’m starting to doubt these visions are real. It has nothing to do with you or Hermione.”

The two Gryffindors glanced at each other, not quite sure what to make of this sudden change. Hadn’t Harry been the one that spent all school year trying to convince them his visions were real?

“Well, if you’re sure, Harry…” Hermione said.

“I am.” Harry firmly replied, as if closing the door on the matter.

Ron and Hermione nervously shifted in their seat, suddenly uncomfortable in their friend‘s presence. Harry said nothing and refused to meet their eyes; and so with a nervous, hesitant air, Ron and Hermione both turned their attentions back onto their now cold plates of food, suddenly not very hungry.

Silence descended over their area of Gryffindor table while the rest of the hall rang with the talk and laughter of students around them.

As Ron and Hermione tried to eat their food and pretend like nothing was wrong, Harry surreptitiously glanced in the direction of the Head Table and the dark figure sitting just to the right of Dumbledore. Snape was currently listening to Professor Flitwick as the smaller wizard flamboyantly gestured with his wand, as if in the midst of telling some exciting story. Snape however looked bored and merely nodded every so often as if feigning attention. Harry couldn’t help but stare at him.

Snape looked totally at ease sitting there -if not a little bit indifferent to Flitwick’s tale - as if nothing in the world was wrong. Harry once again had to wonder if he hadn’t been imagining all those visions over the last few months. After all, he had no evidence they were real - just hunches and several odd coincidences to lead him along. But nothing more. It was nothing less than galling.

Harry shook his head, frowning. Well he was done chasing mysterious clues and cryptic half-clues. If Snape really did want his help, then he could come to him and get it. But he was through chasing him. So far it had gotten him into nothing but trouble.

All of a sudden as if sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Snape looked in his direction, locking eyes with him even from across the Great Hall. Harry froze. He hadn’t even realized he was still staring at Snape.

Snape’s eyes seemed to bore into him, digging to his very soul. Harry found he couldn’t move under the Potion master’s gaze. He almost felt like he was frozen, as if he’d been put under some strange body bonding charm.

For a moment, all sound and movement around teacher and student seemed to bleed away into the background like an inconsequential sound track. All Harry could see was Snape’s eyes staring into his. He suddenly felt as if the older man was trying to tell him something, trying to relay some important piece of information to him through their intense eye contact. He felt something intangible brush against the edge of his consciousness like the gentle prod of some encroaching alien idea. He willingly dropped his mental resistances, leaving himself open to whatever was to come. He didn’t know how, but he knew the revelation this foreign presence brought would finally answer all his questions. He felt his mind blossom open under the other mind‘s mental weight, images of another time and place slowly taking form in the darkness of his inner eye. The hazy outline of people began to emerge from the shadows of his mind. He could almost make out their faces, but they were still cloaked in a dense veil of fog. They slowly began to emerge from the darkness…

Yes… yes… he thought, eagerly opening his mind wider to the invading force. This was it. He was finally going to know the Truth…

He could just start to make out the details of the shadowy forms. He could almost see the face of one… A man. He tried to look closer, but the figure was still wreathed in a thin haze of fog. He squinted harder, trying to concentrate all his energy on deciphering the figure’s features when-

A burning pain shot across his left inner forearm.

A blinding flash of light exploded through Harry’s eyes which was quickly followed by the image of a small black shard sitting in the palm of someone’s hand before he abruptly came back to himself with a snap, as if someone has just hit him upside the head with a Beater’s bat. He suddenly found himself once again sitting in the middle of the crowded dining hall, surrounded by several hundred other students, none of whom were aware of what just happened.

His arm burned fiercely, as if someone had poured acid on it. Harry somehow managed to stifle a cry of pain and cradled his arm against his chest.

“Harry, are you alright?” he heard Hermione worriedly ask, but didn’t answer her.

Looking towards the Head Table, Harry saw Snape clutching his arm too - exactly where Harry held his. No longer looking in Harry’s direction, Snape turned to Dumbledore - Flitwick and his story forgotten - and whispered something in his ear.

Dumbledore nodded quickly, his expression etched with some emotion Harry couldn’t quite place. Snape quietly got up from the table, and not looking at anyone else, disappeared out a side door behind the Head Table.

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm as Snape swept out of sight - as if nothing had happened - but Harry thought he saw a shadow of worry fall over the old Headmaster’s face.

No one else seemed to notice the Potion master’s departure, and the hall continued to ring with the lively sounds of eating, laughing students. Harry felt strangely detached from it all as he staredafter Snape, as if everything around him was some kind of surreal world separated from his own.

“Harry? Harry, are you alright?” Hermione’s voice once more cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.

“What?” he said, suddenly remembering his friends' presence.

Hermione and Ron were both worriedly eyeing him. “I asked if you’re alright,” Hermione said. “You were staring off into space with this real intense look on your face and then all of a sudden you gasped and grabbed your arm. Are you alright?”

Harry glanced down at his left arm which was still held against his chest. Even as he sat there, the burning in his arm slowly began to fade, like the remnants of a bad dream at the first light of dawn. Pulling back his sleeve, Harry examined his forearm. There wasn’t anything there - nothing to explain the sudden pain. He rubbed his forearm several times, erasing the last little bit of uncomfortable tingling from his skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured, looking back up in the direction Snape had just disappeared. “I’m fine now…”

Harry went to bed later that night with a clawing sense of trepidation. After how he’d seen Snape leave the Hall, he knew his sleep was most likely going to be visited that night with more visions of torture and pain.

Hours after his dormmates had turned off the lights and gone to sleep, Harry still lay there in the dark, listening to the soft rumble of their snores as he fearfully awaited the dark abyss of unconsciousness he knew would eventually claim him. The moon had long since set, dawn but a few short hours away.

He’d lied to Ron and Hermione earlier at dinner, he suddenly realized as he lay there staring at the dark canopy of his bed. Oh, he’d begun to have doubts about some of the things he’d seen in his visions, that much was true. Much of it still didn’t add up. But after he’d seen Snape leave dinner the way he did - his usually piercing black eyes shadowed with the look of a man who knew he was about to face a terrible evil - there was no way to deny the cold spike of fear it drove through his heart to think about what he knew he was going to see that night.

For several moments it was like he could actually feel the Dark Mark burning his own skin. That look in Snape’s eyes when he’d been staring so intently into his… it had almost been frightening. Harry shivered at the memory of it. He’d been so sure he’d finally find out what was going on with Snape. But instead he’d been interrupted by the searing pain of the Dark Lord’s brand flaring to life, abruptly breaking his and Snape’s connection.

What were you trying to tell me? Harry hopelessly wondered into the night, as if his Potion master could actually hear him. What is going on with you? Do you really need my help, or is this all just some kind of trick of Voldemort‘s?

He expected no answer, and indeed got none from the shadows of the night. Sighing, Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind - just like he’d been told to do when he’d still been taking Occlumency lessons. He was so tired. His eyes stung with the burn of extended sleep deprivation.

The fear of what he might see when he closed his eyes was strong, but a part of Harry wondered if it might not be important for him to see whatever vision he was destined to see that night. If any… Somehow he felt like he was suppose to see everything he did, as if there wasn't some reason for all these sleepless nights and constant horror.

Harry felt lost. He didn’t know what to do. In his last vision Snape had said time was running out and that he had to hurry.

But hurry and do what? He still didn’t know!

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. He had to find out. He didn’t want to, but knew he had to. There was too much at stake for him not to…

You better not be lying to me, Snape, he thought as he forced himself to relax and welcome the encroaching darkness. I’m tired of trying to solve all these riddles of yours…

He wasn’t sure when he actually drifted off, but the shift from dreamless sleep to sudden awareness was almost dizzyingly abrupt. Like being taken by some kind of supernatural Portkey, Harry suddenly found himself in another place and time - as if he’d been brutally thrown into the lead role of some violent play that was already halfway into it’s third act.

The tortured screams of some unknown person was the first thing to arrest His attention as He came to in His new surroundings.

The next was the realization that the screams seemed to be coming from Him…

“That’s enough,” a cold, reptilian voice hissed.

Strangely, He noted, He didn’t seem to feel any actual pain in His odd disconnected but first-hand state of being…

He felt the invisible weight of magical energy lift from over Him, and He abruptly fell silent, slumping limp to the floor. He lay there prostrate, one cheek pressed to the ground. He felt something cushioning His face against the stones. A mask… It was scratchy and soaked with sweat - probably from the unknown amount of time spent screaming and writhing on the floor… His breathing was ragged and sounded painful even to His own ears. His body was as heavy and cumbersome as a shell of living flesh that refused to move. Tremors shook His beaten body, generated by the shock of curse-torn flesh.

The trim of a long set of flowing black robes swept into His line of sight, its owner's face hidden behind the ring of darkness tunneling His vision.

“This is your last warning, slave!” the mysteriously person hissed. “My patience has run its course! You will attack tomorrow regardless of any reservations you may have, or you will be punished with such a long and painful death this war will be over before I finally take pity on your miserable life and end it!”

He could not find the strength to answer and laid there motionless, silent in his agony.

“Answer the Dark Lord when he speaks to you!” another voice yelled, and before He could protect Himself, a heavy boot connected with His left side.

He screamed in agony and curled up on Himself. His wand, He noticed, was no where to be seen. Another blow came, this time aimed at His back. He once more screamed, but strangely did not try to escape or defend Himself. He did not have the energy to. But moreover, He felt a strange power stopping Him, forcing Him to lay where He did and take their abuse.

“Answer him!” the second voice yelled and stung Him with some unrecognizable curse.

“Y-yes…” He weakly rasped, barely able to find the strength to answer. All that screaming had stolen His voice, reducing it to nothing but a raspy whisper. He teetered tauntingly on the edge of unconsciousness, the welcome cloak of darkness floating somewhere just beyond His reach. “It will be done… A-as you wish,… my Lord…”

The black figure in front of Him seemed to nod - an unconfirmable from where he lay on the floor, but He sensed it all the same.

“What it to be done with him now, Master?” the second man asked. He could actually hear the sneer in his voice.

The black-robed figure disappeared back out of sight, beyond the ring of darkness. “Continue as you were,” he said, carelessly. “Dawn is still hours away and I want to make it perfectly clear I will not tolerate anymore delay from him.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” There was a smile in the man’s voice this time, and He cringed at the sound.

Mercifully though, as the curses and hexes began to rain down on Him once again, He retained consciousness for only a few more minutes before the darkness finally took pity on Him and took Him into its sweet embrace. The pain faded away, and all was peaceful emptiness…

Harry woke with a gasp, shooting up in bed. His skin was clammy, covered with a film of cold sweat. He was shivering violently; but whether from cold or the memory of what he’d just seen, he didn’t know. Breathing rapidly, the boy ran a hand through his bangs, wiping it back from his face. Strangely, he noticed, his scar wasn’t hurting. Not even a tingle…

Harry glanced around. All his dormmates were sleeping, blissfully snoring away in their beds. He looked to the window and saw the sun slowly rising over the horizon, warming the eastern sky with brilliant streaks of red, gold, and pink. The room was still draped in shadows, but was brightening more with every passing moment.

Oh no…

Harry felt his blood run cold. It was already morning. He hadn’t woken up right after his vision like he usual did. He’d slept until the break of dawn.

The cold, reptilian voice of the faceless man in vision continued to echo through his ears. You will attack tomorrow regardless of any reservations you may have… My patience has run its course!

Voldemort…

Harry felt acid churn his stomach. It was already morning. Voldemort had ordered the man in his vision - Snape! There was no denying it! - to finally attack. Today! No matter what he thought Dumbledore would think, Harry knew he couldn’t keep these visions to himself any longer. He had to warn someone.

Scrambling out of bed, Harry barely even managed to grab his glasses, let alone a dressing robe and slippers before he ran out the door, down the steps and out of Gryffindor tower. The halls were empty. No one appeared to stop him or even make themselves known. Harry veritably flew through the corridors, frantic on reaching his ultimate destination. He didn’t know how much time he had. It might already be too late. Who knew how long he’d been sleeping after his vision ended.

Finally, up ahead, Harry spotted the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore’s office.

“Licorice Wand!” he yelled as he came to a skidding stop in front it. The gargoyle obediently leapt out of the way, but not fast enough in the frantic boy’s opinion. Harry took the revolving stairs three at a time, and pounded at the tall oak door at the top.

A momentary silence ensued as Harry stood there outside the office, panting in front of the closed door. Several seconds ticked by with no response and Harry began to raise his fist to bang again. But just as he did, the door suddenly opened to reveal a surprised looking Dumbledore.

“Harry? To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” he said, looking the disheveled looking boy up and down.

“Sir, I have to talk to you!” Harry said, not wasting any time on pleasantries. “I had another vision!”

Dumbledore wordlessly opened the door wide and motioned Harry inside. Harry hurried in and took the seat Dumbledore offered him in front of his desk. The portraits of all the school’s old Headmasters and mistresses whispered quietly amongst themselves, peering down at Harry from their ornate gold frames.

“Now what about this vision?” the Headmaster said, taking a seat on the other side and leveling serious blue eyes at him over half-moon shaped glasses.

Harry immediately launched into a detailed account of his vision, leaving nothing out, not even the identity of the one who’s eyes he’d seen the whole thing through. Dumbledore nodded periodically throughout his account, his expression grave.

“And you believe Voldemort is going to attack today?” Dumbledore asked when Harry finally finished.

“That’s what he said in my vision.”

“Do you know what or who he’s planning to attack?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry could only give a frustrated shake of his head, a sinking feeling starting somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling what Dumbledore was going to say after he answered. “No. He never gave any details. Only that he was going to make Snape attack sometime today.”

“Harry, we went over this before the start of school. Both I and a fully trained Auror checked Professor Snape for an Imperius Charm or anything else of the ilk, and could find nothing wrong with him.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, anger and betrayal warring with each other for dominance. “Sir, I know what I saw, or rather who’s eyes I saw it through! I’m not making this up!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly, “I am not trying to give you the impression that I think you are making these visions up. But with all the ambiguity of these visions, they could easily be taken out of context, or been manufactured to make you believe certain things. Voldemort is not above doing such things.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore quickly silenced him with a raised hand, silently asking him to let him continue uninterrupted. Harry grudgingly complied.

Lowering his hand, Dumbledore once again met Harry’s gaze. “Please, Harry, believe me when I say I believe you when you say you saw what you did last night. But there is no way for us to prove it was real and not somehow produced by Voldemort to influence you into doing something to his advantage. It is not something we can take a chance on.”

“But, Sir,” Harry helplessly argued. “What about this attack he keeps mentioning? He says he’s going to strike today!”

“But we do not know against what or who,” Dumbledore replied. With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore stroked his beard. “This is troubling, Harry,” he admitted. “But I am not quite sure what we can do to prepare for an attack we do not even know when or where it will occur, or who it will be directed at.”

Harry dropped his gaze to his lap, unable to meet the Headmaster’s eyes anymore. Dumbledore was right. How could they stop Voldemort when they didn’t even know what he was after? The possibilities were endless, the next just as plausible as the first.

“Would you like some tea, Harry?” Dumbledore suddenly asked, pulling the boy back out of his thoughts. “I was just about to ring for a tea service when you knocked on my door.”

“I’m sorry about that, Sir,” Harry muttered. “I didn’t know what to really do, and thought I should tell you.”

“And I thank you for that. This is not something I would have wanted you to keep to yourself. I will inform the Order and tell them to keep a lookout for anything suspicious.”

“What about Snape?” Harry said, looking back up at Dumbledore. “Someone has to keep an eye on him. He‘s the one Voldemort ordered to attack.”

Dumbledore sighed. “We’ve already discussed this, Harry…”

Harry angrily looked back down at his hands in his lap. He should have known Dumbledore wouldn’t believe him.

As if knowing what the boy was thinking, but unable to do anything, Dumbledore sighed and rang a small bell on the corner of his desk. Half a second later, a silver tea service appeared complete with tea pot, lemon, sugar, milk, cream, two small cups, and a plate of biscuits.

“Here, Harry,” the Headmaster said, passing Harry a cup. “I always find tea helps me relax and look at things from a different angle whenever I find myself frustrated and in need of a moment to think.”

Harry took the cup of tea, but made no move to actually drink it - too upset by the Headmaster‘s apparent dismissal of his vision. Dumbledore however poured himself a cup, added a lemon slice, and sipped it thoughtfully.

“Harry, I do believe you,” he murmured around his cup.

The boy glanced back up at him and speared him with a sharp look. “Then why won’t you believe me when I say Snape’s somehow involved? I know Voldemort’s using him, but no one else wants to believe me.”

Dumbledore sighed and took another sip of tea. “If it will make you feel better, Harry, I will go talk to Professor Snape after this. I have to check on him after last night anyway. He-” he suddenly stopped. Staring into his tea cup he murmured, “Hmm… The tea tastes slightly off today. I wonder if Winky’s been put on tea service again. I will have to talk to the House elves about this…” He looked back up at Harry and gave him a benign smile as he quietly set his tea cup aside.

“As I was saying, I will check on Professor Snape after I relay this latest vision of yours on to the Order. Don’t worry, Harry, we will be ready for whatever Voldemort is planning.”

Somehow Dumbledore’s reassurances did nothing to assuage Harry’s lingering doubts.

Standing, the old Headmaster came back out from behind his desk. Harry also stood, realizing he was being tactfully shown out.

“You must be tired,” Dumbledore said,putting hishand on Harry’s shoulder and guiding him towards the door. “It is still several hours before you have to get ready for class. I suggest going back to your dorm and to try getting some more sleep.”

Harry let himself be guided out of the room, albeit slowly. “You’ll be sure to check on Professor Snape?” he said, eyeing the Headmaster. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore kick him out without being sure he’d check on the Potions master.

“Yes, Harry. I’ll check on him. But I wish you would believe me when I say Professor Snape is not any kind of threat to us. He…” Dumbledore suddenly trailed off, stopping in the middle of the office.

“Sir?” Harry asked.

The portraits all quieted and peered down at them from their frames.

Dumbledore’s face was pale, his eyes shut. His grip on Harry’s shoulder had tightened, as if steadying himself.

“Sir?” Harry called, concern creeping into his voice. He’d never seen the Headmaster like this. He almost looked… sick. “Sir?”

Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes. Looking up at Harry, he forced his lips into a wan smile, but the action did not quite seem to reach his suddenly fevered looking eyes. Harry noticed a sheen of sweet beading across the old Headmaster’s forehead. “I’m fine, my boy,” he said, his voice heavy with forced cheerfulness “Just got a little light-headed all of a sudden… Tends to happen more the older I get. Now, as I was saying…”

But Dumbledore never got a chance to continue what he was saying as he suddenly collapsed onto one knee, clutching his chest.

“Professor!” Harry dropped down beside him, unsure of what was happening. “Are you okay?”

Dumbledore’s breathing was becoming labored, as if each new breath was harder to take than the last. His hand on Harry’s shoulder had begun to shake. “Go get Madam Pomfrey,” was all he rasped.

Harry felt panic like he’d never felt before explode inside his chest. Running to the fireplace, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into the flames. “Madam Pomfrey!” he screamed.

Within moments, the school medi-nurse’s head appeared in the flames. “Mr. Potter?” she said, looking startled to see him. “Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s Professor Dumbledore!” Harry said, struggling to remain calm. “I think he’s having a heart attack!”

Madam Pomfrey gasped. “Stand back. I’ll be right there.”

Half a second later she came fully through the fire, her medi-nurse robes billowing behind her as she hurried to her patients side. Harry followed and stood off to the side, not sure what else to do.

“Albus?” she called, trying to gain the Headmaster’s attention. Dumbledore weakly looked up at her, pain shining in his eyes. The medi-nurse’s face was grave as she took out her wand and waved it over the Headmaster’s head, muttering a complex series of spells.

Harry nervously shifted from foot to foot, anxious to hear what was wrong with the Headmaster. What her diagnosis was though sent Harry’s original fears of a heart attack flying out the window.

“He’s been poisoned!” she exclaimed. Pomfrey’s face was frighteningly pale as she lowered her wand and looked back up at Harry. “I can’t tell exactly what it is but it looks like it’s some kind of venom based poison. It’s a fast acting type. He would have had to come into contact with it within the last few minutes.”

Harry’s head snapped back up in the direction of Dumbledore’s table. “The tea!” he exclaimed. “The Professor said it tasted strange. The poison must have been in there.”

“Dear Merlin…” Pomfrey breathed, horror written across her face. “Unless I know exactly what kind of poison it was, I don’t know if I can-”

“My desk,” Dumbledore suddenly rasped, struggling to speak. His breathing was becoming more shallow and desperate with each passing moment. “Harry, my desk… Third drawer from the top… on the right…”

Harry rushed to the desk, panic blinding him to anything else but doing what the Headmaster directed. He frantically began rifling through the drawer - odds and ends and other miscellaneous stuff he didn’t bother identifying spilling to the floor - all the while, not even sure what Dumbledore wanted him to find.

“Sir, what am I-?”

“Albus? Albus, look at me! Stay awake!” Pomfrey shouted, leaning over her suddenly motionless patient. “Albus? Albus!”

Dumbledore had passed out. He was still breathing - his desperate gasps for air still grating the air - but they were getting weaker by the moment.

Harry felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him, threatening to drown him in it. What did Dumbledore want him to find? What in his rat-stash of possessions could he possibly-?

Harry felt his searching fingertips suddenly brush up against something smooth and cold inside the cluttered drawer. Pushing aside several papers, Harry found a row of bottles neatly lining the bottom. He pulled one out and read the label. Shuman’s Solution.

Despite the haze of panic clouding his mind, Harry was able to recognize the spidery script gracing the front of the dark potions bottle.

It was Snape’s handwriting.

A sudden memory flashed through his mind. One from just the day before…

“Instead of worrying about what everyone else is doing, I suggest you use more of all this free time you seem to have to worry about such things and remember what you learned in class…”

Harry gasped. He quickly began pulling bottles out of the drawer two at a time, desperately scouring their faded labels. Could Dumbledore have it?

Please, please, please… he silently begged, praying to whatever deity or higher power that be to hear him. Please let it be in here…

He continued to frantically turn bottle after bottle over in his hand, searching for the one he needed. Suddenly, he stopped, a vial of bright red liquid resting in the palm of his hand.

Dulaver’s Potion, the label read.

Not wasting a moment, Harry clutched the vial and rushed back to Dumbledore’s side. Madam Pomfrey was still desperately trying to revive the poisoned man, her frantic calls and reviving spells falling onto deaf ears and unresponsive body. “Albus? Albus, stay with me!” she yelled, trying another spell.

“Here!” Harry cried, pressing the vial into Madam Pomfrey’s hand. “It’s an anti-poison!”

Madam Pomfrey gave the boy a questioning look, but didn’t waste any time pulling the cork off and pressing it to Dumbledore’s lips. With skill that bespoke of her many long years of working with ill children and uncooperative patients, Pomfrey emptied the vial into Dumbledore’s mouth and manipulated his throat into swallowing with a spell.

For a moment, nothing happened, Dumbledore’s breathing still dangerously weak. But then, as if some heavy weight had been suddenly removed from over the Headmaster’s chest, he drew a long breath of unhindered air into his lungs. His body seemed to relax, but not from the final moment of death as the body released its last tenacious hold on the soul. Dumbledore’s breathing slowly evened and fell into a gentle rhythm.

Madam Pomfrey and Harry both released tense breaths of air they hadn’t even realized they’d been holding.

Dumbledore would live…

The Great Hall rang with the excited murmur of students. There wasn’t a person that didn’t have his or her head leaned towards the person beside him, whispering in hushed tones about what’d happened that morning. No one seemed able to believe it. After all, it was completely impossible! But the blaring headlines of that morning’s late edition Daily Prophet and other Wizarding newspapers confirmed that the unthinkable was indeed true.

Headmaster of Hogwarts Poisoned! screamed the eighty point font of the front page headlines. Murder Attempt at Hogwarts! Dumbledore Almost Killed!

How the news leaked so fast into main stream knowledge was still anyone’s guess. But it was suspected the leak occurred when Madam Pomfrey fire-called St. Mungo’s for a consultation after the foiled murder attempt on the Headmaster’s life. After all, the school’s medi-nurse had only a limited knowledge of poison and such - the general environment of school children and teachers not giving her much experience with murder attempts and deadly poisons - and had wanted to consult an expert in that field in case of future complications. Unfortunately though, someone at Mungo’s had talked, and within only several hours, it seemed all of Wizarding England knew of the botched murder attempt. The front lawn of Hogwarts was teeming with crowds of anxious reporters, all of them jockeying to get an interview or some kind of official statement from the school’s Deputy Headmistress. McGonagall, however, refused to make any such statement to the shouting crowd and had left them standing at the front gates of the school until the time they either gave up and went home or she told Hagrid to let Fluffy loose on them.

Possibly the only thing Pomfrey had managed to keep secret from the vicious rumor mill was the identity of the one who’d actually saved the old Headmaster’s life. And for that small favor, as the one responsible sat there listening to the frightened, speculative whispers of those around him, Harry was immensely grateful.

“How could this have happened?” Hermione was saying, her face pale as she set aside her edition of the Daily Prophet and looked up at her two best friends. “How could someone have actually snuck into Hogwarts and poisoned Dumbledore? That… that’s just impossible!”

Ron too looked dumbfounded. He’d barely even touched his breakfast since hearing the news. “How could someone have gotten past all the wards and stuff?” he said. “I mean, I know Snuffles did it the year before, but he’s an Animagus and knows all the secret tunnels and passageways around the school. How could someone sent to kill Dumbledore have gotten in without being seen?”

“Aurors are questioning everyone,” Hermione whispered. “The portraits, teachers, ghosts - everyone! Even the House elves! But no one saw anything suspicious this morning or the night before. It‘s like the person who did it just Apparated in, poisoned the tea Dumbledore was going to drink, and then Apparated out - and before you say it, Ron, I already know no one can Apparate inside Hogwarts. I’ve told you that a thousand times before and know it can’t be done myself.”

Ron actually looked disappointed at not being able to point out Hermione’s mistake for once.

“Well then how did this person get in?” Ron said, frustrated. “I mean, who could be smart enough to get past all of Hogwarts’ defenses?”

“By already being inside and being someone no one would suspect,” Harry said, speaking up for the first time that morning.

Hermione and Ron both looked at him, startled by the conviction in their friend’s voice.

“What are you talking about, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“I had another vision last night,” the boy replied, not meeting their eyes but staring at the table as if trying to bore through it with his gaze. “I saw Voldemort torturing Snape and telling him he was suppose to attack sometime today. I woke up and went to try and tell Dumbledore, but he pretty much ignored me. While I was there, Dumbledore rang for tea, and then… well, you know the rest…”

Hermione and Ron stared at Harry, speechless with surprise.

“You mean, you were actually there?” Hermione said, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“So that’s where you were this morning…” Ron said. “And you think Snape was the one that tried to kill Dumbledore?”

Harry nodded.

For a moment, no one spoke, the boy’s revelation hanging ominously in the air.

“So…” Hermione hesitantly said after a few moments, “that must mean you somehow helped save Dumbledore’s life. After all, you were the one that went to try and warn him You-Know-Who was going to attack.”

Harry gave a mirthless snort. “Yeah. But do you want to know what the real crazy thing is? It was actually Snape that helped me save Dumbledore.”

This time Hermione and Ron couldn’t stop themselves from crying out in surprise, which earned them several curious looks from those around them. They hastily lowered their voices and stared at Harry, dumbstruck.

“What? How? I thought you said it was the greasy git that poisoned Dumbledore in the first place,” Ron hissed, struggling to contain himself.

Harry speared Ron with a dark look. “For the last time, Ron. Stop. Calling. Him. That.” Harry didn’t raise his voice -his tone remaining deceptively calm - but the subdued promise of wrath he managed to convey in those few short words made Ron lean back in his seat in surprise, his mouth firmly closed. Taking a deep breath, Harry went on. “Remember when I stayed after class yesterday to talk to Snape? Well, he basically pretended to not know what I was talking about. But before I left he told me ‘to remember what I learned in class.’ I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but when Dumbledore was laying there poisoned, I remembered what he said, and remembered the potion we learned at the beginning of term, Dulver’s Potion. It‘s a strong anti-poison.”

“But if he just told you to remember what you learned in class, he could have meant anything, Harry,” Hermione said, hesitant as though afraid of how Harry might react. “He might not have even meant anything by it.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I know he was trying to warn me. I just know it. He probably knew Voldemort was going to make him poison Dumbledore - or at least try to kill him - and that’s why he told me that. He knew I’d remember what to use to counteract the poison.”

“How would he know that?” Ron asked. “He’s never seemed to put much faith in your Potions knowledge before. Why would he now? And in particular, how could he have been trying to warn you if You-Know-Who has him under some kind of spell that makes it impossible for him to tell anyone what You-Know-Who’s doing to him?”

Harry sat there in thoughtful silence.

“He must be trying to fight whatever spell Voldemort’s using on him,” he said after a moment. “He must only be able to give ambiguous hints. That would explain why he kept pretending to not know what I was talking about - he couldn’t actually tell me! And that might also explain the weird dreams…”

“Okay, fine, sure, whatever. Snape was trying to warn you. But I still don’t understand why you,” Ron insisted, punctuating his sentence with a finger thrust directly at Harry’s chest. “Come on, Harry. You have got to admit it, the man hates you. Why would he be trying to warn you of all people?”

Harry sat there in silence, unable to answer. The question had also crossed his mind several times over the last few months. “I don’t know…” he murmured. “Maybe I’m just the only one that’ll listen…”

An awkward silence descended over their part of Gryffindor table, the three friends suddenly unwilling to meet each other‘s eyes.

Hermione was the first to break the odd tension.

“Have you warned anyone about this, Harry?” she asked softly. “I mean, after what happened with Dumbledore this morning, I don’t think anyone inside the Order is going to ignore you anymore about Snape.”

Harry shook his head. “No. After I found the potion and Madam Pomfrey called McGonagall and other people for help, they kicked me out of the office and didn’t give me any time to try and tell them.”

“But you have to tell someone,” Hermione insisted, exasperated. “If You-Know-Who can make Snape poison the Headmaster, who knows what else he’ll make him do. Harry, you’re probably only one name down from Dumbledore on You-Know-Who’s death list. He might send Snape after you next.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I know.” He tiredly massaged his temples. “I know I should tell McGonagall or someone else, but what if she doesn’t believe me either, or thinks I‘m hallucinating? I have no proof it was Snape that actually poisoned Dumbledore except for my visions and own instincts. Dumbledore himself didn’t believe me Snape was dangerous until he wound up poisoned on the floor. And now he’s locked up in the hospital wing where I can’t talk to him.”

“You still have to tell somebody,” Hermione said, unrelenting.

“Hey, speaking of Snape, where is he?” Ron suddenly interrupted. “I haven’t seen the greasy- Er…” he glanced at Harry. “I mean… I haven’t seen him all morning. Do you think he ran away?”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. “If Professor Snape disappeared, all the Aurors would be after him right now. Obviously, since they’re still searching the castle, he’s not on their immediate suspect list. Besides he’s not the only teacher I haven’t seen today.They've tightened security, so most of the teachers have been put on patrol around the school, or are helping Aurors search for clues.”

Ron snorted in disgust.

Harry however was too distracted to pay his friend’s animosity towards their resident Potions master any mind. “Snape has to be trying to fight against the Curse Voldemort used on him,” he said, talking more to himself than Hermione or Ron. “That’s the only thing to explain why he’s been trying to warn me. Even Voldemort said he was a master Occlumens and could fight an Imperius.”

“Isn’t that why you said You-Know-Who used something on him in your vision?” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “A black stone…”

Hermione gasped, her eyes suddenly widening. “Oh my… I completely forgot because of everything’s that’s been going on!” She wildly began rummaging through her school bag before extracting an extremely old, page tattered, leather bound book. She pushed aside their uneaten breakfast, and set the book in the middle of the table. “Remember how you asked me to see if I could find any information on what you think you saw in your vision, Harry?” she said. “Well, I think I may have finally found it…”

Harry and Ron both leaned in closer, curiosity shining in their eyes.

Hermione flipped through the battered book, the yellowed pages crackling as she did. She opened it to a certain page, then leaned back to allow Ron and Harry to see.

“It’s called the Verarbeitung Stone,” she explained. “I found this book in the Olde Magik section of the library. I actually only came across it by mistake. I was researching the use of ancient spells on objects for a Charms essay when I found it.”

She pointed to the illustration on the second page of the text - a woodblock print of a black stone the size of a grapefruit sitting in the palm of a Medieval wizard‘s hand. “I thought the picture looked kind of familiar to what you described…” she explained.

“Supposedly,” she went on, “in the late eighth century, this Stone was created by a famous Germanic alchemist by the name of Abelard Heindenlieder. It had the ability to magnify a witch or wizard’s own magic by several times and give them extra powers. It was originally created with the intention of only being used during complex spells that might prove harmful to the caster because of their intensity, but because it was found the Stone also had the ability to override another witch or wizard’s latent magic, it became a sought-after item for dark wizards.

“In 903, Ulbrecht the Bloody, a notorious dark wizard of the time, killed Heindenlieder and stole the Stone. He began using it for dark purposes and used it to enslave himself a small army of witches and wizard he planned to take over all of Europe with.

“Fortunately, he was defeated, but legend says the Stone was shattered during the final battle, and its shards lost. Since then, the story of the Verarbeitung Stone has become something of a legend and mostly forgotten. Until now that is…”

Harry stared at the book, trying to take in everything Hermione just said.

“Do you think this is what You-Know-Who used on Snape?” Ron wondered, staring at the faded illustration. “Do think he somehow got a hold of one of those stone shards Hermione was talking about and used it?”

Harry could only shake his head. “I don’t know…” he murmured, overwhelmed with possibilities. Was it possible this was what was behind the Potion master‘s odd behavior and attempt on the Headmaster‘s life?

“All the Stone shards were lost over a thousand years ago,” Hermione said. “It would have to be a one in a million chance one of them actually still exists.”

Harry stared at the illustration, studying the dark outline of the legendary Stone. “Maybe…” he murmured, “but there’s still that one in a millionth chance one did…”

There were no classes that day because of the lingering chaos of the Headmaster’s attempted murder. Except for meals, everyone had been confined to their common rooms. Harry never got a chance to talk to any of the teachers that were there to oversee the Great Hall at mealtimes, and saw neither hide nor hair of McGonagall all day. Nor, he was unease to note, Snape. For all he knew, Snape wasn’t even in the castle anymore.

By dusk that evening, Harry was beginning to wonder if he could actually put off not telling anyone his suspicions any longer. Voldemort had already made a show of how much power he had over Snape by making him attack the Headmaster. Who knew what he might make him do next. The possibilities were endless, and Harry knew he couldn’t protect his Potion master anymore. He had to tell someone else, even if that meant turning Snape over to the Ministry to help rid him of Voldemort’s influence. He’d already seen how effective he’d been trying to help Snape by himself, and Dumbledore had been the one to suffer the consequences. He couldn’t let Voldemort use Snape to hurt anyone else.

He could only hope Snape wouldn’t actually be held accountable for the murder attempt if the Ministry somehow got a hold of him. Hopefully McGonagall would know a way to keep the situation within the Order and help him that way. Otherwise the Potion master might be faced with bias charges and sent to Azkaban, which Harry shuddered to think. Because - in his mind at least - it was his fault it had come to this at all. If only he’d tried telling someone about Snape earlier instead of waiting until he did, maybe Dumbledore wouldn’t have had to almost die...

So, accompanied by Hermione and Ron under his father’s Invisibility Cloak, Harry and his friends stealthfully made their way towards the Headmaster’s office where they knew McGonagall was most likely to be found.

“Ouch! Watch your elbow, Hermione!” Ron whispered.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault,” Hermione tartly replied. “We’re getting too big for all of us to fit under Harry’s cloak anymore.”

“Shh!” Harry hissed. “Someone might hear us.”

The three navigated their way carefully through the darkened halls. As of yet, they had yet to met anyone else in their nocturnal wandering - not even Filtch - which was lucky considering the increased patrols around the castle. The sky was brilliantly clear outside, every star it seemed visible in the heavens. The moon was bright and pale, and flooded the hallways with silver-white light. Outside, the castle’s snow-dusted grounds shimmered like an ethereal dreamscape from another world.

“We’re going to get into so much trouble if we’re caught,” Hermione whispered, nervously adjusting the cloak over them for the fifth time in half as many minutes. “If Filtch or one of the other teachers catches us-”

“They won’t if you just keep quiet!” Ron hissed.

Hermione sent him a nasty look around Harry, who had somehow found himself in the middle.

“Nobody asked you for your opinion, Ronald. I don’t even understand why we had to come. I mean, Harry’s the only one that needs to talk to McGonagall. I don‘t understand why-”

“Because I need you two to back me up in case McGonagall decides to do what Dumbledore did and ignore me,” Harry cut her off. “She might- Everyone quiet! Someone’s coming!”

The three teenagers quickly huddled off to the side out of the middle of the hall and quieted, pulling the invisibility cloak tighter around them. As they watched, a silvery form glided towards them down the hall.

Nearly Headless Nick…

The ghost looked like he was on patrol, the ghost’s eyes carefully scanning the hall as he went. Most likely he was there on McGonagall’s orders, the Deputy Headmistress taking no chances of another attack happening while Dumbledore was still recovering in the Hospital Wing.

The three friends all tensed as the ghost glided down the hall and suddenly stopped only several paces from where they hid under Harry’s cloak. Harry felt Hermione and Ron both hold their breath, none of them daring to make a sound.

Nearly Headless Nick stood there silently in the middle of the hall, staring at the spot Harry and his friends stood with a suspicious look on his transparent face. The ghost’s pale grey eyes shifted back and forth over the spot, as if trying to see or hear something else to confirm his nagging suspicions.

It took Harry a moment to recognize it, but he suddenly realized Nearly Headless Nick looked uneasy - as if he suspected the presence of some unknown spirit with him in the hall (which was ridiculous given he was one himself, but nevertheless that was the impression Harry got).

Sir Nicholas floated there for several more moments of tense silence, staring uncertainly right at Harry through his invisibility cloak, before with an uneasy shake of his severed head he floated off. “Drat these feelings…” the ghost murmured as he disappeared down another hall. “If this is Peeves playing some kind of joke on me I swear I’m going straight to the Bloody Baron with this…” And then he was gone.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared after him for several minutes just to be sure the ghost didn’t return.

“What was that about?” Ron whispered. “It was like he actually knew where we were.”

“Odd,” Hermione agreed, staring after the Gryffindor ghost. “I’ve read about ghosts being able to sense one another, but never about one being able to sense a living person…”

Harry felt an unpleasant suspicion worm it’s way up inside him and chose not to say anything in response, but rather turned his attention back onto the task at hand. “Come on. We still have to get to the Headmaster’s office and talk to McGonagall. We’re just wasting time here.”

Hermione and Ron glanced at Harry strangely, and fell into step beside him as he started off down the hall.

“Harry…” Hermione softly whispered as they turned down another hallway and made for the stairs, “do you know what that was about back there? With Nearly Headless Nick, I mean.”

Harry said nothing in response and pretended to focus on navigating the three of them up the stairs under his cloak.

“Harry?”

The unspoken question attached to his name hung like an ominous presence in the air.

Reluctantly, Harry gave a sigh. “I’ve been noticing Nearly Headless Nick and a lot of other ghosts acting strangely around me ever since I came back to school last September.”

For a moment, none of them spoke as they came to the third floor landing and turned down the hall that led towards the Headmaster’s office.

“Do you think,” Hermione tentatively ventured, “that since you spent several days as a ghost last summer, Nearly Headless Nick and the other ghosts can somehow sense you?”

“Don’t know,” Harry replied. “It almost seems like it, but I don’t know why they would. I’m not a ghost anymore.”

“But what about what happened with you and the hourglasses?” Hermione said. “Remember how you thought it was just a dream, but then it suddenly came true? You might still have some kind of link to the…” -she visibly groped for an appropriate word- “spiritual world. I know it sounds ridiculous, but how else can you explain what happened to the hourglasses and why Nearly Headless Nick and the other ghosts act so strangely around you. They might be able to sense your connection to them, but just don’t know what to make of it since you’re not truly one of them anymore.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, Hermione’s words making more sense than what he wanted to admit. It was possible… but still something he didn’t want to acknowledge. If it was true, him having some kind of link to the spiritual realm would seriously make his life a lot more complicated than it already was; and that was something he really didn’t need right now, or ever, for that matter.

“Maybe. But…” Harry suddenly trailed off, stopping dead in the middle of the hall. Hermione and Ron also stopped, the three of them all staring ahead was if listening for something that could not be heard with human ears.

“Did you just feel that?” Harry said, his voice echoing down the empty corridor into darkness.

Hermione and Ron both nodded. “Yeah,” Ron whispered. “It was weird. It felt like-”

It came again. A heavy thump that seemed to pulse through the very air. It resonated deep within each wizard and witch, like a gentle shove against the core of their magical being. Another one came, this one stronger than the last, as if whatever was making it was getting closer.

“The wards!” Hermione visibly paled underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. “The wards are falling!”

Another thump pulsed the air, buffeting each young wizard and witch with the weight of its collapse.

“Someone’s breaking into the castle,” Hermione said, fear now lacing her voice. “But that’s impossible. How could-?”

“Come on!” Harry yelled and sprinted away back down the hall they‘d just come, not even bothering with the invisibility cloak anymore. “We have to go see what’s causing it!”

The three raced through the halls. Every few seconds they felt another ward fall, as if the very walls of Hogwarts were falling down around them. It was a frightening feeling, one that sent a cold spike of fear shooting through them with each successive collapse.

They could hear the unintelligible murmur of frightened voices echoing through the hallways now, others in the castle also aware of the castle’s falling defenses.

“Harry, what’s causing this?” Ron yelled as they ran through the now brightening hallways - torches magically springing to life down all the passageways as if in response to the falling wards.

But Harry didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied with his own panicked thoughts to put voice to the fear swirling around his head.

Please, please, please don’t let it be what I think it is… he desperately prayed to whatever deity or higher being it was that could hear him. Please don’t let it be what I think it is…

They finally reached the front hall of the castle. McGonagall, Flitwick, Filtch, and several other teachers were already there, worry etched into each of their faces as they stared at the barred and warded door, wands drawn. Harry noticed that a certain dark haired man was not amongst them.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall yelled as she suddenly turned and caught sight of the boy and his friends running towards them. “What do you think you’re doing here? Someone‘s trying to break into the castle. It‘s not safe-!”

“Professor! I know who’s trying to break in! It’s-!”

Another thump rent the air. But instead of being followed by yet another, everything suddenly fell silent. A strange, ominous tension descended over the castle, like the proverbial calm before the storm. No one moved or even seemed to breathe, all of them staring at the barred siege door.

“What happened?” Professor Sprout finally ventured after several moments of no movement or sound. “Is it over?”

“I’m not sure,” McGonagall said, taking several steps towards the door. “I’d almost say that was the last ward falling but-”

The world suddenly exploded.

For a moment Harry almost felt like he’d been caught in the middle of a nuclear blast; he’d once seen a documentary on it about a city in Japan that had had a devastating bomb dropped on it when his aunt and uncle had gone out to dinner one night and Dudley had forgotten to turn off the television. For a moment, the world was nothing but a fiery void of light and sound. He felt himself violently sent flying through the air, and then-

Pain. That was the first thing to register in Harry’s mind when he came back to himself half a second later. As he unsteadily pushed himself up onto his bleeding hands and knees to take stock of where he was and what happened, he was startled to find himself suddenly outside. Around him, bodies and smoking debris littered the once virgin white lawn of the castle. Twisted metal and blackened chunks of wood lay everywhere, half burying him underneath them.

It took a moment for Harry to understand what had happened. Behind him, nothing remained of the castle’s siege door except a smoking hole in the castle’s outer wall. Dazedly staring at the devastation around him, Harry became aware of the cries and groans from those around him. Several other people were also pushing themselves up out of the wreckage, but he couldn’t make out who they were in the moonlight. Ron and Hermione - who had been right beside him no more than thirty seconds ago - were now nowhere to be seen.

He painfully pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the nearest figure he saw. It lay half buried under a smoking beam of wood. He dropped down beside it and pushed the beam away, then rolled the motionless body over onto its back.

It was Professor McGonagall.

For a moment, he almost thought she was dead, her face so frighteningly still and plastered with ash and soot no life could possibly remain. But then she suddenly drew a painful gasp of air, and looked up at him. Her tartan green robes were burnt and torn - much like his own robes probably were.

“Professor,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s going to be alright. I don’t know what happened, but the door-”

“Harry,” she urgently rasped, as if struggling for breath. “Go to the Headmaster’s office… Fire-call the Order for help…”

“Professor…”

“Now, Potter! Quickly! I‘ll be alright.”

Harry numbly stood, his mind still too dazed from the blast to disobey the Deputy Headmistress’ order. He turned back towards the castle and the sea of devastation separating him from it. Looking at it now, he saw he had to have been thrown at least two hundred feet. He still couldn’t make out any sign of Ron or Hermione. He thought he saw Filtch pulling himself and a singed looking Mrs. Norris out of the debris, but couldn’t make out the identity of anyone else he saw getting up. He desperately wanted to look for his friends. But McGonagall’s order drove him on. He had to get help. The castle was under attack. He had to get help before he could come back and look for them. He could only hope they weren’t one of the ones not getting up on their own power…

He managed to navigate several unsteady feet through the wreckage before a sudden sound stopped him dead in his tracks. It was several sounds actually. Several dozen, one right after another…

They were the loud pops of people Apparating to within only several hundred feet of the castle - an impossible thing according to Hogwarts: A History no more than five minutes ago before the wards had mysteriously fallen.

Before Harry knew it, he was surrounded by several dozen black figures in masks.

Death Eaters…

“Well done, slave!” a cold voice rang through the night, drawing Harry’s attention to it. “This is exactly what I wanted you to do from the beginning!”

A spike of pain shot through Harry’s scar, momentarily blurring his vision. Turning towards the voice and blinking back the pain, Harry saw the visage of the one who’s skeletal face haunted his worst fears and nightmares…

Voldemort…

The Dark Lord’s face was a chilling image of glee. “Well done, slave, well done!” he laughed, his skeletal face split in two by the frightening mockery of a smile. “Come out and survey the fruits of your labor!”

For a moment, Harry didn’t know who Voldemort was talking to. But then he followed the Dark Lord’s gaze back towards the smoking remains of the castle-

And there saw Severus Snape framed in the gutted wall, his wand held limp by his side as he slowly dipped his head in recognition of the Dark Lord’s praise.

For a moment, Harry could only stare at his Potion professor standing in the blasted doorway.

Snape…

Everything suddenly fell into place. Snape had been the one to drop the wards around the school. That was the only explanation. Without Dumbledore there to keep them up, any of the other teachers with enough knowledge to could have easily dropped the wards by keying into their magical signature.

And the blast…

The door had been blasted outward, not inward. Voldemort couldn’t have done that from the outside. It had been Snape that destroyed the castle‘s last defense. He must have been behind them, unseen in the hallway, when the last ward fell. There was no other way Voldemort could have breached the castle without the help of someone inside… Someone unable to fight his command…

“Well done, slave!” Voldemort laughed again, his eyes like two points of fire in the moonlight. “But I must admit I hadn’t anticipated such a large explosion. You must have more power than I originally thought. Perhaps I will let you live a little bit longer even though you’ve finally served your purpose...”

Snape said nothing, but slowly weaved his way through the wreckage to the Dark Lord‘s side. His eyes were empty and dull and he came to a stop in front of Voldemort and dropped to one knee. “Master…” he whispered. “I have done as you commanded…”

Voldemort grinned, his eyes flashing wickedly in the chilly night. “Storm the castle!” he commanded, turning to his ranks of Death eaters. “Kill all Mudbloods and any Purebloods that will not swear allegiance to our side. And find Dumbledore. I know the old man is still in there. But do not kill him. That is to be my pleasure…” He flashed a skeletal smile that sent a chill racing down Harry’s spine.

“What about Harry Potter, my Lord?” one of the Death eaters asked.

Lucius Malfoy. Harry recognized the voice instantly.

Voldemort grinned and casually glanced to his right, right to where Harry stood no more than twenty feet away, as if he‘d already known he was there. “No need…” he chuckled evilly. “The boy is already here.” Several dozen Death eaters all turned to stare at the battered boy. “He probably came running to warn everyone when he felt his dear Potions master begin dropping the wards. Probably thought he could help… Foolish boy… MacNair, Avery, seize him!”

Harry barely managed to duck behind a charred piece of the castle’s siege door before a curse hit the ground right where he’d been standing no more than two seconds before.

“The rest of you storm the castle!” Voldemort yelled, pointing to the gutted remains of Hogwarts.

Harry tore his wand out of his tattered robe and aimed it at his closest assailant. “Expelliarmus!”

One of the masked man caught the spell in the chest, and fell to the debris-littered ground, his wand sailing out of his hand into the night. The other Death eater quickly dodged another spell by Harry, and answered it with one of his own.

Harry scrambled to shield himself, and ducked behind another chunk of debris. He cast another curse. But the Death eater dodged it.

Behind him, Harry could hear the other Death eaters running through the wreckage towards the castle. He heard the sound of curses being chanted and the concussive sound of magic meeting magic as they met resistance. The teachers were putting up a defense, pushing back the Death eaters‘ advance. The air began to sizzle and crack with the charge of hot magic. Harry heard screams and more curses, but couldn’t look to see who was winning.

Another curse came and hit the ground barely inches in front of his feet. Harry scrambled backwards and shot off another Disarming Charm.

The man - MacNair or Avery, he couldn’t tell which because of their masks - blocked the attack and spun to deliver another powerful curse. Unfortunately, Harry wasn’t fast enough to dodge or shield himself this time, and hit the ground hard, dazed and hurt.

He felt a Body Binding curse wrap itself around his arms and legs, immobilizing him. And then he was being bodily dragged across the wood splintered ground to the Dark Lord’s feet. Lucius and Snape were there, the Potion mater still kneeling submissively on one knee, watching his student be dragged in front of Dark Lord with dull disinterest.

“My, my, my, Harry…” Voldemort chuckled as the Death eater finally dropped him and stepped back, leaving the boy on the snowy ground like some sacrificial lamb. The Dark Lord slowly bent over Harry and plucked his wand out of his paralyzed hand. He turned it slowly over in his skeletal white hand, examining it in the pale moonlight.

“I didn’t think I would ever recover my trophy,” he laughed, his blood red eyes staring down at Harry like some demonic god of Death. “Or finally have you laying at my feet at the moment of your death…”

Harry felt a thrill of horror go through him.

It must have shown on his face because Voldemort chuckled evilly. “Oh, don’t fret, my boy,” he simpered. “I don’t want to kill you just yet. I want to enjoy this first before I finally reunite you with your Mudblood mother.”

Voldemort glanced at Snape still watching them with a blank look of indifference in his spell-glazed eyes. He showed no emotions or feelings, as if he didn’t even care what was happening. The Dark Lord grinned.

“I should have thought of this years ago,” he said, turning back to Harry. “Snape has proven much more useful to me as a traitor than he ever was a spy. It was so easy to break into the castle once I had the assistance of my unwilling slave. It took some… convincing… on my part to finally make him do what I wanted, but look at how easy I was able to break into Dumbledore’s perfect little sanctuary for you once he was finally out of the picture.”

“You made Snape poison Dumbledore’s drink,” Harry spat, meeting Voldemort’s blood red gaze with contemptuous green.

Voldemort grinned. “Yes. Although he failed in what I actually wanted him to do. I wanted him to kill Dumbledore once and for all. But the old coot somehow managed to survive. Nevertheless,” Voldemort chuckled, “once Hogwart’s main defense was gone - namely that Mudblood-loving old fool - the castle was easy to invade.”

Harry laughed, causing Voldemort to look down at him queerly. “What do you find so funny, boy?” he hissed.

Harry glared back up at him, mockery in his eyes. “You. You think Dumbledore surviving was a mistake? It wasn’t. It was Professor Snape. He made sure he tried to “kill” Dumbledore with something someone else would know how to counteract. Snape‘s still fighting your hold over him even with that stone you used on him.” Voldemort looked slightly surprised by Harry’s revelation, but Harry went on before he could speak. “You don’t have half as much control over your ‘slave’ as you think you do,” he laughed. “Even though you’re controlling Snape, he’s still fighting you every inch of the way. Isn‘t that why you had to wait almost five months before you could finally attack?”

Voldemort glared at Harry, anger flashing through his eyes. Harry could see him almost shaking with rage. “Is that so?” he hissed, towering over Harry. “You think I have no control over my slave?”

“Let me take care of the boy, my Lord,” Lucius Malfoy said, stepping up to them. “Let me teach this boy to respect your power.”

Voldemort shook his head. “No,” he said, visibly simmering with rage. “I have a better idea…” He glanced at Snape. “Slave!” he yelled, making Snape look up at him with lifeless black eyes. “Come here…”

Snape mindlessly moved to obey, coming to the Dark Lord’s side.

Behind them, the sound of battle was becoming more intense. More teachers had arrived and were fighting off the Death eaters’ advance. Several Aurors and other fighters had also appeared along the defending side; the Order, it appeared, somehow alerted to the attack. Curses and spells cut the air, like a deadly firework display of power.

Voldemort looked back down at Harry as Snape came to a stop beside him and grinned, vindictive evil shining in his eyes. “Slave,” he said, glancing at Snape, “I want you to torture young Mr. Potter here.” He stepped back, leaving Snape and Harry alone in a small ring of snow and debris. “Show him just how much power I have over you. Do it. Torture him. Crucio him until he screams for death to end his suffering…”

Harry stared up at Snape, fear washing over him. Snape towered over him like a black angel of death. His wand was held out in front of him, poised over the helpless boy. His lifeless black eyes gazed down at him, as if not even recognizing who it was he was about to curse.

For a moment, no one moved or spoke, even the sound of battle fading away into the background. For a brief moment of time nothing else seemed to exist except the man and boy in the middle of the debris-strewn lawn, frozen in that single moment of time.

Harry pleading stared up at Snape, begging with him not to listen to Voldemort’s command. The Potion master’s eyes stared back, hollow and lifeless.

“Do it!” Voldemort yelled from somewhere behind Snape.

The Potion master raised his wand and aimed it at the paralyzed boy. Harry turned away and shut his eyes, expecting the painful curse to fall at any moment.

But nothing happened.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and looked back up at Snape. The Potion master was still staring down at him, but his eyes were suddenly their usual piercing black color. His wand was shaking in his grip, as if physically fighting with himself not to incant the painful Unforgivable.

“Slave!” Voldemort roared, his eyes flashing ire. “Curse him! I command you to! I am your Master! You cannot disobey me!”

Snape’s hand slowly stopped shaking. For a moment, Harry thought his Potion master had lost the inner battle with himself to fight Voldemort’s command. But then the Potion master suddenly dropped his hand, his wand falling limp by his side, and stepped back from the boy, an unreadable look shadowing his eyes.

“Slave!” Voldemort roared. Harry felt the very air around him grow hot with the Dark Lord’s wrath.

“Crucio!” Lucius yelled, and Snape fell writhing to the ground. His wand fell from his hand and landed close to Harry‘s side, almost as if deliberately thrown there...

Lucius came up beside Snape and glared down at him, not releasing the curse until he heard the Potion master’s voice begin to grow hoarse. “How dare you defy the Dark Lord’s command?” he yelled, and laid another curse on the fallen man.

Harry, meanwhile, struggled to move. He could feel the Death eater’s Body Binding spell slowly starting to fade around him. He could just begin to move his hands again. Slowly, gropingly, he reached for Snape’s fallen wand…

“Malfoy!” Voldemort yelled, but it was already too late. Harry’s searching fingers tightened around the Potion master’s wand and threw a brutal Stinging curse at the masked man’s back.

Lucius crumbled to the ground, his Crucio over Snape broken. The Potion master slowly pulled himself to his feet, but did not make any attempt to disarm the man, join the fight, or run. He merely stood there like a statue, as if unable to find the will or desire to move.

Harry encanted a quick Reversal Spell and removed the last lingering trace of the Death eater’s curse from him. Aiming Snape’s wand at Voldemort he yelled, “Accio wand!”

His wand went flying out of the startled Dark Lord’s hand back into his own.

“No!” Voldemort yelled.

Sparing Snape one last look, Harry tossed the Potion master’s wand back to him - which was deftly caught by the silent man - and then ran with all his might back towards the castle where the battle continued to rage between Light and Dark.

He heard several angry, deadly-sounding curses hit the ground behind him, but didn’t pause to look back as he frantically weaved in and out of the destroyed remains of siege door.

He had to get back to the castle. He had no hope of winning if he tried fighting Voldemort, Malfoy, and possibly Snape again by himself. He was lucky Snape managed to fight the Dark Lord command and had dropped his wand where he did, but Harry wasn’t about to risk trying his luck… Snape was still obviously under the Dark Lord’s power, and couldn’t be trusted to save him again. Not until he found someone to help him save Snape.

He blindly ran, stumbling and crawling over the debris, still dazed and unsteady from the blast that had nearly killed him. He’d been lucky again with that. If Snape had put any more power behind that explosion…

Harry suddenly felt his foot catch against something half buried in the snow, and fell face first into the ground. He hurriedly tried to push himself up, but found his strength beginning to fail. It looked like the blast and his fight with Voldemort and the Death eaters had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. Dark spots danced across his vision. Half laying there, panting in the snow, Harry felt the cold chill of the winter night begin to worm its way down through his tattered school robes.

Coughing against cold air invading his burning lungs, Harry pushed himself back to his feet. The sound of battle still raged several hundred feet away. He couldn’t make outthe faces of any of the fighters, but the hiss and snap of spells urged him to hurry to go to his side’s aide. The Death eaters were numerous, and Harry didn’t know how many teachers had been hurt in the blast or how many Order members had responded to the attack.

As he forced his beaten body back into motion, he happened to catch sight of a dark figure standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest less than a hundred feet away. As he watched, it was like the very shadows of the forest came to life, and a large black form separated itself from the darkness.

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared back, unbelievingly, into the blood red eyes of a Thestral.

The demon-horse gave a snort and trotted to Harry where it curiously sniffed his blood streaked face. Harry - moving more on automatic now than actual thought - dazedly reached up and pet the Thestral’s head.

“What are you doing here?” he wondered out loud.

The horse, obviously, said nothing in response, but once more sniffed him. It took Harry a moment to realize that the Thestral wasn’t actually smelling him but rather the blood caked dirt plastering his face and hands.

“Stop it,” he weakly murmured when the horse ventured a nip at the bloody grime. The Thestral obeyed and lowered its head.

As Harry stood there, he saw several more Thestrals appear along the forest’s edge, their glowing red eyes piercing the darkness. They hungrily sniffed the air, brought by the smell of blood.

Harry glanced back at the ongoing fight. A sudden thought came to him. He quickly looked back at the Thestral beside him.

Hermione had said he might still have some kind of link with the spirit world because of his accident last June, which might also explain the Thestrals attraction to him. Could he somehow use that to his advantage now?

Forcing the Thestral to look at him, Harry met its blood red gaze undaunted. He stared into its fiery eyes, willing it to hear his thoughts.

Go help the others… he silently commanded. Go fight the ones invading the castle…

For a moment, he doubted his plan was going to work. But then the Thestral suddenly gave an angry snort and flapped its wings. Rearing back onto its hind legs, it viciously snapped its teeth. The other Thestrals along the forest edge seemed to answer and let up a horrible screeching sound.

Harry stumbled backwards, frightened. What was going on? Were they going to attack him? A wave of panic coursed through him.

The Thestral in front of him fell back to all fours and angrily pawed the ground, its wings beating the air savagely.

But instead of attacking Harry like the frightened boy thought, the Thestral reared up again and suddenly took to the air. The other Thestrals followed suite, and before Harry knew it, were flying straight towards the sound of battle like a pack of hungry attack dogs.

As he watched, a frightened scream echoed back to him across the lawn of the castle. He saw the black forms of the Thestrals descend upon the hoard of Death eaters and begin attacking them, using claws, wings and teeth. The Death eaters screamed in surprise and started dividing their attacks between the attacking Thestrals and the wizards and witches still defending the castle.

As the tide of battle began to shift in favor of those defending Hogwarts, Harry suddenly saw a figure in shimmering blue robes appear in the broken wall of the castle. At first Harry thought he was imagining things - that the explosion had somehow rattled his brain when he‘d been thrown.

But then the figure aimed a wand and sent a bright purple jet of magic out towards one of the Death eaters, stunning the man unconscious to the ground.

Dumbledore…

How the old wizard was there barely twelve hours after suffering a near-fatal poisoning was beyond Harry’s understanding. But the boy didn’t care right then how it was possible. Only that is was.

Harry felt a small wave of hope rise up in him. Dumbledore was back! Maybe they could win this battle after all. Maybe they could beat Voldemort back. Maybe-

The pain of a curse exploding against his back abruptly cut off Harry’s last line of thought. He crumpled to the ground with a scream of pain.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, boy, using Thestrals like that?” a cold voice said behind him.

Pushing himself to his knees, Harry painfully looked over his shoulder to see - with a renewed thrill of horror - Voldemort standing there with Lucius and Snape at his side. The Potion master’s eyes were once again dull and empty, smothered under the weight of the Dark Lord‘s curse.

Harry scrambled to his feet, clumsily trying to aim his wand at the attacking pair. “Expelliar-”

“Solio Dolim!” Lucius shouted.

Harry fell screaming to the ground, blood gushing from numerous cuts that suddenly appeared across his face, arms, and chest. He lay there motionless, gasping for air as the snow around him began to turn crimson from his own blood.

Lucius stepped up to where he lay. “Annoying little brat,” he hissed, aiming his wand at Harry‘s bleeding form. “I’ll teach you to do that again. Cruci- AH!” The man suddenly doubled over, grasping his shoulder.

Savagely whipping around, Lucius came face to face with the point of Severus Snape’s wand. There was a hint of light in the Potion master’s eyes again, but it was weak.

For a moment neither Voldemort, Lucius, or Harry moved, all of them staring at the cursed Potions master, stunned.

“Leave him alone,” Snape softly hissed between clenched teeth. His wand hand was once again shaking, as though physically fighting against the Dark Lord’s curse. “Don’t touch him again…”

Lucius’ face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I’m not putting up with this anymore,” he yelled, aiming his wand at Snape. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, traitor. Now die!”

But he never got a chance to incant any kind of curse, as Harry quickly sprang to life and aimed a curse at the blonde man’s back. “Expelliarmus!”

The red light of the spell hit Lucius square in the back, sending the man stumbling to the ground and his wand flying out of sight into the darkness. Harry began to turn to aim a curse at Voldemort, but was stopped as a Crucio curse suddenly ripped through his already beaten, bleeding body. When the curse finally lifted, Harry lay there motionless, pain threatening to steal his consciousness like a thief in the night. He didn’t think he could have tried to move even if he wanted to.

The hem of Voldemort’s black robes swept into his line of sight. “Foolish boy…” he hissed. “I will make your finally moments on this earth more painful than you can ever imagine. But first…” He turned back to Snape. “CRUCIO!” The Potion master didn’t even have a chance to put up a defense before he once again found himself on the ground, only several feet away from Harry, his screams cutting the air like sharpened blades of steel.

“Do you know how long it takes for someone to die from a continuous Cruciatus Curse?” Voldemort said over the Potion master’s screams. “Twenty minutes. Of course it feels much longer to the person being cursed, but then again they’re too busy trapped in their own living hell of pain to keep track of time. I, however, want to see if I can’t break that record…” Snape screamed again as the Dark Lord intensified the curse, putting so much hatred and wrath behind it Harry found it a miracle Snape didn’t pass out. “Let this be your final lesson, Severus, that those that fight or betray me will only die brutal, horrible deaths. You had a chance to live under my Imperius Curse, but you had to go and fight me trying to protect Dumbledore’s precious little Boy-Who-Lived. Don’t worry though. He’ll join you shortly after I’m done with you…” Once again the Potion master’s scream intensified, verging on what sounded like the edge of mortal tolerance.

“No…” Harry weakly choked, forcing himself up onto his elbow. “No… Reducto!”

A brilliant streak of red shot out of Harry’s wand and hit Voldemort, breaking the Dark Lord’s curse. Snape fell limp to the ground, barely breathing. Voldemort staggered away from Snape, holding his shoulder as he glared at Harry with murderous rage.

“You little…” The Dark Lord hissed, rage stealing all other intelligible speech from him.

But Harry barely even heard him. He barely heard anything in fact because Snape was looking at him, staring into his eyes as he painfully drug himself to his knees. His eyes searched Harry‘s, as if begging him for something he could not ask for with his voice.

A sudden image shot through Harry’s mind, like a mental dart. It was the image of something shiny, black, and small… A stone… It shined brightly, as though charged with some supernatural power…

With a gasp, Harry came back to himself. And finally understood.

Voldemort was moving towards him, his wand held out in front of him to deliver the final punishing curse of his wrath.

But Harry wasn’t paying attention to him. Only his Potions master. Mustering his strength, he forced himself to his knees and aimed his wand at Snape. “Nelus Sectum!”

Snape screamed as spell hit him, his head snapping backwards from the force. Harry saw a spray of blood explode from the Potion master’s neck and then something small fly through the air against the white backdrop of the moon before disappearing into the night.

Voldemort was now almost right on top of him. He aimed his wand directly at Harry’s head.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Green light exploded from the end of Voldemort’s wand. Harry sat there frozen, unable to move or defend himself.

But the deadly green light never hit him.

Because as he sat there watching Death fly towards him almost as if in slow motion, a dark figure suddenly leapt in front of him, shielding him from the curse.

The green light receded, the darkness rushing back to fill the brilliant void of light the curse had left in its wake. A strange, rustling breeze buffeted Harry’s face.

And as he watched in horror, he saw his feared Potions master and teacher, Severus Snape, slowly crumple to the ground in front of him. Dead.

For a moment no one knew who was more surprised: Harry, Lucius, or Voldemort.

The boy sat there frozen, unable to comprehend the sight of his Potion master laying there so still and lifeless at his feet.

No… No, this isn’t happening… the boy thought, desperately trying to deny what he saw. No, no, no this isn’t happening!

Behind them, the sound of battle had reached a fevered pitch. More Aurors had arrived and were steadily beating the Death eaters back. The Thestrals circled and dove from the air, relentlessly harassing the masked men. Steaks of magic sliced the air, but fewer and fewer were coming from the attacking force as they were driven closer and closer to the front gates of the school.

The tide of battle was turning.

Voldemort was the first to break himself out of his trance. Glaring at the Potion master’s body, he looked back up at the horrified boy, hatred boiling in his eyes. His wand shook in his hand, as though desperately wanting to incant some deadly killing curse, but knew he couldn’t. He’d already lost his power once to this boy by underestimating the sacrifice of another person for him. He wasn’t going to take that chance again…

“Lucius!” he yelled, bringing the other man back to his senses. “This battle is lost to us. Call a retreat. We will flee now to live and fight another day.”

Lucius mutely nodded - staring at Snape with unreadable blue eyes - and sent up a plume of red sparks into the air, signaling the Dark Lord’s retreat.

Voldemort was still staring at Harry, eyeing him with such hatred and rage it seemed a miracle the boy didn’t burst into flames.

“You were lucky this time, boy,” he hissed. “But next time you might not have someone else there to die for you…”

And then he and Lucius were gone, Apparated away to wherever the Dark Lord made his lair.

The front lawn of the castle suddenly became very quiet, as if someone had cast a strange Silencing Charm over it. Everything was still. The once pristine landscape of snow and moonlight was now a charred and empty war zone.

Alone with his teacher’s body, Harry could only stare at the crumpled form. Snape lay facedown in the snow, his long black hair obscuring his face.

“P-professor?” Harry weakly called, slowly crawling to his knees. The Potion master didn’t reply, no sign of life stirring his body. “Professor?”

No… This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t true.

“Professor?”

Harry crawled to his Potion master’s side and rolled Snape onto his back. The Potion master came limply over in his arms, his body giving no resistance to the boy’s clumsy ministrations. The moonlight lit his features. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes gently pressed against the pale white marble of his skin; his features unnaturally lax. If Harry didn’t know better, he would have almost said Snape was sleeping…

“Professor? Professor, please answer me!” Harry desperately called, now shaking the man’s shoulder. “Professor? Professor!”

Still no response from him.

Somewhere deep inside, Harry already knew Snape was never going to answer his frantic calls - that there was nothing left of the man he once knew to answer. But still he shook him, desperately calling to him as the cold chill of denial refused to let him accept the Truth. Tears began to sting the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision.

“Professor! Professor! Please answer me!”

Harry couldn’t explain it, but he felt as though he was missing something - as if something deep inside him had suddenly been taken away. He felt broken and empty, like someone had surgically removed a piece of his very soul. A strange void resided in the bottom of his heart where it felt like something had inexplicably been torn away. He desperately reached out through the void to try and reconnect with whatever it was he had lost. But he could feel nothing. Nothing but cold emptiness…

He was now shaking his teacher’s shoulder so hard there would have been no way Snape could have ignored him. But still he lay there. So silent and still…

“Professor! PROFESSOR!”

The sound of people running towards him registered somewhere in the boy’s mind.

“Professor! Professor, please answer me! Please!”

He felt hands on his shoulders, gently trying to pull him back.

“NO! Let me go! Professor! ANSWER ME!”

“Harry! It‘s no use! Harry!”

So consumed with grief and exhaustion, Harry was powerless to fight the hands that tore him away from his Potion master’s body and into a strong embrace.

“Merlin... Harry, what happened?”

Harry was only partially aware that it was Sirius speaking. How Sirius was there, Harry could not even begin focus on enough to ask. He gave himself freely over to his godfather’s embrace, suddenly desperate for the offered comfort.

Hysterical sobs shook the boy’s battered form, tears flowing down his blood-caked cheeks.

“H- he stepped in front of a curse!” he wailed, burying his face in his godfather’s chest. “Voldemort was going to kill me. H-he stepped in front of it and saved me!”

There was a multitude of other voices, all of them speaking, it seemed, at once.

“We need to clear this area immediately. Before relief teams arrive.”

“Dear Merlin… Is that-?”

“Where’s Harry? Is he alright? Is he hurt?”

The voices slowly died away into silence as yet another figure appeared, his pale blue robes shining in the moonlight.

Choking on the bitter truth that now sat like acidic bile in the back of his throat, Harry dazedly looked up at the ones around him.

The battered figures of Professor McGonagall and Lupin were the first to arrest Harry‘s broken attention. Their wands hung limp in their hands as they silently stared at the motionless form of their former colleague splayed out in the snow before them.

McGonagall’s usually crisp tartan robes were dirty and torn, shredded in some places by the horrific blast that had crippled the castle’s outer wall. She was favoring her right leg badly, the strict matron battered from the fight. But she hardly seemed to notice the pain, it seemed. Her hand was silently held up over her mouth as she took in the tragic scene, as though stifling a cry of despair. Her eyes were shiny and wide, filled with indescribable sorrow.

Lupin looked much like McGonagall did: dirty and visibly exhausted from battle. His hair was mussed and stood up in places where it’d been swept during the fight. The werewolf’s face was solemn and grave, a mask of trained emotions.

Behind them stood a small group of Aurors, their bright red robes tattered and singed in places from unblocked attacks. Shacklebolt, Moody, and Tonks all solemnly surveyed the scene, stoic in their professionalism.

Behind them stood two other familiar figures Harry felt unable to appreciate were there. Like the rest of them, Ron and Hermione looked like they had just survived the deepest Circle of Hell and lived to tell about it. His two best friends were sweaty and dirt smeared, their school robes torn. Hermione looked as if she was on the verge of tears, her teeth chewing her lower lip. Ron stared with an almost comical expression of shock on his face. Neither seemed able to comprehend what they saw; the scene -Harry had to admit himself- unbelievable.

Sirius had begun rocking Harry back and forth in his arms, as if trying to apologize and sooth away the terror of his fifteen year old godson who he’d been unable to be there to protect himself. Harry couldn’t see the ex-convict’s face, but by his godfather’s fierce grip he could almost imagine the horrible possibilities of what could have happened going through his mind.

As Harry sat there, letting his godfather rock him back and forth in his arms - anchoring him to this surreal world of lost he suddenly found himself in - he watched the last member of the group slowly step forward and kneel beside the Potion master’s body.

“Oh, Severus…”

The Headmaster’s voice was strained and heavy. Carefully, he reached down and brushed several strands of jet black hair from the other man’s face.

The others all looked on in silence.

Harry felt another sob catch in his throat before he could finally find the voice to speak, his words half mumbled against Sirius‘ chest. “H-he didn’t mean to do it…” he choked, tears still burning his eyes. “It was Voldemort that made him do it. H- he didn’t mean to do it…”

“I know, Harry,” Dumbledore said, as if he already knew what he meant. “I know he didn’t…”

“H-he saved me,” Harry said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. He knew the others already knew what Snape had done - that he was telling them nothing they couldn’t already see for themselves. But somehow, he felt like he had to tell them himself. “He stepped in front of the curse. Voldemort was going to kill me. He-”

“I know, Harry, I know,” Dumbledore said, his head bowed almost to his chest. The Headmaster’s voice was tight, his eyes clenched shut against the sting of tears Harry himself could not fight.

Harry felt a new wave of grief wash over him, an anguished sob ripping from his throat. Sirius held his godson closer as the boy began to shake, unable to stop the flow of tears that assaulted him.

His blue eyes sorrowfully dulled, Dumbledore reached up and undid the clasp of his winter cloak. Slowly, reverently, he draped it over Snape’s body. He paused a moment when he finally came to the Potion master’s head. But then with one final look at the younger man‘s features, he lowered the last fold of cloth over Snape’s face.

Harry felt a jolt of panic go through him at that. Somehow that - even more than seeing his professor fall to the ground in front of him or lay there so still and lifeless in the snow - struck Harry as more disturbing than anything else. Because that final act of Dumbledore’s - draping that piece of cloth down over Snape’s face - was the last confirmation that Snape was truly gone. Because it represented the final severance of the Potion master’s connection from the rest of the living world…

“Shacklebolt,” Dumbledore was saying, looking up at the head Auror with suspiciously damp eyes. “Will you please help me levitate Severus’s body back up to the castle? I want to see that he’s taken care of before-”

“No!” Harry shouted, straining against Sirius’ grasp.

Dumbledore and the others all looked up at him in surprise.

Harry fought off Sirius’ arms and crawled to his Potion master’s side.

“No,” he cried and frantically clutched the voluminous folds of fabric shrouding his professor‘s body. “No, please. You can’t take him away.” Though he struggled to maintain his composure, Harry felt another sob break through his defenses and a new line of tears streak down his cheek. “Please…” he begged, almost like a child. “Please… He saved me…”

Dumbledore had to look away and close his eyes before he could compose a reply. “Harry…” he croaked, his voice straining not to break. “That’s why we have to take him. So we can do what’s right for him. More people will be here soon and he doesn’t deserve to be seen like this by anyone else…”

Harry felt tears stinging his eyes, his shoulders shaking with the effort not to dissolve into sobs. “You can’t!” he cried, starting to ball the Potion mater’s death mantle between his fingers. “You can’t take him!”

“Harry, please…” Dumbledore whispered.

“Don’t you understand?” Harry cried, angrily ripping the cloak back from Snape’s face. “It’s my fault he died! Mine! I didn’t tell anyone what was wrong with him. It’s my fault all this happened! If I’d just told someone else… If I’d just tried to help him more. If I‘d just-”

“Harry…” Dumbledore said, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders to make him stop. “It wasn’t your fault. Snape did what he had to. He couldn’t bare the thought of standing there and letting one of his students get hurt.”

“But it’s my fault…” Harry sobbed, heedless to the Headmaster’s reassurances. “It’s all my fault…” Unable to fight back the violent flood of tears threatening to consume him anymore, the boy dissolved into broken sobs, still clutching the cloak over the Potion master’s body.

Through his haze of grief, Harry once again felt hands try to pull him away and into a comforting embrace. But he couldn’t stand the thought of being comforted when his professor still lay there so still and lifeless underneath Dumbledore’s cloak.

“Come on, Harry,” Sirius was saying, gently trying to coax his godson away. “Let’s get you out of the cold. You‘re freezing.”

But Harry ignored him and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the shrouded chest of his once hated teacher - the man he’d slowly come to want to help, and who’d saved his life by stepping into the path of an oncoming curse.

It wasn’t fair! he wanted to rant and scream into the night. It wasn’t fair!

Harry angrily clenched the cloak over Snape’s chest between his fists, wanting nothing more than to tear it to shreds. Why’d his professor have to die? Why hadn’t he tried telling someone sooner? Why’d Snape have to die?

Angry, helpless sobs racked the boy’s frame as he clung to his professor’s body, almost as if physically trying to keep Dumbledore from taking him away.

He suddenly realized what that aching feeling inside him was. It was from Snape. He remembered his connection to the surly man earlier that year when he’d been nothing but a frightened spirit desperately trying to find someone else that could see him. It’d been Snape Harry’s soul had depended on to restore him back to his proper form when he’d become his unwilling anchor to this world. And it had been Snape who’d saved him more times than he could count by risking his own life to protect the boy. He hadn’t even realized his connection with the man had survived after he’d been restored to his body, or how strong it’d become since. But now…

Harry could feel nothing of their previous connection. It was like whatever had been tying him to the surly Potions master had disappeared, rendering him alone and scared in a dangerous world. He felt lost, wandering in an empty landscape with no one there to help guide him back home.

Harry’s helpless sobs intensified, soaking the soft material at his cheek. Beneath him, he was disturbingly aware of the stillness of the Potion master’s chest, not even the smallest hint of breath being drawn into his lungs.

Why hadn’t he realized his connection to Snape earlier? Why hadn’t he noticed he still retained some connection with the surly man? If he had, he might have been able to help him. He might have been able to reach out to him and find out what was going on with him. He might have-

The possibilities were endless.

Harry felt himself drowning in a sea of could-haves and might-have-beens. But none of them could do him any good now.

Sobbing into Snape’s chest, Harry wanted nothing more than to go back in time and do everything again. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so alone…

Almost subconsciously, Harry reached out through the torn edges of his soul where his connection to the Potion master once resided. Desperately - blindly - he searched for the presence of the one he’d unknowingly become so attached to. A part of him knew it was no use, that there was nothing left of Snape for him to find - that Snape was truly and utterly gone. But still he searched, grief blinding him to all logic.

Another sob was muffled into the Potion master’s shroud, Harry hopelessly crying for the man who’d saved him to hear him and come back.

Harry strained with all his might to feel the Potion master’s presence, searching with a power he did not quite understand. Searching, reaching, groping through the empty darkness of grief that consumed him, Harry felt himself drift beyond the confines of his own body into a realm that was strange yet… familiar at the same time.

The world slowly faded into a strange, misty grey place that seemed to belong to no actual time or place. He was suddenly standing - or at least what seemed to be the equivalent of standing in this strange world- the Potion master’s body and everyone else suddenly gone. Around him floated countless figures. They were shadowy and grey, like pillars of smoke, but coelesqued into the uncertain forms of human beings. They had no differing characteristics or color, all of them as identical and indistinguishable as the next.

Harry looked around himself and the strange sea of ghost-grey figures, confused. He felt tears still staining his incorporeal cheeks. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was trying to feel the tentative line of connection he’d once shared with the surly Potions master. Could Snape be one of these shadowy figures? he wondered.

Tentatively reaching out with a sense he did not quite understand, he tried to detect the presence of the one he sought. It felt like feeling around an emptyroom in the dark. He didn’t quite know what he was looking for, or how he was going to know when he found it, but still he searched. He had to at least try.

As he reached out with his senses he suddenly became aware of a familiar presence somewhere nearby, hovering just on the edge of his consciousness. Like an invisible tether brushing against the torn edges of his soul, Harry suddenly knew where to go. The feeling was faint and weak. But it was there. And he knew without a doubt who it was…

Spinning to his right, Harry took off running, weaving in and out of the endless forest of ghost-grey figures. He didn’t quite know how he knew where he was going, but he knew that he was close. And that he was somewhere nearby…

The faceless figures rushed past him, nothing but scenery in this empty world of misty grey. He barely spared them a second glance. Because he now knew where he was.

I know you’re here, he thought, hurrying towards the faint presence he knew so well. It was him, he knew it! Hold on, he silently called. I’m coming…

Suddenly, Harry caught sight of a figure through the forest of other shadow-people. It was the same as all the others: featureless and grey. But there was a strange green color tingeing the shadow’s misty aura, like a noxious green fog.

Rushing to the figure’s side, Harry reached out and grabbed hold. How he was able to touch or hold onto such an incorporeal figure, he couldn't even begin to guess. But he did somehow, and began to pull it back with him -back to the light.

It seemed reluctant, unwilling to follow. But Harry persisted. Slowly, tenaciously, he urged it after him, dragging it with all his might as he felt the misty grey world around him slowly begin to brighten and fade into light…

Harry’s sobbing form had become very silent, still half draped over his teacher’s lifeless body. Dumbledore and Sirius quietly knelt beside him, unable to find the heart to pull him away. Snape, after all, was now the second person in Harry’s life to die by sacrificing himself to protect the boy. It seemed wrong not to let him have a moment to grieve.

“Is he alright?” Tonks softly asked, coming up beside them and kneeling on the other side of Harry.

Sirius sadly nodded. “He should be. He’s probably just overwhelmed with everything right now… Probably should get him somewhere quiet where he can rest.”

Slowly, he reached out and touched his godson’s shoulder. “Harry?” he called. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you inside. You‘re going to freeze to death out here. You have to let Dumbledore take Snape now.”

He sat there a moment waiting for his godson to reply, or at least acknowledge his request. But when Harry didn’t move or show any sign of hearing him, Sirius worriedly leaned forward and shook his godson’s shoulder. “Harry? Come on, Harry, answer me.”

When he once again received no kind of reply, he anxiously looked up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore now leaned forward. “Harry?” he called. “Harry, can you hear me?”

Still no response.

Not waiting anymore, Siriustook his godson by the shouldes and pulled him away from Snape. The boy gave no resistance and lifelessly fell back into his arms. His eyes, they saw as Sirius cradled his limp body against his chest, were open, his dull green eyes staring into nothing.

“Harry?” Sirius called, alarmed by the glazed look in his godson’s eyes. “Harry?” A hint of panic was beginning to worm its way into his voice.

“What happened? Did he pass out?” Shacklebolt asked, stepping closer.

“I don’t know,” Sirius said, worry now blossoming into full panic. “Harry? Harry, come on! Answer me!” He patted his godson’s cheeks several times, but even that got no response from the lifeless boy.

“Was he hit with some kind of curse?” Hermione asked, hurrying to her friend’s side.

“I don’t think so,” Sirius said, fear now shining in his eyes. “He was shaken when we got here, but he didn’t really look like he was hurt or anything.” Turning his attention back onto his godson, Sirius frantically shook the boy. “Harry! Harry! Come on, Harry, wake up!”

The others looked on in mounting fear.

“Tonks, go find a medi-witch,” Dumbledore said, jumping into action. “If you can, find Madam Pomfrey. Tell her Harry might have been hit with some kind curse or-”

But the old Headmaster never got a chance to finish as Harry’s eyes suddenly snapped back to full awareness and he bolted upright in his godfather’s arms, startling Sirius and everyone else there.

But that wasn’t even half as startling as when half a second later a ragged gasp suddenly rent the air and the once lifeless body of Severus Snape arched up over the ground back to life.

Several people jumped back in surprise. Hermione actually gave a startled scream.

Snape’s eyes were wide as he looked around, distant and glazed. His body began to violently shake, his features dissolving into an expression of disoriented pain and dismay.

“No… no…” he whispered, his voice so weak they could barely hear him. “No… not this… no…”

Dumbledore was at his side in a second.

“Severus?” he stammered, almost as if he didn’t quite believe the miracle he saw before him.

The Potion master didn’t answer, still babbling softly to himself. “No… not this… Not this…”

Dumbledore knelt beside the Potion master and gently lifted his shoulders up off the ground until the other man was half laying in his lap. Snape was still babbling incoherently, as if not even aware of where he was or why he was there.

Ripping off a strip of cloth from his sleeve, Dumbledore pressed it to the back of the Potion master’s neck where a nasty cut at the base of his skull had begun to bleed profusely.

The pain of Dumbledore putting pressure to the seeping wound seemed to give Snape something to help focus his shattered thoughts with, and dazedly stared up at the old Headmaster.

“I never meant to…” he said, his voice weak and fevered. “Never meant to… Couldn’t stop him… Dark Lord made me.. Tried to get help… Couldn’t-”

“It’s alright, Severus, don’t worry about that right now,” Dumbledore said, trying to hush the other man as he continued pressing the now bloody cloth to the back of the Potion master‘s neck. “It’s alright. We already know.”

“Tried to stop him…” Snape stammered, as if not even hearing Dumbledore. “Tried to fight him… So hard… Couldn‘t stop him…”

“I know, Severus, I know,” Dumbledore reassured, not quite sure anything he said was actually reaching the fevered man‘s mind.

Snape’s babbling slowly faded away into silence, his whole body shaking as if he’d been plunged into a icy vat of water. His eyes began to drift shut, the faint light in his eyes fading.

Dumbledore worriedly looked up at the others watching him with stunned, startled expressions. Wrapping the cloak he’d given Snape as a death shroud closer around the shaking man, he urgently shouted, “Shacklebolt, Minerva, help me levitate him back to the castle! He needs immediate medical attention. Someone else find Pomfrey! Tell her to meet us in the Hospital Wing immediately.”

Gently lowering Snape back to the ground, Dumbledore stood and conjured a stretcher under the Potion master’s shaking body, then motioned for Shacklebolt and McGonagall to take up the levitation spell with him.

Not wasting a parting glance at anyone, Dumbledore and the other two hurried off, balancing the weight of the levitation spell between them.

For a moment, no one moved or said anything in the wake of the Headmaster‘s departure.

Slowly, pair after pair of awe-struck eyes swiveled around to stare at the battered teenager still sitting in his godfather’s arms. Harry seemed ignorant of their looks though, and stared in the direction Dumbledore had gone.

Shakingly, Harry pushed himself to his feet and - as if not even aware of anything else - took off after the old Headmaster and his injured charge.

The one - the rest of them slowly began to realize with growing disbelief as they watched him hurry back towards the castle - he’d just successfully brought back from the dead.

To anyone observing, they would have said it was utter chaos. And they would have been right.

But to Harry, he registered none of this as he stumbled and ran through the hellish landscape that used to be the front lawn of the school. He thought he heard several people call out to him as he stumbled past, but he didn't stop to answer. He just kept running.

A crowd of people Harry didn't recognize filled the ruined front hall of the school. Many of them were dressed in bright red robes, obviously Aurors. But many of them were not - probably other members of the Order.

Once again Harry rushed past them and up the stairs without even a backwards glance. In his dazed state of mind, they were nothing but faceless scenery in this surreal reality he suddenly found himself in.

Hallways rushed past him in a blur, and he finally found himself outside the doors of Hogwarts' infirmary. Again, he found himself surrounded by other people, all of them injured. Several other emergency medi-witches were hurrying about the hall - probably summoned to help when news of the attacks had leaked out. But he saw no sign of Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore and his resurrected charge.

All the beds were filled with injured Aurors or other Order members. But no sign of Snape.

Where'd they take him? Harry wondered, frantically looking around the hall. He'd lost sight of Dumbledore when he'd reached the edge of what used to be the front doors of the school.

Not finding them anywhere, Harry ran back out into the corridor. They had to have taken Snape somewhere…

Suddenly out of the corner of his right eye, Harry saw a person step out into the hall further along down the corridor. It was a woman, and was noticeably favoring her right leg. Her tartan green robes were dirty and torn and-

"Professor McGonagall!" Harry cried and ran towards her.

The older witch looked up at him in surprise. "Mr. Potter, what are you-?"

"Where'd they take him?" Harry cried, cutting her off as he came to a stop in front of her. "He's not in the infirmary! I can't find him anywhere! Where'd Dumbledore-"

Harry happened to glance past McGonagall into the room she'd just come out of and caught sight of a blue robed figure leaning over another one laying motionless on a hospital cot. Beyond them, Harry saw Shacklebolt standing off to the side, keeping watch as Madam Pomfrey hurried around the room, chanting diagnostic spells and rummaging through a small store of healing potions.

"Professor!" Harry yelled and lunged for the door, but was stopped by McGonagall catching him across the waist with an arm that belied the strength of her old, battered frame. "Professor!" Harry cried, struggling against her. "What are you doing? Let me see him! I have to see him! Let me go!"

"I will do no such thing, Potter," McGonagall said, and pulled him back.

Her stern tone made him stop struggling and look at her.

McGonagall studied him for a moment, her pale grey eyes eyeing him with something Harry couldn't quite place. Finally she spoke, her face and tone softening. "I'd let you see Professor Snape, Harry, but Madam Pomfrey is examining him right now. He's in a great deal shock and needs to rest. He was badly…" she hesitated half a heartbeat and studied Harry again as if trying to decide how to put it, "…hurt. Let her see to him."

"But, Professor," Harry pleaded, "that's why I have to see him. I have to make sure he's okay." For reasons Harry couldn't explain, he felt tears beginning to prickle the corners of his eyes - maybe from stress of the last few hours or something else, Harry couldn't say.

McGonagall shook her head. "No, Harry. Not now."

Harry felt a jolt of anger go through him. He'd just saved his professor's life and she was refusing to let him see him. It wasn't her right to deny him. "I want to see Professor Snape," he said, anger now rising in his voice.

"Mr. Potter…" McGonagall warned, her voice once again stern.

Harry however wasn't intimidated. He probably would have gone toe to toe with his formidable Head of House if it wasn't for another person coming out of the room and into the conversation right at that moment.

"What's going on here?"

It was Dumbledore.

Harry turned to the older wizard almost frantically. "She won't let me see Professor Snape!" he said, anger and desperation warring with each other in his voice. "I want to see him and make sure he's alright but she won't let me."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, much like McGonagall had done. "Harry…" he started.

Harry already knew what he was about to say - he could tell by his voice.

"Why won't you let me see him?" he exploded, unable to understand why they were doing this to him. Didn't they know he needed to see him? Didn't they understand he had to make sure Snape was really back? A presence in the back of his mind told him he really was, but for some reason he felt like he had to see him with his own eyes before he could actually believe.

"Mr. Potter…" There was a warning note in McGonagall's voice again.

Dumbledore however motioned to her that it was alright, and stepped towards his distraught student. There were tears in Harry's eyes as he looked up to meet Dumbledore's understanding blue ones - tears that held in them everything from anger and frustration to desperation and despair.

"Harry," he said, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "Professor Snape is very weak right now. He's needs peace and quiet. You can see him in a bit, but Madam Pomfrey needs to see him first. I promise I'll let you see him."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unsure of what to do. He desperately wanted to see Snape - he had to make sure! - but he also trusted Dumbledore to keep his word.

Like coming out of some kind of dream, Harry felt all that evening's event slowly begin to blossom into full reality for him, frightening him with the undeniable truth of it all. Memories and images he'd repressed for the past few hours slowly began to break past the defenses his mind had constructed to save him from the horrifying reality of what he'd experienced.

He could remember with vivid clarity now the way Voldemort's eyes had seemed to glow in the moonlight as he'd laid there spelled and helpless at the Dark Lord's feet, being told that his Potions master was going to torture him to the very brink of death. He now remembered the fearsome hatred in the Dark Lord's eyes as he'd walked towards him with his wand held out in front of him, ready to incant the deadly Unforgivable that would end his life. He remembered the bright flash of green that had come half a second later, speeding towards him and coming so close he swore he could feel its icy chill on his skin… And then the sight of his Potion master laying there so still and lifeless at his feet…

A sudden sob broke from Harry's throat, the boy unable to hold back the horror and fear of the last few hours anymore. Another one quickly followed, and before Harry knew it he was sobbing into Dumbledore's chest, the old wizard his only anchor to the world in this storm of horrifying reality crashing down on him.

"Shh," Dumbledore soothed, holding his sobbing student close. "It's alright…" he whispered. "It's alright…"

Harry wordlessly shook his head against the Headmaster's chest, unable to find the words to answer. How could he make Dumbledore understand how close it'd been to not being alright? How close he'd come to losing the one he never would have thought meant so much to him? How could he make Dumbledore or anyone else understand just how much it'd hurt to have a piece of his soul ripped away like that? It had been so close… So very close… If he hadn't been able to pull Snape back…

He didn't want to even entertain the rest of that thought. It was too horrible to imagine.

Somewhere behind him, Harry heard people running towards them down the hall. Still ensconced in Dumbledore's comforting embrace, Harry turned his teary face towards the sound.

Lupin, Ron, Hermione, and Tonks - her hair a violent shade of blue - hurried towards them, accompanied by a great black dog at their heels. It took Harry a moment to recognize his godfather's Animagus form, and then another to realize why he was like that. He was still wanted by the Ministry and had to transform to chase Harry into the castle. A small jolt of fear went through Harry as he realized just how dangerous it was for his godfather to be there, or to have fought in battle.

As they came up to them, the dog hurried forward and nuzzled Harry's hand, whining softly.

"It's alright, Snuffles," Harry murmured, slowly extracting himself from Dumbledore's arms. "I'm okay…"

The dog however didn't look convinced and nudged Harry's hand again, worry evident in its big yellow eyes.

Harry smiled wanly despite the tears still in his eyes. "Really. I'm okay now," he said, and scratched behind the Animagus' ear.

Sirius whined softly and looked up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded and gave one last look over his shoulder into the private infirmary room behind him. Harry tried to follow his gaze, but was stopped as the Headmaster took him by the shoulders and gently steered him away.

"Come," he said. "There's a room nearby we can use to talk where no one will interrupt us."

Harry wordlessly let himself be led away, suddenly too tired to put up any form of protest. He still wanted to see the professor, but he decided he could honor Dumbledore's request for now and wait, even if only for a little bit…

Dumbledore ushered them all into an empty room just down the hall from the Infirmary. Before he'd even shut the door and warded it behind them, Harry suddenly found himself back in the protective embrace of his godfather, who had transformed back into his human self.

"Merlin, Harry, I was so worried," he said, crushing Harry to him almost frantically. "Ron and Hermione managed to get away during the attack and fire-called the Order. But they said they didn't know what happened to you in the explosion. I was so worried…" His grip on Harry tightened, as if trying to physically assure himself his godson was really there, alive and well. "When they said Voldemort was attacking the castle and they didn't know where you were, I didn't know what to think…"

"Really, I'm fine," Harry insisted, and tried to give his godfather a reassuring smile as he pulled away. But the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Geez, Harry, what happened to you?" Ron asked, eyeing his friend's battered figure up and down. "It looks like You-Know-Who tried to use you as his personal hexing target."

Harry gave a hollow, mirthless laugh. "That's basically what he did…"

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the group as they all eyed the battered teenager. Bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candle light, Harry's injuries were now shockingly apparent. Shallow cuts and scrapes crisscrossed his entire face, creating a gruesome patchwork of torn flesh. Blood was caked along each individual cut, and smeared in some places by streaks of dirt and soot. His glasses were bent and sat crooked on his nose, giving him a bedraggled, off-kilter look. His school robes were dirty and torn, and hung from his body in tatters.

Everything about the boy seemed to exude exhaustion. Even his unruly black hair seemed beaten down by the night's events - laying against the sides of his head as if it no longer had the strength to stand up at the roots.

Tonks stepped forward and took out her wand. "I may not be a trained medi-witch, Harry, but I do know a few healing spells to help patch you up before Madam Pomfrey or someone else more qualified can see you," she said. "There were a lot of injured people in the attack, so all the medical personal are busy right now. We Aurors have to know some basic first aide spells in case of emergency though, so I should be able to clean you up a bit until then." Waving her wand over Harry's head, she incanted a series of spells.

Harry felt a wave of warmth ripple across his face, and the stinging pain he hadn't even been aware of until now disappear. He felt the blood and grime caking his skin also vanish.

"Thanks," he murmured when Tonks finally nodded her head in satisfaction and stepped away. He still felt unnaturally dirty and sore, but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore.

Running a hand through his matted hair, Harry tentatively looked up at Dumbledore. "Is…" he hesitantly mumbled, "is Professor Snape really alright?" he said, unable to keep himself from asking. He had to know. "Will he be okay?"

Everyone glanced at Dumbledore, tension and concern shadowing their own faces.

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. "He will," he said. "He is very disoriented and weak right now, but he will survive…"

Harry heard a murmur go through the room as everyone turned to stare at him again in reverenced awe.

McGonagall was the first to put voice to her stunned disbelief. "This is nothing short of a miracle, Albus," she said, her voice unnaturally shaky. "Harry just brought a person back from the dead. And though I do not regret Severus coming back, I have to know: how is this possible? Was Severus somehow not really dead? I thought he was hit by an Avada Kedavra Curse…"

Harry also looked up at Dumbledore, waiting for the wizard's reply. At the time of Snape's return, he hadn't cared how he managed to seemingly bring his teacher back from the dead - only that he had. But now, faced with the repercussions of what it meant if he actually did, Harry felt a jolt of unease go through him. Could he have actually brought someone back from the dead?

Dumbledore seemed to sense Harry's anxiety and met his searching gaze. "Let there be no mistake," he said, slowly sweeping his eyes from Harry around to encompass the entire group, "that Professor Snape was dead in every sense of the world. I saw the flash of the Killing Curse myself from all the way across the lawn. I saw him step into its path and give his life to save Harry. There is no way he could have survived that attack. We all saw the result of his sacrifice ourselves…"

"Then how is he still alive?" Sirius demanded. "No one can come back to life after a Killing Curse. It's impossible!"

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "I know; it would be completely unbelievable if we didn't have our living, breathing Potions master back with us to prove it."

Sirius, as did everyone else, looked absolutely thunderstruck.

"How is this possible?" Lupin said, glancing at Harry as he valiantly tried to make sense of the miracle he'd witnessed. "How could Harry have brought him back? Did he possibly acquire some kind of power to do that through his connection to Voldemort?"

Dumbledore shook his head emphatically. "No. I don't believe Harry acquired any kind of new powers through Voldemort. The force that brought Severus back to life was not Dark in nature - in fact, it was the complete opposite - nor was it a power the Dark Lord possesses. Even though Voldemort has learned to unnaturally prolong his life, and has already cheated Death once, he does not have the power to reverse the effects of a Killing Curse on another living being.

"I believe, rather, that Harry was able to save our dear Professor Snape through the bond he shared with him last summer during his time as a spirit after his unfortunate encounter with a half-completed Killing Curse. Namely, the one that bound Severus to him as his Acolyte."

Dumbledore studied Harry closely, as if trying to peer into his very soul. "I believe the bond that Harry and Severus shared remained intact even after Harry returned to his body. That is why I believe you were so sensitive to visions concerning Professor Snape throughout the year, and why you fought so hard to help him like you did," he said, slowly meeting Harry's eyes. "That is how you knew Voldemort placed him under an Imperius Curse and forced him to do what he did tonight…"

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, only slowly realizing what Dumbledore was trying to say.

"You knew the entire time…" he softly murmured, staring at Dumbledore with something akin to betrayal. "You knew Voldemort was controlling Snape this entire time, and you did nothing to help him..."

Harry didn't know how to feel. Dumbledore had known the entire year what Voldemort had been doing to Snape, and he'd done nothing to help him. All the torturing… All the fear and uncertainty… None of that had been necessary. Dumbledore could have stepping in at any point and helped Snape. But instead he'd just stood aside and left Snape to fend for himself.

Harry felt his reality slowly starting to crumble around him. How could Dumbledore have done that? How could he had let Voldemort do that to him? Didn't he even care?

Dumbledore sadly closed his eyes as if he already knew what his student was thinking. "I believed you from the first vision you had of Voldemort putting Severus under an Imperius Curse. Several facts you relayed to me from it matched the ones Shacklebolt gave me after the attack on Azkaban. I never doubted for a moment your visions weren't real."

"Then why didn't you help him?" Harry demanded, anger boiling up inside him. "Do you have any idea what I saw Voldemort do to the Professor over the year? You could have helped him at any time! I saw him get tortured at least once a week, and you didn't do anything to help him!" Harry was now shaking in his rage, glaring at the Headmaster as if Dumbledore had actually betrayed him.

Dumbledore hung his head in shame. "Harry, please understand that what I did was to protect Professor Snape. Every time Severus wasn't at meals or missed a day of class, I wanted nothing more than to go straight to him and stop all this. But if Voldemort had suspected I knew he was controlling Severus for even one moment, he would have killed him without a second thought. That was why I acted the way I did. I had to pretend like I didn't know what was going on so Voldemort wouldn't kill him. I even went so far as to leave myself vulnerable for attack by ignoring your warnings that Voldemort was going to use him to attack someone at Hogwarts, although I'd already suspected Voldemort was going to try and make a strike at me sooner or later. I know it seems cruel towards Professor Snape for not trying to help him sooner, but it was the only thing I could think of to save his life until we could find a way to break Voldemort's hold over him.

"When I tested Snape that first night he was placed under the Imperius, I truly could not detect the object you said you saw Voldemort use on him. I believed you even though I couldn't detect it, but because I couldn't know for sure what it was, I could not take the risk of trying to remove it or deactivate it. If I had, it could have alerted Voldemort that I knew, or worse yet, have killed Professor Snape…"

Dumbledore's eyes were filled with guilt, shining with repressed tears. "I had a suspicion the bond you shared with Professor Snape had survived after you told me about your first vision," he sorrowfully went on. "Because of my inability to help him, I thought perhaps through your Acolant bond you might somehow find a way to. That is why I really wanted you to take Occlumency Lessons with Professor Snape - to try and strengthen your bond and give you an opportunity to talk. But unfortunately, it seems something happened between you two that made Severus cease your lessons…"

Harry felt his face turn red, guilt welling up inside him like a poison. He still remembered the furious look on his Potion master's face when he'd pulled him back out of his Pensieve with vivid clarity…

Dumbledore however didn't seem to notice the boy's guilty face, and went on in an anguished tone. "Looking back on it all, I can't help but feel that there was something else I could have done. Several times throughout the year I noticed Severus acting strangely around me, almost as if he was trying to tell me something was wrong. But because of my own fears, I pretended like I didn't see anything… I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like for Severus. He had to have been fighting Voldemort's influence the entire year to try and reach out like that to someone else…"

"It was a stone," Harry suddenly murmured, staring at the floor.

Dumbledore and the others all looked at him.

"What?" the Headmaster asked.

Harry felt tears of anger stinging his eyes. It wasn't only Dumbledore that had reason to feel guilty for the Potion master's suffering. He was also to blame…

"Voldemort was controlling Snape with a stone," he murmured. "A couple times at the beginning of the year, when I was alone with the Professor I got this mental image of a black stone shard in my head. I think it was Snape trying to reach out to me for help. I think he was somehow using Legillimens to show me it. But it wasn't until right before he-" Harry fought to keep his voice breaking "-he stepped in front of that curse that I finally realized what he was trying to tell me. I did a cutting spell and got it out of his neck, but then…" He trailed off. Everyone already knew what had happened next.

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. "I suspected something like that. Especially after I saw the wound on the back of his neck. I also suspect that was why he was able to shield you from the curse the way he did- Voldemort no longer had control over him…"

A sudden silence filled the room, everyone quietly mulling that over in their head.

Harry felt nearly sick with everything Dumbledore had said. The entire year he could have helped Snape. If only he'd read the Potion master's warnings better… If he hadn't gotten himself kicked out of Occlumency lessons by looking in Snape's Pensieve, he might have even been able to figure it out sooner. He felt so stupid now he wanted to curse himself. This entire year Snape had been trying to tell him to remove the stone. But he'd been too stupid to understand until it was almost too late.

"What's going to happen now?" McGonagall asked. "With Severus I mean?"

"He will not be held responsible for anything he did while under Voldemort's Imperius," Dumbledore replied. "He was an innocent victim in all of this. It would be unfair to punish him for anything, especially after what he did for Harry…"

Harry felt eyes on him again, but could not bring himself to look up and meet them.

"Do you think," Tonks tentatively spoke up, "that Harry can use this new… power… of his on other people? - to bring them back from the dead like he did Snape, that is?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. I very much doubt that. The only reason I believe he was able to pull Severus back from beyond the Veil was because of their bond. Besides, Death is not something that should to be toyed with. We are not gods, and should not try to disrupt the natural order of the world. Death is part of the cycle of Life, and to disrupt it would only end in disaster. No, what happened here tonight was a miracle. But leave it at that. What you are proposing is something Lord Voldemort would think of doing. And as we all know, that is a path none of us want to follow him down."

Another stagnant silence filled the room.

Harry stood there silent, Dumbledore's words echoing through his ears. He couldn't help but feel part of the Headmaster's speech had been directed at him. After all, he'd been the one that had 'gone against the natural order of the world' and returned his Potion master to life. An icy chill ran down his spine. Dumbledore had said trying to cheat Death was something only Voldemort would try to do. But he'd also done that now. So did that make him the same as Voldemort?

No. Surely not, Harry told himself. What he'd done was nothing more than to save the life of a man who hadn't deserved to die in the first place.

But as Harry stood there thinking about what he'd done, he remembered the names and face others who hadn't deserved to die, but had despite all of Life's cruel unfairness.

Cedric Digory… All those Aurors and Order members who lost their life defending Hogwarts that night… His parents…

None of them had deserved to die. And yet they had.

Harry now realized what Dumbledore meant. If he had the ability, how could he bring one person back from beyond the Veil, and not another? Where would it end? Who would decide who deserved to live and who should remain dead? It would be a vicious cycle, one with no hope of ever ending.

Dumbledore's right… Harry suddenly realized, a heavy feeling settling somewhere in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't his right to chose who came back and who didn't.

He was suddenly glad his powers were limited to only one individual. He didn't want that kind of power. No, he was glad he couldn't bring others back from the dead. But at the same time, he did not regret saving the man who'd sacrificed his life for him. He owed it to Snape to do what he did… And because of that, he had no regrets despite whatever Dumbledore said.

A soft tap at the door brought everyone back out of their trance.

Tentatively pushing the door open, Madam Pomfrey stuck her head into the room.

"Albus? I'm finished with Professor Snape now. He's stable and seems to be sleeping, but I would suggest someone else staying with him until I come back to check on him. I have to return to the main Infirmary to help with the other casualties. Shacklebolt is staying with the Professor right now, but he says he needs to leave to file a report back at the Ministry soon."

Dumbledore nodded his head. "Thank you, Poppy. Someone will be right there."

Madam Pomfrey dipped her head in acknowledgement and disappeared back out the door.

"I also have to go," Tonks said. "There's going to be hell about this back at the Ministry, and I can already see the paper work piling up on my desk. Give my regards to the Professor when he wakes up."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said and bowed the young Auror out.

McGonagall stepped forward. "Albus, this attack is going to cause a media feeding frenzy. Reporters are going to be here any minute if they aren't already pounding at the gates. And that's not even considering the students' parents! We're going to have to make an official statement soon andI don't know what we're going to tell them, especially after what happened to you the day before."

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking every day as old as he was. "They will all have to be dealt with and in a way that will not insight panic."

"I can see to the owls, but I suggest you taking care of the reporters," McGonagall said, then solemnly added after a pause, "We're going to have to tell them You-Know-Who was behind this…"

"I know," Dumbledore sighed, and tiredly tugged his beard. "I will think of something to tell them. But for now, you see to the owls. I'm sure they've already begun to flood my office."

McGonagall nodded and looked like she was about to leave, but then turned back around and eyed Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"You three should return to your dormitories and rest," she said, her tone stern. "I'm not sure what you three were doing out of your dormitories anyway when the attack happened, but this is no place for children to be."

Ron and Hermione looked sheepish and obediently began moving towards the door.

Harry however stood his ground. "Uh, Professor…" he tentatively began. "If it's alright I'd like to stay with Professor Snape. I can sit with him until Madam Pomfrey or someone else comes to check on him. He saved my life. I feel I should at least make sure he's alright before I go back to my dorm."

Dumbledore's tired blue eyes twinkled with something Harry couldn't quite name as his lips curved into gentle smile. "I think the same can be said for you, Harry," he said, "for you also saved his life tonight. I believe you two can now consider yourselves even. But if that is what you really want to do, I am not apposed to you sitting with him until I return. In fact, it might be better if you remained in the Hospital wing until morning. I doubt you are in any state right now to deal with your Housemates, or answer the questions they are all probably dying to ask you. Better to let, perhaps, Hermione and Ron deal with them until you've gotten some rest…"

Harry nodded his head gratefully. "Thank you, Sir…"

"I'll come with you, Harry," Sirius said, his face unusually blank. "I don't think you should be alone right now."

Harry hesitated. "Are you sure that's safe, Sirius? What if someone sees you? Aren't you still on the run from the Ministry?"

"I'll be alright," Sirius said, and promptly transformed into his four-legged alter-ego.

"I'd stay with you too, Harry," Lupin said, "but I have to check on things back at Headquarters. We have to take role and see who survived the attack and who didn't."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Oh… yeah…" Because of Snape, he often found himself forgetting there were others that hadn't survived the attack.

Lupin nodded and slipped past McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione in the doorway.

"We'll see you later, Harry," Ron said, still being steadily ushered out the door by McGonagall. "We'll save a place for you tomorrow at breakfast."

"Get some sleep, Harry," Hermione said.

"Yeah…" Harry murmured as the door closed behind them, leaving him, Dumbledore, and Sirius alone in the room.

"Come," Dumbledore said, motioning for Harry to follow. "You must want to get cleaned up."

Harry wordlessly followed him down the hall back towards the Infirmary. Sirius followed them, the great black dog strangely subdued as he padded alongside his godson. They eventually came to another door which Dumbledore opened and then stepped aside to allow Harry inside.

"You will find a spare set of pajamas in the closet along with a small bath just through that door," the Headmaster explained. "Do not worry about being anywhere tomorrow morning. I can safely say there will not be any classes for the next several days after what happened tonight."

Harry mindlessly nodded and glanced around the room. It was small - no larger than an office - with little furniture. But it was clean, and had a large hospital bed on one side of the room along with a small end table. He could just make out a washroom through another door on the other side of the room.

"Thank you, Sir," he mumbled and began to go inside.

"Harry…?"

Harry paused and glanced back at the Headmaster. Dumbledore was staring at him from the doorway, his eyes dark and haunted.

"Sir?"

"The bond you share with Professor Snape," he began, his voice strangely hollow, "can you still feel it?"

Harry searched inside himself, and without needing much time to ponder, answered, "Yes. It's there. Only I can feel it stronger now than before."

Dumbledore nodded his head quietly, not saying a word.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked.

"No. Just an old man's wandering thoughts," Dumbledore replied. He tried to smile, but the gesture failed to reach his eyes. "Sleep well," he murmured, and softly shut the door behind him.

Harry stared at the door for several minutes of empty silence. It was only when Sirius gave a sudden bark and motioned with his snout towards the washroom that Harry finally came back to himself.

"Alright, alright," Harry muttered. "I don't need a dog to tell me I smell."

Sirius gave an indignant bark and jumped up on the bed where he curled into a ball to wait for his godson as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Harry didn't know how long he stood under the shower's steaming hot jet of water, but by the time he finally emerged from the bathroom, the mirror was fogged up beyond use, his fingers were noticeably wrinkled, and he felt slightly more human. Dressed in spell-warmed pajamas and finally clean of all that night's activities, Harry felt fatigue like he'd never felt before begin to seep into the very marrow of his bones like lead. His body ached miserably, still throbbing in places from the numerous curses he'd suffered at the hands of Voldemort and being thrown from the castle inthe explosion. The thin mattresses of Madam Pomfrey's hospital cots had never looked so inviting. But Harry forced himself to ignore his hurts and exhaustion.

There was still someone he had to see.

"Come on, Sirius," he murmured and headed for the door.

Sirius whined softly, but obediently got up and followed his godson out the door.

The hallways were dark, the school finally quieting down from the attack. Harry stealthfully made his way to the third door on the left just down from the main doors of the Infirmary.

Nudging the door open, Harry peeked inside.

A still figure lay on the bed under several layers of blankets, his long black hair laying spread across the pillow in stark contrast to the ghostly white color of his skin.

Harry quietly opened the door and slipped inside. As he came up beside the bed and stared at its sleeping occupant, he had to marvel at the utter stillness of the man - how completely quiet and motionless he was. Like he was actually dead…

Harry quickly pushed that thought from his mind though, and sat in the chair next to Snape's bed, reassured by the gentle presence he felt somewhere deep in the middle of his chest like a tiny ball of warmth.

The Potion master didn't even stir as Harry sat in the creaky chair, lost in the deepest void of unconsciousness.

Shacklebolt, Harry noticed, was no where to be seen, probably having left some time ago after Madam Pomfrey finished examining Snape. Harry felt strangely grateful no one else was there to see him with Snape - except his godfather of course. He doubted Sirius was going to willingly let him out of his sight for a very long time after what happened that night…

For several minutes, Harry just sat there, staring at his unconscious Potions master. Though asleep, Harry detected several lines creasing the older man's face around his eyes and mouth, as if he were in some sort of pain.

His distress at his Potion master's pain must have shown on his face because he heard Sirius give a soft whimper and gently rest his head on his knee as if trying to offer him some kind of comfort in his canine form.

Harry mindless scratched the Animagus behind the ears, his eyes never moving from the unconscious man before him. And for several hours, Harry sat there, silently watching the gentle rise and fall of Snape's chest, reassured by every dip and swell that Snape was truly and honestly alive.