Harry was stunned to receive a Christmas present from Tonks.

He stared at the dueling book for several minutes, wondering if she could possibly have sent it before she was sentenced to Azkaban. Then he read her note, dated on December 24th, and he knew the greasy bastard had lied to him.

Tonks wasn't in prison. She said she was perfectly fine, and so busy chasing dark wizards that she needed to delay their getaway until January. She wanted to know what he thought of the weekend of the fifth?

The relief he felt was so palpable that he was hard pressed to even summon the proper anger when he charged into Snape's study.

"Why did you lie about Tonks?" Harry demanded.

"You will do me the courtesy of knocking before you enter, Potter!" Snape snarled. With a wave of his wand, the door slammed closed behind Harry.

"I got a letter from her," Harry said through clenched teeth, feeling a fresh surge of fury at Snape's evasion of the subject. Yes, now he was genuinely mad. "You were lying to me! She's definitely not in Azkaban."

Snape smirked maliciously. "I could firecall the ministry and rectify that, if you wish."

Harry glared him through narrow, green eyes. "You never told them."

The older man folded his arms across his chest, and again Harry had the impression he was being studied like some insect.

"No," Snape admitted. "My intention was to impress upon you the potential consequences of your behavior. It appears to have worked, given your distress these last few days."

Harry stared at him. The man was just so… The sneaky git. No wonder he was the head of Slytherin.

"And that letter is from Miss Tonks?" Snape asked in a frosty voice.

Harry had just a moment to realize he shouldn't have brought it into Snape's office before the professor aimed his wand.

"Incendio!"

Harry yelped, startled, at the sudden sting of heat, and quickly dropped the letter. It was reduced to cinders before it even hit the ground. He cradled his burnt hand, staring in dismay at the dark smudge on the floor.

"You will terminate this liaison, Potter," Snape threatened softly. "Or I assure you, my threats will not be idle in the future."

Harry felt a flash of anger, but he clamped down upon it. He's giving me a choice. He hated the sneaky, manipulative bastard for making him think Tonks was suffering in Azkaban, and he hated him for his meddling… But he had not reported Tonks. That's what mattered. Tonks was okay. She was safe.

Harry swallowed hard. "Fine."

Snape actually looked surprised at his concession. What did the man think? That he'd take the risk of sending Tonks to prison?

He only needed to wait another year. One more year. Seventeen was the age of majority in the wizarding world, and Snape could do nothing after that. Besides, it was not like he couldn't see her. They couldn't have sex, but they could still--

Suddenly Snape stiffened, almost imperceptibly, the expression on his face twisting into something ugly and intimidating.

His eyes snapped to Harry's, and he closed the distance between them in two strides. Harry let out a startled yelp when Snape clamped his hand around his arm and yanked him into the hallway.

"What the hell--"

"Silence!" Snape bellowed, his grip growing impossibly tighter. Harry's feet stumbled beneath him as Snape hauled him down the corridor, and with an unceremonious shove, sent him tumbling back into his bedchamber.

Harry scrambled back up to his feet, sending Snape a furious glare. What the hell was his problem? What minor offence had Harry committed now? For fuck's sake, one minute he was fine, the next--

"You will not leave this room," Snape snarled. "You will not make any noise. If you do, you will regret it immensely!"

Harry could only gape at him soundlessly as he retreated in a swirl of black robes into the hallway. The door slammed closed behind him.

Is he locking me up again? Harry thought desperately, searching through their exchange to find any reason for Snape's sudden fury.

He tried the door and found it locked. Every few minutes he made another attempt. Eventually he curled up into a miserable ball on the bed, watching the sky outside dim with nighttime, thinking longingly of the outside world. Minky was supposed to have taken him out of the house today...

After what seemed an eternity, he heard a click and Snape returned.

Harry glared at him upon his entrance, his rage still burning beneath his skin, but he was also aware of a certain amount of resignation. Really, until he returned to Hogwarts, he was at Snape's mercy. The man could do anything to him, and he was powerless to prevent it.

"What did I do wrong now?" Harry asked bleakly.

For the second time that day, Snape looked somewhat surprised, but the expression quickly vanished. "There is no time for this."

He crossed the room swiftly, drawing his wand, and Harry flinched back away from whatever was coming. Snape halted his steps, holding Harry's gaze levelly for an extended moment.

"Potter," he said carefully. "I'm going to break the glamour charm."

Harry's eyes darted between Snape's wand and his face cautiously. "No potion this time?"

Snape shook his head brusquely, reaching out and grasping Harry's chin to pull the boy's face up. "There is no time."

Harry jerked away from Snape's grip. "I thought you couldn't do it with a wand!"

"An unexpected Christmas gift from the Headmaster. I daresay it wasn't the information he intended to impart," Snape drawled. He grasped Harry's chin again to tilt his head up. "A Death Eater broke through the wards while we were speaking," he informed the boy, waving his wand this way and that as though figuring out just where to aim it, "And I am apparently entrusted with this person's care. The Dark Lord may be monitoring the floo network as we speak, otherwise I would send you back to Hogwarts straight away." His grip tightened on Harry's chin, his black eyes glittering menacingly. "You will look different once I am through, but you will not be safe. You will remain out of sight."

Harry would have nodded, but Snape's grip on his chin precluded that. He was surprised Snape had bothered to inform him first.

"Hold still," Snape instructed, and slowly began an incantation.

Harry's eyes closed as he felt an odd tingling sweep over his skin. The sensation faded, and he remained there, not daring to open them. But then Snape began to incant the words again, and his eyes flew back open.

"Why are you doing it again?"

Snape sent him an irritated glance. "I need to sever aspects of the glamour one by one." Then, with a derisive sweep of his eyes down Harry's form, "It seems you're blessed with the family's dearth of melanin."

Harry gaped down at his skin. White. Almost pasty white, like Snape's. He felt vaguely ill as Snape repeated the incantation again, and again, the spell tingling up and down his body, until the sensations died away.

"It seems we're finished."

Snape withdrew and gazed at him appraisingly a long moment. Harry cringed, seeing the man before him and imagining what he himself now looked like.

Snape's gaze raked over him a moment more, then his eyes darkened and his face grew hard. "There is no resemblance."

It shouldn't have bothered Harry, hearing that unforgiving sneer in Snape's voice; he certainly didn't want to look like Snape. Yet there was something about the statement that made it seem like Snape repudiating him yet again… Just like that terrible day in the classroom when Snape had told him they were father and son, voice filled with undisguised revulsion and disgust.

A vicious surge of anger tore through Harry.

"I don't look like you?" he said scathingly, raising his eyes to meet Snape's, his entire being seething with hatred. "Thank. God."

Snape's lips curled in distaste. Whether it was at Harry's statement, or at his invocation of a Muggle deity, he had no idea.

"I have taken the liberty of disguising your scar. Do not leave this room."

The Potions Master whirled around and stalked towards the door.

Harry called after him, "Which Death Eater?"

Snape turned slowly and caught his gaze. "Why?"

Harry remained stubbornly silent. He felt the tell-tale thrust of the other man's legilimency, and he broke their eye contact to gaze intently at Snape's robes.

Snape's voice was contemptuous. "That is none of your concern. You will not be leaving this room, Potter, or my wrath will be the least of your worries."

* * *

The longer Harry waited in the room, the more convinced he became it was Bellatrix Lestrange taking refuge under Snape's roof. Snape had, after all, refused to disclose the person's identity, and really, what other Death Eater would he feel the need to conceal from Harry? Snape knew she was the one who killed Sirius…

Unless…

Unless it was Draco Malfoy, or one of the other young Slytherins. Harry knew Voldemort was recruiting; perhaps the younger generation had already taken the Dark Mark?

His curiosity gnawed at him, as well as the darker hope it was Bellatrix Lestrange residing under the same roof as him.

Couldn't he just take one look..?

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, and he could feel the smooth skin in place of his scar. Snape had truly done a thorough job of concealing it. The paleness of his arm caught his attention, and he held it in front of him for scientific inspection. If he looked like another person, was there anything preventing him from stealing a glimpse at the Death Eater's face? It's not like seeing Harry now would give away the fact that Snape was sheltering the Boy Who Lived. Besides, even though Snape had confiscated his invisibility cloak upon their arrival, Harry had enough practice with sneaking around to trust in his powers of stealth. He had no intention of initiating contact with the Death Eater. He just wanted to see her.

Or him, of course.

Snape must think he was an idiot; if he didn't look like Harry Potter, why would anyone think he was Harry Potter? Clearly his professor believed he'd start a jocular conversation, and somehow foolishly slip up about his true identity. ("Gee, uh, I guess because I'm the Boy Who Lived, I've always thought... Oh, whoops, forget I said that!") Snape thought him a fool.

Harry had avoided looking in the mirror, terrified of the prospect of a miniature Snape gazing back at him. Now, though, his hands crept cautiously over his own face, touching gingerly the unfamiliar features. A larger nose, true-- but not abnormally so. His lisp felt thinner to his touch, and the curve of his cheekbones more severe. When he blinked, he was more conscious of his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. He at last dared to venture into the adjoining washroom to steal a glimpse of his own visage.

A stranger gazed back at him; Harry reached up to touch his own face simply to affirm that he truly was looking at himself.

Before him stood a pale boy with jet black hair, about the same length as before, only for once in his life lying flat. The hair was almost too black against his white skin, the bright green eyes too stark a contrast against both. His lips were thin, and at the moment set in a grim line, his cheekbones sharply jutting from a face that was just a smidge longer than it had been before. The angular features were otherwise rather delicate, the large, luminous eyes rendering him almost pretty, which was somehow not an adjective Harry found particularly flattering in a boy.

He turned his head left and right, and he could distinctly see his mother's face reflected in his own features now. Absurdly, he found himself wishing he looked a bit more like Snape. He could remember girls in Gryffindor tower referring to Draco derisively as a 'pretty-boy,' and he had a rather nauseating feeling that he himself would fit that description. The tidy, delicate features of his face, and the thick black sweep of his eyelashes, could almost be classified as feminine.

Well, not quite. He'd make a pretty odd-looking woman. But he was uncomfortable with the face staring back at him just the same.

Snape, at least, looked like a man. An ugly, evil, greasy git of a man, but a man nonetheless.

Harry Potter had been rapidly on his way to manhood as well. A rather scruffy, unkempt specimen with an awkward way of holding his lanky body, true, but certainly not a pretty boy in the delicate and smarmy mould of Draco Malfoy… Certainly not like Harry Snape appeared to be.

He shuddered. Harry Snape. He swore silently that he would tear off his own testicles before he'd ever refer to himself by that name again.

Well, perhaps he wouldn't, but he'd at least sacrifice an arm or a foot.

Harry shook off the irrelevant thoughts and focused upon the matter at hand. Getting out of this room, and getting to wherever Snape was housing the Death Eater. He reached up to finger the cold frame of his glasses, wondering if he could transfigure it into another shape… He'd already pulled out his wand and aimed it at the glasses before the hazard of changing the shape occurred to him. It could throw off the entire prescription.

Disappointed, he tucked his wand back into his pocket. No transfiguration then.

A disillusionment charm, then?

Several minutes later, charm cast, he stood glowering at the door before him. He'd already attempted several rudimentary blasting and unlocking spells, and he'd even temporarily transfigured his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook into a mallet in an attempt to smash open the door, but it was no use. Snape had not come charging into the room, so he was clearly somewhere in the house out of earshot.

Harry realized just how hard he was grinding his teeth when his jaw began to throb in protest. This was driving him mad! He'd hidden his glasses from sight, he'd worked out several painful curses to use in the instance that it was Bellatrix Lestrange living in Snape's house, and he'd carefully set himself into the frame of mind he needed for creeping into a dangerous situation. All of it was now thwarted because of a goddamn door.

Oh, how he hated Snape. The man ruined everything! He couldn't live with Sirius after his third year because of Snape, Dumbledore hadn't found Barty Crouch the elder in time because Snape insisted on arguing with Harry, Sirius had died because Snape wouldn't teach him Occlumency…

And now Bellatrix Lestrange was probably dining and chatting with Snape by his fireplace over a steaming cup of tea, completely safe because Snape was locking Harry up!

His eyes narrowed with hatred and determination at the thought of her luxuriating under the same roof. Probably laughing with Snape over Sirius. Just like she'd laughed that night--

The door splintered into pieces.

Harry stared at it soundlessly a long moment, blinking, reminded uneasily of the time he'd blown up Aunt Marge. And then, with a tight smile, he chose not to question his lucky occurrences of spontaneous magic and crawled through the opening.

Could Snape have heard?

He didn't think so. The man would already be bearing down upon him…

He was surprised not to feel the telltale prickle of the wards as he began to creep down the stairs; every door he had pressed his ear to in the hallway, and then cautiously opened, had been unlocked. The Death Eater truly had broken the wards. Or perhaps Voldemort had done it for him.

Why would Voldemort shatter his own lieutenant's protective measures? Did he, perhaps, suspect Snape?

Harry was just questioning the wisdom of his endeavor when he heard the low murmur of voices. He didn't know this area of the manor very well; Snape never allowed him outside of the handful of rooms he deemed innocuous enough to risk contaminating with Harry's presence. As he lurked against the wall, a few quick glimpses traced the voices to the larger room just through an ornate archway. A parlor of some sort.

Remembering his mental image of Bellatrix and Snape cuddling up, sipping tea together as they giggled over Sirius, he gritted his teeth and snuck closer. The voices grew more distinct.

He could hear Snape's waspish tone, very indistinct. And then an arrogant drawl in response. Goosebumps prickled over Harry's neck. He didn't need to hear the words to know who that was.

Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy, who was supposedly in Azkaban right now!

"… Severus, you really must do something… appalling condition of your furniture… entirely too depressing."

Malfoy had apparently escaped Azkaban to help Snape with his interior decorating…

"How I present my home is of no concern to you, Lucius," came Snape's impatient voice. Harry halted his forward progress, hovering against the wall on the other side of the arch, now able to hear perfectly. "In fact, nothing under this roof concerns you. I would not have you here had our Master not commanded me."

"How graciously you treat old friends, Severus," Lucius said drolly.

"You know how precarious my position is with the Headmaster," Snape insisted, voice growing softer with evident discontent. "He knows how tenuous my hold on the old man's confidence is. I cannot harbor a fugitive under my roof, Lucius! It is an unacceptable risk!"

"Are you questioning the Dark Lord's judgment?" Lucius asked in a silky, dangerous voice.

Snape was silent a moment.

"No," he retracted quickly. "No, of course not. I simply… I believe this decision to be misguided."

"Our Master, unlike you, apparently has some compassion for his disenfranchised supporters." There was a short silence. Lucius's voice grew exasperated. "Think Severus, you are in the most assured position of any of us. Why would the ministry ever search your home?"

"That position will not remain assured for long should others continue to endanger it," Snape growled. "I have direct access to Dumbledore; I would think the intelligence worthy of greater appreciation."

"And it is," Lucius said appealingly. "We all respect what you've done, Severus. I respect you."

Snape grunted.

"Oh, come now. Don't give me that look. You know your value to us. Here, have another drink."

Harry heard a faint trickling, and he marveled at Malfoy's belief that all he had to do was acknowledge Snape, and the other man would bend to his will. Did he really think--

"Even should he unearth my presence here, the old fool will trust any excuse you give him for it. He'd never believe his precious spy has turned against him."

Harry's heart froze in his chest.

Snape did not reply immediately, leaving Harry to think for a wild moment that the man was as shocked as he was. Had Voldemort somehow figured out Snape's spying activities? Had all these pleasantries been a guise for the fact that Malfoy was here to kill him?

Harry dropped to his knees and crept imperceptibly into the room, drawing his wand. He didn't like Snape, but if Malfoy was here to kill him, he certainly wasn't going to stand passively by and let it happen…

It was with no little surprise that he caught sight of Snape lounging casually in one of the arm-chairs, Lucius propped in easy camaraderie in another.

"The old codger is still convinced you're spying for him, isn't he?" Lucius inquired delicately.

What the fucking hell is going on? Harry thought bewilderedly. He knows Snape's a spy?

He could see Snape's expression from the side as he smirked. "Of course he is. Were you impressed by the November raids? That Muggle-loving fool certainly was." Snape took a deep swig of his drink. "I think I raised my stock in the Order considerably orchestrating that."

Harry couldn't believe Snape was talking to Lucius Malfoy about the Order!

"I don't believe Nott was too pleased with having a 500-year-old heirloom confiscated," Lucius noted wryly.

"Yes," Snape conceded. "I imagine he was not. The Dark Lord understands, however, that I need results. That old man is no fool. If I produce nothing--"

"I know, I know," Malfoy said, waving him off and pouring himself another glass of firewhiskey. "We all have to make sacrifices. Merlin knows I've had my share of them." Lucius paused, and added darkly, "Six months worth of them."

Harry was frozen where he crouched, trying to sort out the mess. Dumbledore was firmly convinced Snape was a spy against Voldemort. Now, it seemed, the Death Eaters were fully aware Snape was spying for Dumbledore against Voldemort.

Did that mean… Could that possibly mean…

Oh, hell, had Snape been working for Voldemort all along?

It defied all reason. Why would Snape have saved his life first year?

Snape had no idea Voldemort was still alive back then…

Why had Snape tried to teach him Occlumency?

He didn't. He just made me more vulnerable with it…

Why was Snape keeping him alive now? He could easily hand him over to the Death Eaters…

It wasn't fatherly love, he knew that. Then, what was it? Why? And how would he have fooled Dumbledore this long?

The questions tormented his mind as he listened to the men discuss Draco's schoolwork and Narcissa's thoughts on good budgeting.

"Three-thousand galleons for a broach?" Lucius sneered. "I knew once I was away the woman would lose all control of herself, but for Merlin's sake…"

No, Snape can't be a traitor, Harry thought. He just can't be. He could have killed me by now. Easily.

But it bothered him. It bothered him intensely.

Snape was harboring Lucius Malfoy… Why not just report Malfoy and blame it on a spontaneous raid by the ministry? Why protect him?

All Harry needed was one conversation with Dumbledore. He just needed to clear this up. He needed to be reassured--

"Tell me, Severus, who is that boy skulking by the archway?"

Harry froze for the briefest fraction of a second, and then, meeting Malfoy's amused gaze, he leapt to his feet.

Through the sudden fear, he realized very clearly, If Snape really is on Voldemort's side, he's going to kill me for what I heard.

Then, seeing the shock and then rage that suffused Snape's face, he realized Snape was probably going to kill him anyway.

No point dallying about waiting for it. He chose the most unlikely course for a Gryffindor.

He ran.