The pain still made his head spin; even this long after the relentless attack upon his open mind had finally been brought to a halt. He was, for all purposes, dead to the world. Not because of any damage suffered during what he could call nothing but mental rape, for he could not even attempt to assess what ill that had caused, but because it was Severus Snape who had done so. And so he lay there, curled into as small a ball as was physically possible, shivering from far more than the physical lack of warmth. What made it worse was that he could actually hear and feel his Dad try to comfort him. His imagination must have snapped, or he had, for the hushed tones and light caresses were just a shade too ghostly to be connected to a physical being. And yet, the light pressure as a hand petted his hair was just a bit too real to allot to simple imagination.

‘Oh Horris…child,’ he seemed to feel, as well as hear, ‘I can not do this son. I cannot lose you… please.’

It felt so real, that he almost allowed himself the hope that it was.

“Dad?” he even chanced to ask, but only the dripping answered as his ears attempted to focus once more.

The hand had left, too, which made the boy feel twice as lonely as before. Twice as lonely, twice as scared, twice as hurt… thrice as betrayed and ten times as sure that no one could be counted upon to act the way they were supposed to.

He was a child again, foolishly attempting to fill the sieve of hope with the sharp sand of reality. His reality was seeping through so quickly, and he feared that soon all that would be left of it were a few memories in his heart while the pebble-like grains of… of this existence seemed intent on bombarding his fragile sieve until it was no more. The urge to attempt every Dark Curse Voldemort had ever taught him overwhelmed him suddenly, needing to perform them if only to force himself to accept the knowledge as true… to gain any reason why his memories could be true. But he couldn’t, could he? He was locked in the deepest dungeon and his wand was Merlin-knows-where… and, on top of it all, he wasn’t even sure if the wand Dumbledore had (at least, he figured the Headmaster had it) would work anymore. It certainly caused him enough trouble the last time he tried, right before he gave it to Sirius.

Then there were the snippets of conversation he’d heard… the odd comment from Dragon -- from Malfoy. Whatever this was, Voldemort was ultimately behind it, one way or another. The monster had to be. Hermione’s words now haunted him so. It was true… a lot of crap had happened to him as Horatius Snape.

He was the son of the man whom he had hated and by whom he had been hated from the time the two met. The idea of a perfect parent, of a loving family, being ripped from him and taunted in front of his nose all in one go.

He lost his other family -- his house. His past friends hated him, tried to hurt him, or feared him. He had to start all over in a new house, one in which most were too fearful of him to become true friends.

He was the soldier of his archrival, sworn into his service and his to hurt any way he saw fit. He had to learn what he despised, force himself to acquire skills simply in order to survive. Skills that went against everything he believed in. He faced pain, he was harmed without wrongdoing, and he was forced to accept it all without retaliation.

He was taught to distrust those in whom he had utter faith before, shown how all were only out to use him as a tool.

Yeah, it was amazing that he hadn’t gone off the deep end, yet… but what about all the good memories? All the new friendships and family, the powers and triumphs? What about him finally finding his place?

Then again… all those had been squished now, as well.

If Horatius Snape had been all a hoax created by Voldemort, it being false did not change the bad. He had still suffered the pain, both mental and physical. He still felt weary around Dumbledore, and most of the other Professors. He hated Ron. He still knew the filthy curses he had mostly taught himself. He still feared showing weakness to pain; his actions at the meeting had proven that much beyond a doubt. Oh… oh but the good memories were certainly gone. He was a scrawny, ugly kid again, forced to bear the weight of the world. His new friends wished nothing more than to see him humiliated and dead.

And his father; the man he had loved so much had damn well nearly killed him… and had only spared him for he knew Voldemort had ordered that the boy was kept alive and (at least, mostly) sane. Of that he was sure.

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

The question of which he saw himself as became increasingly harder to answer… to himself, or Snape, or Voldemort. And they did ask, often. Actually, it had become a sort of game to them, he’d assumed… to Voldemort, at least. They asked each time he was brought before them, and it seemed no matter what he said, one of them would curse him. If he said Horatius, Snape would curse him, not lifting his assault until he had run out of snide remarks and profanities. If he answered Potter, Voldemort would curse him instead, though the lunatic would laugh instead of bellowing snide remarks. The worst was when he had once refused to answer at all, and had both tormented him. The Dark Lord was more powerful… more painful, but the added physical pain seemed dull compared to the detestation he would hear in his… in Snape’s voice as the man growled out his denials of anyone being stupid enough to name him an heir… let alone a family so great as his.

The times he was confused on what to answer while alone had begun to increase in length and number as well, though he knew that no great deal of time had passed. It was all because of their sick game, he knew, and he was disgusted with himself for succumbing to it. How could he not, though? How-

His inner musings were cut short by a sharp clearing of the thought, which the boy insisted on stubbornly ignoring… outwardly, at least.

“Let me speak to him alone.” The voice of one Draco Malfoy ordered from behind the raven-haired boy. Ah yes, that insufferable guard they had taken to posting outside his door of late… couldn’t have him left alone to his devices, after all.

“But-”

“Now.” repeated the voice in the patented drawl, the one that left no room for any argument (to mindless fools and other such lowly beings, anyway… he was quite immune to it, thank you very much), though it sounded strange somehow, as if it lacked some unidentifiable essence. Odd…

The raven-haired boy, still with his back to the bars, reeled through the possible explanations for this situation. The facts, first…. Always a good place to start analyzing probabilities. Sounds like Malfoy, but has a defined feminine feel to his (…her?) aura. As the guard hasn’t called bloody murder yet, this intruder to his musings looks like Dragon too. The aura feels stressed… not supposed to be here then, and is apparently quite intent on getting the boy alone with him… her… whatever.

Well, it’s either another attempt to mess with his mind (courtesy of dear old Voldy), an attempt to rescue him (courtesy of and manipulative intrusion of dear old Dumbly), or some third party.

“Potter!” apparently, the guard had believed the imposter and left. “Turn around, Potter”

Sighing, and being deliberately slow in his motions, the boy turned. Her aura (yes, it was definitely a she, now that he saw the colors rather than simply felt the currents) fully dispelled the Polyjuice-induced appearance. Shockingly, however, it proved her to be the one person he could not categorize as friend or foe as Horris, let alone Potter. It was time to try to unsettle her, it seemed.

“Ah, Mrs. McGonagall… a tad far from the Willow, are we not?” he would have laughed at the shock on her face (which still looked like Dragon, only serving to make it all the more comical) had he not been so concentrated on reading her and finding out why the hell she was here.

His Dad had warned him about this woman, his sister, and he had yet to disregard the man’s advice on anything, let alone family politics. The woman may have sounded quite amicable and seemingly harmless, but she had been a Snape; born and bred. That, and that alone, proved that she was almost certainly not as simple as she made herself out to be. Hell, even if he had had no inkling that she had been a Snape, his conversation with her would have warned him to be cautious. She wasn’t with Voldemort though, of that he was sure… he didn’t know if she had been on Dumbledore’s side, but then again, Snapes had been known for sticking to their side, and that alone.

Yet, so many things in this… this nightmare… have turned on their heads. So could she be on Voldemort’s side then? Just like his father? Or perhaps… No. No, he could not just assume such tendencies. Assuming was dangerous.

“Amazing, Potter,” she responded lazily, still mimicking Dragon’s voice, “you cannot distinguish between aura and essence, yet you can tell Polyjuice from the real thing without so much as a second glance.” He looked at her as if she’d grown another head. Aura and essence; was she joking? An aura consisted of a person’s magic and the soul while magic essence was simply a magical imprint on non-sentient objects. True, they were both looked similar when looking through aura sight, and magical essence was sometimes referred to as aura by the lazy or ignorant… but…

Well, now was hardly the time for refreshing his aura training principles, now was it? The only thing he had to ask himself was whether it was worth it to correct her on the point or simply let it be and insult the woman instead. One can never be too careful, right?

“Or, perhaps,” he taunted, “you are a terrible actor.” Snapes relied on their acting skills, he knew… hell, he had. She would not take the insult lightly. “You know, you’re lucky it was only a Death Eater and not an Asp that was guarding me…” he added, honestly, “if it were an Asp, you’d already be dead.” The woman should have known Polyjuice only disguises the physical, not magical, qualities of a person.

“And you, Potter, would do well to learn not to insult those trying to help you.” Dragon’s voice all but growled (wasn’t far from it… actually), eyes glaring openly.

He stared back at her for a full minute before setting an indifferent mask in place. He couldn’t let anything slip, not with her, not when he was set on making the woman eat her words. He wasn’t stupid. He knew no one could save him, not from this cell. His only option was to reach one of the main escape tunnels or make a run outside. The dungeon cells were inescapable, even for a person of Snape blood. The main tunnels were too far away to attempt to gain access to, and the outside was farther still.

“I cannot be helped Mrs. McGonagall,” he stated calmly, “Not even Dumbledore can weasel me out of this one, I fear. Frankly, I am surprised you would not have acknowledged this from the start, having grown up here.”

“And you ask why people treat you like a child, Potter.” the woman sighed, surprising him. “Part of growing up, you see, is realizing that not everything will be handed to you on a shiny little platter. I was years younger than you were when I had to learn that… not all of us can be as lucky as the great Harry Potter.

“But you are right,” she continued, her eyes darkening somewhat, “we cannot rescue you, but there are always other, more practical options.”

“Such as?”

“Somehow, you already know that I come from the line of Snape… this will allow me certain advantages while within these walls.”

“Look, just tell me what Dumbledore has planned and leave the how as unimportant for now. May I remind you, Polyjuice does not last long.”

“Very well, Potter, the Order has decided to wake your birthright prematurely so that you can face Voldemort successfully.”

He figured that was about the last thing he had expected her to say. First, his head raced with the question of what this ‘birthright’ could possibly be. Did they know he was Horatius, the Alpha? Had they been able to somehow capture all his powers and alter the memories of everyone around him? Or, was what he had experienced some sort of power pulse from his captive powers, as they struggled to find some channel to seep out of? Such things had been documented in some of the tomes he had read at Snape Manor; of suppressed abilities becoming so compressed that they relieve the pressure by forcing their carrier to use them, if only in his dreams. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to know what the hell was going on. Perhaps that was why he could still turn into his animagus form, and why he could see auras and occlude his mind so well…

Then, he felt as if he’d just been hit with a rogue bludger. What the woman said finally soaked in fully, and what he saw written so clearly between the lines forced a shudder down his spine. No, it wasn’t possible. Dumbledore wouldn’t… he… he couldn’t. Could he? Oh Merlin, he was fucked.

“Are… are you saying… that…that Dumbledore expects me to… to…” By Merlin, he couldn’t even say it!

“Calm down, P- Harry.” The woman whispered calmly. “I’m sorry, I should have explained it all more gently, I… I should have curbed my temper… you shouldn’t have been told like that.”

“It’s true then, Dumbledore really expects me to do it?”

“He expects you to survive,” she said calmly. “He wants you to have every advantage possible since we don’t know how you even got here, much less how to get you out unnoticed.”

“Look, Harry, I need you to drink this potion- all of it. Without it the unlocking spell won’t have any effect, and as you’ve said, I am running short on time.”

“You didn’t bring an extra dose?” he asked, reaching for the vial she held on his side of the bars. She had been here for a good half hour, at least.

“I do, but this will take a while, and I can’t exactly run out of here once we’re done,” she answered tiredly, watching him smell the purple potion. It didn’t help, he had never learned of anything like this. Finally, knowing that not taking it was not really an option, he gulped it down. He had felt the undertone of disbelief in her voice throughout the conversation, and as much as he had tried to ignore it, it was slowly pecking away at his calm. He had sensed that she didn’t believe this would work… well, not the power transfer, but his actual ability to use it once he had it. It was a rational fear though, body and mind needed to adjust before he would be ready to utilize new powers or far higher levels of power. That’s what the potion was for, he figured, to force his body to acclimate faster, though how they expected him to be able to actually use the new powers he couldn’t fathom. He only hoped that the skills he had learned as Horris would serve him now. Wandless magic would prove to be his best bet in this, it seemed.

“This spell will increase my energy levels, right?” he asked her, a collected mask back in place as he tried to rid himself of the horrid aftertaste. “How are we going to keep the others from noticing the power flux?”

“I am going to cast protective wards; no one will sense anything from this cell until I pull them down.”

“No, they’ll realize something is going on then.”

“Potter-”

“Will the power surge be gradual, or one big burst?” he interrupted her, already formulating a different plan.

“It should be quite rapid, but it will not come all at once, no.”

“Then I’d be better off just suppressing more and more of my aura as power accumulates.” he told her flatly, his very pores pulsing with the promise of being filled with magic once more. “The minor fluxes will simply look like emotional bursts, and seeing as everyone thinks you’re Malfoy, they’ll accept it quite easily.” Moreover, if she’s as good as a Snape should be, she’ll make the fluxes in her aura disguised as well.

“The process is quite painful; I’d rather have the sound wards, at least.”

“I can hold my own.” was the flat rebuttal, “Besides, if they think you’re torturing me, it’ll just make them all the more likely to leave you be.”

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

The woman had left long ago, leaving him to recover from the onslaught of energy rushing back into him like a breath of fresh air. Oh, each cell within him throbbed with the new fullness, as if trying its hardest not to explode. The difference was so great from the feeble abilities he had had when he woke as Potter once more, that he could not rightly tell if the surge had left him with more or less power than he commanded as Horris. It was somewhere around there, in any case… or so he hoped. Any small difference his mind could adjust to, be it positive or negative, and his feeble excuse for a body would be taken care of by that strange concoction. He could only hope that whatever it was had been created by someone other than that Lockheart wannabe currently pretending to be the oh-so-wonderful Potions Professor. If it had, there was no telling what damage it may do… As his body had yet to explode, however, he assumed someone slightly more qualified must have brewed whatever it was he took.

Not one to sit and dawdle while time was ticking away to his doom, the boy tried to remember wandless healing charms. He was not stupid enough to get his hopes up where his venoms were concerned, but the amount of power he was actively suppressing should allow for wandless magic to be possible. He wished he could see how much he was actually working with, but that would require him to flare his aura, which would in turn alert everyone of his little power boost. No, he could not afford to let them in on this just yet, and he did have to take care of at least the worst of the injuries and hope the potion had not changed his physical self too much.

Oh, how he wished he had listened to his father when the man told him to memorize all those healing spells, instead of just brushing over it. Wandless magic didn’t require a certain word or wand movement, but it did require the caster to know exactly what magics he wanted to influence and how, instead of simply what he wanted the outcome to be. He really should have gone and asked Madame Pomfrey to let him watch her heal as his father had suggested… He had several bones that he wouldn’t have minded having popped back into place.

He had just run out of time. He could feel a presence coming towards his cell, and this time it was the real Draco Malfoy. And he felt almost overly smug… damn.