Harry Potter lay listlessly on his degenerated bed, brooding over dark thoughts. They seemed to be going round and round, without ever reaching a solution. It was the second week of July and he still had many weeks to go until the Order would come and fetch him. No-one was to leave the house unnecessarily and Harry was never to be left alone.

He did suspect that the Order was patrolling outside most days, however, they were unbelievably busy too. And they trusted Harry in keeping safe. So far, he had managed.

Every day seemed like an eternity. Uncle Vernon had to stop working for Grunnings. Dudley had to stop school and Petunia... she looked more sour than ever. She ran around the house, already packing everyone's belongings (but Harry's) and whenever she met a neighbour, she showed that contorted nose-smile that never reached her eyes.

Vernon blamed Harry for not being able to work, how could he not. Worried about their financial situation, he had asked Harry numerous times if he was hiding money. Yes, Harry thought, but you will never be able to get it. Those were the kind of thoughts that kept him alive during this summer.

This time he knew deep inside that he wasn't going to go back to Hogwarts. He had to fulfill his promise to Dumbledore and find the remaining Horcruxes. Not knowing where they were or how to destroy them. Not knowing if he wanted Ron and Hermione to join him in the most dangerous journey of their lives.

Yes, he did feel overburdened with the task. But never would he admit that to anyone. It would mean that Dumbledore had been wrong about him. Overestimated him. Maybe he had? After all, he had been wrong about Snape.

"BOY!" he heard Vernon shouting from downstairs. Harry shuddered a little when he heard him stamping up the stairs, breathing heavily. The locks clicked and Harry counted. Twenty one. He opened the door.

"You are coming down right this instant!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Harry slowly rose from the bed. The tension in Privet Drive was sickening and Harry had no idea when the situation would escalate. It always did. At some point. But this time it had to be worse than ever. The food was getting less and less, none of the Dursleys thought that Harry deserved any of it. It was his fault that his uncle couldn't work any more, so how dare he eat their food?

If anyone in the Order had known exactly how precarious Harry's situation was, they would have sent someone to stay with him, but of course, Harry didn't know that. No, he grew up this way and was sure it was normal. The way it had always been and the way it had to be. If someone had thrown him into boiling water, he would have jumped out and saved himself. But it wasn't like that. The water was slowly heating up and Harry didn't notice that the point of boiling was very near. It was a slow process. Children stayed with their abusive parents sometimes until they were dead. Always believing that they were of course the ones to be blamed. For being clumsy. For breaking something. For being too loud. Or too quiet. Or for existing.

In Harry's case. For being a freak. Not that he agreed with the reasons for that particular insult. Simply possessing magic didn't make one a freak. However... being responsible for someone’s death certainly did. Having a lightning scar which allowed you to look into the mind of a mass murderer did, too.

Vernon's face expression was somehow distant. Hopeful. Like that of a pregnant woman awaiting the birth of her child. He looked down at the thing Vernon was carrying and realised that his uncle did treat that thing like a baby. His baby.

"This..." Vernon said dreamily... "is going to make us rich. Not you of course. I just need to show them once how well this is working and we're going to be rich."

Harry furrowed his brow. Vernon wasn't supposed to go to work anymore, but of course, he thought he could outwit the Order and Voldemort himself.

"We're going to show off... this. And you are coming."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because... if any of those freaks follow or attack us, you are going to protect us and... you'll be the first one to go. You owe me this, Potter."

Harry didn't feel that he owed his uncle anything but a ruined childhood, but of course, he would never say that. Vernon's malicious smile didn't leave much room for contradiction, however, Harry wasn't intimidated so easily.

"I'm not risking everyone’s life for some stupid money," said Harry angrily. "We're supposed to stay here this summer until the Order comes and protects us, remember? We are safe here. And what is it anyway?"

Slowly and rather gently, Vernon put down the suitcase with Grunning's best drill, the pride of his pathetic, overweight life.

Harry was fooled by the slow movements and ducked a little too late. The blow hit him on his left eye and he quickly felt it swelling shut. He suddenly realised that he was on the floor, panting for breath and seeing stars.

"YOU GET READY RIGHT NOW OR YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN, BOY!"

Harry struggled to get on his feet. As if he didn't wish that anyway... In the past three weeks, he had only had about five cold cans of soup. He didn't quite realise that it wasn't only the fact that every adult he had cared about... every adult who had cared about him was now dead and the wizarding world was slowly falling apart, no; the hunger was playing a great part in breaking Harry's spirits, but he wasn't aware of it.

He was going on a pointless, stupid trip to some deserted lunatic asylum to ensure that his uncle could demonstrate the power of a stupid drill, to earn money that he wasn't likely to ever spend.

When he sat down in the car next to a pale, scared-looking Dudley he just hoped that the Order would stop them and send them back home.

They didn't.

The car drive was several hours long and Harry soon dozed off, only hoping that he wouldn't have any strange dreams about Voldemort. Vernon would definitely kill him or simply throw him out the car if he spoke killing curses in his dreams.

When they arrived, Harry felt immediately that there was something wrong in this place, something bad.

A tall, balding man lead them to the creepy building which used to be called "Ravenspark Lunatic Asylum" and Harry was sure that this atmosphere was certainly not one in which anyone would get better in.

"We are trying to destroy it," said the tall man. "Four wrecker's companies haven't managed, Mr. Dursley. You are our last hope."

Vernon furrowed his brow. Harry could see that his uncle didn't like this little fact. Something was wrong about this red sand stone building. He could sense dark vibes, as if it had been cursed. It probably was and that was the reason why no one was able to destroy it.

"Some people think the building is haunted and that the ghosts of the inmates don't want it destroyed."

Vernon shook his head. He didn't believe in such nonsense. His drill would beat the wall, of course the building couldn't be cursed because his life motto was: Which must not, cannot be.

Harry could tell the man who said his name was Mr. Lorel that he thought that the people in the town were probably right, but he thought better.

"If you want to destroy it, why drill through the walls before? Surely, the wrecker's ball is the preferred option..."

The man smiled knowingly.

"Have you ever heard of Hooke's Law of Elasticity?"

Vernon nodded and suddenly his face lit up.

"Well, then, Mr. Dursley, you know what you have to do."

"Are the points marked already?" Vernon asked, now forcing a highly professional tone into his voice while he brought out the drill and started assembling it.

"No. It takes a while to calculate. We first need to know if it's possible at all."

Vernon nodded again. Petunia, carrying a large picnic basket, looked around nervously and seemed rather reluctant to go into the building, so Vernon told her that she and Dudley could find a nice place and have a picnic. Dudley must be starving. Harry actually was, but no one spared a thought.

Harry stared at the drill and wondered what on earth was so special about it and why it should be able to drill cursed walls. Before he could think straight, he felt himself wishing that this would be over soon and the drill started glowing. Vernon gasped and stared at it, then at Harry. If Mr. Lorel hadn't been there, he would have hit him, but he was trying to keep up appearances. Harry was terrified. He had no idea what he had done to the drill by the sudden outburst of accidental magic. Usually, this didn't happen as often anymore. Not since Hogwarts. Harry wasn't even sure if he had been the one who made the drill glow. If the project didn't work out then Vernon would lose the offer - he would blame Harry, of that he was sure.

As soon as Mr. Lorel, who looked as if his suit was tailored just for him, was a few meters ahead, Vernon grabbed Harry and hissed in his ear. "If you have done something to my drill with your nonsense, you will have a very... very hard time very... very soon."

Harry shook his head again. "Uncle, I didn't mean to... I don't think I've done anything bad to it..."

Harry had always wondered why the Dursleys treated accidental magic like faecal incontinence. Didn't Dumbledore write them a letter explaining that a wizard at times simply couldn't help it? Especially when not allowed to do any magic at all.

"Spare us your pathetic excuses, boy. Get in."

Hesitantly, Harry obeyed. The red sandstone building repulsed him. He knew that ghosts did exist, and in general, in opposition to the muggles he knew, wasn't scared of them, however, he had no intention of meeting the ones that haunted this place.

Inside, it looked as if people had only left recently. And in a hurry. The registration book was still lying there, open, and one would expect a nurse to stand there taking every visitor's name.

On the floor where hundreds of old keys, more than there were doors in this place. Old entrance signs were scattered on the floor. "Cunninghame Combination Poorhouse" or "Ravenspark Lunatic Asylum".

Definitely not the place you'd want to be in if you had mental problems, Harry thought.

The hairs in his neck were standing and he had the distinct feeling of being watched.

Walking along a corridor that was far too long for being pleasant, Harry heard footsteps right behind him. He turned around but  there was no one there. Vernon and Mr. Lorel were ahead. Something was wrong.

Petunia and Dudley were having a picnic outside, so it couldn't have been them.

He still followed the two men until they arrived in the children's ward. The cots were still there, some had fallen over. All were dirty and they looked like miniature jails. Harry shuddered.

"So, Mr. Dursley. If you manage to drill this outside wall, you have a deal."

The fact that they had come all this way to drill a hole in the wall seemed absurd to Harry. But then, he had never been part of the muggle world. His first ten years he spent mainly in the cupboard, apart from primary school which wasn't exactly life. And then he went to Hogwarts. And the summers he spent in his room. So he didn't know that it was in fact, an absurd thing to do, even for muggles, who did many absurd things. The idea that he was being set up didn't enter his mind. Not yet anyway.

Vernon was very busy assembling his drill. He seemed rather confident after he inspected the wall. The thought that it might have been cursed and that was the reason why no one else could do it didn't come up. Of course not.

Wearing his ‘professional face’ expression and after a lot of tapping and knocking with a little hammer, Vernon pulled up his sleeve to expose a huge arm and enormous muscles under the many layers of fat.

The wall didn't give in and Vernon was confused.

"Do you need electricity?" asked Mr. Lorel.

"No," panted Vernon, "it is fully charged."

It was impossible. He tried again, now at a different angle and with a purple face. It worked. A small hole appeared and Harry let out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding in.

"Amazing!" exclaimed Mr. Lorel. "Truly amazing. You have just made the deal of your life."

Happy that it did work, Vernon forgot about Harry and that he was angry and the three of them hurried out. Petunia and Dudley were already waiting in the front entrance, the large picnic basket was now half-empty.

The Dursleys and Mr. Lorel left the building first. Lorel pressed a button on his car key. As soon as he was out the door, a quiet, desperate sounding voice carried through the corridors and in the entrance hall. "Severus... help me..."

Petunia shrieked and her basket shattered all over the floor. Vernon's drill case fell with a loud bang and Dudley dropped his half-eaten sandwich.

In shock, Harry twirled around on his heels to see where the voice came from and made a decision he knew he would later regret. He ran back in.

Someone Harry couldn't see was trying to shove him out the door, too, where the Dursleys had already escaped but Harry managed to break free and keep running.

The doors shut. He couldn't see anybody and decided that the voice had been a ghost and that it was stupid to stay. Bloody instincs. Now panting and clutching his side, he hurried back to the entrance hall and the front door.

It wouldn't open. Harry peeked out the barred window with the glass already broken and saw that the Dursleys were getting in the car, as fast as they could and Harry shouted. But they didn't hear him.

Mr. Lorel watched them, then looked directly in his direction, a distant expression on his face. And Harry realised.

The door didn't open, not with several unlocking charms, not with keys, not with anything. The Dursleys and the obviously imperiused Lorel were already away. The windows were barred. He couldn't even disapparate and every spell he tried felt somehow weaker than the one before.

It was a trap.

There must be other exits, Harry thought desperately. There must be. Or a window that wasn't barred. The hairs in his neck were still standing up, as if eyes were boring into him. He quickly rubbed the back of his neck and tried to shrug the feeling off, but that didn't work.

Nervously fingering his pockets, he decided to put the cloak on. Before his death, Dumbledore had impressed it upon him to keep it with him at all times. So he did. It wasn't there. Harry was sure that he still had it when he had gotten into the car. The thought of it getting lost or stolen made him feel sick.

He walked up the spiral staircase to the second floor. The children's ward again. It was called "Arran View".

What a misnomer. The children here wouldn't have been able to see anything.

The windows were rather high up, small and dirty. And, like his own back at the Dursleys, heavily barred.

He looked for anything useful on the floor, but didn't quite know what. There it was again. Footsteps. Harry twirled around on his heel, only to see a piece of paper moving and a flash of... something. A shoe maybe.

Someone was here with him. And that someone was wearing his cloak.

The realisation hit him hard and for the first time he was able to imagine how difficult it was for people to defend themselves against him when he wore it.

But... if the person had wanted to kill him, he would have already done so. Unless... unless he or she also felt that strange sensation of the magic being sucked out of him with every spell. Maybe the person was just waiting for the right opportunity? He had, after all, being set up by someone. Why here though?

Harry decided to run out the children's ward, leave the door open and close the next door right behind him. It worked. Now in a different ward, which looked like the one for the adults, he stood there, not moving, pointing his wand at the door.

Panting for breath, he checked if the invisible intruder could come though another door. There was one, but it was shut. The invisible intruder would, of course, suspect Harry to be waiting at the exact spot where he was, so he came up with a plan. Soundlessly, he picked up several pieces of rubble and threw them further and further along the corridor. It sounded convincing. He threw the last one directly at the other door. A piece of string was lying further along and Harry checked the length. It was about right. With the weakest spell he knew and using as little magic as possible, he attached it to the doorhandle on the other door and pulled. Then he threw another stone behind the door.

He had done all this without moving his position. Harry was sure, that the other person suspected him on the opposite side of the corridor. Now he waited, his heart pounding against his chest, his wand pointing at the door.

Slowly, it started opening, a black wand appeared, held by a hand. Harry knew that stained, rough hand. It belonged to Snape.

Harry felt his temperature rise and his blood boil. Hatred overcame him and a strong feeling for revenge. This was, after all, the man he hated most. Right after Voldemort. With all his weight, Harry threw himself against the door until he heard a crack. And a loud groan.

He took Snape's wand, then opened the door and reached for the body that must surely be there and removed the cloak. A gasping, pale looking and wandless Snape stood right in front of him. Harry had both wands directly pointed at his chest and Snape, as if he had just been caught robbing a bank and was surrounded by the police, slowly raised his hands, staring furiously at him.

"Potter, you idiot! I'm here on Dumbledore's orders!"

No, he wasn't fooled by this. Snape had killed Dumbledore, he'd seen it with his own eyes. And he was Voldemort's right hand man. Harry also wasn't fooled by the raised hands, surely, his "professor" had something up his sleeve.

"No you aren't," was Harry's only retort.

"There is no time for explanations, we need to get out of here..."

Harry snorted sarcastically. In one of the Prophets Hermione had send him, he had read that Snape would possibly become headmaster of Hogwarts the following year. If he was trapped, that wouldn't be possible. However, he would also not be able to hunt down Horcruxes. But suddenly, Harry seemed to be less eager to break out, because that would mean he'd be partially responsible for every crime Snape would commit. Every child he'd murder.

"No, Snape. I'll stay. I have no intention of helping you to get out of this place."

"Potter, I am on Dumbledore's side! Have you ever bothered trying to find out more about the curse on his hand? It was killing him, he was dying and he preferred his death to be of use."

"You expect me to believe this?" said Harry bitterly. "The Order would have told me..."

"The Order doesn't know and you haven't been told because you are incapable of occlumency!"

Harry slowly shook his head. It was impossible. Snape was clever. Of course he'd make a story like that up. But... if it was true, he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

Well, Harry thought cynically. There is one way to find out. The thoughts didn't seem to come from him, but instincts told him what to do. Imitating the wand movements he had seen so many times in his fifth year, he pointed his wand at the greasy git and shouted: "LEGILIMENS!"

He had never known that he - Harry Potter - the mediocre and underage wizard who was supposed to kill one of the most evil beings of all times, could do legilimency. But he just could.

It came easily to him. Voldemort's legilimency skills were supposed to be phenomenal. He had obviously passed that little gift on to Harry, just like he did with parseltongue .

As soon as Snape saw that Harry was not only attempting it, he seemed to somehow know what he was doing, he turned away and tried to break the eye contact.

But it was too late.

Do not attempt any magic in here or we will both be squibs.

This was the message that Snape sent him. Harry didn't believe it. How could he? Of course the man didn't want him to invade his mind and risk Harry finding out how Voldemort was planning to kill him.

When Snape realised that Harry wasn't pulling back, he quickly created an image in his mind. Harry saw an almost unconscious Dumbledore, his hand withered, his face pale and old-looking. Snape towered above him, a look of grim concentration on his face.

"Severus. I'm so lucky to have you..."

"How long do you think I have?"

"I cannot tell. Maybe a year."

"No. You must kill me."

Harry was sorely reminded of Slughorn's tampered memories. This couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Snape had created these half-sentences in his head to convince him of the impossible. It must be some form of manipulation.

Strangely, Snape made no attempt at all to throw Harry out. None. Maybe it was true and this place sucked the magic out of any wizard? It sure felt like it.

After a few seconds, Snape's mind became totally blank. So the man was obviously able to occlude without using magic. Harry wasn't going to be convinced by this. It was Snape's fault that Harry had no parents. Why he had to stay with the Dursleys. And... it was his fault that Harry could hear his parents' screams in his head whenever a dementor came near him. Or whenever Harry went to sleep.

Without wanting it, the memory of his mum begging for his, Harry's life, came to his mind.

Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry... Not Harry... please... Have mercy, have mercy...

Suddenly, the blankness vanished and images were zooming in front of Harry's eyes at a sickening speed. Images that did not come from his mind. The screams were destroying Snape's ability to occlude his mind.

He saw his mum sitting in some woodland, reading a book to... to a young Snape who couldn't take his eyes off her. They both were maybe eleven or twelve years old.

Then he saw a teenage Snape sitting in Hogsmeade, watching the Marauders laughing. And Lily amongst them. The next image was one Harry was familiar with. He cringed when he remembered breaking into the pensieve, having to watch his own dad doing what Dudley used to do. He didn't want to see his dad lifting Snape up by the ankle. He heard the word mudblood shouted from a distance. With all his might, Harry pushed that memory away. The next thing he saw was Snape trying to apologise to Lily.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not interested."

"I'm sorry!"

"Save your breath."

Then an older Snape, kneeling... kneeling in front of Dumbledore.

"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

"No - no message. I'm here on my own account! The prophecy - the prediction... Trelawney..."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"-he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

The voices were fading and Harry had a very hard time understanding what was going on.

"You disgust me," he heard Dumbledore say.

"Hide them all then," Snape croaked. "Keep her - keep them safe."

Something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal.

Snape was sitting in Dumbledore's office, slumped forwards in his chair. He looked as if he had lived a hundred years of misery. "I thought... you were going... to keep her... safe."

Harry winced. He had seen enough. He wanted nothing more than to get out of Snape's mind. Words still echoed in his mind and a throbbing headache started to emerge.

"The boy... the boy must die?"

"And Voldemort himself must do it. That is essential."

"I thought... all these years... we were protecting him for her. For Lily."

Harry started to feel sick and wished he had never cast the spell. Neither would live, neither would survive. He had been raised like a pig for slaughter. The world started spinning. Harry had no idea how to retreat properly. Occluding would have been the way, but had never learnt how to do that.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on one single emotion. This had worked to force Voldemort out his mind, maybe it would work with Snape as well? He thought about his parents, about Sirius... about Dumbledore, and how he was lying on the bottom of the tower, his limbs strangely twisted, all strength gone. This would have worked to drive out Voldemort. Because he had never felt grief in his life. It didn't work for Snape though. How could it?

There was no reaction whatsoever from the potions master, maybe he wasn't even conscious any more?

Then he tried to concentrate on absolutely nothing. He imagined the emptiness he had seen in Snape's mind when he entered. It worked. It was difficult. Harry had just found out that he was sentenced to death. And that there was no way out at all. Emptiness, he tried to force himself. Think nothing. Occlude your mind.

Slowly and painfully, the memories started dissipating.

Harry found himself kneeling on the floor, clutching his head and groaning. When the pain started to subside, he looked over to where he thought Snape was standing. Except that he wasn't standing any more. Snape had fallen down and his position looked very uncomfortable. Harry was reminded of the time Snape had been knocked out by several expelliarmus in his third year and had to be transported back to the castle by a charm.

After he scrambled to his feet, he nearly fainted from the severity of the headache. He scrutinised the Potions Master and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The man seemed to have no life left in him and Harry seriously feared that he had killed him or injured him. Harry knelt in front of him, trying to find out if he was breathing.

Snape looked pale, almost as white as the wall behind him. His cheeks were sunken in and he wore a bitter and angry face expression, even when unconscious. Harry saw that his hand was badly broken and twisted. In the last few minutes, Harry had successfully managed to break a teacher's hand and invade his mind so violently that it made him lose consciousness.

A teacher who not only was on his side, but had saved his life numerous times in the past six years. And he had obviously cared for his mother. He'd been horrible to him though from the first day.

After checking his pulse, Harry was relieved that at least, he hadn't killed the man. He just couldn't be responsible for another death. There was an old glass in the corner and Harry quickly washed it in the sink and filled it with water. He lifted the man's head and poured some in his mouth, hoping that the reflexes would kick in and he was able to swallow it.

Then he got bandages from one of the first aid boxes and professionally cleaned the cuts and applied a splint. He had done this many times. When he was finished, he pointed his wand at the professor and murmured ennervate.

The same strange sensation crept over him. As if his magic was being exhausted with every spell. Harry stood back up, his wand still pointed at the man and waited for him to wake up. He knew that Snape might be angry with him and even though he was on his side, he might attack him.

When the man opened his eyes, Harry had to take a step back. Anger was not the word to describe his former teacher's face expression. He had never seen such concentrated hatred and aggression in anyone's eyes. Snape not only despised him, he completely and utterly loathed him. Harry was sure that he was going to jump up and attack him any minute. So he retreated until he bumped against the wall behind him.

Snape slowly stood up, not keeping his eyes off Harry, still giving him that terrible look that made Harry shudder.

"My wand, Potter."

Harry froze on the spot. If Snape got his wand back, would he disregard everything and just kill him? There seemed little doubt that he was capable of it right now. The man had never liked him. There had been a few times where Harry was sure that Snape would just jump to his throat and strangle him, however, this was no comparison.

The hatred he saw exceeded even Vernon's. The obsidian glare was still... still boring into him. Harry never thought that he would use old clichés, but "if looks could kill" sprung to his mind. The hair in his neck stood up and he had to clench his teeth to keep them from clattering. It was suddenly very cold.

"Hand. Over. My. Wand."

So much contempt concentrated in four words. Snape didn't yell. He was quiet. Dangerously quiet. Harry decided, that it was probably wiser to cooperate. After all, he had just found out that Snape was indeed on his side. His own stupidity might have blown it all though. Harry cursed himself.

With a sigh, an unable to stop his shivering, Harry handed over the black ebony wand. Snape put it in his robe.

“Yours, too. No debate. Give it right now.”

Harry handed it over reluctantly. But he did.

"It seems I have been mistaken about the precious Potter boy," Snape drawled, his voice barely a whisper.

"You are not exactly like your father. You are worse. You should be sent to Azkaban for what you have just done."

"I...," Harry muttered. "I thought you..."

"You don't ever think, Potter."

Harry tried to take a step back. He had forgotten that there was a wall right behind him. Snape was so close that Harry feared he would spit in his face any second. The man was still considerably taller and in much better shape than Harry was.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Harry glared at him. Somewhat defiantly.

“How dare you. How DARE you think you could do such a thing? You could have killed us both! Your arrogance has assumed alarming proportions.”

Snape came even closer and it took a lot of willpower to not flinch. The blow would come. Undoubtedly.

"How can you even think of performing legilimency on anyone? Do you believe that you are an actual match to Dumbledore?. You know... There are his powers. There are the Dark Lord's. Your teacher's. Your parents'. Your friends' powers. Then there are a few barrows filled with mud. Followed by Longbottom's 'skills'. Then, vacuousness... for a long, long time. And your magical abilities... you... aren't even in sight yet."

While Snape kept talking and getting worked up, Harry started to feel shooting pains in his stomach. They tried to force him to bend over and cling his scrawny arms around his body. But Harry was used to pain. And used to never showing it. He couldn’t help but wince a little though.

“You actually have the decency to grin at me?” Snape continued with the same deadly tone in his voice.

“Sir…”

“How DARE you talk back now? HAS NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU ANYTHING IN THAT PATHETIC LITTLE LIFE OF YOURS?”

The degree of the man’s fury was starting to really scare Harry now. The obsidian eyes shot daggers of concentrated hatred at the teen. His mouth was strangely twisted, the corners twitched dangerously. The flying back hair gave him a look of permanent derangement.

“Do you not understand? How many people have to die before Harry Potter first thinks and then acts? Are you too birdbrained to realise that your irresponsible actions tend to get people killed?”

Anger washed over Harry now. Snape was going too far this time. He was trying to break him just with words.

“Do we have something in common then?” he spat. Then regretted it immediately.

Within a millisecond, Snape had him pinned to the wall. His good hand grabbed Harry’s collar. Tight.

Snape’s cheeks now took the colour of Vernon’s when he started to lose control.

“How low do you think you can sink, Potter? Your sense of humour is just as disgusting as your father’s.”

When Snape saw that this comment actually caused a reaction in Harry, an evil sneer appeared on his face. The tension was unendurable. Harry’s self-discipline gave in just for a second and his arm flew up to protect his face from the blow that was sure to follow.

Snape interpreted it as an attack. With the reflexes of a true Death Eater, he grabbed Harry’s arm and forced it back down.

“POTTER!” he screamed. Then his voice went low, lower than Harry had ever heard it.

“It is no wonder that no one cares about you. Black was only ever interested in your father. Never in you. Dumbledore used you as a pawn in his brilliant game. And your relatives... I understand their sentiments of wanting to get rid of you!”

After this, Harry wanted nothing more than to leave. He couldn’t stand any more of Snape’s taunting. Not one word. Without realising, he bit his lip until he tasted blood and clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms. He had to drop the gaze and use all his energy to not cry. And to break free. After he had managed it, Harry was sure that while escaping, he was going to be kicked, thrashed or have some heavy object thrown at him. None of this happened. He seemed to hear Snape hiss something spiteful, but he couldn’t make it out. It was better that way.

He ran into the same room he had found the sink in. After quickly locking it, he saw that it must have been some sort of staff room. Less creepy. There was a small kitchen and a cupboard. Harry’s stomach was still hurting from hunger. He quickly grabbed a tin of beans and sausages and without checking the date or bothering to warm it up, he ate all of it and sat down on a grubby sofa.

His head suddenly seemed too heavy to stay up on its own and he had to support it with his hands.

One year to live... Harry thought. One year in which he had to complete a near impossible task and... his reward was death.

He fell asleep anyway.

After what seemed like minutes, Harry heard someone shout his name.

Snape.

It didn't take long to remember what had happened prior to his sleep. And where he was. He still hadn't been able to think for one minute.

You don't ever think, Potter.

Harry tried to forget what Snape had said to him. The more he tried, the louder he could hear the poisonous words and the cutting voice.

How many people have to die before Harry Potter first thinks and then acts?

Harry wondered that himself. He couldn't even help but agree with some of it.

"POTTER! Open that door right now!"

That was the last thing he wanted to do, so he just ignored the man. He didn't even bother to say anything.

With a loud BANG, Snape kicked the door in. It didn't seem to have taken him any effort.

Aren't we dramatic today, Harry thought bitterly. He looked out the window. The sun was going down. He must have slept for at least an hour.

The Potions Master's wand was raised against him, but Harry was quite sure that he wouldn't use it. Every spell cast in here, every bit of accidental magic even, seemed to attack the magical core. However, Harry felt that he had somehow recovered during his sleep. It just felt the way it always did. However... it felt wrong to do magic in here. Dangerous. And Harry was someone who trusted his instincts. There weren't many things he could rely on these days.

Harry stood up. It was never good to sit while Snape stood. The man was just too intimidating that way.

The greasy bat didn't take his eyes off him. He scrutinised the black-eye, his clothes, everything. Even the scrawny arms that were sticking out the jumper which was too short and too wide at the same time. It was Dudley's years ago.

Many years ago.

"So...," he drawled. "You will answer a few questions now, Potter. And you will stick to the truth. For a change."

Harry frowned. He was absolutely sure that this wasn't going to be pleasant. Nothing that happened in Snape's presence was pleasant.

Harry didn't answer, but glared at him instead. The silence seemed to make him angry, so Harry murmured something.

"Did the message arrive in that thick skull of yours?"

"Mhm."

Snape groaned impatiently. "Yes, Sir. Is it too much too ask for some respect?"

"Yes sir. It is indeed." Harry didn't mean to talk back like that but Merlin, did the man know how to press his buttons.

"How did you sustain those injuries?"

Silence. Harry hadn't expected that question. Of course he would not answer it. Give Snape ammunition to bully him?

"Answer. Now. Or we are going to have a problem."

A bitter laugh escaped Harry's throat. How could the situation be any worse?

"You can't force me to do anything."

Snape's breath escaped with a hissing noise. He leaned against a wall and folded his arms. Harry dropped the gaze and stared at the floor.

"Severus..." It was that voice again. The boy's head shot up and he regarded Snape who remained expressionless.

"Who is that?" Harry asked, forgetting that he was still holding a major grudge.

"None of your business Potter. Keep out."

"Fine. Just leave me alone. I am not answering anything."

The man made no attempt to go. Instead, he just stood there. Calm. Too calm, for Harry's taste. He had never met anyone so unpredictable. His temper. Even his loyalties. Everything but the black clothes and greasy hair was erratic. Oh, there was another constant. Foulness. How could his mum have been friends with Snape? Or did he just turn that way after her death?

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. How much did he wish that the man would just leave? For some reason, he also wished that Snape was on Voldemort's side. Then Harry would be the good guy who hadn't done anything wrong. It would have been easier that way. Instead, he found himself in a disgustingly complicated situation. Unable to cooperate with his only ally. The ally who was responsible for his parent's death.

"Severus... please," the female voice pleaded. It didn't sound alive. More like a ghost or something.

Again, the man showed no reaction.

"How many people are haunting you, Professor?"

The fury returned to the obsidian eyes.

Why could he never keep his mouth shut? Had Snape been right all along when he compared him to his dad? Did sons turn into their fathers? It was ironic, really. In one of the occlumency lessons, Harry had seen Snape's father. A dire man. Violent, by the looks of it.

"It has always amazed me just how much you resemble your filthy father."

"As much as you resemble yours?"

This time, Harry had actually managed to provoke Snape into planting a punch on his chin. The last thing he heard was a whooshing sound and he was on the ground. Seeing stars. He expected the usual kicking, so he rolled over and protected his head with his arms.

Nothing happened. He gawped at Snape, still dumbstruck. His chin swelled up at an alarming speed. The Potions Master was not only as shocked as Harry... he also seemed to be in a lot pain all of a sudden. Harry remembered seeing Snape like that right after he had killed Dumbledore. When Harry called him a coward. If he did that here, he'd be dead. No doubt.

"Damn it Potter!"

Harry managed to scramble to his feet. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Fight back? No. He had deserved this. Of course he wouldn't admit it though. Apologise to Snape? Not. Ever.

A throbbing pain emerged from his chin. Harry tried to feel if it was broken. When he looked up, the man was gone.

Harry flung himself on to the grubby sofa. He nervously ran his hands through the messy hair. Nothing made proper sense to him at the moment. What on earth was he doing here? Whose voice was that? He suddenly missed Hermione. She would always be able to come up with some thought through plan, no matter how hopeless the situation was.

Or Ron... whose ability to lift Harry's spirits was phenomenal. And whose sudden outbursts of unexpected brilliance had saved the day numerous times.

And Ginny. Suddenly, Harry realised that he might never see her again. Ever. He had to sacrifice himself and Ginny would be with someone else. This made Harry angry. How could Dumbledore demand such a thing? He wasn’t even allowed to spend his last year with her. He had to hunt Horcruxes, destroy them, and then get killed. And of course, he would do it. There was no doubt. He always felt as if he owed the wizarding world his life. They had taken him away from the Dursleys. Offered him an exciting, wonderful life with friends. Harry frowned. Maybe Dumbledore left him with the Dursleys to ensure Harry’s gratefulness? No, that would be evil. His thoughts started spinning. Thinking back, Harry cursed himself for being so naïve. He had never doubted that Dumbledore had planned for him to win and survive.

Snape. Harry didn’t want to think about him, but he had never been able to control his mind. At all. In first year, he had spied on the man, because he was sure that the man had wanted to steal the philosopher’s stone. For Voldemort. Looking back, he realised how grotesque that accusation was. In second year he had crossed Snape’s plans to protect him numerous times. And he’d been defiant all year. And his friends had stolen potions ingredients from him. In third year, he had declared that the most important person in his life was the person whom Snape hated. The man who had tried to kill him. Not only that, he had also attacked the Slytherin and knocked him out. In fourth year, he had been in considerable danger. Again.

In fifth year, he had violated his privacy, broken into his most private thoughts. And he hadn’t learned what the man was trying to teach him. In sixth year, he had repeatedly made a fool of Snape in front of the whole class.

“There is no need to call me sir”

And he had refused to give Snape the Potions book back. His book. He had also called him a coward and tried to curse him after he had followed Dumbledore's orders.

Harry sighed. He did have to admit that the abominable relationship the two had, was partially his fault. And Harry did look like his dad. And maybe he even behaved like him around Snape. Around the man who had always loved his mum. The man who was so determinedly and grimly trying to protect him.

With a sigh that indicated more responsibility than a sixteen-year-old should have, he rose from this lumpy sofa and left the room. The corridors were long, filthy and dark. Harry had a feeling that he had already stepped on a few dead birds, but didn’t let that thought surface.

Maybe Uncle Vernon’s drill could help them escape? When he saw the door, he noticed that the keys had been moved. Snape had obviously tried them all. Harry’s eyes fell on the picnic basket. It was nearly empty. Dudley’s half-eaten sandwich was lying on the floor. Without thinking, he picked it up and ate it, instead of opening a new one. Old habits were hard to break.

When he was finished, he picked up the drill, turned it on and brought it to the wall.

“Stop.”

Harry nearly dropped the drill on his foot. He obeyed immediately.

Not because there was a threat in Snape’s voice. But because there was not.

“The escape will be unsuccessful - you just drill pointless holes in the walls. It has to be precisely measured. Calculations need to be made.”

Harry saw the familiar scowl returning to the Potion Master’s face. This sounded complicated.

“How long…?”

Snape cut his question short by raising his hand and indicated that he wasn’t yet finished. Harry held his tongue immediately. Every utterance he made seemed to annoy the man, every dialogue would eventually turn into an ugly argument.

Snape resumed his I am teaching you something now, listen carefully, as it might well be the most important thing you ever hear in your life position.

"Hooke's law of elasticity suggests that if certain points are weakened, it is possible to target the wall easily. However, we are also dealing with a charm here, so adjustments which include higher arithmancy have to be made."

Harry had the sinking feeling that this was a matter of several years. His jaw dropped a little.

"It may take several weeks. Unless you have a better suggestion, Mr Potter?"

Harry presumed that this was a rhetorical question, but he did have an idea.

"Can we summon a house elf? They may be able to apparate us out of here?"

Snape smirked. "Did you truly think that I hadn't considered that option? Deductive reasoning doesn't seem be part of your cognitive abilities."

Harry didn't reply.

He wasn't too keen to go back to the Dursleys anyway. It was bothering him that he was unable to decide which one was the lesser of the two evils though.

"In order to achieve those targets, there needs to be some form of drawback from your side. Obedience is essential in order to get out of here."

"Yes, sir," muttered Harry, feeling his bruised chin.

"I have laid out a list for you. Every point has to be worked off. I assume you are not familiar with the concept of chores, but I assure... hard work does not damage the soul of celebrities. Start now."

Harry read.

Create two habitable rooms. Preferably staff or common rooms. Clean one bathroom, one kitchen. Find and prepare nourishment. Do not use magic.

He was very familiar with lists and chores, but of course, he wouldn't surrender that information.

"POTTER!"

Harry flinched a little.

"Is something not clear or are you contemplating the word choice for your letter of complaint?"

Harry shook his head in resignation. Who would he complain to anyway? The ministry, which was invaded by Death Eaters? Every adult who had ever cared about him was dead.

"It is clear, sir."

Before he started to gather tools, he decided to inspect the rooms they were about to spend days... or weeks (maybe months?) in.

In the corridor, he found an emergency escape plan. It showed function and position of every room as well as all exits. Well, both exits. They were properly locked, barred and charmed. Muggle and wizard security combined.

However, the plan was still useful.

"Staff Bathroom, Staff Laundry Room, Staff Kitchen, Staff Lounge."

That will do, Harry decided. He hadn't been in any of them, but they were the least spooky-sounding rooms he could find. He did not care to spend entire nights, dark nights in the EST (Electroshock treatment room) or the children's wards.

It was getting cold and dark. Soon, Harry wouldn't be able to see a thing. Maybe there were candles here? Or torches? Back to the corridor, he peered at the escape plan. The storage room was the cellar.

Great, Harry thought, nothing better than spending your night in the basement of a haunted looney bin.

He worked up the courage to find the stairs. The door was closed, but not locked. The room was surprisingly clean. Harry spotted a large torch and tried to turn it on, but it was dead. It was almost pitch black, so he searched the stickers that were on the lockers. Cleaning supplies, stationary, general supplies, medical supplies, food supplies, technical supplies, laundry, staff laundry. It looked promising. Harry searched the floor to find something to pick the locks with and found a paper clip.

Then he unfolded a moving box and started to pack everything they could need. After an hour or so, it was full to the top. He'd even found torches. No light bulbs though. He remembered that Lorel had offered Uncle Vernon to plug the drill in, so there must be access to electricity. He found the generator room and was able to access the emergency electricity. There was very little food, just a few packets of spaghetti, tinned tomatoes, tomato puree, garlic puree, salt, pepper, dried herbs and vinegar. It was the first time he was truly glad that he had grown up with muggles. At least he could be of some use. He fumbled double A batteries into maglites and with the torch hanging out of his mouth, he carried the large box upstairs. When he was back in the corridor, he heard Snape swearing and cursing something.

He went through the box, got a calculator, another torch, pencils and a writing pad. His breath held, he walked towards the bad-mooded teacher.

"Sir?"

"I do not wish to be disturbed. I thought I made that clear."

Harry held out the things he had found, Snape grabbed them and dismissed him with a nod.

And he's trying to teach me manners, Harry thought.

The next few hours Harry spent emptying the two rooms, the bathroom and the staff kitchen, tidying, cleaning, disinfecting and scrubbing. The conditions in all chosen rooms were terrible, never in his life had Harry seen so much grime. He worked doggedly, allowed himself no break. His hands started getting raw, but this was something he was used to. Then he moved only the necessary furniture back, not without thoroughly scrubbing it. He even put on new, sterile bed protection and bed clothes. Harry looked down on himself. There was stuff sticking to his clothes and Harry didn't want to dwell on what it was. He got some fresh clothes he had found from the staff laundry locker and went for a freezing cold shower. At least there was water, it was a little brown at first, but then became clear. His teeth clattered.

Unfortunately, the clothes he got were not warm. The short-sleeved T-Shirt revealed another ugly bruise on his arm where Vernon had dragged him downstairs after Dudley had burnt himself with the kettle. It wasn't Harry's fault that Dudley was so fat that he knocked everything over. But of course, Vernon had blamed him.

Harry shrugged. Couldn't be helped. Snape wasn't interested anyway. He was probably quite glad to hear that the Dursley's didn't pamper him at all.

The last thing on Snape's list was the preparation of food. Harry'd had a lot of practice with that as well. After another hour, he had prepared a perfect Spaghetti and tomato sauce. He had even found red wine and cream to make it better. Harry did know that Snape would be surprised by his skills, but he knew he wouldn't get praised. His house-elf skills were nothing to be proud of.

He rattled the dishes really loudly, like Petunia always did and after a few seconds, he heard approaching footsteps. Snape went into the bathroom and Harry made even louder noises. He did not want to hear anything. Then, Harry heard Snape walking around in the other rooms Harry had cleaned. Halting and inspecting each one.

Harry dished out food and could feel eyes boring into him from behind. Snape scrutinised the food, the bruise on Harry's arm, the cleanliness of the kitchen.

"Well, Potter, I am surprised you haven't decorated as well. Were you intending to stay for the year?"

Harry held his tongue. There was no energy left for another argument. The prospect of sitting at a table with Snape, eating and trying to ignore the awkward silence diminished his appetite in an instant.

"There is wine, too, sir. Can I eat in the other room please?"

Snape, looking a little too relieved for Harry's taste, agreed.

When he was finished with his meal, he noticed that there was a file lying right in front of him. Though he wasn’t too interested in reading horror stories, he opened it anyway.

There was an odd list of reasons why people were admitted to this place.

Intellectual impairment
General Idiocy or Idiotism
Imbecility
Incapacity
Vacancy of mind
Poverty of intellect
Clouded perception
Stupidity
Incompetence
Insanity
Simplicity
Puerility
Babyhood
Anility
Irrationality
Trifling ineptitude
Inconsistency
Madness
Unintelligence
Weak mindedness
Weak headedness
Shallow mindedness
Infantilism
Unteachability
Ungifted
Irrationality
Moron -ism?
Mongoloidism
Feeblemindedness
Cretinism
Dwarfism
Spasticism
Head affection after fever
Cerebral excitement
Sillyness
Dementia
Chronic Congenital Mania
Melancholia
Truly deplorable
Harmlessly insane
Dangerously insane
Living in an inactive state
Listlessness
Infirmity a range of?
Paralysis
Defective intellect
Moral degradation
Infamy
Criminality
Derangement

Harry snorted. This applied to almost everyone. He flicked through the pages and suddenly saw a name he recognised. His breath stopped. He was itching to read further. For the first time in his life, he did not give in to his curiosity and slapped it shut. Someone had planted this information here. But it was certain, very certain that this someone couldn’t have been Snape. A shiver went down his spine. Feeling a little numb, he stood up and slowly walked towards the staff kitchen.

Snape looked up from his empty plate. Harry saw the purple shadows under the man’s eyes, the pale face, the lost weight. An unfamiliar sensation rushed through his body. Something he had never felt towards his… tormentor? It was pity.

Wordlessly, he held out the file. Snape took it off him and flicked through it. When he glared back at Harry, he could see freshly inflamed rage. It was so raw that Harry intinctively retreated.

“Did you read this?” Snape demanded, his voice quiet and cutting.

“I did not.” Harry answered.

“I don’t believe you.”

Snape slowly stood up, he seemed to have difficulty maintaining his balance. Harry quickly checked the wine bottle. It was empty and a new one had been opened. He could almost hear the alarm bells ringing.

“I- I didn’t read it. You have my word. As a wizard. As a Gryffindor. Please don’t…”

“Don't what?” he demanded. Harry noticed that his cheeks were oddly flushed. Anger, rage, concentrated hatred, pain and something else… something unfathomable fluttered across his face and Harry started to feel very uneasy.

Snape got a glass from the cupboard and planted it in front of Harry. He then poured wine into it.

“Drink this,” he demanded.

“I don’t drink…” Harry replied hesitantly.

“Nor do I. Nonetheless.”

Harry emptied it in one gulp and felt almost instantly drowsy. Snape did the same.

“It seems…” Snape started slowly, slurring, but choosing his words carefully, “It seems as if certain information... should be exchanged.”

Harry wasn't exactly sure what Snape meant. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to know any more. Every single shred of information was as unpleasant as the next.

“You will answer every question truthfully and in satisfactory length. Is that clear, Mr. Potter?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Do those rules apply to you as well?” he enquired, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Maybe he could find out more about his mum? He knew almost nothing about her. It didn't seem right that everyone else was allowed to have more knowledge about his parents than he did.

Snape regarded him for longer than Harry was comfortable with, as if he was searching for something. He then seemed to have found it (or not) and answered.

“Agreed.”

“Fine.” Harry licked his lips nervously. “I start with the questions.”

Snape was being unusually informative. Harry wondered if that was calculated or if the wine had loosened his tongue somewhat.

Harry learned that Dumbledore had known about Draco's “mission” all year, about his feeble attempts to kill the man. About the unbreakable vow. And the fact that he didn't want the boy's soul damaged. Snape had revealed information about Voldemort's plans to infiltrate the ministry. About the Order. The problems at the ministry, the lies, loyalties and the scheming of certain members against others. He even told him about the connection between him and Voldemort. How parasitic it was. Ever growing stronger, until Harry would be taken over completely by the soul of a lunatic mass murderer. Not to be fought with occlumency. Harry felt as if there was a large tumor inside his head which would eventually kill him. It was just a matter of time.

In return, Harry had told him about the horcruxes, the Pensieve, Dumbledore's mission. It had been the first “neutral” conversation with Snape ever. He patiently answered the questions about the time turner in third year, about the fight with the Death Eaters in the ministry. Truthfully and to Snape's satisfaction.

It was late. He was tired.

Harry was not sure if he wanted to know more. The cold, calculative manner in which Dumbledore had planned his death disgusted him.

Snape also knew about this place. He knew that it was in a town named Irvine, right on the west coast of Scotland. It had only been recently abandoned after some scandals about mistreatment of the patients. It held muggles and wizards alike, no one had ever been released. Wizards lost their magic in here after a short amount of time. It was locked by muggle forces as well as several charms. Easy to open from the outside, impossible from the inside. It was out of sight from everyone and everything, as well as being surrounded by a silencing charm.

All the spells were charging spells. This meant that they had been strengthened over time and it would take the same amount of time to destroy them. Around two-hundred years.

Harry asked if Voldemort himself was able to destroy the "protection". Yes, Snape had answered sourly, if he spent his seven lives on it, he maybe could. He would however, be able to break in from the outside and yes, Snape could summon him with his dark mark. But Snape thought this would be nothing short of suicide.

Harry still hadn't found out who kept them in here, neither had Snape. It did not make any sense. Dumbledore's side would not capture Harry and risk him becoming a squib. The Death Eaters would. However, they wouldn't want to lose Voldemort's right hand man.

“Now... you might not understand how this information could be of any importance but...” Snape rubbed the back of his shoulders and seemed rather nervous, “I need to know why your relatives have been so... let's say … unsupportive. Did they seem... confunded when you last saw them? Why did they not come back?”

Harry sighed. “I don't think they were confunded, no.”

Snape frowned. Maybe he knew that he was walking on thin ice.

"When you become of age... which will be very soon, the charm your mother created will be broken. There will be no need for you to return to Privet Drive, unless you wish to do so."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that did not go unnoticed. The furrows in Snape's brow grew even deeper.

"How did you sustain those injuries?"

He didn't want to lie and he did not want to tell the truth either. It was certain that the Potion Master would use the information against him in the next argument. And there were always arguments. This truce was fragile, only held together by the thirst for information that had been withheld for years.

Snape's next move was unexpected. He put the file in the middle of the table and Harry, curious to find out why that voice was haunting him in the building they were both trapped in, stared at it.

"Potter!" Harry startled. Snape seemed satisfied. "It is important. You may not see why. But it is."

The unspoken words trust me where hanging in the air and Harry was glad that he didn't say them out loud.

His throat suddenly seemed very dry. Snape poured more wine and Harry snorted, but accepted.

"How. Did. You. Sustain. Those. Injuries."

No threat in the man's voice. And yet, Harry wanted to answer.

"Elaborate." And then he heard the unexpected, unfamiliar utterance. "Please."

The wine, the fact that he never had to go back and the unanticipated plea had softened him somehow.

"My uncle. He hates me."

Silence.

"You may explain."

"Well...," Harry fidgeted in his seat, "They don't really know much about magic and I always did things they found strange and..."

"Potter. I said explain. Not excuse."

Harry lowered his head. No one had ever been interested in the Dursleys. Not his primary school teachers, not his friends and especially not Dumbledore. Something snapped in his mind. It seemed as if the next words were pulled out of his throat, against his will. Or as if Snape had punctured an abscess that had long wanted to burst.

He recounted the resentment. The beatings. The hatred towards him. Why they called him a freak. The endless lists of chores and the punishments if they weren't met. Petunia's coldness. Dudley's bullying. Uncle Vernon's temper. Aunt Marge's bulldogs and the speech she gave about Harry's parents. The times Aunt Petunia had locked him into the bathroom with a bucket full of cleaning agents. The fumes. The night Vernon had thrown him against the coat hook and he couldn't walk for two weeks. The belt. How the buckle hurt when it was twisted a certain way. His burnt Hogwarts letters. The lack of presents and photos. What they told him about his parents. The day he ate out the trash can because he hadn't been allowed food for three days, was sick and Vernon made him eat it. The announcement at school that he was a thief because he had stolen a small girl's lunch. It had just appeared in his schoolbag, just like magic, but that made Vernon even angrier. The broken bulb, the darkness and stuffiness in the cupboard. The move to Dudley's second bedroom and the bars on the windows. The pain when Aunt Petunia hit him with a frying pan.

Harry had been staring at his glass of wine, unable to face Snape. When he was finished, he expected a comment along the lines of: 'Are you quite finished with your babbling?' Or 'that was so tedious, I almost passed out.'

Snape's face was ashen. Not that there had been much colour in it before, but he looked as grey as the wall behind him. He also seemed to have shrunk a little. The shadows under his eyes were black now.

Abruptly, he rose and stalked over to Harry who instinctively felt his bruised chin. Snape grimaced. He was very close now. Before Harry could react, Snape had lifted the T-Shirt and scrutinised Harry's back. He pulled it down quickly, but judging by the sharp breath the man drew in, he had seen enough.

"Merlin, Potter..." he whispered as his voice seemed to have left him. "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I tried," said Harry, a bit defensively. "I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts. And my letter was addressed to the cupboard. And... Dumbledore kind of reprimanded them last year for... not being nice and not feeding me much. He saw the bars and..."

Harry stopped. He had to. The thought of his miserable childhood being accepted by Dumbledore as part of his plan just hurt too much. The glass Snape was holding broke. He took no notice. No, the man didn't look well at all.

"Fascinating..." he whispered. "That's what Dumbledore meant."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Excuse me."

Snape stalked... staggered out of the room and Harry could hear his footsteps dying away in the distance of the corridor. Then he heard things getting smashed and shattered.

It had been a very long day.

As soon as Harry put his head on to the pillow, he jerked awake. Panting and sweating, he tried to remember what had woken him. Some odd sound. Disturbing.

Harry looked at the clock he had found the previous day. It was six in the morning. The sun would be coming up now, but it was a rainy, cold day. He got two hours of sleep. He had to go back, otherwise he would lose his mind pretty soon. He swung his legs from the high, hard bed and walked (rather sneakily) towards Snape's room. Fully knowing that he'd probably regret it, but the man had been so... grey the previous night.

There it was again. Harry didn't bother to knock, he just stormed in. Snape was sitting up on the bed, his attention focused on his hand. Harry winced. It looked terrible. The deep gash on the back of the hand looked swollen and there was a red margin around it. Green, thick liquid leaked from it. The bones seemed to be in the right position though.

"It's infected. Sir."

Snape growled.

"Well observed, Mr. Potter. I wouldn't have been able to tell."

Harry ignored the comment and approached the man. "I found some stuff that could help."

Snape scowled at him. "I must have missed the announcement in the Daily Prophet. Boy-Who-Lived acquires PHD in muggle medicine."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just, um, wait here, I'll bring something."

Harry stalked out of the room, took his torch and went down the spiral staircase to get to the storage room. He was careful not to touch the walls or the handrail.

It took ages to go through all the instruction leaflets, but after a while he was sure he'd found something that would help. An antibiotic called piperacillin-tazobactam. For some stupid reason, Harry repeated the name over and over again, read the instruction leaflet and memorised the small article on wound care. Administration: Intramuscular injection. Harry bit his lip nervously. He found some more compresses, plasters and antiseptic solution.

Then he walked upstairs, boiled water, took it off the hob to let it cool and sat down at the table to wait. The file was lying in front of him.

Harry wondered why on earth Snape had allowed him to see it. It was so very unlike him. The truth about the Dursleys must have been very important to him. For some weird reason. Harry did not see what was so exciting about them, but there were many things he didn't know.

He sighed and flicked through the pages.

Final report

Eileen Snape

Date of Birth. 12.02.1939

Date of Death 01.09.1972

Education: St Joseph's Primary School, Easterhouse, Glasgow. Secondary education unknown.

The patient was admitted on the 25th of December 1972, on demand of her husband Tobias Snape. He claimed she was endangering their son's mental stability and had to be removed from the home. Symptoms on admittance: Delusions, depression, schizophrenia, aggressive behavior. She has admitted to having attacked her eleven-year-old son on numerous occasions because he "reminded her too much of his father". The patient was always convinced that she was a witch and unfortunately, never gave up on the idea. When asked to perform "magic" she showed frustration in not being able to and blamed the loss of her "wand" as well as "bad vibes" from the hospital building. She was able to convince other inmates of this and was often found muttering "incantations" and involving others to help her to break curses. Medication: Lithium Bicarbonate 1800mg p.d., Mirtazepine 35mg p.d. Benzodiazepame on demand. Therapy sessions unsuccessful.

Cause of death: Self-inflicted.

Harry looked up. That's what Dumbledore meant. Severus and you have a lot in common, Harry. A screwed up childhood.

It was a small report. There was not a lot of information, but Harry knew how to read between lines.

With more confidence then he truly felt about healing, he sorted bandages, got the medication, re-read everything and went through to Snape's room.

"I found it," he said quietly. Only to realise that Snape wasn't awake. He must have taken quite a while. His forehead was glistening with sweat. The infection had obviously spread through the body already.

Harry prepared the injection and remembered the instructions. Thigh or upper arm. Obviously, Harry decided for the latter. He tried to lift the man's sleeve, but it didn't go high enough. He tried to wake the man, but to no avail. Finally, Harry decided to open the shirt, fully knowing that Snape would probably kill him when he saw it. He unbuttoned it slowly, uncovering a pale, thin torso and visible ribs. There were dark purple scars across hi chest and Harry winced. It was almost surreal seeing something so human under the black clothes. Finally, he managed to reach the upper arm. He quickly jammed the needle in, pulled a little to see if he had hit a blood vessel. Nothing. Then he pushed all the liquid in. Snape stirred and Harry startled.

The man's eyes opened and he stared at the needle and the packet, but did not say anything. Wearing a stone-cold expression, he closed his shirt again. One-handed.

Harry pulled the chair closer to the man's bed and sat down and inspected the wound. Neither of them spoke a word. There was a foul smell which couldn't have escaped Snape's large crooked nose.

Harry washed it carefully, pouring the water over it, then the antiseptic solution which turned the whole hand a fluorescent yellow. Snape exhaled loudly and Harry nearly dropped the bottle. Why was he so nervous around the man? He had, after all, faced Voldemort. Several times.

Then he put the bandages back on and finally the splint.

"I can't stitch it," Harry stated, not knowing why. "You can only do that a few hours after the injury occured and never to infected wounds." Snape looked angry.

"I-Im sure you knew that already."

"Don't tell me you have ever done that." Snape looked rather disturbed.

Harry simply nodded yes.

Back in the kitchen, he made two glasses of water and sat down, tiredness overwhelming him. Snape stood in the doorframe, again, just staring. Harry was horribly aware of his long, skinny limbs, his paleness, his bruises.

"Sir" Harry asked, fidgeting in his seat. "Why is it so important for you to know about the, uh-" He didn't continue and just hoped that Snape understood. The man sat down, his eyes fell on his mother's file.

"It is essential for my further conduct." He finally answered.

"Why?"

"Are you so naive to believe it to be a coincidence that the two men Dumbledore chose to fight the Dark Lord had the most miserable home lives one could imagine?"

Harry didn't know how to reply. Yes, he did believe that. It was impossible that Dumbledore...

"Potter. Think. For once in your life. After what I have recently learned, I am not sure any more how much this man knew. Did he know that Black would die in the ministry? Did he know that Black was innocent all along but chose to keep him in Azkaban so that you would never have the chance of a relatively pleasant childhood? Did he know but didn't change it in order to your ensure your gratefulness to the wizarding world? Did he know that Black would change to Pettigrew? Did he know that Pettigrew would betray them? Was the death of your parents calculated, too?"

"No!" He couldn't have. He just couldn't have. "You were the one who brought the prophecy to Vol-"

"Don't speak his name!"

"Fine. To You-Know-Who. That was you."

Harry saw a tortured flicker in the older man's eyes and clapped his mouth shut.

Snape dropped the gaze and rubbed his forehead. "He knew I was out there. And he wasn't surprised when I informed him that I had divulged the contents of the prophecy to the Dark Lord. I am beginning to believe that everything was planned. Dumbledore allowed his precious golden boy to be mistreated. Hence, there is little doubt that he would let other events unfold."

Harry blinked nervously. He put two and two together and it almost clicked in his head.

Snape went on. "He tested you. You had to face the Dark Lord several times. Under Dumbledore's protective wing. First year. Second year. Fourth year. Fifth year. I am sure he gave you a little speech every time, telling you how unbelievably proud he was."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Not to forget. He raised you fjust to die at the right moment. He is convinced that you will sacrifice yourself. Your parent's death might have been part of the plan. Your death is part of the plan. And the fact that you had no one, nobody but him to look up to was part of the plan, too."

The man looked green now. Suddenly, he jumped up and ran past Harry. First, he bolted towards the door, but then re-decided and changed direction. He threw up in a dustbin, then walked out. Harry, not knowing if he was supposed to clean up, cause that had always been his job when Dudley was sick, stood up.

"Don't you dare!" he heard the man shout from the washroom.

He came back, looking more pale than ever.

"I don't want to fight for Dumbledore any more." Harry announced.

"Nor do I. Go to bed."

A miserable Harry rose from his seat and walked to his room.

And even now, neither of the two man were able to thank each other or apologise.

Harry was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. There was just too much information. And no chance to start thinking about any of it, really.

He woke several hours later, feeling strangely refreshed. And strangely numb.

There was nothing really to do for him, he certainly couldn't help with the odd calculations Snape tried to make. But he didn't want to sit on the bed and feel sorry for himself, either.

He walked through the corridor which looked even worse in the daylight. The further he walked, the thicker the clouds of dust got. It was almost like mist. Somehow, birds had been able to get in previously, but didn't any more. Harry tried to find comfort in the hopeful thought that maybe Hedwig would find them here.

But who would she send a message to? The Weasleys? Certainly not. It wasn't safe enough to contact them, to stay with them. Everyone would be in danger and he would not... could not be responsible for one more death.

Dumbledore had left a mission for Hermione, Ron and him. But Harry's death was calculated, so maybe theirs was, too? There weren't many things Harry put past the old wizard. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that this journey would be a lonely one.

"Am I mistaken or are you actually thinking about something? Tell me, does it hurt?"

Harry frowned. Snape was obviously not a morning person.

Harry slightly cocked his head and stared at the scattered blueprints all over the floor. They were all numbered.

"How is your hand?" he asked in the most neutral voice he could come up with.

"Fine," Snape growled.

"Right. Sorry for asking" Harry sighed.

"Could you just... go elsewhere and do something useful?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"

"No matter. Just stay out of my sight."

Great, Harry thought. Nothing has changed. He was trapped with a man who absolutely detested him, despite his efforts to comply and try to behave better. Harry sighed. A thought came to his mind. It was a sad thought. Adult.

"Professor?" Snaped groaned impatiently. "You see... you hate me, right. And I don't much like you either. But we still want the same thing. Bring Vol-"

"- Don't!"

"You-Know-Who down. Maybe the fact that we hate each other could come in handy or something. You won't feel so bad if I die in your presence and... and vice versa. And I don't think I can take Ron and Hermione to hunt down horcruxes anyway. Dumbledore wanted that and I don't want to..." he trailed off, knowing that he didn't make much sense.

There it was again. This unfathomable expression in the man's eyes.

"Get to the point."

"Once we get out of here... let me FINISH. Once we get out of here I will not return to Hogwarts. And you and I could maybe hunt down the remaining Horcruxes together because you wouldn't try and protect me from doing what I have to do now that you know that I have to die. And you wouldn't care if I died anyway."

Harry knew that the man had been upset the previous night when he learnt about the Dursleys, however, he put that down to the fact that he had lost all remaining faith in Dumbledore at the same time.

"You understand, you wouldn't have to keep me safe because you don't have to save your own skin any more. Maybe you could train me in combat and... stuff."

Harry shuddered at the thought. If it would be remotely like 'Remedial Potions' his last year would be very, very unpleasant. The man studied him for an eternity before he finally answered.

"Potter. How many times. You are not in the position to fight the Dark Lord. It would take you time... an eternity to ever be an equal. No matter what this blasted prophecy said. You are no match. The second you face him is the second you will die. And he will not."

This angered Harry. "I have faced him before. I bet him. I got away."

"Barely. And the reason why you did is because of your mother's protective charm. That charm will break the minute you become of age which will be... the day after tomorrow. After that, you are just an ordinary wizard."

"But..."

"No but. I do not believe that the prophecy will even apply to you after you become of age. It does now. But he took your blood and cannot be touched. I wonder why on earth Dumbledore thought that a weak, underweight and mediocre boy should be able to beat one of the greatest wizards of all times."

Harry tried his hardest not to hang his head or look defeated. It didn't work.

"I wonder that, too." he said quietly.

Then he had an idea. His mother had sacrificed herself for him, for Harry. If he sacrificed himself for the wizarding world, he would die, but everone else would be protected from Voldemort's curses. He just had to destroy the horcruxes and the sacrifice himself. Just. And that had to be after his birthday.

"You know, Potter. I would have thought that your ambition to be a famous hero wouldn't go so far as to sacrifice your own life. You are taking this further than the Dark Lord himself. What a noble way to remain celebrated." The sneer on Snape's face was uglier than ever. It angered Harry beyong words when people thought that he had chose his fate.

"WHAT?" he shouted, his voice higher than usual. "Do you think I WANT this? Do you honestly believe that it's nice to have this creepy mind-connection to a lunatic mass murderer? Do you think I decided when I was fifteen months old that I'd rather get rid of my mum and dad and become the Chosen One? You are SCREWED UP! I am not proud of any this." Suddenly tired of fighting, he added; "I'd much, much rather be normal. Just Harry."

The word 'normal' sounded so sincere and desirable, as if being normal was just the greatest thing on earth, that Snape was taken off guard.

"Is that how you justify getting my parents killed? By telling yourself over and over again that I like it?"

At this, Snape erupted. "I have never justified my decisions. EVER!" The violence of Snape's outbreak made Harry retreat a few steps. He suddenly remembered that he was completely at the man's mercy and that he shouldn't really agitate him so. He felt his swollen chin nervously.

Snape grimaced before he continued. "Merlin, look at yourself. Leave. Your presence sickens me."

This wasn't a hateful remark, this was a stated fact.

"Sorry," muttered Harry, wanting to go.

"Don't APOLOGISE! Don't stand there looking like a kicked dog!"

Harry feared that the man in front of him who was now grabbing fistfuls of his own hair, looking deranged was completely losing it. If he decided to fall apart in front of him right now, Harry would find a way out and back to... Hogwarts or anywhere right now.

"You are driving me INSANE, Potter!"

"I-I'm sorry" stuttered Harry again, now desperately wanting to bring as much distance as possible between him and Snape.

"I say it again. Do NOT apologise. You have nothing to apologise for."

"But you said..."

Snape turned away now. "Forget what I said. All of it."

Harry opened his mouth to say something less unpleasant, but he was being interrupted again.

"Yes, Potter. This is my feeble attempt at an apology."

The man was still not looking at him. Harry found that unusual. There was something different about him in here. He seemed to be unhinged. More dangerous. Less disciplined.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry blurted.

"You understand absolutely nothing, do you, Potter? Not. A. Thing. I have been trying to avoid this place for decades. Only to be imprisoned here myself. I have been trying to avoid you for seventeen years. Only to be here with you. Everyone talks about you, writes about you. Wants to kill you, save you, capture you, free you. Everywhere I go, you are either there or being discussed. Whenever there is trouble, it's always you behind it."

"I'm-"

"Oh Merlin, shut up, boy. You are my nightmare. A freaky combination out of something I cared for. The only thing I ever cared for and something I hate. Then, you survive a direct attack by the Dark Lord. A few years later your walk in here. With that black hair standing up and those glasses and those eyes. I try to protect you. You work against it. Over and over and over again. Calming draught is addictive, you know..." He threw his arms up in resignation and continued. "In your third year, Lupin had the bodacious idea to confront me with a boggart. Would you believe... It took your shape. Dead. In your first year I ventured to the mirror of Erised. You were there already. But I am quite sure that if I had caught a glance, you would have been in it. Without that scar. Without any scars. And your parents alive. Now. You have to let me work because I will seriously lose my mind if we stay in here any longer."

Snape had gotten so absorbed in his speech that he was shaking and even twitchier than usual.

Not knowing what to say or do, he turned around, made some tea he had found, realised that he was not fond of UHT milk and went back to 'his' room. There he sat, contemplating. Brooding. After a while, he heard curses and swearwords penetrate the wall. He couldn't help but smirk a little.

Then he rose, made more tea and brought it to the corridor.

Some of the blueprints were now stuck to the walls. Snape was pacing madly, his flair flying around.

Harry saw a few pieces of paper. The writing, small and accurate at the beginning of each sheet, became jagged and unreadable towards the ends.

"This is impossible! According to my calculations, the points that have to be drilled are outside the building. The blueprints must be incomplete."

Harry thought that Snape would probably find a way to blame him for that, just like the Dursleys always did. But he also remembered seeing the blueprints carefully numbered and complete.

"I don't think they are" he heard himself say before thinking about it.

Apologetically, he held out the tea. Snape accepted.

"Can I help?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"You can not. You would be Dumbledore's age before you even understood the foundations of..." Snape stopped himself.

Harry thought that he saw a flicker of fear in his face. He turned around, thinking that someone was behind him. What had caused this sudden change of conduct? Maybe Snape really was going mad? Then he felt it himself. His scar went from prickling to overwhelming pain. He clutched his head, unable to resist even for a second and went to the ground.

"Lucius," he heard Voldemort's high voice command. "You have failed to follow my orders. I allow no such disobedience."

"My Lord, I cannot find him. The Order might have captured him. Please. I beg your forgiveness."

Voldemort shook his head quietly, acting as if he felt sorry for the blond man in front of him. Then, Voldemort pointed his wand at his left arm. The robed Death Eaters gasped, cringed and clutched their arms. Harry was sure that he could hear Draco's high-pitched scream somewhere among the crowd.

"That should suffice."

The pain disappeared as fast as it had come. Harry scrambled to his feet, nearly fainting from standing up too fast and ran over to Snape who was lying on the ground, holding his arm.

"Professor" Harry shook him, maybe a little too hard. Panic started to overwhelm him. The black eyes opened.

"Potter," Snape croaked. "Your cloak. He's coming."