Harry ran his fingers through his raven hair, loudly letting out a shaky breath. He wasn’t sure why he was letting Draco do this to him. Certainly there was no love lost between Snape and he, why should he put himself through all of this just for his professor’s sake? When had his professor ever cared about him? When did he ever go out of his way to help Harry out of a tough situation, wasn’t he always the one who put Harry in tough situations?

Even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. Snape had done his fair share of saving during Harry’s time at Hogwarts, whether it be keeping Quirrell from jinxing his broom during his first quidditch match or putting himself between three thirteen year olds and a werewolf. He had to try to save Snape, because if the situation were reversed, the professor would do anything within his power to rescue Harry yet again.

Besides, he had seen a side of Snape this summer that he hadn’t seen before, he didn’t have to let Harry stay with him, Harry didn’t even deserve such treatment after his recklessness had gotten his godfather killed. No, he owed it to Snape to do anything he could to help.

The raven-haired boy stood, locking his knees as his legs trembled slight, and he paced the room, his toes sinking into the lush carpet with every step. Between Draco and he, Harry was certain there would be a need to replace the carpeting by the time Severus returned to them. Pacing seemed to be their favorite activity for the three days they had been left alone.

His lungs burned and he felt slightly lightheaded as the musty smell of a potion brewing seeped into the room. Doubling over, he violently pushed the putrid air from his lungs in hacking coughs. The coughing subsided rather quickly, but his chest remained tight with anxiety. If Draco was nearly done preparing the potion, it would be time to take it soon. The Gryffindor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he could handle this. He was strong and brave, he could do this without losing it completely.

His legs moved without Harry being aware that he was thinking about walking, and when he finally become aware of his actions, he held a knife in his hand. He took a step backwards, bumping into the counter behind him, and took in his surroundings. Even though the lights were off, the cold tile floor and solitary window indicated that he was in the kitchen. How had he even gotten downstairs without remembering?

Harry gripped the knife tightly in his hand, holding his breath as he edged his way closer to the door. The potions lab was on the way back from the kitchen and he couldn’t let Draco find him holding a sharp object. At best, they would get into another lecture about self harm, at worst he would call the whole plan off. No, he wasn’t about to let their summer guardian die.

The Gryffindor boy raised his free hand to cover his mouth and nose and quietly exhaled as he took a few more light steps, his back centimeters from the wall. He felt like his heart would beat out of his chest and wondered if Draco could hear it within the confines of the lab. Carefully, he inched towards the stairs and finally began to breathe easily once he had reached the staircase.

Shiny dark wood chilled his feet as Harry took the first step, then another. He could hear Draco humming a song he didn’t recognize in the lab, and he began to relax, gripping the knife tighter in his hand. The Gryffindor knew he could do this, do his part to save Snape. He just needed to relieve some of the pressure that was building up inside of him first. Then he would be able to think, then he would be able to focus.  

The fourth stair creaked. Harry sucked in a breath, his left foot hovering an inch or so over the offending piece of wood, panic rising in his chest. The teen had never been so nervous, if Draco found out about this Harry would have no choice but to ignore the impulses raging through his body like a newly broken dam. That alone might drive him over the edge and into complete insanity. One minute passed, then another, and only after the third did the raven-haired boy release the breath he had been holding and stealthily scale the staircase.

Harry sprinted into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him and sinking to the floor with a sigh of relief. He had made it; his roommate was none the wiser. The blade glistened under the bright light of the room and Harry quietly murmured a spell to dim the offending orb. His heart raced in anticipation and a light coat of sweat glistened on his pale face as the stainless silver blade lightly grazed his translucent skin.

The first cut always stung the worst, the copper smell causing his eyes to water and his throat to tighten with a dry heave, but the release was instantaneous and euphoric.

Ten strokes later, the Gryffindor calmly stood and turned the water on, rinsing his crimson dirty secret off of his skin. He gripped both sides of the sink as he watched the water change from red to pink and finally to clear, then Harry shut his bright green eyes and took several steadying breaths. He felt sick, not ready to end his unorthodox method of release, but knowing that Draco would be upstairs with the completed potion soon.

Harry rubbed his pale cheeks roughly with the palms of his hands, trying to initiate some color in his cheeks so he could at least pretend to be normal for a few moments. Slightly dizzy, he stumbled back to his bed and collapsed, staring at the ceiling once more.

It wasn’t long before Draco entered, a dark look on his ashen face. His hair was disheveled and there were dark smudges staining several spots on his arms and face. The hair surrounding his face was matted with sweat, and if Harry had to be totally honest, the other boy reeked. In his hand he held a phial of a steaming black liquid that looked remarkably like the motor oil Harry had seen his uncle pouring into the car once.

“I would ask you if you were sure you wanted to do this, but after working on that potion for six hours, you don’t have a choice.”

Harry smiled at the other boy’s statement, not a genuinely happy smile like he would have given Ron—how his heart ached just to think his friend’s name—or Hermione, but a bitter one that showed he understood completely.

The blonde’s green silk shirt glistened slightly as the Slytherin sat on Harry’s bed, holding out the vial, and Harry took it with a shaky hand. He hated the color green; it would forever be associated with death to him. Death to his parents, death to Cedric, death to Seamus, death to Weasleys, death to the countless victims he had seen repeatedly tortured only to be murdered by a single green light. The Gryffindor shuddered, tightening his grip on the smooth glass vial so it wouldn’t break in his unsteady grip.

“Are you ready?”

“Are you?” Draco retorted, his silver eyes narrowed in uncharacteristic concern, “After all, you have more at stake here than I do.”

Harry nodded, sitting with his back against the pillow on his bed. Giving Draco a wry smile, he raised the vial in a mock toast and whispered “bottom’s up” before drinking the vile mixture with a shudder.

Within seconds, he was unconscious.

~*~

Severus weakly wiped the warm liquid from his forehead, not needing to open his eyes to determine it was blood that was threatening to slide into his closed eyes. His muscles tensed as he carefully moved his arm back down to his side, and with a frown he tried to block out the pain. He only had to hold on a little longer, then he’d be able to make his escape.

Voldemort was nothing, if not predictable. From the way things were progressing, every day the person who was guarding him rotated every twelve hours, and if Goyle Sr. came on duty, Severus’ theory that they alternated every day would prove to be correct as well. If that was the case, escaping would be just a matter of biding his time until one of the newer death eaters, Pearce, was on duty again. He had taught Jackson Pearce during his time at Hogwarts, and he had no doubt that he’d be able to overtake the rookie, even in his worn condition.

Sure enough, the next time the door opened the elder Goyle strode into the room with an introductory ‘crucio’ to start the afternoon with. He was an oaf of a man, rich and loud but not very powerful. While Severus still had to bite his lip to keep from crying out, it wasn’t nearly as bad as when some of the more seasoned death eaters cast the spell on him. Bitter blood began to coat his teeth and gums, causing Severus to grimace. He wouldn’t be surprised if he bit a hole clean through his lip by the time he was able to orchestrate an escape, but in the end the pain in his mouth would heal and the satisfaction that the bastards never heard him utter a sound would remain forever.

Goyle lifted the curse, twirling his wand around his oversized fingers with a sick smile on his sweaty, puce face. He stared at Severus, his yellow and green teeth barred, “Got a surprise for you, traitor.”

“You are going to take a shower?” Severus replied dryly, licking the blood off the surfaces of his mouth and spitting onto the floor while the tubby man turned towards the door.

His heart skipped a few beats when he heard the familiar hissing voice of his former master in the doorway, “Severusssssss…the time has come.”

Severus bit back a sarcastic response and jerked back as Goyle pulled him roughly to his feet. The blood he had been able to hold at bay in bed now steadily dripped down his forehead and clouded his vision and he slightly swayed on his feet.

“I am displeased that you were not loyal to me in the least.” Voldemort hissed, circling the former spy, “Instead you relayed my secrets to that old fool and helped protect Harry Potter.”

Severus winced as his former leader spat out the name of the boy in his care, his rancid breath wafting into the professor’s nostrils as words were whispered in his ear.

“You…I could have achieved my goals if it weren’t for you. Do you know what happens to those who betray me?”

Severus remained silent, jumping slightly when he felt a wand poking into his spine, “They meet the most…unfortunate….endings.”

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself as he heard the word ‘crucio’ whispered in his ear, but his resistance was futile as he fell to his knees, pain blossoming in every inch of his already worn body. He had to find a way out of this, he was so close to escaping, and it couldn’t end like this, not now, not after everything he had been through. Through the haze of pain, he barely noticed when the curse stopped, but he couldn’t help but notice the change in the air that occurred moments later.

~*~

The differences between a regular vision and a potions-induced vision were remarkable. Pressure assaulted his head like a pair of vice grips, intensifying exponentially as the rest of his body felt detached and as if it were falling from a great height, such as a broom accident. Everything was pitch black, noise distorted and agonizing until suddenly he was blinded by a bright light.

“Severussssss.”

Harry fought to keep his own emotions under control as his enemy tortured the potions master, it would do no good to let Voldemort know that their minds were connected. He wondered briefly if it were possible that the snaky bastard could sense the link or knew there was a mental invasion taking place, much like he was able to feel Snape probing his mind during occulmency lessons, but quickly banished the thought for fear he’d give himself away.

Letting go of his thoughts and emotions were hard, as he had learned with his harsh professor the previous term, and Harry found it no less difficult to clear his mind now that he was intoxicated on Draco’s potion and anxious over his current position. From what his roommate had explained beforehand, it was quite possible that if Voldemort knew Harry was this far into his mind, he could reverse the link and do serious damage, starting with possession and ending with insanity.

Righteous anger flared against Harry’s conscious effort to block out emotion as the cruciatus was cast once more, and as did his anxiety and depression lead him aimlessly to the knife drawer earlier, he found himself compelled to do something, to take some sort of action. Breathing deeply, he tried to override this desire with as little emotion and thinking as possible. He was in this unfortunate position just to gain information, if they could tell where Severus was, they would be able to find a way to help. And when they got there, Harry was going to make Voldemort pay.

A surge of hatred flooded Harry’s body and mind, but Voldemort either didn’t notice or felt it was his own and Harry tried to focus hard enough to take in all of the room’s surroundings. Once the mental link was broken, he was going to try and let Draco legalimise him in the hopes that the former death-eater-in-training would be able to deduce their location.

He watched in barely suppressed horror as his professor collapsed, his bruised and battered body fighting valiantly against the curse that threatened to incapacitate him. Anger and hatred blossomed, reaching out to engulf every ounce of Harry’s mind and body, as he watched Snape hover somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, fueled by the thoughts of everyone who had been lost in this stupid ‘war’ so far. Channeling all of this overwhelming, suffocating emotion into one thought, he pushed into his enemy’s mind as hard as possible, his own mind shuddering with feeling as he screamed ‘Avada Kadavra’!

Then he knew no more.

~*~

Draco sat on the soft carpet, twirling the empty vial in his shaking hand. His back ached from being pressed against the cold metal frame of Harry’s bed, but he made no attempt to readjust himself or move to the confines of his warm, soft bed. When the tremble of his hands became too intense, the vial fell with a quiet thud, the remaining bit of potion slowly oozing onto the pristine floor.

They shouldn’t have done this. It was risky and they hadn’t bothered to make any contingency plans. Draco had witnessed enough of Harry’s visions and dreams to know that by this point, he should be in pain, screaming, moaning, something other than perfectly still and quiet. Something had gone wrong…what if he had brewed the potion incorrectly? What if he had put Harry into a coma? Or killed him?

At that thought, Draco scrambled to his feet and bent over the raven-haired boy, intently staring at his chest to make sure it was rising and falling. His legs shook with relief when he observed a normal breathing pattern, and he slowly sank back to the floor, leaning his aching head against the side of the bed. So Harry was alive, that was a good start, but things were far from fine.

Resting his head on his knees in an uncharacteristically vulnerable position, Draco took several deep, calming breaths. Panic would do no good, Harry wouldn’t wake up until the potion wore off and with communication cut off there was no one he could go to for help. A burst of anxiety surged through the blonde’s veins as a vision of being totally alone in the house indefinitely flashed before him. He shuddered, shaking his head vigorously. No, Harry would be fine. The Slytherin knew he had brewed the potion correctly, he had checked his work thoroughly before leaving the lab.

Harry slightly moaned, and Draco once again leapt to his feet, this time with relief. Finally, there was an indication of life! He sank into the crimson comforter, squeezing Harry’s hand reassuringly even though he was quite certain the boy would not be able to feel or sense his presence. Any other time the blonde would be apprehensive that his roommate was slipping into another vision, dreading the theatrics that would follow, but the idea that they were taking steps to rescue his godfather negated any of the anxiety he normally felt in this situation.

The next few minutes were a blur and when it was all done with, Draco would barely be able to recount the details.

Harry began to thrash, though not to the severity of his normal episodes, and Draco fought to hold him down so neither of them got hurt, not failing to notice the angry red gashes on Harry’s forearms. Angry screams erupted from the Gryffindor’s mouth and the normally bright green eyes opened widely and flashed red for a moment before closing again. Harry struggled under Draco’s tight grasp, then stilled for only a second before the blonde was thrown across the room as magic erupted around the Gryffindor’s bed. Pictures rattled on the walls and the two windows in the room shattered, littering the floor with shards of broken glass. As Draco stood, rubbing the tender spot where his head had hit the wall, his roommate shouted ‘Avada Kadavra’ and  then went silent. The pictures stopped moving. The moans Harry had been eliciting nearly constantly for the last few minutes quieted and Harry remained perfectly still on the bed.

Draco tentatively crept to Harry’s bed, calling the other boy’s name softly as he approached. Laying a shaking hand on Harry’s chest, Draco felt an icy chill run through his body. The Gryffindor’s chest wasn’t moving. Tears sprang into the Slytherin’s eyes as he sank to the floor, shaking violently as he wrapped his arms around his knees once more. What was he going to do? This had gone terribly wrong.

“What is going on in here?” A scratchy, but collected, voice asked from the doorway, “What has happened?”

Draco let out a moan as he tried to catch his breath and speak, overcome with the tears that were spilling onto his knees as he buried his head deeper, as if that would shield him from what he was struggling to say. After a few seconds, he choked out, “Harry…Harry’s dead.”