Christmas Eve 1997

The dark greasy curtain of hair and black woollen cloak covered in fresh snowflakes, Severus Snape, the acting Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, entered the circular office of his predecessors. He brushed the snow off as far as it hadn't melted yet and taking off his heavy outer robes, he sneered at the portraits joyfully decorated with holly and mistletoe and armed with goblets full of Christmas punch. Christmas, he smirked with disgust, as if there’s anything to celebrate!

The dark man threw his cloak on the chair in front of the fireplace, helped himself to a glass of spirit and took seat in the Headmaster's chair. For a while, Snape simply nursed the drink, his eyes absent; then, a voice addressed him from behind, interrupting his musing: "Have you visited her again, Severus?" Dumbledore's portrait asked, sounding sincerely interested.

"As if you would care," the younger man uttered unpleasantly, staring into the amber liquid.

Dumbledore smiled sadly: "As much as you refuse to believe it, Severus, I do care."

Snape's head jerked up in annoyance and the younger wizard turned and angrily eyed the portrait. "You are perfectly right, Dumbledore. I don't believe you," the Slytherin said, his voice icy.

Albus Dumbledore's portrait regretfully nodded and for a while, silence took over in the room. Snape's eyes were fixed at his half-empty glass when he finally started to speak again. "He… Potter… was there… with the Granger girl, I believe. Reckless as ever -" Snape scowled "- marching there with the whole parade when the cemetery may very well be watched!"

"You went there as well, Severus – and not for the first time," Dumbledore reminded the younger man. "It's not perfectly safe for you either."

"Maybe," Snape replied in a low, dark voice. "But I am not the currently most searched for wizard in Britain…"

"…and Lord Voldemort knows well about your affection to Lily Potter," Dumbledore added quietly. "While you never allowed the Order to be given the same information."

"Don't you dare to pretend you regret it, old man! At the end, it played in your cards!" Snape snapped at the portrait and took a hearty sip from his glass. Then, hesitating slightly, the younger man continued, his voice gradually growing enraged: "The boy will get himself killed before he even has the chance to get a glimpse of the Dark Lord again if this goes on, Dumbledore! I told you this was not going to work!" Snape stood up, hitting the desk in front of him with his glass and began pacing the room, his eyes shooting daggers at Dumbledore's cheerful face whenever his eyes turned in the portrait's direction.

"I told you that the boy would need some adult to assist him! But no, you simply refused to listen to me!" Snape shook his head in angry disbelief. "I will not deny Granger is very gifted and Weasley faithful beyond the grave, Dumbledore, but what do any of them – Potter included – know about leading a war? Do you know they shouted their real names at each other in the graveyard tonight? What does it help that they look differently or wear the damned cloak then? And what the hell is this constant use of Polyjuice supposed to mean, anyway? Does at least the Granger girl not know that in these amounts the draught is poisonous? Not deadly, mind you, but still unpleasant enough for them to want to avoid using it – especially when they have no access to medical facilities…"

Snape glared at the portrait: "What are they searching for anyway, Dumbeldore? Don't you think that it is high time you let me know?"

Dumbledore remained silent for a while, the piercing blue eyes studying the younger man. "You know the reasons why I cannot answer you, Severus," Dumbledore then said calmly.

"Indeed," Snape muttered through gritted teeth. "But I am still to protect the boy."

"You are to assist him when the need arises," Dumbledore gently corrected. "For the time being, however, I would very much prefer you to protect the children that were entrusted into your care here at Hogwarts."

Snape wordlessly stared at the portrayed man. Then he started to laugh madly. "Entrusted into my care, Dumbledore? By whom, pray tell? The Ministry or the Dark Lord himself? I can't see either of them caring for their well-being…"

Dumbledore waited until the young man's harsh laugh died out. "By me, Severus," he said quietly.

Snape looked back at him with a rebellious glance but the overwhelming sadness that took over on Dumbledore's face robbed him of words. He sat back in his armchair and again reached for the glass. "I cannot do anything about the Carrows," he said defensively, his voice resigned.

Dumbledore nodded. "I know."

Snape looked at him tiredly, a question in his eyes.

"Dilys informs me that the infirmary runs low on potions," the portrait offered.

Snape furrowed his brows. "Slughorn brews for Poppy, I have seen to that," he said calmly.

"Even the Anti-Cruciatus serum?" The portrait's voice was cautious.

"No," Snape bit his lips. Slughorn wouldn't know the improved version, anyway. "Not that one." He nodded, understanding. The Carrows hadn't become any more tolerable. "I shall brew it," he promised. "Even though, I do not believe Poppy will be inclined to use any potions of my production."

"Oh, she will make use of this one, I am sure. Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore gratefully smiled. "And now, before I forget - happy Christmas."

"Happy, indeed," Snape drawled and returned to studying his empty glass.

The room became silent once more and as the night grew shorter, Snape almost dozed off in his armchair as the majority of portraits surrounding him and lasting him the only company. When he finally tiredly rose to go to bed, he noticed that Phineas Nigellus Black was missing between the dozing celebrants - a strange sight, indeed, because the portraits rarely missed the celebrations. Snape frowned but decided to put off any investigation until the morning. As he staggered in the direction of his bedroom, however, Phineas Nigellus appeared in his empty frame, his eyes big and strangely concerned.

"The Potter boy was… was bitten… by You-Know-Who's snake," the portrayed wizard managed between raspy breaths.

"What!?" Snape bellowed, suddenly fully awake, angry eyes again directed at Dumbledore. "Do you know where they are?" he demanded.

"Yes… yes, I do … the girl was quite frantic and didn't pay attention… to what she was saying," Phineas smirked and both Snape and Dumbledore's portrait breathed out in relief.

"Then tell me where I am to Apparate to, damn it!" Snape commanded, rushing out of the office while Accioing supplies. "Happy Christmas, really," he threw at Dumbledore one last time and was gone the moment Phineas named the location.

ooooo 

Motto:

"I have spied for you, and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe."

(Severus Snape to Albus Dumbledore, spring 1997, Hogwarts)

J. K. Rowling: "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," GB adult version (2007) – p. 551

ooooo

Harry Potter's and Hermione Granger's hiding place

Early Christmas Day 1997

The Potion tasted dreadfully but it really didn't harm her. Hermione suppressed a relieved sigh and shot a side-glance at her former teacher. Snape once again loomed over Harry, the man now intently studying Harry's inflamed scar.

"Has Potter been having visions of the Dark Lord of lately, Miss Granger?" Snape asked quietly, unexpectedly, the wizard indifferent only on the surface.

Hermione didn't reply, not really sure if she knew the answer herself. Harry undoubtedly hadn't been blocking the connection that he had to Voldemort and she thought that Snape may feel similar concern as she had been experiencing – assumed the man indeed was on their side. But what would he be doing here otherwise?

Snape apparently understood her silence as he didn't repeat the question and sighed. Resigned, he straightened himself and as if for the first time noticing how cold it was in the tent, he ordered: "You don't want Potter to catch a cold, Miss Granger. Extra quilts?" She pointed with her freed hand at a chest in the back of the tent and Snape walked over there and heaped the retrieved three blankets over Harry's shivering form. Once the quilts were in place, Snape aimed his wand at them and cast a warming charm on both them and the air around him.

"That will go for now," he murmured when the temperature had risen. A moment later, his eyes were sharply meeting Hermione's. "I find myself unable to determinate what of your today's ineptitude was caused by Potter's injury and what is your usual Gryffindor stupidity," he sneered and Hermione couldn't help it but smile at the familiarity of his insult.

Snape frowned in reply and continued with a firm order: "Therefore, Miss Granger, if you weren't private with the heating charm before, you will cast the charm you enjoyed applying so much in your first year – on my robes, I may add – when I leave. I will not have Potter exposing me to the Dark Lord." And neither you in that matter, he added in his mind.

Granger didn't know any Legilimency, he was sure. Still, she nodded at this and quietly asked, her eyes cast down: "If you can, please, do not Obliviate me."

He acknowledged the plea with a non-saying nod. "Potter will need to drink the Potion contracting the overdose on Boomslag skin as soon as the antidote to Nagini's venom wears off," he said indifferently. "I suggest you mix it with his tea – it won't leave an aftertaste if you would."

The girl didn't appear delighted with the order but still she nodded in affirmation.

"Good," Snape said, apparently satisfied for the time-being and took a chair to the other side of Harry's bed. The tent became silent. When nothing happened for the next hour or so, except for Harry moaning in fever and him violently vomiting once – the mess immediately vanished by Snape – Hermione quietly asked: "Why have you done it?"

"Why have I done what, Miss Granger?" Snape looked at her sharply. "Saving Potter's life for an umpteenth time?"

"That," she nodded and in a whisper added: "And Professor Dumbledore's death."

Knowing that he would Obliviate the girl despite the promise he had given her earlier, Snape answered, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose: "That, Miss Granger, believe it or not, was as much a wish of the Dark Lord as Professor Dumbledore himself. I merely held the wand."

Snape said this indifferently, as if he had never stood on the top of the Astronomy Tower that night. Hermione stared at him silently for a while and then burst up, for a while not quite controlling herself: "How can you behave as if nothing has happened? Do you feel nothing? He always stood for you, always defended you…" her voice died out.

"Did he really?" Snape quirked up a curious eyebrow. "Interesting that I had never noticed… I am, nonetheless, certain that he was well aware he wouldn't be the first friend I had killed." He smirked at her open shock, his bad mood dissolving somewhat. "Are you alright, Miss Granger?" he asked slyly.

She stared at him, her eyes disbelieving. "Who else?" she whispered.

"You are bright enough," he shot at her, deeply scowling. "If you really want to know, why don't you figure it out yourself?" Their eyes met above Harry's body. She dropped her gaze first and saw that the boy was now drenched in sweat. "Is it normal?" she asked worriedly, for a moment forgetting about their conversation.

Snape too looked at the boy and evaluated his state. "It is," he nodded and gazed back at her, his dislike of Harry momentarily plain in his eyes. "The Boy-Who-Lived will live once again." Snape's voice was so bitter and miserable that Hermione gasped. Why was Snape there really? And why did he save Harry's life if he hated him like this? … Why had he kept saving his life?

Harry coughed again in that very moment, his body jerking up and he retching all over himself. To Hermione's utter astonishment, the Professor who so obviously hated Harry, was immediately on his side and not caring about the mess, took hold on Harry's body, holding his head up, so that the boy wouldn't suffocate. When the attack was over, Harry briefly opened his eyes and looked up, the green orbs joining the black gaze of his former Professor. Hermione caught the brief tender expression that run over Snape's face and almost shook her head in disbelief. Snape despised Harry as he had hated his father – but… Harry's eyes weren't James's; they were Lily's.

"You knew Harry's mother, you knew Lily," the girl said, not asking.

"Outstanding, Miss Granger. I was sure that you would be able to put it together," Snape nodded and aimed his wand at her.

Obliviate, she saw forming on his lips and despairing, cried: "No! Please! I won't tell Harry!"

“And I've been... what, unconscious?” - “Not exactly,” said Hermione. “You've been shouting and moaning and... things...”

J. K. Rowling: "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," GB adult version (2007) – p. 283

ooooo

Hermione Granger's and Harry Potter's hiding place

Early Christmas Day 1997

Hermione was still perplexed with the mysterious missive and the memory vial when Harry started to painfully groan on his bunk bed. Worried, the girl unconsciously tucked the piece of parchment in her pocket and bent over her friend. Harry's forehead was drenched in sweat now and Hermione felt a new wave of panic coming over her. “Hurts,” Harry moaned in his state of unconsciousness, his features twitching in pain and Hermione felt her eyes filled with tears and the moisture started to run down her cheeks. Angrily, she swept the tears off with the back of her hand. I have to help now, not make things worse, she thought, determined not to fail Harry now.

The girl forced herself to order her thoughts and since the first things ought to be dealt with first, she flicked her wand and conjured a small, soft sponge out of the thin air and began to dry Harry's face. Still unconscious, the boy started to laugh at that moment – an evil, unearthly sound, however quiet – and Hermione's eyes immediately fell to his chest. There, beneath Harry's sweaty T-shirt, Hermione knew was the Horcrux, and it occurred to her then how the pendant influenced them all – influenced Ron. She was not going to lose another friend to the damned thing, she thought furiously and pulled Harry's T-shirt up. The Horcrux was stuck to Harry's chest when she tried to take it off and Hermione didn't hesitate and drew her wand to get the evil thing off her friend.

“Secerno!“ she incanted resolutely and expertly moved her wand around the edges of the ancient metal. For a while, nothing obvious happened; then, finally, the locket slid to the side and Harry's bare skin showed, revealing a dark red oval mark where the locket had rested before. Hermione grabbed the Horcrux before it could fall to the ground and hid it in her beaded bag; allowing herself a little sigh of relief when it was accomplished.

But apparently, to take the Horcrux of Harry's chest was not enough. Harry again laughed, more evilly than before, and hissed, his voice strangely disappointed: “So easy... Too easy!“ Her friend was still speaking in human voice but Hermione thought that the sound was not far from Parseltongue now and felt the panic anew rising in her chest.

Then, suddenly, Harry sat up, his eyes still closed. The well-known Phoenix-corded wand appeared in the boy's hand and Harry aimed it, obviously completely unaware of his actions, directly at Hermione's chest. “Avada...“ Hermione saw forming on his lips and before the shock took completely over her, she somehow managed to catch Harry's hand and force it together with the deadly wand to the side. “...Kedavra,“ Harry finished and a stream of the terrible green light illuminated the tent, boring a small circular hole in the canvas wall where it reached it. Hermione stared at the light of death, disgusted and yet fascinated despite her.

The wand, infused by the force of the killing curse, fell from Harry's hand then and hit the ground. Probably already damaged from Bathilda's house, the wood broke and Hermione stared at the wreckage in a new shock. “No, oh no,“ was all she was able to think, painfully aware of how much Harry loved the wand. “I am so sorry, Harry!“ she whispered, tears rolling out of her eyes.

The boy started muttering in answer and Hermione knew he was still trapped in his vision or nightmare or whatever it was. “Stand aside, stand aside... Stand aside, you silly girl!“ her friend was repeating in the same, emotionless voice he had used before and once again, Hermione heard the words of the killing curse. To her great relief, Harry, this time wandless, now only harmlessly moved his hand to accompany the words.

Hermione shuddered then, suddenly thinking she knew what Harry was witnessing in his fever dream. She couldn't stop her tears anymore when the boy went from his previous mimicking Voldemort to mirroring his own baby cries. He had to be seeing Godric's Hollow that unfortunate night more than fifteen years ago and reliving everything that had happened there back then. Hermione couldn't quite imagine the horror of it.

And then, there was the pained expression again and tears running down Harry's cheeks and the boy groaning: “No, no, no...” and finally, disappointed: “I dropped it... I dropped it...” Sometimes in between, Hermione started to shake Harry's shoulders, not having the stomach to witness her friend's suffering any longer. “Harry, it's all right, you're all right!” She heard herself speaking from far away and then found herself crying, feeling quite desperately: “Harry, it's OK, wake up, wake up!”

An endless moment later, the well-known green eyes were looking at her, finally aware, and Hermione came back to herself. “Harry,” she whispered, “Do you feel all – all right?”

When he replied “Yes,” she knew he was lying. Forcefully, she swallowed her tears and tried to smile at him.

“We got away,” Harry said, surprised and she nodded her yes and started to explain, somehow managing to stay reasonably calm. But then he saw his severed wand and pleaded with her to repair it – and Hermione knew that she couldn't mend it and that it was her fault the wand had been broken.

“Harry, I am so, so sorry,” she found herself saying, refusing to tell him what he had almost done while unconscious. “I think it was me,” she admitted quietly and then she lied that it was the Blasting Curse that broke the holly and phoenix-feather Ollivander's work because she couldn't bear it to tell him the truth.

Hermione fully understood when Harry stumbled out of his bed and her sight to mourn privately then – but it hurt her nevertheless. In her total exhaustion, the girl silently cried, for whatever reason maintaining her previous place by Harry's, now vacated, bed...

ooooo

Motto:

"'Harry?' – Hermione looked frightened that he might curse her with her own wand. Her face streaked with tears, she crouched down beside him, two cups of tea trembling in her hands and something bulky under her arm."

J. K. Rowling: "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," GB adult version (2007) – p. 287

ooooo

Hermione Granger's and Harry Potter's hiding place

Christmas Day 1997

"Hermione, remember that some secrets are better to remain such until they no longer bear the power to harm those whom they were meant to protect. Keep the memory vial you will find on yourself safely hidden until the war is over or you are really desperate for help.

The person who saved Harry's life tonight may die otherwise – as it may die when Harry can't protect the secret of its existence. For the good of us all, don't tell Harry that the person visited you unless he learns how to close his mind. Also, since you have forgotten that the potion you first brewed in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom in your second year becomes poisonous with lengthier use, make Harry take the antidote for it from the second vial. It dissolves without leaving any aftertaste in simple sugared tea.

Finally, let me assure you that this missive indeed wrote the daughter of two Australians. When you move somewhere more sheltered, remember the place you went camping with them when your life was still an ordinary one."

Unable to sleep, Hermione once again turned the parchment with the note in her hand, not really knowing if she was able to do to Harry what the letter suggested.

She was quite sure that the vial she had found on the floor, where the missive had laid before, truly contained antidote to Boomslang skin and suspected that she had had her own helping earlier that night but she simply couldn't be sure and after the horrific night in Godric's Hollow, she was terrified and unwilling to take any more unnecessary risks.

Still undecided, utterly exhausted both physically and mentally and feeling absolutely alone and lost, Hermione stumbled out of her chair and to the kitchenette in the tent's back. There she started to prepare tea, calming her rough nerves with the simple activity. Oh Harry, she thought while she divided the tealeaves in their accustomed mugs and poured the boiling water over them, I am so sorry to keep secrets from you – so very, very sorry. Please, don't think I would ever betray you! Please, don't do it to me. Not now, Harry … Not when you are all I have left.

The tea was ready then and Hermione sighed deeply and with an unusual hesitation, retrieved the vial with the potion from her pocket. One last time she eyed the yellowish liquid inside. The solution appeared fairly strong – if it really was what she thought – and Hermione reminded herself with a bit of dread that the simple antidote might not be working for them for much longer. Five to six months of continuous use, if she remembered correctly now – and then, unless the antidote was taken, St. Mungo's. Did she have a choice at all then? She shook her head slowly. No, not really.

Determined now, Hermione opened the vial, sniffed the potion and then, carefully, tipped a drop of the liquid on the top of her tongue. The potion was distasteful as it was supposed to but otherwise seemed to be all right; still, she waited a couple of minutes to be absolutely sure. When nothing happened, Hermione grabbed Harry's mug and resolutely turned the vial into it. The potion dissolved a few moments later and she banished the vial and reached for sugar – only barely halting herself before dropping the bowl into the tea as well.

Her hands trembling slightly, the girl took the mugs then and went to find Harry. She was almost by the tent's entrance when she recalled the book she wanted to show the boy – and set the mugs aside to return for it.

Next, equipped with both the supply of the sweet, hot liquid and Rita Skeeter's rubbish – as she was sure – Hermione made her way outside into the frosty morning. She hoped that Harry was less angry with her now… and prayed he wouldn't refuse or – Merlin forbid! – question the tea.

ooooo

Hogwarts

Headmaster's Office

Christmas Day 1997

Severus Snape woke to a pleasant quiet of his office – for which he was deeply grateful – and an unusual emptiness of the castle he was obliged to feel as the current head of the school. The absence of the students and the majority of the teachers quite unexpectedly unsettled him and he stared in the black depths of his coffee, unable to fathom the strange feeling. Had it something to do with the fact he used to consider the school – with everything that belonged to it – his home rather than the battered house at Spinner's End? He couldn't be sure… yet it was a possibility. But then – to miss the brats and the noise they were able to produce? Never!

His thoughts – as so many times before in the recent months – unwillingly wandered to the golden trio then. Would Granger follow his directions? he wondered. She seemed capable of doing so – although, was the missive he had left with her enough to persuade her? He had tossed the parchment and quill at her back in their tent and commanded that she wrote something her future self would think credible. But… did she actually believe him by that point?

He had read the letter and had to acknowledge that it was cleverly written – still, that didn’t guarantee the girl would follow her own instruction. Unlike his dozing predecessor, now merely an annoying portrait hanging above his desk, Snape refused to take anything for granted. Life was everything else than that in his opinion. If it would be otherwise, Minerva would now be sitting in this office and he wouldn't have to spend all those long hours cautiously restraining the Carrows from overusing the Unforgivables on the students and pacifying the hungry crowd of Dementors the Dark Lord insisted to position at the school entrances.

ooooo

Hogwarts

Headmaster's Office

26th December 1997

Panting for breath, Phineas Nigellus Black returned to his portrait and with a triumphant gleam in his eyes announced to Snape, who was by then already impatiently pacing the room: "Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood -"

Snape abruptly turned and spat at him in sudden fury: "Do not use that word!" and Phineas hastily nodded: "- the Granger girl, then, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!"

Turning away from both Phineas Black and Dumbledore, Snape breathed in relief; Granger had held her word then. He didn't know how else he would have been able to give the boy the sword of Godric Gryffindor under the circumstances Dumbledore's portrait deemed so crucial.

Briefly entering the girl's mind before he had left her to take care of Potter on her own, Snape had seen a clearing beneath of an ancient oak tree where he supposed the children had built their tent now as well as a small pool close to it that was so ideal for his plan. But there was absolutely no need to share this all with Dumbledore; the man – no, portrait! – was fairly insufferable as it was.

"And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Potter the sword?" Snape asked after he had retrieved the antiquate weapon, giving the old man one last chance to share his secrets with him.

When Dumbledore's portrait replied: "No, I don't think so." Snape nodded to himself. If the old man was unwilling to trust him, he was keeping his own secrets. He turned to the door, his travelling cloak over his robes now.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore," he said, making his voice icy. "I have a plan."

There, old man, this has to suffice you. Snape smirked and loudly closed the door behind him.

ooooo

Motto:

"I've been looking for you for hours, it's a big forest, isn't it? And I was just thinking I'd have to kip under a tree and wait for morning when I saw that deer coming, and you following."

(Ron Weasley to Harry Potter, Christmas Day 1997, Forest of Dean)

J. K. Rowling: "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," GB adult version (2007) – p. 303

ooooo

Forest of Dean

Christmas Day 1997

Such a stupid waste of time, Snape swore under his breath, desiring nothing else than to kick something really hard or – even better – hex someone into oblivion. Remote place, ideal for his plan – indeed. And what about the horde wandering the forest, shouting as if it burnt? Snape admittedly couldn't make the words but whoever cried them was a potential danger – and the man was unwilling to proceed with his plan unless he knew what was happening and in ideal case also disposed of the threat…

It had been hours ago that he had Apparated into the forest and had safely found both the pool from Granger's memories as well as the clearing the two teenagers were camping at – the later only thanks to the mild tracking charm he had set on Potter the day before. Now, when the boy was not in a life danger, the tent was really invisible to him, no matter what standard point-me-to charms he had tried. Even now, after hours he had spent uncomfortably huddled in the evergreen bushes on the edge of the clearing, he couldn't tell where exactly the tent stood – the tracking charm he had used selected so that Granger would possibly not notice it and consequently quite weak. For Snape's purposes, however, it was fully sufficient – if he succeeded with the delivery of the sword tonight, he may be lucky enough to avoid Potter's company until short before the boy's final encounter with the Dark Lord. If only the intruders disappeared fast – or moved closer to him so that he could deal with them while still keeping an eye on Potter's hideout!

The shouts advanced then, interrupting Snape's musings; this time it seemed to the Slytherin that they were clearer and a moment later he could even decipher the words – instantly sighing in relief. Ronald Weasley; soon the golden trio would be reunited, he thought, slightly disgusted with the prospect and yet, satisfied that they were again coming together, the team Granger-Weasley hopefully sparing him any further save-Potter-actions.

"Harry, Hermione! Where are you guys? It's Ron…" Weasley passed the clearing without either of his friends noticing and Snape shook his head in silent disbelief. Had they broken up so badly that Potter and Granger didn't leave the red-hair any means how to find his way back to them? Very Potter-like; the boy was clearly becoming as arrogant as his dear father and Black. If only Dumbledore could see his sacred Gryffindors now! Wouldn't it be quite a shock for the old man to see how impure they were after all? Snape smirked, rising to his feet. If he would be in generous mood once he returned to the castle, he may share his opinion with the unbearable painting. But for now he had a job to finish.

Snape drew out his wand and pointing it at himself, cast the charm of invisibility he had adopted from Dumbledore. If he had gained nothing else from this charade, his magic had matured much sooner than he could have hoped for had he lived a normal life. Although, he kept asking himself if it had any sense – when his chances to survive the war were as little as they were and when he actually didn't know if he wanted to survive it at all.

Protected by the charm, Snape slowly circled round the clearing, trying to better locate the tent and Potter inside. When he remained unsuccessful, he once again found himself a hideout in the bushes on the edge of the clearing. Canceling the invisibility, Snape resigned himself for another long wait. Unlike the teenagers, Weasley especially, he was thankfully comfortably warm in his enchanted robes and when he now knew his wait wasn't meaningless, he was willing to give Potter some more time.

As he waited, his back leaned on a trunk of an ancient oak tree, the snow started to drift from the skies again and soon, the clearing was covered with fresh white dusting. This was excellent – for if Potter would even for a second step out of the boundaries of Granger's protective spells, Snape would be able to see the marks he would leave on the ground even if the boy wore his father's invisibility cloak – provided Potter had remained as careless as ever. Somehow, Snape didn't doubt it. What he was also to think of a boy who had willingly lingered in the Dark Lord's mind?

ooooo

Snape wasn't sure if he hadn't drifted off for a moment when a sudden sound in the dark depths of the forest made him jerk up, instantly alert. His eyes searched the clearing for an umpteenth time that night – his seek once again unsuccessful, and he readied his wand to search for Potter magically. Since several hours now, it had seemed to him as if the response to his charm had become more intense – Potter was probably sitting in the mouth of the tent. Snape hoped so at least – but there was no telling that it wasn't the girl accidentally leaving the entry of the tent half-open behind her back. Unprepared for the possibility of Granger following his call, Snape hadn't acted yet – but he was aware that there wasn't much time remaining.

Then, suddenly and fully unexpected, it happened – Potter must have reached forward, beyond the boundaries of the spells and Snape's wand confirmed it was he sitting in front of the tent. A small, self-satisfied smile appeared on Snape's thin lips and he summoned his happy thought – Lily forgiving him – and cast a silent Expecto Patronum.

Instantly, Lily's silver doe materialized in front of him. Approaching him slowly, she bowed her gorgeous head to lick his hand in an act of undeserved compassion – or so Snape thought. He didn't deserve her affection – and yet, when he ordered her to lead the boy to the pool wherein the sword laid hidden and she turned to walk away from him, he couldn't quite help it but miss her right away; her disappearance leaving him strangely empty.

It took Snape a few long moments to compose himself again. When he finally followed the doe, Potter was already on his way behind her – exactly as Snape had planned. Simply excellent, the man thought sardonically, troubled despite himself, despite he so desperately needed his plan to be successful; if even the Christmas night hadn't taught the boy any caution, then we are all doomed.

Staying as far away from the boy as he could while still being able to view what was happening, Snape followed Potter to the frozen pond, trying to convince himself that the boy that had been prophesied to triumph over the Dark Lord perhaps didn't really need the discipline and vigilance they had tried to hammer in him – and failing miserably. For the boy, while successfully finding the pool and clearly understanding the need to retrieve the sword under Dumbledore's conditions of need and valour, decided to dive for it with an obviously dark artifact hanging around his neck.

Quite close to the boy now, twin massive oak trunks concealing him from Potter's view, Snape groaned as he saw the chain of a locket or medal or whatever it was resting on Potter's chest tightening around the boy's slender neck, so that he started to suffocate. Damn, damn, damn! The day was not only going to be an utter waste of time – it was also threatening to become Severus's undoing. If he hasted to save Potter's life for yet another time, the boy would certainly recognize him – and either attack Snape himself (whereas Snape couldn't very well fight him, if he wanted not to accidentally kill the boy in rage Potter was so very likely to awake in him) or reveal his true alliances to the Dark Lord through the abominable connection the two other wizards shared. Snape groaned, running a hand over his suddenly weary face. Why the hell did he think his plan was just about flawless?

The boy was trashing, suffocating, desperately trying to get rid of the chain that had closed tight around his neck – and Snape finally got to his feet, hasting forward, in the last second remembering to recast the invisibility charm and whisper the incantation that made the imprints of his feet disappear behind him.

He almost reached the pond when a familiar red head flashed past him and a panting Ronald Weasley jumped fully clothed in the ice-cold pool and got hold on Potter, pulling the unconscious savior-to-be out of the hole in the ice surface of the pool and behind him also the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Wrong man to pull it out, Snape frowned from where he was watching nearby, but then remembered that the conditions were more than fulfilled. He was about to Apparate away when Weasley berated the golden boy and Snape decided he had more than earned this little amusement.

"Are – you – mental?" The Weasley boy panted at Potter's careless offspring from above, water dripping from his drenched clothes, one hand holding the sword and the mysterious broken collar swaying in the other. Potter looked up at the sound of his voice, clearly startled, but instead of grinning stupidly as Snape had expected, he simply rose, remaining quiet – him wearing only underwear a strange sight in the frosty, snow covered night landscape.

"Why the hell," Weasley continued, a deep frown on his face, "didn't you take this thing off before you dived?" Yes, why indeed, Snape thought, glad now for having stayed. But Potter remained mute as long as he pulled on his clothes. When he finally spoke, he asked his own question instead of answering.

"It was y – you?" Potter's teeth chattered.

"Well, yeah," Weasley nodded, appearing quite confused to his former Professor.

"Y – you cast that doe?" Potter stammered and Snape smirked. Weasley, indeed. Grow up, Potter, where would Weasley come to the sword?

"What? No, of course not! I thought it was you doing it!" Snape shook his head. Weasley was as careless as Potter.

"My Patronus is a stag." Potter said and Weasley nodded: "Oh yeah. I thought it looked different. No antlers." Snape had to bit his lip to stop the bitter laugher threatening to overcome him. No antlers, really. The two were helpless.

For the minor chance, either of the boys would mention the strange collar again, the man remained in his spot but as the conversation centred on the sword, he was rapidly loosing hope to hear anything more of importance. Then, however, Potter claimed that there was only one way how to find out if the sword was the real one – and motioned to a rock on the other side of the pool on which they placed the puzzling item. "I am going to open it," Potter said, "and you stab it. Straight away, OK? Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me…"

Snape didn't listen any further, nor did he really watch what was happening before him. He only stood frozen on his feet, his mind racing. A diary that had tried to kill Potter – the bit of Riddle in it – Dumbledore's injury from the previous year – the cursed ring the old man had so foolishly put on – the chain closing around Potter's neck, attempting to suffocate the boy – Potter's scar – the time to come when the Dark Lord would fear for his snake…

Suddenly, it all made sense; the Dark Lord had created more vessels for his rotten soul. Dumbledore must have found out about their existence – and train his golden boy to destroy them and himself in the process. Snape trembled with sudden rage – the arrogant Potter's son changed in Lily's boy again, in the pig for slaughter Dumbledore had raised so carefully to conclude his plans. – Or had he? When the boy's inability to keep his thoughts for himself would sooner or later alert the Dark Lord on what was happening?

Snape angrily kicked in the heap of snow in front of him, by a lucky chance remaining unnoticed by the teenagers who were still occupied with the locket. If his predecessor in the Headmaster's chair thought his plan perfect, then Snape didn't agree with him. Not at all. Unhappy about the prospect but conscious of the necessity, Snape resolved to add his bit into Potter's training. This time he would be successful, or damn both him and the boy!

ooooo

Snape spent another half an hour watching as Potter and Weasley attempted to destroy the locket, more than once sorely tempted to step in and either shake some sense in both the boys or get rid of the cursed thing by some safer means. But he felt that Dumbledore probably had well known what he had been doing, leaving the Gryffindor's sword to the boy.

Finally, Weasley won his inner fight and stabbed the dark artifact with the ancient weapon – and Snape viewed next the reconciliation of the two friends, sickened by the sentiment they exchanged. When they left together, he followed them from safe distance, adding a sound-proof charm to his protections.

Soon, the man was back on the edge of the clearing where Potter's tent stood – contemplating his next course of action. The teenagers were inside their shelter now but there was no doubt that one of them would guard the tent's entry during the night as Potter had done before. Considering the exchange by the pool, it was very likely that Potter would leave Weasley and Granger some space to make up – and if he did come out, Snape would get hold on him.

It didn't take long this time and the tracking charm alerted Snape that the boy was out of the shelter. Quietly, the man approached closer to where he now knew the tent stood – and caught Potter on his collar the moment he, foolishly reassured by the recent success, stepped out of Miss Granger's defenses to gaze at the snow-covered landscape. Harry's gaze searched for his capturer over his shoulder - his eyes widening in dread as they found Snape.

ooooo

Forest of Dean, Hogwarts

Late Christmas 1997

Two expert flicks of his wand and two silently cast incantations – one of them Expelliarmus, the second a laming hex unknown to Harry – were all it took Snape to disarm and disable the boy. With fury burning in his eyes, Harry opened his mouth to call for Ron and Hermione to help him – hating Snape even more for humiliating him like this. Before he could utter a single sound, the greasy git grabbed him firmly on his collar and pulled him close, harshly forcing the boy's lips shut. Disarmed, lamed by Snape's hex and muted by the man's hand, Harry was powerless. With a painful groan of defeat, the boy closed his eyes. Not Snape, not him again, he wished desperately and like a mantra repeated to himself: Not now, not now, not when we finally started to be lucky. The silver doe coming to him seemed like a lie now; the broken Horcrux was a joke in the sight of the undiscovered rest of the Dark Lord's soul vessels.

Then Harry felt how Snape Apparated them away. So this is how it ends, the boy thought bitterly, bracing himself for the inevitable encounter with Voldemort and his minions. What now? He felt himself panic. What would Dumbledore want me to do? But the old man was dead and Harry's luck seemed to have expired – he had lost the protection of the twin cores as he had lost his last and biggest protector thank to the very same man who held him captured now. Snape, no Snivellus, was the source of everything that went wrong in his life – he as good as killed his parents, ridiculed Harry for years, sabotaged his potions, forced Lupin to leave Hogwarts, failed to teach Harry Occlumency and hence lured Sirius to the Department of Mysteries and to his death, and on top of everything else, assassinated Dumbledore who had never wanted to hear a word against him…

Hell, why has it to be Snape again and again? Why does it have to be him who will deliver me to Voldemort? Harry's head hurt and he wished himself dead.

But Snape seemed to have other plans. With a quiet pop, the man Apparated them to a much different place than Harry had expected. When the boy cautiously reopened his eyes, it was to the brightness of Dumbledore's circular office and the unbelievably angry voice of its, sadly past, owner.

“Severus Snape!“ Dumbledore's voice bellowed from behind Snape's back. Harry couldn't see the source of the sound, but knew that it had to be the old Headmaster's portrait that spoke – the portrait that he had previously seen only inanimate. It hit him then that the dark wizard who had him still imprisoned in his arms held the Hogwarts' head position now, and he shuddered with protest against the man's strength.

“You swore to me not to breach the safety of this school, young man!“ Dumbledore's portrait berated Snape. Harry had to smile in satisfaction, despite his own unfortunate situation. It would be only just if Snape couldn't silence his predecessor's painting, the boy thought, recalling the unstoppable, hateful screams of Sirius's mother's. Harry found himself hoping that Dumbledore's portrait held the recollection of the old man's death and that it reminded Snape of his crimes whenever the Death Eater was present in the office...

“Voldemort cannot know that Hogwarts accepts you as its Head, Severus!“ the old wizard continued, by the sound of his voice still greatly displeased. “I won't have him Apparate here and back with the ease you did just now!”

What the hell does that mean? Harry wondered at the lecture, still hidden from Dumbledore’s gaze.

“I have my own reasons not to share this particular information with him, Dumbledore,” Snape said calmly, partly letting go of a very bewildered Harry. Not wasting a single moment, the boy jumped away from the man as far as the laming hex allowed him. Dumbledore had to see him over Snape's shoulder, then, as the former Headmaster again spoke to the man with deep disagreement.

“You didn't bring the boy along with you, Severus!” The painted wizard shouted, his face quite angry. “What have you been thinking in Merlin's name? Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Quite the contrary, Dumbledore,” Snape smirked, not even partly losing his composed manner. “I would rather say that I have finally come to my senses."

Dumbledore's clear blue eyes flashed with rage Harry had never seen in them before. "We have an agreement, Severus Snape, and if you ever had any honour you will not break it!"

"I am not sure if I would call it agreement," Snape observed quietly, stepping closer to the portrait with Harry forcefully following on his toe. "Rather manipulation… or perhaps even misuse…" the dark wizard finished in a whisper, his eyes intently staring at Dumbledore's face. "You said that you didn't want to put all of your secrets in one basket – and particularly not a basket that spent so much time dangling on the arm of the Dark Lord." Snape smirked at the clearly startled old man. "Oh yes, I remember this wisdom of yours by heart, Dumbledore. It was a most enlightening session that particular evening after all… My question, nonetheless, is just how you want to explain that you preferred to entrust your biggest secrets to this – for the lack of better words – leaky cauldron?" Snape ruthlessly pushed Harry forward, right in front of the portrait.

Not sparing even a single glimpse at Harry's confused face, Dumbledore's portrait continued to eye his one-time employee with growing displeasure. "I trust we spoke about this issue often enough in the past, Severus! If Harry's inability to close his mind is what concerns you so much, I fail to understand why you felt it necessary to bring the boy here. Or has Lord Voldemort's resolution not to venture into Harry's mind changed lately?"

Unhappy and perplexed, Harry was looking from one older wizard to the other. Once again, people were discussing him and apparently making decisions about his life without as much as asking for his consent. Worse even was that Dumbledore, the man Harry had trusted so much, clearly didn't care for him – so Rita Skeeter was right, no matter what Hermione had said. And Snape – what was the meaning of all this? Was the man somehow still working for Dumbledore? That didn't make sense, absolutely no sense at all. Harry shook his head.

"No," Snape was replying to Dumbledore right then, "the Dark Lord is still reluctant to reopen the connection. But," his words were extremely cautious now, as if the man wasn't saying all that he knew, "during Christmas night, he seems to had a glimpse into Potter's mind. I overheard him speaking to Bellatrix about some sort of a connected dream…" Snape shot a meaningful glare at Harry and the boy shuddered under the man's grip. Voldemort and he had shared the strange recollection of Harry's parents' death? Merlin, no, not again!

Apparently, he missed part of the conversation with his musings. Snape was practically shouting at Dumbledore now. "Can you explain me why you have never seen it fit to inform me that there was more than one vessel carrying the Dark Lord's soul?" the man cried at the portrait and Harry jumped up in shock. Seeing the movement and Harry's bewildered face from the corner of his eye, Snape unhappily chuckled to crown the day.

"Have you seen the boy just now, Dumbledore?" he said sarcastically. "The leaky cauldron gives away your deepest secrets with ease even I didn't think possible by now… Forgive me if I refuse to lose all my hard work over the boy who in the half a year since his departure from Hogwarts hasn’t found the time to at least learn to cast wordlessly…"

With a smile Harry would describe as unmistakably evil, Snape calmly announced, “This all considered, I am stepping back from our agreement. From now on, hence, I will deal with Potter as I – and not you, Dumbledore – will see it fit... The first rule of yours I shall break is not to harm your precious Potter while teaching him.”

Snape barked a laugher at Dumbledore's open shock. “I wonder why I was under the impression that you no longer cared for the boy except for him being your best weapon... But then, you are a skilled actor, aren't you? Come, Potter,” he dragged Harry again behind him, away from the portrait, “let us show the old man that not all our lessons are predestined to become a failure.” With that said, Snape had them Disapparate from the room.

ooooo

Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

Late Christmas 1997

When Snape's arms pressed Harry again tightly to his tall, emaciated body and the two of them Disapparated, Harry panicked once more. Was this what Snape planned? To hurt both him and the old wizard, or rather his portrait? It sounded evil enough and Harry was fully prepared to believe the idea. If – if only they resurfaced somewhere else. But what was Harry to make of this? As he took in their new environment, his mouth fell in surprise.

“Oh yes, Potter, the Room of Requirement,” Snape quietly confirmed that they had indeed Apparated to the corridor Harry knew so well. Then, the git of a Professor added with a positively evil smirk: “I don't have the time to deal with you otherwise.”

Not bothering to explain any further, Snape forcefully moved the boy towards the door to the Room, hidden in the wall. “Now, Potter, we have to wish for the same thing or the Room will not let us in. I am sure you are well aware of this, seeing how much time you have already spent inside,” Snape said, his eyes glaring at Harry's face. The boy didn't disappoint him. His expression once again became an open book, and the Potions Master could easily read the surprise taking over it.

Harry could have sworn that the man's dark eyes sparkled in slight amusement—well, if it hadn’t been Snape. As it was, the boy dismissed the thought rather quickly and schooled his features, hoping for a mask similar to the one he was used to see on Snape's face. Now, it was unmistakable. Irrationally as it was, Snape looked amused.

A moment later, Harry was certain his eyes had fooled him – as he’d seen so many times before, Snape was sneering at him. With poorly hidden disgust, the man informed him: “I knew there was no chance that you would be cooperative in this matter. Therefore, Mr. Potter, let us start your today's lesson right here.”

Snape took a small step back from the still partly paralyzed teenager and quirked up an eyebrow at the protest in the boy's eyes.

Fat chance that I’m going to help you torture me, Snape, Harry thought furiously.

Snape answered by drawing his wand. “I fear you have no other choice than to follow me in this, Potter. But – believe it or not – for what it's worth, I am sorry for using this particular curse on our boy hero,” Snape aimed his wand at Potter's face.

Harry's eyes widened with dread. He had absolutely no clue as to what Snape intended and he really didn't like the hopeless feeling spreading out in his veins. Rightfully so, as Snape proved by casting an Unforgivable on him.

“Imperio!” Snape said coldly, his eyes firmly focused on the boy's face. Harry felt the wild turmoil of thoughts and worries in his mind cease, to give way to a welcome peaceful warmth. For the shortest while, he let his mind drift in this peace; his body obediently following Snape in pacing in front of the Room and his mind repeating the man's words: We need more time, we need more time, we need more time.

Then, finally, Harry thought that this couldn't be right and threw Snape's curse off – sadly, too late. When he reopened his eyes, he saw that Snape had managed what he had set himself to. They were in the Room which was this time around equipped like a rather spartan classroom – or so Harry thought, “No!” he groaned, while shaking his head to clear it.

“Why, Potter, yes. Even you are not skilled enough to throw the curse off on the spot.” Snape smirked at Harry's discomfort. “On the other hand,“ the man continued with an unpleasant, dark chuckle, “it's rather impressive that you can throw it off at all when you are, as we both know all too well, so abominable in Occlumency.“ The older wizard paused and ruthlessly shoved Harry to the centre of the Room. There, Harry noticed, a golden chain with a small sand clock at its end lay on one of the desks. Time-turner, Harry thought with alarm, and looked at Snape. Weren't they all destroyed in the Department of Mysteries last year?

Snape had a dangerous smile playing around his lips. “I see that you have recognized what we have come here for, Potter,“ he said, his voice apparently indifferent, but clearly knowing that Harry had used the device in the past and not approving of it. Harry shuddered; with apprehension, he recalled the end of his third year and Snape's involvement in it.

His dread must have presented itself on his face as Snape quietly laughed. Harry shot him a rebellious, and yet guilty, look. Back then, Snape had been their teacher and they had ruthlessly knocked him out, not giving a damn about the consequences – well, all except Hermione. Was the man up to some act of his own, private vengeance before he hands me over to Voldemort? Bathed in cold sweat, Harry – still unable to freely move and defend himself – watched as Snape reached for the chain.

Snape caressed the Time-Turner with his thin fingers and then, looking back at Harry, smirked: “Oh yes, Potter, I am quite aware of your and Miss Granger's little adventure back in your third year... Be assured that this time you will be using the device not only with your Headmaster's assent but, moreover, under his personal supervision. Only Gryffindors can be reckless enough to let children play with such dangerous toys otherwise,“ the man finished in a cold voice and hold the Time-Turner in front of Harry's eyes. “So, Potter, what will be it – the easy or the hard way?“

When Harry stared at him with his well-known resolve not to follow his orders, Snape shook his head with another bark of harsh laughter. “My, my, Potter, aren't you making this entirely too difficult for yourself?“ With swiftness Harry didn't think possible, Snape had his wand once again pointed at Harry's forehead. “Imperio,“ the older wizard said lazily, good-naturedly if it was at all possible with Snape, and Harry, again floating in that pool of forced peace, obediently bowed his head and let the man pull the golden chain over it.

“Good boy,” Snape smirked sardonically and with a twisted smile of satisfaction playing on his lips repeatedly turned the small clock in his hand and sent the two of them to the past.

ooooo

Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

Late Christmas 1997

Harry hated the comfortable warmth enveloping his mind. He knew that much – but whenever he tried to escape the foggy coziness, some outer stronger will forced him back to peaceful meaninglessness. After a while, he let himself happily drown in it, time after time. It always took him many long moments to become aware that the peace he felt was unnatural, and more time after that before he finally started to fight it. But the end of the story was always the same – Harry would fight his way to half-awareness, and in the moment he accomplished it, some other will forced him back beneath the surface.

The alternating periods of awareness and peaceful dozing might have lasted only minutes as easily as an hour or two. Harry, in his more lucid moments, had to admit that even days might have gone by without him noticing. Some part of his mind remembered that he should be angry. Yet another part of his consciousness provided a picture of a greasy-haired man he vaguely recalled hating– but none of it held any importance now. Harry was confident, and for now felt safe. The outside will never released him from the comfortable prison of his Imperiused mind, where he was strangely satisfied to dwell.

Then, the outer will that had overpowered Harry so easily slowly let go off the grip that it had over his mind. Harry felt it gently probing on the edges of his consciousness. Legilimens, Harry felt more than heard and the gentle probing grew into an intrusion he remembered all too well from his disastrous lessons with... the greasy man... how was he called? ... he searched for the answer for a moment, unthinkingly forcing the intruder away from him so that his mind could clear... and finally found the answer: Snape.

The very same man sneered at him the moment his eyes blinked to complete his rise to consciousness. As Harry saw Snape's hand with a bared wand and vividly feeling his own paralyzed body, he understood what had transpired and cried with all the hate he could muster, “You bastard! YOU GREASY, UGLY BASTARD!”

Snape toyed with his wand, smirking in some twisted satisfaction under his beard. “Complaining, Mr. Potter?”he asked, shaking his head in pretended disbelief. “My, my, aren't we ungrateful! And there I thought, you might rather like to see at last that even the Golden boy is able to Occlude. If, certainly – since nothing is ever easy with you – given the right prompt.”

Harry stared at the man, anger and overwhelming hatred flaring from his eyes. “I. HATE. YOU,” the boy said, boiling on the inside.

“SNIVELLUS!” Harry spit out, his eyes rebellious and strongly reminding Snape once more of James Potter than Lily. “SNIVELLUS!” Harry repeated and madly laughed, suddenly thinking that whatever Snape would do to him would be hundred percent better than any torture Voldemort could think of. And die he would, now that the Death Eater bastard had him as a prisoner.

“Snivellus.” Harry tasted the name and loved the sweetness of it on his tongue. “Snivellus.” Kill me, you bloody bastard! What are you waiting for?

Harry felt Gryffindor bravado, with all the folly of it, rising in him. He good-naturedly smirked. If I have to die, I will do it properly. I won’t die pleading for my life... I won’t give that to the son of bitch here, nor to Voldemort... The thought of pleading for his life brought to mind the sight of Dumbledore's crumpled figure, pleading with the very same man that stood here in front of him in – and Harry once again felt hatred overwhelming him.

“Come on, Snivellus!” he cried, “If you can kill a defenseless old man who – you damn, damn, damn bastard! – trusted you until the very end – why don't you raise your wand on a disarmed former student whom you hate anyway? Say it – say it, do you hear me? You won't hear me plead for my life! No, you will not. SNIVELLUS!”

Snape was clearly growing angry – but for some reason, he halted his wand before it could touch Harry's chest. “No,” he announced clearly, “you will not have it this easy. I am not your dear godfather, Potter, in case you have forgotten. Some stupid teasing with a childhood nickname your father, and apparently you, thought amusing will not make me cast an Avada Kedavra on you. Sorry to disappoint you... Chosen One.”

It was Harry who boiled with rage now – and Snape had clearly known that the name would have this effect on him since the man only smirked at the boy's reaction. The man spoke again. “You, on the other hand, seem to have inherited your godfather's manners. ... Should I repeat to you what happens to the fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves before the Dark Lord? ... I think yes – since you never listened to what I had to say before... But then – what purpose would that serve? The Dark Lord will gladly teach you this little lesson himself.”

Snape paused and chuckled unpleasantly. “I have my own lesson to teach you, Potter,” he cleared then. “And I assure you that you will enjoy it as much as the Dark Lord's torture. Only, I am fond of slightly different methods than he is.”

Harry couldn't help it and eyed the man with dread he couldn't suppress fast enough. Snape gave an affirmative nod: “Oh yes, Potter, it will hurt you. But young men that don't listen to their elders don't deserve anything else, don't you think? ... Whatever you may believe, Potter, I have – for the moment, anyway – no desire to see you dead – but I hate you being one of my failures. Before I deliver you to the Dark Lord, hence, Mr. Potter, you will learn the skill I tried to hammer into your thick skull already once. Although this time you will not leave here unless you actually learn something. You will give me that satisfaction… or I can assure you I have other means to have fun with Dumbledore’s golden boys.”

Noticing Harry's rebellious glance that had appeared sometimes around the middle of his speech, Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. “And think twice before you say aloud what is on your mind now. Even the best instructor cannot teach a dunderhead who refuses to learn... But I promise you I have my ways to ensure your cooperation this time around.”

Wordlessly, Snape pointed his long white finger at the teacher's desk (even in the past, the Room still looked the same spartan equipped classroom). As if bewitched, Harry turned as much as the laming hex allowed him and saw a familiar ceramic bowl. The boy immediately shuddered at its sight. Pensieve. Dumbledore's Pensieve. So Snape wanted his revenge for that incident... Harry wondered only how harshly the man planned to punish him. Will I leave the room with my mind still intact? Cold sweat bathed his body – and Harry gave up the thought of preferring Snape's tortures to Voldemort's.

ooooo