Two months into the term, Ron and Harry were both struggling with their school work load. Hermione was the only 6th year who truly seemed to have a grasp on it. To make matters worse, Harry had a pounding headache and couldn’t manage to concentrate on the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay that was due the next day. While Ron muttered curses about Snape, their new DADA teacher, under his breath, Harry couldn’t help but think that while Snape was still irritable and exacting, he singled Harry out less overall. Perhaps that was because Harry was halfway decent in DADA, but he didn’t think so. It was as if the events of the summer had instilled a sort of truce between them. Harry wasn’t sure the war was over by any means, but at least they weren’t engaged in daily combat.

“I’m going to bed,” Harry murmured, rubbing his temples for a moment before stuffing his work back into his bag.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked, looking up from her parchment which was covered in ancient runes. “You look awful.”

“Headache,” Harry muttered.

“Night,” Ron called after him, his quill in his teeth as he contemplated defenses against the Imperius curse.

Harry nodded and regretted the action immediately. He felt nauseous and bit back on the rise of bile in his throat. He hurried to his bed, not bothering to undress, and lay atop the covers, willing the feeling of upheaval in his body to abate. He concentrated instead on his breathing, in and out, slowly, counting to fifteen with each breath, ignoring the fine sheen of sweat than hung to his clammy skin.

“There is a spy among my ranks,” the voice rasped. He looked around at his most loyal followers, perhaps fifteen in all, kneeling about him in a circle, their heads bowed in reverence, their Death Eater’s masks hidden beneath their hoods.

Harry moaned in his sleep, fighting the visions dancing in his head.

“I intend to find out who it is,” his own voice whispered. He could feel the anticipation quicken in his blood, his slit-like nostrils flaring. “Tonight.”

The bonds that held Harry in this mad man’s mind, as well as his headache, grew stronger.

“Severus has prepared Veritaserum for us this evening. I will pass it around, and you will drink,” Harry’s voice hissed. “Then we will see who of you shall live and who of you shall die.”

Harry struggled hard against the connection that held him under, but it was no use.

“Not you, Severus, I have a special potion for you, one I obtained from the Ministry.” Harry could feel the pleasure of triumph dancing through his veins.

His name echoed in the distance, calling to him, but try as he might, he could not reach the surface. The cruel voice in his head, his voice, was merciless, meting out justice as he saw fit, until only the tortured echoes of one remained.

“You will die for your treachery,” he sang, casting curses at his foe and encouraging his followers to do the same. “Did you really think you could play Lord Voldemort for a fool?” The death eater on the ground screamed in pain, over and over, his body convulsing wildly like a fish out of water.

Harry writhed in agony, thrashing against the images in his mind.

“Crucio!”

“Harry, wake up!”

Hands grabbed at him, shaking him. Harry awoke abruptly, as if thrown from his nemesis’s mind. Shaking and sweating, his head about to explode, he vomited over the side of his bed. He laid back trembling, his heart racing, images of torture shattering his mind.

“Harry?” Ron asked reluctantly. “Was it… like my dad? When you saw him being attacked I mean?” Ron was standing over him, as was Neville, Dean, and Seamus.

Harry nodded, trying to force back another bout of nausea. Seamus had already spelled the last episode away. Harry felt too weak and shaky to move though he knew he had to. “Headmaster,” he breathed. “Take me, now.”

Ron and Neville helped him off the bed, down the dormitory stairs, through the deserted common room, and into the hall. By then Harry had a bit better control of himself, though his head still felt like it was going to split open from the white hot pain radiating from his scar.

“What is it?” Ron asked. “Or rather, who?” When Harry didn’t respond, Ron whispered, “Is it a member of the Order?”

Harry nodded, and then regretted that action. His vision swam and his stomach roiled. He had to stop for a moment before he could go on.

“Sugar quills,” he murmured when they arrived at the gargoyles guarding the headmaster’s office. He was never so thankful for the revolving staircase as he was then, leaning against the railing with his eyes closed as it delivered him to the top. He had a feeling the Dumbledore would be waiting for him.

“What is it, my boy?” the headmaster asked as Ron and Neville deposited Harry into a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. As it was 2am, the headmaster was wearing blue night robes with an amusing pink Muggle housecoat over the top.

“It’s Snape, sir,” Harry breathed, hanging his head between his knees to avoid throwing up again, “Professor Snape.”

Harry heard the headmaster dismiss Ron and Neville, and waited until they were gone before he continued.

“Voldemort knows he’s a spy,” Harry rasped. “He made him take a potion. Veritaserum, I think. But not the same one the others were taking.” Harry looked up to see Dumbledore gripping the edge of his desk, his face set in lines of concern.

“Are you sure it was a different potion?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes,” Harry said, unsure of why this was important, but sensing that it was. “Voldemort said that Snape brewed Veritaserum and had Snape pass it around for everyone to drink. But when it was Snape’s turn to drink, Voldemort said he had a special potion just for him.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“Professor,” Harry implored, “when they found out Snape was the spy, they… they…” Harry swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

“Tortured him,” Dumbledore finished.

Harry nodded.

“When you were inside of Voldemort’s head, was Professor Snape still alive?”

Harry blinked, trying to forget the details of that horrible scene. “I… yes… but… I don’t know how much longer he could live like that…” Harry could still hear the screams of agony, see the blood, the labored breathing; he wanted to howl at the injustice of it all.

The headmaster moved quickly around his office, touching various objects and setting them in motion, whispering incantations over others. Harry wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he guessed that the man was somehow alerting the Order.

“Is there anything you can do? Can you save him?” Harry asked, a sense of desperation settling over him. He couldn’t imagine how this could end well.

Sensing Dumbledore’s pause, Harry looked up to see the older man’s eyes bright with feeling. “Severus is the only one who can save himself now, I’m afraid.”

Harry put his head in his hands. When he’d first awoken, he’d briefly considered not telling anyone; after all, Snape had treated Harry with undeserved cruelty since his arrival at Hogwarts six years earlier. The hatred that Harry had felt toward Snape for causing Sirius’s death with his cruel bating had tamped down to lingering bitterness after the summer’s events; Snape had saved his life after all. And surely the torture Snape had been subjected to was retribution enough for the double agent’s sins.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to slow the rapid beating of his heart, and slumped back in his chair. If he’d learned anything from watching the events of tonight’s revelry, it was that Snape was indeed Dumbledore’s man, as much as he himself was. Snape had risked everything for the elderly wizard who now had his head in his fireplace, speaking to someone, making preparations for what Harry could only guess.

As Harry drifting towards sleep, he felt the pull of the bond once more. Too exhausted to fight it, he felt himself sink into the dark pit of Voldemort’s mind. His body stiffened as the scene shimmered before him.

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” he hissed, spit flying from his flattened lips, “You spy, you die!” Harry raised his arm, an unfamiliar wand pointing towards the unmoving man on the ground. The man’s mask lay askew, his robes torn, his body pale and unmoving, “AVADA…”

“NO!” Harry screamed.