Looking back, Harry didn’t know how he’d managed to struggle through the days that followed his first, disastrous attempt in rescuing Professor Snape from Myrridin’s Corridor.

Potions under the pre-fourth year Professor Snape had been pretty unbearable but at least then Harry’d been able to vent his frustration. Now, with neither moral support nor a justifiable target on which to blame his misery, the teenage boy spent the lesson stewing in a toxic combination of guilt and worry. And, to make matters worse, the other Gryffs just would not shut up about how much better Professor Dumbledore was at teaching Potions, with Dean and Seamus even going to far as to petition Harry to persuade the Headmaster into sacking Snape. Forcing himself to nod, smile and insult Snape was, Harry knew, the least he could do for his mentor: however, the lies were a corrosive poison, burning his throat long after they were spoken.

Defence was similarly aggravating; although Dumbledore hadn’t said as much, Harry knew, in his bones, that ‘Moody’ was responsible for Ron’s abduction and hearing the imposter’s braggart lies about his life in the Ministry, listening to the awestruck students' questions and, hardest to endure of all, observing that smug, self-satisfied little smile, twisted Harry’s guts. Even at Snape’s worst, Harry had never actually wanted to hurt the guy; tip a cauldron of nasty-smelling but otherwise harmless goo over his greasy head, yeah, but nothing much worse. ‘Moody’, however, was another story entirely, especially when Harry’s gaze fell upon Hermione, who, having lain awake worrying over Ron all night, was scarcely awake enough to take notes, her usually busy quill lying limp in her pale, lethargic hand. However, there was one slither of silver lining; the necessity of raising and maintaining his strongest occulmancy shields around the imposter proved enough of a distraction from some of Harry’s most pressing worries, such as how to persuade Myrridin to release Snape.

Harry knew he was not the most patient of people; his usual technique was to simply react to situations, rather than submitting to the long, tedious process of planning. However, Professor Dumbledore had forbidden Harry from staging another attempt on the corridor immediately and, without Ron’s (im)moral support and as Hermione, unaware of Snape’s (and by extension Harry’s) predicament, was unable to advice, prepare and generally boss him into patience, Harry found his solitude teeth-grindingly frustrating.

And, to add insult to injury, the teenage boy couldn’t fault Dumbledore’s logic: Harry knew he was tired and stressed and, if he lost his temper with Myrridin or tried the man’s patience, well, it’d be a case of more haste, less speed. But it still sucked, especially when Harry discovered that his mind bombarded him with unwelcome thoughts as soon as he lay down.

Yes, nights were in their very own, hair-tearing circle of Hell: every, single time Harry had managed, by dint of sheer effort, to focus on his heartbeat, banishing the myriad of fears, anxieties and self-admonishments from his mind, he would be on the very brink of sleep when, suddenly, another thought would burst into life, resurrecting all those which he had just defeated. Every night it seemed to get worse, happening over and over until Harry was ready to scream with frustration; he didn’t dare not sleep but, if he allowed his tired, red-veined eyes to close before he had cleared his mind, he’d be practically laying out the ‘Welcome’ mat for Voldemort.

As the cold, grey light preceding Friday’s dawn filtered through the red velvet curtains surrounding Harry’s bed, the teenager snapped bolt upright, clutching his sheets with balled fists. “Enough!” Harry snarled, kicking the away his counterpane and thrusting his feet into slippers. “I’ve had enough!”

Harry’s bubbling mind cooled as he descended though the cellars into the dungeons below, his sharp footfalls softening as his temper faded.

Eventually, he stood, gazing dully at Herpo, who was singing lullabies to his dozing serpents.

*“Winter windsss will not prevail,
Sssummer comesss to hill and dale,
Hussssh my hatchling do not wail…”*

*“Um, excuse me?”* Harry hissed nervously.

Herpo jerked in surprise, causing his pet cobra to shudder awake. With a particularly poisonous look, the ancient portrait spat *“The dissssapearing egg-eater! I thought Myrridin had seen you off!”*

*“I came back”* Harry snapped *“Onyx will ssscccsssh in the hidden nest, trapped like a serpent in a snare. His fangs will give venom unto himself.”*

Herpo shook his white, shaggy head *“If you must, but don’t come ssscssshing to me when Myrridin bites your tail.”*

As the sun’s first, feeble rays lit the sky, Harry stepped up into the gallery. Myrridin was standing, quiet and still as a statue, his high cheekbones and lofty forehead appearing as carved marble in the dawn light.

“How is Professor Snape?” Harry heard himself ask.

The slender spirit turned, his flinty eyes softening to the dusky blue of a spring sea “As one asleep; he kens not that he is between realms.”

Harry swallowed “You know, he’d really hate being a prisoner; even if he doesn’t know about it now, one day he will and he’ll be well upset.”

“In his waking life, he is caught between two masters, with nary a moment to please himself, Potter.”

“He’s still free inside his mind” Harry insisted “And when he’s in the Room of Requirement he doesn’t have to act!”

“Are ye sure about that, lad?” Myrridin asked, folding his arms. “Ye words starved him cruelly, though ye couldnae have know the full effect. Ye have ye mother’s eyen, Potter and ye are more alike to her in spirit. Ye would do well tae remember that, lad.” 

“Look, I screwed up” Harry grumbled. “I know it’s not going to be easy to make amends but” light blazed in Harry’s mind; clear, pure and illuminating “I am more like Lily than James, right? Well, if you don’t release Snape till after I die or whatever, he’ll always blame himself! I’ll never get the chance to tell him that I understand! Okay, getting involved with the Death-Eaters was dumb and I still don’t know why he did it, so I can’t really comment on that, but what I do know is, when Snape had to decide between serving Voldemort and protecting my Mum, he chose her. He did his best to protect her and that’s what counts. I know my Mum would’ve felt the same. Not only would she have just forgiven him, she’d have been bloody grateful for all he’s done to protect me, even though I was a snotty brat most of the time.” Harry gazed up at Myrridin, his emerald eyes blazing “Snape needs to know that.”

“Ye think he’ll give ye the time to tell him this?” Myrridin asked, an appraising expression in his flinty eyes.

Harry swallowed “Maybe not at first but I’m not going to give up on him.”

A brief, enigmatic smile tugged at the corners of Professor Myrridin’s thin mouth “Very well.”

Harry heard a strangled gasp behind him. Turning, as one in a dream, Harry found himself face to face with Professor Snape.

“I’m so sorry! I overreacted. You couldn’t have known what Voldemort would do; it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry!” Harry cried, half formed ideas tumbling out of his mouth in jerky sentences as he observed the Potion Master’s pale, pinched face, his despairing eyes, dark and bleak as black holes, the taut posture of one poised to flee.

“Harry…”

“I tripped and fell onto your desk, my hand landed in the Pensieve! I was… I hated seeing Vol… Moldywart like that, it really upset me and I lashed out.”

Panting, Harry gazed up at the tall Professor with pleading green eyes “I’m sorry.”

Professor Snape blinked and, slowly, the tension bled from his muscles. Another blink and Harry saw, to his relief, the haunting despair in the Potion Master’s eyes fade before his thoughts retreated behind the occulmency shields.

“Your reaction was… not entirely unexpected or unreasonable Potter.”

“It was, though” Harry whispered, inwardly flinching at the Professor’s use of his surname. “My Mum would have been right ashamed of me; shouting my mouth off without thinking. You were just a kid who made a mistake. How could’ve you known what Moldywart would do? His reaction was mental!”

“‘Moldywart’ as you insist on calling him was, indeed, ‘mental’; a fact of which I was well aware at the time I gave him the information.” Professor Snape replied, a twisted expression of self-loathing marring his features.

“I recon you wouldn’t have told him anything, though, if you even thought he might go after kids?” Harry said shrewdly.

“No, of course not.” Professor Snape replied, folding his arms. Harry wondered why he’d never realised how defensive a gesture that was.

“There you are then!” Harry replied resolutely. “You made a mistake, like everyone has, and I don’t think my Mum would’ve blamed you; she’d have been glad you came back to the right side and grateful for you keeping an eye over me.”

The Potions Master froze “What, exactly, has Dumbledore…”

“He told me that you and Mum used to be friends.” Harry replied simply “That you fell out of contact after you left school and, when Moldywart went after Mum, you told Dumbledore so he could protect her.”

“Ah.”

“And I worked out the bit that you were looking out for me by myself” Harry finished with a shrug “I’m not a complete dunderhead!”

“Some parts are missing?” Professor Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry choked back a laugh “Yeah. A bit of my brain: turns out heading Bludgers isn’t a great idea.”

“Where exactly are we, Harry?” Professor Snape asked, looking around “I imagine, given the freedom with which you are speaking, that we are somewhere secure?”

“Well,” Harry said tentatively “have you heard of Myriddin’s Corridor?”

“Ah! And how long, exactly, have I spent in this corridor?”

“Um, since Saturday. It’s Friday Morning now.” Harry answered nervously.

“Has anything significant happened in the meantime?” Professor Snape asked, his tone almost bored.

“I think it’d be best if Dumbledore…”

“Harry!”

“Moldywart’s kidnapped Ron and says he’ll kill him if I don’t hand myself in by Yule” the teenager replied baldly. “And Professor Dumbledore taught us how to make butterbeer in Potions.”

The Potions Master pinched the bridge of his nose “I see.”

“You’re taking this very well” the teenage boy said sceptically.

Professor Snape sighed “One reaches a point, Harry, where neither words nor actions could adequately convey one’s outrage, indignation and sheer frustration. In such times as these, it is best to merely keep calm and carry on.”

oOoOo

From: Onyx.
To: W

Suspected involvement, so low profile for last week. Recalled to find the Pop; most emphatic-might be a deal breaker- so need orders.

Remember who tried to save you from the canines’ maws.

oOoOo

From: W
To: Onyx

Meet at usual place; will apparate from there.

OoOoO

Heavy emerald curtains drawn across the windows, with no light save for the flickering fire in the grate, Harry and Professor Dumbledore sat in the scarred, sage leather armchairs, waiting for someone they were unsure would ever return.

Professor Snape had left to meet Peter Pettigrew over two hours ago and, while Harry knew the man was an outstanding occulmens and the story he had concocted, complete with supporting evidence, sounded believable, Voldemort was criminally insane. It was impossible to predict how he would react.

Harry, of course, was not supposed to know any of this but, as usual, fate had given the teenager a hard shove towards forbidden territory; had Harry arrived at Professor Snape’s quarters a minute later, the teacher would, having disillusioned himself, been sneaking out of the castle. Had Harry turned up a minute earlier, Professor Snape would have still been inside his living quarters.

However, Harry had opened his Professor’s office door bang on time to catch the man, if not red handed, then certainly blister handed. The Potions Master, knowing that time was of the essence, used this opportunity to bawl out Harry for ‘disrespect’ and dragged the shocked teenager through the floo and into the Headmaster’s office. A sharp order of ‘explain’, seemingly aimed more at Dumbledore than Harry, and Professor Snape disappeared into the green flames.

Thus, in the dark, nearly silent sitting-room, where only the crackle of flames and occasional, dull thunk of a moving chess piece broke the silence, Harry and Professor Dumbledore sat, hoping, praying and fearing.

Suddenly, there was the sigh of the door bushing across the carpet of Dumbledore’s office. Motioning for Harry to remain sitting, the Headmaster swiftly stood and strode across the room to the door opening into his office. However, before he could reach for the handle, the door wrenched open and Ron staggered inside.

“Ron!” Harry cried, jumping to his feet and instinctively starting towards the boy, whose face was pale as milk in the firelight. A pace away from his friend, Harry stopped, hesitating as he remembered the animosity of the past months. Licking his lower lip nervously, Harry held out a hand.

Ron swallowed, his eyes meeting Harry’s for the first time in months. Sorrow, guilt and residual fear lurked within those blue grey depths and, the next moment, Harry found himself patting his friend on the back.

“It’s okay, mate. You’re safe now.”

“Yeah” Ron replied, pulling away. As Harry stepped back, he caught Ron’s eye again; guilt burned there like brimstone and, before Harry knew what he was doing, he had slipped into those blue depths.

A slender figure, whose long, dark hair slipped around his metal mask and onto the shoulders of his dark robe, knelt beside an armchair, from which stretched a small, icy white arm ending in tiny, black-nailed claws. The black-robed man's blistered hand was clasped within those claws and, above their joined hands, a plump, rat faced man held his wand.

Do you, Severus Tobias Snape swear that you will deliver Harry James Potter to me before midnight falls on 25th December 1994?” a high, cold voice asked from within the depths of the chair.

“I will!” A thin, golden snake twined around their hands...

Horrified, Harry jerked out of his friend’s mind, stumbling backwards as his thoughts whirled behind wide, emerald eyes.

Snape had made an unbreakable vow to Voldemort.