Harry woke to warm candlelight by his face and a pungent sharp odour very close by. The ammonia scent was extremely off-putting, and he twisted away from the blurry blue vial it was contained in. Snape came into focus as the one holding the vial, and he halted Harry's movements by putting his hand on Harry's chin.

"Stay put," Snape ordered, moving Harry's head slightly to the side and peering at him. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, and sat back a little from Harry's range of vision. He was on a small wooden stool, and Harry realised that he himself was actually on a small red cot, behind the chesterfield. He had the couch's knit blanket covering himself, and his shoes and glasses were missing. His jacket was draped over the couch, and the shirt he was wearing smelled as if someone had done a recent scourgify on it.

"What happened?" Harry asked. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, leaning against the back of the chesterfield. His head had a residual ache to it, one he'd felt only once before, when Voldemort had possessed him at the Ministry of Magic.

Snape was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers steeped in front of his chin. He looked like Dr Watson, studying some sort of curiosity.

"The horcrux is real," Snape finally proclaimed.

Harry stared at him.

"You thought I'd just made it up? They don't exactly teach us about horcruxes at Hogwarts."

"Indeed not," Snape said, still studying Harry and ignoring the sarcasm. "How did you destroy them?"

"You're not going to like that part," Harry said, rubbing his forehead. It was worrying how much the diadem's power had affected him, as he couldn't remember any other horcrux doing so with just a single touch.

"I assure you, Potter, I have yet to enjoy any moment of this little field trip."

"Not even the peaceful castle?" Harry immediately asked, curious. Snape glanced away for a few seconds, which told Harry all he needed to know. Snape was unsettled by the peace as well.

"We used the Sword of Gryffindor, after it had been infused with Basilisk venom. Or just the fangs themselves."

Harry pulled the blanket up further; glad his socks were still on. The room was warm, but he much preferred to be under the blanket. The big clock over the mantel ticked loudly, and by turning his head to squint, Harry saw that it was getting on half nine.

"Oh that's all," Snape said, tone still dry despite his fatigue. "Use the venom of a creature that's supposedly been extinct for centuries."

He stood up and stalked toward the kitchenette, leaving Harry to stare dumbly at the smoothly painted wall nearest the cot. His head was achy and he was exhausted. Snape returned with a glass of dark purple coloured juice for Harry, and sat back down on the stool.

"I'm glad to hear it was nothing too taxing," Snape finished. Harry had begun to suspect that Snape's sarcasm was a mixture of his weird humour and a defensive action.

"Well, you could also kill it with fire," Harry yawned. "But that didn't work so well for Crabbe."

The juice was some sort of berry mix with a hint of mint or some sort of fresh herb, and it was oddly delicious. Harry drank most of it, running his free hand along the camp bed. It was surprisingly comfortable, and Harry guessed that Snape intended for him to use it overnight. Harry was rather fine with that. He was really looking forward to a night of sleep that he needn't worry about Snatchers, Death Eaters, and Voldemort.

"Do you want to destroy it tonight?" Harry asked, opening his eyes wider than normal to keep them from slipping shut.

"No. I wish to study it further," Snape said, with authority. He looked satisfied with Harry's mostly empty glass and summoned an extra blanket over to the cot.  "And you will not be awake much longer."

"It's not that late," Harry argued in a mumble, blinking heavily as the blanket was dropped over him. "Wait, what'd you put in the juice?"

"A draught," Snape said, from a doorway to Harry's far left. He sounded smug. "You died earlier today Potter. I believe you need some rest."

....

Snape stood in the kitchenette, awaiting the kettle to boil and watching out over the half-wall into the living room. Potter looked so tiny, curled up on the cot in a defensive position as he slept. The draught had certainly knocked him out, and while Snape was quite confident Potter would have fallen asleep without it, the boy appeared so exhausted that Snape figured he would have had a restless night's sleep. As it was, Potter was already slightly drooling on to his pillow.

His tea steeping, Snape used a scrap bit of parchment on the kitchen counter to write out the seven horcruxes that Potter had told him about. Every ounce of investigation he'd done since returning had shown that they had managed to return to 1991 without the paradox of having two versions of themselves in the same time. 

The horcruxes were concerning. It grated on every inch of Snape's nerves that he did not know how they'd arrived in the past, (though he'd never admit that he knew Potter had nothing to do with their current predicament) and it bothered him even further that the horcruxes still existed and seemed to recognize Potter. The diadem that they'd retrieved only an hour earlier was currently locked in a lead box in his personal lab, under a warded and bloody heavy weight set. It made Snape somewhat twitchy to have something that felt so intensely evil inside his own living quarters.

Potter moved on the bed again, and Snape debated summoning another blanket over. The room was toasty from the fire, but his flat tended to get chilly past two in the morning. Working quickly, Snape walked over to the cot and took the blankets off. Potter shivered visibly, but quick wand-work replaced the battered clothes with a set of flannel pyjamas. Snape noticed the cuts and bruises on Potter's neck, hairline, and hands, pausing to look at them. The boy even had small burn welts on his palms and wrists. Covering him back up with the two blankets, Snape made a mental note to give Potter burn cream in the morning.  He dropped a third blanket on the floor next to the cot, and made his way to the bedroom door.

The fire was reduced to embers and Snape picked up one of his notebooks from the desk, intent on composing some notes on what he'd learned from Potter in the evening. Potter was hidden behind the couch, and unseen from Snape's bedroom door, but this was a very rare occasion in which Snape did not actually mind having someone else stay in his flat. Snape figured it was because of the war they'd been through, and the fact that the boy knew far more about him than any other living person, save for the headmaster himself. He didn't have the energy to continue with the antagonism, and since they'd been thrown back together, Snape had concluded that if anything were to get accomplished, it would not be by having he and Potter at each other's throats.

Besides, if they could find a way to destroy the horcruxes before the Dark Lord returned to corporal form, perhaps this time around Harry Potter would not have been raised solely for slaughter.  Snape allowed himself a tiny smile as he leaned against the bedroom door and surveyed his room. His beloved, most comfortable, bedroom that none but a house elf and himself had seen in nearly ten years. Perhaps this time, they could defeat Voldemort and the last bit of Lily Evans that Snape could ever see would survive.

....

Harry woke to hear banging in the kitchenette. He was rather disorientated, waking up behind a soft leather wall and under the weight of three blankets. He also appeared to be in flannel pyjamas, which he couldn't remember wearing in more than three years.

"Potter, wake up," Snape called, crashing something down onto a counter top.

Harry winced at the noise, but yawned and sat up in the bed. His spectacles were on the stool Snape had been sitting on the night before, and there was a small jar of what looked like burn cream next to them.

"What time is it?" Harry hoarsely asked, stretching his arms up. He half expected to see his golden snitch rising up from his shirt pocket to greet him, but then he remembered that the snitch wouldn't be given back to him for another six years.

"Six am," came the answer. Snape came back into the room, dressed in his usual clothes minus the robes. He had a plate of muffins and tea, which he put down on the table. "You will need to return to the tower shortly."

"Yeah, alright," Harry said, forcing himself up out of the cot. "I guess they'll all be waiting for me."

He stumbled over to the couch, trailing the blanket behind him and accidentally catching his foot on a book by the side of the couch. Snape flinched very slightly, almost as if it was an instant reaction to catch Harry if he'd fallen forward.

"Why are you staring at me?" Harry asked, dropping onto the couch.

Snape quirked his head slightly to the side before answering, dragging his hair back and hooking it over his ear.

"I am slightly surprised to find you this agreeable so early in the morning," Snape said, startling Harry with his honesty. There was very little sarcasm in the answer; it seemed to just be an observation. "Your father much preferred his late night explorations and adventures, and your mother was downright combative before ten."

"Really?" Harry asked, a small smile on his face. He remembered now that Snape had been his mother's first friend in the magical world, and made a mental note to ask Snape later - once they'd settled more into the past - about his mum.

"Eat while it's warm," Snape somewhat ordered, making it clear that he didn't want to talk about Lily Potter by nodding at the plate of muffins. He had a large notebook on the rattan ottoman, and it looked like he'd been scribbling in it all night.

"Did you sleep at all?" Harry asked, reaching out for a mug of tea and pausing for a second as he saw that Snape had prepared the tea like Harry had had the night before.

Snape inclined his head, drinking his own tea.

"Somewhat," Snape answered. He picked up his notebook and summoned a pen from somewhere behind Harry. "How long do they take to kill?"

"The horcruxes? Five minutes or so," Harry answered, twisting the top of the blueberry muffin off.

 Snape nodded at this, and recorded the information.

"When did the headmaster first tell you about the horcruxes?"

Harry munched on the blueberry muffin and thought.

"Not until the end of second year. He said he realised it after I brought him the diary."

"This is the same diary which possessed Ginevra Weasley?" Snape confirmed, not looking up as he wrote.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. Some of the muffin crumbled down his shirt and he moved fast to catch the bits. "It's at Malfoy Manor, I think."

This caught Snape's attention.

"Is it really?"

"I think so. During the summer Lucius Malfoy slipped it into her cauldron at the bookstore in Diagon Alley."

"I shall have to think of a reason to visit the manor," Snape said, writing more notes down.

"I'd rather not go back there again," Harry said, shuddering. "You know, there were rumours when I was in first year that you were Draco Malfoy's godfather or something. All chummy with the Malfoys."

Snape gave him an absolutely disgusted look, and Harry choked on his muffin in laughter. Coughing heavily and gasping, he missed Snape's anapneo, but felt the cool rush of air hit his throat.

"The Malfoy family are very high up amongst the ranks of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. With my position as a spy, it is imperative that I remain on good terms with such a family."

"If you are prepared," Harry mumbled, rubbing his forearms under the sleeves of his pyjamas. The fireplace had a small fire in it, but the morning chill hadn't worn off the room yet.

"Pardon?" Snape asked, looking at him in slight confusion.

"If you are prepared," Harry repeated, louder. "It's what Dumbledore asked you, the night Voldemort came back."

Snape's face had a strange look on it as he studied Harry, before finally returning to his notebook.

"We will have to return to our mutual loathing, whilst out in the castle during the day," Snape said, as if it was merely a passing thought he had.

"I don't think I saw much of you in first year, just during classes and sometimes in the hall," Harry thought, trying to remember. "Except for when we thought you were after the Stone."

"The Stone, yes," Snape said. He sounded tired, and dropped his notebook on the rattan footstool.

"It's safe. Quirrell won't be able to get to it until sometime in June," said Harry. He remembered quite clearly that it was around exam time that Quirrell had gotten the final piece of information he needed.

"You know who gave Quirrell the information," Snape accused, though he did not look surprised.

Harry looked away, using magic to clean all the muffin crumbs he'd dropped.

"I'll pretend to hate you in the hallways and class, so it doesn't ruin your position as a spy," Harry responded instead, refusing to give up Hagrid. "But this time around, do you have to be so hard on Neville? I don't see why you hate him so much."

Snape looked a mixture of angry and disappointed at something. It wasn't a very good look, as his forehead was wrinkled and he had splotchy red patches on his cheeks.

"Even you should be able to figure that out, Potter," Snape evenly clipped.

"Why, because he's clumsy?" Harry blankly asked.

"I'm sure the headmaster told you that there were two possible boys that would fulfil the prophecy," Snape said, exasperated. He stood up and left the room, heading back to what Harry assumed was his own bedroom.

A second door was between the kitchenette and the one Snape had disappeared to, and Harry hoped it was the washroom. He'd had too much tea to go back to Gryffindor tower without a stop, and thought the entire time he was in the loo. The answer came to him as he looked into the mirror, washing his hands. If Neville had been the boy who lived, Harry's mum might have still been alive.

Humbled, and still tired, Harry quietly changed back into his day clothes. He folded the pyjamas neatly and left them on the cot, along with the folded blankets. When he turned to head toward the door, he was surprised to see Snape standing in the doorway to a darkened bedroom. He was holding a journal in his hand, and after a moment's thought, handed it to Harry.

"As we have absolutely no reason to interact on a daily basis, alternate forms of communication will be essential."

The journal was a school-regulation single subject one, with a dark black/green sheen to the cover. The inside pages were blank, and Harry could feel the magic of some protective wards on it.

"Thanks, sir," Harry said, clutching the book tightly as he slipped out to the long hallway toward Snape's office.

....

Carrying the notebook Snape gave him under his arm, Harry made his way quickly through the dungeons and back up the smaller seldom-used stairs to get back up to Gryffindor tower. He automatically skipped over one step on the stairs that was a vanishing step, and just before passing a set of armour, stopped suddenly. Irritated at his trick failing, Peeves shot out from the armour - one of his favourite haunts - and cursed a streak at Harry as he zoomed off.

"Well spotted, Harry," an amused voice said, from the shadows off the hallway.

Startled out of thought, Harry nearly dropped the book as he looked up and spotted a much younger looking Albus Dumbledore standing by a tapestry. His royal purple robes clashed rather magnificently with the tapestry, but Dumbledore didn't seem to be bothered much by it.

"Headmaster," Harry said, clutching his fingers tighter around the journal. His eyes darted to Dumbledore's right hand, noting it was its normal lively colour. As were the twinkling blue eyes, looking at him fondly.

"You haven't been looking for the mirror again, have you Harry?" Dumbledore asked, leading Harry down the hall toward the grand staircases. He sounded concerned and grandfatherly, and Harry's heart ached as he was reminded just how much he'd missed Dumbledore.

"The mir...no sir, I haven't," Harry shook his head.

"Ah, I was wondering, as it is rather early in the morning for you to be out wandering the dungeons. In rather dirty clothing, no less."

"Oh, oh yeah, I was in detention with Snape," Harry said, looking down at his ripped clothes. He should probably get rid of them, but they were almost the only things he had from his past life. Or future life. Whatever it was.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore lightly corrected. "I don't believe I shall ask why."

He sounded amused, and Harry remembered that Snape had talked to Dumbledore the day before. Without wanting to say anything to contradict what Snape had said, Harry just grinned.

"Probably for the best, sir."

Dumbledore smiled knowingly and nodded his head.

"Off to bed with you then, or perhaps a nice shower first," Dumbledore advised, pausing a hallway corridor at the grand staircases.

"Yes sir," Harry replied, bouncing up the stairs.

"Oh Harry," Dumbledore called, waking up a few of the portraits. Harry paused on the steps, thankfully unmoving ones. "Remember that you do not need a mirror to see those who are your family. You merely need to look around you."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he thought about the statement, and how true it became for him when he'd gone through the war.

"Yes sir," Harry said, slower and deep in thought as he returned to his dormitory.

...

The common room was very quiet still. Three low candles burned in the corner of the room, and Harry's step faltered for a second as he noticed that what at first had appeared to be a bundle of blankets in the corner on a chair was actually a boy. He looked a bit older than Ron and Hermione, and Harry figured the boy was in second year. He had a book in his hand, some sort of hot drink next to him, and had clearly been sitting there a while. He gave Harry a look that was almost resentful, as if Harry had spoiled the boy's perfect morning and the empty common room's peace.

Nodding to the boy but not saying anything, Harry passed through the room quickly and headed up the stairs. None of his dorm mates were awake, although Seamus was talking loudly enough in his sleep that Harry had at first thought he was up.  Opening his journal, Harry took a quill out of his bedside table drawer and stared at the first blank page. Snape said he'd tested them out, and that it would work flawlessly, but Harry still wanted to make sure. He didn't want to write anything stupid like ‘testing' though. Finally deciding on something, Harry put quill to paper.

"Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

The ink stayed on the page for a few seconds, long enough for anyone to read if they needed to. The book, which was sitting on Harry's lap, turned warm as the ink disappeared.

"The legend or the events of your second year involving Miss Weasley?"

Harry smiled and thought of what to say in return. It'd been silly of him to write in the journal as he'd done with Tom Riddle's diary but he did remember being told years before though that not all magic was inherently bad. Some spells could be used for very useful things, like two-way communication. It was just Voldemort's usage of the magic that had tainted Harry's idea of it.

"They're both related," Harry wrote back. "We'll need something from the Chamber to destroy the horcruxes."

He tossed the warm journal on the bed, letting Snape have time to compose a reply as Harry changed his clothes for another set of pyjamas. It was a Sunday morning, and from what he remembered of his dorm mates, no one would be surfacing for another two hours, just in time for 9.30 breakfast.

"Next weekend," came Snape's reply. "Stay to your school schedule this week."

Harry huffed quietly at that and closed the book, not bothering to send a reply. Snape had mentioned before having to wait till the following weekend to do anything, which Harry had objected to. He wanted to complete whatever they had to do in this time period fast, so that he could return home. Snape, however, insisted on leaving things until weekends or detentions so that no suspicions would arise from Harry spending unscheduled time with Snape.

"Yes father," Harry sarcastically muttered, putting the journal under his pillow. It was cold now, as Snape must have put it aside and stopped writing in it too.  Harry settled back into bed, tossing his glasses at the nightstand. Ron grumbled at the noise, but didn't open his eyes.

"Good bed," Harry said, patting his mattress. He couldn't count how many times he'd thought of how much his four-poster bed at Hogwarts as home - both while spending the year camping, and while spending the summers at the Dursleys.

Harry was just slipping into his dreams when he scrunched up his face. Why would he even joke about calling Snape his father?

....

The week passed by extremely slowly.  Harry made a few mistakes, referencing things that hadn't happened yet, and he was rather more jumpy than his friends were used to. Whether it was from Peeves dropping something in the hallway, or people shrieking as they ran to class, Harry still found that he was habitually on guard.

And then there was Malfoy. Harry felt bad for Malfoy, seeing through the false bravado and looking at the little boy who would grow up to do any sort of dark deed to advance with his family. It still didn't stop him from being a little twerp, and Harry had to seriously hold back from just hexing the wanker.

Classes were a different challenge altogether.  On Monday Harry had automatically gotten dressed and done up his tie, as he'd done for the past seven years. He'd not noticed until too late that Ron was frustrated with his own tie, and that Neville and Seamus were simply keeping the knots in and loosening them to fit over their heads.

After explaining to Ron that he'd gotten bored in detention and practised tying and untying, Harry had reminded himself to hide his knowledge. It was difficult remembering how little he'd known as an eleven year old, but Harry had caught on that any time Ron or Hermione questioned him, he only needed to bring up Nicholas Flamel to sufficiently distract them.

"We still don't know who he is, Ron," Harry lied, "But he's somehow connected to the Stone. Last night though, I wondered if maybe Quirrell isn't as innocent as he seems."

"What are you talking about, Harry? Professor Quirrell can't even talk about ghosts without being afraid," Hermione whispered. Flitwick had just entered the classroom, and was charming a brush to erase the chalkboard.

"Remember when you set Snape's robes on fire at the quidditch match?" Harry whispered, opening up his notebook. The journal he used to communicate with Snape was under his pile, and he carried it with him to each class. Both of them were busy during the day, but Harry wrote down ideas and memories from his last scavenger hunt for the horcruxes, and Snape responded in kind when he could.

"Of course," Ron said, smiling. "It was brilliant."

Hermione blushed, as she nodded slightly. Flitwick was starting to talk, and Harry knew that Hermione would tell them to shut up shortly. They were discussing fun charms today, and Flitwick was starting with the tickling charm.

"Snape wasn't the only one casting something at the time. I saw Quirrell chanting too."

"Blimey, we weren't even looking at Quirrell," Ron whispered, his expression narrowed in thought.

"Rictusempra is the incantation, class," Flitwick said, demonstrating the wand movement along with it. Harry opened his journal, the one he used to communicate with Snape, and pretended to be writing notes. Beside him, Hermione was furiously copying down everything Flitwick was saying.

"Chamber of Secrets tomorrow?"  Harry wrote, tapping his quill against the journal. He closed it quickly as Flitwick began walking around the room, looking for volunteers. The journal grew hot just as Flitwick approached, but Harry kept it shut and steadily looked at the blackboard, as if he was trying to memorize every single word written there.

"Mr Finnegan! Come up to the front and test out the spell," Flitwick said. Harry let out a small breath with relief, and snuck a peek at the journal as Seamus collapsed to the floor in laughter.

"Yes. You'll receive a detention in class today, have no fear."

"Brilliant," Harry wrote back, somewhat glad that sarcasm wasn't easily transmitted through writing.

...

Harry's detention was scheduled for two in the afternoon, and he left Ron and Hermione at the library to attend it. They were spending the afternoon researching Nicholas Flamel.

"Are there any spells for getting rid of ghosts?" Harry softly asked, pushing open the door of the washroom. Snape looked rather irritated that Harry was leading him into a girls' lavatory, but followed along none the less.

"Exadigo," Snape replied, looking about the disused bathroom. The house elves still seemed to clean the washroom on a regular basis, but Myrtle made a rather mucky mess of the room.  Ready for her, Harry coughed loudly in the empty washroom.

"A boy! What are yo..."

"Exadigo!" Harry cast. He got a small glance of her as she floated out of the loo stall, before being banished elsewhere.

"She's very nosy," Harry explained, walking by the sinks and looking for the little serpent carving.

"Most ghosts are," Snape commented, his arms crossed. "I don't believe they have anything else to do."

Harry stopped, his thumb rubbing up and down over the snake carving on the tap.

"I guess not, yeah."

He leaned forward and whispered in parseltongue to the tap, hoping that he'd not lost the skill. The achy grinding and groaning of the sink moving proved that he hadn't, and Harry noticed that Snape's normally expressive face was rather slack as he watched the floor open up.

"Potter..."

"Could be worse," Harry said, ignoring the rank smell that emanated from the hole. "Last time I went down there I was twelve, with Ron, and Lockhart."

"Three twelve year olds, then," Snape snidely commented, moving forward to glance over the hole.

Harry smiled and looked up suddenly.

"How are you...will you be, after the, uh, snake thing?"

"The snake thing?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrow. "Try to be more eloquent, Potter. I know it's hard, but try."

"Piss off," Harry grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Snape icily responded. His strong white fingers had shot out and clamped around Harry's arm.

"I'm not talking to you as a student," Harry impatiently explained. With his free hand he checked to make sure the three small vials he'd packed for the trip were still safely in his pocket. "I'm talking to you as an Order member who's been through war with you, Snape."

Snape studied him, his eyes still showing anger as he thought about what Harry had said.  Harry wasn't lying - between the memories he'd seen of Snape's, the occlumency flashes Snape had seen of his past, and everything that had happened through the war, Harry strongly felt that Snape would never just be his professor anymore.

"Professor Snape," Snape finally said. "I still deserve the respect of the position."

Harry grinned, toeing the edge of the slide.

"See you at the bottom then, Professor."

He jumped into the hole, grimacing as he hit the curved slide of the pipe. It was cold and wet and not nearly as fun as it had been to his twelve year old self all those years ago. Not now that Harry knew what was waiting for him on the other side.

Oddly, there were far less rat skeletons on the ground in the little containment area where he shot out. The few that were there crumbled to dust as he walked around.  Harry cast a lumos spell, and noted that while still dirty and gross, the pipe was also covered in large and ugly cobwebs.

Snape cast his own lumos as he stood beside Harry, wiping the dust off his trousers. He'd not heard Snape come down the tube, but Harry figured Snape had floated down or done something to avoid sliding in the gross water, as the man didn't appear wet at all.

"Tersus," Snape said, rolling his eyes as the charm dried Harry's pants.

Harry led them down under the castled, twisting and turning through the stalagmites and stalactites that had formed from the mineral water that passed through the underground cavern.

"Do you know how horcruxes are actually made?" Harry asked, pausing as he checked to make sure they were on the right path. There was no giant snakeskin shedding, and it took a moment for Harry to realise that without the diary to set the Basilisk out on the prowl at the school, there would be no shedding.

"Yes," Snape tersely responded. "They are not anything for a small..."

"I'm eighteen," Harry interrupted, looking over his shoulder at Snape. "And I am one. I think I'm old enough to know."

Snape didn't answer, looking first for fault in Harry's logic.

"Miss Granger was not able to find the answer?"

Harry kicked a small pile of rubble loose from the path, clearing it out of the way so neither of them would trip on it. He didn't anticipate having to make a mad dash out of the Chamber, but he did it just in case.

"Not quite. None of the books in the library mention it of course, and the books she got from Dumbledore only talked about a most foul spell."

Harry could see the snake door in the distance, and started walking directly for it.

"Most foul spell, indeed," Snape repeated. "You are aware that at the time of horcrux creation, one has a wand, a fractured soul, a container, and a dead body."

"Yes," Harry said, stopping in front of the door. He looked at Snape, who was expressionless save for the dark glittering eyes that were staring at the complicated locking system on the door.

"You first remove the fractured part of the soul from your body. You cannot create a horcrux by simply taking it out of yourself at the same time. The fractured soul goes easily into the dead body, as it merely views it as a very temporary stop before ascending to the afterlife."

Harry's face felt colder, and his lips twisted up in revulsion. The murder victim was used as a temporary hold for the soul?

"A spell is cast on the container," Snape continued, in the same calm voice he used when he was lecturing a regular potions class in the dungeons. "To ready it for the soul. And finally, the spell to banish the soul to the container is cast."

"And it just goes in?" Harry softly asked, wondering just how the hell his scar horcrux was actually made. This time Snape made eye contact, and he had a strange look on his face.

"Not willingly. Eternal damnation, Potter. That soul, like the castor, will never go to any afterlife. It will be damned to spend the rest of eternity in whichever trinket of a container the spell castor has chosen."

"Does it fight back?" Harry asked, swallowing loudly as he pictured in his mind the horcruxes that Voldemort had made.

"Rather violently," Snape answered. He didn't say anything else, and Harry was left to wonder if Snape had seen or read about actual examples. Turning to face the door, he hissed at it and decided that he didn't want to know.

"Remember, don't look at this thing's eyes," Harry said, more to himself than Snape. The door opened, and Harry walked inside the Chamber of Secrets.

It was much the same as it had been in second year, puddles of water on the floor, low and nearly useless torches illuminating the walls as they walked past and leaving shadows all throughout the Chamber.  The large carving of Salazar Slytherin at the end of the corridor looked no less imposing as it had at twelve, but Harry was comforted by the fact that he had Snape with him this time.

"So, I'll call it up, and we'll stun it," Harry said, to confirm. "With Stupefy?"

"That is what it's used for," Snape sarcastically responded. He was looking everywhere in the room - at the carvings on the wall, at the water crevices in the floor, and at the vile expression on the Founder's sculpted face. "This room is stunning."

"Yeah, great acoustics," Harry distractedly agreed. He'd brought a few things to help him, but had a sneaking suspicion that neither Fawkes nor the Sorting Hat would come to his rescue this time. Nonetheless, they both took their planned places, climbing up the statue head and hiding behind the mouth opening.

"Ready?"

"Potter," Snape warned, tired of the stalling.

"Snape, it's really big. Just, be ready."

"Everything is really big to a scrawny twelve year old. Call it forth," Snape snidely said, wand at the ready.

Harry thought Snape sounded suspiciously confident for a man who'd nearly been killed by a snake, but he didn't say anything else, save for the low hissing noise that brought forth the Basilisk.

A horrible scraping noise sounded, of scales grinding over whatever pipe led up to the mouth of the statue.

I command you, Harry hissed, torn between closing his eyes and watching for the Basilisk to emerge. He slitted his eyes, watching through the lashes, and his breath went shallow as the first scaly peaks of the Basilisk appeared. It was facing the entrance of the Chamber, and its ugly horns on the back of its head looked razor sharp. Snape stiffened beside Harry, but Harry's attention was almost completely focused on the Basilisk. It was a lot bigger than he'd remembered.

Harry held up his hand, and started counting with his fingers. They'd agreed on this earlier, as Harry had explained about the Basilisk's exceptional hearing.  Snape's wand, still raised from before Harry called the Basilisk, seemed to be aimed in the right direction.

At one, Harry took a deep breath and cast as strongly as he could.

"STUPEFY!"

His voice echoed strongly off the walls of the Chamber, the acoustics just as good as he'd imagined. The Basilisk stopped moving immediately, and Harry got a sick feeling in his stomach as he realised that his voice had been the only one to sound out. Snape had not cast his spell.

Trusting that his own hex had slowed the Basilisk's movements for a few seconds, Harry stole a glance to his side. Snape was standing rigid beside him, arm still raised and eyes locked on the gigantic snake below them. His mouth was opened slightly, as if he was breathing very lightly, and his sallow skin was even whiter than before.

"Snape!" Harry urged, kicking the man's foot. "I need your help!"  

"Petrificus totalus!" Snape said, speaking quietly on the first syllable but ending loud and firmly. A bright red jet shot from his wand and hit the back of the Basilisk's neck, and Harry exhaled loudly in relief.

"I told you it was big," Harry said, slightly exasperated. He walked to the edge of the sculpted head they were standing on and looked down. The Basilisk hadn't even fully emerged from its hiding spot.

"Pardon me, Mr Potter. Basilisks haven't been seen for four hundred years and precise information is somewhat scarce," Snape replied, sounding put together again. He also looked over the side, and seemed to be very disturbed at the sheer size of the snake.

"Yeah, and it's only rumoured that there are acromantulas in Scotland. I can show you where those are if you want," Harry sarcastically replied.

"Potter, I will not hesitate to take points for disrespect," Snape coolly reminded him. He reached out and touched the back scales on the Basilisk's neck, his lips curling upward in distaste.

"Fine, let's just get the venom and leave. I don't want this thing coming back to life," Harry said, walking to the side of the sculpture to see if the Basilisk's mouth was open. He'd argue with Snape about sarcasm later, when they were not in the same room with a fifty-foot monster.

"Don't look at the eyes," Snape murmured, reminding Harry of the danger. He had his wand out and waving over the Basilisk, as if casting a spell to check vitals.

"How do we get the venom out?" Harry asked, being very careful to not look any further than the jaw of the giant snake.

"With this," Snape replied, taking a large glass container out of his robe pocket. It looked like the type that muggles used for blood tests. Harry watched with disgusted curiosity as Snape jabbed the glass container against a rounded skin sac under the Basilisk's jawbone. It filled up quickly with a dark viscous fluid, and Harry imagined he could hear the Basilisk trying to growl against the two stunning spells it was under.

Snape suddenly wrenched the vial away from the Basilisk, turning to cap the vial. Harry watched with a stunned expression as the venom continued to spurt out of the hole in the venom sac, landing on Snape's arm.

"Move!" Harry managed to blurt, running over to pull Snape out of the way.

Snape's robes were already starting to disintegrate under the corrosive poison, but the man didn't make a sound as the venom reached his skin. Snape was grimacing in pain, but still keeping steady so that the rest of the poison wouldn't spill. He set the vial down on the stone carving they were standing on, while Harry used a spell to cut away the left sleeve of Snape's clothing. In his pocket Harry had shoved Essence of Dittany, Mandrake Draught, and a very tiny vial of phoenix tears. He'd stolen it from Snape's personal stores, and had hoped to not need it.

Snape's arm was pockmarked with burn marks, and if Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought acid had been spilled directly on the skin. The dark hair on Snape's arm was somewhat matted around the burns, and the flesh was an angry red colour with open sores. Harry cradled the arm in his own hand as he tried not to waste any of the tears. They dropped silently into the venom burns, and out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Snape wince. Harry didn't remember the tears burning when the Basilisk had bitten him, but in Harry's case the venom had been injected into his body, not burned on.

Harry let go of Snape's arm once the burns healed, sitting back against the stone carving. To his left, the Basilisk huffed a small amount of air, signalling the waning of the spells that held it in place.

"We need to go," Harry said, standing up. He placed the vials back in his pocket, and glanced nervously at the giant snake. Harry couldn't think of anything he wanted more right now, other than to return to his own time, than to get out of the Chamber.

Snape glared at him, before gathering the vial of venom and pulling himself to his feet. He cradled his arm to his chest, and grasped the torn material in his hand.

"You owe me a new set of robes."