Tiny droplets of rain froze in mid-air into icicles, falling faster towards the ground, glistering like little diamonds. The sky was crowded with dark grey clouds, covering the beauty of the icy blue air. It was silent, no thunder could be heard in this mute hail. In some places, the sun peaked through the thick layers of clouds and tickled the ice pieces. The rays of light split up upon contact, sending the colours of the spectrum in every direction.

The temperature, though, was far too low that there could be any spectator out there to watch the scene. It was serene, and the fact that the ground was mostly untouched, made it even more beautiful.

The landscape would be soon covered with a high coat of snow and the seas and ponds, still shining proudly in their blue colour, would be shortly frozen over. Children would use it then to skate on the ice, but not yet. Now was this short period of time, when autumn merged into winter, when there really wasn't much to do outside, when Muggles and Wizards alike preferred to stay at home. Depressions settled over many of them, as they watched glumly as the days went by, oh so slowly. Without the sun, the energy was mostly spent, and to feel blue was nothing extraordinary.

Blue as the colour of sadness and depression, blue like the beautiful sky, or blue like the dangerous ocean. The colour was adoptable and quite able to surprise. If it was out of the blue, that was.

"Crucio," Voldemort muttered lazily, expressing his thanks to Wormtail. His red eyes gleamed in bemusement, as the ragged man writhed on the floor. "You should have told me earlier. I wouldn't have wasted so much time on Snape, well, not at this moment of time, anyways ..." his voice petered out, his mind clearly reliving the glorious moments of exquisite pain. Pale white skin, dark black robes and bright red blood. It was the perfect picture. The most delicious combination of self-inflicted and alien pain was almost enough to send Voldemort into fits of ecstasy.

"Now make yourself useful and bring me the Spell Book before I change my mind and test it on you first!" Voldemort hissed and kicked Wormtail, who crawled away hastily, not wanting to anger his master any further.

"Pathetic," the Dark Lord murmured. It never ceased to amaze him how incredible dull and weak his followers were. Your average light bulb was brighter than Pettigrew, Crabbe and Goyle combined. Pathetic. It was the perfect word. Most of his Death Eaters couldn't use their brain properly without his help. It was enough to make you weep. How this bunch of dunderheads ended up on his side in the first place was definitely beyond him.

A small smile crept onto Voldemort's face, he pointed his wand at Snape and muttered an "Enervate" to bring the Potions Master back to consciousness. Wouldn't want him to sleep through this glorious moment, now would he? After this little mission was accomplished, he would need to discipline his Death Eaters a little more.

"Uhn," Severus groaned, slowly coming back to his senses; especially his pain sensitivity. The attempt to turn his head only slightly had been a very wrong decision, for the Potions Master wasn't someone who enjoyed a roller-coaster ride; least in his current condition. Various coloured fireworks exploded behind his tightly closed eyelids, spinning around, making him even more nauseous due to the association with the Weasley pranksters. As if the torture session hadn't been enough for his strained nerves.

The ground beneath him was cold and hard, reminding him were he was exactly. And how he got there in the first place. The Dark Lord had been immensely displeased with him. He didn't know anymore what he had thought. It was clear as day that Voldemort wouldn't be overjoyed when he was not the one to kill the irritating Potter brat.

The rotating in his head slowly ceased, indicating that Snape had been given a blood restoring potion; otherwise the queasy feeling would have lasted way longer. But unfortunately, there was no pain relieving potion circulating in his blood stream.

"Welcome back in the land of the living, figuratively spoken," Voldemort said, hissing only slightly. "I take it you rested well?" he added, not waiting for a reply. "Good. Now get up."

Snape had quite to struggle to his feet, his knees felt as though they had been under the Jelly-Legs Jinx for too long. Dignity was not really an option, but fortunately, Voldemort had turned his back on him to arrange something on a large stone altar he had just conjured out of thin air. Severus grabbed his wand that had fallen out of his pocket long ago and shoved it back into its shelve. He didn't dare to cast any spell to improve his condition; no need to anger his master any further. A second torture session in less than twelve hours (except he had been unconscious longer than he thought) was definitely not that high up on his wish list for Christmas.

After he had regained his footing again, Snape took a cautious step towards the Dark Lord, not quite knowing what to expect.

A door creaked open and Wormtail crept back in, carrying an old book in his artificial claw-hand. "M-master, here it is. The spell is called Ergasarius. And I book-marked-"

"Enough," Voldemort hissed, ripping the tome out of Wormtail's hand. "Stay back. But don't you dare pull something like that again or the consequences will not be reversible with this spell. Understood?"

The man nodded frantically. "Y-yes, Master!" Then he fled quickly into a corner of the dungeon they were in.

Voldemort's mien changed from one of anger to one of barely concealed glee as his eyes met with Snape's. The eeriness emitted from them made Snape's proverbial hackles rise and his inner mode change to 'overly alerted'.

"Come nearer," Voldemort hissed, crooking one index finger in a coaxing manner, beckoning his servant closer. This manner didn't suit him in the least, though nobody would ever mistake him for the wicked witch. "I want you to watch and I want you to watch closely. Maybe you will learn something on how to do this kind of job properly."

Severus swallowed and limped towards the Dark Lord, the nearer he got the farer away he wished himself; this was a natural impulse. As the altar came into better view, the Potions Master's stomach threatened to turn. He was still a bit sensible.

On top of the stone structure lay the still form of Harry Potter. For all the world it would seem as though he were merely asleep. But his chest wasn't moving, indicating that his lung wasn't working and his heart wasn't beating. He was as dead as he could be. He looked peaceful, as if nothing bothered him anymore, nothing could shake his world anymore. And it was true.

Snape tried to hold back his sneer at the sight. No matter how and in which however ridiculous situation, the brat always managed to get the better of him. Always. There was no being rid of him. Just like those damn Muggle Yo-Yo's. Always coming back. Damn him!

Voldemort shut the book with a thump and put it to the ground. "You seem to not quite being finished yourself," he hissed, smirking diabolically. "The Avada Kedavra was indeed a bad choice for all the troubles the boy had caused us during his whole life. Why ending it so awfully quick?"

"Yes," Severus answered, his dangerously gleaming eyes still transfixed on the Boy-Who-Died. "Too awfully quick. There was no time to enjoy it."

"Tell me more," the Dark Lord encouraged quietly, sick interest thick in his voice. "How was it? The instant he faced his death?"

"His eyes were wide," came the reply. "I could positively feel his fear and his underlying anger. His eyes gleamed green, more intensive than ever before. But whether it was because the Killing Curse was mirrored in them or due to the mixed emotions, I'm not sure. It was over so soon and left is only the memory ..."

"Only the memory," Voldemort gritted out through his teeth. "After this you will answer me a few questions; and they'd better be good."

"After-" Snape began confused, but then cut himself off as the Dark Lord raised his wand towards Potter, muttering a spell under his breath. A blue stream of magic surged forward and Snape took a sudden step backwards, nearly losing his balance. Confusion was clearly evident in his eyes, but the underneath lurking dawning horror would soon break through the surface.

"Merlin," he whispered, hoarsely. Not wanting to see anything but not able to close his eyes either, Snape felt as though he was being ripped apart. In his days as a 'real' Death Eater, he had seen many things, too many things indeed to be healthy, but this was beyond anything.

Harry's body convulsed spasmodically, twitching and twisting violently. Suddenly, his back arched upwards in a beautiful curve, his mouth opening and emitting a stretched scream, which seemed to last forever. The scream was nearly drowned in Voldemort's high-pitched laughter of utter delight.

Severus covered his ears, trying with all his might to shut out the terrible noise. He fell to his knees, but his eyes wouldn't be persuaded from the scene in front of him. Voldemort was coated in an aura of blue magic which shot through his wand towards Potter and flew into the boy. The glowing was eerie in his ghostly resemblance, but in a twisted kind of way beautiful.

Bringing the dead back in the world of the living was darkest Dark Magic that existed, if it really existed in the first place. There was no evidence for all Snape knew. But if this really should bring Potter back for the sole reason that Voldemort could have his wicked way with him and torture him back up the Styx river, then he should be prepared to pay the accurate price.

Suddenly, Severus heard something through all the loud screaming and laughing. A faint noise, like something breakable shattering into pieces, but in a far distance. A noise he shouldn't be able to hear. And then, Severus was grateful that he was already on his knees as something attacked him. An unexpected surge of magic rushed into his body, making him slightly dizzy. Everything clicked into place, the puzzle solved itself quickly enough, and Snape grabbed his wand. Voldemort was still concentrated on bringing Potter back, and the Potions Master made good use of this circumstance. He cast a body binding spell on Wormtail who had crawled nearer to watch the spectacle. The spell hit the man out of the blue and he was left with no chance, laying unmoving on the cold floor of the dungeons of the Riddle House.

Voldemort's laughing subsided gradually, as he realised that something was terrible wrong. He couldn't stop the spell, the energy leaving his body and pouring into Potter not ceasing to flow. This shouldn't be happening, this was not planned. No way! His wand shivered fiercely, but the grip wouldn't loosen up, try as he might.

Severus smirked at the picture of the thoroughly displeased Dark Lord. At least, he wasn't at the receiving end this time. His amusement sobered as he lay his eyes on the awakening boy. Of course. What had he said about never being rid of him?

The pain was obvious in every movement Potter made, but Severus could take no pleasure in it. He could already see it clearly. How the Boy-Who-Lived-Then-Died-And-Lived-Again had rescued the Wizarding and the Muggle World from You-Know-Who. The old and new celebrity to the society. How the boy who was only that, a boy, a small child, had lived up to his name. How Potter had come up with the ingenious and of course incredible stupid idea to let himself get killed and see if Voldemort would take the bait they had laid out for both him and Pettigrew; a very Gryffindor way to get down to a task of this dimension. But Dumbledore had lastly conceded. What had Snape expected? Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor, as well. At least, Snape had had the pleasure of killing Harry in the first place. A small pleasure in comparison to the pain he'd had to endure afterwards.

He would make sure to pay Potter back. Even if it only was through taking points off Gryffindor.

The Order of the Phoenix had taken down the Death Eaters that were on the ground of the Dark Lord's house, as the Dark Lord himself drained himself from his essential life. There was no stopping the inevitable, and slowly he reversed the situation, bringing Potter back to life with a part of his own body. The only difference was that he wouldn't survive the process.

Two weeks later, the Christmas holidays ended and the students once again filled Hogwarts. The school was now as safe as the homes of any of them, as they weren't threatened by the Dark Lord anymore. A few Death Eaters had managed to escape, but they were still branded and would be found, eventually.

Snape sat in his office, grading the first essays of the new year. A new year which was indeed a whole new beginning to the entire world. Rubbing his Dark Mark absently, he thought how good it had felt to kill Potter, to have the power to take his life, just like that. Of course, if it had been an actual duel, Potter would have most likely won. He didn't play dirty, but he was the more powerful wizard. Snape would never admit that out loud, though.

Up to now, Potter behaved quite like himself, there didn't seem to be any negative side effects on him due to the Dark Magic. Obviously, only the caster was affected.

"Come in," Severus sighed, and the door swung open, revealing a beaming Albus.

"Why, I haven't even knocked." Albus walked into the office, his brightly coloured robes swishing elegantly.

"You didn't have to," Severus replied, pointing towards an armchair.

The headmaster took a seat and surveyed Snape's desk interested.

"I fear I have to disappoint you," Severus drawled. "There aren't any lemon drops hidden."

"Not even some skittles?"

Severus only glared at him. "I'm not a sweets shop."

"Pity," Albus sighed, then fished for his emergency smarties. Throwing a few of them into his mouth, he sighed contentedly.

"What can I do for you?" Snape tried not to sneer too openly.

"I only came to bring you something," the headmaster said, pulling a small box out of his right pocket. He put the box on the desk in front of the Potions Master and then leaned back.

"I am in no mood for guessing games."

"It's a new Pensieve. A replacement for the one I ... had to break."

Snape nodded and put the box into a drawer to open it later. He had been quite troubled with his memories for the last two weeks because Dumbledore had destroyed his old Pensieve in order to make him remember the plan.

"If that was all ..." Severus said, waving a hand over the stacks of parchments. "I have a lot to do."

"Yes, that was all."