0o0

Harry tore out the back door of the room and into the corridor beyond. Hysterically, he thought he needed to find some way to get back to Snape. Snape knew how to banish a spirit, just as he had with the little girl. Again, the idea that maybe his Patronus would be of use occurred to him, but at that moment, Harry was too terrified to stop long enough in order to find out.

“Look at him run,” he could hear his pursuer chortle somewhere behind him. “So swift, so fleet – ah, but I love the chase. The chase is the best, after all.”

Rounding a corner, Harry stumbled a bit to maintain his footing with the sharp change of direction. If he went left up ahead, he knew the hall would lead him back towards where Snape was when they were separated. If only he-

His foot caught on the edge of a flagstone, sending him sprawling. Immediately, his palms stung and a keen ache and dampness at his right knee told him that the skin had split open at the impact. The boy hurriedly pushed himself back up onto his good knee, preparing to stand only to let out a frightened yelp as a hand suddenly appeared in his line of vision. Flailing, he fell backwards onto his posterior, wide eyes darting upwards.

“Easy, Potter,” the woman before him soothed, continuing to hold out her hand. Somehow, Harry knew this woman must also be confusing him for his father James. “You look so much like your father.”

Or maybe not. Harry accepted the proffered hand and the spirit pulled him to his feet. “Thanks,” he said. He shot a look over his shoulder as a sound drifted up the hall.

“Remember that fear can weaken even the strong.” Harry turned back to frown at her, but she did not elaborate. “Go, now. Quickly. I'll deal with him.”

With a nod, Harry started off down the corridor again, at a slightly slower pace due to his knee.

“Ananias!” the woman's voice echoed to him. His pursuer gave an answering roar. Harry didn't look back to see what was happening – he just kept running.

0o0o0

Snape had nearly forgotten, in the intervening years, that Lyra Wilkes was nearly as dangerous without her wand as she had been with it. She never had been above striking another when it suited her. Furthermore, the beautiful young woman had been gifted at inflicting damage in such a way.

Not that Snape gave the furious shade another opportunity following the blow she had dealt to his kidney. Still, it was no easy task to dispatch of her, for as soon as he aimed his wand at her, she would vanish only to re-materialize close to him and strike at him once more.

He was beginning to tire by the time he prevailed, one of his spirit banishing spells finally striking her. Merlin, he hoped she didn't reappear later in the night. Facing her once had left him sore, bruised and favoring his left ankle – and he would no doubt spend some time urinating blood. He had to remember to let Pomfrey examine him when he had the chance.

Rapidly approaching footsteps had him straightening up, wand at the ready. The one approaching was Potter, however, and upon seeing that he was not being pursued, the Potions Master allowed himself to relax the slightest bit.

“How did you get rid of him?” the man asked.

Harry shook his head. “I didn't. Another spirit came along and helped me,” the boy replied. He limped the last few steps to meet his professor, knee even more sore from having run on it.

“Not unscathed, I see,” Snape noted dryly.

“You're not exactly 'unscathed', yourself,” Harry retorted, noticing the change in the way the man carried himself. The Potions Master simply grimaced in reply.

“I ought to have taught you the spirit banishing spell,” he said in a tone that could easily have been either apology or weariness. “First, let's see to that knee, Mr. Potter. Then, we had better get to the Headmaster. His office will undoubtedly be warded, even if the rest of the school is no longer.” Crouching a bit stiffly, the movement clearly exacerbating the soreness in his back, Snape peered at the boy's knee, extending his wand to cast a quick diagnostic before healing it.

It was thus that Harry had a clear view of his professor's face as the overwhelming stench of alcohol and old tobacco permeated the air. Snape's face, already extremely pale by nature suddenly grew ashen as his dark eyes widened in obvious alarm. Straightening quickly, the man whirled around, wand stretched before him at the ready and Harry mirrored his stance without prompting.

A mass of shadow seemed to be moving towards them, like a storm cloud billowing across the sky. There was a sound which kept repeating and coming closer, never quite stopping before it started up again. It took Harry a moment to realize that it was the windows blowing out as the shadows moved along the corridor.

“S-spir-” Snape's sudden sputtering caused the teen more alarm than the phenomenon closing in upon them. “Spiritus-” The man's ebony wand was abruptly ripped from his grasp.

“Now, Severus.” The voice sent a shiver crawling up Harry's spine. He watched, transfixed, as the shadows seemed to part in order to reveal the face of a man who resembled Snape, except the hair on his head was short and brown – and he looked much, much meaner. “Is that any way to talk to yer daddy, boy?”

0o0o0

He couldn't remember how to breathe properly. It seemed that the process involved filling one's lungs to capacity before exhaling and repeating the process, but the futile gasps he was currently making seemed inadequate for the task.

“Is that any way to talk to yer daddy, boy?” Merlin, he hadn't forgotten one single detail of how that phrase was spoken. Not the words, nor the tone, nor the cruel glint in the dark, soulless eyes...

How was it that ten simple words could still leave him feeling so helplessly terrified after almost twenty years?

Beside him, Potter was waving his wand. “Expecto patr-” With a sneer, his father thrust forward a hand and the boy hurtled backwards. The spirit tread a menacing step closer.

“I – I'm an adult, now,” Snape declared shakily, unconsciously repeating his words from years prior. “I don't have to let you hurt me, anymore.”

Tobias' lips spread into a terrifying smile. “No,” he agreed, tone matter-of-fact, his cloak of shadows writhing around him, “but ye will. 'Cos adult or not, ye've always been worthless, and pathetic, and weak. That's what ye are, Severus. Nothin' but a waste of space. And ye think ye could get away with what you did? Hmm? Killin' yer own daddy, boy? Ye think ye could get away with that?!” His voice, which had risen in an intimidating crescendo, abruptly became chillingly soft.

“Don't make me laugh.”

Harry looked on in a sort of horrified daze. He lay half-sprawled in the corner into which he'd been thrown, his left hand buried in his hair as he gently cradled the bleeding gash near the back of his head. Vaguely, he wondered whether or not he had yet another concussion. It certainly wouldn't have surprised him. By some miracle or strange fluke, he had managed keep a hold on his wand. At least he had that in his favor.

Eyes wide, he watched as the spirit surged forward, backhanding the Potions Master with enough force to throw him to the ground. Why wasn't Snape giving back as good as he got? Snape was not one to be beaten down, to cower like some frightened first-year who'd just blew up his potion in the meanest teacher's classroom.

But that's just what was happening right before his eyes – and Harry knew for a fact that it wasn't just the head injury. Snape's father struck out at him with his hands and feet, cursing and belittling him. Never before had the Potions Master seemed in any way small to Harry as he did then, curling upon himself defensively, a litany of conditioned pleas parting his lips.

It was disconcertingly like watching himself with his uncle, and Harry didn't like it at all.

That was when the words of the nameless woman came back to him: Remember that fear can weaken even the strong. As absurd as the idea had been to him even a short while before, Harry knew without doubt that Snape was afraid, and in a manner than he himself could understand. It would now take no effort for him to guess what form Snape's boggart would take.

Boggart.

Fear.

“Riddikulus!” Harry shouted suddenly, struggling to sit. His heel rolled against something on the floor, and he looked down to find Snape's wand beneath his left foot. With a bit of dizzying effort, he moved up onto his hands and knees, his left hand closing over the blackened wood.

Forcing himself to his feet, Harry staggered forward. “Sir, he's your boggart!” he called out. “The more afraid you are, the stronger he is! You've got to stand up to him. Expecto patronum!” His patronus burst forth from his wand, charging at the spirit who drew back with a menacing snarl.

Snape scrambled upright, fighting the aches and pains that would have him remain recumbent. A moment later, Potter had reached his side, pressing his wand into his hand. Together, they watched as the regal stag forced the spirit back, banishing some of the darkness which accompanied him. The glowing creature made another pass-

-then Tobias swung at it with one arm, fingers curled into a furious claw, and the stag blinked from existence.

For a split second, the two wizards practically gaped, then Snape's wand was up and he cast with a surety which had previously failed him in the face of his nightmare. “Spiritus recedemus!”

It struck the spirit in the chest. Tobias didn't even flinch. “Oh, dear, oh, my – how it tickles,” he drawled.

There was a moment where a part of Snape wanted to collapse in defeat, to cry in hopeless frustration. His father was too strong. He had no hope of standing up to him. Then, movement at the corner of his eye briefly drew his attention to Potter.

The foolish boy was still standing beside him, shoulder to shoulder, wand held out before him. Snape was not stupid. He could see the fear in Potter's eyes, the faintest of tremors that shook his frame. But he could also see the determination and resolve. This wasn't even the child's fight and yet he had committed himself to it. The man almost marveled at the sheer, bull-headed audacity such courage must require when he realized that Potter had had one thing absolutely right.

Tobias was his boggart. Facing him would never be as difficult for the teen as it was for himself.

“Expulso!” Snape hissed seconds after the failed banishing, although it had seemed far longer in his mind. The spell had not been directed at the spirit, but rather as the chandelier which hung from the ceiling. It wouldn't stop Tobias, of course, but as present as he was in their reality, it would slow him down, even if it was just a fraction.

The spirit was forced to dissipate and reform as the large light fixture crashed down upon him. Potter had a spell of his own ready the moment he reappeared, hitting him with a stunning spell which caused Tobias to falter in his movements even if it didn't have the same effect it would have on a living person.

Livid, the spirit flung an arm at the teen, but loathe as Snape had been to admit it in the past, Potter was quick and had managed to erect a shield. The boy skidded back a few feet rather than being thrown down the corridor like before.

While Tobias was distracted with Potter, Snape shot another spirit banishing spell immediately followed by the blasting curse. He dodged preemptively, a split-second before the chandelier was hurled at him, feeling a small sense of satisfaction when the boy had the sense to take the spirit's diversion to hurl the strongest spells he knew at him.

Back and forth they went, like some twisted three-person dance. Several times, Snape suspected that they were succeeding only in angering his father further. Then, the specter would falter, obviously being affected by the spells they cast upon him.

Only, he wasn't wearing down quickly enough. At the rate they were going, professor and student would tire long before the vengeful shade. Magic was clearly affecting him, so the trick was to successfully weaken Tobias enough to banish him, then hope he wouldn't be able to return before the night was through.

Perhaps it was time for a bit of overkill.

“Potter, after me!” Snape called out, taking the slightest bit longer to exaggerate his wand movements and hoping the boy was the quick-study Minerva often claimed. “Spiritus recedemus!” he cast.

“Spiritus recedemus,” Potter successfully repeated, although Snape hadn't paused to see if he would, for he had already began casting the next spell, fiercely focusing upon the bright smile of a little red-haired girl in his memory.

“Expecto patronum!” A doe sprung forth, charging at the spirit without hesitation. Snape could hear Potter's echo even as he himself put all he had left into repeating the first spell, a silent prayer that he had speculated correctly rising from his very being. “SPIRITUS RECEDEMUS!”

Potter's patronus struck Tobias at the same time the Potions Master's final banishment hit home. With a deafening roar, the man of Snape's nightmares seemed to explode, chunks of shadow bursting in all directions like ethereal tar.

All was silent. The smell of tobacco and liquor was suddenly gone. Then, Snape let out a relieved gasp which both of them knew to be a sob.

Bending forward, Harry rested his hands heavily on his knees, gulping in air like a man sorely deprived of that luxury. They were still alive! All he wished for, just then, was to crawl into his bed and forget that Halloween was a day that had ever existed.

With an effort, they both straightened, turning almost as one to drag themselves onward to the Headmaster's office, only to find their path obstructed.

The little girl of earlier stood before them, only her face was more akin to a demon of the deepest hell. Her left hand gripped the hair of her doll so ferociously that the dark curls were all but ripped from the porcelain head. Brandishing the knife with a white-knuckled grasp, she growled at them.

“That,” she spat in a voice like nails on a chalkboard, “wasn't nice!” She lunged at them.

“Potter, don't let-” Snape cried out in warning, but he was too late.

Harry let out a soul-rending scream.

0o0