Harry saw the realization in Snape’s eyes a split second before the man’s hands were ripped from Harry’s shoulders by a violent curse. Harry didn’t even pay attention to what curse Voldemort had used, so horrified was he by the turn of events. Snape wasn’t supposed to be found out! He was supposed to have a plan, to be biding his time until he could get them both out of there. Instead, he was flying through the air and landing with a painful grunt as Voldemort lobbed another curse his way, this one causing his body to spasm.

The shock in the clearing was palpable. The Death Eaters obviously didn’t know why Voldemort had attacked one of their own, but none of them raised an objection. Despite the shock and unease in the clearing, they stood still, waiting for Voldemort to direct them to do otherwise.

After the initial horror wore off, Harry shakily got to his feet and took a few steps toward Snape before his shot nerves caused him to stumble back to the ground. But he was bolstered by the fact that he didn’t feel as terrible as he had earlier. He didn’t know what he could do, outnumbered and without a wand, but he couldn’t sit on the sidelines while his would-be rescuer was tortured and maybe even killed. He started to get back to his feet, as nobody’s attention was on him anymore. Well…almost nobody.

He looked up to see two Death Eaters’ eyes on him. Bellatrix Lestrange’s gaze shifted back and forth between Voldemort’s attack and Harry. Her rapidly changing facial expressions told him that she was warring between delight at Voldemort’s surprise actions and wariness at whatever Harry was doing…maybe just wariness of him in general. He was gratified to see the unease on her face. He must have scared her with his impromptu Legilimency. She wouldn’t be straying too close to him in the near future.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was watching him with cool composure, betraying a casual, almost unconcerned, curiosity. It was as if Voldemort’s sudden attack on Crabbe held little interest to him. As if he wasn’t even surprised. Harry stopped his movements, trying to gauge what threat the man posed to him.

A muffled scream tore through the meadow, and Harry bit his lip to stop himself from crying out at the sight of Crabbe’s body writhing on the ground. It did help that the man looked like Crabbe, not Snape. It allowed him to put up a wall - if only a small one - around his emotions and think. Voldemort’s attention wasn’t on him. Most of the Death Eaters were watching Voldemort. Harry couldn’t do much, but if he was going to do anything, now was the time. But…what could he do?

As if in answer to his question, a warm, golden spark of magic wafted up from the ground. Harry acted on instinct. He focused in on that spark, tried to block out all else and immerse himself in the feeling of living magic. He reached out his hand, and…yes, there they were. More sparks joined the first, and he felt energy slowly building up inside and around him. He grinned as he knew somehow that he could pull up more power than he’d ever imagined possible, and he could direct all of that power toward Voldemort, and then-

“Petrificus Totalus!”

His body went stiff, his arms crashing to his sides, and his body twisted so that he lay flat on his back, staring up at the sky. No. No no no no! He tried to harness the sparks of magic again, despite his predicament, and he was gratified to feel some of that power slowly continue to build. Could he find and use enough power to break the body bind? Was it possible? If so, then he could-

Lucius Malfoy’s face swam above him. The man stooped to kneel next to him. “Whatever you are planning in that head of yours, boy,” he warned quietly, “it would be ill advised.”

Harry managed to narrow his eyes at the man, but that was as far as he could get in counteracting the body bind. The feeling of power was dissipating. He didn’t know how to keep hold of the magic. He wanted to cry in frustration, then scream and kick a few more Death Eaters. With effort, he managed the slightest wrinkling of his nose to convey his disgust. The senior Malfoy was definitely next on his shin-kicking hit list.

He was forced to lie there with Malfoy as his guard while Snape’s muffled screams rent the air. Harry felt real respect for his professor in that moment. He knew how much pain Snape must be in, and yet the man refused to bend his will to his attacker’s. He did not beg for mercy or cry or scream in terror. No, his only sounds were the sounds of a man in so much pain that, despite all efforts, he physically could not contain the sounds of his agony.

“You thought that you could hide from me in plain sight, Severus?” Voldemort finally stopped long enough to speak, and though Harry couldn’t see most of them, he heard the rustling movement and surprised murmuring of Death Eaters. “So gallant, braving my wrath to rescue your little pet.”

No no no no no. Harry caught at the rising panic and forced it down. Drawing upon the Occlumency that Snape had taught him, he erected a wall of forced calm and pushed the panic behind it. It wouldn’t help either of them for him to panic, he knew. Nothing good would come of it. He needed to keep a clear head. Eventually the body bind would be released, and he needed to be ready to defend himself and to defend Snape.

It helped to think of how affronted Snape would be at Harry’s thought to defend the older and more experienced wizard. He’d give Harry the look that meant he was a blithering idiot, and he might even say so out loud, and then he would mock him for even thinking that he had the aptitude to help Snape, or that Snape would actually need his help, and he might also give him a lecture about rushing headlong into danger instead of using his head, and… Yes, thinking about Snape being Snape was going a long way toward helping him to calm down.

Then it was silent. Harry couldn’t see what Voldemort was doing, but he heard movements to the side. The shuffling of Death Eater feet. A sound as if Voldemort were shifting or maybe kneeling. And Voldemort’s low murmur, “How long until it wears off, Severus? I do so long to see your face again.”

Snape didn’t respond. Harry didn’t know if it was because the man couldn’t or wouldn’t. He tried again to break the body bind but gave up in frustration.

“Fortunately, we have an entire day to become reacquainted,” said Voldemort with forced flippancy. He called louder, “We return to the manor. Malfoy, bring the boy. Nott, Sallow, bring the traitor. Put them in the cell. We will continue this when I can look upon Severus Snape’s own face. It will be so much more fun to see the agony in his very own features.”

Harry didn’t like the feeling of being Apparated away while in a body bind. His entire body felt ill, but he couldn’t move or do anything about it. And then just as he was beginning to feel grateful that he wouldn’t be able to sick up like this, he was released. He ignored his churning stomach to immediately rise into a crouch. They were still outside, but they appeared to be in some sort of overgrown garden, the kind that might be attached to an abandoned manor house. Malfoy didn’t give him time to do anything else before tugging him up by the arm and forcing him forward and into a large stone building. Despite his awkward stumbles, the Death Eater didn’t slow for him.

In no time at all, he was thrown back into his cell. Only, this time, Snape was thrown in right after him, the man catching himself before his head could connect with the ground.

The door was shut, and they were thrust into darkness with the loud click of a lock.

Harry carefully sat against the wall, waiting for the professor to speak. He must have a backup plan, some way of getting them out of here. He was Snape. Master spy, head Slytherin, calculated to a fault. If anyone could do it, he could.

He heard the sounds of Snape settling himself against the opposite wall. The room was too small to allow for much space, so Harry held his legs to his chest to give the man room to spread out.

He cleared his throat in the silence, and unable to stand it any longer, finally asked, “So what’s the plan? I mean, I guess the backup plan. I assume that wasn’t supposed to happen. Or…or was it? Was that part of your plan? Did you know the ring would do that?” Which reminded him… “Did you see the magic too? Or just me and Vol- You-Know-Who? What was that? And how come-”

“Potter.” The hoarse word stopped his babbling, and he spared a thought for how much stranger it was hearing Crabbe’s voice in the darkness, without the visual cues that Snape was in there. He didn’t like not seeing his face. He wanted to know if he was okay, and what he was thinking, and Snape was too good a spy to betray it by his voice alone.

“At least your spirit hasn’t been broken,” the voice said dryly. “That is something, I suppose.”

“You do have a plan, right?” he asked into the darkness.

“More or less,” Snape said shortly, which was far from comforting.

Harry nervously tapped his fingers on his leg. “Which is it…a ‘more’ plan or a ‘less’ plan?”

Snape sighed. “There are no perfect scenarios where the Dark Lord is concerned. I knew that when I came here. There was always a strong possibility I would be found out, particularly when he found the ring. It limits our options but does not deplete them.”

“So…we do have options..?”

“Yes.”

Harry waited for an explanation but was met with more silence. “Okay. Yeah. Great talk.” He rolled his eyes at the ceiling even though Snape couldn’t see.

“Telling you any more about a possible route out of here would not be prudent. Or did you forget that the Dark Lord has developed a penchant for looking into your mind?”

“If you’re worried about that, why did you tell me who you were?”

Snape paused, then admitted, “I took a calculated risk. He was unlikely to try again after what happened during his previous two attempts, and as admirable as your efforts to prove your mettle were, it was imperative that you felt safe enough to stop poking the lions with a stick.”

Harry went on the defensive. “It’s not like I had a lot of options, you know. I had to fight back somehow, and I-”

“I was not criticizing,” Snape interrupted. “Quite the contrary.”

“Oh.” That took him aback, because he was pretty sure that in Snape-speak, that was a compliment.

Snape didn’t let him dwell on it. “We may not have long. The Dark Lord intends to perform a ceremony of sorts on the full moon, which is tomorrow. When that happens-”

“Tomorrow? No. No, Malfoy said I had three days.” It hadn’t been three days already, had it?

“When did Malfoy speak with you?” Snape asked sharply.

“Um…soon after I was taken. He came here the first day, I think. Or the second. I might have lost some time? I dunno. But it can’t have been more than a day since he told me that, can it?”

“You were taken three days ago. Today is the twenty-seventh of August.”

“Oh,” he said in a small voice. It felt scary to have been trapped in this place for so long that he didn’t even know what day it was.

“Did Malfoy say anything else?”

Harry shook his head before he remembered that Snape couldn’t see him. “No. Um, he just wanted to give me a hard time about what You-Know-Who had in store for me. And about you. You know, mock me for trusting you, or try to talk me out of it, something like that.”

“Ah.”

“It didn’t work,” he felt the need to add.

“I didn’t ask if it did.”

“I know. Just saying.”

“Tomorrow,” Snape said, getting back on track, “you have nothing to fear. The Dark Lord will try again to break you, and he may harm you superficially or psychologically, but he will not take it too far. You are most valuable to him alive and well. Do not forget that.”

“I won’t,” Harry said softly. He didn’t say more, for fear that his voice would break. Just the thought of what was in store for him - for them - made his heart pound.

“If something happens to me, don’t even try to do anything idiotic.”

Harry’s heart pounded harder. “He’s planning to kill you, isn’t he?” he whispered.

“Undoubtedly.”

“But you have a plan,” he prodded.

Snape hesitated, and that did not help Harry’s heart. When he spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words with care. “It is…possible that my contingency plan may not come through in time to spare me a less than desirable fate. Should I die-”

“What?” Harry squeaked. “You said you had a plan! So do whatever the plan is now!”

Snape huffed - actually huffed, as if Harry didn’t have a right to be upset here. “There are still possible routes out of here, yes. The best and most immediate route unfortunately depends upon something outside my control at the moment. We must plan for contingencies, and my death is a very real and possible one.”

“No.”

“Potter. As touching as your sentiment is, one cannot wish away one’s fate by means of denial.”

“How can you be so calm about it? You’re sitting there discussing your death like you’d talk about a bloody potion!”

“I do take my potions very seriously,” answered Snape, and Harry stared into the darkness.

“Was that a joke?”

“I do know how to joke.” Snape sounded almost offended.

Harry let the silence speak to his skepticism.

“The point,” Snape clipped, “is that you need to keep your head. No matter what happens, even if all hope seems lost, you must remember that there are people out there who will not allow you to die. It may take time to get you out, but you will not die here.”

“I don’t want you to die either,” Harry admitted quietly, only able to do so because of the darkness between them.

Snape sighed. “If I do, it will not be your fault.”

“I don’t want you to die even if it’s not my fault.” It was easier to say that time. He wondered if he’d rendered Snape speechless, which was kind of sad as it wasn’t a very sentimental thing to say, all things considered. He wondered if anyone else had ever told Severus Snape that they cared whether he lived or died. Maybe Dumbledore or Kneader?

Harry broke the silence. “We’ve got a full day, right? So we figure out a way to get out of here so that doesn’t happen. Between the two of us-”

“We can what?” Snape broke in. “Storm the castle? Take out every Death Eater from here to the Apparition boundary? There are quite a few, I assure you. The Dark Lord has no doubt doubled the guard now that I am here. We are both wandless, you can barely stand, and I am too tired to last long in a fight. But by all means, let’s begin. First things first: do you know how to pick a lock?”

“No,” he admitted in a low voice, choosing to ignore all the sarcasm directed his way. “I tried to learn once, to get out of my room at the Dursleys, but I was pants at it.”

“Then I propose a different plan. We wait. I attempt to hammer into your thick skull that the most important thing you can do is to survive with all of your limbs in tact. And then you do just that.”

Harry rested his head on his drawn-up knees. He couldn’t stave off a feeling of guilt. Despite the professor’s words, it would be his fault if Snape died. He was cursed. Or rather, any adult who got even halfway close to him was cursed. His parents had died hiding him, Sirius had died trying to save him, Mrs. Figg had died protecting him, and now Snape was about to die after trying to rescue him. Despair seeped into his heart at the thought of it happening again. Certainly, his relationship with Snape was rocky at best, but the man had been there for Harry in his own way, and Harry had started to depend on him, and the thought of him dying here hurt far more than he would ever admit to.

“When you get out of here,” Snape went on, “tell the headmaster all that happened, in as much detail as you remember. Do not leave anything out about the Dark Lord’s forays into your mind or the outcomes. You’ve no doubt ascertained that whatever is occurring between your minds is unusual, even in the context of your usual unusual connection. He will help you to figure it out and to sift through the ramifications.”

“Did you see the sparks?” He’d much rather talk about that strange phenomenon than let Snape continue talking as if he were already dead.

“What sparks?” The confusion was evident in his voice.

That was a no then. Harry sighed. It hadn’t appeared that anyone but he and Voldemort had seen them, but he’d hoped… “In the clearing. Remember how You-Know-Who said he could see magic? I thought he was crazy, but then I saw it too. It was all around us. It was like…” He faltered, trying to figure out how to explain something so ethereal, so beyond explanation. “Like how we can’t see the wind, but we know it’s there because we feel it, and it moves branches and leaves? But then imagine that suddenly you can see it. You know what it looks like and where it’s coming from and what it’s doing and where it’s going because you can see it, not just what it does, and it’s beautiful.” He bit his lip on his urge to wax poetic. There was just something about his experience in that clearing that affected him to his soul. He would always remember that feeling. “And then I saw the magic flow from the ring to you, like a physical connection, and that’s how he knew you were you. But I don’t think anybody saw it except me and him.”

Snape was silent, and Harry let him be because he could hear fingers tapping on the stone floor. That was one of Snape’s tells. He was deep in thought, and there was no sense interrupting him until he’d finished. When he did speak, it was only to mutter, “fascinating.”

But Harry’s mind had moved on, and his heart was beating fast again. “Professor!” he pleaded. “You have to get out of here. Ron! He can’t wait for me to get rescued someday. He needs help right now!”

“Kneader is still doing what he can for your friend.”

“No, I know that, but I mean that I know what they did to him. The Dual Curse! So you need to get out of here so you can tell Kneader, and then together you can come up with a way to save him.”

“How do you know what they did?”

“I Legilimized Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“You Leg…” Snape’s voice trailed off, then regained its strength. “I thought as much, when you attacked her. But it was accidental magic. You’ve never been trained in Legilimency. There is no way you would have been able to direct it in order to find precisely what you needed. And in so short a time, not to mention without her consciously pulling up the memory. That takes a great deal of talent and control, as well as raw power.”

“I don’t know how I did it. I just know that I did.”

“It is impossible,” Snape insisted again.

“Apparently it’s not, because I did it,” Harry insisted right back.

“Then pray tell, what curses did she use?” The challenge in his voice was clear.

“She combined a really simple sleeping hex - somnium - with something I’ve never heard before. Tactus venandi, it sounded like? They bound that one to me in some way, that part I don’t know how they did, but the first time I touched Ron, it triggered it to start tracking him or something. Oh, and apparently the sleeping hex is weak on its own, but binding the two together made it stronger or something, also undetectable. Again, I don’t know how. I got the feeling it’s a bit beyond a Fifth Year Charms level. But it gave them time to track headquarters, since Ron had to stay alive and under the spells for it to work, and it took them a while to get as far as they did.”

After a few seconds, Snape said incredulously, “You gathered all of that from one unplanned seconds-long field trip into Bellatrix Lestrange’s mind?”

Harry felt vindicated at the obvious disbelief in Snape’s voice and answered a simple, “Yes.”

“Be sure to tell the headmaster about that too.”

“What!” Harry threw his hands in the air, wishing Snape could see the visual demonstration of how frustrated he was. “No, it can’t wait that long. Ron might get weaker, and it might be too late if we wait. You have to get out of here, and you have to tell Kneader or Dumbledore or Pomfrey or I don’t care who.”

“Potter,” the voice said tiredly, and Harry almost felt bad at arguing when it was obvious how exhausted the man was. “Tell you what. You try your hand at lock-picking again and wake me when you’ve mastered the skill. Then we’ll move on to a discussion of your mastery of martial arts and wandless magic. Then we can craft a plan.”

He really wished he could glare at Snape, even though he knew the man was perfectly right. Merlin, his voice could be so condescending sometimes, so-

He sat up straight. “Hey! You’re you again! Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Snape in his own voice. His own very tired voice. “We should both rest. We probably have a long night and day ahead of us.”

Harry wanted to harrumph and to argue some more now that he actually had Snape here to argue with, but he knew rest was the most sensible thing to do. Wordlessly, he curled up on the floor with his back pressed to the wall and closed his eyes. Snape’s soft snores filled the room before long, but Harry couldn’t shut off his brain. His thoughts ranged from full moon ceremonies to Ron to Death Eaters to his strange but sporadic new powers. It took far too long to drift into a fitful sleep, but eventually he did.

The next time he came into awareness, there was no slow awakening. He was asleep and then in the next instant, he was awake. He knew immediately where he was, this room and the days of being Voldemort’s prisoner quickly becoming his new normal. Eyes closed, he felt the stone beneath his cheek and smelled the stale, musty air of an underground room in an old building. He knew he wasn’t alone by the light on the other side of his eyelids and the sound of the shuffling of feet.

Nobody spoke, and Harry didn’t know if somebody had woken him up or if he had done it on his own. Either way, he wasn’t going to hurry anything along. He’d lie here all day pretending to be unconscious if it would allow his body the time it needed to rest. It worked for several minutes, until he was startled from his rest by a vicious kick to his side.

Groaning, he clutched at the sharp pain in his side and curled up into a ball.

His attacker wasn’t having that. He was dragged to his feet and out of the cell by a pair of hands with thin pointy fingers that dug painfully into his arms. He twisted, trying both to see who had him and to try to get away, but all he could manage was a glimpse of brown hair and an unfamiliar face before he was shoved forward. He barely managed not to fall flat on his face. He stumbled, but he miraculously remained on his feet. His legs shaky from the effort but strong enough for him to be marched upstairs without falling.

“Good morning, Harry,” Voldemort said pleasantly when he entered the large room. He stood next to his makeshift throne and casually dangled a wand in his hands. “Or rather, good evening. Our last evening together before your big day, in fact. Just imagine…in so short a time, you will be released from your mortal pain and I will be released from my mortal limitations. It will be a fine night for both of us, will it not?”

Harry almost bit out something about Voldemort’s insanity, but then he saw two Death Eaters dragging Snape into the room behind him. The man looked tired but alert, and he was himself, large hooked nose and all. As Harry watched, the men forced Snape to his knees next to him. One bound his arms behind his back with the wave of a wand. Nobody forced Harry to kneel or tried to bind him, so he remained where he was, locking his knees to stay on his feet.

He glanced over and saw Snape’s intelligent eyes scan the room out of a neutral expression. Despite being visibly tired, the man didn’t look like he had been tortured earlier, but Harry knew Snape well enough by now to know that he would hide his pain behind a mask of stoicism for as long as he could get away with it.

“I have a gift for you, Harry Potter,” said Voldemort with a tight smile as he gestured to someone behind Harry. In the next instant, he felt himself being shoved forward so that he stood before Voldemort..

“I had thought to save the traitor’s death for tomorrow,” continued Voldemort. “I do so love the poetry of taking his life while I gain a new lease on mine. However,” he took a deep breath as if preparing to make a particularly selfless sacrifice, “I shall allow you to do the honors, if you wish.”

It was silent for several seconds as Harry tried to make sense of those words and then that they were directed at him. He was sure his confusion must show on his face, but he didn’t really care. What was the psychopath talking about? Was he…was he actually asking Harry if he wanted to kill Snape? The wizard had gone off the deep end.

And then Voldemort did something else unexpected - he held out a wand by the tip, offering it to Harry.

Harry just stood there, certain this had to be a trap of some sort. Or a ridiculous game. A really, really weird, twisted game. He wanted to seek out Snape’s eyes for some sort of direction or understanding of the situation, but that would involve turning his back on Voldemort.

“The wand is perfectly safe, I assure you,” soothed Voldemort. “It is your own professor’s wand. I procured it earlier this summer, when I discovered his treachery. You see, as I have said, I do love poetry. And I can think of nothing more poetic than watching the traitor be killed by his own wand, and by the very figurehead of the side he left me for. Yes. Yes, it will be a quite satisfying end indeed.” He smiled - the snake-like man actually smiled.

Harry licked his lips, trying to make sense of it all. “How about- how about I kill you with it?” he said feebly, trying to sound insolent but probably failing miserably.

Voldemort’s smile didn’t waver. “I have taken precautions, I assure you. At the present time, this wand will only work against its owner. Should you attempt to use it to escape or to curse myself or my men, not only will it not work, you may find yourself without a few fingers. But attempt it if you wish.” He held the wand even closer to Harry.

Harry shook his head, his brain finally starting to catch up to the crazy situation. “What in Merlin’s name would make you think I would kill anyone, much less one of my own professors? I’m not one of your sycophants, here to do your dirty work for you.” This whole conversation was so bizarre, the way Voldemort thought Harry would be willing - much more, happy - to do…that. He didn’t want to kill anyone. Well…except Voldemort. And Bellatrix. And he wouldn’t feel at all bad if Wormtail were to join them…

Okay, so maybe he did have a few deep, dark murderous thoughts. But even with his sworn enemies, he doubted whether he’d have the ability to go through with it if given the chance to actually kill. It made his hands sweat just thinking about it…even if someday he’d have to be the one to kill Voldemort…

“Take it,” said Voldemort, his pleasant tone giving way to a steely order. Unsure what was going on and knowing he’d be forced to take it anyway, Harry did.

Longer and darker than his own wand, it felt off balance and heavy in Harry’s hand. He looked it over and felt the ridges on its handle, allowing his curiosity about Snape’s wand to briefly distract him from the strange situation he found himself in. What was going to happen now? Crazy Tom was going to walk him over to Snape and demand that he Avada Kedavra him into oblivion? Torture Harry or Snape if he didn’t comply? It was going to be a long night of torture in that case. Like everybody, Harry had a breaking point, but he’d never have a breaking point for murder. Especially not the murder of someone he trusted, someone who was only here because he’d been trying to save Harry, someone who had taught him and protected him and given him tools to fight off the bad guys. Someone he didn’t want to die. This was going to be one endless night of a painful standoff if Voldemort was mad enough to be serious.

He considered using the wand to attempt an escape, despite Voldemort’s warning, but he decided against it. Not only was he partial to his fingers, he’d never defeat all of the Death Eaters in this room on his own, even if the wand did work on them. Anyway, even if escape were possible, he wouldn’t abandon Snape to their mercies.

He realized that it was quiet, that Voldemort was watching him with ill-concealed glee, and it was all he could do to not shuffle nervously under the attention. Voldemort had completely thrown him with this strange game, and the wizard knew it. Harry couldn’t even think up a good insult.

“I see that you require incentive.” Voldemort walked over to Snape, and Harry turned around so that he could finally see his professor. The man’s expression was still the picture of closed-off neutrality, and Harry wished they could talk privately again. Snape knew Voldemort better than Harry did. He could at least give Harry a hint at what the game was, what the whole point of this was. Snape’s eyes met his briefly and then darted away, and Harry took a small step back. He knew he hadn’t imagined the flicker of fear in those dark eyes. He might have missed it before this summer, but he’d gotten to know his professor’s expressions pretty well over the past month. Snape had at least an idea of what was going on, and he was afraid. Harry decided that meant he probably should be too.

“It appears that young Harry is too noble to seek revenge, Severus. I have heard your treatment of him over the years, you know. Detentions and insults and unconcealed loathing…on both sides, I gather. How unfortunate that you have managed to gain the boy’s affections just as it would best suit me for him to continue to hate you.” Voldemort tsked in fake disappointment. “Unfortunate, indeed. Ah, well.” He knelt next to the stoic Snape and murmured, “We shall simply have to rectify that, shan’t we?”

As unresponsive as Snape was, Harry couldn’t miss the man’s slight flinch. From Voldemort’s widening smile as he rose to his feet, he had likewise seen it. Harry felt a sinking in his stomach. His instincts were screaming at him to run or to shut Voldemort up or- or something. Voldemort was playing a game, but it wasn’t random. This was all a set up for something that Snape did not want to happen, and Harry had no idea what, but if Snape was visibly disturbed by it, if he couldn’t even look at Harry right now, then Harry wanted no part in it.

He threw the wand on the floor even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good if Voldemort wanted him to have it. “No more games, Tom,” he snapped, his anger returning and giving him the courage that had left him in the midst of his confusion. He was gratified to hear a few gasps at his show of disrespect. “I want no part in this. If you want to do something, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to play along.”

His words didn’t have the effect he’d hoped for. Rather than appearing angry or irritated, Voldemort smiled and calmly waved his own wand at Snape’s so that it flew to Harry’s hand once more. But this time, when he instinctively caught it - it was either that or let it hit him in the face - he couldn’t let go. It was stuck to his hand. He let his wand-filled hand drop to his side and scowled up at the wizard. Voldemort and his powers and his wanting Harry to hold onto rings and wands…well- well, he really sucked.

“I presume you know that Severus was not always Dumbledore’s man,” Voldemort said conversationally as if he hadn’t been interrupted by Harry’s tantrum. “He showed such promise when I first met him. It is a pity that he wasted his potential in the end. And for what? Pathetic Mudbloods and weak Muggle-loving wizards who would sooner cast him into Azkaban than thank him for it. His father was a Muggle, you know,” he said smoothly. “Filthy, abominable, drunk of a Muggle. Perhaps I should be unsurprised by Severus’s failings, as his own mother wasted away her pureblood life on such a creature. Wasted potential runs in the family, it seems.”

Harry eyed the ground, not even trying to meet Snape’s eyes now. It was out of respect, not embarrassment. He didn’t think Snape would want him to hear any of these things.

“He was elated to have found me, to join my cause. Such unbridled youth, such fervor, such talent.” Voldemort reached out to pat Snape’s head almost affectionately. “But even then, you always wanted what you could not have, didn’t you, Severus?” he murmured. “I even gifted you with your father’s death. I made him pay for the many harms he inflicted upon you, made him pay doubly for the death of your mother. I took care of you, gave you power and opportunity. And still you chose to align yourself against me.” The hand dug into Snape’s scalp, and Harry winced on the man’s behalf at the painful-looking hold. “And yet there is some comfort, I suppose, in knowing that I am not the only one you have betrayed.” He let go of Snape’s head, though his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He turned to Harry with a smile. “Allow me to tell you a story of one such betrayal.”

And he did.