The small band trudged through the woods, trying to keep up their pace for fear of encountering any Dark creatures. A soft noise came to Harry's ears, and he cocked his head to better hear it. Yes, there it was again…. “A train! I hear a train!”

Remus grinned. “Trains mean civilization! We must be close to a town!”

“Yes, there's a Muggle village in the valley,” Snape said, his voice betraying more of his weariness than desired. “Voldemort enjoyed the irony of being stationed so close to the Muggles. He believed that no one would think to look here. Pity that I ruined his plans.”

Harry pulled a face. “Uh, I hate to sound really ignorant… but why can't we just Apparate out of here? I mean, I know I can't do it… but isn't it possible for one wizard to Apparate with another?”

Remus smiled gently, using his teacher's patience to explain the situation. “It is possible for one wizard to Apparate with another, but it's just too risky in this case. None of us are at full strength to make the attempt. Plus, Professor Snape's injuries would be exacerbated by Apparating.”

Sirius sighed. He had had enough of this blasted forest and the dementors. “So what do you suggest, Moony? Should we wait until Albus fashions another Portkey? Or maybe until the Aurors are finished mopping up?”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Snape said roughly. “We mustn't stay in one place. You are all fools if you think Voldemort kept his troops all in one place. He would have managed to get word to the rest of his other operatives by now, and they will be on the lookout for us. We cannot afford to use the Knight Bus or any other form of wizard transportation.” He swept his arm toward the valley. “The train will have to do.”

Black looked as if he would like nothing better than to jump down Snape's throat, but he merely grumbled to himself, apparently unable to find fault with the Potions Master's logic. The rest of the walk was spent in silence, each wizard trying to conserve his strength. Snape's eyes swept the forest from time to time, unwilling to lower his guard. The stiffness in his shoulders showed just how little he liked relying on his one-time rival. Against his will, he found himself leaning on the other professor more and more as his own strength began to desert him. Lupin did not make any gesture or comment, wordlessly helping Severus through the woods.

It was nearly forty-five minutes until they reached the valley and followed the train tracks. They came upon the train station just as a train was approaching. A quick glance at it revealed its destination to be King's Cross. It was a sleek and modern train, nothing like the old steam engine of the Hogwarts Express.

Sirius frowned at the train. “I suppose it will have to do.” At least it would take them far away from… well, from wherever they were.

They boarded the train and wearily stumbled toward a compartment. Out of nowhere, a conductor appeared. “Tickets, please!” he said tersely, looking scornfully at their smudged faces and rumpled robes.

Harry fumbled, “Ah, well, you see--”

Snape made an irritated sound. “Obliviate!” Black gave him a dark look, which he completely ignored, staggering down the hall, leaning against the wall for support, until he came to a vacant compartment. The others followed him to find that he had already collapsed onto one of the bench seats. Remus knelt beside him, touching his shoulder gently and turning him over. “He's fainted. He's finally reached his limit.”

“Will he be all right?”

Sirius looked irritated at his godson's concern. Who cared what happened to the slimy bastard? Fortunately, neither Harry nor Remus noticed his expression.

Lupin's deft hands swiftly examined the insensate man. “What he needs most is rest, and a bit of first aid.” He gently touched Snape's right side, near his hand, and held up his hand, tacky with drying blood. “I'll wager that some of the Death Eaters prefer an old-fashioned beating to the Cruciatus.” Harry winced in sympathy. Lupin gestured to him. “Come help me. We've got to treat his wounds.” Harry paused, looking at Snape doubtfully, recalling the man's fainting spell in class that seemed like an eternity ago. What would Snape do to him over the indignity of being stripped? He shook his head. That was a foolish thought. Snape was unconscious, and he could do little with both Professor Lupin and his godfather on hand. With slightly unsteady hands, Harry helped his werewolf-friend remove the heavy outer robes, classic Death Eater issue. The boy moaned softly as he saw that Snape was wearing his usual frock coat underneath, full of small, fiddly buttons. They both set to work, wondering how Snape managed to navigate the garment on a daily basis. It was Lupin's turn to sigh as he removed the frock coat, revealing a high-necked white shirt with just as many buttons. He saw Harry reach for his wand and held up a hand in warning. “We mustn't do magic, Harry. It will draw attention to us, not only from Muggles, but from possible Death Eaters that are searching for us.”

“But Snape…”

“…was tired and on the verge of collapse. He acted out of desperation.” Harry nodded, resigning himself to freeing Snape from his cloth prison by hand. By the time they were finished, their fingers were beginning to cramp in protest.

Lupin gingerly peeled the fabric away from the wound, grimacing. The injury did not appear to be too deep, but it still looked quite painful. He pulled Snape forward slightly, slipping his arms out of the sleeves. He paused, hissing in surprise. Harry's eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and even Black sat forward to see what the fuss was about.

“My God…” Remus whispered.

“What *is* that?” Harry said in a soft, nervous voice. “That's not from tonight, is it?”

Lupin shook his head, running a fingertip over the rows of angry, mottled scar tissue crossing the man's back. “These scars are quite old. I'll wager that he got them even before he came to Hogwarts.” A strange, contemplative look crossed his worn features, as if he was starting to put the pieces of a puzzle together.

The body in their arms suddenly thrashed, shoving them both to the floor. Severus sat up, his black eyes wide and filled with some fundamental emotion that Harry could not quite discern. “What are you doing to me? What do you want? Where the bugger are my clothes?!”

Harry jumped back, gratefully allowing Black to stand in front of him. Remus remained as calm as ever. “Severus, you are injured. We were merely trying to dress your wounds.”

“Don't touch me, dammit!” He slapped away the hands that tried to help him, snatching his frock coat and drawing it around his shoulders defensively, like a blanket. He was generating defensive vibes that the trio could practically see. Snape seemed to visibly reign himself in… or perhaps he was merely too tired to fight. “I have some antiseptic ointment in my potions pouch.” He nodded towards his outer cloak. Black snagged it and poked through the pockets until he came upon the small kit. He fumbled about with the small jars and vials until he came upon a viscous yellow fluid. He passed it over to Snape, who busily smeared the goop on a handkerchief and set about cleaning his wounds. Another dizzy spell struck, and Lupin took the cloth from him, taking up the task without a word. He also took the time to wrap the thick outer cloak around the thin man's shoulders, trying to preserve some body heat. Snape barely had the energy to glare at him wearily.

Lupin spoke without looking up. “Padfoot, see if he's got any Healing Elixir in there. You know, the amber stuff.” Harry noticed several other wounds and pulled out his own handkerchief, offering his assistance. Neither of them paid Black any heed as he removed the stopper of the Healing Elixir and carefully mixed in three drops of a clear fluid. He would never have a more perfect opportunity….

“Severus,” Remus murmured in his most soothing voice, “who hurt you?”

Snape looked at him with a confused expression, which promptly changed to a combination of rage and… shame? “That's none of your bloody business!”

Remus was unfazed. “Perhaps not, but I am making it my business. Those marks on your back are some serious work.”

Snape sneered. “If you must know, I was attacked by a bear in my youth.”

Remus sighed inwardly. “I would expect a better lie from a spy such as yourself. No animal could have made those marks.” Being an unwilling predator himself, he was quite aware of what such damage could look like.

“Oh, really?” The look on the sallow professor's face was thoroughly unpleasant. “How about this, then?” He twisted to show Lupin his left side, which was marred by two inches of claw marks. “There's an interesting tale behind this one. It was inflicted by a werewolf during a harmless little prank. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

Lupin recoiled, a hand clapped over his mouth. He forced himself to remove it and speak. His voice was raspy, and he looked nauseated. “James told me that I hadn't hurt you! He told me that you were all right!”

“He lied.” Snape's tone was matter of fact, matching his detached expression. “I expect he was just trying to spare you a guilt trip, not that you didn't richly deserve it. Though I suppose I should thank you. After all, you forced me to become acquainted with the Slytherins that became my best friends.”

Black banished a nagging sensation of guilt to the far reaches of his mind. He had known full well that Snape had been injured – James had railed at him for hours on that point, asking him how he thought Remus would have felt if he had killed another human being, or succeeded in turning one into a werewolf. Black had weakly argued his point, that Snape could not pass for human, and he would never wish such a fate on dear Moony. James had been livid and had threatened to end their friendship then and there unless he swore to make things up to Remus. Above all, he must never let Remus know how close it had been with Snape. Looking at his friend's stricken expression, Black felt horrible. He had never meant to hurt Remus, only give that smug bastard of a Slytherin a good scare.

Snape! That bastard, all of this was his fault! He was up to no good, Sirius was sure of it. At the end of it, he was a Dark wizard and should never be trusted. Perhaps the showdown tonight was just an elaborate plan to ingratiate himself further with Dumbledore while distancing himself from his true alliance with the Death Eaters. Well, Sirius wasn't about to fall for it! Suppressing a smirk, he handed over the Healing Elixir. Snape took it from him with a dark look and downed it in one gulp, swallowing the honey-like concoction. He rested his head against the seat, allowing the potion to work its way through his veins, spreading its healing warmth.

Black waited patiently for several minutes, drumming his fingers on his leg. Finally he could stand it no longer. “So, Snape, how many illicit ingredients do you have lying about your storeroom right now?”

Snape got a faraway look in his eye. “Well, there's Veritaserum, runespoor eggs, several highly toxic variants of nightshade…” He broke off abruptly, eyes widening in horror. He was venting his spleen to his most hated childhood foe! “What did you give me? You mangy cur, what did you do?!”

Sirius allowed himself a smirk of triumph. “Veritaserum. I slipped it in with the Healing Elixir. Now, you treacherous bastard, you won't be able to lie to us anymore!”

“You witless prat!” Snape roared. “There's no telling what effect it will have when combined with a healing potion! You better not have used more than three drops, or the effects will be quite disastrous, I assure you.” He glared at Black balefully, somehow making it seem like the effects visited on Black would be twice as bad.

Harry glared at his godfather reproachfully. “Sirius, how could you? He risked his life to save me! He could've died tonight! Isn't that enough for you?” He was frightened by the look in his godfather's eyes.

“No, Harry, I am not convinced. I've known Snape a lot longer than you, and nothing will ever make me trust him. He's a devious, lying bastard. How fitting to have him as Head Snake. This way he will be forced to own up to everything he's done.”

Remus looked more sad than anything. “Sirius, you've always had a blind spot when it comes to Snape. Granted, none of us ever liked or trusted him, but you have to admit that he has performed far beyond the call of duty. It's time to leave our grudges in the past if we will ever have any hope of defeating Voldemort.”

Sirius' laughter had a near-hysterical edge. “He's gotten to you too, Moony! Can't you see? He simply can't be trusted! I let Peter blind me to his loyalties, and I won't be fooled again! Snape was always famous for his knowledge of the Dark Arts, you know that! There's no redemption for someone like him!”

“Idiot!” Snape growled. “If I had wanted to be a Dark wizard, I would have gone to Durmstrang! I was the first Snape in eighteen generations to refuse that privilege. Father nearly disowned me.” He laughed hollowly. “As if that meant anything. He threatened to disown me at least twice a week. I told him to bloody well go ahead. I had no use for his fortune. He was stuck with me as his sole heir, and he knew it.”

Harry realized dimly that he was gaping. Snape certainly didn't act as Crouch had under the Veritaserum. Snape seemed a lot more alert and disagreeable, whereas Crouch had acted as if he was in some sort of dream world. He wondered if it was due to Snape's strong will, or because of some sort of interaction with the Healing Elixir. Whatever the reason, the Veritaserum was still having a powerful effect. Snape seemed unable to stop the words that fell from his lips.

Remus looked intrigued. “So why did you choose Hogwarts? Surely you received offers from other institutions.”

“Why do you think? Hogwarts had the best education to offer, especially in the subject of potions. The Snape family had always gone to Durmstrang, and my mother's family, Rogue, had always attended Beauxbatons. Durmstrang's curriculum was too rigid and stifling, and Beauxbatons was too prissy. I told my parents it would be Hogwarts or nothing at all. They knew that I did not make idle threats.” He smiled bitterly.

Black made an incredulous noise. “Enough of this garbage, Snape. You can't avoid answering my questions.” Snape looked distinctly ill-at-ease. For a man who kept his life shrouded in mysteries, full of lies and half-truths, the situation was anathema. “First off: are you a loyal Death Eater?”

“No. I was a Death Eater until today, but I was not loyal to Voldemort.”

“When did you join the Death Eaters?”

“When I was eighteen, directly after graduation. You're not being very original, Black. All of this can be found in the Ministry archives. This is hardly the first time I've been interrogated under Veritaserum.”

“Humor me.” Black looked anything but amused. “Why did you join the Death Eaters in the first place? What did they offer to sway the great Severus Snape?”

To his astonishment, the Slytherin smiled. It was a crafty smile, a self-satisfied smile, a smile that said that Black had somehow asked a question that he had been dying to answer. “I'll tell you… if you're ready to listen. Interestingly enough, it was you yourself who pushed me down that path. You and your harmless little prank. You thought that nobody would care if little Severus would live or die. And you were very nearly right. But as usual, you didn't think things through. You didn't take… other factors into account.” He gazed out the window, allowing his memory to wander, nearly twenty years into the past….

* * *
Sixteen-year-old Severus Snape lay sprawled out on the bed in the Slytherin dorm, fully clothed, heedless of the fresh scratches that still oozed beneath his shredded clothes. His chest heaved with sobs as he poured out a seemingly endless supply of tears into his pillow. He had nearly died! Black had tried to feed him to a werewolf! *Remus* had tried to attack him! That monster was Remus Lupin! His beleaguered mind struggled to comprehend the night's disastrous events.

Severus felt heartsick. It was frightening to think that someone hated him enough to kill him, especially in such a horrific manner. He hated Black beyond reason, but he would never dare make an attempt on the Golden Gryffindor's life. It was even more galling to be saved by James Bloody Potter, Saint James, who was probably in on it from the beginning! The Gryffie was probably laughing up his sleeve at the debt that poor pathetic Severus owed him. It was humiliating enough that he had had to be rescued from such a situation, a trap that his instinctive paranoia should have sensed a mile away, but after James had pulled him from the Shack, he had made it so much worse by falling to his knees, covering his face as he sobbed, completely overwhelmed by his near-death experience. He was rather surprised that James hadn't taken the opportunity to rub his weakness in his face, but perhaps even the Saint hadn't expected things to take such a lethal turn. It was not to be borne! He would hate James until the end of his days, for two reasons: he had forced Severus into a life debt, and, worse than anything, he had seen him cry.

But there was a deeper betrayal at work here, deeper by far. When James had shamefacedly escorted him to Dumbledore's office, he had expected justice to be swift and unyielding. It was no secret amongst Slytherin House how Dumbledore favored his beloved Gryffindors, but surely a crime of this magnitude could not be brushed aside so lightly. Or so he thought. It seemed that he was naïve, both in allowing Black to manipulate him, and in ever trusting in the great Albus Dumbledore. He had sat numbly in the chair before the Headmaster's desk, all feeling draining out of him, leaving him with an only empty despair, a void of horror, as Dumbledore had quietly explained things to him. It had only been a prank, a cruel prank to be sure, but merely a prank gone horribly wrong. Remus was the real victim here, and he needed to be protected. Black would only be given a slap on the wrist: a month's worth of detention, and twenty-five points from Gryffindor. And James, the sainted one? Never mind that he had to have some advance knowledge, never mind that he was in on it from the very start! He was given fifty points for bravery! But the worst, the very worst, was when he had been forced to give his word never to divulge Remus' secret. There was a monster living in the castle walls, eating and sleeping and breathing along with the rest of them, and he was powerless to protect himself! He made the promise, silently dying inside. 'You were supposed to understand!' he screamed inside. 'You promised you would help!' The scars on his back burned. It had been a foolish hope. He was alone in this, as with all other things.

Of course, Dumbledore had tried to smooth things over, gave the usual platitudes. Severus would have none of it. The great Headmaster had shown his true colors. When weighed next to the life of a monster, that of a Slytherin meant less than nothing. Part of him wished that he had died in that dirty, crumbling shack. A part of him had certainly died today. There was still a small, stubborn part of him that refused to roll over and die simply because his enemies wished it, but that spark was all but extinguished.

He had spent the rest of the day hiding in a dusty, unused classroom, sobbing as if the end of the world had come. It may as well, for all he cared. Still, pride was all he had left, and Slytherins did not cry (at least not where anyone could see). He had returned to the dorm at nearly two in the morning, wrung out and lethargic. But as soon as he had fallen on the bed, a fresh bout of grief had struck. It was all he could do to stifle his sobs and wait for exhaustion to strike.

“Severus?” A voice in the darkness. “Sev, are you all right?”

Snape stiffened, every muscle going rigid, holding his breath. Damndamndamn why hadn't he thought to cast a Silencing Spell? The only thing that could possibly make this day any worse was to have another witness to his misery. Crybaby, he would be branded. It was hardly as bad as some other things he'd been called.

He waited, silently counting in his head, finally daring to slowly inhale a much-needed breath. A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped, jerking away. He looked up to see a sleep-tousled blond head bending over him. He ducked his head, trying to hide his dirt- and tear-streaked face, but it was far too late. Of all the people, Lucius Malfoy would have to be the one to find him. Lucius, prince of Slytherin house, holding court among his peers with a majestic air, who tolerated no weakness in his House. Severus had been ordered to make friends with the boy because of his influential family, and he suspected that Lucius had been told the same from his father towards Severus. But Snape had never listened to anyone and told Lucius flat out that he found him to be a conceited, vain prat. Ever since then, there had been a quiet power struggle between them. Snape was the rogue element, the one Slytherin that Malfoy did not have under his thumb, and he knew it drove Lucius crazy.

“Sev?” For once, the nickname did not grate on him. “Sev, what's wrong?” He gasped, taking in the scratches and blood. “What the devil's happened to you?”

It was the boy's tone that won him over. It was not mocking or sarcastic, but seemed genuinely surprised and concerned. A Malfoy first. “They tried to k-kill me!”

Malfoy wrinkled his elegant brow. “Who?”

“*The Marauders*!” He couldn't keep the sob out of his voice.

“What? Are you serious?! How did they do it? You usually hex them into next week!” He sat down at the foot of the bed, giving the dark-haired Slytherin his undivided attention.

Snape wriggled uncomfortably, feeling torn. He wanted so badly to just blurt it out and damn Lupin for the savage that he was, but he simply couldn't. He had given his word, and as little respect as he had for his ancestry, the word of a Snape was golden. He indulged in one of his better skills – twisting the truth. “Black… he tricked me into going to the Forbidden Forest. He let slip that there were some rare potions ingredients… I should never have listened… but he knew all along that there was a feral werewolf in the woods! He sent me in there to be eaten or Merlin-knows-what, and if bloody James hadn't lost his nerve and came after me, Black would have gotten his wish!”

“You mean James hauled you out and had the nerve to play the hero?! How touchingly noble!” Lucius had heard enough. He turned and called behind him. “Avery! Avery, wake up!” Sleepy muttering came from across the room. “Crabbe, Goyle, wake up NOW! The Marauders tried to kill Sev!”

The dorm room began to come alive with somnolent bodies beginning to stir. “Wha?” Rosier muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Lucius bent over Severus, his storm-grey eyes burning. “Does Dumbledore know?”

Snape set his jaw angrily. “He does. And he chose to do nothing. Except, of course, reward his dear Potter for his selfless heroism.”

“That son of a…!” Lucius spat. “Good-for-nothing Gryffindor-lover! I knew he'd sell us out one day!” He began to pace back and forth, then paused in the middle of the room, looking for all the world like a king addressing his subjects. “Listen up, all of you! Tonight things have been taken too far. The Gryffindors have threatened the life of our own. Do you know what this means?” Unsurprisingly, Crabbe and Goyle looked blank. “Think, you thick-skulled morons!” The duo looked abashed. They were Malfoy's most loyal followers and never wanted to let him down. “Severus is the strongest of any of us. He's the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he can whip up a potion to bring any fool to his knees. His hexes are the most wicked that I've ever seen. If they've tried to hit him first, then any of us could be next.” The message was finally beginning to sink in. Rosier and Wilkes looked frightened, while Crabbe, Goyle, and Avery looked furious. “This is more than an attack against a lone Slytherin. This is a strike against our entire House!” Murmurs threatened to drown him out. With a pointed glare, they fell reluctantly fell silent. “Listen to me. Now is the time that we must come together. We can no longer afford petty squabbles that undermine our effectiveness. As I said, Severus is the most skilled of any of us. It is in our best interest to keep him safe. In return, I'm sure he'd be willing to tutor us in Potions and DADA so that we can better ourselves as well.” He turned to Severus, one white-blond brow raised in question.

Severus sat silently, pondering the olive branch that Lucius was extending. It took him a moment to realize that the others were gathering around him. “Cripes, Sev, they really did a number on you!” Avery looked aghast. Evan Rosier handed him handkerchief to mop his face. “Dirty damn Gryffs! Always knew they were up to know good. Hypocrites, they are.” The others echoed his sentiments. Goyle offered him a sugar quill, and Lestrange surrendered his last square of German chocolate. For the first time, Severus, the eternal loner, felt accepted. He had no illusions as to why. He knew that he was being used for his talents, for what he could offer. Well, that was fine with him. For once, he was needed. At least he could put his skills to good use. It also meant that he would not have to hide his face when he walked down the hall, hearing the Marauders' jeering laughter. He would have the protection of Lucius Malfoy. The regal blond Slytherin clasped hands with him, and Severus allowed a rare smile to cross his face. Lucius smiled in return, a real smile, not his usual superior smirks. The first seeds of friendship had been planted.

* * *
“Aww, how touching,” Black sneered. “The lonely little snake made some equally slimy friends.” Behind him, Harry sat slumped in his chair, dazed with the knowledge he had just gained. All this time he had never considered what the prank had been like for Snape.

Lupin frowned thoughtfully. He didn't seem to enjoy the questioning but also was not lifting a hand to stop it. “You thought we were out to get all of you? Forgive me, Severus, but I find that rather hard to believe.”

Snape barely blinked. “Believe whatever you like. You know nothing of the way the Slytherin mind works. We take such attacks very personally. And the violent nature of your 'prank' was enough to frighten us into banding together. I helped design some intricate protection wards and early-warning spells around our dorm, many of which I still maintain today. We practiced casting hexes and defense spells every spare moment dwe could find. Rosier was so nervous that he began to carry an amulet.” Remus winced – he remembered the boy's strange necklace but had never divined its meaning. He also remembered that the Slytherins traveled in groups of twos and threes after that fateful night. It seemed to have no significance until now. “Lucius and I tried out best to make a go of it – at first it was just an alliance of convenience. We never expected to become real friends.” He looked at his hands. “No one ever understood me the way Lucius did. I never had to explain myself to him. He was a conceited git, but he never judged me. He could have had anyone as his best friend, but I think he liked me because I wasn't afraid to tell him to his face what I thought of him.” Snape looked exhausted, as if everything had weighted on him at once. His usually stoic mask was eroding, letting slip just how much he missed the elder Malfoy, his first and best friend.

He reached down and pulled an item from the pocket of his cloak. Harry shuddered as it glinted in the light. It was the very same silvered dagger that Snape had used to cut open the Dark Mark. It was a work of art, dual serpents twining about the handle, with emerald jewels for eyes. Its pristine beauty was marred by stains of dried blood on the blade. Severus began to idly pick at them with his thumbnail. “He gave this to me a few days after the Shack incident. It's pure silver. He said it was something I could use to defend myself against werewolves.” He caressed the blade with a thumbnail, looking a bit wistful. “It was the nicest present anyone's ever given me.”

Lupin looked crushed and horribly guilty. The nightmare of that event had come back to him threefold with Snape's tale. The sight of his friend in pain only served to infuriate Black further. “Boo-hoo-hoo. You haven't answered any of my questions. If you think you can distract me with some sob story from memory lane--”

The look of complete scorn on the Potions Master's face made them wonder if they had simply imagined his earlier melancholy. “How typical of you, Black. You have abused a strictly controlled potion without fully understanding its effects. When someone under the effects of Veritaserum is questioned, he has very little control of what comes out of his mouth. Any information that may be relevant must be divulged. An open-ended question like yours could take hours to fully answer. As it is, I was just getting to that bit of information. And for once, keep your mouth shut, or this will take all night.

"Several months into our Seventh Year, Lucius showed me an empty journal that he had acquired from Merlin-knows-where. He refused to relate to me where he had obtained it. Being the resident DADA expert, he asked for my opinion. I could tell right away that it was a product of Dark magic. The only sign of its original owner was the inscription of T. M. Riddle on the inside cover.” There was a choked cry. “Mister Potter certainly realizes the significance of our discovery. We spent a number of months writing in the journal, learning about the experiences that Riddle had had as a Slytherin in Hogwarts over a generation ago, and telling him about what was happening to us. We both kept it our little secret, not even telling the other Slytherins, though they were dying to know what we were up to. We thought it was the best discovery ever. Riddle's spirit knew exactly what to say to two angry, disenfranchised Slytherin youths to turn them to his side. Gradually, I found myself getting more and more tired as the year wore on. I thought that I had been pulling too many late nights, but nothing I did seemed to help me regain my energy. One day I realized it was that awful book that was draining my strength. I gave it to Lucius and told him to dispose of it by any means necessary. He swore to me that it had been destroyed. I suppose I should have known better – he would never have gotten rid of such a powerful artifact.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. “That poor little Weasley girl. If only I had known about the book… if only I had seen it… I would have recognized it immediately. I spent most of that year trying to worm information out of young Draco, but Lucius was smart enough to have kept him in the dark.” He shuddered. “He never was like that before. Voldemort has twisted him into something awful. I know first-hand how manipulative he can be.

“To finally give you an answer to your horrifically broad question – we joined Voldemort because of what he offered us. He promised power, prestige, recognition. He promised a quick rise to fame and glory, a return to the ways of pureblood wizards. He used his influence to poison us against the 'Gryffindors of the world' that would hold us back from our destiny. And we believed him. After Dumbledore showed exactly what he thought of the value of Slytherin life, none of us were willing to follow him.” Black snorted. Snape continued, blithely ignoring the interruption. “Did you not think it singular that nearly ever member of Slytherin house from our graduating class chose to join him? We admired him, the Slytherin who defied the Headmaster, seizing power for himself and fulfilling his ambitions. We were honored to follow him. Lucius and I were two of his favorites.” He uttered a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lucius was the one with the connections and the charisma. And where potions were concerned, I made the impossible look easy. He took sick pleasure in twisting us into soulless monsters, tools to serve his goals.”

Lupin was looking sicker by the minute, every line etched clearly in his face. “Do you mean to say that the night in the Shrieking Shack is the reason for joining the Death Eaters?”

The sallow man grimaced as he struggled to find words to express himself within the demands of the Veritaserum. “I cannot say for sure. It certainly was a catalyst for that decision. It helped me wake up and see exactly what the world thought of me, how no one would look out for me, how they would only hold me back. It was up to me to look after myself. I was very bitter and angry at the world, and most especially with Dumbledore. I wanted nothing more to throw my decision in his face. Of course, I ended up hurting myself a lot more. But it is still possible that I might have joined the Death Eaters on my own, had your little prank not taken place. After all, I was an ambitious Slytherin looking for a place where my skills would be appreciated. I joined because they asked me to, because I knew I was wanted. I still did my apprenticeship at Worm-Cooke Potions Institute, but I learned much more during my own experiments for the Death Eaters. I may very well have joined them on my own, but I would have probably approached it differently, and I might not have risen to the vaunted Inner Circle without my righteous rage against those who had slighted me. It is difficult to say how things could have turned out. But since the attack, I was burning for revenge, to secure my own place in the world. My motivations for joining were certainly a lot stronger than they would have been if that incident had never happened.”

Harry bit his lip. There had been something weighing on his mind for a long time, which had worsened ever since he had heard about his father's role in saving Snape. “Sir… do you hate me? Are you angry at something I've done, or simply because of who I am related to? Are you angry at me because of the debt you owe my father?”

“Contrary to popular belief, Potter, this is not all about you.” The usual tone of contempt was back. “I find you highly annoying, immature, and unruly. When I look at you, I see the typical Gryffindor, jumping headlong into risky situations without thinking of the consequences. You have the possibility of being something great, but content yourself with only mediocrity in your classes. You have made my task of protecting you ten times harder with your foolish shenanigans. You have certainly proved yourself to be your father's son by inheriting his most obnoxious traits, but never fear, all the disgust I feel for you has been well-earned by your own actions.”

A look of outrage replaced his contemplative look. “One thing is sure, however. Your actions have more far-reaching repercussions than many realize. I have worked in the background, doing my best to covertly convince my Slytherins to make their own decisions, to think before they commit themselves irrevocably to Voldemort's side. But neither Dumbledore nor yourself have made my job very easy. Again the Gryffindors claim the glory and leave us with the stigma. You are permitted to sneak around with your invisibility cloak and wreak all sorts of havoc, while Mister Malfoy is punished merely for reporting the infraction. I favor my Slytherins simply because no one else will. I have hoped that at some point, someone would catch on that my harsh treatment of the other houses is in reaction to the subtle prejudice against my own House, but it seems that no one is willing to look beyond the surface. I had hoped to strengthen the students against the cruelties that they will face later in life, but for you, Mister Potter, I fear that there is no hope. You have caused nothing but trouble for me for the past five years. Still, I cannot saddle you with all of the blame. That stunt that Albus pulled with the last-minute House points in your First Year was intolerably cruel. He could have posted them ahead of time, or at least given some warning before proclaiming Slytherin House the victor and then promptly snatching it away. Albus simply doesn't see what damage he is causing! He might as well gift-wrapped my charges and presented them to Voldemort with a bow around their necks.”

Harry's mouth was dry, and his palms were clammy. He had never stopped to think about it from a Slytherin perspective. Gryffindor had won those extra points fair and square, but perhaps Dumbledore had been a bit harsh in the way he presented them. He had been so happy about snatching victory from the jaws of defeat and rubbing it in the Slytherins' noses that he had never considered how it had felt for the other side. Another question burned at the back of his mind. It had been a crucial one that Dumbledore had refused to answer. Now Harry would be sure to get his answers. “Why does Dumbledore trust you so much? How can he be sure that you won't betray him again?”

The look on Snape's face turned truly harsh and ugly. “You want to know, do you? Can't ever leave well enough alone, never realizing that maybe there are some things you shouldn't be messing with. Here! Here is your answer!” He thrust his right forearm under the boy's nose. Harry was confused at first – the Dark Mark was on the other arm – then he saw it. A thin, white scar running right across the wrist, directly on top of the pulse. He shuddered and drew back, not wanting to see any more. “I had been content with being the Dark Lord's follower. He gave me plenty of opportunity to hone my skills, and as long as I didn't think too hard about what was being asked of me, I was able to perform flawlessly. But one night my so-called mates decided I wasn't involved enough and should see my potions in action. I watched as a young halfbreed woman was tortured to death, grace of the marvelous concoction that I had so lovingly developed. I was heartsick. I could no longer lie to myself about what I was doing. I was quite literally brewing death. I couldn't live with myself and what I'd done. I knew there was no way out of the Death Eaters, so I took the only route I knew.” He massaged the scar absentmindedly, and by squinting carefully, Harry saw a matching scar on the other wrist. “I didn't even allow myself the luxury of a potion that had brought death to so many innocents. All I remember is laying in a pool of my own blood, thinking that this was a rather cowardly way to atone for my sins. It was then that I decided to go to Dumbledore. I fully expected to be turned over to the dementors after I told him everything I knew. In fact, a part of me was looking forward to the punishment I so justly deserved. But the sly old fox had a completely different idea. I have to admire the sheer genius of it. It was much harsher a penance than even I could have imagined, but at least I was able to try to make amends by becoming a double agent and feeding information to the Ministry. Dumbledore trusts me because I came to him when I had no other options left. I had shown him that I would rather take my own life than continue on the path that Voldemort had led me down. Essentially, I had nothing left to lose, except my life, and even that had no value for me anymore.”

Black looked incredulous. The greasy git was trying to put a guilt trip on both his godson and his best friend! He wouldn't put it past him to be subtly feeding them a pack of lies, sprinkled with just enough truth to make it palatable. If Snape's previous responses hadn't been so obviously involuntary, he would believe that the potion was faulty. He wouldn't put it past Snape to have a neutralized version of the potion, or to have found a way to defeat it. Snape was an excellent actor – was it possible that he was enacting another of his charades. “Those aren't the only marks that interest me. Tell me,” he said mockingly, “were the scars on your back made by this bear of yours?”

Snape's face was the color of curdled milk. He bit his lip until the already-bruised flesh began to bleed once more. “No,” he choked, biting down further in an attempt to distract himself.

“So you lied.”

“Yes! Yes, you cretin! It's none of your business! I won't tell you! I've never told anyone, dammit! Not even Lucius!” He curled into a ball and rocked back in forth in agitation.

Black's eyes were hard and pitiless, as if prying Snape's secrets from his mind was a personal crusade. Remus cried, “Stop this, Siri! You're just being cruel. You're not even sticking to the topic!” Sirius shut the voice out of his mind. He had to do this. He had every right to do this! “Answer me, Severus Snape! Where did those marks come from?”

The three Gryffindors watched in sick fascination as Snape struggled to keep from speaking. He bit his hand violently, drawing rivulets of blood. He closed his eyes and clenched his other fist, focusing on something deep within, denying the question, trying to distort the answer in his mind. But eventually the serum won out. “My father,” he said dully, staring out the window at the countryside. “My father hit me. With a belt, a plank of wood, anything on hand. It took me a long time to realize that it didn't matter what I did. Anything was a good excuse to him. He hated me. He was ashamed of me because I was too smart, not athletic, and so very sickly. He told me he should have drowned me the moment I was born. Merlin, I wish he had!” His voice broke slightly, and he turned anguished black eyes on his tormentor. “I hate you. I hate you so much. You have no right to do this to me. I have already been judged for my sins.” The words were barely a whisper.

“I've heard enough.” Remus loomed over his old friend, an uncharacteristic look of subdued fury on his face. “Sirius, you've done a lot of foolish, boneheaded things in your time, but this takes the cake. You have allowed Azkaban to twist you, turn you into someone uncaring and merciless! This isn't about Snape at all, it's about you needing to prove yourself to James' memory, to make up for what happened with Peter! You're allowing guilt to eat you alive, and destroy others in the process!”

Sirius' mouth moved silently, then he bowed his head, his eyes filling with tears. “Merlin help me. You're right, as always, Moony. I just want to keep Harry safe! He's the only family I've got, and I don't want anyone to hurt him. But I don't want to become a monster either. I'm so scared of what I've become. I'm willing to admit that I've been wrong. Please, help me. You and Harry are all that I have in the world.”

Harry folded him in a silent hug, tears pricking at his eyes. He was touched that Sirius cared about him so much, but it hurt to see how the years in Azkaban had affected him, mentally as well as physically. It really had been frightening to see how cold and unforgiving his godparent could be, even though it was supposedly on his behalf. He would try to help Black heal and absolve himself of some of his guilt.

Remus hugged his friend from behind. “Padfoot, you have to let it go. Peter had every one of us fooled: you, me, James, even Dumbledore. But I wager that Severus always had his measure.” His tone became firm. “You have done something unpardonable tonight. You have attacked an innocent and wounded man who has risked his life to protect not only James and Lily, but their only son as well, who just happens to be your godson. It's time you recognized that. You owe him an apology.”

Black opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. For once, he was completely speechless. Snape beat him to the punch. “Don't bother. No apology of yours will ever be accepted.” He stretched out on the train seats, wrapping his torn and bloodied robe around him like a blanket, burying his face against the cushion. He squeezed his eyes together, breathing shallowly. He would be calm. He would not lose control of his emotions. He would do his best to shut out the avalanche of painful memories that Black's interrogation had unleashed – memories that he had never wanted to relive. Above all, he would not cry. Not now, not ever. Slytherins simply did not cry. And neither did Snapes.