“Breathe! Goddamn you, breathe!” A sharp slap. A pause. Another. Muffled curses. The dark figure hunched over the limp one on the floor, shaking him violently. Another litany of curses, then his head bent and caught the supine boy's lips, forcing air into the lax pair of lungs. Another forced breath, and another. Then a cough, a whoosh as air filled the lungs, and the bluish tinge began to fade. Severus Snape sat back, wiping his mouth absently, as Harry fought to bring air into his oxygen-deprived body. Several realizations hit the young wizard at once. He was alive. He felt like he had been run over by the Knight Bus repeatedly. Snape was here. Snape!!

A strong hand clapped over his mouth as he drew air to scream. After a moment, the irrational impulse faded, and the hand was removed. Harry looked at the figure kneeling over him with bewilderment. He asked the first question that came to mind. “How come I'm not dead?”

The man's lips quirked into an ironic smirk. “Think back to your first lesson, Potter. I can put a stopper in death itself. On the whole, Death Eaters – like a good portion of the wizarding world – are rather ignorant of the fine points of potion making. It is a foible that I have exploited to the utmost for many, many years, enabling me to foil Voldemort's plans while maintaining my cover.” Harry jumped slightly, shocked to hear Snape voice the name aloud, though he supposed after hearing him use the terms “lord” and “master” fall from his lips, the name Voldemort was hardly difficult for him to speak aloud. “They believed that I was using a rather torturous poison on you, while in actuality I was giving you a mixture of Agony Serum and the Drought of the Living Death. The former was to give you the requisite amount of suffering to satisfy Lord Voldemort, and the latter was to give you the semblance of death. The Dark Lord was quite delighted with my services,” he looked faintly sickened, “and rewarded me with your body, allowing me to dispose of it any way I liked.” He broke off, his eyes probing the corners of the dark and dusty room. A sense of paranoia seized Harry. He still felt weak and more than a little nauseous, but he couldn't afford to rest. He was in mortal danger as long as he remained in the compound.

Snape seized his head, forcing Harry to look him in the eye. “Listen to me,” he hissed. “You've got to get out of here as soon as possible. I'm going to create a diversion. Once the Death Eaters are distracted, you should be able to make your escape. Use this--” he thrust a black cloak at him “--to disguise yourself. Wait half an hour, then make your escape” Snape stood and tugged at his robes until they swirled around him menacingly, looking every inch the intimidating Death Eater. He stalked to the door, then paused to give Harry a look that pinned him to the spot. “And Harry… good luck.” It was not until he had left the room that Harry realized that Snape has called him by his first name. Snape himself did not notice the slip, already immersed in his churning thoughts, working on a way to create a diversion without compromising his position in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Neither noticed a soft scuttling noise as a rat darted out of the corner, streaking down the corridor, nails clicking across the stone floor.

* * * * *

Harry forced himself to be patient, waiting out the entire half-hour that Snape had recommended. It was very difficult to judge the time, since he had no watch, and time seemed to expand as if it were stretched taffy, each minute lasting an eternity. He shrugged his way into the cloak, which hung on him like a sack. He realized with a sickening jolt that it was standard Death Eater issue. He felt something large and circular in the pocket and withdrew a mask. The thought of putting that on as well made his stomach rebel, but he fought down the feeling ruthlessly. It was the perfect disguise.

Just then the sound of screaming reached his ears. Was this the diversion that Snape had mentioned? It sounded as if someone was being tortured – surely that wasn't what his professor had had in mind? He had a strong, undeniably Gryffindor-ish urge to save whoever was being tortured, but he reined it in forcefully. Snape was the master spy here, and he had already proven himself capable of rescuing those that incurred Voldemort's wrath. For once, Harry would follow the plan to the letter and make his own escape. He wiped the inside of the mask, wondering with morbid sense of curiosity who it had belonged to, and settled it over his face. Taking a page from Snape's book, he stalked threateningly (he hoped) out into the corridor.

He hadn't gone two feet before three Death Eaters stepped out in front of him. He nodded at them and tried to squeeze past. One grabbed his arm while the other landed a solid punch to his jaw. His head snapped back, connecting with the stone wall. The trauma was too much for his insulted body, and he slumped to the floor, out cold.

* * * * *

He came to an interminable length of time later. It took several minutes to gather his muzzy thoughts. 'Somebody turn down the TV,' he thought vaguely, until he realized that the screams were real. That knowledge brought full awareness crashing down around him. He was trapped in a nest of Death Eaters and was sure to be executed. He looked around him, forcing his slightly hysterical mind into calmness, taking stock of his situation. He was in the same room that Snape had left him in. Other than the bruise on his jaw and the massive goose egg on his head, he had not incurred any more injuries. He was not restrained, nor were there any Death Eaters in sight. He stood, his legs as wobbly as a newborn colt, and staggered his way over to the door. Locked, of course, and the crackle underneath his fingertips let him know that it was extensively warded. It seemed that this was enough to keep him imprisoned.

He paced restlessly, his thoughts returning again and again to the screaming outside. He could not have been out long if that sound was still going… he hoped, anyway. He had the terrible thought that Death Eaters could torture their victims for hours. The sum of many hours with Snape came to bear, and he began to work on his perceptions as Snape had taught him. “Use your senses, gather as much information as you can from your environment,” he had advised, and Harry had taken it to heart. He sat in the far corner of the room, willing his limbs into stillness, focusing on the sounds. It was a man they were torturing, but as to whom, he had no idea. Perhaps some Muggle or mudblood wizard they had found for their amusement. From time to time he could hear the word “Crucio” uttered, by several different voices. The tortured man's voice was hoarse, as he had undoubtedly been screaming for quite some time. The sound faded, then rose again. Harry's guts churned. They were toying with him, then. Probably not interrogating him. They were taking turns casting the Unforgivables, as if it were a sport!

A sudden wave of fatigue swept over him. He knew that sleeping would be a very bad idea – he had to be as alert as possible, and he knew as well that sleeping after a head trauma was dangerous – but surely it couldn't hurt to rest his head for awhile? He rested his head on his folded arms, balanced on his knees, and allowed his body to slip into a relaxed state, gathering its forces.

He had slipped into a very light dose when a voice outside the door jolted him out of his daze. He barely had time to lift his head when the door swung open and a limp body was tossed in, hitting the stone floor with a sickening thump. The shadowy form of a Death Eater hissed a curse and closed the door. Harry leapt to his feet, charging the door, but it was too late. He pounded ineffectually on the door, but the wards were already fully in place. He rested his head against the door, cursing himself for his lapse in concentration. Had he been paying attention, he might have rushed the Death Eater and… and… he didn't know. Even if he got out of his improvised cell, there was no guarantee that he could evade the other Death Eaters, who were in a heightened state of alert. Since they had stopped torturing the man, their diversion was over, and… the man!

Harry hastened over to the prone form on the floor. “Be all right, please be all right,” he muttered, feeling a sickening dread rising within him. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be *him*…. As gently as he could, he rolled the figure over onto his back, exposing a pale face, framed by lank, greasy hair and crowned with a large, hooked nose. He clasped both hands to his mouth, fighting down the bile that was rising in his throat. He would not be sick, not when Snape needed him to be strong! He fought his horror and revulsion, feeling a spark of anger burn at those who had done this to him. He clutched at the spark, breathing life into it, letting the adrenaline of his rage fuel him. He had a sudden, crystal-clear understanding of Snape's eternal anger. He felt the man's neck for a pulse, which was thready, unnaturally rapid but still present. His breathing was too shallow for Harry's liking. From time to time his limbs twitched spasmodically in the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse. Harry made him as comfortable as he could, loosening his clothing and trying to halt the nosebleed that refused to be fully staunched. Guilt was eating him alive. 'First I get Cedric killed, now Snape is tortured… because of me, his cover is blown… he'll be killed for certain… we both will.” He was lost in a moment of sorrow, admittedly feeling pity for both himself and the man who had tried to protect him.

“Potter…” a raspy voice cut into his gloomy thoughts. Harry jumped. Snape was awake! He knelt by his side, leaning over to better hear his words.

Snape coughed weakly, bringing up a bit of blood. He glared weakly up at the figure looming over him. “Should have known you'd come to mock me…. Saint James, everyone's hero, laughing at the scrawny, greasy Slytherin…. You like having me in your debt, don't you?” Another bout of coughing. “How I hate you… you should have just let me die… you'd have done the world a favor….”

Realization dawned. 'He thinks I'm my father!' “Professor, it's me! Harry! Please, please, snap out of it!” He would have shaken the man if he weren't afraid of the damage it would inflict.

Fathomless black eyes blinked slowly, seeming to focus more clearly. “Harry?” he said uncertainly.

“Yes, that's right!” Harry exclaimed, encouraged.

“The Potter boy, yes….” His voice was weak but his tone was firm and certain. “Fifth year, Gryffindor, quite impudent, abominable in Potions….”

Harry's mouth twitched into a grim smile. “Glad to see you're back to normal, Professor.” Well, as normal as the man ever got….

Snape pushed himself up to a sitting position, grimacing and clutching his side. “They put us in here together… a foolish miscalculation on their part. Together we may stand a chance.” His gaze grew cloudy and unfocused, and for a moment Harry feared that he had once again sunk into delusion. Soft mutters reached his ears, and he realized that Snape was *thinking*, planning their escape. “They took my wand… more fools they… do they really think I need a wand to do magic?” He smiled in a way that chilled Harry. “We must prepare… they will come for us soon.”

Harry frowned. “I don't understand. Everything seemed to be going so well. How did they realize I was still alive?”

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose, his features forming a grimace. “I grew careless. I knew all along that this was a test of loyalty. I believed that I had passed this particular trial quite admirably. More fool I to believe the test was over. I should have realized it was too easy. Voldemort must have had me followed. Once it was discovered that you were still alive, it was painfully obvious whose side I was truly on.” A deep sigh. “I wish I had been able to get you away safely, but there was so little time. The potion I gave you put you in a state of suspended animation, but only for a very short while. If I had not revived you, you would have died for real.”

Harry clenched his hands in his lap to stop their trembling. “Professor,” he said in a voice that wasn't quite steady, “whatever are we going to do?”

As if on cue, the door burst open. Harry and Snape both jumped, badly startled. Harry made a small squeak and clapped a trembling hand over his mouth. He jumped again as a strong arm closed over his shoulder, registering through the haze of panic that was closing over him that it was Snape's arm, that Snape was trying to push him behind his body, to shield him from whoever was in the doorway.

A dark chuckle seemed to reverberate through the small, dark room. A cloaked figure stepped inside, reaching up to remove its mask and hood. Harry whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, praying fervently that this was just some awful, awful dream. But the Death Eater seemed to have very little interest in him. “Severus,” he breathed, advancing toward the pair slowly, the meager light glinting off of his thinning hair and silver hand. “How it delights me to see you humbled. I have waited for this moment for a very long time. Lord Voldemort was very kind in letting me supervise your… interrogation.” His mouth stretched into a feral smile that seemed quite incongruous with his unassuming, chubby features. “I told him all along that you were not to be trusted. He rewards those who please him… and punish those who do not. As you have learned tonight.”

Snape wiped at the corner of his mouth, his pale hand coming away streaked with blood. “Pettigrew,” he spat. “I have no patience for your prattling. I'm not surprised that you have chosen to toady to the strongest wizard you could find. Even in school you found those stronger than you to serve, to grovel to, to kneel and kiss the feet of.” His laugh was short and bitter. “I never fought with you the way I did with the other Marauders. I saw you for what you were – a scared little coward who was too weak to make his own way in the world. In short, you were beneath my notice. I couldn't be bothered to hex someone who hid behind others instead of fending for himself.”

A pudgy fist flashed out and caught Snape squarely on the chin, the force knocking him over to sprawl on his back. “Not beneath your notice now, am I?” he sneered. “You always thought you were better than everyone else. You with your brains and those clever hands of yours.” He knelt and took the blood-streaked hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the slender fingers in a perverse parody of gentleness. “I wonder what kind of Potions Master you would be with every bone in your hand shattered beyond repair?”

All color drained from Snape's face, leaving him white as a ghost. He uttered a choked cry and jerked his hand back, thrusting both of them behind him, his black eyes as wide as saucers, brimming with fear and loathing. Harry's heart squeezed in sympathetic horror. He had no doubt that such a fate would be worse than death in Snape's eyes. He crouched, preparing to jump the former Marauder. Before he could even begin to spring, several black-clad arms seized him. He yelled and struggled against the small group of Voldemort's followers, a quick glance over his shoulder showing that Snape had been taken as well. Pettigrew chuckled low in his throat. “Let us see what the Master has in store for you.”

Harry fought his captors as best he could, dragging his feet and trying to trip them from time to time. One of them cursed and slapped him roughly. Beside him, Snape walked unhurriedly with his usual grace, somehow managing to put a menacing stalk in each stride. His eyes stared straight ahead, his features fixed into an inscrutable mask. It struck Harry just how long the man must have spent perfecting that mask.
His drifting gaze caught a slight tremble of long, slim hands. No doubt a reaction to the multiple rounds of the Cruciatus curse. Harry suddenly didn't feel so bad about the way he had reaction to Snape's potion, when he thought he was truly dying. Everyone had a limit of pain tolerance, and it seemed that Snape was nearing his. Thinking back over the past few weeks, Harry realized that it had started earlier than this, that Voldemort had to have been wearing Snape down, bit by bit, in anticipation of tonight's events. It was a wonder that Snape was even able to stand under his own power, but Harry had learned since entering the Wizarding world that there were always untapped reserves of strength within when all seemed lost. But what good would it do them now? Harry's eyes darted into each dark corner, praying for salvation, but none was to be found.

He winced and tried to narrow his eyes against the comparative brightness as he and Snape were dragged back into the main gathering room. His heart sank when he beheld the murderous gaze of the assembled Death Eaters. But this time, they had another target for their wrath. Every eye in the room was focused on the stiff, defiant Potions Master. The turncoat. The traitor. The spy in their midst, exposed at last.

“Ssssssso,” the serpentine features of Lord Voldemort remained calm and placid, except for a tic just above one blood-red eye, his words nearly slipping into Parseltongue, “the rumors were true after all. One of our kind has broken the sacred vow. I must admit that I had my doubts about your loyalty, Severus, but I had fervently hoped to be proved wrong.” He shook his head sadly, displaying an air of a father disappointed by the actions of a wayward son, but Harry was not fooled for a moment. There would be no forgiveness here tonight. Their fate would be neither merciful nor quick.

Voldemort's features twisted into a hideous grimace of hate. His assembled followers took a step back, each having experienced the fallout personally from such a reaction. “How *dare* you?!” he shrieked. “How dare you betray me, to Dumbledore, of all people! He never cared about you; he never cared about any Slytherin! You have turned your back on your rightful place in our new order for the very wretch that will destroy Wizardkind by allowing the Mudbloods to breed until no pureblood wizards will be left! You will *pay* for turning your back on me!! CRUCIO!”

The reaction was immediate and violent. Snape twisted in his captors' grasp, writhing with the fire that licked at his nerves. He fell upon the floor in a crumpled heap, his forehead resting against the cool stones. Small mewling sounds came from his throat as he bit down on his lip, refusing to give his former master the satisfaction of hearing him scream once more. His throat was already chafed raw from his earlier experiences.

“STOP IT!!” Harry screamed, kicking at his captors, trying to free himself. “He can't take much more!” A thin trickle of blood ran from the professor's mouth as the man gasped harshly. Voldemort lifted his wand, momentarily ending the torment. He chuckled in Harry's direction, who found himself filled with a white-hot rage. What gave him the right to treat people in such a way? Now, more than ever, Harry felt the need to rid the world of such a creature. If only there was a way…!

“I'm not the only one you have betrayed tonight.” Voldemort flicked his hand, and a Death Eater stepped out of the shadows. With the flowing blond hair and superior sneer, the only thing missing from the picture was the trademark snake-head walking stick. Voldemort watched the scene with undisguised relish. “You have a lot to answer for, my young snake.”

The lord of Malfoy Manor nudged the hunched figure at his feet, an expression of revulsion on his face. Snape rose unsteadily, his features set in grim determination. Lucius seized his arm and pulled him close, his eyes flashing with barely-contained menace. “How *dare* you?!” The aristocrat's cold, fine beauty was marred by the ugly snarl on his face as he unwittingly parroted Voldemort's words. It was plain that Snape's betrayal had struck deeply. “I vouched for you! I defended you! I befriended you when no one else would, and what do you do? You stab me in the back!” A slender finger cupped his chin, turning it so their faces were scant inches apart. “You are a traitor to all of Slytherin, Severus. I'm sure that our lord will be only too pleased to make an example out of you.”

Steely black eyes met storm-grey ones in an intense battle of wills. “You are so full of it, Lucius,” Snape murmured, his tone soft but filled with malice. “Everything I did since our Sixth Year was for you! I was your bloody right-hand man! I joined the Death Eaters with you; I took the Mark with you. And you're a fine one to talk about friendship, especially since you betrayed me first!” His mouth twisted into an angry snarl. “You sold me out and blamed me for missions that *you* botched! You took our friendship and threw it in my face. Forget it, Lucius. Whatever we had between us is dead. There's no salvation for either of us.”

The sheer emotion on both faces was amazing to the young boy. For a moment, the sheer horror of the situation faded slightly, as Harry watched two decades of friendship come to a disastrous end. He had seen both men coolly composed, haughty and disdainful of the world, but their relationship had clearly meant more than either wanted to admit. The expressions that flitted across their faces were telling: anger, betrayal, frustration, sorrow, bitterness. The smiling, excited boys in the yearbook photo, embarking on a great adventure, were long gone. Tonight was merely the last handful of dirt thrown on the grave.

Malfoy's fingers tightened on the throat of his former best friend. “Do I have your permission to begin, Master?” he asked deferentially, not entirely able to keep the note of anger from his voice.

Voldemort's satisfied, sickening grin was wider than seemingly possible. “Indeed, my faithful follower. Such a shame,” he clucked, looking indulgently at Snape, who glared at him defiantly. “You know that you two were always my favorites. So young, so impressionable, so eager to please. You both have come so far under my tutelage. But I have never been one to allow sentimentality to hold me back. Lucius, you may proceed at your own discretion.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat. Malfoy's smile was the embodiment of sadism, promising endless hours of torment. Several other Death Eaters approached him as well, and his stomach lurched. They raised their wands on Malfoy's cue, the moment seeming to freeze in a heartbeat of unreality. Snape's eyes met his, and Harry knew all hope was lost. This was it. There was no way out of this. They were both going to die.