The Room shuddered violently, and the floor began to shake and crack beneath Harry’s feet. Harry had time to gasp, once, before the crack widened to alarming proportions. Cold water drenched Harry, and he heard odd noises—almost like violins, almost like thunder—and then lights, purple lights, and the sound of crickets, and the smell of mud—and then with a roar, the earth opened up. Harry found himself weightless, found the ground gone, and the ceiling, and only Snape left staring at him.

Snape howled—and this sound, too, was unearthly-- and lunged for the boy, but by then they were both falling, falling with ungodly speed and grace into whatever lay beyond. Snape met the boy’s eyes and wondered if his own expression held the same savage determination that he saw in Potter’s. When stripped of all else, Snape thought mid-flight, that was what remained of Potter.

And then, with a thump that was weirdly, eerily silent, they fell to the ground. They were in a kind of clearing, with thick leafy plants forming a natural fence around them. There was nothing, save an enormous rock to one side, to mar the vivid, swampy greenness of the place. The air was hotter than a sauna, and just as humid.

“So I deserve to die of heat stroke, do I?” Snape panted, getting to his feet. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Potter, even I didn’t think--”

“Quiet!” hissed Harry, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. He and Snape stiffened, both having realized the same thing at the same moment. They immediately dove behind the enormous rock, Snape in his hurry for cover smashing them both painfully into the stone.

Voldemort walked into the clearing, looking oddly snakelike in this lush environment. He had a supple look to him, looking healthier than Harry wanted him to, and his beady eyes were an odd pink color. He was waiting for someone, but his wait was short-lived.

With a pop, someone apparated into the clearing. Harry’s jaw dropped as he realized it was Snape. Snape, looking the same as the one crouched next to him with one hand firmly clasped on the back of his neck. Harry snuck a look at his Snape, and saw that, although his face was pale, his eyes were cold and calculating. The hand on his neck tightened, then, until Harry knew it would leave a bruise.

“Severus,” Voldemort was saying to the other Snape. “How good of you to join me.”

“My lord,” Snape said, kneeling to kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robes.

“You deserve a fate worse than death,” Voldemort said conversationally, his hand caressing Snape’s greasy head. “I know all your secrets now, my little traitor.”

“Do you?” Snape said blandly, his face muffled by the curtain of hair around his face.

“I wish I had time to punish you properly, but my time is preciousss these days,” Voldemort said, rolling his supple neck about. “Give Lily Potter my best, won’t you?” And then, with a chuckle, he yelled the Killing Curse at Snape, who immediately crumpled to the ground.

Harry gasped from behind the rock, and tried to stand up. Was this the future? Had he just seen the future? Snape’s hold on his neck was painfully firm, however, and Harry moaned in exasperation. Snape coolly clamped his other hand over the boy’s mouth, his eyes never straying from the scene in front of him. He looked oddly unaffected by his apparent death. His hands, Harry noted in a detached way, were cold.

The odd, wild violin music swept the air again and filled Harry with dread, as if it were the opposite of phoenix song. The whole world shook, like in a snow globe, and then everything stilled once more. The dead Snape was gone, and Voldemort was waiting again, in the exact same luxurious pose. As before, Snape apparated before him, but this time Voldemort’s welcome was much more affectionate.

“Congratulations, Severus,” Voldemort was purring. “You deserve a reward for this. You had me doubting your loyalties, you know, until you killed him.” A deep snicker rumbled in Voldemort’s throat, and, to Harry’s disgust, Snape joined in, their laughter booming through the sticky air. Harry wriggled under Snape’s iron hold to no avail, and, in extreme annoyance, finally nipped the hand that was covering his mouth.

Snape let go with an audible yelp, glaring daggers at Harry. Voldemort and the other Snape kept talking, totally oblivious. Harry darted a glance at his Snape, who seemed to be turning colder and more like granite as each second passed. Was this the future, then? No offense to Snape, but he sort of preferred the previous version.

Harry stood up slowly, ignoring Snape as he furiously gestured for Harry to get back down. Harry cautiously walked out from behind the rock, deftly avoiding Snape’s grab at him, and walked over to the creepily happy Death Eater and his master. No sign of recognition from either. Harry reached out a hand to touch Voldemort and the other to touch Snape, and exhaled loudly when his hand went right through both figures.

At this, his Snape straightened from behind the rock, his expression thunderous. “You,” he hissed, “Your stupidity astounds me. Now come here before I do something you will regret.” He pointed one finger savagely to the spot next to him.

But there was no need for Harry to obey, or disobey, because the unearthly music spilled into Harry’s ears again, and this time it seemed faster and tinged with panic. A loud flash blinded him, and they were quite suddenly in Dumbledore’s office. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, his expression hard as he contemplated the man sitting in the armchair across from him.

It was the other Snape, of course, the Snape who had so far been killed and been rewarded by Voldemort. Harry felt, rather than heard, his Snape’s breathing quicken beside him, but when Harry looked up, Snape’s eyes were devoid of emotion as he stared at the scene.

Dumbledore had a cold look in his eyes, the same look he’d worn all year around Harry. “Severus,” he was saying slowly. “You don’t deserve my protection any longer. It appears I’ve misjudged you.”

The Snape in the chair said nothing, while the flesh and blood Snape sagged against the wall, his indifference undone by this declaration.

“I foolishly gave you a second chance once before,” Dumbledore continued. He looked up, the twinkle in his eyes completely gone. “But it would appear you didn’t deserve that chance. And I’m not inclined to give you another one.” Dumbledore stroked his beard as he delivered the final blow. “Minerva will escort you from the grounds.”

The Snape in the chair stood up and swished out of the office without another word. Harry’s Snape staggered towards Dumbledore, staring at him as though he had never seen him before. “Albus, please--” he said, his voice cracking on the second word, as he reached out his arms beseechingly towards the headmaster.

Dumbledore stretched out his arm, and for a moment it looked as though he had seen Snape and was going to embrace him. But then Fawkes the phoenix flew down and perched on his arm. Dumbledore caressed the bird, his face troubled. “Fawkes,” he said quietly. “I do believe we’ve lost him forever. I only hope he hasn’t told all of Harry’s secrets to Voldemort.”

The phoenix threw back his head and sang, as Snape threw Harry a look of undisguised hatred. Harry looked away, his heart thudding. Just as Harry’s past seemed destined to misery, so too did Snape’s future. If this was really the future. Harry suddenly felt an inexplicable pang of deep, heart-tugging loneliness, the kind that filled the back of his throat with a desperate ache. He swallowed and wished, oddly, for Dobby.

The music, the most horrible music in the world, filled the air again, twisting and perverting Fawke’s trilling song until Harry felt that he was listening to the howl of a Dementor. He hoped with all his heart that they were done here, but to his dismay he found himself and Snape back in the headmaster’s office.

“Severus,” Dumbledore was saying softly, a much twinklier look in his eyes this time. “You deserve my most heartfelt thanks. And, my boy, I think I owe you an apology.”

Dumbledore’s Snape tensed as if for waiting for something else. Finally, he prompted the headmaster with a slightly desperate “Is there anything else you feel I deserve, Headmaster?”

With a casualness that seemed out of place, Dumbledore took a lemon drop from the tray beside him and popped it into his mouth. “Only my utter gratitude for all you have done for Harry, my boy.” Dumbledore smiled serenely across the table at his potions master, obviously not feeling the need to elaborate. The Snape in the vision finally swallowed, and nodded, staring at the ground.

Harry’s Snape, in contrast, froze for a long second and then wheeled around to face Harry. “I will never forgive you this,” he whispered, a wild fire dancing in his eyes. To Harry’s utter bewilderment, Snape reared back a hand to slap him. But Harry, reflexes sharp by years of dodging his fat uncle, ducked and evaded the blow. This seemed to further infuriate Snape, who grabbed him by the shoulders and ground out “You—will—take—what—you—deserve!” between shaking Harry until his teeth chattered.

The music began to swell, and rage, and churn, until Snape’s expression melted into a sickening mask. Snape dropped Harry like he was on fire. To Harry’s relief, Dumbledore was gone, and Snape and Harry were whirled into what Harry could only presume was Snape’s quarters.

This Snape was sipping brandy and staring into the fire. He looked entirely too calm for a man who had been both rewarded and punished by Voldemort and Dumbledore in the space of an hour. But this Snape, Harry noted, looked different than all the others.

Snape looked at peace, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth as he stared into the flickering flames. His expression, always so shuttered in Harry’s experience, was transparently open and calm. He sipped his brandy, the silence serene around him, and began to hum to himself.

Harry, feeling like the whole world had gone mad, choked back a horrible urge to laugh. He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at his decidedly non-humming Snape.

Snape, to his relief, merely said “Yes, it is laughable,” the bite in his voice somewhat more exhausted than usual.

The ground rumbled, and Harry clamped his hands over his ears, determined never to hear that horrid music ever again. Snape looked at him oddly, and then Harry forgot about everything as the music split him open. Harry screamed in agony. He would never get out of here, he would never find out which future was the right one for Snape, the sound was going to kill him…

And then they were back in the Room of Requirement, looking as it had before, but with the candles fluttering and rubble everywhere. There was a crack, and then the music stopped, the candles blew out, and the acrid smell of smoke filled the air. The Room gave a couple of almighty gasps, and shuddered like a Muggle machine about to die. With one last jolt, the Room stilled. Harry gasped as he sprawled onto the ground, unable to do anything but catch his breath, his whole body aching.

I’ve broken the Room, he thought, and then the rest was silence.

Harry opened his eyes some time later, a vague sense of uneasiness sweeping through him. There was an emptiness around him, a hallow kind of deadness that hung thickly over the Room. Harry struggled to sit up, but realized immediately that this was not an option. Exhaustion pervaded every pore in his body, and he could do nothing more than shift to a comfortable position in the rubble and ponder the unhealthy, invisible weight that pervaded the air. It felt almost like the magic had been sucked out of the Room, but that couldn’t be right. Harry certainly didn’t feel this same kind of empty malevolence when he was around Muggles.

Well, around most Muggles.

“S-S-Snape,” Harry croaked out, his vocal chords rubbing against each other like sandpaper. “Do you f-feel it?” He tried again to turn his head, but the sluggishness was so complete that he gave up quickly. Instead he waited, too tired to worry about the long ensuing silence and what it might mean.

Finally, Snape replied, just as strung out as Harry. “Yes, I feel it.” His voice sounded close by, and Harry turned his head infinitesimally to the side and saw Snape lying a few feet away.

“Good,” Harry rasped, which didn’t follow Snape’s response, but he didn’t really care. “Professor?”

“What?”

“Do you think I broke the Room?”

“Yes,” Snape said, a little more strength in his voice. “I think you did.” A long pause, then, as Harry digested this. “And,” Snape finally resumed, groaning as he shifted position, “if I had…the energy…I’d go over there and…express my displeasure.” This long speech seemed to wind him, and he fell silent.

“Crap,” Harry groaned, familiar prickles of guilt behind his eyes. Weakly, he added, “You goaded me into it.”

“Yes,” Snape snapped, tendrils of anger curling his syllables. “It’s never the Gryffindor’s fault, is it?”
Harry could think of no reply to this, an odd twisting feeling in his gut. In a tight voice, he said “Maybe the Room will recharge if left alone for awhile.”

“Which means,” Snape said, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice, “No more magic for you.”

Harry scowled at this but could not deny the logic. He had pushed the Room too far, it seemed, and now he could practically feel the Room pulsing waves of distrust at him. He gritted his teeth, more frightened then he wanted to admit at the idea of being defenseless in a locked room with Snape. Well, he couldn’t just wait here like a sitting duck, that much was certain. Harry gathered all of his strength together and, with a phenomenal force of will, sat up. Dizziness immediately assaulted him, and he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes, pursing his lips to stop the groan trying to escape.

“You should be conserving your strength,” Snape said from the floor, a hint of malice behind his words. “If something attacked now, you’d be powerless to stop it.”

Harry stared at him, wondering if that was a veiled threat. He certainly wouldn’t put it past Snape to fake exhaustion while he waited for Harry to weaken himself. And then, what would Snape do to him? Harry felt rather bad, actually, about making Snape watch all that stuff. Snape had goaded him into it, but still. One thing Harry didn’t understand, though, was why Snape had flown off the handle at that one vision, the one where Dumbledore was being perfectly nice to him.

Actually, two things made no sense. He still didn’t really know what Snape deserved. And neither, it seemed, did the Room.

Harry did a little recharging himself, too worn out to do anything but sit against the wall like a lump. But eventually he needed a drink of water. Well, since he couldn’t conjure water right now, he would have to drink from the tap in the washroom. That was no problem, Harry had done so loads of times in Surrey. A garden hose, a faucet, the neighbor’s dog bowl…he wasn’t picky. Water was water, and the Dursleys had been stingy with it as well as everything else. Now. Did he have the strength to stand up? And why were he and Snape so bloody exhausted, anyways? Maybe the Room’s weariness was contagious.

Harry staggered to his feet and scanned the route he would have to take to avoid most of the rubble. He knew for a fact he wasn’t up to climbing over or moving anything heavy. Ugh, he was going to have to go right by Snape. Harry picked his way over slowly, carefully. Should he offer to get Snape some water? No, best to let sleeping Snapes lie. He let himself stare down at Snape for a moment, knowing he was unlikely to ever tower over his professor again.

Suddenly a hand shot out, grabbed Harry’s ankle, and pulled. Harry squawked, alarmed, and lost his balance. He fell with a painful thump on the stone ground. “What did you do that for?” Harry yelped, backside throbbing.

“That’s the last time you try and sneak up on me,” Snape said grimly, cracking open his eyes to stare at his student. “I must say, your father was better at stealth then you are. And he was never alone, which is rather more impressive.”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you!” Harry protested. “I just wanted a drink of water!”

“A likely story,” sneered Snape, sitting up with a grunt. “You’ve given me no reason to trust your word, not after that stunt you just pulled.”

“I didn’t want the Room to hurt you,” Harry said, exasperated. “You were daring me to, weren’t you? All I did was tell it to give you what you deserve.”

“You are not the Wizengamot,” Snape said sourly. “You are not my judge. You are not my jury. You had no right!”

“I didn’t mean—“

“You never mean anything! But time and time again, other people get hurt because of you and your foolish decisions! Never you, always it is others who suffer!”

An image of Uncle Vernon punching him flashed unbidden through Harry’s mind. Eyes blazing, he lifted up his chin and stared at Snape.

Snape jerked his head and looked away, as though to concede the point.

Harry struggled to his feet, sucking in a breath as he realized afresh how much of him hurt. His side ached from being crushed into the rock. The back of his neck was alarmingly tender. His shoulders and teeth hurt from being shaken. He had a splitting headache. And now his bum really hurt, too. Most of these injuries were directly attributable to Snape, so Harry gifted him with a supremely irritated glare. When on earth was Dumbledore going to relent and let them out of here?

“Problem?” Snape demanded, eager for a fight.

“No,” Harry muttered. He wasn’t particular anxious for another round. He got quite enough of this kind of treatment from the Dursleys. “I just wonder if this is what Dumbledore meant to happen when he locked us in here.”

“Don’t worry, Potter. Dumbledore won’t let you rot in here,” Snape said flatly, a mask descending over his features.

“He won’t let you rot in here either, you know,” Harry sighed.

Snape snorted. “Sure about that, are you, Potter?”

“Yes!” Harry said firmly. “I know you think Dumbledore’s made me into some kind of wounded hero machine, but he’s not evil or anything! Surely you know that!”

Harry had the distinct impression he’d hit a nerve, because Snape suddenly looked at him with a flash of something so raw and vulnerable that it took Harry’s breath away.

“No, Potter, he’s not evil,” Snape finally answered, drawing out his syllables disdainfully. “He’s apologetic and grateful.”

Ah. Something clicked into place for Harry, then. Something about why Snape had tried to slap him. “He’s more than that, Professor.”

“Yes,” Snape hissed. “To your father. To your werewolf. To your godfather. And to you!”

“To me?” Harry said coolly. “You can’t have it both ways, Professor. Either Dumbledore treated me right or he tossed me to the Muggles. Which is it?”

Snape spread his arms out, an innocent look on his face. “I think that’s a question only you can answer, Potter.”

Harry didn’t like that answer all. If he couldn’t trust Dumbledore, he couldn’t trust anyone. And, really, the Dursleys hadn’t killed him or anything, right? “Fine, then,” Harry said stoutly. “Dumbledore did right by me.”

“Even though he hasn’t looked at you all year? My, Potter, you really are sickeningly forgiving, aren’t you?” Snape’s voice softened to a purr. “I bet you’ve even forgiven those Muggles.”

Harry hated Snape mentioning the Dursleys, and Snape seemed to know it. He pressed his advantage, continuing in a whisper, “Have you forgiven them for the dinosaur, Potter?”

Harry swallowed and, against his will, shook his head. Snape smiled triumphantly.

Harry cleared his throat and tried to regroup. “I didn’t say Dumbledore was perfect. He’s made mistakes.”

“And what would those mistakes consist of?” Snape said quietly, his eyes so intense that Harry felt everything, absolutely everything, was at stake here. Harry stared at Snape, at his ugly smile, and thought it was the most hallow smile he’d ever seen. It was a smile that lacked something.

“Dumbledore should give you more than gratitude,” Harry said softly. Almost against his will, he added, “He should have given you the, um, world.”

A long silence greeted this statement. A flurry of emotions raced across Snape’s face—anger, distrust, impatience, fear—before something rigid settled across his brow. “Shut up, Potter.”

“Everybody deserves the world,” Harry muttered, thinking about what the Dursleys should have given him. What Dumbledore should have given Snape.

What his parents, he knew, had given him.

Maybe, Harry thought to himself as he looked at the lines on Snape’s face, maybe being a warrior could really screw you up.