Samuel Sanasta had worshiped his older brother, Nathan. Sammy had only been one when Nathan had gone off to school, but every time Nathan had written home, he had included a line or a drawing for his little brother. He had been so proud to be a big brother. And when Sammy had been old enough, he had started to draw pictures for Nathan in every letter.

That first year, Nate's dorm mates had joked with him about the drawings that he attached to the lid of his trunk, but Severus had ensured that it never got mean-spirited.

Severus had met Sammy a few times. Nathan had been on the Slytherin gobstones team and his parents had come to the games as often as they could, bringing Sammy with them. Nathan had regaled his little brother with tales of Hogwarts and Slytherin House and Severus had been amused that Sammy was excited to meet Professor Snape. Severus had been sure he had scared the child the first time he met him because the boy had hid behind his mother's skirts at just the sight of him. So he had been surprised when Nathan had handed him a drawing by Sammy of himself standing over a cauldron.

He still had that drawing, though it had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to find it in his filing cabinets. He didn't know why he kept all this useless stuff, but it wasn't like he had much else to store in these rooms. Samuel Sanasta was supposed to be sorted into his house in a few short years, just like his brother had been. Now, all Severus would ever see of the shy boy's works was a drawing that now hung in a place of honor on his bedroom wall. That, instead of tears, had been his tribute.

Severus didn't always enjoy teaching. But over the years, he had become accustomed to being the Head of Slytherin House. His constant presence there had started out as a means to keep the little demons in line. He had been one of the youngest professors to ever start at Hogwarts and certainly the youngest Head of House. It had been important, in those first years, to be stern if he wanted to have any hope of keeping students not much younger than he in line. What he hadn't counted on was how much time they would require of him every year since.

The other houses didn't operate like this. He knew that for a fact. His involvement in his house had started from a combination of needing to keep the most unruly of houses in line and because the last war had hit his Slytherin families the hardest psychologically. Their families had not only dealt with death, but guilt and prejudice as well. It was inexcusable when an eleven year old not only had to hear his father had been killed, but also that he deserved to die, whether it was true or not.

The younger students had nightmares and missed home. They needed an adult presence in their lives to give them a sense of security. The middle years preferred to do everything alone until they ended up in over their head. Then they needed an adult to come to the rescue and restore order and stability to their lives. And the older students, they had so many varying issues that sometimes Severus wanted to yank his hair out in frustration. Those who had already graduated wrote to him about job recommendations or advice on any number of things. Even when they were gone, he was never free of them. But if he was honest with himself, by that time, he was proud of their accomplishments and honored to have his opinion asked. In the end, it fell to him to be mentor, counselor, disciplinarian and surrogate father to a hundred or more students every year. Sometimes it was tiring.

And it was things like this war and this family's tragedy that made him curse the fact that he had ever agreed to come to Hogwarts. He was now so tied up in all of their lives that he couldn't help but be affected when something happened to one of them. Love was certainly going too far, but he felt protective of these children. They were his ten months out of every year and he'd be damned if he let anyone hurt what was his.

Which made the current state of affairs very difficult for him. Not only were his Slytherins in as difficult a situation as the rest of wizarding Britain, if not worse, but he had Harry Potter to protect. That alone seemed a job made for an army of trained witches and wizards.

When the frustration of it all got to him, he came to this room and blasted holes in things until he was too exhausted to think of anything but the essentials, which, until the last week, had been his duties as a spy. He was grateful that Albus had helped him enchant the dummies three years ago. Teaching hadn't made him lazy or weak, but it was a different type of battle from the kind he would need to be prepared for in the Dark Lord's service. When the Dark Lord's rebirth had seemed inevitable, he had begun to prepare his mind and body again. He was now stronger than he had been even when he had been twenty and leading men into battle against ministry aurors.

Harry was relatively sure that he had stopped breathing. That had to be it. Why else would he be feeling so light headed and shaky? And why was Snape just staring at him?

As if Snape could read his thoughts (a novel idea, Harry thought with a mental snort), he raised his arm and beckoned Harry further into the room. Leg's shaking, Harry obeyed, taking several steps in and stopping when Snape held his hand up again. When Harry stopped, Snape began picking his way through the debris littering the room, seemingly with no destination in mind, but his eyes remained fixed on Harry.

The room was filled with silence and Harry twisted his hands in his jumper. Snape was probably working himself up into a screaming fit right now. At best, Harry would be dissecting frogs for the rest of the summer. And for what? he asked himself. I'm not doing anything wrong. And I'll tell him that. He was just starting to open his mouth for a preemptive defense, when Snape cut through his thoughts by speaking.

"The trouble with war," Snape began in a conversational tone that startled Harry, "is that it brings death to all of us, even the very young. It is a forceful reminder of mortality, making exceptions for no one. It might be humans that fight wars, but it's something far more sinister that drives it." He stopped walking and turned back to face Harry. "Do you know what that is Potter?"

"No," he answered shakily. He really hated it when Snape became unpredictable on him. Every time he thought he had the man figured out, he'd throw a curve ball.

"Fear. Fear drives war. Hate helps to fuel it, yes. But fear drives it. When people fear for their lives or the lives of their loved ones, when they find that their way of life is being threatened, that is when their minds turn to war."

Snape fixed Harry with an intense gaze. His black eyes seemed to bore into his own, but it wasn't from the use of Legilimency. Snape seemed to be trying to impart a message with his eyes alone. When he spoke, his voice was softer, but it carried across the room to Harry, who listened with his full attention.

"Your enemies are humans. And they're scared too. Just like you and your friends and allies, they're scared to die. They're scared to lose themselves in a new world that doesn't seem to need them any longer. And that fear drives them just as surely as those who they meet on the battlefield. Even the Dark Lord, whose very name strikes fear into the hearts of others; even he fears death."

Snape looked down at his hands for a moment. "Those death eaters that attacked the Sanastas. They were afraid too. But they didn't know how to process that fear. They never have. It sank into their souls long ago and turned them into killers. What wouldn't they do to keep their way of life? The violence and the bloodshed pushes them further and further until, one day, they can justify the death of a child. They can turn their hearts from the grief of an entire family slaughtered before their eyes. They can torture people into insanity and laugh at their deed."

Snape looked back up and considered Harry for a moment. "But you know what they're capable of don't you?" Snape took a deep breath but his expression remained unchanged as he went on.

"Samuel Sanasta never had a chance. He didn't even have a wand. He didn't understand why his family was being attacked. He just woke up in the middle of the night because he heard noises and wanted to find his brother. But you, Potter, you have a chance. You have a wand. You are beginning to understand war and it's consequences. You can live."

Harry took a cautious step forward. It didn't escape his notice that Snape's hand was still clenched around his wand. "I want to survive," Harry whispered back. "But they're too strong. They know so much more than me. I never know how much longer my luck is going to last."

Snape cocked his head and examined Harry. "They are strong. And they know far more than you about the art of warfare. But, you have something they don't."

"What's that?" Harry asked. If Snape was trying to make him feel better, he'd have to do better than that. Not that Snape would do something like that.

Snape smirked and gave a curt bow of his head. "Me."

Harry felt himself grinning back. He had Snape on his side. There was a time when that would have sounded absurd to say; a time when he wouldn't even have appreciated it. There had always been the Order of the Phoenix and Ron and Hermione. Even before that, he had had Sirius. But even during the battle at the department of mysteries, none of them had impressed him like Snape had during their escape. Although he did have to admit, that bitch, Bellatrix Lestrange, had been fearsome to behold.

"Do you know what the prophecy said sir?" Harry asked. He wanted to hear Snape's opinion on it. Maybe he could think of a weapon that Voldemort wouldn't know about.

Snape's smirk disappeared and he crossed his arms. "The prophecy," Snape repeated, a frown forming on his face. Albus had finally told him the whole of the prophecy when Potter and he had returned from the Dark Lord's compound. It had, like every time the subject came up, sparked a mild disagreement. Their only grounds for agreement was their understanding that the Dark Lord's belief in it put Potter at great risk.

"I know the full prophecy, yes," he confirmed.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He would have felt awkward having to repeat it. "Do you...do you think?"

"Do I think it means anything?" Snape interrupted.

"Yeah, that."

"Yes. It means the Dark Lord is your enemy whether you want to fight him or not."

Harry blinked. "But you don't think...I mean, you don't believe in it? You don't think I have to be the one to kill him?" Harry cringed. Surely Snape would accuse him of being arrogant now.

But Snape didn't do that. "Damn it Albus," he swore under his breath. "I don't give credit to most prophecies, especially ones made by that charlatan, Trelawney."

"But she made another one that came true. About Pettigrew going back to Vol..."

"Do not finish that name Potter!" Snape snapped.

"But why not? You're not spying anymore. And you can't be that scared of him. Not after everything you've seen and done."

"I don't want to hear his name! That's why Potter. Obey me and don't ask questions."

Harry nodded slowly. Clearly, there was something more behind that. But Snape wouldn't say and Harry realized that in this case, it might be best to just let the subject drop and say You-Know-Who. Maybe in another twenty years, he could win an argument with Snape.

"Sorry. But Trelawney predicted that Pettigrew would go back to him. She was right about that. What if she's right this time? What if I can't live if he's still alive! And what's the weapon he doesn't know about? I don't have anything, except this wand and I seriously doubt it will do much good. He'll kill me!" Harry's voice broke at the end and he realized that he had started to pace.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. "Control yourself immediately." When Harry stopped, he spoke in a softer, but still firm voice. "Breath Potter. And unclench your hands. Stand up straight."

Harry followed his instructions one by one, cursing himself for a fool for losing it in front of Snape.

"Open your eyes Potter," Snape said in a wry tone. When Potter had obeyed, he continued.

"You are alive now Potter, yes?"

Harry nodded slowly, unsure what point Snape was trying to make.

"Well then, proof enough that you can live while the Dark Lord does. Furthermore, the best weapon is the well-trained soldier. Beyond that, yes, you do have to worry about dying, just like everyone else during this war. Welcome to the human race Mr. Potter. It's noted for its sensitivity to poisons, curses, old age and Dark Lords. So sorry if that's an inconvenience for you," he added sarcastically. "Now Mr. Potter, I believe your next issue is whether it has to be you that kills him and how, yes?"

Harry nodded. When everything was put that way, it kind of put everything into perspective.

"Maybe you'll be the one that kills him, maybe you won't. That is a matter of chance, skill and luck. Don't make the mistake for one second of thinking that you're the only soldier fighting on this side of the battle line though."

"No, I don't think that."

"But the prophecy makes you feel like you're the only one that can end it yes?"

"Well, it did sound like that."

"I won't pretend to understand prophecies Potter, and if anyone tells you that they do, recognize them for the liar or fool that they are. Most of the time they only make sense after the fact." Snape took a step closer and smirked a little. "But I'll tell you what Potter. I'll make a wager with you."

Harry cocked his head in curiosity. "I'll race you for the honor of being the one to dispose of the Dark Lord."

Harry smiled despite himself. It wasn't a game, but it felt good to see it like that, if only for a moment. "And what does the winner get?" Harry asked.

"If I win, I'll give you my autograph," Snape said dryly.

"Fine," Harry answered with a smile. "And if I win, I'll sign a chocolate frog card for you."

Snape rolled his eyes, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face.

"So, how do I become a ‘well-trained soldier'?" Harry asked, silently praying that Snape would offer to teach him.

"Practice, experience and in your case Mr. Potter, the benefit of my infinite wisdom."

Harry snorted and his grin grew wider. That is, until Snape cuffed him on the back of the head lightly. "Hey!" he exclaimed, but Snape ignored him to deal with the dummies still littering the floor.

When the dummies were all piled against one of the walls and the room's floor was cleared, Snape turned his attention back to Harry, who was trying to pat his hair back down. "Save yourself the trouble and shave your head Potter."

"Why don't you shave your head," Harry shot back. Right after the words left his mouth, he gasped and his hand shot up to his mouth. "Oh no," he muttered behind his hand.

Snape smirked nastily at Harry's terrified look. It was nice to know he could still inspire terror in his students. In a moment of semi-cruel inspiration, he flicked his wand at Potter, who flinched and then looked at him in confusion.

Harry hadn't felt a thing so he had no idea what Snape had just done, or why he was smiling so nastily.

"If you want to become a soldier Potter, you cannot have any distractions." Snape's eyes flicked up to Harry's head.

No. No no no no no. He wouldn't have! Harry thought as his hand went back towards his head. That greasy git! "Oh my God! You've shaved my head!"

"Get over it Potter!" Snape snapped.

Harry glared but said nothing. At least it would grow back. And it was all evenly cut. Bloody Snape just shaved my head!

"If you want to survive, you'll have to learn to keep your mouth shut, your thoughts hidden and your mind calm." Snape gave him an assessing glance. "You were hopeless at Occlumency when last I tried to teach you."

"How would that help me fight?" Harry asked. He left out the part about how he thought Snape had been a horrid teacher of that subject - and the part about him not really trying.

"The Dark Lord is not the only one that can attack minds. Occlumency can protect you from many things Potter, not just Legilimency." At Potter's puzzled expression, he elaborated. "Master Occlumency and you have mastered your mind. That will keep you going when everything else has failed. Learn to hide yourself, and you can protect yourself from insanity if you're tortured under the Cruciatus. Learn to subdue your emotions, and you remain focused in battle. That is your first lesson."

Harry didn't much like how that sounded - ‘subdue your emotions.' Did that mean you didn't have any? No, no, Snape felt emotions. Harry was sure of that. He was just better than everyone at hiding or ignoring them. That was what Snape meant.

"Are we going to be doing Occlumency lessons?" Harry asked, already dreading the answer. Whether or not it would help, he didn't fancy spending hours on his backside in front of a frustrated potions master. He deliberately left off the ‘sir' in retaliation for his hair though.

"And waste my time again? I think not Potter. If you want to learn Occlumency from me, you must prove that you're willing to work at it this time."

"Well how do I do that?"

"We'll see how you do with the rest of my lessons. If I am satisfied, I will teach you Occlumency."

Harry nodded. That seemed fair. And it would mean delaying those particular lessons.

"And now let's see how you do with lesson two Potter."

"What's that?"

"Defend yourself." Snape raised his wand with a grin on his face.

Damn! Harry struggled to get his wand out from his sleeve and just got to it when Snape's wrist snapped and he felt a sting on his calf that made him jump. "Ouch!"

Snape's grin grew wider as he sent out another curse. "Protego!" Harry shouted just in time. "Expelliarmus!"

Snape flicked his wrist almost lazily before Harry had even finished the spell and Harry's spell was blocked. Another flick of his wrist sent Harry crashing onto his back. He looked up just in time to see Snape cast another silent spell. "Protego!" The curse hit his shield and his arm shook with the strain of holding it. That had been a pretty powerful spell!

"Stupefy" Harry yelled as he rolled back up onto his feet. Snape just sidestepped the spell and it hurtled past and hit the wall behind him. In mid-stride, his wand arm darted forward again and Harry threw up a shield, but nothing happened. No spell crashed into his shield at all. He lowered his wand in confusion and that's when the dummy crashed into him from behind, entangling his limbs. He fell with a muttered oath.

Snape wasn't even sweating, and he even gave Harry time to get up between each spell. This was not going well. Harry gripped his wand tighter and jumped back up from the floor, a spell already on his tongue.

"Bombarda!"

Snape moved his wrist as though he were swatting a fly. "You'll have to do better than that Potter," he called out. Another flick of his wrist and Harry's shoes were stuck to the floor.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry tried again in desperation.

"Oh ho! Potter," Snape said with a tight grip on his wand. "Falling back on your staple spell?" He pushed his wand in front of him as though he were pushing something away from him and Harry fell backwards right onto his bum as though from a powerful shove. On the bright side, he was out of his stuck shoes.

"Expelliarmus! Bombarda! Stupefy! Petrificus Totalis!" Harry yelled out in quick succession. Snape blocked the first three, but he had to dodge the fourth.

"Better Potter, but not good enough. Silencio!" Harry had only a moment to smile at Snape's surprised compliment before the next spell hit him. He opened his mouth to yell a spell...and nothing came out.

"What's the matter Potter?" Snape said, lowering his wand only an inch. "Cat got your tongue?"

Harry raised his wand and tried to yell out another spell but still, nothing happened. Damn!

Harry looked up into Snape's eyes and didn't like what he saw. All of a sudden, there was something very predatory in Snape's look. His eyes seemed darker and hooded; his face was set in harsh lines. He held his body rigidly as his wand was raised oh so slowly. It unnerved Harry.

"And now Potter, it's time to learn your third lesson."

The words that came out of Snape's mouth next shocked him so thoroughly, he couldn't move.

"Avada Kedavra."