"What have you done?" Harry murmured, his eyes staring at Severus' contorted face. "What have you done to him?"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "It's not the spell I cast, Harry. It was performed correctly. Something's interfering with the sleep in which I put Professor Snape, and I fear that's not good news," he said somberly.

Harry shuddered.

He's mine. The red eyes. Voldemort.

Like a robot, he went for the bed and grabbed Severus' left arm, baring it to the elbow. The Mark was more horrible than ever: indistinct, doughy, torturous, but especially red and pulsating.

He lifted a hand to the scar on his forehead. Yes, Voldemort was trying to take back his Death Eater, or at least punish him and take him away from Harry. Well, that wasn't going to happen; that psychopath was cruelly mistaken—Severus was Harry's, and no one else's! He placed his hand on the Mark and covered it with his palm. Then, turning to Dumbledore, he said, "I'll take care of it. Leave us."

The cold, distant tone of his voice made the three adults freeze instantly. Poppy was the first to react. "You'll take care of what, Mr. Potter. Out of the question!"

Harry shot her an irritated look. "I can go back in there and look for him. Voldemort's not going to have him."

This time, he could clearly see Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall jump.

"Into his dream, is that what you mean, Harry" Dumbledore asked softly.

The boy nodded.

"I doubt that's very wise," the Headmaster continued.

"I doubt you have a choice," Harry retorted. "Unless you intend to let Voldemort kill him."

"We're not at that point, Mr. Potter," the mediwitch protested. "Right now it's a matter of an agitated sleep-state, from which it's impossible to remove Professor Snape. Nothing so very dramatic."

"A sleep agitated by Voldemort, you don't find that dramatic?" Harry felt his anger slowly rising. When were they all going to stop meddling in what didn't concern them? They wouldn't have been in this situation if Dumbledore hadn't cast that stupid spell in the first place.

"There are other ways, Harry. I'm going to do some research," Dumbledore tried to appease him. "We won't abandon Severus."

"Exactly," Harry said in a scornful voice he didn't recognize. "Do your research. Me, I'm going to look for him."

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall intervened dryly, "you must do something about this obsession for saving the world, which seems to have become a habit. You must learn to let adults take care of the important problems, starting with this one. No one is asking you to save everyone," she finished in a gentler voice.

Harry turned slowly toward her. "I'm sorry, Professor, but if you ask me to defeat Voldemort, then you're asking me to save everyone. Whatever you think, Severus needs me now. Me and nobody else. Professor Dumbledore should've perhaps been able to do it before, I don't know…" he hesitated, "but it's too late now. Not after what's happened."

Turning to the Headmaster this time, he said, "I know what I'm doing, Professor. I just have to fall asleep here. Could you cast a lighter spell on me than you cast on Severus?"

Dumbledore's face became grave. "What do you think you can do, Harry?"

"What I already did last night," the boy replied. "Find Severus in the dream and put him out of danger. Except this time…I'll do it so I can get him out of there. You could help, I suppose, by reversing the spell on me, or something like that." He looked the Headmaster straight in the eye. "You know we don't have a choice."

A flash of pain crossed through the Headmaster's eyes as he slowly nodded. "Very well."

"Albus!"

"Minerva, I'm afraid Harry's right. A unique link connects him to Severus…and to Voldemort."

"We don’t' even know if You-Know-Who is the origin of the problem!" Madam Pomfrey protested.

"He is," Harry assured her. "I saw him in my dreams last night. He wants to make Professor Snape pay for his betrayal."

"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, her voice shaking with indignation, "I repeat that it's not up to you to save the world; Professor Dumbledore can very well—"

"Minerva," the Headmaster interrupted as he raised a hand, "Harry has a point. Severus no longer trusts me enough to allow me to help him, and I don't possess the connection that Harry shares with Voldemort. We must be very careful, but it's the best chance Professor Snape has."

"Albus, he's a child!" Minerva protested.

"Severus' child," Harry said in a low voice. A silence ensued, only the beating of his heart sounding in his ears. Had he really just said that? In front of everyone? Oh, Merlin.

"Minerva, Poppy, could you wait in the sitting room? I'll alert you if I need you."

After a moment of uncertainty, Harry heard the footsteps of the two witches as they left. The door closed, and he was alone with Dumbledore…and Severus.

"Do you think I should transform into the cat?" he asked without looking up. "That's how I was when I found him last night."

"Do what you think best, my boy," Dumbledore said calmly. "But don't take any unnecessary risks. I'm convinced that Professor Snape will find a way out of this on his own, in any case."

Harry shook his head. "I have to go there. Are you going to help me?"

He sensed more than heard Dumbledore agree, and before he could even think, he'd jumped to the bed in his cat form. He'd barely settled himself in place on the professor's chest when he heard the murmured spell and felt his body relax.

And he fell, slowly, into the dream…or, rather, the nightmare.

The storm again. Swirls of foul and violent wind surrounded him, buffeted him, howling to the point of almost bursting his eardrums. Flattening his ears against his head, he started to go forward, searching for the eye of the cyclone as he crawled more than he walked.

Severus. Severus. Man In Black, where are you?

A faint reply, from far off, like a moan.

Onward. He had to go onward. The wind seemed to pursue him, lashing at his sides, and he thought he heard a voice in the incessant whistling.

He is mine. You will pay. My powers. You will not escape. I'll kill you all.

Spurred on by anger, Shadow increased his efforts. The red eyes followed him through the fog, but he sensed he was nearing his goal…there, in front of him, he could make out a vague figure, its head thrown back, black hair whipping in the wind. The cat tried to make out the face, but it seemed too smooth, too frozen, like…a mask! A horrible white mask covered the professor's face, a Death Eater mask, Harry realized, its two black holes revealing only the eyes—feverish, clouded, and blind.

Gathering his strength, he managed to make it to the man's feet, as the form seemed to disintegrate in the wind. And suddenly, he was no longer on four paws, but on his own two feet, his face just below Snape's mask. Harry looked down at his hand; his wand wasn't there, but he didn't need it—not in a dream, did he?

Raising his hands, he grabbed the mask and tried unsuccessfully to pull it off. The cold, smooth mask seemed fused to the wizard's head, as if they were made of one piece. Harry put his hand on Snape's shoulder, but the man didn't react, sunk too deeply in his trance.

Divert the wind, first he had to divert the wind…but how, if Severus wasn't looking at him? And the voice that keep hissing around them, murmuring threats and death sentences, intensified the already profound feeling of despair that filled him.

Giving in for a moment to discouragement, Harry let himself lean against the professor's diffuse form, his forehead resting against his chest.

For an instant, he thought he could smell the professor's scent, that mixture of potions and spices. Then he abruptly felt himself being sucked into the darkness, and when the colors returned, the landscape around him had changed.

A Pensieve, he thought at first, but no, it was different. Too unstable, too realistic. These were indeed memories, though. The professor's. Harry probably shouldn't be there, he thought with a twinge of guilt, but it was too late now. A sharp thud made him jump…a door—the slamming of a door and the presence of another person in Severus' memory.

A pair of hateful black eyes, watching a little boy in a child's bed. A woman's eyes…

"If only you didn't exist. It's your fault…it's all your fault!"

The boy, hardly more than a baby, really, hunched back in the bed, half-wounded, half-afraid. Her jaw clenched, the woman walked stiffly towards the child, before stopping and doing an about face, only to disappear again, leaving a deeply despondent, lost little Severus.

This was rather a bad way to start, Harry thought. But before he had time to analyze the scene, darkness once again filled his vision.

"Crucio!"

"Master! I didn't lie! I'm at your service…always!"

"Not enough! It wasn't enough! Crucio!"

The pain was so intense that Harry would've liked to roll on the ground, but he didn't even have a body in this vision. It was a much younger Severus who writhed in pain, a mixture of bitterness, resignation and outrage in the pit of his stomach.

And once again, the black reappeared and gave way to a new vision, older than the one before it. Severus as a little boy of seven, or just about, Harry thought. The vision might've been entertaining if it hadn't been so terrifying. Huddling in a corner of the room, his cheeks streaked with tears, the boy was staring at a huge figure, made even more gigantic by his terrified childish perspective.

A man who probably wouldn't have been so intimidating, Harry decided, if he hadn't been drunk, clearly wild with anger, and armed with a leather whip he was brandishing about his head as he screamed, "I'm going to teach you who's in charge here! I'm going to teach you to obey!"

The man was too intoxicated to aim well, but that didn't keep the lash of the whip from consistently hitting its target with a sharp crack, pulling a shriek from the child.

Horrified, Harry looked for a way to get close to the boy, who was clearly trying to make himself as small as possible, terrified as well as contorted with pain. Harry had to do something to protect him before the adult, his father, surely, started to attack him again.

"Stop crying! You're really good for nothing!" the man bellowed as he staggered, his eyes glaring. "When are you going to learn to stay out of my way, huh? You think your magic will save you? You think you're better than me, you little brat?"

The boy shook his head vehemently, but obviously without hope.

"You see this?" the man said as he brandished the whip. "This, this'll do more than all the magic in the world to make you respect me!"

He swayed again, before going for the boy once more, an unpleasant smile on his face. Severus drew back a bit more into his corner, his heart about to pound out of his chest. Harry could feel his terror, seeping from every pore of his skin, when the huge figure leant over him, with a motion that was almost too agile and restrained. Slowly, the man lifted the whip up in front of the child's face, breathing his alcohol-laced breath at him.

"Show me you understand, Severus. Show me you've learnt your lesson. Kiss it. Do it."

For an instant, the little boy's black eyes grew larger, meeting those of the brute who passed for his father. Harry could see the nasty gleam in the drunken eyes, the cruelty and the man's desire to dominate…and an instant afterward, he felt the boy's emotions roil within in him with a violence much too intense for his age; he felt the fear and anxiety transform into a ball of fury and outrage, in face of this new humiliation. He wouldn’t' submit, no, not like this, not to this man!

In the next instant, Tobias Snape and his whip went flying across the room to crash violently against the wall, as the burning eyes of the boy looked on. The father had just time enough to shoot a surprised and hateful look at his son, before falling into unconsciousness. Severus got up, staggering as his father had, harrowed by this little victory, and more despairing than he'd ever been, without being able to understand why…

And the black came again…

"Where is he? Where is he, Severus?"

"I don't know, Master, but I'm in a good position to find…"

"Crucio!"

Once again, unbearable pain.

"Where is Potter, Severus?"

Potter? Harry shuddered. Was he talking about him? But Severus seemed much younger in this vision. Was the spy protecting his father? Harry stared at Voldemort, seeking their connection across time. But it was a much different Tom Riddle in front of him now, and no connection existed between them…no way to distract him with something that had yet to happen.

"Dumbledore's hiding him," Snape gasped, kneeling on the ground. "He doesn't trust me enough…but I'll know…I'll find out, Master."

"That'd be best for you. And quickly."

"Yes, Master. Forgive me, Master."

Spite, bitterness. And submission this time, in the face of all opposition…a ball of fire in the pit of his stomach, but still on his knees.

Once again the scene changed, carrying a lost Harry with it. What was he supposed to make of all of this? These weren't dreams, but memories; he couldn’t change any of it.

A park this time, and two little girls, one a redhead on a swing, and the other one with her had to be her sister. They seemed vaguely familiar, without Harry being able to place them.

Severus, hardly older than in the last childhood vision, was talking animatedly with the two little girls. Obviously, the older one didn't seem to like Severus much. With tears in her eyes, she turned to him, red-faced. "Are you wearing your mother's clothes today?"

It was the boy's turn to see red. His eyes glanced up at the branch just above the girl, and a nasty smile spread across his face. All his pent-up rage was let loose with the crack.

The little girl cried out when the branch struck her, but it was her sister with the red hair and green eyes who turned to Severus. "Sev! That's bad!"

Severus seemed pitiful, his anger suddenly gone. He didn't want Lily to think that about him…

"It wasn't me!" he lied. But Lily wasn't fooled.

"Come on, Tuney, we're going home."

The two sisters turned their backs to him and walked away, leaving him lost and alone. What had he done wrong? He'd just defended himself. Petunia was always after him, jealous, and she was only a Muggle, like Tobias…

He didn't want Lily to be angry with him over that! She was the only witch in the neighborhood, and his only friend as well. He would be careful, if she wanted him to be. Anything not to lose her friendship and respect.

Lily, Harry smiled. Obviously. So that was what his mother looked like when she'd been little…and Aunt Petunia! She'd already had that starchy manner he'd always known…but before he had any more time to think about it, the flood of memories carried him off again.

"You belong to me, Severus. Have you forgotten that?" a dark voice whispered, the tall, black figure towering over Snape, who was kneeing on the ground once again.

"No, Master," he murmured, his voice broken. "I belong to you, body and soul."

"And a bit more than that, even," Voldemort replied. "Have you forgotten whom you serve, Death Eater? Your loyalty seems to be wavering."

"Never, Master," Severus answered wearily, as if he'd lived this scene too many times before, and already knew the inevitable ending.

"So prove it. Bring me that potion, tomorrow, first thing."

Severus almost protested. It was impossible, he wouldn't have the time—the potion took a week to prepare. He bowed his head. He didn't have a choice. He'd have to find a way, or suffer the consequences. Probably the latter.

"Yes, Master."

"Brave boy," Voldemort said, laughing softly, tapping the Potions master on the head. "Don't make me doubt you again, Severus. Don't force me to punish you."

"No, Master," Snape replied, trying not to tense his jaw, the discouragement threatening to become resignation.

"But just in case…Crucio!"

Severus collapsed into the dust, and there was darkness again. Harry felt himself tremble in spite of his lack of a body. What did all the wizards who wanted to become Death Eaters actually think? Did they realize what awaited them? Enslavement, torture…and Snape hadn't really been one of them, not for a long time. How could he have…but it wasn't the time to ask this sort of question. Harry had to find a way to get Severus out of here before he was completely destroyed by the pictures and emotions rushing unceasingly through his head, probably much more painfully for him than for Harry. He had to find a way to get in. He'd try something in the next vision. Gathering his thoughts, he prepared himself to intervene and pull Snape from his memories.

A faint light replaced the darkness, and Harry stepped forward to try and see something, dreading what was going to happen this time. Sounds of footsteps, a half-open door… Severus was tiptoeing forward to try and see what was happening in the sitting room, from where a greenish light was streaming out.

Floo powder, green flames, the fireplace, on top of which stood a little china figurine of a shepherdess, the only keepsake that Eileen had kept of her family. Mother was talking to Prince again. The boy's heart began to beat faster.

"Father, I made a mistake," Eileen Snape's voice begged, as she leant against the fireplace. "I should've listened to you; I should've never married a Muggle. I'm sorry…"

"I'm happy to hear it," a man's deep voice replied from the fireplace. "But it's too late, Eileen."

"No, let me come back, Father. I've understood my mistakes, I want to come back to the Manor and be part of our family!" Eileen went on, clearly desperate. "I won't deceive you anymore, Father!"

"A marriage with a Muggle is always possible to undo, even though this betrayal is impossible to erase," Severus' grandfather said, "but with this child, this half-blood? It's too late, Eileen. No bastard will have a home in the Prince family."

"I can leave him," the young woman said earnestly. "I can leave him with Tobias; no one will know a thing, Father."

Severus' heart twisted cruelly, but he didn't back away. He wanted to hear the rest. He wanted to know.

"He's a wizard, whether you like it or not. He's there and he cannot be ignored. It's over, Eileen. You chose your life and your marriage. Try to glean what good you can from it. You're no longer part of our family."

With that, the torso of the bearded man disappeared, and the young woman tried to throw herself into the green flames after him.

"Father, no, wait!"

But the wards guarding the Prince side of the fireplace repelled the banished daughter, and Eileen was pushed back into the little sitting room of Spinner's End with a cry of despair. It took her a minute to get up again, trembling, before walking heavily toward the door, behind which Severus was hiding. The boy drew back quickly, frightened, and crept away to sit on his bed, an open book on his knees.

Slowly, the door opened, revealing a woman with hair and eyes every bit as black as Severus', all the features of her face frozen in a mask of fury. Without a word, she went to her son, and Harry noticed the wand she held in her hand.

"If you weren't here…if only you didn't exist…" she hissed, her jaw clenched.

The boy seemed to grow smaller on the spot, his face defeated. He didn't look away from his mother, not even when she pointed her wand at him.

"Without you, they'd let me go home."

Severus didn't answer, his insides frozen by something that seemed to consume him at the same time…despair, maybe. Without looking away, the witch made a slight motion with her hand.

"Avada…"

Harry wanted to leap forward, but his lack of a body confined him to the role of a spectator. But Snape had survived, he remembered; he'd grown up to become the professor. Eileen hadn't killed her son…but Merlin, what could he do to get Snape out of this?

A green light ignited at the end of the wand. Severus didn't move, he didn't tremble, he didn't even seem to breathe. Slowly, after what seemed an eternity, the arm holding the wand fell, leaving the spell suspended. Suspended for eternity, Harry thought, while Eileen Snape, formerly Prince, left the room without a word.

The door closed, and Severus finally shut his eyes, more emotionally exhausted than ever. More alone as well. She'd not done it, of course. He would've liked to believe, if only for a second, that she loved him enough not to do it. But that hadn't been it, of course. He'd seen her, he'd read her thoughts as she'd held him at wandpoint, piercing her mind… She'd been afraid. Afraid of horrifying her parents. Afraid of them sending her to Azkaban instead of welcoming her home. Afraid of having to pay for the murder of her son.

He didn't want to open his eyes again. Never again. He wasn't angry, not even sad. No, he only felt empty, emptier than he would've thought possible. Slowly, he fell back onto the bed and desperately looked for something to fill this emptiness, which seemed larger than the entirety of the world.

There'd been laughter, a silhouette, a little girl…Lily. Yes, there was always Lily. Even when there was nothing else.

Nothing else.

Frozen in place, Harry watched, not registering that the scene was turning black. How could she? How could this woman have done that? To her son? Merlin, and he'd thought Petunia was horrible. He'd thought he'd known what it was like to be rejected by one's family! Obviously, Severus won by a long stretch. By several miles, in fact.

Harry jumped when Voldemort's voice rent the darkness again.

And suddenly, Harry realized that he'd missed the crux of the matter. The pattern seemed well planned out…the scenes were precise, painful, but not only physically, it was more than that. These were key moments, it occurred to him, those that had made Severus who he was. His choices, his decisions—all that had changed his view of things to make him the bitter professor Harry knew. All that remained was to know where this film was supposed to go next, and how to get Severus out of this damnable cycle of memories. It was similar to what he'd experienced at Malfoy Manor…except that these memories had been real. Too real.

"…a huge mistake, Severus! Much too huge to be forgivable!"

"Master, I thought it was the right…"

"By killing another Death Eater?" Voldemort asked coldly.

"He risked compromising the entire operation! He wasn't following your orders, Master, it was inevitable!" Severus protested.

"As inevitable as your punishment, I assume," the Dark Lord said slowly. Severus took a deep breath, obviously sensing there was nothing he could do.

"Yes, Master."

"Lucius, what spell did he use on Trevis?"

"Sectumsempra, Master," Malfoy replied in a syrupy voice. Harry felt his mind come alive. Sectumsempra, the spell Severus had taught him? Given what the spell had done to the tree, he really didn't want to see its effect on a human being.

"Very well. You know what remains for you to do. All of you," Voldemort directed the circle of Death Eaters present, "take care of him. See that he learns his lesson…but leave him sufficiently intact so he can bring me my potions tomorrow evening. Understood?"

"With pleasure, Master," the Death Eaters replied. And pleasure really was the case, Harry realized, given how their greedy eyes were fixed on Snape. Malfoy was the first to draw his wand, his Sectumsempra quickly followed by those of the others. Within a few minutes, Severus was reduced to a bloody mass, the cuts not seeming to have spared an inch of his skin.

He wasn't going to die. Severus knew that Voldemort wouldn't permit it—his talents as a Potions master were too precious. But oh, Merlin, how much easier death would've been.

On the verge of nausea, Harry wasn't far from thinking the same. He had to put an end to all of this, and quickly, before he lost his mind, and Severus along with it.

If only he could come up with an idea, a way of getting Snape out of his trance…

But a new scene was already forming. This time, Harry recognized the house of the Snape family—the sparse decoration, the impression of cold and neglect. Severus was older now, probably about the same age as he, thought Harry. Heart pounding, he opened the outer door, wand in hand, his throat thick with anxiety. And not without reason, Harry noted.

There, in the little sitting room that had been witness to so many family dramas, two bodies lay, separated in death as they had been in life. Severus first went to that of Tobias, near the bookcase. The old brute had tried to reach his gun in the drawer…too late. His wide open and expressionless eyes stared at the ceiling now, a remnant of the anger Severus had always recognized still on his face.

Too late, Father. Always, always too late.

Slowly, he headed toward the other body lying on the rug, a white wand at its side. Too late as well, Mother, thought the teenager. Eileen Snape's black, unfathomable eyes had nothing more to say now—neither regret, nor the bitterness that had always been there.

She was right, in the end, Severus thought. It'd all been his fault, finally. He nudged the wand with his foot…another missed opportunity, Mother. Another bad choice. I'm sorry. Sorry for not being sorry.

He probably should've closed their eyes, or levitated them to their bed, made them presentable…but for what? He was finished with them. Finished with this place. With this life. With Lily as well, of course. He no longer had a choice, did he? In a few minutes, Lily would go through the Evans' door and encounter the came chaotic scene. Two Avada Kedavras, two bodies, two warnings. But not for her, of course.

With a last look at the little sitting room—bloody hell, it'd seemed so big to him at one time—Severus headed for the door, leaving his parents' bodies there. After an instant's hesitation, though, he took a detour to the fireplace to grab the little china shepherdess, the only valuable object in the house that'd survived Tobias Snape, the only magical object as well. The only thing he'd ever seen Eileen Snape, née Prince, cherish.

Without a backward glance, Severus slid the figurine into his pocket, and softly closed the door behind him. Forever.

Once out on the steps, he took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the end of the dead-end street. Life was but a vast dead-end street, he thought…whatever happened, there was still only one road…the one he was being forced to take. Tobias and Eileen were dead now, and he wouldn't waste time regretting it. A few streets from here, the only adults who'd been kind to him as a child were lying dead as well, and all four of them had inexorably plotted out his path.

Tomorrow, or in a week, he'd break off with Lily. He had to protect her at all costs, from himself and from Voldemort. And when the year at Hogwarts was over, he'd take the Dark Mark, and follow the path for which he was destined.

It wasn't important, he tried to make himself believe. And it was for the best. The lesser of evils, in any case. It was all he could hope.

The black again. Dazed by the scene he'd just witnessed, Harry was incapable of thought for a moment. How could one feel so much fatalism? Despair? No, not despair, he corrected himself. A total absence of hope, and absolute emptiness?

He jumped when he heard the piercing cries in the dark, the incantations mixed in with insults, the characteristic sound of a brawl…no, of a battle, he decided. Black, masked figures were fighting other wizards, for whom the battle seemed to be lost in advance.

"Kill them," came the implacable voice of Voldemort. Around them, the green rays fused together, and several bodies fell to the ground, leaving only a handful of wizards without wands to face the Death Eaters.

"All Mudbloods," the Dark Lord's imperious voice hissed. "All unworthy of their magic. Amuse yourselves, Death Eaters, make them pay for their betrayals."

Without being told further, most of the masked wizards aimed at their disarmed targets and cast a volley of curses, one more imaginative than the next. Only Severus stayed to the back, observing the spectacle without participating…which Voldemort didn't delay to notice as well.

"Severus, what are you waiting for? That woman is alone, no one to take care of her properly. You wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would you? I know better than anyone…your inventiveness when it comes to curses," he whispered.

"Thank you, Master, but I fear these activities will compromise certain potions, which require that the preparer not have blood on his hands," Snape disagreed.

"Nonsense. You will not have blood on your hands. This is but a bit of diversion…you may leave the final touch to Lucius—he's particularly fond of doing it." Then he said more slowly, "Go on, Severus. You wouldn't want to disappoint me?"

Harry felt Snape grind his teeth beneath his mask. The feint had failed.

"No, Master, of course not. Crucio!"

The witch he'd aimed at fell to the ground, crying out in pain, while Severus tried to throw up all the Occlumency shields he could. Pretend. Not give himself away. Stay behind the mask, and please Voldemort.

The woman lost consciousness, and a bony hand squeezed Snape's shoulder.

"I knew you had a gift for these curses, Severus. I must not forget to take you on the next Muggle raid…your help is invaluable."

A little laugh slipped from Voldemort's mouth as he went toward the rest of the Death Eaters, busy with demonstrating their value.

The laugh was still resounding when the darkness resumed, Severus holding desperately onto the emptiness, to the shields, so as not to vomit on his black boots, there, in front of the still body of his victim.

Act, he had to act, Harry ordered himself. There, now, before another memory began. He had to find a way…of inserting one of his own memories into Severus', find a weak spot, something for him to hold on to.

But it was too late. And new scene was already unfolding. But not so different, this one…

A circle of Death Eaters again. At its center Severus, his left arm bared as Voldemort took a solemn step toward him.

"Severus Snape," he began in a powerful voice, "today you've killed and tortured in my name. Are you ready to join my ranks, to ally yourself to my power?"

Harry shuddered, but not Severus.

"I am," he replied firmly. And he was, Harry realized. Nothing in the Potions master's mind seemed to hesitate or waver. He was but a block of ice, having hidden away the deepest depths of himself behind his shields, repressing all emotions, whatever they might've been.

"With this Mark, become my servant, in all things and for always. May it be the symbol of your membership, of your convictions. May it preserve your loyalty to me, your faithfulness to your commitments. May it be the key to link you to your Master and his Death Eaters, the instrument of your glory as well as your punishment, an indelible instrument which nothing will be able to erase. Today, you are entering into my service, and forsaking all other attachments, loyalties, all other servitudes except for my own."

Without a word, Severus bowed his head and held out his arm. Slowly, with all the decorum required by the ceremony, Voldemort seized it and pressed his palm to the inside of Snape's forearm, which quickly began to exude a blackish smoke.

Harry could feel the shooting pain, the intense burning afflicting the man standing there, stiff but motionless and silent, only the tenseness of his face and the sweat dripping from his forehead betraying his suffering. The torture seemed to go on forever, until Snape finally fell to his knees as his strength failed him.

Clearly satisfied, Voldemort let go of his arm at last, leaving a large, red characteristic brand. Harry shuddered. A head, a snake…the Dark Mark was now imprinted on Severus' arm.

"Death Eater," Voldemort continued, "may your obedience be without fail, may your loyalty never waver. All that you have belongs to me, and all you have to lose will be destroyed if you disappoint me. Satisfy me and you'll be rewarded beyond all your desires. Follow me without hesitation to victory, and you'll at last be recognized for your true worth. Stand, Severus. Take your place in your new family."

Gathering his strength, Snape managed to get up shakily, resisting the urge to clap a hand over the horrible scar to stop the pain.

The shields were still in place, Harry noted, but he could still feel Severus' emotions. Voldemort had carefully chosen his words…glory, recognition, a family that would support him…all things the teenager had always wanted. But even as he stepped back to take his place in the Death Eater circle, he could feel the last of his hope drain away. He didn't want to belong to this manic who'd killed his parents and the Evanses. He didn't want to be known for his misdeeds as a Death Eater. He didn't want this glory. He didn't want this family.

He wanted Lily; he wanted to run in Magnus' field with her again; he wanted to build a house with her, and laugh with her, and take his rest, and simply be happy perhaps.

But it was too late. Much too late. He'd made his choice. He taken the dead-end street, had struck his boots against its paving stones, and now he was here, trapped.

Finished.

Unable to escape from Severus' emotions, Harry tried to gather his thoughts scattered through space. How could someone feel so many things all at once? Merlin, how could he simply carry such a weight without collapsing and screaming, without rebelling and destroying everything around him? Why hadn't Snape understood earlier, why hadn't he got himself out of this sordid masquerade sooner? That relentless fatalism… Harry would've exploded…or exploded something—Dumbledore's office, for example. Dumbledore. Why hadn't Severus turned to Dumbledore?

As if in answer to his question, the black gave way to a new scene…Albus! A cliff…Dumbledore, and Severus, who'd just thrown himself at the old man's feet, obviously panic-stricken. The look the Headmaster gave Severus froze Harry's heart.

"Don't kill me!"

"I don't intend to."

Severus seemed barely more reassured than Harry, and for more good reason. He was coming to betray his master, he understood. He was coming to offer himself to Dumbledore. But the Headmaster hardly seemed ready to welcome his future Potions master with open arms.

"You disgust me."

The words, as well as Albus' tone, slid like a knife into Snape's chest. What had he been expecting? Scorn followed him wherever he went, whatever he did. Whatever he chose. It was always too late…

But Dumbledore didn't give him time to mull over his bitterness or his panic. Within a few minutes, he'd extracted all the necessary information, and offered him the assurance that Lily would be protected. Within a few minutes, he'd guaranteed him the semblance of a refuge as well, and then had inevitably sent him back to his master.

Severus swallowed hard. Spying for Dumbledore. Spying on Voldemort, the greatest psychopath the world had ever known. Risking his life, and even then some…every moment of every day. For Lily. And for his redemption, if that were still possible.

It was the icy eyes of Albus Dumbledore, devoid of all compassion, that closed the memory, returning them to blessed darkness again.

Never before had Harry seen that expression in the Headmaster's eyes. Severity, yes, sorrow, sometimes, but that hardness? He was aware, though, of the deep friendship between the Headmaster and the Potions master now…what could've happened during all those years? But Severus had only been twenty when this scene had taken place, and there'd been water under the bridge since then…but still…. After having seen Severus' anguished emotions in detail during that meeting, it was difficult to understand why the professor and Dumbledore were so close. Harry himself would've had a hard time forgetting those eyes. And being sent back to a half-certain death.

His mind had wandered, because he'd hardly been aware of the new scene forming in front of him. A battle again. But not against ordinary wizards this time. Obviously, Severus' memories seemed to be following his questions, because they were now at a confrontation between Death Eaters and Order of the Phoenix. He could easily recognize certain of them, but he didn't see his parents' faces in the crowd, though, and he was as relieved by that as Severus was.

Of course, the Order knew of his double role; many scarcely believed it, but Dumbledore's words had to suffice for them. But the instructions about him were no less the same: do not spare Snape—simply make sure he remains alive…if possible.

Neither friend nor enemy in either of these two camps. The Death Eaters mistrusted him since his return to Hogwarts as Potions professor, and none of the Order members seemed ready to accept his change of side so easily. Voldemort kept him on a short leash, Dumbledore watched him closely.

Once again, Severus Snape had only himself to rely on. Only the thought of having saved Lilly allowed him to wear this slight little smile—so calculated and superior—it had the ability to irritate Death Eaters and Order members alike, and to automatically make any student cringe, no matter his age.

But it wasn't enough, though, to spare him his war wounds, he noted, as a spell pierced his shoulder. He could've sworn it'd been cast by a Death Eater. What did it matter? he thought as he wearily continued on in the battle, pretending to increase his ardor against the Order.

Tomorrow, he had to conduct classes and prepare his master's potions. His masters, more precisely. And certainly neither of them would accept injury as an excuse. He was a Potions master, after all, as McGonagall had dryly pointed out, the last time he'd returned to Hogwarts, his green robes soaked through with blood.

From that point onward, it was decided: he would only wear black. That would at least spare him that extra humiliation.

Merciless, Harry thought. That's the word he was looking for. Life had proven itself absolutely merciless with Snape. So, had no one ever given him a chance?'

Once again, the vision shifted without transition, as if to answer Harry's impulses. But the boy felt his heart almost come to a standstill at the sight before him, and not only because of Snape.

Mum. Lily. So beautiful…and laughing, with her hand on the shoulder of a boy with brown hair and square glasses. He seemed to be drinking her in with his eyes. Jealousy grabbed hold of Severus, burning him as surely as the Mark.

"Lily?"

The girl turned, surprised, and a flash of sadness crossed through her eyes when she identified her questioner.

"Can I talk to you?" Severus asked in the most controlled voice he could manage. An even younger Severus, Harry realized. They'd just gone backward in time.

After an instant's hesitation, Lily turned to murmur something to James, and the boy walked away sullenly.

"What do you want?" she coolly asked Severus, who shivered at her icy eyes.

"To talk to you," he answered softly.

"All right, I'm here."

"Really?" he asked gently.

"What do you want?" Lily said impatiently. "James is waiting for me."

That had to hurt, Harry thought. Really hurt. More than Severus let on.

"Lily, things have changed…"

"Oh, really? How?" she asked tersely.

"My situation has changed; there's nothing for me to be afraid of anymore," he said as he made a face. "The Dark Lord needs me too much, and—"

Lily let out a forced little laugh. "Needs you, Sev? Voldemort? Do you really believe that nonsense?"

"You don't understand," Severus said, growing impatient, his cheeks suddenly red. "I'm about to become the youngest Potions master in Great Britain; he knows my abilities are valuable. He won't try anything against me or those close to me now…I can…we can…" He fell silent, embarrassed.

Lily shook her head, clearly bewildered. "Severus Snape, you're suggesting we take up with each other again?" she asked.

"I…yes, Lily, I know things haven't been easy, but I'm fond of you; everything that's happened…"

"How dare you!" the girl shouted, taking her turn to flush, but with indignation this time. "After all you've told me? After the way you left me? Do you even have any idea of what I've gone through? Do you realize for an instant the harm you've done me?"

Severus paled. "Lily, I'm sorry…I had to do it—I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Lily said dryly as she tossed her hair back.

"I did what I had to for you to be safe," Severus insisted, now sullen. "I did it for you!"

That hadn't been the right thing to say, Harry realized, at the same time as Severus did. Her jaw tensed, Lily took a step backward, as if to walk away, then stepped forward again toward the boy to grab his left arm. Before he could protest, she'd bared his forearm and exposed the Mark. Then, with a gesture of disgust, she pushed it away, the scorn and distress clear in her eyes.

"Don't accuse me of that, Severus Snape," she said calmly. Too calmly. "Don't you ever try to excuse your actions in my name. You made your choices…you chose the side that killed my parents and your own. I don't even understand how…but it's what you want. And I'm nothing but a Mudblood, remember?"

"Lily, no," Severus murmured. But for once, he was right, Harry told himself. It was too late.

"That's enough," Lily said firmly, perhaps a bit too shrilly. "I don't ever want to talk to you again. Stay away from me. Don't speak to me again. Starting today, we don't have anything in common anymore."

Severus gritted his teeth, this time unable to hide the pain that cut through his gut. Sectumsempra…but worse.

"You love him, don't you? Potter?"

Lily's emerald green eyes hardened. "That's none of your affair. But yes. Keep your distance from us, Severus. That's the only advice I have for you…keep to your own kind."

And with that, Lily Evans turned on heel and rushed off toward the figure waiting for her a short distance away, the unruly-haired figure of James Potter, into whose arms the girl threw herself, obviously on the verge of tears. With a murderous look for Severus, James dragged Lily along the path behind a tree, up behind Hogwarts walls…and they disappeared from Severus' sight, who remained alone, the wind whipping his hair into his face.

Alone. Alone with his last hopes, his last illusions trampled underfoot by Lily, and James Potter, blowing away with the dead leaves carried by the wind.

And in every similar confrontation, he seemed to hear the same refrain, the one that'd rocked his childhood, again and again. Your fault. Bad choices. Everything's your fault. Half-blood, bloody bastard, belonging to neither one group nor the other, belonging to no one.

Alone, against the world.

And he'd probably never had the chance to reconcile with Lily, Harry thought bitterly. Not enough anyway to drain away the well of misery into which the girl had sunk him.

Slowly, like a film that'd gone on too long, as if in slow motion, the scene changed again, so laden with despair and pain and agony that Harry tried with all his strength to push it away. He wanted to control the flood of memories, yes, but not like this.

"You were supposed to protect her!" Severus shouted at Dumbledore, rage and suffering deforming his features. "You promised!"

"They were betrayed," Albus said calmly, apparently insensitive to the young man's pain. "But Harry survived, and Voldemort's vanquished."

"Doesn't matter," groaned the Potions master, his head in his hands. "I wish I were dead…"

And he was speaking the truth, Harry could sense it. He himself would've liked to be dead just then, overwhelmed by the professor's emotions…and his own—this endless regret for all he'd missed, like Severus, for what he could've had, like Severus, for what he would've liked to have said…changed…repaired.

But it was too late, murmured the echo from the depths of Snape's memory.

It'd always been too late, even before he'd been born.

For a moment, Harry let himself float in this feeling of despondency that bathed him, before shaking himself mentally. No. No, it wasn't too late, not for everything, not for what they could still have…the connection they shared right now, and which was perhaps the key.

"Severus," Harry murmured. He felt Snape's consciousness jump.

"Harry…" the professor replied from the depths of his trance. "I kept my word. I protected you. For her, all these years."

"But not just for her, Severus, was it?" Harry asked, full of hope. He had to remind him. He had to bring the happy memories of the last months back to the surface. His own memories, if he had to. Trying to lift himself out of Snape's emotions and memories, Harry pushed the first memory that came to mind to the forefront.

The armchair, Severus, Shadow purring. The wonderful feeling of having a home, of having someone to watch over, and who watched over him.

Slowly, with difficulty, the scene formed in front of him, and Harry held back a cry of triumph: there it was! He could do it!

He could sense Snape's presence, as if in a daze, watching the scene by his side. Yes, the good times in the laboratory…but not only those. The good times in his human form as well. That time in the park when Severus had put his arm around his shoulders, the pride he'd felt, as well as the warmth of the contact, the feeling of no longer being alone…and the conversation by the window that night, when Snape had offered to make them a family, to be there for him.

All of that was real…and it was for Severus as well, he could sense. The Potions master struggled to rise to the surface, to escape the devilish whirlwind of memories forced on him by Voldemort. Encouraged, Harry drew from his memories again. From his emotions, more exactly.

A hand on his forehead, that feeling of gentleness, knowing someone was watching over him. It was Snape's memories that came to the front again, but different memories this time. Those of the nights when Harry'd had nightmares, and Severus had come to comfort him without him knowing, gently stroking his hair, murmuring words of reassurance.

Harry felt himself smile in spite of himself. So that was where it'd come from…that feeling of being protected while he slept…and that wasn't all.

Protego. Severus sacrificing himself for him, to protect him. Knowing that Snape, the Man In Black, of all people, was this fond of him. Severus' response wasn't long in coming, in the echo of his own memory.

Protecting Harry, yes, at all costs, because he was important, and not only for the cause…because he was attached to him, more than to his own life. The mixture of affection and apprehension, the desire to protect him, to make him happy…and yes, the paternal love he had for him, Harry felt, and it filled the boy and wrapped him in a protective warmth, sheltered from the wind he could feel whipping around them.

Like when he was Shadow and Snape took him in his arms. When he traveled on his shoulder, proud as a lion king. And Severus as well, Harry noted as he sensed his view of things, amused and proud to have a cat on his shoulder. This cat. His cat. He'd not realized how possessive the Potions master felt about him…and how he feared losing him.

But that wouldn't happen, Harry reaffirmed. He needed Severus. Sensing something warm against himself, the boy opened his eyes. He was there, in front of him, his forehead still resting against the professor's chest, his silhouette distinct now. The mask was still there, he noted, but the eyes saw him now, and Severus' hands were resting on his shoulders.

I wouldn't leave you. Please, I need you…you promised!

Snape nodded slowly, his eyes full of regret. He was struggling, Harry noticed, he was struggling for him…but he was trapped, Voldemort's prisoner. Once again, he reached up for the sinister, white mask. He had to do it, now, get the two of them out of this hell.

Severus lowered his head, his eyes boring into Harry's. He would've so much liked…but he had to make him understand that he couldn't follow him. Voldemort had him, and there was nothing he could do against that. He'd sworn fealty to him a long time ago.

Leave, Harry. Don't stay here, it's dangerous.

Not without you. You have to wake up, please.

It's impossible. He won't let me go. Go home, Harry, hurry. Voldemort must not sense you.

He knows I'm here, and he knows I won't let him have you. Please, I need you…let me try!

Harrry sensed more than saw Severus nod, and tried automatically to lift the mask. Without success, but he refused to let go of his hold on Snape…memories, he needed more memories!

No, he corrected himself, not memories. That wasn't what they needed… Focusing, he drew up from within himself images of the Manor. Of the winter to come, of a fire in the grate, and a cat…a long walk in the snow with Severus, laughter, the certainty of having somewhere to go, someone with whom to take refuge.

Helping Snape with potions, peacefully, in the laboratory. Coming to see him in secret at Hogwarts, thanks to the Invisibility Cloak, because he needed advice late at night.

I need you. Please.

Slowly, inch by inch, he could feel the mask detach, freeing Severus' face. Concentrating all his powers and all his strength, Harry labored on.

Strolling Hogwarts' corridors on the professor's shoulder. Scratching the tapestry in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and seeing the students come to complain to their Head of House because his cat was trying to mark his territory in the dungeons. And maybe even—who knows—pissing in Malfoy's precious shoes.

Please, he murmured in his mind, you're my Man In Black. Don't leave me, not after all that's happened. Not now.

And suddenly he had it. He was holding the horrible mask—in the form of a frozen death head—between his fingers, stiff and empty. Without delay, Harry jettisoned it far away, before turning to look anxiously at Severus. The wizard hadn't moved, his figure perfectly distinct now, his pale, tired face angled toward Harry.

Severus slowly reached up and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, who held onto him as if for dear life. Voldemort wouldn't win this time; he'd not carry off one more person he cared for!

No, he won't win. I won't let him, Severus replied simply, wrapping Harry in a protective aura that pushed the wind away again, leaving them in the eye of the weakening storm. For some reason Severus couldn't comprehend, the boy who'd come to look for him was fond of him. Despite all he'd put him through, these last five years, Harry had come to look for him to take him back, at his side.

It was probably the first time that someone had come to his rescue. And it was also the first time that someone needed him. Him. Severus Snape, and not just the Potions master or the spy. The boy needed someone at his side to help him grow up, and simply to survive in the world where he'd been thrown, someone to lean on and depend on. Someone for him alone.

Severus would've never believed that one day… After having lived his childhood under Tobias Snape's strict authority, only to quickly fall into the Dark Lord's clutches, after having served two masters, hating the feeling of belonging to another person…after having disowned his family and friends, refusing to let anyone get close to him for almost two decades… Yes, despite all of that, Severus Snape felt ready to let Harry Potter into his life for good, to be the responsible adult the boy was desperately seeking, to dedicate himself to Harry's well-being, whatever was to come.

To tie himself to the boy's fate, body and soul.

As he looked deeply into the boy's eyes so he could read his determination there, it seemed that a dense green light surrounded them, pushing away the rest of the storm. An instant afterward, a blinding flash of lightning struck Severus, and he was violently thrown back, the pain intense despite the fact this was a dream. As he lapsed into a new state of unconsciousness, his last thought was for Harry…and the hope that he'd been spared this time; it was said that lightning never struck in the same place twice.

In what seemed to only be second later (or perhaps a week, he wasn't entirely certain), Severus struggled to open his eyes. His real eyes this time, he realized, as he felt all his aching muscles cry out. Merlin, getting older really wasn't a good thing… It took him only an instant to recall the thread of recent events.

The Headmaster's office. The spell. Dumbledore, that old fool, that traitor… Rage took hold of him. How could he? After all this time….

His eyes finally decided to focus, and the first thing he saw was the gleam of worry in Harry's green eyes as he crouched beside him. So, had the boy spent the entire time on his bed? But Severus couldn't be cross with him. Not after what'd just happened…

What had just happened, Merlin!? How long had he been a prisoner in that tailor-made hell?

A burst of rage twisted his stomach, as he quickly cast a look around the room where he was. Hogwarts. His bedroom. But he wasn't alone, and though he had no objection the boy's presence there… On the other hand, what was McGonagall doing in his rooms, in his bedroom, with that worried and vaguely emotional look on her face? This was absolutely appalling! He narrowed his eyes to identify the other figure. Poppy Pomfrey. The mediwitch had taken care of him too often for him to hold this intrusion against her.

The last presence, though…tall stature, hat-covered head, violet robes, the long white beard and the aura of power that belonged to only one person, the last he wanted to see at this precise moment.

His muscles tensed by a rage he'd not felt in years, Severus got to his feet and headed for the man, his fists clenched.

"How could you have?"

His voice was hoarse, but that was fine, as it was the only way he could get the words out. Behind him, the two witches shrieked, but he didn't hear them, no more than he heard Harry transform into the cat on his bed, and then approach him. With a discreet motion of her wand, McGonagall murmured an incantation, and Severus' black pyjamas changed into wizard's robes once again. He didn't appear to notice that either…

"Severus, my boy," Dumbledore murmured, his tone both soothing and slightly plaintive. Nothing could temper the Potions master's fury just then.

"No." Snape's voice shook this time, but there was something final in it that made the gathering freeze. "After all these years, Albus? I didn't deserve that. No, I didn't deserve it."

Without looking away, Severus took a step backward.

"Severus…."

"Don't come near me ever again…" The black eyes shifted for an instant to rest on the cat watching him in fascination. Snape seemed about to add something, then changed his mind. "Goodbye, Albus."

Turning on heel, the Potions master strode purposefully toward the sitting room and the fireplace, his robes swirling furiously behind him.

Stunned immobile for a moment by the drama that'd played out before him, it took Shadow an instant to realize…Snape was leaving. And if what he'd just said was to be believed, permanently. In a second, the professor would step into the fireplace and disappear from sight, snatched away by the green flames.

Shadow glanced quickly around him. Poppy Pomfrey, mouth hanging open, watched her patient go, unable to hold him back. McGonagall, who seemed to have aged twenty years, was observing the cat and the Potions master similarly, seeming to assess the situation. As for Dumbledore, he'd fastened those ever kindly eyes on the cat, swimming with a healthy dose of sadness right now. Not speaking, he slightly inclined his chin toward Shadow.

But it was unnecessary. Without waiting, the cat had jumped in the Man In Black's direction and landed on his shoulder, just as he threw the handful of powder into the fireplace.

Snape didn't startle, and didn't spare the slightest look behind him as he announced, "Snape Manor." He was swallowed up by the fireplace, leaving Hogwarts and the three powerless people behind him.

Shadow, though, couldn't help but turn to look, and what he saw on their faces made him think that Severus had been wrong. For once in his life, Severus should've looked back.