“And that Horntail… I am well out of it, I can tell you.” Harry said, lying back on the grass and chewing an egg and cress sandwich.

“Indeed. However,” Professor Snape replied, his eyes sparkling like hematite, “I hear that Hagrid is petitioning to adopt the Chinese Fireball?”

“Wants to call her Vermillion.” Harry chuckled “Still, she’s better than the horntail. I felt so sorry for Diggory, fighting that vicious brute. The Swedish dragon wasn’t much better, either.” 

“Have you considered how, had you been competing, you might have subdued your dragon?” Professor Snape asked, pouring two goblets of butterbeer.

“Well, from what Hagrid says, their thick skins are pretty much chocoblock with magic" Harry replied thoughtfully. "A single wizard wouldn’t have much luck with stunning spells and, even if he did, the dragon might fall on the eggs, like the poor old Fireball did when Krum hit her in the eye.”

“Indeed.”

“So, I suppose I’d first try talking to it in Parseltongue.” Harry grinned at the Potions Master’s surprised expression “Hagrid says that wyrms and dragons are related so it might be worth a shot, especially with the Fireball because Oriental Dragons are much friendlier than western ones.”

Professor Snape quirked an eyebrow “Well, in Japan and China, both mage and muggle populations have long considered dragons as beneficent spirits, whereas, in the West, a dragon’s head was a must have trophy for any aspiring knight or warlock. Have you read ‘George and the Pendragon’ by Aled Aeron?

When Harry shook his head, Snape smiled “It is rather controversial in that the protagonist is a dragon.”

Harry laughed “Cool!”

“I’ll give you the book” Professor Snape smirked. “However, we have digressed from the question; if the dragon was unable to understand parseltongue or refused to relinquish the golden egg, how would you proceed?”

“I might a summoning charm on the Golden Egg” Harry said thoughtfully “And, if that didn’t work, I might try the homio-gemini spell and then disillusion myself: the dragon would think the illusion was me and I could sneak over and grab the egg.”

“The dragon would still be able to smell you, however.” Professor Snape advised.

Harry nodded “Yeah. Is there a spell that de-smells the caster?”

“Indeed there is. However, the charm is somewhat complex.” Professor Snape paused “Although you are very strong in Defence, your real talent is Flying, Harry.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have my broomstick with me.” Harry replied, gnawing an eccles cake.

“You could summon it or, indeed, shrink it and carry it into the arena. Speed, rather than disguise would best avail you.”

Harry laughed “So, fancy teaching me this de-stinking smell?”

“We are due to begin our occulamency session, Harry.” Professor Snape said in a reproving tone.

“Spoilsport.” Harry sighed. He closed his eyes and slowly coaxed his triple shield into place. First, Harry erected the outer shield, a whirlwind; all the books seemed to recommend this particular shield for beginners because whirlwinds are, firstly, easy to visualise, secondly, encase the entirety of one’s mind and, thirdly, can be used to forcibly hurl the Legilimens from the Occluder’s mind. The second shield, a sheet of fire, enabled Harry to show the Legilimens his ‘false thoughts’, whilst hiding his true thoughts and memories behind the veil. When Harry, on Snape’s suggestion, first imagined this shield, he found himself spinning the colour of his mother’s hair into flame, which seemed to strengthen the shield considerably. Finally, Harry secured the tiny, grey stone castle in which he had hidden his most precious, dangerous secrets. The wards fully erected, Harry opened his eyes.

“Legilimens” Professor Snape said firmly. Harry felt those dark eyes forcing through the whirlwind, squeezing open the gaps in the air. Harry pushed the whirlwind, spinning it more quickly, weaving currents into the gaps, and he felt Professor Snape slip out of his mind.

“Adequate” the Potions Master said abruptly “Now, let us try again. Legilimens!”

As the clock chimed in the hour, Professor Snape and Harry stepped out of the Room of Requirement and into the Professor’s office. Harry immediately relaxed his features into a slouch and his expression fell into a truculent grimace, while Professor Snape’s countenance hardened and contracted into peevish ill humour.

Yanking a thin, leather-covered volume from his tall bookcase, Professor Snape thrust it at Harry just as Pansy Parkinson ran in.

“Sir! The Weasleys have…” Pansy paused, smirked nastily at Harry, and continued “The Weasel twins have thrown a firework into our common room.”

Professor Snape scowled. “Chapter five, Potter. Copy it out, no mistakes or I’ll make you transcribe the whole book.”

“Git” Harry muttered, not quite under his breath.

“Ten points from Gryffindor” Professor Snape snarled over his shoulder as he strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Grinning, Harry grabbed a couple of sheets of parchment from Snape’s desk, opened the book and cast “Ego Escribo”, instantly copying the text onto the parchment in Harry’s messy scrawl. ‘Punishment’ completed, the teenager sat down at Snape’s desk and started to read.

Twenty minutes later, Harry had scanned the book from cover to cover and, although the Wizarding fairytales were interesting enough, they were too short to hold his attention during a second reading. Bored, the tousle-haired teenager wandered around Professor Snape’s bookshelves, looking for something interesting to read among the indistinguishable brown and grey volumes. Finally admitting defeat, Harry slouched back over to the desk.

It happened in an instant. Harry’s foot caught on the edge of the dark green carpet, he tripped, falling forward towards Snape’s desk, on which stood a Pensieve. One hand landed on wood, the sank into the Pensieve's silver depths.

Suddenly, Harry found himself in a dark, low-ceilinged corridor, lit with flickering oil lamps. Heavy, oak doors were set into the white-washed walls and, beside one of these doors a lanky boy with long, greasy black curtains knelt on the rusty-red carpet, listening intently to an indistinct, yet clearly female voice. As Harry stood, agonising over just how he was going to explain this to his Professor, the woman’s voice deepened.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.”

Harry’s hand flew to his mouth in horror. Trelawney. The woman inside that room was Trelawney. The voice, that dramatic, sudden change of tone…

“Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.”

There was a swirl of silver and the setting abruptly changed. While the interior remained dark, it was a plush, luxuriant darkness; in the soft candlelight, the silver, silken walls shimmered, catching rainbow rays from the crystal chandeliers, whilst the emerald velvet furniture glowed with reflected light.

In a high backed, green-silk armchair, sat a tall, skeletally thin figure, his face obscured by darkness. The high, cold voice however, was immediately recognisable when Voldemort spoke to the kneeling man at his feet.

“You have news for me, Severus?”

“In… indeed my Lord.” whispered the young man, his deep voice tenuous, uncertain “Grave news. In pursuit of my duty, I followed the Headmaster, I mean, Professor Dumbledore to the Hogs Head, the pub in Hogsmeade”

“I know it” Voldemort replied sharply “What of it?”

“My Lord, he met with a woman, Sibyl Trelawney. She is a seer, well, she said she was but I heard little evidence of it during her interview until the very end.”

“Indeed?” Voldemort replied in a bored voice.

“My Lord, her voice deepened quite suddenly and she said thus; “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.”

Voldemort stiffened and, reaching out a long, spirder-like hand, clasped the kneeling Snape by his chin, wrenching his head up, so that they looked into each other’s eyes “Show me.”

A moment later, Voldemort hurled the young man away with brutal force.

“Defeat me, hmm?” Voldemort stood up and, to Harry’s horror, started walking towards him, his red eyes glowing with malice. However, it was not Harry who he approached but a rather plump, sandy haired young wizard.

“Pettigrew?”

“Yes!” Peter squeaked, sounding very much, Harry thought, like the rat he was.

“Who among the Order are expecting?”

“Expecting what, my Lord?” Peter burbled. Face twisted with frustration, Voldemort backhanded him, his slap landing with the speed and ferocity of a striking snake.

“A child, you fool!”

“The Potters, the Longbottoms, the Bones…” blithered Peter, cupping his injured face.

“The child will be born in July, late July.” Hissed Voldemort.

“Jam… I mean the Potters' child, a boy, is due in July. And the Longbottoms, I believe.”

“As is my son” Lucius drawled from his armchair, his pale hair glittering in the dull light.

“Have you thrice defied me, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, his voice uninterested.

“My Lord knows I have not” the death-eater replied, equally carelessly.

“Then” Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. “The Potters and the Longbottoms, however, are known thorns in our side. A dangerous child may well be born to either.”

“You wish them to die, My Lord” Lucius questioned languidly. A number of Death-Eaters stood up, casually awaiting orders.

Gesturing the wizards back into their seats, Voldemort smiled like a viper “No, I am claiming this kill for my own.”

Harry’s chest tightened with horror and, suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Snape! Snape had been the one to put Voldemort onto his parents. 

Panting, Harry knelt, pressing his clenched fists into his burning, aching eyes. He couldn’t bear this, couldn’t bear being here, hearing the evil bastard plotting his family’s destruction. A glowing silver light encased the teenage boy as his magic pulled him up, out of the Pensieve and into the light, familiar room that was the Potion Master’s office.

Harry, unaware of the change in scenery, remained in his hunched crouch, his mind ablaze.

The office door creaked open. “Harry?” that uncertain, almost boyish voice suddenly hardened into the stalwart tones of authority “Potter, what is the meaning of this?”

Green eyes, red-rimmed and burning with outraged betrayal, rose to meet Severus’ uncomprehending gaze.

“You killed them!”

“I…” Severus’ dark eyes flickered to the pensieve, widening in horrified comprehension.

“You sent Voldemort after me. It was because of you!” the teenager cried, his voice suffused with anguish. “I trusted you! I thought you were my friend.”

Obsidian met emerald and, with a strangled sob, Severus span on his heel, fleeing the room. Lumbering to his feet, Harry stumbled outside…

The long, dungeon corridor was empty. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

 oOoOo

Harry’s feet flew on wings of fury as he pounded through the corridors, his mind aflame. Falling against the outer wall of Professor Dumbledore’s office, Harry sneered down at somewhat discomforted stone gargoyle.

“Let me in!”

“Er… Password?” the gargoyle asked nervously.

“I need to speak to Dumbledore!” Harry bellowed.

“Yes, dear boy, well here I am” the Headmaster called softly, striding up the corridor.

Harry span round and glared into Professor Dumbledore’s kindly, forgetmenot-blue eyes.

“Where do you get off hiring a Death-eater?” Harry ground out.

“My dear boy..!”

“Snape sold my parents to Voldemort!” Harry screamed, his green eyes sparking with anger.

Dumbledore’s countenance hardened and, with a surprisingly strong grip, he caught Harry around the forearm and hauled the struggling, spitting teenager up the stairs and into his office.

“Enough! Harry, that is quite enough!” The ancient mage stated firmly, pushing Harry down into a chair. Irate, Harry made to jump out of his seat but his body would not obey him.

“Wandless binding charm, Harry.” Dumbledore explained, his face stern “Now, are you ready to be reasonable?”

“Me! I’m not the one who hired a death-eater!” Harry snarled.

The Headmaster’s busy eyebrows gathered across his eyes like storm-clouds.

“You are currently at variance with Mr Ronald Weasley, am I correct?”

“What has that..?!” Harry’s jaw struck, silencing him.

“Imagine, if you will, Harry, that you and I knew that Voldemort had returned but, following his usual modus operandi, he remained ‘underground’, to use the common patois. Now, the Ministry may decide, on the advice of the eminently generous Mr Malfoy, that you are merely an attention-seeker who has befuddled a fond old man into believing his lies.” the Headmaster paused “Percy Weasley, is an ambitious, somewhat ruthless young man, one whose first loyalty is to the hand that feeds him. Should such a situation come to pass, Percy will choose the Ministry as surely as Arthur and Molly will remain faithful to you. Ronald, however, will be in an unenviable position; will he join his ex-friend’s cause or, alternately, will his anger and jealousy drive him to pledge loyalty to the Ministry?”

Harry sent Dumbledore a glacial glare.

The Headmaster sighed “Let us assume that Ronald sides with Percy and in the fullness of time, becomes a spy. One day, whilst he is on a routine mission, he hears something which, while of obvious interest to his masters, does not appear detrimental to the safety of Ms Granger, who has become estranged to him due to their opposed alliances. Imagine Mr Weasley’s horror when he discovers that this seemingly innocent information has, in fact, signed Ms Granger’s death warrant. Imagine Mr Weasley, under the charitable veil of midnight, approaching me, informing me of the Ministry’s plans and begging me to protect Ms Granger. Imagine Mr Weasley, after my insults, my unveiled contempt, answering that he would give me ‘anything’ in return for protecting the woman who was once his best friend.”

An icy stillness unwound in Harry’s chest. Something within him whispered the explanation before it came.

“Professor Snape would have died to protect your mother, Harry. Lily was his friend, his only friend, and, although, at the time of her death, Lily had not spoken to Severus for almost five years, he remained loyal to her.” 

Nausea clutched at Harry’s stomach his ears rang with his pulsing heart.

“I trust that you no longer see fit to berate Professor Snape for his mistake” Headmaster Dumbledore said quietly, releasing the silencing spell.

“Too late” Harry whispered wretchedly.

Dumbledore’s bright eyes clouded with worry “You have already spoken to him?”

“He found me.” Harry replied dully “I’d fallen into his pensieve. I didn’t mean to: I tripped. I saw it, the prophecy, Snape telling Voldemort, everything. I…” Harry gazed up at the Headmaster, his green eyes wide with distress. “I accused him of murdering them.”

“Where is Professor Snape now, Harry” Dumbledore said abruptly, his mouth set.

“I don’t know. He ran out of his office and just disappeared” Harry answered, staring at his feet.

“Disappeared?!” Professor Dumbledore turned on his heel and strode over to an ancient portrait of a tall, broad-shouldered man with thick, shaggy brown hair. Although this wizard looked more suited to the battlefield, he seemed completely immersed in his book.

“Headmaster Trelawney?”

“The corridor has been opened” the portrait replied in a thick, Devonshire accent, his brown eyes not leaving the dense text.

“Is Severus Tobias Snape the current inhabitant?” Dumbledore asked, the colour draining from his countenance.

“Whoever Myrridin holds, it is between himself and the Gods.” Professor Trelawney replied primly, turning his face away.

The Headmaster walked, like a man half asleep, across the room to his desk and, collapsing in the chair, placed his head in his hands.

“Sir!” Harry gasped, horror scything through his heart.

“Professor Myriddin has taken him, Harry,” the elderly mage muttered “Myrridin is a guardian spirit, his soul is tied into the very stone of Hogwarts. The last asylum of the doomed, they used to call him, for Myrridin forms his corridor around those in mortal peril, protecting them until all danger is past…”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause and, when Dumbledore raised his head, his blue eyes were bleaker than midwinter. “Professor Snape will never be safe in the Wizarding world while Voldemort and his supporters live. Unless, unless we can persuade Myrridin to release him, poor Severus may remain in the corridor forever.”