He felt safe and warm wherever he was and he was reluctant to leave it. Unfortunately, something was pulling him forward and out of the cocoon. He knew he couldn't fight it, but he tried because wherever he was headed, there was pain.

The scream was wrenched from his torn throat. Every nerve felt like it was burning over and over again. Every muscle screamed out in protest of its own pain. It hurt so damned much that no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop the tears that ran down like rivulets of fire upon his burnt cheeks.

That was when he felt hands holding him down and a sharp order of someone shouting, "Put that wand down, Remus! I said, no magic! Now, please, help me... Sirius! Hold his arms, now!"

If it wasn't magic, something held his wrists and something else held his feet. He tried to shout out a curse, but his voice had fled. As he opened his mouth, a vile tasting liquid nearly choked him.

"Slowly, Harry!" The voice was female, but it wasn't the one he wanted to hear.

Again he tried to speak and another liquid entered his mouth. The pain faded and as he fell back into the cocoon, he heard tears. He wanted to brush away those tears, but the comfort and warmth were calling, soothing the pain.

His head and shoulders were bent over his tall desk and the fingers of his right hand carded through his lank, dark hair. He scowled at the array of puzzle pieces scattered across the desk. In his left hand was his wand. He tapped a few of the pieces. Straightening slowly, he noticed something for the first time; the pieces had faces. He picked up one piece and saw a woman with lovely green eyes and dark, burnished hair that fell like silk down her back. Another puzzle piece with green eyes, a boy this time, caught his gaze and he picked it up as well. They were not mother and son. Yet, something itched annoyingly that told him somehow they were. Who were they.

He couldn't deal with the puzzle now. Too many faces. He dropped the two pieces and swept all of the pieces onto the floor. As he laid his head upon the desk, a bony, white hand with hideously long fingers stretched over his shoulder and rested upon his cheek. He wanted to flinch away from the touch. He wanted to crawl or run away. He could only close his eyes tightly because he knew there was a vision at the end of that arm that was worse than the hand. Terrified, silent tears squeezed through his shut eyelids.

Please don't speak! Please don't speak! he begged in silence. He didn't want to hear the thing's voice.

"Ssseverusss..."

A bloom of warmth in his belly gently drew him away from the nightmare and the ruined puzzle. Something far away soothed away the tears, kissed his forehead, and talked in a language he could not understand, until he fell asleep in the comforting darkness.

He couldn't keep track of time where he was. Sometimes it felt like he awoke into the pain within seconds of leaving it, other times it felt like centuries had passed. With waking, pieces of his memory slowly returned, allowing him to put together the puzzle of who he was, where he was, and who the people were around him. As he bent over his desk manipulating the pieces until he found where they went, he was sometimes interrupted by that THING. He knew the Thing was the cause of the pain. He knew that the Thing had caused the puzzle to be torn apart. It frightened him and sometimes all he could do was weep until the ghostly kiss came bringing comfort.

The darkness was getting tiresome. Not the darkness where the Thing visited, but the darkness when he heard voices speaking around him, about him. That place where he was fed and given potion after potion. He found it annoying. Without warning the panic welled up inside him. He had to SEE! He started to shout angrily when he felt hands on his. Smaller hands gripping his and saying things in comforting tones. He couldn't understand the words the owner of the hands was saying to him. He forced his brain to concentrate on those words and as he did so, his body relaxed slightly as the meaning of the words finally made sense.

"...your eyes." A young boy's voice.

He tried to talk and felt his vocal chords burn him. His yelling had damaged something. Maybe the boy could read lips?

"I cannot see." He carefully mouthed the three words several times.

The boy, apparently understanding, spoke. "Your eyelids were burned, Dad. Just be patient and calm down. There's bandages over your eyes while they heal."

He wanted to ask 'how long', but he didn't have a handle on time, yet, so the answer would be meaningless to him.

"Dad?" He felt the smaller hand curl into his and heard something odd in the young voice. "Dad, you'll be all right." The words tried to reassure him, but the boy was scared.

Tugging on the hand that still held his, he brought the child to his chest. He felt the heat of tears fall upon him and the boy's body trembling. He stroked the smooth hair and patted the narrow back.

His comforting of the distressed child soothed him as well and soon he was drawn back into his mental darkness. He desired sleep and so he did. Slumbering for what felt like an age and a day until he was drawn away from the darkness by a pressure upon his chest and gentle snoring. He stretched out a curious hand towards the weight upon his chest and felt a shock of messy hair.

"Dad?" the voice whispered and it was different from the other voice that told him of his injuries to his eyes. He tried to reply. "No, Dad. Madame Pomfrey said you're not to try and talk. When you woke up this morning during Draco's visit and yelled, you re-injured your vocal chords. We're to keep you quiet, but if you don't listen, she's going to have to magically bind your voice to keep you from talking."

His hand went automatically to his throat. A vague memory insinuated itself from the depths of his mind. He knew the magical procedure the boy was talking about and it was a decidedly unpleasant one.

He slipped away from the messy haired boy and was back in the darkness looking over the puzzle. It was still mostly unfinished. There just weren't names to go with all the faces and it was frustrating. He was just about to sweep the pieces off the desk and onto the floor once more when he saw a spark of light hover briefly over the puzzle piece that had the face of the green eyed boy. He lifted it.

Messy. Black. Hair. He called me Dad. Beneath the smiling face, gilded letters inscribed a name. He squinted at it. Harry. He smiled. My son, Harry.

Another spark alerted him to a change over another puzzle piece. He snatched it up. The opposite of Harry. Pale, smooth hair. Neat. He watched as the gilded letters appeared. Draco. He allowed himself a sigh of relief. My son, Draco.

My sons. My children. I'm Dad.

Sitting down at the desk, he found the puzzle pieces he had put together that was of him. The gilded letters could only give him his name, Severus. He hadn't acknowledged that name because the Thing kept saying it. Quickly he locked the pieces of his sons beside him. He was rewarded with more gilded letters writing beneath his name. The letters proclaimed, 'Dad'.

From that point on he had less trouble putting the puzzle together. People were forming, along with memories. Not all of them had names, some were designations. Such as the Gruff Voiced One.

"Snape, if you don't get back here to insult me, and soon, I'll have the twins turn your hair purple until you do recover!" The gruff voiced one spoke harshly. He wasn't too sure he liked this one, but the careful squeeze to his wrist was reassuring. If this one wanted to be insulted, he would oblige as soon as he could speak again.

It felt like it was at least a century later when the bandages came off his eyes. His voice was a mere whisper as he cursed the bright light that hurt. The light instantly faded and he was able to see a face.

"Name," he demanded rasping.

"You're Severus Snape." She smiled gently.

He shook his head. He knew his name. He needed her name. "Name," he whispered again and hoped he wouldn't have to ask a third time.

"Poppy Pomfrey," she replied. She handed him a quill and parchment. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. "Your vocal chords were severely damaged, Severus, but they are healing. It should be just another two or three days. Mr. Weasley charmed that paper for you to use. It's self-erasing."

His mind scrambled to put more pieces together. He had a lot of pieces with red headed people. There were a lot of Weasleys. He was about to speak, but thought better of it. He wrote a name on the parchment with a question mark.

Poppy smiled. "Yes, it was Ronald Weasley that charmed the parchment for you. Hermione Granger brought the Always Inked Quill for you."

His mind was working faster now. Ronald Weasley. Red hair. Played the lute. Ah! Nephew. He's the Weasley he liked. Hermione Granger. Oh! That information came fast. Pretty, bushy-haired girl. Extremely bright. Niece.

His head exploded as hundreds of memories crowded his mind and the puzzle was gone for good. He shut his eyes tightly and despite the migraine that was building, he began to sort through the memories.

He wrote one large word on the parchment. LYRICA.

Poppy leaned over, patted his hand and smiled. "I'll find her."

Exhaustion swept over him and as much as he wanted to stay awake to see Lyrica, he was dragged back down into the darkness. His sleep was peaceful which allowed his memories to settle back into place. He had lost his Occlumency shields and he began reconstructing them at lightning speed. There were many memories that he forced behind those shields. Some memories would make him go insane and those he buried as deeply as possible.

Most importantly, he rebuilt his shields because he now knew what the Thing was... Voldemort. Whether it was a nightmare of a memory, or he was now somehow connected by blood to the Dark Lord, he didn't want that monster to have access to his mind. He shoved the Thing deep into a tiny chamber of heavy brick, burying it as completely as possible.

When the shields were back in place, his inner self leaned against a grand fortress of granite stone. Breathing a sigh of relief, he allowed himself to slip into natural, dreamless sleep.

When he wakened a few hours later, she was there beside him. Snape raised his hand to draw his fingers through her silken hair. He touched her cheek. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but all that he managed was, "Love."

Lyrica leaned over and kissed her husband, catching the tear that slid down his cheek. "I love you, too, Severus."

He took in her beautiful, sea green eyes and smiled. He had made it. He was back home.

Snape had his memories back and now knew that he'd been recovering from his horrendous injuries for almost a month. He recalled part of what happened and was able to tell Albus that Voldemort was indeed healed, and changed. What he could not tell the Headmaster was what had happened after the first Cruciatus Curse from the Dark Lord's wand struck him.

With his family around him, including Ron and Hermione, and the Headmaster, they were able to fill in the gaps as to what happened after Moody kidnapped him, and how he was rescued.

Hermione was the one to alert the Headmaster of trouble. She'd been high in the stands supposedly watching the game. In truth, the intrepid girl, worried from that morning about Snape, had been sending Draco's spying scarab after the Potions Master. Just when she was getting bored from the dozens of mismatched conversations and orders between Snape and the Aurors, she heard Moody's voice calling to her uncle. Looking out over the crowd she saw the two men very far away. They were headed for the Forbidden Forest. She lost track of their conversation when they stepped across the wards protecting the school. Suddenly worried about her Potions professor, she maneuvered her way down from the stands.

Meanwhile, in their quarters, Draco and Harry had not been watching the match on the enchanted window. Lyrica had tweaked the magic of the window so that they were able to watch Ron, Hermione, and Snape. When Snape stepped past the wards with Moody, both boys had had it with staying put. They wanted to leave the dungeons at once.

Lyrica did not stop the boys once her husband had vanished from the reach of the enchanted window as far as she'd been able to charm it. Following her sons, they left the dungeons and made their way outside, with no intention of stopping until Harry froze, halfway to the edge of the forest. The boy fell to his knees.

Snape's voice, almost back to its rich tones, interrupted the tale, "Did Kalima's Occlumens fail?"

"It didn't. She was just caught off guard for a moment," he replied. "When Moo... Crouch, I mean, portkeyed with you, Vold... You-Know-Who's emotion shot through me like a knife. I knew right away he had you, Dad."

The narrative continued with Draco describing Harry screaming for Snape and Draco tackling his brother in order to stop him from rushing headlong into the forest. Lyrica quickly calmed the boy down, sending Draco to get the Headmaster. As the Headmaster was refereeing the game with Ron, Draco summoned his Cosmos X and flew into the midst of the game.

"You caught the snitch," smirked Snape as he eyed the cheeky grin on Draco's face.

"It was right there by the Headmaster's ear, Dad. I couldn't help myself!" justified Draco.

Ron snorted, "At least you had your priorities in order!"

"It had the effect of stopping the game," groused Draco, crossing his arms over his chest. He was about to pout, but a kiss to his cheek from Hermione stopped it.

Albus stepped into the narrative at this point. With the Quidditch match aborted, and Professor Snape and Professor Moody now missing, the Headmaster ended the game and the fair. Mobilising the house elfs, they swept everyone that wasn't a student, a staff member or an Auror, off the grounds. Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt went to the last spot Hermione had seen Snape and Moody to begin a search.

The Headmaster coordinated the search from his office, kept company by an agitated Snape family.

A shrewd look from Snape towards his sons paused the recitation of events again. "Surely you two didn't obediently stay put, did you?" He smirked triumphantly as Draco's cheeks coloured and Harry's green eyes suddenly were looking everywhere else but at his father.

Lyrica spoke up, "They thought that they might join the aurors searching in the Forbidden Forest." She frowned, clearly still upset with the two boys even after all these weeks had passed. "They wound up as unwilling guests of the Centaurs until I negotiated a release."

Snape did not care for the dark look of disapproval on his wife's face. He already knew that relations with the Centaur population was a strained one between the creatures and wizards in general. He had spent years cultivating a tenuous alliance so that he would be able to collect potions ingredients within their territory. He frowned with deep annoyance. If those two idiot children had destroyed that...

"Negotiation?" he asked ominously. "What, pray tell, was the result?"

"The Centaurs have banned both Harry and Draco from the Forbidden Forest for five years. If either of them step foot in the forest and are caught, they will serve the Centaurs for five years. Bane wanted to kill them if either of them breaks the ban, but Magorian cited his respect for you, Severus, for having saved his son at birth, so he would not agree on a death sentence." Lyrica then turned to her husband and he frowned at her curious glare. "They've also demanded 'payment' of some special potions which I will not mention here." Harry snorted and Lyrica shot him a sharp look of warning.

"Idiot!" hissed Draco at Harry under his breath.

Snape added his own glare, one of disappointment, and said nothing more. Dealing with Centaurs was never an easy prospect, but it was worse for a witch to have any sort of dealings with the Beasts. Having to negotiate for the release of her sons when her husband had gone missing could hardly have been pleasant. Both boys were staring morosely at the floor.

With a nod to the Headmaster, Snape listened once more as the older wizard went on to tell him that while Shacklebolt and Tonks were in the forest, two other aurors, Liam Doggett and Trillian Vance, had been searching Moody's quarters for clues as to what the old warrior wizard was up to.

Doggett and Vance discovered a wizard's trunk that held the remains of Polyjuice Potion, and a very sick and starving Alastor Moody. The real Mad-Eye Moody was transferred to the infirmary where Poppy treated him until he could talk.

Albus learned later from Alastor that he had been waylaid by Crouch and Pettigrew a few days before he was scheduled to arrive at Hogwarts for the start of term. Other than that, he had little else to tell since he had spent most of the school year in the trunk.

Snape suddenly yawned, stopping the recitation of events. He was getting far too much detail when all he was really concerned with at this point was how he'd been rescued. Several voices spoke up, but it was Draco that quieted everyone and he took over.

"Harry tried, at first, to figure out where You-Know-Who was..." Draco faltered as he caught the scowl his father aimed at his brother. "Dad! He had to try!"

"It didn't work, though," said Harry softly, still ashamed that he hadn't been able to discover where his father had been taken. "All I could feel was... the Dark Lord. It was horrible."

"It was the scarab," interrupted Hermione and Snape settled a questioning gaze on the girl. "Draco's been working with the spying charms on the scarab. It remained attached to you, Uncle."

"You sent it, Hermione," stated Snape. Realisation of what the scarab might have been broadcasting to its listener drained what little colour Snape's skin had from his face. His long fingers curled tightly over Lyrica's hand which had been resting upon his thigh on the blankets of his infirmary cot.

"What did you hear?" Snape asked softly.

Hermione suppressed a shudder. "Laughter. Screaming. Spells I don't ever want to hear again." Draco grasped Hermione's hand and squeezed it tightly. "That, alone didn't help us to find you. It was when you tapped into the Ley Lines that it happened."

Snape did have a vague memory of that moment. By then he was upon the ground surrounded by the oily maelstrom that was Voldemort's hatred and madness. He knew he was dying at that point. He was thinking of his family, of Lyrica. The first time that he saw her descending the stairs in the Headmistress' office in the year 1898.

Such beauty, fragility, intelligence. She disarmed him by her mere presence. In that very moment when she stood on the last step and she stretched out her hand to him as a queen might to her knight, he had no need to return to the present. All those desires denied to him, her soft, green-eyed gaze promised him and he intended to take it.

He had not known that his waning magic was seeking out a Ley Line. He thought he was preparing to accept death. Yet his deep sense of self-preservation had tapped into the ancient magic of the earth, coiled it around his own magical core, and spun a powerful spell that sent him into an almost death-like, healing slumber.

Voldemort saw that Snape's broken, torn, and bleeding body no longer responded to his curses. Thinking he was dead, the Dark Lord motioned Lucius to his side and left the hapless Crouch to bleed to death.

Lyrica's voice brushed away his memory. "The scarab couldn't take the surge of magic from the Ley Lines and it shattered. It sent a kind of signal along the Ley Lines, a disturbance, a voice..." she faltered as she remembered the voice reverberating through her heart. Her husband had called out her name and in that instant she knew where to find him.

Lyrica had been in the Headmaster's office. Draco and Harry, released by the Centaurs, had been sent to their rooms in their quarters. Without supper. She was pacing angrily when a sharp pain stabbed her heart. She fell suddenly to her knees, unable to breathe. Albus caught her before she fell prostrate upon the floor.

"Madame Snape?" he asked as he helped her to her feet.

"Severus!" she finally managed to say. "I know where he is, Albus."

Dumbledore's fingers curled tightly around her wrist and she tried to pull away. "You can't go alone, Lyrica."

"He's dying!" she gasped.

It only took Dumbledore a few minutes to assemble everyone since they were either in the castle or on the grounds. Lyrica, accompanied by the Headmaster, Remus Lupin, Sirius in his Animagus form, Tonks, and Shacklebolt led the way to the Riddle Family Cemetary.

This was the first that Snape had heard about Lyrica having been one of his rescuers. He was both appalled and ashamed. "You shouldn't have been there," he whispered.

Sirius, still in his scruffy, black dog form, trotted over to a fallen, thin figure lying in a darkening pool of his own blood. Kingsley came up beside Sirius just as the wizard changed.

"Barty Crouch, jr.?" Kingsley Shacklebot stood over the thin figure and cast an identification spell. "I thought he was dead."

Sirius quipped, "Well, he is now."

"Severus!" Lyrica found Snape several feet from the body of Crouch beneath the gruesome statue of the Angel of Death. "Oh Merlin... Severus?"

The dark haired wizard was torn and bleeding and broken, yet as Lyrica leaned over him, she felt the lightest stirring of his breath against her cheek. "Remus! Sirius! Please help me!"

Remus, who was much better at side-along apparition, pulled Snape's body close and vanished from the cemetery. He was soon followed by Sirius and Lyrica. The Aurors remained behind to deal with the dead Death Eater.

"I couldn't stay here, Severus. I had to see you with my own eyes, and when I felt your breath, I had to make certain you'd be brought back home safely."

Snape didn't care that he had an audience as he drew his wife into his arms and kissed her. A cough from the Headmaster broke up the sign of affection and Snape caught the twinkling of those blue eyes. For once, the twinkle didn't annoy him.

"So I lived, but Barty Crouch, jr. died," stated Snape. His eyes hardened. "It's a pity bleeding to death is such a benign way to perish."

A sudden, bone-numbing weariness settled over the recovering Potions Master and his eyes fluttered vainly as he tried to keep them open. He lost the fight quickly as his eyelids finally dropped like lead and his head drooped to the side. Lyrica removed the pillows stacked behind her husband and shifted him back down onto the bed and covered him. His audience left quietly while Lyrica stayed behind to sit beside him as he slept.

Severus Snape's recovery was still a slow one. Madame Pomfrey would not let him leave the infirmary since he was still experiencing severe muscle spasms, and heavy exhaustion that hit him at the most annoying of times.

By mid-March he'd had enough of Madame Pomfrey's hovering and the infirmary itself. Against the matron's orders, he checked himself out, and with Harry and Draco supporting him, he returned to his dungeon quarters, his bed, and his wife.

That night, wrapped around Lyrica, he slept peacefully.

Teaching Potions was still out of the question. Even though he walked with the aid of a cane, it was the exhaustion that gave him the most trouble. He dare not drop asleep in the middle of a class. If he were to blow up a cauldron in front of Neville Longbottom, he'd never live it down. He did assist his substitute, Lyrica, by grading essays, potions samples, and tests.

Snape had been far too delighted to discover that as a Potions instructor, Lyrica was just as strict with his students as he himself was. Harry, of course, was quick to point out that she didn't sneer, and tended to smile when correcting a student's error. Snape chose not to hold that against her.

By the end of March the muscle spasms and tremors had abated enough that Snape was able to take over, not his Potions classes, but Defense Against the Dark Arts.

With the death of the false Moody, the Headmaster had taken over the teaching of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Albus tried to offer the last few months of the position to the real Alastor Moody but the ex-Auror decided that it was more important for him to work on various missions for the Order, now that Voldemort was returned.

Snape ran his DADA classes no differently than his Potions classes. He expected his students to listen and to pay attention. For the rest of the term his upper classes worked on defensive spells and fighting tactics. For his lower classes, they dealt with defending themselves against dark creatures. He did have one session for all his years that dealt solely with the consequences of casting the Unforgivables.

Robes billowing dramatically behind him, Snape lectured his fourth year Gryffindor/Slytherin class. "Everyone knows the consequences of the Unforgivables on their victims. The Imperius Curse eventually will lead to the demise of the individual's mind. Sometimes madness, but more often than not, a complete loss of their own identity. The Cruciatus Curse will leave you with tremored muscles and joint pain, if you're lucky. Depending upon the viciousness of the caster, bones will fracture and break from the force of contracting muscles, internal organs will burst. Madness will occur after the mind breaks from the relentless pain."

As he spun to stop and look at his rapt class, his gaze dropped upon the very pale, slightly shaking Neville. Both Gryffindors and Slytherins watched in astonishment as Snape placed a heavy hand upon Neville's shoulder. The boy's shaking stopped and without looking at the teenager, he continued his lecture.

"As for the Killing Curse, the consequences of that curse to a victim is unquestionably death." His gaze dropped to Harry, and for one, fleeting second, the boy was afraid he'd be singled out as an example in the class. To his relief, Snape's mouth quirked on one side, a gesture that went nearly unnoticed by most of the class. Snape swept up to the front of the classroom.

"What none of you may understand is that these curses are Unforgivable because they extract a price from the caster as well as the victim. Who thinks they can tell me what the price might be of each curse?" His eyes swept over his class and he caught Hermione practically sitting on her hands. He smirked. He had recently discussed with the young know-it-all her bad habit of always raising her hand in class. He had pointed out to her that it was unfair and often intimidating to other students to know that 'Granger always has the answer'. Lately she had been trying to give other students a chance, but it was a difficult habit to break.

Neville slowly raised his hand and Snape nodded sharply to the boy to answer. "Doesn't madness affect all who cast the Unforgivables, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom, it does," he replied smoothly. "Five points to Gryffindor. Yet madness isn't the only consequence."

Draco raised his hand and Snape nodded to him. He replied, "The Unforgivables are addictive, sir."

"They are, but of the three, which one is the most addictive, Mr. Malfoy?"

He grinned smugly, "The Imperius Curse, sir."

"What is so addicting about the Imperius Curse, Mr. Malfoy?"

"The power to control another person so completely that their life is in your hands is... seductive."

"Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy." He then paced over to Hermione and decided to give her patience reward. "Miss Granger, tell me what aspect of the Cruciatus Curse is addictive to the caster?"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at being able to answer a question. She spoke up as she released her hands. "The Cruciatus Curse causes a reciprocal reaction in the caster. Instead of pain it's..." she blushed hotly, "uhm, pleasure."

There was some sniggering and Snape spoke sharply over the noise, quelling it. "The reaction is a conditional one. Just as a mutt gets used to being fed his food at a certain time each day, when a caster casts the Cruciatus Curse on their victim, they associate the pain of their victim with pleasure. However, as the caster uses the Cruciatus Curse more often the more pain is required to get even the smallest taste of pleasure. Eventually the caster receives only the memory of pleasure and goes mad in trying to elicit that elusive taste."

"It sounds like illegal Muggle drugs," murmured Harry.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he threw over his shoulder. The girl beamed and Draco sniggered gently, his grey eyes sparkling affectionately at Hermione.

Millicent Bulstrode raised her hand and Snape quickly acknowledged her. "Sir, what is the addictive nature of the Killing Curse? Is it power, pleasure, madness or something else?"

"All three, to a point, Miss Bulstrode, but the Killing Curse is not so simple a thing as an addictive potion that one can be weaned off of. It is imprisonment and the eventual fracturing of one's soul."

"So do you risk your soul if you're protecting your family by using the Killing Curse against someone who would use it against them?" she asked.

"The Ministry and the Wizengamot believe that is so. However, whether one's soul is at risk or not is not something that can be measured by law. Justification, such as you describe, or the greater good, may balance the equation. To kill someone, though, whether by a curse, or a knife, is never an easy thing for those who are human. Such justifiable death may not always sit easily upon one's conscience, thus, the guilt will eventually fracture the soul."

"I'd have no guilt over killing someone who meant to kill my family, or someone I loved," Millicent declared stubbornly as she glanced over at Ron Weasley. Ron blushed furiously.

"A noble sentiment, Miss Bulstrode," Snape said softly as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "The taking of a life changes one, though, and it isn't until your nightmares come to life that you understand the true import of how you have changed."

The haunted tone in his silken baritone was enough to declare that the lecture was at an end. As Harry had watched his father, he saw the ghost of what Snape had so recently been; a Death Eater and a spy for the Light. Harry wasn't naive. He knew that his father had killed before. Whatever it had done to his soul, Harry was certain that the presence of Lyrica, himself, Draco, Ron, and Hermione had changed and perhaps, if not healed the man's soul, at least soothed it.

The term passed quickly and thankfully with no sign of Voldemort. Dumbledore knew that the Death Eaters were gathering, but there had been no overt signs of violence. Both Snape and the Headmaster knew that the Resurrection Ritual wasn't a foolproof and perfect means for a return to life. There was no doubt in either wizards minds that the night of the ritual, when the Dark Lord had taken on the torture of Snape himself, the vile creature had seriously depleted his own magical core.

Voldemort would continue to need sustenance given him by Nagini, his pet, and he would have to refrain from performing magic that drained him. As much as this could be an advantage, the disadvantage was that more than before, the Dark Lord would be required to rely heavily upon a select few of his Inner Circle.

This raised an argument between Snape and Dumbledore. Logic dictated that Voldemort, in order to survive, would now have to trust his Death Eaters, such as Lucius, making them nearly his equal. This is what Dumbledore believed, so his plans for the war leaned upon the side of caution. Snape, however, believed in the Dark Lord's colossal ego, paranoia, distrust, and inherent need to mete out cruel punishments even to those loyal to him. The Potions Master and ex-spy felt that it was this glaring personality flaw that needed to be exploited and taken advantage of. Snape was in favor of going in on the offensive, preferring to seek out and attack and weaken their opponent instead of waiting for him to attack.

Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the Light and the greatest wizard of their time, continually shot down Snape's arguments. Snape knew it was a losing battle. He really didn't wish to openly defy Dumbledore and go against the man, but it frustrated him because he knew the man's infuriating policy of 'wait and see' would both indirectly and directly affect his son, Harry Potter.

Snape would brood after the Order meetings, but the next day he would gather his children together, and those of the Defense Association, and put them through their paces. In addition to their new combined spell tactic, dueling, and learning Ley Line Magic, he began to teach his students offensive tactics.

It was as they were at the Leaving Feast, that Draco, Ron, Harry, and Hermione finally realised that Snape was up to something and had no intention of telling Dumbledore.

"Dad's training us to attack," Harry said quietly as his gaze shot surreptitiously up at the staff table where his parents sat eating.

"Bout time," agreed Ron around a dinner roll. "Defenshe only getsh you sho far."

Draco grimaced at Ron. "Stop talking with your mouth full, Weasel. It's gross." Ron made a face as he ate a large spoonful of mashed potatoes. "Voldie's weak, so it would be much better to strike now, before he's got all his followers together."

"But, Dumbledore doesn't think we should attack," piped up Hermione.

Draco took Hermione's hand in his. "I'm not trying to put the old man down, My, but he's wrong. This idea of waiting for them to come after us is only going to get us killed. Look what it did to Harry's parents."

Harry's head shot up at the mention of his parents. Draco was about to apologise, but Harry quickly shook his head. "No, you're right, Draco. When the Order had a chance to attack, they chose, instead, to go into hiding. Dad told Dumbledore that their numbers were few and that they could have been routed, any number of times, at Malfoy Manor."

Ron put down his knife and fork as he spoke up, "'Mione, in the DA, we're learning apprentice spells. That's beyond OWLs, NEWTs, and seventh years. It's a huge risk, but by the end of this summer, we'll be more than capable of any adult that's fighting now. With the strategy Uncle Sev's teaching us, we can go after that bastard and blast him to ashes." Ron smiled. "Best of all, Voldie will be so used to the Ministry's denial, and the Order waiting, that he'll never expect us. It's a brilliant move."

"It's insane," worried Hermione. "We're children!"

Draco gripped Hermione's hand and gave her a stony look worthy of his father, Snape. "We're in a war, My. We don't get to be children."

Sudden tears glistened at the corners of Hermione's eyes, but she did not allow them to fall. She leaned in closer to Draco and his slipped his arm over her shoulders.

Chaos reigned supreme in the Snapes quarters, as it had during the Christmas holidays. Trunks were everywhere and it seemed every five minutes someone had gone missing. This time it was Ron.

"Where is that redhead?" demanded Snape as he mentally counted heads for the fortieth time that morning.

"Dad," Harry began with exasperation. "We're picking him up at the Hogsmeade Express station. He's gone to see off Fred, George, Ginny, and Milli."

"Millicent I can understand," said Snape as he neatly side-stepped a levitating trunk. "However, he's going to be seeing his family in a month."

"Yeah, well... OW!" The aforementioned trunk dropped firmly on Harry's foot.

"Sorry, Scarhead!" Draco chuckled as he sauntered from his bedroom into the sitting room.

"Did you pack the entire Slytherin Quidditch team in there?" snarled Harry.

"Hardly. Just all my clothes, books, and..."

"You really need to thin out your wardrobe!" snapped Harry. He started to advance upon his brother and was pulled up short as Snape grabbed him by the collar. Harry simply scrambled out of his robe, leaving it in his father's hand.

"Harry!" He threw the empty robe down on Draco's trunk. Harry ran into his room and Snape closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. "There were three, now there's two," glowered Snape. "What happened to Hermione?"

"In here!" her voice called out from the Snapes bedroom.

"She's helping me, Severus!" came Lyrica's voice before Snape could protest that his bedroom was being invaded.

Snape looked down as Harry opened his trunk and threw in a pair of trainers. "Why are you doing your packing out here, young man?"

Harry looked up at his father's glare. "I did pack in my bedroom, Dad. I just forgot these."

"Do you have everything now?" Snape's silken voice drawled knowingly.

Harry studied the somewhat jumbled contents of his trunk. "I think so."

"I think not," Snape replied smugly. "Where is Kalima?"

"Oh crap!"

"Language!" shouted Snape as Harry made his way into his father's private lab. "I think I'll ask Molly to teach me that Soap Mouth Washing Spell she uses," he muttered as he shrunk the two trunks that came from his and Lyrica's bedroom. As Hermione and Lyrica emerged from the bedroom, Snape looked over all the trunks. "Hermione, where is your trunk?"

"In the Gryffindor common room," she replied.

Snape waved his hand toward the fireplace with exasperation. "Use the Floo and bring it, so that I can get all of these shrunk. We need to be on our way."

"Where are we going, Dad?" asked Draco.

Snape smirked at the blonde. This was a question the teenagers had been asking for the last two weeks. "You'll find out when we get there."

A Floo, a stop at the Hogwarts Express Station, two more Floos and a long distance portkey, which equaled a travelling time of almost six hours (there had been a serious traffic delay at the last Floo station) left all of the travelers tired and short-tempered. As they walked up a heavily wooded path deep within a forest, tempers only got worse and before Snape could stop it, Harry and Draco were rolling around on the ground, each one trying to get the first punch in. He had no clue what the argument was about, and really didn't care. He found this behavior particularly annoying since it was a fist fight that had changed everything.

Snape's temper exploded. "Break it up!" he roared. "Break it up you two imbeciles before I puree your brains!"

If Ron and Hermione had been fighting, they'd both be obeying Snape's orders. Of course they weren't, but just in case they both chose to hide behind Lyrica. Snape caught both his sons by the collars of their robes and yanked them apart. He then shook them both until their teeth clacked together.

Before either boy could protest, Snape had them over a knee, delivered three swift, hard smacks on each backside, and had them back on their feet. He leaned over menacingly into their surprised faces.

"We have ten more minutes of travel time. If I hear one word or sound out of either of you before we reach our destination, you're both going to get a spanking that's going to leave each of you standing for the rest of summer." Harry started to open his mouth and Snape's index finger pointed sharply at him in warning. "Not. One. Sound, Harry James Potter-Snape. I'm not warning either of you again." Snape's eyes flicked sharply to Draco whose mouth clacked shut. "Don't test me, Draconis Malfoy-Snape. I'm not in the mood."

Snape then grasped their hands in his, forcing them to walk on either side of him like two toddlers. He strode up the path with his eyes straight ahead. Harry and Draco had to trot in order to keep up. Draco sent a sneer behind his father's back at Harry. Harry repeated the expression. A sharp jerk warned them both that their father knew exactly what was going on behind his back.

"Well that was..." began Ron as he fell into step beside a weary Lyrica.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione warned with a hiss. "I don't want to go over his knee next!"

The path, such as it was, ended at the remains of a tall oak that at one time had been struck by lightning. What was left standing was dead, but life had exploded over the dried out, hollowed husk of the trunk. It was festooned with heavy ropes of ivy, big splotches of moss, and tiny wildflowers.

"Step into the trunk," directed Snape shortly.

Harry was the first to step through. Draco went next, then Hermione, and finally Ron. Lyrica stepped up behind her husband and slipped her arms around his waist. Snape let out a deep breath.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper like that, Lyrica," he said softly, closing his eyes against the dappling of mid-afternoon sun. "I promised never to punish them when I was angry."

"You weren't completely at fault, Severus. Their bickering was annoying all of us."

Snape turned and put his arms around Lyrica. "My father only ever hit me when he was angry regardless of whether or not I was at fault for annoying him."

"Then you need to talk to Harry and Draco. I know it is a painful time for you, but they need to understand that you came from a background that wasn't so different from theirs." She kissed his cheek as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Besides, those two are too old to keep resorting to fistfights and wrestling to solve their differences so I don't believe either of them were that shocked at your reaction."

Snape kissed his wife, allowing himself a few seconds to forget everything but the woman in his arms. When they parted, a pained expression came over Lyrica's face and Snape frowned. "I hope that's not a criticism of my kissing."

Lyrica chuckled and shook her head. "No. It's just that my feet are really starting to hurt."

"Ah." Dipping his hand into his robe pocket, he plucked out a small phial of Pain Relief Potion out. He handed it to Lyrica and she drank it down. She let out a sigh of relief.

"Ohhh thank you, Severus!"

Taking his wife by the hand, he directed her toward the large split in the trunk. "After you, my dear."

Lyrica ducked a bit and stepped into the shadowed hollow. A few seconds later, Snape followed.