When he came back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry called Kreacher, the old house-elf from Grimmauld Place, to bring him some sandwiches from the kitchen. He had arranged for Kreacher to inhabit Hogwarts during the school year so that he would not have to be alone at Grimmauld Place, because that would cause the elf’s foul spirit to return. Since the autumn before last Kreacher had grown as fond of Harry and his friends as you could hope for and Harry welcomed his loyalty as he had equally learnt to care for the old house-elf of the Black family.

Harry still had difficulties to settle down. Whereas the others sat in front of the fire, chatting and laughing, he felt restless and heavy at the same time. The confrontation with Snape from the morning played itself in his mind over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the others, “I need to be alone. I’m going to work in the library.”

The library closed at nine, but NEWT students had been granted a collective exemption and were allowed to stay until ten o’clock. Harry worked hard to keep his mind busy and was exhausted when he left. The castle was nearly empty and parts of it were already in darkness. He had to pass by the Entrance Hall on his way back and as he did, the door opened and Snape appeared. Harry was ready to dive into a side corridor to avoid him, but his eyes were caught by the expression on Snape’s face.

If Snape had been unusually pale during the day, he was now ashen grey, and there was an absence of expression to his features that spoke more of eeriness than of unscrutability. His dress bore traces of a fight, but there was no visible injury. Snape walked slowly with shuffling steps across the hall. He did not even notice Harry although he stood in full view. Spontaneously, Harry took a few steps towards him.

“What happened, Professor?” he exclaimed. “Are you wounded?” Snape turned his head slowly to face him. He seemed to have difficulties focusing his gaze.

“Harry Potter...” Snape stated as if for himself. “Decidedly... I’m not wounded,” he said in a slow, weak voice and continued “Been on a mission with Mrs Steadfast... We found them... Too weak to be sent to St Mungo’s without prior treatment... Too many Relieving Incantations...”

Snape vacillated. Harry looked at him with raising alarm. Snape was really ill. Why had he been left on his own?

“Let’s find Mme Pomfrey,” Harry said urgently. But Snape started to walk in the opposite direction with shortened, automatic steps.

“My office,” he growled indistinctly. Harry hesitated. Should he fetch the care-witch or should he go with Snape?

“You need some Firewhiskey, Sir. I’ll accompany you and help you to it.” Harry made up his mind. He remembered last summer, when Snape had transferred the excruciating pain from the nightmare attack from Harry to himself and needed Firewhiskey to recover.

Snape walked slower and slower and was finally at risk of stopping right in the middle of the corridor, so Harry caught hold of his elbow and urged him on.

“So there were a lot of hurt people?” asked Harry in an attempt to keep Snape’s attention up. There was a long silence and Harry began to doubt that he was going to get an answer, when Snape let out:

“Tortured people.”

Harry looked at him in horror.

“Would that be the abducted victims of Voldemort’s that they write about every now and then? The Prophet reported it already during the summer, but it has been quiet about them for a while now. At least Hermione hasn’t told me anything… Have they been imprisoned for this long? How could they survive?” exclaimed Harry.

There was again a long latency before Snape answered enigmatically:

“In a cave... Dark Magic...”

In front of the Gargoyle statue which marked the entrance to the tower where the headmaster’s office was situated, Snape reached out his right hand to support himself against the wall. He stared at the Gargoyle, but said nothing.

“The password, Sir,” Harry goaded him. He had a feeling they were running out of time. Snape needed his medicine.

Snape just stared. By Merlin’s wand, Harry thought bewildered, was the professor too ill to remember the password?  Harry searched his mind fervently. He had been let up to Snape’s office twice in a row at the beginning of last term and there had been passwords referring to the Æsir cult of Iceland on both occasions. He had looked Iceland up in a Dictionary of Magical History at the time. Dumbledore had always had code words which referred to sweets and Harry used to think it was convenient to be able to have a qualified guess at the password. It had saved him on more than one occasion. He had made a list of Icelandic wizards this autumn. Now, he could not remember. He shook Snape’s left arm.

“The password, Professor! Please, we need to get inside your office.”

Snape recoiled weakly from pain in his left shoulder that seemed to be constantly sore, but his eyes were still blank. Harry took out his wand and pointed it toward his own head. Hermione had taught him a spell that helped sorting out memories - not to be used during examinations of course - but as an interesting example of reverse Obliviate spells.

“Thor’s hammer, Power of Odin, Sleipners’ carriage,” he muttered in a hurry. He closed his eyes: “Ragnarok!*” The Gargoyle swung open. He was grateful that Snape had stuck to Old Norse. Harry looked at him again. Snape did not seem aware of Harry’s presence and did not seem able to initiate a movement on his own accord. His breathing was getting shallower and veils of confusion passed over his eyes. How to get him moving? Harry passed between Snape and the wall and pulled Snape’s right arm over his own shoulders. He was only slightly shorter than Snape.

“Let’s go,” he said loudly. Snape took a few staggering steps up on the first platform of the spiral stair case that led up to the office. Harry waved his wand and made it turn and lift them upwards. Snape hung heavier and heavier on his shoulders, getting limper, but making efforts now and then to straighten up while Harry swore over the slow stairs.

At last they reached the top of the tower and stumbled into the office where Snape slumped into an armchair. A chocked buzz went through the room as the old headmasters in the portraits awoke and took in the scene. Harry looked around. Where would Snape be susceptible to keep a bottle of Firewhiskey?

“Accio Firewhiskey,” he tried but nothing happened. “Professor, where...?” he started to say, but Snape did not react. His head hung over the side of the back of the armchair, uncovering his throat. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open. Harry started to panic. “Where does he keep the Firewhiskey?” he shouted at the Portraits, but the chocked Professors only shook their heads.

“Professor Snape does not use alcohol as a rule,” Phineas Nigellus, the old Slytherin headmaster in one of the portraits, finally said.

“Kreacher!” exclaimed Harry and the house-elf appeared instantly.

“Second time Master Harry calls me this evening. Very unusual it is, but I’m of service to Master Harry,” said Kreacher in his creaky old voice.

“Kreacher, fetch me some Firewhiskey for the headmaster, quickly!” Harry shouted at him. Kreacher turned around and his already big eyes widened with fear.

“What has Master Harry done to Headmaster?” he squeaked.

“Get the Firewhiskey now, Kreacher!” ordered Harry. There was no time for explanations. While he waited, Harry stooped over Snape, shaking him to see if he could wake him up, but Snape was unresponsive. Harry punched him deliberately on his bad shoulder to provoke some pain, but still got no reaction from the unconscious wizard. He checked Snape’s pulse and at first he thought there was none, but finally he felt the beats, several seconds apart. Snape’s heart rate was alarmingly slow and the breathing was so shallow that it was barely noticeable.

“Kreacher!” Harry croaked pleadingly. Finally, the house-elf reappeared with a bottle and a cup.

“Give it...” Harry tore the bottle from Kreacher’s little hand. He tried to pour some Firewhiskey into Snape’s mouth, but spilled the liquid all over Snape’s chin and on his collar. Harry was not sure if even a fraction of it got down Snape’s throat. In the middle of his struggle, he suddenly became horribly convinced that Snape’s chest had stopped moving. Harry rose in panic, backed off a few steps and pointed his wand at the unconscious wizard.

“Rennervate!“ he shouted. A faint glow flickered around Snape and extinguished almost at once. Harry tried to pour more Firewhiskey down Snape’s throat, fumbling with his wand and mumbling an incantation to protect Snape’s airways and prevent him from choking on the liquid. He repeated the Rennervation spell twice, pouring Firewhiskey between the attempts.

At last the resuscitation glow grew stronger and Harry saw Snape’s chest heave. He quickly poured some Firewhiskey into the cup. Harry’s heart was still racing, Snape’s eyes were still shut and the tall Professor was still limp, sprawled in the armchair in a half-lying, half-sitting position. When Harry supported Snape’s head and brought the cup to his lips, a faint grimace on Snape’s face showed that he at least registered the strong taste of the Firewhiskey.

Harry lifted his gaze to the portrait of Dumbledore. He was reminded of the occasion when he had found himself obliged to make Dumbledore drink an entire basin full of poison to get to one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. It was nearly two years ago, but Harry’s stomach clenched and his eyes filled with tears at the memory, as if it had happened yesterday.

Harry brought the cup with Firewhiskey to Snape’s lips again and this time Snape swallowed actively. He seemed to regain consciousness, straining weakly to rise and Harry helped him to readjust in the chair a little better.

“I want out,” Snape said suddenly in a surprisingly clear voice. His eyes were still shut. “I want out!” he repeated. Harry hesitated.

“Do you... do you want some fresh air, Professor?” he said uncertainly. He leapt up to open one of the windows. A brisk stream of cold air entered the room. Harry went over to Kreacher. “Go to Gryffindor tower and tell Ron and Hermione that I’m at Snape’s office, that I’m okay and that it might take a while before I’m back. They don’t need to wait for me.” Kreacher disappeared instantly. Harry went back to close the window and swirled around to see how Snape was doing.

Snape had managed to turn in his chair so that he faced Harry. He was clutching the armrest tightly and his dark eyes, streaked with confusion and full of suspicion, were riveted on Harry. Instinctively, Harry moved carefully not to provoke the man.

“You were taken ill, Sir...” he begun cautiously. “I came across you in the Entrance Hall. You said you’d done too many Relieving Incantations on a mission for Mrs Steadfast. You looked unwell so I accompanied you up here. Sir, you did not want to go to the hospital wing.” Snape’s eyes started to clear up, he relaxed a bit and Harry approached him slowly.

“Please have some more Firewhiskey, Professor,” said Harry. Snape’s muscles did not seem to obey him yet for when he aimed at the cup on the table he missed it by several inches and instead he knocked the bottle off the table. Harry was quick to catch it before it spilled out. Without a word he put the cup in Snape’s hand and helped him lift it to his lips to take a sip. Snape’s arm started to tremble and he stopped halfway in the air, unable to put the cup back on the table despite what seemed like an immense effort of concentration. Harry took the cup from him.

“You... you passed out, Professor,” he said. “Your heart rate was really slow... and you stopped breathing. I had to Rennervate you three times before you came back. And I’ve spilled Firewhiskey all over you, I’m sorry...I thought you were going to...” Harry’s voice cracked up. He only just realised how scared he had been. He sank down in the armchair beside Snape’s. To do something, he pointed his wand with a trembling hand at the fireplace and made some flames spring to life.

“I’m sorry I gave you a fright.” Snape spoke slowly, but distinctly. “Unpleasant for you... if you’d been stuck... with my corpse... up here... Would have made the front page, of course...  but since we’re already there on a daily basis... maybe it was just as well...  it did not need... to come to that...”

Harry smiled weakly. Snape readjusted in his chair and tried to stretch and bend his fingers in front of him. He grimaced and moaned silently.

“You might as well take warning from my example, Harry, considering that… you, too, are a Grief Swallower. It never hit me like this before, though... Reaching the limit... What happens is that your nervous system shuts down and... your vital functions crash... It might not come about immediately after the Relievings, which is treacherous because you’ll think you can do another one and another still... The side effects are delayed until things around you calm down, often when you’re left alone, several hours later. The nervous system is over-used and cannot maintain vital functions like blood pressure, heart rate and breathing in balance any longer.” Although weak, Snape spoke matter-of-factly. 

“Were you the only one who could... take care of them... the tortured people, I mean...” asked Harry.

“I’m the only Grief Swallower on Mrs Steadfast’s team, yes...” said Snape distractedly. He did not seem to think what had happened to him was of great importance.

”But you could have called someone from St Mungo’s to help out, no?” asked Harry.

”It was my duty to Relieve those people, otherwise they were unlikely to survive the transport to the hospital,” answered Snape.

”Not so many, so damaged people, all on your own… It must have been horrible. Why didn’t you call for some assistance?” said Harry with a frown.

”I wanted to… help. I have actions in my past to atone for… You don’t understand,” mumbled Snape and made a feeble, dismissive gesture.

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

“Leave it… Harry,” said Snape tiredly, but at the same time managing a slightly sharp edge to his words. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again to meet Harry’s troubled gaze and continued to speak. ”We knew that the place existed, and Mrs Steadfast’s team has been looking for it for a long time. It’s one of Voldemort’s secret Pleasure Temples, recreated after he resurrected four years ago. I had only heard about them. Most Death Eaters took part in Voldemort’s orgies, but even as a young Death Eater I never could.” Snape pulled a wry face. ”I guess a person like me never was intended for parties in general, and not those kind of orgies in particular. I never could attend, not even when Lucius tried to persuade me and taunted me for my squeamishness… During the second reign, thankfully Voldemort did not insist that I should join them, neither did Dumbledore - I suppose both of them reckoned that it went beyond my commission as a spy, so to speak… So I haven’t been able to help out with finding the locations of the Pleasure Temples. They’re protected by Fidelius charms and we don’t know who might be the secret keeper. A core of Death Eaters, my most sadistic former colleagues…” Snape sighed deeply, ”…seem to have continued with the orgies, in the spirit of Voldemort, even after he disappeared.”

Snape shook his head, disgusted and Harry, too, pulled a horrified face.

”What gave us hope,” continued Snape, ”was that some of the Death Eaters have been trying to negotiate with the Ministry of Magic. Prisoners in exchange for safe-conduct or for galleons... Some exchanges have been carried out in secret. Families of the abducted have wanted to pay to have their loved ones back, ready to agree to anything. The Ministry has had to hold back and persuade the families not to let themselves be ripped of their money. Not the easiest task - I certainly don’t envy the negotiators their job, must be worse even than mine… We’ve been made to understand that the prisoners at the Pleasure Temples are a source of disagreement in the Dark world, however. That’s what has put an extra pressure on us to find them, because some of the younger criminals who have associated themselves with the Death Eaters after Voldemort’s fall - the young criminals belonging to the same gang that weeded out their less illustrious members a month ago, the ones you met at St Mungo’s - they seem to think that the abused prisoners should just be liquidated because they have seen too much, been so ill used that they cannot be released without causing more damage to the perpetrators than they can earn them profits. The remaining Death Eaters, on the other hand, are more greedy and calculating and want to wait and see if the victims still cannot be used in some way.”

Snape made a pause. He looked deep into the fire. 

“We’ve failed repeatedly to find the Temples, until this evening when a Death Eater that I thought far down in the hierarchy was arrested and proved to have a pass for one the places as they had a planned meeting tonight. We were lucky - we were able to surprise them and catch some of them. After we had fought them, we could enter the gigantic cave that held the Pleasure Temple... An awful place... Dark Magic everywhere... Chained people... frightened and subdued... tortured in the most gruesome ways... Abused...”

Snape’s voice trailed off. He had spoken for too long, slower and slower. His eyes closed and his breath became irregular. He was relapsing. Harry jumped up and helped him to the Firewhiskey.

“You’ll need some more, Sir,” he said as Snape only had one swallow. Snape took another sip.

“You need to be careful with the Firewhiskey,” muttered Snape when he recovered again. “Treacherous substance. Pity it’s the only antidote to this condition. Better to take small dosages repeatedly than to over-compensate. As long as you do that, the Firewhiskey won’t have its usual intoxicating effects. Many a Grief Swallower has succumbed to the addiction by being too generous with their medicine.”

Harry who would rather have had Snape swallow half the bottle could not object.

“My father was... is... an alcoholic,” continued Snape and went silent.

Neither of them said anything for a while until Snape sighed deeply and put his head in his hands, leaning forward.

“Puts things in a perspective, doesn’t it?” he said softly. ”That stupid slander in the newspapers... The defamation... It’s nothing to what those people have suffered... Imprisoned for more than a year… Under such unimaginable conditions… One really should not waste one’s energy on those vile reporters of the Daily Prophet...There’s still another cave to be found...” He took a sip of Firewhisky.

“There’s nothing to be done about the papers anyway,” Harry replied. “Unless you decide to give an interview or to write your side of the story… But there’s no guarantee they’ll present it as you see it anyhow. You’re right to keep out of that... snake’s nest.”

Harry suddenly noticed that his books, paper rolls and quills were all scattered on the floor. He must have dropped his bag as he stumbled inside, supporting Snape earlier. He waved his wand to summon his things.

“You’ve been working in the library?” asked Snape.

“Yes, I was on my way back to the Gryffindor Tower when I met you,” said Harry.

“Tell me, have you made any progress with the incantation works? Not that you owe me anything... but you seemed interested in pursuing the comparisons with Ancient Magic,” said Snape.

“I am... I did...” said Harry. “I was working on it tonight actually. Whenever I have some spare time from homework...”

“Well, tell me about it! I seem to have neglected your education lately,” Snape said encouragingly.

“Now?” said Harry surprised. “Wouldn’t you... er... want some rest, Professor? You’re still not recovered.”

“I think it would do me good to divert my thoughts from... what I saw tonight. And I need to stay awake for a while to make sure I don’t relapse. So if you don’t mind? Make a small exposé of your work?” said Snape.

“Okay,” muttered Harry and started to unroll his pieces of parchments covered with notes. He hesitated and handed Snape two scrolls. “Examples two and three,” he said. “Almost done... a draft at least... I’m working on the forth example now... it’s really interesting...”

The confidence Harry had felt when he practiced the Double Knight’s Spiral Battle Move with Snape had vanished into thin air. This was different. No physical ability or magical talent was involved here. He was supposed to make another person see what he had seen in the texts, make them understand his analysis and be able to present deductions in a trustworthy way. He had to express himself properly and he had been reminded this very same day of how poor Snape considered his ability in that area to be. He took a deep breath and launched into a presentation, conjuring up quotations in the air to illustrate his ideas.

Harry spoke far too speedily and deviated from his line of argumentation repeatedly to comment on side tracks. After ten minutes he had messed up every argument and Snape looked utterly confused. He did not comment on the disaster, however, and Harry realised that he might not have to be so afraid of retributions this evening as Snape was not alert enough to come up with his usual sharp criticism. Harry took a deep breath.

“Have some more Firewhiskey, please,” he gestured at Snape who obeyed.

Harry started from the beginning, speaking slower and checking that Snape followed him. He tried not to let the fear of expressing himself clumsily impede the presentation of his ideas and he did better. He got Snape interested and he soon forgot to be on his guard, swept away by his own enthusiasm.

Harry genuinely enjoyed this work. It was like a puzzle. Leads were hidden in the constructions of the incantations that he had chosen to analyse and the challenge was to unveil them and compare them to other leads in other incantations. The weakened and convalescent Snape was a more patient listener than when in his prime. He eventually stopped being an audience and took part in the discussion with interest, asking questions, pointing things out. He spoke softly and now and again his speech slowed down, which was one sign that he needed another dose of his medicine. 

Harry was attentive, saw it coming before Snape himself noticed the relapses and reminded his teacher at regular intervals to drink the Firewhiskey. This annoyed Snape, but after ignoring Harry’s hints a couple of times with the result that Snape’s muscle rigidness relapsed and Harry had to help him lift the cup, he started to trust Harry’s judgement.

“It shows in your eyes first, Sir,” explained Harry, embarrassed. They moved on to the forth incantation that Harry had just begun working on and Harry’s rapture blossomed out.

The air in Snape’s office was full of floating lines in different fluorescent colours as Harry tried to sort them out and connect them. He was still struggling with this puzzle, but had made an interesting discovery which he tried to convey to Snape. He got a little carried away at times and Snape had to tell him to slow down. Sometimes Harry got stuck on a term that he wanted to use, but did not remember and Snape would fill it in for him. Snape was soon infected by Harry’s enthusiasm.

“This is new... You’re on to something here... Never heard of this before,” said Snape as he flicked quotations in front of him in the air. “I think you’re right, but you need to check in a couple of reference books just to be sure.”

“There really are not many books on Ancient Magic in the library,” complained Harry.

“We could check Albus’ collection,” said Snape and made an attempt to rise, but fell back in his armchair. He looked piteous and pulled an annoyed face.

Harry went over to the bookshelves to do the searching on Snape’s directions. He came back with two beautiful volumes. There was no room on the low table where Snape had his cup so Harry brought out his wand to enlarge it.

A long silence ensued where Harry and Snape bent over the books, reading, searching. It was punctuated by short comments where one or the other showed interesting parts in his text. Finally, Snape found a significant reference and Harry leant over to read. It was an uncomfortable angle, so he slid down on his knees beside the table instead. Snape pointed at the text.

“This corroborates your theory,” he said. Harry conjured up a piece of parchment, gripped one of his quills and started to take notes. They worked for another hour looking for references, Snape in his armchair and Harry on his knees on the floor beside the low table.

Checking references was usually quite tedious work, but the research went smoothly. Snape grasped Harry’s theory with great accuracy and they elaborated on different ways of proving their point, going back to the original incantations, transposing lines and analysing all over again. At last Harry had hundreds of inches of notes.

“Let me read them to recapitulate,” said Snape and Harry handed the parchment over. He stifled a big yawn that made tears rise in his eyes and tried to focus on a passage in the book in front of him, but the words blurred before his eyes. He supported his head that had started to feel heavy in his hand and widened his eyes to force himself to stay awake. It was like all the exhausting events of the day caught up with him at once and the tiredness hit him unrelentingly.

When Snape looked up just a minute later, he found Harry asleep across the table. He frowned and brought out a watch from his pocket before he slid carefully forward in his chair, took a gulp of Firewhiskey and rose hesitantly, gripping the armrests not to fall. At last he managed to draw himself up. He took a tentative step and stretched his body, grimacing. Finally he bent down over Harry to shake him by his shoulder.

“Harry, wake up...Wake up!”

Harry stirred slightly. “Ginny,” he said. Snape had to shake him for several minutes before he sat up, eyes rolling in their globes, impossible to coordinate, his body feeling heavy as lead.

“It’s past one o’clock at night. I’m sorry I’ve kept you for so long, Harry. You’ve had a trying day. It’s time you regain Gryffindor Tower and go to bed. I’m surprised your friends have not turned the castle upside-down in search for you,” said Snape.

“I sent them a message I would be late.” Harry articulated with difficulty as he rose from the floor. Snape slid back into his armchair.

“Off you go then,” he muttered.

Harry sat down.

Snape looked at him affronted.

“I can’t leave you yet, Professor. You’re still at risk of suffering from relapses,” said Harry.

“I’m fine, Potter. I just stood up and I‘m fully capable of taking care of myself, thank you.” Snape had adopted his dangerous, silky tone of voice.

“You need someone to remind you of taking your medicine. You don’t notice the relapses in time and...”

“Potter, I order you out of my office, now!”

Harry glared at Snape, pressed his lips together, picked up a book and started demonstratively to read. The letters danced before his eyes.

“You dare disobey me?” Snape sounded incredulous and at a loss what to do, bringing out his wand.

“If you hex me, I’ll definitely stay,” Harry pointed out.

“I’ll blast you out of here,” said Snape with gritted teeth.

“In that case I’ll go and fetch Mme Pomfrey…” threatened Harry, “and Professor McGonagall,” he added.

Snape did not find words to retort. He seemed to debate with himself.

“I’ll drink a cup of Firewhiskey before I go to sleep and I’ll stand the night. I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” said Snape finally.

Harry hesitated. He did not dare contradict Snape at length, this might be a good deal.

“Okay,” he said and waited.

“Well...?” Snape arched an eyebrow and gestured for the door.

Harry nodded at the bottle of Firewhiskey at the table. Snape flared up.

“You’ll have me swallow it in front of you?” he asked in a temper, disbelievingly.

Harry stayed stubbornly in his chair and watched Snape fill his cup with Firewhiskey.

“Bottom up, then,” Snape said sarcastically and emptied his glass in small gulps, tears rising in his eyes from the strong liquor.

Harry rose and started to collect the parchments that were scattered all over the table and on the floor in front of them. In the meantime, Snape took the opportunity to scold him with increasing agitation.

“You’re insupportably head-strong, Potter. I’m dumbfounded by what you got away with when you were younger. Dumbledore was too yielding and tolerant for your own good, so maybe it was no wonder that you continued with your dangerous conduct, setting rules at defiance, like your father had done before you... being insubordinate, exactly like you just proved to still be, and… Are you leering at me, Potter?” barked Snape, as Harry was looking at him with an inscrutable gaze and possibly a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Harry sighed.

“I’m not, Sir,” he answered politely. ”Believe me, Professor, no one can be happier tonight to see you restored to your usual self, than me,” he added with such disarming earnestness that Snape stared at him, his expression changing from anger to surprise. He finally let out a chuckle as he turned his head away.

“Humph… Good night, then,” Snape said reluctantly, but in a calmer voice.

“Good night, Professor,” answered Harry and walked out.