Severus cursed his predicament. He was quite firmly stuck. One hand kept Bellatrix’s wand from firing any curses at him, but one of the whore’s fingers had hooked over his thumb and sunk the nail into his flesh, preventing him from gaining any leverage on removing the wand. His other hand was even less lucky, as it had fully five cruel nails digging into it and holding his arm extended away from both himself and the woman he fought. Not that he was fighting just now, as Voldemort was holding Potter’s air hostage.

The Dark Lord was just a meter away, his attention focused firmly on Potter’s chained form. Severus knew if he could get himself balanced, he could possibly kick Voldemort’s wand hand, but that was highly impractical; one, it would accomplish little; two, he doubted he could get balanced; and three, that would open a particularly vulnerable…area to attack from Bellatrix. All he could really do was hope the situation didn’t get any worse.

His heart stopped cold when he heard Potter speak. “Please don’t hurt Boy,” he begged in a child’s voice. “Please. Sorry, so sorry. Don’t hurt Boy, Uncle!”

Oh, this could not be good.

Voldemort seemed stunned, and even Bellatrix stopped trying to reach Severus’ nose with her teeth. Clearly neither of them were expecting the ‘great Harry Potter’ to break down and plead for mercy. As he could do nothing else. Severus craned his neck around to get a better look.

Boy had his eyes shut tight and his face screwed up in a picture of agonized despair, but even as the child’s morbid audience watched his face relaxed and went slack, completely devoid of any thought. Any personality. Severus felt as if someone had made him swallow ice, and he knew that whatever was coming next would not be a pleasant experience. He just barely stopped himself from feeling glad Potter was restrained.

There was no slow transition this time, no gradual awakening of whatever new person was to take over the situation. One moment, nobody was home inside Potter’s head, the next, a scream like none other had split the air.

Severus had heard a banshee cry before. Once, the year after he graduated, when he’d gone traveling. It had taken him almost five seconds to regain his senses enough to cast the silencing spell that saved his life.

In so many ways, the sound coming out of Potter’s mouth was much worse.

The experienced potions master couldn’t describe it. It was the scream of a tiny infant in horrible pain, the audible projection of fifteen years of despair, humiliation, physical and emotional torture, of something worse than a hundred Cruciatuses. The scream of death; seeing death, tasting death, being death, hating death. It was every shout of pain, every shriek of terror, every cry of grief that Potter had never let loose before. The world swam before Severus’ eyes at the sheer force and he suddenly, dizzily realized he was on the floor, which no longer seemed a stable surface.

It was then he realized that sound was not the only thing being released.

Magic whipped through the air, rattling the chains and bindings, splintering the wood of the cot, making the metal of the door warp and groan. The stones of the floor, walls, and ceiling vibrated with Potter’s power, cracking and sending small shards and plumes of dust into the air. When a snitch-sized chunk of rock fell perilously close to him, Severus covered his head and scooted toward the corner with his good leg, trying to get as much protection as he could. Potter’s bindings danced and hissed like metal snakes before, with a sound that could almost be heard above Potter’s personal cacophony, they broke into a thousand pieces.

Voldemort dashed from the room, Bellatrix at his heels, and the door slammed shut behind him.

With the echoes of the scream and the door still singing in his head, it took a moment before Severus realized everything had gone still once more.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Draco held his wand up to the light and incanted, casting a spell that would keep anyone but himself from seeing it. After his father had refused to get him the Hand of Glory, Draco had spent a long time researching what spells would have a similar effect and had finally managed it in third year. Now, whenever he had Prefect rounds at night, he carried a small lantern with the Singula Luminess spell. Some of his fellow prefects had asked him why he always had a darkened lantern with him, but he never answered, and could be relatively sure that none, except perhaps Granger, had figured it out.

Now, however, he wasn’t using the lantern for any official duties. Donning his softest boots and darkest cloak (what he wouldn’t give to have an invisibility cloak!) the Slytherin slipped silently from his dormitory, heading toward the library. The trip was relatively uneventful, beyond having to hide behind a rather grotesquely fat statue of some otherwise forgotten wizard when Filch came stalking by, and in almost no time he was walking past darkened bookshelves to the restricted section.

Draco let his fingers drift along the spines of the many books as he perused the titles, looking for one that might help.

Error on Trial by J.P. Eldergon; dry yet graphic descriptions of what happened when mistakes were made in the more ‘potent’ spells. Not what he was looking for.

Penta Means Five by Tula Garner; a child’s guide to the pentagram. Didn’t have enough detail, but he could come back to it if he needed to.

Blood and Fortune by Cain Gorgon; no, he wasn’t looking for money. Had plenty of that already, thanks.

Star Rituals by Aster Helixus. Perfect! Carefully casting a silencing sphere around himself and the bookcase, Draco pulled the dusty, leather bound tome from its place and opened it, scanning the contents.

If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a pentagram ritual for advanced scrying that would show much more than just the physical appearance of the object desired. He could potentially get sound as well, and get as distant a view as he needed in order to know where Severus was.

Aha! Draco exclaimed silently. The View From Heaven ritual, page 198.

“The View From Heaven ritual, unlike its cousin the Hellsight ritual, does not use blood, and so is one of the only pentagram rituals that is not considered dark.” The ministry had changed that classification two hundred years ago to include all ritual spells except the naming and hand fasting rituals. Of course, it had been obvious at first sight that the book predated the 1800’s. “The pentagram is drawn, top facing east, using the Scrying Potion (Moste Potente Potions, page 234).”

Draco mouthed a curse as he set Star Rituals on a nearby table and looked for Moste Potente Potions. He hadn’t counted on having to make a potions, that would make this take longer than he wanted, the sooner he found Severus the better. At least it was a book he was familiar with. The cloaked Slytherin moved around a set of shelves to the ‘I’ section and reached for the text’s usual spot, only to find himself holding a book on possession instead. Confused, he searched around and realized that Moste Potente Potions was gone. Someone must have checked it out; but who?

A chair scraped against the floor in the main part of the library.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Harry woke to the feeling of hard stone against some very tender limbs. It wasn’t pleasant. His throat hurt, his chest hurt, his stomach hurt, his head hurt…actually, pretty much everything hurt. It took a moment for what little he remembered of the previous evening to filter in, but when it did he quickly lifted his head (owowow ow!) and looked around. There, still hunched in the same corner, was Snape, apparently asleep. By the door, which seemed oddly warped, but still unfortunately solid, there was a bucket of what smelled like water.

Licking his dry lips with a papery tongue, the Gryffindor lifted himself slowly onto his hands and knees and crawled painfully to the bucket. It was no more than fifteen feet away, but it seemed like an eternity before his aching knees were allowed to rest again. The water in the bucket was by no means the cleanest he’d ever seen, but it couldn’t possibly cause him more problems than not drinking anything, so he gratefully dipped one cupped hand in and brought it to his lips. The cool liquid tasted divine as it washed over his parched tongue and down his aching throat with each handful. He probably could have drunk the whole container, but stopped himself when he figured he had drunk about a quarter of what was there, leaving the rest for Snape and to save for later.

A groan from nearby alerted Harry to the fact that his professor was starting to wake up. Muscles groaning in protest, the Gryffindor carefully picked up the bucket and took it over to Snape, setting it down by his side without spilling a drop. Harry gently tapped him on the shoulder, and then got the shock of his life when Snape’s eyes jerked open and lit on him; the spy leaned back as far from Harry as he could go, eyeing him warily.

The boy swallowed at the look of disgust Snape was giving him and stood, backing away a step.

“Er…I brought you…some water, professor,” he said uneasily, continuing to back away as the pale man’s eyes narrowed. The reaction baffled him; the last Harry remembered, he and Snape had been having a civil conversation (for once), and now the man was looking at him like he was an unpleasantly hairy spider.

What had happened?

“Potter!” Snape’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts and Harry jumped.

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you drink out of this already?” Snape motioned disdainfully at the bucket.

“Er…yes, sir,” Harry confirmed. Snape sneered viciously and Harry braced himself.

“Idiot boy!” the professor snapped. “It could have been poisoned, it is most certainly unsanitary, and you left hardly any for me. What gave you the right to drink first? Do you never think about anyone besides yourself, Potter?”

“But…I…” Harry stammered, swallowing the panic brought by his confusion lest he blank out. “I didn’t drink all that much – it wasn’t very full to begin with, and if they wanted to kill us, wouldn’t they have done it already? And…and I’m sorry I drank first but you weren’t awake yet, and I was really thirsty, and I know it wasn’t clean but better to get a little sick than to die of thirst. Right?”

He wasn’t being very successful at holding down the panic and was on the verge of hyperventilating. It wasn’t making any sense, why was Snape treating him like this? He hadn’t been this nasty since the start of the year! It was al so confusing and he knew if he could just remember than maybe he could understand but he couldn’t remember because it just wasn’t there and he didn’t know what had happened to make Snape hate him again –

“Potter,” the potions master sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose. “Calm down. I am not angry at you, merely at our situation.”

It was as close to an apology as Harry had ever heard come out of Snape’s mouth, and the shock of it was enough that the Gryffindor’s frantic train of thought was entirely cut off.

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “Okay, then.”

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Severus grimaced as he felt the sludge Potter called water slide down his throat and settle most unpleasantly in his stomach. Of course, it probably wasn’t helped by the emotion, which shall hereafter remain nameless, that had made his stomach clench tightly when he had seen Potter’s frantically confused expression. Merlin, he hadn’t meant to snap at the boy, but he despised not being in control of his basic needs like eating and drinking, and criticizing an offering brought by someone else was the closest he could come to regaining that lost control. Not that it had worked very well.

At least the boy wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. There was little to be done about the rest of it.

As he wiped stray drops from his chin with one thumb and sucked them into his mouth, Severus wondered when Potter would ask about the events of the previous night. Having succumb to an alter long before Voldemort and Bellatrix had entered, the boy must be wondering why the door was warped and the cot was splintered and the floor was littered with rubble. So far, though, the Gryffindor had done nothing but stare at him, as if he were the enigma.

“Solve your own mysteries before you start on mine, Potter,” Severus muttered, not intending himself to be heard.

However, Potter’s answering, “Yes, sir,” revealed he hadn’t succeeded. At least it had gotten the boy to stop staring at him, though! It also provided an answer to his earlier question as, not two minutes later, Potter asked, “Professor, what…what happened while I…was gone?”

Severus sighed, suddenly realizing he had been dreading this moment. He didn’t know exactly what had happened after Boy, but he was sure it wasn’t something Harry would want to listen to. Nevertheless, the potions master tried to put himself in his student’s place (a technique Dumbledore had suggested when he’d first started teaching and nearly sent the whole first year class to Madam Pomfrey in hysterics). If he were missing a part of his memory, no matter how dismal, grim, frightening, or disappointing, he would want to know what was supposed to fill that gap.

So, pushing the unappetizing water away with one hand, Severus recounted the events from when James started yelling at him to when Severus himself had fallen asleep amid the wreckage.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Draco picked up Star Rituals and slowly, silently, crept toward the main area of the library where he’d heard the unmistakable sound. He could just make out a dark lump on one of the chairs and wondered what someone would be doing in a library without a light. But as he got closer, he realized that, just like himself, the person had a darkened lantern. This answered two questions at once.

The person did have a light, it was just under the same charm as his own. Therefore, the person could only be Granger.

Still stepping silently, Draco worked his way around so that he was directly behind the frizzy-haired Gryffindor and inched closer. He just barely stopped himself from gasping as he realized she was reading Moste Potente Potions; he needed that book! He leaned in a touch farther to see what she could possibly be working on that would inspire Granger, of all people, to break the rules and take a book from the restricted section without permission.

Suddenly, she spun around and pointed her wand at his head.

“Malfoy,” she hissed in disgust. “What do you want.”

“Why Granger, I should be asking that of you, being that I am a prefect and you are out of bounds,” Draco shot back automatically.

“Malfoy,” Granger had the audacity to look amused, “I’m a prefect as well. I have just as much right to turn you in as you do me. So why don’t we just go our separate ways and forget we saw each other.”

Draco glared at her, hating that she was right and had made a point. However, she had overlooked one thing.

“I need that book,” he stated. “Give it to me and I’ll leave.”

Granger didn’t even glance back. “I need it, and I had it first. Why should I give it to you?”

“I’m sure I’ll make better use of it than some filthy mudblood,” Draco snapped. In an instant, the girl’s wand was in his face again.

“Watch it, Malfoy,” she warned. “Now, you either tell me why you want this book, or leave.”

“Or else?” Draco taunted, though he knew full well what ‘else’. Granger knew he knew as well, and she just wiggled her wand slightly, unfairly enjoying the way his eyes followed its movement warily.

The Slytherin wanted that book, but could tell Granger wouldn’t let him have it without revealing why he was there, but there was no way he was giving her the advantage, nor was leaving without the book acceptable. The solution that came to mind was revolting, but he had to admit, it would likely work as it appealed to the insufferably Gryffindor idea of fairness.

“I suggest we compromise,” offered Draco. “We both tell the other what potion we need, that way neither of us has any advantage over the other.”

Granger narrowed her eyes and gave him a searching look before nodding. They each took a deep breath.

“Scrying potion,” they said simultaneously.

“You’re looking for Potter,” Draco observed. Granger nodded, not trying to deny it.

“You’re looking for Snape,” she answered. The Slytherin nodded. “Then we’re in the same boat.”

“Not quite, Granger,” Draco smirked. “You see, I’m actually going to find Snape. A regular scrying potion would be far too weak to get past whatever wards the Dark Lord has set up.”

“And you have a better idea,” the Gryffindor looked at him skeptically. “That’s why you were standing there reading over my shoulder. Right.”

Draco’s smirk grew and he looked down his nose at her – relishing the fact that she, at least, was shorter than him – bringing Star Rituals out into what must have been the light of her lantern and opening it to the correct page.

“Rituals,” Granger gasped. “But that’s Dark Magic!”

“Only according to ministry guidelines,” Draco scoffed. “View From Heaven doesn’t even require blood or pain, just the scrying potion. So you see, I have far greater use for that book, why don’t you just give it here.”

Granger seemed to size him up again, making him want to squirm under her measuring gaze. Not that he actually did, mind you; Malfoy’s never squirmed.

“Instead, how about we do the smart thing for once?” the girl suggested haughtily. “You’ve got a better head for potions theory, so if you make the scrying potion, it’ll probably turn out better. I’m better at charms and getting things right the first time. So, I suggest you make the potion, I’ll draw the pentagram, then we both perform the spell. That’ll increase our chances at finding both our targets. All we need to do is figure out where and when; and trade books, of course.”

“The View From Heaven ritual can only be used on one target,” Draco pointed out. “I’m not making any potions or doing any spells to find your precious Potter.”

Granger made an aggravated sound in her throat. “Fine, we’ll focus it on Snape. Like I told you before, they’re likely in the same place, so it doesn’t matter! Are we agreed or not?”

Feeling his skin crawl at the very notion, Draco stuck his hand out and let Granger grasp it. “Agreed.”

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Harry sat back against the stone wall and tried to absorb all that Snape had told him. A lot of it didn’t make sense, like why (whywhyWHY) Boy would call Voldemort ‘Uncle’. What could possibly bring a part of him to associate being strangled by chains under the control of a skeletal megalomaniac with the rather obese Uncle Vernon? He had a feeling Snape knew some part of the reason, but the man just wasn’t talking anymore.

“If I understand correctly,” Harry began, “I basically completely embarrassed myself, then started screaming and doing accidental magic, which somehow scared Voldemort,” Snape flinched but didn’t comment, “into leaving, and now he’s likely both very peeved with us and leery of coming back down.”

Snape nodded.

“So…what do we do now?”

“Now, Mr. Potter,” Snape sighed. “Now we wait.”